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Chapter 11

The Go-Between

Helen of Corinth relates how she fell for Amphialus (Basilius’ nephew, whose hopes of inheritance were dashed when Basilius married late in life), when Amphialus wooed her for his friend Philoxenus. In despair after killing Philoxenus in self-defense and because Timotheus, the father of Philoxenus, died of shock, Amphialus cast off his armor, which Musidorus found and put on in Chapter 10. Ismenus, Amphialus’ squire, relates how Amphialus has adopted Philoxenus’ spaniel. Musidorus tells Ismenus to take Amphialus’ armor back to him. (1593 ed. 20.2)

“Know you that that my name is Helen, a queen by birth, and hitherto possessed of the fair city and territory of Corinth. I can say no more of myself but that I am beloved of my people—and I may justly say beloved, since they are content to bear with my absence and folly.

“I was left by my father’s death, and accepted by my people, in the highest degree that my country could bestow. As soon as—or rather before—my age was ripe for it, my court quickly swarmed full of suitors. Some perchance loved my estate, others my person, but once I knew all of them, however my possessions were in their hearts, my beauty (such as it is) was in their mouths—strangers of princely and noble blood, as well as those of my own country to whom either birth or virtue gave courage to avow so high a desire.

“Among the rest, or rather before the rest, was Lord Philoxenus, son and heir to the virtuous nobleman Timotheus. This Timotheus was a man beyond any of the great men of my country, whether in power, riches, parentage, and (what passed all these) goodness, and (what followed from all these) love of the people.

“Now this son of his, I must say truly, was not unworthy of such a father. He bent himself by all means of serviceableness to me and set himself forth to win my favor. He won thus far of me that in truth I less disliked him than any of the rest, and in some proportion my face gave me away. Though I must protest it was a very false ambassador, if it delivered any affection at all, of which my heart was utterly void. At that time I esteemed myself born to rule and thought it foul scorn willingly to submit myself to be ruled.

“But meanwhile Philoxenus, in good sort, pursued my favor and perchance nourished himself with over-much hope because he found I did in some sort acknowledge his value. One time among the rest he brought with him a dear friend of his.”

With that, she looked upon the picture before her and straight sighed, and straight tears followed, as if the idol of duty ought to be honored with such oblations. And then her speech stopped her tale, for her tale had brought her to stare at the picture, which quite put her out of her tale. But Palladius, greatly pitying so sweet a sorrow in a lady, whom by fame he had already known and honored, besought her for her promise’s sake to put silence so long into her moaning until she had recounted the rest of this story.

“Why,” said she, “this is the picture of Amphialus! What more need I say to you? What ear is so barbarous but has heard of Amphialus? Who follows deeds of arms but everywhere finds monuments of Amphialus? Who is courteous, noble, liberal, but he that has the example of Amphialus before his eyes? Where are all heroical qualities but in Amphialus? O Amphialus, I wish you were not so excellent, or I wish I thought you not so excellent, and yet, I wish I would not wish so.”

With that, she wept again, until he again solicited the conclusion of her story, and she said, “Then you must know the story of Amphialus, for his will is my life; his life my history, and, indeed, in what can I better employ my lips than in speaking of Amphialus?

“This knight, then, whose figure you see, but whose mind can be painted by nothing but by the true shape of virtue, is the brother’s son to Basilius, king of Arcadia. In his childhood he was esteemed Basilius’ heir, until Basilius, in his old years, married a young and fair lady and had of her those two daughters so famous for their perfection in beauty, which put by their young cousin Amphialus from that expectation. Whereupon his mother, a woman of a haughty heart, being daughter to the king of Argos, either disdaining or fearing that her son should live under the power of Basilius, sent him to Lord Timotheus (between whom and her dead husband there had passed straight bands of mutual hospitality) to be brought up in company with his son Philoxenus.

“It was a happy resolution for Amphialus, for the good Timotheus, no less loving him than his own son, gave Amphialus’ excellent nature as good an education as any prince’s son in the world could have. It is thought that otherwise his mother, far unworthy of such a son, would not have given him such training.

