Datasets:
Tasks:
Text Generation
Sub-tasks:
language-modeling
Languages:
English
Size:
10K<n<100K
ArXiv:
License:
Produced by Ted Garvin, Dave Morgan and PG Distributed Proofreaders | |
LA FIAMMETTA | |
BY | |
GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO | |
TRANSLATED BY JAMES C. BROGAN | |
1907. | |
INTRODUCTION | |
Youth, beauty, and love, wit, gayety and laughter, are the component | |
parts of the delightful picture conjured up by the mere name of Giovanni | |
Boccaccio, the prince of story-tellers for all generations of men. This | |
creator of a real literary epoch was born in Paris, in 1313, (in the | |
eleventh year of Dante's exile), of an Italian father and a French-woman | |
of good family. His father was a merchant of Florence, whither he | |
returned with his son when the child was seven years old. The boy | |
received some education, but was placed in a counting-house when he was | |
only thirteen, and at seventeen he was sent by his father to Naples to | |
enter another commercial establishment. But he disliked commerce, and | |
finally persuaded his father to allow him to study law for two years at | |
the University of Naples, during which period the lively and attractive | |
youth made brisk use of his leisure time in that gay and romantic city, | |
where he made his way into the highest circles of society, and | |
unconsciously gleaned the material for the rich harvest of song and | |
story that came with his later years. At this time he was present at the | |
coronation of the poet Petrarch in the Capitol, and was fired with | |
admiration for the second greatest poet of that day. He chose Petrarch | |
for his model and guide, and in riper manhood became his most intimate | |
friend. | |
By the time he was twenty-five, Boccaccio had fallen in love with the | |
Lady Maria, a natural daughter of King Robert of Naples, who had caused | |
her to be adopted as a member of the family of the Count d'Aquino, and | |
to be married when very young to a Neapolitan nobleman. Boccaccio first | |
saw her in the Church of San Lorenzo on the morning of Easter eve, in | |
1338, and their ensuing friendship was no secret to their world. For the | |
entertainment of this youthful beauty he wrote his _Filicopo_, and the | |
fair Maria is undoubtedly the heroine of several of his stories and | |
poems. His father insisted upon his return to Florence in 1340, and | |
after he had settled in that city he occupied himself seriously with | |
literary work, producing, between the years 1343 and 1355, the _Teseide_ | |
(familiar to English readers as "The Knight's Tale" in Chaucer, | |
modernized by Dryden as "Palamon and Arcite"), _Ameto, Amorosa Visione, | |
La Fiammetta, Ninfale Fiesolona_, and his most famous work, the | |
_Decameron_, a collection of stories written, it is said, to amuse Queen | |
Joanna of Naples and her court, during the period when one of the | |
world's greatest plagues swept over Europe in 1348. In these years he | |
rose from the vivid but confused and exaggerated manner of _Filocopo_ to | |
the perfection of polished literary style. The _Decameron_ fully | |
revealed his genius, his ability to weave the tales of all lands and all | |
ages into one harmonious whole; from the confused mass of legends of the | |
Middle Ages, he evolved a world of human interest and dazzling beauty, | |
fixed the kaleidoscopic picture of Italian society, and set it in the | |
richest frame of romance. | |
While he had the _Decameron_ still in hand, he paused in that great | |
work, with heart full of passionate longing for the lady of his love, | |
far away in Naples, to pour out his very soul in _La Fiammetta_, the | |
name by which he always called the Lady Maria. Of the real character of | |
this lady, so famous in literature, and her true relations with | |
Boccaccio, little that is certain is known. In several of his poems and | |
in the _Decameron_ he alludes to her as being cold as a marble statue, | |
which no fire can ever warm; and there is no proof, notwithstanding the | |
ardor of Fiammetta as portrayed by her lover--who no doubt wished her to | |
become the reality of his glowing picture--that he ever really received | |
from the charmer whose name was always on his lips anything more than | |
the friendship that was apparent to all the world. But she certainly | |
inspired him in the writing of his best works. | |
The best critics agree in pronouncing _La Fiammetta_ a marvelous | |
performance. John Addington Symonds says: "It is the first attempt in | |
any literature to portray subjective emotion exterior to the writer; | |
since the days of Virgil and Ovid, nothing had been essayed in this | |
region of mental analysis. The author of this extraordinary work proved | |
himself a profound anatomist of feeling by the subtlety with which he | |
dissected a woman's heart." The story is full of exquisite passages, and | |
it exercised a widespread and lasting influence over all the narrative | |
literature that followed it. It is so rich in material that it furnished | |
the motives of many tales, and the novelists of the sixteenth century | |
availed themselves freely of its suggestions. | |
After Boccaccio had taken up a permanent residence in Florence, he | |
showed a lively interest in her political affairs, and fulfilled all | |
the duties of a good citizen. In 1350 he was chosen to visit the lords | |
of various towns of Romagna, in order to engage their cooperation in a | |
league against the Visconti family, who, already lords of the great and | |
powerful city of Milan, desired to extend their domains beyond the | |
Apennines. In 1351 Boccaccio had the pleasure of bearing to the poet | |
Petrarch the news of the restoration of his rights of citizenship and of | |
his patrimony, both of which he had lost in the troubles of 1323, and | |
during this visit the two geniuses became friends for life. They delved | |
together into the literature of the ancients, and Boccaccio determined, | |
through the medium of translation, to make the work of the great Greek | |
writers a part of the liberal education of his countrymen. A knowledge | |
of Greek at that time was an exceedingly rare accomplishment, since the | |
serious study of living literatures was only just beginning, and the | |
Greek of Homer had been almost forgotten. Even Petrarch, whose erudition | |
was marvelous, could not read a copy of the _Iliad_ that he possessed. | |
Boccaccio asked permission of the Florentine Government to establish a | |
Greek professorship in the University of Florence, and persuaded a | |
learned Calabrian, Leonzio Pilato, who had a perfect knowledge of | |
ancient Greek, to leave Venice and accept the professorship at Florence, | |
and lodged him in his own house. Together the Calabrian and the author | |
of _La Fiammetta_ and the _Decameron_ made a Latin translation of the | |
_Iliad_, which Boccaccio transcribed with his own hand. But his literary | |
enthusiasm was not confined to his own work and that of the ancients. | |
His soul was filled with a generous ardor of admiration for Dante; | |
through his efforts the Florentines were awakened to a true sense of the | |
merits of the sublime poet, so long exiled from his native city, and the | |
younger genius succeeded in persuading them to establish a professorship | |
in the University for the sole study of the _Divine Comedy_, he himself | |
being the first to occupy the chair, and writing a _Life of Dante_, | |
besides commentaries on the _Comedy_ itself. | |
Mainly through his intimacy with the spiritual mind of Petrarch, | |
Boccaccio's moral character gradually underwent a change from the | |
reckless freedom and unbridled love of pleasure into which he had easily | |
fallen among his associates in the court life at Naples. He admired the | |
delicacy and high standard of honor of his friend, and became awakened | |
to a sense of man's duty to the world and to himself. During the decade | |
following the year 1365 he occupied himself at his home in Certaldo, | |
near Florence, with various literary labors, often entertaining there | |
the great men of the world. | |
Petrarch's death occurred in 1374, and Boccaccio survived him but one | |
year, dying on the twenty-first of December, 1375. He was buried in | |
Certaldo, in the Church of San Michele e Giacomo. | |
That one city should have produced three such men as the great | |
triumvirate of the fourteenth century--Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio--and | |
that one half-century should have witnessed their successive triumphs, | |
is the greatest glory of Florence, and is one of the most notable facts | |
in the history of genius. | |
We quote once more from Symonds: "Dante brought the universe into his | |
_Divine Comedy_. 'But the soul of man, too, is a universe', and of this | |
inner microcosm Petrarch was the poet and genius. It remained for | |
Boccaccio to treat of daily life with an art as distinct and dazzling as | |
theirs. From Dante's Beatrice, through Petrarch's Laura, to Boccaccio's | |
La Fiammetta--from woman as an allegory of the noblest thoughts and | |
purest stirrings of the soul, through woman as the symbol of all beauty | |
worshiped at a distance, to woman as man's lover, kindling and | |
reciprocating the most ardent passion; from mystic, stately periods to | |
Protean prose; from verse built up into cathedral-like dignity, through | |
lyrics light as arabesques and pointed with the steely touch of polished | |
style, to that free form of speech which takes all moods and lends | |
itself alike to low or lofty things--such was the rapid movement of | |
