Home

THE THREE MANNERS. - 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).

Return to Title Page for 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).

The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

Also in the Library:

Subject Area: Literature

THE THREE MANNERS. - 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]

Edition used:

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.

About Liberty Fund:

Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.

Copyright information:

The text is in the public domain.

Fair use statement:

This material is put online to further the educational goals of Liberty Fund, Inc. Unless otherwise stated in the Copyright Information section above, this material may be used freely for educational and academic purposes. It may not be used in any way for profit.

THE THREE MANNERS.

How formed were the Athenians true joy to impart!
How their genius delights and enlivens my heart!
How under their fictions ingenious I trace
Truth’s likeness, and soon grow in love with her face!
But of all their inventions that which strikes me the most
Is the stage, of Athenians the pride and the boast;
Whereon heroes renowned, and the chiefs of old times,
Could act over again both their good deeds and crimes.
You see how all nations in this present age
Adopt their example, and would rival their stage.
No folio instruction like the drama conveys,
Perish, perish the wretches who would censure all plays;
When that vile, abject race first existed below,
A heart Nature on them forgot to bestow.
At the Greeks’ solemn games, ’twas the custom to crown
Men of eminent virtue and chiefs of renown;
Before the people justice was done to their merit,
Thus oft I’ve seen Villars and Maurice, whose spirit
And conduct from courtiers met with censure severe,
When they went to the opera receive laurels there.
Thus when Richelieu victorious returned from Mahon,
Which he bravely had taken, as cursed envy must own,
Wherever he passed he received loud applause;
Not greater Clairon from the crowded pit draws.
Before buskins were known in old Æschylus’ time,
Ere Melpomene trod the stage with steps sublime,
To young lovers was granted a much-envied prize,
Whoever, inspired by his mistress’ bright eyes,
In the year had done most, and most tenderness shown,
That man was before all the Greeks crowned alone.
The cause of her passion was by each fair one pleaded,
Her lover’s claim she by her eloquence aided,
Having first made an oath to abstain from all art,
Nor like orators aim at misleading the heart,
Without exaggeration their cause to support;
A hard task to women as to lawyers at court.
Still extant remains one of these fine debates,
Which took rise from the leisure of Greece’s free states.
Eudames being archon, if my memory is right,
Three beauties appearing filled all Greece with delight:
Ægle, Apamis, and Teone were their names;
The wits of all Greece ran in crowds to the games:
Though great talkers, they then kept a silence profound,
Attentively listening as the stage they went round.
In a golden cloud Venus with young Cupid descended,
To all that the disputants uttered attended.
First began youthful Ægle, who had graces and art,
Which, charming eye and ear, found a way to the heart.
“Hermotimes, my much-loved, my much-honored sire,
Throughout his whole life felt true genius’ fire,
He attached himself always to those gifts of the mind,
Those elegant arts which have polished mankind;
To science devoted, from all honors he fled,
And life unambitious with his family led;
His daughter he would to no husband consign,
But to one who like him felt the influence divine,
Who best knew to sing to the lyre, and to paint
The few charms nature gave me, which indeed are but faint.
Young Lygdamon loved me; natural genius alone,
By art unassisted, in him brightly shone,
Discreet and ingenuous, both refined and polite,
He ne’er spoke as a scholar, but always spoke right;
He no talents possessed, yet could judge of each art,
