3-10, Alibech, convert, desert, Thebalid, Rustico, hermit

NOVEL X. 

Alibech, a young convert to Christianity, goes into the desert of the Thebaid, where Rustico, a pious hermit, teaches her how to put the devil in hell. 

Dioneo, who had listened attentively to the queen's novel, seeing it was now his own turn, did not wait to be called on, but began at once with a smile. "Perhaps you never heard, fair ladies, how the devil is to be put into hell? I will, therefore, without departing much from the tenor of all that has been said today, tell you how the thing is done. 

Peradventure it may be for the good of your souls to know it; and at the same time you will learn that although Love more willingly abides in gay palaces and luxurious chambers than in the hovels of the poor, yet none the less doth he whiles make his power felt midmost thick forests and rugged mountains and in desert caverns; whereby it may be understood that all things are subject to his puissance. 

To come, then, to the fact, I say that in the city of Capsa in Barbary there was aforetime a very rich man, who, among his other children, had a fair and winsome young daughter, by name Alibech. She, not being a Christian and hearing many Christians who abode in the town mightily extol the Christian faith and the service of God, one day questioned one of them in what manner one might avail to serve God with the least hindrance. The other answered that they best served God who most strictly eschewed the things of the world, as those did who had betaken them into the solitudes of the deserts of Thebaïs. The girl, who was maybe fourteen years old and very simple, moved by no ordered desire, but by some childish fancy, set off next morning by stealth and all alone, to go to the desert of Thebaïs, without letting any know her intent. After some days, her desire persisting, she won, with no little toil, to the deserts in question and seeing a hut afar off, went thither and found at the door a holy man, who marvelled to see her there and asked her what she sought. She replied that, being inspired of God, she went seeking to enter into His service and was now in quest of one who should teach her how It behoved to serve Him. 

The worthy man, seeing her young and very fair and fearing lest, an he entertained her, the devil should beguile him, commended her pious intent and giving her somewhat to eat of roots of herbs and wild apples and dates and to drink of water, said to her, "Daughter mine, not far hence is a holy man, who is a much better master than I of that which thou goest seeking; do thou betake thyself to him;” and put her in the way. However, when she reached the man in question, she had of him the same answer and faring farther, came to the cell of a young hermit, a very devout and good man, whose name was Rustico and to whom she made the same request as she had done to the others. He, having a mind to make a trial of his own constancy, sent her not away, as the others had done, but received her into his cell, and the night being come, he made her a little bed of palm-fronds and bade her lie down to rest thereon. This done, temptations tarried not to give battle to his powers of resistance and he, finding himself grossly deceived by these latter, turned tail, without awaiting many assaults, and confessed himself beaten; then, laying aside devout thoughts and orisons and mortifications, he fell to revolving in his memory the youth and beauty of the damsel and bethinking himself what course he should take with her, so as to win to that which he desired of her, without her taking him for a debauched fellow. 

Accordingly, having sounded her with sundry questions, he found that she had never known man and was in truth as simple as she seemed; wherefore he bethought him how, under color of the service of God, he might bring her to his pleasures. In the first place, he showed her with many words how great an enemy the devil was of God the Lord and after gave her to understand that the most acceptable service that could be rendered to God was to put back the devil into hell, whereto He had condemned him. The girl asked him how this might be done; and he, "Thou shalt soon know that; do thou but as thou shalt see me do.” So saying, he proceeded to put off the few garments he had and abode stark naked, as likewise did the girl, whereupon he fell on his knees, as he would pray, and caused her abide over against himself." 1

