TROILUS AND CRESSIDA[In several respects, the story of “Troilus and Cressida” may be regarded as Chaucer’s noblest poem. Larger in scale than any other of his individual works — numbering nearly half as many lines as The Canterbury Tales contain, without reckoning the two in prose — the conception of the poem is yet so closely and harmoniously worked out, that all the parts are perfectly balanced, and from first to last scarcely a single line is superfluous or misplaced. The finish and beauty of the poem as a work of art, are not more conspicuous than the knowledge of human nature displayed in the portraits of the principal characters. The result is, that the poem is more modern, in form and in spirit, than almost any other work of its author; the chaste style and sedulous polish of the stanzas admit of easy change into the forms of speech now current in England; while the analytical and subjective character of the work gives it, for the nineteenth century reader, an interest of the same kind as that inspired, say, by George Eliot’s wonderful study of character in “Romola.” Then, above all, “Troilus and Cressida” is distinguished by a purity and elevation of moral tone, that may surprise those who judge of Chaucer only by the coarse traits of his time preserved in The Canterbury Tales, or who may expect to find here the Troilus, the Cressida, and the Pandarus of Shakspeare’s play. It is to no trivial gallant, no woman of coarse mind and easy virtue, no malignantly subservient and utterly debased procurer, that Chaucer introduces us. His Troilus is a noble, sensitive, generous, pure- souled, manly, magnanimous hero, who is only confirmed and stimulated in all virtue by his love, who lives for his lady, and dies for her falsehood, in a lofty and chivalrous fashion. His Cressida is a stately, self-contained, virtuous, tender-hearted woman, who loves with all the pure strength and trustful abandonment of a generous and exalted nature, and who is driven to infidelity perhaps even less by pressure of circumstances, than by the sheer force of her love, which will go on loving — loving what it can have, when that which it would rather have is for the time unattainable. His Pandarus is a gentleman, though a gentleman with a flaw in him; a man who, in his courtier-like good-nature, places the claims of comradeship above those of honour, and plots away the virtue of his niece, that he may appease the love-sorrow of his friend; all the time conscious that he is not acting as a gentleman should, and desirous that others should give him that justification which he can get but feebly and diffidently in himself. In fact, the “Troilus and Cressida” of Chaucer is the “Troilus and Cressida” of Shakespeare transfigured; the atmosphere, the colour, the spirit, are wholly different; the older poet presents us in the chief characters to noble natures, the younger to ignoble natures in all the characters; and the poem with which we have now to do stands at this day among the noblest expositions of love’s workings in the human heart and life. It is divided into five books, containing altogether 8246 lines. The First Book (1092 lines) tells how Calchas, priest of Apollo, quitting beleaguered Troy, left there his only daughter Cressida; how Troilus, the youngest brother of Hector and son of King Priam, fell in love with her at first sight, at a festival in the temple of Pallas, and sorrowed bitterly for her love; and how his friend, Cressida’s uncle, Pandarus, comforted him by the promise of aid in his suit. The Second Book (1757 lines) relates the subtle manoeuvres of Pandarus to induce Cressida to return the love of Troilus; which he accomplishes mainly by touching at once the lady’s admiration for his heroism, and her pity for his love-sorrow on her account. The Third Book (1827 lines) opens with an account of the first interview between the lovers; ere it closes, the skilful stratagems of Pandarus have placed the pair in each other’s arms under his roof, and the lovers are happy in perfect enjoyment of each other’s love and trust. In the Fourth Book (1701 lines) the course of true love ceases to run smooth; Cressida is compelled to quit the city, in ransom for Antenor, captured in a skirmish; and she sadly departs to the camp of the Greeks, vowing that she will make her escape, and return to Troy and Troilus within ten days. The Fifth Book (1869 lines) sets out by describing the court which Diomedes, appointed to escort her, pays to Cressida on the way to the camp; it traces her gradual progress from indifference to her new suitor, to incontinence with him, and it leaves the deserted Troilus dead on the field of battle, where he has sought an eternal refuge from the new grief provoked by clear proof of his mistress’s infidelity. The polish, elegance, and power of the style, and the acuteness of insight into character, which mark the poem, seem to claim for it a date considerably later than that adopted by those who assign its composition to Chaucer’s youth: and the literary allusions and proverbial expressions with which it abounds, give ample evidence that, if Chaucer really wrote it at an early age, his youth must have been precocious beyond all actual record. Throughout the poem there are repeated references to the old authors of Trojan histories who are named in “The House of Fame”; but Chaucer especially mentions one Lollius as the author from whom he takes the groundwork of the poem. Lydgate is responsible for the assertion that Lollius meant Boccaccio; and though there is no authority for supposing that the English really meant to designate the Italian poet under that name, there is abundant internal proof that the poem was really founded on the “Filostrato” of Boccaccio. But the tone of Chaucer’s work is much higher than that of his Italian “auctour;” and while in some passages the imitation is very close, in all that is characteristic in “Troilus and Cressida,” Chaucer has fairly thrust his models out of sight. In the present edition, it has been possible to give no more than about one-fourth of the poem — 274 out of the 1178 seven-line stanzas that compose it; but pains have been taken to convey, in the connecting prose passages, a faithful idea of what is perforce omitted.]THE FIRST BOOK.THE double sorrow <1> of Troilus to tell,That was the King Priamus’ son of Troy,In loving how his adventures* fell *fortunesFrom woe to weal, and after* out of joy, *afterwardsMy purpose is, ere I you parte froy.* *fromTisiphone,<2> thou help me to inditeThese woeful words, that weep as I do write.To thee I call, thou goddess of torment!Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain;Help me, that am the sorry instrumentThat helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.* *complainFor well it sits,* the soothe for to sayn, *befitsUnto a woeful wight a dreary fere,* *companionAnd to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.* *countenanceFor I, that God of Love’s servants serve,Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,* <3> *unsuitablenessPraye for speed,* although I shoulde sterve,** *success **dieSo far I am from his help in darkness;But natheless, might I do yet gladnessTo any lover, or any love avail,* *advanceHave thou the thank, and mine be the travail.But ye lovers that bathen in gladness,If any drop of pity in you be,Remember you for old past heaviness,For Godde’s love, and on adversityThat others suffer; think how sometime yeFounde how Love durste you displease;Or elles ye have won it with great ease.And pray for them that been in the caseOf Troilus, as ye may after hear,That Love them bring in heaven to solace;* *delight, comfortAnd for me pray also, that God so dearMay give me might to show, in some mannere,Such pain or woe as Love’s folk endure,In Troilus’ *unseely adventure* *unhappy fortune*And pray for them that eke be despair’dIn love, that never will recover’d be;And eke for them that falsely be appair’d* *slanderedThrough wicked tongues, be it he or she:Or thus bid* God, for his benignity, *prayTo grant them soon out of this world to pace,* *pass, goThat be despaired of their love’s grace.And bid also for them that be at easeIn love, that God them grant perseverance,And send them might their loves so to please,That it to them be *worship and pleasance;* *honour and pleasure*For so hope I my soul best to advance,To pray for them that Love’s servants be,And write their woe, and live in charity;And for to have of them compassion,As though I were their owen brother dear.Now listen all with good entention,* *attentionFor I will now go straight to my mattere,In which ye shall the double sorrow hearOf Troilus, in loving of Cresside,And how that she forsook him ere she died.In Troy, during the siege, dwelt “a lord of great authority, a great divine,” named Calchas; who, through the oracle of Apollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away secretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and honoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped to make use. Within the city there was great anger at the treason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his kin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in the city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.Cressida was this lady’s name aright;*As to my doom,* in alle Troy city *in my judgment*So fair was none, for over ev’ry wightSo angelic was her native beauty,That like a thing immortal seemed she,As sooth a perfect heav’nly creature,That down seem’d sent in scorning of Nature.In her distress, “well nigh out of her wit for pure fear,” she appealed for protection to Hector; who, “piteous of nature,” and touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of safety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went on; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of their deities; most of all of “the relic hight Palladion, <4> that was their trust aboven ev’ry one.” In April, “when clothed is the mead with newe green, of jolly Ver [Spring] the prime,” the Trojans went to hold the festival of Palladion — crowding to the temple, “in all their beste guise,” lusty knights, fresh ladies, and maidens bright.Among the which was this Cresseida,In widow’s habit black; but natheless,Right as our firste letter is now A,In beauty first so stood she makeless;* *matchlessHer goodly looking gladded all the press;* *crowdWas never seen thing to be praised derre,* *dearer, more worthyNor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre,* *starAs she was, as they saiden, ev’ry oneThat her behelden in her blacke weed;* *garmentAnd yet she stood, full low and still, alone,Behind all other folk, *in little brede,* *inconspicuously*And nigh the door, ay *under shame’s drede;* *for dread of shame*Simple of bearing, debonair* of cheer, *graciousWith a full sure* looking and mannere. *assuredDan Troilus, as he was wont to guideHis younge knightes, led them up and downIn that large temple upon ev’ry side,Beholding ay the ladies of the town;Now here, now there, for no devotiounHad he to none, to *reave him* his rest, *deprive him of*But gan to *praise and lacke whom him lest;* *praise and disparagewhom he pleased*And in his walk full fast he gan to wait* *watch, observeIf knight or squier of his companyGan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait* *feedOn any woman that he could espy;Then he would smile, and hold it a folly,And say him thus: “Ah, Lord, she sleepeth softFor love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.“I have heard told, pardie, of your living,Ye lovers, and your lewed* observance, *ignorant, foolishAnd what a labour folk have in winningOf love, and in it keeping with doubtance;* *doubtAnd when your prey is lost, woe and penance;* *sufferingOh, very fooles! may ye no thing see?Can none of you aware by other be?”But the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that despite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, “hit him at the full.”Within the temple went he forth playing,This Troilus, with ev’ry wight about,On this lady and now on that looking,Whether she were of town, or *of without;* *from beyond the walls*And *upon cas* befell, that through the rout* *by chance* *crowdHis eye pierced, and so deep it went,Till on Cresside it smote, and there it stent;* *stayedAnd suddenly wax’d wonder sore astoned,* *amazedAnd gan her bet* behold in busy wise: *better“Oh, very god!” <5> thought he; “where hast thou woned* *dweltThat art so fair and goodly to devise?* *describeTherewith his heart began to spread and rise;And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear,And caught again his former *playing cheer.* *jesting demeanour**She was not with the least of her stature,* *she was tall*But all her limbes so well answeringWere to womanhood, that creatureWas never lesse mannish in seeming.And eke *the pure wise of her moving* *by very the wayShe showed well, that men might in her guess she moved*Honour, estate,* and womanly nobless. *dignityThen Troilus right wonder well withalBegan to like her moving and her cheer,* *countenanceWhich somedeal dainous* was, for she let fall *disdainfulHer look a little aside, in such mannereAscaunce* “What! may I not stande here?” *as if to say <6>And after that *her looking gan she light,* *her expression becameThat never thought him see so good a sight. more pleasant*And of her look in him there gan to quickenSo great desire, and strong affection,That in his hearte’s bottom gan to stickenOf her the fix’d and deep impression;And though he erst* had pored** up and down, *previously **lookedThen was he glad his hornes in to shrink;Unnethes* wist he how to look or wink. *scarcelyLo! he that held himselfe so cunning,And scorned them that Love’s paines drien,* *sufferWas full unware that love had his dwellingWithin the subtile streames* of her eyen; *rays, glancesThat suddenly he thought he felte dien,Right with her look, the spirit in his heart;Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!She thus, in black, looking to Troilus,Over all things he stoode to behold;But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus,He neither *cheere made,* nor worde told; *showed by his countenance*But from afar, *his manner for to hold,* *to observe due courtesy*On other things sometimes his look he cast,And eft* <7> on her, while that the service last.** *again **lastedAnd after this, not fully all awhaped,* *dauntedOut of the temple all easily be went,Repenting him that ever he had japed* *jestedOf Love’s folk, lest fully the descentOf scorn fell on himself; but what he meant,Lest it were wist on any manner side,His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and jest at Love’s servants and their pains; but by and by he has to dismiss his attendants, feigning “other busy needs.” Then, alone in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again Cressida’s form as he saw her in the temple — “making a mirror of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figure.” He thinks no travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly woman; and, “full unadvised of his woe coming,”Thus took he purpose Love’s craft to sue,* *followAnd thought that he would work all privily,First for to hide his desire all *in mew* *in a cage, secretlyFrom every wight y-born, all utterly,*But he might aught recover’d be thereby;* *unless he gained by it*Rememb’ring him, that love *too wide y-blow* *too much spoken of*Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.And, over all this, muche more he thoughtWhat thing to speak, and what to holden in;And what to arten* her to love, he sought; *constrain <8>And on a song anon right to begin,And gan loud on his sorrow for to win;* *overcomeFor with good hope he gan thus to assent* *resolveCressida for to love, and not repent.The Song of Troilus. <9>“If no love is, O God! why feel I so?And if love is, what thing and which is he?If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh meWhence ev’ry torment and adversityThat comes of love *may to me savoury think:* *seem acceptable to me*For more I thirst the more that I drink.