The Works of Aphra Behn

The Governor having remain’d wounded at Parham, till his Recovery was completed, Cæsar did not know but he was still there, and indeed for the most Part, his Time was spent there: for he was one that loved to live at other Peoples Expence, and if he were a Day absent, he was ten present there; and us’d to play, and walk, and hunt, and fish with Cæsar: So that Cæsar did not at all doubt, if he once recover’d Strength, but he should find an Opportunity of being revenged on him; though, after such a Revenge, he could not hope to live: for if he escaped the Fury of the English Mobile, who perhaps would have been glad of the Occasion to have killed him, he was resolved not to survive his Whipping; yet he had some tender Hours, a repenting Softness, which he called his Fits of Cowardice, wherein he struggled with Love for the Victory of his Heart, which took Part with his charming Imoinda there; but for the most Part, his Time was pass’d in melancholy Thoughts, and black Designs. He consider’d, if he should do this Deed, and die either in the Attempt, or after it, he left his lovely Imoinda a Prey, or at best a Slave to the enraged Multitude; his great Heart could not endure that Thought: Perhaps (said he) she may be first ravish’d by every Brute; expos’d first to their nasty Lusts, and then a shameful Death: No, he could not live a Moment under that Apprehension, too insupportable to be borne. These were his Thoughts, and his silent Arguments with his Heart, as he told us afterwards: So that now resolving not only to kill Byam, but all those he thought had enraged him; pleasing his great Heart with the fancy’d Slaughter he should make over the whole Face of the Plantation; he first resolved on a Deed, (that however horrid it first appear’d to us all) when we had heard his Reasons, we thought it brave and just. Being able to walk, and, as he believed, fit for the Execution of his great Design, he begg’d Trefry to trust him into the Air, believing a Walk would do him good; which was granted him; and taking Imoinda with him, as he used to do in his more happy and calmer Days, he led her up into a Wood, where (after with a thousand Sighs, and long gazing silently on her Face, while Tears gush’d, in spite of him, from his Eyes) he told her his Design, first of killing her, and then his Enemies, and next himself, and the Impossibility of escaping, and therefore he told her the Necessity of dying. He found the heroick Wife faster pleading for Death, than he was to propose it, when she found his fix’d Resolution; and, on her Knees, besought him not to leave her a Prey to his Enemies. He (grieved to Death) yet pleased at her noble Resolution, took her up, and embracing of her with all the Passion and Languishment of a dying Lover, drew his Knife to kill this Treasure of his Soul, this Pleasure of his Eyes; while Tears trickled down his Cheeks, hers were smiling with Joy she should die by so noble a Hand, and be sent into her own Country (for that’s their Notion of the next World) by him she so tenderly loved, and so truly ador’d in this: For Wives have a Respect for their Husbands equal to what any other People pay a Deity; and when a Man finds any Occasion to quit his Wife, if he love her, she dies by his Hand; if not, he sells her, or suffers some other to kill her. It being thus, you may believe the Deed was soon resolv’d on; and ’tis not to be doubted, but the parting, the eternal Leave-taking of two such Lovers, so greatly born, so sensible, so beautiful, so young, and so fond, must be very moving, as the Relation of it was to me afterwards.

All that Love could say in such Cases, being ended, and all the intermitting Irresolutions being adjusted, the lovely, young and ador’d Victim lays herself down before the Sacrificer; while he, with a Hand resolved, and a Heart-breaking within, gave the fatal Stroke, first cutting her Throat, and then severing her yet smiling Face from that delicate Body, pregnant as it was with the Fruits of tenderest Love. As soon as he had done, he laid the Body decently on Leaves and Flowers, of which he made a Bed, and conceal’d it under the same Cover-lid of Nature; only her Face he left yet bare to look on: But when he found she was dead, and past all Retrieve, never more to bless him with her Eyes, and soft Language, his Grief swell’d up to Rage; he tore, he rav’d, he roar’d like some Monster of the Wood, calling on the lov’d Name of Imoinda. A thousand Times he turned the fatal Knife that did the Deed towards his own Heart, with a Resolution to go immediately after her; but dire Revenge, which was now a thousand Times more fierce in his Soul than before, prevents him; and he would cry out, ‘No, since I have sacrific’d Imoinda to my Revenge, shall I lose that Glory which I have purchased so dear, as at the Price of the fairest, dearest, softest Creature that ever Nature made? No, no!’ Then at her Name Grief would get the Ascendant of Rage, and he would lie down by her Side, and water her Face with Showers of Tears, which never were wont to fall from those Eyes; and however bent he was on his intended Slaughter, he had not Power to stir from the Sight of this dear Object, now more beloved, and more ador’d than ever.

