Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS): Act II, Scene 2

ACT III

Scene 2

(Amyntas, Daphne, Nerina)

[Review the cast of characters here.]

AMYNTAS   Your pity was no pity at all, o Daphne, when you held back my arrow; but my death shall be more bitter because it is delayed. And now, why do you lead me along so many different paths and distract me with such useless talk? Of what are you afraid? That I will kill myself? You fear for my welfare.
DAPHNE   Do not despair, Amyntas; for if I know her well, it was but shame, not cruelty, that made her flee.
AMYNTAS   My despair could be my salvation, since hope has only been my ruin. Alas, hope still tries to spring up within my breast, only because I am alive. What is worse than the life of a wretch such as I?
DAPHNE   You now live, wretched man, in your misery; but may you suffer this state only to be happy when it is granted. If you continue to live and hope, your reward will be that which you saw in her lovely nakedness.
AMYNTAS   Did it not seem to Love nor to my fortune that I was indeed miserable, since I was forced to behold Sylvia's fair form, which will never be mine?
NERINA   So then I must be the accursed bearer of bitterest news! Will your soul be forever wretched, Montanus, when you hear of the harsh fate of your only daughter Sylvia? Old, bereft father: ah, you are father no more!
DAPHNE   I hear a mournful voice.
AMYNTAS   I hear Sylvia's name, which wounds my ears and heart. But who speaks of her?
DAPHNE   It is Nerina, gentle nymph very dear to Cynthia, who has such beautiful hands and eyes and such comely, graceful ways.
NERINA   I only want him to know so that he will make sure to recover her unfortunate remains, if there be any. Ah, Sylvia! How cruel and unhappy your fate!
AMYNTAS   What could have happened? What is she saying?
NERINA   Daphne!
DAPHNE   What are you saying to yourself? Why do you name Sylvia, and why do you lament?
NERINA   I lament a bitter circumstance.
AMYNTAS   Of what circumstance could she be thinking? I feel as if my heart is freezing and my spirit receding. Is she alive?
DAPHNE   Tell us, of what bitter circumstance do you speak?
NERINA   Oh, God, why am I the messenger? But I had best say it. Sylvia came to my lodgings, naked: you would know the reason. Once dressed again, she asked if I wished to go with her on the hunt which had been organized in the ilex wood. I agreed, and we went; and we found many nymphs gathered there. Shortly after, an unusually large wolf emerged from I know not where, and from his lips dripped bloody drool. Sylvia fitted an arrow to the bow that I gave her; she pulled, and struck him at the top of his head. Then he ran back into the wood and she, brandishing another arrow, followed him.
AMYNTAS   O doleful beginning! What end will she yet announce to me?
NERINA   I with my own arrows gave chase, but she was too far ahead, and I ran slower. As they went into the wood, I saw her no more; but following their tracks, I entered woods even more dense and deserted. There I espied Sylvia's arrow on the ground, and not far from it a white veil which I myself had wrapped round her hair. When I looked round, I saw seven wolves licking the earth which was splattered with blood around a bone stripped bare. It was my good fortune that I was not seen by them; they were so intent upon their meal. And so, full of fear and pity, I went back. This is as much as I can tell you of Sylvia: here is her veil.
AMYNTAS   Have you not said enough? Oh, veil, blood! Ah, Sylvia, you are dead!
DAPHNE   Poor man, he has fainted from grief. Perhaps he is dead.
NERINA   He breathes still; this may be a brief faint. There, he revives.
AMYNTAS   Grief that so distressed me, why do you not kill me now? You are too slow! Perhaps you leave the task to my hand. I am glad it may do such a task, since you cannot, or refuse to do so. If there is nothing lacking to the certainty of her death or the plenitude of my misery, what do I care? What more do I await? O Daphne, you saved me, only to hear this final bitterness? It would surely have been good and sweet to die then, when I wanted to kill myself; I would have then evaded the sorrow this news has given me. Now that you have done the extreme of your cruelty, you shall suffer that I die, and suffer you should.
DAPHNE   Delay your death, until we better understand the truth.
AMYNTAS   Why do you want me to delay? I have waited too long and understood too much.
NERINA   Ah, if I were only mute!
AMYNTAS   Nymph, I pray you, give me that veil which is the only sad remnant of her, that it may accompany me through the short path of life left to me; and with its presence, may it increase that pain, which is indeed small, if I need help to die.
NERINA   Should I give it or not? the reason he asks for it makes me think I should not.
AMYNTAS   Cruel one, such a small gift you deny me at the very end? Also in this my fate shows itself averse to me. I renounce the veil: it stays with you. And all of you, stay; for I go never to return.
DAPHNE   Amyntas, wait, listen—. Ah, me, with what fury he departs!
NERINA   He goes so quickly, it would be vain to pursue him. Therefore it is better that I remain silent and recount nothing to poor Montanus.
CHORUS   It is not necessary to kill one's self for love: for faith and love are enough to hold united those chosen souls.

To be continued.

Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS): Act II, Scene 2

For the cast of characters, click here. 

ACT TWO

Scene 2

Daphne, Tyrsis

 

DAPHNE     Tyrsis, as I have told you, I had noticed that Amyntas loves Sylvia; and God knows I have endeavored to persuade her and gladly continue to do so, just as you now add your prayers. But I would prefer rather to tame a young ox, a bear, or tiger, than to tame a simple girl, a girl as stupid as she is beautiful, who does not yet realize how arousing the weapons of her beauty are, and how sharp; but, with her laughter and her tears she is killing him, without knowing that she does so.

TYRSIS     But what girl, once out of swaddling, is so simple that she does not learn the art of looking beautiful and of pleasing, of tormenting by pleasing, and of knowing which weapon wounds, which one kills, and which one restores life?

DAPHNE     Who is the teacher of such an art?

TYRSIS     You jest and try me: it is she who teaches the birds to sing and fly, the fish to swim, the ram to butt, the bull to use his horns, and the peacock to spread the display of his eyed feathers.

