The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
Wherefore, so that which each saith may hereafterward be apprehended
without confusion, I purpose to denominate them by names altogether or
in part sorting with each one's quality.[15] The first of them and
her of ripest age I shall call Pampinea, the second Fiammetta, the
third Filomena and the fourth Emilia. To the fifth we will give the
name of Lauretta, to the sixth that of Neifile and the last, not
without cause, we will style Elisa.[16] These, then, not drawn of any
set purpose, but foregathering by chance in a corner of the church,
having seated themselves in a ring, after divers sighs, let be the
saying of paternosters and fell to devising with one another many and
various things of the nature of the time. After awhile, the others
being silent, Pampinea proceeded to speak thus:
[Footnote 15: Or character (_qualità_).]
[Footnote 16: I know of no explanation of these names by the
commentators, who seem, indeed, after the manner of their kind, to
have generally confined themselves to the elaborate illustration and
elucidation (or rather, alas! too often, obscuration) of passages
already perfectly plain, leaving the difficult passages for the most
part untouched. The following is the best I can make of them.
_Pampinea_ appears to be formed from the Greek [Greek: pan], all, and
[Greek: pinuô], I advise, admonish or inform, and to mean all-advising
or admonishing, which would agree well enough with the character of
Pampinea, who is represented as the eldest and sagest of the female
personages of the Decameron and as taking the lead in everything.
_Fiammetta_ is the name by which Boccaccio designates his mistress,
the Princess Maria of Naples (the lady for whom he cherished "the very
high and noble passion" of which he speaks in his Proem), in his
earlier opuscule, the "Elégia di Madonna Fiammetta," describing, in
her name, the torments of separation from the beloved. In this work he
speaks of himself under the name of Pamfilo (Gr. [Greek: pan], all,
and [Greek: phileô], I love, _i.e._ the all-loving or the passionate
lover), and it is probable, therefore, that under these names he
intended to introduce his royal ladylove and himself in the present
work. _Filomena_ (Italian form of Philomela, a nightingale, Greek
[Greek: philos] loving, and [Greek: melos], melody, song, _i.e._
song-loving) is perhaps so styled for her love of music, and
_Emilia's_ character, as it appears in the course of the work,
justifies the derivation of her name from the Greek [Greek: aimylios],
pleasing, engaging in manners and behaviour, cajoling. _Lauretta_
Boccaccio probably intends us to look upon as a learned lady, if, as
we may suppose, her name is a corruption of _laureata_,
laurel-crowned; whilst _Neifile's_ name (Greek [Greek: neios] [[Greek:
neos]] new, and [Greek: phileô], I love, _i.e._ novelty-loving) stamps
her as being of a somewhat curious disposition, eager "to tell or to
hear some new thing." The name _Elisa_ is not so easily to be
explained as the others; possibly it was intended by the author as a
reminiscence of Dido, to whom the name (which is by some authorities
explained to mean "Godlike," from a Hebrew root) is said to have been
given "quòd plurima supra animi muliebris fortitudinem gesserit." It
does not, however, appear that there was in Elisa's character or life
anything to justify the implied comparison.]
"Dear my ladies, you may, like myself, have many times heard that
whoso honestly useth his right doth no one wrong; and it is the
natural right of every one who is born here below to succour, keep and
defend his own life as best he may, and in so far is this allowed that
it hath happened whiles that, for the preservation thereof, men have
been slain without any fault. If this much be conceded of the laws,
which have in view the well-being of all mortals, how much more is it
lawful for us and whatsoever other, without offence unto any, to take
such means as we may for the preservation of our lives? As often as I
consider our fashions of this morning and those of many other mornings
past and bethink me what and what manner discourses are ours, I feel,
and you likewise must feel, that each of us is in fear for herself.
Nor do I anywise wonder at this; but I wonder exceedingly, considering
that we all have a woman's wit, that we take no steps to provide
ourselves against that which each of us justly feareth. We abide here,
to my seeming, no otherwise than as if we would or should be witness
of how many dead bodies are brought hither for burial or to hearken if
the friars of the place, whose number is come well nigh to nought,
chant their offices at the due hours or by our apparel to show forth
unto whosoever appeareth here the nature and extent of our distresses.
If we depart hence, we either see dead bodies or sick persons carried
about or those, whom for their misdeeds the authority of the public
laws whilere condemned to exile, overrun the whole place with unseemly
excesses, as if scoffing at the laws, for that they know the executors
thereof to be either dead or sick; whilst the dregs of our city,
fattened with our blood, style themselves _pickmen_ and ruffle it
everywhere in mockery of us, riding and running all about and flouting
us with our distresses in ribald songs. We hear nothing here but 'Such
an one is dead' or 'Such an one is at the point of death'; and were
there any to make them, we should hear dolorous lamentations on all
sides. And if we return to our houses, I know not if it is with you as
with me, but, for my part, when I find none left therein of a great
household, save my serving-maid, I wax fearful and feel every hair of
my body stand on end; and wherever I go or abide about the house,
meseemeth I see the shades of those who are departed and who wear not
those countenances that I was used to see, but terrify me with a
horrid aspect, I know not whence newly come to them.
