BOOK VI

{633}

[_This Sixth Book was written in the Year 1633._]

What changes in fortune the princes of Macedon and Thessaly have

passed, together with what event the uncertain actions of so blind a

goddess have been crowned, they may remember, whose ears have been fed

with the eloquent story, written by the never-enough renowned Sir

Philip Sidney.

Basilius, therefore, having beheld with the eye of success, the

accomplishment of his misinterpreted oracle, hastened (together with

Euarchus) to his court of Mantinea; where the infinite assembly, and

the public sacrifices of his subjects, did well witness what joy did

possess their hearts, whose eyes were restored to the sight of long

eclipsed sovereignty. Fame, also, proud to be the messenger of such

royal news, had soon (with speedy flight) passed the limits of

Arcadia, so that in few days the court was filled with foreign

princes, whom either the tie of a long observed league of amity, or a

nearness in blood to Basilius, at such a time, brought thither to

congratulate with him, or were such, whose honour-thirsty minds hunted

after occasions to make known their acts in chivalry.

And now was the marriage-day come, when Pamela, attired in the stately

ornament of beauteous majesty, led by the constant forwardness of a

virtuous mind, waited on by the many thoughts of his fore-past crosses

in her love, which now made up a perfect harmony in the pleasing

discord of endeared affection, was brought to church; whom, soon

after, her sister Philoclea (being in the same degree of happiness,

clad in the bashful innocency of an unspotted soul, guided by the

shame-faced desire of her Pyrocles’s satisfaction, attended on by many

graces of a mild cheerfulness) followed; both equally admired, both

equally looked on.

{634}

The temple (whereto in triumph beauty and majesty were led prisoners

by the famous sisters) was a fit dwelling-place for the Arcadian

deities, fenced from the sun and winds’ too free access, by many ranks

of even-grown, even-set trees, near which, in divided branches, ran

two clear streams, whose sweet murmur (as they tumbled over their bed

of pebble stones) did much adorn the religious solitariness of that

place. And, that nothing should be wanting that might set forth the

careful judgment of the builder, it was seated in such a near distance

from the palace, as might not presently bury the gloriousness of the

show, nor cloy the beholders with the tediousness of the sight. In the

way, on both hands, were many altars, on which the crowned entrails of

the much-promising sacrifices were laid. At the door the two sisters

were received by as many virgins, attired in a white lawn livery, with

garlands on their heads of lilies and roses intermixed, holding in

their left hands a pair of pigeons, the grateful offering to the queen

of love. Soon after, the accustomed rites in the Arcadian nuptials

being ended, the King and Euarchus, with the rest of the princes,

returned unto a stately palace, sumptuously furnished, where both art

and nature seemed to be at variance, whether should bestow most

ornaments to enrich so rare a work: seated where the earth did rise a

little (as proud to be the supporter of so curious a building) by

means whereof, the sight had freedom to overlook a large territory,

where the green level of the Arcadian plains, beautified by the

intercourse of many forests, represented the delightful mixture of a

civil wilderness. The building of marble, where, whether the art in

carving into many forms the in vain resisting hardness of the stone,

the cunning in knitting these disjointed members, or the invention in

contriving their several rooms, did excel, was hard to be judged of.

The inside also might well be the inner part of so glorious an

outside; for, besides the well-matched largeness of the rooms, and

lightsome pleasantness of the windows, it was all hung with the choice

rareness of far-fetched arras, in which the ingenious workman, with

the curious pencil of his little needle, had limned the dumb records

of revived antiquity. Here did he present the memorable siege of

Thebes, where the ruins of her walls seemed yet to hang, and make the

beholders fear the downfall of the lively stones. There you might see

how cunningly he had expressed the constrained flight of the Trojan

prince, and the cruel sacrifice of enraged Dido’s love. Nor was the

story of Scylla forgotten, who there stood before Minos, with the

present of her father’s fatal hair; while you might perceive, by his

bent brows and disdainful countenance, the just reward of her

unnatural attempt. With these and others, wherein cost and invention

strove {635} for the mastery, were the hangings adorned; yet these

many stories did so stealingly succeed each other that the most

curious observer’s eye (though his admiration might dwell on each

piece) could find no cause of stay until he had overlooked them all.

But neither these, nor what art or nature could have added, did set

forth so much the palace, as the graceful presence of the Arcadian

sisters; whose beauties, till now, of long time had borne a part with

their troubled minds, in a sweet pilgrimage to a happy event; and

therefore at this present, so far disburdened of those thoughts, as it

was to be settled in the most desired enjoying of unspeakable bliss,

the imagination would needs persuade, if it were possible, were

bettered.

Dinner being set and ended, while the knights (who, to honour that day

with tilting, and to show what they dared and could effect in the

service, as they thought, of unresistable beauties) were putting on

their armour, there entered the hall a page, who, with submissive

humbleness, told the King, he was sent from his master, the naked

knight, who desired there to be received as a challenger, to eternize,

as the justness of his cause required, the famous memory of his

deceased mistress Helen, the Queen of Corinth. Basilius, much pitying

the before-unheard death of so excellent a queen, willed the page to

relate the circumstance, which being strange in itself, and of so

great a subject, wrought a passionate willingness in the hearers to be

attentive.

“After that fortune,” said he, “had bestowed, by the conquest of

Amphialus, at Cecropia’s castle, the victory on his adversary the

black knight, this queen (having long time, by the command of love,

her inward tyrant, made all Greece a stage for her wandering passions)

at length went thither, where the end of her search was the beginning

of her sorrows. Finding the curtains of eternal night ready to close

up his eyes, who (in the voyage her affection made) had alway been the

port she steered to; yet hoping she knew not what, that if perhaps

Proserpine should meet in Elysium his departed soul, she would in mere

compassion of her sorrow, send it back to reinhabit her ancient seat;

she carried the life little-desiring body, to Corinth, where, at that

time, lived an aged man, by name Artelio, one whose fortunate

experience in desperate cures had made famous. Him, by the powerful

command of his queen, and the humble tears of a still-mistrusting

lover, she conjures to employ the uttermost of his skill in preserving

him in whom she lived. Some time there was ere his vital spirits,

almost now proved strangers to their wonted mansion, would accept the

tie of hospitality; but when the hand of art had taught them courtesy,

and that each sense, though faintly, did exercise his charge,

Amphialus, returning to himself, from that sweet ignorance of cares

{636} wherein he lived, began to question, in what estate the castle

was against the besiegers? thinking he had always been there; when

Helen entered the room with a countenance where beauty appeared

through the clouds of care and fear of his danger: Her, the double and

deeply wounded patient (bearing still about him the inward picture of

Philoclea, whom long I have heard, in vain he loved) thought to be the

same saint, the remembrance of whom returned, together with his

wandering soul, from which it was inseparable. Now, therefore, with a

languishing look (the true herald of what he suffered) ‘Lady,’ said

he, ‘though the welcome harbinger of a near-following death hath

provided this body (while it was mine, alway devoted to your service)

as a lodging for his master an ever-certain guest, yet when I pass to

the Elysian plains (if any memory there remain of this world of

comfort you now vouchsafe, heaven knows! your faithful, though

unfortunate servant) I shall never cease to pay the eternal tribute of

thanks to well-deserving death, who, with his presence brings the

happiness in life denied me.’

“The Queen with a pensive silence, sorrowing she stood to act the

counterfeit of her rival, and still desirous to enjoy the sweet speech

of her revived Amphialus, was like a passenger, whom the loud command

of the rough winds had forced to wander through the unevenness of the

deep-furrowed seas, now in sight of land, equally distracted between

the desire to leave his unnatural habitation, where each wave seems to

be the proud messenger of destruction, and fear to approach it, being

jealous of his hard entertainment on the rocky shore: thus did she

continue (fixed in a doubtful imagination) loth to interrupt his

pleasing speech, and more than grieved he meant not her whom he spoke

to, until Amphialus (strengthening his newly recovered senses with the

conceited presence of Philoclea) found his error, and then, with a

look on his mistaken object (which he could not make disdainful,

because his happy thoughts had once adored it for Philoclea) he

suddenly fell into a deadly trance, whereat Helen (feelingly suffering

in his danger) ran to him, and bedewing his even then lovely face with

the loving oblation of her many tears, she together poured forth the

most passionate plaints that love could invent, or grief utter; so as

a while, this accident overthrowing the fabric of her half-built

comfort with the suddenness of so unlooked-for an assault, constrained

her (with bemoaning his case) to forget the care of his safety; but

being withdrawn by her servants, the indisposition of her body, caused

her a while to entertain in bed the fever of her affectionate sorrow.

“In the meantime, Amphialus, by the skilful care of Artelio, was again

brought to enjoy that, whose loss he would account his {637} chiefest

happiness; and faintly withdrawing the cover that obscured his weak

sight, and settling his look upon Artelio, ‘Father,’ said he, ‘if you

felt the inward agonies of my tormented soul, as you see the desperate

state of my low-brought body, I assure myself you would not be so

inhuman, there to employ your endeavours, where, when they have

wrought their effect, they serve only to confirm the memory of

fore-passed calamity, with the growing apprehension of future

misfortune. But since my destinies have so set down, that the whole

course of my life should be inevitably disastrous, I must think my

tragedy is not yet acted; though what worse than hath befallen me

cannot be imagined, or what may be kept in store (more than I have

passed), far exceeds my apprehension, though not my expectation.’

