Geoffrey Chaucer
Book II
1.
Out of these black waves for to sail,
O wind, O wind, begin the weather to clear:
for in this sea the boat has such travail,
that with my cunning I can hardly steer.
This sea I call the tempestuous matter
of the despair that Troilus was in:
but now the first days of hope begin.
2.
O lady mine, you who are called Clio,
speed me from this time forward, be my muse,
to rhyme this book well, till I have so
done. I need no other art to use,
since, to every lover, I make excuse
that of my own feeling I take no flight,
but out of Latin into my own tongue write.
3.
Therefore I will have neither thanks nor blame
for all this work, but pray you humbly,
blame me not if any word be lame:
for as my author said, so say I.
And though I speak of love unfeelingly,
that is no wonder, for it nothing new is:
a blind man cannot judge well what the hue is.
4.
You know also that forms of speech change
within a thousand years, and words, lo!
that had a value, now wondrous odd and strange
we think them: and yet they spoke them so,
and did as well in love as men do now.
And to win love in sundry ages,
in sundry lands, there were sundry usages.
5.
And therefore whether it happens, anywise,
that there be any lover in this place,
that listens, as this story shall devise,
to how Troilus came to his lady’s grace:
and thinks, I would not love so purchase:
or wonders at his speech and his doing,
I cannot know: but for me there is no wondering.
6.
For every man that to Rome went
took not the same route, in the same manner:
and in some lands the game were lost to all intent,
if they did in love as men do here,
as open in their doings, or as they appear,
in their visiting, their formalities, or
in speech, as they say, each country has its law.
7.
And there have scarcely been in this place two
that have, in love, said and done like in all:
since for your purpose this thing may please you,
and you no way, yet say it all you do or shall.
And some men carve a tree, some a stone wall,
as it chances: but since I have begun,
I shall follow my author if I can.
8.
In May, that mother is of months glad,
when fresh flowers, blue, and white, and red,
quicken again, that winter has made dead,
and with balm is every meadow full fed:
when Phoebus does his bright beams spread
right in the white bull, it so occurred
as I shall sing, on May’s day the third,
9.
that Pandarus, for all his wise speech,
felt his own part of love’s shots so keen,
that though he could so well of loving preach,
it often made his colour by day true green:
it so chanced that on that day he had been
crossed in love, and with woe to bed he turned,
and before the day, in many a torment churned.
10.
The swallow, Procne, with a sorrowful lay,
when morning came began her lamenting,
why she new-altered was: and ever lay
Pandar in bed, half in a slumbering,
till she so near to him made her twittering
of how Tereus began her sister forth to take,
that with her noise he began to wake.
11.
And began to call, and address himself to rising,
remembering the errand to be run
for Troilus, and his great undertaking:
and cast a chart, with good aspects for the moon
to do a journey, and took his way quite soon
to his niece’s palace close beside.
Now Janus, god of entries, be his guide!
12.
When he was come to his niece’s place,
‘Where is my lady?’ to her folk said he.
And they told him, and in he began to pace,
and found two other ladies sitting, and she
within a paved parlour: and the three
hearing a maiden reading the story to them
of the siege of Thebes, while it pleased them.
13.
Said Pandarus: ‘Madame, God bless thee,
and all your book and all the company!’
‘Ah, my uncle, welcome indeed,’ said she:
and up she rose, and by the hand, in a trice,
she took him fast, and said, ‘This night thrice,
may it turn to good, I dreamed of you!’
And with that word she sat him down too.
14.
‘Yes, niece, you will fare well and better too,
if God will, all this year,’ said Pandarus.
‘But I am sorry I have interrupted you
listening to the book you praise thus:
for God’s love, what does it say? Tell it us.
Is it of love? Oh teach me some good from there!’
‘Uncle, ‘she said, ‘your mistress is not in here.’
15.
At that they laughed and then she said:
‘This romance is of Thebes that we read:
and we heard about King Laius who is dead
through Oedipus his son, and all that deed:
and here we stopped at these letters red,
how the bishop (as the book can tell)
Amphiaraus, fell through the ground to hell.’
