Chapter XXXVIII: Book V: {577} (2)

In the meantime, Pyrocles and Musidorus were recommended to so strong a guard that they might well see it was meant they should pay no less price than their lives for the getting out of that place, which they like men indeed, fortifying courage with {593} the true rampire of patience, did so endure that they did rather appear governors of necessity, than servants to fortune. The whole sum of their thoughts resting upon the safety of their ladies, and their care one for the other: wherein, if at all, their hearts did seem to receive some softness. For sometimes Musidorus would feel such a motion to his friend, and his unworthy case, that he would fall into such kind of speeches. “My Pyrocles,” would he say, “how unhappy may I think Thessalia, that hath been as it were the middle way to this evil estate of yours? For if you had not been there brought up, the sea should not have had this power thus to sever you from your dear father. I have therefore, if complaints do at any time become a man’s heart, most cause to complain, since my country, which received the honour of Pyrocles’s education, should be a step to his overthrow, if human chances can be counted an overthrow to him that stands upon virtue.” “Oh excellent Musidorus,” answered Pyrocles, “how do you teach me rather to fall out with myself, and my fortune, since by you I have received all good, you only by me this affliction? To you and your virtuous mother, I in my tenderest years, and father’s greatest troubles, was sent for succour. There did I learn the sweet mysteries of philosophy; there had I your lively example to confirm that which I learned; there, lastly, had I your friendship, which no unhappiness can ever make you say, but that hath made me happy. Now see how my destiny, the gods know, not my will, hath rewarded you: my father sends for you out of your land, whence but for me you had not come: what after followed, you know. It was my love, not yours, which first stayed you here; and therefore if the heavens ever held a just proportion, it were I, and not you, that should feel the smart.” “O blame not the heavens, sweet Pyrocles,” said Musidorus, “as their course never alters, so is there nothing done by the unreachable ruler of them, but hath an everlasting reason for it. And to say the truth of these things, we should deal ungratefully with nature, if we should be forgetful receivers of her gift, and diligent auditors of the chances we like not. We have lived, and have lived to be good to ourselves and others: our souls, which are put into the stirring earth of our bodies, have achieved the causes of their thither coming: they have known and honoured with knowledge the cause of their creation, and to many men, for in this time, place and fortune, it is lawful for us to speak gloriously, it hath been behoveful that we should live. Since then eternity is not to be had in this conjunction, what is to be lost by the separation, but time? which since it hath his end, when that is once come, all that is past is nothing: and by the protracting nothing gotten, but labour and care. Do {594} not me, therefore, that wrong, who something in years, but much in all other deserts, am fitter to die than you, as to say you have brought me to any evil: since the love of you doth over-balance all bodily mischiefs, and those mischiefs be but mischiefs to the baser minds, too much delighted with the kennel of this life. Neither will I any more yield to my passion of lamenting you, which howsoever it might agree to my exceeding friendship, surely it would nothing to your exceeding virtue.” “Add this to your noble speech my dear cousin,” said Pyrocles, “that if we complain of this our fortune, or seem to ourselves faulty, in having one hurt the other, we show a repentance of the love we bear to these matchless creatures, or at least a doubt, it should be over dearly bought, which for my part, and so dear I answer for you, I call all the gods to witness, I am so far from, that no shame, no torment, no death, would make me forego the least part of the inward honour, essential pleasure, and living life, I have enjoyed in the presence of the faultless Philoclea.” “Take the pre-eminence in all things but in true loving,” answered Musidorus, “for the confession of that no death shall get of me.” “Of that,” answered Pyrocles, soberly smiling, “I perceive we shall have a debate in the other world, if at least there remain anything of remembrance in that place.” “I do not think the contrary,” said Musidorus, “although you know it is greatly held that with the death of body and senses, which are not only the beginning, but dwelling and nourishing of passions, thoughts and imaginations, they failing, memory likewise fails, which riseth only out of them, and then is there left nothing but the intellectual part or intelligence, which void of all moral virtues which stand in the mean of perturbations, doth only live in the contemplative virtue, and power of the omnipotent good, the soul of souls, and universal life of this great work, and therefore is utterly void from the possibility of drawing to itself these sensible considerations.” “Certainly,” answered Pyrocles, “I easily yield that we should not know one another, and much less these past things, with a sensible or passionate knowledge. For the cause being taken away, the effects follow. Neither do I think we shall have such a memory as now we have, which is but a relic of the senses, or rather a print the senses have left of things past in our thoughts, but it shall be a vital power of that very intelligence: which as vile as it was here, it held the chief seat of our life, and was as it were the last resort to which of all our knowledges the highest appeal came, and so by that means was never ignorant of our actions, though many times rebelliously resisted, always with this prison darkened; so much more being free of that prison, and returning to the life of all things, where all infinite knowledge is, {595} it cannot but be a right intelligence which is both his name and being, of things both present and past, though void of imagining to itself anything; but even grown like to his creator hath all things, with a spiritual knowledge before it. The difference of which is as hard for us to conceive as it was for us when we were in our mother’s wombs to comprehend, if anybody would have told us, what kind of light we now in this life see, what kind of knowledge we now have: yet now we do not only feel our present being, but we conceive what we were before we were born, though remembrance make us not do it, but knowledge, and though we are utterly without any remorse of any misery we might then suffer. Even such, and much more odds, shall there be at that second delivery of ours, when void of sensible memory, or memorative passion, we shall not see the colours, but lives of all things that have been or can be, and shall, as I hope, know our friendship, though exempt from the earthly cares of friendship, having both united it, and ourselves in that high and heavenly love of the unquenchable light.” As he had ended his speech, Musidorus looking with a heavenly joy upon him, sang this song unto him he had made before love turned his muse to another subject.

