Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation: Chapter 15

Chapter 15

VINCENT: Verily, good uncle, you have in my mind well declared
these kinds of the night's fear.

ANTHONY: Surely, cousin, but yet are there many more than I can
either remember or find. Howbeit, one yet cometh now to my mind,
of which I thought not before, and which is yet in mine opinion.
That is, cousin, where the devil tempteth a man to kill and
destroy himself.

VINCENT: Undoubtedly this kind of tribulation is marvellous and
strange. And the temptation is of such a sort that some men have
the opinion that those who once fall into that fantasy can never
fully cast it off.

ANTHONY: Yes, yes, cousin, many a hundred, and else God forbid. But
the thing that maketh men so to say is that, of those who finally do
destroy themselves, there is much speech and much wondering, as it
is well worthy. But many a good man and woman hath sometime--yea,
for some years, once after another--continually been tempted to do
it, and yet hath, by grace and good counsel, well and virtuously
withstood that temptation, and been in conclusion clearly delivered
of it. And their tribulation is not known abroad and therefore not
talked of.

But surely, cousin, a horrible sore trouble it is to any man or
woman whom the devil tempteth with that temptation. Many have I
heard of, and with some have I talked myself, who have been sore
cumbered with it, and I have marked not a little the manner of
them.

VINCENT: I pray you, good uncle, show me somewhat of such things
as you perceive therein. For first, whereas you call the kind of
temptation the daughter of pusillanimity and thereby so near of
kin to the night's fear, methinketh on the other hand that it is
rather a thing that cometh of a great courage and boldness. For
they dare with their own hands to put themselves to death, from
which we see almost every man shrink and flee, and many of them we
know by good proof and plain experience for men of great heart and
excellent bold courage.

ANTHONY: I said, Cousin Vincent, that of pusillanimity cometh
this temptation, and very truth it is that indeed so it doth. But
yet I meant not that only of faint heart and fear it cometh and
growth always. For the devil tempteth sundry folk by sundry ways.

But I spoke of no other kind of that temptation save only that one
which is the daughter that the devil begetteth upon pusillanimity,
because those other kinds of temptation fall not under the nature
of tribulation and fear, and therefore fall they far out of our
matter here. They are such temptations as need only counsel, and
not comfort or consolation, because the persons tempted with them
are not troubled in their mind with that kind of temptation. but
are very well content both in the tempting and in the following.
For some have there been, cousin, such that they have been tempted
to do it by means of a foolish pride, and some by means of anger,
without any fear at all--and very glad to go thereto, I deny not.
But if you think that none fall into it by fear, but that they
have all a mighty strong stomach, that shall you well see to be
the contrary. And that peradventure in those of whom you would
think the stomach more strong and their heart and courage most
bold.

VINCENT: Yet is it marvel to me, uncle, that it should be as you
say it is--that this temptation is unto them that do it for pride
or anger no tribulation, or that they should not need, in so great
a distress and peril, both of body and soul to be lost, no manner
of good ghostly comfort.

ANTHONY: Let us therefore, cousin, consider an example or two,
for thereby shall we better perceive it.

There was here in Buda in King Ladilaus' days, a good poor honest
man's wife. This woman was so fiendish that the devil, perceiving
her nature, put her in the mind that she should anger her husband
so sore that she might give him occasion to kill her, and then
should he be hanged because of her.

VINCENT: This was a strange temptation indeed! What the devil
should she be the better then?

ANTHONY: Nothing, but that it eased her shrewish stomach
beforehand, to think that her husband should be hanged afterward.
And peradventure, if you look about the world and consider it
well, you shall find more such stomachs than a few. Have you never
heard a furious body plainly say that, to see such-and-such man
have a mischief, he would with good will be content to lie as long
in hell as God liveth in heaven?

VINCENT: Forsooth, and some such have I heard.

ANTHONY: This mind of his was not much less mad than hers, but
rather perhaps the more mad of the twain. For the woman
peradventure did not cast so far peril therein.

But to tell you now to what good pass her charitable purpose came:
As her husband (the man was a carpenter) stood hewing with his
chip axe upon a piece of timber, she began after her old guise to
revile him so that he waxed wroth at last, and bade her get
herself in or he would lay the helm of his axe about her back. And
he said also that it would be little sin even with that axe head
to chop off the unhappy head of hers that carried such an
ungracious tongue in it. At that word the devil took his time and
whetted her tongue against her teeth. And when it was well
sharpened she swore to him in very fierce anger, "By the mass,
whoreson husband, I wish thou wouldst! Here lieth my head, lo,"
and with that down she laid her head upon the same timber log. "If
thou smite it not off, I beshrew thine whoreson's heart!" With
that, likewise as the devil stood at her elbow, so stood (as I
heard say) his good angel at his, and gave him ghostly courage and
bade him be bold and do it. And so the good man up with his chip
axe and at a chop he chopped off her head indeed.

