THE EIGHTH STORY
[Day the Third]
FERONDO, HAVING SWALLOWED A CERTAIN POWDER, IS ENTOMBED FOR DEAD AND BEING TAKEN FORTH OF THE SEPULCHRE BY THE ABBOT, WHO ENJOYETH HIS WIFE THE WHILE, IS PUT IN PRISON AND GIVEN TO BELIEVE THAT HE IS IN PURGATORY; AFTER WHICH, BEING RAISED UP AGAIN, HE REARETH FOR HIS OWN A CHILD BEGOTTEN OF THE ABBOT ON HIS WIFE
The end being come of Emilia's long story,--which had not withal forits length been unpleasing to any of the company, nay, but was held ofall the ladies to have been briefly narrated, having regard to thenumber and diversity of the incidents therein recounted,--the queen,having with a mere sign intimated her pleasure to Lauretta, gave heroccasion to begin thus: "Dearest ladies, there occurreth to me to tellyou a true story which hath much more semblance of falsehood than ofthat which it indeed is and which hath been recalled to my mind byhearing one to have been bewept and buried for another. I purposethen, to tell you how a live man was entombed for dead and how afterhe and many other folk believed himself to have come forth of thesepulchre as one raised from the dead, by reason whereof he[192] wasadored as a saint who should rather have been condemned as a criminal.
[Footnote 192: _i.e._ the abbot who played the trick upon Ferondo. Seepost.]
There was, then, and yet is, in Tuscany, an abbey situate, like as wesee many thereof, in a place not overmuch frequented of men, whereof amonk was made abbot, who was a very holy man in everything, save inthe matter of women, and in this he contrived to do so warily thatwell nigh none, not to say knew, but even suspected him thereof, forthat he was holden exceeding godly and just in everything. It chancedthat a very wealthy farmer, by name Ferondo, contracted a greatintimacy with him, a heavy, clodpate fellow and dull-witted beyondmeasure, whose commerce pleased the abbot but for that his simplicitywhiles afforded him some diversion, and in the course of theiracquaintance, the latter perceived that Ferondo had a very handsomewoman to wife, of whom he became so passionately enamoured that hethought of nothing else day or night; but, hearing that, simple andshallow-witted as Ferondo was in everything else, he was shrewd enoughin the matter of loving and guarding his wife, he well nigh despairedof her.
However, like a very adroit man as he was, he wrought on such wisewith Ferondo that he came whiles, with his wife, to take his pleasancein the abbey-garden, and there he very demurely entertained them withdiscourse of the beatitude of the life eternal and of the pious worksof many men and women of times past, insomuch that the lady was takenwith a desire to confess herself to him and asked and had Ferondo'sleave thereof. Accordingly, to the abbot's exceeding pleasure, shecame to confess to him and seating herself at his feet, before sheproceeded to say otherwhat, began thus: 'Sir, if God had given me aright husband or had given me none, it would belike be easy to me,with the help of your exhortations, to enter upon the road which yousay leadeth folk unto life eternal; but I, having regard to whatFerondo is and to his witlessness, may style myself a widow, and yet Iam married, inasmuch as, he living, I can have no other husband; anddolt as he is, he is without any cause, so out of all measure jealousof me that by reason thereof I cannot live with him otherwise than intribulation and misery; wherefore, ere I come to other confession, Ihumbly beseech you, as most I may, that it may please you give me somecounsel concerning this, for that, an the occasion of my well-doingbegin not therefrom, confession or other good work will profit melittle.'
