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The rhetoric of the new Arcadia Eaton, Diane F. 1978

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THE RHETORIC OF THE NEW ARCADIA by SHARON DIANE EATON B.A., University of Colorado, 1967 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY 'in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES Department of English University of British Columbia We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA Oetober, 1978 (c) Sharon vDiane Eaton, 1978 In p r e s e n t i n g t h i s t h e s i s in p a r t i a l f u I f i l m e n t o f the r e q u i r e m e n t s f o r a n advanced degree at the U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h C o l u m b i a , I a g r e e t h a t the L i b r a r y s h a l l m a k e i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e f o r r e f e r e n c e a n d s t u d y . I f u r t h e r agree t h a t p e r m i s s i o n f o r e x t e n s i v e c o p y i n g o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r s c h o l a r l y p u r p o s e s may be g r a n t e d by the H e a d o f my D e p a r t m e n t o r by h i s r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . It i s u n d e r s t o o d that c o p y i n g o r p u b l i c a t i o n o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l g a i n s h a l l not be a l l o w e d w i t h o u t my w r i t t e n p e r m i s s i o n . Department o f English The U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h Co lumbia 2075 Wesbrook P l a c e V a n c o u v e r , Canada V6T 1W5 Date December 8, 1978 Abstract This study examines the rhetoric of the new Arcadia; that is, it analyses the ways in which Sidney intended to provide the readers of the new Arcadia with ethical teaching and to persuade them of the validity of such precepts as guides in their own lives. Chapter One deals with the changes in Sidney's moral understand-ing—traceable in the literary works that immediately preceded the new Arcadia—that prompted him to revise the earlier version. In the old Arcadia and in Astrophil and Stella, Sidney explored in detail the ethical ambiguities that inevitably attend human action; in the new Arcadia he reasserts the (worally-ambivalent nature of experience, yet he provides a perspective within which ethical judgment can nevertheless be achieved. The Defence of Poesie points the way for the heightened moral seriousness of the new Arcadia. In the Defence, Sidney both affirms the existence of a comprehensive system of ethics—or, as he termed it, of "architectonic" knowledge—and defines the poet's primary responsibility as providing de-lightful moral instruction. Chapter Two examines how Sidney revised the new Arcadia in order to supply its readers with such architectonic knowledge. Sidney vastly expanded the narrative of the new Arcadia by adding a multiplicity of iii characters and events designed to illustrate fully the ethics of personal and public conduct. Sidney also altered both the moral meanings implicit in the new Arcadia and the relationship of the audience to the work by de-leting the mediating narrator of the older version and replacing the earlier mode of telling with direct and unmediated narration in the revision; by reassigning the imbedded tales to narrator-agents within the fictional world of Arcadia; by introducing a number of new narrators and stories; and by complicating the relationships between the narrator-agents, their tales, their auditors, and the fictional circumstances within which the telling takes place. All of Sidney's alterations serve ultimately to provide a com-plete spectrum of moral images and to engage the readers of the new Arcadia in actively discovering for themselves the comprehensive moral de-sign which unifies those images and draws them into significant relationship. Chapter Three is an analysis of the main narrative of the new Arcadia, which details the moral education of the two princes, Pyrocles and Musidorus. Sidney uses the princes' careers in the Arcadian world to establish the correspondences between abstract ethical principles—in par-ticular, those governing private love and public duty—and the reality of human experience. In the new Arcadia, human love most often subverts virtue and undermines heroic enterprise, as a range of characters, most notably Amphialus, demonstrate. Paradoxically, love can also move men iv toward rational wisdom and virtuous endeavor, as illustrated in particular by Argalus and Parthenia, and by the Arcadian princesses in Book III. Finally, the princes' education into virtue is intended to instruct the readers of the new Arcadia in the ethical precepts that are likewise to govern their own conduct in the experiential world. TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter Page One The Old Arcadia, Astrophil and Stella, and the Defence of Poesie 1 Two The New Arcadia : The Persuasive Design 76 Three The New Ardadia : Toward Architectonic Knowledge 141 A Selected Bibliography 200 vi Acknowledgements I wish to give sincere thanks to everyone who helped me during the writing of this work. In particular, I want to acknowledge Dr. S. K. Heninger, Jr. for his meticu-lous care in supervising this dissertation, and for his more than generous contributions of time, patience, and effort at every stage; Dr. Patricia Merivale and Dr. Paul Stanwood for their prompt and always useful comments during the writing of the thesis; Mrs. Ellen Moore for typ-ing the manuscript; and especially to Curt Eaton for his un-failing support and encouragement. 1 Chapter One The Old Arcadia, Astrophil and Stella, and the Defence of Poesie Appreciation of Sidney's Arcadia moved into a new phase in 1965 when Yale University Press published Sidney's 'Arcadia', a single volume containing both Walter Davis's "A Map of Arcadia : Sidney's Romance in Its Tradition" and Richard Lanham's "The Old Arcadia. Before these two long studies, most critical discussion of the Arcadia had been focused on comparing the two versions of the text and on assessing the relative merits of each. In addition, earlier scholars had also identified possible analogies between fictional and historical events, and had indicated literary relationships between the Arcadia and the pastoral, the epic, and the chivalric romance. Although these are still topics worthy of interest, the criticism of Davis and Lanham directed attention to the usefulness of a comprehensive examination of thematic issues. Davis, in particular, analyzed the complex thematic structure of the new Arcadia, and both Davis and Lanham suggested that Sidney's complicating of the narrative in the revised version was the result of his radical rethinking and recasting of the original work. Since the publication of Sidney's 'Arcadia', several scholars have attempted to distinguish the differing objectives that give shape to the two versions of the Arcadia. The great increase in political and heroic material 2 in the revision has been generally accepted as an indication that the new Arcadia is intended to present a more comprehensive analysis of the ethics of conduct, in both public and private. As yet, however, there has been no detailed study of the ways in which the very different rhetorical patterning of the new Arcadia reveal Sidney's significantly altered intentions in reworking the earlier version. Sidney's ultimate aim was to fulfill the purpose of literature as he defined it in the Defence of Poesie: to teach moral doctrine in order to move men toward ethical perfection. It is my purpose to analyze the rhetorical and thematic patterning of the new Arcadia, and thereby to demonstrate how Sidney's fiction presents a comprehensive system of ethics that aims at instructing the reader in the morality of human behaviour. The revision of the old Arcadia grew out of changes in Sidney's under-standing—changes that can be traced in the literary works that immediately pre-ceded the new Arcadia. In brief, the old Arcadia reflects the omnipresence of moral choice, such as the conflict between public duty and private love, between action and contemplation, between physical and spiritual love, between virtue and desire; and it explores the difficulties involved in bringing such contrary values into harmonious relationship. In the old Arcadia, Sidney refused to resolve the ethical ambiguities which he repeatedly presents. The movement of the work is away from certainty toward an affirmation of the ironies and contra-dictions that inevitably attend human action. Although Sidney carried into the new Arcadia his perception of the ambiguity of experience, he was concerned in the revision with providing a more stable, unified, and comprehensive ethical system within which human conduct could nevertheless be assessed. Sidney's sonnet cycle, Astrophil and Stella, is also pertinent because in these poems Sidney again examines the problem of reconciling reason and passion, of reconciling the rational ideal of virtue with the erotic demands of love. The ending of the sequence, in particular, invites the reader to hold two contradictory responses at once: the strict judgment that passion can lead to ethical decline, and the sympathetic recognition of the compelling attrac-tion of love. Although Sidney refrains from denying the power of emotion in Astrophil and Stella, in the new Arcadia he sought to devise a perspective within which such a realistic acceptance of passion was no longer at odds with the idea that understanding—the control of passion by reason—must be the goal toward which men should aspire. The Defence of Poesie is likewise relevant because it assumes that such contradictory values can be drawn into significant relationship. The new Arcadia reflects Sidney's belief, articulated in the Defence, that providing comprehensive—or, as he called it, "architectonic"—instruction should be the purpose of literature. Sidney revised the old Arcadia in order to provide the audience for the new version with such architectonic knowledge. Sidney be-lieved, however, that "doing" was to be the fruit of "knowing." His ultimate aim was so to delight his readers with the work's aesthetic beauties that they would be drawn to incorporate in their own behaviour the moral precepts that the new Arcadia so compellingly reveals. The Old Arcadia Although no precise date can be assigned to the composition of the old Arcadia, Sidney apparently wrote it at intervals between 1577 and 1580; and he almost certainly completed it by the end of 1580 or by the spring of 2 the following year. At some point thereafter Sidney took up the major task of reworking the earlier version. The one surviving manuscript of the two and one-half books of the new Arcadia is dated 1584, but what this date signifies is unclear. It may indicate either the year in which Sidney began the revision or the year in which the manuscript was transcribed. Possibly, the revision 3 was begun as early as 1582. As little as two years' time may have passed between completing the old Arcadia and beginning the writing of the new Arcadia. The second version, however, is no mere correction of the first. Rather, it is a radical realignment of the earlier work.^ The old Arcadia, being fundamentally different from its successor both structurally and thematically,^ must be studied in its own right as an autono-mous work. Yet determining Sidney's intentions in writing the old Arcadia and his attitude toward it is problematical. Sidney's only direct commentary on the old Arcadia is contained in the dedicatory letter that serves as a preface to the work. In that letter, Sidney indicates that he wrote the old Arcadia for his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, and her friends, probably during times of retirement from active service at Elizabeth's court. Sidney deprecates the old Arcadia as "this idle work of mine, " and asks his sister to "blame not, but laugh at" the "follies" she will find in it. Sidney's slighting and off-hand manner toward his work is, in part, the pose of the elegant courtier who pro-duces with easy grace what for lesser men would require diligent labor. Be-cause it was composed for the entertainment of his beloved sister and her feminine acquaintances, the "fair ladies" who are continually addressed in the old Arcadia, we should be alert to the witty and playful spirit in which Sidney not only dedicated the work, but also wrote it. Yet there is too much evidence of artful design in the old Arcadia for us to accept at face value Sidney's estimation of the old Arcadia as a "trifle, and that triflingly handled." A careful reading of the old Arcadia confirms the view that the work is deliberately and skillfully wrought. Sidney derived his material from a range of sources—pastoral, romantic, and heroic^—in which the traditional plots were loosely episodic. But he imposed on his matter the unified, well-articulated pattern of the classical comedy and thereby achieved a neatness and organic unity of narrative structure that was rare in prose tales of the Renaissance. The old Arcadia is divided into "Five Books or Acts" based on the five-act structure of Terentian drama, including a serious plot and a comic underplot, and an action that is unified in time and place and that is carried on by a small group of characters.^ The plot itself follows the Terentian structure of protasis, epitasis, and 9 catastrophe (including a surprise anagnorisis and 'peripeteia).. Sidney begins 6 his work by introducing the main characters, providing the necessary exposition, and initiating the action. The protasis (or unfolding of the argument) occurs in Book I, in which Basilius retires to a rural retreat in order to avoid the disasters predicted by a delphic oracle; and the two princes, Pyrocles and Musidorus, assume disguises in order to have access to Basilius's two daughters, Philoclea and Pamela, with whom they have fallen in love. The second, third, and fourth books form the epitasis in which the action is complicated. In Book II, both Gynecia and Basilius fall in love with Pyrocles, who has assumed the garb of an yamazon serving woman. In Book III, Musidorus plots to elope with Pamela by tricking Dametas and his family, who are her guardians; and Pyrocles schemes to bed Philoclea by beguiling Basilius tandsIGynecia into keep-ing assignations in a cave at some distance from the main lodge. In Book IV, the fortunes of all the main characters are reversed. Basilius apparently falls dead, and Gynecia accuses herself of his murder; both the princes and their princesses are captured and imprisoned. In Book V, the catastrophe occurs as Evarchus sentences Gynecia, Pyrocles, and Musidorus to death, even though the princes are revealed to be Evarchus's son and nephew in the anagnorisis (or scene of recognition). The ending is unexpectely reversed in the peripeteia (or change from bad fortune to good), and the tale is brought to its happy con-clusion when Basilius revives, relieves Evarchus of his burdensome role as judge, restores Gynecia to his side, and approves the marriages of his daughters to the two princes. Sidney accented the division of the work into "acts" by ending the first four divisions with a set of pastoral eclogues. He may have been encouraged 7 to include the eclogues by the example of the early sixteenth-century Italian plays which often contained intermezzi. ^  The narrator suggests that the songs are intended to provide a light-hearted interlude in order to "ease you, fair ladies, df the tediousness of this long discourse" (p. 55). But the eclogues are also firmly integrated into the main plot because they reiterate and extend the themes that govern the action of the main narrative. As Ringler suggests, "Here in the remote and abstract world of the pastoral the actions of the princely characters of the courtly world are mirrored and given perspective in the rural songs of the shepherds."^ Ringler further notes how each of the four groups of eclogues is related to the book that precedes it: "Each of the four groups develops a situation and explores a theme: the first presents the pangs of unrequited love, the second the struggle between reason and passion, the third the ideals of married love, the fourth the sorrows of lovers and the sorrows of death." The main plot itself is linked together in accord with principles of probability and necessity, cause and effect; the removal of any part of the nar-12 rative would seriously disturb the integrity of the whole. Parker suggests that Sidney's use of the causally linked plot structure is directly related to his interest in exploring questions of morality: Sidney's causally linked plot creates a world different from the world of the romances, for form and content are not separable. A world manifesting a clear relationship of cause and effect in human actions is a world where people can make wrong decisions and suffer the consequences. Instead of divine intervention or supervision, men are left to find their own lonely way, driven by their passions but seeking to find proper courses to their goals, as well as proper, 8 reason for the choices they make. Morality becomes more complex than in the usual romance, where maintenance of chastity is often the only requirement. Sidney's is a world governed by clearly articulated laws and principles, with their attendant moral imperatives and difficult choices.^ The carefully constructed plot of the old Arcadia, then, is intended both to project the moral principles which ought to govern human life and to illustrate the difficulties inherent in acting in accord with those ethical imperatives. 2 To suggest, however, that clearly articulated moral principles entirely govern the movement of the Arcadia is to claim for the work a more unified pattern of morality than it actually possesses. Despite its narrative coherence, its steady progression from beginning to end as the oracular pronouncements are ironically fulfilled, and despite its clearly "syllogistic" plot based on well-established principles of cause-and-effect, the old Arcadia is neither ethically unambiguous nor tonally consistent. Modern study has emphasized that serious moral issues form the substructure of Sidney's narrative.^ But the moraliza-tion of the plot usually takes the form of an exploration of conflicts between opposing ideals or between ideals and the reality of human life and action: between erotic and spiritual love, action and contemplation, heterosexual friendship and love, passion and reason, private desire and public duty. These were questions crucial to Sidney as a private and public personage and to the age in which he lived. ^  The procedure of the eclogues, which are or-ganized around a counterpointing of contrary ideals, of different voices and 9 attitudes, of conventional moral wisdom and aberrant human actualities, provides an indication of the kind of deliberate equivocation that marks the development of the themes that likewise control the main narrative. . Although the old Arcadia is built around serious ethical concerns, the range of attitudes brought to bear on those themes is continually changing as Sidney repeatedly places moral absolutes and their contingent human responses in new perspec-tives. To view the old Arcadia as a finished piece with a controlling intent tion and structural consistency is valid only if we recognize that Sidney's primary aim is to produce a sustained, complex, and deliberately equivocal moral vision. Sidney intentionally blends irony, comedy, wry eroticism, verbal wit, and burlesque with pathos, romantic sentiment, heroism, and near-tragedy in order to juxtapose dissonant and contradictory states of mind and to underscore the fact that holding such contradictory attitudes and impulses is an irreducible part of human life. To assume that the relationship between narrative and tone, between vehicle and tenor, should be consistent is to bring a too-modern critical assumption to bear on the old Arcadia. Renaissance readers would have found it easy to accept that a work could be both'a witty entertainment and a grave discourse; they would have been delighted and edified by the tonal and thematic complexity of the work.^° The play of the work's multiple tonality over the serious ethical sub-structure of the work, in fact, seems to have provided Sidney with the oppor-tunity to explore the contradictions that he found in his own life by projecting them into the fictional world of the Arcadia. The fact that Sidney was writing for an audience of intimate acquaintances and that the "chief safety [ of his work! shall be the not walking abroad" freed him to explore his own ambivalent attitudes toward a whole range of subjects. We know that the youthful Sidney discussed some of the topics with his mentor Languet; others were standard sub-jects in school debates or in courtly literature and discourse. Sidney must also have expected hj^ sister and her selected friends to understand and to be in sympathy with his presentation of the ambiguities of human experience. Mary Sidney, though still quite young, would likely have been familiar with those issues—the relationship between inner and outer beauty, between divine and human love, between action and contemplation, youth and age, love and friendship, passion and reason—and she would have applauded the wit and in-tellectual daring, and the underlying seriousness, with which Sidney dealt with those questions. The tone of serious banter in evidence in the old Arcadia is equally detectable in Sidney's letters to Languet. Rudenstine has indicated that such lighthearted and witty treatment of serious matters was Sidney's typical mode of momentarily reconciling conflicting feelings without actually resolving the contradictions. His "habit of using serious issues as the substance of witty dialogue" would doubtless have been known and acknowledged by his first readers.^ Perhaps such intimate knowledge of Sidney provided his audience with a guide as to when they ought to take the narrative as tongue-in-cheek 1 8 and when they ought, to view narrative events more seriously. The personal nature of his audience, then, freed Sidney from the task of resolving the 11 contradictory attitudes and impulses that he explored. His readers' knowledge of his personality and habits of mind allowed him the scope to portray at will the ambiguities, ironies, and absurdities implicit in his fundamentally serious themes. Sidney's intentional mixture of the genres of comedy or tragi-comedy, pastoral, romance, epic, and heroic poem—a procedure which he later de-fended in the Defence of Poesie—parallels and complicates his deliberate mix-ture of themes and attitudes. His use of comedy and erotic narrative derives from his perception of man as enslaved by passion and as weakened by the animalistic side of his nature; the pathetic and romantic elements from his re-cognition of a common humanity and from his sympathetic perception of human desire; the epic and heroic from his faith in man's potential nobility and virtue. Sidney's fusion of genres, themes, and attitudes is directed toward presenting a complex vision of human behavior. Sidney had, a keen eye for the anomalies of human existence, but he maintained a faith in the potential redemption of fallen men. These contrasts are played off against each other again and again throughout the five books of the old Arcadia. 3 The world of the old Arcadia is light and entertaining, but it does have a dark and disturbing underside. Sidney's complex use of the comic subplot— an essential element in the Terentian structure—reflects both the comic and serious modes, and illustrates the artfulness of Sidney's seemingly straightforward narrative. The usual function of the subplot was to furnish comic relief and tonal variety, often by providing humorous or ironic reflections of the movement of the main: plot. At one level, the presence of the ridiculous shepherd family does pro-vide diversion through comic relief and adds a more delightful texture to the work through tonal variety. But the subplot serves a more serious function as well by providing a fuller picture of the range of human behavior. The pre-sence of Dametas and his family continually underscores through contrast the essential nobility and virtue of the main characters. Sidney was, of course, familiar with) rhetorical figures, and in fact made a translation of Aristotle's Rhetoric, which is lost.^ In this instance he was probably using the rhetorical figure of effectio, for Dametas, his wife, and his daughter exhibit the particu-lar qualities which their given names suggest. Dametas (a common name for a rustic in pastoral) is crude and unmannerly; Miso ("hatred") is domineering and suspicious; and Mopsa (a variant on Virgil's "Mopsus" and the Dutch mops), is coarse and sluttish. Dametas's cowardice and avarice contrasts with the magnanimity and valour of the two princes, his vainglorious boasting and self-display with their modest dignity, his rude language and clownish behavior with the decorum of the princes' speech and the courteousness of their comport-ment; His shrewish wife and lascivious and silly daughter illuminate by com-parison the essential beauty and intelligence of the two princesses and serve as a foil to their perfections. Sidney, probably following the Aristotelian dictum that comedy shows men at their worse behavior while tragedy shows men at their better (Poetica, 1447b/20), uses the clownish shepherd family to throw into relief the superiority of the courtly figures in terms of their authority, their passions, and their powers of expression. Although at times the uncompromisingly savage burlesque directed to-ward these socially-inferior characters may distress twentieth-century sensibilities attuned to a more democratic view of men, these ludicrously comic characters are not presented as objects of derision simply because they belong to a lower social order. Dametas and his family are treated with scornful humour because they are morally fallen and intellectually unregenerate, and therefore repre-hensible. The morally serious function of comedy, as Sidney defined it in the Defence, was to make vice so odious that no beholder would willingly fall into the same error: Comedy is an imitation of the common errors of our life, which [the poet] representeth in the most ridiculous and scornful sort that may be, so as it is impossible that any be-holder can be content to be such a one. Now, as in geo-metry the oblique must be known as well as the right, and in arithmetic the odd as well as the even, so in the actions of our life who seeth not the filthiness of evil wanteth a 99 great foil to perceive the beauty of virtue. Dametas and his family serve to point up the "filthiness of evil" and to warn the reader away from the vices they represent. On the other hand, most of the Arcadian shepherds exemplify the "beauty of virtue" and serve as foils for both the ridiculous shepherds and for 23 the more sophisticated courtly characters. Their simple goodness is identified as the source of the natural beauty and harmonious accord of the pastoral landscape itself: 14 Arcadia among all the provinces of Greece was ever had in singular reputation, partly for the sweetness of the air and other natural benefits, but principally for the moderate and ( i well tempered minds of the people who (finding. ..how the shining title of glory so much affected by other nations, doth indeed help little to the happiness of life) were the only people which, as by their justice and providence gave neither cause nor hope to their neighbours to annoy them, so were they not stirred with false praise to trouble others' quiet, thinking it a small reward for the wasting of their own lives in ravening that their posterity should long after say they had done so. Even the muses seemed to approve their good determination. ..by bestowing .their perfections so largely there that the very shepherds themselves had their fancies opened to so high conceits as the most learned of other nations have been long time since content both to borrow their names and imitate their cunning (p. 4 ) . ^ In this passage the natural graces that characterize the Arcadian landscape— its beauty, harmony, and order—are causally linked to the virtues of its in-habitants. The Arcadian shepherds are moderate, well-tempered, just, peace-loving, learned, and without "false pride" and cruel ambitions. . As a result, their country continues to be noted for its tranquility and prosperity. The comic shepherds not only illustrate the negative capacities of human beings by contrast.to the virtuous dispositions of the "good" shepherds—capacities that are subtly reinforced in the suggestion of. harshness, violence, and im-moderation of the inhabitants of the nations bordering with Arcadia; they are also associated with the potential for generating disharmony and disruption in the pastoral world through misguided action, the product of distempered minds. The presence of such grotesquely ignoble characters in the midst of the idyllic pas-toral world of the Arcadia is a source of tension because their very existence implicitly threatens the beauteous goodness and concord of the landscape as well as undermines pastoral assumptions about the ideality of human nature. 15 Traditionally, the pastoral setting depicted a "golden," unblemished, static, and harmonious landscape that functioned as an archetype of the edenic world, inhabited by unfallen men whose lives were simple and virtuous, free from the taint of human sin and error. But Sidney's Arcadian world is not so clearly separated from the world of human misconduct and irresponsibility. A l -though the opening description of Arcadia invokes the traditional pastoral ideals of order and harmony •/. Arcadia proves to be no ideal or redemptive landscape. Ironically, the morally negative potential associated with the comic family is ultimately realized in the actions of the courtly characters of the main plot. The initially peaceful and idyllic setting is eventually disrupted as they become entangled in moral and spiritual dilemmas that eventually generate chaos and disharmony through the whole of the Arcadian state. From the outset, Sidney evokes the potential of the noble characters for experiencing psychic turmoil and undertaking irrational, and politically dis-ruptive, action. In the equivocally-worded description of the duke and his family which follows immediately upon the presentation of the Arcadian setting, Sidney establishes the duality of their natures; they are noble and virtuous, but their excellence is carefully qualified. Basilius is a "mighty duke, " but that assessment is hedged with the ironic qualifier that he is of "sufficient skill to govern so quiet a country where the good minds of the former princes had set down good laws, and the well bringing up of the people did serve as a most sure bond to keep them" (p. 4) . His wife Gynecia is "a lady worthy enough to have had her name in continual, remembrance-if her- latter time had not blotted her well governed youth" (p. 4) . The. tone veers from severely qualified admiration to open mockery as the narrator continues his description by noting that Gynecia's enduring good reputation is the result of chance rather than deed, "fortune something supplying her want of virtue." Even the princesses, though described in terms of less-qualified approval, are mildly satirized; they are "excellent in all those gifts which are allotted,to reasonable creatures as they seemed to be born for a sufficient proof that nature is no stepmother to that sex, how much soever the rugged disposition; of some men, sharp-witted only in evil speaking, hath sought to disgrace them" (pp. 4-5). The comment is a tongue-in-cheek aside to the "fair ladies" who would no doubt have smiled at this joking reference to traditional attitudes in the continuing debate on the nature of womankind. But it does introduce the idea that women both evoke immoderate passion in men and are themselves considered to be more prone than their masculine counterparts to passionate feeling. . The hesitation and ambiguity suggested in the words "seemed" and "sufficient proof" again subtly undercut the paean to their feminine excellences. This deliberate undertone of equivo-cation prefigures their susceptibility to erotic love which will "breed unwonted war in their spirits" (p. 54), and also ironically anticipates the princes' recanta-tion of their former commitment to the life of reason and of active heroism once they have felt the impress of love. To relegate the satiric comedy and moral reprehensibility to the comic subplot and the romantic pathos and heroic action to the main plot, then, is to make the reading of the old Arcadia seem much simpler and more susceptible to categorization than it really is. The main characters are both distinguished from and identified with the comic shepherds in terms of their varied potentials for irrational excess. Marenco has offered a useful corrective to the critical tendency to view the old Arcadia as primarily a "heroic" poem, a reading predicated on an optimistic assessment of human conduct. Marenco emphasizes its darker, more pessimistic side and views the noble characters as representing negative exempla of human potential: 7 The old Arcadia 'has nothing ,to offer in the way of an optimistic appraisal of human action: it is a gloomy, al-most desperate book, mocking and not glorifying the worldly hero. Contrary to what is now commonly assumed, it ranks with the Faerie Queene as an allegory of the soul's pilgrim-age. Its overriding purpose, however, is not to extol I virtue but to condemn vice; the mirror it holds up is not that of perfection but of humility.^ To read the old Arcadia as a totally gloomy book is to miss its spirited wit and mockery, and the genuinely good-natured delight in the pleasures of erotic love. Nevertheless, light often shades into dark as Sidney artfully counterpoints two opposing evaluations of humanity. Sidney's sense of the variableness of human nature from individual to in-dividual up and down the social hierarchy, and even within single individuals, derives from two distinct philosophical views of the nature of man. The human-istic view was posited on a faith in the ability of man to raise himself up and to perfect himself through his capacity for understanding or reason. But this faith in the perfectibility of man through the restoration of his reason is pre-dicated on an alternate view of man, on one that stresses his fallen or imperfect nature. Sidney's perception of man's capacity for passionate or irrational as well as rational action was strengthened by the Renaissance view of man's position in the hierarchical scheme of creation. According to that scheme, 18 God had placed man midway between the angels and the beasts, between the divine and the carnal; man functioned as the link between the spiritual and the physical regions, the world of the intellect and the world of sense. As the link between the divine and the physical, man occupied a posi-tion that was not only crucial but, since the Fall, precarious. In postlapsarian man, the ability of the rational part of man's being to control and order his passionate half had been impaired; man's senses thus tend to revolt and to over-throw reason. As Hamilton points out, this "simultaneous double vision," the holding of the view that man is capable of either regeneration and perfection or degeneration and corruption, is characteristic of Sidney. The dichotomies between the irrational and passionate clownish shepherds and the more rational and virtuous nobility are repeatedly emphasized. But the main characters are during the course of the narrative significantly changed by love-passion. Their overthrow is in fact laughably abrupt. . The narrator claims a mock-sympathetic identification with his characters' love-dilemma and, tongue-in-cheek, invites his readers to do likewise: "It seemed that love had purposed to make in those solitary, wp.ddsia perfect demonstration of his unresistVble force, to show that no desert place can avoid his dart....,. But you, worthy ladies, that have at any time feelingly known what it means, will easily be-lieve the possibility of it. Let the ignorant sort of people give credit to them that have passed the doleful passage, and daily find that quickly is the infec-tion gotten which in long time is hardly cured" (p. 4 9 ) . The "decline" of the main characters as they are plunged willy-nilly into love is treated with playful and sophisticated cynicism, but serious matters underlie that treatment. Gynecia, for example, laments her internal self-division and acknowledges that such internal overthrow is intimately linked with vice: I am divided in myself; how can I stand? I am overthrown in myself; who shall raise me? Vice is but a nurse of new agonies, and the virtue I am divorced from makes the hate-ful comparison the more manifest.... O strange mixture of human minds: only so much good life as to make us languish in our own evils! (p. 183). Unlike Gynecia's, Pyrocles's aims in love, though suspect, are not associated with the evil of adultery. He is blocked from achieving a natural and appro-priate union in marriage with Philoclea because of Basilius's mistaken decision to bar all eligible suitors. In part, his disguise is a clever strategem to gain access to Philoclea. But his new apparel is also surrounded with suggestions of deceit and debasement, and with internal self-overthrow. In the song Pyrocles sings, "Transformed in show, but more transformed in mind," he clearly inter-twines the idea of his outer transformation with inner change ("poor reason's overthrow") (p. 29). The ethics of this questionable metamorphosis from male to female, from active hero to melancholy lover, had been debated earlier (pp. 13-23). Those debates set the moral background against which Pyrocles's present actions are to be viewed. Pyrocles, in his deliciously erotic but ultimately ridiculous feminine attire, is the object of sympathy and scorn, of admiration and censure. The narrator deflates the nobility of "her" new estate by mocking her sex change and 20 the Petrarchan excess of her passion. Yet the narrator projects the essential beauty of her singing—a beauty to which the brutish Dametas is totally in-sensible—through the eyes of Musidorus, whose superior sensibility makes him more susceptible to the quasi-divine harmony of the song. In so doing, the narrator invites approbation and a compassionate acceptance of Pyrocles's present conduct: I might entertain you, fair ladies, a great while, if I should make as many interruptions in the repeating as she did in the singing. For no verse did pass out of her mouth but that it was waited on with such abund-ance of sighs, and, as it were, witnessed with her flow-ing tears, that, though the words were few, yet the time was long she employed in uttering them; although her pauses chose so fit times that they rather strengthened a sweeter passion than hindered the harmony. Musidorus himself (that lay so he might see and hear these things) was yet more moved to pity by the manner of Cleophila's singing than with anything he had ever seen—so lively an action doth the mind, truly touched, bring forth (p. 29). Sidney deliberately pairs the narrator's mocking description of Pyrocles's excessive displays of grief as he sings his melancholy love song with Musidorus's perception of the genuine sweetness and pathos of the music and its maker. The reader is invited to view Pyrocles's conduct as a lover with both sympathy and judgment. 