“Here he began to run over his unfortunate love to Philoclea, the

killing of Parthenia, his overthrow in the encounter with the black

knight; inserting many more disgraces, which the most envious of his

glory, would not have cast as aspersions on his well-known fame. Thus,

with the thought that fate (whose working he could not limit) had

reserved him for more mischief, he suffered his wounds to be cured;

and soon after, walking one evening, as his manner was, in the garden,

he chose a time, as he thought unespied by any, to convey himself

through a back-door, and there finding his horse (which his page had

brought by his appointment) he rode away, whither he knew not, and not

much cared, so he might leave her, whose affection deserved a more

courteous farewell. But alas! when she heard of his going, what tongue

is able to express her sorrow, in whom the equally tormenting passions

of grief and despair were lifted to their uttermost height?

“Two days, since the departure of Amphialus, posted away, striving in

vain to overtake their irrecoverable fellows, and now the third was

come, to be a prologue to the following tragedy: when Helen (slacking

the violent course of her incessant plaints) gave occasion to her

servants to be less mistrustful of her actions, thinking that time

began to wear away her sorrows. But she (as by the event was gathered)

using this as a policy to rid herself of the cumber of careful

attendance, when (now her truce, in show, with sorrow, and the

restraint of her plaints had wrought the effect she desired) taking

her trusty servant Mylama with her, and leaving a letter with Lada

(whom, besides Mylama, she only trusted with this secret) which, upon

the first knowledge of her flight, should be given to Drenus the chief

of her council; wherein she excused her secret stealing away, by a vow

passed to Apollo, in such manner to go a pilgrimage to Delphos; she

put herself on her journey, having an army of passions for her convoy,

led by love, {638} and waited on by desire, in hope of what she knew

was hopeless; yet often checking her despairing foresight with such

unlikely possibilities as affection (upon these occasions) is wont to

supply.

“Many days she had not wandered (changing places, to renew her

companions in sorrow) when coming into a pleasant valley, where of

each side, many trees (in the green-leaved mantle of their summer

livery) did apparel two neighbour mountains, where some sunburnt

sapless pines, by the advantage of the ground (like little-deserving,

in themselves, birth-only ennobled men) overtopped the straight

upraised cedar, the stock of self-begun honour. Through this flowery

plain ran a many-headed crystal current that did indent the earth as

it smoothly glided by, to make the obligation of friendship between

them more firm; and where, it fame-like, increased by travel, there

(as it was the natural) so, it seemed to have been the politic body of

the state of springs, such was the constant care of the fountain

magistrates, and such the well-agreeing union of the watery commons.

Here she stayed (invited by solitariness, the best repose for wearied

sorrow) yet giving no respite to her mind, she spoke nothing but

Amphialus, or of Amphialus. ‘O Amphialus!’ did she say, and to this

invocation the flattering nymph (that always seconds what is spoken)

did join the like of her own; and Helen delighted to hear the sound of

so sweet a name beaten back upon her, for a time sealed up her lips,

listening (with attentive silence) what echo would have further said.

But she (who of all the powers of a reasonable soul, only had a memory

and a tongue only serviceable for that use) together gave over to

reflect her borrowed language, expecting (with like stillness) her

further speech. But Helen, not able longer to restrain the overflow of

her panting heart, began to cry out, ‘Unkind Amphialus!’ This also did

the echo repeat. But she hearing by the rebound of the words,

Amphialus accused. ‘Discourteous nymph,’ said she, ‘and how is

Amphialus unkind? Can the harmony of such excellence admit so foul a

fault to bear a part with his virtues? Yet, woe is me! he is unkind.

Could his hard heart else suffer this love of his (which I only name

because it is the only part worth naming in me) thus long unregarded?

Could not my crown (crowned in being a foot-stool to Amphialus) have

purchased some respect? Alas! no: how could unhappy Helen expect the

Fates reserved so great a blessing in store for her?’

“She had not long debated the reasons of her misfortune, when Rinatus

(the only brother to Timotheus, but younger by many years) chanced to

pass that way. A man on whom fame had bestowed, and deservingly, the

name of valiant; yet of disposition so mischievously cruel, and

ambitiously proud, that where his deeds might well have claimed so

great an honour, there his {639} conditions (as well weighed) brought

a reproachful burden to the balance of his reputation. He (his father

dying young, and unwilling to dismember his estate, and unable

otherwise to satisfy the hopes of his son’s ambition) hearing of the

wars of Laconia, went thither; where soon he purchased the opinion of

a man resolute to undertake, and fortunate to execute what he had

undertaken: and serving under Eborbas (chief commander for the king)

because of the sympathy of humours between them (whereby nature did

insinuate for Rinatus, and taught him flattery without dissimulation)

he grew great in his favour. Soon after this, Eborbas in a conflict

between him and the Helots being mortally wounded, yet in death,

careful of the welfare of his country, recommended this Rinatus

(partly for his good liking of him, but principally for his experience

in wars, and well-seconded judgment) to the king, who, though with

some opposition (the country-men repining at his, a stranger’s

advancement) after trusty Eborbas’s death, preferred him to the same

place. His discharge of which, outwent so far the envy of the jealous

noblemen, that well might their king and they, in the death of the

valiant Eborbas, deplore the loss of a private man, but must confess

that this watchful care and undaunted well-ordered courage, did

survive in this their general.

“In this esteem he had scarce lived a year, when, hearing of his

brother and nephew’s death, together with his undoubted right to the

large territory which his brother in his life-time had enjoyed, he,

notwithstanding, continued in the charge to which he was lately

advanced: framing in his conceit his new-acquired greatness but as a

step to climb the sovereignty of Laconia: which being elective, he

thought the easier to be compassed, having by his bounteous affability

gained the hearts of the soldiers, and being already possessed of the

chief forts (the best strength of the country) wherein he had placed

such who had their devotions linked to his will, because they owed him

the benefit of their creation. But finding the accomplishment of these

practices to depend upon the death of the king, which, his youth

promised was unlikely soon to happen, and fearful to draw on the

discovery of his practices by seeking any secret means to make him

away, whom the watchful eye of dutiful observance did warrant secure

from any traitorous plots, he solicits the King to dispense with his

presence, who (seeing the ground of his journey to be the just cause

of his long-deferred revenge for Timotheus his brother, and Philoxenus

his nephew’s death, now a peace was lately concluded with the Helots,

and therefore his absence the more excusable) upon condition of a

speedy return, though unwilling, yet for his satisfaction, grants his

request: who now on his journey, {640} and having in his way to cross

this valley, met the unfortunate queen, whom, though her habit might

disguise, her words (overheard) did assure Rinatus his willingness to

believe that she was the same she so often spoke herself to be, the

unfortunate Helen.

“Awhile he stood doubtful of the person, awhile amazed at so fortunate

an encounter, and a long time perplexed what punishment his revenge

would judge fit for (the conceited heinousness of) his brother and

nephew’s death. At length the Queen (now first withdrawing her

thoughts from that object whereto affection, in sweetest

contemplation, had bound them, and suffering her mind, before retired

within itself, now to be informed by her servant’s sense) seeing this

stranger near her, began, as her manner was, to find by enquiry what

he knew of Amphialus. ‘Wicked woman,’ replied Rinatus, ‘the all-seeing

justice hath now delivered thee to receive fit punishment for

Philoxenus’s and Timotheus’s death,’ and using no more words,

presently caused her to be mounted on horseback, prolonging her life

to make her death more miserable. Thus far hath Mylama discovered,

who, poor lady, was there left, most cruelly beaten, to be the

reporter of Rinatus’s revenge, and her mistress’s hard hap.

“The last act of this tragedy, my master had the fortune to know, by

one of trust and great esteem in the court of Laconia, to which

Rinatus had conveyed Helen, where, for a time, she was honourably

entertained, finding no want but of command and liberty; the king,

belike fearing the power of the wronged Corinthians, preserving her as

a sure card for a dead lift. But when he understood that one Tenarus

(a man apt to practice innovations, and at this time able, when the

many-headed multitude wanted the awful presence of their sovereign)

took upon him the government, pretending a title to the crown, as

descended from those, from whom Helen’s ancestors, as he alleged, had

traitorously forced it, then did the tyrant of Laconia, finding the

way secure for his mischievous practice, vehemently importuned by

Rinatus, and urged forward by the politic wickedness of his own desire

to pleasure the new king, secretly cause Helen to be poisoned: Such

was the end of this great queen, justly beloved of all who heard the

fame of her virtues, and therefore justly to be deplored of all who

hear the unredeemable loss of so many perfections.”

Basilius, and the rest of the princes, were much moved with so

tragical a story, especially Musidorus, who (in search of Pyrocles)

having the fortune to see her, could witness, that though fame had

borrowed all men’s mouths to proclaim her many excellencies, yet it

was far from doing right to her desert. But {641} this was no fit

lodging for pity to dwell in, where joy had so great a command. The

messenger therefore being permitted to part, with free leave for his

master to enter the lists, judges were appointed, and the challenge

proclaimed.

The challenger understanding of the King’s liking of his demand, came

forth of his pavilion, with armour so lively representing nakedness,

wounded in many places (where the staunchless blood, in the course the

workman had allotted it, seemed to drop destruction) that many thought

a madness had possessed him (so unarmed, so wounded) to present

himself in such a trial, where a surer defence, and a sounder body

were more needful. Before him went six, as savages, bearing the lances

for his first courses; who coming within distance to be heard, did

sing these following verses.

