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Chapter 19

Wild Animals Attack

Zelmane saves Philoclea from a lion. Dorus saves Pamela from a bear. Dametas takes credit for having hired Dorus, singing a ditty on the subject. A messenger brings Cecropia’s apology. Her game keeper had lost control of some beasts. Gynecia suspects her sister-in-law of treachery but keeps silent. (1593 ed. 35v.34)

“No more of these philosophies, sweet Musidorus,” said Zelmane, “for here comes the very person of Dametas.” And so he did indeed, with a sword by his side, a forest-bill on his neck, and a chopping-knife under his girdle—well provided with weapons, as he had been ever since Zelmane had put fear into him. But he no sooner saw her, but with head and arms he laid his reverence before her, enough to have made any man foreswear all courtesy. And then in Basilius’ name he invited her to walk down to the place where that day they were to have the pastorals.

When he noticed that Musidorus was not one of the shepherds allowed in that place, Dametas would fain have persuaded himself to utter some anger, but that he dared not. Yet muttering and champing, as though his cud troubled him, he gave occasion to Musidorus to come near him. Musidorus then feigned the tale of his own life: that he was a younger brother to the shepherd Menalcas, by name Dorus, sent by his father in his tender age to Athens, there to learn some cunning more than ordinary that he might be better liked by the prince. And after his father’s death, his brother Menalcas (who had lately gone there to fetch him home) was also deceased, and Menalcas (upon his death) had charged him to seek the service of Dametas and to be wholly and ever guided by him as one in whose judgment and integrity the prince had singular confidence. For a token of this he gave Dametas a good sum of gold in ready coin, which Menalcas had bequeathed to him on the condition Dametas should receive poor Dorus into his service so his mind and manners might grow the better by his daily example.

Dametas, moved more by golden eloquence than by any other style, being also tickled by Musidorus’ praises, had his brain so turned that he became slave to that which he that sued to be his servant offered to give him. Yet for countenance’s sake he seemed very squeamish, in respect of the charge he had to protect Princess Pamela. But such was the secret operation of the gold, helped by the persuasion of the Amazon Zelmane—who said it was pity so handsome a young man should be anywhere else than with such a good master—that in the end Dametas agreed that he would receive Dorus into his service, if he behaved himself that day to the liking of Basilius and the king was content with his employment.

And thus they went to the lodge, where they found Gynecia and her daughters ready to go to the field to delight themselves there awhile until the shepherds should arrive. On the way, also taking Zelmane with them as they went, Dametas told them of Dorus and desired he might be accepted there that day instead of his brother Menalcas.

Basilius stayed behind to bring the shepherds, with whom he meant to confer, to breed the better Zelmane’s liking (his only concern). The other beautiful band came to the fair field appointed for the shepherdish pastimes. It was indeed a place of delight, for through the middle of it there ran a sweet brook, which did both hold the eye open with its azure streams and yet seek to close the eye with the purling noise it made upon the pebble stones it ran over. The field itself was set in some places with roses, and in all the rest constantly preserved a flourishing green. The roses added such a ruddy show unto it, as though the field were bashful at its own beauty. About it—as if it had been to enclose a theater—grew such sort of trees as either excellence of fruit, stateliness of growth, continual greenness, or poetical fancies have made at any time famous. In most of this theater there had been framed by art such pleasant arbors that one answered another and they became a gallery aloft from tree to tree almost round about. They cast a perfect shadow below, providing a pleasant refuge from the choleric look of Phoebus.30

In this place, while Gynecia walked hard by them, carrying many unquiet contentions about her, the ladies sat down and asked diverse questions of the shepherd Dorus. He kept his eye constantly upon Pamela and answered with such a trembling voice and abashed countenance, and oftentimes so far from the matter that it was some sport to the young ladies, who thought it want of education which made him so disconcerted by such unfamiliar company.

