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diff --git a/1286-0.txt b/1286-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0cbb97 --- /dev/null +++ b/1286-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11063 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1286 *** + +TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE + +By Charles And Mary Lamb + + + +CONTENTS + + PREFACE + THE TEMPEST + A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’s DREAM + THE WINTER’S TALE + MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING + AS YOU LIKE IT + THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA + THE MERCHANT OF VENICE + CYMBELINE + KING LEAR + MACBETH + ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL + TAMING OF THE SHREW + COMEDY OF ERRORS + MEASURE FOR MEASURE + TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL + TIMON OF ATHENS + ROMEO AND JULIET + HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + OTHELLO + PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE + + + + +PREFACE + + +The following Tales are meant to be submitted to the young reader +as an introduction to the study of Shakespeare, for which purpose +his words are used whenever it seemed possible to bring them in; +and in whatever has been added to give them the regular form of a +connected story, diligent care has been taken to select such +words as might least interrupt the effect of the beautiful +English tongue in which he wrote: therefore, words introduced +into our language since his time have been as far as possible +avoided. + +In those Tales which have been taken from the Tragedies, the +young readers will perceive, when they come to see the source +from which these stories are derived, that Shakespeare’s own +words, with little alteration, recur very frequently in the +narrative as well as in the dialogue; but in those made from the +Comedies the writers found themselves scarcely ever able to turn +his words into the narrative form: therefore it is feared that, +in them, dialogue has been made use of too frequently for young +people not accustomed to the dramatic form of writing. But this +fault, if it be a fault, has been caused by an earnest wish to +give as much of Shakespeare’s own words as possible: and if the +“He said” and “She said,” the question and the reply, should +sometimes seem tedious to their young ears, they must pardon it, +because it was the only way in which could be given to them a few +hints and little foretastes of the great pleasure which awaits +them in their elder years, when they come to the rich treasures +from which these small and valueless coins are extracted; +pretending to no other merit than as faint and imperfect stamps +of Shakespeare’s matchless image. Faint and imperfect images they +must be called, because the beauty of his language is too +frequently destroyed by the necessity of changing many of his +excellent words into words far less expressive of his true sense, +to make it read something like prose; and even in some few +places, where his blank verse is given unaltered, as hoping from +its simple plainness to cheat the young readers into the belief +that they are reading prose, yet still his language being +transplanted from its own natural soil and wild poetic garden, it +must want much of its native beauty. + +It has been wished to make these Tales easy reading for very +young children. To the utmost of their ability the writers have +constantly kept this in mind; but the subjects of most of them +made this a very difficult task. It was no easy matter to give +the histories of men and women in terms familiar to the +apprehension of a very young mind. For young ladies, too, it has +been the intention chiefly to write; because boys being generally +permitted the use of their fathers’ libraries at a much earlier +age than girls are, they frequently have the best scenes of +Shakespeare by heart, before their sisters are permitted to look +into this manly book; and, therefore, instead of recommending +these Tales to the perusal, of young gentlemen who can read them +so much better in the originals, their kind assistance is rather +requested in explaining to their sisters such parts as are +hardest for them to understand: and when they have helped them to +get over the difficulties, then perhaps they will read to them +(carefully selecting what is proper for a young sister’s ear) +some passage which has pleased them in one of these stories, in +the very words of the scene from which it is taken; and it is +hoped they will find that the beautiful extracts, the select +passages, they may choose to give their sisters in this way will +be much better relished and understood from their having some +notion of the general story from one of these imperfect +abridgments;--which if they be fortunately so done as to prove +delight to any of the young readers, it is hoped that no worse +effect will result than to make them wish themselves a little +older, that they may be allowed to read the Plays at full length +(such a wish will be neither peevish nor irrational). When time +and leave of judicious friends shall put them into their hands, +they will discover in such of them as are here abridged (not to +mention almost as many more, which are left untouched) many +surprising events and turns of fortune, which for their infinite +variety could not be contained in this little book, besides a +world of sprightly and cheerful characters, both men and women, +the humor of which it was feared would be lost if it were +attempted to reduce the length of them. + +What these Tales shall have been to the YOUNG readers, that and +much more it is the writers’ wish that the true Plays of +Shakespeare may prove to them in older years--enrichers of the +fancy, strengtheners of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish +and mercenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honorable +thoughts d actions, to teach courtesy, benignity, generosity, +humanity: for of examples, teaching these virtues, his pages are +full. + + + + +THE TEMPEST + + +There was a certain island in the sea, the only inhabitants of +which were an old man, whose name was Prospero, and his daughter +Miranda, a very beautiful young lady. She came to this island so +young that she had no memory of having seen any other human face +than her father’s. + +They lived in a cave or cell, made out of a rock; it was divided +into several apartments, one of which Prospero called his study; +there he kept his books, which chiefly treated of magic, a study +at that time much affected by all learned men: and the knowledge +of this art he found very useful to him; for being thrown by a +strange chance upon this island, which had been enchanted by a +witch called Sycorax, who died there a short time before his +arrival, Prospero, by virtue of his art, released many good +spirits that Sycorax had imprisoned in the bodies of large trees, +because they had refused to execute her wicked commands. These +gentle spirits were ever after obedient to the will of Prospero. +Of these Ariel was the chief. + +The lively little sprite Ariel had nothing mischievous in his +nature, except that he took rather too much pleasure in +tormenting an ugly monster called Caliban, for be owed him a +grudge because he was the son of his old enemy Sycorax. This +Caliban, Prospero found in the woods, a strange misshapen thing, +far less human in form than an ape: he took him home to his cell, +and taught him to speak; and Prospero would have been very kind +to him, but the bad nature which Caliban inherited from his +mother, Sycorax, would not let him learn anything good or useful: +therefore he was employed like a slave, to fetch wood and do the +most laborious offices; and Ariel had the charge of compelling +him to these services. + +When Caliban was lazy and neglected his work, Ariel (who was +invisible to all eyes but Prospero’s) would come slyly and pinch +him, and sometimes tumble him down in the mire; and then Ariel, +in the likeness of an ape, would make mouths at him. Then swiftly +changing his shape, in the likeness of a hedgehog, he would lie +tumbling in Caliban’s way, who feared the hedgehog’s sharp quills +would prick his bare feet. With a variety of such-like vexatious +tricks Ariel would often torment him, whenever Caliban neglected +the work which Prospero commanded him to do. + +Having these powerful spirits obedient to his will, Prospero +could by their means command the winds, and the waves of the sea. +By his orders they raised a violent storm, in the midst of which, +and struggling with the wild sea-waves that every +moment,threatened to swallow it up, he showed his daughter a fine +large ship, which he told her was full of living beings like +themselves. “O my dear father,” said she, “if by your art you +have raised this dreadful storm, have pity on their sad distress. +See! the vessel will be dashed to pieces. Poor souls! they will +all perish. If I had power I would sink the sea beneath the +earth, rather than the good ship should be destroyed, with all +the precious souls within her.” + +“Be not amazed, daughter Miranda,” said Prospero; “there. is no +harm done. I have so ordered it, that no person in the ship shall +receive any hurt. What I have done has been in care of you, my +dear child. You are ignorant who you are, or where you came from, +and you know no more of me, but that I am your father and live in +this poor cave. Can you remember a time before you came to this +cell? I think you cannot, for you were not then three years of +age.” + +“Certainly I can, sir,” replied Miranda. + +“By what?” asked Prospero; “by any other house or person? Tell me +what you can remember, my child.” + +Miranda said: “It seems to me like the recollection of a dream. +But had I not once four or five women who attended upon me?” + Prospero answered: “You had, and more. How is it that this still +lives in your mind? Do you remember how you came here?” “No, +sir,” said Miranda, “I remember nothing more.” + +“Twelve years ago, Miranda,” continued Prospero, “I was Duke of +Milan, and you were a princess, and my only heir. had a younger +brother, whose name was Antonio, to whom I trusted everything; +and as I was fond of retirement and deep study I commonly left +the management of my state affairs to your uncle, my false +brother (for so indeed he proved). 