Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

Good counsel, in love’s fervour e’en, to scorn;

  Rather I thought and saw no whit was gained,

  The time forbade such errour to be born;

  For, if a citizen could be regained,

  And Antenor at that, I much should mourn

  To break my oath and fealty unto Troy:

  Hap then what might, I never could such means employ.

  68

  “Besides I fear with rapine violent

  Much I should harm her honour and her fame;

  Nor do I know she’d therewith be content.

  I only know she loves me, sans all blame.

  Therefore my heart feels it in no way bent

  To try such means as wish that her good name

  Be safe, on one side; on the other, fear

  To like unpleasant things they would not have appear.

  69

  “Then had I weened to ask by special grace

  My father Priam should give her to me;

  Then thought that were like accusation base,

  And making known things done in secrecy;

  I dared not hope he’d hearken to my case

  And give her me through breaking utterly

  The things he pledged; but knew he’d try to say

  She was not of my rank, — he’d find some royal may.

  70

  “So still I weep and in love’s maze remain,

  Weary and unaware what I may do;

  Because my might, whatever it may gain

  Through strength in love, I feel is failing too,

  On every side my hope flees off in pain

  And causes of my grief grow ever new:

  I wish that I had died that luckless day

  When I was first inflamed with passion in this way.”

  71

  And Pandar answered then: “Do as thou please;

  But, were I now enamoured as thou art.

  With show of truth, I’d bid farewell to ease,

  And, whatsoever guilt became my part,

  Did I possess the power thou canst seize,

  (Unless that power some strange force rose to thwart),

  I’d use it all and bear her safe away —

  Whoso might be displeased or whoso might gainsay.

  72

  “Do not conceal thy love so subtilely,

  As now appears thou wouldst, when love’s good still

  Heats the enamoured soul incessantly,

  While love plagues yet with wild and hearty will,

  Hath his own way, and then so forcibly

  Exposes thee to every torment ill;

  Wish rather thou to be checked by restraint

  Than die with torture in thy sad and sore complaint.

  73

  “And thine is not the task a dame to steal

  Who would be distant from thy high intent,

  But such a one as seeks no greater weal;

  And if for this, great ill to thee were lent

  Or blame assigned, thou hast the power, I feel,

  Soon to succeed in it to thy content,

  Or yet to give her back; and Fate doth aid

  Him who is brave, who makes the timid more afraid.

  74

  “And if this thing should bring her any grief,

  Quite soon thou’lt have thy peace with her again;

  And that she’d suffer not, is my belief,

  So much thy love for her would ease her pain:

  And for her fame she would soon feel relief

  For that she lost, and little time complain:

  To speak thee sooth, the shame that Helen bore

  This lady glad would bear could she thus please thee more.

  75

  “Pluck ardour then, be valorous once more,

  Love holds no idle laws of faith or care;

  Show of thy courage now its greatest store,

  And for thyself reward more rich prepare.

  I’ll stand with thee each peril new before,

  As valiant as my power lets me dare.

  Deign but to act, my gracious friend, and lo!

  The gods will aid our cause with every well-struck blow.”

  76

  The prince, who each word understood full well,

  Replied then to his friend: “I am content

  If in me now flames hotter yet did dwell

  By twice a thousand times, — if my torment

  Were greater than it is, — this must I tell,

  To satisfy’t I’d ne’er let my intent

  Do any courteous dame one tiny ill,

  ‘Twere better die than have her feel my selfish will.

  77

  “Then up, and let us stand no longer here;

  Bathe thou thy face; return we both to court;

  Beneath our laughter let no grief appear

  (The people nothing know of any sort,

  And we should bring them all to marvelling near

  By telling what both know); observe thy part;

  Keep thou my secret hid; I’ll find a way

  So that this very eve with Criseis I may speak and stay.”

  78

  Meantime Dame Rumour swift, who tells the true

  And false with equal joy and eagerness,

  About all Troy with readiest wing she flew

  And in words, careless-freed from all duress,

  Was whispering when and why and who,

  As Grecian envoys, did old Troy address, —

  How each did act, — how Priam his oath swore

  To give Greece Criseis and have back Antenor.

  79

  And this news soon the lady Criseis heard,

  Who for her father cared no more,

  And, “O sad heart of mine,” came first her word

  Within, while deep she gan her lot deplore,

  As well one might whose love was all transferred

  To Troil, whom she loved all things before;

  And, in her fear that what men said was true,

  She dared not ask one question in her care and rue.