16.
Said Pandarus: ‘All this I know myself,
and all the siege of Thebes, its woe and care:
for there have been made out of it books twelve.
But let this be and tell me how you are:
Away with your veil, and show your face bare:
Away with your book, rise up, and let us dance,
and let us show the May month’s observance.
17.
‘Ah, God forbid,’ she said, ‘are you mad?
Is that the life a widow has, God save?
By God, you fill with me such dread,
you are so wild, it seems as if you rave.
It would suit me better in a cave
to rest, and read on holy saint’s lives:
let maidens go and dance, and young wives.
18.
‘As ever I may thrive,’ said Pandarus,
‘I could still tell a thing to make you play.’
‘Now uncle dear,’ she said, ‘tell it us
for God’s love: is the siege then done away?
I am so fearful of Greeks that I die.’
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘as ever I may thrive!
It is a thing of those worth any five.’
19.
‘Ah, holy God!’ she said, ‘what thing is that?
What! Better than any five such? Oh, no, I guess!
For all the world I cannot imagine what
it could be: some jest, I think, is this:
and, unless you yourself say what it is,
my wit is far too slender, far too lean:
so help me God, I know not what you mean.’
20.
‘And I tell you, that never shall by me
this thing be told to you, so may I thrive.
‘And why so, uncle mine, why so?’ said she.
‘By God,’ he said, ‘that I will tell as blithe:
for there would be no prouder woman alive,
if you knew it, in all the town of Troy:
I jest not, if ever I might have joy.’
21.
The she began to wonder more than before
a thousand fold, and down her eyes cast.
For never, since the time she had been born,
had she so desired to know a thing, and fast:
and with a sigh she said to him at last:
‘Now, uncle mine, I will not tease you,
nor ask again what may displease you.’
22.
So after this with many words glad,
and friendly tales, and with merry cheer
they played and entered into this and that
of many a strange and glad and deep matter,
as friends do when they meet together,
until she began to ask how Hector fared
that was the town’s wall and the Greeks’ scourge.
23.
‘Full well, I thank God,’ said Pandarus,
‘except that in his arm he has a little wound:
and so is his brave brother Troilus
the wise, a worthy Hector the second,
in whom every virtue likes to abound,
as all truth, and all gentleness,
wisdom, honour, freedom, and worthiness.’
24.
‘In good faith, uncle,’ she said, ‘that I like:
they fare well, God save both the two!
For truly I hold it fitting and right
a king’s son in arms well to do,
and to have good qualities too.
For great power and moral virtue here
are seldom seen in one person clear.
25.
‘In good faith that is so,’ said Pandarus:
but in truth the king has two sons say I,
that is to say, Hector and Troilus,
that certainly, though I should die,
are as void of vices, without lie,
as any men that live under the sun,
their might and knowledge is well known.
26.
Of Hector there is no need to tell:
in all this world there is no better knight
than he, that is of worthiness a well:
and he has still more virtue than might.
This is known by many, worthy and right.
The same praise has Troilus, I say to you.
God help me so, I know not such a two.’
27.
‘By God,’ said she, ‘of Hector that is true:
of Troilus the same belief have I.
For certain, men say that he too
in arms does day by day so worthily,
and bears him here at home so courteously
to everyone, that all the praise has he
of them that I would most wish to praise me.’
28.
‘You speak the truth, I think, ‘ said Pandarus,
for yesterday whoever is with him and sees,
he might have wondered at Troilus:
for never yet so thick a swarm of bees
flew, as the Greek from him flees.
And through the field, in every man’s ear,
there was no cry but ‘Troilus is here!’
29.
‘Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast,
there was but Greeks’ blood; and Troilus,
now he hurt them, and them all down he cast:
ay, where he went it happened thus:
he was their death, and shield and life to us:
so that that day there was no one dare withstand
him as he held his bloody sword in hand.
30.
Add too that he is the friendliest man
of great position I ever saw in my life:
and whenever he wishes, best fellowship can
offer to such as he thinks worthy to thrive.’