Too soon you fled from hence to that fair place,

The happy period of a well-run race:

Too late I stay in grief’s eternal night,

To do this penance for my over-sight.

Once let me die, let not my dying life

Prolong my woes, and keep my thoughts at strife:

Let him that did offend your heav’nly eyes,

Now please your anger with self-sacrifice.

Then one of them, reaching him a lance, he began his course against

Tyro Prince of Andria, famous for his constant love to the fair Lydia,

now married, and Queen of Epire, and ever fortunate in the course of

his adventures: but here his fortune gave place to virtue, or rather

joined with her to assist the naked knight; for, at the third

encounter, he was put beside his saddle, much bruised in body, and no

less afflicted in mind.

The next that supplied his place, was Pausanias, a Macedonian, one,

who in his late wars had done Euarchus faithful service, and now,

thinking to be as successful in this enterprise, had put on armour to

do honour to his mistress: but his first course compelled him to

acknowledge he was deceived, seeing himself fall so short of his

expectation.

To him succeeded Nicanor, a Corinthian knight, advanced by the new

king, one extremely confident of himself, because never tried, and now

very forward, fearing to be prevented of the honour, for which

already, in conceit, he had triumphed at Corinth with the great

applause of the people, and the good liking of the king. But the naked

knight, at second course, cut off both his life and imagined trophy:

for, couching his lance, and allotting it in his course a just

descent, rightly levelled by his well-judging experience, it met with

Nicanor’s sight, and passing thorough that weak {642} resistance, it

pierced his right eye, and with it his brain, so that Nicanor fell

down, forgetful both of his forethought fame and following reproach.

With this adventure the tilting that day ended; the sun with loose

rays, posting to his western home, and the naked knight retired

himself to his pavilion, whence he sent his page, who, humbly, for his

master, entreated, that his unwillingness to be known should excuse

the omission of his duty to the king.

Thus that night drew on, which to them who enjoyed delight, seemed to

have put on all her sails to be the speedier in passing over. But far

other was the naked knight’s apprehension: he (who made her ugly

darkness a pattern of the sorrow his afflicted soul endured) thought

she was becalmed in the sea of his misfortune. At length Phoebus,

weary of his importunity, made haste to distribute his grateful light

to his care-tired senses; and he as soon embracing the smallest show

of comfort, put on his armour. About two hours after, the judges being

set, and Basilius and Euarchus (with the rest of the court) present,

Leonatus, the young King of Pontus (who had been there to acknowledge

his beholdingness to them whom he was deservingly bound to) took the

field. His armour was of a dark colour, through which many flames

seemed to break out, as when the clouds, great in labour with

exhalations, at length gave way to their more violent power: his three

first courses promised a more happy event than fortune meant he should

enjoy, for (having performed them with a well-ordered firmness in his

seat, and a moving constancy in the carriage of his lance, to the

great delight of the beholders) the fourth time he was dismounted;

whose disgrace Pyrocles was ready to revenge, but he was, by a secret

look from Philoclea, commanded the contrary. Then Telamon, Phelauceas

and Diremus felt, with little advantage in fortune, the like success.

Thus, most part of that morning, the naked knight, with little

resistance, had the best against all comers, which most of the

lookers-on, with public acclamation, did testify, but he having given

over the use of himself to sorrow, sometimes by the careless shaking

of his head, did let them know, they burdened his desert with the

unpleasing weight of his praise; and staying a while on horseback, he

expected the next adventurer, with such a demeanour of himself, that

(though it did accuse him of much grief) could not conceal the grace

of his stately presence. But when he saw none ready to take the field,

with an humble bend taking his leave of the king, he softly trotted

towards his tent, not so much to repose his body, as to give a quiet

way to the assaults of his mind. At length, when all the beholders’

expectations were almost wearied, there entered the lists a lady,

attended only by one page, who {643} having alighted, presently went

towards the place where Basilius sat, where first kneeling, then

taking away a black scarf (which grief had hired to join with herself,

in eclipsing the excellent feature of a most fair face) she began to

speak; but Basilius and Gynecia hastily ran to embrace Helen Queen of

Corinth, for this was she. Great was the joy of her revived presence,

and great the desire to know the means of her safety. But she

(accounting these gratulations cumbersome, and the relation of her

adventures tedious) fixing her watery eyes on Basilius: “Great king, I

am,” said she, “that unfortunate Helen, sometime Queen of Corinth, now

both deprived of crown and kingdom by Tenarus. Yet why should I

mention this, as fit to be inserted among my greatest misfortunes? The

cause why now I come, is my care of Amphialus’s safety, in whom I

live, to whose disdain I have vowed the tribute of my constant love.

He (alas! why should I live to speak it?) not long since following the

course of his adventures, came to Amasia, where he was made prisoner,

and carried to Dunalbus prince of that country, whose brother it was

Amphialus’s fortune to kill in rescue of a lady, to whom he would have

offered dishonourable violence. These news came to mine ears (to add

more to many miseries) at that time when I chanced to be at Delphos,

pouring forth my heartiest devotions for my most beloved, my most

unkind Amphialus: but the pitying God, either to stay my hands from

the execution they intended (but to what end might that be? that God

knows; for no time can unbend my affection) or, as heaven grant it may

be, in commiseration of my case, thus comforted me:

Helen, return; a naked knight shall find

Rest for thy hopes, and quiet to thy mind.

“Thus far have I wandered, led by that divine promise, in pursuit of

such a one: But nowhere can I find a happy event to confirm that

oracle; yet dare I not despair, having so high a warrant; nor hope,

having so bad success.”

“You are fortunately come,” said the King, “This knight, whose skill

in arms hath made your well-deserving virtues famous, may be that man

pointed out by the finger of heaven, to release Amphialus, who both in

name and armour represents a naked knight.” “O no,” said the Queen,

“it cannot be expected that Apollo, would leave so plain a way for us

to track out the footsteps of his obscure mysteries.” “Madam,” replied

Basilius (having first placed her in a chair by him) “the all-seeing

providence, with whom the ends of all things are present, is sometimes

pleased to cast forth the emblem of our destinies, so strangely hidden

in the covert of ambiguous words, that, doubtless, {644} it serves to

beget nothing but matters of distrust, and labyrinths of errors, where

the imagination a thousand ways may be led astray; of this you have a

present proof, confirmed by my experience. And sometimes the same

justice unfolds the secret of our fate, and plainly lets us know the

mystery of our fortune; yet even that plainness, to the curious search

of our still-mistrusting brain, becomes a reason sufficient to enforce

us to a contrary belief. This last, I think (if, in the interpretation

of an oracle, my opinion may be received) is that mean, whereby Apollo

both reveals and hides the author of Amphialus’s freedom.”

This said, he sends presently for the naked knight, who as soon

obeying the king’s command, as he was completely armed, came before

him; to whom Basilius cheerfully told (as glad to be the reporter of

good news to him, whose prowess in arms deservingly gained much of his

good opinion) of Helen’s being there, together with her desire to

employ him in an action the heavens had also interested him in. “What

is it,” replied the naked knight, “that, without such a command, I

would not endeavour to accomplish for my most dear Helen?” And then,

with excess of comfort and astonishment, his weak limbs were ready to

give over the support of his joy-burdened body; but, being upheld by

Musidorus, who stood next him, his overcharged spirits had time to

recollect themselves.

The Queen gathering comfort from his promise, and seeing fair

likelihood of the oracle’s accomplishment, with the oratory of love,

who thinks no words but his own able to express his mind, began in

this manner: “Sir, ill-fortune my awful governess, as in the most of

my actions she is pleased to keep a hard hand over me, so in this

(distrustful belike of my willingness) she forces me to repeat my

wonted lesson of receiving courtesies without power of requital;

making one undeserved favour from you become a cause of further

beholdingness to you: But the glory that follows your good success in

this adventure (the best spur to set forward brave spirits to noble

actions) hath almost assured me that the love you profess, and a

distressed lady’s cause, need not join petitioners in a request your

virtue must be willing to grant. The reward of your victory, is the

releasing of Amphialus, of whom I may speak, and the world with me,

all praise-worthy things.” “Madam,” replied the naked knight, “I

thought the gods could not have favoured me more than in giving you

respite of life, and me power to be serviceable to you: but when I

consider the end I must employ my endeavours to, it buries my

conceited happiness in the grave of a certain misfortune. Shall I

labour to preserve that monster of men, whose story (if the world will

needs read) contains nothing but a volume of disasters, and a vain

{645} discourse of a few adventures cast upon him by the blindness of

chance? Shall I hazard my life for him, against whom, had I lives

innumerable, I would venture them all? Shall I live to make another

happy in your favour, and cross mine own desires? No, madam, I will

sooner leave my blood here before you, as a testimony that fear hath

no interest in my disobedience to your command, than I will make my

after-life, truly miserable in the burden of a hopeless affection.” To

this the Queen awhile in tears, as if her eyes strove to speak for

her, made a silent answer; but when her sighs had breathed forth the

over-charge of her breast, first she kneeled, then faintly said: “O

eternal president of this court of cares, when will thy just pity

commiserate my distress! Alas, Sir, what new way have the gods found

to vent their malice on me! have I made disdain my only mishap, and

must now affection towards me be another undeserved misfortune?

