“He doth not know what Venus doth mean, nor cannot skill of her biformed Son. And if he doth perhaps know her, he perceiveth her beauty to be but base, and little amiable. Now (alas) would it had pleased the Gods that I had likewise never known it and that (keeping simple and plain company) I had lived a rustical and rude life to myself all alone.
“Then should these incurable griefs have been far from me which I now sustain, and my soul, together with my most holy name, should not have cared nor desired to see these worldly pomps and feasts, like to the flying winds and vanishing smoke in the air, nor (if it had seen them) should have been so full of anguish and sorrow as now it is. The desire of high and princely towers, of rich and sumptuous houses, of great families, and costly trains, of fair and delicate beds, of shining clothes of gold and silver, of pampered, proud and swift horses, and of a thousand other superfluities of nature, doth never disturb his temperate mind, nor clogs his heart, with burdening and burning care to keep them. Not accompanied nor sought after of wicked men, he doth without fear live in quiet and sequestered places, and, without seeking doubtful rest in high and stately lodgings, doth demand only the open air and light for his repose.
“And of the manner of his life the wide firmament is a manifest and continual witness. Oh, how much is this life nowadays unknown, and like an enemy eschewed and condemned of everyone, whereas it should be rather, as the dearest and sweetest content, followed and embraced of all. Truly I suppose that the first age of the world lived in this sort, which piecemeal brought forth Gods and men.
“There is no life (alas) more free, nor more devoid of vice, or better than this: the which our first fathers enjoyed, and with which also he is this day of all others best contented who, abandoning the opulent and vicious Cities, inhabiteth the private and peaceable woods. Oh, what a world had it been if Jupiter had never driven Saturn away, and if the Golden Age had continued still under a chaste law, because we might all live like to our primitive parents of the first world.
“Alas, whosoever he be that doth this day observe the first and ancient riches, even he (I say) is not inflamed with the blind rage of hapless and helpless Venus as I am, nor he, who hath resolved with himself to dwell in Woods, hills, or dales, was ever subject to any careful kingdom, nor to the wavering wind of the unconstant populare, nor to the suffrages, opinions and censures of the trothless common people, nor the infectious plagues and envious pestilences, nor to the frail favour also of blind and inconsiderate Fortune, in all which myself, having put too much trust, love and study, in the midst of the waters (like Tantalus) do die with endless thirst. To little things great rest is afforded, although it be a hard matter without the greater to be able to sustain the life. But he whose thoughts are turmoiled about great things, or doth desire to overrule great matters: the same man (I say) doth evermore follow the vain honours of fading riches. And high styles and magnificent titles please for the most part false and deceitful men. But he is free from fear and doubt, and cannot discern of the malicious man, swelling in rancour and cankered envy, nor of the backbiter by his venomous tongue and viperous teeth, who dwelleth in the simple and solitary woods and fields; and is also ignorant of the sundry hatreds, and incurable wounds of love, and the abominable sins of the people committed one against another in the Cities; and liveth without fear of breach of laws, and clear of suspicion to be guilty of riots and mutinies, and beateth not his brains to forge feigned tales and to use deceitful words, which are notes to entrap men of pure faith and plain dealing. But the other, while he is aloft, is never without fear or peril, suspecting continually the very same sword that he weareth by his side. Oh, how good a thing it is to resist naked, and lying upon the ground securely to take his sustenance.
Never or seldom at all did capital or great sins enter into little cottages. At the first there was no care taken for gold, nor the holy stone, nor God Terminus, was set a bound or Arbiter to divide fields from fields, and severals from commons. With tall and stout ships they ploughed the unknown waves of the Sea, but everyone did know his proper coasts and banks. Nor with strong piles of timber, with deep ditches, high walls, strong bulwarks and ramparts did they fortify and compass about the sides of their Cities, nor cruel weapons and rusty armour were scoured up and made ready to fight, or borne of warriors in those days, neither had they any Engines, or devilish devices, which (with great pity) might ruinate stone walls, and break Iron gates in pieces.
