The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 16 – Sidney · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 16Dorus Zelmane (part 8)
18
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 16
Dorus Zelmane (part 8)
SidneyEnglish
“An unused thing it is, and I think not heretofore seen, O Arcadians, that a woman should give public counsel to men, a stranger to the country people, and that lastly in such a presence by a private person, the regal throne should be possessed. But the strangeness of your action makes that used for virtue, which your violent necessity imposeth. For certainly a woman may well speak to such men, who have forgotten all man-like government; a stranger may with reason instruct such subjects that neglect due points of subjection; and is it marvel this place is entered into by another, since your own prince, after thirty years’ government, dare not show his face unto faithful people? hear therefore, O Arcadians, and be ashamed; against whom hath this zealous rage been stirred? whither have been bent those manful weapons of yours? in this quiet harmless lodge there be harboured no Argians, your ancient enemies; nor Laconians, your now feared neighbours. Here be neither hard landlords, nor biting usurers. Here lodge none, but such, as either you have great cause to love, or no cause to hate: here being none, besides your prince, princess, and their children, but myself. Is it I then, O Arcadians, against whom your anger is armed? am I the mark of your vehement quarrel? if it be so, that innocency shall not be stopped for fury; if it be so, that the law of hospitality, so long and holily observed among you, may not defend a stranger fled to your arms for succour: if in fine, it be so, that so many valiant men’s courages can be inflamed to the mischief of one silly woman; I refuse not to make my life a sacrifice to your wrath.
Exercise on me your indignation, so it go no further; I am content to pay the great favours I have received among you, with my life not ill-deserving: I present here unto you, O Arcadians, if that may satisfy you; rather than you, called over the world the wise and quiet Arcadians, should be so vain, as to attempt that alone, which all the rest of your country will abhor; than you shall show yourselves so ungrateful as to forget the fruit of so many years peaceable government; or so unnatural, as not to have with the holy name of your natural prince, any fury overmastered. For such a hellish madness, I know, did never enter into your hearts as to attempt anything against his person; which no successor, though never so hateful, will ever leave, for his own sake, unrevenged. Neither can your wonted valour be turned to such a baseness, as instead of a prince, delivered unto you by so many royal ancestors, to take the tyrannous yoke of your fellow subject, in whom the innate means will bring forth ravenous covetousness and the newness of his estate suspectful cruelty. Imagine, what could your enemies more wish unto you than to see your own estate with your own hands undermined? O what would your forefathers say if they lived at this time, and saw their offspring defacing such an excellent principality, which they with much labour and blood so wisely have established? do you think them fools, that saw you should not enjoy your vines, your cattle, no not your wives and children without government? and that there could be no government without a magistrate, and no magistrate without obedience, and no obedience where everyone upon his own private passion may interpret the doings of the rulers? let your wits make your present example a lesson to you. What sweetness, in good faith, find you in your present condition; what choice of choice find you, if you had lost Basilius? under whose ensign would you go, if your enemies should invade you? if you cannot agree upon one to speak for you, how will you agree upon one to fight for you? but with this fear of I cannot tell what one is troubled, and with that past wrong another is grieved.
And I pray you did the sun ever bring you a fruitful harvest but that it was more hot than pleasant? have any of you children that be not sometimes cumbersome? have any of you fathers that be not sometimes wearish? what, shall we curse the sun, hate our children, or disobey our fathers--but what need I use those words, since I see in your countenances, now virtuously settled, nothing else but love and duty to him, by whom for your only sakes, the government is embraced. For all that is done, he doth not only pardon you, but thank you; judging the action by the minds, and not the minds by the action. Your griefs, and desires whatsoever, and whensoever you list, he will consider of, and to his consideration it is reason you should refer them. So then, to conclude; the uncertainty of his estate made you take arms; now you see him well; with the same love lay them down. If now you end, as I know you will, he will make no other account of this matter, but as of a vehement, I must confess, over vehement affection, the only continuance might prove a wickedness. But it is not so, I see very well, you began with zeal, and will end with reverence.”
The action Zelmane used, being beautified by nature and apparelled with skill, her gestures being such, that, as her words did paint out her mind, so they served as a shadow to make the picture more lively and sensible, with the sweet clearness of her voice, rising and falling kindly as the nature of the word and efficacy of the matter required, altogether in such an admirable person, whose incomparable valour they had well felt, whose beauty did pierce through the thick dullness of their senses, gave such a way unto her speech through the rugged wilderness of their imaginations, who, besides they were stricken in admiration of her, as of more than a human creature, where cooled with taking breath, and had learned doubts out of leisure that instead of roaring cries there was now heard nothing but a confused muttering, whether her saying were to be followed: betwixt fear to pursue, and loathness to leave, most of them could have been content it had never been begun, but how to end it, each afraid of his companion, they knew not, finding it far easier to tie, than to loose knots. But Zelmane thinking it no evil way in such mutinies, to give the mutinous some occasion of such service as they might think, in their own judgment, would countervail their trespass, withal to take the more assured possession of their minds, which she feared might begin to waver.
