The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II by Aphra Behn

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A battle between the Dacians and Scythians follows, in which the
Latter are victorious owing to Thersander having, under his own name,
Returned to their camp. The Dacian chiefs then challenge him to single
Combat. He crosses over once again as Clemanthis and the lot falls upon
himself. He thereupon dresses Amintas in the clothes of Clemanthis and
arranges that in a pretended duel with him himself shall gain the upper
hand. Meanwhile two rival princes to the hand of Cleomena post assassins
in the wood to kill Thersander, and these, deceived by the garb of
Clemanthis, mistake Amintas for the prince, and leaving him half dead on
the ground and covered with blood and wounds, take their flight,
imagining they have fully carried out their masters' wishes. Amintas is
just able to gasp the name 'Thersander', and Cleomena promptly concludes
that Thersander has slain Clemanthis. She then herself assumes the attire
of Clemanthis and goes out to the duel. She is wounded, her sex
discovered, and she is borne from the field, whilst Thersander remains
plunged in despair.

Meanwhile Orsames in his prison forces Geron to tell him the truth as to
his adventure, whilst outside the populace are clamouring for him as
king. Cleomena, disguised as a shepherd-boy, carries a letter to
Thersander, and stabs him as he reads it. The Scythian king has her
thrown into a dungeon, but Thersander obtains her release. Amintas
meanwhile has been cured of his wounds by a Druid leech. Thersander is
visited by Cleomena and reveals to her his identity with Clemanthis.
They are at length united, and this event, with the arrival of Orsames,
Who has been placed on the throne by the Dacians, joins the two
countries in a lasting peace. It is explained that the Oracle is
satisfied by his previous reign of a night.

SOURCE.

The plot of _The Young King_, which, as the _Biograpbia Dramatitca_ well
remarks, 'is very far from being a bad one', is taken from the eighth
part of La Calprenède's famous romance, _Cléopatre_. The adventures of
Alcamenes (Thersander) and Menalippa (Cleomena) are therein related for
the benefit of Cleopatra and Artemisa, temporarily imprisoned on
shipboard. The narrative, which occupies some hundred pages, is n good
example of those prolix detached episodes and histories peculiar to this
school, which by their perpetual crossing and intertwining render the
consecutive reading of a heroic romance so confused and difficult a task.
Yet in this particular instance the tale is extraordinarily well told and
highly interesting. Mrs. Behn has altered the names for the better.
Barzanes in the novel becomes Honorius in the play; Euardes, Ismenes;
Phrataphernes, Artabazes; Beliza, Semiris; whilst La Calprenède dubs the
Scythian king, Arontes and the queen of Dacia, Amalthea.

_Cléopatre_, commenced in 1646, was eventually completed in twelve
volumes. There is an English translation of the eighth part by James Webb
(8vo, 1658), which he terms _Hymen's Praeludia, or, Love's Masterpiece_,
and dedicates with much flowery verbiage to his aunt, Jane, Viscountess
Clanebuy. A translation of the whole romance, by Robert Loveday, was
published folio, 1668.

The story, however, is not original even in La Calprenède, being taken
with changed names from _Il Calsandro_ smascherato di Giovanni Ambrogio
Marini (Part 1, Fiorenza, 1646; Part 2, Bologna, 1651), a French version
of which, by Georges de Scudéri, appeared in 1668.

Some critics have seen a resemblance between the character of the young
prince Orsames and that of Hippolito, 'one that never saw woman,' in
Dryden and Davenant's alteration of _The Tempest_ (1667).[1] But the
likeness is merely superficial. Mrs. Behn has undoubtedly taken the
whole episode of Orsames directly from Calderon's great philosophic and
symbolical comedia, _La Vida es Sueño_ (1633).[2] That Mrs. Behn had a
good knowledge of Spanish is certain, and she has copied with the closest
fidelity minute but telling details of her original. Calderon himself
probably derived his plot from Rojas' _Viaje Entretenido_. Basilio, King
of Poland, to thwart the fulfilling of a horoscope, imprisons his son
Segismundo from infancy in a lonely tower. The youth is, however, as a
test of his character, one night whilst under the influence of a
soporofic conveyed from his prison and wakes to find himself in a
sumptuous apartment amidst crowds of adulating courtiers. He shows
himself, however, a very despot, and throws an officious servant, who
warns him to proffer greater respect to the infanta Estella, his cousin,
clean out of window; he nearly kills his tutor Clotaldo, who interrupts
his violent wooing; and, in fine, is seen to be wholly unfit to reign.
A potion is deftly administered, and once more, asleep, he is carried
back to the castle. The populace, however, rise and set him on the
throne, and eventually the astrological forecast comes true; but at the
same time he proves himself a worthy sovereign. All these details are
to be found in _The Young King_, as well as Calderon's scene where
Rosaura, in pursuit of her lover, accidently encounters Segismundo in
his prison.

