Geoffrey Chaucer

Once upon a time, as old stories tell us, there was a duke named Theseus, lord and governor of Athens, in Greece, and in his time such a conqueror that there was none greater under the sun. Full many a rich country owned his sway.

That with his wisdam and his chivalrie,
He conquered al the regne of Femynye,kingdom, Amazons
That whilom was i-cleped Cithea;once, called
And wedded the fresshe quene Ipolita,[76]fresh
And brought her hoom with him to his contre,country
With mochel glorie and gret solempnite;much, solemnity
And eek hire yonge suster Emelye.also, sister
And thus with victorie and with melodyemusic
Lete I this noble duk to Athenes ryde,duke
And al his ost, in armes him biside.arms
What with his wisdom and his chivalry
The kingdom of the Amazons won he,
That was of old time namÉd Scythia,
And wedded the fresh Queen Ipolita,
And brought her to his own land sumptuously,
With pomp and glory, and great festivity;
And also her young sister Emelye.
And thus with victory and with melodie
Let I this noble duke to Athens ride,
And all his glittering hosts on either side.

And, certainly, if it were not too long to listen to, I would have told you fully how the kingdom of the Amazons was won by Theseus and his host. And of the great battle there was for the time between Athens and the Amazons; and how Ipolita—the fair, hardy queen of Scythia—was besieged; and about the feast that was held at the wedding of Theseus and Ipolita, and about the tempest at their home-coming. But all this I must cut short.

I have, God wot, a large feeld to ere;plough
And wayke ben the oxen in my plough.weak
I have, God knows, a full wide field to sow,
And feeble be the oxen in my plough.

I will not hinder anybody in the company. Let every one tell his story in turn, and let us see now who shall win the supper!

I will describe to you what happened as Theseus was bringing home his bride to Athens.

This duk, of whom I make mencioun,
Whan he was comen almost unto the toun,come
In al his wele and in his moste pryde,prosperity
He was war, as he cast his eyghe aside,aware
Wher that ther knelede in the hye weyekneeled
A compagnye of ladies, tweye and tweye,two
Ech after other, clad in clothes blake;each, black
But such a cry and such a woo they make,woe
That in this world nys creature lyvynge,
That herde such another weymentynge,
And of that cry ne wolde they never stenten,cease
Til they the reynes of his bridel henten.caught
What folk be ye that at myn hom comynge
Pertourben so my feste[77] with cryinge?perturb
Quod Theseus; Have ye so gret envye
Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crie?
Or who hath yow misboden or offendid?injured
And telleth me, if it may ben amendid;
And why that ye ben clad thus al in blak?black
The oldest lady of hem alle spak....them
This duke aforesaid, of deserved renown,
When he had almost come into the town
In all his splendour and in all his pride,
PerceivÉd, as he cast his eyes aside,
A company of ladies, in a row,
Were kneeling in the highway—two by two,
Each behind each, clad all in black array;
But such an outcry of lament made they,
That in this world there is no living thing
That e’er heard such another outcrying;
Nor would they cease to wail and to complain
Till they had caught him by his bridle-rein.
“What folk are ye who at my home-coming
Perturb my festival with murmuring,”
Quoth Theseus. “Or do you envy me
Mine honour that ye wail so woefully?
Or who hath injured you, or who offended?
Tell me, if haply it may be amended,
And why are all of you in black arrayed?”
The oldest lady of them all then said—

“Lord, to whom fortune has given victory, and to live ever as a conqueror, we do not grudge your glory[78] and honour, but we have come to implore your pity and help. Have mercy on us in our grief. There is not one of us that has not been a queen or duchess; now we are beggars, and you can help us if you will.

“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 Maymorning
That Emelye, that fairer was to seenesee
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.

Larger Image

FAIR EMELYE GATHERING FLOWERS.

