Troilus and Criseyde. Geoffrey Chaucer

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СКАЧАТЬ wight y-born, all utterlý,

      But he might aught recover’d be thereby;{72}

      Rememb’ring him, that love too wide y-blow{73}

      Yields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.

      And, over all this, muche more he thought

      What thing to speak, and what to holden in;

      And what to arten{74} her to love, he sought;

      And on a song anon right to begin,

      And gan loud on his sorrow for to win;{75}

      For with good hope he gan thus to assent{76}

      Cressída for to love, and not repent.

      The Song of Troilus.{77}

      “If no love is, O God! why feel I so?

      And if love is, what thing and which is he?

      If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?

      If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh me{78}

      Whence ev’ry torment and adversity

      That comes of love may to me savoury think:{79}

      For more I thirst the morë that I drink.

      “And if I at mine owen lustë bren{80}

      From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?

      If maugré me,{81} whereto{82} plain I then?

      I wot ner{83} why, unweary, that I faint.

      O quickë death! O sweetë harm so quaint!{84}

      How may I see in me such quantity,{85}

      But if that I consent that so it be?

      “And if that I consent, I wrongfullý

      Complain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,

      All starrëless within a boat am I,

      Middës the sea, betwixtë windës two,

      That in contráry standen evermo’.

      Alas! what wonder is this maladý!—

      For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”

      Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Criseyde—though he yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess—Troilus, in spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown; then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Criseyde gave no sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he was now consumed with a new fear—lest she loved some other man. Bewailing his sad lot—ensnared, exposed to the scorn of those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him with some kind look—Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his friend Pandarus, the uncle of Criseyde. Pandarus, seeking to divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus’ cruelty in hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend’s desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus could never govern himself in love.

      “Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,” quoth Pandare,

      “Though I be nice;{86} it happens often so,

      That one that access{87} doth full evil fare,

      By good counsél can keep his friend therefro’.

      I have my selfë seen a blind man go

      Where as he fell that looke could full wide;

      A fool may eke a wise man often guide.

      “A whetstone is no carving instrument,

      But yet it maketh sharpë carving toolës;

      And, if thou know’st that I have aught miswent,{88}

      Eschew thou that, for such thing to thee school{89} is.

      Thus oughtë wise men to beware by foolës;

      If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared;

      By its contráry is everything declared.

      “For how might ever sweetness have been know

      To him that never tasted bitterness?

      And no man knows what gladness is, I trow,

      That never was in sorrow or distress:

      Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness,

      Each set by other, more for other seemeth,{90}

      As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.”

      Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments, reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is called Criseyde. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.

      “For thilkë{91} ground, that bears the weedës wick’

      Bears eke the wholesome herbës, and full oft

      Next to the foulë nettle, rough and thick,

      The lily waxeth,{92} white, and smooth, and soft;

      And next the valley is the hill aloft,

      And next the darkë night is the glad morrow,

      And also joy is next the fine{93} of sorrow.”

      Pandarus holds out to Troilus good hope of achieving his desire; and tells him that, since he has been converted from his wicked rebellion against Love, he shall be made the best post of all Love’s law, and most grieve Love’s enemies. Troilus gives utterance to a hint of fear; but he is silenced by Pandarus with another proverb—“Thou СКАЧАТЬ