Geoffrey Chaucer
Book III
1.
O Blissful light, of which the beams clear
adorn all the third heavenfair!
O sun’s beloved, O Jove’s daughter dear,
pleasure of love, O grace of air,
in gentle hearts and ready to live there!
O true cause of health and gladness,
blessed be your power and your goodness!
2.
In heaven and hell, in earth and salt sea
your power is felt, if I truly discern all,
since man, bird, beast, fish, herb and green tree
feel at times your influence eternal.
God loves, and from love will never fall:
And in this world no living creature
without love, has worth, or may endure.
3.
You Jove first to those effects so glad
(through which all things live and be)
brought him, and amorous him made
towards mortal things: and as you wish, ye
gave him in love ease or adversity:
and in a thousand forms down him sent
to love on earth, and where you wished he went.
4.
For you fierce Mars quenched his ire:
and as you wish you make hearts fine:
at least, those that you wish to set on fire,
they fear shame, and vices they resign.
You make them courteous, fresh and benign,
and high or low, whatever a man intends,
the joy he has, your power to him sends.
5.
You hold kingdom and house in unity:
you the true cause of friendship are also:
you know all the secret quality
of things, that folk wonder about so,
when they cannot see why time should show
that she loves him, or why he loves her,
or why this fish, not that one, comes to the weir.
6.
You have set a law for folk in the universe,
and this I know from those that lovers be,
that they who work against you have the worse
of it: now, lady bright, of your benignity,
in reverence to those who serve thee,
whose clerk I am, now teach me to write true
some of the joy folk feel in serving you.
7.
Do you into my naked heart sentiment
infuse, and show me of your sweetness. –
Calliope, your voice now be present,
for now it is needed: see you not my distress,
how I must tell right now of the gladness
of Troilus, all for Venus’s honouring?
To which gladness him who has need God bring.
8.
All this time meanwhile lay Troilus
rehearsing his lesson in this manner:
‘My faith!’ thought he, ‘this I will say, and thus:
thus will I entreat my lady dear:
that word is good, and this shall be my cheer:
this I must not forget, any wise.’
God grant it all works out as he shall devise.
9.
And lord, how fast his heart began to beat,
hearing her coming, and he heaved a sigh!
And Pandarus, that led her, by and by,
came near and began in at the curtain to spy,
and said: ‘God give health to those who die!
See, who is here coming to visit you:
Lo, here is she that is your death too.
10.
At that it seemed as if he wept almost.
‘Ah,’ said Troilus, so ruefully,
‘whether I am woeful, O mighty God you know’st.
Who is there? I can see nothing, truly.’
‘Sir,’ said Cressid, ‘it is Pandar and I.’
‘You, sweet heart? Alas I may not rise
to kneel and do you honour, in any guise.’
11.
And he raised him upward, and she right so
began her soft hands both on him to lay:
‘Oh, for the love of God, do you not so
for me,’ she said, ‘ah! what do you say?
Sire, I come to you for two causes today:
first to thank you, and from your lordship seek
the continuing protection I beseech.’
12.
At this, Troilus, who heard his lady pray
for his support, was neither quick nor dead,
nor, for shame, might to her one word say,
even if men should strike off his head.
But lord! he blushed so suddenly red,
and sire, his lessons, that he thought he knew
in how to speak to her, his wits ran through.
13.
Cressid all this spied out well enough,
for she was wise, and loved him nonetheless
though he was not forward, nor seemed tough,
nor bold enough to sing a fool a mass.
But as his shame began somewhat to pass,
his words, as long as my rhymes hold,
I will tell you, as teach the books of old.
14.
In altered voice, truly because of dread,
which voice shook, and therefore his manner
was greatly abased, and now his colour red,
now pale, to Cressid, his lady dear,
with look downcast and humble cheer,
lo, the very first words that from him start
are twice: ‘Mercy, mercy, sweet heart.’
15.
And he was silent a while, and when he could bring
himself to speak, said: God knows, that I have
as faithfully as I have had it in my enabling,
been yours (so God my soul save)
and shall, till I, poor wretch, am in my grave.
And though I dare not, and cannot, complain
to you, it’s true that none the less I suffer pain.
16.
