When I could kiss her little mouth so red,
Her breast so white, her face, my lady’s eyes, —
And draw her to me close, my queen, for love’s emprise!
20
“And, while she kissed me back, in sweet converse
We passed those hours of blithe festivity;
But now I lie alone to weep the worse,
Doubtful if e’er such nights come back to me
To bring their joy; and so great is my curse
I only pillows kiss; though love, I see,
Burns fiercer flames as hope doth lesser grow
Through that high grief that presses on and on my woe
21
“What shall I do or what, forsooth, expect,
O wretched wight, of that which I may do?
If my mind finds it sadness to reflect
How Criseis went, why further then pursue
A hope for power now completely wrecked?
A lover finds repose but bitter rue,
Because therein he only makes pretense —
And still lives over, night and day, the past events.”
22
And Pandar him that day could not come nigh,
Nor other man; but, when the new dawn came,
He had his old friend called forbye,
To talk to him of his dear Criseis’ name
And, by that means, relieve his heart’s sad cry.
Then Pandar sped him there, who well could frame
Pictures of what the prince had done that night
And what the youth yet wished might still take place aright.
23
“O Pandaro,” then breathed our Troil, faint
Through his great moaning and his long lament,
“What shall I now? For love still, sans constraint,
Burns in me, like a furnace ill content,
And I can find no rest from love’s complaint?
What shall I now? When grief me so hath hent,
When Fortune hath become my enemy,
And my sweet leman is so wholly lost to me?
24
“And if my Criseis I am no more to see,
O would I had that moment fallen dead
When, caitiff-like, I let her part from me!
O blessing sweet, dear joy unmeasuréd,
O lady fair, for whom I lived in fee;
O sweet my soul, that once with comfort fed
These eyes of mine that now are streams of tears,
Dost thou not see I die? Wilt not destroy my fears?
25
“Who sees thee now, O sweet my soul so fair?
Heart of my body, who sits now with thee?
Who listens now, or with thee talketh there?
That ’tis not I is but more grief to me. —
Say what thou dost? In thee is any care
For me in mind, or out of memory
Hast thou put me since thou art with thy sire?
And is it thence I now live in such torment dire?
26
“What now thou hearst me say, my Pandaro,
I have been saying through the whole long night,
For no sleep was allowed by my love’s woe;
Or, if forsooth sleep in my grief and plight
Found any place, it nothing helped my throe;
Because in sleep I only dreamed of flight,
Dreamed only I was in sad realms alone —
Dreamed only into hostile hands I had been thrown.
27
“And such annoy is it that to perceive,
And so my heart is moved through it to fear,
That it were better then I go and grieve:
And oftentime great trembling draws so near
It shocks and stirs me till I full believe
I fall from heights to depths, as would appear;
Then, waked, I call on Love and Criseis, —
Now begging death, now craving pity new — and bliss.
28
“Just as thou hearst, so wretched I have grown
For my own self in grief and her absence,
More sorrowful than e’er I thought to own;
Alas, I must confess in impotence
That still I hope for aid in vain, alone;
That still unto myself I make pretence
I see her coming back; but then my heart,
That loves, consents not, though to call it tries its art.”
29
And after long he spake in such a wise,
Pandaro answered, grieving for his woes
And much inclined himself to dolorous sighs:
“My Troil, tell me now, — if e’er repose
And end thy sadness is to give its cries, —
Dost thou not think that others feel the blows
Love gives, — and others feel them unconsoled
When they must break the amorous ties they fain would hold?
30
“Full many others are enamouréd
As thou; and, by Minerva’s head I swear,
They have in misadventures more been led
Than thou, for certainty in love seems rare.
And they have not surrendered them to dread,
As thou, to live in dolour harsh and care;
Rather they strive, lest grief shall more increase,
To check its sway through hope — in hope to find sweet peace!
31
“And ’tis thy devoir now the like to do:
If, as thou sayst, within the next tenth day
She promises to come back to thy view;
That is not being long enough away
T’ excuse thy waiting in such sombre hue,
Thy moping guise, thy crying ‘Weleday’!:
I wot not how thou Couldst endure the trial
If she should needs be gone a year or longer while.
32
“Dismiss thy dreams, and more — dismiss thy fears:
They are but wind, release them to the breeze:
’Tis only melancholy which them rears
To make their victim fear the ills he sees: —
God only knows what truth in them inheres;
And all our dreams and all our auguries,
On which the stupid gaze, amount to naught
And nothing in the future e’er through them is wrought.
