THE KING'S CLASSICS UNDER THE GENERAL EDITORSHIP OF PROFESSOR GOLLANCZ THE KNIGHT'S TALE OR PALAMON AND ARCITE BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE KNIGHT'S TALE OR PALAMON AND ARCITE BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER DONE INTO MODERN ENGLISH BY THE REV. PROFESSOR WALTER W. SKEAT ALEXANDER MORING LIMITED THE DE LA MORE PRESS 298 REGENT STREET LONDON W 1904 " DAN CHAUCER, WELL or ENGLISH UNDEFILED, ON FAME'S ETERNAL BEAD-ROLL WORTH? TO BE FILED." SPENSER. "CHAUCER (or ALL ADMIRED) THE STORY GIVES; THERE CONSTANT TO ETERNITY IT LIVES." The Tkvo Noble Kinsmen. " THE MORNING- STAR OF SONG, WHO MADE HlS MUSIC HEARD BELOW; DAN CHAUCER, THE FIRST WARBLER, WHOSE SWEET BREATH PRELUDED THOSE MELODIOUS BURSTS THAT FILL THE SPACIOUS TIMES OF GREAT ELIZABETH WITH SOUNDS THAT ECHO STILL." TENNYSON : A Dream of Fair Women. PREFACE Chaucer. — Amongst the rather numerous English poets who wrote in times preceding the sixteenth century, the chief name is that of Geoffrey Chaucer. Indeed, not a few of our oldest poems were written by anonymous authors, or by authors of whom we know little beyond the mere name. Fortunately, owing to his connexion with the court and with official duties, the chief events in Chaucer's life are tolerably well ascertained ; and a good account of him is readily accessible in all the more recent books that treat of English literature. It is necessary to consult recent accounts, because the older ones contain numerous state- ments founded upon guesswork, which later researches have shown to be misleading and erroneous. His Writings. — Many pieces were once assigned to Chaucer which were certainly not composed by him, but there is now little dispute as to his genuine works. The whole question is fully discussed in my Chaucer ix Canon (Oxford, 1900). His seven longest poems, arranged in order of length, are The Canterbury Tales, Troilus and Cressida, The Legend of Good Women, The House of Fame, (a fragment of) The Romaunt of the Rose, The Book of the Duchess, and The Assembly or Parliament of Fowls. The Canterbury Tales.— Of these, The Canter- bury Tales, the longest and the best of his works, are deservedly famous. The general scheme of this poem, as indicated in the celebrated Prologue, is well known. Chaucer represents a company of pilgrims to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury as assembling at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, late in the evening of April 1 6. The exact year is not given, but we may suppose it to have been about 1385. After describing the pilgrims severally, Chaucer sets them down to supper, in the course of which the host of the Tabard, Harry Bailey by name, proposed to them a mode of amusement during their pilgrimage, to which they all readily assented. This was, that each pilgrim should relate two stories on the way to Canterbury, and two more on the homeward journey ; and he himself would ride with them as their guide and umpire. Whoever, according to the general verdict, told the best stories was to receive a supper at the x Tabard, after their return from Canterbury, at the expense of the other pilgrims. (See note to p. 2, 1. S3)- It will be readily understood that this ambitious scheme was by no means fully carried out ; indeed, it proved impossible even to complete a quarter of it. It is remarkable that the author himself soon tacitly altered his scheme so as to require but one story from each pilgrim, to be told on the outward journey only ; so that in the Parson's Prologue, the host requests him for a tale on the plea that " every man, save thou, hath told his tale," and asks him to conclude the series. But even with this ample modification the scheme re- mained incomplete, as several of the pilgrims are alto- gether unrepresented, and we do not find that they ever reached Canterbury at all. The Knight's Tale.— The tale told by the knight is the first of the series ; it is also the longest of the stories in verse, and the best. The story is not wholly original, as Chaucer was indebted for the main plot and for some of the expressions and details to the Italian poem by Boccaccio entitled La Teseic/e, on the subject of the (fabulous) adventures of Theseus. This poem is written in eight-lined stanzas, known in Italian zs'ottava rima, and is divided into twelve books. But xi in the treatment of the story Chaucer has made it entirely his own, reducing the prolix original to 2250 lines, omitting the less interesting parts of the narrative, and altering incidents at pleasure to suit his own pur- poses. A careful line-by-line comparison of the two poems shows that Chaucer has only translated 270 lines, or less than one-eighth of the whole, from Boccaccio ; while 374 more lines bear a general like- ness to Boccaccio, and 132 more a slight likeness. The result is a story much more interesting and read- able than the somewhat tedious original. An excel- lent summary of the general contents of La Teselde was made by Tyrwhitt, which has been frequently reprinted. (See my six-volume edition of Chaucer' 's Works, vol. iii. p. 392.) A comparison of The Knight's Tale with La Teselde shows that Boccaccio, who is to be credited with great inventive power, had much less skill than his imitator in the management of the incidents of a story. Statius. — It is further worthy of notice, that Boccaccio, in his turn, was partially indebted to the poem entitled Thebais, or the Tale of the Siege of Thebes, by the Roman poet Statius, who died about A.D. 96. This poem is also divided into twelve books. The sixth book contains an account of the funeral of xii Archemorus, with a particular description of the felling of the wood for the pyre, the funeral procession, the lamentations of the mourners, and the rich offerings which they cast upon the blazing pile. The seventh contains a description of the temple of Mars. The eighth contains the affecting scene of the death of the wounded Atys in the arms of his bride. At the end of the tenth book, Capaneus is struck dead by lightning while scaling the walls of Thebes. In the eleventh book, Creon usurps the crown of Thebes. In the twelfth book, Creon forbids the burial or burning of the dead bodies of his enemies ; but the wives of the captains slain in the siege march in procession to Theseus, King of Athens, to solicit his assistance against Creon. The Athenians march to Thebes, which upon the death of Creon surrenders to Theseus, and entertains him hospitably. The ladies obtain the dead bodies of their husbands, and perform their funeral rites in a sumptuous manner. All the above circumstances are alluded to in the course of The Knight's Tale, the death of Arcite being to some extent imitated from the death of Atys, whilst his funeral rites resemble those performed for Arche- morus. It appears, further, that Chaucer read Statius for himself, as he has introduced a few expressions xiii directly from that author instead of through the medium of Boccaccio. It also appears that Chaucer introduces references to other sources, among which may be particularly noted the Vulgate (or Latin) version of the Bible; Albricus, a writer