The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
“Alas!” would she say, “only Philoclea hast thou not so much feeling
of thine own force as to know no new conqueror can prevail against thy
conquests? Was ever any dazzled with the moon that used his eyes to
the beams of the sun? Is he carried away with a greedy desire of
acorns that hath had his senses ravished with a garden of most
delightful fruits? O Philoclea, Philoclea, be thou but as merciful a
princess to my mind as thou art a true possessor, and I shall have as
much cause of gladness, as thou hast no cause of misdoubting? O no,
no, when a man’s own heart is the gage of his debt, when a man’s own
thoughts are willing witnesses to his promise; lastly, when a man is
the jailor over himself; there is little doubt of breaking credit, and
less doubt of such an escape.”
In this combat of Zelmane’s doubtful imaginations, in the end reason,
well-backed with the vehement desire to bring her matter soon to the
desired haven, did over-rule the boiling of her inward kindness,
though as I say with such a manifest strife, that both Basilius and
Gynecia’s well-waiting eyes, had marked her muses had laboured in
deeper subjects than ordinary: which she likewise perceiving they had
perceived, awaking herself out of those thoughts, and principally
caring how to satisfy Gynecia, whose judgment and passion she stood
most in regard of, bowing her head to her attentive ears. “Madam,”
said she, “with practice of my thoughts, I have found out a way, by
which your contentment shall draw on my happiness.” Gynecia delivering
in her face as thankful a joyfulness as her heart could hold, said,
“It was then time to retire themselves to their rest, for what with
riding abroad the day before, and late sitting up for eclogues, their
bodies had {484} dearly purchased that night’s quiet.” So went they
home to their lodge, Zelmane framing of both sides bountiful measures
of loving countenances to either’s joy, and neither’s jealousy, to the
special comfort of Basilius, whose weaker bowels were straight full
with the least liquor of hope. So that still holding her by the hand,
and sometimes tickling it, he went by her with the most gay conceits
that ever had entered his brains, growing now so hearted in his
resolution that he little respected Gynecia’s presence. But with a
lustier note than wonted, clearing his voice, and cheering his
spirits, looking still upon Zelmane, whom now the moon did beautify
with her shining almost at the full, as if her eyes had been his
song-book, he did the message of his mind in singing these verses.
When two suns do appear,
Some say it doth betoken wonders near,
As prince’s loss or change:
Two gleaming suns of splendour like I see,
And seeing feel in me
Of prince’s heart quite lost the ruin strange.
But now each where doth range
With ugly cloak the dark envious night:
Who full of guilty spite,
Such living beams should her black seat assail,
Too weak for them our weaker sight doth veil.
“No,” says fair moon, “my light
Shall bar that wrong, and though it not prevail
Like to my brother’s rays, yet those I send
Hurt not the face, which nothing can amend.”
And by that time being come to the lodge, and visited the sweet
Philoclea, with much less than natural care of the parents, and much
less than wanted kindness of Zelmane, each party full fraught with
diversly working fancies, made their pillows weak props of their
over-laden heads. Yet of all other were Zelmane’s brain most
turmoiled, troubled with love both active and passive; and lastly, and
especially with care, how to use her short limited time to the best
purpose, by some wise and happy diverting her two lovers’ unwelcome
desires. Zelmane having had the night, her only counsellor in the busy
enterprise she was to undertake, and having all that time mused, and
yet not fully resolved, how she might join prevailing with preventing,
was offended with the day’s bold entry into her chamber, as if he had
now by custom grown an assured bringer of evil news. Which she taking
a cittern to her, did lay to Aurora’s charge, with these well-sung
verses:
{485}
Aurora now thou showest thy blushing light,
Which oft to hope lays out a guileful bait,
That trusts in time to find the way aright,
To ease those pains, which on desire do wait.
Blush on for shame: that still with thee do light
On pensive souls (instead of restful bait)
Care upon care (instead of doing right)
To over pressed breasts, more grievous weight.
As oh! myself, whose woes are never light
(Tied to the stake of doubt) strange passion’s bait.
While thy known course observing nature’s right,
Stirs me to think what dangers lie in wait,
For mischiefs great, day after day doth show,
Make me still fear, thy fair appearing show.