The story itself is, of course, world-wide with a thousand variants.
Oriental in origin, it is familiar to all readers of the Thousand and One
Nights, when Abou Hassan is drugged by Haroun al Raschid, and for one day
allowed to play the caliph with power complete and unconfined. The same
trick is said to have been tried upon a drunkard at Bruges by Philip the
Good, Duke of Burgundy, during his marriage festivities, 1440.
Christopher Sly, well drubbed by Marian Hacket and bawling for a pot of
small ale, will at once occur to every mind. Richard Edwardes has the
same story in his _Collection of Tales_ (1570); the old _Ballad of the
Frolicsome Duke_ sings it; Sir Richard Barckley repeats it in his
_Discourse of the Felicitie of Man_ (1598); and Burton found a niche for
it in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_ (1621). Simon Goulart included it in
the _Tresor d'histoires admirables et memorables_ (circa 1600), whence it
was Englished by Grimeston (1607). In fact it is a common property of all
times and all nations.

Although Mrs. Behn confessedly does not attain (nor was such her
intention) the deep philosophy and exquisite melody of the great Spanish
poet, she has produced a first-rate specimen of the romance drama, rococo
perhaps, and with quaint ornaments, but none the less full of life,
incident and interest.

FOOTNOTES:

1. This version of Shakespeare, and particularly the part of Hippolito,
belong to Davenant, for, as Dryden says in the preface, Sir William 'to
put the last hand to it, design'd the counterpart to Shakespeare's plot,
namely that of a man who had never seen a woman.']

2. _Life is a Dream_. English translation by John Oxenford, Monthly
Magazine, Vol. XCVI; by Archbishop Trench, 1856; by Denis Florence
Mac-Carthy, 1873; by FitzGerald (a private edition), 'Such Stuff as
Dreams are Made Of'. It has also been excellently edited by Norman
Maccoll, _Select Plays from Calderon_ (1888).

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The earliest sketch of _The Young King; or, The Mistake_ was written by
Mrs. Behn whilst she was still a young girl at Surinam. Upon her return
to England the rhyming play had made its appearance, and soon heroic
tragedy was carrying all before it on the London stage. Influenced no
doubt by this tremendous vogue, she turned to her early MS. and proceeded
to put her work, founded on one of the most famous of the heroic
romances, into the fashionable couplets. Traces of this may be found in
the scene between Cleomena and Urania, i, II; in Orsames' speech, iv,
III, and elsewhere. Whilst she was busy, however, _The Rehearsal_ was
produced at the King's Theatre, 8 December, 1671, and for the moment gave
a severe blow to the drama it parodied. Accordingly, Mrs. Behn with no
little acumen put her tragi-comedy on one side until the first
irresistible influence of Buckingham's burlesque had waned ever so
slightly, and then, when her dramatic reputation was firmly established
by the triumphant success of _The Rover_, the applause that had been
given to _Sir Patient Fancy_ and half-a-dozen more of her plays, she
bethought of her earlier efforts, and after subjecting _The Toung King_
to a thorough revision, in which, however, it retained marked traces of
its original characteristics, she had it produced at the Duke's Theatre
in the spring of 1679. Mr. Gosse goes so far as to say that she had
previously offered it to the theatres and publishers, but could find
neither manager nor printer who would accept it. This, which he deduces
from her dedication to Philaster, seems to me unwarrantable, and is not
borne out by the play itself, which, baroque as it may appear to us, is
certainly equal to, and indeed far better, than the rank and file of
Restoration tragi-comedy. There is no record of its performance, and it
never kept the boards. But although we have no direct evidence of its
success, on the other hand it would be rash to suggest it was in any
sense a failure. Indeed, since two editions were published we may safely
assert its popularity. The actors' names are not preserved, but Mrs. Mary
Lee doubtless created Cleomena; Mrs. Barry, Urania; Betterton,
Thersander; and Smith, Orsames.

