ARCADIA BOOK III (continued 5)

The impetuous storm that transported the spirit of Anaxius, had quickly blown him down the stairs, and up the door, his sword ushering his way, till his eyes were encountered with the beams of the lightning weapons of a small number, which rather seemed surprised within the castle, than to have surprised the castle. Yet they had speedily purchased a great room for so small a company, challenging as their own all the bounds that their swords could compass: and in effect their enemies proved their fewness many, reckoning the black knight and his second (as cyphers are esteemed when valued by others, over which they are raised) not for the number which indeed they were, but for the number which they were worth. These three were quickly known by their wonted arms; but more by their wonted valour. The court had been a fitter list for two, than a field for so many, where the narrowness of the place, not giving place to sleight, there was no way but by plain force; so that the greatest cowards were as forward as the most courageous, fear making them bold, who saw no refuge but by fighting; which made the conflict exceeding cruel, either of the parties having more spurs than one to draw blood.

The Amphialians, besides their rage for being abused by an unexpected stratagem, and their desire to defend the place, being bound both by private interest and public vows; they had added further, to make up the accomplishment of a just wrath, the means of revenge, as they thought, on their master’s murderer; looking no otherwise on the black knight than as on him who had buried all their hopes in the ruins of Amphialus, whereof to their further grief, they had been idle witnesses. All this made them desperately endeavour that the eyes of Anaxius might be entertained with their victory, before his ears could be burdened with their error; chiefly at his coming, those of his own train kindled their courage at the torches of his eyes, prodigious comets of a deluge of blood. As for the pursued pursuers, like those who landing to make war in an island burn the ships which brought them thither, by the impossibility of their return to show the desperate necessity of their victory; they were assured they could neither advance nor retire, but over the bellies of their enemies; yet were they not so desperate of their retreat, as confident of their victory. The black knight, though all the giants that fought against the gods had been there, he thought they could not hinder him from going where his heart was already, nor from prevailing where the prize was the delivery of his lady, and friend, the double treasures of his soul, whereof any was valued above his life, yea, both were balanced with his honour; so that he did show not only the height of valour, but a ravishing of his soul, and a transportation of magnanimity, far from the level of ordinary aims, and even scarce within the prospect of more lofty thoughts. Yet neither love nor courage could blind his judgment, in seeing his advantage: marching with his company ever the next wall, to prevent being compassed: though sometimes making brave sallies. Which Anaxius at his first approach espying, upbraided his own troop as unworthy of his attendance, and all as traitors in receiving, or dastards in not expelling that, in his eyes, contemned crew, oftentimes urging them by their retiring to make way for him, and he alone would either beat them over the walls, or in the walls: for the truth is, they seemed all too small a sacrifice to appease his high indignation. It was superfluous labour for Alecto to inflame his soul with poisonous inspirations; for his soul might have furnished all the infernal furies with fury, and yet have continued the most furious of all itself. Rage and disdain, burning his bosom, made him utter a roaring voice, as if his breath had been able to have blown away the world, which for the sound that his sword made, could not distinctly be understood.

The first whom he encountered, lifting up his hand to strike, and withal opening his mouth, as if intending some speech, his proposition was prevented by an active answer, cutting him from the lips to the ears, so by opening his mouth, restraining his speech. The knight of the sheep succeeding in his place, a vindictive heir, was exchanging blows with Anaxius with no disadvantage, when suddenly a dart, none knew to whose hand the honour of it was due, did wound him in the thigh, which he doubtful to whom he stood debtor, did pay back to many, an extraordinary interest, with the death of someone striving to defray every drop of his blood.

The black knight, black indeed to all his adversaries, when viewing the wonderful valour of Anaxius, with whom then rival in fame he entertained a terrible emulation, what bred terror in others, bred in him contentment; that his conquest, whereof he never doubted, might be endeared by the difficulty, and his victory be honoured by so honourable an enemy, with whom, above all others, he laboured to meet, by the ruin of many making a room where they might fight.

But in the meantime the torrent of the violence of Anaxius was interrupted by a sudden tumult; seeming to proceed from an ambushment broken forth from the houses behind them. And no wonder though all thought so: the two swords of Zelmane being riotous in their charges, were so covetous to extend their confines. She following, or rather, as a falcon in an earnest chase, flying down the stairs after him, did not overtake Anaxius but with her eyes till he was walled about with the armed multitude, and then, like a lioness lately enraged, that had been long famished in prison, she ranged over all for her prey: but yet like a cunning hound, that out of a whole herd of deer, doth only single him out with whom she had entered first in hostility (a little drop of his blood having betrayed all the rest) she disdained to fight with any other, but would be resisted by none till she might unbend all her forces on Anaxius, whose sight as soon as her eyes had greedily swallowed, she burst forth: “Base dastard, who hast abused the world with shadows of worth, yet art void of all valour, having doubly forfeited the usurped title of honour, in offering injurious violence to a woman, and yet flying the just violence of a woman, to hide thyself (being protected by the shield of some trusted attender) where the sufficiency of others may conceal thy cowardice: but all this shall not defraud my wrath, nor prevent thy punishment.”

Anaxius, more troubled with these words, than if all the swords of the enemies had lighted upon him (whom for the highest of all his wishes, would have but wished her a man, yea an army of men) looked over his shoulder with an eye burning with disdain, as if one of his looks might have served to consume a woman, and at the same instant, uttering his rage another way, with a blow worthy of his arm, he did cleave one before him through the helmet to the shoulders, making him so, by being two headed, headless. But seeing Zelmane press near him, though he hoped for no honour from her, yet to prevent dishonour from her (shame kindling rage, and rage quenching reason) he commanded Armagines his nephew, a youth of great valour, to take these foolish fellows prisoners who durst adventure within that castle without his leave, and to shut all the gates, that none of them might escape; and therewith whirling about, and casting a sideward look on Zelmane, made an imperious sign with a threatening allurement (a disinviting inviting of her) to follow, which she performed with a countenance witnessing as great contentment, as ever Venus did to most with Mars; Mars and Venus at the same time having met within her mind, to make, though a less loving, yet a more martial meeting.

The crowds of people in their way were quickly dispersed by the tempestuous breath of Anaxius, so that they had no hindrance: he being feared of all, and she hated of none. Neither was their solitary retiring, in respect of their different seeming sex, suspiciously censured by any: the disdainfulness of their countenance bearing witness, that they were led by hate to honour, and not by love to the contrary.

The place appointed by fortune to be famous by the famousness of this combat, was a back court, which they found out at that time emptied of inhabitants; the stronger being gone to pursue others, and the weaker run to hide themselves: mediocrity being no more a virtue, where all was at height, to make excellency eminent in extremity.

They two came here alone, for they would have no seconds, or rather were so far first as they could have no seconds, and every one of them being confident in his own worth could not mistrust another’s. As if words had been too weak messengers of their wrath, and swords only worthy to utter their minds, they began with that wherewith they hoped to end; none of them now could flatter himself so far against the proof of his own experienced knowledge, as to contemn his fellow.

Anaxius at the first, rioting in rage, and burning with a voluptuous appetite of blood, did abandon his hands to their accustomed prodigality, which contrary to the nature of that vice, was hurtful to the receiver, and profitable for the spender. But Zelmane, well weighing with whom she had to deal, was more wary in her charges, and circumspectly managing the treasure of her strength, would not idly bestow it, but was liberal when occasion offered. It was hard to say, whether the one was more frank, or the other more thankful: the guerdon never deferred, oft preventing the gift, above the desire of the receiver, yet short of the giver’s mind. Their thought, eye, hand, and foot seemed chained to one motion, as all being tuned by violence, to make up a harmony in horror. Never was courage better supported by skill and strength nor skill and strength better accompanied by courage; the blows of every one of them seemed not only to strive with the others, but even among themselves, for singularity; the latter still (by being more observable) seeking to bury the remembrance of the former.

It seemed that these two were not retired from the battle, but that the battle was transferred where they were. The eye might well have taken them to be two, but the ear would never have been persuaded that so mighty sounds could be sent but from the weapons of a number; the environing windows with a sad solitariness seemed to bewail their want of eyes, which defrauded them the entertainment of that delectable terror, transporting sports.

Anaxius more angry with himself than with his enemy, that he should be so long in vanquishing, where, when victorious, he would be but ashamed of the victory, all his active powers being highly bended, both by choler and courage, he thus discharged his tongue: “What spiteful god, jealous of my greatness, or envying my glory, hath sent this devil in a woman’s shape (as a cloud for Juno to Ixion) to mock me? but all this is one: though thou be a devil in a woman, or all the devils in one devil, I swear by this blow, I will beat thee hence to the hells, to the eternal terror of all the dark region;” and with that lighted on Zelmane with such a huge force, that all she could procure by the mediation of one of her swords, was, that what was intended wholly at her head, by the wrying of her body, did but wound her a little on the shoulder. This was so far from dismaying her, that it did confirm, increase it could not, her resolution already at a height: Yet, though not more courage, she pretended more fury, compassing him about to espy advantages, and oft giving him feigned alarms, as bragging to make a breach in his breast, advanced her right-hand sword, which Anaxius beat down, and withal encroached to usurp a room in her right side: but Zelmane suddenly inclining to the left, gave him a flat blow with that hand’s sword, which returned back clad with the spoils of that part of the body which it had forced.