*1 La jeunette lui demanda comment cela se faisoit. A laquelle Rustique dit: "Tu le sçauras tantost; et pour ce tu feras ce que tu me verras faire." Si commença à dépouiller ce peu d'habillemens qu"il avoit vestus, et demeura tout nud, et autant en fit la filette, puis se mit à genoux comme s'il l'eust voulu adorer, et tit mettre tout incontinent la fille vis-a-vis de lui. En estant ainsi Rustique échauffé, et brûlant plus que devant, pour la voir ainsi toute nue et belle, la résurrection de la chair va venir, laquelle regardant Alibech toute émerveillée, dit: "Rustique, quelle chose est-ce que je te vois qui pousse si fort en avant, et je ne l"ai point?" "O, ma fille, dit Rustique, "ceci est le diable, dont je t'ai parlé, et vois-tu maintenant, il me donne tel tourment qu"à peine le puis-je souffrir." Alors dit la jeune fille: "Ho, loué soit Dieu que je vois que je suis mieux que toi de n"avoir point ce diable.” Rustique dit: "Tu dis vrai, mais tu as une autre chose que je n"ai pas, et l'as en échange de cette-ci." "Eh, quoi?" dit Alibech. Rustique repondit: "Tu as l"enfer, et je te veux bien dire que je croi que nostre Seigneur t"ait ici envoyée pour le salut de mon ame, parce que si ce diable me veut toujours donner cet ennui, et qu"il te plaise avoir tant de compassion de moi, que de souffrir que je le remette en enfer, tu me donneras, une très-grande consolation, et feras un très-grande service à Dieu, et grand plaisir, au moins si tu es venue ici pour faire ce que tu dis." La jeune fille à la bonne foi répondit: "O mon père, puisque j"ai l'enfer, mettez-y le diable quand il vous plaira." Alors dit Rustique: "Ma fille, tu sois de Dieu benite, allons donc et l'y mettons, afin qu"il me laisse en paix:" et ceci dit, mena la fille sur un de leurs petits lits, et lui enseigna comme elle se devoit mettre pour imprisonner ce maudit diable. La jeune fille, qui jamais n"avoit mis aucun diable en enfer, sentit pour la première fois un peu de mal: par quoi elle dit à Rustique: "Pour certain, mon père, ce diable doit estre une mauvaise chose, et véritablement ennemie de Dieu, puisqu"à I"enfer mesme il fait mal quand on l'y remet." Rustique repondit: "Il n'en adviendra pas toujours ainsi," et pour faire qu"il n'advint plus, ils I"y remirent par six fois avant de descendre de dessus de lit, tant que pour cette nuit ils lui tirerent tellement I"orgueil de la teste, qu'il demeura volontiers en paix. Mais y retournant plusieurs fois less jours suivans, et la jeune fille obéissante toujours à le lui tirer, advint que le jeu lui commença à plaire: par quoi elle dit: "Rustique, bien voi-je qu"il est vrai ce que disoient ces gens de bien de Capse, que le servir à Dieu estoit si douce chose, et pour certain je n'ai aucune souvenance que rien que je fìsse jamais fust si plaisant, comme de remettre le diable en enfer, et par ce je juge que toute personne qui pense à autre chose qu"à servir Dieu, est une grande beste: " par quoi elle alloit souvent à Rustique, et lui disoit: " Mon père, je suis ici venue pour servir à Dieu et non pour demeurer oisive. Allons remettre le diable en enfer." Faisant laquelle chose, elle disoit aucune fois: "Rustique, je ne sçai pourquoi le diable s"enfruit d'enfer, car s'il y demeuroit aussi volontiers comme l'enfer le reçoit et le tient, il n'en sortiroit jamais." Ainsi donc la jeune fille invitant souventefois Rustique et le confortant au service de Dieu, lui secoua tellement la bourse de son pelisson, que telle heure il se sentoit froid ou un autre eust sué; et par ainsi commença à dire à la fille, qu"il ne falloit point chastier le diable, ni le remettre en enfer, sinon quand par orgueil il levoit la teste; et par la grace de Dieu ils l'avoient tant chastié, qu'il prioit nostre Seigneur qu"on le laissast en paix; et ainsi il imposa un peu de silence à la jeune fille, laquelle quand elle vit que Rustique ne la requeroit plus de remettre le diable en enfer, lui dit un jour: "Rustique, pourtant si ton diable est chastié, et ne te donne plus d'ennui, mon enfer ne me laisse point en paix; par quoi je te prie qu'avec ton diable tu aides à oster la rage à mon enfer, comme j'ai aidé avec lui à tirer l'orgueil du tien." Rusticque qui ne vivoit que de racines, d'herbes, et d'eau, pouvoit très-mal satisfaire à la poste de la jeune fille, et lui dit qu'il faudroit trop de diables pour oster la rage à un enfer, mais qu"il feroit ce qu"il pourroit; et ainsi aucunefois la contentoit, mais c"estoit si peu, que ce n"estoit autre chose que jetter une febve en la gueule d'un lion, dont la jeune fille (lui estant avis qu"elle ne servoit pas à Dieu autant comme elle eust bien vanlu) murmuroit. 

Matters standing thus and Rustico being more than ever inflamed in his desires to see her so fair, there came the resurrection of the flesh, which Alibech observing and marvelling, "Rustico," quoth she, "what is that I see on thee which thrusteth forth thus and which I have not? Faith, daughter mine," answered he, "this is the devil thereof I bespoke thee; and see now, he giveth me such sore annoy that I can scarce put up with it." Then said the girl, "Now praised be God! I see I fare better than thou, in that I have none of yonder devil." "True," rejoined Rustico; "but thou hast otherwhat that I have not, and thou hast it instead of this." "What is that?"" asked Alibech; and he, "Thou hast hell, and I tell thee methinketh God hath sent thee hither for my souls health, for that, whenas this devil doth me this annoy, an it please thee have so much compassion on me as to suffer me put him back into hell, thou wilt give me the utmost solacement and wilt do God a very great pleasure and service, so indeed thou be come into these parts to do as thou sayst." 

The girl answered in good faith, "Marry, father mine, since I have hell, be it whensoever it pleaseth thee; "whereupon quoth Rustico, "Daughter, blessed be thou; let us go then and put him back there, so he may after leave me in peace." So saying, he laid her on one of their little beds and taught her how she should do to imprison that accursed one of God. The girl, who had never yet put any devil in hell, for the first time felt some little pain; wherefore she said to Rustico, "Certes, father mine, this same devil must be an ill thing and an enemy in very deed of God, for that it irketh hell itself, let be otherwhat, when he is put back therein." "Daughter," answered Rustico, " it will not always happen thus; "and to the end that this should not happen, six times, or ever they stirred from the bed, they put him in hell again, insomuch that for the nonce they so took the conceit out of his head that he willingly abode at peace. But, it returning to him again and again the ensuing days and the obedient girl still lending herself to take it out of him, it befell that the sport began to please her and she said to Rustico, "I see now that those good people in Capsa spoke sooth, when they avouched that it was so sweet a thing to serve God; for, certes, I remember me not to have ever done aught that afforded me such pleasance and delight as putting the devil in hell; wherefore methinketh that whoso applieth himself unto aught other than God His service is a fool." 

