V. 1219–1232
A clearing
He dreams a dense forest
A crash and roar
And the charge of a great boar
And Criseyde caught beneath its feet
And how it cut out her heart with its teeth
And taking her in its arms lay down to sleep
And how this pleased her.
V. 1233–1241, IF VII. 23, 24
Out of sleep
Now I see clearly
She will not come. What has she left
To offer? What subtle pleasure
What contempt, what perversity
Has turned her from me?
What did she mean?
Nothing?
V. 1243–1260
Troilus remembers his dream
A clause
What you believe you need to know
So write. Ask if she has reason not to come.
If she doesn’t reply you will have your answer.
If she does then we can read true cause
Between her lines.
The prince sits down to turn over the matter
Of how best to describe his suffering.
V. 1291–1316
Pandarus suggests that Troilus sends a letter
Pages
My bewildered soul commends itself . . .
Some time past you left . . . and have not
. . . This agony compels me . . .
Two months now . . . day by day I want more not less . . .
. . . To know why and if you have chosen this . . .
. . . Still my breath . . .
Tell me. End this.
V. 1317–1407
She cannot say when
She will come
As soon as she can and all will be mended.
He shakes out her words:
Flattery, promises, nothing.
The truce is over.
Troilus starts up like a famished lion
Who has glimpsed a boar.
V. 1424–1431, IF VII. 80
Eventually Criseyde sends a note
Permutation
All things are committed to exchange
And so his grief becomes a kind of strength
Just as the ground starts to give way.
The gods have ordained
That Troy’s every bright feather be plucked
Will go unnamed.
V. 1534–1547
The death of Hector
The hero catches up with his life’s end
On a muddy field. Preoccupied
With a man he is dragging by the throat
He does not see the tireless Achilles.
Troilus, who has learnt to accommodate grief,
Makes more room for it.
An added depth.
V. 1548–1568
His heart begins to repair
With hope almost gone he is restored to love.
It is who he is.
He finds new excuses
And thinks to disguise himself
And slip into the enemy camp as a pilgrim.
But who would not recognise him?
He writes to her often and at length.
V. 1571–1583
Her last words
I cannot heal your pain. I have my own.
You send me all these pages yet offer me nothing.
There are matters I dare not mention
Which hold me in this place.
I will come but cannot give a date.
Judge me by my intent and not this letter’s length.
Speak well of me. Be my friend.
V. 1590–1630
Disjunct
He cannot make sense of her letter.
It sits before him like the first page
Of a calendar for a year so new
That nothing has yet been named.
She addresses him as if he were a stranger
With the kindness of politeness.
He no longer believes her.
V. 1632–1645
A clasp
What brings it home
Is Deiphebe parading through the town
The tunic he has torn from a Greek that day
Which Troilus takes up so as to praise the spoils.
Remarking on its length and breadth and detail
He runs the cloth between his fingers
Which catch on what held the tunic in place.
V. 1650–1661
Heartless
Was this not the ruby heart
She had given him? Had he not
Given it back at their parting?
She had taken it as she might a vow
And she had given it to the man
From whom it had been taken now
V. 1661–1694
An ending
This is how she delivers her message.
I have been displaced.
Cast clean out of her mind.
I will kill him or he will kill me.
Either way may the gods take notice
And force her to take notice.
I still do not know how to unlove her.
V. 1681–1708
All this he says to Pandarus
An audience
His friend is without reply.
He cannot feign surprise
So curses his niece and wishes her dead
But knows it meaningless.
It’s as if his part in all this
Has been only to say the right words.
He has no more words.
V. 1723–1743
He seeks the story of his death
He scours the field in search of Diomede.
They clash often
Throw taunts, lob heavy blows
Test the sharpness of their spears.
Each draws the other’s blood
But this is out of their hands.
They survive one another.
V. 1755–1764
That he is slain in this manner
The battle staggers on through this day.
No one advances and nothing is gained.
Running with blood
The enemies are at deadlock
When Achilles comes across the crazed prince
And slits his throat
Almost as an afterthought.
V. 1800–1806
What he notices
How lightly his spirit escapes his body
And lifts into infinite space.
How clearly he can now see
The scale and alignment of all things
And that this is the music
That has lain for so long
Beyond him.
V. 1808–1813
He is his own happiness
He looks down on what he has left:
A spot of earth
Embraced by the sea
A city
A camp close by
A field where men weep
V. 1814–1821
Also by Lavinia Greenlaw
poetry
NIGHT PHOTOGRAPH
A WORLD WHERE NEWS TRAVELLED SLOWLY
MINSK
THE CASUAL PERFECT
fiction
MARY GEORGE OF ALLNORTHOVER
AN IRRESPONSIBLE AGE
other works
THE IMPORTANCE OF MUSIC TO GIRLS
QUESTIONS OF TRAVEL:
William Morris in Iceland
THOUGHTS OF A NIGHT SEA
(with Garry Fabian Miller)
AUDIO OBSCURA
(with Julian Abrams)
Copyright © 2014 by Lavinia Greenlaw
First American Edition 2015
First published in 2014 in Great Britain by Faber & Faber Ltd under the title
A Double Sorrow: Troilus and Criseyde
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:
Greenlaw, Lavinia, 1962– author.
A double sorrow : a version of Troilus and Criseyde / Lavinia Greenlaw.
— First American edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-393-24732-9 (hardcover)
1. Chaucer, Geoffrey, –1400. Troilus and Criseyde.
2. Troilus (Legendary character)—Poetry.
3. Cressida (Legendary character)—Poetry.
4. Troy (Extinct city)—Poetry. I. Title.
PR6057.R375D68 2015
821'.914—dc23
2015013575
ISBN 978-0-393-24733-6 (e-book)
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