of the thirteenth century (De Deorum Imagini- bus}; Boethius (De Consolations Philosophic} ; Dante; Ovid; the thirteenth -century poem entitled Le Roman de la Rose ; and some others. Palamon and Arcite. — It is probable that Chaucer actually rewrote The Knight's Tale, and that it is an entirely new and much improved version of a poem named Palamon and Arcite, which he himself mentions in the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women. This poem has not come down to us in its original shape, but it is probable that it was, at first, a tolerably close translation of parts of Boccaccio's Teseide, and written, not (like The Knight's Tale] in rhyming couplets, but in seven-line stanzas. This appears from the fact that some fragments of it seem to be preserved. In fact, no less than 25 seven-line stanzas are still extant, which prove to be partially translated or imitated from the Italian poem ; six of these are found in Chaucer's poem of Anelida and Arcite, sixteen in the Parliament of Fowls, and three very near the end of Troilus and Cressida. The pas- sages from La Teselde of which the translations are thus preserved, are: Book i., stanzas 1-3 ; Book ii., stanzas 10-12; Book vii., stanzas 51-66; and Book xi., stanzas 1-3. Moreover, this Palamon and Arcitt must have been written before 1382, the date of the Parliament of Foiuls. It is further probable that the older poem, Palamon and Arc'ite, may have been recast in the form in which it now appears (viz. as The Knight's Tale') before the year 1385, and soon after the time when Troilus and Cressida was completed ; for it is surprising to observe how many expressions that occur in The Knight's Tale are repeated from Troilus (Chaucer's Works, ed. Skeat, iii. 394). That it was written after Troilus rather than before it, is suggested by the cir- cumstance that Boccaccio's account of the ascent of Arcite's spirit to the eighth sphere l was utilised to describe the ascent of the spirit of Troilus ; so that the poet was afterwards reduced to the humorous alternative of saying that he did not know whither Arcite's spirit went (1. 1952). And further, if The Knight's Tale was really 1 " Cielo ottava " ; but Chaucer calls it the seventh sphere ; Trail., v. 1809. composed as early as 1385, or still earlier, this date probably preceded the actual conception of the scheme of The Canterbury Tales, so . that the story had to be adapted for insertion in the Tales afterwards. That this is not unlikely, appears from the very slight way in which the adaptation might have been made. There is nothing to connect it with the scheme except the four lines on p. 2 : — " I hinder none of all this company ; To tell his tale be every pilgrim free, And let us see who shall the supper win. Now, where I ceased, will I again begin." The last line of the poem — '"And God save all this gentle \fair-i\ company " — is a general expression, and does not necessarily refer to the pilgrims. Even if it does, it was easy to append it. Palamon and Arcite. — In the Supplementary Volume to Knight's Pictorial Edition of Shakespeare, p. 1 70, the editor has the following account : — " We learn from Wood's MSS. that when Elizabeth visited Oxford, in 1566, 'at night the Queen heard the first part of an English play, named Pafamon, or Palamon Arcytey made by Mr. Richard Edwards, a gentleman of her chapel, acted with very great applause in Christ Church Hall.' An accident happened at the beginning of the plot by the falling of a stage, through which three persons were killed — a scholar of St. Mary's Hall, and two who were probably more missed, a college-brewer and a cook. The mirth, however, went on, and « afterwards the actors performed their parts so well, that the Queen laughed heartily thereat, and gave the author of the play great thanks for his pains.' It is clear that the fable of Chaucer must have been treated in a different manner by Edwards than we find it treated in The Two Noble Kinsmen.'' For some account of this last-mentioned play, see further below. Mr. Knight further remarks : — " We have another record of a play on a similar subject. In • Henslowe's Diary ' we have an entry, under the date of September 1 594, of Palamon and Arctic being acted four times. It is impossible to imagine that The Two Noble Kinsmen is the same play." This is indeed obvious from the date ; for nothing of Fletcher's is known earlier than 1 606. But it may have been a revival of the play by Edwards. Midsummer Night's Dream. — Of this delightful play by Shakespeare, two quarto editions appeared in 1600. In his interesting Preface to this play, Prof. Gollancz well says : — " Shakespeare may xvii b well have evolved A Midsummer Night's Dream from Chaucer's Knight's Tale,1 to which he is obviously indebted for many elements. The general frame- work of the play — viz. the marriage of Theseus and Hippolyta, must have been suggested by the Tale ; but Shakespeare ingeniously opens the Dream before the marriage, so that this event may round off the whole play ; Chaucer introduces us to the pair at the home- coming after the marriage. In the Tale we have Palamon and Arcite rivals for the hand of Emelie ; in obedience to the symmetrical plan of Shakespeare's early plots, these give place to two pairs of lovers, with their more complex story of crossed love ; Emelie in fact resolves herself into Helena and Hermia. They are indeed ' two lovely berries moulded on one stem.' The great gods of Olympus, who busy them- selves so actively with the destinies of the lovers in the Tale, are represented in the Dream by Oberon, Titania, and their ministering sprites. In the Tale, as in the Dream, we have the same allusions to the rites of May, and the same musical confusion of hounds and echo in conjunction." It is impossible, in fact, to miss the parallel between 1 " Shakespeare's debt to Plutarch's Life of Theseus amounts to very little — a few names and allusions. " xviii the meeting of Palamoa and Arcite in " a wood near Athens," and the various meetings of the lovers in the Dream in the very same place. Prof. Gollancz yet further remarks : — " In Chaucer's Merchant's Tale the Fairy-king and Fairy-queen are called Pluto and Proserpina ; possibly Shakespeare was indebted to this Tale for the quarrel between Oberon and Titania, and for the Fairy-king's interest in a pair of mortals." The Two Noble Kinsmen. — A play called The Tivo Noble Kinsmen, attributed on the title-page to John Fletcher and William Shakspeare, was printed in 1634, nine years after Fletcher's death. It was avowedly taken from Chaucer, the " kinsmen " being Palamon and Arcite. The first two lines of the Prologue are : — " Chaucer (of all admired) the story gives ; There constant to eternity it lives." For further information see my edition of the play.1 John Dryden. — The celebrated poet Dryden, about 1698, wrote some "Tales from Chaucer," the first of them being Palamon and Slrcite, or The Knight's Tale. It is best appreciated by forgetting 1 Shakespeare and Fletcher : The Two Noble Kinsmen, ed. W. W. Skeat. Cambridge, 1875. its origin. The Tale is well told, but it was told afresh, and in Dryden's own manner. Professor Lounsbury has well said that " Dryden's version has played a most important part in the history of Chaucer's reputation." And he comes to the conclusion that " Dryden's modernizations, with all their admitted defects, are, in truth, noble-spirited poems. The gold of Chaucer has been transmuted into silver, it is true ; but silver is a precious metal, even if not so precious as gold." See further in the admirable chapter on "Chaucer in Literary History" in Lounsbury's Studies in Chaucer, vol. iii. The fact is that Dryden's adaptation is a very loose paraphrase, with numerous alterations and additions. Nor are the additions always satisfactory. The vivid line in Chaucer — " The smiler, with the knife beneath his1 cloak" (see p. 50) — is but feebly rendered by Dryden, who expands it into three lines — " Next stood Hypocrisy with holy leer, Soft, smiling, and demurely looking down, But hid the dagger underneath the gown." It will be seen that Dryden made no attempt to preserve Chaucer's modes of expression. 