L'Ameto

Giovanni Boccaccio, Judith Serafini-Sauli

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9780367133375
• eBook ISBN: 9780429640506
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

Originally published in 1985, this book contains a full translation of Giovanni Boccaccio's L'Ameto, alongside textual notes.Giovanni Boccaccio is famous for his great collection of short stories, the Decameron, but his other literary accomplishments are generally less well-known. Yet he helped revive the Latin eclogue and epistle and fostered the study of Greek; he made the major Renaissance compilation of classical myths, established the pastoral romance, and began formal Dante criticism. Among his more minor works belongs the Ameto, the first moden pastoral romance, translated here.

Chapter 1

Since the various misfortunes, the adverse excesses, and the fickle exaltations of Fortune buffet the restless human spirit about with incessant turmoil and with diverse desires, so it happens that some take delight in hearing of bloody battles, others of triumphal victories, others of wise peace treaties, and still others of amorous adventures. Many listen to the breathtaking exploits of Cyrus, of Perseus, of Croesus,¹ and the like, and realizing thus that they are neither the only ones nor the first to feel anguish, they assuage it and overcome it. Others are more ambitious in their intentions and more fortunate in earthly goods; and as they learn how they might fall from a higher station through continual reading of the inestimable undertakings of Xerxes, of the riches of Darius, the generosity of Alexander, and the prosperous adventures of Julius Caesar,² they scorn humble matters and strive to climb to loftier undertakings. And there are those who are wounded by the biformed son of Cytherea,³ so in seeking the love stories of the ancients (some for consolation and others for pleasure), they kidnap Helen of Troy a second time with lustful spirit, or inflame Dido once again, or weep with Hypsipyle, and with ready zeal dupe Medea.⁴ But since compassionate weeping does not raise the fallen, and one cannot give them time by delaying, and memories of past happiness do not sustain those who were once blessed by Fortune, but indeed in reading of past loves new ones are kindled with greater delight, in order to serve Cupid alone with the attention properly due him, I have gathered my scattered efforts all together; and no one who reads with a discerning mind will not find in their intent anything to criticize in what I praise.

Cupid, who tempers his divine darts in the waters of Cytherea, is compassionate toward his subjects, and draws sighs from their warm bosoms which are different from those drawn by Ramnusia;⁵ for just as Ramnusia’s sighs arise from grievous concern, so Cupid’s sighs arise from anticipated and desired happiness; and just as Ramnusias’s are a sign of sluggish coldness, so Cupid’s are the sign of amorous warmth. Master and norm of the good life, Cupid cleanses his followers’ hearts of negligence, meanness, rigidity, and avarice; he makes them bold, magnanimous, liberal, and adorned with every grace, and if they persevere in following him with a firm step, he leads them with vigilant care into the rays of his star with a happy result; and his exaltations are guided by measured humility and thus banish the fear of falling from those who are uplifted.

What more can one say of this god, limiting the many praises to few words, except that his actions keep the fair spheres in continuous motion—giving eternal law to the stars and potential power for great deeds to mankind? And should these effects be felt by Croesus in the fire, by Cyrus in blood, by Codr us in poverty,⁶ or by Oedipus in the darkness, they would still be welcome. When Mars learns of Cupid’s effects, he stills his arms or instead brandishes than more fervently in moments of need; Pallas becomes more generous in spirit on hearing of Love’s feats and leaves her sweet studies now and again; vigorous Minerva becomes meek hearing of then; cold Diana grows warm; and Apollo shoots still hotter darts. What more is there to say? The satyrs, the nymphs, the dryads, the naiads and any other demigod grow more beautiful in following him; and when they are told, his effects delight all.

Therefore who would reasonably pretend, for some other concern, not to militate under such a lofty leader? Certainly no one; and if such a person exists, I surely am not he. And so, if I follow him (and I have—since it pleases my spirit and his—for a woman whose equal neither wise nature nor industrious art have ever set their divine hands to form), it is right for me to sing not of the triumphs of Mars, or the wantonness of Bacchus, or the abundance of Ceres, but rather of the victories of my prince. Indeed, the sky and earth are so full of these victories, and their number is so great that it would be far easier to measure that of the st$rs or the sands. And so, with a voice fitting to my humble condition, and without fear of censure, with the help of her to whom I belong, I shall sing of her, not as a poet but as a lover. And I shall leave aside, as if it had never been, the time in which, perhaps mistakenly, love seemed grievous, and so that I might offer hope to those who now suffer his pain and pleasure to those who happily possess his sweet gifts, I shall tell in my verses the gracious sight of Love’s treasures which were revealed to me, though unworthy, on earth. Therefore, let whoever loves listen; to the others, I pay no regard; their cares can keep them all.

