The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 6 – Sidney · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 6Philip Sidney (part 4)
18
Literature · Romance
The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 6
Philip Sidney (part 4)
SidneyEnglish
And here Pyrocles stayed, as to breathe himself, having been transported with a little vehemency, because it seemed him Musidorus had over-bitterly glanced against the reputation of womankind: but then quieting his countenance, as well as out of an unquiet mind it might be, he thus proceeded on: “And poor love,” said he, “dear cousin, is little beholding unto you, since you are not content to spoil it of the honour of the highest power of the mind which notable men have attributed unto it; but you deject it below all other passions, in truth somewhat strangely, since, if love receive any disgrace, it is by the company of these passions you prefer before it. For those kinds of bitter objections as that lust, idleness, and a weak heart should be, as it were, the matter and form of love, rather touch me, dear Musidorus, than love; but I am good witness of my own imperfections, and therefore will not defend myself: but herein I must say you deal contrary to yourself: for if I be so weak, then can you not with reason stir me up as you did by remembrance of my own virtue; or if indeed I be virtuous, then must ye confess that love hath his working in a virtuous heart; and so no doubt hath it, whatsoever I be: for, if we love virtue, in whom shall we love it but in a virtuous creature? without your meaning be, I should love this word Virtue, where I see it written in a book. Those troublesome effects you say it breeds be not the faults of love, but of him that loves, as an unable vessel to bear such a liquor, like evil eyes not able to look on the sun; or like a weak brain, soonest overthrown with the best wine. Even that heavenly love you speak of is accompanied in some hearts with hopes, griefs, longings, and despairs. And in that heavenly love, since there are two parts, the one the love itself, the other the excellency of the thing loved: I, not able at the first leap to frame both in me, do now, like a diligent workman, make ready the chief instrument and first part of that great work, which is love itself; which when I have a while practised in this sort, then you shall see me turn it to greater matters. And thus gently you may, if it please you, think of me. Neither doubt ye, because I wear a woman’s apparel, I will be the more womanish, since I assure you, for all my apparel, there is nothing I desire more than fully to prove myself a man in this enterprise. Much might be said in my defence, much more for love, and most of all for that divine creature which hath joined me and love together. But these disputations are fitter for quiet schools than my troubled brains, which are bent rather in deeds to perform than in words to defend the noble desire that possesseth me.” “O lord,” said Musidorus, “how sharp-witted you are to hurt yourself.” “No,” answered he, “but it is the hurt you speak of which makes me so sharp-witted.” “Even so,” said Musidorus, “as every base occupation makes one sharp in that practice and foolish in all the rest.” “Nay rather,” answered Pyrocles, “as each excellent thing once well-learned serves for a measure of all other knowledges.” “And is that become,” said Musidorus, “a measure for other things which never received measure in itself?” “It is counted without measure,” answered Pyrocles, “because the workings of it are without measure, but otherwise, in nature it hath measure, since it hath an end allotted unto it.” The beginning, being so excellent, I would gladly know the end. “Enjoying,” answered Pyrocles, with a sigh, “I speak of the end to which it is directed which end ends not, no sooner than the life.” “Alas! let your own brain disenchant you,” said Musidorus. “My heart is too far possessed,” said Pyrocles. “But the head gives you direction, and the heart gives me life,” answered Musidorus.
But Musidorus was so grieved to see his well-beloved friend obstinate, as he thought, to his own destruction, that it forced him with more than accustomed vehemency to speak these words. “Well, well,” said he, “you list to abuse yourself; it was a very white and red virtue, which you could pick out of a painterly glose of a visage. Confess the truth, and you shall find the utmost was but beauty, a thing, which though it be in as great excellency in yourself as may be in any, yet I am sure you make no further reckoning of it than of an outward fading benefit nature bestowed upon you. And yet such is your want of a true grounded virtue, which must be like itself in all points, that what you wisely account a trifle in yourself, you fondly become a slave unto in another. For my part I now protest I have left nothing unsaid which my wit could make me know, or my most entire friendship to you requires of me. I do not beseech you, even for the love betwixt us, if this other love hath left any in you towards me, and for the remembrance of your old careful father (if you can remember him that forgot yourself) lastly, for Pyrocles’ own sake, who is now upon the point of falling or rising, to purge yourself of this vile infection: otherwise give me leave to leave off this name of friendship as an idle title of a thing which cannot be where virtue is not established.”
The length of these speeches before had not so much cloyed Pyrocles, though he were very impatient of long deliberations, as this last farewell of him he loved as his own life did wound his soul. For thinking himself afflicted, he was the apter to conceive unkindness deeply, insomuch that shaking his head, and delivering some show of tears, he thus uttered his grief: “Alas!” said he, “Prince Musidorus, how cruelly you deal with me; if you seek the victory, take it; and, if ye list, the triumph. Have you all the reason of the world, and with me remain all the imperfections; yet such as I can no more lay from me, than the crow can be persuaded by the swan to cast off all his black feathers. But truly you deal with me like a physician who, seeing his patient in a pestilent fever, should chide him instead of ministering help, and bid him be sick no more; or rather like such a friend, that visiting his friend condemned to perpetual prison, and laden with grievous fetters, should will him to shake off his fetters, or he would leave him. I am sick, and sick to the death; I am prisoner, neither is there any redress but by her to whom I am a slave. Now, if you list, leave him that loves you in the highest degree: but remember ever to carry this with you, that you abandon your friend in his greatest extremity.”
