Troilus and Criseyde. BOOK V.

Educational use only.

Incipit Liber Quintus.

THE fatal destiny was approaching which Eve has in his disposition and commits to you, angry Parcae, sisters three, to execute: by which Criseyde must from Troy, and Troilus must dwell in pain till Lachesis twine his thread no longer. The golden-tressed Phoebus on high had thrice with his bright beams melted the snows and Zephyr had as often brought back the tender green leaves, since the son of Queen Hecuba had begun to love her, for whom all his sorrow was, that she must depart that morn.

At prime Diomed was full ready to lead Criseyde to the Greek host, for sorrow at which she felt her heart bleed, not knowing any remedy. Truly, as men read in books, never was woman known so full of care or so loath to leave a city. Troilus, at his wit's end, as a man that had lost all his joys, was ever awaiting his lady, the true blossom, and more, of all his former happiness. But, Troilus, farewell now to all of it, for never again shalt thou see her in Troy! It is truth that whilst he thus waited he hid his woe full manly, that it was scarce seen in his cheer. At the gate where she was to ride out he tarried with certain folk awaiting her, so woe-begone, though he would not lament, that he scarce could sit his horse. When Diomed mounted his horse, Troilus quaked for ire, so was his heart gnawed within him, and he said to himself, 'Alas! such a foul wretchedness,--why will I suffer it? Why will I not set it right? Were it not better to die at once than evermore to languish thus? Why should I not straightway give rich and poor enough to do, before she should go? Why not bring all Troy upon an uproar, why not slay this Diomed, or why not rather with the help of a man or two steal her away? Why endure I this, why not help to cure my own woes?'

I shall tell why he would not do so fell a deed, he had ever in heart a sort of fear lest Criseyde in the uproar might be slain. This was all his anxiety, and else he had surely done it.

When Criseyde was ready to ride, full sorrowfully she sighed 'Alas!' But there was no help, forth she must, for aught that might befall, and she slowly rode onward. What wonder though it pained her, when she was foregoing her own dear heart? Troilus in courteous wise, with hawk on hand and a great troop of knights, rode far on to bear her company beyond the valley. Mind full fain he would no doubt have ridden farther, and woe was him to part so soon; but turn he must. And with that Antenor was come from the Greek host, at which every wight as glad and made him welcome. Troilus, though his heart were not light, did his best at least to refrain from weeping, and kissed Antenor and made much of him. Then he must take his leave; he cast his eye piteously upon her and rode nearer, to speak to her and take her gravely by the hand. Lord, how tenderly she wept! And he said to her full softly and secretly 'Now keep your day and kill me not!' Then with a pale face he turned his courser about, and spoke not a word to Diomed nor to any of his troop, and departed homeward.

Of this the son of Tydeus took heed, as one that knew more than the primer of love's craft; when he saw the folk of Troy departed, he took her by the bridle and thought, 'All my labor shall not be in vain, if I may help it; I will say somewhat to her, for at the worst it may beguile our journey. I have heard it said a score of times,

"He is a fool that will forget himself."'

Yet thus he thought well enough too, 'Of a surety I am about a wild-goose chase, if I am malapert or speak of love, for doubtless, if she have in her thought him that I guess, he cannot be put out of it so soon. But I shall find a way so that she shall not know yet what I mean.'

In due season Diomed, knowing full well what he was about began to fall in speech of this and that, asked why she was in such distress, and besought her that if he could in any wise advance her pleasure, she should command it him, and he would do it, he said. And faithfully, as a knight, he swore her there was naught that could content her but he would do it with all his heart. He prayed her to appease her sorrow, and said, 'In faith, we Greeks can delight to honor you as well as folk of Troy. I wot it seems strange to you,' he said also, '--and no wonder, it is all so new,--to exchange the acquaintance of these Trojans for folk of Greece, who are all foreign to you. Yet God forbid but you should meet amongst us all as kind a Greek as any Trojan is, and as true. And because even now I swore to you to be your friend and as helpful as I could, and I have had more acquaintance with you than any other Greek has had, from this time forth day and night I pray you to command me, whatsoever it may cost, in all that may please your heart, and to treat me as your brother, and not to scorn my friendship. Though your sorrow be for shame great matter, I know not why, but my heart feels a joyous desire to put it away at once; and if I cannot set your troubles right, full sorry I am for your heaviness. For though you Trojans have been wroth with us Greeks many a day, yet in truth we all serve one god of Love; and for the love of God, my noble lady, whomsoever you may hate, be not wroth with me. For truly no wight serving you can be half so loath to merit your wrath. And were we not se nigh the tent of Calchas, who may see us, I would tell you all that is in my mind. But all this shall be kept under seal till another day. Give me your hand; so may God help me, as I am and ever shall be, whilst life shall last, your own above every creature. This I never said before now to any woman born, for as I hope for joy, I never loved a woman before, nor ever shall again. So for God's love be not my foe, dear lady, though I know not how to make my complaint to you aright, because I have yet to learn. Wonder not, my own bright lady, though I speak to you of love thus early; I have heard ere this of many a man has loved a lady whom he never saw in his life before, nor have I the power to strive against the god of Love, but I must ever obey him at pray you for mercy. Such worthy knights as there are in this host, and you so fair, every one of them will do his best to stand in your favor; but if so fair a grace should befall me that you would call me your servant, none of them will so lowly and so truly serve you as I shall till I die.'

Unto that talk Criseyde answered but little, being so oppressed with sorrow that in effect she heard not his tale except here and there a word or two. Her sorrowful heart seemed ready to burst, and when she espied her father from afar, she wellnigh sank down off her horse. But nevertheless she thanked Diomed for all his trouble and good cheer, and for offering his friendship; she would accept it in good part, and would gladly do what might please him, and would trust him, as well she might (so she said). And then she alighted from her horse. Her father took her in his arms, and twenty times he kissed her sweetly. 'Welcome, dear daughter mine,' he said. She too said she was fain that she might he with him, and stood forth mute, mild and gentle. --And here I leave her abiding with her father, and I will tell you forth of Troilus.

To Troy this woful wight is returned, in sorrow bitter above all other sorrows, with fierce look and pitiless face. Abruptly he leaped down from his horse, and with a swollen heart stalked through his palace to his chamber; he took no heed of any wight, nor for fear durst any speak a word to him And there to the sorrows that he had held in he gave full issue and cried out for death; and in his frantic mad throes he cursed Jove and Apollo, he cursed Cupid and Ceres, Bacchus and Venus, he cursed Nature, his own birth, himself, his fate, and every created thing save his lady. He went to bed, and there wallowed and turned like Ixion in hell, and in this state he remained till nigh day. Then his heart began a little to subside through the tears which began to gush upward, and piteously he cried upon Criseyde, and he spoke thus to himself:

'Where is my own dear lady? Where is her white bosom, where is it? Where are her arms and her clear eyes, which were with me yesterday at this time? Now I may weep many a tear alone, and grope about; but, saving a pillow, I find naught to embrace. How shall I do? Why have I let her go, when will she come again? I know not, alas! Would God I had then been slain! 0h my heart Criseyde, oh my sweet foe, oh my lady, whom alone I love, to whom I bestowed my heart forever! See how I die, and thou wilt not rescue me! Who sees thee now, my true loadstar, who sits or stands in thy presence, who can allay the war in thine heart now I am gone? To whom dost thou lend thine hearing, who speaks for me now in mine absence? Alas, that is all my grief,--no one, for well I know thou farest as ill as I. How should I endure ten full days of this, when the first night I have all this pain? Sorrowful creature, how shall she too fare, how shall her tender heart bear such woe for me? Piteous, pale, and wan for longing will be thy fresh womanly face before thou comest back hither!'

