“Alas, wicked youth, how many orisons and sacrifices have I offered up to the Gods for thy safety, and now thou must fly from me, to go to another. O Gods, my prayers (I perceive) are heard but to the profit of another woman.
“I have the sorrow, and another sucks the sweet. I reap but dole and pain for my long devotions, and another delight and pleasure of him who in right and equity should be mine.
“Ah, wicked man, was not my beauty correspondent to thy bravery, my doings to thy desires, and my nobility to thy Gentility? Alas, a great deal more! Were my riches ever denied thee, or did I take any of thine? Ah, never. Did I ever in deed or demonstration love any man besides thyself? And (unless thy new love make thee digress too far from the truth) thou wilt confess and say no. What fault of mine therefore, what just occasion of thy part, what greater beauty, or more fervent love have taken thee from me, and given thee to another? Truly none. And all the Gods be my records herein, that I never wrought anything against thee but that (beyond all terms of reason) I loved thee. And if this hath deserved such treachery as thou hast done, and workest against me, let thy own self (disloyal as thou art) be judge. O ye Gods, the just revengers of our unjust defects, I call upon you for cruel and due vengeance. I neither wish, nor go about to practise his death, who by his vile escape from me would have wrought mine. Nor do I pray that any other punishment may befall to his deserved guilt, but, if he love his new choice as I love him, that in casting him off, and giving herself to another (as he hath taken himself from me), she would leave him in that kind of life that (cruel as he is) he causeth me to lead.” And so, with unseemly motions of my body, turning me now this way, now that way, like a frantic woman I tumbled and tossed up and down in my bed.
All that day was not spent in other speeches than in such of like tenour, and in most bitter wailings. But the night, worser than the day, and more apt for all kinds of sorrow (the melancholy darkness being more conformable to meditating miseries than the light), being now stolen on, it came to pass that, being indeed with my dear husband, and lying a great while silent to myself, and broad waking, yet warring within myself with hosts of dolorous thoughts, amongst which, calling to memory all my passed times, as well my pleasant occurrences as sorrowful passages, and especially that I had lost my Panphilus by means of a new love, my grief grew in such abundance that, unable to keep it any longer within, with great lamentations and doleful complaints I burst it out, albeit concealing the amorous occasion of it. And my sighs were so forcible, and my sobs so profound, that my Husband (being now a good while drowned in deep sleep) by the great noise and molestation of them was awaked, and turning himself to me, who was sponged in mine own tears, and taking me lovingly in his arms, with mild and pitiful words he said thus unto me:
“O my sweet soul, what sinister cause of so doleful a plaint in the quiet night, when thou shouldest take thy rest, doth trouble thee thus? What thing is it that this long time hath made thee so melancholic and sad? Nothing must be concealed from me that may any way displease or discontent thee. Is there anything that thy heart doth desire, and that my wit and substance may compass for thee, or that in demanding of it thou mightest possibly have? Art not thou my only comfort, my joy and my good? And dost not thou know that I love thee above all worldly thoughts, yea, more than myself. Whereof not by show, nor one proof, but by daily experience, thou mayest live assured. Wherefore dost thou therefore lament in such sort? Wherefore dost thou afflict thyself in such extreme grief? Do I seem unpleasant, ill favoured or nothing gracious in thine eyes, or am I unworthy of thy beauty, or is not my birth, parentage and estate agreeable to thy nobility, or dost thou think me culpable in anything that I may amend? Speak, and tell me frankly, and discover to me the vale of thy desires. There shall be nothing left undone, or unattempted, for thy sake, if it may possible be. Thou dost (altered in visage and apparel, and extremely sorrowful in all thy actions) minister a doleful occasion and matter to me of an unquiet life. And though I have before seen thee continually sad and pensive, yet this day more than at any time. I thought of late that some bodily infirmity was the cause of thy paleness, but now I do manifestly know that it is grief of mind that hath brought thee to this pitiful case wherein I see thee, wherefore I pray thee disclose to me the root from whence all thy sorrows do grow.”
