Chapter XXVIII: Introduction

_Le Voyage de l’.sle d’.mour_, that dainty fantasy which has been so admirably translated by Mrs. Behn, is the work of Paul Tallemant, a graceful French littérateur, who was born at Paris, 18 June, 1642. He was brought up in circumstances of affluence and even prodigal luxury until the extravagances and dissipations of both grandfather and father left him whilst yet young in a state of indigence. He thereupon took orders, but, as was not unusual at the time, devoted much attention to art and literature, becoming well known in society for his songs, ballads, idylls, pastorals, and even gallant little operas in which he never ceased to burn incense to the King. He proved so successful that at twenty-four in 1666 he succeeded to the place of Gombaud in the Academy. His chief title to literary renown at that date was none other than _Le Voyage de l’.sle d’.mour_. Colbert, his patron, procured for him a pension of 500 crowns, the abbeys of Ambierle and Saint-Albin, together with various other posts affording no small emoluments. Tallemant became a popular preacher and society flocked to hear his fashionable discourses. He frequently counted the Queen and Princes of the blood amongst his auditors. He died of an apoplexy in his seventy-first year. His poems, always neat and elegant, can hardly be claimed to have any great value, although they never fail to please. Mrs. Behn has indeed greatly improved upon her original. _Le Voyage de l’.sle d’.mour_ was first printed at Paris, 12mo, 1663. It was reprinted in _Le Recueil de pièces galantes_; Cologne, 12mo, 1667; again, ‘A Leyde. Chez Abraham Gogat.’ 12mo, 1671. _Le Voyage et la Conqueste de l’.sle d’.mour, le Passe-Partout des Coeurs_ appeared at Paris ‘chez Augustin Besoigne’ 1675. With the sub-title _La Clef des Coeurs_ it was issued from van Bulderen’s press at the Hague in 1713, 12mo. So it will be seen that the little book enjoyed no small popularity. The best edition is that in volume XXVI of the collection entitled _Voyages Imaginaires, Songes, Visions, et Romans Cabalistiques_. Amsterdam, 1788. It is illustrated by an exquisitely graceful plate of C. P. Marillier at the lines

Celui que tu vois si sévère,
Est le Respect, fils de l’.mour.

Him whom you see so awful and severe,
Is call’d Respect, the Eldest Son of Love.

A VOYAGE to the ISLE OF LOVE.

_An Account from_ Lisander _to_ Lysidas _his Friend._

At last, dear _Lysidas_, I’l set thee Free,
From the disorders of Uncertainty;
Doubt’s the worst Torment of a generous Mind,
Who ever searching what it cannot find,
Is roving still from wearied thought to thought,
And to no settled Calmness can be brought:
The Cowards Ill, who dares not meet his Fate, }
And ever doubting to be Fortunate, }
Falls to that Wretchedness his fears Create. }
I should have dy’d silent, as Flowers decay,
Had not thy Friendship stopt me on my way,
That friendship which our Infant hearts inspir’d,
E’re them Ambition or false Love had fir’d:
Friendship! which still enlarg’d with years and sense
Till it arriv’d to perfect Excellence;
Friendship! Mans noblest bus’ness! without whom }
The out-cast Life finds nothing it can own, }
But Dully dyes unknowing and unknown. }
Our searching thought serves only to impart
It’s new gain’d knowledge to anothers Heart;
The truly wise, and great, by friendship grow,
That, best instructs ‘em how they should be so,
That, only sees the Error of the Mind,
Which by its soft reproach becomes Refin’d;
Friendship! which even Loves mighty power controuls,
When that but touches; this Exchanges Souls.
The remedy of Grief, the safe retreat
Of the scorn’d Lover, and declining great.
This sacred tye between thy self and me,
Not to be alter’d by my Destiny;
This tye, which equal to my new desires
Preserv’d it self amidst Loves softer Fires,
Obliges me (without reserve) t’ impart
To _Lycidas_ the story of my Heart;
Tho’ ‘twill increase its present languishment,
To call to its remembrance past content:
So drowning Men near to their native shore
(From whence they parted ne’er to visit more)
Look back and sigh, and from that last Adieu,
Suffer more pain then in their Death they do:
That grief, which I in silent Calms have born,
It will renew, and rowse into a Storm.