“And if there was perhaps amongst them any little war, with naked breast and unarmed arm they fought it out, in which the broken boughs of trees and stones served them for their weapons and pellets. Nor the fine and light spear of horn was armed with Iron, nor the stabbing dagger, trenching sword and murdering rapier were girt to any of their backs or side: nor the bushy crest and proud plume of coloured waving feathers did adorn the glittering helmets, and that which in their happy days was the happiest thing of all, was, that Cupid was not yet born, whereby the chaste minds (violated afterwards with his poisoned darts, when he first began to fly with swift wings through the world) might live securely and free from all tormenting thoughts. Ah, I would the Gods had given me to such a world, the people whereof, content with a little, and fearing nothing, followed only their wild and savage appetites.
“And that of so many great goods and felicities that they enjoyed I had not possessed any other than not to be molested with so grievous love, nor to feel so many smothering sighs, as now I am, and do now feel, then should I have lived a more happy life than now I do in this present age, full of so many poisoned pleasures, unprofitable ornaments and shadowed pomp. Alas, that the wicked fury of gain and avarice, that headlong and enraged wrath, and that those minds, which of themselves kindled loathsome lust, and violated these first bonds, so holy and easy to be kept (given of Nature herself to her people), and that the thirst after rule (a bloody Sun) came now in place, and that the weaker became a prey to the greater and more mighty! Sardanapalus came now in, and first of all made Venus (though of Semiramis it was made more dissolute) more dainty and delicate, and then to Bacchus and Ceres prescribed new orders and customs never known of them before.
“Then came in also warlike Mars, who found out new sleights and a thousand mortal ways to death. And then all the world began to be contaminated with black gore, and the Sea to be tainted with red rivers of blood running into it. Then most wicked crimes entered into everyone his house, and in brief there was no great or detestable sin perpetrated without some former and foul example before. Brother killed brother, the father the son, and the son the father. The husband lay slain for the fault, and many times by the proper fact, of his wife. And wicked mothers destroyed daily their own fruit. The infinite cruelty and endless envy of stepdames, which continually, secretly or openly, they bear to their husbands’ children, I need not to allege, because their effects are manifestly seen at all times and places.
“Riches therefore brought Pride, Avarice, Lechery, Wrath, Gluttony, Envy and Sloth, and every other vice, with them. And with these aforesaid Fiends the Captain and worker of all mischief, and the only artificer of all sins, entered also (dissolute and unbridled Love I mean), by whose continual sieges, laid to miserable minds, infinite Cities, ruinated and burnt, do yet smoke, and for whom all nations have made mortal uproars, and do yet broil in the lamentable and endless wars.
“And the overwhelmed and drowned kingdoms by his cruel tyranny do yet oppress many people. And concealing all his other execrable effects, let those only which he useth towards me suffice for a manifest example of his merciless mischief and cruelty, which do so sharply environ me on every side that I cannot turn my mind to no other thing, but only to the grievous objects of his immanity.”
Discoursing thus with myself, sometimes I thought that that which I did was wicked in the sight of the just Gods, and that my pains were annoyous to me without compare.
But many greater offences committed in times past, and daily practised by others, made me (in respect of them) seem but in
nocent, and the consideration of those pains which others endured (although I believed that none passed the like grief as I did, seeing myself not to be the first, nor one alone) did so work in my understanding that I became the stronger to suffer my own: the which I pray the Gods determine with hasty death, or else drive them away with Panphilus his speedy return. Thus therefore pitiless Fortune, for this kind of life, or rather for a worse than this, hath left me but small comfort, as you (pitiful Ladies) have heard.
