The Canterbury Tales (NHB Modern Plays) E-Book

Geoffrey Chaucer

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2010

Seitenzahl: 263

Beschreibung

A landmark dramatisation for the Royal Shakespeare Company of one of the foundation stones of English literature. This two-play adaptation of Chaucer'sCanterbury Tales encompasses all 23 stories. All the famous characters are here - as well as many less well-known but equally full of life. Each of the stories has its own style - heroic verse for the Knight's Tale, vernacular rhymes for the Miller's Tale etc. - echoing the many narrative voices employed by Chaucer himself. The plays can be performed either together or separately. 'Rumbustious and passionate ... this is quite simply a glorious compendium of stories and poetry' -Daily Mail 'Scintillating ... Poulton's admirable version ... what takes one's breath away is the range of styles and emotions on display' -Guardian 'Mike Poulton's superb adaptation is both faithful and accessible, comfortably inhabiting the middle ground between Middle English and the modern vernacular' -The Times

Leseprobe

Geoffrey Chaucer

THECANTERBURYTALES

an adaptation in two parts by

MIKE POULTON

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

A Note on the Text

Directors’ Note

Dedication

Characters

The Canterbury Tales

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

The Canterbury Tales was first performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company in the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, in two parts. Part One was first performed on 16 November 2005 and Part Two on 23 November 2005. The cast was as follows:

THE SQUIRENick BarberTHE WIFE OF BATHClaire BenedictTHE CLERKDaon BroniTHE PARDONERDylan CharlesTHE PRIORESSPaola DionisottiALISON/CONSTANCE/MAYLisa EllisTHE REEVE/THE PHYSICIANChristopher GodwinCHAUCERMark HadfieldTHE MAN OF LAW/THE FRANKLINMichael HadleyEMILEE/MERCHANT’S WIFE/DORIGENAnna HewsonNICHOLAS/AURELIUSEdward HughesABSOLON/JOHN/DAMYAM/CROWMichael JibsonTHE MONK/THE MANCIPLEMichael MatusTHE HOST/THE NUNS’ PRIESTBarry McCarthyKING ALLA/WALTER/AVERAGUSChu OmambalaTHE SHIPMANIan PirieTHE MILLER/THE SUMMONERJoshua RichardsTHE KNIGHT/THE MERCHANTChristopher SaulHIPPOLYTA/MAYLIN/VIRGINIA/GRISILDEKatherine TozerTHE COOK/THE FRIARDarren Tunstall

All other parts played by members of the Company

Directed byGregory DoranRebecca Gatward,Jonathan MunbyDesigned byMichael ValeLighting designed byWayne DowdeswellMusic composed byAdrian LeeSound designed byJeremy DunnMovement byMichael Ashcroft

A Note on the Text

This version of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is designed to be spoken by actors and heard and enjoyed by audiences. To a reader unused to the unsettled spelling and pronunciation of fourteenth-century English, the early manuscripts of The Canterbury Tales, or Caxton’s first printed edition of 1476 or 1477, or even a modern original spelling edition can seem like a foreign language. Or so we are led to believe. My view is that the spelling is a greater deterrent than either the vocabulary or the pronunciation and that spoken Chaucer is surprisingly accessible. However, I have modernised the spelling throughout and, on occasion misspelled words to indicate and make obvious how they should be pronounced in order to meet the requirements of the rhyme and rhythm of a line. For example, Chaucer’s lines:

And specially, from every shires endeOf Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende

I have written as:

And specially from every shire’s endOf Engerland – To Canterb’ry they wend.

When in doubt, the heavy rhyme should guide the reader to the appropriate pronunciation.

Where Chaucer’s vocabulary becomes for today’s reader dense and forbidding and would, in my judgement, threaten the understanding and therefore the enjoyment of the work, I have altered it. I have not modernised (though I have on one occasion used the word wind-bag, and confess that the earliest usage I can find of it is 1470) preferring to use alternative vocabulary that would have been familiar to Chaucer’s own audience – except on a few occasions where, for the sake of a laugh, I couldn’t help myself. Some words I’ve not updated because, though long out of use, they are familiar to us from other sources – such as Shakespeare. For example wyght or wighte (person); whilom or whylom (once upon a time); certes (certainly) are all well known. Other words I’ve kept because I love them, and because they are at the heart of the work, and help define Chaucer’s greatness: for example weymenting (lamentation); mawmentree (the worship of idols); wanhope (despair); fernë halwes (far-off shrines); etc.