Italian genius within the brief space of fifty years. So quickly did the | |
Renaissance emerge from the Middle Ages; and when the voices of that | |
august trio were silenced in the grave, their echoes ever widened and | |
grew louder through the spacious time to come." | |
No translation into English of _La Fiammetta_ has been made since | |
Shakespeare's time--when a small edition was published, which is now so | |
rare as to be practically unattainable--until the appearance of the | |
present Scholarly and poetic rendering, which places within the reach of | |
all one of the world's greatest masterpieces of literature. | |
D.K.R. | |
PROLOGUE | |
_Beginneth the Book called Elegy of Madonna Fiammetta, sent by her to | |
Ladies in Love._ | |
When the wretched perceive or feel that their woes arouse compassion, | |
their longing to give vent to their anguish is thereby increased. And | |
so, since, from long usance, the cause of my anguish, instead of growing | |
less, has become greater, the wish has come to me, noble ladies--in | |
whose hearts, mayhap, abides a love more fortunate than mine--to win | |
your pity, if I may, by telling the tale of my sorrows. Nor is it at all | |
my intent that these my words should come to the ears of men. Nay, | |
rather would I, so far as lies in my power, withhold my complaints from | |
them; for, such bitterness has the discovery of the unkindness of one | |
man stirred in me, that, imagining all other men to be like him, | |
methinks I should be a witness of their mocking laughter rather than of | |
their pitying tears. You alone do I entreat to peruse my story, knowing | |
full well that you will feel with me, and that you have a pious concern | |
for others' pangs. Here you will not find Grecian fables adorned with | |
many lies, nor Trojan battles, foul with blood and gore, but amorous | |
sentiments fed with torturing desires. Here will appear before your very | |
eyes the dolorous tears, the impetuous sighs, the heart-breaking words, | |
the stormy thoughts, which have harrowed me with an ever-recurring goad, | |
and have torn away from me sleep and appetite and the pleasant times of | |
old, and my much-loved beauty. When you behold these things, and behold | |
them with the ardent feelings which ladies are wont to have, sure I am | |
that the cheeks of each separately, and of all when brought together, | |
will be bathed in tears, because of those ills which are alone the | |
occasion of my never-ending misery. Do not, I beseech you, refuse me | |
these tears, reflecting that your estate is unstable as well as mine, | |
and that, should it ever come to resemble mine (the which may God | |
forfend!), the tears that others shed for you will be pleasing to you in | |
return. And that the time may pass more rapidly in speaking than in, | |
weeping, I will do my best to fulfil my promise briefly, beginning with | |
that love which was more happy than lasting, so that, by comparing that | |
happiness with my present case, you may learn that I am now more unhappy | |
than any woman ever has been. And afterward I will trace with mournful | |
pen, as best I can, all the agonies which are justly the source of my | |
lamentations. But first, if the prayers of the wretched are heard, if | |
there is in Heaven any Deity whose holy mind can be touched with | |
compassion for me, afflicted as I am, bathed in my own tears, Him I | |
beseech to aid my despondent memory and support my trembling hand in its | |
present task. So may the tortures which I have felt and still feel in my | |
soul become fruitful, and the memory will suggest the words for them, | |
and the hand, more eager than apt for such duty, will write them down. | |
Chapter I | |
_Wherein the lady describes who she was, and by what signs her | |
misfortunes were foreshadowed, and at what time, and where, and in what | |
manner, and of whom she became enamored, with the description of the | |
ensuing delight._ | |
In the time when the newly-vestured earth appears more lovely than | |
during all the rest of the year came I into the world, begotten of noble | |
parents and born amid the unstinted gifts of benignant fortune. Accursed | |
be the day, to me more hateful than any other, on which I was born! Oh, | |
how far more befitting would it have been had I never been born, or had | |
I been carried from that luckless womb to my grave, or had I possessed a | |
life not longer than that of the teeth sown by Cadmus, or had Atropos | |
cut the thread of my existence at the very hour when it had begun! Then, | |
in earliest childhood would have been entombed the limitless woes that | |
are the melancholy occasion of that which I am writing. But what boots | |
it to complain of this now? I am here, beyond doubt; and it has pleased | |
and even now pleases God that I should be here. Born and reared, then, | |
amid boundless affluence, I learned under a venerable mistress whatever | |
manners and refinements it beseems a demoiselle of high rank to know. | |
And as my person grew and developed with my increasing years, so also | |
grew and developed my beauty. Alas! even while a child, on hearing that | |
beauty acclaimed of many, I gloried therein, and cultivated it by | |
ingenious care and art. And when I had bidden farewell to childhood, and | |
had attained a riper age, I soon discovered that this, my beauty | |
--ill-fated gift for one who desires to live virtuously!--had power to | |
kindle amorous sparks in youths of my own age, and other noble persons | |
as well, being instructed thereupon by nature, and feeling that love can | |
be quickened in young men by beauteous ladies. And by divers looks and | |
actions, the sense of which I did but dimly discern at the time, did | |
these youths endeavor in numberless ways to kindle in my heart the fire | |
wherewith their own hearts glowed--fire that was destined, not to warm, | |
but rather to consume me also in the future more than it ever has burned | |
another woman; and by many of these young men was I sought in marriage | |
with most fervid and passionate entreaty. But after I had chosen among | |
them one who was in every respect congenial to me, this importunate | |
crowd of suitors, being now almost hopeless, ceased to trouble me with | |
their looks and attentions. I, therefore, being satisfied, as was meet, | |
with such a husband, lived most happily, so long as fervid love, lighted | |
by flames hitherto unfelt, found no entrance into my young soul. Alas! I | |
had no wish unsatisfied; nothing that could please me or any other lady | |
ever was denied me, even for a moment. I was the sole delight, the | |
peculiar felicity of a youthful spouse, and, just as he loved me, so did | |
I equally love him. Oh, how much happier should I have been than all | |
other women, if the love for him that was then in my heart had endured! | |
It was, then, while I was living in sweet content, amid every kind of | |
enjoyment, that Fortune, who quickly changes all things earthly, | |
becoming envious of the very gifts which she herself had bestowed, | |
withdrew her protecting hand. At first uncertain in what manner she | |
could succeed in poisoning my happiness, she at length managed, with | |
subtle craft, to make mine own very eyes traitors and so guide me into | |
the path that led to disaster. But the gods were still propitious to me, | |
nay, were even more concerned for my fate than I myself. Having seen | |
through her veiled malice, they wished to supply me with weapons, had I | |
but known how to avail me thereof, wherewith I might fend my breast, | |
and not go unarmed to the battle wherein I was destined to fall. Yea, on | |
the very night that preceded the day which was the beginning of all my | |
woes, they revealed to me the future in my sleep by means of a clear and | |
distinct vision, in such wise as follows: | |
While lying on my spacious couch, with all my limbs relaxed in deepest | |
slumber, I seemed to be filled with greater joy than I had ever felt | |
before, and wherefore I knew not. And the day whereon this happened was | |
the brightest and loveliest of days. I was standing alone in verdant | |
grass, when, with the joy whereof I spoke, came the thought to me that | |
it might be well for me to repose in a meadow that appeared to be | |
shielded from the fervid rays of the sun by the shadows cast by various | |
trees newly garbed in their glossy foliage. But first, gathering divers | |
flowers, wherewith the whole sward was bejeweled, I placed them, with my | |
white hands, in a corner of my robe, and then, sitting down and choosing | |
flower after flower, I wove therefrom a fair garland, and adorned my | |
head with it. And, being so adorned, I arose, and, like unto Proserpine | |
at what time Pluto ravished her from her mother, I went along singing in | |
this new springtime. Then, being perchance weary, I laid me down in a | |
spot where the verdure was deepest and softest. But, just as the tender | |
foot of Eurydice was pierced by the concealed viper, so meseemed that a | |
hidden serpent came upon me, as I lay stretched on the grass, and | |
pierced me under the left breast. The bite of the sharp fang, when it | |
first entered, seemed to burn me. But afterward, feeling somewhat | |
reassured, and yet afraid of something worse ensuing, I thought I | |
clasped the cold serpent to my bosom, fancying that by communicating to | |
it the warmth of that bosom, I should thereby render it more kindly | |
disposed in my regard in return for such a service. But the viper, made | |
bolder and more obdurate by that very favor, laid his hideous mouth on | |
the wound he had given me, and after a long space, and after it had | |