4 The motifs of metamorphosis and disguising, of both internal change re-sulting from the inversion of the proper hierarchies of reason and passion and external transformations springing from the assumption of new social or personal roles, often accompanied by a change of costume, are repeatedly associated with moral ly dubious situations. The comic subplot mirrors events in the main plot as in both narratives a change in the external "fortune" of a character either initiates or results from an inversion of the proper internal relationship between reason and passion. The assumption of such a new private or public persona invariably requires the newly-transformed character to act out roles which by his previous knowledge and experience, and by his inherent moral disposition, he is hardpressed and often inadequate to fulfill. The metamorphosis of Dametas from simple herdsman to trusted counsellor, for example, inevitably involves him in almost slapstick byplay. He is con-sistently treated as a comic intruder into a social milieu in which he has neither the mannerliness, the wit, nor the virtue to participate. At every appearance in his new role as important courtly personage, Dametas's pretensions to au-thority are comically deflated. When Pyrocles cries out against the injustice of Dametas's having charge of the lovely Philoclea ("O pearl...that so vile an oyster should keep thee!"), Dametas's ridiculous misunderstanding and his swaggering bravado ("this woman is mad; oysters and pearls; dost thou think I will buy oysters? I tell thee, get thee packing, or else I must needs be offended") is soon turned to cowardice, wittily confirming Pyrocles's assessment of his foolish ineptitude (p. 32). The dominant tone of the passage is comic. But Basilius's decision to give guardianship of his daughters to Dametas and his family is earlier treated as a serious misjudgment and an improper inversion of the social hierarchy against which Philanj$*had warned Basilius ("It comes of very ill ground that ignorance should be the mother of faithfulness", p. 8). Such a dislocation of hereditary and quasi-divine social placing, according.to Renaissance political theory, would necessarily breed chaotic disruptions in the body politic. The rather simple characterization of the shepherd family and the con-sistency with which their moral natures are burlesqued serves to highlight the more complex evaluation we are faced with when we attempt a moral assess-ment of the major characters. In his delineation of Basilius, Sidney conflates the characterization of the clown and the ruler as Basilius transforms himself into Dametas's moral equal. Basilius's willful inversion of the social order in raising Dametas above his station is paralleled by his own reverse metamorphosis from "mighty duke" to aged lover. Like Lear, by giving up his royal and parental authority and the contingent obligations, Basilius is guilty of an almost criminal evasion of responsibility. In casting off his identity as princely person and in refusing to reign, Basilius soon becomes vulnerable to the mental de-formities attendant on passionate excess. His change in station, initiated by a lack of wisdom ("not so much stirred with the care for his country and children as with the vanity which possesseth many who...are desirous to know the certainty of things to come, wherein there is nothing so certain as our con-tinual uncertainty^" p. 5 ) , precipitates him into completely immoderate be-havior. Basilius is ultimately changed into a mere fool and a lecher, and he aspires to become an adulterer as well—if his aged body does not fail him. Ideally, the veteran king is to be the ultimate pattern of wise nobility. But when Basilius degenerates into a fit moral companion for Dametas, Sidney extends to the presentation of the newly-altered king the grotesque exaggeration of physical deformity that he had earlier reserved for the treat-ment of the comic shepherd family: Poor Basilius was so appalled that his legs bowed under him, his eyes waxed staring dead, and (his old blood going to his heart) a general shaking all over his body possessed him (p. 115). The presentation of Basilius as the aged Petrarchan lover, struck into physical debility by his mistress's cruelty, is wittily mocking and wryly ironic. Yet he is an object of astringent satire because his defections are connected with serious issues and lead to disruption in both private and public realms. In the old Arcadia, such social inversions, whether upward or downward, and the concomitant assumption of new social identities, are often as in the case of Basilius associated with a negation of the principles of action. The careers of the two princes parallel Basilius's in that they, too, are fugitives from public life. Once again the inversion of traditional social roles is the source of dry comedy as the princes are forced to assume the lowly disguises of a shepherd and a servingwoman. But the princes, though treated with mock-ing cynicism",, are not bitingly ridiculed as Dametas and Basilius are. Their change in role is much more ethically tenuous. On the one hand, they are merely delightful young men who quite naturally fall in love with two equally charming ladies, and their new roles are in part the result of adverse fortune. They cannot court their mistresses directly, so they choose a more oblique course. Their cleverness, vigor, and fortitude in responding to the barriers that confront them, and their idealism and devotion as they pursue their new course in love, are to be applauded. Rudenstine is right in suggesting that Sidney exalts the princes' "poetic re-28 sponse to life" as they become enraptured by the pleasures of human love. Their very susceptibility to external beauty is, in fact, a hallmark of the noble mind. Their receptiveness to the beauty of their mistresses is the outgrowth of their recognition of the princesses' moral as well as physical beauty and symbolizes the princes' natural bent toward virtue. Yet the division between virtuous desire and mere sensuality is thin in-deed, and the young lovers are continually viewed as both laughable and en-gaging, admirable and seriously defective in morality. Sidney views his young lovers indulgently, even compassionately, but his praise is invariably mixed with witty realism. The lovers themselves are highly conscious of the moral dubiety of their new roles. Early in Book I, the two princes debate the dual possibilities inherent in love: as a force for the enabling of virtue through divine understanding and as a force for bestial and passionate excess. Pyrocles, for example, argues that the love of virtuous women: will confirm virtue in their admirers: For, if we love virtue, in whom shall we love it but in virtuous creatures?—Without your meaning be I should love this word of virtue when I see it written in a book. Those troublesome effects you say it breeds be not the fault of love, but of him that loves, as an unable vessel to bear such a power—like ill eyes, not able to look on the sun, or like a weak brain, soonest overthrown with the best wine (p. 22). Sidney ends Pyrocles's long and cleverly argued defense of the potentially en-nobling power of love, however, with an amusingly deflating dramatization of the gulf between Pyrocles's idealistic professions and his truer erotic desires— a gulf of which Pyrocles himself is both aware and unaware: And in that heavenly love, since there are two parts (the one, the love itself; the other, the excellency of the thing loved), I (not able at the first leap to frame both in myself) do now, like a diligent workman, make ready the chief instrument and first part of that great work, which is love itself. Which, when I have a while practised in this sort, then you shall see me turn it to greater matters. And thus gently, you may, if it please you, think of me. Neither doubt you, because I wear a woman's apparel, I will be the more womanish; since, I assure you, for all my apparel, there is nothing I desire more than fully to prove myself a man in this enterprise (pp. ,22-23). When Pyrocles acknowledges but wittily rationalizes his intentions, he reveals the true bent of his love. The essentially sensuous and erotic nature of his love is cynically mocked, yet his attraction to the delights of sensuous ex-perience is treated sympathetically. Pyrocles sincerely aspires.to virtuous love, but the validity of those aspirations is continually undercut as both princes ironically prove to be, in Pyrocles's words, "unable vessels." In response to Pyrocles's transformation into a "mind infected" lover, Musidorus offers himself as a model of active virtue only.to have his pretentions to unblemished heroism ironically undercut when he recants his former vows and dedicates himself to love. Musiddrus's early invocations of the principle of action, delivered as a long and tedious lecture to the lovelorn Pyrocles, are wittily deflated once he has caught a glimpse of the lovely Pamela. Meta-morphosed into the shepherd "Dorus," he is offered the opportunity to perform heroical duties in service to Basilius; but he chooses instead to "dedicate his service to Dametas"—another example of the inversion of rightful social 26 relationships. His ambitions ironically now stretched quite another way be-cause his mind was "wholly set upon pastoral affairs" (p. 5 4 )—namely, the winning of the enticingly beautiful Pamela. Musidorus's majesty and dignity are impaired at the first touch of love, and his earlier experience in the life of active heroism loses all its directive power under erotic stress. Sidney is continually aware of the equivocal synthesis of. love and lust. Although the princes may aspire to an ideal love, they find their senses in-toxicated by desire; their physical and psychic transformations under the impulse of love are associated with both moral and sexual degradation as their eventual betrothal to the princesses is preceded by a near-rape and a seduction. No ideal or untroubled form, their love is both grotesque and attractive, degrading and intensely compelling. In presenting the metamorphosis of all the major characters, Sidney frequently exploited the strategy of conflating mythical and fictional characters and events in order to juxtapose contrary attitudes about love. In this he found fertile precedent in Ovid's treatment of the motif of metamorphosis in erotic mythological tales. As William Keach has shown, the later Elizabethan poets exploited the ambivalence inherent in the classical sources of their erotic nar-ratives. Keach defines the ambivalence that characterizes Ovid's treatment of erotic myths as follows: Ovid's view of erotic experience, however varied in its development from the Amores and Heroides and into the Metamorphoses, can nevertheless be discussed in terms of certain prevailing features. The most important feature— the one which subsumes all others—is ambivalence: a constantly active and posed awareness that sexual love can 27 be humorous, grotesque, and animal-like in its savagery as well as beautiful, emotionally compelling, and an essential part of what it means to be human.^ A parallel recognition of the potentially humorous or grotesque yet compelling and humanizing quality of love pervades the Arcadia. Gynecia, for example, is an aggressive female wooer, an Ovidian type. Sidney's deft dramatization of Gynecia's shifting emotional 'states of mind as she fluctuates between wounded consciousness of guilt, aggressive sexual impulse, and vengeful fury elicits sympathy £t>* her erotic dilemma, horror at the destructive violence of her passion, and satiric amusement at the essential pettiness of her objective. Sidney extends and complicates his pre-sentation of the complexity of human love by introducing mythological ana-logues. He invokes bothOfhe grotesque and the heroic in Gynecia's fierce erotic desire for Pyrocles by conflating her jealous' frenzy with the fury of Pallas Athena. She flies to break in upon the t§te-a-t§te between Pyrocles and Philoclea with "the disdainful scorn which Pallas showed to the poor Arachne that durst contend with her for the prize of well weaving" (p. 123). The conflation of Gynecia with Pallas Athena suggests that she shares in the tragic and heroic dimensions of Pallas's enmity, directed at a young yet successful rival. Yet the effect of Sidney's treatment, like Ovid's (Metamorphoses, VII, i ff.), is ultimately anti-mythopoeic as the essential pettiness of the rivalry is counterpointed with the enormity of the psychic response. Gynecia's lust is disproportionate and grotesque, and therefore comic; but her potential for destructive action is suggested in the identification, however ironic on the surface, of Gynecia's power with that of Pallas. 28 Like Ovid, Sidney deftly directs sympathy toward the young aspirant. Yet the context easts an-ironic shadow also over Philoclea, "whose conscience now has begun to know cause of blushing" (p. 23). Philoclea, invoking her mother's example as her guide, has yielded herself to the promptings of sexual love, and her desires are soon to be consummated. Her response to Pyrocles's revelation that he is a man, implicitly ready and able,to satisfy her, is com-pared to Pygmalion's mind while he found his beloved image wax little and little both softer and warmer in his folded arms, till at length it accomplished his gladness with a perfect woman's shape, still beautified with the former perfections, was even such as, by each degree of Cleophila's words, stealingly entered in Philoclea's soul, till her pleasure was fully made up with the manifesting of his being, which was such as in hope did overcome hope (p. 120). Like Pygmalion, Cleophila had vowed virginity; then she had discovered, once in love, that by the nature of her love-object she would be forced against her will to maintain her vows. The sensuous delight she takes in the "chaste" touching and kissing of Cleophila is paralleled by Pygmalion's "chaste" bed-ding of his statue (Ovid, Metamorphoses, X, vii ff.). Finding Cleophila ap-parently incapable of giving her sexual satisfaction she, like Pygmalion, bashfully hopes for some kind of transformation, the nature of which her modesty debars her from approaching except circumspectly. Once Cleophila is indeed "trans-formed" into Pyrocles, a now sexually-accessible lover, her "marriage" like Pygmalion's, is consummated perhaps before the wedding has been performed. Both Ovid and Sidney treat their young, delightful, and sensuous lovers with a mixture of pathos and cynicism, with smiling censure and subversive erotic delight. 29 5 Sidney treats these subversions of conventional moral and sexual codes with tolerance and even sympathy. Yet he also seems to censure the inability of his characters to conform to the ideals which they mouth as their heroic pretensions are reduced to animalistic and even violent passion. As the work progresses, the tone becomes increasingly censorious. Although the change in tone between the first three books and the last two from approbation to judg-ment can be overstressed, the actions of the principal characters are brought under more and more painstaking scrutiny. Ultimately, the princes and Gynecia are condemned to death for their actions as lovers. They are fortuitously redeemed, however, when the princes are married to their princesses, and Gynecia is restored to Basilius's side. The reversal of fortunes at the end meets the demand of the comic structure for a happy conclusion, but it also subverts any attempt, to resolve the con-flicts between the demands of love and the demands of justice. Hamilton has succinctly summarized the deliberate ambiguity of the end: The dilemmas of-the trial-scene are not meant to be re-solved by Basilius's revival. The response of all readers, particularly the response of the 'fair ladies' whom Sidney addresses, must remain divided. Only another Evarchus could uphold his judgment without wavering. The work as a whole demands a divided response: the delight it affords constantly wars with its instruction in order to invite the reader's participation.... When love is finally brought to judgment in the trial-scene, delight and instruction. stand opposed. Basilius's revival may be designed for"'the frailty of the reader who is unable to face the reality brought to life by 'sacred rightfulness1 and who desires a happy ending whatever the cost. It is also the poet's defiant assertion of what must be and should be. The refusal to resolve the moral ambiguities, implicit in the judgments both for and against the main characters, implies that the complexity of moral evalua-tion cannot ultimately be reduced to simplistic certainties. The recognition that reductive either/or categories are inadequate to cover the range of human experience is made explicit in the narrator's closing words, as he assesses the nature of human judgment: "So uncertain are mortal judgements, the same person most infamous and most famous, and neither justly" (p. 416). This witty reminder serves as a summation of the impulse of the whole work away from moral certainty and directs the reader toward a more realistic understand-ing of the ironies, contradictions, and absurdities that inevitably attend fallen man. A parallel sense of the ambiguity of human life and action in-forms the new Arcadia; but in the revision, Sidney provides a moral order within which the reader can achieve a firmer and more coherent evaluation of the morality of human conduct. II Astrophil arid Stella 1 As in the old Arcadia, Sidney explored in Astrophil arid Stella the conflicts between reason and passion, private affection and public responsi-bility, heavenly love and earthly love, virtue and desire; and once again he refused to resolve the emotional and ethical dilemmas that he presents in the sonnet cycle. Astrophil and Stella was written some time between 32 1581-3, probably in the late summer of 1582. Based on the historical facts of Sidney's love for Lady Penelope Rich and presumably composed in a short period of time after the love affair was terminated, Astrophil arid Stella was clearly intended to be read as a work based on Sidney's personal experience. Sidney deliberately embedded a number of biographical references in the sequence, including puns on Penelope Devereux's married name, "Rich" (sonnets 24, 35,and 37), and specific references to the Sidney coat of arms (sonnet 55) and to his father's governorship of Ireland (sonnet 30). The members of the small audience among whom the manuscript was originally cir-culated would readily have identified Stella with Penelope and Astrophil with Sidney, and they could probably have filled in biographical detail omitted from the sequence itself and lost to us. The sonnet cycle is not of interest, however, primarily as an autobiography. The factual detail is so carefully selected and artfully integrated into the poetic texture of the sequence that its significance as a personal history retreats into the background. Although the poem is essentially autobiographical, historical fact is made subservient to the exigencies of art. Young is right, I think, in pointing out that the biographical matter finally serves a "rhetorical function" in the poetry: "The function of identification... is not autobiographical revelation. Rather the identification is a means by which Sidney, the real historical figure, in a sense lends his reality to Astrophe), the dramatic character, as a kind of 34 concrete 'existential' value." The ultimate source of interest in the poem lies in its literary or poetic "reality." Perhaps one of the reasons that critics have disagreed on the precise relationship of the biography.to the poetry is that the treatment of the love story, though constructed loosely on historical fact, is undertaken in accord with conventional patterns of literary expression. Astrophil is the ardent young lover of Petrarchan convention and his lady is likewise conventionally beautiful and chaste. Many of the presumably historical events are also commonplace poetic happenings, including the lover's complaints and praises, the coldness of the lady, the kiss, and the final separation of the lovers. Indeed, the standard Petrarchan relationship between lady and lover (defined by Young as a "fixed" relation—"the lady is always unobtainable—or at least unobtained—the lover hopeless, or at least hapless; it is a permanent impasse") is likewise the ultimate relationship between Astrophil and Stella as well. The plot also is the familiar one of courtly amorous pursuit, carried on in love and hope, attended by acute desire and frustration, and ended in failure. Thomas Nashe, in his preface to Newman's first quarto of Astrophil and Stella (1591), described it as a "tragicomedy of love...the argument cruel chastity, the prologue hope, the epilogue dispair, " and suggests that Chaucer's Troilus 36 and Criseyde was Sidney's model. Even the treatment of the love story is conventional. Sidney's invocations to the moon, to his bed, to sleep, and to dreams are found in Italian and French poetry of the same period. The rhetorica devises he used, too, including selected kinds of diction and certain puns and turns of speech, were standard elements of continental and English courtly 37 love poetry. Yet imitation of convention, provided merely the groundwork qp for Sidney's genuinely creative effort in writing Astrophil and Stella. 2 One of Sidney's innovations—no doubt stemming from the autobiographi-cal matter—is that the cycle follows a more clearly-defined plot line than most qo groups of sonnets telling a story. Nevertheless, a I though Asfrbphi I and Stella provides a more fully-realized and explicitly-detailed story than other sonnet cycles, the real focus of interest is not outward, toward the unravelling of the tale. Rather it is primarily inward, toward the variations of Astrophil's moods and states of mind as he responds to the fluctuations of his fortune, or misfortune, in love. Sidney artfully dramatizes the impact of outer events on Astrophil's psyche as he becomes by turn earnestly petitioning, worshipful, cajoling, joyful, angry, irreverent, cynical, mocking, jealous, despondent, and despairing. As one scholar has noted, in providing such; an anatomy of love, or of the lover's mind, Sidney redefined the boundaries of Petrarchan convention, both by intensifying the focus on Astrophil's penchant for self-analysis and by stressing the essentially non-idealistic and sexual basis of Astrophil's desires.^ Sidney's frank and energetic appraisal of orthodox mores and attitudes, detectable in his handling of Petrarchan convention, is in fact characteristic of the liveliness with which. Sidney deals with all the material of the conven-tional sonnet cycle. What may at first appear to be a random mixture of cliches and ironic parody, of conventionality and freshness, is actually the skillful work of a deliberate craftsman.^ Rendering a lively and even uncon-ventional treatment of traditional matter was a large part of Sidney's intention. According to one scholar, what distinguished Astrophil arid Stella from earlier Elizabethan sonnet sequences was precisely Sidney's revitalization of the well-AO worn conventions of contemporary poetry. That new vitality is intimately con-A Q nected with the dramatic quality of the poems of Astrophil arid Stella. The "drama" of the poems stems from Sidney's innovative reworking of traditional literary conventions, from his rendering of traditional modes and of formal rhetorical devices in the contexts of penetrating and frequently paradoxical analysis, and of bold and often ironic expression. The placing of traditional forms and attitudes in new and frequently am-biguous perspectives was a characteristic procedure in the old Arcadia as well.^ Similarly, the conflicts which lay beneath the ironies and paradoxes of the old Arcadia also account for the dramatic tensions everywhere detectable in Astrophil and Stella. Ryken provides a concise summary of the conflicts that are ar the heart of the drama in Astrophil and Stella: "The dramatic element., is customarily defined in terms of conflict—conflict between reason and passion, between love and heroic duty, between the lover, his lady, and courtly values.1 As in the old Arcadia, the strongly moral basis of those conflicts is evident in the nature of the polarities: wit versus will, virtue versus passion, public duty versus private desire, heavenly love versus earthly love. Particularly in the first part of the sequence the ethical basis of the conflict is apparent. Astrophil's fall into love, like that of the princes', pro-pels him into an acute moral dilemma. . Astrophil is caught in the pull—familiar from the old Arcadia—between his intensely sensuous yearnings and his high moral sense. Astrophil's inner division, like the self-division of the Arcadian princes, can be viewed as essentially a conflict between reason and passion, -be-tween the commands of the head and the demands of the heart. Yet, as in the old Arcadia, Sidney refuses in Astrophil and Stella to play the austere moralist and to deny the compelling attractiveness of human love. . As Lever comments, " [Sidney] was more concerned with understanding himself than with edifying his readers. If his desire for Stella was irrational it was nevertheless very r e a l . " ^ Like the readership for whom the old Arcadia was written, the audience for whom Astrophil and Stella was originally intended was composed primarily of friends and acquaintances. Once again, Sidney was free to explore in his art, fully and without reserve, the conflicts and ambigu-ities he found in his own life, despite the fact that his private perceptions might contravene public norms. Sidney continually seeks to project and to define through the figure of Astrophil his relentless analysis of the effects of passionate love on an urbane, intelligent, and sensitive mind. Like Sidney, Astrophil is moral, deeply questioning, and highly self-aware; his aim is to discover by personal experi-ence the reality of the norms of thought and action that traditionally define the nature of human love. Indeed, both the complexity and the interest of the sequence arise from Astrophil's keen probing of the relationship between his own traumatic love experience and the conventional codes of love. Many of the sonnets are seemingly conventional. The more typical im-pulse in the sequence, however, is to confront traditional modes of feeling and belief with the vital reality of human emotion. Astrophil is almost an actor as he moves flexibly among changing attitudes and poses. Yet the point of his role-playing is finally to affirm the essential "truthfulness," the sincere validity, of his private experience by contrasting it with the mannered affecta-tion and arbitrariness of traditionally dictated patterns of feeling and belief. Young describes these distinctions: "On the one hand, then, are real or true love (Love itself) and the lover as a real person, and on the other a world too wise: a world, apparently, that is artificial and without genuine feeling. 1 Astrophil's role-playing is usually directed toward emphasizing the sterility of literary or social convention, and toward asserting by contrast the essential value of the various attitudes and poses associated with his new, central identity as the true lover. Astrophil, then, does not use his multiple guises as "ironist, satirist, hapless victim, tender youth, military strategist, naive poet, dutiful lover, and fool," as Rudenstine claims, as a means of exploring his fundamental un-certainty about his new role as lover.^ Rather, in each apparent conflict between the role of true lover and alternate poses dictated by moral convention or social custom, the conflict is inevitably resolved in favor of the impulses of private love. Although many of the sonnets do seem to express a mind actively engaged in a troubled and difficult search for a truer sense of re-lationship between conflicting impulses and differing orders of value, the out-come is invariably the triumph of human desire. Fluctuating feeling and changing tones are everywhere apparent, but the movement of the whole se-quence follows a remarkably unwavering progress toward the affirmation of love as the single, central value. 3 From the first sonnet, which ends with the muse's commandto Astrophil, "look in thy heart and write," real value is invariably located in the feeling heart.^ Sonnet 1 opens with Astrophil's declaration of the sincerity of his love ("loving in truth"). Seeking to show "the truth" of his love in verse, Astrophil claims that he had turned at first to the poetic conventions used by other poets for inspiration ("oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow / Some fresh and fruitful I showers upon my sunne-burn'd braine"). He ultimately sets aside such insincere imitation ("others' feete seem'd but strangers in my way"). Astrophil is implicitly rejecting the kind of sterile love poetry that Sidney criticizes in the Defence for its lack of energia, or forcibleness—a lack that stems from the poets' failure to feel the passions they attempt to portray. Instead of imitating the empty conventions of traditional love poetry, Astrophil turns, as his muse has directed him, to the dictates of the sincere and loving heart. According to Petrarchan convention, his heart was im-printed with the likeness of Stella. As a lover Astrophil is to assert re-peatedly in the following sonnets the truth of his real feeling as opposed to the empty gesturing of courting a la mode. This preference for the promptings of the "sincere" heart over the dictates of conventional forms or institution-alized wisdom is ultimately to determine the direction that Astrophil will take in resolving his moral dilemma. Although the first section ( 1 - 2 1 ) of Astrophil and Stella contains a number of conventional tributes and complaints addressed to the lady, the main source of tension is not directly associated with winning the lady. Rather, the significant conflict is located in an internal struggle be-tween Astrophil's conscience and his desire. Yet reason, rather than passion, is dramatized as the disruptive force—an ironic inversion of the standard ethical precept that reason ought to govern passion. Astrophil's probing exploration of his internal self-division does appear to lead toward self-knowledge and wis-dom. Yet the real movement is away from the modes of thought and conduct dictated by rational wisdom and toward the rationalization of sexual impulse. The typical procedure of the sonnets is from the assertion of some gen-erally held precept to the contrary affirmation of Astrophil's private response, a reaction that is at odds with orthodox norms. The poems usually end with a surprising turn—often witty and sophistical—which deflates or denies con-ventional wisdom and asserts the primacy of sensuous love or uncontrollable emotion. The effect of this process is to distinguish Astrophil's attitudes 39 and conduct from standard practice, and at the same time to lend weight to the lover's impulses as more genuine, sincere, natural, or "real." Sonnet 1 is, of course, written to praise Stella, but it also contrasts Astrophil, the true poet-lover, with love poets who are mere poseurs. In sonnet 2, Astrophil implicitly differentiates his fall into love from Petrarchan convention; his love is predicated not on love at first sight, but on the "knowne worth" of the lady. This contrast suggests the weight, dignity, and essential nobility of AstrophiI's love, since his passion springs from a recognition of the lady's merit. When Astrophil is reduced to a mere Petrarchan lover at the end of the poem, he accepts the attitudes of Petrarchanism only because they are the appropriate manifestations of the reality of his inner turmoil. The conscious irony and self-knowledge with which Astrophil assumes the role once again dis-tinguishes him from the base poseurs. The battle between passion and reason is treated frequently in the first section (especially in sonnets 4, 5, 10, 18, .19, and 21). Sonnet 4 intro-duces the theme of the struggle between will and wit (or, loosely, desire and reason). Here Astrophil wittily projects his inner crisis of conscience by ad-dressing the personified abstraction, Virtue. He assumes the role of the truant youth confronted by an overly-severe master. He confesses his sin, and asks for pardon by pleading that his youthfulness makes him unfit for Virtue's "hard bit." Then, tongue-in-cheek, he warns Virtue that "if that needs thou wilt usurping be, / The li-ifrle reasons that is left in me, ...I sweare, my heart such one shall shew to thee, / That shrines in flesh so true a Deitie, / That Vertue, thou thy selfe shalt be in love." In so doing, Astrophil cleverly extol Is and rationalizes his own passion for Stella. Astrophil's delightful self-mockery and his witty acknowledgment of his fall from virtue ironically work to justify his decision to^follow love rather than virtue. Astrophil's charming frankness and intelligence in admitting his deviation from religion and from socio-moral conventions win sympathy and approval. His youthful vitality makes it seem, indeed, that "Churches or schooles are for [virtue's] seate more fi t . " Astrophil's special pleading for leniency, for permission to indulge in the fleshly and erotic "virtues" of his true "Deitie," is a deliberate gesture of heresy. The identification of the earthly Stella as the only and absolute goddess contravenes the Neoplatonic idea that physical graces (or "virtues") are but the first step on the ladder toward heavenly beauty and contemplative virtue. By contrast, Astrophil's procedure in sonnet 5 is, to admit emphatically the truth of Neoplatonic doctrine: "It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve / The inward light"; "It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart, / an image is"; "True, that true Beautia Vertue is indeed / Whereof this Beautie can be but a shade." Yet the harshly emphatic and rigidly patterned rhetoric associated with these admissions is jarring and discordant. By contrast, the quiet simplicity of Astrophil's final statement, "True, and yet true that I must Stella love," closes the sonnet surely and conclusively on the side of love. The turn of the ending serves to throw into disrepute the rhetorically static and implicitly rigid authoritarianism of traditional love doctrine. In his role as mere lover, simple and true, Astrophil dramatically opposes the sterility of philosophical idealism with the vital sincerity of his own experience. The sonnet succeeds admirably in inverting high idealism and sensuous desire, and in making sexual passion seem the higher good. Astrophil both knows and nominally accepts the religious idealization of love (including its em-phasis on the denial of the body, on moderate self-control, and on dedication to contemplative wisdom). That he is willing—for love alone—to set himself outside the bounds of religion and morality ironically ennobles his essentially base desire. Astrophil cleverly evokes high-mindedness in his decision to forego wisdom and virtue. Sidney uses the rhetorical procedure of listing, recanting, and then re-versing the recantation in a gesture of self-recognition and self-acceptance in sonnet 18 as well. In this case, the issue is not the ethical basis of Astrophil's love, but his defection from public duties as statesman and courtier. Astrophil feels shamed-when he confronts his own conscience: "With what sharpe checkes I in my selfe am shent, / When into Reason's audite I do go." He counts him-self "a btmekrout know / Of all those goods, which heav'n to me hath lent." He then lists his wanton failures to perform the tasks he. was intended to fulfil by virtue of his birth, nature, and learning: Unable quite to pay even Nature's rent, Which unto it by birthright I do ow: And which is worse, no good excuse can show, But that my wealth I have most idly spent. My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toyes, My wit doth strive those passions to defend, Which for reward spoile it with vaineannoyes. I see my course to lose my selfe doth bend: I see and yet no greater sorow take, Then that I lose no more for Stella's sake. The waste of his talents and neglect of his dirty is shocking, and Astrophil dramatizes his own conscience-stricken recognition of the magnitude of his fall from public virtue. He acknowledges the validity of conventional expecta tions concerning the conduct appropriate to one of his birth and character. Yet all the usual worldly expectations mean nothing when measured against the delights of love. Astrophil assumes the role of chastened prodigal only to cast it off wittily and to reassert the greater urgency of his role as lover. Indeed, Astrophil repeatedly uses such wit! and irony to defend his truancy. Eventually he comes to view his courtly peers as mere tedious "fool and "curious wits," and the affairs of state—once of such urgency—as of no 53 consequence. Astrophil's consistent and ironic diminution of his "tedious" role as virtuous public hero is designed to establish the real urgency—and essential validity—of his love. Energy, vitality, sincerity, even integrity—these qualities characterize Astrophil as lover. Rigidity, sterility, affectation, the absence of energizing emotion—these are associated with all that opposes, denies, or limits the progress of passionate love. The real adversary in the early sonnets is Astrophil's conscience, his recognition that "Desire / Doth plunge my welrform'd soule even in the mire / Of sinful I thoughts" (14). One of Astrophil's strategies for confronting and defeating his higher self is to engage in internal debate with various and variably dramatized courtly arbiters of moral and social codes. Although these internally-projected adversaries are more "objective" than the personified abstractions of love and virtue, they are curiously insubstantial. They are heard, or overheard, or briefly glimpsed; but they are never fully realized. In sonnet 2 1 , for example, Astrophil has heard the words "(right healthfull caustiks)" of a wiser and presumably older friend, who urges him to turn from love to "nobler desires" and to the fulfillment of his "great expecta tion. " But, like Pyrocles, who could scarcely attend to Musidorus's just censure and reasonable exhortations to rational self-mastery and to heroic enterprise, Astrophil can reply to wise counsel only with thoughts of Stella: "Sure you say well, your wisdome's gold mine / Dig deepe with learning's spade, now tell me this, / Hath this world ought so faire as Stella is?" In assuming quite knowingly the role of the love-infected fool, Astrophil both anticipates and deflects criticism; and he evokes a wryly sympathetic hearing for the irresistable attractions of sexual passion. In fact, all public action is significant only as it provides Astrophil with an occasion to demonstrate the single and overwhelming reality of his love. Whispering courtiers, curious about Astrophil's "dark abstracted guise,1 for example, are of no consequence in themselves. Though their presence is felt and their evaluation and censure of Astrophil's conduct is registered, the force of their criticism is effectively diminished. They capture Astrophil's attention only because they fail to see that Astrophil's silent moodiness comes not from pride or ambition, but from love. Civic life and action, and pub-lic ambition, are all implicitly denied value except as they touch on the central issue: Astrophil's complete absorption in his pursuit of Stella. The result is that Astrophil is further and further isolated from his former, more public self—defined in terms of conventional courtly norms—and from participation in the world of affairs, except as such, participation is given sig-nificance by its association with his vital inner drama. The earlier sonnets (1-21) concentrate on Astrophil's fall from virtue; the next group (21 - the eighth song) on Astrophil's fall from virtuous love. As the lady begins to soften toward Astrophil and to show signs of returning his love, the emphasis shifts from Astrophil's defections of duty and points toward his growing wantonness in love. Although Astrophil has continually played off Petrarchan idealism against frank sensuality, as he becomes more completely immersed in love the aggressively sexual basis of his desire is more explicitly treated. In sonnet 52, for-example, Astrophil deals directly with the "strife grown betweene Vertue and Love." In the dramatized altercation between Virtue and Love over who has legal entitlement to Stella, Virtue queries whether the essential Stella is inside or outside. Astrophil replies in a witty aside to Love: "Well Love, since this demurre our sute doth stay, / Let Vertue have Stella's selfe; yet thus, / That Vertue but that body graunt to us." Astrophil's assumption, of the role of worldly seducer in sonnet 52, though treated with fine self-mockery, indicates his firm resolution to follow the dictates of erotic passion. He effectively cuts himself off from the standard Neo-platonic prevarication: the sublimation of physical passion in spiritual love. This commitment to sexual love is confirmed in sonnets 71 and 72, it is reiterated in the "baiser" sonnets, and it is finally the basis for the dramatic action of the group of songs and sonnets between sonnet 84 and the eighth song. • Once committed firmly and overtlyto gaining access to "the body," Astrophil's inner crisis of conscience is resolved absolutely in favour of following "Desire." The subsequent sonnets are increasingly impetuous, de-manding, worldly, and boldly erotic as Astrophil, more hopeful of the lady's reciprocal affection, presses for the consummation of their love. This resolu-tion was not seriously contravened at any earlier point. Yet, once Astrophil is explicitly committed, to winning the sexual favor of the lady—a decision in keeping neither with religious nor social convention—there is no, looking back to the problem of the tender conscience. The dilemma from sonnet 52 forward lies in overcoming the lady's chaste resistance. Once Astrophil affirms the absolute value of "Desire," his difficulty is no longer a problem of ethics, but a problem of persuasion—a difficulty that he finallyfcupble to resolve to his own satisfaction. The progress of Astrophil and Stella, then, is toward an affirmation of the single and absolute value of sexually-based human love. . Although the sequence ends in frustration and despair—the lady forces Astrophil "by the irone lawes of duty to depart "--Astrophil is incapable of denying the power of his emotion. . As Ringler notes, "[Astrophil], finally by an act of will gives over the active pursuit of Stella (107); but he does not and cannot cease to love her, for he never frees himself from or sublimates his emotion."^ Erotic human love, and its attendant frustrations, are inescapable facts of human life. Astrophil has consistently opted for the equivocal morality of sexual passion; but he is frustratingly debarred by his lady from achieving sexual fulfilment. . He can neither deny his erotic impulse, nor satisfy it. The ending is thereby emotionally unresolved and morally tenuous. Certainly Lever is not alone in his wish to reach a more satisfactory moral re-solution of the sequence. He follows Grosart in appending two of the Certain Sonnets, "Thou blind man's marke, thou foole's selfe chosen snare" (31) and "Leave me 8 Love, which reachest but to dust" (32); and he views these sonnets as providing both the ethically-appropriate renunciation of earthly love and the achievement of a final "resolution and spiritual integrity. 1 , 5 5 Yet Sidney himself decided deliberately to end the poems in irresolu-t i o n . 5 6 The whole progress of the sequence illustrates Sidney's refusaI, to re-solve artificfally the moral and emotional dilemmas presented in Astrophil arid  Stella simply by opting for one system of valuation over another. As Hamilton points out, the ending of the sonnet sequence invites the reader to hold two contradictory responses at once: the moral judgment that passion necessarily leads to despair, and the suspension of all moral judgment in a recognition of 57 the universal need to satisfy desire. If there is any tipping of the final balance between morality and passion, it is toward the validation of romantic love. Brodwin notes that "what is probably the most telling statement of the whole sequence [ is that Astrophil] has a 'yong soule.,n58 Human love is compelling, even though moral imperatives do exist and ethical trespass leads to despair. The discontinuity between Petrarchan sentiment and erotic impulse remains. The conflicts between the demands of human love and the commands of rational wisdom are likewise explored in the new Arcadia. Although Sidney refused in the new Arcadia to ignore or deny the moral dilemmas he presents in Astrophil and Stella, he does depict the possibility of achieving a more positive and harmonious relationship between love and virtue, and between private desire and public responsibility. Furthermore, the movement of the new Arcadia is away from the irresolution and moral tenuousness of Astrophil and Stella toward the presentation of a comprehensive normative schema within which human conduct can be evaluated. 