A certain man of evil conduct flying,
through fear of his enemies or the law, out of the province of York, to the lord of the . . . castle [Anantis], took up his abode there, and having cast upon a service befitting his
humor, labored hard to increase rather than correct his own evil propensities. He married
a wife, to his own ruin indeed, as it afterwards appeared; for, hearing certain rumors
respecting her, he was vexed with the spirit of Jealousy. Anxious to ascertain the truth
of these reports, he pretended to be going on a journey from which he would not return for
some days; but coming back in the evening, he was privily introduced into his bedroom by a
maid-servant, who was in the secret, and lay hidden on a beam overhanging, his wife's
chamber, that he might prove with his own eyes if anything were done to the dishonor of
his marriage-bed. Thereupon beholding his wife in the act of fornication with a young man
of the neighborhood, and in his indignation forgetful of his purpose, he fell, and was
dashed heavily to the ground, near where they were lying.
The adulterer himself leaped up and
escaped; but the wife, cunningly dissembling the fact, busied herself in gently raising
her fallen husband from the earth. As soon as he had partially recovered, he upbraided her
with her adultery, and threatened punishment; but she answering, "Explain yourself,
my lord," said she; "you are speaking unbecomingly which must be imputed not to
you, but to the sickness with which you are troubled." Being much shaken by the fall,
and his whole body stupefied, he was attacked with a disease, insomuch that the man whom I
have mentioned as having related these facts to me visiting him in the pious discharge of
his duties, admonished him to make confession of his sins, and receive the Christian
Eucharist in proper form: but as he was occupied in thinking about what had happened to
him, and what his wife had said, put off the wholesome advice until the morrow -- that
morrow which in this world he was fated never to behold! -- for the next night, destitute
of Christian grace, and a prey to his well-earned misfortunes, he shared the deep slumber
of death.
A Christian burial, indeed, he received, though unworthy of it; but it did not
much benefit him: for issuing, by the handiwork of Satan, from his grave at night-time,
and pursued by a pack of dogs with horrible barkings, he wandered through the courts and
around the houses while all men made fast their doors, and did not dare to go abroad on
any errand whatever from the beginning of the night until the sunrise, for fear of meeting
and being beaten black and blue by this vagrant monster. But those precautions were of no
avail ; for the atmosphere, poisoned by the vagaries of this foul carcass, filled every
house with disease and death by its pestiferous breath.
Already did the town, which but a short
time ago was populous, appear almost deserted; while those of its inhabitants who had
escaped destruction migrated to other parts of the country, lest they too should die. The
man from whose mouth I heard these things, sorrowing over this desolation of his parish,
applied himself to summon a meeting of wise and religious men on that sacred day which is
called Palm Sunday, in order that they might impart healthful counsel in so great a
dilemma, and refresh the spirits of the miserable remnant of the people with consolation,
however imperfect. Having delivered a discourse to the inhabitants, after the solemn
ceremonies of the holy day had been properly performed, he invited his clerical guests,
together with the other persons of honor who were present, to his table. While they were
thus banqueting, two young men (brothers), who had lost their father by this plague,
mutually encouraging one another, said, "This monster has already destroyed our
father, and will speedily destroy us also, unless we take steps to prevent it. Let us,
therefore, do some bold action which will at once ensure our own safety and revenge our
father's death. There is no one to hinder us; for in the priest's house a feast is in
progress, and the whole town is as silent as if deserted. Let us dig up this baneful pest,
and burn it with fire."
Thereupon snatching up a spade of but
indifferent sharpness of edge, and hastening to the cemetery, they began to dig; and
whilst they were thinking that they would have to dig to a greater depth, they suddenly,
before much of the earth had been removed, laid bare the corpse, swollen to an enormous
corpulence, with its countenance beyond measure turgid and suffused with blood; while the
napkin in which it had been wrapped appeared nearly torn to pieces. The young men,
however, spurred on by wrath, feared not, and inflicted a wound upon the senseless
carcass, out of which incontinently flowed such a stream of blood, that it might have been
taken for a leech filled with the blood of many persons. Then, dragging it beyond the
village, they speedily constructed a funeral pile; and upon one of them saying that the
pestilential body would not burn unless its heart were torn out, the other laid open its
side by repeated blows of the blunted spade, and, thrusting in his hand, dragged out the
accursed heart. This being torn piecemeal, and the body now consigned to the flames, it
was announced to the guests what was going on, who, running thither, enabled themselves to
testify henceforth to the circumstances. When that infernal hell-hound had thus been
destroyed, the pestilence which was rife among the people ceased, as if the air, which had
been corrupted by the contagious motions of the dreadful corpse, were already purified by
the fire which had consumed it.
