Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  To see thee coming back — and yearn and yearn?

  Come, comfort me, — as thou hast pledged thy word, —

  And be thy coming now not one day more deferred!”

  60

  And, as he thought, his face had grown more pale

  And colourless than e’er its wont had been;

  He fancied now men would each other hail

  And then point at him with their fingers thin,

  Demanding, “Why is Troil grown so frail,

  So stricken sore, so cruelly battered in?” —

  But no man had so pointed, in good sooth:

  He oft suspects such things who in him knows the truth.

  61

  Wherefore he took resort to poesie

  To tell his woes, and in his verses sighed,

  Weary so long in such deep grief to be,

  And somewhat, thus, his pain he modified;

  So through ill times he waited anxiously,

  Chanting his low-voiced songs, while still he tried

  More to restore his mind, so conqueréd

  By Love’s excess of woe; and words like these he said:

  62

  “The gentle aspect and the soft-sweet mien

  Of the most beauteous eyes e’er made to see,

  Which I have lost now, make my life so lean

  That I must needs go sighing heavily;

  And so far have they led me in my teen

  I lightly sigh no more, and gay and free,

  As I was wont, but only death desire

  Because she’s parted hence; so grief doth me inspire.”

  63

  “Alas that Love did not at his first blow

  So strike me that I had that instant died!

  Why, Love, didst thou not part this soul of woe

  That still I own, from weary me?” he cried.

  “Why should I see me fallen now so low?

  Love comforts not the pain by which I’m tried,

  Save by the means of death, since still I find

  I’m parted from the eyes in which Love soft reclined.

  64

  “When toward my lady fair of late my eyes

  In gentle act of greeting gladly went,

  Their power all was taken by surprise;

  Since when, to weep I cannot them prevent,

  So much Love’s cruel blows do me despise,

  When I recall sweet Criseis from me rent!

  But now she’s far away, and I can cry

  Only my weleday that Love won’t let me die!

  65

  “Yea, Lord, my plight hath grown so great in woes

  That my eyes only meet what brings them pain;

  O dear Lord Love, let then thy soft hand close

  Eyes that no more shall see Love’s aspect plain;

  And then, great Love, for death my flesh compose!

  Naked it is now, poor — sans will to gain

  Any new boons of life; for Death’s sad blow

  Only can give me life and free my soul to go.

  66

  “For, freed, my soul will seek that fair embrace

  Where Fortune wills I now no more shall cling

  With arms still glad. See, Love, how on my face

  Death’s seal is set in Death’s own colouring!

  O see how pain my soul would from me chase!

  O see, sweet Love, how easy were the thing

  To take my soul and place’t in Criseis’ breast

  Where peace were surely had — and rest, desiréd rest!”

  67

  And, after much he had thus sung and said,

  Back to his former sighs the prince was brought;

  Where’er he went by day, at night in bed,

  ’Twas always of his Criseis gone he thought;

  No joy in other things he took nor read,

  But e’er with counting days that passed he wrought,

  Fearing that he should never count to ten

  And see his Criseis from the Greeks come back again.

  68

  Each day seemed long, and longer yet each night;

  And both grew ever in unwonted mode:

  For from the instant when the dawn flushed white

  He counted seconds till the fixed stars showed

  Clear in the dark; or, while the sun stayed bright,

  He vowed so long, so wide, it never rode

  There in the sky. And in the hours of night

  He counted quite the same until the dawn was white.

  69

  At Criseis’ parting he had seen the moon

  Not altogether full but hornéd quite,

  Riding the sky at morn by some fortune;

  Whence oft he said, remembering that sight:

  “When she returns, — and may that time be soon, —

  With her two horns both new and clear and white,

  As fair she shone when Criseis went away,

  Then shall my soul return and here then with me stay.”

  70

  He saw the Greeks’ tents stretched outside of Troy,

  And, though much formerly that martial sight

  Had him disturbed and filled him with annoy,

  His gazing now was tempered with delight;

  And he would fancy with a lonesome joy,

  Whene’er the soft winds touched his face aright,

  They came as Criseis’ sighs, and then would say

  Or here or there his charmful lady now did stray.

  71

  In such a wise, or even ways more vain,

  He sought to while the weary hours away;

  And Pandaro, to soothe his Trail’s pain,

  Always would reason with him, blithe and gay,

  Leaving untried no alley of his brain,

  Whence he might find a means good cheer to say, —

  Giving his Troil hope and esperance

  Of some shrewd means which Criseis must find perchance.

  CANTO SIX

  1

  OUTSIDE the walls, down on the broad seacoast,

  Dwelt Criseis now, a few maids at her side;

  And there, amid the Greeks’ great arméd host,

  She spent her nights in tears she needs must hide,

  For in the day she had to check them most;

  Wherefore her cheeks, once fresh and rosy-dyed,

  Grew both most meager-pale and thin to see —

  Far from her love, far from her heart’s sweet certainty.

