Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  I behold also dolorous Canace, who, after the miserable birth of her incestuous conception, looked for nothing less but death. And thinking well with myself of their several sorrows, I did doubtless esteem them to be extreme, although their loves were but filthy and abominable lusts. But if I am not deceived I see them all ended, or else in short space to be terminated. Because Mirrha flying away, having the Gods pitiful of her pains, and answerable to her desires, was without delay transformed into a tree of her own name.

  And she never after (although it doth continually distil Amber tears, as she did at the very instant when her form was changed) felt any of her former pains and plaints. And as the occasion of her sorrows did arise, so the cause of their privation was not also wanting. Biblis, likewise (as some say), without any longer delay, ended her doleful days with a cruel halter: admit that others hold that by great favour of the Nymphs (who did commiserate her hard destinies) she was turned into a fountain of her own name, till this day yet keeping the same.

  And this befell to her when she knew that Caunus denied her her desires, and scornfully rejected her company, and with frowning brows reproved her wicked suits. What shall I say in showing my own pains, greater (alas) than those that molested Biblis, and more grievous than those that Mirrha had, but that the brevity of them hath had no small advantage over the length of mine. Those therefore well considered, the pitiful loves of hapless Pyramus and Thisbe were next objected to my remembrance, of whom (I cannot but take great compassion), imagining them both to be young, and with great trouble and many sorrows, to have burned in each other’s love, and labouring with mutual presence to have reaped the fruit of their fervent desires, which with untimely death and in short time were equally dissolved.

  Oh, what a pitiful thing is it to think what grief pierced poor Pyramus his heart when in the silent time of night, finding his dear Thisbe’s robes bloody and torn of the wild beast at the foot of the Mulberry tree, near unto the fountain and appointed meeting place, by these dismal and unexpected tokens he surely thought that she was devoured. The sheathing, certes, of his own sword in his impatient breast did show it manifestly enough. Afterwards discoursing in my mind the wounding thoughts of miserable Thisbe beholding her lover wallowing in his own gore, and panting yet with declining life, I think them to be so grievous, and imagine her tears also to be such burning drops, that I can hardly believe that there were ever any (mine own excepted) that did torment and scald more than hers. Wherefore these two (as it is now said) in the very beginning of their griefs and loves did end the very same. Oh thrice happy souls if that in the other world, as in this, their perfect and firm love doth still remain inviolate. And so the pains, cares and infinite woes of all their former love could not be equivalent with the delights and content of their eternal company.

  After these the grief of forsaken Dido entered with greater force and deeper consideration into my mind, because her condition did of all others most resemble mine. I imagined how she was building of Carthage, and studying with great Majesty to dictate laws in Juno’s temple to her new people; and how she gave bountiful entertainment to Æneas, a stranger unto her by envious tempests of the Sea weatherbeaten and cast upon her Lybian shores; and how she was enamoured of his brave personage, and passing virtues; and at last how she committed both herself and all hers to the disposition and pleasure of that Trojan Duke, who, having used her royal Palaces at his pleasure, and soaked himself in all manner of delices in her country, she being every day more and more inflamed with his love, abandoning her at last, departed from thence. Oh, how much without compare did she seem miserable in my conceit, beholding her looking from her highest turrets towards the sea, covered with disanchored ships of her flying and unpitiful lover.

  But I judge her more impatient than dolorous when I think of her cruel death. And, certes, at the first departure of my Panphilus I felt (in my opinion) the very selfsame grief as she did on the sudden endure at the sailing away of false Æneas. Oh, that it had so pleased the Gods that I, as unable to endure my grief as she was hers, had with some sudden death ended my loathed life, so that by these means I might have delivered myself from these pains and sorrows, as she did herself, which afterwards (by default thereof) did continually cleave in sunder my afflicted heart. After the miserable thoughts and the ruthful chances of unhappy Hero of Sesto came to my mind, whom (methought) I saw coming down from her highest Tower to the Sea banks and rocks, where she was wont sometimes to meet and receive her well-beloved and wearied Leander into her arms.

