The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 31 – Sidney · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 31The Fourth Eclogues (part 1)
18
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 31
The Fourth Eclogues (part 1)
SidneyEnglish
The shepherds finding no place for them in these garboils, to which their quiet hearts, whose highest ambition was in keeping themselves up in goodness, had at all no aptness, retired themselves from among the clamorous multitude: and as sorrow desires company, went up together to the western side of an hill, whose prospect extended it so far that they might well discern many of Arcadia’s beauties. And there looking upon the sun’s as then declining race, the poor men sat pensive of their present miseries, as if they found a weariness of their woeful words: till at last good old Geron, who as he had longest tasted the benefits of Basilius’s government, so seemed to have a special feeling of the present loss, wiping his eyes and long white beard, bedewed with great drops of tears, began in this sort to complain: “Alas! poor sheep,” said he, “which hitherto have enjoyed your fruitful pasture in such quietness, as your wool among other things hath made this country famous, your best days are now past: now you must become the victual of an army, and perchance an army of foreign enemies, you are now not only to fear home-wolves, but alien lions: now, I say, now that our right Basilius is deceased. Alas! sweet pastures, shall soldiers that know not how to use you, possess you? shall they that cannot speak the Arcadian language be lords over your shepherds? for alas with good cause may we look for any evil, since Basilius our only strength is taken from us.”
To that all the other shepherds present uttered pitiful voices, especially the very born Arcadians. For as for the other, though humanity moved them to pity human cases, especially in a prince under whom they had found a refuge of their miseries, and justice equally administered, yet could they not so naturally feel the lively touch of sorrow. Nevertheless, of that number one Agelastus notably noted among them as well for his skill in poetry as for an austerely maintained sorrowfulness, wherewith he seemed to despise the works of nature, framing an universal complaint in that universal mischief, uttered it in this Sestine.
Since wailing is a bud of causeful sorrow,
Since sorrow is the follower of evil fortune,
Since no evil fortune equals public damage;
Now prince’s loss hath made our damage public,
Sorrow pay we to thee the rights of nature,
And inward grief seal up with outward wailing.
Why should we spare our voice from endless wailing,
Who justly make our hearts the seat of sorrow?
In such a case where it appears that nature
Doth add her force unto the sting of fortune:
Choosing alas, this our theatre public,
Where they would leave trophies of cruel damage.
Then, since such powers conspired unto our damage
(Which may be known, but never help with wailing)
Yet let us leave a monument in public
Of willing tears, torn hairs, and cries of sorrow,
For lost, lost is by blow of cruel fortune
Arcadia’s gem, the noblest child of nature.
O nature doting old, O blind dead nature,
How hast thou torn thyself, sought thine own damage
In granting such a scope to filthy fortune,
By thy imp’s loss to fill the world with wailing.
Cast thy step-mother eyes, upon our sorrow,
Public our loss: so, see, thy shame is public.
O that we had, to make our woes more public,
Seas in our eyes, and brazen tongues by nature,
A yelling voice, and hearts compos’d of sorrow,
Breath made of flames, wits knowing naught but damage,
Our sports murd’ring ourselves, our musics wailing,
Our studies fixed upon the falls of fortune.
No, no, our mischief grows in this vile fortune,
That private pains cannot breathe out in public
The furious inward griefs with hellish wailing:
But forced are to burden feeble nature
With secret sense of our eternal damage,
And sorrow feed, feeding our souls with sorrow.
Since sorrow then concluded all our fortune,
With all our deaths show we this damage public:
His nature fears to die who lives still wailing.
It seemed that this complaint of Agelastus had awaked the spirits of the Arcadians, astonished before with the exceedingness of sorrow. For he had scarcely ended when divers of them offered to follow his example in bewailing the general loss of that country which had been as well a nurse to strangers as a mother to Arcadians. Among the rest one accounted good in that kind, and made the better by the true feeling of sorrow, roared out a song of lamentation, which, as well as might be, was gathered up in this form:
Since that to death is gone the shepherd high,
Who most the silly shepherd’s pipe did prize,
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
And you O trees, if any life there lies
In trees, now through your porous barks receive
The strange resound of these my causeful cries:
And let my breath upon your branches cleave,
My breath distinguished into words of woe,
That so I may signs of my sorrow leave.
But if among yourselves some one tree grow,
That aptest is to figure misery,
Let it embassage bear your griefs to show,
The weeping myrrh I think will not deny
Her help to this, this justest cause of plaint.
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
And thou, poor earth, whom fortune doth attaint,
In nature’s name to suffer such a harm,
As for to lose thy gem, and such a saint,
Upon thy face let coaly ravens swarm:
Let all the sea thy tears accounted be;
Thy bowels will all killing metals arm.
Let gold now rust, let diamonds waste in thee:
Let pearls be wan with woe their dam doth bear!
Thyself henceforth the light do never see,
And you, O flowers, which sometimes princes wear,
Tell these strange alt’rings you did hap to try,
Of princes’ loss yourselves for tokens rear.
Lily in mourning black thy whiteness die:
O Hyacinth let “Ai” be on thee still,
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
O Echo, all these woods with roaring fill,
And do not only mark the accents last,
But all, for all reach out my wailful will:
One Echo to another Echo cast
Sound of my griefs, and let it never end,
Till that it hath all words and waters passed,
Nay to the heav’ns your just complaining send,
And stay the stars’ inconstant constant race,
Till that they do unto our dolours bend:
And ask the reason of that special grace,
That they which have no lives should live so long,
And virtuous souls so soon should lose their place?
Ask, if in great men good men do so throng,
That he for want of elbow-room must die?
Or if that they be scant, if this be wrong?
