Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  The lady hung her head, knowing not how to deny him, whilst herseemed it were ill done to grant him what he asked; but the abbot, seeing that she hearkened and hesitated to reply and himseeming he had already half converted her, followed up his first words with many others and stayed not till he had persuaded her that she would do well to comply with him. Accordingly, she said, blushing, that she was ready to do his every commandment, but might not avail thereto till such time as Ferondo should be gone to purgatory; whereupon quoth the abbot, exceeding well pleased, ‘And we will make shift to send him thither incontinent; do you but contrive that he come hither to-morrow or next day to sojourn with me.’ So saying, he privily put a very handsome ring into her hand and dismissed her. The lady rejoiced at the gift and looking to have others, rejoined her companions, to whom she fell to relating marvellous things of the abbot’s sanctity, and presently returned home with them.

  A few days after Ferondo repaired to the abbey, whom, whenas the abbot saw, he cast about to send him to purgatory. Accordingly, he sought out a powder of marvellous virtue, which he had gotten in the parts of the Levant of a great prince who avouched it to be that which was wont to be used of the Old Man of the Mountain,194 whenas he would fain send any one, sleeping, into his paradise or bring him forth thereof, and that, according as more or less thereof was given, without doing any hurt, it made him who took it sleep more or less [time] on such wise that, whilst its virtue lasted, none would say he had life in him. Of this he took as much as might suffice to make a man sleep three days and putting it in a beaker of wine, that was not yet well cleared, gave it to Ferondo to drink in his cell, without the latter suspecting aught; after which he carried him into the cloister and there with some of his monks fell to making sport of him and his dunceries; nor was it long before, the powder working, Ferondo was taken with so sudden and overpowering a drowsiness, that he slumbered as yet he stood afoot and presently fell down fast asleep.

  The abbot made a show of being concerned at this accident and letting untruss him, caused fetch cold water and cast it in his face and essay many other remedies of his fashion, as if he would recall the strayed life and senses from [the oppression of] some fumosity of the stomach or what not like affection that had usurped them. The monks, seeing that for all this he came not to himself and feeling his pulse, but finding no sign of life in him, all held it for certain that he was dead. Accordingly, they sent to tell his wife and his kinsfolk, who all came thither forthright, and the lady having bewept him awhile with her kinswomen, the abbot caused lay him, clad as he was, in a tomb; whilst the lady returned to her house and giving out that she meant never to part from a little son, whom she had had by her husband, abode at home and occupied herself with the governance of the child and of the wealth which had been Ferondo’s. Meanwhile, the abbot arose stealthily in the night and with the aid of a Bolognese monk, in whom 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 which there was no light to be seen and which had been made for prison of such of the monks as should make default in aught. There they pulled off his garments and clothing him monk-fashion, laid him on a truss of straw and there left him against he should recover his senses, whilst the Bolognese monk, having been instructed by the abbot of that which he had to do, without any else knowing aught thereof, proceeded to await his coming to himself.

  On the morrow, the abbot, accompanied by sundry of his monks, betook himself, by way of visitation, to the house of the lady, whom he found clad in black and in great tribulation, and having comforted her awhile, he softly required her of her promise. The lady, finding herself free and unhindered of Ferondo or any other and seeing on his finger another fine ring, replied that she was ready and appointed him to come to her that same night. Accordingly, night come, the abbot, disguised in Ferondo’s clothes and accompanied by the monk his confidant, repaired thither and lay with her in the utmost delight and pleasance till the morning, when he returned to the abbey. After this he very often made the same journey on a like errand and being whiles encountered, coming or going, of one or another of the villagers, it was believed he was Ferondo who went about those parts, doing penance; by reason whereof many strange stories were after bruited about among the simple countryfolk, and this was more than once reported to Ferondo’s wife, who well knew what it was.