The Truce.

_With you, unhappy Eyes, that first let in_
_To my fond Heart the raging Fire,_
_With you a_ Truce _I will begin,_
_Let all your Clouds, let all your Show’rs retire,_
_And for a while become serene,_
_And you, my constant rising Sighs, forbear,_
_To mix your selves with flying Air,_
_But utter Words among that may express,_
_The vast degrees of Joy and Wretchedness._
_And you, my Soul! forget the dismal hour,_
_When dead and cold_ Aminta _lay,_
_And no kind God, no pittying Power_
_The hasty fleeting Life would stay;_
_Forget the Mad, the Raving pain._
_That seiz’d Thee at a sight so new,_
_When not the Wind let loose, nor raging Main_
_Was so destructive and so wild as thou._
_Forget thou saw’st the lovely yielding Maid,_
_Dead in thy trembling Arms_
_Just in the Ravishing hour, when all her Charms_
_A willing Victim to thy Love was laid,_
_Forget that all is fled thou didst Adore,_
_And never, never, shall return to bless Thee more._

Twelve times the _Moon_ has borrow’d Rays; that Night
Might favour Lovers stealths by Glimmering Light:
Since I imbarqu’d on the inconstant Seas
With people of all Ages and Degrees,
All well dispos’d and absolutely bent,
To visit a far Country call’d _Content_.
The Sails were hoisted, and the Streamers spread,
And chearfully we cut the yielding Floud;
Calm was the Sea, and peaceful every Wind,
As if the Gods had with our Wishes joyn’d
To make us prosperous; All the whispering Air
Like Lovers Joys, was soft, and falsly fair.
The ruffling Winds were hush’d in wanton sleep,
And all the Waves were silenc’d in the deep:
No threatning Cloud, no angry Curl was found,
But bright, serene, and smooth, ‘twas all around:
But yet believe false _Iris_ if she weep,
Or Amorous _Layis_ will her promise keep,
Before the Sea that Flatters with a Calm,
Will cease to ruin with a rising Storm;
For now the Winds are rows’d, the Hemisphere
Grows black, and frights the hardy Mariner,
The Billows all into Disorder hurl’d,
As if they meant to bury all the World;
And least the Gods on us should pity take,
They seem’d against them, too, a War to make.
Now each affrighted to his Cabin Flyes,
And with Repentance Load the angry Skyes;
Distracted Prayers they all to Heaven Address,
While Heaven best knows, they think of nothing less;
To quit their Interest in the World’s their fear,
Not whether,--but to go,--is all their Care,
And while to Heav’n their differing crimes they mount,
Their vast disorders doubles the account;
All pray, and promise fair, protest and weep,
And make those Vows they want the pow’r to keep,
And sure with some the angry Gods were pleas’d;
For by degrees their Rage and Thunder ceas’d:
In the rude War no more the Winds engage,
And the destructive Waves were tir’d with their own Rage;
Like a young Ravisher, that has won the day,
O’re-toil’d and Panting, Calm and Breathless lay,
While so much Vigour in the Incounter’s lost,
They want the pow’r a second Rape to Boast.
The Sun in Glory daignes again t’ appear; }
But we who had no Sense, but that of fear, }
Cou’d scarce believe, and lessen our dispair. }
Yet each from his imagin’d Grave gets out,
And with still doubting Eyes looks round about.
Confirm’d they all from Prayer to Praises hast,
And soon forgot the sense of dangers past;
And now from the recruited Top-mast spy’d,
An Island that discover’d Natures Pride:
To which was added, all that Art could do
To make it Tempting and Inviting too;
All wondering Gaz’d upon the happy place,
But none knew either where, or what it was:
Some thought, th’.naccessible Land ‘t had been,
And others that Inchantment they had seen,
At last came forth a Man, who long before
Had made a Voyage to that fatal shoar,
Who with his Eyes declin’d, as if dismaid,
At sight of what he dreaded: Thus he said.--

_This is the Coast of_ Africa,
_Where all things sweetly move;_
_This is the Calm_ Atlantick _Sea,_
_And that the_ Isle of Love;

_To which all Mortals Tribute pay,_
_Old, Young, the Rich and Poor;_
_Kings do their awful Laws obey,_
_And Shepherds do Adore._

_There’s none its forces can resist,_
_Or its Decrees Evince,_
_It Conquers where, and whom it list,_
_The_ Cottager _and_ Prince.