This is as much, now, O womanly one,
as I may say: and if this does you displease,
I will avenge it on my own life, right soon
I think, and set your heart at ease,
if with my death your heart I can appease.
But since you have heard me have my say,
now I care not how soon I pass away.’
17.
With that his manly sorrow to behold,
might have left a heart of stone in pain:
and Pandar wept as if he might melt, all told,
and nudged his niece again and again,
and said: ‘True hearts are woebegone!
For love of God make of this thing an end,
and slay us both at once before you wend.’
18.
‘I? What?’ said she: ‘by God and by my truth,
I do not know what you would have me say.’
‘I? What?’ said he: ‘that on him you have ruth,
for God’s love, and let him not fade away.’
‘Now then, thus,’ she said, ‘I will him pray
to tell me the object of his intent:
I never knew yet quite what he meant.’
19.
‘What I might mean, O sweet heart dear?’
said Troilus, ‘O lovely, fresh and free!
That with the streams of your eyes clear
you might look some time friendly on me,
and then agree that I may be he,
without a trace of vice in any way,
who might in truth serve you every day.
20.
As towards my own lady and chief resort,
with all my wit and all my diligence,
and I to have, at your will, comfort,
subject to your punishment, equal to my offence,
even death, if I fail in your defence:
and that you deign to show me so much honour,
as to command me aught at any hour.
21.
And I to be yours, very humble, true,
secret, and in the pains I take patient,
and ever more desire fresh anew
to serve, and ever likewise diligent,
and with good heart all wholly bent
on obeying your wishes, however they smart:
lo, I mean this, my own sweet heart.’
22.
Said Pandarus: ‘Lo, here’s a hard request,
and reasonable, for a lady to spurn!
Now, my niece, by Jove’s natal feast,
were I a god, your death you would earn,
who hear clearly this man will only burn
for your honour, and see him almost die too,
and yet are so loth to suffer him to serve you.’
23.
With that she began her eye on him to cast
all pleasantly and all graciously,
considering, and went not too fast
with her words, but said to him softly:
‘Mine honour excepted, I will truly,
and in such form as he can now devise,
accept him fully as servant, in my eyes .
24.
Beseeching him, for God’s love that he
will, in honour of truth and nobleness,
as I mean well, so mean well to me,
and my honour with wit and finesse
always guard: and if I may do him gladness,
from here on, then I will not feign:
now all be whole, no longer complain.
25.
But nevertheless, I warn you,’ said she,
‘king’s son though you be, in this
you shall no more have sovereignty
over me in love than right in such case is.
Nor will I forbear, if you do amiss,
to be angry with you: but while you me serve
cherish you truly as you deserve.
26.
And in short, dear heart and all my knight,
be glad, and regain your lustiness,
and I shall truly, with all my might,
your bitterness turn all to sweetness.
If I be she that may bring you gladness,
for every woe you shall receive a bliss’:
And him in her arms took and began to kiss.
27.
Pandarus fell on his knees, and up his eyes
to heaven threw, and held his hands high.
‘Immortal God,’ said he, ‘that never dies -
Cupid, I mean - this does you glorify:
and Venus, you may make your melody.
Without hand to them, it seems that in the town,
at this marvel, I hear each bell sound.
28.
But ho! nor more now of this matter,
because these folk will come up soon,
who have the letter read: ‘lo, I them hear.
But I conjure you Cressid, for one
and two, you Troilus, when you are up and gone,
that to my house you come at my inviting,
for I will full well arrange your coming.
29.
And ease your hearts there right enough,
and let’s see which of you can ring the bell
for speaking of love aright.’ With that he laughed:
‘For there you will have a chance to tell!’
Said Troilus: ‘How long shall I dwell
before it’s done?’ Said he: ‘When you shall rise
this thing shall be exactly as I advise.
30.
At that Helen and also Deiphebus
came upwards, right at the stair’s end:
and lord! so then began to groan Troilus
to his brother and his sister, to pretend.
Said Pandarus: ‘It’s time our way to wend.
Take, my niece, your leave of all three,
and let them talk, and come along with me.’
31.
She took her leave of them as politely
as she could, and they did her reverence
as fully as they could and graciously,
and spoke wondrously in her absence,
of her, in praise of her excellence:
and her demeanour, wit, and her manner
commended so, it was a joy to hear.