Most of the text is powered by lines of ten syllables familiar to us from Shakespeare’s usual verse form. It’s not always obvious where the stresses fall so, to help the actor and the reader, I have sometimes indicated what is required by accenting the syllable to be stressed (piercéd). I have not always done this. Sometimes Chaucer requires us to hit a consonant hard so that the last ‘e’ of a word almost becomes a separate syllable and indeed counts as one when calculating the ten stresses in a line. For example: ‘And smallë fowlës maken melody’ is not ‘And small fowls maken melody,’ nor is it ‘And smaller fowlees maken melody’ – a mangling I have sometimes, sadly, heard – but something between the two.

Another thing to note is the fluidity of the names of the characters in the tales. Chaucer often changes the form of the name in order to fit the rhyme and rhythm of the line. It is futile to try and standardise. For example, in The Knight’s Tale, Arcita is usually pronounced Ar-kíte-a, but to fit the line he sometimes becomes Ar-kíte, and on one occasion Ár-kite. Emilee occasionally becomes E-míll-ya, and once E-mill-yá.

I have always worked from two excellent old editions of Chaucer – Skeat at school, and Robinson at university, both published by Oxford University Press, and steered clear of any updated versions, however excellent and tempting.

Mike Poulton

Directors’ Note

Chaucer describes ‘well nine-and-twenty’ pilgrims in a company that gathered at the Tabard Inn to set off to Canterbury that April morning. (Actually he can’t count, because by my reckoning there are thirty, plus the Host of the Inn who joins them for the ride and Chaucer himself.)

The Host suggests that everyone should tell two tales on the road to Canterbury and two on the way back. It’s a scheme which is never completed by Chaucer. They do not in fact reach Canterbury at all, and only Chaucer himself actually tells two tales, and his first is rejected by the Host as doggerel. The Knight interrupts the Monk’s endless accounts of tragic falls from grace, and Chaucer just gives up on the Cook’s Tale.

Some of the pilgrims tell no tales, and we’ve left them out: the Haberdasher, Carpenter, Webbe (Weaver), Dyer, and Tapycer (carpet or tapestry-maker), all members of a guild fraternity (on a sort of Trades Union outing), along with two more priests that apparently also accompany the Prioress, and the Parson’s brother, the poor Plowman. The Knight’s Yeoman doesn’t tell a tale either, but we’ve kept him in! However, the Canon’s Yeoman, not one of the original pilgrims, who gallops up at Boghtoun under Blee, a few miles outside Canterbury, tells yet another story, following the Second Nun’s pious tale of St Cecily. And though Mike Poulton, our adapter and translator, gallantly represented both in his original text, and we went into rehearsal with both, we have cut them along the way. Who knows, they may reappear somewhere along our long journey. All the other pilgrims’ tales are represented in longer or shorter forms within our production.

We have pretty much retained the generally accepted order of the tales, and so, as this book goes to print, the production should feature (among others), the Knight’s, Miller’s, Reeve’s,

Prioress’s and Nuns’ Priest’s tales in Part One; and (again, among others) the Pardoner’s, Wife of Bath’s, Clerk’s, Merchant’s and Franklin’s in Part Two.

