In Hector’s deeds. Oh no, I’ll not endure
A thought of praising Greece through blaming Troy;
So to compare the two could give me little joy!
29
“And love I have not known, since late he died,
My husband, whom I served most loyally
Ever as lord and master worth my pride;
And never could I in so high degree
Love Greek or Trojan, though full oft he sighed,
For love’s desire abides no more in me;
That thou art sprung of lofty royal blood,
I well believe and I have clearly understood.
30
“And that truth, with thy spirit high and great,
Moves admiration in a wight like me,
Born to a lowlier, far more humble, state;
While born more royal should thy consort be
And fair as Helen; I am desolate —
Too ill at heart to have such news of thee;
But this I do not say because I grieve
That now so clear confessed thy love I should perceive.
31
“The times are ill, and still in arms ye fight, —
Let nearer come the victory thou dost wait,
Then shall I better know what is my might;
Then less than now, perhaps, I’ll find I hate
Pleasure — and then, perchance, some new delight
May spring in me, and what thou dost relate
Will grow more dear: a man must watch, ’tis said,
Time and the season if he would him wisely wed.”
32
Quite dear her last words were to Diomed,
Who cheerly thought he now could hope more sure
And see, sans fail, reward from hope proceed, —
Some boon of pleasure that would long endure;
And so he answered: “Lady, to thy need
I pledge my greatest faith, my ardour pure;
At thy disposing am I, and shall be.”
No more he said but went thereafter, instantly.
33
In figure he was tall, and fair of mien,
A fresh youth well endowed with pleasing grace, —
Proud, too, and brave, as in his speech was seen, —
As affable as all of Grecian race, —
And prone to love by nature, one would ween:
Which things fair Criseis’ mind began to trace,
Once he was gone, much doubting which was meet:
Should she respond to it or flee from love so sweet?
34
And these things chilled in her that keen desire
Which she had felt so promptly to return;
They fixed them deep and bent her mind entire,
Where late her love for Troil bright did burn;
Then back inclined the flames of that great fire
Till torment vanished as new hope did yearn:
At last, it chanced, these things did so persuade
She broke her faith, and Troilo unkindly she betrayed.
CANTO SEVEN
1
BUT Troil passed the time, as hath been said,
Waiting in vain the tenth and promised day,
Which for his waiting was no earlier bred.
At last it came; when, feigning some new play,
Toward the gate he unattended sped —
Save for his Pandar — talking all the way;
And, gazing tow’rd the fields, the two moved coy
To see if any wight was coming back to Troy.
2
When ladies came, attended or alone,
It seemed each must be Criseis coming back,
Till, on approach, she proved some fair unknown
Who walked on openly sans haste or slack:
So stood they, till the midday sun had shone
And turned across the heavens on his track;
And oft they smiled at their credulity —
“As if experience showed things ever thus could be!”
3
And Troil said: “Of course, she would not start
Before she’d eaten dinner with her sire;
For she would have to use her subtlest art
To leave at all against his fond desire.
Yea, she had found a means from him to part
Had she not stayed to eat beside his fire!
Speak, then, what wilt thou say of my surmise?
She tried her wits in vain — old Calchas was too wise!”
4
And Pandar answered: “Thou dost truly say.
Go we a while and later we’ll come here
Again.” And finally they took their way,
Troil agreeing, as it would appear.
Then, though the time ere nones upon that day
Had seemed most long, they felt with inward fear
They’d not stood long enough, and stopped again,
Looking for her that came no way across the plain.
5
And Troil said: “Her sire doth her oppose,
Perhaps, and on tow’rd eve would her delay.
’Tis therefore her return so tardy grows;
Come, let us stand outside there on the way
So that the guards, who always look too close,
Shall not much hinder her return to-day,
For they are wont to parley endlessly
Sans thought to whom such treatment comes appropriately.”
6
And vespers came and darker evening came,
And each hour crept on, mocking Troilo,
Who, eyes bent on the fields, stood e’er the same,
Regarding all that moved there to and fro
Approaching Troy, and (Never-ending game!)
Of each who came that way he sought to know
What new things chanced among the Greeks of late;
But naught he gleaned from all he asked importunate.
7
Then, turned to Pandaro, he made surmise:
“If in her methods well and true I see,
My lady once again hath acted wise;
She wishes to return in secrecy,
Therefore waits night, when all in darkness lies;
And I commend her that too curiously
She’ll not have people gaze and idly sneer:
‘For Antenor exchanged, and now returnéd here?’