“Well, they grew in years, and shortly occasions fell aptly to try Amphialus. All occasions were but steps for him to climb fame by. Nothing was so hard that his valor, which still he guided with true virtue, did not overcome it. Although no man was in our parts spoken of for his manhood but he, yet as though therein he excelled himself, he was commonly called ‘the courteous Amphialus.’ An endless thing it would be for me to tell how many adventures—terrible to be spoken of—he achieved: what monsters, what giants, what conquests of countries (sometimes using policy, sometimes force). He always well-followed virtue, and was followed by Philoxenus. So fast a friendship was knit between them that at last Philoxenus, having no greater matter to employ his friendship in than to win me, therein desired that Amphialus further his cause.

“To that purpose Amphialus brought himself to my court, where truly I may justly witness for him that what his wit could conceive (and his wit can conceive as far as the limits of reason stretch) was all directed toward setting forward the suit of his friend Philoxenus. My ears could hear nothing from him that did not touch on the worthiness of Philoxenus and on the great happiness it would be to me to have such a husband, with many arguments which, God knows, I cannot well remember, because I did not much believe them. For why should I use many circumstances to come to that where I already am, and ever while I live must continue?

“In few words: while he pleaded for another, he won me for himself. If at least”— with that she sighed—“he would account it winning; for his fame had so framed the way to my mind that his presence—so full of beauty, sweetness, and noble conversation—had entered there before he vouchsafed to call for the keys.

“O lord, how did my soul hang upon his lips while he spoke! Oh, when he in feeling manner would describe the love of his friend, ‘How well,’ thought I, ‘does love between those lips!’ When he would with daintiest eloquence stir pity in me toward Philoxenus, ‘Why sure,’ said I to myself, ‘Helen, be not afraid: this heart cannot lack pity.’ And when he would extol the deeds of Philoxenus, who indeed had but waited on him therein, ‘Alas,’ thought I, ‘good Philoxenus, how evil doth it become thy name to be subscribed to this letter!’ What shall I say? Nay, what should I not say, noble knight, I who am not ashamed—nay, am delighted—thus to express my own passions?

“Days passed; his eagerness for his friend never decreased; my affection to him ever increased. At length, in the way of ordinary courtesy, I obtained of him—who suspected no such matter—this, his picture: the only Amphialus, I fear, that I shall ever enjoy.

“For grown bolder, or madder, or bold with madness, I uncovered my affection unto him. But, Lord, I shall never forget how anger and courtesy at one instant appeared in his eyes when he heard that motion—how with his blush he taught me shame. In sum, he left nothing un-assayed which might disgrace himself to grace his friend, in sweet terms making me receive a most resolute refusal of himself. But when he found that his presence did far more persuade for himself than his speech could persuade for his friend, he left my court, hoping that forgetfulness—which commonly waits upon absence—would make room for his friend. To his friend he would not utter thus much, I think, for a kind fear not to grieve him, or perchance—though he cares little for me—for a certain honorable gratefulness not yet to uncover so much of my secrets. He meant, as it should seem, to travel into far countries until his friend’s affections either ceased or prevailed.

“But within a while Philoxenus came to see how the fruits of his friend’s labor were coming on, when—as in truth I cared not much how he took it—he found me sitting, beholding this picture of Amphialus, I know not with how affectionate a countenance, but I am sure with a most affectionate mind. I straight found jealousy and disdain took hold of him, and yet the froward9 pain of my own heart made me so delight to punish him—whom I esteemed the chiefest hindrance in my way—that when he sued for my favor with humble gesture and vehement speeches, I told him that I would hear him more willingly if he would speak for Amphialus as well as Amphialus had done for him.