Gregory DoranRebecca GatwardJonathan Munby

For Greg Doran

‘That never did but al gentilesse’

Characters

THE PILGRIMS

CHAUCER

KNIGHT

SQUIRE

YEOMAN (non-speaking)

PRIORESS

MONK

NUN

NUNS’ PRIEST

TWO OTHER PRIESTS (non-speaking)

FRIAR

MERCHANT

CLERK OF OXENFORD

MAN OF LAW

FRANKLIN

HABERDASHER (non-speaking)

DYER (non-speaking)

TAPYCER (non-speaking)

CARPENTER (non-speaking)

COOK

SHIPMAN

PHYSICIAN

WIFE OF BATH

PARSON

PLOUGHMAN (non-speaking)

REEVE

MILLER

SUMMONER

PARDONER

MANCIPLE

CANON

CANON’S YEOMAN

HOST

JOHN

A HORSE (non-speaking)

SIMON, a miller

HIS WIFE

MAYLIN, his daughter

YOUNG SULTAN

SULTAN’S COUNSELLOR

OTHER COUNSELLORS (non-speaking)

THE POPE

CONSTANCE

THE ROMAN EMPEROR

THE EMPRESS

SULTAN’S MOTHER

3 SYRIAN LORDS (non-speaking)

THE WARDEN

DAME ERMINGILD (non-speaking)

A YOUNG KNIGHT

KING AELLA

FIRST NORTHUMBRIAN LORD

SECOND NORTHUMBRIAN LORD

NORTHUMBRIAN LADY

VOICE OF GOD

MESSENGER

DONAGILD, the Queen Mother

MAURICIUS (non-speaking boy)

ROMAN SENATOR

SOLDIERS, SERVANTS, LORDS, LADIES, SAILORS, etc. (non-speaking)

RIOTER 1

RIOTER 2

RIOTER 3

BOY

TAVERNER

OLD MAN

APOTHECARY

WINE MERCHANT (non-speaking)

OTHER TOWNSFOLK (non-speaking)

VIRGINIUS

VIRGINIA

APPIUS, an unjust judge

CLAUDIUS, an informer

SOLDIERS (non-speaking)

OFFICERS OF THE COURT (non-speaking)

SERVANTS (non-speaking)

FIRST ROMAN

SECOND ROMAN

ROMAN CROWD

YOUNG KNIGHT

PRETTY MAID (non-speaking)

KING ARTHUR (non-speaking)

QUEEN

8 LADIES

25 ELFIN LADIES (non-speaking dancers)

ANCIENT CRONE/ELF QUEEN

MARRIAGE PRIEST

SECOND SUMMONER

YEOMAN/DEVIL

PROSERPINA, the Fairy Queen

ARVERAGUS

DORIGEN

FIRST LADY

SECOND LADY

DANCERS (non-speaking)

AURELIUS

BROTHER TO AURELIUS

SCHOLAR

YOUNG MAGICIAN

HUNTSMEN IN VISION (non-speaking)

KNIGHTS IN VISION (non-speaking)

CHARACTERS IN THE TALES

THESEUS

HIPPOLYTA

EMILEE

QUEEN 1

QUEEN 2

QUEEN 3

CREON (non-speaking)

CREON’S ARMY (non-speaking)

ARCITA

PALAMON

PEROTHEUS (non-speaking)

MERCURY

JAILER (non-speaking)

VENUS

DIANA

MARS

SATURN

A FURY (non-speaking)

200 KNIGHTS (non-speaking)

NICHOLAS

ALISON

CARPENTER

ROBIN (non-speaking)

MAID (non-speaking)

ABSOLON

NEIGHBOUR 1

NEIGHBOUR 2

CROWD

MASTER OF TRINITY (non-speaking)

ALEYN

MERCHANT’S WIFE

DON JOHN, a young monk

PETER, the merchant

GUESTS (non-speaking)

SERVANTS (non-speaking)

A MASS PRIEST

PAGES (non-speaking)

JEWS, as many as possible

CHRISTIAN CHILDREN – singers

POOR WIDOW (non-speaking)

HER SON, singer

FRIEND OF HER SON, singer

SATAN

A JEWISH CUT-THROAT

PROVOST

PROVOST’S SOLDIERS (non-speaking)

ABBOT

BLESSED VIRGIN MARY

PRIESTS, CROWD, etc. (non-speaking)

ANOTHER POOR WIDOW

DAUGHTER 1

DAUGHTER 2

CHAUNTECLEER

PERTELOTE

7 HENS

COL-FOX

SERVANTS (non-speaking)

AGRICULTURAL LABOURERS (non-speaking)