He remained in this deplorable Condition for two Days, and never rose from the Ground where he had made her sad Sacrifice; at last rouzing from her Side, and accusing himself with living too long, now Imoinda was dead, and that the Deaths of those barbarous Enemies were deferred too long, he resolved now to finish the great Work: but offering to rise, he found his Strength so decay’d, that he reeled to and fro, like Boughs assailed by contrary Winds; so that he was forced to lie down again, and try to summon all his Courage to his Aid. He found his Brains turned round, and his Eyes were dizzy, and Objects appear’d not the same to him they were wont to do; his Breath was short, and all his Limbs surpriz’d with a Faintness he had never felt before. He had not eat in two Days, which was one Occasion of his Feebleness, but Excess of Grief was the greatest; yet still he hoped he should recover Vigour to act his Design, and lay expecting it yet six Days longer; still mourning over the dead Idol of his Heart, and striving every Day to rise, but could not.

In all this time you may believe we were in no little Affliction for Cæsar and his Wife; some were of Opinion he was escaped, never to return; others thought some Accident had happened to him: But however, we fail’d not to send out a hundred People several Ways, to search for him. A Party of about forty went that Way he took, among whom was Tuscan, who was perfectly reconciled to Byam: They had not gone very far into the Wood, but they smelt an unusual Smell, as of a dead Body; for Stinks must be very noisom, that can be distinguish’d among such a Quantity of natural Sweets, as every Inch of that Land produces: so that they concluded they should find him dead, or some body that was so; they pass’d on towards it, as loathsom as it was, and made such rustling among the Leaves that lie thick on the Ground, by continual falling, that Cæsar heard he was approach’d; and though he had, during the Space of these eight Days, endeavour’d to rise, but found he wanted Strength, yet looking up, and seeing his Pursuers, he rose, and reel’d to a neighbouring Tree, against which he fix’d his Back; and being within a dozen Yards of those that advanc’d and saw him, he call’d out to them, and bid them approach no nearer, if they would be safe. So that they stood still, and hardly believing their Eyes, that would persuade them that it was Cæsar that spoke to them, so much he was alter’d; they ask’d him, what he had done with his Wife, for they smelt a Stink that almost struck them dead? He pointing to the dead Body, sighing, cry’d, Behold her there. They put off the Flowers that cover’d her, with their Sticks, and found she was kill’d, and cry’d out, Oh, Monster! that hast murder’d thy Wife. Then asking him, why he did so cruel a Deed? He reply’d, He had no Leisure to answer impertinent Questions: ‘You may go back (continued he) and tell the faithless Governor, he may thank Fortune that I am breathing my last; and that my Arm is too feeble to obey my Heart, in what it had design’d him’: But his Tongue faultering, and trembling, he could scarce end what he was saying. The English taking Advantage by his Weakness, cry’d, Let us take him alive by all Means. He heard ’em; and, as if he had reviv’d from a Fainting, or a Dream, he cried out, ‘No, Gentlemen, you are deceived; you will find no more Cæsars to be whipt; no more find a Faith in me; Feeble as you think me, I have Strength yet left to secure me from a second Indignity.’ They swore all anew; and he only shook his Head, and beheld them with Scorn. Then they cry’d out, Who will venture on this single Man? Will nobody? They stood all silent, while Cæsar replied, Fatal will be the Attempt of the first Adventurer, let him assure himself, (and, at that Word, held up his Knife in a menacing Posture:) Look ye, ye faithless Crew, said he, ’tis not Life I seek, nor am I afraid of dying, (and at that Word, cut a Piece of Flesh from his own Throat, and threw it at ’em) yet still I would live if I could, till I had perfected my Revenge: But, oh! it cannot be; I feel Life gliding from my Eyes and Heart; and if I make not haste, I shall fall a Victim to the shameful Whip. At that, he rip’d up his own Belly, and took his Bowels and pull’d ’em out, with what Strength he could; while some, on their Knees imploring, besought him to hold his Hand. But when they saw him tottering, they cry’d out, Will none venture on him? A bold Englishman cry’d, Yes, if he were the Devil, (taking Courage when he saw him almost dead) and swearing a horrid Oath for his farewel to the World, he rush’d on him. Cæsar with his arm’d Hand, met him so fairly, as stuck him to the Heart, and he Fell dead at his feet. Tuscan seeing that, cry’d out, I love thee, O Cæsar! and therefore will not let thee die, if possible; and running to him, took him in his Arms; but, at the same time, warding a Blow that Cæsar made at his Bosom, he receiv’d it quite through his Arm; and Cæsar having not Strength to pluck the Knife forth, tho’ he attempted it, Tuscan neither pull’d it out himself, nor suffer’d it to be pull’d out, but came down with it sticking in his Arm; and the Reason he gave for it, was, because the Air should not get into the Wound. They put their Hands a-cross, and carry’d Cæsar between six of ’em, fainting as he was, and they thought dead, or just dying; and they brought him to Parham, and laid him on a Couch, and had the Chirurgeon immediately to him, who dressed his Wounds, and sow’d up his Belly, and us’d Means to bring him to Life, which they effected. We ran all to see him; and, if before we thought him so beautiful a Sight, he was now so alter’d, that his Face was like a Death’s-Head black’d over, nothing but Teeth and Eye-holes: For some Days we suffer’d no Body to speak to him, but caused Cordials to be poured down his Throat; which sustained his Life, and in six or seven Days he recovered his Senses: For, you must know, that Wounds are almost to a Miracle cur’d in the Indies; unless Wounds in the Legs, which they rarely ever cure.