Chapter 2 *

That power that once moved the bold Orpheus to seek the house of Pluto, in the time when Pluto (moved perhaps by the sound of his sonorous lyre and by the notes of his song) returned the pursued Eurydice happily to him—although with conditions¹ —now compels my feeble talent, O Cytherea, to sing your praises and the powers of your kingdom. And so, for the lofty sky² in which you are goddess; for the light that makes you more beautiful than all others to whom Phoebus gives his light; for your Mars, 0 gracious star; for pious Aeneas;³ and for the one who was the son of Myrrha his sister,⁴ whom you loved more than any man in the world; for the might of your sacred fire in which I am ever and always have been inflamed; if long and happy dwelling be granted you behind the sign of the humble animal that deceived Europa with false game,⁵ put voice in my breast to grow strong as it feels the force of your power, so that my speech may reveal more than the mere exterior shell of your deity, for so does my spirit strive and quicken. And I pray to you Cupid, by your gilded arrows and by the victory you took from Apollo,⁶ and by the beloved nymphs (if any could ever boast of such glory as to have delighted your eyes, or to have a place in your memory as one beloved) that you spare and alleviate for a while the new flames infused by your bow in a heart that calls your name day and night. In this way I might feel relief from what I suffer in loving with such desire, so that no longer overcome by anguish and fear, I might more freely speak of what I learned with my eyes and ears. And you, creature more beautiful than all others, fair, charming, joyful and graceful, noble lady and angelic figure, to whom my loving soul lies subject in distress (and so glad to be thus that there are few other souls that have such joy), raise your voice and try the skies with your prayers; for they merit an answer, if truth is manifest in your lovely face. And pray so that this subject of your sublime beauty might fully speak of what he feels in his wounded breast.

Who will be the god who would or could deny you whatsoever you might ask? No one I think; for to each of them you seem worthy of their station. And if you will ever ascend there, for you will, may you there welcome me, who loves you most, in the divine bosom. See how little I am worth, and without you I can hope to be worth much less? therefore let your full and gracious help descend on me and extend its power only so far as you might wish, that I may please in speaking.

You see how my spirit is kindled while awaiting your help; it almost cares for no other god and awaits only you to fully describe its yearning. Therefore my lady, lend your gracious and pious help, dearest of all, to my spirit.

I will show that Jove has been miserly with beauty in other countenances, in comparison to that which the fatal sisters⁷ formed in the brightness that illuminates your face, and that shone in the faces of the maidens I encountered when they were gathered in gracious chorus in the shade of a blossomed laurel in the company of your sovereign grace, at that sweet season when birds sing. And I will reveal your beautiful speech, and your light and graceful gestures, and the sublime salvation that you have worked in the amorous fields. And I shall begin as I can in these matters, waiting for your virtue to come to me infused from above, so that my words, manifest in that style which hereafter my hand will design, might gain praise through you and extend your worth up to the stars with the eternal honor you merit.

Chapter 3

In Italy, illustrious splendor among earthly places, there lies Etruria,¹ which is, I believe, the principal site and singular beauty of this region. In this place, rich in cities, filled with noble people, adorned with infinite castles, delightful for its gracious villas, and abundant in bountiful fields, from its plains—and almost in the center and most prosperous part of its blessed boson—a fertile mount rises toward the stars, called Corythus² by the ancients before Atlas,³ its first inhabitant, ascended there. Among the steep cliffs of its slopes a thick wood emerged, full of oaks, turkey oaks, and firs, which stretched to the top of the mountain. And from its right side, fed by the abundance of the nearby mountains, a clear little river came roaring down through the rocky valleys toward the plain; and when arriving there, it mixed its waters with the Sarno⁴ and lost its briefly held name.⁵

The wood was filled with pleasant coves, charming shade, and swift animals, wild and fierce; and in many parts overflowing fountains irrigated its fresh fields. In this wood the vagabond youth Ameto often would visit the fauns and the dryads, its inhabitants; and since he perhaps derived his ancient origin from the nearby mountains, he was mindful of this and almost as if compelled by common birth, he would honor these demigods with pious acts; for it was with their favor that, while Apollo remained above the earth, he would chase the timid beasts through the hidden places of the mount with speedy and furious step. And once his sharp eye caught sight of an animal, there were very few, try as they might with swift step or shrewd turn, who were not wounded with his arrow or stopped by his dogs, or, finally caught in his traps and snared in his net, were not soon overcome; with the result that he often returned home laden with quarry.

But one time in particular—when his extraordinary zeal had attained its desired ends with very plentiful results—he made his way home loaded on all sides with his booty, surrounded by his dogs, and exceedingly pleased with himself. He had already descended the slopes and was following the lovely plain near where the Mugnone disappears with its ripples, when, longing for rest and breathless from the long road, the heavy weight, and the oppressive heat, he lay down his cumbersome load under a leafy oak; and stretching out on the fresh grass, he opened his rough chest to the soft air. And when he had wiped the dirty sweat from his brow with his crude hand, he refreshed his arid mouth with the damp leaves of the green plants. Then having rested for a while, he called now one, now another of his dogs, and began in this way to romp. Rising to his feet, he ran about among them this way and that, pulling some by the throat and some by the tail and some by the paws in jest as he was assailed on many sides by the playful mob; and oftentimes, when they ripped his shabby clothes, he was stirred to anger. In similar sport, sometimes laying the dogs out on the ground, and at other times stretching himself on the ground among them, he passed the time. But while he amused himself in this unusual fashion—for the sun was very hot—from the nearby bank a lovely voice reached his ears with a song never before heard. And Ameto, surprised at this, said to himself: “The gods have descended on earth. Indeed many times today I noticed this, but I did not believe it. The woods have seemed more full of prey than usual, and Phoebus has offered his brighter rays. The breezes have very gently swept away my fatigue, and the grass and flowers, grown thicker than usual, attest to their arrival. Now they are tired out from the heat just as I am and they are resting nearby and are taking their celestial pleasures, perhaps mocking human ones with their songs. I have never seen any god, and because I long to see if they are as all say, with the sun guiding my steps I shall go and contemplate them; and so that they may be kind to me, if I find them lacking in booty, I will give them abundantly some of mine, if they so desire.

