The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
Dametas, “I shall grow,” said she, “skilful in country matters if I
have often conference with your servant.” “In sooth,” answered Dametas
with a graceless scorn, “the lad may prove well enough, if he over
soon think not too well of himself, and will bear away that he heareth
of his elders.” And therewith as they walked to the other lodge, to
make Zelmane find she might have spent her time better with him, he
began with a wild method to run over all the art of husbandry,
especially employing his tongue about well dunging of a field, while
poor Zelmane yielded her ears to those tedious strokes, not warding
them so much as with any one answer, till they came to Basilius and
Gynecia, who attended for her in a coach to carry her abroad to see
some sports prepared for her. Basilius and Gynecia, sitting in the one
end, placed her at the other, with her left side to Philoclea. Zelmane
was moved in her mind to have kissed their feet for the favour of so
blessed a seat, for the narrowness of the coach made them join from
the foot to the shoulders very close together, the truer touch whereof
though it were barred by their envious apparel, yet as a perfect
magnet, though but in an ivory box, will through the box send forth
his embracing virtue to a beloved needle, so this imparadised
neighbourhood made Zelmane’s soul cleave unto her, both through {139}
the ivory case of her body and the apparel which did overcloud it. All
the blood of Zelmane’s body stirring in her, as wine will do when
sugar is hastily put into it, seeking to suck the sweetness of the
beloved guest: her heart like a lion new imprisoned, seeing him that
restrains his liberty before the grate, not panting, but striving
violently, if it had been possible, to have leaped into the lap of
Philoclea. But Dametas, even then proceeding from being master of a
cart, to be doctor of a coach, not a little proud in himself that his
whip at that time guided the rule of Arcadia, drove the coach, the
cover whereof was made with such joints that as they might, to avoid
the weather, pull it up close when they listed, so when they would
they might put each end down and remain as discovered and open sighted
as on horseback, till upon the side of the forest they had both
greyhounds, spaniels, and hounds, whereof the first might seem the
lords, the second the gentlemen, and the last the yeoman of dogs; a
cast of merlins there was besides, which, flying of a gallant height
over certain bushes, would beat the birds that rose down into the
bushes, as falcons will do wild-fowl over a river. But the sport which
for that day Basilius would principally show to Zelmane, was the
mounty at a heron, which getting up on his waggling wings with pain,
till he was come to some height (as though the air next to the earth
were not fit for his great body to fly through) was now grown to
diminish the sight of himself, and to give example to great persons
that the higher they be the less they should show; when a gyrfalcon
was cast off after her, who straight spying where the prey was, fixing
her eye with desire, and guiding her wing by her eye, used no more
strength than industry. For as a good builder to a high tower will not
make his stair upright, but winding almost the full compass about,
that the steepness be the more unsensible, so she, seeing the towering
of her pursued chase, went circling and compassing about, rising so
with the less sense of rising, and yet finding that way scantly serve
the greediness of her haste, as an ambitious body will go far out of
the direct way to win to a point of height which he desires; so would
she, as it were, turn tail to the heron, and fly out quite another
way, but all was to return in a higher pitch, which once gotten, she
would either beat with cruel assaults the heron, who now was driven to
the best defence of force, since flight would not serve, or else
clasping with him, come down together, to be parted by the
over-partial beholders.
Divers of which flights Basilius showing to Zelmane, thus was the
riches of the time spent, and the day deceased before it was thought
of, till night like a degenerating successor made his departure the
better remembered. And therefore, so constrained, they willed Dametas
to drive homeward, who, half sleeping, half {140} musing about the
mending of a wine-press, guided the horses so ill that the wheel
coming over a great stub of a tree, it overturned the coach. Which
though it fell violently upon the side where Zelmane and Gynecia sat,
yet for Zelmane’s part, she would have been glad of the fall which
made her bear the sweet burden of Philoclea, but that she feared she
might receive some hurt. But indeed neither she did, nor any of the
rest, by reason they kept their arms and legs within the coach, saving
Gynecia, who with the only bruise of the fall, had her shoulder put
out of joint, which, though by one of the falconers cunning it was set
well again, yet with much pain was she brought to the lodge; and pain,
fetching his ordinary companion, a fever, with him, drove her to
entertain them both in her bed.
But neither was the fever of such impatient heat, as the inward
plague-sore of her affection, nor the pain half so noisome, as the
jealousy she conceived of her daughter Philoclea, lest this time of
her sickness might give apt occasion to Zelmane, whom she misdoubted.
Therefore she called Philoclea to her, and though it were late in the
night, commanded her in her ear to go to the other lodge, and send
Miso to her, with whom she would speak, and she to lie with her sister
Pamela. The meanwhile Gynecia kept Zelmane with her, because she would
be sure she should be out of the lodge before she licensed Zelmane.