And when he fell into any slumber anon he would begin to groan, and dream of the dreadfullest things that might be: as that he was in a solitary horrible place ever lamenting, or that he was amongst his enemies and fallen into their hands. And therewith his body would start, and with the start he would suddenly awake, and feel such a tremor in his breast that his body would quiver for fear. And he would make a sound, and feel as if he were falling far and low from on high, and then he would weep, and so dolorously pity himself that it was wondrous to hear his fantasy. Another time he would earnestly comfort himself, and say it was folly to suffer such dread so causelessly; and then his bitter pains would begin anew, so that any man would pity his sorrows. Who could tell aright or fully describe his woe, his lament, languor, and pain? Not all the men who are or have been on earth! Thou, reader, canst full well divine that my wit cannot depict such woe; in vain I should toil to write it when my wit is weary to think it!

The stars were still visible in heaven, though the moon was waxed full pale, and the horizon eastward began to whiten, and Phoebus with his rosy car soon after began to draw upwards, when Troilus sent for Pandarus. All the day before, Pandarus could not have come to see him, not if he had pledged his head, for all day he was with King Priam, so that it lay not in his liberty to go anywhere. But on the morrow he went to Troilus when he sent after him, for in his heart he could well divine that all night Troilus had been awake for sorrow, and that he wished to talk to him of his trouble Pandarus knew full well without book! Wherefore he made his way straight to the chamber, gravely greeted Troilus, and sat him down on the bed.

'My Pandarus,' quoth Troilus, 'I cannot long endure this grief. I believe I shall not live till to-morrow, therefore upon that chance I would devise to you the manner of my sepulchre, and do you dispose of my goods even as seems best to you. As to the funeral-fire in which my body shall be burned to coals, and the feast and funeral games at my vigil, I pray you take good care that all be well done. And offer Mars my steed, my sword and helm; and, beloved brother, give my bright-shilling shield to Pallas. The dust into which my heart shall be burned I pray you to take and conserve in a vessel of gold that men call an urn, and give it my lady whose I am and for whose love I die so piteously and do me this grace to pray her keep it for a remembrance. For I feel clearly, by my malady and by my dreams now and of yore, that I certainly shall not live; and the owl, that men call Ascalaphus, has shrieked after me all these two nights. And, O thou god Mercury, do thou guide my soul and fetch it when thou wilt!'

'Troilus, my dear friend,' Pandarus answered and said, 'I have long told you that it is folly to sorrow thus and without a cause; wherefore I can say no more. But whoso will not trust counsel or instruction, I can see no help for him but to let him alone with his fantasy. But I pray you tell me now, Troilus, believe you that any man ere this was ever hotly in love as well as you? Yea, God wot! And full many a worthy knight has foregone his lady a month, and yet not made half your lament! What need have you to make all this woe; since day by day you can see yourself that men must needs part from their loves or front their wives? Yea, though he love her as his own heart, yet he will not thus contend with himself, for well you know, dear brother, that friends cannot always be together. How fare these folk that see their loves wedded and bedded with others through compulsion of friends, as betides full often? God wot, they take it discreetly, well and mildly, for good hope keeps up their hearts; and because they can bear a time of sorrow, as time hurts them a time cures them! So should you hold out, and let the time slip by, and strive to be glad and lightsome! Ten days is not so long to wait. Since she has promised you to return, she will not break her promise for any man. Fear not but she will find a way to return, I dare stake my life thereon!

'Your dreams and all such fancies,--drive them out and let them go to the Devil! They proceed from your melancholy which causes you all this suffering in your sleep. A straw for all dreams and their significance,--so may God help me, I value them not two peas! No man knows aright what dreams mean. Priests of the temple say that dreams are the revelations of the gods; and they say as well that they are infernal illusions. And leeches say that they proceed from men's natural temperaments, or from gluttony or fasting. Others say that visions come through impressions, as when a wight has held a thing fast in mind. Others say, as they read in books, that by nature men dream according to the time of year, and that the manner of it goes by the moon. Thus who knows, in truth, what they signify? Believe them not. It is these old wives find a relish in dreams, and also in auguries of birds (such as death-bodings of ravens or shrieking of owls), for fear of which folk expect to perish. To believe in them is both false and base. Alas, alas! that so noble a creature as a man should dread such filth!

'Wherefore I beseech you with all my heart that you spare yourself this, and now arise without a word more and let us plan how this time may best be passed away, and how we may live lustily when she returns, which shall be right soon. So God help me, you were best do thus. Rise, let us occupy the time, and speak of the lusty life that we have led in Troy, and delight in the time to come that shall bring us our bliss now so quickly. Thereby we shall so forget or overcome the languor of these ten days that it shall scarce be a hardship. This town all about is full of lords, and all this time the truce is lasting; let us go to Sarpedon, who lives but a mile away, and divert ourselves in some lusty company. Thus you shall beguile the time until that blissful day when you are to see her who is causing your grief. Now rise, dear brother Troilus; certes it does you no honor to weep and crouch so in your bed. Believe me truly in one thing; if you lie thus a day or two, folk will say that you are feigning sickness out of cowardice, and dare not arise!'

'Brother mine,' answered Troilus, 'folk who have suffered grief know that it is no wonder if a man weep and make sorrowful, cheer who feels a hurt and smart in every vein. I am no wise to blame though I ever lament or always weep, since I have lost the cause of all my happiness. But since of very necessity I must arise, I will do so as soon as I can. May God, to whom I offer my heart, send quickly the tenth morning! Never was fowl so fain of May as I shall be when she returns who is cause of both my torment and my joy. But where in all this town is it your counsel that we can best divert ourselves?'

'By heaven, my counsel is,' quoth Pandarus, 'that we ride to King Sarpedon to disport us.' This they talked of back and forth, till at last Troilus consented to rise, and they went forth to Sarpedon.

This Sarpedon, ever free-handed and noble of station, fed them day by day with every rich viand that could be served on table, whatever wealth it cost. Such splendor, so said great and small, was never known at any feast before that day. Nor is there any instrument delicious in sound of wind or touch of string, which tongue may tell of or heart remember, in all this world so far as men have traveled, that it was not heard in harmony at the feast. Nor was so fair a company of ladies ever seen before on the dance.

But what availed this to Troilus, who recked not of it for sorrow? Ever alike his piteous heart was seeking busily after his lady Criseyde. All that his heart thought was ever of her, now this, now that, so diligent ill fancy that no festival could gladden him. Since his own lady was away, it was a sorrow to behold the ladies at the feast; or to hear instruments of music. When she was absent who bore the key of his heart, it was his fancy that none ought to make melody. Nor was there an hour in all the night or day, when he was where he could not be heard that he said not, 'O bright and lovesome lady, how hast thou fared since thou wert here? Welcome indeed, my own sweet lady!'

