The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 30 – Sidney · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 30The Third Eclogues (part 3)
18
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 30
The Third Eclogues (part 3)
SidneyEnglish
Philanax was content to hear him out, not for any favour he owed him, but to see whether he would reveal anything of the original cause and purpose of the king’s death. But finding it so far from that, that he named Basilius unto him, as supposing him alive, thinking it rather cunning than ignorance: “Young man,” said he, “whom I have cause to hate before I have mean to know, you use but a point of skill by confessing the manifest smaller fault, to be believed hereafter in the denial of the greater. But for that matter, all passeth to one end, and hereafter we shall have leisure by torments to seek the truth, if the love of the truth itself will not bring you unto it. As for my Lady Philoclea, if it so fall out as you say, it shall be the more fit for her years, and comely for the great house that she is come of, that an ill-governed beauty hath not cancelled the rules of virtue. But howsoever it be, it is not for you to teach an Arcadian what reverend duty we owe unto any of that progeny. But,” said he, “come you with me without resistance, for the one cannot avail, and the other may procure pity.” “Pity!” said Pyrocles, with a bitter smiling, disdaining with so currish an answer, “no, no, Arcadian, I can quickly have pity of myself, and would think my life most miserable, which should be a gift of thine. Only I demand this innocent lady’s security, which until thou hast confirmed unto me by an oath, assure thyself the first that lays hands upon her shall leave his life for a testimony of his sacrilege.” Philanax, with an inward scorn, thinking it most manifest they were both, he at least, of council with the king’s death: “Well,” said he, “you speak much to me of the king: I do here swear unto you, by the love I have ever borne him, she shall have no worse howsoever it fall out than her own parents.” “And upon that word of yours I yield,” said the poor Pyrocles, deceived by him that meant not to deceive him. Then did Philanax deliver him into the hands of a nobleman in the company, everyone desirous to have him in his charge, so much did his goodly presence, wherein true valour shined, breed a delightful admiration in all the beholders.
Philanax himself stayed with Philoclea, to see whether of her he might learn some disclosing of his former conclusion. But she, sweet lady, whom first a kindly shamefulness had separated from Pyrocles, having been left in a more open view than her modesty would well bear, then the attending her father’s coming, and studying how to behave herself towards him for both their safeties, had called her spirits all within her; now that upon a sudden Pyrocles was delivered out of the chamber from her, at the first she was so surprised with the extreme stroke of the woeful sight, that, like those that in their dreams are taken with some ugly vision, they would fain cry for help but have no force, so remained she a while quite deprived not only of speech but almost of any other lively action. But when indeed Pyrocles was quite drawn from her eyes, and that her vital strength began to return unto her, now not knowing what they did to Pyrocles, but, according to the nature of love, fearing the worst, wringing her hands, and letting abundance of tears be the first part of her eloquence, bending her amber crowned head over her bedside to the hard-hearted Philanax. “O Philanax, Philanax,” said she, “I know how much authority you have with my father: there is no man whose wisdom he so much esteems, nor whose face he so much reposes upon. Remember how oft you have promised your service unto me, how oft you have given me occasion to believe that there was no lady in whose favour you more desired to remain: and if the remembrance be not unpleasant to your mind, or the rehearsal unfitting for my fortune, remember there was a time when I could deserve it. Now my chance is turned, let not your truth turn. I present myself unto you, the most humble and miserable suppliant living, neither shall my desire be great: I seek for no more life than I shall be found worthy of. If my blood may wash away the dishonour of Arcadia, spare it not, although through me it hath indeed never been dishonoured.
My only suit is, you will be a mean for me, that while I am suffered to enjoy this life, I may not be separated from him, to whom the gods have joined me, and that you determine nothing of him more cruelly than you do of me. If you rightly judge of what hath passed, wherein the gods, that should have been of our marriage, are witnesses of our innocencies, then procure, we may live together. But if my father will not so conceive of us, as the fault, if any were, was united, so let the punishment be united also.” There was no man that ever loved either his prince, or anything pertaining to him, with a truer zeal than Philanax did. This made him, even to the depth of his heart, receive a most vehement grief, to see his master made as it were more miserable after death. And for himself, calling to mind in what sort his life had been preserved by Philoclea, what time taken by Amphialus, he was like to suffer a cruel death, there was nothing could have kept him from falling to all tender pity but the perfect persuasion he had that all this was joined to the pack of his master’s death, which the misconceived speech of marriage made him the more believe. Therefore first muttering to himself such like words: “The violence the gentleman spoke of, is now turned to marriage: he alleged Mars, but she speaks of Venus: O unfortunate master! this hath been that fair devil Gynecia; sent away one of her daughters, prostituted the other, impoisoned thee, to overthrow the diadem of Arcadia.” But at length thus unto herself he said: “If your father, Madam, were now to speak unto, truly there should nobody be found a more ready advocate for you than myself. For I would suffer this fault, though very great, to be blotted out of my mind, by your former led life, your benefit towards myself, and being daughter to such a father. But since among yourselves you have taken him away, in whom was the only power to have mercy, you must be clothed in your own working, and look for none other than that which dead pitiless laws may allot unto you. For my part, I loved you for your virtue, but now where is that?
