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
and rise, and forth to Sarpedon they went.
63.
This Sarpedon was as honourable a man
as any in this life, full of high prowess,
and with all that might be served at table
that was dainty, though it cost great riches,
he fed them day by day, such nobleness,
as was said by the highest and the least,
was never seen before at any feast.
64.
Nor was there in this world an instrument
delicious, through wind or touch or cord,
from whatever distant place you went,
that tongue can tell of or heart record,
that was not played at that feast’s concord:
nor of ladies also was so fair a company
in dance, before then, ever seen with eye.
65.
But what use was this to Troilus
that, in his sorrow, cared for it naught?
For ever the same way his heart piteous
full eagerly Cressid, his lady, sought:
on her was ever all that his heart thought,
now this, now that so imagining,
that indeed no feasting can gladden him.
66.
These ladies also, that at the feast be,
since he knew his lady was away,
it was his sorrow them to see,
or to hear them instruments play:
for she that of his heart bore the key
was absent. Lo, this was his fantasy,
that no knight should be making melody.
67.
Nor was there an hour of day or night
when he was there, and no knight could hear,
that he did not say: ‘O lovesome lady bright,
how have you fared since you were here?
Come safe again, my own lady dear.’
But welaway, all this is but a maze:
Fortune defends him in vain ways.
68.
The letters also that she in past time
had sent him, alone he would read
a hundred times between noon and prime,
imagining her shape of woman, indeed,
within his heart, and every word and deed
that was past: and so he reached the end
of the fourth day, and said he would wend.
69.
And said: ‘Beloved brother, Pandarus,
do you intend that we shall here breathe
till Sarpedon say farewell to us?
It would be better if we took our leave.
For God’s love, let us now soon at eve,
take our leave, and homeward let us turn,
for truly I will not thus sojourn.
70.
Pandar answered: ‘Have we come here
to fetch fire and then run home again?
God help me so, I cannot tell where
we might go, if that I truly say
where anyone is more in the way
of welcoming us than Sarpedon, and I
hold it villainy suddenly to say goodbye.
71.
Since we said that we would be
with him a week: now, thus suddenly
on the fourth day to take of him our leave
would make him wonder at it, truly.
Let us hold to our purpose firmly:
and since you promised him to abide,
hold to it now, and after let us ride.’
72.
Thus, Pandarus, with much pain and woe,
made him remain, and at the week’s end
they took their leave of Sarpedon so,
and sped on their way to again.
Troilus said: ‘Now God grace me send
that I may find, at my homecoming,
Cressida is come! and at that began to sing.
73.
‘Yes, hazel-wood!’ thought this Pandarus,
and to himself soberly he said:
‘God knows, cooled will be all this hot fare
before Calchas send Troilus Cressid!’
But nevertheless he acted otherwise, and said,
and swore, indeed, his heart knew aright
she would come as soon as ever she might.
74.
When they are to the palace come
of Troilus, from their horses they alight,
and to the chamber then their way is taken
and till the time when it began to be night
they spoke of Cressida the bright.
And after this, when they thought it best,
they sped them both from supper to rest.
75.
On the morrow as day began to clear,
this Troilus rose from his bed,
and to Pandar, his own brother dear,
‘For love of God,’ full piteously he said,
‘Let us go see the palace of Cressid.
For since there is no other feast,
let us see her palace at the least.
76.
And with that, his household to deceive,
he found a reason into town to go,
and to Cressid’s house their way they weave.
But lord! this foolish Troilus full of woe!
He thought his sorrowful heart would break in two:
for when he saw her doors barred and all,
well nigh, for sorrow, down he began to fall.
77.
When he began to be aware and to behold
how shut was ever window of the place,
his heart began, he thought, to grow ice cold:
so that, with changed and deadly pale face,
without a word he forth began to pace,
and, as God wills, he began so fast to ride
that no man his countenance espied.
78.
Then he said this: ‘O palace desolate.
O house of houses once the best, so bright,
O palace empty and disconsolate,
O lantern of which quenched is the light,
O palace, once the day, that now is night,
you truly ought to fall and I to die
since she is gone who used to be our guide.
79.
O palace, once the crown of houses all,
illumined by the sun of all our bliss,
O ring from which the ruby is let fall,
O cause of woe that has been cause of bliss!
Since I may do no better, I would kiss
your cold doors, if I dared amongst this crowd:
and farewell shrine, of which the saint is out.’
80.
At that he cast on Pandarus his eye
with changed face, and piteous to behold:
and when he could the right time espy,
as he rode, to Pandarus he told
his new sorrow and also his joys old
so piteously and with such deathly hue,
that anyone might pity his woe too.
81.
For thenceforth he rode up and down,
and everything came to his memory
as he rode by the places of the town,
which he had once delighted to see.
‘Lo, yonder I saw my own lady dance:
and in that temple with her eye clear
I first caught sight of my right lady dear.
82.
And yonder I have heard right lustily
my dear heart laugh: and yonder play
I once saw her also full blissfully:
and yonder once to me she did say,
“Now, good sweet, love me well I pray.”
And yonder she began me so to behold
that to the death my heart is hers to hold.
83.
And at that corner, in yonder house,
I heard my most beloved lady dear
so womanly, with voice melodious
sing so well, so sweetly, and so clear,
that in my soul I think I still can hear
the blissful sound. And in yonder place
my lady first took me to her grace.’
84.
The he thought this: ‘O blissful lord, Cupid,
when I recall the past in memory
how you have worried me on every side,
men might make a book of it, a story.
What need have you to seek a victory
when I am yours and suffer all your will?
What joy have you when your own folk you kill?
85.
Truly on me, lord, you have worked your ire,
you mighty god, a dreadful god to grieve.
Now mercy, lord, you well know I desire
your grace most, of all delights that be.
And I will live and die as I believe:
for which in return I ask a boon,
that you send me Cressid again soon.
86.
Constrain her heart as fast to return
as you do mine with longing her to see:
then I know well that she will not sojourn.
Now, blissful lord, so cruel you cannot be
to the blood of Troy, I pray thee,
as Juno was to the Theban blood,
which brought the folk of Thebes no good.’
87.
And after this he to the gate went
from which Cressid rode out at goodly pace:
and up and down there he his time spent,
and to himself often he said: ‘Alas!
from hence rode my bliss and my solace!
Would blissful God allow now, for his joy,
that I might see her come again to Troy!
88.
And to yonder hill I was her guide,
Alas, and there I took of her my leave.
And yonder I saw her to her father ride,
for sorrow of which my heart in two will cleave.
And hither home I came when it was eve,
and here I dwell an outcast from all joy,
and shall, till I see her again in Troy.’
89.
And of himself he imagined often
that he was disfigured, pale, grew less
than before, and that men often said then:
‘What can it be? Who can in truth guess
why Troilus shows all this heaviness?’
and all this was only his melancholy,
that he had of himself such a fantasy.
90.
Another time it seemed that he would
imagine everyone who went by the way
as pitying him, as if they should
say: ‘I am sorry Troilus will pass away.’
And so he spent one and another day.
As you have heard, such a life he led
as one who stood between hope and dread.
91.
So that he liked in his songs to show
the cause of his woe as best he might.
And make a song of words only a few
his woeful heart somewhat to make light.
And when he was away from all men’s sight,
he, with soft voice, of his lady dear,
who was absent, sang as you may hear:
92.
‘O star of which I have lost the light,
with sore heart I truly should bewail,
that, ever dark, in torment, night by night,
towards my death with following wind I sail:
so that if on the tenth night should fail
your bright beams’ guidance for even an hour,
my ship and me Charybdis will devour.’