“Alas, how did I once love thee, and how dear wert thou to me (miserable woman), and with what care wert thou nourished and kept of me! But now (and deservedly) I curse thee, beauty. For thou art the first occasion of my lost liberty, the first entrapper of my dear Panphilus his soul; enjoying him, hast not sufficient force to keep him still. And he being now gone, hast not the power or virtue to call him back again. If thou hadst not been, I had not seemed pleasant to Panphilus his lovely eyes, and not having pleased them, he should have never sought to allure mine, and not enticing and pleasing them, as he did, I should not now sustain these pains of mind. Thou art therefore the only occasion and beginning of all my hurt. Oh, thrice happy are those Women who, without thee, suffer the rebukeful checks of rude and rustical behaviour, and are condemned for their foul and ill-favoured hue, because they (observing Diana’s chaste and holy laws, and seldom troubled with pricking motions, as well devoid of peevish passions of their own parts as not fearing the forcible assaults of fond suitors) may live with their souls free from the cruel signory and tyranny of love. But thou, the only occasion of receiving continual molestation by them who never leave to gape on us, dost (by their importunacy) of force entice us to break that which we should most dearly observe. O happy Spurina, and worthy of eternal memory, who (knowing thy effects and unlawful affections) in the flower of her youth, with cruel hand did kill thee in her breast, rather choosing to be of the wiser beloved for her virtuous act than of wanton youths for her concupiscible beauty. Alas, if I had done so, all these griefs, all these thoughts, and these tears should have never thus molested my tender heart, and my now corrupted life should have yet remained within the compass of her first laudable bonds.”
Her eat the Gentlewomen pulled me again, and blamed my superfluous tears, saying: “O Fiammetta, what misery is this? Dost thou despair of the mercy of the Gods? Dost thou not believe that they do pitifully forgive the greatest offences without shedding of so many tears? This course which thou dost take in hand is rather the way to seek thy own death than pardon for thy faults. Rise up therefore and wipe thy face, and behold the sacrifice which the sacred Ministers of Jupiter are carrying to offer up to his mighty Godhead.”
At these words (stopping my tears) I lifted up my head, which now I did not cast round about (as I was wont to do), assuredly knowing that my Panphilus was not there, nor to see if any other, or of whom I was beheld, or if the standers-by gazed on my apparel, and ornaments, as they were wont to do, but rather wholly intent, and relying upon the favour of the supernal Gods, to pour forth some pitiful prayers for my Panphilus, and for his happy return, calling upon them with these words, I said: “O most gracious governors of high Heaven, and general Judges of all the world, set now some stint and measure to my grievous pains, and prescribe an end to all my sorrows. You see I have not one merry hour, nor quiet day, since that in continued course the end of one sorrow is the beginning of another. But that sometimes I accounted myself happy, not knowing my miseries to ensue. First with vain labour to beautify my young and unripened years more than was requisite (sufficiently adorned of nature itself), having unwittingly offended you, for penance and satisfaction of such faults ye have of indissoluble and cruel love, which doth at this very instant torment me, made me a miserable thrall and captive. And you have afterwards filled my mind (not accustomed to troubles and sorrows) by means of it, with new avoiding cares. And lastly have divided him from me, whom I love more than myself: whereupon infinite perils are grown one after another in prejudice of my poor life. But if the prayers of miserable creatures sometimes penetrate your divine ears, then pitifully incline them to my petitions, and, not regarding the multitude of the faults which I have committed against you, let that little good (if ever I did any) be bountifully considered of you, and in guerdon of it favourably give ear to my jealous orisons, and grant my earnest requests, which as they are but easy for you to perform, so may you (by not denying me the same) give me most great content, and make me happy again. Alas, how well do I know that this prayer in the sight of you (most just Judges) is very unjust: but it must (needs) proceed from your justice that, of two evils, to wish the less and to prevent the greater is the safest and best counsel. To you therefore, from whom nothing is hid, it is manifest, that my beloved Panphilus by no means can slide out of my mind, nor those passed accidents out of my memory, the remembrance of whom, and of which, doth many times with griping griefs bring me to such a point that (to be rid of them) I have eftsoons desired a thousand manners, and sought as many means, of death, all which that little hope which remaineth for me in you hath forcibly taken out of my hands. If it be therefore a lesser evil to keep my Lover still, as I have done, than to destroy my wicked soul with my massacred body (as I believe it is), let him return, and be restored to me again. Let living sinners be dearer to you, and possible to return to you again, than the dead dying in their sin, and without hope of redemption. And vouchsafe rather to leese a part of your creature than the whole, which you have created. And if this be too great, and too much to be granted, let that which is the last end of all miseries, before that with deliberate and voluntary counsel (constrained with greater griefs) I take it of myself, be granted to me. Let my words come before your sight, whom, if they cannot move to pity, then you other Gods dwelling in the celestial regions, if there be any of you there who, sometimes living here beneath, have had trial of that amorous fire which I feel, receive them, and offer them up to those higher powers, who will not take them uttered by my unworthy mouth, so that, obtaining grace for me, I may first live here joyfully, and after the end of my days enjoy part of your glorious fruition, and before time, to show sinners that it is a good and convenient thing for one sinner to pardon and help another.”
