Petrarch

by Mark Musa

  ch’ or fuss’ io spento al latte et a la culla,

  per non provar de l’amorose tempre!”

  Et ella: “A che pur piangi et ti distempre?

  Quanto era meglio alzar da terra l’ali,

  et le cose mortali

  et queste dolci tue fallaci ciance

  librar con giusta lance,

  et seguire me (s’ è ver che tanto m’ami),

  cogliendo omai qualcun di questi rami.”

  “I’ volea demandar,” respond’ io allora:

  “che voglion importar quelle due frondi?”

  Et ella: “Tu medesmo ti rispondi,

  tu la cui penna tanto l’una onora.

  Palma è vittoria, et io giovene ancora

  vinsi il mondo et me stessa; il lauro segna

  triunfo, ond’ io son degna

  mercé di quel Signor che mi die’ forza.

  Or tu, s’ altri ti sforza,

  a lui ti svolgi, a lui chiedi soccorso

  si che siam seco al fine del tuo corso.”

  Does it displease you so

  that I have gone from all this misery

  to reach a better life?

  You should be pleased, if you loved me as much

  as you showed in the way you looked and wrote.”

  I answer: “I weep only for myself

  who have been left in darkness and in pain,

  always as certain that you rose to Heaven

  as one is of a thing he sees up close.

  How could both God and Nature have infused

  a heart that was so young with so much virtue

  if heavenly salvation

  had not been preordained for your good deeds,

  O one of those rare souls

  who lived down here so nobly among us

  and afterward flew quickly up to Heaven.

  “But what is there for me to do but weep,

  I, wretched and alone, without you nothing!

  I should have died an infant in my crib

  so not to have experienced love’s tempering.”

  And she: “Why do you struggle and still weep?

  Much better had you raised your wings from earth

  and all these mortal things

  and all this sweet, vain chattering of yours,

  weighed on an accurate scale

  and followed me (if you love me so much)

  finally gathering one of these branches.”

  “I wanted to ask you,” I answer then,

  “what implications do those two leaves have?”

  And she says: “You can answer for yourself,

  who with your pen so honors one of them.

  The palm is victory, and I still young,

  conquered the world and myself; laurel means

  triumph, of which I’m worthy,

  thanks to that Lord who gave me strength enough.

  Now if you’re being forced,

  turn toward Him, and ask Him for his help

  so we may be with Him at your life’s end.”

  “Son questi i capei biondi et l’aureo nodo,”

  dich’ io: “ch’ ancor mi stringe, et quei belli occhi

  che fur mio sol?” “Non errar con li sciocchi,

  né parlar,” dice, “o creder a lor modo.

  Spirito ignudo sono e ’n Ciel mi godo;

  quel che tu cerchi è terra già molt’anni.

  Ma per trarti d’affanni

  m’è dato a parer tale, et ancor quella

  sarò più che mai bella,

  a te più cara, sì selvaggia et pia,

  salvando inseme tua salute et mia.”

  I’ piango; et ella il volto

  co le sue man m’asciuga, et poi sospira

  dolcemente, et s’adira

  con parole che i sassi romper ponno;

  et dopo questo si parte ella e ’l sonno.

  360

  Quel antiquo mio dolce empio signore

  fatto citar dinanzi a la reina

  che la parte divina

  tien di nostra natura e ’n cima sede,

  ivi com’ oro che nel foco affina

  mi rappresento careo di dolore,

  di paura et d’orrore,

  quasi uom che teme morte et ragion chiede.

  E ’ncomincio: “Madonna, il manco piedo

  giovenetto pos’ io nel costui regno,

  ond’ altro ch’ ira et sdegno

  non ebbi mai; et tanti et sì diversi

  tormenti ivi soffersi

  ch’ alfine vinta fu quell’infinita

  mia pazienzia, e ’n odio ebbi la vita.

  “Così ’l mio tempo infin qui trapassato

  è in fiamma e ’n pene; et quante utili oneste

  vie sprezzai, quante feste,

  “Is this the blond hair and the golden knot,”

  I say, “that still bind me, and those fair eyes

  that were all mine?” “Do not err like those fools,

  nor speak,” she says, “or think the way they do.

  I’m naked spirit, and I rejoice in Heaven;

  what you seek is the dust of many years;

  to help you in your troubles

  I am allowed to seem so, and again

  shall be, still lovelier,

  more dear to you, who once so harsh and kind

  saved your salvation and my own at once.”

  I weep; and she then dries

  my face with both her hands, and then she sighs

  with sweetness and she scolds

  with words that could have shattered stone to pieces;

  and after this she leaves as does my sleep.

  360

  That old and sweet yet cruel master of mine

  I had called to the justice of the queen

  who holds the part divine

  of our own nature sitting at its summit;

  and there like gold that is refined in flames

  I make my plaint surrounded by my pain,

  by fear and by my horror,

  like one in fear of death who begs for justice;

  and I begin: “My lady, my left foot

  when I was young I put into his realm

  which brought me scorn and anger

  and nothing more; and many and such strange

  torments I suffered there

  until my endless patience finally

  was overcome, and then I hated life.