DAPHNE     What is this great teacher's name?

TYRSIS     Daphne.

DAPHNE     Liar!

TYRSIS     And why not? Are you not qualified to teach a thousand girls? Although, to tell the truth, they do not need a teacher. Nature is their teacher, but their mothers and wet nurses also do their part.    
DAPHNE     For goodness' sake, you are both stupid and wicked. Now, to tell you truthfully, I am not certain if Sylvia is as simple as she seems in word and deed. Yesterday I saw something that puts me in doubt of it. I found her near the city in those vast fields where between ponds lies a little island. Just over a clear, tranquil pool she leaned as if to admire herself, and at the same time, to ask advice of the waters about how she should arrange her hair over her brow, and her veil over her hair, and over her veil the flowers that she held in her lap. From time to time she took a privet, then a rose, and put them up to her lovely white neck and to her rosy cheeks, comparing the colors; and then, as though glad of her victory, a smile burst forth which seemed to say: "I still conquer you. I do not wear you for my adornment, but only to shame you, so that they shall see how inferior you are to my beauty." But, while she adorned and admired herself, she chanced to look up and noticed that I had seen her; and she sprang to her feet in shame, letting her flowers fall. Meanwhile, I laughed at her blush and she blushed still more at my laugh. But because she had gathered a part of her hair and the rest had been left scattered loose, once or twice she consulted the spring with her eyes, and looked at herself almost furtively, as if fearing that I would see her look. She saw she was unkempt, yet she was pleased, for she also saw that she was still beautiful. I too saw, and fell silent.

TYRSIS     You tell me what I already knew. Did I not know it?
DAPHNE     Certainly you did. Yet I hear it said that at one time there were no shepherdesses or nymphs so spiteful; nor was I such in my girlhood. The world gets older, and as it does so, becomes more and more cruel.
TYRSIS     Perhaps in the past the city folk did not often frequent the woods and fields, nor did our country women habitually go into the city. Now they and their customs are mixed. But let us abandon this subject. Now, will you not someday make Sylvia happy, if only in your presence, that Amyntas thinks of her?
DAPHNE     I know not. Sylvia is unusually reluctant.
TYRSIS     And Amyntas is unusually cautious.
DAPHNE     A cautious lover is done for; advise him then to take another occupation, since he is so cautious. He who wishes to learn how to love must unlearn caution; he must dare, ask, plead, bother, and in the end, steal; and if this is not enough, he must then abduct her. Do you not know how woman is made? She flees, yet wants others to catch her; she denies, yet wants others to take what she denies; she fights, yet wants others to conquer her. You see, Tyrsis, I speak to you in confidence. Do not repeat what I tell you. And above all, do not put it into verse. You know that I would know how to deal with you in one way or another.
TYRSIS     You have no reason to believe that I would say anything that would displease you. But I pray you, Daphne, for the sweet memory of your fresh youth, help me to help poor Amyntas, who is wasting away.
DAPHNE     Oh, what kind spell has conjured up this fool to recall my youth, the past joy, and the present pain! What would you have me do?
TYRSIS     Knowledge and acuity you do not lack. You need only be ready and willing.
DAPHNE     Come then, I will tell you: Sylvia and I must go in a little while to the spring of Diana, where on the calm waters cool shade is made by that plane tree, inviting the huntresses to rest. There I am sure she will plunge her lovely bare limbs.
TYRSIS     And what of that?
DAPHNE     What of that? Spoken like a dullard! If you have any good sense, you shall need it.
TYRSIS     I do understand, but I do not know if he would be so bold.
DAPHNE     If not, then let him stay away and wait for someone to fetch him.
TYRSIS     He may require that; he is so timid.
DAPHNE     But don't we want to talk a little of you yourself? Come now, Tyrsis, do not you want to fall in love? You are still young enough. You are almost twenty-nine, but you remember when you were a youth. Do you want to live indolent and joyless? For only by loving does man know what joy is.
TYRSIS     The man who avoids love does not flee the delights of Venus, but reaps and enjoys the sweetness of love without the bitterness.
DAPHNE     Flavorless is that sweetness whose spice is not somewhat bitter; it satisfies too quickly.
TYRSIS     It is better to satisfy oneself than to be always famished during the meal and after.
DAPHNE     But he is not famished who possesses and likes the meal; and once tasted, it tempts him to taste again.
TYRSIS     But who possesses that which pleases him so that he has it always ready to satisfy his hunger?
DAPHNE     Who finds the treasure, if he does not seek it?
TYRSIS     It is folly to look for something that so amuses when found, but torments much more when not found. Thus you shall never see Tyrsis as lover, for Love on his throne will always disregard his tears and sighs. I have already wept and sighed enough. Let someone else do so.
DAPHNE     But you have not yet enjoyed enough.
TYRSIS     I do not wish to enjoy, if it costs so dear.
DAPHNE     Even if you do not wish, Love will force you.
TYRSIS     He cannot be forced who remains distant.
DAPHNE     But who remains distant from Love?
TYRSIS     He who fears him and flees.
DAPHNE     What use is it to flee Love, since he has wings?
TYRSIS     Love, when born, has short wings. But he can barely hold them up, and cannot spread them to fly.
DAPHNE     Man may not notice when Love is born, and when he does notice, Love is already grown and flies.
TYRSIS     He cannot notice if he has never before seen Love born.
DAPHNE     We shall see, Tyrsis, if you have the ability to flee and the sharp eyes you claim to have. I declare to you that when you become the sharp-eyed runner, I shall not move a step to help you; not a finger, a word, or a single eyelid.
TYRSIS     Cruel woman, you would have the heart to see me dead? If you really want me to love, then you love me: let us agree to make love!
DAPHNE     You mock me, and perhaps you do not deserve such a lover. Ah, now that smooth blushing face betrays you!
TYRSIS     I am not in jest; but you, with such declaration, do not accept my love. Yet that is how all women are. If you do not want me, I shall live without love.
DAPHNE     You will live happier than you ever were, o Tyrsis; for you live now in leisure, and in leisure Love always sprouts.

