He’d slay himself, and no wight could restrain;
And, if I thought to me should come that blow,
My feet would never lead me here again;
But, if I could, I’d slay me too, I know,
And make my soul pursue my friend’s in pain.
Then up, my lady, make thee calm and still
That thou relieve and not more, thus, provoke his ill.”
108
And Criseis answered: “Go; I promise thee,
My cousin Pandar, to be more controlled;
When thou art gone, I will immediately
Rise from this bed and more my courage hold;
My pain and all delight, now lost to me,
Close in my bolted heart for him I’ll fold:
Then make him come in his accustomed way,
And here he’ll find the door still propped, thou mayest say.”
109
Pandar found Troilo in anxious thought,
His face once more so darkened by his fears
That pity in his friend a new grief wrought;
But yet he called: “Art thou, as now appears,
So caitiff, youth, who once so valiant fought?
Thy blessing hath not gone — to cause these tears;
Why dost thou then so keep thyself in pain?
Thy very eyes seem eyes of one already slain!
110
“Art not, without her, still alive and sound?
Canst not give to thy heart strength to endure?
Wast born to earth but to her to be bound?
Show thee a man; make more thy courage sure.
Dismiss these griefs and sighs to some new ground:
I have not made delay, — naught could allure
Me from the place where I might tell to thee
What time I spent with her and what she said to me.
111
“And thou, methinks, dost not one moment feel
Half of the pain thy mistress, grieving, knows;
Her sighs so fervid hot themselves reveal,
Since so this parting gainst her will doth close,
Twenty to one thy sighs they overpeal;
Wherefore thou shouldst thee more to peace compose,
For in thy bitter plight this grace is thine,
How dear thou art to her more clearly to define.
112
“I have of her, too, now won thee consent
Thou shouldest go to her this very eve; J
Exhibit, then, whate’er was thine intent,
The best demeanour she could wish perceive;
Soon wilt thou see whatever most is meant
To give her pleasaunce, and her mind relieve:
And more, — perchance the two of you will find
Ways to assuage your woes and make them seem more kind.”
113
And Troilo made answer with a sigh:
“Good is thy speech, I’ll try to bear me so.”
And other things he said, but time drew nigh
When good it seemed to Criseis to go.
Then, quickly slipping his friend Pandar by,
He made him on his way, so free from woe
It seemed a thousand years he’d been embraced
In Criseis’ arms with joy, ere Fate had him displaced.
114
And Criseis, when the usual time was near,
Came to him with her torch illumined bright,
And in her arms received her lover dear;
And he took her in his (as was his right),
Though sore by grief oppressed; and, dumb with fear,
The two could not conceal their heart’s wild plight;
And, speechless both, they kissed in sad constraint, —
Then recommenced their weeping and excessive plaint.
115
And each clung to the other very tight,
Each bathed in tears that would incessant flow;
And, though they tried, to speak they had no might,
So much their weeping hindered and their woe, —
Their sobs and sighs, their sorrows grim as night;
And long their sweet-sad kissing lasted so,
The while each seemed to drink the other’s tears,
Careless how bitter was their nature, it appears.
116
Then, soon as their vexed spirits were returned
From th’ anguish of their weeping and their sighs,
Back to the places that they late had spurned,
Their souls gan soften their despondent cries;
And Criseis her eyes to Trail turned,
Sad with her grief’s desire — in piteous wise;
When, broken-voiced, she cried: “Lord of my heart,
Who wrests thee from me now? How from thee can I part?”
117
Then, once again, she fell, head on his breast,
And swooned away, till all her strength was fled,
So sore with grief her heart had been oppressed;
The while her soul tried scape as from one dead;
And Trail, gazing in her face distressed
And calling her and hearing no word said,
Saw that her eyes were veiled and fallen to —
As those that have assumed death’s pale and sombre hue.
118
And, as he that beheld, in double grief
The anguished youth hath down his Criseis laid,
Kissing her tear-wet face, as for relief,
And sought if sign of life might be displayed,
In any part of her, till sad belief
Told him no life at all within her stayed, —
So quite devoid of breath she did appear;
And then that all was past he cried, and wept in fear.
119
For cold she was and showed no sentiment;
Wherefore her Troilo, in sooth, he knew
(For that seemed him the truest argument)
Her days were ended now of bitter rue;
Then first he gave him to a long lament,
And, after, gave him to a service new, —
He bathed her face, her frail frame did compose,
And did the wonted things that follow death’s last blows.
