VIRTUE REWARDED:
A PASTORAL TALE:
[From the German of Gesner.]
Glicera was beautiful and poor. Scarce had she numbered sixteen springs, when she lost the mother who had brought her up. Reduced to servitude, she kept the flocks of Lamon, who cultivated the lands of a rich citizen of Mitylene.
One day, her eyes flowing with tears, she went to visit her mother’s solitary tomb. She poured upon her grave a cup of pure water, and suspended crowns of flowers to the branches of the bushes she had planted round it. Seated beneath the mournful shade, and drying up her tears, she said, ‘O thou most tender of mothers, how dear to my heart is the remembrance of thy virtues! If ever I forget the instructions thou gavest me, with such a tranquil smile, in that fatal moment, when inclining thy head upon my bosom, I saw thee expire; if ever I forget them! may the propitious Gods forsake me, and may thy sacred shade forever fly me! It is thou that hast just preserved my innocence. I come to tell thy manes all. Wretch that I am! Is there any one on earth to whom I dare open my heart?
‘Nicias, the Lord of this country, came hither to enjoy the pleasures of the autumn. He saw me; he regarded me with a soft and gracious air. He praised my flocks, and the care I took of them: he often told me that I was genteel, and made me presents. Gods! how was I deceived! but in the country who mistrusts? I said to myself, how kind our master is! may the Gods reward him! all my vows shall be for him; ’tis all that I can do; but I will forever do it. The rich are happy, and favoured by the immortals. When bountiful, like Nicias, they deserve to be happy. This to myself I said, and let him take my hand, and press it in his. The other day I blushed, and dared not look up, when he put a gold ring upon my finger. See, he said, what is engraved on this stone? A winged child, who smiles like thee; and ’tis he that must make thee happy. As he spoke these words, he stroaked my cheeks, that were redder than the fire. He loves me; he has the tenderness of a father for me; how have I deserved so much kindness from a Lord, and so rich and powerful? O, my mother, that was all thy poor child thought. Heavens! how was I deceived! this morning he found me in the orchard; he chuck’d me familiarly under the chin. Come, he said, bring me some new-blown flowers to the myrtle bower, that I may there enjoy their sweet perfumes. With haste I chose the finest flowers; and, full of joy, I ran to the bower. Thou art, he said, more nimble than the Zephyrs, and more beautiful than the Goddess of flowers. Then, immortal Gods! I yet tremble at the thought; then he catch’d me in his arms, and pressed me to his bosom, and all that love can promise, all that is soft and seducing, flow’d from his lips. I wept; I trembled. Unable to resist such arts, I had been forever lost. No, thou wou’dst no longer have had a child, if thy remembrance had not watch’d over my heart. Ah! if thy worthy mother had even seen thee suffer such disgraceful caresses! that thought alone gave me power to force myself from the arms of the seducer and fly.
‘Now I come; O with what comfort is it that I still dare! I come to weep over thy grave. Alas! poor and unfortunate as I am, why did I lose thee when so young. I droop like a flower, deprived of the support that sustain’d its feeble stalk. This cup of pure water I pour to the honour of thy manes. Accept this garland! receive my tears! may they penetrate even to thy ashes! Hear, O my mother, hear; ’tis to thy dear remains, that repose beneath those flowers, which my eyes have so often bedewed: ’tis to thy sacred shade I here renew the vows of my heart. Virtue, innocence, and the fear of the Gods, shall make the happiness of my days. Therefore poverty shall never disturb the serenity of my mind. May I do nothing that thou wou’dst not have approv’d with a smile of tenderness, and I shall surely be, as thou wast, belov’d of Gods and men: For I shall be gentle, modest, and industrious, O my mother, by living thus, I hope to die like thee, with smiles and tears of joy.’
Glicera, on quitting the place, felt all the powerful charms of virtue. The gentle warmth that was diffused over her mind, sparkled in her eyes, still wet with tears. She was beautiful as those days of spring, when the sun shines through a transient shower.
With a mind quite tranquil, she was hastening back to her labour, when Nicias ran to meet her. ‘O Glicera!’ he said, and tears flowed down his cheeks, ‘I have heard thee at thy mother’s tomb. Fear nothing, virtuous maid! I thank the immortal Gods! I thank that virtue, which hath preserved me from the crime of seducing thy innocence. Forgive me, chaste Glicera! forgive, nor dread in me a fresh offence. My virtue triumphs through thine. Be wise, be virtuous, and be ever happy. That meadow surrounded with trees, near to thy mother’s tomb, and half the flock thou keepest, are thine.
‘May a man of equal virtue complete the happiness of thy days! weep not, virtuous maid! but accept the present I offer thee with a sincere heart, and suffer me from henceforth to watch over thy happiness. If thou refusest me, a remorse for offending thy virtue will be the torment of all my days. Forget, O vouchsafe to forget my crime, and I will revere thee as a propitious power that hath defended me against myself.’
Original: Daphne, prose, by Salomon Gessner 1730-1788.
Translations: Aminta, prose, in Gessner’s works, 1802 (different translation than the one given here);
prose, “Nicias and Glicera”;
verse, “Daphne, or the Orphan”.