MALKIN (non-speaking)

CARTER

3 CART HORSES (non-speaking)

MABLE, another old widow

WALTER, a young marquis

FIRST LORD

SECOND LORD

OLD LORD

OTHER LORDS AND LADIES (non-speaking)

SERGEANT

MUSICIANS

MAIDEN 1

MAIDEN 2

GRISILDE

JANICULA, her father

A BISHOP (non-speaking)

EARL OF BOLOGNA

BRIDE, 16 years old (non-speaking)

HER BROTHER, 12 years old (non-speaking)

A PAGE

FIRST LADY

JANUARY, an old knight

PLACEBO, his brother

JUSTINIUS, his brother

WEDDING GUESTS (non-speaking)

PRIEST

SINGERS

DAMYAN, a young squire

A PAGE

MAY

MAY’S WAITING WOMEN (non-speaking)

PLUTO, the Fairy King

DANCERS (non-speaking)

A SQUIRE (non-speaking)

A MAID (non-speaking)

MANCIPLE, singer

CHORUS, singers

A WHITE CROW, singer

APOLLO, singer

APOLLO’S WIFE, singer

HER LOVER, singer

HORSES, HOUNDS, TAPSTERS, SERVANTS, CORPSE-BEARERS, LORDS, LADIES, KNIGHTS, A LAPDOG

CHAUCER’STHE CANTERBURY TALES

Adapted by Mike Poulton

Play One

Parts One and Two

Play Two

Parts Three and Four

PLAY ONE

PART ONE

One: Prologue

CHAUCER.

When that April with his showrers sweetë

The drought of March hath piercéd to the root

And bathéd every vein in such licower –

Of which virtue engendréd is the flower –

When Zephirus eek with his sweetë breath

Inspiréd hath in every holt and heath

The tender crops – And the young Sun

Hath in the Ram his halfë-course yrun –

And smallë fowlës maken melody

That sleepen all the night with open eye

(So priketh ’em Nature in their courages)

Then longen folk to go on pilgrimages –

PILGRIMS sing ‘When the Nightingale’ offstage.

And palmers for to seeken strangë strands

To fernë halwes, kowth in sundry lands;

And specially from every shire’s end

Of Engerland – To Canterb’ry they wend

The holy, blissful martyr for to seek

That them hath helpen when that they were sick

Befell that in that season on a day

In Southwark at The Tabard – as I lay

Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage

To Canterb’ry with full devout couráge –

At night was come into that hostelry

Well nine-and-twenty in a company

Of sundry folk, by áventure yfall

In fellowship … And pilgrims were they all

That tóward Canterb’ry would ride.

The PILGRIMS burst in, led by the low-life.

SONG.

When the nightingale is singing

The woods wax white and green

With leaf and with blossom springing

In April well I ween

And Love my poor heart is stinging

Pierced with his arrows keen

All the night my sighs go winging

In April well I ween.

The KNIGHT and the SQUIRE come in leading the richer sort, and are greeted by the HOST and his PEOPLE. They sit down to dinner.

CHAUCER.

A knight there was, and that a worthy man

That from the time that he at first began

To know the world, he worshipped chivalry –

Truth, and honour, freedom and courtesy.

He’d proved his worth in wars fought for his lord

Through Christendom and heathen lands abroad.

In mortal battles had he been – fifteen –

And championed our faith at Tramyssene.

With him there was his son, a brave young squire,

A lad in love with love, with youth on fire –

Singing he was, or whistling all the day –

As fresh and green as is the month of May.

Courteous he was – modest, and able –

HOST.

To board, sir! Supper time –

He hands him a drink, which CHAUCER drains.

CHAUCER.

And served his father when he came to table.

They brought no other servant but this yeoman –

An English archer – afraid of no man.

I rather like his silver Christopher –

You’d guess, by trade he is a forester,

And – here – we have a nun – a prioress –

An educated lady … more or less –

Most careful in her manners – sim’pring, coy –

And if she swears it’s only –

SQUIRE steps on her LAPDOG which yelps.

PRIORESS.

By Saint Loy!

SQUIRE.

