Arcadia. Sir Philip Sidney
by the grace of the wearer, though he himself went at a kind of languishing pace. Sometimes he cast his eyes up to heaven as though his fancies strove to mount higher; sometimes he threw them down to the ground as if the earth could not bear the burden of his sorrows. At length, with a lamentable tune, he sang these few verses:29
Come shepherd’s weeds, become your master’s mind:
Yield outward show what inward change he tries.
Be not abashed that such a guest you find
whose strongest hope in your weak comfort lies.
Come shepherd’s weeds, attend my woeful cries:
Disuse yourselves from sweet Menalcas’ voice,
for other be those tunes which sorrow ties
from those clear notes which freely may rejoice.
Then pour out plaint, and in one word say this:
“Helpless!”—his plaint, who spoils himself of bliss.
And having ended, he struck himself on the breast, saying, “O miserable wretch, whither do thy destinies guide thee?”
The voice made Zelmane hasten her pace to overtake him. Having done so, she plainly perceived that it was her dear friend Musidorus. Marveling not a little, she demanded of him whether the goddess of those woods had such a power to transform everybody, or whether as in all enterprises else he had done, he meant thus to match her in this new alteration.
“Alas,” said Musidorus, “what shall I say, who am loath to say, and yet willingly would have said? I find, indeed, that all is but lip-wisdom that lacks experience. I now (woe is me!) do try what love can do. O Zelmane, whoever will resist it must either have no wit or put out his eyes. Can any man resist his creation? Certainly by love we are made, and to love we are made. Beasts only cannot discern beauty, and let them be in the roll of beasts who do not honor it.”
The perfect friendship Zelmane bore him, and the great pity she (by good trial) had of such cases, could not keep her from smiling at him, remembering how vehemently he had cried out against the folly of lovers. And therefore a little to punish him,
“Why how now dear cousin,” she said, “you that were recently so high in the pulpit against lovers! Are you now become so poor an auditor? Remember that love is a passion and that a worthy man’s reason must ever have the masterhood.”
“I recant, I recant,” cried Musidorus, and withal fell down prostrate. “O thou celestial (or infernal) spirit of love, or what other heavenly or hellish title thou list to have (for effects of both I find in myself), have compassion of me and let thy glory be as great in pardoning them that submit to thee, as in conquering those who were rebellious.”
“No, no,” said Zelmane. “I see you well enough. You make but an interlude of my mishaps, and do but counterfeit thus to make me see the deformity of my passions. But take heed that this jest does not one day turn earnest.”
“Now I beseech thee,” said Musidorus, taking her fast by the hand, “even for the truth of our friendship, of which, if I be not altogether an unhappy man, thou hast some remembrance. By those secret flames that, I know, have likewise nearly touched thee, make no jest of that which has so earnestly pierced me through. Nor let that be light unto thee which is to me so burdensome that I am not able to bear it.”
Musidorus, both in words and behavior, did so lively deliver out his inward grief that Zelmane found indeed he was thoroughly wounded. But there rose a new jealousy in her mind, lest he might be in love with Philoclea, on whom, Zelmane thought, by right all hearts and eyes should dwell, and therefore she desired to be cleared of that doubt. Musidorus shortly (in haste and full of passionate perplexity) thus recounted his case to her:
“On the day that I parted from you, I was in mind to return to a town from whence I came hither. My horse was already tired and would scarcely bear me a mile. Night had come when the light of a candle I saw a good way off guided me to the house of a young shepherd named Menalcas. He saw that I was a straying stranger, and with the right honest hospitality that seems to be harbored in Arcadian breasts—not with curious costliness, yet with cleanly sufficiency—he entertained me.
“Having by talk with him found the manner of the country something more in particular than I had by Kalander’s report, I agreed to sojourn with him in secret, which he faithfully promised to observe. And so hither to your arbor diverse times I repaired, and here by your means had the sight (O that it had never been so, nay, O that it might ever be so) of a goddess who in a definite compass can set forth infinite beauty.”
All this while Zelmane was racked with jealousy. But Musidorus went on: “For,” said he, “I was lying concealed, in truth thinking of you, and saying thus to myself: ‘O sweet Pyrocles, how are you bewitched? Where is your virtue? Where is the use of your reason? How much am I inferior to you in the state of mind, and yet I know that all the heavens cannot bring me to such thralldom.’
“Scarcely, I think, had I spoken this word, when the ladies came forth, at which sight I think the very words returned back again to strike my soul—at least I felt an unmeasurable sting in myself, that I had spoken such words.”
“At which sight?” said Zelmane, not able to bear him any longer.
“Oh,” said Musidorus, “I know your suspicion. No, no, banish all such fear. It was, it is, and must be Pamela.”
“Then all is safe,” said Zelmane. “Proceed, dear Musidorus.”
“I will not,” said he, “impute it to my late solitary life—which yet is prone to affections—nor to thinking much of you (though that called the consideration of love into my mind, which before I ever neglected). Nor will I impute it to the exaltation of Venus or the revenge of Cupid, but even to her who is the planet, nay, the goddess, against which the only shield must be my sepulcher. When I first saw her, I was presently stricken, and I was like a foolish child, who, when any thing hits him, will strike himself upon it. I had to look again, as though I needed to persuade my eyes that they were deceived. But alas, well have I found that love to a yielding heart is a king, but to a resisting heart, is a tyrant. The more I shook with arguments the stake that he had planted in the ground of my heart, the deeper still it sank. But what mean I to speak of the causes of my love, which are as impossible to describe as to measure the back-side of heaven? Let this word suffice: I love.”
“And that you may know I do so, it was I that came in black armor to defend her picture, where I was both prevented and beaten by you. I who waited here to do you service have now myself most need of succor.”
“But whereupon got you yourself this apparel?” said Zelmane.
“I forgot to tell you,” said Musidorus, “though that was one principal matter of my speech—so much am I now master of my own mind! But thus it happened: when I returned to Menalcas’ house, I was full of tormenting desire. After a while, fainting under the weight, my courage stirred up my wit to seek for some relief before I yielded to perish. At last this came into my head. That very evening that I had to no purpose last used my horse and armor, I told Menalcas that I was a Thessalian gentleman who by mischance had killed a great favorite of the prince of that country and was pursued so cruelly that in every place, either by favor or corruption, they would obtain my destruction. Therefore (I told him) I was determined to disguise myself among the shepherds of Arcadia till the fury of my persecutors might be assuaged and (if possible) to be one of them that were allowed the prince’s presence, because if the worst should befall—that I was discovered—yet my acquaintance with the prince might happen to move his heart to protect me.
“Menalcas (being of an honest disposition) pitied my case, which my face, through my inward torment, made credible. And so, when I paid him largely, he let me have these garments, instructing me in all particularities touching himself or myself, which I desired to know. Yet not trusting so much to his constancy as that I would lay my life and the life of my life upon it, I hired him to go into Thessalia to a friend of mine and deliver to him a letter from me, conjuring him to bring me as speedy an answer as he could