Geoffrey Chaucer
Book V
1.
Began
to near the fatal destiny
that Jove has in his
disposition
and to you, angry Parcae, sisters three
is committed for its
execution:
by which Cressida must leave
the town,
and Troilus shall live on in
pain
till Lachesis
cease to spin again.
2.
The golden-haired Phoebus
high aloft
had three times, with all
his sunny beams,
melted the snow, and
Zephyrus as oft
had brought again the tender
leaves green,
since the son of Hecuba the
queen,
began to first love her for
whom his sorrow
was all because she would
depart the morrow.
3.
At prime of day full ready
was Diomede
Cressid to the Greek host to
lead,
for sorrow of which she felt
her heart bleed
as she who knew not what was
best, indeed.
And truly, as men in books
read,
no man ever knew a woman
with her cares,
or who was so loth out of
the town to fare.
4.
This Troilus, without plan
or lore,
like a man joyless and
forlorn,
was waiting on his lady
evermore
she that was every part and
more,
of all his pleasure and joy
before.
But Troilus, farewell now
all your joy,
for you will never see her
again in Troy.
5.
Truth is that while he
waited in this manner
he was able manfully his woe
to hide,
that it was scarcely seen in
his cheer:
but at the gate where she
was due to ride
out with certain folk, he
hovered beside,
so woebegone, though he did
not complain,
that he could scarcely sit
his horse for pain.
6.
He shook with anger, his
heart began to gnaw,
when Diomed his horse
prepared to dress,
and said to himself this
very saw:
‘Alas,’ he said, ‘this state
of wretchedness,
why do I suffer it, why no
redress?
Would it not be better at
once to die
than evermore in languor
lie?
7.
Why don’t I give at once
rich and poor
something to do before I see
her go?
Why do I not set all Troy in
uproar?
Why do I not slay Diomed
also?
Why do I not with a man or
two
steal her away? Why should I
thus endure?
Why do I not aid my own
cure?’
8.
But why he would not do so
fell a deed
that will I say, and why he
left it there.
He had in his heart always a
kind of dread
lest Cressid in the tumult
of the affair
might be slain: lo, this was
all his care.
Otherwise, for certain, as I
said before,
he would have done it
without a word more.
9.
Cressid, when she was ready
to ride,
sighed full sorrowfully and
said: ‘Alas!’
but forth she must, whatever
might betide,
and forth she rode full
sorrowfully apace.
There was no other remedy in
this case.
What wonder is it though,
she felt the smart
when she must forgo her own
sweetheart?
10.
This Troilus, in the way of
courtesy,
with hawk on hand and with a
large crowd
of knights, rode and kept
her company,
passing all the valley far
without.
And would have ridden
further, without doubt,
most gladly, and woe it was
so soon to go:
but turn he must, as he was
forced to do.
11.
And, at that moment, Antenor
had come
out of the Greek host, and
every knight
was glad of it, and said
that he was welcome.
And Troilus, though his
heart was not light,
took pains indeed as best he
might
to keep from weeping, at the
least,
and kissed Antenor, and was
pleased.
12.
And after that he must his
leave take,
and cast his eye on her
piteously:
and he rode near, his cause
to make,
to take her by the hand all
soberly.
And lord! she began to weep
so tenderly!
And he full soft and quietly
began to say:
‘Now do not kill me, hold to
your day.’
13.
With that he turned his
courser all about
with pale face, and to
Diomed
spoke no word, nor none with
all the crowd:
of which the son of Tydeus
took heed,
like one who knew more than
the creed
in such a case, and to her
rein he leant:
and Troilus, to Troy he homeward
went.
14.
This Diomed, that led her by
the bridle,
when he saw the folk of Troy
were away,
thought: ‘All my labour
shall not be idle,
if I may I’ll somewhat to
her say.
For at the least ‘twill
shorten the way.
I have heard it said, times
twice twelve,
“He’s a fool who forgets to
aid himself.”
15.
But nonetheless he thought
this, well enough,
that ‘certainly I do this
for naught
if I speak of love, or make
it tough:
for doubtless, if she has in
her thought
him whom I guess, ‘twill not
be a short
time ere she forget: but I
shall find the means
that she’ll not know all’s
not what it seems.
16.