TO PHILASTER.

'Tis the glory of the Great and Good to be the Refuge of the Distress'd;
their Virtues create 'em troubles; and he that has the God like Talent to
oblige, is never free from Impunity, you, Philaster, have a Thousand ways
merited my Esteem and Veneration; and I beg you wou'd now permit the
effects of it, which cou'd not forbear, though unpermitted, to dedicate
this youthful sally of my Pen, this first Essay of my Infant-Poetry to
your Self: 'Tis a Virgin-Muse, harmless and unadorn'd, unpractis'd in the
Arts to please; and if by chance you find any thing agreeable, 'tis
natural and unskill'd Innocence. Three thousand Leagues of spacious Ocean
she has measured, visited many and distant Shores, and found a welcome
every where; but in all that vast tract of Sea and Land cou'd never meet
with one whose Person and Merits cou'd oblige her to yield her ungarded
self into his protection: A thousand Charms of Wit, good Nature, and
Beauty at first approach she found in _Philaster_; and since she knew she
cou'd not appear upon the too-critical English Stage without making
choice of some Noble Patronage, she waited long, look'd round the judging
World, and fix't on you. She fear'd the reproach of being an American,
whose Country rarely produces Beauties of this kind: The Muses seldom
inhabit there; or if they do, they visit and away; but for variety a
Dowdy Lass may please: Her youth too should attone for all her faults
besides; and her being a Stranger will beget civility, and you that are
by nature kind and generous, tender and soft to all that's new and gay,
will not, I hope refuse her the Sanctuary I am so sensible she will have
need of in this loose Age of Censure. You have goodness enough to excuse
all her weaknesses, and Wit enough to defend 'em; and that's sufficient
to render her Estimable to all the World that knows the generous and
excellent Philaster; whilst this occasion to celebrate you under this
Name, is both a Pleasure and Honour to. ASTERA.

THE YOUNG KING; or, The Mistake.

PROLOGUE.

_Beauty like Wit, can only charm when new;
Is there no Merit then in being true?
Wit rather should an Estimation hold
With Wine, which is still best for being old.
Judgment in both, with vast Expence and Thought,
You from their native Soil, from Paris brought:
The Drops that from that sacred Sodom fall,
You like industrious Spiders suck up all.
Well might the French a Conquest here design,
Were but their Swords as dangerous as their Wine.
Their Education yet is worse than both;
They make our Virgins Nuns, unman our Youth.
We that don't know 'em, think 'em Monsters too;
And will, because we judge of them by you.
You'll say this once was so, but now you're grown
So wise t'invent new Follies of your own:
Their slavish Imitations you disdain;
A Pox of Fops that purchase Fame with Pain:
You're no such Fools as first to mount a Wall,
Or for your King and Country venture all.
With such like grinning Honour 'twas perchance,
Your dull Forefathers first did conquer France.
Whilst they have sent us, in Revenge for these,
Their Women, Wine, Religion, and Disease.
Yet for Religion, it's not much will down,
In this ungirt, unblest, and mutinous Town.
Nay, I dare swear, not one of you in seven,
E'er had the Impudence to hope for Heaven.
In this you're modest--
But as to Wit, most aim before their time,
And he that cannot spell, sets up for Rhyme:
They're Sparks who are of Noise and Nonsense full,
At fifteen witty, and at twenty dull;
That in the Pit can huff, and talk hard Words,
And briskly draw Bamboo instead of Swords:
But never yet Rencounter cou'd compare
To our late vigorous Tartarian War:
Cudgel the Weapon was, the Pit the Field;
Fierce was the Hero, and too brave to yield.
But stoutest Hearts must bow; and being well can'd,
He crys, Hold, hold, you have the Victory gained.
All laughing call--
Turn out the Rascal, the eternal Blockhead;
--Zounds, crys Tartarian, I am out of Pocket:
Half Crown my Play, Sixpence my Orange cast;
Equip me that, do you the Conquest boast.
For which to lie at ease, a Gathering's made,
And out they turn the Brother of the Blade.
--This is the Fruit of Idleness and Ease:
Heaven bless the King that keeps the Land in Peace,
Or he'll be sweetly served by such as these_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

DACIANS.

