Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  These words and such like, not once, but many times, with a sorrowful mind did I hear, without making any answers to them again. And though I was beyond all measure troubled in mind — notwithstanding I knew them to be most true, but yet the matter very ill-disposed — did receive them without any profit at all. But turning me now on one side, and now on another, sometimes it happened that, moved with raving anger, and not respecting the presence of my austere Nurse, with a voice enraged with womanly grief, and with a sorrowful kind of complaint, and greater than any of the rest, I said thus:

  “O Megera, O Tesiphon, O Alecto, tormentors of wicked and woeful souls, let your horrible and ugly hair stand up, and incense the cruel and fierce Hydras with venomous anger, and kindle them to new kinds of quaking fears, and with flinging your crawling Snakes in her face, enter speedily into the wicked chamber of that damned adulteress. Inflame your miserable brands for her vile conjunctions that she enjoyeth now with her robbed lover, and beset their delicate bed about with them in sign of a dire presage to wicked lovers. O any else people of the black habitations of infernal Dis, O ye Gods of the immortal kingdoms of Styx, be present there, and with your luckless lamentations smite fear and horror into these faithless friends. O miserable Scritch Owl, sit and sing over their hapless house.

  “And O you ominous Harpies, give them some terrible sign of future woes. O eternal Chaos and darkness, enemy to all light, possess the adulterers’ houses so, that their wicked eyes may not behold nor enjoy any comfortable light at all. And let your malice (O ye revengers of wicked things) enter into those minds which are so ready to change, and raise up cruel contention and tragical murders between them.” After this, casting out a hot burning sigh, I added these words following: “O most wicked woman, whosoever thou art (unknown to me) thou dost now possess my lover, so long, and so often, wished for of me, and I (miserable woman) being far from him, do in the meantime languish in continual pain. Thou dost enjoy the guerdon of my travails and deserts, and I (deceived of the fruit) do remain still in sowing and pouring forth prayers, and consume myself in watering them with continual drops of tears.

  “I have offered orisons and incense to the Gods for his prosperity (whom thou hast secretly embezzled from me) and they were heard only for thy profit. And now, behold with what art (I know not) nor how thou hast rooted him out of my loving heart, and engrafted him (false woman) in thine. And yet I know that it is so. But with such content, and so mayest thou love, and live (I wish) as thou hast made me to do. And if (perhaps) it be too hard for him to fall in love the third time, then let the Gods divide your loves, no otherwise than they did dissolve the Grecian Lady’s and the Judge’s of Ida, or as they did dissever that of the young man of Abydos and of his vigilant and sorrowful Hero, or as they did break off those of the miserable Sons of Eolus — bending their sharp judgment only against thee, he himself remaining safe. O naughty woman, thou must needs have thought (viewing well his comely face) that he was not without some Lady, and loving Mistress.

  “If thou didst therefore suppose this (which I know thou didst imagine), with what mind didst thou practise to take that away which appertained to another? With an envious and fraudulent mind I am sure. Wherefore I will, as my mortal enemy and wrongful occupier of my goods, pursue thee evermore, and as long as I live will nourish and preserve my life with hope of thy shameful and cruel death. The which I wish may not be so common and natural as to others it is, but that turned into a lump of massy lead, or Ixion’s heavy stone tied about thy neck, thou mayest be cast into some deep and dark cave, amongst the midst of thy enemies’ murdering hands, and that neither fire nor funeral be granted to burn and bury thy torn and massacred members, but being pulled in pieces, and scattered abroad, they may serve to glut the hungry maws of howling dogs and ravenous wolves. Which I pray (after they have devoured thy soft and tender flesh) may for thy naked bones fiercely jar and cruelly fight one with another, so that gradually gnawing, and breaking them in pieces with their whetted teeth, they may lively represent thy wicked prey and thee, delighted with thy gluttonous rapine, which in thy detested lifetime thou didst foully commit.