32.
Now let her take her way to her own place,
and we will turn to Troilus again,
who began the letter lightly to trace
that Deiphebus had in the garden seen.
And of Helen and him he would fain
be free, and said that his request
was to sleep, and after talk have rest.
33.
Helen kissed him, and took her leave all blithe,
Deiphebus also, and home went all who might.
And Pandarus, as fast as he could drive,
then came to Troilus: straight as a crow’s flight:
and on a pallet all that glad night
he lay by Troilus with a merry face,
to talk, and it was well they were together a space.
34.
When everyone had vanished but these two,
and all the doors were shut quite fast,
to tell in brief, without more ado,
Pandarus, at this, before time passed
rose, and on his bed’s side sat,
and began to speak in sober guise
to Troilus as I shall you advise.
35.
My dearest lord, and my brother dear,
God knows, and you, that it made me sore
to see you languishing so this year,
for love, from which your woe grew always more,
so that I, with all my power and all my lore,
have ever done my utmost business
to bring you to joy out of distress:
36.
and I have brought it to the state you know’st,
so that through me you now stand in the way
of faring well – I say it without boast –
and know you why? Shame it is to say,
for you I have begun a game to play
which I would never do for any other,
although he were a thousand times my brother.
37.
That is to say, for you I have become
between joke and earnest, such a go-between
as makes women to men come:
though I say naught, you know well what I mean:
for you I have my niece (of vices clean)
made so fully trust your nobleness,
that everything shall be as you wish.
38.
But God, that knows all, I take to witness
that covetously I this never wrought,
but only to abridge your distress
from which you well nigh died, as I thought.
But, good brother, do now as you ought,
for God’s love, and keep her from blame,
since you are wise, and always guard her name.
39.
For you know well, her name as yet here
among the people, as one might say, hallowed is:
for that man is unborn, I truly swear
who ever knew her do a thing amiss.
But woe is me, that I, who cause all this,
have to consider she is my niece dear,
and I her uncle, yet a traitor clear.
40.
And were it known that I, through my own cunning,
had in my niece created this fantasy,
to do your pleasure and come running,
why, all the world would upon it cry
and say that I the worst treachery,
did, in this case, that ever was begun,
and she’d be lost, and you have nothing won.
41.
Wherefore before I go another pace
one more I beseech you and now say
that privacy must go with us in this case,
that you must never reveal us, that’s to say,
and be not angry though I often pray
you to hold secret such a deep matter:
for reasonable, you know it, is my prayer.
42.
And think what woe has befallen before this
through boasting, as men can read:
and what mischance in this world yet there is
from day to day, through that wicked deed.
Because of which the ancients were agreed
and told us in wise proverbs when we were young
that the first of virtues is to hold your tongue.
43.
And were it not that I desire to abridge
diffuse discussion, I could almost
a thousand stories to you allege
of women lost through false and foolish boast.
You have learnt enough yourself, and know’st,
proverbs against that vice of always blabbing,
though men might speak the truth in their gabbing.
44.
O tongue, alas! so often here before
have you made many a lady bright of hue
say: “Alas the day that I was born!”
And many a maid’s sorrow to renew,
and for the most part, all of it untrue
that men claim, if tested were what they weave:
by his nature no boaster can be believed.
45.
A boaster and a liar all is one,
as thus: suppose a woman grant me
her love, and says that other will she none,
and I am sworn to keep to secrecy,
and after I go tell it two or three.
Then I am a boaster at the least,
and a liar, since my oath’s deceased.
46.
Now look then if they be not to blame,
that manner of folk: what shall I call them, what,
who boast of women, and by name,
that never even promised this or that
nor knew them more than they did my old hat?
It is no wonder, so God my wounds heal,
that women dread with us men to deal.
47.
I say this not out of mistrust for you,
nor for wise men, but the foolish,
and because the harm that’s in the world now
as often comes through folly as through malice.
For I know well, that in wise folk vice
no woman dreads, if she is well apprised,
for the wise by the fool’s fate are advised.
48.
But now to the purpose: beloved brother dear,
keep all these things that I have said in mind,
and be close, and be now of good cheer,
for in your day of need you’ll me true find.
I shall your business do in such a kind,
and with God’s help, that it will satisfy.
