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Zusatztext “Chaucer’s greatest poem.”— C. S. Lewis Informationen zum Autor Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1343-1400) was an English poet and writer, widely regarded as one of the greatest poets in the English language. He is best known for his epic work "The Canterbury Tales," a collection of stories told by pilgrims on their way to the shrine of Thomas Becket in Canterbury. Chaucer was born into a family of wealthy merchants in London and was well-educated in several languages, including French and Italian. He worked as a civil servant and diplomat for much of his life, holding various positions in the court of King Edward III and later in the household of John of Gaunt. Chaucer began writing poetry in the 1360s, and his early works include "The Book of the Duchess" and "The House of Fame." However, it was "The Canterbury Tales" that cemented his reputation as a literary giant. The work, which was never completed, contains stories of all kinds, from bawdy jokes to poignant tragedies, and is notable for its vivid characterizations and its commentary on social and religious issues of the time. Chaucer's influence on English literature cannot be overstated. His works helped to establish English as a literary language in its own right, and his style and themes were emulated by countless writers in the centuries that followed. Klappentext Often called the first great English novel, Troilus and Cressida , a tragic love story set during the siege of Troy, is Chaucer's masterpiece. Troilus, a valiant warrior, is scornful of love until he catches a glimpse of Cressida. With the help of his friend and her uncle Pandarus, Troilus wins Cressida over. But their happiness is destroyed when, summoned to a Greek camp, Cressida seeks the protection of one Diomede and ultimately betrays Troilus. Leseprobe Book I The Temple Door The double sorrow of Troilus to tell, Unhappy son of Priam, king of Troy, And how he fared, when first in love he fell, From woe to weal, then back again from joy, Until we part my time I shall employ. Tisiphone, now help me to endite These woful lines, that weep e'en as I write! On thee I call, Goddess malevolent, Thou cruel Fury, grieving ever in pain! Help me, who am the sorrowful instrument10 That lovers use their sorrows to complain; For truly this is not a saying vain, A gloomy man should have a gloomy mate, And faces sad, those who sad tales relate. For I to serve Love's servants ever try, Yet dare not seek, for my unlikeliness, The aid of Love, although for love I die, So far am I from prospect of success. But yet if this may make the sorrows less Of any lover, or may his cause avail,20 The thanks be his and mine this toilsome tale. But O ye lovers, bathed in bliss always, If any drops of pity in you be, Recall the griefs gone by of other days, And think sometimes upon the adversity Of other folk, forgetting not that ye Have felt yourselves Love's power to displease, Lest ye might win Love's prize with too great ease. And pray for those who suffer in the plight Of Troilus, as I shall tell you here,30 Beseeching Love to bring them to delight; And pray for me as well, to God so dear, That I may have the skill to make appear, In this unhappy tale of Troilus, How dark may be love's ways and treacherous. And pray for those that dwell in love's despair, From which they never hope to be restored; And pray for them who must the burden bear Of slanderous tongue of lady or of lord; Pray God that he the faithful may reward,40 And to the hopeless grant a quick release And bring them from unrest to lasting peace. And pray for lovers all who are at ease, That...
