This story is taken from Boccaccio’s Decameron (IV, 5).

Isabella is a young woman whose parents wish her to marry a nobleman of high rank who owns a large olive grove. But she falls in love with Lorenzo. When her brothers discover the affair, they pursue the young man and kill him, then bury him. Lorenzo’s ghost appears to Isabella and tells her of his fate. She decides to dig up his head and place it in a pot of basil, which she tends with the utmost care.

“Lisabetta’s brothers kill her lover. He appears to her in a dream and shows her where he is buried. She finds him, cuts off his head, and buries it in a pot of basil, over which she never stops weeping. Her brothers take the pot of basil away from her, and she dies shortly afterwards of grief.”

When Elisa’s story was finished, and the king had praised it highly, Philomena was instructed to tell her story in turn. Still filled with compassion for the unfortunate Gerbino and his lady, she sighed tenderly and began:

“My story, gracious ladies, will not concern people of as high a station as those whose misfortunes Elisa has just related, but it will be no less moving. It was only a short while ago, when I heard the name of Messina mentioned, that I remembered the place where the sad event I am about to tell you took place.

“There were once in Messina three young brothers, all three merchants, who had remained very wealthy after the death of their father, a native of San Gimignano. They had a sister named Lisabetta, a very beautiful and well-mannered young woman, whom they had not yet married, although they had had opportunities to do so. The three brothers also employed in their business a young Pisan named Lorenzo, who managed all their affairs. This young man was very handsome and pleasant in appearance, and Lisabetta, having seen him several times, came to like him extraordinarily well. Lorenzo eventually noticed this, and, setting aside his other loves, began to devote all his thoughts to her. Since they were equally attracted to one another, matters progressed so quickly that it was not long before they had made certain of each other’s feelings and done what each most desired. They continued to see one another, both taking great pleasure and delight in each other; but they were not discreet enough to keep their secret, and one night, when Lisabetta had gone to the room where Lorenzo slept, her eldest brother saw her without her noticing him.

“The brother, being a prudent man, although what he had discovered caused him great distress, and moved by a sense of honour, waited until morning without showing or saying anything, turning all manner of thoughts over in his mind. When day came, he told his brothers what he had seen during the night between Lisabetta and Lorenzo. After discussing the matter at length, they decided, so that no dishonour might fall upon themselves or their sister, to keep the affair secret and pretend that nothing had happened until an opportunity arose to remove this disgrace from before their eyes without harm or danger to themselves. With this in mind, they continued to laugh and joke with Lorenzo as usual, and one day, pretending that they were all three going out of the city for pleasure, they took him with them.

“When they had reached a remote and completely deserted place, and seeing that the moment was right, they killed Lorenzo, who suspected nothing, and buried him so that no one would notice. Returning to Messina, they spread the rumour that they had sent him somewhere on business. This was easily believed, since they were accustomed to sending him frequently to the surrounding area.

“Lorenzo did not return, and Lisabetta repeatedly and insistently asked her brothers for news of him, being greatly distressed by his absence. One day, when she renewed her request, one of her brothers said to her:

“‘What does this mean? What business have you with Lorenzo that you ask us about him so often? If you ask us again, we will give you the answer you deserve.’

“At this, the young woman, sorrowful and frightened, not knowing what to think, dared ask no more questions. She often called out to her lover during the night and begged him to return. Sometimes she complained through floods of tears about his long absence, and, unable to find comfort for a single moment, continued to wait.

“One night, after she had spent a long time lamenting Lorenzo’s absence, she fell asleep in tears. Lorenzo appeared to her in a dream, pale and utterly disfigured, his clothes torn and bloodstained, and seemed to say:

“‘Oh Lisabetta, you do nothing but call for me; you grieve over my long absence and accuse me of cruelty with your tears. Know, then, that I can no longer return here, for on the last day you saw me, your brothers killed me.’

“Having shown her the place where they had buried him, he told her not to call for him anymore and not to wait for him, and then disappeared.

“The young woman awoke and, believing what she had seen, wept bitterly. When morning came, unwilling to tell her brothers anything, she resolved to go to the place he had indicated and see whether what had appeared to her in her dream was true. Having obtained permission to take a short walk outside the city accompanied by a maid who had once served her family and knew all her secrets, she went as quickly as she could to the place in question. There, after removing the dry leaves that covered the ground, she dug where the earth seemed least hard.