Accordingly, she came ofttimes to Rustico and said to him, "Father mine, I came here to serve God and not to abide idle; let us go put the devil in hell.” Which doing, she said whiles, "Rustico, I know not why the devil fleeih away from hell; for, and he abode there as willingly as hell receiveth him and holdeth him, he would never come forth therefrom." The girl, then, on this wise often inviting Rustico and exhorting him to the service of God, so took the bombast out of his doublet that he felt cold what time another had sweated; wherefore "he fell to telling her that the devil was not to be chastised nor put into hell, save whenas he should lift up his head for pride; "and we," added he, "by God's grace, have so baffled him that he prayeth our Lord to suffer him abide in peace; "and on this wise he for awhile imposed silence on her. However, when she saw that he required her not of putting the devil into hell, she said to him one day, "Rustico, and thy devil be chastened and give thee no more annoy, my hell letteth me not be; wherefore thou wilt do well to aid me with thy devil in abating the raging of my hell, even as with my hell I have helped thee take the conceit out of thy devil." 

Rustico, who lived on roots and water, could ill avail to answer her calls and told her that it would need overmany devils to appease hell, but he would do what he might thereof. Accordingly he satisfied her bytimes, but so seldom it was but casting a bean into the lion's mouth; whereat the girl, herseeming she served not God as diligently as she would fain have done, murmured somewhat. But, whilst this debate was toward between Rustico his devil and Alibech her hell, for overmuch desire on the one part and lack of power on the other, it befell that a fire broke out in Capsa and burnt Alibech's father in his own house, with as many children and other family as he had; by reason whereof she abode heir to all his good. Thereupon, a young man called Neerbale, who had spent all his substance in gallantry, hearing that she was alive, set out in search of her and finding her, before the court had laid hands upon her father's estate as that of a man dying without heir, to Rustico's great satisfaction, but against her own will, brought her back to Capsa, where he took her to wife and succeeded, in her right, to the ample inheritance of her father. 

There, being asked by the women at what she served God in the desert, she answered (Neerbale having not yet lain with her) that she served Him at putting the devil in hell and that Neerbale had done a grievous sin in that he had taken her from such service. The ladies asked, "How putteth one the devil in hell?" And the girl, what with words and what with gestures, expounded it to them; whereat they set up so great a laughing that they laugh yet and said, "Give yourself no concern, my child; nay, for that is done here also and Neerbale will serve our Lord full well with thee at this." Thereafter, telling it from one to another throughout the city, they brought it to a common saying there that the most acceptable service one could render to God was to put the devil in hell, which byword, having passed the sea hither, is yet current here. Wherefore do all you young ladies, who desire to have the grace of God, learn to put the devil in hell, because it is very acceptable to God, highly agreeable to both parties concerned, and much good may grow out of it and follow it. 

[This is the "Diable d'Enfer” of La Fontaine.] 

Dioneo having finished his story, and the queen knowing her sovereignty to be now at an end, took the crown from her heady and placed it on that of Filostrato, saying, "We shall soon see whether the wolves govern the sheep, better than the sheep have hitherto governed the wolves." He replied, with a smile, "If my advice had been taken, the wolves would have taught the sheep to put the devil in hell, just as Rustico taught Alibech; so do not call us wolves, since you yourselves have not been sheep. However, I take upon me the command." Giving the proper orders, then, to the steward, as to what he would have done, he turned to the ladies, and said: - "It has been my misfortune, ever since I was able to judge of anything, to be always in love with one or other of you ladies; nor has it availed me in the least that I have been humble, obedient, and desirous of pleasing to the utmost of my power; for I have constantly been discarded at last for some other lover, going still from bad to worse, and so I expect to continue till I go to my grave. Therefore I intend that our subject for tomorrow shall be something suitable to my own case; namely, concerning persons whose amours have had an unfortunate conclusion." Having said this, he gave them leave to depart. The garden was so pleasant, that every one chose to walk thither, especially as the sun was going down, where some diverted themselves with observing and running after the kids, rabbits, and other creatures, that were skipping about them. Dioneo and Fiammetta sat singing together the song of Guilielmo and the Lady of Vergiù. Filomena and Pamfilo played at chess. And thus they were all differently employed till the time of supper, which came upon them a little unexpectedly; when, the table being spread by the side of the fountain, they supped with a great deal of pleasure. As soon as the cloth was taken away. Filostrato, not to go out of the path which had been followed by the queens who had gone before him, commanded Lauretta to begin a dance with a song. She replied, "May it please your majesty, I know nothing of other people's songs, nor any of my own at present, which would please so agreeable a company; but, if you will accept of such a one as I can call to mind, I will sing it with a great deal of pleasure." The king made answer, "Nothing of yours can be disagreeable: sing such as you have." She then began, with a musical voice, but ia a desponding manner, thus: - 

SONG. 

CHORUS. 

Who can with so much cause complain, 

As I, who love and sigh in vain? 

He whose Almighty word hath taught to move 

The heavens, and every star above; 

Hath made me as you see, 

All brisk and debonair, that I might be 

A pattern of perfection priz'd; 

Yet I'm despis'd. 

Who can, &c. 

I heretofore 

Was by a fond admirer made to prove 

The soft persuasive force of love; 

Swift pass'd the hours of transport thus divine, 

Whilst all his wishes, all his thoughts, were mine;

But he's no more. 

Who can, &c 

One more morose and vain 

Next made his court; 

But from report, 

He jealous soon became; 

And falsely left me in distress, 

Tho' conscious then I was, 

That charms like mine, for gen'ral view design'd, 

Were to that lover's wishes still confin'd. 