Both thus being already allied by blood, yet did strive for a more strict affinity: wounds, in regard of their frequency, being no more respected than blows were before. Though they met in divers colours, now both were clad in one livery, as most suitable to their present estate: being servants to one master, and rivals in preferment. Neither could showers of blood quench the winds of their wrath, which did blow it forth in great abundance, till faintness would have fain persuaded both that they were mortal, and though neither of them by another, yet both overcomable by death. Then despair came to reinforce the fight, joining with courage, not as a companion, but as a servant: for courage never grew desperate, but despair grew courageous; both being resolved, if not conquering, none of them should survive the other’s conquest, nor owe trophy but to death.

The greatest grief of the one was to die by a woman; and of the other, to die as a woman: both in respect of her apparel, and, as she thought, action; being matched by one man, who had o’ermatched multitudes of men. At last the great storm of blows being past, she rested one of her swords on the earth, either forced by faintness, or intending art, offering a thrust with the other, which Anaxius perceiving, did speedily repel: and with that (gathering his distressed strength together, as ready to remove, but first bent to give a gallant farewell) ran forward with such a violent violence on Zelmane (nought being able to resist his unresistable force) that she presently interposing her reposed sword, though it ran him through the heart, or rather he his heart upon it, it could not hinder him from running her through the body, and both to the earth, a brave flash of a dying light! a mighty thunder of a quenched lightning! Thus did he overthrow his overthrower: not falling till none was able to stand before him; whilst though he were vanquished, none could vaunt of the victory. His breast fell above the hand with the sword, as if he would needs die embracing it, even after death adoring that idol of his life, and his dead weight striving with Zelmane’s weak life, whilst she struggling to rise did break the sword, a part remaining under him, and the rest within her: thus hard it was to force Anaxius, though he was dead, and impossible while he lived.

Zelmane, after her rising, did draw the other sword out of him, as bent to return not interested in anything. She was stepping forward with a sword in each hand, and a part of one in her breast: a trophy of victory, yet a badge of ruin; never better weaponed, never more unfit for fighting; when lo all the followers of Anaxius, discomforted by his absence, but more by the black knight’s presence, Armagines having his death honoured by his hand, the rest were quickly discomfited, and, despairing to save the castle, sought to save themselves.

The black knight committed the following of their flight to others, as a dangerless action, and therefore not worthy of him; then fearing that elsewhere for another which he could no more find there for himself, he went by the direction of his eyes, and the information of his ears, to seek out the two retired champions, when suddenly he encountered his other self, marching like Pallas from the giant’s overthrow.

As soon as the eyes of Pyrocles, no, his soul was ravished with the sight of Musidorus, it having infused a fresh vigour in his feeble members, and that physic applied to his mind, triumphing over the infirmity of his body; he threw away his swords, only conquerable by kindness, and pulled out that which was in his body, that nothing might hinder him from embracing the image of his soul, which reflected his own thoughts. Their souls by a divine sympathy did first join, preventing the elemental masses of the bodies: but ah! whilst they were clasped in each other’s arms (like two grafts grafted in one stock) the high tide of over-flowing affection restraining their tongues with astonishment, as unable to express an unexpressible passion.

Pyrocles weakened with the loss of blood, the effects of hate, and in that weakness surcharged with kindness, the fruits of love, not able to abide the interchoking of such extremities, the paleness of his face witnessed the parting of his spirits, so that not able to stand, Musidorus was forced to fall with him, or else would not stand after him. And at the suddenness of his unexpected adventure, or vehemently respectable misadventure; like one (who unawares slipping from a great height) is choked betwixt the height and the lowness, ere he can consider, either whence he fell, or where he falls. Being thrown from the top of contentment, to be drowned in the depths of misery, he had his reasonable part so hastily overwhelmed with confusion, that he remained dead alive, as the other was living in death. At last, re-assembling his confounded senses from the rocks of ruin, grief had gathered so much strength through weakness, as to attempt an impossibility in manifesting itself.

“O what a monster of misery am I! even when most fortunate, most unfortunate, who never had a lightning of comfort, but that it was suddenly followed with a thunder of confusion. Twice was my felicity by land (that it might be washed for ever away) made a prey to the inexorable waves, whilst the relenting destinies pitying the rigour of their own decrees, to prevent their threatened effects, would have drowned me in (respecting the ocean of sorrow prepared to swallow me) that little drop of the sea. And, O thrice happy I, if I had perished whilst I was altogether unhappy; then, when a dejected shepherd offensive to the perfection of the world, I could hardly, being oppressed by contempt, make myself worthy to be disdained, disdain to be despised, being a degree of grace. O would to God that I had died obscurely, whilst my life might still have lived famous with others, and my death have died with myself; whilst my not being known might have kept my dishonour unknown, even then when matched, matched by one, and in the presence of many fighting for one who was more dear to me than all the world. Ah me! most miserable, in not being more miserable. Such a pestilentious influence poisoned the time of my nativity, that I have had a spark of happiness, to clear me the way to destruction. I was carried high to be fit for a precipice, and that from that height I might behold how low the dungeons were wherein I was to fall. Even now I was so far from fear, that I was higher than hope, being in imagination master of all my wishes; yet at an instant, as if all that could be inflicted on myself were not sufficient to afflict me, being armed with resolution, both to brave the terrors of death, and to contemn the flatteries of life, I am tormented in another, whose sufferings could only make me tenderly sensible. And with that, sorrow, as it were sorry to be interrupted by utterance, did damn itself up to swell higher, feeding on the contemplation of itself within: where, when absolute tyrant of the breast, it might rather burst him, than burst out.”

Then he was lying down senselessly on his senseless friend, as in all estates striving to be still like him, when lo he felt his breast beat, and thereafter saw his unclouded eyes weakly strive to shine again; thus first re-saluting the light, “Oh where am I?” Musidorus replied: “With him who is hasting to die with you.” “No,” said he, “I have hastened to live with you.” “Death or life,” said Musidorus, “either of them must join us, but neither of them is able to part us.” With that Pyrocles, weakly rising, entrusted his feet with their own burden, but Musidorus, jealous of the carriage of so precious a treasure, would needs aid them with his arm, his strength strengthening Pyrocles, and the weakness of Pyrocles weakening him.

Thus, whilst guided by one, who was acquainted with the castle, they were seeking out a room, where Pyrocles reposing might cause take a trial of the estate of his body, and repair the bloody breaches of the late battery; it being, though evil fortified, yet well defended: as they were walking along a gallery, they heard, from a chamber neighbouring the side of it, a dolorous sound, but so heavily delivered with a disorderly convoy, that choked with sobs, else drowned with tears, the pains of the bearer had so spoiled the birth that it could not be known; yet a secret sympathy, by an unexpressible working, did more wound the mind of Pyrocles, than it was wounded by all the wounds of his body, he pitying his complaint, though not knowing from whom, nor for what: “O how the soul, apt for all impressions transcending reason, can comprehend unapprehensible things;” this was the lamentation of the lamentable Philoclea.

The ladies after the departure of Zelmane, by the inundation in their ears of horrible sounds, were violently invited to come fearfully to a window overlooking the court, where they beheld the bloody effects of that, whereof they were the innocent causes. At first the lilies of their cheeks overgrowing the roses, paleness had almost displaced beauty, were it not beauty was so powerful as to make paleness beautiful; yet their often travelled memory instructed their judgment, that misery being at a height, could not but of force either work the end of itself, or a beginning of comfort, and they could expect no worse estate than that in which they were.

Pamela would fain have flattered herself to think that it was Musidorus come to deliver her, but she had rather have still remained captive than to have drawn him to such a danger for her delivery; and having once apprehended that he was there, never a blow was given but that she was wounded with it, being ever sorry for the overthrown, never glad for the overthrower; either pity prevailing with the tenderness of her sex, or because she knew no danger could come by overcoming.

As for Philoclea, she who through the gentleness of her own nature would have smarted for any other who had been in danger, when she remembered the hazard of her treasure Zelmane, who, as she knew, did not use to be an idle spectator of so earnest a game, a multitude of thoughts, without art artificial, did paint fear in her face, and engrave grief in her bosom. Whilst they continued thus, Pamela, in vain striving to match majesty with affection, stood with a distracted stateliness, and with a stately astonishment, where grief and fear in Philoclea made easily a consort in sorrow, with watery eyes, like the sun shining in a shower, weakly clearing a cloudy countenance; when suddenly they heard one cry, since the castle was won to set the ladies at liberty; but they who were well acquainted both with the frowns and smiles of fortune, as they had ever triumphed over the one, would not suffer themselves to be led captives by the other; neither could this accomplish their contentment, till they had the lords of that pleasant bondage, which they did value more than unvaluable liberty; the constrained activity of the body having nothing diminished the voluntary thraldom of the mind.