1 Strictly— "under the." xx The present version. — The present version is an attempt to render Chaucer's words into modern English, in such a way as to preserve the exact sense rather than the precise wording. The problem is, in fact, how would Chaucer have expressed himself if he had been compelled to write in modern English, using modern turns of expression as well as modern language ? It will be understood, at the same time, that Chaucer's exact words have always been preserved wherever the metre and the rhymes render such a method practicable. In such cases the spelling alone has been modernised ; and in this way the number of lines left practically untouched is considerable, especially if we count in those in which the alteration is quite unimportant. Thus, in page i, 1. 3, 1 write was he for he was, as better suited to modern accentuation. In 1. 4, I insert 'was. In 1. 5, I write beneath for under. In 1. 6, I put wealthy for rlch-e, t. e. rich, which in Chaucer's time was dissyllabic. In 1. 10, I insert there. In 1. 13, I substitute younger for the dissyllabic yong-e ; and in 1. 1 4, write and for and with, where the with rather clogs the line, according to modern ideas. In order to save some further alterations, I have introduced a mark of diaeresis or a hyphen to mark off a separate syllable. Thus, in 1. 2, the word Theseus is to be pronounced, as in Chaucer, as three distinct syllables, separating the e and «. In 1. 23, lesieg-ed is to be pronounced as a trisyllable. In particular, whenever the termination -tlon comes at the end of a line, it is to be pronounced as two syllables (-//-on), with a slight accent on the -on ; see, e.g., the word mentl-on, p. 2, 1. 35 ; and lamentati-ony p. 4, 1. 77. In such cases, the use of an accent always gives warning that the older pronunciation is to be used. I especially request the reader's indulgence in this matter, as it saves a considerable number of needless alterations. For example, 11. 235 and 236 are absolutely unaltered save in spelling. The original has — "Cosyn, for sothe, of this opinioun Thou hast a veyn imaginacioun." And this is perfectly intelligible as it stands. The task of thus rendering Chaucer's words, line by line, into modern English, is far harder than might be supposed. For it constantly happens that a mere modification in spelling entirely fails, because the word under consideration may have suffered a considerable change of meaning, and is apt to mislead. Thus at p. i, 1. 12, the original has — "With muchel glorie and greet solemnitee." Here solemnitee had by no means its modern rather sombre sense, but rather meant " ceremonial pomp " ; and glone here signifies "parade" rather than "fame." In this case, the alteration actually preserves the sense. The present version has, in fact, been well con- sidered ; and as, during the past forty years, Middle English has become to me quite a familiar language, I think I may claim that, wherever the version fails in poetical value, it still remains a useful commentary, and represents, with sufficient accuracy, the general idea which was meant to be conveyed. To do more than this is, from the nature of the case, impossible, as the original is a poem of inimitable beauty and excellence. I only aim at making the story accessible to the general public who know nothing of the older forms of our language, but wish to read the story without any trouble to themselves. A few notes are appended, on some points that seemed to need further illustration. The text is taken from my six-volume edition of Chaucer's Works (Oxford, 1894); which agrees with that given in my one-volume edition (Oxford, 1901); and hardly differs from that in the Globe Chaucer, published in 1898. CAMBRIDGE; September I9th, 1903. PART I WHILOM, as olden tales record for us, There lived a duke whose name was Theseus. Of Athens was he lord and governor, And in his time was such a conqueror, That greater was there none beneath the sun. Full many a wealthy kingdom had he won. For with his wisdom and his strong right hand He conquered all the Amazonian land, That formerly was known as Scythia ; And wedded there the queen Hippolyta, 10 And home to Athens hath his bride conveyed With ceremonial pomp and great parade, And eke her younger sister, Emily. And thus with victory and melody I let this noble duke to Athens ride, His host in armour following close beside. And surely, were it not too long to hear, The story, told at length, should render clear How won was all the Amazonian land By Theseus, and by his strong right hand ; 20 And of the mighty battle, for the nonce, Betwixt this Theseus and the Amazons ; And how besieg-ed was Hippolyta, The fair and valiant queen of Scythia ; And how their wedding-feast was duly made, And of the tempest that their course delayed. But from that story must I now forbear. To plough a spacious field is now my care, And in my plough the feeble oxen fail. Sufficient is the remnant of the tale. 3° I hinder none of all this company ; To tell his tale be every pilgrim free, And let us see who shall the supper win. Now, where I ceased, will I again begin. This duke, of whom I make this mention, When he was almost come within the town, In all his glory and his pomp of pride, Aware was, as he cast his eye aside, z Where kneeling by the way appeared to view A company of ladies, two and two, 40 One after other, clad in garments black ; But such lament and such a woe they make, That in this world was never creature known That heard so mournful and so sad a moan ; Nor ever would they end their woeful strain Till they had caught him by the bridle-rein. " What folk are ye, that at my home-return When all should be rejoicing, weep and mourn ? " Quoth Theseus : — " have ye such envious pain At my success, that thus ye dare complain ? 50 Or who hath you ill-treated or offended ? And tell me, if it e'er can be amended ; And why ye thus are habited in black ? " The eldest of the company out-spake, (When she had swooned with such a deathly cheer That it was sorrow both to see and hear) And answered — " Lord, to whom doth Fortune give Success, and as a conqueror to live, Your glory grieves us not, nor your success, But we implore your succour and your grace. 