“What inspiration hath drawn her from so long sorrow, and mitigated thus her continual melancholy, which neither by sweet and effectual comforts, nor by friendly and loving requests, could heretofore be driven out of her obstinate mind. This is surely no less than a miracle.” And as they wondered much at it, so were they also very glad of this sudden alteration. All my family, being very heavy a long time for my continual tribulation, began with me to rejoice now again, and as my errors were altered, even so it seemed that all things with the same were changed from sorrow into solace. The days, which erst I thought longer than they were wont to be, did (by reason of the hope which I had of Panphilus his return, seeming now longest of all unto me) pass away (methought) with the slowest course that might be. Nor the first were so well counted of me, but with greater care and diligence I marked these. In space of which time, sometimes sitting with myself all alone, and thinking of my past cares and careful thoughts, I did now chiefly condemn them, saying:
“Oh, how hardly of late have I thought of my dear lover, how rashly have I condemned his long staying, and how foolishly have I believed that he was wholly given over to the liking and love of another woman, induced thereunto but by the slender report of one of my lying servants. Accursed therefore be their buzzing tales. O Gods, how can men with such open and impudent countenances tell abroad false and shameless lies? But everything (Fiammetta) should with more sound advice of thy own part have been considered, than so soon and so easily to have given belief unto them. I should (alas) have counterpoised the faith of my lover so many times sworn and promised to me, and as many times again with affectionate tears avowed, and should have weighed the love that he bare me, and yet doth, with their fabulous words, false rumours and base credits, in the equal balance of my right judgment, who (without any sacrament of urged oath, and myself not caring to inquire further, and not desirous to know any more than that they spake) told only the bare reports of others and with asseveration only of their first opinions and superficial knowledge, which do now manifestly appear to be erroneous and false.
“One alleging that he did see a young gentlewoman go into Panphilus his father’s house, because he knew not any other young gentleman perhaps there but him, and not thinking of the unseemly and common wantons of old dotards, or else (ignorant (perhaps) of her alliance with them) believed by and by that she was his wife, and so without any more ado told it her who therefore did believe it, because she took but little heed and care of him that told it. Another, because he perceived him sometimes to eye some fair Gentlewoman, or else to dally with her, which (might be) was his Kinswoman, or someone with whom he was familiarly and honestly acquainted, did judge her to be his also, and affirming it again with simple words to me, I did, like a simple Woman, believe the same. Oh, that I had most duly pondered these things in my mind, how many tears, what infinite sighs, and what extreme grief had I never felt. But what thing can an enamoured and silly Woman advisedly ponderate in her mind, and directly do? As sundry forces assail us, so do they toss and turn our minds to every change. And simple Lovers easily believe all things. Because love is a passion full of care and fear. For by continual use they addict themselves always to hurtful accidents, and desiring many things, believe most possibilities, contrary to their troubled fancies, so fixing their irremovable minds upon the first that to the second reports, and things, they give small belief, or none at all. But I am to be held excused; and therefore I always prayed the Gods that they would make me a liar in my fond imaginations and belief.
“But behold my prayers are heard, and he shall never understand these words which I have spoken against him, which, if he did know, he could say nothing else but that they proceeded from the fervent love I bare him. For how dear a thing should it be to him to hear of my torments and grief of mind, and to know of my past and prevented perils for his sake, because these are most true arguments of my undoubted love and faith; and I can scarce think otherwise but that he hath tarried so long, and to none other end, but only to prove if with a constant mind I could (without forgetting him) attend his coming again. Behold, therefore, and with what force of mind I have expected him. Wherefore from henceforth, when he shall perceive with what pain and tears, and with how many millions of martyring thoughts I have looked for him, love shall be born anew again in him, and no other God. Ah, when shall it come to pass that he (being once arrived) shall see me, and I him again?
“O ye Gods, which from your high thrones contemplate all things here beneath, may I temper and moderate my eager desire, from embracing his body before all men as soon as I shall see him. Truly I believe I shall hardly do it.
