Almost transfixed: “Alas, I see it well,
Where leads thy pious wish when closely viewed;
But that I grant it devoir doth compel —
And pleasing thee; and he is worthily endued. —
Suffice it thee I see him, and then tell
How I, if he be sage, may scape all shame, —
Escape e’en worse perhaps, — and seem in naught to blame.”
67
“Sweet sister mine,” quick Pandar then replied,
“Thou sayest well; his shrewdness I’ll demand
Though I am sure he hath no guile inside, —
So courteous he is, his heart so grand, —
Save some mischance hath newly changed its pride.
God save him aye from every lawless stand!
But I’ll find thee such grace ‘twill pleasure thee;
Dwell thou secure in God and to thy devoir see.”
68
Pandaro went, and Criseis moved apart,
Pond’ring the news and every tiniest word
Brought by her cousin with’diis pleasant art, —
Then sought her room, where deep her fancies stirred;
How all was said she mused deep in her heart;
She reasoned joy like hers but rare occurred,
Talking within herself, and oft she sighed,
Picturing the prince in all his fame and pride:
69
“Young am I yet, noble and blithe and fair,
Widowed indeed, but rich and still admired, —
Nay even loved, — childless and free as air;
May I not then by love again be fired?
And though my honour should perchance declare,
‘This must thou not’, I’ll act as one inspired,
Be shrewd, conceal my will, and none will know
My heart hath willed new love, sad pleasaunce and sweet woe.
70
“My youth, as all youth, speeds it tow’rd decay,
And should I lose it then so wretchedly?
In all this world I cannot find to-day
Woman without a lover; nay more, I see
And know it well, — to love is all men’s way:
And shall I lose my time in nullity?
To act as other mortals is no sin,
And blame from any one my actions cannot win.
71
“What man will want me, grown to older age?
No one, forsooth! In late years to repent
Will add but more woes to a grievous stage,
And futile prove my hours in mourning spent;
Alack words then, ‘Why felt I not love’s rage?’
Wise it will be to act full provident.
Fair is this man who loves thee, gentle, wise,
Fresh as the charm that in a garden lily lies.
72
“For royal blood and valour too supreme,
Pandar, thy cousin, praises Troilo?
Why then to thee should it unworthy seem,
To take him to thy heart and let him know?
Why not accord him every love and dream?
Dost not thou hear the pity of his woe?
O what rare bliss thou mightest with him see,
Couldst thou but love him now as he in sooth loves thee!
73
“Yet ’tis no time of marriage-ties for me;
And were it so, one’s freedom to maintain
To use at will is wiser rule, I see;
Always that love proves lover’s richer gain
Which grows from friendship’s sweet felicity;
And howe’er great one’s beauty may remain,
How sure are we ‘twill not our husbands tire,
Who have each-every day some fresh thing in desire?
74
“As furtive water gives a sweeter taste
Than wine that’s drunk too copiously, to one,
So is love’s joy, that hides long unembraced
By any husband, the sweeter felt when won.
’Tis meet then thou, sans proving thee less chaste,
Receive this prince so sweet to look upon,
Whom God hath yielded thee by sov’reign grace,
And to his ardent love grant him a fairer place.”
75
Some time she stood, then sudden turned about
And softly cried, “O wretched one,” within,
“What wilt thou do? The evil life, no doubt,
That moves with love in love’s sweet languid sin
Thou knowst and all its sighs, — a dreary rout, —
And all the plaints and griefs that dwell therein?
And to them all, so close-joined jealousy
That worse than churlish death our living comes to be!
76
“And as for him who so doth love thee now
He is a prince of loftiest birth and rank —
Out of thy star — his wish to keep Love’s vow
May burn away and, if it fadeth blank,
Sorrow will be thy portion — thou wilt bow
Broken beneath thy shame, with him to thank,
Only for having scorned thee! O beware,
Wisdom that follows scandal hath no value rare!
77
“And even if this love should long endure,
How canst thou know it will remain concealed?
Foolish it is to trust to Fortune’s lure;
And whate’er profit human counsel yield,
’Tis well to scan it close; of this be sure, —
If this thy love be e’er to men revealed,
Then is thy good fame lost eternally —
Lost here in Troy which so much praised thy chastity.
78
“Then let such love henceforth for them remain,
Whom it doth please.” Such were the words she said,
And thereupon began her sighs again;
From her chaste breast with all her hardihead
She strove to drive Troilo’s face. (In vain!)
Blame turned to praise and praise to blame instead,
The while she weighed his charms in reverie
Or raised within herself sweet doubts with subtlety.
