The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
her in a dream, pale and all disordered, with clothes all rent and
mouldered, and herseemed he bespoke her thus: 'Harkye, Lisabetta; thou
dost nought but call upon me, grieving for my long delay and cruelly
impeaching me with thy tears. Know, therefore, that I may never more
return to thee, for that, the last day thou sawest me, thy brothers
slew me.' Then, having discovered to her the place where they had
buried him, he charged her no more call him nor expect him and
disappeared; whereupon she awoke and giving faith to the vision, wept
bitterly.
In the morning, being risen and daring not say aught to her brothers,
she determined to go to the place appointed and see if the thing were
true, as it had appeared to her in the dream. Accordingly, having
leave to go somedele without the city for her disport, she betook
herself thither,[241] as quickliest she might, in company of one who
had been with them[242] otherwhiles and knew all her affairs; and
there, clearing away the dead leaves from the place, she dug whereas
herseemed the earth was less hard. She had not dug long before she
found the body of her unhappy lover, yet nothing changed nor rotted,
and thence knew manifestly that her vision was true, wherefore she was
the most distressful of women; yet, knowing that this was no place for
lament, she would fain, an she but might, have borne away the whole
body, to give it fitter burial; but, seeing that this might not be,
she with a knife did off[243] the head from the body, as best she
could, and wrapping it in a napkin, laid it in her maid's lap. Then,
casting back the earth over the trunk, she departed thence, without
being seen of any, and returned home, where, shutting herself in her
chamber with her lover's head, she bewept it long and bitterly,
insomuch that she bathed it all with her tears, and kissed it a
thousand times in every part. Then, taking a great and goodly pot, of
those wherein they plant marjoram or sweet basil, she set the head
therein, folded in a fair linen cloth, and covered it with earth, in
which she planted sundry heads of right fair basil of Salerno; nor did
she ever water these with other water than that of her tears or rose
or orange-flower water. Moreover she took wont to sit still near the
pot and to gaze amorously upon it with all her desire, as upon that
which held her Lorenzo hid; and after she had a great while looked
thereon, she would bend over it and fall to weeping so sore and so
long that her tears bathed all the basil, which, by dint of long and
assiduous tending, as well as by reason of the fatness of the earth,
proceeding from the rotting head that was therein, waxed passing fair
and very sweet of savour.
[Footnote 241: _i.e._ to the place shown her in the dream.]
[Footnote 242: _i.e._ in their service.]
[Footnote 243: Lit. unhung (_spiccò_).]
The damsel, doing without cease after this wise, was sundry times seen
of her neighbours, who to her brothers, marvelling at her waste beauty
and that her eyes seemed to have fled forth her head [for weeping],
related this, saying, 'We have noted that she doth every day after
such a fashion.' The brothers, hearing and seeing this and having once
and again reproved her therefor, but without avail, let secretly carry
away from her the pot, which she, missing, with the utmost instance
many a time required, and for that it was not restored to her, stinted
not to weep and lament till she fell sick; nor in her sickness did she
ask aught other than the pot of basil. The young men marvelled greatly
at this continual asking and bethought them therefor to see what was
in this pot. Accordingly, turning out the earth, they found the cloth
and therein the head, not yet so rotted but they might know it, by the
curled hair, to be that of Lorenzo. At this they were mightily amazed
and feared lest the thing should get wind; wherefore, burying the
head, without word said, they privily departed Messina, having taken
order how they should withdraw thence, and betook themselves to
Naples. The damsel, ceasing never from lamenting and still demanding
her pot, died, weeping; and so her ill-fortuned love had end. But,
after a while the thing being grown manifest unto many, there was one
who made thereon the song that is yet sung, to wit:
Alack! ah, who can the ill Christian be,
That stole my pot away?" etc.[244]
[Footnote 244: The following is a translation of the whole of the song
in question, as printed, from a MS. in the Medicean Library, in
Fanfani's edition of the Decameron.
Alack! ah, who can the ill Christian be,
That stole my pot away,
My pot of basil of Salern, from me?
'Twas thriv'n with many a spray
And I with mine own hand did plant the tree,
Even on the festal[A] day.
'Tis felony to waste another's ware.
'Tis felony to waste another's ware;
Yea, and right grievous sin.
And I, poor lass, that sowed myself whilere
A pot with flowers therein,
Slept in its shade, so great it was and fair;
But folk, that envious bin,
Stole it away even from my very door.
'Twas stolen away even from my very door.
Full heavy was my cheer,
(Ah, luckless maid, would I had died tofore!)
Who brought[B] it passing dear,
Yet kept ill ward thereon one day of fear.
For him I loved so sore,
I planted it with marjoram about.
I planted it with marjoram about,
When May was blithe and new;
Yea, thrice I watered it, week in, week out,
And watched how well it grew:
But now, for sure, away from me 'tis ta'en.
Ay, now, for sure, away from me 'tis ta'en;
I may 't no longer hide.
Had I but known (alas, regret is vain!)
That which should me betide,
Before my door on guard I would have lain
To sleep, my flowers beside.
Yet might the Great God ease me at His will.
Yea, God Most High might ease me, at His will,
If but it liked Him well,
Of him who wrought me such unright and ill;
He into pangs of hell
Cast me who stole my basil-pot, that still
Was full of such sweet smell,
Its savour did all dole from me away.
