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 III, Scene 1

Review the cast of characters here.

ACT III

Scene 1

Tyrsis, Chorus

 

TYRSIS   O arrant cruelty, ungrateful heart, ungrateful woman; o three and four times most ungrateful sex! And you, Nature, negligent mistress, you would put in women's faces and forms all that is gentle, comely, and kind, yet you would forget their other parts? Perhaps the wretch has killed himself; he has not come. For three hours now, I have searched and searched again for him in the place and surroundings where I left him; but I cannot find him for his footprints. Ah, he has surely killed himself! I will ask news of him from those shepherds I see there. Friends, have you seen Amyntas, or perhaps heard news of him?

CHORUS   How distraught you seem. What is it afflicts you? Whence this sweat and anxiety? Are you ill? Tell us.

TYRSIS   I fear the worst for Amyntas. Have you seen him?

CHORUS   We have not seen him since he left with you a good while ago. Of what are you afraid?

TYRSIS   That he may have killed himself.

CHORUS   Killed himself? But why? What do you believe is the reason?

TYRSIS   Hatred and Love.

CHORUS   Two powerful enemies indeed. When put together, what can they not do? But explain further.

TYRSIS   He loved a nymph too much and was too much hated by her.

CHORUS   Come, tell all. This is a well-trod path; perhaps someone will come who has news of him. Perhaps even he himself will come.

TYRSIS   I will tell you gladly, for it is not right that such inexplicable ingratitude should stand without reproach.

I had informed Amyntas (and I was, alas, the one who apprised and led him; now I am sorry for it) that Sylvia would go with Daphne to bathe in a certain spring. So he went there, doubtful and uncertain, moved not by his heart but only by my insistent prodding; he often turned back in doubt, but I urged him forward against his will. Then the spring was near; behold, we heard a womanly wail; and almost at once, we saw Daphne beating her palms together. When she saw us, she raised her voice: "Ah, haste!" she cried, "Sylvia has been assaulted!"

Hearing this, the lovelorn Amyntas sprang forth like a leopard, and I followed. There naked as she was born, we saw the young girl tied to a tree, and her hair was the rope that bound her: her very hair was wrapped around the tree in a thousand knots, and her lovely girdle which once protected her virginal breast had assisted in accomplishing this violent act, for it bound both her hands to the hard trunk. The tree itself provided bonds against her: a twist of a pliable branch held each of her soft legs.

We saw before her a villainous satyr who had just then finished tying her. She defended herself as much as she could; but how long could she have struggled? Amyntas, an arrow in his hand, hurled himself like a lion, and I meanwhile had filled my tunic with stones. Then the satyr fled, and in doing so, gave way for Amyntas' gaze. Amyntas turned his lovesome eyes upon those graceful limbs, which seemed soft and white as lilies that tremble with dew. I saw his whole face glow; then he approached her softly and shyly and said:

"O lovely Sylvia, forgive these hands, if they dare too much in approaching your sweet limbs; but harsh necessity urges them: the necessity to loosen these knots. This is the grace that fortune grants them, be it against your will."

CHORUS   Words to soften a heart of stone. But what did she say then?

TYRSIS   She said nothing; but scornful and ashamed, she lowered her face to the ground and, twisting herself as much as she could, hid her delicate bosom. He, coming forward, began to loosen the blond tresses, saying: "Such a rough trunk was never worthy of such lovely knots. What advantage do lovers have, if they share with the trees that tie which binds them to the ones they love? Cruel tree, could you offend these fair locks, that did you such honor?" Then with his hands he loosened her own in such a way that he seemed to fear even touching them; yet at the same time, he desired them. Then he bent to untie her feet; but when Sylvia's hands were freed she said scornfully: "Shepherd, do not touch me. I belong to Diana; I know how to free my own feet."

CHORUS   Such pride resides in the nymph's heart? A gracious act so ungraciously rewarded! 

TYRSIS   He kept himself away respectfully, not even raising his eyes to look at her, denying himself his pleasure in order to save her the trouble of denying him of it. I who was hidden, and saw and heard everything, was then about to cry out, but restrained myself. Now hear something strange. After much effort, she freed herself; and as soon as she was loose, without even saying "farewell," she began to flee like a deer; yet she had no cause to fear, for she noted Amyntas' respect.

