“But,” said he, “for the death of these same,” pointing to the princesses, “of my grace I give them life.” And withal going to Pamela, and offering to take her by the chin, “And as for you, minion,” said he, “yield but gently to my will, and you shall not only live, but live so happily:” he would have said further, when Pamela, displeased both with words, matter and manner, putting him away with her fair hand; “proud beast,” said she, “yet thou playest worse thy comedy, than thy tragedy. For my part, assure thyself, since my destiny is such, that each moment my life and death stand in equal balance, I had rather have thee, and think thee far fitter to be my hangman, than my husband.” Pride and anger would fain have cruelly revenged so bitter an answer, but already Cupid had begun to make it his sport to pull his plumes: so that unused to a way of courtesy, and put out of his bias of pride, he hastily went away, grumbling to himself: between threatening and wishing; leaving his brothers with them: the elder of whom Lycurgus, liked Philoclea, and Zoilus would needs love Zelmane, or at least entertain themselves with making them believe so. Lycurgus more bragged, and near his brother’s humour, began, with setting forth their blood, their deeds, how many they had despised of most excellent women; how much they were bound to them, that would seek that of them. In sum, in all his speeches, more like the bestower than the desirer of felicity. Whom it was an excellent pastime, to those that would delight in the play of virtue, to see with what a witty ignorance she would not understand: and how acknowledging his perfections, she would make that one of his perfections, not to be injurious to ladies. But when he knew not how to reply, thenwould he fall to touching and toying, still viewing his graces in no glass but self-liking. To which Philoclea’s shamefacedness and humbleness were as strong resisters as choler and disdain: for though she yielded not, he thought she was to be overcome: and that thought a while stayed him from further violence. But Zelmane had eye to his behaviour, and set it in her memory upon the score of revenge, while she herself was no less attempted by Zoilus; who less fond of brags was forwardest in offering, indeed, dishonourable violence.
But when after their fruitless labours they had gone away, called by their brother, who began to be perplexed between new conceived desires, and disdain to be disdained, Zelmane, who with most assured quietness of judgment looked into their present estate, earnestly persuaded the two sisters, that to avoid the mischiefs of proud outrage, they would only so far suit their behaviour to their estates, as they might win time, which, as it could not bring them to worse case than they were, so it might bring forth unexpected relief. “And why,” said Pamela, “shall we any longer flatter adversity? why should we delight to make ourselves any longer balls to injurious fortune, since our own parents are content to be tyrants over us, since our own kin are content traitorously to abuse us? certainly in mishap it may be some comfort to us that we are lighted in these fellows’ hands, who yet will keep us from having cause of being miserable by our friend’s means. Nothing grieves me more than that you, noble lady Zelmane, to whom the world might have made us able to do honour, should receive only hurt by the contagion of our misery. As for me and my sister, undoubtedly it becomes our birth to think of dying nobly, while we have done or suffered nothing which might make our soul ashamed at the parture from these bodies. Hope is the fawning traitor of the mind, while under colour of friendship it robs it of his chief force of resolution.” “Virtuous and fair lady,” said Zelmane, “What you say is true, and that truth may well make up a part in the harmony of your noble thoughts. But yet the time, which ought always to be one, is not tuned for it, while that may bring forth any good, do not bar yourself thereof: for then will be the time to die nobly, when you cannot live nobly.” Then so earnestly she persuaded with them both, to refer themselves to their father’s consent, in obtaining whereof they knew some while would be spent, and by that means to temper the minds of their proud wooers; that in the end Pamela yielded to her, because she spoke reason, and Philoclea yielded to her reason, because she spoke it.
And so when they were again solicited in that little pleasing petition, Pamela forced herself to make answer to Anaxius, that ifher father gave his consent she would make herself believe, that such was the heavenly determination, since she had no means to avoid it. Anaxius who was the most frank promiser to himself of success, nothing doubted of Basilius’s consent, but rather assured himself, he would be his orator in that matter; and therefore he chose out an officious servant, whom he esteemed very wise, because he never found him but just of his opinion, and willed him to be his ambassador to Basilius, and to make him know, that if he meant to have his daughters both safe and happy, and desired himself to have such a son-in-law, as would not only protect him in his quiet course, but, if he listed to accept it, would give him the monarchy of the world, that then he should receive Anaxius, who never before knew what it was to pray anything. That if he did not, he would make him know that the power of Anaxius was in everything beyond his will, and yet his will not to be resisted by any other power. His servant, with smiling and cast-up look, desired God to make his memory able to contain the treasure of that wise speech: and therefore besought him to repeat it again, that by the oftener hearing it his mind might be the better acquainted with the divineness thereof; and that being graciously granted he then doubted not by carrying with him in his conceit the grace wherewith Anaxius spoke it, to persuade rocky minds to their own harm; so little doubted he to win Basilius to that, which he thought would make him think the heavens opened when he heard but the proffer thereof. Anaxius gravely allowed the probability of his conjecture; and therefore sent him away, promising him he should have the bringing up of his second son by Pamela.
