The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
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 {80} 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.
It was of a young maid which sat pulling out a thorn out of a lamb’s
foot, with her look so attentive upon it, as if that little foot could
have been the circle of her thoughts; her apparel so poor, as it had
nothing but the inside to adorn it; a sheep-hook lying by her with a
bottle upon it. But with all that poverty, beauty played the prince
and commanded as many hearts as the greatest queen there did. Her
beauty and her estate made her quickly to be known to be the fair
shepherdess Urania, whom a rich {81} knight called Lacemon, far in
love with her, had unluckily defended.
The last of all in place, because last in the time of her being
captive, was Zelmane, daughter to the King Plexirtus, who at the first
sight seemed to have some resembling of Philoclea, but with more
marking, comparing it to the present Philoclea, who indeed had no
paragon but her sister, they might see it was but such a likeness as
an unperfect glass doth give, answerable enough in some features and
colours, but erring in others. But Zelmane sighing, turning to
Basilius, “Alas! Sir,” said she, “here be some pictures which might
better become the tombs of their mistresses than the triumph of
Artesia.” “It is true sweetest lady,” said Basilius, “some of them be
dead, and some other captive; but that hath happened so late, as it
may be the knights that defended their beauty knew not so much:
without we will say, as in some other hearts I know it would fall out,
that death itself could not blot out the image which love hath
engraven in them. But divers besides those,” said Basilius, “hath
Phalantus, won, but he leaves the rest, carrying only such who either
for greatness of estate, or of beauty, may justly glorify the glory of
Artesia’s triumph.”
Thus talked Basilius with Zelmane, glad to make any matter subject to
speak of with his mistress, while Phalantus, in this pompous manner,
brought Artesia with her gentlewoman into one tent, by which he had
another, where they both waited who would first strike upon the
shield, while Basilius the judge appointed sticklers and trumpets, to
whom the other should obey. But none that day appeared, nor the next,
till already it had consumed half his allowance of light; but then
there came in a knight, protesting himself as contrary to him in mind,
as he was in apparel. For Phalantus was all in white, having in his
bases and caparison embroidered a waving water, at each side whereof
he had nettings cast over, in which were divers fishes naturally made,
and so prettily that as the horse stirred, the fishes seemed to strive
and leap in the net.
But the other knight, by name Nestor, by birth an Arcadian, and in
affection vowed to the fair shepherdess, was all in black, with fire
burning both upon his armour and horse. His impresa in his shield was
a fire made of juniper, with this word, “More easy and more sweet.”
But this hot knight was cooled with a fall, which at the third course
he received of Phalantus, leaving his picture to keep company with the
other of the same stamp; he going away remedilessly chafing at his
rebuke. The next was Polycetes, greatly esteemed in Arcadia for deeds
he had done in arms, and much spoken of for the honourable love he had
long borne to Gynecia, which Basilius himself was content not only to
{82} suffer, but to be delighted with, he carried it in so honourable
and open plainness, setting to his love no other mark than to do her
faithful service. But neither her fair picture, nor his fair running,
could warrant him from overthrow, and her from becoming as then the
last of Artesia’s victories, a thing Gynecia’s virtues would little
have reckoned at another time, nor then, if Zelmane had not seen it.
But her champion went away as much discomforted, as discomfited. Then
Telamon for Polixena, and Eurileon for Elpine, and Leon for Zoana, all
brave knights, all fair ladies, with their going down, lifted up the
balance of his praise for activity, and hers for fairness.
Upon whose loss, as the beholders were talking, there comes into the
place where they ran, a shepherd stripling (for his height made him
more than a boy, and his face would not allow him a man) brown of
complexion, whether by nature or by the sun’s familiarity, but very
lovely withal, for the rest so perfect proportioned that nature showed
she doth not like men who slubber up matters of mean account. And well
might his proportion be judged, for he had nothing upon him but a pair
of slops, and upon his body a goat skin which he cast over his
shoulder, doing all things with so pretty a grace that it seemed
ignorance could not make him do amiss, because he had a heart to do
well; holding in his right hand a long staff, and so coming with a
look full of amiable fierceness, as in whom choler could not take away
the sweetness, he came towards the king, and making a reverence (which
in him was comely, because it was kindly). “My liege lord,” said he,
“I pray you hear a few words, for my heart will break if I say not my
mind to you: I see here the picture of Urania, which I cannot tell how
nor why these men when they fall down, they say is not so fair as
yonder gay woman. But pray God I may never see my old mother alive, if
I think she be any more matched to Urania, than a goat is to a fine
lamb; or than the dog that keeps our flock at home, is like your white
greyhound that pulled down the stag last day.
“And therefore I pray you let me be dressed as they be, and my heart
gives me I shall tumble him on the earth: for indeed he might as well
say that a cowslip is as white as a lily: or else I care not, let him
come with his great staff, and I with this in my hand, and you shall
see what I can do to him.” Basilius saw it was the fine shepherd
Lalus, whom once he had afore him in pastoral sports, and had greatly
delighted in his wit full of pretty simplicity, and therefore laughing
at his earnestness, he bade him be content, since he saw the pictures
of so great queens were fain to follow their champions’ fortune. But
Lalus, even weeping ripe, went among the rest, longing to see somebody
that would revenge Urania’s {83} wrong; and praying heartily for
everybody that ran against Phalantus, then beginning to feel poverty
that he could not set himself to that trial. But by and by, even when
the sun, like a noble heart, began to show his greatest countenance in
his lowest estate, there came in a knight, called Phebilus, a
gentleman of that country, for whom hateful fortune had borrowed the
dart of love, to make him miserable by the sight of Philoclea. For he
had even from her infancy loved her, and was stricken by her before
she was able to know what quiver of arrows her eyes carried; but he
loved and despaired, and the more he despaired, the more he loved. He
saw his own worthiness, and thereby made her excellency have more
terrible aspect upon him: he was so secret therein, as not daring to
be open, that to no creature he ever spoke of it, but his heart made
such silent complaints within itself that, while all his senses were
attentive thereto, cunning judges might perceive his mind, so that he
was known to love, though he denied, or rather was the better known,
because he denied it. His armour and his attire was for a sea colour;
his impresa, the fish called Sepia, which being in the net, casts a
black ink about itself, that in the darkness thereof it may escape:
his word was, “Not so.” Philoclea’s picture with almost an idolatrous
magnificence was borne in by him. But straight jealousy was a
harbinger for disdain in Zelmane’s heart, when she saw any but herself
should be avowed a champion for Philoclea, insomuch that she wished
his shame, till she saw him shamed. For at the second course he was
stricken quite from out of the saddle, so full of grief and rage
withal that he would fain with the sword have revenged it, but that
being contrary to the order set down, Basilius would not suffer: so