And with that word then Pandarus, as blithe,
took his leave and said: ‘I will go hence.’
‘No, I would be to blame, my uncle,’ said she then.
31.
‘What makes you weary thus so soon,
especially of women? Will you so?
No sit down: by God I have business with you,
for you to speak your wisdom before you go.’
And everyone who was near to them so,
hearing that, began far from them to stand,
while those two dealt with what they had on hand.
32.
When the story was all brought to an end
about her estate and its governance,
Pandarus said: ‘Now it is time I went:
but still I say, rise and let us dance,
and cast your widow’s dress, at a chance:
why do you wish yourself to disfigure,
since to you has fallen so fine an adventure?’
33.
‘Ah, well remembered, for love of God’ said she,
‘shall I not learn what you mean by this?’
‘No this thing needs leisure,’ then said he,
‘and it would grieve me greatly, as it is,
if I told it and you took it amiss.
Yes, it were better to hold my tongue still
than say a truth that was against your will.
34.
For niece, by the Goddess Minerva,
and Jupiter, who makes the thunder ring,
and by the blissful Venus that I serve,
you are the woman, in this world living,
except my lovers, to my knowing,
that I best love, and loathest am to grieve:
and that you know yourself, I believe.’
35.
‘I know, my uncle,’ she said, ‘grant mercy:
I have ever found your friendship true:
I am to no man beholden truly,
so much as you, and have so little repaid you:
and with the grace of God, if I can so do,
through my own fault, I’ll never you offend,
and if I have before now, I’ll make amend.
36.
But for the love of God I you beseech,
as you are him whom I most love and trust,
leave off your obscure manner of speech,
tell all to me, your niece, as you must.’
And with that word her uncle now her kissed,
and said: ‘Gladly, beloved niece, my dear,
take in good part all that I tell you here.’
37.
With that she began her eyes down to cast,
and Pandarus began to cough a mite,
and said: ‘Niece, always, lo! at the last,
however much some men take delight
with subtle art their tales to make bright,
yet, for all that, in their intention,
their tale is all to form a conclusion.
38.
And since the end is every tale’s strength,
and the end of this matter looks so fittingly,
why should I paint it or draw it out at length
to you, who have been my friend so faithfully?’
And with that word he began inwardly
to behold her, and gaze upon her face,
and said: ‘On such a mirror fall such grace!’
39.
Then thought he thus: ‘If I my tale spin
too long, or make procession any while,
it will be one she’ll take less pleasure in,
and think I would her willfully beguile.
For tender wits think all a cunning wile
that they cannot plainly understand:
so I must find the glove to fit the hand.’
40.
And he looked at her quite intently,
and she was aware that he beheld her so,
and said: ‘Lord! So closely you study me!
Did you not know me till now? What say you? No?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, ‘and better before I go:
but by my truth I wondered now if ye
have had good luck, for now men shall it see.
41.
For everyone some goodly adventure
is sometimes shaped, if he can receive it:
and if when it comes he chooses to ignore
it willfully, and take no notice of it,
lo, neither chance nor fortune cause it,
but simply his own sloth and wretchedness:
and such a one is to be blamed, I guess.
42.
Good adventure, O fair niece, have ye
readily found, if you can it grasp:
and for the love of God and of me
seize it now lest adventure lapse.
Why should I longer story of it make?
Give me your hand for in this world is none
if this pleases you, who fortune so shines on.
43.
And since I speak with good intention
as I have told you truly here before,
and love as truly your honour and renown,
as that of any creature to this world born:
by all the oaths that I have you sworn,
if you are angered or think these lies,
I shall never see you again with these eyes.
44.
Do not be aghast or quake: why should you?
and do not change, from fear so, your hue:
for indeed, the worst of this is through.
And though my tale as now be to you new,
yet trust me always, and you will find me true:
and if it were a thing I thought unfitting,
to you I would not such a tale bring.’
45.
‘Now my good uncle, for god’s love I pray’
she said, ‘Be quick and tell me what it is:
since I am both aghast at what you’ll say,
and yet also I long to know of this.
For whether it be good or something amiss
say on, let me not in this fear dwell.’