48 III The Defence of Poesie 1 Sidney's extensive reworking of the old Arcadia was undertaken in accord with the literary principles which he articulated in the Defence of Poesie. The Defence thus provides a useful key to understanding Sidney's intentions when he began the major literary task of transforming the old Arcadia into the new. Sidney's treatise on poetry both reflects and harmonizes contemporary Renais-sance thought in poetry and poetic theory. As Van Dorsten comments, "Most of the ideas expressed in it [the Defence] are not original thoughts, but re-present Sidney's selections from the countless theories and literary common-places with which any self-respecting sixteenth century humanist was familiar. 59 Thus they are the summary of what his milieu believed poetry to be." The Defence was originally accepted as an apt and comely critical credo for Renais-sance poets and critics, and it remains today one of the most significant works of literary criticism in English. Structured according to the principles of classical oration,^ the Defence is a masterful compendium of classical and Renaissance poetic theory. Sidney's chief models include Aristotle, Plato, Horace, and Scaliger, and Sidney freely incorporated a range of other well-known classical authors and Italian commentators on poetics.^ The distinguishing feature of Sidney's eclecticism, however, is the skill with which he selected, adapted, and blended together ideas from so many sources. The result is a unified, persuasive, and surprisingly original essay. Sidney's careful selection and intricate syn-thesis of his sources is in fact an act of creative thinking. As Hamilton notes: "In general, whatever Sidney finds in earlier criticism he gathers into a higher $yr*hesis. In his Apology he integrates the major tradition of literary criticism that derives from Plato, Aristotle, and Horace, and it is this confla-tion which yields its profound and original argument.' z Sidney's treatise includes an extensive definition of the nature and extent of poetry, and of the function and responsibilities of the poet; and it ends with a survey of the state of English poetry. A long-standing theory, now commonly called into question, is that Sidney may have been provoked into writing the Defence as a reply to Stephen Gosson's denunciations of the public stage. Although Sidney does deal directly with popular controver-sial issues throughout, the primary aim of the essay is not to defend poetry from such attacks on individual abuses of poetry, but to provide an adequate z q conception of the nature and function of poetry, and of the poet. Because the Defence is primarily a treatise on poetics, it is possible that Sidney wrote it as a companion-piece to Spenser's theoretical work, now lost, en-titled The English Poet, or perhaps even as a counterstatement to Spenser's definition of the poet as divinely-inspired. 6^ The main source of Sidney's interest in poetics, however, was probably his growing involvement in his new career in belles lettres as a writer and a poet. 6 5 Sidney himself claims that he undertook the writing of the Defence because "in these my not old years and idlest times having slipped into the title of a poet [ | ] am provoked to say something unto you in the defence of that my unelected vocation" (p. 73). 6 6 Although Sidney had been educated from a very early age for a career in public service, 6^ by 1580 he had rea-lized that Elizateth was not likely to permit him to exercise significant political influence despite, or perhaps because of, his integrity, his manifest talent, and his dedication to the principle of service in the interest of the public good. Frustrated by his relatively minor role at court, he perhaps followed Languet's advice to find "another stage for your character" (1579), and the Defence is his definition of the role that had become his new though nominally "unelected vocation." As Hamilton notes, Sidney's Defence is his announcement of his new orientation: "As a manifesto, the Defence declares his emergence as a public poet, a role he fulfils by revising and recasting the Old Arcadia into the work known as the New Arcadia. 2 The Defence, then, is an important document in its own right as a co-gent, compendious, unified, and original synthesis of classical and Renaissance poetics. Yet it also provides a key to Sidney's literary writings—in particular to the new Arcadia. The general precepts which found expression in the Defence must have influenced much or all of Sidney's previous writing. Its air of authority, despite the famous play of Sidneian wit and irony that enriches it throughout, indicates a mature, ethically-serious, and comprehensive/Oa flexible yet stable, perspective. Yet the very act of articulating his critical theory in the Defence seems to have crystallized Sidney's thought concerning the function of poetry, and to have pointed the way toward Sidney's radical re-vision of the old Arcadia. No absolute proof of the dating of the Defence is available. It may have been written at any time between 1579 and 1582.^ The most likely date is the winter of 1579-1580; it would thus have coincided with the writing of the old Arcadia.^ Perhaps the writing of the two works coincidentally— if such was the case—impelled Sidney to reconsider the nature of the old Arcadia in light of his newly-articulated critical theory. At any rate, the massive revision of the new Arcadia was clearly begun after the Defence was completed, and it bears the imprint of Sidney's poetic theory. In general, the central concern in the Defence with the ethical function of literature dictates both the emphasized seriousness and the moral consistency of the new Arcadia. Fulke Greville's statement that Sidney's "intent^and scope [in writing the new Arcadia] was, to turn the barren Philosophy precepts into 72 pregnant Images of life" is in accord with the changes observable in the new Arcadia. As Davis, for example, has noted, the ultimate purpose of the ampli-fication of the new Arcadia was to "moralize plot" by showing the "universal 73 applications, or the philosophical underpinnings." Sidney transferred to the writing of poetry the quality of high moral seriousness that had characterized his earlier attitude toward active public service at court. He had taken up the writing of the old Arcadia primarily for its diversionary value during his retirement from the court, a retirement probably resulting from the Queen's displeasure when he opposed her planned marriage with Alencon. / 4 His later painstaking revision and extension of the earlier, simpler tale indicates that Sidney's attitude toward his work had changed. Sidney's moral earnestness in the new Arcadia is the outgrowth of his emphasis in the Defence on ethical instruction as the overriding purpose of a literary work. In the Defence Sidney repeatedly stresses the poet's obligation to in-struct his readers in "moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges" (p. 99). The Horatian doctrine of dulce et utile underlies this emphasis on the poet's responsibility "to teach goodness and to delight the learners" (p. 99). Sidney's insistence that moral imperatives govern serious literature gives shape to the rewriting of the first version of the Arcadia. Sidney found, perhaps, that his refusal to resolve moral issues in the old Arcadia and his failure to reinforce the moral imperatives represented by Evarchus, and violated by the princes, resulted in a faulty ethical design. At any rate, Sidney heightens and ex-tends the moral and political matters; and, as Greville attests, the revised version is a serious-minded work of instruction and philosophy, primarily of an ethical nature. In particular, Sidney came to realize the usefulness of the heroic poem as an organizing principle for the newly "moralized" Arcadia. Hamilton specu-lates on the probable link between the Defence and the reworking of the new Arcadia as an heroic poem: "it seems most likely to me that the writing of the Defence in the interim showed him [ Sidney] how the Old Arcadia could be recast as 'an ab-solute heroical poem' in terms of his own poetic. While the earlier work was in-tended to fulfil the function of heroic poetry, the later work fulfils also the formal 53 aspects of the genre, both in matter and manner and may be regarded as 'an 75 absolute heroical poem.'" The primary function of heroic poetry was, of course, moral. Sidney describes the heroic poet as H|JA"who doth not only teach and move to a truth, but teacheth and moveth to the most high and excellent truth; who maketh magnanimity and justice shine through all misty fearfulness and foggy desires"(p. 98). He also claims for heroic poetry the title of "the best and most accomplished kind of poetry" because the heroic action portrayed in literature teaches goodness and moves men to undertake a parallel kind of virtuous action in their own lives: "For as the image of each action stirreth and instructeth the mind, so the lofty image of such worthies most inflameth the mind with the desire to be worthy, and informs with counsel how to be worthy" (p. 98). The actions of the two heroes of the new Arcadia, Pyrocles and Musidorus, are intended in part, to instruct the reader in goodness and. to move them to follow the princes' worthy example. Sidney's emphasis on the need for instruction through poetry is the out-growth of his Christian assumptions concerning man's fallen nature.^ At several points in the Defence Sidney refers to the degeneration of man's god-like capacity for understanding or wisdom as a result of the Fall. He speaks, for example, of learning—of which poetry is the "prince over all the rest" (p. 83) of the "serving sciences, " or branches of learning'—as fulfilling a redemptive function: This purifying of wit—this enriching of memory, en-abling of judgement, and enlarging of conceit—which commonly we call learning)under what name soever it come forth, or to what immediate end soever it be directed, the final end is to lead and draw us -h> as high a perfection as our degenerate souls, made worse by their clayey lodgings, can be capable of (p. 82). Poetry thus aids in moving fallen men toward a restoration of their prelapsarian dignity and virtue by rehabilitating their capacity for understanding. The Christian concept of the Fall is the cornerstone of Sidney's argu-ment concerning the necessity of moral instruction. The degeneration of man's soul occurred as a result of the Fall, when his will became weakened. Yet learning was to correct the degenerate will of man both by ennobling his reason through moral instruction and by moving him to love and hence to follow the good through delight. Sidney juxtaposes the term "erected wit" (which "maketh us know what perfection is") with the "infected will" (which "keepeth us from reaching ;iurito it yip. 79)F Evans has summarized Sidney's essential argument: Man's soul, since Adam's Fal.l, is degenerate. This degeneracy lies not in his cognitive faculties but is a corruption of his will which hampers his achievement of virtuous action. Poetry of all human arts best serves the required corrective purpose because it best works upon the source of the trouble, the degenerate will of man.^ Sidney seems to assume that because man's reason remained uncorrupted in the Fall, he is open to the redeeming influence of poetry, which both teaches and delights. The 'new Arcadia is designed to provide such delightful instruction to its readers. Yet Sidney carefully limits his discussion of the function of poetry to the discussion of moral virtue, to ethical and not religious rehabilitation; to secular and social, rather than private and individual matters. Sidney dis-claims any concern with theology ("as for the Divine, with all reverence it is ever to be excepted") and limits himself to a consideration, of moral philo-sophy, of the propriety of man's action in the natural world ("I speak still of human and according to the human conceits"). Poetry presents instruction in personal ethics and public mores by providing "architectonic" knowledge, "the knowledge of a man's self, in the ethic and political consideration, with the ends of well-doing and notof-well-knowing only" (pp. 82-83). Sidney does not presume to prescribe what is needed for religious salvation in the future world. Rather he concerns himself with the propriety of men's conduct in this 79 world. Similarly, in the new Arcadia Sidney limits himself in the con-sideration of ethical and political norms and leaves specifically religious in-struction aside. Furthermore—and this is of crucial significance—he is em-phatically concerned not only with knowing, but with the fruit of knowing, which is doing. The ability of the poet to rehabilitate men and to move them toward virtuous conduct presupposes the existence of absolute and fixed values. As Hamilton comments, "The background to Sidney's view of nature is given by the Neo-Platonic tradition, which places reality in a supersensuous world behind and above empirical fact. According to this tradition, the artist does not imitate external nature but rather its reality, which he perceives in his 80 own mind." The reality that the poet presents is drawn, then, not from his sense perception of the fallen world of men, but from his mental awareness of a transcendent realm comprising the divine ideas of platonic tradition. 56 Like Aristotle, Sidney distinguishes the poet from the historian, who is entirely dependent upon the facts of physical nature. The historian is limited, because "wanting the precept, [he] is so tied, not to what should be but to what is, to the particular truth of things and not to the general reason of things, that his example draweth no necessary consequence, and therefore a less fruitful doctrine" (p. 85). Sidney also distinguishes the poet from the philosopher, who is wholly dependent upon concepts. The philosopher, too, is limited, because "his knowledge standeth so upon the ab-stract and general, that happy is the man who may understand him, and more happy that can apply what he doth understand" (p. 85). Philosophy teaches by precept but lacks concrete particularity; history teaches by particular example but lacks precept. Only poetry, by combining precept and example, has the power to draw men toward virtue: Now doth the peerless poet perform both: for whatso-ever the philosopher saith should be: done, he giveth a perfect picture of it in someone by whom he presupposeth it was done, so as he coupleth the general notion with the particular example. A perfect picture I say, for he yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that where-of the philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description, which doth neither strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the soul so much as that other doth" (p. 85). The poet alone can present a reality that exists, freed from the limitations of physical reality, in his own mind. The "imitation or fiction" (p. 79) that the poet creates is not an Aristotelian imitation of "men acting" (Poetics, 1448a) in the real world of "brazen nature." The poet instead creates a "golden" world, a "second" nature which perfects nature itself: Lifted up with the vigour of his owns invention, [the poet] doth grow in effect another nature, in making things either better than nature bringeth forth, or, quite anew, forms such as never were in nature, as the Heroes, Demigods, Cyclops, Chimeras, Furies, and such like: so as he goeth hand in hand with nature, not enclosed within the narrow warrant of hervgifts', but freely ranging only within the zodiac of hi» own wit" (p. 78). .(" •., " •• •• Unlike the historian, the poet is not restricted to the presentation of the facts of the real world. Although his material is drawn from the natural world, by means of his imaginative powers of invention he can either transform objects of nature or make them anew. He is therefore able to create images which will invariably provide "fruitful" moral doctrine. The new Arcadia is in keep-ing with his aesthetic principle. The Arcadian world is a projection of a historical place and time, but Sidney freely invents characters and events which "never were in nature" in order to show forth more accurately and de-lightfully the "general notion[s]" or philosophical concepts which those images are designed to embody. In his imaginative scope, therefore, the poet is not limited, to representing the physical world. He goes beyond mere duplication of objective data to create a "second" or "golden" world by drawing freely on all matters within his com-pass, real or ideal, internal or external: The poet, in fact, 'borrow[s] nothing of what is, hath bin, or shall be.' Leaving that behind, the poet has available much more than the objects of physical nature as the suitable matter of his imi-tation. The entire conceptual world, as well as the physical, is open.to him, and is indeed his proper purview.?!-58 Although Sidney carefully differentiates between the divine poet who is in-spired by God and the "right poet" who is "lifted up with the vigour of his own invention," the poet's act of creation is parallel to God's. As Heninger notes in his consideration of the concept of poet as maker: In this theory of poetry, the poem is an analogous universe created by the poet. And the initial con-ceit in the mind of the poet bears the same relation to the poem as the archetypal idea residing in the godhead bears to the extended universe.-^ The poem is the concrete embodiment of the poet's "idea" and makes manifest the abstraction to which the poem gives perceptible form. The poet is, then, "both an Aristotelian imitator and a Platonic 83 maker." He finds subject matter in his own experience in the physical world, but he produces his "feigned images" by altering and ordering raw sensory data in accord with ideas or foreconceits in his own mind. The images, then, function as particularized and compelling embodiments of abstract generalities, as the "second" world serves to relate the brazen world of experience to the Platonic suprareality of ideal forms. The new Arcadia itself provides q perfect example of such a second or golden world which functions to mediate between the realm of nature and the realm of abstract ideas. Sidney presents both images that reflect the imperfections of the real world and images that sug-gest the perfections of ideal forms. Sidney's fiction thus provides both images of what men are likely to achieve in actual life and images of ideal conduct. The poet's ultimate aim in making his golden world is to teach men what virtue is and to move them through delight to undertake virtuous action in their own lives: Both -fro delight and teach; and delight, to move men to take that goodness in hand, which without delight they would fly as from a stranger; and teach, to make them know that goodness whereunto they are moved (p. 81). The "speaking picture of poesy" (p.. 86) is to be listened to figuratively as the representation of specific actions that illustrate general truths about human nature. The poet creates his golden world, as we have seen, by projecting an abstract idea by means of a particular object. The aim of the presentation of these "speaking pictures" which unite in a compell-ing image the abstract and the particular, however, is finally to move men to virtuous action. Sidney places such "moving" even above teaching, as both the cause and effect of teaching: And that moving is of a higher degree than teaching, it may by this appear, that it is well nigh both the cause and the effect of teaching. For who will be taught, if he benot moved with desire to be taught? And what so much good doth that teaching bring forth (I speak still of moral doctrine) as that it moveth one to do that which it doth teach? For as Aristotle saith, it is not gnosis, but praxis must be the fruit (p. 9 1 ) . The poem moves man by its appeal to both his rational and sensuous capacities, "his imaginative and judging power[s] " (p. 86). In particular, because a poem delights through its !>Qav^ y,- through its appeal to the senses, it can "strike," "pierce," and "possess the sight of the soul" and move men's wills to desire the good. Sidney delightfully describes the process by which the enravishing of men's will by the sensuous appeal of beautiful poetry can in-cline men toward virtue: For even those hard-hearted evil men who think virtue a school name, and know no other good but ihdulgere genio, and therefore despise the austere admonitions of the philosopher, and feel not the inward reason they stand upon, yet will be content to be delighted—which is all the good-fellow poet seemeth to promise—and so steal to see the form of goodness (which seen they can-not but love) ere themselves be aware, as if they took a medicine of cherries (p. 93). Beauty, as the quality that gives to life its seeming coherence and order and meaning, becomes the ally of virtue and leads men, through delight, to love goodness and to follow it in their own lives. 2 Because the Defence is a public manifesto, the audience is greatly expanded and impersonal, quite different from the coterie of readers for the old Arcadia and of Astrophil and Stella. Sidney is here addressing men of letters—and even beyond, literate and intelligent men of affairs in general. As a result, we do not find in it the complexity and the ambiguity that Sidney permitted himself when writing privately, and for intimate acquaint-ances. We look in vain for the earlier delightful juxtaposition of conflicting feelings and attitudes, for contrary perceptions of moral absolutes and human realities. The Defence is a lucid and consistent oration directed toward a clearly articulated conclusion—that poetry of all the arts can best move men to virtuous action. Rudenstine is right in assuming that Sidney, in-writing the Defence, was "allured by the vision of a life which could indeed har-monize contemplation and action, love and chivalric exploit, poetic and practical knowledge, leisure and vigor. But he is, I think, wrong in viewing these reconciliations as "simplif [ying ] matters." Sidney does harmonize action and contemplation by emphasizing that "well-doing" is the end of all learning. He also redefines the role of the poet. The life of the poet is nominally one of ease and contemplation rather than vigorous public activity. But the true poet actively moves men to public and private "well-doing" by means of his poetry. Because the Queen denied Sidney any significant role in public life, he sought to reconcile his former commitment to public service with his new (and perhaps more appealing) role as a public poet. In Astrophil and Stella, Sidney defined the moral problem that Astrophil confronted as poet: ".. .mine owne writings like bad servants show / My wits, quicke in vaine thoughts, in vertue lame." For the ethi-cally-suspect withdrawal from public life of the poet^Iovers of the old Arcadia and Astrophil and Stella, Sidney substitutes the retirement of the public poet, whose thought and writings are directed toward achieving communal well-being. Sidney's emphasis on the public poet as active moral agent in the community was no rationalization of a merely personal preference for a more leisurely occupation. The massive reworking of the old Arcadia toward achieving the ethical ends that Sidney so carefully defined in the Defence indicates how sincere were his claims. Indeed, the Defence dictates Sidney's future course as a poet. Likewise, the ambiguities associated with sensuous beauty are seem-ingly resolved in the Defence. In the old Arcadia Sidney fully explores the equivocal potential of physical beauty for either raising men toward rational virtue or drawing them down toward base desire. In Astrophil arid Stella, Sidney affirms the attractive powers of beauty, even when it leads unwaver-ingly toward erotic licence. In the new Arcadia Sidney asserts more firmly the potential relationship between virtue and earthly beauty. Physical beauty does not lose its association with morally-debilitating passion. If any-thing, such an alliance is more fully stressed. But in the new Arcadia Sidney presents beauty, and its attendant delight, as a potential agent for man's moral rehabilitation. Because poetry is also shaped in accord with man's predilection for the beautiful, the delighffulness of the poetic design is an integral part of its instructional force. Not surprisingly, the pleasurableness of the new Arcadia is more nearly associated with a unified and harmonious ethical design. Demonstrating this statement is the aim of my final chapter. Sidney also redefined the function of. love along related lines. In Astrophil and Stella and in the old Arcadia, love is invariably connected with a decline from virtue. But in the new Arcadia it is a means of en-couraging virtue by stirring men to love goodness; the revision in consequence more nearly conforms to Sidney's definition of the ethical aim of love poetry in the Defence: how well flove poetry] might be employed, and with how heavenly fruit, both private and public, in singing the praises of immortal beauty: the immortal goodness of that God who giveth us hands to write and wits to conceive (p. 116). Once again, the emphasis on the ennobling power of love is to be the source of a new love ethic in the revised Arcadia. Sidney did not, however, choose,to ignore in the new Arcadia the problems of sensuous love and the difficulties in harmonizing the conflicts that naturally attend such human love. The "gotden" world of the new Arcddi a presents both vices and virtues, the outgrowths of a whole range of passions, including passionate love. But in the new Arcadia Sidney does suggest that there are absolute moral principles against which human action—even the con-duct of delightful young lovers—is to be measured. Sidney's awareness in the Defence that poetry ought to concern itself with the ethical correspondences between the world of nature and the world of platonic ideas may well have led him to revaluate the whole of the ethical design of the old Arcadia. Sidney's emphasis on the ethically persuasive design of poetry—that poetry should teach goodness and move men to act in accord with moral principle— finally suggests that Sidney in his new role as public poet must have found the old Arcadia and Astrophil and Stella morally deficient; both certainly fail to meet his newly-articulated criteria. The old Arcadia is an ineffective vehicle of moral suasion. Despite its delightful sophistication and its self-conscious ironies, ultimately it is morally equivocal. At the end of the work, the reader smiles with relief as the princes, though morally culpable, are pardoned and joyfully united with their princesses. The conclusion seems finally to invite an acquiescence in ethically-dubious conduct and to imply that moral strictures are to be over-looked if it is young love that prompts the indiscretion. Astrophil is guilty of similar moral indiscretion stemming from.love. Yet the essential baseness of his conduct in love is attenuated by the earnestness and candour with which he dedicates himself to his avowedly sexual pursuit. Even the self-mockery and self-criticism to which Astrophil submits himself (and to which the reader is invited to add) ultimately elicit not censure, but sympathy. The ending of Astrophil and Stella, like the conclusion: of the old'Arcadia, is morally tenuous. Both works finally evoke contradictory responses: an easy condemnation of human misconduct, followed by the suspension of all judgment in a recognition of the power of emotion in frail humanity. Both works reflect the conflicts between: public: duty and private love, action and contemplation, physical love and spiritual love, abstract wisdom and practical experience; and both explore the difficulties inherent in bringing these contrary orders of value into harmonious alignment. The discordant or equivocal morality of both indicate Sidney's deep concern with finding a stable and all-encompassing moral perspective. In the new Arcadia, at least in the fragment that he completed, Sidney still refused to reduce complex moral issues.to simple absolutes. Yet Sidney did seek to devise a more har-monious perspective within which a realistic acceptance of human: passion was no longer at odds with his firmly-held belief that understanding—the control of passion by reason1—should be the goal toward which men ought to aspire. 65 The Defence is important because it is predicated on the assumption that such contradictory perceptions can be drawn into a complex yet viable relationship. In the new Arcadia Sidney creates an intricate, consistent and comprehensive code of ethics that serves as a standard against which human behaviour is to be measured. Greville recounts Sidney's emphatically ethical intention in writing the new Arcadia: His end...was not vanishing pleasure alone, but moral!1 images and Examples (as directing threds) to guide every man throuah the confused Labyrinth of his own desires^ and life.** Even though Sidney had assumed the mantle of public poet, he refused to ignore or negate his private perception of life on earth as a "moral labyrinth. Rather, in revising the old Arcadia he set himself the task of providing "directing threds," or "moral Images and Examples, " as guides through the labyrinth by creating speaking pictures of poesy. FOOTNOTES 'Sidney's 'Arcadia,' (New Haven : Yale Univ. Press, 1 9 6 5 ) . For a useful review of the more important recent studies of the old and new Arcadias, see William L. Godshalk, "Recent Studies in Sidney," ELR, 2 ( 1 9 7 2 ) , 1 4 8 - 6 4 . For a more complete bibliography, see Mary A. Washington, Sir Philip Sidney : An Annotated Bibliography of Modern Criticism, 1 9 4 1 - 1 9 7 0 (Columbia : Univ. of Missouri Press, 1 9 7 2 ) . 2 On the dating of the old and new Arcadias, see William A. Ringler, in The Poems of Sir Philip Sidney (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1 9 6 2 ) , pp. 5 J 6 4 - 6 6 ; and Jean Robertson, ed., The Countess of Pembroke's 'Arcadia' (The 'Old Arcadia') (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1 9 7 3 ) > pp. xv-xvii. 3 The first suggestion is Ringler's, p. I.; the latter suggestion is supported by Robertson, p. Ivii, and by A. C. Hamilton, in Sir Philip Sidney : A Study  of his Life and Works (New York : Cambridge Univ. Press, 1 9 7 7 ) , pp. 1 2 5 - 2 6 . ^ For comparisons of the two versions, see R. W. Zandvoort, Sidney's  'Arcadia': A Comparison Between the Two Versions (Amsterdam : N. V. Swets and Zeitlinger, 1 9 2 9 ) ; and A.G.D. Wiles, "Parallel Analyses of the Two Versions of Sidney's Arcadia," SP, 3 9 ( 1 9 4 2 ) , 1 6 7 - 2 0 6 . 5 Richard Lanham's extended analysis of the old Arcadia as a work signi-ficantly different from the new Arcadia has been furthered by other critics who likewise view the old and new Arcadias as distinctly different works. See Lanham, "The.Old Arcadia"; Elizabeth Dipple, "Metamorphosis in Sidney's Arcadias,^"PQ, 5 0 ( 1 9 7 1 ) , 4 7 - 6 2 ; Jon S. La wry, Sidney's Two 'Arcadias,':  Pattern and Proceeding (Ithaca : Cornell Univ. Press, 1 9 7 2 ) ; Nancy Rothwax Lindheim, "Vision, Revision, and the 1 5 9 3 Text of the Arcadia," ELR, 2 ( 1 9 7 2 ) , 1 3 6 - 4 7 ; Winfried Schleiner, "Differences of Theme and Structure of the Erona Episode in the Old and New Arcadias," SP, ( 1 9 7 3 ) , 3 7 7 - 9 1 ; and Franco Marenco, "Double Plot in Sidney's Old Arcadia," MLR, 6 4 ( 1 9 6 9 ) , 2 4 8 - 6 3 . 6See Sidney's dedicatory letter addressed to his sister in Robertson, p. 3 . Although the letter appeared first with the 1 5 9 0 edition of the new Arcadia, it must have been intended for the earlier work, since it clearly refers to a completed manuscript. See comments by Robertson, p. 4 1 8 ; and by Ringler, pp. 3 8 2 - 8 3 . ^See A. C. Hamilton, "Sidney's Arcadia as Prose Fiction : Its Relation to Its Sources," ELR, 2 ( 1 9 7 2 ) 2 9 - 6 0 , rev. in Sidney : Life and Works. Hamilton finds that "in creating his fiction Sidney sought to make it com-prehensive. Consequently, when he turned to continental models, he was 67 committed to no one of them. Within one work, he made available for English writers the best in continental fiction: classical, medieval, and modern. His work displays the potentialities and limitations of each genre and the strength of their combination" (p. 33). 8 See Robert W. Parker, "Terentian Structure and Sidney's Original Arcadia," ELR, 2 (1972), pp. 64-76. 9 Ringler originally noted that the old Arcadia was structured according to the dramatic principles of classical comedy, pp. xxxvii-xxxviii; Lanham was the first to provide an extended analysis of the relationship between the five-act dramatic structure and thematic concerns, pp. 200-36; the most thorough study of the relationship of Sidney's narrative structure to classical comedy and to romance is Parker's. Parker contends that Ringler and Lanham are wrong in viewing the old Arcadia as a tragicomedy or comedy; he considers it to be a heroic poem. ^See Robertson, p. xxi; and Ringler, p. xxxviii. ^Ringler, p. xxviii. See also Elizabeth Dipple, "The 'Fore Conceit1 of Sidney's Eclogues," in Literary Monographs, I. ed. Eric Rothstein and Thomas K. Dunseath, (Madison, Wise. : Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1967), pp. 3-47. 1 2 Parker, pp. 70-78. 1 3Parker, p. 77. ^See esp. Lanham, pp. 181-410; Lawry; Marenco; Dipple, " 'Unjust Justice' in the Old Arcadia, " SEL, 10 (1970), 83-101, and "Harmony and Pastoral in the Old Arcadia," ELH, 35 (1968), 309-28; E. Z. Cohen, "The Old Arcadia : A Treatise on Moderation, " Revue Beige de Philogie et  d'Histoire, 46 (1968), 749-70; and Clifford Davidson, "Nature and Judgment in the Old Arcadia," PLL, 6 (1970), 348-65. ^On the relationship between Sidney's biography and the old Arcadia, see Neil S. Rudenstine, Sidney's Poetic Development (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1967), chs. 1-3; see also comment by Hamilton, Sidney : Life  and Works, pp. 41-42. ^ 6Cf., for example, William Nelson, Fact or Fiction : The Dilemma of  the Renaissance Storyteller (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1973), pp. 41-42. ~~ ^Rudenstine, pp. 8-15. Lanham, pp. 328-29. 68 ^John Hoskyns states in "Directions for Speech and Style" (in Osborn, The Life, Letters, and Writings of John Hoskyns, p. 55) that he has seen Sidney's translation of Books I and II of Aristotle's Rhetoric. Although Aristotle's comments on energia, of which effectio is a subheading, appear in Book II, Sidney would no doubt have known well the whole of the Rhetoric. ^See Robertson, p. xxvi; and John Buxton, Elizabethan Taste (London : Macmillan, 1963), pp. 260-61. 2^See David C. McPherson, "A Possible Origin for Mopsa in Sidney's Arcadia, " Ren. Q., 21 (1960), 420-28. Sir Philip Sidney, "A Defence of Poetry," in Miscellaneous Prose of  Sir Philip Sidney, ed. Katherine Duncan-Jones and Jan Van Dorsten, (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1973), pp. 95-6. For similar comments on the new Arcadia, see Ernest S. Gohn, "Primitivistic Motifs in Sidney's Arcadia, " Papers of the Michigan Academy  of Science, Arts, and Letters, 45 (I960), 363-71. All further references to Robertson's edition of the old Arcadia wi I1 be inserted into the text in parentheses. 25 Marenco, p. 250. Sidney : Life and Works, p. 15. See also Davidson. 2 7 0 n Sidney's political and philosophical ideas, see Zandvoort, pp. 149-59; Ernest William TaIbert, The Problem of Order (Chapel Hill : Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1962), ch. 2; Marcus Goldman, Sir Philip Sidney  and the 'Arcadia' (Urbana : Univ. of Illinois Press, 1934); and W. D. Briggs, "Political Ideas in Sidney's Arcadia," SP, 28 (1931), 137-61, and 29 (1932), 534-42. ^Rudenstine, pp. 18-22. 29 See Mark Rose, Heroic Love (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1968), chs. 1-2. ^Elizabethan Erotic Narratives : Irony and Pathos in the Ovidian Poetry of Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Their Contemporaries (New Brunswick, N.J. : Rutgers Univ. Press, 1977), pp. 4-5. 69 31 Sidney : Life and Works, p. 56. ^William A.. Ringler, ed., The Poems of Sir Philip Sidney (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1962), pp. 435-39^ On the state of the texts, see Ringler, pp. 538-46. Manuscript copies were circulated before Sidney's death, but the first printed versions—two unauthorized quartos, printed by Thomas Newman in 1591, and one printed by Matthew Lownes, probably in 1597-1600—appeared after his death. The first folio edition, printed by William Ponsonby and al-most certainly supervised by the Countess of Pembroke, appeared in 1598. In the 1598 version, the songs are reordered and several important additions made (Ringler,fp,xlv-xlvi). See also James Finn Cotter, "The Songs of Astrophil and Stella," SP, 67 (1970), 178-200. Cf. Ann Romayne Howe, "Astrophel and Stella : 'Why and How,'" SP, 61 (1964), 164-67. 33 The autobiographical element of the narrative of Astrophil and Stella has been given a good deal of critical attention. See Ringler, pp. 433-47; H. H. Hudson, "Penelope Devereux as Sidney's Stella," Huntington Library  Bulletin, 7 (1935), 89-120; and especially Jack Sti I linger, "The Biographical Problem of Astrophel and Stella, " JEGP, 59 (1960), 617-39. See also Hamilton's more recent discussion, in Sidney': Life and Works, pp. 80-86. ^Richard B. Young, "English Petrarke : A Study of Sidney's Astrophel and Stella,""in Three Studies in Renaissance (New Haven : Yale Univ. Press, 1958), p. 20. Richard Lanham speculates that the selection of autobiographical detail was governed by a different and even narrower rhetorical purpose— Astrophil's attempt to persuade his lady. See "Astrophil and Stella : 'Pure and Impure Persuasion,' " ELR, 2 (1972), 100-15. ~~ 3 5Young, p. 10. Quoted from The Prose Works of Sir Philip Sidney, ed. Albert FeuiHerat (Cambridge, Cambridge Univ. Press, 1912-1926), vol. 3, p. 370. On the tripartite structure of Astrophil and Stella, implicit in Nashe's comment, see Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 92. See also Hamilton's "Sidney's Astrophel and Stella as a Sonnet Sequence, " ELH, 36 (1969), 59-87;: and Lenora Leer Brodwin, "The Structure of Sidney's Astrophel arid Stella," MP, 67 (1969), 25-40. Several recent studies of Astrophil and Stella rely heavily on Young's analysis of structure, pp. 1-88, notably Neil Rudenstine's Sidney's  Poetic Development (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1967), pp. 207-76; and; Kalstone's Sidney's Poetry : Contexts and Interpretations, pp. 105-81. 3 7See J. W. Lever, The El izabethan Love Sonnet (London : Methuen, 1956), p. 54. 38 See, in particular, comments by Theodore Spencer on Sidney's imagina-tive reworking of poetic convention, in "The Poetry of Sir Philip Sidney," ELH, 12 (1945), 266-67. Cf. Kalstone, p. 133. ^Robert L. Montgomery, 'Symmetry arid Sense (New York : Greenwood Press, 1961), p. 118. Montgomery comments that "Sidney has extended and deepened its tendency to introspection so that his work moves close to a total immersion in the ego of the hero. Where the literary and moral values of idealistic and idealized love dominate the rhapsodies and laments of most of Sidney's European predecessors, his own effort calls in another set of values to challenge the tradition. Where sexual desire is seldom more than a dis-creet hint in Petrarch, Desportes, Ronsard (I am thinking only of the sonnets), or Spenser, in Sidney it is frankly avowed and dramatically and psychologi-cally indispensable. Astrophel accepts an unconsummated affair only because he has no other choice, not because he champions the value of idealistic devotion1." On the idea of an "anatomy of love," see also C. S. Lewis, English Literature in the Sixteenth Century (Oxford : Oxford Univ. Press, 1954), p. 329; and Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, pp. 85-86. ^For similar comments on the style of Astrophil and Stella, see Montgomery, Symmetry and Sense, p. 77. Brian Vickers notes that in the Renaissance the use of "conventions" was not necessarily inimical to creativity: "It is a para-dox that (in the traditional scheme of things) it was only by subordinating him-self to the conventions of art that a writer could express his personality (notice the inescapable Romantic assumptions that this is his whole raison d'etre), or rather his personal vision in a coherent, objective form " (in Classical Rhetoric in English Poetry (London : Macmillan, 1970), p. 78). ^Hallett Smith, Elizabethan Poetry (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1952), pp. 147-57. A *3 The dramatic principle underlying the structure of Astrophil arid Stella has been discussed by Spencer, pp. 251-78; Smith, pp. 142-57; Lever, pp. 51-91; Young, pp. 1-88; Montgomery, Symmetry arid Sense, pp. 77-120; and Kalstone, pp. 105-81. ^See my discussion, pp. 11-36, above. ^Leland Ryken, "The Drama of Choice in Sidney's Astrophel and Stella," JEGP, 68 (1969), 648. 4 6 C f . Smith, pp. ]55-57; and Lever, pp. 68-85. See also Robert L. Montgomery, "Reason, Passion, and Introspection in Astrophel arid Stella, " Texas Studies in English, 36(1957), 127-40. Perhaps the best study of the opposition of reason and passion is in Montgomery's Symmetry arid Sense, pp. 100-20. Lever, p. 84. 48 Young, p. 19. 49 Rudenstine, p. 218. 50 All quotations from Astrophil and Stella are from Ringler's edition of Sidney's poems. Ryken posits a similar view of Astrophil as consistently ad-hering to a single set of values, which he terms "romantic passion": "In-stead of being a man of two minds, he is with remarkable consistency portrayed as a man who has actively chosen one set of values and is emphatic in main-taining his commitment against other attitudes" (p. 653). Lanham reduces the conflict even further to a "simplified confrontation between desire and con-vention." He interprets Astrophil's dramatization of internal conflict as simply another means by which Astrophil attempts to persuade the lady ("Astrophel  and Stella : 'Pure and Impure Persuasion,'" pp. 100-15). On the idea of the "feeling heart," cf. Kalstone, pp. 125-29; cf. also Ringler, p. 459, n. 14. 5^For a similar discussion of Astrophil's attitude toward love and poetic imitation in Sonnet 1, see Lanham, Astrophil and Stella," p. 100. Cf. Montgomery, who views Astrophil as groping toward "architectonic" knowledge, in "Reason, Passion, and Introspection," p. 131. 5 3 C f . Rudenstine, p. 208. 54 Ringler, p. xlix. 55 Lever, pp. 82-83. 5 6See Karl M. Murphy, "The 109th and 110th Sonnets of Astrophel and  Stella," PQ, 34(1955), pp. 305-51. See also Ringler, pp. 423-24. ^Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 105. 5^Brodwin, p. 40. 5 ^ J . A. Van Dorsten, ed., A Defence of Poetry (London : Oxford Univ. Press, 1966), p. 10. See also comments by Geoffrey Shepherd, ed., 'An  Apology for Poetry' or the 'Defense of Poesy' (London : T. Nelson, 1965), p. 11. The Defence is, however, more than a poetic treatise. It reflects contemporary thought in the arts, politics, science, and religion. ^Originally noted by Kenneth O. Myrick, Sir Philip Sidney as a Literary  Craftsman (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1935), ch. 2. ^ O n Sidney's use of sources, see, e.g., Myrick, pp. 84-109; Shepherd, pp. 17-91; J. E. Spingarn, Literary Criticism in the Renaissance (New York : Columbia Univ. Press, 1924), p. 268; C. M. Dowlin, "Sidney and Other Men's Thought," RES, 20 (1944), 257-71; and "Sidney's Two Definitions of 72 Poetry," MLQ, 3 (1942), 573-81; Virginia Hyman, "Sidney's Definition of Poetry," SEL", 10 (1970), 49-62; A. E. Malloch, "Architectonic Knowledge and Sidney's Apologie," ELH, 20(1953), 181-85; and J. P. Thorne, "A Ramistical Commentary on An Apology for Poetry," MP, 54 (1957), 158-64. 6 2A. C. Hamilton, "Sidney's Idea of the 'Right Poet,'" CL, 9 (1957), p. 51. See also J.W. H. Atkins, English Literary Criticism : The Renascence (London : Methuen, 1947); and especially Hyman, passim. She argues that Sidney selects and rejects critical assumptions only as they play an integral part in his own definition of poetry. ^Several scholars have rejected any necessary connection between Gosson's School and Sidney's Defence. See, for example, comments by Van Dorsten in Miscellaneous Prose, pp. 62-63; Shepherd; and Andrew D. Weiner, "Mov-ing and Teaching : Sidney's Defence of Poesie as a Protestant Poetic," The  Journal of Medieval arid Renaissance Studies 2 (1971), 259-78. Cf. also William A. Ringler, "The First Phase of the Elizabethan Attack on the Stage," HLQ, 5 (1942), 391-418. 6 4S ee E.K.'s comments on the October Eclogue, The Shepherd's Calendar; and Hamilton's comments, Sidney : Life arid Works, p. 107. ~ ^By the time the Defence was undertaken, Sidney had written most or all of the old Arcadia, the Lady of May, and most of the Certain Sonnets, and had perhaps translated the forty-three Psalms. He had also written two noteworthy political pieces, the Discourse on Irish Affairs and the letter to Queen Elizabeth concerning her proposed marriage to the Duke of Anjou. 6 6AII further references to the Defence, to be noted in parenthesis in the text, are from Miscellaneous Prose of Sir Phi lip Sidney, ed. Van Dorsten and Duncan-Jones. ^ O n Sidney's education as a gentleman-governor, see, for example, Roger Howell, Sir Philip Sidney'. The Shepherd Knight (Boston : Little, Brown, 1968); Malcalm W. Wallace, The Life of Sir Philip Sidriey (Cambridge : Cambridge Univ. Press, 1915); and John Buxton, Sir Phi I i"p" Sidney arid the  English Renaissance (London : Macmillan, 1954). On Languet's direction of Sidney's reading toward the learning he considered appropriate to the states-man, see J. A. Van Dorsten, "Sidney and Languet, " HLQ, 29 (May, 1966), 211-20. Greville confirmed that such public service was Sidney's overriding objective: "his chief end being not friends, wife, children, or himself, but above all things the honour of his Maker, and service of his Prince, or country." 73 ^Hamilton summarizes Sidney's career: "up to 1575 he was being groomed for some high political office; from \575-\577 he hoped that the Queen would employ him; from 1577-1579 he began to despair that she would ever do so; and 1580 marks his turning toward a life as a poet while waiting for public appointment," (Sidney : Life and Works, p. 17). Roger Howell gives a similar analysis of Sidney's career, as does also James M. Osborn in Young  Philip Sidney, 1572-1577 (New Haven : Yale Univ. Press, 1972). Osborn's commentary, however, details the earlier part of his career. Both Howell and Osborn attribute a good part of Sidney's frustration in seeking public office to his personal integrity. As Osborn comments: "He was too direct and uncom-promising in written argument (and doubtless also in speech) to avoid causing occasional resentment. Philip was the glass of fashion and the mould of form at court, but he lacked the agility, the adaptability, and capacity to accept what was possible in place of what was desirable, qualities necessary for con-tinuing success in court politics. Duplicity, the standard practice at court, was not one of Sidney's skills" (p. 500). For a similar view of Sidney's frustrations at court, and for an account of his tendency to examine the sources of his frus-tration in his literary writings, see F. J. Levy, "Philip Sidney Reconsidered," ELR, 2 (1972), 5-18. Levy attributes Sidney's lack of success to his rigid Protestant ideology. ^Sidney : Life and Works, p. 17. 7 0 l b i d . , pp. 107-8. ^This hypothesis is supported by Van Dorsten, Miscel Idnebus Prose, pp. 59-63. 7 2Fulke Greville, The Life of The Renowned Sir Philip Sidney, ed. Nowell Smith (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1907), p. 15. In discussing the new Arcadia, Greville consistently applies to it both the precepts and the terminology of the Defence. 7 3Walter R. Davis, "A Map of Arcadia," in Sidney's 'Arcadia,' p. 56. See also J. F. Danby, Poets on Fortune's Hill : Studies in Sidney, Shake- speare, Beaumont and Fletcher (London : Faber & Faber, 1952), pp. 46-74; and R. W. Zandvoort, Sidney's 'Arcadia' : A Comparison Between the Two  Versions (Amsterdam : N.V. . Swets & Zeitlinger, 7^Van Dorsten, however, disagrees: "There is in fact no contemporary evidence that the Queen in any sense banished Sidney." (Miscellaneous Prose, pp. 34-36). 'Sidney : Life and Works, p. 125. On the concept of the Fall in the Defence, see Frank B. Evans, who argues that the Fall is of central importance in the Defence, in "The Concept of the Fall in Sidney's Apology," Renaissance Papers 1969, (1970), pp. 9-14. See also Van Dorsten, Miscellaneous Prose, p. 64; Shepherd, pp. 61-66; and Hamilton in "Sidney's Idea of the 'Right Poet,'" pp. 57-58,and Sidney :  Life and Works. C. S. Lewis was the first to note the centrality of the idea of the Fall, in English Literature of the Sixteenth Century (Oxford : Oxford Univ. Press, 1954), pp. 344-45. 7 7 Evans claims that in crediting man with "erected wit" Sidney was tak-ing "a theological view which is startling, not to say heretical," pp. 11-12. Cf. Weiner's comment that Sidney was suggesting that man's capacities had been so diminished as a result of the Fall that his wit was almost as infected as his will, p. 268. 78 For similar comments, see Hyman, pp. 57-58. Hyman traces Sidney's process of "delimiting" the definition of poetry until he arrives at "the single point of his own definition. The poet, he believes, creates 'images of virtue and vices' to stimulate men to 'right action.'" See also John P. Mclntyre, "Sidney's 'Golden World,'" CL, 14 (1962), 356-65; Irene Samuel, "The Influence of Plato on Sir Philip Sidney, "MLQ, 1 (1940), p. 389; and Forrest G. Robinson, The Shape of Things Known : Sidney's 'Apology' in Its  Philosophical Tradition (Cambridge : Harvard Univ. Press, 1972), pp. 100-1. Robinson notes that Sidney, like most Protestants of his time, drew a firm distinction between natural philosophy and theology. 7 % e e , for example, Hyman, p. 58. She notes that the poet "can teach the love of virtue, but again:,this virtue is of a particular nature. For while the Dantean concept is concerned with individual salvation in another life, Sidney is concerned with the citizen's right action in this." 80 On the poet's imitation of ideas rather than nature, see Hamilton, "Sidney's Idea of the 'Right Poet,'" p. 55. See also Hyman, pp. 58-62; Mclntyre, pp. 360-61; Weiner, pp. 267-69; and Robinson, pp. 108-22. *^S. K. Heninger, Jr. Touches of Sweet Harmony : Pythagorean Cos- mology and Renaissance Poetics (San Marino. Huntington Library, 1974), p. 302. 82 Heninger, p. 293. See also Hyman, p. 60; Mclntyre, pp. 357-58; and Hamilton, "Sidney's Idea of the 'Right Poet,'" pp. 52-54. Scaliger is probably the immediate source of the idea that the poet creates a second world, but Sidney rejects Scaliger's implication that the poet is himself god-1 ike. 83 H eni nger, p. 306. ^See Heninger's discussion of Spenser and the nature of beauty, pp. 300-1. o r Rudenstine, pp. 51-52. Cf. Catherine Barnes, "The Hidden Persuade The Complex Speaking Voice of Sidney's Defence of Poetry," PMLA, 86 (1971), 422-27. ^Greville, p. 223. Chapter Two The New Arcadia : The Persuasive Design I Sidney's new Arcadia was based on a radical rethinking and recasting of the original work. Sidney's deliberate decision to revise the old Arcadia resulted from dissatisfaction with the earlier version, ^  and one of the striking things about the revision is how unfettered Sidney was by earlier meanings. He freely adapted and extended the original material and added new material to achieve significantly different ends. The result was a vastly enlarged, care-fully restructured, and increasingly heroic narrative. The extent of the changes indicates that the revision was based on a significant alteration in its aim. In the new Arcadia, Sidney intended to produce a "poem" at once more serious and more nearly in accord with positive ethical principles. In particular, the great increase in political and heroic matter indicates that the new Arcadia is designed to present a larger, more comprehensive analysis of ethical behavior, in public and in private. As Myrick notes: When Sidney changed his pastoral romance into a compli-cated 'heroic poemj: revealing in every part the most studied craftsmanship, what purpose did he have in view? Surely we may wonder if it could have been only 'to amuse a clever and elegant lady.' The pains he took with his work ought to have produced something more than a summer's light reading for his sister, however devoted to her he may have been. The simplest hypothesis is that he tried ro make the Arcadia an heroic poem in its purpose, no less than its form.2 Myrick's conclusion—that Sidney intended the new Arcadia to be an heroic poem in form and purpose—is a recognition of both the work's new ethical structure and its heightened moral objective. Sidney was giving expression to his new perspective on moral virtue as it impinged upon civic endeavor. Despite its reputation as a romance (deriving in part from its structural affinities with the romantic form3), it is not a "romance" in the sense of being a mere amatory entertainment. According to Greville, Sidney rejected the Arcadia on his deathbed, and requested that it be burned for "not otwly the im-perfection, but the vanitie of these shadowes/how daintily so ever limned. Yet the book is "neither frivolous nor misdirected," in the words of Danby. Rather, "it was a book intended for the instruction in virtue and in the art of government of princes."5 Greville himself saw the new Arcadia as a handbook in governance, aimed at educating the ruling class in the conduct appropriate to those who direct public affairs: For that this representing of vertues, vices, humours, counsel Is, and actions of men in feigned and un-scandalous Images, is an inabling of freeborn spirits to the greatest affaires of.State^,. No longer a "toye" but a handbook for princes, the new Arcadia can usefully be viewed as a prose counterpart to The Faerie Queehe. As its raison d'etre, each work purports "to fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline" and to provide feigned images of "a good governour and a vertuous man."7 In The Faerie Queene, Spenser was concerned with: providing positive and negative exempla of both the "ethice, or virtues of a private man" and the "politice" or civic virtues of the governor. Sidney posited a similar division between public policy and private government in the Defence. In the heroic poem, the description of an heroic moral archetype is to incorporate his o excellency "in his inward self, and... outward government. The interrelated ideas of public and private behavior are the two primary thematic concerns of the new Arcadia. In the public realm the emphasis is on politics, and on the active virtues appropriate to the ruling elite; in the pri-vate realm, on the more personal and inward virtues of the private citizen. Yet for Sidney, as for most of his contemporaries, the civic virtues are finally not different from their individual counterparts, but rather the application of personal moral virtues.to communal and political uses. Sidney wrote in the Defence that virtue"extendeth itself out of the limits of a man's own little world to the government of families and maintaining of public societies."^ Ultimately, then, the two kinds of behaviour are indivisible. The private con-duct of those who rule inevitably has societal consequences, and political action affects men's conduct in their individual efforts. In the new Arcadia Pyrocles and Musidorus—ethically ambiguous figures in their former incarnation in the old Arcadia—are near-perfect patterns of princely virtues, both public and private. Yet they are not absolute heroic archetypes.^ They must, as Musidorus predicts in the new Arcadia, travel ways that are "foul" before they reach a "fair and honourable" end.'^ The new Arcadia is an heroic, poem in that it presents moral images of heroic conduct; yet it is ap heroic poem with a difference as the princes, confronted with difficult and equivocal ethical choices, diverge from the "right line of virtue.11 Their private experience in human frailty, however, is to lead them, and the reader, toward a final confirmation of their moral heroism. In the new Arcadia the confrontation between the ideal and the real, between abstract moralizing and the ethical anomalies of human life, indicates that Sidney still adhered, to his private vision of the problems of achieving a viable relationship between men as they are1 and men as they ought to be. In the old Arcadia, Astrophil and Stella, and the Defence, we can trace Sidney's impulse toward achieving a "comprehensive" ethic, a moral vantage point that would permit the holding together in significant relationship of differing and sometimes even antagonistic moral imperatives. In the new Arcadia Sidney aimed at resolving the ambiguities implicit in the old Arcadia and Astrophil and Stella, and at achieving a more harmonious perspective within which a realistic acceptance of passionate human nature was no longer at odds with his firmly held belief, clearly articulated in the Defence, that understanding—the control of passion by reason—ought to be the goal toward which men aspire. 12 The very different rhetorical structure of the new Arcadia, then, is designed to produce a significantly different ethical pattern. . The new "rhetori-13 cal artifice" implies differing "moral applications." Though the ethical per-spective provided in the new Arcadia is as sophisticated and complicated as those found in Astrophil and Stella and the old Arcadia, at base it is newly, astringently moral. Sidney artfully expanded and intricately elaborated the structure of the new Arcadia in order to create a literary work that was complex enough to admit the treatment of a diversity of ethical values and human 80 behaviors, and yet shapely enough to suggest Sidney's vision of the potentially harmonious ordering of a whole range of moral values. As La wry notes, "the simple telling of one story has radiate'd into a complex narration of many stories, unified not now by the hero or his action, but by their being parts in an em-blematic moral spectrum."^ In its vastly increased presentation of positive and negative moral exempla, and in its exhaustiveness both in technique and sub-ject matter, the new Arcadia functions as a kind of anatomy of human conduct.^ In providing such a comprehensive treatise on human morality, Sidney was meeting the criterion for poetry that he had posited in the Defence: to pre-sent "architectonic," or comprehensive, knowledge in the ethics of personal and public conduct. To eliminate moral uncertainty, Sidney revised the old Arcadia by providing a solid yet flexible perspective within which ideal norms could be given specific and carefully discriminated moral value. Yet the aim of provid-ing such architectonic knowledge was not merely to demonstrate ethical precepts, but to prompt men to "well-doing and nor...well-knowing only. Greville like-wise attests that Sidney meant to provide in the Arcadia such active knowledge: [Sidney's] end was not writing, even while he wrote; nor his knowledge moulded for tables, or schooles; but both his wit, and understanding, bent upon his heart, to make him-self and others,not in words or opinion, but in life, and action, good and great. In which Architectonical art he was.. .a Master. ^ The persuasive intent of the new Arcadia-^deriving from the Defence—is clear. Sidney's objective is to convince his readers to recognize, to accept fully, to internalize, and finally to act upon the author's implicit normative valuations. To call it a moral treatise is not, however, to deny its beauty. Sidney's description of Plato's writing fits the new Arcadia as well: "though the inside and strength were philosophy, the skin, as it were, and beauty, depended more 18 of poetry." The moral exempla are to exercise and extend the reader's moral judgment; its aesthetic delights, to draw his passionate acceptance of the work's moral design. In the Horatian view, delight and teaching are inseparable: both are necessary if men are to be truly moved. The reader's heart and mind are to be united and compelled to virtue by the moral beauty of the speaking pictures. The object, then, is to engage the whole man in the pursuit of good-ness. The didactic element of the new Arcadia—its emphasis on dulce et utile— is undeniable, and leads resolutely to a new emphasis on its persuasive rhetori-cal design, that is, on its moral effect on the audience. Greville comments that the Arcadia "shewes the judicious reader, how he may be nourished in the 19 delicacy of his own judgefnartt" The difficulty facing Sidney in the new Arcadia was how to mediate successfully between the meanings of the fiction on the one hand, and the interpretation and (judgment of the reader on the other. To govern and regulate the relationship between reader and literature, then, was a crucial objective. Methods of establishing the right relationship with the reader were available to the Renaissance in the rhetorical conventions governing oratory. But as Vickers comments, "It would be clearly wrong that writers of narrative or mimetic forms such as the novel or the drama could ever organize their work 9 0 ' on the large-scale processes of rhetoric." Though rules governing classical 82 or oratorical "rhetoric" are detectable in the new Arcadia, Sidney's devices for revealing judgment and molding reader response must in general be looked for elsewhere. 2 The persuasive structure of the new Arcadia can be deduced in part from the nature of the changes between old and new. First, the audience to whom the work speaks, and the manner in which that audience is addressed, under-goes significant alteration. In the old Arcadia Sidney, like Ariosto, interjects 91 direct addresses to his audience. The notable absence of these apostrophes to the "fair ladies" in the new Arcadia supports the hypothesis that in recasting the earlier love-entertainment as an encyclopedic consideration of public and private government, Sidney was no longer thinking in terms of his sister's coterie. Rather, the new Arcadia is meant for a larger, more heterogeneous audience composed of all those whose task it was to rule the state. Because the des-tiny of the commonwealth lay in their hands, their psyche, education, and conduct in the world were matters of grave public concern. Sidney, in his role of public poet, revised the Arcadia for a hypothetical audience of gover-nors, potentially virtuous and educable, who through their reading of heroic literature would themselves become wise and valorous. As Sidney stressed in the Defence: » 83 [The} imitation or fiction.. .is not wholly imaginative, as we are wont to say by them that build castles in the air; but so far substantially it worketh, not only to make a Cyrus, which had been but a particular excellency as nature might have done, but to bestow a Cyrus upon the world to make many Cyruses, if they will learn aright why and how that maker made him. The narrative of the new Arcadia, then, is structured around the moral educa-tion of a readership of latent new "Cyruses." And Sidney's fiction is "not wholly imaginative"—that is, detached from the realities of his world. Again, Sidney mediates between his mental world of ideal conduct and what the mere mortal is likely to achieve in actual life. Though the teaching in the new Arcadia is deliberate, it is also in-tentionally unobtrusive. As Hamilton comments: The New Arcadia is never overtly didactic, as in the Old in Books IV and V, for moral matter is presented through characters in a story written to delight the reader. The reader responds only to images which free him to exercise his own judgment in accord,with the central argument in the Defence that he 'shall use the narration but [ i.e. only] as anTirnggiriative ground-plot of profitable invention' (Hamilton's brackets). ^ The didacticism is implicit, then, in the feigned "images," or the characters and events of the narrative. Yet it is the reader who is responsible for assess-ing and "placing" morally the spectacle that unfolds before him as he reads. Under the Aristotelian schema governing the stages of composition, "invention" or the process of finding the material, falls into two basic categories: deduc-tion (the syllogism) and induction (enumeration leading to a general law). 2 4 Sidney appears to have reshaped the narrative of the new Arcadia according to a similar schematic division by changing the logical principle governing the plot from deduction to induction. For the earlier "syllogistic" plot based on readily apparent rule of cause-and-effect, Sidney substitutes a looser, more episodic and thematic plot which invites the reader to discover the moral prin-ciples that potentially link and harmonize a multiplicity of characters and events. In the new Arcadia, then, the reader is engaged in a more complex and dynamic relationship with the narrative than in the old. In order to be moved successfully to virtue, the reader is to be involved directly in discovering and acting upon the foreconceits or ideals upon which the work is predicated. Responsible for penetrating the moral significance of the images by observing the "why and how" of the poet's making, the reader becomes a participant in the process of achieving increasingly more discriminating and sophisticated ethical judgments. One means by which Sidney encouraged his audience actively to organize and evaluate the moral meanings implicit in the narrative "ground-plot" was by changing the relationship between the audience and the narration. One significant alteration in the ethical patterning of the new Arcadia is Sidney's transformation of the role of the narrator. The speaker of the old Arcadia is a dramatized persona who occupies a position slightly outside the 25 bounds of the narrative. He is sometimes a "self-conscious narrator"; that is, he is projected as an author, pen in hand, who is aware that he is writing for a coterie of ladies whom he repeatedly addresses, admonishes, teases, and lectures during the course of his story-telling. For example, when Gynecia dis-covers that her much-sought bed-partner is not Pyrocles but her own husband, the speaker teasingly advises his audience to be wary of taking a similar course in love: "In what case poor Gynecia was when she knew the voice and felt the body of her husband, fair ladies, it is better to know by imagination than experience" (p. 227). At the same time he is also presented as a quasi-participatory stage manager of the fictional world he creates, as he occasionally converses with certain characters or explains that they are waiting in the wings, as it were, for their stories to be taken up again. In the third book, for instance, he comments, "But methinks I hear the shepherd Dorus calling me to tell you something of his hopeful adventures" (p. 185). In Book 11, the speaker asks Philoclea's pardon for his neglect while he was busy narrating other events before he turns back to his readers to resume her story: "But alas, sweet Philoclea, how hath my pen forgotten thee, since to thy memory prin-cipally all this long matter is intended. Pardon the slackness to come to those woes which thou didst cause in others and feel in thyself" (p. 108). The pre-sence of these extra-narrative modes of address directed by the narrator in-ward toward his characters and outward toward his coterie of feminine readers means that neither the speaker nor his audience has a clearly demarcated and unwavering relationship to the fictional world of the old Arcadia. As a result, the boundaries between reality and fiction fluctuate, and the reader is left uncertain about his own relationship to events in the narrative. Like the court masque (intended for a similarly "private" audience), in which the "fundamental principle" is the "confusion between actors and audi-26 ence, illusion and reality, " the historical reality and the fictional circum-stances in the old Arcadia seem at times to merge. The author-narrator's frequent transitions between the narrative world and the "real" one serve to bridge the two realms. At the end of Book III, for example, the narrator is at the same time a quasi-actor in the fictional world and an author-speaker ad-dressing his audience: And now Lalus's pipe: doth come to my hearing, which invites me to his marriage that in this season was cele-brated between him and the handsome Kala whew long he had loved; which, I hope your ears, fair ladies, be not so full of great matters that you will disdain to hear (p. 243). At first, the narrator seems to be a dramatized author-stage manager participat-ing in the fiction at a remove from the Countess of Pembroke and her com-panions; but then the narrator addresses the ladies as contemporaries, even acquaintances. To differentiate between the narrator as fictional character and as the historical personage, Sir Philip Sidney, is difficult, if not im-possible. As lianham comments, "it is a mistake to make out a complete distinction between the 'real' Sidney and 'Sidney the narrator,' for the distance between them frequently changes." Furthermore, the actual historical reader-o p ship seems.to be addressed indirectly, through a fictional or "mockaudience*0 of ladies who are hearing rather than reading the tale. Because the distinc-tions between fiction and historical reality are blurred, neither the narrator nor the audience is clearly separated from the world of Pyrocles and Musidorus. One problem posed by the shattering of the illusion of a self-contained "golden world" of fiction is that the audience can achieve no fixed and stable perspective from which to view and evaluate the meanings of the narrative. In the new Arcadia, however, the boundaries of the fiction are stabilized, in part through the elimination of extra-dramatic address. As in the Elizabethan drama, the withdrawal of such modes of address in the new Arcadia works both to make the fiction more clearly "self-contained" and to sustain contact with the audience instead "through the recognition of the innumerable meetingplaces" 29 between life and the fiction. The audience, then, more readily perceives the correspondences between the golden fictional world and the "brazen" reality endured by the audience, on the one hand, and they can assess the relationships between the fictional realm and the transcendent world of ideal superreality, on the other. Once the reader is placed at a fixed and carefully-bounded remove from the fictional world, he becomes engaged in assessing and progressively revaluating the ethical significances of the unfolding narrative. A related issue is the function of the narrator in the old Arcadia. The didactic and instructional quality of the earlier work comes in large part from the narrator, who is both authoritative and tutelary. He is continually at the reader's side, directing his sympathies and interests, and regulating his judgments. The narrator officiously mediates between audience and fiction. This inter-vening narrator is the lens through which the audience not only views, but evaluates, the ethical meanings of fictional events. He is intrusive in the sense that his valuations are meant to direct and determine the reader's moral experience, either by providing overt aphoristic summations of the meaning of an. action, or by indirectly guiding the reader's judgment through the connotive nature of the narrator's descriptions. The teller of the old Arcadia, for example, repeatedly appraises the moral qualities of his characters. Evarchus is "a prince of such justice that he never thought himself privileged by being a prince, nor did measure greatness by anythingbuttygoodness" (p. 10); Mopsa is "unfit company for so excellent a creature [ Pamela] " (p. 9); Pyrocles and Musidorus are "two princes indeed born to the exercise of virtue" (p. 10); and so on. The narrator also indicates the motives underlying action and implicitly regulates the reader's own judg-ment. Basilius, for example, uses "much dukely sophistry to deceive himself" as he decides to give up his rule (p. 9 ). Dametas, by inference easily over-mastered by greed, "no sooner saw the gold but that his heart was presently infected with the self-conceit he took of it" (p. 44). Gynecia's guilty self-torment following Basilius's "death" is presumably justified in that she undertook actions explicitly labeled as sinful: "for although that effect came not from her mind, yet her mind being evil, and the effect evil, she thought the justice of God had for the beginning of her pains coupled them [ her guiltiness and her husband's death] together" (p. 366). By contrast the princesses, "whose only advantages were that they had not consented to so much evil," are implicitly judged to be guilty of offenses (ess serious than Gynecia's. Of the mob who have attacked Basilius and his family, the speaker overtly expostulates: "O weak trust of the many-headed multitude, whom inconstancy only doth guide at any time to well doing! Let no man lay confidence there where company takes away shame, and each may lay the fault in his fellow" (p. 131). 89 By such choral comment the narrator prompts his audience at every turn to evaluate properly the fictional events and to draw out the relations between those events and their own experience. Sometimes this coaching is even directly addressed to his audience: You ladies know best whether sometimes you feel im-pression of that passion [envy] ; for my part, I would hardly think that the affection of a mother and the noble mind of Pamela could be overthrown with so base a thing as envy is—especially Pamela, to whom fortune had already framed another, who no less was dedicated to her excellencies than Cleophila was to Philoclea's perfections, as you shall shortly hear (p. 39). The presence of this highly self-conscious and self-dramatizing narrator, then, is continually felt as he repeatedly calls attention to himself, and makes his sympathies and judgments known. In the new Arcadia Sidney provides a moral framework within which to evaluate character and event. But that system of evaluation is much more in-directly or elusively applied, and the reader is less immediately responsive to it because the obtrusive narrator is no longer present. As we shall see, the narrator's generalized sententiae and his particularized pronouncements on the nature and conduct of specific characters are either omitted, limited and regu-larized, or assigned to characters within the narrative. The reader, now un-aided by a mediating narrator, must organize his own perceptions of the moral meanings underlyingthe structure . of the new Arcadia primarily by drawing out or anatomizing the "moralities" implicit in the thematic relationships between similar (and divergent) characters and episodes. As Amos comments, "In the Old Arcadia teaching is a primary function of the narrator. In the New Arcadia, 90 the didactic component arises out of the parallels between events and between characters."3^ The deletion of the intermediating narrator, then, puts the audience into a more immediate relation with the fictional world and invites him to become a kind of second "maker" as he recognizes and "recreates" the ethical "why and how" of the fiction. A second but related difficulty that Sidney confronted in revising the old Arcadia was that the obtrusive narrator's commentary was not only pervasive, 31 but also ethically ambiguous. The function of the ambiguous or unreliable narrator in the old Arcadia was to make clear Sidney's complex and often con-tradictory feelings about the morality of the story he was telling. Sidney's equivocal attitude toward the question of chastity, for example, typifies his complex and often ambivalent presentation of moral problems in the old Arcadia. In the description of the seduction scene which ends Book III, for in-stance, the speaker regards the lovers' fall from sexual purity with cynical and mocking urbanity. Nevertheless, he is essentially sympathetic and even con-gratulatory: Where, [ Pyrocles] using the benefit of time, and fortify-ing himself with the confessing her late fault (to make her now the sooner yield, to penance), turning the passing griefs and unkindness. to the excess of all kind joys (as passion is apt to slide into his contrary), beginning now to envy Argus's thousand eyes and Briareus's hundred hands, fighting against a weak resistance, which did strive to be overcome, he gives me occasion to leave him in so happy a plight, lest my pen might seem to grudge at the due bliss of these poor lovers whose loyalty had but small respite of their fiery agonies (pp. 242-3). Although Book III seems to end with a worldly paean to sexual bliss, the next book opens on a harshly condemnatory note. Dametas is to become the instrument of justice, revealing to the world Pyrocles1 "evil" seduction of the princess and bringing him to just "chastisement": The everlasting justice (using ourselves to be the punisheis of our faults, and making our own actions the beginning of our chastisement, that our shame may be the more mani-fest, and our repentence follow the sooner) took Dametas ...to be the instrument of revealing the secretest cunning— so evil a ground doth evil stand upon, and so manifest it is that nothing remains but that which hath the good foundation of goodness (p. 265). Later in Book IV, however, the narrator describes Pyrocles's realization that he and Philoclea have been captured in flagrante delicto. The speaker's attitude toward their circumstances and conduct has changed once again. The descrip-tion is replete with words connoting the essential innocence, virtue, wisdom, and nobility of the two young lovers, unfairly to be condemned to death be-cause of the "cruelty of Arcadian laws against those...who were found in act of marriage without solemnity of marriage": Looking with a hearty grief upon the honour of love, the fellowless Philoclea (whose innocent soul now en-joying his own goodness did little know the danger of his ever fair, then sleeping, harbour), his [Pyrocles's] excellent wit, strengthened with virtue but guided by love, had soon described to himself a perfect vision of their present condition. Wherein having presently cast a resolute reckoning of his own part of the misery, not only the chief but sole burden of his anguish consisted in the unworthy case which was like to fall upon the best deserving Philoclea. He saw the misfortune, not the mismeaning, -of his work was.like/ to; bring that creature to end in whom the world, as he thought, did begin to receive honour. He saw the weak judgewattf of man would condemn that as a death-deserving vice in her which had in truth never broken the bands of a true living virtue (p. 290). In Book V, however, Evarchus's actual judgment against Pyrocles is presented not as the weak judgment of a man acting in wrongful conformity with unjust laws, but as the decision of a man who upholds "sacred rightfulness" and "the never-changing justice" (p. 411). Even Pyrocles, in counselling Musidorus not to rage against the judgment, acknowledges the justice of Evarchus's con-duct: "desiring him [ Musidorus ] not to do him the wrong to give his father ill words before him, willing him to consider it was their own fault and not his Mnjustice" (p. 413). Yet at the conclusion of the old Arcadia the redemp-tion of all the major characters appears once again to overbalance the serious acceptance of a moral judgment against them. Finally, the reader is to hold in balance the judgments both for and against the main characters, and to remain fully aware of the complexity of arriving at moral evaluation in the real world. The teller's ethically anomalous treatment of Pyrocles's seduction of Philoclea is characteristic to a varying extent of his presentation of all the principal figures. Perhaps the presence of an ambiguous narrator serves a de-liberate purpose in the old Arcadia by inviting the reader to recognize the ironies and contradictions that inevitably attend human conduct and by stressing the fact that moral certainty is very difficult to attain in the real world. Yet to carry over the unreliable narrator into the framework of the new Arcadia might well have undermined Sidney's.intention of providing more coherent and con-clusive ethical instruction. The presence of the ambiguous narrator suggests that definitive moral judgment is finally difficult if not impossible to achieve. In the new Arcadia, Sidney intended to create a work which would provide the reader with "architectonic" knowledge; that is, he aimed at delineating a unified and comprehensive system of ethics by means of which the reader could ultimately arrive at absolute moral assessment of human action. 3 An analysis of the ways in which Sidney altered, rearranged, and re-disposed the "intrusive" narrator's commentary of the old Arcadia illustrates the more unified and comprehensive ethical structure of the revised version. First, Sidney deleted the mediating narrator and replaced the earlier mode of telling with direct and unmediated narration in the revision. The primary characteristic of this new "omniscient" narration is its illusion of objectivity or neutrality:, its major function is to create the appearance of a disinterested reporting of events. For instance, Sidney's description of the. love chase fol-lowing the attack of the bear and lion at the close of Book I permits a compari-son between the two versions which illustrates the editorial restraint and seem-ing lack of valuative bias in the revision. In the old Arcadia, the event is described and analyzed by the narrator in terms which explicitly indicate the evaluations which are to be brought to bear in assessing the emotional and moral implications of the scene: So that it was a new sight fortune had prepared to those woods, to see these three great personages thus run one after the other, each carried away with the violence of an inward evil: The sweet Philoclea, with such fear that she thought she was still in the lion's mouth; Cleophila, with a painful delight she had to see without hope of enjoying; Gynecia, not so much with the love she bare to her best beloved daughter as with a new wonderful passionate love had possessed her heart of the goodly Cleophila. . For so the truth is that, at the first sight she had of Cleo-phila, her heart gave her she was a man thus for some strange cause disguised, which now this combat did in effect assure her of, because she measured the possibility of all women's hearts out of her own. And this doubt framed in her a desire to know, and a desire to know brought forth shortly such longing to enjoy that it re-duced her whole mind to an extreme and unfortunate slavery—pitifully, truly, considering her beauty and estate; but for a perfect mark of the triumph of love who could in one moment overthrow the heart of a wise lady, so that neither honour long maintained, nor love of her husband and children, could withstand it. But of that you shall after hear; for now, they being come before the duke...(old Arcadia, p. 48). Revised for the new Arcadia, the event is trimmed not only in length, but also in overt emotional colouring: So that it was a new sight, Fortune had prepared to those woods, to see these great personages thus runne one after the other: each carried forward with an in-warde violence: Philoclea with such feare, that she thought she was still in the Lions mouth: Zelmane with an eager and impatient delight, Gynecia with wings of Love, flying they neither knew nor cared to know whether. But now, being all come before Basilius... (new Arcadia, I, 120). 3 T The earlier extensive commentary on Gynecia's motives—in particular, on the 'essential wrongfulness of her behaviour—and even the narrator's mention of Pyrocles's explicitly erotic impulse as he gazes on the scantily-clad Philoclea, are carefully amended. In the revision, motivation is given only brief and suggestive mention, and the long digression on the impropriety of Gynecia's behaviour is deleted entirely. The reader is to deduce primarily from the image of the comic pursuit itself the irrational and unrestrained bias of the triad of lovers. As dramatic "showing" replaces narrative "telling," the reader is. to draw out for himself the implicit meaning of the spectacle.^ Sidney only seems, however, to be renouncing didactic "telling." Although Sidney eliminates all direct mediation or intervention between the reader and the narrative, he substitutes for overt instruction a substructure of rhetoric that provides a less equivocal and more uni-directional moral guidance than the narrator's commentary in the old Arcadia. By incorporating into the omniscient narration much less obtrusive but more thoroughly homogeneous rhetoric involving explicit moral judgment, Sidney anticipates questions in the minds of his audience and furnishes normative details along with the narrative "facts" in order to stabilize his readers' moral perception of the imagistic mean-ings. One such kind of detail is the descriptive labelling of character or action which carries with it connotations of moral judgment. Readers of the new Arcadia will immediately recognize such normative touchstones as these: "wicked," "cunning," "noble," "goodly," "eloquent," "honest," "sweet," "courageous," "proud, " "bold," "cruel," "magnanimous." Although the nar-rative is primarily impersonal, these labels serve to provide an explicit and internally consistent series of judgments. These valuations are fortified and extended by authoritative narration detailing the motives and behaviour of characters (often carefully separated from the narrative by enclosing paren-theses): ...Pamela, she (in whose mind Vertue governed with the scepter of knowledge) hating so horrible a wicked-nes, and streight judging what was fitte to doo... (I, 438). .. .Anaxius .. .So proud, as he could not abstaine from a Thraso-like boasting, and yet (so unluckie a lodging his vertues had gotten) he would never boast more then he would accomplish.. .