“She had not been digging long before she found the body of her unfortunate lover, which had not yet been disfigured or corrupted. She could therefore plainly see that her vision had spoken the truth. Although she was the most desperate of women, she understood that this was not the time for lamentation. If she could have, she would have carried away the whole body and given it a more fitting burial; but seeing that this was impossible, she cut off the head as best she could with a knife, wrapped it in a cloth, and, after replacing the earth over the rest of the body, placed it in her maid’s apron.

“Then, without being seen by anyone, she left the place and returned home. Once there, she locked herself in her room with the head and wept so long and so bitterly over it, covering it with a thousand kisses, that she eventually washed it clean with her tears. She then took a large and beautiful flowerpot, of the kind in which marjoram and basil are planted, and placed her lover’s head inside it, wrapped in a fine cloth. She covered it with earth and planted several shoots of beautiful basil from Salerno, watering them only with rose water, orange-blossom water, or her own tears.

“She had taken to sitting constantly beside the flowerpot and gazing at it tenderly, as though her Lorenzo were enclosed within it. When she had looked at it for a long time, she would bend over it and begin to weep until the basil was bathed in tears. The basil, both because of the continual care she lavished upon it and because of the fertility of the earth enriched by the decomposition of the head beneath it, became exceedingly beautiful and fragrant.

“The young woman continued in this way and was seen several times by her neighbours, who informed her brothers. They were astonished to see their sister’s beauty wither to such an extent that her eyes seemed to protrude from her face.

“‘We have noticed,’ the neighbours told them, ‘that every day she does the same thing.’

“Hearing and seeing this, the three brothers, after repeatedly reprimanding her to no avail, secretly had the flowerpot removed. When the young woman could no longer find it, she repeatedly and urgently demanded it back. Since it was not returned to her and she continued to groan and shed tears, she fell ill, and during her illness she asked for nothing but her flowerpot.

“The young men were greatly astonished by this request and finally decided to see what the pot contained. Having removed the earth, they saw the cloth and the head inside it. It had not yet decayed so completely that, from its curly hair, they could not recognise it as Lorenzo’s. They were deeply alarmed and feared that the affair might become known.

“They buried the head without saying anything, then made all the necessary arrangements for their departure. They left Messina and went to Naples.

“The young woman continued to complain and constantly demanded her flowerpot. She died lamenting it, and thus her unfortunate love affair came to an end.

“After some time, the story became known to many people, and someone composed the song that is still sung today, namely:

The Song of the Basil Pot

What evil Christian
Has stolen from me the flowerpot
Where my basil of Salerno grew!
It had grown so strong.
I planted it with my own hand
On the very day of my feast.
Whoever steals another’s property commits a vile deed.

Whoever steals another’s property commits a vile deed,
And the sin is very great.
O wretched me! Who planted for me
A flowerpot?
It was so beautiful that I fell asleep in its shade.
Everyone envied it;
It was stolen from me, right outside my door.

It was stolen from me, right outside my door,
And I was deeply, painfully distressed.
Wretched me! Would that I had died,
I who had grown so dearly attached to it!
It was only the other day that I failed to keep watch,
Because of the gentleman I love so dearly.
I had surrounded it completely with marjoram.

I had surrounded it completely with marjoram
During the beautiful month of May.
I watered it three times a week:
And so I watched it flourish.
Now it is certain that it has been stolen from me.

Now it is certain that it has been stolen from me;
I can hide it no longer.
If I had known beforehand
What was going to happen to me,
I would have fallen asleep upon my doorstep
To guard my flowerpot.
Almighty God might perhaps come to my aid.

Almighty God might perhaps come to my aid,
If He so wished,
Against the one who has wronged me so grievously.
He has brought me sorrow and torment,
The one who stole my basil,
Which had such a sweet fragrance.
Its scent filled me with joy.

Its scent filled me with joy,
So fresh and fragrant was it.
And in the morning, when I watered it,
At sunrise,
Everyone marvelled,
Saying: Where does such a fragrance come from?
And I: For love of it, I shall die of grief.

And I, for love of it, shall die of grief,
For love of my flowerpot.
If anyone would tell me where it is,
I would gladly buy it back.
I have a hundred ounces of gold in my purse;
Gladly would I give them to him,
And I would give him a kiss, if he desired one.

The story told by Philomena was greatly appreciated by the ladies, for they had often heard this song sung and had never been able, even by asking questions, to discover the reason for which it had been composed.

Boccaccio, The Decameron, Book V (and beginning of Book VI), translated by Francisque Reynard, G. Charpentier et Cie, Publishers, 1884.