Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

“I was wife to King Capaneus, who died at Thebes[79]: and all of us who kneel and weep have lost our husbands there during a siege; and now Creon, who is king of Thebes, has piled together these dead bodies, and will not suffer them to be either burned or buried.”

And with these words all the ladies wept more piteously than ever, and prayed Theseus to have compassion on their great sorrow.

The kind duke descended from his horse, full of commiseration for the poor ladies. He thought his heart would break with pity when he saw them so sorrowful and dejected, who had been lately of so noble a rank.

He raised them all, and comforted them, and swore an oath that as he was a true knight, he would avenge them on the tyrant king of Thebes in such a fashion that all the people of Greece should be able to tell how Theseus served Creon!

The duke sent his royal bride and her young sister Emelye on to the town of Athens, whilst he displayed his banner, marshalled his men, and rode forth towards Thebes. For himself, till he had accomplished this duty, he would not enter Athens, nor take his ease for one half-day therein.

The duke’s white banner bore the red statue of Mars upon it; and by his banner waved his pennon, which had the monster Minotaur (slain by Theseus in Greece) beaten into it in gold. Thus rode this duke--thus rode this conqueror and all his host--the flower of chivalry--till he came to Thebes.

To make matters short, Theseus fought with the King of Thebes, and slew him manly as a knight in fair battle, and routed his whole army. Then he destroyed the city, and gave up to the sorrowful ladies the bones of their husbands, to burn honourably after their fashion.

When the worthy duke had slain Creon and taken the city, he remained all night in the field. During the pillage which followed, it happened that two young knights were found still alive, lying in their rich armour, though grievously wounded. By their coat-armour[80] the heralds knew they were of the blood-royal of Thebes; two cousins, the sons of two sisters. Their names were Palamon and Arcite.

These two knights were carried as captives to Theseus’ tent, and he sent them off to Athens, where they were to be imprisoned for life; no ransom would he take.

Then the duke went back to Athens crowned with laurel, where he lived in joy and in honour all his days, while Palamon and Arcite were shut up in a strong tower full of anguish and misery, beyond all reach of help.

Thus several years passed.

This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day,
Till it fel oones in a morwe of May morning
That Emelye, that fairer was to seene see
Than is the lilie on hire stalkes grene,
And fresscher than the May with floures newe-- flowers
For with the rose colour strof hire hewe, strove, hue
I n’ot which was the fayrere of hem two--
Er it were day as sche was wont to do,
Sche was arisen, and al redy dight; dressed
For May wole han no sloggardye a nyght. sloth
The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,
And maketh him out of his sleepe sterte,
And seith, Arys, and do thin observaunce.[81] arise, thine
This maked Emelye han remembraunce
To don honour to May, and for to ryse. do
I-clothed was sche fressh for to devyse.[82] clothed
Hire yolwe heer was browdid in a tresse, yellow
Byhynde hire bak, a yerde long I gesse.
And in the gardyn at the sonne upriste
Sche walketh up and doun wher as hire liste. pleased
Sche gadereth floures, party whyte and reede,
To make a sotil gerland[83] for hire heede,
And as an aungel hevenly sche song.

Thus passeth year by year, and day by day,
Till it fell once upon a morn of May
That Emelye--more beauteous to be seen
Than is the lily on his stalk of green,
And fresher than the May with flowers new
(For with the rose’s colour strove her hue
I know not which was fairer of the two)
Early she rose as she was wont to do,
All ready robed before the day was bright;
For May time will not suffer sloth at night;
The season pricketh every gentle heart,
And maketh him out of his sleep to start,
And saith, Rise up, salute the birth of spring!
And therefore Emelye, remembering
To pay respect to May, rose speedily:
Attired she was all fresh and carefully,
Her yellow hair was braided in a tress
Behind her back, a full yard long, I guess,
And in the garden as the sun uprose
She wandered up and down where as she chose.
She gathereth flowers, partly white and red,
To make a cunning garland for her head,
And as an angel heavenly she sang.

‘The fairnesse of the lady that I see
Yonde in the gardyn romynge to and fro.’]

The great tower, so thick and strong, in which these two knights were imprisoned, was close-joined to the wall of the garden.

Bright was the sun, and clear, that morning, as Palamon, by leave of his jailor, had risen, and was roaming about in an upper chamber, from which he could see the whole noble city of Athens, and also the garden, full of green boughs, just where fresh Emelye was walking.

This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon, kept pacing to and fro in this chamber, wishing he had never been born; and it happened by chance that through the window, square and barred with iron, he cast his eyes on Emelye.

He started and cried out aloud, “Ah!” as though he were stricken to the heart.

And with that cry Arcite sprang up, saying, “Dear cousin, what ails you? You are quite pale and deathly. Why did you cry out? For God’s love be patient with this prison life since it cannot be altered. What is Heaven’s will we must endure.”

Palamon answered, “Cousin, it is not that--not this dungeon made me cry out--but I was smitten right now through the eye into my heart. The fairness of a lady that I see yonder in the garden, roaming to and fro, made me cry out. I know not whether she be woman or goddess: but I think it is Venus herself!”

And he fell down on his knees and cried, “Venus, if it be thy will thus to transfigure thyself in the garden, help us to escape out of the tower.”

Then Arcite looked forth and saw this lady roaming to and fro, and her beauty touched him so deeply that he said, sighing, “The fresh beauty of her will slay me. And if I cannot gain her mercy, I am but dead, and there is an end.”