O bounteous Gods, when shall it be that, enfolding him straitly between mine arms, I shall render him treble again those kisses which at his departure he gave to my dying lips, without any exchange for them again! Certes, the presage which I noted, that I was not able to bid him farewell, is now true, and by that the Gods have very well declared to me his return. O ye gracious Gods, when will that time come when I may joyfully recount unto him the Seas of salt tears, and the worlds of woes, which I have passed, and worn out, and when shall I know the occasion of his long and sorrowful absence? Shall I live so long? Alas, I scarcely think it. Ah, let that day come quickly, because death (not long since so often called and procured of me) doth now terrify me, which (if possibly my prayers can enter into his ears) I humbly beseech, that flying far from me, he would let me spend the remainder of my young years in joy and pleasure with my beloved Panphilus.” I was therefore very careful that no day should pass me wherein I did not employ my whole study and diligence to be very inquisitive of Panphilus his return, and to hear also of some true news of him. And my dear Nurse was not negligent in seeking out the young Gentleman, and bringer of these glad tidings, because she might with more sureness be ascertained of that which she had told me, which thing she did not only once, but as oftentimes as conveniently she could, and (as many times as she had done before) she did always bring me word, that his return was nigh at hand. Wherefore I did not only expect the promised time, but, proceeding a little further, I did imagine it possible that he was now come. And therefore a hundred times in the day I did run sometimes beneath to the door, and sometimes to the window, looking round about me a great way if I might perceive him come. And I saw not any man coming afar off that way that he should come but I did verily imagine that it was he, and with great desire did look on him so long until, coming nearer unto me, I might easily perceive that it was not he. Whereat being somewhat grieved in mind, I looked out to see if any other came, and sometimes one and now another passing by, and seeing that none of them was he, I remained (my greedy desire and hope deceived) full of confusion, and very angry with myself.
And if I was perhaps called into the house, or else by some other urgent occasion went from the window, a hundred thousand thoughts (as if a multitude of dogs grinding their teeth at me had bitten my soul) did sting and molest me, saying to myself: “Alas, even now (perhaps) he goeth by, or else is already passed, whilst thou art here busied about not so contented an office”: and immediately I went again to see if I could see him come, making it but a short time between going down to the door and running quickly up to the window again. Ah, poor soul, and wretched Woman, how much sorrow and how many troubles didst thou sustain for him whom, hourly looking for, thou couldest never perceive to come. But after that the day was come in which my Nurse told me that he should arrive, and of the which she had so often foretold me, I adorned myself no otherwise than Alcmena did when she heard that her Amphitryon was at hand, and with my mastering hand left not anything in me unbeautified, but set forth in the best and bravest order, and in the finest fashion.
And I could scarce keep myself in from going to the Sea side because I might the sooner see him, because (also) I heard certain news of the arrival of those Galleys in the which my Nurse understood, and certified me, that he should come. But thinking with myself that the first Saint that he would visit on shore was mysel
f, I (therefore) bridled my earnest and hot desire. But in fine (as I rightly guessed) he came not at all: whereupon I began beyond all measure to marvel, and in the midst of my late joy arised in my mind divers kinds of doubts, which were not so easily overthrown by superficial suppositions of his coming, or by any other shadows of gladsome thoughts. After a little while, therefore, I sent the old Woman to know what was become of him, and whether he was come or not: who went, as it seemed, with such an unwilling mind, and with as slow a pace, which did divine of some consequent and sorrowful tidings. Wherefore I accursed many times with myself, and with great anger blamed her crooked steps and aged paces. Who, staying but a little time abroad, came to me again with a sorrowful cheer and dull gait.