drunk much of my blood, methought that, despite my resistance, it drew | |
forth my soul; and then, leaving my breast, departed with it. And at the | |
very moment of the serpent's departure the day lost its brightness, and | |
a thick shadow came behind me and covered me all over, and the farther | |
the serpent crept, the more lowering grew the heavens, and it seemed | |
almost as if the reptile dragged after it in its course the masses of | |
thick, black clouds that appeared to follow in its wake, Not long | |
afterward, just as a white stone flung into deep water gradually | |
vanishes from the eyes of the beholder, so it, too, vanished from my | |
sight. Then the heavens became darker and darker, and I thought that the | |
sun had suddenly withdrawn and night had surely returned, as it had | |
erstwhile returned to the _Greeks_ because of the crime of Atrcus. Next, | |
flashes of lightning sped swiftly along the skies, and peals of crashing | |
thunder appalled the earth and me likewise. And through all, the wound | |
made in my breast by the bite of the serpent remained with me still, and | |
full of viperous poison; for no medicinal help was within my reach, so | |
that my entire body appeared to have swollen in a most foul and | |
disgusting manner. Whereupon I, who before this seemed to be without | |
life or motion--why, I do not know--feeling that the force of the venom | |
was seeking to reach my heart in divers subtle ways, now tossed and | |
rolled upon the cool grass, expecting death at any moment. But methought | |
that when the hour of my doom arrived, I was struck with terror at its | |
approach, and the anguish of my heart was so appalling, while looking | |
forward to its coming, that my inert body was convulsed with horror, and | |
so my deep slumber was suddenly broken. No sooner was I fully awake | |
than, being still alarmed by the things I had seen, I felt with my right | |
hand for the wound in my breast, searching at the present moment for | |
that which was already being prepared for my future misery. Finding that | |
no wound was there, I began to feel quite safe and even merry, and I | |
made a mock of the folly of dreams and of those who believe in them, | |
and so I rendered the work of the gods useless. Ah, wretched me! if I | |
mocked them then, I had good reason to believe in them afterward, to my | |
bitter sorrow and with the shedding of useless tears; good reason had I | |
also to complain of the gods, who reveal their secrets to mortals in | |
such mystic guise that the things that are to happen in the future can | |
hardly be said to be revealed at all. Being then fully awake, I raised | |
my drowsy head, and, as soon as I saw the light of the new-risen sun | |
enter my chamber, laying aside every other thought directly, I at once | |
left my couch. | |
That day, too, was a day of the utmost solemnity for almost everyone. | |
Therefore, attiring myself carefully in glittering cloth of gold, and | |
adorning every part of my person with deft and cunning hand, I made | |
ready to go to the August festival, appareled like unto the goddesses | |
seen by Paris in the vale of Ida. And, while I was lost in admiration of | |
myself, just as the peacock is of his plumage, imagining that the | |
delight which I took in my own appearance would surely be shared by all | |
who saw me, a flower from my wreath fell on the ground near the curtain | |
of my bed, I know not wherefore--perhaps plucked from my head by a | |
celestial hand by me unseen. But I, careless of the occult signs by | |
which the gods forewarn mortals, picked it up, replaced it on my head, | |
and, as if nothing portentous had happened, I passed out from my abode. | |
Alas! what clearer token of what was to befall me could the gods have | |
given me? This should have served to prefigure to me that my soul, once | |
free and sovereign of itself, was on that day to lay aside its | |
sovereignty and become a slave, as it betided. Oh, if my mind had not | |
been distempered, I should have surely known that to me that day would | |
be the blackest and direst of days, and I should have let it pass | |
without ever crossing the threshold of my home! But although the gods | |
usually hold forth signs whereby those against whom they are incensed | |
may be warned, they often deprive them of due understanding; and thus, | |
while pointing out the path they ought to follow, they at the same time | |
sate their own anger. My ill fortune, then, thrust me forth from my | |
house, vain and careless that I was; and, accompanied by several ladies, | |
I moved with slow step to the sacred temple, in which the solemn | |
function required by the day was already celebrating. Ancient custom, as | |
well as my noble estate, had reserved for me a prominent place among the | |
other ladies. When I was seated, my eyes, as was my habit of old, | |
quickly wandered around the temple, and I saw that it was crowded with | |
men and women, who were divided into separate groups. And no sooner was | |
it observed that I was in the temple than (even while the sacred office | |
was going on) that happened which had always happened at other times, | |
and not only did the men turn their eyes to gaze upon me, but the women | |
did the same, as if Venus or Minerva had newly descended from the skies, | |
and would never again be seen by them in that spot where I was seated. | |
Oh, how often I laughed within my own breast, being enraptured with | |
myself, and taking glory unto myself because of such things, just as if | |
I were a real goddess! And so, nearly all the young gentlemen left off | |
admiring the other ladies, and took their station around me, and | |
straightway encompassed me almost in the form of a complete circle; and, | |
while speaking in divers ways of my beauty, each finished his praises | |
thereof with well-nigh the same sentences. But I who, by turning my eyes | |
in another direction, showed that my mind was intent on other cares, | |
kept my ears attentive to their discourse and received therefrom much | |
delectable sweetness; and, as it seemed to me that I was beholden to | |
them for such pleasure, I sometimes let my eyes rest on them more kindly | |
and benignantly. And not once, but many times, did I perceive that some | |
of them, puffed up with vain hopes because of this, boasted foolishly of | |
it to their companions. | |
While I, then, in this way looked at a few, and that sparingly, I was | |
myself looked at by many, and that exceedingly, and while I believed | |
that my beauty was dazzling others, it came to pass that the beauty of | |
another dazzled me, to my great tribulation. And now, being already | |
close on the dolorous moment, which was fated to be the occasion either | |
of a most assured death or of a life of such anguish that none before me | |
has ever endured the like, prompted by I know not what spirit, I raised | |
my eyes with decent gravity, and surveyed with penetrating look the | |
crowds of young men who were standing near me. And I discerned, more | |
plainly than I saw any of the others, a youth who stood directly in | |
front of me, all alone, leaning against a marble column; and, being | |
moved thereto by irresistible fate, I began to take thought within my | |
mind of his bearing and manners, the which I had never before done in | |
the case of anyone else. I say, then, that, according to my judgment, | |
which was not at that time biased by love, he was most beautiful in | |
form, most pleasing in deportment, and apparently of an honorable | |
disposition. The soft and silky locks that fell in graceful curls beside | |
his cheeks afforded manifest proof of his youthfulness. The look | |
wherewith he eyed me seemed to beg for pity, and yet it was marked by | |
the wariness and circumspection usual between man and man. Sure I am | |
that I had still strength enough to turn away my eyes from his gaze, at | |
least for a time; but no other occurrence had power to divert my | |
attention from the things already mentioned, and upon which I had deeply | |
pondered. And the image of his form, which was already in my mind, | |
remained there, and this image I dwelt upon with silent delight, | |
affirming within myself that those things were true which seemed to me | |
to be true; and, pleased that he should look at me, I raised my eyes | |
betimes to see whether he was still looking at me. But anon I gazed at | |
him more steadily, making no attempt to avoid amorous snares. And when I | |
had fixed my eyes on his more intently than was my wont, methought I | |
could read in his eyes words which might be uttered in this wise: | |
"O lady, thou alone art mine only bliss!" | |
Certainly, if I should say that this idea was not pleasing to me, I | |
should surely lie, for it drew forth a gentle sigh from my bosom, | |
accompanied by these words: "And thou art mine!" unless, perchance, the | |
words were but the echo of his, caught by my mind and remaining within | |
it. But what availed it whether such words were spoken or not? The heart | |
had good understanding within itself of that which was not expressed by | |
the lips, and kept, too, within itself that which, if it had escaped | |
outside, might, mayhap, have left me still free. And so, from that time | |
forward, I gave more absolute liberty to my foolish eyes than ever they | |
had possessed before, and they were well content withal. And surely, if | |
the gods, who guide all things to a definite issue, had not deprived me | |
of understanding, I could still have been mistress of myself. But, | |
postponing every consideration to the last one that swayed me, I took | |
