Ferando, _by drinking a certaine kinde of Powder, was buried for dead.And by the Abbot, who was enamoured of his wife, was taken out of hisGrave, and put into a darke prison, where they made him beleeve, thathee was in Purgatorie. Afterward, when time came that hee should beeraised to life againe; hee was made to keepe a childe, which the Abbothad got by his Wife._
The eight Novell.
_Wherein is displayed, the apparant folly of jealousie: And thesubtilty of some religious carnall minded men, to beguile silly andsimple maried men._
When the long discourse of Madame _?milia_ was ended, not displeasingto any, in regard of the length, but rather held too short, becauseno exceptions could be taken against it, comparing the raritie ofthe accidents, and changes together: the Queene turned to Madame_Lauretta_, giving her such a manifest signe, as she knew, that itwas her turne to follow next, and therefore shee tooke occasion tobegin thus. Faire Ladies, I intend to tell you a Tale of trueth, which(perhaps) in your opinions, will seeme to sound like a lye: and yet Iheard by the very last relation, that a dead man was wept and mourndfor, in sted of another being then alive. In which respect, I am now tolet you know, how a living man was buried for dead, and being raisedagaine, yet not as living, himselfe, and divers more beside, didbeleeve that he came forth of his grave, and adored him as a Saint, whowas the occasion thereof, and who (as a bad man) deserved justly to becondemned.
In _Tuscanie_ there was sometime an Abby, seated, as now we seecommonly they are, in a place not much frequented with people, andthereof a Monke was Abbot, very holy and curious in all things elsee,save onely a wanton appetite to women: which yet hee kept so cleanly tohimselfe, that though some did suspect it, yet it was knowne to veryfew. It came to passe, that a rich Country Franklin, named _Ferando_,dwelt as a neere neighbour to the said Abby, hee being a man materiall,of simple and grosse understanding, yet he fell into great familiaritywith the Abbot; who made use of this friendly conversation to no otherend, but for divers times of recreation; when he delighted to smile athis silly and sottish behaviour.
Upon this his private frequentation with the Abbot, at last heobserved, that _Ferando_ had a very beautifull woman to his wife,with whom he grew so deepely in love, as hee had no other meditationseither by day or night, but how to become acceptable in her favour.Neverthelesse, he concealed his amorous passions privately to himselfe,and could plainely perceive, that although Ferando (in all thingselsee) was meerely a simple fellow, and more like an Idiot, then ofany sensible apprehension: yet was he wise enough in loving his wife,keeping her carefully out of all company, as one (indeede) veryjealous, least any should kisse her, but onely himselfe, which drovethe Abbot into despaire, for ever attaining the issue of his desire.Yet being subtill, crafty, and cautelous, he wrought so on the flexiblenature of _Ferando_, that hee brought his wife with him divers dayesto the Monasterie; where they walked in the goodly Garden, discoursingon the beatitudes of eternall life, as also the most holy deedes ofmen and women, long since departed out of this life, in mervailouscivill and modest manner. Yet all these were but traines to a furtherintention, for the Abbot must needes bee her ghostly Father, and sheecome to be confessed by him; which the foole _Ferando_ tooke as anespeciall favour, and therefore he gave his consent the sooner.
At the appointed time, when the woman came to confession to the Abbot,and was on her knees before him, to his no small contentment, beforeshe would say any thing elsee, thus she began: Sacred Father, if Godhad not given me such an husband as I have, or elsee had bestowed on menone at all; I might have beene so happy, by the meanes of your holydoctrine, very easily to have entred into the way, whereof you spake theother day, which leadeth to eternall life. But when I consider withmy selfe, what manner of man _Ferando_ is, and thinke upon his follywithall; I may well terme my selfe to be a widdow, although I am amaried wife, because while he liveth, I cannot have any other husband.And yet (as sottish as you see him) he is (without any occasion givenhim) so extreamely jealous of me; as I am not able to live with him,but onely in continuall tribulation & hearts griefe. In which respect,before I enter into confession, I most humbly beseech you, that youwould vouchsafe (in this distresse) to assist me with your fatherlyadvise and counsell, because, if thereby I cannot attaine to a morepleasing kinde of happinesse; neither confession, or any thing elsee, isable to doe me any good at all.