1, neglecting all worldly +ends, buried among my books, did dedicate whole time to the +bettering of my mind. My brother Antonio, being thus in +possession of my power, began to think himself the duke indeed. +The opportunity I gave him of making himself popular among my +subjects awakened in his bad nature a proud ambition to deprive +me of my dukedom; this he soon effected with the aid of the King +of Naples, a powerful prince, who was my enemy.” + +“Wherefore,” said Miranda, “did they not that hour destroy us?” + +“My child,” answered her father, “they durst not, so dear was the +love that my people bore me. Antonio carried us on board a ship, +and when we were some leagues out at sea, he forced us into a +small boat, without either tackle, sail, or mast; there he left +us, as he thought, to perish. But a kind lord of my court, one +Gonzalo, who loved me, had privately placed in the boat water, +provisions, apparel, and some books which I prize above my +dukedom.” + +“O my father,” said Miranda, “what a trouble must I have been to +you then!” + +“No, my love,”’ said Prospero, “you were a little cherub that did +preserve me.Your innocent smiles made me bear up against my +misfortunes. Our food lasted till we landed on this desert +island, since when my chief delight has been in teaching you, +Miranda, and well have you profited by my instructions.” + +“Heaven thank you, my dear father,” said Miranda. “Now pray tell +me, sir, your reason for raising this sea-storm?” + +“Know then,” said her father, “"that by means of this storm, my +enemies, the King of Naples and my cruel brother, are cast ashore +upon this island.” + +Having so said, Prospero gently touched his daughter with his +magic wand, and she fell fast asleep; for the spirit Ariel just +then presented himself before his master., to give an account of +the tempest, and how he had disposed of the ship’s company, and +though the spirits were always invisible to Miranda, Prospero did +not choose she should hear him holding converse (as would seem to +her) with the empty air. + +“Well, my brave spirit,” said Prospero to Ariel, “how have you +performed your task?” + +Ariel gave a lively description of the storm, and of the terrors +of the mariners, and how the king’s son, Ferdinand, was the first +who leaped into the sea; and his father thought he saw his dear +son swallowed up by the waves and lost. “But he is safe,” said +Ariel, “in a corner of the isle, sitting with his arms folded, +sadly lamenting the loss of the king, his father, whom he +concludes drowned. Not a hair of his head is injured, and his +princely garments, though drenched in the sea-waves, look fresher +than before.” + +“That’s my delicate Ariel,” said Prospero. “Bring him hither: my +daughter must see this young prince. Where is the king, and my +brother?” + +“I left them,” answered Ariel, “searching for Ferdinand, whom +they have little hopes of finding, thinking they saw him perish. +Of the ship’s crew not one is missing; though each one thinks +himself the only one saved; and the ship, though invisible to +them, is safe in the harbor.” + +“Ariel,” said Prospero, “thy charge is faithfully performed; but +there is more work yet.” + +“Is there more work?” said Ariel. “Let me remind you, master, you +have promised me my liberty. I pray, remember, , I have done you +worthy service, told you no lies, made no mistakes, served you +without grudge or grumbling.” + +“How now!” said Prospero. “You do not recollect what a torment I +freed you from. Have you forgot the wicked witch Sycorax, who +with age and envy was almost bent double? Where was she born? +Speak; tell me.” + +“Sir, in Algiers,” said Ariel. + +“Oh, was she so?” said Prospero. “I must recount what you have +been, which I find you do not remember. This bad witch, Sycorax, +for her witchcrafts, too terrible to enter human hearing, was +banished from Algiers, and here left by the sailors-; and because +you were a spirit too delicate to execute her wicked commands, +she shut you up in a tree, where I found you howling. This +torment, remember, I did free you from.” + +“Pardon me, dear master,” said Ariel, ashamed to seem ungrateful; +“I will obey your commands.” + +“Do so,” said Prospero, “and I will set you free.” He then gave +orders what further he would have him do; and away went Ariel, +first to where he had left Ferdinand, and found him still sitting +on the grass in the same melancholy posture. + +“Oh, my young gentleman,” said Ariel, when he saw him, ‘I will +soon move you. You must be brought, I find, for the Lady Miranda +to have a sight of your pretty person. Come. sir,, follow me.” He +then began singing: + + “Full fathom five thy father lies; + Of his bones are coral made; + Those are pearls that were his eyes: + Nothing of him that doth fade, + But doth suffer a sea-change + Into something rich and strange. + Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: + Hark! now I hear them--Ding-dong, bell.” + +This strange news of his lost father soon roused the prince from +the stupid fit into which he had fallen. He followed in amazement +the sound of Ariel’s voice, till it led him to Prospero and +Miranda, who were sitting under the shade of a large tree. Now +Miranda had never seen a man before, except her own father. + +“Miranda,” said Prospero, “tell me what you are looking at +yonder.” + +“Oh, father,” said Miranda, in a strange surprise, “surely that +is a spirit. Lord! how it looks about! Believe me, sir, it is a +beautiful creature. Is it not a spirit?” + +“No, girl,” answered her father; “it eats, and sleeps, and has +senses such as we have. This young man you see was in the ship. +He is somewhat altered by grief, or you might call him a handsome +person. He has lost his companions, and is wandering about to +find them.” + +Miranda, who thought all men had grave faces and gray beards like +her father, was delighted with the appearance of this beautiful +young prince; and Ferdinand, seeing such a lovely lady in this +desert place, and from the strange sounds he had heard, expecting +nothing but wonders, thought be was upon an enchanted island, and +that Miranda was the goddess of the place, and as such he began +to address her. + +She timidly answered, she was no goddess, but a simple maid and +was going to give him an account of herself, when Prospero +interrupted her. He was well pleased to find they admired each +other, for he plainly perceived they had (as we say) fallen in +love at first sight: but to try Ferdinand’s constancy, he +resolved to throw some difficulties in their way: therefore, +advancing forward, be addressed the prince with a stern air, +telling him, he came to the island as a spy, to take it from him +who was the lord of it. “Follow me,” said be. “I will tie your +neck and feet together. You shall drink sea-water; shell-fish, +withered roots, and husks of acorns shall be your food.” + +“No,” said Ferdinand, “I will resist such entertainment till I +see a more powerful enemy,” and drew his sword; but Prospero, +waving his magic wand, fixed him to the spot where he stood, so +that he had no power to move. + +Miranda hung upon her father, saying: “Why are you so ungentle? +Have pity, I will be his surety. This is the second man I ever +saw, and to me he seems a true one.” + +“Silence!” said the father. “One word more will make me chide +you, girl! What! an advocate for an impostor! You think there are +no more such fine men, having seen only him and Caliban. I tell +you, foolish girl, most men as far excel this as he does +Calliban.” This he said to prove his daughter’s constancy; and +she replied: + +“My affections are most humble. I have no wish to see a goodlier +man.” + +“Come on, young man,” said Prospero to the prince; “you have no +power to disobey -me.” + +“I have not indeed,” answered Ferdinand; and not knowing that it was by +magic he was deprived of all power of resistance, he was astonished to +kind himself so strangely compelled to follow Prospero: looking back on +Miranda as long as he could see her, he said, as he went after Prospero +into the cave: “My spirits are all bound up as if I were in a dream; but +this man’s threats, and the weakness which I feel, would seem light to +me if from my prison I might once a day behold this fair maid.” + +Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined within the cell: he soon +brought out his prisoner, and set him a severe task to perform, taking +care to let his daughter know the hard labour he had imposed on him, and +then pretending to go into his study, he secretly watched them both. + +Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up some heavy logs of wood. +Kings’ sons not being much used to laborious work, Miranda soon after +found her lover almost dying with fatigue. “Alas!” said she, “do not +work so hard; my father is