The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
good news to him, whose prowess in arms deservingly gained much of his
good opinion) of Helen’s being there, together with her desire to
employ him in an action the heavens had also interested him in. “What
is it,” replied the naked knight, “that, without such a command, I
would not endeavour to accomplish for my most dear Helen?” And then,
with excess of comfort and astonishment, his weak limbs were ready to
give over the support of his joy-burdened body; but, being upheld by
Musidorus, who stood next him, his overcharged spirits had time to
recollect themselves.
The Queen gathering comfort from his promise, and seeing fair
likelihood of the oracle’s accomplishment, with the oratory of love,
who thinks no words but his own able to express his mind, began in
this manner: “Sir, ill-fortune my awful governess, as in the most of
my actions she is pleased to keep a hard hand over me, so in this
(distrustful belike of my willingness) she forces me to repeat my
wonted lesson of receiving courtesies without power of requital;
making one undeserved favour from you become a cause of further
beholdingness to you: But the glory that follows your good success in
this adventure (the best spur to set forward brave spirits to noble
actions) hath almost assured me that the love you profess, and a
distressed lady’s cause, need not join petitioners in a request your
virtue must be willing to grant. The reward of your victory, is the
releasing of Amphialus, of whom I may speak, and the world with me,
all praise-worthy things.” “Madam,” replied the naked knight, “I
thought the gods could not have favoured me more than in giving you
respite of life, and me power to be serviceable to you: but when I
consider the end I must employ my endeavours to, it buries my
conceited happiness in the grave of a certain misfortune. Shall I
labour to preserve that monster of men, whose story (if the world will
needs read) contains nothing but a volume of disasters, and a vain
{645} discourse of a few adventures cast upon him by the blindness of
chance? Shall I hazard my life for him, against whom, had I lives
innumerable, I would venture them all? Shall I live to make another
happy in your favour, and cross mine own desires? No, madam, I will
sooner leave my blood here before you, as a testimony that fear hath
no interest in my disobedience to your command, than I will make my
after-life, truly miserable in the burden of a hopeless affection.” To
this the Queen awhile in tears, as if her eyes strove to speak for
her, made a silent answer; but when her sighs had breathed forth the
over-charge of her breast, first she kneeled, then faintly said: “O
eternal president of this court of cares, when will thy just pity
commiserate my distress! Alas, Sir, what new way have the gods found
to vent their malice on me! have I made disdain my only mishap, and
must now affection towards me be another undeserved misfortune?
Behold, Sir, and, if you can, with pity, a Queen born to command a
suppliant at your feet, begging what goodness solicits you to grant,
release Amphialus: and if your jealousy thinks he hath too much
interest in my love, restore him to the world that wants him, I will
vow a virgin’s life.” “Stay, virtuous Queen,” replied the naked
knight, and lifting up his beaver, “receive,” said he, “thou best of
women! the overjoyed Amphialus.”
The Queen, as when the ocean swells with the rage of a tempest, if on
a sudden these blasts be appeased, yet the proud waves, mindful of
their fore-passed injury, and indisposed to so speedy a reconcilement,
some while retain the rough remembrance of the winds’ malice, so were
her thoughts, before moved by the storm of despair, though now she had
cause of contented quiet, on a sudden, incapable of so unlooked-for a
happiness, first doubt, then amazement, lastly excess of joy, by
succession, were admitted to the helm of her distressed heart. But
when joy had once got to be the steersman, his want of practice (by
his long absence from that employment) soon brought a confusion; here
the warm tears of sorrow, there the cold drops of a present comfort,
did strive whether should show itself most officious in drowning her
pale blushing cheeks: At length they both, no longer able to resist
this powerful invasion of their minds, as by mutual consent, fell the
one entwined in the other’s arms, and made the earth happy in bearing
such matchless lovers. But their senses being soon restored to their
wonted function, after some passionate words (to which their eyes and
touch of their hands gave the life of expression) Amphialus, divided
into many minds by the turbulent working of his thoughts, turning
towards his uncle, with his eyes fixed on the ground, stood with the
grace of a man condemned, who having led a loathsome life in an ugly
dungeon, is now {646} brought to a freedom of looking upon the open
air, yet sees the day is but a taper to light him to his execution. Of
the one side he was brought from the hell of despair, wherein he lived
in the assurance of Helen’s death, to the certainty of her life and
presence; of the other, what was his treason to his uncle to expect,
but an infamous death, and a divorce from his new-born happiness. The
shame also of a crime so foul as his rebellion, was not the least
torment to his mind, unwillingly beaten from a settled course of
virtue by Cecropia’s practices. At length, when these thoughts, that
almost overcame all the powers of life in him, were themselves
overcome by his resolution, casting himself at Basilius’s feet, thus
said: “Great Sir, if treason in a subject, and unnaturalness in a
nephew, be punishable, here you have before you a fit exercise for
your justice, I am that subject whose rebellion interrupted the
contented quiet of my King’s solitary life, and brought him to behold
the bloody tragedy of a civil dissention in his divided state: I am
that nephew, whom a wilful disobedience made a traitor to the nearness
of his blood. Hither did I come, Orestes-like, tormented by the inward
fright of my guilty conscience, with my blood to wash away (if good
fortune, in the defence of the cause I undertook, would draw death
upon me) the stains of such unpardonable faults; but now that I have
found what I least looked for (and then he cast a side-look on Helen)
for her, I confess, I should desire to live, if your just indignation
might find mercy for so heinous offences, which I will not strive to
mitigate, however justly I may; for I would think such faults
ill-excused with which, to ease myself, I must have burdened my
nearest friends.”
