Petrarch’s Triumphs E-Book

Petrarch

• Herausgeber: E-BOOKARAMA
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Composition of "Petrarch’s Triumphs" started in 1351 and the final chapter was last edited on February 12, 1374, a few months before the author's death.

"Triumphs" is a series of poems by Petrarch in the Tuscan language evoking the Roman ceremony of triumph, where victorious generals and their armies were led in procession by the captives and spoils they had taken in war. Composed over more than twenty years, the poetry is written in terza rima. It consists of twelve chapters ordered in six triumphs envisioned by the poet in a dream honouring allegorical figures such as Love, Chastity, Death, and Fame, who vanquish each other in turn.

( Source: wikipedia.org)

Leseprobe

Table of contents

The Triumph of Love.

The Same.

The Triumph of Chastity.

The Same.

The Triumph of Death.

The Triumph of Fame.

The Triumph of Time.

The Triumph of Eternity.

PETRARCH’S TRIUMPHS

Petrarch

The Triumph of Love.

Part 1.

Nel tempo che rinova i miei sospiri.

It was the time when I do sadly pay

My sighs, in tribute to that sweet-sour day,

Which first gave being to my tedious woes;

The sun now o’er the Bull’s horns proudly goes,

And Phaëton had renew’d his wonted race;

When Love, the season, and my own ill case,

Drew me that solitary place to find,

In which I oft unload my chargèd mind:

There, tired with raving thoughts and helpless moan,

Sleep seal’d my eyes up, and, my senses gone,

My waking fancy spied a shining light,

In which appear’d long pain, and short delight.

A mighty General I then did see,

Like one, who, for some glorious victory,

Should to the Capitol in triumph go:

I (who had not been used to such a show

In this soft age, where we no valour have,

But pride) admired his habit, strange and brave,

And having raised mine eyes, which wearied were,

To understand this sight was all my care.

Four snowy steeds a fiery chariot drew;

There sat the cruel boy; a threatening yew

His right hand bore, his quiver arrows held,

Against whose force no helm or shield prevail’d.

Two party-colour’d wings his shoulders ware;

All naked else; and round about his chair

Were thousand mortals: some in battle ta’en,

Many were hurt with darts, and many slain.

Glad to learn news, I rose, and forward press’d

So far, that I was one amongst the rest;

As if I had been kill’d with loving pain

Before my time; and looking through the train

Of this tear-thirsty king, I would have spied

Some of my old acquaintance, but descried

No face I knew: if any such there were,

They were transform’d with prison, death, and care.

At last one ghost, less sad than th’ others, came,

Who, near approaching, call’d me by my name,

And said: “This comes of Love.” “What may you be,”

I answer’d, wondering much, “that thus know me?

For I remember not t’ have seen your face.”

He thus replied: “It is the dusky place

That dulls thy sight, and this hard yoke I bear:

Else I a Tuscan am; thy friend, and dear

To thy remembrance.” His wonted phrase

And voice did then discover what he was.

So we retired aside, and left the throng,

When thus he spake: “I have expected long

To see you here with us; your face did seem

To threaten you no less. I do esteem

Your prophesies; but I have seen what care

Attends a lover’s life; and must beware.”

“Yet have I oft been beaten in the field,

And sometimes hurt,” said I, “but scorn’d to yield.”

He smiled and said: “Alas! thou dost not see,

My son, how great a flame’s prepared for thee.”

I knew not then what by his words he meant:

But since I find it by the dire event;

And in my memory ’tis fix’d so fast,

That marble gravings cannot firmer last.

Meanwhile my forward youth did thus inquire:

“What may these people be? I much desire

To know their names; pray, give me leave to ask.”

“I think ere long ’twill be a needless task,”

Replied my friend; “thou shalt be of the train,

And know them all; this captivating chain

Thy neck must bear, (though thou dost little fear,)

And sooner change thy comely form and hair,

Than be unfetter’d from the cruel tie,

Howe’er thou struggle for thy liberty;

Yet to fulfil thy wish, I will relate

What I have learn’d. The first that keeps such state,

By whom our lives and freedoms we forego,

The world hath call’d him Love; and he (you know,

But shall know better when he comes to be

A lord to you, as now he is to me)

Is in his childhood mild, fierce in his age;

’Tis best believed of those that feel his rage.

The truth of this thou in thyself shalt find,

I warn thee now, pray keep it in thy mind.