TYRSIS     Oh, Daphne, my lord made this leisure for me that I may worship him here, where the vast herds and flocks graze from one sea to the other, throughout the most fertile countries' cultivated lands, throughout the rugged peaks of the Apennines. He told me when he gathered me to his flock: "Tyrsis, one man may drive away wolves and thieves, or guard my walled pens; another may give out punishments and rewards to my ministers; and others may feed and tend the flocks; some have care of the wools and milk, and other the larders. You may sing, now you are at leisure." It is surely right, therefore, that I sing not of earthly Love's caprices, but of the forebears of my lord. I know not as I should call him Apollo or Jove, since in deeds and face he resembles both. My lord's forebears are worthier that Saturn or Uranus. My poetry is too coarse to exalt his dignity; yet, though it sound loud or raucous, he does not spurn it. I do not sing of him since I cannot worthily honor him except through silence and reverence; but may his altars never be without my flowers or without the sweet fumes of fragrant incense. And this simple, devoted faith will be torn from my heart only when deer feed on air, and when the Persian has drunk the Saone and the Gallican has drunk the Tigris, changing their beds and courses.

DAPHNE     Oh, you are going too high: come back down a little to our subject.
TYRSIS     The point is this: that you, in going to the spring with her, will try to soften her; and I, meanwhile, will make sure that Amyntas comes. My task will perhaps be more difficult than yours. Now go.
DAPHNE     I go, but someone else has heard our plan
TYRSIS     If I discern the face well from afar, it is Amyntas who emerges there. Yes, it is he.

END SCENE

To be continued. 



Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS): Act II, Scene 1

SATYR (alone)

Small is the bee, yet he makes with his small bite wounds truly deep and harmful. But what is smaller than Love, that invades and hides in every small space? Now beneath the shadow of the eyelids, now among the small waves of a blond crown, now in the dimples which a sweet smile makes in a fair cheek; yet it makes wounds so large, so mortal, and so unbearable.

Ah, me, my heart is all wounded and bloodied, and Sylvia's eyes hold a thousand of harsh Love's darts! Cruel is Love, but Sylvia is more cruel and pitiless than these woods! Oh, how your name suits you, and how perceptive was he who gave it you!

Serpents, lions, and bears hide within the green of the woods, and you hide hatred, disdain, and callousness in your comely breast, beasts worse than serpents, lions, and bears, and which cannot be tamed by supplication or gift. When I bring you fresh flowers, you refuse them, contrary girl: perhaps because you have more beautiful flowers in your lovely face. when I bring you pretty apples, you refuse them disdainfully: perhaps because you have prettier apples upon your breast. When I offer you sweet honey, you spurn it spitefully: perhaps because you have sweeter honey on your lips.

But if my poverty cannot give you anything more beautiful and sweet than that which you already possess, I give you myself. Now why, unjust girl, do you scorn and abhor my gift? I am not to be spurned, for I saw myself in the waters of the sea, when day before yesterday the winds were quiet, and it lay calm. This ruddy face, these broad shoulders, this hairy chest, these furry thighs, are signs of virility and health; and if you do not believe this, try them. What would you do with these swains whose soft, downy cheeks have just flowered and who artfully arrange their hair in perfect order? They are feminine in appearance and strength. Yet now you say that they may follow you through the woods and mountains, and fight against the bears and wild boars for you. I am not ugly, no; nor do you spurn me because of how I am made, but only because I am poor. Ah, the villages follow the example of the great cities, and truly this is the golden century, since gold alone conquers and rules.

Whoever you were, the first who learned to sell love, may your buried ashes and cold bones be damned, and may there be no shepherd or nymph who will say in passing: "Have peace." May the rain soak them and the winds stir them, and the crowd tread and wander over them with dirty feet. You made the nobility of love the object of buying and selling; you embittered that sweet happiness. Mercenary love, servant of gold, is the greatest monster, the most abominable and foul, that the earth or the waves in the sea produces.

But why do I complain in vain? Each creature uses those weapons which Nature has given him for his well-being; the hind uses his speed, the lion his claws, the slobbering boar his tusks; and beauty and grace are woman's weapons. As for me, why do I not use violence for my well-being, since Nature has made me fit to do violence and to steal? I will try: I will steal that which she denies me, ungrateful one, as reward for my love. For, as a goatherd told me a little while ago, who has observed her habits, she often goes to refresh herself in a spring, and he showed me the spot. There I plan to submerge myself among the shrubs and bushes, and wait till she comes; and when I see my chance, I will run up behind her.

How could a young girl run away from me, so fleet and powerful? She may weep and wail, use every effort to ask pity, use her beauty; but, if I can entangle my hand in her tresses, she cannot therefore flee: not before I stain my weapon with her blood in revenge.

To be continued. 

Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS): Act I, Scene 2

Cast of Characters:
LOVE, in pastoral dress
DAPHNE, friend of
SYLVIA, beloved of
AMYNTAS
TIRSIS, Amyntas' friend
A SATYR
NERINA, messenger
ELPINUS, shepherd
CHORUS

ACT I

SCENE 2



Amyntas, Tyrsis

 

AMYNTAS     I have seen the stones and the waves respond out of pity to my tears, and I have seen the fronds respond to my tears, but I have never seen, nor hope to see, compassion in the cruel and beautiful one whom I do not know whether to call woman or beast. But she denies being a woman because she denies me pity—I, who am not denied it even by those inanimate beings.

TYRSIS     The lamb feeds on grass, the wolf feeds on the lamb, but cruel Love feeds on tears and is never sated.

AMYNTAS     Alas, Love is indeed sated by my tears; now he thirsts only for my blood, and I would that soon he and that pitiless one drink my blood through their eyes.

TYRSIS     Amyntas, what are you saying? Of what are you raging? Now take comfort, for you shall find another if this cruel girl spurns you.