Who can, &c. 

For ever be that day accurst. 

When, to commence a bride, 

I laid my sable weeds aside, 

Which dress so well became me first; 

Thrice happy damsel, had I died 

Before that fatal change I tried. 

Who can, &c. 

And thou, my dearest lover, once, and friend. 

Who, with the saints above, 

Enjoy'st the fruits of virtue and of love. 

My pray´r attend 

Amidst the sweet repose, which now you find, 

Think on me, poor distressed maid; 

And nature's final debt when paid, 

May we then meet, and be for ever join'd! 

Who can with so much cause complain, 

As I, who love and sigh in vain? 

When the song was ended, lighted torches were brought, and set upon the grass; and they continued, till the stars began to go down, singing and making merry. Then the king thought it time for them to depart, and, wishing one another a good night, they retired to their respective chambers. 

3-9, Gillette de Narbonne, King of France

NOVEL IX. 

Gillette de Narbonne cures the King of France of a complaint, and demands the Count de Roussillon in marriage, as her reward; he marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to Florence, where he falls in love with a young lady, and lies with his own wife, thinking himself with his mistress. She has two sons by him, and, by that means, matters are accommodated at last between them. 

There remained now only the queen to speak (saving his privilege to Dioneo); therefore she began, without being called upon, in this manner: - Who can say anything now to please, since we have heard Lauretta's story? It is well for most of the company she was not the first; for few would have been thought so agreeable after her; and so I believe it will be with regard to such as are yet to speak; however, I shall keep to the subject, and give you my story, such as it is. There lived in France a gentleman named Isnard, Count de Roussillon, who, because he was in a bad state of health, always kept a physician in his house, called Master Gerard de Narbonne. Now the count had an only son, whose name was Bertram, a fine youth, who had been brought up along with other children of his own age, amongst whom was a daughter to this physician, called Gillette, who had for him an infinite esteem and love, more than is common for one at such an age. His father's death, and his being left to the king's care, obliged him to go to Paris, which gave her the utmost concern. Shortly afterwards, her own father dying also, she would gladly, if she could have found a fit pretence, have gone thither to see Bertram; but such care was taken of her, because she was an heiress, that it was impossible. Being now of an age to marry, and being unable to forget her first love, though she had many suitors, on one of whom her guardians would willingly have bestowed her, she rejected them all, without assigning any reason. In the meantime, her love growing more violent every day, being fed by the admirable reports she heard of Bertram, news was brought that the King of France had a dangerous ailment, which succeeded an ill-cured swelling in his breast, and gave him extreme anguish; nor could he meet with a physician, though he had tried many, who was able to heal it; on the contrary, they had made it worse, insomuch that he was determined to have no more advice. This was agreeable enough to the young lady, not only as it afforded a pretence for her going to Paris, but also she had great hopes, if the disorder proved of the kind suspected, of getting Bertram for her husband. So, mixing up such drugs as her father was wont to use in cases of that nature, she hastened away to Paris. The first thing she did, after she had obtained a sight of Bertram, was to wait upon the king, and desire he would acquaint her with his malady. His majesty most graciously condescended to grant her request, when she was instantly convinced she was able to make a cure, and said, "sir, if you will give me leave, I hope, without any pain or trouble, to restore your health in eight days." The king could not help making a jest of this, saying to himself, "What! shall a woman undertake to do that which has baffled all the best physicians in the world?" He thanked her, therefore, for her good intention, and told her that he was resolved to try no more medicines. "sir," replied the lady, "you ridicule my art because I am young, and a woman; but I must remind you that I do not pretend to this from my own knowledge; but I rely upon the help of God, and the judgment of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was a most eminent physician in his time, and my father." 

The king, hearing this, said to himself, "Perhaps she is sent from God to my assistance; why should I not, therefore, make trial of her, as she promises to cure me, without any trouble, in so short a time?" Then turning to her, "But suppose you should prove mistaken, what would you forfeit for making us break our resolution?" She replied, "If your majesty pleases, you may set a guard upon me; and if you are not cured in eight days, then burn me alive: but if I succeed, and you get well, what reward am I then to have?" "You are a maiden, it appears," said the king: "we will dispose of you in marriage to a person of great account." - "sir," quoth she, "I accept your offer of a husband, but I will name the person, excepting all of your royal house." He immediately promised, and she began to administer her medicines; and before the limited time she had wrought a thorough cure. The king then said, "Fair maid, you have well earned a husband." - "Then, sir," she replied, "I have gained the Count de Roussillon, whom I have loved ever since I was a child." 

The king thought her demand very great, but, as he had given his word, he would not depart from it. He sent for the count, therefore, and said to him, "Bertram, you are now of age to take upon you the government of your own country; it is our will that you return thither, and take a wife whom we shall recommend to you." - "And who is the lady, my liege?” replied Bertram. "It is she," said the king, "who has cured us with her medicines." Bertram knew and liked her well enough, only that he thought her birth too low for his quality; so he said, with some disdain, "And does your majesty then mean to give me a doctress for ray wife? Surely I may do much better for myself." - "Then," quoth the king, "would you have us to be worse than our word? She requested to have you, and we promised, upon condition that we were made well." - "My liege," replied Bertram, "you may take away what I now possess, or you may add to it if you please; but this I assure your majesty, that I will never consent to such a match." - "It is our pleasure to have it so," continued the king; " She is a prudent and beautiful lady, and you may be happier with her, than if you were married to one of greater quality." 

