The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
miserable. Such a pestilentious influence poisoned the time of my
nativity, that I have had a spark of happiness, to clear me the way to
destruction. I was carried high to be fit for a precipice, and that
from that height I might behold how low the dungeons were wherein I
was to fall. Even now I was so far from fear, that I was higher than
hope, being in imagination master of all my wishes; yet at an instant,
as if all that could be inflicted on myself were not sufficient to
afflict me, being armed with resolution, both to brave the terrors of
death, and to contemn the flatteries of life, I am tormented in
another, whose sufferings could only make me tenderly sensible. And
with that, sorrow, as it were sorry to be interrupted by utterance,
did damn itself up to swell higher, feeding on the contemplation of
itself within: where, when absolute tyrant of the breast, it might
rather burst him, than burst out.”
Then he was lying down senselessly on his senseless friend, as in all
estates striving to be still like him, when lo he felt his breast
beat, and thereafter saw his unclouded eyes weakly strive to shine
again; thus first re-saluting the light, “Oh where am I?” Musidorus
replied: “With him who is hasting to die with you.” “No,” said he, “I
have hastened to live with you.” “Death or life,” said Musidorus,
“either of them must join us, but neither of them is able to part us.”
With that Pyrocles, weakly rising, entrusted his feet with their own
burden, but Musidorus, jealous of the carriage of so precious a
treasure, would needs aid them with his arm, his strength
strengthening Pyrocles, and the weakness of Pyrocles weakening him.
Thus, whilst guided by one, who was acquainted with the castle, they
were seeking out a room, where Pyrocles reposing might cause take a
trial of the estate of his body, and repair the bloody breaches of the
late battery; it being, though evil fortified, yet well defended: as
they were walking along a gallery, they heard, from a chamber
neighbouring the side of it, a dolorous sound, but so heavily
delivered with a disorderly convoy, that choked with sobs, else
drowned with tears, the pains of the bearer had so spoiled the birth
that it could not be known; yet a secret sympathy, by an unexpressible
working, did more wound the mind of Pyrocles, than it was wounded by
all the wounds of his body, he pitying his complaint, though not
knowing from whom, nor for what: “O how the soul, apt for all
impressions transcending {436} reason, can comprehend unapprehensible
things;” this was the lamentation of the lamentable Philoclea.
The ladies after the departure of Zelmane, by the inundation in their
ears of horrible sounds, were violently invited to come fearfully to a
window overlooking the court, where they beheld the bloody effects of
that, whereof they were the innocent causes. At first the lilies of
their cheeks overgrowing the roses, paleness had almost displaced
beauty, were it not beauty was so powerful as to make paleness
beautiful; yet their often travelled memory instructed their judgment,
that misery being at a height, could not but of force either work the
end of itself, or a beginning of comfort, and they could expect no
worse estate than that in which they were.
Pamela would fain have flattered herself to think that it was
Musidorus come to deliver her, but she had rather have still remained
captive than to have drawn him to such a danger for her delivery; and
having once apprehended that he was there, never a blow was given but
that she was wounded with it, being ever sorry for the overthrown,
never glad for the overthrower; either pity prevailing with the
tenderness of her sex, or because she knew no danger could come by
overcoming.
As for Philoclea, she who through the gentleness of her own nature
would have smarted for any other who had been in danger, when she
remembered the hazard of her treasure Zelmane, who, as she knew, did
not use to be an idle spectator of so earnest a game, a multitude of
thoughts, without art artificial, did paint fear in her face, and
engrave grief in her bosom. Whilst they continued thus, Pamela, in
vain striving to match majesty with affection, stood with a distracted
stateliness, and with a stately astonishment, where grief and fear in
Philoclea made easily a consort in sorrow, with watery eyes, like the
sun shining in a shower, weakly clearing a cloudy countenance; when
suddenly they heard one cry, since the castle was won to set the
ladies at liberty; but they who were well acquainted both with the
frowns and smiles of fortune, as they had ever triumphed over the one,
would not suffer themselves to be led captives by the other; neither
could this accomplish their contentment, till they had the lords of
that pleasant bondage, which they did value more than unvaluable
liberty; the constrained activity of the body having nothing
diminished the voluntary thraldom of the mind.
But ah! this smooth calm came only to make them the more sensible of
the succeeding tempest, which the breath of one from below, roaring
forth the death of Zelmane, did thunder up upon them. Pamela (like a
rock amidst the sea, beaten both with the winds and with the waves,
yet itself immoveable) did receive this rigorous {437} charge with a
constant, though sad countenance, and with fixed eyes witnessing the
moving of her mind, yet neither uttering word, nor tear, as disdaining
to employ their weakness in so great a grief. Such might have been the
gesture of Niobe hearing the news of her children’s death, ere she was
metamorphosed into a stone; like one, majesty triumphing over misery,
who would rather burst strongly within than be disburdened by bursting
out in an abject manner.