These words were not a little welcome to my Lord Abbot, because(thereby) he halfe assured himselfe, that Fortune had laid open thepath to his hoped pleasures, whereupon he said. Deare daughter, Imake no question to the contrary, but it must needes be an exceedinginfelicity, to so faire and goodly a young woman as you are, to beplagued with so sottish an husband, brain-sick, and without the useof common understanding; but yet subject to a more hellish afflictionthen all these, namely jealousie, and therefore you being in this wofullmanner tormented, your tribulations are not only so much the morecredited, but also as amply grieved for, & pittied. In which heavy andirksome perturbations, I see not any meanes of remedy, but onely one,being a kinde of physicke (beyond all other) to cure him of his foolishjealousie; which medicine is very familiar to me, because I know besthow to compound it, alwayes provided, that you can be of so strong acapacity, as to be secret in what I shall say unto you.
Good Father (answered the Woman) never make you any doubt thereof, forI would rather endure death it selfe, then disclose any thing whichyou enjoyne me to keepe secret: wherefore, I beseech you Sir to tellme, how, and by what meanes it may be done. If (quoth the Abbot) youdesire to have him perfectly cured, of a disease so dangerous andoffensive, of necessity he must be sent into Purgatory. How may that bedone, saide the woman, he being alive? He must needs die, answered theAbbot, for his more speedy passage thither; and when he hath endured somuch punishment, as may expiate the quality of his jealousie, we havecertaine devoute and zealous prayers, whereby to bring him backe againeto life, in as able manner as ever he was. Why then, replyed the woman,I must remaine in the state of a Widdow? Very true, saide the Abbot,for a certaine time, in all which space, you may not (by any meanes)marrie againe, because the heavens will therewith be highly offended:but _Ferando_ being returned to life againe, you must repossesse himas your Husband, but never to be jealous any more. Alas Sir (quoth thewoman) so that he may be cured of his wicked jealousie, and I no longerlive in such an hellish imprisonment, doe as you please.
Now was the Abbot (well neere) on the highest step of his hope, makingher constant promise, to accomplish it: But (quoth he) what shall bemy recompence when I have done it? Father, saide shee, whatsoever youplease to aske, if it remaine within the compasse of my power: but youbeing such a vertuous and sanctified man, and I a woman of so meaneworth or merit; what sufficient recompence can I be able to make you?Whereunto the Abbot thus replyed. Faire Woman, you are able to doe asmuch for me, as I am for you, because as I doe dispose my selfe, toperforme a matter for your comfort and consolation, even so ought youto be as mindfull of me, in any action concerning my life and welfare.In any such matter Sir (quoth shee) depending on your benefit sostrictly, you may safely presume to command me. You must then (saidethe Abbot) grant me your love, and the kinde embracing of your person;because so violent are mine affections, as I pine and consume awaydaily, till I enjoy the fruition of my desires, and none can help metherein but you.
When the woman heard these words, as one confounded with muchamazement, this shee replied. Alas, holy Father! what a strange motionhave you made to me? I beleeved very faithfully, that you were nolesse then a Saint, and is it convenient, that when silly women cometo aske counsell of such sanctified men, they should returne them suchunfitting answeres? Be not amazed good woman, saide the Abbot, at themotion which I have made unto you, because holinesse is not therebyimpaired a jot in me; for it is the inhabitant of the soule, the otheris an imperfection attending on the body: but be it whatsoever, yourbeauty hath so powerfully prevailed on me, that entire love hathcompelled me to let you know it. And more may you boast of your beauty,then any t
hat ever I beheld before, considering, it is so pleasing toa sanctified man, that it can draw him from divine contemplations, toregard a matter of so humble an equalitie.