He quieted the dogs with difficulty. With some he used soft words, with others harsh looks, and with still others he menaced with a loud voice and a stick. Then, bending his head over his left shoulder, he held his ear in the direction from which he judged the song to be coming; and having listened a while, he turned to the dogs and entrusted them to the nearby oak, tying them in the usual manner. He then took a knotty stick, to which he attached his heavy prey, thus affording his shoulders some relief, and he turned his steps toward the spot from which he heard the sweet notes; and from here, lifting his head, no sooner did he notice the shining ripples of the little river than he saw several young maidens, sitting on the bright bank in the shade of saplings among some highly grown grass and flowers. Some of these maidens bared their white feet in the low waters and were wading there with a slow step. Others, having laid down their rustic bows and arrows, with their sleeves tucked up, were bending their warm faces over the clear brook and reviving them with the fresh waters; while still others had opened their bosoms to give way to the breezes, and sat intent on the song that one of them was happily singing. Ameto recognized this song as the one that had delighted his ears.

No sooner did he see them but, thinking them goddesses, he withdrew timidly and fell on his knees stupefied, not knowing what he should say. But the dogs of the reposing nymphs had risen up at the sight of him, and perhaps believing him a beast, they ran at him swiftly with loud barking. Then Ameto, overtaken by them and perceiving that escape was futile, tried as best he could to ward off their bites with his hands, his legs, his stick, and his harsh words. But these words, strange to ears used to hearing feminine tones, enraged the dogs even more, and they pursued Ameto, who was more dead than alive from fear. Indeed, recalling Acteon,⁶ he felt his head for horns, cursing to himself the boldness that had seized him in wanting to look upon the sacred goddesses. But the nymphs arose, for their play had been disturbed by the wrath of the dogs, and in strong tones they barely managed to silence the quick animals; whereupon recognizing who Ameto was, they reassured him, consoling him with pleasant smiles. Ihen, having been well amused by Ameto, they returned to their places, and the singer took up her song once more in this way:

Chapter 4 *

“As soon as Cephissus,¹ extending with his pleasant waves now in a straight and now in a twisted course through the land of Aonia,². which he irrigates, conquered Liriop,³ my mother, and carried her away with his winding and with unaccustomed mastery, so strongly was he enflamed by Venus with the love of her, that, having stolen her virginity (her entreaties and defenses being of no avail), he begot me. And every time I see water, I am drawn to honor the deity of my father? and it happens that I am well pleased to do this, for gazing into the water returns my beautiful image to me. Indeed, seeing how beautiful my image is, I adorn it with green leaves, with boughs and with flowers, removing every flaw. I dwell above the waters longer than in other places, and, the happiest of nymphs, I feel the favors of my father’s first love more than my brother did.⁴ For of him they say that—a most handsome and wild hunter without a speck of pity, he refused the sweet love of all until he saw himself where I admire my image, thereafter consuming himself for love of himself in sorrow—he was converted into a flower. And I gaze on it with a cruel eye and often with pity, and to no avail I sigh for him. Nor does the voice which was perhaps an enemy to his good because of the folly of her mind have any power over me.⁵ And just as for him it was a happy task to chase the timid animals through the woods, according to the ancient story, so it is for me? but different goals drive and move our dogs, our nets, and the flying arrows. To flee from idleness I visit the sylvan gods, and I rush with my chorus to places that were unknown to him? indeed, that which was hard and harsh in him—love and the art of pleasing others—is dear to me and more welcome than anything else.

“Whoever deems to open the eyes of his heart to my countenance and bind me with love through his virtue, to him I will offer that delight which is most cherished by lovers, when desire is strong and burning. Nor will he ever know bitterness because of me, if he will seek my beauty with wisdom, as it has already been sought by those whom I brought to their deserts, after long lassitude, in the happy blessings of the most sublime heights.

“These troubles and such joys I took from my father? and from my mother I take my gay and graceful countenance. My art, along with subtle understanding, gave me the name Lia; and I rule this place, more worthy than any other of my beauty, bright with that fire in which all Mount Cytherea burns;⁶ and it is that fire that moves me to make feast with play and to serve the loving goddess.”

Chapter 5

When the fear of the dogs had passed and the angelic voice had again taken up the song, Ameto drew close to the nymphs with tim...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Original Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Introduction
• Select Bibliography
• L’Ameto
• Textual Notes