The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
to have care of you, even as of mine own daughter, then lend your ears
unto me, and let not your mind arm itself with a wilfulness to be
flexible to nothing. But if I speak reason, let reason have his due
reward, persuasion. Then sweet niece,” said she, “I pray you
pre-suppose, that now, even in the midst of your agonies, which you
paint unto yourself most horrible, wishing with sighs, and praying
with vows, for a soon and safe delivery: imagine niece (I say) that
some heavenly spirit should appear unto you, and bid you follow him
through the door that goes into the garden, assuring you that you
should thereby return to your dear mother, and what other delights
soever your mind esteems delights, would you (sweet niece) would you
refuse to follow him, and say that if he led you not through the chief
gate, you would not enjoy your over-desired liberty? Would you not
drink the wine you thirst for, without it were in such a glass as you
especially fancied? Tell me (dear niece) but I will answer for you,
because I know your reason and wit is such, as must needs conclude
that such niceness can no more be in you, to disgrace such a mind,
than disgracefulness can have any place in so faultless a beauty. Your
wisdom would assuredly determine how the mark were hit, not whether
the bow were of yew or no, wherein you shot. If this be so, and thus
sure (my dear niece) it is, then, I pray you, imagine that I am that
same good angel, who grieving in your grief, and, in truth, not able
to suffer that bitter sighs should be sent forth with so sweet a
breath, am come to lead you, not only to your desired and imagined
happiness, but to a true and essential happiness; not only to liberty,
but to liberty with commandment. The way I will show you; which if it
be not the gate builded hitherto in your private choice, yet shall it
be a door to bring you through a garden of pleasures, as sweet as this
life can bring forth; nay rather, which {319} makes this life to be a
life: My son (let it be no blemish to him that I name him my son, who
was your father’s own nephew; for you know I am no small king’s
daughter) my son, I say, far passing the nearness of his kindred with
nearness of goodwill, and striving to match your matchless beauty with
a matchless affection, doth by me present unto you the full enjoying
of your liberty, so that with this gift you will accept a greater,
which is, this castle, with all the rest which you know he hath in
honourable quantity, and will confirm his gift, and your receipt of
both, with accepting him to be yours. I might say much both for the
person and matter; but who will cry out the sun shines? It is so
manifest a profit unto you, as the meanest judgment must straight
apprehend it; so far it is from the sharpness of yours, thereof to be
ignorant. Therefore (sweet niece!) let your gratefulness be my
intercession and your gentleness my eloquence, and let me carry
comfort to a heart which greatly needs it.”
Philoclea looked upon her, and cast down her eye again: “Aunt,” said
she, “I would I could be so much a mistress of my own mind as to yield
to my cousin’s virtuous request; for so I construe of it. But my heart
is already set” (and staying a while on that word, she brought forth
afterwards) “to lead a virgin’s life to my death; for such a vow I
have in myself devoutly made.” “The heavens prevent such a mischief,”
said Cecropia. “A vow, quoth you? No, no, my dear niece, nature, when
you were first born, vowed you a woman, and as she made you child of a
mother, so to do your best to be mother of a child: She gave you
beauty to move love; she gave you wit to know love; she gave you an
excellent body to reward love; which kind of liberal rewarding is
crowned with an unspeakable felicity. For this, as it bindeth the
receiver, so it makes happy the bestower. This doth not impoverish,
but enrich the giver. O the sweet name of a mother! O the comfort of
comforts to see your children grow up, in whom you are, as it were,
eternized! if you could conceive what a heart-tickling joy it is to
see your own little ones with awful love come running to your lap, and
like little models of yourself still carry you about them, you would
think unkindness in your own thoughts, that ever they did rebel
against the mean unto it. But perchance I set this blessedness before
your eyes, as captains do victory before their soldiers, to which they
must come through many pains, griefs and dangers: No, I am content you
shrink from this my counsel, if the way to come unto it be not most of
all pleasant.” “I know not” (answered the sweet Philoclea, fearing
lest silence would offend for sullenness) “what contentment you speak
of; but I am sure the best you can make of it (which is marriage) is a
burdenous yoke.” “Ah, dear niece,” said Cecropia, “how much you are
{320} deceived: A yoke, indeed, we all bear, laid upon us in our
creation, which by marriage is not increased; but thus far eased that
you have a yoke-fellow to help to draw through the cloddy cumbers of
this world. O widow-nights, bear witness with me of the difference!