“Alas!” said she, “am I not run into a strange gulf, that am fain for
love to hurt her I love? and because I detest the others, to please
them I detest? O only Philoclea, whose beauty is matched with nothing
but with the unspeakable beauty of thy fairest mind, if thou didst see
upon what rack my tormented soul is set, little would you think I had
any scope now to leap to any new change.” With that with hasty hands
she got herself up, turning her sight to everything, as if change of
objects might help her invention. So went she again to the cave, where
forthwith it came into her head that should be the fittest place to
perform her exploit, of which she had now a kind of confused conceit,
although she had not set down in her fancy, the meeting with each
particularity that might fall out. But as the painter doth at the
first but show a rude proportion of the thing he imitates, which after
with more curious hand he draws to the representing each lineament, so
had her thoughts, beating about it continually, received into them a
ground-plot of her device, although she had not in each part shaped it
according to a full determination. But in this sort having early
visited the morning’s beauty in those pleasant deserts, she came to
the king and queen, and told them that for the performance of certain
country devotions, which only were to be exercised in solitariness,
she did desire their leave she might for a few days lodge herself in
the cave, the fresh sweetness of which did greatly delight her in that
hot country; and that for that small space they would not otherwise
trouble themselves in visiting her, but at such times as she would
come to wait upon them, which should be every day at certain hours;
neither should it be long, she would desire this privileged absence of
them. They, whose minds had already taken out that lesson, perfectly
to yield a willing obedience {486} to all her desires, with consenting
countenance made her soon see her pleasure was a law unto them. Both
indeed inwardly glad of it, Basilius hoping that her dividing herself
from them, might yet give him some fitter occasion of coming in secret
to her, whose favourable face had lately strengthened his fainting
courage. But Gynecia of all other most joyous, holding herself assured
that this was but a prologue to the play she had promised her.
Thus both flattering themselves with diversly grounded hopes, they
rang a bell, which served to call certain poor women which ever lay in
cabins not far off, to do the household services of both lodges, and
never came to either but being called for, and commanded them to carry
forthwith Zelmane’s bed and furniture of her chamber into the pleasant
cave, and to deck it up as finely as it was possible for them, that
their soul’s rest might rest her body to her best pleasing manner:
that was with all diligence performed of them, and Zelmane already in
possession of her new-chosen lodging; where she like one of Vesta’s
nuns, entertained herself for a few days in all show of straightness,
yet once a day coming to her duty to the king and queen, in whom the
seldomness of the sight increased the more unquiet longing, though
somewhat qualified, as her countenance was decked to either of them
with more comfort than wonted; especially to Gynecia, who seeing her,
wholly neglected her daughter Philoclea, had now promised herself a
full possession of Zelmane’s heart, still expecting the fruit of the
happy and hoped for invention. But both she and Basilius kept such a
continual watch about the precincts of the cave, that either of them
was a bar to the other from having any secret communing with Zelmane.
While in the meantime the sweet Philoclea forgotten of her father,
despised of her mother, and in appearance left of Zelmane, had yielded
up her soul to be a prey to sorrow and unkindness, not with raging
conceit of revenge, as had passed through the wise and stout heart of
her mother, but with a kindly meekness taking upon her the weight of
her own woes, and suffering them to have so full a course, as it did
exceedingly weaken the estate of her body; as well for which cause, as
for that she could not see Zelmane, without expressing, more than she
would, how far now her love was imprisoned in extremity of sorrow, she
bound herself first to the limits of her own chamber, and after (grief
breeding sickness) of her bed. But Zelmane having now a full liberty
to cast about every way how to bring her conceived attempt to a
desired success, was oft so perplexed with the manifold difficulty of
it, that sometimes she would resolve by force to take her away, though
it were with the death of her parents, sometimes to go away with
Musidorus, and bring both their forces, so to win her. {487} But
lastly, even the same day that Musidorus by feeding the humour of his
three loathsome guardians, had stolen away the princess Pamela
(whether it were that love meant to match them every way, or that her
friend’s example had helped her invention, or that indeed Zelmane
forbare to practise her device till she found her friend had passed
thro’ his): the same day, I say, she resolved on a way to rid out of
the lodge her two cumbersome lovers, and in the night to carry away
Philoclea: whereunto she was assured her own love no less than her
sister’s, would easily win her consent; hoping that although their
abrupt parting had not suffered her to demand of Musidorus which way
he meant to direct his journey; yet either they should by some good
fortune find him; or if that course failed, yet they might well
recover some town of the Helots, near the frontiers of Arcadia, who
being newly again up in arms against the nobility, she knew would be
as glad of her presence, as she of their protection. Therefore having
taken order for all things requisite for their going, and first put on
a slight under-suit of man’s apparel, which before for such purposes
she had provided, she curiously trimmed herself to the beautifying of
her beauties, that being now at her last trial she might come unto it
in her bravest armour. And so putting on that kind of mild
countenance, which doth encourage the looker on to hope for a gentle
answer, according to her received manner, she left the pleasant
darkness of her melancholy cave, to go take her dinner of the King and
Queen, and give unto them both a pleasant food of seeing the owner of
their desires. But even as the Persians were anciently wont to leave
no rising-sun unsaluted, but as his fair beams appeared clearer unto
them, would they more heartily rejoice, laying upon them a great
foretoken of their following fortune: so was there no time that
Zelmane encountered their eyes with her beloved presence, but that it
bred a kind of burning devotion in them, yet so much the more gladding
their greedy souls, as her countenance was cleared with more favour
unto them; which now being determinately framed to the greatest
descent of kindness, it took such hold of her unfortunate lovers, that