Bertram then held his peace; and the king ordered a magnificent entertainment in honour of the nuptials, and, when the day came, Bertram espoused Gillette, much against his will, in the king's presence, which being done, he took his leave of his majesty, as if he was going to keep his wedding in his own country; but, instead of that, he went a quite different way, and came to Tuscany. Finding that the Florentines were at war with the Sienese, he willingly joined them, and, having a command given him, he continued some time in their service. The bride, not at all pleased with his behaviour, went to Roussillon, in hopes of gaining his affections by her prudent mai^agement, and was received by his people as their lady and mistress. Finding everything in disorder, on account of her husband's long minority, she used such care and diligence in restoring all to its wonted tranquillity, that she gained the favour and good-will of her subjects, who blamed the count highly for his neglect of her. When that was done, she sent two knights to him, desiring to know if it was on her account he stayed away from home; and bidding them tell him that she was willing to go elsewhere to please him. But he answered roughly, that she might use her pleasure; "For," said he, "I will go to her only when she shall have this ring upon her finger, and a son, begotten by me, in her arms." Now he valued the ring at a high rate, and never parted with it from his finger, because of some secret virtue which he supposed it to have. The knights looked upon the condition as implying two impossibilities; and, perceiving that he was not to be moved from his resolution, they returned, and reported his answer. 

The lady was much afflicted at this, and began to consider, if there were no way to effect these two points, and consequently regain her husband. Taking her measures then accordingly, she assembled all the principal people of the country, when she recounted to them, in a most tender and affectionate manner, all that she had done for the love of the count, and what ensued thereupon; and she let them know, that it never was her intention, by staying amongst them, to keep him in perpetual banishment; therefore was she resolved to spend the remainder of her life in pilgrimage, for the good of her soul; and her desire was, that they would take the government upon them, and inform the count that she had quitted possession, and left the country with a design never more to return. As she was speaking these words, they all began to weep, and they entreated her much to change her resolution, but to no purpose. Taking her leave, then, and being attended only by a maid-servant and a relation, they set forward together like pilgrims, having provided themselves well with money and jewels; and, without anybody's knowing whither they were gone, they made no stop till they came to Florence. There, by chance, they met with an inn that was kept by a widow, where she stayed, with a desire of learning some news concerning her lord. 

The next day it happened, that he passed by the house on horseback, along with his troops, when, though she knew him very well, yet she asked the landlady who he was?" It is a gentleman, a stranger," answered she, "one of the best natured men in the world, and much respected in this country, who is in love with a gentlewoman of small fortune in this neighbourhood: she bears a good character, but is yet unmarried, on account of her scanty circumstances, and lives with her mother." The countess, upon hearing this, began to consider more fully what she should do. Having learned the young lady's name, and where she lived, she went one day to the house, and, after the usual salutation, told the mother, that she had a mind to speak to her: the other rose, and said, with all her heart. They then went into a chamber by themselves, and, sitting down together, the countess began in this manner: "Madam, you seem to be as little obliged to fortune as myself; but perhaps it is now in your power to do us both a kindness." 

The other replied, that she should be very willing, if it could be done honestly. The countess rejoined, "I put myself entirely into your hands; if you deceive me, you frustrate the purposes of both." - 'speak out," said the lady; "you shall find I never will deceive you." 

The countess then related her whole story, from beginning to end, part of which the old lady had heard from common report: and she added, "You hear the two things which I am to compass to gain my husband, with regard to which there is no person in the world can serve me besides yourself, if it be true, as I am told, that he is violently in love with your daughter." - "Madam," quoth the lady, "there is some appearance of the count's liking my daughter; but whether there be anything real, that I cannot pretend to say. But what has this to do with your affair?" - "That," answered she, "I shall soon tell you. But you must first hear what I intend to do in consideration of this service of yours. 

I understand that you have a daughter, of age to marry, whom you are forced to keep at home with you, for want of a fortune to give her: now my design is, to advance such a sum of money as you yourself shall think sufficient to marry her reputably." The lady liked the offer very well, but yet, having the spirit of a gentlewoman, she replied: "Tell me what you want to have done, and if it appear fair and honest, I will do it most willingly, and leave the reward to you." 

The countess then said, "You must give the count to understand, by some person whom you can trust, that your daughter is ready to oblige him, as soon as she can be assured that he has that real love for her which he pretends, and which she knows not how to credit, unless he sends her the ring that he usually wears, and which, she hears, he sets such a value upon. This ring you must give to me, and then you may let him know that your daughter is at his service, and that he may come privately hither as soon as he pleases, when you must put me to bed to him instead of your daughter. Perhaps, by God's grace, I may prove with child; so that, by having his ring on my finger, and a son of his in my arms, which were the two conditions required, I may live with him afterwards as my husband, and you be the happy instrument of it." The lady hesitated at first, fearing some scandal might befall her daughter; but considering afterwards how fit it was that the good lady should have her husband, she not only promised her assistance, but in a few days obtained the ring, much against the count's will, and afterwards put the lady to bed to him, instead of her daughter. Accordingly it happened, that she became with child of two sons, as the event made manifest. Nor was it once only that the lady afforded the countess the enjoyment of her husband's embraces, but many times, taking her measures so secretly that the count never knew a word of it, but always thought he was with his mistress, not with his wife. 