But alackaday! Fortune was but deluding him, and meant to mock him even more.

The letters that she had sent him of old he would read over alone a hundred times betwixt prime and nones, refiguring within his heart her form and her womanhood, and every word and act that was past. Thus the fourth day wore through; and then he was for going home. 'Dear brother Pandarus,' he said, 'mean you that we shall remain here until Sarpedon shall dismiss us? It were more seemly that we took leave ourselves. For the love of heaven, let us take our leave this night and turn home- ward, for truly I will not tarry thus!'

'Are we come hither to fetch fire and run with it home again?' Pandarus replied. 'God bless me, in very truth I cannot tell whither we could go where any wight should be gladder of us than Sarpedon is. If we hasten away so suddenly, I hold it for churlishness, seeing we said we would remain with him a week to take our leave the fourth day, truly he would wonder at it. Let us hold to our purpose, and, since we promised to remain keep our agreement and then ride away.

Thus with all the trouble in the world Pandarus made him remain, and at the week's end they took leave of Sarpedon and sped on their way. 'Now Lord grant me the grace at my home-coming,' quoth Troilus, 'to find Criseyde come!', and he began to sing.

'Yea, a likely story!' thought Pandarus, and said full softly to himself 'God wot, this hot excitement may have time to cool ere Calchas send Criseyde back!' But nevertheless he chaffed and jested and swore his heart promised him that she would come as soon as ever she could. When they were come to Troilus' palace, they alighted and took their way to his chamber, and till night began to fall they talked of the bright Criseyde, and then when they would, they sped them from supper to rest.

On the morrow, when day began to brighten, Troilus started out of sleep and said full piteously to his dear friend Pandarus, 'For the love of God, let us go see Criseyde's palace, since as yet we can have no more gaiety, let us at least see her palace!' And therewithal, to hoodwink his household, he devised a reason for going to town, and they took their way to Criseyde's house. But Lord! how woful was this poor Troilus! He felt his sorrowful heart would burst in two; for when he saw her doors all barred, he nigh fell down for sorrow, and when he saw how every window was shut, his heart grew cold as frost. With a changed and deadly pale face he passed by without a word, and rode so fast that no wight observed his countenance. And then he said, 'Ah desolate palace, ah house once called the best of houses, empty and comfortless palace, lantern whose flame is quenched, palace that now art night, and once wert day and crown of all houses, illumined with the sun of all bliss, ah ring from which the ruby is fallen out, ah cause of woe as once of solace! Thou oughtest indeed to fall, and I to die, since she is gone who governed us both. yet since I can do no better, I fain would kiss thy cold doors, if I durst before these folk. Farewell, shrine, from which the saint is gone!' And then with a changed face, piteous to see, he cast his eye upon Pandarus, and as he rode, when he could see his time, he told him his new sorrow and his former joys so pitifully and with so deadly a look that any one would have had compassion.

Then he rode up and down, and everything came to his memory as he rode by places in the city where aforetime he had enjoyed Love's pleasantness: 'Yonder I last saw my lady dance and in that temple my sweet lady first caught me with her clear eyes; and yonder I have heard my dear heart laugh full merrily and yonder she said to me once, "Now, good sweet friend, love me well, I pray!"; and yonder she looked on me in so goodly a manner that my heart is hers till death; and in that corner of that house, I heard my dearest lady sing so well with her womanly melodious voice, so goodly and so clear, that in my soul the blissful sound seems to ring yet! And in that yonder spot my lady first took me into her grace.'

Then he thought, 'O blessed lord Cupid, when I remember the history, how thou hast warred against me on every side, men might make a book of it like a tale. What need hast thou to seek a conquest on me, since I am thing wholly at thy will? What joy is it to thee to destroy thine own folk? Lord, well hast thou wreaked thine ire on me, mighty god, deadly to offend at. Show mercy now, O lord! Thou knowest well I crave thy grace above all dear pleasures, and will live and die in thy faith; in guerdon of which I ask but one boon, that thou send me back Criseyde speedily. Let her heart long to return as eagerly as mine to see her; then I wot well she will not tarry. Blessed lord, I pray thee he not so cruel to the blood of Troy as Juno was to Theban blood, for which the folk of Thebes had their destruction!'

After this he galloped to the gate where Criseyde had ridden out. Up and down there he made many a turn, and often said to himself, ' Alas, here my joy and bliss rode out! Would to the blessed God that I might see her come again into Troy! I conducted her to yonder hill, alas!, and there took leave of her. Yonder I saw her ride on to her father, for sorrow of which my heart will split. And hither at evening I came home; and here I remain and ever shall, outcast from happiness, till I can see her again in Troy!'

And himself he imagined oft to be worn and pale and grown thinner than he was wont, and that men said secretly, 'What can it be? Who can guess the truth, why Troilus shows these heavy looks?' And all this, that he had these fancies, was only his melancholy. Another time he would imagine that every wight passing along the street pitied him, and that they said, 'I am right sorry Troilus is dying.' And thus, as you have heard, he went through a day or two, living as one that stands betwixt hope and dread. Wherefore he took comfort in showing in verses as best he could the occasion of his woe, and in making a song in few words. somewhat to relieve his heavy heart. And when he was out of every man's sight, with a soft voice he would sing thus of his sweet lady as you shall hear:

'O Star which hast withdrawn from me thy light
With heart full sore I have good cause to wail
what ever dark, in torment night by night,
Toward my death with wind astern I sail
Wherefore if by the tenth night I should fail
To see thy guiding beams for but an hour,
My ship and me Charybdis will devour.'

When he had sung this song, he would fall straightway to his old sighs, and every night he would stand beholding the bright moon and telling her all his sorrow and would say: 'of a surety, when thou art newly horned I shall be happy, unless all the world be false. I saw thine old horns the morning when my own sweet lady rode hence, who is the cause of all my torment. Therefore, O bright Lucina, for the love of God, run fast about thy sphere; for when thy new horns begin to spring, my bliss shall return.'

Ever more and more the days seemed to him longer than they were wont, and the sun to go his course wrongly, by a longer way than before. 'Truly,' he said, 'I fear the sun-god's son Phaethon is returned, and drives his father's car amiss.' --He would walk long upon the walls and gaze over toward the Greek camp, and say to himself, 'Yonder is my noble lady; or else yonder, where the tents are! And thence comes this air, so sweet that in my soul I feel it restore me. And surely this wind which ever stronger and stronger blows in my face comes of my lady's deep and sore sighs! I know it because nowhere in all this town save only here feel I a wind which sounds so like pain; "Alas, why are we two parted?" it says.' Thus he wore through this long time till the ninth day was fully past, and ever beside him was Pandarus, striving his utmost to comfort and gladden hind and ever giving him hope that the tenth day she shrug come and stint his sorrow.

On the other side was Criseyde, with a few women, amongst the valiant Greeks. Many times a day she lamented: 'Alas that I was born! I have lived too long, well may my heart yearn for death. And I cannot amend things, alas! for now are they worse than ever I believed they could be. For aught I can do to please him, my father will not grant me the favor to return; yet if so be I outstay my time, my Troilus will think in his heart that I am false, as indeed it will seem. Thus I have small thanks on either hand. Alackaday that I was born! And if I jeopardize myself and steal away by night, and if so be I am caught, I shall be held to be a spy; or else, as to dread most, if I fall into the hands of some wretch, I shall be a test woman, true though my heart may be! Mighty God, pity my sorrows!'