at his studies, he is safe for these three +hours; pray rest yourself.” + +“O my dear lady,” said Ferdinand, “I dare not. I must finish my task +before I take my rest.” + +“If you will sit down,” said Miranda, “I will carry your logs the +while.” But this Ferdinand would by no means agree to. Instead of a help +Miranda became a hindrance, for they began a long conversation, so that +the business of log-carrying went on very slowly. + +Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task merely as a trial of his +love, was not at his books, as his daughter supposed, but was standing +by them invisible, to overhear what they said. + +Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told, saying it was against her +father’s express command she did so. + +Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his daughter’s +disobedience, for having by his magic art caused his daughter to fall in +love so suddenly, he was not angry that she showed her love by +forgetting to obey his commands. And he listened well pleased to a long +speech of Ferdinand’s, in which he professed to love her above all the +ladies he ever saw. + +In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he said exceeded all the +women in the world, she replied: “I do not remember the face of any +woman, nor have I seen any more men than you, my good friend, and my +dear father. How features are abroad, I know not: but, believe me, sir, +I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can my +imagination form any shape but yours that I could like. But, sir, I fear +I talk to you too freely, and my father’s precepts I forget.” + +At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his head, as much as to say: “This +goes on exactly as I could wish; my girl will be queen of Naples.” + +And then Ferdinand, in another fine long speech (for young princes speak +in courtly phrases), told the innocent Miranda he was heir to the crown +of Naples, and that she should be his queen. + +“Ah! sir,” said she, “I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of. I will +answer you in plain and holy innocence. I am your wife if you will marry +me.” + +Prospero prevented Ferdinand’s thanks by appearing visible before them. + +“Fear nothing, my child,” said he; “I have overheard, and approve of all +you have said. And, Ferdinand, if I have too severely used you, I will +make you rich amends, by giving you my daughter. All your vexations were +but trials of your love, and you have nobly stood the test. Then as my +gift, which your true love has worthily purchased, take my daughter, and +do not smile that I boast she is above all praise.” He then, telling +them that he had business which required his presence, desired they +would sit down and talk together till he returned; and this command +Miranda seemed not at all disposed to disobey. + +When Prospero left them, he called his spirit Ariel, who quickly +appeared before him, eager to relate what he had done with Prospero’s +brother and the king of Naples. Ariel said he had left them almost out +of their senses with fear, at the strange things he had caused them to +see and hear. When fatigued with wandering about, and famished for want +of food, he had suddenly set before them a delicious banquet, and then, +just as,they were going to eat, he appeared visible before them in the +shape of a harpy, a voracious monster with wings, and the feast vanished +away. Then, to their utter amazement, this seeming harpy spoke to them, +reminding them of their cruelty in driving Prospero from his dukedom, +and leaving him and his infant daughter to perish in the sea, saying, +that for this cause these terrors were suffered to afflict them. + +The King of Naples, and Antonio the false brother, repented the +injustice they had done to Prospero; and Ariel told his master he +was certain their penitence was sincere, and that he, though a +spirit, could not but pity them. + +“Then bring them hither, Ariel,” said Prospero: “if you, who are +but a spirit, feel for their distress, shall not I, who am a +human being like themselves, have compassion on them? Bring them +quickly, my dainty Ariel.” + +Ariel soon returned with the king, Antonio, and old Gonzalo in +their train, who had followed him, wondering at the wild music he +played in the air to draw them on to his master’s presence. This +Gonzalo was the same who had so kindly provided Prospero formerly +with books and provisions, when his wicked brother left him, as +he thought, to perish in an open boat in the sea. + +Grief and terror had so stupefied their senses that they did not +know Prospero. He first discovered himself to the good old +Gonzalo, calling him the preserver of his life; and then his +brother and the king knew that he was the injured Prospero. + +Antonio, with tears and sad words of sorrow and true repentance, +implored his brother’s forgiveness, and the king expressed his +sincere remorse for having assisted Antonio to depose his +brother: and Prospero forgave them; and, upon their engaging to +restore his dukedom, he said to the King of Naples, “I have a +gift in store for you, too”; and, opening a door, showed him his +son Ferdinand playing at chess with Miranda. + +Nothing could exceed the joy of the father and the son at this +unexpected meeting, for they each thought the other drowned in +the storm. + +“Oh wonder!” said Miranda, “what noble creatures these are! It +must surely be a brave world that has such people in it.” + +The King of Naples was almost as much astonished at the beauty +and excellent graces of the young Miranda as his son had been. +“Who is this maid?” said he; “she seems the goddess that has +parted us, and brought us thus together.” + +“No, sir,” answered Ferdinand, smiling to find his father had +fallen into the same mistake that he had done when he first saw +Miranda, “she is a mortal, but by immortal Providence she is +mine; I chose her when I could not ask you, my father, for your +consent, not thinking you were alive. She is the daughter this +Prospero, who is the famous Duke of Milan, of whose renown I have +heard so much, but never saw him till now: of him I have received +a new life: he has made himself to me a second father, giving me +this dear lady.” + +“Then I must be her father,” said the king; “but, oh, how oddly +will it sound, that I must ask my child forgiveness.” + +“No more of that,” said Prospero: “let us not remember our +troubles past, since they so happily have ended.” And then +Prospero embraced his brother, and again assured him of his +forgiveness; and said that a wise overruling Providence had +permitted that he should be driven from his poor dukedom of +Milan, that his daughter might inherit the crown of Naples, for +that by their meeting in this desert island it had happened that +the king’s son had loved Miranda. + +These kind words which Prospero spoke, meaning to comfort his +brother, so filled Antonio with shame and remorse that be wept +and was unable to speak; and the kind old Gonzalo wept to see +this joyful reconciliation, and prayed for blessings on the young +couple. + +Prospero now told them that their ship was safe in the harbor, +and the sailors all on board her, and that he and his daughter +would accompany them home the next morning. “In the mean time,” + says he, “partake of such refreshments as my poor cave affords; +and for your evening’s entertainment I will relate the history of +my life from my first landing in this desert island.” He then +called for Caliban to prepare some food, and set the cave in +order; and the company were astonished at the uncouth form and +savage appearance of this ugly monster, who (Prospero said) was +the only attendant he had to wait upon him. + +Before Prospero left the island he dismissed Ariel from service, +to the great joy of that lively little spirit, who, though he had +been a faithful servant to his master, was always longing to +enjoy his free liberty, to wander uncontrolled in the air, like a +wild bird, under green trees, among pleasant fruits, and +sweet-smelling flowers. + +“My quaint Ariel,” said Prospero to the little sprite when he +made him free, “I shall miss you; yet you shall have your +freedom.” + +“Thank you, my dear master,” said Ariel; “but give me leave to +attend your ship home with prosperous gales, before you bid +farewell to the assistance of your faithful spirit; and then, +master, when I am free, how merrily I shall live!” Here Ariel +sang this pretty song: + + “Where the bee sucks, there suck !; + In a cowslip’s bell I lie: + There I crouch when owls do cry. + On the bat’s back I do fly + After summer merrily. + Merrily, merrily shall I live now + Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.” + +Prospero then buried deep in the earth his magical books and +wand, for he was resolved never more to make use of the magic +art. And having thus overcome his enemies, and being reconciled +to his brother and the King of Naples, nothing now remained to +complete his happiness but to revisit his native land, to take +possession of his dukedom, and to witness the happy nuptials of +his daughter and Prince Ferdinand, which the king said should be +instantly celebrated with great splendor on their return to +Naples. At which place, under the safe convoy of the spirit Ariel +they, after a pleasant voyage, soon arrived. + + + + +A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM + + +There was a law in the city of Athens which gave to its citizens +the power of compelling their daughters to marry whomsoever they +pleased; for upon a daughter’s refusing to marry the man her +father