60 Have mercy on our woe and our distress, Some drop of pity, for your gentleness, 3 Upon us wretched women now let fall. For here, my lord, is none amongst us all That hath not been a duchess or a queen ; Now are we exiles, as may well be seen, For which we thank dame Fortune's rolling wheel, Who never suffers long-continued weal. And verily, your present aid to gain, Within the goddess Pity's sacred fane 7° A weary fortnight have we waited long ; Now help us, lord, we pray ; thine arm is strong. I, wretched one, that wail and sorrow thus, Was sometime wife to king Capaneus, That died at Thebes, accurs-ed be the day ! And all the rest that mourn in like array And make this woful lamentation, All lost their husbands in that fated town, While that the cruel siege around it lay. And now the tyrant Creon, welladay ! 80 That late of Thebes has gained the sovereignty, Replete with anger and iniquity, He, for despite, and in his tyranny, To do the bodies an indignity Of all our husbands in the conflict slain, Hath cast the corpses in a heap amain, 4 And will not suffer them, for any prayer, To be consumed by fire or buried there, But causes dogs to eat them, for despite." Therewith, without delay, in Theseus' sight, 90 All prone they fell, exclaiming piteously — " With wretched women show some sympathy, And let our sorrow sink within thine heart." This gentle duke did from his courser start, With pitying heart, when thus he heard them speak. It seemed indeed as if his heart would break, Beholding all the sadness of their fate, That formerly were of so great estate ; And in his arms he caught them from the ground, Consoling them with words of cheerful sound, 100 And swore his oath that, as a worthy knight, So fully would he exercise his might Against the tyrant Creon, them to wreak, That all the folk in Greece should ever speak How Creon was by Theseus well served, As one that had his death full well deserved. And right anon, without the least delay, He bade his men his banner to display, And rode to Thebes, with all his host beside. No nearer Athens would he go nor ride, no Nor tarry, for repose, but half a day, 5 But ever forward journeyed on his way : And bade Hippolyta the queen repair, With Emily her sister, young and fair, Unto the town of Athens, there to dwell ; And forth he rides ; there is no more to tell. Mars, painted all in red, with spear and targe So shines upon his banner white and large That all the field is glittering far and wide ; His pennon fluttered at the banner's side 120 Adorned with beaten gold, that gave to view The Minotaur, whom once in Crete he slew. Thus rides this duke, thus rides this conqueror, And in his host of chivalry the flower, Till that he came to Thebes, and doth alight Within the neighbouring plain, prepared for fight. But shortly to commemorate this thing, With Creon, then of Thebes the tyrant-king, He fought, and slew him, manly, like a knight In battle, putting all the folk to flight ; 130 And by assault he won the city after, And rent adown both wall, and spar, and rafter. Next to the ladies he restored again The bodies of their husbands that were slain, For solemn burial, as was then their wont. 6 But long would be the story, to recount The clamorous cries, the lamentations dire Raised by the ladies o'er the funeral pyre That burnt the bodies, and the honours fair That noble Theseus, in his gentle care, H0 Doth to the ladies, ere they from him went ; To tell it briefly is my sole intent. When that this worthy duke, this Theseus, Hath Creon slain, and won the city thus, All night within the plain he rested still, Controlling all the country at his will. To ransack in the heap of bodies slain Their armour and accoutrements to gain, The busy spoilers hastened forth, secure, After the battle and discomfiture. 150 And so befell, that in the heap they found Pierced through with many a grievous, bleeding wound, Two youthful knights, that close together lay, Their coats of arms the same, in like array ; The noble Arcite of the twain was one ; The other knight, his cousin Palamon. Not wholly quick, nor wholly dead were they, But by their coats of arms and their array The heralds could their kindred surely trace 7 As knights belonging to the regal race Of Creon, of two noble sisters born. Out of the heap the spoilers have them torn, And softly carried them within the tent Of Theseus ; and he full soon them sent To Athens, there in prison to remain Perpetually ; all ransom was in vain. And when this worthy duke the town had won, He joined his host, and home he rode anon, Clad like a conqueror, with laurel crowned ; And there he liveth, joyful and renowned, For many a year ; no need of words, I trow. And in a tower, in anguish and in woe, Arcite and Palamon, these kinsmen, be For evermore ; no gold can set them free. Thus passeth year by year, and day by day, Till once befell, upon a morn in May, That Emily, that fairer was to sight Than on its green stalk is the lily white, And fresher than the May with flowers new, For with the rose's colour strove her hue — Which of the twain was fairer, who shall say ? — As was her wont, before it yet was day, She had arisen, and was quickly dressed, For May permits no sluggard long to rest. That season pricketh every gentle heart, And causeth him anon from sleep to start, And saith — "Arise, and do thy service true." This causeth her the custom to renew, To rise betimes, and honour give to May. All richly was she clad, in fresh array ; 190 Her yellow hair was braided in a tress Behind her back, a full yard long, I guess. And in the garden, as the sun up-rose, She wandered up and down, and as she chose She gathered flowers, mingling white with red To make a well-wrought garland for her head ; And like a heavenly angel's was her song. The master-tower, that was so thick and strong, That of the castle was the dungeon-keep, 199 Where that these knights were cast in prison deep, Of whom I told, and hope to tell you all, Was close adjoining to the garden-wall Where that this Emily had come to play. Bright was the sun, and clear the morning-ray, And Palamon, this prisoner, who to grieve Was often wont, had gained his gaoler's leave To roam within a turret- chamber high, From whence he all the city round could eye, 9 And e'en the garden, full of branches green, Wherein fair Emily, thus clothed in sheen, 210 Was seen to walk, and wandered up and down. This mournful prisoner, this Palamon, Walks in his chamber, pacing to and fro, Complaining to himself of all his woe ; " Alas, that I was born ! " full oft he cried. And so, by chance, it happened at that tide That through a window, fenced with many a bar Of iron, great and square as any spar, He cast his eye upon Emilia ; 219 And therewithal he blenched, and cried out * ha ! ' As though that he were stung unto the heart. And with that cry did Arcita up-start And said — " Dear cousin mine, what aileth thee, That art so wild and deadly pale to see ? Why criedst thou ? Who hath thee done offence ? For love of God, take all in patience Our