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Chapter 3

Family Portraits

Kalander shows his elegant house to Palladius, then describes Basilius (“ruler”), the prince of Arcadia. Basilius married a younger wife, Gynecia (“woman”), daughter of the king of Cyprus. He explains that having consulted an oracle, Basilius keeps his younger daughter Philoclea (“lover of glory”) at home. His elder daughter Pamela (“all sweetness”) is guarded by a lout named Dametas, whom the foolish king trusts. Kalander describes Dametas’ shrewish wife Miso and recites an ironic poem in praise of the beauty of Mopsa, their daughter. (1593 ed. 4v.29)

Returned to health, Palladius yet remained, to hear whatever news the ships brought back. One afternoon his host led him abroad to a well-arrayed ground behind his house, which he thought to show him before his going, a place that delighted Kalander more than any other. It was neither field, garden, nor orchard (rather it was field, garden, and orchard together). As soon as the descending stairs had delivered them down, they came into a place cunningly set with trees of the most taste-pleasing fruits. But scarcely had they taken that into consideration, when they were set upon a delicate green. On each side of the green was a thicket, and behind the thickets were new beds of flowers which, being under the trees, allowed the trees to form a pavilion and the flowerbeds a mosaical floor. The art therein seemed to delight in counterfeiting its enemy, error, and making order out of confusion.

In the midst of all was a fair pond whose shaking crystal perfectly mirrored all the other beauties. There seemed to be two gardens, one real, the other reflected. In one of the thickets there was a fine fountain: a naked Venus of white marble wherein the graver had used such cunning that the natural blue veins of the marble set forth the beautiful veins of her body. At her breast she had her infant Aeneas, who (having begun to suck) seemed to leave off to look upon his mother’s fair eyes, which smiled at the babe’s folly while water ran from her breast.

Close by was a pleasure home built as a summer retiring place. Kalander led him there, where he found a square room full of delightful pictures made by the best painter in Greece. There was Diana when Actaeon saw her bathing; in her cheeks the painter’s mix of color showed both shame and disdain. In one of her foolish nymphs who wept and scowled at the same time, one might see the workman meant to set forth tears of anger. Another painting showed Atalanta, her posture and limbs so lively expressed that if eyes were the only judges, as they are the only seers, one could swear that the very picture ran. There were others, of Helena, Omphale, and Iole, but in none of them did beauty seem to speak so much as in a large painting of a comely old man with a lady of middle age but excellent beauty. And her beauty would have been deemed more excellent still had not there stood between them a young maiden whose wonderfulness took away all beauty from her except what (it might seem) she returned to her by resembling her. Learning that the picture did indeed counterfeit a living person, Palladius found such a difference between her and the subjects of all the other paintings, including the goddesses, that it seemed the skill of the painter had bestowed new beauty on the others, while her beauty had bestowed new skill on the painter. He thought inquisitiveness an uncomely guest but he could not help asking who she was, this woman whose bearing showed that natural gifts could outreach invention.

Kalander answered that it was a portrait of Philoclea, the younger daughter of his prince, who was represented in the picture along with his wife, the painter meaning to depict the young lady’s present condition under the over-curious eye of her parents. He would also have drawn her eldest sister, esteemed to be her match for beauty, in her shepherdish attire, except that her guardian, a rude clown, would not suffer it. Nor had the artist dared ask the prince’s leave, for fear of suspicion.

By now Palladius had perceived the matter to be wrapped up in some secrecy, and for courtesy questioned no further, but the dumb eloquence of his countenance clearly spoke his desire—which Kalander perceived, and said, “Well, my dear guest, I know your mind, and I will satisfy it. Neither will I do it in a niggardly way, going no further than the bounds of the question, but I will reveal that in which my knowledge is common with others, as well as what has come to me by extraordinary means. Though we are not long acquainted, I believe I know you well enough to find your ears faithful treasurers.” They sat down in two chairs, and sometimes casting his eye to the picture Kalander spoke thus:

“This country Arcadia, among all the provinces of Greece, has ever had a singular reputation, partly for the sweetness of the air and other natural benefits, but principally due to the well-tempered minds of the people, who find that glory’s shining title, so much sought by other nations, does indeed help little to the happiness of life. They are the only people who by their justice and providence give neither cause nor hope to their neighbors to annoy them. They are not stirred by false praise to trouble others’ quiet, thinking it a small reward for wasting their lives in ravening that their posterity should forever say that they had done so. Even the Muses seem to approve their good judgment by choosing this country for their chief repairing place. They bestow their perfections so largely here, the very shepherds’ fancies lifting to such high conceits, that the learned of other nations borrow the shepherds’ names and imitate their cunning.

“Here dwells and reigns this prince (whose picture you see) by the name of Basilius, a prince of sufficient skill to govern so quiet a country, where the good minds of former princes have set down good laws and the education of the people serves as a most sure bond to uphold them. To be plain with you, Basilius excels in nothing so much as a zealous love of his people, wherein he not only passes all his own forebears but, I think, all princes alive today—because, without any of the virtues that beget admiration—like depth of wisdom, height of courage, and largeness of magnificence—yet he is notable in those which stir affections, such as truthfulness, meekness, courtesy, mercy, and liberality.

“Already well stricken in years, he married a young princess named Gynecia, daughter to the king of Cyprus, noted for her beauty (as by her picture you see), a woman of most unspotted chastity, of great wit, and in truth of more princely virtues than her husband, but of so working a mind and of such vehement spirits that a man might say it was lucky she took a good course, for otherwise it would have been terrible. These two brought into the world two daughters, excellent and beyond measure in all the gifts allotted to reasonable creatures, as if born to show nature no stepmother to their sex, however much men (sharp-witted only in evil speaking) might seek to disgrace them.

