The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
hence.' Therewith the scholar began to laugh and seeing that tierce
was now passed by a good hour, replied, 'Marry, I know not how to say
thee nay, since thou conjurest me by such a lady; tell me where thy
clothes are and I will go for them and help thee come down from up
yonder.' The lady, believing this, was somewhat comforted and showed
him where she had laid her clothes; whereupon he went forth of the
tower and bidding his servant not depart thence, but abide near at
hand and watch as most he might that none should enter there till such
time as he should return, went off to his friend's house, where he
dined at his ease and after, whenas himseemed time, betook himself to
sleep; whilst the lady, left upon the tower, albeit some little
heartened with fond hope, natheless beyond measure woebegone, sat up
and creeping close to that part of the wall where there was a little
shade, fell a-waiting, in company of very bitter thoughts. There she
abode, now hoping and now despairing of the scholar's return with her
clothes, and passing from one thought to another, she presently fell
asleep, as one who was overcome of dolour and who had slept no whit
the past night.
The sun, which was exceeding hot, being now risen to the meridian,
beat full and straight upon her tender and delicate body and upon her
head, which was all uncovered, with such force that not only did it
burn her flesh, wherever it touched it, but cracked and opened it all
over little by little, and such was the pain of the burning that it
constrained her to awake, albeit she slept fast. Feeling herself on
the roast and moving somewhat, it seemed as if all her scorched skin
cracked and clove asunder for the motion, as we see happen with a
scorched sheepskin, if any stretch it, and to boot her head irked her
so sore that it seemed it would burst, which was no wonder. And the
platform of the tower was so burning hot that she could find no
restingplace there either for her feet or for otherwhat; wherefore,
without standing fast, she still removed now hither and now thither,
weeping. Moreover, there being not a breath of wind, the flies and
gads flocked thither in swarms and settling upon her cracked flesh,
stung her so cruelly that each prick seemed to her a pike-stab;
wherefore she stinted not to fling her hands about, still cursing
herself, her life, her lover and the scholar.
Being thus by the inexpressible heat of the sun, by the flies and the
gads and likewise by hunger, but much more by thirst, and by a
thousand irksome thoughts, to boot, tortured and stung and pierced to
the quick, she started to her feet and addressed herself to look if
she might see or hear any one near at hand, resolved, whatever might
betide thereof, to call him and crave aid. But of this resource also
had her unfriendly fortune deprived her. The husbandmen were all
departed from the fields for the heat, more by token that none had
come that day to work therenigh, they being all engaged in threshing
out their sheaves beside their houses; wherefore she heard nought but
crickets and saw the Arno, which latter sight, provoking in her desire
of its waters, abated not her thirst, but rather increased it. In
several places also she saw thickets and shady places and houses here
and there, which were all alike to her an anguish for desire of them.
What more shall we say of the ill-starred lady? The sun overhead and
the heat of the platform underfoot and the stings of the flies and
gads on every side had so entreated her that, whereas with her
whiteness she had overcome the darkness of the foregoing night, she
was presently grown red as ruddle,[391] and all bescabbed as she was
with blood, had seemed to whoso saw her the foulest thing in the
world.
[Footnote 391: Lit. red as rabies (_rabbia_). Some commentators
suppose that Boccaccio meant to write _robbia_, madder.]
As she abode on this wise, without aught of hope or counsel,[392]
expecting death more than otherwhat, it being now past half none, the
scholar, arising from sleep and remembering him of his mistress,
returned to the tower, to see what was come of her, and sent his
servant, who was yet fasting, to eat. The lady, hearing him, came, all
weak and anguishful as she was for the grievous annoy she had
suffered, overagainst the trap-door and seating herself there, began,
weeping, to say, 'Indeed, Rinieri, thou hast beyond measure avenged
thyself, for, if I made thee freeze in my courtyard by night, thou
hast made me roast, nay burn, on this tower by day and die of hunger
and thirst to boot; wherefore I pray thee by the One only God that
thou come up hither and since my heart suffereth me not give myself
death with mine own hands, give it me thou, for that I desire it more
than aught else, such and so great are the torments I endure. Or, an
thou wilt not do me that favour, let bring me, at the least, a cup of
water, so I may wet my mouth, whereunto my tears suffice not; so sore
is the drouth and the burning that I have therein.'
[Footnote 392: _i.e._ resource (_consiglio_). See ante, passim.]