But ah! this smooth calm came only to make them the more sensible of the succeeding tempest, which the breath of one from below, roaring forth the death of Zelmane, did thunder up upon them. Pamela (like a rock amidst the sea, beaten both with the winds and with the waves, yet itself immoveable) did receive this rigorous charge with a constant, though sad countenance, and with fixed eyes witnessing the moving of her mind, yet neither uttering word, nor tear, as disdaining to employ their weakness in so great a grief. Such might have been the gesture of Niobe hearing the news of her children’s death, ere she was metamorphosed into a stone; like one, majesty triumphing over misery, who would rather burst strongly within than be disburdened by bursting out in an abject manner.

But, ah me, the confounded Philoclea, who, being the weaker, had received the sharpest assault, an affectionate fury forcing from her an absolute passion, which a dutiful kindness through compassion only provoked in her sister, she, smothered with so monstrous a weight, did sink down under it to the earth.

This made Pamela forget her other grief without any comfort, transferring her affection from her friend to her more than friendly sister; for whom she saw at that time her care might be more serviceable, wherewith she brought her to herself, and she herself to sorrow. At first the tongue and the eyes being too feeble instruments for so violent a passion, she used her hands, beating that breast which the most barbarous creature else in the world could not have done; offering those torn hairs as oblations to him after death, which had been the delights of his life; and deforming that face, the register of nature’s wonders, confirmed by the admiration of men. Which when Pamela, of a patient became a physician, sought to hinder, she thus said: “Alas! sister, you do not know what a treasure I have lost, even a treasure more worth than all the world was worthy to enjoy. Ah, pardon me thou, whom even death is not able to kill in my soul: pardon me, who have ever concealed thy secret, now to discover mine own, for while my life lasts, short may it be, and long it shall not be, I will show to all the world that, which, whilst thou livedst, I would have been ashamed to have shown to thyself even thy perfection and mine affection. Neither do I regard how the conceits of others censure my carriage in this; for there is no eye now, wherein I desire to appear precious, nor no opinion, whereof I crave to make a purchase; death may end my life, but not my love, which, as it is infinite, must be immortal. I would gladly use means to dispatch this miserable life; but it were a shame for me, if, after so great a disaster, sorrow only were not sufficient to kill me.” And with that beauty in the heaven of her face, two suns eclipsed, being wrapped up in paleness, she fell down grovelling on the ground.

Pyrocles, imagining what report might be made, and not doubting what effect it would work, bent to furnish physic for her mind, ere he sought any for his own body, came in at the door, whom Pamela, her arms and her tongue rivals in kindness, embracing, said, “Never more welcome, though ever welcome, Zelmane; thou who ever art victorious, hast thou likewise brought thyself away a trophy from death?” “Sweet ladies,” replied she, “who would faint to fight for such divine creatures as you are? and who could have force to fight against you?”

Philoclea, who at first, either dull through excessive dolour, did not conceive her sister’s words; or else suspecting, as she thought, her impossible desire to please her, all being doubtful to trust what they do extremely affect, did misconceive her meaning. She was raising her eyes to examine her ears: but the most trusty of her senses preventing both, by a palpable proof, gave her an absolute assurance; so that ere she could think Zelmane was at all to be embraced, finding herself embraced by Zelmane, she was lifted up to a heaven of joy, as before she had been sunk down in a hell of grief; never absolutely her own; but either ravished or ruined. Spying the blood on Zelmane’s garment, not knowing whether her own, or her enemy’s, she grew pale; and then, looking on her sister, she blushed, suspecting that she suspected the cause of her paleness, conferring it with her former plaints, to be more than a friendly kindness; but Zelmane, fearing what might be the effects of her fear, said, that she expected a congratulation of her victory, and not condoling of past danger, which was acquitted with the speechless answer of an affectionate look, and a passionate pressing of her hand.

Then Pamela, inquiring the perilous course of her short progress, she told how fortified with their fortune, trusting more to it than to her own valour, which, like their beauty, could not but prevail, she had first overthrown the two brethren of Anaxius; and thereafter, fighting with himself, it was her chance, God strengthening her weakness to punish his injustice, to kill him; she could not say overcome him, no, she was not ashamed to affirm, that though he was killed, she thought him not overcome, seeing both he died with opinion, and in action of victory; death preventing the knowledge of his last success. A rare happiness, his life and fortune having both but one bound.

Both highly praising her valour, and admiring her modesty, and glad of their own delivery, whereof they thought her the author, thoughts striving to express themselves the more powerfully without words, they were acknowledging the fame with a grateful countenance, and kindly affecting looks, when Zelmane, not complementally hunting that which she fled, but like one who with a glass reflects the force of the sun somewhere else, earnestly protested that she would be loth to usurp that which was due to another, especially in the owner’s presence. And, turning towards the black knight, who all the time stood aside as her attender, though armed, trembling for fear of one unarmed, who unarmed, would not have been so afraid of an army in arms, she freely affirmed, “There is the deliverer of us all, from whom we receive our liberty, to whom we owe ourselves, since it is that which makes us ourselves.”

Then the black knight, invited by the willing countenance of the princess, abasing his helmet, advanced more fearfully than to a battle, to kiss her hand: when Zelmane, courteously retired Philoclea a little distance from thence, as glad to confer with her, as to give her friend occasion to confer with Pamela, who presently, whilst the roses of his lips made a flower of affection with the lilies of her hands, knowing her own Dorus, at the suddenness of the assault, the moving of her mind was betrayed by the changes of her countenance, the blood of her face ebbing and flowing according to the tide of affection; yet borrowing a mask from hate, wherewith to hide love, she thus charged him, who already had yielded: “How durst you thus presume to present yourself in my presence, being discharged it, when you deserved the uttermost that reason could devise, or fury execute? Hath my dejected estate emboldened you to exalt yourself against me?” Then he, gathering courage from the extremity of despair, thus cleared his intention: “True it is, lady of my life, and shall be of my death, I was worthy then to have been banished from the world. But what of a world of worlds? I was banished from your sight, and, which is worst of all, deservedly. Neither come I now of contempt, but only to testify my obedience, which otherwise at this time might have been construed to a cowardice. Such a love as mine, wedded to virtue, can never be so adulterated by any accident, no, nor yet ravished by passion, as to bring forth a bastard disobedience, whereof my very conscience not being able to accuse my thoughts, I come to clear myself. But now, having performed all that was within the compass of my power, a part of my blood witnessing my affection, which I wish were confirmed by the rest: you may see, directness of my destiny, that no force can force me to anything, much less from your sight, save only your own will, which is unto me a law, yea, an oracle. And now when you see I do it not for fear of others, but only out of a reverence to you; if not for your satisfaction, yet for my punishment, so to persecute him whom you hate, I will go waste the remnant of my wretched days in some remote wilderness as not worthy to be seen of any, since odious in your sight: having, I hope, by many proofs prevailed thus much with your opinion, that after my death you will think there was some worth in me; though not worthy of your love.” When he, full of humble affection, was retiring himself with a courtesy as low as his thoughts; she, thinking enough done to try him, yet without seeming to trust him, whilst, though guilty of grief, her countenance could accuse her of no care, as out of a fresh remembrance, said, “That she would not have Dametas to lose a servant, nor Mopsa a suitor, by her means; and if he would needs return towards the lodges, that he should first expect some employment homewards from her.” Then he, as one, who fallen in the bottom of some deep water, coming to float above, in sight of land, receiveth some comfort, though still in danger, began to re-assemble his dispersed spirits again, looking more cheerfully. But ere his thoughts, every one of them overflowing another, could settle themselves in words, she, preventing the violence of so sudden a change, did call to her sister, by accusing their indiscretion, in holding these two so long by talking with them, from looking to themselves. Which Philoclea allowed, trembling with an earnest fear, to know in what estate Zelmane stood.

They two, injured by this courtesy, with an unwilling obedience accepted of it; more respecting the pleasure of others, than their own necessity. Pamela as only affecting Zelmane, offered her either all, or a part of their chamber: and she, her tongue rebelling against her heart, refused what she desired, pretending a lothness to trouble them. Then the sisters offered to accompany them; but, after they had a while coloured true kindness with ordinary compliments, Zelmane prevailed against herself, to go accompanied as she came: yet both looking as if they would have left their eyes behind them, as well as their hearts; as soon as they were by themselves in a chamber, Zelmane disapparelling herself, the black knight, though better skilled in giving, than in curing of wounds, yet lately experienced by passing the like danger, he would needs prove a surgeon: and after he had purchased the things necessary, having considered his wounds, he found none, save the last that went through the body, dangerous; and yet not deadly: thereafter melting their minds in discourses, either of them had his own contentment doubled by hearing of the others.

Then the black knight, taking leave for a while, locking the door behind him, went down to the court, to try if any spark of the late fire remained as yet to quench. For after the opposite party, as if their arms were not sufficient to arm them, unless their arms were armed with walls, ran to fortify themselves within houses, which had no strength save that which men were to afford them: he, who thought his own good fortune no better than a misfortune, till he was assured that his friend had the like, without whom no happiness of his could be accomplished, recommending the remnant of the adversary’s ruins to his two companions, had gone to learn if he were alike happy in all places: and they, fear freezing the courage, and dissolving the hearts of their scattered enemies, found quickly more throwing themselves weaponless at their feet, than they could have leisure severally to raise, so that they were more weary, though more contented with pardoning than they had been with punishing.