AMYNTAS     How can I find another if I cannot find myself? And since I have lost myself, what conquest could please me?

TYRSIS     Wretched man, do not despair; you shall conquer her. Time teaches man to tame lions and Ircanian tigers.

AMYNTAS     But an unhappy man cannot delay his death for long.

TYRSIS     It will be a brief wait. Woman angers for a short while, then calms for a short while, something more naturally inconstant than the bough in the wind or the tip of the pliant stalk. But I pray you, tell me more of your difficult state and of your love; you have confessed many times to being in love, but you have not told me with whom. Worthy indeed our faithful friendship, and our mutual love of poetry, which reveals to me that which is hidden to others.

AMYNTAS     I am glad to tell you, Tyrsis, what the beasts and mountains and rivers know, and men do not. I am now so near death, that it is only right I leave her who states the cause of my dying, and who would carve it into the bark of a beech, near the place where my bloodless body is buried; so that, in passing, that cruel girl would enjoy treading on my unhappy bones with her proud foot, saying to herself; "This indeed is my triumph", and enjoy to see it noted by all the rustic shepherds and pilgrims that fate leads there; and perhaps (ah, I hope for things too high) one day it may be that she, moved by late pity, will weep for the once living man whom she killed, saying; "Oh, if only he were here, and were mine!" Now listen.

TYRSIS     Go on then; I am listening closely to you, and perhaps with an even better understanding than you think.   

AMYNTAS     When I was a youth, and as soon as my boyish hand could reach to gather the fruit from the supple branches of the saplings, I became the faithful friend of the dearest and loveliest maiden that ever loosed her golden tresses in the wind.

Do you know the daughter of Cydippe and Montanus, most wealthy with herds, Sylvia, honor of the beasts, flame of souls? Of her, alas, I speak.

I lived for some time so united with her that there never was, nor will be, a more faithful companionship between two turtledoves. Our houses were joined, but more joined were our hearts, our ages were equal, but our thoughts were more so. With her I laid snares and nets for fish and birds, and with her I hunted stags and swift does; the pleasure and the prey were shared. But while I wounded the beasts, somehow it was that I myself was wounded. Little by little, I know not from what root, but as grass that germinates through itself, a strange feeling was born in my breast that made me want to be always with my beautiful Sylvia. I drank from her eyes a strange sweetness which in the end left a sort of bitterness. I sighed often, and did not know the cause of my sighs.

Thus was I a lover before I understood what love was. At last, I understood too well. and now, in such state that I am, listen to me, and heed.

TYRSIS     I am listening.

AMYNTAS     In the shadow of a beautiful beech, Sylvia and Phyllis sat one day, and I with them, when a clever bee that went about gathering honey among these flowered fields flew at Phyllis' cheeks, those cheeks scarlet as a rose, and it bit them greedily again and again; for, deceived by the similarity, it perhaps believed them to be a flower. Then Phyllis began to wail, annoyed with the sharp stings; but my lovely Sylvia said: "Hush, hush, do not wail, Phyllis. With magic words I will take away the pain of the tiny wounds. The wise Aresia has taught me the secret, and thankfully these words are written upon my gold-trimmed horn." So speaking, she drew the lips of her lovely and most sweet mouth close to the sore cheek, and with soft whispers, murmured I do not know what words.

Oh, miraculous effect! Soon Phyllis felt the pain subside; either it was the power of those magic words, or, as I believe, the power of Sylvia's mouth, which heals whatever it touches. I, who until then wanted nothing else but the soft shine of her bright eyes and her sweet words, so much sweeter than the murmur of a slow brook that runs its course among small stones, or the wafting of the breeze among the branches, then felt in my heart a new desire to press my mouth to hers. Not knowing how astute and sly I had become (how love sharpens the intellect!), there came to my mind a gentle trick by which I could fulfill my desire; feigning that a bee had bitten my lower lip, I began to wail in such a manner that my face requested the medicine which my tongue could not request.

The naïve Sylvia, pitying my pain, offered to give aid to my fraudulent wound; but alas, she made deeper and more mortal my true wound, when her lips came close to mine. No bee ever gathered from any flower such sweet honey that I then gathered from those fresh roses, though fear and shame restrained the ardent kisses urged by desire to dampen them, or made them slower and less daring.  But while that sweetness, mixed with a secret poison, descended on my heart, such delight had I from it that, claiming the pain from the bite had still not passed from me, I made her repeat the spell again and again.

From then on, my desire and impatient suffering increased so that they could no longer be contained in my heart, and they escaped perforce. Then, as we shepherds and nymphs sat in a circle and played one of our games, in which each whispers a secret into the ear of his neighbor, I said to her: "Sylvia, I burn for you, and I will surely die if you do not help me." At those words, she lowered her lovely face. There came from her a sudden, unaccustomed blush which conveyed shame and anger. I had no response but a disturbing and threatening silence. Then she drew away, and no longer wanted to listen or look at me. Already three times has the naked harvester cut down the grain, three times has winter shaken the branches of their green tresses; and I have tried everything to placate her, except dying. The only thing left for me to placate her is to die, and I would die gladly, if I were certain that she would be either sorry or pained by it. I know not which of the two I would covet more. Pity would surely be the greatest prize for my devotion and the greatest recompense for my death; but I must not covet anything that would cloud the serene light of her eyes and afflict that fair breast.

TYRSIS     But is it possible that she could hear such words one day and not love you?
AMYNTAS     I know not. I do not believe so; for she flees from my words like an enchanted asp.
TYRSIS     Then have faith, and confide in me so that I may make her listen to you.
AMYNTAS     You will accomplish nothing; or if you beg me to speak, I will accomplish nothing by speaking.
TYRSIS     Why do you despair so?
AMYNTAS     I have just cause to despair, for the wise Mopsus predicted my cruel fortune; Mopsus, who understands the speech of the birds and the power of the grass and springs.
TYRSIS     Of which Mopsus do you speak? Of he who has honeyed words on his tongue and friendly fleer on his lips, fraud in his heart, and a blade kept beneath his cape? Come now, have courage; the unhappy predictions which he sells with evil cunning and with his serious, grim expression will never have any effect. I know through experience what I am telling you; indeed, the mere fact that he has made these predictions to you makes me hope for a happy end to your love.
AMYNTAS     If you know something through experience that may sustain my hope, do not keep silence about it.
TYRSIS     I will tell you gladly.