This Diomed, like one who
knew his good,
when this was done, fell to
speech
of this and that, and asked
why she stood
in such unease, and began
her to beseech
that if he might increase,
or reach
to anything that might be
her ease, she should
command it of him, and he
would.
17.
For truly he swore to her,
as a knight,
that there was nothing which
might her please
that he’d not be at pains
with all his might
to do, so as to set her
heart at ease.
And prayed her sorrows she
might appease,
and said: ‘You see, we
Greeks can take joy
in honouring you, as well as
folks of Troy.’
18.
He also said this: ‘I know,
you think it strange:
and that’s no wonder, for it
is new to you,
the company of Trojans to
exchange
for folk of Greece, whom you
never knew.
But God forbid that you do
not as true
a Greek among all of us find
as any Trojan is, and just
as kind.
19.
And because I swore you
truly, right now
to be your friend and help
you as I might,
and because I more
acquaintance of you
have had than any other
stranger knight,
so from this time forth I
pray, day and night,
command me, however much it
smart,
to do whatever pleases your
heart:
20.
and that you would me as
your brother treat,
and not to disdain my
friendship out of spite:
and though your sorrows be
for things great,
I know not why, but without
more respite,
my heart to mend that would
take great delight.
And if I may not your hurts
redress,
I am still sorry for your
heaviness.
21.
And though you Trojans with
us Greeks are wrath
and will be many a day yet,
you see,
one god of love in truth we
serve him both.
And, for the love of God, my
lady free,
whoever you hate, be not
wrath with me.
For truly there can no
knight you serve
who’d be half so loth your
wrath to deserve.
22.
And were it not that we are
near the tent
of Calchas, who may have
seen us both, I say,
I would tell you, of this,
all my intent:
but it must stay sealed till
another day.
Give me your hand, I am, and
shall be always,
God help me, while my life
may endure,
your own above any other
creature.
23.
This I have never said
before to woman born:
for as I wish that God would
glad me so,
I never loved a woman here
before
as a paramour, nor never
shall more.
And, for the love of God, be
not my foe:
although I cannot to you, my
lady dear,
speak winningly, for I have
to learn that here.
24.
And wonder not, my own lady
bright,
though I speak to you of
love so blithe:
for I have heard of this in
many a knight,
who loved one he’d never
seen in his life.
Also I have not the power
for strife
with the god of love, but
him I will obey
always: and mercy from you I
pray.
25.
There are so many worthy
knights in this place,
and you so fair, that every
one of them all
will take pains to stand
well in your grace.
But if to me so fair a grace
might fall,
that you on me as your
servant would call,
so humbly but so truly would
I serve
more than any, till death me
unnerve.
26.
Cressid to his proposal
little answered,
like one that with sorrow
was oppressed so,
that in effect she naught of
his tale heard
but here and there perhaps a
word or two though,
She thought her sorrowful
heart would break in two.
For when she began her father
to espy,
she began to
fall from her horse, well nigh.
27.
But
nonetheless she thanked Diomede
for all his trouble and his
good cheer
and that he offered her
friendship in need,
and she accepted it with a
good manner,
and wished to do what pleased
him and was dear:
and she would trust him, and
well she might,
as she said, and from her
horse did alight.
28.
Her father has her in his
arms at once,
and twenty time he kissed
his daughter sweet,
and said: ‘O my dear
daughter, welcome.’
She said she was glad with
him to meet,
and stood, mute, mild and
meek him to greet.
But here I leave her with
her father to dwell,
and straight I will to you
of Troilus tell.
29.
To Troy has come the woeful
Troilus
in sorrow beyond all
sorrows’ smart,
with angry look and face
most hideous.
Then suddenly down from his
horse he starts
and through his palace, with
a swollen heart,
to his room he goes: of
nothing he took heed,
and no one dared to speak to
him indeed.
30.
And there his sorrows that
he contained had,
he gave free issue to and
‘Death,’ he cried:
and in his throes, frenzied
and mad,
he cursed Jove, Apollo and
Cupid, ay,
cursed Ceres, Bacchus and
Venus beside,
his birth, himself, his
fate, and even nature,
and, save his lady, every
other creature.
31.
To bed he goes, and tosses
there and turns
in fury, as does Ixion in hell:
and in this way nearly to
dawn sojourns.