I loved you in respect of a private benefit, what is that in comparison of the public loss? I loved you for your father, unhappy folks you have robbed the world of him.” These words of her father were so little understood by the only well-understanding Philoclea, that she desired him to tell her, what he meant to speak in such dark sort unto her of her lord and father, whose displeasure was more dreadful unto her than her punishment: that she was free in her own conscience, she had never deserved evil of him, no not in this last fact: wherein, if it pleased him to proceed with patience, he should find her choice had not been unfortunate. He that saw her words written in the plain table of her fair face, thought it impossible there should therein be contained deceit: and therefore so much the more abashed: “Why,” said he, “Madam, would you have me think, you are not of conspiracy with the Princess Pamela’s flight, and your father’s death?” With that word the sweet lady gave a pitiful cry, having straight in her face and breast abundance of witnesses that her heart was far from any such abominable consent. “Ah of all sides utterly ruined Philoclea,” said she, “now indeed I may well suffer all conceit of hope to die in me. Dear father, where was I that might not do you my last service before, soon after miserably following you?” Philanax, perceived the demonstration so lively and true in her that he easily acquitted her in his heart of that fact, and the more was moved to join with her in most hearty lamentation. But remembering him, that the burden of the state, and punishment of his master’s murderers, lay all upon him: “Well,” said he, “Madam, I can do nothing, without all the states of Arcadia: what they will determine of you, I know not: for my part your speeches would much prevail with me, but that I find not how to excuse your giving over your body to him that for the last proof of his treason lent his garments to disguise your miserable mother, in the most vile fact she hath committed. Hard sure will it be to separate your causes, with whom you have so nearly joined yourself.”
“Neither do I desire it,” said the sweetly weeping Philoclea: “Whatsoever you determine of him, do that likewise to me, for I know from the fountain of virtue nothing but virtue could ever proceed, only as you find him faultless, let him find you favourable, and build not my dishonour upon surmises.” Philanax, feeling his heart more and more mollifying unto her, renewed the image of his dead master in his fancy, and using that for the spurs of his revengeful choler, went suddenly without any more speech from the desolate lady, to whom now fortune seemed to threaten unripe death, and undeserved shame among her least evils. But Philanax leaving good guard upon the lodge, went himself to see the order of his other prisoners, whom even then as he issued, he found increased by this unhoped means.
The noble Pamela having delivered over the burden of her fearful cares, to the natural ease of a well-refreshing sleep, reposed both mind and body upon the trusted support of her princely shepherd, when with the braying cries of a rascal company she was robbed of her quiet, so that at one instant she opened her eyes, and the enraged Musidorus rose from her, enraged betwixt the doubt, he had what these men would go about, and the spite he conceived against their ill-pleasing presence. But the clowns having with their hideous noise brought them both to their feet, had soon knowledge what guests they had found, for indeed these were the scummy remnants of those rebels, whose naughty minds could not trust so much to the goodness of their prince, as to lay their hangworthy necks upon the constancy of his promised pardon. Therefore when the rest, who as sheep had but followed their fellows, so sheepishly had submitted themselves, these only committed their safety to the thickest part of these desert woods, who as they were in the constitution of their minds little better than beasts, so were they apt to degenerate to a beastly kind of life, having now framed their gluttonish stomachs to have for food the wild benefits of nature, the uttermost end they had being but to draw out as much as they could the line of a tedious life. In this sort vagabonding in those untrodden places, they were guided by the everlasting justice, using themselves to be punishers of their faults, and making their own actions the beginning of their chastisements, unhappily both for him and themselves, to light on Musidorus. Whom as soon as they saw turned towards them, they full well remembered it was he, that, accompanied with Basilius, had come to the succour of Zelmane, and had left among some of them bloody tokens of his valour. As for Pamela, they had many times seen her.
Thus first stirred up with a rustical revenge against him, and then desire of spoil to help their miserable wants, but chiefly thinking it was the way to confirm their own pardon, to bring the princess back unto her father, whom they were sure he would never have sent so far so slightly accompanied without any other denouncing of war, set all together upon the worthy Musidorus. Who being beforehand as much inflamed against them, gave them so brave a welcome, that the smart of some made the rest stand further off, crying and prating against him, but like bad curs, rather barking than closing: he, in the meantime, placing his trembling lady to one of the pine trees, and so setting himself before her, as might show the cause of his courage grew in himself, but the effect was only employed in her defence; the villains that now had a second proof, how ill-wards they had for such a sword, turned all the course of their violence into throwing darts and stones, indeed the only way to overmaster the valour of Musidorus. Who finding them some already touched, some fall so near his chiefest life Pamela, that in the end some one or other might hap to do an unsuccourable mischief, setting all his hope in despair, ran out from his lady among them. Who straight like so many swine when a hardy mastiff sets upon them, dispersed themselves. But the first he overtook as he ran away, carrying his head as far before him, as those manner of runnings are wont to do, with one blow struck it so clean off, that it falling betwixt the hands, and the body falling upon it, it made a show as though the fellow had had great haste to gather up his head again. Another the speed he made to run for the best game, bare him full butt against a tree, so that tumbling back with a bruised face, and a dreadful expectation, Musidorus was straight upon him, and parting with his sword one of his legs from him, left him to make a roaring lamentation that his mortar-treading was marred for ever. A third finding his feet too slow, as well as his hands too weak, suddenly turned back, beginning to open his lips for mercy.