“And if I *at mine owen luste bren* *burn by my own will*From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?If maugre me,<10> *whereto plain I* then? *to what avail do I complain?*I wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint. *neitherO quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint!* *strangeHow may I see in me such quantity,But if that I consent that so it be?“And if that I consent, I wrongfullyComplain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,All starreless within a boat am I,Middes the sea, betwixte windes two,That in contrary standen evermo’.Alas! what wonder is this malady! —For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida — though he yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess — Troilus, in spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown; then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he was now consumed with a new fear — lest she loved some other man. Bewailing his sad lot — ensnared, exposed to the scorn of those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him with some kind look — Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his friend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus’ cruelty in hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend’s desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus could never govern himself in love.“Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,” quoth Pandare,“Though I be nice;* it happens often so, *foolishThat one that access* doth full evil fare, *in an access of feverBy good counsel can keep his friend therefro’.I have my selfe seen a blind man goWhere as he fell that looke could full wide;A fool may eke a wise man often guide.“A whetstone is no carving instrument,But yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles;And, if thou know’st that I have aught miswent,* *erred, failedEschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is. *schooling, lessonThus oughte wise men to beware by fooles;If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared;By its contrary is everything declared.“For how might ever sweetness have been know To him that never tasted bitterness? And no man knows what gladness is, I trow, That never was in sorrow or distress: Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness, Each set by other, *more for other seemeth,* *its quality is made As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.” more obvious by the contrast* Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments, reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is called Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.“For thilke* ground, that bears the weedes wick’ *that sameBears eke the wholesome herbes, and full oftNext to the foule nettle, rough and thick,The lily waxeth,* white, and smooth, and soft; *growsAnd next the valley is the hill aloft,And next the darke night is the glad morrow,And also joy is next the fine* of sorrow.” *end, borderPandarus holds out to Troilus good hope of achieving his desire; and tells him that, since he has been converted from his wicked rebellion against Love, he shall be made the best post of all Love’s law, and most grieve Love’s enemies. Troilus gives utterance to a hint of fear; but he is silenced by Pandarus with another proverb — “Thou hast full great care, lest that the carl should fall out of the moon.” Then the lovesick youth breaks into a joyous boast that some of the Greeks shall smart; he mounts his horse, and plays the lion in the field; while Pandarus retires to consider how he may best recommend to his niece the suit of Troilus.THE SECOND BOOK.IN the Proem to the Second Book, the poet hails the clear weather that enables him to sail out of those black waves in which his boat so laboured that he could scarcely steer — that is, “the tempestuous matter of despair, that Troilus was in; but now of hope the kalendes begin.” He invokes the aid of Clio; excuses himself to every lover for what may be found amiss in a book which he only translates; and, obviating any lover’s objection to the way in which Troilus obtained his lady’s grace - - through Pandarus’ mediation — says it seems to him no wonderful thing:“For ev’ry wighte that to Rome wentHeld not one path, nor alway one mannere;Eke in some lands were all the game y-shentIf that men far’d in love as men do here,As thus, in open dealing and in cheer,In visiting, in form, or saying their saws;* *speechesFor thus men say: Each country hath its laws.“Eke scarcely be there in this place threeThat have in love done or said *like in all;”* *alike in all respects*And so that which the poem relates may not please the reader — but it actually was done, or it shall yet be done. The Book sets out with the visit of Pandarus to Cressida:—In May, that mother is of monthes glade,* *gladWhen all the freshe flowers, green and red,Be quick* again, that winter deade made, *aliveAnd full of balm is floating ev’ry mead;When Phoebus doth his brighte beames spreadRight in the white Bull, so it betid* *happenedAs I shall sing, on Maye’s day the thrid, <11>That Pandarus, for all his wise speech,Felt eke his part of Love’s shottes keen,That, could he ne’er so well of Love preach,It made yet his hue all day full green;* *paleSo *shope it,* that him fell that day a teen* *it happened* *accessIn love, for which full woe to bed he went,And made ere it were day full many a went.* *turning <12>The swallow Progne, <13> with a sorrowful lay,When morrow came, gan make her waimenting,* *lamentingWhy she foshapen* was; and ever lay *transformedPandare a-bed, half in a slumbering,Till she so nigh him made her chittering,How Tereus gan forth her sister take,That with the noise of her he did awake,And gan to call, and dress* him to arise, *prepareRememb’ring him his errand was to do’nFrom Troilus, and eke his great emprise;And cast, and knew in *good plight* was the Moon *favourable aspect*To do voyage, and took his way full soonUnto his niece’s palace there besideNow Janus, god of entry, thou him guide!Pandarus finds his niece, with two other ladies, in a paved parlour, listening to a maiden who reads aloud the story of the Siege of Thebes. Greeting the company, he is welcomed by Cressida, who tells him that for three nights she has dreamed of him. After some lively talk about the book they had been reading, Pandarus asks his niece to do away her hood, to show her face bare, to lay aside the book, to rise up and dance, “and let us do to May some observance.” Cressida cries out, “God forbid!” and asks if he is mad — if that is a widow’s life, whom it better becomes to sit in a cave and read of holy saints’ lives. Pandarus intimates that he could tell her something which could make her merry; but he refuses to gratify her curiosity; and, by way of the siege and of Hector, “that was the towne’s wall, and Greekes’ yerd” or scourging-rod, the conversation is brought round to Troilus, whom Pandarus highly extols as “the wise worthy Hector the second.” She has, she says, already heard Troilus praised for his bravery “of them that her were liefest praised be” [by whom it would be most welcome to her to be praised].“Ye say right sooth, y-wis,” quoth Pandarus;For yesterday, who so had with him been,Might have wonder’d upon Troilus;For never yet so thick a swarm of been* *beesNe flew, as did of Greekes from him flee’n;And through the field, in ev’ry wighte’s ear,There was no cry but ‘Troilus is here.’“Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast,There was but Greekes’ blood; and TroilusNow him he hurt, now him adown he cast;Ay where he went it was arrayed thus:He was their death, and shield of life for us,That as that day there durst him none withstand,While that he held his bloody sword in hand.”Pandarus makes now a show of taking leave, but Cressida detains him, to speak of her affairs; then, the business talked over, he would again go, but first again asks his niece to arise and dance, and cast her widow’s garments to mischance, because of the glad fortune that has befallen her. More curious than ever, she seeks to find out Pandarus’ secret; but he still parries her curiosity, skilfully hinting all the time at her good fortune, and the wisdom of seizing on it when offered. In the end he tells her that the noble Troilus so loves her, that with her it lies to make him live or die — but if Troilus dies, Pandarus shall die with him; and then she will have “fished fair.” <14> He beseeches mercy for his friend:“*Woe worth* the faire gemme virtueless! <15> *evil befall!*Woe worth the herb also that *doth no boot!* *has no remedial power*Woe worth the beauty that is rutheless!* *mercilessWoe worth that wight that treads each under foot!And ye that be of beauty *crop and root* *perfection <16>If therewithal in you there be no ruth,* *pityThen is it harm ye live, by my truth!”Pandarus makes only the slight request that she will show Troilus somewhat better cheer, and receive visits from him, that his life may be saved; urging that, although a man be soon going to the temple, nobody will think that he eats the images; and that “such love of friends reigneth in all this town.”Cressida, which that heard him in this wise,Thought: “I shall feele* what he means, y-wis;” *test“Now, eme* quoth she, “what would ye me devise? *uncleWhat is your rede* that I should do of this?” *counsel, opinion“That is well said,” quoth he;” certain best it isThat ye him love again for his loving,As love for love is *skilful guerdoning.* *reasonable recompense*“Think eke how elde* wasteth ev’ry hour *ageIn each of you a part of your beauty;And therefore, ere that age do you devour,Go love, for, old, there will no wight love theeLet this proverb a lore* unto you be: *lesson‘“Too late I was ware,” quoth beauty when it past;And *elde daunteth danger* at the last.’ *old age overcomes disdain*“The kinge’s fool is wont to cry aloud, When that he thinks a woman bears her high, ‘So longe may ye liven, and all proud, Till crowes’ feet be wox* under your eye! *grown And send you then a mirror *in to pry* *to look in* In which ye may your face see a-morrow!* *in the morning *I keep then wishe you no more sorrow.’”* *I care to wish you nothing worse* Weeping, Cressida reproaches her uncle for giving her such counsel; whereupon Pandarus, starting up, threatens to kill himself, and would fain depart, but that his niece detains him, and, with much reluctance, promises to “make Troilus good cheer in honour.” Invited by Cressida to tell how first he know her lover’s woe, Pandarus then relates two soliloquies which he had accidentally overheard, and in which Troilus had poured out all the sorrow of his passion.With this he took his leave, and home he wentAh! Lord, so was he glad and well-begone!* *happyCresside arose, no longer would she stent,* *stayBut straight into her chamber went anon,And sat her down, as still as any stone,And ev’ry word gan up and down to windThat he had said, as it came to her mind.And wax’d somedeal astonish’d in her thought,Right for the newe case; but when that she*Was full advised,* then she found right naught *had fully considered*Of peril, why she should afeared be:For a man may love, of possibility,A woman so, that his heart may to-brest,* *break utterlyAnd she not love again, *but if her lest.* *unless it so please her*But as she sat alone, and thoughte thus,In field arose a skirmish all without;And men cried in the street then:”Troilus hath right now put to flight the Greekes’ rout.”* *hostWith that gan all the meinie* for to shout: *(Cressida’s) household“Ah! go we see, cast up the lattice wide,For through this street he must to palace ride;“For other way is from the gates none,Of Dardanus,<18> where open is the chain.” <19>With that came he, and all his folk anon,An easy pace riding, in *routes twain,* *two troops*Right as his *happy day* was, sooth to sayn: *good fortune <20>*For which men say may not disturbed beWhat shall betiden* of necessity. *happenThis Troilus sat upon his bay steedAll armed, save his head, full richely,And wounded was his horse, and gan to bleed,For which he rode a pace full softelyBut such a knightly sighte* truly *aspectAs was on him, was not, withoute fail,To look on Mars, that god is of Battaile.So like a man of armes, and a knight,He was to see, full fill’d of high prowess;For both he had a body, and a mightTo do that thing, as well as hardiness;* *courageAnd eke to see him in his gear* him dress, *armourSo fresh, so young, so wieldy* seemed he, *activeIt was a heaven on him for to see.* *lookHis helmet was to-hewn in twenty places,That by a tissue* hung his back behind; *ribandHis shield to-dashed was with swords and maces,In which men might many an arrow find,That thirled* had both horn, and nerve, and rind; <21> *piercedAnd ay the people cried, “Here comes our joy,And, next his brother, <22> holder up of Troy.”For which he wax’d a little red for shame,When he so heard the people on him cryenThat to behold it was a noble game,How soberly he cast adown his eyen:Cresside anon gan all his cheer espien,And let it in her heart so softly sink,That to herself she said, “Who gives me drink?”<23>For of her owen thought she wax’d all red,Rememb’ring her right thus: “Lo! this is heWhich that mine uncle swears he might be dead,But* I on him have mercy and pity:” *unlessAnd with that thought for pure shame sheGan in her head to pull, and that full fast,While he and all the people forth by pass’d.And gan to cast,* and rollen up and down *ponderWithin her thought his excellent prowess,And his estate, and also his renown,His wit, his shape, and eke his gentlenessBut most her favour was, for his distressWas all for her, and thought it were ruthTo slay such one, if that he meant but truth.. . . . . . . . . .And, Lord! so gan she in her heart argueOf this mattere, of which I have you toldAnd what to do best were, and what t’eschew,That plaited she full oft in many a fold.<24>Now was her hearte warm, now was it cold.And what she thought of, somewhat shall I write,As to mine author listeth to endite.She thoughte first, that Troilus’ personShe knew by sight, and eke his gentleness;And saide thus: *“All were it not to do’n,’* *although it wereTo grant him love, yet for the worthiness impossible*It were honour, with play* and with gladness, *pleasing entertainmentIn honesty with such a lord to deal,For mine estate,* and also for his heal.** *reputation **health“Eke well I wot* my kinge’s son is he; *knowAnd, since he hath to see me such delight,If I would utterly his sighte flee,Parauntre* he might have me in despite, *peradventureThrough which I mighte stand in worse plight. <25>Now were I fool, me hate to purchase* *obtain for myselfWithoute need, where I may stand in grace,* *favour“In ev’rything, I wot, there lies measure;* *a happy mediumFor though a man forbidde drunkenness,He not forbids that ev’ry creatureBe drinkeless for alway, as I guess;Eke, since I know for me is his distress,I oughte not for that thing him despise,Since it is so he meaneth in good wise.“Now set a case, that hardest is, y-wis,Men mighte deeme* that he loveth me; *believeWhat dishonour were it unto me, this?May I *him let of* that? Why, nay, pardie! *prevent him from*I know also, and alway hear and see,Men love women all this town about;Be they the worse? Why, nay, withoute doubt!“Nor me to love a wonder is it not;For well wot I myself, so God me speed! —*All would I* that no man wist of this thought — *although I would*I am one of the fairest, without drede,* *doubtAnd goodlieste, who so taketh heed;And so men say in all the town of Troy;What wonder is, though he on me have joy?“I am mine owen woman, well at ease,I thank it God, as after mine estate,Right young, and stand untied in *lusty leas,* *pleasant leashWithoute jealousy, or such debate: (of love)*Shall none husband say to me checkmate;For either they be full of jealousy,Or masterful, or love novelty.