Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  8

  While standing, still in torment, pensively,

  His heart yet timid and with love distraught,

  He heard the rabble calling noisily —

  That Greeks and Trojans had new battle fought, —

  Deifebo had met right valiantly

  With Diomed and now his vestment brought,

  A captured prize worth showing all of Troy,

  And here the victor marched in solemn pomp and joy.

  9

  This coat was borne before Deifebo

  Throughout all Troy and came to Troil’s view,

  Who praised with others the triumphant show,

  Then, closer it to see, the vestment drew;

  And, as he moved his eyes quick to and fro,

  Gazing at all, he found new cause for rue,

  For on the breast of it a clasp of gold,

  Set as a buckle there, the prince chanced to behold.

  10

  And that he recognized immediately

  As one he gave to parting Criseis

  The morning that he bore her company

  Beyond the gates, in those last hours of bliss

  Which followed their last night of revelry, —

  That last night they had met to love and kiss;

  But now he only said, “My dream was true,

  I see — and all my long suspicion, all my thoughts of rue!”

  11

  He parted thence, and sent for Pandaro,

  Who as of old now thither kindly came;

  And straight the prince began to cry his woe,

  Bewailing all the love he bore the dame,

  And, how he learned her treason, gan to show,

  Nor sought to longer shield his Criseis’ name;

  Mourning so bitter in his mighty grief

  He only thought that death could bring him sure relief.

  12

  And, as he wept, the prince began to say:

  “O Criseis mine, where is thy loyalty?

  Thy faith? thy love? desire of fervid ray?

  Where are those gracious favours promised me

  When we two parted and thou wentst away?

  Doth Diomed now have them all from thee?

  And I, who loved thee more, through thy deceit

  Must I be left to weep my trouble and defeat?

  13

  “Who will hereafter trust in any vow,

  Have faith in Love or woman ever more

  Seeing such perjury as I see now?

  Nay, I knew not that any woman bore

  A heart so rigid-hard as that which thou

  Dost bear, letting another enter at that door

  Whence Troil is dismissed, who loved thee so,

  Waited and was deceived and came to utter woe!

  14

  “And hadst thou, too, no other jewelry

  On thy new lover careless to bestow —

  On Diomed — save what I gave to thee

  With many tears and in the depths of woe

  That it might be remembrancer of me,

  When thou shouldst dwell with Calchas there below

  Nay, nothing could so move thee but vile spite —

  Some mean desire to show thy soul in truer light.

  15

  “Therefore I see me now expelled in scorn

  Out of thy heart, although against my will,

  Deep in my heart thy image yet is worn, —

  Thy fair face wrecking grief upon me still:

  Woe, woe is me, — in evil hour born!

  These thoughts despoil me quite, the while they kill

  Of all my esperance for future joy,

  And are, at once, the cause of anguish and annoy.

  16

  “Thy heart hath wickedly discarded me, —

  Who aye in it had thought to dwell and stay, —

  And ta’en in place of me, through perfidy,

  This Diomed; but Venus hear, I pray,

  The oath I swear to bring high grief on thee

  With this my sword, when comes the first melee!

  If Heaven grant I find thy Diomed

  And let me use my strength in one victorious deed!

  17

  “Or let him kill me — and be dear to thee! —

  Still, ’tis my hope, true Justice and divine

  Will take fair view of this my agony,

  And likewise see what evil sins are thine!

  O Jove supreme, in whom is remedy

  For injured Right, and from whom, at thy sign,

  High Virtue rises, lives, and moves her fair,

  Are thy just eyes completely turned now otherwhere?

  18

  “Do now thy fervent thunderbolts repose?

  And of thine eyes are they no longer seen,

  The sins of men — our griefs and human woes?

  O very Light, O Lucid Rays serene,

  Through whom the earthly mind rejoicing knows,

  Cast into darkness her in whom have been

  All lies and treasons, all deceits and guile,

  Show her no pardon more — not e’en a moment’s while

  19

  “O Pandar mine, who blamédst so of late

  The faith I had in dreams and augury,

  Now canst thou see what clear truths they relate, —

  Thy Criseis makes thee trust them certainly!

  The gods, to mortal men compassionate,

  In divers wise do show them openly

  Secrets by Heaven seen, to us unknown,

  That through their kindness we may fuller knowledge own.

  20

  “And sleep is one mode that the gods pursue

  In revelation, oft I have perceived, —

  With mind kept firmly on the things in view;

  So now I wish me dead, so am I grieved

  Because naught waits me hence but bitter rue, —

  No solace hence, no joy with mirth inweaved!

  Yet, through thy counsel, I consent to pause

  And mid my foes, — in arms, — await death’s hateful jaws.

  21

  “God send before me, then, this Diomed

  When first I issue to renew the fight!

