Arcadia. Sir Philip Sidney
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not, and neither did Philanax, as you may see by one place in his letter. But it is clear that Basilius’ judgment, corrupted by his princely habits, heard rather than followed the wise (as I take it) counsel of Philanax. Basilius left the helm of his government, much to the amazement of the people, who believe many strange rumors. There is fear of danger from, or to, Basilius’ nephew, the valiant Amphialus. And in those who are ambitious among the nobility, there is much envy of Philanax to see him so advanced, though (to speak simply) he deserves more than many of us in Arcadia.
“The prince has hidden himself away, as I told you, and he has plainly confessed that while he breathes, his daughters shall not have husbands but keep solitary with him, where no one has leave to visit him at any time except for a certain priest, excellent in poetry, whom Basilius makes write out such things as he likes best, the priest being no less delightful in conversation than needful for devotion. Basilius also enjoys the company of about twenty shepherds, some for his exercise, some for eclogues.
“And now you know as much as myself. If I have held you over long, lay the fault upon my old age, which in its very disposition is talkative. It may be,” he said smiling, “that nature loves to exercise most that part which is least decayed, and that is our tongue, or it may be that we cannot except by utterance make known our knowledge, the only thing whereof we poor old men can brag. Or it may be that men seek to eternize themselves by all means, so much the more as they near their end, and that they do so not only by their children but by speeches and writings recommended to the memory of hearers and readers. But this much I will say for myself: that I have not laid these matters either so openly or largely to any as to yourself—so much, if much I fail not, do I see in you that makes me both love and trust you.”
“Never may he be old,” answered Palladius, “who does not reverence that age whose heaviness, in weighing down the frail and fleshly balance, as much raises the noble and spiritual. You might have proffered another reason as well, that it’s wisdom that inclines the old to bestow their good advice—and that I have received from you, never to be forgotten without ungratefulness.
“Now, of the many strange conceits you told me that have possessed your prince, the last would not seem the least strange to me—that he should conceive such pleasure in shepherds’ discourse—except that, as you told me, this country is notable for such wits. Indeed, myself having been brought not only to this place but to my life by Strephon and Claius, I found in their conference wits as might become the shepherds Homer speaks of—shepherds who govern peoples, senators who hold counsel in their sheepcote.”
“Those two,” said Kalander, “and especially Claius, are beyond the rest by as much as learning commonly adds to nature. Having neglected wealth in favor of knowledge, they less impaired the meaner than they bettered the better—despite which it is a sport to hear how they credit love for strengthening their powers of thought.
“But certainly all the people of this country, from high to low, are given to sports of wit. You would wonder to hear how soon even children will versify. It is common even among the lowest class to make songs and dialogues in meter. Either love sharpens the brain, or, long peace having begun the process, example and emulation further it. Even the clown Dametas will stumble sometimes on some songs that might become a better brain.
“No people are as excellent in that skill as the shepherds. Since their living rests only on looking after their beasts, they have ease, the nurse of poetry. Neither are our shepherds such as I hear shepherds are in other countries; instead, they own their sheep, and either they care for their sheep themselves or their children give daily attendance. Truly it would delight you when two or three of them meet together under some tree or by some riverside to hear their rural muse. How prettily they deliver sometimes joys, sometimes lamentations, sometimes challenges to one another—sometimes under hidden forms putting forth such matter as otherwise they would not dare express. A judge will award the best a prize, for which they are no less glad than great princes for their triumphs. Then the judge sets down in writing all that was said (although with more leisure his pen may polish the rudeness of an unthought-on song).
“Of course the prince has the choice of all, either for goodness of voice or pleasantness of wit, among whom there may be two or three strangers made weary of the world’s eyes by inward melancholies, who have come to spend their lives among the country people of Arcadia. And their conversation being well thought of, the prince grants them his presence, and by his watching with great courtesy and generosity, he animates the shepherds to labor the more exquisitely for his good liking. No blame goes to the prince for sometimes listening to them, only from hearing them in private instead of in company. Nor do I blame my master for advancing a countryman such as Dametas, since God forbid that outward lowness should hinder the promotion of worthiness; indeed such is found among various members of that class. But he chose a mind so base it sinks even now a thousand degrees lower than the basest body could drag the basest fortune—though it might be said for the prince that he trusts his simple plainness, and has only advanced him to being chief herdsman. Still, all honest hearts feel that the trust of their lord goes beyond any advancement.
“But I always spend too long on him whenever he crosses the path of my speech, and I see by the shadow of yonder tower that it is a fitter time to have supper and pay the duties we owe our stomachs than to break the air with my idle discourses. I could have known better from Homer (whom you just mentioned), who never entertained either guests or hosts with long speeches till the mouth of hunger was thoroughly stopped.”
So with that he rose, leading Palladius through the garden again to the parlor where they usually supped. Palladius, however, assured him that he had already been fed more to his satisfaction than he could be by the most skillful trencher-men5 of Media.
Chapter 5
Argalus and Parthenia
A steward explains to Musidorus what has happened to Kalander’s son Clitophon, who has gone to help Argalus, the cousin of Gynecia. Both Clitophon and Argalus are now held by the Helots’ new captain, who joined the Helots after killing another man. Argalus had been captured by the Helots after killing their captain Demagoras, the man who disfigured Parthenia (Kalander’s niece and Argalus’ love). (1593 ed. 8v.١١)
When they came to the supping-place, one of Kalander’s servants rounded6 in his ear, at which—his color changing—Kalander withdrew into his chamber, commanding his men diligently to wait on Palladius and to excuse his absence by some necessary business he had presently to dispatch. They did accordingly, and for a few days forced themselves to let no change appear; but though they framed their countenances ever so cunningly, Palladius perceived some ill-pleasing accident had fallen out.
One day, again set alone at supper, Palladius called to the steward and desired him to tell him the matter of Kalander’s sudden alteration. After some trifling excuses the steward at last confessed that his master had received news that his son Clitophon, before the day of his near marriage, chanced to be at a battle fought between the gentlemen of Lacedemon and the Helots. The Helots had won, and they took Clitophon prisoner when he himself tried to gain the release of a friend of his whom they had captured. That friend, a poor young gentleman, had offered great ransom for his life, but the hate those peasants conceived against all gentlemen was such that every hour he was to look for nothing but cruel death, which hitherto had only been delayed by the vehement dealing for him of the Helots’ captain, who seemed to have a heart of more manly pity than the rest.
The loss of his son had stricken old Kalander with such sorrow that his abundance of tears were not sufficient to witness it. He retired alone, tore his hair and beard, and cursed his old age that had not made his grave stop his ears from such advertisements.
Meanwhile his faithful servants wrote in his name to all his friends, followers, and tenants. Philanax, the governor, was refusing to deal in it because it was a private cause, yet he gave others permission to seek their best redress so long as they wronged not the state of Lacedemon. There were now gathered upon the frontiers good forces that he was sure would spend their lives in any way to redeem or revenge Clitophon.
“Now