Whom with a feminine and sudden wit, taking counsel of feigned tales and lies, which before had served me for a shift, I answered thus:
“O sweet Husband, dearer to me than all the world besides, I lack not anything wherein thy forward help may avail me, and acknowledge thee (without all doubt) more worthy than myself; but the death of my dear Brother, of which thou art not ignorant, hath long before, and now since, brought me to this extreme sorrow. Which, as often as I think of it, with bitter wailings doth rend my heart in pieces. And certes I bewail not so much his cruel death, a thing naturally incident to us all, but the strange and pitiful manner of the same: which thou didst know to be violent, infortunate and bloody. And besides this, the strange things, and ugly sights, that appeared to me after his death do kill my fearful soul to think of. I can never so little shut up mine eyelids, or give any slender sleep to my sorrowful eyes, but immediately, all pale, trembling, naked and full of gore, showing me his cruel wounds, he appeareth quaking before me. And even then, when thou didst perceive me to weep and lament, he came into the Chamber, standing and staring before me as I was asleep, in likeness of a horrible and fainting ghost, fearfully quaking with a breathless and panting breast, in such sort that he could scarce utter one word, but at the last, with extreme pain, said: ‘O my dear Sister, wipe that blot of ignominy from me which, with an appalled and troubled face, looking ever for very grief and shame thereof on the ground, doth make my sorrowful ghost wander, with great disgrace and scorn, amongst other hapless sprites.’ And although it was some comfort for me to see him, yet overcome with terror, which I had of his dreadful habit, and moved with just compassion of his words, with starting on a sudden, I awaked out of my feeble sleep, and thus my tears (the which thou dost now go about to comfort) fulfilling the duty of my conceived pity, did at hand follow. And so (as the Gods know), if weapons were fit for Women, I would ere this have revenged his miserable death, and with a fierce countenance and courageous heart sent the greedy glutton of his innocent blood amongst other damned souls. But alas, I can do no more than I am able. Therefore (dear Husband) not without great occasion I am thus miserably tormented in mind.” Oh, with how many pitiful words did he then comfort me, applying a salve to the wound which was healed long enough before, and how did he endeavour to mollify and diminish my plaints with those true reasons, which for feigned tales he so carefully made.
But after he thought that he had comforted me up a little he fell asleep again, and then I (thinking of the pitiful and tender love he bare me), with more cruel grief secretly bewailing my unjust requital of the same, began again my interrupted and piecemeal lamentations, saying: “O most cruel Dens inhabited of savage and wild beasts, O hell, the eternal prison ordained for wicked company, O any other exile whatsoever deeper than those, open and swallow me up, and with just pains torment my sinful and deserved soul, and plague me, of all others the vilest Woman.
“O mighty Jupiter, most justly angry with me, tumble down thy thunder, and with swift hand throw down thy crushing bolts upon my hateful head. O holy Juno, whose most holy laws (thrice wicked Woman) I have infringed, take vengeance of me now. O ye fierce Caspian Serpents, tear in pieces this polluted body of mine. O ye hellish Ravens, infernal Harpies and cruel beasts, devour and entomb me in your greedy maws. And you most fierce and unruly Jades, the cruel quarterers of Hippolitus his innocent members, rend me, impious and trothless
Woman, in a thousand pieces. And thou, most pitiful Husband, sheathe thy revenging sword with due anger in my culpable breast, and with plenteous effusion of my blood send forth my wicked soul, that hath so unworthily deceived thee. Use no remorse of pity, love nor moderate mercy towards me, since that I have pr
eferred the love of a stranger, and of a perfidious Imp, before the bound faith and due reverence which I owe to thy holy and unspotted bed. O the worst of all womankind, most worthy of great punishment for this and for many other things, what fury appeared before thy chaste eyes that day when Panphilus first pleased thee? Where didst thou abandon that love and piety which was due to the holy Laws of matrimony? Whither didst thou banish thy reverend chastity (the chiefest honour and ornament of women) when, for the blind liking of disloyal Panphilus, thou didst forsake the love of thy loving Husband? Where is now the pity that thy beloved youth doth show thee? And where are the comforts that he should now give thee in thy perplexed miseries? Lulled in the lap of another Woman, he merrily passeth away the weary time, and doth not care for thee, and yet in truth he hath reason therefor. Wherefore it must worthily fall so to thee as to all others which embrace licentious lust, neglecting lawful love. Thy injured Husband, who with rigour should punish thee, with great pity goeth about to comfort thee, and he that should perform this just function careth not (alas) wrongfully to torment thee. What, is not he as fair as Panphilus? And are not his virtues, courage, nobility, and especially his love and constancy, and all other good parts in him, are they not far above all and everything that Panphilus hath in him worthy of praise and commendation? Ah, there is no doubt thereof. Wherefore then didst thou forsake him for another? What blindness, rashness, sin, and what iniquity, hath brought thee to this? Alas, poor soul, I know not.
“Only that those things which are frankly and freely possessed are wont to be accounted of no price and value, although they be (indeed) very dear and precious. And that those which hardly, and with hazard, are gotten (be they never so vile) are esteemed and embraced as most singular and sweet things.
“The daily fruition and glutting company of my Husband, which should by great reason have been most dear unto me, surfeited my queasy mind, and so (satiating my changeable appetite) deceived me. And I (mighty enough (perhaps) to have resisted) do now miserably lament and bewail that which I have left undone: nay rather I was without (perhaps) strong enough, if I would myself, if I had called to mind those signs, and thought of that, which the Gods, in sleeping and waking, had shown me the night and day before my hapless fall. But now not able to retire (though I would), but constrained by my appointed stars to combat still in these amorous conflicts, I knew too well what the Serpent was which stung me under my left side, and swelling with my sucked blood went away. And likewise I see the events that the prognosticating flower of my crown falling from my adorned head doth manifestly declare. But alas, this vain wisdom and aftersight cometh all too late.