But Zelmane, who saw in him the mirror of her own misery, took the hand of Philoclea and with burning kisses set it close to her lips—as if it should stand there like a hand in the margin of a book, to note some saying worthy to be marked—and began to speak these words—“Oh Love, since thou art so changeable in men’s estates, how art thou so constant in their torments?”—when suddenly there came out of a wood a monstrous lion with a she-bear not far from him of little less fierceness, which, as they guessed, had been hunted in forests far off and had by chance come thither where before such beasts had never been seen.

Then care, not fear—or not fear for themselves—altered something the countenances of the two lovers. But as any man might perceive, this was rather an assembling of powers than the dismayedness of courage.

Philoclea no sooner spied the lion but that she leapt up, obeying the commandment of fear, and ran toward the lodge as fast as her delicate legs could carry her, while Dorus drew Pamela behind a tree, where she stood quaking like a partridge on which the hawk is even ready to seize.

Seeing Philoclea run away, the lion bent his race toward her and was ready to seize himself on the prey, when, with swiftness of desire, Zelmane (to whom danger then was a cause of fearlessness, all the composition of her elements being nothing but fiery) crossed him and with force of affection struck him such a blow upon his chin that she opened all his body. As the valiant beast turned upon her with open jaws, she gave him such a thrust through his breast that all the lion could do was to tear off with his paw the mantle and sleeve of Zelmane and make a little scratch rather than a wound, the death-blow having taken away the effect of his force. Therewithal he fell down and gave Zelmane leisure to take off his head to carry it for a present to her lady Philoclea.

She all this while (not knowing what was done behind her) kept on her course like Arethusa when she ran from Alpheus. Her light apparel was carried up with the wind, so that much of those beauties that she would at another time have willingly hidden were presented to the sight of the twice-wounded Zelmane. This made Zelmane not follow her over hastily, lest she should too soon deprive herself of that pleasure. Carrying the lion’s head in her hand, Zelmane did not fully overtake her until they came to the presence of Basilius.

Neither were they long there before Gynecia came thither also. She had been in such a trance of musing, that Zelmane was fighting with the lion before she knew of any lion’s coming. But then affection resisting and the swift end of the fight preventing all extremity of fear, Gynecia marked Zelmane’s fighting. And when the lion’s head was off, as Zelmane ran after Philoclea, she could find nothing in her heart but to run after Zelmane. It was a new sight that fortune had prepared in those woods, to see these great personages thus run one after the other, each carried forward with an inward violence: Philoclea with such fear that she thought she was still in the lion’s mouth; Zelmane with an eager and impatient delight; and Gynecia with wings of love, flying she neither knew, nor cared to know, whither.

They all came before Basilius, who was amazed at this sight. Fear had such possession in the fair Philoclea that her blood dared not yet come to her face to take away the name of paleness from her most pure whiteness. Zelmane kneeled down, and presented the lion’s head to her:

“My only lady,” said she, “here see you the punishment of that unnatural beast, which contrary to his own kind would have wronged princely blood, guided with such traitorous eyes as dared rebel against your beauty.”

“Happy am I, and my beauty both,” answered the sweet Philoclea, then blushing (for fear had bequeathed his place to his kinsman bashfulness), “that you, excellent Amazon, were there to teach him good manners.”

“And even thanks to that beauty,” answered Zelmane, “which can give an edge to the bluntest swords.”

There Philoclea told her father how it had happened. But as she had turned her eyes in her tale to Zelmane, she perceived some blood upon Zelmane’s shoulder, so that starting with the lovely grace of pity, she showed it to her father and mother. As the nurse sometimes with over-much kissing may forget to give the babe suck, so had they, with too much delighting in beholding and praising Zelmane, forgotten to mark whether she needed succor.

Then they both ran to her, like a father and mother to an only child, and would see to it, though Zelmane assured them it was nothing. Gynecia had skill in surgery, an art in those days much esteemed because it served virtuous courage, which even ladies would (ever with contempt for cowards) seem to cherish. But looking upon it (which gave more inward bleeding wounds to Zelmane, for she might sometimes feel Philoclea’s touch while she helped her mother) she found it was indeed of no importance, yet she applied unto it a precious balm, of power to heal a greater grief.

