The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
And having ended, he struck himself on the breast, saying, “O
miserable wretch, whither do thy destinies guide thee?” The voice made
Zelmane hasten her pace to overtake him, which having done, she
plainly perceived that it was her dear friend Musidorus; whereat
marvelling not a little, she demanded of him whether the goddess of
those woods had such a power to transform {88} every body, or whether,
as in all enterprises else he had done, he meant thus to match her in
this new alteration. “Alas,” said Musidorus, “what shall I say, who am
loth to say, and yet fain would have said? I find indeed, that all is
but lip-wisdom, which wants experience. I now, woe is me, do try what
love can do. O Zelmane, who will resist it must either have no wit, or
put out his eyes: can any man resist his creation? certainly by love
we are made, and to love we are made. Beasts only cannot discern
beauty, and let them be in the roll of beasts that do not honour it.”
The perfect friendship Zelmane bare him, and the great pity she, by
good trial, had of such cases, could not keep her from smiling at him,
remembering how vehemently he had cried out against the folly of
lovers; and therefore a little to punish him, “Why how now dear
cousin,” said she, “you that were last day so high in the pulpit
against lovers, are you now become so mean an auditor? remember that
love is a passion, and that a worthy man’s reason must ever have the
masterhood.” “I recant, I recant,” cried Musidorus, and withal falling
down prostrate, “O thou celestial or infernal spirit of love, or what
other heavenly or hellish title thou list to have, for effects of both
I find in myself, have compassion of me and let thy glory be as great
in pardoning them that be submitted to thee as in conquering those
that were rebellious.” “No, no,” said Zelmane, “I see you well enough;
you make but an interlude of my mishaps, and do but counterfeit thus
to make me see the deformity of my passions; but take heed, that this
jest do not one day turn to earnest.” “Now I beseech thee,” said
Musidorus, taking her fast by the hand, “even for the truth of our
friendship, of which, if I be not altogether an unhappy man, thou has
some remembrance, and by those secret flames which I know have
likewise nearly touched thee, make no jest of that which hath so
earnestly pierced me through, nor let that be light unto thee, which
is to me so burdenous, that I am not able to bear it.” Musidorus, both
in words and behaviour, did so lively deliver out his inward grief
that Zelmane found indeed he was throughly wounded: but there rose a
new jealousy in her mind, lest it might be with Philoclea, by whom, as
Zelmane thought, in right, all hearts and eyes should be inherited.
And therefore desirous to be cleared of that doubt, Musidorus shortly,
as in haste and full of passionate perplexedness, thus recounted his
case unto her.
“The day,” said he, “I parted from you, I being in mind to return to a
town from whence I came hither, my horse being before tired, would
scarce bear me a mile hence, where being benighted, the sight of a
candle, I saw a good way off, guided me to a young shepherd’s house,
by name Menalcas, who seeing me to be a {89} straying stranger, with
the right honest hospitality which seems to be harboured in the
Arcadian breasts, and, though not with curious costliness, yet cleanly
sufficiency entertained me; and having by talk with him found the
manner of the country something more in particular than I had by
Kalander’s report, I agreed to sojourn with him in secret, which he
faithfully promised to observe. And so hither to your arbour divers
times repaired, and here by your means had the fight, O that it had
never been so, nay, O that it might ever be so, of the goddess, who in
a definite compass can set forth infinite beauty.” All this while
Zelmane was racked with jealousy. But he went on, “For,” said he, “I
lying close, and in truth thinking of you, and saying thus to myself,
‘O sweet Pyrocles, how art thou bewitched? where is thy virtue? where
is the use of thy reason? how much am I inferior to thee in that state
of mind? and yet know I that all the heavens cannot bring me such a
thraldom.’ Scarcely, think I, had I spoken this word, when the ladies
came forth; at which sight, I think the very words returned back again
to strike my soul; at least, an unmeasurable sting I felt in myself
that I had spoken such words.” “At which sight,” said Zelmane, not
able to bear him any longer. “O,” said Musidorus, “I know your
suspicion; No, no, banish all such fear, it was, it is, and must be
Pamela.” “Then all is safe,” said Zelmane, “proceed dear Musidorus.”
“I will not,” said he, “impute it to my late solitary life, which yet
is prone to affections, nor to the much thinking of you (though that
called the consideration of love into my mind, which before I ever
neglected) not to the exaltation of Venus, nor revenge of Cupid, but
even to her, who is the planet, nay, the goddess, against which the
only shield must be my sepulchre. When I first saw her I was presently
stricken, and I (like a foolish child, that when anything hits him,
will strike himself again upon it) would needs look again, as though
I would persuade mine eyes, that they were deceived. But alas, well
have I found, that love to a yielding heart is a king; but to a
resisting, is a tyrant. The more with arguments I shaked the stake,
which he had planted in the ground of my heart, the deeper still it
sank into it. But what mean I to speak of the causes of my love, which
is as impossible to describe, as to measure the back-side of heaven?
let this word suffice, I love.