But Palamon turned furiously on him, and said, “Do you say that in earnest or in play?”

“Nay,” cried Arcite, “in earnest by my faith--God help me, I am in no mood for play.”

“It were no great honour to thee,” cried Palamon, “to be false and a traitor to me, who am thy cousin and thy brother, sworn as we are both, to help and not hinder one another, in all things till death part us. And now you would falsely try to take my lady from me, whom I love and serve, and ever shall till my heart break. Now, certainly, false Arcite, you shall not do it. I loved her first, and told thee, and thou art bound as a knight to help me, or thou art false!”

But Arcite answered proudly, “Thou shalt be rather false than I--and thou _art_ false, I tell thee, utterly! For I loved her with real love before you did. You did not know whether she were woman or goddess. Yours is a religious feeling, and mine is love as to a mortal; which I told you as my cousin, and my sworn brother. And even if you _had_ loved her first, what matters it? A man loves because he can’t help it, not because he wishes. Besides, you will never gain her grace more than I, for both of us are life-long captives. It is like the dogs who fought all day over a bone; and while they were fighting over it, a kite came and carried it off.”

Long the two knights quarrelled and disputed about the lady who was out of their reach. But you shall see what came to pass.

There was a duke called Perithous, who had been fellow and brother in arms[84] of Duke Theseus since both were children, and he came to Athens to visit Theseus. These two dukes were very great friends: so much so that they loved no one so much as each other.

Now, Duke Perithous had known Arcite at Thebes, years before, and liked him, and he begged Theseus to let Arcite out of prison.

Theseus consented, but only on the condition that Arcite should quit Athens; and that he should lose his head, were he ever found there again.

So Arcite became a free man, but he was banished the kingdom.

How unhappy then Arcite was! He felt that he was worse off than ever. “Oh, how I wish I had never known Perithous!” cried he. “Far rather would I be back in Theseus’ prison, for _then_ I could see the beautiful lady I love.”

O dere cosyn Palamon, quod he,
Thyn is the victorie of this aventure, thine, chance
Ful blisfully in prisoun maistow dure; may’st thou
endure
In prisoun? certes nay, but in paradys!
Wel hath fortune y-torned the the dys. thee

“O my dear cousin, Palamon,” cried he,
“In this ill hap the gain is on thy side.
Thou blissful in thy prison may’st abide!
In prison? truly nay--but in paradise!
Kindly toward thee hath fortune turn’d the dice.”

So Arcite mourned ever, because he was far away from Athens where the beautiful lady dwelt, and was always thinking that perhaps Palamon would get pardoned, and marry the lady, while he would never see her any more.

But Palamon, on the other hand, was so unhappy when his companion was taken away, that he wept till the great tower resounded, and his very fetters were wet with his tears.

“Alas, my dear cousin,” he sighed, “the fruit of all our strife is thine!--You walk free in Thebes, and think little enough of my woe, I daresay. You will perhaps gather a great army and make war on this country, and get the beautiful lady to wife whom I love so much! while I die by inches in my cage.”

And with that his jealousy started up like a fire within him, so that he was nigh mad, and pale as ashes. “O cruel gods!” he cried, “that govern the world with your eternal laws, how is man better than a sheep lying in the fold? For, like any other beast, man dies, or lives in prison, or is sick, or unfortunate, and often is quite guiltless all the while. And when a beast is dead, it has no pain further; but man may suffer after death, as well as in this world.”

Now I will leave Palamon, and tell you more of Arcite.

Arcite, in Thebes, fell into such excessive sorrow for the loss of the beautiful lady that there never was a creature so sad before or since. He ceased to eat and drink, and sleep, and grew as thin and dry as an arrow. His eyes were hollow and dreadful to behold, and he lived always alone, mourning and lamenting night and day. He was so changed that no one could recognize his voice nor his look. Altogether he was the saddest picture of a man that ever was seen--except Palamon.

One night he had a dream. He dreamed that the winged god Mercury stood before him, bidding him be merry; and commanded him to go to Athens, where all his misery should end.

Arcite sprang up, and said, “I will go straight to Athens. Nor will I spare to see my lady through fear of death--in her presence I am ready even to die!”

He caught up a looking-glass, and saw how altered his face was, so that no one would know him. And lie suddenly bethought him that now he was so disfigured with his grief, he might go and dwell in Athens without being recognized, and see his lady nearly every day.

He dressed himself as a poor labourer, and accompanied only by a humble squire, who knew all he had suffered, he hastened to Athens.

He went to the court of Theseus, and offered his services at the gate to drudge and draw, or do any menial work that could be given him. Well could he hew wood and carry water, for he was young and very strong. Now, it happened that the chamberlain of fair Emelye’s house took Arcite into his service.

Thus Arcite became page of the chamber of Emelye the bright, and he called himself Philostrate.

Never was man so well thought of!--he was so gentle of condition that he became known throughout the court. People said it would be but right if Theseus promoted this Philostrate, and placed him in a rank which would better display his talents and virtues.

At last Theseus raised him to be squire of his chamber, and gave him plenty of gold to keep up his degree. Moreover, his own private rent was secretly brought to him from Thebes year by year. But he spent it so cunningly that no one suspected him. In this crafty way Arcite lived a long time very happily, and bore himself so nobly both in peace and war that there was no man in the land dearer to Theseus.

Now we will go back to Palamon.