Every grace his mind formed, and soft love filled his heart;
He knew to love only; in that art he excelled:
My heart soon to learn it from him was compelled.
When my sire would have acted a tyrannical part.
And have torn me from him who possessed my sad heart,
And would with some painter have caused me to wed,
Some genius to music and poetry bred,
How incessant the tears trickled from my sad eyes.
Despotic power o’er us parents would exercise!
Since we owe life to them, o’er our lives they have power
Like gods, so for death I prepared in sad hour;
Confused and despairing, wretched Lygdamon fled.
And sought some asylum where to shelter his head.
My sire meant in six months to dispose of my hand,
That delay was expected by the whole amorous band.
No room had they then their sad talents to show,
I was grown a mere picture of sorrow and woe.
The moments swift flying increased my alarms,
My loved Lygdamon had retired from my arms;
When my lovers should meet I expected my doom,
To escape them, I wished to sink into my tomb.
Twenty rivals’ productions were exposed to men’s eyes;
To a thousand debates their productions gave rise:
I who had not seen any for none could decide,
My father impatient would have made me the bride
Of the proud Harpagus, whose works greatly were prized,
To him I was going to be sacrificed.
A slave then, who seemed to arrive in post-haste,
The work of a stranger full in their view placed:
All present then fixed on the canvas their eyes,
’Twas my picture, so like that it caused much surprise.
In the picture I seemed both to breathe and to speak,
And sigh as my heart were just going to break;
In my air, in my eyes perfect love was expressed,
Art appeared not, ’twas nature represented at best;
On the canvas appeared by art wondrous and new,
The soul and the body at once to the view;
There deep shade was united with light’s mildest gleams,
As at morning we see the sun dart his bright beams
Athwart our vast forests circled round with thick shades,
And gild fruits and harvests, green meadows and glades.
To find fault was only Harpagus’ desire,
The rest all stood silent and were forced to admire.
‘Who’s this,’ cried out Harpagus, lost in amaze,
‘That painting to such high perfection could raise?
To whom at last shall I my daughter consign?’
Lygdamon then appearing, said, ‘Shall she be mine?
’Tis love that’s the painter, love alone on my breast
Has this lively image of my Ægle impressed.
’Twas love’s power on the canvas directed my hand,
What art is not subject to that god’s high command?
’Tis his power alone that can all arts inspire.’
Then to voice soft and tender attuning his lyre,
Of tones and notes various he made music so fine,
All thought themselves seated at a concert divine;
Like Apelles he painted, and like Orpheus he sung,
With rage and with fury was Harpagus stung;
Fire flashed from his eyes, and his anger suppressed,
His visage inflamed, and boiled fierce in his breast.
Then seizing with frenzy a javelin, he flew,
In Lygdamon’s blood his fell hands to imbrue;
My lover to slay the barbarian intended,
And over two lives dire destruction impended.
Lygdamon, who perceived him, was no way dismayed;
But with the same hand that so skilfully played,
Which the hearts and the minds of his hearers had charmed,
He raised his foe whom he had fought and disarmed.
Then sure to love’s prize he may justly lay claim,
Permit me to grant the reward of his flame.”
Thus spoke the fair Ægle. Love applauds her discourse,
And the theatre rang, the Greeks clapped with such force,
To hear this applause drew a blush from the dame,
And her passion for Lygdamon fiercer became.
Then rose Teone, nor her speech nor her air
Were formed by art, or seemed studied with care;
The Greeks when she rose, for a time seemed more gay,
Her adventure with smiles she began to display
In verse of less length, and a different measure,
Which runs with great ease, and is heard with much pleasure:
’Twas in such the gay Hamilton still chose to write:
Such nature has often been known to indite.