CHORUS   Then why did she flee?

TYRSIS   Sylvia wanted to attribute her escape to her own fleetness, not to Amyntas' timid love.

CHORUS   Then she is ungrateful also in this. What did the wretched boy do then? What did he say?

TYRSIS   I know not; for I, full of disgust, ran to catch her, but in vain, for I lost her. Then returning to the spring where I had left Amyntas, I did not find him, but my heart foresees something bad. I know he had been ready to die even before this occurred.

CHORUS   It is the custom and the cunning of every lover to threaten to die, but rarely do they do so.

TYRSIS   May God grant that he will not be the rare exception.

CHORUS   No, he will not be.

TYRSIS   I will go to the cave of the wise Elpinus. If Amyntas is alive, perhaps he has taken refuge there, where often the bitterest suffering is sweetened at the sound of the clear pipes which, being heard, draws the stones from the heights and makes the rivers run with pure milk, and distills honey from the hard trunk.

To be continued.



Tasso's AMINTA (AMYNTAS): Act II, Scene 3

For the cast of characters, click here.

ACT II

Scene 3

Amyntas, Tyrsis

 

AMYNTAS   I want to see what Tyrsis has accomplished. If he has accomplished nothing, then I would rather kill myself before that cruel girl's eyes than waste away with love. She who so enjoys my heart's wound, inflicted by her beautiful eyes, will likewise have to enjoy the wound of my breast, inflicted by my own hand.

TYRSIS     Amyntas, I have comforting news to announce: cease now this excessive lamenting.

AMYNTAS   What are you saying? What news do you bring? Life or death?

TYRSIS   I bring health and life, if you will dare to make yourself face them. But you will need to be a man, Amyntas, a daring man.

AMYNTAS   What do I need dare, and to face what?

TYRSIS   If your beloved were in the midst of a wood surrounded by the highest cliffs, which gave lodging to tigers and lions, would you go there?

AMYNTAS   I would go there more sure and bold than the merry village girl to the dance.

TYRSIS   And if she were among bandits and weapons, would you go there?

AMYNTAS   I would go there more gladly and readily than the thirsty hind to the fountain.

TYRSIS   An even greater daring is needed for this great test.

AMYNTAS   I would go into the midst of the rapid torrents when the snow melts and sends them swollen to the sea; I would go into the fires of Hell, whenever she may go there, if such a beautiful thing can be found in Hell. Come, tell me everything.

TYRSIS   Listen.

AMYNTAS   Quickly, tell me!

TYRSIS   Sylvia is waiting for you at a spring, naked and alone.

AMYNTAS   What did you say? Sylvia is waiting for me, naked and alone?

TYRSIS   Alone, save Daphne, who supports us.

AMYNTAS   She is waiting for me, naked?

TYRSIS   Yes, but ...

AMYNTAS   But what? You are silent, you are torturing me.

TYRSIS   But she does not yet know that you will be there.

AMYNTAS   Bitter conclusion, that poisons all the past sweetness! With what cunning, cruel one, do you torment me? Does it not seem to you, then, that I am not so very unhappy, and you come to increase my misery?

TYRSIS   If you do as I advise, you will be happy.

AMYNTAS   What do you advise?

TYRSIS   That you take what friendly fortune offers you.

AMYNTAS   God would not wish me to do anything which displeases her; I have never done anything that displeased her except to love her; but this was forced upon me by her beauty and was no fault of mine. I will always try as I can to please her.

TYRSIS   Then you would love her against her will, were you capable of not loving her.

AMYNTAS   Not against her will—but I would still love her.

TYRSIS   Against her wishes, then.

AMYNTAS   Certainly, yes.

TYRSIS   Though it may at first pain her, why not then dare against her wishes and take from her that which in the end would be precious and dear to her because you have taken it?

AMYNTAS   Ah, Tyrsis, Love will answer for me, for he speaks from so deep within my heart, I cannot answer for myself. You by now are too shrewd through long habit to discuss love. That which binds my heart also binds my tongue.

TYRSIS   Then we do not want to go?

AMYNTAS   I want to go, but not where you believe.

TYRSIS   Where, then?