_Queen of Dacia_.
_Orsames_, her Son, kept from his Infancy in a Castle on a Lake,
ignorant of his Quality, and of all the World besides; never
having seen any human thing save only his old Tutor.
_Cleomena_, his Sister, bred up in War, and design'd to reign
instead of _Orsames_; the Oracle having foretold the bloody
Cruelties should be committed during his short Reign, if ever
suffered to wear the Crown.
_Honorius_, General of the Army, and Uncle to _Orsames_ and _Cleomena_.
_Olympia_, his Daughter, young and beautiful.
_Ismenes_ and | Two Rival Princes in love with _Cleomena_.
_Artabazes_, |
_Geron_, the old Tutor to _Orsames_.
_Pimante_, a Fop Courtier.
_Arates_, a Courtier.
_Semeris_, Woman to _Cleomena_.
_Vallentio_, a Colonel of the Army.
_Gorel_, a Citizen.
Keeper of the Castle.
A Druid.

SCYTHIANS.

_King of Scythia_.
_Thersander_, his Son, under the Name of _Clemanthis_, when on the
_Dacian_ side.
_Amintas_, a young Nobleman, belov'd by _Thersander_, and Lover of
_Urania_.
_Lysander_, Page to _Thersander_.
_Urania_, in love with _Amintas_.
_Lyces_, a Shepherdess.
Pages and Attendants, Courtiers (men and women), Officers,
Guards, Soldiers, Huntsmen, Shepherds, Shepherdesses,
Assassins, and all a Rabble of the Mobile.

SCENE, the Court of _Dacia_, between the two
Armies just before the Town.

ACT I.

SCENE I. _A Grove near the Camp_.

_Enter_ Pimante _with Letters_.

Gone! Well, I have never the Luck, I thank my Stars, to meet with any of
these mighty Men of Valour.--_Vallentio_! Noble Colonel.

_Enter_ Vallentio.

_Val. Pimante_! Why, what the Devil brought thee to the Camp?

_Pim_. Affairs, Affairs--

_Val_. They must be wondrous pressing that made thee venture; but the
Fighting's past, and all the Noise over; every Man of Fame gone to
receive what's due to his Merit; and the whole Camp looks now like a City
in a great Plague, no stirring--But what's thy Business here?

_Pim_. Why, I brought Letters from the Queen to that same mighty Man of
Prowess--what d'ye call him?

_Val_. The brave Clemanthis?

_Pim_. The same--But, Colonel, is he indeed so very terrible a thing as
Fame gives out?--But she was ever a notable Wag at History.

_Val_. How dare thy Coward-thoughts venture upon any thing so terrible as
the remembrance of that Gallant Man? Is not his Name like Thunder to thy
Ears? Does it not make thee shrink into thy self?

_Pim_. Lord, Colonel, why so hot? 'Tis the cursed'st thing in the World
to be thus continually us'd to fighting; why, how uncivil it renders a
Man! I spake by way of Question.

_Val_. Oh! how soft and wanton I could grow in the Description I could
make of him--He merits all in Peace as well as War; Compos'd of Charms
would take all Womankind, As those of's Valour overcome the Men.

_Pim_. Well said, i'faith, Colonel; but if he be so fine a Man, why did
you not keep him here amongst you to do Execution on the _Scythians_?
for I think e'er long you'll give 'em Battel.

_Val_. The General, whose noble Life he sav'd,
Us'd all his Interest with him, but in vain:
He neither could oblige his stay i'th' Camp,
Nor get him to the Court. Oh! were his Quality
But like his Actions great, he were a Man
To merit _Cleomena_,
Whose Worth and Beauty, as a thing Divine,
I reverence.
But I abhor the feeble Reign of Women;
It foretels the Downfal of the noblest Trade, War.
Give me a Man to lead me on to Dangers,
Such as _Clemanthis_ is, or as _Orsames_ might have been.