‘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 grevesrays, groves
The silver dropes, hongyng on the leeves.leaves
And Arcite, that is in the court ryalroyal[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 pleyefields, 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 Palamounwhere, 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 Phoebus 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 careremnant
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 bonddefy
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 lordschipetruly, 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 darreynesufficient
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 Tracekingdom
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 Palamonthen, 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 kaytyveswretches, 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 payedthem
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 douteleseach
To wedden, when time is, but nathelesmarry, nevertheless
I speke as for my suster Emelye,
For whom ye have this stryf and jelousye,
Ye woot youreself, sche may not wedde twoknow
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—

The other portrait has a less barbaric splendour about it.

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

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.

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.

When they came to the lists, everybody pressed forward to the seats. Arcite goes in at the west gate by Mars’ temple, with a red banner, and all his hundred knights. At the same moment Palamon enters the east gate by Venus’ temple, with his white banner and brave host. Never was there such a sight. The two companies were so evenly matched there was no choosing between them. Then they ranged themselves in two ranks; the names were read out, that there might be no cheating in the numbers; the gates were shut, and loud was the cry, “Do now your devoir, young knights proud!”

The heralds have ceased to ride up and down. The trumpets ring out—in go the spears steadily to the rests—the sharp spur is in the horse’s side. There you may see who can joust and who can ride—there the shafts of the spears shiver on the thick shields—he feels the thrust right through the body. Up spring the lances twenty foot high, out fly the swords like silver—helmets are crushed and shivered—out bursts the blood in stern, red streams! See, the strong horses stumble—down go all—a man rolls under foot like a ball. See, he fences at his foe with a truncheon, and hustles him while his horse is down. He is hurt through the body, and is dragged off to the stake—and there he must stay. Another is led off to that other side. All the humane orders of Theseus are forgotten.

From time to time Theseus stops the fray to give time for refreshment and drink, should the combatants need it.

Often have these two Thebans fought before now; each has often unhorsed the other. But in spite of Theseus’ commands, never was tiger bereft of its young so cruel in the hunt, as Arcite in his jealousy was on Palamon. Never was hunted lion, mad with hunger, so eager for blood as Palamon for Arcite’s life. See, they are both bleeding.

As the day went by, many in the field were carried away by excitement. The strong King Emetrius flew at Palamon as he fought with Arcite, and ran his sword into him. Then there was a frightful uproar. Emetrius could not govern himself, and was dragged off to the stake by the force of twenty men, and while trying to rescue Palamon, the great King Licurge was borne down; and King Emetrius, despite his strength, was flung out of his saddle a sword’s length, so violently Palamon hit at him; but he was carried to the stake for all that, and this tumult put an end to the tourney, according to the rule Theseus had made.

How bitterly wretched was Palamon, now that he could not ride any more at his foe! Only by an unfair attack had he lost ground. Theseus, seeing them all fighting together wildly, cried out “Ho!” and stopped the tourney. Then he said, “I will be a true judge, and impartial. Arcite of Thebes shall have Emelye, who, by good luck, has fairly won her!”

Shouts of delight answered Theseus, till it seemed as if the theatre would fall with the noise.

It is said that Venus was so disappointed at Palamon, her knight, losing, that she wept, and went for help to her father, the god Saturn. Saturn said to her, “Daughter, hold thy peace; Mars has had his way, but you shall yet have yours!”

Now you shall see what happened.

This fierce Arcite, hearing the duke’s decision, and the cries and yells of the heralds and all the people, raised his visor and spurred his horse along the great place and looked up at Emelye. And Emelye looked down at him kindly (for women always follow the favour of fortune), and smiled.

It was in this sweet moment, when he was off his guard, that something startled his tired and excited horse, and it leapt aside and foundered as it leapt, and before Arcite could save himself, he was flung down, and his breast-bone smashed against the saddle-bow—so that he lay as dead, his face black with the sudden rush of blood.

Poor Arcite! to lose all, just in the moment of supreme joy and victory!

He was carried out of the lists, broken-hearted, to Theseus’ palace, where his harness was cut off him, and he was laid in a beautiful bed. He was still conscious, and always asking piteously for Emelye.

As for Duke Theseus, he came back to the town of Athens in great state and cheer. Were it not for this unlucky accident at the end, there had not been a single mishap, and as the leeches said Arcite would soon be well again, that was no such great disaster. None had been actually killed, though many had been grievously wounded: which was very gratifying. For all the broken arms could be mended, and the bruises and cuts healed with salves and herbs and charms.