AMYNTAS   To death, since you have not done anything else in my favor other than what you now tell me.

TYRSIS   And this seems so little to you? Then do you believe, fool, that Daphne would ever have advised you to go if she had not glimpsed, at least in part, Sylvia's heart? And though she may know her heart, perhaps she may not want others to know that she knows. If you seek Sylvia's approval, do you not know that you seek what would most displease her? Of what use, then, is this desire of yours to please her? And if she wills your happiness to be stolen or abducted, and not given through her mercy, why should the one method matter more than the other?

AMYNTAS   But who can assure me that she wills it thus?

TYRSIS   Oh, folly! You still ask for the assurance that it will displease her and it must rightly displease her, so you must not attempt. Yet who would assure you that she is as you say? And what if she were, and you did not go? The doubt and the risk are the same, yet it is better to die bravely than cowardly. You are silent; you are beaten. Now admit your loss, for your admission may bring about great victory. Let us go.

AMYNTAS   Wait.

TYRSIS   Why wait? Do you not know that time is flying?

AMYNTAS   Well, let us first think of what must be done, and how.

TYRSIS   Let us think on the way of what remains to be done; but he who thinks too much accomplishes nothing.

CHORUS   Love, in what school, from what teacher, does one learn your intricate and mysterious art? Who can teach us to express what the soul understands as it flies to the heavens on your wings? Not even the learned Athena, nor Lyceus can explain it to us; nor Phoebus on Helicon, who considers Love to be as he teaches: he speaks of it coldly and rarely; he does not have the ardent voice that would be worthy of you; he does not elevate his thoughts to the heights of your mysteries. Love, you alone are the only teacher of yourself. You teach the simplest rustics to read those wondrous things that you write with your own hand in amorous letters within the eyes of others. With eloquent words you loosen the tongues of your faithful followers, and often (oh, strange and singular eloquence of Love!) with confused and broken words, one better expresses one's heart and moves another more deeply; for one cannot accomplish this with embellished and expert phrases, and silence is always filled with words and pleas. Love, others may still read the Socratic papers, but I will learn your art from two lovely eyes. The poems from the wisest pens may be lost, but I will have my simple ones, inscribed on rough bark by a rough hand.

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. 

Drink or Drown: Part Four

     Wow, it's been so long since I posted Part Three of this one-act play by Castelnovo! You can read it, along with Parts One and Two, by clicking "Italian Plays in Translation" above. Here's a reminder of the cast of characters:

     BEATRICE GUIDOBALDI, niece and ward of
     ARIBERTO GUIDOBALDI, father of
     MARCELLO
     A SERVANT

     A summary of the action to this point: Ariberto's deceased uncle has stipulated in his will that his fortune be divided equally between his nephew, Ariberto, and his grand-niece, Beatrice, who is also Artiberto's ward. However, Beatrice will receive her inheritance only if she marries a Guidobaldi. Ariberto, therefore, has arranged that she marry his son Marcello, a seaman. However, Marcello has already promised himself to another woman. Marcello suggests to Beatrice that she marry his father instead.

BEATRICE has just run out of the room after telling ARIBERTO of MARCELLO'S suggestion.

 

SCENE 7

 

ARIBERTO     (For a few minutes, he is ecstatic. In the long pause, he reveals the strange battle of his emotions; by and by, he persuades himself and exclaims:)  "—provided she marry a Guidobaldi."  (Reflecting.)  But—Marcello? No! I cannot insist upon this with such certainty of making them both unhappy. Another man? Even worse! She would lose everything. And to whose advantage? Her good uncle's—her guardian's—mine! I, who have the sacred duty, in the face of the law and of the world, to protect her interests!  (Soberly.)  It is a matter of conscience. I cannot allow it! I cannot allow her to condemn herself to a life of isolation, without family—poor girl—without a husband who would wish for her all the good fortune she deserves! But not a featherbrain—that sort, God forbid, would perhaps cause her to pine away. Whereas a serious, settled man ...  (Approaches the mirror, but then turns back.)  It is a matter of conscience!  (Trying to convince himself.)  Oh, if Marcello had not declared that he did not want to ... if she ... I am a good father! but since Marcello does not want to ... nor does she ... (Little by little simplifying the facts.)  And then, what are forty years? To a fit man, forty is nothing! It is usually said that for a ... and then ... (He again approaches the mirror and looks at himself stealthily, afraid of being observed)  ... and then, Beatrice has said that I possess a certain carriage ... elegance ... (Appraising himself.)  Ppuh! Not at all bad! She mentioned my hair ... (Smooths his hair.)  There is a bit of greying ... but not very noticeable! She said as much to Marcello! It distresses her when I tug at my whiskers ... (Curls them.)  Not bad, not at all! And the notion did occur to my son. I had not thought of it!  (Brightening in his own contemplation.)  How impossible things seem—but then, they grow more and more possible—so that they are very nearly probably!  (Again at the mirror.)  What a lovely rose! How becoming! "It was the only thing you needed"! She said so herself. Heavens, how flushed I am! I no longer know where my head is!  (MARCELLO enters, sees him at the mirror, and halts in the doorway.)

