The decameron containing an hundred pleasant nouels. Wittily discoursed, betweene seauen honourable ladies, and three noble gentlemen.

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 his Graue, and put into a darke prison, where they made him beleeue, that hee was in Purgatorie. Afterward, when time came that hee should bee raised to life againe; hee was made to keepe a childe, which the Abbot had got by his Wife.

The eight Nouell.

Wherein is displayed, the apparant folly of Iealousie: And the subtilty of some religious carnall minded men, to beguile silly and simple maried men.

[illustration]

WHen the long discourse of Madame Aemilia was ended, not displeasing to any, in regard of the length, but rather held too short, because no ex∣ceptions could be taken against it, comparing the raritie of the accidents, and changes toge∣ther: the Queene turned to Ma∣dame Lauretto, giuing her such a manifest signe, as she knew, that it was her turne to follow next, and therefore shee tooke occasi∣on to begin 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 I heard by the very last relation, that a dead man was wept and mournd for, in sted of another being then aliue. In which respect. I am now to let you know, how a liuing man was buried for dead, and being raised againe, yet not as liuing, himselfe, and diuers more beside, did beleeue that he came forth of his graue, and adored him as a Saint, who was the occasion thereof, and who (as a bad man) deser∣ued iustly to be condemned.

In Tuscanie there was sometime an Abby, seated, as now we see com∣monly they are, in a place not much frequented with people, and thereof a Monke was Abbot, very holy and curious in all things else, saue onely a wanton appetite to women: which yet hee kept so cleanly to himselfe, that though some did suspect it, yet it was knowne to very few. 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 vnderstanding, yet he fell into great familiarity with the Abbot; who made vse of this friendly conuersation to no other end, but for diuers times of recreation, when he delighted to smile at his silly and sottish be∣hauiour.

Vpon this his priuate frequentation with the Abbot, at last he obser∣ued, that Ferando had a very beautifull woman to his wife, with whom he grew so deepely in loue, as hee had no other meditations either by day or night, but how to become acceptable in her fauour. Neuerthelesse, he con∣cealed his amorous passions priuately to himselfe, and could plainely per∣ceiue, that although Ferando (in all things else) was meerely a simple fel∣low, and more like an Idiot, then of any sensible apprehension: yet was he wise enough in louing his wife, keeping her carefully out of all com∣pany, as one (indeede) very iealous, least any should kisse her, but onely himselfe, which droue the Abbot into despaire, for euer attaining the is∣sue of his desire. Yet being subtill, crafty, and cautelous, he wrought so on the flexible nature of Ferando, that hee brought his wife with him di∣uers dayes to the Monasterie; where they walked in the goodly Garden, discoursing on the beatitudes of eternall life, as also the most holy deedes of men and women, long since departed out of this life, in meruailous ci∣uill and modest manner. Yet all these were but traines to a further in∣tention, for the Abbot must needes bee her ghostly Father, and shee come to be confessed by him; which the foole Ferando tooke as an espe∣ciall fauour, and therefore he gaue 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, before she would say any thing else, thus she began: Sacred Father, if God had not giuen me such an husband as I haue, or else had bestowed on me none at all; I might haue beene so happy, by the meanes of your holy do∣ctrine, very easily to haue entred into the way, wherof you spake the other day, which leadeth to eternall life. But when I consider with my selfe, what manner of man Ferando is, and thinke vpon his folly withall; I may well terme my selfe to be a widdow, although I am a maried wife, because while he liueth, I cannot haue any other husband. And yet (as sottish as you see him) he is (without any occasion giuen him) so extreamely iea∣lous of me; as I am not able to liue with him, but onely in continuall tri∣bulation & hearts griefe. In which respect, before I enter into confession, I most humbly beseech you, that you would vouchsafe (in this distresse) to assist me with your fatherly aduise and counsell, because, if thereby I cannot attaine to a more pleasing kinde of happinesse; neither confession, or any thing else, is able 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 the path to his hoped pleasures, whereupon he said. Deare daughter, I make no question to the contrary, but it must needes be an exceeding infelicity, to so faire and goodly a young woman as you are, to be plagued with so sot∣tish an husband, brain-sick, and without the vse of common vnderstand∣ing; but yet subiect to a more bellish affliction then all these, namely iea∣lousie, and therfore you being in this wofull manner tormented, your tri∣bulations are not only so much the more credited, but also as amply grie∣ued for, & pittied. In which heauy and irksom perturbations, I see not any

meanes of remedy, but onely one, being a kinde of physicke (beyond all other) to cure him of his foolish iealousie; which medicine is very fami∣liar to me, because I know best how to compound it, alwayes prouided, that you can be of so strong a capacity, as to be secret in what I shall say vnto you.