At last, when the countess found herself pregnant, not wishing to give the lady more trouble, she said to her, "Madam, my end is now answered, I have nothing more to do but to satisfy you for your trouble." She replied, "If you are contented, it is well; I did it out of no expectation of reward, but only as it appeared to me quite a right thing." "Madam," continued the countess, "I am entirely pleased, and I intend to make you a recompense suitable to your great merit." She then, moved by her necessity, desired, but with the utmost modesty, a hundred pounds for her daughter's portion; whilst the other, knowing her great worth, and hearing her humble demand, gave her five hundred, and jewels to the amount of as much more, for which she was very thankful; and, to take away all pretence of the count's coming any more to her house, the lady removed with her daughter to her friends in the country. 

After some time, Bertram, hearing that his countess had departed out of his territories, went thither, at the request of his subjects, whilst she stayed at Florence, till her time of labour came, when she was brought to bed of two sons, very like their father. She took care to have them well nursed, and, in due time, without being discovered by any person, she came to Montpelier, where she made some stay to rest herself, and to make inquiry concerning her husband. Hearing, at last, that he was to make a great feast at Roussillon, on the day of All Saints, she went thither in the same pilgrim's dress as she first set out in; and, just as the guests were going to sit down at table, she pressed forwards, through the midst of the crowd of gentlemen and ladies, with her two children in her arms, till, coming where the count was, she threw herself at his feet, saying, with tears, "My lord, I am your unhappy wife, who have undertaken a long pilgrimage, in order that you might return to your own house. I conjure you, in the presence of God, that you abide by the two conditions enjoined me by the two knights whom I sent to you. Behold, not one son only of yours in my arms, but two; and, see, here is the ring." The count was confounded with admiration, recognising the ring, and the children too, they were so like him, and said: - "How can this have happened?"

The countess then related the whole story before all the company; whilst he, knowing her to speak the truth, perceiving also her constancy and good management, and beholding two such pretty children, was moved to fulfil his promise, as well as to oblige the whole company, who requested him to take her as his wife: upon all these considerations, I say, he laid his inveterate hatred aside, raised her up, and saluted her, acknowledging her for his lawful countess, and the two babies for his children: he ordered also suitable apparel to be brought for them, to the great joy of the whole court; whilst the feasting continued not that day only, but many others: and from that time he shewed her all due respect, and they continued happy together as long as they lived. 

[Shakespeare's "All's Well that Ends Well" is based on this story.] 

3-8 Ferondo, drug, buried, dead, abbot, dungeon, purgatory

NOVEL VIII. 

Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, and the abbot, who has an intrigue with his wife, takes him out of the grave and puts him into a dungeon, where he is made to believe that he is in purgatory. Being raised up again, he rears a child as his own, which the abbot had got by his wife. 

Emilia's long novel (though it did not appear long to the company, on account of the variety of incidents with which it was stored) was now brought to a conclusion, when the queen gave a nod to Lauretta, who began in this manner: - I am going to relate a thing which has more the appearance of fiction than of truth, and which I call to mind from what has just been told us, of one person's being mourned for, and buried instead of another. I purpose, then, to tell you how a living person was buried as though he had been dead; how, afterwards, it was believed by himself, as well as other people, that he was risen from the dead, and not actually living all the time; and how another obtained the name of a saint upon that score, and was adored as such, when he deserved rather to have been severely punished. There was in Tuscany, and is still, an abbey situated in a retired spot, as is commonly the case with such establishments. Its newly appointed abbot was a man of holy life in every respect, save in the matter of woman, and this he managed so well, that he was never suspected; therefore was he universally regarded as godly, pious and righteous in all points. Now it happened, that among the abbot's many acquaintances was a rich countryman, named Ferondo, a gross blockhead, whom the abbot admitted into his society only to make sport of the dullard's simplicity. In the course of their acquaintance, the abbot found that the rustic had a very handsome wife, with whom he grew so violently in love, that day or night he could think of nothing else; but being informed that Ferondo, however stupid in other things, was cunning enough in watching over her, he almost despaired of success. He managed, however, so artfully, that he prevailed upon Ferondo to bring her sometimes for their amusement to his gardens at the abbey, when he would discourse to them of the beatitudes of eternal life, and of the pious works of many righteous people departed hence. This had such an effect upon the lady, that she had a great desire to confess to him, and asked leave of her husband, which was granted. Coming, then, to confession, greatly to the abbot's satisfaction, and sitting at his feet, she began, before she entered upon her subject, to this effect - "Sir, if God had given me a different sort of a husband, or if he had given me none at all, perhaps with your instruction it would be easy for me to pursue the path which you have pointed out to eternal life: but when I consider what sort of a person I am tied to, I must look upon myself as a widow, and yet worse than married, in respect that I can have no other husband as long as he lives. Besides, he is so unreasonably jealous, that I live in constant misery with him: therefore, before I proceed to confession, I must beg a little of your advice in this particular; for till I find some remedy in this respect, confession or any other good work, will be of little effect." 

