The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 33 – Sidney · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 33The Fourth Eclogues (part 3)
18
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 33
The Fourth Eclogues (part 3)
SidneyEnglish
if in so inhuman a matter, which he himself confesseth, sincerest judgments are lothest to believe, and in the severest laws proofs clearer than the sun are required, his reasons are only the scum of a base malice, my answers most manifest, shining in their own truth, there remain any doubt of it, because it stands betwixt his affirming and my denial, I offer, nay I desire, and humbly desire I may be granted the trial by combat, wherein let him be armed, and me in my shirt, I doubt not justice will be my shield, and his heart will show itself as faint as it is false.
“Now come I to the second part of my offence towards the young lady, which, howsoever you term it, so far forth as I have told you, I confess, and for her sake heartily lament. But if herein I offered force to her, love offered more force to me. Let her beauty be compared to my years, and such effects will be found no miracles. But since it is thus as it is, and that justice teacheth us not to love punishment, but to fly to it for necessity: the salve of her honour, I mean as the world will take it, for else in truth it is most untouched, must be my marriage and not my death, since the one stops all mouths, the other becomes a doubtful fable. This matter requires no more words, and your experience, I hope, in these cases shall need no more; for myself methinks I have showed already too much love of my life to bestow so many. But certainly it hath been love of truth, which could not bear so unworthy falsehood, and love of justice that would brook no wrong to myself nor other, and makes me now, even in that respect to desire you to be moved rather with pity at a just cause of tears, than with the bloody tears this crocodile spends, who weeps to procure death, and not to lament death. It will be no honour to Basilius’s tomb to have guiltless blood sprinkled upon it, and much more may a judge over-weigh himself in cruelty than in clemency. It is hard, but it is excellent where it is found, a right knowledge when correction is necessary, when grace doth more avail. For mine own respect, if I thought in wisdom I had deserved death, I would not desire life: for I know nature will condemn me to die though you do not; and longer I would not wish to draw this breath, than I may keep myself unspotted of any horrible crime; only I cannot, nor ever will deny the love of Philoclea, whose violence wrought violent effects in me.”
With that he finished his speech, casting up his eyes to the judge, and crossing his hands, which he held in their length before him declaring a resolute patience in whatsoever should be done with him. Philanax, like a watchful adversary, curiously marked all that he said, saving that in the beginning he was interrupted by two letters which were brought him from the Princess Pamela, and the Lady Philoclea, who having all that night considered and bewailed their estate, careful for their mother likewise, of whom they could never think so much evil, but considering with themselves that she assuredly should have so due trial by the laws, as either she should not need their help, or should be past their help; they looked to that which nearliest touched them, and each wrote in this sort for him, in whom their lives’ joy consisted.
The humble hearted Philoclea wrote much after this manner:
My Lords, what you will determine of me, it is to me uncertain, but what I have determined of myself, I am most certain, which is no longer to enjoy my life, than I may enjoy him for my husband, whom the heavens for my highest glory have bestowed upon me. Those that judge him, let them execute me. Let my throat satisfy their hunger of murder. For alas what hath he done, that had not its original in me? Look upon him I beseech you with indifferency, and see whether in those eyes all virtue shines not. See whether that face could hide a murder. Take leisure to know him, and then yourselves will say, it hath been too great an inhumanity to suspect such excellency. Are the gods think you deceived in their workmanship? artificers will not use marble but to noble uses. Should those powers be so overshot, as to frame so precious an image of their own, but to honourable purposes? O speak with him, O hear him, O know him, and become not the putters-out of the world’s light. Hope you to joy my father’s soul with hurting him he loved above all the world? shall a wrong suspicion make you forget the certain knowledge of those benefits this house hath received by him? Alas, alas, let not Arcadia for his loss be accursed of the whole earth and of all posterity. He is a great prince, I speak unto you that which I know, for I have seen most evident testimonies. Why should you hinder my advancement? who if I have passed my childhood hurtless to any of you, if I have refused nobody to do what good I could, if I have often mitigated my father’s anger, ever sought to maintain his favour towards you, nay, if I have held you all as fathers and brothers unto me, rob me not of more than my life comes unto. Tear not that which is inseparably joined to my soul; but if he rest misliked of you, which, O God, how can it be, yet give him to me, let me have him, you know I pretend no right to your state. Therefore it is but a private petition I make unto you. Or if you be hard-heartedly bent to appoint otherwise, which, oh, sooner let me die than know, then, to end as I began, let me by you be ordered to the same end: without, for more cruelty, you mean to force Philoclea to use her own hands to kill one of your king’s children.
