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Questions of Love: The Argument

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FLORIO, surnamed Philocopo, accompanied with the duke Montorio, Ascaleon, Menedon and Massalina, in sailing to seek his friend Biancofiore, was through a very obscure and dark night by the fierce winds driven into great dangers. But the perils once passed, they were cast into the port of the ancient Parthenope, whereas the mariners (espying themselves in a haven) received comfort. Not knowing into what coast fortune had forced him they yielded thanks to the gods and so tarried the new day, the which after it once appeared the place was of the mariners descried, so that they all glad of suretie and of so acceptable arrival, came ashore, Philocopo with his companions. Who rather seemed to come forth new-risen again out of their sepulchres than disbarked from ship, looked back towards the wayward waters and repeating in themselves the passed perils of the spent night, could yet scarcely think themselves in suretie.

They all then with one voice praised their gods that had guided them safe out of so crooked a course, offered their pitiful sacrifices, and began to receive comfort. They were by a friend of Ascaleon’s honourably received into the city, whereas they caused their ship to be all new repaired and decked of mast, sail and better stern than were the others which they had lost. And so tarrying time for their further voyage, the which was much longer lengthened than they looked for; by occasion whereof Philocopo would many times have taken his journey by land, but discouraged therein by Ascaleon, stayed, in tarrying a more prosperous hour in the aforesaid place, where he and his companions saw Phoebus five times round and as many times homed, before that Notus did abandon his violent forces.

And in so long a while they never almost saw time to be merry, whereupon Philocopo, who was very desirous to perform his deferred journey, one day called his companions unto him and said: “Let us go take the pleasant air and pass the time upon the salt sea shore, in reasoning and providing for our future voyage.”

Thus he with the Duke Parmenion and the rest of his companions directed their walk with a mild pace (discoursing divers matters) towards that place where rested the reverend ashes of the most renowned poet Maro. They all thus talking a good space were not gone far from the city but that they came to the side of a garden, wherein they heard gracious and joyous feasting of young gentlemen, dames and damsels.

There the air did all resound with the noise of sundry instruments and as it were of angelical voices, entering with sweet delight into the hearts of them to whose ears it came. The which noise it pleased Philcopo to stay a while to hear, to the end his former melancholy through the sweetness thereof might by little and little depart away. Then Ascaleon restrained their talk.

And while fortune held thus Philocopo and his companions without the garden intentively listening, a young gentleman coming forth thereof espied them and forthwith by sight, port and visage knew them to be noble gentlemen and worthy to be reverenced. Wherefor he without tarrying returned to his company and said “Come, let us go welcome certain young men, seeming to be gentlemen of great calling, the which perhaps bashful to enter herein, not being bidden, stay without, giving ear to our disport.”

The companions then of this gentleman left the ladies at their pastime and went forth of the garden and came to Philocopo, whom by sight they knew to be chief of all the rest; to whom they spoke with that reverence their reason could devise and that was most convenient for the welcoming of such a guest, praying him that in honour and increase of this their feast it would please him and his companions to enter with them the garden, constraining him through many requests that he would in no wise deny them this courtesy.

These sweet prayers so pierced the gentle heart of Philocopo and no less the hearts of his companions, that he answered the entreaters in this sort: “Friends, of truth such a feast was of us neither sought for nor fled from. But like weather-beaten mates cast into your port, we to the end to flee drowsy thoughts which spring of idleness, did in reciting our adversities, pass by these sea banks. But how fortune has allured us to give ear unto you I know not, unless as we think, desirous to remove from us all pensiveness, she has of you in whom I know to be infinite courtesy, made us this offer. And therefor we will satisfy your desire, though peradventure in part we become somewhat lavish of the courtesy which otherwise towards others ought to proceed from us.”

And thus talking they entered together into the garden, whereas they found many fair gentlewomen, of whom they were very graciously received and by them welcomed to their feast. After Philocopo had a good while beheld this their feasting and likewise had feasted with them, he thought it good to depart, and willed to take his leave of the young gentlemen and to give them thanks for the honour he had received. But one lady more honourable than the rest, endowed with marvelous beauty and virtue, came forth where he stood and thus said unto him: “Most noble sir, you have this morning through this your great courtesy shewed no small pleasure to these young gentlemen, for the which they shall be always beholden unto you; that is to wit in that you have vouchsafed to come to honour their our feast. May it please you then not to refuse to shew unto me, and to these other dames, that favour that I am secondarily to entreat you for.”