Poor Palamon had been for seven years in his terrible prison, and was quite wasted away with misery. There was not the slightest chance of getting out; and his great love made him frantic. At last, however, one May night some pitying friend helped him to give his jailor a drink which sent him into a deep sleep: so that Palamon made his escape from the tower. He fled from the city as fast as ever he could go, and hid himself in a grove; meaning afterwards to go by night secretly to Thebes, and beg all his friends to aid him to make war on Theseus. And then he would soon either die or get Emelye to wife.

Now wol I torn unto Arcite agayn, turn
That litel wiste how nyh that was his care, know, near
Til that fortune hadde brought him in the snare.
The busy larke, messager of day,
Salueth in hire song the morwe gray; saluteth
And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,
That al the orient laugheth of the lighte,
And with his stremes dryeth in the greves rays, groves
The silver dropes, hongyng on the leeves. leaves
And Arcite, that is in the court ryal royal[85]
With Theseus, his squyer principal, squire
Is risen, and loketh on the merye day.
And for to doon his observaunce to May, do, ceremony
Remembryng on the poynt of his desir,
He on his courser, stertyng as the fir, starting, fire
Is riden into the feeldes him to pleye fields, play
Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye.
And to the grove of which that I yow tolde, you
By aventure his wey he gan to holde, chance, began
To maken him a garland of the greves, make
Were it of woodebynde or hawethorn leves, leaves
And lowde he song ayens the sonne scheene: sang, against
O May,[86] with al thy floures and thy greene,
Welcome be thou, wel faire freissche May!
I hope that I som grene gete may. some, may get
And fro his courser, with a lusty herte, heart
Into the grove ful hastily he sterte, started
And in a pathe he romed up and doun, roamed
Ther as by aventure this Palamoun where, chance
Was in a busche, that no man might him see,
For sore afered of his deth was he. afraid, death
Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite:
God wot he wolde han trowed it ful lite. knows, guessed,
little
For soth is seyd, goon sithen many yeres, truly, gone,
since
That feld hath eyen, and the woode hath eeres. eyes, ears

Now will I tell you of Arcite again,
Who little guess’d how nigh him was his care
Until his fortune brought him in the snare.
The busy lark, the messenger of day,
Saluteth in her song the morning grey;
And fiery Phœbus riseth up so bright,
That all the orient laugheth for the light;
And in the woods he drieth with his rays
The silvery drops that hang along the sprays.
Arcite--unknown, yet ever waxing higher
In Theseus’ royal court, now chiefest squire--
Is risen, and looketh on the merry day:
And, fain to offer homage unto May,
He, mindful of the point of his desire,
Upon his courser leapeth, swift as fire,
And rideth to keep joyous holiday
Out in the fields, a mile or two away.
And, as it chanced, he made towards the grove,
All thick with leaves, whereof I spake above,
Eager to weave a garland with a spray
Of woodbine, or the blossoms of the may.
And loud against the sunshine sweet he sings,
“O May, with all thy flowers and thy green things,
Right welcome be thou, fairest, freshest May!
Yield me of all thy tender green to-day!”
Then from his courser merrily he sprang,
And plunged into the thicket as he sang;
Till in a path he chanced to make his way
Nigh to where Palamon in secret lay.
Sore frighted for his life was Palamon:
But Arcite pass’d, unknowing and unknown;
And neither guess’d his brother was hard by;
But Arcite knew not any man was nigh.
So was it said of old, how faithfully,
‘The woods have ears, the empty field can see.’

A man should be prudent, even when he fancies himself safest: for oftentimes come unlooked-for meetings. And little enough thought Arcite that his sworn brother from the tower was at hand, sitting as still as a mouse while he sang.

Whan that Arcite hadde romed al his fill,
And songen al the roundel lustily,
Into a studie he fel sodeynly, reverie
As don thes loveres in here queynte geeres, curious fashions
Now in the croppe,[87] now doun in the breres, briars
Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle.

Now when Arcite long time had roam’d his fill,
And sung all through the rondel lustily,
He fell into dejection suddenly,
As lovers in their strange way often do,
Now in the clouds and now in abject wo,
Now up, now down, as bucket in a well.

He sat down and began to make a kind of song of lamentation. “Alas,” he cried, “the day that I was born! How long, O Juno, wilt thou oppress Thebes? All her royal blood is brought to confusion. I myself am of royal lineage, and yet now I am so wretched and brought so low, that I have become slave and squire to my mortal foe. Even my own proud name of Arcite I dare not bear, but pass by the worthless one of Philostrate! Ah, Mars and Juno, save me, and wretched Palamon, martyred by Theseus in prison! For all my pains are for my love’s sake, and Emelye, whom I will serve all my days.”

Ye slen me with youre eyen, Emelye;
Ye ben the cause wherfore that I dye: be
Of al the remenant of myn other care remnant
Ne sette I nought the mountaunce of a tare, amount
So that I couthe don aught to youre pleasaunce! were able to

“You slay me with your eyes, O Emelye!
You are the cause wherefore I daily die.
For, ah, the worth of all my other woes
Is not as e’en the poorest weed that grows,
So that I might do aught to pleasure you!”

