Allegories; Frame stories; Plague -- Europe -- History -- Fiction; Storytelling -- Fiction
When Fiammetta was come to the end of her story, and not a little praise
had been accorded to the virile magnificence of King Charles, albeit one
there was of the ladies, who, being a Ghibelline, joined not therein,
Pampinea, having received the king's command, thus began:--None is there
of discernment, worshipful my ladies, that would say otherwise than you
have said touching good King Charles, unless for some other cause she
bear him a grudge; however, for that there comes to my mind the,
perchance no less honourable, entreatment of one of our Florentine girls
by one of his adversaries, I am minded to recount the same to you.
What time the French were driven forth of Sicily there dwelt at Palermo
one of our Florentines, that was an apothecary, Bernardo Puccini by name,
a man of great wealth, that by his lady had an only and exceeding fair
daughter, then of marriageable age. Now King Pedro of Arragon, being
instated in the sovereignty of the island, did at Palermo make with his
barons marvellous celebration thereof; during which, as he tilted after
the Catalan fashion, it befell that Bernardo's daughter, Lisa by name,
being with other ladies at a window, did thence espy him in the course,
whereat being prodigiously delighted, she regarded him again and again,
and grew fervently enamoured of him; nor yet, when the festivities were
ended, and she was at home with her father, was there aught she could
think of but this her exalted and aspiring love. In regard whereof that
which most irked her was her sense of her low rank, which scarce
permitted her any hope of a happy issue; but, for all that, give over her
love for the King she would not; nor yet, for fear of worse to come,
dared she discover it. The King, meanwhile, recking, witting nothing of
the matter, her suffering waxed immeasurable, intolerable; and her love
ever growing with ever fresh accessions of melancholy, the fair maiden,
overborne at last, fell sick, and visibly day by day wasted like snow in
sunlight. Distraught with grief thereat, her father and mother afforded
her such succour as they might with words of good cheer, and counsel of
physicians, and physic; but all to no purpose; for that she in despair of
her love was resolved no more to live.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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