(I, 439). ...untill one of the Basilians (unwoorthie to have his name registred, since he did it cowardly, sidewarde, when he least looked that way) almost cut off one of his legges.. .(I, 444). .. .Cecropia.. .(according to her own ungratious method of a subtile proceeding) stood listning at the dore (I, 382). ... Palemon, who that daye vowed (with foolish braverie) to be the death of tenne...(l, 392). But Amphialus (whose hart was enflamed with courage, and courage enflamed with affection) made an imperious resolution.. .(I, 414). Yet, pervasive as this kind of omniscient commentary is, particularly in Book III, it is carefully limited and circumscribed in order to keep the reader in continuous contact with the ongoing narrative events. This directing rhetoric is thus powerfully, persistently, but elusively present. Part of the sense of the deliberate ethical design of the new Arcadia arises out of the existence of this substructure of posed, homogeneous, rigorous, pervasive, and authoritative judgment. The reader of the new Arcadia is reassured of the existence of an overriding system of ethics within which human behaviour can be analyzed and evaluated; and he is moved to-ward incorporating into his own value system the moral imperatives of the authoritative narration. The valuations implicit in the omniscient narration are thus to be accepted as definitive. However, the major tendency of the rhetoric of the new Arcadia is away from didacticism, for the rigorous control of the reader's probative responses and the regulation of his sympathies. Instead, the structure of the new Arcadia is arranged so as to engage the reader in the dialectical process of evaluating and ordering alternative systems of value. One means by which this is accomplished is Sidney's transposition of the mediating narrator's com-mentary to delegated narrators within the bounds of the fictional world. These delegated narratives, revised and allotted to narrator-agents within the world of the Arcadia, illustrate both, Sidney's flexible handling of old material to accomplish new aims and his changeover from a reliance on reportorial telling to dramatized showing as the major narrative mode. In addition, Sidney altered the narrative of the old Arcadia in a number of related ways. He not only reassigned earlier narration; he revised the imbedded tales in order to further changes in characterization, and in the political and love themes; and he shifted the mode of presentation from retrospective telling.to dramatic present action. All of these changes illustrate Sidney's creative ability to use the same narrative events to achieve significantly different ends. Book I contains the most extensive transpositions of the earlier teller's narration to "imbedded" narrator-characters. In the old Arcadia, for example, the narrator uses the tale of Musidorus's rescue of Pamela from the bear to make a sly joke about his own equivocal position vis-a-vis the narrative as he takes credit for the ingenious "rescue" himself: "And doubt you not, fair ladies, there wanted no questioning how things had passed; but because I will have the thanks myself, it shall be I you shall hear it of" (p. 51). In the new Arcadia, Pamela, because her "noble hart would needs gratefully make knowne the valiant mean: of her safety" (I, 122), narrates those events with the aid of Musidorus. By delegating the tale to Pamela and Musidorus, Sidney accomplishes a number of objectives. He avoids impeding the progress of nar-rative events by skirting the awkward device of a retrospective excursion; in-stead, the telling becomes an integral part of present action. He also estab-lishes Pamela's wise and firmly virtuous character more fully and unambiguously. Pamela's reliable evaluative description of Musidorus's valorous conduct, for instance, demonstrates a well-grounded and judicious assessment of his heroic nature. Pamela is also redeemed from the censorious ridicule that plays over the narrator's description of her falling into a swoon from fright in the old Arcadia: "Fear (as it fell out most likely) brought forth the effects of wisdom, she no snonersaw the bear coming toward her but she fell down flat upon her face" (p. 51). In the new Arcadia, Pamela chooses to describe ironically what is in fact her wise decision to pretend to be dead; in her telling she demon-strates dramatically both her modesty and, indirectly, her constant and resolute self-mastery under adversity (betokened earlier by her revised emblem, "yet still my selfe, " and later by her unvarying fortitude under Cecropia's tortures): I truly (not guilty of any wisedome, which since they lay to my charge, because they say, it is the best refuge against that beast, but even pure feare bringing forth that effect of wisedome) fell downe flat of my face, needing not counterfdit being* dead, ifor indeed I was l-i He- better (1/ 122). Her recital of events graphically confirms the accuracy of Kalander's prior estimation of her nature: "Pamela of high thoughts, who avoides not pride with not knowing her excellencies, but by making that one of her excellencies to be voide of pride; her mothers wisdome, greatnesse, nobilitie, but (if I can ghesse aright) knit with a more constant temper" (I, 20). Musidorus is also requested,to take up a segment of the tale. In his recounting of the killing of the bear, Musidorus, too, appears as a more thoroughly noble and admirable character than in the older work. His recapitu-lation of events vividly images forth his modesty and his eloquence, his princely valour and his aptness as a courtly lover. The whole of his conduct during the rescue is, in fact, above reproach in the new Arcadia. In the earlier version, after Pamela had fallen into a swoon, Musidorus took "the advantage to kiss and re-kiss her a hundred times" (p. 52). His stealing-of kisses from the unconscious Pamela in Book I prefigured his attempted rape of the sleeping Pamela in Book IV. In the new Arcadia, Musidorus's love for the lady is freed from any suggestion, of erotic intent. The emended and reassigned narration, then, establishes the groundwork for an increasingly idealistic treat-ment of love in the new Arcadia: the young lovers are more uniformly heroic and virtuous, and their love is more firmly posited on a recognition of mutual merit, rather than on mere sensual attraction. The reassigned narration also furthers the public or political theme as well as the private love theme. Pamela's description of Dametas's cowardice, again transferred from the domain^ of the teller in the old Arcadia, confirms Pamela's ability to assess men's qualities; her ironically, disparaging synopsis of Dametas's pusillanimous conduct contains an implicit judgment against him as a worthy companion and a guardian for nobility. Pamela's penetration of 100 moral character, an almost masculine wisdom, is an ability requisite in the good ruler. In the dramatic interchange between Basilius and Pamela, the reader is given a striking image rather than a didactic statement as corroborative evi-dence of the King's persistent failure to evaluate men properly: It was a good while, ere we could perswade him, that Dorus was not the beare: so that he was faine to pull him out [of the bush in which he was hiding] by the heeles, & shew him the beast, as deade as he could wish it: which you may beleeve me, was a very joyful sight unto him. But then he for gate al curtesie, for he fel upon the beast, giving it many a manful I wound: swearing by much, it was not wel such beasts shuld be suffered in a comonwelth. And then my governour, as full of joy, as before of feare, came dauncing and singing before us as even now you saw him. Well wel (said Basilius) I have not chosen Dametas for his fight-ing, nor for his discoursing, but for his plainnesse and honestie, and therein I know he will not deceave me (I, 123). Basilius's statement of his faith in Dametas's essential worthiness, here de-liberately played off against the wiser Pamela's contrary appraisal, is also meant to be placed mentally by the reader in relation to Philanax's prior warning that Dametas should not be Pamela's guardian because "his rude simplicitie is either easily changed, or easily deceived" (I, 26). Likewise, Kalander, another of the king's counsellors, had earlier described Basilius's transforma-tion of the clownish Dametas from simple herdsman to principal guardian of the royal family as wrongheaded and had predicted "that:disaster would follow: [Basilius] liked him more and more, and thus having first given him the office of principall heardsman, lastly, since he tooke this strange determination, he hath in, a manner put the life of himselfe and his children into his hands. Which authoritie (like too great a sayle for so small a boate) doth so over-sway poor Dametas, that if before he were a goode foole in a chamber, he might be allowed it now in a comedie: So as I doubt me (l.feare mee in deede) my master will in the end (with his cost) finde, that his office is not to make men, biuhto use men as men are (1,22). Normative judgment of character and action is accomplished, then, by means of dramatized showing. As in life, the reader of the new Arcadia is an ob-server who watches the fictional spectacle, evaluates the nature of the parti-cipants, estimates the validity of their conclusions, and finally deduces the moral meanings implicit in the fictional events. In this case, the balance of evidence goes against Basilius's judgment. Pamela, Kalander, and Philanax demonstrate in their words and actions a judicious discernment and a probity of conduct that serves to certify them as reliable moral arbiters. By contrast, Dametas and Basilius, because of their foolish misjudgments and often deplor-able deportment, function as inverse or ironic ethical archetypes. Although the characterization of Basilius and Dametas is purged of the extreme physical grotesquery of the earlier version, disapproval of both is carried over from the old Arcadia into the new. The means by which that negative determination is made available to the reader, however, is much less self-announcing and obtrusive. The reader is invited,to be a kind of co-creator of moral valuation as he deduces from the work itself the ethical in-eptitude of the king and his clownish companion. One of the major significances of Sidney's redistribution of the earlier material to delegated narrator-characters is that it conduces the reader to assess how well the assigned narrator can make a moral judgment. As the reader listens to one character describe earlier events to another, he must frequently make relatively sophisticated assessments of the teller's nature and of his ability to provide proper evaluation in the "particular circumstances. Kalander, for example, is established as a generally reliable narrator-charac-ter. In the most extensive transposition of the teller's narration in the old Arcadia to an "imbedded" narrator-agent in the new, Kalander tells his guest Musidorus all of the opening matter of the old Arcadia, including the: descrip-tion of Arcadia and its royal family, Basilius's decision to retire from the king-ship, and Philanax's opposition to that decision. Although Kalander's ex-tensive moral assessments of the characters and incidents he describes are accurate, they are not in themselves as authoritative as were the teller's com-mentaries in the old Arcadia. The reader comes to accept Kalander's valua-tions, however, because they are borne out by subsequent events and because Kalander is dramatically represented as a wise and virtuous man. This repre-senting or imaging forth is accomplished by means of the work's imaginative structure, or ground^plot; that is, by the use of setting, of characterization, and of action. 3 4 The first appearance of Kalander, for example, is immediately pre-ceded by a lovingly detailed description, of his house—a description likely de-signed in part as a tribute to the Countess of Pembroke's Wilton as an irre-piOdehable pattern of the traditional country manor. The setting itself—the building and its grounds—functions as a kind of emblem of the communal values traditionally associated with the great house: custom, continuity, liberality, good husbandry, justice and due proportion, taste, organic unity and harmony. These values are by implication associated as well with its owner. This association is immediately confirmed by Kalander's subsequent words and actions. Kalander, as its host, demonstrates a perfect knowledge of the dictates of decorum and hospitality; he immediately accepts as his guests Musidorus .and the two shepherds, Claius and Strephon. Kalander readily recognizes Musidorus's innate nobility, despite his coming ill-appar-alled, a "stranger loath to be knowen": "I am no herald to enquire of mens pedegrees, it sufficeth me if I know their vertues: which (if this young mans face be not a false witnes) doe better apparrell his minde, then you have done his body" (I, 15). Kalander's preference of Musidorus above the simple shep-herds indicates his ability to penetrate beneath surface appearance to the reality of men's beings. (Images of the princes' worthiness have been made available to the reader in the earlier shipwreck scene and in Musidorus's jour-ney with the shepherds to Arcadia.) Yet Kalander's early admiration is quali-fied—a sign of his wise reservation of judgment. The prince must confirm through action the nobility which his face betokens. Musidorus's conduct during the course of his stay confirms Kalander's original assessment, just as the behaviour of the royal family is to reaffirm the accuracy of Kalander's subsequent predictions concerning their natures and abilities. Kalander finds in Musidorus such virtuous excellence in both body and mind that he soon conceives an almost fatherly devotion to him: For having found in him (besides his bodily giftes beyond the degree of Admiration) by dayly discourses which he delighted him selfe to have with him, a mind of most excellent composition (a pearcing witte quite voide of ostentation, high erected thoughts seated in a harte of courtesie, an eloquence as sweete in the uttering, as slowe to come to the uttering, a behaviour so noble, as gave g_ majestie to adversirie: and all in a man whose age could not be above one & twenty yeares,) the good old man was even enamoured with a fatherly love towards him; or rather became his servpunt by the bondes such vertue laid upon him; once hee acknowledgedhim selfe so to be, by the badge of diligent attendance (I, 16). Kalander is shown—through the setting, through his own character and action, and through the confirmation of his judgments by preceding and subsequent nar-rative events—rto be a reliable witness. Ih the old Arcadia, however, Kalander (called Kerxenus), proves in Books IV and V to have, as it were, an ethical blind-spot. He is so possessed by his paternal love for the two princes—an excess of virtue, grown of a re-cognition of the princes' true nobility—that he almost comes to worship the two, rather than to evaluate them judiciously as mortal and fallible men: [ Kerxenus] not long before had been host to the two princes whom, though he knew not so much as by name, yet their noble behaviour had bred such love in his heart towards them as both with tears he parted from when they left him (under promise to return) and did keep their jewels and apparel as the relics of two demigods (old Arcadia, p. 325). As a result of his excess of affection for the young princes, Kerxenus exhorts the Mantineans to deliver the two from imprisonment and to establish them on the throne, arguing that their "heroical greatness," "extraordinary majesty," and "excellent virtue" ought to excuse them from judgment (old Arcadia, pp. 325-26). Clearly, he both denies the principle of impartial justice and in-spires a mob to deny established rules of law and to "enter into bloody con-flict"—that is, to engage in seditious insurrection against rightful authority. This is irrational and subversive behaviour. Though acting out of sincere and sympathetic motives, Kerxenus nearly brings about the overthrow of the state and the denigration of the principles of "everlasting justice." Although Sidney's revision broke off far short of Book IV of the old Arcadia and these later events are available only in their earlier form, indi-cations in the revision suggest that Sidney had planned for Kalander to play a similar role in the new. Sidney's standard method of reworking the old material provides a key to what might have followed had he completed the new Arcadia. In; revising the earlier work, Sidney added substantially to the plot (the chivalric material and all of Book III, for example, are new) and con-tinually altered the original events in minor ways (in the revision Musidorus rather than Pyrocles, for example, first sees the pictures in Kalander's gallery); but the main, outlines of the earlier plot and most of the supporting detail re-main.. Sidney would presumably have continued with this procedure of edit-ing and elaborating, but retaining the narrative framework of the old Arcadia in revising Books IV and V. Events in the new were to parallel, at least in broad outline, those in the old. As the revised oracle indicates (I, 327), Musidorus was to steal Pamela away; Pyrocles was to be found with Philoclea; Basilius was to commit "adultery" with his own wife; and the princes were to be brought to trial before the bier of the Arcadian king and finally.to be wed to the princesses. Presumably, too, the minor characters were to assume similar stances vis-a-vis the major figures during the imprisonment and trial scenes. Sidney's unvarying method of revising his characterization was.to unify, clarify, and 106 regularize his earlier presentation, rather than significantly to alter it. Kalander, like Kerxenus in the old, is "a man both grave in years and known honest" (old Arcadia, p. 326), who is passionately fond of Pyrocles and Musidorus. Sidney adds details that extend the representation of Kalander as a devoted attendant on the princes, even to the potential disregard of his more general duties as a host. Kalander insists on having the marriage of Argalus and Parthenia celebrated in his house, for example, not so much out of a desire to honour the young couple, but "principallie the longer to hold his deare guestes [Pyrocles and Musidorus] , towardes whom he was now (be-sides his owne habite of hospitalitie) carried with love and dutie: & therefore omitted no service that his wit could invent, and his power minister" (new Arcadia, I, 50-51). Such indications should be taken as hints to the reader that he ought to hold Kalander's judgment in some suspicion in situations de-manding the impartial assessment of the princes' conduct. Although Kalander is essentially a reliable character, his valuations are on those occasions to be weighed carefully against alternate determinations. Similarly, Philgnax is generally a dependable character. His recapi-tulation and estimation of events leading to Basilius's retirement (given in a letter to Basilius, a copy of which has fallen into Kalander's hands, I, 24-29), is trustworthy because his evaluations are demonstrably the disinterested judg-ments of a wise counsellor dedicated to the well-being of the state. Philanax's assessments, formerly supplied by the narrator of the old Arcadia, are accepted by the reader as valid in part because the reading of the letter is preceded by Kalander's description of the wisdom and integrity of the man, and of the accuracy and essential probity of his judgment. Kalander's reliability is thereby extended to Philanax. Sidney also extensively amended the passage concerning Philanax's counsel in order to lend credence to the ethical-political standard of morality which Philanax brings to bear on Basilius's conduct. The measured dignity and the logical force of the letter in which those judgments are presented also serve as a vivid image of the weighty and well-judging mind of its author. Yet in Books IV and V of the old Arcadia, Philanax is propelled info injustice toward Gynecia, the princesses, and the princes by his excessive love for Basilius, when his sorrow at Basilius's death turns into hatred for those who appear to be implicated in the murder. This pattern is presumably to be re-peated in the new Arcadia. Kalander, in describing Philanax as a firmly principled counsellor and a zealous friend, particularly notes his abiding love for Basilius: For, there lives no man, whose excellent witte more simplie imbraseth integritie, besides his unfained love to his master, wherein never yet any could make question, saving, whether he loved Basilius or the Prince better (I, 23). Sidney prepares the reader as early as Book I to recognize that Philanax's ad-mirable devotion to his monarch is a potential source of in judiciousness. Both Kalander and Philanax, then, are established as virtuous charac-ters and credible narrators in Book I. But Sidney has carefully woven, details in-to the narrative which suggest that their judgment may on occasion falter. Though generally dependable, neither is to be taken as an absolute moral arbiter. By contrast-, Clinias is a generally unreliable character whose story of the mob's insurrection at the end of Book II, a tale once again formerly told by the speaker of the old Arcadia, is essentially accurate. Clinias's speech to Basilius in which he describes the events leading to the revolt is an artful mixture of truth and evasion as he cleverly conceals his own part in the insur-rection as the evil Cecropia's chief agent-provocateur. The reader, previously given the facts of Clinias's complicity in the mutiny, is able to assess critically Clinias's account. For example, the reader accepts Clinias's statement that the Arcadians were open to sedition only because Basilius had absented himself from the throne, but he totally discredits Clinias's protestation at the horrible-ness of the mob's action: "they descended (O never to be forgotten presumption) to a direct mislike of your living from among them" (I, 322). Clinias's oration serves as an ironic foil to Philanax's earlier peroration on Basilius's failure to rule. Paradoxically, both characters speak of the disasters resulting from Basilius's retirement from public life. But Clinias's speech, a per-suasive blend of truth and falsehood, of theatrical delivery and fulsome praise of its auditor, is designed to lead Basilius further from proper governance. For instance, Clinias convinces Basilius to accept him as one of his trusted men. In so doing, the king opens the way for the insurrections that follow in Book III. Clinias is the perfect archetype of the orator who uses his power to move men to the detriment of the commonwealth: "This Clinias in his youth had been a scholler so farre, as to learne rather wordes then maners, and of words rather plentie then order; and oft had used to be an actor in Tragedies, where he had learned, besides a slidingnesse of language, acquaintance with many passions, and to frame his face to beare the figure of them" (I, 319). Deaf to the measured harmony and logical graces of Philanax's well-argued presentation, Basilius is open to the deceitful flattery and theatrical man-nerism of Clinias: "With that the fellow did wring his hands, & wrong out teares: so as Basilius, that was not the sharpest pearcer into masked minds, toke a good liking to him; & so much the more as he had tickled him with praise in the hearing of his mistres" (I, 324). The contrast is further empha-sized in the following chapter, in which Basilius once again rejects Philanax's earnest entreaty that he "leave of this solitarie course (which already had bene so daungerous unto him)" (I, 326). The dramatic representation of the persons and actions of Philanax and Clinias provides positive and negative exempla of right counsel. The context within which the narration takes place also serves to further the development of the political theme. The dramatization of Clinias's oration and of Basilius's response to it provides another sharply etched image of the dangers which inevitably imperil a state when its ruler fails to assess men dis-passionately and to use them in accord with their true merit. Clinias's ability to persuade Basilius by appealing to his vanity and to his self-interest is a sign of Basilius's lack of the rational wisdom of the good governor. Crassus in Cicero's De Oratore (515,223) asserts that Impassioned delivery rather than the logical force of argument:, moves the less rational commonalty: "Delivery has most effect on the ignorant, on the mob, and on barbarians." Basilius is to be similarly linked by association with the Arcadian mob, who were likewise deceived into unconsidered and immoderate behaviour by Clinias's skillful appeal to their passions and their self-interest . Sidney's delegating of the retrospective narratives to narrator-agents within the fictional framework of the new Arcadia who range from the generally reliable to the typically unreliable, then, is one means by which he vividly depicts the difficulties inherent in reaching adequate moral judgment in the labyrinth of the brazen world. No character is completely adequate, to the task of irreproachable judgment. Only the reader, who sees it all and views it with the objectivity not enjoyed by any particular narrator, can make conclusive evaluations. Such a rhetoric of presentation serves to educate the reader by prompting him to exercise his own judgment with delicacy and cautious delibera-tion. The reader cannot rely on any character within the narrative to serve as definitive and unqualified guide through the ethical maze; he therefore must himself become actively engaged in the process of normative assessment. In-deed, the audience becomes the single, absolute arbitrator of moral meanings. Because the reader occupies a position outside and clearly differentiated from the fictional world, he alone has access to the whole pattern of relationships amongst a diversity of characters and events—a perspective denied to any in-dividual character within the narrative itself. Only the reader of the new Arcadia, then, can fully assess narrative events and can by inductive reason-ing arrive at the normative principles that potentially bind that multiplicity of characters and actions into a harmonious moral design. Sidney made the judicial task of the audience of the new Arcadia more demanding, oblique, and sophisticated, then, in part by reassigning and rearranging the existing imbedded narratives. In order to further the "morali-zing" of the plot, he also introduced a large number of new narrators and stories. Like Homer, Sidney used the many added episodes not merely as peripheral or adventitious ornamental digression, but as microcosmic corollaries to the main action. These new tales serve to extend and to complicate the presentation of particularized images of vices and virtues and thereby provide the reader with a more comprehensive moral design . Sidney also consolidated these subsidiary tales or "episodes" (meaning, according to Aristotle [17.55° 34), everything outside the central "incident" or plot) into the main narrative line. He accomplished this in part by linking "episodes" and "incident" thematically. These thematic connections, though often achieved through complex, cryptic, and elusive means, are nevertheless carefully placed and sustained throughout. As Wolff has noted in discussing the addition of the new matter, "Sidney has not dropped a single thread in the whole enormous design. As far as he recast 37 it, the grandiose pattern is perfect." Rather than being mere amplification of the main action in order to fulfil the demands of epic expansi veness, then, the minor episodes carry significant thematic weight by providing a multiplicity of vices and virtues falling loosely into the two categories of love and politics. The thematic "moral" to be drawn from each exemplum serves both to expand the treatment of the private and public themes and to bind them together into an all-encompassing thematic unity. As in rhetorical example, comparison and contrast is the method by which that comprehensive moral design is achieved. Heninger notes in his consideration of the Defence that the narra-tive structure of a literary work must be examined by the reader in terms of the likenesses and differences that it provides: The poem builds by comparisons and contrasts. By comparison, elements of one sort supplement one an-other to build toward a comprehensive theme. By contrast, they define one another, often one exist-ing only as the opposite of the other and therefore depending upon the other.for its significance—again, though by way of contrast rather than comparison, complementing one another in order to build toward a comprehensive theme. All of the newly interpolated stories serve to illuminate by comparison or by contrast the meanings of the main narrative as each contributes to the ultimate revelation of the work's theme. This encyclopedic treatment of vice and virtue is further extended by Sidney's artful integration of major and minor narrative segments. Sidney linked the incident and episodes together in. part by extending or resolving in the major incident complications arising in the minor episodes. His aim was to prompt the reader to identify the thematic parallels that potentially harmonize the two. Sidney also exploited fully the dramatic situation in which the tale is placed. The context within which an imbedded narrative is set often provides thematic comprehensiveness in a number of ways. Sometimes the testimony of the teller supports and corroborates detail provided in the omniscient narration; sometimes it works as a sophisticated (arid generally ironic) complement .to the omniscient narration. Frequently, too, the characters reveal themselves through 113 their tales; often those revelations indicate the speaker's lack of insight into his own nature or the meanings of his story. In many cases, the anecdotes re-flect upon their auditors as well as on their tellers. And in Book II, the stories are in close organic relationship to preceding events, to the fictional circumstances of the narrative present, as well as to events that are to take place in the fictional future. The reader, then, must often be acutely aware of the relationship of the teller to the tale; of the interconnections between the auditor and the speaker and his story; and of the parallels between the fic-tional environment within which the dramatized narration takes place, and the characters and events displayed in the tale. Of all the added stories in the new Arcadia, only that of Parthenia and Argalus, told by Kalander's unnamed and uncharacterized steward, is uncon-39 vincingly related to present action. Although a pretext for the narration is provided—Musidorus asks to hear the circumstances leading to Clitophon's imprisonment—the tale itself is too long and digressive to fit harmoniously into the on-going major narrative line. Clearly, in the new Arcadia Sidney had opted to restrict omniscient narration to the fictional present and. to delegate all retrospective material to internalized narrator-characters; yet his selection of the steward is a too transparent and mechanical device for introducing such dele-gated antecedent narration. Since this tale is the first significant new story, perhaps Sidney was still perfecting his narrative techniques; and;given the opportunity of further revision, he would have improved the effectiveness of this sequence. Certainly, as the work progresses, the interpolated tales are handled with increasing complexity and skillfulness. Sidney himself seems to have recognized the obviousness of the ploy, and he attempts to pass over the awkwardness of the interpolation by having the steward ask Musidorus's pardon for his long-winded digression: I have delivered all I understande touching the losse of my Lords sonne, & the cause thereof: which though it were not necessarie to Clitophons case, to be so parti-cularly told, yet the strangenes of it, made me think it would not be unplesant unto you (I, 37). Although in this instance the modulation from omniscient telling to imbedded narration is ill-managed, the tale itself serves a rather complex thematic function. The story of Argalus and Parthenia (a tale that is later extended and completed in the main narrative action) is thematically related to the other two major interpolations in Book I: Phalantus's tourney (an episode that com-bines brief retrospective narration by Basilius with more extensive present action), and the story of Amphialus and Helen (a long retrospective amorous episode told by Helen, the consequences of which are to become an integral part of the main narrative).4^ The stories are used to mirror and to amplify by comparison and contrast the moral significances of human love in the main plot. In fact, this triad of tales establishes the normative parameters that define passionate love. As such, they provide moral images against which the lovers of the main plot are to be evaluated. Argalus and Parthenia are the ideal representatives of heroic love. They are to be compared to other noble and ignoble couples, and the subtle distinctions drawn amongst these lovers are to form the basis of a complex val tion of the ethics of love. In particular, the steward explicitly compares Parthenia to the other major representatives of feminine perfection: Helen and the two Arcadian princesses. Parthenia unites physical comeliness with pre-eminent virtues of mind; like these other three, Parthenia's "fairnesse... was but a faire embassadour of a most faire minde" (I, 32). Parthenia, however, is subtly distinguished for her proven constancy in love. She remains true to Argalus when her mother attempts to force her to marry Demagoras: " [the mother ] who beyng determinately.. .bent to mgrrie her to Demagoras, tryed all wayes which a wittie and hard-harted . mother could use, upon so humble a daughter: in whome the onely resisting power was love" (I, 33). Parthenia's proven constancy in love even under duress in Book I is intended to prefigure the Arcadian princesses' similar display of resolute constancy in the face of Cecropia's attempts to persuade them to marry Amphialus in Book III. Likewise, Argalus is explicitly associated with his heroic counterparts, Amphialus, Pyrocles, and Musidorus as a "gentleman in,deede most.rarely accom-plished" (I, 31). He, like Parthenia, is also distinguished for his "over-vehement constancie of yet spotles affection" (I, 31). Argalus and Parthenia, then, re-present individually perfect types of masculine and feminine accomplishment, and together they form an exemplum of ideal constancy in a fully realized and human love. The testing of their constancy through adversity is to provide an image of heroical fortitude that admits of no decline from the straight line of virtue. In particular, Argalus's constant and active heroism as he seeks revenge on Demagorqs (who has destroyed Parthenia's beauty out of jealousy) is to pro-vide a pattern of masculine conduct in love. Argalus's unfailingly virtuous actions illustrate the potentially harmonious alignment of love and heroic duty. His subsequent refusal to marry Parthenia's fair twin (who proves to be Parthenia herself, her beauty restored by Helen's healing arts) also illustrates dramati-cally that his love is posited not on superficial fleshly attraction, but on a consistently maintained devotion to Parthenia's more inward excellences.. This final "testing" demonstrates that the essential element of heroic love is the recognition of virtuous merit. In their unalloyed virtue and their faithful love Parthenia and Argalus both show forth perfect constancy. As Hamilton notes, "Sidney's first story in the Arcadia treats constancy in love because that virtue is the basis of all the virtues. Argalus and Parthenia supply the pattern of constant affection which measures all the lovers. Their marriage is the ideal state which all should seek."^ Constancy is thus the key to personal perfection and to the har-monious union of men and women in wedded love. The story of the second set of lovers, narrated in part by Basilius to Pyrocles (now disguised as Zelmane), projects an inverse image of true con-stancy in love. Phalantus and Artesia are merely courttly lovers a la mode. Neither is constant within himself, nor is either genuinely devoted to the other. Phalantus, a Iess-than-perfect variant on the ideal gentleman, is neither of unqualified birth (he is a bastard-brother to Queen Helen), nor is he by nature motivated to self-perfection through well-doing in "matters of armes" (I, 97). Unlike the princes—at least before their entry into Arcadia—Fhalantus prefers "peaceable delightes." He has "taken love uppon him like a fashion"; his courting of Artesia is a mere pastime "for want of other businesse. " Artesia however, is his match (she "was as fit to pale him in his owne monie as might be," (1,98); and she is likewise contrasted with the more admirable and virtuous heroines in her total want of modesty, "thinking she did wrong to her beautie if she were not proude of it. " Artesia has trapped her overly-eloquent suitor Phalantus into acting on his "cas+-awaie vowes, howe much he would doo for her sake," and she has inveigled him into travelling from country to country to defend her beauty against all challengers. After Pyrocles has redeemed Philoclea's picture by overthrowing Phalantus in the tourney, Artesia and Phalantus break with one another, "to the sporte of Basilius, to see young folkes love, that come in maskt with so great pompe, goe out with so little consrancie" (I, 111). Their mutually-agreeable separation is an appro-priately ironic corollary to the true harmony in marriage represented by the marriage of Parthenia and Argalus: A happy couple, he joying in her, she joying in her selfe, but in her selfe, because she enjoyed him: both encreas-ing their riches by giving to each other; each making one life double, because they made a double life; one, where desire never wanted satisfaction, nor satisfaction never bred sacietie; he ruling, because she would obey: or rather be-cause she would obey, she therein ruling (I, 420). These two tales, then, provide the complementary poles of extreme constancy and utter inconstancy in love. The story of Amphialus and Helen stands between these two. Amphialus and Helen are lovers heroic and noble by individual nature. But their love is not mutually reciprocated. Helen is passionately drawn to Amphialus, but he in turn is desperately in love with Philoclea. In their frustration and de-spair as lovers, they become internally overmastered by passion. As a result, 118 in their actions as lovers and as rulers, they diverge from the absolute line of virtue. Helen's story, then, is focused primarily on the process of disintegration rather than reunion through love and extends the theme of the difficulties, personal and civic, that often attend human passion. Whereas Argalus's des-perate search for Parthenia was treated in summary form, Helen's unhappy pur-suit of Amphialus—who despises her—occupies the centre of her narration. Helen describes to Musidorus the tragic events culminating in Amphialus's murder of his best friend and his subsequent solitary flight. A bloody battle has immediately preceded Helen's telling of her story. Musidorus had found and Amphialus's cast-off armour and, as a result, had been mistakenly attacked by Helen's retinue. Musidorus's slaughter of a number of Helen's followers epi-tomizes the unintentional violence and wrongfulness that attends the story of Amphialus and Helen from the outset. Although both have been established as prototypes of nobility and virtue, their trials in love serve to illustrate how dis-astrous can be the effects of a "mixed" love, a passion in which virtue and love become separated. For love, Helen becomes a second Basilius in that she know-ingly chooses to abandon her subjects: For this cause I have left my country, putting in hazard how my people wil in time deale by me, adventuring what perils or dishonors might ensue, only to folow him, who proclaimeth hate against me (I, 72). Unlike the less wise Basilius, Helen is fully cognizant of the danger at the hands of her people into which she has placed herself and of the dishonour that might result from her defection from her responsibilities as a ruler. Amphialus, too, is guilty of extensive public misconduct as a member of the ruling class. In order to secure Philoclea's affection, he precipitates all the horrendous violence of Book III. He willingly causes the near-overthrow of the Arcadian state, and is an agent, though often an unwitting one, in the torture of the Arcadian princesses, in the deaths of Argalus and Parthenia, and even in the death of his own mother. He illustrates the paradox that heroic virtue, when divided from absolute and rational self-mastery, can be more dan-gerous than deliberate wickedness. His story is tragic because he is at once heroic and flawed. As Hamilton comments, "Amphialus and Helen serve as an exemplunof the tragic possibilities of life despite the ideal virtue of the one AO and the constant love of the other. Their troubled history provides an image of the negative potentialities inherent, in human love—even in those lovers who are otherwise preeminent models of princely virtues. The triad of stories, thematically crucial to the anatomization of human passion, is also artfully integrated tntothe.action of the main narrative. The story of Argalus's difficulties in love is finally brought to a close, for instance, when Argalus is freed by the efforts of Pyrocles and Musidorus and returned to Kalander's house, where he is reunited with Parthenia. Their story is brought to its tragic conclusion in the main incident of Book III, the siege of Cecropia's castle. Both Argalus and Parthenia die by Amphialus's hand. This interweaving of subsidiary episode and main incident serves to har-monize thematically the relations between major and minor narrative segments. Both Pyrocles and Musidorus, for example, take part in Phalantus's tourney. Their presence serves to suggest the parallels between Phalantus and the princes. 