Palamon, hearing this, felt as though a cold sword glided through his heart. He was so angry that he flung himself forth like a madman upon Arcite:--

And seyde: False[88] Arcyte--false traitour wikke, wicked
Now art thou hent, that lovest my lady so,
For whom that I have al this peyne and wo,
And art my blood, and to my counseil sworn, counsel
As I ful ofte have told the heere byforn, before now
And hast byjaped here duke Theseus, tricked
And falsly chaunged hast thy name thus;
I wol be deed, or elles thou schalt dye. dead, else
Thou schalt not love my lady Emelye,
But I wil love hire oonly and no mo; more
For I am Palamon, thy mortal fo. foe
And though that I no wepne have in this place, weapon
But out of prisoun am astert by grace, escaped
I drede not, that outher thou schalt dye, fear
Or thou ne schalt not loven Emelye.
Ches which thou wilt, for thou schalt not asterte. escape
This Arcite, with ful dispitous herte, there
Whan he him knew, and hadde his tale herde,
As fers as a lyoun, pulleth out a swerde, fierce
And seide thus: By God that sitteth above,
Nere it that thou art sike and wood for love, were it not
And eek that thou no wepne hast in this place, also
Thou schuldest nevere out of this grove pace, step
That thou ne schuldest deyen of myn hond. die
For I defye the seurté and the bond defy
Which that thou seyst that I have maad to the; sayest
What, verray fool, thenk wel that love is fre!
And I wol love hire mawgré al thy might. In spite of
But, for thou art a gentil perfight knight, because
And wilnest to dereyne hire by batayle, art willing
Have heere my trouthe, to morwe I nyl not fayle, pledge
Withouten wityng of eny other wight, without knowledge
That heer I wol be founden as a knight, will, found
And bryngen harneys[89] right inough for the;
And ches the best, and lef the worst for me.
And mete and drynke this night wil I brynge
Inough for the, and clothes for thy beddynge.
And if so be that thou my lady wynne, win
And sle me in this wode, ther I am inne, wood
Thou maist wel have thy lady as for me.
This Palamon answerde, I graunt it the.

Crying, “False, wicked traitor! false Arcite!
Now art thou caught, that lov’st my lady so,
For whom I suffer all this pain and wo!
Yet art my blood--bound to me by thy vow,
As I have told thee oftentimes ere now--
And hast so long befool’d Duke Theseus
And falsely hid thy name and nurture thus!
For all this falseness thou or I must die.
Thou shalt not love my lady Emelye--
But I will love her and no man but I,
For I am Palamon, thine enemy!
And tho’ I am unarmed, being but now
Escap’d from out my dungeon, care not thou,
For nought I dread--for either thou shalt die
Now--or thou shalt not love my Emelye.
Choose as thou wilt--thou shalt not else depart.”
But Arcite, with all fury in his heart,
Now that he knew him and his story heard,
Fierce as a lion, snatch’d he forth his sword,
Saying these words: “By Him who rules above,
Were’t not that thou art sick and mad for love,
And hast no weapon--never should’st thou move,
Living or like to live, from out this grove,
But thou shouldest perish by my hand! on oath
I cast thee back the bond and surety, both,
Which thou pretendest I have made to thee.
What? very fool! remember love is free,
And I will love her maugré all thy might!
But since thou art a worthy, noble knight,
And willing to contest her in fair fight,
Have here my troth, to-morrow, at daylight,
Unknown to all, I will not fail nor fear
To meet thee as a knight in combat here,
And I will bring full arms for me and thee;
And choose the best, and leave the worst for me!
And I will bring thee meat and drink to-night,
Enough for thee, and bedding as is right:
And if the victory fall unto thine hand,
To slay me in this forest where I stand,
Thou may’st attain thy lady-love, for me!”
Then Palamon replied--“I grant it thee.”

Then these, who had once been friends, parted till the morrow.

O Cupide, out of alle charite! all
O regne that wolt no felaw have with the! kingdom
Ful soth is seyd, that love ne lordschipe truly, nor
Wol not, thonkes, have no felaschipe. willingly,
fellowship
Wel fynden that Arcite and Palamoun. find
Arcite is riden anon unto the toun
And on the morwe, or it were dayes light, before
Ful prively two harneys hath he dight, prepared
Bothe suffisaunt and mete to darreyne sufficient
The batayl in the feeld betwix hem tweyne. field, them, two
And on his hors alone as he was born, carried
He caryed al this harneys him byforn; before
And in the grove, at tyme and place i-sette,
This Arcite and this Palamon ben mette. be
Tho chaungen gan here colour in here face, then, their
Right as the honter in the regne of Trace kingdom
That stondeth in the gappe with a spere,
Whan honted is the lyoun or the bere,
And hereth him come ruschyng in the greves, groves
And breketh bothe the bowes and the leves, breaking
And thenketh, Here cometh my mortel enemy,
Withoute faile, he mot be deed or I; without
For eyther I mot slen him at the gappe,
Or he moot slee me, if it me myshappe:
So ferden they, in chaungyng of here hew, their hue
As fer as eyther of hem other knewe. far, them
Ther nas no good day, ne no saluyng; was not, saluting
But streyt withouten wordes rehersyng,
Everich of hem helpeth to armen other, each, helped
As frendly, as he were his owen brother; own
And thanne with here scharpe speres stronge
They foyneden ech at other wonder longe, foined
Tho it semede that this Palamon then, seemed
In his fightyng were as a wood lyoun, mad
And as a cruel tygre was Arcite:[90]
As wilde boores gonne they to smyte, began
That frothen white as fome, for ire wood, their madness
Up to the ancle faught they in here blood.[91] their
And in this wise I lete hem fightyng dwelle;
And forth I wol of Theseus yow telle. you

