The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
a denial: but when the first motion carries with it a direct
impossibility, then must the only answer be, comfort without help, and
sorrow to both parties; to you not obtaining, to me not able to
grant.” “O,” said Gynecia, “how good leisure you have to frame these
scornful answers? Is Gynecia thus to be despised? Am I so vile a worm
in your sight? No, no, trust to it hard-hearted tiger, I will not be
the only actor of this tragedy: since I must fall, I will press down
some others with my ruins; since I must burn, my spiteful neighbours
shall feel my fire. Dost thou not perceive that my diligent eyes have
pierced through the cloudy mask of thy disguisement? Have I not told
thee, O fool (if I were not much more fool) that I knew thou wouldst
abuse us with thy outward show? wilt thou still attend the rage of
love in a woman’s heart? The girl, thy well-chosen mistress, perchance
shall defend thee when Basilius shall know how thou hast sotted his
mind with falsehood, and falsely sought the dishonour of his house.
Believe it, believe it, unkind creature, I will end my miseries with a
notable example of revenge, and that accursed cradle of mine shall
feel the smart of my wound, thou of thy tyranny, and lastly (I
confess) myself of mine own work.”
Zelmane that had long before doubted herself to be discovered by her,
and now plainly finding it was, as the proverb saith, like them that
hold the wolf by the ears, bitten while they hold, and slain if they
loose. If she held her off in these wonted terms, she saw rage would
make her love work the effects of hate; to grant unto her, her heart
was so bound upon Philoclea, it had been worse than a thousand deaths.
Yet found she it was necessary for her to come to a resolution, for
Gynecia’s sore could bide no leisure, and once discovered, besides the
danger of Philoclea, her desires should be for ever utterly stopped.
She remembered withal the words of Basilius, how apt he was to leave
this life, and return to his court, a great bar to her hopes. Lastly,
she considered Dorus’s enterprise might bring some strange alteration
of this their well-liked fellowship. So that encompassed with these
instant difficulties, she bent her spirits to think of a remedy, which
might at once both save her from them, and serve her to the
accomplishment of her only pursuit. Lastly, she {462} determined thus,
that there was no way but to yield to the violence of their desires,
since striving did the more chafe them. And that following their own
current, at length of itself it would bring her to the other side of
her burning desires.
Now in the meanwhile, the divided Dorus, long divided between love and
friendship, and now for his love divided from his friend, though
indeed without prejudice of friendship’s loyalty, which doth never bar
the mind from his free satisfaction: yet still a cruel judge over
himself, thought he was some ways faulty, and applied his mind how to
amend it with a speedy and behoveful return. But then was his first
study, how to get away, whereto already he had Pamela’s consent
confirmed and concluded under the name of Mopsa in her own presence:
Dorus taking this way, that whatsoever he would have of Pamela he
would ask her, whether in such a case it were not best for Mopsa so to
behave herself, in that sort making Mopsa’s envy an instrument of that
she did envy. So having passed over his first and most feared
difficulty, he busied his spirits how to come to the harvest of his
desires, whereof he had so fair a show. And thereunto (having gotten
leave for some days of his master Dametas, who now accounted him as
his son-in-law) he roamed round about the desert, to find some unknown
way that might bring him to the next seaport, as much as might be out
of all course of other passengers: which all very well succeeding him,
and he having hired a barque for his life’s traffic, and provided
horses to carry her thither, returned homeward, now come to the last
point of his care, how to go beyond the loathsome watchfulness of
these three uncomely companions, and therein did wisely consider how
they were to be taken with whom he was to deal, remembering that in
the particularities of everybody’s mind and fortune, there are
particular advantages, by which they are to be held. The muddy mind of
Dametas he found most easily stirred with covetousness. The cursed
mischievous heart of Miso, most apt to be tickled with jealousy, as
whose rotten brain could think well of nobody. But young mistress
Mopsa, who could open her eyes upon nothing that did not all to
be-wonder her, he thought curiosity the fittest bait for her. And
first for Dametas, Dorus having employed a whole day’s work, about a
ten mile off from the lodge, quite contrary way to that he meant to
take with Pamela, in digging and opening the ground under an ancient
oak that stood there, in such sort as he might longest hold Dametas’s
greedy hopes in some show of comfort, he came to his master with a
countenance mixed between cheerfulness and haste, and taking him by
the right hand, as if he had a great matter of secrecy to reveal unto
him: “Master,” said he, “I did never think that the gods had appointed
my mind freely brought up to have so {463} longing a desire to serve
you, but that they minded thereby to bring some extraordinary fruit to
one so beloved of them as your honesty makes me think you are. This
binds me even in conscience to disclose that which I persuade myself
is allotted unto you, that your fortune may be of equal balance with
your deserts.” He said no further, because he would let Dametas play
upon the bit a while, who not understanding what his words intended,
yet well finding they carried no evil news, was so much the more
desirous to know the matter, as he had free scope to imagine what
measure of good hap himself would. Therefore putting off his cap to
him, which he never had done before, and assuring him he should have
Mopsa, though she had been all made of cloth of gold, he besought
Dorus not to hold him long in hope, for that he found a thing his
heart was not able to bear. “Master,” answered Dorus, “you have so
satisfied me with promising me the utmost of my desired bliss, that if
my duty bound me not, I were in it sufficiently rewarded. To you
therefore shall my good hap be converted, and the fruit of my labour
dedicated.” Therewith he told him, how under an ancient oak (the place
he made him easily understand by sufficient marks he gave to him) he
had found digging but a little depth, scatteringly lying a great
number of rich medals, and that, piercing further into the ground he
had met with a great stone, which, by the hollow sound it yielded,
seemed to be the cover of some greater vault, and upon it a box of
cypress, with the name of the valiant Aristomenes, graven upon it: and
that within the box he found certain verses, which signified that some
depth again under that all his treasures lay hidden, what time for the
discord fell out in Arcadia, he lived banished. Therewith he gave
Dametas certain medals of gold he had long kept about him, and asked
him, because it was a thing much to be kept secret, and a matter one
man in twenty hours might easily perform, whether he would have him go
and seek the bottom of it, which he refrained to do till he knew his
mind, promising he would faithfully bring him what he found, or else
that he himself would do it, and be the first beholder of that
comfortable spectacle; no man need doubt which part Dametas would
choose, whose fancy had already devoured all this great riches, and
even now began to grudge at a partner, before he saw his own share.