Good Father (answered the Woman) neuer make you any doubt thereof, for I would rather endure death it selfe, then disclose any thing which you enioyne me to keepe secret: wherefore, I beseech you Sir to tell me, how, and by what meanes it may be done. If (quoth the Abbot) you desire to haue him perfectly cured, of a disease so dangerous and of∣fensiue, of necessity he must be sent into Purgatory. How may that be done, saide the woman, he being aliue? He must needs die, answered the Abbot, for his more speedy passage thither; and when he hath endured so much punishment, as may expiate the quality of his iealousie, we haue certaine deuoute and zealous prayers, whereby to bring him backe againe to life, in as able manner as euer 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) mar∣rie againe, because the heauens will therewith be highly offended: but Ferando being returned to life againe, you must repossesse him as your Husband, but neuer to be iealous any more. Alas Sir (quoth the woman) so that he may be cured of his wicked iealousie, and I no longer liue in such an hellish imprisonment, doe as you please.

Now was the Abbot (well neere) on the highest step of his hope, ma∣king her constant promise, to accomplish it: But (quoth he) what shall be my recompence when I haue done it? Father, saide shee, whatsoeuer you please to aske, if it remaine within the compasse of my power: but you being such a vertuous and sanctified man, and I a woman of so meane worth or merit; what sufficient recompence can I be able to make you? Whereunto the Abbot thus replyed. Faire woman, you are able to doe as much for me, as I am for you, because as I doe dispose my selfe, to per∣forme a matter for your comfort and consolation, euen so ought you to be as mindfull of me, in any action concerning my life and welfare. In any such matter Sir (quoth shee) depending on your benefit so strictly, you may safely presume to command me. You must then (saide the Ab∣bot) grant me your loue, and the kinde embracing of your person; be∣cause so violent are mine affections, as I pine and consume away daily, till I enioy the fruition of my desires, and none can help me therein but you.

When the woman heard these words, as one confounded with much amazement, this shee replied. Alas, holy Father! what a strange motion haue you made to me? I beleeued very faithfully, that you were no lesse then a Saint, and is it conuenient, that when silly women come to aske counsell of such sanctified men, they should returne them such vnfitting answeres? Be not amazed good woman, saide the Abbot, at the motion which I haue made vnto you, because holinesse is not thereby impaired a iot in me; for it is the inhabitant of the soule, the other is an imperfection

attending on the body: but be it whatsoeuer, your beauty hath so power∣fully preuailed on me, that entire loue hath compelled me to let you know it. And more may you boast of your beauty, then any that euer I beheld before, considering, it is so pleasing to a sanctified man, that it can draw him from diuine contemplations, to regard a matter of so humble an equalitie.

Let me tell you moreouer, woorthy Woman, that you see me reue∣renced here as Lord Abbot, yet am I but as other men are, and in re∣gard I am neither aged, nor mishapen, me thinkes the motion I haue made, should be the lesse offensiue to you, and therefore the sooner granted. For, all the while as Ferando remaineth in Purgatory, doe you but imagine him to be present with you, and your perswasion will the more absolutely be confirmed. No man can, or shall be priuy to our close meetings, for I carrie the same holy opinion among all men, as you your selfe conceiued of me, and none dare be so saucie, as to call in question whatsoeuer I doe or say, because my wordes are Ora∣cles, and mine actions more then halfe miracles; doe you not then re∣fuse so gracious an offer. Enow there are, who would gladly enioy that, which is francke and freely presented to you, and which (if you be a wise Woman) is meerely impossible for you to refuse. Richly am I possessed of Gold and Iewels, which shall be all yours, if you please in fauour to be mine; wherein I will not be gaine-saide, except your selfe doe denie me.