TEONE.
Young Agaton you all must know;
His charms like those of Nereus show;
His cheeks glowed with a lovely red,
And scarce with down were overspread;
His eyes like Venus’ are sweet,
His voice like hers with love replete.
Lilies united with the rose
The tincture of his hue compose;
The ringlets of Apollo’s hair
Are not so graceful, long, and fair.
When of fit age to be a wife,
I chose him as my own for life,
My heart was not his captive made
By outward charms which quickly fade;
Like Paris, he can strike the eye,
In strength with famed Achilles vie.
One evening as I with my aunt
Took on the Ægean Sea a jaunt,
Near one of those delightful isles
On which kind heaven forever smiles,
A Lydian vessel, great of size,
Seized on our sloop as lawful prize.
Long had the corsair, then grown gray,
Cruised near those isles in quest of prey,
Girls in the bloom of youth he sought,
These to his governor he brought.
He wanted one about my age,
Saw something in me to engage;
He let my ancient aunt go free,
And as men sparrows catch, seized me;
With haste then to his master goes,
Of his new booty to dispose.
My good aunt then with clamorous cries
And bosom swollen with sorrow flies
To the Pyreum, there to tell
Whome’er she met of what befell;
How her Teone was the prey
Of a corsair that roved the sea;
Of one who dealt in female ware,
And meant to sell me at some fair.
Think you was Agaton content
With tears that happened to lament,
On canvas with a brush to trace
The various features of my face,
To tune his lyre, his voice to raise,
To sing my loss and beauties praise?
To arms my lover had recourse,
Resolved to get me back by force:
Not having wherewithal to pay
Those that engage in every fray,
He to his youthful figure trusted,
And like a girl himself adjusted,
With petticoat and stays when dressed,
He hid a poniard in his breast;
Then in a sloop he braved the main,
Bent or to die or me regain.
The youth arrived soon thus arrayed,
To where Mæander winding played.
So bright his charms were, he seemed born
The court of some prince to adorn;
He seemed a sheep made for the fold
To which I just before was sold.
When he began on shore to tread,
To my seraglio he was led.
No girl before was ever blessed
With joy like that which filled my breast,
When I in my seraglio spied
My Grecian lover at my side,
And that within my power it lay
All that his love dared to repay;
Him I accepted as my own,
The deities appeared alone
At nuptials in such hurry made;
No priest was by in robes arrayed;
And those who to a master bend,
Have seldom servants to attend.
At night the amorous satrap came
To my bedside, talked of his flame,
His lust to gratify he thought.
But one fine girl was to him brought,
On seeing two, with great surprise,
“I can’t too many have,” he cries,
“Your lovely friend I much admire,
Company’s all that I desire;
Though two, I’ll find means to content you,
Let no cursed jealousy torment you.”
When thus he had his mind expressed,
He both his mistresses caressed,
His word preparing to make good,
To do as he had said he would;
For Agaton I was afraid,
But my brave Greek quite undismayed
Upon the lustful satrap flew,
Seized on his hair, his poniard drew,
Discovered that he was a man,
And boldly thus to speak began:
“Your doors this instant open throw,
Out of the house let us three go;
By signs your whole attendant band
Not to follow after us command;
To the shore let us take our way,
And there embark without delay.
I’ll watch you with attentive eyes,
If word or gesture I surprise,
If the least doubtful sign I spy,
That very instant you shall die;
Your corpse into the river thrown
Shall to the bottom quick go down.”
The satrap, though a noble peer,
Was very liable to fear;
He with great readiness obeyed;
The man is gentle that’s afraid.
Then in the little bark with haste
With us the governor we placed.
Soon as in Greece we all were landed,
The vanquished’s ransom was demanded;
A round sum in good gold was paid,
This money was my dowry made.
Acknowledge then my lover’s deed
Does that of Lygdamon exceed;
That just had been my sad complaint,
Had he amused himself to paint
My face, or in elaborate verse
My various graces to rehearse.