There were other folk standing by, who had a good sport to hear
her chide, but little they looked for this chance, till it was
done ere they could stop it. They said they heard her tongue
babble in her head, and call, "Whoreson, whoreson!" twice after
the head was off the body. At least, thus they all reported
afterward unto the king, except only one, and that was a woman,
and she said that she heard it not.

VINCENT: Forsooth, this was a wonderful work! What became, uncle,
of the man?

ANTHONY: The king gave him his pardon.

VINCENT: Verily, he might in conscience do no less.

ANTHONY: But then was there almost made a statute that in such a
case there should never after be granted a pardon, but (if the
truth were able to be proved) no husband should need any pardon,
but should have leave by the law to follow the example of that
carpenter, and do the same.

VINCENT: How happed it, uncle, that that good law was left unmade?

ANTHONY: How happed it? As it happeth, cousin, that many more be
left unmade as well as that one, and almost as good as it too,
both here and in other countries--and sometimes some that are
worse be made in their stead. But they say that the hindrance of
that law was the queen's grace, God forgive her soul! It was the
greatest thing, I daresay, that she had to answer for, good lady,
when she died. For surely, save for that one thing, she was a full
blessed woman.

But letting now that law pass, this temptation in procuring her
own death was unto this carpenter's wife no tribulation at all, as
far as men could ever perceive. For she liked well to think upon
it, and she even longed for it. And therefore if she had before
told you or me her intent, and that she would so fain bring it so
to pass, we could have had no occasion to comfort her, as one that
were in tribulation. But marry, counsel her we might, as I told
you before, to refrain and amend that malicious devilish intent.

VINCENT: Verily, that is truth. But such as are well willing to
do any purpose that is so shameful, they will never tell their
intent to nobody, for very shame.

ANTHONY: Some will not, indeed. And yet are there some again who,
be their intent never so shameful, find some yet whom their heart
serveth them to make of their counsel therein.

Some of my folk here can tell you that no longer ago than even
yesterday, someone who came out of Vienna told us, among other
talking, that a rich widow (but I forgot to ask him where it
happened), having all her life a high proud mind and a malicious
one--as those two virtues are wont always to keep company
together--was at dispute with another neighbour of hers in the
town. And on a time she made of her counsel a poor neighbour of
hers, whom she thought she might induce, for money, to follow her
intent. With him she secretly spoke, and offered him ten ducats
for his labour, to do so much for her as in a morning early to
come to her house and with an axe unknown privily strike off her
head. And when he had done so, he was to convey the bloody axe
into the house of him with whom she was at dispute, in such manner
as it might be thought that he had murdered her for malice. And
then she thought she should be taken for a martyr. And yet had she
farther devised that another sum of money should afterward be sent
to Rome, and there should be measures made to the Pope that she
might in all haste be canonized!

This poor man promised, but intended not to perform it. Howbeit,
when he deferred it, she provided the axe herself. And he
appointed with her the morning when he should come and do it, and
thereupon into her house he came. But then set he such other folk
as he wished should know of her mad fancy, in such place appointed
as they might well hear her and him talk together. And after he
had talked with her so much as he thought was enough, he made her
lie down, and took up the axe in his own hand. And with the other
hand he felt the edge, and found a fault that it was not sharp,
and that therefore he would in no wise do it, till he had ground
it sharp. He could not otherwise, he said, for pity, it would put
her to so much pain. And so, full sore against her will, for that
time she kept her head still. But because she would no more suffer
any more to deceive her and put her off with delays, ere it was
very long thereafter, she hung herself with her own hands.

VINCENT: Forsooth, here was a tragical story, whereof I never
heard the like.

ANTHONY: Forsooth, the party who told it to me swore that he knew
it for a truth. And he is, I promise you, such as I reckon for
right honest and of substantial truth.

Now, here she forbore not, as shameful an intent as she had, to
make someone of her counsel--and yet, I remember, another too,
whom she trusted with the money that should procure her
canonization. And here I believe that her temptation came not of
fear but of high malice and pride. And then was she so glad in
that pleasant device that, as I told you, she took it for no
tribulation. And therefore comforting of her could have no place.
But if men should give her anything toward her help, it must have
been, as I told you, good counsel.

And therefore, as I said, this kind of temptation to a man's own
destruction, which requireth counsel, and is outside tribulation,
was outside of our matter, which is to treat of comfort in
tribulation.

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