These words having been spoken, I did put sweet odours and incense upon their Altars, with many other rich offerings, to make them more willing and ready to bend down their ears to my prayers and for Panphilus his help. Which ceremonies, after they were ended, departing from thence, with the rest of the Gentlewomen, I returned to my sorrowful lodging again.
THE FIFTH BOOK OF BOCCACE HIS FIAMMETTA
AS BY THOSE things which I have spoken of before, you may presume, even so (pitiful Ladies) hath my loathed life been assaulted in the cruel battles of Love, and yet is tossed every day upon more sharp and mortal pikes of jealousy. The which certes (considering my future estate) might justly be thought a pleasant peace and pastime. Myself also being stricken with fear (when it came to my remembrance), with fear (I say) of that, to the which point it did last of all transport me, and which doth yet almost possess me, to make the more delay to come to it, because I was ashamed of my own fury, and because in writing of it methought I re-entered into it again, deducting therefore my discourse in length, with a slow hand I have written and published those things unto you which were less grievous unto me: but being not able now to avoid these, nor to fly to them any more, the order of my narration drawing me on, I will (though fearfully) come unto it. But thou most holy pity, dwelling in the tender breasts of delicate young Gentlewomen, govern thy reins in them with a stronger hand than thou hast done hitherto, because in discurring this my doleful narration, and giving thee a great deal more scope than is precisely convenient, I might not (perhaps) turn thee into the contrary of that which I do seek and hope for, and so might take as it were, from the laps of these Ladies and Gentlewomen that read thee, their flowing and falling tears. The Sun was now turned another time into that part of the Heavens where the presumptuous Son was set on fire, when so rashly he guided his father’s Chariot, after that Panphilus departed from me. And I, miserable woman, had now by long use learned to suffer accustomed griefs, and I lamented more temperately with myself than I was wont to do, and believed that there were no more woes left for me to sustain than those which I had already endured, when envious Fortune, not content with my past miseries, did suddenly show me that she had yet more bitter poison to infect my afflicted soul withal.
It came the
refore to pass that one of my dearest servants returned from Panphilus his country hither, who was of all that knew him, but especially of me, most joyfully welcomed. And telling of his own adventures and travels, and of those things which he had seen, intermingling better with worse, bechance he remembered himself at last to speak of Panphilus, of whose praises dilating very much (remembering the courtesies that he had sometimes done him), made me most contented, and plied my willing ears to his tale. And shamefast reason and womanly modesty did scarce bridle my eager will from running to embrace him, and to inquire of my Panphilus with an extraordinary kind of appassionate affection, as at that very present I felt. But yet staying myself, and he being also demanded of many concerning his estate, and having answered everyone well, I only asked him, with a merry countenance, how he employed himself and spent his time there, and if his mind was happily bent to return again. To which demands he answered thus:
“To what purpose (my good Lady) should Panphilus come again? There is not a fairer Gentlewoman in all his country (which above all other Cities doth bring forth Goddesses for beauty) than she who most entirely loveth him, and by as much as I could understand of others (and as I verily believe) is dearly beloved of him again, otherwise I would account him but a fool, whereas heretofore I ever judged him to be wise.”