had chosen to be her husband, the father was empowered by +this law to cause her to be put to death; but as fathers do not +often desire the death of their own daughters, even though they +do happen to prove a little refractory, this law was seldom or +never put in execution, though perhaps the young ladies of that +city were not unfrequently threatened by their parents with the +terrors of it. + +There was one instance, however, of an old man, whose name was +Egeus, who actually did come before Theseus (at that time the +reigning Duke of Athens), to complain that his daughter whom he +had commanded to marry Demetrius, a young man of a noble Athenian +family, refused to obey him, because she loved another young +Athenian, named Lysander. Egeus demanded justice of Theseus, and +desired that this cruel law might be put in force against his +daughter. + +Hermia pleaded in excuse for her disobedience that Demetrius had +formerly professed love for her dear friend Helena, and that +Helena loved Demetrius to distraction; but this honorable reason, +which Hermia gave for not obeying her father’s command, moved not +the stern Egeus. + +Theseus, though a great and merciful prince, had no power to +alter the laws of his country; therefore he could only give +Hermia four days to consider of it: and at the end of that time, +if she still refused to marry Demetrius, she was to be put to +death. + +When Hermia was dismissed from the presence of the duke, she went +to her lover Lysander and told him the peril she was in, and that +she must either give him up and marry Demetrius or lose her life +in four days. + +Lysander was in great affliction at hearing these evil tidings; +but, recollecting that be had an aunt who lived at some distance +from Athens, and that at the place where she lived the cruel law +could not be put in force against Hermia (this law not extending +beyond the boundaries of the city), he proposed to Hermia that +she should steal out of her father’s house that night, and go +with him to his aunt’s house, where he would marry her. “I will +meet you,” said Lysander, “in the wood a few miles without the +city; in that delightful wood where we have so often walked with +Helena in the pleasant month of May.” + +To this proposal Hermia joyfully agreed; and she told no one of +her intended flight but her friend Helena. Helena (as maidens +will do foolish things for love) very ungenerously resolved to go +and tell this to Demetrius, though she could hope no benefit from +betraying her friend’s secret but the poor pleasure of following +her faithless lover to the wood; for she well knew that Demetrius +would go thither in pursuit of Hermia. + +The wood in which Lysander and Hermia proposed to meet was the +favorite haunt of those little beings known by the name of +“fairies.” + +Oberon the king, and Titania the queen of the fairies, with all +their tiny train of followers, in this wood held their midnight +revels. + +Between this little king and queen of sprites there happened, at +this time, a sad disagreement; they never met by moonlight in the +shady walk of this pleasant wood but they were quarreling, till +all their fairy elves would creep into acorn-cups and hide +themselves for fear. + +The cause of this unhappy disagreement was Titania’s refusing +give Oberon a little changeling boy, whose mother had been +Titania’s friend; and upon her death the fairy queen stole the +child from its nurse and brought him up in the woods. + +The night on which the lovers were to meet in this wood, as +Titania was walking with some of her maids of honor, she met +Oberon attended by his train of fairy courtiers. + +“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” said the fairy king. + +The queen replied: “What, jealous Oberon, is it you? Fairies, +skip hence; I have forsworn his company.” + +“Tarry, rash fairy,” said Oberon. “Am I not thy lord? Why does +Titania cross her Oberon? Give me your little changeling boy to +be my page.” + +“Set your heart at rest,” answered the queen; “your whole fairy +kingdom buys not the boy of me.” She then left her lord in great +anger. + +“Well, go your way,” said Oberon; “before the morning dawns I +will torment you for this injury.” + +Oberon then sent for Puck, his chief favorite and privy +counselor. + +Puck (or, as he was sometimes called, Robin Goodfellow) was a +shrewd and knavish sprite, that used to play comical pranks in +the neighboring villages; sometimes getting into the dairies and +skimming the milk, sometimes plunging his light and airy form +into the butter-churn, and while he was dancing his fantastic +shape in the churn, in vain the dairymaid would labor to change +her cream into butter. Nor had the village swains any better +success; whenever Puck chose to play his freaks in the brewing +copper, the ale was sure to be spoiled. When a few good neighbors +were met to drink some comfortable ale together, Puck would jump +into the bowl of ale in the likeness of a roasted crab, and when +some old goody was going to drink he would bob against her lips, +and spill the ale over her withered chin; and presently after, +when the same old dame was gravely seating herself to tell her +neighbors a sad and melancholy story, Puck would slip her +three-legged stool from under her, and down toppled the poor old +woman, and then the old gossips would hold their sides and laugh +at her, and swear they never wasted a merrier hour. + +“Come hither, Puck,” said Oberon to this little merry wanderer of +the night; “fetch me the flower which maids call ‘Love in, +Idleness’; the juice of that little purple flower laid on the +eyelids of those who sleep will make them, when they awake, dote +on the first thing they see. Some of the juice of that flower I +will drop on the eyelids of my Titania when she is asleep; and +the first thing she looks upon when she opens her eyes she will +fall in love with, even though it be a lion or a bear, a meddling +monkey or a busy ape; and before I will take this charm from off +her sight, which I can do with another charm I know of, I will +make her give me that boy to be my page.” + +Puck, who loved mischief to his heart, was highly diverted with +this intended frolic of his master, and ran to seek the flower; +and while Oberon was waiting the return of Puck he observed +Demetrius and Helena enter the wood: he overheard Demetrius +reproaching Helena for following him, and after many unkind words +on his part, and gentle expostulations from Helena, reminding him +of his former love and professions of true faith to her, he left +her (as he said) to the mercy of the wild beasts, and she ran +after him as swiftly as she could. + +The fairy king, who was always friendly to true lovers, felt +great compassion for Helena; and perhaps, as Lysander said they +used to walk by moonlight in this pleasant wood, Oberon might +have seen Helena in those happy times when she was beloved by +Demetrius. However that might be, when Puck returned with the +little purple flower, Oberon said to his favorite: “Take a part +of this flower; there has been a sweet Athenian lady here, who is +in love with a disdainful youth; if you find him sleeping, drop +some of the love-juice in his eyes, but contrive to do it when +she is near him, that the first thing he sees when he awakes may +be this despised lady. You will know the man ]by the Athenian +garments which be wears.” + +Puck promised to manage this matter very dexterously: and then +Oberon went, unperceived by Titania, to her bower, where she was +preparing to go to rest. Her fairy bower was a bank, where grew +wild thyme, cowslips, and sweet violets, under a canopy of +woodbine, musk-roses, and eglantine. There Titania always slept +some part of the night; her coverlet the enameled skin of a +snake, which, though a small mantle, was wide enough to wrap a +fairy in. + +He found Titania giving orders to her fairies, how they were to +employ themselves while she slept. “Some of you,” said her +Majesty, “must kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, and some wage +war with the bats for their leathern wings, to make my small +elves coats; and some of you keep watch that the clamorous owl, +that nightly boots, come not near me: but first sing me to +sleep.” Then they began to sing this song: + + “You spotted snakes, with double tongue, + Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; + Newts and blind-worms do no wrong; + Come not near our fairy queen: + + “Philomel, with melody, + Sing in our sweet lullaby; + Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby; + Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, + Come our lovely lady nigh; + So, good night, with lullaby.” + +When the fairies had sung their queen asleep with this pretty +lullaby, they left her to perform the important services she had +enjoined them. Oberon then softly drew near his Titania and +dropped some of the love-juice on her eyelids, saying: + + “What thou seest when thou dost wake, + Do it for thy true-love take.” + +But to return to Hermia, who made her escape out of her father’s +house that night, to avoid the death she was doomed to for +refusing to marry Demetrius. When she entered the wood, she found +her dear Lysander waiting for her, to conduct her to his aunt’s +house; but before they had passed half through the wood Hermia +was so much fatigued that Lysander, who was very careful of this +dear lady, who had proved her affection for him even by hazarding +her life for his sake, persuaded her to rest till morning on a +bank of soft moss, and, lying down himself on the ground at some +little distance, they