To whom Philocopo with a sweet voice answered: “Most gentle lady, nothing may justly be denied you. Command therefor, for both I and these my companions are all pressed at your will.”

To whom the lady said in this wise: “Forasmuch as this your coming has increased this our feasting with a most noble and goodly company, I shall desire you that you will not with departure lessen the same, but rather help us here to spend this day even to the last hour, to that end we have already begun the same.”

Philocopo beheld her in the face as she thus spoke, and seeing her eyes replete with burning rays to twinkle like unto the morning star, and her face exceeding pleasant and fair, thought never to have seen (his Biancofiore excepted) so fair a creature. To whose demand he thus made answer: “Madame, I shall dispose myself to satisfy rather your desire than my own. Wherefor so long as it shall please you so long will I abide with you, and these my companions also.”

The lady gave him great thanks, and returning to the others, began together with them all to be very merry. Philocopo, abiding with them in this sort, entered into great familiarity with a young gentleman named Galeon, adorned with good qualities and of a singular eloquence, to whom in talking he said thus: “Oh how much are you more than any other beholden to the immortal gods, the which preserve you quiet in one will in this your mirth-making.”

“We acknowledge us to be greatly bounden unto them,” answered Galeon. “But what occasion moves you to say this?”

Philocopo answered: “Truly none other occasion but that I see you all here assembled in one will.”

“Oh,” said Galeon, “marvel not at all thereat, for this lady (in whom all excellency does rest) both moves us hereunto and holds us herein.”

Then demanded Philocopo: “And this lady, who is she?”

Galeon answered: “lt is she that made request unto you, that you would tarry here, whenas a while since you would have departed.”

“By sight she seems unto me,” said Philocopo, “exceeding fair and of a surmounting worthiness. But yet, if my demand be not unlawful, manifest her name unto me, of whence she is and of what parents descended.”

Unto whom Galeon answered: “No ways may your request be unjust; besides there is none publicly talking of her which does not vouchsafe to publish the renown of so worthy a lady, and therefor I shall fully satisfy your demand. Her name is of us here called Fiametta, howbeit the greatest part of the people call her by the name of Her through whom that wound is shut up that the prevarication of the first mother opened. She is the daughter of a most high prince, under whose scepter these countries are quietly governed. She is also lady unto us all. And briefly, there is no virtue that ought to be in a noble heart that is not in hers. And as I think, in tarrying this day with us, you shall have good experience thereof.”

“That which you say,” said Philocopo, “cannot be hidden in her semblance. The gods guide her to that end that her singular gifts do merit, for assuredly I believe both that and much more than you have affirmed. But these other dames, who are they?”

“These gentlewomen,” said Galeon, “some of them are of Parthenope and othersome of places elsewhere, come as are you yourselves hither into her company.”

And after they had thus held talk a good space, Galeon said: “Ah, my sweet friend, if it might not displease you, it should be very acceptable unto me to know further of your estate and condition than your outward appearance represents, to the end that by knowing you we may do you that honour you worthily merit. Because sometimes want of knowledge brings lack of duetie to them that honour others in not doing their due reverence.”

To, whom Philocopo answered: “No lack in doing me reverence could any ways happen on your behalf, but rather you have therein so far exceeded as with excess you have passed the bound and limits thereof. But since you desire to know further of my condition, it should be unjust not to satisfy your desire therein. And therefor (in how much it is lawful for me to discover) I shall tell you. I am a poor pilgrim of love, and go seeking as you see a lady of mine, taken away from me by subtle means by my parents. And these gentlemen whom you see with me of their courtesy keep me company in this my pilgrimage. My name is Philocopo, of nation a Spaniard, driven through tempestuous weather (seeking for the island of Cicilia) into your ports.”

But he knew not so covertly to talk as that the young gentleman understood not more of his condition than he willingly desired he should. And having compassion of those his hard fortunes, somewhat comforted him with these words, which promised him hereafter a more lucky life, and from that time forward to increase his honour, willed that he should be honoured of them all, not as a pilgrim or as a bidden guest, but rather as the chief and principal patron of the feast. The lady who understood his state and condition through the report of Galeon, esteeming dearly of such a hap, commanded specially that so it should be.