How often, alas! do I embrace the orphan-side of my bed which was wont
to be imprinted by the body of my dear husband, and with tears
acknowledge that I now enjoy such a liberty as the banished man hath;
who may, if he list, wander over the world, but is for ever restrained
from his most delightful home? That I have now such a liberty as the
seeled dove hath, which, being first deprived of eyes, is then by the
falconer cast off: For believe me, niece, believe me, man’s experience
is woman’s best eye-sight. Have you ever seen a pure rose-water kept
in a crystal glass? How fine it looks, how sweet it smells while that
beautiful glass imprisons it? Break the prison; and let the water take
its own course, doth it not embrace dust, and lose all its former
sweetness and fairness? Truly so are we, if we have not the stay,
rather than the restraint of crystalline marriage. My heart melts to
think of the sweet comforts I, in that happy time, received, when I
had never cause to care, but the care was doubled: When I never
rejoiced, but that I saw my joy shine in another’s eyes. What shall I
say of the free delight which the heart might embrace without the
accusing of the inward conscience, or fear of outward shame? And is a
solitary life as good as this? Then can one string make as good music
as a consort: then can one colour set forth a beauty. But it may be,
the general consideration of marriage doth not so much mislike you, as
the applying of it to him. He is my son, I must confess I see him with
a mother’s eyes, which if they do not much deceive me, he is no such
one, over whom contempt may make a just challenge. He is comely, he is
noble, he is rich; but that which in itself should carry all
comeliness, nobility and riches, he loves you; and he loves you who is
beloved of others. Drive not away his affection (sweet lady) and make
no other lady hereafter proudly brag that she hath robbed you of so
faithful and notable a service.”
Philoclea heard some pieces of her speeches, not otherwise than one
doth when a tedious prattler cumbers the hearing of a delightful
music. For her thoughts had left her ears in that captivity, and
conveyed themselves to behold (with such eyes as imagination could
lend them) the estate of her Zelmane: for whom how well she thought
many of those sayings might have been used with a far more grateful
acceptation. Therefore listening not to dispute in a matter, whereof
herself was resolved, and desired not to inform the other; she only
told her that whilst she was so captivated she could not conceive of
any such {321} persuasions (though never so reasonable) any otherwise
than as constraints: and as constraints must needs even in nature
abhor them, which at her liberty, in their own force of reason, might
more prevail with her; and so fain would have returned the strength of
Cecropia’s persuasions, to have procured freedom.
But neither her witty words in an enemy, nor those words, made more
than eloquent with passing through such lips, could prevail in
Cecropia, more than her persuasions could win Philoclea to disavow her
former vow, or to leave the prisoner Zelmane, for the commanding
Amphialus. So that both sides being desirers, and neither granters,
they broke off conference; Cecropia sucking up more and more spite out
of her denial, which yet for her son’s sake she disguised with a
vizard of kindness, leaving no office unperformed which might either
witness, or endear her son’s affection. Whatsoever could be imagined
likely to please her was with liberal diligence performed: musics at
her window, and especially such musics as might (with doleful
embassage) call the mind to think of sorrow, and think of it with
sweetness; with ditties so sensibly expressing Amphialus’s case, that
every word seemed to be but a diversifying of the name of Amphialus.
Daily presents, as it were oblations to pacify an angry deity, sent
unto her; wherein, if the workmanship of the form had striven with the
sumptuousness of the matter, as much did the invention, in the
application, contend to have the chief excellency: for they were as so
many stories of his disgraces, and her perfections; where the richness
did invite the eyes, the fashion did entertain the eyes, and the
device did teach the eyes, the present misery of the presenter himself
awfully serviceable; which was the more notable, as his authority was
manifest. And for the bondage wherein she lived, all means used to
make known that if it were a bondage, it was a bondage only knit in
love-knots: but she in heart already understanding no language but
one, the music wrought, indeed, a dolefulness, but it was a
dolefulness to be in his power: the ditty intended for Amphialus, she
translated to Zelmane: the presents seemed so many tedious clogs of a
thralled obligation: and his service, the more diligent it was, the
more it did exprobrate, as she thought, unto her, her unworthy estate:
that even he that did her service, had authority of commanding her,
only construing her servitude in his own nature, esteeming it a right,
and a right better servitude: so that all their shots, how well soever
levelled, being carried awry from the mark by the storm of her
mislike, the prince Amphialus affectionately languished, and Cecropia
spitefully cunning, disdained at the barrenness of their success.
Which willingly Cecropia would have revenged, but that she saw her
hurt could not be divided from her son’s mischief: {322} wherefore she
bethought herself to attempt Pamela, whose beauty being equal, she
hoped if she might be won, that her son’s thoughts would rather rest
on a beautiful gratefulness than still be tormented with a disdaining
beauty. Therefore giving new courage to her wicked inventions, and
using the more industry, because she had missed in this, and taking
even precepts of prevailing in Pamela, by her failing in Philoclea,
she went to her chamber, and (according to her own ungracious method
of subtle proceeding) stood listening at the door, because that out of
the circumstance of her present behaviour, there might kindly arise a
fit beginning of her intended discourse.
And so she might perceive that Pamela did walk up and down, full of
deep, though patient thoughts. For her look and countenance was
settled, her pace soft, and almost still of one measure, without any
passionate gesture, or violent motion: till at length, as it were
awaking, and strengthening herself; “Well,” said she, “yet this is the
best, and of this I am sure, that howsoever they wrong me, they cannot
over-master God: no darkness blinds his eyes, no jail bars Him out. To
whom then else should I fly, but to Him for succour?” and therewith