Did Wisdom this our wretched time espy
In one true chest to rob all virtue’s treasure?
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
And if that any counsel you to measure
Your doleful tunes, to them still plaining say,
“To well felt grief plaint is the only pleasure.”
O light of sun, which is entitled day:
O well thou dost that thou no longer bidest;
For mourning night her black weeds may display,
O Phoebus with good cause thy face thou hidest,
Rather than have thy all-beholding eye
Fouled with this sight, while thou thy chariot guidest,
And well methinks becomes this vaulty sky
A stately tomb to cover him deceased.
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
O Philomela with thy breast oppressed
By shame and grief, help, help me to lament
Such cursed harms as cannot be redressed.
Or if thy mourning notes be fully spent,
Then give a quiet ear unto my plaining:
For I to teach the world complaint am bent.
You dimmy clouds, which well employ your staining.
This cheerful air with your obscured cheer,
Witness your woeful tears with daily raining.
And if, O sun, thou ever didst appear,
In shape, which by man’s eye might be perceived:
Virtue is dead, now set thy triumph here.
Now set thy triumph in this world, bereaved
Of what was good, where now no good doth lie:
And by the pomp our loss will be conceived,
O notes of mine yourselves together tie:
With too much grief methinks you are dissolved.
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
Time ever old, and young is still revolved
Within itself, and never tasteth end:
But mankind is for aye to nought resolved,
The filthy snake her aged coat can mend,
And getting youth again, in youth doth flourish:
But unto man age ever death doth send,
The very trees with grafting we can cherish,
So that we can long time produce their time:
But man which helpeth them, helpless must perish.
Thus, thus the minds which over all do climb,
When they by years’ experience get best graces,
Must finish then by death’s detested crime.
We last short while, and build long lasting places:
Ah let us all against foul nature cry:
We nature’s works do help, she us defaces;
For how can nature unto this reply:
That she her child, I say, her best child killeth?
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
Alas methinks my weakened voice but spilleth
The vehement course of his just lamentation:
Methinks, my sound no place with sorrow filleth.
I know not I, but once in detestation
I have myself, and all what life containeth,
Since death on virtue’s fort hath made invasion
One word of woe another after traineth:
Nor do I care how rude by my invention,
So it be seen what sorrow in me reigneth.
O elements, by whose, men say, contention,
Our bodies be in living power maintained,
Was this man’s death the fruit of your dissention?
O physic’s power, which some say, hath restrained
Approach of death, alas, thou helpest meagrely,
When once one is for Atropos distrained,
Great be physicians’ brags, but aid is beggarly,
When rooted moisture fails or groweth dry,
They leave off all, and say, death comes too eagerly.
They are but words therefore that men do buy
Of any, since god Aesculapius ceased,
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
Justice, justice is now, alas, oppressed:
Bountifulness hath made his last conclusion:
Goodness for best attire in dust is dressed.
Shepherds bewail your uttermost confusion;
And see by this picture to you presented,
Death is our home, life is but a delusion,
For see, alas, who is from you absented,
Absented? nay I say for ever banished
For such as were to die for him contented?
Out of her sight in turn of hand is vanished
Shepherd of shepherds, whose well settled order
Private with wealth, public with quiet garnished
While he did live, far, far was all disorder,
Example more prevailing than direction,
Far was home-strife, and far was foe from border,
His life a law, his look a full correction:
As in his health we healthful were preserved,
So in his sickness grew our sure infection.
His death our death. But ah, my muse hath swerved,
For such deep plaint as should such woes descry,
Which he of us for ever hath deserved.
The style of heavy heart can never fly
So high, as should make such a pain notorious:
Cease Muse therefore: thy dart O death apply,
And farewell prince, whom goodness hath made glorious.
Many were ready to have followed this course, but the day was so wasted, that only this rhyming Sestine delivered by one of great account among them, could obtain favour to be heard.
Farewell, O sun, Arcadia’s clearest light:
Farewell, O pearl, the poor man’s plenteous treasure.
Farewell, O golden staff, the weak man’s might:
Farewell, O joy, the joyful’s only pleasure.
Wisdom, farewell, the skill-less man’s direction:
Farewell with thee, farewell all our affection.
For what place now is left for our affection,
Now that of purest lamp is quench’d the light.
Which to our darkened minds was best direction?
Now that the mine is lost of all our treasure?
Now death hath swallowed up our worldly pleasure,
We orphans made, void of all public might?
Orphans indeed, depriv’d of father’s might:
For he our father was in all affection,
In our well-doing placing all his pleasure,
Still studying how to us to be a light.
As well he was in peace a safest treasure:
In war his wit and word was our direction.
Whence, whence, alas, shall we seek our direction?
When that we fear our hateful neighbours’ might,
Who long have gap’d to get Arcadian’s treasure.
Shall we now find a guide of such affection,
Who for our sakes will think all travel light,
And make his pain to keep us safe, his pleasure?
No, no, for ever gone is all our pleasure;
For ever wand’ring from all good direction;
For ever blinded of our clearest light;
For ever lamed of our sured might;
For ever banish’d from well-plac’d affection;
For ever robb’d of all our royal treasure.
Let tears for him therefore be all our treasure,
And in our wailing naming him our pleasure:
Let hating of ourselves be our affection,
And unto death bend still our thoughts’ direction:
Let us against ourselves employ our might,
And putting out our eyes seek we our light.
The night began to cast her dark canopy over them, and they, even weary with their woes, bended homewards, hoping by sleep, forgetting themselves, to ease their present dolours, when they were met with a troop of twenty horse, the chief of which asking them for the king, and understanding the hard news, thereupon stayed among them expecting the return of a messenger, whom with speed he dispatched to Philanax.
