d in its own day, and deserving the
admiration of the present, but which has been left behind in the great
advance of English prose fiction. In the courtly pages of the "Arcadia"
are brilliantly reflected the lofty strain of sentiment characteristic
of Elizabeth's time, and the chivalry, the refinement, and the
impetuosity of if its noble author. "Heere have you now," wrote Sir
Philip to his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, "most deare, and most
worthy to be most deare Ladie, this idle worke of mine. * * * Youre
deare self can best witnesse the manner, being done in loose sheetes of
paper, most of it in your presence, the rest by sheetes sent unto you,
as fast as they were done." It would be tedious to the reader to
receive a detailed description of the story which extends through the
four hundred and eighty pages of Sidney's folio. The plot turns on the
fulfilment of a Delphian prophecy, in fear of which Basilius, king of
Arcadia, retires to a forest with his wife and two daughters. One
daughter, Philoclea, lives with her father Basilius, and the other,
Pamela, is confided to the care of Dametas, a country fellow, in the
service of Basilius, who lives close by with his wife. Pyrocles, prince
of Macedon, and Musidorus, prince of Thessaly, are wrecked on the coast
of Arcadia, where they soon become enamored of the two daughters of
Basilius. To the better attainment of their ends, Pyrocles obtains
admittance to the house of Basilius in the disguise of an Amazon, and
Musidorus enters the service of Dametas in the character of a shepherd.
The story which is unrolled in the remainder of the work relates the
extraordinary occurrences which are necessary to the fulfilment of the
Delphian prophecy, together with the intrigues and adventures of the
young lovers. Shipwrecks, attacks by pirates, rescues, journeys through
Arcadia among poetic shepherds, a war with the Helots, through forests
and carving sonnets on trees,--such are the scenes which succeed each
other with unending variety. On the arrival of Pyrocles and Musidorus
in Arcadia, the reader is introduced to that ideal land, never more
happily described than by Sidney's pen[70]:

The third day after, in the time that the Morning did strow roses
and violets in the heavenly floore against the comming of the
sunne, the Nightingales, (striving one with the other which could
in most daintie varietie recount their wrong caused sorrow,) made
them put off the