O god of love, that hast no charity!
O realm, that wilt not bear a rival nigh!
Truly ’tis said, that love and lordship ne’er
Will be contented only with a share.
Arcite and Palamon have found it so.
Arcite is ridden soon the town unto:
And, on the morrow, ere the sun was high,
Two harness hath he brought forth privily,
Meet and sufficing for the lonely fight
Out in the battle-field mid daisies white.
And riding onward solitarily
All this good armour on his horse bore he:
And at the time and place which they had set
Ere long Arcite and Palamon are met.
To change began the colour of each face--
Ev’n as the hunter’s, in the land of Thrace,
When at a gap he standeth with a spear,
In the wild hunt of lion or of bear,
And heareth him come rushing through the wood,
Crashing the branches in his madden’d mood,
And think’th, “Here com’th my mortal enemy,
Now without fail or he or I must die;
For either I must slay him at the gap,
Or he must slay me if there be mishap.”
So fared the knights so far as either knew,
When, seeing each, each deepen’d in his hue.
There was no greeting--there was no ‘Good day,’
But mute, without a single word, straightway
Each one in arming turn’d to help the other,
As like a friend as though he were his brother.
And after that, with lances sharp and strong,
They dash’d upon each other--lief and long.
You might have fancied that this Palamon,
Fighting so blindly, were a mad liòn,
And like a cruel tiger was Arcite.
As two wild boars did they together smite,
That froth as white as foam for rage--they stood
And fought until their feet were red with blood.
Thus far awhile I leave them to their fight.
And now what Theseus did I will recite.

Then something happened that neither of them expected.

It was a bright clear day, and Theseus, hunting with his fair queen Ipolita, and Emelye, clothed all in green, came riding by after the hart, with all the dogs around them; and as they followed the hart, suddenly Theseus looked out of the dazzle of the sun, and saw Arcite and Palamon in sharp fight, like two bulls for fury. The bright swords flashed to and fro so hideously that it seemed as though their smallest blows would fell an oak. But the duke knew not who they were that fought.[92]

Theseus smote his spurs into his horse, and galloped in between the knights, and, drawing his sword, cried, “Ho![93] No more, on pain of death! By mighty Mars, he dies who strikes a blow in my presence!” Then Theseus asked them what manner of men they were, who dared to fight there, without judge or witness, as though it were in royal lists?[94]

You may imagine the two men turning on Theseus, breathless and bloody with fight, weary with anger, and their vengeance still unslaked.

This Palamon answerde hastily,
And seyde: Sire, what nedeth wordes mo? need
We han the deth deserved bothe tuo. two
Tuo woful wrecches ben we, tuo kaytyves wretches,
captives
That ben encombred of oure owne lyves, encumbered by
And as thou art a rightful lord and juge
Ne yeve us neyther mercy ne refuge. give us not
And sle me first, for seynte charite; holy
But sle my felaw eek as wel as me. also
Or sle him first; for, though thou know him lyte, little
This is thy mortal fo, this is Arcite,
That fro thy lond is banyscht on his heed
For which he hath i-served to be deed. deserved
For this is he that come to thi gate
And seyde, that he highte Philostrate. was named
Thus hath he japed the ful many a yer, befooled
And thou hast maad of him thy cheef squyer. made
And this is he that loveth Emelye.
For sith the day is come that I schal dye,
I make pleynly my confessioun,
That I am thilke woful Palamoun, that
That hath thy prisoun broke wikkedly. wickedly
I am thy mortal foo, and it am I
That loveth so hoote Emelye the brighte,
That I wol dye present in hire sighte.
Therfore I aske deeth and my juwyse; sentence
But slee my felaw in the same wyse, slay
For bothe we have served to be slayn.
This worthy duk answerde anon agayn,
And seyde: This is a schort conclusioun:
Your owne mouth, by your confessioun, own
Hath dampned you bothe, and I wil it recorde. condemned
It needeth nought to pyne yow with the corde.[95]
Ye schul be deed by mighty Mars the reede! dead

And Palamon made answer hastily,
And said--“O Sire, why should we waste more breath?
For both of us deserve to die the death.
Two wretched creatures are we, glad to die
Tired of our lives, tired of our misery--
And as thou art a rightful lord and judge
So give us neither mercy nor refùge!
And slay me first, for holy charity--
But slay my fellow too as well as me!
--Or slay him first, for though thou little know,
This is Arcite--this is thy mortal foe,
Who from thy land was banished on his head,
For which he richly merits to be dead!
Yea, this is he who came unto thy gate,
And told thee that his name was Philostrate--
Thus year by year hath he defied thine ire--
And thou appointest him thy chiefest squire
--And this is he who loveth Emelye!
“For since the day is come when I shall die,
Thus plain I make confession, and I own
I am that miserable Palamon
Who have thy prison broken wilfully!
I am thy mortal foe,--and it is I
Who love so madly Emelye the bright,
That I would die this moment in her sight!
Therefore I ask death and my doom to-day--
But slay my fellow in the selfsame way:--
For we have both deservëd to be slain.”
And angrily the duke replied again,
“There is no need to judge you any more,
Your own mouth, by confession, o’er and o’er
Condemns you, and I will the words record.
There is no need to pain you with the cord.
Ye both shall die, by mighty Mars the red!”