  Let this great wish my sorrows supersede,

  So I may make him taste my weapon’s might,

  May make him rue with death his caitiff deed

  There in the fields; nor care I, then, what wight

  May slay poor me, if only first he die

  And I, on reaching hell, find him in misery!”

  22

  Pandaro listened, torn twixt grief and rue;

  Felt all was true; and knew not what to say:

  Love of his friend in one direction drew;

  Shame in another bade him flee away

  As all of Criseis’ treason came to view, —

  Somehow, at least, his cousin’s guilt repay;

  But what and how, he could not clear perceive,

  And love and shame both made him sorer yet to grieve.

  23

  But in the end he spake, mid weeping sore:

  “Troil, I know not what I ought to say,

  Rightly thy lady’s foulness to deplore

  Or give her due of blame in proper way;

  Her falseness I’ll not try excusing more;

  I’ll never wish to go where she doth stay!

  The things I did, I did for love of thee

  Smirching my own good name quite unreservedly!

  24

  “When once I pleased thee, I felt pleasure true;

  But in the ill done now I cannot act,

  For, like thee, I am overcome with rue:

  Yet, if I saw a means to mend the fact,

  Be certain I should quick that means pursue:

  Only I pray that God, whose high impact

  Makes all things turn or be, shall punish her

  That in so false a wise she may not hence bestir.”

  25

  Great
was their lamentation and complaint,

  But Fortune kept the road of destiny;

  Criseis loved Diomed now sans constraint,

  And Troilo wept on in misery:

  The Greek praised Heav’n with praises never faint;

  The Trojan grieved on unconsolédly;

  In all Troy’s battles Troil gladly fought

  And more than others always Diomed he sought.

  26

  And when they met, as so about he ranged,

  They cried out taunts of caitiff villainy,

  Or mighty warlike blows the two exchanged,

  Hurtling together both, most savagely,

  Their swords in hand, and for that heart estranged

  They sold each other hate most furiously;

  Yet Fortune had not so in Heav’n disposed

  Either should do the deed he for himself proposed.

  27

  At divers times the wrath of Troilo

  Worked on the Greeks such skilful hurt and hate

  That few did then against the sad knight go

  Who did not meet, unhorsed, their death and fate

  (If e’er they paused to let him strike his blow!).

  And, after long he so for death did wait,

  And after he a thousand men did slay,

  Achilles smote and slew him wretchedly one day.

  28

  So ended then the love of Troilo

  For Criseis, in evil hour conceived;

  So ended then his more than wretched woe,

  Wherein, in equal wise, none ever grieved;

  So ended then that splendid light and show

  Which e’en the throne deserved, as men believed;

  So ended Troil’s faith in vanity;

  So hope in Criseis false forever ceased to be!

  29

  O youths in whom, with life’s increasing age,

  Love comes with all too amorous desire,

  I pray by Heav’n ye bravely do assuage

  The first swift flames of Love’s perverting fire!

  Behold how mad poor Troil’s love did rage,

  Which you to show, my verses did aspire,

  O read them now with free and open heart!

  If ye would not trust lightly in false Amor’s art!

  30

  Maidens are fickle (as young men should see);

  Delight in many lovers; estimate

  Their beauties high as glasses; haughtily

  Take much vain glory in their youthful state, —

  The which the more its charms and pleasaunce be,

  The higher in themselves they name its rate;

  Virtue they never know, nor sense of mind;

  They are as volatile as leaves blown in the wind!

  31

  And oft, because they spring of lofty lineage

  Or many grandsires can enumerate,

  They think they should be favoured in Love’s rage, —

  Count lovers more, than dames of lesser state;

  They think pure custom is a mere outrage,

  Tilt noses, and in scorn all good berate. —

  O loathe these, youths! Hold them for mean and vile,

  For they are beasts, not gentle ladies free from guile!

  32

  A perfect lady hath more true desire

  To be beloved, and to love doth delight;

  Clear she discerns what must be shunned like fire,

  Bravely avoids, elects, foresees what things are right,

  Keeps faith and promise, as the gods require.

  Her kind pursue; yet not if she be light

  Or hope a hasty choice. — Not all are wise,

  And often, when mature, they are the less to prize.

  33

  Have foresight then and pity Troilo,

  And even for yourselves compassion bear;

  Demean you well; and with a piteous woe

  For him beseech the god of Love in prayer,

  That he full peace may in that region know

  Where’er he dwell; and pray Love’s grace and care

  Be granted you to make you love aright,

  Lest ye, too, perish wretched through some wanton’s spite.

  CANTO NINE

  1

  GLAD times are wont to be the cause

  Of soft-writ verse, O song, my piteous canto!

  But thee, neath stern affliction’s hard-forced laws,

  Love drew from out a soul deep sunk in woe, —

  Gainst nature so it gives the understanding pause,

  Unless some hidden virtue aimed the blow

  At our transfixéd heart, inspired and stirred

  Through our sweet lady’s potent worth and word.