[End of Book IV]
ARCADIA
BOOK V
The dangerous division of men’s minds, the ruinous renting of all estates, had now brought Arcadia to feel the pangs of uttermost peril, such convulsions never coming, but that the life of that government draws near his necessary period, when to the honest and wise Philanax, equally distracted between desire of his master’s revenge and care of the estate’s establishment, there came, unlooked for, a Macedonian gentleman, who in short, but pithy manner, delivered unto him, that the renowned Euarchus, King of Macedon, purposing to have visited his old friend and confederate the King Basilius, was now come within half a mile of the lodges, where having understood by certain shepherds the sudden death of their prince, had sent unto him, of whose authority and faith he had good knowledge, desiring him to advertise him in what security he might rest there for that night, where willingly he would, if safely he might, help to celebrate the funeral of his ancient companion and ally; adding he need not doubt, since he had brought but twenty in his company, he would be so unwise as to enter into any forcible attempt with so small force. Philanax having entertained the gentleman, as well as in the midst of so many tumults he could, pausing a while with himself, considering how it should not only be unjust and against the law of nations, not well to receive a prince whom goodwill had brought among them, but, in respect of the greatness of his might, very dangerous to give him any cause of due offence; remembering withal the excellent trials of his equity, which made him more famous than his victories, he thought he might be the fittest instrument to redress the ruins they were in, since his goodness put him without suspicion, and his greatness beyond envy. Yet weighing with himself how hard many heads were to be bridled, and that in this monstrous confusion such mischief might be attempted, of which late repentance should after be but a simple remedy, he judged best first to know how the people’s minds would sway to this determination.
Therefore desiring the gentleman to return to the King his master, and to beseech him, though with his pains, to stay for an hour or two, where he was, till he had set things in better order to receive him, he himself went first to the noblemen, then to Kalander, and the principal Mantineans, who were most opposite unto him, desiring them, that as the night had most blessedly staid them from entering into civil blood, so they would be content in the night to assemble the people together to hear some news which he was to deliver unto them. There is nothing more desirous of novelties than a man that fears his present fortune. Therefore they, whom mutual diffidence made doubtful of their utter destruction, were quickly persuaded to hear of any new matter, which might alter at least, if not help the nature of their fear. Namely, the chiefest men, who as they had most to lose, so were most jealous of their own case, and were already grown as weary to be followers of Timautus’s ambition, as before they were enviers of Philanax’s worthiness. As for Kalander and Sympathus as in the one a virtuous friendship had made him seek to advance, in the other a natural commiseration had made him willing to protect the excellent, though unfortunate prisoners, so were they not against this convocation. For having nothing but just desires in them, they did not mistrust the justifying of them. Only Timautus laboured to have withdrawn them from this assembly, saying it was time to stop their ears from the ambitious charms of Philanax. Let them first deliver Gynecia, and her daughters, which were fit persons to hear, and then they might begin to speak. That this was but Philanax’s cunning, to link broil upon broil, because he might avoid the answering of his trespasses, which as he had long intended, so had he prepared coloured speeches to disguise them. But as his words expressed rather a violence of rancour than any just ground of accusation, so pierced they no further than to some partial ear, the multitude yielding good attention to what Philanax would propose unto them.
Who, like a man whose best building was a well-framed conscience, neither with plausible words, nor fawning countenance, but even with the grave behaviour of a wise father, whom nothing but love makes to chide, thus said unto them.
“I have,” said he, “a great matter to deliver unto you, and thereout am I to make a greater demand of you: but truly such hath this late proceeding been of yours that I know not what is to be demanded of you. Methinks I may have reason to require of you, as men are wont among pirates, that the life of him that never hurt you, may be safe. Methinks I am not without appearance of cause, as if you were Cyclopes or Cannibals, to desire that our prince’s body, which hath thirty years maintained us in a flourishing peace, be not torn in pieces, or devoured among you, but may be suffered to yield itself, which never was defiled with any of your bloods, to the natural rest of the earth. Methinks, not as to Arcadians renowned for your faith to prince, and love of country, but as to sworn enemies of this sweet soil. I am to desire you, that at least, if you will have strangers to your princes, yet you will not deliver the seigniory of this goodly kingdom to your noble king’s murderers. Lastly, I have reason, as if I had to speak to madmen, to desire you to be good to yourselves: for before God, what either barbarous violence or unnatural folly, hath not this day had his seat in your minds, and left his footsteps in your actions? but in troth I love you too well to stand long displaying your faults: I would you yourselves did forget them, so you did not fall again into them. For my part, I had much rather be an orator of your praises. But now, if you will suffer attentive judgment, and not forejudging passion, to be the weigher of my words, I will deliver unto you what a blessed mean the gods have sent unto you, if you list to embrace it. I think there is none among you so young, either in years, or understanding, but hath heard the true fame of that just prince Euarchus, King of Macedon. A prince with whom our late master did ever hold most perfect alliance. He, even he, is this day come, having but twenty horse with him, within two miles of this place, hoping to have found the virtuous Basilius alive, but now willing to do honour to his death. Surely, surely the heavenly powers have in so full a time bestowed him on us to unite our divisions. For my part therefore I wish, that since among ourselves we cannot agree in so manifold partialities, we do put the ordering of all these things into his hands, as well touching the obsequies of the king, the punishment of his death, as the marriage and crowning of our princesses, he is both by experience and wisdom taught how to direct: his greatness such as no man can disdain to obey him: his equity such as no man need to fear him. Lastly, as he hath all these qualities to help, so hath he, though he would, no force to hurt. If therefore you so think good, since our laws bear that our prince’s murder be chastised before his murdered body be buried, we may invite him to sit to-morrow in the judgment seat; which done, you may after proceed to the burial.”