Pamela’s letter, which she meant to send to the general assembly of the Arcadian nobility, for so closely they were kept, as they were utterly ignorant of the new taken orders, was thus framed:
In such a state, my Lord, you have placed me that I can neither write nor be silent; for how can I be silent, since you have left me nothing but my solitary words to testify my misery? and how should I write, for as for speech I have none but my jailor that can hear me, who neither can resolve what to write, nor to whom to write? What to write is hard for me to say, as what I may not write, so little hope have I of any success, and so much hath no injury been left undone to me-wards. To whom to write, where may I learn, since yet I wot not how to entitle you? shall I call you my sovereigns? set down your laws that I may do you homage. Shall I fall lower, and name you my fellows? show me, I beseech you, the lord and master over us. But shall Basilius’s heir name herself your princess? alas I am your prisoner. But whatsoever I be, or whatsoever you be, O all you beholders of these doleful lines, this do I signify unto you, and signify it with a heart that ever shall remain in that opinion, the good or evil you do to the excellent prince who was taken with me, and after by force from me, I will ever impute it as either way done to mine own person. He is a prince, and worthy to be my husband, and so is he my husband by me worthily chosen. Believe it, believe it, either you shall be traitors for murdering of me, or if you let me live the murderers of him shall smart as traitors. For what do you think I can think? am I so childish, as not to see wherein you touch him you condemn me? can his shame be without my reproach? no, nor shall be, since nothing he hath done that I will not avow. Is this the comfort you bring me in my father’s death, to make me fuller of shame than sorrow? would you do this if it were not with full intention to prevent my power with slaughter? and so do I pray you it is high time for me to be weary of my life too long led, since you are weary of me, before you have me. I say again, I say it indefinitely unto you, I will not live without him, if it be not to revenge him: either do justly in saving both, or wisely in killing both. If I be your princess, I command his preservation; if but a private person, then are we both to suffer. I take all truth to witness he hath done no fault but in going with me. Therefore to conclude, in judging him you judge me, neither conceive with yourselves, the matter you treat of is the life of a stranger, though even in that name he deserved pity; nor of a shepherd, to which estate love of me made such a prince descend: but determine most assuredly, the life that is in question is of Pamela, Basilius’s daughter.
Many blots had the tears of these sweet ladies made in their letters, which many times they had altered, many times torn, and written anew, ever thinking something either wanted, or was too much, or would offend, or, which is worst, would breed denial: but at last, the day warned them to dispatch, which they accordingly did, and calling one of their guard, for nobody else was suffered to come near them, with great entreaty, they requested him that he would present them to the principal noblemen and gentlemen together. For they had more confidence in the numbers’ favour, than in any one, upon whom they would not lay the lives they held so precious. But the fellow trusted to Philanax, who had placed him there, delivered them both to him, what time Pyrocles began to speak, which he suddenly opened, and seeing to what they tended, by the first words, was so far from publishing them, whereby he feared in Euarchus’s just mind, either the princesses might be endangered, or the prisoners preserved, of which choice he knew not which to think the worst, that he would not himself read them over, doubting his own heart might be mollified, so bent upon revenge. Therefore utterly suppressing them, he lent a spiteful ear to Pyrocles, and as soon as he had ended, with a very willing heart desired Euarchus he might accept the combat: although it would have framed but evil with him: Pyrocles having never found any match near him besides Musidorus. But Euarchus made answer, since bodily strength is but a servant to the mind, it were very barbarous and preposterous that force should be made judge over reason. Then would he also have replied in words unto him, but Euarchus who knew what they could say was already said, taking their arguments into his mind, commanded him to proceed against the other prisoner, and that then he would sentence them both together.
Philanax nothing the milder for Pyrocles’s purging himself, but rather, according to the nature of arguing, especially when it is bitter, so much more vehement, entered thus into his speech against Musidorus, being so overgone with rage, that he forgot in this oration his precise method of oratory. “Behold, most noble protector, to what a state Arcadia is come, since such manner of men may challenge in combat the faithfullest of the nobility, and having merited the shamefullest of all deaths dare name in marriage the princesses of this country. Certainly my masters, I must say, you were much out of taste if you had not rather enjoy such ladies than be hanged. But the one you have as much deserved, as you have dishonoured the other. But now my speech must be directed to you, good master Dorus, who, with Pallas’s help perdy, are lately grown Palladius. Too much this sacred seat of justice grants unto such a fugitive bondslave, who, instead of these examinations, should be made confess with a whip, that which a halter should punish. Are not you he, Sir, whose sheephook was prepared to be our sceptre; in whom lay the knot of all this tragedy? or else perchance, they that should gain little by it were dealers in the murder, you only that had provided the fruits for yourself, knew nothing of it; knew nothing! Hath thy companion here infected thee with such impudency, as even in the face of the world to deny that which all the world perceiveth? The other pleads ignorance, and you, I doubt not, will allege absence. But he was ignorant when he was hard by, and you had framed your absence, just against the time the act should be committed, so fit a lieutenant he knew he had left of his wickedness, that for himself his safest mean, was to convey away the lady of us all, who once out of the country, he knew we would come with olive branches of intercession unto her, and fall at his feet to beseech him to leave keeping of sheep, and vouchsafe the tyrannizing over us: for to think they are princes, as they say, although in our laws it behoveth them nothing, I see at all no reason. These jewels certainly with their disguising slights, they have pilfered in their vagabonding race. And think you such princes should be so long without some followers after them? Truly if they be princes, it manifestly shows their virtues such, as all their subjects are glad to be rid of them. But be they as they are, for we are to consider the matter and not the men, Basilius’s murder hath been the cause of their coming, Basilius’s murder they have most treacherously brought to pass; yet that I doubt not, you will deny as well as your fellow. But how will you deny the stealing away the princess of this province, which is no less than treason? so notably hath the justice of the gods provided for the punishing of these malefactors, as if it were possible, men would not believe the certain evidences of their principal mischief, yet have they discovered themselves sufficiently for their most just overthrow. I say therefore, to omit my chief matter of the king’s death, this wolfish shepherd, this counterfeit prince, hath traitorously, contrary to his allegiance, having made himself a servant and subject, attempted the depriving this country of our natural princess, and therefore by all right must receive the punishment of traitors. This matter is so assured as he himself will not deny it, being taken and brought back in the fact. This matter is so odious in nature, so shameful to the world, so contrary to all laws, so hurtful to us, so false in him, as if I should stand further in declaring or defacing it, I should either show great doubts in your wisdom, or in your justice. Therefore I will transfer my care upon you, and attend, to my learning and comfort, the eternal example you will leave to all mankind, of disguisers, falsifiers, adulterers, ravishers, murderers and traitors.”