For it shall be just as you’d hope it might.
49.
For I know well that you mean well, too:
therefore I dare this fully to undertake.
You know also, what the lady granted you,
and the day is set the contract to make.
Now good night, I cannot keep awake:
and pray for me, since you are now in bliss,
that God soon send me death or joy like this.’
50.
Who could tell of half the joy, or guess
what the soul of Troilus then felt,
hearing the assurance in Pandar’s request?
His old woe, that made his heart swell
began for joy to waste away and melt.
And all the wealth of his sighs so sore
fled at once: he felt them no more.
51.
But just as these coppices and hedges,
that have in winter been dead and grey,
re-clothe themselves in green when May is,
when every lusty lad likes best to play:
just in that same wise, truth to say,
his heart was suddenly filled with joy,
till there was never gladder man in Troy.
52.
And he began his look on Pandar to cast
both soberly and friendly, to see,
and said: ‘Friend, in April last
as well you know, if it remembered be,
how near death from woe it was you found me,
and how you went about this business
to know from me the cause of my distress.
53.
You know how long I refused to tell
you, who are the man that I best trust:
and yet there was no risk as it befell,
I know that truly, but tell me, just,
since I was loth to tell you though I must,
how dare I speak to others of this matter,
who tremble now, where no one can us hear?
54.
But nevertheless, to you by that God I swear all,
who as He wishes may this whole world govern,
and if I lie, may Achilles with his spear
cleave my heart, though my life were eternal,
as I am mortal, if soon or late it fall
that I would betray it, or dare, or can,
for all the good God made under the sun,
55.
then I would rather die and fate be mine
I think, now chained up in a prison,
in wretchedness, with filth and vermin,
a captive of cruel King Agamemnon:
and this in all the temples of this town,
and by all the gods, I will to you swear
tomorrow morning, if you wish to hear.
56.
And that you have done so much for me,
that I may never more it repay,
this I know well, though I might now for thee
die a thousand times in a day:
I will serve you, what more can I say,
as your true servant, wherever you may wend,
for evermore until my life’s end.
57.
But here with all my heart I you beseech,
never to imagine in me such folly
as I now say: for me to think by your speech,
that this, which you do for me, so friendly,
might be taken by me as if it were bawdry.
I am not mad, though stupid I may be:
it is not so, I know that well, indeed.
58.
But he that goes for gold or for riches,
on such an errand, call him what you wish:
and this that you do call it nobleness,
compassion, and fellowship, and trust.
Distinguish it so, for far and wide we must
know that the differences must be discerned
between similar things, as I have learned.
59.
And so that you know I think not, nor dream
that this service is a shame or a joke,
I have a fair sister Polyxene,
Cassandra, Helen, or any of the pack:
be she ever so fair, and nothing lack,
tell me which you will have of anyone
for yours, and leave all to me alone.
60.
But since you have done me this service,
to save my life and not out of greed,
so, for the love of God, this enterprise
carry it through, for now there is most need:
for high and low, without a doubt indeed,
I will always all your rules keep.
Now good night, and let us both sleep.
61.
Thus each held him with the other well blessed,
that all the world could not better it amend:
and on the morrow, when they were both dressed,
each to his own needs began to attend.
But Troilus, though like a fire he burned,
from fierce desire of hope and of pleasure,
did not forget self-control and measure.
62.
But in himself with manhood he restrained
each wayward deed, and unbridled glare,
so that all who lived, truth to say,
should have no sign, by word or manner,
what he might think concerning this matter.
From everyone he was as far as is the cloud,
over his thoughts so well he drew a shroud.
63.
And all the while, which I to you describe,
this was his way of life, with all his might
by day he was in Mars’s high service,
that is to say, in arms, as a knight.
And for the greater part, in the long night
he lay and thought how that he might serve
his lady best, her thanks for to deserve.
64.
I will not swear, although he lay full soft,
that in his thought he was all at ease,
nor that he did not turn his pillows oft
and wish that what he lacked he might seize.
But that in such cases men are hard to please,
for aught I know, no less than was he,
I consider that a possibility.
65.
But certain it is, back to the point to go,
that all this while, as is written in the history,
he saw his lady sometimes, and also
she spoke with him, when she dared, and he
and she by agreement, as best could be,
decided carefully in their need
as they dared, how they should proceed.
