No translation into English of La Fiammetta
has been made since Shakespeare’s time—when
a small edition was published, which is now so rare
as to be practically unattainable—until
the appearance of the present Scholarly and poetic
rendering, which places within the reach of all one
of the world’s greatest masterpieces of literature.
D.K.R.
Beginneth the Book called Elegy of Madonna Fiammetta,
sent by her to Ladies in Love.
When the wretched perceive or feel that their woes
arouse compassion, their longing to give vent to their
anguish is thereby increased. And so, since,
from long usance, the cause of my anguish, instead
of growing less, has become greater, the wish has
come to me, noble ladies—in whose hearts,
mayhap, abides a love more fortunate than mine—to
win your pity, if I may, by telling the tale of my
sorrows. Nor is it at all my intent that these
my words should come to the ears of men. Nay,
rather would I, so far as lies in my power, withhold
my complaints from them; for, such bitterness has
the discovery of the unkindness of one man stirred
in me, that, imagining all other men to be like him,
methinks I should be a witness of their mocking laughter
rather than of their pitying tears. You alone
do I entreat to peruse my story, knowing full well
that you will feel with me, and that you have a pious
concern for others’ pangs. Here you will
not find Grecian fables adorned with many lies, nor
Trojan battles, foul with blood and gore, but amorous
sentiments fed with torturing desires. Here will
appear before your very eyes the dolorous tears, the
impetuous sighs, the heart-breaking words, the stormy
thoughts, which have harrowed me with an ever-recurring
goad, and have torn away from me sleep and appetite
and the pleasant times of old, and my much-loved beauty.
When you behold these things, and behold them with
the ardent feelings which ladies are wont to have,
sure I am that the cheeks of each separately, and
of all when brought together, will be bathed in tears,
because of those ills which are alone the occasion
of my never-ending misery. Do not, I beseech you,
refuse me these tears, reflecting that your estate
is unstable as well as mine, and that, should it ever
come to resemble mine (the which may God forfend!),
the tears that others shed for you will be pleasing
to you in return. And that the time may pass
more rapidly in speaking than in, weeping, I will
do my best to fulfil my promise briefly, beginning
with that love which was more happy than lasting,
so that, by comparing that happiness with my present
case, you may learn that I am now more unhappy than
any woman ever has been. And afterward I will
trace with mournful pen, as best I can, all the agonies
which are justly the source of my lamentations.
But first, if the prayers of the wretched are heard,
if there is in Heaven any Deity whose holy mind can
be touched with compassion for me, afflicted as I
am, bathed in my own tears, Him I beseech to aid my
despondent memory and support my trembling hand in
its present task. So may the tortures which I
have felt and still feel in my soul become fruitful,
and the memory will suggest the words for them, and
the hand, more eager than apt for such duty, will write
them down.