Musidorus, while Philanax was speaking against his cousin and him, had looked round about him, to see whether by any means he might come to have caught him in his arms, and have killed him, so much had his disgracing words filled his breast with rage. But perceiving himself so guarded as he should rather show a passionate act, than perform his revenge, his hand trembling with desire to strike, and all the veins in his face swelling, casting his eyes over the judgment seat: “O gods,” said he, “and have you spared my life to bear these injuries of such a drivel! Is this the justice of this place, to have such men as we are, submitted not only to apparent falsehood, but most shameful reviling? But mark I pray you the ungratefulness of the wretch, how utterly he hath forgotten the benefits both he and all this country hath received of us. For if ever men may remember their own noble deeds, it is then when their just defence, and others’ unjust unkindness doth require it. I omit our services done to Basilius in the late war with Amphialus, importing no less than his daughters’ lives, and his state’s preservation. Were not we the men who killed the wild beasts which otherwise had killed the princesses if we had not succoured them? Consider if it please you where had been Daiphantus’s rape, or my treason, if the sweet beauties of the earth had then been devoured? either think them now dead, or remember they live by us. And yet full often this telltale can acknowledge the loss they should have by their taking away while maliciously he overpasseth who were their preservers: neither let this be spoken of me, as if I meant to balance this evil with that good, for I must confess that saving of such creatures was rewarded in the act itself, but only to manifest the partial jangling of this vile pickthank. But if we be traitors, where was your fidelity, O only tongue-valiant gentleman, when not only the young princess, but the king himself was defended from uttermost peril, partly by me, but principally by this excellent young man’s both wisdom and valour?
Were we that made ourselves against hundreds of armed men, openly the shields of his life, like secretly to be his impoisoners? Did we then show his life to be dearer to us than our own, because we might after rob him of his life to die shamefully? Truly, truly, master orator, whosoever hath hired you to be so busy in their matters, who keep honester servants than yourself, he should have bid you in so many railings, bring some excuse for yourself, why in the greatest need of your prince, to whom you pretend a miraculous goodwill, you were not then as forward to do like a man yourself, or at least to accuse them that were slack in that service: but commonly they use their feet for their defence, whose tongue is their weapon. Certainly a very simple subtlety it had been in us to repose our lives in the daughters when we had killed the father. But as this gentleman thinks to win the reputation of a copious talker by leaving nothing unsaid which a filthy mind can imagine, so think I, or else all words are vain, that to wise men’s judgment our clearness in the King’s death is sufficiently notorious. But at length when the merchant hath set out his gilded baggage, lastly, he comes to some stuff of importance, and saith, I conveyed away the princess of this country. And is she indeed your princess? I pray you then whom should I wait on else but her that was my mistress by my professed vow, and princess over me while I lived in this soil? Ask her why she went, ask not me while I served her. Since accounting me as a prince, you have not to do with me: taking me as her servant, then take withal that I must obey her. But you will say I persuaded her to fly away; certainly I will for no death deny it, knowing to what honour I should bring her from the thraldom by such fellow’s counsel as you, she was kept in. Shall persuasion to a prince grow treason to a prince? It might be error in me, but falsehood it could not be, since I made myself partaker of whatsoever I wished her unto. Who will ever counsel his king, if his counsel be judged by the event, and if it be not found wise, shall therefore be thought wicked?
But if I be a traitor, I hope you will grant me a correlative, to whom I shall be the traitor. For the princess against whom the treasons are considered, I am sure will avow my faithfulness, without you will say that I am a traitor to her because I left the country? and a traitor to the country because I went with her. Here do I leave out my just excuses of love’s force, which as thy narrow heart hath never had noble room enough in it to receive, so yet those manlike courages, that by experience know how subject the virtuous minds are to love a most virtuous creature, witnessed to be such by the most excellent gifts of nature, will deem it a venial trespass to seek the satisfaction of honourable desires, honourable even in the curiousest points of honour, whereout there can no disgrace nor disparagement come unto her. Therefore, O judge, who I hope dost know what it is to be a judge, that your end is to preserve and not to destroy mankind, that laws are not made like lime twigs or nets, to catch everything that toucheth them, but rather like sea-marks, to avoid the shipwreck of ignorant passengers, since that our doing in the extremest interpretation is but a human error, and that of it you may make a profitable event, we being of such estate as their parents would not have misliked the affinity, you will not I trust at the persuasion of this babbler, burn your house to make it clean, but like a wise father turn even the fault of your children to any good that may come of it: since that is the fruit of wisdom and end of all judgments.”
