The Works of Aphra Behn

As soon as they were come into the Pleasure-Boat, unseen of any, he kneel’d at the Feet of Atlante, and there utter’d so many passionate and tender Things to her, with a Voice so trembling and soft, with Eyes so languishing, and a Fervency and a Fire so sincere, that her young Heart, wholly uncapable of Artifice, could no longer resist such Language, and such Looks of Love; she grows tender, and he perceives it in her fine Eyes, who could not dissemble; he reads her Heart in her Looks, and found it yielding apace; and therefore assaults it anew, with fresh Forces of Sighs and Tears: He implores she would assure him of her Heart, which she could no other way do, than by yielding to marry him: He would carry her to the next Village, there consummate that Happiness, without which he was able to live no longer; for he had a thousand Fears, that some other Lover was, or would suddenly be provided for her; and therefore he would make sure of her while he had this Opportunity: and to that End, he answer’d all the Objections she could make to the contrary. But ever, when he named Marriage, she trembled, with fear of doing something that she fancy’d she ought not to do without the Consent of her Father. She was sensible of the Advantage, but had been so us’d to a strict Obedience, that she could not without Horror think of violating it; and therefore besought him, as he valued her Repose, not to urge her to that: And told him further, That if he fear’d any Rival, she would give him what other Assurance and Satisfaction he pleas’d, but that of Marriage; which she could not consent to, till she knew such an Alliance would not be fatal to him: for she fear’d, as passionately as he lov’d her, when he should find she had occasion’d him the Loss of his Fortune, or his Father’s Affection, he would grow to hate her. Tho’ he answer’d to this all that a fond Lover could urge, yet she was resolv’d, and he forc’d to content himself with obliging her by his Prayers and Protestations, his Sighs and Tears, to a Contract, which they solemnly made each other, vowing on either Side, they would never marry any other. This being solemnly concluded, he assum’d a Look more gay and contented than before: He presented her a very rich Ring, which she durst not put on her Finger, but hid it in her Bosom. And beholding each other now as Man and Wife, she suffer’d him all the decent Freedoms he could wish to take; so that the Hours of this Voyage seem’d the most soft and charming of his Life: and doubtless they were so; every Touch of Atlante transported him, every Look pierced his Soul, and he was all Raptures of Joy, when he consider’d this charming lovely Maid was his own.

Charlot all this while was gazing above-deck, admiring the Motion of the little Vessel, and how easily the Wind and Tide bore her up the River. She had never been in any thing of this kind before, and was very well pleas’d and entertain’d, when Rinaldo call’d her down to eat; where they enjoy’d themselves, as well as was possible: and Charlot was wondring to see such a Content in their Eyes.

But now they thought it was high time for them to return; they fancy the Footman missing them at Church, would go home and alarm their Father, and the Knight of the Ill-favour’d Countenance, as Charlot call’d Count Vernole, whose Severity put their Father on a greater Restriction of them, than naturally he would do of himself. At the Name of this Count, Rinaldo chang’d Colour, fearing he might be some Rival; and ask’d Atlante, if this Vernole was a-kin to her? She answer’d no; but was a very great Friend to her Father, and one who from their Infancy had had a particular Concern for their Breeding, and was her Master for Philosophy. ‘Ah! (reply’d Rinaldo, sighing) this Man’s Concern must proceed from something more than Friendship for her Father’; and therefore conjur’d her to tell him, whether he was not a Lover: ‘A Lover! (reply’d Atlante) I assure you, he is a perfect Antidote against that Passion’: And tho’ she suffer’d his ugly Presence now, she should loathe and hate him, should he but name Love to her.

She said, she believed she need not fear any such Persecution, since he was a Man who was not at all amorous; that he had too much of the Satire in his Humour, to harbour any Softness there: and Nature had form’d his Body to his Mind, wholly unfit for Love. And that he might set his Heart absolutely at rest, she assur’d him her Father had never yet propos’d any Marriage to her, tho’ many advantageous ones were offer’d him every Day.

The Sails being turned to carry them back from whence they came; after having discoursed of a thousand Things, and all of Love, and Contrivance to carry on their mutual Design, they with Sighs parted; Rinaldo staying behind in the Pleasure-Boat, and they going a-shore in the Wherry that attended: after which he cast many an amorous and sad Look, and perhaps was answer’d by those of Atlante.

