The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
indeed he meant it not, but only intended to kill himself in her
presence, went back so far, till ere she were aware, she overthrew
herself from over the leads, to receive her death’s kiss at the
ground: and yet was she not so happy as presently to die, but that she
had time with hellish agony to see her son’s mischief, whom she loved
so well, before her end, when she confessed, with most desperate but
not repenting mind, the purpose she had to impoison the princesses,
and would then have had them murdered. But everybody seeing, and glad
to see her end, had left obedience to her tyranny.
And, if it could be, her ruin increased woe in the noble heart of
Amphialus, who when he saw her fall, had his own rage stayed a little
with the suddenness of her destruction: “And was I not miserable
enough before,” said he, “but that before my end I must be the death
of my mother? Who, how wicked soever, yet I would she had received her
punishment by some other: O Amphialus, wretched Amphialus, thou hast
lived to be the death of thy most dear companion and friend
Philoxenus, and of his father, thy most careful foster-father. Thou
hast lived to kill a lady with thine own hands, and so excellent and
virtuous a lady as the fair Parthenia was; thou hast lived to see thy
faithful Ismenus slain in succouring thee, and thou not able to defend
him; thou hast lived to show thyself such a coward, as that one
unknown knight could overcome thee in thy lady’s presence: thou hast
lived to bear arms against thy rightful prince, thine own uncle: thou
hast lived to be accounted, and justly accounted a traitor, by the
most excellent persons that this world holdeth: thou hast lived to be
the death of her that gave thee life. But ah wretched Amphialus, thou
hast lived for thy sake, and by thy authority, to have Philoclea
tormented. O heavens, in Amphialus’s castle, where Amphialus
commanded, tormented, tormented. Torment of my soul, Philoclea
tormented, and thou hast had such comfort in thy life, as to live all
this while. Perchance this hand, used only to mischievous acts, thinks
it were too good a deed to kill me: or else filthy hand, only worthy
to kill women, thou art afraid to strike a man. Fear not cowardly
hand, for thou shalt kill but a cowardly traitor: and do it gladly,
for thou shalt kill him whom Philoclea hateth.” With that furiously he
tore open his doublet, and setting the pommel of the sword to the
ground, and the point to his breast, he fell upon {411} it. But the
sword more merciful than he to himself, with the slipping of the
pommel the point swerved, and razed him but upon the side: yet with
the fall his other wounds opened so that he bled in such extremity,
that Charon’s boat might very well be carried in that flood: which yet
he sought so hasten by this means. As he opened his doublet, and fell,
there fell out Philoclea’s knives which Cecropia at the first had
taken from her, and delivered to her son; and he had ever worn them
next his heart, as the only relic he had of his saint: now seeing them
by him, his sword being so, as weakness could not well draw it out
from his doublet, he took the knives, and pulling one of them out, and
many times kissing it, and then, first with the passions of kindness
and unkindness melting in tears. “O dear knives, you are come in good
time to revenge the wrong I have done you all this while, in keeping
you from her blessed side; and wearing you without your mistress’s
leave. Alas! be witness with me, yet before I die, and well you may,
for you have lain next my heart, that but my consent, your excellent
mistress should have had as much honour as this poor place could have
brought forth for so high an excellency; and now I am condemned to die
by her mouth. Alas! other, far other hope would my desire often have
given me; but other event it hath pleased her to lay upon me. Ah
Philoclea,” with that his tears gushed out as though they would strive
to overflow his blood, “I would yet thou knowest how I love thee.
Unworthy I am, unhappy I am, false I am; but to thee alas! I am not
false. But what a traitor am I, any way to excuse him, whom she
condemneth? since there is nothing left me wherein I may do her
service, but in punishing him who hath so offended her. Dear knife,
then do your noble mistress’s commandment.” With that, he stabbed
himself into divers places of his breast and throat, until these
wounds, with the old, freshly bleeding, brought him to the senseless
gate of death. By which time, his servants, having, with fear of his
fury, abstained a while from coming unto him, one of them, preferring
dutiful affection before fearful duty, came in and there found him
swimming in his own blood, giving a pitiful spectacle, where the
conquest was the conqueror’s overthrow, and self-ruin the only triumph
of a battle, fought between him and himself. The time full of danger,
the person full of worthiness, the manner full of horror, did greatly
astonish all the beholders: so as by and by all the town was full of
it, and they of all ages came running up to see the beloved body;
everybody thinking their safety bled in his wounds, and their honour
died in his destruction.