Full pale waxed her bright face and her limbs lean, as she stood all the day, when she durst, and looked on the place where she was born and had ever dwelt; and lay all the night weeping, alas! And thus the woful woman led her life despairing of all help. Many times a day she would sigh distressfully, and went ever imagining to herself the great worthiness of Troilus, and recalling all his goodly words since the first day when her love began to spring. Thus she set her woful heart ablaze by the remembrance of what she longed for. There is not so cruel a heart in all this world that would not have wept at her bitter pains, if the ear had heard her tenderly weeping morn and eve; she needed borrow no tears! And the worst of her pain was that there was none to whom she durst lament. Ruefully she looked toward Troy, and beheld the high towers and roofs; 'Alas! the joy now is turned into bitterness, which I have often had within yonder walls! Troilus, what dost thou now? Lord! thinks he yet upon Criseyde? Alas that I trusted not his counsel and went not with him! My sighs had not then been half so bitter. Who could have said that I did amiss to steal away with such a one as he? But too late comes the physic when men bear the corpse toward the grave! Too late now to talk of that! Alas, Prudence! one of thy three eyes I ever lacked ere I came here; time past I well remembered, and could well see time present, but I could not foresee the future, till I was in the snare, and that brings now mar bitterness. But nevertheless, betide what will, to-morrow night I shall steal at some point out of this host, and go with Troilus where he will. This is best, and this purpose I will hold. No matter for the prating of wicked tongues. Ever have wretches shown malice toward love! Whoso will pay heed to every word, or Tulsa himself after every wight's opinion, shall never prosper, of a surety. What some folk blame, others ever commend. For all such varying talk, happiness is enough for me! Wherefore, without more debate, I will to Troy; and there an end!'

But, God wot, before two full months she was right far from that intent. Both Troy-town and Troilus shall slip from out her heart with naught to stay them, and she shall resolve to abide. This Diomed of whom I told you went about arguing within himself with all the craft that ever he knew, how he might best and soonest bring Criseyde's heart into his net. This purpose he never could leave, and laid out hook and line to fish for her. He believed well that she was not without a lover in Troy, for never since he brought her thence could he see her laugh in gladness. He could not think how he might best soothe her heart; ' but to make assay can do no harm, for he that assays naught achieves naught,' he would think. Again upon a night he said to himself, 'Now am I not a fool, knowing well how her woe is for love of another man, hereupon now to go making trial of her? I might know it cannot profit me. Wise folk say in books,

"Men shall not woo a wight in heaviness."

Ah! but whoso could win such a flower away from him for whom she mourns day and night, he might call himself a conqueror indeed!' And right anon, being a bold fellow, he thought in his heart, 'Slap as it may, I will seek after her heart, though I die for it; I can lose no more than my words!'

This Diomed, as books tell us, was prompt and courageous in his acts, with stern voice and mighty square limbs, hardy and headstrong, sturdy and knightly of deeds like his father Tydeus; some men say he was free of tongue; and he was lord of Calydon and Argos.

Criseyde was moderate of stature, and in form and face and expression there could be no fairer thing created. Ofttimes it was her wont to go with her bright hair trussed down her back by her collar and bound with a thread of gold. Save that her eyebrows joined together, there was no blemish in aught that I can learn of. But to speak of her clear eyes, truly they that saw her wrote that Paradise stood formed in them, and ever more love strove within her with her rich beauty as to which were the greater. She was grave and simple and discreet withal, the highest-bred and stateliest lady that could be, ever goodly of speech, charitable, generous, and gay; nevermore was pity wanting in her tender heart, which was somewhat unstable. Her age truly I cannot tell.

Troilus was well-grown in height, and so perfectly formed and proportioned that nature could not have bettered him young, fresh, strong, bold as a lion, and true as steel in every point, one of the best-endued with virtues of all beings that ever were or shall be whilst the world lasts. And certainly it is found in the histories that he was never second unto any man of his time in the valor that belongs to a knight. Though a giant might pass him in strength, his heart stood equal to the first and best, to venture whatsoever he would.

But, to tell on of Diomed, it befell that on the tenth morning after Criseyde went out of the city, Diomed came, as fresh as a bough in May, to the tent where Calchas lodged, and feigned an affair with him. What was in his mind I shall tell you shortly. Criseyde welcomed him, and made him to sit down by her, and ready enough he was to tarry! Straightway men fetched forth the wine and spices to them, and they talked on of this and that, as friends do, and some of the talk you shall hear. First he fell into speech of the war betwixt them and the folk of Troy, and he besought her to tell him also what she thought about the siege. From that question he came to asking if the Greek customs and behavior seemed strange to her; and why her father delayed so long to marry her to some noble person.

Criseyde, who was in strong pains for love of her own knight Troilus, answered him as well as she could, but as to what was in his mind it seemed as if she knew not.

Nevertheless Diomed began to gain boldness, and said, 'If I have taken heed of you aright, my lady Criseyde, methinks that, since I first laid hand on your bridle when you came that morning out of Troy, I have never been able to see you except in sorrow. I cannot say what the cause may be, unless it be the love of some Trojan; which would grieve me right sore, that you should ever spill a quarter of a tear for any wight that dwells there, or should cheat yourself so piteously. Believe me, it is not worth your while. The folk of Troy, one and all, are as it were in prison, as you see yourself- nor could one of them come off thence alive for all the gold betwixt sun and sea. Trust me and understand me right well: not one shall come alive to mercy, were he lord of ten worlds! Before we go hence, such vengeance shall be taken on them for the carrying off of Helen, that the very Manes, gods of torment, shall be aghast for fear the Greeks may do them hurt, and henceforth unto the end of the world men shall dread to ravish a queen, so cruel shall our vengeance appear! And unless Calchas mislead us with sly double words and equivocations, such as men call words with two visages, you shall know well that I lie not, and all this you shall see with your own eyes, and that anon, you could scarce believe how soon. Now take heed, for it shall be so! What! Believe you that your wise father would have readily given Antenor for you if he knew not that the city should be destroyed? Nay, nay, as I hope for joy! He knew well that not one Trojan shall escape, and for that great fear he durst not let you dwell there longer. What more will you, sweet lovesome lady? Let Troy and the Trojans pass out of your heart! Be of good cheer, drive out that bitter hope and call the beauty of your face back again, which you so mar with salt tears. Troy is brought to such peril that now no remedy can save it. Think well that before to-morrow you may find amongst the Greeks a more perfect lover than any Trojan is, and more kind and more zealous to serve you. And if you vouchsafe, bright lady, I will be he to serve you, yea, rather than he lord of twelve Greeces!'

With those words he began to wax red, and his voice to tremble a little, and he somewhat turned away his face and was silent a while. Afterwards he recovered himself, and throwing a grave look on her, he said, ' I am, though you may care naught for it, as well-born as any in Troy. If my father Tydeus had lived longer, Criseyde, before now I should have been king of Calydon and Argos, and so I hope I yet shall be. But he was lucklessly slain at Thebes, all too soon, alas the pity!, to the harm of Polynices and many another. Since I am your man, and you the first, dear heart whom I ever sought permission ardently to serve (as I ever shall do whilst I live), ere I leave this place I pray you grant me that I may to-morrow at better leisure tell you all my pain.'