33
“Therefore, have mercy on thyself, pardee;
This wild and foolish grief consent to leave; —
Do me such grace, make that one gift to me,
Arise, thy o’er-anxiety relieve;
Let us rehearse past things more pleasantly; —
Dispose thy lofty mind more to receive
The future good, that soon enough will chance,
And take such hope and comfort as the Fates advance.
34
“This city Troy is full of all delight, —
And, mark thee, since the truce now holds effect,
Thou canst go distant far from here of right
To any pleasant realm and there select
A king to be thy host, until the night
Of thy life’s pain is but a retrospect, —
Until the time thy lady set hath fled,
That lady fair, for whom thy heart so much hath bled.
35
“Bestir then, prithee; — get thee up, arise;
It is no valiant act this way to groan,
Or still to lie down in that shameful guise;
If all thy different silly acts were known
Outside, thou wouldst be overwhelmed with lies;
For men would say the times had made him moan
So cowardly; ’twas not for love he wept,
But feigning illness him from battle kept.”
36
“Alas! Who loses much must weep his woe;
I cannot wot if ever man hath known
How great that good was I have now let go;
T
herefore I should not much be blamed, I own,
For having wept as man ne’er wept in throe;
But, since thou wishest it, I’ll cease to moan
And then, as best I can, recomfort me
To do thee pleasure — in a service meek to thee.
37
“But Heaven speed to me that far tenth day
Which must again to me such joyaunce bring
As that I knew ere she was sent away!
Never was rose as fair in sweet first-spring
As I shall shape me to be fair and gay, —
Shape me once more to dance for joy and sing,
When I shall see, returnéd here to Troy,
My lady’s wax-white face, — my torment, mine annoy
38
“But whither for such joyaunce now repair,
As thou advisest? Were’t to Sarpedon,
How long could I make quiet sojourn there?
For in my mind will still be question,
Might not somehow my Criseis hither fare
Ere the set day through seized occasion?
And if that hap, I would not be away
For all the good the world avail or further may.”
39
“If she return, I’ll see incontinent,”
Responded Pandar, “word is brought to thee;
I am, alone, for that full competent
Since your amour is only known to me;
And in that task none would, perhaps, be bent
As glad as I, or serve more willingly;
And I shall not abandon th’ emprise;
Go thou to Sarpedon — and go in festive wise.”
40
The comrades two then set them on their way
And after some four miles of journeying,
Arrived at Sarpedon’s and there made stay;
Who proved most cordial in his welcoming
To Troil, and his friend alike, that day;
And they, though more inclined to sigh than sing,
With merry cheer and playful-laughing boast,
Made gay and blithe their mien before their baron-host.
41
The latter, like a man of mighty heart,
In all more gracious far than any man,
Showed both great honour in his marvellous art;
They made great fête or in the chase they ran
With ladies fair-esteemed, in every part,
With song and shout — or great feasts he began
In pomp and regal hospitality,
Greater than men in Troy before might ever see.
42
But yet what joyed these things sad Troilo,
Whose heart went not to them, but silent stayed?
Where his desire had gazed, his thoughts would go
And of his love they often image made; —
Then Criseis seemed no highest god below,
But stood before his mind’s eyes bright arrayed; —
Now one thing, now another, fancy tried;
But ever and anon for love the young prince sighed.
43
And every other dame ’twas grief to see,
However she was prized, however she was fair;
All comfort, every gentle song of glee
Was pain to him, who saw not Criseis there,
In whose hands Love had placed the holy key
Of all his life of fear and fretful care:
The more they made him cheer, the more he thought
Of her, and spurned all other things as things of naught.
44
Meantime no morning, no nor evening passed,
When he called not on Criseis in sighs,
“O light most fair, and star of dawn stedfast!”
And then, as though she was before his eyes,
Listening, a thousand times and more, at last
He’d call her rose and ask a kiss for prize,
Until he had again to stop pretence
And end his feignéd greetings in more impotence.
45
And now no hour in the day went by
When he a thousand times breathed not her name;
Always upon his lips was that sweet cry;
In heart and mind he fashioned e’er the same
Fair face, and all her words adorned and high; —
And letters, too, that from his lady came
He turned and read a hundred times a day,
So much he joyed to see what matter in them lay.
46
And when they had there three long days delayed,
To Pandaro our Troil gan to sigh:
“What boots it here? Were we two bound and made
Only to live here tediously, and die?
To take our leave must we be so afraid?
