The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio
that where he had lain he knew not; he remembered indeed having gone
to pass the night with Master Mazzeo's maid, in whose chamber he had
drunken water for a sore thirst he had; but what became of him after
he knew not, save that, when he awoke, he found himself in the
money-lenders' house in a chest. The prefect, hearing these things and
taking great pleasure therein, caused the maid and Ruggieri and the
carpenter and the money-lenders repeat their story again and again;
and in the end, seeing Ruggieri to be innocent, he released him and
amerced the money-lenders in half a score ounces for that they had
stolen the chest. How welcome this was to Ruggieri, none need ask, and
it was beyond measure pleasing to his mistress, who together with her
lover and the precious maid, who had proposed to give him the slashes
with the knife, many a time after laughed and made merry of the
matter, still continuing their loves and their disport from good to
better; the which I would well might so betide myself, save always the
being put in the chest."
* * * * *
If the former stories had saddened the hearts of the lovesome ladies,
this last one of Dioneo's made them laugh heartily, especially when he
spoke of the prefect casting his grapnel aboard the maid, that they
were able thus to recover themselves of the melancholy caused by the
others. But the king, seeing that the sun began to grow yellow and
that the term of his seignory was come, with very courteous speech
excused himself to the fair ladies for that which he had done, to wit,
that he had caused discourse of so sorrowful a matter as that of
lovers' infelicity; which done, he rose to his feet and taking from
his head the laurel wreath, whilst the ladies waited to see on whom he
should bestow it, set it daintily on Fiammetta's fair head, saying, "I
make over this crown to thee, as to her who will, better than any
other, know how with to-morrow's pleasance to console these ladies our
companions of to-day's woefulness."
Fiammetta, whose locks were curled and long and golden and fell over
her white and delicate shoulders and whose soft-rounded face was all
resplendent with white lilies and vermeil roses commingled, with two
eyes in her head as they were those of a peregrine falcon and a dainty
little mouth, the lips whereof seemed twin rubies, answered, smiling,
"And I, Filostrato, I take it willingly, and that thou mayst be the
better cognizant of that which thou hast done, I presently will and
command that each prepare to discourse to-morrow of THAT WHICH HATH
HAPPILY BETIDED LOVERS AFTER SUNDRY CRUEL AND MISFORTUNATE
ADVENTURES." Her proposition[260] was pleasing unto all and she, after
summoning the seneschal and taking counsel with him of things needful,
arising from session, blithely dismissed all the company until
supper-time. Accordingly, they all proceeded, according to their
various appetites, to take their several pleasures, some wandering
about the garden, whose beauties were not such as might lightly tire,
and other some betaking themselves towards the mills which wrought
therewithout, whilst the rest fared some hither and some thither,
until the hour of supper, which being come, they all foregathered, as
of their wont, anigh the fair fountain and there supped with exceeding
pleasance and well served. Presently, arising thence, they addressed
themselves, as of their wont, to dancing and singing, and Filomena
leading off the dance, the queen said, "Filostrato, I purpose not to
depart from the usance of those who have foregone me in the sovranty,
but, like as they have done, so I intend that a song be sung at my
commandment; and as I am assured that thy songs are even such as are
thy stories, it is our pleasure that, so no more days than this be
troubled with thine ill fortunes, thou sing such one thereof as most
pleaseth thee." Filostrato replied that he would well and forthright
proceeded to sing on this wise:
[Footnote 260: _i.e._ the theme proposed by her.]
Weeping, I demonstrate
How sore with reason doth my heart complain
Of love betrayed and plighted faith in vain.
Love, whenas first there was of thee imprest
Thereon[261] her image for whose sake I sigh,
Sans hope of succour aye,
So full of virtue didst thou her pourtray,
That every torment light accounted I
That through thee to my breast
Grown full of drear unrest
And dole, might come; but now, alack! I'm fain
To own my error, not withouten pain.
Yea, of the cheat first was I made aware,
Seeing myself of her forsaken sheer,
In whom I hoped alone;
For, when I deemed myself most fairly grown
Into her favour and her servant dear,
Without her thought or care
Of my to-come despair,
I found she had another's merit ta'en
To heart and put me from her with disdain.
Whenas I knew me banished from my stead,
Straight in my heart a dolorous plaint there grew,
That yet therein hath power,
And oft I curse the day and eke the hour
When first her lovesome visage met my view,
Graced with high goodlihead;
And more enamouréd
Than eye, my soul keeps up its dying strain,
Faith, ardour, hope, blaspheming still amain.
How void my misery is of all relief
Thou mayst e'en feel, so sore I call thee, sire,
With voice all full of woe;
Ay, and I tell thee that it irks me so
That death for lesser torment I desire.
Come, death, then; shear the sheaf
Of this my life of grief
And with thy stroke my madness eke assain;
Go where I may, less dire will be my bane.
No other way than death is left my spright,
Ay, and none other solace for my dole;
Then give it[262] me straightway,
Love; put an end withal to my dismay:
Ah, do it; since fate's spite
Hath robbed me of delight;
Gladden thou her, lord, with my death, love-slain,
As thou hast cheered her with another swain.
