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WHAT PLEASES THE LADIES. - The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

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WHAT PLEASES THE LADIES. - Voltaire, The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems). [1901]

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From The Works of Voltaire, A Contemporary Version, (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901), A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming. Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

Author: Voltaire
Translator: William F. Fleming
Notes: Tobias Smollett

Part of: The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version, in 21 vols.

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WHAT PLEASES THE LADIES.

Now that the brilliant God of Day
Burns Afric’ up with forcing ray,
Now that the tropic in a sphere
Oblique contracts his bright career;
Whilst slowly lags each winter’s night,
My friends, this story may delight.
’Tis of a knight, as poor as bold,
The adventure’s worthy to be told.
’Tis Sir John Robert that I sing,
He lived when Dagobert was king.
A trip to holy Rome he made,
Less splendid when the Cæsars swayed;
From that famed capital he brought
Not laurels plucked in fields well fought,
Of dispensations, pardons, store,
Indulgences he plenty bore;
Of money little had he; then
Knights errant were poor gentlemen,
Then, to the Church’s sons alone
Were affluence and riches known.
A suit of armor, which, with rust,
Revolving years must needs incrust,
An ambling steed, a dog was all,
Robert his property could call;
But what’s more precious he possessed,
With youth’s bright gifts our knight was blessed;
Alcides’ strength, Adonis’ grace,
Gifts prized in every age and place.
Robert, near Paris, chanced to ride
By a wood, on Charenton’s side;
Marton he saw, the blithe and fair,
A ribbon tied her flaxen hair:
Her shape was easy, dress so light,
Her leg it hid not from the sight.
Soon Robert’s eyes such charms explored
As even saints might have adored;
The lily, with the blushing rose,
Combine a nosegay to compose,
Whose variegated hues are seen
Two panting globes of snow between;
Which never fail loves flame to raise
In all who on their beauties gaze;
Whilst her complexion’s charms divine
The lustre of the flowers outshine.
To tell what was not told before,
A basket this fair creature bore,
And with attractions various graced
Made to the neighboring market haste
Of eggs and butter to dispose,
Which all her little stock compose.
Robert, who felt the amorous flame,
Leaped forward and embraced the dame;
“I’ve twenty crowns, my dear,” he cried,
“Take them, and take my heart beside,
Take all I have, and take the donor.”
Said Marton, “Sir, ’tis too much honor.”
But Robert still so briskly plied her,
That down she fell, he fell beside her,
And, oh disaster dire to tell!
He broke her eggs as down he fell.
His courser started at the sight,
To the next thicket took his flight.
An honest monk, as people say,
Happened, just then, to pass that way,
The steed his monkship quickly strides,
And, post-haste, to his convent rides;
Her cap, which was become a fright,
Marton’s first care, was to set right.
To Robert turning then she said,
“My twenty crowns where are they fled?”
The knight, in hesitating strain,
Seeking his purse and steed in vain,
Excuses offered, all were lame,
For no excuse would serve the dame.
Being thus injured, straight she went
To tell the king her discontent:
“A knight has robbed me, Sire,” she said,
“And ravished too, but never paid.”
Wisely the king replied, “’Tis clear
A rape is what has brought you here:
Before Queen Bertha plead your cause,
In these points well she kens the laws;
She’ll hear attentive what you say,
And judgment pass without delay.”
Marton, with reverence bowed the head,
And to the queen her way she sped.
The queen was quite humane and mild,
Looked on each subject as a child;
But she was still severely bent
To punish the incontinent:
Of prudes her council she assembled,
The knight uncapped before them trembled;
With downcast eyes ne’er dared to stir,
He then had neither boot nor spur;
The court by no chicane delayed,
But ample full confession made;
That taking by Charonne his way
He was by Satan led astray;
That he repented of his crime,
Would ne’er offend a second time:
But that the first might prove the last,
Sentence of death was on him passed.
Robert had so much youthful grace,
So fine his person, fair his face,
That Bertha and assessors all
Awarding sentence, tears let fall.