Behold, Sir, and, if you can, with pity, a Queen born to command a

suppliant at your feet, begging what goodness solicits you to grant,

release Amphialus: and if your jealousy thinks he hath too much

interest in my love, restore him to the world that wants him, I will

vow a virgin’s life.” “Stay, virtuous Queen,” replied the naked

knight, and lifting up his beaver, “receive,” said he, “thou best of

women! the overjoyed Amphialus.”

The Queen, as when the ocean swells with the rage of a tempest, if on

a sudden these blasts be appeased, yet the proud waves, mindful of

their fore-passed injury, and indisposed to so speedy a reconcilement,

some while retain the rough remembrance of the winds’ malice, so were

her thoughts, before moved by the storm of despair, though now she had

cause of contented quiet, on a sudden, incapable of so unlooked-for a

happiness, first doubt, then amazement, lastly excess of joy, by

succession, were admitted to the helm of her distressed heart. But

when joy had once got to be the steersman, his want of practice (by

his long absence from that employment) soon brought a confusion; here

the warm tears of sorrow, there the cold drops of a present comfort,

did strive whether should show itself most officious in drowning her

pale blushing cheeks: At length they both, no longer able to resist

this powerful invasion of their minds, as by mutual consent, fell the

one entwined in the other’s arms, and made the earth happy in bearing

such matchless lovers. But their senses being soon restored to their

wonted function, after some passionate words (to which their eyes and

touch of their hands gave the life of expression) Amphialus, divided

into many minds by the turbulent working of his thoughts, turning

towards his uncle, with his eyes fixed on the ground, stood with the

grace of a man condemned, who having led a loathsome life in an ugly

dungeon, is now {646} brought to a freedom of looking upon the open

air, yet sees the day is but a taper to light him to his execution. Of

the one side he was brought from the hell of despair, wherein he lived

in the assurance of Helen’s death, to the certainty of her life and

presence; of the other, what was his treason to his uncle to expect,

but an infamous death, and a divorce from his new-born happiness. The

shame also of a crime so foul as his rebellion, was not the least

torment to his mind, unwillingly beaten from a settled course of

virtue by Cecropia’s practices. At length, when these thoughts, that

almost overcame all the powers of life in him, were themselves

overcome by his resolution, casting himself at Basilius’s feet, thus

said: “Great Sir, if treason in a subject, and unnaturalness in a

nephew, be punishable, here you have before you a fit exercise for

your justice, I am that subject whose rebellion interrupted the

contented quiet of my King’s solitary life, and brought him to behold

the bloody tragedy of a civil dissention in his divided state: I am

that nephew, whom a wilful disobedience made a traitor to the nearness

of his blood. Hither did I come, Orestes-like, tormented by the inward

fright of my guilty conscience, with my blood to wash away (if good

fortune, in the defence of the cause I undertook, would draw death

upon me) the stains of such unpardonable faults; but now that I have

found what I least looked for (and then he cast a side-look on Helen)

for her, I confess, I should desire to live, if your just indignation

might find mercy for so heinous offences, which I will not strive to

mitigate, however justly I may; for I would think such faults

ill-excused with which, to ease myself, I must have burdened my

nearest friends.”

Basilius, first graciously lifting him from the ground: “Nephew,”

replied he, “did I retain the memory of your youthful oversights, this

your virtuous acknowledgment were sufficient to bear them away; but

long since I have buried in oblivion the thought of your rashness

because I knew (by what after happened) that the gods had made you an

instrument to work their ends; it were injury therefore to question

his actions, whose will was not his own, being over-ruled by their

all-commanding decree. No, nephew, I do not only pardon these

transgressions, but freely also do resign all such possessions as your

father held in Arcadia, taken from you in the last war, and now in the

hands of Philanax. Live happy in your choice, I shall be proud of our

alliance with the crown of Corinth, and shall rejoice to see the

succession continue in our blood.” This said, he led him to Gynecia,

then to Euarchus, but when he came to Musidorus: “This, nephew, is

that black knight,” said he, “who at your last meeting gave such

evident proof of his unconquerable valour; this is Musidorus the

Prince of Thessalia, {647} whom the gods have bestowed as a blessing

on my daughter Pamela.” Amphialus, now assured by the king’s speech,

unto whose hand the honour of his conquest had fallen (for doubt had

long tormented him that, some baser hand had reaped the glory of his

victory). “Prince Musidorus,” said he, “my hard success in our last

encounter much perplexed me; not that my confidence of myself was

lifted to such an arrogant presumption to think my strength and skill

in arms matchless, but that it grieved me, an unknown knight (one,

whom the world might think had concealed his name, lest, together with

him, his bad fortune in trials of that kind might be discovered)

should have the better of me. But now, that I know to whose lot my

victory hath fallen, I do not only bring an excuse, but an honour from

the worthiness of the conqueror.”

“Courteous Amphialus,” replied the Prince, “whose side the advantage

of fortune did then incline to, if it may be determined, with greater

reason, and more desert, should the honour be given you, than bestowed

on me; but, however, such trial I then made of your manhood that,

hereafter, I shall desire to be of your part.” “Worthy Prince,” said

Amphialus, “your virtue will always choose to be of the weaker side.”

And so turning to Philoclea, “Divine lady,” said he, “in your

excellent choice of the famous Pyrocles, you have (besides the

happiness gained to yourself, for which the world may envy you) showed

me the way to my best hopes, by grafting my affection in the stock of

my Helen’s constancy.” “Dear cousin,” replied Philoclea, “I am glad it

was in my power, and your good fortune, so much to better your choice

in so excellent a remove:” And so, casting a bashful look towards

Pyrocles: “Sir,” said she, “we may join in thanksgiving. This is my

cousin, whose virtuous disposition during our imprisonment was our

safest defence against my Aunt Cecropia’s cruelty.” “I do acknowledge

it,” said Pyrocles, “and besides this favour, in which we have a

common interest, Sir, I must crave pardon for a wound given you at

such a time when, belike, you made patience your only defence.”

Amphialus stood with his eyes fixed on Pyrocles, for his memory

supplied him with a confused remembrance of such a face: Zelmane he

could not take him to be, her sex and this change, at their first

birth, destroyed these apprehensions. Pyrocles, his heart swore he was

not, whose youth and beauty, God wot! were no fit livery for such

achievements as the world famed him for. Thus awhile he continued,

troubled with the uncertainty of conjectures, until Pyrocles (happily

conceiving the cause of his amazement) stopped his further admiration

by letting him know that the then Zelmane was the now Pyrocles.

Whereat Amphialus, {648} as one newly waked out of a dream, cried out,

“Anaxius, Anaxius,” said he, “’twas the Prince of Macedon (not a

woman) overcame thee. Wheresoever thy soul be, let it keep this time

festival as the birthday of thy glory.” And so, after mutual embraces,

together with the rest of the princes, they entered the palace, where,

when they were seated, the eyes of all the company were set on the

Queen of Corinth, longing to know the story of her strange fortune;

now a queen, then a prisoner; now alive, then dead; which she, at

Basilius’s entreaty, with a majesty which her fortune could not

change, because it was innate, thus declared.

“Great Sir! that I was made prisoner by Rinatus, and by him carried to

Laconia, fame, together with the news of my supposed death, belike

hath brought you; the rest, since you esteem worthy your hearing, I

shall esteem worthy my relation. There yet governs, and then did,

among the nobility of Laconia, one Creton, a man elected to the crown

rather to recompense the desert of his ancestors, than for his own

virtues, beloved and borne with for the same reason; such an

everlasting monument of itself, can goodness leave to posterity. To

him when I was brought, my guilt and my guilty self, with the best

oratory Rinatus had, was made known, who, with vehement importunity,

desired that my speedy punishment, as my fault, should be terrible.

The king answered, though he found his demands reasonable, and such to

which he was sure there could be no opposition made, yet he thought it

fit the nobility should be acquainted with so weighty a cause before

he proceeded further in it, and so, for this time (being committed to

the charge of Pertinax, chamberlain to the king) I was dismissed. The

next day, the council being sent for, my cause ran the hazard of many

opinions; some thought it fit I should die; and though justice, said

they, might not dispense with such severity, yet it was fit to please

Rinatus, one who had deserved well, and had the power, if otherwise he

were dealt with, to revenge his injury. Others, the more in number,

and esteemed the wiser, because the King held with them, opposed this

sentence, alleging, so inconsiderate an act might call the safety of

Laconia in question; ‘For,’ said they, ‘shall we think the Corinthians

so degenerate, that, being justly incensed against us they will not

endeavour to revenge the death of their prince, in the shade of whose

reign they enjoy that peace and plenty their neighbours envy them for?

And if they stir in it, what people is so barbarous, whom the justness

of their cause will not procure into the society of this war? See then

if a private man’s satisfaction be to be compared to these ensuing

dangers? No, let her live, and when the gods do otherwise dispose of

her, let her death come without the ruin of Laconia.’ This determined,

a new doubt arose, how I should be disposed of. {649} They that before

thought it expedient I should die, now that opinion was put by,

concluded that it was best to send me to Corinth, with an honourable

convoy, so to tie them by a perpetual bond of gratitude, to be their

friends whom they so much feared to be their enemies; the rest, to

gratify the King, whose affection they perceived to lean that way, and

well assured it was an advice too profitable to be rejected that

gained a kingdom, though his promise after the queen’s death (who, not

long before, left him a widower) had been passed to Lemnia, a fair and

virtuous lady, daughter to my keeper Pertinax, yet they wished, if so

he pleased, my crown might win me to his bed, little doubting but I

had thought it an egregious felicity to be so graced. The King, after

many protractions, at length, as if he were wrought to it by a desire

to satisfy the nobility rather than self-will, declares his mind to be

directed by them; which, once known, behold! the flattery of the court

began to fawn upon me; who more observed? who more admired? Only

Rinatus, much impatient of this my greatness in court, uttered some

words in choler, which made known, by a further inquiry, a conspiracy

of his against the king, so that soon after (the rather to give me,

whom they studied to please, satisfaction) he was beheaded.