This speech gave the abbot great satisfaction and himseemed fortunehad opened him the way to his chief desire; wherefore, 'Daughter,'quoth he, 'I can well believe that it must be a sore annoy for a fairand dainty dame such as you are to have a blockhead to husband, but amuch greater meseemeth to have a jealous man; wherefore, you havingboth the one and the other, I can lightly credit that which you avouchof your tribulation. But for this, speaking briefly, I see neithercounsel nor remedy save one, the which is that Ferondo be cured ofthis jealousy. The medicine that will cure him I know very well how tomake, provided you have the heart to keep secret that which I shalltell you.' 'Father mine,' answered the lady, 'have no fear of that,for I would liefer suffer death than tell any that which you bid menot repeat; but how may this be done?' Quoth the abbot, 'An we wouldhave him cured, it behoveth of necessity that he go to purgatory.''But how,' asked she, 'can he go thither alive?' 'Needs must he die,'replied the abbot, 'and so go thither; and whenas he shall havesuffered such penance as shall suffice to purge him of his jealousy,we will pray God, with certain orisons that he restore him to thislife, and He will do it.' 'Then,' said the lady, 'I am to become awidow?' 'Ay,' answered the abbot, 'for a certain time, wherein youmust look well you suffer not yourself to be married again, for thatGod would take it in ill part, and whenas Ferondo returned hither, itwould behove you return to him and he would then be more jealous thanever.' Quoth she, 'Provided he be but cured of this calamity, so itmay not behove me abide in prison all my life, I am content; do as itpleaseth you.' 'And I will do it,'[193] rejoined he; 'but what guerdonam I to have of you for such a service?' 'Father,' answered the lady,'you shall have whatsoever pleaseth you, so but it be in my power; butwhat can the like of me that may befit such a man as yourself?''Madam,' replied the abbot 'you can do no less for me than that whichI undertake to do for you; for that, like as I am disposed to do thatwhich is to be your weal and your solacement, even so can you do thatwhich will be the saving and assainment of my life.' Quoth she, 'An itbe so, I am ready.' 'Then,' said the abbot, 'you must give me yourlove and vouchsafe me satisfaction of yourself, for whom I am allafire with love and languishment.'
[Footnote 193: _i.e._ I will cure your husband of his jealousy.]
The lady, hearing this, was all aghast and answered, 'Alack, fathermine, what is this you ask? Methought you were a saint. Doth it beseemholy men to require women, who come to them for counsel, of suchthings?' 'Fair my soul,' rejoined the abbot, 'marvel not, for thatsanctity nowise abateth by this, seeing it hath its seat in the souland that which I ask of you is a sin of the body. But, be that as itmay, your ravishing beauty hath had such might that love constrainethme to do thus; and I tell you that you may glory in your charms overall other women, considering that they please holy men, who are usedto look upon the beauties of heaven. Moreover, abbot though I be, I ama man like another and am, as you see, not yet old. Nor should thisthat I ask be grievous to you to do; nay, you should rather desire it,for that, what while Ferondo sojourneth in purgatory, I will bear youcompany by night and render you that solacement which he should giveyou; nor shall any ever come to know of this, for that every onebelieveth of me that, and more than that, which you but now believedof me. Reject not the grace that God sendeth you, for there be womenenough who covet that which you may have and shall have, if, like awise woman, you hearken to my counsel. Moreover, I have fair andprecious jewels, which I purpose shall belong to none other thanyourself. Do, then, for me, sweet my hope, that which I willingly dofor you.'
The lady hung her head, knowing not how to deny him, whilst herseemedit were ill done to grant him what he asked; but the abbot, seeingthat she hearkened and hesitated to reply and himseeming he hadalready half converted her, followed up his first words with manyothers and stayed not till he had persuaded her that she would do wellto comply with him. Accordingly, she said, blushing, that she wasready to do his every commandment, but might not avail thereto tillsuch time as Ferondo should be gone to purgatory; whereupon quoth theabbot, exceeding well pleased, 'And we will make shift to send himthither incontinent; do you but contrive that he come hither to-morrowor next day to sojourn with me.' So saying, he privily put a veryhandsome ring into her hand and dismissed her. The lady rejoiced atthe gift and looking to have others, rejoined her companions, to whomshe fell to relating marvellous things of the abbot's sanctity, andpresently returned home with them.