120
These done, he drew his sword from out his sheath
With that grave courage which was e’er his wont,
In full prepared to seize on bitter death, —
So that his soul, which nothing else could daunt,
Might follow ill-starred Criseis o’er the heath
And with her there th’ infernal regions haunt,
Since Fate had proved so cruel, Love so hard, —
And woe persuaded him in life was no regard!
121
But first he called, inflamed with high disdain:
“Most cruel Jove, and thou accurséd Fate,
To what ye willed behold me come in pain;
For Criseis, giv’n me I thought of late
By your especial favour, now is ta’en,
Caught from my life by your immortal hate;
And where she dwells, I know not in this hour,
Only I see her slain here by your evil power!
122
“And now I leave the world to follow her
And with her spirit wend, as pleaseth you;
Perhaps in hell things better may occur
And I my peace may gain in sighs and rue —
If, there beyond, men love, as tales defer
Sometimes, in telling what the pale shades do;
O, since you do not wish to see me live,
At least to be with her my soul permission give.
123
“And thou, my city, whom at war I leave,
And thou, Priam, and ye, my brothers dear,
Act so with God I burial receive,
Not far, but to my Criseis’ fair eyes near;
And thou, for whom such dolour doth me gri
eve
That from my body now my soul I tear,
Criseis, welcome me!” he tried to say,
With breast bared to his sword and ready him to slay.
124
When lo! reviving, Criseis heaved a sigh
Full of great pain, and called for Troilo;
And “Sweet, my love” again he gan to cry,
“Art thou alive?” and wept once more for woe;
Then raised her in his arms and gan to try
To soothe her pain through words with love aglow,
Offered her comfort; till her bruiséd soul
Back to the heart returned whence late it frightened stole.
125
But some time yet her spirit, lately strayed,
Kept silence; till her eyes his sword espied,
When she began: “Thy weapon, why is’t made
Free of its sheath?” And he, in tears, replied
And told her how his life escaped its blade;
And she: “O me, to hear of such a tide!
If my lost soul had longer stayed away,
Within this very place thou’ldst slain thyself this day.
126
“O woe to me, O heavy dole thou’st said!
I should not in this life have wished to be,
After my lord; my breast would soon have bled,
Pierced by thy sword; great thanks in this I see
For praising God; but seek we now our bed,
Where we may speak our woes more quietly:
When I consider how my torch burns low,
Then, that the night is almost gone, I know.”
127
And there, as other times they had embraced,
They kissed again, though now ’twas much in tears,
For joy by bitterness had been replaced;
Yet peaceful speech and sad, despite their fears,
Could sans delay on their quick lips be traced,
Whisp’ring the words that only lover hears;
Till Criseis began: “O sweet my friend,
To all the words I say, see that thou well attend.
128
“Since I have learned those tidings ill
How my cursed father turned him traitor all,
If to deprive me now be Heaven’s will
Of thy fair face, I’ll say on none did fall
Such pain as I have felt and suffer still;
For now in city gay or palace tall
I find no cheer; but aye to dwell with thee
Only can give me joy, and thou to dwell with me!
129
“Of late my will of all things did despair,
Believing nevermore I thee should see;
But, since thou’st seen my spirit free as air
Wander away, and then return to me,
I feel my mind more certain thoughts doth bear, —
Useful perhaps, and which I’ll ope to thee
Before now further in our souls we grieve,
For, perchance even now, we may in hope believe!
130
“Thou knowst my father for me makes demand,
And, though him fain I would in naught obey,
I must yet go, for Priam doth command,
Whose faith must still be kept in every way;
So go I must, thou seest, from Trojan land
With Diomed, the Greeks’ envoy, they say,
When he comes here again. Would Heaven willed
He would no more return in times so evil-filled!
131
“Thou knowest, too, that all my kin dwell here —
My father save; and all the goods I own
Must stay in Troy; and (if my mind is clear
And quite returned to me)— ‘twill soon be shown
That peace is sought from peril drawn too near
Twixt Troy and Greece; and, once the Greeks have known
King Menelaus can his wife regain,
Troy shall have peace, and thou and I be near again.
132
“For here I shall return when Troy makes peace,
Since otherwhere I do not have to go;
And, if perchance from war Troy scorns release,
Yet, in a time of truce, I’ll manage so
I come to town, for, then, much as they please
Ladies, thou knowest, pass ‘tween foe and foe;
And all my kin will gladly welcome me,
And cordially desire I visit them, we’ll see.