And herewith the deep wound of his love being rubbed afresh with this new unkindness, began, as it were, to bleed again in such sort that he was unable to bear it any longer, but gushing out abundance of tears, and crossing his arms over his woeful heart, he sunk down to the ground, which sudden trance went so to the heart of Musidorus, that falling down by him, and kissing the weeping eyes of his friend, he besought him not to make account of his speech, which if it had been over-vehement, yet was it to be borne withal, because it came out of a love much more vehement, that he had not thought fancy could have received so deep a wound; but now finding in him the force of it, he would no further contrary it but employ all his service to medicine it in such sort as the nature of it required. But even this kindness made Pyrocles the more to melt in the former unkindness, which his manlike tears well shewed, with a silent look upon Musidorus, as who should say: “And is it possible that Musidorus should threaten to leave me?” and this struck Musidorus’s mind and senses so dumb, too, that for grief being not able to say anything, they rested with their eyes placed one upon the other, in such sort as might well paint out the true passion of unkindness to be never aright, but betwixt them that most dearly love.
And thus remained they a time, till at length Musidorus embracing him, said “And will you thus shake off your friend?” “It is you that shake me off,” said Pyrocles, “being for my unperfectness unworthy of your friendship.” “But this,” said Musidorus, “shows you more unperfect to be cruel to him that submits himself unto you. But since you are unperfect,” said he, smiling, “it is reason you be governed by us wise and perfect men. And that authority will I begin to take upon me, with three absolute commandments: the first, that you increase not your evil with further griefs: the second, that you love her with all the powers of your mind: and the last commandment shall be, you command me to do what service I can towards the attaining of your desires.” Pyrocles’s heart was not so oppressed with the two mighty passions of love and unkindness but that it yielded to some mirth at this commandment of Musidorus that he should love, so that something clearing his face from his former shows of grief: “Well,” said he, “dear cousin! I see by the well choosing of your commandments that you are far fitter to be a prince than a counsellor, and therefore I am resolved to employ all my endeavour to obey you, with this condition, that the commandments ye command me to lay upon you shall only be, that you continue to love me, and look upon my imperfections with more affection than judgment.” “Love you,” said he, “alas! how can my heart be separated from the true embracing of it without it burst by being too full of it?” “But,” said he, “let us leave off these flowers of new begun friendship: and now I pray you again tell me, but tell it me fully, omitting no circumstance, the story of your affections, both beginning and proceeding, assuring yourself, that there is nothing so great which I will fear to do for you, nor nothing so small which I will disdain to do for you. Let me, therefore, receive a clear understanding, which many times we miss, while those things we account small, as a speech or a look, are omitted, like as a whole sentence may fail of his congruity by wanting one particle. Therefore between friends all must be laid open, nothing being superfluous nor tedious.” “You shall be obeyed,” said Pyrocles, “and here are we in as fit a place for it as may be; for this arbour nobody offers to come into but myself, I using it as my melancholy retiring place, and therefore that respect is borne unto it: yet if by chance any should come, say that you are a servant sent from the queen of the Amazons to seek me, and then let me alone for the rest.” So sat they down, and Pyrocles thus said:
“Cousin!” said he, “then began the fatal overthrow of all my liberty when, walking among the pictures in Kalander’s house, you yourself delivered unto me what you had understood of Philoclea, who much resembling (though I must say much surpassing) the lady Zelmane, whom so well I loved: there were mine eyes, infected, and at your mouth did I drink the poison. Yet alas! so sweet was it unto me, that I could not be contented, till Kalander had made it more and more strong with his declaration. Which the more I questioned, the more pity I conceived of her unworthy fortune; and when with pity once my heart was made tender, according to the aptness of the humour, it received quickly a cruel impression of that wonderful passion, which to be defined is impossible, because no words reach to the strange nature of it: they only know it, which inwardly feel it; it is called love. Yet did I not (poor wretch!) at first know my disease, thinking it only such a wonted kind of desire to see rare sights, and my pity to be no other but the fruits of a gentle nature. But even this arguing with myself came of further thoughts, and the more I argued the more my thoughts increased. Desirous I was to see the place where she remained, as though the architecture of the lodges would have been much for my learning, but more desirous to see herself, to be judge, forsooth, of the painter’s cunning.
For thus at the first did I flatter myself, as though my wound had been no deeper: but when within short time I came to the degree of uncertain wishes, and that those wishes grew to unquiet longings, when I could fix my thoughts upon nothing but that within little varying they should end with Philoclea; when each thing I saw seemed to figure out some part of my passions; when even Parthenia’s fair face became a lecture to me of Philoclea’s imagined beauty; when I heard no word spoken, but that methought it carried the sound of Philoclea’s name; then indeed, then I did yield to the burden, finding myself prisoner, before I had leisure to arm myself: and that I might well, like the spaniel, gnaw upon the chain that ties him; but I should sooner mar my teeth, than procure liberty: yet I take to witness the eternal spring of virtue, that I had never read, heard, nor seen anything: I had never any taste of philosophy, nor inward feeling in myself, which for a while I did not call to my succour. But, alas! what resistance was there, when ere long my very reason was, you will say, corrupted, I must confess, conquered, and that methought even reason did assure me that all eyes did degenerate from their creation which did not honour such beauty? nothing in truth could hold any plea with it but the reverend friendship I bear unto you. For as it went against my heart to break anyway from you, so did I fear, more than any assault, to break it to you: finding, as it is indeed, that to a heart fully resolute, counsel is tedious, but reprehension is loathsome: and that there is nothing more terrible to a guilty heart, than the eye of a respected friend. This made me determine with myself, thinking it a less fault in friendship to do a thing without your knowledge, than against your will, to take this secret course, which conceit was most builded up in me the last day of my parting and speaking with you, when upon your speech with me, and my but naming love, when else perchance I would have gone further, I saw your voice and countenance so change, as it assured me my revealing it should but purchase your grief with my cumber, and therefore (dear Musidorus!)
