This Troilus, in guise of courtesy,
With hawk on hand, and with a huge rout1 1retinue, crowd
Of knightes, rode, and did her company,
Passing alle the valley far without;
And farther would have ridden, out of doubt,
Full fain,1 and woe was him to go so soon, 1gladly
But turn he must, and it was eke to do’n.
And right with that was Antenor y-come
Out of the Greekes’ host, and ev’ry wight
Was of it glad, and said he was welcome;
And Troilus, 1all n’ere his hearte light,1 1although his heart
He pained him, with all his fulle might, was not light1
Him to withhold from weeping at the least;
And Antenor he kiss’d and made feast.
And therewithal he must his leave take,
And cast his eye upon her piteously,
And near he rode, his cause1 for to make 1excuse, occasion
To take her by the hand all soberly;
And, Lord! so she gan weepe tenderly!
And he full soft and slily gan her say,
“Now hold your day, and 1do me not to dey.”1 1do not make me die1
With that his courser turned he about,
With face pale, and unto Diomede
No word he spake, nor none of all his rout;
Of which the son of Tydeus tooke heed,
As he that couthe1 more than the creed 1knew
In such a craft, and by the rein her hent;1 1took
And Troilus to Troye homeward went.
This Diomede, that led her by the bridle,
When that he saw the folk of Troy away,
Thought, “All my labour shall not be 1on idle,1 1in vain1
If that I may, for somewhat shall I say;
For, at the worst, it may yet short our way;
I have heard say eke, times twice twelve,
He is a fool that will forget himselve.”
But natheless, this thought he well enough,
That “Certainly I am aboute naught,
If that I speak of love, or 1make it tough;1 1make any violent
For, doubteless, if she have in her thought immediate effort1
Him that I guess, he may not be y-brought
So soon away; but I shall find a mean,
That she 1not wit as yet shall1 what I mean.” 1shall not yet know1
So he began a general conversation, assured her of not less friendship and honour among the Greeks than she had enjoyed in Troy, and requested of her earnestly to treat him as a brother and accept his service — for, at last he said, “I am and shall be ay, while that my life may dure, your own, aboven ev’ry creature.
“Thus said I never e’er now to woman born;
For, God mine heart as wisly1 gladden so! 1surely
I loved never woman herebeforn,
As paramours, nor ever shall no mo’;
And for the love of God be not my foe,
All1 can I not to you, my lady dear, 1although
Complain aright, for I am yet to lear.1 1teach
“And wonder not, mine owen lady bright,
Though that I speak of love to you thus blive;1 1soon
For I have heard ere this of many a wight
That loved thing he ne’er saw in his live;
Eke I am not of power for to strive
Against the god of Love, but him obey
I will alway, and mercy I you pray.”
Cressida answered his discourses as though she scarcely heard them; yet she thanked him for his trouble and courtesy, and accepted his offered friendship — promising to trust him, as well she might. Then she alighted from her steed, and, with her heart nigh breaking, was welcomed to the embrace of her father. Meanwhile Troilus, back in Troy, was lamenting with tears the loss of his love, despairing of his or her ability to survive the ten days, and spending the night in wailing, sleepless tossing, and troublous dreams. In the morning he was visited by Pandarus, to whom he gave directions for his funeral; desiring that the powder into which his heart was burned should be kept in a golden urn, and given to Cressida. Pandarus renewed his old counsels and consolations, reminded his friend that ten days were a short time to wait, argued against his faith in evil dreams, and urged him to take advantage of the truce, and beguile the time by a visit to King Sarpedon (a Lycian Prince who had come to aid the Trojans). Sarpedon entertained them splendidly; but no feasting, no pomp, no music of instruments, no singing of fair ladies, could make up for the absence of Cressida to the desolate Troilus, who was for ever poring upon her old letters, and recalling her loved form. Thus he “drove to an end” the fourth day, and would have then returned to Troy, but for the remonstrances of Pandarus, who asked if they had visited Sarpedon only to fetch fire? At last, at the end of a week, they returned to Troy; Troilus hoping to find Cressida again in the city, Pandarus entertaining a scepticism which he concealed from his friend. The morning after their return, Troilus was impatient till he had gone to the palace of Cressida; but when he found her doors all closed, “well nigh for sorrow adown he gan to fall.”
