The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
there is no sweeter taste of friendship than the coupling of souls in
this mutuality, either of condoling or comforting; where the oppressed
mind finds itself not altogether miserable, since it is sure of one
which is feelingly sorry for his misery: and the joyful spends not his
joy, either alone, or there where it may be envied; but may freely
send it to such a well-grounded object, from whence he shall be sure
to receive a sweet reflection of the same joy, and, as in a clear
mirror of sincere goodwill, see a lively picture of his own gladness.
But after much discourse on either part, Dorus, his heart scarce
serving him to come to the point whereunto his then coming had been
wholly directed, as loth in the kindest sort to discover to his friend
his own unkindness, at length, one word emboldening another, made
known to Zelmane, how Pamela upon his vehement oath to offer no force
unto her, till he had invested her in the duchy of Thessalia, had
condescended to his stealing her away to the next seaport. That
besides the strange humours she saw her father more and more falling
into, and unreasonable restraint of her liberty, whereof she knew no
cause but light-grounded jealousies, added to the hate of that manner
of life, and confidence she had in his virtue, the chiefest reason had
won her to this was the late danger she stood in of losing him, the
like whereof, not unlike to fall if this course were continued, she
chose rather to die than again to undergo. That now they waited for
nothing else but some fit time for their escape, by the absence of
their three loathsome companions, in whom folly engendered suspicion.
“And therefore now,” said Dorus, “my dear cousin, to whom nature began
my friendship, education confirmed it, and virtue hath made it
eternal; here have I discovered the very foundation whereupon my life
is built: be you the judge betwixt me and my fortune. The violence of
love is not unknown to you, and I know my case shall never want pity
in your consideration. How all the joys of my heart do leave me, in
thinking I must for a time be absent from you, the eternal truth is
witness unto me, I know I {453} should not so sensibly feel the pangs
of my last departure. But this enchantment of my restless desire hath
such authority in myself above myself, that I am become a slave unto
it, I have no more freedom in mine own determination. My thoughts are
now all bent how to carry away my burdenous bliss. Yet, most beloved
cousin, rather than you should think I do herein violate that holy
band of true friendship wherein I unworthy am knit unto you, command
me stay. Perchance the force of your commandment may work such
impression into my heart that no reason of mine own can imprint into
it. For the gods forbid, the foul word of abandoning Pyrocles might
ever be objected to the faithful Musidorus. But if you can spare my
presence, whose presence no way serves you, and by the division of
those two lodges is not oft with you: nay, if you can think my absence
may, as it shall, stand you in stead, by bringing such an army hither,
as shall make Basilius, willing or unwilling, to know his own hap, in
granting you Philoclea, then I will cheerfully go about this my most
desired enterprise, and shall think the better half of it already
achieved, being begun in the fortunate hour of my friend’s
contentment.”
These words, as they were not knit together with such a constant
course of flowing eloquence as Dorus was wont to use, so was his voice
interrupted with sighs, and his countenance with interchanging colour
dismayed. So much his own heart did find him faulty to unbend any way
the continual use of their dear friendship. But Zelmane, who had all
this while gladly hearkened to the other tidings of their friends
happy success, when this last determination of Dorus struck her
attentive ears, she stayed a great while oppressed with a dead
amazement. There came straight before her mind, made tender with woes,
the images of her own fortune, her tedious longings, her causes to
despair, the cumbersome folly of Basilius, the enraged jealousy of
Gynecia, herself a prince without retinue; a man annoyed with the
troubles of womankind, loathsomely loved, and dangerously loving. And
now for the perfecting of all, her friend to be taken away by himself,
to make the loss the greater by the unkindness. But within a while she
resolutely passed over all inward objections; and preferring her
friend’s profit to her own desire, with a quiet, but heavy look, she
thus answered him: “If I bear thee this love, virtuous Musidorus, for
mine own sake, and that our friendship grew, because I, for my part,
might rejoice to enjoy such a friend, I should now so thoroughly feel
my own loss, that I should call the heavens and earth to witness how
cruelly you rob me of my greatest comfort, measuring the breach of
friendship by mine own passion. But because indeed I love thee for
thyself, and in my judgment judge of thy worthiness to be loved, I am
content to {454} build my pleasure upon thy comfort, and then will I
deem my hap in friendship great when I shall see thee, whom I love,
happy. Let me be only sure thou lovest me still, the only price of
true affection: go therefore on, worthy Musidorus, with the guide of
virtue and service of fortune. Let thy love be loved, thy desires
prosperous, thy escape safe, and thy journey easy. Let everything
yield his help to thy desert, for my part absence shall not take thee
from mine eyes, nor affliction shall bar me from gladding in thy good,
nor a possessed heart shall keep thee from the place it hath for ever
allotted unto thee.”