  “And so until now all my time was spent

  in flame, in pain; how many good and useful

  paths I disdained, the joys,

  per servir questo lusinghier crudele!

  Et qual ingegno à sì parole preste

  che stringer possa ’l mio infelice stato

  et le mie d’esto ingrato

  tante et si gravi et sì giuste querele?

  O poco mel, molto aloe con fele,

  in quanto amaro à la mia vita avezza

  con sua falsa dolcezza,

  la qual m’atrasse a l’amorosa schiera!

  che, s’ i’ non m’inganno, era

  disposto a sollevarmi alto da terra;

  e’ mi tolse di pace et pose in guerra.

  “Questi m’à fatto men amare Dio

  ch’ i’ non deveva, et men curar me stesso;

  per una donna ò messo

  egualmente in non cale ogni pensero.

  Di ciò m’è stato consiglier sol esso,

  sempr’aguzzando il giovenil desio

  a l’empia cote, ond’ io

  sperai riposo al suo giogo aspro et fero.

  Misero, a che quel caro ingegno altero

  et l’altre doti a me date dal Cielo?

  ché vo cangiando ’l pelo,

  né cangiar posso l’ostinata voglia.

  Così in tutto mi spoglia

  di libertà questo crudel ch’ i’ accuso,

  ch’ amaro viver m’à vòlto in dolce uso.

  “Cercar m’à fatto deserti paesi,

  fiere et ladri rapaci, ispidi
dumi,

  dure genti et costumi,

  et ogni error che’ pellegrini intrica;

  monti valli paludi et mari et fiumi,

  mille lacciuoli in ogni parte tesi,

  e ’l verno in strani mesi

  con pericol presente et con fatica.

  Né costui né quell’altra mia nemica

  ch’ i’ fuggia mi lasciavan sol un punto;

  onde s’ i’ non son giunto

  anzi tempo da morte acerba et dura,

  pietà celeste à cura

  to serve so cruel a flatterer as this!

  And what wit has the words appropriate

  that can embrace all my unhappiness

  and all my just and grave

  complaints against the ingrate that he is?

  O honey scarce, all vinegar and aloe!

  To how much bitterness he has accustomed

  my life with his false sweetness

  which drew me to his flock of amorous!

  For, if I’m right, I think

  I was disposed to rise high from this earth.

  He took my peace and put me into war!

  “And this one here has made me love my God

  less than I should and care less for myself;

  and for a lady’s sake

  I care for nothing one way or another.

  In that he’s been my only counselor,

  sharpening constantly my young desire

  with his cruel whetstone—I

  hoped for a rest from his fierce, bitter yoke.

  Wretch! Why were high, bright intellect like mine

  and other gifts bestowed on me by Heaven?

  For though my hair is turning,

  from my obstinate will I cannot turn.

  Of all my liberty

  I am despoiled by this one I accuse

  who’s turned a bitter life into sweet habit.

  “He made me search among the wilderness,

  wild beasts, rapacious thieves and thorny bush,

  barbarous people, customs,

  and all the hardships that entangle travelers;

  the mountains, valleys, marshes, seas and rivers,

  and with a thousand snares spread everywhere,

  and winter in strange months,

  with danger imminent and with fatigue.

  Never did this one or my other foe

  from whom I fled leave me a single moment;

  so if I’ve not been taken

  before my time by hard and unripe death,

  heavenly pity cares

  di mia salute, non questo tiranno

  che del mio duol si pasce et del mio danno.

  “Poi che suo fui non ebbi ora tranquilla

  né spero aver, et le mie notti il sonno

  sbandiro, et più non ponno

  per erbe o per incanti a sé ritrarlo;

  per inganni et per forza è fatto donno

  sovra miei spirti, et non sonò poi squilla

  ov’ io sia in qualche villa

  ch’ i’ non l’udisse. Ei sa che ’l vero parlo,

  ché legno vecchio mai non rose tarlo

  come questi ’l mio core, in che s’annida

  et di morte lo sfida.

  Quinci nascon le lagrime e i martiri,

  le parole e i sospiri,

  di ch’ io mi vo stancando et forse altrui.

  Giudica tu, che me conosci et lui.”

  Il mio adversario con agre rampogne

  comincia: “O Donna, intendi l’altra parte

  che ’l vero (onde si parte

  quest’ingrato) dirà senza defetto.

  Questi in sua prima età fu dato a l’arte

  da vender parolette (anzi menzogne);

  né par che si vergogne,

  tolto da quella noia al mio diletto,

  lamentarsi di me, che puro et netto

  contra ’l desio, che spesso il suo mal vole,

  lui tenni (ond’ or si dole)

  in dolce vita, ch’ ei miseria chiama,

  salito in qualche fama

  solo per me, che ’l suo intelletto alzai

  ov’ alzato per sé non fora mai.

