favour their voyage.
As the rest, so did Madam Beritola goe on shore in the Iland,
where having found a separate and solitary place, fit for her silent
and sad meditations, secretly by her selfe, shee sorrowed for the
absence of her husband. Resorting daily to this her sad exercise,
and continuing there her complaints, unseene by any of the
Marriners, or whosoever else: there arrived suddenly a Galley of
Pyrates, who seazing on the small Barke, carried it and all the rest
in it away with them. When Beritola had finished het wofull
complaints, as daily shee was accustomed to doe, shee returned backe
to her children againe; but find no person there remayning, whereat
she wondered not a little: immediately (suspecting what had happened
indeede) she lent her lookes on the Sea, and saw the Galley, which
as yet had not gone farre, drawing the smaller vessell after her.
Hereby plainly she perceyved, that now she had lost her children, as
formerly shee had done her husband; being left there poore,
forsaken, and miserable, not knowing when, where, or how to finde
any of them againe; and calling for her Husband and Children, shee
fell downe in a swound uppon the shore.
Now was not any body neere, with coole water or any other remedy
to helpe the recovery of her lost powers; wherefore her spirits
might the more freely wander at their owne pleasure: but after they
were returned backe againe, and had won their wonted offices in her
body, drowned in teares, and wringing her hands, she did nothing but
call for her children and husband, straying all about in hope to finde
them, seeking in caves, dens, and every where else, that presented the
verie least glimpse of comfort. But when she saw all her paines sort
to no purpose, and darke night drawing swiftly on, hope and dismay
raising infinite perturbations, made her yet to be somewhat respective
of her selfe, and therefore departing from the sea-shore, she returned
to the solitary place, where she used to sigh and mourne alone by
her selfe.
The night being over-past with infinite feares and afrights, and
bright day saluting the world againe, with the expence of nine
houres and more, she fell to her former fruitlesse travailes. Being
somewhat sharply bitten with hunger, because the former day and
night shee had not tasted any foode: shee made therefore a benefit
of necessity, and fed on the greene hearbes so well as she could,
not without any piercing afflictions, what should become of her in
this extraordinary misery. As shee walked in these pensive
meditations, she saw a Goate enter into a Cave, and (within a while
after) come forth againe, wandring along thorow the woods. Whereupon
she stayed, and entred where she saw the beast issue foorth, where she
found two young Kids, yeaned (as it seemed) the selfesame day, which
sight was very pleasing to her, and nothing in that distresse could
more content her.
As yet, she had milke freshly running in both her brests, by
reason of her so late delivery in child bed; wherefore shee lay
downe unto the two yong Kids, and taking them tenderly in her armes,
suffered each of them to sucke a teate, whereof they made not any
refusall, but tooke them as lovingly as their dammes, and from that
time forward, they made no distinguishing betweene their damme and
her. Thus this unfortunate Lady, having found some company in this
solitary desart, fed on herbes and roots, drinking faire running
water, and weeping silently to her selfe, so often as she remembred
her husband, children, and former dayes past in much better manner.
Heere she resolved now to live and dye, being at last deprived both of
the damme and yonger Kids also, by theyr wandering further into the
neere adjoyning Woods, according to their naturall inclinations;
whereby the poore distressed Ladie became more savage and wilde in her
daily conditions, then otherwise shee would have bene.
After many monthes were over-passed, at the very same place where
she tooke landing; by chance, there arrived another small vessell of
certaine Pisans, which remained there divers daies. In this Barke
was a Gentleman, named Conrado de Marchesi Malespini, with his holy
and vertuous wife, who were returned backe from a Pilgrimage, having
visited all the sanctified places that then were in the kingdome of
Apulia, and now were bound homeward to their owne abiding. This
Gentleman, for the expelling of melancholly perturbations, one
especiall day amongst other, with his wife, servants, and wainting
hounds, wandred up into the Iland not far from the place of Madam
Beritolaes desert dwelling. The hounds questing after game, at last
happened on the two Kids where they were feeding, and (by this time)
had attained to indifferent growth; and finding themselves thus
pursued by the hounds, fled to no other part of the wood, then to
the cave where Beritola remained, and seeming as if they sought to
be rescued only by her, she sodainly caught up a staffe, and forced
the hounds thence to flight.