delight in following my unruly passion, and having made myself meet, all | |
at once, for such slavery, I became its thrall. For the fire that leaped | |
forth from his eyes encountered the light in mine, flashing thereunto a | |
most subtle ray. It did not remain content therewith, but, by what | |
hidden ways I know not, penetrated directly into the deepest recesses of | |
my heart; the which, affrighted by the sudden advent of this flame, | |
recalled to its center its exterior forces and left me as pale as | |
death, and also with the chill of death upon me. But not for long did | |
this continue, rather it happened contrariwise; and I felt my heart not | |
only glow with sudden beat, but its forces speeded back swiftly to their | |
places, bringing with them a throbbing warmth that chased away my pallor | |
and flushed my cheeks deeply; and, marveling wherefore this should | |
betide, I sighed heavily; nor thereafter was there other thought in my | |
soul than how I might please him. | |
In like fashion, he, without changing his place, continued to scrutinize | |
my features, but with the greatest caution; and, perhaps, having had | |
much practice in amorous warfare, and knowing by what devices the | |
longed-for prey might be captured, he showed himself every moment more | |
humble, more desperate, and more fraught with tender yearning. Alas! how | |
much guile did that seeming desperation hide, which, as the result has | |
now shown, though it may have come from the heart, never afterward | |
returned to the same, and made manifest later that its revealment on the | |
face was only a lure and a delusion! And, not to mention all his deeds, | |
each of which was full of most artful deception, he so wrought upon me | |
by his own craft, or else the fates willed it should so happen, that I | |
straightway found myself enmeshed in the snares of sudden and | |
unthought-of love, in a manner beyond all my powers of telling, and so I | |
remain unto this very hour. | |
It was this one alone, therefore, most pitiful ladies, that my heart, in | |
it mad infatuation, chose, not only among so many high-born, handsome | |
and valiant youths then present, but even among all of the same degree | |
having their abode in my own Parthenope, as first and last and sole lord | |
of my life. It was this one alone that I loved, and loved more than any | |
other. It was this one alone that was destined to be the beginning and | |
source of my by any pleasure, although often tempted, being at last | |
vanquished, have burned and now burn in the fire which then first caught | |
me. Omitting many thoughts that came into my mind, and many things that | |
were told me, I will only say that, intoxicated by a new passion, I | |
returned with a soul enslaved to that spot whence I had gone forth in | |
freedom. | |
When I was in my chamber, alone and unoccupied, inflamed with various | |
wild wishes, filled with new sensations and throbbing with many | |
anxieties, all of which were concentrated on the image of the youth who | |
pleased me, I argued within myself that if I could not banish love from | |
my luckless bosom, I might at least be able to keep cautious and secret | |
control of it therein; and how hard it is to do such a thing, no one can | |
discover who does not make trial of the same. Surely do I believe that | |
not even Love himself can cause so great anguish as such an attempt is | |
certain to produce. Furthermore, I was arrested in my purpose by the | |
fact that I had no acquaintance with him of whom I professed myself | |
enamored. To relate all the thoughts that were engendered in me by this | |
love, and of what nature they were, would take altogether too much time. | |
But some few I must perforce declare, as well as certain things that | |
were beginning to delight me more than usual. I say, then, that, | |
everything else being neglected, the only thing that was dear to me was | |
the thought of my beloved, and, when it occurred to my mind that, by | |
persevering in this course, I might, mayhap, give occasion to some one | |
to discover that which I wished to conceal, I often upbraided myself for | |
my folly. But what availed it all? My upbraidings had to give way to my | |
inordinate yearning for him, and dissolved uselessly into thin air. | |
For several days I longed exceedingly to learn who was the youth I | |
loved, toward whom my thoughts were ever clearly leading me; and this I | |
craftily learned, the which filled me with great content. In like | |
manner, the ornaments for which I had before this in no way cared, as | |
having but little need thereof, began to be dear to me, thinking that | |
the more I was adorned the better should I please. Wherefore I prized | |
more than hitherto my garments, gold, pearls, and my other precious | |
things. Until the present moment it had been my custom to frequent | |
churches, gardens, festivals, and seaside resorts, without other wish | |
than the companionship of young friends of my own sex; now, I sought the | |
aforesaid places with a new desire, believing that both to see and be | |
seen would bring me great delectation. But, in sooth, the trust which I | |
was wont to place in my beauty had deserted me, and now I never left my | |
chamber, without first seeking the faithful counsel of my mirror: and my | |
hands, newly instructed thereunto by I know not what cunning master, | |
discovering each day some more elegant mode of adornment than the day | |
before, and deftly adding artificial charms to my natural loveliness, | |
thereby caused me to outshine all the other ladies in my surpassing | |
splendor. Furthermore, I began to wish for the honors usually paid to me | |
by ladies, because of their gracious courtesy, though, perhaps, they | |
were rather the guerdon of my noble birth, being due to me therefor, | |
thinking that if I appeared so magnificent to my beloved's eyes, he | |
would take the more delight in beholding me. Avarice, too, which is | |
inborn in women, fled from me, so that I became free and openhanded, and | |
regarded my own possessions almost as if they were not my own. The | |
sedateness that beseems a woman fell away from me somewhat, and I grew | |
bolder in my ways; and, in addition to all this, my eyes, which until | |
that day looked out on the world simply and naturally, entirely changed | |
their manner of looking, and became so artful in their office that it | |
was a marvel. And many other alterations appeared in me over and above | |
these, all of which I do not care to relate, for besides that the | |
report thereof would be too tedious, I ween full well that you, like me, | |
also have been, or are, in love, and know what changes take place in | |
those who are in such sad case. | |
He was a most wary and circumspect youth, whereunto my experience was | |
able to bear witness frequently. Going very rarely, and always in the | |
most decorous manner, to the places where I happened to be, he used to | |
observe me, but ever with a cautious eye, so that it seemed as if he had | |
planned as well as I to hide the tender flames that glowed in the | |
breasts of both. Certainly, if I denied that love, although it had | |
clutched every corner of my heart and taken violent possession of every | |
recess of my soul, grew even more intense whenever it happened that my | |
eyes encountered his, I should deny the truth; he added further fuel to | |
the fires that consumed me, and rekindled such as might be expiring, if, | |
mayhap, there were any such. But the beginning of all this was by no | |
means so cheerful as the ending was joyless, as soon as I was deprived | |
of the sight of this, my beloved, inasmuch as the eyes, being thus | |
robbed of their delight, gave woful occasion of lamentation to the | |
heart, the sighs whereof grew greater in quality as well as in quantity, | |
and desire, as if seizing my every feeling, took me away from myself, | |
and, as if I were not where I was, I frequently gave him who saw me | |
cause for amazement by affording numberless pretexts for such | |
happenings, being taught by love itself. In addition to this, the quiet | |
of the night and the thoughts on which my fancy fed continuously, by | |
taking me out of myself, sometimes moved me to actions more frantic than | |
passionate and to the employment of unusual words. | |
But it happened that while my excess of ornaments, heartfelt sighs, lost | |
rest, strange actions, frantic movements, and other effects of my recent | |
love, attracted the notice of the other domestics of the household, they | |
especially struck with wonder a nurse of mine, old in years and | |
experienced, and of sound judgment, who, though well aware of the flames | |
that tortured my breast, yet making show of not knowing thereof, | |
frequently chided me for my altered manners. One day in particular, | |
finding me lying disconsolate on my couch, seeing that my brow was | |
charged with doleful thoughts, and believing that we were not likely to | |
be interrupted by other company, she began to speak as follows: | |
"My dearest daughter, whom I love as my very self, tell me, I pray you, | |
what are the sorrows that have for some time past been harassing you? | |
You who were wont to be so gay formerly, you whom I have never seen | |
before with a mournful countenance, seem to me now to be the prey of | |
grief and to let no moment pass without a sigh." | |
Then, having at first feigned to be asleep and not to have heard her, I | |
heaved a deep sigh, and, my face, at one time flushing, at another | |
turning pale, I tossed about on the couch, seeking what answer I should | |
make, though, indeed, in my agitation, my tongue could hardly shape a | |