8
“Nay, do not weary that so long we wait,
For God’s sweet sake, my Pandar, I emplore!
We have naught else t’ employ our idle state;
Granting my wish can grieve thee nothing sore.
Oh there methinks I see her coming late!
Look thou! Yea, we are seeing her once more!”
“No,” answered Pandar, “if my eyes see clear
Thou pointest at a cart which cometh slowly near.”
9
“Alas, that thou sayst true,” sighed Troilo,
“’Tis ever thus man’s wish doth him deride, —
And her, as if she came, it clear did show.”
At length the sunlight from the heaven died,
And, one by one, the stars renewed their glow;
“It comforts me,” then Troil softly cried,
“To have my gentle thought and wishes pure
Make me so certain that she’ll come ere long for sure.”
10
But Pandar only then laughed inwardly
At that he heard Prince Troil raptly say,
For he, as no one else, could know and see
The cause that moved the young knight’s lips that way;
But, not to make him more in grief to be
Than then he was, he made his semblance gay
And feigned belief, but mused, “The wretched wight
Awaits some great volcano wind to come to-night.”
11
They waited still in vain, while at the gate
The keepers made above a furious
din,
Calling for citizens and strangers late
And all who entrance wished, to come within, —
Herdsman and beast and other rabble great;
But Troil still delayed nor would come in
Until he saw the whole sky brightly starred,
When he returned with Pandar, still unbarred.
12
And, though full many times that idle day
With one or other hope he him deceived,
Ever anon it still was Amour’s way
That in each hope in turn he much believed,
And none seemed foolish in the whole array:
Whence he him turned to Pandar, now relieved,
And once more ventured: “O witless pair
Of youths, to wait all day her coming up from there!’
13
“She said she would ten days with Calchas spend,
Nor would with her old sire one other stay,
But back to Troy she would thereafter wend;
To-day was then to be her last away.
Not till to-morrow doth her absence end —
If to count rightly still I know the way!
We have, want-wits, a whole day lingered here,
So hath desire forgot what she told me so clear!
14
“To-morrow morning we shall here return,
Pandaro, timely.” And they promptly came;
But, up and down, they could no more discern.
Her thought was fixed now on another’s name;
So that their idling did them nothing learn,
And that day proved as yesterday the same;
Night came, and both withdrew them into Troy,
Whence Troilo was filled with bitterest annoy.
15
And the glad hope he once had stoutly owned
Now had no place itself to fasten sure;
So, once again, the heart within him moaned,
As he commenced complaint that none could cure
Of her and Love, and, as his spirit groaned,
He felt in no sense could excuse be pure
For her delay, — return, she said she would,
And she had pledged her faith in goodly womanhood
16
The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth day passed
After the ten already fled away, —
With Troil hopeful now, now sad downcast, —
But ever sighing through each bitter day:
And yet more time, when these were gone at last,
Hope kept in him an ever changing sway.
But all in vain! She never did return,
Wherefore the prince’s heart must burn, and ache, and burn.
17
His tears, that had been lately much relieved
Through Pandar’s comforting, and all his sighs
Came back uncalled for, while his spirit grieved
In an increasing hot and furious wise.
All of the hopes he had till then reprieved
And saved, died cruelly as martyr dies
(For, mocked in him, they found them tortured more
Than ever hopes had been), and fled the winds before.
18
In him all old desire returned anew,
No longer checked; and o’er him the deceit
It seemed he now saw true, — the hostile rue
Whose spirit holds in jealousy its seat, —
Weighed heavier than erst he ever knew,
Till, beggared of repose, he felt defeat,
More than all men to jealousy a prey;
And, as his eyes allowed, he wept both night and day.
19
Eating or drinking was no pleasure now
So full of anguish did he feel his breast;
And more, his conquering sighs would not allow
Sleep to approach his eyes; yea, sore distressed,
His life and self beneath his griefs did bow;
And then, like fire, fled all delight and rest.
And so, with might and main, the prince did flee
All festival and every jocund company.
20
And his pale face was grown so agonized,
He seemed less man than some poor wounded beast;
And no man could him well have recognized,
For wax-like pale he was — like one deceased.
All valour left his body as despised,
And in his members force dwelt now the least
That could beat up at all; and still he spurned
All comfort that to give him friend and kinsman yearned.
21
Priam, who saw his face so sad dismayed,
Called the prince often closely to his side
Asking, “What grief, my Trail, so hath weighed
On thee? Speak, that some cure may be applied.