Before my destiny first led me to these woods, I met him; esteemed him as you do. Soon there came to me the need and desire to go where the great city lies on the riverbank, and I told this to him, and he said thus to me: "You will go to the great land, where the astute and sly citizens and evil courtiers often treat one lightly, and make ugly jokes of we imprudent peasants. Therefore, my son, go with warning, and do not venture too much where there are colorful and golden clothes, and plumes and uniforms, and strange fashions. But most of all, beware lest an evil fairy or comely girl lead you to the marketplace of chatter. Ah, flee that enchanted dwelling."

"What is this place?" I asked, and he answered, "Where wizards live, who by enchanting make everyone see and hear falsely. That which seems to be diamonds or fine gold is glass and wood; and those silver arches which you would regard to be full of treasures are sacks full of deceiving vesicles. There the walls are made with treachery; they speak, and answer the speaker. Nor do they answer with broken phrase, as Echo does in our woods; but they replicate everything complete, joined also with that which the other did not say. The stools, benches, tables, chairs, beds, curtains, the furnishings in the bedchambers and salon, all have tongue and voice, and they cry out incessantly. There the chatter, in the guise of children, schemes; and if a mute man enters there, he will chatter in spite of himself. But this is the smallest evil which you may encounter. You could remain there forever, transformed into stone, beast, water, or fire; water of tears, and fire of sighs."

Thus he spoke, and I went away to the city with this false vision; and, as benign Heaven willed, I perchance passed this happy dwelling. From it came forth sweet singing voices and heavenly sirens; and there came forth soft, clear sounds, and many another delight; and I stopped in wonder for a long while, enjoying and admiring. On the threshold, almost as if to guard these lovely things, was a portly man of kindly countenance of whom (from what I could grasp) I was in doubt whether he was duke or knight. With brow both kind and grave, he invited me inside with regal courtesy; he great and noble, I common and lowly. Oh, what did I hear? What did I see? I saw heavenly gods, fair graceful nymphs, singular Linuses and Orpheuses; and further beyond, unveiled, cloudless, just as she appears to mortals, the virgin Aurora spreading rays of silver and rosy gold, and brilliantly illuminating everything around them; I saw Phoebus and the Muses; and among them, Elpinus sitting welcomed. At that moment, I felt myself become better than myself, full of new virtue, full of strange godliness, and I sang of wars and heroes, spurning the crude pastoral songs. And though I returned to the wood, as others before me, I retained still some of that spirit; nor does my humble bagpipe play as it once did; but with finer and more resonant voice it emulates trumpets, fills the woods.

This have I told you, that you may know just how credible is Mopsus' word: so you should well hope, only because he would have no one hope.

AMYNTAS     It cheers me to hear what you tell me. In you, then, I place the care of my life.
TYRSIS     I shall have care of it. Be here in half an hour.

CHORUS     Beautiful were you, O golden age!—not because the river ran with milk and the woods oozed honey; not because the unspoiled earth gave its fruits to the plough and the serpents wandered without anger or poison; not because the sky was never covered with dark clouds, but showed itself luminous and serene in a climate of eternal spring, and now burns in summer and freezes in winter; not because ships did not bring foreign war or trade to other shores.

You were beautiful only because that name which denotes no true substance, that false, deceitful idol to whom honor was then given by the common multitude and who tyrannized our nature, did not mix his sorrows with the happy sweetness of his amorous flock. They that were accustomed to freedom noted not his hard law, but the fortunate and happy law that nature has given: "That which gives pleasure is allowed."

And so, among flowers and streams, sweet ring-dances drew forth little cupids without their bows and arrows; shepherds and nymphs sat mingling words with flatteries and murmurs, and murmurs with passionate kisses; the virgin lay bare her fresh roses and the apples of her immature, unripe breast, that she now hides beneath her veil; and in the lake or spring, the lover was often seen frolicking with his beloved.

You, Chastity, then concealed the spring of delight, denying waters to the amorous thirst. You taught beautiful eyes to shut themselves tightly and withhold their secret beauties; in your net you gathered tresses that had once scattered in the wind; and you made sweet lascivious acts shameful and averse; you put a stop to words, and rules to steps. This is your work alone, o chastity; what was once Love's gift now must be stolen. Your eminent deeds are our sorrows and tears. But you, lord of Love and Nature, you tamer of kings, what do you do here in these woods which cannot know your greatness? Go, and disturb the sleep of the illustrious and powerful: let us, the lowly and neglected, live without you in the manner of long-ago people. Let us love, for the sun dies and then is reborn. He will conceal his brief light from us, and death will bring eternal night.

END OF ACT

 

To be continued. 

Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS), Act I: Scene 1

Cast of Characters is found in the Prologue post. Click "Italian Plays in Translation" above for link. 

 

ACT ONE

 

SCENE 1

Daphne, Sylvia

 

DAPHNE     Then, Sylvia, you would not like to spend your youth in the delights of faraway Venus, nor heed your mother's sweet name, nor see yourself frolic among the young boys?

SYLVIA     Let others follow the delights of love, if indeed there is any delight in love. This life pleases me; and my amusement is to care for the bow and arrows, to chase the fleeing beasts, and to terrify the strong in battle. While my quiver has arrows and the woods have beasts, I will always have my sport.

DAPHNE     Truly a dull sport, and a dull life; and if you like it, it is only because you have not tried the other. People who lived before, in a world still simple and naïve, esteemed the sweet drink and food of water and acorns; but now, water and acorns are the food and drink of animal, since the grain and grape have been put to use. Perhaps if you enjoyed even once the tiniest part of the joys which a beloved heart enjoys by loving in return, you would say, repentant and sighing: "All time not spent in loving is lost. O my flown youth, how many widow nights and solitary days have I squandered, that could have been spent in this manner, which, the more repeated, becomes more sweet!" Change your ways, you foolish girl, for it does no good to be sorry in the end.