prison ; otherwise it may not be. Fortune hath wrought us this adversity. Some evil aspect's disposition Of Saturn, by some constellation, 230 Has caused it, though against it we have striven ; When we were born, so stood the signs of heaven. We must endure it ; this is short and plain." Then answered Palamon, and said again, "Cousin, forsooth, of this opinion Thou hast a vain imagination ; This prison caused me not aloud to cry. But I, right now, was stricken through mine eye Unto my very heart ; my death 'twill be. The fairness of the lady that I see 240 In yonder garden wandering to and fro Is cause of all my crying and my woe. I know not, be she woman or goddess ! But Venus is it truly, as I guess." And therewithal down on his knees fell he, And cried : — " O Venus ! if thy will so be In yonder garden thus thyself to show, In sight of me, a prisoner filled with woe, Out of this prison help that we may scape ! But if my destiny my course doth shape 250 By fixed decree to die in prison base, Have some compassion on our noble race, That thus is humbled by great tyranny ! " And with that word did Arcite first espy This lady, as she wandered to and fro. And with that sight her beauty hurt him so, That, if that Palamon was wounded sore, Arcite is hurt as much as he, or more, it And with a sigh he cried, full piteously : — " The shining beauty slays me suddenly 260 Of her, that roameth there, in yonder place ; Unless I win her mercy and her grace, That I at least her presence may attain, I am but dead ; no more, I speak in vain ! " This Palamon, when Arcite spake and sighed, Disdainfully he looked, and thus replied ; " Now say'st thou this in earnest or in play ? " " Nay," quoth Arcite, " in earnest, by my fay ! Gcd help me, it were ill for me to feign." This Palamon did knit his eyebrows twain ; 270 Quoth he, " it were no honour great to thee To prove but false, or traitor now to be To me, that am thy cousin and thy brother Full deeply sworn; for each of us to ether Once swore that never, spite of torture's pain, Until grim death shall separate us twain, Would either seek in love to hinder other, Nor yet in other case, my dearest brother ; But that thou shouldest truly further me In every chance, as I shall further thee. 280 This truly was thine oath, and mine the same ; iz I wot right well, thou dar'st it not disclaim. Thus art thou in my secret, out of doubt. And now thou wouldest falsely go about To love my lady, whom I love and serve, And ever shall, until my heart shall starve. Now truly, false Arcite, thou shall not so. I loved her first, and told thee all my woe As in a secret, who art sworn to aid My love and succour me, as I have said. 290 And therefore art thou bounden, as a knight, To help me, if it lie within thy might, Or else thou art forsworn, thine oaths are vain ! " This Arcita full proudly spake again : — " Thou wilt," quoth he, " be sooner false than I ! But thou art false, I tell thee, utterly. For, far amour, I loved her first ere thou ! What .canst thou say ? Thou knewest not, e'en now, Whether she woman or a goddess were ! Thine is devotion, as with holy fear, 300 But mine is love, as to created thing ! And therefore spake I of my sudden sting To thee, my cousin and mine own sworn brother ! Suppose now, thou hadst loved her ere another ; What ! know'st thou not the olden author's saw, '3 ' Who may prescribe to lovers any law ? Love is a greater law, a greater ban, Than otherwise is laid on mortal man.' And therefore many a law and just decree Are broken oft for love, in each degree. 310 A man must love perforce, despite his will, Yea, unto death, his fate he must fulfil, Be she a maid, a widow, or a wife. And eke thou art not likely, all thy life, To come within her grace ; no more shall I. For well, like me, thou knowest verily That thou and I must here emprisoned be Perpetually ; no ransom sets us free. We strive, as once two dogs did for a bone ; 310 They fought all day, and yet their share was none ; There came a kite, while that they were so wroth, And bare away the bone between them both. And therefore, at the kingly court, my brother, Is each man for himself and not another. Love if thou wilt ; I love, and ever shall. And truly, dearest brother, this is all ; Here in this prison must we long remain, And each one have his share of joy or pain." Great was the strife and long betwixt the two, Had I the time the story to pursue ; 330 But to proceed : — it happened on a day, To tell the tale as shortly as I may, A worthy duke, one named Pirithous, That friend had been to good duke Theseus Since they were children innocent and free, At Athens had arrived, his friend to see, And make him mirth, as he was wont to do ; For in this world he cherished no one so ; And he loved him as tenderly again. So well they loved--so olden authors feign — 2^o That when one died — a wondrous tale to tell — His comrade went and sought him down in hell. But all the story I refrain to write. Pirithous had known and loved Arcite, And been his friend at Thebes for many a year. And finally, at the request and prayer Of this Pirithous, without a fee, Duke Theseus from his prison set him free, At liberty to take his chosen course ; But one condition must he keep, perforce. -, ^o This was the compact — plainly to recite — Betwixt duke Theseus and this youthful knight, That if so happened, Arcite once should stay One hour of all his life, by night or day, In any country of this Theseus, If he were caught, it was decided thus, That with a sword he was to lose his head Without redemption ; thus his cause was sped. He takes his leave, and homeward fast he hies. Let him beware ! his neck in forfeit lies. 360 How great a sorrow suffereth now Arcite ! Sharp death he feeleth through his heart to smite. He weepeth, waileth, mourneth piteously ; To slay himself he pondereth privily. He said — " Alas ! that ever I was born ! Now is my prisoned state yet more forlorn. Now is my fate eternally to dwell No more in purgatory, but in hell ! Alas, that e'er I knew Pirithous ! For else I still had dwelt with Theseus, 370 Fast fettered in the prison of my foe. Then had I been in bliss, and not in woe. Merely the sight of her whom I must serve, Though that I never may her grace deserve, Sufficient would have been, I trow, for me. O happy cousin Palamon " — quoth he — " The victory is thine, I know too well ; Full blissfully in prison may'st thou dwell ; 16 In prison ? surely nay ! in paradise ! 379 Too well hath Fortune turned for thee the dice ! Thou seest her still, but absence is my share ; 'Tis likely too, since thou art alway there, And art a knight, a worthy one and able, That by some chance of fortune variable Thou may'st to thy desire some day attain. But I, alas ! am exiled and in pain, Barren of grace, and in so great despair That neither earth nor water, fire nor air, Nor aught that of these four created is Can bring me help, or comfort yield in this. 390 Needs must I die despairing, in distress ; Farewell my life, my love, my happiness ! Ah ! why should men complain so frequently Of providence of God, or fate's decree, That yieldeth them full oft in many a wise A fairer doom than they could e'er devise ? One man desireth riches for to gain That cause is of his murder or his pain. Another from his prison would be freed, And by his servants in his home doth bleed. 