The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia

by Philip Sidney

But Anaxius came home, having safely conducted Helen; and safely he might well do it; for though many of Basilius’s knights would have attempted something upon Anaxius, by that means to deliver the ladies, yet Philanax having received his master’s commandment, and knowing his word was given, would not consent unto it. And the black knight, who by then was able to carry abroad his wounds, did not know thereof; but was bringing force, by force to deliver his lady. So as Anaxius, interpreting it rather fear than faith, and making even chance an argument of his virtue, returned: and as soon as he was returned, with a felon heart calling his brothers up with him, he went into the chamber, where they were all three together, with full intention to kill the sisters with his own hands, and send their heads for tokens to their father, though his brothers, who were otherwise inclined, dissuaded him; but his reverence stayed their persuasions. But when he was come into the chamber, with the very words of choleric threatening climbing up his throat, his eyes first lighted upon Pamela; who hearing he was coming, and looking for death, thought she would keep her own majesty in welcoming it; but the beams thereof so struck his eyes, with such a counterbuff upon his pride, that if his anger could not so quickly love, nor his pride so easily honour, yet both were forced to find a worthiness.

Which while it bred a pause in him, Zelmane, who had already in her mind both what and how to say, stepped out unto him, and with a resolute steadiness, void either of anger, kindness, disdain, or humbleness, spoke in this sort. “Anaxius,” said she, “if fame hath not been over-partial to thee, thou art a man of exceeding valour. Therefore I do call thee even before that virtue, and will make it the judge between us. And now I do affirm, that to the eternal blot of all the fair acts that thou hast done, thou dost weakly, in seeking without danger to revenge his death, whose life with danger thou mightest perhaps have preserved: thou dost cowardly in going about by the death of these excellent ladies, to prevent the just punishment that hereafter they by the powers, which they better than their father, or any other could make, might lay upon thee, and dost most basely, in once presenting thyself as an executioner, a vile office upon men, and in a just cause; beyond the degree of any vile word, in so unjust a cause, and upon ladies, and such ladies. And therefore, as a hangman, I say, thou art unworthy to be counted a knight, or to be admitted into the company of knights. Neither for what I say, will I allege other reasons of wisdom, or justice, to prove my speech, because I know thou dost disdain to be tied to their rules, but even in thine own virtue, whereof thou so much gloriest, I will make my trial: and therefore defy thee, by the death of one of us two, to prove or disprove these reproaches. Choose thee what arms thou likest: I only demand that these ladies, whom I defend, may in liberty see the combat.”

When Zelmane began her speech, the excellency of her beauty and grace made him a little content to hear. Besides that, a new lesson he had read in Pamela, had already taught him some regard. But when she entered into a bravery of speech, he thought at first, a mad and railing humour possessed her; till finding the speeches hold well together, and at length come to a flat challenge of combat, he stood leaning back with his body and head, sometimes with bent brows looking upon the one side of her, sometimes of the other, beyond marvel marvelling, that he, who had never heard such speeches from any knight, should be thus rebuffed by a woman, and that marvel made him hear out her speech: which ended, he turned his head to his brother Zoilus, and said nothing, but only lifting up his eyes, smiled. But Zelmane finding his mind, “Anaxius,” said she, “perchance thou disdainest to answer me, because, as a woman, thou thinkest me not fit to be fought withal. But I tell thee that I have been trained up in martial matters, with so good success, that I have many times overcome braver knights than thyself: and am well known to be equal in feats of arms to the famous Pyrocles, who slew thy valiant uncle, the giant Euardes.” The remembrance of his uncle’s death something nettled him, so as he answered thus.