Since nature’s works be good, and death doth serve
As nature’s work: why should we fear to die?
Since fear is vain, but when it may preserve:
Why should we fear that which we cannot fly?

Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears,
Disarming human minds of native might:
While each conceit an ugly figure bears,
Which were not evil well view’d in reason’s light.

Our owly eyes, which dimm’d with passions be,
And scarce discern the dawn of coming day,
Let them be clear’d, and now begin to see,
Our life is but a step in dusty way.
Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind,
Since this we feel, great loss we cannot find.

Thus did they, like quiet swans, sing their own obsequies, and virtuously enable their minds against all extremities which they did think would fall upon them, especially resolving that the first care they would have, should be by taking the fault upon themselves, to clear the two ladies, of whose case, as of nothing else that happened, they had not any knowledge. Although their friendly host, the honest gentleman Kalander, seeking all means how to help them, had endeavoured to speak with them, and to make {596} them know who should be their judge. But the curious servant of Philanax forbade him the entry upon pain of death. For so it was agreed upon, that no man should have any conference with them, for fear of new tumults. Insomuch that Kalander was constrained to retire himself, having yet obtained thus much, that he would deliver unto the two princes their apparel and jewels, which being left with him at Mantinea, wisely considering that their disguised weeds, which were all as then they had, would make them more odious in the sight of the judges, he had that night sent for, and now brought unto them. They accepted their own with great thankfulness, knowing from whence it came, and attired themselves in it against the next day, which being indeed rich and princely, they accordingly determined to maintain the names of Palladius and Daiphantus, as before it is mentioned. Then gave they themselves to consider, in what sort they might defend their causes; for they thought it no less vain to wish death, than cowardly to fear it, till something before morning, a small slumber taking them, they were by and by after called up to come to the answer, of no less than their lives imported. But in this sort was the judgment ordered. As soon as the morning had took a full possession of the element, Euarchus called unto him Philanax, and willed him to draw out into the midst of the green, before the chief lodge, the throne of judgment seat, in which Basilius was wont to sit, and according to their customs, was ever carried with the prince. For Euarchus did wisely consider the people to be naturally taken with exterior shows, far more than with inward consideration of the material points. And therefore in this new entry into so entangled a matter, he would leave nothing which might be either an armour or an ornament unto him, and in these pompous ceremonies he well knew a secret of government much to consist. That was performed by the diligent Philanax, and therein Euarchus did set himself all clothed in black, with the principal men who could in that suddenness provide themselves of such mourning raiments; the whole people commanded to keep an orderly silence of each side, which was duly observed of them, partly for the desire they had to see a good conclusion of these matters, and partly stricken with admiration, as well at the grave and princely presence of Euarchus, as at the greatness of the cause which was then to come in question. As for Philanax, Euarchus would have done him the honour to sit by him, but he excused himself, desiring to be the accuser of the prisoners in his master’s behalf; and therefore since he made himself a party, it was not convenient for him to sit in the judicial place.

Then was it a while deliberated, whether the two young ladies should be brought forth in open presence: but that was stopped {597} by Philanax, whose love and faith did descend from his master to his children, and only desired the smart should light upon the others, whom he thought guilty of his death and dishonour, alleging for this, that neither wisdom would they should be brought in presence of the people, which might hereupon grow to new uproars, nor justice required they should be drawn to any shame till somebody accused them. And as for Pamela, he protested the laws of Arcadia would not allow any judgment of her, although she herself were to determine nothing till age or marriage enabled her. Then the king’s body being laid upon a table, just before Euarchus, and all covered over with black, the prisoners, namely, the queen and two young princes, were sent for to appear in the protector’s name: which name was the cause they came not to knowledge, how near a kinsman was to judge of them, but thought him to be some nobleman, chosen by the country in this extremity. So extraordinary a course had the order of the heavens produced at this time, that both nephew and son were not only prisoners, but unknown to their uncle and father, who of many years had not seen them. And Pyrocles was to plead for his life before that throne, in which throne lately before he had saved the king’s life.