‘So I will do: now listen, I shall tell.
46.
Now, my niece, the king’s dear son,
the good, wise, worthy, fresh and free,
who always wishes what he does well done,
the noble Troilus, so loves thee,
that, unless you aid him, it will his bane be.
Lo, here is all of it, what more say I?
Do what you will, to make him live or die.
47.
But if you let him die, I’ll take my life:
have here my truth, niece: I will not lie,
I would cut my throat with this knife.’
At this the tears burst from his eyes,
and he said: ‘If you cause us both to die,
both guiltless, then good fishing you’ve enjoyed.
What do you gain if we are both destroyed?
48.
Alas, he who is my lord so dear,
that true man, that noble gentle knight,
who desires nothing but your friendly cheer,
I see him dying though he stands upright:
and hastens on, with all his might,
to be cut down, if fortune gives assent.
Alas that God you such beauty sent!
49.
If it be so that you so cruel be
that in his death you no take no interest
(he so true and worthy, as you see),
no more than that of trickster or of wretch:
if you be such, your beauty may not stretch
as far as atonement for so cruel an act:
it is good to consider well before the fact.
50.
Woe to the fair gem that is virtueless!
Woe to the herb also that does no good!
Woe to that beauty that is ruthless!
Woe to the man who treads others underfoot!
And you, that are of beauty the crop and root,
if, with all that, in you there is no ruth,
then it’s sad you are alive, by my truth.
51.
And also think well that this is no fraud:
for I would rather you and I and he
were hanged, than that I should be his bawd,
so high that men might all openly us see.
I am your uncle: it would be shame to me,
as well as you, if I gave assent,
through abetting him, and he your honour rent.
52.
Now understand, that I do not desire
to bind you to him formally,
but only that you show him better cheer
than you have done till now, and be
more kind, so his life is saved, at the least.
This all and some, and plainly, is my intent.
God help me so, I have no other meant.
53.
Lo this request is reasonable, it is:
there is no cause for doubt, by God no:
I think the worst that you might dread is this,
that men would wonder to see him come and go:
Against that I straight away argue so,
that ever man, unless he’s a fool by kind,
will judge it friendship’s love in his mind.
54.
What? Who will judge, though he see a man
to temple go, that he the images eat?
Think, then, how well and wisely he can
govern himself, that nothing he forgets,
that, where he comes, praise and thanks he gets:
and add to that, he shall come here so seldom,
what matter that all the town beheld him?
55.
Such love between friends rules all this town:
and hide yourself with that cloak, forever so:
And as God is ever my salvation,
as I have said, your best is to do so,
but always, good niece, to soothe his woe,
soften a little your disdain,
that for his death you are not to blame.’
56.
Cressida who heard him speak in this wise,
thought: ‘I shall find out what his meaning is.’
‘Now uncle,’ she said, ‘what would you devise,
what do you think I should make of this?’
‘That is well said,’ he answered: best it is
for you to love him again for his loving,
as love for love is just rewarding.
57.
Think then how age wastes, every hour,
in every one of you, a part of beauty:
and therefore, before age you devours,
go love, for old no man will want thee.
Let this proverb as a law to you be:
“ ‘Aware too late’, said Beauty, ‘when it’s past.’ ”
And age defeats disdain at the last.
58.
The king’s fool is given to cry aloud,
when he thinks a woman is too high:
“So long may you live, and just as proud,
till the crow’s-feet grow under your eye,
and send for a mirror then for you to pry
in, where you may see your face tomorrow!”
Niece, I cannot wish you greater sorrow.’
59.
With this he ceased, and cast down his head
and she burst out weeping at once,
and said: ‘Alas, for woe! Why am I not dead?
For in this world all faith is gone.
Alas what would strangers to me have done
when he I thought the best friend to me,
tells me to love, yet should forbid me?
60.
Alas! I could have trusted, doubtless,
that if I through any misadventure
had loved either him, or Achilles,
Hector or any mortal creature,
you would have had of mercy no measure
for me, but always reproached me,
this false world, alas!, who may it believe?