perfect sentence. But, at length, I answered: | |
"Indeed, dear nurse, no fresh sorrows harass me; nor do I feel that I am | |
in any way different from what I am wont to be. Perhaps some troubles I | |
may have, but they are such as are incidental to all women." | |
"Most certainly, you are trying to deceive me, my child," returned the | |
aged nurse, "and you seem not to reflect how serious a matter it is to | |
attempt to lead persons of experience to believe one thing because it is | |
couched in words and to disbelieve the opposite, although it is made | |
plainly evident by deeds. There is no reason why you should hide from me | |
a fact whereof I have had perfect knowledge since several days ago." | |
Alas! when I heard her speak thus, provoked and stung by her words, I | |
said: | |
"If, then, thou wittest of all this, wherefore dost thou question me? | |
All that thou hast to do now is to keep secret that which thou hast | |
discovered." | |
"In good truth," she replied, "I will conceal all that which it is not | |
meet that another should know, and may the earth open and engulf me in | |
its bowels before I ever reveal aught that might turn to thy open shame! | |
Therefore, do thou live assured of this, and guard thyself carefully | |
from letting another know that which I, without either thyself or anyone | |
else telling me, have learned from observing thy looks. As for myself, | |
it is not now, but long ere now, that I have learned to keep hidden that | |
which should not be disclosed. Therefore, do thou continue to feel | |
secure as to this matter, and watch most carefully that thou lettest not | |
another know that which I, not witting it from thee or from another, | |
most surely have discovered from thine own face and from its changeful | |
seeming. But, if thou art still the victim of that folly by which I know | |
thou hast been enslaved, if thou art as prone now as erewhile to indulge | |
that feeling to which thou hast already given way, then know I right | |
well that I must leave thee to thy own devices, for bootless will be my | |
teachings and my warnings. Still, although this cruel tyrant, to whom in | |
thy youthful simplicity being taken by surprise thou hast yielded thy | |
freedom, appears to have deprived thee of understanding as well as of | |
liberty, I will put thee in mind of many things, and entreat thee to | |
fling off and banish wicked thoughts from thy chaste bosom, to quench | |
that unholy fire, and not to make thyself the thrall of unworthy hopes. | |
Now is the time to be strong in resistance; for whoso makes a stout | |
fight in the beginning roots out an unhallowed affection, and bears | |
securely the palm of victory; but whoso, with long and wishful fancies, | |
fosters it, will try too late to resist a yoke that has been submitted | |
to almost unresistingly." | |
"Alas!" I replied, "how far easier it is to say such things than to | |
lead them to any good result." | |
"Albeit they be not easy of fulfilment," she said, "yet are they | |
possible, and they are things that it beseems you to do. Take thou | |
thought whether it would be fitting that for such a thing as this thou | |
shouldst lose the luster of thy exalted parentage, the great fame of thy | |
virtue, the flower of thy beauty, the honor in which thou art now held, | |
and, above all, the favor of the spouse whom thou hast loved and by whom | |
thou art loved: certainly, thou shouldst not wish for this; nor do I | |
believe thou wouldst wish it, if thou didst but weigh the matter | |
seriously in thine own mind. Wherefore, in the name of God, forbear, and | |
drive from thy heart the false delights promised by a guilty hope, and, | |
with them, the madness that has seized thee. By this aged breast, long | |
harassed by many cares, from which thou didst take thy first nutriment, | |
I humbly beseech thee to have the courage to aid thyself, to have a | |
concern for thine own honor, and not to disdain my warnings. Bethink | |
thee that the very desire to be healed is itself often productive of | |
health." | |
Whereto I thus made answer: | |
"Only too well do I know, dear nurse, the truth of that which thou | |
sayest. But a furious madness constrains me to follow the worse course; | |
vainly does my heart, insatiable in its desires, long for strength to | |
enable it to adopt thy advice; what reason enjoins is rendered of no | |
avail by this soul-subduing passion. My mind is wholly possessed by | |
Love, who rules every part thereof, in virtue of his all-embracing | |
deity; and surely thou art aware that his power is absolute, and 'twere | |
useless to attempt to resist it." | |
Having said these words, I became almost unconscious, and fell into her | |
arms. But she, now more agitated than before, in austere and rebuking | |
tones, said: | |
"Yes, forsooth, well am I aware that you and a number of fond young | |
women, inflamed and instigated thereunto by vain thoughts, have | |
discovered Love to be a god, whereas a juster name for him would be that | |
of demon; and you and they call him the son of Venus, and say that his | |
strength has come to him from the third heaven, wishing, seemingly, to | |
offer necessity as an excuse for your foolishness. Oh, was ever woman so | |
misled as thou? Truly, thou must be bereft entirely of understanding! | |
What a thing thou sayest! Love a deity! Love is a madness, thrust forth | |
from hell by some fury. He speeds across the earth in hasty flight, and | |
they whom he visits soon discover that he brings no deity with him, but | |
frenzy rather; yet none will he visit except those abounding overmuch in | |
earthly felicity; for they, he knows, in their overweening conceit, are | |
ready to afford him lodgment and shelter. This has been proven to us by | |
many facts. Do we not see that Venus, the true, the heavenly Venus, | |
often dwells in the humblest cot, her sole concern being the | |
perpetuation of our race? But this god, whom some in their folly name | |
Love, always hankering after things unholy, ministers only to those | |
whose fortunes are prosperous. This one, recoiling from those whose food | |
and raiment suffice to meet the demands of nature, uses his best efforts | |
to win over the pampered and the splendidly attired, and with their food | |
and their habiliments he mixes his poisons, and so gains the lordship of | |
their wicked souls; and, for this reason, he gladly seeks a harborage in | |
lofty palaces, and seldom, or rather never, enters the houses of the | |
lowly, because this horrible plague always resorts by choice to scenes | |
of elegance and refinement, well knowing that such places are best | |
fitted for the achievement of his fell purposes. It is easy for us to | |
see that among the humble the affections are sane and well ordered; but | |
the rich, on the other hand, everywhere pluming themselves on their | |
riches, and being insatiable in their pursuit of other things as well as | |
of wealth, always show more eagerness therein than is becoming; and they | |
who can do much desire furthermore to have the power of doing that which | |
they must not do: among whom I feel that thou hast placed thyself, O | |
most hapless of women, seeing that thou hast already entered and | |
traveled far on a path that will surely lead to guilt and misery." | |
After hearing which, I said: | |
"Be silent, old woman, and provoke not the wrath of the gods by thy | |
speech. Now that thou art incapacitated from love by age and rejected by | |
all the gods, thou railest against this one, blaspheming him in whom | |
thou didst erstwhile take delight. If other ladies, far more puissant, | |
famous, and wise than I, have formerly called him by that name, it is | |
not in my power to give him a name anew. By him am I now truly enslaved; | |
whatever be the cause of this, and whether it be the occasion of my | |
happiness or misery, I am helpless. The strength wherewith I once | |
opposed him has been vanquished and has abandoned me. Therefore either | |
death or the youth for whom I languish can alone end my tortures. If | |
thou art, then, as wise as I hold thee to be, bestow such counsel and | |
help on me as may lighten my anguish, or, at least, abstain from | |
exasperating it by censuring that to which my soul, unable to act | |
differently, is inclined with all its energy." | |
Thereupon, she, being angry, and not without reason, making no answer, | |
but muttering to herself, passed out of the chamber and left me alone. | |
When my dear nurse had departed without making further discourse, and I | |
was again alone, I felt that I had acted ill in despising her advice. I | |
revolved her sayings within my restless breast; and, albeit my | |
understanding was blinded, I perceived that what she had said was | |
replete with wisdom, and, almost repenting of what I had uttered and of | |
the course which I had declared I purposed taking, I was wavering in my | |
mind. And, already beginning to have thoughts of abandoning that course | |
which was sure to be in every way most harmful, I was about to call her | |
back to give me encouragement, when a new and unforeseen event suddenly | |
changed my intention. For a most beautiful lady, come to my private | |
chamber I know not whence, presented herself before my eyes, enveloped | |
in such dazzling light that scarcely could my sight endure the | |
brightness thereof. But while she stood still and silent before me, the | |
effulgent radiance that had almost blinded my vision, after a time left | |
it unobscured, and I was able so to portray her every aspect to my mind, | |
as her whole beauteous figure was impressed on my memory. I saw that she | |