even ran away from my well-known chiding: for having written a letter, which I know not whether you found or no, and taking my chief jewels with me, while you were in the midst of your sport, I got a time, as I think, unmarked by any, to steal away I cared not whither, so I might escape you, and so came I to Ithonia, in the province of Messenia, where, lying secret, I put this in practice, which before I had devised. For remembering by Philanax’s letter and Kalander’s speech, how obstinately Basilius was determined not to marry his daughters, and therefore fearing lest any public dealing should rather increase her captivity than further my love; love (the refiner of invention) had put in my head thus to disguise myself, that under that mask I might, if it were possible, get access, and what access could bring forth commit to fortune and industry, determining to bear the countenance of an Amazon. Therefore in the closest manner I could, naming myself Zelmane, for that dear lady’s sake, to whose memory I am so much bound, I caused this apparel to be made, and bringing it near the lodges, which are hard at hand, by night thus dressed myself, resting till occasion might make me to be found by them whom I sought; which the next morning happened as well as mine own plot could have laid it. For after I had run over the whole pedigree of my thoughts, I gave myself to sing a little, which, as you know, I ever delighted in, so now especially, whether it be the nature of this clime to stir up poetical fancies, or rather as I think, of love, whose scope being pleasure, will not so much as utter his griefs, but in some form of pleasure.
“But I had sung very little, when (as I think, displeased with my bad music) comes master Dametas with a hedging bill in his hand, chafing and swearing by the pantoffle of Pallas, and such other oaths as his rustical bravery could imagine; and when he saw me, I assure you, my beauty was no more beholding to him than my harmony; for leaning his hands upon his bill, and his chin upon his hands, with the voice of one that playeth Hercules in a play, but never had his fancy in his head, the first word he spake unto me, was, ‘Am not I Dametas? why am not I Dametas?’ He needed not to name himself, for Kalander’s description had let such a note upon him as made him very notable unto me; and therefore the height of my thoughts would not descend so much as to make him answer, but continued on my inward discourses; which he (perchance witness of his own unworthiness, and therefore the apter to think himself contemned) took in so heinous a manner, that standing upon his tiptoes, and staring as if he would have had a mote pulled out of his eye. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘thou woman or boy, or both, whatsoever thou be, I tell thee here is no place for thee, here is no place for thee, get thee gone, I tell thee it is the prince’s pleasure, it is Dametas’s pleasure.’ I could not choose but smile at him, seeing him look so like an ape that had newly taken a purgation; yet taking myself with the manner, spake these words to myself: ‘O spirit,’ said I, ‘of mine, how canst thou receive any mirth in the midst of thine agonies? and thou mirth, how darest thou enter into a mind so grown of late thy professed enemy?’ ‘Thy spirit,’ said Dametas, ‘dost thou think me a spirit? I tell thee I am Basilius’s officer, and have charge of him and his daughters.’ ‘O only pearl,’ said I sobbing, ‘that so vile an oyster should keep thee?’ ‘By the comb case of Diana,’ sware Dametas, ‘this woman is mad: oysters and pearls? dost thou think I will buy oysters? I tell thee once again, get thee packing,’ and with that lifted up his bill to hit me with the blunt end of it; but indeed that put me quite out of my lesson; so that I forgot all Zelmaneship, and drawing out my sword, the baseness of the villain yet made me stay my hand, and he (who as Kalander told me, from his childhood ever feared the blade of a sword) ran back, backward, with his hands above his head at least twenty paces, gaping and staring with the very grace, I think, of the clowns that by Latona’s prayers were turned into frogs.
“At length staying, finding himself without the compass of blows, he fell to a fresh scolding, in such mannerly manner, as might well show he had passed thro’ the discipline of a tavern; but seeing me walk up and down without marking what he said, he went his way, as I perceived after, to Basilius: for within a while he came unto me, bearing indeed shows in his countenance of an honest and well-minded gentleman, and with as much courtesy as Dametas with rudeness saluting me: ‘Fair lady,’ said he, ‘it is nothing strange that such a solitary place as this should receive solitary persons, but much do I marvel how such a beauty as yours is should be suffered to be thus alone.’ I, that now knew it was my part to play, looking with a grave majesty upon him, as if I found in myself cause to be reverenced. ‘They are never alone,’ said I, ‘that are accompanied with noble thoughts.’ ‘But those thoughts,’ replied Basilius, ‘cannot in this your loneliness neither warrant you from suspicion in others, nor defend you from melancholy in yourself:’ I then showing a mislike that he pressed me so far; ‘I seek no better warrant,’ said I, ‘than my own conscience, nor no greater pleasure than my own contentation.’ ‘Yet virtue seeks to satisfy others,’ said Basilius. ‘Those that be good,’ said I, ‘and they will be satisfied as long as they see no evil.’ ‘Yet will the best in this country,’ said Basilius, ‘suspect so excellent beauty being so weakly guarded.’ ‘Then are the best but stark naught,’ answered I, ‘for open suspecting others, comes of secret condemning themselves: but in my country, whose manners I am in all places to maintain and reverence, the general goodness which is nourished in our hearts makes every one think the strength of virtue in another, whereof they find the assured foundation in themselves.’ ‘Excellent lady,’ said he, ‘you praise so greatly, and yet so wisely, your country that I must needs desire to know what the nest is out of which such birds do fly.’ ‘You must first deserve it,’ said I, ‘before you may obtain it.’ ‘And by what means,’ said Basilius, ‘shall I deserve to know your estate?’ ‘By letting me first know yours,’ answered I. ‘To obey you,’ said he, ‘I will do it, although it were so much more reason yours should be known first, as you do deserve in all points to be preferred. Know you, fair lady, that my name is Basilius, unworthily lord of this country: the rest, either fame hath already brought to your ears, or (if it please you to make this place happy by your presence) at more leisure you shall understand of me.’ I that from the beginning assured myself it was he, but would not seem I did so, to keep my gravity the better, making a piece of reverence unto him; ‘Mighty prince,’ said I, ‘let my not knowing you serve for the excuse of my boldness, and the little reverence I do you impute to the manner of my country, which is the invincible land of the Amazons: myself niece to Senicia, queen thereof, lineally descended of the famous Penthesilea, slain by the bloody hand of Pyrrhus: I having, in this my youth determined to make the world see the Amazons’ excellencies, as well in private as in public virtue, have passed some dangerous adventures in divers countries, till the unmerciful sea deprived me of my company; so that shipwreck casting me not far hence, uncertain wandering brought me to this place.’ But Basilius (who now began to taste of that, which since he had swallowed up, as I will tell you) fell to more cunning intreating my abode, than any greedy host should use to well-paying passengers. I thought nothing could shoot righter at the mark of my desires; yet had I learned already so much, that it was against my womanhood to be forward in my own wishes. And therefore he (to prove whether intercessions in fitter mouths might better prevail) commanded Dametas to bring forthwith his wife and daughters thither; three ladies, although of diverse, yet of excellent beauty.