 

SCENE 8

 

MARCELLO    (To himself.)  Looking at himself in the mirror! It's done, then!  (Entering.)  Papa!

ARIBERTO     (Moving quickly away from the mirror.)  Oh!

MARCELLO     Did I startle you? I beg your pardon. It is that I have urgent need to speak to you.

ARIBERTO     And I to you!  (Fondly.)  Marcello—you are a good son, a loyal man. I have discovered in you some excellent qualities. Come, let me embrace you!

MARCELLO     (Goes to him and allows himself to be embraced.)  It's done, it's done!  (Aloud.)  Dear Papa, your words are a great comfort to me. I thank you from the depths of my heart! And what is more, to prove to you that I am not ungrateful, I am come to tell you something.

ARIBERTO     (With hearty affection.)  Speak up, with no reticence! You know your father has always helped you when he could—even when you did not deserve it! Go on, speak up!

MARCELLO     (Gravely.)  I have considered.

ARIBERTO     What?

MARCELLO     Marrying my cousin.

ARIBERTO     (Startled.)  Oh! And?

MARCELLO     And ... I examined my conscience and said to myself: Papa is only acting in my interests. I am blind in both eyes! A wife such as Beatrice is a veritable little treasure!  (Enthusiastically.)  Her ingenuousness, her spirit, her sense, her heart—all these things are enough to turn the head of the most serious man in the world! After our interview, I have decided to—

ARIBERTO     (Anxiously.)  To—

MARCELLO     To satisfy you, dear Papa! And as soon as possible. I hope this time, you are truly happy with me!

ARIBERTO     (Very agitated.)  Well, naturally—of course!  (Hesitantly.)  But—I don't understand. Just a few moments ago, you—

MARCELLO     I changed my mind—and also myself. I wish to obey you.

ARIBERTO     (With much effort.)  Excellent!  (Hesitantly.)  But—Beatrice—after all you confessed to her—is she—?

MARCELLO     I shall say it was merely a scheme.

ARIBERTO     And if she does not believe you?

MARCELLO     You must help me to persuade her.  (Emphatically.)  She greatly esteems and—loves you. You need only to say the word!

ARIBERTO     (Searching for excuses.)  Marcello—what if both of you were to be unhappy in this marriage? For you do not love her! Did you, or did you not, tell me that you do not love her?

MARCELLO     Aye, I did tell you that. But you answered: "Once you come to know her, you shall adore her!"

ARIBERTO     Surely! I believed that. But then, in speaking with Beatrice, she considered the disparity in your ages. You are two years younger! and this, you must know, is a great misfortune. If you were, let us say—

MARCELLO     Ten ... fifteen years older ...

ARIBERTO     Precisely! Then we should not worry. But since you are not—

MARCELLO     I shall compensate for it with good judgement.

ARIBERTO     (Blurting out unintentionally.)  A fine judgement you have!

MARCELLO     I am your son. I shall follow your example.  (Softly, mischievously, glancing around.)  As for the other—the lady with the almond-shaped eyes—she shall console herself.

ARIBERTO      Easy enough to say so! And if she does not? I should not like to have any regrets, you understand.

MARCELLO     That is not my business. I am a good son—my father commands; I obey.

ARIBERTO     (At his wit's end.)  But I did not mean to force you! It is a matter of conscience! I absolutely do not want to be accomplice at any wrongdoing!