“Loyal Arcadians,” said she, “now do I offer unto you the manifesting of your duties: all those that have taken arms for the prince’s safety, let them turn their backs to the gate, with their weapons bent again such as would hurt his sacred person.” “O weak trust of the many-headed multitude, whom inconstancy only doth guide to well-doing, who can set confidence there where company takes away shame, and each may lay the fault on his fellow?” So said a crafty fellow among them, named Clinias, to himself, when he saw the word no sooner out of Zelmane’s mouth, but there were some shouts of joy, with, “God save Basilius,” and divers of them with much jollity grown to be his guard that but little before meant to be his murderers.
This Clinias in his youth had been a scholar so far as to learn rather words than manners, and of words rather plenty than order; and often had used to be an actor in tragedies, where he had learned, besides a slidingness of language, acquaintance with many passions, and to frame his face to bear the figure of them: long used to the eyes and ears of men, and to reckon no fault but shamefac’dness in nature; a most notable coward, and yet more strangely than rarely venturous in privy practices.
This fellow was become of near trust to Cecropia, Amphialus’s mother, so that he was privy to all the mischievous devices wherewith she went about to ruin Basilius and his children, for the advancing of her son, and though his education had made him full of tongue, yet his love to be doing, taught him in any evil to be secret, and had by his mistress been used ever since the strange retiring of Basilius, to whisper rumours in the people’s ears: and this time, finding great aptness in the multitude, was one of the chief that set them in the uproar, though quite without the consent of Amphialus, who would not for all the kingdoms of the world so have adventured the life of Philoclea. But now perceiving the flood of their fury begun to ebb, he thought in policy to take the first of the tide, so that no man cried louder than he upon Basilius. And some of the lustiest rebels not yet agreeing to the rest, he caused two or three of his mates that were at his commandment to lift him up, and then as if he had a prologue to utter, he began with nice gravity to demand audience. But few attending what he said, with vehement gesture, as if he would tear the stars from the skies he fell to crying out so loud that not only Zelmane, but Basilius might hear him. “O unhappy men, more mad than the giants that would have plucked Jupiter out of heaven, how long shall this rage continue? why do you not all throw down your weapons and submit yourselves to our good prince, our good Basilius, the Pelops of wisdom, and Minos of all good government? when will you begin to believe me, and other honest and faithful subjects, that have done all we could to stop your fury.”
The farmer that loved Zelmane could abide him no longer. For as the first he was willing to speak of conditions, hoping to have gotten great sovereignties, and among the rest Zelmane; so now perceiving, that the people, once anything down the hill from their fury, would never stay till they came to the bottom of absolute yielding, and so that he should be nearer fears of punishment than hopes of such advancement, he was one of them that stood most against the agreement: and to begin withal, disdaining this fellow should play the preacher, who had been one of the chiefest makebates, struck him a great wound upon the face with his sword. The cowardly wretch fell down, crying for succour, and, scrambling through the legs of them that were about him, got to the throne, where Zelmane took him and comforted him, bleeding for that was past, and quaking for fear of more.
But as soon as the blow was given, as if Aeolus had broke open the door to let all his winds out, no hand was idle, each one killing him that was next, for fear he should do as much to him. For being divided in minds, and not divided in companies, they that would yield to Basilius were intermingled with them that would not yield. Those men thinking their ruin stood upon it; those men to get favour of their prince, converted their ungracious motion into their own bowels, and by a true judgment grew their own punishers. None were sooner killed than those that had been leaders in the disobedience: who by being so, had taught them, that they did lead disobedience to the same leaders. And many times it fell out that they killed them that were of their own faction, anger whetting, and doubt hastening their fingers. But then came down Zelmane; and Basilius with Dorus issued, and sometimes seeking to draw together those of their party, sometimes laying indifferently among them, made such havoc, among the rest Zelmane striking the farmer to the heart with her sword, as before she had done with her eyes, that in a while all they of the contrary side were put to flight, and fled to certain woods upon the frontiers, where feeding wildly, and drinking only water, they were disciplined for their drunken riots: many of them being slain in the chase, about a score only escaping. But when those late rebels, now soldiers, were returned from the chase, Basilius calling them together, partly for policy’s sake, but principally because Zelmane before had spoken it, which was to him more than a divine ordinance, he pronounced their general pardon, willing them to return to their houses, and hereafter be more circumspect in their proceedings, which they did most of them with sharp marks of their folly. But imagining Clinias to be one of the chief that had bred this good alteration, he gave him particular thanks, and withal willed him to make him know how this frenzy had entered into the people.
