74
“Pardon, if now I do not well endite
But fail in speech, or if here stain on stain
Thou find in this sad letter that I write;
For both offences spring from out my pain,
Because I live and dwell in sore despite,
And nothing me from weeping can restrain;
And all these stains that o’er my letter spread
Are tears, all tears in grief and tristful dolour shed.
75
“I’ll say no more, though much remains to say,
Until I see thee coming back to me;
Then act, my soul! Thou canst do much to-day
If, as thou Couldst, thou wouldest labour thee.
Alas, so am I changed by grief’s hard sway
Thou wilt not know me henceforth for my dree;
I’ll say no more, save ‘God thee save, my sweet’;
And God soon grant that thou and I once more may meet.”
76
He sealed and gave his words to Pandaro,
Who sent them her. And then whole days in vain
The prince awaited answer to his woe.
His dolour grew to more than human pain;
And everything did confirmation show
Of that dim forecast of his dream insane;
But not, therefore, did he all hoping cease,
For yet to love his Criseis did young Troil please.
77
But still from day to day his dolour grew,
Hope failing more, and so, as needs must be,
He one day took to bed, nor more could do,
When Deifebo, coming him to see, —
Whom much he loved, — chanced there the youth to view
Who, not remarking him gan presently
To cry one name, “O Criseis,” o’er and o’er,
“O lady, do not let me die in grief so sore!”
78
Deifebo then knew what caused his woe,
But, quite as if he had not heard the cry,
Called “Brother,” — and he made a merry show, —
“Canst thou no comfort for thy poor soul spy?
The season gay, and more than fair, doth grow,
The meadows broadly green in beauty lie,
Their faces blithe, — and more, the day is here
When the long truce is ended, and new battle near!
79
“So now we can in our accustomed way
Make all the Greeks our arméd valour feel:
Wilt not, then, arm and come with us to-day?
Thou didst of yore, thyself the first reveal
To strike for Troy, and then no Greeks would stay,
But all before thy might away would steal
In fear and flight. And Hector now hath moved
We go beyond our moats and have our valour proved.”
80
Just as a famished lion, in search of prey
Grown weary, lays him down to seek repose,
Only to shake his mane in savage way
And leap up fierce, if any beast come close —
A hart or bull which might his hunger stay,
And only craves its flesh; so Troil rose,
Hearing war’s fortunes did again commence;
And vigour in his flaming heart ran back intense.
81
He raised his head and, “Brother,” then he said,
“That I am weak and ill is more than true;
But see, I rise new-strengthened from my bed
So much my wish for war doth courage brew!
And, risen, let me swear, if e’er I sped
With hard, strong heart to war, or Greek I slew —
Now I shall fight as ne’er I fought before
So doth my hate for Greece now move me more and more!”
82
Whence these words came, Deifebo well knew;
So first he did some little comfort say;
Added his brothers waited Troil, too;
Said, therefore, then he might not more delay
To comfort him, and bade him short adieu.
The prince sighed more then in his wonted way;
While swift the other to his brothers sped
And soon the whole of Trail’s actions he had said.
83
And they believed the tale most readily
For actions they had seen; but all agreed
Never to mention what they’d chance to see,
Lest they offend. To aid him all decreed,
And so they bade their ladies presently
All go to visit him, and maidens lead
With them to sing and dance in merry fête
So they might Trail’s griefs more early dissipate.
84
Soon ladies thronged the room of Troilo,
Who with their songs and music filled the place:
Polyxena stood there with eyes aglow
And like an angel in her beauteous face;
There the fair Helen sat, a radiant show,
And there Cassandra with prophetic grace;
Old Hecuba, Andromaca, and more, —
Ladies to him akin, about his chamber floor.
85
Each, as she could would sweetly comfort speak,
And each inquired what ill had caused his pain;
He answered naught but merely gazed on weak, —
At her or her, — while in his mind rose plain,
Fairer than all of these, sweet Criseis meek;
And then he turned him to his sighs again;
Scarce conscious of the beauties gathered there,
Of their sweet music, or habiliments so fair.
86
Cassandra, who by chance had heard the tale
Which late Deifebo his brothers told,
As if in jest, because he seemed so frail,
Saw fit then sad-faced Troilo to scold:
“Fie, brother, fie. ’Tis Love that makes thee pale,
I see it well, — and takes thee now in hold,
Yes, curséd Love, by whom we are undone,
As we who will can see, though him we may not shun.