MARCELLO     (Pretending astonishment.)  What? Now it has become wrong? Papa! Either I deceive myself, or you are retracting your own words!

ARIBERTO     I? No, indeed! I am not retracting anything—I am merely reconsidering.

MARCELLO     Reconsidering! I am dumbstruck! You, who at first found everything so simple? You, who just moments ago, shouted, "Either we drink, or we drown"? To which I responded: "That other lady shall die of a broken heart." And you: "Rubbish! Youthful whims! Heed you father—for he has the experience of forty-one years!"

ARIBERTO     (Interrupting.)  I believe I said forty years.

MARCELLO     "Heed your father, with his grey hair and wrinkles!"

ARIBERTO     (Disconcerted.)  Leave my hair and wrinkles out of this! I only mentioned them to say something.

MARCELLO     and now, I come here and say to you: "Here I am!" You, for some strange reason to which I am not privy, have had a change of heart!

ARIBERTO     That is not true!

MARCELLO     You are confused!

ARIBERTO     I, confused?

MARCELLO     Aye. You very nearly make me suspect—

ARIBERTO     What?  (To himself.) I'm perspiring!  (Aloud.)  Suspect what?

MARCELLO     (Intentionally hesitating.)  That you—pardon me saying so—that you are acting in your own best interests?

ARIBERTO     (At the peak of his confusion and embarrassment.)  I? Well—that is—I mean to say—I— Oh, dash it, it is not true! Even if it were—

MARCELLO     (With wonderment.)  If it were! Did you say, "if it were"?  (As if scandalized.)  Who'd have thought it? The father is the son's rival! Oh, if the world only knew!

ARIBERTO     Don't shout so! Quiet! You are mad. I said nothing of the kind. You are but imagining—it is not true!

MARCELLO     It is too late, Papa, too late! You have betrayed yourself!  (Aside.)  Now to fan the flame!  (Aloud.)  Listen, Papa—a son is always a son. He owes his father respect, obedience—and, in some cases—enough, let us forget it! But in this particular case, I tell you loud and clear:  (Loudly and resolutely.)  My cousin belongs to me! It was you gave her to me, and woe to whomever may try to take her from me!

ARIBERTO     (Confused, bewildered.)  Why, yes, yes! Your cousin belongs to you. If you want her, marry her—and may God bless you both!  (Very distressed, he paces up and down the room.)

MARCELLO     Amen!  (Hurrying to the door.)  Cousin! Cousin!

ARIBERTO     (Also hurrying to the door.)  Beatrice! Beatrice!

 

FINALE

 

BEATRICE     (Entering quickly.)  Here I am! What is it?

ARIBERTO     (With effort.)  Marcello has confirmed what I myself told you—and has finally asked—

MARCELLO     (Interrupting in a tone much altered than before.)  One moment! Before tying the knot, I must beg a favour of my cousin.  (Takes from his pocket a telegram.)  Please read this telegram to my father. It has been burning a hole in my pocket these two hours. The reason I did not show him it earlier shall not be difficult to imagine. Listen carefully, Papa, for it concerns a very grave matter.  

BEATRICE     (Reading.)  "Landed safely at Genoa. Made good railway connection. Shall arrive in few hours."  (BEATRICE and ARIBERTO are puzzled. She continues reading.)  "Young Ariberto in excellent health"—young Ariberto?—"With heart full of trepidation and hope, I embrace you. Irma."  (Looks at MARCELLO).

ARIBERTO     What is this business? Who are these people?

MARCELLO     (Quietly.)  My wife and son.

BEATRICE     You are married?!

MARCELLO     (Half laughing, half serious.)  And a father.

ARIBERTO     (Half disbelieving, uncertain how to take it.)  It—it cannot be!  (Grasps MARCELLO's arm and looks into his eyes.)  Marcello?

MARCELLO     (Bowing his head.)  It is so!  (Straightens up with conviction.)  They are my wife and son. She is an honest woman who may enter the house of my ancestors with her head held high.  (Tenderly.)  And he is a blond angel, named Ariberto—for my father.

ARIBERTO     (Not quite convinced, but essentially happy.)  Married?

