but this should have beene thought on before, and whilest thou wast
living in the World. But if the Fates vouchsafe to favour thee so
much, as hereafter to send thee to the World once more; remember thy
punishment here in Purgatory, and sinne no more in that foule sinne of
jealousie. I pray you Sir tell me, replyed Ferando, after men are
dead, and put into Purgatory, is there any hope of their ever visiting
the World any more? Yes, saide the Monke, if the fury of the Fates
be once appeased. O that I knew (quoth Ferando) by what meanes they
would be appeased, and let me visite the World on againe: I would be
the best Husband that ever lived, and never more be jealous, never
wrong so good a Wife, nor ever use one unkind word against her. In the
meane while, and till their anger may be qualified; when next my
Wife doth send me food, I pray you worke so much, that some Candles
may be sent me also, because I live here in uncomfortable
darkenesse; and what should I doe with food, 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 and correcting.
Ferando breathing foorth a vehement sigh, desired to know what he
was, being thus appointed to punish him in Purgatory? I am (quoth
the Monke) a dead man, as thou art, borne in Sardignia, where I served
a very jealous Master; and because: I soothed him in his jealousie,
I had this pennance imposed on me, to serve thee here in Purgatory
with 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? Many
thousands, 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 some
fifty thousand leagues, answered the Monke; but yet passable in a
moment, whensoever the offended Fates are pleased: and many Masses are
dally saide for thy soule, at the earnest entreaty of thy Wife, in
hope of thy conversion; and becomming a new man, hating to be
jealous any more hereafter.
In these and such like speeches, as thus they beguiled the time,
so did they observe it for a dayly course, sometime discipling,
other whiles eating and drinking, for the space of ten whole moneths
together: in the which time, the Abbot sildome failed to visite
Ferandoes wife, without the least suspition in any of the
neighbours, by reason of their setled opinion, concerning the
nightly walking Ferandoes ghost. But, as all pleasures cannot bee
exempted from some following paine or other, so it came to passe, that
Ferandoes wife proved to be conceived with childe, and the time was
drawing on for her deliverance. Now began the Abbot to consider,
that Ferandoes folly was sufficiently chastised, and he had beene long
enough in Purgatory: wherefore, the better to countenance all passed
inconveniences, it was now thought high time, that Ferando should be
sent to the world againe, and set free from the paines of Purgatory,
as having payed for his jealousie dearely, to teach him better
wisedome hereafter.
Late in the dead time of the night, the Abbot himselfe entred into
the darke dungeon, and in an hollow counterfeited voyce, called to
Ferando, saying. Comfort thy selfe Ferando, for the Fates are now
pleased, that thou shalt bee released out of Purgatory, and sent to
live in the world againe. Thou didst leave thy wife newly conceived
with childe, and this very morning she is delivered of a goodly Sonne,
whom thou shalt cause to be named Bennet: because, by the incessant
prayers 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 honored be the Fates, the holy Lord Abbot, blessed Saint
Bennet, and my most dearely beloved Wife, whom I will faithfully
love for ever, and never more offend her by any jealous in me.
When the next foode was sent to Ferando, so much of the powder was
mingled with the wine, as would serve onely for foure houres
entrauncing, in which time, they clothed him in his owne wearing
apparell againe, the Abbot himselfe in person, and his honest trusty
Monke of Bologna, conveying and laying him in the same vault under the
Tombe, where at the first they gave him buriall. The next morning
following, the breake of day, Ferando recovered his senses, and thorow
divers chinkes and crannies of the Tombe, descried daylight, which hee
had not see in tenne moneths space before. Perceiving then plainely,
that he was alive, he cryed out aloude, saying: Open, open, and let
mee forth of Purgatory, for I have beene heere long enough in
conscience. Thrusting up his head against the cover of the Tombe,
which was not of any great strength, neither well closed together; hee
put it quite off the Tombe, and so got forth upon his feete: at
which instant time, the Monks having ended their morning Mattins,
and hearing the noyse, ran in hast thither, and knowing the voyce of
Ferando, saw that he was come forth of the Monument.
Some of them were ancient Signiors of the house, and yet but meere
Novices (as all the rest were) in these cunning and politique
stratagems of the Lord Abbot, when hee intended to punish any one in
Purgatory: and therefore, being affrighted, and amazed at this rare
accident; they fled away from him, running to the Abbot, who making
a shew to them, as if he were but new come forth of his Oratory, in
a kinde of pacifying speeches, saide; Peace my deare Sonnes, be not
affraide, but fetch the Crosse and Holy-water hither; then follow
me, and I will shew you, what miracles the Fates have pleased to
shew in our Convent, therefore be silent, and make no more noise;
all which was performed according to his command.
Ferando looking leane and pale, as one, that in so long time hadde
not seene the light of heaven, and endured such strict discipline
twice every day: stood in a gastly amazement by the Tombesside, as not
daring to adventure any further, or knowing perfectly, whether he
was (as yet) truly alive, or no. But when he saw the Monkes and
Abbot comming, with their lighted Torches, and singing in a solemne
manner of Procession, he humbled himselfe at the Abbots feete, saying.
