La Fiammetta - Giovanni Boccaccio
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: