the name Pyrocles. Then neither seeing nor hearing cause of comfort, “What,” said he, “and shall Musidorus live after Pyrocles’ destruction?” With that, he willfully moved to cast himself into the sea, a strange sight for the shepherds. When he had seemed to be dead, they saved his life, but now upon returning to life, he seemed to wish to die. They ran to him and pulled him back, too feeble to resist them, and quelled his unnatural terror.
“I pray you, honest men,” he said, “what right have you to keep me from doing what I choose with myself? What policy allows you to bestow a benefit where it is counted an injury?”
Hearing him speak in Greek, their native language, they became even more tenderhearted towards him, and when they considered the way he had called out, they understood that the loss of some dear friend was causing his great sorrow. They told him that they were poor men bound by the court of humanity to prevent so great a calamity as his death, and if the thought of someone else’s death caused such desperate anguish in him, they wished him to be comforted by his own living proof, having just escaped as clear a danger.
“No, no,” he said. “It is not for me to expect such high blissfulness. But since you are taking care of me, I pray you find some boat that will go out of the harbor, so that, if it is possible, we may find the body, far, far too precious to be food for fishes. For payment,” he added, “I have enough of value within this casket to content the sailors.”
Claius presently went to a fisherman who, having made an agreement with him, provided apparel for the naked stranger and then embarked with the shepherds. They were no sooner gone beyond the mouth of the harbor than they discerned, some distance out at sea, a stain on the water’s color and, at times, some sparks and rising smoke.
The young man no sooner saw it but, beating his breast, he cried that there was the beginning of his ruin, entreating them to bend their course as near unto it as they could. The smoke, he said, was but a small relic of a great fire which had driven both him and his friend to commit themselves to the cold mercy of the sea rather than abide the hot cruelty of the flames. His friend would be there if anywhere.
They steered as near the wreck as they could, but when they came so near that their eyes were full masters of the object, they saw a sight full of piteous strangeness: a ship, or rather the carcass of the ship, or rather some few bones of the carcass, hulling there, part broken, part burned, part drowned, death having used more than one dart in that destruction. About it floated a great store of very rich things and many chests that promised no less. Amidst the precious things were a number of dead bodies, which testified not only to the violence of the elements, but that the chief violence arose from human inhumanity, for the bodies were full of grisly wounds and their blood had (as it were) filled the wrinkles of the sea’s visage. It seemed the sea would not wash away the blood, as if to witness that it is not always the sea’s fault when we condemn its cruelty. In sum, a defeat, where the conquered kept both field and spoil, a shipwreck without storm or ill footing, and a waste of fire in the midst of water.
A little way off they saw a mast whose proud height lay now upon the sea, like a widow who had lost her mate of whom she held her honor. A young man who looked about eighteen years of age sat upon the mast as on horseback with nothing on him but his shirt which, wrought with blue silk and gold, resembled the sea on which the sun (then near its western home) shot some of its beams. His hair (which the young men of Greece used to wear very long) was stirred by the wind that sported with it while the sea kissed his feet. He was a man of admirable beauty, set forth by the strangeness both of his seat and gesture—for, holding his head up, full of unmoved majesty, he held a sword aloft and often waved it about his head, as though even in that extremity he would threaten the world.
When the fishermen came near enough to throw him a rope, their simplicity bred such amazement and their amazement such superstition that, assuredly thinking it was some god begotten of Neptune and Venus that had made all this terrible slaughter, they sailed on by, hands flailing, making their prayers.
Musidorus was almost as much ravished with joy as they with astonishment. He leaped to the master mariner, took the cord out of his hand and called out, “Dost thou live and art well?” to the young man, who replied, “Thou canst tell best, since most of my well-being stands in thee!” Musidorus threw the rope, but already the ship had passed beyond Pyrocles; Musidorus could do no more than persuade the mariners to cast about again, assuring them that it was but a man, although of most divine excellence, and promising great rewards for their pains.
They had already turned about when one of the sailors descried a galley, sails and oars bearing down upon them. Musidorus recognized it was a notorious pirate who hunted not only for goods but also for the bodies of men whom he employed as galley slaves or sold at the best market. When the master understood, he commanded forthwith to set on all the canvas they could and fly homeward, leaving poor Pyrocles so near to being rescued.
What did not Musidorus say, what did he not offer to persuade them to venture to fight? But fear, standing at the gates of their ears, put back all persuasions, so that he had nothing wherewith to accompany Pyrocles but his eyes, nor to succor him but his wishes. Therefore praying for him, and casting a long look that way, he saw the galley leave their pursuit, turn to the spoils of the other wreck, and lift up the young man Pyrocles.
“Alas,” he said to himself, “dear Pyrocles, shall that body of thine be enchained? Shall thy victorious hands be commanded to base offices? Shall virtue become a slave to those that are slaves to viciousness? Alas, better had it been hadst thou ended nobly thy noble days. What death is so evil as unworthy servitude?”
That opinion soon ceased, however, when he saw the galley setting upon another ship. It held long and strong fight with her, and Musidorus began afresh to fear for the life of his friend and to wish well to the pirates whom he had hated, lest in their ruin Pyrocles perish.
Meanwhile the fishermen were speeding toward harbor, and Musidorus lost sight of the outcome; upon their arrival he could induce neither them nor any other mariners to put out to sea. As full of sorrow because he could do nothing as he was void of counsel on how to do anything, he felt sickness growing upon him. The honest shepherds Strephon and Claius (judging the more perfectly the justness of his sorrow because they too were true friends) advised him that he should somewhat mitigate his woe, having come from assurance of Pyrocles’ death to having no cause to despair for his life, just as someone who, lamenting the death of his sheep, would feel pleasure to learn that they had only strayed, though for the moment he knew not where to find them.
Chapter 2
War-torn Laconia
The shepherds comfort Musidorus and also describe the civil war that has devastated Laconia, where the peasants have revolted. Musidorus, who now calls himself Palladius, is sick and weak, but eager for news of his friend Pyrocles, who uses the name Daiphantus. Seeing that Palladius (Musidorus) is a man of better rank than his appearance indicates, Kalander adjusts his hospitality to suit his guest’s social standing. (1593 ed. 3.28)
“Now sir,” said they, “this is how it is with us. We are in profession but shepherds and in this country of Laconia little better than strangers, and therefore neither with skill, ability, nor power greatly able to help you. But what we can present to you is this: Arcadia, where we are from, is but a little way from here, and even upon the next confines there dwells a gentleman, by name Kalander, who regards us with favor. A hospitable man, Kalander is so much visited that no news stirs that does not come to his ears. He is so beloved of his neighbors for his upright dealing that many are always ready to serve him to the uttermost. And having the great good will of our prince, Kalander can quickly obtain the use of his name and credit, which has a principal sway not only in his own Arcadia, but