Clinias purposing indeed to tell him the truth of all; saving what did touch himself, or Cecropia, first dipping his hand in the blood of his wound: “Now by this blood,” said he, “which is more dear to me than all the rest that is in my body, since it is spent for your safety: this tongue, perchance unfortunate, but never false, shall not now begin to lie unto my prince, of me most beloved.” Then stretching out his hand, and making vehement countenances the ushers to his speeches, in such manner of terms recounted this accident. “Yesterday,” said he, “being your birthday, in the goodly green two miles hence before the city of Enispus, to do honour to the day, where four or five thousand people, of all conditions, as I think, gathered together, spending all the day in dancing and other exercises, and when night came under tents and bows making great cheer, and meaning to observe a wassailing watch all that night for your sake. Bacchus, the learned say, was begot with thunder: I think, that made him ever since so full of stir and debate. Bacchus, indeed it was which sounded the first trumpet to this rude alarm. For that barbarous opinion being generally among them, to think with vice to do honour, and with activity in beastliness to show abundance of love, made most of them seek to show the depth of their affection in the depth of their draught. But being once well chafed with wine, having spent all the night, and some piece of the morning in such revelling, and emboldened by your absented manner of living, there was no matter their ears had ever heard of that grew not to be a subject of their winey conference. I speak it by proof: for I take witness of the gods, who never leave perjuries unpunished, that I often cried out against their impudency, and, when that would not serve, stopped mine ears because I would not be partaker of their blasphemies, till with buffets they forced me to have mine ears and eyes defiled. Public affairs were mingled with private grudges: neither was any man thought of wit, that did not pretend some cause of mislike. Railing was counted the fruit of freedom, and saying nothing had his uttermost praise in ignorance.
At the length, your sacred person, alas! why did I live to hear it? alas! how do I breathe to utter it? But your commandment doth not only enjoin obedience, but give me force; your sacred person I say, fell to be their table-talk: a proud word swelling in their stomachs, and disdainful reproaches against so great a greatness, having put on the show of greatness in their little minds: till at length the very unbridled use of words having increased fire in their minds, which God wot thought their knowledge notable, because they had at all no knowledge to condemn their own want of knowledge, they descended, O never to be forgotten presumption, to a direct dislike of your living from among them. Whereupon it were tedious to remember their far-fetched constructions. But the sum was, you disdained them: and what were the pomps of your estate, if their arms maintained you not? who would call you a prince, if you had not a people, when certain of them of wretched estates, and worse minds, whose fortunes’ change could not impair, began to say that your government was to be looked into; how the great treasures you had levied among them had been spent; why none but great men and gentlemen could be admitted into counsel, that the commons, forsooth, were too plain-headed to say their opinions: but yet their blood and sweat must maintain all. Who could tell whether you were not betrayed in this place where you lived? nay whether you did live or no? therefore that it was time to come and see; and if you were here, to know if Arcadia were grown loathsome in your sight, why you did not rid yourself of the trouble? there would not want those that would take so fair a cumber in good part. Since the country was theirs, and the government an adherent to the country, why should they not consider of the one as well as inhabit the other? ‘Nay rather,’ said they, ‘let us begin that, which all Arcadia will follow. Let us deliver our prince from danger of practices, and ourselves from want of a prince. Let us do that which all the rest think. Let it be said that we only are not astonished with vain titles which have their force but in our force.’
Lastly, to have said and heard so much was as dangerous as to have attempted: and to attempt they had the glorious name of liberty with them. Those words being spoken, like a furious storm, presently carried away their well inclined brains. What I, and some other of the honester sort could do was no more than if with a puff of breath, one should go about to make a sail go against a mighty wind, or, with one hand, stay the ruin of a mighty wall. So general grew this madness among them, there needed no drum, where each man cried, each spoke to other that spoke as fast to him, and the disagreeing sound of so many voices was the chief token of their unmeet agreement. Thus was their banquet turned to a battle, their winey mirths to bloody rages, and the happy prayers for your life to monstrous threatening of your estate; the solemnizing your birth-day, tended to have been the cause of your funeral. But as a drunken rage hath, besides his wickedness, that folly, that the more it seeks to hurt the less it considers how to be able to hurt: they never weighed how to arm themselves, but took up everything for a weapon that fury offered to their hands. Many swords, pikes, and bills there were; others took pitchforks and rakes, converting husbandry to soldiery: some caught hold of spits, things serviceable for life, to be the instruments of death. And there was some such one, who held the same pot wherein he drank your health, to use it, as he could, to your mischief. Thus armed, thus governed, forcing the unwilling, and heartening the willing, adding fury to fury, and increasing rage with running, they came headlong towards this lodge: no man, I dare say, resolved in his own heart what was the uttermost he would do when he came thither.
But as mischief is of such nature, that it cannot stand but with strengthening one evil by another, and so multiply in itself, till it come to the highest and then fall with his own weight: so to their minds one passed the bounds of obedience, more and more wickedness opened itself, so that they, who first pretended to preserve you, then to reform you (I speak it in my conscience, and with a bleeding heart) now thought no safety for them, without murdering you. So as if the gods, who preserve you for the preservation of Arcadia, had not showed their miraculous power; and that they had not used for instruments, both your own valour, not fit to be spoken of by so mean a mouth as mine, and some, I must confess, honest minds, whom alas! why should I mention, since what we did, reached not to the hundredth part of our duty? our hands, I tremble to think of it, had destroyed all that, for which we have cause to rejoice that we are Arcadians.”