“What shall I do? to what fine* live I thus? *endShall I not love, in case if that me lest?What? pardie! I am not religious;<26>And though that I mine hearte set at restAnd keep alway mine honour and my name,By all right I may do to me no shame.”But right as when the sunne shineth brightIn March, that changeth oftentime his face,And that a cloud is put with wind to flight,Which overspreads the sun as for a space;A cloudy thought gan through her hearte pace,* *passThat overspread her brighte thoughtes all,So that for fear almost she gan to fall.The cloudy thought is of the loss of liberty and security, the stormy life, and the malice of wicked tongues, that love entails:[But] after that her thought began to clear,And saide, “He that nothing undertakesNothing achieveth, be him *loth or dear.”* *unwilling or desirous*And with another thought her hearte quakes;Then sleepeth hope, and after dread awakes,Now hot, now cold; but thus betwixt the tway* *twoShe rist* her up, and wente forth to play.** *rose **take recreationAdown the stair anon right then she wentInto a garden, with her nieces three,And up and down they made many a went,* *winding, turn <12>Flexippe and she, Tarke, Antigone,To playe, that it joy was for to see;And other of her women, a great rout,* *troopHer follow’d in the garden all about.This yard was large, and railed the alleys,And shadow’d well with blossomy boughes green,And benched new, and sanded all the ways,In which she walked arm and arm between;Till at the last Antigone the sheen* *bright, lovelyGan on a Trojan lay to singe clear,That it a heaven was her voice to hear.Antigone’s song is of virtuous love for a noble object; and it is singularly fitted to deepen the impression made on the mind of Cressida by the brave aspect of Troilus, and by her own cogitations. The singer, having praised the lover and rebuked the revilers of love, proceeds:“What is the Sunne worse of his *kind right,* *true nature*Though that a man, for feebleness of eyen,May not endure to see on it for bright? <27>Or Love the worse, tho’ wretches on it cryen?No weal* is worth, that may no sorrow drien;** <28> *happiness **endureAnd forthy,* who that hath a head of verre,** *therefore **glass <29>From cast of stones ware him in the werre. <30>“But I, with all my heart and all my might,As I have lov’d, will love unto my lastMy deare heart, and all my owen knight,In which my heart y-growen is so fast,And his in me, that it shall ever last*All dread I* first to love him begin, *although I feared*Now wot I well there is no pain therein.”Cressida sighs, and asks Antigone whether there is such bliss among these lovers, as they can fair endite; Antigone replies confidently in the affirmative; and Cressida answers nothing, “but every worde which she heard she gan to printen in her hearte fast.” Night draws on:The daye’s honour, and the heaven’s eye,The nighte’s foe, — all this call I the Sun, —Gan westren* fast, and downward for to wry,** *go west <31> **turnAs he that had his daye’s course y-run;And white thinges gan to waxe dunFor lack of light, and starres to appear;Then she and all her folk went home in fere.* *in companySo, when it liked her to go to rest,And voided* were those that voiden ought, *gone out (of the house)She saide, that to sleepe well her lest.* *pleasedHer women soon unto her bed her brought;When all was shut, then lay she still and thoughtOf all these things the manner and the wise;Rehearse it needeth not, for ye be wise.A nightingale upon a cedar green,Under the chamber wall where as she lay,Full loude sang against the moone sheen,Parauntre,* in his birde’s wise, a lay *perchanceOf love, that made her hearte fresh and gay;Hereat hark’d* she so long in good intent, *listenedTill at the last the deade sleep her hent.* *seizedAnd as she slept, anon right then *her mette* *she dreamed*How that an eagle, feather’d white as bone,Under her breast his longe clawes set,And out her heart he rent, and that anon,And did* his heart into her breast to go’n, *causedOf which no thing she was *abash’d nor smert;* *amazed nor hurt*And forth he flew, with hearte left for heart.Leaving Cressida to sleep, the poet returns to Troilus and his zealous friend — with whose stratagems to bring the two lovers together the remainder of the Second Book is occupied. Pandarus counsels Troilus to write a letter to his mistress, telling her how he “fares amiss,” and “beseeching her of ruth;” he will bear the letter to his niece; and, if Troilus will ride past Cressida’s house, he will find his mistress and his friend sitting at a window. Saluting Pandarus, and not tarrying, his passage will give occasion for some talk of him, which may make his ears glow. With respect to the letter, Pandarus gives some shrewd hints:“Touching thy letter, thou art wise enough,I wot thou *n’ilt it dignely endite* *wilt not write it haughtily*Or make it with these argumentes tough,Nor scrivener-like, nor craftily it write;Beblot it with thy tears also a lite;* *littleAnd if thou write a goodly word all soft,Though it be good, rehearse it not too oft.“For though the beste harper *pon live* *aliveWould on the best y-sounded jolly harpThat ever was, with all his fingers fiveTouch ay one string, or *ay one warble harp,* *always play one tune*Were his nailes pointed ne’er so sharp,He shoulde maken ev’ry wight to dull* *to grow boredTo hear his glee, and of his strokes full.“Nor jompre* eke no discordant thing y-fere,** *jumble **togetherAs thus, to use termes of physic;In love’s termes hold of thy mattereThe form alway, and *do that it be like;* *make it consistent*For if a painter woulde paint a pikeWith ass’s feet, and head it as an ape,<32>It *’cordeth not,* so were it but a jape.” *is not harmonious*Troilus writes the letter, and next morning Pandarus bears it to Cressida. She refuses to receive “scrip or bill that toucheth such mattere;” but he thrusts it into her bosom, challenging her to throw it away. She retains it, takes the first opportunity of escaping to her chamber to read it, finds it wholly good, and, under her uncle’s dictation, endites a reply telling her lover that she will not make herself bound in love; “but as his sister, him to please, she would aye fain [be glad] to do his heart an ease.” Pandarus, under pretext of inquiring who is the owner of the house opposite, has gone to the window; Cressida takes her letter to him there, and tells him that she never did a thing with more pain than write the words to which he had constrained her. As they sit side by side, on a stone of jasper, on a cushion of beaten gold, Troilus rides by, in all his goodliness. Cressida waxes “as red as rose,” as she sees him salute humbly, “with dreadful cheer, and oft his hues mue [change];” she likes “all y-fere, his person, his array, his look, his cheer, his goodly manner, and his gentleness;” so that, however she may have been before, “to goode hope now hath she caught a thorn, she shall not pull it out this nexte week.” Pandarus, striking the iron when it is hot, asks his niece to grant Troilus an interview; but she strenuously declines, for fear of scandal, and because it is all too soon to allow him so great a liberty — her purpose being to love him unknown of all, “and guerdon [reward] him with nothing but with sight.” Pandarus has other intentions; and, while Troilus writes daily letters with increasing love, he contrives the means of an interview. Seeking out Deiphobus, the brother of Troilus, he tells him that Cressida is in danger of violence from Polyphete, and asks protection for her. Deiphobus gladly complies, promises the protection of Hector and Helen, and goes to invite Cressida to dinner on the morrow. Meantime Pandarus instructs Troilus to go to the house of Deiphobus, plead an access of his fever for remaining all night, and keep his chamber next day. “Lo,” says the crafty promoter of love, borrowing a phrase from the hunting-field; “Lo, hold thee at thy tristre [tryst <33>] close, and I shall well the deer unto thy bowe drive.” Unsuspicious of stratagem, Cressida comes to dinner; and at table, Helen, Pandarus, and others, praise the absent Troilus, until “her heart laughs” for very pride that she has the love of such a knight. After dinner they speak of Cressida’s business; all confirm Deiphobus’ assurances of protection and aid; and Pandarus suggests that, since Troilus is there, Cressida shall herself tell him her case. Helen and Deiphobus alone accompany Pandarus to Troilus’ chamber; there Troilus produces some documents relating to the public weal, which Hector has sent for his opinion; Helen and Deiphobus, engrossed in perusal and discussion, roam out of the chamber, by a stair, into the garden; while Pandarus goes down to the hall, and, pretending that his brother and Helen are still with Troilus, brings Cressida to her lover. The Second Book leaves Pandarus whispering in his niece’s ear counsel to be merciful and kind to her lover, that hath for her such pain; while Troilus lies “in a kankerdort,” <34> hearing the whispering without, and wondering what he shall say for this “was the first time that he should her pray of love; O! mighty God! what shall he say?”THE THIRD BOOK.To the Third Book is prefixed a beautiful invocation of Venus, under the character of light:O Blissful light, of which the beames clearAdornen all the thirde heaven fair!O Sunne’s love, O Jove’s daughter dear!Pleasance of love, O goodly debonair,* *lovely and gracious*In gentle heart ay* ready to repair!** *always **enter and abideO very* cause of heal** and of gladness, *true **welfareY-heried* be thy might and thy goodness! *praisedIn heav’n and hell, in earth and salte sea.Is felt thy might, if that I well discern;As man, bird, beast, fish, herb, and greene tree,They feel in times, with vapour etern, <35>God loveth, and to love he will not wern forbidAnd in this world no living creatureWithoute love is worth, or may endure. <36>Ye Jove first to those effectes glad,Through which that thinges alle live and be,Commended; and him amorous y-madeOf mortal thing; and as ye list,* ay ye *pleasedGave him, in love, ease* or adversity, *pleasureAnd in a thousand formes down him sentFor love in earth; and *whom ye list he hent.* *he seized whom youwished*Ye fierce Mars appeasen of his ire,And as you list ye make heartes dign* <37> *worthyAlgates* them that ye will set afire, *at all eventsThey dreade shame, and vices they resignYe do* him courteous to be, and benign; *make, causeAnd high or low, after* a wight intendeth, *according asThe joyes that he hath your might him sendeth.Ye holde realm and house in unity;Ye soothfast* cause of friendship be also; *trueYe know all thilke *cover’d quality* *secret power*Of thinges which that folk on wonder so,When they may not construe how it may goShe loveth him, or why he loveth her,As why this fish, not that, comes to the weir.*<38> *fish-trapKnowing that Venus has set a law in the universe, that whoso strives with her shall have the worse, the poet prays to be taught to describe some of the joy that is felt in her service; and the Third Book opens with an account of the scene between Troilus and Cressida:Lay all this meane while TroilusRecording* his lesson in this mannere; *memorizing*“My fay!”* thought he, “thus will I say, and thus; *by my faith!*Thus will I plain* unto my lady dear; *make my plaintThat word is good; and this shall be my cheerThis will I not forgetten in no wise;”God let him worken as he can devise.And, Lord! so as his heart began to quap,* *quake, pantHearing her coming, and *short for to sike;* *make short sighs*And Pandarus, that led her by the lap,* *skirtCame near, and gan in at the curtain pick,* *peepAnd saide: “God do boot* alle sick! *afford a remedy toSee who is here you coming to visite;Lo! here is she that is *your death to wite!”* *to blame for your death*Therewith it seemed as he wept almost.“Ah! ah! God help!” quoth Troilus ruefully;“Whe’er* me be woe, O mighty God, thou know’st! *whetherWho is there? for I see not truely.”“Sir,” quoth Cresside, “it is Pandare and I;“Yea, sweete heart? alas, I may not riseTo kneel and do you honour in some wise.”And dressed him upward, and she right tho* *thenGan both her handes soft upon him lay.“O! for the love of God, do ye not soTo me,” quoth she; “ey! what is this to say?For come I am to you for causes tway;* *twoFirst you to thank, and of your lordship ekeContinuance* I woulde you beseek.”** *protection **beseechThis Troilus, that heard his lady prayHim of lordship, wax’d neither quick nor dead;Nor might one word for shame to it say, <39>Although men shoulde smiten off his head.But, Lord! how he wax’d suddenly all red!And, Sir, his lesson, that he *ween’d have con,* *thought he knewTo praye her, was through his wit y-run. by heart*Cresside all this espied well enow, —For she was wise, — and lov’d him ne’er the less,All n’ere he malapert, nor made avow,Nor was so bold to sing a foole’s mass;<40>But, when his shame began somewhat to pass,His wordes, as I may my rhymes hold,I will you tell, as teache bookes old.In changed voice, right for his very dread,Which voice eke quak’d, and also his mannereGoodly* abash’d, and now his hue is red, *becominglyNow pale, unto Cresside, his lady dear,With look downcast, and humble *yielden cheer,* *submissive face*Lo! *altherfirste word that him astert,* *the first word he said*Was twice: “Mercy, mercy, my dear heart!”And stent* a while; and when he might *out bring,* *stopped *speak*The nexte was: “God wote, for I have,*As farforthly as I have conning,* *as far as I am able*Been youres all, God so my soule save,And shall, till that I, woeful wight, *be grave;* *die*And though I dare not, cannot, to you plain,Y-wis, I suffer not the lesse pain.“This much as now, O womanlike wife!I may *out bring,* and if it you displease, *speak out*That shall I wreak* upon mine owne life, *avengeRight soon, I trow, and do your heart an ease,If with my death your heart I may appease:But, since that ye have heard somewhat say,Now reck I never how soon that I dey.” *dieTherewith his manly sorrow to beholdIt might have made a heart of stone to rue;And Pandare wept as he to water wo’ld, <41>And saide, “Woe-begone* be heartes true,” *in woeful plightAnd procur’d* his niece ever new and new, *urged“For love of Godde, make *of him an end,* *put him out of pain*Or slay us both at ones, ere we wend.”* *go“Ey! what?” quoth she; “by God and by my truth,I know not what ye woulde that I say;”“Ey! what?” quoth he; “that ye have on him ruth,* *pityFor Godde’s love, and do him not to dey.” *die“Now thenne thus,” quoth she, “I would him prayTo telle me the *fine of his intent;* *end of his desire*Yet wist* I never well what that he meant.” *knew“What that I meane, sweete hearte dear?”Quoth Troilus, “O goodly, fresh, and free!That, with the streames* of your eyne so clear, *beams, glancesYe woulde sometimes *on me rue and see,* *take pity and look on me*And then agreen* that I may be he, *take in good partWithoute branch of vice, in any wise,In truth alway to do you my service,“As to my lady chief, and right resort,With all my wit and all my diligence;And for to have, right as you list, comfort;Under your yerd,* equal to mine offence, *rod, chastisementAs death, if that *I breake your defence;* *do what youAnd that ye deigne me so much honour, forbid <42>*Me to commanden aught in any hour.“And I to be your very humble, true,Secret, and in my paines patient,And evermore desire, freshly new,To serven, and be alike diligent,And, with good heart, all wholly your talentReceive in gree,* how sore that me smart; *gladnessLo, this mean I, mine owen sweete heart.”. . . . . . . . . .With that she gan her eyen on him* cast, <43> *PandarusFull easily and full debonairly,* *graciously*Advising her,* and hied* not too fast, *considering* **wentWith ne’er a word, but said him softely,“Mine honour safe, I will well truely,And in such form as ye can now devise,Receive him* fully to my service; *Troilus“Beseeching him, for Godde’s love, that heWould, in honour of truth and gentleness,As I well mean, eke meane well to me;And mine honour, with *wit and business,* *wisdom and zeal*Aye keep; and if I may do him gladness,From henceforth, y-wis I will not feign:Now be all whole, no longer do ye plain.