Pangs of remorse sad Marton felt,
And every heart began to melt:
Berthe to the court then made it plain,
That the knight pardon might obtain,
And that if ready witted, he
Might from all punishment be free;
Since by the laws established there,
Who tells what pleases all the fair,
Has to his pardon a just claim,
Acquitted by each virtuous dame;
But then he must the thing explain
Completely, or his hopes are vain.
What thus had been in council started
Quickly to Robert was imparted.
The good Queen Bertha bent to save him,
Eight days to think upon it gave him;
He swore in eight days he’d appear,
And strive to make the matter clear;
Then for this favor unexpected,
Thanked Bertha, and went out dejected.
Then thus the matter he debated
Thus he his difficulty stated;
How can I in plain terms declare
What ’tis that pleases all the fair,
And not her majesty offend?
She mars what she proposed to mend.
Since to be hanged must be my lot,
Would I’d been hanged upon the spot.
Robert, whene’er in road or street,
He chanced a wife or maid to meet,
Her he in urgent manner pressed
To say what ’twas she loved the best.
All gave evasive answers, none
The real truth would fairly own.
Robert, despairing e’er to hit,
Wished him in hell’s profoundest pit.
Seven times the star that rules the year
Had gilded o’er the hemisphere,
When under a refreshing shade,
Which trees with winding boughs had made,
He saw a score of beauties bright,
Who danced in circling mazes light;
Of their rich robes the wavy pride
Their secret beauties scarce could hide.
Soft Zephyr sporting near the fair,
Played in the ringlets of their hair;
On the green turf they lightly danced,
Their feet scarce on its surface glanced.
Robert draws nigh, in hopes to find
Ease from perplexity of mind.
Just then all vanished from his sight,
Scarcely had day given place to night;
A toothless hag then met his eyes,
Sooty in hue and short of size,
Bent double, and with age oppressed,
She leaned upon a stick for rest.
Her nose, prodigious, long, and thin,
Extended till it met her chin;
Her eyes with rheum were galled and red,
A few white hairs her pate o’erspread;
A scrap of tapestry was her gown,
It o’er her wrinkled thigh hung down.
At such an odd and uncouth sight,
A sort of terror seized our knight.
The beldame, with familiar tone,
Accosts him thus: “I see, my son,
By your dejected, thoughtful air
Your heart feels some corroding care:
Relate to me your secret grief:
(To talk of woes gives some relief)
Although your case be e’er so bad,
Some consolation may be had.
I’ve long beheld this earthly stage,
And wisdom must increase with age.
The most unhappy oft have sped
To bliss by my directions led.”
“Alas!” replied the knight, “in vain
I’ve sought instruction to obtain:
The fatal hour is drawing nigh,
I must upon a gibbet die!
Unless I can the queen tell right
What ’tis gives women most delight.”
“Courage, my son,” the dame replied,
“ ’Tis God has to me been your guide,
’Tis for your good; then straight to court,
Boldly proceed and make report.
Let’s go together, I’ll unfold
The secret which must there be told;
But swear that for the life you owe,
Becoming gratitude you’ll show;
That from you I shall have with ease
What never fails our sex to please.
An oath then from you I require
That you’ll do all that I desire.”
Robert, who scrupled not to swear,
From laughter could not well forbear.
“Be serious,” cried the ancient dame,
“To laugh shows want of grace and shame;”
Then moving onward, hand in hand,
Before Queen Bertha now they stand.
The council met without delay,
Robert, asked what he had to say,
Cried, “Ladies, now your secret’s out,
What you love most admits no doubt:
What, at all seasons, can content ye,
Is not of lovers to have plenty;
But woman, of whate’er degree,
Whate’er her qualities may be,
Desires to bear both night and day
O’er all about her sovereign sway:
Woman would always fain command,
If I lie, hang me out of hand.”
Whilst thus harangued our doughty spark,
All present said he hit the mark.
The queen’s hand Robert kissed when cleared;
Then straight a haggard form appeared,
The hag of whom we spoke before,
With rags and dirt all covered o’er,
Crying out, “Justice,” forward pressed,
And in these terms the queen addressed:
“Oh lovely queen, thy sex’s pride,
Who always justly doth decide,
To whom fair equity is known,
Whilst mercy dwells beside thy throne;
By me this knight your secret knew,
The life I saved to me is due:
He swore, nor should the oath prove vain,
That I should what I wished obtain;
Upon your justice I rely,
And hope you won’t my right deny.”
