Troilus and Cressida: All’s Not Fair in Love and The Trojan War

Cressida and Pandarus View Passing Warriors by Alexandre Bida 1890

I was excited to find that this play, wholly unknown to me prior to this reading, was set during the Trojan War.  I had enjoyed The Odyssey in high school, and more recently made my way through The Illiad (incidentally, I was surprised by where The Illiad ended: Troy is still standing, Achilles’ heel hasn’t been a problem, and nobody had even mentioned a giant horse). Troilus and Cressida presented me with an interesting combination: a play I knew nothing about, but with a cast of characters that I did know fairly well.

It’s a good thing that I am into the Trojan War, because the marquee-garnering romance between Troilus (son to Priam, king of Troy, and youngest brother of Trojan hero Hector) and Cressida (some Trojan lord’s daughter) totally takes a back seat here to the war itself.  Like The Illiad, Troilus and Cressida spends a lot of time on the Greeks’ struggle to get Achilles to come out of his tent and actually fight, and also on what eventually transpires between Achilles and Hector (when Achilles is finally done throwing his little fit).  Cressida completely disappears during Act 2 while we check in on the problems and resulting arguments of both the Greek and Trojan leaders, which wouldn’t have seemed weird if she hadn’t gotten top billing.

Brad Pitt as Achilles in the 2004 film Troy

Cressida’s reputation would’ve been better served if she had stayed offstage.  Admittedly she is consistently under some serious pressure from one man or another - more on that in a moment - and is placed in some difficult situations (i.e. being traded to the Greeks for a more important Trojan captive); however, there seems to be no getting around the fact that she makes some questionable moves.   First, after her Uncle Pandarus relentlessly pressures her to accept and return her down trodden suitor Troilus’ love, Cressida suddenly agrees one day not only to love him, but to immediately spend the night with him!  [Girl, slow down!  It’s a long war. He’s not going anywhere.]  Meanwhile, creepy Uncle Pandarus, after egging them on while they start kissing, provides them with a place they can spend the night.  Note that “Pandarus” sounds a lot like the word pander, which literally means pimp.     

Sadly for Cressida, there is a terrifically modern “morning after” scene wherein Troilus, who was previously so madly in love he couldn’t do anything but pine for Cressida, wakes up and says “Girl, I gotta go.” Cue the loud-knocking Trojan leaders who tell Troilus that Cressida is being traded to the Greeks, along with a super-busted Pandarus, and Troilus says “Um, actually, girl.  You gotta go.”  Troilus gives no real protest, no “I shall fight for thee with my last breath,” just a “Girl, don’t worry. I’ll find out what Greek tent you’re in and come visit you.“  In fairness, Troilus does encourage her to hang in there, and assures her that everything will be alright, if only she will be true to him.  He asks twice that she “be true” and once, more specifically, that she “be not tempted” by the Greek studs she’ll unfortunately be staying with.

Cue the Greek studs.

As Cressida is delivered to the Greek leaders, things get extra creepy.  In the thinly veiled pretense of welcome, half the Greek army winds up putting the moves on her.  General Agamemnon kisses her, old crusty Nestor kisses her, heartthrob Achilles kisses her, Achilles’ little buddy Patroclus kisses her twice – none of these with a word of protest from Cressida – then she flirts with Ulysses, and goes off talking with the sleazy Diomedes, with whom she’ll be staying.  [Dag, girl!  I understand that you’re technically a captive, but you didn’t have to play along like that.]

Yet the worst of Cressida comes later, when she confesses her wish to “rendezvous” with Diomedes and gives him Troilus’ love-token (a sleeve) to wear into battle.  Meanwhile, Troilus is spying with Ulysses  and hears this whole conversation.  He is crushed, but I have to say that this guy only seems really into her when he can’t have her.  Ultimately though, Troilus decides he is done with Cressida after the sleeve incident.  Cressida sends a love letter which he tears up, saying that she gives words to him, but her more tangible affections to someone else.

Again, all this really means is that neither Troilus nor Cressida does right by the other.  They both fail to live up to any standard of faithful lovers. 

And speaking of failing to live up to standards, Achilles fails the hero standard completely in the death of Hector, which serves as the play’s climax.  By this final act of the play, Hector has repeatedly demonstrated the fact that he fights with honor: Hector doesn’t kill obviously weaker soldiers (who couldn’t possibly be a match for him), he often spares the lives of vanquished foes, and he refuses to actually fight Ajax (whom he is more than a match for, and is distantly related to).  Achilles, for his part, has only shown himself to be a drama queen.  So, as Hector disarms after the day’s fighting in this climactic scene, Achilles shows up with his gang of Myrmidon thugs.  Hector appeals to Achilles’ (seemingly nonexistent) honor, explaining that he is unarmed.   Clearly, this is not the occasion for honorable combat, but Achilles just  says “Get ‘em, boys” and sics his goons on Hector.  Achilles doesn’t even kill Hector himself!  Achilles’ subsequent desecration of Hector’s corpse just proves Achilles that much more dishonorable.

Eric Bana as Hector in the 2004 film Troy

Cressida never makes any kind of appearance after Troilus tears up her letter.  Troilus himself does make it into the final scene of the play, but only to lament for Hector (and for Troy).  What’s next for Troilus and Cressida?  Shakespeare doesn’t say.  I’m guessing there is a big horse and a burning city in their not so distant future.  But if you’re feeling that the lack of closure just isn’t fair, I’ll direct you back to this blog entry’s subtitle.

So, there seems to be a real argument for Troilus and Cressida not really being the main event in Troilus and Cressida, it’s not a surprising problem.  Troilus and Cressida has been referred to by some scholars as one of Shakespeare’s “problem plays.”  That label normally just refers to a play not being an easy fit into one of the Comedy, Tragedy, or History categories; yet even among these, Troilus and Cressida seems extra tough to pin down.  The first publication (in 1609) called it a “Historie” while the printing in the 1623 collection of Shakespeare’s works known as the First Folio called it a “Tragedie.” Sadly for Troilus and Cressida, the play never made it into the First Folio’s table of contents.  Stranger still is an unusual prologue that made it in to some printings of the First Folio which grouped the play with Shakespeare’s comedies.  The thing is that Troilus and Cressida doesn’t seem to have any more comic elements than any other tragedy.  And it doesn’t seem to belong in Shakespeare’s history category, as those ten are all about the British monarchy, and are much more contemporary to Shakespeare’s time than Troilus and Cressida.  So, personally, I understand this play defaulting to tragedy if only for the lack of a better category.  In the worst case it’s just a bummer for Troilus - hardly a tragedy - but it is pretty tragic for Hector, as it ends with his death.  And darn it all, Achilles, you goon-having, corpse-dragging, sorry excuse for a hero, that’s just not fair.