“The Gods (perhaps) to purge themselves of some conceived wrath against me, and repenting that they had showed me any signs, took the knowledge of their future effects from me, not being able to restore them to me again, as Apollo from his beloved Cassandra, to whom, after he had granted a boon of a Prophetical spirit, did take the virtue and effect of it, in that she was not believed of any whensoever she divined. Whereupon placed in the midst of all miseries, not without great reason and just cause, I bewail and consume my life in woe.”
And sorrowing thus with myself, and turning and tumbling myself in my weary bed almost all the night, I passed it away, without giving mine eyes leave once to shut up their lids. But if any sleep entered my sorrowful breast, it did so faintly remain there that the least stir or noise was able-enough to have broken it. And yet, although it was but weak, it did not tarry with me without representing many fierce battles in his kind of accustomary demonstrations to my affrighted mind. And this did not happen to me that night only, of which I spake of alone, but many times before, and I was almost continually molested after with the same accidents. Wherefore my soul, both waking and sleeping, hath and doth feel equal and like tempestuous storms. The complaints which I poured forth in the night time took not away their turn and place in the day, but, as excused now for sorrowing again by reason of those lies which I told my Husband, from that night forward I did many times lament, and did begin to be extremely sad and sorrowful in open and public company. But the day being come on, my trusty Nurse (from whom the least part of my griefs was not hid, because she was the first that knew the amorous signs in my face, and had also imagined divers future accidents in the same) coming to visit me, when it was told her that Panphilus had chosen another Woman, and doubting of me, and most careful for my neglected weal, my Husband no sooner went out of the Chamber, but she immediately entered in. And seeing me (through the great anguish and grief of the last night) to lie as one halfdead, with divers comfortable words she went about to assuage my furious evils, and fervent passions, and taking me in her arms, with trembling hands she wiped my face all blubbered with tears, with speaking these words:
“Young Lady, and my dearest Mistress, thy sorrows make me beyond all measure sorrowful, and would afflict me more, had not I warned thee of them before. But thou (more wilful than wise), forsaking my willing counsels and precepts, hast headlong followed thy flattering conceits and pleasures, wherefore with sorrowful cheer I see thee unhappily overcome with these griefs, which must needs be due chastisements for thy rash and unreasonable follies. But because everyone may always as long as life doth last (so that he have a willing mind to perform it) decline from his wicked ways, and turn again into the right, I shall think it the dearest thing to me that may happen, if from henceforth thou wouldest shake off the dark cloud from the eyes of thy understanding, obscured by this wicked tyrant, and restore to them again the clear light of truth. What he is, the momentary delights and the prolonged griefs which thou hast passed and dost endure for him, may make thee apparently know. Thou hast, like a young and simple Woman, following more thy unbridled will than reined reason, fondly loved, and in loving, to that end which is not only expected, but commonly also desired in such passions, hast attained, and yet (as it is said) hast known it to be but a more short than sweet delight. And what thing else can there be desired or looked for hereafter, than that which thou hast already had.
“And yet, if happily it might come to pass that Panphilus should return again into thine arms, thou shouldest feel no other pleasure than thou wert wont to do. Fervent and hot desires are wont to be in new things, in the which many times putting a certain kind of hope of a false imaginative pleasure, and thinking that, that good is hidden in them (which perhaps is not), with great grief do make appassionate Lovers endure their force and heat. Whereas those things which are already known are wont to be more temperately and but meanly liked of, and not half so much in request. But overruled too much with the greediness of thy disordinate appetite, and disposing of thyself altogether to new and fanatical opinions, thou dost perform the contrary. Wise and discreet folks, perceiving themselves to be in troublesome places, and full of doubtful dangers, are wont to retire back again, rather content and willing to leese their labour and travail, which they have endured until that place, to the which they have arrived, and deeming it better to return safely again, than going on forward, to endanger themselves, and to get no other end of their rash attempt than sudden death. Follow thou therefore the like example, while thou mayest, and place now, with more modesty, advised reason before lawless will, and wisely hale and help thyself again out of thy pit of peril and sorrow, into the which thou hast suffered thyself foolishly to fall. Fortune, perhaps yet favourable unto thee (if with advice thou wilt take heed), hath not forestalled thy passage in returning back again, nor hath so covered and choked up the same, but that (discerning thy footsteps well) thou mayest by the selfsame come back again, from whence thou didst first move thy headlong feet, and be once again that Fiammetta which whilom thou wert wont to be.
“Thy good name, thine honour, and thy known virtues are yet unstained and whole, and whatsoever thou hast yet done is not in the minds of many secret, nor in the knowledge of, any public person commaculated, which being once corrupted, hath been heretofore the only means, and yet is (as we daily see) an occasion, to make one fall
into the uttermost and deepest place of all mischief. Proceed therefore no further, lest thou contemn and waste that which Fortune hath reserved for thee. Comfort thyself with this imagination, that thou didst never see Panphilus, or else that thy husband was the same man. Thy indifferent fantasy is apt to any conceit, and imaginations are easily suffered to be wrought like Ware. By this way only thou mayest make thyself merry again, which thing thou oughtest specially to desire, if anguish and sorrow afflict thee so much, as thy words do promise, and thy countenance doth protest.”
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 377