Oh, I’m so very sorry!

PRIORESS.

Oh mon p’tee chien! Poverino! Venez au maman! Pauvre p’tee! O la! La!

CHAUCER.

What French she’s learned, in Convent-school inland,

In Paris they’d be pushed to understand.

MONK.

Let not my hounds see it, Lady. They’d bite its head off –

WIFE OF BATH.

Here – give it a bit of sausage –

PRIORESS.

Oh non, non, Madame! Its little stomach is tres, tres delicate. Vous comprenez?

CHAUCER.

Then there’s a reeve, a miller and a cook –

A crowd of holy folk – and then, just look –

This woman here’s a widow four times over –

WIFE OF BATH.

Five times, in truth. And who are you, sir?

CHAUCER.

O, I’m just – well – nobody – that is, nobody you’d know …

WIFE OF BATH.

Come sit by me, then. Come, sir will ye go?

CHAUCER.

As for the rest of this ebullient throng

I’ll introduce them as we ride along –

HOST.

To board! To board! The meat will burn –

CHAUCER.

Great cheer made us our Host – good meats, wine strong –

And to our supper set us down anon –

HOST.

Lordings! –

CHAUCER.

Quoth he –

HOST.

You’re going to Canterb’ry? Well God speed you –

And may the Blissful Martyr bless you too!

Now, I’ve a mind – as you ride on your way –

To make some mirth and sport. What d’you say?

I’d have each one among you tell a tale,

And he of us that tells the best of all,

Shall have a supper bought, at our expense

Here in this place when we return from thence,

For I intend to join you on this ride

To judge the tales, and also be your guide.

And whoso dares my judgement to withsay

Shall pay all we must spend along the way.

If you vouchsafe it shall be as I say,

Show me your hands – Come! Make no more delay!

The PILGRIMS are for the most part befuddled, unsure, or unwilling. CHAUCER, who is drunk, speaks for them and is supported by the low-life who are drunker than he is.

CHAUCER.

Well I say yes! Come on! Hands up! There’s mine!

HOST.

We’re all agreed? Good! Bring us then more wine!

CHAUCER (singing).

When the nightingale is singing

The woods wax white and green.

(The other DRUNKS join in.)

With leaf and with blossom springing

In April well I ween.

ALL.

And Love my poor heart is stinging

(CHAUCER falls asleep.)

Pierced with his arrows keen

All the night my sighs go winging

In April well I ween.

(CHAUCER is left drunk at the table. Night descends. Cock-crow. Dawn. The respectable PILGRIMS, ready to set out, assemble and sing a morning hymn in honour of St Thomas.)

HYMN.

Gaudeamus omnes in Domino,

diem festum celebrantes

sub honore beati Thomas Martyris:

de cujus passione gaudent Angeli,

et collaudant Filium Dei!

Exsultate justi, in Domino:

rectos decet collaudatio! Amen!

CHAUCER.

When the nightingale is … sing …

(He wakes up, slightly hungover.)

On the morrow, when day began to spring

Up rose our host and, crowing like a cock,

He gathered us together in a flock.

The HOST does so. The PILGRIMS set out. Half of them sing ‘Gaudeamus Omnes in Domino’, the other half sing ‘When the Nightingale’.

Along the road t’wards Canterb’ry we pace

Until we reach St Thomas’ watering place.

HOST.

Now let us see who shall the first tale tell –

He who refuses – he must pay for all –

So we’ll draw straws. My Lady Prioress –

Draw first –

PRIORESS.

Moi? O no, sir – I’m sure to pluck the shortest.

DOG yaps.

Calme tu, p’tee! Calme tu!

HOST.

Come on, Come on! Pluck! Pluck!

WIFE OF BATH.

God send me a long one!

HOST.

Sir Clerk leave off your bashfulness

Why do ye look so glum and taciturn?

All – high and low – must take each one his turn.

MONK.

I – er – I wouldn’t mind telling the first tale –

I could declaim in manner tragical

How some of high degree from heights did fall –

HOST.

No, sir, no. Just take the luck of the draw –

MONK.

Then … O give me a straw –

CHAUCER.

