“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.
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 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 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 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, ‘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 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 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.