The Woman hauing her eyes fixed on the ground, knew not wel how shee should denie him; and yet in plaine words, to say shee consented, shee held it to be ouer-base and immodest, and ill agreeing with her for∣mer reputation: when the Abbot had well noted this attention in her, and how silent shee stood without returning any answer; he accounted the conquest to be more then halfe his owne: so that continuing on his formall perswasions, hee neuer ceased, but allured her still to beleeue whatsoeuer he saide. And shee much ashamed of his importunity, but more of her owne flexible yeelding weakenesse, made answer, that shee would willingly accomplish his request; which yet shee did not absolute∣lie grant, vntill Ferando were first sent into Purgatory. And till then (quoth the Abbot) I will not vrge any more, because I purpose his speedy sending thither: but yet, so farre lend me your assistance, that either to morrow, or else the next day, he may hither once more to conuerse with me. So putting a faire gold Ring on her finger, they parted till their next meeting.

Not a little ioyfull was the Woman of so rich a gift, hoping to en∣ioy a great many more of them, and returning home to her neighbours, acquainted them with wonderfull matters, all concerning the sancti∣monious life of the Abbot, a meere miracle of men, and worthy to be truely termed a Saint. Within two dayes after, Ferando went to the Abbye againe, and so soone as the Abbot espyed him, hee pre∣sently prepared for his sending of him into Purgatorie. He neuer was

without a certaine kinde of drugge, which being beaten into powder, would worke so powerfully vpon the braine, and all the other vitall sen∣ces, as to entrance them with a deadly sleepe, and depriue them of all motion, either in the pulses, or any other part else, euen as if the body were dead indeede; in which operation it would so hold and continue, according to the quantity giuen and drunke, as it pleased the Abbot to or∣der the matter. This powder or drugge, was sent him by a great Prince of the East, and therewith he wrought wonders vpon his Nouices, sen∣ding them into Purgatory when he pleased, and by such punishments as he inflicted on them there, made them (like credulous asses) beleeue what∣soeuer himselfe listed.

So much of this powder had the Abbot prouided, as should suffice for three dayes entrauncing, and hauing compounded it with a very pleasant Wine, calling Ferando into his Chamber, there gaue it him to drinke, and afterward walked with him about the Cloyster, in very friendly con∣ference together, the silly sot neuer dreaming on the treachery intended against him. Many Monkes beside were recreating themselues in the Cloyster, most of them delighting to behold the follies of Ferando, on whom the potion beganne so to worke, that he slept in walking, nodding and reeling as hee went, till at the last hee fell downe, as if he had beene dead.

The Abbot pretending great admiration at this accident, called his Monkes about him, all labouring by rubbing his temples, throwing cold water and vinegar in his face, to reuiue him againe; alleaging that some fume or vapour in the stomacke, had thus ouer-awed his vnderstanding faculties, and quite depriued him of life indeede. At length, when by tasting the pulse, and all their best employed paines, they saw that their labour was spent in vaine; the Abbot vsed such perswasions to the Monkes, that they all beleeued him to be dead: whereupon they sent for his Wife and friends, who crediting as much as the rest did, were very sad and sorrowfull for him.

The Abbot (cloathed as he was) laide him in a hollow vault vnder a Tombe, such as there are vsed in stead of Graues; his Wife returning home againe to her House, with a young Sonne which shee had by her Husband, protesting to keepe still within her House, and neuer more to be seene in any company, but onely to attend her young Sonne, and be very carefull of such wealth as her Husband had left vnto her.

From the City of Bologna, that very instant day, a well staide and gouerned Monke there arriued, who was a neere kinsman to the Ab∣bot, 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 darge dungeon or prison, which he termed by the name of Purgatory, and where hee vsed to discipline his Monkes, when they had committed any notorious offence, deseruing to be punished in Purgatory. There they tooke off his vsuall wearing

garments, and cloathed him in the habite of a Monke, euen as if he had beene one of the house; and laying him on a bundle of straw, so left him vntill his sences should be restored againe. On the day following, late in the euening, the Abbot, accompanied with his trusty Monke, (by way of visitation) went to see and comfort the supposed widow; finding her at∣tired in blacke, very sad and pensiue, which by his wonted perswasions, indifferently he appeased; challenging the benefit of her promise. Shee being thus alone, not hindered by her Husbands iealousie, and espying another goodly gold Ring on his finger, how frailety and folly ouer-ruled her, I know not, shee was a weake woman, he a diuellish deluding man; and the strongest holdes by ouer-long battery and besieging, must needes yeeld at the last, as I feare shee did: for very often afterward, the Abbot vsed in this manner to visit her, and the simple ignorant Countrey peo∣ple, carrying no such ill opinion of the holy Abbot, and hauing seene Fe∣rando lying for dead in the vault, and also in the habite of a Monke; were verily perswaded, that when they saw the Abbot passe by to and fro, but most commonly in the night season, it was the ghost of Ferando, who walked in this manner after his death, as a iust pennance for his iea∣lousie.