When Philanax first named Euarchus’ landing, there was a muttering murmur among the people, as though, in that evil ordered weakness of theirs he had come to conquer their country. But when they understood he had so small a retinue, whispering one with another, and looking who should begin to confirm Philanax’s proposition, at length Sympathus was the first that allowed it, then the rest of the noblemen; neither did Kalander strive, hoping so excellent a prince could not but deal graciously with two such young men, whose authority joined to Philanax, all the popular sort followed. Timautus still blinded with his own ambitious haste, not remembering factions are no longer to be trusted, than the factious may be persuaded it is for their own good, would needs strive against the stream, exclaiming against Philanax, that now he showed who it was that would betray his country to strangers. But well he found, that who is too busy in the foundation of an house, may pull the building about his ears. For the people already tired with their own divisions, of which his clampring had been a principal nurse, and beginning now to espy a haven of rest, hated anything that should hinder them from it: asking one another whether this were not he whose evil tongue no man could escape? whether it were not Timautus that made the first mutinous oration, to strengthen the troubles? whether Timautus, without their consent, had not gone about to deliver Gynecia? And thus inflaming one another against him, they threw him out of the assembly, and after pursued him with stones and staves, so that with loss of one of his eyes, sore wounded and beaten, he was fain to fly to Philanax’s feet, for succour of his life; giving a true lesson, that vice itself is forced to seek the sanctuary of virtue. For Philanax, who hated his evil, but not his person, and knew that a just punishment might by the manner be unjustly done; remembering withal that although herein the people’s rage might have hit rightly, yet if it were nourished in this, no man knew to what extremities it might extend itself, with earnest dealing, and employing the uttermost of his authority he did protect the trembling Timautus. And then having taken a general oath, that they should in the nonage of the princess, or till these things were settled, yield full obedience to Euarchus, so far as were not prejudicial to the laws, customs and liberties of Arcadia: and having taken a particular bond of Sympathus, under whom he had a servant of his own, that the prisoners should be kept close, without conference with any man: he himself honourably accompanied with a great number of torches, went to the King Euarchus, whose coming in this sort into Arcadia had thus fallen out.
The woeful Prince Plangus receiving of Basilius no other succours, but only certain to conduct him to Euarchus, made all possible speed towards Byzantium, where he understood the king, having concluded all his wars with the winning of that town, had now for some good space made his abode. But being far gone on his way, he received certain intelligence, that Euarchus was not only some days before returned into Macedon, but since was gone with some haste to visit that coast of his country that lay towards Italy; the occasion given by the Latines, who having already gotten into their hands, partly by conquest and partly by confederacy, the greatest part of Italy, and long gaped to devour Greece also, observing the present opportunity of Euarchus’s absence, and Basilius’s solitariness, which two princes they knew to be in effect the whole strength of Greece, were even ready to lay an unjust gripe upon it, which after they might beautify with the noble name of conquest. Which purpose though they made not known by any solemn denouncing of war, but contrariwise gave many tokens of continuing still their former amity: yet the staying of his subjects’ ships, trafficking as merchants into those parts, together with the daily preparation of shipping, and other warlike provisions in ports, most convenient for the transporting of soldiers, occasioned Euarchus, not unacquainted with such practices, first to suspect, then to discern, lastly to seek to prevent the intended mischief. Yet thinking war never to be accepted until it be offered by the hand of necessity, he determined so long openly to hold them his friends, as open hospitality betrayed them not his enemies, nor ceasing in the meantime by letters and messages to move the states of Greece, by uniting their strength, to make timely provision against this peril; by many reasons making them see that, though in respect of place some of them might seem further removed from the first violence of the storm, yet being embarked in the same ship, the final wreck must needs be common to them all. And knowing the mighty force of example, with the weak effect of fair discourses, not waited on with agreeable actions, what he persuaded them, himself performed, leaving in his own realm nothing either undone or unprovided which might be thought necessary for withstanding an invasion. His first care was to put his people in a readiness for war, and by his experienced soldiers to train the unskilful to martial exercises. For the better effecting whereof, as also for meeting with other inconveniences in such doubtful times incident to the most settled states, making of the divers regions of his whole kingdom so many divisions as he thought convenient, he appointed the charge of them to the greatest, and of greatest trust he had about him: arming them with sufficient authority to levy forces within their several governments, both for the resisting the invading enemy, and punishing the disordered subject.
Having thus prepared the body, and assured the heart of his country against any mischief that might attaint it, he then took into his careful consideration the external parts, giving order both for the repairing and increasing his navy, and for the fortifying of such places, especially on the sea coast, as either commodity of landing, weakness of the country, or any other respect of advantage was likeliest to draw the enemy unto. But being none of them who think all things done, for which they have once given direction, he followed everywhere his commandment with his presence, which witnessed of every man’s slackness or diligence, chastising the one, and encouraging the other, suffered not the fruit of any profitable counsel for want of timely taking to be lost. And thus making one place succeed another in the progress of wisdom and virtue, he was now come to Aulon a principal port of his realm, when the poor Plangus extremely wearied with his long journey, desire of succouring Erona no more relieving, than fear of not succouring her in time, aggravating his travel, by a lamentable narration of his children’s death, called home his cares from encountering foreign enemies, to suppress the insurrection of inward passions. The matter so heinous, the manner so villainous, the loss of such persons, in so unripe years, in a time so dangerous to the whole state of Greece, how vehemently it moved to grief and compassion others, only not blind to the light of virtue, nor deaf to the voice of their country, might perchance by a more cunning workman in lively colours be delivered. But the face of Euarchus’s sorrow, to the one in nature, to both in affection a father, and judging the world so much the more unworthily deprived of those excellencies, as himself was better judge of so excellent worthiness, can no otherwise be shadowed out by the skilfullest pencil than by covering it over with the veil of silence. And indeed that way himself took, with so patient a quietness receiving this pitiful relation, that all words of weakness suppressed, magnanimity seemed to triumph over misery.