Why should I tell all his words? He must have spoken enough for one day at least, for Criseyde granted him to have speech with her on the morrow, if he would speak no more of such matters. With her heart so fast set on Troilus that none could tear it away, she spoke to him haughtily: 'Diomed, I love that place where I was born, and may Jove of his grace deliver it soon from all its troubles! O God, of Thy might grant it prosperity! That the Greeks would wreak their wrath on Troy if they could, I know well, but, before God, it shall not befall as you say. I know my father is wise and ready of wits and since he has bought me so dear, as you have told me, I am the more bounden to him. That the Greeks are men of noble parts I know full well; but in truth men shall find within Troy town as worthy folk, as perfect, wise, and gentle as are betwixt Ind and the Orcades! That you could serve your lady well and win her thanks, I well believe. But, to speak of love, I had a lord to whom I was wedded, and to whom ail my heart belonged till he died; and other love there now is not in my heart, nor ever was, so may Pallas help me. What you are of high and noble kindred I haste indeed heard tell; and it is that gives me so great a wonder that you will so mock any woman! God wot, love and I are far apart; I am more disposed to lament wofully until my death. As yet truly I care not for mirth; what I shall do hereafter I cannot tell. Day by day now my heart is busy in tribulation, and you in arms. Perchance it may so happen hereafter, when you have won the town, and when I see what I never yet saw, that I shall do what I never yet did! This ought to suffice you. I will gladly talk with you tomorrow, so you speak not of this matter, and you may come here again when you list. Ere you go, thus much I will say: so help me bright-haired Pallas, if ever I take pity on any Greek, it shall be you, by my troth! I say not therefore that I will do it, nor say I no; and my last word is that as God sees me, I mean honestly.' With that she lowered her eyes and began to sigh, saying, 'O Troy-town, I pray God I may yet see thee in peace and quiet, or else let my heart burst!'

But, to speak in few words, this Diomed began freshly to press on again, and begged hard for her grace, and after this he took her glove, of which he was full glad; and finally, when the sun had set and all was going well, he rose and took leave.

Bright Venus had followed in the west and showed the way where broad Phoebes had gone down, and Cynthia the moon was urging on her chariot-horses to whirl out of the Lion if she could, and the Zodiac was showing its bright candles, when Criseyde withdrew to her rest within her father's bright fair tent; revolving round and about in her soul the words of this impetuous Diomed, his high station, the peril of the town, and how she was alone and had need of friends' help. And thus, to say the sooth, began to breed the causes why she took her full purpose to remain.

The morning came, and Diomed to Criseyde; and briefly, lest ye should interrupt my tale, he spoke so well for himself that he allayed all her sighs, and finally consoled her for the greater part of her grief. After this, the story tells us, she gave back to him the fair bay steed which he had won from Troilus; and she gave him a brooch (she need not have done that!) which Troilus had given her; and, to console his amorous sorrow, she made him to bear on his lance her sleeve as a pennon. I find elsewhere in the histories that when Diomed was hurt through the body by Troilus she wept many a tear, seeing his wide wounds bleed, and that she took good care in nursing him. And, to heal him of his bitter grieving, men say -- I know not --that she gave him her heart. But truly the history tells us that woman never made more lament than she, when she became false to Troilus.

'Alas!' she said, 'my name for fidelity in love is now clean gone for evermore! For I have betrayed one of the gentlest that ever was, and one of the worthiest. Alas! unto the world's end no good word shall be sung or written of me, so shall books reproach me. Ah, my name shall be tossed on many tongues, and throughout the world my knell shall be knolled, and women most of all shall hate me! Alas that such a case should betide me! They will say that, as much as in me lay, I have done them dishonor. Though I be not the first that has done amiss, how helps that to put away my blame? But since I see there is nothing better and that now is too late to repent, at least I will be true to Diomed. But, Troilus, since there is no help, and thou and I are thus parted, still I pray God to bless thee, as truly the noblest that ever I saw, for faithful service and watchful keeping of his lady's honor.' At those words she burst out weeping. 'And certes I shall never hate thee, but thou shalt ever have of me the love of a friend and my words of praise, though I should live forever! Truly I should be sorry to see thee in any adversity and I know well I leave thee without guilt of think But all things shall pass away. And so I take my leave.'

How long it was before she forsook him for this Diomed, truly I trow no author tells it. Let every man now examine his books, and he will of a surety find no time set down, for though Diomed began betimes to woo her, yet there was more to do before he won her. Nor would I chide this unhappy woman farther than the history chides her; her name is published so far alas!, that it ought to suffice for her guilt. And, because she was so sorry for her faithlessness, if I could in any wise excuse her, in truth I would do it yet for pity.

Troilus was living through the time, as I have told before, so well as he could. But often was his heart hot and cold, and chiefly that same ninth night, on the morrow after which she had promised him to come again. God wot, full little rest and no desire to sleep had he that night! The laurel-crowned Phoebus as he went ever upward in his course, was beginning to warm the wet waves of the eastern sea, and Nisus' daughter the lark was singing with lusty spirit, when Troilus sent after his Pandarus they went to divert them on the walls of the town, and to see if they could espy aught of Criseyde, and till it was nones they stood to watch who should be coming. Every sort of per- son coming from afar they said must be she, till they could see him clearly. Now was Troilus' heart dull, now light! And thus bemocked stood the two to stare after nothing.

'For aught I can think,' said Troilus, 'Criseyde surely cannot come into the town before nones. She has enough to do, I dare be bound, to escape from her old father at all. He will make her dine, too, before she goes,-- a plague upon him!' 'It may well be, certainly,' Pandarus answered, ' and there- fore let us dine, I beg you, and after nones you may return.'

Home they went without more words, and then returned. But long may they seek before they find what they gape after; Fortune meant to mock them both.

'I see well now,' quoth Troilus, 'that she has so long tarried with her old father that it shall be nigh eve before she comes. Come forth, I will to the gate. These porters are ever dull of wits, and I shall find some excuse to make them keep the gates open, even though she may come late.'

The day went fast, and evening came, yet no Criseyde came to Troilus. He looked forth past hedge, tree, and grove, and reached his head far out over the wall. At last he turned about and spoke: 'By heaven, Pandarus, I know her meaning now, but I was almost back in my old woe! This lady shows her wit, of a truth; she means to ride back privily, she will not have folk foolishly gape at her when she comes, but she thinks to ride softly into the town at night, and by my hood, I commend her wisdom! Think it not over long to wait here, dear brother, we have naught else to do. And Pandarus, now will you believe me? By my troth, I see her! Yonder she is! Lift your eyes, man, can you not see?'

'Nay, by my honor,' Pandarus answered; 'all wrong, by heaven! Man, what say you? Where are your eyes? What I see yonder is only a traveling-cart!'

'Alas, you say the truth!' said Troilus. 'But surely it is not for nothing that I feel such joy in my heart now, my thoughts bode some good; I know not how, but never since I was made felt I such inner comfort. She comes to-night, I dare stake my life.'

'It may be, well enough,' answered Pandarus, and held with him in all that ever he said. But in his own heart he had his thoughts, and laughed softly, and then said full gravely to him- self, 'All that you are waiting for here is in the moon! Yea, farewell all the snow of yester-year!'