Some more crafty, or more fearful, cried out at the windows that they would surrender upon security of pardon. But they, scorning to capitulate with fugitives, who would not have done it with them when fighters: and disdaining all that, by the most large construction, could be wrested to the sense of constraint, they would not equal them with those who were already humble till they submitted in a more submissive manner, depending only on their free disposition. Which they, either trusting to the virtue of others, or mistrusting their own, having done the knight of the sheep was constrained, his wound bleeding in great abundance, which being made by an impoisoned dart, had inflamed all his body, to retire. The other, having received the keys of the gate, committed the chief captives to keepers, till the black knight’s coming, who presently thereafter exacting what conditions he pleased, did discharge them all. Then sentinels were set on the wall, and a company appointed to watch all night: when suddenly one came from their friend, to desire them to come and take their last farewell of him: a request wonderfully grieving them, yet quickly granted; yea, performed ere answered.

Being met, and all others retired, he with these words deeply wounded their souls. “Dear friends, whom I may justly call so, though none of us as yet doth know another; You see, I have acted my part, and the curtain must quickly be drawn. Death, the only period of all respects, doth dispense with a free speech. At a tilting in Iberia, where I was born, dedicated to the memory of the queen Andromana’s marriage, a novice in arms, amongst others, I ran in a pastoral show against the Corinthian knights, whom the success had preferred in the opinion of the beholders: till the worthily admirable princes, Musidorus and Pyrocles, drawn forth by the young prince Palladius, brought back the reputation to our party, and there did such things as might have honoured Mars, if he had been in any of their places, and made either of them worthy of his. Thereafter being drawn away from that country by an accident, the report whereof craves a longer time, and a stronger breath than the heavens are like to afford me, their glory tyrannizing over my rest, did kindle such flames in my bosom, that, burning with a generous ardour, I did resolve leaving my own country, as too strict a bound for my thoughts, to try my fortune, where I might either live famous, or die unknown; vowing withal to travel, till these princes were either the subject or witnesses of my valour. What passed in my way I pass over: perchance others may remember. At last, invited by fame, I came to this fatal country, it the band of my heart was, and now must be of my body: where first carried with curiosity, the fever of youth, I went to the Arcadian pastorals for my recreation, but found the ruin of my rest. There, blinded with beholding, and tormented with delight, my earnest eyes surfeited on the excellencies of the pattern of perfection, the quintessence of worth, even the most divinely divine Philoclea. Ah too adventurous eyes! Neither could this content them, but they would needs offer up her picture on the altar of my heart; where, by my thoughts their choice might be allowed, yea, and idolatrously advanced. For they, scorning the simple rudeness of the eyes, as easily defrauded of their too forwardly affected object, would securely entreasure it in a more precious place, by a piercing apprehension sinking it in the soul for ever. For a time, suffered as a stranger, and a shepherd, known as you know, by the name of Philisides, amongst the rest, I had the means to pour forth my plaints before her, but never to her, and, though overthrown, not rendered, I had concluded never to have thrown the dice betwixt hope and despair, so betraying my estate to the tyranny of another’s will. No, I was resolved she should never know her power in me, till I had known her mind of me: so that, if she would not raise me, she should not have means to insult over me. Thus if I had not procured pity, I should not have exposed myself to disdain.

“In the haughtiness of my heart, thinking nothing impossible, I durst promise myself, that, my deeds having purchased reputation, with words worthy of respect, I might venture the process of my affection. In the meantime I joined joyful with you in this late war now ended: though professing a general desire of glory, yet for a particular end, and happy end, since I send for her. But since whilst I lived, I had not the means, as I wished, to content her. I crave not, by the knowledge of this, after death to discontent her. It shall satisfy me, that I die before my hopes; and she cannot grieve for the loss of that which she never knew to be hers.”

With this, the other sliding apart to bear and bury his sorrow privately, the black knight, weeping, embraced him in his arms, and told him what he was, saying, he was glad that his vow was performed; he being a benefitted witness, not the endangered subject of his valour. Then contentment, budding forth in his countenance, flourished in a smile, and having kissed his friends, desiring to live in their memory, wished them as contented lives, as his was a death. He died as joyful as he left them sorrowful, who had known him a mirror of courage and courtesy, of learning and arms; so that it seemed that Mars had begotten him upon one of the Muses.

Musidorus, exceedingly sorrowful for this irreparable loss, was yet more sorrowful when he remembered himself to be in danger of a greater; and recommending the direction of all below to the knight of the pole, he went himself up to visit his patient, whom he found, though lying, yet resting; and though not sleeping, yet dreaming. As soon as he heard Musidorus, starting as one awakened out of a slumber, he looked on his face, grieved to see the impression of grief in it, he not knowing the cause, with an inquisitive amazement. But the other preventing that threatened tempest, did blow away the clouds that were gathered in his countenance; telling him that he had no interest in the anguish which then did afflict him. “What,” said Pyrocles, being passionately moved, “can Musidorus have anything wherein I have no interest?” “Aye,” said he, “and for the present a greater wonder; my grief may breed you joy, I having lost a friend, and you a rival.” Then he began to discourse unto him what was past. And beside that, which was justly deserved, pity adorning praise and praise augmenting pity, a generous passion so conquered the unconquerable Pyrocles, that he lamented him dead, whom he had not known; no, nor would never have loved alive, and undoubtedly would have wished him no better success than he had. Yea the very thing which before might have most discontented him, did then most content him; having his judgment confirmed by the like, in one of such worth.

After that, laid down in one bed together, friendship making them free, and solitariness bold, whilst their minds began to be delivered of all, wherewith they had a long time travelled, a maid came to the door, sent by the two sisters, to visit Zelmane, who hearing two, where she expected but one, and the one by the manner of his speech likely to be a man, did presently return, and reported to the ladies, who were lying together, that whereof her ears had given her sufficient assurance. At which news Pamela, burning within, sparkled forth these words to her sister: “What wonder though strangers ever wandering, wander from all things. Chiefly those of our sex, who being born to be bounded within houses, when they cannot be bounded within kingdoms, how can they be bounded by modesty? Yet, though I hate the deed, the respect of the doer, but more of us whose company she hath haunted, left her reproach, by the commentary of fame, be too largely extended, binds me to conceal her shame, that we blush not at it. But we must either free ourselves from her, or she herself from this slander.”

“Oh,” but answered the ever (and now more than ever) mild Philoclea, “we must not, sister, rashly condemn those whom we have oftentimes considerately approved, lest the change be in our judgment, and not in them. No doubt, because of the indisposition of her body, it was necessary that she should have someone to accompany her; perchance a woman mistaken, and if a man, who knows for what end? She, who being sound would acquaint herself with none, in this estate could not be acquainted with any.”

“It is an easy matter,” replied Pamela, “for one who can deceive to dissemble; neither is this a new acquaintance. You might have seen her use that knight who did come in with her, rather kindly than courteously; a preceding friendship overpassing present respects: for where a great familiarity is, no ceremonial duty can be observed.” Then Philoclea, having found her, could hardly restrain the violence of a just laughter. “As for that which you affirm last,” said she, “I cannot deny it: no, I dare assure you, and assure yourself I will assure nothing without assurance, that knight is the man of the world whom Zelmane most dearly loves, and yet I know, that neither would he offer nor she suffer her honour to be wronged, as you imagine.” This last wound was too deep for Pamela to speak after it: so that she, abandoning her heart to throw itself over the rock of unkindness, in danger to be drowned with her own tears, was thus prevented by Philoclea: “Dear sister, and if any word can express more dearness more dear than that, your using me not only as a sister, but as a friend in the highest degree of trust, would make me ashamed to mistrust you, or that you should be beholden to any other than to me for my secret. So might my strangeness justify your unkindness, though you should discover and condemn that which I know you will conceal, perchance approve, and further being by my imparting of it to you, made of the party, ere the report of others make you a judge; be bold my tongue: though my cheeks blush, yet they cover you. Be not ashamed, nay even glory to tell that Zelmane is the prince Pyrocles: he, whom you have heard so oft, yet ever to his honour named; and, to define him unto you more particularly, the friend of Musidorus, over whom with him you are jealous; they lying now in one bed, with no less love than I told you. Why he goes disguised with others, and why I am plain with you I need not tell; you may imagine. One God hath metamorphosed both, the one in a shepherd, the other in a woman; and we only can restore them to themselves, and themselves to the world, that they may grace it with the glory of their actions as they were wont to do.”