A few days after Ferondo repaired to the abbey, whom, whenas the abbotsaw, he cast about to send him to purgatory. Accordingly, he soughtout a powder of marvellous virtue, which he had gotten in the
parts ofthe Levant of a great prince who avouched it to be that which was wontto be used of the Old Man of the Mountain,[194] whenas he would fainsend any one, sleeping, into his paradise or bring him forth thereof,and that, according as more or less thereof was given, without doingany hurt, it made him who took it sleep more or less [time] on suchwise that, whilst its virtue lasted, none would say he had life inhim. Of this he took as much as might suffice to make a man sleepthree days and putting it in a beaker of wine, that was not yet wellcleared, gave it to Ferondo to drink in his cell, without the lattersuspecting aught; after which he carried him into the cloister andthere with some of his monks fell to making sport of him and hisdunceries; nor was it long before, the powder working, Ferondo wastaken with so sudden and overpowering a drowsiness, that he slumberedas yet he stood afoot and presently fell down fast asleep.
[Footnote 194: The well-known chief of the Assassins (properly_Heshashin_, _i.e._ hashish or hemp eaters). The powder in question isapparently a preparation of hashish or hemp. Boccaccio seems to havetaken his idea of the Old Man of the Mountain from Marco Polo, whosetravels, published in the early part of the fourteenth century, give amost romantic account of that chieftain and his followers.]
The abbot made a show of being concerned at this accident and lettinguntruss him, caused fetch cold water and cast it in his face and essaymany other remedies of his fashion, as if he would recall the strayedlife and senses from [the oppression of] some fumosity of the stomachor what not like affection that had usurped them. The monks, seeingthat for all this he came not to himself and feeling his pulse, butfinding no sign of life in him, all held it for certain that he wasdead. Accordingly, they sent to tell his wife and his kinsfolk, whoall came thither forthright, and the lady having bewept him awhilewith her kinswomen, the abbot caused lay him, clad as he was, in atomb; whilst the lady returned to her house and giving out that shemeant never to part from a little son, whom she had had by herhusband, abode at home and occupied herself with the governance of thechild and of the wealth which had been Ferondo's. Meanwhile, the abbotarose stealthily in the night and with the aid of a Bolognese monk, inwhom he much trusted and who was that day come thither from Bologna,took up Ferondo out of the tomb and carried him into a vault, in whichthere was no light to be seen and which had been made for prison ofsuch of the monks as should make default in aught. There they pulledoff his garments and clothing him monk-fashion, laid him on a truss ofstraw and there left him against he should recover his senses, whilstthe Bolognese monk, having been instructed by the abbot of that whichhe had to do, without any else knowing aught thereof, proceeded toawait his coming to himself.
On the morrow, the abbot, accompanied by sundry of his monks, betookhimself, by way of visitation, to the house of the lady, whom he foundclad in black and in great tribulation, and having comforted herawhile, he softly required her of her promise. The lady, findingherself free and unhindered of Ferondo or any other and seeing on hisfinger another fine ring, replied that she was ready and appointed himto come to her that same night. Accordingly, night come, the abbot,disguised in Ferondo's clothes and accompanied by the monk hisconfidant, repaired thither and lay with her in the utmost delight andpleasance till the morning, when he returned to the abbey. After thishe very often made the same journey on a like errand and being whilesencountered, coming or going, of one or another of the villagers, itwas believed he was Ferondo who went about those parts, doing penance;by reason whereof many strange stories were after bruited about amongthe simple countryfolk, and this was more than once reported toFerondo's wife, who well knew what it was.