SYLVIA     When I say, repentant and sighing, these words that you present and embellish as you please, the rivers will return to their sources, the wolves will flee from the lambs, and the greyhounds from the timid rabbits; the bear will love the sea, and the dolphin the mountains.

 

DAPHNE    

I am acquainted with reluctant maidenhood. You are what I once was: in this same way did I lead my life and wear my face; my hair was blond, my lips scarlet, and the rose in my plump, soft cheeks blended with the whiteness. It was my highest pleasure (foolish pleasure, I now perceive) merely to tighten the nets, mix birdlime, sharpen my dart on the whetstone, and to search for the beasts' tracks and dens. And if at times I was eyed by a desirous lover, I lowered my rustic, woodland eyes, full of scorn and shame; for my charm was a displeasure to me, as displeasing to me as it was pleasing to others. It was even a sin, a shame, and an humiliation to be looked at, loved, and desired. But what can time not accomplish? What can a faithful entreating lover not accomplish by serving, meriting, and supplicating? I was conquered, I confess it; and the weapons of the conqueror were humility, suffering, tears, sighs, and pleas for mercy. The shadow of a brief night showed me then what the long light of a thousand days could not; I then recovered, my blindness was cleared, and I said sighing: "Here you are, Cynthia; here is my horn and my bow, for I renounce your arrows and your life."

So I hope also to see your Amyntas one day finally tame your rough savagery, and soften your heart of iron and stone. Is it not true that he is handsome and loves you? Is it not true that he is loved by another, yet is not swayed by her love, nor by your hate? And is it not true that he is inferior to you in nobility of birth? For you are the daughter of Cydippe, whose father was the god of this noble river; and he is the son of Sylvanus, whose father was Pan, the great god of the shepherds. The pale Amaryllis is no less beautiful than you, if you look at yourself in the mirror of any spring; yet he spurns her sweet flatteries to follow your spiteful barbs. Now you claim (and may God will this claim to be in vain) that he, angry with you, will certainly in the end like her as she likes him. How would you feel? And how would you regard him if he were another's, happy in another's arms and mocking you, laughing?

SYLVIA     Let Amyntas do as he likes with himself and his love; it means nothing to me. And since he is not mine, let him be hers who wants him. He cannot be mine if I do not want him, nor even if he were mine, would I be his.
DAPHNE     Whence is your hatred born?
SYLVIA     From his love.
DAPHNE     How could such a kind father have begotten so cruel a child? Were tigers ever born of meek lambs? Or ravens of beautiful swans? You are deceiving either me or yourself.
SYLVIA     I despise his love because it threatens my chastity. I did love him, when he felt for me only the same fraternal feelings I bore for him.
DAPHNE     You wanted only friendship; now he feels for you the same sort of love he wishes for himself.
SYLVIA     Daphne, be quiet, or speak of something else, if you want an answer.
DAPHNE     Such manners! Look what a peevish little girl! At least answer me this: if another loved you, would you repay his love in this manner?
SYLVIA     In this manner I would repay every seducer of my chastity. Whom you would call lover, I would call enemy.

DAPHNE

Do you then regard the ram as enemy of the ewe? the bull of the heifer? the dove of its faithful turtledove? Do you then regard the spring as the season of hostility and anger, that happy and laughing spring that now advises the world and the beasts and men and women to love? Do you not see how all things are now lovesome with a love full of joy and health? Look there at that dove—with what sweet murmurings and enticements he kisses his companion. Listen to that nightingale that goes from branch to branch singing, "I love you, I love you!" Though you do not know it, the blood leaves his veins and runs with desire to his beloved. The tigers go about in love, the mighty lion loves. Only you, prouder than all the beasts, harbor denial in your breast. But why do I say that only lions and tigers and serpents have feelings? The trees love, too. You can see with how much affection and with how many repeated embraces the vine twists round her mate; the fir loves the fir, the pine the pine, the ash loves the ash, willow the willow, and the beeches burn and sigh for one another. That oak which looks so rough and savage also feels the power of amorous fire; and if you had the spirit and sense of love, you would hear its silent sighs. Now do you want to be less than the plants by not being a lover? Change your ways, you foolish girl.

SYLVIA     Come now! When I hear the sighs of plants I shall be a lover!

DAPHNE

You take my faithful counsel lightly and laugh at my arguments? Oh, a girl deaf to love is no less than stupid! But go ahead, for there will come a time when you will repent not having heeded them. Yet I shall not say that you will then flee the springs where you now often look at and admire yourself; or that you will flee the springs only for fear of seeing yourself wrinkled and ugly. This will indeed happen to you; for though it is a great misfortune, it is, however, a common one. Do you not recall what the wise Elpinus day before yesterday, said to Lycoris, who can obtain with her eyes what he would have to obtain with song? He said it in the presence of Battus and Tyrsis, those great master of love, and he said it in the cave of Aurora where above the entrance is written: "Go, ah, go far away, blasphemers!" He said this was told him by that great one who sang of weapons and love, who left him the syrinx as he died: "Down there in hell is a dark cavern whence arises smoke full of stench from the furnaces of Acheron. There, forever punished in torments of shadows and tears, are all the ungrateful and ignorant women. There Acheron awaits the lodging of your wounds to be prepared. Right and just is the edict that the smoke should forever draw tears from those eyes, whence it could never draw pity." Change your ways, you obstinate girl! 

