And besides all this, the pitiful sacrifice of her fair Daughter Polyxena, offered up by unpitiful Pyrrhus, to the shadow of Achilles. Oh, with what excessive grief and anguish of mind (must we needs think) that she beheld all these things. But short was the sorrow which her old and feeble mind, not able to endure the same, wandering out of her right course, made her mad, as her barking complaints amidst the fields and woods did plainly show. But I, with a more firm and perfect memory than is needful for such woes, to my great grief do continually remain in my sorrowful and sound wits, and do discern more and more the preposterous occasions of my present woes, and of my future sorrows. Because my manifold harms, enduring longer than hers, I think them (be they never so light) to be more grievous (as I have many times said) than the greatest and most sensible pains which is ended in a short time.
Sophonisba (equally participating the adversities in her Widowhood, and the joy of her marriage in one and selfsame moment almost of time), jocund and sad, an honourable and glad spouse, and a poor prisoner, invested and despoiled of a Kingdom, and finally in these short alterations of tottering Fortune drinking her fatal poison (full of anguish and deadly grief), appeareth next unto my thoughts. Behold her sometimes a most high and famous Queen of the Numidians, afterwards the martial affairs of her Parents and friends having but an adverse and luckless issue, her Husband Siphax taken from her, and become prisoner to Masinissa King of Marsilia (warring under the Roman Ensigns) and herself in one hour deprived of her Kingdom, and prisoned also in the midst of her enemy’s Camp, Masinissa afterwards making her his wife, and she restored to the same again.
Oh, with what despite, grief and bitter anguish of mind do I believe that she saw these things succeed abruptly one after another. Nor yet secure of her voluble and flattering Fortune, with how heavy a heart did she celebrate her new espousals, which griefs and extreme miseries, with a tragical end at last, and with a stout enterprise, she did fully finish. Because not one natural day after the nuptial rites being yet spent, and scarcely thinking with herself that she remained in the regiment and that she did bear the former sway of Sceptre, and warring thus within herself, and thinking of the new love of Masinissa, not framed well to her mind — the old love of Siphax being not yet extinct — with no trembling heart, but with a bold hand, received the mortiferous poison, which her new Husband sent her by her own Servant (the fearful messenger of her untimely death), and with certain despiteful and premised speeches, without any sign and token of fear in her resolute face, drunk of the same, immediately after yielding up her ghost.
Oh, how bitter may one imagine that her life was if she had had any longer time to meditate and think of her death that did follow. Who therefore is not to be placed but amongst those Women who have been but meanly and not much afflicted with sorrow, considering that her speedy death did prevent her beginning woes, whereas mine have continued with me a long time together, and yet do accompany me against my will, and are sworn to remain still with me to make themselves more mighty thereby, and with their united forces to infest more their usurped habitation. After her, doleful Cornelia, oppressed with infinite sorrow, was objected to my musing thoughts, whom smiling Fortune had exalted so high to make her the first wife of Crassus, and afterwards great Pompey his spouse, whose worthy valour had almost gotten him the chiefest principality in Rome, and attained to the sole government of all the Empire annexed unto it. Who, notwithstanding after that frowning Fortune changed her copy, in manner of a fugitive fled miserably out of Rome, and afterwards out of all Italy, herself also with her husband being fiercely pursued of conquering Cæsar. And leaving her in Lesbos, after many turmoils of inconstant fortune, overcoming his puissant competitor in Thessaly, by whose discomfiture and overthrow he recovered his force and might again, which not long since by his valiant enemy was greatly abated. And besides all this, with hope to reintegrate, and to renew his power in the conquered East, floating upon the surging Seas, and arrived in the kingdoms of Egypt, offering himself voluntarily to the defence and trusty tuition of young King Ptolemy: being there cruelly done to death, she saw his embrued and headless trunk tossed and beaten up and down the raging waves. Which things if every one by itself, or altogether, be duly considered, we must needs say that without all compare they afflicted most grievously her dying soul.