The outcome was the draw fell to the Knight

For which full blithe and glad was every wyght.

He said –

KNIGHT.

It falls to me to start the game –

I welcome this short straw in Jesu’s name.

Applause.

Two: The Knight’s Tale

KNIGHT.

Whilom, as olden stories tellen us

There was a Duke whose name was Theseus;

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA and EMILEE.

Of Athens was he lord and governour

And in his timë such a conqueror

That greater was there none under the sun.

Full many a mighty country had he won,

And with his statesmanship and chivalry

Subdued that famous realm of Feminee –

Upon a time t’was known as Scythia –

And wedded with their queen – Hippolyta –

And brought her home with him to his countree

With great rejoicing and solemnitee

And with her came her sister – Emilee.

Three WEEPING QUEENS, dressed in mourning, throw themselves at THESEUS’ feet.

THESEUS.

What folk are ye, that at my home-coming

Perturb my celebration with your wailing?

Have ye so little feeling of our joy

That thus, in waymenting, ye shriek and cry?

FIRST QUEEN.

Great Lord, whom Fortune crowns with victory,

Long may you reign! Show us your clemency.

Have mercy on our woe and our distress!

SECOND QUEEN.

Some tear of pity, of thy gentilesse,

Upon us wretched women let thou fall –

For, certës, Lord, there’s none among us all

That hath not been a duchess or a queen.

THIRD QUEEN.

Now we be beggars, as it well is seen –

Thankéd be Fortune her false turning wheel! –

For no man’s state is sure – for good nor ill.

FIRST QUEEN.

I, wretched wyght, that weep and walen thus,

Was once the wife to King Cappaneus,

Slaughtered at Thebes – O curséd be that day! –

And these poor ladies in their black array,

Who make this piteous lamentacion,

All lost their husbands fighting for that town.

SECOND QUEEN.

And now that old fox, Creon, holds Thebes city

Who in his pride, and his iniquity,

For spite, for vengeance, and for tyranny,

Upon the bodies does great villainy

Of all our lords that in the siege lie slain.

THIRD QUEEN.

He will not let us bring them home again,

Nor will he suffer them by his assent

To be laid low in earth, or else be brent.

FIRST QUEEN.

But sets his hounds to eat them, out of spite.

O mighty Theseus, help us! Do us right!

And let our sorrows sink deep in thy heart.

KNIGHT.

This gentle Duke, then, when he heard them speak,

He thought for pity that his heart would break –

And swore his oath:

THESEUS.

As I am truest knight,

I’ll bring down all my force of arms, my might

Upon the head of Creon, tyrant proud,

That all the Grecian folk shall cry aloud

How wicked kings will have their just reward.

KNIGHT.

What more’s to tell?

Unfurled he his banners, and forth he rode

For Thebes, and with him all his mighty host.

A battle.

King Creon fought well but the day he lost

For Theseus slew him manly as a knight,

Pulled down Thebes’ walls, and put her folk to flight.

And to the ladies he restored again

The bones of all their husbands that were slain.

A funeral procession.

The great clamour and all the waymenting

That the poor ladies made at the burning

Of the bodies – would take too long to tell

And keep me from the purpose of my tale.

Exit procession.

It chanced that on the battlefield they found,

ARCITA and PALAMON lying as if dead.

Thrust through with many a grievous, bloody wound,

Two young knights – handsome – lying side by side

The finest arms they had – richly arrayed –

Not quite alive, nor yet quite dead they were

But by their coats of arms and by their gear

The heralds knew their ancestry was good –

Princes of Thebes, cousins, of royal blood.

THESEUS.

To Athens with them.

Let them dwell in prison

Perpetually – I will accept no ransom.

KNIGHT.

And that was that – what needeth wordés moe?

For in a tower, in anguish and in woe

Arcita, and his cousin Palamon

Evermore are locked – no hope of freedom.

Time passeth, year by year and day by day

Until it chanced, upon a morn of May,

That Emilee, who fairer was by far

Than was the fairest, whitest lily flower,

Walked in the garden as the sun uprist

Among the curious bowers, and where she list

Gathering flowers, party white and red

To make a subtil garland for her head.