As for Ferondo, when he recovered his senses and found himself he knewnot where, the Bolognese monk came in to him with a horrible noise andlaying hold of him, gave him a sound drubbing with a rod he had in hishand. Ferondo, weeping and crying out, did nought but ask, 'Where amI?' To which the monk answered, 'Thou art in purgatory.' 'How?' criedFerondo. 'Am I then dead?' 'Ay, certes,' replied the other; whereuponFerondo fell to bemoaning himself and his wife and child, saying theoddest things in the world. Presently the monk brought him somewhat ofmeat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, 'What!' cried he. 'Do the deadeat?' 'Ay do they,' answered the monk. 'This that I bring thee is whatthe woman, thy wife that was, sent this morning to the church to letsay masses for thy soul, and God the Lord willeth that it be made overto thee.' Quoth Ferondo, 'God grant her a good year! I still cherishedher ere I died, insomuch that I held her all night in mine arms anddid nought but kiss her, and t' other thing also I did, when I had amind thereto.' Then, being very sharp-set, he fell to eating anddrinking and himseeming the wine was not overgood, 'Lord confoundher!' quoth he. 'Why did not she give the priest wine of the caskagainst the wall?'
After he had eaten, the monk laid hold of him anew and gave himanother sound beating with the same rod; whereat Ferondo roared outlustily and said, 'Alack, why dost thou this to me?' Quoth the monk,'Because thus hath God the Lord ordained that it be done unto theetwice every day.' 'And for what cause?' asked Ferondo. 'Because,'answered the monk, 'thou wast jealous, having the best woman in thecountry to wife.' 'Alas!' said Ferondo. 'Thou sayst sooth, ay, and thekindest creature; she was sweeter than syrup; but I knew not that Godthe Lord held it for ill that a man should be jealous; else had I notbeen so.' Quoth the monk, 'Thou shouldst have bethought thyself ofthat, whenas thou wast there below,[195] and have amended theethereof; and should it betide that thou ever return thither, look thouso have in mind that which I do unto thee at this present that thou benevermore jealous.' 'What?' said Ferondo. 'Do the dead ever returnthither?' 'Ay,' answered the monk; 'whom God willeth.' 'Marry,' criedFerondo, 'and I ever return thither, I will be the best husband in theworld; I will never beat her nor give her an ill word, except it beanent the wine she sent hither this morning and for that she sent nocandles, so it behoved me to eat in the dark.' 'Nay,' said the monk,'she sent candles enough, but they were all burnt for the masses.''True,' rejoined Ferondo; 'and assuredly, an I return thither, I willlet her do what she will. But tell me, who art thou that usest methus?' Quoth the monk, 'I also am dead. I was of Sardinia and for thataforetime I much commended a master of mine of being jealous, I havebeen doomed of God to this punishment, that I must give thee to eatand drink and beat thee thus, till such time as God shall ordainotherwhat of thee and of me.' Then said Ferondo, 'Is there none hereother than we twain?' 'Ay,' answered the monk, 'there be folk by thethousands; but thou canst neither see nor hear them, nor they thee.'Quoth Ferondo, 'And how far are we from our own countries?' 'Ecod,'replied the other, 'we are distant thence more miles than we can wellcack at a bout.' 'Faith,' rejoined the farmer, 'that is far enough;meseemeth we must be out of the world, an it be so much as all that.'
[Footnote 195: _i.e._ in the sublunary world.]
In such and the like discourse was Ferondo entertained half a scoremonths with eating and drinking and beating, what while the abbotassiduously visited the fair lady, without miscarriage, and gavehimself the goodliest time in the world with her. At last, as ill-luckwould have it, the lady found herself with child and straightwayacquainted the abbot therewith, wherefore it seemed well to them boththat Ferondo should without delay be recalled from purgatory to lifeand return to her, so she might avouch herself with child by him.Accordingly, the abbot that same night caused call to Ferondo inprison with a counterfeit voice, saying, 'Ferondo, take comfort, forit is God's pleasure that thou return to the world, where thou shalthave a son by thy wife, whom look thou name Benedict, for that by theprayers of thy holy abbot and of thy wife and for the love of St.Benedict He doth thee this favour.' Ferondo, hearing this, wasexceedingly rejoiced and said, 'It liketh me well, Lord grant a goodyear to Seignior God Almighty and to the abbot and St. Benedict and mycheesy[196] sweet honey wife.' The abbot let give him, in the winethat he sent him, so much of the powder aforesaid as should cause himsleep maybe four hours and with the aid of his monk, having put hisown clothes on him, restored him privily to the tomb wherein he hadbeen buried.
