The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
belonged to their greatness until by the general assembly of the
states it should be determined how they should to their best (both
private and public) advantage be matched; vowing all faith and duty
both to the father and children, never by him to be violated. But if
in the meantime, before the states could be assembled, he should be
assailed, he would then for his own defence take arms; desiring all
that either tendered the dangerous case of their country, or in their
hearts loved justice, to defend him in this just action. And if the
prince should command them otherwise, yet to know that therein he was
no more to be obeyed than if he should call for poison to hurt himself
withal: since all that was done, was done for his service, howsoever
he might (seduced by Philanax) interpret of it: he protesting that
whatsoever he should do for his own defence, should be against
Philanax, and no way against Basilius.
To this effect, amplified with arguments and examples, and painted
with rhetorical colours, did he sow[b3-02] abroad many discourses,
which as they prevailed with some of more quick than sound conceit to
run his fortune with him, so in many did it breed a coolness, to deal
violently against him, and a false-minded neutrality to expect the
issue. But besides the ways he used to weaken the adverse party, he
omitted nothing for the strengthening of his own. The chief trust
whereof, because he wanted men to keep the field, he reposed in the
surety of his castle, which at least would win him much time, the
mother of many mutations. To that therefore he bent both his outward
and inward eyes, striving to make art strive with nature, to whether
of them two that fortification should be most beholding. The seat
nature bestowed but art gave the building; which as his rocky hardness
would not yield to undermining force, so to open assaults he took
counsel of skill how to make all approaches, if not impossible, yet
difficult; as well at the foot of the castle, as round about the lake,
to give unquiet lodgings to them, whom only enmity would make
neighbours. Then omitted he nothing of defence, as well simple defence
as that which did defend by offending, fitting instruments of mischief
to places whence the mischief might be most liberally {315} bestowed.
Neither was his smallest care for victuals, as well for the providing
that which should suffice, both in store and goodness, as in well
preserving it, and wary distributing it, both in quantity and quality,
spending that first which would keep least.
But wherein he sharpened his wits to the piercingest point, was
touching his men (knowing them to be the weapon of weapons, and
master-spring, as it were, which makes all the rest to stir: and that
therefore in the art of man stood the quintessence and ruling skill of
all prosperous government, either peaceable or military) he chose in
number as many as without pestering (and so danger of infection) his
victual would serve for two years to maintain; all of able bodies, and
some few of able minds to direct, not seeking many commanders, but
contenting himself that the multitude should have obeying wits,
everyone knowing whom he should command, and whom he should obey, the
place where, and the matter wherein; distributing each office as near
as he could, to the disposition of the person that should exercise it:
knowing no love, danger nor discipline can suddenly alter an habit in
nature. Therefore would he not employ the still man to a shifting
practice, nor the liberal man to be a dispenser of his victuals, nor
the kind-hearted man to be a punisher; but would exercise their
virtues in sorts, where they might be profitable, employing his chief
care to know them all particularly, and thoroughly regarding also the
constitution of their bodies; some being able better to abide
watching, some hunger, some labour, making his benefit of each
ability, and not forcing beyond power. Time to everything by just
proportion he allotted, and as well in that, as in everything else, no
small error winked at, lest greater should be animated. Even of vices
he made his profit, making the cowardly Clinias to have care of the
watch, which he knew his own fear would make him very wakefully
perform. And before the siege began, he himself caused rumours to be
sowed, and libels to be spread against himself, fuller of malice than
witty persuasion, partly to know those that would be apt to stumble at
such motions, that he might call them from the faithfuller band, but
principally, because in necessity they should not know when any such
things were in earnest attempted, whether it were, or not of his own
invention. But even then (before the enemy’s face came near to breed
any terror) did he exercise his men daily in all their charges, as if
danger had presently presented his most hideous presence: himself
rather instructing by example than precept; being neither more sparing
in travel, nor spending in diet than the meanest soldier; his hand and
body disdaining no base matters nor shrinking from the heavy.