But first was Gynecia led forth in the same weeds that the day and night before she had worn, saving that instead of Zelmane’s garment in which she was found, she had cast on a long cloak which reached to the ground, of russet coarse cloth, with a poor felt hat which almost covered all her face, most part of her goodly hair, on which her hands had laid many a spiteful hold, so lying upon her shoulders, as a man might well see had no artificial carelessness. Her eyes down on the ground, of purpose not to look on Pyrocles’s face, which she did not so much shun, for the unkindness she conceived of her own overthrow as for the fear those motions in this short time of her life should be revived, which she had with the passage of infinite sorrows mortified. Great was the compassion the people felt to see their princess’s state and beauty so deformed by fortune and her own desert, whom they had ever found a lady most worthy of all honour.

But by and by the sight of the other two prisoners drew most of the eyes to that spectacle. Pyrocles came out led by Sympathus, clothed, after the Greek manner, in a long coat of white velvet reaching to the small of his leg, with great buttons of diamonds all along upon it; his neck without any collar, not so much as hidden with a ruff, did pass the whiteness of his garments, which was not much in fashion unlike to the crimson raiment our Knights of the Order[b5-01] first put on. On his feet he had nothing {598} but slippers, which, after the ancient manner, were tied up with certain laces, which were fastened under his knee, having wrapped about, with many pretty knots, his naked legs. His fair auburn hair, which he wore in great length, and gave at that time a delightful show, with being stirred up and down with the breath of a gentle wind, had nothing upon it, but a white ribbon, in those days used for a diadem. Which rolled once or twice about the uppermost part of his forehead, fell down upon his back, closed up at each end with the richest pearls were to be seen in the world. After him followed another nobleman, guiding the noble Musidorus, who had upon him a long cloak, after the fashion of that which we call the apostle’s mantle, made of purple satin; not that purple which we now have, and is but a counterfeit of the Getalian purple, which yet was far the meaner in price and estimation, but of the right Tyrian purple, which was nearest to a colour betwixt our murrey and scarlet. On his head, which was black and curled, he wore a Persian tiara, all set down with rows of so rich rubies, that they were enough to speak for him that they had to judge of no mean personage.

In this sort, with erected countenances, did these unfortunate princes suffer themselves to be led, showing aright, by the comparison of them and Gynecia, how to divers persons compassion is diversly to be stirred. For as to Gynecia, a lady known of great estate, and greatly esteemed, the more miserable representation was made of her sudden ruin, the more men’s hearts were forced to bewail such an evident witness of weak humanity: so to these men, not regarded because unknown, but rather, besides the detestation of their fact, hated as strangers, the more they should have fallen down in an abject semblance, the more, instead of compassion, they should have got contempt: but therefore were to use, as I may term it, the more violence of magnanimity, and so to conquer the expectation of the lookers with an extraordinary virtue. And such effect indeed it wrought in the whole assembly, their eyes yet standing as it were in balance to whether of them they should most direct their sight. Musidorus was in stature so much higher than Pyrocles as commonly is gotten by one year’s growth. His face, now beginning to have some tokens of a beard, was composed to a kind of manlike beauty. His colour was of a well-pleasing brownness, and the features of it such as they carried both delight and majesty: his countenance severe, and promising a mind much given to thinking. Pyrocles of a pure complexion, and of such a cheerful favour as might seem either a woman’s face in a boy, or an excellent boy’s face in a woman. His look gentle and bashful, which bred the more admiration, having showed such notable {599} proofs of courage. Lastly, though both had both, if there were any odds, Musidorus was the more goodly, and Pyrocles the more lovely. But as soon as Musidorus saw himself so far forth led among the people, that he knew to a great number of them his voice should be heard, misdoubting their intention to the Princess Pamela, of whom he was more careful than of his own life, even as he went, though his leader sought to interrupt him, he thus with a loud voice spoke unto them.