_In entering here, the King resigns,_
_The Robe and Crown he wore;_
_The Slave new Fetters gladly joyns_
_To those he dragg’d before._

_All thither come, early or late,_
_Directed by Desire,_
_Not Glory can divert their fate,_
_Nor quench the Amorous fire._

_The Enterances on every side,_
_Th’. Attracts _and_ Beauties _Guard,_
_The_ Graces _with a wanton Pride,_
_By turn secure the Ward._

_The God of Love has lent ‘em Darts,_
_With which they gently Greet,_
_The heedless undefended Hearts_
_That pass the fatal Gate._

_None e’re escapt the welcom’d blow,_
_Which ner’e is sent in vain;_
_They Kiss the Shaft, and Bless the Foe,_
_That gives the pleasing Pain._

Thus whilst we did this grateful story learn,
We came so near the Shoar, as to discern
The Place and Objects, which did still appear
More Ravishing, approaching ‘em more near.
There the vast Sea, with a smooth calmness flows
As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows:
As peaceably as Rivulets it glides,
Imbracing still the shaded Islands sides;
And with soft Murmurs on the Margent flows,
As if to Nature it design’d Repose;
Whose Musick still is answer’d by the Breeze,
That gently plays with the soft rufl’d Trees.
Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear }
Whose mixt disorders more delightful were, }
Then if they had been plac’d with Artful care, }
The Cowslip, Lilly, Rose and Jesamine,
The Daffodil, the Pink and Eglintine,
Whose gawdy store continues all the year,
Makes but the meanest of the Wonders here.
Here the young _Charmers_ walk the Banks along,
Here all the _Graces_ and the _Beauties_ throng.
But what did most my Admiration draw,
Was that the Old and Ugly there I saw,
Who with their Apish Postures, void of shame
Still practice Youth, and talk of Darts and Flame.
I laught to see a Lady out of date, }
A worn out Beauty, once of the first rate; }
With youthful Dress, and more fantastick Prate, }
Setting her wither’d Face in thousand forms,
And thinks the while she Dresses it in charms;
Disturbing with her Court: the busier throng
Ever Addressing to the Gay and Young;
There an old Batter’d Fop, you might behold,
Lavish his Love, Discretion, and his Gold
On a fair she, that has a Trick in Art,
To cheat him of his Politicks and Heart;
Whilst he that Jilts the Nation ore and ore,
Wants sense to find it in the subtiller _W--re_.
The Man that on this Isle before had been,
Finding me so admire at what I’d seen;
Thus said to me.--

LOVE’s Power.

_Love when he Shoots abroad his Darts,_
_Regards not where they light:_
_The Aged to the Youthful Hearts,_
_At random they unite._
_The soft un-bearded Youth, who never found_
_The Charms in any Blooming Face,_
_From one of Fifty takes the Wound;_
_And eagerly persues the cunning Chase:_
_While she an Arted Youth puts on;_
_Softens her Voice, and languishes her Eyes;_
_Affects the Dress, the Mean, the Tone,_
_Assumes the noysy Wit, and ceases to be Wise;_
_The tender Maid to the Rough Warrior yields;_
_Unfrighted at his Wounds and Scars,_
_Pursues him through the Camps and Fields,_
_And Courts the story of his dangerous Wars,_
_With Pleasure hears his Scapes, and does not fail_
_To pay him with a Joy for every Tale._