While this matter was thus handling, a silent and as it were astonished attention, possessed all the people. A kindly compassion moved the noble gentleman Sympathus, but as for Kalander, everything was spoken either by or for his own dear guests, moved an affect in him: sometimes tears, sometimes hopeful looks, sometimes whispering persuasions in their ears that stood by him, to seek the saving the two young princes. But the general multitude waited the judgment of Euarchus, who showed in his face no motions, either at the one’s or other’s speech, letting pass the flowers of rhetoric and only marking whither their reasons tended; having made the question to be asked of Gynecia, who continued to take the whole fault upon herself, and having called Dametas with Miso and Mopsa, who by Philanax’s order had been held in most cruel prison, to make a full declaration how much they knew of these past matters, and then gathering as assured satisfaction to his own mind as in that case he could, not needing to take leisure for that, whereof a long practice had bred a well-grounded habit in him, with a voice and gesture directed to the universal assembly, in this form pronounced sentence.
“This weighty matter, whereof presently we are to determine, doth at the first consideration yield to important doubts. The first whether these men be to be judged; the second how they are to be judged. The first doubt ariseth because they give themselves out for princes absolute, a sacred name, and to which any violence seems to be an impiety. For how can any laws, which are the bonds of all human society, be observed if the law-givers and law-rulers, be not held in an untouched admiration? but hereto, although already they have been sufficiently answered, yet thus much again will I repeat unto you. That whatsoever they be or be not, here they be no princes, since betwixt prince and subject there is as necessary a relation, as between father and son; and as there is no man a father but to his child, so is not a prince a prince but to his own subjects. Therefore is not this place to acknowledge in them any principality, without it should at the same time, by a secret consent, confess subjection. Yet hereto may be objected, that the universal civility, the law of nations, all mankind being as it were co-inhabiters, or world-citizens together, hath ever required public persons should be of all parties especially regarded, since not only in peace but in war, not only princes, but heralds and trumpeters, are with great reason exempted from injuries. This point is true, but yet so true, as they that will receive the benefit of a custom, must not be the first to break it, for then can they not complain, if they be not helped by that which they themselves hurt. If a prince do acts of hostility without denouncing war, if he breaks his oath of amity, or innumerable such other things contrary to the law of arms, he must take heed how he fall into their hands whom he so wrongeth, for then is courtesy the best custom he can claim; much more these men, who have not only left to do like princes, but to be like princes, not only entered into Arcadia, and so into the Arcadian orders, but into domestical services, and so, by making themselves private, deprived themselves of respect due to their public calling.
For no proportion it were of justice that a man might make himself no prince when he would do evil, and might anew create himself a prince when he would not suffer evil. Thus therefore by all laws of nature and nations, and especially by their own putting themselves out of the sanctuary of them, these young men cannot in justice avoid the judgment, but, like private men, must have their doings either cleared, excused, or condemned. There resteth then the second point, how to judge well. And that must undoubtedly be done, not by a free discourse of reason and skill of philosophy, but must be tied to the laws of Greece, and municipal statutes of this kingdom. For although out of them these came, and to them must indeed refer their offspring, yet because philosophical discourses stand in the general consideration of things, they leave to every man a scope of his own interpretation: where the laws applying themselves to the necessary use, fold us within assured bounds: which once broken, man’s nature infinitely rangeth. Judged therefore they must be, and by your laws judged. Now the action offereth itself to due balance, betwixt the accuser’s twofold accusation, and their answer accordingly applied. The questions being, the one of a fact simply, the other of the quality of a fact. To the first they use direct denial; to the second, qualification and excuse. They deny the murder of the King; and against mighty presumptions bring forth some probable answers, which they do principally fortify with the Queen’s acknowledging herself only culpable. Certainly as in equality of conjectures, we are not to take hold of the worse, but rather to be glad we may find any hope that mankind is not grown monstrous, being undoubtedly less evil a guilty man should escape, than a guiltless perish, so if in the rest they be spotless, then is this no further to be remembered. But if they have aggravated these suspicions with new evils, then are those suspicions so far to show themselves, as to cause the other points to be thoroughly examined, and with less favour weighed, since this no man can deny they have been accidental, if not principal causes of the king’s death.
