The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
yet did sometimes use the advantage of her sex in kissing Zelmane, as
she sat upon her bed-side by her, which was but still more and more
sweet incense to cast upon the fire wherein her heart was sacrificed.
Once Zelmane could not stir, but that, as if they had been poppets,
whose motion stood only upon her pleasure, Basilius with serviceable
steps, Gynecia with greedy eyes, would follow her. Basilius’s mind
Gynecia well knew, and could have found in her heart to laugh at, if
mirth could have born any proportion with her fortune. But all
Gynecia’s actions were interpreted by Basilius, as proceeding from
jealously of his amorousness. Zelmane betwixt both, like the poor
child, whose father, while he beats him, will make him believe it is
for love; or like the sick man, to whom the physician swears the
ill-tasting wallowish medicine he proffers is of a good taste: their
love was hateful, their courtesy troublesome, their presence cause of
her absence thence, where not only her light, but her life consisted.
Alas! thought she to herself, dear Dorus, what odds is there between
thy destiny and mine? For thou hast to do, in thy pursuit but with
shepherdish folks, who trouble thee with a little envious care, and
affected diligence; but I, besides that I have now Miso, the worst of
thy devils, let loose upon me, am waited on by princes, and watched by
the two wakeful eyes of love and jealousy. Alas! incomparable
Philoclea, thou ever seest me, but dost never see me as I am: thou
hearest willingly all that I dare say, and I dare not say that which
were most fit for thee to hear. Alas! who ever but I was imprisoned in
liberty, and banished being still present? to whom but me have lovers
been jailors, and honour a captivity?
But the night coming on with her silent steps upon them, they parted
each from other, if at least they could be parted, of whom every one
did live in another, and went about to flatter sleep in their beds,
that disdained to bestow itself liberally upon such eyes, which by
their will would ever be looking, and in least measure upon Gynecia.
Who, when Basilius after long tossing was gotten asleep, and the
cheerful comfort of the lights removed from her, kneeling up in her
bed, began with a soft voice, and swollen heart, to renew the curses
of her birth; and then in a manner embracing {208} her bed: “Ah
chastest bed of mine,” said she, “which never heretofore could’st
accuse me of one defiled thought, how can’st thou now receive this
disastered changeling? happy, happy, be they only which be not; and
thy blessedness only in this respect thou mayest feel that thou hast
no feeling.” With that she furiously tore off great part of her fair
hair: “Take care, O forgotten virtue,” said she, “this miserable
sacrifice; while my soul was clothed with modesty, that was a comely
ornament: now why should nature crown that head, which is so wicked,
as her only desire is she cannot be enough wicked?” more she would
have said, but that Basilius, awaked with the noise, took her in his
arms, and began to comfort her, the good man thinking it was all for a
jealous love of him, which humour if she would a little have
maintained, perchance it might have weakened his new-conceived
fancies. But he, finding her answers wandering from the purpose, left
her to herself (glad the next morning to take the advantage of a
sleep, which a little before day overwatched with sorrow, her tears
had as it were sealed up in her eyes) to have the more conference with
Zelmane, who baited on this fashion by those two lovers, and ever kept
from any mean to declare herself, found in herself a daily increase of
her violent desires; like a river, the more swelling, the more his
current is stopped.
The chief recreation she could find in her anguish, was sometime to
visit that place, where first she was so happy as to see the cause of
her unhap. There would she kiss the ground, and thank the trees, bless
the air, and do dutiful reverence to everything that she thought did
accompany her at their first meeting: then return again to her inward
thoughts; sometimes despair darkening all her imaginations, sometimes
the active passion of love cheering and clearing her invention, how to
unbar that cumbersome hindrance of her two ill-matched lovers. But
this morning Basilius himself gave her good occasion to go beyond
them. For having combed and tricked himself more curiously than any
time forty winters before, coming where Zelmane was, he found her
given over to her musical muses, to the great pleasure of good old
Basilius, who retired himself behind a tree, while she with a most
sweet voice did utter those passionate verses.
Loved I am, and yet complain of love:
As loving not, accus’d in love I die.
When pity most I crave, I cruel prove:
Still seeking love, love found, as much I fly.
Burnt in myself, I muse at other’s fire;
What I call wrong, I do the same and more:
Barr’d of my will, I have beyond desire;
I wail for want, and yet am chok’d with store.
{209}
This is thy work, thou god for ever blind:
Though thousands old, a boy entitled still.
Thus children do the silly birds they find,
With stroking hurt, and too much cramming kill.
Yet thus much love, O love, I crave of thee:
Let me be lov’d, or else not loved be.