“He never answered me,” said Helen, “but, pale and quaking, he went straight10 away; and straight my heart misgave some evil outcome. And yet, though I had authority enough to have stayed him—as in these fatal things it falls out that the high-working powers make second causes unwittingly accessory to their determinations—I did no further, but sent a footman of mine, whose faithfulness to me I well knew, to follow him from place to place and bring me word of his proceedings: which (alas!) have brought forth that which I must ever rue.

“For he had traveled scarce a day’s journey out of my country, when (not far from this place) he overtook Amphialus, who (by succoring a distressed lady) had been here stayed. By and by he called him to fight with him, protesting that one of them should die. You may easily judge how strange it was to Amphialus, whose heart could accuse itself of no fault but too much affection toward him. He refused to fight with Philoxenus and would fain have made him understand, but (as my servant told me) the more Amphialus went back, the more Philoxenus followed, calling him traitor and coward, yet never telling him the cause of this strange alteration. ‘Ah, Philoxenus,’ said Amphialus, ‘I know I am no traitor, and you well know I am no coward: but I pray you, content yourself with thus much, and let this satisfy you, that I love you, since I bear thus much of you.’ But Philoxenus, leaving words, drew his sword and gave Amphialus a great blow or two, which, but for the goodness of his armor, would have slain him.

“And yet so far did Amphialus contain himself, stepping aside and saying to him: ‘Well, Philoxenus, thus much villainy am I content to put up with, not any longer for thy sake—for I have no cause to love you, since you injure me and will not tell me the cause—but for your virtuous father’s sake, to whom I am so much bound. I pray you, go away and conquer your own passions, and you shall make me soon yield to be your servant.’

“Philoxenus would not attend his words but still struck so fiercely at Amphialus that, in the end, nature prevailed above determination and he was fain to defend himself, and withal so to offend him, that by an unlucky blow poor Philoxenus fell dead at his feet, having had time only to speak some words, whereby Amphialus knew that I was the cause. Amphialus forthwith gave such tokens of true-felt sorrow, that as my servant said, no imagination could conceive greater woe.

“But by and by an unhappy occasion made Amphialus surpass himself in sorrow, for Philoxenus was but newly dead when there came to the same place the aged and virtuous Timotheus. Having heard of his son’s sudden and passionate manner of parting from my court, he had followed him as speedily as he could, but (alas) not so speedily but that he found him dead before he could overtake him. Though my heart is nothing but a stage of tragedies, yet I must confess, it is even unable to bear the miserable representation of their tragedy, knowing Amphialus and Timotheus as I have done. Alas, what sorrow, what amazement, and what shame was in Amphialus when he saw his dear foster-father find him the killer of his only son? In my heart I know he wished mountains had lain upon him to keep him from that meeting. As for Timotheus, sorrow of his son and (I think principally) unkindness of Amphialus so devoured his vital spirits that, able to say no more but ‘Amphialus, Amphialus, have I? …’ he sank to the earth, and presently died.

“But not my tongue, though daily used to complaints, no, nor my heart (which is nothing but sorrow) if it were turned to tongues, would dare undertake to show the unspeakableness of his grief. His next deed serves to make you know my fortune: he threw away his armor, even this which you have upon you—which, when I saw just now, I vainly hoped he had put on again. Then he ran into the thickest of the woods, as if ashamed of light, lamenting and even crying out so pitifully that my servant (though of a fortune not used to much tenderness) could not refrain from weeping when he told it to me.

“This servant overtook him, but Amphialus drew his sword, the only part of his arms (God knows to what purpose) he carried about him, and threatened to kill him if he followed. With that he bade him deliver this bitter message, that he well enough found that I was the cause of all this mischief, and that if I were a man, he would go over the world to kill me. And he bade me assure myself that of all creatures in the world, he most hated me.

“Ah, sir knight (whose ears I think by this time are tired with the rugged ways of these misfortunes), now weigh my case, if at least you know what love is. For this cause have I left my country, putting in hazard how my people will in time deal by me and adventuring what perils or dishonors might ensue, only to follow him who proclaims hate against me and to bring my neck unto him, if that may redeem my trespass and assuage his fury.