_Pim_. Colonel, 'tis Treason but to name _Orsames_, and much more to wish
he were as King.

_Val_. Not wish he were! by all those Gods I will,
Who did conspire against him in their Oracles.
Not wish him King! yes, and may live to see it.

_Pim_. What should we do with such a King? The Gods foretel he shall be
fierce and bloody, a Ravisher, a Tyrant o'er his People; his Reign but
short, and so unfit for Reign.

_Val_. The Gods! I'll not trust 'em for a Day's Pay--let them but give
one a taste of his Reign, tho but an hour, and I'll be converted to them.

_Pim_. Besides, he is very ill bred for a King; he knows nothing of the
World, cannot dress himself, nor sing, nor dance, or play on any Musick;
ne'er saw a Woman, nor knows how to make use of one if he had her.
There's an old fusty Philosopher that instructs him; but 'tis in nothing
ever that shall make a fine Gentleman of him: He teaches him a deal of
Awe and Reverence to the Gods; and tells him that his natural Reason's
Sin--But, Colonel, between you and I, he'll no more of that Philosophy,
but grows as sullen as if you had the breeding of him here i'th' Camp.

_Val_. Thou tell'st me heavenly News; a King, a King again! Oh, for a
mutinous Rabble, that would break the Prison-Walls, and set _Orsames_ free,
both from his Fetters and his Ignorance.

_Pim_. There is a Discourse at Court, that the Queen designs to bring him
out, and try how he would behave himself: But I'm none of that Counsel,
she's like to make a fine Court on't; we have enough in the Virago he
Daughter, who, if it were not for her Beauty, one would swear were no
Woman, she's so given to Noise and Fighting.

_Val_. I never saw her since she was a Child, and then she naturally
hated _Scythia_.

_Pim_. Nay, she's in that mind still; and the superstitious Queen, who
thinks that Crown belongs to _Cleomena_--

_Val_. Yes, that was the Promise of the Oracle too.

_Pim_. Breeds her more like a General than a Woman. Ah, how she loves
fine Arms! a Bow, a Quiver! and though she be no natural Amazon, she's
capable of all their martial Fopperies--But hark, what Noise is that?

[_Song within_.

_Val_. 'Tis what we do not use to hear--Stand by.

SONG.

(1.)

_Damon, I cannot blame your Will,
'Twas Chance, and not Design, did kill;
For whilst you did prepare your Arms
On purpose Celia to subdue,
I met the Arrows as they flew,
And sav'd her from their Harms.

(2.)
Alas, she could not make returns.
Who for a Swain already turns,
A Shepherd, who does her caress
With all the softest Marks of Love;
And 'tis in vain thou seek'st to move
The cruel Shepherdess.

(3.)
Content thee with this Victory,
I'm Young and Beautiful as she;
I'll make thee Garlands all the Day,
And in the Shades we'll sit and sing;
I'll crown thee with the Pride o'th' Spring,
When thou art Lord o'th' May_.

_Enter_ Urania _dress'd gay_, Lyces _a Shepherdess_.

_Ly_. Still as I sing you sigh.

_Uran_. I cannot hear thy Voice, and the returns
The Echoes of these shady Groves repeat,
But I must find some Softness at my Heart.
--Wou'd I had never known another Dwelling,
But this too happy one where thou wert born! [Sighs.

_Ly_. You sigh again: such things become
None but unhappy Maids that are forsaken;
Your Beauty is too great to suffer that.

_Ura_. No Beauty's proof against false perjur'd Man.

_Ly_. Is't possible you can have lost your Love?

_Ura_. Yes, pretty Maid, canst tell me any tidings of him?

_Ly_. I cannot tell, by what marks do you know him?

_Ura_. Why, by these--a tempting Face and Shape,
A Tongue bewitching soft, and Breath as sweet,
As is the welcome Breeze that does restore
Life to a Man half kill'd with heat before;
But has a Heart as false as Seas in Calms,
Smiles first to tempt, then ruins with its Storms.