Basilius made no great haste from beyond the trees, till he perceived
she had fully ended her music. But then loth to lose the precious
fruit of time, he presented himself unto her, falling down upon both
his knees, and holding up his hands, as the old governess of Danae is
painted, when she suddenly saw the golden shower, “O heavenly woman,
or earthly goddess,” said he, “let not my presence be odious unto you,
nor my humble suit seem of small weight in your ears. Vouchsafe your
eyes to descend upon this miserable old man, whose life hath hitherto
been maintained but to serve as an increase of your beautiful
triumphs. You only have overthrown me, and in my bondage consists my
glory. Suffer not your own work to be despised of you, but look upon
him with pity, whose life serves for your praise.” Zelmane, keeping a
countenance askance she understood him not, told him it became her
evil to suffer such excessive reverence of him, but that it worse
became her to correct him, to whom she owed duty; that the opinion she
had of his wisdom was such as made her esteem greatly of his words;
but that the words themselves sounded so, that she could not imagine
what they might intend. “Intend,” said Basilius, proud that that was
brought in question, “what may they intend but a refreshing of my
soul, and assuaging of my heart, and enjoying those your excellencies,
wherein my life is upheld, and my death threatened?” Zelmane lifting
up her face as if she had received a mortal injury of him, “and is
this the devotion your ceremonies have been bent to?” said she: “is it
the disdain of my estate, or the opinion of my lightness that have
emboldened such base fancies towards me? enjoying quoth you? now
little joy come to them that yield to such enjoying.”
Poor Basilius was so appalled that his legs bowed under him; his eyes
looked as though he would gladly hide himself, and his old blood going
to his heart, a general shaking all over his body possessed him. At
length, with a wan mouth, he was about to give a stammering answer,
when it came into Zelmane’s head by this device, to make her profit of
his folly; and therefore with a relented countenance, thus said unto
him, “Your words, mighty Prince, were unfit either for me to hear, or
you to speak, but yet the large testimony I see of your affection
makes me willing to suppress a great number of errors. Only thus much
I think good {210} to say, that the same words in my lady Philoclea’s
mouth, as from one woman to another, so as there were no other body
by, might have had a better grace, and perchance have found a gentler
receipt.”
Basilius, whose senses by desire were held open, and conceit was by
love quickened, heard scarcely half her answer out, but that, as if
speedy flight might save his life, he turned away, and ran with all
the speed his body would suffer him towards his daughter Philoclea,
whom he found at that time dutifully watching by her mother, and Miso
curiously watching her, having left Mopsa to do the like service to
Pamela. Basilius forthwith calling Philoclea aside, with all the
conjuring words which desire could indite and authority utter,
besought her she would preserve his life, in whom her life was begun,
she would save his grey hairs from rebuke, and his aged mind from
despair; that if she were not cloyed with his company, and that she
thought not the earth over-burdened with him, she would cool his fiery
grief, which was to be done but by her breath: that in fine,
whatsoever he was, he was nothing but what it pleased Zelmane; all the
powers of his spirit depending of her, that if she continued cruel he
could no more sustain his life than the earth remain fruitful in the
sun’s continual absence. He concluded, she should in one payment
requite all his deserts; and that she needed not to disdain any
service, though never so mean, which was warranted by the sacred name
of father. Philoclea more glad than ever she had known herself that
she might, by this occasion, enjoy the private conference of Zelmane,
yet had so sweet a feeling of virtue in her mind, that she would not
suffer a vile colour to be cast over fair thoughts, but with humble
grace answered her father: that there needed neither promise nor
persuasion to her, to make her do her uttermost for her father’s
service; that for Zelmane’s favour, she would in all virtuous sort
seek it towards him: and that as she would not pierce further into his
meaning, than himself should declare, so would she interpret all his
doings to be accomplished in goodness: and therefore desired, if
otherwise it were, that he would not impart it to her, who then should
be forced to begin, by true obedience, a show of disobedience: rather
performing his general commandment, which had ever been to embrace
virtue than any new particular sprung out of passion, and contrary to
the former. Basilius content to take that, since he could have no
more, thinking it a great point, if, by her means, he could get but a
more free access unto Zelmane, allowed her reasons, and took her
proffer thankfully, desiring only a speedy return of comfort.
Philoclea was parting, and Miso straight behind her, like Alecto
following Proserpina. But Basilius forced her to stay, though with
much ado, she being {211} sharp set upon the fulfilling of a shrewd
office in over-looking Philoclea; and said to Basilius that she did as
she was commanded, and could not answer it to Gynecia, if she were any
whit from Philoclea, telling him true, that he did evil to take her
charge from her. But Basilius, swearing he would put out her eyes, if
she stirred a foot to trouble his daughter, gave her a stop for that
while.
So away departed Philoclea, with a new field of fancies for her
travailing mind: for well she saw her father was grown her adverse
party, and yet her fortune such, as she must favour her rival; and the
fortune of that fortune such, as neither that did hurt her, nor any
contrary mean help her.
But she walked but a little on, before she saw Zelmane lying upon a
bank, with her face so bent over Ladon, that, her tears falling into
the water, one might have thought that she began meltingly to be
metamorphosed to the under-running river. But by and by with speech
she made known, as well that she lived, as that she sorrowed. “Fair
streams,” said she, “that do vouchsafe in your clearness to represent
unto me, my blubbered face, let the tribute offer of my tears unto
you, procure your stay a while with me, that I may begin yet at last