The gate-ward began to call the folk who were without the gates, and bade them drive in their beasts, or else they must re- main without all the night. And far on in the night Troilus turned his horse homeward with many a tear, for he saw it availed not to remain. But nevertheless he cheered him with the thought that he had reckoned the day wrongly, and said, 'I understood her amiss; for the night I last saw Criseyde she said, "I shall be here, if I can, sweet dear heart, before the moon now in the Ram pass out of the Lion." Wherefore she may yet keep all her promise.'

And on the morrow he went to the gate, and up and down on the walls, westward and eastward, he made many a turn. But all for naught, his horse ever deceived Viral. Wherefore at night he went home at last with sorrow and sore sighs. Hope fled clean out elf his heart, he had nothing now whereon longer to rely, and so sharp and wondrous strong were his throes that his heart seemed to bleed for the pain for when he saw that she broke her promise and remained so long, he knew not what to think thereof. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days after the ten days, his heart lay betwixt hope and fear, yet somewhat trusted still to her old promises. But when he saw she would not keep to her time, he could find no help except to plan soon to die. Thereat the wicked spirit (God bless us from him!) that men call mad Jealousy, crept into his heavy heart; and his melancholy and his desire to die made him to forsake eating and drinking, and to flee from every company. This was the life he led all this time. He was so wasted that scarce could a man know him; he grew so lean, so pale and wan and feeble, that he walked with a staff. Thus he wore himself out by his resentment. And whoso asked him where his trouble was, he said it was all about his heart. Full often Priam and his dear mother, and his brethren and sisters, asked him why he was so cast down and what was the cause of all his pain. But all for naught; he would not lament to them for the true cause, but said he felt a grievous malady about his heart, and fain would die.

So one day when he had laid him down to rest, it befell that in his sleep be seemed to be walking in a forest to weep for love of her who was giving him this pain. As he roamed up and down through the forest, he dreamed he saw a boar with great tusks lying asleep in the heat of the bright sun, and by this boar, folding it fast in her arms and continually kissing it, lay his bright lady Criseyde. For sorrow and rage at this sight he started out of his sleep, and cried aloud on Pandarus: ' Ah Pandarus ! Now I know the beginning and end of it, and there is no more but that I am a dead man My bright lady Criseyde, whom I trusted above every creature, has betrayed me, she has pleased her heart elsewhere The blessed gods of their great power have showed it in my dream. Thus I beheld Criseyde in my dream--,' and he told him the whole matter.

'Alas, my Criseyde! What subtlety, what new pleasure, what beauty or wisdom--! What cause have I given thee for anger? What guilt of mine, or what dread event, has taken thy thoughts from me, alas! O trust and faith and confidence! Who has torn Criseyde, all my joy, away from me? Alas! why have I ever let thee go, and wellnigh started out of my wits when thou wentest! Who will ever believe in oaths again? God wet, bright lady, Criseyde, I believed that every word thou spakest was gospel. But who can better beguile, if he will, than he whom men most trust? O my Pandarus, what shall I do? Now I fear so sharp a new pain, that since there is no help now, it were better I slew myself with my two hands than ever thus to weep. Death would put an end to the woe which every living day wears me away.'

'Alack the day that I was born!' cried Pandarus. 'Have I not said before that many a man is beguiled by dreams? Why?-- because folk expound them amiss ! How dare you for any dream say your lady is false, only out of your own fears? Let this thought be, you understand not the interpretation of dreams. When you dreamed of this boar, perchance it may signify that her old gray father is lying in the sunshine at the point of death, and that she is crying and weeping and kissing him as he lies on the ground. That is the true way to read your dream!'

'How can I do then to learn the truth,' said Troilus, 'were it never so little of it?'

'Now you speak like a wise man,' replied Pandarus; 'my counsel is, that since you can write well, you straightway send her a letter, which shall bring you certainty in place of doubtfulness. And see now why! For, I dare be bound, if she be untrue I cannot believe that she will write again; and if she write, you shad soon learn whether she has the power to come back, or else, if she is hindered, she will somewhere tell the cause. You have not written to her since she went, nor she to you. I dare wager, she may know such good cause that you yourself would readily agree that her tarrying is best for both of you. Now write her therefore, and you will speedily feel the truth of this; and that is all there is to do.'

The two lords agreed in this resolution, and that anon, and straightway Troilus sat him down and turned it over and over in his mind how he could best depict his woe to his own dear lady. He wrote thus:

'Fresh flower, in whose service alone I have ever been and shall be, with heart, body, life, desires, thought, and all, I woful wight recommend me to your noble favor, as steadily as matter fills space, and in every humble wise that tongue can tell or heart think. May it please you to remember, dear heart, as you well know, how long ago it was that you went away and left me in bitter pains. As yet I have had no remedy, but am ever from day to day more woe-begone, and so must remain so long as it please you that are spring of my weal and woe. Wherefore, as one driven by sorrow to write, with timid faithful heart I write to you of my woe, increasing newly every hour, and lament as much as I dare, or can express myself. For what is defaced herein, you may blame the tears which rain from my eyes, which themselves would speak and lament if they could.

'I first beseech you not to deem your clear eyes defiled if they look on this, and that you will vouchsafe to read through this letter. And if, because my cold cares are slaying my wit, aught amiss should escape me, forgive it me, my own dear hear! If any lover durst or might justly complain piteously upon his lady, I trow that I am he: considering this, that you have tarried these two months amid the Greek host, where you said you would abide but ten days. But in two months you have not returned. Yet forasmuch as I must needs be content with all that contents you, I dare complain no more; but humbly and with sad sick sighs I must write you of my grievous restless sorrows, desiring evermore from day to day to know fully, if it be your pleasure, how you have fared and done in this absence. May God so increase your welfare, dignity and health that they may ever unceasingly grow upward! I pray God to fulfill all your heart's desire, my lady, and grant that you may be pitiful to me as surely as I am true to you.

'And if it please you to learn of the estate of one crammed with every grief, whose woe no wit can depict, I can say no more but that at the writing of this letter I was alive, yet all ready to let my woful spirit flit; which I delay to do, and hold it yet in hand, until I see the tenor of your message to me. My two eyes, which still have the useless power of sight, are become founts of salt tears. My song is turned to lamentation for lily adversity; my good into harm, my ease into hell, my joy into woe; I can say no more, but every joy or pleasure is turned into its contrary wherefore I curse my life. All which you can redress by coming home to Troy, and create in me joy a thousand times more than ever I had. For never yet was heart so blithe to he alive as I shall be so soon as I shall see you. ' And if no sort of compassion move you, yet think on your pledge. And if my guilt have deserved death, or if you list never again to see me, yet in guerdon of my past service I beseech you, my heart's lady, my true loadstar, for the love of God to write me hereupon, that death may end my struggle. If any other cause delay you, then recomfort me with your letter. though y our absence be a hell to me, I will bear my woe with patience and divert me with your letter of hope. Now, sweet one, leave me not thus lamenting, but write, and with hope or death deliver me from pain. I know of a surety, my own dear true heart, that when you next see me Criseyde will not be able to know me, so have I lost my health and color. Daylight of my heart, my noble lady, so thirsts my heart ever to behold your beauty that I scarce hold my life.