“His wife in grave matron-like attire, with countenance and gesture suitable, and of such fairness, being in the strength of her age, as, if her daughters had not been by, might with just price have purchased admiration: but they being there, it was enough that the most dainty eye would think her a worthy mother of such children. The fair Pamela, whose noble heart I find doth greatly disdain that the trust of her virtue is reposed in such a lout’s hands as Dametas, had yet, to show an obedience, taken on shepherdish apparel, which was but of russet-cloth cut after their fashion, with a straight body, open breasted, the nether part full of plaits, with long and wide sleeves: but believe me she did apparel her apparel, and with the preciousness of her body made it most sumptuous. Her hair at the full length, wound about with gold lace, only by the comparison to show how far her hair doth excel in colour: betwixt her breasts (which sweetly rose like two fair mountainets in the pleasant vale of Tempe) there hung a very rich diamond set but in a black horn; the word I have since read is this, ‘Yet still myself.’ And thus particularly have I described them because you may know that mine eyes are not so partial but that I marked them too. But when the ornament of the earth, the model of heaven, the triumph of nature, the life of beauty, the queen of love, young Philoclea appeared in her nymph-like apparel, so near nakedness as one might well discern part of her perfections, and yet so apparelled as did show she kept best store of her beauty to herself: her hair (alas too poor a word, why should I not rather call them her beams) drawn up into a net, able to have caught Jupiter when he was in the form of an eagle; her body (O sweet body!)
covered with a light taffeta garment, so cut as the wrought smock came through it in many places, enough to have made your restrained imagination have thought what was under it: with the cast of her black eyes, black indeed, whether nature so made them, that we might be the more able to behold and bear their wonderful shining, or that she, goddess-like, would work this miracle with herself in giving blackness the price above all beauty. Then, I say, indeed methought the lilies grew pale for envy; the roses methought blushed to see sweeter roses in her cheeks; and the apples methought fell down from the trees to do homage to the apples of her breast; then the clouds gave place, that the heavens might more freely smile upon her, at the least the clouds of my thought quite vanished, and my sight, then more clear and forcible than ever, was so fixed there, that, I imagine, I stood like a well-wrought image with some life in show but none in practice. And so had I been like enough to have stayed long time but that Gynecia stepping between my sight and the only Philoclea, the change of object made me recover my senses, so that I could with reasonable good manner receive the salutation of her, and of the Princess Pamela, doing them yet no further reverence than one princess useth to another. But when I came to the never enough praised Philoclea, I could not but fall down on my knees, and taking by force her hand, and kissing it, I must confess with more than womanly ardency, ‘Divine lady,’ said I, ‘let not the world, nor those great princesses, marvel to see me, contrary to my manner, do this special honour unto you, since all both men and women, do owe this to the perfection of your beauty.’ But, she blushing like a fair morning in May at this my singularity, and causing me to rise, ‘Noble lady,’ said she, ‘it is no marvel to see your judgment much mistaken in my beauty since you begin with so great an error as to do more honour unto me than to them, to whom I myself owe all service.’ ‘Rather,’ answered I, with a bowed down countenance, ‘that shows the power of your beauty which forced me to do such an error, if it were an error.’
‘You are so well acquainted,’ said she sweetly, most sweetly smiling, ‘with your own beauty, that it makes you easily fall into the discourse of beauty.’ ‘Beauty in me?’ (said I, truly sighing) ‘alas! if there be any it is in my eyes, which your blessed presence hath imparted unto them.’
“But then, as I think Basilius willing her so to do, ‘Well,’ said she, ‘I must needs confess I have heard that it is a great happiness to be praised of them that are most praiseworthy: and well I find that you are an invincible Amazon since you will overcome, though in a wrong matter. But if my beauty be anything, then let it obtain thus much of you, that you will remain some while in this company to ease your own travel and our solitariness.’ ‘First let me die,’ said I, ‘before any word spoken by such a mouth should come in vain.’ And thus with some other words of entertaining was my staying concluded, and I led among them to the lodge; truly a place for pleasantness, not unfit to flatter solitariness, for, it being set upon such an unsensible rising of the ground as you are come to a pretty height before almost you perceive that you ascend, it gives the eye lordship over a good large circuit, which according to the nature of the country, being diversified between hills and dales, woods and plains, one place more clear, another more darksome, it seems a pleasant picture of nature, with lovely lightsomeness and artificial shadows. The lodge is of a yellow stone, built in the form of a star, having round about a garden framed into like points; and beyond the garden ridings cut out, each answering the angles of the lodge: at the end of one of them is the other smaller lodge, but of like fashion, where the gracious Pamela liveth; so that the lodge seemeth not unlike a fair comet, whose tail stretcheth itself to a star of less greatness.