Then the queen, ‘for verray wommanhede,’ began to weep, and so did Emelye, and all the ladies present. It seemed pitiful that two brave men, both of high lineage, should come to such an end, and only for loving a lady so faithfully. All the ladies prayed Theseus to have mercy on them, and pardon the knights for their sakes. They knelt at his feet, weeping and entreating him--

And wold have kist his feet ther as he stood,
Till atte laste aslaked was his mood;
For pite renneth sone in gentil herte, runneth
And though he first for ire quok and sterte, shook
He hath considerd shortly in a clause
The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause:
And although that his ire hire gylt accusede, their
Yet in his resoun he hem bothe excusede. them

And would have kissed his feet there as he stood,
Until at last appeasëd was his mood,
For pity springeth soon in gentle heart.
And though he first for rage did quake and start,
He hath considered briefly in the pause
The greatness of their crime, and, too, its cause;
And while his passion had their guilt accused,
Yet now his calmer reason both excused.

Everybody had sympathy for those who were in love;[96] and Theseus’ heart ‘had compassion of women, for they wept ever in on’ (continually).

So the kindly duke softened, and said to all the crowd good-humouredly, “What a mighty and great lord is the god of love!”

Lo, her this Arcite and this Palamoun, here
That quytely weren out of my prisoun, freely (quit)
And might have lyved in Thebes ryally, royally
And witen I am here mortal enemy, know, their
And that here deth lith in my might also, their, lieth
And yet hath love, maugré here eyghen tuo,
I-brought hem hider bothe for to dye.
Now loketh, is nat that an heih folye? look, high
Who may not ben a fole, if that he love? be
Byholde for Goddes sake that sitteth above,
Se how they blede! be they nought wel arrayed!
Thus hath here lord, the god of love, hem payed them
Here wages and here fees for here servise. their
And yet they wenen for to ben ful wise, think
That serven love, for ought that may bifalle. serve
But this is yette the beste game of alle,
That sche, for whom they have this jolitee, fun
Can hem therfore as moche thank as me. can them, much
Sche woot no more of al this hoote fare, knows
By God, than wot a cuckow or an hare. knows
But al moot ben assayed, hoot or colde; must be tried
A man moot ben a fool other yong or olde; must be, either
I woot it by myself ful yore agon:
For in my tyme a servant was I on. one

“Here are this Arcite and this Palamon,
Safe out of prison both, who might have gone
And dwelt in Thebes city royally,
Knowing I am their mortal enemy,
And that their death within my power lies:
Yet hath blind Love, in spite of both their eyes,
Led them both hither only to be slain!
Behold the height of foolishness most plain!
Who is so great a fool as one in love?
For mercy’s sake--by all the gods above,
See how they bleed! a pretty pair are they!
Thus their liege lord, the god of love, doth pay
Their wages, and their fees for service done;
And yet each thinks himself a wise man’s son
Who serveth Love, whatever may befall.
But this is still the greatest joke of all,
That she, the cause of this rare jollity,
Owes them about as many thanks as I!
She knew no more of all this hot to-do,
By Mars! than doth a hare or a cuckoo!
But one must have one’s fling, be’t hot or cold;
A man will play the fool either young or old.
I know it by myself--for long ago
In my young days I bowed to Cupid’s bow.”

This is as if he should say, “These two foolish boys have got nothing from their liege lord, the god of love, but a very narrow escape with their heads. And Emelye herself knew no more of all this hot business than a cuckoo! But I, too, was young once, and in love, and so I won’t be hard upon them!” “I will pardon you,” he added, “for the queen’s sake and Emelye’s, but you must swear to me never to come and make war on me at any time, but be ever my friends in all that you may for the future.”

And they were very thankful and promised as he commanded.

Then Theseus spoke again, in a kind, half laughing way:--

To speke of real lynage and riches, speak, royal
Though that sche were a quene or a prynces, princess
Ilk of yow bothe is worthy douteles each
To wedden, when time is, but natheles marry,
nevertheless
I speke as for my suster Emelye,
For whom ye have this stryf and jelousye,
Ye woot youreself, sche may not wedde two know
At oones, though ye faughten ever mo; once, fought
That oon of yow, or be him loth or leef, unwilling or
willing
He mot go pypen in an ivy leef;[97] must
This is to say, sche may nought now have bothe,
Al be ye never so jelous, ne so wrothe. angry

“And as for wealth and rank, and royal birth,
Although she were the noblest upon earth,
Each of you both deserves to wed your flame
Being of equal worth; but all the same
It must be said, my sister Emelye
(For whom ye have this strife and jealousy),
You see yourselves full well that she can never
Wed two at once although ye fought for ever!
But one of you, whether he likes or no,
Must then go whistle, and endure his wo.
That is to say, she cannot have you both,
Though you be never so jealous or so wroth.”

With that he made them this offer--that Palamon and Arcite should each bring in a year’s time (50 weeks) a hundred knights, armed for the lists,[98] and ready to do battle for Emelye; and whichever knight won, Palamon and his host or Arcite and his host, should have her for his wife.

Who looks happy now but Palamon? and who springs up with joy but Arcite! Every one was so delighted with the kindness of Theseus that they all went down on their knees to thank him--but of course Palamon and Arcite went on their knees most.

Now, would you like to know all the preparations Theseus made for this great tournament?

First, the theatre for the lists had to be built, where the tournament was to take place. This was built round in the form of a compass, with hundreds of seats rising up on all sides one behind another, so that everybody could see the fight, and no one was in anybody’s way. The walls were a mile round, and all of stone, with a ditch running along the outside. At the east and at the west stood two gates of white marble, and there was not a carver, or painter, or craftsman of any kind that Theseus did not employ to decorate the theatre. So that there never was such a splendid place built in all the earth before or since.