66.
But it was spoken in so brief a wise,
in such watchfulness, and such fear
(lest anyone divine or realise
aught of the two, or to it have an ear),
that in all this world nothing was so dear
to them, as that Cupid would them grace send
to bring their speeches to a happy end.
67.
But in the little that they spoke or wrought,
his wise spirit always took such heed,
it seemed to her he knew what she thought
without a word: so that there was no need
to ask him to do aught or aught forbid,
so that she thought that love, though it came late
of all joy had opened to her the gate.
68.
And briefly to maintain our pace,
so well his work and words he set,
that he stood so full in his lady’s grace,
that twenty thousand times without a let
she thanked God that they had met:
He could govern himself in such a wise
that all the world might not a better devise.
69.
Therefore she found him so discreet, in all
so secret, and of such obedience,
that she felt he was truly to her a wall
of steel, and shield from every nuisance:
so that to be in his good governance
(so wise he was) no longer gave her fear,
I mean as far as propriety made clear.
70.
And Pandarus, to quicken the fire,
was always alike present and diligent:
to help his friend was his only desire.
He pushed things on: he to and fro was sent:
he carried letters when Troilus was absent:
there never was man who in his friend’s need
bore himself better than he did, indeed.
71.
But now perhaps some man might hold
that every word, or sound, or look, or cheer,
of Troilus I might indeed unfold
all this while said to his lady dear.
I think it is too long a thing to hear:
and of the man who is in such a state,
all his words, or every look, relate.
72.
In truth, I have not heard it done before,
in story, nor has any man here I’ve seen:
and though I would, I could not, for
there was a letter sent them between
that would, as my author says, well contain
half this book, of which he did not write:
how then can I a line bring to sight?
73
But to the main point: then I say thus,
that being in concord and in quiet,
to these two, Cressida and Troilus,
as I have told, in this time so sweet,
save only that they could not often meet,
nor have a chance their speeches to fulfill,
that it befell, just as I shall you tell,
74.
that Pandarus, who always worked with might
to achieve the end I shall speak of here,
and to bring to his house some night
his fair niece and Troilus together, where
at leisure all this high matter
of their love could be fully unwound,
had, he was sure, a time for it found.
75.
For he with great deliberation
had everything that might it avail
forecast, and put in execution,
and neither spared the cost or the travail:
if they came, then nothing would them fail:
and as for being at all espied there,
that an impossibility he knew were.
76.
There was no sign in the wind
of any magpie or any spoil-sport:
now all is well, for all the world is blind
in this matter, both wild and taught.
This timber is all ready to be wrought:
we lack nothing but knowing if we could
of the certain hour when come she should.
77.
And Troilus, that all this preparation
knew in full and waited as he may,
had also for it made a great provision
and found a reason, and what he would say,
if that he were missed by night or day
while he was about this service – ay,
that he was going to make a sacrifice,
78.
and must at such and such a temple wake,
alone, answered of Apollo for to be:
and firstly see the holy laurel quake
before Apollo spoke out of the tree,
to tell him when the Greeks would next flee,
and therefore let no man stop him, God forbid,
but pray to Apollo to help in this need.
79.
Now there is little more to be done:
but Pandar was up, and briefly to explain,
right soon upon the changing of the moon,
when the world is lightless a night or twain,
and the heavens were preparing to rain,
he straight one morning to his niece went:
you all have heard the end of his intent.
80.
When he was come he began again to play,
as was his wont, and at himself to jape:
and finally he swore and began to say,
by this and that, she should him not escape,
no longer causing him after her to gape,
but certainly she must, by her leave,
come and sup with him at his house on the eve.
81.
At which she laughed, and gave a brief excuse,
and said: ‘It rains: lo, how could I go?’
‘Let be,’ he said, ‘do not stand and muse:
it must be done, you shall be there, though.’
So at the last they were at one, I know,
or else (he swore it softly in her ear),
he would never come near her anywhere.
82.
Soon after this she began quietly him to sound,
asking him if Troilus would be there.
He swore not, to her, that he was out of town,
and said: ‘Niece, suppose that he were,
you need not have for that the more fear:
for rather than men might him there espy,
I would rather a thousand times to die.’