400 Infinite harms in such-like things appear ; We know not what it is we pray for here. We act as one that drunk is as a mouse ; '7 c A drunken man well knows he hath a house, But knoweth not which way will homeward lead ; And slippery is the drunkard's path indeed. And in this world, I trow, so wander we ; With painful care we seek felicity, Yet go astray full often, certainly. Thus may we all confess ; and chiefly I, 410 Whose former vain opinion took the shape That, if from prison I might once escape, All joy and happiness I could not miss ; Whereas I now am exiled from my bliss. Since that I may not see thee, Emily, I am but dead ; I know no remedy." But on the other hand sir Palamon, When that he knew Arcite away was gone, Such sorrow makes, that all the tower on high Resoundeth with his clamour and his cry. 42° The very fetters on his ankles great Were with his bitter briny tears all wet. " Alas ! " quoth he, " good Arcite, cousin mine, Of all our strife, God knows, the fruit is thine, Thou walkest now in Thebes, and all at large, And of my woe thou tak'st but little charge. Thou may 'st, since thou art wise and brave and free, 18 Assemble all the folk that follow thee, And make so sharp a war against this place, That by some treaty, chance, or act of grace, 430 Thou may'st obtain that lady for thy wife For whom, alas ! I needs must lose my life. For, as by way of possibility, Since thou art all at large, of prison free, And art a lord, advantage great is thine, Whilst in a prison's narrow cage I pine. For I must weep and wail, the while I live, With all the woe the prison may me give, And eke with pain that love doth give also, That doubleth all my torment and my woe." 440 Therewith the fire of jealousy did start Within his breast, and caught him by the heart So madly, that he like was to behold To boxwood, or to ashes dead and cold. Then said he — " Cruel gods, that regulate This world by binding words of changeless fate, And write on tablets of pure adamant Your sure decrees, and your eternal grant, What more in mankind can you e'er behold Than in the sheep that crouches in the fold? 450 For man like other animals is slain, '9 And dwelleth eke in prison or in pain, And feeleth sickness or adversity, Yet oftentimes from guiltiness is free. What government is in this prescience That thus tormenteth guiltless innocence ? And this makes all my penance more redound, That man by duty's yoke is wholly bound For sake of God, to regulate his will, Where animals may all their wish fulfil. 460 When any beast is dead, he hath no pain ; But, after death, mankind must still complain, Though in this world he had both care and woe ! Without a doubt the case may happen so. I leave the reason to the grave divine ; But well I wot, mankind hath cause to pine. I see a serpent or a thief uncaught, That hath to honest men much mischief wrought, Go wholly free, and where he pleases turn. But I must be in prison through Saturn, 470 And eke through Juno, full of jealous rage, That well nigh hath destroyed the lineage Of Thebes, with all its wasted walls so wide. And Venus slays me on the other side With jealousy, and fear of Arcite's guile." Now will I leave sir Palamon awhile, And let him in his prison hopeless dwell, And of Arcita will I further tell. The summer passeth, and the nights grow long, Increasing double-fold the torments strong 480 Both of the lover and the pris'ner too. I know not which hath sadder case to rue. For shortly to compare their luckless state, In prison Palamon must ever wait In chains and fetters, till men find him dead ; And Arcite, on the forfeit of his head, Is ever banished, far from Athens' shore, Nor may he see his lady evermore. I ask you lovers now this question ; Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamon ? 490 The one may see his lady day by day, But fast in prison must he dwell alway. The other one to range at will is free, But nevermore his lady once shall see. Decide now as it please you, ye that can ; For now will I proceed as I began. PART II WHEN that Arcite to Thebes had homeward hied, Full oftentimes he swooned, and sorely sighed ; For see his lady shall he ne'er again. And shortly to describe his bitter pain, 500 Through no such sorrow creature ever pass'd That is, or shall be, while the world shall last. His sleep, his meat, his drink doth he forsake, Till lean he grew, and dry as any stake. His eyes were hollow, grisly to behold ; His hue was faded, pale as ashes cold ; And solitary was he, still alone ; And, wailing, all the night he made his moan. And if a song he heard, or music played, 509 Then would he weep, nor could his tears be stayed. 23 So feeble were his spirits and so low, So greatly changed, that no man well could know His speech or yet his voice, though men it heard. His conduct too, for all the world, appeared Not only like the lover's malady By Cupid caused, but like insanity Caused by the melancholic humours vain That rose in front of his fantastic brain. And shortly, turned were wholly upside-down The habits and the disposition 520 Of this same woful lover, sir Arcite. Why should I alway all his woe endite ? When that he had endured a year or twain This cruel torment and this woe and pain, At Thebes, in his own country, as I said, Upon a night, in restless slumber laid, He dreamt he saw winged Mercury appear, Benignly mild, who bade him take good cheer. His sleep-compelling rod he bare upright ; A hat he wore upon his tresses bright. 530 Apparelled was this god — as he took heed — As once, when Argus fell asleep indeed ; And thus he spake : — " To Athens shall thou wend, For there is destined all thy woe to end." H And thereupon woke Arcite with a start. " Now verily, however sore I smart," Quoth he, " to Athens surely will I fare. Nor, for the dread of death, will ever spare To see her whom I serve so faithfully ; I reck not, in her presence though I die." 540 With that he seized a mirror lying near, And saw how altered was his former cheer, And all his features of another kind. And right anon the thought rose in his mind, That, since his face was now disfigured so By maladies, occasioned by his woe, He well might, if he kept a lowly guise, Live long in Athens, in an unknown wise, And see his lady well nigh day by day. And right anon he altered his array, 55° And clad him like a labourer for hire ; And all alone, except a trusty squire, That knew his secret well and all the case, Disguised as poorly as his master was, To Athens is he gone, the nearest way. And to the court he went, upon a day, And at the gate he proffered him, for hire, To drudge and draw, whatever men require. xAnd shortly all the narrative to tell, 25 He with a chamberlain in converse fell 560 Who in the household dwelt of Emily. The same was prudent, and could soon espy The strength and value of each servant there. Well could Arcite hew wood, and water bear ; For he was young, and mighty for the nonce, Moreover he