Thou’rt not thyself — thy cheeks too wanly fade;
What makes thee look so ill, so mortified?
Speak out, my son, thou hidest some deep woe,
And too well do we see how weak thy cheer doth grow.
22
And Hector spake to him no otherwise;
Paris; his brothers, and his sisters too;
And all demanded whence should so arise
The grief he had and through what evils new.
But back to all he gave the same replies, —
His heart was ill, he felt strange forms of rue,
But, what these all were urgent questioning,
Could never from his lips more freely learn to bring.
23
And then one day, now melancholic all
Over her broken faith, our Troilo
Slept and saw in his dream the perilous fall
Of her who made him languish so in woe. —
He chanced upon a wood all dark and tall
And, sudden, heard a smashing, blow on blow,
When, as he raised his eyes, he seemed to spy
A furious tuskéd boar go crashing wildly by.
24
Then, stopped at that boar’s feet, he seemed to see
Criseis prostrate, while his muzzle tore
Her heart from out her side; and, quietly
And pleased, it seemed, that wickedness she bore,
Careless the beast should be so wanton-free,
Nor prone at all his actions to deplore:
And at that sight the prince felt pain so deep
It touched his heavy eyes and brake his devilish sleep.
25
Then, more aroused, he gan to think quite clear
Of all the things he’d seen in that ill dream:
“Surely,” he thought, “this vision did appear
Wishing to prove what ere this could but seem!”
Whereon he sent for Pandar in his fear,
Feeling once more his need was grown extreme;
And, as he came, he called “My Pandaro,
The high gods do not love me; I am prince of woe.
26
“In thy fair cousin I was much deceived,
Though all my faith I did in her repose;
For now some other’s love she hath received,
Which pains me more than twenty mortal woes:
And this I have both true and well perceived,
For now the gods through dreams the truth disclose.”
Then Troil told him all the dream had shown,
And thus, explaining all, he spoke twixt moan and moan:
27
“The boar I saw is Diomed parfay,
Whose grandsire ’twas that slew the beast of yore
In Calydon, if what our ancients say
Can be believed; since when his children bore
As proper arms, just as we see to-day, —
The great beast’s image. ’Tis bitter-sore
And true, I dreamed! The knight hath won her heart
And stolen all her love through his fair-spoken art.
&n
bsp; 28
“He holds her back, he makes my life’s grief burn,
As, ere long, I shall see all openly;
’Tis he alone that hinders her return,
Which, were he not, could be immediately;
She is not checked by Calchas, old and stern,
Nor stopped by other care, quite well I see;
So am I mocked; so, gross deceived;
Laughed at and scorned, who waited and in vain believed.
29
“Alas, my Criseis, say what beauty vain,
What subtle genius, what new pleasuring,
What wrath toward me, — or more, what just disdain, —
What sin of mine, what proud or what strange thing
Did so thy lofty soul and virtues plain
Now to another’s standard trait’rous bring?
Alas for strength, for pledge, for loyalty,
Who hath so caught them all, my love, away from thee?
30
“Alas, why did I let thee freely go?
Why trusted I thy scheming and thy rede?
Alas, why to my wish did I say no,
When I desired thee far away to lead?
Why broke I not the pact with one strong blow,
As urged my heart, and for thee intercede
When I beheld th’ exchange? Thou hadst been, then
Never disloyal-false, nor I the least of men!
31
“I trusted thee and hoped thy faith was sure,
A wholesome pledge and, in its honour, bright,
While in thy words I felt the truth was pure
And sure as mortals find the sun’s broad light;
But all thou saidst was covert, — hid, obscure, —
As now, in tales of thee, I see aright;
Nor hast thou only failed to back return, —
Love in thee for another now doth wicked burn.
32
“What shall I, Pandaro? Since in my mind
I feel the fire’s rekindled blasting breath
Such that my thought for it no place can find:
With mine own hands I long to seize on death,
For to my life cheer will no more be kind,
Since Fortune her so hostile rendereth
To bring such evil fate; death were delight,
And living will be but annoy and sore despite.”
33
He spake and tow’rd a dagger sudden turned,
Which hung there in his room, all sharp and clean;
For much to slay himself therewith he yearned
By thrusting in his breast that blade so keen;
But Pandar seized him, for he well discerned
The desperate act the witless youth did mean,
And he had marked the frantic words he used,
With deep-breathed sighs and tears now wholly interfused.
34
Yet Troil moaned: “O hold me not, my friend,
Release me, thou, for God’s sweet sake, I pray!
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 417