  And even there again (methinks) I see her with what a pitiful and pale countenance she beheld her lover lying dead before her, driven first on shore by a friendly Dolphin, all naked, and soused in brinish waters, and laid along upon the Sea sands, and wiping with her garments the salt water from his pale visage, and drowning him the second time with the flowing streams of her swelling tears. Ah, what great pity doth her cruel passages find in my sorrowful mind. More truly than any of those of the foresaid ladies, and sometimes so much that, forgetting my own woes, I did weep and lament for hers.

  And lastly, could I conceive no means for her comfort but one of these two, either to die, or else to forget him, as other dead men have been: in taking either of which her sorrows (I think) might have easily been finished. Considering that no lost thing, in recovering of which again there is no hope left, can grieve us any long time. But yet the Gods forbid that this kind of comfort should happen to me, which if it did come to pass, no counsel in such a case should avail but that which persuaded me once to a resolute and hasty death. For during the time that my Panphilus liveth, whose life his happy stars and predominant planets preserve as long as he himself doth desire, that cannot (I hope) nor shall not befall unto me. But seeing the intercourse of mundane things in continual motion, this belief is added to my hope, that in the end, or else (perhaps) before, he shall return, and be mine again, as once he was. Which lingering hope not coming to effect, doth hourly make my life grievous and irksome unto me. And by thus much therefore I esteem myself oppressed with greater sorrow than she was. I remember that in French metres, to which if any credit may be lent, I have sometimes read that Sir Tristram and Lady Isotta have more than any other lovers mutually and fervently loved each other, and with their changing delights have had great misfortunes and adversities intermingled, even in the flourishing and bravest time of their youth, who, because, loving greatly together, they have tasted both of one end, it seems most credible that not without extreme sorrow and bitter grief on both sides they forsook their worldly delights.

  Which may be easily granted if, in abandoning this world, they thought that in the other the same could not be found or had. But if they had this opinion, that they were as ample and common in the other (as they had indeed), then it is to be thought that death had rather afforded them some great content and joy than any sorrow and fear at all. For what certainty of grief may one give with testimony of a thing which he never proved? None at all, truly. In Sir Tristram his arms was his own death, and the death of his Lady also.

  For if, in embracing her body so straitly and lovingly, it had grieved her at all, in opening his arms again, the pain (no doubt) had ceased. And yet for all this, let us admit and say, that it is by great reason most fearful and grievous to taste of: what grief can we say to be absolutely in a thing that doth come to pass but only once, and which doth occupy but a little space of time? Certes, none. Sir Tristram therefore and Isotta in one hour ended their delights and dolours. The continued time of my stretching grief and lasting sorrow hath without comparison greatly exceeded the brevity of my enjoyed mirth and joys. But amongst the number of these foresaid lovers my mind did think of miserable Phedra, who, with her voluntary and advised fury, was the occasion of his most cruel death whom she loved more than herself. And I know not truly what damage and great inconvenience did follow her of such a great fault, but I am certain, if the like had ever happened to me, there had been nothing but violent death that might expiate th
e guilt thereof. But if she lived, she buried him afterward in dark oblivion, as commonly all things (as even now I said) are wont to be forgotten by death. And besides these sorrows which Laodamia, Deiphyle, Argia, Evadne and Deianira, and many others felt, followed hers in my scanning thoughts: all which, either by violent death or by necessary oblivion, received some comfort at last.

  And who doubteth that burning fire, red-hot iron and melted lead doth not grievously burn and scald his finger who doth but suddenly dip it in and doth quickly pull it out again? Why, none I think.