61.
What? Is this all the joy and all the feast?
Is this your counsel: is this my blissful case?
Is this, of your promise, the true bequest?
Is all this specious argument, alas,
only for this sin? O lady mine, Pallas,
you in this dreadful case for me provide,
for I am so astonished that I die.’
62.
With that she began sorrowfully to weep.
‘Ah, can you do no better?’ said Pandarus:
‘By God, I shall come here no more this week:
not, before God, if I am mistrusted thus.
I see full well you care little for us,
or of our death. Alas! I’m a sad wretch!
If he might live, it’s no matter where I fetch.
63.
O cruel god, O merciless Mars,
O Furies Three of hell, to you I cry
never let me out of this house depart,
if I meant any harm or villainy!
But since I see my lord must needs die,
and I with him, here I confess, and say I
that wickedly you cause us both to die.
64.
But since it pleases you that I be dead,
by Neptune, that is god of the sea,
from this time forth I never shall eat bread
until my own heart’s blood I see:
for certain, I shall die as soon as he.’ –
And up he started, and his way he sought,
till she again him by the sleeve caught.
65.
Cressid, who was well nigh dead of fear,
as she was the fearfullest one there might
be, and not only heard in her ear,
but saw, the sad earnestness of the knight,
and in his prayer nothing but what was right,
and the more harm that might befall, as he said,
she began to relent, and was sore afraid.
66.
And thought thus: ‘Misfortunes fall thickest
always, for love, and in such manner because
men are cruel in themselves and wicked.
And if this man should kill himself, alas!
in my presence, that will be no solace.
What men would think of it I cannot say:
it behoves me with great subtly to play.’
67.
And with a sorrowful sigh she said times three:
‘Ah, lord! To me has fallen such mischance!
For my estate now lies in jeopardy,
and my uncle’s life lies in the balance,
but nonetheless, with God’s governance,
I shall do so, that my honour I shall keep,
and he his life’: and she ceased to weep.
68.
‘Of two harms, the lesser is the one to choose:
I would rather show him some good cheer,
in honour, than my uncle’s life to lose.
You say you nothing else of me require?’
‘No indeed,’ he said, ‘my own niece dear.’
‘That’s well,’ she said, ‘and I will take great pain:
I shall my heart against my will constrain.
69.
‘But I will not show him a false hand:
I cannot ever love a man, nor may
against my will: otherwise, I will be fond,
saving my honour, and please him from day to day:
I never once would have wished to say nay
to it, except for fears that are but fantasy.
But ceaseth the cause: ceaseth the malady.
70.
And here I make a protestation,
that in this process if you deeper go,
for certain, not for your preservation,
though you are dying, both of you,
nor though all the world that day is my foe,
will I ever for him show greater ruth.’
‘I accept that,’ said Pandar, ‘by my truth.
71
‘But may I have a perfect trust,’ said he,
‘that in this thing you promise to me here,
you will keep to it, truly, for me?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ she said, ‘my uncle dear.’
‘And that I shall have no cause in this matter,’
‘he said, ‘to complain at you, or preach?’
‘Why, no, indeed: what need of further speech?’
72.
Then they fell to talking of other tales glad,
till at the last, ‘O good uncle,’ she said, ‘so,
for love of God that both of us has made,
tell me how you first learnt of his woe:
does no one know but you?’ He said: ‘No.’
‘Can he speak well of love?’ she said, ‘I pray
tell me, that I may better myself array.’
73.
Then Pandarus began a little to smile,
and said, ‘By my truth, you I will tell.
The other day, but past a little while,
in the palace garden, by a well,
he and I spent half a day, so it fell,
purely to speak about a strategy
to defeat the Greeks and make the victory.
74.
Soon after that we began to leap,
and hurl our spears, to and fro,
till at the last he said he would sleep,
and on the grass he laid himself down, so:
and I began to roam, to and fro,
till I heard, as I walked alone,
how he began woefully to groan.
75.
Then I began to tread softly behind,
and certainly, and truth to say,
as I recall again to my mind,
he began, to Love, thus to complain.
and said: “Lord have pity on my pain,
though I have been a rebel in intent:
now mea culpa, lord! I repent.