But the sound and comfortable counsel of the sage Utica Cato, and the lost hope in these instabilities of Fortune to regain her Pompey again, in a little time mitigated, nay, rather annihilated her former sorrows, whereas I, still nourished with vain hope, not able by any counsel or comfort to drive away the same, but by the simple advice of my old Nurse (equally knowing of my sorrows from the beginning, in whose heart I knew goodwill more rife than wisdom ripe in her head, because believing oftentimes to remedy my griefs she hath redoubled them), do evermore remain and live consuming myself in bitter plaints and confounded in a thousand doubts and anxieties of mind. There are also many who (I think) do believe that Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, did suffer intolerable grief, and that her pains did greatly exceed mine. Because first, seeing herself conjoined with her brother in the Kingdom, and living in all manner of pleasure and delights, and afterwards cast by him into prison, was thought beyond all measure to be charged with insupportable dolour.
But the present hope of that which after happened made her to pass it over more lightly. For she, being delivered out of prison, became Cæsar his loving and beloved Lady. But afterwards forsaken of him, there are who think that for grief of these crossing cares her tender heartstrings did wellnigh break asunder, not regarding that there was a certain touch of unconstancy and breach of love, as well in her as in him, which at both their pleasures they did forsake, and take from one another, and bestow it elsewhere, as oftentimes she plainly showed how fitly she could do the same. But the Gods forbid that such consolation befall to my comfortless and afflicted soul. For he was never yet, or ever shall be, besides him to whom by many deserts I have avowed the whole term and travail of my life, that could affirm, or yet can say, that I was ever his, but in heart affianced only to Panphilus, and whose I will for ever remain.
Nor let him hope, whosoever he be, that any other love shall never be of such force as to drive his out of my faithful breast. Besides this, if she had been at Cæsar his departure left altogether comfortless by him, there would be some again who, ignorant of the truth, would believe that this was very grievous unto her: but yet it was not so. Because if she were on the one side aggrieved at his departure, the joy on the other, and the comfort, that she received of her little Son Cæsarionem which she had by him, and of her kingdom restored to her again, countervailing her grief, nay, exceeding all her former sorrows whatsoever, did yield her treble consolation. This joy hath force and strength enough to overcome greater anguish and more extreme cares of mind than those of them who love but a little, and that but coldly too, as even now I said that she did. But that which for the accomplishment of her greatest grief was annexed to the rest was that she was the wife of Mark Antony, whom she had, with her libidinous enticements, stirred up to civil, nay uncivil, wars against her own brother, aspiring thereby and hoping (by the victory of them) to have been crowned Empress of the Roman monarchy. But double loss arising to her by this in one hour, which was the death of her slain husband and of her frustrate hope, of all other women made her (as it is commonly thought) the most unfortunate and most sorrowful Lady, and beyond all conceit to be confounded with the greatest cares and griefs that might be. And considering truly so high a mind and so proud a conceit, which to be, first in imagination and afterwards indeed, sole and sovereign Lady and Queen of the whole circuit of the earth, by one infortunate battle to be dashed and cast down (our sex also being naturally given to aspire and domination), besides the foil of the conquered, and the triumph of the victor, and besides this the loss also of so dear and brave a husband, it cannot be otherwise apprehended but that it was a wonderful corsive to her noble heart and an extreme torment of her dismayed soul.
But s
uddenly she found out a wholesome medicine, which did speedily help and heal this mortal malady, and that was a strange kind of death. Which, although for the time it was very cruel and sharp, was not for all that in execution any long time adoing; because in one little hour two venomous vipers may at the paps of a young and tender woman sack out both blood and life, as they did out of miserable Cleopatra’s breast.
Oh, how many times would I have done the like, although for a lesser occasion according to the opinion of many, if I had been peremptorily forsaken, or if for fear also of ensuing infamy thereof I had not withdrawn myself.
With this and the aforesaid Ladies the excellency of Cyrus, killed of Tomyris and drowned in a bowl of his own blood, the fire and water of Croesus, the rich kingdoms of the Persians, the magnificency of Pyrrhus, the power of Darius, the cruelty of Jugurtha, the tyranny of Dionysius, the highness of Agamemnon, and the sudden changes of many other more occurred to my thoughts. All which were stinged with these griefs, and spurned at the feet of scornful Fortune, as the foresaid women, or else, altogether comfortless, left to worse mishaps. Who also with sudden arguments of their better fare were aided, nor remaining any long time in them, did not feel the greatness and grief of them so entirely as I do. Whilst I went recounting the ancient sorrows in this sort, as you have heard, and seeking in my mind to find, out some tears and sorrows in most respects like unto mine own, because, having company, I might not so greatly lament, and might suffer my grief with more patience, those of Theistes and of Tereus, both which were the miserable Sepultures of their own Sons, were objected to my memory. And I marvel what unnatural and forced patience (fearing their inward bitings) and what pitiless restraint did moderate those savage Sires from launching their sides, and with slicing knives to make way for their Sons struggling in their paternal bowels, and striving to come forth, abominating that wretched place into which they were so ravenously gulfed. But these also burst out, and (with that they could) choked at once their hatred and grief together, and so took in a manner a certain comfort in their harms, perceiving that without fault they were accounted miserable men but of their people — that which happened not to me.
