The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
least take a pause before they determine cruelties. Now then first,
before I come to the principal matter, have I to say unto you; that
your prince Basilius himself in person is within this lodge, and was
one of the three, whom a few of you went about to fight withal:” and
(this she said, not doubting but they knew it well enough, but because
she would have them imagine that the prince might think that they did
not know it) “by him I am sent unto you, as from a prince to his
well-approved subjects, nay as from a father to beloved children, to
know what it is that hath bred just quarrel among you, or who they be
that have any way wronged you; what it is with which you are
displeased, or of which you are desirous? This he requires, and
indeed, for he knows your faithfulness, he commands you presently to
set down and choose among yourselves, someone, who may relate your
griefs or demands unto him.”
This, being more than they hoped for from their prince, assuaged well
their fury, and many of them consented, especially the young farmer
helping on, who meant to make one of the demands that he might have
Zelmane for his wife, but when they began to talk of their griefs,
never bees made such a confused humming: the town dwellers demanding
putting down of imposts; the country fellows laying out of commons:
some would have the prince keep his court in one place, some in
another: all cried out to have new counsellors; but when they should
think of any new, they liked them as well as any other that they could
remember, especially they would have the treasure so looked unto, as
that he should never need to take any more subsidies. At length they
{258} fell to direct contrarieties. For the artisans they would have
corn and wine set at a lower price, and bound to be kept so still: the
ploughmen, vine-labourers, and the farmers would none of that. The
countrymen demanded that every man might be free in the chief towns;
that could not the burgesses like of. The peasants would have all the
gentlemen destroyed, the citizens, especially such as cooks, barbers,
and those other that lived most on gentlemen, would but have them
reformed. And of each side were like divisions, one neighbourhood
beginning to find fault with another; but no confusion was greater
than of particular men’s likings and dislikings: one dispraising such
a one, whom another praised, and demanding such a one to be punished,
whom the other would have exalted. No less ado was there about
choosing him, who should be their spokesman. The finer sort of
burgesses, as merchants, prentices, and cloth-workers, because of
their riches, disdaining the baser occupations; and they because of
their number, as much disdaining them; all they scorning the
countrymen’s ignorance, and the countrymen suspecting as much their
cunning: so that Zelmane (finding that their united rage was now
grown, not only to dividing, but to a crossing of one another, and
that the mislike grown among themselves did well allay the heat
against her) made tokens again unto them, as though she took great
care of their well-doing, and were afraid of their falling out, that
she would speak unto them. They now grow jealous one of another, the
stay having engendered division, and division having manifested their
weakness, were willing enough to hear, the most part striving to show
themselves willinger than their fellows: which Zelmane, by the
acquaintance she had had with such kind of humours soon perceiving,
with an angerless bravery, and an unabashed mildness, in this manner
spoke unto them.
“An unused thing it is, and I think not heretofore seen, O Arcadians,
that a woman should give public counsel to men, a stranger to the
country people, and that lastly in such a presence by a private
person, the regal throne should be possessed. But the strangeness of
your action makes that used for virtue, which your violent necessity
imposeth. For certainly a woman may well speak to such men, who have
forgotten all man-like government; a stranger may with reason instruct
such subjects that neglect due points of subjection; and is it marvel
this place is entered into by another, since your own prince, after
thirty years’ government, dare not show his face unto faithful people?
hear therefore, O Arcadians, and be ashamed; against whom hath this
zealous rage been stirred? whither have been bent those manful weapons
of yours? in this quiet harmless lodge there be harboured no Argians,
your ancient enemies; nor Laconians, your now {259} feared neighbours.
Here be neither hard landlords, nor biting usurers. Here lodge none,
but such, as either you have great cause to love, or no cause to hate:
here being none, besides your prince, princess, and their children,
but myself. Is it I then, O Arcadians, against whom your anger is
armed? am I the mark of your vehement quarrel? if it be so, that
innocency shall not be stopped for fury; if it be so, that the law of
hospitality, so long and holily observed among you, may not defend a
stranger fled to your arms for succour: if in fine, it be so, that so
many valiant men’s courages can be inflamed to the mischief of one
silly woman; I refuse not to make my life a sacrifice to your wrath.
Exercise on me your indignation, so it go no further; I am content to
pay the great favours I have received among you, with my life not
ill-deserving: I present here unto you, O Arcadians, if that may
satisfy you; rather than you, called over the world the wise and quiet
Arcadians, should be so vain, as to attempt that alone, which all the
rest of your country will abhor; than you shall show yourselves so
ungrateful as to forget the fruit of so many years peaceable
government; or so unnatural, as not to have with the holy name of your
natural prince, any fury overmastered. For such a hellish madness, I
know, did never enter into your hearts as to attempt anything against
his person; which no successor, though never so hateful, will ever
leave, for his own sake, unrevenged. Neither can your wonted valour be
turned to such a baseness, as instead of a prince, delivered unto you
by so many royal ancestors, to take the tyrannous yoke of your fellow
subject, in whom the innate means will bring forth ravenous
covetousness and the newness of his estate suspectful cruelty.