'I say no more, though I have more to say to you than I can express. Whether you bring me life or death, I pray God send you a joyous life. So farewell, goodly fresh fair woman, who may order me to life or death! To your faithfulness I ever recommend me, in such a manner of health that unless you grant me health I shall have no health. In your power stands the day when my grave shall wrap me, whenever you will that it be so. In you is my life, in you is might to save me from the torture of all grievous pains. And flow farewell, my own sweet heart.'

This letter was sent forth to Criseyde, and she wrote back in effect thus; she said piteously that so soon as she could she would indeed come and mend all that was amiss; yea, she would come,--but she knew not when. In her letter she made wondrous much of him, and swore she loved him best of all; all which assurances he found to be but hollow. Troilus, now thou mayst wear the willow and go whistle! so wags the world if God shield us from harm, and promote every wight that means honestly!

Day and night increased the woe of Troilus for Criseyde's tarrying, and his hope and strength lessened. He laid him down in his bed, and neither ate, drank, slept, nor said a word but wellnigh went out of his mind, ever imagining that she was faithless. The dream of which I told would never pass from his remembrance. He thought he had verily lost his lady, and that Jove in his watchful providence had showed him in sleep the symbol of her unfaithfulness and his misfortune, and that this boar was the figure thereof. Wherefore he sent for the Sibyl his sister, who was named Cassandra, and told her all his dream and begged her to resolve for him the mystery of that wrong boar with stout tusks. Within a little while Cassandra expounded his dream to him thus. She first began to smile, and said:

'O brother dear, if you desire to learn the truth of this, you must learn certain old stories, how Fortune has overthrown ancient lords; by which you will shortly know this boar full well, and of what stock he is sprung, as men find in books. Diana was wroth because the Greeks would not do her sacrifice nor set incense afire upon her altar, and because they so neglected her she avenged herself wondrous cruelly. For she made a boar, as huge as a stalled ox, to devour all their corn and vines. To slay this boar all the folk of the country were raised, amongst whom there came to see the boar a maiden, one of the most renowned of this world; and Meleager, lord of that country, so loved this noble blooming maiden that he pursued this boar till he slew it by his manhood, and sent her the head. From this, as old books tell us, there arose a strife, and great ill-will; but how this Meleager died through his mother's deed I will not tell, for it were too long. And from this lord was Tydeus lineally descended, or else old books lie.'

She told also how Tydeus went to the strong city of Thebes to claim dominion over the city for his fellow Polynices, whose brother Eteocles held it full wrongfully; this story she told at large. She told also how Haemonides escaped when Tydeus slew fifty stout knights. She told all the prophecies word by word, and how the seven kings with their host besieged the city all about; and told of the holy serpent, and the well, and the Furies, of Archemorus' burial and funeral games, and how Amphiaraus fell through the ground, how Tydeus, lord of the Argives, was slain, how Hippomedon was drowned and Parhenopaeus died of his wounds, and eke how proud Capaneus was slain with a thunderbolt. She told him also how each of the brethren, Eteocles and Polynices, slew the other in a skirmish, and of the Argives' weeping and woe, and how the town was burnt. And so she came down from the old histories to Diomed, and thus she spoke: 'This same boar betokens the son of Tydeus, Diomed, who is descended from Meleager, who slew the boar; and wheresoever your lady is, in truth this Diomed has her heart, and she his. Weep if you will, or not! For of a surety Diomed is in and you are out!'

'You say not the truth,' he said, 'you sorceress, with your false spirit of prophecy. You deem yourself a great diviner! Now but see this fanciful fool, that wearies herself to slander ladies! Away with you, Jove give you sorrow! Before another day you may be proved false. As well you might slander Alcestis, who of all creatures that ever were was the loyalest and the best, unless men lie; for when her husband was in jeopardy of death unless she would die, she chose to die in his stead and go to hell; and die she did, as the books say.'

Cassandra departed, and with savage heart he forgot his woe for anger at her words. He leaped from his bed, as though a leech had cured him, and day by day sought and inquired about with all diligence to learn the truth of this. And thus he endured his lot.

Fortune, to whom the permutation of things is assigned by the providence of high Jove, how sovereignty shall flit from folk to folk, or when a folk shall be smitten, began from day to day to pull away the bright joyous plumage of Troy till it was bare. During all this, the term of Hector's life was approaching wondrous fast. The Fates would that his soul should unbody, and had devised a means to drive it out, against which it availed him drove him unawares through the mail and through the body; and thus was this worthy knight brought to his death.

For him, as old books tell us, such lament was made that tongue cannot tell it, and most of all was the sorrow of Troilus next to Hector the chiefest fount of valor. And in this woe he remained until, what for sorrow and what for love and unrest many times a day he bade his heart break. Nevertheless, for all his despair and dread that his lady was untrue, his heart ever repaired to her, and, as lovers do, he sought ever freshly to re- cover the bright Criseyde, and was excusing her in his heart, that was Calchas caused her tarrying. Oftentimes he half resolved to disguise himself like a pilgrim, and go to see her. But he could not so transform himself as to be unknown to discerning folk, nor devise an excuse to serve if he should be known amongst the Greeks; for which he often wept many a tear. Oftentimes he wrote newly to her again, and full piteously, for no sloth withheld him; beseeching her that since he was true she would return and hold her troth to him. To all which matter upon a day Criseyde replied, out of pity (or so I take it), and wrote thus:

'Mirror of goodliness, Cupid's son, sword of knighthood, spring of nobility! How could a wight in torment and in sickness and dread as yet send you gladness? I, without heart or wealth or joy, can neither send you heart nor health, since I cannot deal with you nor you with me. My heart's pity has fully understood your letters, the paper all written over with laments and stained with tears, and how you require me to come again. As yet this may not be; but why, I make no mention now for fear lest this letter should be found. God knows how grievous to me are your unrest and your urgency. You seem not to take for the best what the gods ordain; nor is aught else, methinks, in your mind but only your pleasure. But be not wroth, I beg you.

'The cause why I tarry is all wicked tongues. For I have heard much more than I deemed was known, how things have stood betwixt us two, which I shall amend by dissimulation. And--be not wroth now--I have understood also how you are at present but deluding me. But no matter for this now; I cannot believe aught to be in you but all truth and nobleness. Come I will; but I stand here amid such difficulties that I cannot appoint what day or what year that shall be. But in fine I pray you as heartily as I can for your good word ever, and for your friendship. And truly, whilst my life shall last, you may count me for a friend. I pray you further not to take it ill that I write you in few words. Where I am, I dare not make long letters, and I never yet could write well. Great matters men often express in little room. The intent is all, and not the length of the letter. And now farewell, and may God have you in His grace!'

This letter Troilus thought altogether cold, when he read it, and sorrowfully sighed. It seemed to him to bode the beginning of change. But finally he could not believe that she would not keep what she had promised him, for he who loves well is full loath to give up love, even though it grieve him. Nevertheless men say that at last, in spite of anything, a man must see the truth. And right soon such a case befell, so that Troilus well perceived that she was not so loyal as she ought to be; and at last he knew certainly that all was lost that he had been about.