“But long it was not before fortune, neither constant to my happy

adversity, nor adverse felicity, had brought thither (sent by the

usurper Tenarus) a wise, but wicked instrument, whom he called his

ambassador, who laboured, by the policy of his high-reaching brain,

and the secret practices of his undermining gold, so far for his

master’s ends, that now, in an instant, the still-changing face of

court-respect began to frown upon me: my death was decreed, and until

the time were appointed for it, myself made a close prisoner in my

accustomed gaol. But the King, chiefly moved with the hope of my

crown, and drawn by a self-conceit of liking to my sorrow, which,

perhaps, had a sympathy with his melancholy, wouldst needs continue

the suit of his affection to me, though he durst not interpose his

over-ruled authority for my liberty. Thus, for a time, did I live,

accompanied by some few whom the king might trust with his intents,

he, in show, courting his first love Lemnia, and making that a

pretence to come private to her father’s house near adjoining to

court. But indeed, as at that time he could have no reason to

dissemble with me, this kindness came another way; which Lemnia

suspecting, and being as far gone in affection to this double-dealing

king, as he was in the profession of a little-regarded love to me, her

watchful eye soon found the advantage of a happy opportunity to hear

himself speak his own deceit, with such a heart-burning vehemency that

Lemnia (who had placed herself, unknown to either of us, behind the

{650} hangings) scarce could suppress her entry to play a part in our

comedy of affection. But to his demands truth answered for me plainly

that death, in whose expectation I lived, would be far more pleasing

than the marriage he thought so reasonable; adding withal to my speech

much of Lemnia’s praise, which she deserved, to instruct his eyes that

indeed were blind in his choice.

“But when he parted, vowing to be severe in my punishment, unless I

resolved better at his next coming, behold Lemnia, with tears in her

eyes, fell at my feet, and when she saw amazement in my looks, with a

kind bashfulness, taking my hand, and rising with that help: ‘Virtuous

lady,’ said she, ‘if ever you have been acquainted with the tyranny of

all-commanding affection, to that judge I appeal, who (though courtesy

and good manners oppose him) will find my fault excusable. This man,

who in your presence hath been the trumpet of his own inconstancy,

first with the vehement protestation of his sincere affection, won me

in gratefulness to meet him, in recompense of his unknown

dissimulation, if such then it were; and now with the good liking of

the state, were the solemnities appointed for our marriage, when your

arrival crossed those hopes, and drew his thoughts to their natural

temper of unstayedness. But since I have found, by this fortunate

unmannerliness, your answers so resolutely opposed to his demands,

henceforth I vow to work your freedom, or bring myself to perish with

you.’ Her fault found an easy pardon at the tribunal she appealed

to--I thanked her, as there was good cause, for her desire of my good;

only I wished, if my freedom could not be procured without danger to

her, she should not heap miseries upon me by joining herself a

companion in my disasters. She comforts me with the hope of a better

event, and to bring her intention to a wished success, she wins my

unwillingness to show some favour to the king: which next day I did,

having placed Lemnia where she had placed herself the day before, to

be a witness to our conference; for otherwise, perhaps, her love this

second time might have egged her suspicion, already prone that way, to

the distrust of a practice betwixt us. And happy was this forced

dissimulation; for the King, not long before his coming to me, had

received advertisement that the usurper of Corinth had levied an army,

and set forth many ships to invade Laconia, making the delay of my

promised execution the pretence of this war; which being also known,

they (who, together with this foreign enemy, feared the rebellion of

the Helots, who always lay in wait for an opportunity of such

advantage) now, more than ever, began to solicit the King to satisfy

so potent an enemy in so just a demand. The King, well weighing the

imminent dangers that were to be prevented by my death, and seeing the

little {651} comfort he did enjoy by the prolonging of my life (likely

every day to increase my obstinacy, being none of those lovers that

would die for his disdaining mistress) was ready to deliver me over as

a sacrifice for the state and country, when, behold! his sails were

filled with self-opinion of my favour. Borne up, therefore, with the

wings of hope, he returns to court, where love (or some indulgent

fate) inspired this project into his head; he calls the nobility, and

after a long narration of the mischiefs that hung over Laconia, he

desires their advice for prevention. They, glad that the only opposer,

as they thought, of their designs, would have recourse to their

directions, in that cause wherein they were jealous of his partaking

after a flattering insinuation (the common exordium to men of his

place) they concluded that it was fit Helen should die. ‘I doubt it

not,’ said he (nor was it to that end I sought your counsel) ‘that the

necessity of the times, the welfare of our person, and the

preservation of our estate required her death; but it much perplexed

me, that our fame should bleed with her, or that the world should say

the threats of the King of Corinth had enforced us to behead her whom

lately we were to take to wife. ’Twas this, my lords, that caused my

misinterpreted resolution to hang in suspense; for this I have turned

my invention into all forms, and now, behold, I have found an even way

to lead me between the perils of a threatened war, and the ill-bought

quiet of an ignominious peace. My will is she be brought to court (for

Pertinax’s house I think not convenient for this project) and placed

here, with such about her as I know most trusty in such a secret;

then, that her keepers, at farthest within two days, poison her; which

done, we will give it out she died of a disease; and to confirm this

opinion in the vulgar, we will honour her death with such funeral pomp

as the state of her life required. Thus shall our cause of dissention

with Corinth be taken away, and we freed from that imputation the

world might justly lay upon us.’ The nobility, with silent admiration,

began to applaud what he had determined, chiefly Pertinax, who, making

the common cause his pretence, laboured by all means to confirm a

resolution so necessary for his daughter Lemnia’s happiness.

“The King having dismissed the council, acquaints me with these his

proceedings, setting forth, with no mean pride, the pregnancy of his

own wit, who had found a way to over-reach such grey-bearded dotards:

‘For,’ said he, ‘you shall that night when you are thought to be

poisoned be conveyed hence (by two of chiefest trust about me) unto my

castle of Nicos; then will I cause a statue, formed to your

proportion, to be coffined up, on which, forsooth, my grave council

shall solemnly wait, and perform the obsequies in that ceremony

requisite; meantime you shall live, {652} and live beloved of him who

hath undergone this dangerous enterprise, and will do many more to

endear his affection to you. And when the limbs of this disjointed

state be set again, you shall be restored to be yourself, and to enjoy

this crown of Laconia so much envied you: till when, I lock these

projects in the closet of your secrecy.’

“The good King was scarce gone from me when I made Lemnia of counsel

with me, who, seeing the fitness of the time, seeing my journey to

Nicos was to be performed in the night, and the easy execution of so

dangerless an enterprise, my guard being only two of the King’s

servants, she gives in charge to a sufficient number of such whom she

knew faithful to her, to meet them mid way, and after they had well

beaten my convoy, to discharge them of the suspicion of their

consenting to the fact, to carry me to the next seaport, where there

staid a ship bound for Delphos, to which I needs would bend my course.

This being resolved upon, the lady (equally troubled with the care of

my safety and the loss of my presence) wept many tears, which I

confess, had been ingratitude in me not to second; so as a while

sorrow seemed to have flown thither to bathe herself in our eyes: but

love, at length, in both of one another’s good, had well near claimed

this passion, when the guard appointed by the King, was come and ready

to carry me to court. But why should I, great sir, any longer stay you

in a story, whose tediousness I am well assured hath tired you? Know

therefore, that this means of my safety was as fortunately executed as

happily contrived: the King not once daring to send to seek me, lest

he should by that discover his own craft used in this dangerous

deluding of the Laconian noblemen.

“But I was scarce a month absent, when he, whose eyes held the reins

of his constancy, the object being removed, married (as it was before

determined) the beauteous Lemnia, who, now in possession of his love,

sticked not to make known to him this whole matter, which otherwise in

her behalf I was bound to keep secret. Thus, Sir, if my desire to obey

your commands hath made the story of my misfortunes tedious, you may

excuse me, since all is done for your satisfaction.”

“Fair Queen,” replied Basilius, “the sweetly-delivered strangeness of

the story would still ravish the hearers with a desire of a further

cause of attentiveness, did not a greater desire in us, who know your

virtues, hasten to hear the end of your much pitied distress.” And so,

calling Amphialus to him, having agreed on the day of marriage between

the Queen and him, they all arose; for now their appetites (growing

jealous of the satisfaction their minds received by the former

discourse) began to solicit them in the behalf of their stomachs.