Says Robert, “I deny it not,
I never a good turn forgot;
But, bate my armor, all I had
Was baggage, twenty crowns, and pad.
A monk, when Marton I caressed,
With pure religious zeal possessed,
As lawful prize seized on the whole,
For ’twere a sin to say he stole.
Though honest, since I’m broke outright,
I can’t this friendly turn requite.”
The queen replied, “What you have lost
Shall be repaid to friar’s cost;
All parties shall be satisfied;
In three your fortune we’ll divide;
For her lost eggs and chastity,
The twenty crowns shall Marton’s be;
The steed I to this dame consign,
The armor, Robert, shall be thine.”
“Most generously you’ve decreed,”
Said madam, “but I want no steed;
’Tis Robert’s person I desire,
His grace and valor I admire:
I o’er his amorous heart would reign,
That’s all the prize I wish to gain;
Robert with me must pass his life,
This day must take me for a wife.”
Her purpose being thus declared,
Robert stood motionless, and stared:
Then o’er her rags and figure strange,
His rolling eyes began to range;
With horror struck, he back retreated,
Crossing himself, these words repeated:
“Why should this ridicule and shame
With foul dishonor blast my name?
With the de’il’s dam I’d rather wed
Than to that beldame go to bed;
The hag must doubtless be run mad,
Or else she dotes, and that’s as bad.”
The hag then tenderly replied,
“My person, queen, he can’t abide;
He’s like the whole ungrateful crew
Of males, but soon I’ll bring him too;
I feel love’s flame so brightly burn,
He needs must love me in his turn.
The heart does all, I can’t but say
My charms begin to fade away;
But I’ll more tender prove and kind;
’Tis best to cultivate the mind.
We find e’en Solomon declare
The wise by far exceed the fair.
I’m poor, is that so hard a case?
Sure poverty is no disgrace.
Can’t one enjoy content of mind,
Except on ivory bed reclined?
Madam, in all this regal pride,
When you lie by our monarch’s side,
Do you enjoy more kindly rest?
Does love sincerer warm your breast?
You’ve read of old Philemon’s flame
For Baucis, though an ancient dame.
Those jealousies by old age bred,
Dwell not beneath the rustic shed;
Vice flies where luxury is unknown,
We equal kings, serve God alone;
Your country’s glory we support,
We furnish soldiers for the court:
In rendering populous the state,
The poor by much outdo the great.
If heaven should to my chaste desire
Refuse the offspring I require,
Love’s flowers without its fruits can please,
Upon love’s tree those flowers I’ll seize.”
While thus the ancient dame descanted,
All the court ladies were enchanted.
Robert was to her arms consigned,
Disgust was vain, for oaths must bind;
The dame insisted on her right
Of riding with her much loved knight
To her thatched hut, where wedlock’s bands
Were to unite their hearts and hands.
Robert his steed begins to stride,
With sorrow takes his future bride;
With horror seized, and red with shame,
He often strove to throw the dame,
Or drown her, but was by the law
Of chivalry still kept in awe.
The lady with her knight delighted
To him her race’s deeds recited,
How the great Clovis’ royal sword
The bosoms of three monarchs gored,
Who were his friends, yet could obtain
Pardon and heaven’s high favor gain.
From heaven she saw the famed dove bring
To Remi, that illustrious king,
The flask and oil so highly prized,
Which he was smeared with when baptized.
With all her narratives she blended
Thoughts and reflections well intended,
Sallies of wit, remarks refined,
Which, without calling off the mind,
Attention in who heard excited,
And both instructed and delighted.
Still does our knight with eager ears
Devour the stories that he hears;
Charmed when he heard his wife, but when
He saw, the unhappiest of men.
At length the ill-matched couple came
To the thatched cabin of the dame;
Preparing things with eager haste,
The table for her spouse she placed;
Such fare might suit with Saturn’s age,
’Tis now but talked of by the sage.
Three sticks support two rotten boards,
Such table that poor hut affords;
At this our couple sat at meat,
Each oddly placed on narrow seat;
The husband sadly hung his head,
The bride a thousand gay things said;
Wit she combined with graceful ease,
Uttered bons mots which pique and please,
So natural that to those who hear,
Said by themselves they must appear.