Alas, when I saw her come in this sort I could hardly contain my soul in my body, and therefore suddenly imagined that my Lover was dead by the way, or else that he was arrived very sick. The colour of my face changed a thousand times in one instant, and going to meet the dreaming Nurse, I said unto her: “Tell me quickly what news dost thou bring. Doth my Lover live?” She changed not her gait, nor answered me one word. And being now entered into my Chamber, and setting herself down, looked me very pitifully in the face. Wherefore every part of my body being shaken, like the tender Aspen leaves by some soft wind, I did being now to tremble, and hardly restraining my tears, I crossed mine arms, and did put my hands into my sorrowful bosom, saying:
“If thou dost not tell me quickly what this thy sorrowful countenance doth mean, and what these sad signs which thou dost bring with thee do signify, there shall not any part of my garments remain whole to my body, nor hair untorn from my head. What secret occasion therefore may it be that moveth thee from telling it, but only that which I fear will prove ominous unto me. Conceal it no longer, but declare it, whilst I am attending for worse. What (tell me at a word), liveth my Panphilus?” She, pricked on by my angry words and threatenings, with a low voice, and looking down to the ground, said: “He liveth.” Then said I again: “Wherefore dost, thou not tell me quickly? What envious accidents stay him from coming hither? Why dost thou hold me in suspense and wavering amidst a thousand fearful surmises? Is he sick with any malady? Or what froward occasion doth withhold him that, being come out of the Galley, he doth not come to see me?” Then she said: “I know not whether want of health or any other mischance doth detain him.” Then said I again: “Hast thou not seen him, or is he not yet come?”
“I have seen him,” said she, “and he is come, but not the same whom we did expect.”
“How art thou sure,” said I, “that he is not my Panphilus? Hast thou seen him at any other time, and didst thou now behold and mark him well?”
“Truly,” said she, “I did never see him that I wot of, but being even now brought unto him by that young Gentleman who told me the first news of his return, and telling him that I had oftentimes inquired for him, he asked me what I would with him. ‘His health and welfare,’ said I. And I demanding of him how his old Father did, and in what estate the rest of his things stood, and what was the cause of his long staying since his departure, he answered that he never knew his Father, and that he was a posthumous-born, and that all his things were in good plight, and that he had never been here before, and did mean to stay here but a small time. These things made me to wonder, and doubting, lest I was deceived, I asked him his name, which courteously and plainly he told me; and I no sooner heard it but immediately I perceived, by the identity and likeness of it with the name of thy beloved Panphilus, both thee and myself to be greatly deceived.”
When I heard these things (most pitiful Ladies) mine eyes forsook their lights, and every sensitive spirit, for fear of death, went their ways, and falling down in the place where I sat, there remained no more force in my body than was scarce able to breathe forth one poor Alas. Which, when the miserable old Woman perceived, lamenting greatly, and calling the rest of my Women about me, carried me like a dead woman to my bed, and there labouring to reduce my wandering spirits with cold water, believing a great while together to recover life, and yet misdoubting also the same, they watched me with diligent care. But after that my forsaken forces came to me again, and after I had poured forth many tears and sighs, I asked the sorrowful Nurse another time if it were so as she had said. And besides this, remembering with myself how wary and discreet Panphilus was wont to be, and suspecting that he had wisely and of purpose made himself unknown to the Nurse, with whom he had never talked in his life before, I willed that she should describe unto me the countenance, the feature, the gesture, the personage and the fashions of that Panphilus with whom she had talked. But she, affirming first with an oath that it was no less and no otherwise than she had told me, declared to me afterwards in order his stature, the lineaments of his body and face, and, last of all, the manner of his apparel. All which (alas) made me give too great faith to that which the old woman told me.
Wherefore, thrust off from all hope, I re-entered into my former woes, and rising up like a frantic Woman I pulled off my sumptuous garments of joy, and laid aside my once dear but now unpleasant ornaments, and my frizzled shining hair, with an envious Hecuba hand, I tore out of order, and did carelessly ruffle them together, and despising all comfort, I began most bitterly to complain of my incessant and miserable mishaps, and with cruel words to condemn my failed hope, and to blame the good thoughts and like concealed opinions of my untrue and wicked Lover.