was nude, except for a thin and delicate drapery of purple, which, | |
albeit in some parts it covered the milk-white body, yet no more | |
concealed it from my ravished eyes than does the transparent glass | |
conceal the portrait beneath it. Her head, the hair whereof as much | |
surpassed gold in its luster as gold surpasses the yellowest tresses to | |
be found among mortals, was garlanded with a wreath of green myrtle, | |
beneath whose shadow I beheld two eyes of peerless splendor, so | |
enchanting that I could have gazed on them forever; they flashed forth | |
such luminous beams that it was a marvel; and all the rest of her | |
countenance had such transcendent loveliness that the like never was | |
seen here below. At first she spake no word, perchance content that I | |
should look upon her, or perchance seeing me so content to look upon | |
her. Then gradually through the translucent radiance, she revealed more | |
clearly every hidden grace, for she was aware that I could not believe | |
such beauty possible except I beheld it with my eyes, and that even then | |
words would fail me to picture it to mortals with my tongue. At last, | |
when she observed that I had sated my eyes with gazing on her, and when | |
she saw that her coming hither was as wondrous to me as her loveliness, | |
with smiling face, and in a voice sweeter than can be conceived by minds | |
like ours, she thus addressed me: | |
"Prithee, young woman, what art thou, the most fickle of thy sex, | |
preparing to do in obedience to the late counsels of thy aged nurse? | |
Knowest thou not that such counsels are far harder to follow than that | |
very love which thou desirest to flee? Hast thou reflected on the dire | |
and unendurable torments which compliance with them will entail on thee? | |
O most insensate one! dost thou then, who only a few hours ago wert my | |
willing vassal, now wish to break away from my gentle rule, because, | |
forsooth, of the words of an old woman, who is no longer vassal of mine, | |
as if, like her, thou art now unwitting of what delights I am the | |
source? O most witless of women! forbear, and reflect whether thou | |
shouldst not find befitting happiness in that which makes the happiness | |
of Heaven and earth. All things that Phoebus beholds during the bright | |
day, from what time he emerges from Ganges, until he plunges with his | |
tired steeds into the Hesperian waves, to seek due repose after his | |
wearisome pilgrimage; all things that are confined between cold Arcturus | |
and the red-hot pole, all own the absolute and authentic lordship of my | |
winged son; and in Heaven not only is he esteemed a god, like the other | |
deities, but he is so much more puissant than them all that not one | |
remains who has not heretofore been vanquished by his darts. He, flying | |
on golden plumage throughout his realms, with such swiftness that his | |
passage can hardly be discerned, visits them all in turn, and, bending | |
his strong bow, to the drawn string he fits the arrows forged by me and | |
tempered in the fountains sacred to my divinity. And when he elects | |
anyone to his service, as being more worthy than others, that one he | |
rules as it likes him. He kindles raging fires in the hearts of the | |
young, fans the flames that are almost dead in the old, awakens the | |
fever of passion in the chaste bosoms of virgins and instils a genial | |
warmth into the breasts of wives and widows equally. He has even | |
aforetime forced the gods, wrought up to a frenzy by his blazing torch, | |
to forsake the heavens and dwell on earth under false appearances. | |
Whereof the proofs are many. Was not Phoebus, though victor over huge | |
Python and creator of the celestial strains that sound from the lyres of | |
Parnassus, by him made the thrall, now of Daphne, now of Clymene, and | |
again of Leucothea, and of many others withal? Certainly, this was so. | |
And, finally, hiding his brightness under the form of a shepherd, did | |
not Apollo tend the flocks of Admetus? Even Jove himself, who rules the | |
skies, by this god coerced, molded his greatness into forms inferior to | |
his own. Sometimes, in shape of a snow-white fowl, he gave voice to | |
sounds sweeter than those of the dying swan, and anon, changing to a | |
young bull and fitting horns to his brow, he bellowed along the plains, | |
and humbled his proud flanks to the touch of a virgin's knees, and, | |
compelling his tired hoofs to do the office of oars, he breasted the | |
waves of his brother's kingdom, yet sank not in its depths, but joyously | |
bore away his prize. I shall not discourse unto you of his pursuit of | |
Semele under his proper form, or of Alcmena, in guise of Amphitryon, or | |
of Callisto, under the semblance of Diana, or of Danae for whose sake he | |
became a shower of gold, seeing that in the telling thereof I should | |
waste too much time. Nay, even the savage god of war, whose strength | |
appalls the giants, repressed his wrathful bluster, being forced to such | |
submission by this my son, and became gentle and loving. And the forger | |
of Jupiter, and artificer of his three-pronged thunderbolts, though | |
trained to handle fire, was smitten by a shaft more potent than he | |
himself had ever wrought. Nay I, though I be his mother, have not been | |
able to fend off his arrows: Witness the tears I have shed for the death | |
of Adonis! But why weary myself and thee with the utterance of so many | |
words? There is no deity in heaven who has passed unscathed from his | |
assaults; except, perhaps, Diana only, who may have escaped him by | |
fleeing to the woods; though some there be who tell that she did not | |
flee, but rather concealed the wound. If haply, however, thou, in the | |
hardness of thy unbelief, rejectest the testimony of heaven, and | |
searchest rather for examples of those in this nether world who have | |
felt his power, I affirm them to be so multitudinous that where to begin | |
I know not. Yet this much may I tell thee truly: all who have confessed | |
his sway have been men of might and valor. Consider attentively, in the | |
first place, that undaunted son of Alcmena, who, laying aside his arrows | |
and the formidable skin of the huge lion, was fain to adorn his fingers | |
with green emeralds, and to smooth and adjust his bristling and | |
rebellions hair. Nay, that hand which aforetime had wielded the terrific | |
club, and slain therewith Antaeus, and dragged the hound of hell from the | |
lower world, was now content to draw the woolen threads spun from | |
Omphale's distaff; and the shoulders whereon had rested the pillars of | |
the heavens, from which he had for a time freed Atlas, were now clasped | |
in Omphale's arms, and afterward, to do her pleasure, covered with a | |
diaphanous raiment of purple. Need I relate what Paris did in obedience | |
to the great deity? or Helen? or Clytemnestra? or AEgisthus? These are | |
things that are well known to all the world. Nor do I care to speak of | |
Achilles, or of Scylla, of Ariadne or Leander, of Dido, or of many | |
others, of whom the same tale could be told, were there need to tell it. | |
Believe me when I affirm that this fire is holy, and most potent as | |
well. Thou hast heard that heaven and earth are subject to my son | |
because of his lordship over gods and men. But what shall I say of the | |
power that he exercises over irrational animals, whether celestial or | |
terrene? It is through him that the turtle is fain to follow her mate; | |
it is through him that my pigeons have learned to caress his ringdoves | |
with fondest endearments. And there is no creeping or living creature | |
that has ever at any time attempted to escape from his puissance: in the | |
woods the timid stag, made fierce by his touch, becomes brave for sake | |
of the coveted hind and by bellowing and fighting, they prove how strong | |
are the witcheries of Love. The ferocious boars are made by Love to | |
froth at the mouth and sharpen their ivory tusks; the African lions, | |
when Love quickens them, shake their manes in fury. But leaving the | |
groves and forests, I assert that even in the chilly waters the | |
numberless divinities of the sea and of the flowing rivers are not safe | |
from the bolts of my son. Neither can I for a moment believe that thou | |
art ignorant of the testimony thereof which has been rendered by | |
Neptune, Glaucus, Alpheus, and others too numerous to mention: not only | |
were they unable to quench the flame with their dank waters, but they | |
could not even moderate its fury, which, when it had made its might | |
felt, both on the earth and in the waters, continued its onward course, | |
and rested not until it had penetrated into the gloomy realms of Dis. | |
Therefore Heaven and Earth and Ocean and Hell itself have had experience | |
of the potency of his weapons. And, in order that thou mayest understand | |
in a few words the power of the deity, I tell thee that, while | |
everything succumbs to nature, and nothing can ever be emancipated from | |
her dominion, Nature herself is but the servant of Love. When he | |
commands, ancient hatreds perish, and angry moods, be they old or new, | |
give place to his fires; and lastly, his sway has such far-reaching | |
influence that even stepmothers become gracious to their stepchildren, a | |
thing which it is a marvel to behold. Therefore what seekest thou? Why | |
dost thou hesitate? Why dost thou rashly avoid him? When so many gods, | |
when so many men, when so many animals, have been vanquished by him, art | |
ashamed to be vanquished by him also? In good sooth, thou weenest not | |