  “There shall not escape one day, not one night, no, not one hour, but my ready mouth shall be full of endless curses. Sooner shall the Celestial Bear plump down into the ocean, and the raging waves of Sicilian Carybdis shall be quiet, and the barking Dogs of Scylla shall hold their peace, and ripe Corn shall grow in the waves of the Ionian sea, and the darkest night in her chiefest obscurity shall shine like Titan his beams, and water with fire, death with life, and the Sea with winds shall sooner with breachless faith be at truce and make concord together, before I will reconcile and establish a peace with thee (vile monster of womankind). But rather whilst golden Ganges shall be hot and Istrus cold, and while high hills shall bear sturdy Oaks, and the soft and watered meadows green grass, so long (foul brothel) will I be at continual war and defiance with thee, which neither mortal hatred nor death shall determine, but pursuing thee amongst the dead ghosts and fiends of Hell, with all those torments that are used there, I will continually plague, and eternally punish thy damned soul for thy condemned and hateful deed.

  “But if perchance thou dost survive me, what-soever the manner of my death shall be, and wheresoever my miserable Ghost shall wander, from thence, perforce, I will labour to take it, and, entering into thy loathsome body, will make thee as mad as the Virgins after they had received Apollo. Or else, coming in thy sight broad waking, thou shalt see me in a most horrible shape, and in thy fearful sleep oftentimes will I awake and affright thee in the uncomfortable silence of the dark night.

  “And, briefly, in whatsoever thou goest about, or doest, I will continually be a horrible object to thy wicked eyes, and a griping corsive to thy hellish heart: and then (remembering this cruel injury) I will not suffer thee to be quiet in any place. And so long as thou livest, with such a hideous fury (myself the only worker of it) thou shalt be continually haunted.

  “And when thou art dead I will minister occasions of more dire stratagems unto thy miserable ghost. Alas, poor wretched that I am, to what end are my bootless words prolonged? I bark and threaten, and thou dost bite and hurt me, and, enfolding my beloved Panphilus between thy unworthy arms, dost care as much for my menacing and offensive words as high and mighty kings for their inferior and impotent vassals: and no more than conquering Captains for their confounded captives. Alas, would I had now Dedains his art, or Medea’s Coach, because making wings by the one for my shoulders, and being carried in the air by the other, I might suddenly alight there, where thou dost basely hide and nestle thyself with thy stolen love. Oh, how many thundering words, and what threatening invectives, with bended brows would I cast out against that false youth, and against thee, unjust robber of another’s felicity! Oh, with what villainous terms would I reprehend your detestable follies!

  “And after that I had amazed, appalled and attainted your wicked faces with a shameful blush, with recital of these unshameful faults, I would then without delay proceed to sharp revenge, and taking thy hair (false enchantress) in my hands, with pulling and renting them, and drawing thee here and there by thy tresses before thy perfidious lover, I would glut my swelling anger, and tearing thy garments from thy disgraced body, with reproachful taunts I would triumph over thee, malapert and wicked traitoress. Nor this should not suffice me to fulfil my due anger, nor be half enough for thee to expiate thy odious crime, but with sharp nails I would disfigure that painted visard, which so much pleased his false eyes, leaving an eternal memorial of their characters and revenge in it. And thy miserable body with my greedy teeth piecemeal I should shiver, leaving the which afterwards unto him (that doth now flatter thee) to heal again, myself (joyful for part of so small vengeance) would hie me home again to my sorrowful habitacles.”

  Whilst I spake these words with fiery sparkling eyes, with closed teeth, and with bended fist, as though I had been at the very action itself, I remained a pretty while silent: and methought I h
ad indeed played one Pageant of my greedy revenge. But the old Nurse, with mournful voice, lamenting, said thus unto me:

  “O daughter, since thou dost not know the furious tyranny of this passion — which thou callest thy God — who doth thus molest thee, temperate thyself, and bridle thy piteous complaints.

  “And if the due pity which thou shouldest take of thy own self doth not move thee hereunto, let the regard of thy honour persuade thee to it, which for an old error passed, may lightly be stained with a new shame: or at least withhold these complaints and outcries, lest that thy loving husband perceive not the indirect causes of thy doleful plaints. And so for two causes he might worthily be sorry and aggrieved at thy senseless folly.”

  Then being put in mind of my husband, and thinking of the wrong and shame I had done him, moved with new pity, I lamented more sensibly than I did before, and discussing in my mind my corrupted faith, and the holy laws of wedlock violated, I said:

  “O most faithful companion in my troubles, my husband may be sorry for little or nothing. For he, which was the occasion of my offence, hath been a severe purger of the same. I have long since received a guerdon, and am yet paid with so severe a reward for my demerits. My husband could not imagine to give me any greater punishment than that which my late lover hath afflicted me withal. Only death (if death be painful, as it is commonly said) my husband may annex to my other torments. Let him then therefore come and give it me quickly. It shall be no pain for me to die, but a wished pleasure, because I greatly desire the same.