  2

  She wept and murmured much in reverie

  Of Troil, now, it seemed, a lost delight,

  And all their acts she cast in memory

  And went recording all their words aright,

  Prizing his vows and hers in all entirety,

  Whenever time she had and power and might:

  Whence, knowing her so far from joy and him,

  She made her eyes a fountain bitter to the brim.

  3

  And no one could have been so hard of soul

  Who, if he heard her weep in that torment,

  He had not of his own tears lost control,

  So bitterly she wept in her lament

  Whenever time gave her one moment’s dole;

  And, though no one could write her woe’s extent,

  Criseis had grief much harder yet to bear —

  She had no cousin near who might her sorrows share!

  4

  She gazed in sorrow on the walls of Troy,

  On palace, tower, mighty fortresses,

  And inward cried: “What measures, there, of joy!

  What sweets of love and all its richnesses,

  Alas, were mine! But now in sad annoy

  I waste my charms to sombre palenesses.

  Alas, my Troilo, how fares it thee?

  Dost thou still hold thy Criseis in true memory?

  5

  “Ah me, alas! Had I thee but believed,

  Had we twain but together lately fled,
r />   And in what kingdom pleased thee been received!

  Then had I on such dolour never fed

  As now I feel, nor such lost time perceived

  When Fate shall grant I back to thee be led!

  And none would e’er have spoken ill of me

  Because, with such a man, I once had chose to flee.

  6

  “Ah me, alas! that realize so slow

  How my own bosom turns my enemy!

  I’d flee one ill, to follow worser woe —

  Beggar my heart still more in penury,

  Hoping that joy might follow death’s fell blow!

  Alas, dear Troil whom no more I see

  (And fear I ne’er shall see!), I wish in vain,

  Wishing the Greeks would leave this Trojan plain.

  7

  “Yet I shall try my best from them to flee,

  If Fate will not another means bestow

  Of going back to Troy to be with thee,

  As I have promised: for the smoke doth go

  Where the smoke lists, and so ‘twill prove with me,

  For what would follow me must follow slow.

  Yea, though I die of grief, I still will say,

  No wight can stop me now — and no wight bar my way.”

  8

  But from such lofty-pure and high intent

  Another lover soon had turned the dame;

  For Diomed plied every argument

  And quite to win her heart he made his game;

  Nor did it fail him long, that hoped event,

  For soon he drave her mind from Troil’s name,

  From thoughts of Troy, — from every other dream,

  False love or true, whatever love might to her seem.

  9

  The fourth full day was not yet onward hied

  Since she had parted in her bitter woe,

  When Diomed an honest means espied

  To come and find her lonely, sobbing low,

  Transformed from when he rode at her fair side

  The day when Fate from Troy had made her go;

  The day when he had brought her thence to here;

  And this to him did marvel more than great appear.

  10

  And to himself he said at that first view:

  “Vain will my efforts be, I must believe;

  ’Tis for some other’s love she feels this rue,

  For some man else I see her sigh and grieve;

  And I with sov’reign art must me indue

  If I would win her that man’s love to leave

  And take up mine. Oh evil was the day

  When this sweet Criseis from Troy I led away!”

  11

  But like a man of ardour great possessed,

  And of great heart, he firm resolved in mind

  (Though death itself should prove his sure behest),

  Since he was come, he would a method find

  To show her how he was with love oppressed,

  What pains he’d suffer till she proved more kind;

  Then, agilely, the Greek knight took his seat,

  Resolved, though ‘twere at length, he would achieve the feat.

  12

  And first, then, in his talk he spake amain

  Of that hard war by Greeks and Trojans fought,

  Demanding if she deemed its purpose vain —

  (If winning it was but a frivolous thought!)

  Ventured so far in words that were more plain

  To ask if Greek ways seemed in strangeness wrought —

  Only refrained from asking her forthright

  Why Calchas did not wed her to some Grecian knight.

  13

  But Criseis, whose mind was still on Troil bent,

  On him who had appeared such lover sweet,

  Saw naught of Diomed’s astute intent;

  But, since great Amor held the answer meet,

  Amor, who ruled the day, she answer lent,

  And oftentimes to him her heart would fleet

  In pitying mood, — and, thus, much hope she gave

  To Diomed of that he sought so ardent-brave.

  14

  Then, of his speech assured and bolder grown,

  “Fair lady, blithe and young,” he gan to say,

  “If well I saw, then none hath ever known,

  Even in angel’s face, a look more gay, —

  A visage that with greater pleasaunce shone, —

  Than yours the day we drew from Troy away

  And did, as well you know, then hither come;

  But now I see your look transformed — in martyrdom!