“And now sir,” said she, “you have your request. I pray you take pains to guide me to the next town, that there I may gather such of my company again as your valor has left me.”

Palladius willingly condescended, but before they began to go, there came Clitophon. He had been something hurt by one of them and had pursued him a good way, until at length overtaking him and ready to kill him, he understood these men were servants to the fair queen Helen and that the cause of their enterprise was for nothing but to make Amphialus prisoner, whom they knew their mistress sought, for she concealed her sorrow from nobody.

But Clitophon, very sorry for what happened, came back to comfort the queen and help those who were hurt in the best sort he could. He was framing friendly constructions of this rashly undertaken enmity, when in comes another (till that time unseen) all armed with his beaver down, who, first looking round about upon the company, as soon as he spied Palladius, drew his sword and, making no other prologue, let fly at him. But Palladius (sorry for so much harm as had already happened) sought rather to retire and ward, thinking he might be someone that belonged to the fair queen, whose case in his heart he pitied.

When Clitophon saw this he stepped between them and asked the new-come knight the cause of this quarrel, who answered him that he would kill that thief who had stolen away his master’s armor, if he did not restore it. With that Palladius looked upon him, and saw that he of the other side had Palladius’ own armor upon him.

“Truly,” said Palladius, “if I have stolen this armor, you did not buy that. But you shall not fight with me upon such a quarrel; you shall have this armor willingly, which I did only put on to honor the owner.”

But Clitophon straight knew by his words and voice that it was Ismenus, the faithful and diligent page of Amphialus. And therefore he told him that he was Clitophon, willing him to acknowledge his error to Palladius, who deserved all honor. With that the young gentleman pulled off his headpiece and, lighting from his horse, went to kiss Palladius’ hands, desiring him to pardon his folly caused by extreme grief, which easily might bring forth anger.

“Sweet gentleman,” said Palladius, “you shall only make me this amends, that you shall carry this your lord’s armor from me to him, and tell him from an unknown knight (who admires his worthiness) that he cannot cast a greater mist over his glory than by being so unkind to so excellent a princess as this queen is.”

Ismenus promised he would do so as soon as he could find his master. And with that he went to do his duty to the queen, whom in all these encounters astonishment made hardy.

But as soon as she saw Ismenus, looking to her picture, “Ismenus,” said she, “here is my lord, where is yours? Or come you to bring me some sentence of death from him? If it be so, welcome be it. I pray you speak, and speak quickly.”

“Alas madam,” said Ismenus, “I have lost my lord” (with that tears came unto his eyes) “for as soon as the unhappy combat was concluded with the death both of father and son, my master, casting off his armor, went his way, forbidding me upon pain of death to follow him.

“Yet for several days I followed his steps, till at last I found him. He had had newly met with an excellent spaniel that belonged to his dead companion Philoxenus. The dog fawned on my master for old knowledge, but never was there anything more pitiful than to hear my master blame the dog for loving his master’s murderer, renewing afresh his complaints with his unspeaking counselor, as if they might comfort one another in their miseries.

“But my lord, having spied me, rose up in such rage that in such truth I feared he would kill me. Yet as then he said only that if I would not displease him, I should not come near him till he sent for me—too hard a command for me to disobey. I yielded, leaving him waited on by his dog and, as I think, seeking out the most solitary places that this or any other country can grant him. And returning where I had left his armor, I found another man wearing it, and, I must confess, disdaining that any should bear the armor of the best knight living, I armed myself to play the fool, as even now I did.”

“Fair Ismenus,” said the queen, “a fitter messenger could hardly be to unfold my tragedy. I see the end. I see my end!”

With that, sobbing, she desired to be conducted to the next town, where Palladius left her, having earnestly entreated her to be waited on by Clitophon. Palladius desired to take the melancholy course of seeking his friend alone, and therefore, changing armors again with Ismenus (who went to a castle belonging to his master) he continued his quest for his friend Daiphantus.

froward] adverse, uncooperative, unreceptive.

straight] immediately.