Only receiving of Plangus perfect instruction of all things concerning Plexirtus and Artaxia, with promise not only to aid him in delivering Erona, but also with vehement protestation never to return into Macedon, till he had pursued the murderers to death, he dispatched with speed a ship for Byzantium, commanding the governor to provide all necessaries for the war against his own coming, which he purposed should be very shortly. In this ship Plangus would needs go, impatient of stay, for that in many days before he had understood nothing of his lady’s estate. Soon after whose departure, news was brought to Euarchus, that all the ships detained in Italy were returned. For the Latines finding by Euarchus’s proceedings their intent to be frustrate, as before by his sudden return they doubted it was discovered, deeming it no wisdom to show the will, not having the ability to hurt, had not only in free and friendly manner dismissed them, but for that time wholly omitted their enterprise attending the opportunity of fitter occasion. By means whereof Euarchus, rid from the cumber of that war, likely otherwise to have stayed him longer, with so great a fleet as haste would suffer him to assemble, forthwith embarked for Byzantium. And now followed with fresh winds he had in a short time run a long course, when on a night encountered with an extreme tempest, his ships were so scattered that scarcely any two were left together. As for the king’s own ship, deprived of all company, sore bruised, and weather beaten, able no longer to brook the sea’s churlish entertainment, a little before day it recovered the shore. The first light made them see it was the unhappy coast of Laconia: for no other country could have shown the like evidence of unnatural war. Which having long endured between the nobility and the Helots, and once compounded by Pyrocles, under the name of Daiphantus, immediately upon his departure had broken out more violently than ever before. For the king taking opportunity of their captain’s absence, refused to perform the conditions of peace as extorted from him by rebellious violence.
Whereupon they were again deeply entered into war, with so notable an hatred towards the very name of a king, that Euarchus, though a stranger unto them, thought it not safe there to leave his person, where neither his own force could be a defence, nor the sacred name of majesty, a protection. Therefore calling to him an Arcadian, one that coming with Plangus had remained with Euarchus, desirous to see the wars, he demanded of him for the next place of surety where he might make his stay until he might hear somewhat of his fleet, or cause his ship to be repaired. The gentleman glad to have this occasion of doing service to Euarchus, and honour to Basilius, to whom he knew he should bring a most welcome guest, told him, that if it pleased him to commit himself to Arcadia, a part whereof lay open to their view, he would undertake ere the next night were far spent to guide him safely to his master Basilius. The present necessity much prevailed with Euarchus, yet more a certain virtuous desire to try whether by his authority he might withdraw Basilius from burying himself alive, and to employ the rest of his old years in doing good, the only happy action of man’s life. For besides the universal case of Greece, deprived by this means of a principal pillar, he weighed and pitied the pitiful state of the Arcadian people, who were in worse case than if death had taken away their prince. For so yet their necessity would have placed someone to the helm; now, a prince being, and not doing like a prince, keeping and not exercising the place, they were in so much more evil case, as they could not provide for their evil.
These rightly wise and virtuous considerations especially moved Euarchus to take his journey towards the deserts, where arriving within night, and understanding to his great grief the news of the prince’s death, he waited for his safe conduct from Philanax; in the meantime taking his rest under a tree, with no more affected pomps than as a man that knew, howsoever he was exalted, the beginning and end of his body was earth. But Philanax as soon as he was in sight of him, alighting from his horse, presented himself unto him in all those humble behaviours, which not only the great reverence of the party, but the conceit of one’s own misery, is wont to frame: Euarchus rose up unto him, with so gracious a countenance, as the goodness of his mind had long exercised him unto; careful so much more to descend in all courtesies, as he saw him bear a low representation of his afflicted state. But to Philanax, as soon as by near looking on him, he might perfectly behold him, the gravity of his countenance and years, not much unlike to his late deceased, but ever beloved master, brought his form so lively into his memory, and revived so all the thoughts of his wonted joys within him, that instead of speaking to Euarchus, he stood a while like a man gone a far journey from himself, calling as it were with his mind an account of his losses, imagining that this pain needed not, if nature had not been violently stopped of her own course; and casting more loving than wise conceits, what a world would this have been if this sudden accident had not interrupted it. And so far strayed he into his raving melancholy that his eyes, nimbler than his tongue, let fall a flood of tears, his voice being stopped with extremity of sobbing, so much had his friendship carried him to Basilius that he thought no age was timely for his death. But at length taking the occasion of his own weeping, he thus did speak to Euarchus: “Let not my tears, most worthily renowned prince, make my presence unpleasant, or my speech unmarked of you.