Her passion delighted, Greece heard her display
With ease unaffected, with simplicity gay,
All that Teone said was with fire animated,
Grace in telling has more force than what is related.
They applauded, they laughed, laughter Greeks never tires,
When man’s happy what signifies what he admires.
Apamis then, her eyes with tears flowing, advanced,
Her sorrows enchanted and her charms enhanced.
The Greeks when she spoke took a more serious air,
No heart in her favor delayed to declare.
In moderate measure she related the woes
Which from her unhappy love’s adventure arose;
The smooth-running syllables gave delight to each ear,
And arranged with much art quite careless appear,
The melody of this easy metre’s divine,
The long oft tires the ear, though acknowledged more fine.

APAMIS.
Though some cursed star then ruled the earth,
’Twas Amatonte first gave me birth,
Blessed region! where in Greece, ’tis said,
The mother of the loves was bred,
Her cradle to that happy shore
The ever-smiling pleasures bore;
Though born the human race to bless,
Me she has loaded with distress.
From her pure law no ill could flow,
She poured down only good below,
Whilst her law nature’s law remained;
Cursed rigor has her altars stained:
The gods are merciful and kind,
But priests to cruelty inclined.
A law they made severe as new,
That any nymph that proved untrue,
Her life should in that water close
From whence Love’s goddess once arose,
Unless her forfeit life to save
Some lover chose a watery grave.
Can nothing then but punishment
Inconstancy in love prevent?
Should woman, weak and prone to change
From love to love, inconstant range?
We’ll own ’tis bad, but cannot see
Of drowning the necessity.
Oh, Venus, beauty of the skies,
From whom my woes and joys took rise,
Whom I with so devout a care
Served with young Batilus the fair,
I upon you as witness call
Of my love’s force, you know it all;
You know if e’er my flame to feed
My passion stood of fear in need;
With love reciprocal delighted,
Our two souls were as one united;
I and my lover felt that fire
Which once the goddess did inspire.
The sun when he began his course,
Was witness of our passion’s force;
And when his setting rays the vale
Began to gild, he heard our tale;
But most the sable shades of night
Were conscious of our soft delight.
Arenorax, by love disclaimed,
Whose heart to every vice was framed,
Loved me, but ’twas through spite alone,
This all his words and deeds made known:
Still he was jealous, for by fate
The wretch was preordained to hate;
Envy’s cursed passions he let fall,
His tongue distilled vile slander’s gall.
Hateful informers, monsters dire,
To hell, which gave you birth, retire;
To hurt me so much art was used,
That e’en my lover was abused,
And innocence a victim fell
To fraud, the offspring cursed of hell.
Do not require to have displayed
The horrid plot this monster laid;
Such thoughts no place have in my soul,
My lover there still claims the whole.
In vain I to Love’s goddess prayed,
By all I found myself betrayed;
Condemned to end my life and woes
In the sea whence fair Venus rose.
To death I was a victim led,
Tears, as I passed, by all were shed,
With unavailing sorrow all
Lamented my untimely fall;
When to me Batilus addressed
A letter, which my fate reversed,
Dear fatal note, which with it brought
Tidings that worse than death I thought!
I almost sank in endless night,
When words like these first struck my sight:
“Though to my love you were not true,
I’m yet resolved to die for you.”
’Twas done as said; my life to save,
My lover plunged into the wave.
All at his boldness were amazed,
They wept, and much his courage praised.
Oh, death! thy aid I then required,
To end my woes alone desired:
To follow Batilus I meant,
But cruel friendship would prevent;
By force kept from the shades below,
I was condemned to life and woe.
The cursed impostor’s hellish spite,
Although too late, was brought to light;
He in his turn death underwent,
I gain not by his punishment.
Lovely Batilus is no more,
For me he sought the Stygian shore.
To you, O judges, I repair,
Grant to my sighs and tender care
Such needful aid, such kind relief
As may but mitigate my grief:
Grant the youth who resigned his breath,
The prize he merited by death;
’Twill cheer him in the shades below,
But I shall comfort no more know:
Then let your generous hearts once more
Force to this trembling hand restore,
That on his tomb before your eyes
It may write, “Athens gives this prize.”
Sobs stopped her when she thus had said,
Ceasing, a flood of tears she shed.
Compassion touched each judge’s breast;
They first took Ægle’s side,
With Teone laughed at each jest,
With Apamis they cried.
I’m sorry that I cannot find
To whom the laurel was assigned.

My friends, close by the fireside seated,
These tales for you I have repeated;
I to an ancient author owe them,
And hope you will some favor show them;
You of their merit must decide,
I by your judgment will abide.

Home

The Forum

Econlib

The Library

Other Sites