For I have compassion borne me of that which did never grieve me, and dare not discover that which doth most of all afflict me, which thing if I durst do, I doubt not; but as others in my miserable case have found out some remedy for their pains, so might I (perhaps) find out some ease and help as well as they. The pitiful tears of Lycurgus, and of his house (justly poured forth for dead Archemorus killed of the Serpent), come also sometimes to my mind, and accompanied with the continual sighs of sorrowful Atalanta, mother of Parthenopæus, killed in the Theban Camps, which came so properly and so nearly to me with their effects that I could scarce conceive any greater than them in my mind, if I had not proved them myself, I say, that they were full of such great sorrow that they could not be more.
But every one of them are with so high glory eternislied that they might be esteemed in a manner merry accidents than mournful stratagems — the sorrowful tears (of Lycurgus, I mean), with the mortal exequies, honoured of the seven kings, and infinite sports and spectacles made by them in solemnization of that glorious funeral, and those of Atalanta made notable and beautified also with the laudable life and victorious death of her young Son.
But I have not anything, nor any such cause, to make my tears scarce well employed, much less excellent, and myself content; because if it were so, whereas I now esteem myself more doleful and unfortunate than any other, perhaps I should be persuaded to aver the contrary. The long travels of Ulysses, his mortal and imminent perils, his wandering and weary peregrinations, and all his deeds whatsoever, are next of all showed unto me, who never tasted them but seasoned with most bitter and extreme anguish of mind, and redoubled many times in my imaginations, they make me think mine to be far greater and much more grievous, and harken why. Because first, and principally, he was a man, and therefore of nature more strong and better able to endure them than I, being a tender and young woman; and he, being moreover continually armed with a stout, courageous and fierce mind, and beaten to daily dangers as one ripened amongst them when he travailed and turmoiled, did seem to have but his ordinary repose, nay, his greatest ease and pleasure in them.
But I being continually in my Chamber, and tenderly served with dainty and delicate things, passing my times away in pleasures, and daily accustomed to dalliances of wanton love, every little pain and fear thereof is most grievous unto me.
He driven and pricked on by Neptune, and transported into divers parts of the world, and of Æolus likewise received his troubles.
But with careful love I am infected, and with such a lord infested, that troubled and conquered them, that molested and tossed Ulysses. And if dangerous casualties and daily fears did seem to threaten him, of his proper accord he wandered continually in seeking of them out. And who can with just cause complain or be aggrieved for finding of that which he doth so earnestly seek for? But I (silly wretch) would fain live in quiet if I could, and would willingly fly from woes and griefs, if that so rigorously they did not rush upon me, and if I were not myself so forcibly driven upon them.
Besides this, he was not afraid of death, and therefore without fear did commit himself to her force and might. But I live in continual dread of it, though, compelled by extreme sorrow, I have sometime (not without fear of greater grief) run willingly unto it. He also by his long travels and jeopardies of Fortune did hope to get eternal glory and never-dying fame. But I am afraid of my escandalized name, and infamous memory hereafter, if it should come to pass that these secret loves should at any time come to light.
So that now his pains are not greater and more than mine, but are rather in number and quality far less than mine, and by so much the more as they are tabulated to be greater than ever they were indeed. But mine (alas) are, too true, so many and more greater than I am able myself to recount. But after all these, I see (methinks) the sorrows, sobs and heavy sighs, the infinite woes and piteous plaints, that Hipsiphile, Medea and OEnone had, and the pitiful tears of Ariadne, which were more copious than all the rest: all which I judge most like unto mine. Because every one of these (like myself), deceived of their lovers, watered the ground with tears, cleaved the heavens with continual sighs, and sustained without any fruit, or hope of future content, most bitter torments of mind. And admit (as it is granted) that these dolours were cast upon them by their ungrateful lovers, and by their injurious and undeserved ingratitude, yet with just revenge of their wrongs done unto them they saw the end of their tears: which comforts (although I wish it not) my sorrows also have not. Hipsiphile, admit that she had greatly honoured Jason, and had by due deserts obliged him unto her, perceiving him to be taken away of Medea, had with as great reason as myself just occasion of complaint and sorrow.