Now then we are to determine of the other matters, which are laid to them, wherein they do not deny the fact, but deny, or at least diminish the fault: but first I may remember, though it were not first alleged by them, the services they had before done, truly honourable, and worthy of great reward, but not worthy to countervail a following wickedness. Reward is proper to well doing, punishment to evil doing, which must not be confounded, no more than good and evil are to be mingled. Therefore hath it been determined in all wisdoms, that no man because he hath done well before should have his present evil spared, but rather so much the more punished, as having showed he knew how to be good, yet would against his knowledge be naught. The fact is then nakedly without passion or partiality to be viewed: wherein without all question they are equally culpable. For though he that terms himself Daiphantus, were sooner disappointed of his purpose of conveying away the Lady Philoclea, than he that persuaded the Princess Pamela to fly her country, and accompanied her in it: yet seeing in causes of this nature, the will by the rules of justice standeth for the deed, they are both alike to be found guilty, and guilty of heinous ravishment. For though they ravished them not from themselves, yet they ravished them from him that owned them, which was their father. An act punished by all the Grecian laws, by the loss of the head, as a most execrable theft. For if they must die, who steal from us our goods, how much more they who steal from us that for which we gather our goods? And if our laws have it so in private persons, much more forcibly are they to be in princes’ children, where one steals as it were the whole state and well-being of that people, being tied by the secret of a long use, to be governed by none but the next of that blood. Neither let any man marvel, our ancestors have been so severe in these cases, since the example of the Phoenician Europa, but especially of Grecian Helen, hath taught them, what destroying fires have grown of such sparkles.
And although Helen was a wife, and this but a child, that booteth not, since the principal cause of marrying wives is that we may have children of our own. But now let us see how these young men, truly for their persons worthy of pity, if they had rightly pitied themselves, do go about to mitigate the vehemency of their errors. Some of their excuses are common to both, some peculiar only to him that was the shepherd. Both remember the force of love, and as it were the mending up of the matter by their marriage. If that unbridled desire, which is entitled love, might purge such a sickness as this, surely we should have many loving excuses of hateful mischief. Nay rather, no mischief should be committed that should not be veiled under the name of love. For as well he that steals might allege the love of money; he that murders, the love of revenge; he that rebels, the love of greatness, as the adulterer the love of a woman. Since they do in all speeches affirm they love that, which an ill-governed passion maketh them to follow: but love may have no such privilege. That sweet and heavenly uniting of the minds, which properly is called love, hath no other knot but virtue, and therefore if it be a right love, it can never slide into any action that is not virtuous. The other, and indeed more effectual reason is, that they may be married unto them, and so honourably redress the dishonour of them whom this matter seemeth most to touch. Surely if the question were, what were convenient for the parties, and not what is just in the never changing justice, there might be much said in it. But herein we must consider that the laws look how to prevent by due examples that such things be not done, and not how to salve such things when they are done. For if the governors of justice shall take such a scope, as to measure the foot of the law by the show of conveniency, and measure that conveniency not by the public society, but by that which is fittest for them which offend: young men, strong men, and rich men, shall ever find private conveniences how to palliate such committed disorders, as to the public shall not only be inconvenient, but pestilent.
The marriage perchance might be fit for them, but very unfit were it to the state, to allow a pattern of such procurations of marriage. And thus much do they both allege. Further goes he that went with the princess Pamela, and requireth the benefit of a counsellor, who hath place of free persuasion, and the reasonable excuse of a servant, that did but wait of his mistress. Without all question, as counsellors have great cause to take heed how they advise anything, directly opposite to the form of that present government, especially when they do it singly without public allowance: yet so is the case much more apparent, since neither she was an effectual princess, her father being then alive, and though he had been dead, she not come to the years of authority, nor he her servant in such manner to obey her, but by his own preferment first belonging to Dametas, and then to the king; and therefore if not by Arcadian laws, yet by household orders, bound to have done nothing without his agreement. Thus therefore since the deeds accomplished by these two are both abominable and inexcusable, I do in the behalf of justice, and by the force of Arcadian laws pronounce that Daiphantus should be thrown out of a high tower to receive his death by his fall, Palladius shall be beheaded; the time before the sun set; the place, in Mantinea; the executioner, Dametas, which office he shall execute all the days of his life for his beastly forgetting the careful duty he owed to his charge.”
This said, he turned himself to Philanax, and two of the other noblemen, commanding them to see the judgment presently performed. Philanax more greedy than any hunter of his prey, went straight to lay hold of the excellent prisoners, who, casting a farewell look one upon the other, represented in their faces as much unappalled constancy as the most excellent courage can deliver in outward graces. Yet if at all there were any show of change in them, it was that Pyrocles was somewhat nearer to bashfulness, and Musidorus to anger, both over-ruled by reason and resolution. But as with great number of armed men, Philanax was descending unto them, and that Musidorus was beginning to say something in Pyrocles’s behalf, behold Kalander, that with arms cast abroad, and open mouth, came crying to Euarchus, holding a stranger in his hand that cried much more than he, desiring they might be heard speak before the prisoners were removed, even the noble gentleman Sympathus aided them in it, and taking such as he could command, stopped Philanax, betwixt entreaty and force, from carrying away the princes until it were heard what new matters these men did bring. So again mounting to the tribunal, they hearkened to the stranger’s vehement speech, or rather a passionate exclaiming. It was indeed Kalodulus, the faithful servant of Musidorus, to whom his master, when in despite of his best-grounded determinations he first became a slave to affection, had sent the shepherd Menalcas to be arrested, by the help of whose raiment in the meantime he advanced himself to that estate which he accounted most high, because it might be serviceable to that fancy which he had placed most high in his mind. For Menalcas having faithfully performed his errand, was faithfully imprisoned by Kalodulus. But as Kalodulus performed the first part of his duty in doing the commandment of his prince, so was he with abundance of sincere loyalty extremely perplexed, when he understood of Menalcas the strange disguising of his beloved master.