Dorus would fain have replied again, to have made a liberal confession
that Zelmane had of her side the advantage of well-performing
friendship: but partly his own grief of parting from one he loved so
dearly, partly the kind care in what state she should leave Zelmane,
bred such a conflict in his mind, that many times he wished he had
either never attempted, or never revealed his secret enterprise. But
Zelmane, who had now looked to the utmost of it, and established her
mind upon an assured determination: “My only friend,” said she, “since
to so good towardness your courteous destinies have conducted you, let
not a ceremonial consideration of our mutual love be a bar unto it. I
joy in your presence, but I joy more in your good: that friendship
brings forth the fruits of enmity which prefers his own tenderness
before his friend’s damage. For my part, my greatest grief herein
shall be, I can be no further serviceable unto you.” “O Zelmane,” said
Dorus, with his eyes even covered with water, “I did not think so soon
to have displayed my determination unto you, but to have made my way
first in your loving judgment. But alas! as your sweet disposition
drew me so far, so doth it now strengthen me in it. To you therefore
be the due commendation given; who can conquer me in love, and love in
wisdom. As for me, then shall goodness turn to evil, and
ungratefulness be the token of a true heart, when Pyrocles shall not
possess a principal seat in my soul, when the name of Pyrocles shall
not be held of me in devout reverence.”
They would never have come to the cruel instant of parting, nor to the
ill-faring word of farewell, had not Zelmane seen afar off the old
Basilius, who having performed a sacrifice to Apollo, for his
daughters’, but principally for his mistress’s happy return, had since
been everywhere to seek her. And now being come within compass of
discerning her, he began to frame the loveliest countenance he could,
stroking up his legs, setting his beard in due order, and standing
bolt upright. “Alas!” said Zelmane, “behold an evil fore-token of your
sorrowful departure. Yonder see I one of my furies, which doth daily
vex me, farewell, farewell {455} my Musidorus, the gods make fortune
to wait on thy virtues, and make me wade through this lake of
wretchedness.” Dorus burst out into a flood of tears, wringing her
fast by the hand. “No, no,” said he, “I go blindfold whither the
course of my ill hap carries me: for now, too late, my heart gives me
this our separating can never be prosperous. But if I live, attend me
here shortly with an army.” Thus both apparelled with the grievous
renting of their first combination, having first resolved with
themselves that whatsoever fell upon them, they should never upon any
occasion utter their names, for the conserving the honour of their
royal parentage, but keep the names of Daiphantus and Palladius, as
before had been agreed between them, they took divers ways: Dorus to
the lodge-ward, where his heavy eyes might be something refreshed;
Zelmane towards Basilius, saying to herself, with a scornful smiling,
“Yet hath not my friendly fortune deprived me of a pleasant
companion.” But he, having with much search come to her presence,
doubt and desire bred a great quarrel in his mind. For his former
experience had taught him to doubt; and true feeling of love made
doubts dangerous, but the working of his desire had ere long won the
field. And therefore, with the most submissive manner his behaviour
could yield, “O goddess,” said he, “towards whom I have the greatest
feeling of religion, be not displeased at some show of devotion I have
made to Apollo, since he, if he knew anything, knows that my heart
bears far more awful reverence to yourself, than to his, or any other
the like deity.” “You will ever be deceived in me,” answered Zelmane;
“I will make myself no competitor with Apollo, neither can blasphemies
to him be duties to me.” With that Basilius took out of his bosom
certain verses he had written, and kneeling down, presented them to
her. They contained this:
Phoebus, farewell, a sweeter saint I serve,
The high conceits, thy heav’nly wisdom’s breed,
My thoughts forget: my thoughts which never swerve
From her in whom is sown their freedom’s seed,
And in whose eyes my daily doom I read.
Phoebus, farewell, a sweeter saint I serve,
Thou art far off, thy kingdom is above;
She heav’n on earth with beauties doth preserve,
Thy beams I like, but her clear rays I love:
Thy force I fear, her force I still do prove.
Phoebus yield up thy title in my mind;
She doth possess, thy image is defac’d,
But if thy rage some brave revenge will find,
On her, who hath in me thy temple raz’d,
Employ thy might, that she my fires may taste,
And how much more her worth surmounteth thee,
Make her as much more base by loving me.
{456}
“This is my hymn to you,” said he, “not left me by my ancestors, but
begun in myself. The temple wherein it is daily sung is my soul; and
the sacrifice I offer to you withal is all whatsoever I am.” Zelmane,
who ever thought she found in his speeches the ill taste of a
medicine, and the operation of a poison, would have suffered a
disdainful look to have been the only witness of her good acceptation
but that Basilius began afresh to lay before her many pitiful prayers
and in the end to conclude that he was fully of opinion it was only
the unfortunateness of that place that hindered the prosperous course
of his desires. And therefore since the hateful influence, which made
him embrace this solitary life was now passed over him, as he doubted
not the judgment of Philanax would agree with his, and his late
mishaps had taught him how perilous it was to commit a prince’s state
to a place so weakly guarded, he was now inclined to return to his
palace in Mantinea, and there he hoped he should be better able to
show how much he desired to make all he had hers: with many other such
honey words, which my pen grows almost weary to set down. This indeed
nearly pierced Zelmane: for the good beginning she had obtained of
Philoclea made her desire to continue the same trade, till the more