For the justice of the cause takes away the blame of any weakness in me; and the affinity that the same beareth to your greatness, seems even lawfully to claim pity in you: a prince of a prince’s fall, a lover of justice, of a most unjust violence. And give me leave, excellent Euarchus, to say, I am but the representer of all the late flourishing Arcadia, which now with mine eyes doth weep, with my tongue doth complain, with my knees doth lay itself at your feet, which never have been unready to carry you to the virtuous protecting of innocents. Imagine, vouchsafe to imagine, most wise and good king, that here is before your eyes the pitiful spectacle of a most dolorously ending tragedy; wherein I do but play the part of all the new miserable province, which being spoiled of their guide, doth lie like a ship without a pilot, tumbling up and down in the uncertain waves, till it either run itself upon the rocks of self-division, or be overthrown by the stormy wind of foreign force. Arcadia finding herself in these desolate terms, doth speak, and I speak for her, to thee not vainly puissant prince, that since now she is not only robbed of the natural support of her lord, but so suddenly robbed that she hath not breathing time to stand for her safety: so unfortunately, that it doth appall their minds, though they had leisure; and so mischievously, that it doth exceed both the suddenness and unfortunateness of it; thou wilt lend thine arm unto her, and, as a man, take compassion of mankind; as a virtuous man, chastise most abominable vice; and as a prince protect a people, which all have with one voice called for thy goodness, thinking that as thou art only able, so thou art fully able, to redress their imminent ruins. They do therefore with as much confidence as necessity, fly unto you for succour, they lay themselves open unto you: to you, I mean yourself such as you have ever been: that is to say, one that hath always had his determinations bounded with equity. They only reserve the right to Basilius’s blood; the manner to the ancient prescribing of their laws.
For the rest without exception they yield over unto you, as to the elected protector of this kingdom, which name and office they beseech you, till you have laid a sufficient foundation of tranquility, to take upon you; the particularity both of their statutes and demands you shall presently after understand. Now only I am to say unto you, that this country falls to be a fair field, to prove whether the goodly tree of your virtue will live in all soils. Here I say will be seen, whether either fear can make you short, or the lickerishness of dominion make you beyond justice. And I can for conclusion say no more but this, you must think upon my words, and on your answer depends not only the quiet, but the lives of so many thousands, which for their ancient confederacy, in this their extreme necessity, desire neither the expense of your treasure, nor hazard of your subjects, but only the benefit of your wisdom, whose both glory and increase stands in the exercising of it.”
The sum of this request was utterly unlooked for of Euarchus, which made him the more diligent in marking his speech, and after his speech take the greater pause for a perfect resolution. For as of the one side, he thought nature required nothing more of him than that he should be a help to them of like creation, and had his heart no wit commanded with fear, thinking his life well passed, having satisfied the tyranny of time, with the course of many years, the expectation of the world with more than expected honour: lastly, the tribute due to his own mind, with the daily offering of most virtuous actions: so of the other he weighed the just reproach that followed those who easily enter into other folk’s business, with the opinion might be conceived, love of seigniory rather than of justice, had made him embark himself thus into a matter nothing pertaining to him, especially in a time when earnest occasion of his own business so greatly required his presence. But in the end, wisdom being an essential and not an opinionate thing, made him rather to bend to what was in itself good than what by evil minds might be judged not good. And therein did see that though the people did not belong unto him, yet doing good, which is not enclosed within any terms of people, did belong unto him, and if necessity forced him for some time to abide in Arcadia, the necessity of Arcadia might justly demand some fruit of abiding. To this secret assurance of his own worthiness, which although it be never so well clothed in modesty, yet always lives in the worthiest minds, did much push him forward, saying unto himself, the treasure of those inward gifts he had were bestowed by the heavens upon him to be beneficial and not idle. On which determination resting, and yet willing before he waded any further, to examine well the depth of the other’s proffer; he thus with that well-poised gesture, unpassionate nature bestoweth upon mankind, made answer to Philanax’s most urgent petition.
“Although long experience hath made me know all men, and so princes which be but men, to be subject to infinite casualties, the very constitution of our lives remaining in continual change: yet the affairs of this country, or at least my meeting so jumply with them, makes me abashed with the strangeness of it. With much pain am I come hither to see my long approved friend, and now I find if I will see him, I must see him dead: after, for mine own security, I seek to be warranted mine own life; and there suddenly am I appointed to be a judge of other men’s lives: though a friend to him, yet am I a stranger to the country, and now of a stranger you would suddenly make a director. I might object, to your desire, my weakness, which age perhaps hath wrought in mind and body: and justly I may pretend the necessity of mine own affairs, to which as I am by all true rules most nearly tied, so can they not long bear the delay of my absence. But though I would and could dispense with these difficulties, what assurance can I have of the people’s will? which having so many circles of imaginations can hardly be enclosed in one point. Who knows a people, that knows not sudden opinion makes them hope, which hope if it be not answered, they fall into hate, choosing and refusing, erecting, and overthrowing, according as the presentness of any fancy carries them. Even this their hasty drawing to me, makes me think they will be as hastily withdrawn from me; for it is but one ground of inconstancy, soon to take or soon to leave. It may be they have heard of Euarchus more than cause: their own eyes will be perhaps more curious judges, out of hearsay they may have builded many conceits, which I cannot, perchance will not, perform, then will undeserved repentance be a greater shame and injury unto me than their undeserved proffer is honour. And to conclude, I must be fully informed how the patient is minded, before I can promise to undertake the cure.”
Philanax was not of the modern minds, who made suitors magistrates; but did ever think the unwilling worthy man, was fitter than the undeserving desirer. Therefore the more Euarchus drew back, the more he found in him, that the cunningest pilot doth most dread the rocks, the more earnestly he pursued his public request unto him. He desired him not to make any weak excuses of his weakness, since so many examples had well proved his mind was strong to overpass the greatest troubles, and his body strong enough to obey his mind: and that so long as they were joined together, he knew Euarchus would think it no wearisome exercise, to make them vessels of virtuous actions. The duty to his country he acknowledged, which as he had so settled as it was not to fear any sudden alteration, so since it did want him, as well it might endure a fruitful as an idle absence. As for the doubt he conceived of the people’s constancy in this their election, he said it was such a doubt as all human actions are subject unto; yet as much as in politic matters, which receive not geometrical certainties, a man may assure himself there was evident likelihood to be conceived of the continuance, both in their unanimity, and his worthiness; whereof the one was apt to be held, and the other to hold, joined to the present necessity the firmest band of mortal minds. In some he alleged so many reasons to Euarchus’s mind, already inclined to enter into any virtuous action, that he yielded to take upon himself the judgment of the present cause; so as he might find indeed, that such was the people’s desire out of judgment, and not faction.