The only odds was, that when others took breath, he sighed; {316} and
when others rested, he crossed his arms. For love passing through the
pikes of danger, and tumbling itself in the dust of labour, yet still
made him remember his sweet desire and beautiful image. Often when he
had begun to command one, somewhat before half the sentence were
ended, his inward guest did so entertain him that he would break it
off, and a pretty while after end it, when he had (to the marvel of
the standers by) sent himself to talk with his own thoughts. Sometimes
when his hand was lifted up to do something, as if with the sight of
Gorgon’s head he had been suddenly turned into a stone, so would he
there abide with his eyes planted, and hands lifted, till at length
coming to the use of himself, he would look about whether any had
perceived him; then he would accuse, and in himself condemn all those
wits that durst affirm idleness to be the well-spring of love. “O,”
would he say, “all you that affect the title of wisdom by ungrateful
scorning the ornaments of nature, am I now piping in a shadow? Or do
slothful feathers now enwrap me? Is not hate before me, and doubt
behind me? Is not danger of the one side, and shame of the other? And
do I not stand upon pain and travail, and yet over all, my affection
triumphs? The more I stir about urgent affairs, the more methinks the
very stirring breeds a breath to blow the coals of my love: the more I
exercise my thoughts, the more they increase the appetite of my
desires. O sweet Philoclea (with that he would cast up his eyes,
wherein some water did appear, as if they would wash themselves
against they should see her) thy heavenly face is my astronomy; thy
sweet virtue, my sweet philosophy; let me profit therein, and farewell
all other cogitations. But alas! my mind misgives me, for your planets
bear a contrary aspect unto me. Woe, woe is me, they threaten my
destruction; and whom do they threaten this destruction? even him that
loves them; and by what means will they destroy, but by loving them? O
dear, though killing, eyes, shall death head his dart with the gold of
Cupid’s arrow? shall death take his aim from the rest of beauty? O
beloved, though hating, Philoclea, how, if thou be’st merciful, hath
cruelty stolen into thee? or how, if thou be’st cruel, doth cruelty
look more beautiful than ever mercy did? or alas! is it my destiny
that makes mercy cruel; like an evil vessel which turns sweet liquor
to sourness? so when thy grace falls upon me, my wretched constitution
makes it become fierceness.” Thus would he exercise his eloquence when
she could not hear him, and be dumb-stricken when her presence gave
him fit occasion of speaking: so that his wit could find out no other
refuge but the comfort and counsel of his mother, desiring her, whose
thoughts were unperplexed, to use for his sake the most prevailing
manners of intercession.
{317}
She seeing her son’s safety depend thereon, though her pride much
disdained the name of a desirer, took the charge upon her, not
doubting the easy conquest of an unexpert virgin, who had already with
subtlety and impudency begun to undermine a monarchy. Therefore
weighing Philoclea’s resolutions by the counterpoise of her own
youthful thoughts, which she then called to mind, she doubted not at
least to make Philoclea to receive the poison distilled in sweet
liquor which she with little disguising had drank up thirstily.
Therefore she went softly to Philoclea’s chamber, and peeping through
the side of the door, then being a little open, she saw Philoclea
sitting low upon a cushion in such a given-over manner, that one would
have thought silence, solitariness, and melancholy were come there
under the ensign of mishap, to conquer delight, and drive him from his
natural seat of beauty: her tears came dropping down like rain in
sunshine, and she not taking heed to wipe the tears, they hung upon
her cheeks and lips as upon cherries which the dropping tree bedeweth.
In the dressing of her hair and apparel, she might see neither a
careful art, nor an art of carelessness, but even left to a neglected
chance, which yet could no more unperfect her perfections than a die
any way cast could lose its squareness.
Cecropia, stirred with no other pity but for her son, came in, and
hailing kindness into her countenance, “What ails this sweet lady,”
said she, “will you mar so good eyes with weeping? shall tears take
away the beauty of that complexion which the women of Arcadia wish
for, and the men long after? Fie of this peevish sadness; insooth it
is untimely for your age. Look upon your own body and see whether it
deserve to pine away with sorrow: see whether you will have these
hands (with that she took one of her hands, and kissing it, looked
upon it as if she were enamoured with it) fade from their whiteness
which makes one desire to touch them; and their softness, which
rebounds again a desire to look on them, and become dry, lean and
yellow, and make everybody wonder at the change, and say, that sure
you had used some art before, which now you had left; for if the
beauties had been natural, they would never so soon have been
blemished. Take a glass, and see whether those tears become your eyes:
although I must confess, those eyes are able to make tears comely.”
“Alas! madam,” answered Philoclea, “I know not whether my tears become
my eyes, but I am sure my eyes thus beteared, become my fortune.”
“Your fortune,” said Cecropia, “if she could see to attire herself,
she would put on her best raiments. For I see, and I see it with
grief, and (to tell you true) unkindness, you misconstrue everything
that only for your sake is attempted. You think you are offended, and
are, indeed, defended: you esteem yourself a {318} prisoner, and are,
in truth, a mistress; you fear hate, and shall find love. And truly, I
had a thing to say unto you, but it is no matter since I find you are
so obstinately melancholy as that you woo his fellowship, I will spare
my pains, and hold my peace:” and so stayed indeed, thinking Philoclea
would have had a female inquisitiveness of the matter. But she, who
rather wished to unknow what she knew than to burden her heart with
more hopeless knowledge, only desired her to have pity of her, and if,
indeed, she did mean her no hurt, then to grant her liberty; for else
the very grief and fear would prove her unappointed executioners.
“For that,” said Cecropia, “believe me upon the faith of a king’s
daughter, you shall be free, so soon as your freedom may be free of
mortal danger, being brought hither for no other cause, but to prevent
such mischiefs as you know not of. But if you think, indeed, to win me