Then Philoclea, exchanging estates with her sister, words arrested by thoughts, she became sad, and the other joyful; who thinking herself well revenged of the past scorn, and having a sufficient pledge of her sister’s secrecy, began to complain of their father’s strict using of them, by surmisings of his own minding to mar their fortunes, so that where he should rejoice at such an occasion, if coming to the knowledge thereof, he would not fail to disappoint it, perchance with the ruin of the princes; which would not only prove a particular loss for them, but, which she lamented more, a general loss for all the world; depriving it of these patterns of virtue, who in all their actions did but point out the height of perfection, and encourage others to follow their footsteps in the way of worth. Therefore it behoved them to regard themselves, and seriously to consider a matter of so great importance. Then, both beginning to muse, night did cast the nets of sleep over their eyes, yet could not hinder their earnest thoughts from prosecuting the course of their own fancies: for what they were thinking when waking, they still dreamed when sleeping.

But ere the morning star began to retire, as giving place to a greater light, whose coming, it, as a forerunner, had only warned the world to attend, both awaked complaining of the night’s length, and having with passionate discourses worn away darkness, as weary of them, they arose and hastily apparelled themselves, though not in a curious, yet in a comely manner. Then, with a pretended charity, they would needs go visit the diseased patient, being themselves impatient. A little before their coming, Musidorus being gone to give order for the burial of Philisides, and, at the earnest desire of Pyrocles, of Anaxius, whose valour now had the full praise, from which his own presumption had derogated much whilst he lived: as they approached to his chamber door, they heard Pyrocles preparing his voice for the convoy of a sadly conceived, and weakly delivered song, which they resolved not to interrupt, attending the letter which followed.

More dangerous darts than death, love throws I spy,

Who by experience now know both their wounds:

Death pierc’d me all, yet could not make me die:

Love with a thought me in effect confounds.

The power of death, art sometimes may restrain,

Where love, I find, can never physic find:

Death only plagues the body but with pain,

Where love with pleasure doth torment the mind.

Death still to all alike none free doth leave;

Where partial love shafts but at some doth send:

Death with more mercy kills than love doth save:

Death’s end breeds rest, love never rests to end.

Death doth enlarge, where love imprisons still;

Death forc’d by fates; love willingly doth kill.

As soon as this song was ended, Pamela opened the door, saluting him still (so to disguise her knowledge) by the name of Zelmane; and asked in what estate she was with herself, who returned this answer; “How can I smart having such angels to give me comfort? Or how can I feel pain in their presence, whose faces are heavens of pleasure?” “Since,” said Pamela, “being only unfortunate by falling in our company, the hazard of your life hath procured our liberty, so that accidentally, though far from our intention, we have been the causes of all your trouble, how can we think of your pain, but as of our own? Or have any delight whilst you rest grieved?” “Wonders of worth,” said Zelmane, “I shall ever, whilst I live, reckon for my highest happiness my being honoured by your company; and as for my travels in this, they are by the success abundantly rewarded, since I could aspire to no higher good than I have compassed, having purchased you any contentment.”

Whilst that passionate Zelmane, with an animated fervency, did incorporate her hand with Philoclea’s, whose speaking looks, however some time out of modesty obliquely moving, had a continual revolution about his face; the black knight’s coming in drew Pamela’s spirits from her thoughts to her eyes. A gentleman followed him, directed from Basilius; who after his duty done to the ladies, having shown them that their father and mother were in good health, invited by their enquiring attendants, told how the first, whom prodigal fame had breathed forth with news, hastened by himself, as who carried an acceptable message in hope of benefit or thanks, certified the king how the castle was won, and his daughters delivered by the black knight, who before had put a period to the victories of Amphialus. At this Pamela looking on Musidorus, blushed; and he, though by no gesture betraying his joy, rejoiced, not because he heard himself praised, but because she heard him praised, and that Anaxius in a single combat was killed by Zelmane, she not long over-living the victory.

The king hearing this, who of his gracious nature would rather save one friend than destroy all his enemies, as if the delivery of his daughters had been a matter of small moment, and a gain too light to counterpoise so great a loss, did abandon his soul to the tyranny of sorrow, even more than majesty in a prince, or virtue in affliction, in the balances of reason, would have allowed of such weight. At this Zelmane’s smile was accompanied with Philoclea’s. But when he spoke of Gynecia’s griefs overgrowing the other, they grew pale, being afraid of the fountain from whence her tears did flow, lest it should drown them.

But whilst Gynecia (the messenger insisted) as run mad with anguish, enclosed in a chamber, would suffer none to come unto her; all wondered that her children being safe, a stranger’s death, or her husband’s grief, could weaken the known strength of her mind so much. The next messenger came, being the latter, and thereby the better informed, who sugared the first news with the assurance of Zelmane’s safety. Then the queen coming forth as after a great tempest, the sky of her countenance cleared, looking brighter than before. The king would have come himself here in person, but he was persuaded to send Philanax with a number of chosen men, to receive the castle and ladies; eftsoons being curious to know who cured Zelmane; when it was told him that the knight who won the castle would trust none with that save himself, he was sorry that one of his worth should be put to such trouble, and would needs have an ordinary surgeon sought out to undertake the charge. “In the meantime the queen came and brought out of a box a sovereign balm, which she hath sent by me to be applied to your wounds, fair Zelmane, not doubting but they will quickly become sound if her direction be observed, which is only that you rest and keep yourself quiet from company now, and by the way till she herself may use other remedies. And for this effect she entreats you, miracles of nature, her daughters, to forbear her company during this time: that your example, whose authority abused might embolden the indiscretion of inferiors, may be a law for others: and she assured me that she would by a secret spy learn how she were obeyed in this. Such a care hath she of this sweet lady’s health.”

By the end of this commission well did Zelmane and Philoclea know at whom in particular those general injunctions did only aim. This enjoined abstinence did give Zelmane a surfeit in sorrow, who had rather have continued still infirm, than to have recovered by so cruel a physic. And yet her misery was multiplied when she remembered the cause, whereof this, in respect of that which she did expect, was a slender issue, and but a little fury, sent to afflict her out of that hell of Gynecia’s breast, into whose company she was shortly to enter. Now the black knight, purposing to depart before Philanax arrived, brought his companion, the knight of the pole, as a partner of his victory, to kiss the ladies’ hands extenuating his own part, and preferring his: Those who have true worth in themselves, can never envy it in another. Thereafter advising him privately to have their little company in a readiness, he went with an uncounterfeited reverence, humbling himself before the idol of his soul, to know her will: telling her what he had done, being only done for her, he would attend thanks from no other; neither would he be known till he might be known for hers: and she, her countenance rather lightening courtesy than affection, desired him to return to his old master, and he should be restored to the estate which by his fault he had before justly forfeited; wishing that he would carry himself more moderately hereafter, if he would not incur her indignation, and raise all regard of him out of her memory.

Then Musidorus, as contented as one who had been brought from hell to heaven, with many vehement attestations to win trust with her, and imprecations against himself in case of perjury, wished, if ever his mind were so unhappy as to be surprised by any purpose tending in the least degree to grieve her, that he might never live till it took effect, but die ere it were discovered. And like a wary gamester, who having once advantage is loth to adventure again, willing to seal up his ears with the acceptable sounds which they had received, he took leave, leaving his heart with her, and taking hers with him. Then went he towards Pyrocles, the joy of his heart shining through his face, and acquainted him with his unwilling absenting himself, referring all further conference till their meeting at the arbour. And having in a complimental manner craved, but not desired employment from Philoclea, in any service after the funerals were performed, he marched with his troop away, the most part thinking that he went to meet Philanax: whilst Pamela from a window followed with her eyes, till clouds of dust did bury their object in the air.

Soon after their departure from the castle, about this time, Philanax arrived, who, immediately after he had received the castle in the king’s name, sought for the knight, whose gift, though not given by him, he esteemed it to be. For he, being generously judicious, thought it more fit that princes should defray obligations by rewards, every man being inferior to him to whom he stands indebted, than to be behind with any by being beholden; and hearing that he was gone by public enquiry for him, and praises of him, he witnessed to the world how highly his valour was valued. After he had saluted the princesses, he visited Zelmane, and told her how careful his master was to have those wounds cured, which in his service had been procured, that thereafter he might otherwise express his gratefulness. But Zelmane affirmed that though that blood which was shed had been followed by all the rest of her body; with the king’s former courtesies towards her, the deserving by the recompense was both preceded and exceeded. Then Philanax, loth to strive with deeds in words, desired her, if her health might serve, to provide for her removing with the rest to-morrow, otherwise, that should be done for her which she herself would direct.

Immediately after his departure Zelmane arose; and having apparelled herself, began to walk, not so much to try how she might comport with the intended journey, as that she might pretend any means which might afford her the satisfaction of Philoclea’s presence; where, violently carried by her thoughts, she came soon, but not so soon as she wished, and was wished: where Pamela apart entertaining her thoughts, she thus entered with Philoclea: “Dear love, Oh in what an ocean of troubles doth our estate continually float, yet hath never so much as attained the sight of any secure port. I see that this freedom will but bring us to a greater bondage: we are led from captivity, only to become captives. For where before those senseless walls were thought sufficient to guard us, we shall be watched now by one more jealous than Juno, with more eyes than ever Argus had. I would willingly convey you where I might enjoy you, and you a kingdom: but this, my infirmity first hindered, and the coming of Philanax hath altogether prevented. In the meantime, till for performing of that, a longed for occasion come, I must arm myself against your father’s folly, and your mother’s fury. The one’s might easily be deluded, but the other’s cannot be resisted, but by a show of yielding, which I must cunningly counterfeit: and therefore trust no external show; for whoever have my countenance, you have my heart.” Philoclea’s words were, that she cared not where she went, so it were with him, nor what she did, so it were warranted by his direction, as bent rather to burn her breast, than to let it lodge any thought which durst but doubt of the sufficiency of his intentions, since whatever circle they made, having always for their centre the excellency of his own worth. So parting, as if they had been to go to live in sundry kingdoms; though going to live in one company, night invited them to repose.