“So Gynecia herself bringing me to my lodging, anon after I was invited and brought down to sup with them in the garden, a place not fairer in natural ornaments than artificial inventions, where, in a banqueting-house, among certain pleasant trees, whose heads seemed curled with the wrappings about of vine branches, the table was set near to an excellent water-works; for, by the casting of the water in most cunning manner, it makes, with the shining of the sun upon it, a perfect rainbow, not more pleasant to the eye than to the mind, so sensibly to see the proof of the heavenly Iris. There were birds also made so finely that they did not only deceive the sight with their figure, but the hearing with their songs, which the watery instruments made their gorge deliver. The table at which we sat was round, which being fast to the floor whereon we sat, and that divided from the rest of the buildings, with turning a vice, which Basilius at first did to make me sport, the table, and we about the table, did all turn round by means of water which ran under and carried it about as a mill. But alas! what pleasure did it to me to make divers times the full circle round about, since Philoclea, being also set, was carried still in equal distance from me, and that only my eyes did overtake her? which, when the table was stayed, and we began to feed, drank much more eagerly of her beauty than my mouth did of any other liquor. And so was my common sense deceived, being chiefly bent to her, that as I drank the wine, and withal stole a look on her, meseemed I tasted her deliciousness. But alas! the one thirst was much more inflamed than the other quenched. Sometimes my eyes would lay themselves open to receive all the darts she did throw; sometimes close up with admiration, as if with a contrary fancy, they would preserve the riches of that sight they had gotten, or cast my lids as curtains over the image of beauty her presence had painted in them. True it is, that my reason, now grown a servant to passion, did yet often tell his master that he should more moderately use his delight. But he, that of a rebel was become a prince, disdained almost to allow him the place of a counsellor; so that my senses’ delights being too strong for any other resolution, I did even loose the reins unto them, hoping that, going for a woman, my looks would pass either unmarked or unsuspected.
“Now thus I had, as methought, well played my first act, assuring myself that under that disguisement I should find opportunity to reveal myself to the owner of my heart. But who would think it possible, though I feel it true, that in almost eight weeks’ space I have lived here, having no more company but her parents, and I being a familiar, as being a woman, and watchful, as being a lover, yet could never find opportunity to have one minute’s leisure of private conference: the cause whereof is as strange as the effects are to me miserable. And (alas!) this it is.
“At the first sight that Basilius had of me, I think Cupid having headed his arrows with my misfortune, he was stricken, taking me to be such as I profess, with great affection towards me, which since is grown to such a doting love that till I was fain to get this place sometimes to retire unto freely, I was even choked with his tediousness. You never saw four score years dance up and down more lively in a young lover; now, as fine in his apparel, as if he would make me in love with a cloak, and verse for verse with the sharpest-witted lover in Arcadia. Do you not think that is a sallet of wormwood; while mine eyes feed upon the Ambrosia of Philoclea’s beauty? but this is not all; no, this is not the worst: for he, good man, were easy enough to be dealt with, but, as I think, love and mischief having made a wager which should have most power in me, have set Gynecia also on such a fire toward me, as will never, I fear, be quenched but with my destruction. For, she being a woman of excellent wit and of strong working thoughts, whether she suspected me by my over-vehement shows of affection to Philoclea (which love forced me unwisely to utter, while hope of my mask foolishly encouraged me) or that she hath taken some other mark of me, that I am not a woman; or what devil it is hath revealed it unto her, I know not: but so it is, that all her countenances, words, and gestures are even miserable portraitures of a desperate affection. Whereby a man may learn that these avoidings of company do but make the passions more violent when they meet with fit subjects. Truly it were a notable dumb show of Cupid’s kingdom, to see my eyes, languishing with over-vehement longing, direct themselves to Philoclea; and Basilius, as busy about me as a bee, and indeed as cumbersome, making such vehement suits to me, who neither could if I would, nor would if I could, help him, while the terrible wit of Gynecia, carried with the beer of violent love, runs through us all. And so jealous is she of my love to her daughter that I could never yet begin to open my mouth to the unevitable Philoclea but that her unwished presence gave my tale a conclusion before it had a beginning. And surely, if I be not deceived, I see such shows of liking, and, if I be acquainted with passions, of almost a passionate liking in the heavenly Philoclea towards me, that I may hope her ears would not abhor my discourse. And for good Basilius, he thought it best to have lodged us together, but that the eternal hatefulness of my destiny made Gynecia’s jealousy stop that, and all other my blessings. Yet must I confess that one way her love doth me pleasure, for since it was my foolish fortune, or unfortunate folly, to be known by her, that keeps her from betraying me to Basilius. And thus, my Musidorus, you have my tragedy played unto you by myself, which I pray the gods may not indeed prove a tragedy.” And therewith he ended, making a full point of a hearty sigh.
