Microbiographies Jesús R. Velasco (bio) "Pace superum regum atque virorum illustrium extremo operis mei margine plebeiam mulierem subnectam" (With the permission of the other kings and illustrious men, I will make a plebeian woman a subject in the farthest margins of my work).1This is what Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–75) presents as an excusatio, a disclaimer, to his writing about Philippa of Catania in The Falls of Illustrious Men and Women, composed in Latin between 1355 and 1360 (with further revisions in 1373). The microbiography begins with a disclaimer—here, chapter 25 in book 9 of The Falls. The life to be told in this microbiography is so small and has been put aside so many times, forgotten, or silenced entirely, that the act of retelling it now can only be considered a nuisance. Such a nuisance that one needs to excuse oneself for subjecting the readers to it. Even those whose lives and downfalls have preceded Philippa's story in The Falls may feel offended by the presence of this woman. She does not belong in history. There is nothing about her that can be found in existing histories. We only know what has been transmitted in relatibus, that is, in oral history, now complemented by what the author, Boccaccio, has seen with his own eyes. He can assure us that his eyes don't lie, but can he assure us that his oral informants don't lie? Who is Philippa? Why does she even deserve to have her life written? If The Falls started with the noblest of lives (Adam, from whom springs theological nobility according to Bartolus of Sassoferrato [1313–57]), they must finish with the lowest: Philippa was a laundress and wet nurse who ended up working for the Duchess of Calabria, with whom she traveled to Naples. Her story also hides, or perhaps unveils, another microbiography. A widow, Philippa is given a freed man said to be of Ethiopian origin for a husband (and, adds Boccaccio, "nothing in his physical aspect could deny what has been said" [cuius effigies assertioni in nichilo derogabat]).2 These two intertwined microbiographies grow alongside each other seamlessly: on the one hand, the plebeian woman becoming a close companion of royalty, and on the other hand, the freed black Raimondo of Cabbani (who bears the name of the man who freed him, the royal [End Page 473] cook Raimondo of Cabanni), whose exploits and military mastery allow him to ascend to the rank of seneschal of King Roberto of Naples. At this point Boccaccio exclaims, "O ridiculum, vidisse ex ergastulo servili ac nidore popine ethyopem Roberto regi regalia obsequia exhibentem, nobilibus iuuenibus preeuntem, et curie presidentem, iuraque reddentem petentibus" (Such a ridiculous sight, to see how this Ethiopian who came from slavery and from the acrid odors of the kitchen came to serve King Roberto in royal ceremony, coming before noble youngsters, presiding over the court, and taking the oaths of those who came to seek justice).3 Philippa may fall, but her case becomes a case for Boccaccio's collection only because she is the non-illustrious one—a subject, rather than a free person acting on his or her own will. Both Philippa and Raimondo must fall, along with the family they formed, because from nothing they rose to too much, and because womanhood, plebeian origin, and race (which in this case means both physical aspect and status as a freed slave) mean they cannot become the matter of history. They are subjects. Subjects. A microbiography could be perhaps the biography of a subject: an individual who needs to ask herself the question, "What does my existence mean in front of a discourse of truth that belongs in the categories of nobility and in the pages of history?" However, she cannot ask this question, because somebody else, a writer, the same writer who puts her in the farthest margin of his work, is really asking the questions. Also, he has already given a number of answers to the question (she is a woman, a plebeian, married to a freed slave of Ethiopian origin with whom she has had mixed race children) while asking for forgiveness...