The messenger with speed performed his lord’s commandment to Basilius; who by nature quiet, and by superstition made doubtful, was loth to take any matter of arms in hand, wherein already he had found so slow success; though Philanax vehemently urged him thereunto, making him see that his retiring back did encourage injuries. But Basilius, betwixt the fear of Anaxius’s might, the passion of his love, and jealousy of his estate, was so perplexed, that not able to determine, he took the common course of men, to fly only then to devotion, when they want resolution: therefore detaining the messenger with delays, he deferred the directing of his course to the counsel of Apollo, which because himself at that time could not go well to require, he entrusted the matter to his best trusted Philanax; who, as one in whom obedience was a sufficient reason unto him, went with diligence to Delphos, where being entered into the secret place of the temple, and having performed the sacrifices usual, the spirit that possessed the prophesying woman, with a sacred fury attended not hisdemand, but as if it would argue him of incredulity, told him, not in dark wonted speeches, but plainly to be understood, what he came for, and that he should return to Basilius, and will him to deny his daughters to Anaxius and his brothers; for that they were reserved for such as were better beloved of the Gods, that he should not doubt, for they should return unto him safely and speedily; and that he should keep on his solitary course till both Philanax and Basilius fully agreed in the understanding of the former prophecy: withal commanding Philanax from thence forward to give tribute, but not oblation to human wisdom.
Philanax then finding that reason cannot show itself more reasonable than to leave reasoning in things above reason, returns to his lord, and like one that preferred truth before the maintaining of an opinion, hid nothing from him, nor from thenceforth durst any more dissuade him from that which he found by the celestial providence directed; but he himself looking to repair the government, as much as in so broken an estate by civil dissention he might, and fortifying with notable art both the lodges, so that they were almost made unapproachable, he left Basilius to bemoan the absence of his daughters, and to bewail the imprisonment of Zelmane: yet wholly given holily to obey the oracle, he gave a resolute negative unto the messenger of Anaxius, who all this while had waited for it; yet in good terms desiring him to show himself in respect of his birth and profession, so princely a knight, as without forcing him to seek the way of force, to deliver in noble sort these ladies unto him, and so should the injury have been by Amphialus, and the benefit in him.
The messenger went back with this answer, yet having ever used to sugar anything which his master was to receive, he told him, that when Basilius first understood his desires, it did over-reach so far all his most hopeful expectations that he thought it were too great a boldness to hearken to such a man, in whom the heavens had such interest, without asking the God’s counsel; and therefore had sent his principal counsellor to Delphos, who although he kept the matter ever so secret, yet his diligence inspired by Anaxius’s privilege over all worldly things, had found out the secret, which was, that he should not presume to marry his daughter to one who already was enrolled among the demi-gods, and yet much less he should dare the attempting to take them out of his hands.
Anaxius, who till then had made fortune his creator, and force his god, now began to find another wisdom to be above, that judged so rightly of him: and where in this time of his servant’s waiting for Basilius’s resolution, he and his brothers had courted their ladies, as whom they vouchsafed to have for their wives; heresolved now to dally no longer in delays, but to make violence his orator, since he had found persuasions had gotten nothing but answers. Which intention he opened to his brothers, who having all this while wanted nothing to take that away but his authority, gave spurs to his runnings; and, worthy men, neither feeling virtue in themselves, nor tendering it in others, they went headlong to make that evil consort of love and force, when Anaxius had word, that from the tower there were descried some companies of armed men, marching towards the town, wherefore he gave present order to his servants and soldiers to go to the gates and walls, leaving none within but himself and his brothers: his thoughts then so full of their intended prey, that Mars his loudest trumpet could scarcely have awaked him.