To speak thee sooth, I can no more deny
My wish t’ escape; with Sarpedon we’ve fared
Now long enough, and seen his sumptuous cheer prepared.
47
And Pandar then: “Have we been treated here
Aught churlishly, or hath the tenth day sped?
Our going hence would sure affront appear, —
Restrain thee more, be more by reason led.
Where Couldst thou go? What other place seek near
For feasts as rich as these with which we’re fed?
Yet two more days, then, stay we ere we go
And, after, take us home if still thou wishest so.”
48
And Troil, gainst his will, continued there,
But ever clinging to his wonted thought,
And all that Pandar urged was lost in air
Until the fifth day mood for leaving brought;
When both, though Sarpedon objection bare,
Departed home; but Troil, still distraught,
Called much upon the way, “O God of Grace,
Shall I now find my love returned and see her face?”
49
But Pandar to himself spake otherwise,
As one who knew the whole of Calchas’ bent
And all his subtle schemes could realize:
“The youth’s wild will and fiery-hot intent
May well grow cool, unless I ill surmise
The things I heard ere Criseis from him went;
Ten days will pass, — nay more, — a month, a year
Before, methinks, the prince will see his lady here.”
50
Soon as they were to Trail’s house returned,
Both sought the prince’s room incontinent;
And, seated there, they both could be discerned
With still their speech on Criseis wholly bent;
While in Prince Troil sighs, as ever, burned;
And, when again they rose and forward went,
Once more he wailed, “The house, at least, we’ll see,
Though we can nothing else with any certainty.”
51
This said, he caught the hand of Pandaro,
Forced o’er his countenance a feigned smile,
Drew from the palace doors his comrade slow;
And other pretexts used then to beguile
The friends they met, that he might hide the woe
That yet he felt of love; but, in short while,
His eyes caught sight of Criseis’ closed abode
And quick, anew disturbed, his feelings overflowed.
52
He felt his heart had been most rudely split
When door and window both he saw were closed;
And, so far was he carried by the sudden fit
Of sudden pain again on him imposed,
He knew not how to rise, stand, walk, or sit.
Then on his face, so late by guile composed,
A change came, with its signs so manifest
That any wight who gazed had sure his secret guessed.
53
A while he could not speak for that new grief,
But presently be
gan to Pandaro:
“Alas, this place was bright beyond belief
And joyous, too, when I could come and go
Finding her beauty here, who let relief
And all my peace from her fair eyes to flow:
Now is it grown obscure, sans her, as night,
And I can never hope to see her in this light.”
54
Then off they rode along the Trojan ways,
Where each spot brought his lady back to mind:
Whence he went musing much in praise:
“There once I saw her smiling blithe and kind;
Here saw her turn and at me sweetly gaze;
There gentle greeting ’twas my joy to find;
Here I beheld her feasting, there saw her stand
In pensive mood, and piteous to my sighs’ demand.
55
“’Twas there she stood when first the blessed look
Of her bright eyes and fair, moved my desire;
And here, when in a sigh’s red flame she took
My heart from me to burn’t in greater fire;
And there, when she could not now longer brook
To stay my pleasure — woman-like retire;
And here I saw her proud; here, lowly-willed,
My gentle lady showed she was with meekness filled.”
56
Then he resumed in reminiscent vein:
“’Tis long, Love, thou’st made reckoning of me, —
If more I wish not to conceal my pain,
If truth resides still in my memory;
Where’er I go or stay, I see them plain —
The thousand trophies of thy victory;
And now I know thy triumph over one
Who’d scorned all lovers, Lord, and thee had thought to shun.
57
“Thou hast avengéd well thine injury,
O mighty lord and worthy pious fear:
But, since my soul is given all to thee
And in thy service thou canst see it clear,
Let it not die so unconsolédly, —
Restore it to its joyaunce, Majesty;
Constrain my Criseis, as thou doest me,
So she return and end my woes and misery.”
58
And in those days he oft approached the gate
Whence Criseis had gone, and pondered there:
“’Twas hence my comfort issued, driv’n by Fate,
’Twas hence she went, my life, my love, my fair;
As far as this I did escort her late,
And here I parted from her full of care;
Here, wearily, I pressed her fingers white,
Here, weeping, held her hand in our last sad delight.
59
“Thou wentest hence, my heart, my being’s fire;
When shall it be thou canst again return,
O dear my blessing, sweet my life’s desire?
In those ten days I can, at least, discern
A thousand years; must I so long aspire
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 415