With that the fellow did wring his hands, and wrung out tears, so, that Basilius, who was not the sharpest piercer into masked minds, took a good liking to him; and so much the more as he had tickled him with praise in the hearing of his mistress. And therefore pitying his wound, willed him to get him home and look well into it, and make the best search he could to know if there were any further depth in this matter, for which he should be well rewarded. But before he went away, certain of the shepherds being come, for that day was appointed for their pastorals, he sent one of them to Philanax, and another to other principal noblemen, and cities thereabouts, to make thorough inquiry of this uproar, and withal to place such garrisons in all the towns and villages near unto him, that he might thereafter keep his solitary lodge in more security, upon the making of a fire, or ringing of a bell, having them in readiness for him.
This Clinias, having his ear one way when his eye was another, had perceived, and therefore hastened away with mind to tell Cecropia that she was to take some speedy resolution, or else it were danger those examinations would both discover and ruin her; and so went his way, leaving that little company with embracements, and praising of Zelmane’s excellent proceeding, to show, that no decking sets forth anything so much as affection. For as, while she stood at the discretion of those indiscreet rebels, every angry countenance any of them made seemed a knife laid upon their own throats; so unspeakable was now their joy that they saw, besides her safety and their own, the same wrought, and safely wrought by her means, in whom they had placed all their delights. What examples Greece could ever allege of wit and fortitude, were set in rank of trifles, being compared to this action.
But as they were in the midst of those unfeigned ceremonies, a cittern ill-played on, accompanied with a hoarse voice, who seemed to sing maugre the Muses, and to be merry in spite of fortune, made them look the way of the ill-noised song. The song was this
A hateful cure with hate to heal:
A bloody help with blood to save:
A foolish thing with fools to deal.
Let him be bob’d, that bobs will have,
But who by means of wisdom high
Hath sav’d his charge? it is even I.
Let others deck their pride with scars,
And of their wounds make brave lame shows:
First let them die, then pass the stars,
When rotten fame will tell their blows:
But eye from blade, and ear from eye;
Who hath sav’d all? it is even I.
They had soon found it was Dametas, who came with no less lifted up countenance than if he had passed over the bellies of all his enemies: so wise a point he thought he had performed in using the natural strength of the cave. But never was it his doing to come so soon thence till the coast were more assuredly clear: for it was a rule with him, that after a great storm there ever fell a few drops before it be fully finished. But Pamela, who had now experienced how much care doth solicit a lover’s heart, used this occasion of going to her parents and sister, indeed as well for that cause, as being unquiet, till her eye might be assured how her shepherd had gone through the danger.
But Basilius with the sight of Pamela, of whom almost his head, otherwise occupied, had left the wanted remembrance, was suddenly stricken into a devout kind of admiration, remembering the oracle, which according to the fawning humour of false hope, he interpreted now his own to his own best, and with the willing blindness of affection, because his mind ran wholly upon Zelmane, he thought the gods in their oracles did principally mind her.
But as he was thinking deeply of the matter, one of the shepherds told him that Philanax was already come with an hundred horse in his company. For having by chance rode not far off the little desert, he had heard of this uproar, and so was come upon the spur, gathering a company of gentlemen, as fast as he could, to the succour of his master; Basilius was glad of it; but not willing to have him nor any other of the noblemen, see his mistress, he himself went out of the lodge: and so giving order unto him of placing garrisons, and examining those matters; and Philanax with humble earnestness beginning to entreat him to leave off this solitary course, which already had been so dangerous unto him, “Well,” said Basilius, “it may be ere long I will condescend unto your desire. In the meantime, take you the best order you can to keep me safe in my solitariness. But,” said he, “do you remember, how earnestly you wrote unto me that I should not be moved by that oracle’s authority, which brought me to this resolution?” “Full well, Sir,” answered Philanax, “for though it pleased you not as then to let me know what the oracle’s words were, yet all oracles hold in, in my conceit, one degree of reputation, it sufficed me to know it was but an oracle which led you from your own course.” “Well,” said Basilius, “I will now tell you the words, which before I thought not good to do, because when all the events fall out, as some already have done, I may charge you with your incredulity.” So he repeated in this sort.
Thy elder care shall from thy careful face
By princely mean be stolen, and yet not lost:
Thy younger shall with nature’s bliss embrace
An uncouth love, which nature hateth most;
Both they themselves unto such two shall wed,
Who at thy bear, as at a bar, shall plead;
Why thee, a living man, they had made dead.
In thine own seat a foreign state shall sit;
And ere that all those blows at thy head do hit,
Thou, with thy wife adultery shall commit.
“For you, forsooth,” said he, “when I told you that some supernatural cause sent me strange visions, which being confirmed with presagious chances, I had gone to Delphos, and there received this answer, you replied unto me that the only supernatural causes were the humours of my body, which bred such melancholy dreams, and that both they framed a mind full of conceits, apt to make presages of things, which in themselves were merely chanceable: and withal, as I say, you remember what you wrote me touching the authority of the oracle: but now I have some notable trial of the truth thereof, which hereafter I will more largely communicate unto you. Only now, know that the thing I most feared is already performed; I mean, that a foreign state should possess my throne. For that hath been done by Zelmane, but not as I feared, to my ruin, but to my preservation.” But when he had once named Zelmane, that name was as good as a pulley, to make the clock of his praises run on in such sort that Philanax found was more exquisite than the only admiration of virtue breedeth: which his faithful heart inwardly repining at, made him shrink away as soon as he could to go about the other matters of importance which Basilius had enjoined unto him.