  “And it shall be more acceptable and welcome to me, performed by his own hands, whom so greatly I have offended, than perpetrated by any others, or by my own. If he do not give me it, or if it doth not voluntarily come unto me, my troubled wits shall find out some speedy passage to it, because by means of that I hope to conclude all my sorrow at once.

  “Huge hell, the last and extremest punishment of damned miserable souls, in the most tormenting place of all, hath not any torture so forcible or equal with mine. Ancient authors allege and bring in Titius for an example of great punishment, saying that his increasing liver is continually beaked and devoured of a greedy vulture. And certes, though I account his pain not little, yet it is not like to mine. For if the hungry Vulture feed upon his liver, a hundred thousand thousand griping and stinging griefs continually gnaw my heart more than sharp bills of any preying Birds. They likewise affirm that Tantalus, placed between clear water and goodly fruit, doth evermore die for hunger and thirst.

  “Myself (alas) put in the midst, and swimming in all mundane delights, with affectionate desire wishing my lover and not enjoying him, do sustain as much, nay, rather greater pain than he. Because, with never-ceasing hope, he thinks sometimes to taste of these fresh waters, and ruddy Apples, that hang on every side about him. But I (despairing now altogether of that which I once hoped would have been my comfort) do neither see nor can excogitate any ease for my grief; and loving him more than ever I did, by the alluring forces of another woman, and of his proper accord also, is so kept back that he hath not only cast me quite out of his remembrance, but that by means thereof I am debarred to entertain the smallest hope that may be of my welfare for ever after. And miserable Ixion also, turmoiling eternally at his unruly wheel, doth not feel such cruel pain, that it may be likened to mine. Because, myself shaken with continual motions of furious madness, by my adverse fates do suffer much more grief than ever he can do. And if the daughters of Danaus with lost labour do continually pour water into tubs full of holes, thinking to fill them, I strain forth greater plenty of tears by the overflowing conduits of my eyes, drawn from the hollow cave and centre of my heart. Wherefore do I trouble myself to recite these infernal tortures by one and one since that there is heaped in me a greater Chaos of miseries than any there divided, or conjoined. And if I had no other kind of anguish to cruciate my miserable soul, that I must of necessity keep my dolours secret, or at the least conceal and hide their offspring, whereas they, with loud voices, careless speeches, public actions (conformable to their sorrows), might discover and manifest theirs, by so much the more should my pains be adjudged greater and more grievous than theirs. For (alas) how strong the restrained fire and how more violently doth it burn than that which hath full scope and no obstacle to exhalate and throw his flames abroad. And how grievous a thing it is not to be permitted to speak one word of extreme sorrow that doth sensibly torment one, and that it is not lawful to tell the annoyous occasion of it, but under the show of a merry countenance it is convenient to hide it in the secret closet of an impatient and painful heart. Wherefore, not extreme sorrow only, but external death, shall be a lightening of my grief. Let, therefore, my dear husband come, and in one hour let him revenge himself, and rid me out of these pains. Let his unsheathed sword open my miserable and naked breast, and let him in one instant with plenty of my blood pull forth my sorrowing soul, and dissolve my infinite and heaped woes, and (as my vile wickedness doth deserve) let him tear this heart, the retainer of these vile injuries, the principal deceiver of his true affections, and the chiefest receiver of his feigned friend and secret enemy.” After that the Nurse did see me hold my peace, and begin to weep bitterly, with a mild and low voice she began to reply: “O dear daughter, what meaneth this, which so frantically thou speakest? Thy words are as vain as thy conceits more foolish. I have seen (being now an old woman) many things which have passed in this, world and have daily known the order and course of many ladies’ and gentlewomen’s loves. And (although I am not to be accounted myself, amongst them) yet, nevertheless, have I once felt the secret poison of these amorous darts which are more grievous sometimes and much more troublesome to those of lower degree and of poor condition than to the nobler and higher personages, whenas all the means and passages to the attaining of their desires and pleasures are stopped and cut off from them that are needy and poor; whereas they at their will, and with their wealth, may break an open way to heaven. And that, which thou sayest to be almost impossible, and so grievous unto thee, I never conceived, nor felt to be half so painful, and nothing so hard as thou dost make it. Which grief, although it be indeed very great, ought not, for all that, to work such effects in thee as to consume and waste thyself in such woes, and thereby to seek thy own death, which more rashly and furiously than by any good motion of wisdom or argument of reason thou dost wish for. I know well, that burning anger procured by fury is blinded, and careth not to cover itself, nor doth brook any bridle, and doth admit no reason, and is not afraid of death, but rather driven on headlong and urged of itself, it resisteth the mortal pricks of sharp swords. But if thou wouldest let this anger of itself wax somewhat colder, I doubt not but thy kindled folly should be made more manifest to that temperate and cooled part. And therefore, good daughter, with patience sustain his great force, and give place to his fury.