120 All three have withdrawn from serious public action following the battle of the Helots and have become preoccupied with the pleasures of love. Both Pyrocles and Musidorus are forced by circumstances to assume disguises during the tourna-ment. The disguises emblematize their fall from their "true" identities as ab-solute princes and leaders of men. On the other hand, the disguises also serve to distinguish them from the undisguised Phalantus, whose easy assumption of the role of courtly lover does not result in any real inner transformation. The princes' inward metamorphosis under the impress of well-grounded and genuinely-experienced love is signified by their outward change of costume. The defeat of Phalantus, too, distinguishes them again from the mere love-ape. Like Argalus, they are capable of resolute and heroic endeavour for their mistresses' sokes. They also prove to be lovers as constant as Argalus, although the means by which they seek to achieve union with their respective mistresses is ethically more tenuous. The incorporation of minor narrative segments into the main plot serves, however, not only to make clear the thematic correspondences between those smaller episodes and the major incident. The princes' knowledge of and parti-cipation in the minor episodes also serves to teach the princes by experience (and the reader by illuminating example) to know virtue aright. The princes not only partake, sometimes directly and sometimes obliquely, in each of the episodes; but Musidorus is the auditor for the tales of Parthenia and Argalus, and of Helen and Amphialus; and Pyrocles is the hearer of the story of Phalantus. So the two princes not only learn through later experience to know 121 fully the effects of love; but through these accounts of lovers of varying stripes, they also have prior access to the moral meanings implicit in the tales. Argalus's example schools Musidorus in heroic constancy in love; Phalantus's actions as a lover teach the lesson of constancy to Pyrocles by representing inconstancy, its negative form. Musidorus learns from Helen's tragic story the potential ill effects that can arise from passionate love. The princes should know, by their earlier education in virtue, by the moral exampla these tales provide, and by their own experience with a variety of noble lovers, the complex and morally-tenuous nature of passionate love. The integration of these moral tales into the main narrative is also de-signed to encourage the reader to evaluate the conduct of the two princely lovers, Pyrocles and Musidorus, in terms of the ethical models provided in the three amorous episodes. Both Pyrocles and Musidorus, like Argalus, are archetypically constant lovers. But their course in love, and Pyrocles's in particular, is morally dubious. They are to be ethically "placed" between the heroically virtuous con-stancy of Argalus and the near-tragic passionateness of Amphialus, but well above the frivolous posturing of the less noble Phalantus. Indeed^ all the courtly characters of the main plot are to be similarly placed as lovers in ethical relationship to each other and to the triad of lovers in the interpola-tions of Book I. Occasionally, too, these newly interpolated stories of Book I are to be brought into some sort of moral alignment with their tellers, their auditors, and the fictional circumstances within which the narration takes place. Basilius's description of Phalantus as a lover who is "used by his beloved," for example, may be "ironically related to the final narrative disposition of his own sexual adventures with Zelmane. An additional irony is the fact that Basilius tells the story in order to delight his beloved "Zelmane/" rather than to provide her with delightful instruction; this change in intention subtly underscores Basilius's transformation from wise ruler of other men to foolish lover. He ought by deed and word to exemplify right conduct (Evarchus is, of course, the perfect arche-type of monarchical well-doing); instead, he has become an aged inamorato seeking any means to win the sexual favours of his mistress. Even more telling is Basilius's ability to see the "sport" in Phalantus's ill-grounded and hypocritical conduct and his paradoxical failure to perceive his own similarly ridiculous comportment as a lover. This self-rdelusion provides a wry image of his moral blindness. His critique of Phalantus's failure to feel "that divine power, which makes the heart finde a reason in passion" is in-tended to persuade Zalmane that Basilius is, by contrast, feelingly cognizant of the divinity of true love. Yet the grossly sensual basis of Basilius's passion, continually imaged forth by the inappropriateness of his love object (Gynecia at least has the wisdom to detect the man beneath the skirt) and by the true ob-ject of his desire (an adulterous liaison), contrasts sharply with his facile dis-course on the nature of an inappropriate love. The ironies surrounding Basilius's narration encompass his hearer, Pyrocles-Zelmane so well. Whereas Basilius is unwittingly as counterfeit a lover as Phalantus, Pyrocles is a deliberate poseur who plays on Basilius's passionate attachment to "Zelmane" in order to further his own pursuit of the king's lovely daughter, Philoclea. Though admirable for his cleverness and fortitude, surely Pyrocles's assumption of feminine clothing is also both ridiculous and morally suspect. In fact the context within which the tale is placed also extends the play of sardonic wit over all the main characters (Pamela and Musidorus, who are not participants, are significant exceptions). , Immediately before the story of Phalantus is told, Pyrocles, Gynecia, Philoclea, and Basilius have all been engaged in a kind of merry-go-round of love as each is repeatedly frustrated in his attempts to achieve a satisfactory resolution of his passion: Zelmane returned to the lodge, where (inflamed by Philoclea, watched by Gynecia, and tired by Basilius) she was like a horse, desirous to runne, and miserablie spurred but so short rainde, as he cannot stirre forward: Zelmane sought occasion to speake with Philoclea; Basilius with Zelmane; and Gynecia hindered them all (I, 95). The fact that Pyrocles's feminine disguise—dubious in itself—has precipitated the excessively passionate responses of the other three clearly undermines Pyrocles's claims to an absolute moral probity. Because Pyrocles is masquerading as a serving maid, Basilius has in fact become enamoured of a man; Philoclea believes herself to be passionately fond of another woman; and Gynecia becomes a rival to her own daughter as she pursues an adulterous love. The description of Phalantus's highly questionable assumption of the role of lover is thus by association extended to all the characters who have played a part in the main narrative segment that immediately precedes Phalantus's tourney. Each has similarly assumed a role in love that is less than honest, somehow less than exemplary. 124 5 The newly interpolated retrospective narratives of Book II demonstrate an even more complex and sophisticated integration of episode and incident, and of the tale and the fictional environment within which it is placed. In the second book of the new Arcadia, Sidney inserted the stories which detail the history of Pyrocles and Musidorus before their entry into Arcadia. These tales add to the moral anatomy of love provided by the three interpolated tales of Book I. They also incorporate more fully vices and virtues arising from passions other than love. They serve, too, to augment the development of the political theme by illustrating the interrelations between private and public actions. And, in particular, these tales invite the reader to achieve a finer and more subtle ethical differentiation of the two primary sets of heroic lovers in the main plot: Pamela and Musidorus, and Philoclea and Pyrocles. At one level the multiplicity and diversity of stories provide an encyc-lopedic representation of vice and virtue and incorporate a variety of topoi. As Myrick comments, "The multitude of these examples is not less striking than their variety. Tiridates and Erona are impelled by love, Pamphilus at first by mere whim, and later by revenge; Chremes by avarice; Plangus by love for an unworthy woman; Plexirtus by fear and ambition; Artaxia by thirst for vengeance; Antiphilus by cowardice." 4 4 Despite their diversity, all the exempla of Book II fall loosely into two groupings. The first group, beginning with the story of Evarchus and ending with the tale of Leonatus, illustrates primarily masculine tyranny and misgovernment. The second group, which begins with the story of Erona, and includes all the remaining tales of Book II, provides examples of primarily feminine malfeasance in love and politics. The interrelation of political and erotic events in these stories also establishes the correspondence between personal and civic conduct. These interpolated stories also reinforce and extend the new characteri-zation of the princes in the revision as absolute heroes. In the old Arcadia, the history of the two princes is provided in summary form by Histor in the second eclogues. By expanding their stories from a mere footnote in the old Arcadia to the dominant focus of interest in Book II of the new, Sidney furthers the moral evaluation of his two "woorthies.11 In the new Arcadia, the princes are repeatedly shown to "put down 'masculine' tyranny and 'feminine' lust in 45 Asia Minor while exalting fair government and love." Their capabilities as wise and valorous leaders certify them as morally exalted heroes. Yet in the older version Sidney also uses Histor's account of the princes' wisdom and bravery to reflect ironically on the princes' defection from heroic endeavor once they have entered Arcadia and discovered their respective "goddesses." The narrator's sardonic comment that Histor's tale was welcomed by all the young lovers is meant to point up the fact that their current behavior is less than perfectly admirable, and that the princes are in need of such antecedent support for their claims to virtue. Certainly, the parallels and the ironic contrasts between the princes' present and past conduct, suggested in the old Arcadia, are fully exploited in the revision. Musidorus's fulsome account of Evarchus's well-doing as a private person and a monarch, for example, illustrates Musidorus's proper understanding of the principles of governance; at the same time it throws into relief his current di-vergence from the demands of active heroism. So, too, Musidorus's recitation of his own birth, education, and heroical exploits—designed to reveal to Pamela his true identity—serves to confirm to both Pamela and the reader his essential nobility. Yet his courting of Pamela by feigning love for the lewd Mopsa—at one level a clever and admirable ploy, handled with wit and elo-quence—is also morally tenuous. The image of a gentleman masquerading as a shepherd and courting a clownish shepherdess is meant to evoke ridicule as well as delight. Pyrocles's courting of Philoclea is even more ethically dubious. Musidorus had been forced to court Mopsa in order to reveal his inner worth and his noble ancestry to Pamela. She had resolutely refused to accept him, a mere shepherd, as a suitor despite his obvious attractions of mind and body until she had proof of his princely status. Pyrocles's difficulty is somewhat different and puts him in a less admirable light. He is primarily concerned with revealing not only his heroic identity, but also his true gender to Philoclea. The sexual nature of his problem is one example of the more erotic—and therefore more ethically suspect—basis of the love between the younger couple. In his attempt to make his sexual identity known to Philoclea, Pyrocles is frustrated by Gynecia, who jealously seeks to keep Philoclea and Pyrocles from obtaining private conference. Gynecia is, however, fortuitously injured and confined ro bed. Pyrocles takes the opportunity to meet Philoclea alone by arranging for her to act as "go-between"; Philoclea is to carry Basilius's message of love to "Zelmane" in private and to persuade "her" to accept the king's love. The circumstances surrounding the revelation of Pyrocles's identity, then, are continually associated with erotic and morally reprehensible passion on the part of all the participants. Even Philoclea and Pyrocles have assumed morally-debased roles-^Pyrocles as a sexually enticing female and Philoclea as a feminine Pandarus—in order to achieve a private meeting. The more "mixed" though still heroic nature of their love—a compound of erotic attraction and rational admiration of virtue—is thereby suggested by the fictional environment in which the revelation of identity and exchange of vows between Pyrocles and Philoclea take place. Of significance, too, is the temporal relationship between the prin-cesses' acceptance of their respective suitors and the narration of the princes' histories. As Delasanta notes, "Whereas Musidorus uses the occasion of the narrative to reveal his identity to Pamela, his narrative thus becoming a kind of prelude to their love, Pyrocles precipitously reveals his identity to Philoclea before he narrates his story, his narrative thus serving as a coda to their 46 love." The contrasts developed between the two sets of lovers in terms of the placing of the autobiographical narratives provides more than a delightful variant on a parallel patterning of events. They serve as well to distinguish the more sensually-based affection of the younger lovers from the rationally-grounded and virtuously-maintained love of Pamela and Musidorus. Philoclea is explicitly compared with Pygmalion in the delight she apprehends by the discovery that Pyrocles is capable of fulfilling her sexually: "By each degree of Zelmanes wordes creepingly entred into Philoclea: till her pleasure was fully made up with the manifesting of his being; which was such as in hope did over-come Hope" (I, 259). 4 7 She is also specifically described in the om-niscient narration as being caught between the demands of reason and the enticements of passion. Driven by erotic attraction to stay with Pyrocles, she is still painfully aware of the contrary demands of honourable conduct: "A certain sparke of honour, which rose in her well-disposed minde, made her feare to be alone with him, with whom alone she desired to be (with all the other contradictions growing in those minds, which nether absolutly clime the rocks of Vertue, nor freely sinke into the sea of Vanitie) but that sparke soone gave place, or at lest gave no more light in her mind, then a candle doth in the Sunnes presence" (I, 259-60). The dictates of right reason are unable to pre-vail. Philoclea, ethically caught between the "rocke of Vertue" and the "sea of Vanitie," is, in fact, so overmastered by her passion that she is reduced to begging grace of her lover: "Thou hast then the victort*'. use it with vertue" (I, 260). Yet Philoclea, in her sweet gentleness and femininity, is lovely even in her failure to govern absolutely her erotic passion. Pamela, by contrast, seems almost masculine in her majestic self-command. She stands as a type of absolute constancy, of undefiled virtue in love. Pamela, for example, refuses to give Musidorus any token of her love until he has proven that he is by birth, nature, and education her equal. Once he has demonstrated through his autobiographical tale that he is indeed the noble and valorous prince Musidorus, she allows herself to display her love "to so farre a degree, that in the ende she said, that if she had bene the Princesse, whom that disguised Prince had vertuously loved, she would have requited his faith with faithfuII affection: finding in her hart, that nothing could so hartily love as vertue: with many mo words to the same sense of noble favour, & chast plainnesse" (I, 354). The words by which she describes her love—"vertue" and "faithfuHaffectipn"—aptly describe the pure and praiseworthy constancy of her love. To demonstrate that her affection is indeed chaste and rationally-based, freed from any taint of unmastered passion, Sidney adds the "baiser" scene in which Pamela banishes Musidorus for presuming to steal a single kiss. Philoclea, by contrast, allows Pyrocles to repeatedly embrace and kiss her; after their exchange of love vows, the younger couple even come dangerously close to a sexual consummation of their love: "Pyrocles would have sealed with the chiefe armes of his desire, but Philoclea commaunded the contrary" (I, -261). The stories which each of the young lovers narrates serve to reinforce 48 the parallels and contrasts between the two couples. Philoclea—associated more nearly with erotic passion than Pamela—narrates the earlier segment of Erona's irreIigion against sensual love. Her story serves as a kind of defense of the essential goodness of sexually-based love. Erona had persuaded her father to pull down and deface all the "naked pictures & images" of Cupid. Because 130 of her rejection of erotic human love, Erona was "terrible... punished" for her heresy against Cupid, the god of physical passion. She is subsequently "striken with most obstinate Love, to a yong 'man of but mean parentage, in her fathers court, named Antiphilus" (I, 232). He proves to be base by nature as well as by birth:, he is a crafty coward and an inconstant lover. Despite-the unani-mous opposition of all her nobility, Erona persists in marrying Antiphilus and further disasters are to result from this socio-moral mismatch. At this point in the telling, however, Philoclea begs for a pause before continuing the story of the "horrible matter" that follows. The story of Erona provides an example of the wrongfulness of an ab-solute denial of the beauties of erotic passion. Although Erona's ill-fortune can be traced in part to her misapprehension of the value of sexual love, she com-pounds her error by marrying below her. Her failure to find an ethically-adequate mate is an anti-type for the two princesses' more appropriate choices in love. Philoclea's recognition that such mismatching is inevitably attended with dangers and misery both for the individual lovers and for their countrymen confirms her own proper schooling in virtue. Yet Philoclea's refusal to tell Erona's story past the point of her marriage to Antiphilus illustrates her natural warm responsiveness to human love. Just as she was drawn irresistibly to Pyrocles, she is also attracted by a vision of wedded bliss through faithful constancy. She ends her tale with a blushing aside to Pyrocles: "O most happy were we, if we did set our loves^ohe upon j another. (And as she spake that worde, her cheekes in red letters writ more, then her tongue did speake)" (I, 237). She and Pyrocles, by contrast to Erona and Antiphilus, are more 131 nearly constant lovers. And her wish for an ultimately happier resolution to their own story is presumably to be accomplished. Yet her exchange of vows with Pyrocles is not entirely aboveboard—princesses do not marry serving ladies— and therefore partakes of some sense of mismatching. Their course in love, too, is to be fraught with dangers and misery before they are ultimately united. Both Pyrocles and Philoclea have still to learn to distinguish more fully be-tween higher and lower impulses, and to follow a straighter course in virtue. Miso's attempt at story-telling~a laughably confused old-wives' tale-cum-ballad against Cupid—intervenes between Philoclea's and Pamela's narra-tives. By the contrast it provides to Philoclea's simple yet reasoned and eloquent narration, Miso's comic invective against Cupid throws into relief the essential Tightness and nobility of Philoclea's appreciation of the value of erotic love. Miso's diatribe against Cupid also demonstrates that the form which love takes is directly correlated to the nature, base or elevated, of the lover. To the ignoble, love and lust are indistinguishable. Miso provides in her tale an ironic emblem of Love: He had a paire of homes like a Bull, his feete cloven, as many eyes upon his bodie, as my gray-mare hath dappels, & for all the world so placed. This monster sat like a hangman upon a paire of gallowes, in his right hand he was painted holding a crowne of Laurell, in his left hand a purse of mony, & out of his mouth honge a lace of two faire pictures, of a man & a woman, & such a countenance he shewed, as if he would perswade folks by those alurements to come thither & be hanged (I, 238). Miso, who has also heard Philoclea's tale of Erona, is completely incapable of conceiving of the higher potentialities inherent in human passion. Her comic intrusion serves to point up the invalidity of a complete denial of the beauties of human bliss through sexual union. Miso's interruption is followed by Mopsa's brief garbled tale of knights and princesses. Mopsa's story is designed to show that untutored romantic idealism is no more admirable than the ignorant negation of the potential ideality of love. Mopsa's misdirected romanticism serves also as an ironic com-plement to Pamela's tale, which follows immediately thereafter. Pamela's account of Plangus's adulterous liaison with Andromana, and of the subsequent disasters that befell his country, suggests the evils that can attend erotic im-pulse. Once again the tale reflects upon the teller; Pamela's story focuses on the destructiveness of unbridled sexual licence. She is, of course, the one character who, even as a lover, is consistently portrayed as being in perfect self-command. Pamela's rational comprehension of the ethics of human con-duct are everywhere evident in her telling; she repeatedly draws rigorous yet perfectly appropriate moral evaluations of the meanings of the tale. In parti-cular, Pamela provides a penetratingly critical analysis of erotic attraction, and of the dangers which such sexual incontinence among those who rule will inevitably breed in the commonwealth. Through her story-felling, Pamela demonstrates her severely moral wisdom and her insistence on absolute probity of conduct in private and public. The princes are likewise characterized by the nature of the tales they tell. Musidorus—the older, wiser, and more firmly virtuous of the two princes, an apt match for the well-judging and majestic Pamela—narrates primarily 133 political and martial tales that depict valour in war and prudential wisdom in peace. These include Evarchus's wars, and the tales of the kings of Phrygia, Pontus, and Galatia. Musidorus's stories end conclusively with the establish-ment of justice and social order, and they demonstrate the efficacious exercise of masculine wisdom and prowess. By contrast Pyrocles's tales, including the stories of Dido and Pamphilus, of Andromana and Plexirtus, and of the ori-ginal Zelmane and Palladius, are frequently either left unresolved or they are tragically concluded. Whereas Musidorus's stories exemplify the ideals and values associated with princely conduct in the real world, Pyrocles's tales, though still heroic, illustrate the moral difficulties that attend the exercise of such an active virtue. 4^ They function to illustrate once again the difficulties inherent in making normative decisions and acting upon ethical principle in a post-lapsarian society. Pyrocles's heroic and political narratives are also continually admixed with amatory episodes. The mixture of masculine and feminine in Pyrocles's narration serves in part to unite the erotic and political themes by linking private passion with public misconduct. His tales also reflect and extend Sidney's representation of Pyrocles's ethically tenuous conduct through the use of androgynous associations. Pyrocles had earlier been described as having "a Mars's heart in a Cupid's body"; his disguise as an Amazon, a blend of male and female qualities, had furthered the presentation of Pyrocles's sexually-ambivalent role. All such androgynous references serve to image forth the ethically-divided nature of Pyrocles's love. Pyrocles's affection, though constant and of heroic proportions, is like Philoclea's, a "mixed" or sensual love; it partakes of the love associated with Cupid, the lovely boy. Just as Pamela and Musidorus are naturally drawn to each other by virtue of their shared qualities of upright and "masculine" virtue, so too the younger, more delicately sensuous, and "feminine" couple are mutually attracted by their complementary gifts of body and mind. In fine, all the added tales in Books I and II serve to provide a whole spectrum of moral exempla, positive and negative. The presence of these moral images serves to invite the reader to establish by induction the moral codes by which human action is to be judged. The reader is to observe these notable images of vices and virtues, and eventually to adduce the ethical principles that potentially draw them into significant relationship. At the same time, these moral exempla illustrate the problematic nature of applying absolute norms in the real world. They provide, too, the ethical framework within which the main narrative, the education into virtue of the princes Pyrocles and Musidorus, is to be read and morally interpreted. They ul-timately invite the audience to read the work with judicious discernment and to arrive at an understanding of its moral structure by making increasingly sophisticated and finely discriminated comparisons and contrasts. The inten-tions governing the alterations Sidney wrought on his earlier, simpler tale thereby engage the reader of the new Arcadia in discovering the work's comprehensive moral design. That discovery, of course, is ultimately to induce the reader's own more ethically-principled conduct in the real world. The reader is not only to achieve "well-knowing" by discovering the moral pre cepts which give shape to the work, but actively to apply that knowledge through "well-doing" in his own life. 136 FOOTNOTES 'On Sidney's dissatisfaction with the old Arcadia, see Peter Lindenbaom, "Sidney's Arcadip : The Ending of the Three Versions," HLQ, 34 (1971), p. 205; and Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, pp. 124-25. 2 Kenneth Myrick, Sir Philip Sidney as a Literary Craftsman (Cambridge : Harvard Univ^. Press, 1935), p. 194. Myrick's reading of the new Arcadia as an heroic poem has been supported by other critics. See, for example, Alan D. Isler, "Heroic Poetry and Sidney's Two Arcadias, " PMLA, 83 (1968), 368-79. On the Arcadia as an epic, see Tillyard; and Rodney Delasanta, The Epic Voice (The Hague : Mouton, 1967). On mixed modes in the Arcadia, see, for example, Margaret E. Dana, "Heroic and Pastoral : Sidney's Arcadia as Masquerade," CL, 25 (1973), 308-20; and Stephen J. Greenblatt, "Sidney's Arcadia and the Mixed Mode," SP, 70 ('$73), 269-78. For a full treatment of the Arcadia and its sources, see A. C. Hamilton, "Sidney's Arcadia as Prose Fiction : Its Relation to Its Sources," ELR, 2 (1972), 29-60, revised as pp. 126-37, in Sidney : Life and Works. 3Walter R. Davis was the first to provide an extended treatment of the new Arcadia as a romance, in "A Map of Arcadia : Sidney's Romance in its Tradition," in Sidney's 'Arcadia' (New Haven : Yale Univ. Press, 1965), pp. 1-178. ^Greville, pp. 16-17. ^Danby, p. 47. ^Greville, pp. 2-3. ^From Spenser's letter to Raleigh on his aims in The Faerie Queene. Greenlaw was the first to stress this relationship in "Sidney's Arcadia as Elizabethan Allegory," p. 327. Myrick is right in taking issue with Green-law's reading of the new Arcadia. He suggests that Sidney replaced Spenserian allegory with the Aristotelian idea of imitation, pp. 197-243. Hamilton agrees that the Arcadia is a prose equivalent of Spenser's work because "both poets 'honour right virtue and brave valour,"1 in Sidney : Life and Works, p. 172. 8The Defence, p. 98. The Defence, p. 83. 137 The Tendency in much recent criticism of the new Arcadia has been to view the princes as absolute heroes. See, for example, Fritz Caspari, Humanism and the Social Order in Tudor England (Chicago : Univ. of Chicago Press, 1954), p. 166; Greenlaw, p. 334; Zandvoort, p. 110; Goldman, p. 159; Myrick, p. 251; Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 125; Margaret Greaves, The Blazon of Honour, (London : Methuen, 1964), ch. 4; Virgil B. Heltzel, "The Arcadian Hero," PQ, 41 (1962), 173-80; and Allan D. Isler, "Allegory of the Hero and Sidney's two Arcadias," _SP, 65 (1968), 171-91. My study differs from the ^majority in that I consider the princes to be both admirable and morally culpable. ^The Prose Works of Sir Philip Sidney, IV, ed. Albert FeuiHerat (Cambridge : Cambridge Univ. Press, 1912-1926), p. 117. 12 s I am here using Professor Booth's definition of the term "rhetoric" as the means by which a writer communicates his vision to his readers and persuades them of its validity. See Wayne C. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (Chicago : Univ. of Chicago Press, 1961). 13 See Erasmus's comments in De Ratione Studii (1512), quoted by T. W. Baldwin, Shakespeare's Five-Act Structure (Urbana : Univ. of Illinois Press, 1947), p. 169. ^Lawry, p. 155. 15 See Northrop Frye on the "anatomy, " in "Fictional Modes and Forms, " ed. Robert Scholes, Approaches to the Novel (Scranton, Penn. : Chandler, 1961), '23-43. ^6The Defence, p. 83. 1 7Greville, p. 18. ^The Defence, p. 75. 1 9Greville, p. 11. 20 Brian Vickers, Classical Rhetoric in English Poetry (London : Macmillan, 1970), p. 67. The term "rhetoric" here refers to the rules governing oratory. "Rhetoric" in the Renaissance also referred more generally to the art of effective communication in speech and writing. In her introduction to the old Arcadia, Robertson also comments on Sidney's lack of schooling in the art of narration: "he is at his best in description and speeches, but his control of his medium tends to falter when it comes to narration. This may be because the seemingly simple art of the story-teller is something that anyone schooled, as Sidney 138 evidently was, in the art of rhetoric (whether Aristotle's, Cicero's, the pseudo-Ciceronian Rhetorica ad^ Herenium, or Quintilian's) had little op-portunity to'acquire. Because rhetorical training was originally directed to spoken, as opposed to the written word, whenever speeches are required the author is likely to work with greater assurance" (p. xxix). Robertson, p. xxii. Robertson notes that such direct address was fairly common, citing Rich's Farewell to the Military Profession (1581) as an example (p. xxii, n. 3). Zandvoort cites Lyly's similar use of frequent apostrophes to the "Gentlemen" readers of Euphues, (p. 82, n. 2). 2 2The Defence, p. 79. Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 147. 2^For a useful summary of "inventio" in Renaissance rhetoric, see Vickers, pp. 61-65. 25 The term comes from Booth and refers to characters who are aware of themselves as writer-narrators, p. 155. 26 See Anne Righter, Shakespeare and the Idea of the Play (London : Penguin,; 1967), pp. 1 8 2 ' • • 27/LanV>am, p.321. 2 oC)n the idea of a "mock" or hypothetical reader, see Walker Gibson, "Authors, Speakers, Readers, and Mock Readers," CE, 11 (February, 1950), 265-69. 2 9 O n the change in the relationship between the play world and the audience in Elizabethan drama as a result of the withdrawal of extra-dramatic modes of address, see Righter, pp. 76-78,and passim. Arthur K. Amos, Jr., Time, Space, and Value : The Narrative Structure of the 'New Arcadia' (Lewisburg : Bucknell Univ. Press, 1977), p. 15. 31 Cf. Amos, p. 15. Amos is wrong, I think, in viewing the narrator's role as ethically corrective of the comic structure of the old Arcadia. , 3 2 S i r Philip Sidney, Arcadia, in The Prose Works of Sir Philip Sidney, IV, ed. Albert Feuillerat (Cambridge : Cambridge Univ. Press, 1912-1926), p. 120. Hereafter all references to the new Arcadia will be cited in parentheses in the text. All quotations in which virgule is used will be regularized to modern usage in my text. 33 For the distinctions between "showing" and "telling, " I am drawing on Booth's discussion, pp. .3^23. On the relationship between the arrangement of setting, characters, and actions, and Sidney's idea of the "ground plot" or poetic structure, see Heninger, pp. 295-Ofo. 3 5Quoted by Ringler, p. 477, n. 58, 11. 5-8. 36 On Sidney's use of the episode and on the relationships between the episode in the Arcadia and the episode in the classical epic and the romance, see Delasanta, pp. 71-73. On Sidney's integration of episode into main plot, see Delasanta, pp. 78-81; Greenlaw, p. 331; Myrick, p. 243; Amos, pp. 17-18; and especially Nancy R. Lindheim, "Vision, Revision and the 1593 Text of the Arcadia," ELR, 2 (1972), 136-38. 37 S. L. Wolff, The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Prose Fiction (New York : Columbia Univ.Press, 1912), p. 353. 38 Heninger, p. 296. For an informative consideration of Sidney's delegated narratives, see Delasanta, pp. 62-81. I have used his term "modulation" as the method by which the transition from omniscient to delegated narration is achieved. ^ O n the relationship between the three amorous narratives of Book I, see Walter R. Davis, "Thematic Unity in the New Arcadia" SP, 57 (1960), l,23-29;bn the tales of Argalus and Helen, see Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, pp. ' 131 -3%) ~~ ~ ^Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 137. 4 2 l b i d . , p. 139. 4 3Delasanta, p. 70. 4 4Myrick, p. 278. 4^Lawry, p. 165. 4^Delasanra, p. 40. my discussion of Sidney's use of Ovidian allusions in the old Arcadia, pp. 2 6 - Z 8 . Cf. Delasanta's discussion of the two princesses as narrators, and the relationship between tellers and tales, pp. 76-78. On the amorous and political themes in Erona's tale, see Winfried Schleiner, "Differences of Theme and Structure of the Erona Episode in the Old and New Arcadias," SP, 70 (1973), 377-91. 4 See Nancy Rothwax Lindheim's excellent analysis in "Sidney's Arcadia Book II : Retrospective Narrative, " SP, 64(1967), 159-86. 1 4 1 'Chapter Three ,4The New Arcadia : Toward Architectonic Knowledge When Sidney revised the old _Arcadia, he nearly doubled the size of his work, in part by adding a number of ancillary but thematically integral episodes. In the new Arcadia, these epically expansive accretions combine with the major narrative segment to form a single, intricate central image. As Greene comments in his description of the epic "arch-image": "Any given detail, any smaller visual unit, has to be related to its place in that larger whole. The whole is what the poet is intent upon and what the reader should be intent u p o n . A s we have seen, among the imagistic de-tails which the reader must "place" in the architecture of the whole work are the materials presented in the delegated narratives, either reassigned or totally new. Yet the main body of significant images in the Arcadia—which these additions support and extend—are to be found in the primary incident; that is, in the major plot based on the history of the two heroes, Pyrocles and Musidorus. To interpret comprehensively .the "architectonic" design of the Arcadia, then, requires a careful analysis of the main narrative of the new Arcadia. In revising the old Arcadia, Sidney chose not to alter the broad out-lines of the earlier plot. The one long addition to the earlier primary nar-rative is the "captivity episode" which occupies the whole of Book III. Sidney also changed the manner of presentation from ab ovo to a more typi-cal epic opening in medias res. The action begins in the middle and the previous action is narrated retrospectively. The beginning in medias res serves to deemphasize a strictly chronological time scheme. Asa result, Sidney was able to heighten the thematic relationships among characters and events in the revision. As we have seen, the cumulative effect of the newly thematic structure of the new Arcadia is to invite the reader to discover for himself the appropriate moral interpretation of the work and of its heroes. As Delasanta notes, the intention of the epic poem is, in fact, the integra-tion of the audience into the experience of the poem.3 The epic poem, which "records the judgment of the poet at his most social state, at his most detached and complex reaction to experience," not only "implies a relation-ship between the author and his society"; but also it "implies a relationship between the hero and his society. " Sidney in his public role as epic poet in the new Arcadia attempts through his presentation of the Arcadian "golden" world and the actions of his two heroes, Pyrocles and Musidorus, to feign images that body forth the actual and potential correspondences between the real and the ideal worlds. The heroes function at one level as ideal representatives of worthy action. In the revision, Sidney everywhere adds details that increase the reader's admiration for the two princes. Pyrocles and Musidorus come close to representing the author's (and by extension, the reader's) ideal of taste, judgment, and moral sense. The representation of the two princes fulfills the function of the epic as Sidney described it in the Defence: "to provide 143 the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice. " Yet the epic hero is limited in his capacities by his humanity. Frye's definition is pertinent here. The epic hero is "superior in degree to other men but not to his natural environment.... [W]hat he does is subject to social criticism and to the order of nature. " 4 Awesome in his extraordinary preeminence, the epichero is nevertheless mortal rather than divine. Limited by his human fallibility, he is subject to evaluation as a member of the human com-munity, and as a creature living in the world of nature and acting in accord with its laws. Pyrocles and Musidorus, as epic heroes, are representatives of extra-ordinary virtue, public and private, yet they too are open to both the weak-ness of mankind and the wretchedness of the brazen world. Their actions and ultimate destiny concern us as readers because they exemplify the possibility of actualizing human goodness and virtue even though the world is brazen. Sidney draws on our interest in their welfare as admirable and sympathetic human beings, and on our very natural desire for their ultimate happiness. Yet he simultaneously shows us their faults and invites us to stand apart from his heroes and to exercise appropriate censure of their misconduct. Although these negative judgments are to be countered by a larger approval—the role of adverse fortune, or the vagaries of the fallen world, is an important factor in stimulating the reader to a more tolerantly sympathetic response—the reader is to hold in balance positive and negative appreciations. He must retain a lively and carefully adjudicated ambivalence and extend over his reading of the princes' history both sympathy and judgment. Sidney altered significantly his earlier morally tenuous portrayal of the princes in the old Arcadia^ The princes, though fallible, are essentially much more fully heroic characters in the revision. Yet the ambivalence inherent in their conduct remains in the new. In particular, the princes' descent from active heroism to solitary love pursuits—though intelligible to any reasonably humane reader—must be judged as a significant ethical deviation. Greville, for example, describes the degradation implicit in the princes' metamorphosis from chivalric heroes to lowly shepherds as changing "the commanding manners of Princely Birth, into the degrading images of servile baseness*."5 Although in the new Arcadia the princes' virtue is heightened, Sidney's use of the earlier plot, including the princes'assumption of the disguises to which Greville so strongly objects on moral grounds, indicates that the ethical dubiousness that attaches to the princes' conduct in the earlier version is to remain in the revision. The trial scene, too, was presumably to be used to point up the princes' defection from absolute probity of conduct. In his consideration of the endings of the three versions of the Arcadia, for example, Lindenbaum concludes that had Sidney completed the revision he would again have prompted the reader to both approbation and judgment: The New Arcadia as a whole points to the fact that Sidney intended a considerable improvement in the princes' heroic and moral character and conduct. But the Oracle's prediction that the supposed murd-erers of Basilius would have to stand at the King's bier 'as at a barre' and the preparation for an en-trance by Euarchus late in the New Arcadia suggest that the denouement of the New Arcadia would not be a complete departure from the model provided in the Old Arcadia. What we could probably expect to see, then, is not a triumphant exit for the princes, but rather a final scene in which once again Pyrocles and Musidorus would have to account for their inability to live up to their stated ideals and in which they would be distinctly uncomfortable.