And, in brief, I returned wholly to my old life of miseries, and had a more earnest and fervent desire of death than before, which I had not escaped (as yet I have), but that the hope of my intended voyage, with no little force, withheld me from performance of it.
THE SEVENTH BOOK OF BOCACE HIS FIAMMETTA
IN THIS KIND of life, therefore (most pitiful Ladies), I have remained, as by the recounted and passed accidents you may gather. And by how much my ungrateful Lord doth see my hope fly from me, by so much the more doth he work stranger effects in me than he was wont to do, and, blowing with more hot desires the glowing coals of love in my smothered breast, doth make them greater than before, which, as on the one side they do mightily increase, so are my pains and sorrows on the other by like proportion augmented, which, never being with due ointment assuaged of me, are by my own will and follies made more grievous and insupportable; and being more sharp do more afflict my sorrowful and woeful mind. And I doubt not (but following their headlong course) they will at length, with some honest mean, open me the way of death, which heretofore I have so long and unfeignedly desired. But yet having my assured hope, as I have already said, in my pretended voyage to find and see him (ah, that ungrateful Panphilus, I mean) who is the original of all this, I did not seek to mitigate them, but was rather now resolved (as well as I could) constantly to endure them. For performance of which I found out one only possible way amongst many others, which was, to compare and measure my pains with theirs who had likewise passed such brunts as myself fighting under the amorous ensigns and in the dolorous battles of love: whereof I think to reap a double commodity.
First, in knowing myself not the first, nor to be alone afflicted with misery, as not long since my Nurse, in her alleged comforts, told me. Secondly, that every grief, pain and pang of their love being (in my judgment) sufficiently recompensed, I determined and resolved with myself to pass away ever after with my former, every other grief whatsoever; which I reckon no little glory to me, when I may say that I am only she that living hath sustained more grief and misery than any other woman. And with this kind of glory (forsaken yet of everyone as extreme misery indeed and of myself (alas) if I could otherwise do), in this sort, as you shall hear, I passed away my melancholy times. I say, therefore, that, martyred with these continual anguishes, and considering well of others who have not been exempted from the like, the painful loves of Inachus his daughter (who, being first a tender and delicate damsel, and passing lovely and beautiful, did seem lively to represent me) came to my mind, and afterwards her great good hap and happy felicity, i
n that she was not meanly beloved of mighty Jove. Which thing doubtless could not be of her only, but every woman also accounted a great glory and praise. Afterwards considering how she was metamorphosed into a Cow, and how, by the severe command of jealous Juno, she was kept of vigilant Argus, I did judge her to be beyond all measure tormented with great anxieties and grief of mind. And certes, I am of opinion that her griefs did greatly exceed mine, if that for her company and comfort she had not had sometimes the assistance of her loving God. And who doth doubt, if I had the sweet company of my lover, who might any time have helped me in these ruthful passions, or that he had but sometimes taken any little pity of me, that any woes whatsoever could have annoyed me so, as they have continually done. Besides this, her end made her passed and approved sorrows very light. Because Argus being killed by her lover’s messenger, and she transported lightly with her heavy body into Egypt, and returned there to her own shape again and married to Osiris, she saw herself at last installed in the Imperial diadem, and like a happy Queen, to sway the regal sceptre of Egypt. If I could but think, or hope, though in my old age to see my Panphilus once again, I would say that my griefs were not to be compared with the sorrows of this Lady. But the Gods only know if this good fortune shall ever hap to me or no, howsoever with false hope in the meantime I delude and flatter myself. Next to her the unfortunate love of Biblis is represented unto my thoughts, whom (methink) I see forsake all her wealth, joy and pleasure to follow unflexible Caunus. And with these I bethink myself also of wicked Mirrha, who, after the detested fruition of her odious loves, flying from her angry Father, who pursued her with menaces of just death, plunged also into that misery.
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