But even then, and not before, they remembered Pamela, and therefore Zelmane, thinking of her friend Dorus, was running back to be satisfied when they all saw Pamela coming between Dorus and Dametas, having in her hand the paw of a bear that the shepherd Dorus had newly presented to her, desiring her to accept it because the beast, though she deserved death for her presumption, yet should have her wit esteemed, since she made so sweet a choice of her intended victim.

Dametas for his part came piping and dancing, the merriest man in a parish, and when he came so near as he might be heard by Basilius, he broke through his ears with this joyful song of their good success:

Now thankèd be the great god Pan,

which thus preserves my lovèd life;

thankèd be I that keep a man,

who ended hath this bloody strife.

For if my man must praises have,

what then must I that keep the knave?

For as the moon the eye doth please,

with gentle beams not hurting sight,

yet has Sir Sun the greatest praise

because from him doth come her light:

So if my man must praises have,

what then must I that keep the knave?31

When they all came together and wanted to know each other’s adventures, Pamela’s noble heart would gratefully make known the valiant means of her safety, which she did in this manner, directing her speech to her mother: “As soon,” said she, “as ye all ran away and I hoped I was safe, there came out of the same woods a foul, horrible bear, which, fearing to deal while the lion was present, as soon as he was gone, came furiously towards the place where I was, and this young shepherd alone by me. I fell down flat on my face—truly not guilty of the wisdom they have since laid to my charge (because they say it is the best refuge against that beast) but even pure fear bringing forth that effect of wisdom—needing not to counterfeit being dead, for indeed I was a little better. But this young shepherd with a wonderful courage, having no other weapon but that knife you see, standing before the place where I lay, so behaved himself that the first sight I had (when I thought myself already near Charon’s ferry) was the shepherd showing me his bloody knife in token of victory.”

“I pray you,” said Zelmane, speaking to Dorus, whose valor she was careful to have displayed, “how, so ill prepared, did you achieve this enterprise?”

“Noble lady,” said Dorus, “the manner of these beasts fighting with any man is to stand up on their hind feet, and so this one did, and was ready to give me a shrewd embracement. I think the god Pan—ever watchful over the chief blessing of Arcadia—guided my hand just to the heart of the beast, so that neither she could once touch me, nor breed any danger to the princess—the only thing that matters in this worthy remembrance. For my part, I ought rather to thank her excellency—with all subjected humbleness, since my duty to her gave me heart to save myself—than receive thanks for a deed that she alone inspired.”

And thus Dorus spoke, keeping affection as much as he could from coming into his eyes and gestures. But Zelmane, who had the same character in her heart, could easily decipher it, and therefore to keep him longer in speech, desired to understand the conclusion of the matter and how honest Dametas had escaped.

“Nay,” said Pamela, “none shall take that office from me, being so much bound to him as I am for my education.” And with that word, scorn borrowed the countenance of mirth, and she somewhat smiled, and thus spoke on:

“When,” said she, “Dorus made me assuredly perceive that all cause of fear had passed, the truth is I was ashamed to find myself alone with this shepherd, and therefore looking about me to see if I could see anybody, at length we both perceived the gentle Dametas, lying with his head and breast as far as he could thrust himself into a bush, drawing up his legs as close to him as he could. Like a man whose kind nature is soon to take pity of himself, he was fully resolved not to see his own death.

“When this shepherd pushed him, bidding him to be of good cheer, it was a great while before we could persuade him that Dorus was not the bear, so that Dorus was fain to pull him out by the heels and show him the beast, as dead as he could wish it—which you may believe me was a very joyful sight unto him. But then he forgot all courtesy, for he fell upon the beast, giving it many a manful wound, swearing by much it was not well that such beasts should be suffered in a commonwealth. And then my governor, as full of joy as before of fear, came dancing and singing before us, as even now you see him.

“Well, well,” said Basilius, “I have not chosen Dametas for his fighting, nor for his discoursing, but for his plainness and honesty, and therein I know he will not deceive me.”