  As for Ferondo, when he recovered his senses and found himself he knew not where, the Bolognese monk came in to him with a horrible noise and laying hold of him, gave him a sound drubbing with a rod he had in his hand. Ferondo, weeping and crying out, did nought but ask, ‘Where am I?’ To which the monk answered, ‘Thou art in purgatory.’ ‘How?’ cried Ferondo. ‘Am I then dead?’ ‘Ay, certes,’ replied the other; whereupon Ferondo fell to bemoaning himself and his wife and child, saying the oddest things in the world. Presently the monk brought him somewhat of meat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, ‘What!’ cried he. ‘Do the dead eat?’ ‘Ay do they,’ answered the monk. ‘This that I bring thee is what the woman, thy wife that was, sent this morning to the church to let say masses for thy soul, and God the Lord willeth that it be made over to thee.’ Quoth Ferondo, ‘God grant her a good year! I still cherished her ere I died, insomuch that I held her all night in mine arms and did nought but kiss her, and t’ other thing also I did, when I had a mind thereto.’ Then, being very sharp-set, he fell to eating and drinking and himseeming the wine was not overgood, ‘Lord confound her!’ quoth he. ‘Why did not she give the priest wine of the cask against the wall?’

  After he had eaten, the monk laid hold of him anew and gave him another sound beating with the same rod; whereat Ferondo roared out lustily and said, ‘Alack, why dost thou this to me?’ Quoth the monk, ‘Because thus hath God the Lord ordained that it be done unto thee twice every day.’ ‘And for what cause?’ asked Ferondo. ‘Because,’ answered the monk, ‘thou wast jealous, having the best woman in the country to wife.’ ‘Alas!’ said Ferondo. ‘Thou sayst sooth, ay, and the kindest creature; she was sweeter than syrup; but I knew not that God the Lord held it for ill that a man should be jealous; else had I not been so.’ Quoth the monk, ‘Thou shouldst have bethought thyself of that, whenas thou wast there below,195 and have amended thee thereof; and should it betide that thou ever return thither, look thou so have in mind that which I do unto thee at this present that thou be nevermore jealous.’ ‘What?’ said Ferondo. ‘Do the dead ever return thither?’ ‘Ay,’ answered the monk; ‘whom God willeth.’ ‘Marry,’ cried Ferondo, ‘and I ever return thither, I will be the best husband in the world; I will never beat her nor give her an ill word, except it be anent the wine she sent hither this morning and for that she sent no candles, 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 will let her do what she will. But tell me, who art thou that usest me thus?’ Quoth the monk, ‘I also am dead. I was of Sardinia and for that aforetime I much commended a master of mine of being jealous, I have been doomed of God to this punishment, that I must give thee to eat and drink and beat thee thus, till such time as God shall ordain otherwhat of thee and of me.’ Then said Ferondo, ‘Is there none here other than we twain?’ ‘Ay,’ answered the monk, ‘there be folk by the thousands; 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 well cack 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.’

  In such and the like discourse was Ferondo entertained half a score months with eating and drinking and beating, what while the abbot assiduously visited the fair lady, without miscarriage, and gave himself the goodliest time in the world with her. At last, as ill-luck would have it, the lady found herself with child and straightway acquainted th
e abbot therewith, wherefore it seemed well to them both that Ferondo should without delay be recalled from purgatory to life and return to her, so she might avouch herself with child by him. Accordingly, the abbot that same night caused call to Ferondo in prison with a counterfeit voice, saying, ‘Ferondo, take comfort, for it is God’s pleasure that thou return to the world, where thou shalt have a son by thy wife, whom look thou name Benedict, for that by the prayers of thy holy abbot and of thy wife and for the love of St. Benedict He doth thee this favour.’ Ferondo, hearing this, was exceedingly rejoiced and said, ‘It liketh me well, Lord grant a good year to Seignior God Almighty and to the abbot and St. Benedict and my cheesy196 sweet honey wife.’ The abbot let give him, in the wine that he sent him, so much of the powder aforesaid as should cause him sleep maybe four hours and with the aid of his monk, having put his own clothes on him, restored him privily to the tomb wherein he had been buried.