But then he his heart a
little began to quell
through his tears which had
begun to well:
and piteously he cried out
for Cressid,
and to himself thus he spoke
and said:
32.
Where is my own lady beloved
and dear?
Where is her white breast,
where is it, where?
Where are her arms and her
eyes clear
that last night at this time
with me were?
Now may I weep alone with
many a tear,
and grasp about I may, but
in this place,
save a pillow, I find naught
to embrace.
33.
What shall I do? When will
she come again?
I do not know why, alas, I
let her go.
Would to God, I had then
been slain!
O my heart, Cressid, O sweet
foe.
O my lady I love, and love
no other so,
evermore my heart I give to
you,
see how I die, you cannot me
rescue.
34.
Who sees you now my true
lodestar?
Who sits right now or stands
in your presence?
Who now can comfort your
heart’s war?
Now I’m gone, to whom do you
grant audience?
Who speaks for me right now
in my absence?
Alas, no one (and that is
all my care):
for well I know, in evil, as
I, you fare.
35.
How can I thus ten days
endure.
when I the first night have
all this pain?
How shall she do likewise,
sorrowful creature?
Through tenderness, how can
she sustain
such woe for me? O piteous,
pale, and green
will be your fresh womanly
face
for languor, before you
return to this place.’
36.
And when he fell into
slumberings
at once he would begin to
groan
and dream of the
dreadfullest things
that might be: for instance
he was alone
in a horrid place, making
his moan,
or dreamed that he were
amongst all
his enemies, into their
hands to fall.
37.
And at that his body would start
and with the start suddenly
awake:
and such a tremor feel in
his heart
that from the fear his body
would quake:
and with that he would a
noise make
that seemed as though he
were falling deep
from high aloft, and then he
would weep.
38.
And sorrow for himself so
piteously,
that it was a wonder to hear
his fantasy.
Another time he would
mightily
comfort himself and say it
was folly
to endure dread so
causelessly,
and then begin his bitter
sorrows anew,
so that all men might his
sorrows rue.
39.
Who could rightly tell, or
fully describe
his woe, his cries, his
languor, and his pain?
Not all the men that were or
are alive.
You, reader, may yourself
full well divine
that such a woe my wit
cannot define.
Idle to try and forge it
link by link,
when it wearies my wits even
as I think.
40.
In heaven yet the stars
could be seen,
though waxing pale and full
was the moon:
and the horizon white began
to gleam
all eastward, as it is wont
to do.
And Phoebus with his rosy
chariot too
soon after that began to
start,
when this Troilus sent for
Pandar.
41.
This Pandar, that the whole
day before
might not come there Troilus
to see
(even if he had on his life
have sworn)
for with King Priam all day
was he,
so that he was not at
liberty
to go anywhere. But on the
morrow went
to Troilus, when he for him
sent.
42.
For in his heart he could
well divine
that Troilus all night from
sorrow woke:
and that he would tell him
how he pined
this he knew well enough
without a book.
So that to his chamber his
way he took,
and Troilus then soberly did
greet
and on the bed quickly took
a seat.
43.
‘My Pandarus,’ said Troilus,
‘the sorrow
that I suffer I cannot long
endure.
I know I shall not live till
tomorrow:
because of which I venture
to tell you of my sepulchre
the form: and my property do
you dispose
just where you think it
rightly goes.
44.
But of the
fire and flame for my funeral,
in which my
body shall be burnt indeed,
and of the
feast and games and all
at my vigil I
pray you take heed
that all be
fitting, and offer Mars my steed,
my sword, my
helmet: and loved brother dear,
my shield give
to Pallas, who shines clear.
45.
The dust to
which my burnt heart shall turn,
that I pray
you take and conserve
in a vessel,
that men call an urn,
of gold, and
to my lady that I serve
for love of
whom death I reserve,
so give it
her, and do me this courtesy
to pray her to
keep it in my memory.
46.
For I feel
truly by my malady
and by the
dreams now and times ago
that of a
certainty I must die.
Also the owl
they call Escalipho,
has shrieked
after me two nights so,
and divine
Mercury, of this woeful wretch
guide the
soul, and when you wish, it fetch.
47.