87
“And so, since Love must have his helpless prey,
Thou art enamoured of a noble dame!
’Tis a fine wench that makes thee waste away,
A rogue priest’s daughter — royal, princely game!
An evil wizard’s child! Low-born, I say!
And thee, son to a king of honoured name,
Love grants a life of plaint and dismal woe
Because from thee Dame Criseis had of late to go!”
88
Hearing his sister thus, grieved Troilo, —
Now, since he heard the name of her despised
Whom more he loved than all on earth below,
Now, since he knew Cassandra was advised
Of his kept secret, — how he could not know!
He mused, “Some oracle hath her apprised, —
Some god’s response.” Then to himself he said
“And ‘twill seem true if I keep quiet, here in bed.”
89
So he began: “Cassandra, thy desire,
Ere other folk, all secrets to perceive
And, with thy fancies, into them inquire,
Hath many a time ere this brought thee to grieve;
Silence for thee would be a wisdom higher,
Than wantonly to prate things none believe;
Then go on talking in thy prejudice, —
The things thou sayst I do not know of Criseis.
90
“Yet, since thy prate must e’er abundant flow,
I’ll do a thing I never did before,
Thy beastliness I will thee patent show;
Thou sayest sov’reign love for Criseis sore
Hath made me pale; thou wouldst full shame and woe
Turn on me, too; then let me now deplore
&
nbsp; That, in this, Phoebus did not show thee true, —
Thou art deceived quite, deceivéd through and through!
91
Never was Criseis so in my desire:
No one that ever lied in Heaven’s despite
Hath lied as thou, Cassandra; go, retire
And pray that Heaven bring thee back to right!
Yet, were it true — what thy words would require,
I swear upon my honour as a knight
I would have died at Priam’s own decree
Rather than let men take sweet Criseis from me.
92
“And that they take her from my arms away
The king would have forbid, the king who bore
That Paris here his Helen brought to stay,
A stolen wife, — whence grew our evils more, —
So curb thy tongue; yet be assured, I pray,
That I did Criseis’ going much deplore,
Because is Criseis not in every deed
Worthy of any lord e’er made by Heaven’s rede?
93
“I will not of her beauty idly speak,
Though that surpasses beauteousness supreme,
As all men judge who truth in judgment seek, —
A flower broken soon doth withered seem;
But, if we touched her gentilesse meek,
Which thou dost censure and as evil deem,
Then all men would agree ’tis truth I say
And all deny thy claim; so why allege it, pray?
94
“Wherever virtue is, is gentilesse;
This no one will deny who that can know,
And both these charms in her themselves express
If e’er cause in effect itself may show.
In such a greeting must come my redress,
In parting, that content you still may go
A fool! To gossip still of folks most free,
Prattling of what you know not, in full liberty!
95
“If I am not deceived by what I’ve seen, —
And what still others say, — then honesty
Greater than hers ne’er is and ne’er hath been,
Nor greater soberness and modesty;
And certain her appearance shows them clean;
And, who looks well, may likewise see
She is, as fits, a quiet shamefast dame,
And these in her are signs of nobleness and fame.
96
“In all her acts her prudence proves in season,
And in her talk, which ever shows most sound
And wise, and full of lofty sense and reason;
And in her, high true loyalty I found,
When her old father for his caitiff treason
Made her excuses, for in tears she frowned
And, with her queenly high and true disdain,
She spake such solemn chiding as to make it plain.
97
“And her fair customs are so clearly known
They have no need at all, it doth appear,
Of any man’s defense, — not e’en mine own:
In all the world there is no chevalier,
However apt in courtesy up grown,
Whom she’d not check-mate in his knightly gear
Of courtesy and high magnificence, —
Except that, being dame, she lacks the skill to fence.
98
“These things I know because I have been there
Where with her grace so high she honoured me
That kings, who hold in state a royal chair,
Had been embarrassed by her courtesy,
Had they perceived her lofty, gracious air,
And felt confused like men of low degree:
If then she always hath been sweet and meek,
Fame should her virtues with all praises speak.
99
“What more, Cassandra, do you yet demand
A lady have? Blood royal, crown, and ball? —
All are not kings who sceptres hold in hand
Or robes of purple wear imperial;
Oft have you heard most genuine wisdom call,
‘That man is king who doth by virtue stand,
Not by his might!’ And if she, too, could be,
Dost not thou think she were as royal dame as thee?