The next morning being saluted by the trumpet’s sounds, and all ready to remove, they were quickly transported over the lake; and as quickly, when landed, mounted by the provident care of Philanax, to finish their journey. But ere they came two or three miles off the lodges, Basilius met them, who embraced his daughters; not that he would go first to them, but that he would be last with Zelmane, whom he had kissed with his eyes, ere his lips were drawn from his daughters. And as soon as he had shown as much affection, encountering her, as his state before so many would permit: he said, that notwithstanding her countenance was the treasure in the world whereof he was most covetous, yet it grieved him that another should be so happy as to have procured her liberty rather than himself; and that it was his purpose, as a private adventurer, to have manifested his affection, fighting as a knight, not as a king, for her delivery.

Zelmane replying, that it had been against all reason, that so great a prince, on whom the lives of so many did depend, should have been hazarded for the life of one whose fall could extend no further than to her own ruin: “Your ruin,” said he, “I wish that mine were first; for it could not but follow after. And do not think that the black knight, or any other durst do more for you than I: yet such is the miserable estate of us kings, that we cannot prove men, but are compelled to move in our own sphere.”

The journey’s end cutting off their discourse, Gynecia was waiting on their alighting, and having first duty—tyrannizing over affection—carelessly kissed Pamela, disdainfully Philoclea, and vehemently Zelmane, thereafter enquiring of her wounds, thanks (though bestowing nothing defraying much) were courteously returned for the balm which was sent; she protesting that if no other thing could help, she would pull out her own heart, when Basilius interrupted them, coming to have lightened his heart, by burdening his body with his mistress’s alighting.

Dametas came starting and leaping like a giddy kid to meet with Pamela; and as soon as she was alighted, for the first salutation, told her how much she was beholden to him, having shown his manhood and goodwill as much as the best fellow in these bounds could have done, swearing that he had ventured more for her than he would do for all the world again, and for his own life too; “Aye,” quoth he, “and when my man Dorus durst not be seen, who was thought a brave fellow, yet he feigned a business far from the noise of war, to seek sheep; but the truth is, to hide himself, whilst my deeds made all our army laugh for joy: so that during all that time of trouble, which I tremble yet to think upon, I never heard of him, till even now he sent me word by a shepherd, whom he met on the way, that he had found the ewes which had strayed, with great difficulty, and was driving them at leisure, for fear they should miscarry. But when he comes, I promise I will make his cowardice be known for leaving me, when I would fain have left myself for fear.” “O but,” said Pamela, “you must not be offended, though every man be not so stout as you are; he may be an evil soldier, but yet a good shepherd: and I hope you keep him that he may keep sheep, not that he may kill men.” “Now in good faith,” said he, “I see you are not changed, for you were ever wise, and so you do continue still. I may well chide the fellow, but I will not beat him.”

Then all entering the lodge with Basilius, though the supper was ready, Gynecia would dress Zelmane’s wounds first, and Basilius would see them dressed; so by his despised importunateness restraining the torrent of Gynecia’s passions, which would but burst forth more furiously thereafter. This freeing Zelmane’s ears at that time, was but a relief to her, as they find who expel poison by counterpoison, she being as weary of him, as afraid of the other.

Then sitting down to the supper, more curious of a surfeit to their eyes, than for their sustenance to the rest of the body: the eyes of Basilius were ever feeding on the face of Zelmane with a fearful earnestness, save sometimes when they were constrained to retire by the violence of his wife’s looks, thinking that they with a jealous anger had upbraided his error, which she, otherwise busied, had never so much as observed. The one of her eyes was settled like a fixed star on Zelmane, the other like a wandering comet threatening confusion where it shined, strayed betwixt Zelmane, and her daughter Philoclea, watching and chastising with her look her stolen looks. Zelmane’s languishing lights made the table envied, whilst her dejected looks did only bless it, as scorning to look on any, since she might not look where she liked. Philoclea chained by thoughts to Zelmane, did imitate her being pensive, because she was pensive: yet like a cunning painter, who having fully fed his eyes with the affected object, turns back within himself, that his imagination may engrave it the more exactly within his memory, she would sometimes with a thievishly adventurous look spy Zelmane’s gesture, that she might the better counterfeit it in her countenance. As for Pamela, she kept her accustomed majesty, being absent where she was, and present where she was not. Then, the supper being ended, after some ambiguous speeches, which might, for fear of being mistaken, be taken in two senses, or else were altogether estranged from the speaker’s mind; speaking as in a dream, not what they thought, but what they would be thought to think: everyone retired to the lodge where they had used afore to lie; Basilius having first invited them the next morning to see a pastoral represented by the ordinary shepherds, to congratulate their prosperous return.

* * *[9]

After that Basilius, according to the oracle’s promise, had received home his daughters, and settled himself again in his solitary course and accustomed company, there passed not many days ere the now fully recomforted Dorus, having waited a time of Zelmane’s walking alone towards her little arbour took leave of his master Dametas’s husbandry to follow her. Near whereunto overtaking her, and sitting down together among the sweet flowers, whereof that place was very plentiful, under the pleasant shade of a broad leaved sycamore, they recounted one to another their strange pilgrimage of passions, omitting nothing which open hearted friendship is wont to lay forth, where there is cause to communicate both joys and sorrows, for indeed there is no sweeter taste of friendship than the coupling of souls in this mutuality, either of condoling or comforting; where the oppressed mind finds itself not altogether miserable, since it is sure of one which is feelingly sorry for his misery: and the joyful spends not his joy, either alone, or there where it may be envied; but may freely send it to such a well-grounded object, from whence he shall be sure to receive a sweet reflection of the same joy, and, as in a clear mirror of sincere goodwill, see a lively picture of his own gladness. But after much discourse on either part, Dorus, his heart scarce serving him to come to the point whereunto his then coming had been wholly directed, as loth in the kindest sort to discover to his friend his own unkindness, at length, one word emboldening another, made known to Zelmane, how Pamela upon his vehement oath to offer no force unto her, till he had invested her in the duchy of Thessalia, had condescended to his stealing her away to the next seaport. That besides the strange humours she saw her father more and more falling into, and unreasonable restraint of her liberty, whereof she knew no cause but light-grounded jealousies, added to the hate of that manner of life, and confidence she had in his virtue, the chiefest reason had won her to this was the late danger she stood in of losing him, the like whereof, not unlike to fall if this course were continued, she chose rather to die than again to undergo. That now they waited for nothing else but some fit time for their escape, by the absence of their three loathsome companions, in whom folly engendered suspicion. “And therefore now,” said Dorus, “my dear cousin, to whom nature began my friendship, education confirmed it, and virtue hath made it eternal; here have I discovered the very foundation whereupon my life is built: be you the judge betwixt me and my fortune. The violence of love is not unknown to you, and I know my case shall never want pity in your consideration. How all the joys of my heart do leave me, in thinking I must for a time be absent from you, the eternal truth is witness unto me, I know I should not so sensibly feel the pangs of my last departure. But this enchantment of my restless desire hath such authority in myself above myself, that I am become a slave unto it, I have no more freedom in mine own determination. My thoughts are now all bent how to carry away my burdenous bliss. Yet, most beloved cousin, rather than you should think I do herein violate that holy band of true friendship wherein I unworthy am knit unto you, command me stay. Perchance the force of your commandment may work such impression into my heart that no reason of mine own can imprint into it. For the gods forbid, the foul word of abandoning Pyrocles might ever be objected to the faithful Musidorus. But if you can spare my presence, whose presence no way serves you, and by the division of those two lodges is not oft with you: nay, if you can think my absence may, as it shall, stand you in stead, by bringing such an army hither, as shall make Basilius, willing or unwilling, to know his own hap, in granting you Philoclea, then I will cheerfully go about this my most desired enterprise, and shall think the better half of it already achieved, being begun in the fortunate hour of my friend’s contentment.”