But while he was directing what he would have done, his youngest brother Zoilus, glad that he had the commission, went in the name of Anaxius to tell the sisters, that since he had answer from their father, that he and his brother Lycurgus should have them in what sort it pleased them, that they would now grant them no longer time, but presently to determine whether they thought it more honourable comfort to be compelled or persuaded. Pamela made him answer, that in a matter whereon the whole state of her life depended, and wherein she had ever answered she would not lead, but follow her parents’ pleasure, she thought it reason she should either by letter, or particular messenger, understand something from themselves, and not have their belief bound to the report of their partial servant: and therefore as to their words, she and her sister had ever a simple and true resolution, so against their unjust force, God, they hoped, would either arm their lives, or take away their lives. “Well, ladies,” said he, “I will leave my brothers, who by and by will come unto you to be their own ambassadors: for my part I must now do myself service.” And with that turning up his mustaches, and marching as if he would begin a paven[7], he went toward Zelmane. But Zelmane having heard all this while of the messenger’s being with Basilius, had much to do to keep these excellent ladies from seeking by the passport of death to escape these base dangers whereunto they found themselves subject, still hoping that Musidorus would find some means to deliver them; and therefore had often, both by her own example and comfortable reasons, persuaded them to overpass many insolent indignities of their proud suitors, who thought it was a sufficient favour not to do the uttermost injury, now come again to the strait she most feared for them, either of death or dishonour, if heroical courage would have let her, she had been beyond herself amazed: but that yet held up her wit, to attendthe uttermost occasion, which even then brought his hairy forehead unto her: for Zoilus smacking his lips, as for the prologue of a kiss, and something advancing himself, “Darling,” said he, “let thy heart be full of joy, and let thy fair eyes be of counsel with it, for this day thou shalt have Zoilus, whom many have longed for, but none shall have him but Zelmane. And oh! how much glory I have to think what a race will be between us? The world, by the heavens, the world will be too little for them.” And with that he would have put his arm about her neck; but she withdrawing herself from him, “My lord,” said she, “much good may your thoughts do you: but that I may not dissemble with you, my nativity being cast by one that never failed in any of his prognostications, I have been assured that I should never be apt to bear children; but since you will honour me with so high a favour, I must only desire that I may perform a vow, which I made among my countrywomen, the famous Amazons, that I would marry none, but such one as was able to withstand me in arms: therefore, before I make mine own desire serviceable to yours, you must vouchsafe to lend me armour and weapons, that at least with a blow or two of the sword I may not find myself perjured to myself.” But Zoilus, laughing with a hearty loudness, went by force to embrace her; making no other answer, but since she had a mind to try his knighthood, she should quickly know what a man of arms he was; and so without reverence to the ladies, began to struggle with her.
But in Zelmane then disdain became wisdom, and anger gave occasion. For abiding no longer abode in the matter, she that had not put off, though she had disguised Pyrocles, being far fuller of stronger nimbleness, tripped up his feet so that he fell down at hers. And withal, meaning to pursue what she had begun, pulled out his sword which he wore about him: but before she could strike him withal, he got up, and ran to a fair chamber, where he had left his two brethren, preparing themselves to come down to their mistresses. But she followed at his heels, and even as he came to throw himself into their arms for succour, she hit him with his own sword such a blow upon the waist that she almost cut him asunder: once she sundered his soul from his body, sending it to Proserpina, an angry goddess against ravishers. But Anaxius, seeing before his eyes the miserable end of his brother, fuller of despite than wrath, and yet fuller of wrath than sorrow, looking with a woeful eye upon his brother Lycurgus; “Brother,” said he, “chastise this vile creature, while I go down and take order lest further mischief arise:” and so went down to the ladies, whom he visited, doubting there had been some further practice than yet he conceived. But finding them onlystrong in patience, he went and locked a great iron gate, by which only anybody might mount to that part of the castle; rather to conceal the shame of his brother, slain by a woman, than for doubt of any other annoyance: and then went up to receive some comfort of the execution, he was sure his brother had done of Zelmane. But Zelmane no sooner saw these brothers, of whom reason assured her she was to expect revenge, but that she leaped to a target, as one that well knew the first mark of valour to be defence. And then accepting the opportunity of Anaxius going away, she waited not the pleasure of Lycurgus, but without any words, which she ever thought vain, when resolution took the place of persuasion, gave her own heart the contentment to be the assailer. Lycurgus, who was in the disposition of his nature hazardous, and by the lucky passing through many dangers, grown confident in himself, went toward her, rather as to a spoil than to fight; so far from fear, that his assuredness disdained to hope. But when her sword made demonstrations above all flattery of arguments, and that he found she pressed so upon him, as showed that her courage sprang not from blind despair, but was guarded both with cunning and strength; self-love then first in him divided itself from vainglory, and made him find that the world of worthiness had not his whole globe comprised in his breast, but that it was necessary to have strong resistance against so strong assailing. And so between them, for a few blows, Mars himself might have been delighted to look on. But Zelmane, who knew that in her case, slowness of victory was little better than ruin, with the bellows of hate blew the fire of courage; and he striking a main blow at her head, she warded it with the shield, but so warded, that the shield was cut in two pieces while it protected her: and withal she ran in to him, and thrusting at his breast, which he put by with his target, as he was lifting up his sword to strike again, she let fall the piece of her shield, and with her left hand catching his sword on the inside of the pommel, with nimble and strong slight she had gotten his sword out of his hand, before his sense could convey to his imagination what was to be doubted. And having now two swords against one shield, meaning not foolishly to be ungrateful to good fortune, while he was no more amazed with his being unweaponed, than with the suddenness thereof, she gave him such a wound upon his head, in despite of the shield’s over-weak resistance, that withal he fell to the ground astonished with the pain, and aghast with fear. But seeing Zelmane ready to conclude her victory in his death, bowing up his head to her with a countenance that had forgotten all pride, “Enough, excellent lady,” said he, “the honour is yours; whereof you shall want the best witness if you kill me.As you have taken from men the glory of manhood, return so now again to your own sex for mercy. I will redeem my life of you with no small services; for I will undertake to make my brother obey all your commandments. Grant life, I beseech you, for your own honour, and for the person’s sake that you love best.”