And as an angel heavenishly she sang:

EMILEE.

Of every kind of tree

Of every kind of tree

The blossom on the hawthorn

Is sweetest far to me

Of every kind of tree.

My true love he shall be

My true love he shall be

Beloved by every maiden

But loving only me.

My true love he shall be.

KNIGHT.

This Palamon, this woeful prisoner

As was his wont, by leave of his jailer

Was up and pacing in a chamber high

From whence into the garden he could spy.

Fate made him cast his eye on Emilya

And as he did, turned pale, and cried out:

PALAMON.

Ahhhh!

KNIGHT.

As though he had been piercéd through the heart.

And at that cry Arcita up he start

And saith:

ARCITA.

Fair cousin mine, what aileth thee?

To look so pale and deathly, what dy’e see?

Who made you cry? Who’s done you injury?

For God’s love, cousin, speak – O speak to me!

And yet I know full well … What could it be

More than our prison – our adversitee?

Some evil planet reigned when we were born;

We must endure. There’s nothing to be done.

PALAMON.

It’s not this prison maketh me to cry,

But I am hurt indeed, pierced through the eye

And through the heart.

’Twill be the death of me –

The fairness of that lady I can see –

There – in the garden roaming to and fro.

O she is cause of all my pain and woe!

Woman or goddess – how am I to know?

ARCITA.

O Lord what beauty! Now I’m dying too –

Unless I look upon her every day

I’m dead and gone. What more is there to say?

PALAMON.

Cousin, no more. I know you speak in jest.

ARCITA.

And if I do, may God grant me no rest.

I swear I love her – swear upon my honour –

PALAMON.

False, cousin, false! – What honour hath a traitor?

I saw her first – go ye and find some other –

Traitor to me – thy cousin and thy brother –

To love my lady whom I’ll ne’er forsake

Nor never shall, until my heart-strings break.

Nay, base Arcite, thou shalt not love her so –

I loved her first, and told thee all my woe,

For which to me you’re bounden as a knight

To help me in my love with all thy might.

Else ye be false – to knighthood and to me!

ARCITA.

Thou art a fool and falser far than I,

For fleshly love I loved her long ere thou.

What was it that thou sayst? Thou didst not know

If she were womankind or some goddéss?

Then all thy love is nought but holiness

As one might love the image of a saint.

My love is human, lusty, not so faint

And feeble sanctimonious like yours.

Then there’s an end: ‘All’s fair in love and wars.’

KNIGHT.

They strive as did the hounds after the bone

Who fought all day then found the bone was gone.

PALAMON.

Love, if ye list, I love and ever shall –

I tell thee, faithless brother, that is all.

Each man is for himself, then – that’s the law

While here, within this prison we endure.

KNIGHT.

On with our tale. It happened on a day,

To tell it you as shortly as I may,

A worthy Duke that highte Perotheus

That fellow was unto Duke Theseus

To Athens came, as he was wont to do,

For in this world he loveth no man so

As Theseus – and he loved him again.

So well they loved as all the old books sayn

That when Perotheus died – the truth to tell –

Duke Theseus went and fetched him back from hell.

Imagine that! And what is more he –

CHAUCER.

Let’s get back, if you please, sir, to your story.

KNIGHT.

Now this Perotheus also loved Arcite –

He’d known him back in Thebes – and when his plight

Was told Perotheus, approached his friend

Who all at once decreed:

THESEUS.

Imprisonment hath an end.

You’re free to go. But if you’re ever found,

By day or night, in any of my lands,

With this, my sword, I shall cut off your head.

Now take your leave, and homeward get ye sped.

ARCITA.

Alas! Alas the day that I was born!

Now is my prison worser than biforn.

Now is my soul eternally to dwell,

Not in our former purgat’ry, but hell!

Alas the day I knew Perotheus

For then I’d ever dwell with Theseus! –

Though fettered in his prison evermoe

I had been still in bliss and not in woe,

Having the sight of Emilee the fair.