SYLVIA     But what then did Lycoris do? And how did she respond to these things?
DAPHNE     You care nothing of your own deeds, yet want to hear of others'. She responded with her eyes.
SYLVIA     How could she respond only with her eyes?
DAPHNE     They answered, smiling sweetly to Elpinus: "We and the heart are yours. No longer must you yearn; we cannot give you more." And it would have been enough to grant complete mercy on the chaste lover, if he judged those eyes to be truthful as well as beautiful, and if he placed all his faith in them.
SYLVIA     Why didn't he believe them?
DAPHNE     You do not know then what Tyrsis wrote of them when, raging and out of his mind, he wandered through the forest so that he aroused both pity and laughter in the nymphs and shepherds? Though he has done things worthy of laughter, he has never written things worthy of laughter. He wrote on a thousand trees, and his verses grew with the trees; and so it is read on one: "Mirrors of the heart, lying, unfaithful eyes, I discern well in you your wiles. But what advantage does that give me, if love prevents me from evading them?"
SYLVIA     I spend time here talking; I have forgot that today is the appointed day that we must go on the organized hunt in the ilex wood. If you like, wait for me to remove first in the usual spring the sweat and dust with which I covered myself yesterday hunting a last doe that in the end I caught and killed.
DAPHNE     I shall wait for you; and perhaps I too shall bathe in the spring. But first I want to go to my swellings, for it is still early, as you see. Wait for me at your place for me to come to you, and think meanwhile of what is more important than the hunt and the spring. And if you do not know, then admit you do not, and believe those who do.

To be continued. 



Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS): Prologue

AMYNTAS  (AMINTA) by Torquato Tasso (1544-1595)
Prose translation by Leticia Austria, completed July 2000

This was my very first translation of an Italian work, and what a work to start with! Written in 1573, its language is of course quite antiquated, and difficult even for a native Italian to comprehend. However, I had a number of good tools with which to make my translation: the Zingarelli all-Italian dictionary (1996 edition), the Harper-Collins Sansoni Italian-English dictionary, and a booklet of defunct verb forms which was distributed to students at an Italian language school in San Francisco. I also used an English dictionary that, along with the etymology and definition of a word, gives the date of its earliest known usage. This last thing was very important to me, as I wanted to write a translation using only period vocabulary. At the time I wrote, there was only one English translation of Aminta available, that of Leigh Hunt, published in 1820. I did not have a copy of this, so I was truly "flying blind." Later, however, I found an all-Italian edition with copious footnotes (the edition from which I worked had zero footnotes), and by checking my translation of the most difficult passages against these footnotes, I was assured that I was indeed on the right track.

 

There is now a new dual-language edition of  Aminta available which I believe retains the blank verse in which Tasso wrote it; still, I'm glad I chose to write my translation in literal prose, as my intention was to further my understanding of archaic Italian.

Cast of Characters

LOVE, in pastoral dress
DAPHNE, friend of
SYLVIA, beloved of
AMYNTAS
TIRSIS, Amyntas' friend
A SATYR
NERINA, messenger
ELPINUS, shepherd
CHORUS

PROLOGUE

 

LOVE

Who would believe that under human form and beneath this pastoral garb a god was hidden? Not a mere woodland god, nor one of the lesser gods, but the most powerful among the great and heavenly, who often makes the bloody sword of Mars and the perpetual lightning bolt of the might Jove fall from their hands.

Surely in this guise and in these clothes Mother Venus would not so easily recognize me, her son Love. I am forced to flee and hide myself from her, for she wants that I myself and my arrows do her bidding. That vain, ambitious woman urges me even among the courts and crowns and scepters, where she wants me to employ all my tests; and she allows only the more lowly of my ministers, my lesser brothers, to live within the woods and work their weapons into rustic hearts.

I, who am no child, though I may well have the face and ways of a child, wish to dispatch myself as I please, for to me, not to her, were destined the all-powerful torch and the golden bow. But often when hiding myself from my hounding mother, escaping not her power, which she does not have over me, but her supplications, which can be powerful, I take shelter in the woods and in the houses of the humble people. She pursues me, promising to give sweet kisses or something even more precious to whomever discloses me to her. Perhaps what I would give in exchange to whomever is silent about me, or hides me from her, e they sweet kisses or something more precious, would not be sufficient. This much, at least, I surely know: that my kisses are always dearer to the young girls, since I, who am Love, am an expert in loving; so my mother often looks for me in vain, inasmuch as the girls do not want to betray me and are silent.

But in order to remain even more concealed so that she cannot find me by the usual indications, I have put aside my wings, quiver, and bow. I have not, however, come here unarmed: for this, which has the appearance of a staff, is my torch (thus have I transformed it), which emanates invisible flames; and this dart, though it has not a golden point, is divinely made and implants love wherever it wounds.  

Today, with this dart, I mean to inflict a deep and incurable wound in the hard heart of the cruelest nymph that ever followed Diana's band. Let not Sylvia's wound (this is the reluctant nymph's name) be less than that which I myself made in the soft heart of Amyntas many years ago, when as a youth he followed that young maiden in the hunt and in sport. But so that my stroke may penetrate even deeper in her, I shall wait for pity to soften that hard ice surrounding her heart, which has made firmer the severity of her forthright and virginal pride; and in that moment when it has softened, I will shoot my dart into it.

Then to make my great deed a truly good work, I will mingle among the crowd of celebrating and festooned shepherds, feigning to be one of their number. She is already on her way there, where one disports during feasting days. It is precisely in that place I will strike, and no mortal eye will be able to notice. Today these woods will hear Love spoken of in a new way, and they will see that my very godhead itself, not merely my ministers, is present here. I shall breathe noble sentiments into rustic hearts; I shall sweeten the sound of their tongues; because wherever I may be, I am Love, no less in shepherds than in heroes. I shall make the inequality of my subjects equal as I please. This shall be my supreme glory and greatest miracle: to render alike the rustic bagpipes and the most cultured lutes. And if my mother, who loathes to see me wander in the woods, cannot accept this, then she is blind: but not I, whom the ignorant commoner wrongly calls blind. 

To be continued. 

Wanna Play?