Zelmane repressed a while her great heart, either disdaining to be cruel or pitiful, and therefore not cruel; and now the image of the human condition began to be an orator unto her of compassion, when she saw, as if he lifted up his arms with a suppliant’s grace about one of them, unhappily tied a garter with a jewel, which, given to Pyrocles by his aunt of Thessalia, and greatly esteemed by him, he had presented to Philoclea, and with inward rage promising extreme hatred, had seen Lycurgus with a proud force, and not without some hurt to her, pull away from Philoclea, because at entreaty she would not give it him. But the sight of that was like a cypher, signifying all the injuries which Philoclea had of him suffered, and that remembrance feeding upon wrath, trod down all conceits of mercy. And therefore saying no more, but, “No, villain, die: it is Philoclea that sends thee this token for thy love.” With that she made her sword drink the blood of his heart, though he wresting his body, and with a countenance prepared to excuse, would fain have delayed the receiving of death’s ambassadors. But neither stayed Zelmane’s hand, nor yet Anaxius’s cry unto her; who having made fast the iron gate, even then came to the top of the stairs, when contrary to all his imaginations, he saw his brother lie at Zelmane’s mercy. Therefore crying, promising, and threatening to her to hold her hand: the last groan of his brother was the only answer he could get to his unrespected eloquence. But then pity would fain have drawn tears, which fury in their spring dried; and anger would fain have spoken, but that disdain sealed up his lips; but in his heart he blasphemed heaven, that it could have such a power over him, no less ashamed of the victory he should have of her, than of his brother’s overthrow: and no more spited that it was yet unrevenged, than that the revenge should be no greater than a woman’s destruction. Therefore with no speech, but such a groaning cry as often is the language of sorrowful anger, he came running at Zelmane; use of fighting then serving instead of patient consideration what to do. Guided wherewith, though he did not with knowledge, yet he did according to knowledge, pressing upon Zelmane in such a well-defended manner, that in all the combats that ever she had fought, she had never more need of quick senses, and ready virtue. For being one of the greatest men of stature then living; as he did fully answer that stature in greatness of might; so did he exceed both in greatness ofcourage, which with a countenance formed by the nature both of his mind and body, to an almost horrible fierceness, was able to have carried fear to any mind that was not privy to itself of a true and constant worthiness. But Pyrocles, whose soul might well be separated from his body, but never alienated from the remembering of what was comely, if at the first he did a little apprehend the dangerousness of his adversary, whom once before he had something tried, and now perfectly saw as the very picture of forcible fury; yet was that apprehension quickly stayed in him, rather strengthening than weakening his virtue by that wrestling, like wine growing the stronger by being moved. So that they both prepared in hearts, and able in hands, did honour solitariness there with such a combat, as might have demanded, as a right of fortune, whole armies of beholders. But no beholders needed there, where manhood blew the trumpet, and satisfaction did whet as much as glory. There was strength against nimbleness: rage against resolution; fury against virtue; confidence against courage; pride against nobleness: love in both breeding mutual hatred, and desire of revenging the injuries of his brother’s slaughter, to Anaxius, being like Philoclea’s captivity to Pyrocles. Who had seen the one, would have thought nothing could have resisted: who had marked the other, would have marvelled that the other had so long resisted. But like two contrary tides, either of which are able to carry worlds of ships and men upon them, with such swiftness that nothing seems able to withstand them, yet meeting one another, with mingling their watery forces, and struggling together, it is long to say, whether stream gets the victory; so between these, if Pallas had been there, she could scarcely have told, whether she had nursed better in the feats of arms. The Irish greyhound against the English mastiff; the sword-fish against the whale; the rhinoceros against the elephant, might be models, and but models of this combat. Anaxius was better armed defensively: for (besides a strong casque bravely covered, wherewith he covered his head) he had a huge shield, such perchance, as Achilles showed to the pale walls of Troy, wherewithal that great body was covered. But Pyrocles utterly unarmed for defence, to offend had the advantage, for, in either hand he had a sword, and with both hands nimbly performed that office. And according as they were diversely furnished, so they did differ in the manner of fighting: for Anaxius most by warding, and Pyrocles oftenest by avoiding, resisted the adversary’s assault. Both hasty to end, yet both often staying for advantage. Time, distance and motion, custom made them so perfect in, that as if they had been fellow counsellors, and not enemies, each knew the other’s mind, and knew how to prevent it. So as theirstrength failed them sooner than their skill, and yet their breath failed them sooner than their strength. And breathless indeed they grew, before either could complain of any loss of blood.