When Ferandoes sences were recouered againe, and he found him∣selfe to be in such a darkesome place; not knowing where he was, he be∣ganne to crie and make a noyse. When presently the Monke of Bologna (according as the Abbot had tutured him) stept into the dungeon, car∣rying a little waxe candle in the one hand, and a smarting whip in the o∣ther, going to Ferando, he stript off his cloathes, and began to lash him very soundly. Ferando roaring and crying, could say nothing else, but, where am I? The Monke (with a dreadfull voyce) replyed: Thou art in Purgatory. How? saide Ferando; what? Am I dead? Thou art dead (quoth the Monke) and began to lash him lustily againe. Poore Ferando, crying out for his Wife and little Sonne, demanded a number of idle questions, whereto the Monke still fitted him with as fantasticke answers. 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 and drinke? Yes, replyed the Monke, and this foode which here thou seest, thy Wife brought hi∣ther to their Church this morning, to haue Masses deuoutly sung for thy soule; and as to other, so must it be set before thee, for such is the com∣mand of the Patrone of this place.

Ferando hauing lyen entranced three dayes and three nights, felt his stomacke well prepared to eate, and feeding very heartily, still saide; O my good Wife, O my louing Wife, long mayest thou liue for this extraor∣dinary kindnesse. I promise thee (sweete heart) while I was aliue, I can∣not remember, that euer any foode and wine was halfe so pleasing to me. O my deare Wife; O my hony Wife. Canst thou (quoth the Monke) prayse and commend her now, vsing her so villainously in thy life time? Then did he whip him more fiercely then before, when Ferando holding vp his hands, as crauing for mercy, demanded wherefore he was so se∣uerely

punished? I am so commanded (quoth the Monke) by supreme power, and twice euery day must thou be thus disciplinde. Vpon what occasion? replyed Ferando. Because (quoth the Monke) thou wast most notoriously iealous of thy Wife, shee being the very kindest woman to thee, as all the Countrey containeth not her equall. It is too true, answe∣red Ferando, I was ouer-much iealous of her indeede: but had I knowne, that iealousie was such a hatefull sinne against Heauen, I neuer would haue offended therein.

Now (quoth the Monke) thou canst confesse thine owne wilfull follie, but this should haue beene thought on before, and whilest thou wast li∣uing in the World. But if the Fates vouchsafe to fauour thee so much, as hereafter to send thee to the World once more; remember thy punish∣ment here in Purgatory, and sinne no more in that foule sinne of iealousie. I pray you Sir tell me, replyed Ferando, after men are dead, and put into Purgatory, is there any hope of their euer 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 once againe: I would be the best Husband that euer liued, and neuer more be iealous, neuer wrong so good a Wife, nor euer vse one vnkind word against her. In the meane while, and till their an∣ger may be qualified; when next my Wife doth send me ••oode, I pray you worke so much, that some Candles may be sent me also, because I liue here in vncomfortable darknesse; and what should I doe with foode, if I haue no light. Shee sends Lights enow, answered the Monke, but they are burnt out on the Altar in Masse-time, and thou canst haue none other here, but such as I must bring my selfe; neither are they allowed, but one∣ly 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 serued a very iealous Master; and because I soothed him in his iealousie, I had this pen∣nance imposed on me, to serue thee here in Purgatory with meate and drinke, and (twice euery day) to discipline thy body, vntill the Fates haue otherwise determined both for thee and me. Why? saide Ferando, are a∣ny other persons here, beside you and I? Many thousands, replyed the Monke, whom thou canst neither heare nor see, no more then they are a∣ble to doe the like by vs. But how farre, saide Ferando, is Purgatory di∣stant from our natiue Countries? About some fifty thousand leagues, answered the Monke; but yet passable in a moment, whensoeuer the of∣fended Fates are pleased: and many Masses are daily saide for thy soule, at the earnest entreaty of thy Wife, in hope of thy conuersion; and be∣comming a new man, hating to be iealous any more hereafter.