But before he had well entered a rudely compiled oration, Musidorus’s blade was come between his jaws into his throat, and so the poor man rested there for ever with a very evil mouth full of an answer. Musidorus in this furious chase would have followed some other of these hateful wretches, but that he heard his lady cry for help, whom three of this villainous crew had, whilst Musidorus followed their fellows, compassing about some trees, suddenly come upon and surprised, threatening to kill her if she cried, and meaning to convey her out of sight, whilst the prince was making his bloodthirsty chase. But she that was resolved no worse thing could fall unto her than the being deprived of him, on whom she had established all her comfort, with a pitiful cry fetched his eyes unto her: who then thinking so many weapons thrust into his eyes, as with his eyes he saw bent against her, made all hearty speed to her succour. But one of them wiser than his companions, set his dagger to her alabaster throat, swearing if he threw not away his sword, he would kill her presently. There was never poor scholar, that having instead of his book some playing toy about him, did more suddenly cast it from him, at the child-feared presence of a cruel schoolmaster, than the valiant Musidorus discharged himself of his only defence, when he saw it stood upon the instant point of his lady’s life. And holding up his noble hands to so unworthy audience, “O Arcadians, it is I that have done you the wrong, she is your princess,” said he, “she never had will to hurt you, and you see she hath no power. Use your choler upon me that have better deserved it, do not yourselves the wrong to do her any hurt, which in no time or place will ever be forgiven you.”
They that yet trusted not to his courtesy, bid him stand further off from his sword, which he obediently did. So far was love above all other thoughts in him. Then did they call together the rest of their fellows, who though they were few, yet according to their number, possessed many places. And then began these savage senators to make a consultation what they should do: some wishing to spoil them of their jewels and let them go on their journey, for that if they carried them back, they were sure they should have least part of their prey, others preferring their old homes to anything, desired to bring them to Basilius as pledges of their surety. And there wanted not which cried, the safest way was to kill them both; to such an unworthy thraldom were these great and excellent personages brought. But the most part resisted to the killing of the princes, foreseeing their lives would never be safe after such a fact committed: and began to wish rather the spoil than death of Musidorus: when the villain that had his leg cut off came crawling towards them, and being helped to them by one of the company, began with a groaning voice, and a disfigured face, to demand the revenge of his blood, which since he had spent with them in their defence, it were no reason he should be suffered by them to die discontented. The only contentment he required was, that by their help with his own hands he might put his murderer to some cruel death: he would fain have cried more against Musidorus, but that the much loss of blood helped on with this vehemency, choked up the spirits of his life, leaving him to make betwixt his body and soul an ill-favoured partition. But they seeing their fellow in that sort die before their faces, did swell in new mortal rages: all resolved to kill him, but now only considering what manner of terrible death they should invent for him. Thus was a while the agreement of his slaying broken by disagreement of the manner of it; and extremity of cruelty. At length they were resolved every one to have a piece of him, and to become all as well hangmen as judges: when Pamela tearing her hair, and falling down among them, sometimes with all the sort of humble prayers, mixed with promises of great good turns, which they knew her state was able to perform, sometimes threatening them, that if they killed him and not her, she would not only revenge it upon them, but upon all their wives and children: bidding them consider that though they might think she was come away in her father’s displeasure, yet they might be sure he would ever show himself a father; that the gods would never, if she lived, put her in so base estate but that she should have ability to plague such as they were: returning afresh to prayers and promises, and mixing the same again with threatenings, brought them who were now grown colder in their fellow’s cause, who was past aggravating the matter with his cries, to determine with themselves there was no way, but either to kill them both, or save them both, as for the killing, already they having answered themselves that that was a way to make them citizens of the woods for ever, they did in fine conclude they would return them back again to the king, which they did not doubt would be cause of a great reward, besides their safety from their fore-deserved punishment.
Thus having either by fortune or the force of these two lovers’ inward working virtue, settled their cruel hearts to this gentler course, they took the two horses, and having set upon them their princely prisoners, they returned towards the lodge. The villains having decked all their heads with laurel branches, as thinking they had done a notable act, singing and shouting, ran by them, in hope to have brought them the same day again to the king. But the time was so far spent that they were forced to take up that night’s lodging in the midst of the woods. Where while the clowns continued their watch about them, now that the night, according to his dark nature, did add a kind of desolation to the pensive hearts of these two afflicted lovers, Musidorus taking the tender hand of Pamela, and bedewing it with his tears, in this sort gave an issue to the swelling of his heart’s grief. “Most excellent lady,” said he, “in what case think you am I with myself, how unmerciful judgments do I lay upon my soul, now that I know not what god hath so reversed my well-meaning enterprise, that, instead of doing you that honour which I hoped, and not without reason hoped, Thessalia should have yielded unto you, am now like to become a wretched instrument of your discomfort? alas! how contrary an end have all the inclinations of my mind taken: my faith falls out a treason unto you, and the true honour I bear you is the field wherein your dishonour is like to be sown! but I invoke that universal and only wisdom, which examining the depth of hearts, hath not his judgment fixed upon the event, to bear testimony with me that my desire, though in extremest vehemency, yet did not so overcharge my remembrance, but that as far as man’s will might be extended I sought to prevent all things that might fall to your hurt. But now that all the evil fortunes of evil fortune have crossed my best framed intent, I am most miserable in that, that I cannot only not give you help, but, which is worst of all, am barred from giving you counsel. For how should I open my mouth to counsel you in that, wherein by my counsel you are most undeservedly fallen?”