Then he made three temples: one over the east gate for Venus, goddess of love; one over the west gate for Mars, who is god of war; and towards the north, he built a temple all of alabaster and red coral; and that was for Diana. All these beautiful things cost more money than would fill a big carriage.

Now I will tell you what the temples were like inside.

First, in the Temple of Venus were wonderful paintings of feasts, dancing, and playing of music, and beautiful gardens, and mountains, and people walking about with the ladies they liked. All these were painted on the walls in rich colour.

There was a statue of Venus besides, floating on a sea of glass, and the glass was made like waves that came over her. She had a citole in her hand, which is an instrument for playing music on; and over her head doves were flying. Little Cupid was also there, with his wings, and his bow and arrows, and his eyes blinded, as he is generally made.

Then, in the Temple of Mars, who is the god of war, there were all sorts of dangers and misfortunes painted. Battles, and smoke, and forests all burning with flames, and men run over by carts, and sinking ships, and many other awful sights. Then a smith forging iron--swords and knives for war.

The statue of Mars was standing on a car, armed and looking as grim as possible: there was a hungry wolf beside him.

As for the Temple of Diana, that was very different from Venus’s. Venus wishes everybody to marry the one they love. Diana does not want any one to marry at all, but to hunt all day in the fields. So the pictures in Diana’s Temple were all about hunting, and the merry life in the forest.

Her statue showed her riding on a stag, with dogs running round about, and underneath her feet was the moon. She was dressed in the brightest green, and she had a bow and arrows in her hand.

Now you know all about the splendid theatre and the three temples.

At last the day of the great tournament approached!

Palamon and Arcite came to Athens as they had promised, each bringing with him a hundred knights, well armed; and never before, since the world began, was seen a sight so magnificent. Everybody who could bear arms was only too anxious to be among the two hundred knights--and proud indeed were those who were chosen! for you know, that if to-morrow there should be a like famous occasion, every man in England or anywhere else, who had a fair lady-love, would try to be there.

All the knights that flocked to the tournament wore shining armour according to their fancy. Some wore a coat of mail, which is chain-armour, and a breast-plate, and a gipon: others wore plate-armour, made of broad sheets of steel; some carried shields, some round targets. Again, some took most care of their legs, and carried an axe; others bore maces of steel.

It was on a Sunday, about nine o’clock in the morning, when all the lords and knights came into Athens.

With Palamon came the great Licurgus, King of Thrace; with Arcite came the mighty King of India, Emetrius: and I must give you the exact account of how these two kings looked, which is most minute. I should not wonder if these were the likenesses of Palamon and Arcite themselves.[99]

First, then, comes--

Ligurge himself, the grete kyng of Trace;
Blak was his berd, and manly was his face.
The cercles of his eyen in his heed eyes
They gloweden bytwixe yolw and reed, between
And lik a griffoun loked he aboute,
With kempe heres[100] on his browes stowte; stout
His lymes grete, his brawnes hard and stronge, limbs, muscles
His schuldres brood, his armes rounde and longe. shoulders
And as the gyse was in his contre, guise
Ful heye upon a chare of gold stood he, high, car
With foure white boles in a trays. bulls, the traces
In stede of cote armour on his harnays,[101]
With nales yolwe, and bright as eny gold,
He had a bere skyn, cole-blak for-old. very old
His lange heer y-kempt byhynd his bak, long hair combed
As eny raven fether it schon for blak. shone
A wrethe of gold arm-gret, and huge of wighte,
Upon his heed, set ful of stoones brighte,
Of fyne rubies and of fyn dyamauntz. diamonds
Aboute his chare ther wenten white alauntz,[102]
Twenty and mo, as grete as eny stere, steer (bullock)
To hunt at the lyoun or at the bere,
And folwed him, with mosel fast i-bounde, muzzle
Colerd with golde, and torettz[103] fyled rounde. spikes, filled

Licurge himself, the mighty king of Thrace;
Black was his beard, and manly was his face,
The circles of his eyes within his head
Glow’d of a hue part yellow and part red,
And like a griffon lookëd he about,
With hair down-combed upon his brows so stout;
His limbs were great, his muscles hard and strong,
His shoulders broad, his arms were round and long.
According to the fashion of his land,
Full high upon a car of gold stood he,
And to the car four bulls were link’d, milk-white.
’Stead of coat-armour on his harness bright,
With yellow nails and bright as any gold,
A bear’s skin hung, coal-black, and very old.
His flowing hair was comb’d behind his back,
As any raven’s wing it shone for black.
A wreath of gold, arm-thick, of monstrous weight,
Crusted with gems, upon his head was set,
Full of fine rubies and clear diamonds.
About his car there leapëd huge white hounds,
Twenty and more, as big as any steer,
To chase the lion or to hunt the bear,
And follow’d him, with muzzles firmly bound,
Collar’d in gold, with golden spikes around.

The other portrait has a less barbaric splendour about it.