“And that you may know I do so, it was I that came in black armour to
defend her picture, where I was both prevented and beaten by you. And
so, I that waited here to do you service, have now myself most need of
succour.” “But whereupon got you yourself this apparel?” said Zelmane.
“I had forgotten to tell you,” said Musidorus, “though that were one
principal matter of my speech; so much am I now master of my own {90}
mind. But thus it happened: being returned to Menalcas’ house, full of
tormenting desire, after a while fainting under the weight, my courage
stirred up my wit to seek for some relief before I yielded to perish.
At last this came into my head, that every evening, that I had to no
purpose last used my horse and armour. I told Menalcas, that I was a
Thessalian gentleman, who by mischance having killed a great favourite
of the prince of that country, was pursued so cruelly, that in no
place but either by favour or corruption, they would obtain my
destruction, and that therefore I was determined, till the fury of my
persecutors might be assuaged, to disguise myself among the shepherds
of Arcadia, and, if it were possible, to be one of them that were
allowed the prince’s presence, because if the worst should fall that I
were discovered, yet having gotten the acquaintance of the prince, it
might happen to move his heart to protect me. Menalcas, being of an
honest disposition, pitied my case, which my face, thro’ my inward
torment, made credible; and so, I giving him largely for it, let me
have this raiment, instructing me in all particularities, touching
himself, or myself, which I desired to know; yet not trusting so much
to his constancy as that I would lay my life, and life of my life upon
it, I hired him to go into Thessalia to a friend of mine, and to
deliver him a letter from me; conjuring him to bring me as speedy an
answer as he could, because it imported me greatly to know whether
certain of my friends did yet possess any favour, whose intercessions
I might use for my restitution. He willingly took my letter, which
being well sealed, indeed contained other matter. For I wrote to my
trusty servant Calodoulus, whom you know as soon as he had delivered
the letter, he should keep him prisoner in his house, not suffering
him to have conference with any body, till he knew my further
pleasure, in all other respects that he should use him as my brother.
And is Menalcas gone, and I here a poor shepherd; more proud of this
estate than of any kingdom, so manifest it is, that the highest point
outward things can bring one unto, is the contentment of the mind,
with which no estate; without which, all estates be miserable. Now
have I chosen this day, because, as Menalcas told me, the other
shepherds are called to make their sports, and hope that you will with
your credit find means to get me allowed among them.” “You need not
doubt,” answered Zelmane, “but that I will be your good mistress:
marry, the best way of dealing must be by Dametas, who since his blunt
brain hath perceived some favour the prince doth bear unto me (as
without doubt the most servile flattery is lodged most easily in the
grossest capacity, for their ordinary conceit draweth a yielding to
their greater, and then have they not wit to discern the right degrees
of duty) is much more {91} serviceable unto me, than I can find any
cause to wish him. And therefore despair not to win him, for every
present occasion will catch his senses, and his senses are masters of
his silly mind; only reverence him, and reward him, and with that
bridle and saddle you shall well ride him.” “O heaven and earth,” said
Musidorus, “to what a pass are our minds brought that from the right
line of virtue are wried to these crooked shifts? but O love, it is
thou that doest it; thou changest name upon name; thou disguisest our
bodies, and disfigurest our minds. But indeed thou hast reason; for
though the ways be foul, the journey’s end is most fair and
honourable.”
“No more sweet Musidorus,” said Zelmane, “of these philosophies; for
here comes the very person of Dametas.” And so he did indeed, with a
sword by his side, a forest-bill on his neck, and a chopping-knife
under his girdle: in which well provided sort, he had ever gone since
the fear Zelmane had put him in. But he no sooner saw her, but with
head and arms he laid his reverence afore her, enough to have made any
man forswear all courtesy. And then in Basilius’s name he did invite
her to walk down to the place where that day they were to have the
pastorals.
But when he espied Musidorus to be none of the shepherds allowed in
that place he would fain have persuaded himself to utter some anger,
but that he durst not; yet muttering and champing, as though his cud
troubled him, he gave occasion to Musidorus to come near him, and
feign his tale of his own life: that he was a younger brother of the
shepherd Menalcas, by name Dorus, sent by his father in his tender age
to Athens, there to learn some cunning more than ordinary, that he
might be the better liked of the prince; and that after his father’s
death, his brother Menalcas lately gone thither to fetch him home, was
also deceased, where, upon his death, he had charged him to seek the
service of Dametas, and to be wholly and ever guided by him, as one in
whose judgment and integrity the prince had singular confidence. For
token whereof, he gave to Dametas a good sum of gold in ready coin:
which Menalcas had bequeathed unto him, upon condition he should
receive this poor Dorus into his service, that his mind and manners
might grow the better by his daily example. Dametas, that of all
manners of style could best conceive of golden eloquence, being withal
tickled by Musidorus’s praises, had his brain so turned, that he
became slave to that which he that sued to be his servant offered to
give him, yet, for countenance sake, he seemed very squeamish, in
respect of the charge he had of the princess Pamela. But such was the
secret operation of the gold, helped with the persuasion of the
Amazon, Zelmane (who said it was pity so handsome a young man should