Basilius returned into the lodge, thus by himself construing the oracle: that in that, he said, his elder care should by princely mean be stolen away from him, and yet not lost, it was now performed, since Zelmane had, as it were, robbed from him the care of his first begotten child, yet was it not lost, since in his heart the ground of it remained. That his younger should with nature’s bliss embrace the love of Zelmane, because he had so commanded her for his sake to do, yet should it be with as much hate of nature, for being so hateful an opposite to the jealousy he thought her mother had of him. The sitting in that seat he deemed by her already performed. But that which most comforted him was his interpretation of the adultery, which he thought he should commit with Zelmane, whom afterwards he should have to his wife. The point of his daughter’s marriage, because it threatened his death withal, he determined to prevent with keeping them while he lived, unmarried. But having, as he thought, gotten thus much understanding of the oracle, he determined for three days after to perform certain rites to Apollo: and even then began with his wife and daughters to sing this hymn, and by them yearly used.
Apollo great, whose beams the greater world do light, And in our little world do clear our inward sight, Which ever shine, though hid from earth by earthly shade, Whose lights do ever live, but in our darkness fade; Thou god, whose youth was decked with spoil of Python’s skin (So humble knowledge can throw down the snakish sin) Latona’s son, whose birth in pain and travail long Doth teach, to learn the good what travails do belong: In travail of our life, a short but tedious space, While brittle hour glass runs, guide thou our panting pace: Give us foresightful minds: give us minds to obey What foresight tells; our thoughts upon thy knowledge stay. Let so our fruits grow up that nature be maintain’d: But so our hearts keep down, with vice they be not stain’d. Let this assured hold our judgments overtake, That nothing wins the heaven, but what doth earth forsake.
As soon as he had ended his devotion (all the privileged shepherds being now come) knowing well enough he might lay all his care upon Philanax, he was willing to sweeten the taste of this past tumult with some rural pastimes. For which, while the shepherds prepared themselves in the best manner, Basilius took his daughter Philoclea aside, and with such haste, as if his ears hunted for words, desired to know how she had found Zelmane. She humbly answered him according to the agreement betwixt them, that thus much for her sake Zelmane was content to descend from her former resolution, as to hear him whenever he would speak; and further than that she said, as Zelmane had not granted, so she neither did nor ever would desire. Basilius kissed her with more than fatherly thanks, and straight, like a hard-kept ward new come to his lands, would fain have used the benefit of that grant, in laying his sickness before his only physician. But Zelmane, that had not yet fully determined with herself how to bear herself toward him, made him in few words understand, that the time, in respect of the company, was unfit for such a parley; and therefore to keep his brains the busier, letting him understand what she had learned of his daughters, touching Erona’s distress, whom in her travel she had known and been greatly beholden to, she desired him to finish the rest, for so far as Plangus had told him; because, she said, and she said truly, she was full of care for that lady, whose desert, only except an over-base choice, was nothing agreeable to misfortune. Basilius glad that she would command him anything, but more glad that in executing the unfitness of that time, she argued an intention to grant a fitter, obeyed her in this manner.
“Madame,” said he, “it is very true that since years enabled me to judge what is or is not to be pitied, I never saw anything that more moved me to justify a vehement compassion on myself than the estate of that prince, whom strong against all his own afflictions, which yet were great as I perceive you have heard, yet true and noble love had so pulled down, as to lie under sorrow for another. Insomuch as I could not temper my long idle pen in that subject, which I perceive you have seen. But then to leave that unrepeated, which I find my daughters have told you, it may please you to understand, since it pleaseth you to demand, that Antiphilus being crowned, and so left by the famous princes Musidorus and Pyrocles (led thence by the challenge of Anaxius, who is now in those provinces of Greece, making a dishonourable inquiry after that excellent prince Pyrocles, already perished) Antiphilus I say, being crowned and delivered from the presence of those two, whose virtues, while they were present, like good schoolmasters, suppressed his vanities, he had not strength of mind enough in him to make long delay of discovering what manner of man he was. But straight like one carried up to so high a place that he loseth the discerning of the ground over which he is, so was his mind lifted so far beyond the level of his own discourse, that remembering only that himself was in the high seat of a king, he could not perceive that he was a king of reasonable creatures who would quickly scorn follies, and repine at injuries. But imagining no so true property of sovereignty as to do what he listed, and to list whatsoever pleased his fancy, he quickly made his kingdom a tennis-court, where his subjects should be the balls, not in truth cruelly, but licentiously abusing them, presuming so far upon himself, that what he did was liked of everybody: nay, that his disgraces were favours, and all because he was a king. For in nature not able to conceive the bounds of great matters, suddenly borne into an unknown ocean of absolute power, he was swayed withal, he knew not how, as every wind of passion puffed him. Whereto nothing helped him better than that poisonous sugar of flattery, which some used, out of the innate baseness of their heart, straight like dogs fawning upon the greatest; others secretly hating him, and disdaining his great rising so suddenly, so undeservedly, finding his humour, bent their exalting him only to his overthrow, like the bird that carries the shell-fish high, to break him the easier with his fall. But his mind, being an apt matter to receive what form their amplifying speeches would lay upon it, danced so pretty a measure to their false music, that he thought himself the wisest and worthiest and best beloved that ever gave honour to royal title. And being but obscurely born, he had found out unblushing pedigrees that made him not only of the blood royal, but true heir, though unjustly dispossessed by Erona’s ancestors. And like the foolish bird, that when it so hides the head that it sees not itself, thinks nobody else sees it, so did he imagine that nobody knew his baseness, while he himself turned his eyes from it.