soon fell fast asleep. Here they were found +by Puck, who, seeing a handsome young man asleep, and perceiving +that his clothes were made in the Athenian fashion, and that a +pretty lady was sleeping near him, concluded that this must be +the Athenian maid and her disdainful lover whom Oberon had sent +him to seek; and he naturally enough conjectured that, as they +were alone together, she must be the first thing he would see +when he awoke; so, without more ado, he proceeded to pour some of +the juice of the little purple flower into his eyes. But it so +fell out that Helena came that way, and, instead of Hermia, was +the first object Lysander beheld when he opened his eyes; and +strange to relate, so powerful was the love-charm, all his love +for Hermia vanished away and Lysander fell in love with Helena. + +Had he first seen Hermia when he awoke, the blunder Puck +committed would have been of no consequence, for he could not +love that faithful lady too well; but for poor Lysander to be +forced by a fairy love-charm to forget his own true Hernia, and +to run after another lady, and leave Hermia asleep quite alone in +a wood at midnight, was a sad chance indeed. + +Thus this misfortune happened. Helena, as has been before +related, endeavored to keep pace with Demetrius when he ran away +so rudely from her; but she could not continue this unequal race +long, men being always better runners in a long race than ladies. +Helena soon lost sight of Demetrius; and as she was wandering +about, dejected and forlorn, she arrived at the place where +Lysander was sleeping. “Ah!” said she, “this is Lysander lying on +the ground. Is he dead or asleep?” Then, gently touching him, she +said, “Good sir, if you are alive, awake.” Upon this Lysander +opened his eyes, and, the love-charm beginning to work, +immediately addressed her in terms of extravagant love and +admiration, telling her she as much excelled Hermia in beauty as +a dove does a raven, and that be would run through fire for her +sweet sake; and many more such lover-like speeches. Helena, +knowing Lysander was her friend Hermia’s lover, and that he was +solemnly engaged to marry her, was in the utmost rage when she +heard herself addressed in this manner; for she thought (as well +she might) that Lysander was making a jest of her. “Oh!” said +she, “why was I born to be mocked and scorned by every one? Is it +not enough, is it not enough, young man, that I can never get a +sweet look or a kind word from Demetrius; but you, sir, must +pretend in this disdainful manner to court me? I thought, +Lysander, you were a lord of more true gentleness.” Saying these +words in great anger, she ran away; and Lysander followed her, +quite forgetful of his own Hermia, who was still asleep. + +When Hermia awoke she was in a sad fright at finding herself +alone. She wandered about the wood, not knowing what was become +of Lysander, or which way to go to seek for him. In the mean time +Demetrius, not being able to find Hermia and his rival Lysander, +and fatigued with his fruitless search, was observed by Oberon +fast asleep. Oberon had learned by some questions he had asked of +Puck that he had applied the lovecharm to the wrong person’s +eyes; and now, having found the person first intended, he touched +the eyelids of the sleeping Demetrius with the love-juice, and he +instantly awoke; and the first thing he saw being Helena, he, as +Lysander had done before, began to address love-speeches to her; +and just at that moment Lysander, followed by Hermia (for through +Puck’s unlucky mistake it was now become Hermia’s turn to run +after her lover), made his appearance; and then Lysander and +Demetrius, both speaking together, made love to Helena, they +being each one under the influence of the same potent charm. + +The astonished Helena thought that Demetrius, Lysander, and her +once dear friend Hermia were all in a plot together to make a +jest of her. + +Hermia was as much surprised as Helena; she knew not why Lysander +and Demetrius, who both before loved her, were now become the +lovers of Helena, and to Hermia the matter seemed to be no jest. + +The ladies, who before bad always been the dearest of friends, +now fell to high words together. + +“Unkind. Hermia,” said Helena, “it is you have set Lysander on +to vex me with mock praises; and your other lover, Demetrius, who +used almost to spurn me with his foot, have you not bid him call +me goddess, nymph, rare, precious, and celestial? He would not +speak thus to me, whom he hates, if you did not set him on to +make a jest of me. Unkind Hermia, to join with men in scorning +your poor friend. Have you forgot our schoolday friendship? How +often, Hermia, have we two, sitting on one cushion, both singing +one song, with our needles working the same flower, both on the +same sampler wrought; growing up together in fashion of a double +cherry, scarcely seeming parted! Hermia, it is not friendly in +you, it is not maidenly to join with men in scorning your poor +friend.” + +“I am amazed at your passionate words,” said Hermia: “I scorn you +not; it seems you scorn me.” + +“Aye, do,” returned Helena, “persevere, counterfeit serious +looks, and make mouths at me when I turn my back; then wink at +each other, and hold the sweet jest up. If you had any pity, +grace, or manners, you would not use me thus.” + +While Helena and Hermia were speaking these angry words to each +other, Demetrius and Lysander left them, to fight together in the +wood for the love of Helena. + +When they found the gentlemen had left them, they departed, and +once more wandered weary in the wood in search of their lovers. + +As soon as they were gone the fairy king, who with little Puck +had been listening to their quarrels, said to him, “This is your +negligence, Puck; or did you do this wilfully?” + +“Believe me, king of shadows,” answered Puck, “it was a mistake. +Did not you tell me I should know the man by his Athenian +garments? However, I am not sorry this has happened, for I think +their jangling makes excellent sport.” + +“You heard,” said Oberon, “that Demetrius and Lysander are gone +to seek a convenient place to fight in. I command you to overhang +the night with a thick fog, and lead these quarrelsome lovers so +astray in’ the dark that they shall not be able to find each +other. Counterfeit each of their voices to the other, and with +bitter taunts provoke them to follow you, while they think it is +their rival’s tongue they hear. See you do this, till they are so +weary they can go no farther; and when you find they are asleep, +drop the juice of this other flower into Lysander’s eyes, and +when he awakes he will forget his new love for Helena, and return +to his old passion for Hermia; and then the two fair ladies may +each one be happy with the man she loves and they will think all +that has passed a vexatious dream. About this quickly, Puck, and +I will go and see what sweet love my Titania has found.” + +Titania was still sleeping, and Oberon, seeing a clown near her +who had lost his way in the wood and was likewise asleep, “This +fellow,” said he, “shall be my Titania’s true love”; and clapping +an ass’s head over the clown’s, it seemed to fit him as well as +if it had grown upon his own shoulders. Though Oberon fixed the +ass’s head on very gently, it awakened him, and, rising up, +unconscious of what Oberon had done to him, he went toward the +bower where the fairy queen slept. + +“Ah I what angel is that I see?” said Titania, opening her eyes, +and the juice of the little purple flower beginning to take +effect. “Are you as wise as you are beautiful?” + +“Why, mistress,” said the foolish clown, “if I have wit enough to +find the way out of this wood, I have enough to serve my turn.” + +“Out of the wood do not desire to go,” said the enamoured queen. +“I am a spirit of no common rate. I love you. Go with me, and I +will give you fairies to attend upon you.” + +She then called four of her fairies. Their names were +Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed. + +“Attend,” said the queen, “upon this sweet gentleman. Hop in his +walks and gambol in his sight; feed him with grapes and apricots, +and steal for him the honey-bags from the bees. Come, sit with +me,” said she to the clown., “and let me play with your amiable +hairy cheeks, my beautiful ass! and kiss your fair large ears, my +gentle joy.” + +“Where is Peas-blossom?” said the ass-headed clown, not much +regarding the fairy queen’s courtship, but very proud of his new +attendants. + +“Here, sir,” said little Peas-blossom. + +“Scratch my head,” said the clown. “Where is Cobweb?” + +“Here, sir,” said Cobweb. + +“Good Mr. Cobweb,” said the foolish clown, “kill me the red +humblebee on the top of that thistle yonder; and, good Mr. +Cobweb, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in +the action, Mr. Cobweb, and take care the honey-bag break not; I +should be sorry to have you overflown with a honey-bag. Where is +Mustard-seed?” + +“Here, sir, “ said Mustard-seed. “What is your will?” + +“Nothing,” said the clown, “good Mr. Mustard-seed, but to help +Mr. Peas-blossom to scratch; I must go to a barber’s, Mr. +Mustard-seed, for methinks I am marvelous hairy about the face.” + +“My sweet love,” said the queen, “what will you have to eat? I +have a venturous fairy shall seek the squirrel’s hoard, and fetch +you some new nuts.” + +“I had rather have a handful of dried peas,”’ said the clown, who +with his ass’s head had got an ass’s appetite. “But, I pray, let +none of your people disturb me, for I have a mind to sleep.” + +“Sleep, then,” said the