what thou art doing. If thou fearest to be blamed for thy obedience to | |
him, a blame so unmerited never can be thy portion. Greater sins than | |
thou canst commit have been committed by thousands far greater than | |
thou, and these sins would plead as thy excuse, shouldst thou pursue | |
that course which others have pursued--others who far excel thee. Thou | |
wilt have sinned but a little, seeing that thou hadst far less power of | |
resistance than those aforementioned. But if my words move thee not, and | |
thou wouldst still wish to withstand the god, bethink thee that thy | |
power falls far short of that of Jove, and that in judgment thou canst | |
not equal Phoebus, nor in wealth Juno, nor me in beauty; and yet, we all | |
have been conquered. Thou art greatly deceived, and I fear me that thou | |
must perish in the end, if thou persist in thy changed purpose. Let that | |
which has erstwhile sufficed for the whole world, suffice for thee, nor | |
try to render thyself cold-hearted, by saying: 'I have a husband, and | |
the holy laws and the vowed faith forbid me this'; for bootless are such | |
reasonings against the puissance of this god. He discards the laws of | |
others scornfully, as thinking them of no account, and ordains his own. | |
Pasiphae? had a husband, and Phaedra, and I, too, even though I have | |
loved. And it is these same husbands who most frequently fall in love | |
with others, albeit they have wives of their own: witness Jason and | |
Theseus and valiant Hector and Ulysses. Therefore to men we do no wrong | |
if we apply to them the same laws that they apply to others; for to | |
them no privilege has been granted which is not accorded to us withal. | |
Banish, then, thy foolish thoughts, and, in all security, go on loving | |
him whom thou hadst already begun to love. In good sooth, if thou | |
refusest to own the power of mighty Love, it behooves thee to fly; but | |
whither canst thou fly? Knowest thou of any retreat where he will not | |
follow and overtake thee? He has in all places equal puissance. Go | |
wheresoever thou wilt, never canst thou pass across the borders of his | |
realms, and within these realms vain it is for mortals to try to hide | |
themselves when he would smite them. But let it comfort thee to know, | |
young woman, that no such odious passion shall trouble thee as erstwhile | |
was the scourge of Myrrha, Semiramis, Byblis, Canace, and Cleopatra. | |
Nothing strange or new will be wrought by my son in thy regard. He has, | |
as have the other gods, his own special laws, which thou art not the | |
first to obey, and shouldst not be the last to entertain hopes | |
therefrom. If haply thou believest that thou art without companions in | |
this, foolish is thy belief. Let us pass by the other world, which is | |
fraught with such happenings; but observe attentively only thine own | |
city! What an infinite number of ladies it can show who are in the same | |
case with thyself! And remember that what is done by so many cannot be | |
deemed unseemly. Therefore, be thou of our following, and return thanks | |
to our beauty, which thou hast so closely examined. But return special | |
thanks to our deity, which has sundered thee from the ranks of the | |
simple, and persuaded thee to become acquainted with the delights that | |
our gifts bestow." | |
Alas! alas! ye tender and compassionate ladies, if Love has been | |
propitious to your desires, say what could I, what should I, answer to | |
such and so great words uttered by so great a goddess, if not: "Be it | |
done unto me according to thy pleasure"? And so, I affirm that as soon | |
as she had closed her lips, having already harvested within my | |
understanding all her words, and feeling that every word was charged | |
with ample excuse for what I might do, and knowing now how mighty she | |
was and how resistless, I resolved at once to submit to her guidance; | |
and instantly rising from my couch, and kneeling on the ground, with | |
humbled heart, I thus began, in abashed and tremulous accents: | |
"O peerless and eternal loveliness! O divinest of deities! O sole | |
mistress of all my thoughts! whose power is felt to be most invincible | |
by those who dare to try to withstand it, forgive the ill-timed | |
obstinacy wherewith I, in my great folly, attempted to ward off from my | |
breast the weapons of thy son, who was then to me an unknown divinity. | |
Now, I repeat, be it done unto me according to thy pleasure, and | |
according to thy promises withal. Surely, my faith merits a due reward | |
in time and space, seeing that I, taking delight in thee more than do | |
all other women, wish to see the number of thy subjects increase forever | |
and ever." | |
Hardly had I made an end of speaking these words, when she moved from | |
the place where she was standing, and came toward me. Then, her face | |
glowing with the most fervent expression of affection and sympathy, she | |
embraced me, and touched my forehead with her divine lips. Next, just as | |
the false Ascanius, when panting in the arms of Dido, breathed on her | |
mouth, and thereby kindled the latent flame, so did she breathe on my | |
mouth, and, in that wise, rendered the divine fire that slumbered in my | |
heart more uncontrollable than ever, and this I felt at that very | |
moment. Thereafter, opening a little her purple robe, she showed me, | |
clasped in her arms against her ravishing breast, the very counterpart | |
of the youth I loved, wrapped in the transparent folds of a Grecian | |
mantle, and revealing in the lineaments of his countenance pangs that | |
were not unlike those I suffered. | |
"O damsel," she said, "rivet thy gaze on the youth before thee: we have | |
not given thee for lover a Lissa, a Geta, or a Birria, or anyone | |
resembling them, but a person in every way worthy of being loved by | |
every goddess in the heavens. Thee he loves more than himself, as we | |
have ordained, and thee will he ever love; therefore do thou, joyfully | |
and securely, abandon thyself to his love. Thy prayers have moved us to | |
pity, as it is meet that prayers so deserving should, and so, be of good | |
hope, and fear not that thou shalt be without the reward due thee in the | |
future." | |
And thereafter she suddenly vanished from my eyes. _Oime!_ wretched me! | |
I do not for a moment doubt now, after considering the things which | |
followed, that this one who appeared unto me was not Venus, but rather | |
Tisiphone, who, doffing from her head the horrid snakes that served it | |
for hair, and assuming for the while the splendid form of the Goddess of | |
Love, in this manner lured me with deceitful counsels to that disaster | |
which at length overwhelmed me. Thus did Juno, but in different fashion, | |
veiling the radiance of her deity and transforming herself for the | |
occasion into the exact likeness of her aged nurse, persuaded Semele to | |
her undoing. Woe is me! my resolve to be so advised was the cause--O | |
hallowed Modesty! O Chastity, most sacred of all the virtues! sole and | |
most precious treasure of righteous women!--was the cause, I repeat, | |
wherefore I drove ye from my bosom. Yet do I venture to pray unto ye for | |
pardon, and surely the sinner who repents and perseveres in repentance | |
should in due season obtain your forgiveness. | |
Although the goddess had disappeared from my sight, my whole soul, | |
nevertheless, continued to crave her promised delights; and, albeit the | |
ardor of the passion that vexed my soul deprived me of every other | |
feeling, one piece of good fortune, for what deserving of mine I know | |
not, remained to me out of so many that had been lost--namely, the power | |
of knowing that seldom if ever has a smooth and happy ending been | |
granted to love, if that love be divulged and blazed abroad. And for | |
this reason, when influenced by my highest thoughts, I resolved, | |
although it was a most serious thing to do so, not to set will above | |
reason in carrying this my desire unto an ending. And assuredly, | |
although I have often been most violently constrained by divers | |
accidents to follow certain courses, yet so much grace was conceded to | |
me that, sustained by my own firmness, I passed through these agonies | |
without revealing the pangs that tortured me. And in sooth, I have still | |
resolution enough to continue to follow out this my purpose; so that, | |
although the things I write are most true, I have so disposed them that | |
no one, however keen his sagacity, can ever discover who I am, except | |
him who is as well acquainted with these matters as I, being, indeed, | |
the occasion of them all. And I implore him, should this little book | |
ever come into his hands, in the name of that love which he once bore | |
me, to conceal that which, if disclosed, would turn neither to his | |
profit nor honor. And, albeit he has deprived me of himself, and that | |
through no fault of mine, let him not take it upon himself to deprive me | |
of that honor which I still possess, although, perchance, undeservedly; | |
for should he do so, he could never again give it back to me, any more | |
than he can now give me back himself. | |
Having, therefore, formed my plans in this wise, I showed the most | |
long-suffering patience in manifesting my keenest and most covetous | |
yearnings, and I used my best efforts, but only in secret ways and when | |
opportunities were afforded me, to light in this young man's soul the | |
same flames wherewith my own soul glowed, and to make him as | |
circumspect as myself withal. Nor, in truth, was this for me a task of | |