It was past Church-time two or three Hours, when they arrived at home, wholly unprepar’d with an Excuse, so absolutely was Atlante’s Soul possest with softer Business. The first Person that they met was the Footman, who open’d the Door, and began to cry out how long he had waited in the Church, and how in vain; without giving them time to reply. De Pais came towards ’em, and with a frowning Look demanded where they had been? Atlante, who was not accustom’d to Excuses and Untruth, was a while at a stand; when Charlot with a Voice of Joy cry’d out, ‘Oh Sir! we have been a-board of a fine little Ship’: At this Atlante blush’d, fearing she would tell the Truth. But she proceeded on, and said, that they had not been above a Quarter of an Hour at Church, when the Lady – , with some other Ladies and Cavaliers, were going out of the Church, and that spying them, they would needs have ’em go with ’em: My Sister, Sir, continu’d she, was very loth to go, for fear you should be angry; but my Lady – was so importunate with her on one side, and I on the other, because I never saw a little Ship in my Life, that at last we prevail’d with her: therefore, good Sir, be not angry. He promised them he was not. And when they came in, they found Count Vernole, who had been inspiring De Pais with Severity, and counselled him to chide the young Ladies, for being too long absent, under Pretence of going to their Devotion. Nor was it enough for him to set the Father on, but himself with a Gravity, where Concern and Malice were both apparent, reproached Atlante with Levity; and told her, He believed she had some other Motive than the Invitation of a Lady, to go on Ship-board; and that she had too many Lovers, not to make them doubt that this was a design’d thing; and that she had heard Love from some one, for whom it was design’d. To this she made but a short Reply, That if it was so, she had no reason to conceal it, since she had Sense enough to look after herself; and if any body had made love to her, he might be assur’d, it was some one whose Quality and Merit deserved to be heard: and with a Look of Scorn, she passed on to another Room, and left him silently raging within with Jealousy: Which, if before she tormented him, this Declaration increas’d it to a pitch not to be conceal’d. And this Day he said so much to the Father, that he resolv’d forthwith to send Charlot to a Nunnery: and accordingly the next day he bid her prepare to go. Charlot, who was not yet arrived to the Years of Distinction, did not much regret it; and having no Trouble but leaving her Sister, she prepared to go to a Nunnery, not many Streets from that where she dwelt. The Lady Abbess was her Father’s Kinswoman, and had treated her very well, as often as she came to visit her: so that with Satisfaction enough, she was condemned to a Monastick Life, and was now going for her Probation-Year. Atlante was troubled at her Departure, because she had no body to bring and to carry Letters between Rinaldo and she: however, she took her leave of her, and promis’d to come and see her as often as she should be permitted to go abroad; for she fear’d now some Constraint extraordinary would be put upon her: and so it happened.

Atlante’s Chamber was that to which the Balcony belong’d; and tho’ she durst not appear there in the Daytime, she could in the Night, and that way give her Lover as many Hours of Conversation as she pleased, without being perceiv’d: But how to give Rinaldo notice of this, she could not tell; who not knowing Charlot was gone to a Monastery, waited many days at his Window to see her: at last, they neither of them knowing who to trust with any Message, one day, when he was, as usual upon his watch, he saw Atlante step into the Balcony, who having a Letter, in which she had put a piece of Lead, she tost it into his Window, whose Casement was open, and run in again unperceived by any but himself. The Paper contained only this:

My Chamber is that which looks into the Balcony; from whence, tho’ I cannot converse with you in the Day, I can at Night, when I am retired to go to bed: therefore be at your Window. Farewel.

There needed no more to make him a diligent Watcher: and accordingly she was no sooner retired to her Chamber, but she would come into the Balcony, where she fail’d not to see him attending at his Window. This happy Contrivance was thus carry’d on for many Nights, where they entertain’d one another with all the Endearment that two Hearts could dictate, who were perfectly united and assur’d of each other; and this pleasing Conversation would often last till Day appear’d, and forced them to part.