[Footnote 196: _Sic_ (_casciata_); meaning that he loves her as wellas he loves cheese, for which it is well known that the lower-classItalian has a romantic passion. According to Alexandre Dumas, theItalian loves cheese so well that he has succeeded in introducing itinto everything he eats or drinks, with the one exception of coffee.]
Next morning, at break of day, Ferondo came to himself and espyinglight,--a thing which he had not seen for good ten months,--throughsome crevice of the tomb, doubted not but he was alive again.Accordingly, he fell to bawling out, 'Open to me! Open to me!' andheaving so lustily at the lid of the tomb with his head that hestirred it, for that it was eath to move, and had begun to move itaway, when the monks, having now made an end of saying matins, ranthither and knew Ferondo's voice and saw him in act to come forth ofthe sepulchre; whereupon, all aghast for the strangeness of the case,they took to their heels and ran to the abbot, who made a show ofrising from prayer and said, 'My sons, have no fear; take the crossand the holy water and follow after me, so we may see that which Godwilleth to show forth to us of His might'; and as he said, so he did.
Now Ferondo was come forth of the sepulchre all pale, as well might hebe who had so long abidden without seeing the sky. As soon as he sawthe abbot, he ran to cast himself at his feet and said, 'Father mine,according to that which hath been revealed to me, your prayers andthose of St. Benedict and my wife have delivered me from the pains ofpurgatory and restored me to life, wherefore I pray God to give you agood year and good calends now and always.' Quoth the abbot, 'Praisedbe God His might! Go, my son, since He hath sent thee back hither;comfort thy wife, who hath been still in tears, since thou departedstthis life, and henceforth be a friend and servant of God.' 'Sir,'replied Ferondo, 'so hath it indeed been said to me; only leave me do;for, as soon as I find her, I shall buss her, such goodwill do I bearher.'
The abbot, left alone with his monks, made a great show of wondermentat this miracle and caused devoutly sing Miserere therefor. As forFerondo, he returned to his village, where all who saw him fled, asmen use to do from things frightful; but he called them back andavouched himself to be raised up again. His wife on like wise feignedto be adread of him; but, after the folk were somewhat reassured anenthim and saw that he was indeed alive, they questioned him of manythings, and he, as it were he had returned wise, made answer to alland gave them news of the souls of their kinsfolk, making up, of hisown motion, the finest fables in the world of the affairs of purgatoryand recounting in full assembly the revelation made him by the mouthof the Rangel Bragiel[197] ere he was raised up again. Then, returningto his house and entering again into possession of his goods, he gothis wife, as he thought, with child, and by chance it befell that, indue time,--to the thinking of the fools who believe that women go justnine months with child,--the lady gave birth to a boy, who was calledBenedict Ferondi.[198]
[Footnote 197: _i.e._ the Angel Gabriel.]
[Footnote 198: The plural of a surname is, in strictness, always usedby the Italians in speaking of a man by his full name, _dei_ beingunderstood between the Christian and surname, as _Benedetto_ (_dei_)_Ferondi_, Benedict of the Ferondos or Ferondo family, whilst, when heis denominated by the surname alone, it is used in the singular, _il_(the) being understood, _e.g._ (Il) Boccaccio, (Il) Ferondo, _i.e._the particular Boccaccio or Ferondo in question for the nonce.]
Ferondo's return and his talk, well nigh every one believing him tohave risen from the dead, added infinitely to the renown of theabbot's sanctity, and he himself, as if cured of his jealousy by themany beatings he had received therefor, thenceforward, according tothe promise made by the abbot to the lady, was no more jealous;whereat she was well pleased and lived honestly with him, as of herwont, save indeed that, whenas she conveniently might, she willinglyforegathered with the holy abbot, who had so well and diligentlyserved her in her greatest needs."
The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 33