  15

  “Nor do I know what can thereof be cause

  If ’tis not love, the which, if you are wise,

  You’ll cast away, obeying reason’s laws;

  Therefore, as now I speak, act in that guise;

  Methinks doom on the Trojans nearer draws,

  Held now our prisoners in war’s hard vise;

  And we, to raise our siege, have no desire

  Until it mean we sack Troy Town with sword and fire.

  16

  “For do not think that any wight in Troy

  Shall find Greek then to treat him pityingly:

  Never was Greek who folly did employ,

  And never, though the world should last eternally

  Will Greek refuse his just right to destroy

  The friends of Paris’ mad iniquity. —

  Yea, if we can, we’ll give such punishment

  As Paris’ deed requires — though all of Troy be shent.

  17

  “If twelve Hectors instead of one, were there

  And sixty brothers each as brave as he

  (If Calchas doth us not with errours snare

  Or ply his tricks for us unequally),

  Though high prized are the honours now they bear,

  Soon shall we make them ours, with death the fee

  That soon these things will chance, you may be sure;

  For not false is our hope, but true and high and pure.

  18

  “Believe not Calchas had demanded you

  With half the great persistence that he showed,

  Had he not known the things I say are true;

  I talked it with him in his own abode

  Before he brought that wish to common view,

  And I saw deep the cause that in it rode, —

  Why he would bring you from your perils great,

  Why so he counseled him ere it should prove too late.

  19

  “And him as I consoled, of you I learned, —

  Your marvelous virtue and your every grace:

  When, feeling Antenor might be returned,

  I offered me as agent in the case;

  And Calchas, since my faith he well discerned,

  Left me the task, which I performed apace,

  Going and coming ever tirelessly

  In speech and conference, and holding audience free.

  20

  “Wherefore I bid you, lady fair and dear,

  To cast all Trojans’ bootless love aside;

  Expel whatever bitter hope draws near;

  Observe your sighs how vainly they are sighed;

  Recall, and let your beauty shine out clear,

  Which pleases well whoever has’t espied;

  For now such fate is closely come to Troy

  As must her warriors’ hopes in full destroy.

  21

  “And e’en if Troy should always stand secure,

  Hers is a race of barbarous, uncouth men,

  Her king, his sons, her citizens, impure,

  And nothing like the Greeks in might or ken,

  Who well surpass all men in prowess sure,

  In customs high and honours, twice again;

  Here shall you dwell mid men of courtesy;

  There ye abode midst gross and dull brutality.

  22

  “Suppose not love as hi
gh and perfect-great

  Is not found here with us, as there in Troy;

  Your own high worth, your beauteous estate,

  Your face angelic, aspect sweet and coy,

  Will find a worthy lover here not late;

  And, should it not displease you, I would be,

  More than a king in Greece, that lover willingly.”

  23

  This said, his face did all vermilion grow,

  Red as a fire; and sudden he him checked;

  Trembling, his eyelids toward the earth dropped low

  And suffered not his eyes to gaze direct.

  Then counsel smote on him, as ‘twere a blow,

  And quick he spake again to this effect;

  “Fair lady, do not deem this great annoy,

  I am as gentle-born as any man in Troy.

  24

  “Were Tydeus, my sire, alive to-day,

  Who died with them that gainst Thebes nobly fought,

  Argo and Calydon would know his sway

  As king; and to be king there is my thought.

  For no usurper there, he made his way,

  But native-born, revered, with ancient honours fraught,

  And, sooth to say, sprung from high deity;

  So that I am not held, mid Greeks, of low degree.

  25

  “Wherefore I pray, if aught my prayer can do,

  You drive away all black-browed listlessness,

  And take me as a servant unto you

  If aught I seem to fit your worthiness

  In my deserts; and I shall serve most true

  Whate’er your honour ask, — or graciousness, —

  For ne’er in wight did both so much appear, —

  If you poor Diomed will only hold more dear!”

  26

  Criseis listened long; then modestly,

  Her words both slow and few, made answering

  To what his many words had asked should be;

  And, hearing what he said as latest thing,

  She told herself she could great ardour see, —

  Yet saw it vile and not worth treasuring

  So firm did love for Troil yet endure.

  At last she spake submissive, but in accents sure:

  27

  “I love much, Diomed, the land of Troy,

  Where I was born and more than kindly bred;

  So heavy on me weighs this war’s annoy,

  And glad I’d see my home deliveréd;

  Since Fate forbids me there my life enjoy,

  I feel I am, with reason, sore bestead;

  But for each service that thou rend’rest me

  I pray deserved reward be measured full to thee.

  28

  The Greeks, I know, are of a noble race

  And gende breeding as thou dost assure;

  But Trojan worth holds, therefore, no less place

  Of honour — being quite as high and pure,

  For oft hath Trojan valour shown its face