  “Ei sa che ’l grande Atride et l’alto Achille,

  et Anibàl al terren vostro amaro,

  et di tutti il più chiaro—

  un altro et di vertute et di fortuna—

  com’ a ciascun le sue stelle ordinaro

  lasciai cader in vil amor d’ancille;

  et a costui di mille

  donne elette eccellenti n’elessi una,

  for my salvation and not this tyrant here

  who feeds upon my sorrow and my loss.

  “Since I’ve been his, I’ve known no peaceful hour,

  nor do I hope for any, and my nights

  have banished sleep and cannot

  recall it, not with medicine or magic;

  by force and by deceit he has become

  lord of my spirits; since then no bell has sounded,

  whatever town I’m in,

  that I’ve not heard. He knows I speak the truth,

  for never did a worm gnaw at old wood

  as this one does my heart in which he nests

  and threatens it with death.

  From this are born my suffering and tears,

  all of my words and sighs

  that wear me out, and others, too, perhaps.

  You be the judge, you know the both of us.”

  My adversary bitterly reproaching

  begins: “O Lady, hear the other side

  because the truth from which

  this ingrate parts, I shall tell you entirely.

  This fellow here when young practiced the art

  of selling little words, or rather lies,

  nor does he seem ashamed

  (from boredom I took him to my delights)

  to complain of me who kept him pure and clean

  of the desire that often wants its harm

  (and now he grieves), kept him

  in a sweet life which he calls misery,

  and risen to some fame

  only through me who raised his mind to where

  it never could have risen on its own.

  “He knows that high Achilles and great Atrides

  and Hannibal, so bitter to your country,

  and another who in virtue,

  in fortune, was the brightest of them all,

  as for each one of them his stars ordained,

  I let fall in base love of a slave girl

  and for this one, out of

  a thousand choices, fine ladies I chose one—

  qual non si vedrà mai sotto la luna

  benché Lucrezia ritornasse a Roma;

  et sì dolce idioma

  le diedi et un cantar tanto soave

  che penser basso o grave

  non potè mai durar dinanzi a lei.

  Questi fur con costui l’inganni mei,

  “questo fu il fel, questi li sdegni et l’ire,

  più dolci assai che di null’altra il tutto!

  Di bon seme mal frutto

  mieto, et tal merito à chi ’ngrato serve.

  Si l’avea sotto l’ali mie condutto

  ch’ a donne et cavalier piacea il suo dire;

  et sì alto salire

  il feci che tra’ caldi ingegni ferve

  il suo nome, et de’ suoi detti conserve

  si fanno con diletto in alcun loco;

  ch’ or saria forse un roco

  mormorador di corti, un uom del vulgo!

  I’ l’esalto et divulgo

  per quel ch’ elli ’mparò ne la mia scola

  et da colei che fu nel mondo sola.

  “Et per dir a l’estremo il gran servigio,

  da mille atti inonesti l’ò ritratto,

  ché mai per alcun patto

  a lui piacer non poteo cosa vile

  (giovene schivo et vergognoso in atto

  et in penser) poi che fatto era uom ligio

  di lei
ch’ alto vestigio

  l’impresse al core et fecel suo simile.

  Quanto à del pellegrino et del gentile,

  da lei tene et da me, di cui si biasma.

  Mai notturno fantasma

  d’error non fu sì pien com’ ei ver noi,

  ch’ è in grazia, da poi

  che ne conobbe, a Dio et a la gente:

  di ciò il superbo si lamenta et pente.

  “Ancor, et questo è quel che tutto avanza,

  da volar sopra ’l ciel li avea dat’ ali

  like her the world will never know another,

  not even if Rome had Lucretia back;

  so sweet a way of speaking

  I gave her and such softness in her song,

  that vile, unpleasant thought

  could not survive within that lady’s presence.

  And these are what he thinks are my deceptions,

  “this was the wormwood, these the scorn and anger,

  far greater than full joy of other women!

  From good seed rotten fruit

  I reap—my pay for serving such an ingrate!

  I took such care of him under my wing

  that knights and ladies found his words appealing;

  and I raised him so high

  that there among the brilliant wits shines out

  his name, and there are those who with great pleasure

  collect his poetry in different places—

  he might have been a hoarse

  murmurer of the courts, a common man!

  I raise him, make him famous

  by means of what he learned in my own school

  and from that one and only in the world.

  “To mention finally my greatest service,

  I kept him from a thousand vicious acts,

  for in no way at all

  could he find pleasure in a thing that’s vile:

  a youngster shy and modest in his acts

  and thoughts, and then become the leige of her

  who left a deep impression

  within his heart and made him like herself.

  All that is rare and noble in this man

  derives from her, and me he criticizes.

  Nocturnal ghosts were never

  more full of error than he is toward us,

  for since he has known us,

  he’s had the grace of God and of the people—

  and that this haughty man regrets and grieves.

  “And there is more (and this outdoes them all),

  I gave him wings to fly beyond the sky,

  per le cose mortali,

  che son scala al Fattor, chi ben l’estima:

  ché mirando ei ben fiso quante et quali

  eran vertuti in quella sua speranza,

  d’una in altra sembianza

  potea levarsi a l’alta cagion prima,

  et ei l’a detto alcuna volta in rima.