“Indeed,” said he, “any woman may be as valiant as that coward and traitorly boy, who slew my uncle traitorously, and after ran from me in the plain field. Five thousand such could not have overcome Euardes, but by falsehood. But I sought him all over Asia, following him still from one of his coney-holes to another, till coming into this country, I heard of my friend being besieged, and so came to blow away the wretches that troubled him. But wheresoever the miserable boy fly, heaven, nor hell shall keep his heart from being torn by these hands.” “Thou liest in thy throat,” said Zelmane, “that boy, wherever he went, did so noble acts, as thy heart, as proud as it is, dares not think of, much less perform. But to please thee the better with my presence, I tell thee, no creature can be nearer of kin to him than myself: and so well we love, that he would not be sorrier for his own death than for mine: I being begotten by his father, of an Amazon lady. And therefore, thou canst not devise to revenge thyself more upon him, than by killing me: which if thou darest do, manfully do it, otherwise, if thou harm these incomparable ladies, or myself without daring to fight with me, I protest before these knights, and before heaven and earth, that will reveal thy shame, that thou art the beggarliest dastardly villain that dishonoureth the earth with his steps: and if thou lettest me over-live them, so will I blaze thee.” But all this could not move Anaxius, but that he only said, “Evil should it become the terror of the world to fight, much worse to scold with thee.”

“But,” said he, “for the death of these same,” pointing to the princesses, “of my grace I give them life.” And withal going to Pamela, and offering to take her by the chin, “And as for you, minion,” said he, “yield but gently to my will, and you shall not only live, but live so happily:” he would have said further, when Pamela, displeased both with words, matter and manner, putting him away with her fair hand; “proud beast,” said she, “yet thou playest worse thy comedy, than thy tragedy. For my part, assure thyself, since my destiny is such, that each moment my life and death stand in equal balance, I had rather have thee, and think thee far fitter to be my hangman, than my husband.” Pride and anger would fain have cruelly revenged so bitter an answer, but already Cupid had begun to make it his sport to pull his plumes: so that unused to a way of courtesy, and put out of his bias of pride, he hastily went away, grumbling to himself: between threatening and wishing; leaving his brothers with them: the elder of whom Lycurgus, liked Philoclea, and Zoilus would needs love Zelmane, or at least entertain themselves with making them believe so. Lycurgus more bragged, and near his brother’s humour, began, with setting forth their blood, their deeds, how many they had despised of most excellent women; how much they were bound to them, that would seek that of them. In sum, in all his speeches, more like the bestower than the desirer of felicity. Whom it was an excellent pastime, to those that would delight in the play of virtue, to see with what a witty ignorance she would not understand: and how acknowledging his perfections, she would make that one of his perfections, not to be injurious to ladies. But when he knew not how to reply, then would he fall to touching and toying, still viewing his graces in no glass but self-liking. To which Philoclea’s shamefacedness and humbleness were as strong resisters as choler and disdain: for though she yielded not, he thought she was to be overcome: and that thought a while stayed him from further violence. But Zelmane had eye to his behaviour, and set it in her memory upon the score of revenge, while she herself was no less attempted by Zoilus; who less fond of brags was forwardest in offering, indeed, dishonourable violence.

But when after their fruitless labours they had gone away, called by their brother, who began to be perplexed between new conceived desires, and disdain to be disdained, Zelmane, who with most assured quietness of judgment looked into their present estate, earnestly persuaded the two sisters, that to avoid the mischiefs of proud outrage, they would only so far suit their behaviour to their estates, as they might win time, which, as it could not bring them to worse case than they were, so it might bring forth unexpected relief. “And why,” said Pamela, “shall we any longer flatter adversity? why should we delight to make ourselves any longer balls to injurious fortune, since our own parents are content to be tyrants over us, since our own kin are content traitorously to abuse us? certainly in mishap it may be some comfort to us that we are lighted in these fellows’ hands, who yet will keep us from having cause of being miserable by our friend’s means. Nothing grieves me more than that you, noble lady Zelmane, to whom the world might have made us able to do honour, should receive only hurt by the contagion of our misery. As for me and my sister, undoubtedly it becomes our birth to think of dying nobly, while we have done or suffered nothing which might make our soul ashamed at the parture from these bodies. Hope is the fawning traitor of the mind, while under colour of friendship it robs it of his chief force of resolution.” “Virtuous and fair lady,” said Zelmane, “What you say is true, and that truth may well make up a part in the harmony of your noble thoughts. But yet the time, which ought always to be one, is not tuned for it, while that may bring forth any good, do not bar yourself thereof: for then will be the time to die nobly, when you cannot live nobly.” Then so earnestly she persuaded with them both, to refer themselves to their father’s consent, in obtaining whereof they knew some while would be spent, and by that means to temper the minds of their proud wooers; that in the end Pamela yielded to her, because she spoke reason, and Philoclea yielded to her reason, because she spoke it.