When he was well enough to speak, we talk’d to him, and ask’d him some Questions about his Wife, and the Reasons why he kill’d her; and he then told us what I have related of that Resolution, and of his Parting, and he besought us we would let him die, and was extremely afflicted to think it was possible he might live: He assur’d us, if we did not dispatch him, he would prove very fatal to a great many. We said all we could to make him live, and gave him new Assurances; but he begg’d we would not think so poorly of him, or of his Love to Imoinda, to imagine we could flatter him to Life again: But the Chirurgeon assur’d him he could not live, and therefore he need not fear. We were all (but Cæsar) afflicted at this News, and the Sight was ghastly: His Discourse was sad; and the earthy Smell about him so strong, that I was persuaded to leave the Place for some time, (being my self but sickly, and very apt to fall into Fits of dangerous Illness upon any extraordinary Melancholy.) The Servants, and Trefry, and the Chirurgeons, promis’d all to take what possible Care they could of the Life of Cæsar; and I, taking Boat, went with other Company to Colonel Martin’s, about three Days Journey down the River. But I was no sooner gone, than the Governor taking Trefry, about some pretended earnest Business, a Day’s Journey up the River, having communicated his Design to one Banister, a wild Irish Man, one of the Council, a Fellow of absolute Barbarity, and fit to execute any Villany, but rich; he came up to Parham, and forcibly took Cæsar, and had him carried to the same Post where he was whipp’d; and causing him to be ty’d to it, and a great Fire made before him, he told him he should die like a Dog, as he was. Cæsar replied, This was the first piece of Bravery that ever Banister did, and he never spoke Sense till he pronounc’d that Word; and if he would keep it, he would declare, in the other World, that he was the only Man, of all the Whites, that ever he heard speak Truth. And turning to the Men that had bound him, he said, My Friends, am I to die, or to be whipt? And they cry’d, Whipt! no, you shall not escape so well. And then he reply’d, smiling, A Blessing on thee; and assur’d them they need not tie him, for he would stand fix’d like a Rock, and endure Death so as should encourage them to die: But if you whip me (said he) be sure you tie me fast.

He had learn’d to take Tobacco; and when he was assur’d he should die, he desir’d they would give him a Pipe in his Mouth, ready lighted; which they did: And the Executioner came, and first cut off his Members, and threw them into the Fire; after that, with an ill-favour’d Knife, they cut off his Ears and his Nose, and burn’d them; he still smoak’d on, as if nothing had touch’d him; then they hack’d off one of his Arms, and still he bore up and held his Pipe; but at the cutting off the other Arm, his Head sunk, and his Pipe dropt, and he gave up the Ghost, without a Groan, or a Reproach. My Mother and Sister were by him all the While, but not suffer’d to save him; so rude and wild were the Rabble, and so inhuman were the Justices who stood by to see the Execution, who after paid dear enough for their Insolence. They cut Cæsar into Quarters, and sent them to several of the chief Plantations: One Quarter was sent to Colonel Martin; who refus’d it, and swore, he had rather see the Quarters of Banister, and the Governor himself, than those of Cæsar, on his Plantations; and that he could govern his Negroes, without terrifying and grieving them with frightful Spectacles of a mangled King.