Therefore mounting on their horses, they hasted to the lodges, where they found, though late in the night, the people wakefully watching for the issue of Philanax’s embassage. No man thinking the matter would be well done, without he had his voice in it, and each deeming his own eyes the best guardians of his throat in that unaccustomed tumult. But when they saw Philanax return, having on his right hand the King Euarchus, on whom they had now placed the greatest burden of their fears, with joyful shouts, and applauding acclamations, they made him and the world quickly know, that one man’s sufficiency is more available than ten thousand of the multitude. So evil balanced be the extremities of popular minds: and so much natural imperiousness there rests in a well-formed spirit. For, as if Euarchus had been born of the princely blood of Arcadia, or that long and well-acquainted proof had ingrafted him in their country, so flocked they about this stranger, most of them already from dejected fears, rising to ambitious considerations, who should catch the first hold of his favour. And then from those crying welcomes to babbling one with the other, some praising Philanax for his exceeding pain, others liking Euarchus’s aspect, and as they judged his age by his face, so judging his wisdom by his age, Euarchus passed through them like a man that did neither disdain a people, nor yet was anything tickled with their flatteries. But always holding his own, a man might read a constant determination in his eyes. And in that soft dismounting among them, he forthwith demanded the convocation to be made, which accordingly was done, with as much order and silence, as it might appear; Neptune had not more force to appease the rebellious wind, than the admiration of an extraordinary virtue hath, to temper a disordered multitude; he being raised up upon a place more high than the rest, where he might be best understood, in this sort speak unto them.
“I understand,” said he, “faithful Arcadians, by my Lord Philanax, that you have with one consent chosen me to be the judge of the late evils happened; orderer of the present disorders; and finally protector of this country till therein it be seen what the customs of Arcadia require.” He could say no further, being stopped with a general cry, that so it was, giving him all the honourable titles and happy wishes they could imagine. He beckoned unto them for silence, and then thus again proceeded, “Well,” said he, “how good choice you have made, the attending must be in you, the proof in me. But because it many times falls out, we are much deceived in others, we being the first to deceive ourselves, I am to require you, not to have an over-shooting expectation of me, the most cruel adversary of all honourable doings. Nor promise yourselves wonders out of a sudden liking: but remember I am a man, that is to say, a creature whose reason is often darkened with error. Secondly, that you will lay your hearts void of foretaken opinions: else whatsoever I do or say, will be measured by a wrong rule, like them that have the yellow jaundice, every thing seeming yellow unto them. Thirdly, whatsoever debates have risen among you, may be utterly extinguished; knowing that even among the best men are diversities of opinions, which are no more in true reason to breed hatred, than one that loves black, should be angry with him that is clothed in white; for thoughts and conceits are the very apparel of the mind: lastly, that you do not easily judge of your judge, but since you will have me to command, think it is your part to obey. And in reward of this, I will promise and protest unto you, that to the uttermost of my skill, both in the general laws of nature, especially of Greece, and particularly of Arcadia, wherein I must confess I am not unacquainted, I will not only see the past evils duly punished, and your weal hereafter established, but for your defence in it, if need shall require, I will employ the force and treasures of mine own country. In the meantime, this shall be the first order I will take, that no man, under pain of grievous punishment, name me by any other name but protector of Arcadia. For I will not leave any possible colour, to any of my natural successors, to make claim to this which by free election you have bestowed upon me. And so I vow unto you, to depose myself of it as soon as the judgment is passed, the king buried, and his lawful successor appointed. For the first whereof, I mean the trying which be guilty of the king’s death, and these other heinous trespasses, because your customs require such haste, I will no longer delay it, than till to-morrow as soon as the sun shall give us fit opportunity. You may therefore retire yourselves to your rest, that you may be readier to be present, at these so great important matters.”
With many allowing tokens was Euarchus’s speech heard, who now by Philanax, that took the principal care of doing all due services unto him, was offered a lodging made ready for him, the rest of the people as well as a small commodity of that place would suffer, yielding their weary heads to sleep, when lo, the night thoroughly spent in these mixed matters, was for that time banished the face of the earth, and Euarchus, seeing the day begin to disclose his comfortable beauties, desiring nothing more than to join speed with justice, willed Philanax presently to make the judgment-place be put in order: and as soon as the people, who yet were not fully dispersed, might be brought together, to bring forth the prisoners and the king’s body. Which the manner was, should in such cases be held in sight, though covered with black velvet, until they that were accused to be the murderers were acquitted or condemned; whether the reason of the law were to show the more grateful love to their prince, or by that spectacle, the more to remember the judge of his duty. Philanax, who now thought in himself, he approached to the just revenge he so much desired, went with all care and diligence to perform his charge.