Let me tell you moreover, woorthy Woman, that you see me reverencedhere as Lord Abbot, yet am I but as other men are, and in regard I amneither aged, nor misshapen, me thinkes the motion I have made, shouldbe the lesse offensive to you, and therefore the sooner granted.For, all the while as _Ferando_ remaineth in Purgatory, doe you butimagine him to be present with you, and your perswasion will the moreabsolutely be confirmed. No man can, or shall be privy to our closemeetings, for I carrie the same holy opinion among all men, as youyour selfe conceived of me, and none dare be so saucie, as to callin question whatsoever I doe or say, because my wordes are Oracles,and mine actions more then halfe miracles; doe you not then refuse sogracious an offer. Enow there are, who would gladly enjoy that, whichis francke and freely presented to you, and which (if you be a wiseWoman) is meerely impossible for you to refuse. Richly am I possessedof Gold and Jewelse, which shall be all yours, if you please in favourto be mine; wherein I will not be gaine-saide, except your selfe doedenie me.
The Woman having her eyes fixed on the ground, knew not wel how sheeshould denie him; and yet in plaine words, to say shee consented, sheeheld it to be over-base and immodest, and ill agreeing with her formerreputation: when the Abbot had well noted this attention in her, andhow silent shee stood without returning any answer; he accounted theconquest to be more then halfe his owne: so that continuing on hisformall perswasions, hee never ceased, but allured her still to beleevewhatsoever he saide. And shee much ashamed of his importunity, but moreof her owne flexible yeelding weakenesse, made answer, that shee wouldwillingly accomplish his request; which yet shee did not absoluteliegrant, untill _Ferando_ were first sent into Purgatory. And till then(quoth the Abbot) I will not urge any more, because I purpose hisspeedy sending thither: but yet, so farre lend me your assistance, thateither to morrow, or elsee the next day, he may come hither once moreto converse with me. So putting a faire gold Ring on her finger, theyparted till their next meeting.
Not a little joyfull was the Woman of so rich a gift, hoping to enjoya great many more of them, and returning home to her neighbours,acquainted them with wonderfull matters, all concerning thesanctimonious life of the Abbot, a meere miracle of men, and worthy tobe truely termed a Saint. Within two dayes after, _Ferando_ went tothe Abbye againe, and so soone as the Abbot espyed him, hee presentlyprepared for his sending of him into Purgatorie. He never was withouta certaine kinde of drugge, which being beaten into powder, would workeso powerfully upon the braine, and all the other vitall sences, as toentrance them with a deadly sleepe, and deprive them of all motion,either in the pulses, or any other part elsee, even as if the bodywere dead indeede; in which operation it would so hold and continue,according to the quantity given and drunke, as it pleased the Abbotto order the matter. This powder or drugge, was sent him by a greatPrince of the East, and therewith he wrought wonders upon his Novices,sending them into Purgatory when he pleased, and by such punishments ashe inflicted on them there, made them (like credulous asses) beleevewhatsoever himselfe listed.
So much of this powder had the Abbot provided, as should suffice forthree dayes entrauncing, and having compounded it with a very pleasantWine, calling _Ferando_ into his Chamber, there gave it him to drinke,and afterward walked with him about the Cloyster, in very friendlyconference together, the silly sot never dreaming on the treacheryintended against him. Many Monkes beside were recreating themselvesin the Cloyster, most of them delighting to behold the follies of_Ferando_, on whom the potion beganne so to worke, that he slept inwalking, nodding and reeling as hee went, till at the last hee felldowne, as if he had beene dead.
The Abbot pretending great admiration at this accident, called hisMonkes about him, all labouring by rubbing his temples, throwingcold water and vinegar in his face, to revive him againe; alleagingthat some fume or vapour in the stomacke, had thus over-awed hisunderstanding faculties, and quite deprived him of life indeede. Atlength, when by tasting the pulse, and all their best employed paines,they saw that their labour was spent in vaine; the Abbot used suchperswasions to the Monkes, that they all beleeved him to be dead:whereupon they sent for his Wife and friends, who crediting as much asthe rest did, were very sad and sorrowfull for him.
The Abbot (cloathed as he was) laide him in a hollow vault under aTombe, such as there are used in stead of Graves; his Wife returninghome againe to her House, with a young Sonne which shee had by herHusband, protesting to keepe still within her House, and never more tobe seene in any company, but onely to attend her young Sonne, and bevery carefull of such wealth as her Husband had left unto her.