But old Bellyaurd perceiving his Son frequent that Chamber more than usual, fancy’d something extraordinary must be the Cause of it; and one night asking for his Son, his Valet told him, he was gone into the great Chamber, so this was called: Bellyaurd asked the Valet what he did there; he told him he could not tell; for often he had lighted him thither, and that his Master would take the Candle from him at the Chamber-Door, and suffer him to go no farther. Tho’ the old Gentleman could not imagine what Affairs he could have alone every Night in that Chamber, he had a Curiosity to see: and one unlucky Night, putting off his Shoes, he came to the Door of the Chamber, which was open; he enter’d softly, and saw the Candle set in the Chimney, and his Son at a great open Bay-Window: he stopt awhile to wait when he would turn, but finding him unmoveable, he advanced something farther, and at last heard the soft Dialogue of Love between him and Atlante, whom he knew to be she, by his often calling her by her Name in their Discourse. He heard enough to confirm him how Matters went; and unseen as he came, he returned, full of Indignation, and thought how to prevent so great an Evil, as this Passion of his Son might produce: at first he thought to round him severely in the Ear about it, and upbraid him for doing the only thing he had thought fit to forbid him; but then he thought that would but terrify him for awhile, and he would return again, where he had so great an Inclination, if he were near her; he therefore resolves to send him to Paris, that by Absence he might forget the young Beauty that had charm’d his Youth. Therefore, without letting Rinaldo know the Reason, and without taking Notice that he knew any thing of his Amour, he came to him one day, and told him, all the Masters he had for the improving him in noble Sciences were very dull, or very remiss: and that he resolved he should go for a Year or two to the Academy at Paris. To this the Son made a thousand Evasions; but the Father was positive, and not to be persuaded by all his Reasons: And finding he should absolutely displease him if he refus’d to go, and not daring to tell him the dear Cause of his Desire to remain at Orleans, he therefore, with a breaking Heart, consents to go, nay, resolves it, tho’ it should be his Death. But alas! he considers that this Parting will not only prove the greatest Torment upon Earth to him, but that Atlante will share in his Misfortunes also: This Thought gives him a double Torment, and yet he finds no Way to evade it.

The Night that finished this fatal Day, he goes again to his wonted Station, the Window; where he had not sighed very long, but he saw Atlante enter the Balcony: He was not able a great while to speak to her, or to utter one Word. The Night was light enough to see him at the wonted Place; and she admires at his Silence, and demands the Reason in such obliging Terms as adds to his Grief; and he, with a deep Sigh, reply’d, ‘Urge me not, my fair Atlante, to speak, lest by obeying you I give you more cause of Grief than my Silence is capable of doing’: and then sighing again, he held his peace, and gave her leave to ask the Cause of these last Words. But when he made no Reply but by sighing, she imagin’d it much worse than indeed it was; and with a trembling and fainting Voice, she cried, ‘Oh! Rinaldo, give me leave to divine that cruel News you are so unwilling to tell me: It is so,’ added she, ‘you are destin’d to some more fortunate Maid than Atlante.’ At this Tears stopped her Speech, and she could utter no more. ‘No, my dearest Charmer (reply’d Rinaldo, elevating his Voice) if that were all, you should see with what Fortitude I would die, rather than obey any such Commands. I am vow’d yours to the last Moment of my Life; and will be yours in spite of all the Opposition in the World: that Cruelty I could evade, but cannot this that threatens me.’ ‘Ah! (cried Atlante) let Fate do her worst, so she still continue Rinaldo mine, and keep that Faith he hath sworn to me entire: What can she do beside, that can afflict me?’ ‘She can separate me (cried he) for some time from Atlante.’ ‘Oh! (reply’d she) all Misfortunes fall so below that which I first imagin’d, that methinks I do not resent this, as I should otherwise have done: but I know, when I have a little more consider’d it, I shall even die with the Grief of it; Absence being so great an Enemy to Love, and making us soon forget the Object belov’d: This, tho’ I never experienc’d, I have heard, and fear it may be my Fate.’ He then convinc’d her Fears with a thousand new Vows, and a thousand Imprecations of Constancy. She then asked him, ‘If their Loves were discover’d, that he was with such haste to depart?’ He told her, ‘Nothing of that was the Cause; and he could almost wish it were discover’d, since he could resolutely then refuse to go: but it was only to cultivate his Mind more effectually than he could do here; ’twas the Care of his Father to accomplish him the more; and therefore he could not contradict it. But (said he) I am not sent where Seas shall part us, nor vast Distances of Earth, but to Paris, from whence he might come in two Days to see her again; and that he would expect from that Balcony, that had given him so many happy Moments, many more when he should come to see her.’ He besought her to send him away with all the Satisfaction she could, which she could no otherwise do, than by giving him new Assurances that she would never give away that Right he had in her to any other Lover: She vows this with innumerable Tears; and is almost angry with him for questioning her Faith. He tells her he has but one Night more to stay, and his Grief would be unspeakable, if he should not be able to take a better leave of her, than at a Window; and that, if she would give him leave, he would by a Rope or two, tied together, so as it may serve for Steps, ascend her Balcony; he not having time to provide a Ladder of Ropes. She tells him she has so great a Confidence in his Virtue and Love, that she will refuse him nothing, tho’ it would be a very bold Venture for a Maid, to trust her self with a passionate young Man, in silence of Night: and tho’ she did not extort a Vow from him to secure her, she expected he would have a care of her Honour. He swore to her, his Love was too religious for so base an Attempt. There needed not many Vows to confirm her Faith; and it was agreed on between them, that he should come the next Night into her Chamber.