MARCELLO     These three years. And now you see that, already possessing a wife, I naturally cannot take another!

BEATRICE     But Cousin, why did you not say so immediately?

MARCELLO     (Jokingly.)  Ungrateful girl! She asks me why!  (Soberly.)  First of all, I had two difficult tasks to fulfill: to render myself disagreeable in such a way as to leave you with no regrets; and to obtain, in some way, absolution from my father. Needless to say, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I return home after five years under rather unusual conditions; and find the old home hearth diligently arranged with good pieces of log, and beneath the log, young, sweet wood—and beneath that, all the kindling and dry cones, which require but a spark to set the whole thing afire! So I light a match—and suddenly, the dry cones crackle to life—they spew forth smoke and sparks—then up, up, up! They illuminate the whole room with a lovely glowing flame, so cheering to see!  (To his father.)  Papa—if, in order to light that flame, I used a bit of friction and, for just a moment, acted disrespectfully towards you—and Cousin—if, for just a moment, I deceived you and pretended to be something I am not—I ask you both to forgive me.  (Little by little becoming moved.)  Forgive me! Let my own hands warm themselves by the flame that they themselves lit. Let us all gather round it! And allow also those two poor souls who shall arrive shortly, wearied by the stormy ocean crossing, numbed and shaking with fever, emotion and cold—  (Forcefully.)  —welcome those two poor people, who are the innocent cause of your happiness!

ARIBERTO     (After a pause.)  Beatrice?

BEATRICE     (In a resigned tone, but smiling at him.)  Uncle?

MARCELLO     (Returning to high spirits, shouting:)  Drink or drown!  (To his father.)  I use your words!  (Linking arms with both, one on either side of him.)  Usually it is the father who blesses the marriage of the son. This time, for the first time, it shall be the son who gives his blessing to the father.  (Hears a carriage outside.)  It is they!

ARIBERTO     (Looking at BEATRICE.)  They?  (Solemnly.)  Very well—five places round the hearth are ready and waiting.  (Offers his arm to BEATRICE, who understands and smiles.)  Let us go and greet our daughter and grandson!  (The curtain falls as they walk towards the door.)

 

FINIS   

Drink or Drown: Part Three

To read Parts One and Two, click "Italian Plays in Translation" above.

SCENE 5

(enter ARIBERTO.)

 

ARIBERTO     (To himself, on the threshold.)  They are laughing—a good sign!  (MARCELLO goes to meet him.)  Well?

MARCELLO     (Aside to ARIBERTO.)  It's done!

ARIBERTO     (Aside to MARCELLO.)  You have reached an understanding?

MARCELLO     Of course!

ARIBERTO     Good lad! I'm proud of you!  (To BEATRICE.)  Well, then?

BEATRICE     I must speak with you privately!

ARIBERTO     (Believing to understand.)  Ah! Quite right—after an interview with the son, it is only natural you should wish one with his father.  (A small smile to MARCELLO.)  Marcello, you may leave us for moment.

MARCELLO     (Glad to go.)  Very well.

ARIBERTO     Wait! First—come here.  (Affectionately.)  You are a good son. I feel the need to embrace you!  (Extends his arms.) 

MARCELLO     (Drawing back.)  Later, Father!  If we should begin straightaway, Beatrice may laugh!

ARIBERTO     These blessed men of the sea! That is how they are—bears on the surgace, lambs underneath.  (MARCELLO makes to go.)  What? You would go, without even—  (Motions meaningfully to BEATRICE.)  Come now, I believe even she—

MARCELLO     (Moves to embrace her.)  With all my heart!

BEATRICE     (Pulling away.)  That is enough for today.

MARCELLO     You see, she does not want to. As for me—

ARIBERTO     Be off with you; if she says 'enough', then that is enough! Do not insist.

MARCELLO     I am not insisting. But you have seen for yourself that she does not want to.  (Aside to ARIBERTO.)  I've done my part—now for you to do yours!  (To himself as he exits.)  If you can pull it off—bravo!  (Exits.)

 

SCENE 6

 

ARIBERTO     (Sits near BEATRICE and takes her hands affectionately.)  So—we are alone, my dear child. I believe I can guess what it is you wish to tell me! Oh, if you only knew the weight which has been lifted from my heart!