By this time, Conrado and his wife, who had followed closely after
the hounds, was come thither, and seeing what had hapned, looking on
the Lady, who was become blacke, swarthy, meager, and hairy, they
wondered not a little at her, and she a great deale more at them. When
(uppon her request) Conrado had checkt backe his hounds, they
prevailed so much by earnest intreaties, to know what she was, and the
reason of her living there; that she intirely related her quality,
unfortunate accidents, and strange determination for living there.
Which when the Gentleman had heard, who very well knew her husband,
compassion forced teares from his eyes, and earnestly he laboured by
kinde perswasions, to alter so cruell a deliberation; making an
honourable offer, for conducting her home to his owne dwelling,
where shee should remaine with him in noble respect, as if she were
his owne sister, without parting from him, till Fortune should smile
as fairely on her, as ever she had done before.
When these gentle offers could not prevaile with her, the
Gentleman left his wife in her company, saying, that he would go fetch
some foode for her; and because her garments were all rent and
torne, hee would bring her other of his wives, not doubting but to
winne her thence with them. His wife abode there with Beritola,
verie much bemoaning her great disasters: and when both viands and
garments were brought, by extremitie of intercession, they caused
her to put them on, and also to feede with them, albeit shee
protested, that shee would not part thence into any place, where any
knowledge should be taken of her. In the end, they perswaded her to go
w-th them into Lunigiana, carrying also with her the two yong Goats
and their damme, which were then in the cave altogether, prettily
playing before Beritola, to the great admiration of Conrado and his
wife, as also the servants attending on them.
When the windes and weather grew favourable for them, Madame
Beritola went aboord with Conrado and his Wife, being followed by
the two young Goates and their Damme; and because her name should
bee knowne to none but Conrado, and his wife onely, shee would be
stiled no otherwise but the Goatherdesse. Merrily, yet gently blew the
gale, which brought them to enter the River of Maira, where going on
shore, and into their owne Castle, Beritola kept company with the wife
of Conrado, but in a mourning habite; and a waiting Gentlewoman of
theirs, honest, humble, and very dutifull, the Goates alwayes
familiarly keeping them company.
Returne wee now to the Pyrates, which at Ponzo seized on the small
Barke wherein Madame Beritola was brought thither, and carried
thence away, without any sight or knowledge of her. With such other
spoyles as they had taken, they shaped their course for Geneway, and
there (by consent of the Patrones of the Galley) made a division of
their booties. It came to passe, that (among other things) the Nurse
that attended on Beritola, and the two Children with her, fell to
the share of one Messer Gastarino d'Oria, who sent them together to
his owne House, there to be employed in service as Servants. The Nurse
weeping beyond measure for the losse of her Ladie, and bemoaning her
owne miserable Fortune, whereinto shee was now fallen with the two
young Laddes; after long lamenting, which shee found utterly
fruitlesse and to none effect, though she was used as a servant with
them, and being but a very poore woman, yet was shee wise and
discreetly advised. Wherefore, comforting both her selfe and them so
well as she could, and considering the depth of their disaster, shee
conceited thus, that if the Children should be knowne, it might
redound to their greater danger, and shee be no way advantaged
thereby.
Hereupon, hoping that Fortune (earely or late) would alter her
stearne malice, and that they might (if they lived) regaine once
more their former condition, shee would not disclose them to any one
whatsoever, till shee should see the time aptly disposed for THE
SECOND DAY, THE SIXT 75
it. Being thus determined, to all such as questioned her
concerning them, she answered that they were her owne Children, naming
the eldest not Geoffrey, but Jehannot de Procida. As for the
yongest, shee cared not greatly for changing his name, and therefore
wisely informed Geoffrey, upon what reason shee had altered his
name, and what danger he might fall into, if he should otherwise be
discovered; being not satisfied with thus telling him once, but
remembring him thereof verie often, which the gentle youth (being so
well instructed by the wise and carefull Nurse) did very warily
observe.