It happen’d that Night, as it often did, that Count Vernole lay with Monsieur De Pais, which was in a Ground-Room, just under that of Atlante’s. As soon as she knew all were in bed, she gave the word to Rinaldo, who was attending with the Impatience of a passionate Lover below, under the Window; and who no sooner heard the Balcony open, but he ascended with some difficulty, and enter’d the Chamber, where he found Atlante trembling with Joy and Fear: He throws himself at her Feet, as unable to speak as she; who nothing but blushed and bent down her Eyes, hardly daring to glance them towards the dear Object of her Desires, the Lord of all her Vows: She was asham’d to see a Man in her Chamber, where yet none had ever been alone, and by Night too. He saw her Fear, and felt her trembling; and after a thousand Sighs of Love had made way for Speech, he besought her to fear nothing from him, for his Flame was too sacred, and his Passion too holy to offer any thing but what Honour with Love might afford him. At last he brought her to some Courage, and the Roses of her fair Cheeks assum’d their wonted Colour, not blushing too red, nor languishing too pale. But when the Conversation began between them, it was the softest in the world: They said all that parting Lovers could say; all that Wit and Tenderness could express: They exchanged their Vows anew; and to confirm his, he tied a Bracelet of Diamonds about her Arm, and she returned him one of her Hair, which he had long begged, and she had on purpose made, which clasped together with Diamonds; this she put about his Arm, and he swore to carry it to his Grave. The Night was far spent in tender Vows, soft Sighs and Tears on both sides, and it was high time to part: but, as if Death had been to have arrived to them in that Minute, they both linger’d away the time, like Lovers who had forgot themselves; and the Day was near approaching when he bid farewel, which he repeated very often: for still he was interrupted by some commanding Softness from Atlante, and then lost all his Power of going; till she, more courageous and careful of his Interest and her own Fame, forc’d him from her: and it was happy she did, for he was no sooner got over the Balcony, and she had flung him down his Rope, and shut the Door, but Vernole, whom Love and Contrivance kept waking, fancy’d several times he heard a Noise in Atlante’s Chamber. And whether in passing over the Balcony, Rinaldo made any Noise or not, or whether it were still his jealous Fancy, he came up in his Night-Gown, with a Pistol in his Hand. Atlante was not so much lost in Grief, tho’ she were all in Tears, but she heard a Man come up, and imagin’d it had been her Father, she not knowing of Count Vernole’s lying in the House that Night; if she had, she possibly had taken more care to have been silent; but whoever it was, she could not get to bed soon enough, and therefore turn’d her self to her Dressing-Table, where a Candle stood, and where lay a Book open of the Story of Ariadne and Theseus. The Count turning the Latch, enter’d halting into her Chamber in his Night-Gown clapped close about him, which betray’d an ill-favour’d Shape, his Night-Cap on, without a Perriwig, which discover’d all his lean wither’d Jaws, his pale Face, and his Eyes staring: and made altogether so dreadful a Figure, that Atlante, who no more dreamt of him than of a Devil, had possibly have rather seen the last. She gave a great Shriek, which frighted Vernole; so both stood for a while staring on each other, till both were recollected: He told her the Care of her Honour had brought him thither; and then rolling his small Eyes round the Chamber, to see if he could discover any body, he proceeded, and cry’d, ‘Madam, if I had no other Motive than your being up at this time of Night, or rather of Day, I could easily guess how you have been entertain’d.’ ‘What Insolence is this (said she, all in a rage) when to cover your Boldness of approaching my Chamber at this Hour, you would question how I have been entertain’d! Either explain your self, or quit my Chamber; for I do not use to see such terrible Objects here.’ ‘Possibly those you do see (said the Count) are indeed more agreeable, but I am afraid have not that Regard to your Honour as I have’: And at that word he stepped to the Balcony, open’d it, and look’d out; but seeing no body, he shut it to again. This enraged Atlante beyond all Patience; and snatching the Pistol out of his Hand, she told him, He deserved to have it aimed at his Head, for having the Impudence to question her Honour, or her Conduct; and commanded him to avoid her Chamber as he lov’d his Life, which she believ’d he was fonder of than of her Honour. She speaking this in a Tone wholly transported with Rage, and at the same time holding the Pistol towards him, made him tremble with Fear; and he now found, whether she were guilty or not, it was his turn to beg Pardon: For you must know, however it came to pass that his Jealousy made him come up in that fierce Posture, at other times Vernole was the most tame and passive Man in the World, and one who was afraid of his own Shadow in the Night: He had a natural Aversion for Danger, and thought it below a Man of Wit, or common Sense, to be guilty of that brutal thing, called Courage or Fighting; His Philosophy told him, It was safe sleeping in a whole Skin; and possibly he apprehended as much Danger from this Virago, as ever he did from his own Sex. He therefore fell on his Knees, and besought her to hold her fair Hand, and not to suffer that, which was the greatest Mark of his Respect, to be the Cause of her Hate or Indignation. The pitiful Faces he made, and the Signs of Mortal Fear in him, had almost made her laugh, at least it allay’d her Anger; and she bid him rise and play the fool hereafter somewhere else, and not in her Presence; yet for once she would deign to give him this Satisfaction, that she was got into a Book, which had many moving Stories very well writ; and that she found her self so well entertain’d, she had forgot how the Night passed. He most humbly thanked her for this Satisfaction, and retired, perhaps not so well satisfied as he pretended.