Thus died this great Man, worthy of a better Fate, and a more sublime Wit than mine to write his Praise: Yet, I hope, the Reputation of my Pen is considerable enough to make his glorious Name to survive to all Ages, with that of the brave, the beautiful and the constant Imoinda.

Notes: Critical and Explanatory:Oroonoko

p. 130 I gave ’em to the King’s Theatre. Sir Robert Howard and Dryden’s heroic tragedy, The Indian Queen, was produced at the Theatre Royal in mid-January, 1663. It is a good play, but the extraordinary success it attained was in no small measure due to the excellence and magnificence of the scenic effects and mounting. 27 January, Pepys noticed that the streets adjacent to the theatre were ‘full of coaches at the new play The Indian Queen, which for show, they say, exceeds Henry VIII.’ On 1 February he himself found it ‘indeed a most pleasant show’. The grandeur of the mise en scène became long proverbial in theatrical history. Zempoalla, the Indian Queen, a fine rôle, was superbly acted by Mrs. Marshall, the leading tragedienne of the day. The feathered ornaments which Mrs. Behn mentions must have formed a quaint but doubtless striking addition to the actress’s pseudo-classic attire. Bernbaum pictures ‘Nell Gwynn9 in the true costume of a Carib belle’, a quite unfair deduction from Mrs. Behn’s words.

p. 168 Osenbrigs. More usually ‘osnaburg’, so named from Osnabrück in North Germany, a kind of coarse linen made in this town. Narborough’s Journal, 1669 (An Account of Several Late Voyages, 1694), speaks of ‘Cloth, Osenbrigs, Tobacco’. cf. Pennsylvania Col. Records (1732): ‘That to each there be given a couple of Shirts, a Jackett, two pairs of trowsers of Oznabrigs.’

p. 174 as soon as the Governour arrived. The Governor was Francis Willoughby, fifth Baron Willoughby of Parham (1613? -1666). He had arrived at Barbadoes, 29 April, 1650, and was received as Governor 7 May, which same day he caused Charles II to be proclaimed. An ardent royalist, he was dispossessed by an Act of Parliament, 4 March, 1652, and summoned back to England. At the Restoration he was reinstated, and arrived the second time with full powers in Barbadoes, 10 August, 1663. About the end of July, 1666, he was lost at sea on board the good ship Hope.

p. 177 my Father.. never arriv’d to possess the Honour design’d him. Bernbaum, following the mistaken statement that Mrs. Behn’s father, John Amis, was a barber, argues that a man in such a position could hardly have obtained so important a post, and if her ‘father was not sent to Surinam, the only reason she gives for being there disappears.’ However, since we know her father to have been no barber, but of good family, this line of discussion falls to the ground.

p. 180 Brother to Harry Martin the great Oliverian. Henry, or Harry, and George Marten were the two sons of Sir Henry Marten (ob. 1641) and his first wife, Elizabeth, who died 19 June, 1618. For the elder brother, Henry Marten, (1602-80), see note Vol. I, p. 457. Cross-reference: Note from Volume I

p. 193 The Deputy Governor. William Byam was ‘Lieutenant General of Guiana and Governor of Willoughby Land’, 1661-7. Even previously to this he had gained no little influence and power in these colonies. He headed the forces that defended Surinam in 1667 against the Dutch Admiral Crynsens, who, however, proved victorious.

p. 198 my new Comedy. The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt, posthumously produced under the auspices of, and with some alterations by, Charles Gildon at Drury Lane in 1696. George Marteen, acted by Powell, is the young and gallant hero of the comedy.

p. 200 his Council. In The Widow Ranter Mrs. Behn draws a vivid picture of these deboshed ruffians.

p. 207 one Banister. Sergeant Major James Banister being, after Byam’s departure in 1667, ‘the only remaining eminent person’ became Lieutenant-Governor. It was he who in 1668 made the final surrender of the colony. Later, having quarrelled with the Dutch he was imprisoned by them.

Cross-Reference

Note to p. 180: For the elder brother, Henry Marten, (1602-80), see note Vol. I, p. 457.

Vol. I, p. 457 note (referring to The Roundheads, v, II):

p. 414 Peters the first, Martin the Second. Hugh Peters has been noticed before. Henry Martin was an extreme republican, and at one time even a Leveller. He was a commissioner of the High Court of Justice and a regicide. At the Restoration he was imprisoned for life and died at Chepstow Castle, 1681, aged seventy-eight. He was notorious for profligacy and shamelessness, and kept a very seraglio of mistresses.