_The fair young Bigot, full of Love and Prayer,_
_Doats on the lewd and careless Libertine;_
_The thinking States-man fumbles with the Player,_
_And dearly buys the (barely wishing) Sin._
_The Peer with some mean Damsel of the trade,_ }
_Expensive, common, ugly and decay’d:_ }
_The gay young Squire, on the blouz’d Landry Maid._ }
_All things in Heaven, in Earth, and Sea,_
_Love gives his Laws unto;_
_Tho’ under different Objects, they_
_Alike obey, and bow;_
_Sometimes to be reveng’d on those,_
_Whose Beauty makes ‘em proudly nice,_
_He does a Flame on them impose,_
_To some unworthy choice._
_Thus rarely equal Hearts in Love you’ll find,_
_Which makes ‘em still present the God as Blind._

Whilst thus he spake, my wondering Eyes were staid
With a profound attention on a Maid!
Upon whose Smiles the _Graces_ did await,
And all the _Beauties_ round about her sate;
Officious _Cupid’s_ do her Eyes obey,
Sharpning their Darts from every Conquering Ray:
Some from her Smiles they point with soft desires,
Whilst others from her Motion take their Fires:
Some the Imbroider’d Vail and Train do bear,
And some around her fan the gentle Air,
Whilst others flying, scatter fragrant Show’rs, }
And strow the paths she treads with painted flow’rs, }
The rest are all imploy’d to dress her Bow’rs; }
While she does all, the smiling Gods carress,
And they new Attributes receive from each Address.

The CHARACTER.

_Such Charms of Youth, such Ravishment_
_Through all her Form appear’d,_
_As if in her Creation Nature meant,_
_She shou’d alone be ador’d and fear’d:_
_Her Eyes all sweet, and languishingly move,_ }
_Yet so, as if with pity Beauty strove,_ }
_This to decline, and that to charm with Love._ }
_A chearful Modesty adorn’d her Face,_
_And bashful Blushes spread her smiling Cheeks;_
_Witty her Air; soft every Grace,_
_And ‘tis eternal Musick when she speaks,_
_From which young listening Gods the Accents take_ }
_And when they wou’d a perfect Conquest make,_ }
_Teach their young favourite Lover so to speak._ }

2.

_Her Neck, on which all careless fell her Hair,_ }
_Her half discover’d rising Bosome bare,_ }
_Were beyond Nature formed; all Heavenly fair._ }
_Tempting her dress, loose with the Wind it flew,_
_Discovering Charms that wou’d alone subdue;_
_Her soft white slender Hands whose touches wou’d_
_Beget desire even in an awful God;_
_Long Winter’d Age to tenderness wou’d move,_
_And in his Frozen Blood, bloom a new spring of_ Love.

All these at once my Ravisht Senses charm’d,
And with unusual Fires my Bosome warm’d.
Thus my fixt Eyes pursu’d the lovely Maid,
Till they had lost her in the envied Glade;
Yet still I gaz’d, as if I still had view’d
The Object, which my new desires pursu’d.
Lost while I stood; against my Will, my sight
Conducted me unto a new delight.
Twelve little Boats were from the Banks unty’d,
And towards our Vessel sail’d with wondrous Pride,
With wreathes of Flowers and Garlands they were drest,
Their Cordage all of Silk and Gold consist,
Their Sails of silver’d Lawn, and Tinsel were,
Which wantonly were ruffled in the Air.
As many little Cupids gayly clad,
Did Row each Boat, nor other guides they had.
A thousand _Zephires_ Fann’d the moving Fleet,
Which mixing with the Flow’rs became more sweet,
And by repeated Kisses did assume
From them a scent that did the Air perfume.
So near us this delightful Fleet was come,
We cou’d distinguish what the _Cupid’s_ sung,
Which oft with charming Notes they did repeat,
With Voices such as I shall ne’re forget.