The fair and wise Pamela, although full of cares of the unhappy turning of this matter, yet seeing the grief of Musidorus only stirred for her, did so tread down all other motions with the true force of virtue that she thus answered him, having first kissed him, which before she had never done, love commanding her, which doubted how long they should enjoy one another, or of a lively spark of nobleness, to descend in most favour to one when he is lowest in affliction. “My dear and ever dear Musidorus,” said she, “a greater wrong do you to yourself, that will torment you thus with grief for the fault of fortune. Since a man is bound no further to himself than to do wisely: chance is only to trouble them that stand upon chance. But greater is the wrong, at least, if anything that comes from you may bear the name of wrong, you do unto me, to think me either so childish as not to perceive your faithful faultlessness, or perceiving it, so basely disposed as to let my heart be overthrown, standing upon itself in so unspotted a pureness. Hold for certain, most worthy Musidorus, it is yourself I love, which can no more be diminished by these showers of evil hap than flowers are marred with the timely rains of April. For how can I want comfort that have the true living comfort of thy unblemished virtue? And how can I want honour, as long as Musidorus, in whom indeed honour is, doth honour me? Nothing bred from myself can discomfort me; and fools’ opinions I will not reckon as dishonour.” Musidorus looking up to the stars, “O mind of mine!” said he, “the living power of all things, which dost with all these eyes behold our ever-varying actions, accept into thy favourable ears this prayer of mine: if I may any longer hold out this dwelling on the earth, which is called a life, grant me ability to deserve at this lady’s hands the grace she hath showed unto me: grant me wisdom to know her wisdom, and goodness so to increase my love of her goodness, that all mine own chosen desires, be to myself but second to her determination.
Whatsoever I be let it be to her service: let me herein be satisfied, that for such infinite favours of virtue I have some way wrought her satisfaction. But if my last time approacheth, and that I am no longer to be amongst mortal creatures, make yet my death serve her to some purpose, that hereafter she may not have cause to repent herself that she bestowed so excellent a mind upon Musidorus.”
Pamela could not choose but accord the conceit of their fortune to these passionate prayers, in so much that their constant eyes yielded some tears, which wiping from her face with Musidorus’s hand, speaking softly unto him, as if she had feared more anybody should be witness of her weakness, than of anything else she had said, “You see,” said she, “my prince and only lord, what you work in me by your too much grieving for me. I pray you think I have no joy but in you, and if you fill that with sorrow, what do you leave for me? What is prepared for us we know not, but that with sorrow we cannot prevent it, we know. Now let us turn from these things, and think you how you will have me behave myself towards you in this matter.” Musidorus finding the authority of her speech confirmed with direct necessity, the first care came to his mind was of his dear friend and cousin Pyrocles; with whom long before he had concluded what names they should bear, if upon any occasion they were forced to give themselves out for great men, and yet not make themselves fully known. Now fearing, lest if the princess should name him for Musidorus, the fame of their two being together would discover Pyrocles; holding her hand betwixt his hands a good while together: “I did not think, most excellent princess,” said he, “to have made any further request unto you, for having been already unto you so unfortunate a suitor, I know not what modesty can bear any further demand. But the state of one young man, whom, next to you, far above myself, I love more than all the world, one worthy of all well-being for the notable constitution of his mind, and most unworthy to receive hurt by me, whom he doth in all faith and constancy love, the pity of him only goes beyond all resolution to the contrary.” Then did he, to the princess’s great admiration, tell her the whole story as far as he knew of it, and that when they made the grievous disjunction of their long combination, they had concluded Musidorus should entitle himself Palladius, prince of Iberia, and Pyrocles should be Daiphantus of Lycia.
“Now,” said Musidorus, “he keeping a woman’s habit, is to use no other name than Zelmane; but I that find it best of the one side for your honour, you went away with a prince, and not with a shepherd; of the other side, accounting my death less evil than the betraying of that sweet friend of mine, will take this mean betwixt both, and using the name of Palladius, if the respect of a prince will stop your father’s fury, that will serve as well as Musidorus, until Pyrocles’s fortune being some way established, I may freely give good proof that the noble country of Thessalia is mine; and if that will not mitigate your father’s opinion to me-wards, nature, I hope, working in your excellency, will make him deal well with you: for my part the image of death is nothing fearful unto me, and this good I shall have reaped by it, that I shall leave my most esteemed friend in no danger to be disclosed by me. And besides, since I must confess I am not without a remorse of her case, my virtuous mother shall not know her son’s violent death hid under the fame will go of Palladius. But as long as her years, now of good number, be counted among the living, she may joy herself with some possibility of my return.” Pamela promising him upon no occasion ever to name him, fell into extremity of weeping, as if her eyes had been content to spend all their seeing moistness, now that there was a speech of the loss of that which they held as their chiefest light. So that Musidorus was forced to repair her good counsels with sweet consolations, which continued betwixt them till it was about midnight, that sleep having stolen into their heavy senses, and now absolutely commanding in their vital powers, left them delicately wound one in another’s arms, quietly to wait for the coming of the morning; which as soon as she appeared to play her part, laden, as you have heard, with so many well occasioned lamentations, their lobbish guard, who all night had kept themselves awake, with prating how valiant deeds they had done when they ran away; and how fair a death their fellow had died, who at his last gasp sued to be a hangman, awaked them, and set them upon their horses, to whom the very shining force of excellent virtue, though in a very harrish subject, had wrought a kind of reverence in them: Musidorus as he rode among them, of whom they had no other hold but of Pamela, thinking it want of a well-squared judgment to leave any means unassayed of saving their lives, to this purpose spoke to his unseemly guardians, using a plain kind of phrase to make his speech the more credible.
