The Decameron (Day 6 to Day 10): Containing an hundred pleasant NovelsBoccaccio, Giovanni
History
The Decameron (Day 6 to Day 10): Containing an hundred pleasant Novels
Boccaccio, Giovanni
Allegories; Frame stories; Plague -- Europe -- History -- Fiction; Storytelling -- Fiction
Nor was there any winde at all stirring, whereby to asswage the Sunnes
violent scalding, or keepe away huge swarmes of Waspes, Hornets, and
terrible byting Flyes, which vexed her extreamely, feeding on those
parts of her body, that were rifte and chinkt, like crannies in a
mortered wall, and pained her like so many points of pricking Needles,
labouring still with her hands to beate them away, but yet they fastned
on one place or other, and afflicted her in grievous manner, causing
her to curse her owne life, hir amorous friend, but (most of all) the
Scholler, that promised to bring her Garments, and as yet returned not.
Now began she to gaze upon every side about her, to espy some labouring
Husbandmen in the fields, to whom she might call or cry out for helpe,
not fearing to discover her desperate condition: but Fortune therein
also was adverse to her, because the heats extreamity, had driven all
the village out of the fields, causing them to feede their Cattle about
theyr owne houses, or in remote and shadie Valleyes: so that shee
could see no other creatures to comfort her, but Swannes swimming in
the River of _Arno_, and wishing her selfe there a thousand times with
them, for to coole the extreamity of her thirst, which so much the more
encreased, onely by the sight thereof, and utterly disabled of having
any.
She saw beside in many places about her, goodly Woods, fayre coole
shades, and Country houses here and there dispersed; which added the
greater violence to hir affliction, that her desires (in all these)
could no way be accomplished. What shall I say more concerning this
disastrous Lady? The parching beames of the Sunne above her, the
scalding heat of the Lead beneath her, the Hornets and Flyes everie
way stinging her, had made such an alteration of her beautifull bodie:
that, as it checkt and controlled the precedent nights darkenesse, it
was now so metamorphosed with rednesse, yea, and blood issuing forth
in infinite places, as she seemed (almost) loathsome to looke on,
continuing still in this agonie of torment, quite voyde of all hope,
and rather expecting death, then any other comfort.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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