Troilus was standing one day in his melancholy, full of suspicion of her for whose love he felt himself dying. And so befell that a sort of tunic, emblazoned with an escutcheon was being borne up and down throughout Troy, as was the custom, before Deiphobus as a token of his victory. This tunic, as mine author Lollius tells, he had torn the same day off Diomed. When Troilus saw it he began to take heed observing the length and breadth and all the workmanship. As he beheld it, suddenly his heart grew cold; for he had found within on the collar a brooch which he had given Criseyde that morning when she had perforce left Troy, in remembrance of him and of his grief, and which she had pledged him her faith to keep. Now he knew full well that his lady was no longer to be trusted.

He went home and sent speedily after Pandarus, and told him beginning and end of this new chance and all about the brooch, complaining of her fickleness of heart, and of his long love and faithfulness and suffering. He cried aloud upon death to restore his peace to him. 'O Criseyde,' he cried, 'bright lady, where is thy pledge, where is thy promise, where is thy love and thy faithfulness? Is Diomed now so dear to thee? Alas! If thou wouldst not stand firm in faith to me, I had trusted that at the least thou wouldst not thus have deceived me. Who now will ever believe oaths? I would never have believed ere now that thou, Criseyde, couldst so have changed, nor that, unless I had done amiss to thee, thy heart was so cruel as to slay me thus. Alas, thy name for faithfulness is now blotted out and that is all my sorrow! Was there no other brooch that thou caredst to endow thy new love with, but that very brooch that I wet with my tears and gave thee for a remembrance of me? Thou gavest it, alas!, for no other cause but scorn, and because thou wouldst thus show utterly thy meaning. I see that thou hast cast me clean out of thy mind. And yet for all the world I cannot find it in my heart to cease loving thee for an hour. Alack! in a cursed time I was born, I love thee best in all the world, who hast given me all this woe! Now God send me the grace to meet with this Diomed! Truly if I have power and opportunity I shall yet make his sides bloody, I hope. O God, Who oughtest to take heed to advance fidelity and punish wrong, why wilt not wreak vengeance on this crime? Ah Pandarus, you who blamed me for trusting dreams and were wont to upbraid me, now if you will you may see yourself how true is your bright niece! In sundry forms, God wot, the gods show joy and grief in sleep, and by my dream this is proved. And certainly, for final resolution, henceforth as I can I will seek my own death upon the field, and I care not how soon be the day. But truly, Criseyde, sweet maiden, whom I have ever loved with all my might, I have not deserved that thou shouldst do thus!'

Pandarus, hearing all this and knowing that he spoke the truth, answered him not a word, sorry for his friend's sorrow and shamed for his niece. Astonied by these two causes, he stood speechless, as still as a stone. But at last he spoke: 'Dear brother, I can do no more for you. What should I say? Indeed I hate Criseyde! God wot, I shall hate her evermore. What you once besought me to do I did, having no regard to my honor nor to my peace. If I did aught to your pleasure, I am glad. And for this betrayal now, God knows it is a sorrow to me ! Of a surety, to ease your heart I fain would amend this, if I knew how. I pray almighty God to deliver her soon out of this world I I can say no more.'

However great the sorrow and lamentation of Troilus, Fortune held ever on her course; Criseyde loved the son of Tydeus, and Troilus must weep in cold cares. Such is this world! In any station of life is but little heart's ease, whoso will look to it. God grant us to make the best of it!

In many a cruel battle was seen the knighthood and mighty strength of the noble Troilus, as men may read in these old books, and full cruelly day and night the Greeks must pay for his wrath. Most of all he sought after Diomed, and oftentimes I find they came together with bloody strokes and huge words, assaying how their spears were sharpened. Often in savage fury, God wot, Troilus beat upon Diomed's helmet. Nevertheless Fortune would not that either should die by the other's hand.

If I had undertaken to write of the prowess of this valiant knight, I would tell now of his battles. But forasmuch as I began first to write of his love, I have told of that as well as I could. Whoso would hear of his noble deeds, let him read Dares; he can tell them all together. And I beseech every bright-faced lady, and every noble dame, what so she be, that they be not wrath with me for Criseyde's guilt, though she were untrue. Ye may see her guilt in other books before mine; and more gladly I will write, if ye please to have me, of the faithfulness of Penelope and good Alcestis. Nor write I thus of faith and falsehood only for the sake of men, but most of all for those women who are betrayed through false folk. Those who through great subtlety and wit betray you, God give them sorrow, amen! It is this has moved me to write; and, in fine, I pray you all beware of men and hearken to what I say.

Go, my little book! Go, my little tragedy! Be not a rival of other poems, but be humble amongst them all, and kiss their steps wherever you see Virgil and Ovid go, and Homer, Statius, and Lucan. May God yet send thy maker power, before he die, to use his pen in some comedy! And because there is so great diversity in English and in the writing of our speech, pray also to God that none copy thee wrong nor mar thy metro through defect of his tongue. Wheresoever thou be sung or read, beseech God that thou be understood. But now back again to my story.

The Greeks paid dearly, as I began to tell you, for the wrath of Troilus, who was without any peer in his day save Hector, so far as I can learn. His hand slew thousands. But alack and alack (save that it was God's will)!, the fierce Achilles mercilessly slew him. And when he was slain thus, his freed spirit went full blissfully up into the eighth sphere of heaven, leaving all the elements in their spheres below him. Thence he gazed long upon the wandering stars, hearkening to the harmony of sounds full of heavenish melody, and then down upon this little spot of earth embraced by the sea, and then he began utterly to despise this wretched world, and held all to be vanity in comparison to the full felicity of heaven above. At length he cast his eyes down upon the spot where he was slain, and laughed within himself at the grief of them that wept so for his death, and condemned all our deeds who follow so hard after blind pleasures which cannot endure, when we should cast our whole heart on heaven. So on he went to the place where Mercury allotted him a dwelling. Thus ended Troilus for love, thus ended his worth and his royal station, thus ended his joyousness and his nobility; to such an end leads this false world's instability. Thus, as I have told, began his loving of Criseyde; and in this wise he died.

O young lusty folk, youths and maids, in whom love ever grows up with your age, get you home from worldly vanity! Cast up the eyes of your heart to that God that made you after His image, and think that all this world is but a market-fair, and passes as soon as the sweet flowers. And love Him who for pure love, to redeem our souls, first died Upon the cross, and rose again, and now sits on high in heaven. He will fail no creature, of that be sure, who will lean his heart wholly on Him. And since He is most gentle and best to love, what need to seek feigned loves?

Here in this book you may see the pagans' cursed old rites, and how little their gods avail. See here the end of this wretched world's desires! See here the end and guerdon for toil given by Jove, Apollo, Mars, and such rabble! And likewise the manner of old clerks' speech in poetry you may see here. O moral Gower, I address this book to thee, and to thee, philosophical Strode, that ye may vouchsafe to correct it, where need is, of your righteous zeal and benignity.

And now to that true Christ that died on the rood I pray with all my heart for mercy, and to the Lord I say thus: Thou One, Two, Three, eternally existing, that ever in Three, Two, One reignest uncircumscribed, yet circumscribest all, defend us from out foes, visible and invisible. And make us, Jesu, worthy of Thy mercy, for the love of Thy benign maiden-mother.

Explicit Liber Troili et Criseydis.

back to Laurel Amtower
San Diego State University