  “Wherefore note my words a little, and settle thy mind upon the examples which I will propound unto thee. Thou art with incessant anguish of mind most sorrowful (if I have well perceived thy speeches) for the long absence of thy beloved youth gone from thee, and for his faithless fidelity, and for the second love of his new choice. And being aggrieved at these (perhaps) uncertain and unjust injuries reckonest no pain like unto thine. But (certes) if thou wouldest be so wise as I do wish thee, thou shalt for ease of all these painful accidents (pondering well my words) receive an easy and an effectual remedy. The young man whom thou lovest ought without all doubt (according to the laws and ordinances of love) to love thee again, as thou dost him, and if he doth not, he doth very ill — and yet there is no force to compel him thereunto, since everyone may use the benefit of his own liberty as it pleaseth him best. If thou dost love him greatly, and so much that thereby thou dost endure great pain, he is not therefore to be blamed; nor thou canst not justly be aggrieved with him therefore, considering that thou thyself art the chiefest cause of this. For mighty Love (although he be a great Lord, and his forces are inevitable) could not, for all that, against thy
will place thy Lover in thy heart.

  “Thy vagrant wit and idle thoughts were the first originals of thy love, which, if thou hadst effectually opposed with thy might, these sorrowful events had not happened unto thee, as now they have done, but, as one free from such uncouth passions, thou mightest have mocked him, and all others, as he, disporting himself with his new love (as thou sayest), doth now make but a jest of thee. It is therefore necessary, since that thou hast submitted thy liberty to his Law, to govern thy passions according to his pleasures, and since he thinks it best to be far from thee, that thou content thyself, and not repine thereat. If with tears he did vow entire faith unto thee, and promised thee to return, he did not use any new thing herein, but an old and common trick, practised out of memory, and performed every day of most Lovers. And these are the pranks, and many more such fashions of like consequence, which are daily taught and learned in thy God his Court. But if he hath not kept with thee that faith and promise, there was never any Judge that, in deciding of this matter, could say any more of it but that he did not well, and would so acquit him, thinking also with thyself that he should do the like (if any other strange love, or fortune, had given thee over to such a breach of former faith) as now thou shouldest, and I do wish thee to do. He is not also the first that hath done so, nor thou the first to whom like accidents have befallen. Jason departed from Lemnos from Hipsiphile, and returned into Thessaly to Medea, and from her afterwards to Creusa. Amorous Paris went from the woods of Ida from OEnone, and returned to Troy with fair Helen. Theseus went from Crete from Ariadne, and came to Athens to Phedra. And yet for all this neither Hipsiphile, Œnone nor Ariadne killed themselves, but, rejecting all vain thoughts, buried their false Lovers in dark oblivion. Love (as I said above) doth thee no wrong at all, or hath done thee any more than thou thyself wouldest take. He useth his bow and arrows without any respect of persons, as we may daily see by proof. And there are so many and manifest examples, making so clear on his side, and for his manner of inordinate dealings, that none can worthily be aggrieved at any bad success which he giveth, and that can with reason (almost) bewail the ordinary grief, pains and care which by his means and molestations his followers have, but rather complain and lament their voluntary submission, and be sorrowful for their frank consent with which they yielded to him. For he, being but a wanton, naked and blind boy, doth fly and alight he knoweth not where himself. Wherefore, to be sorrowful for his accustomed and indirect usages, to bewail his unkind and froward abuses, to receive no comfort by him, or by no means to think to remove him, is rather a loss of words and wind.