But when it came, and quickly it came to the ears of his proud friend
Anaxius, who by that time was grown well of his wound, but never had
come abroad, disdaining to abase himself to the {412} company of any
other but of Amphialus, he was exceedingly vexed either with kindness
or, if a proud heart be not capable thereof, with disdain, that he,
who had the honour to be called the friend of Anaxius, should come to
such an unexpected ruin. Therefore then coming abroad, with a face red
in anger, and engrained in pride, with lids raised, and eyes levelled
from top to toe of them that met him, treading as though he thought to
make the earth shake under him, with his hand upon his sword; short
speeches, and disdainful answers, giving straight order to his two
brothers, to go take the oath of obedience, in his name, of all the
soldiers and citizens in the town: and withal to swear them to revenge
the death of Amphialus upon Basilius; he himself went to see him,
calling for all the surgeons and physicians there, spending some time
in viewing the body, and threatening them all to be hanged, if they
did not heal him. But they, taking view of his wounds, and falling
down at Anaxius’s feet, assured him that they were mortal, and no
possible means to keep him above two days alive: and he stood partly
in doubt, to kill, or save them, between his own fury, and their
humbleness. But vowing with his own hands to kill the two sisters, as
causers of his friend’s death: when his brothers came to him, and told
him they had done his commandment, in having received the oath of
allegiance, with no great difficulties, the most part terrified by
their valour, and force of their servants; and many that had been
forward actors in the rebellion, willing to do anything, rather than
come under the subjection of Basilius again; and such few as durst
gainsay, being cut off by present slaughter.
But withal, as the chief matter of their coming to him, they told
Anaxius, that the fair queen Helen was come, with an honourable
retinue, to the town: humbly desiring leave to see Amphialus, whom she
had sought in many places of the world; and lastly, being returned
into her own country, she heard together of the late siege, and of his
combat with the strange knight, who had dangerously hurt him.
Whereupon full of loving care (which she was content even to publish
to the world, how ungratefully soever he dealt with her) she had
gotten leave of Basilius, to come by his frontiers, to carry away
Amphialus with her, to the excellentest surgeon then known, whom she
had in her country, but so old, as not able to travel: but had given
her sovereign anointments, to preserve his body withal, till he might
be brought unto him: and that Basilius had granted leave; either
natural kindness prevailing over all the offences done, or rather glad
to make any passage which might lead him out of his country, and from
his daughters. This discourse Lycurgus understanding of Helen,
delivered to his brother, with her vehement desire to see the {413}
body, and take her last farewell of him. Anaxius, though he were
fallen out with all womankind, in respect of the hate he bore the
sisters, whom he accounted murderers of Amphialus, yet at his
brother’s request, granted her leave. And she, poor lady, with
grievous expectation, and languishing desire, carried her faint legs
to the place where he lay, either not breathing, or in all appearance
breathing nothing but death.
In which piteous plight when she saw him, though sorrow had set before
her mind the pitifullest conceit thereof that it could paint, yet the
present sight went beyond all the former apprehensions: so that
beginning to kneel by the body, her sight ran from her service, rather
than abide such a sight; and she fell in a swoon upon him, as if she
could not choose but die of his wounds. But when her breath, aweary to
be closed up in woe, broke the prison of her fair lips, and brought
memory with his servant senses to his natural office, she made yet the
breath convey these doleful words with it. “Alas!” said she,
“Amphialus, what strange disasters be these, that having sought thee
so long, I should be now sorry to find thee? that these eyes should
look upon Amphialus, and be grieved withal? that I should have thee in
my power without glory, and embrace thee without comfort? how often
have I blest the means that might bring me near thee? now woe worth
the cause that brings me so near thee. Often, alas! often hast thou
disdained my tears: but now, my dear Amphialus, receive them: these
eyes can serve for nothing else but to weep for thee: since thou
wouldst never vouchsafe them thy comfort, yet disdain not them thy
sorrow. I would they had been more dear unto thee; for then hadst thou
lived. Woe is me that thy noble heart could love who hated thee, and
hate who loved thee. Alas why should not my faith to thee cover my
other defects, who only sought to make my crown thy footstool, myself
thy servant, that was all my ambition; and alas thou disdainest it, to
serve them, by whom thy incomparable self wert disdained. Yet, O
Philoclea, wheresoever you are, pardon me if I speak in the bitterness
of my soul, excellent may you be in all other things, and excellent
sure you are since he loved you, your want of pity, where the fault
only was infiniteness of desert, cannot be excused. I would, O God, I
would that you had granted his deserved suit of marrying you, and that
I had been your serving-maid, to have made my estate the foil of your
felicity, so he had lived. How many weary steps have I trodden after
thee, while my only complaint was, that thou wert unkind? alas! I
would now thou wert to be unkind. Alas, why wouldst thou not command
my service, in persuading Philoclea to love thee? who could, or if
everyone could, who would have recounted thy perfection so well {414}
as I? who with such kindly passions could have stirred pity for thee
as I? who should have delivered not only the words, but the tears I
had of thee: and so shouldst thou have exercised thy disdain in me,
and yet used my service for thee.”
With that the body moving somewhat, and giving a groan, full of
death’s music, she fell upon his face, and kissed him, and withal
cried out; “O miserable I, that have only favour by misery;” and then
would she have returned to a fresh career of complaints, when an aged
and wise gentleman came to her, and besought her to remember what was
fit for her greatness, wisdom, and honour: and withal, that it was
fitter to show her love in carrying the body to her excellent surgeon,