“Then vainness, a meagre friend to gratefulness, brought him so to despise Erona, as of whom he had received no benefit, that within half a year’s marriage he began to pretend barrenness, and making first an unlawful law of having more wives than one, he still keeping Erona under-hand, by messages sought Artaxia; who no less hating him than loving as unlucky a choice, the naughty king Plexirtus, yet to bring to pass what she purposed, was content to train him into false hopes, till already his imagination had crowned him king of Armenia, and had made that but the foundation of more and more monarchies, as if fortune had only gotten eyes to cherish him. In which time a great assembly of most part of all the princes of Asia, being to do honour to the never sufficiently praised Pyrocles and Musidorus, he would be one; not to acknowledge his obligation, which was as great as any of the others, but looking to have been young-mastered among those great estates as he was among his abusing underlings. But so many valorous princes, indeed far nearer to disdain him than otherwise, he was quickly, as standing upon no true ground, inwardly out of countenance with himself, till his seldom comfortless flatterers, persuading him it was envy and fear of his expected greatness, made him haste away from that company, and without further delay, appointed the meeting with Artaxia, so incredibly blinded with the over-bright shining of his royalty that he could think such a queen would be content to be joined-patent with another to have such an husband. Poor Erona to all this obeyed, either vehemency of affection making her stoop to so over-base a servitude, or astonished with an unlooked-for fortune, dull to any behoveful resolution, or, as many times it falls out even in great hearts when they can accuse none but themselves, desperately bent to maintain it. For so went she on in that way of her love, that, poor lady, to be beyond all other examples of ill-set affection, she was brought to write to Artaxia, that she was content, for the public good to be a second wife, and yield the first place to her; nay to extol him, and even woo Artaxia for him.
“But Artaxia, mortally hating them both for her brother’s sake, was content to hide her hate till she had time to show it: and pretending that all her grudge was against the two paragons of virtue, Musidorus and Pyrocles, even met them half way in excusing her brother’s murder, as not being principal actors; and of the other side, driven to what they did by the ever-pardonable necessity; and so well handled the matter, as though she promised nothing, yet Antiphilus promised himself all that she would have him think. And so a solemn interview was appointed; but, as the poets say, Hymen had not there his saffron-coloured coat. For Artaxia laying men secretly, and easily they might be secret, since Antiphilus thought she over-ran him in love, when he came even ready to embrace her, showing rather a countenance of accepting than offering, they came forth, and, having much advantage both in number, valour, and fore-preparation, put all his company to the sword, but such as could fly away. As for Antiphilus, she caused him and Erona both to be put in irons, hastening back towards her brother’s tomb, upon which she meant to sacrifice them; making the love of her brother stand between her and all other motions of grace from which by nature she was alienated.
“But great diversity in those two quickly discovered itself for the bearing of that affliction: for Antiphilus, who had no greatness but outward, that taken away, was ready to fall faster than calamity could thrust him; with fruitless begging of life, where reason might well assure him his death was resolved, and weak bemoaning his fortune, to give his enemies a most pleasing music, with many promises and protestations, to as little purpose as from a little mind. But Erona, sad indeed, yet like one rather used, than new fallen to sadness, as who had the joys of her heart already broken seemed rather to welcome than to shun that end of misery; speaking little, but what she spoke was for Antiphilus, remembering his guiltiness, being at that time prisoner to Tiridates, when the valiant princess slew him: to the disgrace of men, showing that there are women both more wise to judge what is to be expected, and more constant to bear it when it is happened.