My heart was so turned at these words as Œnone’s was, sitting on the high hills of Ida, and seeing her lover come sailing homewards with the new Grecian Lady in the Trojan Ship: which thing I could scarce hide in my countenance, although very hardly I did the same: but yet with a dissembled and faint laughter I said unto him: “Certes, thou sayest even true: for we could not imagine in this country any one gentlewoman so different from his dainty liking, whom we might deem worthy of his love, so high was his inestimable virtue, so rare were his laudable qualities, and so many his good graces. But if he hath found out anyone there, he doth both well and wisely in staying with her there. But tell me, with what mind doth he brook his new wife?” He then answered: “He hath no wife; for she that came to his house (as I told not long since) true it is that she came, not to him but to his father.” Whilst he spake these bitter words, which so earnestly I listened unto, passing out of one anguish into another anxiety a great deal worse, pricked moreover with sudden anger and grief of mind, my sorrowful heart began so to pant and beat, as the swift wings of Procne, when she begins to take her strongest flight, do beat against the white Sea banks and shores.
And my fearful spirits began no otherwise to tremble throughout every part of my body than the superficial and uppermost part of the Sea, with the gentle breathing of some calm wind descended upon it, is commonly wont to do, or the bending reeds scarcely shaken of some pleasant and soft air, and I began to feel my strength by little and little decay. Wherefore getting myself (as conveniently as I could) from thence, I went into my Chamber, because none might perceive the violent issue of my sudden grief. And being now gone out of the presence of everyone, I came no sooner into it but I began to pour out of mine eyes such plenty of tears as a swelling vein or fountain of water, bursting and gushing out, when it overfloweth the valleys, and I could scarce hold my troubled tongue from loud exclamations, and my hoarse voice from piteous lamentations, but casting myself (nay, rather falling) flat upon my miserable bed (the wicked witness of our loves) I would have cried out aloud, and said:
“O Panphilus, why hast thou betrayed me?”
But my words were broken in the very midst, so suddenly were the vigour and forces taken from my tongue, and from the other parts of my body. And there I lay a good while, as one dead (nay, verily thought to be dead indeed) carefully watched, and giving no small wonder to everyone there, by this sudden trance (no skill of Physic, or secrecy of any art, being able to make my erring life return to her former place again).
But after that my sorrowful soul, which in lamenting had many times embraced the miserable spirits of my body to depart, did yet stay itself in the same, and recalling her forces again together, which were almost dissolved and fled away, my eyes received again their light, which for a good space they had lost.
And lifting up my head I saw many Gentlewomen and others about me, who with their loving and pitiful services, bewailing my sudden swoon, had with most precious and sweet waters all bedewed me, and with many other instruments in their hands, and which I did see lying before me, labouring to regain my lost life. Whereupon, I marvelled no less at those waters, preserves and glasses that were about me than at the great lamentations of all the gentlewomen there.
And after that I had recovered my speech again, I demanded what was the cause of their assembly about me, and of all those things there. And one of them answered, and said:
“These things (good Lady) were brought hither (and for no other purpose we also came) to reduce thy fugitive soul into thy cold body again.” Then after a great sigh, and faint spirit, I said: “Alas, good Gentlewoman, with what friendly office of pity (working rather a most cruel function, and repugnant to my will) do you think to have done me a thankful piece of service, whereas you have procured my great pain, and done me the worst turn as ever I had, in forcible retaining of my soul in me still, which was so well disposed, and so willing, to have left the most miserable body that liveth. Alas, it is enough that there was never anything which with like affection was desired of me, or of anybody else, which you have denied me. My soul, already dissolved from these pains and tribulations, had been nearly arrived to the wished haven of my desires, but you have hindered it her passage.” After these words, the Gentlewomen recomforted me with divers good speeches, but they spent both words and wind in vain. I feigned, notwithstanding, to be of better cheer, and alleged new occasions of this miserable accident, because, when they were gone, I might have full scope to burst out my great and swelling grief. And after that some of them were departed, and the rest had taken their leave, myself beginning to show a merry countenance, and to dissemble my sorrow, I remained accompanied there only with my old Nurse and with my faithful maid, who had all this time been privy to my long plaints, and a procurer of my momentary pleasure, both which dutifully ministered comfortable salves to my unfeigned sores, possible enough to have healed them had they not been mortal. But I, thinking only of those unlucky tidings which I had heard, to one of you, Gentlewomen (to which I know not), I suddenly became an open enemy, and I began to revolve great and grievous matters in my perplexed mind. And that amassed lump of grief, which could not altogether contain itself in my breast, with a furious and despiteful voice I did in this sort partly drive out of me, saying:
“O wicked and false young man! O enemy to pity, and pitiless wretch! O Panphilus, the worst of all those who without desert doth breathe this common air! Disloyal Panphilus, who having blotted me (most miserable woman) out of thy ungrateful memory dost now dwell and delight thyself with thy new deceitful dame l Accursed be that hapless day when first I saw thee, and that fatal hour, and very instant, in which thou didst please my simple eyes. Accursed be that Goddess which, appearing to me, with her allured promises flattered my wavering mind, and disturbed the same (though resisting with all her forces to the contrary) from the bounds of my right judgment, to like of thee (wicked wretch) and (ungrateful monster) to love thee.