Musidorus recommended to his best discourse, all which Pyrocles had told him. But therein he found such intricateness that he could see no way to lead him out of the maze; yet perceiving his affection so grounded that striving against it did rather anger than heal the wound, and rather call his friendship in question than give place to any friendly counsel: “Well,” said he, “dear cousin! since it hath pleased the gods to mingle your other excellencies with this humour of love, yet happy it is, that your love is employed upon so rare a woman: for certainly a noble cause doth ease much a grievous case. But as it stands now, nothing vexeth me, as that I cannot see wherein I can be serviceable unto you.” “I desire no greater service of you,” answered Pyrocles, “than that you remain secretly in this country, and sometimes come to this place, either late in the night or early in the morning, where you shall have my key to enter, because as my fortune either amends or impairs, I may declare it unto you, and have your counsel and furtherance: and hereby I will of purpose lead her, that is the praise, and yet the stain of all womankind, that you may have so good a view, as to allow my judgment; and as I can get the most convenient time, I will come unto you; for, though by reason of yonder wood you cannot see the lodge, it is hard at hand. But now,” said she, “it is time for me to leave you, and towards evening we will walk out of purpose hitherward, therefore keep yourself close till that time.” But Musidorus, bethinking himself that his horse might happen to betray him, thought it best to return for that day to a village not far off, and dispatching his horse in some sort, the next day early to come afoot thither, and so to keep that course afterward which Pyrocles very well liked of. “Now farewell, dear cousin,” said he, “from me, no more Pyrocles nor Daiphantus now, but Zelmane: Zelmane is my name, Zelmane is my title, Zelmane is the only hope of my advancement.” And with that word going out, and seeing that the coast was clear, Zelmane dismissed Musidorus, who departed as full of care to help his friend as before he was to dissuade him.
Zelmane returned to the lodge, where (inflamed by Philoclea, watched by Gynecia, and tired by Basilius) she was like a horse desirous to run, and miserably spurred, but so short reined as he cannot stir forward. Zelmane sought occasion to speak with Philoclea; Basilius with Zelmane; and Gynecia hindered them all. If Philoclea happened to sigh, and sigh she did often, as if that sigh were to be waited on, Zelmane sighed also, whereto Basilius and Gynecia soon made up four parts of sorrow. Their affection increased their conversation, and their conversation increased their affection. The respect borne bred due ceremonies, but the affection shined so through them, that the ceremonies seemed not ceremonies. Zelmane’s eyes were (like children before sweetmeat) eager, but fearful of their ill-pleasing governors. Time, in one instant, seeming both short and long unto them: short, in the pleasingness of such presence; long, in the stay of their desires.
But Zelmane failed not to entice them all many times abroad because she was desirous her friend Musidorus, near whom of purpose she led them, might have full sight of them. Sometimes angling to a little river near hand, which, for the moisture it bestowed upon the roots of flourishing trees, was rewarded with their shadow. There would they sit down, and pretty wagers be made between Pamela and Philoclea, which could soonest beguile silly fishes, while Zelmane protested that the fit prey for them was hearts of princes. She also had an angle in her hand, but the taker was so taken that she had forgotten taking. Basilius in the meantime would be the cook himself of what was so caught, and Gynecia sit still, but with no still pensiveness. Now she brought them to see a seeled dove, who, the blinder she was, the higher she strove. Another time a kite, which having a gut cunningly pulled out of her, and so let fly, caused all the kites in that quarter, who, as oftentimes the world is deceived, thinking her prosperous when indeed she was wounded, made the poor kite find that opinion of riches may well be dangerous.
But these recreations were interrupted by a delight of more gallant show; for one evening, as Basilius returned from having forced his thoughts to please themselves in such small conquest, there came a shepherd who brought him word that a gentleman desired leave to do a message from his lord unto him. Basilius granted, whereupon the gentleman came, and after the dutiful ceremonies observed in his master’s name, told him that he was sent from Phalantus of Corinth to crave licence that, as he had done in many other courts, so he might in his presence defy all Arcadian knights in the behalf of his mistress’s beauty who would besides herself in person be present to give evident proof what his lance should affirm. The conditions of his challenge were that the defendant should bring his mistress’s picture, which being set by the image of Artesia, so was the mistress of Phalantus named, who in six courses should have the better of the other in the judgment of Basilius, with him both the honours and the pictures should remain. Basilius (though he had retired himself into that solitary dwelling, with intention to avoid, rather than to accept any matters of drawing company, yet because he would entertain Zelmane that she might not think the time so gainful to him loss to her) granted him to pitch his tent for three days not far from the lodge, and to proclaim his challenge that what Arcadian knight, for none else but upon his peril was licensed to come, would defend what he honoured against Phalantus, should have the like freedom of access and return.
This obtained and published, Zelmane being desirous to learn what this Phalantus was, having never known him further than by report of his good jousting, in so much as he was commonly called, “The fair man of arms”; Basilius told her that he had had occasion by one very inward with him to know in part the discourse of his life, which was, that he was a bastard brother to the fair Helen queen of Corinth, and dearly esteemed of her for his exceeding good parts, being honourably courteous, and wronglessly valiant, considerately pleasant in conversation, and an excellent courtier without unfaithfulness, who, finding his sister’s unpersuadable melancholy, through the love of Amphialus, had for a time left her court, and gone into Laconia, where, in the war against the Helots, he had gotten the reputation of one that both durst and knew. But as it was rather choice than nature that led him to matters of arms, so as soon as the spur of honour ceased, he willingly rested in peaceable delights, being beloved in all companies for his lovely qualities, and, as a man may term it, winning cheerfulness; whereby to the prince and court of Laconia, none was more agreeable than Phalantus: and he not given greatly to struggle with his own disposition, followed the gentle current of it, having a fortune sufficient to content, and he content with a sufficient fortune. But in that court he saw, and was acquainted with this Artesia, whose beauty he now defends, became her servant, said himself, and perchance thought himself her lover. “But certainly,” said Basilius, “many times it falls out that these young companions make themselves believe they love at their first liking of a likely beauty; loving, because they will love for want of other business, not because they feel indeed that divine power which makes the heart find a reason in passion, and so, God knows, as inconstantly leave upon the next chance that beauty casts before them.
