Читать книгу Troilus and Criseyde - Geoffrey Chaucer - Страница 6

The double sorrow of Troilus{1} to tell,

That was the King Priámus’ son of Troy,

In loving how his adventúrës{2} fell

From woe to weal, and after{3} out of joy,

My purpose is, ere I you partë froy.{4}

Tisiphoné,{5} thou help me to endite

These woeful words, that weep as I do write.

To thee I call, thou goddess of tormént!

Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain;

Help me, that am the sorry instrument

That helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.{6}

For well it sits,{7} the soothë for to sayn,

Unto a woeful wight a dreary fere,{8}

And to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.{9}

For I, that God of Lovë’s servants serve,

Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,{10}

Prayë for speed{11}, although I shouldë sterve,{12}

So far I am from his help in darknéss;

But natheless, might I do yet gladnéss

To any lover, or any love avail,{13}

Have thou the thank, and mine be the traváil.

But ye lovers that bathen in gladnéss,

If any drop of pity in you be,

Remember you for old past heaviness,

For Goddë’s love, and on adversitý

That others suffer; think how sometime ye

Foundë how Lovë durstë you displease;{14}

Or ellës ye have won it with great ease.

And pray for them that beën in the case

Of Troilus, as ye may after hear,

That Love them bring in heaven to solace;{15}

And for me pray alsó, that God so dear

May give me might to show, in some mannére,

Such pain or woe as Lovë’s folk endure,

In Troilus’ unseely adventúre{16}

And pray for them that ekë be despair’d

In love, that never will recover’d be;

And eke for them that falsely be appair’d{17}

Through wicked tonguës, be it he or she:

Or thus bid{18} God, for his benignity,

To grant them soon out of this world to pace,{19}

That be despaired of their lovë’s grace.

And bid also for them that be at ease

In love, that God them grant perséverance,

And send them might their lovës so to please,

That it to them be worship and pleasance;{20}

For so hope I my soul best to advance,

To pray for them that Lovë’s servants be,

And write their woe, and live in charity;

And for to have of them compassion,

As though I were their owen brother dear.

Now listen all with good entention,{21}

For I will now go straight to my mattére,

In which ye shall the double sorrow hear

Of Troilus, in loving of Cressíde,

And how that she forsook him ere she died.

In Troy, during the siege, dwelt “a lord of great authority, a great divine,” named Calchas; who, through the oracle of Apollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away secretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and honoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped to make use. Within the city there was great anger at the treason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his kin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in the city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.

Criseyde was this lady’s name aright;

As to my doom,{22} in allë Troy citý

So fair was none, for over ev’ry wight

So angelic was her native beauty,

That like a thing immortal seemed she,

As sooth a perfect heav’nly creatúre,

That down seem’d sent in scorning of Natúre.{23}

In her distress, “well nigh out of her wit for pure fear,” she appealed for protection to Hector; who, “piteous of nature,” and touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of safety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went on; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of their deities; most of all of “the relic hight Palladion,{24} that was their trust aboven ev’ry one.” In April, “when clothed is the mead with newe green, of jolly Ver the prime,” the Trojans went to hold the festival of Palladion—crowding to the temple, “in all their beste guise,” lusty knights, fresh ladies, and maidens bright.

Among the which was this Cresséida,

In widow’s habit black; but natheless,

Right as our firstë letter is now A,

In beauty first so stood she makëless;{25}

Her goodly looking gladded all the press;{26}

Was never seen thing to be praised derre,{27}

Nor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre,{28}

As she was, as they saiden, ev’ry one

That her behelden in her blackë weed;{29}

And yet she stood, full low and still, alone,

Behind all other folk, in little brede,{30}

And nigh the door, ay under shamë’s drede;{31}

Simple of bearing, debonair{32} of cheer,

With a full surë{33} looking and mannére.

Dan Troilus, as he was wont to guide

His youngë knightës, led them up and down

In that large temple upon ev’ry side,

Beholding ay the ladies of the town;

Now here, now there, for no devotioun

Had he to none, to reavë him{34} his rest,

But gan to praise and lackë whom him lest;{35}

And in his walk full fast he gan to wait{36}

If knight or squiér of his companý

Gan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait{37}

On any woman that he could espy;

Then he would smile, and hold it a follý,

And say him thus: “Ah, Lord, she sleepeth soft

For love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.{38}

“I have heard told, pardie, of your living,

Ye lovers, and your lewëd{39} observance,

And what a labour folk have in winning

Of love, and in it keeping with doubtánce;{40}

And when your prey is lost, woe and penánce;{41}

Oh, very foolës! may ye no thing see?

Can none of you aware by other be?”{42}

But the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that despite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, “hit him at the full.”

Within the temple went he forth playíng,

This Troilus, with ev’ry wight about,

On this ladý and now on that looking,

Whether she were of town, or of without;{43}

And upon cas{44} befell, that through the rout{45}

His eyë pierced, and so deep it went,

Till on Cressíde it smote, and there it stent;{46}

And suddenly wax’d wonder sore astoned,{47}

And gan her bet{48} behold in busy wise:

“Oh, very god!”{49} thought he; “where hast thou woned{50}

That art so fair and goodly to devise?{51}

Therewith his heart began to spread and rise;

And soft he sighed, lest men might him hear,

And caught again his former playing cheer.{52}

She was not with the least of her statúre,{53}

But all her limbës so well answeríng

Were to womanhood, that creatúre

Was never lessë mannish in seemíng.

And eke the purë wise of her movíng{54}

She showed well, that men might in her guess

Honour, estate,{55} and womanly nobless.

Then Troilus right wonder well withal

Began to like her moving and her cheer,{56}

Which somedeal dainous{57} was, for she let fall

Her look a little aside, in such mannére

Ascauncë{58} “What! may I not stande here?”

And after that her looking gan she light,{59}

That never thought him see so good a sight.

And of her look in him there gan to quicken

So great desire, and strong affectión,

That in his heartë’s bottom gan to sticken

Of her the fix’d and deep impressión;

And though he erst had pored up and down,{60}

Then was he glad his hornës in to shrink;

Unnethës{61} wist he how to look or wink.

Lo! he that held himselfe so cunning,

And scorned them that Lovë’s painës drien,{62}

Was full unware that love had his dwelling

Within the subtile streamës{63} of her eyen;

That suddenly he thought he feltë dien,

Right with her look, the spirit in his heart;

Blessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!

She thus, in black, looking to Troilus,

Over all things he stoodë to behold;

But his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus,

He neither cheerë made,{64} nor wordë told;

But from afar, his manner for to hold,{65}

On other things sometimes his look he cast,

And eft{66} on her, while that the service last.{67}

And after this, not fully all awhaped,{68}

Out of the temple all easily be went,

Repenting him that ever he had japed{69}

Of Lovë’s folk, lest fully the descent

Of scorn fell on himself; but what he meant,

Lest it were wist on any manner side,

His woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.

Returning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and jest at Love’s servants and their pains; but by and by he has to dismiss his attendants, feigning “other busy needs.” Then, alone in his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again Criseyde’s form as he saw her in the temple—“making a mirror of his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figúre.” He thinks no travail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly woman; and, “full unadvised of his woe coming,”

Thus took he purpose Lovë’s craft to sue,{70}

And thought that he would work all privily,

First for to hide his desire all in mew{71}

From every 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 hast full great care, lest that the carl should fall out of the moon.” Then the lovesick youth breaks into a joyous boast that some of the Greeks shall smart; he mounts his horse, and plays the lion in the field; while Pandarus retires to consider how he may best recommend to his niece the suit of Troilus.