79
Meantime blithe Pandar, leaving Criseis,
Had straightway gone to Troilo, his friend
(No whit he lingered so he felt in bliss),
And, yet far off, he cried words to this end —
“Comfort thee, brother, since for thee, ywis,
I’ve gained all that to which thy wishes bend, —
‘Or near to it”; and taking seat, he said,
Without a pause, how everything he did had sped.
80
As flowers, bent and closed by chilly night,
Open their eager faces in the morn
When on their stalks the sun shines warm and white,
So Troilo then his valour, late forlorn,
Opened again, beholding Heaven’s light,
And recommenced again, like person noble born:
“To Venus and her puissance be the praise, —
And to her son, — of all the words my songs shall raise!”
81
Then Pandar he a thousand times embraced
And kissed him just as oft, so glad was he
That, if a thousand Troys had there been placed
As gifts to him, he could not gladder be.
Then slow with Pandar forth his steps he traced,
Hoping he might Criseis’ beauty see
Or, gazing closely, might e’en too detect
If Pandaro’s late words in her had had effect.
82
And from her window lo the lady gazed!
(Perhaps she trusted he might soon draw near!)
And, as he looked, our Trail grew amazed,
For nothing wild or stern did she appear
But, with her right hand o’er her breast upraised,
She c
hastely looked on him with mien sincere; —
And thereupon the prince stole off in joy,
Changing his praise to God, to Pandar, and to Venus’ Boy.
83
And now all that dilemma fled away,
The which held Criseis between two fires;
Within, she praised his manners every way,
His quiet acts, — his courteous desires;
So suddenly Love seized her that sweet day
That, henceforth, only him her heart requires;
And much she grieves the precious time let go
Ere all his perfect love to her she came to know.
84
Troilo sings and makes great holiday,
And offers jousts and gifts most lavishly;
Often he changes garb to seem more gay,
And always yet he loves more fervidly;
Is pleased to find it is no grievous way
To follow Love, and her discreetly see
When Criseis, — who was nothing less discreet, —
Appeared at times in beauty fair and all complete.
85
But, as from ancient habit still we see
Fire burns more brightly when we fuel add,
It chanceth oft, as hope grows more to be,
Love flames with newer power, keen but sad:
So Troilo now felt more grievously,
Than it was used, his high heart’s wish grow mad
And goad him forward; whence his woeful sighs,
More sad and plaintive than before began to rise.
86
Henceforth the prince with Pandar often grieved,
Crying, “Alack, fair Criseis hath ta’en
My life from me, and all that it relieved,
With her fair eyes; and so I’m bound in pain
I must soon die, be not some help received,
So mad, so hot — love burns my heart again.
What shall I do? Must I abide content,
Merely to know her grace and courteous intent?
87
“She looks on me and suffers that I gaze
In honour too on her; this ought to be
Enough for my inflamed desires to praise;
But my love’s lust in its cupidity
Yearns still for more; so unbound are those ways
In which its ardour moves, that none could see, —
Who had not felt the same, — or yet believe
How that flame e’er torments and new force doth receive.
88
“What shall I then? I know not what to do,
Except proclaim thou, Criseis, art fair
Or cry that thou alone canst aid me true,
Esteeméd lady, with thy virtues rare.
Thou only canst my ceaseless fire subdue,
Sweet light, sweet flame, my heart’s sweet joy and care;
Could I be with thee for one vernal night,
A hundred nights in hell I’d pay for its delight.
89
“What shall I, Pandar? Wilt thou nothing say?
Thou seest me in such furious fire consumed,
Yet shapest thy face in that thy quiet way,
As if for all the sighs to which I’m doomed
Thou hadst no mind; aid me, my friend, I pray;
Counsel me lest my pain be all resumed;
For, comes no succour soon from her,
I care not when death’s nets may trip me sans my stir.”
90
And Pandar answered: “Well indeed I see
And hear thy say; but, true to aid thy pain,
I ne’er yet thought I had ability,
Nor never will; yet always am I fain
To do, not only what befits for thee,
But all things else, without thy force to train
My will or thine entreaty. Let me view
All open, then, the fiery wish thou seemest to rue.
91
“I know that in whate’er events befall
Thou seest six times as much as I, my friend,
Yet were I thou, I’d write to her of all, —
Say with my hand what pain my heart did rend;
And therein I should make my prayer a call,
A plea, through God, she to my ardour bend
With love and courteous thought of me;
And what I wrote to her I’d send immediately.