100
“Nay, she would better wear a crown, I say,
Than thou; yea, hark thou well and understand;
She would not be, as thou, a trifling fay
Ready to bite all persons near at hand.
Would God had made me worthy of the may
To make her mine — as thou dost claim, so bland,
The lady is! For her I’d deem a prize,
However Dame Cassandra did her rank despise!
101
“Avaunt you now, to your own evil cess, —
You cannot talk; go spin and learn to weave;
Through woman’s work repair your filthiness;
And others’ virtues unassailéd leave.
What woe it is, what more than wretchedness,
If in her vanity a fool believe
She can attack what others have approved,
And then, unlistened to, be deep with anger moved
102
Cassandra kept her hushed, and willingly
She would, that time, have been far otherwhere;
Back to the ladies she made haste to flee
And, mingled with them, kept a silence rare;
Then, having got where Troil could not see,
She left for Priam’s palace full of care:
And ne’er she visited the prince again, —
He had not welcomed her nor listened kindly then!
103
The others, Helen, Hecuba, all praised
What Troilo had said; then, gradually,
They gently comforted that youth so dazed,
With words of cheer and gay festivity:
Then all, together, left him less amazed,
Each turning to her own abode, heart free;
And more times then to visit him they came
While still in bed he kept him wearying and lame.
104
So grief continued for our Troilo
Until he grew inured and, patiently,
Was able more to bear his pain and woe;
Then once again the prince most ardently
His valour gainst the Greeks desired to show;
And that restored his old strength presently, —
Strength he had lost, what time he sore complained
Through the excess of pain he had so long sustained.
105
And then, too, Criseis had writ him now;
Who, that she loved him more than ever, swore;
And her excuses, which she did endow
With reasons why she had not come before,
And her demands he further time allow
For her return (which was not evermore!) —
All moved him so they gave him hope again
To see his Criseis — though, alack, he knew not when!
106
So he made battle once more on his foes
And all his worth in arms did demonstrate;
And all those sighs, and other bitter woes
The Greeks, he felt, had done upon him late
He sold them dear, when he renewed his blows;
But nothing would thereon his wrath abate;
Until destroying death should bring him peace,
And from both love and fighting grant his soul release.
CANTO EIGHT
1
He grew inured to pain, as we have said,
And only seemed to draw more valiant breath,
When higher grief than pen hath e’er portrayed
Fell upon Troy in mighty Hector’s death, —
In whom his sire and brothers all had laid
Their sov’reign hopes, their strength, the
ir last of faith, —
The walls and gates of Troy, — a cureless blow
That kept them all lamenting long in pain and woe.
2
Yet e’en for this he’d not from Love depart,
However much, then, hope might seem to lose;
Rather he sought by every means and art, —
As still among fond lovers is the use, —
To have again what once had pleased his heart,
All that sweet essence which from love ensues;
And that she came not pardoned Criseis,
Deeming the cause of her delay was this — or this.
3
And letters more he wrote her presently,
Which told her how he felt by night or day,
Praising sweet times of cherished memory.
Oft of her pledge to come he’d tell the may;
And oft he chided, though most courteously,
Her sad postponement and her long delay,
Through Pandar, whom he always sent to her
Whene’er times set for truce or treaty would recur.
4
And likewise often he had thought to go,
Dressed in some pilgrim’s habit gray;
But how to counterfeit he did not know,
Or how conceal the truth by such a way;
And much, conviction did within him grow
He could not find a good excuse to say
If ever he were known and recognized,
Why he had gone in that strange garb disguised.
5
And nothing more than words came from her now —
Fair, but their promises, had no effect;
So that his mind began more to allow
These were but tricks, and he did much suspect
Truth for the bitter truth (as oft, I trow,
It chanceth him, whoe’er without defect
Will look into the things that sway his mind
Because, through seeing clear, no man e’er yet went blind!)
6
That new love was the cause, at length he knew,
She sent such frequent and such reckless lies;
Then full conviction in the poor prince grew
’Twas not her father’s falsehoods, — crafty, wise, —
Nor filial cares that kept her from his view;
And further proof he asked not for his eyes,
He knew the truth as well as truth is known
Through that dread spectre which his evil dream had shown.
7
And that new love made faith in him recede, —
As happens oft with those that hope in vain
And show at first an all too willing creed
In things that, while they love, increase their pain.
Yet that this was the truth of Diomed,
As erewhile he had feared, he learned more plain
Soon after, by a chance that took away
All semblance of excuse; and he believed that day.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 419