“But, natheless, this warn I you,” quoth she,“A kinge’s son although ye be, y-wis,Ye shall no more have sovereignetyOf me in love, than right in this case is;Nor will I forbear, if ye do amiss,To wrathe* you, and, while that ye me serve, *be angry with, chideTo cherish you, *right after ye deserve.* *as you deserve*“And shortly, deare heart, and all my knight,Be glad, and drawe you to lustiness,* *pleasureAnd I shall truely, with all my might,Your bitter turnen all to sweeteness;If I be she that may do you gladness,For ev’ry woe ye shall recover a bliss:”And him in armes took, and gan him kiss.Pandarus, almost beside himself for joy, falls on his knees to thank Venus and Cupid, declaring that for this miracle he hears all the bells ring; then, with a warning to be ready at his call to meet at his house, he parts the lovers, and attends Cressida while she takes leave of the household — Troilus all the time groaning at the deceit practised on his brother and Helen. When he has got rid of them by feigning weariness, Pandarus returns to the chamber, and spends the night with him in converse. The zealous friend begins to speak “in a sober wise” to Troilus, reminding him of his love-pains now all at an end.“So that through me thou standest now in wayTo fare well; I say it for no boast;And know’st thou why? For, shame it is to say,For thee have I begun a game to play,Which that I never shall do eft* for other,** *again **anotherAlthough he were a thousand fold my brother.“That is to say, for thee I am become,Betwixte game and earnest, such a mean* *means, instrumentAs make women unto men to come;Thou know’st thyselfe what that woulde mean;For thee have I my niece, of vices clean,* *pure, devoidSo fully made thy gentleness* to trust, *nobility of natureThat all shall be right *as thyselfe lust.* *as you please*“But God, that *all wot,* take I to witness, *knows everything*That never this for covetise* I wrought, *greed of gainBut only to abridge* thy distress, *abateFor which well nigh thou diedst, as me thought;But, goode brother, do now as thee ought,For Godde’s love, and keep her out of blame;Since thou art wise, so save thou her name.“For, well thou know’st, the name yet of her,Among the people, as who saith hallow’d is;For that man is unborn, I dare well swear,That ever yet wist* that she did amiss; *knewBut woe is me, that I, that cause all this,May thinke that she is my niece dear,And I her eme,* and traitor eke y-fere.** *uncle <17> **as well“And were it wist that I, through mine engine,* *arts, contrivanceHad in my niece put this fantasy* *fancyTo do thy lust,* and wholly to be thine, *pleasureWhy, all the people would upon it cry,And say, that I the worste treacheryDid in this case, that ever was begun,And she fordone,* and thou right naught y-won.” *ruinedTherefore, ere going a step further, Pandarus prays Troilus to give him pledges of secrecy, and impresses on his mind the mischiefs that flow from vaunting in affairs of love. “Of kind,”[by his very nature] he says, no vaunter is to be believed:“For a vaunter and a liar all is one;As thus: I pose* a woman granteth me *suppose, assumeHer love, and saith that other will she none,And I am sworn to holden it secre,And, after, I go tell it two or three;Y-wis, I am a vaunter, at the least,And eke a liar, for I break my hest.*<44> *promise“Now looke then, if they be not to blame,Such manner folk; what shall I call them, what?That them avaunt of women, and by name,That never yet behight* them this nor that, *promised (muchNor knowe them no more than mine old hat? less granted)No wonder is, so God me sende heal,* *prosperityThough women dreade with us men to deal!“I say not this for no mistrust of you,Nor for no wise men, but for fooles nice;* *silly <45>And for the harm that in the world is now,As well for folly oft as for malice;For well wot I, that in wise folk that viceNo woman dreads, if she be well advised;For wise men be by fooles’ harm chastised.”* *corrected, instructedSo Pandarus begs Troilus to keep silent, promises to be true all his days, and assures him that he shall have all that he will in the love of Cressida: “thou knowest what thy lady granted thee; and day is set the charters up to make.”Who mighte telle half the joy and feastWhich that the soul of Troilus then felt,Hearing th’effect of Pandarus’ behest?His olde woe, that made his hearte swelt,* *faint, dieGan then for joy to wasten and to melt,And all the reheating <46> of his sighes soreAt ones fled, he felt of them no more.But right so as these *holtes and these hayes,* *woods and hedges*That have in winter deade been and dry,Reveste them in greene, when that May is,When ev’ry *lusty listeth* best to play; *pleasant (one) wishes*Right in that selfe wise, sooth to say,Wax’d suddenly his hearte full of joy,That gladder was there never man in Troy.Troilus solemnly swears that never, “for all the good that God made under sun,” will he reveal what Pandarus asks him to keep secret; offering to die a thousand times, if need were, and to follow his friend as a slave all his life, in proof of his gratitude.“But here, with all my heart, I thee beseech,That never in me thou deeme* such folly *judgeAs I shall say; me thoughte, by thy speech,That this which thou me dost for company,* *friendshipI shoulde ween it were a bawdery;* *a bawd’s action*I am not wood, all if I lewed be;* *I am not mad, thoughIt is not one, that wot I well, pardie! I be unlearned*“But he that goes for gold, or for richess,On such messages, call him *as thee lust;* *what you please*And this that thou dost, call it gentleness,Compassion, and fellowship, and trust;Depart it so, for widewhere is wistHow that there is diversity requer’dBetwixte thinges like, as I have lear’d. <47>“And that thou know I think it not nor ween,* *supposeThat this service a shame be or a jape, *subject for jeeringI have my faire sister Polyxene,Cassandr’, Helene, or any of the frape;* *set <48>Be she never so fair, or well y-shape,Telle me which thou wilt of ev’ry one,To have for thine, and let me then alone.”Then, beseeching Pandarus soon to perform out the great enterprise of crowning his love for Cressida, Troilus bade his friend good night. On the morrow Troilus burned as the fire, for hope and pleasure; yet “he not forgot his wise governance [self- control];”But in himself with manhood gan restrainEach rakel* deed, and each unbridled cheer,** *rash **demeanourThat alle those that live, sooth to sayn,Should not have wist,* by word or by mannere, *suspicionWhat that he meant, as touching this mattere;From ev’ry wight as far as is the cloudHe was, so well dissimulate he could.And all the while that I now devise* *describe, narrateThis was his life: with all his fulle might,By day he was in Marte’s high service,That is to say, in armes as a knight;And, for the moste part, the longe nightHe lay, and thought how that he mighte serveHis lady best, her thank* for to deserve. *gratitudeI will not swear, although he laye soft,That in his thought he n’as somewhat diseas’d;* *troubledNor that he turned on his pillows oft,And would of that him missed have been seis’d;* *possessedBut in such case men be not alway pleas’d,For aught I wot, no more than was he;That can I deem* of possibility. *judgeBut certain is, to purpose for to go,That in this while, as written is in gest,* *the history ofHe saw his lady sometimes, and also these eventsShe with him spake, when that she *durst and lest;* *dared and pleased*And, by their both advice,* as was the best, *consultation*Appointed full warily* in this need, *made careful preparations*So as they durst, how far they would proceed.But it was spoken in *so short a wise, *so briefly, and always in suchIn such await alway, and in such fear, vigilance and fear of beingLest any wight divinen or devise* found out by anyone*Would of their speech, or to it lay an ear,*That all this world them not so lefe were,* *they wanted more thanAs that Cupido would them grace send anything in the world*To maken of their speeches right an end.But thilke little that they spake or wrought,His wise ghost* took ay of all such heed, *spiritIt seemed her he wiste what she thoughtWithoute word, so that it was no needTo bid him aught to do, nor aught forbid;For which she thought that love, all* came it late, *althoughOf alle joy had open’d her the gate.Troilus, by his discretion, his secrecy, and his devotion, made ever a deeper lodgment in Cressida’s heart; so that she thanked God twenty thousand times that she had met with a man who, as she felt, “was to her a wall of steel, and shield from ev’ry displeasance;” while Pandarus ever actively fanned the fire. So passed a “time sweet” of tranquil and harmonious love the only drawback being, that the lovers might not often meet, “nor leisure have, their speeches to fulfil.” At last Pandarus found an occasion for bringing them together at his house unknown to anybody, and put his plan in execution.For he, with great deliberation,Had ev’ry thing that hereto might avail* *be of serviceForecast, and put in execution,And neither left for cost nor for travail;* *effortCome if them list, them shoulde nothing fail,*Nor for to be in aught espied there,That wiste he an impossible were.* *he knew it was impossible*that they could be discovered there*And dreadeless* it clear was in the wind *without doubtOf ev’ry pie, and every let-game; <49>Now all is well, for all this world is blind,In this mattere, bothe fremd* and tame; <50> *wildThis timber is all ready for to frame;Us lacketh naught, but that we weete* wo’ld *knowA certain hour in which we come sho’ld. <51>Troilus had informed his household, that if at any time he was missing, he had gone to worship at a certain temple of Apollo, “and first to see the holy laurel quake, or that the godde spake out of the tree.” So, at the changing of the moon, when “the welkin shope him for to rain,” [when the sky was preparing to rain] Pandarus went to invite his niece to supper; solemnly assuring her that Troilus was out of the town — though all the time he was safely shut up, till midnight, in “a little stew,” whence through a hole he joyously watched the arrival of his mistress and her fair niece Antigone, with half a score of her women. After supper Pandaras did everything to amuse his niece; “he sung, he play’d, he told a tale of Wade;” <52> at last she would take her leave; butThe bente Moone with her hornes pale,Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were, <53>That made such a rain from heav’n avail,* *descendThat ev’ry manner woman that was thereHad of this smoky rain <54> a very fear;At which Pandarus laugh’d, and saide then“Now were it time a lady to go hen!”* *henceHe therefore presses Cressida to remain all night; she complies with a good grace; and after the sleeping cup has gone round, all retire to their chambers — Cressida, that she may not be disturbed by the rain and thunder, being lodged in the “inner closet” of Pandarus, who, to lull suspicion, occupies the outer chamber, his niece’s women sleeping in the intermediate apartment. When all is quiet, Pandarus liberates Troilus, and by a secret passage brings him to the chamber of Cressida; then, going forward alone to his niece, after calming her fears of discovery, he tells her that her lover has “through a gutter, by a privy went,” [a secret passage] come to his house in all this rain, mad with grief because a friend has told him that she loves Horastes. Suddenly cold about her heart, Cressida promises that on the morrow she will reassure her lover; but Pandarus scouts the notion of delay, laughs to scorn her proposal to send her ring in pledge of her truth, and finally, by pitiable accounts of Troilus’ grief, induces her to receive him and reassure him at once with her own lips.This Troilus full soon on knees him set,Full soberly, right by her bedde’s head,And in his beste wise his lady gret* *greetedBut Lord! how she wax’d suddenly all red,And thought anon how that she would be dead;She coulde not one word aright out bring,So suddenly for his sudden coming.Cressida, though thinking that her servant and her knight should not have doubted her truth, yet sought to remove his jealousy, and offered to submit to any ordeal or oath he might impose; then, weeping, she covered her face, and lay silent. “But now,” exclaims the poet —But now help, God, to quenchen all this sorrow!So hope I that he shall, for he best may;For I have seen, of a full misty morrow,* *mornFollowen oft a merry summer’s day,And after winter cometh greene May;Folk see all day, and eke men read in stories,That after sharpe stoures* be victories. *conflicts, strugglesBelieving his mistress to be angry, Troilus felt the cramp of death seize on his heart, “and down he fell all suddenly in swoon.” Pandarus “into bed him cast,” and called on his niece to pull out the thorn that stuck in his heart, by promising that she would “all forgive.” She whispered in his ear the assurance that she was not wroth; and at last, under her caresses, he recovered consciousness, to find her arm laid over him, to hear the assurance of her forgiveness, and receive her frequent kisses. Fresh vows and explanations passed; and Cressida implored forgiveness of “her own sweet heart,” for the pain she had caused him. Surprised with sudden bliss, Troilus put all in God’s hand, and strained his lady fast in his arms. “What might or may the seely [innocent] larke say, when that the sperhawk [sparrowhawk] hath him in his foot?”Cressida, which that felt her thus y-take,As write clerkes in their bookes old,Right as an aspen leaf began to quake,When she him felt her in his armes fold;But Troilus, all *whole of cares cold,* *cured of painful sorrows*<55>Gan thanke then the blissful goddes seven. <56>Thus sundry paines bringe folk to heaven.This Troilus her gan in armes strain,And said, “O sweet, as ever may I go’n,* *prosperNow be ye caught, now here is but we twain,Now yielde you, for other boot* is none.” *remedyTo that Cresside answered thus anon,“N’ had I ere now, my sweete hearte dear,*Been yolden,* y-wis, I were now not here!” *yielded myself*