The two young Laddes, verie poorely garmented, but much worse
hosed and shodde, continued thus in the house of Gasparino, where both
they and the Nurse were long time employed about verie base and
drudging Offices, which yet they endured with admirable patience.
But Jehannot, aged already about sixteene yeeres, having a loftier
spirit, then belonged to a slavish servant, despising the basenesse of
his servile condition; departed from the drudgery of Messer Gasparino,
and going aboord the Gallies which were bound for Alexandria, fortuned
into many places, yet none of them affoording him any advancement.
In the end, about three or foure yeeres after his departure from
Gasparino, being now a brave yong man, and of very goodly forme: he
understood, that his father (whom he supposed to be dead) was as yet
living, but in captivity, and prisoner to King Charles. Wherefore,
despairing of any successefull fortune, he wandred here and there,
till he came to Lunigiana, and there (by strange accident) he became
servant to Messer Conrado Malespino, where the service proved well
liking to them both.
Very sildome times hee had a sight of his Mother, because shee
alwayes kept company with Conradoes wife; and yet when they came
within view of each other, shee knew not him, nor he her, so much
yeres had altred them both from what they were wont to be, and when
they saw each other last. Jehannot being thus in the service of Messer
Conrado, it fortuned that a daughter of his, named Sophia, being the
widdow of one Messer Nicolas Grignam, returned home to her Fathers
house. Very beautifull and amiable she was, young likewise, aged but
little above sixteene; growing wonderously amorous of Jehannot, and he
of her, in extraordinary and most fervent manner: which love was not
long without full effect, continuing many moneths before any person
could perceyve it: which making them to build on the more assurance,
they began to carry their meanes with lesse discretion then is
required in such nice cases, and which cannot be too providently
managed.
Upon a day, he and she walking to a goodly Wood, plentifully
furnished with spreading Trees: having out gone the rest of their
company, they made choise of a pleasant place, very daintily shaded
and beautified with all sorts of flowers. There they spent some time
in amorous talking, beside some other sweete embraces, which though it
seemed over-short to them, yet was it so unadvisedly prolonged, that
they were on a sodain surprized, first by the mother, and next by
Messer Conrado himselfe; who greeving beyond measure, to be thus
treacherously dealt withall, caused them to be apprehended by three of
his servants; and (without telling them any reason why) led bound to
another Castle of his, and fretting with extremity rage, concluded
in his minde, that they should both shamefully be put to death.
The Mother unto this regardlesse daughter, having heard the angrie
wordes of her Husband, and how hee would be revenged on the faulty;
could not endure that he should be so severe: wherefore, although shee
was likewise much afflicted in minde, and reputed her Daughter
worthy (for so great an offence) of all cruell punnishment, yet she
hasted to her displeased husband, and began to entreate, that hee
would not runne on in such a furious spleene, now in his aged yeeres
to be the murtherer of his owne childe, and soile his hands in the
blood of his servant. Rather he might finde out some milde course
for the satisfaction of his anger, by committing them to close
imprisonment, there to remaine and mourne for their folly committed.
The vertuous and religious Lady alledged so many commendable examples,
and used such plenty of moving perswasions, that she quite altred
his minde from putting them to death, and hee commanded onely, that
they should separately be imprisoned, with little store of food, and
lodging of the uneasiest, untill he should otherwise determine of
them; and so it was done. What their life now was in captivity and
continuall teares, with stricter abstinence then was needefull for
them, all this I must commit to your consideration. Jehannot and Spina
remaining in this comfortlesse condition, and an whole yeere being now
out-worne, yet Conrado keeping them thus still imprisoned: it came
to passe, that Don Pedro King of Arragon, by the meanes of Messer John
de Procida, caused the Isle of Sicily to revolt, and tooke it away