{653}

After dinner, when most of the company began to imp the wings of time

with the feathers of several recreations, Amphialus and Helen

privately went together into an arbour in the garden, where, first

with tears, the common apology of overjoyed affection, they speak

their minds in silence, their panting hearts, as they embraced, with

mutual desire, beating their envious garments that gave them not leave

to meet. At length Helen, gracefully shaking her head as if she would

shake away the drops that, like the morning-dew on full ripe cherries,

hung on her rosy cheeks: “O Amphialus!” said she, and then kissed him,

as loth to leave so perfect a sentence without a comma; “I will not

say you were unkind, but----,” and there with his lips (loth, loth,

belike, to accuse him) she closed up her speech. “My sole happiness!”

replied Amphialus, softly wringing her hand, “though the foulness of

my fault be no fit subject for her to speak of who breathes nothing

but goodness, yet I want not an accuser: my soul sets forth my

ingratitude; nor can I yet conceive how mercy can be so far removed

from justice, as to find a pardon from my offence: But you have given

it, and, if it be any requital, it shall be my after-life’s study to

love and honour your virtues, as it was hitherto to offend you.” “It

is fit therefore,” said Helen, with the counterfeit settledness of

majesty, “we impose a penance upon you for your oversight, and this it

shall be, that henceforth you neither speak nor think of that you

account your fault: and to help you in obeying my commands, I must

entreat you to keep your mind and tongue, for a time, busied in

telling me what befell you in your travels since our being at Corinth;

and do it not so niggardly, as if you meant to conceal what fame hath

so largely blown abroad: yet, if you were exposed at any time to much

danger, dwell not there too long, lest I forget I have you here.”

“Most dear lady,” said Amphialus, “to conform my speech to your last

request would make me disobedient to your first command. Shall I begin

with my departure from you? alas! at what time should I more employ my

memory and speech in discovery of my faulty self than now? But I see

your eyes begin to take anger into them; I will no longer insist on

mine own accusation.

“Know therefore, most constant lady, that, accompanied only with

Fidutio my page, when I had passed the limits of your dominion, at

that time of day when the high-mounted sun makes least shadows,

wearied with travel, and desirous of some shelter from the sun’s

violent rays, I laid myself under the protection of an olive tree,

thinking to set my mutinous thoughts at peace, but it would not be:

these outward signs could not appease the fury of an inward enemy.

Thus I lay, dearly purchasing the little {654} ease of my body with

the affliction of mind, until mine ears, like faithful servants,

desirous to end this dissention between their master and himself,

caused all the powers of my mind to join in attentiveness; and mine

eyes, loth to be outgone in such good offices, did look that way from

whence the noise came; where I might discern six men armed, on

horseback, carry a fair lady with them, whose tears and out-cries well

showed her indisposition to that journey. This sight moved compassion

in me, and pity brought a desire to help her distress, but my horse

(divining, belike, my intent, and unwilling to leave his food) could

by no means be taken; so that, mad with anger, I began to repeat over

all the misfortunes that ever had befallen me, to let this know it

wanted no fellows, when there came posting that way, one whom by his

haste I guessed to have been of the company gone before. Of whom I

entreated to know what fault could be so heinous that might take away

the name of injury from so unmanly a violence as they offered to so

beauteous a lady: But he, with a scornful silence, smiled, and would

be gone; and so, perhaps, he might, had not the narrowness of the way,

and his courteous horse that would not tread upon me, compelled him to

stay. Whereat his anger burst forth into these threats: ‘Villain!’

said he, ‘thy want of armour shall not excuse thee from a death

wilfully drawn upon thee; and though there be no glory, there will be

satisfaction in thy overthrow.’ Then, drawing his horse a little back,

he alighted, and without further complement, ran towards me: But his

fury brought him too hastily to his death, for thinking, belike, his

threatening mouth was able to defend itself, he forgot to put by my

sword that by good fortune lay in his way, and so justly his death

entered at his mouth, whose life I think was in his tongue. At his

fall Fidutio came in, who helping to fit on the armour, of which we

had disfurnished this unserviceable knight, I mounted on his horse,

that seemed to have regarded my haste more than mine own, and riding

on the spur, I overtook my company, for so they would needs make

themselves, saluting me by the name of my friend Satibarsis. But the

better observance soon put them out of that opinion. So that guessing

(indeed rightly) that I had killed Satibarsis, and by that means got

his armour, without desire to be further than by their own conjecture

satisfied, they joined all hands in his revenge. But the lady’s cause

was just, whose rescue I came to, and the all-seeing providence that

would not see justice over-laid, fought for me. And now five of them

had either received their well deserved payment of death, or were kept

by their wounds from further opposition, when the sixth, who all this

while had held the lady, and looked on, seeing my hand (whose weakness

had left such {655} precedents of the effects of a good cause) now set

against him alone, took his prisoner by the hair, and with his sword

gave her a deep wound in the neck. That inhuman act would have given

desire to the most barbarous, and power of revenge to the most

cowardly: but he, as if he meant to save me a labour, making haste

that their warm blood should meet, with the same sword runs himself

through, dying as just a judge as he was a traitorous offender.

Amazement would have fixed mine eyes upon him, but the lady’s wound

brought them to her succour. Experience on myself, made me skilful,

and my fair patient officious, so that tying up the wound, for some

time I staunched the blood; she, in the meantime, with her watery eyes

bent toward heaven, heartily praying for my good fortune, and many

times thanking her destiny, that, with her death, had ended the

miseries of her ever-dying life. When I had done comforting her, as I

thought, with my opinion of her safety, I entreated to know her name,

and the cause of this injury done to her. ‘No, no,’ replied she,

‘courteous stranger, the comfort of my near-coming death (in spite of

the torment the memory of my most wretched life puts me to) brings

this cheerfulness I now present in my looks: and though the least

delay of my end is accompanied with a world of sorrows, yet I am glad,

for satisfaction of your demand, my breath is a while preserved.

“‘My name is Leaucade, the only daughter to Count Brunio, a man of

large possessions in this country, whom, you may well think, because

in expectation of his lands, many sued for, and those not of the

meanest esteem: but my carelessness of love had taught me such a

carriage, that further than of the favour of my courtesy (of which

they did all indifferently partake) none could boast. And this, till

about a year since, was my daily practice, disdaining (as most that

have not known it do) so ridiculous a passion as I then esteemed love.

At which time this Fluento, whose happy hand hath done us both right,

came to my father’s court. A neighbour prince, with whom (for

encroaching upon the bounds of his territory) my father hath had much

dissention. But a reconcilement being made between them, and both

alike thinking the best means to persevere in amity were to have us

two joined in marriage; without my knowledge (as if it were fit I

should be a stranger to their proceeding) determine of the match. But,

alas! Sir, at this time I was so far from being at their dispose, that

I was not at mine own: for love (I think keeping mischief until it

were ripe for me) had presented a gentleman to mine eyes, by birth

noble, whose ancestors, all to his father, being men of known virtue

in the country, were admitted to the prime offices of the kingdom. But

he taking a pride to be unthrifty, and little esteeming these public

{656} employments, lavished exceedingly both his fame and patrimony;

yet it seemed he only made away his estate to purchase goodness for

his child: such a son he was father to, so rare, so excellent. His

name was Persidas;’ and at that word the tears gushed forth in such

abundance that it seemed her blood had changed his course and colour

to run forth at the sluices of her eyes: ‘Alas! Sir, what shall I say

of him? or who, from Leaucade, will believe the desert of Persidas?

But, alas! if they deserve no credit that love him, in this country

you must hear nothing of him; the knowledge of his person, and the

love of his virtues, being things inseparable. In him begun this

tragedy, in me it ends: for when my father and Fluento had drawn their

agreement to a head, then, and not before, he thought it time, he

said, to let me know my happiness.’ And thus, finding me alone, he

breaks the matter to me: ‘Dear child, I have, ever since the death of

your virtuous mother (though much importuned by many) reserved you to

these years unmarried, because your content should be of counsel with

me in your choice: and happy was this delay for the honour of our

house; for, behold! Fluento makes his fortunes serviceable to your

will: Prince Fluento, daughter, whose powerful greatness the neighbour

potentates stand in awe of: him I have won for you, and so forward we

be that this day-fortnight he is to take you to wife.’ ‘Father,’ said

I, ‘that your wisdom hath deferred my marriage hitherto to give me the

comfort of election, my obedience, my only requital, shall be the same

it ever was to you: and yet I wonder, that having attained to these

years, when my judgment in my choice may be received, you will exclude

me from the end for which I was so long reserved; just like a

physician that telleth his patient he hath brought a potion to cure

him, yet says he must by no means take it. I must be married to Prince

Fluento, and yet your meaning is, I should have liberty to choose; as

if this enforcement destroyed not my freedom of election. That he is a

man, beyond all respects, as you praise him, fit for your estate, I

may well grant you, but that he is unfit for your daughter, I am

privileged to say.’ At this, his severe look, before he spoke, began

to lay before me my obedience: and when he had walked two or three

turns in the room, ‘Daughter, daughter,’ said he, ‘I never thought you

were so wilful! Where, I pray you, is there a match fit for your

birth, if not Fluento? Beware, beware, you do not give your posterity

just cause to curse you, that denied them so great, so good a father.’

I answered that I thought it were too tender a respect of children,

whom perhaps I might not have, or should not enjoy, to choose for

them, and not a husband for myself, and too senseless a feeling of the

honour of my house, to wrong myself to do my birth right. Then

kneeling on my knees, {657} ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘solicit me no more, I have

not power to grant.’ He hastily, when it was scarce delivered,

snatched this word: ‘And why not power to grant?’ said he. ‘Because

Persidas is the anchor-hold of my life and love.’ ‘Persidas!’ cried

out my father, ‘Now all misfortune fall thick upon me, shall my means

help to make up a bankrupt in his estate? Accursed be my fate that

gave me life to hear it. Persidas! Why, sure it cannot be.’ ‘Sir,’

said I, ‘if my love were not far past, my desperate presumption would

not bring a truth, much less an untruth, to move your anger. And if

those after hopes have not clean compelled you to forget you are my

father, have pity on me? If so, I crave the trial of the law.’ This

last request (after conference with Fluento) finding my obstinacy, he

condescended to. But because, I perceive, Sir, you are a stranger

here, and that the knowledge of this law doth much concern the story

of my present mishap, I will make it known to you.