_Ly_. Oh, fair Urania! there are many more
So like your Love, if such a one he be:
That you wou'd take each Shepherd to be he:
'Tis grown the fashion now to be forsworn;
Oaths are like Garlands made of finest Flowers,
Wither as soon as finish'd;
They change their Loves as often as their Scrips,
And lay their Mistresses aside like Ribbons,
Which they themselves have sullied.

_Pim_. Gad, I'll venture in--

_Val_. Fair Women, and so near the Camp!
What are ye, and from whence?

_Pim_. Ha! 'tis no matter for that; ask no Questions, but fall to.
[_Goes to_ Lyces.

_Ura_. I'm not asham'd to tell the one or t'other;
I am a Maid, and one of gentle Birth,
A _Scythian_ born, an Enemy to thee,
Not as thou art a Man, but Friend to _Dacia_.

_Val_. What Sin have I committed, that so fair a Creature should become
my Enemy? but since you are so, you must be my Prisoner, unless your Eyes
prevent me, and make me yours.

_Pim_. How, take a Woman Prisoner! I hope you are a finer Gentleman than
so.

_Val_. But, Madam, do not fear, for I will use you As well as such a Man
as I can do.

_Ura_. Though thou be'st rough, thou hast a noble look, And I believe my
Treatment will be gentle.

_Val_. Fair Maid, this Confidence is brave in thee;
And though I am not us'd to make returns,
Unless in Thunder on my Enemies,
Yet name the way, and I will strive to serve you.

_Ura_. Then, Sir, I beg that you would set me free,
Nor yet retain me here a Prisoner;
But as thou'rt brave, conduct me to the Castle on the Lake,
Where young Amintas lies, the Spoil of War.

_Val. Amintas_, Madam, is a gallant Youth,
And merits more from Fortune than his Chains;
But I could wish (since I have vow'd to serve you)
You would command me something
Worthy your Beauty, and of that Resolution.

_Ura_. There is no other way to do me service.

_Val_. Then most willingly I will obey you.

_Ura_. But, Sir, I beg this Virgin may depart,
Being a _Dacian_, and a neighbouring Villager.

_Val_. All your Commands shall strictly be obey'd.

_Pim_. Pox on her, she's coy, and let her go. Well,
Colonel, I doubt you'll be for the Queen by and by.

_Ura_. Here--take this Jewel as a part of payment,
For all thy goodness to an unknown Maid. [_To_ Lyces.
And if by chance I ever see thee more,
Believe me, _Lyces_, I will quit the score.
[_Ex_. Lyces _weeping_.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _A Grove of Trees_.

_Within the Scene lies_ Thersander _sleeping, his Cap and
Feather at a distance from him_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _drest like an_ Amazon, _with a Bow in
her Hand, and a Quiver of Arrows at her Back, with_
Semiris _attired like her_.

_Cleo_. I'm almost tir'd with holding out the Chase.

_Sem_. That's strange! methought your Highness followed not
So fast to Day as I have seen you heretofore.

_Cleo_. I do not use to leave the Game unvanquish'd,
Yet now by what strange inclination led I know not,
The Sport growing dull, I wish to meet a place
Far from the noise and business of the Day:
Hast thou ty'd fast my Horses?

_Sem_. Madam, I have.

_Cleo_. What place is this, _Semiris_?

_Sem_. I know not, Madam, but 'tis wondrous pleasant.

_Cleo_. How much more charming are the Works of Nature
Than the Productions of laborious Art?
Securely here the wearied Shepherd sleeps,
Guiltless of any fear, but the disdain
His cruel Fair procures him.
How many Tales the Echoes of these Woods
Cou'd tell of Lovers, if they would betray,
That steal delightful hours beneath their Shades!

_Sem_. You'd rather hear 'em echo back the sound
Of Horns and Dogs, or the fierce noise of War.

_Cleo_. You charge me with the faults of Education,
That cozening Form that veils the Face of Nature,
But does not see what's hid within, _Semiris_:
I have a Heart all soft as thine, all Woman,
Apt to melt down at every tender Object.
--Oh, _Semiris_! there's a strange change within me.

_Sem_. How, Madam!

_Cleo_. I would thou knew'st it;
Till now I durst do any thing--but fear,
Yet now I tremble with the thoughts of telling thee
What none but thou must know--I am in love.

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