Therefore taking a strong jade, laden with spades and mattocks, which
he meant to bring back otherwise laden, he went in all speed
thitherward, taking leave of nobody, only desiring Dorus he would look
well to the princess Pamela, promising him mountains of his own
labour, which nevertheless he little meant to perform, like a fool,
not considering, that no man is to be moved with part, that neglects
the whole. Thus away went Dametas, {464} having already made an image
in his fancy, what palaces he would build, how sumptuously he would
fare, and among all other things imagined what money to employ in
making coffers to keep his money; his ten miles seemed twice so many
leagues, and yet contrary to the nature of it, though it seemed long,
it was not wearisome. Many times he cursed his horse’s want of
consideration, that in so important a matter would make no greater
speed: many times he wished himself the back of an ass to help to
carry away the new sought riches (an unfortunate wisher, for if he had
as well wished the head, it had been granted him). At length being
come to the tree, which he hoped should bear so golden acorns, down
went all his instruments, and forthwith to the renting up of the
hurtless earth, where by and by he was caught with the lime of a few
promised medals, which was so perfect a pawn unto him of his further
expectation that he deemed a great number of hours well employed in
groping further into it, which with logs and great stones was made as
cumbersome as might be, till at length, with sweaty brow, he came to
the great stone. A stone, God knows, full unlike to the cover of a
monument, but yet there was the cypress box with “Aristomenes” graven
upon it, and these verses written in it.
A banish’d man, long barr’d from his desire
By inward lets, of them his state possessed,
Hid here his hopes, by which he might aspire
To have his harms with wisdom’s help redressed.
Seek then and see what man esteemeth best,
All is but this, this is our labour’s hire:
Of this we live, in this we find our rest;
Who holds this fast no greater wealth require,
Look further then, so shalt thou find at least,
A bait most fit for hungry minded guest.
He opened the box, and to his great comfort read them, and with fresh
courage went about to lift up that stone. But in the meantime, ere
Dametas was half-a-mile gone to the treasure-ward, Dorus came to Miso,
whom he found sitting in the chimney’s end, babbling to herself, and
showing by all her gestures that she was loathsomely weary of the
world, not for any hope of a better life, but finding no one good,
neither in mind nor body, whereout she might nourish a quiet thought,
having long since hated each thing else, began now to hate herself.
Before this sweet humoured dame Dorus set himself, and framed towards
her such a smiling countenance, as might seem to be mixed between a
tickled mirth and a forced pity. Miso, to whom cheerfulness in others
was ever a sauce of envy in herself, took quickly mark of his
behaviour, {465} and with a look full of forworn spite: “Now the
devil,” said she, “take these villains that can never leave grinning,
because I am not so fair as mistress Mopsa, to see how this skipjack
looks at me.” Dorus, that had the occasion he desired, “Truly
mistress,” answered he, “my smiling is not at you, but at them that
are from you, and indeed I must needs a little accord my countenance
with others’ sport.” And therewithal took her in his arms, and rocking
her to and fro, “In faith mistress,” said he, “it is high time for you
to bid us good night for ever, since others can possess your place in
your own time.” Miso, that was never void of malice enough to suspect
the uttermost evil, to satisfy a further shrewdness, took on a present
mildness, and gently desired him to tell her what he meant; “For,”
said she, “I am like enough to be knavishly dealt with by that churl
my husband.” Dorus fell off from the matter again, as if he had meant
no such thing, till by much refusing her entreaty, and vehemently
stirring up her desire to know, he had strengthened a credit in her to