[In several respects, the story of “Troilus and Cressida” may be regarded as Chaucer’s noblest poem. Larger in scale than any other of his individual works — numbering nearly half as many lines as The Canterbury Tales contain, without reckoning the two in prose — the conception of the poem is yet so closely and harmoniously worked out, that all the parts are perfectly balanced, and from first to last scarcely a single line is superfluous or misplaced. The finish and beauty of the poem as a work of art, are not more conspicuous than the knowledge of human nature displayed in the portraits of the principal characters. The result is, that the poem is more modern, in form and in spirit, than almost any other work of its author; the chaste style and sedulous polish of the stanzas admit of easy change into the forms of speech now current in England; while the analytical and subjective character of the work gives it, for the nineteenth century reader, an interest of the same kind as that inspired, say, by George Eliot’s wonderful study of character in “Romola.” Then, above all, “Troilus and Cressida” is distinguished by a purity and elevation of moral tone, that may surprise those who judge of Chaucer only by the coarse traits of his time preserved in The Canterbury Tales, or who may expect to find here the Troilus, the Cressida, and the Pandarus of Shakspeare’s play. It is to no trivial gallant, no woman of coarse mind and easy virtue, no malignantly subservient and utterly debased procurer, that Chaucer introduces us. His Troilus is a noble, sensitive, generous, pure- souled, manly, magnanimous hero, who is only confirmed and stimulated in all virtue by his love, who lives for his lady, and dies for her falsehood, in a lofty and chivalrous fashion. His Cressida is a stately, self-contained, virtuous, tender-hearted woman, who loves with all the pure strength and trustful abandonment of a generous and exalted nature, and who is driven to infidelity perhaps even less by pressure of circumstances, than by the sheer force of her love, which will go on loving — loving what it can have, when that which it would rather have is for the time unattainable. His Pandarus is a gentleman, though a gentleman with a flaw in him; a man who, in his courtier-like good-nature, places the claims of comradeship above those of honour, and plots away the virtue of his niece, that he may appease the love-sorrow of his friend; all the time conscious that he is not acting as a gentleman should, and desirous that others should give him that justification which he can get but feebly and diffidently in himself. In fact, the “Troilus and Cressida” of Chaucer is the “Troilus and Cressida” of Shakespeare transfigured; the atmosphere, the colour, the spirit, are wholly different; the older poet presents us in the chief characters to noble natures, the younger to ignoble natures in all the characters; and the poem with which we have now to do stands at this day among the noblest expositions of love’s workings in the human heart and life. It is divided into five books, containing altogether 8246 lines. The First Book (1092 lines) tells how Calchas, priest of Apollo, quitting beleaguered Troy, left there his only daughter Cressida; how Troilus, the youngest brother of Hector and son of King Priam, fell in love with her at first sight, at a festival in the temple of Pallas, and sorrowed bitterly for her love; and how his friend, Cressida’s uncle, Pandarus, comforted him by the promise of aid in his suit. The Second Book (1757 lines) relates the subtle manoeuvres of Pandarus to induce Cressida to return the love of Troilus; which he accomplishes mainly by touching at once the lady’s admiration for his heroism, and her pity for his love-sorrow on her account. The Third Book (1827 lines) opens with an account of the first interview between the lovers; ere it closes, the skilful stratagems of Pandarus have placed the pair in each other’s arms under his roof, and the lovers are happy in perfect enjoyment of each other’s love and trust. In the Fourth Book (1701 lines) the course of true love ceases to run smooth; Cressida is compelled to quit the city, in ransom for Antenor, captured in a skirmish; and she sadly departs to the camp of the Greeks, vowing that she will make her escape, and return to Troy and Troilus within ten days. The Fifth Book (1869 lines) sets out by describing the court which Diomedes, appointed to escort her, pays to Cressida on the way to the camp; it traces her gradual progress from indifference to her new suitor, to incontinence with him, and it leaves the deserted Troilus dead on the field of battle, where he has sought an eternal refuge from the new grief provoked by clear proof of his mistress’s infidelity. The polish, elegance, and power of the style, and the acuteness of insight into character, which mark the poem, seem to claim for it a date considerably later than that adopted by those who assign its composition to Chaucer’s youth: and the literary allusions and proverbial expressions with which it abounds, give ample evidence that, if Chaucer really wrote it at an early age, his youth must have been precocious beyond all actual record. Throughout the poem there are repeated references to the old authors of Trojan histories who are named in “The House of Fame”; but Chaucer especially mentions one Lollius as the author from whom he takes the groundwork of the poem. Lydgate is responsible for the assertion that Lollius meant Boccaccio; and though there is no authority for supposing that the English really meant to designate the Italian poet under that name, there is abundant internal proof that the poem was really founded on the “Filostrato” of Boccaccio. But the tone of Chaucer’s work is much higher than that of his Italian “auctour;” and while in some passages the imitation is very close, in all that is characteristic in “Troilus and Cressida,” Chaucer has fairly thrust his models out of sight. In the present edition, it has been possible to give no more than about one-fourth of the poem — 274 out of the 1178 seven-line stanzas that compose it; but pains have been taken to convey, in the connecting prose passages, a faithful idea of what is perforce omitted.]
THE double sorrow <1> of Troilus to tell,That was the King Priamus’ son of Troy,In loving how his adventures* fell *fortunesFrom woe to weal, and after* out of joy, *afterwardsMy purpose is, ere I you parte froy.* *fromTisiphone,<2> thou help me to inditeThese woeful words, that weep as I do write.
To thee I call, thou goddess of torment!Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain;Help me, that am the sorry instrumentThat helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.* *complainFor well it sits,* the soothe for to sayn, *befitsUnto a woeful wight a dreary fere,* *companionAnd to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.* *countenance
For I, that God of Love’s servants serve,Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,* <3> *unsuitablenessPraye for speed,* although I shoulde sterve,** *success **dieSo far I am from his help in darkness;But natheless, might I do yet gladnessTo any lover, or any love avail,* *advanceHave thou the thank, and mine be the travail.
But ye lovers that bathen in gladness,If any drop of pity in you be,Remember you for old past heaviness,For Godde’s love, and on adversityThat others suffer; think how sometime yeFounde how Love durste you displease;Or elles ye have won it with great ease.
And pray for them that been in the caseOf Troilus, as ye may after hear,That Love them bring in heaven to solace;* *delight, comfortAnd for me pray also, that God so dearMay give me might to show, in some mannere,Such pain or woe as Love’s folk endure,In Troilus’ *unseely adventure* *unhappy fortune*
And pray for them that eke be despair’dIn love, that never will recover’d be;And eke for them that falsely be appair’d* *slanderedThrough wicked tongues, be it he or she:Or thus bid* God, for his benignity, *prayTo grant them soon out of this world to pace,* *pass, goThat be despaired of their love’s grace.
And bid also for them that be at easeIn love, that God them grant perseverance,And send them might their loves so to please,That it to them be *worship and pleasance;* *honour and pleasure*For so hope I my soul best to advance,To pray for them that Love’s servants be,And write their woe, and live in charity;
And for to have of them compassion,As though I were their owen brother dear.Now listen all with good entention,* *attentionFor I will now go straight to my mattere,In which ye shall the double sorrow hearOf Troilus, in loving of Cresside,And how that she forsook him ere she died.
In Troy, during the siege, dwelt “a lord of great authority, a great divine,” named Calchas; who, through the oracle of Apollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away secretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and honoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped to make use. Within the city there was great anger at the treason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his kin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in the city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.
Cressida was this lady’s name aright;*As to my doom,* in alle Troy city *in my judgment*So fair was none, for over ev’ry wightSo angelic was her native beauty,That like a thing immortal seemed she,As sooth a perfect heav’nly creature,That down seem’d sent in scorning of Nature.
In her distress, “well nigh out of her wit for pure fear,” she appealed for protection to Hector; who, “piteous of nature,” and touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of safety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went on; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of their deities; most of all of “the relic hight Palladion, <4> that was their trust aboven ev’ry one.” In April, “when clothed is the mead with newe green, of jolly Ver [Spring] the prime,” the Trojans went to hold the festival of Palladion — crowding to the temple, “in all their beste guise,” lusty knights, fresh ladies, and maidens bright.
Among the which was this Cresseida,In widow’s habit black; but natheless,Right as our firste letter is now A,In beauty first so stood she makeless;* *matchlessHer goodly looking gladded all the press;* *crowdWas never seen thing to be praised derre,* *dearer, more worthyNor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre,* *star
As she was, as they saiden, ev’ry oneThat her behelden in her blacke weed;* *garmentAnd yet she stood, full low and still, alone,Behind all other folk, *in little brede,* *inconspicuously*And nigh the door, ay *under shame’s drede;* *for dread of shame*Simple of bearing, debonair* of cheer, *graciousWith a full sure* looking and mannere. *assured
Dan Troilus, as he was wont to guideHis younge knightes, led them up and downIn that large temple upon ev’ry side,Beholding ay the ladies of the town;Now here, now there, for no devotiounHad he to none, to *reave him* his rest, *deprive him of*But gan to *praise and lacke whom him lest;* *praise and disparagewhom he pleased*And in his walk full fast he gan to wait* *watch, observeIf knight or squier of his companyGan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait* *feedOn any woman that he could espy;Then he would smile, and hold it a folly,And say him thus: “Ah, Lord, she sleepeth softFor love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.
“I have heard told, pardie, of your living,Ye lovers, and your lewed* observance, *ignorant, foolishAnd what a labour folk have in winningOf love, and in it keeping with doubtance;* *doubtAnd when your prey is lost, woe and penance;* *sufferingOh, very fooles! may ye no thing see?Can none of you aware by other be?”
But the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that despite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, “hit him at the full.”
Within the temple went he forth playing,This Troilus, with ev’ry wight about,On this lady and now on that looking,Whether she were of town, or *of without;* *from beyond the walls*And *upon cas* befell, that through the rout* *by chance* *crowdHis eye pierced, and so deep it went,Till on Cresside it smote, and there it stent;* *stayed
And suddenly wax’d wonder sore astoned,* *amazedAnd gan her bet* behold in busy wise: *better“Oh, very god!” <5> thought he; “where hast thou woned* *dweltThat art so fair and goodly to devise?* *describeTherewith his heart began to spread and rise;And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear,And caught again his former *playing cheer.* *jesting demeanour*
*She was not with the least of her stature,* *she was tall*But all her limbes so well answeringWere to womanhood, that creatureWas never lesse mannish in seeming.And eke *the pure wise of her moving* *by very the wayShe showed well, that men might in her guess she moved*Honour, estate,* and womanly nobless. *dignity
Then Troilus right wonder well withalBegan to like her moving and her cheer,* *countenanceWhich somedeal dainous* was, for she let fall *disdainfulHer look a little aside, in such mannereAscaunce* “What! may I not stande here?” *as if to say <6>And after that *her looking gan she light,* *her expression becameThat never thought him see so good a sight. more pleasant*
And of her look in him there gan to quickenSo great desire, and strong affection,That in his hearte’s bottom gan to stickenOf her the fix’d and deep impression;And though he erst* had pored** up and down, *previously **lookedThen was he glad his hornes in to shrink;Unnethes* wist he how to look or wink. *scarcely
Lo! he that held himselfe so cunning,And scorned them that Love’s paines drien,* *sufferWas full unware that love had his dwellingWithin the subtile streames* of her eyen; *rays, glancesThat suddenly he thought he felte dien,Right with her look, the spirit in his heart;Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!
She thus, in black, looking to Troilus,Over all things he stoode to behold;But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus,He neither *cheere made,* nor worde told; *showed by his countenance*But from afar, *his manner for to hold,* *to observe due courtesy*On other things sometimes his look he cast,And eft* <7> on her, while that the service last.** *again **lasted
And after this, not fully all awhaped,* *dauntedOut of the temple all easily be went,Repenting him that ever he had japed* *jestedOf Love’s folk, lest fully the descentOf scorn fell on himself; but what he meant,Lest it were wist on any manner side,His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.
Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and jest at Love’s servants and their pains; but by and by he has to dismiss his attendants, feigning “other busy needs.” Then, alone in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again Cressida’s form as he saw her in the temple — “making a mirror of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figure.” He thinks no travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly woman; and, “full unadvised of his woe coming,”
Thus took he purpose Love’s craft to sue,* *followAnd thought that he would work all privily,First for to hide his desire all *in mew* *in a cage, secretlyFrom every wight y-born, all utterly,*But he might aught recover’d be thereby;* *unless he gained by it*Rememb’ring him, that love *too wide y-blow* *too much spoken of*Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.
And, over all this, muche more he thoughtWhat thing to speak, and what to holden in;And what to arten* her to love, he sought; *constrain <8>And on a song anon right to begin,And gan loud on his sorrow for to win;* *overcomeFor with good hope he gan thus to assent* *resolveCressida for to love, and not repent.
The Song of Troilus. <9>
“If no love is, O God! why feel I so?And if love is, what thing and which is he?If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh meWhence ev’ry torment and adversityThat comes of love *may to me savoury think:* *seem acceptable to me*For more I thirst the more that I drink.
“And if I *at mine owen luste bren* *burn by my own will*From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?If maugre me,<10> *whereto plain I* then? *to what avail do I complain?*I wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint. *neitherO quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint!* *strangeHow may I see in me such quantity,But if that I consent that so it be?
“And if that I consent, I wrongfullyComplain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,All starreless within a boat am I,Middes the sea, betwixte windes two,That in contrary standen evermo’.Alas! what wonder is this malady! —For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”
Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida — though he yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess — Troilus, in spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown; then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he was now consumed with a new fear — lest she loved some other man. Bewailing his sad lot — ensnared, exposed to the scorn of those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him with some kind look — Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his friend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus’ cruelty in hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend’s desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus could never govern himself in love.
“Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,” quoth Pandare,“Though I be nice;* it happens often so, *foolishThat one that access* doth full evil fare, *in an access of feverBy good counsel can keep his friend therefro’.I have my selfe seen a blind man goWhere as he fell that looke could full wide;A fool may eke a wise man often guide.
“A whetstone is no carving instrument,But yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles;And, if thou know’st that I have aught miswent,* *erred, failedEschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is. *schooling, lessonThus oughte wise men to beware by fooles;If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared;By its contrary is everything declared.
“For how might ever sweetness have been know To him that never tasted bitterness? And no man knows what gladness is, I trow, That never was in sorrow or distress: Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness, Each set by other, *more for other seemeth,* *its quality is made As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.” more obvious by the contrast* Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments, reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is called Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.
“For thilke* ground, that bears the weedes wick’ *that sameBears eke the wholesome herbes, and full oftNext to the foule nettle, rough and thick,The lily waxeth,* white, and smooth, and soft; *growsAnd next the valley is the hill aloft,And next the darke night is the glad morrow,And also joy is next the fine* of sorrow.” *end, border
Pandarus holds out to Troilus good hope of achieving his desire; and tells him that, since he has been converted from his wicked rebellion against Love, he shall be made the best post of all Love’s law, and most grieve Love’s enemies. Troilus gives utterance to a hint of fear; but he is silenced by Pandarus with another proverb — “Thou hast full great care, lest that the carl should fall out of the moon.” Then the lovesick youth breaks into a joyous boast that some of the Greeks shall smart; he mounts his horse, and plays the lion in the field; while Pandarus retires to consider how he may best recommend to his niece the suit of Troilus.
IN the Proem to the Second Book, the poet hails the clear weather that enables him to sail out of those black waves in which his boat so laboured that he could scarcely steer — that is, “the tempestuous matter of despair, that Troilus was in; but now of hope the kalendes begin.” He invokes the aid of Clio; excuses himself to every lover for what may be found amiss in a book which he only translates; and, obviating any lover’s objection to the way in which Troilus obtained his lady’s grace - - through Pandarus’ mediation — says it seems to him no wonderful thing:
“For ev’ry wighte that to Rome wentHeld not one path, nor alway one mannere;Eke in some lands were all the game y-shentIf that men far’d in love as men do here,As thus, in open dealing and in cheer,In visiting, in form, or saying their saws;* *speechesFor thus men say: Each country hath its laws.
“Eke scarcely be there in this place threeThat have in love done or said *like in all;”* *alike in all respects*
And so that which the poem relates may not please the reader — but it actually was done, or it shall yet be done. The Book sets out with the visit of Pandarus to Cressida:—
In May, that mother is of monthes glade,* *gladWhen all the freshe flowers, green and red,Be quick* again, that winter deade made, *aliveAnd full of balm is floating ev’ry mead;When Phoebus doth his brighte beames spreadRight in the white Bull, so it betid* *happenedAs I shall sing, on Maye’s day the thrid, <11>
That Pandarus, for all his wise speech,Felt eke his part of Love’s shottes keen,That, could he ne’er so well of Love preach,It made yet his hue all day full green;* *paleSo *shope it,* that him fell that day a teen* *it happened* *accessIn love, for which full woe to bed he went,And made ere it were day full many a went.* *turning <12>
The swallow Progne, <13> with a sorrowful lay,When morrow came, gan make her waimenting,* *lamentingWhy she foshapen* was; and ever lay *transformedPandare a-bed, half in a slumbering,Till she so nigh him made her chittering,How Tereus gan forth her sister take,That with the noise of her he did awake,
And gan to call, and dress* him to arise, *prepareRememb’ring him his errand was to do’nFrom Troilus, and eke his great emprise;And cast, and knew in *good plight* was the Moon *favourable aspect*To do voyage, and took his way full soonUnto his niece’s palace there besideNow Janus, god of entry, thou him guide!
Pandarus finds his niece, with two other ladies, in a paved parlour, listening to a maiden who reads aloud the story of the Siege of Thebes. Greeting the company, he is welcomed by Cressida, who tells him that for three nights she has dreamed of him. After some lively talk about the book they had been reading, Pandarus asks his niece to do away her hood, to show her face bare, to lay aside the book, to rise up and dance, “and let us do to May some observance.” Cressida cries out, “God forbid!” and asks if he is mad — if that is a widow’s life, whom it better becomes to sit in a cave and read of holy saints’ lives. Pandarus intimates that he could tell her something which could make her merry; but he refuses to gratify her curiosity; and, by way of the siege and of Hector, “that was the towne’s wall, and Greekes’ yerd” or scourging-rod, the conversation is brought round to Troilus, whom Pandarus highly extols as “the wise worthy Hector the second.” She has, she says, already heard Troilus praised for his bravery “of them that her were liefest praised be” [by whom it would be most welcome to her to be praised].
“Ye say right sooth, y-wis,” quoth Pandarus;For yesterday, who so had with him been,Might have wonder’d upon Troilus;For never yet so thick a swarm of been* *beesNe flew, as did of Greekes from him flee’n;And through the field, in ev’ry wighte’s ear,There was no cry but ‘Troilus is here.’
“Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast,There was but Greekes’ blood; and TroilusNow him he hurt, now him adown he cast;Ay where he went it was arrayed thus:He was their death, and shield of life for us,That as that day there durst him none withstand,While that he held his bloody sword in hand.”
Pandarus makes now a show of taking leave, but Cressida detains him, to speak of her affairs; then, the business talked over, he would again go, but first again asks his niece to arise and dance, and cast her widow’s garments to mischance, because of the glad fortune that has befallen her. More curious than ever, she seeks to find out Pandarus’ secret; but he still parries her curiosity, skilfully hinting all the time at her good fortune, and the wisdom of seizing on it when offered. In the end he tells her that the noble Troilus so loves her, that with her it lies to make him live or die — but if Troilus dies, Pandarus shall die with him; and then she will have “fished fair.” <14> He beseeches mercy for his friend:
“*Woe worth* the faire gemme virtueless! <15> *evil befall!*Woe worth the herb also that *doth no boot!* *has no remedial power*Woe worth the beauty that is rutheless!* *mercilessWoe worth that wight that treads each under foot!And ye that be of beauty *crop and root* *perfection <16>If therewithal in you there be no ruth,* *pityThen is it harm ye live, by my truth!”
Pandarus makes only the slight request that she will show Troilus somewhat better cheer, and receive visits from him, that his life may be saved; urging that, although a man be soon going to the temple, nobody will think that he eats the images; and that “such love of friends reigneth in all this town.”
Cressida, which that heard him in this wise,Thought: “I shall feele* what he means, y-wis;” *test“Now, eme* quoth she, “what would ye me devise? *uncleWhat is your rede* that I should do of this?” *counsel, opinion“That is well said,” quoth he;” certain best it isThat ye him love again for his loving,As love for love is *skilful guerdoning.* *reasonable recompense*
“Think eke how elde* wasteth ev’ry hour *ageIn each of you a part of your beauty;And therefore, ere that age do you devour,Go love, for, old, there will no wight love theeLet this proverb a lore* unto you be: *lesson‘“Too late I was ware,” quoth beauty when it past;And *elde daunteth danger* at the last.’ *old age overcomes disdain*
“The kinge’s fool is wont to cry aloud, When that he thinks a woman bears her high, ‘So longe may ye liven, and all proud, Till crowes’ feet be wox* under your eye! *grown And send you then a mirror *in to pry* *to look in* In which ye may your face see a-morrow!* *in the morning *I keep then wishe you no more sorrow.’”* *I care to wish you nothing worse* Weeping, Cressida reproaches her uncle for giving her such counsel; whereupon Pandarus, starting up, threatens to kill himself, and would fain depart, but that his niece detains him, and, with much reluctance, promises to “make Troilus good cheer in honour.” Invited by Cressida to tell how first he know her lover’s woe, Pandarus then relates two soliloquies which he had accidentally overheard, and in which Troilus had poured out all the sorrow of his passion.
With this he took his leave, and home he wentAh! Lord, so was he glad and well-begone!* *happyCresside arose, no longer would she stent,* *stayBut straight into her chamber went anon,And sat her down, as still as any stone,And ev’ry word gan up and down to windThat he had said, as it came to her mind.
And wax’d somedeal astonish’d in her thought,Right for the newe case; but when that she*Was full advised,* then she found right naught *had fully considered*Of peril, why she should afeared be:For a man may love, of possibility,A woman so, that his heart may to-brest,* *break utterlyAnd she not love again, *but if her lest.* *unless it so please her*
But as she sat alone, and thoughte thus,In field arose a skirmish all without;And men cried in the street then:”Troilus hath right now put to flight the Greekes’ rout.”* *hostWith that gan all the meinie* for to shout: *(Cressida’s) household“Ah! go we see, cast up the lattice wide,For through this street he must to palace ride;
“For other way is from the gates none,Of Dardanus,<18> where open is the chain.” <19>With that came he, and all his folk anon,An easy pace riding, in *routes twain,* *two troops*Right as his *happy day* was, sooth to sayn: *good fortune <20>*For which men say may not disturbed beWhat shall betiden* of necessity. *happen
This Troilus sat upon his bay steedAll armed, save his head, full richely,And wounded was his horse, and gan to bleed,For which he rode a pace full softelyBut such a knightly sighte* truly *aspectAs was on him, was not, withoute fail,To look on Mars, that god is of Battaile.
So like a man of armes, and a knight,He was to see, full fill’d of high prowess;For both he had a body, and a mightTo do that thing, as well as hardiness;* *courageAnd eke to see him in his gear* him dress, *armourSo fresh, so young, so wieldy* seemed he, *activeIt was a heaven on him for to see.* *look
His helmet was to-hewn in twenty places,That by a tissue* hung his back behind; *ribandHis shield to-dashed was with swords and maces,In which men might many an arrow find,That thirled* had both horn, and nerve, and rind; <21> *piercedAnd ay the people cried, “Here comes our joy,And, next his brother, <22> holder up of Troy.”
For which he wax’d a little red for shame,When he so heard the people on him cryenThat to behold it was a noble game,How soberly he cast adown his eyen:Cresside anon gan all his cheer espien,And let it in her heart so softly sink,That to herself she said, “Who gives me drink?”<23>
For of her owen thought she wax’d all red,Rememb’ring her right thus: “Lo! this is heWhich that mine uncle swears he might be dead,But* I on him have mercy and pity:” *unlessAnd with that thought for pure shame sheGan in her head to pull, and that full fast,While he and all the people forth by pass’d.
And gan to cast,* and rollen up and down *ponderWithin her thought his excellent prowess,And his estate, and also his renown,His wit, his shape, and eke his gentlenessBut most her favour was, for his distressWas all for her, and thought it were ruthTo slay such one, if that he meant but truth.
. . . . . . . . . .
And, Lord! so gan she in her heart argueOf this mattere, of which I have you toldAnd what to do best were, and what t’eschew,That plaited she full oft in many a fold.<24>Now was her hearte warm, now was it cold.And what she thought of, somewhat shall I write,As to mine author listeth to endite.
She thoughte first, that Troilus’ personShe knew by sight, and eke his gentleness;And saide thus: *“All were it not to do’n,’* *although it wereTo grant him love, yet for the worthiness impossible*It were honour, with play* and with gladness, *pleasing entertainmentIn honesty with such a lord to deal,For mine estate,* and also for his heal.** *reputation **health
“Eke well I wot* my kinge’s son is he; *knowAnd, since he hath to see me such delight,If I would utterly his sighte flee,Parauntre* he might have me in despite, *peradventureThrough which I mighte stand in worse plight. <25>Now were I fool, me hate to purchase* *obtain for myselfWithoute need, where I may stand in grace,* *favour
“In ev’rything, I wot, there lies measure;* *a happy mediumFor though a man forbidde drunkenness,He not forbids that ev’ry creatureBe drinkeless for alway, as I guess;Eke, since I know for me is his distress,I oughte not for that thing him despise,Since it is so he meaneth in good wise.
“Now set a case, that hardest is, y-wis,Men mighte deeme* that he loveth me; *believeWhat dishonour were it unto me, this?May I *him let of* that? Why, nay, pardie! *prevent him from*I know also, and alway hear and see,Men love women all this town about;Be they the worse? Why, nay, withoute doubt!
“Nor me to love a wonder is it not;For well wot I myself, so God me speed! —*All would I* that no man wist of this thought — *although I would*I am one of the fairest, without drede,* *doubtAnd goodlieste, who so taketh heed;And so men say in all the town of Troy;What wonder is, though he on me have joy?
“I am mine owen woman, well at ease,I thank it God, as after mine estate,Right young, and stand untied in *lusty leas,* *pleasant leashWithoute jealousy, or such debate: (of love)*Shall none husband say to me checkmate;For either they be full of jealousy,Or masterful, or love novelty.
“What shall I do? to what fine* live I thus? *endShall I not love, in case if that me lest?What? pardie! I am not religious;<26>And though that I mine hearte set at restAnd keep alway mine honour and my name,By all right I may do to me no shame.”
But right as when the sunne shineth brightIn March, that changeth oftentime his face,And that a cloud is put with wind to flight,Which overspreads the sun as for a space;A cloudy thought gan through her hearte pace,* *passThat overspread her brighte thoughtes all,So that for fear almost she gan to fall.