queen, “and I will wind you in my arms. +Oh, how I love you! how I dote upon you!” + +When the fairy king saw the clown sleeping in the arms of his +queen, he advanced within her sight, and reproached her with +having lavished her favors upon an ass. + +This she could not deny, as the clown was then sleeping within +her arms, with his ass’s head crowned by her with flowers. + +When Oberon had teased her for some time, he again demanded the +changeling boy; which she, ashamed of being discovered by her +lord with her new favorite, did not dare to refuse him. + +Oberon, having thus obtained the little boy he had so long wished +for to be his page, took pity on the disgraceful situation into +which, by his merry contrivance, he had brought his Titania, and +threw some of the juice of the other flower into her eyes; and +the fairy queen immediately recovered her senses, and wondered at +her late dotage, saying how she now loathed the sight of the +strange monster. + +Oberon likewise took the ass’s head from off the clown, and left +him to finish his nap with his own fool’s head upon his +shoulders. + +Oberon and his Titania being now perfectly reconciled, he related +to her the history of the lovers and their midnight quarrels, and +she agreed to go with him and see the end of their adventures. + +The fairy king and queen found the lovers and their fair ladies, +at no great distance from one another, sleeping on a grass-plot; +for Puck, to make amends for his former mistake, had contrived +with the utmost diligence to bring them all to the same spot, +unknown to one another; and he bad carefully removed the charm +from off the eyes of Lysander with the antidote the fairy king +gave to him. + +Hermia first awoke, and, finding her lost Lysander asleep so near +her, was looking at him and wondering at his strange inconstancy. +Lysander presently opening his eyes, and seeing his dear Hermia, +recovered his reason which the fairy charm had before clouded, +and with his reason his love for Hermia; and they began to talk +over the adventures of the night, doubting if these things had +really happened, or if they bad both been dreaming the same +bewildering dream. + +Helena and Demetrius were by this time awake; and a sweet sleep +having quieted Helena’s disturbed and angry spirits, she listened +with delight to the professions of love which Demetrius still +made to her, and which, to her surprise as well as pleasure, she +began to perceive were sincere. + +These fair night-wandering ladies, now no longer rivals, became +once more true friends; all the unkind words which had passed +were forgiven, and they calmly consulted together what was best +to be done in their present situation. It was soon agreed that, +as Demetrius bad given up his pretensions to Hermia, he should +endeavor to prevail upon her father to revoke the cruel sentence +of death which had been passed against her. Demetrius was +preparing to return to Athens for this friendly purpose, when +they were surprised with the sight of Egeus, Hermia’s father, who +came to the wood in pursuit of his runaway daughter. + +When Egeus understood that Demetrius would not now marry his +daughter, he no longer opposed her marriage with Lysander, but +gave his consent that they should be wedded on the fourth day +from that time, being the same day on which Hermia had been +condemned to lose her life; and on that same day Helena joyfully +agreed to marry her beloved and now faithful Demetrius. + +The fairy king and queen, who were invisible spectators of this +reconciliation, and now saw the happy ending of the lovers’ +history, brought about through the good offices of Oberon, +received so much pleasure that these kind spirits resolved to +celebrate the approaching nuptials with sports and revels +throughout their fairy kingdom. + +And now, if any are offended with this story of fairies and their +pranks, as judging it incredible and strange, they have only to +think that they have been asleep and dreaming, and that all these +adventures were visions which they saw in their sleep. And I hope +none of my readers will be so unreasonable as to be offended with +a pretty, harmless Midsummer Night’s Dream. + + + + +THE WINTER’S TALE + + +Leontes, King of Sicily, and his queen, the beautiful and +virtuous Hermione, once lived in the greatest harmony together. +So happy was Leontes in the love of this excellent lady that he +had no wish ungratified, except that he some times desired to +see again and to present to his queen his old companion and +schoolfellow, Polixenes, King of Bohemia. Leontes and Polixenes +were brought up together from their infancy, but being, by the +death of their fathers, called to reign over their respective +kingdoms, they had not met for many years, though they frequently +interchanged gifts, letters, and loving embassies. + +At length, after repeated invitations, Polixenes came from +Bohemia to the Sicilian court, to make his friend Leontes a +visit. + +At first this visit gave nothing but pleasure to Leontes. He +recommended the friend of his youth to the queen’s particular +attention, and seemed in the presence of his dear friend and old +companion to have his felicity quite completed. They talked over +old times; their school-days and their youthful pranks were +remembered, and recounted to Hermione, who always took a cheerful +part in these conversations. + +When, after a long stay, Polixenes was preparing to depart, +Hermione, at the desire of her husband, joined her entreaties to +his that Polixenes would prolong his visit. + +And now began this good queen’s sorrow; for Polixenes, refusing +to stay at the request of Leontes, was won over by Hermione’s +gentle and persuasive words to put off his departure for some +weeks longer. Upon this, although Leontes had so long known the +integrity and honorable principles of his friend Polixenes, as +well as the excellent disposition of his virtuous queen, he was +seized with an ungovernable jealousy. Every attention Hermione +showed to Polixenes, though by her husband’s particular desire +and merely to please him, increased the unfortunate king’s +jealousy; and from being a loving and a true friend, and the best +and fondest of husbands, Leontes became suddenly a savage and +inhuman monster. Sending for Camillo, one of the lords of his +court, and telling him of the suspicion he entertained, he +commanded him to poison Polixenes. + +Camillo was a good man, and he, well knowing that the jealousy of +Leontes had not the slightest foundation in truth, instead of +poisoning Polixenes, acquainted him with the king his master’s +orders, and agreed to escape with him out of the Sicilian +dominions; and Polixenes, with the assistance of Camillo, +arrived safe in his own kingdom of Bohemia, where Camillo lived +from that time in the king’s court and became the chief friend +and favorite of Polixenes. + +The flight of Polixenes enraged the jealous Leontes still more; +he went to the queen’s apartment, where the good lady was sitting +with her little son Mamillius, who was just beginning to tell one +of his best stories to amuse his mother, when the king entered +and, taking the child away, sent Hermione to prison. + +Mamillius, though but a very young child, loved his mother +tenderly; and when he saw her so dishonored, and found she was +taken from him to be put into a prison, he took it deeply to +heart and drooped and pined away by slow degrees, losing his +appetite and his sleep, till it was thought his grief would kill +him. + +The king, when he had sent his queen to prison, commanded +Cleomenes and Dion, two Sicilian lords, to go to Delphos, there +to inquire of the oracle at the temple of Apollo if his queen had +been unfaithful to him. + +When Hermione had been a short time in prison she was brought to +bed of a daughter; and the poor lady received much comfort from +the sight of her pretty baby, and she said to it, “My poor little +prisoner, I am as innocent as you are.” + +Hermione had a kind friend in the noble-spirited Paulina, who was +the wife of Antigonus, a Sicilian lord; and when the lady Paulina +heard her royal mistress was brought to bed she went to the +prison where Hermione was confined; and she said to Emilia, a +lady who attended upon Hermione, “I pray you, Emilia, tell the +good queen, if her Majesty dare trust me with her little babe, I +will carry it to the king, its father: we do not know how he may +soften at the sight of his innocent child.” + +“Most worthy madam,” replied Emilia, “I will acquaint the queen +with your noble offer. She was wishing to-day that she had any +friend who would venture to present the child to the king.” + +“And tell her,” said Paulina. “that I will speak boldly to +Leontes in her defense.” + +“May you be forever blessed,” said Emilia, “for your kindness to +our gracious queen!” + +Emilia then went to Hermione, who joyfully gave up her baby to +the care of Paulina, for she had feared that no one would dare +venture to present the child to its father. + +Paulina took the new-born infant and, forcing herself into the +king’s presence, notwithstanding her husband, fearing the king’s +anger, endeavored to prevent her, she laid the babe at its +father’s feet; and Paulina made a noble speech to the king in +defense of Hermione, and she reproached him severely for his +inhumanity and implored him to have mercy on his innocent wife +and child. But Paulina’s spirited remonstrances only aggravated +Leontes’s displeasure, and he ordered her husband Antigonus to +take her from his presence. + +When Paulina went away she left the little baby at