“But her wit endeared by her youth, her affliction by her birth, and her sadness by her beauty, made this noble prince Plangus, who, never almost from his cousin Artaxia, was now present at Erona’s taking, to perceive the shape of loveliness more perfectly in woe than in joyfulness, as in a picture which receive greater life by the darkness of shadows than by more glittering colours, and seeing to like, and liking to love, and loving straight to feel the most incident effects of love, to serve and preserve. So borne by the hasty tide of short leisure, he did hastily deliver together his affection, and affectionate care. But she, as if he had spoken of a small matter, when he mentioned her life, to which she had not leisure to attend, desired him if he loved her, to show it, in finding some way to save Antiphilus. For her, she found the world but a wearisome stage unto her, where she played a part against her will: and therefore besought him not to cast his love in so unfruitful a place, as could not love itself: but for a testimony of constancy, and a suitableness to his word, to do so much comfort to her mind, as that for her sake Antiphilus were saved. He told me how much he argued against her tendering him who had so ungratefully betrayed her and foolishly cast away himself. But perceiving she did not only bend her very good wits to speak for him against herself, but when such a cause could be allied to no reason, yet love would needs make itself a cause, and bar her rather from hearing, than yield that she should yield to such arguments: he likewise, in whom the power of love, as they say of spirits, was subject to the love in her, with grief consented, and though backwardly, was diligent to labour the help of Antiphilus, a man whom he not only hated as a traitor to Erona, but envied as a possessor of Erona; yet love swore his heart, in spite of his heart, should make him become a servant to his rival. And so did he, seeking all the means of persuading Artaxia, which the authority of so near and so virtuous a kinsman could give unto him.
But she, to whom the eloquence of hatred had given revenge the face of delight, rejected all such motions: but rather the more closely imprisoning them in her chief city, where she kept them, with intention at the birthday of Tiridates, which was very near, to execute Antiphilus, and at the day of his death, which was about half a year after, to use the same rigour towards Erona. Plangus much grieved, because much loving, attempted the humours of the Lycians, to see whether they would come in with forces to succour their princess. But there the next inheritor to the crown, with the true play that is used in the game of kingdoms, had no sooner his mistress in captivity, but he had usurped her place, and making her odious to her people, because of the unfit election she had made, and so left no hope there: but, which is worse, had sent to Artaxia, persuading the justicing her, because that unjustice might give his title the name of justice. Wanting that way, Plangus practised with some dear friends of his, to save Antiphilus out of prison, whose day because it was much nearer than Erona’s, and that he well found she had twisted her life upon the same thread with his, he determined first to get him out of prison; and to that end having prepared all matters, as well as in such case he could, where Artaxia had set many of Tiridates’s old servants to have well-marking eyes, he conferred with Antiphilus, as, by the authority he had, he found means to do, and agreed with him of the time and manner how he should, by the death of some of his jailors, escape.
But all being well ordered, and Plangus willingly putting himself into the greatest danger, Antiphilus, who like a bladder, swelled ready to break, while it was full of the wind of prosperity, that being out, was so abjected, as apt to be trod on by everybody, when it came to the point, that with some hazard he might be in apparent likelihood to avoid the uttermost harm, his heart fainted, and, weak fool, neither hoping nor fearing as he should, got a conceit, that with betraying this practice, he might obtain pardon: and therefore even a little before Plangus should have come unto him, opened the whole practice to him that had the charge, with unpitied tears idly protesting, he had rather die by Artaxia’s commandment than against her will escape; yet begging life upon any the hardest and wretchedest conditions that she would lay upon him. His keeper provided accordingly, so that when Plangus came, he was like himself to have been entrapped; but that finding, with a lucky insight, that it was discovered, he retired; and, calling his friends about him, stood upon his guard, as he had good cause. For Artaxia, accounting him most ungrateful, considering that her brother and she had not only preserved him against the malice of his father, but ever used him much liker his birth than his fortune, sent forces to apprehend him. But he among the martial men had gotten so great love that he could not only keep himself from her malice, but work in their minds a compassion of Erona’s adversity.
“But for the succour of Antiphilus he could get nobody to join with him, the contempt of him having not been able to qualify the hatred, so that Artaxia might easily upon him perform her will, which was (at the humble suit of all the women of that city) to deliver him to their censure, who mortally hated him for having made a law of polygamy, after many tortures, forced him to throw himself from a high pyramid which was built over Tiridates’s tomb, and so to end his false-hearted life, which had planted no strong thought in him, but that he could be unkind.
“But Plangus well perceiving that Artaxia stayed only for the appointed day that the fair Erona’s body, consumed to ashes, should make a notorious testimony how deeply her brother’s death was engraven in her breast, he assembled good numbers of friends, whom his virtue, though a stranger, had tied unto him by force, to give her liberty. Contrariwise, Artaxia, to whom anger gave more courage than her sex did fear, used her regal authority, the most she could, to suppress that sedition, and have her will, which, she thought, is the most princely thing that may be. But Plangus, who indeed, as all men witness, is one of the best captains, both for policy and valour, that are trained in the school of Mars, in a conflict overthrew Artaxia’s power, though of far greater number; and there took prisoner a base son of her brother’s whom she dearly affected, and then sent her word, that he should run the same race of fortune, whatsoever it was, that Erona did; and happy was that threatening for her, for else Artaxia had hastened the day of her death, in respect of those tumults.
“But now, some principal noblemen of that country interposing themselves, it was agreed that all persons else fully pardoned, and all prisoners, except Erona, delivered, she should be put into the hands of a principal nobleman, who had a castle of great strength, by oath, if by the day two years from Tiridates’s death, Pyrocles and Musidorus did not in person combat and overcome two knights, whom she appointed to maintain her quarrel against Erona and them, of having by treason destroyed her brother, that then Erona should be that same day burned to ashes: but if they came, and had the victory, she should be delivered; but upon no occasion neither freed nor executed till that day. And hereto of both sides, all took solemn oath, and so the peace was concluded; they of Plangus’s party partly forcing him to agree, though he himself the sooner condescended, knowing the courtesy of those two excellent princes, not to refuse so noble a quarrel, and their power such, as two more, like the other two, were not able to resist. But Artaxia was more, and upon better ground, pleased with this action; for she had even newly received news from Plexirtus that upon the sea he had caused them both to perish, and therefore she held herself sure of the match.