O Palamon, in prison maistow dure –

In prison? Nay, thou dwell’st in Paradise

That hast mine Emilee within thine eyes.

Thou art a knight – a worthy one and able –

That by some chance, since Fortune’s changeable,

Thou mayst to thy desire in time attain.

But I that exiled am, and in such pain

Bereft of grace and fallen in despair,

That neither earth, nor water, air, nor fire –

Nor any creatures out of them that be –

May ease my woe, nor comfort bring to me.

Well might I die in wanhope and distress.

Farewell, my life, my lust, my happiness!

KNIGHT.

Upon the other hand, this Palamon,

When he was told that Arcita had gone,

Such sorrow made he that the prison tower

Resounded with his yowling and clamour.

PALAMON.

Alas!

KNIGHT.

Quoth he –

PALAMON.

Arcita, cousin mine,

Of all our strife, God knows, the fruit is thine!

Thou art in Thebes and free as is the air

And of my sufferings take’st thou little care.

Thou mayst, since thou hast strength and liberty,

Gather the young men of our family

And make a war so fierce on this citee

That by some feat of arms or forced treaty

May win my lady for thy wedded wife –

Upon which day I needs must lose my life.

KNIGHT.

Now lovers all I axe this question:

Who hath the worst? Arcite or Palamon?

The one may see his lady day by day

But in his prison must he dwell alway.

The other where him list may ride or go –

But see his lady shall he nevermoe.

Back home in Thebes, Arcite waxed lean and wan.

Melancholic he was – ever alone.

His eyes hollow – face grisly to behold,

His hue fallow, pale, and ashen cold.

Upon a night in sleep Arcita layed,

When Mercury appeared to him and sayed:

MERCURY.

Young man, to Athens shalt thou quickly wend.

For Destiny hath writ, thy pains shall end.

ARCITA.

And shall! Despite of capture, dread of death,

And with Emilya breathe my latest breath.

Takes up a mirror.

See how my face is changed and disfigyur’d

By all Love’s maladies I have endured.

I might well, if I bear me very low,

Live by my lady evermore unknow.

KNIGHT.

He clad him as a povrë laborer

And all alone, save for his trusty squire,

To Athens is he gone the nextë way.

And to the Court gate went upon a day

Off’ring himself to drudge, and delve and draw

Whatever service men might use him for,

And found employment – sure ’twas Destinee –

With a Chamberlain who served his Emilee.

Short tale to make, he swynked so willinglee

That in a year or two his low degree

Was changed. Behold, in bliss lives this Arcite –

The much loved Page of Emilee the bright!

And told her that his name was Philostrate.

The whole Court held the youth at such high rate

They told the Duke that he should raise him higher –

Before he knows it, Arcite’s Theseus’ squire! –

Who gives him gold befitting his position.

Leave him in bliss. Palamon’s still in prison.

PALAMON.

Look what I’ve done: this claret I have fixed.

Into it strong narcotics have I mixed,

Opiates rare and Theban potions fine.

Jailer, my friend – come – taste this glass of wine.

KNIGHT.

The jailer sleeps, the youth flees fast away.

The night is short, and at the break of day

Our Palamon must find a place to hide

So in this grove he chooses to abide

Until night falls. Thereafter he intends

To ’scape to Thebes and raise up all his friends,

And, making wars on Theseus, lose his life

Or win the fair Emilya to his wife.

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 in the light.

And with his beams he dryeth from the trees

The silver drops that hang among the leaves.

Arcita wakes, looks on the merry day,

And for to do observance to sweet May

Out of the Court a mile or two he rides –

Draws near the grove wherein his cousin hides.

ARCITA.

May, with thy green, and all thy fragrant flowers,

Ease my sorrowing heart these wretched hours.

Alas the day that ever I was born! –

All is now brought to this confusion.

A Prince of Thebes I am – of blood royal –

Yet now I am so catyf and so thrall

That Theseus, Thebes’ bitter enemy,

I must serve as his squire, disgracefully.

And what is worse, I do endure such shame

I dare no longer speak mine own true name.

No more a lord – No longer Prince Arcite –

Now I am Philostrate – not worth a mite.