My song, though none to learn thee lend an ear,
I reck the less thereof, indeed, that none
Could sing thee even as I;
One only charge I give thee, ere I die,
That thou find Love and unto him alone
Show fully how undear
This bitter life and drear
Is to me, craving of his might he deign
Some better harbourage I may attain.
Weeping I demonstrate
How sore with reason doth my heart complain
Of love betrayed and plighted faith in vain.
[Footnote 261: _i.e._ on my heart.]
[Footnote 262: _i.e._ death.]
The words of this song clearly enough discovered the state of
Filostrato's mind and the cause thereof, the which belike the
countenance of a certain lady who was in the dance had yet plainlier
declared, had not the shades of the now fallen night hidden the
blushes that rose to her face. But, when he had made an end of his
song, many others were sung, till such time as the hour of sleep
arrived, whereupon, at the queen's commandment, each of the ladies
withdrew to her chamber.
HERE ENDETH THE FOURTH DAY
OF THE DECAMERON
_Day the Fifth_
HERE BEGINNETH THE FIFTH DAY OF THE DECAMERON WHEREIN UNDER
THE GOVERNANCE OF FIAMMETTA IS DISCOURSED OF THAT WHICH HATH
HAPPILY BETIDED LOVERS AFTER SUNDRY CRUEL AND MISFORTUNATE
ADVENTURES
The East was already all white and the rays of the rising sun had made
it light through all our hemisphere, when Fiammetta, allured by the
sweet song of the birds that blithely chanted the first hour of the
day upon the branches, arose and let call all the other ladies and the
three young men; then, with leisured pace descending into the fields,
she went a-pleasuring with her company about the ample plain upon the
dewy grasses, discoursing with them of one thing and another, until
the sun was somewhat risen, when, feeling that its rays began to grow
hot, she turned their steps to their abiding-place. There, with
excellent wines and confections, she let restore the light fatigue had
and they disported themselves in the delightsome garden until the
eating hour, which being come and everything made ready by the
discreet seneschal, they sat blithely down to meat, such being the
queen's pleasure, after they had sung sundry roundelays and a ballad
or two. Having dined orderly and with mirth, not unmindful of their
wonted usance of dancing, they danced sundry short dances to the sound
of songs and tabrets, after which the queen dismissed them all until
the hour of slumber should be past. Accordingly, some betook
themselves to sleep, whilst others addressed themselves anew to their
diversion about the fair garden; but all, according to the wonted
fashion, assembled together again, a little after none, near the fair
fountain, whereas it pleased the queen. Then she, having seated
herself in the chief room, looked towards Pamfilo and smilingly
charged him make a beginning with the fair-fortuned stories; whereto
he willingly addressed himself and spoke as follows:
THE FIRST STORY
[Day the Fifth]
CIMON, LOVING, WAXETH WISE AND CARRIETH OFF TO SEA IPHIGENIA
HIS MISTRESS. BEING CAST INTO PRISON AT RHODES, HE IS
DELIVERED THENCE BY LYSIMACHUS AND IN CONCERT WITH HIM
CARRIETH OFF IPHIGENIA AND CASSANDRA ON THEIR WEDDING-DAY,
WITH WHOM THE TWAIN FLEE INTO CRETE, WHERE THE TWO LADIES
BECOME THEIR WIVES AND WHENCE THEY ARE PRESENTLY ALL FOUR
RECALLED HOME
"Many stories, delightsome ladies, apt to give beginning to so glad a
day as this will be, offer themselves unto me to be related; whereof
one is the most pleasing to my mind, for that thereby, beside the
happy issue which is to mark this day's discourses, you may understand
how holy, how puissant and how full of all good is the power of Love,
which many, unknowing what they say, condemn and vilify with great
unright; and this, an I err not, must needs be exceeding pleasing to
you, for that I believe you all to be in love.
There was, then, in the island of Cyprus, (as we have read aforetime
in the ancient histories of the Cypriots,) a very noble gentleman, by
name Aristippus, who was rich beyond any other of the country in all
temporal things and might have held himself the happiest man alive,
had not fortune made him woeful in one only thing, to wit, that
amongst his other children he had a son who overpassed all the other
youths of his age in stature and goodliness of body, but was a
hopeless dullard and well nigh an idiot. His true name was Galesus,
but for that neither by toil of teacher nor blandishment nor beating
of his father nor study nor endeavour of whatsoever other had it been
found possible to put into his head any inkling of letters or good
breeding and that he had a rough voice and an uncouth and manners more
befitting a beast than a man, he was of well nigh all by way of
mockery called Cimon, which in their tongue signified as much as brute
beast in ours. His father brooked his wastrel life with the most
grievous concern and having presently given over all hope of him, he
bade him begone to his country house[263] and there abide with his
husbandmen, so he might not still have before him the cause of his
chagrin; the which was very agreeable to Cimon, for that the manners
and usages of clowns and churls were much more to his liking than
those of the townsfolk.
[Footnote 263: Or farm (_villa_).]
Cimon, then, betaking himself to the country and there employing
himself in the things that pertained thereto, it chanced one day,
awhile after noon, as he passed from one farm to another, with his