But, ah me, the confounded Philoclea, who, being the weaker, had
received the sharpest assault, an affectionate fury forcing from her
an absolute passion, which a dutiful kindness through compassion only
provoked in her sister, she, smothered with so monstrous a weight, did
sink down under it to the earth.
This made Pamela forget her other grief without any comfort,
transferring her affection from her friend to her more than friendly
sister; for whom she saw at that time her care might be more
serviceable, wherewith she brought her to herself, and she herself to
sorrow. At first the tongue and the eyes being too feeble instruments
for so violent a passion, she used her hands, beating that breast
which the most barbarous creature else in the world could not have
done; offering those torn hairs as oblations to him after death, which
had been the delights of his life; and deforming that face, the
register of nature’s wonders, confirmed by the admiration of men.
Which when Pamela, of a patient became a physician, sought to hinder,
she thus said: “Alas! sister, you do not know what a treasure I have
lost, even a treasure more worth than all the world was worthy to
enjoy. Ah, pardon me thou, whom even death is not able to kill in my
soul: pardon me, who have ever concealed thy secret, now to discover
mine own, for while my life lasts, short may it be, and long it shall
not be, I will show to all the world that, which, whilst thou livedst,
I would have been ashamed to have shown to thyself even thy perfection
and mine affection. Neither do I regard how the conceits of others
censure my carriage in this; for there is no eye now, wherein I desire
to appear precious, nor no opinion, whereof I crave to make a
purchase; death may end my life, but not my love, which, as it is
infinite, must be immortal. I would gladly use means to dispatch this
miserable life; but it were a shame for me, if, after so great a
disaster, sorrow only were not sufficient to kill me.” And with that
beauty in the heaven of her face, two suns eclipsed, being wrapped up
in paleness, she fell down grovelling on the ground.
Pyrocles, imagining what report might be made, and not doubting what
effect it would work, bent to furnish physic for her mind, ere he
sought any for his own body, came in at the door, whom Pamela, {438}
her arms and her tongue rivals in kindness, embracing, said, “Never
more welcome, though ever welcome, Zelmane; thou who ever art
victorious, hast thou likewise brought thyself away a trophy from
death?” “Sweet ladies,” replied she, “who would faint to fight for
such divine creatures as you are? and who could have force to fight
against you?”
Philoclea, who at first, either dull through excessive dolour, did not
conceive her sister’s words; or else suspecting, as she thought, her
impossible desire to please her, all being doubtful to trust what they
do extremely affect, did misconceive her meaning. She was raising her
eyes to examine her ears: but the most trusty of her senses preventing
both, by a palpable proof, gave her an absolute assurance; so that ere
she could think Zelmane was at all to be embraced, finding herself
embraced by Zelmane, she was lifted up to a heaven of joy, as before
she had been sunk down in a hell of grief; never absolutely her own;
but either ravished or ruined. Spying the blood on Zelmane’s garment,
not knowing whether her own, or her enemy’s, she grew pale; and then,
looking on her sister, she blushed, suspecting that she suspected the
cause of her paleness, conferring it with her former plaints, to be
more than a friendly kindness; but Zelmane, fearing what might be the
effects of her fear, said, that she expected a congratulation of her
victory, and not condoling of past danger, which was acquitted with
the speechless answer of an affectionate look, and a passionate
pressing of her hand.
Then Pamela, inquiring the perilous course of her short progress, she
told how fortified with their fortune, trusting more to it than to her
own valour, which, like their beauty, could not but prevail, she had
first overthrown the two brethren of Anaxius; and thereafter, fighting
with himself, it was her chance, God strengthening her weakness to
punish his injustice, to kill him; she could not say overcome him, no,
she was not ashamed to affirm, that though he was killed, she thought
him not overcome, seeing both he died with opinion, and in action of
victory; death preventing the knowledge of his last success. A rare
happiness, his life and fortune having both but one bound.
Both highly praising her valour, and admiring her modesty, and glad of
their own delivery, whereof they thought her the author, thoughts
striving to express themselves the more powerfully without words, they
were acknowledging the fame with a grateful countenance, and kindly
affecting looks, when Zelmane, not complementally hunting that which
she fled, but like one who with a glass reflects the force of the sun
somewhere else, earnestly protested that she would be loth to usurp
that which was due to another, especially in the owner’s presence.
And, turning towards {439} the black knight, who all the time stood
aside as her attender, though armed, trembling for fear of one
unarmed, who unarmed, would not have been so afraid of an army in
arms, she freely affirmed, “There is the deliverer of us all, from
whom we receive our liberty, to whom we owe ourselves, since it is
that which makes us ourselves.”
Then the black knight, invited by the willing countenance of the
princess, abasing his helmet, advanced more fearfully than to a
battle, to kiss her hand: when Zelmane, courteously retired Philoclea
a little distance from thence, as glad to confer with her, as to give
her friend occasion to confer with Pamela, who presently, whilst the
roses of his lips made a flower of affection with the lilies of her
hands, knowing her own Dorus, at the suddenness of the assault, the
moving of her mind was betrayed by the changes of her countenance, the
blood of her face ebbing and flowing according to the tide of