The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
his mind were like to his title, there were more cause of affinity
than enmity between them. And therefore presently, accordingly as he
was wont, as soon as he perceived the knight of the tomb, with his
damsels and judge, was come into the island, he also went over in
accustomed manner; and yet for the courtesy of his nature, desired to
speak with him.
But the knight of the tomb, with silence and drawing his horse back,
showed no will to hear, nor speak: but with lance on thigh, made him
know, it was fit for him to go to the other end of the career, whence
waiting the start of the unknown knight, he likewise made his spurs
claim haste of his horse. But when his staff was in his rest, coming
down to meet with the knight, now very near {373} him, he perceived
the knight had missed his rest: wherefore the courteous Amphialus
would not let his lance descend: but with a gallant grace, ran over
the head of his therein friended enemy: and having stopped his horse,
and with the turning of him, blessed his sight with the window where
he thought Philoclea might stand, he perceived the knight had lighted
from his horse, and thrown away his staff, angry with his misfortune,
as of having missed his rest, and drawn his sword, to make that supply
his fellow’s fault; he also alighted, and drew his sword, esteeming
victory with advantage, rather robbed than purchased: and so the other
coming eagerly toward him, he with his shield out; and sword aloft,
with more bravery than anger drew unto him, and straight made their
swords speak for them a pretty while with equal fierceness. But
Amphialus, to whom the earth brought forth few matches, having both
much more skill to choose the places, and more force to work upon the
chosen, had already made many windows in his armour for death to come
in at, when in the nobleness of his nature abhorring to make the
punishment overgo the offence, he stepped a little back, and withal,
“Sir knight,” said he, “you may easily see that it pleaseth God to
favour my cause; employ your valour against them that wish you hurt,
for my part I have not deserved hate of you.” “Thou liest, false
traitor,” said the other, with an angry, but weak voice; but
Amphialus, in whom abused kindness became spiteful rage. “Ah barbarous
wretch,” said he, “only courageous in discourtesy, thou shalt soon see
whether thy tongue hath betrayed thy heart, or no:” and with that
redoubled his blows, gave him a great wound upon his neck, and closing
with him, overthrew him, and with the fall thrust him mortally into
the body, and with that went to pull off his helmet, with intention to
make him give himself the lie, for having so said, or to cut off his
head.
But the headpiece was no sooner off, but that there fell about the
shoulders of the overcome knight the treasure of fair golden hair,
which with the face, soon known by the badge of excellency, witnessed
that it was Parthenia, the unfortunately virtuous wife of Argalus; her
beauty then, even in the despite of the past sorrow, or coming death,
assuring all beholders that it was nothing short of perfection. For
her exceeding fair eyes, having with continual weeping gotten a little
redness about them, her round sweetly swelling lips a little
trembling, as though they kissed their neighbour death; in her cheeks
the whiteness striving by little and little to get upon the rosiness
of them; her neck, a neck indeed of alabaster, displaying the wound,
which with most dainty blood laboured to drown his own beauties; so
that here was a river of purest red, there an island of perfectest
white, each giving {374} lustre to the other, with the sweet
countenance, God knows, full of an unaffected languishing: though
these things to a grossly conceiving sense might seem disgraces, yet
indeed were they but apparelling beauty in a new fashion, which all
looked upon through the spectacles of pity, did even increase the
lines of her natural fairness; so that Amphialus was astonished with
grief, compassion and shame, detesting his fortune that made him
unfortunate in victory.
Therefore putting off his headpiece and gauntlet, kneeling down unto
her, and with tears testifying his sorrow, he offered his, by himself
accursed, hands to help her, protesting his life and power to be ready
to do her honour. But Parthenia, who had inward messengers of the
desired death’s approach, looking upon him, and straight turning away
her feeble sight, as from a delightless object, drawing out her words,
which her breath, loth to depart from so sweet a body, did faintly
deliver: “Sir,” said she, “I pray you, if prayers have place in
enemies, to let my maids take my body untouched by you: the only
honour I now desire by your means, is, that I have no honour of you.
Argalus made no such bargain with you, that the hands which killed
him, should help me. I have of them, and I do not only pardon you, but
thank you for it, the service which I desired. There rests nothing
now, but that I go live with him, since whose death I have done
nothing but die.” Then pausing, and a little fainting, and again
coming to herself; “O sweet life, welcome,” said she, “now feel I the
bands united of the cruel death, which so long hath held me. And O
life, O death, answer for me, that my thoughts have not so much as in
a dream tasted any comfort, since they were deprived of Argalus. I
come, my Argalus, I come: and, O God, hide my faults in thy mercies,
and grant, as I feel thou dost grant, that in thy eternal love, we may
love each other eternally. And this, O Lord:”----but there
Atropos[b3-05] cut off her sentence: for with that, casting up both
eyes and hands to the skies, the noble soul departed (one might well
assure himself) to heaven, which left the body in so heavenly a
demeanour.