AGNES DE CASTRO

INTRODUCTION

The ‘sweet sentimental tragedy’ of Agnes de Castro was founded by Mrs. Behn upon a work by Mlle S. B. de Brillac, Agnès de Castro, nouvelle portugaise (1688), and various subsequent editions. In the same year (1688) as Mrs. Behn’s Agnes de Castro; or, The Force of Generous Blood was published there appeared ‘Two New Novels, i. The Art of Making Love.10 ii. The Fatal Beauty of Agnes de Castro: Taken out of the History of Portugal. Translated from the French by P. B. G.11 For R. Bentley’ (12mo). Each has a separate title page. Bellon’s version does not differ materially from Mrs. Behn, but she far exceeds him in spirit and niceness of style.

So much legend has surrounded the romantic history of the beautiful Ines de Castro that it is impossible fully to elucidate every detail of her life. Born in the early years of the fourteenth century, she was the daughter of Pedro Fernandez de Castro, major domo to Alphonso XI of Castille. She accompanied her relative, Dona Constança Manuel, daughter to the Duke of Peñafiel, to the court of Alphonso IV of Portugal when this lady was to wed the Infante Don Pedro. Here Ines excited the fondest love in Pedro’s heart and the passion was reciprocated. She bore him several children, and there can be no doubt that Dona Constança was madly jealous of her husband’s amour with her fair friend. 13 November, 1345, Constança died, and Pedro immediately married his mistress at Braganza in the presence of the Bishop of Guarda. Their nuptials were kept secret, and the old King kept pressing his son to take a wife. Before long his spies found out the reason of the Infante’s constant refusals; and, beside himself with rage, he watched an opportunity whilst Pedro, on a great hunting expedition, was absent from Coimbra where they resided, and had Ines cruelly assassinated 7 January, 1355. The grief of Pedro was terrible, he plunged the country into civil war, and it was only by the tenderest solicitations of his mother and the authority of several holy monks and bishops that he was restrained from taking a terrible revenge upon his father. Alphonso died, his power curtailed, his end unhappy, May, 1357.

A very literature has grown up around the lovely Ines, and many more than a hundred items of interest could be enumerated. The best authority is J. de Araujo, whose monumental Bibliographia Inesiana was published in 1897. Mrs. Behn’s novel was immensely popular and is included, with some unnecessary moral observations as preface, in Mrs. Griffith’s A Collection of Novels (1777), Vol. III, which has a plate illustrating the tale. It was turned into French by Marie-Geneviève-Charlotte Tiroux d’ Arconville (1720-1805), wife of a councillor of the Parliament, an aimable blue-stocking who devoted her life wholly to literature, and translated freely from English. This work is to be found in Romans (les deux premiers.. tirés des Lettres Persanes.. par M. Littleton et le dernier.. d’un Recueil de Romans.. de Madame Behn) traduits de l’ Anglois, (Amsterdam, 1761.) It occurs again in Mélanges de Litterature (12mo, 1775, etc.), Vol. VI.

A tragedy, Agnes de Castro, written by that philosophical lady, Catherine Trotter (afterwards Cockburn), at the early age of sixteen, and produced at the Theatre Royal, 1696, with Powell, Verbruggen, Mrs. Rogers in the principal parts, is directly founded upon Mrs. Behn. It is a mediocre play, and the same can even more truly be said of Mallet’s cold Elvira (1763). This was acted, however, with fair success thirteen times. Garrick played Don Pedro, his last original part, and Mrs. Cibber Elvira. Such dull exercises as C. Symmons, Inez, a tragedy (1796), and Ignez de Castro, a tragedy in verse, intended for Hoad’s Magazine call for no comment.

There is a French play by Lamotte on the subject of Ines de Castro, which was first produced 6 April, 1723. Voltaire found the first four acts execrable and laughed consumedly. The fifth was so tender and true that he melted into tears. In Italian we have, from the pen of Bertoletti, Inez de Castro, tragedia, Milano, 1826.

In Spanish and Portuguese there are, of course, innumerable poems, treaties, tragedies, studies, romances. Lope de Vega wrote Dona Inez de Castro, and the beautiful episode of Camoens is deservedly famous. Antonio Ferreira’s splendid tragedy is well known. First published in Comedias Famosas dos Doctores de Sa de Mirande (4to, 1622), it can also be read in Poemas lusitanos (2 Vols., 8vo, Lisbon, 1771). Domingo dos Reis Quita wrote a drama, Ignez de Castro, a translation of which, by Benjamin Thompson, was published in 1800. There is also a play Dona Ignez de Castro, by Nicolas Luiz, which was Englished by John Adamson, whose version was printed at Newcastle, 1808.