But first it shall be well to know how the poor and princely prisoners passed this tedious night. There was never tyrant exercised his rage with more grievous torments upon any he most hated, than afflicted Gynecia did crucify her own soul, after the guiltiness of her heart was surcharged with the suddenness of her husband’s death: for although that effect came not from her mind, yet her mind being evil, and the effect evil, she thought the justice of God had for the beginning of her pains coupled them together. This incessantly boiled in her breast, but most of all, when Philanax having closely imprisoned her, she was left more freely to suffer the firebrands of her own thoughts, especially when it grew dark, and had nothing left her but a little lamp whose small light to a perplexed mind, might rather yield fearful shadows than any assured sight. Then began the heaps of her miseries, to weigh down the platform of her judgment, then began despair to lay his ugly claws upon her, she began then to fear the heavenly powers, she was wont to reverence, not like a child, but like an enemy, neither kept she herself from blasphemously repining against her creation, “O God,” would she cry out, “why did You make me to destruction? if You love goodness, why did You not give me a good mind? or if I cannot have it without Your gift, why do You plague me? Is it in me to resist the mightiness of Your power?” Then would she imagine she saw strange sights, and that she heard the cries of hellish ghosts, then would she shriek out for succour, but no man coming unto her, she would fain have killed herself, but knew not how. At sometimes again, the very heaviness of her imaginations would close up her senses to a little sleep: but then did her dreams become her tormentors. One time it would seem unto her, Philanax was hauling her by the hair of the head, and having put out her eyes was ready to throw her in a burning furnace. Another time she would think she saw her husband making the complaint of his death to Pluto, and the magistrates of that infernal region, contending in great debate to what eternal punishment they should allot her.
But long her dreaming would not hold, but that it would fall upon Zelmane, to whom she would think she was crying for mercy, and that she did pass away by her in silence, without any show of pitying her mischief. Then waking out of a broken sleep, and yet wishing she might ever have slept; new forms, but of the same miseries, would seize her mind: she feared death, and yet desired death; she had passed the uttermost of shame, and yet shame was one of her cruellest assaulters; she hated Pyrocles as the original of her mortal overthrow; and yet the love she had conceived to him, had still a high authority of her passions, “O Zelmane,” would she say, not knowing how near he himself was to as great a danger, “now shalt thou glut thy eyes, with the dishonoured death of thy enemy. Enemy! alas! enemy, since so thou hast well showed thou wilt have me account thee: couldst thou not as well have given me a determinate denial, as to disguise thy first disguising, with a double dissembling? perchance if I had been utterly hopeless, the virtue was once in me might have called together his forces, and not have been led captive to this monstrous thraldom of punished wickedness.” Then would her own knowing of good inflame anew the rage of despair: which becoming an unresisted lord in her breast, she had no other comfort but in death, which yet she had in horror, when she thought of. But the wearisome detesting of herself made her long for the day’s approach, at which time she determined to continue her former course, in acknowledging anything that might hasten her end: wherein although she did not hope for the end of her torments, feeling already the beginning of hell-agonies; yet according to the nature of pain, the present being most intolerable, she desired to change that, and put to adventure the ensuing. And thus rested the restless Gynecia.
No less sorrowful, though less rageful, where the minds of the Princess Pamela, and the Lady Philoclea, whose only advantages were that they had not consented to so much evil, and so were at greater peace with themselves: and that they were not left alone, but might mutually bear part of each other’s woes. For when Philanax not regarding Pamela’s princely protestations, had by force left her under guard with her sister, and that the two sisters were matched, as well in the disgraces of fortune, as they had been in the best beauties of nature: those things that till then bashfulness and mistrust had made them hold reserved one from the other, now fear, the underminer of all determinations, and necessity the victorious rebel of all laws, forced them interchangeably to lay open. Their passions then so swelling in them as they would have made auditors of stones, rather than have swallowed up in silence the choking adventures were fallen unto them; truly the hardest hearts, which have at any time thought woman’s tears to be a matter of slight compassion, imagining that fair weather will quickly after follow, would now have been mollified; and been compelled to confess that the fairer a diamond is, the more pity it is it should receive a blemish. Although, no doubt, their faces did rather beautify sorrow, than sorrow could darken that which even in darkness did shine. But after they had so long, as their other afflictions would suffer them, with doleful ceremonies bemoaned their father’s death: they sat down together apparelled as their misadventures had found them; Pamela in her journeying weeds now converted to another use: Philoclea only in her night-gown, which she thought should be the raiment of her funerals. But when the excellent creatures had after much panting, with their inward travel, gotten so much breathing power as to make a pitiful discourse one to the other, what had befallen them, and that by the plain comparing the case they were in, they thoroughly found that their griefs were not more like in regard of themselves, than like in respect of the subject, the two princes, as Pamela had learned of Musidorus, being so minded that they would ever make both their fortunes one, it did more unite, and so strengthen their lamentation: seeing the one could not be miserable, but that it must necessarily make the other miserable also. That therefore was the first matter their sweet mouths delivered, the declaring the passionate beginning, troublesome proceeding, and dangerous ending, their never-ending loves had passed. And when at any time they entered into praises of the young princes, too long it would have exercised their tongues, but that their memory forthwith warned them, the more praiseworthy they were, the more at that time they were worthy of lamentation. Then again to crying and wringing of hands; and then anew, as unquiet grief sought each corner, to new discourses, from discourses to wishes, from wishes to prayers. Especially the tender Philoclea, who as she was in years younger, and had never lifted up her mind to any opinion of sovereignty, so was she the apter to yield to her misfortune; having no stronger debates in her mind, than a man may say a most witty childhood is wont to nourish, as to imagine with herself, why Philanax and the other noblemen should deal so cruelly by her that had never deserved evil of any of them. And how they could find in their hearts, to imprison such a personage as she did figure Pyrocles, whom she thought all the world was bound to love, as well as she did. But Pamela, although endued with a virtuous mildness, yet the knowledge of herself, and what was due unto her, made her heart full of a stronger disdain against her adversity.