“Certes, I think that she was not Venus, but rather some infernal fury in her shape, striking me with madness and filling me with frantic fury, as once she did miserable Atamas. O most cruel youth, whom amongst many other most noble, beautiful and valiant young Gentlemen I did fondly choose out for the best, where are now thy serious prayers, which for safety of thy life with tears thou didst oftentimes offer unto me, affirming that both that and thy death were in my hands? Where are now thy pitiful looks, and those two never-dried eyes, with the which (malicious man) thou didst never cease at thy pleasure to shed forth tears in my presence? Where is now the great love, that so bravely thou didst feign to show me? Where are thy sweet words, and thy sore griefs, thy infinite sorrows, thy pains and travails proffer
ed and employed in my service? Are all these fled out of thy memory, or hast thou framed them anew to entrap thy deceived and new lover?
“Accursed be that pity of mine, which took that life out of death his mouth, that (thereby making herself then a joyful woman) should have rather sent it to the darksome den of death. Now those eyes, which whilom in my presence lamented, laugh before their new Mistress, and that mutable heart hath turned all his sweet words and fair offers to her only, and now hast thou heretically dedicated all thy services to her devotions.
“Alas, Panphilus, where are now those profaned and perjured Godheads? Where is thy promised faith? Where are thy infinite tears, of the which (miserable woman) I drunk no small quantity, believing them to be tempered then with as great pity and love as now they are turned but to drops of treacherous deceit? All those placed in the bosom of thy new Mistress thou hast with thyself taken from me. Alas, how great a corsive was it to my poor heart, when once before I heard that by Juno’s law thou wert combined to another woman! But perceiving that the covenants in which thou didst bind thyself to me were not to be preferred before them (although I did painfully bear it), yet overcome with just grief, I did with less anguish of mind endure it. But now understanding that by the selfsame laws by the which thou wert bound to me thou hast (in casting me off) given thyself to another, it is an untolerable pain for me to sustain. But now I know the cause of thy stay, and openly perceive my own simplicity, with the which I ever believed that thou wouldest (if possible) have once returned again. Alas, Panphilus, didst thou stand in need of so many guileful arts and cunning fetches to delude me? Why didst thou so often, so solemnly and so highly swear unto me, with continual asseveration of thy most entire and sincere faith, if thou didst think thus to deceive me? Wherefore didst not thou go away without taking thy leave, or without making any promise of thy return? I did (as thou knowest) most fervently love thee, and thou wert not then so much entangled in my love, and wert not so straitly my prisoner, but at thy will (as to my no small pain I now perceive thou hast done), and without wasting such infinite and vain tears, thou mightest have departed from me. If thou hadst done thus, then I should without doubt have suddenly despaired of thy return, manifestly knowing thy deceit, and then with death ere this time, or else with just oblivion, my torments should have been concluded. But because they might be the more prolonged in giving me a little vain hope, thou hast continuated and nourished them still. But I, poor soul, never deserved this at thy wicked hands. Alas, how sweet were thy false tears to me; but now (knowing their vile effects) I feel them to be most bitter to my dying mind. Alas, if love did so strongly rule in thee, as he doth fiercely use his might and signory in me, tell me then, if it was not sufficient for thee to be once captivated, but that the second time thou must fall into his forces again? But what do I talk of love? For thou didst never love, but hast rather delighted to jest with young gentlewomen, and hast made it but a sport to deceive with thy subtlety their simplicity. If thou hadst loved (as I did believe thou didst) thou shouldest yet have been mine own. And whose couldest thou have been that had loved thee more than I? Alas, what dame soever thou be that hast taken him from me, though thou art my mortal and only enemy, yet, feeling the great grief which his falsehood hath engendered in my breast, I must needs take pity on thee. Wherefore I warn thee to take heed of his deceits, because he that hath once deceived hath for ever after lost his honesty and shame, and doth make it no matter of conscience to deceive everyone from thenceforth.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 376