So therefore taking love upon him like a fashion, he courted this lady Artesia, who was as fit to pay him in his own money as might be: for she thinketh she did wrong to her beauty if she were not proud of it, called her disdain of him chastity, and placed her honour in little setting by his honouring her, determining never to marry but him whom she thought worthy of her, and that was one in whom all worthinesses were harboured. And to this conceit not only nature had bent her, but the bringing-up she received at by her sister-in-law Cecropia had confirmed her, who having in her widowhood taken this young Artesia into her charge, because her father had been a dear friend of her dear husband’s, had taught her to think that there is no wisdom but in including both heaven and earth in oneself; and that love, courtesy, gratefulness, friendship, and all other virtues are rather to be taken on than taken in oneself. And so good a disciple she found of her that, liking the fruits of her own planting, she was content if so her son could have liked of it, to have wished her in marriage to my nephew Amphialus. But I think that desire hath lost some of his heat since she hath known that such a queen as Helen is, doth offer so great a price as a kingdom, to buy his favour; for, if I be not deceived in my good sister Cecropia, she thinks no face so beautiful, as that which looks under a crown.
But Artesia indeed liked well of my nephew Amphialus: For I can never deem that love, which in haughty hearts proceeds of a desire only to please, and, as it were, peacock themselves; but yet she hath showed vehemency of desire that way, I think because all her desires be vehement, insomuch that she hath both placed her only brother, a fine youth, called Ismenus, to be his ’squire, and herself is content to wait upon my sister till she may see the uttermost what she may work in Amphialus; who being of a melancholy (though, I must say, truly courteous and noble) mind, seems to love nothing less than love, and of late, having through some adventure, or inward miscontentment, withdrawn himself from anybody’s knowledge, where he is; Artesia the easier condescended to go to the court of Laconia, whither she was sent for by the king’s wife, to whom she is somewhat allied.
“And there, after the war of the Helots, this knight Phalantus, at least for tongue-delight, made himself her servant, and she, so little caring as not to show mislike thereof, was content only to be noted to have a notable servant. For truly one in my court, nearly acquainted with him, within these few days made me a pleasant description of their love, while he with cheerful looks would speak sorrowful words, using the phrase of his affection in so high a style, that Mercury would not have wooed Venus with more magnificent eloquence; but else, neither in behaviour, nor action, accusing in himself any great trouble in mind whether he sped or no. And she, on the other side, well finding how little it was, and not caring for more, yet taught him that often it falleth out but a foolish witness to speak more than one thinks.
“For she made earnest benefit of his jest, forcing him in respect of his profession to her such services as were both cumbersome and costly unto him, while he still thought he went beyond her because his heart did not commit the idolatry. So that lastly, she, I think, having mind to make the fame of her beauty an orator for her to Amphialus (persuading herself, perhaps, that it might fall out in him as it doth in some that have delightful meat before them, and have no stomach to it, before other folks praise it) she took the advantage one day, upon Phalantus’s unconscionable praising of her, and certain cast-away vows how much he would do for her sake, to arrest his word as soon as it was out of his mouth, and by the virtue thereof to charge him to go with her thro’ all the courts of Greece, and with the challenge now made to give her beauty the principality over all other. Phalantus was entrapped, and saw round about him, but could not get out. Exceedingly perplexed he was, as he confessed to him that told me the tale, not for doubt he had of himself (for indeed he had little cause, being accounted, with his lance especially, whereupon the challenge is to be tried as perfect as any that Greece knoweth) but because he feared to offend his sister Helen, and withal, as he said, he could not so much believe his love but that he must think in his heart, whatsoever his mouth affirmed, that both she, my daughters, and the fair Parthenia (wife to a most noble gentleman, my wife’s near kinsman) might far better put in their claim for that prerogative. But his promise had bound him prentice, and therefore it was now better with willingness to purchase thanks than with a discontented doing to have the pain and not the reward; and therefore went on as his faith, rather than love, did lead him. And now hath he already passed the courts of Laconia, Elis, Argos, and Corinth: And, as many times it happens that a good pleader makes a bad cause to prevail, so hath his lance brought captives to the triumph of Artesia’s beauty, such, as though Artesia be among the fairest, yet in that company were to have the pre-eminence: For in those courts many knights that had been in other far countries defended such as they had seen and liked in their travel: But their defence had been such that they had forfeited the pictures of their ladies to give a forced false testimony to Artesia’s excellency. And now, lastly, is he come hither, where he hath leave to try his fortune. But I assure you, if I thought it not in due and true consideration an injurious service and churlish courtesy to put the danger of so noble a title in the deciding of such a dangerless combat, I would make young master Phalantus know that your eyes can sharpen a blunt lance, and that age, which my gray hairs, only gotten by the loving care of others, makes seem more than it is, hath not diminished in me the power to protect an undeniable verity.” With that he bustled up himself, as though his heart would fain have walked abroad. Zelmane with an inward smiling gave him outward thanks, desiring him to reserve his force for worthier causes.