In the late '90s, after acquiring a better command of the Italian language, I decided to put some of my spare time in Houston to good use by writing English tranlations of Italian plays. My goal was two-fold: to develop further my knowledge of Italian, especially archaic, and to hone my writing skills. It was meant to be a fun exercise; I had no thought whatever of doing anything with my translations. I chose plays that, as far as I knew, had never been rendered into English, or had not been in recent years. I began with a humdinger—Torquato Tasso's Aminta. When I began my work on it, I knew only of Leigh Hunt's 1820 translation, which was in verse. I decided to write mine in literal prose, using period (late 1500's) language. As I saw the completion of my translation in sight, I read in The New York Review of Books (I think that's where I read it, anyway) that someone had just published a new verse translation of Aminta. Oh, well.

I then turned to my small collection of Italian plays bought randomly from used book stores and antique shops. They are all late-19th century or early-20th century works, and I have tried to use period language for all of them. Over the next few years I translated, in all, eight plays:

     Aminta  (Amyntas) by Torquato Tasso
     O Bere o Affogare  (Drink or Drown) by Leo di Castelnovo
     Il Piccolo Santo  (The Little Saint) by Roberto Bracco
     La Moglie Ideale  (The Perfect Wife) by Marco Praga
     Le Ire di Giuliano  (The Wrath of Giuliano) by Italo Svevo
     L'Avventura di Maria  (Maria's Adventure) by Italo Svevo
     Una Commedia Inedita  (An Unpublished Comedy) by Italo Svevo
     Le Teorie di Conte Alberto  (The Theories of Count Albert) by Italo Svevo

I would like to share some, if not all, of these on this blog, not abandoning, of course, my poetry and journal postings. Some of the plays are multi-act, others are one-act; but I'll have to post all of them, even the shortest, in piecemeal fashion, probably scene by scene.

 

The first to be posted (a few days from now) will be La Moglie Ideale,  which was written in 1890 and believed to be one of Eleonora Duse's best vehicles. I look forward to sharing these theatrical gems with you!

My Greatest Inspiration

     For most of my life, I have been a victim of what I call "lazy ambition." My head was always full of lofty musical goals, most of which I knew I was capable of attaining, but a deplorable lack of motivation kept me from attaining them—that, and being by nature a yellow-bellied chicken. All the more peculiar, considering I was also competitive to the point of pettiness; I resented the accomplishments of other people with talents like my own, thinking, "That should be me getting that job/award/compliment, I'm a much better pianist than he/she is!" Meanwhile, my piano was getting dusty from lack of use. Perverse, I know.

     In school and college I was also unmotivated but, while I had musical aspirations aplenty, I had zero scholastically. Deep down, I knew I was a lot smarter than my grades showed; I simply didn't care. The classic Underachiever.

     After being accepted into the Houston Grand Opera Studio, my primary goal was to land a job on the HGO music staff. But it had to do with simply earning a living, not so much with realizing my potential as a pianist and coach; although indirectly, by virtue of the fact that I put in more practice time than I ever had in my life, I did make some advances in that respect. However, whatever motivation I had managed to fire up subsided quite a bit once I did land the job. Within five years, it came dangerously close to burning out altogether. My playing grew more and more mechanical, my coaching dry and superficial. I was becoming complacent, both as a musician and as a person, and began to question why I was in opera at all. Some of my colleagues exhorted me to conduct, but after just one perfomance, I discarded the idea.

     My life changed quite suddenly around my 36th birthday, when I met the great love of my life: a wonderful, talented, and intellectually brilliant man I'll call "C." Unfortunately for me, C was and still is very happily married and a father, so I have never told him my feelings, but am perfectly content and greatly privileged to share with him a friendship based on common interests and deep mutual respect. For the past sixteen years he has simply been The Distant Belovèd, and while I have come to know and accept his faults, I've chosen to hold up his many merits as inspiration by which to better myself. His intellectual curiosity, which is insatiable, has stimulated my own and spurred me on to expand my tastes in reading, art, and music, as well as my knowledge of Italian, which is his native tongue. He has made me see, all unknowingly, what a waste I made of my mind the first thirty-six years of my life.

     So I began studying like a fiend, setting goals and attaining them. Improving my Italian was my first priority, and to that end I went to Italy twice to do a total immersion program. My biggest personal project during those first years after meeting C was writing a translation of Torquato Tasso's play in verse, Aminta. Not an easy task, that, even—as C himself told me—for an Italian, as Tasso's language is very archaic. To make the task even more challenging, I decided the translation should be in prose and in period English, which meant I had to limit my vocabulary and idioms to those in use before 1600. It took me about two years to come up with a satisfactory draft but, with C's help on a couple of particularly difficult passages, I did accomplish what I set out to do. I had and have no intention of publishing it (who am I, after all, in the academic world?); I only wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. And it was fun!

     There were other projects—translating more plays, studying Latin, poetry, and art, taking up drawing and bookbinding. A whole exciting world opened to my eager eyes and, more importantly, I was ready to see and learn.

     Of equal if not greater consequence was the influence C had on me as a musician. After meeting and working with C, my coaching underwent a marked improvement. My playing also took on a depth it didn't have before. I had a new enthusiasm for my work, a desire to be the best coach and pianist I'd always known I could be. I wanted to be worthy of the respect C had for me as a musician, and I began to think of all those wasted, gray years of old as my life "B. C."—"Before C." Now I had discovered what I could accomplish with true motivation, there was no turning back. I even made another attempt (actually, two) at conducting, with the added encouragement and help of HGO's Music Director, Patrick Summers, but finally and firmly concluded that it was not for me. I wrote to C about it and he agreed, writing back that he thought my "true destiny was to be a pianist/coach."

     Though my present venture as a poet began with writing spiritual poems in the monastery, C has been my primary muse. My ongoing collection of love poems, The Distant Belovèd, written for him, is one of the things I'm most proud of in my life so far. Not every piece in it is "up to snuff" by my poetic standards, but every piece is straight from the heart. I've promised myself that someday I'll send it to him, as thanks for everything he's unwittingly done for me.