“And is it possible, O Arcadians,” said he, “that you can forget the natural duty you owe to your Princess Pamela? Hath this soil been so little beholden to her noble ancestors? Hath so long a time rooted no surer love in your hearts to that line? Where is that faith to your prince’s blood which hath not only preserved you from all dangers heretofore, but hath spread your fame to all the nations of the world? Where is that justice the Arcadians were wont to flourish in, whose nature is to render to everyone his own? Will you now keep the right from your prince, who is the only giver of judgment, the key of justice, and life of your laws? Do you hope in a few years to set up another race, which nothing but length of time can establish? Will you reward Basilius’s children with ungratefulness, the very poison of manhood? Will you betray your long settled reputation with the foul name of traitors? Is this your mourning for your king’s death, to increase his loss with his daughter’s misery? Imagine your prince doth look out of the heavens unto you, what do you think he could wish more at your hands than that you do well by his children? and what more honour I pray you can you do to his obsequies than to satisfy his soul with a loving memory, as you do his body with an unfelt solemnity? What have you done with the Princess Pamela? Pamela, the just inheritrix of this country, Pamela, whom this earth may be happy that it shall be hereafter said, she was born in Arcadia; Pamela, in herself your ornament, in her education your foster child, and every way your only princess, what account can you render to yourselves of her? truly I do not think that you all know what is become of her: so soon may a diamond be lost: so soon may the fairest light in the world be put out. But look, look unto it, O Arcadians, be not so wilfully robbed of your greatest treasure, make not yourselves ministers to private ambitions, who do but use yourselves to put on your own yokes. Whatsoever you determine of us, who I must confess are but strangers, yet let not Basilius’s daughters be strangers unto you. Lastly, howsoever you bar her from her public sovereignty, which if you do, little may we hope of equity where rebellion reigns, yet deny not that child’s right unto her, that she may come and do the last duties to her father’s body. Deny not that happiness, if in such a case there be {600} any happiness, to your late king, that his body may have his last touch of his dearest child.”

With such like broken manner of questions and speeches, was Musidorus desirous, as much as in passing by them he could, to move the people to tender Pamela’s fortune. But at length, by that they came to the judgment-place, both Sympathus and his guider had greatly satisfied him, with the assurance they gave him, this assembly of people had neither meaning nor power to do any hurt to the princess, whom they all acknowledged as their sovereign lady. But that the custom of Arcadia was such, till she had more years, the state of the country to be guided by a protector, under whom, he and his fellow were to receive their judgment. That eased Musidorus’s heart of his most vehement care, when he found his beloved lady to be out of danger. But Pyrocles as soon as the queen of the one side, he and Musidorus of the other, were stayed before the face of their judge, having only for their bar the table whereon the king’s body lay, being nothing less vexed with the doubt of Philoclea, than Musidorus was for Pamela, in this sort with a lowly behaviour, and only then like a suppliant, he spoke to the protector:

“Pardon me, most honoured judge,” saith he, “that uncommanded I begin my speech unto you, since both to you and me, those words of mine shall be most necessary. To you having the sacred exercise of justice in your hand, nothing appertains more properly than truth nakedly and freely set down. To me, being environed round about with many dangerous calamities, what can be more convenient, than, at least, to be at peace with myself, in having discharged my conscience in a most behoveful verity. Understand therefore, and truly understand, that the lady Philoclea, to whose unstained virtue it hath been my unspeakable misery, that my name should become a blot, if she be accused, is most unjustly accused of any dishonourable fact, which by my means she may be thought to have yielded unto. Whatsoever hath been done, hath been my only attempt, which notwithstanding was never intended against her chastity. But whatsoever hath been informed, was my fault. And I attest the heavens, to blaspheme which I am not now in fit tune, that so much as my coming into her chamber, was wholly unwitting unto her. This your wisdom may withal consider, if I would lie, I would lie for mine own behoof, I am not so old as to be weary of myself; but the very sting of my inward knowledge, joined with the consideration I must needs have what an infinite loss it should be to all those who love goodness in good folks if so pure a child of virtue should wrongfully be destroyed, compels me to use my tongue against myself, and receive the burden of what evil was {601} upon mine own doing. Look therefore with pitiful eyes upon so fair beams, and that misfortune which by me hath fallen upon her, help to repair it with your public judgment, since whosoever deals cruelly with such a creature, shows himself a hater of mankind, and an envier of the world’s bliss. And this petition I make, even in the name of justice, that before you proceed further against us, I may know how you conceive of her noble, though unfortunate action, and what judgment you will make of it.”

He had not spoken his last word, when all the whole people, both of great and low estate, confirmed with an united murmur Pyrocles’s demand, longing, for the love generally was borne Philoclea, to know what they might hope of her. Euarchus though neither regarding a prisoner’s passionate prayer, nor bearing over-plausible ears to a many-headed motion, yet well enough content, to win their liking with things in themselves indifferent, he was content: first, to seek as much as might be of Philoclea’s behaviour in this matter: which being cleared by Pyrocles, and but weakly gainsaid by Philanax, who had framed both his own and Dametas’s evidence most for her favour, and in truth could have gone no further than conjecture, yet finding by his wisdom that she was not altogether faultless, he pronounced she should all her life long be kept prisoner among certain women of religion, like the Vestal nuns, so to repay the touched honour of her house, with well observing a strict profession of chastity. Although this were a great prejudicating of Pyrocles’s case, yet was he exceedingly joyous of it, being assured of his lady’s life; and in the depth of his mind not sorry, that what end soever he had, none should obtain the after enjoying that jewel whereon he had set his life’s happiness. After it was by public sentence delivered, what should be done with the sweet Philoclea, the laws of Arcadia bearing that what was appointed by the magistrates in the nonage of the prince could not afterwards be repealed. Euarchus still using to himself no other name but protector of Arcadia, commanded those that had to say against the Queen Gynecia to proceed, because both her estate required she should be first heard, and also for that she was taken to be the principal in the greater matter they were to judge of. Philanax incontinently stepped forth, and showing in his greedy eyes that he did thirst for her blood, began a well thought on discourse of her, in his judgment, execrable wickedness. But Gynecia, standing up before the judge, casting abroad her arms, with her eyes hidden under the breadth of her unseemly hat, laying open in all her gestures the despairful affliction, to which all the might of her reason was converted, with such like words stopped Philanax, as he was entering into his invective oration:

{602}

“Stay, stay, Philanax,” said she, “do not defile thy honest mouth with those dishonourable speeches thou art about to utter against a woman, now most wretched, lately thy mistress. Let either the remembrance how great she was move thy heart to some reverence, or the seeing how low she is, stir in thee some pity. It may be truth doth make thee deal untruly, and love of justice frames injustice in thee, do not therefore, neither shalt thou need, tread upon my desolate ruins. Thou shalt have what thou seekest; and yet shalt not be oppressor of her, who cannot choose but love thee for thy singular faith to thy master. I do not speak this to procure mercy, or to prolong my life, no, no, I say unto you I will not live, but I am only loth, my death should be engrieved with any wrong thou shouldst do unto me. I have been too painful a judge over myself to desire pardon in others’ judgment. I have been too cruel an executioner of my own soul to desire that execution of justice should be staid for me. Alas, they that know how sorrow can rend the spirits, they that know what fiery hells are contained in a self-condemning mind, need not fear that fear can keep such an one from desiring to be separated from that which nothing but death can separate. I therefore say to thee, O just judge, that I, and only I, was the worker of Basilius’s death. They were these hands that gave unto him the poisonous potion that hath brought death to him, and loss to Arcadia; it was I, and none but I, that hastened his aged years to an unnatural end, and that have made all his people orphans of their royal father. I am the subject that have killed my prince, I am the wife that have murdered my husband, I am a degenerate woman, an undoer of this country, a shame of my children. What wouldst thou have said more, O Philanax! and all this I grant, there resteth then nothing else to say but that I desire you, you will appoint quickly some to rid me of my life, rather than these hands, which else are destined unto it, and that indeed it may be done with such speed as I may not long die in this life, which I have in so great horror.” With that she crossed her arms, and sat down upon the ground, attending the judge’s answer. But a great while it was, before anybody could be heard speak, the whole people concurring in a lamentable cry, so much had Gynecia’s words and behaviour stirred their hearts to a doleful compassion, neither in troth could most of them in their judgments tell whether they should be more sorry for her fault, or her misery; for the loss of her estate, or loss of her virtue. But most were most moved with that which was under their eyes, the sense most subject to pity. But at length the reverent awe they stood in of Euarchus brought them to a silent waiting his determination, who, having well considered the abomination of the fact, attending more the manifest proof of so horrible a trespass, {603} confessed by herself, and proved by others, than anything relenting to those tragical phrases of hers, apter to stir a vulgar pity than his mind, which hated evil in what colours soever he found it, having considered a while with the principal men of the country, and demanded their allowance, he definitively gave this sentence: “That whereas, both in private and public respects, this woman had most heinously offended, in private, because marriage being the most holy conjunction that falls to mankind, out of which all families, and so consequently all societies do proceed, which not only by community of goods, but community of children, is to knit the minds in a most perfect union, which whoso breaks, dissolves all humanity, no man living free from the danger of so near a neighbour, she had not only broken it, but broken it with death, and the most pretended death that might be: in public respect, the princes’ persons, being in all monarchal governments the very knot of the people’s welfare, and light of all her doings, to which they are not only in conscience, but in necessity bound to be loyal, she had traitorously empoisoned him, neither regarding her country’s profit, her own duty, nor the rigour of the laws. That therefore, as well for the due satisfaction to eternal justice, and accomplishment of the Arcadian statutes, as for the everlasting example to all wives and subjects, she should presently be conveyed to close prison, and there kept with such food as might serve to sustain her life, until the day of her husband’s burial, at which time she should be buried quick, in the same tomb with him: that so his murder might be a murder to herself, and she forced to keep company with the body from which she had made so detestable a severance; and lastly, death might redress their disjoined conjunction of marriage.” His judgment was received of the whole assembly, as not with disliking, so with great astonishment, the greatness of the matter and person as it were overpressing the might of their conceits. But when they did set it to the beam, with the monstrousness of her ugly misdeed, they could not but yield in their hearts, there was no over-balancing. As for Gynecia, who had already settled her thoughts, not only to look but long for this event, having, in this time of her vexation, found a sweetness in the rest she hoped by death, with a countenance witnessing she had before-hand so passed through all the degrees of sorrow, that she had no new look to figure forth any more, rose up, and offered forth her fair hands to be bound or led as they would, being indeed troubled with no part of this judgment, but that her death was as she thought long delayed. They that were appointed for it, conveyed her to the place she was in before, where the guard was relieved, and the number increased to keep her more sure for the time of her execution: none of them all that led her, though most {604} of them were such whose hearts had been long hardened with the often exercising such offices, being able to bar tears from their eyes, and other manifest tokens of compassionate sorrow. So goodly a virtue is a resolute constancy, that even in evil deservers, it seems that party might have been notably well deserving. Thus the excellent lady Gynecia, having passed five and thirty years of her age, even to the admiration of a beautiful mind and body, and having not in her own knowledge ever spotted her soul with any wilful vice, but her immoderate love of Zelmane, was brought first by that ill-answered passion, and then by the despairing conceit she took of the judgment of God in her husband’s death and her own fortune, purposely to overthrow herself, and confirm by a wrong confession, that abominable shame, which with her wisdom, joined to the truth, perhaps she might have repelled.