“The elder is named Pamela, deemed by many men not inferior to her sister. For my part, when I marked them both, I saw more sweetness in Philoclea (if such perfections may receive the word “more”) but more majesty in Pamela. I thought love played in Philoclea’s eyes and threatened in Pamela’s. I thought Philoclea’s beauty only persuaded, but so persuaded that all hearts must yield; Pamela’s beauty used violence, and such violence that no heart could resist. There is the same proportion between their minds. Philoclea is bashful, as though her excellence stole upon her before she was aware, so humble that she puts pride out of countenance, stirring hope while teaching hope good manners. Pamela, high-minded, avoids pride not by not knowing her virtues but by making it one of her virtues to be void of pride. She has her mother’s wisdom, greatness, and nobility, but (if I can guess right) knit with a more constant temper.

“Now then, our Basilius, being so publicly happy, and so happy in that happiness as to be a beloved prince, and in his private life so blessed as to have so excellent a wife and over-excellent children, has of late taken a course that makes him spoken of beyond all these blessings. Having made a journey to Delphos and safely returned, within a short time he broke up his court and retired himself, his wife, and children to a certain forest nearby which he calls his desert. There he built two fine lodges, in one of which he lives with his wife and their younger daughter Philoclea, alone, without any other company. Another house was furnished for stables, and still other lodgings for certain persons of mean calling who do all the household services.

“Yes, this is strange, but not so strange as his course with the princess Pamela, whom he placed in the other lodge, and with whom? None other than one Dametas, the most errant, doltish clown that ever there was without the privilege of a bauble, along with his wife Miso and daughter Mopsa, whose wit can devise nothing to amuse Pamela; they simply exercise her patience and serve as a foil for her perfections. In this loutish buffoon you never saw so ill favored a visage. His behavior goes beyond the ridiculous; his apparel is exactly what I would wish him. Miso, his wife, is so handsome an old lady that by her face and her splayfoot alone she has been marked a witch. Her one good point: with an ill-disposed mind in a wretched body she observes decorum.

“These two persons (who never agree in any humor but in disagreeing) have brought forth mistress Mopsa, who shares all their perfections. A pleasant fellow of my acquaintance said her praises in verse, so I will merely repeat them and spare my own tongue, since she goes for a woman. The verses are these, which I have so often caused to be sung that I know them without book.

What length of verse3 can serve brave4 Mopsa’s good to show?

Her virtues strange and beauties such that no man may them know!

Thus shrewdly burdened then, how can my Muse escape?

The gods must help, and precious things must serve to show her shape:

Like great god Saturn, fair; and like fair Venus, chaste;

As smooth as Pan; as Juno, mild; like goddess Isis faced;

with Cupid she foresees, and goes god Vulcan’s pace,

and for a taste of all these gifts, she steals god Momus’ grace.

Her forehead, jacinth-like; her cheeks of opal hue;

her twinkling eyes bedecked with pearl; her lips as sapphire, blue.

Her hair like crapal stone; her mouth: O, heavenly wide!

her skin like burnished gold; her hands like silver ore untried.

As for her parts unknown, which hidden sure are best,

happy be they who will believe and never seek the rest.

“Now having heard these descriptions,” Kalander said, “you might think I was feigning some pleasant device rather than recounting the truth that a rational-minded prince had made so unworthy a choice. But truly, dear guest, so it is that princes, their doings often soothed by good success, find nothing so absurd they cannot make it honorable. Dametas first earned credit with the prince when he found him lost while hunting. The prince asked him the way, then falling into other questions, found some of the answers not unintelligent (as a dog, if he could speak, would have wit enough to describe his kennel), and uttered with such rudeness, which he interpreted as plainness (though there is a great difference), that Basilius filled with sudden delight. He took him to court, making apparent his good opinion of the man—where flattering courtiers no sooner perceived the prince’s mind than they found reasons to support his action, and shadows of virtue for Dametas. Dametas’ silence grew wit, his bluntness integrity, his beastly ignorance virtuous simplicity.

“According to the nature of great persons in love with what they themselves have done, the prince fancied that his own presence would mend any small weakness in Dametas. And as one does with a creature of one’s own making, he liked him more and more. He gave him the office of principal herdsman, and then, since undertaking his strange determination, he has in effect put his life and that of his children into Dametas’ hands. Like too great a sail for so small a boat, authority has overpowered poor Dametas. Formerly a good fool in a chamber, he is the same now in a theater. I suspect (indeed I fear) my master will one day find out to his cost that his duty is not to make men but to use men as they are. No more can a horse be taught to hunt or an ass to manage.

“In sooth, I am afraid that I have talked too much about that heavy piece of flesh, and made our conversation gross. My zealous grief at my lord’s great error has made me bestow more words, I confess, than so base a subject deserves.

What length of verse] Mopsa is ironically described in the ungraceful verse form called poulter’s measure, “which Sidney considered awkward and old fashioned” (The Poems of Sir Philip Sidney, ed. William A. Ringler, Jr. [Oxford, 1962], 384). The term “poulter” refers to a chicken merchant or poulterer who might add extra eggs to a dozen. The lines of verse alternate between twelve and fourteen syllables.

brave] bright or fair. For the rest of the poem: Saturn is dark and ugly, not fair. Venus is the goddess of love, not chastity. Pan had rough goatlike skin. Juno is never mild, but vengeful. The Egyptian goddess Isis is often shown with the horns of a cow. Cupid is blindfolded. Vulcan limps. Momus is a god of mockery, not grace. Jacinth is blue or yellow; opal is many-colored. The “crapal stone” is the lump on the head of a toad. Wide mouths and tanned skin were not regarded as beautiful. Unsmelted (untried) silver ore is black.