its father’s +feet, thinking when he was alone with it he would look upon it +and have pity on its helpless innocence. + +The good Paulina was mistaken, for no sooner was she gone than +the merciless father ordered Antigonus, Paulina’s husband, +to take the child and carry it out to sea and leave it upon some +desert shore to perish. + +Antigonus, unlike the good Camillo, too well obeyed the orders of +Leontes; for he immediately carried the child on shipboard, and +put out to sea, intending to leave it on the first desert coast +he could find. + +So firmly was the king persuaded of the guilt of Hermione that he +would not wait for the return of Cleomenes and Dion; whom he had +sent to consult the oracle of Apollo at Delphos, but before the +queen was recovered from her lying-in, and from the grief for the +loss of her precious baby, he had her brought to a public trial +before all the lords and nobles of his court. And when all the +great lords, the judges, and all the nobility of the land were +assembled together to try Hermione, and that unhappy queen was +standing as a prisoner before her subjects to receive their +judgment, Cleomenes and Dion entered the assembly and presented +to the king the answer of the oracle, sealed up; and Leontes +commanded the seal to be broken, and the words of the oracle to +be read aloud, and these were the words: + +“Hermione is innocent, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true +subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, and the king shall live +without an heir if that which is lost be not found.” + +The king would give no credit to the words of the oracle. He said +it was a falsehood invented by the queen’s friends, and be +desired the judge to proceed in the trial of the queen; but while +Leontes was speaking a man entered and told him that the Prince +Mamillius, hearing his mother was to be tried for her life, +struck with grief and shame, had suddenly died. + +Hermione, upon hearing of the death of this dear, affectionate +child, who had lost his life in sorrowing for her misfortune, +fainted; and Leontes, pierced to the heart by the news, began to +feel pity for his unhappy queen, and he ordered Paulina, and the +ladies who were her attendants, to take her away and use means +for her recovery. Paulina soon returned and told the king that +Hermione was dead. + +When Leontes heard that the queen was dead he repented of his +cruelty to her; and now that he thought his ill-usage had broken +Hermione’s heart, he believed her innocent; and now he thought +the words of the oracle were true, as he knew “if that which was +lost was not found,” which he concluded was his young daughter, +he should be without an heir, the young Prince Mamillius being +dead; and he would give his kingdom now to recover his lost +daughter. And Leontes gave himself up to remorse and passed many +years in mournful thoughts and repentant grief. + +The ship in which Antigonus carried the infant princess out to +sea was driven by a storm upon the coast of Bohemia, the very +kingdom of the good King Polixenes. Here Antigonus landed and +here he left the little baby. + +Antigonus never returned to Sicily to tell Leontes where he had +left his daughter, for, as he was going back to the ship, a bear +came out of the woods and tore him to pieces; a just punishment +on him for obeying the wicked order Leontes. + +The child was dressed in rich clothes and jewels; for Hermione +had made it very fine when she sent it to Leontes, and Antigonus +had pinned a paper to its mantle, and the name of “Perdita” + written thereon, and words obscurely intimating its high birth +and untoward fate. + +This poor, deserted baby was found by a shepherd. He was a humane +man, and so he carried the little Perdita home to his wife, who +nursed it tenderly. But poverty tempted the shepherd to conceal +the rich prize be had found; therefore he left that part of the +country, that no one might know where he got his riches, and with +part of Perdita’s jewels be bought herds of sheep and became a +wealthy shepherd. He brought up Perdita as his own child, and she +knew not she was any other than a shepherd’s daughter. + +The little Perdita grew up a lovely maiden; and though she had no +better education than that of a shepherd’s daughter, yet so did +the natural graces she inherited from her royal mother shine +forth in her untutored mind that no one, from her behavior, would +have known she had not been brought up in her father’s court. + +Polixenes, the King of Bohemia, had an only son, whose name was +Florizel. As this young prince was hunting near the shepherd’s +dwelling he saw the old man’s supposed daughter; and the beauty, +modesty, and queenlike deportment of Perdita caused him instantly +to fall in love with her. He soon, under the name of Doricles, +and in the disguise of a private gentleman, became a constant +visitor at the old shepherd’s house. Florizel’s frequent absences +from court alarmed Polixenes; and setting people to watch his +son, he discovered his love for the shepherd’s fair daughter. + +Polixenes then called for Camillo, the faithful Camillo, who had +preserved his life from the fury of Leontes, and desired that he +would accompany him to the house of the shepherd, the supposed +father of Perdita. Polixenes and Camillo, both in disguise, +arrived at the old shepherd’s dwelling while they were +celebrating the feast of sheep-shearing; and though they were +strangers, yet at the sheep-shearing, every guest being made +welcome, they were invited to walk in and join in the general +festivity. + +Nothing but mirth and jollity was going forward. Tables were +spread and fit great preparations were making for the rustic +feast. Some lads and lasses were dancing on the green before the +house, while others of the young men were buying ribands, gloves, +and such toys of a peddler at the door. + +While this busy scene was going forward Florizel and Perdita sat +quietly in a retired corner, seemingly more pleased with the +conversation of each other than desirous of engaging in the +sports and silly amusements of those around them. + +The king was so disguised that it was impossible his son could +know him. He therefore advanced near enough to hear the +conversation. The simple yet elegant manner in which Perdita +conversed with his son did not a little surprise Polixenes. He +said to Camillo: + +“This is the prettiest low-born lass I ever saw; nothing she does +or says but looks like something greater than herself, too noble +for this place.” + +Camillo replied, “Indeed she is the very queen of curds and +cream.” + +“Pray, my good friend,” said the king to the old shepherd, “what +fair swain is that talking with your daughter?” + +“They call him Doricles,” replied the shepherd. “He says he loves +my daughter; and, to speak truth, there is not a kiss to choose +which loves the other best. If young Doricles can get her, she +shall bring him that he little dreams of,” meaning the remainder +of Perdita’s jewels; which, after he had bought herds of sheep +with part of them, he had carefully hoarded up for her marriage +portion. + +Polixenes then addressed his son. “How now, young man!” said he. +“Your heart seems full of something that takes off your mind from +feasting. When I was young I used to load my love with presents; +but you have let the peddler go and have bought your lass no +toy.” + +The young prince, who little thought he was talking to the king +his father, replied, “Old sir, she prizes not such trifles; the +gifts which Perdita expects from me are locked up in my heart.” + Then turning to Perdita, he said to her, “Oh, hear me, Perdita, +before this ancient gentleman, who it seems was once himself a +lover; he shall hear what I profess.” Florizel then called upon +the old stranger to be a witness to a solemn promise of marriage +which be made to Perdita, saying to Polixenes, “I pray you, mark +our contract.” + +“Mark your divorce, young sir,” said the king, discovering +himself. Polixenes then reproached his son for daring to contract +himself to this low-born maiden, calling Perdita “shepherd’s +brat, sheep-hook,” and other disrespectful names, and threatening +if ever she suffered his son to see her again, he would put her, +and the old shepherd her father, to a cruel death. + +The king then left them in great wrath, and ordered Camillo to +follow him with Prince Florizel. + +When the king had departed, Perdita, whose royal nature was +roused by Polixenes’s reproaches, said, “Though we are all +undone, I was not much afraid; and once or twice I was about to +speak and tell him plainly that the selfsame sun which shines +upon his palace hides not his face from our cottage, but looks on +both alike.” Then sorrowfully she said, “But now I am awakened +from this dream, I will queen it no further. Leave me, sir. I +will go milk my ewes and weep.” + +The kind-hearted Camillo was charmed with the spirit and +propriety of Perdita’s behavior; and, perceiving that the young +prince was too deeply in love to give up his mistress at the +command of his royal father, he thought of a way to befriend the +lovers and at the same time to execute a favorite scheme he had +in his mind. + +Camillo had long known that Leontes, the King of Sicily, was +become a true penitent; and though Camillo was now the favored +friend of King Polixenes, he could not help wishing once more to +see his late royal master and his native home. He therefore +proposed to Florizel and Perdita that they should accompany him +to the Sicilian court, where he would engage Leontes should +protect them