After this, he appear’d more submissive and respectful towards Atlante; and she carry’d herself more reserv’d and haughty towards him; which was one Reason, he would not yet discover his Passion.

Thus the Time run on at Orleans, while Rinaldo found himself daily languishing at Paris. He was indeed in the best Academy in the City, amongst a Number of brave and noble Youths, where all things that could accomplish them, were to be learn’d by those that had any Genius; but Rinaldo had other Thoughts, and other Business: his Time was wholly past in the most solitary Parts of the Garden, by the melancholy Fountains, and in the most gloomy Shades, where he could with most Liberty breathe out his Passion and his Griefs. He was past the Tutorage of a Boy; and his Masters could not upbraid him, but found he had some secret Cause of Grief, which made him not mind those Exercises, which were the Delight of the rest: so that nothing being able to divert his Melancholy, which daily increased upon him, he fear’d it would bring him into a Fever, if he did not give himself the Satisfaction of seeing Atlante. He had no sooner thought of this, but he was impatient to put it in execution; he resolved to go (having very good Horses) without acquainting any of his Servants with it. He got a very handsom and light Ladder of Ropes made, which he carry’d under his Coat, and away he rid for Orleans, stay’d at a little Village, till the Darkness of the Night might favour his Design: And then walking about Atlante’s Lodgings, till he saw a Light in her Chamber, and then making that Noise on his Sword, as was agreed between them, he was heard by his adorable Atlante, and suffer’d to mount her Chamber, where he would stay till almost break of Day, and then return to the Village, and take Horse, and away for Paris again. This, once in a Month, was his Exercise, without which he could not live; so that his whole Year was past in riding between Orleans and Paris, between Excess of Grief, and Excess of Joy by turns.