The scholar knew her weakness by her voice and eke saw, in part, her
body all burnt up of the sun; wherefore and for her humble prayers
there overcame him a little compassion of her; but none the less he
answered, 'Wicked woman, thou shalt not die by my hands; nay, by thine
own shalt thou die, an thou have a mind thereto; and thou shalt have
of me as much water for the allaying of thy heat as I had fire of thee
for the comforting of my cold. This much I sore regret that, whereas
it behoved me heal the infirmity of my cold with the heat of stinking
dung, that of thy heat will be healed with the coolth of odoriferous
rose-water; and whereas I was like to lose both limbs and life, thou,
flayed by this heat, wilt abide fair none otherwise than doth the
snake, casting its old skin.' 'Alack, wretch that I am,' cried the
lady, 'God give beauties on such wise acquired to those who wish me
ill! But thou, that are more cruel than any wild beast, how couldst
thou have the heart to torture me after this fashion? What more could
I expect from thee or any other, if I had done all thy kinsfolk to
death with the cruellest torments? Certes, meknoweth not what greater
cruelty could be wreaked upon a traitor who had brought a whole city
to slaughter than that whereto thou hast exposed me in causing me to
be roasted of the sun and devoured of the flies and withal denying me
a cup of water, whenas to murderers condemned of justice is
oftentimes, as they go to their death, given to drink of wine, so but
they ask it. Nay, since I see thee abide firm in thy savage cruelty
and that my sufferance availeth not anywise to move thee, I will
resign myself with patience to receive death, so God, whom I beseech
to look with equitable eyes upon this thy dealing, may have mercy upon
my soul.'
So saying, she dragged herself painfully to the midward of the
platform, despairing to escape alive from so fierce a heat; and not
once, but a thousand times, over and above her other torments, she
thought to swoon for thirst, still weeping and bemoaning her illhap.
However, it being now vespers and it seeming to the scholar he had
done enough, he caused his servant take up the unhappy lady's clothes
and wrap them in his cloak; then, betaking himself to her house, he
found her maid seated before the door, sad and disconsolate and
unknowing what to do, and said to her, 'Good woman, what is come of
thy mistress?' 'Sir,' replied she, 'I know not. I thought to find her
this morning in the bed whither meseemed I saw her betake herself
yesternight; but I can find her neither there nor otherwhere and know
not what is come of her; wherefore I suffer the utmost concern. But
you, sir, can you not tell me aught of her?' Quoth he, 'Would I had
had thee together with her whereas I have had her, so I might have
punished thee of thy default, like as I have punished her for hers!
But assuredly thou shalt not escape from my hands, ere I have so paid
thee for thy dealings that thou shalt never more make mock of any man,
without remembering thee of me.' Then to his servant, 'Give her the
clothes,' quoth he, 'and bid her go to her mistress, an she will.' The
man did his bidding and gave the clothes to the maid, who, knowing
them and hearing what Rinieri said, was sore afraid lest they should
have slain her mistress and scarce refrained from crying out; then,
the scholar being done, she set out with the clothes for the tower,
weeping the while.
Now it chanced that one of the lady's husbandmen had that day lost two
of his swine and going in search of them, came, a little after the
scholar's departure, to the tower. As he went spying about everywhere
if he should see his hogs, he heard the piteous lamentation made of
the miserable lady and climbing up as most he might, cried out, 'Who
maketh moan there aloft?' The lady knew her husbandman's voice and
calling him by name, said to him, 'For God's sake, fetch me my maid
and contrive so she may come up hither to me.' Whereupon quoth the
man, recognizing her, 'Alack, madam, who hath brought you up yonder?
Your maid hath gone seeking you all day; but who had ever thought you
could be here?' Then, taking the ladder-poles, he set them up in their
place and addressed himself to bind the cross-staves thereto with
withy bands.[393] Meanwhile, up came the maid, who no sooner entered
the tower than, unable any longer to hold her tongue, she fell to
crying out, buffeting herself the while with her hands, 'Alack, sweet
my lady, where are you?' The lady, hearing her, answered as loudliest
she might, 'O sister mine, I am here aloft. Weep not, but fetch me my
clothes quickly.' When the maid heard her speak, she was in a manner
all recomforted and with the husbandman's aid, mounting the ladder,
which was now well nigh repaired, reached the sollar, where, whenas
she saw her lady lying naked on the ground, all forspent and wan, more
as she were a half-burnt log than a human being, she thrust her nails
into her own face and fell a-weeping over her, no otherwise than as
she had been dead.
[Footnote 393: Boccaccio appears to have forgotten to mention that
Rinieri had broken the rounds of the ladder, when he withdrew it (as
stated, p. 394), apparently to place an additional obstacle in the way
of the lady's escape.]
The lady besought her for God's sake be silent and help her dress
herself, and learning from her that none knew where she had been save
those who had carried her the clothes and the husbandman there
present, was somewhat comforted and prayed them for God's sake never
to say aught of the matter to any one. Then, after much parley, the
husbandman, taking the lady in his arms, for that she could not walk,
brought her safely without the tower; but the unlucky maid, who had
remained behind, descending less circumspectly, made a slip of the
foot and falling from the ladder to the ground, broke her thigh,
whereupon she fell a-roaring for the pain, that it seemed a lion. The
husbandman, setting the lady down on a plot of grass, went to see what
ailed the maid and finding her with her thigh broken, carried her also
to the grass-plat and laid her beside her mistress, who, seeing this
befallen in addition to her other troubles and that she had broken her
thigh by whom she looked to have been succoured more than by any else,
was beyond measure woebegone and fell a-weeping afresh and so
piteously that not only could the husbandman not avail to comfort her,
but himself fell a-weeping like wise. But presently, the sun being now
low, he repaired, at the instance of the disconsolate lady, lest the
night should overtake them there, to his own house, and there called
his wife and two brothers of his, who returned to the tower with a