This touched the abbot in the most sensible part; and now thinking that fortune had opened a way to what he had so long aimed at, he replied: - "Daughter, I can easily believe how grievous it is for a pretty young lady, as you are, to have a fool for her husband, and it is worse to have a man that is jealous; therefore, you must suffer extremely, that have both one and the other. But, to be plain with you, I see no advice that can avail, or remedy, but one; namely, to cure Ferondo of that jealousy. The remedy, in such a case, I know well how to apply, provided you will keep it a secret. - "Father," quoth the lady, "never fear; I would die before I would make a discovery contrary to your injunction; but how is it possible?" The abbot replied, "If we desire he should be cured, it will be necessary for him to go first into purgatory." - "What, go there alive?" - "He must die first, and then go thither; and when he shall have suffered quite enough to cure him of his jealousy, we shall use a few prayers to bring him to life again, and it shall be done." - "Then I must remain a widow?" - "For a time, and you must be exceedingly careful not to be prevailed upon to marry elsewhere, for that would be a very bad thing, and as you must return to Ferondo when he comes to life again, he would be more jealous than ever." - "Well, so long as there is a cure, and I am not to be a prisoner all my life, do as you will, I am content." - "But," said the abbot, "what reward shall I have for this service?" - "Father, whatever lies in my power to give; but what can such a one as myself offer worthy the acceptance of a person like you?" - "Madam, it is in your power to do as much for me, as it is in mine to do for you. As I am ready, then, to perform what shall be for your ease and comfort, so should you be mindful of me in a point where my life and welfare are both concerned." - "If it be so, I am ready and willing." - "Then you must grant me your love, for which I entirely languish." 

She was startled at this, and said, "Alas! my father, what is it you would have? I took you always» for a saint. Do holy men request such favours of ladies who come to them for advice?" - "My dearest life, let not this surprise you," replied the abbot; "my sanctity is not the less on this account, because that abides in the soul, and what I now ask of you is only a sin of the body. But be that as it may, the force of your beauty is such that it constrains me to do thus: and I tell you, that you may be proud of it above all other women, since it captivates the saints, who are used to behold the beauties of heaven. Besides, although I am an abbot, I am a man, like others, and as you see, not old. Nor should you think much of this matter, but rather be desirous of it, for all the time Ferondo is in purgatory I will supply his place, and it will never be so much as suspected, because every one has the same opinion of me that you yourself just now declared. Do not refuse the grace that heaven sends you; there are enough that would be glad of what you may have, and shall have, if you wisely follow my advice. Moreover, I have jewels both rich and rare, which I intend shall all be yours. Do, therefore, my dearest love, what I would willingly do for you." 

The lady had her eyes fixed on the ground, not knowing how to deny him, and yet to grant the favour seemed not so well. The abbot, perceiving that she had listened and did not immediately reply, considered the conquest half made, and continued using such arguments as before, till he had convinced her that it would be a good action. So, at last, she said, with a blush, that she was willing to comply, but not till her husband was sent to purgatory. The abbot was well enough satisfied with this, and replied, "He shall go thither directly; all you have to do is to see that he comes hither tomorrow, or next day, to make some stay with me." Saying this he put a fine ring on her fìnger, and dismissed her. She was overjoyed with the present, supposing she should have many more such; and returning to her friends, related wonderful things of the abbot's great sanctity, after which her husband and she went home together. A few days afterwards Ferondo went to the abbey, and as soon as the abbot saw him he prepared a drug, which had been given him in the Levantine countries by a great prince, who assured him it was the very powder which the Old Man of the Mountain was in the habit of using whenever he had a mind to throw any one into a trance, in order to send him into his paradise or take him out of it. By giving more or less he could, without doing them any harm, make them sleep as long as he pleased: insomuch, that, whilst its effect lasted, you would never imagine but that they were dead. Of this drug the abbot took as much as would operate for three days, and mixing it up with a glass of wine, without Ferondo perceiving it, gave it to him to drink. He afterwards walked with him into the cloisters with several of the monks, and they began to be merry together as usual. In some little time the drug began to work; Ferondo was taken with a sudden drowsiness, he nodded as he stood, and at last fell down in a profound sleep. The abbot seemed much concerned at the accident, making them unbutton his collar, and throw cold water in his face, in order to bring him to himself, as though it had been occasioned by some fumes from his stomach, or such like disorder: but when they found all was in vain, and perceived, on feeling his pulse, no signs of life remaining, it was concluded by all that he was certainly dead. Accordingly they sent to acquaint his wife and relations, who came immediately, and after they had lamented over him for a time, he was buried by the abbot's direction, with his clothes on, in one of the abbey vaults. His wife went back to her own house, giving out, that she resolved never to stir a step from a little son that she had by Ferondo; and continuing there, she took upon herself the management of the child, as well as of the estate he had left behind. The abbot, when night came, took with him a monk of Bologna, whom he could trust, and who was just come thither upon a visit; and together they carried Ferondo out of the vault into a dungeon, which served as a prison for the monks when they had committed any fault. Then, stripping him of his clothes, they dressed him in the habit of a monk, and left him upon a bundle of straw, till he should come to himself; whilst the monk, being instructed by the abbot, as to what he would have done, was to wait there without anybody's knowing anything of the matter, till the sleeper came to his senses. 

The next day the abbot went, attended by some of his monks, to pay his visit of condolence to the widow, whom he found in her weeds, very sorrowful; and, after a little consolation, he put her softly in mind of her promise. She, finding herself now at liberty, and seeing another valuable ring on his finger, gave her consent, and it was agreed that he should come the next night. When that time came, therefore, he put on Ferondo's clothes, and taking his faithful monk along with him, went thither, and stayed till the morning; and this practice he followed so long, that he was frequently seen passing backwards and forwards by the neighbours, who all agreed, that it was Ferondo who walked there, doing penance; and many strange stories were reported among the simple country people about it, and were carried to the lady, who knew full well what kind of ghost it was. 