From the City of _Bologna_, that very instant day, a well staide andgoverned Monke there arrived, who was a neere kinsman to the Abbot,and one whom he might securely trust. In the dead time of the night,the Abbot and this Monke arose, and taking _Ferando_ out of the vault,carried him into a darke dungeon or prison, which he termed by thename of Purgatory, and where hee used to discipline his Monkes, whenthey had committed any notorious offence, deserving to be punishedin Purgatory. There they tooke off his usuall wearing garments, andcloathed him in the habite of a Monke, even as if he had beene one ofthe house; and laying him on a bundle of straw, so left him untillhis sences should be restored againe. On the day following, late inthe evening, the Abbot, accompanied with his trusty Monke, (by wayof visitation) went to see and comfort the supposed widow; findingher attired in blacke, very sad and pensive, which by his wontedperswasions, indifferently he appeased; challenging the benefit of herpromise. Shee being thus alone, not hindered by her Husbands jealousie,and espying another goodly gold Ring on his finger, how frailetyand folly over-ruled her, I know not, shee was a weake woman, he adivelish deluding man; and the strongest holdes by over-long batteryand besieging, must needes yeeld at the last, as I feare shee did: forvery often afterward, the Abbot used in this manner to visit her, andthe simple ignorant Countrey people, carrying no such ill opinion ofthe holy Abbot, and having seene _Ferando_ lying for dead in the vault,and also in the habite of a Monke; were verily perswaded, that whenthey saw the Abbot passe by to and fro, but most commonly in the nightseason, it was the ghost of _Ferando_, who walked in this manner afterhis death, as a just pennance for his jealousie.
When _Ferandoes_ sences were recovered againe, and he found himselfe tobe in such a darkesome place; not knowing where he was, he beganne tocrie and make a noyse. When presently the Monke of _Bologna_ (accordingas the Abbot had tutured him) stept into the dungeon, carrying a littlewaxe candle in the one hand, and a smarting whip in the other, goingto _Ferando_, he stript off his cloathes, and began to lash him verysoundly. _Ferando_ roaring and crying, could say nothing elsee, but,where am I? The Monke (with a dreadfull voyce) replyed: Thou art inPurgatory. How? saide _Ferando_; what? Am I dead? Thou art dead (quoththe Monke) and began to lash him lustily againe. Poore _Ferando_,crying out for his Wife and little Sonne, demanded a number of idlequestions, whereto the Monke still fitted him with as fantastickeanswers. Within a while after, he set both foode and wine before him,which when _Ferando_ sawe, he saide; How is this? Doe dead men eate anddrinke? Yes, replyed the Monke, and this foode which here thou seest,thy Wife brought hither to their Church this morning, to have Massesdevoutly sung for thy soule; and as to other, so must it be set beforethee, for such is the command of the Patrone of this place.
_Ferando_ having lyen entranced three dayes and three nights, felthis stomacke well prepared to eate, and feeding very heartily, stillsaide; O my good Wife, O my loving Wife, long mayest thou live forthis extraordinary kindnesse. I promise thee (sweete heart) while Iwas alive, I cannot remember, that ever any foode and wine was halfeso pleasing to me. O my deare Wife; O my hony Wife. Canst thou (quoththe Monke) prayse and commend her now, using her so villainouslyin thy life time? Then did he whip him more fiercely then before,when _Ferando_ holding up his hands, as craving for mercy,
demandedwherefore he was so severely punished? I am so commanded (quoththe Monke) by supreme power, and twice every day must thou be thusdisciplinde. Upon what occasion? replyed _Ferando_. Because (quoth theMonke) thou wast most notoriously jealous of thy Wife, shee being thevery kindest woman to thee, as all the Countrey containeth not herequall. It is too true, answered _Ferando_, I was over-much jealous ofher indeede: but had I knowne, that jealousie was such a hatefull sinneagainst Heaven, I never would have offended therein.