“But poor Plangus knew not so much, and therefore seeing his party, as most times it falls out in like case, hungry of any conditions of peace, accepted them: and then obtained leave of the lord that indifferently kept her to visit Erona, whom he found full of desperate sorrow, suffering neither his unworthiness, nor his wrongs, nor his death, which is the natural conclusion of all worldly acts, either to cover with forgetfulness, or diminish with consideration, the affection she had borne him: but even glorying in affliction, and shunning all comfort, she seemed to have no delight but in making herself the picture of misery. So that when Plangus came to her, she fell in deadly trances, as if in him she had seen the death of Antiphilus, because he had not succoured him: and yet, her virtue striving, she did at one time acknowledge herself bound, and profess herself injured; instead of allowing the conclusion they had made, or writing to the princes, as he wished her to do, craving nothing but some speedy death to follow her, in spite of just hate, beloved Antiphilus.
“So that Plangus having nothing but a ravished kiss from her hand at their parting, went away toward Greece; whitherward he understood the princes were embarked. But by the way it was his fortune to intercept letters, written by Artaxia to Plexirtus, wherein she signified her accepting him to her husband, whom she had ever favoured, so much the rather, as he had performed the conditions of her marriage, in bringing to their deserved end her greatest enemies: withal thanking the sea, in such terms as he might well perceive it was by some treason wrought in Plexirtus’s ship. Whereupon, to make more diligent search, he took ship himself, and came into Laconia, inquiring, and by his inquiry finding that such a ship was indeed with fight and fire perished, none, almost, escaping. But for Pyrocles and Musidorus, it was assuredly determined that they were cast away: for the name of such princes, especially in Greece, would quickly else have been a large witness to the contrary. Full of grief with that, for the loss of such who left the world poor of perfection, but more sorry for Erona’s sake, who now by them could not be relieved, a new advertisement from Armenia overtook him, which multiplied the force of his anguish.
It was a message from the nobleman who had Erona in ward, giving him to understand that since his departure, Artaxia, using the benefit of time, had beseiged him in his castle, demanding present delivery of her, whom yet for his faith given, he would not before the day appointed, if possibly, he could resist; which he foresaw, long he should not do for want of victual, which he had not so wisely provided, because he trusted upon the general oath taken for two years’ space: and therefore willed him to make haste to his succour, and come with no small forces, for all they that were of his side in Armenia were consumed, and Artaxia had increased her might by marriage of Plexirtus, who now crowned king there, sticked not to glory in the murder of Pyrocles and Musidorus, as having just cause thereto, in respect of the deaths of his sister Andromana, her son, his nephew and his own daughter Zelmane: all whose loss he unjustly charged them withal, and now openly sticked not to confess what a revenge his wit had brought forth, Plangus much astonished herewith, bethought himself what to do, for to return to Armenia was vain, since his friends there were utterly overthrown. Then thought he of going to his father; but he had already, even since the death of his stepmother and brother, attempted the recovering of his favour, but all in vain. For they that had before joined with Andromana to do him the wrong, thought now no life for them if he returned; and therefore kept him still, with new forged suspicions, odious to his father. So that Plangus reserving that for a work of longer time, than the saving of Erona could bear, determined to go to the mighty and good king Euarchus; who lately having, to his eternal fame, fully, not only conquered his enemies, but established good government in their countries, he hoped he might have present succour of him, both for the justness of the cause, and revenge of his children’s death, by so heinous a treason murdered. Therefore with diligence he went to him, and by the way (passing through my country) it was my hap to find him, the most overthrown man with grief that ever I hope to see again.
For still it seemed he had Erona at a stake before his eyes, such an apprehension he had taken of her danger, which in despite of all the comfort I could give him, he poured out in such lamentations that I was moved not to let him pass till he had made a full declaration, which by pieces my daughters and I have delivered unto you. Fain he would have had succour of myself, but the course of my life being otherwise bent, I only accommodated him with some that might safely guide him to the great Euarchus. For my part having had some of his speeches so feelingly in my memory, that at an idle time, as I told you, I set them down dialogue-wise, in such manner as you have seen. And thus, excellent lady, I have obeyed you in this story; wherein if it will please you to consider what is the strange power of love, and what is due to his authority, you shall exercise therein the true nobleness of your judgment, and do the more right to the unfortunate historian.” Zelmane, sighing for Erona’s sake, yet inwardly comforted in that she assured herself Euarchus would not spare to take in hand the just delivering of her, joined with the just revenge of his children’s loss, having now what she desired of Basilius, to avoid his further discourses of affection, encouraged the shepherds to begin, whom she saw already ready for them.