Of idle looseness he is oft the child;

With pleasant fancies nourish’d, and is styled

Or made a god by vain and foolish men:

And for a recompense, some meet their bane;

Others, a harder slavery must endure

Than many thousand chains and bolts procure.

That other gallant lord is conqueror

Of conquering Rome, led captive by the fair

Egyptian queen, with her persuasive art,

Who in his honours claims the greatest part;

For binding the world’s victor with her charms,

His trophies are all hers by right of arms.

The next is his adoptive son, whose love

May seem more just, but doth no better prove;

For though he did his lovèd Livia wed,

She was seducèd from her husband’s bed.

Nero is third, disdainful, wicked, fierce,

And yet a woman found a way to pierce

His angry soul. Behold, Marcus, the grave

Wise emperor, is fair Faustina’s slave.

These two are tyrants: Dionysius,

And Alexander, both suspicious,

And yet both loved: the last a just reward

Found of his causeless fear. I know y’ have heard

Of him, who for Creüsa on the rock

Antandrus mourn’d so long; whose warlike stroke

At once revenged his friend and won his love:

And of the youth whom Phædra could not move

T’ abuse his father’s bed; he left the place,

And by his virtue lost his life (for base

Unworthy loves to rage do quickly change).

It kill’d her too; perhaps in just revenge

Of wrong’d Theseus, slain Hippolytus,

And poor forsaken Ariadne: thus

It often proves that they who falsely blame

Another, in one breath themselves condemn:

And who have guilty been of treachery,

Need not complain, if they deceivèd be.

Behold the brave hero a captive made

With all his fame, and twixt these sisters led:

Who, as he joy’d the death of th’ one to see,

His death did ease the other’s misery.

The next that followeth, though the world admire

His strength, Love bound him. Th’ other full of ire

Is great Achilles, he whose pitied fate

Was caused by Love. Demophoon did not hate

Impatient Phyllis, yet procured her death.

This Jason is, he whom Medea hath

Obliged by mischief; she to her father proved

False, to her brother cruel; t’ him she loved

Grew furious, by her merit over-prized.

Hypsipyle comes next, mournful, despised,

Wounded to see a stranger’s love prevail

More than her own, a Greek. Here is the frail

Fair Helena, with her the shepherd boy,

Whose gazing looks hurt Greece, and ruin’d Troy.

‘Mongst other weeping souls, you hear the moan

Œnone makes, her Paris being gone;

And Menelaus, for the woe he had

To lose his wife. Hermione is sad,

And calls her dear Orestes to her aid.

And Laodamia, that hapless maid,

Bewails Protesilaus. Argia proved

To Polynice more faithful than the loved

(But false and covetous) Amphiaraus’ wife.

The groans and sighs of those who lose their life

By this kind lord, in unrelenting flames

You hear: I cannot tell you half their names.

For they appear not only men that love,

The gods themselves do fill this myrtle grove:

You see fair Venus caught by Vulcan’s art

With angry Mars; Proserpina apart

From Pluto, jealous Juno, yellow-hair’d

Apollo, who the young god’s courage dared:

And of his trophies proud, laugh’d at the bow

Which in Thessalia gave him such a blow.

What shall I say?—here, in a word, are all

The gods that Varro mentions, great and small;

Each with innumerable bonds detain’d,

And Jupiter before the chariot chain’d.”

Anna Hume.

Part 2.

Stanci già di mirar, non sazio ancora.

Wearied, not satisfied, with much delight,

Now here, now there, I turn’d my greedy sight,

And many things I view’d: to write were long,

The time is short, great store of passions throng

Within my breast; when lo, a lovely pair,

Join’d hand in hand, who kindly talking were,

Drew my attention that way: their attire

And foreign language quicken’d my desire

Of further knowledge, which I soon might gain.

My kind interpreter did all explain.

When both I knew, I boldly then drew near;

He loved our country, though she made it fear.

“O Masinissa! I adjure thee by

Great Scipio, and her who from thine eye

Drew manly tears,” said I; “let it not be

A trouble, what I must demand of thee.”

He look’d, and said: “I first desire to know

Your name and quality; for well you show

Y’ have heard the combat in my wounded soul,

When Love did Friendship, Friendship Love control.”

“I am not worth your knowledge, my poor flame

Gives little light,” said I: “your royal fame

Sets hearts on fire, that never see your face:

But, pray you, say; are you two led in peace

By him?”—(I show’d their guide)—“Your history

Deserves record: it seemeth strange to me,

That faith and cruelty should come so near.”