Now (quoth the Monke) thou canst confesse thine owne wilfull follie,but this should have beene thought on before, and whilest thou wastliving in the World. But if the Fates vouchsafe to favour thee somuch, as hereafter to send thee to the World once more; remember thypunishment here in Purgatory, and sinne no more in that foule sinne ofjealousie. I pray you Sir tell me, replyed _Ferando_, after men aredead, and put into Purgatory, is there any hope of their ever visitingthe World any more? Yes, saide the Monke, if the fury of the Fates beonce appeased. O that I knew (quoth _Ferando_) by what meanes theywould be appeased, and let me visite the World once againe: I wouldbe the best Husband that ever lived, and never more be jealous, neverwrong so good a Wife, nor ever use one unkind word against her. In themeane while, and till their anger may be qualified; when next my Wifedoth send me foode, I pray you worke so much, that some Candles may besent me also, because I live here in uncomfortable darknesse; and whatshould I doe with foode, if I have no light. Shee sends Lights enow,answered the Monke, but they are burnt out on the Altar in Masse-time,and thou canst have none other here, but such as I must bring my selfe;neither are they allowed, but onely for the time of thy feeding andcorrecting.
_Ferando_ breathing foorth a vehement sigh, desired to know what hewas, being thus appointed to punish him in Purgatory? I am (quoth theMonke) a dead man, as thou art, borne in _Sardignia_, where I serveda very jealous Master; and because I soothed him in his jealousie,I had this pennance imposed on me, to serve thee here in Purgatorywith meate and drinke, and (twice every day) to discipline thy body,untill the Fates have otherwise determined both for thee and me. Why?saide _Ferando_, are any other persons here, beside you and I? Manythousands, replyed the Monke, whom thou canst neither heare nor see,no more then they are able to doe the like by us. But how farre, saide_Ferando_, is Purgatory distant from our native Countries? About somefifty thousand leagues, answered the Monke; but yet passable in amoment, whensoever the offended Fates are pleased: and many Masses aredaily saide for thy soule, at the earnest entreaty of thy Wife, in hopeof thy conversion; and becomming a new man, hating to be jealous anymore hereafter.
In these and such like speeches, as thus they beguiled the time, so didthey observe it for a dayly course, sometime discipling, other whileseating and drinking, for the space of ten whole moneths together: inthe which time, the Abbot sildome failed to visite _Ferandoes_ wife,without the least suspition in any of the neighbours, by reason oftheir setled opinion, concerning the nightly walking of _Ferandoes_ghost. But, as all pleasures cannot bee exempted from some followingpaine or other, so it came to passe, that _Ferandoes_ wife provedto be conceived with childe, and the time was drawing on for herdeliverance. Now began the Abbot to consider, that _Ferandoes_ follywas sufficiently chastised, and hee had beene long enough in Purgatory:wherefore, the better to countenance all passed inconveniences, itwas now thought high time, that _Ferando_ should be sent to the worldagaine, and set free from the paines of Purgatory, as having payed forhis jealousie dearely, to teach him better wisedome hereafter.
Late in the dead time of the night the Abbot himselfe entred intothe darke dungeon, and in an hollow counterfeited voyce, called to_Ferando_, saying. Comfort thy selfe _Ferando_, for the Fates are nowpleased, that thou shalt bee released out of Purgatory, and sent tolive in the world againe. Thou didst leave thy wife newly conceivedwith childe, and this very morning she is delivered of a goodly Sonne,whom thou shalt cause to be named _Bennet_: because, by the incessantprayers of the holy Abbot, thine owne loving wife, and for sweet Saint_Bennets_ sake, this grace and favour is afforded thee. _Ferando_hearing this, was exceeding joyfull, and returned this answere:For ever honoured be the Fates, the holy Lord Abbot, blessed Saint_Bennet_, and my most dearely beloved wife, whom I will faithfully lovefor ever, and never more offend her by any jealousie in me.