Then did Euarchus ask Philanax, whether it were he that would charge the two young prisoners, or that some other should do it, and he sit, according to his estate, as an assistant in the judgment. Philanax told him as before he had done, that he thought no man could say manifest the naughtiness of those two young men with so much either truth or zeal as himself, and therefore he desired he might do this last service to his faithfully beloved master, as to prosecute the traitorous causers of his death and dishonour, which being done, for his part he meant to give up all dealing in public affairs, since that man was gone who had made him love them. Philanax thus being ready to speak, the two princes were commanded to tell their names, who answered, according to their agreements, that they were Daiphantus of Lycia, and Palladius Prince of Iberia. Which when they had said, they demanded to know by what authority they could judge of them, since they were not only foreigners, and so not born under their laws, but absolute princes, and therefore not to be touched by laws. But answer was presently made them that Arcadian laws were to have their force upon any found in Arcadia: since strangers have scope to know the customs of a country, before they put themselves in it: and when they once are entered, they must know that what by many was made must not for one be broken. And so much less for a stranger, as he is to look for no privilege in that place, to which in time of need his service is not to be expected. As for their being princes, whether they were so or no, the belief stood in their own words, which they had so diversly falsified, as they did not deserve belief. But whatsoever they were, Arcadia was to acknowledge them but as private men, since they were neither by magistracy nor alliance to the princely blood, to claim anything in that region. Therefore if they had offended, which now by the plaintiff and their defence was to be judged, against the laws of nations, by {605} the laws of nations they were to be chastised: if against the peculiar ordinances of the province, those peculiar ordinances were to lay hold of them.

The princes stood a while upon that, demanding leisure to give perfect knowledge of their greatness; but when they were answered, that in a case of the prince’s death, the law of that country had ever been that immediate trial should be had, they were forced to yield, resolved that in those names they would as much as they could cover the shame of their royal parentage, and keep as long as might be, if evil were determined against them, the evil news from their careful kinsfolks, wherein the chief man they considered was Euarchus: whom the strange and secret working of justice had brought to be the judge over them. In such a shadow, or rather pit of darkness, the wormish mankind lives, that neither they know how to foresee, nor what to fear, and are but like tennis balls, tossed by the racket of the higher powers. Thus both sides ready, it was determined, because their cases were separated, first Philanax should be heard against Pyrocles, whom they termed Daiphantus, and that heard, the other’s cause should follow, and so receive together such judgment as they should be found to have deserved.