^ Although any statement about the conclusion of the new Arcadia must re-main as a hypothetical speculation, the portions of the new Arcadia avail-able to us substantiate the view that the princes are to be subject to critical moral assessment. Though the princes depart from the social and moral norms which ought to regulate their conduct, the reader is continually assured of their essential moral Tightness and virtuous integrity. Both have been "formed by nature, and framed by education, to the true exercise of vertue" (I, 77). Their birth and education illustrate what Grevilie calls "Nature, Education, and Practice"^--the hoary triumvirate that defines the proper equipage of those destined to rule. "Nature" refers to the two princes' inborn virtue, inherited from noble ancestors and fired by their forebears' illustrious example. Their native talents were to be nurtured and perfected by "Education"—that is, by the kinds of learning appropriate to the governor. Through such instruction, "all the spark es of vertue, which nature had kindled in them, were so blowne to give forth their uttermost heare" (I, 189). Sidney is careful even to provide a summary of the main points of that education, including military instruction, guidance in the principles of governance, training in bodily and mental fortitude, and above all instruction in moral precept. The ultimate end of all the individual areas of instruction was to achieve the "making up of princely mindes" (I, 190). Knowledge alone was not enough. The ultimate objective of such princely education was not merely to develop virtuous men, but to produce wise and valourous leaders of other men. The princes' noble capacities were to be used in the service of the commonwealth; they were "to imploy those gifts esteemed rare in them, to the good of mankinde" (I, 206). Because doing was to be the fruit of learning, the testing and completion of the princes' education was to be achieved through "Practice, " through active experience in the world. The princes' travel abroad through the courts of their neighbors in Asia Minor, for example, was undertaken for the purpose of having the "Measure to see the practice of that, which before they had learned by bookes" (I, 191). As Musidorus reminds Pyrocles in Book I, the princes were not only to learn about the world ( to seek "know-ledge of those thinges which might better your minde; to seeke the famili-aritye of excellent men in learning and souldiery"), but also to put their knowledge to use through continual and vigorous statesmanship ("to put all these thinges in practise both by continual I wise proceeding/e, and worthie enterprises,"!, 55). The theme of active virtue achieved through educative practice is, in fact, introduced early in the narrative. As part of his paean to "honourable action" and his assertion of the prince's civic responsibility to "not onely better himself, but benefit others, " Musidorus cites the use of practical experience in increasing virtue through self-knowledge: "the mind should best know his own good or -evil.I by practise; which knowledge was the oriely way to increase the ohe/; and correct the other" (I, 58). The older prince's unbounded confidence in his own undeviating course in vir-tuous activity, expressed in these words and elsewhere, is, however, radi-cally undermined when he succumbs to passionate love. Musidorus's tortured cry, once he has become transfigured physically and psychically by love— "all is lip-wisdome, which wants experience"—is a truer assessment of his real lack of a thorough grounding in the practical knowledge of heroic virtue. By emphasizing that the two princes are still sojourners on the path toward rational virtue, Sidney illustrates fully the ethical anomalies that the princes are to confront once they become active agents in the Arcadian world. Sidney presents the princes' failures as well as their successes in order to dramatize the real complexity of human experience. The princes' educative testing during the course of the narrative illustrates what Sidney calls in the Defence the difficulties of "misty fearfulness" and "foggy desires, as well as the magnanimity and justice which the epic hero is ultimately to body forth. The princes' errors arise in part from the unfortunate circumstances in which they find themselves. Their misdeeds result from Basilius's resolve (more explicitly established in the revision) to go against nature by keeping his daughters unwed. The princes' decision to resort to the morally question-able strategem of disguising in order to win their mistresses' love is to be viewed with sympathetic understanding because the usual and proper means of access had been wrongfully blocked. Fortune, Sidney seems to be suggest-ing, is always wayward, and men's successes on earth are rarely in direct pro-portion to their merit. The reader's negative judgment of the princes is countered in part by his recognition that the princes seem to merit a better fate; their unfortunate relationship to the harsh facts of the world around them is to draw a compassionate response. Yet Greville notes that Sidney's purpose in dramatizing the viscissitudes of fortune was "to limn out such exact pic-tures, of every posture in the mindq, that any man being forced, in the straines of his life, to pass through any straights, or latitudes of good, or ill fortune, might (as in a glass£ see how to set a good countenance upon ajl the discountenances of adversitie, and a stay upon the exorbitant smil-ings of chance."9 The, princes experience a partial failure in meeting the mischances of fortune with the serene composure and self-command that characterizes the flawless hero. They are not perfectly able to "set a good countenance" upon chanceable fortune, either happy or troubled. Musidorus, for example, experiences a swift reversal of his fortune when he discovers to his great joy that Pamela returns his affection. Yet he is unable to meet his good fortune with temperate self-mastery. Struck with "such a lightning of felicitie," he oversteps the bounds of rational conduct and attempts the kiss for which he is immediately banished by Pamela: But after the strength of nature had made him able to feel the sweetnesse of joyfulnes, that again being a child of Passion, & never acquainted with mediocrity, could not set bounds his happines, nor be content to give Desire a kingdome, but that it must be an un-limited Monarchy. So that the ground he stood upon being over-high in happines, & slipperie through affection, he could not hold himselfe from falling in-to such an error, which with sighs blew all comfort out of his brest, & washt away all cheerfulnes of his cheere, with reares (I, 354-355). Though Musidorus's "excess" seems hardly to merit such cruelty on the part of his mistress—and again suggests that fortune is not a direct corollary of merit—the scene underscores the principle of "mediocrity, " or moderate self-command, which is the objective toward which the princes ought to aspire. Each is "a child of Passion," and each is to learn that "affection" is a "slipperie" grounding for proper conduct. Private virtue (of which public probity is an outward extension to the realm of civic conduct) ultimately rests on the inner harmony, balance, or "moderation" of the private man—what Sidney called the "well tempered mind" (I, 19). Reason, or "the erected wit', " must continually govern passion. Yet, as Sidney had fully demonstrated in the old Arcadia and in Astrophil and Stella, such internal accord predicated on the proper alignment of reason and passion is difficult to accomplish and even more problematic to maintain, particularly under erotic stress. Because the "infected will" is always poten-tially capable of overthrowing man's "erected wit, " maintaining a proper and harmonic relationship between body and soul is inevitably the product of the continual and vigorous exercise of the rational faculty. Active virtue de-mands the strenuous exercise of judgment and self-command. Rather than being the result of a steadfast inner state, virtue must continually withstand, i . . . • . . --assimilate, and direct; passionate stress. Musidorus's words of warning to Pamela indicate forcefully the active basis of perfect constancy: "there is no man sodainely excellentlie good, or extremely evil I, but growes either as hee holdes himselfe up in vertue, or lets himself slide to vitiousnes" (I, 78). Musidorus's words are to underscore ironically both princes' failure to hold themselves up in virtue. The princes err not only because of the imper-fections of the brazen world, but also because they fail to recognize their own capacity for moral turpitude. They ignore their own potential for either good or evil, a potential which is the legacy of every son of Adam. Their failure to acknowledge defects in the world and in themselves arises from their naivete, from their ignorance in practical knowledge of men and the world. Their difficulties, personal and public, indicate their need for the educative ex-periences that form the basis of the main narrative. Just as the princes are to re-evaluate themselves and the world as a result of their journeying through Asia Minor, so, too, the reader is to be instructed by his experiences in the world of Pyrocles and Musidorus. As Sidney indicated in the Defence, the ultimate aim of such a poem ought to be to educate the reader into virtue. Because the reader of the new Arcadia responds empathetical ly toward the two princes, he comes to identify re-lationships between his own potentialities and those of the two heroes. Because he perceives the parallels between the princes' feelings, thoughts, and actions and his own, the princes' experiences function as sources of prac-tical instruction for the reader as well. Like the princes themselves, the audience for the new Arcadia must also closely examine and interpret the moral significances of the princes' history. In particular, Sidney's new reli-ance on dramatic "showing" rather than the earlier, more passive "telling/" actively engages the reader in discovering the moral principles that can har-monize and order the main events of the new Arcadia. Because the reader is placed at a remove from the world of the Arcadia, he also receives the benefit not only of the moral but of the aesthetic experience of the work (both dulce et utile). By making the education of the princes—and ultimately of the reader— the central theme of the Arcadia, ^  Sidney asserts the principle that virtue un tested is of an unknown—and dubious—value. Philanax provides a succinct statement of the idea that true goodness has been tried by fortune in the world: "He cannot be good, that knows not why he is good, but stands so farre good, as his fortune may keepe him unassaied." Like Ottaviano in the fourth book of the Courtier, Sidney is suggesting that the virtue that fights an gives victory to reason is to be valued more highly than the virtue which is untempted by an opposing lust or passion!^' Milton was not original in his contempt for cloistered virtue. The princes, then, must undergo a trial of their virtue before they are to be considered archetypes of perfection. Their "experience by travaile, " 152 designed ultimately to "increase" the princes' "worthinesse" (I, 160), is not to be accomplished primarily in the political realm, but in the world of passionate human love. As Rose comments, "Before coming to Arcadia, Pyrocles and Musidorus proved themselves to be more than competent in pub-lic affairs...... So far the fortunes of the princes have kept them 'unassayed' by the difficulties of the private life; now they are to be tested. In Arcadia they are to receive the completion of their education for lives as rulers of states—they are to discover by experience the slippery foundation upon which public virtues rest. As in the old Arcadia, love is to be the crucible in which the princes' virtue is assayed and finally purified. The princes' return to Arcadia with Kalander and his rescued son Clitophon in Book I initiates their removal from the active life of heroic endeavor in the world at large to the new life of love in the Arcadian re-treat. Musidorus, for example, laments that Arcadia was the site of his inward decline: "Arcadia, Arcadia was the place prepared to be the stage of his endlesse overthrow.... For here (and no where els) did his infected eyes make his minde know, what power heavenly beauty hath to throw it downeto hellish agonies" (I, 161). Pyrocles, after his entry into Arcadia and amatory passion, likewise speaks of the "mappe of his little worlde.. .troubled with such unhabitable climes of colde.despaires,and hotte rages" (1,152). Be-cause the princes find themselves mentally and emotionally transformed by love, they are forced to scrutinize themselves anew. Hamilton has noted that love in the old Arcadia was a means of inward and thorough self-examination;^3 love serves the same function of stimulating the two cousins to an intensive self-analysis in the new. 2 Sidney's treatment of the amatory theme grows out of, but is signifi-14 cantly different from, his treatment of love in the old Arcadia. In an epic, the presentation of love is to be morally edifying; Sidney can exalt heroic love in the new Arcadia because he simultaneously dramatizes its potential for stimulating human corruption. In the old Arcadia, Sidney had repeatedly emphasized that passionate love was an agent for moral debilita-tion; in the new he balances the earlier presentation with a dramatization of love as a potential adjunct of ethical heroism. In his revision, then, Sidney provides a more ethically elevated yet still tenaciously ambiguous treatment of the idea of human love. In the earlier work, erotic love inevitably drew its seemingly helpless thralls from moderate self-control into folly and even viciousness. In stressing that such ethical defections result from the overthrow of reason by amorous passion, Sidney portrayed human love as allied with the bestial and irrational half of man's nature. In the revision, love is still associated with the chaos of desire and with the subversion of the heroic life. Sidney in fact adheres to and even extends the treatment of love as allied with moral and sexual degradation, and he develops more completely the disastrous political repercussions that attend unbridled passion. Yet in the old Arcadia, Sidney moderated his representation of the debilitating power of erotic stress by an urbane and sympathetic acceptance of the delightful enticements of physical passion. The treatment of love in the new is likewise deliberately equivocal. Images that body forth the baser tendencies associated with love are continually counterpointed by presentations of erotic passion as delightfully human and essentially humanizing. The attractive power of erotic human love—fully explored and become almost the single value in Astrophil and Stella—is everywhere in evidence in the re-vision. The amorousness of the princes in the new Arcadia is, in fact, frequently heightened. In the newly interpolated "river scene," for example, during the course of which Pyrocles sings a purely Ovidian blazon of Philoclea's naked beauties, Sidney provides an extended illustration of the irradiating pleasures of sensuous love. In his dramatization of physical attraction as a vital component of human love, Sidney implicitly refused to deny the value of sexual union between properly matched couples. Physical love, when it is assimilated and tempered by reason, is projected as the normal expression of human relationship. Not only did Sidney carry over and even heighten the positive pre-sentation of sensual love, but he also prepared for the potential equation of love and virtue. In the new Arcadia, though eroticism is often stressed, the horrifyingly destructive tendencies associated with sexual love are gen-erally confined to minor figures, particularly to those whose stories are narrated in the retrospective tales of Book II. Pameldfcand Musidorus's liaison, for example, though not divorced from physical attraction, is sexually above reproach. Even the relationship between Pyrocles and Philoclea, though treated with a mixture of Ovidian erotic delight and more stringent moral censure, is purged of the essentially carnal and appetitive elements of the earlier presentation. Sidney's careful deletion of details suggesting the ag-gressively animalistic bias of the princes' love supports recent claims that the revisions of Musidorus's attempted rape of Pamela and Pyrocles's successful seduction of Philoclea—changes which appear only in the Countess of Pembroke composite version—were not simply Mary Sidney's bowdlerizations. Rather they were in keeping with Sidney's own intentions and perhaps written by Sidney himself. Lindenbaum, for example/ makes a strong case that Sidney at least authorized the omission of Musidorus's attack on Pamela; and Ringler argues persuasively that the revised version of the bedchamber scene in which the younger pair of lovers fall chastely asleep in one another's arms was written by Sidney.'^ Certainly both of these revisions are in keeping with Sidney's earlier alterations, all of which tend to lessen significantly (in Pyrocles's case) or to eliminate entirely (in Musidorus's) the suggestions of aggressive lust and sexual shamefulness. Sidney's occasional heightening of the princes' sensual amorousness and his complementary diminution of the baser associations surrounding physical love prepares the way for a new evaluation of the serious claims for love as an agent for personal and civic virtue. In the new Arcadia, earthly love—inevitably an unstable compound of appetitive and rational elements— either can move men upward toward wisdom and rational self-mastery or it can incline men downward toward lust and bestial irrationality.' 7 Sidney's decision to place the new tale of the shepherdess Urania at the opening of his work is designed to certify the possibility of achieving rational human love.^ ® Her name means "the heavens, " and she functions as a symbol of rational wisdom achieved through a love that is nevertheless "grounded upon feeling" (I, 7). Just as the delightful beauties of poetry can draw men to-ward the good, so too the compellingly attractive power of a beautiful and virtuous lady can lead her lover to aspire to higher ends. The love of Strephon and Claius for Urania began as physical attraction to her manifest beauties, but ended with an enriching of their minds: And alas, who can better witnesse that then we, whose experience is grounded upon feeling? hath not the onely love of her made us (being silly ig-norant shepheards) raise up our thoughts above the ordinary levell of the worlde, ...hath not shee throwne reason upon our desires, and as it were given eyes unto Cupid ? (I, 7-8). So Love can help to move men toward rational wisdom and goodness if reason and passion are united harmoniously in directing men toward the same higher end. (Urania's recent departure, which Strephon and Claius mourn is in-tended to suggest, however, that typically such an ideal is absent in the fallen world of human experience.) In accord with Sidney's more idealistic valuation of love, for instance, is Philoclea's instinctive recognition that even love which expresses itself as erotic attraction can be equated with the effects of goodness. Sidney is in fact careful never to aspire beyond a "mixed" human love toward a Heb-platonic contemplative virtue that ultimately separates itself from sexual feel-ing. Just as in the Defence Sidney concerns himself only with moral virtue in the real world and leaves religious and spiritual concerns aside, so too in the new Arcadia he refrains from the treatment of divine love and examines only the potentialities inherent in earthbound love. He limits his considera-tion of love to its manifestations as a passion whose effects are felt in private and social conduct. Since earthly human love—a mixture of passion and reason—necessarily occupies a morally tenuous middle ground between spiritual love and volup-tuous lust, the lover is necessarily subject to the ethical tensions which such a passion inevitably generates. As Sidney demonstrated fully in Astrophil and Stella, to harmonize successfully the often opposing demands of reason and passion is difficult at best. Yet Sidney's fuller development of the matrix monial theme in the new Arcadia represents the potential union <of the rational and appetitive faculties through an ideal marriage. The ideal couple, Parthenia and Argalus, achieve their ultimate state of perfection, not in isolation as a passionate courtier and his much-sought mistress, but as a morally well-matched, affectionate, and mutually supporting husband and wife. Sidney's description of the conjugal happiness of Argalus and Parthenia in Book III (I, 420), for example, implies that their union, moral and intellectual as well as physical, restores to each his prelapsarian dignity. All their words and actions declare a harmonious and well-tempered unity as each provides the other with a refreshment against solitude, a sociable delight, and a proportionate, affectionate, and lively congeniality. As a sensitive pleasing of the body is conjoined with the satisfactions of the mind, passion— rather than unseating reason—becomes an agent for the maintenance of inner constancy predicated on the ascendancy of the erected wit. Passionate physical love was to be translated into a higher harmony in which fleshly union is sanctified by becoming the physical manifestation of a perfect spiritual coup-ling. Sidney's description of Parthenia's bridal beauty, for example, is an apt blend of the erotic and the ideal (I, 104), and her marriage with Argalus prefigures the end toward which Musidorus and Pyrocles ought to move as they seek to achieve a parallel "more perfect union" with their respective ladies. Physical love is thus sanctified—that is, it transcends lust—only when man and woman are united by common interests of reason, affection, and ethical probity. Although compelling desire remains, the lover is inspired by the virtuousness of his lady to refrain from sensual animalism. Sidney insists.on the harmony of minds as the basis for sexual union and expresses horror—for example, in his description of Andromana, Pamphilus, and Antiphilus—at physical relationships in which a meeting of minds is absent. In particular, Cecropia's equation of love and sexual libertinism in Book III stands as the antithesis of a proper definition of love. The union of souls in marriage, the accord of minds as well as bodies, distinguishes virtuous love from bestial lust. 159 For Sidney, then, as for Aristotle, love was a passion rather than a 90 vice or a virtue. The passions, when they operate in opposition to the dictates of reason, incline men to sin; but they can lead toward virtue when directed and controlled by reason. Musidorus, for instance, lists some of the positive uses of passion: Fear breedeth wit, Anger is the cradle of courage: , joy openeth and enhableth the hart: sorrow, as it closeth, so it draweth it inwarde to looke to the correcting of it selfe; and so all generally have power fowardsysome good by the direction of right Reason ( I , 78). The qualifying words "by the direction of right Reason" are crucial. Only passion fully mastered by rationality is capable of producing the effects of virtue. And only a virtuous union through an ideal marriage provides the circumstances within which reason and amorous passion can be effectively harmonized and brought into a stable alignment. Though passion, as Sidney noted in the Defence, is a "cumbersome servant" and difficult to master properly by the exercise of the rational faculty, rationdjiy-grounded earthly love is possible; and potentially it can impose order, beauty, and design 21 on the chaos of brute nature. If Sidney's presentation of the matrimonial concord of Parthenia and Argalus is used to establish the morally-admirable effects of earthly love, Argalus's resolute heroism suggests the potential reconciliation of love and duty. In the old Arcadia, sensual love was only sporadically aligned with heroic virtue. The young lovers of the earlier work occasionally hold the hope that love will lead to "great matters"; typically such hopes are re-22 versed as the princes find themselves instead to be "unable vessels." In Astrophil and Stella, responsibilities at court become merely irritating diver-sions from Astrophil's only significant goal: the pursuit of Stella. In the new Arcadia, the princes are still to find themselves to be incapable of actualizing the moral sententiae they mouth concerning the relationship be-tweel love and duty. Furthermore, the coupling of chivalric and amorous tales serves to stress the civic dangers which frequently arise from erotic entanglements. Yet the concatenation of heroism and amorousness serves to unite, tentatively yet more positively, heroic courage and magnanimity and passion-ate love. The duel between Pyrocles (disguised as Zelmane) and Amphialus over possession of Philoclea's glove, for example, though surrounded by both ironic and tragic overtones, is replete with descriptions of the two gentlemen's courageous and courteous deportment. Although Sidney everywhere presents images suggesting the difficulties of harmonizing love and duty, he does dramatize the possibility of achieving that reconciliation. Argalus, for instance, maintains intact his heroic identity, even though a lover. He is never guilty of a defection from his civic responsibility because of love. In Book III he immediately obeys Basilius's summons to war, even though it sig-nifies the end of his blissful union with Parthenia: "But when he had read, & heard, & dispatched away the messenger (like a man in whom Honour could not be rocked on sleepe by Affection) with promise quickly to follow," (I, 420). Although feelings of love more typically subvert active heroism, Sidney does present the potential concord between amorous passion and heroic virtue. "Love, when disciplined, understood, and directed, " as Kalstone comments in his consideration of the new Arcadia, "can be the strongest ally oq of the heroic life. When amatory passion is governed by reason in the world of private experience, it leads as well to rational behavior in the world at large. In the old Arcadia, Evarchus had enunciated the principle that virtuous love invariably leads to right conduct, and that idea lies at the heart of the presentation of love and duty in the new: That sweete and heavenly uniting of the mindes, which properly is called love, hath no other knott but vertue, and therefore if it be a right love, it can never slide into any action that is not vertuous (II, 197). Since heroic action is the moral imperative of the governor, the public hero will be fired by virtuous love to fulfill his public obligations. The idea that an ideal union of love can fortify heroic enterprise is suggested by Musidorus who comments on the "admirable power & noble effects of Love" which can so inflame the lover that he aspires to "so high a Love, as of the heavenly Poles; and therby to bring foorth the noblest deeds, that the children of the Earth can boast of" (I, 191-192). Virtuous love, then, not only potentially complements and supports rational self-mastery in private relationships, but al*-so it can become an agent for heroic civic endeavor. Thereby the conflict between the flesh and the soul, so painfully contemplated by the platonists and confirmed by the Church, is resolved—indeed, is turned to the public good. 4 Pyrocles and Musidorus, however, are to experience the psychic con-fusions and moral difficulties associated with love before they experience its potential for establishing personal moderation and civic order. As Rose sug-gests, Sidney's approval of passionate love only when it leads to marriage poses a moral dilemma for the lover: "Marriage was now a supreme goal, but to reach this goal one first had to yield to passionate love—and this, from 24 the point of view of humanist ethics, was still morally suspect." Love is paradoxically the agent of the loss of right reason as well as the means by which reason is to be regained. Because the two princes are initially per-plexed and morally impoverished by love, they will come to know the im-perfections of the world and their own potentially flawed natures, arriving ultimately at a tested and thereby reinforced virtue. As each achieves a truer, if more ambiguous, understanding of the morality of human life, he com-pletes his education into virtue. Their love experience is to propel them (and the reader) toward a more complex and comprehensive definition of the depths and limits of the moral life. Musidorus's hopeful prediction that the princes' love traumas, though morally diminishing, would ultimately prove to be the source of their ethical and social reintegration was presumably to have been fulfilled: O heaven and earth (said Musidorus) to what a passe are our mindes brought, that from the right line of vertue, are wryed to these crooked shifts? But b Love, it is thou that doost it: thou changest name upon name; thou disguisest our bodies, and disfigurest our mindes. But in deed thou hast reason, for though the wayes be" foule, the journeys end is most faire and honourable (I, 117). Though the princes'minds are "disfigured" as they abandon heroic enterprise to follow love, their educative journey is paradoxically to be completed by means of love. As Hamilton notes, "The revised lament affects our under-standing of the whole work. Love promise* to fulfil the lives of the princes rather than simply shame them. That love's end is 'most fair and honourable' confirms what the heavens promised the princes at Pyrocles's birth, that 'love was threatened, and promised.. .as both the tempest and haven of their best or years.'" The most likely ending—culminating in the princes' marriage and their reassumption of their rightful names and duties—was presumably to have been the "most fair and honourable" conclusion to their story. Yet their partial failure as private lovers and public heroes is to precede their ultimate triumph. One of the primary means by which Sidney makes available to the reader the princes' failure to assess human nature is in his use of forensic speeches and rhetorical debate. C. S. Lewis, for example, has remarked on the great weight given to argumentative and discursive occasions in the Arcadia. In particular, the formalistic debates of Book I and the ora-torical laments of Book II function in a number of ways. They bring to the reader's attention early in Book I the normative implications of virtue, love, and duty with which the work as a whole concerns itself. They also serve to point up clearly the equivocal nature of human love—and by extension, of human experience in general—and its potential for inducing either admir-able or reprehensible effects in those subject to its sway. The debates in which Pyrocles and Musidorus define and argue contrary theories of the nature of love, for example, establish the two major assessments of love that were available to the Renaissance: the humanistic ethic of reason and the romantic 27 idealization of passion. Pyrocles argues the case for ideal passion; Musidorus for TCit ional i ty. In Book I the love-struck Pyrocles claims that love is a means of achieving contemplative wisdom. He explains to Musidorus that his recent solitariness and inaction—a deviation from the norm of heroic activity for which Musi-dorus has chided him severely—signifies no true slackening of his virtue: Who knowes whether I feede not my minde with higher thought's^ Trulie as I know not all the particularities, so yet I see the bounds of all these knowledges: but the workings of the minde I finde much more infinite, then can be led unto by the eye, or imagined by any, that distract their thoughts without themselves. And in such contemplation, or as I thinke more excellent, I enjoye my solitarines, and my solitarines perchaunce is the nurse of these contemplations (I, 56). Pyrocles's defence draws on the Renaissance idealization of love as the source of contemplative enlightenment. Sidney's introduction of Urania and her two pastoral admirers in the revision is designed to validate Pyrocles's claims for the rational efficacy of love. By contrast Pyrocles's appeal to the ideal effects of love in the old Arcadia is unsupported by the narrative events of the older work. As love leads Pyrocles inevitably toward serious moral and sexual trespass, his plea in the earlier work, though ingenious, clearly be-Oft comes a device for rationalizing his true and erotic intent. ° In the new, the positive effects of love are more frequently, if tentatively, presented, as Pyrocles is characterized as a more active and virtuous hero. Although such ideal love is possible, Pyrocles cannot easily achieve it because he inhabits not the pure pastoral world of Strephon and Claius, but the imperfect world of fallen man and mortal error. In such a world, contemplative knowledge is not enough. Wisdom must be made an active agent in the mundane affairs of the world. No cloistered virtue, it must return to earth, and its possessor, to worldly action. If Pyrocles is an overly idealistic lover, Musidorus, too, proves to be a naive moralist of another sort. His idealism grows out of the humanist faith in the powers of the rational man, whose wisdom, valour, and justice in the world is the natural product of his well-tempered mind. He argues that good men are invariably characterized by their absolute and unchangeable self-command and steadiness of purpose. He instructs Pyrocles in just this principle A mind wel trayned and long exercised in vertue (my sweete and worthy cosin) doth not easily chaunge any course it once undertakes, but upon well grounded & well wayed causes. For being witnes to it selfe of his owne inward good, it findes nothing without it of so high a price, for which it should be altered. Even the very countenaunce and behaviour of such a man doth shew forth Images of the same constancy, by main-taining a right harmonie betwixt it and the inward good, in yeelding it selfe sutable to the vertuous resolution of the minde (I, 55). Musidorus objects, in particular, to the passionate love of a woman because of its potential for eroding heroic constancy. Over against the tradition cited by Pyrocles of those "notable men,"-who have considered love to be "the highest power of the mind," Musidorus dejects it "below all other pas-sions. " In affirming by contrast the traditional medieval equation of love with mere bestial sensuality (I, 80), he counsels Pyrocles that such love dis-tempers the mind, subverts rational virtue, and ultimately leads into "infinite evils": All [passions} generally have power towards some good by the direction of right Reason. But this bastarde Love (for in deede the name of Love is most unworthylie applied to so hatefull a humour) as it is engendered betwixt lust and idlenes; as the matter it workes upon is nothing, but a certaine base weakenes, which some gentle fooles call a gentle hart; as his adjoyned companions be unquietnes, longings, fond comforts, faint discomforts, hopes, ielousies, un-grounded rages, causlesse yeeldings; so is the hiest ende it aspires unto, a litle pleasure with much paine before, and great repentaunce after. But that end how endlesse it runs to infinite evils, were fit inough for the matter we speake of (I, 78). Musidorus's perception of the delicate balance between good and evil in human nature, and of the potential in amorous inclination for promoting base and irrational conduct, supplies, of course, a useful counterpoint to Pyrocles's unrestrained enthusiasm for love's beneficial effects. Amatory passion does lead toward viciousness; certainly love is a crucial source of the multitudi-nous examplesof private turmoil and public disorder in the Arcadia. Yet just as Pyrocles is mistaken in assuming without significant qualification that love will lead man's spirit upward, so, too, Musidorus errs in making no distinction between love and lust, in making no provision for the possibility of the en-nobling effects of love. Each must learn a truer—if more ambiguous—evalua-tion of love. In sum, the debates between the cousins are intended to illustrate the essential truthfulness of both the idealistic and the sceptical estimates of earthly passion. Yet Pyrocles soon discovers that the first effects of love are hellish rather than divine; and Musidorus finds that love is neither inevitably allied with vice nor so easily contained by the exercise of the faculty of reason as he had imagined. The princes' misconduct in love dramatically demonstrates how fallible and even morally subversive untested idealism can be. Neither moral assessment of love in itself is capable of accommodating a comprehensive enough evaluation of the nature of love. As a result, neither can provide a functional basis for ethical conduct. Rhetorical ap-proaches to conventional wisdom invariably falter when confronted by the human reality of intense feeling. As in the old Arcadia, the princes' sage moralizing is swiftly undermined as Sidney juxtaposes their claims to virtuous wisdom and their often contradictory actions. Sidney uses the ironic contrasts between what the princes profess and what they do to stress the necessarily dialectical nature of normative principles Any absolutist principle—one based on an either/or categorization—will in-evitably provide a slippery moral grounding for proper conduct. Adequate moral understanding demands a more comprehensive ethic, one which incor-porates and harmonizes all possibilities. 5 As a result of painful experiences, each prince must come to acknow-ledge the truthfulness of his cousin's claims. Early in Book I, for example, Musidorus had admitted to Kalander that in his talks with Strephon and Claius he had found their "wits as might better become such shepheards as Homer speakes of, that be governors of peoples" (I, 27). But he was sceptical that the shepherds' love for Urania had endowed them with the strength to pursue higher knowledge: "It is a sporte to heare howe they impute to love, whiche hath indewed their thoughts (saie they) with suche a strength." His earlier doubtful apprehension of love as an agent of goodness prepares for the com-plete reversal of his critique of the powers of human affection in the recanta-tion scene of Book I. One of Sidney's delightfully ironic touches occurs when the respect-ive roles of Musidorus as sage counsellor and Pyrocles as a youthful truant are neatly inverted. When Pyrocles, dressed as Zelmane, first discovers his princely cousin metamorphosed into a lowly shepherd, he wonders "whether the Goddesse of those woods had such a powre to transform everybody" y (I, 113).; Musidorus immediately recants his former imprecations against love as a base passion to be resisted resolutely by the man of moderation. He now vows that only the truly beastly—those deficient in both wit and feeling— can withstand the beauty and naturally attractive power of love for a lovely woman: "O Zelmane, who will resist it, must either have no witte, or put out his eyes? can any man resist his creation? certainely by love we are made, and to love we are made. Beasts onely cannot discerne beauty, and let them be in the role of Beasts that doo not honor if" (I, 113). Earlier, Musidorus had counseled Pyrocles to value physical beauty no further than as "an outward fading benefite Nature bestowed" (I, 82). Musidorus's new ac-ceptance of love as aligned with goodness and beauty and opposed to the irrational and the beastly is an important corrective to his earlier naive and peremptory renunciation of human affection. Yet Musidorus is still confronted by amoral dilemma. As he had argued earlier, love demonstrably undermines heroic constancy because it is a passion which easily subverts rationality and draws men from public accomplishment into melancholy inactivity. Pyrocles, for instance, on hearing Musidorus now plead the cause of love as strongly as he had disparaged it earlier, cannot resist the temptation to remind Musidorus of his former preachments: When how now deere cousin (said she) you that were last day so hie in Pulpit against lovers, are you now become so meane an auditor? Remember that love is a passion; and that a woorthie maris reason must ever have masterhood (I, 113-14). 170 Musidorus readily admits that love is of a doubtful nature in itself and that its psychic effects, though neither distinguishably virtuous nor evil, are in-evitably both distempering and irresistible: "O thou celestia^ or infernal spirit of Love, or what other heavenly or hellish title thou list to have (for effects of both I finde in my selfe) have compassion of me, and let thy glory be as great in pardoning them that be submitted to thee, as in conquering those that were rebellious," (I, 114). As a result of his transformation by passionate experience, Musidorus finds that the conventional forms of self-identity and of ethical understanding provided by the humanist concept of the well-tempered man are inadequate to contain and direct the emotional demands of an intense amorous compulsion. Musidorus ruefully acknowledges that rational self-mastery is almost impossible to maintain in the face of the demands of love: "But alas, well have I found, that Love to a yeelding hart is a king; but to a resisting, is a tyrant. The more with arguments I shaked the stake, which he had planted in the grounde of my harfe, the deeper still it sanke into it" (I, 115). He recognizes that his former experience, grounded on mental or intellectual habits rather than in feeling, is incapable of providing moral control when opposed by passionate impulse. The conflict between his new experiences in inner feeling and his former more outward and rational experiences in the public world results in an internal self-division. Davis provides a useful summary of the ethical import of such a "disintegration of personality" as it applies to all the lovers of the main narrative: For all of the characters suffer from a partial disintegra-tion of personality, or what the princes call 'self-division, 1 a state in which different tendencies to action or parts of the mind oppose each other instead of co-operating as they would in an integrated personality. The fac-tions in the civil war within the microcosm are Reason and Passion: Love has so armed the rebel Passion that it can no longer be kept subject to Reason without great struggle.