Which consolation understand it not such, that it was able to make me forget my sorrow (as others commonly are wont to do), for this did but only stop my tears (ready to fall out of mine eyes), and did sometimes indeed dissolve my sighs into nothing, without affording me nevertheless any other benefit. Prosecuting therefore the pitiful history of my painful life, I say, that heretofore, with many other young gentlewomen, adorned with singular beauty, I was never wont to omit any great feast in our City, or which was celebrated in our divine temples: the which solemnities, feasts and triumphs without my presence the company did account but little worth, and thought them less beautified. Which times appointed for them my waiting-women, duly knowing to be at hand, were very diligent to solicit and put me in mind of them, and others of my maids also, observing their old order in laying forth, and making ready my noble garments, sometimes said to me: “With what gown may it please you (good Madam) to adorn yourself? For the solemnity of such a feast is to be celebrated this day in the temple, which doth attend your coming for the only beautifying and accomplishment of it.” To whom (alas) I remember that sometimes with an angry voice and austere countenance (turning furiously to them again, no otherwise than a tusky Bear doth to a company of barking Curs) I answered, saying: “Pack hence, the vilest part of my house, and carry away these ornaments from my sight. A simple and poor garment is most fit to cover this miserable body, nor let not me hear you any more talk of temples, feasts and solemnities, if you esteem of my favour at all. Oh, how many times did I yet perceive well enough that those temples were visited of many noble personages who came thither rather to see me than for any great devotions, and not espying me there, grieved as it were in mind, went from thence again, generally affirming that the feast was dishonoured, and not to be called a feast without my presence there. But although that I refrained thus from them, yet sometimes, entreated and constrained, I must needs, in company of other noble Ladies my acquaintance and companions, go to them: with whom (but simply apparelled in my ordinary holiday attire) unwillingly (the Gods know) I went thither.
And there did not look for any solemn and high place (as I was wont to do), but refusing the honours offered unto me, I humbly betook myself to the lowest places, amongst other gentlewomen of meaner calling and degree. And there harkening to many speeches, sometimes of one and sometimes of another, with secret grief (as well as I could) I passed away the time that I stayed there. How many times (alas) did I hear them that sat nearest unto me talk of me, saying:
“Oh, what a great marvel is it to see this young Gentlewoman (the singular ornament of our City) become now of late of so demiss and abject a mind! What divine spirit hath inspired her? Where are her noble robes? Where are her high and stately countenances? And whither are her rare and surpassing beauties fled?” To which words (if lawfully I might) I would have answered: “All these things, with many other more (dearer to me than these), Panphilus (ah, my injurious Panphilus) hath carried away with him.” And compassed about there with many Gentlewomen, and importunately urged with many questions, with a feigned cheer and countenance of necessity I must satisfy them all. But one of the Gentlewomen amongst the rest, with these stinging words began to mock me, saying: “Thou makest me (Lady Fiammetta), and many other Gentlewomen more, never cease to marvel at thee, not knowing what sudden occasion hath moved thee to forsake thy rich attire, thy Jewels, gems and ornaments, and many other things, so commendable and beseeming thy young years, and which (we know) were once most precious unto thee. Being yet but in the flourishing prime of thy age, thou shouldest not put on this grave apparel and these uncouth Habits.
“Dost thou think, that letting thy youthful time pass, thou canst call it back again? Use thy years therefore according to their properties and nature. This homely and honest clothing which thou hast put on may perhaps hereafter serve thy turn better. And as thou seest here every one of us (elder and graver than thyself) with curious and skilful hand adorned, and with honourable and costly garments attired, with such oughtest thou (Fiammetta) to be set forth and beautified.”
To her, and to many other also, expecting what I would say, with an humble and low voice I made this answer:
“Gentlewoman, and you the rest of my friends, we come to these holy places, either to please the Gods, or else to please men. If to please the Gods, the mind adorned with virtue is sufficient, and it doth not import whether the body be clothed with silk or sackcloth. If to please men, forasmuch as most of them are blinded with false opinions, and by the exterior parts and lineaments of the body conjecture the inward disposition of the mind, I confess that the apparel used sometimes of me, and now of you, is very requisite. But this is now my least care, my chiefest desire consisting rather in a sorrowful repentance of my past vanities, which being most willing to amend in the sight of Gods and men, by this apparel, and in other things else, I make myself (as much as I can) contemptible to the world, and displeasant to your nice eyes.”