When the next foode was sent to _Ferando_, so much of the powderwas mingled with the wine, as would serve onely for foure houresentrauncing, in which time, they clothed him in his owne wearingapparell againe, the Abbot himselfe in person, and his honest trustyMonke of _Bologna_, conveying and laying him in the same vault underthe Tombe, where at the first they gave him buriall. The next morningfollowing, about the breake of day, _Ferando_ recovered his sences, andthorow divers chinkes and crannies of the Tombe, descried day-light,which hee had not seene in tenne moneths space before. Perceiving thenplainely, that he was alive, he cried out aloude, saying: Open, open,and let mee forth of Purgatory, for I have beene heere long enough inconscience. Thrusting up his head against the cover of the Tombe, whichwas not of any great strength, neither well closed together; hee put itquite off the Tombe, and so got forth upon his feete: at which instanttime, the Monks having ended their morning Mattins, and hearing thenoyse, ran in hast thither, and knowing the voyce of _Ferando_, sawthat he was come forth of the Monument.
Some of them were ancient Signiors of the house, and yet but meereNovices (as all the rest were) in these cunning and politiquestratagems of the Lord Abbot, when hee intended to punish any one inPurgatory, and therefore, being affrighted, and amazed at this rareaccident; they fled away from him running to the Abbot, who making ashew to them, as if he were but new come forth of his Oratory, in akinde of pacifying speeches, saide; Peace my deare Sonnes, bee notaffraide, but fetch the Crosse and Holy-water hither; then follow me,and I will shew you, what miracle the Fates have pleased to shew in ourConvent, therefore be silent, and make no more noise; all which wasperformed according to his command.
_Ferando_ looking leane and pale, as one, that in so long time haddenot seene the light of heaven, and endured such strict disciplinetwice everie day: stood in a gastly amazement by the Tombes side, asnot daring to adventure any further, or knowing perfectly, whetherhe was (as yet) truly alive, or no. But when he saw the Monkes andAbbot comming, with their lighted Torches, and singing in a solemnemanner of Procession, he humbled himselfe at the Abbots feete, saying.Holy Father, by your zealous prayers (as hath bin miraculouslyrevealed to me) and the prayers of blessed S. _Bennet_; as also of myhonest, deare, and loving Wife, I have bin delivered from the painesof Purgatory, and brought againe to live in this world; for whichunspeakable grace and favour, most humbly I thank the well-pleasedFates, S. _Bennet_, your Father-hood, and my kinde Wife, and willremember all your loves to me for ever. Blessed be the Fates, answeredthe Abbot, for working so great a wonder heere in our Monastery. Gothen my good Son, seeing the Fates have bin so gracious to thee; Go(I say) home to thine owne house, and comfort thy kind wife, who eversince thy departure out of this life, hath lived in continuall mourning,love, cherish, and make much of her, never afflicting her henceforthwith causlesse jealousie. No I warrant you good Father, replyed_Ferando_; I have bin well whipt in Purgatory for such folly, andtherefore I might be called a starke foole, if I should that way offendany more, either my loving wife, or any other.
The Abbot causing _Miserere_ to be devoutly sung, sprinkling _Ferando_well with Holy-water, and placing a lighted Taper in his hand, sent himhome so to his owne dwelling Village: where when the Neighbours beheldhim, as people halfe frighted out of their wits, they fledde away fromhim, so scared and terrified, as if they had seene some dreadfullsight, or gastly apparition; his wife being as fearfull of him, as anyof the rest. He called to them kindly by their severall names, tellingthem, that hee was newly risen out of his grave, and was a man as hehad bin before. Then they began to touch and feele him, growing intomore certaine assurance of him, perceiving him to be a living manindeede: whereupon, they demanded
many questions of him; and he, asif he were become farre wiser then before, tolde them tydings, fromtheir long deceased Kindred and Friends, as if he had met with themall in Purgatory, reporting a thousand lyes and fables to them, which(neverthelesse) they beleeved.
Then he told them what the miraculous voice had said unto him,concerning the birth of another young Sonne, whom (according as he wascommanded) he caused to be named _Bennet Ferando_. Thus his returneto life againe, and the daily wonders reported by him, caused nomeane admiration in the people, with much commendation of the AbbotsHolynesse, and _Ferandoes_ happy curing of his jealousie.