76.
O God, who at your discretion
decree the death, by just providence,
of everyone, my humble confession
accept with favour, and send me such penance
as pleases you: but from despair’s lance
(that may separate my soul from thee),
be you my shield, in your benignity.
77.
For certain, Lord, she has me so sore wounded
who stood there in black, with the gaze of her eye,
that to my heart’s depth it has sounded,
because of which I know that I must needs die.
This is the worst thing: I dare not show why:
and all the hotter the coals glow red,
that men cover with ashes pale and dead.”
78.
With that he dropped his head straight down,
and began to mutter, I know not what, truly.
And I at that began to turn around:
and acted as if no knowledge of it had I:
and came again and stood nearby,
and said: “Awake! you sleep far too long:
it seems that love does not make you to long,
79.
who sleeps so deep no man can you wake.
Who ever saw before so dull a man?”
“Well, friend,” he said, “let your head ache
for love, and let me live as I can.”
But though, for woe, he was pale and wan,
yet he showed then as fresh a countenance
as though he were leading off the next dance.
80.
This lasted, until, the other day,
it happened I came roaming all alone
into his chamber, and found that he lay
on his bed: but such a human groan
I never heard, and what was his moan
I know not: since, as I was nearing,
all suddenly he left off his complaining.
81.
which filled me with some suspicion,
and I came near, and found he wept sore
and, as God is, I know, my salvation,
I never felt pity for anyone more.
For neither with invention, nor lore,
could I for certain him from death keep:
so that for him I still feel my heart weep.
82.
And God knows never since I was born
did I preach so hard to any man before,
and never was to any man so sworn,
before he told me, who could be his cure.
But now to rehearse to you all his speech,
or all his woeful words for me to sound,
don’t bid me, or I’ll fall to the ground.
83.
But to save his life, and not for ought
else, and not to harm you, I so labour:
and for the love of God, who has us wrought,
so that he and I might live, show him great favour.
Now have I plainly opened my heart to yours:
and since you know that my intent is clean,
take note of it, for I no evil mean.
84.
And right good luck, I pray to God, have you,
who have caught such a one without a net:
if you are wise as you are fair to view,
then in the ring is the ruby well set.
There will never be two so well met,
when you are wholly his, as he is yours:
may mighty God grant that we see those hours!’
85.
‘No, I spoke nothing of that, ah!’ said she,
‘God help me, you twist everything so.’
‘O mercy, dear niece,’ quickly answered he,
‘Whatever I said I meant for well not woe,
by Mars the god, who with steel helmet goes.
Now do not be angry, my blood, niece dear.’
‘Well now,’ she said, ‘it is forgiven here.’
86.
With this he took his leave, and home he went:
and lord! how he was glad, well satisfied.
Cressid arose, delaying not a moment,
but straight into her closet she did glide,
and still as a stone sat her down inside,
and every word he had said began to wind,
up and down, as it passed through her mind:
87.
and some astonishment possessed her thought,
in that new situation. But when she
fully considered it, she found nought
perilous, or why in fear she ought to be,
for man may love the possibility
of a woman so, his heart may burst in two,
yet she not love him again, unless she choose.
88.
But as she sat alone and thought thus,
the sound rose of a skirmish, from without,
and men cried in the street: ‘See, Troilus
has just now put the Greek horde to rout!’
With that all her household began to shout:
‘Ah, come and see, open the lattice wide,
for through this street he must to the palace ride:
89.
from that gate, another way there’s none,
of Dardanus, where open is the chain.’
With that he came with all his folk at once
at easy pace, riding in groups twain,
happy, as this, his day, was, truth to say,
wherefore, as men have it, may not altered be
all that must happen of necessity.
90.
This Troilus sat on his bay steed,
all armed, save his head, full richly,
and his horse was wounded (and began to bleed)
on which he rode at gentle pace full softly.
But such a knightly sight, truly,
as to look on him, was without fail,
to look on Mars, that is god of war’s tale.
91.