At which words the tears of inward truth, violently expressed forth, bathed my sorrowful visage, and therefore thus I began to say softly to myself: “O ye pitiful Gods, the searchers of all our hearts, let not these untrue words (uttered by my lying tongue) be imputed to me for a sin, which (not of a malicious will, and flat hypocrisy to deceive them, but of mere necessity to dissemble my grief, and cover the cause of it from them) I was constrained to use as a holy and godly excuse. But let them rather be meritorious unto me, since that in concealing from thy people an evil and scandalous example, in lieu thereof, by these feigned words, I gave them a good president and pattern of better life. It is a great grief (you know) for me to tell a lie, and with what an unpatient and troubled mind I tell this forced and forged tale you know too well, and I can do no more.”
Oh, how many times (fair Ladies) for this iniquity have I received pitiful prayers of the Gentlewomen sitting about me, saying, that of a most vain woman I was become a most devout convertite. Truly I understood, many times, that there were some of them of this opinion, that I was so highly in the Gods’ favour that there was nothing that I could crave at their hands but I might easily obtain the same of them. And therefore I was many times visited of holy women, for a zealous and devout one also, they being (poor souls) as much deceived in that which with my sorrowful and subtle countenance I did hide my mind, as ignorant how discrepant my fervent desires and my feigned devotions were. O deceitful world, how much can counterfeit looks prevail in thee more than just and well-meaning minds, if that their works be hidden and secret.
Myself a greater sinner than any other, and sorrowful for my dishonest loves, yet couching them under the Veil of honest words, am reputed holy: but the just Gods know that (if I could without danger of my honour and good name) with true reports I would make satisfaction to everyone whom in fictions, speeches and gesture I have deluded, and would not hide the headspring from whence such streams of tears did flow, nor the course from whence the effects of my sorrowful life are derived. But (alas) it may not be.
When I had answered her who first demanded of me the cause of my melancholy, another sitting next unto me, seeing my tears almost dried up, said: “Gracious Fiajnmetta, whither is the shining beauty of thy fair face gone, and how is the lively colour, of thy rosy cheeks extinct? What is the cause of thy pale and wan visage? Thy twinkling eyes, like to morning stars, are dimmed now with blue and purple circles that compass them about, and are so deeply sunk into thy brows that scarcely they may be discerned in thy forehead. Thy golden tresses, once so bravely adorned with curious h
and heretofore, why now tied up diffusedly, and scarcely are they seen? Tell me, Fiammetta. For thou makest me to marvel without end.” And her I answered in few words thus: “It is a manifest thing that human beauty is but a fading flower, and that every day and hour it waxeth less and less, which (if it hath any trust in itself) at length doth perceive itself to be but nothing, and to lie miserably prostrate. He that gave it me (submitting me the occasion of expelling it again) with a dull pace hath taken it from me, possibly (perhaps) to restore to me again, whensoever it shall please him.” And this being said, not able to withhold my tears, shrouded under my mantle I shed them abundantly. And with these words I lamented with myself, saying:
“O beauty, the uncertain Jewel of mortal men, and the gift of a little time, which doth both come and go sooner away than the pleasant Meadows depainted with many flowers in the sweetest seasons of gladsome springtide, and the verdure of high Trees apparelled with sundry leaves, which are no sooner for a little time adorned with the virtue of Aries but immediately, with the hot exhalations and vapours of parching Summer, are consumed and taken away again. And if perhaps the burning season doth leave any of them untouched, Autumn doth not spare to leave them naked and bare. Even so thou, beauty, most often in the midst of thy prime and best years, injured by many accidents, dost perish, which if perhaps they be pardoned thee in youth, the riper age (though with all thy force and means thou dost oppose to preserve the same) doth take it quite away. O beauty, thou art but a flying and inconstant thing, and not unlike to the waters, which never return more to their first fountains: and no hope in changing and brittle goods, and therefore less affiance, should be put.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 375
