Consalvo lay close to the end of life
on earth: he who was once so scornful
of his fate: but now no more, since in the first
years of manhood, a wished-for oblivion
now hung above his head. On that fatal day,
he lay abandoned by his dearest friends,
as he had been abandoned for so long:
since no friend on earth is left, at last,
to those who scorn the earth itself.
Still, Elvira, famed for divine beauty,
was by his side, whom pity had brought
to console him in his lonely state, she
who was always and solely in his mind:
knowing her power, knowing a single look
of hers, delightful, a word, longed-for, sweet,
repeated a thousand on a thousand times,
in his constant thoughts, had always been
the food and sustenance of this unhappy lover:
though she had heard not one word of love
from him. Always overpowering fear
had been stronger than deep desire
in his soul, since as a boy he had
become a slave through excessive love.

      But at last death broke the former bonds
of speech. Sensing the hour that sets
men free, by certain signs, and taking hold
of her hand, as she was about to leave him,
clasping that whitest of hands tightly,
he said: ‘You leave, Elvira, and the time now
forces you from me, farewell. I do not hope
to see you again. So, farewell now. I render
the greatest thanks to you that lips could give,
for your care. He who can will reward you,
if virtue is rewarded by heaven.’ She
had grown pale, and her breast heaved
on hearing what he said: since human hearts
are always oppressed with grief when anyone,
even a stranger, leaves this world and says
farewell forever. And she wished to contradict
the dying man, hiding the approach of death.
But he prevented her speaking, and spoke
again: ‘Death comes to me, as you know,
like one desired, prayed for many times,
and not feared: and this day of my death
seems joyful. It weighs on me, it’s true,
that I’m losing you forever. Ah, I part forever
from you. My heart breaks at those words.
Never to see those eyes again, or to hear
that voice! Tell me: Elvira, will you not
grant me a kiss before you abandon me
to eternity? One kiss alone for a whole
existence? A grace requested should not
be denied a dying man. Nor will I ever boast
about that gift, I, half-dead, whose lips
will be closed in a while, eternally,
by a strange hand.’ Having spoken,
he fixed his cold lips, with a sigh,
in supplication, on the hand he adored.

      The loveliest of women remained motionless
and thoughtful in aspect, and fixed her gaze,
sparkling with a thousand graces, on that
of the unhappy man, where a last tear
glistened. Nor had she the heart to scorn
his request, and render the last goodbye
bitter with denial: rather she was overcome
by pity for that ardour, well known to her.
And that heavenly face, and that mouth,
desired so deeply, for so many years
the goal of all his dreams and sighs,
gently approaching the suffering face,
discoloured by its mortal affliction,
pressed kiss after kiss, in utter kindness
and from deep pity, on the trembling lips
of that anxious, and enraptured lover.

      What became of you then, Consalvo?
How did life, death and misfortune appear
as he was dying? With beloved Elvira’s
hand that he still held, pressed to a heart
beating with the last tremors of love and death,
he said: ‘Ah, Elvira, my Elvira! Then I am
still on earth: those lips were truly
your lips, and I grasp your hand!
It seems like a dying vision, a dream,
a thing incredible. Ah. Elvira, how much
I owe to death! My love has not been hidden
from you for all time, not from you nor
others: truly love cannot be concealed
on earth. My actions, my troubled look,
my eyes had made it clear to you: but my
words had not. The infinite love that governs
my heart would still have been silent,
forever, if dying had not made me bolder.
Now I shall die content with my destiny,
and no longer regret that I saw
the light of day. Life was not in vain,
since its was granted to my mouth
to kiss your mouth. Rather I think
my fate has been happy. This world
owns two lovely things: love and death.
Heaven brings me one in the flower
of youth: and in the other I consider
myself fortunate. Ah, if you had only,
just once, calmed and requited
my great love, then earth would have
changed to paradise forever
to my altered eyes. I would even
have suffered old age, abhorrent
old age, with a quiet heart, since the memory
of one moment would have sufficed
to endure it: and to say: “I have been happy,
with more than all others’ happiness.” Ah,
but heaven does not allow earthly nature
to be so blessed. No one is permitted
to love with such joy. And yet I would
have had the power to endure the whips
of the executioner, the wheel, the fires,
flying to them from your arms: and even
gone down to dreadful everlasting darkness.

      Oh, Elvira, Elvira, oh, happy is he, oh
blessed above the immortals, to whom
your smile of love’s revealed! Next
is he who sheds his lifeblood for you!
It is allowed, allowed to mortals, not
just a dream as I long thought, allowed
for us to know happiness. I knew it
when I first gazed at you. It happened
through my dying. And even in such pain
I cannot find it in my heart
to condemn this fatal day.

      Now you are blessed, my Elvira,
and your face adorns the earth. No one
will love you as I loved you. No such
love to equal it will be born. Ah, how often,
how often, wretched Consalvo, called out
to you, how long he grieved, and wept!
How pale I grew, at Elvira’s name,
frozen at the heart: how I used to tremble
at the harsh stone of your threshold,
at that angelic voice, at the aspect
of your brow, I, who do not fear death!
But breath and life grow less at the sound
of love. My time has passed, and it
will not be granted me to recall this day.
Elvira: farewell. Your image vanishes
from my heart at last, with my vital flame.
Farewell. If this love of mine was not
a burden to you, send a sigh towards
my tomb, tomorrow, when night falls.

      He fell silent: and in a moment his spirit
ebbed with the sound: and his first day
of happiness fled from sight, before the dark.