So passing their time according to their wont, they waited for the coming of Phalantus, who the next morning having already caused his tents to be pitched near to a fair tree hard by the lodge, had upon the tree made a shield to be hanged up, which the defendant should strike that would call him to the maintaining his challenge. The impresa in the shield was a heaven full of stars, with a speech signifying that it was the beauty which gave the praise. Himself came in next after a triumphant chariot made of carnation-velvet, enriched with purple and pearl, wherein Artesia sat, drawn by four winged horses with artificial flaming mouths and fiery wings, as if she had newly borrowed them of Phoebus. Before her marched, two after two, certain footmen pleasantly attired, who between them held one picture after another of them, that by Phalantus’ well running had lost the prize in the race of beauty, and at every pace they stayed, turned the pictures to each side so leisurely that with perfect judgment they might be discerned. The first that came in, following the order of the time wherein they had been won, was the picture of Andromana, queen of Iberia, whom a Laconian knight, having some time, and with special favour, served, though some years since returned home, with more gratefulness than good fortune defended. But therein Fortune had borrowed wit; for indeed she was not comparable to Artesia, not because she was a good deal older, for time had not yet been able to impoverish her store thereof, but an exceeding red hair with small eyes, did, like ill companions, disgrace the other assembly of most commendable beauties.
Next after her was borne the counterfeit of the Princess of Elis, a lady that taught the beholders no other point of beauty, but this: That as liking is not always the child of beauty, so whatsoever liketh is beautiful; for in that visage there was neither majesty, grace, favour, nor fairness; yet she wanted not a servant that would have made her fairer than the fair Artesia. But he wrote her praises with his helmet in the dust, and left her picture to be a true witness of his overthrow, as his running was of her beauty.
After her was the goodly Artaxia, great queen of Armenia, a lady upon whom nature bestowed and well placed her most delightful colours, and, withal, had proportioned her without any fault, quickly to be discovered by the senses, yet altogether seemed not to make up that harmony that Cupid delights in, the reason whereof might seem a mannish countenance, which overthrew that lovely sweetness, the noblest power of womankind, far fitter to prevail by parley than by battle.
Of a far contrary consideration was the representation of her that next followed, which was Erona queen of Lycia, who though of so brown a hair as no man should have injured it to have called it black, and that in the mixture of her cheeks the white did so much overcome the red, tho’ what was, was very pure, that it came near to paleness, and that her face was a thought longer than the exact Symetrians perhaps would allow; yet love played his part so well in every part that it caught hold of the judgment before it could judge, making it first love, and after acknowledge it fair; for there was a certain delicacy, which in yielding conquered, and with a pitiful look made one find cause to crave help himself.
After her came two ladies, of noble, but not of royal birth: The former was named Baccha, who though very fair, and of a fatness rather to allure, than to mislike, yet her breasts overfamiliarly laid open, with a made countenance about her mouth, between simpering and smiling, her head bowed somewhat down, seemed to languish with over-much idleness, and with an inviting look cast upward, dissuaded with too much persuading, while hope might seem to over-run desire.
The other, whose name was written Leucippe, was of a fine daintiness of beauty, her face carrying in it a sober simplicity, like one that could do much good and meant no hurt, her eyes having in them such a cheerfulness as nature seemed to smile in them, though her mouth and cheeks obeyed to that pretty demureness which the more one marked the more one would judge the poor soul apt to believe, and therefore the more pity to deceive her.
Next came the queen of Laconia, one that seemed born in the confines of beauty’s kingdom: For all her lineaments were neither perfect possessioners thereof, nor absolute strangers thereto: But she was a queen, and therefore beautiful.
But she that followed, conquered indeed with being conquered, and might well have made all the beholders wait upon her triumph, while herself were led captive. It was the excellently fair queen Helen, whose jacinth-hair curled by nature, but intercurled by art, like a fine brook through golden sands, had a rope of fair pearl, which now hiding, now hidden by the hair, did as it were play at fast and loose each with other, mutually giving and receiving richness. In her face so much beauty and favour expressed as, if Helen had not been known, some would rather have judged it the painter’s exercise to show what he could do than the counterfeiting of any living pattern; for no fault the most fault-finding wit could have found, if it were not that to the rest of the body the face was somewhat too little, but that little was such a spark of beauty as was able to inflame a world of love; for everything was full of a choice fineness, that if we wanted anything in majesty it supplied it with increase in pleasure; and if at the first it struck not with admiration, it ravished with delight. And no indifferent soul there was, which if it could resist from subjecting itself to make it his princess, that would not long to have such a playfellow. As for her attire, it was costly and curious, though the look, fixed with more sadness than it seemed nature had bestowed to any that knew her fortune, betrayed that as she used those ornaments not for herself, but to prevail with another, so she feared that all would not serve. Of a far differing, though esteemed equal, beauty, was the fair Parthenia, who next waited on Artesia’s triumph, tho’ far better she might have sat on the throne. For in her everything was goodly and stately, yet so that it might seem that great-mindedness was but the ensign-bearer to the humbleness. For her great grey eye, which might seem full of her own beauty; a large and exceedingly fair forehead, with all the rest of her face and body cast in the mould of nobleness, was yet so attired as might show the mistress thought it either not to deserve, or not to need any exquisite decking, having no adorning but cleanliness; and so far from all art, that it was full of carelessness, unless that carelessness itself, in spite of itself, grew artificial. But Basilius could not abstain from praising Parthenia as the perfect picture of a womanly virtue and wifely faithfulness, telling withal Zelmane how he had understood that when in the court of Laconia her pictures maintained by a certain Sicyonian knight, was lost through want rather of valour than justice, her husband, the famous Argalus, would in a chafe have gone and redeemed it with a new trial. But she, more sporting than sorrowing for her undeserved champion, told her husband she desired to be beautiful in nobody’s eye but his, and that she would rather mar her face as evil as ever it was than that it should be a cause to make Argalus put on armour. Then would Basilius have told Zelmane that which he already knew, of the rare trial of that coupled affection: but the next picture made their mouths give place to their eyes.
