The Decameron Volume I Part 9

(1) The Neapolitan term for the chief of police.

Heartsore as the gentle ladies had been made by the preceding stories, this last of Dioneo provoked them to such merriment, more especially the pa.s.sage about the Stadic and the hook, that they lacked not relief of the piteous mood engendered by the others. But the king observing that the sun was now taking a yellowish tinge, and that the end of his sovereignty was come, in terms most courtly made his excuse to the fair ladies, that he had made so direful a theme as lovers' infelicity the topic of their discourse; after which, he rose, took the laurel wreath from his head, and, while the ladies watched to see to whom he would give it, set it graciously upon the blond head of Fiammetta, saying:-"Herewith I crown thee, as deeming that thou, better than any other, wilt know how to make to-morrow console our fair companions for the rude trials of to-day." Fiammetta, whose wavy tresses fell in a flood of gold over her white and delicate shoulders, whose softly rounded face was all radiant with the very tints of the white lily blended with the red of the rose, who carried two eyes in her head that matched those of a peregrine falcon, while her tiny sweet mouth shewed a pair of lips that shone as rubies, replied with a smile:-"And gladly take I the wreath, Filostrato, and that thou mayst more truly understand what thou hast done, 'tis my present will and pleasure that each make ready to discourse to-morrow of good fortune befalling lovers after divers direful or disastrous adventures." The theme propounded was approved by all; whereupon the queen called the seneschal, and having made with him all meet arrangements, rose and gaily dismissed all the company until the supper hour; wherefore, some straying about the garden, the beauties of which were not such as soon to pall, others bending their steps towards the mills that were grinding without, each, as and where it seemed best, they took meanwhile their several pleasures. The supper hour come, they all gathered, in their wonted order, by the fair fountain, and in the gayest of spirits and well served they supped. Then rising they addressed them, as was their wont, to dance and song, and while Filomena led the dance:-"Filostrato," said the queen, "being minded to follow in the footsteps of our predecessors, and that, as by their, so by our command a song be sung; and well witting that thy songs are even as thy stories, to the end that no day but this be vexed with thy misfortunes, we ordain that thou give us one of them, whichever thou mayst prefer." Filostrato answered that he would gladly do so; and without delay began to sing on this wise:-

Full well my tears attest, O traitor Love, with what just cause the heart, With which thou once hast broken faith, doth smart.

Love, when thou first didst in my heart enshrine Her for whom still I sigh, alas! in vain, Nor any hope do know, A damsel so complete thou didst me shew, That light as air I counted every pain, Wherewith behest of thine Condemned my soul to pine.

Ah! but I gravely erred; the which to know Too late, alas! doth but enhance my woe.

The cheat I knew not ere she did me leave, She, she, in whom alone my hopes were placed: For 'twas when I did most Flatter myself with hope, and proudly boast Myself her va.s.sal lowliest and most graced, Nor thought Love might bereave, Nor dreamed he e'er might grieve, 'Twas then I found that she another's worth Into her heart had ta'en and me cast forth.

A plant of pain, alas! my heart did bear, What time my hapless self cast forth I knew; And there it doth remain; And day and hour I curse and curse again, When first that front of love shone on my view That front so queenly fair, And bright beyond compare!

Wherefore at once my faith, my hope, my fire My soul doth imprecate, ere she expire.

My lord, thou knowest how comfortless my woe, Thou, Love, my lord, whom thus I supplicate With many a piteous moan, Telling thee how in anguish sore I groan, Yearning for death my pain to mitigate.

Come death, and with one blow Cut short my span, and so With my curst life me of my frenzy ease; For wheresoe'er I go, 'twill sure decrease.

Save death no way of comfort doth remain: No anodyne beside for this sore smart.

The boon, then, Love bestow; And presently by death annul my woe, And from this abject life release my heart.

Since from me joy is ta'en, And every solace, deign My prayer to grant, and let my death the cheer Complete, that she now hath of her new fere.

Song, it may be that no one shall thee learn: Nor do I care; for none I wot, so well As I may chant thee; so, This one behest I lay upon thee, go Hie thee to Love, and him in secret tell, How I my life do spurn, My bitter life, and yearn, That to a better harbourage he bring Me, of all might and grace that own him king.

Full well my tears attest, etc.

Filostrato's mood and its cause were made abundantly manifest by the words of this song; and perchance they had been made still more so by the looks of a lady that was among the dancers, had not the shades of night, which had now overtaken them, concealed the blush that suffused her face. Other songs followed until the hour for slumber arrived: whereupon at the behest of the queen all the ladies sought their several chambers.

END OF VOL. 1.