But Philanax that was even short-breathed at the first, with the extreme vehemency he had to speak against them, stroking once or twice his forehead, and wiping his eyes, which either wept, or he would at that time have them seem to weep, looking first upon Pyrocles, as if he had proclaimed all hatefulness against him, humbly turning to Euarchus, who with quiet gravity showed great attention, he thus began his oration: “That which all men, who take upon them to accuse another, are wont to desire, most worthy protector, to have many proofs of faults in them they seek to have condemned, that is to me in this present action my greatest cumber and annoyance. For the number is so great, and the quality so monstrous of the enormities this wretched young man hath committed, that neither I in myself can tell where to begin, my thoughts being confused with the horrible multitude of them, neither do I think your virtuous ears will be able to endure the report, but will rather imagine you hear some tragedy invented of the extremity of wickedness, than a just recital of a wickedness indeed committed: for such is the disposition of the most sincere judgments, that as they can believe mean faults, and such as man’s nature may slide into, so when they pass to a certain degree, nay, when they pass all degrees of unspeakable naughtiness, then find they in themselves a hardness to give credit that human creatures can so from all humanity be transformed. But in myself the strength of my faith to my dead master will help the weakness of my memory; in {606} you, your excellent love of justice will force you to vouchsafe attention: and as for the matter, it is so manifest, so pitiful evidences lie before your eyes of it, that I shall need to be but a brief recounter, and no rhetorical enlarger of this most harmful mischief. I will therefore, in as few words as so huge a trespass can be obtained, deliver unto you the sum of this miserable fact: leaving out a great number of particular tokens of his naughtiness, and only touching the essential points of this doleful case. This man, whom to begin withal I know not how to name, since being come into this country, unaccompanied like a lost pilgrim, from a man grew a woman, from a woman a ravisher of women, thence a prisoner, and now a prince: but this Zelmane, this Daiphantus, this what you will, for any shape or title he can take upon him, that hath no restraint of shame, having understood the solitary life my late master lived, and considering how open he had laid himself to any traitorous attempt, for the first mask of his falsehood, disguised himself like a woman, which being the more simple and hurtless sex, might easier hide his subtle harmfulness. And presenting himself to my master, the most courteous prince that lived, was received of him with so great graciousness that might have bound not only any grateful mind, but might have mollified any enemy’s rancour. But this venomous serpent, admitted thus into his bosom, as contagion will easily find a fit body for it, so had he quickly fallen into so near acquaintance with this naughty woman, whom even now you have most justly condemned, that this was her right hand, she saw with no eyes but his, nor seemed to have any life but in him, so glad she was to find one more cunning than herself in covering wickedness with a modest veil. What is to be thought passed betwixt two such virtuous creatures, whereof the one hath confessed murder, and the other rape, I leave to your wise consideration. For my heart hastens to the miserable point of Basilius’s murder, for the executing of which with more facility, this young nymph of Diana’s bringing up, feigned certain rites she had to perform, so furious an impiety had carried him from all remembrance of goodness that he did not only not fear the gods, as the beholders and punishers of so ungodly a villainy, but did blasphemously use their sacred holy name as a minister unto it. And forsooth a cave hereby was chosen for the temple of his devotions, a cave of such darkness, as did prognosticate he meant to please the infernal powers; for there this accursed caitiff, upon the altar of falsehood, sacrificed the life of the virtuous Basilius. By what means he trained him thither, alas I know not, for if I might have known it, either my life had accompanied my master, or this fellow’s death had preserved him. But this may suffice that in {607} the mouth of this cave, where this traitor had his lodging and chapel, when already master shepherd, his companion, had conveyed away the undoubted inheritrix of this country, was Gynecia found by the dead corpse of her husband, newly empoisoned, apparelled in the garments of the young lady, and ready no question to have fled to some place, according to their consort, but that she was by certain honest shepherds arrested: while in the meantime, because there should be left no revenger of this bloody mischief, this noble Amazon was violently gotten into the chamber of the Lady Philoclea, where by the mingling, as much as in him lay, of her shame with his misdeed, he might enforce her to be accessory to her father’s death, and under the countenance of her and her sister, against whom they knew we would not rebel, seize as it were with one grip into their treacherous hands, the regiment of this mighty province. But the Almighty Eye prevented him of the end of his mischief, by using a villain Dametas’s hand to inclose him in there, where with as much fortification as in a house could be made, he thought himself in most security. Thus see you most just judge, a short and simple story of the infamous misery fallen upon this country; indeed infamous, since by an effeminate man we should suffer a greater overthrow than our mightiest enemies have been ever able to lay upon us. And that all this, which I have said is most manifest, as well of the murdering of Basilius, as the ravishing of Philoclea, for those two parts I establish of my accusation, who is of so incredulous a mind, or rather who will so stop his eyes from seeing a thing clearer than the light, as not to hold for assured so palpable a matter? For to begin with his most cruel misdeed, is it to be imagined that Gynecia, a woman though wicked, yet witty, would have attempted and achieved an enterprise, no less hazardous than horrible, without having some counsellor in the beginning, and some comforter in the performing? had she, who showed her thoughts were so over-ruled with some strange desire, as in despite of God, nature, and womanhood, to execute that in deeds, which in words we cannot hear without trembling? Had she, I say, no practice to lead her unto it? or had she a practice without conspiracy? or could she conspire without somebody to conspire with? and if one were, who so likely as this, to whom she communicated I am sure her mind, the world thinks her body? neither let her words, taking the whole fault upon herself, be herein anything available. For to those persons who have vomited out of their souls all remnants of goodness, there rests a certain pride in evil, and having else no shadow of glory left them, they glory to be constant in iniquity, and that, God knows, must be held out to the last gasp, without {608} revealing their accomplices; as thinking great courage is declared in being neither afraid of the heavens, nor ashamed of the world. But let Gynecia’s action die with herself, what can all the earth answer for his coming hither? Why alone, if he be a prince? How so richly jewelled if he be not a prince? Why then a woman if now a man? Why now Daiphantus, if then Zelmane? Was all this play for nothing, or if it had an end, what end but the end of my dear master? Shall we doubt so many secret conferences with Gynecia, such feigned favour to the over-soon beguiled Basilius, a cave made a lodging, and the same lodging made a temple of his religion, lastly, such changes and traverses, as a quiet poet could scarce fill a poem withal, were directed to any less scope than to this monstrous murderer? O snaky ambition, which can wind thyself in so many figures, to slide thither thou desirest to come! O corrupted reason of mankind, that can yield to deform thyself with so filthy desires? and O hopeless be those minds whom so unnatural desires do not with their own ugliness sufficiently terrify! But yet even of favour let us grant him thus much more, as to fancy that in these foretold things, fortune might be a great actor, perchance to an evil end, yet to a less evil end all these entangled devices were intended. But I beseech your ladyship, my Lady Daiphantus, tell me what excuse can you find for the changing your lodging with the queen that very instant she was to finish her execrable practice? how can you cloak the lending of your cloak unto her. Was all that by chance too? Had the stars sent such an influence unto you, as you should be just weary of your lodging and garments when our prince was destined to the slaughter? What say you to this, O shameful and shameless creature? fit indeed to be the dishonour of both sexes. But alas! I spend too many words in so manifest and so miserable a matter. They must be four wild horses, which according to our laws are the executioners of men which murder our prince, which must decide this question with you. Yet see so far had my zeal to my beloved prince transported me that I had almost forgotten my second part, and his second abomination, I mean his violence offered to the Lady Philoclea: wherewith as if it had well become his womanhood, he came braving to the judgment-seat: indeed our laws appoint not so cruel a death, although death too, for this fact as for the other. But whosoever well weighs it shall find it sprung out of the same fountain of mischievous naughtiness, the killing of the father, dishonouring the mother, and ravishing the child. Alas, could not so many benefits received of my prince, the justice of nature, the sign of hospitality be a bridle to thy lust, if not to thy cruelty? or if thou hadst, as surely thou hast, a heart recompensing goodness with hatred, could not his death, which is {609} the last of revenges, satisfy thy malice, but thou must heap upon it the shame of his daughter? Were thy eyes so stony, thy breast so tigerish, that the sweet and beautiful shows of Philoclea’s virtue did not astonish thee? O woeful Arcadia, to whom the name of this mankind courtesan shall ever be remembered as a procurer of thy greatest loss! But too far I find my passion, yet honest passion hath guided me; the cause is every way too, too much unanswerable. It resteth in you, O excellent protector, to pronounce judgment, which if there be hope that such a young man may prove profitable to the world, who in the first exercise of his own determination, far passed the arrantest strumpet in luxuriousness, the cunningest forger in falsehood, a player in disguising, a tiger in cruelty, a dragon in ungratefulness, let him be preserved like a jewel to do greater mischief. If his youth be not more defiled with treachery than the eldest man’s age, let, I say, his youth be some cause of compassion. If he have not every way sought the overthrow of human society, if he have done anything like a prince, let his naming himself a prince breed a reverence of his base wickedness. If he have not broken all the laws of hospitality, and broken them in the most detestable degree that can be, let his being a guest be a sacred protection of his more than savage doings: or if his whorish beauty, have not been as the high way of his wickedness, let the picture drawn upon so poisonous a wood, be reserved to show how greatly colours can please us. But if it is as it is, what should I say more, a very spirit of hellish naughtiness; if his act be to be punished, and his defiled person not to be pitied, then restore unto us our prince by duly punishing his murderers, for then we shall think him and his name to live when we shall see his killers to die. Restore to the excellent Philoclea her honour, by taking out of the world her dishonour, and think that at this day, in this matter, are the eyes of the world upon you, whether anything can sway your mind from a true administration of justice. Alas! though I have much more to say, I can say no more, for my tears and sighs interrupt my speech, and force me to give myself over to my private sorrow.”

Thus when Philanax had uttered the uttermost of his malice, he made sorrow the cause of his conclusion. But while Philanax was in the course of his speech, and did with such bitter reproaches defame the princely Pyrocles, it was well to be seen, his heart was unused to bear such injuries, and his thoughts such as could arm themselves better against anything than shame. For sometimes blushing, his blood with divers motions coming and going, sometimes closing his eyes, and laying his hand over them, sometimes giving such a look to Philanax, as might show he assured himself he durst not so have spoken if they had been {610} in an indifferent place: with some impatiency he bare the length of his oration; which being ended, with as much modest humbleness to the judge, as despiteful scorn to the accuser, with words to this purpose he defended his honour.