So pleased was Robert, that a smile
Escaped him, and he thought a while
His wife less ugly than before,
But she would fain, the supper o’er,
Have her spouse go with her to bed;
He raves, he wishes to be dead:
He yields, though not with a good grace,
Since without remedy his case.
Foul clothes our knight but little matters,
Quite gnawed by rats and torn to tatters,
On pieces of old wood extended,
And frequently with packthread mended;
All this the knight could have digested,
But Hymen’s rites he quite detested.
Of these, indeed, he much complained;
“Good heaven,” cried he, “is’t so ordained!
At Rome, ’tis said, grace from on high
Can both the power and will supply;
But grace does for the present fail,
And I for my part am but frail;
My wife can by her wit impart
Delight, she has a feeling heart;
But when with sense there’s conflict dire,
Can heart or head true joy inspire?”
Our knight benumbed like ice, this said,
Threw himself flat upon his bed;
And, to conceal his anguish, tries
To feign asleep, sleep from him flies.
The beldame, pinching Robert, cried,
“Do you then slumber by your bride?
Dear but ungrateful spouse, you see
I am subdued, now yield to me;
The timid voice of struggling shame
Is stifled by my amorous flame;
Reign o’er my sense without control,
Since you reign powerful o’er my soul;
I die! just heaven say to what end
With virtue must our love contend?
I’m quite dissolved in love’s bright flame,
Pleasure thrills through my vital frame;
Must I, alas! without thee die?
’Tis to thy conscience I apply.”
Our knight was complaisant and kind,
Religion, candor, graced his mind;
He took compassion on the dame;
“Madam.” said he, “I wish my flame
Like yours, might strong and brightly shine,
The power to effect it is not mine.”
“You can effect it,” said his wife,
“A great heart, at your stage of life,
By fortitude, by art, and care,
Performs with ease achievements rare:
Think how the ladies will approve
At court this miracle of love.
Perhaps I your disgust excite,
Wrinkles are shocking to your sight;
Heroes magnanimous despise
Such trifles, only shut your eyes.”
Our knight of glory fond would fain
This conquest of himself obtain;
Obedience then became his choice,
Listening alone to honor’s voice,
Finding in vigorous youth alone
What could for beauty’s want atone,
And love’s supply, he shuts his eyes,
And, to perform his duty, tries.
“Enough, enough,” then said the bride,
“I ask no more; I’m satisfied;
My influence o’er your heart I know,
That influence to me you owe;
Acknowledge then, as matters stand,
The wife will still at home command.
Robert, all that I ask of thee
Is to be always ruled by me;
My love enjoins an easy task,
Now view me well, ’tis all I ask.”
Then Robert looks, and sees in clusters
A hundred flambeaux placed on lustres,
In a proud palace, which he saw
Before a cabin thatched with straw.
There underneath rich curtains graced
With fringe of pearls in highest taste.
A beauty bright appeared to view,
Such as Apelles never drew;
E’en Vanloo’s colors would prove faint,
That heaven of charms divine, to paint;
No Phidias nor no Pigall e’er
Could carve a busto of the fair.
Her form like lovely Venus showed,
Whose golden tresses graceful flowed,
Whose melting eyes appeared to languish,
Whilst soothing Mars’s amorous anguish,
“Myself,” she said, “this palace, all
This wealth, your own, dear Robert, call:
You did not ugliness despise,
You therefore merit beauty’s prize.”
But now, methinks, my readers claim
To know what was this fair one’s name,
Whose heart our knight had won; why then
’Twas fairy Urgelle, gentlemen,
Who, warriors, in her time, caressed,
And knights assisted when distressed.
Happy the age! thrice blessed mankind,
When tales like these belief could find,
Of spirits hovering in the air.
Of demons who make men their care!
In castle close by roasting fire,
The daughter, mother, husband, sire,
The neighborhood and all the race,
Attended with a wondering face,
Whilst, by the almoner, were told
Deeds done by sorcerers of old.
We of the marvellous are rifled,
By reason’s weight, the graces stifled,
Have to the insipid men consigned
The soul by reasoning is confined;
Still hunting after truth we go;
From error too some good may flow.