_You that do seek with Amorous desires,_
_To tast the Pleasures of the Life below,_
_Land on this_ Island, _and renew your Fires,_
_For without_ Love, _there is no joy, you know._

Then all the _Cupids_ waiting no Commands,
With soft inviting Smiles present their Hands,
And in that silent Motion seem’d to say,
_You ought to follow, where Love leads the way._
Mad with delight, and all transported too,
I quitted Reason, and resolv’d to go;
For that bright charming Beauty I had seen,
And burnt with strange desire to see again,
Fill’d with new hope, I laught at Reasons force,
And towards the Island, bent my eager Course;
The _Zephires_ at that instant lent their Aid,
And I into Loves Fleet was soon convey’d,
And by a thousand Friendships did receive,
Welcomes which none but God’s of Love cou’d give.
Many possest with my Curiosity,
Tho’ not inspir’d like me, yet follow’d me,
And many staid behind, and laught at us:
And in a scoffing tone reproacht us thus,

_Farewel, Adventurers, go search the Joy,_
_Which mighty Love inspires, and you shall find,_
_The treatment of the wond’rous Monarch Boy,_
_In’s Airy Castle always soft and kind._

We on the fragrant Beds of Roses laid, }
And lull’d with Musick which the _Zephires_ made, }
When with the Amorous silken Sails they plaid, }
Rather did them as wanting Wit account
Then we in this affair did Judgment want,
With Smiles of pity only answer’d them,
Whilst they return’d us pitying ones again.
Now to the wisht for Shoar, with speed we high;
Vain with our Fate, and eager of our Joy,
And as upon the Beach we landed were,
An awful Woman did to us repair.
Goddess of _Prudence_! who with grave advice,
Counsels the heedless Stranger to be Wise;
She guards this Shoar, and Passage does forbid,
But now blind Sense her Face from us had hid;
We pass’d and dis-obey’d the heavenly Voice,
Which few e’er do, but in this fatal place.
Now with impatient hast, (but long in vain) }
I seek the Charming Author of my Pain, }
And haunt the Woods, the Groves, and ev’ry Plain. }
I ask each Chrystal Spring, each murmuring Brook,
Who saw my fair, or knows which way she took?
I ask the Eccho’s, when they heard her Name?
But they cou’d nothing but my Moans proclaim;
My Sighs, the fleeting Winds far off do bear,
My Charmer, cou’d no soft complaining hear:
At last, where all was shade, where all was Gay; }
On a Brooks Brink, which purling past away, }
Asleep the lovely Maid extended lay; }
Of different Flowers the _Cupids_ made her Bed,
And Rosey Pillows did support her Head.
With what transported Joy my Soul was fill’d,
When I, the Object of my wish beheld!
My greedy View each lovely part survey’d;
On her white Hand, her Blushing Cheek was laid
Half hid in Roses; yet did so appear
As if with those, the Lillys mingled were;
Her thin loose Robe did all her shape betray,
(Her wondrous shape that negligently lay)
And every Tempting Beauty did reveal,
But what young bashful Maids wou’d still conceal;
Impatient I, more apt to hope than fear,
Approacht the Heav’nly sleeping Maid more near;
The place, my flame, and all her Charms invite
To tast the sacred Joys of stoln delight.
The Grove was silent, and no Creature by,
But the young smiling God of Love and I;
But as before the awful shrine, I kneel’d,
Where Loves great Mystery was to be reveal’d,
A Man from out the Groves recess appears,
Who all my boasted Vigor turn’d to fears,
He slackt my Courage by a kind surprize,
And aw’d me with th’ Majesty of his Eyes;
I bow’d, and blusht, and trembling did retire,
And wonder’d at the Pow’r that checkt my fire;
So excellent a Mean, so good a Grace,
So grave a Look, such a commanding Face;
In modest Speech, as might well subdue,
Youth’s native wildness; yet ‘twas gracious too.
A little _Cupid_ waiting by my side,
(Who was presented to me for a guide,)
Beholding me decline, the Sleeping Maid,
To gaze on this Intruder,--Thus he said.

RESPECT.

I.

_Him whom you see so awful and severe,_
_Is call’d_ Respect, _the Eldest Son of_ Love;
Esteem _his Mother is; who every where_
_Is the best Advocate to all the fair,_
_And knows the most obliging Arts to move:_
_Him you must still carress, and by his Grace,_
_You’ll conquer all the Beauties of the Place;_
_To gain him ‘tis not Words will do,_
_His Rhetorick is the Blush and Bow._