The cloudy thought is of the loss of liberty and security, the stormy life, and the malice of wicked tongues, that love entails:
[But] after that her thought began to clear,And saide, “He that nothing undertakesNothing achieveth, be him *loth or dear.”* *unwilling or desirous*And with another thought her hearte quakes;Then sleepeth hope, and after dread awakes,Now hot, now cold; but thus betwixt the tway* *twoShe rist* her up, and wente forth to play.** *rose **take recreation
Adown the stair anon right then she wentInto a garden, with her nieces three,And up and down they made many a went,* *winding, turn <12>Flexippe and she, Tarke, Antigone,To playe, that it joy was for to see;And other of her women, a great rout,* *troopHer follow’d in the garden all about.
This yard was large, and railed the alleys,And shadow’d well with blossomy boughes green,And benched new, and sanded all the ways,In which she walked arm and arm between;Till at the last Antigone the sheen* *bright, lovelyGan on a Trojan lay to singe clear,That it a heaven was her voice to hear.
Antigone’s song is of virtuous love for a noble object; and it is singularly fitted to deepen the impression made on the mind of Cressida by the brave aspect of Troilus, and by her own cogitations. The singer, having praised the lover and rebuked the revilers of love, proceeds:
“What is the Sunne worse of his *kind right,* *true nature*Though that a man, for feebleness of eyen,May not endure to see on it for bright? <27>Or Love the worse, tho’ wretches on it cryen?No weal* is worth, that may no sorrow drien;** <28> *happiness **endureAnd forthy,* who that hath a head of verre,** *therefore **glass <29>From cast of stones ware him in the werre. <30>
“But I, with all my heart and all my might,As I have lov’d, will love unto my lastMy deare heart, and all my owen knight,In which my heart y-growen is so fast,And his in me, that it shall ever last*All dread I* first to love him begin, *although I feared*Now wot I well there is no pain therein.”
Cressida sighs, and asks Antigone whether there is such bliss among these lovers, as they can fair endite; Antigone replies confidently in the affirmative; and Cressida answers nothing, “but every worde which she heard she gan to printen in her hearte fast.” Night draws on:
The daye’s honour, and the heaven’s eye,The nighte’s foe, — all this call I the Sun, —Gan westren* fast, and downward for to wry,** *go west <31> **turnAs he that had his daye’s course y-run;And white thinges gan to waxe dunFor lack of light, and starres to appear;Then she and all her folk went home in fere.* *in company
So, when it liked her to go to rest,And voided* were those that voiden ought, *gone out (of the house)She saide, that to sleepe well her lest.* *pleasedHer women soon unto her bed her brought;When all was shut, then lay she still and thoughtOf all these things the manner and the wise;Rehearse it needeth not, for ye be wise.
A nightingale upon a cedar green,Under the chamber wall where as she lay,Full loude sang against the moone sheen,Parauntre,* in his birde’s wise, a lay *perchanceOf love, that made her hearte fresh and gay;Hereat hark’d* she so long in good intent, *listenedTill at the last the deade sleep her hent.* *seized
And as she slept, anon right then *her mette* *she dreamed*How that an eagle, feather’d white as bone,Under her breast his longe clawes set,And out her heart he rent, and that anon,And did* his heart into her breast to go’n, *causedOf which no thing she was *abash’d nor smert;* *amazed nor hurt*And forth he flew, with hearte left for heart.
Leaving Cressida to sleep, the poet returns to Troilus and his zealous friend — with whose stratagems to bring the two lovers together the remainder of the Second Book is occupied. Pandarus counsels Troilus to write a letter to his mistress, telling her how he “fares amiss,” and “beseeching her of ruth;” he will bear the letter to his niece; and, if Troilus will ride past Cressida’s house, he will find his mistress and his friend sitting at a window. Saluting Pandarus, and not tarrying, his passage will give occasion for some talk of him, which may make his ears glow. With respect to the letter, Pandarus gives some shrewd hints:
“Touching thy letter, thou art wise enough,I wot thou *n’ilt it dignely endite* *wilt not write it haughtily*Or make it with these argumentes tough,Nor scrivener-like, nor craftily it write;Beblot it with thy tears also a lite;* *littleAnd if thou write a goodly word all soft,Though it be good, rehearse it not too oft.
“For though the beste harper *pon live* *aliveWould on the best y-sounded jolly harpThat ever was, with all his fingers fiveTouch ay one string, or *ay one warble harp,* *always play one tune*Were his nailes pointed ne’er so sharp,He shoulde maken ev’ry wight to dull* *to grow boredTo hear his glee, and of his strokes full.
“Nor jompre* eke no discordant thing y-fere,** *jumble **togetherAs thus, to use termes of physic;In love’s termes hold of thy mattereThe form alway, and *do that it be like;* *make it consistent*For if a painter woulde paint a pikeWith ass’s feet, and head it as an ape,<32>It *’cordeth not,* so were it but a jape.” *is not harmonious*
Troilus writes the letter, and next morning Pandarus bears it to Cressida. She refuses to receive “scrip or bill that toucheth such mattere;” but he thrusts it into her bosom, challenging her to throw it away. She retains it, takes the first opportunity of escaping to her chamber to read it, finds it wholly good, and, under her uncle’s dictation, endites a reply telling her lover that she will not make herself bound in love; “but as his sister, him to please, she would aye fain [be glad] to do his heart an ease.” Pandarus, under pretext of inquiring who is the owner of the house opposite, has gone to the window; Cressida takes her letter to him there, and tells him that she never did a thing with more pain than write the words to which he had constrained her. As they sit side by side, on a stone of jasper, on a cushion of beaten gold, Troilus rides by, in all his goodliness. Cressida waxes “as red as rose,” as she sees him salute humbly, “with dreadful cheer, and oft his hues mue [change];” she likes “all y-fere, his person, his array, his look, his cheer, his goodly manner, and his gentleness;” so that, however she may have been before, “to goode hope now hath she caught a thorn, she shall not pull it out this nexte week.” Pandarus, striking the iron when it is hot, asks his niece to grant Troilus an interview; but she strenuously declines, for fear of scandal, and because it is all too soon to allow him so great a liberty — her purpose being to love him unknown of all, “and guerdon [reward] him with nothing but with sight.” Pandarus has other intentions; and, while Troilus writes daily letters with increasing love, he contrives the means of an interview. Seeking out Deiphobus, the brother of Troilus, he tells him that Cressida is in danger of violence from Polyphete, and asks protection for her. Deiphobus gladly complies, promises the protection of Hector and Helen, and goes to invite Cressida to dinner on the morrow. Meantime Pandarus instructs Troilus to go to the house of Deiphobus, plead an access of his fever for remaining all night, and keep his chamber next day. “Lo,” says the crafty promoter of love, borrowing a phrase from the hunting-field; “Lo, hold thee at thy tristre [tryst <33>] close, and I shall well the deer unto thy bowe drive.” Unsuspicious of stratagem, Cressida comes to dinner; and at table, Helen, Pandarus, and others, praise the absent Troilus, until “her heart laughs” for very pride that she has the love of such a knight. After dinner they speak of Cressida’s business; all confirm Deiphobus’ assurances of protection and aid; and Pandarus suggests that, since Troilus is there, Cressida shall herself tell him her case. Helen and Deiphobus alone accompany Pandarus to Troilus’ chamber; there Troilus produces some documents relating to the public weal, which Hector has sent for his opinion; Helen and Deiphobus, engrossed in perusal and discussion, roam out of the chamber, by a stair, into the garden; while Pandarus goes down to the hall, and, pretending that his brother and Helen are still with Troilus, brings Cressida to her lover. The Second Book leaves Pandarus whispering in his niece’s ear counsel to be merciful and kind to her lover, that hath for her such pain; while Troilus lies “in a kankerdort,” <34> hearing the whispering without, and wondering what he shall say for this “was the first time that he should her pray of love; O! mighty God! what shall he say?”
To the Third Book is prefixed a beautiful invocation of Venus, under the character of light:
O Blissful light, of which the beames clearAdornen all the thirde heaven fair!O Sunne’s love, O Jove’s daughter dear!Pleasance of love, O goodly debonair,* *lovely and gracious*In gentle heart ay* ready to repair!** *always **enter and abideO very* cause of heal** and of gladness, *true **welfareY-heried* be thy might and thy goodness! *praised
In heav’n and hell, in earth and salte sea.Is felt thy might, if that I well discern;As man, bird, beast, fish, herb, and greene tree,They feel in times, with vapour etern, <35>God loveth, and to love he will not wern forbidAnd in this world no living creatureWithoute love is worth, or may endure. <36>
Ye Jove first to those effectes glad,Through which that thinges alle live and be,Commended; and him amorous y-madeOf mortal thing; and as ye list,* ay ye *pleasedGave him, in love, ease* or adversity, *pleasureAnd in a thousand formes down him sentFor love in earth; and *whom ye list he hent.* *he seized whom youwished*Ye fierce Mars appeasen of his ire,And as you list ye make heartes dign* <37> *worthyAlgates* them that ye will set afire, *at all eventsThey dreade shame, and vices they resignYe do* him courteous to be, and benign; *make, causeAnd high or low, after* a wight intendeth, *according asThe joyes that he hath your might him sendeth.
Ye holde realm and house in unity;Ye soothfast* cause of friendship be also; *trueYe know all thilke *cover’d quality* *secret power*Of thinges which that folk on wonder so,When they may not construe how it may goShe loveth him, or why he loveth her,As why this fish, not that, comes to the weir.*<38> *fish-trap
Knowing that Venus has set a law in the universe, that whoso strives with her shall have the worse, the poet prays to be taught to describe some of the joy that is felt in her service; and the Third Book opens with an account of the scene between Troilus and Cressida:
Lay all this meane while TroilusRecording* his lesson in this mannere; *memorizing*“My fay!”* thought he, “thus will I say, and thus; *by my faith!*Thus will I plain* unto my lady dear; *make my plaintThat word is good; and this shall be my cheerThis will I not forgetten in no wise;”God let him worken as he can devise.
And, Lord! so as his heart began to quap,* *quake, pantHearing her coming, and *short for to sike;* *make short sighs*And Pandarus, that led her by the lap,* *skirtCame near, and gan in at the curtain pick,* *peepAnd saide: “God do boot* alle sick! *afford a remedy toSee who is here you coming to visite;Lo! here is she that is *your death to wite!”* *to blame for your death*
Therewith it seemed as he wept almost.“Ah! ah! God help!” quoth Troilus ruefully;“Whe’er* me be woe, O mighty God, thou know’st! *whetherWho is there? for I see not truely.”“Sir,” quoth Cresside, “it is Pandare and I;“Yea, sweete heart? alas, I may not riseTo kneel and do you honour in some wise.”
And dressed him upward, and she right tho* *thenGan both her handes soft upon him lay.“O! for the love of God, do ye not soTo me,” quoth she; “ey! what is this to say?For come I am to you for causes tway;* *twoFirst you to thank, and of your lordship ekeContinuance* I woulde you beseek.”** *protection **beseech
This Troilus, that heard his lady prayHim of lordship, wax’d neither quick nor dead;Nor might one word for shame to it say, <39>Although men shoulde smiten off his head.But, Lord! how he wax’d suddenly all red!And, Sir, his lesson, that he *ween’d have con,* *thought he knewTo praye her, was through his wit y-run. by heart*
Cresside all this espied well enow, —For she was wise, — and lov’d him ne’er the less,All n’ere he malapert, nor made avow,Nor was so bold to sing a foole’s mass;<40>But, when his shame began somewhat to pass,His wordes, as I may my rhymes hold,I will you tell, as teache bookes old.
In changed voice, right for his very dread,Which voice eke quak’d, and also his mannereGoodly* abash’d, and now his hue is red, *becominglyNow pale, unto Cresside, his lady dear,With look downcast, and humble *yielden cheer,* *submissive face*Lo! *altherfirste word that him astert,* *the first word he said*Was twice: “Mercy, mercy, my dear heart!”
And stent* a while; and when he might *out bring,* *stopped *speak*The nexte was: “God wote, for I have,*As farforthly as I have conning,* *as far as I am able*Been youres all, God so my soule save,And shall, till that I, woeful wight, *be grave;* *die*And though I dare not, cannot, to you plain,Y-wis, I suffer not the lesse pain.
“This much as now, O womanlike wife!I may *out bring,* and if it you displease, *speak out*That shall I wreak* upon mine owne life, *avengeRight soon, I trow, and do your heart an ease,If with my death your heart I may appease:But, since that ye have heard somewhat say,Now reck I never how soon that I dey.” *die
Therewith his manly sorrow to beholdIt might have made a heart of stone to rue;And Pandare wept as he to water wo’ld, <41>And saide, “Woe-begone* be heartes true,” *in woeful plightAnd procur’d* his niece ever new and new, *urged“For love of Godde, make *of him an end,* *put him out of pain*Or slay us both at ones, ere we wend.”* *go
“Ey! what?” quoth she; “by God and by my truth,I know not what ye woulde that I say;”“Ey! what?” quoth he; “that ye have on him ruth,* *pityFor Godde’s love, and do him not to dey.” *die“Now thenne thus,” quoth she, “I would him prayTo telle me the *fine of his intent;* *end of his desire*Yet wist* I never well what that he meant.” *knew
“What that I meane, sweete hearte dear?”Quoth Troilus, “O goodly, fresh, and free!That, with the streames* of your eyne so clear, *beams, glancesYe woulde sometimes *on me rue and see,* *take pity and look on me*And then agreen* that I may be he, *take in good partWithoute branch of vice, in any wise,In truth alway to do you my service,
“As to my lady chief, and right resort,With all my wit and all my diligence;And for to have, right as you list, comfort;Under your yerd,* equal to mine offence, *rod, chastisementAs death, if that *I breake your defence;* *do what youAnd that ye deigne me so much honour, forbid <42>*Me to commanden aught in any hour.