But such was the providence of the Gods that, with righteous eyes beholding everything (but only my harms), they restored to her a great portion of her desired toy, because she saw Medea, who had taken away Jason from her (Jason forsaking Medea for the love of Creusa), quite dispossessed of her once enjoyed prey. Certes, I do not say that my grief should finish if I should see the same befall to her who hath deceived me of my Panphilus, unless I were that she that should allure him from her again, but will frankly confess that a great part of my sorrow would for a time cease.
Medea did also rejoice for revenge that she had (although she was no less cruel towards herself than malicious against her ungrateful lover) in killing their common children in his own presence, and consuming the royal palaces of King Creon and the new Lady with merciless flames. OEnone, also sorrowing a long time, in fine knew that her disloyal lover suffered due punishment for breaking and corrupting the sacred laws of love, and saw his country, for the wicked rape and exchange of herself for his new adulteress, miserably wasted, and his own City, sometimes the seat of demi-Gods and semi-Goddesses, but now an uncouth habitacle and a poor village of Shepherd swains, overthrown and ra
zed clean from the ground. But truly I love my griefs a great deal more than I would either with tongue or heart wish so sharp a revenge of my wrongful Panphilus.
Ariadne also, being Bacchus his wife, saw from heaven furious Phedra, who was the cause that Theseus, abandoning her, and leaving her desolate in the Island (being newly enamoured of Phedra) miserably bewitched with the incestuous love of Hippolitus her husband his son. So that, everything duly scanned, I find myself amongst the number of miserable and disastrous women to be tormented with more woes, griefs and with greater sorrow than any of the rest, and to have the sole principality and only name of all other distressed women whatsoever.
And I can do no more. But if, perhaps (good Ladies), you accompt my framed arguments but frivolous assertions, and repute all these former examples but weak proofs, as forged in the simple conceit of an appassionated woman; and if you imagine them (because proceeding from a blind mind) to be but blind also, and of no conclusion, esteeming the tears, sighs and sorrows of others more extreme than mine, and thinking them to be more unfortunate than myself, let this only and last proposition therefore supply the defect (if any there be) of all the rest before. If he that beareth envy is more miserable and more wretched than he to whom he doth bear it, then of all the forenamed persons I am the most miserable and unhappy woman. Because I do greatly emulate and not a little envy their ordinary accidents, accounting them not so grievous nor so full of such great misery as mine are.
Behold, therefore (gentle Ladies), how by the old deceits of injurious Fortune I breathe a most wretched woman. And besides this, she hath done by me no otherwise than a candle burned to the snuff do cast up flashes of greater light, since that (in appearance only), making truce with my griefs and giving some pause to my daily woes and a little ease to my tormented mind, but by her cruel despite again returning afterwards to my former tears and to my sorrowful task, of all the wretched women that live, she hath made me the most miserable, and the only receptacle of all despair and dole. And because, all other comparisons laid aside, with only one I may endeavour to make you more assured of my new evils, I affirm (gentle Ladies) and tell you with that gravity, that other miserable women my compeers may affirm greater, that my pains are at this present so much the more greater than they were before their vain and frustrate joy, by how much the second fevers assailing the sick patients with equal cold and heat are wont to annoy them (recovered once and now fallen down again) more than the first. And because I may rather heap pity in your minds with the imagination of the rest of my pains than fill your dainty ears full of new words tendering your wearied spirits with pity that I have of your patience, minding now not to be more tedious unto you, and not to draw forth your tears any further in length — if there be any of you at the least that in reading of it have (perhaps) shed or yet do pour forth any — and not to spend the time any longer in words, which calleth me back to tears, I am determined to hold my peace, making it manifest unto you that there is no more comparison of my shadowed discourse to those substantial dolours, which I feel indeed, than there is of painted fire, to that which doth burn indeed: the which I pray all the Gods that, either by your meritorious prayers or else by my earnest and effectual orisons, they would with some liquor of comfort extinguish, or with speedy death quite abolish; or else with the joyful return of my Panphilus assuage and moderate the same.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 384