But then Basilius told Pamela (not so much because she should know it as because he would tell it) the wonderful act Zelmane had performed, which Gynecia likewise spoke of, both in such extremity of praising as it was easy to see that the construction of their speech might best be made by the grammar rules of affection. Basilius told with what a gallant grace she ran with the lion’s head in her hand, like another Pallas with the spoils of Gorgon. Gynecia swore she saw the very face of the young Hercules killing the Nemean lion. And all with a grateful assent confirmed the same praises.

Only poor Dorus, equally deserving yet not coming from equal estate, should have been left forgotten had not Zelmane, again with great admiration, begun to speak of him, asking whether it were the fashion in Arcadia that shepherds should perform such valorous enterprises.

Basilius (having the quick sense of a lover) took this to mean that his mistress was giving him a secret reprehension that he had not showed more gratefulness to Dorus. Therefore, as nimbly as he could, he inquired of his estate, adding promise of great rewards, among which he offered to Dorus that if he would exercise his courage in soldiery, he would commit some charge of soldiers to him under his lieutenant Philanax.

But Dorus (whose ambition climbed by another stair) first answered touching his estate, that he was brother to the shepherd Menalcas, who among others was wont to resort to the prince’s presence. He then excused himself from going to soldiery by the unaptness he found in himself that way. And he told Basilius that his brother in his last testament had willed him to serve Dametas. Therefore, for due obedience on the matter, he would think his service greatly rewarded if he might obtain by that means to live in the sight of his prince, and yet practice his own chosen vocation.

Basilius liked Dorus’ goodly shape and handsome manner, and he charged Dametas to receive him like a son into his house, saying that Dorus’ valor and Dametas’ truth would be good bulwarks against such mischief as, he did not hesitate to say, were threatened against his daughter Pamela.

Dametas, no whit out of countenance with all that had been said, accepted Dorus. He also told Basilius that some of the shepherds had come, asking in what place he would see their sports.

Basilius was first curious to know whether it were not more requisite for Zelmane’s hurt to rest than sit up at those pastimes. Zelmane felt no wound but one and earnestly desired to have the pastorals. Therefore Basilius commanded it should be at the gate of the lodge where the throne of the prince was, and according to the ancient manner, he made Zelmane (who thought herself between burning and drowning) sit between him and his wife. The two young ladies sat on either side of the throne. And so they prepared their eyes and ears to be delighted by the shepherds.

But before all those were assembled to begin their sports, there came a fellow who was out of breath or seemed so for haste. With humble hastiness, he told Basilius that his mistress, Lady Cecropia, had sent him to excuse the mischance of her beasts ranging in such dangerous sort. It happened out of the folly of their keeper, who thought himself able to rule them and had taken them abroad and so was deceived. She was ready to deliver him if Basilius would punish him for it.

Basilius made no other answer but that his mistress, if she had any more such beasts, should cause them to be killed. He then told his wife and Zelmane of it, so that they should not fear that those woods harbored such beasts, where the like had never been seen.

But Gynecia took a further conception of it, greatly mistrusting Cecropia because she had heard much of the devilish wickedness of her heart and that in particular Cecropia did her best to bring up her son Amphialus to aspire to the crown, since he was the brother’s son and next male heir to Basilius. Gynecia therefore saw no reason not to conjecture that what happened proceeded rather of some mischievous practice than of misfortune. Yet she only uttered her doubt to her daughters, thinking, since the worst was past, she would wait for a further occasion, lest overmuch haste might seem to derive from the ordinary dislike between sisters-in-law. Nonetheless they marveled that Basilius looked no further into it. The good man thought so much of his late conceived commonwealth that all other matters were but digressions to him.

But the shepherds were ready, and the ladies, handling themselves well, called their senses to attend their pastimes.

choleric look of Phoebus] the angry gaze of the sun.

“This was set as a round for six voices by Thomas Ravenscroft, Pammelia (1609), No. 95” (Ringler 385).