The Bolognese monk, as soon as he perceived Ferondo growing a little sensible, come in, making a most terrible noise; and having a bundle of rods in his hand, began to chastise him severely. Ferondo, crying and howling, could say nothing but, "Where am I?" The monk replied, "Thou art in purgatory." - "How!" said Ferondo, "and am I dead then?" - "Most surely," answered the monk. Thereupon Ferondo began to lament for himself, his wife, and child, uttering the strangest things in the world. The monk then gave him something to eat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, "What!" said he, "do dead people eat!" The monk replied, "Yes; and what I now bring, thy wife sent this morning to church, to have mass said for thy soul." - "God bless her!"quoth Ferondo, "I was very fond of her before I died, to that degree that I hugged her all night in my arms, and did nothing but kiss her, and sometimes the other thing when I had a mind." Then, finding himself hungry, he began to eat and drink, and the wine being very bad, he said, "God confound her! why did she not give the priest some wine from the cask next the wall?" No sooner had he filled his belly than he had the same discipline over again; when, roaring out amain, he said, "What is all this for?" The monk answered, "Because thou art jealous of thy wife, who is one of the best of women." - "Alas! you say true; she was a most dear creature: but I did not know that it was a sin to be jealous, or I would not have been so." - " Oh! you should have taken care of that whilst you were in the other world; and if it should happen that you return thither, remember what I now say, and be jealous no more." - " Then, do people ever return thither again, after they have been dead?" -"Yes, if God so pleases." - "Oh! " quoth Ferondo, "if that should be my case, I would be the best husband in the world; I would never beat her, or say an angry word, unless it were for the bad wine she has sent me, and letting me have no candles, that I am forced to eat in the dark." - " She sent candles enough," answered the monk, "but they are all burnt out at the mass." - "Well," quoth Ferondo, "you say very true, and when I go back she shall do as she pleases: but pray tell me who you are that do all this to me?" The monk replied, "I am now dead; but I was of Sardinia, and am condemned to this penance, to give you food and drink, and two whippings a day, because I formerly commended a certain master of mine for being jealous." - "But," said Ferondo, "is there nobody here besides us two?" - "Yes, thousands; but you can no more see or hear them, than they can hear or see us." "Then," quoth Ferondo, "how far may we be distant from our own countries." - "Many millions of leagues." "Why truly that is far enough," quoth Ferondo, "then we must certainly be out of the world." 

In this manner was Ferondo kept there for ten months, whilst the abbot continued his visits to the wife; till at last she proved with child, when it was thought convenient that her husband should be delivered out of purgatory, that he might father the child. The next night, therefore, the abbot went into the dungeon, and called upon Ferondo, with a counterfeited voice, saying, "Take courage, Ferondo; it is now the will of God that thou return into the other world, when thou shalt have a son by thy wife, whom thou shalt name Benedict; because, through the prayers of thy holy abbot, and thy most virtuous wife, and the intercession of St. Benedict, this favour is granted thee." Ferondo was overjoyed at hearing this, and said, "Thanks be to God and to St. Benedict, and to the abbot and to my precious wife." In the next wine that was sent him, the abbot mingled as much of the former drug as would make him sleep four hours; and then they put his own clothes upon him, and carried him into the vault where he had been interred. 

By break of day Ferondo came to himself, and seeing through a crevice of the vault a glimmering of light, which he had been utterly deprived of for ten months, he began to think himself alive, and shouted, "Let me out, let me out." At the same time he lifted up the cover with his head, it being of no great weight, and was making his way out, when the monks, having just ended their morning service, ran thither, and knowing Ferondo's voice, and seeing him rise out of the vault, they were so terrified that they fled to tell the abbot. The holy man, who seemed to them to be just risen from prayer, said, "Fear not, my sons; take the crucifix and holy water, and follow me, that we may see what kind of miracle this is." Ferondo was quite pale, as might be supposed, having been so long confined without seeing any light; but as soon as the abbot appeared, he fell at his feet, saying, "Your prayers, most holy father, as it has been revealed to me, and those of St. Benedict, and my wife, have delivered me out of purgatory, and brought me to life again, for which I pray God to send you all sorts of good luck now and always." - "Blessed be the power of God!" quoth the abbot; "go, then, my son, as this mercy is bestowed upon you, and comfort your wife, who has been in the utmost trouble ever since you departed from us; and be henceforth a faithful servant of God." - "That's very good advice your reverence gives me," said Ferondo. "Never fear but I'll kiss her ever so much when I see her, I'm so fond of her." Away then he went, and the abbot, left alone with his monks, affected to regard this miracle with great veneration, and ordered them devoutly to sing the Miserere.

In the meantime, Ferondo returned to his house, where every one that saw him fled, as if they had beheld some terrible sight, affirming that he was risen from the dead. His wife also expressed the utmost consternation. In some little time, however, after they were convinced of his being alive, they began to ask him all sorts of questions, which he was never at a loss to answer, for he seemed to have come back quite a clever fellow from the other world; he told them news concerning the souls of their departed friends, and strung together out of his own head the finest stories in the world about purgatory, not forgetting to relate to them, in full assembly, what had been revealed to him by the mouth of the Hangel Bagarel just before his resurrection. In fulfilment of that prediction Ferondo's wife bore him a son whom they called Benedict Ferondi. Ferondo's resurrection, and what he himself reported about it, every one giving entire credit to his words, added greatly to the renown of the abbot's extraordinary sanctity. Ferondo also remembered the many sound whippings he had got for his jealousy and was cured of it for ever, as the abbot had promised he should be; and his wife lived very happily with him from that time forth, and had the pleasure of the abbot's company, as often as they could conveniently meet together.