“This kingdom of Argos, wherein you are, was governed not long since

by Phenissa, a woman worthy to have come to that place by election if

nature had not bestowed it upon her by descent from her famous

ancestors. This queen (that you may see we want not the precedent of

greatness to excuse affection) in her father’s life-time, though by

him she was promised to Deoxippus, the tyrant of Syracusa, was

enamoured of one Eumenes, governor (for the Lacedaemonians) of the

island and city of Delphos. And when it well might be thought the

king’s death, and her succession, had taken away the restraint of her

will, yet she, growing less willing when she was most powerful, like a

horse that finding the reins hang loose upon him begins to stay his

fury; so she, though by this change she had not received any slackness

into her affection, began to tender the cause of her country that lay

open to the invasion of her proud enemy Deoxippus, if so she would

have made him. Preferring therefore now this common respect, before

her private satisfaction, as she had done her obedience in her

father’s life-time before her love, she buries herself in the grave of

Deoxippus’s loathsome bed.

“When the unexpected news of Phenissa’s marriage came to the ears of

her faithful lover Eumenes, his passion (as Agamemnon’s at the death

of Iphigenia) can best be expressed in silence, all the wild furies

that distracted grief could gather, being summoned to the siege of his

soon-overthrown heart: hastily thereupon to the temple his mad passion

bears him, where, casting himself at the feet of Apollo, ‘Unjust god!’

said he, ‘have I for this thy ungratefulness given up the offerings of

my daily prayers? But if I wrong thy name, show thy justice in

revenging my death.’ Whereat, transported with violence of sorrow,

running his head {658} against the altar, his bloody brains flew forth

of their battered lodging. Soon after, the contagion of a most

pestilent air brought such a plague among the Argians, that many daily

felt the fury of the gods revenging indignation: amongst whom, the

King and Queen (reserved, belike, the more to be punished in their

subjects’ calamity) after the desolation of their well-peopled

country, both in one day, by the same infection, ended their lives and

government; wherewith this mortality ceased, as hitting now at length

the mark it aimed at.

“The few remnant of the nobility sent to Delphos to know what fault of

theirs had brought these miseries upon their country? Where, being

informed of what was past, Apollo advised them to provide, that no

such mischief should after happen. They, well weighing whence it

arose, being fully satisfied by the oracle, enact this law: that

neither private nor public respect should detain a virgin from

revealing her love; and if her friends, or parents, think another than

she hath chosen more fit for her, the combat between the two shall

determine the god’s pleasure. How unwilling I was to hazard my

Persidas in this trial, love, that bleeds in the thought of a danger,

can best assure you: but his earnestness that it might be so, and the

hard constraint that it could not be otherwise, won me to it.

“The day therefore being appointed, Fluento (upon whom fame the

flatterer of greatness had pinned the opinion of valour) entered the

lists, mounted on a bay courser, whose armour all over represented a

green plain, through which ran little rivulets of blood that sprang

from the wounds of many centaurs dispersed over all the field. In his

shield he bore the counterfeit of Hercules and Deianira, with these

words, ‘Endeared by Conquest.’ From him my Persidas drew the eyes and

hearts of all the company; his horse was a fiery sorrel; his armour

like the azure sky, curiously spotted with many stars (whose glimpse

the well set diamonds, by reflection of the sun, represented) showed

as if night had flown thither to end, in that assembly, some

controversy between her and her brother. In his shield he caused

Andromeda and Perseus to be engraven, with these words, ‘Never too

dearly bought.’ ‘But I must hasten to the event,’ said she; ‘for long

I find you may not enjoy your historian: Know, therefore, that my

Persidas, contenting himself only with the victory, when he might have

taken (woe is me that he was so merciful!) Fluento’s life, was

accepted by my father for his son-in-law; good fortune, as I then

thought, changing my husband, and not my day of marriage. In the

meantime Fluento, repining at this disgrace, and desirous, even now

upon the basest terms to be revenged, plotted a treachery unheard-of

against him. This morning, having before heard we {659} were to hunt

in this forest, Fluento (with that company your valour hath brought to

their deserved ends) lay in wait for us; and when myself and my

Persidas (Count Brunio my father, and the rest, having followed the

chase) were left alone, behold these bloody villains, coming unawares

upon him, with many wounds, sent his soul to that place whither mine

(hoping to find a more lasting union in that life than our loves hath

done in this) doth also hasten.’ And with this word, her dull

languishing eyes began to roll as if they strove to reserve motion in

spite of death: yet, raising herself a little, her love found breath

to say this, ‘Let me be buried by my Persidas!’ and so grasping my

hand, as it were, to put me in mind of her last words, alas! she dies.

“But many tears I could not have bestowed as obsequies upon her, when

some of her father’s train, who by chance crossing that way where

Persidas lay dead, guided by Fidutio (who, with their helps, had now

taken my horse) came to this place; to whom when I had related all

what I learned from Leaucade of Persidas’s death, together with her

last will, we all joined hands in carrying her to the next village;

whither also certain of their fellows (whom they had left behind to

that end) conveyed the body of Persidas; from whence, soon after,

Count Brunio (having begged of grief a little respite of life to

fulfil his daughter’s testament) brought them both with all funeral

pomp to his chief city Coniga, where he caused a stately tomb to be

built for them, on which this epitaph was engraven,

Love, beauty, valour, when their death drew nigh,

Consulted long where they should buried lie:

At length, with one consent they hasten’d hither,

And chose this place to be intomb’d together.

“Leaving the woeful kingdom of Argos, no better accompanied than with

Fidutio, yet better guarded by Satibarsis’s armour, my sorrow, I

think, that bore infection with it, made all places where I came, fit

stages for tragedies: for, descending into a green valley, where, of

each side the rocky mountains threatened the humble earth with the

frowns of their downcast brows, I might see a young man leaning with

both hands on his sword, breathing as over-toiled with labour, and

round about him four or five cast prostrate at his feet, who were

dead, or thought their counterfeiting so to be, would prove their best

defence against this young man’s fury. But the clashing of my armour

had no sooner made known my approach, than he came running towards me,

uttering words whereby I might gather his quarrel to me brought the

excuse of mistake with it. Not to draw on therefore his misconceived

opinion, that his breathless companions did witness would be {660}

dangerous for me; ‘Sir,’ replied I, ‘I am so far from maintaining

their cause, whose revenge upon a lone man, being so many, mine own

eyes do persuade me was injurious, that had I come at the beginning of

your fight (though this event shows I should but have robbed you of

part of the honour of this action) I would have joined myself to you.’

“‘Alas! Sir,’ said he, ‘to oppose yourself against me (though it were

the more unjust) would be the more secure way, for what you see is but

a fore-runner of a certain destruction soon at hand. Leave me

therefore, courteous sir, and seek for safety: death to me is so

grateful that I envy you should be a partner in so great a gain. But

it were a fault unpardonable, to have abandoned the most accomplished

man that ever mine eyes before that time, beheld.’ My resolution

therefore, though hard against his will, must have prevailed with him:

so that entreating to know the cause of his former fight, and further

doubt, I found his courtesy as forward in the relation of his own

danger as it was obstinate in the care of my safety.

“‘Sir,’ said he, ‘seeing my story will be but a heap of misfortunes,

I shall do well to lay the foundation myself, than whom the sun looks

not upon a more miserable creature: My name is Cariclio, nephew, by

his brother Castor, to the King of Natolia, brought up in my youth in

the good opinion of my uncle, and the great expectation of many;

fortune, then belike, proroguing my miseries until a more serious age

should make me more sensible of them: which time had no sooner brought

on, but that my ill fate, to train me up for the burden of the

mischief that was prepared for me, began by little and little to make

me acquainted with the course I was to run; first taking away my

father, whose virtuous age deserved (if that may be thought a

recompense for desert) a longer time in this life: When he was dead,

and that the slippery steps of my rash youth wanted the stay of his

fatherly advice, presently (not knowing what one man’s hands I should

put the reins of my then unbridled youth into, and yet well seeing I

might not trust myself with mine own government) I chose many friends;