These words, as they were not knit together with such a constant course of flowing eloquence as Dorus was wont to use, so was his voice interrupted with sighs, and his countenance with interchanging colour dismayed. So much his own heart did find him faulty to unbend any way the continual use of their dear friendship. But Zelmane, who had all this while gladly hearkened to the other tidings of their friends happy success, when this last determination of Dorus struck her attentive ears, she stayed a great while oppressed with a dead amazement. There came straight before her mind, made tender with woes, the images of her own fortune, her tedious longings, her causes to despair, the cumbersome folly of Basilius, the enraged jealousy of Gynecia, herself a prince without retinue; a man annoyed with the troubles of womankind, loathsomely loved, and dangerously loving. And now for the perfecting of all, her friend to be taken away by himself, to make the loss the greater by the unkindness. But within a while she resolutely passed over all inward objections; and preferring her friend’s profit to her own desire, with a quiet, but heavy look, she thus answered him: “If I bear thee this love, virtuous Musidorus, for mine own sake, and that our friendship grew, because I, for my part, might rejoice to enjoy such a friend, I should now so thoroughly feel my own loss, that I should call the heavens and earth to witness how cruelly you rob me of my greatest comfort, measuring the breach of friendship by mine own passion. But because indeed I love thee for thyself, and in my judgment judge of thy worthiness to be loved, I am content to build my pleasure upon thy comfort, and then will I deem my hap in friendship great when I shall see thee, whom I love, happy. Let me be only sure thou lovest me still, the only price of true affection: go therefore on, worthy Musidorus, with the guide of virtue and service of fortune. Let thy love be loved, thy desires prosperous, thy escape safe, and thy journey easy. Let everything yield his help to thy desert, for my part absence shall not take thee from mine eyes, nor affliction shall bar me from gladding in thy good, nor a possessed heart shall keep thee from the place it hath for ever allotted unto thee.”

Dorus would fain have replied again, to have made a liberal confession that Zelmane had of her side the advantage of well-performing friendship: but partly his own grief of parting from one he loved so dearly, partly the kind care in what state she should leave Zelmane, bred such a conflict in his mind, that many times he wished he had either never attempted, or never revealed his secret enterprise. But Zelmane, who had now looked to the utmost of it, and established her mind upon an assured determination: “My only friend,” said she, “since to so good towardness your courteous destinies have conducted you, let not a ceremonial consideration of our mutual love be a bar unto it. I joy in your presence, but I joy more in your good: that friendship brings forth the fruits of enmity which prefers his own tenderness before his friend’s damage. For my part, my greatest grief herein shall be, I can be no further serviceable unto you.” “O Zelmane,” said Dorus, with his eyes even covered with water, “I did not think so soon to have displayed my determination unto you, but to have made my way first in your loving judgment. But alas! as your sweet disposition drew me so far, so doth it now strengthen me in it. To you therefore be the due commendation given; who can conquer me in love, and love in wisdom. As for me, then shall goodness turn to evil, and ungratefulness be the token of a true heart, when Pyrocles shall not possess a principal seat in my soul, when the name of Pyrocles shall not be held of me in devout reverence.”

They would never have come to the cruel instant of parting, nor to the ill-faring word of farewell, had not Zelmane seen afar off the old Basilius, who having performed a sacrifice to Apollo, for his daughters’, but principally for his mistress’s happy return, had since been everywhere to seek her. And now being come within compass of discerning her, he began to frame the loveliest countenance he could, stroking up his legs, setting his beard in due order, and standing bolt upright. “Alas!” said Zelmane, “behold an evil fore-token of your sorrowful departure. Yonder see I one of my furies, which doth daily vex me, farewell, farewell my Musidorus, the gods make fortune to wait on thy virtues, and make me wade through this lake of wretchedness.” Dorus burst out into a flood of tears, wringing her fast by the hand. “No, no,” said he, “I go blindfold whither the course of my ill hap carries me: for now, too late, my heart gives me this our separating can never be prosperous. But if I live, attend me here shortly with an army.” Thus both apparelled with the grievous renting of their first combination, having first resolved with themselves that whatsoever fell upon them, they should never upon any occasion utter their names, for the conserving the honour of their royal parentage, but keep the names of Daiphantus and Palladius, as before had been agreed between them, they took divers ways: Dorus to the lodge-ward, where his heavy eyes might be something refreshed; Zelmane towards Basilius, saying to herself, with a scornful smiling, “Yet hath not my friendly fortune deprived me of a pleasant companion.” But he, having with much search come to her presence, doubt and desire bred a great quarrel in his mind. For his former experience had taught him to doubt; and true feeling of love made doubts dangerous, but the working of his desire had ere long won the field. And therefore, with the most submissive manner his behaviour could yield, “O goddess,” said he, “towards whom I have the greatest feeling of religion, be not displeased at some show of devotion I have made to Apollo, since he, if he knew anything, knows that my heart bears far more awful reverence to yourself, than to his, or any other the like deity.” “You will ever be deceived in me,” answered Zelmane; “I will make myself no competitor with Apollo, neither can blasphemies to him be duties to me.” With that Basilius took out of his bosom certain verses he had written, and kneeling down, presented them to her. They contained this:

Phoebus, farewell, a sweeter saint I serve,

The high conceits, thy heav’nly wisdom’s breed,

My thoughts forget: my thoughts which never swerve

From her in whom is sown their freedom’s seed,

And in whose eyes my daily doom I read.

Phoebus, farewell, a sweeter saint I serve,

Thou art far off, thy kingdom is above;

She heav’n on earth with beauties doth preserve,

Thy beams I like, but her clear rays I love:

Thy force I fear, her force I still do prove.

Phoebus yield up thy title in my mind;

She doth possess, thy image is defac’d,

But if thy rage some brave revenge will find,

On her, who hath in me thy temple raz’d,

Employ thy might, that she my fires may taste,

And how much more her worth surmounteth thee,

Make her as much more base by loving me.

“This is my hymn to you,” said he, “not left me by my ancestors, but begun in myself. The temple wherein it is daily sung is my soul; and the sacrifice I offer to you withal is all whatsoever I am.” Zelmane, who ever thought she found in his speeches the ill taste of a medicine, and the operation of a poison, would have suffered a disdainful look to have been the only witness of her good acceptation but that Basilius began afresh to lay before her many pitiful prayers and in the end to conclude that he was fully of opinion it was only the unfortunateness of that place that hindered the prosperous course of his desires. And therefore since the hateful influence, which made him embrace this solitary life was now passed over him, as he doubted not the judgment of Philanax would agree with his, and his late mishaps had taught him how perilous it was to commit a prince’s state to a place so weakly guarded, he was now inclined to return to his palace in Mantinea, and there he hoped he should be better able to show how much he desired to make all he had hers: with many other such honey words, which my pen grows almost weary to set down. This indeed nearly pierced Zelmane: for the good beginning she had obtained of Philoclea made her desire to continue the same trade, till the more perfecting of her desires; and to come to any public place she did deadly fear, lest her mask by many eyes might the sooner be discovered, and so her hopes stopped, and the state of her joys endangered. Therefore a while she rested, musing at the daily changing labyrinth of her own fortune, but in herself determined it was her only best to keep him there, and with favours to make him love the place where the favours were received, as disgraces had made him apt to change the soil.

Therefore, casting a kind of corner-look upon him, “It is truly said,” said she, “that age cooleth the blood. How soon, good man, you are terrified before you receive any hurt? Do you not know that daintiness is kindly unto us? And that hard obtaining, is the excuse of woman’s granting? Yet speak I not as though you were like to obtain, or I to grant. But because I would not have you imagine I am to be won by courtly vanities, or esteem a man the more because he hath handsome men to wait on him, when he is afraid to live without them.” You might have seen Basilius humbly swell, and, with a lowly look, stand upon his tiptoes; such diversity her words delivered unto him. “O Hercules,” answered he, “Basilius afraid? Or his blood cold that boils in such a furnace? Care I who is with me while I enjoy your presence? Or is any place good or bad to me, but as it pleaseth you to bless or curse it? O let me be but armed in your good grace, and I defy whatsoever there is or can be against me. No, no, your love is forcible, and my age is not without vigour.”

Zelmane thought it not good for his stomach to receive a surfeit of too much favour, and therefore thinking he had enough for the time to keep him from any sudden removing, with a certain gracious bowing down of her head towards him, she turned away, saying she would leave him at this time to see how temperately he could use so bountiful a measure of her kindness. Basilius, that thought every drop a flood that bred any refreshment, durst not further press her, but with ancient modesty left her to the sweet repast of her own fancies. Zelmane, as soon as he was departed, went toward Pamela’s lodge in hope to have seen her friend Dorus, to have pleased herself with another painful farewell, and further to have taken some advice with him touching her own estate, whereof before sorrow had not suffered her to think. But being come even near the lodge, she saw the mouth of a cave, made as it should seem by nature in despite of art, so fitly did the rich growing marble serve to beautify the vault of the first entry. Under foot the ground seemed mineral, yielding such a glistering show of gold in it as they say the river Tagus carries in his sandy bed. The cave framed out into many goodly spacious rooms, such as self-liking men have with long and learned delicacy found out the most easeful: there ran through it a little sweet river, which had left the face of the earth to drown herself for a small way in this dark but pleasant mansion. The very first show of the place enticed the melancholy mind of Zelmane, to yield herself over there to the flood of her own thoughts. And therefore, sitting down in the first entry of the cave’s mouth, with a song she had lately made, she gave a doleful way to her bitter affects, and sung to this effect:

Since that the stormy rage of passions dark

(Of passions dark, made dark by beauty’s light)

With rebel force, hath clos’d in dungeon dark

My mind, ere now led forth by reason’s light.