Apollo was now with his chariot of light mounted to the meridian circle and did scarcely behold with levelled eye the new-apparelled earth, whenas these dames, damsels and young gentlemen, being thus assembled together in that place (setting their feasting apart) seeking forth by sundry quarters of the garden the delightful shade, and fleeing the noisesome heat that might offend their delicate bodies, took by divers companies divers delights.

And the lady accompanied with four others took Philocopo by the hand, saying: “Sir, the heat does constrain us to seek out the fresh air. Let us therefore go to yonder meadow you see here before us, and there with sundry discourses pass over the heat of the day.”

Philocopo then greatly praised the lady’s device and followed her motion, and with him his companions. Galeon also with two others went with them to the appointed meadow, which was exceeding fair of grass and flowers, and filled with a great suavity of smells, about the which grew store of young trees very fair and thick of green leaves, wherewith the place was defended from the parching beams of the great planet.

There was in the midst of that meadow a proper fountain very fair and clear like crystal, about the which they all sat them down, where some gazing in the water and othersome gathering flowers, they began to talk of sundry matters. But because sometimes that unawares the one did interrupt the other’s tale, the fair lady said unto them thus: “To the end that this our discourse may proceed in a more better order and so continue until the fresh cool hours, the which we attend for our further feasting, let us ordain one of us in place of our king, to whom each one shall propound a question of love, and shall receive from him an apt resolution thereof. And truly (as I think) we shall no sooner have made an end of our questions, but that the heat (we not knowing how) shall be passed, and the time spent to our profit and delight.”

This device pleased them all and among them it was said, Let there be a king. And with one voice they chose Ascaleon to their king, for that he was somewhat more grown in years than was any of the rest.

To whom he made answer, to be altogether insufficient for so great an office, because he had spent more years in the service of Mars than of Venus. But yet he prayed them all to leave unto him the election of such a king.

They that thought him to be such a one (knowing so well beforehand the qualities of them all) as would constitute one such as should yield true answers to all their demands, did then wholly consent that the election should freely be remitted unto him since he would not take such a dignity upon himself.

Ascaleon then rose him up and gathered certain twigs of a green laurel the shade whereof did overspread the fresh fountain, and thereof made a rich coronet, the which he brought in presence of them all and said in this wise: “From the time that I in my most youthful years began to have understanding, I swear by those gods whom I worship that I do not remember to have seen or heard named a woman of like worthiness to Fiametta, of whom love holds us all here in her presence inflamed, and by whom we have this day been honoured in such sort as we ought never forget the same. And because she (as without doubt I know) is plentifully endowed with every good grace, adorned both with beauty and good qualities and endowed with a flowing eloquence, I therefor make choice of her to be our queen. For assuredly it is convenient that the imperial crown be bestowed upon her magnificence, being descended from a royal house and to whom the secret ways of love being (as they are all) open, it shall be an easy matter for her to content us in these our questions.”

And this said, he humbly kneeled before this noble lady, saying: “Most courteous lady, vouchsafe to deck your head with this crown, the which is no less dearly to be esteemed of them that are worthy through their virtues to cover their heads with the like, than if it were of gold.”

The lady with a new red bepainted her white visage and said: “Truly you have not in due sort provided a queen for this amorous people (that have more need of a most able king) for that of all you that are present I am the most simple and of least virtue; neither is there any one of you that is not more meet to be invested of such a crown than I am.

“But since it thus pleases you, I cannot withstand this your election. And to the end I be not found contrary to our made promise, I will receive it and, as I hope, shall also receive from the gods with it the stomach due to such an office. And through the help of him to whom these leaves were always acceptable, I shall answer you all according to my small knowledge. Nevertheless I devoutly pray him that he will enter into my breast, and renew my voice with that sound wherewith he caused the valiant, vanquished Marsyas to deserve to be drawn forth of the sheath of his members. I, by way of mirth, shall give you light answers without sifting unto the depth of your propounded questions, the going about to search for the which should rather bring tediousness than delight to your minds.”

And having thus said, she took with her delicate hand the offered garland, and therewithal crowned her head. She then commanded that each one, upon pain to be deprived of the amorous joys, should prepare to forth some question, the which might be apt and convenient to the purpose whereof they did intend to treat, and such a one as it should rather be an increaser of mirth than through too great subtlety or otherwise, a destroyer of the same.