Imagine, what could your enemies more wish unto you than to see your
own estate with your own hands undermined? O what would your
forefathers say if they lived at this time, and saw their offspring
defacing such an excellent principality, which they with much labour
and blood so wisely have established? do you think them fools, that
saw you should not enjoy your vines, your cattle, no not your wives
and children without government? and that there could be no government
without a magistrate, and no magistrate without obedience, and no
obedience where everyone upon his own private passion may interpret
the doings of the rulers? let your wits make your present example a
lesson to you. What sweetness, in good faith, find you in your present
condition; what choice of choice find you, if you had lost Basilius?
under whose ensign would you go, if your enemies should invade you? if
you cannot agree upon one to speak for you, how will you agree upon
one to fight for you? but with this fear of I cannot tell what one is
troubled, and with that past wrong another is {260} grieved. And I
pray you did the sun ever bring you a fruitful harvest but that it was
more hot than pleasant? have any of you children that be not sometimes
cumbersome? have any of you fathers that be not sometimes wearish?
what, shall we curse the sun, hate our children, or disobey our
fathers--but what need I use those words, since I see in your
countenances, now virtuously settled, nothing else but love and duty
to him, by whom for your only sakes, the government is embraced. For
all that is done, he doth not only pardon you, but thank you; judging
the action by the minds, and not the minds by the action. Your griefs,
and desires whatsoever, and whensoever you list, he will consider of,
and to his consideration it is reason you should refer them. So then,
to conclude; the uncertainty of his estate made you take arms; now you
see him well; with the same love lay them down. If now you end, as I
know you will, he will make no other account of this matter, but as of
a vehement, I must confess, over vehement affection, the only
continuance might prove a wickedness. But it is not so, I see very
well, you began with zeal, and will end with reverence.”
The action Zelmane used, being beautified by nature and apparelled
with skill, her gestures being such, that, as her words did paint out
her mind, so they served as a shadow to make the picture more lively
and sensible, with the sweet clearness of her voice, rising and
falling kindly as the nature of the word and efficacy of the matter
required, altogether in such an admirable person, whose incomparable
valour they had well felt, whose beauty did pierce through the thick
dullness of their senses, gave such a way unto her speech through the
rugged wilderness of their imaginations, who, besides they were
stricken in admiration of her, as of more than a human creature, where
cooled with taking breath, and had learned doubts out of leisure that
instead of roaring cries there was now heard nothing but a confused
muttering, whether her saying were to be followed: betwixt fear to
pursue, and loathness to leave, most of them could have been content
it had never been begun, but how to end it, each afraid of his
companion, they knew not, finding it far easier to tie, than to loose
knots. But Zelmane thinking it no evil way in such mutinies, to give
the mutinous some occasion of such service as they might think, in
their own judgment, would countervail their trespass, withal to take
the more assured possession of their minds, which she feared might
begin to waver.
“Loyal Arcadians,” said she, “now do I offer unto you the manifesting
of your duties: all those that have taken arms for the prince’s
safety, let them turn their backs to the gate, with their weapons bent
again such as would hurt his sacred person.” “O {261} weak trust of
the many-headed multitude, whom inconstancy only doth guide to
well-doing, who can set confidence there where company takes away
shame, and each may lay the fault on his fellow?” So said a crafty
fellow among them, named Clinias, to himself, when he saw the word no
sooner out of Zelmane’s mouth, but there were some shouts of joy,
with, “God save Basilius,” and divers of them with much jollity grown
to be his guard that but little before meant to be his murderers.
This Clinias in his youth had been a scholar so far as to learn rather
words than manners, and of words rather plenty than order; and often
had used to be an actor in tragedies, where he had learned, besides a
slidingness of language, acquaintance with many passions, and to frame
his face to bear the figure of them: long used to the eyes and ears of
men, and to reckon no fault but shamefac’dness in nature; a most
notable coward, and yet more strangely than rarely venturous in privy
practices.
This fellow was become of near trust to Cecropia, Amphialus’s mother,
so that he was privy to all the mischievous devices wherewith she went
about to ruin Basilius and his children, for the advancing of her son,
and though his education had made him full of tongue, yet his love to
be doing, taught him in any evil to be secret, and had by his mistress
been used ever since the strange retiring of Basilius, to whisper
rumours in the people’s ears: and this time, finding great aptness in
the multitude, was one of the chief that set them in the uproar,
though quite without the consent of Amphialus, who would not for all