BEATRICE     (Placing herself directly face to face with him.)  Clever Uncle—very clever, indeed! This is going too far!

ARIBERTO     What do you mean? What is wrong?

BEATRICE     (Reproachfully.)  I shall not enter a suit against you—

ARIBERTO     (Surprised.)  A suit?

BEATRICE     No, I shall not; for I should like to believe that if you wished to deceive me, it was for a good cause. But—

ARIBERTO     But what?  (Believes he has guessed.)  Ah, I understand! Marcello has blurted out to you that he arrived last night, and that I—

BEATRICE     Last night? This too?  No, he did not tell me that. But he has told me ... other things.

ARIBERTO     (Beginning to feel uneasy.)  What is all this business?  (As before.)  Ah—now I have it! Before tying the knot, your betrothed naturally wished to make a general confession to you.

BEATRICE     Precisely!

ARIBERTO     (To himself.)  He should have kept it to himself!  (Aloud.)  He has been an upright young man—it is to be commended. (Jokingly.)  Puhh! It really is no great matter. I suppose he spoke of certain love letters he should burn—a lock of hair to toss out the window? Mere bygones; things of the past! Do not take them seriously. The gentleman on the verge of taking a wife may liken himself, more or less, to the painter who has finished a picture and is not content with it. He destroys the canvas, changes his palette—and where there once were clouds, flashes, and bolts of lightning, he now paints a beautiful sky studded with stars. And where there were once crashing waves and great, heaving billows, he now paints a sea calm and clear as a mirror, as sparkling as your own two heavenly eyes! The past—and what is still to come! He might have kept silence, yet he chose to speak—and you must appreciate his loyalty, smile upon the picture he paints of his future, which is also yours—and destroy the canvas of the past!

BEATRICE     Ah, yes; but once one begins destroying canvases, there may be no end to it. You do not know what he has told me.

ARIBERTO     (To himself.)  Heaven help us!  (Aloud, with growing interest.)  Speak up, speak up. What has he told you?

BEATRICE     That he loves another! That he has pledged his constancy to a woman who possesses the most beautiful eyes he has seen.

ARIBERTO     (To himself, biting his lip.)  Scoundrel! He has duped me!

BEATRICE    Come; justify yourself now if you can!

ARIBERTO     (Attempting to joke about it.)  Ha, ha, ha! And you believed it? Did you not see it was all a plan?

BEATRICE     (With conviction.)  Uncle! What good is this? It is useless to seek excuses. You have gone quite red. One lie is quite enough.  (Soberly.)  This marriage cannot take place.

ARIBERTO     (Shaken.)  Do not say that, even in jest! After all, Marcello's past indiscretion was but a brief flame.

BEATRICE     Save me from such a flame!

ARIBERTO     He is truly a good man, deep down. Once you are his wife, he shall adore you!  (Gravely.)  Do you believe that I should be capable of inventing a falsehood without having your happiness, your best interests, at heart?

BEATRICE     (A little maliciously.)  My happiness? Mine alone?