was strong and big of bones To execute the tasks upon him laid. A year or two he in this service stayed, As chamber-page of Emily the fair, And ' Philostrat ' the name was that he bare. 570 But half so well beloved a man as he Was never page in court, of his degree ; He was so gentle of condition, That throughout all the court went his renown. They said, that surely 'twere a charity If Theseus would exalt him in degree, And place him in some worthier estate, Where he might exercise his virtues great. And thus, in no long time, the fame had sprung Both of his deeds, and of his courteous tongue, 580 That Theseus bade him near himself remain To be a squire amongst his household-train, And gave him gold consistent with his grade. From Thebes moreover messengers conveyed 26 From year to year, all stealthily, his rent. But honestly and wisely he it spent, That no man wondered how so well he sped. And three years in this wise his life he led. In peace or war he such a course did steer, That Theseus held no comrade half so dear. 590 And thus let Arcite in his gladness dwell, While now the tale of Palamon I tell. In loathsome dungeon dark, and fast enchained, For seven long years hath Palamon remained, Tormented both with horror and distress. Who feeleth double pain and heaviness But Palamon, whom love constraineth so That well nigh out of wit he goes for woe ? And furthermore, a prisoner is he Not only for a year, but endlessly. 600 Say, who could rhyme in English properly His martyrdom ? — forsooth, it is not I ; I pass it o'er as lightly as I may. It chanced that, in the seventh year, in May, On the third night, as olden books maintain, That tell us all the story, full and plain, Whether it were by chance or destiny — As, when a thing is fated, it must be — 27 This Palamon, soon after midnight's hour, By aid of friends, brake from his prison-tower, 610 And flees the city, fast as he may go ; For he had made his gaoler drunken so With liquor spiced, made of a certain wine With opium mingled and narcotics fine, That all that night, howe'er men might him shake, The gaoler slept, no power had he to wake ; And thus he flees, as fast as e'er he may. The night was short, and drawing near to day ; At any risk, his person must he hide, And tow'rd a grove, that grew full close beside, 620 With timorous step forth stalketh Palamon. For shortly, this was his opinion, That in the grove he would him hide all day, And in the night then would he take his way To go to Thebes, and pray his comrades there To Athens with an army to repair ; Thus, shortly, he would either lose his life, Or win fair Emily to be his wife. This is his plan, and his intention plain. Now will I turn to Arcite once again, 630 Who little knew how nigh was all his care, Till fickle Fortune brought him in the snare. 28 The busy lark, the messenger of day, Saluteth in her song the morrow gray, And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright, That all the orient laugheth at the light ; And in the groves he drieth with his rays The silver drops that hang upon the sprays. And Arcite, that within the court doth dwell 639 With Theseus, chief of squires, and trusted well, Is risen, and looketh on the merry day ; And, prompt to keep the customed rites of May, Remembering every point of his desire, Leaps on a courser, strong and fierce as fire, And rides into the fields, to ease his woes. Out of the court a mile or twain he goes, And to the very grove of which I told, Unwittingly his onward way doth hold In hopes a garland with the sprays to twine, Contrived of hawthorn or of eglantine, 650 And loud he sang, to greet the sunny sheen : " O May, with all thy blossoms and thy green, Welcome be thou, thou fair refreshing May ! Here may I gather every greenest spray ! " Down from his courser, with a jocund heart, Into the grove behold him swiftly start; And in a path he rambles up and down 29 Where, as it chanced, this hapless Palamon Was hidden in a bush, that none might see, For sore in peril of his life was he. 660 He could not there his rival think to view ; God knows, he would have deemed the fact untrue. But truly was it said, in olden years, That fields have eyes, and lonely woods have ears. 'Tis fit that all should well control their powers, For oft men meet at unexpected hours. Full little Arcite guessed his rival near, Close hidden where he might his song o'erhear ; For in the bush he lurketh now full still. When Arcite now of wandering had his fill, 670 And all his roundel sung had lustily, Into a study fell he suddenly, As do these lovers in their strange desires, Now in the tree-top, now amongst the briars, Now up, now down, like buckets in a well. Just as on Friday, all the sooth to tell, Sometimes it shineth, sometimes raineth fast, Just so can changeful Venus overcast The hearts of those that serve her ; as her day Is changeful, so she changeth her array. 680 Like other days is Friday seldom known. 3° And when Arcite had sung, he gave a groan, And forthwith down he sat, as one forlorn. " Alas ! " he said — " the day that I was born ! How long, O Juno, with thy cruel might Wilt thou make war on Thebes, that city bright ? Alas ! now brought is to confusion The blood of Cadmus and of Amphion ; Of Cadmus, he that was the foremost man That founded Thebes, and first the town began, 690 And of the city first was crowned as king. Of Cadmus' race am I, from him I spring By true descent, one of the regal race. And now am I so humbled and so base, That him, who is my mortal enemy, I serve as trusted squire, submissively. And yet hath Juno done me greater shame ; I dare not now confess my rightful name ; But where my title once was Sir Arcite, Now am I Philostrat, not worth a mite. 700 Alas, thou cruel Mars ! alas, Juno ! Thus hath your wrath our kindred brought to woe Save only me, and Palamon forlorn, Whom Theseus in his prison holds in scorn. Beyond all this, to slay me utterly, Love hath his fiery dart so burningly 3' Infixed within my heart, full sorely hurt, That e'en my death was shaped before my shirt. You slay me with your glances, Emily ! You are the cause, whereby I pine and die ! 710 For every other source of grief and care I count not of the value of a tare, If aught I could effect to please you well ! " And with that word down in a trance he fell A weary while ; then leapt up with a start. But Palamon, who thought that through his heart He felt a cold sword swiftly-piercing glide, For anger shook, no longer would he bide. But, when that he had heard his rival's tale, In madman's wise, with deadly face and pale, 720 He started from the bushes close and high, And cried : — " Arcite, thou traitor false and sly, Now art thou caught, that lov'st my lady so, For whom that I have all this pain and woe ; My kinsman thou, to keep my secrets sworn, As I have told thee often ere this morn ; For here hast thou deceived duke Theseus, And falsely hast thou changed thy title thus. I am prepared for death, or thou shall die ; Thou shall not love my lady Emily ! 