and being by nature given to hate pride, to eschew a vice so loathsome

(thinking it might not be done otherwise) I began to affect

popularity. But I had scarce lived thus a twelve-month, when my cousin

the King’s son, a young man, who (besides the hope of succession, for

which the courtiers did adore him) had nothing more than ordinary in

him, grew suspicious of my practices, as he termed them: to which

humour (besides the mistrust of his own little desert) his sycophants,

the bellows of this fire, did daily add further causes to increase his

jealousy. But seeing the discovery of his suspicion would little

please the king, {661} who ever since the death of my father had

doubled his care upon me; he was compelled to dissemble a good liking

towards me. In meantime a truce, made for some few years with the Duke

of Amasia, being expired, the war grew hot on both sides. At length,

after the trial of many changes in fortune, necessity meditating peace

between them, myself being given as a hostage for performance of

certain conditions of my uncle’s part, a perpetual league was

concluded on: ’Twas now, and not before, mischief began to unmask

herself, and take a pride to grow terrible. There was at court, during

my abode there, attending upon the Duchess, a lady, by name Alcida,

whose many excellencies won as many hearts as she had beholders,

nature making her beauty and shape but the most fair cabinet of a far

fairer mind. To her, mine eyes at first sight gave up my heart, with

so unfortunate an encounter in affection, that this surrender was but

a mutual exchange, she having, in a merciful gratefulness, fixed her

love on mine. But her parentage, though not base, was so mean in

respect of my birth, that thence whole armies of afflictions did

invade my mind, equally distracted between my desire to enjoy this my

best of happiness and fear of my uncle’s displeasure, on whom this

match (for his care and love of me) I was sure would draw on an

untimely death. But before I could determine a doubt of so great

consequence, the conditions of the league being faithfully performed,

I was safely, at a day prefixed, sent back to Natolia, desirous, even

in my soul desirous, I am sure, rather by their breach of covenant to

have hazarded my life, than thus cruelly to be taken away from her

presence, who, far beyond my life, was most dear to me. Soon after my

return, the King, as if the gods had stayed him to see the quiet of

his state, now that was brought to pass, worn with age, and much

broken with travel and care in his last wars, left his kingdom to his

degenerate son and successor, who had no sooner seized upon the

government, but, meaning to begin his reign with an admirable act of

policy, now his power was unrestrained, limits me to the absence from

my country, declaring my blood for ever incapable of succession: and

not content with this, to such a height his undeserved malice to me

was raised, that he dealt with some bad ministers of his wickedness,

secretly to make me away. To prevent therefore what was plotted

against me, disguising myself, I hastily fled away, and making use of

necessity, to further my affection, I put myself into the service of a

nobleman here in the court of Amasia, easily remaining undiscovered,

among them who would sooner fall out with their eyes than believe that

the greatness wherein they lately had seen me, could admit so great a

change: by mean whereof, I enjoyed the presence of my Alcida, whose

constancy, neither time, nor absence (the mothers of {662} affection)

nor what is more, this my change in fortune, could alter.

“‘Thus, while I lived in this happiness of servitude, Mermidon

(brother to the Duke) having commanded, with fortunate success,

against the Dacians, returned to court, where seeing this lady, he

became enamoured of her, to no other end than to satisfy his lust: and

thinking, at first (because he was in good esteem with himself) she

would have strained her modesty to sue for the acceptance of a present

so grateful to him, a while he was silent; but when he perceived the

vanity of his fruitless expectation, and found that this delay

increased the fury of his passion, dispensing with the majesty he had

taken on, he began to make known his love to her (for such a title did

he give to so base a desire) forgetting not withal to tell her that to

excuse her modesty he had first spoken her wishes. But the virtuous

Alcida, loathing as much the thought of such a sin, as she loved the

memory of me, together with a resolute denial, let him know how base

his mind was that made so injurious a request. Whereat Mermidon,

because this answer came unexpected, was so much the more amazed. But

bringing arguments from his late practice in the war, he began to

think his honour would be the greater, if, after long resistance, he

did surprise a well-defended fort: and therefore daily, both by rich

gifts, the base enamel of affection, and many promises (which, to win

the more upon her, were sent by one of her own sex, who, if example

might move her, could tell of such a precedent in herself) did he seek

to undermine her resolution. Meantime, my constant Alcida, seeing the

intemperance of Mermidon’s lust to bring threats of force with it, not

daring to speak with me, because our conference began to be suspected,

sent me a letter to hasten her carrying away, appointing this the

fatal place of our meeting.

“‘I much rejoiced to be so near my happiness, the rather that since

our last conference, I received intelligence that my young cousin of

Natolia being made away by one whom he had raised to an undeserved

height in his favour, the country was in great distress by the

factious ambition of the nobility, and that the best affected to the

state, much desired my presence. But these means, how well soever, as

I thought, conducing to my happiness, by the unmercifulness of my hard

destiny were prevented, as one of those, whom it was my fortune to

kill, at his death revealed: for Mermidon having intercepted the

messenger, mad with rage to find his hopes crossed by so mean a man as

he took me to be, having again sealed up the letter, he caused it to

be delivered, and determining to be revenged, sent these men to

apprehend me, himself intending to follow presently, leading with him

my dearest Alcida, whom, in my presence (to add a glory to the

execrableness of the offence) {663} he means to ravish. And now, Sir,

you have heard,’ said he, ‘of my birth and fortune, till this time

(when, I am well assured, my end is near at hand) kept secret.’

“He scarce had closed up this lamentable story with a hearty sigh, the

compendious abridgment of his sufferings, when we might discern

Mermidon, with twenty more (so distrustful is treachery though there

be no cause to fear) make towards us: but that sight, together with

the thought of Alcida’s distress, was a signal sufficient for Cariclio

to begin his unequal encounter, so as, like a she-tiger, who, at her

return to her cave, finds her little ones to be stolen, with a wild

fury, breathing nothing but destruction, he runs amongst them, making

way for my willingness to second his attempt. Awhile, the justice of

the cause, and Cariclio’s valour (to which the glory is only due) with

the death of many, did hold the victory in an equal balance: At

length, the multitude of our assailants made injury the stronger,

bringing to a death much to be pitied, so incomparable a man at arms

as was Cariclio; yet, not before he had, in the sight of Alcida, sent

Mermidon to be his harbinger at Charon’s ferry. And when by his death

the only stay and support of the fight was removed, if sometimes my

desire of revenge made good the ground Cariclio had bequeathed me;

alas! how could I long resist without him? Know therefore, excellent

lady, that, here I was made prisoner, and, together with Alcida,

carried back to court; though I call Cariclio’s ghost to witness, I

sought all means to join myself, even in death, a companion to his

virtues. The solemnity intended for our execution, and the preparation

of new forms of torment for us that had been parties in the murder of

the Duke’s brother, won some lingering days of life to the inward

torture of our expectation: In meantime the everlasting providence,

that by changing the intentions and dooms of men, will let them know

there is a power beyond theirs, sent an unexpected mean to help our

distress.

“Plangus, the famous Prince of Iberia, at this time making haste with

a few, such as virtue had joined partners in his cause, and taking

into his army such of Euarchus’s soldiers, as in a tempest at sea were

driven to Byzantium, to the succour of Erona (whose story you cannot

be ignorant of) and being to pass through Amasia, sent to the Duke to

demand a thorough-fare for his soldiers. But he, who of long time had

observed an inviolable league with the Armenians, knowing the pretence

of this war, and despising the weakness of those few Plangus led with

him, not only denied his request, but, gathering a great power of

soldiers (whom since his last wars he had kept in garrison in his

frontier towns) meant, with the overthrow of her ungrateful nephew, to

gratify Artaxia, and her ill-chosen husband Plexirtus. But the

excellent Plangus (than {664} whom this age shows not, for conduct in

war, a better general) with the well-ordering those few resolute

troops, and skilful industry in choice of advantages, in two set

battles put him to the worst; after which, the Duke not able to

reinforce his weakened power, put himself, with the relics of his late

overthrow, into his chief city, wherein we were prisoners; to which

Plangus, finding no other resistance, with wonderful celerity followed

him: and though the town by nature and art, for site and fortification

were thought impregnable, yet being defended but by such, who, by

their own loss, held a too superstitious opinion of the enemies, it

was soon forced by Plangus’s victorious troops, who believed the

success of nothing impossible to which their ever-fortunate captain

would lead them. With the sack of this city (wherein he took the Duke,

with his son, prisoners) Plangus having enriched his soldiers with the

booty, and his own fame by the speediness of the conquest, not able to

assure the country to his devotion, otherwise than by dismembering his

army, and delaying his chief ends, moved with a necessary clemency,

having first received six months’ pay for his soldiers, and the Duke’s

son a hostage, to bar his desire of revenge (making Alcida and myself,

to secure our freedoms, companions in his travel) he leaves the

Amasians to their former government.

“Many days’ journey we had not been in our way to Armenia, when the

good Alcida, by the inward working of her thoughts, began to find the

burden of her grief too heavy for her, which when the dullness of her

ever-watery eyes, and the paleness of her cheeks had betrayed to us,

we carried her to a monastery near adjoining, dedicated to Diana, and

much famed for the strictness of virgins’ orders that be attendants on

the goddess her ceremonies, where having recommended her to the

governess of the house, alas! I left her, bound, even by the greatest

tie of gratefulness, to follow him whom I owe my life to.

“These former accidents, most dear lady, together with the excellent

Plangus’s company, in whom sorrow was drawn to the life, made me

reflect upon my ungrateful self, and consider how cruel I had been to

you, whose desert passed my best endeavours of requital; so that (far

engaged to the memory of your virtues) thenceforth the thought of my

most dear Helen, won my heart to a most passionate affection.”

The Queen at this interrupted his speech, with this answer: “My

Amphialus, they who follow examples in their actions are to match

rightly what they are to do, and what they see done. Leaucade, Alcida,

and Erona might justly claim the reward of love, but Helen (whose

desert was far short) could expect but disdain.” “Disdain!” said

Amphialus, “you renew a punishment your mercy did once forgive.” And

here, with tears in his eyes, {665} he would have kneeled to beg a

further pardon; but Helen, kissing away the burden his eyes went with,

made as much haste to prevent his suit with the like of her own; so

that a friendly composition being made (as it well might be where both

were parties, and both judges in one cause) the Queen got the

continuance of the story (which Amphialus would put off to another

time) to boot; and then, willing to discharge himself of the debt he

owed for so good a bargain, he thus began.