The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
affection; yet borrowing a mask from hate, wherewith to hide love, she
thus charged him, who already had yielded: “How durst you thus presume
to present yourself in my presence, being discharged it, when you
deserved the uttermost that reason could devise, or fury execute? Hath
my dejected estate emboldened you to exalt yourself against me?” Then
he, gathering courage from the extremity of despair, thus cleared his
intention: “True it is, lady of my life, and shall be of my death, I
was worthy then to have been banished from the world. But what of a
world of worlds? I was banished from your sight, and, which is worst
of all, deservedly. Neither come I now of contempt, but only to
testify my obedience, which otherwise at this time might have been
construed to a cowardice. Such a love as mine, wedded to virtue, can
never be so adulterated by any accident, no, nor yet ravished by
passion, as to bring forth a bastard disobedience, whereof my very
conscience not being able to accuse my thoughts, I come to clear
myself. But now, having performed all that was within the compass of
my power, a part of my blood witnessing my affection, which I wish
were confirmed by the rest: you may see, directness of my destiny,
that no force can force me to anything, much less from your sight,
save only your own will, which is unto me a law, yea, an oracle. And
now when you see I do it not for fear of others, but only out of a
reverence to you; if not for your satisfaction, yet for my punishment,
so to persecute him whom you hate, I will go waste the remnant of my
wretched days in some remote wilderness as not worthy to be seen of
any, since odious in your sight: having, I hope, by many proofs
prevailed thus much with your opinion, that after my death you will
think there was some worth in me; though not worthy of your love.”
When he, full of humble affection, was retiring himself with a
courtesy as low {440} as his thoughts; she, thinking enough done to
try him, yet without seeming to trust him, whilst, though guilty of
grief, her countenance could accuse her of no care, as out of a fresh
remembrance, said, “That she would not have Dametas to lose a servant,
nor Mopsa a suitor, by her means; and if he would needs return towards
the lodges, that he should first expect some employment homewards from
her.” Then he, as one, who fallen in the bottom of some deep water,
coming to float above, in sight of land, receiveth some comfort,
though still in danger, began to re-assemble his dispersed spirits
again, looking more cheerfully. But ere his thoughts, every one of
them overflowing another, could settle themselves in words, she,
preventing the violence of so sudden a change, did call to her sister,
by accusing their indiscretion, in holding these two so long by
talking with them, from looking to themselves. Which Philoclea
allowed, trembling with an earnest fear, to know in what estate
Zelmane stood.
They two, injured by this courtesy, with an unwilling obedience
accepted of it; more respecting the pleasure of others, than their own
necessity. Pamela as only affecting Zelmane, offered her either all,
or a part of their chamber: and she, her tongue rebelling against her
heart, refused what she desired, pretending a lothness to trouble
them. Then the sisters offered to accompany them; but, after they had
a while coloured true kindness with ordinary compliments, Zelmane
prevailed against herself, to go accompanied as she came: yet both
looking as if they would have left their eyes behind them, as well as
their hearts; as soon as they were by themselves in a chamber, Zelmane
disapparelling herself, the black knight, though better skilled in
giving, than in curing of wounds, yet lately experienced by passing
the like danger, he would needs prove a surgeon: and after he had
purchased the things necessary, having considered his wounds, he found
none, save the last that went through the body, dangerous; and yet not
deadly: thereafter melting their minds in discourses, either of them
had his own contentment doubled by hearing of the others.
Then the black knight, taking leave for a while, locking the door
behind him, went down to the court, to try if any spark of the late
fire remained as yet to quench. For after the opposite party, as if
their arms were not sufficient to arm them, unless their arms were
armed with walls, ran to fortify themselves within houses, which had
no strength save that which men were to afford them: he, who thought
his own good fortune no better than a misfortune, till he was assured
that his friend had the like, without whom no happiness of his could
be accomplished, recommending the remnant of the adversary’s ruins to
his two {441} companions, had gone to learn if he were alike happy in
all places: and they, fear freezing the courage, and dissolving the
hearts of their scattered enemies, found quickly more throwing
themselves weaponless at their feet, than they could have leisure
severally to raise, so that they were more weary, though more
contented with pardoning than they had been with punishing.
Some more crafty, or more fearful, cried out at the windows that they
would surrender upon security of pardon. But they, scorning to
capitulate with fugitives, who would not have done it with them when
fighters: and disdaining all that, by the most large construction,
could be wrested to the sense of constraint, they would not equal them
with those who were already humble till they submitted in a more
submissive manner, depending only on their free disposition. Which
they, either trusting to the virtue of others, or mistrusting their
own, having done the knight of the sheep was constrained, his wound
bleeding in great abundance, which being made by an impoisoned dart,
had inflamed all his body, to retire. The other, having received the
keys of the gate, committed the chief captives to keepers, till the
black knight’s coming, who presently thereafter exacting what
conditions he pleased, did discharge them all. Then sentinels were set
on the wall, and a company appointed to watch all night: when suddenly
one came from their friend, to desire them to come and take their last
farewell of him: a request wonderfully grieving them, yet quickly
granted; yea, performed ere answered.