92
“And furthermore, if thou wilt to her write,
I will beseech her that she pity thee
With all my power, and thou shalt see it right,
Whate’er she answers; faith is sure in me
That her reply will bring thee rare delight;
Write then, and let her in thy letter see
All whole thy faith, thy pain, and thy desire;
Nothing omit, but all thou spakest here express entire.”
93
This answer more than pleased our Troilo,
But as a timid lover he replied:
“Alas, my Pandar, soon thou’lt see and know,
As others do, how nicely ladies pride
Themselves on seeming chaste; and, wrote I so
And didst thou her my letter bear, she’d chide
Thee first for shame, reject it then for scorn;
So that my state would be in misery more forlorn.”
94
But Pandar, answering evasive, said:
“Do, prithee, what I say, and let me try;
And, should Love with her favour me bestead,
Certain I am to bring thee her reply, —
And in her own hand writ; refuse instead,
And thou mayst longer sad and fearful sigh;
Thou mayst repeat then all of thy torment
And I shall have no power to make thee more content.”
95
And then the prince cried, yielding: “Have thy will,
I shall go now incontinent and write
Beseeching Amor he the way fulfill
With every boon and all my words endite.”
And thereupon he rose in manner still
And sought his room, and, sagely as he might,
He wrote to Criseis, his lady dear,
His letter then at once, — whose words ye now shall hear.
96
“Lady, if man in sorest dolour found —
Held by complaints and other hard estate
As I for thy sake now am held and bound,
Could fitly bid thee hail and happy fate,
Then might I try; but e’er my words must sound
Futile and hopeless, — words of poorest rate!
Troilo cannot hail thee as is meet —
Even though from only thee his life knows what is sweet!
97
“And yet I cannot flee great Amor now
Who meaner men than me hath rendered bold,
For Amor prompts these words that I avow
And write, e’en as thou seest, and I must hold
His laws all in esteem — to them must bow!
Wherefore, if through me errour now is told,
Blame Love for it and pardon grant to me,
O my sweet esperance, I mutely beg of thee.
98
“Thy beauty high, the glory of thine eyes,
The splendour of thy gentle customs born,
Thy chastity, — of woman’s worth the prize, —
The manners which thy every act adorn,
Have made him Lord in such a subtle wise
To me, and thee my mistress, though unsworn,
That, saving death, no accident could part
The bonds that keep thy image closed within my heart.
99
“Whate’er I do, the image fair of thee
One only thought brings always to my heart
And every other speech expels from me,
Save speech of thee; for, though thou redeless art
Of how my soul thy handmaid seeks to b
e —
A handmaid whom thy virtue may impart
Something of gentleness — my lips do speak
Always thy name, crying ‘O heart, peace — do not break!’
100
“From these things, lady, springeth such a fire
As day and night my soul with torture weighs
And leaves no peace, where’er I may retire;
My eyes weep tears, my breast its sighs doth raise,
Little by little I feel myself expire
From that great fire that in me flames always;
’Tis meet then that I flee to thy virtue, —
Only to it if peace I’d ever have ensue!
101
“Thou only canst my grievous pains allay,
Put me in peace whene’er it be thy will;
Thou only canst my sorrow do away,
Thou only with repose my heart canst fill;
Thou only canst my furious torment stay
With pious works of thine and make it still;
And only thou, my sweet, canst satisfy
The wish my heart will cherish evermore most high.
102
“Therefore, if ever any mortal wight
Through either faith kept pure or love kept great
Or service constant kept with all his might, —
In every case, in good or ill estate, —
Hath grace deserved, regard me in such light:
As one deserving, me enumerate,
Lady, who come to thee as unto her
Who all my lofty passions, all my sighs doth stir.
103
“Well do I know I have not merited,
Through any service, that for which I play;
Yet only thou for whom my heart hath bled,
(As for no woman else) canst show the way
To make me worthier in heart and head!
O sweet my heart’s desire, let go, I pray,
Thy high mind’s high disdain; be kind to me,
O thou whose every act bespeaks gentility.
104
“Certain I am that, as thou provest fair,
Thou wilt prove piteous. And all my grief
Will change soon into joy most blithe and rare,
Once thou wilt, lady, yield me sweet relief,
Ceasing to wish that I my pain should bear
And die for love of thee, ’tis my belief.
My prayer is then — if aught avails my prayer —
By that high Love whose will keeps thee in precious care!
105
“At best I am a very meager prize,
Of little puissance, and of worth still less,
But, sans fail, I am thine whate’er arise.
Be thou but shrewd; when I no more confess,
Thou’lt know no more to speak within me lies;
Yet still I hope thy acts may still me bless
More than I earn and more than I deserve;
May Love to this high deed thy gentle heart preserve!
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 406