Philoclea, not skill’d in any thing better than obedience, went
quietly down, and the moon then full, not thinking scorn to be a
torch-bearer to such beauty, guided her steps, whose motions bear a
mind which bare in itself far more stirring motions. And alas! sweet
Philoclea, how hath my pen till now forgot thy passions, since to thy
memory principally all this long matter is intended? pardon the
slackness to come to those woes, which, having caused in others, thou
didst feel in thyself.
The sweet minded Philoclea was in their degree of well-doing, to whom
the not knowing of evil serveth for a ground of virtue, and hold their
inward powers in better form with an unspotted simplicity, than many
who rather cunningly seek to know what goodness is than willingly take
into themselves the following of it. But as that sweet and simple
breath of heavenly goodness is the easier to be altered because it
hath not passed through the worldly wickedness, nor feelingly found
the evil that evil carries with it, so now the lady Philoclea (whose
eyes and senses had received nothing, but according as the natural
course of each thing required; whose tender youth had obediently lived
under her parents behests, without framing out of her own will the
fore-choosing of any thing) when now she came to a point wherein her
judgment was to be practised in knowing faultiness by his first {141}
tokens, she was like a young fawn who, coming in the wind of the
hunters, doth not know whether it be a thing or not to be eschewed;
whereof at this time she began to get a costly experience. For after
that Zelmane had a while lived in the lodge with her, and that her
only being a noble stranger had bred a kind of heedful attention; her
coming to that lonely place, where she had nobody but her parents, a
willingness of conversation; her wit and behaviour a liking and silent
admiration; at length the excellency of her natural gifts, joined with
the extreme shows she made of most devout honouring Philoclea
(carrying thus, in one person, the only two bands of goodwill,
loveliness and lovingness) brought forth in her heart a yielding to a
most friendly affection; which when it had gotten so full possession
of the keys of her mind that it would receive no message from her
senses without that affection were the interpreter, then straight grew
an exceeding delight still to be with her, with an unmeasurable liking
of all that Zelmane did: matters being so turned in her, that where at
first liking her manners did breed goodwill, now goodwill became the
chief cause of liking her manners: so that within a while Zelmane was
not prized for her demeanour, but the demeanour was prized because it
was Zelmane’s. Then followed that most natural effect of conforming
herself to that which she did like, and not only wishing to be herself
such another in all things but to ground an imitation upon so much an
esteemed authority, so that the next degree was to mark all Zelmane’s
doings, speeches, and fashions, and to take them into herself as a
pattern of worthy proceeding. Which when once it was enacted, not only
by the commonality of passions, but agreed unto by her most noble
thoughts, and that reason itself, not yet experienced in the issues of
such matters, had granted his royal assent, then friendship, a
diligent officer, took care to see the statute thoroughly observed.
Then grew on that not only she did imitate the soberness of her
countenance, the gracefulness of her speech, but even their particular
gestures, so that as Zelmane did often eye her, she would often eye
Zelmane; and as Zelmane’s eyes would deliver a submissive, but
vehement desire in their look, she, though as yet she had not the
desire in her, yet should her eyes answer in like piercing kindness of
a look. Zelmane, as much as Gynecia’s jealousy would suffer, desired
to be near Philoclea; Philoclea, as much as Gynecia’s jealousy would
suffer, desired to be near Zelmane. If Zelmane took her hand, and
softly strained it, she also, thinking the knots of friendship ought
to be mutual, would, with a sweet fastness, show she was loth to part
from it. And if Zelmane sighed, she should sigh also; when Zelmane was
sad, she deemed it wisdom, and therefore she would be sad too. {142}
Zelmane’s languishing countenance with crossed arms, and sometimes
cast up eyes, she thought to have an excellent grace, and therefore
she also willingly put on the same countenance, till at the last, poor
soul, ere she were aware, she accepted not only the badge, but the
service; not only the sign, but the passion signified. For whether it
were that her wit in continuance did find that Zelmane’s friendship
was full of impatient desire, having more than ordinary limits, and
therefore she was content to second Zelmane, though herself knew not
the limits, or that in truth, true love, well considered, hath an
infective power, at last she fell in acquaintance with love’s
harbinger, wishing; first she would wish that they two might live all
their lives together, like two of Diana’s nymphs. But that wish she
thought not sufficient, because she knew there would be more nymphs
besides them, who also would have their part in Zelmane. Then would
she wish that she were her sister, that such a natural band might make
her more special to her, but against that, she considered, that,
though being her sister, if she happened to be married she should be
robbed of her. Then grown bolder she would wish either herself, or
Zelmane, a man, that there might succeed a blessed marriage between
them. But when that wish had once displayed his ensign in her mind,
then followed whole squadrons of longings, that so it might be with a
main battle of mislikings and repinings against their creation, that
so it was not. Then dreams by night began to bring more unto her than
she durst wish by day, whereout waking did make her know herself the
better by the image of those fancies. But as some diseases when they
are easy to be cured, they are hard to be known, but when they grow
easy to be known, they are almost impossible to be cured, so the sweet