By reason of these things I feel myself alike ill at ease here and
abroad and at home, more by token that meseemeth none, who hath, as we
have, the power and whither to go, is left here, other than ourselves;
or if any such there be, I have many a time both heard and perceived
that, without making any distinction between things lawful and
unlawful, so but appetite move them, whether alone or in company, both
day and night, they do that which affordeth them most delight. Nor is
it the laity alone who do thus; nay, even those who are shut in the
monasteries, persuading themselves that what befitteth and is lawful
to others alike sortable and unforbidden unto them,[17] have broken
the laws of obedience and giving themselves to carnal delights,
thinking thus to escape, are grown lewd and dissolute. If thus, then,
it be, as is manifestly to be seen, what do we here? What look we for?
What dream we? Why are we more sluggish and slower to provide for our
safety than all the rest of the townsfolk? Deem we ourselves of less
price than others, or do we hold our life to be bounden in our bodies
with a stronger chain than is theirs and that therefore we need reck
nothing of aught that hath power to harm it? We err, we are deceived;
what folly is ours, if we think thus! As often as we choose to call to
mind the number and quality of the youths and ladies overborne of this
cruel pestilence, we may see a most manifest proof thereof.
[Footnote 17: This phrase may also be read "persuading themselves that
that (_i.e._ their breach of the laws of obedience, etc.) beseemeth
them and is forbidden only to others" (_faccendosi a credere che
quello a lor si convenga e non si disdica che all' altre_); but the
reading in the text appears more in harmony with the general sense and
is indeed indicated by the punctuation of the Giunta Edition of 1527,
which I generally follow in case of doubt.]
Wherefore, in order that we may not, through wilfulness or
nonchalance, fall into that wherefrom we may, peradventure, an we but
will, by some means or other escape, I know not if it seem to you as
it doth to me, but methinketh it were excellently well done that we,
such as we are, depart this city, as many have done before us, and
eschewing, as we would death, the dishonourable example of others,
betake ourselves quietly to our places in the country, whereof each of
us hath great plenty, and there take such diversion, such delight and
such pleasance as we may, without anywise overpassing the bounds of
reason. There may we hear the small birds sing, there may we see the
hills and plains clad all in green and the fields full of corn wave
even as doth the sea; there may we see trees, a thousand sorts, and
there is the face of heaven more open to view, the which, angered
against us though it be, nevertheless denieth not unto us its eternal
beauties, far goodlier to look upon than the empty walls of our city.
Moreover, there is the air far fresher[18] and there at this season is
more plenty of that which behoveth unto life and less is the sum of
annoys, for that, albeit the husbandmen die there, even as do the
townsfolk here, the displeasance is there the less, insomuch as houses
and inhabitants are rarer than in the city.
[Footnote 18: Syn. cooler.]
Here, on the other hand, if I deem aright, we abandon no one; nay, we
may far rather say with truth that we ourselves are abandoned, seeing
that our kinsfolk, either dying or fleeing from death, have left us
alone in this great tribulation, as it were we pertained not unto
them. No blame can therefore befall the ensuing of this counsel; nay,
dolour and chagrin and belike death may betide us, an we ensue it not.
Wherefore, an it please you, methinketh we should do well to take our
maids and letting follow after us with the necessary gear, sojourn
to-day in this place and to-morrow in that, taking such pleasance and
diversion as the season may afford, and on this wise abide till such
time (an we be not earlier overtaken of death) as we shall see what
issue Heaven reserveth unto these things. And I would remind you that
it is no more forbidden unto us honourably to depart than it is unto
many others of our sex to abide in dishonour."
The other ladies, having hearkened to Pampinea, not only commended her
counsel, but, eager to follow it, had already begun to devise more
particularly among themselves of the manner, as if, arising from
their session there, they were to set off out of hand. But Filomena,
who was exceeding discreet, said, "Ladies, albeit that which Pampinea
allegeth is excellently well said, yet is there no occasion for
running, as meseemeth you would do. Remember that we are all women and
none of us is child enough not to know how [little] reasonable women
are among themselves and how [ill], without some man's guidance, they
know how to order themselves. We are fickle, wilful, suspicious,
faint-hearted and timorous, for which reasons I misdoubt me sore, an
we take not some other guidance than our own, that our company will be
far too soon dissolved and with less honour to ourselves than were
seemly; wherefore we should do well to provide ourselves, ere we
begin."
"Verily," answered Elisa, "men are the head of women, and without
their ordinance seldom cometh any emprise of ours to good end; but how
may we come by these men? There is none of us but knoweth that of her
kinsmen the most part are dead and those who abide alive are all gone
fleeing that which we seek to flee, in divers companies, some here and
some there, without our knowing where, and to invite strangers would
not be seemly, seeing that, if we would endeavour after our welfare,
it behoveth us find a means of so ordering ourselves that, wherever we
go for diversion and repose, scandal nor annoy may ensue thereof."
Whilst such discourse was toward between the ladies, behold, there