^7 The two princes are highly self-conscious in their recognition that their "in-ward chaunge" is ethically problematical since it results from the inversion of the proper hierarchy of reason and passion. They simultaneously trust to the essential goodness of the passion which overmasters them and to the po-tential concord of "love and virtue" (I, 283); and they acknowledge that their lack of inner harmony is a shameful and even morally hazardous condi-tion. Because of their lack of rational constancy, the princes are ethically compromised by their disgraceful divagations as private lovers. Further, their internal disintegration under erotic impetus is also to be manifested in public insufficiencies. An active and informed political virtue, entailing the proper governance:1 of the mass of men, is the outward corollary of moral virtue, or inward self-governance. Formerly, the princes' inner constancy had been the source of their just conduct in the world. During the battle of the Helots, when Pyrocles and Musidorus fight, for instance, each unrecognized by the other, their actions perfectly emblematize their inner rectitude: Their courage was guided with skill, and their skill was armed with courage; neither did their hardinesse darken their witte, nor their witte coole their hardines: both valiant, as men despising death; both confident, as un-wanted to be overcome; yet ;douteful I '• by their present feeling, and respectful I by what they had already seene. Their feete stedy, their hands diligent their eyes watch-:fuH,& their harts resolute (I, 42). The princes' resolute courage and diligent fortitude are directed and con-trolled by their "witte"; the probity of their conduct is in direct relationship to their wel I-tempered minds. Sidney's use of imagistic and syntactical balance and control serves to emphasize their absolute and heroic constancy. The cousins' successes as awesome public heroes, established during the main narrative of Book I in the battle of the Helots, and extended and corroborated in the retrospective tales of Book II, confirm for the redder their heroic capabilities. Their exploits fulfill the promise inherent in their names. "Musidorus" signifies "gift of the Muses," and Pyrocles means "fiery glory>" 3^ Musidorus exemplifies wisdom, and Pyrocles courage; but both have the martial prowess necessary in war and the wisdom requisite in peace. Sidney comments in the Defence that "the poet nameth Cyrus of Aeneas no other way than to show what men of their fames, fortunes, and estates should do." Similarly, Sidney has chosen the princes' names to "make their picture the more lively, " and to impress on the reader the positive qualities which the princes show forth. But the naming of an epic hero has a further function. As Greene notes, "Epic narrative.. .is a series of adjustments between the hero's ca-pacities and his limitations. His life as a hero is devoted to informing his name with meaning.... The hero must discover and demonstrate at the 31 outset what meaning his name may have." Musidorus and Pyrocles do not merely demonstrate their heroic capabilities; they discover their own potential, and their limitations as well, by testing their virtue against the hazards they find in their environment. What Greene calls the "dialectical struggle" be-tween the hero's capacity for exercising heroic control, and his discovery of 32 the "inescapable limitations" that await him, is implicitly suggested by the princes' assumption of the pseudonyms under which they achieve their notable triumphs in Asia Minor. Their assumed names are variants on their true names and suggest the qualities that emerge during the early course of their travels. Musidorus becomes "Palladius" (an inflected form of Pallas Athene, the god-dess of wisdom) and Pyrocles becomes "Diaphantus" ("bright fire-brand"). The metamorphosis from Pyrocles and Musidorus to Diaphantus and Palladius seems to alter only their external identity, for there is no significant inner change; their capacity for heroic action remains undiminished. Yet Sidney clearly invites the audience for the new Arcadia to read slowly and carefully both forward and backward. The new emphasis on thematic order and relationship rather than a more strictly chronological pat-terning suggests that the reader, like the princes, must also reorder his under-standing of the past in the light of more complex present experience which touches upon and illuminates the meanings formerly obscured in earlier events. In the Defence, Sidney placed unusual stress on the uses of memory—"the only treasury of knowledge"—and he obviously expects the reader of the new Arcadia to exercise his skill in memorizing and "placing" striking images as he reads. Sidney describes, for example, the art of memory as "a certain room divided into many places and well and thoroughly known." Van Dorsten comments that "these places—or 'natural seats'(86.29 and 101.14)—have much in common with the loci, the places or topics, of any conventional logical inqui (83.18 n)." 3 4 The reader is to arrange in his mind the thematically related topoi or images in proper relationship to each other. As he progresses through the narrative, he gradually penetrates to a fuller understanding of the complex interrelations among the images he has retained in his mind. The history behind the princes' decision to assume chivalric pseudo-nyms, for example, is later provided in the retrospective tales of Book II. This background information extends the audience's comprehension of. the princes' earlier chivalric exploits. The original Zelmane, the daughter of the wicked Plexirtus ("no man had lesse goodnes in his soule then he" I, 213), first requires her lover Palladius to rescue the two princes from Andromana's prison because she has fallen in love with Pyrocles. Palladius is killed during the escape attempt. Zelmane then disguises herself as the page "Diaphantus" and offers her services to Pyrocles. She soon dies, however, partly because she fears Pyrocles' scorn when he discovers that she is allied by blood to Plexirtus and partly from shame for Plexirtus's most recent and heinous act. On her deathbed, she requests that Pyrocles rescue her father, despite his faults, and asks that the two princes take on the names of Palladius and Diaphantus when they enter Arcadia. Pyrocles fulfills Zelmane's last requests by liberating Plexirtus and by taking on the name of Diaphantus; Musidorus likewise assumes the name of Palladius. The characters and events associated with the names "Palladius" and "Diaphantus" serve to complicate the reader's earlier apprehension of the princes' awesome heroism under those pseudonyms. The positive connection between love and active enterprise is stressed in the mutual reciprocity of services performed by Pyrocles and the original Zelmane. The princess Zel-mane's servitude, for instance, provides a perfect image of humble and active zeal arising from love. Pyrocles describes her noble, though tragically ended, conduct to Philoclea: "There is no service like his, that serves because he loves. For though borne of Princes bloud, brought up with tenderest educa-tion, unapt to service (because a woman) & full of thoughts (because in a strange estates'/yet Love enjoyned such diligence, that no apprentise, no, no bondslave could ever be by feare more readie at all commaundementes, then that yqng 7 Princesse was" (I, 291). Yet the tragedy of the love story itself, replete with infortuitously placed and unreciprocated love reflects and re-emphasizes the tragedies that attend amorous love in the main plot: "But as Love (alas) doth not alwaies reflect it selfe, so fel it out that this Zelmane, (though true I y reason there was inough to love Palladius)^ yet could ever perswade her harte to yeelde thereunto: with that paine to Palladius, as they feele, that feej,e>an unloved love, " (I, 281). In particular Pyrocles's decision to become "Zelmane" is ennobled by the original Zelmane's exalted reverse transformation to male servant. Yet the sad events associated with her story are by implication extended, too, to Pyrocles's history. Among the major charac-ters associated closely with Pyrocles, misplaced or unreturned love is to bring the tragic results that ultimately culminate in the siege of Amphialus's castle in Book III. So, too, the intimate connection between Zelmane's tragedy and the public chaos wrought by sexual viciousness in the Plangus-Andromana tale (the original Diaphantus is Andromana's son) suggests that the two princes will experience the civic discord generated by unlicensed passion. Andromana, for example, had kept the princes in prison in order to force them to gratify her sexually. Her action prefigures Amphialus's decision to hold the Arcadian princesses in captivity in Book III. Clearly, the princes' new identities are associated with the tragedy, chaos, and destructiveness of passionate love. The reader is to recognize that although the cousins' conduct during the battle of the Helots seems to result in the containment of evil and the reestablishment of an ideal state of peace and prosperity, the world itself is more difficult to master and to reorder in accord with patterns of perfection than they had imagined. Musidorus's naive belief in the good man's potential for "continuall wise proceedinge, and worthie enterprises" (I, 55) finally proves to be an ill-grounded faith. Blind fortune, as he is to discover, continually subverts the positive effects of heroic action. Furthermore, moral decisions are often equivocal, and involve difficult choices between greater and lesser evils, or seemingly equivalent goods. Pyrocles's faithful enactment of his vow to free Plexirtus, for example, required that he slay a "beastly monster" (I, 300); Yet, paradoxically, Pyrocles's "vertue hadbeene .imployed to save a worse monster than [he} killed (I, 301). Pyrocles had previously witnessed Plexirtus's insupportable treatment of his 177 brother and his father, Leonatus; his deceitful and tyrannous double-dealing with his too-forgiving brother; and his vicious murder of his only genuinely-faithful friends, the noble brothers Tydeus and Telenor. That Pyrocles' heroic decision to free Plexirtus in fact resulted in the loosing of a horrible tyrant on the world demonstrates that human action often involves moral compromise. Rather than exorcising the evil which Plexirtus above all the other tyrants of Book II represents, Pyrocles and Musidorus are themselves nearly destroyed by his machinations. The shipwreck which occurs at the opening of the new Arcadia results from Plexirtus's treasonous attempt to murder the two cousins. The princes discover that they have made a nearly-fatal error in judgment when they accept—despite their knowledge of Plexirtus's seemingly infinite capacity for deceptive treachery—his gesture of friendship ("so that we who had promised the sweete Zelmane to pardon him, now not onely forgave but began to favour; perswading our selves with a youthfull credulitie, that per-chance things were not so evil as we \ tooke them, & as it were desiring our pwnei memorie, that it might not be so," 1,303). So the Princes'difficulties as well as their successes both as lovers and active heroes are suggested by their chivalric pseudonyms. By recognizing the complex associations surrounding their names, the audience learns to modify and to deepen their understanding of both the princes' awesome capa-cities and their human limitations as epic heroes. Neither are the princes themselves of limitless perfection, nor does the world in which they act permit them more than an occasional lasting success as they continually 178 struggle to establish goodness and justice. Significantly, the shipwreck scene that resulted from Plexirtus's attempt to assassinate the two cousins itself provides the reader with his first occasion for viewing and assessing the two princes and the world that they inhabit. Above all, the carnage of the bloody sea battle demonstrates the violence and destruction that arises from human irrationality, for "the chief violence was growen of humane inhumanitie" (I, 10). The world of Asia Minor is a fallen society, dominated by wayward and violent human passion. So, too, Musidorus, though exalted in his physical beauty, courage, and de-votion to his friend Pyrocles, fails to master completely his own passionate response to his misfortune. When he discovers that Pyrocles is missing and presumably drowned, he attempts to commit suicide—an act that signifies the opposite extreme from the principle of stoic moderation under the blows of fortune. Musidorus has yet to learn to exercise patient fortitude when all avenues of active enterprise have been closed. The perfect example of a tranquil yet paradoxically active exercise of patience is still to be provided by Pamela in the captivity episode. As a result of their practical experiences, Musidorus and Pyrocles (like the reader) are to revaluate and to deepen their understanding of the nature of love, duty, and virtue in the fallen world. In particular, Pyrocles must learn that ideal values are difficult to actualize in human experience. So, too, Musidorus must accept love as a potential, though often unruly, adjunct of virtue; and he must recognize and learn to face with more 179 moderate self-control both his own heroic limitations and the vagaries of the brazen world. 6 If Musidorus's path toward comprehensive moral knowledge seems fraught with difficulties, Pyrocles's journey toward moral reintegration is even more perilous. In particular, his ready assumption of the positive re-lationship between love and virtue is repeatedly undermined. The laments of Book II—the second major grouping of oratorical matter—are used to indicate emphatically how tenuous is the connection between passionate impulse and the effects of goodness. Gynecia, Pyrocles, and Philoclea ail lament their inward decline resulting from passionate love. Pyrocles is divided between the dictates of reason and the compulsion of passion. His psychological split is reflected in the women who love him. Philoclea becomes confused, wretched, and ashamed as she pursues what she believes to be a lesbian attachment, and Gynecia renounces her long course as a chaste and virtuous queen in order to achieve an adulterous liaison. All three are aware that good is defined as concord and evil as discord, and all three acknowledge that their internal disruptions result from their want of a true grounded virtue. The laments of Book II, like the debates of Book I, serve to arm the reader with the proper moral insights necessary to judge adequately the narrative events. These tragic speeches are the one significant means by which Sidney both registers the chaos of desire and dramatizes the fact that 180 Musidorus's probative judgments concerning the negative potential of amorous passion are at least partially valid. These three lovers find that the discords of love lead not to wisdom and virtue, but to soul-dividing passion. As Davis notes, the "first effects of love are hellish and disturbing rather than exalting, and illustrate the need for control in order both to turn love to-ward its higher manifestations and to keep the mind whole in the 'morall vertues, which stand in the meane of perturbations.'"3^ The sense that love is more often allied with evil effects than with divine is generated in part by Sidney's substitution of the more ethically-serious metaphor of poisoning in Book II for that of disease in the poems and laments of Book I. Sidney joins the imagery of poisoning with a much-intensified and expanded imagery of darkness and eclipse; all work to signify that such internal overthrow and ethical decline is essentially evil. The opening passage, which introduces Gynecia's lament, sets the darkened tone for the complaints that follow:]; In these pastoral I pastimes a great number of dayes were sent to follow their flying predecessours, while the cup of poison (which was deepely tasted of this noble companie) had left no sinewe of theirs without mortally searching into it; yet never manifesting his venomous worke, till once, that the night (parting away angerly, that she could distill no more sleepe into the eies of lovers) had no sooner given place to the breaking out of the morning light, and the Sunne bestowed his beames upon the tops of moun-taines, but that the wofull Gynecia (to whom rest was no ease), had left her loathed lodging, and gotf-ten herselfe into the solitary places those deserts were full of, going up and downe with such unquiet motions, as a grieved & hopeles mind is wont to bring forth 1 (I, 145). As in chiaroscuro, the fresh and peaceful beauty of nature is deliberately used to highlight the unnatural turmoil that characterizes Gynecia's own inner darkness. The "poison" of passion, has taken effect, and Gynecia's physical restlessness is an outer manifestation of her inward moral change. Sidney's use of the metaphor of poison is paralleled by a growing awareness on the part of the more inherently noble characters that their psychic imbalance is evil. Gynecia's consciousness of wrong-doing lacerates her: "There appeered. unto the eies of her. judgement' the evils she was like to run into, with ougly infamie waiting upon them: she felt the terrours of her owne conscience: she was guilty of a longe exercised vertue, which made this vice the fuller of deformitie" (I, 145). Because she is aware of her former ethical rectitude, her present moral fauItiness makes her wretched. She has become to herself a plague and a "shame to womankind" (I, 145). Yet conscious as she is of the deformity of her passion, her reason is not strong enough to prevail over her wayward senses. She is "Gynecia," frail woman indeed: "O you heavens (which continually keepe the course allotted unto you) can none of your influences prevaile so much upon the miserable Gynecia, so to make her preserve a course so long embraced by her?" (I, 145-46). Gynecia's sense of her inward change, which she speaks of in terms of an eclipse of virtue that perverts the orderly course of nature, is re-munerated in Pyrocles's lament. Pyrocles's song, too, issues from the ex-cessive vehemency of his love-induced "inward evil"; Pyrocles is likewise ethically debilitated by his change, and he acknowledges that he is responsible for his moral decline: "The evill is inward, my Lute, the evill is inward; .. .The discord of my thoughts, my Lute, doth ill agree to the concord of thy strings; therefore be not ashamed to leave thy master, since he is not afraide to foresake himselfe" (I, 147-148). Pyrocles's sorely acknow-ledged inconstancy, his breaking of his own inner harmony as a result of his "imperfect proportion of reason," is a source of pain for him because he is of a noble and virtuous disposition. He feelingly admits his divergence from his former, more ethically harmonious self. Philoclea's lamentation is the final extended complaint in Book II. Philoclea, like Pyrocles, had not previously "passed through the worldlie wickednesse, nor feelingly found of the evill, that evill caries with it" (I, 169). Now when she finds herself tested by passionate love, she is innocently inept: "When now she came to appoint, wherin . her judgement was to be practized, in knowing fau I tines by his first tokens, she was like q yohg faune, who...doth not know whether it be a thing or no to be es-chewed; whereof at this time she began to get a costly experience" (I, 169). Philoclea comes to exhibit those symptoms that are the typical products of love's "infective power" in the naturally-virtuous mind. Philoclea lacerates her conscience with her vows of chastity, which she had inscribed upon a "goodly white marble stone" in the woods. Her words chasten her as they bring before her mind her former constancy ("her memorie served as an ac-cuser of her change, and...her own hand-writing was there, to beare 183 testimony against her fa l l , " I, 173). Like Gynecia, Philoclea laments her "recantations to her former vow, " and she, too, sees herself as "odious to womankind." The play on the words "constantly" and "iriconstancie"; the contrast between the marble's unspotted whiteness whose nature is whole and perfect, and Philoclea's writing which is now blurred; the darkness of the time;--all indicate that Philoclea's "change" is a fall from her former "un-spotted simplicitie." Although Philoclea fervently prays to be either returned to virtue or scorned for her baseness, she ultimately "choises"- not to resist the temptations of desire: "Sinne must be the mother, and shame the daughter of my affection" (I, 174). Pamela and Basilius are the only two characters who do not engage in such self-recriminations in either of the first two books. Basilius fails to chastise himself for his foolish and morally reprehensible conduct because he does not possess the ethical self-awareness to recognize the error of his ways. The example he provides of a total lack of moral conscience serves to highlight by contrast the more strenuous exertions made by the other major characters to extricate themselves from the immoral entanglements in which they find themselves. Only Pamela remains ethically sound when subjected to passionate stress. She fully justifies her revised emblem in the new Arcadia: "yet still my selfe." Her steadiness of judgment and fixity of moral purpose as a lover in the first two books provides the foundation for her exemplary heroism in the sphere of patient fortitude in Book III. Even when subjected by Cecropia ro extremes of physical and mental torture, she is able to main-tain intact her inner constancy under adverse fortune; she alone is capable of fulfilling without divagation Philanax's dictum that the only way to main-tain proper conduct in a world in which the only "certaintie" is "continual unc'ertaintie" is to "stand wholy upon your own vertue, as the surest way to maintaine you in that you are" (I, 26). 7 In Books I and II the two princes demonstrated external heroism in action based on courage, wisdom, and strenuous resolution. Their example is later paralleled and completed by the two princesses;' more inward kind of heroic greatness grounded on patience, fortitude under oppression, and a quiet singleness of mind. In particular, Pamela's conduct in Book Ml pro-vides a perfect emblem of unalterable virtue. Sidney completes in Book III his demonstration of the two kinds of action—"patience and magnanimity"— that he describes in the Defence as the attributes of the epic hero. In the new Arcadia, Sidney uses the platonist terms agere and pati— "to do and suffer (I, 34, 185, 190)—to label these two complementary kinds of heroic action. In Book III patient endurance replaces active endeavor as the focus of attention. With the new emphasis on quiet suffering, the two princesses replace the princes as the central figures in the narrative, and provide their masculine counterparts with a memorable, lesson in tranquil self-com-mand under adversity. 185 Once again oratorical and forensic matter provides the reader with the normative issues that form the groundplot for the narrative. Cecropia approaches each of the princesses in turn as she attempts to persuade one or the other to marry Amphialus. The response of each to Cecropia's cunningly persuasive speeches serves to illustrate the differences and similarities between the two. Philoclea demonstrates an instinctive uprightness of conduct; Pamela, a self-conscious and deliberately maintained probity of action. The differences between the two suggest that there are two kinds of virtue. One is natural or innate, and is reflected in the possessor's inborn tendency toward rational wisdom. Such inborn tendencies, however, can be deflected or partially defeated by passionate stress. Natural virtue is imperfect because the sustaining power and control that can be achieved only through the strenu-ous exercise of rationality is missing. Of a higher order of value, clearly, is rational virtue based on thorough self-knowledge and self-control. Yet both kinds of virtue are beautiful, and both can lead to the most admirable effects of goodness. Philoclea, for example, true to her nature and her more intuitive virtue, does not enter into debate with Cecropia. Yet her whole deportment— humble, restrained, but upright—shows her essential goodness. Her outward appearance provides an emblem of her inner harmony and control. Sidney's description of her physical beauty is devised so as to demonstrate the perfect union of beauty and virtue: In the dressing of her haire and apparell, she might see neither a careful arte, nor an arte of careles-, nesse, buteven left to a neglected chaunce, which yet coulde no more unperfect her perfections, then a Die anie way cast, could loose his squarenesses (I, 376). Here, Sidney's use of the comparison between Philoclea and the die is not mere hyperbole. It artfully encapsulates both Philoclea's moral perfection in the die's "squareness^1 and her unchangeableness under the vagaries of fortune in the steadfastness which the die maintains no matter how it is tossed. In the scene that follows between Philoclea and Cecropia, we are given a brief illustration of her particular kind of perfection in action. Cecropia tempts Philoclea with the sensual delights which accompany marriage. In so doing, Cecropia subtly perverts the doctrine that marriage completes men and women by their mutual union because she leaves spiritual union aside. She equates full sexual enjoyment of "liberty" with "a garden of pleasures" and urges Philoclea that nature "gave [her] an excellent body to reward love: which kind of liberal I rewarding is crowned with unspeakable felicitie" (I, 379). Yet marriage, as the union between Parthenia and Argalus illus-trates, must unite erotic delight and virtuousness. Cecropia offers Philoclea only the Bower of Bliss. It is appropriate that Philoclea, in rejecting Cecropia's pleas, answers in terms of another kind of "liberty" and merely replies that until she is set at liberty, she cannot "conceive of any such persuasions.. .then [i.e., than] as constraints" (I, 380). Ironically, the 1 real explanation for Philoclea's imperviousness to Cecropia's arguments lies in her love for Pyrocles. Whereas love has earlier closed the lover's ears to reasonable words (e.g., I, 82), here Philoclea's love-deafness saves her, and also justifies her in the earlier decision to give herself wholly to Pyrocles's guidance:,. Love, then—even erotically based love—can be the source of ethical strength. Of a higher order pf moral virtue is conduct based on right reason. Although Philoclea might have been tempted by Cecropia's words had they issued from Pyrocles's mouth, Pamela, whose virtue is fully conscious and de-liberate rather than the product of an instinctive uprightness, is able to meet Cecropia's arguments unaided and on her own terms: "If Philoclea with sweete and humbling dealing did avoidCCecropia'sl assaults, [Pamela] with the Majestie of Vertue did beate them of" (I, 384). The similarities and differences between the two sisters are emphasized by their distinctive outward appearances in similar circumstances. As Pamela sits working on a needlepoint purse, the purse itself, a masterly blend of nature and artifice, serves as a miniature example of its creator's own perfec-tion. The design unites the red of the roses and the white of the lilies against a perfectly "well proportioned" background. In Pamela's work, as in her person, the Petrarchan reds and whites—which in Books I and II had colored the physiognomies of Pyrocles, Gynecia, and Philoclea and had in-dicated their subjection to the fires and frosts of passionate love—are per-fectly ordered. The quasi-erotic quality of the pathetic fallacies Sidney uses in the description—the cloth which "lovingly embracef es] the wounds she gave it'Sand the needle "loth to have gone fromward such a mistress" (I, 402)—serve both to soften Pamela's "majesty" by artfully enveloping her in 188 a delicately sensuous aura, and to emblematize again the ideal concord be-tween beauty and virtue. Just as the purse is beautiful because it is perfectly wrought, so, too, Pamela is lovely because her outer perfections reflect the harmonious tranquility of her inner being. She is the perfectly harmonized soul. Her absolute and tranquil self-control—her perfect selfhood—is clearly linked with her immovable faith in a transcendent goodness and order. When Cecropia approaches Pamela, she urges her to follow her instincts, rather than to be led by a misplaced faith in "things supernaturall. " Cecropia "would have spoken further," but Pamela ("whose cheeks were died in the beauti-fullest graine of vertuous anger") interrupts her. Pamela provides a lovely and persuasive explanation that nature is not random or "chaunceable," but rather a "nature of wisdome, goodnes, & providence" (I, 408). She demon-strates that the goodly forms of the heavens and the earth betoken "perfect order, perfect beautie, perfect constancie, " and that such a perfect harmony could issue only from a suprasensible order of being. Pamela's faith in a transcendent source of goodness and providence allows her not merely eye-y -sight, but vision. She can see beyond the labyrinth of good and evil in human life, and can affirm the essential goodness of creation which guarantees a meaningful design in human life. All the fluctuations in the fortunes of both men and kingdoms which have filled the pages of the new Arcadia are at least temporarily resolved and brought to rest by Pamela's unshaken virtue. No change of fortune, however ill-seeming, can sway her from her faith in the essential rationality and goodness of the universe. In her undefeated belief in goodness and virtue, she comes to represent herself an archetype of absolute good in the fallen world. Cecropia ultimately finds that the virtue of both sisters, though of differing value, is of so absolute a nature that all her persuasive arguments are ineffective: "But in vaine was all her vaine oratory employed. Pamelaes C determination was built upon so brave a Rock, that no shot of hers could reach unto it: and Philoclea (though humbly seated) was so invironed with sweete rivers of cleere vertue, as could neither be battred, nor undermined" (1,469-70). Even under the extreme physical torture to which Cecropia turns in a fury because she cannot bend the princesses to her will, Philoclea's remembrance of her love for Zelmane keeps her virtue undefiled: "That was the onely wordly [sic] thing, whereon Philoclea rested her minde, that she -knewe she should die beloved of Zelmane, and should die, rather than be false to Zelmane, " (I, 472). In her patient fortitude under duress, Philoclea provides an image of the harmonious union of love and virtue. Pamela, too, provides perhaps the most strikingly beautiful image of absolute virtue under affliction: "If ever the beames of perfection shined through the clowdes of affliction, if ever Vertue tooke a bodie to shewe his (els unconceaveable) beautie, it was in Pamela, " (I, 472). Both princesses are meant to provide delightful representations of near perfect patience. Both, too* demonstrate the positive alliance of "Vertue and Love," in which each "strengthened one by the other" (I, 473). 8 These two worlds of heroic action and patient endurance in fact con-verge in Book III as the whole of the narrative alternates between descriptions of the increasingly violent and destructive combats without and the escalation of Cecropia's attacks on the two sisters within. If Philoclea and Pamela offer the princes (and the reader) striking images of what to emulate, Amphialus provides an example of what to avoid. Pamela's moral triumphs, for example, define by contrast Amphialus's ethical failures. Even though Pamela's sphere of action is severely restricted by her circumstances, paradoxically her inner rectitude and control permit her to triumph over her base imprisonment. She is of "so faire a majestie of unconquered virtue, that captivitie might seem to have authoritie over tyrannie" (I, 411). Pamela's "erected wit" is contrasted throughout Book III with Amphialus's "infected will." His name—meaning "between the seas"—indicates his state of inner self-division as his passion for Philoclea paralyzes his reason. Unlike Pamela, who becomes a conquerer even when imprisoned, Amphialus is a slave to his desires. Pamela creates an inner order and tranquil ease even in the midst of affliction; Amphialus seems to be (in the public realm) a triumphant champion, but in fact he becomes (in the private world of love) "a prisoner to his prisoner" (I, 370). His actions only in-crease his inner turmoil, and generate chaos and brutal destruction abroad. Amphialus finds that all his strenuous public endeavours serve only to deepen, rather than to relieve, his private misery: "The more I stirre about urgent affaires, the more me thinks the very stirring breeds a breath to blow the coales of my love: the more I exercise my thoughts, the more they encrease the appetite of my desires" (I, 375). The increase of Amphialus's "appetite" signifies his loss of rational self-mastery; such a loss necessarily propagates public evil as well. In the single combats which take place outside the castle, Amphialus defeats a succession of challengers. Yet his victories ironically emblematize not his heroic magnificance, but his heroism in eclipse. At his mother's death, Amphialus is suddenly confronted with the full horror of his fall from virtue: O Amphialus, wretched Amphialus; thou hast lived to be the death of thy most deere companion & friend Philoxenus, and of his father, thy most careful I foster-father. Thou hast lived to kill a Ladie with thine owne handes, and so excellent, and vertuous a Lady, as the fair Parthenia was: .thou hast lived to see thy faithfull Ismenus slaine in succouring thee, and thou not able to defende him: thou hast lived to shew thy selfe such a coward, as that one unknowne Knight could overcome thee in thy Ladies presence: thou hast lived to bear armes against thy rightful I Prince, thine own unckle: Thou hast lived to be accounted, and justly accounted, a traitor, by the most excellent persons, that this world holdeth: Thou hast lived to bee the death of her, that gave thee life. But ah wretched Amphialus, thou hast lived for thy sake, and by thy authoritie, to have Philoclea tormented (I, 493). " Amphialus's tragic example provides a negative exemplum of the struggle between reason and passion, virtue and love, public duty and private desire. The Princesses' counterexample illustrates by contrast the potentially harmoni-ous union of reason and passion, love and virtue, external action and private feeling. The illustrations of proper and improper conduct given by the two sisters and by Amphialus in Book III are to serve as definitive maral guide-posts to the princes (and to the reader) in their future undertakings as private individuals and as public heroes. 9 The new Arcadia ends in mid-sentence in Book III. Why Sidney broke off his revision is a subject of some critical cpntroversy. There is no historical evidence to suggest an explanation for Sidney's abrupt halt. Per-haps public duties and an untimely death prevented Sidney from completing the work. Perhaps his revised plan proved unworkable and he was forced to abandon it. The strenuous, intricate, and seemingly perfect design of the fragment that we have, however, suggests that Sidney was in full control of the structure of the work from beginning to end. A recent and persuasive hypothesis is Hamilton's. Suggesting that the truncated ending may have been deliberate, Hamilton argues that Sidney had "written enough" to attain his 37 purpose. ' In any case, the new Arcadia, though incomplete in itself, does achieve Sidney's objective by providing in the words of the Defence compre-hensive "moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges." In his narration of the history of the two princes and their princesses, Sidney provided notable images of the civic and private virtues that define the truly noble person. Through his poem, Sidney projected abstract ethical principles in striking poetic images—that is, he coupled in the characters and events of the new Arcadia the general notion of the philosopher with the particular example of the historian. These "speaking pictures of poesy" were designed to illumi;-, nate the precepts of barren philosophy which would otherwise lie "dark before the imaginative and judging powers." They were to be of such illuminating power that the observer could not only see the image, but also "see through it"—that is, he could achieve a truer comprehension of the foreconceit or precept to which the image gave concrete and perceptible form. Yet those images were not only to teach but to move the reader to become in his own "life and action good and great." Clearly, the rhetoric of the new Arcadia was ultimately designed to persuade the readership of the new Arcadia to accept and to act upon the moral principles which informed and gave shape to the work. The examples of virtuous action provided by the two princely "worthies" were in the language of the Defence to inflame the reader with desire to imitate their example in his own life and to inform him "with counsel how to be worthy." Yet Sidney did not limit himself to the presentation of perfect patterns of heroic endeavor, public and private—patterns so delightful that they ravished the soul of the reader and drew him toward the good. He also provided images of the "filthiness of evil" as "a great foil to perceive the beauty of virtue." These images of evil and wrong-doing not only emphasize the attractive powers of goodness, but also extend the reader's comprehension of the nature of ethical experience in the real world by providing exempla of the moral debilities to which all human beings have been heir since the Fall. In particular, by illustrating the princes' ethical failures as well as their notable virtues, Sidney fully demonstrated both the ethical complexities that attend human action and the perils to which heroic virtue is susceptible. Virtuous action, Sidney seems to have been suggesting, is the product of an ever-active exercise of the rational faculty—"the erected wit." Such rational self-mastery is to be finally achieved as the result of practical and educational experience. Just as the princes' moral testing during the course of the narrative is to complete their education into moral understanding, so, too, the reader's participation at the remove in the events of the new Arcadia provides him with experiences necessary to achieve a similar level of ethical comprehension. The reader of the new Arcadia, in fact, benefits not only from his reading of the narrative itself, but also from his perception of the instructive beauties of its aesthetic design. Finally, the rhetoric of the new Arcadia is instrumental in educating the reader. Not only does it provide beautiful pictures that strike and pierce his soul, but it also actively engages him in the process of arranging, interpreting,and harmonizing the multiplicity of memorable images into a harmonious pattern of "vice, virtue, and passion.11 The reader, like the princes, as he becomes increasingly more knowledgeable in the world of the Arcadia> becomes increasingly more knowledgeable also in his own world. He comes to know more thoroughly the ideal principles of goodness and wisdom which ought to govern human experience on earth; and coordinately he recognizes the imperfections in human life and human nature that operate in opposition to those ideals. Yet in writing the new Arcadia Sidney ulti-mately aimed not merely to instruct his audience in "architectonic" or comprehensive moral knowledge. Doing was always to be the fruit of learn-ing. As an end, Sidney wished to persuade his readers to become "new Cyruses" themselves by providing in their own appropriate sphere of action™ our experiential world1—parallel images of absolute magnanimity and patience. FOOTNOTES ^Thomas Greene, The Descent from Heaven : A Study in Epic Continuity (New Haven : Yale Univ. Press, 1963), p. 11. number of scholars have commented on the beginning in medias res. See, for example, Myrick, p. 136; Amos, pp. 24-25; Wolff, pp. 351 ff.; and Tillyard, p. 297. ^Delasanta, pp. 16-17. ^Northrop Frye, An Anatomy of Criticism (New York : Atheneum, 1969), pp. 33-34. For similar comments on the epic hero's human fallibility, see also Delasanta, pp. 14-16; and especially (jreene, pp. 12-19. 5Greville, p. 12. 6Peter Lindenbaun HLQ, 34 (1971), 217 aum, "Sidney's Arcadia : The Endings of the Three Versions, ^Greville, p. 192. 8 -~y See, for example, Sidney's comments on the inequities that abound in the "foolish world" in the Defence, p. 90. ^Greville, p. 16. '^Cf., for example, Tillyard, pp. 307-11. "See Baldesar Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, trans. Charles S. Singleton, (Garden City, N.Y. - Anchor, 1959), p. 300; 12Rose, p. 49. 13 Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 36. '^On Sidney's idea of love in the Arcadias, cf. especially Rudenstine, pp. 23-45; Rose, pp. 37-73; and Montgomery, Symmetry and Sense, pp. 48-63. ' 5See, for example, Rose's comments, pp. 2-3. See Lindenbaum, pp. 210-11; and Ringler, pp. 376-78; Myrick (pp. 284-90),and Hamilton (Sidney : Life and Works, pp. 169-71) also support the contention that the revisions are in keeping with the thematic changes in the new Arcadia. See also Kenneth Rowe, "The Countess of Pembroke's Editorship of the Arcadia," PMLA, 54 (1939), 122-38; and William Godshalk, "Sidney's Revision o n E e~Arcadia, Books ll- V , " PQ, 43 (1964), 171-84. Both argue that the revisions are Sidney's. ^See, for example, The Courtier, p. 336. 1 g For the most complete treatment of the thematic significance of Urania, see Katherine D. Duncan-Jones, "Sidney's Urania," RES, 17(1966), 123-32. ^On the Protestant basis of this ideal, see Rose, pp. 18-34; and especially William Holler, "Hail Wedded Love," ELH, 13(1946), 79-97; and William and Melleville Haller, "The Puritan Art of Love," HLQ, 5 (1941), 235-76. 2 0Myrick, p. 284. 21 See, for example, Herschel Baker's discussion of love as a principle of order in The Image of Man : A Study in the Idea of Human Dignity in  Classical Antiquity, The Middle Ages, and the Renaissance (New York : Harpei 1961), p. 280. 9 9 •"See my discussion, pp. 23-26... 2 3Kalstone, p. 99. ^Rose, p. 34. 25 Hamilton, Sidney : Life and Works, p. 146. ^ C . S. Lewis, p. 335. 2 7See Rose, p. 49 ff. o p See my discussion of the old Arcadia, p. 24-25. 2 9Davis, "A Map of Arcadia," p. 72. n D. Isler translates the princes' names in "The Allegory of the Hero and Sidney's Two Arcadias," SP, 65 (1968), p. 178. 31 Greene, p. 16. Ibid., pp. 16-17. ^See, for example, Dipple, "Metamorphosis in Sidney's Arcadias, " p. 59. 3 4 V a n Dorsten, Miscellaneous Prose, p. 192, n. 83.18. See also, for example, Weiner's comments on the reading habits of the Elizabethans, pp. 176-77/Til I yard's discussion of the powers of memory of "better-exercised" Elizabethan readers, p. 306; Robinson's remarks on the mnemonic and visual epistemology of Sidney's prose and poetry, passim; and Frances Yates, The Theatre of the World (Chicago : Univ. of Chicago Press, 1969), p: 168. 3 5Davis, "Map of Arcadia, " p. 72. 36 See, for example, Lanham, p. 400; Dipple, "Metamorphosis in Sidney's Arcadias, " pp. 47-62, and "The Captivity Episode and the New Arcadia"; and Lindheim, "Vision, Revision, and the 1593 Text of the Arcadia." Richard Helgerson's is the most recent "theory of abandonment." 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