The gret Emetreus, the kyng of Ynde, India
Uppon a steede bay, trapped in steel,
Covered with cloth of gold dyapred wel, diapered like
Cam rydyng lyk the god of armes, Mars.
His coote armour was of a cloth of Tars,[104]
Cowched of perlys whyte, round and grete. overlaid
His sadil was of brend gold new i-bete; burnished
A mantelet[105] upon his schuldre hangyng mantle
Bret-ful of rubies reed, as fir sparclyng. cram-full, fire
His crispe her lik rynges was i-ronne, run
And that was yalwe, and gliteryng as the sonne. yellow-brown
His nose was heigh, his eyen bright cytryn,
His lippes rounde, his colour was sangwyn,
A fewe freknes in his face y-spreynd, sprinkled
Betwixe yolwe and somdel blak y-meynd, somewhat, mixed
And as a lyoun he his lokyng caste. looking
Of fyve and twenty yeer his age I caste. suppose
His berd was wel bygonne for to sprynge;
His voys was as a trumpe thunderynge.
Upon his heed he wered of laurer grene laurel
A garlond freische and lusty for to sene.
Upon his hond he bar for his deduyt[106] hand, delight
An egle tame, as eny lylie whyt. eagle, any

The great Emetrius, the Indian King,
Upon a bay steed trapp’d in shining steel,
Covered with cloth of gold from head to heel,
Came riding like the god of armies, Mars;
His coat-armour was made of cloth of Tars,
O’erlaid with pearls all white and round and great:
His saddle was of smooth gold, newly beat.
A mantlet on his shoulder as he came,
Shone, cramm’d with rubies sparkling like red flame,
And his crisp hair in shining rings did run,
Yellow it was, and glittering as the sun.
His nose was high, his eyes were bright citrine,
His lips were round, his colour was sanguine,
With a few freckles scattered here and there,
’Twixt black and yellow mingling they were,
And lion-like his glance went to and fro.
His age was five and twenty years, I trow.
A downy beard had just begun to spring,
His voice was like a trumpet thundering.
Upon his head he wore a garland green,
Of laurel, fresh, and pleasant to be seen.
Upon his wrist he bore for his delight
An eagle, tame, and as a lily white.

There was a great festival, and the dancing, and minstrelsy, and feasting, and rich array of Theseus’ palace were most wondrous to behold. I should never have time to tell you

What ladies fayrest ben, or best daunsynge, be
Or which of hem can carole[107] best and singe, sing
Ne who most felyngly speketh of love;
What haukes sitten on the perche above, sit
What houndes liggen on the floor adoun. lie

What ladies danced the best, or fairest were,
Or which of them best sung or carol’d there;
Nor who did speak most feelingly of love,
What hawks were sitting on the perch above,
What hounds lay crouching on the floor adown.

Then there were the temples to visit, to ask grace and favour from the gods. Palamon went to the Temple of Venus, the goddess of love, and prayed her to help him to gain his lady. Venus promised him success.

Arcite thought it more prudent to go to the god of war, Mars; so he sacrificed in his temple, and prayed for victory in the lists. Mars promised him the victory.

But Emelye did not wish to marry either of her lovers. She went to the temple of Diana early in the morning, and asked the goddess to help her _not_ to get married! She preferred her free life, walking in the woods and hunting. She made two fires on Diana’s altar: but Diana would not listen to her, and both the fires went out suddenly, with a whistling noise, and Emelye was so frightened that she began to cry. Then Diana told her she was destined to marry one of these poor knights who had suffered so much for her, and so she must make up her mind to it.

Emelye then departed: but Mars and Venus had a great dispute, because, as you know, they had promised success to each of the two knights, and Emelye could not marry both. Now, you shall see how each of them managed to gain a victory.

All Monday was spent in jousting and dancing, and early on Tuesday began the great tourney.

Such a stamping of horses and chinking of harness![108] Such lines and crowds of horsemen! There you might see armour so rare and so rich, wrought with goldsmith’s work, and embroidery, and steel! Helmets and hauberks and trappings--squires nailing on the spearheads, and buckling helmets--rubbing up the shields, and lacing the plates with thongs of leather. Nobody was idle.

The fomy stedes on the golden bridel
Gnawyng, and faste the armurers also
With fyle and hamer prikyng to and fro;
Yemen on foote, and communes many oon commons many a
one
With schorte staves, thikke as they may goon. go

The foamy steeds upon the golden bridle
Gnawing, and fast the armourers also
With file and hammer pricking to and fro;
Yeomen on foot, and flocking thro’ the land
Commons with short staves, thick as they can stand.

Pipes, trumpets, drums, and clarions were heard, that serve to drown the noise of battle with music--little groups of people gathered about the palace, here three--there ten--arguing the merits of the two Theban knights. Some said one thing, some another. Some backed the knight with the black beard, others the bald one, others the knight with close hair. Some said, “_He_ looks grim, and will fight!” and “_He_ hath an axe that weighs twenty pound!”

Duke Theseus sits at a window, like a god on his throne. The masses of people are pressing towards him to see him, and to salute him humbly, and to hear his commands, and his decree!

A herald on a tall scaffold shouts out “_Ho!_” till all the noise of the people is hushed, and when all is quiet, he tells them the duke’s will:--

“My lord hath of his wisdom considered that it were destruction to gentle blood to fight in this tourney, as in mortal battle. Therefore, to save life, he now changes his first purpose.

“No arrows, pole-axe, or short knife shall be brought into the lists, no short sword, either in the hand or worn at the side. No man shall ride more than one course with a sharp spear. Whoso comes to harm shall be taken, and not slain, but brought to the stake, there to abide according to order. And should a chieftain on either side be taken, or slay his fellow, no longer shall the tourney last. God speed you, go forth, and lay on fast! Fight your fill with mace and longsword!”[109]

The shouts of all the people rang right up to the sky, “God save such a good lord, who will have no bloodshed!”

Up go the trumpets and the music, and through the broad city, all hung with cloth of gold, the crowds ride to the lists. The noble duke rode first, and the Theban knights on either side, afterwards came the queen and fair Emelye, and then all the company followed according to their rank.