“My masters,” said he, “there is no man that is wise but hath, in whatsoever he doth, some purpose whereto he directs his doings, which so long he follows till he see that either that purpose is not worth the pains, or that another doing carries with it a better purpose. That you are wise in what you take in hand, I have to my cost learned; that makes me desire you tell me what is your end in carrying the princess and me back to her father.” “Pardon,” said one; “reward,” cried another. “Well,” said he, “take both, although I know you are so wise to remember that hardly they both will go together, being of so contrary a making; for the ground of pardon is an evil, neither any man pardons but remembers an evil done: the cause of reward is the opinion of some good act, and whoso rewardeth, that holds the chief place of his fancy. Now one man of one company, to have the same consideration of good and evil, but that the conceit of pardoning, if it be pardoned, will take away the mind of rewarding, is very hard, if not impossible. For either even in justice will he punish the fault, as well as reward the desert, or else in mercy balance the one by the other: so that the not chastising shall be a sufficient satisfying. Thus then you may see that in your own purpose rests great uncertainty. But I will grant that by this your deed you shall obtain your double purpose. Yet consider, I pray you, whether by another means that may not better be obtained, and then I doubt not your wisdom will teach you to take hold of the better. I am sure you know, anybody were better have no need of a pardon than enjoy a pardon; for as it carries with it the surety of a preserved life, so bears it a continual note of a deserved death. This therefore, besides the danger you may run into, my Lady Pamela being the undoubted inheritrix of this state, if she shall hereafter seek to revenge the wrong done her shall be continually cast in your teeth, as men dead by the law: the honester sort will disdain your company, and your children shall be the more basely reputed of, and you yourselves in every slight fault hereafter, as men once condemned, aptest to be overthrown. Now if you will, I doubt not but you will, for you are wise, turn your course, and guard my Lady Pamela thitherward, whither she was going: first, you need not doubt to adventure your fortune where she goes, and there shall you be assured in a country as good and rich as this is, of the same manners and language to be so far from the conceit of a pardon, as we both shall be forced to acknowledge we have received by your means whatsoever we hold dear in this life. And so for reward, judge you whether it be not more likely, you shall there receive it where you have done no evil, but singular and undeserved goodness; or here, where this service of yours shall be diminished by your duty, and blemished by your former fault. Yes I protest and swear unto you, by the fair eyes of that lady, there shall no gentleman in all that country be preferred: you shall have riches, ease, pleasure, and that which is best to such worthy minds, you shall not be forced to cry mercy for a good fact. You only, of all the Arcadians shall have the praise, in continuing in your late valiant attempt, and not be basely brought under a halter for seeking the liberty of Arcadia.”
These words in their minds, who did nothing for any love of goodness, but only as their senses presented greater shows of profit, began to make them waver, and some to clap their hands and scratch their heads, and swear it was the best way. Others that would seem wiser than the rest, to capitulate what tenements they should have, what subsidies they should pay; others to talk of their wives, in doubt whether it were best to send for them, or to take new where they went: most, like fools, not readily thinking what was next to be done, but imagining what cheer they would make when they came there, one or two of the last discoursers beginning to turn their faces towards the woods which they had left. But being now come within the plain, near to the lodges, unhappily they espied a troop of horsemen. But then their false hearts had quickly, for the present fear, forsaken their last hopes: and therefore keeping on the way toward the lodge, with songs and cries of joy, the horsemen, who were some of them Philanax had sent out to the search of Pamela, came galloping unto them, marvelling who they were that in such a general mourning durst sing joyful tunes, and in so public a ruin wear the laurel token of victory. And that which seemed strangest, they might see two among them unarmed like prisoners, but riding like captains. But when they came nearer, they perceived the one was a lady, and the Lady Pamela. Then glad they had by hap found that which they so little hoped to meet withal, taking these clowns, who first resisted them, for the desire they had to be the deliverers of the two excellent prisoners, learning that they were of those rebels which had made the dangerous uproar, as well under colour to punish that, as this their last withstanding them, but indeed their principal cause being, because they themselves would have the only praise of their own quest, they suffered not one of them to live. Marry three of the stubbornest of them they left their bodies hanging upon the trees, because their doing might carry the likelier form of judgment.