So that consenting by the meditation of necessity to a breathing time of truce, being withdrawn a little one from the other, Anaxius stood leaning upon his sword with his grim eye so settled upon Zelmane, as is wont to be the look of an earnest thought. Which Zelmane marking, and according to the Pyroclean nature, fuller of gay bravery in the midst than in the beginning of danger: “What is it,” said she, “Anaxius, that thou so deeply musest on? doth thy brother’s example make thee think of thy fault past, or of thy coming punishment?” “I think,” said he, “what spiteful god it should be, who envying my glory, hath brought me to such a wayward case, that neither thy death can be a revenge, nor thy overthrow a victory.” “Thou dost well indeed,” said Zelmane, “to impute thy case to the heavenly providence, which will have thy pride find itself, even in that whereof thou art most proud, punished by the weak sex which thou most contemnest.”
But then having sufficiently rested themselves, they renewed again their combat far more terrible than before: like nimble vaulters, who at the first and second leap do but stir, and, as it were, awake the fiery and airy parts, which after in the other leaps they do with more excellency exercise. For in this pausing, each had brought to his thoughts the manner of the other’s fighting, and the advantages, which by that, and by the quality of their weapons they might work themselves, and so again repeated the lesson they had said before, more perfectly by the using of it; Anaxius oftener used blows, his huge force, as it were, more delighting therein, and the large protection of his shield animating him unto it. Pyrocles, of a more fine and deliberate strength, watching his time, when to give fit thrusts, as, with the quick obeying of his body, to his eye’s quick commandment, he shunned any harm Anaxius could do to him: so would he soon have made an end of Anaxius, if he had not found him a man of wonderful and almost matchless excellency in matters of arms. Pyrocles used divers feignings to bring Anaxius on into some inconvenience, but Anaxius keeping a sound manner of fighting, never offered but seeing fair cause, and then followed it with well-governed violence. Thus spent they a great time, striving to do, and with striving to do, wearying themselves more than with the very doing. Anaxius finding Zelmane so near unto him, that with little motion he might reach her, knitting all his strength together, at that time mainly foiled at her face. But Zelmane strongly putting it by with her right-hand sword, coming in with her left foot and hand, wouldhave given a sharp visitation to his right side, but that he was fain to leap away. Whereat ashamed, as having never done so much before in his life.
* * *[8]
The fire of rage then burning contempt out of his breast, did burst forth in flames through his eyes, and in smoke from his mouth; so that he was returning with a terrible madness (all the strength of his whole body transferred to the one hand for a singular service) which the resolute Zelmane did earnestly observe with a providently all despising courage, whilst the ears of Anaxius were suddenly arrested by a sound, whereof they were only capable, which, in consort with his own humour, could only of him with authority have challenged a due attendance: straight a martial noise (raised by the violence of invaders; and distractedness of others, dreadfully tumultuous) giving him intelligence what a bloody scene was acting without in the court of the castle, where he was expected as a special actor; though his eye, as harbinger of his blow, had already marked the room, where his bended arm threatened to lodge it; yet his feet did so suddenly ravish away the rest of his body, that even his own thoughts, much more Zelmane’s, were prevented by the suddenness of his flight, a flight indeed, not from the fighting with one, but to the fighting with many, where he did not look for an object worthy of the wrath of Anaxius. So that vanishing away, as carried in a cloud of whirlwind, Zelmane either could not, or else would not reach him: as disdaining the base advantage of these dishonourable wounds, which though greatest shame to the flying receiver, can give no glory to the unresisted giver.
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 butby 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 treasureof 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 indivers 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 transcendingreason, 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 rigorouscharge 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 towardsthe 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 lowas 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 twocompanions, 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 dieunknown; 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, thatwe 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.
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.