All dole its savour did from me away;
It was so redolent,
When, with the risen sun, at early day
To water it I went,
The folk would marvel all at it and say,
"Whence comes the sweetest scent?"
And I for love of it shall surely die.
Yea, I for love of it shall surely die,
For love and grief and pain.
If one would tell me where it is, I'd buy
It willingly again.
Fivescore gold crowns, that in my pouch have I,
I'd proffer him full fain,
And eke a kiss, if so it liked the swain.]
[Footnote A: Quære--natal?--perhaps meaning her birthday (_lo giorno
della festa_).]
[Footnote B: Or "purchased" in the old sense of obtained, acquired
(_accattai_).]
THE SIXTH STORY
[Day the Fourth]
ANDREVUOLA LOVETH GABRIOTTO AND RECOUNTETH TO HIM A DREAM
SHE HATH HAD, WHEREUPON HE TELLETH HER ONE OF HIS OWN AND
PRESENTLY DIETH SUDDENLY IN HER ARMS. WHAT WHILE SHE AND A
WAITING WOMAN OF HERS BEAR HIM TO HIS OWN HOUSE, THEY ARE
TAKEN BY THE OFFICERS OF JUSTICE AND CARRIED BEFORE THE
PROVOST, TO WHOM SHE DISCOVERETH HOW THE CASE STANDETH. THE
PROVOST WOULD FAIN FORCE HER, BUT SHE SUFFERETH IT NOT AND
HER FATHER, COMING TO HEAR OF THE MATTER, PROCURETH HER TO
BE SET AT LIBERTY, SHE BEING FOUND INNOCENT; WHEREUPON,
ALTOGETHER REFUSING TO ABIDE LONGER IN THE WORLD, SHE
BECOMETH A NUN
Filomela's story was very welcome to the ladies, for that they had
many a time heard sing this song, yet could never, for asking, learn
the occasion of its making. But the king, having heard the end
thereof, charged Pamfilo follow on the ordinance; whereupon quoth he,
"The dream in the foregoing story giveth me occasion to recount one
wherein is made mention of two dreams, which were of a thing to come,
even as the former was of a thing [already] betided, and scarce were
they finished telling by those who had dreamt them than the
accomplishment followed of both. You must know, then, lovesome ladies,
that it is an affection common to all alive to see various things in
sleep, whereof,--albeit to the sleeper, what while he sleepeth, they
all appear most true and he, awakened, accounteth some true, others
probable and yet others out of all likelihood,--many are natheless
found to be come to pass. By reason whereof many lend to every dream
as much belief as they would to things they should see, waking, and
for their proper dreams they sorrow or rejoice, according as by these
they hope or fear. And contrariwise, there are those who believe none
thereof, save after they find themselves fallen into the peril
foreshown. Of these,[245] I approve neither the one nor other, for
that dreams are neither always true nor always false. That they are
not all true, each one of us must often enough have had occasion to
know; and that they are not all false hath been already shown in
Filomena her story, and I also purpose, as I said before, to show it
in mine. Wherefore I am of opinion that, in the matter of living and
doing virtuously, one should have no fear of any dream contrary
thereto nor forego good intentions by reason thereof; as for perverse
and wicked things, on the other hand, however favourable dreams may
appear thereto and how much soever they may hearten him who seeth them
with propitious auguries, none of them should be credited, whilst full
faith should be accorded unto all that tend to the contrary.[246] But
to come to the story.
[Footnote 245: _i.e._ these two classes of folk.]
[Footnote 246: _i.e._ to the encouragement of good and virtuous
actions and purposes.]
There was once in the city of Brescia a gentleman called Messer Negro
da Ponte Carraro, who amongst sundry other children had a daughter
named Andrevuola, young and unmarried and very fair. It chanced she
fell in love with a neighbour of hers, Gabriotto by name, a man of
mean condition, but full laudable fashions and comely and pleasant of
his person, and by the means and with the aid of the serving-maid of
the house, she so wrought that not only did Gabriotto know himself
beloved of her, but was many and many a time brought, to the delight
of both parties, into a goodly garden of her father's. And in order
that no cause, other than death, should ever avail to sever those
their delightsome loves, they became in secret husband and wife, and
so stealthily continuing their foregatherings, it befell that the
young lady, being one night asleep, dreamt that she was in her garden
with Gabriotto and held him in her arms, to the exceeding pleasure of
each; but, as they abode thus, herseemed she saw come forth of his
body something dark and frightful, the form whereof she could not
discern; the which took Gabriotto and tearing him in her despite with
marvellous might from her embrace, made off with him underground, nor
ever more might she avail to see either the one or the other.
At this she fell into an inexpressible passion of grief, whereby she
awoke, and albeit, awaking, she was rejoiced to find that it was not
as she had dreamed, nevertheless fear entered into her by reason of
the dream she had seen. Wherefore, Gabriotto presently desiring to
visit her that next night, she studied as most she might to prevent
his coming; however, seeing his desire and so he might not misdoubt
him of otherwhat, she received him in the garden and having gathered
great store of roses, white and red (for that it was the season), she
went to sit with him at the foot of a very goodly and clear fountain
that was there. After they had taken great and long delight together,
Gabriotto asked her why she would have forbidden his coming that
night; whereupon she told him, recounting to him the dream she had
seen the foregoing night and the fear she had gotten therefrom.