Being met, and all others retired, he with these words deeply wounded
their souls. “Dear friends, whom I may justly call so, though none of
us as yet doth know another; You see, I have acted my part, and the
curtain must quickly be drawn. Death, the only period of all respects,
doth dispense with a free speech. At a tilting in Iberia, where I was
born, dedicated to the memory of the queen Andromana’s marriage, a
novice in arms, amongst others, I ran in a pastoral show against the
Corinthian knights, whom the success had preferred in the opinion of
the beholders: till the worthily admirable princes, Musidorus and
Pyrocles, drawn forth by the young prince Palladius, brought back the
reputation to our party, and there did such things as might have
honoured Mars, if he had been in any of their places, and made either
of them worthy of his. Thereafter being drawn away from that country
by an accident, the report whereof craves a longer time, and a
stronger breath than the heavens are like to afford me, their glory
tyrannizing over my rest, did kindle such flames in my bosom, that,
burning with a generous ardour, I did resolve leaving my own country,
as too strict a bound for my thoughts, to try my fortune, where I
might either live famous, or die {442} unknown; vowing withal to
travel, till these princes were either the subject or witnesses of my
valour. What passed in my way I pass over: perchance others may
remember. At last, invited by fame, I came to this fatal country, it
the band of my heart was, and now must be of my body: where first
carried with curiosity, the fever of youth, I went to the Arcadian
pastorals for my recreation, but found the ruin of my rest. There,
blinded with beholding, and tormented with delight, my earnest eyes
surfeited on the excellencies of the pattern of perfection, the
quintessence of worth, even the most divinely divine Philoclea. Ah too
adventurous eyes! Neither could this content them, but they would
needs offer up her picture on the altar of my heart; where, by my
thoughts their choice might be allowed, yea, and idolatrously
advanced. For they, scorning the simple rudeness of the eyes, as
easily defrauded of their too forwardly affected object, would
securely entreasure it in a more precious place, by a piercing
apprehension sinking it in the soul for ever. For a time, suffered as
a stranger, and a shepherd, known as you know, by the name of
Philisides, amongst the rest, I had the means to pour forth my plaints
before her, but never to her, and, though overthrown, not rendered, I
had concluded never to have thrown the dice betwixt hope and despair,
so betraying my estate to the tyranny of another’s will. No, I was
resolved she should never know her power in me, till I had known her
mind of me: so that, if she would not raise me, she should not have
means to insult over me. Thus if I had not procured pity, I should not
have exposed myself to disdain.
“In the haughtiness of my heart, thinking nothing impossible, I durst
promise myself, that, my deeds having purchased reputation, with words
worthy of respect, I might venture the process of my affection. In the
meantime I joined joyful with you in this late war now ended: though
professing a general desire of glory, yet for a particular end, and
happy end, since I send for her. But since whilst I lived, I had not
the means, as I wished, to content her. I crave not, by the knowledge
of this, after death to discontent her. It shall satisfy me, that I
die before my hopes; and she cannot grieve for the loss of that which
she never knew to be hers.”
With this, the other sliding apart to bear and bury his sorrow
privately, the black knight, weeping, embraced him in his arms, and
told him what he was, saying, he was glad that his vow was performed;
he being a benefitted witness, not the endangered subject of his
valour. Then contentment, budding forth in his countenance, flourished
in a smile, and having kissed his friends, desiring to live in their
memory, wished them as contented lives, {443} as his was a death. He
died as joyful as he left them sorrowful, who had known him a mirror
of courage and courtesy, of learning and arms; so that it seemed that
Mars had begotten him upon one of the Muses.
Musidorus, exceedingly sorrowful for this irreparable loss, was yet
more sorrowful when he remembered himself to be in danger of a
greater; and recommending the direction of all below to the knight of
the pole, he went himself up to visit his patient, whom he found,
though lying, yet resting; and though not sleeping, yet dreaming. As
soon as he heard Musidorus, starting as one awakened out of a slumber,
he looked on his face, grieved to see the impression of grief in it,
he not knowing the cause, with an inquisitive amazement. But the other
preventing that threatened tempest, did blow away the clouds that were
gathered in his countenance; telling him that he had no interest in
the anguish which then did afflict him. “What,” said Pyrocles, being
passionately moved, “can Musidorus have anything wherein I have no
interest?” “Aye,” said he, “and for the present a greater wonder; my
grief may breed you joy, I having lost a friend, and you a rival.”
Then he began to discourse unto him what was past. And beside that,
which was justly deserved, pity adorning praise and praise augmenting
pity, a generous passion so conquered the unconquerable Pyrocles, that
he lamented him dead, whom he had not known; no, nor would never have