83.
My author did not choose to declare
what she though about it when he said so
(that Troilus was out of town, not there),
whether that is he told the truth or no:
but that without delay with him to go
she granted him, since that is what he sought,
and, as his niece, obeyed him as she ought.
84.
But nevertheless she began him to beseech,
that though to go with him was nothing to fear,
to beware of foolish people’s speech,
who dream up things that never were,
and be careful whom he brought there,
and said: ‘Uncle, since I trust you so,
make sure all’s well, and do as you will now.’
85.
He swore, Yes, by stocks and stones,
and by the gods that in heaven dwell,
or else he would be sunk, soul and bones,
with King Pluto, as deep down in hell
as Tantalus. What more should I tell?
When all was well he rose and took his leave,
and she to supper came when it was eve.
86.
With a number of her own men
and with her fair niece Antigone
and others of her women, nine or ten.
But who was glad now? Who should be
but Troilus that stood and might see
through a little window in a room
where since midnight he had been entombed,
87.
unknown by anyone but Pandarus?
But to the point. Now, when she was come
with all joy, and all friendly fare,
her uncle in his arms embraced her soon:
and after to the supper all came and some,
when it was time, softly down them sitting:
God knows, there was no dainty lacking.
88.
And after supper they began to rise,
well at ease, with hearts fresh and glad:
and lucky the man that could best devise
something she liked, or that to laugh her made.
He sang, she played, he told tales from Wade:
and at the last, as everything has ending,
she took her leave, and her way was wending.
89.
But, O, Fortune, executrix of destiny,
O influences of the heavens high,
truth is, under God, you our herdsmen be,
though to us beasts, you the causes deny.
This I mean now, for she began home to fly,
but all was done, without her say,
by the gods’ will, so that she must stay.
90.
The bent Moon with her horns pale,
Saturn, and Jupiter in Cancer joinedwere,
so that such a rain from heaven began to hail,
that every manner of woman who was there
had of that smoking rain a heartfelt fear.
At which Pandar laughed, and said then:
‘What a time for a lady to go hence!’
91.
But, good niece, if I might ever please
you in anything, then I pray you,’ said he,
‘to set my heart now greatly at ease
by dwelling here all this night with me,
because this is your own house, you see:
for by my truth – I say it, it is no game –
to leave now would put me to shame.’
92.
Cressid, who knew what was fit and good
as well as half the world, heeded his prayer:
and since it rained, and all was in flood,
she thought: ‘I may as well stay here,
and grant it gladly with a friend’s cheer,
and have thanks, as begrudge it, then abide:
for to go home is certainly denied.
93.
I will,’ she said, ‘my uncle loved and dear,
since you think it right to do so,
I am truly glad to stay with you here:
I only said in jest that I would go.’
‘Well, many thanks, niece,’ he said, ‘though
it were jest, or not, truth to tell
I am glad now that you wish here to dwell.’
94.
So all is well, and then began aright
new joy, and all the feast again:
but Pandarus, if only he might
would have hurried her to bed there and then,
and said: ‘Lord! this is a mighty rain!
This is weather to be sleeping in:
and that I think we should soon begin.
95.
And, niece, know you where I would have you lie,
so that we shall not lie too far asunder,
and so that you shall not, I dare say,
hear the noise of rain nor of thunder?
By God, just in my little closet yonder.
And I will in the outer house alone
be warden of your women everyone.
96.
And in this middle chamber that you see
your women shall sleep well and soft:
and there, where I said, yourself shall be:
and if you sleep well tonight, come oft,
and do not bother what weather is aloft.
Take wine now, and when you wish to rest
we’ll go: I think that will be best.’
97.
There was no more said: but hereafter soon
(the spiced wine drunk and curtains drawn anon)
everyone began, that had no more to be done
in that place, out of the chamber to be gone.
And ever more heavily the rain rained down,
and it blew as well, so wonderfully loud,
that no man well nigh hear another could.
98.
Then Pandarus, her uncle, as he ought,
with the women who were most her about,
gladly to her bed’s side her he brought,
and took his leave, and full low he bowed.
and said: ‘Here at this closet door without
just across from you your women sleep, all
so that whom you wish of them you may call.
99.
So when she was in the closet laid,