The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
like love, can abide no lingering, and ever urgeth on his own
successes; hating nothing, but what may stop them. But the gods
forbid, we should ever once dream of any such thing in him, who
perhaps might be content that you and the world should know what he
can do: but the more power he hath to hurt, the more admirable is his
praise, that he will not hurt.’ Then ever remembering to strengthen
the suspicion of his estate with private jealousy of her love, doing
him excessive honour when he was in presence, and repeating his pretty
speeches and graces in his absence, besides, causing him to be
employed in all such dangerous matters, as either he should perish in
them, or, if he prevailed, they should increase his glory, which she
made a weapon to wound him; until she found that suspicion began
already to speak for itself, and that her husband’s ears were grown
hungry of rumours, and his eyes prying into every accident.
“Then took she help to her of a servant near about her husband, whom
she knew to be of a hasty ambition, and such a one, who, wanting true
sufficiency to raise him, would make a ladder of any mischief. Him she
useth to deal more plainly in alleging causes of jealousy, making him
know the fittest times when her husband already was stirred that way.
And so they two, with divers ways, nourished one humour, like
musicians, that singing divers parts, make one music. He sometimes
with fearful countenance would desire the king to look to himself, for
that all the court and city were full of whisperings and expectation
of some sudden change, upon what ground himself knew not. Another time
he would counsel the king to make much of his son, and hold his
favour, for that it was too late now to keep him under. Now seeming to
fear himself, because, he said, Plangus loved none of them that were
great about his father. Lastly, breaking with him directly, making a
sorrowful countenance, and an humble gesture bear false witness for
his true meaning, that he found not only soldiery, but people weary of
his government, and all their affection bent upon Plangus; both he and
the queen concurring in strange dreams, and each thing else, that in a
mind already perplexed might breed astonishment: so that within a
while, all Plangus’s actions began to be translated into the language
of suspicion. Which though Plangus found, yet could he not avoid, even
contraries being driven to draw one yoke of argument. If he were
magnificent, he spent much with an aspiring intent, if he spared, he
heaped much with an aspiring intent; if he spoke courteously, he
angled the people’s {204} hearts; if he were silent, he mused upon
some dangerous plot. In sum, if he could have turned himself to as
many forms as Proteus, every form should have been made hideous.
“But so it fell out, that a mere trifle gave them occasion of further
proceeding. The king one morning, going to a vineyard that lay along
the hill whereupon his castle stood: he saw a vine-labourer, that
finding a bough broken, took a branch of the same bough for want of
another thing and tied it about the place broken. The king asking the
fellow what he did, ‘Marry,’ said he, ‘I make the son bind the
father.’ This word, finding the king already superstitious through
suspicion, amazed him straight, as a presage of his own fortune, so
that, returning and breaking with his wife how much he misdoubted his
estate; she made such gainsaying answers as while they strove, strove
to be overcome. But even while the doubts most boiled, she thus
nourished them.
“She under-hand dealt with the principal men of that country, that at
the great parliament, which was then to be held, they should in the
name of all the estates persuade the king, being now stepped deeply
into old age, to make Plangus his associate in government with him,
assuring them that not only she would join with them, but that the
father himself would take it kindly, charging them not to acquaint
Plangus withal, for that perhaps it might be harmful unto him, if the
king should find that he were a party. They (who thought they might do
it, not only willingly, because they loved him; and truly, because
such indeed was the mind of the people; but safely, because she who
ruled the king, was agreed thereto) accomplished her counsel; she
indeed keeping promise of vehement persuading the same: which the more
she and they did, the more she knew her husband would fear, and hate
the cause of his fear. Plangus found this, and humbly protested
against such desire or will to accept. But the more he protested, the
more his father thought he dissembled, accounting his integrity to be
but a cunning face of falsehood: and therefore delaying the desire of
his subjects, attended some fit occasion to lay hands upon his son,
which his wife brought thus to pass.
“She caused the same minister of hers to go unto Plangus, and,
enabling his words with great show of faith, and endearing them with
desire of secrecy, to tell him, that he found his ruin conspired by
his stepmother, with certain of the noblemen of that country, the king
himself giving his consent, and that few days should pass before the
putting it in practice; withal discovering the very truth indeed, with
what cunning his step-mother had proceeded. This agreeing with Plangus
his own opinion, made him give the better credit; yet not so far, as
to fly out of his country, according to the naughty fellow’s
persuasion, but to attend, and to see further. {205} Whereupon the
fellow, by the direction of his mistress, told him one day, that the
same night, about one of the clock, the king had appointed to have his
wife, and those noblemen together to deliberate of their manner of
proceeding against Plangus, and therefore offered him, that if himself
would agree, he would bring him into a place where he should hear all
that passed and so have the more reason both to himself and to the
world, to seek his safety. The poor Plangus, being subject to that
only disadvantage of honest hearts, credulity, was persuaded by him;
and arming himself, because of his late going, was closely conveyed
into the place appointed. In the meantime, his step-mother, making all
her gestures cunningly counterfeit a miserable affliction, she lay
almost grovelling on the floor of her chamber, not suffering anybody
to comfort her, until they calling for her husband, and he held off
with long enquiry, at length she told him, even almost crying out of
every word, that she was weary of her life, since she was brought to
that plunge, either to conceal her husband’s murder, or accuse her
son, who had ever been more dear than a son unto her. Then with many
interruptions and exclamations she told him, that her son Plangus,
soliciting her in the old affection between them, had besought her to
put to her helping hand to the death of the king, assuring her that,
though all the laws in the world were against it, he would marry her
when he were king.