730 3* Her whom I love let all men else forgo ; For I am Palamon, thy mortal foe ! And though I have no weapon in this place, But have from prison broken forth, by grace, I fear thee not ; for either thou shalt die, Or thou shalt never love fair Emily. Choose which thou wilt, thou shalt not hence depart." This Arcite, with a full disdainful heart, When he had heard his tale, and well him knew, Fierce as a lion, straight his sword out-drew, 74° And thus exclaimed : — " By heaven that is above, Were 5t not that thou art sick and mad for love, And hast besides no weapon in this place, Thou never from this grove shouldst stir a pace, But rather die this instant on my sword. For I deny the surety and the word Which thou declarest I have made to thee ! Why, very fool ! think well that love is free, And I will love her, spite of all thy might. But, for as much as thou'rt a worthy knight, 75° Ready to try whose valour shall prevail, Have here my troth ! To-morrow I will not fail, But, unperceived by any other wight, Here will I meet thee like a faithful knight, 33 D And bring fair armour, suitable for thee, Yea ! choose the best, and leave the worst for me. To-night too will I bring thee drink and bread, Enough for thee, and clothes to make thy bed. And if so be that thou my lady win, And slay me in the wood we now are in, 7 6° Then may'st thou have thy lady, as for me ! " This Palamon replied : — " I grant it thee." And thus they parted till the morrow's morn, When each hath pledged his promise to return. O Cupid, that disdainest charity ! O prince, that wilt no rival have with thee ! How true the saw, that love and tyranny Will — knowingly — ne'er suffer rivalry. Well Arcite findeth this, and Palamon. Arcite has ridden anon unto the town, 770 And on the morrow, ere the sun was high, Procured two suits of armour secretly, Sufficient both and fitting to sustain The battle in the field betwixt the twain. And on his horse, himself, and no man more, He carrieth all this armour, him before ; And in the grove, at time and place as set, This Arcite and this Palamon are met. 34 Then change came o'er the colour of each face ; E'en as the hunter, in the realm of Thrace, 7^° Stands waiting at the gap, in hand a spear, When hunted is the lion or the bear, And hears him through the groves come rushing on, And breaking all the leaves and bushes down, And thinks — " here comes my mortal enemy, And shortly must lie dead or he, or I ; For either must I slay him at the gap, Or he will slay me, if that aught mishap " — So fared the twain, in changing of their hue, As far as each of them the other knew. 790 No salutation was there, or "good day," But straight, without rehearsal or delay, Each helped with all his care to arm the other As friendly as he had been born his brother. And after that, with sharpened spears and strong They thrust, each at the other, wondrous long. Thou mightest deem this Palamon had been, In his attack, a lion fierce and keen, And like a cruel tiger was Arcite. As two wild boars began they both to smite, 800 That foam with flying froth in angry mood. Up to the ankles fought they in their blood. And in this wise I let them fighting dwell, 35 And now of Theseus I awhile will tell. Stern destiny, subservient to God's will, That through the wide world worketh to fulfil The providence that God before hath seen, So strong it is, that though the world should ween The contrary must come, by yea or nay, Yet sometimes that shall happen, on a day, 810 That in a thousand years ne'er comes again. For certainly, our inclinations vain, Be they for war or peace, or hate, or love, Are overruled by providence above. And so it chanced with Theseus brave and bold ; His love of hunting is so uncontrolled, And chiefly, hunting of the hart in May, That in his bed he sees no dawning day But straightway is he clad, prepared to ride 819 With hounds and horn and huntsmen at his side. For in this hunting hath he such delight That it is all his joy and appetite To prove himself the slayer of the hart ; For, next to Mars, he takes Diana's part. Clear was the day, as I have said ere this ; And Theseus, all rejoicing in his bliss, With his Hippolyta, his dainty queen, 36 And Emily the fair, all clothed in green, A-hunting have they ridden, royally. And tow'rds the fatal grove, that lay hard by, 830 In which there was a hart, as men him told, Duke Theseus now the nearest way doth hold ; And tow'rds an open glade he rides aright, For thither oft the hart would take his flight, And over a brook he goes, and forth again. This noble duke would have a course or twain With hounds, all duly for the chase purveyed. And when this duke was come unto the glade, Beneath the sun he looketh, and anon Was ware of Ar cite and of Palamon 840 That fierce as foaming boars gave blow for blow. Their circling swords flashed brightly to and fro So forcefully, that with the lightest stroke They seemed as they would fell a sturdy oak. But who the knights might be, yet knew he not. The duke with sudden spurs his courser smote, And in a moment dashed betwixt the two, And drew his mighty sword, and shouted — "Ho! No more, lest each one forfeit here his head ! By mighty Mars, he straightway shall be dead 850 Who strikes another stroke, that I may see ! But tell me now, what kind of men ye be 37 That have the boldness to do battle here Without an umpire or such officer As if in lists of tourney, royally ? " Then Palamon replied right hastily, And said — "What need, sir,words to spend in vain? We well deserve to suffer, both the twain. Two woeful wretches are we, guilty both, To whom our lives are cumbersome and loath ; 860 As in thy rightful justice we believe, Now grant us neither mercy nor reprieve ! And slay me first I pray, for charity ; But slay my comrade next, as well as me ; Or slay him first ! For, as thou may'st not know, This is Arcite, this is thy mortal foe, Banished thy land, on forfeit of his head, For which he well deserveth to be dead. For this is he that came within thy gate, Pretending that his name was Philostrat ! 870 Thus hath he long time cheated thy belief, And thou hast chosen him thy squire in chief; And this is he that loveth Emily ! For since the day is come that I must die, I make here plainly my confession That I am that same woeful Palamon, That hath from prison broken, wickedly. 38 t am thy mortal foe, and it is 1 That love so hotly Emily the bright That I would die here, present in her sight. 880 Therefore I ask for death and justice due. But in the same way slay my rival too ; Alike have we deserv-ed to be slain ! " The worthy duke anon replied again, And said — " Behold a short conclusion ! Your own mouth, by your own confession, Condemns you, and myself am witness here ; There needs no torturing cord, the truth to clear. By mighty Mars the red, ye both shall die ! " Thereat the queen, with woman's sympathy, 890 Began to weep, and so did Emily, And all the ladies in the company. Great pity was it, so it seemed to all, That ever such a fate should knights befall. For gentlemen were they, of high estate, And only but for love was this debate. They viewed their bleeding wounds, severe and sore, And all together cried, both less and more, " Have mercy, lord ! upon us women all ! " And on their bended knees adown they fall,