  And yet this is nothing to that extreme pain whose whole body is in either of these tormented and plunged for a good space together: wherefore how many soever I have described above in woes, sorrows and pains, the same may be said to be but a momentary while in their superficial and counterfeit griefs, whereas I have really felt them, continually been in them, and am not yet free from them. Wherefore all these foresaid voes, in respect of mine, have been but amorous annoyances. But besides these miserable women, the no less sorrowful tears poured forth of those who with the unexpected brunts of cruel fortune have been confounded came before mine eyes.

  And these are those of Jocasta, Hecuba, Sophonisba, Cornelia and Cleopatra. Oh, how much misery (considering well the miserable success of Jocasta’s loves) do we see befallen unto her in all her lifetime, possible enough to have daunted and troubled the most stout and strongest mind. For she being very young was married to Layus, King of Thebes, who commanded that her first child should be thrown out to be devoured of wild Beasts, the miserable Father thinking by this to have prevented that which the heavens and his inevitable destinies with infallible course had prepared for him. Oh, what a grief (must I needs think) that this was to her soul, considering the degree of her that sent it, and that with her own hands she was constrained to deliver, and to send it to a cruel kind of death: and afterwards certified, by them that carried her unfortunate infant, of his mangled and devoured corpse, with what intolerable grief she believed that he was dead indeed. And to see her hapless Husband most miserably slain of him whom he had engendered in her own bowels, and that she herself afterwards, espoused to her unknown Son, had by him four children. And so how almost in one hour she saw herself mother and wife to this wicked Parricide: whom after she had perfectly known, when she saw him deprived first of his eyes, and last of his kingdom, and how his execrable fact and detested life was published to the whole world. In what miserable plight her soul was then, oppressed now with many years, which were rather desirous of repose than meet to be diminished with restless anguish, she may well think, and judge, who hath been tossed with the greatest or with like griefs of mind. But yet her dispiteous and cruel Fortune heaped upon her extreme misery greater and more bitter woes. For seeing the yearly intercourse and successive reign of her two Sons, with mutual composition divided between them, and afterwards the faithless brother pinned up in the City; and seeing the greatest part of Greece under the regiment of seven kings: lastly, after many bloody battles, consuming fires, miserable spoil of Virgins, wives and goods: when she beheld one of her prodigious Sons unnaturally to embrew his sword in his own brother’s blood, and when, her Husband’s Son driven out and exiled into another Kingdom, she saw the ancient and old walls of her noble City, budded first by the sweet harmony of Amphitryon his Cythern, pitifully ruinated and beaten down: and how her late, flourishing kingdom was miserably divided and utterly dissolved: and having hanged herself, left perhaps her Daughter in a most ignominious and shameless life. What could the angry Gods, the world, froward Fortune, and the malicious Hags of hell have conspired more against her? Nothing, certes, in my opinion.

  For let that ghastly place be surveyed, and every torture therein duly considered, and yet I hardly believe that there could not in the same such extreme torments and pains be found. Wherefore I approve and say that every and least particle of her anguish and of her fault to be most grievous, and no less impious. And as there is no woman that would judge that my grief were not to be compared to the greatness of this, so (truly) would I also say, had not mine been amorous.

  For who doubteth but that she knew (seeing the abominable crimes of her wicked house, and of unnatural Husband (worthy of the condign anger of the Gods), that duly scanned these adverse accidents) these horrible accidents to be meritorious punishments for such heinous guilt and barbarous impiety?

  None truly, that would judge her to be in her right wits. And if she were but a fool she felt her griefs the less, because (not fully knowing the weight of them) they could not so greatly grieve her. And whosoever knoweth herself worthy of such calamities and troubles that she endureth, with little grief, or none at all, she resolveth with herself more patiently to pass them away. But I never committed anything wherewith the Gods might justly be offended with me, having with continual offerings honoured them, and with holy victimy besought their divine graces, never despising their Godheads, as in times past the Thebans most wickedly did. But perhaps someone may well object and say: How canst thou affirm that thou hast not deserved punishment, or that thou hast not committed any fault? Why, hast thou not violated the holy laws, and with an adulterous youth defiled thy marriage bed? Yes, truly.