“She had not fully said thus much, with many pitiful digressions, when
in comes the same fellow that brought Plangus: and running himself out
of breath, fell at the king’s feet, beseeching him to save himself,
for that there was a man with a sword drawn in the next room. The king
affrighted, went out, and called his guard, who entering the place,
found indeed Plangus with his sword in his hand, but not naked, yet
standing suspiciously enough to one already suspicious. The king,
thinking he had put up his sword because of the noise, never took
leisure to hear his answer, but made him prisoner, meaning the next
morning to put him to death in the market-place.
“But the day had no sooner opened the eyes and ears of his friends and
followers, but that there was a little army of them who came, and by
force delivered him; although numbers on the other side, abused with
the fine framing of their report, took arms for the king. But Plangus,
though he might have used the force of his friends to revenge his
wrong, and get the crown, yet the natural love of his father, and hate
to make their suspicion seem just, caused him rather to choose a
voluntary exile than to make his father’s death the purchase of his
life: and therefore went he to Tiridates, whose mother was his
father’s sister, living in his court eleven or twelve years, ever
hoping by his intercession, and his {206} own desert, to recover his
father’s grace. At the end of which time, the war of Erona happened,
which my sister, with the cause thereof, discoursed unto you.
“But his father had so deeply engraven the suspicion in his heart that
he thought his flight rather to proceed of a fearful guiltiness than
of an humble faithfulness, and therefore continued his hate with such
vehemency that he did even hate his nephew Tiridates, and afterwards
his niece Artaxia, because in his court he received countenance,
leaving no means unattempted of destroying his son; among other,
employing that wicked servant of his, who undertook to empoison him.
But his cunning disguised him not so well but that the watchful
servants of Plangus did discover him, whereupon the wretch was taken,
and, before his well-deserved execution, by tortures forced to confess
the particularities of this, which in general I have told you.
“Which confession authentically set down, though Tiridates with solemn
embassage sent to the king, wrought no effect. For the king having put
the reins of the government into his wife’s hand, never did so much as
read it, but sent it straight by her to be considered. So as they
rather heaped more hatred on Plangus, for the death of their servant.
And now finding, that his absence, and their reports, had much
diminished the wavering people’s affection towards Plangus, with
advancing fit persons for faction, and granting great immunities to
the commons, they prevailed so far as to cause the son of the second
wife, called Palladius, to be proclaimed successor, and Plangus quite
excluded: so that Plangus was driven to continue his serving
Tiridates, as he did in the war against Erona, and brought home
Artaxia, as my sister told you; when Erona by the treason of
Antiphilus----”
But at that word she stopped. For Basilius, not able longer to abide
their absence, came suddenly among them, and with smiling countenance,
telling Zelmane he was afraid she had stolen away his daughters,
invited them to follow the sun’s counsel in going then to their
lodging, for indeed the sun was ready to set. They yielded, Zelmane
meaning some other time to understand the story of Antiphilus’s
treason, and Erona’s danger, whose cause she greatly tendered. But
Miso had no sooner espied Basilius, but as spitefully as her rotten
voice could utter, she set forth the sauciness of Amphialus. But
Basilius only attended what Zelmane’s opinion was, who though she
hated Amphialus, yet the nobility of her courage prevailed over it,
and she desired he might be pardoned that youthful error, considering
the reputation he had to be one of the best knights in the world; so
as hereafter he governed himself, as one remembering his fault.
Basilius giving the infinite terms of praises to Zelmane’s both valour
in conquering, and pitifulness in {207} pardoning, commanded no more
words to be made of it, since such he thought was her pleasure.
So brought he them up to visit his wife, where, between her and him,
the poor Zelmane received a tedious entertainment; oppressed with
being loved, almost as much, as with loving. Basilius not so wise in
covering his passion, could make his tongue go almost no other pace,
but to run into those immoderate praises which the foolish lover
thinks short of his mistress, though they reach far beyond the
heavens. But Gynecia, whom womanly modesty did more outwardly bridle,