And so when they were again solicited in that little pleasing petition, Pamela forced herself to make answer to Anaxius, that if her father gave his consent she would make herself believe, that such was the heavenly determination, since she had no means to avoid it. Anaxius who was the most frank promiser to himself of success, nothing doubted of Basilius’s consent, but rather assured himself, he would be his orator in that matter; and therefore he chose out an officious servant, whom he esteemed very wise, because he never found him but just of his opinion, and willed him to be his ambassador to Basilius, and to make him know, that if he meant to have his daughters both safe and happy, and desired himself to have such a son-in-law, as would not only protect him in his quiet course, but, if he listed to accept it, would give him the monarchy of the world, that then he should receive Anaxius, who never before knew what it was to pray anything. That if he did not, he would make him know that the power of Anaxius was in everything beyond his will, and yet his will not to be resisted by any other power. His servant, with smiling and cast-up look, desired God to make his memory able to contain the treasure of that wise speech: and therefore besought him to repeat it again, that by the oftener hearing it his mind might be the better acquainted with the divineness thereof; and that being graciously granted he then doubted not by carrying with him in his conceit the grace wherewith Anaxius spoke it, to persuade rocky minds to their own harm; so little doubted he to win Basilius to that, which he thought would make him think the heavens opened when he heard but the proffer thereof. Anaxius gravely allowed the probability of his conjecture; and therefore sent him away, promising him he should have the bringing up of his second son by Pamela.

The messenger with speed performed his lord’s commandment to Basilius; who by nature quiet, and by superstition made doubtful, was loth to take any matter of arms in hand, wherein already he had found so slow success; though Philanax vehemently urged him thereunto, making him see that his retiring back did encourage injuries. But Basilius, betwixt the fear of Anaxius’s might, the passion of his love, and jealousy of his estate, was so perplexed, that not able to determine, he took the common course of men, to fly only then to devotion, when they want resolution: therefore detaining the messenger with delays, he deferred the directing of his course to the counsel of Apollo, which because himself at that time could not go well to require, he entrusted the matter to his best trusted Philanax; who, as one in whom obedience was a sufficient reason unto him, went with diligence to Delphos, where being entered into the secret place of the temple, and having performed the sacrifices usual, the spirit that possessed the prophesying woman, with a sacred fury attended not his demand, but as if it would argue him of incredulity, told him, not in dark wonted speeches, but plainly to be understood, what he came for, and that he should return to Basilius, and will him to deny his daughters to Anaxius and his brothers; for that they were reserved for such as were better beloved of the Gods, that he should not doubt, for they should return unto him safely and speedily; and that he should keep on his solitary course till both Philanax and Basilius fully agreed in the understanding of the former prophecy: withal commanding Philanax from thence forward to give tribute, but not oblation to human wisdom.

Philanax then finding that reason cannot show itself more reasonable than to leave reasoning in things above reason, returns to his lord, and like one that preferred truth before the maintaining of an opinion, hid nothing from him, nor from thenceforth durst any more dissuade him from that which he found by the celestial providence directed; but he himself looking to repair the government, as much as in so broken an estate by civil dissention he might, and fortifying with notable art both the lodges, so that they were almost made unapproachable, he left Basilius to bemoan the absence of his daughters, and to bewail the imprisonment of Zelmane: yet wholly given holily to obey the oracle, he gave a resolute negative unto the messenger of Anaxius, who all this while had waited for it; yet in good terms desiring him to show himself in respect of his birth and profession, so princely a knight, as without forcing him to seek the way of force, to deliver in noble sort these ladies unto him, and so should the injury have been by Amphialus, and the benefit in him.

The messenger went back with this answer, yet having ever used to sugar anything which his master was to receive, he told him, that when Basilius first understood his desires, it did over-reach so far all his most hopeful expectations that he thought it were too great a boldness to hearken to such a man, in whom the heavens had such interest, without asking the God’s counsel; and therefore had sent his principal counsellor to Delphos, who although he kept the matter ever so secret, yet his diligence inspired by Anaxius’s privilege over all worldly things, had found out the secret, which was, that he should not presume to marry his daughter to one who already was enrolled among the demi-gods, and yet much less he should dare the attempting to take them out of his hands.