great difficulty; for, inasmuch as the lineaments of the face always | |
bear most true witness to the qualities of the heart, it was not long | |
before I became aware that my desire would have its full fruition. I | |
perceived that, not only was he throbbing with amorous enthusiasm, but | |
that he was also imbued with most perfect discretion, and this was | |
exceedingly pleasing to me. He, being at once wishful to preserve my | |
honor in all its luster, and, at the same time, to arrange convenient | |
times and places for our meetings, employed many ingenious stratagems, | |
which, methinks, must have cost him much toil and trouble. He used every | |
subtle art to win the friendship of all who were related to me, and, at | |
last, of my husband; and not only did he enjoy their friendship, but he | |
possessed it in such a supreme degree that no pleasure was agreeable to | |
them unless he shared it. How much all this delighted me you will | |
understand without its being needful to me to set it down in words. And | |
is there anyone so dull of wit as not to conclude that from the | |
aforesaid friendship arose many opportunities for him and me of holding | |
discourse together in public? But already had he bethought himself of | |
acting in more subtle ways; and now he would speak to this one, now to | |
that one, words whereby I, being most eager for such enlightenment, | |
discovered that whatever he said to these was fraught with figurative | |
and hidden meanings, intended to show forth his ardent affection for | |
myself. When he was sensible that I had a clear perception of the occult | |
significance of his questions and answers, he went still further, and by | |
gestures, and mobile changes in the expression of his features, he would | |
make known to me his thoughts and the various phases of his passion, | |
which was to me a source of much delectation; and I strove so hard to | |
comprehend it all and to make fitting response thereunto, that neither | |
could he shadow forth anything to me, nor I to him, that either of us | |
did not at once understand. | |
Nay, not satisfied even with this, he employed other symbols and | |
metaphors, and labored earnestly to discipline me in such manner of | |
speech; and, to render me the more assured of his unalterable love, he | |
named me Fiammetta, and himself Panfilo. Woe is me! How often, when | |
warmed with love and wine, did we tell tales, in the presence of our | |
dearest friends, of Fiammetta and Panfilo, feigning that they were | |
Greeks of the days of old, I at one time, he at another; and the tales | |
were all of ourselves; how we were first caught in the snares of Love, | |
and of what tribulations we were long the victims, giving suitable names | |
to the places and persons connected with the story! Certainly, I | |
frequently laughed at it all, being made merry by the simplicity of the | |
bystanders, as well as by his astuteness and sagacity. Yet betimes I | |
dreaded that in the flush of his excitement he might thoughtlessly let | |
his tongue wander in directions wherein it was not befitting it should | |
venture. But he, being ever far wiser than I imagined, guarded himself | |
craftily from any such blundering awkwardness. | |
_Oime!_ most compassionate ladies, what is there that Love will not | |
teach to his subjects? and what is there that he is not able to render | |
them skilful in learning? I, who of all young women was the most | |
simple-minded, and ordinarily with barely power to loose my tongue, when | |
among my companions, concerning the most trivial and ordinary affairs, | |
now, because of this my affection, mastered so speedily all his modes of | |
speech that, in a brief space, my aptness at feigning and inventing | |
surpassed that of any poet! And there were few questions put to me in | |
response to which, after meditating on their main points, I could not | |
make up a pleasing tale: a thing, in my opinion, exceedingly difficult | |
for a young woman to begin, and still more difficult to finish and | |
relate afterward. But, if my actual situation required it, I might set | |
down numerous details which might, perhaps, seem to you of little or no | |
moment, as, for instance, the artful experiment whereby we tested the | |
fidelity of my favorite maid to whom, and to whom alone, we meditated | |
entrusting the secret of this hidden passion, considering that, should | |
another share it, our uneasiness, lest it should not be kept, would be | |
most grievous. Furthermore, it would weary you if I mentioned all the | |
plans we adopted, in order to meet divers situations, plans that I do | |
not believe were ever imagined by any before us; and albeit I am now | |
well aware that they all worked for my ultimate destruction, yet the | |
remembrance of them does not displease me. | |
Unless, O ladies, my judgment be greatly at fault, the strength of our | |
minds was by no means small, if it be but taken in account how hard a | |
thing it is for youthful persons in love to resist long the rush of | |
impetuous ardor without crossing the bounds set by reason: nay, it was | |
so great and of such quality that the most valiant of men, by acting in | |
such wise, would win high and worthy laud as a result thereof. But my | |
pen is now about to depict the final ending to which love was guided, | |
and, before I do so, I would appeal to your pity and to those soft | |
sentiments which make their dwelling in your tender breasts, and incline | |
your thoughts to a like termination. | |
Day succeeded day, and our wishes dragged along with them, kept alive by | |
torturing anxiety, the full bitterness whereof each of us experienced; | |
although the one manifested this to the other in disguised language, and | |
the other showed herself over-discreet to an excessive degree; all of | |
which you who know how ladies who are beloved behave in such | |
circumstances will easily understand. Well, then, he, putting full trust | |
in the veiled meaning of my words, and choosing the proper time and | |
place, came to an experience of that which I desired as much as he, | |
although I feigned the contrary. Certainly, if I were to say that this | |
was the cause of the love I felt for him, I should also have to confess | |
that every time it came back to my memory, it was the occasion to me of | |
a sorrow like unto none other. But, I call God to witness, nothing that | |
has happened between us had the slightest influence upon the love I bore | |
him, nor has it now. Still, I will not deny that our close intimacy was | |
then, and is now, most dear to me. And where is the woman so unwise as | |
not to wish to have the object of her affection within reach rather than | |
at a distance? How much more intensely does love enthrall us when it is | |
brought so near us that we and it are made almost inseparable! I say, | |
then, that after such an adventure, never afore willed or even thought | |
of by me, not once, but many times did fortune and our adroit stratagems | |
bring us good cheer and consolation, not indeed screened entirely from | |
danger, for which I cared less than for the passing of the fleeing wind. | |
But while the time was being spent in such joyous fashion--and that it | |
was joyous, Love, who alone may bear witness thereof, can truly say--yet | |
sometimes his coming inspired me with not a little natural apprehension, | |
inasmuch as he was beginning to be indiscreet in the manner of his | |
coming. But how dear to him was my own apartment, and with what gladness | |
did it see him enter! Yet was he filled with more reverence for it than | |
he ever had been for a sacred temple, and this I could at all times | |
easily discern. Woe is me! what burning kisses, what tender embraces, | |
what delicious moments we had there! | |
Why do I take such pleasure in the mere words which I am now setting | |
down? It is, I say, because I am forced to express the gratitude I then | |
felt to the holy goddess who was the promiser and bestower of Love's | |
delights. Ah, how often did I visit her altars and offer incense, | |
crowned with a garland of her favorite foliage! How often did I think | |
scornfully of the counsels of my aged nurse! Nay, furthermore, being | |
elated far more than all my other companions, how often did I disparage | |
their loves, saying within myself: "No one is loved as I am loved, no | |
one loves a youth as matchless as the youth I love, no one realizes such | |
delights from love as I!" In short, I counted the world as nothing in | |
comparison with my love. It seemed to me that my head touched the skies, | |
and that nothing was lacking to the culmination of my ecstatic bliss. | |
Betimes the idea flashed on my mind that I must disclose to others the | |
occasion of my transports, for surely, I would reflect, it would be a | |
delight to others to hear of that which has brought such delight to me! | |
But thou, O Shame, on the one side, and thou, O Fear, on the other, did | |
hold me back: the one threatening me with eternal infamy; the other with | |
loss of that which hostile Fortune was soon afterward to tear from me. | |
In such wise then, did I live for some time, for it was then pleasing to | |
Love that I should live in this manner; and, in good sooth, so blithely | |
and joyously were these days spent that I had little cause to envy any | |
lady in the whole world, never imagining that the delight wherewith my | |
heart was filled to overflowing, was to nourish the root and plant of my | |
future misery, as I now know to my fruitless and never-ending sorrow. | |
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of La Fiammetta, by Giovanni Boccaccio | |
*** |