There had even been no discomfiture, for falls did not count as shame, nor was it any disgrace to be dragged to a stake with kicks and hootings, and held there hand and foot all alone, whilst one’s horse was driven out by the sticks of the grooms. That was no disgrace, for it was not cowardice; and such things must happen at a tourney. And so all the people made mirth.

The duke gave beautiful gifts to all the foreign knights, and there were ever so many more shows and feasts for the next three days, and the two mighty kings had the greatest honour paid them, till all men had gone home to their houses.

So there was an end of the great battle.

But Arcite did not get well so soon as they thought he would. His wound swelled up, and the sore increased at his heart more and more. He was so injured that the balms and the salves gave him no ease, and nature could not do her part. And when nature cannot work, farewell physic! there is no more to be done but carry the man to the churchyard.

In short, Arcite was evidently dying, and he sent for Emelye, who held herself his wife, and for Palamon, his cousin, and they both came to his bedside.

Then he told Emelye all the sorrow that was in his heart, at losing her whom he had loved so dearly; and how he still loved her, and wanted her to pray for him when he was dead.

Then Arcite pointed to Palamon, and said—

He was dead.

Emelye was carried away from Arcite, fainting; and the sorrow she felt is more than I can tell. Day and night she wept, for she had learned to love Arcite as much as if he had been already her husband, so that she was nigh to dying.

All the city mourned for him, young and old. Theseus, and Palamon, and everybody was filled with grief. Never had there been such sorrow.

Theseus had a splendid bier made, for Arcite to be burned according to the custom, with the greatest honours. Huge oak trees were cut down on purpose to burn on his pile. Arcite’s body was covered with cloth of gold, with white gloves on his hands, his sword by his side, and a wreath of laurel on his head. His face was uncovered, so that all the people might see him, when he was carried forth from the great hall of the palace.

Theseus ordered that Arcite should be burned in that very grove where Palamon and Arcite had first fought for love of Emelye, on that sweet May morning a year ago. So the funeral pile was raised in that grove.

Three beautiful white horses, covered with glittering steel harness and the arms of Arcite, bore all his armour and weapons before him to the spot.

The whole city was hung with black, and the noblest Greeks in the land carried the bier. Duke Theseus, and his old father Egeus, and Palamon, walked beside it, carrying in their hands golden cups, full of milk and wine and blood, to throw upon the pile. Then came Emelye, weeping, with fire in her hand, as the custom was, wherewith to set light to the pile.

With great care and ceremony the wood and straw were built up around the body, so high that they seemed to reach to the sky, and cloth of gold and garlands of flowers were hung all round it.

Poor Emelye fainted when she set fire to the pile, in the course of the funeral service, for her grief was more than she could bear. As soon as the fire burned fast, perfumes and jewels were flung in, and Arcite’s shield, spear, and vestments, and the golden cups. Then all the Greeks rode round the fire to the left, three times shouting, and three times rattling their spears; and three times the women cried aloud.

And when all was over, Emelye was led home; and there were curious ceremonies performed, called the lykewake, at nightfall.

Long afterwards, Theseus sent for Palamon. The mourning for Arcite was over in the city, but Palamon came, still wearing his black clothes, quite sorrowful.

Then Theseus brought Emelye to Palamon, and reminded them both of Arcite’s dying words. He took Emelye’s hand and placed it in the hand of Palamon. Then Palamon and Emelye were married, and they lived happy ever after.

Notes by the Way.

The outline of the foregoing Tale was borrowed by Chaucer from Boccaccio’s ‘Theseida:’ but the treatment and conception of character are wholly his own.

It is a common thing to say of the Knight’s Tale that with all its merits the two principal actors, Arcite and Palamon, are very much alike, and constantly may be mistaken for each other. It seems to me that to say such a thing is a proof of not having read the tale, for the characters of the two men are almost diametrically opposed, and never does one act or speak as the other would do.