Such an unlooked-for end did the life of justice work for the naughty-minded wretches, by subjects to be executed, that would have executed princes: and to suffer that without law, which by law they had deserved. And thus these young folks twice prisoners, before any due arrest, delivered of their jailors, but not of their jail, had rather change than respite of misery; these soldiers that took them with very few words of entertainment, hasting to carry them to their lord Philanax, to whom they came, even as he, going out of the Lady Philoclea’s chamber, had overtaken Pyrocles, whom before he had delivered to the custody of a nobleman of that country. When Pyrocles, led towards his prison, saw his friend Musidorus, with the noble Lady Pamela in that unexpected sort returned, his grief, if any grief were in a mind which had placed everything according to his natural worth, was very much augmented; for besides some small hope he had, if Musidorus had once been clear of Arcadia, by his dealing and authority to have brought his only gladsome desires to a good issue: the hard estate of his friend did no less, nay rather more vex him than his own. For so indeed it is ever found, where valour and friendship are perfectly coupled in one heart; the reason being that the resolute man having once digested in his judgment the worst extremity of his own case, and having either quite expelled or at least repelled all passion which ordinarily follows an overthrown fortune, not knowing his friend’s mind so well as his own, nor with what patience he brooks his case, which as it were the material cause of making a man happy or unhappy, doubts whether his friend accounts not himself more miserable, and so indeed be more lamentable. But as soon as Musidorus was brought by the soldiers near unto Philanax, Pyrocles not knowing whether ever after he should be suffered to see his friend, and determining there could be no advantage by dissembling a not-knowing of him, leaped suddenly from their hands that held him, and passing, with a strength strengthened with a true affection, through them that encompassed Musidorus, he embraced him as fast as he could in his arms.
And kissing his cheeks, “O my Palladius,” said he, “let not our virtue now abandon us; let us prove our minds are no slaves to fortune, but in adversity can triumph over adversity.” “Dear Daiphantus,” answered Musidorus, seeing by his apparel his being a man was revealed, “I thank you for this best care of my best part: but fear not, I have kept too long company with you to want now a thorough determination of these things; I well know, there is nothing evil but within us, the rest is either natural or accidental.” Philanax, finding them of so near acquaintance, began presently to examine them apart: but such resolution he met with in them, that by no such means he could learn further than it pleased them to deliver. So that he thought best to put them both in one place, with espial of their words and behaviour, that way to sift out the more of these surpassed mischiefs. And for that purpose gave them both unto the nobleman, who before had the custody of Pyrocles, by name Sympathus, leaving a trusty servant of his own to give diligent watch to what might pass betwixt them. No man that hath ever passed through the school of affection, needs doubt what a tormenting grief it was to the noble Pamela, to have the company of him taken from her, to whose virtuous company she had bound her life. But weighing with herself, it was fit for her honour, till her doings were clearly manifested, that they should remain separate, kept down the rising tokens of grief; showing passion in nothing but her eyes, which accompanied Musidorus even unto the tent, whither he and Pyrocles were led. Then, with a countenance more princely than she was wont, according to the wont of highest hearts, like the palm tree striving most upwards, when he is most burdened, she commanded Philanax to bring her to her father and mother, that she might render them an account of her doings. Philanax showing a sullen kind of reverence unto her, as a man that honoured her as his master’s heir, but much misliked her for her, in his conceit, dishonourable proceedings, told her what was past, rather to answer her, than that he thought she was ignorant of it.
But her good spirit did presently suffer a true compassionate affliction of those hard adventures, which, with crossing her arms, looking a great while upon the ground, with those eyes which let fall many tears, she well declared. But in the end, remembering how necessary it was for her, not to lose herself in such an extremity, she strengthened her well-created heart, and stoutly demanded Philanax, what authority then they had to lay hands on her person, who being the undoubted heir, was then the lawful princess of that kingdom? Philanax answered, her grace knew the ancient laws of Arcadia bare, she was to have no sway of government till she came to one and twenty years of age, or were married. “And married I am,” replied the wise princess, “therefore I demand your due allegiance.” “The gods forbid,” said Philanax, “Arcadia should be a dowry of such marriages.” Besides, he told her all the states of her country were evil satisfied touching her father’s death, which likewise according to the statutes of Arcadia, was even that day to be judged of, before the body were removed to receive his princely funeral. After that passed, she should have such obedience, as by the laws were due unto her, desiring God she would show herself better in public government than she had done in private. She would have spoken to the gentlemen and people gathered about her, but Philanax fearing lest thereby some commotion might arise, or at least a hinderance of executing his master’s murderers, which he longed after more than anything, hasted her up to the lodge, where her sister was, and there was a chosen company of soldiers to guard the place, left her with Philoclea, Pamela protesting they laid violent hands on her, and that they entered into rebellious attempts against her. But high time it was for Philanax so to do, for already was all the whole multitude fallen into confused and dangerous divisions.
There was a notable example, how great dissipations monarchical government is subject unto. For now their prince and guide had left them, they had not experience to rule, and had not whom to obey. Public matters had ever been privately governed, so that they had no lively taste what was good for themselves. But everything was either vehemently desireful, or extremely terrible. Neighbours’ invasions, civil dissention, cruelty of the coming prince, and whatsoever in common sense carries a dreadful show, was in all men’s heads, but in few how to prevent: hearkening on every rumour, suspecting everything, condemning them whom before they had honoured, making strange and impossible tales of the king’s death, while they thought themselves in danger, wishing nothing but safety; as soon as persuasion of safety took them, desiring further benefits, as amendment of fore-passed faults, which faults notwithstanding none could tell either the grounds or effects of, all agreeing in the universal names of liking or misliking, but of what in especial points, infinitely disagreeing. Altogether like a falling steeple, the parts whereof, as windows, stones, and pinnacles were well, but the whole mass ruinous. And this was the general cause of all, wherein notwithstanding was an extreme medley of diversified thoughts, the great men looking to make themselves strong by factions, the gentlemen some bending to them, some standing upon themselves, some desirous to overthrow those few which they thought were over them; the soldiers desirous of trouble, as the nurse of spoil, and not much unlike to them though in another way, were all the needy sort, the rich fearful, the wise careful. This composition of conceits brought forth a dangerous tumult, which yet would have been more dangerous, but that it had so many parts that nobody well knew against whom chiefly to oppose themselves. For some there were that cried to have the state altered, and governed no more by a prince; marry, in the alteration, many would have the Lacedaemonian government of a few chosen senators, others the Athenian, where the people’s voice held the chief authority.