In these and such like speeches, as thus they beguiled the time, so did they obserue 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 opi∣nion, concerning the nightly walking of Ferandoes ghost. But, as all plea∣sures cannot bee exempted from some following paine or other, so it came to passe, that Ferandoes wife proued to be conceiued with childe, and the time was drawing on for her deliuerance. Now began the Ab∣bot to consider, that Ferandoes folly was sufficiently chastised, and hee had beene long enough in Purgatory: wherefore, the better to counte∣nance all passed inconueniences, it was now thought high time, that Fe∣rando should be sent to the world againe, and set free from the paines of Purgatory, as hauing payed for his iealousie 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 liue in the world againe. Thou didst leaue thy wife newly conceiued with childe, and this very morning she is deliuered of a goodly Sonne, whom thou shalt cause to be named Bennet: because, by the incessant prayers of the holy Ab∣bot, thine owne louing wife, and for sweet Saint Bennets sake, this grace and fauour is afforded thee. Ferando hearing this, was exceeding ioy∣full, and returned this answere: For euer honoured be the Fates, the holy Lord Abbot, blessed Saint Bennet, and my most dearely beloued wife, whom I will faithfully loue for euer, and neuer more offend her by any iealousie in me.

When the next foode was sent to Ferando, so much of the powder was mingled with the wine, as would serue onely for foure houres en∣trauncing, in which time, they clothed him in his owne wearing apparell againe, the Abbot himselfe in person, and his honest trusty Monke of Bologna, conueying and laying him in the same vault vnder the Tombe, where at the first they gaue him buriall. The next morning following, about the breake of day, Ferando recouered his sences, and thorow di∣uers chinkes and crannies of the Tombe, descried day-light, which hee had not seene in tenne moneths space before. Perceiuing then plainely, that he was aliue, he cried out aloude, saying: Open, open, and let mee forth of Purgatory, for I haue beene heere long enough in conscience. Thrusting vp his head against the couer 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 vpon his feete: at which instant time, the Monks hauing 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 Nouices (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, bee not affraide, but fetch the Crosse and Holy-water hither; then follow me, and I will shew you, what miracle the Fates haue pleased to shew in our Conuent, therefore be si∣lent, 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 heauen, and endured such strict discipline twice euerie day: stood in a gastly amazement by the Tombes side, as not daring to aduenture any further, or knowing perfectly, whether he was (as yet) tru∣ly aliue, 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 feere, saying. Holy Father, by your zea∣lous prayers (as hath bin miraculously reuealed to me) and the prayers of blessed S. Bennet; as also of my honest, deare, and louing Wife, I haue bin deliuered from the paines of Purgatory, and brought againe to liue in this world; for which vnspeakable grace and fauor, most humbly I thank the well-pleased Fates, S. Bennet, your Father-hood, and my kinde Wife, and will remember all your loues to me for euer. Blessed be the Fates, an∣swered the Abbot, for working so great a wonder heere in our Monaste∣ry. Go then my good Son, seeing the Fates haue bin so gracious to thee; Go (I say) home to thine owne house, and comfort thy kind wife, who e∣uer since thy departure out of this life, hath liued in continual mourning, loue, cherish, and make much of her, neuer afflicting her henceforth with causlesse iealousie. No I warrant you good Father, replyed Ferando; I haue 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 lo∣uing wife, or any other.

The Abbot causing Miserere to be deuoutly 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 be∣held him, as people halfe frighted out of their wits, they fledde away from him, so scared and terrified, as if they had seene some dreadfull sight, or gastly apparition; his wife being as fearfull of him, as any of the rest. He called to them kindly by their seuerall names, telling them, that hee was newly risen out of his graue, and was a man as he had bin before. Then they began to touch and feele him, growing into more certaine assurance of him, perceiuing him to be a liuing man indeede: whereupon, they de∣manded many questions of him; and he, as if he were become farre wiser then before, tolde 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 (neuerthelesse) they beleeued.

Then he told them what the miraculous voice had said vnto him, con∣cerning 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 ad∣miration

in the people, with much commendation of the Abbots Holy∣nesse, and Ferandoes happy curing of his iealousie.