For as the acts he and his cousin Pyrocles had done in Asia, had filled all the ears of the Thessalonians and Macedonians with no less joy than admiration: so was the fear of their loss no less grievous unto them, when by the noise of report they understood of their lonely committing themselves to the sea, the issue of which they had no way learned. But now that by Menalcas he perceived where he was, guessing the like of Pyrocles, comparing the unusedness of this act with the unripeness of their age, seeing in general conjecture they could do it for nothing that might not fall out dangerous, he was somewhile troubled with himself what to do, betwixt doubt of their hurt, and doubt of their displeasure. Often he was minded, as his safest and honestest way, to reveal it to King Euarchus, that both his authority might prevent any damage to them, and under his wings he himself might remain safe. But considering a journey to Byzantium, whereas yet he supposed Euarchus lay, would require more time than he was willing to remain doubtful of his prince’s estate, he resolved at length to write the matter to Euarchus, and himself the while to go into Arcadia: uncertain what to do when he came thither, but determined to do his best service to his dear master, if by any good fortune he might find him. And so it happened, that being even this day come to Mantinea, and as warily and attentively as he could, giving ear to all reports, in hope to hear something of them he sought, he straight received a strange rumour of these things, but so uncertainly, as popular reports carry so rare accidents. But this by all men he was willed, to seek out Kalander a great gentleman of that country, who would soonest satisfy him of all occurrents.
Thus instructed he came even about the midst of Euarchus’s judgment to the desert, where seeing great multitudes, and hearing unknown names of Palladius and Daiphantus, and not able to press to the place where Euarchus sat, he enquired for Kalander, and was soon brought unto him, partly because he was generally known unto all men, and partly because he had withdrawn himself from the press, when he perceived by Euarchus’s words whither they tended, being not able to endure his guests’ condemnation. He requireth forthwith of Kalander the cause of the assembly; and whether the same were true of Euarchus’s presence: who with many tears made a doleful recital unto him, both of the Amazon and shepherd, setting forth their natural graces, and lamenting their pitiful undoing. But this description made Kalodulus immediately know the shepherd was his duke, and so judging the other to be Pyrocles, and speedily communicating it to Kalander, who he saw did favour their case, they break the press with astonishing every man with their cries. And being come to Euarchus, Kalodulus fell at his feet, telling him those he had judged, were his own son and nephew, the one the comfort of Macedon, the other the only stay of Thessalia. With many such like words; but as from a man that assured himself in that matter he should need small speech, while Kalander made it known to all men what the prisoners were to whom he cried they should salute their father, and joy in the good hap the gods had sent them, who were no less glad, than all the people amazed at the strange event of these matters. Even Philanax’s own revengeful heart was mollified when he saw from divers parts of the world so near kinsmen should meet in such a necessity. And withal the fame of Pyrocles and Musidorus greatly drew him to a compassionate conceit, and had already unclothed his face of all show of malice.
But Euarchus staid a good while upon himself, like a valiant man that should receive a notable encounter, being vehemently stricken with the fatherly love of so excellent children, and studying with his best reason what his office required: at length with such a kind of gravity, as was near to sorrow, he thus uttered his mind: “I take witness of the immortal gods,” said he, “O Arcadians that what this day I have said, hath been out of my assured persuasion, what justice itself and your just laws require. Though strangers then to me, I had no desire to hurt them, but leaving aside all considerations of the persons, I weighed the matter which you committed into my hands with my most impartial and farthest reach of reason. And thereout have condemned them to lose their lives, contaminated with so many foul breaches of hospitality, civility, and virtue. Now, contrary to all expectations, I find them to be my only son and nephew, such upon whom you see what gifts nature hath bestowed: such who have so to the wonder of the world heretofore behaved themselves as might give just cause to the greatest hopes that in an excellent youth may be conceived. Lastly, in few words, such in whom I placed all my mortal joys, and thought myself now near my grave, to recover a new life. But alas! shall justice halt? or shall she wink in one’s cause, which had lynx’s eyes in another’s; or rather shall all private respects give place to that holy name? Be it so, be it so, let my grey hairs be laid in the dust with sorrow, let the small remnant of my life be an inward and outward desolation, and to the world a gazing flock of wretched misery, but never, never let sacred righteousness fall; it is immortal, and immortally ought to be preserved. If rightly I have judged, then rightly I have judged mine own children, unless the name of a child should have force to change the never changing justice. No, no, Pyrocles, and Musidorus, I prefer you much before my life, but I prefer justice as far before you: While you did like yourselves, my body should willingly have been your shield, but I cannot keep you from the effects of your own doing: nay, I cannot in this case acknowledge you for mine, for never had I shepherd to my nephew, nor ever had woman to my son; your vices have degraded you from being princes, and have disannulled your birthright. Therefore if there be anything left in you of princely virtue, show it in constant suffering that your unprincely dealing hath purchased unto you. For my part I must tell you, you have forced a father to rob himself of his children. Do you therefore, O Philanax, and you my other lords of this country, see the judgment be rightly performed in time, place, and manner, as before appointed.”