Since all the things which give mine eyes their light.

Do foster still the fruits of fancies dark:

So that the windows of my inward light

Do serve to make my inward powers dark.

Since, as I say, both mind and senses dark

Are hurt, not help’d, with piercing of the light:

While that the light may show the horrors dark,

But cannot make resolved darkness light:

I like this place, where at the least the dark

May keep my thoughts from thought of wonted light.

Instead of an instrument, her song was accompanied with the wringing of her hands, the closing of her weary eyes, and even sometimes cut off with the swelling of her sighs, which did not suffer the voice to have his free and native passage. But, as she was a while musing upon her song, raising up her spirits, which were something fallen into the weakness of lamentation, considering solitary complaints do no good to him whose help stands without himself, she might afar off first hear a whispering sound, which seemed to come from the inmost part of the cave, and being kept together with the close hollowness of the place, had, as in a trunk, the more liberal access to her ears, and by and by she might perceive the same voice deliver itself into musical tunes, and with a base Lyra give forth this song:

Hark, plaintful ghosts, infernal furies, hark

Unto my woes the hateful heavens do send,

The heavens conspir’d to make my vital spark

A wretched wreck, a glass of ruin’s end.

Seeing, alas, so mighty powers bend

Their ireful shot against so weak a mark,

Come cave, become my grave, come death, and lend

Receipt to me, within thy bosom dark.

For what is life to daily dying mind,

Where, drawing breath, I suck the air of woe:

Where too-much sight makes all the body blind,

And highest thoughts downward most headlong throw?

Thus then my form, and thus my state I find,

Death wrapp’d in flesh, to living grave assign’d.

And pausing but a little, with mournful melody it continued this octave:

Like those sick folks in whom strange humours flow,

Can taste no sweets, the sower only please,

So to my mind, while passions daily grow,

Whose fiery chains, upon his freedom seize;

Joys strangers seem, I cannot bide their show,

Nor brook aught else but well-acquainted woe.

Bitter griefs taste best, pain is my ease,

Sick to the death, still loving my disease.

“O Venus,” said Zelmane, “who is this so well acquainted with me, that can make so lively a portraiture of my miseries? It is surely the spirit appointed to have care of me, which doth now, in this dark place, bear part with the complaint of his unhappy charge. For if it be so, that the heavens have at all times a measure of their wrathful harms, surely so many have come to my blissless lot that the rest of the world hath too small a portion to make with cause so wailful a lamentation. But,” said she, “whatsoever thou be, I will seek thee out, for thy music well assures me we are at least-hand fellow-prentices to one ungracious master.” So rose she and went, guiding herself by the still plaining voice, till she saw upon a stone a little wax-light set, and under it a piece of paper, with these verses very lately, as it should seem, written in it:

How is my sun, whose beams are shining bright,

Become the cause of my dark ugly night?

Or how do I, captiv’d in this dark plight,

Bewail the case, and in the cause delight?

My mangled mind huge horrors still do fright,

With sense possessed, and claim’d by reason’s right:

Betwixt which two in me I have this fight:

Where who so wins, I put myself to flight.

Come cloudy fears, close up my dazzled sight,

Sorrows suck up the marrow of my might,

Due sighs blow out all sparks of joyful light,

Tire on despair upon my tired spright.

An end, an end, my dull’d pen cannot write,

Nor maz’d head think, nor falt’ring tongue recite.

And hard underneath the sonnet were these words written:

This cave is dark, but it had never light.

This wax doth waste itself, yet painless dies.

These words are full of woes, yet feel they none.

I darkened am, who once had clearest sight.

I waste my heart, which still new torments tries.

I plain with cause, my woes are all mine own.

No Cave, no wasting wax, no words of grief,

Can hold, show, tell my pains without relief.

She did not long stay to read the words, for not far off from the stone she might discern in a dark corner, a lady lying with her face so prostrate upon the ground that she could neither know nor be known. But, as the general nature of man is desirous of knowledge, and sorrow especially glad to find fellows, she went, as softly as she could convey her feet, near unto her, where she heard these words come with vehement sobbings from her. “O darkness,” said she, “which dost lightsomely, methinks, make me see the picture of my inward darkness: since I have chosen thee to be the secret witness of my sorrows, let me receive a false receipt in thee; and esteem them not tedious, but, if it be possible, let the uttering them be some discharge to my over-laden breast. Alas! sorrow, now thou hast the full sack of my conquered spirits, rest thyself awhile, and set not still new fire to thy own spoils: O accursed reason, how many eyes thou hast to see thy evils, and how dim, nay blind thou art in perceiving them? Forlorn creature that I am! I would I might be freely wicked, since wickedness doth prevail: but the footsteps of my overtrodden virtue lie still as bitter accusations against me. I am divided in myself, how can I stand? I am overthrown in myself, who shall raise me? Vice is but a nurse of new agonies, and the virtue I am divorced from, makes the hateful comparison the more manifest. No, no, virtue, either I never had but a shadow of thee, or thou thyself are but a shadow. For how is my soul abandoned? How are all my powers laid waste? My desire is pained because it cannot hope, and if hope came, his best should be but mischief. O strange mixture of human minds; only so much good left, as to make us languish in our own evils. Ye infernal furies, for it is too late for me to awake my dead virtue, or to place my comfort in the angry gods, ye infernal furies, I say, aid one that dedicates herself unto you; let my rage be satisfied, since the effect of it is fit for your service. Neither be afraid to make me too happy, since nothing can come to appease the smart of my guilty conscience, I desire but to assuage the sweltering of my hellish longing dejected Gynecia.”

Zelmane no sooner heard the name of Gynecia, but that, with a cold sweat all over her, as if she had been ready to tread upon a deadly stinging adder, she would have withdrawn herself, but her own passion made her yield more unquiet motions than she had done in coming. So that she was perceived, and Gynecia suddenly risen up, for indeed it was Gynecia, gotten into the cave, the same cave wherein Dametas had safely kept Pamela in the late uproar, to pass her pangs, with change of places. And as her mind ran still upon Zelmane, her piercing lover’s eye had soon found it was she. And seeing in her countenance to fly away, she fell down at her feet, and catching fast hold of her: “Alas!” said she, “whither, or from whom dost thou fly away? The savagest beasts are won with service, and there is no flint but may be mollified: how is Gynecia so unworthy in thine eyes? or whom cannot abundance of love make worthy? O think not that cruelty, or ungratefulness can flow from a good mind! O weigh, alas! weigh with thyself the new effects of this mighty passion, that I, unfit for my estate, uncomely for my sex, must become a suppliant at thy feet! By the happy woman that bare thee, by all the joys of thy heart, and success of thy desire, I beseech thee turn thyself to some consideration of me, and rather show pity in now helping me, than in too late repenting my death, which hourly threatens me.” Zelmane imputing it to one of her continual mishaps, thus to have met with this lady, with a full weary countenance; “Without doubt, Madam,” said she, “where the desire is such as may be obtained, and the party well deserving as yourself, it must be a great excuse that may well colour a denial: but when the first motion carries with it a direct impossibility, then must the only answer be, comfort without help, and sorrow to both parties; to you not obtaining, to me not able to grant.” “O,” said Gynecia, “how good leisure you have to frame these scornful answers? Is Gynecia thus to be despised? Am I so vile a worm in your sight? No, no, trust to it hard-hearted tiger, I will not be the only actor of this tragedy: since I must fall, I will press down some others with my ruins; since I must burn, my spiteful neighbours shall feel my fire. Dost thou not perceive that my diligent eyes have pierced through the cloudy mask of thy disguisement? Have I not told thee, O fool (if I were not much more fool) that I knew thou wouldst abuse us with thy outward show? wilt thou still attend the rage of love in a woman’s heart? The girl, thy well-chosen mistress, perchance shall defend thee when Basilius shall know how thou hast sotted his mind with falsehood, and falsely sought the dishonour of his house. Believe it, believe it, unkind creature, I will end my miseries with a notable example of revenge, and that accursed cradle of mine shall feel the smart of my wound, thou of thy tyranny, and lastly (I confess) myself of mine own work.”

Zelmane that had long before doubted herself to be discovered by her, and now plainly finding it was, as the proverb saith, like them that hold the wolf by the ears, bitten while they hold, and slain if they loose. If she held her off in these wonted terms, she saw rage would make her love work the effects of hate; to grant unto her, her heart was so bound upon Philoclea, it had been worse than a thousand deaths. Yet found she it was necessary for her to come to a resolution, for Gynecia’s sore could bide no leisure, and once discovered, besides the danger of Philoclea, her desires should be for ever utterly stopped. She remembered withal the words of Basilius, how apt he was to leave this life, and return to his court, a great bar to her hopes. Lastly, she considered Dorus’s enterprise might bring some strange alteration of this their well-liked fellowship. So that encompassed with these instant difficulties, she bent her spirits to think of a remedy, which might at once both save her from them, and serve her to the accomplishment of her only pursuit. Lastly, she determined thus, that there was no way but to yield to the violence of their desires, since striving did the more chafe them. And that following their own current, at length of itself it would bring her to the other side of her burning desires.