  But if this matter be well propounded, as I have not myself only done this crime, so doth it not deserve (I think) so great punishment, and such grievous pains. Because she must think that I, being a tender young Gentlewoman, was not able to gainsay and resist that which the strongest men in the world, nay the Gods themselves, could not do.

  And as I am not the first that hath committed such a friendly fault, so am I not alone, and shall not be the last, but having almost all Women in the world my companions in this excusable error, I am not so greatly to be condemned for the same. And those laws which I have infringed are of common course wont favourably to pardon a multitude.

  My fault, moreover, as it was most secret, so it should not therefore be so severely and thoroughly punished. And besides all this, say that the Gods were justly stirred up to wrath against me, and did seek to give me sharp corrections for my great offences, were it not a greater part of justice, and more reason, to punish him who was the occasion of my fall? Now, whether burning and lawless love, or Panphilus his rare beauty, brave personage and qualities induced me to corrupt the sacred laws of wedlock, I know not, but knowing too too well that both the one and the other were of most great force to torment me most strangely. So that this now did not happen by the sin committed, but is rather a new grief and sequestered from the rest, more cruelly cruciating the patient and sustainer of it than any other.

  The which, moreover, if the Gods for my committed offence had given me, they should do contrary to their right judgment and accustomed manner, in that they should not with the sin recompense the punishment, which being compared to the due pains of Jocasta, and to her deserved defaults, and considering mine own errors, and the severe punishment which I do suffer for the same, she must needs be said to be but slightly punished, and myself with too rigorous chastisement, and unmeasurable pain, to be corrected. Nor let not any take hold of this, that she was bereaved of her Kingdom, deprived of her Sons, despoiled of her Husband and, last of all, of her own life, and I but only of my Lover. All which truly I confess.

  But spiteful Fortune carried away with this Lover all my felicity, though that (which perhaps in other men’s sight and judgment was accounted happiness) hath still remained with me, and which is clean contrary to my desires. Because my Husband, my parents, my riches, and all things else besides are a most grievous burden unto me, and nothing congruent with my wished content. Which things if she had taken from me, as she did my Lover, there had then remained a most open way for me to have fulfilled my desires, which undoubtedly I would have followed. By which if I could not have brought to pass my will, then were there a thousand kinds of deaths ready for me, to have rid me from all my woes and miseries. Wherefore I justly think that my pains are much more greater than any of the foresaid.

  Methinks
that next after these I see Hecuba coming to my mind, passing sorrowful in her countenance, who escaped from that general ruin, and surviving only to behold the doleful and destroyed Relics of so goodly a kingdom, the subversion of such an admirable City, the cruel death of so Princely a Husband, of so many renowned Sons, and most fair daughters, to see the destruction of so many magnanimous Nephews, valiant Cousins and Allies, the rapine of so great riches, the havoc of infinite treasure, the spoil of so many Virgins, the ravishment of wives, and of all sorts of Women, the extinction of such excellency, the loss of so many Kings hewed and slain right down, such bloody massacres and pitiful stratagems, of the dismayed and betrayed Trojans, the impiety perpetrated in the Temples — polluted, battered and made plane with the ground — and the indignity and irreverence done to their dishonoured and chased Gods. And seeing herself to be old, and sorrowfully recalling to her wounded mind what mighty Hector was, what valiant Troilus, what doughty Deiphobus, and what her youngest darling, Polydorus, and the shining virtues of many noblemen more, and how unfortunately she saw them all die; remembering also how the generous blood of her late mighty and majestical Husband was cruelly shed in her own lap before the holy Altars, and how she saw fatal Troy, whilom reared up to the skies with stately Towers, famous for magnificent buildings, full of princely Palaces, and very populous with noble and worthy Citizens, consumed with devouring flames and wholly razed from the earth.