Basilius, first graciously lifting him from the ground: “Nephew,”
replied he, “did I retain the memory of your youthful oversights, this
your virtuous acknowledgment were sufficient to bear them away; but
long since I have buried in oblivion the thought of your rashness
because I knew (by what after happened) that the gods had made you an
instrument to work their ends; it were injury therefore to question
his actions, whose will was not his own, being over-ruled by their
all-commanding decree. No, nephew, I do not only pardon these
transgressions, but freely also do resign all such possessions as your
father held in Arcadia, taken from you in the last war, and now in the
hands of Philanax. Live happy in your choice, I shall be proud of our
alliance with the crown of Corinth, and shall rejoice to see the
succession continue in our blood.” This said, he led him to Gynecia,
then to Euarchus, but when he came to Musidorus: “This, nephew, is
that black knight,” said he, “who at your last meeting gave such
evident proof of his unconquerable valour; this is Musidorus the
Prince of Thessalia, {647} whom the gods have bestowed as a blessing
on my daughter Pamela.” Amphialus, now assured by the king’s speech,
unto whose hand the honour of his conquest had fallen (for doubt had
long tormented him that, some baser hand had reaped the glory of his
victory). “Prince Musidorus,” said he, “my hard success in our last
encounter much perplexed me; not that my confidence of myself was
lifted to such an arrogant presumption to think my strength and skill
in arms matchless, but that it grieved me, an unknown knight (one,
whom the world might think had concealed his name, lest, together with
him, his bad fortune in trials of that kind might be discovered)
should have the better of me. But now, that I know to whose lot my
victory hath fallen, I do not only bring an excuse, but an honour from
the worthiness of the conqueror.”
“Courteous Amphialus,” replied the Prince, “whose side the advantage
of fortune did then incline to, if it may be determined, with greater
reason, and more desert, should the honour be given you, than bestowed
on me; but, however, such trial I then made of your manhood that,
hereafter, I shall desire to be of your part.” “Worthy Prince,” said
Amphialus, “your virtue will always choose to be of the weaker side.”
And so turning to Philoclea, “Divine lady,” said he, “in your
excellent choice of the famous Pyrocles, you have (besides the
happiness gained to yourself, for which the world may envy you) showed
me the way to my best hopes, by grafting my affection in the stock of
my Helen’s constancy.” “Dear cousin,” replied Philoclea, “I am glad it
was in my power, and your good fortune, so much to better your choice
in so excellent a remove:” And so, casting a bashful look towards
Pyrocles: “Sir,” said she, “we may join in thanksgiving. This is my
cousin, whose virtuous disposition during our imprisonment was our
safest defence against my Aunt Cecropia’s cruelty.” “I do acknowledge
it,” said Pyrocles, “and besides this favour, in which we have a
common interest, Sir, I must crave pardon for a wound given you at
such a time when, belike, you made patience your only defence.”
Amphialus stood with his eyes fixed on Pyrocles, for his memory
supplied him with a confused remembrance of such a face: Zelmane he
could not take him to be, her sex and this change, at their first
birth, destroyed these apprehensions. Pyrocles, his heart swore he was
not, whose youth and beauty, God wot! were no fit livery for such
achievements as the world famed him for. Thus awhile he continued,
troubled with the uncertainty of conjectures, until Pyrocles (happily
conceiving the cause of his amazement) stopped his further admiration
by letting him know that the then Zelmane was the now Pyrocles.
Whereat Amphialus, {648} as one newly waked out of a dream, cried out,
“Anaxius, Anaxius,” said he, “’twas the Prince of Macedon (not a
woman) overcame thee. Wheresoever thy soul be, let it keep this time
festival as the birthday of thy glory.” And so, after mutual embraces,
together with the rest of the princes, they entered the palace, where,
when they were seated, the eyes of all the company were set on the
Queen of Corinth, longing to know the story of her strange fortune;
now a queen, then a prisoner; now alive, then dead; which she, at
Basilius’s entreaty, with a majesty which her fortune could not
change, because it was innate, thus declared.
“Great Sir! that I was made prisoner by Rinatus, and by him carried to
Laconia, fame, together with the news of my supposed death, belike
hath brought you; the rest, since you esteem worthy your hearing, I
shall esteem worthy my relation. There yet governs, and then did,
among the nobility of Laconia, one Creton, a man elected to the crown
rather to recompense the desert of his ancestors, than for his own
virtues, beloved and borne with for the same reason; such an
everlasting monument of itself, can goodness leave to posterity. To
him when I was brought, my guilt and my guilty self, with the best
oratory Rinatus had, was made known, who, with vehement importunity,