Pandar answered and said:
‘Troilus,
my dear
friend, as I have said before
it is folly to
sorrow thus,
and needless:
I can say no more.
But whosoever
will not trust to my lore,
I can see for
him no remedy
but to let him
keep his fantasy.
48.
But, Troilus,
I pray you tell me now
if you think
that before this any man might
have loved his
paramour as much as thou?
Why, God
knows, from many a worthy knight
his lady has
gone for a fortnight
and he not
made half such an affair.
What need is there
to cause yourself such care?
49.
Since
day by day you yourself can see
that
from his lover or else from his wife
a
man must part of necessity.
Yes,
though he love her as his own life,
yet
he will not with himself create such strife:
for
well you know, my loved brother dear
friends
may not always be together here.
50.
What
do folks do who see their lovers wedded
by powerful friends, as it
befalls full oft.
And in their spouses’ bed
see them bedded?
God knows they take it
wisely, fair and soft.
Because good hopes hold up
their heart aloft
and, since they can a time
of sorrow endure,
as time has hurt them, so
time does them cure.
51.
So should you endure, and
let slide
the time, and try to be glad
and light.
Ten days is not so long to
abide.
And since she has promised
you aright
to return, she’ll break it
for no other knight.
For do not fear but she will
find a way
to return: my life on that I
lay.
52.
Your dreams and all such
fantasy
drive out, and let them take
their chance:
for they proceed from your
melancholy
that makes you feel in sleep
all this penance.
A straw for all such dreams’
significance!
God help me so, they are not
worth a bean:
No man knows truly what
dreams mean.
53.
For priests of the temple
tell you this,
that dreams are the
revelations
of gods: and also what they
tell is
that they are all infernal
illusions.
And doctors say that from
complexions
they proceed, or fasts, or
gluttony.
Who knows in truth then what
they signify?
54.
Also others say that through
impressions
(as when a man has something
fixed in mind),
that from those come such
visions:
and others say, as they in
books find,
that according to the time
of year by kind
men dream, and that the
effect goes by the moon.
But believe no dream, for
then wrong is done.
55.
Worthy of these dreams are
old wives,
and truly to take augury
from fowls:
for fear of which men think
to lose their lives,
at raven’s forebodings or
the shrieks of owls.
To trust in that is both
false and foul.
Alas! Alas! So noble a
creature
as is a man, to fear such
ordure!
56.
Therefore with all my heart
I beseech
that you all this to
yourself forgive:
and rise up now without more
speech,
and let us think how we may
give
ourselves to this time, and
happily live
when she returns, which will
be quite soon.
God help me so, that is
what’s best to do.
57.
Rise! Let us speak of the
lusty life in Troy
that we have led, and
contrive
to while away the time, and
rejoice
at times to come, of bliss
so blithe.
And with the languor of
these days twice five
we shall so forget our
depression,
that it will scarcely cause
any oppression.
58.
This town is full of lords,
all about,
and the truce lasts all this
while.
Let us go play in some lusty
crowd
at Sarpedon’s, from here not
a mile.
And thus you shall the time
well beguile,
and pass it by until that
blissful morrow
when you see her, the cause
of all your sorrow.
59.
Now rise, my dear brother,
Troilus,
for it is no honour to you,
certainly
to weep, and linger in your
bed thus.
For, truly, in this one
thing you can trust me,
if you lie thus a day, or
two, or three,
the folk will think that you
from cowardice
feign to be sick, and that
you dare not rise.
60.
This Troilus answered: ‘O
brother dear,
this thing folk know who
have suffered pain,
that, if he weeps and makes
sorrowful cheer,
who feels the harm and smart
in every vein,
it is no wonder: and though
forever I complain
or weep always, I am not to
blame,
since I have lost the reason
for the game.
61.
But since I am forced to
rise,
I shall rise as soon as ever
I may:
and God, to whom my heart I
sacrifice,
so send us quickly the tenth
day.
For there was never fowl so
fond of May
as I shall be when she comes
to Troy,
who is the cause of my
torment and joy.
62.
But where do you advise,’
said Troilus,
‘that we may best play in
all this town?’
‘By God, my counsel is,’
said Pandarus,
‘to ride and play at King
Sarpedon’s.’
So they talked long of this
up and down
till Troilus began at last
to give assent