But these were rather the discoursing sort of men, than the active, being a matter more in imagination than practice. But they that went nearest to the present case, as in a country that knew no government without a prince, were they that strove whom they should make. Whereof a great number there were that would have the Princess Pamela presently to enjoy it: some disdaining that she had as it were abandoned her own country, inclining more to Philoclea; and there wanted not of them, which wished Gynecia were delivered, and made regent till Pamela were worthily married. But great multitudes there were, which having been acquainted with the just government of Philanax, meant to establish him as lieutenant of the state; and these were the most popular sort, who judged by the commodities they felt. But the principal men in honour and might, who had long before envied his greatness with Basilius, did much more spurn against any such preferment of him. For yet before their envy had some kind of breathing out his rancour, by laying his greatness as a fault to the prince’s judgment, who showed in Dametas he might easily be deceived in men’s value: but now if the prince’s choice, by so many mouths should be confirmed, what could they object to so rightly esteemed an excellency, they therefore were disposed sooner to yield to any thing than to his raising; and were content, for to cross Philanax, to stop those actions, which otherwise they could not but think good. Philanax himself as much hindered by those that did immoderately honour him, which brought both more envy and suspicion upon him, as by them that did manifestly resist him: but, standing only upon a constant desire of justice, and a clear conscience went forward stoutly in the action of his master’s revenge, which he thought himself particularly bound to. For the rest, as the ordering of the government, he accounted himself but as one wherein notwithstanding he would employ all his loyal endeavour.
But among the noblemen, he that most openly set himself against him was named Timautus, a man of middle age, but of extreme ambition, as one that had placed his uttermost good in greatness, thinking small difference by what means he came by it. Of commendable wit, if he had not made it a servant to unbridled desires. Cunning to creep into men’s favours, which he prized only as they were serviceable unto him. He had been brought up in some soldiery, which he knew how to set out with more than deserved ostentation. Servile, though envious, to his betters: and no less tyrannically minded to them he had advantage of. Counted revengeful, but indeed measuring both revenge and reward, as the party might either help or hurt him. Rather shameless than bold, and yet more bold in practice than in personal adventures. In some, a man that could be as evil as he listed, and listed as much as any advancement might thereby be gotten. As for virtue he counted it but a school-name. He even at the first assembling together, finding the great stroke Philanax carried among the people, thought it his readiest way of ambition to join with him: which though his pride did hardly brook, yet the other vice carrying with it a more apparent object prevailed over the weaker, so that with those liberal protestations of friendship, which men that care not for their word are wont to bestow, he offered unto him the choice in marriage of either the sisters, so he would likewise help him to the other, and make such a partition of the Arcadian estate. Wishing him that since he loved his master, because he was his master, which showed the love began in himself, he should rather now occasion was presented seek his own good substantially than affect the smoke of a glory by showing an untimely fidelity to him that could not reward it: and have all the fruit he could get, in men’s opinions, which would be as divers as many; few agreeing to yield him due praise of his true heart.
But Philanax, who had limited his thoughts in that he esteemed good, to which he was neither carried by the vain tickling of uncertain fame, nor from which he would be transported by enjoying anything, whereto the ignorant world gives the excellent name of goods, with great mislike of his offer, he made him so peremptory an answer, not without threatening, if he found him foster any such fancy, that Timautus went with an inward spite from him, whom before he had never loved: and measuring all men’s marches by his own pace, rather thought it some further fetch of Philanax, as that he would have all to himself alone, than was any way taken with the lovely beauty of his virtue, whose image he had so quite defaced in his own soul that he had left himself no eyes to behold it, but stayed waiting fit opportunity to execute his desires both for himself and against Philanax, which by the bringing back of Pamela, the people being divided into many motions, which both with murmuring noises, and putting themselves in several troops, they well showed, he thought apt time was laid before him, the waters being, as the proverb saith, troubled, and so the better for his fishing. Therefore going among the chiefest lords, whom he knew principally to repine at Philanax, and making a kind of convocation of them, he inveighed against his proceeding, drawing everything to the most malicious interpretation, that malice itself could instruct him to do. He said, it was season for them to look to such a weed, that else would over-grow them all. It was not now time to consult of the dead, but of the living: since such a sly wolf was entered among them, that could make justice the cloak of tyranny, and love of his late master the destruction of his now being children. “Do you not see,” said he, “how far his corruption hath stretched, that he hath such a number of rascals’ voices to declare him lieutenant, ready to make him prince, but that he instructs them, matters are not yet ripe for it? as for us, because we are too rich to be bought, he thinks us the fitter to be killed. Hath Arcadia bred no man but Philanax?
is she become a stepmother to all the rest, and hath given all her blessings to Philanax? or if there be men amongst us, let us show we disdain to be servants to a servant. Let us make him know we are far worthier not to be slaves than he to be a master. Think you he hath made such haste in these matters to give them over to another man’s hand? think you he durst become the jailor of his princess, but either meaning to be her master, or her murderer? and all this for the dear goodwill, forsooth, he bears to the king’s memory, whose authority as he abused in his life, so he would now persevere to abuse his name after his death. O notable affection, for the love of the father to kill the wife and disinherit the children! O single-minded modesty, to aspire to no less than to the princely diadem, no, no, he hath veered all this while, but to come the sooner to his affected end. But let us remember what we be, in quality his equals, in number far before him: let us deliver the queen and our natural princesses, and leave them no longer under his authority, whose proceedings would rather show that he himself had been the murderer of the king, than a fit guardian of his posterity.”