  2

  She, as I know from oft felt sentiment,

  Can make me naught or she can make me great —

  Whiche’er she choose; and so the argument

  Of all the tragic story I relate

  Was born, methinks; and so I am content

  That more from this than grief I did create

  Thee, little song; but, howe’er that may be,

  We’re both come to the noble end desired by me.

  3

  We now have reached the port which long we sought,

  There by the rocks, there on the open sea;

  With wind and tempest we have sailed and fought,

  Seeking, amid the sea’s uncertainty,

  That pure star’s sign with light and radiance fraught

  (Worthy our reverence in high degree),

  Which makes our every aim to bearings true,

  And came and comes so timely to our clearer view.

  4

  Here, then, I think we may our anchors throw

  And make end to our ways of journeying;

  Here we may breathe those thanks with love aglow

  Returning pilgrims always ought to bring

  To her who guided them through weal and woe;

  There, by the shore so near, with garlanding

  And with the many other honours due

  We will our love’s good ship adorn before her view!

  5

  Then thou, somewhat reposed, mayst presently

  Unto my soul’s kind lady freely go:

  O happy thou, who shalt my bright love see,

  A thing I cannot do, (whence springs my woe!).

  And, if her hands accept thee festively,

  Then in a humble wise, and soft and low,

  Commend me to her noble virtues high,

  In which alone I can my heart’s salvation spy.

  6

  And, in the mournful weeds thou now dost wear,

  I pray thee go and make my lady see,

  In Troil’s griefs, what ills my life doth bear —

  The woes, the sighs, the plaints of misery

  And other things that caused, and cause, my care

  Since her clear radiant eyes are hid from me

  Because she parted, too, and went away

  Although I only lived when near me she would stay.

  7

  And if thou find she listen kind to thee, —

  Or if her angel face show pitying sign,

  Or if she sigh for my hard misery, —

  Pray her return and prove her heart benign, —

  When pleasures her, or else command from me

  My soul depart and be no longer mine,

  For where she is, my soul and heart must go,

  And better than such life ’twould be to die in woe!

  8

  Beware thou do not try thine embassy

  Without the aid of Love, lest thou shouldst fail

  Through misadventure that would fall on thee, —

  Or lest, sans him, thou to no good avail.

  If thou go with him, thou shalt honoured be;

  Then haste; while I in prayer Apollo hail,

  Beseeching first he win thee ready ear,

  Then send thee back to me with answer of good
cheer!

  FINIS

  TROILUS AND CRISEYDE by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Modernised text version

  Regarded by many scholars as Chaucer’s finest work, Troilus and Criseyde is an epic poem that tells the story of the eponymous tragic lovers during the mythical Siege of Troy. The poem was composed using rime royale and most likely written during the mid 1380s. Unlike the more famous The Canterbury Tales, this poem is a completed work and offers a unified and perfected structure.

  The poem introduces the character Criseyde, who lives alone in Troy after her father abandons the Trojans to help the Greeks. Eventually she catches the attention of Troilus, who had previously scoffed at love. With the help of Criseyde’s uncle Pandarus, Troilus tries to win her affections, though ultimately it is a tragic tale, with an unfortunate end in store for the lovers.

  Although Troilus is originally a character from Ancient Greek literature, the expanded story of him as a lover was first introduced in Benoît de Sainte-Maure’s medieval poem Roman de Troie. However, Chaucer’s principal source appears to have been Boccaccio, who retold the story in Il Filostrato. Chaucer’s version of the tale is less misogynistic than Boccaccio’s, with Criseyde portrayed as a fearful and timid character, rather than simply as a fickle betrayer. Chaucer’s tale also blends the theme of sorrow with humour, creating a more rounded and complex work.

  A medieval depiction of Chaucer recounting ‘Troilus and Criseyde’

  CONTENTS

  THE FIRST BOOK.

  THE SECOND BOOK.

  THE THIRD BOOK.

  THE FOURTH BOOK

  THE FIFTH BOOK.

  An early woodcut of the tragic lovers

  THE FIRST BOOK.

  THE double sorrow of Troilus to tell,

  That was the King Priamus’ son of Troy,

  In loving how his adventures1 fell 1fortunes

  From woe to weal, and after1 out of joy, 1afterwards

  My purpose is, ere I you parte froy.1 1from

  Tisiphone, thou help me to indite1 1write

  These woeful words, that weep as I do write.

  To thee I call, thou goddess of torment!

  Thou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain;

  Help me, that am the sorry instrument

  That helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.1 1complain

  For well it sits,1 the soothe for to sayn, 1befits

  Unto a woeful wight a dreary fere,1 1companion

  And to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.1 1countenance

  For I, that God of Love’s servants serve,

  Nor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,1 1unsuitableness

  Praye for speed,1 although I shoulde sterve,2 1success 2die

  So far I am from his help in darkness;