He said: “Thine own expressions witness bear,

Thou know’st enough, yet I will all relate

To thee; ’t will somewhat ease my heavy state.

On that brave man my heart was fix’d so much,

That Lælius’ love to him could be but such;

Where’er his colours marchèd, I was nigh,

And Fortune did attend with victory:

Yet still his merit call’d for more than she

Could give, or any else deserve but he.

When to the West the Roman eagles came

Myself was also there, and caught a flame,

A purer never burnt in lover’s breast:

But such a joy could not be long possess’d!

Our nuptial knot, alas! he soon untied,

Who had more power than all the world beside.

He cared not for our sighs; and though ’t be true

That he divided us, his worth I knew:

He must be blind that cannot see the sun,

But by strict justice Love is quite undone:

Counsel from such a friend gave such a stroke

To love, it almost split, as on a rock:

For as my father I his wrath did fear,

And as a son he in my love was dear;

Brothers in age we were, him I obey’d,

But with a troubled soul and look dismay’d:

Thus my dear half had an untimely death,

She prized her freedom far above her breath;

And I th’ unhappy instrument was made;

Such force th’ intreaty and intreater had!

I rather chose myself than him t’ offend,

And sent the poison brought her to her end:

With what sad thoughts I know, and she’ll confess

And you, if you have sense of love, may guess;

No heir she left me, but my tedious moan;

And though in her my hopes and joys were gone,

She was of lower value than my faith!

But now farewell, and try if this troop hath

Another wonder; for the time is less

Than is the task.” I pitied their distress,

Whose short joy ended in so sharp a woe:

My soft heart melted. As they onward go,

“This youth for his part, I perhaps could love,”

She said; “but nothing can my mind remove

From hatred of the nation.” He replied,

“Good Sophonisba, you may leave this pride;

Your city hath by us been three times beat,

The last of which, you know, we laid it flat.”

“Pray use these words t’ another, not to me,”

Said she; “if Africk mournèd, Italy

Needs not rejoice; search your records, and there

See what you gainèd by the Punic war.”

He that was friend to both, without reply

A little smiling, vanish’d from mine eye

Amongst the crowd. As one in doubtful way

At every step looks round, and fears to stray

(Care stops his journey), so the varied store

Of lovers stay’d me, to examine more,

And try what kind of fire burnt every breast:

When on my left hand strayèd from the rest

Was one, whose look express’d a ready mind

In seeking what he joy’d, yet shamed to find;

He freely gave away his dearest wife

(A new-found way to save a lover’s life);

She, though she joy’d, yet blushèd at the change.

As they recounted their affections strange,

And for their Syria mourn’d; I took the way

Of these three ghosts, who seem’d their course to stay

And take another path: the first I held

And bid him turn; he started, and beheld

Me with a troubled look, hearing my tongue

Was Roman, such a pause he made as sprung

From some deep thought; then spake as if inspired,

For to my wish, he told what I desired

To know: “Seleucus is,” said he, “my name,

This is Antiochus my son, whose fame

Hath reach’d your ear; he warrèd much with Rome,

But reason oft by power is overcome.

This woman, once my wife, doth now belong

To him; I gave her, and it was no wrong

In our religion; it stay’d his death,

Threaten’d by Love; Stratonica she hath

To name: so now we may enjoy one state,

And our fast friendship shall outlast all date.

She from her height was willing to descend;

I quit my joy; he rather chose his end

Than our offence; and in his prime had died,

Had not the wise Physician been our guide;

Silence in love o’ercame his vital part;

His love was force, his silence virtuous art.

A father’s tender care made me agree

To this strange change.” This said, he turn’d from me,

As changing his design, with such a pace,

Ere I could take my leave, he had quit the place

After the ghost was carried from mine eye,

Amazedly I walk’d; nor could untie

My mind from his sad story; till my friend

Admonish’d me, and said, “You must not lend

Attention thus to everything you meet;

You know the number’s great, and time is fleet.”

More naked prisoners this triumph had

Than Xerxes soldiers in his army led:

And stretchèd further than my sight could reach;

Of several countries, and of differing speech.

One of a thousand were not known to me,

Yet might those few make a large history.

Perseus was one; and well you know the way

How he was catchèd by Andromeda:

She was a lovely brownet, black her hair

And eyes. Narcissus, too, the foolish fair,

Who for his own love did himself destroy;

He had so much, he nothing could enjoy.

And she, who for his loss, deep sorrow’s slave.

Changed to a voice, dwells in a hollow cave.

Iphis was there, who hasted his own fate,