  Next morning, at break of day, Ferondo came to himself and espying light, — a thing which he had not seen for good ten months, — through some crevice of the tomb, doubted not but he was alive again. Accordingly, he fell to bawling out, ‘Open to me! Open to me!’ and heaving so lustily at the lid of the tomb with his head that he stirred it, for that it was eath to move, and had begun to move it away, when the monks, having now made an end of saying matins, ran thither and knew Ferondo’s voice and saw him in act to come forth of the sepulchre; whereupon, all aghast for the strangeness of the case, they took to their heels and ran to the abbot, who made a show of rising from prayer and said, ‘My sons, have no fear; take the cross and the holy water and follow after me, so we may see that which God willeth 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 he be who had so long abidden without seeing the sky. As soon as he saw the abbot, he ran to cast himself at his feet and said, ‘Father mine, according to that which hath been revealed to me, your prayers and those of St. Benedict and my wife have delivered me from the pains of purgatory and restored me to life, wherefore I pray God to give you a good year and good calends now and always.’ Quoth the abbot, ‘Praised be God His might! Go, my son, since He hath sent thee back hither; comfort thy wife, who hath been still in tears, since thou departedst this 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 bear her.’

  The abbot, left alone with his monks, made a great show of wonderment at this miracle and caused devoutly sing Miserere therefor. As for Ferondo, he returned to his village, where all who saw him fled, as men use to do from things frightful; but he called them back and avouched himself to be raised up again. His wife on like wise feigned to be adread of him; but, after the folk were somewhat reassured anent him and saw that he was indeed alive, they questioned him of many things, and he, as it were he had returned wise, made answer to all and gave them news of the souls of their kinsfolk, making up, of his own motion, the finest fables in the world of the affairs of purgatory and recounting in full assembly the revelation made him by the mouth of the Rangel Bragiel197 ere he was raised up again. Then, returning to his house and entering again into possession of his goods, he got his wife, as he thought, with child, and by chance it befell that, in due time, — to the thinking of the fools who believe that women go just nine months with child, — the lady gave birth to a boy, who was called Benedict Ferondi.198

  Ferondo’s return and his talk, well nigh every one believing him to have risen from the dead, added infinitely to the renown of the abbot’s sanctity, and he himself, as if cured of his jealousy by the many beatings he had received therefor, thenceforward, according to the promise made by the abbot to the lady, was no more jealous; whereat she was well pleased and lived honestly with him, as of her wont, save indeed that, whenas she conveniently might, she willingly foregathered with the holy abbot, who had so well and diligently served her in her greatest needs.”

  THE NINTH STORY

  Day the Third

  GILLETTE DE NARBONNE RECOVERETH THE KING OF FRANCE OF A FISTULA AND DEMANDETH FOR HER HUSBAND BERTRAND DE ROUSSILLON, WHO MARRIETH HER AGAINST HIS WILL AND BETAKETH HIM FOR DESPITE TO FLORENCE, WHERE, HE PAYING COURT TO A YOUNG LADY, GILLETTE, IN THE PERSON OF THE LATTER, LIETH WITH HIM AND HATH BY HIM TWO SONS; WHEREFORE AFTER, HOLDING HER DEAR, HE ENTERTAINETH HER FOR HIS WIFE

  Lauretta’s story being now ended, it rested but with the queen to tell, an she would not infringe upon Dioneo’s privilege; wherefore, without waiting to be solicited by her companions, she began all blithesomely to speak thus: “Who shall tell a story that may appear goodly, now we have heard that of Lauretta? Certes, it was well for us that hers was not the first, for that few of the others would have pleased after it, as I misdoubt me199 will betide of those which are yet to tell this day. Natheless, be that as it may, I will e’en recount to you that which occurreth to me upon the proposed theme.

  There was in the kingdom of France a gentleman called Isnard, Count of Roussillon, who, for that he was scant of health, still entertained about his person a physician, by name Master Gerard de Narbonne. The said count had one little son, and no more, hight Bertrand, who was exceeding handsome and agreeable, and with him other children of his own age were brought up. Among these latter was a daughter of the aforesaid physician, by name Gillette, who vowed to the said Bertrand an infinite love and fervent more than pertained unto her tender years. The count dying and leaving his son in the hands of the king, it behoved him betake himself to Paris, whereof the damsel abode sore disconsolate, and her own father dying no great while after, she would fain, an she might have had a seemly occasion, have gone to Paris to see Bertrand: but, being straitly guarded, for that she was left rich and alone, she saw no honourable way thereto; and being now of age for a husband and having never been able to forget Bertrand, she had, without reason assigned, refused many to whom her kinsfolk would have married her.