These words pierced much into the minds already inclined that way, insomuch that most part of the nobility confirmed Timautus’s speech, and were ready to execute it: when Philanax came among them, and with a constant, but reverent behaviour, desired them they would not exercise private grudges in so common a necessity. He acknowledged himself a man, and a faulty man: to the clearing or satisfying of which, he would at all times submit himself; since his end was to bring all things to an upright judgment, it should evil fit him to fly the judgment. “But,” said he, “my lords, let not Timautus’s railing speech, who whatsoever he finds evil in his own soul can with ease lay it upon another, make me lose your good favour. Consider that all well-doing stands so in the middle betwixt his two contrary evils that it is a ready matter to cast a slanderous shade upon the most approved virtues. Who hath an evil tongue, can call severity cruelty, and faithful diligence, diligent ambition. But my end is not to excuse myself, nor to accuse him: for both those hereafter will be time enough. There is neither of us, whose purging or punishing may so much import to Arcadia. Now I request you, for your own honour’s sake, and require you by the duty you owe to this estate, that you do presently, according to the laws, take in hand the chastisement of our master’s murderers, and laying order for the government by whomsoever it be done, so it be done, and justly done, I am satisfied. My labour hath been to frame things so that you might determine; now it is in you to determine. For my part, I call the heavens to witness, the care of my heart stands to repay that, wherein both I and most of you were tied to that prince, with whom all my love of worldly action is dead.”
As Philanax was speaking his last words there came one running to him with open mouth and fearful eyes, telling him that there was a great number of the people which were bent to take the young men out of Sympathus’s hands, and as it should seem by their acclamations, were like enough to proclaim them princes. “Nay,” said Philanax, speaking aloud, and looking with a just anger upon the noblemen, “it is no season to hear Timautus’s idle slanders while strangers become our lords, and Basilius’s murderers sit in his throne. But whosoever is a true Arcadian let him follow me.” With that he went toward the place he heard of, followed by those that had ever loved him, and some of the noblemen. Some other remaining with Timautus, who in the meantime was conspiring by strong hands to deliver Gynecia, of whom the weakest guard was had. But Philanax, where he went found them all in an uproar, which thus was fallen out. The greatest multitude of people that were come to the death of Basilius, were the Mantineans, as being the nearest city to the lodges. Among these the chief man both in authority and love was Kalander, he that not long before had been host to the two princes; whom though he knew not so much as by name, yet besides the obligation he stood bound to them in for preserving the lives of his son and nephew, their noble behaviour had bred such love in his heart towards them that both with tears he parted from them when they left him, under promise to return, and did keep their jewels and apparel as the relics of two demi-gods. Among others he had entered the prison and seen them, which forthwith so invested his soul, both with sorrow and desire to help them, whom he tendered as his children, that calling his neighbours the Mantineans unto him, he told them all the praises of these two young men, swearing he thought the gods had provided for them better than they themselves could have imagined. He willed them to consider that when all was done Basilius’s children must enjoy the state, who since they had chosen, and chosen so that all the world could not mend their choice, why should they resist God’s doing, and their princess’s pleasure? this was the only way to purchase quietness without blood, where otherwise they should at one instant crown Pamela with a crown of gold, and a dishonoured title? which whether ever she would forget, he thought it fit for them to weigh: “Such,” said he, “heroical greatness shines in their eyes, such an extraordinary majesty in all their actions, as surely either fortune by parentage, or nature in creation, hath made them princes. And yet a state already we have, we need but a man, who since he is presented unto you by the heavenly providence, embraced by our undoubted princess, worthy for their youth of compassion, for their beauty of admiration, for their excellent virtue to be monarchs of the world; shall we not be content with our own bliss? shall we put out our eyes because another man cannot see? or rather like some men, when too much good happens unto them, they think themselves in a dream and have not spirits to taste their own goods? No, no, my friends, believe me, I am so impartial, that I know not their names, but so overcome with their virtue that I shall then think the destinies have ordained a perpetual flourishing to Arcadia, when they shall allot such a governor unto it.”
This spoken by a grave man in years, great in authority, near allied to the prince, and known honest, prevailed so with all the Mantineans, that with one voice they ran to deliver the two princes. But Philanax came in time to withstand them, both sides standing in arms, and rather wanting a beginning than minds to enter into a bloody conflict. Which Philanax foreseeing, thought best to remove the prisoners secretly, and if need were, rather without form of justice to kill them, than against justice, as he thought, to have them usurp the state. But there again arose a new trouble. For Sympathus, the nobleman that kept them, was so stricken in compassion with their excellent presence, that as he would not falsify his promise to Philanax to give them liberty so yet would he not yield them to himself, fearing he would do them violence. Thus tumult upon tumult arising, the sun, I think, weary to see their discords had already gone down to his western lodging. But yet to know what the poor shepherds did, who were the first discriers of these matters, will not to some ears perchance be a tedious digression.