Notice, therefore, the striking contrast all through the story between the characters. From the first, Arcite in the prison is seen to be cooler and more matter-of-fact than Palamon, whose violent nature suffers earliest from imprisonment, mentally, perhaps morally; and whom we find pacing restlessly about, and ceaselessly bemoaning his fate, while Arcite is probably sitting still in philosophic resignation.

Palamon is clearly a man of violent, uncontrolled passions—reckless, even rash, and frantically jealous. Arcite’s is by far the stronger mind—wise, clever, cool, but quite as brave and fervent as his friend. Every incident brings out their character in strong relief. To Palamon it is given to see Emelye first. He mistakes her for Venus, and prays to her as such—his mind being probably slightly disordered by the privations of mediÆval prison life, as a mind so excitable would soon become. Arcite recognizes her instantly as a woman, and claims her calmly. Palamon ‘flies out,’ reproaches him bitterly, violently, with the term most abhorrent to the chivalrous spirit of the time—‘false.’ Arcite answers with passion, but he is matter-of-fact in the midst of it, reminding his friend how little consequence it is to either of them, for both are perpetual prisoners; and he can even wind up with a touch of humour, quoting the two fighting dogs and the kite.

On his release from prison, Arcite follows out successfully a most difficult rÔle, concealing his identity in the midst of Theseus’ court, and in the agitating presence of his lady, at the risk of his life—for years: a stratagem requiring constant sang-froid and self-control, which would have been as impossible to Palamon, as mistaking a beautiful woman for a divine vision would have been to Arcite. He does not forget Palamon during this time, though powerless to help him. He is unselfish enough to pray Juno for him, in his soliloquy in the wood.

At the meeting of the rivals in the wood, Palamon, mastered at once by rage, bids Arcite fight with him, that instant, regardless of his (Palamon’s) being unarmed: he fears nothing, he only wants to fight. Arcite, also furious, can nevertheless see the common-sense side of the affair, and the need for fair play and proper accoutrements; and enumerates very sensibly the arms and other necessaries he will bring Palamon, including (so matter-of-fact is he) food and bedding for the night.

When the combatants are discovered in their illegal and unwitnessed fight, Palamon does not fear death. He is only anxious that, whether he be dead or alive, Arcite shall not have Emelye; and reiterates his entreaty that Arcite may be slain too—before or after, he doesn’t care which, as long as he is slain.

Palamon’s intense jealousy, which could face death cheerfully, but not the yielding up of his beloved to another man, and his anxiety that Arcite should not survive him, are of course less ignoble than they seem if viewed in the light of the times. It was this same jealousy which prompted him to betray Arcite as soon as he got the chance—forgetting that Arcite had not betrayed him, the day before, when he was in his power. But Chaucer himself once or twice refers to his mind being unhinged—‘wood for love’—which claims our forbearance.

Again, the appearance of Licurge (taken as Palamon’s portrait) is very characteristic. His eye is fierce, his get-up is mighty, barbaric, bizarre; but Emetrius (Arcite) appears in a much more usual way. Licurge mounts a chariot drawn by bulls—Emetrius rides on horseback, like an ordinary knight. Licurge is enveloped in a bear’s hide—Emetrius is properly caparisoned.

It is also noteworthy that Palamon entreats Venus for success, for he can think of nothing but his love: Arcite thinks it more prudent to address Mars, since he has got to win Emelye by fight—he has considered the question, you see; and it is therefore (I think) that the preference is given to Palamon in marrying Emelye, because society so exalted the passion of love in those days, while Arcite is made to suffer for his very prudence, which might argue a less absorbing passion.

It was a master-thought to make Arcite die by an accident, so that neither of the rivals vanquished the other, and Palamon escapes the possible reproach of winning his happiness by slaying his friend.

The sympathy, however, remains with Arcite. His character is beautifully developed. It is not inconsistent with his power of self-control and brave heart, noble throughout, that he is able to make such a sacrifice on his death-bed as to give Emelye to Palamon. It is a sign of forgiveness of Palamon, who, at the point of death, showed no such generosity; and the greatness of the sacrifice must be estimated by remembering the mediÆval view of love and love-matters.

I do not think that Palamon could have done that, any more than he could have concealed his identity in Theseus’ court.[112]