  80

  But, as we often see when new things chance,

  One lady to another oft will go,

  If well disposed her pleasure to advance;

  So on the day that brought fair Criseis woe,

  Full many came as ‘twere to sing and dance

  In pious joy with her for faring so. —

  All gan explain what late occurred in Troy, —

  The pact — her being soon exchanged, these ladies coy

  81

  While one began, “In sooth, I feel so glad

  Now thou canst to thy father to sojourn,”

  A second would declare, “It makes me sad

  To see thee part with no thought to return,”

  And still a third, “Through her can peace be had

  ‘Tween us and Greece, for Calchas, you discern,

  As ye have heard, if we but with him treat,

  Can make men, as he wills, take vict’ry or defeat.”

  82

  This and much other foolish, female prate

  She listless heard, like one who was not there, —

  Sans answering, — so mean she held its state;

  And yet her face was all too soft and fair

  To hide those gentle thoughts of Love and great,

  Come in her heart with what she heard of care;

  In body she was present, but her mind

  Roamed senseless otherwhere her Troilo to find.

  83

  And these mistaken ladies, who believed

  They offered comfort, stood and chattered so

  That deep within she felt her soul aggrieved

  And vainly, knew she bore another woe,

  Deep down, which they had never yet perceived,

  Who stayed at hand; but oft she bade them go,

  Like a great lady gracious in her mien —

  Though much she wished from them to steal away unseen.

&nbs
p; 84

  But she could not hold back each weary sigh,

  And now and then would shed a little tear

  That gave sign of the pain and suffering high

  To which her soul was now constrained by fear:

  But those dull wights who circled her so nigh,

  Believed that Criseis wept in grief sincere

  Because she must from them so soon depart,

  Who were, they weened, the near’st companions of her heart.

  85

  So each one sought to offer comforting

  Merely for that that in no sense her grieved,

  And through her speech consolement true to bring,

  (Since parting from her only, each perceived

  A cause of pain), and so increased the sting,

  Rubbing the heel that itched to be relieved;

  For parting from them gave her naught of care, —

  ’Twas leaving Troilo would be so hard to bear.

  86

  But, after prattling thus much time in vain,

  As ladies do, they took themselves away;

  When she, made anxious by her bitter pain

  And overcome, did slowly from there stray

  And entered soft her little room again

  To let her weeping have, alone, its sway —

  Sans seeking one maid’s counsel in her woe;

  And there she wept as dame ne’er wept on earth below.

  87

  In desperate grief she fell upon her bed

  And sobbed as poet never could relate;

  Beating her white breasts sore and red,

  Beseeching death to end her mortal state,

  For from her now all life’s delight was fled

  And Troil she must leave, by harshest fate;

  Her yellow tresses fair she tore and broke,

  And always asked for death in every word she spoke.

  88

  “O me, of ladies most unfortunate!

  O wretched me, where fare I now?” she cried.

  “Alack that I was born to such estate!

  How shall I leave thee, sweet my love and pride?

  Why at my birth did I not suffocate?

  O would I ne’er had had thee at my side

  Or seen thee ne’er, my love, since Destiny

  Steals now my soul from thee and thine, alack, from me!

  89

  “What shall I do, in this my life of woe,

  When I can no more hope my love to see?

  How shall I bear to part from Troilo?

  I’ll ne’er eat more, nor drink, of certainty;

  And, if my dazéd soul refuse to go

  Of its own will and leave my body free,

  Famine shall drive it thence beneath my power,

  Since changing bad for worse is henceforth my poor dower.

  90

  “Now widowed shall I be in very deed,

  Since I must needs from thee, my love, depart;

  Heart of my life, let henceforth widow’s weed

  Be witness black to all my pain and smart.

  Alas, what cruel thought is that — and need

  That forces me from thee, my life, my heart!

  Alas, how can I suffer all the woe

  When I see Fortune part me from my Troilo?

  91

  “How can I then without my soul endure?

  For, doubtless, with our love’t will linger here

  And, at thy side, lament our parting sure, —

  Our parting dolorous, for ’tis right and clear

  It so should do for love so good and pure;

  Alas, my Troil, must it then appear

  Thou’lt see me part and bear it — nothing try,

  By love’s main strength or force, to keep me here and nigh?

  92

  “I’ll go away e’en when I do not know

  If e’er I’ll see thee more, my heart’s delight;

  And what wilt thou do then, who lovest me so?

  Wilt thou endure the dolour of thy plight?

  I cannot bear it now; too much of woe

  Breaks my sad heart — and all I see is night;

  Yet, an it break more soon, then shall I be,

  Thereafter from mine all too grievous anguish free.

  93

  “And O my father — faithless, unjust man

  To Troy, thy country, curséd be the part

  Through which into thy breast such evil ran

  As made thee wish with Greeks to join in heart,

  And Trojans leave! Would God, in hell’s dark span

  Thou now wert dead and dead with thee, thy art.

  Thou wicked dotard, who at life’s last end

  Didst so to practice guile thy soul and genius bend.

  94

  “O me, alas! Alas, O woe is me!