With that though he would have refrained them, a man might perceive the tears drop down his long white beard. Which moved not only Kalodulus and Kalander to roaring lamentations, but all the assembly dolefully to record that pitiful spectacle. Philanax himself could not abstain from great shows of pitying sorrow, and manifest withdrawing from performing the King’s commandment. But Musidorus having the hope of his safety, and recovering of the Princess Pamela, which made him most desirous to live so suddenly dashed, but especially moved for his dear Pyrocles, for whom he was ever resolved his last speech should be, and stirred up with rage of unkindness, he thus spoke:
“Enjoy thy bloody conquest, tyrannical Euarchus,” said he, “for neither is convenient the title of a king to a murderer, nor the remembrance of kindred to a destroyer of his kindred. Go home and glory that it hath been in thy power, shamefully to kill Musidorus. Let thy flattering orators dedicate crowns of laurel unto thee, that the first of thy race thou hast overthrown a prince of Thessalia. But for me, I hope the Thessalians are not so degenerate from their ancestors but that they will revenge my injury and their loss upon thee. I hope my death is no more unjust to me than it shall be bitter to thee; howsoever it be, my death shall triumph over thy cruelty; neither as now would I live to make my life beholden unto thee. But if thy cruelty hath not so blinded thine eyes, that thou canst not see thine own hurt, if thy heart be not so devilish, as thou hast no power but to torment thyself, then look upon this young Pyrocles with a manly eye, if not with a pitiful; give not occasion to the whole earth to say: ‘See how the gods have made the tyrant tear his own bowels!’ Examine the eyes and voices of all this people; and what all men see, be not blind in thine own cause. Look, I say look upon him, in whom the most curious searcher is able to find no fault but that he is thy son. Believe it, thy own subjects will detest thee for robbing them of such a prince, in whom they have right as well as thyself.”
Some more words to that purpose he would have spoken, but Pyrocles, who often had called to him, did now fully interrupt him, desiring him not to do him the wrong to give his father ill words before him, willing him to consider it was their own fault and not his injustice; and withal, to remember their resolution of well suffering all accidents, which this impatiency did seem to vary from: and then kneeling down with all humbleness, he took the speech in this order to Euarchus: “If my daily prayers to the almighty gods had so far prevailed as to have granted me the end whereto I have directed my actions, I should rather have been now a comfort to your mind than an example of your justice; rather a preserver of your memory by my life than a monument of your judgment by my death. But since it hath pleased their unsearchable wisdoms to overthrow all the desires I had to serve you and make me become a shame unto you; since the last obedience I can show you is to die, vouchsafe yet, O Father, if my fault have not made me altogether unworthy so to term you, vouchsafe I say to let the few and last words your son shall ever speak, not be tedious unto you. And if the remembrance of my virtuous mother, who once was dear unto you, may bear any sway with you, if the name of Pyrocles have at any time been pleasant, let one request of mine, which shall not be for mine own life, be graciously accepted of you. What you owe to justice is performed in my death: A father to have executed his only son, will leave a sufficient example for a greater crime than this. My blood will satisfy the highest point of equity, my blood will satisfy the hardest hearted in this country. O save the life of this prince; that is the only all I will with my last breath demand of you. With what face will you look upon your sister, when in reward of nourishing me in your greatest need, you take away, and in such sort take away that which is more dear to her than all the world, and is the only comfort wherewith she nourisheth her old age? O give not such an occasion to the noble Thessalians, for ever to curse the match that their prince did make with the Macedonian blood. By my loss there follows no public loss, for you are to hold the seat, and to provide yourself perchance of a worthier successor. But how can you or all the earth recompense that damage that poor Thessalia shall sustain? Who sending out, whom otherwise they would no more have spared than their own eyes, their prince to you, and your requesting to have him, by you he should thus dishonourably be extinguished. Set before you, I beseech you, the face of that miserable people, when no sooner shall the news come that you have met your nephew, but withal they shall hear that you have beheaded him. How many tears they shall spend, how many complaints they shall make, so many just execrations will light upon you. And take heed, O Father, for since my death answers my fault, while I live I will call upon that dear name, lest seeking too precise a course of justice, you be not thought most unjust in weakening your neighbours’ mighty estate by taking away their only pillar. In me, in me this matter began, in me let it receive his ending. Assure yourself no man will doubt your severe observing the laws, when it shall be known Euarchus hath killed Pyrocles. But the time of my ever farewell approaches: if you do think my death sufficient for my fault, and do not desire to make my death more miserable than death, let these dying words of him that was once your son, pierce your ears. Let Musidorus live, and Pyrocles shall live in him, and you shall not want a child.”
“A child,” cried out Musidorus, “to him that kills Pyrocles?” With that he fell again to entreat for Pyrocles, and Pyrocles as fast for Musidorus, each employing his wit how to show himself most worthy to die, to such an admiration of all the beholders, that most of them examining the matter by their own passions, thought Euarchus, as often extraordinary excellencies, not being rightly conceived, do rather offend than please, an obstinate hearted man, and such an one, who being pitiless, his dominion must needs be insupportable. But Euarchus that felt his own misery more than they, and yet loved goodness more than himself, with such a sad assured behaviour as Cato killed himself withal, when he had heard the uttermost of that their speech tended unto, he commanded again they should be carried away, rising up from the seat, which he would much rather have wished should have been his grave, and looking who would take the charge, whereto every one was exceeding backward.