ARIBERTO     (Staring at her in astonishment.)  You would doubt it?
BEATRICE     (Dissembling.)  No, no! Rather, I acknowledge it. Only I should have preferred you told me the whole truth. You might have spared me some distress!
ARIBERTO     It is that—you see—I also believed—  (Angrily.)  That scoundrel Marcello! If you knew how it grieves me to see you unhappy!
BEATRICE     (Sadly.)  I thank you, but it is nothing! I, too, had built many castles in the air. I took much pleasure in the thought that we might be a family. But now—I understand too well that it is not possible.  (Under her breath.)  For you—you could not sacrifice your own life to be the guardian of a spinster niece. Your own aspirations, hopes—
ARIBERTO     (Puzzled.)  What hopes?
BEATRICE     (Continuing.)  Do not worry on my account! You know how I love the country. I live eight months of the year there; I shall add another four, to make up the whole year.  (Emotionally.)  It means that—if I cannot stay here as a daughter, nor as your ward—when you are no longer alone—when, as is natural, you have also chosen a wife—
ARIBERTO     I? What the devil are you saying?
BEATRICE     (Continuing in the same tone.)  Well—if my—aunt should have no objection, I shall come back to stay with you both. And, as I have done today, I shall adorn your parlor with flowers.  (Wipes away a tear, then smiles.)  I told you that I should never call you Papa—it seems my heart had a presentiment!
ARIBERTO     Beatrice! Do you know, you have become quite serious. Speaking in such a way—I've never heard you speak like this! Your laughter makes me want to weep in spite of myself ....  (Stomps his foot.)  I could give myself to the devil, when I think that that scoundrel had a treasure in his hand—and he tosses it away!
BEATRICE     (Pacifying him.)  Do not trouble yourself! It is much better this way. Marcello, to begin with, is two years younger than I. We women are already old at thirty. You men, at forty, are still in your prime.
ARIBERTO     (Smiling.)  Not quite ....
BEATRICE     It is so! And, supposing Marcello should, by and by, discover all those lovely things which you have attributed to me—do you really believe they would be enough for him? Unfortunately, those qualities do not last forever! And when my hair has become quite white—while his remains dark, like yours—do you think the silver of my locks would be compensated by the hidden gold of my virtue? Let us not delude ourselves!  (With conviction.)  Oh, if only Marcello were ten years older, then I could not say—! But, being two years younger—with those almond-shaped eyes locked in his heart—come now!
ARIBERTO     Oh, that will, that cursed pride in the family name!
BEATRICE     Guidobaldi? Well, it is a beautiful name. There is nothing more to say of that.
ARIBERTO     Yes—the name of honest people, if you will! But if there are only two men in the world of that name—my son and myself ....  (He seems suddenly struck by a vague idea; he looks at BEATRICE; he stands, then sits again; settles his cravat and smooths his hair. He is disturbed.)
BEATRICE    (Pointedly, preoccupied.)  Yes ... there are only two. Your son, and ....
ARIBERTO     (Promptly.)  Me.  (Pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his brow.)
BEATRICE     (Almost mechanically.)  ... and you!  (They stare at each other.)  Uncle—why do you stare at me so?
ARIBERTO     (Embarrassed.)  I? Nay, my dear; it is you who are staring at me!  (Rouses himself, gets up, passes in front of the mirror and glances furtively at his reflection, saying to himself.)  Ugh! This heat!  (Sits down again and fans himself with his handkerchief. BEATRICE does the same. He does not know how to resume the conversation.)  Tell me: you spoke before—of age. You said that, generally speaking, the happiest marriages are those in which the husband is—somewhat older?
BEATRICE     I have said so, and I believe it to be true.
ARIBERTO     (Elated.)  And ...  (Draws nearer to her.)  I beg your pardon; I cannot recall. How many years older did you say?
BEATRICE     I don't know—ten—fifteen—
ARIBERTO     (Hinting.)  Eighteen?
BEATRICE     (Flushing.)  Oh, yes—even eighteen!
ARIBERTO     (Even more elated.)  And then, if the man were well-preserved—if he had all his teeth—and his hair—?
BEATRICE     (A bit tongue-tied.)  Well, certainly ...  (Abruptly.)  Uncle, what is your age?
ARIBERTO     (Wiping his brow.)  My age? Calculate for yourself! I married at twenty, fathered a child at one-and-twenty, was widowed at five-and-twenty; my son is now twenty—so then—
BEATRICE     (Counting to herself.)  Nineteen!
ARIBERTO     How came you to that number?
BEATRICE     I mean to say—you are nineteen years older than I.
ARIBERTO     Beatrice—do you know, your way of arithmetic makes my head spin!
BEATRICE     Uncle—do you know what Marcello suggested to me earlier?
ARIBERTO     (Ill-humoredly.)  Something beastly, to be sure!
BEATRICE     (Coquettishly.)  No—he suggested I marry his father!
ARIBERTO     (Stunned.)  Did he?  (To himself.)  The idea! Poor boy!  (Aloud, with increasing emotion.)  Ah, did he, now? And you—?
BEATRICE     I? I laughed at first.
ARIBERTO     (Hanging on her every word.)  And—now?
BEATRICE     (Emotionally, her eyes shining.)  And now—I am no longer laughing.  (Having said this, she quickly runs out, leaving ARIBERTO bewildered.)

END SCENE

 

To be continued.