133
“Then can we both some comfort find again,
However waiting for it prove annoy;
For he must seem with courage to sustain
Life’s loads of grief who’d find life’s gifts of joy,
Which, after, come in still more pleasant train;
But now only I see we are in Troy,
And nothing else, save that more days must go
While we continue grieving in our paths of woe.
134
“Yet more than this, a greater hope is mine,
Peace made or not, of soon returning here:
My father, doubtless, now hath this design,
Because he thinks some ill to me is near
Through his late fault, — some force, some blame condign, —
May, hence, be hurled on me to make him fear; —
But, once he knows how much Troy honours me,
He will not much repine if I return to thee.
135
“And wherefore mid the Greeks me shall he hold?
They, as thou seest, are always armed for fight.
And if not there, where else can he be bold
To leave his child? (I cannot see aright.)
With Greeks he will not trust me, young or old,
Or feel it safe to let me from his sight;
So here to send me back, when time allows,
Will be his wish, I see, whate’er oppose his vows.
136
“He is, thou knowest too, quite miserly
And, having left goods here, he will incline
His ear to what I’ll say of them, we’ll see;
Yea since they’re dear, he’ll yield to my design
Of coming back for their recovery
Once I have shown him that such power is mine;
Yea, he will all his avarice employ,
Spite of all things, and view my coming back with joy!”
137
Then Troil to his lady quite intent
Listened, and deep her words impressed his mind;
And all she said, it seemed incontinent
It must prove true; but faith lagged slow behind
(So much he loved and feared for his content
He could not hope so soon his joys to find);
Yet, in the end, however dim it seemed,
He bravely sought to trust like one who fought and dreamed.
138
A part, thus, of their grief was soothed away,
And, as it sped, they found new esperance;
And, feeling less of evil Fate the prey,
Both of them gan again their amorous dance;
And, as a bird in spring will lightly sway
From leaf to leaf and sing for dalliance,
So did these lovers blithe their joy renew,
And many happy things did in their talk review.
139
But, since from Troil’s mind the weary thought
Could not escape, that they must separate,
In such a wise as this new words he caught:
“O Criseis mine, loved more by me, thy mate,
Than any goddess to whom praise is brought, —
And more to be adored! I have of late
Thinking thee dead, prepared myself to slay, —
For what life could be mine if thine were not,
I pray?
140
“And, certain as is death, of this live sure,
I yet will slay myself, if t
o return
Thou dost not every effort try t’ endure.
And, how I’ll fare, I cannot yet discern,
Sans bitter languishment and grief in pure,
Knowing thee gone; and doubt will ever burn
In me anew, lest Calchas keep thee there,
And all not hap, as now thou sayst, so bright and fair.
141
“I do not know if peace tween us will be;
And, peace or not, I cannot e’er believe
Calchas will come again to Troy, with thee;
For, if I do not much myself deceive,
He could not hope to scape his infamy
In dwelling here, so much must he retrieve;
And, if so urgently he seeks thee now,
He will not instant wish to send thee back, I trow.
142
“Rather he’ll make thee some Greek lord to wed,
Or prove to thee besieged Troy cannot stand,
Doubting her doom comes soon to evil head;
And lie he will, and say on every hand
Thou art, of all the Greeks, much honoured;
And he is so revered in Grecian land, —
His virtue so much praised, — that, sans annoy,
I still must fear thou canst not then return to Troy.
143
“And very much they irk me, thoughts like these,
More than my heart can say, O fair my soul!
Thou hast, now gathered to thy hands, the keys
Both of my life and death, and hast them whole,
And that key, too, to use as thou shalt please,
Gently or not, to bring me to my goal.
O radiant star, through whom I find my port,
Know, if thou leave me now, death soon must be my sort!
144
“Therefore, pardee, we must find means and way
To stay thy going hence, if that can be;
To some strange clime we’ll bear ourselves away,
Nor care how Priam’s promises agree
With future acts, if we escape to-day
His wrath and ire; and, far beyond the sea,
Welcome mid other people we shall find, —
Nations that will us take as lords amid their kind.
145
“Then thither let us flee in secrecy, —
Go there together thou, my love, and I;
And what is left in life to thee and me,
Heart of my body, thou sans whom I die,
There let me live it joyous and carefree!
That is my wish, and that my heart’s deep cry —
If thou deem well — and that is end most sure
When every other means is too hard to endure.”
146
Criseis sighed and spake assuringly:
“Dear all my good and all my heart’s delight,
These things and more may happen presently
All in such form as thou dost fair recite;
But, by the darts of Love, I swear it thee,
That entered have my heart and filled it quite,
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 413