Therewith, when he was ware, and gan behold
How shut was ev’ry window of the place,
As frost him thought his hearte 1gan to cold;1 1began to grow cold1
For which, with changed deadly pale face,
Withoute word, he forth began to pace;
And, as God would, he gan so faste ride,
That no wight of his countenance espied.
Then said he thus: “O palace desolate!
O house of houses, 1whilom beste hight!1 1formerly called best1
O palace empty and disconsolate!
O thou lantern, of which quench’d is the light!
O palace, whilom day, that now art night!
Well oughtest thou to fall, and I to die,
Since she is gone that wont was us to guy!1 1guide, rule
“O palace, whilom crown of houses all,
Illumined with sun of alle bliss!
O ring, from which the ruby is out fall!
O cause of woe, that cause hast been of bliss!
Yet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss
Thy colde doores, durst I for this rout;
And farewell shrine, of which the saint is out!”
. . . . . . . . . . .
From thence forth he rideth up and down,
And ev’ry thing came him to remembrance,
As he rode by the places of the town,
In which he whilom had all his pleasance;
“Lo! yonder saw I mine own lady dance;
And in that temple, with her eyen clear,
Me caughte first my righte lady dear.
“And yonder have I heard full lustily
My deare hearte laugh; and yonder play:
Saw I her ones eke full blissfully;
And yonder ones to me gan she say,
‘Now, goode sweete! love me well, I pray;’
And yond so gladly gan she me behold,
That to the death my heart is to her hold.1 1holden, bound
“And at that corner, in the yonder house,
Heard I mine allerlevest1 lady dear, 1dearest of all
So womanly, with voice melodious,
Singe so well, so goodly and so clear,
That in my soule yet me thinks I hear
The blissful sound; and in that yonder place
My lady first me took unto her grace.”
Then he went to the gates, and gazed along the way by which he had attended Cressida at her departure; then he fancied that all the passers-by pitied him; and thus he drove forth a day or two more, singing a song, of few words, which he had made to lighten his heart:
“O star, of which I lost have all the light,
With hearte sore well ought I to bewail,
That ever dark in torment, night by night,
Toward my death, with wind I steer and sail;
For which, the
tenthe night, if that I fail1 1miss; be left without
The guiding of thy beames bright an hour,
My ship and me Charybdis will devour.”
By night he prayed the moon to run fast about her sphere; by day he reproached the tardy sun — dreading that Phaethon had come to life again, and was driving the chariot of Apollo out of its straight course. Meanwhile Cressida, among the Greeks, was bewailing the refusal of her father to let her return, the certainty that her lover would think her false, and the hopelessness of any attempt to steal away by night. Her bright face waxed pale, her limbs lean, as she stood all day looking toward Troy; thinking on her love and all her past delights, regretting that she had not followed the counsel of Troilus to steal away with him, and finally vowing that she would at all hazards return to the city. But she was fated, ere two months, to be full far from any such intention; for Diomede now brought all his skill into play, to entice Cressida into his net. On the tenth day, Diomede, “as fresh as branch in May,” came to the tent of Cressida, feigning business with Calchas.
Cresside, at shorte wordes for to tell,
Welcomed him, and down by her him set,
And he was 1eath enough to make dwell;1 1easily persuaded to stay1
And after this, withoute longe let,1 1delay
The spices and the wine men forth him fet,1 1fetched
And forth they speak of this and that y-fere,1 1together
As friendes do, of which some shall ye hear.
He gan first fallen of the war in speech
Between them and the folk of Troye town,
And of the siege he gan eke her beseech
To tell him what was her opinioun;
From that demand he so descended down
To aske her, if that her strange thought
The Greekes’ guise,1 and workes that they wrought. 1fashion
And why her father tarried1 so long 1delayed
To wedde her unto some worthy wight.
Cressida, that was in her paines strong
For love of Troilus, her owen knight,
So farforth as she cunning1 had or might, 1ability
Answer’d him then; but, as for his intent,1 1purpose
It seemed not she wiste1 what he meant. 1knew
But natheless this ilke1 Diomede 1same
Gan 1in himself assure,1 and thus he said; 1grow confident1
“If I aright have 1taken on you heed,1 1observed you1
Me thinketh thus, O lady mine Cresside,
That since I first hand on your bridle laid,
When ye out came of Troye by the morrow,
Ne might I never see you but in sorrow.