  Whose lot it is to bear the punishment

  For thine offence; for undeservedly

  A life of pain befalls me innocent.

  O pious Light, celestial Verity,

  Dost thou permit thy justice to be bent

  So, when one sins, another weeps — as I

  Who have not sinned, and thus for dolour lift my cry?”

  95

  O who could ever tell in words complete

  The sighs this Criseis breathed in her lament?

  (In sooth not I, whose speech fails of the feat,

  So cruel was her grief and great torment.)

  But, while she her complaints did so repeat,

  Pandaro came, gainst whom no door stayed pent;

  And right into her bower then he passed,

  Where still he found her weeping bitter tears and fast.

  96

  He saw her lying prostrate on her bed,

  All given o’er to sobs and moans and sighs,

  Her face and breast wet with the tears she shed;

  And still, it seemed, desire was in her eyes

  Yet more to weep; and all dishevelléd

  She lay, her torture shown without disguise;

  Yet, when she saw him coming in apace,

  She raised her arms for shame and hid from view her face.

  97

  And Pandaro began: “Sad was the hour

  That let me rise to-day to see such grief;

  For everywhere seems torment come to power, —

  Lament and anguish, woe without relief,

  Sighs and annoy, and languishing most sour;

  O Jove, what wouldest thou. ’Tis my belief

  Thou dost thy tears from Heaven’s heights outpour

  Because our deeds have grieved thee worse than e’er before.

  98

  “But thou, my sister so disconsolate,

  What meanest thou? To war with Destiny?

  Why treat thy body’s beauty with such hate,

  With sad lament and boundless cruelty?

  Rise up, turn, turn about; speak, talk, narrate;

  Lift up thy face; dry, dry immediately

  Thy sorrowing eyes; and hark to what I say

  Of words entrusted to me by thy friend to-day.”

  99

  Criseis turned thereat, still weeping so

  No poet’s words could true describe the sight,

  And spake, the while she gazed at Pandaro:

  “Alas me now! What will my soul aright?

  Save leave me now and flee to weep in woe?

  Such, wicked chance declares should be her plight, —

  Chance, that doth wish me all these sighs, — these tears,

  Chance, that permits I shall own nothing but my fears!”

  100

  To see her face was little otherwise

  Than viewing close a corse, borne to the grave;

  Her countenance, shaped true in Paradise,

  An aspect all transformed now sadly gave;

  Her beauty and the smile once in her eyes

  Had both deserted her — their fairness so to save;

  And now about each eye
a purple ring

  Bare witness true to Lady Criseis’ suffering.

  101

  And this, when Pandar saw, who all that day

  Had spent in weeping sad with Troilo,

  He sought no more to keep his tears away,

  But gan, like Criseis to vent his woe,

  Keeping in check what most he wished to say

  He let his tears with his fair cousin’s flow;

  At last, when both had long wept sans restraint,

  Our Pandar tempered first the grief of his complaint,

  102

  And spake: “Lady, I trust the news I’ve heard —

  But am not sure — thy father asked for thee,

  And Priam King hath, ere this, pledged his word

  Thee to deliver; so it may well be

  Thou wilt ere noon to-morrow be transferred, —

  If truth I’ve learned. And oh, how cruelly

  This thing hath touched thy Troil, none can tell, —

  Who, for his grief at it, prays death to come — and hell.

  103

  “And so much he and I have wept to-day

  That I have marvelled whence our tears could flow;

  Though now at length, my counsel to obey,

  He hath in some sort checked his cries of woe,

  And wish to be with thee him more doth sway;

  To pleasure him I’ve come to tell thee so,

  In order that, before ye separate,

  Ye may together meet somehow in fair estate.”

  104

  And Criseis answered: “Great as is the pain

  Of one who loves self less than Troilo,

  When I hear for my sake he death would gain,

  Then less my pain seems than my love’s great woe.

  And now, if e’er heart opened up again

  Through stress of grief, mine shall it open show;

  Now envious Fate exults above my loss,

  Now I behold her secrets freed of guile and gloss.

  105

  “Parting is hard for me, as Heaven knows,

  But ’tis more hard my Troilo to see,

  In faith to me, afflicted by such woes

  As make death near and dear to hapless me;

  And death, sans hope of gain, less wretched grows

  The more I know how pierced with grief is he;

  Bid Troil, when he will, come hither then —

  And let my anguish have supreme comfort again!”

  106

  And, that said, back she fell once more supine,

  And to her closed arms did her plaints renew,

  While Pandar called: “Alas, poor cousin mine,

  What wilt thou now? Cannot some cheer ensue

  From thinking that the hour so near is thine,

  When he thou lovest will come before thy view —

  To take thee to his arms? Rise, comfort thee,

  Lest in this thriftless state thy knight discover thee.

  107

  “And, if he knew that thou wert acting so,