  Now it befell that, what while she burned more than ever for love of Bertrand, for that she heard he was grown a very goodly gentleman, news came to her how the King of France, by an imposthume which he had had in his breast and which had been ill tended, had gotten a fistula, which occasioned him the utmost anguish and annoy, nor had he yet been able to find a physician who might avail to recover him thereof, albeit many had essayed it, but all had aggravated the ill; wherefore the king, despairing of cure, would have no more counsel nor aid of any. Hereof the young lady was beyond measure content and bethought herself that not only would this furnish her with a legitimate occasion of going to Paris, but that, should the king’s ailment be such as she believed, she might lightly avail to have Bertrand to husband. Accordingly, having aforetime learned many things of her father, she made a powder of certain simples useful for such an infirmity as she conceived the king’s to be and taking horse, repaired to Paris.

  Before aught else she studied to see Bertrand and next, presenting herself before the king, she prayed him of his favour to show her his ailment. The king, seeing her a fair and engaging damsel, knew not how to deny her and showed her that which ailed him. Whenas she saw it, she was certified incontinent that she could heal it and accordingly said, ‘My lord, an it please you, I hope in God to make you whole of this your infirmity in eight days’ time, without annoy or fatigue on your part.’ The king scoffed in himself at her words, saying, ‘That which the best physicians in the world have availed not neither known to do, how shall a young woman know?’ Accordingly, he thanked her for her good will and answered that he was resolved no more to follow the counsel of physicians. Whereupon quoth the damsel, ‘My lord, you make light of my skill, for that I am young and a woman; but I would have you bear in mind that I medicine not of mine own science, but with the aid of God and the science of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was my father and a famous physician whilst he lived.’

  The king, hearing this,
said in himself, ‘It may be this woman is sent me of God; why should I not make proof of her knowledge, since she saith she will, without annoy of mine, cure me in little time?’ Accordingly, being resolved to essay her, he said, ‘Damsel, and if you cure us not, after causing us break our resolution, what will you have ensue to you therefor?’ ‘My lord,’ answered she, ‘set a guard upon me and if I cure you not within eight days, let burn me alive; but, if I cure you, what reward shall I have?’ Quoth the king, ‘You seem as yet unhusbanded; if you do this, we will marry you well and worshipfully.’ ‘My lord,’ replied the young lady, ‘I am well pleased that you should marry me, but I will have a husband such as I shall ask of you, excepting always any one of your sons or of the royal house.’ He readily promised her that which she sought, whereupon she began her cure and in brief, before the term limited, she brought him back to health.

  The king, feeling himself healed, said, ‘Damsel, you have well earned your husband’; whereto she answered, ‘Then, my lord, I have earned Bertrand de Roussillon, whom I began to love even in the days of my childhood and have ever since loved over all.’ The king deemed it a grave matter to give him to her; nevertheless, having promised her and unwilling to fail of his faith, he let call the count to himself and bespoke him thus: ‘Bertrand, you are now of age and accomplished [in all that behoveth unto man’s estate];200 wherefore it is our pleasure that you return to govern your county and carry with you a damsel, whom we have given you to wife.’ ‘And who is the damsel, my lord?’ asked Bertrand; to which the king answered, ‘It is she who hath with her medicines restored to us our health.’

  Bertrand, who had seen and recognized Gillette, knowing her (albeit she seemed to him very fair) to be of no such lineage as sorted with his quality, said all disdainfully, ‘My lord, will you then marry me to a she-leach? Now God forbid I should ever take such an one to wife!’ ‘Then,’ said the king, ‘will you have us fail of our faith, the which, to have our health again, we pledged to the damsel, who in guerdon thereof demanded you to husband?’ ‘My lord,’ answered Bertrand, ‘you may, an you will, take from me whatsoever I possess or, as your liegeman, bestow me upon whoso pleaseth you; but of this I certify you, that I will never be a consenting party unto such a marriage.’ ‘Nay,’ rejoined the king, ‘but you shall, for that the damsel is fair and wise and loveth you dear; wherefore we doubt not but you will have a far happier life with her than with a lady of higher lineage.’ Bertrand held his peace and the king let make great preparations for the celebration of the marriage.