“I cannot say what may the cause be,
But if for love of some Trojan it were;
1The which right sore would a-thinke me1 1which it would much
That ye for any wight that dwelleth there pain me to think1
Should [ever] spill1 a quarter of a tear, 1shed
Or piteously yourselfe so beguile;1 1deceive
For dreadeless1 it is not worth the while. 1undoubtedly
“The folk of Troy, as who saith, all and some
In prison be, as ye yourselfe see;
From thence shall not one alive come
For all the gold betwixte sun and sea;
Truste this well, and understande me;
There shall not one to mercy go alive,
All1 were he lord of worldes twice five. 1although
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“What will ye more, lovesome lady dear?
Let Troy and Trojan from your hearte pace;
Drive out that bitter hope, and make good cheer,
And call again the beauty of your face,
That ye with salte teares so deface;
For Troy is brought into such jeopardy,
That it to save is now no remedy.
“And thinke well, ye shall in Greekes find
A love more perfect, ere that it be night,
Than any Trojan is, and more kind,
And better you to serve will do his might;
And, if ye vouchesafe, my lady bright,
I will be he, to serve you, myselve, —
Yea, lever1 than be a lord of Greekes twelve!” 1rather
And with that word he gan to waxe red,
And in his speech a little while he quoke,1 1quaked; trembled
And cast aside a little with his head,
And stint a while; and afterward he woke,
And soberly on her he threw his look,
And said, “I am, albeit to you no joy,
As gentle1 man as any wight in Troy. 1high-born
“But, hearte mine! since that I am your man,1 1leigeman, subject
And [you] be the first of whom I seeke grace, (in love)
To serve you as heartily as I can,
And ever shall, while I to live have space,
So, ere that I depart out of this place,
Ye will me grante that I may, to-morrow,
At better leisure, telle you my sorrow.”
Why should I tell his wordes that he said?
He spake enough for one day at the mest;1 1most
It proveth well he spake so, that Cresseide
Granted upon the morrow, at his request,
Farther to speake with him, at the least,
So that he would not speak of such mattere;
And thus she said to him, as ye may hear:
As she that had her heart on Troilus
So faste set, that none might it arace;1 1uproot
And strangely1 she spake, and saide thus; 1distantly, unfriendlily
“O Diomede! I love that ilke place
Where I was born; and Jovis, for his grace,
Deliver it soon of all that doth it care!1 1afflict
God, for thy might, so 1leave it1 well to fare!” 1grant it1
She knows that the Greeks would fain wreak their wrath on Troy, if they might; but that shall never befall: she knows that there are Greeks of high condition — though as worthy men would be found in Troy: and she knows that Diomede could serve his lady well.
“But, as to speak of love, y-wis,” she said,
“I had a lord, to whom I wedded was,
He whose mine heart was all, until he died;
And other love, as help me now Pallas,
There in my heart nor is, nor ever was;
And that ye be of noble and high kindred,
I have well heard it tellen, out of dread.1 1doubt
“And that doth1 me to have so great a wonder 1causeth
That ye will scornen any woman so;
Eke, God wot, love and I be far asunder;
I am disposed bet, so may I go,1 1fare or prosper
Unto my death to plain and make woe;
What I shall after do I cannot say,
But truely as yet 1me list not play.1 1I am not disposed
1for sport
“Mine heart is now in tribulatioun;
And ye in armes busy be by day;
Hereafter, when ye wonnen have the town,
Parauntre1 then, so as it happen may, 1peradventure
That when I see that I never 1ere sey,1 1saw before1
Then will I work that I never ere wrought;
This word to you enough sufficen ought.
“To-morrow eke will I speak with you fain,1 1willingly
So that ye touche naught of this mattere;
And when you list, ye may come here again,
And ere ye go, thus much I say you here:
As help me Pallas, with her haires clear,
If that I should of any Greek have ruth,
It shoulde be yourselfe, by my truth!