But Amphialus, with a heart oppressed with grief, because of her
request, withdrew himself: but the judges, as full of pity, had been
all this while disarming her, and her gentlewomen with lamentable
cries labouring to staunch the remediless wounds: and a while she was
dead before they perceived it, death being able to divide the soul,
but not the beauty from that body. But when the infallible tokens of
death assured them of their loss, one of the women would have killed
herself, but that the squire of Amphialus perceiving, by force held
her. Others that had as {375} strong passion, though weaker
resolution, fell to cast dust upon their heads, to tear their
garments; all falling upon the earth, and crying upon their sweet
mistress, as if their cries could persuade the soul to leave the
celestial happiness, to come again into the elements of sorrow: one
time calling to remembrance her virtue, chasteness, sweetness, and
goodness to them; another time accursing themselves that they had
obeyed her; being deceived by her words, who assured them that it was
revealed unto her that she should have her heart’s desire in the
battle against Amphialus, which they wrongly understood. Then kissing
her cold hands and feet, weary of the world, since she was gone who
was their world, the very heavens seemed with a cloudy countenance to
lour at the loss, and fame itself (though by nature glad to tell such
rare accidents) yet could not choose but deliver it in lamentable
accents, and in such sort went it quickly all over the camp: and as if
the air had been infected with sorrow, no heart was so hard, but was
as subject to that contagion; the rareness of the accident, matching
together, the rarely matched together, pity with admiration. Basilius
himself came forth, and brought the fair Gynecia with him, who was
come into the camp under colour of visiting her husband, and hearing
of her daughters: but indeed Zelmane was the saint to which her
pilgrimage was intended, cursing, envying, blessing, and in her heart
kissing the walls which imprisoned her. But both they, with Philanax,
and the rest of the principal nobility, went out to make honour
triumph over death, conveying that excellent body (whereto Basilius
himself would needs lend his shoulder) to a church a mile from the
camp, where the valiant Argalus lay entombed; recommending to that
sepulchre the blessed relics of a faithful and virtuous love, giving
order for the making of two marble images to represent them, and each
way enriching the tomb: upon which Basilius himself caused this
epitaph to be written,
His Being was in her alone.
And he not Being she was none.
They joy’d One joy, One grief they griev’d,
One love they lov’d, One life they liv’d.
The hand was One, One was the sword
That did his death, her death afford.
As all the rest; so now the stone
That tombs the Two is justly One.
ARGALUS and PARTHENIA.
{376}
Then with eyes full of tears, and mouths full of her praises, returned
they to the camp, with more and more hate against Amphialus, who, poor
gentleman, had therefore greater portion of woe than any of them. For
that courteous heart, which would have grieved but to have heard the
like adventure, was rent with remembering himself to be the author; so
that his wisdom could not so far temper his passion, but that he took
his sword, counted the best in the world (which with much blood he had
once conquered of a mighty giant) and broke it into many pieces, which
afterwards he had good cause to repent, saying, that neither it was
worthy to serve the noble exercise of chivalry, nor any other worthy
to feel that sword, which had stricken so excellent a lady; and
withal, banishing all cheerfulness of his countenance he returned
home: where he got him to his bed, not so much to rest his restless
mind, as to avoid all company; the sight whereof was tedious unto him.
And then melancholy, only rich in unfortunate remembrances, brought
before him all the mishaps with which his life had wrestled: taking
this, not only as a confirming of the former, but a presage of
following misery, and to his heart, already overcome by sorrowfulness,
even trifling misfortunes came, to fill up the roll of a grieved
memory, labouring only his wits to pierce further and further into his
own wretchedness. So as all that night, in despite of darkness, he
held his eyes open; and in the morning, when the light began to
restore to each body his colour, then with curtains barred he himself
from the enjoying of it; neither willing to feel the comfort of the
day, nor the ease of the night, until his mother (who never knew what
love meant, but only to him-ward) came to his bedside, and beginning
with loving earnestness to lay a kind chiding upon him, because he
would suffer the weakness of sorrow to conquer the strength of his
virtues; he did with a broken piecemeal speech, as if the tempest of
passion unorderly blew out his words, remember the mishaps of his
youth, the evils he had been the cause of, his rebelling with shame,
and that shame increased with shameful accidents, the deaths of
Philoxenus and Parthenia, wherein he found himself hated of the
ever-ruling powers, but especially (and so especially, as the rest
seemed nothing when he came to that) his fatal love to Philoclea: to
whom he had so governed himself as one that could neither conquer, nor
yield; being of the one side a slave, and of the other a jailor: and
withal almost upbraiding unto his mother the little success of her
large hoping promises, he in effect finding Philoclea nothing
mollified, and now himself, so cast down as he thought himself
unworthy of better. But his mother, as she had plentiful cause, making
him see that of his other griefs there was little or no fault in {377}
himself, and therefore there ought to be little or no grief in him;
when she came to the head of the sore, indeed seeing that she could no
longer patch up her former promises (he taking a desperate deafness to