“And I to be your very humble, true,Secret, and in my paines patient,And evermore desire, freshly new,To serven, and be alike diligent,And, with good heart, all wholly your talentReceive in gree,* how sore that me smart; *gladnessLo, this mean I, mine owen sweete heart.”
. . . . . . . . . .
With that she gan her eyen on him* cast, <43> *PandarusFull easily and full debonairly,* *graciously*Advising her,* and hied* not too fast, *considering* **wentWith ne’er a word, but said him softely,“Mine honour safe, I will well truely,And in such form as ye can now devise,Receive him* fully to my service; *Troilus
“Beseeching him, for Godde’s love, that heWould, in honour of truth and gentleness,As I well mean, eke meane well to me;And mine honour, with *wit and business,* *wisdom and zeal*Aye keep; and if I may do him gladness,From henceforth, y-wis I will not feign:Now be all whole, no longer do ye plain.
“But, natheless, this warn I you,” quoth she,“A kinge’s son although ye be, y-wis,Ye shall no more have sovereignetyOf me in love, than right in this case is;Nor will I forbear, if ye do amiss,To wrathe* you, and, while that ye me serve, *be angry with, chideTo cherish you, *right after ye deserve.* *as you deserve*
“And shortly, deare heart, and all my knight,Be glad, and drawe you to lustiness,* *pleasureAnd I shall truely, with all my might,Your bitter turnen all to sweeteness;If I be she that may do you gladness,For ev’ry woe ye shall recover a bliss:”And him in armes took, and gan him kiss.
Pandarus, almost beside himself for joy, falls on his knees to thank Venus and Cupid, declaring that for this miracle he hears all the bells ring; then, with a warning to be ready at his call to meet at his house, he parts the lovers, and attends Cressida while she takes leave of the household — Troilus all the time groaning at the deceit practised on his brother and Helen. When he has got rid of them by feigning weariness, Pandarus returns to the chamber, and spends the night with him in converse. The zealous friend begins to speak “in a sober wise” to Troilus, reminding him of his love-pains now all at an end.
“So that through me thou standest now in wayTo fare well; I say it for no boast;And know’st thou why? For, shame it is to say,For thee have I begun a game to play,Which that I never shall do eft* for other,** *again **anotherAlthough he were a thousand fold my brother.
“That is to say, for thee I am become,Betwixte game and earnest, such a mean* *means, instrumentAs make women unto men to come;Thou know’st thyselfe what that woulde mean;For thee have I my niece, of vices clean,* *pure, devoidSo fully made thy gentleness* to trust, *nobility of natureThat all shall be right *as thyselfe lust.* *as you please*
“But God, that *all wot,* take I to witness, *knows everything*That never this for covetise* I wrought, *greed of gainBut only to abridge* thy distress, *abateFor which well nigh thou diedst, as me thought;But, goode brother, do now as thee ought,For Godde’s love, and keep her out of blame;Since thou art wise, so save thou her name.
“For, well thou know’st, the name yet of her,Among the people, as who saith hallow’d is;For that man is unborn, I dare well swear,That ever yet wist* that she did amiss; *knewBut woe is me, that I, that cause all this,May thinke that she is my niece dear,And I her eme,* and traitor eke y-fere.** *uncle <17> **as well
“And were it wist that I, through mine engine,* *arts, contrivanceHad in my niece put this fantasy* *fancyTo do thy lust,* and wholly to be thine, *pleasureWhy, all the people would upon it cry,And say, that I the worste treacheryDid in this case, that ever was begun,And she fordone,* and thou right naught y-won.” *ruined
Therefore, ere going a step further, Pandarus prays Troilus to give him pledges of secrecy, and impresses on his mind the mischiefs that flow from vaunting in affairs of love. “Of kind,”[by his very nature] he says, no vaunter is to be believed:
“For a vaunter and a liar all is one;As thus: I pose* a woman granteth me *suppose, assumeHer love, and saith that other will she none,And I am sworn to holden it secre,And, after, I go tell it two or three;Y-wis, I am a vaunter, at the least,And eke a liar, for I break my hest.*<44> *promise
“Now looke then, if they be not to blame,Such manner folk; what shall I call them, what?That them avaunt of women, and by name,That never yet behight* them this nor that, *promised (muchNor knowe them no more than mine old hat? less granted)No wonder is, so God me sende heal,* *prosperityThough women dreade with us men to deal!
“I say not this for no mistrust of you,Nor for no wise men, but for fooles nice;* *silly <45>And for the harm that in the world is now,As well for folly oft as for malice;For well wot I, that in wise folk that viceNo woman dreads, if she be well advised;For wise men be by fooles’ harm chastised.”* *corrected, instructed
So Pandarus begs Troilus to keep silent, promises to be true all his days, and assures him that he shall have all that he will in the love of Cressida: “thou knowest what thy lady granted thee; and day is set the charters up to make.”
Who mighte telle half the joy and feastWhich that the soul of Troilus then felt,Hearing th’effect of Pandarus’ behest?His olde woe, that made his hearte swelt,* *faint, dieGan then for joy to wasten and to melt,And all the reheating <46> of his sighes soreAt ones fled, he felt of them no more.
But right so as these *holtes and these hayes,* *woods and hedges*That have in winter deade been and dry,Reveste them in greene, when that May is,When ev’ry *lusty listeth* best to play; *pleasant (one) wishes*Right in that selfe wise, sooth to say,Wax’d suddenly his hearte full of joy,That gladder was there never man in Troy.
Troilus solemnly swears that never, “for all the good that God made under sun,” will he reveal what Pandarus asks him to keep secret; offering to die a thousand times, if need were, and to follow his friend as a slave all his life, in proof of his gratitude.
“But here, with all my heart, I thee beseech,That never in me thou deeme* such folly *judgeAs I shall say; me thoughte, by thy speech,That this which thou me dost for company,* *friendshipI shoulde ween it were a bawdery;* *a bawd’s action*I am not wood, all if I lewed be;* *I am not mad, thoughIt is not one, that wot I well, pardie! I be unlearned*
“But he that goes for gold, or for richess,On such messages, call him *as thee lust;* *what you please*And this that thou dost, call it gentleness,Compassion, and fellowship, and trust;Depart it so, for widewhere is wistHow that there is diversity requer’dBetwixte thinges like, as I have lear’d. <47>
“And that thou know I think it not nor ween,* *supposeThat this service a shame be or a jape, *subject for jeeringI have my faire sister Polyxene,Cassandr’, Helene, or any of the frape;* *set <48>Be she never so fair, or well y-shape,Telle me which thou wilt of ev’ry one,To have for thine, and let me then alone.”
Then, beseeching Pandarus soon to perform out the great enterprise of crowning his love for Cressida, Troilus bade his friend good night. On the morrow Troilus burned as the fire, for hope and pleasure; yet “he not forgot his wise governance [self- control];”
But in himself with manhood gan restrainEach rakel* deed, and each unbridled cheer,** *rash **demeanourThat alle those that live, sooth to sayn,Should not have wist,* by word or by mannere, *suspicionWhat that he meant, as touching this mattere;From ev’ry wight as far as is the cloudHe was, so well dissimulate he could.
And all the while that I now devise* *describe, narrateThis was his life: with all his fulle might,By day he was in Marte’s high service,That is to say, in armes as a knight;And, for the moste part, the longe nightHe lay, and thought how that he mighte serveHis lady best, her thank* for to deserve. *gratitude
I will not swear, although he laye soft,That in his thought he n’as somewhat diseas’d;* *troubledNor that he turned on his pillows oft,And would of that him missed have been seis’d;* *possessedBut in such case men be not alway pleas’d,For aught I wot, no more than was he;That can I deem* of possibility. *judge
But certain is, to purpose for to go,That in this while, as written is in gest,* *the history ofHe saw his lady sometimes, and also these eventsShe with him spake, when that she *durst and lest;* *dared and pleased*And, by their both advice,* as was the best, *consultation*Appointed full warily* in this need, *made careful preparations*So as they durst, how far they would proceed.
But it was spoken in *so short a wise, *so briefly, and always in suchIn such await alway, and in such fear, vigilance and fear of beingLest any wight divinen or devise* found out by anyone*Would of their speech, or to it lay an ear,*That all this world them not so lefe were,* *they wanted more thanAs that Cupido would them grace send anything in the world*To maken of their speeches right an end.
But thilke little that they spake or wrought,His wise ghost* took ay of all such heed, *spiritIt seemed her he wiste what she thoughtWithoute word, so that it was no needTo bid him aught to do, nor aught forbid;For which she thought that love, all* came it late, *althoughOf alle joy had open’d her the gate.
Troilus, by his discretion, his secrecy, and his devotion, made ever a deeper lodgment in Cressida’s heart; so that she thanked God twenty thousand times that she had met with a man who, as she felt, “was to her a wall of steel, and shield from ev’ry displeasance;” while Pandarus ever actively fanned the fire. So passed a “time sweet” of tranquil and harmonious love the only drawback being, that the lovers might not often meet, “nor leisure have, their speeches to fulfil.” At last Pandarus found an occasion for bringing them together at his house unknown to anybody, and put his plan in execution.
For he, with great deliberation,Had ev’ry thing that hereto might avail* *be of serviceForecast, and put in execution,And neither left for cost nor for travail;* *effortCome if them list, them shoulde nothing fail,*Nor for to be in aught espied there,That wiste he an impossible were.* *he knew it was impossible*that they could be discovered there*And dreadeless* it clear was in the wind *without doubtOf ev’ry pie, and every let-game; <49>Now all is well, for all this world is blind,In this mattere, bothe fremd* and tame; <50> *wildThis timber is all ready for to frame;Us lacketh naught, but that we weete* wo’ld *knowA certain hour in which we come sho’ld. <51>
Troilus had informed his household, that if at any time he was missing, he had gone to worship at a certain temple of Apollo, “and first to see the holy laurel quake, or that the godde spake out of the tree.” So, at the changing of the moon, when “the welkin shope him for to rain,” [when the sky was preparing to rain] Pandarus went to invite his niece to supper; solemnly assuring her that Troilus was out of the town — though all the time he was safely shut up, till midnight, in “a little stew,” whence through a hole he joyously watched the arrival of his mistress and her fair niece Antigone, with half a score of her women. After supper Pandaras did everything to amuse his niece; “he sung, he play’d, he told a tale of Wade;” <52> at last she would take her leave; but
The bente Moone with her hornes pale,Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were, <53>That made such a rain from heav’n avail,* *descendThat ev’ry manner woman that was thereHad of this smoky rain <54> a very fear;At which Pandarus laugh’d, and saide then“Now were it time a lady to go hen!”* *hence
He therefore presses Cressida to remain all night; she complies with a good grace; and after the sleeping cup has gone round, all retire to their chambers — Cressida, that she may not be disturbed by the rain and thunder, being lodged in the “inner closet” of Pandarus, who, to lull suspicion, occupies the outer chamber, his niece’s women sleeping in the intermediate apartment. When all is quiet, Pandarus liberates Troilus, and by a secret passage brings him to the chamber of Cressida; then, going forward alone to his niece, after calming her fears of discovery, he tells her that her lover has “through a gutter, by a privy went,” [a secret passage] come to his house in all this rain, mad with grief because a friend has told him that she loves Horastes. Suddenly cold about her heart, Cressida promises that on the morrow she will reassure her lover; but Pandarus scouts the notion of delay, laughs to scorn her proposal to send her ring in pledge of her truth, and finally, by pitiable accounts of Troilus’ grief, induces her to receive him and reassure him at once with her own lips.
This Troilus full soon on knees him set,Full soberly, right by her bedde’s head,And in his beste wise his lady gret* *greetedBut Lord! how she wax’d suddenly all red,And thought anon how that she would be dead;She coulde not one word aright out bring,So suddenly for his sudden coming.
Cressida, though thinking that her servant and her knight should not have doubted her truth, yet sought to remove his jealousy, and offered to submit to any ordeal or oath he might impose; then, weeping, she covered her face, and lay silent. “But now,” exclaims the poet —
But now help, God, to quenchen all this sorrow!So hope I that he shall, for he best may;For I have seen, of a full misty morrow,* *mornFollowen oft a merry summer’s day,And after winter cometh greene May;Folk see all day, and eke men read in stories,That after sharpe stoures* be victories. *conflicts, struggles
Believing his mistress to be angry, Troilus felt the cramp of death seize on his heart, “and down he fell all suddenly in swoon.” Pandarus “into bed him cast,” and called on his niece to pull out the thorn that stuck in his heart, by promising that she would “all forgive.” She whispered in his ear the assurance that she was not wroth; and at last, under her caresses, he recovered consciousness, to find her arm laid over him, to hear the assurance of her forgiveness, and receive her frequent kisses. Fresh vows and explanations passed; and Cressida implored forgiveness of “her own sweet heart,” for the pain she had caused him. Surprised with sudden bliss, Troilus put all in God’s hand, and strained his lady fast in his arms. “What might or may the seely [innocent] larke say, when that the sperhawk [sparrowhawk] hath him in his foot?”
Cressida, which that felt her thus y-take,As write clerkes in their bookes old,Right as an aspen leaf began to quake,When she him felt her in his armes fold;But Troilus, all *whole of cares cold,* *cured of painful sorrows*<55>Gan thanke then the blissful goddes seven. <56>Thus sundry paines bringe folk to heaven.
This Troilus her gan in armes strain,And said, “O sweet, as ever may I go’n,* *prosperNow be ye caught, now here is but we twain,Now yielde you, for other boot* is none.” *remedyTo that Cresside answered thus anon,“N’ had I ere now, my sweete hearte dear,*Been yolden,* y-wis, I were now not here!” *yielded myself*