“I say not therefore that I will you love;
1Nor say not nay;1 but, in conclusioun, 1nor say I that
I meane well, by God that sits above!” I will not1
And therewithal she cast her eyen down,
And gan to sigh, and said; “O Troye town!<
br />
Yet bid1 I God, in quiet and in rest 1pray
I may you see, or 1do my hearte brest!”1 1cause my heart to break1
But in effect, and shortly for to say,
This Diomede all freshly new again
Gan pressen on, and fast her mercy pray;
And after this, the soothe for to sayn,
Her glove he took, of which he was full fain,
And finally, when it was waxen eve,
And all was well, he rose and took his leave.
Cressida retired to rest:
Returning in her soul ay up and down
The wordes of this sudden Diomede,
His great estate,1 the peril of the town, 1rank
And that she was alone, and hadde need
Of friendes’ help; and thus began to dread
The causes why, the soothe for to tell,
That she took fully the purpose for to dwell.1 1remain (with the
Greeks)
The morrow came, and, ghostly1 for to speak, 1plainly
This Diomede is come unto Cresseide;
And shortly, lest that ye my tale break,
So well he for himselfe spake and said,
That all her sighes sore adown he laid;
And finally, the soothe for to sayn,
He refte1 her the great2 of all her pain. 1took away 2the greater
part of
And after this, the story telleth us
That she him gave the faire baye steed
The which she ones won of Troilus;
And eke a brooch (and that was little need)
That Troilus’ was, she gave this Diomede;
And eke, the bet from sorrow him to relieve,
She made him wear a pensel1 of her sleeve. 1pendant
I find eke in the story elleswhere,
When through the body hurt was Diomede
By Troilus, she wept many a tear,
When that she saw his wide woundes bleed,
And that she took to keepe1 him good heed, 1tend, care for
And, for to heal him of his sorrow’s smart,
Men say, I n’ot,1 that she gave him her heart. 1know not
And yet, when pity had thus completed the triumph of inconstancy, she made bitter moan over her falseness to one of the noblest and worthiest men that ever was; but it was now too late to repent, and at all events she resolved that she would be true to Diomede — all the while weeping for pity of the absent Troilus, to whom she wished every happiness. The tenth day, meantime, had barely dawned, when Troilus, accompanied by Pandarus, took his stand on the walls, to watch for the return of Cressida. Till noon they stood, thinking that every corner from afar was she; then Troilus said that doubtless her old father bore the parting ill, and had detained her till after dinner; so they went to dine, and returned to their vain observation on the walls. Troilus invented all kinds of explanations for his mistress’s delay; now, her father would not let her go till eve; now, she would ride quietly into the town after nightfall, not to be observed; now, he must have mistaken the day. For five or six days he watched, still in vain, and with decreasing hope. Gradually his strength decayed, until he could walk only with a staff; answering the wondering inquiries of his friends, by saying that he had a grievous malady about his heart. One day he dreamed that in a forest he saw Cressida in the embrace of a boar; and he had no longer doubt of her falsehood. Pandarus, however, explained away the dream to mean merely that Cressida was detained by her father, who might be at the point of death; and he counselled the disconsolate lover to write a letter, by which he might perhaps get at the truth. Troilus complied, entreating from his mistress, at the least, a “letter of hope;” and the lady answered, that she could not come now, but would so soon as she might; at the same time “making him great feast,” and swearing that she loved him best— “of which he found but bottomless behest [which he found but groundless promises].” Day by day increased the woe of Troilus; he laid himself in bed, neither eating, nor drinking, nor sleeping, nor speaking, almost distracted by the thought of Cressida’s unkindness. He related his dream to his sister Cassandra, who told him that the boar betokened Diomede, and that, wheresoever his lady was, Diornede certainly had her heart, and she was his: “weep if thou wilt, or leave, for, out of doubt, this Diomede is in, and thou art out.” Troilus, enraged, refused to believe Cassandra’s interpretation; as well, he cried, might such a story be credited of Alcestis, who devoted her life for her husband; and in his wrath he started from bed, “as though all whole had him y-made a leach [physician],” resolving to find out the truth at all hazards. The death of Hector meanwhile enhanced the sorrow which he endured; but he found time to write often to Cressida, beseeching her to come again and hold her truth; till one day his false mistress, out of pity, wrote him again, in these terms:
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 427