Holy Father, by your zealous prayers (as hath bin miraculously
revealed to me) and the prayers of blessed S. Bennet; as also of my
honest, deare, and loving Wife, I have bin delivered from the paines
of Purgatory, and brought againe to live in this world; for which
unspeakable grace and favour, most humbly I thanke the well-pleased
Fates, S. Bennet, your Father-hood, and my kinde Wife, and will
remember all your loves to me for ever. Blessed be the Fates, answered
the Abbot, for working so great a wonder heere in our Monastery. Go
then 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 ever
since thy departure out of this life, hath lived in continuall
mourning, love, cherish, and make much of her, never afflicting her
henceforth with causlesse jealousie. No I warrant you good Father,
replyed Ferando; I have bin well whipt in Purgatory for such folly,
and therefore I might be called a starke foole, if I should that way
offend any 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
him home so to his owne dwelling Village: where when the Neighbours
beheld him, as people halfe frighted out of their wits, they fled away
from him, so scared and terrified, as if they had seene some dreadfull
sight, or gastly apporition; his wife being as fearfull of him, as any
of the rest. He called to them kindly by their severall names, telling
them, that he was newly risen out of his grave, and was a man as he
had bin before. Then they began to touch and feele him, growing into
more certaine assurance of him, perceiving him to be a living man
indeede: whereupon they demanded many questions of him; and id as if
he were become farre wiser then before, told them tydings, from
their long deceased Kindred and Friends, as if he had met with them
all 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 was
commanded) he caused to be named Bennet Ferando. Thus his returne to
life againe, and the daily wonders reported by him, caused no meane
admiration in the people, with much commendation of the Abbots
holinesse, and Ferandoes happy curing his jealousie.
THE THIRD DAY, THE NINTH NOVELL
COMMENDING THE GOOD JUDGEMENT AND UNDERSTANDING IN LADIES OR
GENTLEWOMEN, THAT ARE OF A QUICKE AND APPREHENSIVE SPIRIT
Juliet of Narbona, cured the King of France of a daungerous Fistula,
in recompence whereof, she requested to enjoy as her husband in
marriage, Bertrand Count of Roussilion. Hee having married her against
his will, as utterly despising her, went to Florence, where hee made
love to a young Gentlewoman. Juliet, by a queint and cunning policy,
compassed the meanes (insted of his chosen new friend) to lye with her
owne husband, by whom shee conceived, and had two Sonnes; which
being afterward made knowne unto Count Bertrand, he accepted her
into his favour againe, and loved her as his loyall and honourable
wife.
Now there remained no more (to preserve the priviledge granted to
Dioneus uninfringed) but the Queene onely, to declare her Novell.
Wherefore, when the discourse of Madam Lauretta was ended, without
attending any motion to bee made for her next succeeding, with a
gracious and pleasing disposition, thus she began to speake. Who shall
tell any Tale heereafter, to carry any hope or expectation of a
liking, having heard the rare and wittie discourse of Madame Lauretta?
Beleeve me, it was very advantageable to us all, that she was not this
dayes first beginner, because few or none would have had any courage
to follow after her; and therefore the rest yet remaining, are the
more to be feared and suspected. Neverthelesse, to avoid the breach of
order, and to claime no priviledge by my place, of not performing what
I ought to do: prove as it may, a Tale you must have, and thus I
proceed.
There lived sometime in the kingdome of France, a Gentleman named
Isnarde, being the Count of Roussillion: who because hee was
continually weake, crazie, and sickly, kept a Physitian daily in his
house, who was called Master Gerard of Narbona. Count Isnarde had
one onely Sonne, very young in yeares, yet of towardly hope, faire,
comely, and of pleasing person, named Bertrand; with whom, many
other children of his age, had their education: and among them, a
daughter of the fore-named Physitian, called juliet; who, even in
these tender yeares, fixed her affection upon young Bertrand, with
such an earnest and intimate resolution, as was most admirable in so
yong a Maiden, and more then many times is noted in yeares of
greater discretion. Old Count Isnarde dying, young Bertrand fell as
a Ward to the King, and being sent to Paris, remained there under
his royall custodie and protection, to no little discomfort of young
Juliet, who became greevously afflicted in minde, because she had lost
the company of Bertrand.
Within some few yeares after, the Physitian her Father also dyed,
and then her desires grew wholly addicted, to visite Paris her selfe
in person, onely because she would see the young Count, awaiting but
time and opportunitie, to fit her stolne journey thither. But her
kindred and friends, to whose care and trust she was committed, in
regard of her rich dowrie, and being left as a fatherlesse Orphane:
were so circumspect of her walks and daily behaviour, as she could not
compasse any meane; of escaping. Her yeares made her now almost fit
for marriage, which so much more encreased her love to the Count,
making refusall of many woorthy husbands, and laboured by the
motions of her friends and kindred, yet all denyed, they not knowing
any reason for her refusalles. By this time the Count was become a
gallant goodly Gentleman, and able to make election of his wife,
whereby her affections were the more violently enflamed, as fearing
least some other should be preferred before her, and so her hopes be
utterly disappointed.
It was noysed abroad by common report, that the King of France
was in a very dangerous condition, by reason of a strange swelling
on his stomacke, which failing of apt and convenient curing, became
a Fistula, afflicting him daily with extraordinary paine and
anguish, no Chirurgeon or Physitian being found, that could minister
any hope of healing, but rather encreased the greefe, and drove it
to more vehement extreamitie, compelling the King, as dispairing
utterly of all helpe, to give over any further counsell or advice.
Heereof faire Juliet was wondrously joyfull, as hoping that this
accident would prove the meanes, not onely of her journey to Paris,
but if the disease were no more then she imagined; she could easily
cure it, and thereby compasse Count Bertrand to be her husband.
Hereupon, quickning up her wits, with remembrance of those rules of
Art, which (by long practise and experience) she had learned of her
skilfull Father, she compounded certaine hearbes together, such as she
knew fitting for that kinde of infirmity, and having reduced her
compound into powder, away she rode forthwith to Paris.
Being there arrived, all other serious matters set aside, first
shee must needs have a sight of Count Bertrand, as being the onely
Saint that caused her pilgrimage. Next she made meanes for her accesse
to the King, humbly entreating his Majesty, to vouchsafe her the sight