But as this pitiful matter was entering into, those that were next the Duke’s body, might hear from under the velvet, wherewith he was covered, a great voice of groaning. Whereat every man astonished, and their spirits appalled with these former miseries, apt to take any strange conceit, when they might perfectly perceive the body stir, then some began to fear spirits, some to look for a miracle, most to imagine they knew not what. But Philanax and Kalander, whose eyes honest love, though to divers parties, held most attentive, leaped to the table, and putting off the velvet cover, might plainly discern, with as much wonder as gladness, that the Duke lived. For so it was, that the drink he received was neither as Gynecia first imagined, a love-potion, nor, as it was after thought, a deadly poison, but a drink made by notable art, and as it was thought not without natural magic, to procure for thirty hours such a deadly sleep, as should oppress all show of life. The cause of the making of this drink had first been that a princess of Cyprus, grandmother to Gynecia, being notably learned, and yet not able with all her learning to answer the objections of Cupid, did furiously love a young nobleman of her father’s court, who fearing the king’s rage, and not once daring either to attempt or accept so high a place, she made that sleeping drink, and found means by a trusty servant of hers, who of purpose invited him to his chamber, to procure him that suspected no such thing, to receive it. Which done, he, no way able to resist, was secretly carried by him into a pleasant chamber, in the midst of a garden she had of purpose provided for this enterprise, where that space of time, pleasing herself with seeing and cherishing of him, when the time came of the drink’s end of working, and he more astonished than if he had fallen from the clouds, she bade him choose either then to marry her, and to promise to fly away with her in a bark she had made ready, or else she would presently cry out, and show in what place he was, with oath he was come thither to ravish her. The nobleman in these straights, her beauty prevailed, he married her, and escaped the realm with her.
And after many strange adventures, were reconciled to the king her father, after whose death they reigned. But she gratefully remembering the service that drink had done her, preserved in a bottle, made by singular art long to keep it without perishing, great quantity of it, with the foretold inscription, which wrongly interpreted by her daughter-in-law, the Queen of Cyprus, was given by her to Gynecia at the time of her marriage; and the drink finding an old body of Basilius, had kept him some hours longer in the trance than it would have done a younger. But a while it was before the good Basilius could come again to himself: in which time Euarchus more glad than of the whole world’s monarchy to be rid of his miserable magistracy, which even in justice he was now to surrender to the lawful prince of that country, came from the throne unto him, and there with much ado made him understand how these intricate matters had fallen out. Many garboils passed through his fancy before he could be persuaded Zelmane was other than a woman. At length remembering the oracle, which now indeed was accomplished, not as before he had imagined, considering all had fallen out by the highest providence, and withal weighing in all these matters his own fault had been the greatest; the first thing he did was with all honourable pomp to send for Gynecia, who, poor lady, thought she was leading forth to her lively burial, and, when she came, to recount before all the people, the excellent virtue was in her, which she had not only maintained all her life most unspotted, but now was content so miserably to die, to follow her husband. He told them how she had warned him to take heed of that drink: and so with all the exaltings of her that might be, publicly desired her pardon for those errors he had committed. And so kissing her, left her to receive the most honourable fame of any princess throughout the world, all men thinking, saving only Pyrocles and Philoclea, who never betrayed her, that she was the perfect mirror of all wifely love.
Which though in that point undeserved, she did in the remnant of her life duly purchase, with observing all duty and faith to the example and glory of Greece: so uncertain are mortal judgments, the same person most infamous, and most famous, and neither justly. Then with princely entertainment to Euarchus, and many kind words to Pyrocles, whom still he dearly loved, though in a more virtuous kind, the marriage was concluded, to the inestimable joy of Euarchus, towards whom now Musidorus acknowledged his fault, betwixt the peerless princes and princesses. Philanax for his singular faith ever held dear of Basilius while he lived, and no less of Musidorus, who was to inherit that kingdom, and therein confirmed to him and his the second place in that province, with great increase of his living to maintain it. With like proportion he used to Kalodulus in Thessalia: highly honouring Kalander while he lived, and after his death continuing in the same measure to love and advance his son Clitophon. But as for Sympathus, Pyrocles, to whom his father in his own time gave the whole kingdom of Thrace, held him always about him, giving him in pure gift the great city of Abdera. But the solemnities of these marriages, with the Arcadian pastorals, full of many comical adventures happening to those rural lovers; the strange stories of Artaxia and Plexirtus, Erona and Plangus, Helen and Amphialus, with the wonderful chances that befell them; the shepherdish loves of Menalcas with Kalodulus’s daughter; the poor hopes of the poor Philisides in the pursuit of his affections; the strange continuance of Claius and Strephon’s desire; lastly, the son of Pyrocles, named Pyrophilus, and Melidora, the fair daughter of Pamela by Musidorus, who even at their birth entered into admirable fortunes; may awake some other spirit to exercise his pen in that wherewith mine is already dulled.
[End of Book V]
A SIXTH BOOK TO THE COUNTESS OF
PEMBROKE’S ARCADIA