till, through his mediation, they could obtain +pardon from Polixenes and his consent to their marriage. + +To this proposal they joyfully agreed; and Camillo, who conducted +everything relative to their flight, allowed the old shepherd to +go along with them. + +The shepherd took with him the remainder of Perdita’s jewels, her +baby clothes, and the paper which he had found pinned to her +mantle. + +After a prosperous voyage, Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the +old shepherd, arrived in safety at the court of Leontes. Leontes, +who still mourned his dead Hermione and his lost child, received +Camillo with great kindness and gave a cordial welcome to Prince +Florizel. But Perdita, whom Florizel introduced as his princess, +seemed to engross all Leontes’s attention. Perceiving a +resemblance between her and his dead queen Hermione, his grief +broke out afresh, and he said such a lovely creature might his +own daughter have been if he had not so cruelly destroyed her. + +“And then, too,” said he to Florizel, “I lost the society and +friendship of your brave father, whom I now desire more than my +life once again to look upon.” + +When the old shepherd heard how much notice the king had taken of +Perdita, and that he had lost a daughter who was exposed in +infancy, he fell to comparing the time when he found the little +Perdita with the manner of its exposure, the jewels and other +tokens of its high birth; from all which it was impossible for +him not to conclude that Perdita and the king’s lost daughter +were the same. + +Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the faithful Paulina, were +present when the old shepherd related to the king the manner in +which he had found the child, and also the circumstance of +Antigonus’s death, he having seen the bear seize upon him. He +showed the rich mantle in which Paulina remembered Hermione had +wrapped the child; and he produced a jewel which she remembered +Hermione had tied about Perdita’s neck; and he gave up the paper +which Paulina knew to be the writing of her husband. It could not +be doubted that Perdita was Leontes’s own daughter. But, oh, the +noble struggles of Paulina, between sorrow for her husband’s +death and joy that the oracle was fulfilled, in the king’s heir, +his long-lost daughter being found! When Leontes heard that +Perdita was his daughter, the great sorrow that he felt that +Hermione was not living to behold her child made him that he +could say nothing for a long time but “Oh, thy mother, thy +mother!” + +Paulina interrupted this joyful yet distressful scene with saying +to Leontes that she had a statue newly finished by that rare +Italian master, Julio Romano, which was such a perfect +resemblance of the queen that would his Majesty be pleased to go +to her house and look upon it, be would be almost ready to think +it was Hermione herself. Thither then they all went; the king, +anxious to see the semblance of his Hermione, and Perdita longing +to behold what the mother she never saw did look like. + +When Paulina drew back the curtain which concealed this famous +statue, so perfectly did it resemble Hermione that all the king’s +sorrow was renewed at the sight; for a long time he had no power +to speak or move. + +“I like your silence, my liege,” said Paulina; “it the more shows +your wonder. Is not this statue very like your queen?” + +At length the king said: “Oh, thus she stood, even with such +majesty, when I first wooed her. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was +not so aged as this statue looks.” + +Paulina replied: “So much the more the carver’s excellence, who +has made the statue as Hermione would have looked had she been +living now. But let me draw the curtain, sire, lest presently you +think it moves.” + +The king then said: “Do not draw the curtain. Would I were dead! +See, Carmillo, would you not think it breathed? Her eye seems to +have motion in it.” + +“I must draw the curtain, my liege,” said Paulina. “You are so +transported, you will persuade yourself the statue lives.” + +“Oh, sweet Pauline,” said Leontes, “make me think so twenty years +together! Still methinks there is an air comes from her. What +fine chisel could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, for I +will kiss her.” + +“Good my lord, forbear!” said Paulina. “The ruddiness upon her +lip is wet; you will stain your own with oily painting. Shall I +draw the curtain?” + +“No, not these twenty years,” said Leontes. + +Perdita, who all this time bad been kneeling and beholding in +silent admiration the statue of her matchless mother, said now, +“And so long could I stay here, looking upon my dear mother.” + +“Either forbear this transport,” said Paulina to Leontes, “and +let me draw the curtain or prepare yourself for more amazement. I +can make the statue move indeed; aye, and descend from off the +pedestal and take you by the hand. But then you will think, which +I protest I am not, that I am assisted by some wicked powers.” + +“What you can make her do,” said the astonished king, “I am +content to look upon. What you can make her speak I am content to +hear; for it is as easy to make her speak as move.” + +Paulina then ordered some slow and solemn music, which she had +prepared for the purpose, to strike up; and, to the amazement of +all the beholders, the statue came down from off the pedestal and +threw its arms around Leontes’s neck. The statue then began to +speak, praying for blessings on her husband and on her child, the +newly found Perdita. + +No wonder that the statue hung upon Leontes’s neck and blessed +her husband and her child. No wonder; for the statue was indeed +Hermione herself, the real, the living queen. + +Paulina had falsely reported to the king the death of Hermione’ +thinking that the only means to preserve her royal mistress’s +life; and with the good Paulina Hermione had lived ever since, +never choosing Leontes should know she was living till she heard +Perdita was found; for though she had long forgiven the injuries +which Leontes had done to herself, she could not pardon his +cruelty to his infant daughter. + +His dead queen thus restored to life, his lost daughter found, +the long-sorrowing Leontes could scarcely support the excess of +his own happiness. + +Nothing but congratulations and affectionate speeches were heard +on all sides. Now the delighted parents thanked Prince Florizel +for loving their lowly seeming daughter; and now they blessed the +good old shepherd for preserving their child. Greatly did Camillo +and Paulina rejoice that they had lived to see so good an end of +all their faithful services. + +And as if nothing should be wanting to complete this strange and +unlooked-for joy, King Polixenes himself now entered the palace. + +When Polixenes first missed his son and Camillo, knowing that +Camillo had long wished to return to Sicily, he conjectured he +should find the fugitives here; and, following them with all +speed, he happened to just arrive at this the happiest moment of +Leontes’s life. + +Polixenes took a part in the general joy; he forgave his friend +Leontes the unjust jealousy he had conceived against him, and +they once more loved each other with all the warmth of their +first boyish friendship. And there was no fear that Polixenes +would now oppose his son’s marriage with Perdita. She was no +“sheep-hook” now, but the heiress of the crown of Sicily. + +Thus have we seen the patient virtues of the long-suffering +Hermione rewarded. That excellent lady lived many years with her +Leontes and her Perdita, the happiest of mothers and of queens. + + + + +MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING + + +There lived in the palace at Messina two ladies, whose names were +Hero and Beatrice. Hero was the daughter, and Beatrice the +niece, of Leonato, the governor of Messina. + +Beatrice was of a lively temper and loved to divert her cousin +Hero, who was of a more serious disposition, with her sprightly +sallies. Whatever was going forward was sure to make matter of +mirth for the light-hearted Beatrice. + +At the time the history of these ladies commences some young men +of high rank in the army, as they were passing through Messina on +their return from a war that was just ended, in which they bad +distinguished themselves by their great bravery, came to visit +Leonato. Among these were Don Pedro, the Prince of Arragon, and +his friend Claudio, who was a lord of Florence; and with them +came the wild and witty Benedick, and he was a lord of Padua. + +These strangers had been at Messina before, and the hospitable +governor introduced them to his daughter and his niece as their +old friends and acquaintance. + +Benedick, the moment he entered the room, began a lively +conversation with Leonato and the prince. Beatrice, who liked not +to be left out of any discourse, interrupted Benedick with +saying: + +“I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick. Nobody +marks you.” + +Benedick was just such another rattlebrain as Beatrice, yet he +was not pleased at this free salutation; he thought it did not +become a well-bred lady to be so flippant with her tongue; and he +remembered, when he was last at Messina, that Beatrice used to +select him to make her merry jests upon. And as there is no one +who so little likes to be made a jest of as those who are apt to +take the same liberty themselves, so it was with Benedick and +Beatrice; these two sharp wits never met in former times but a +perfect war of raillery was kept up between them, and they always +parted mutually displeased with each other. Therefore, when +Beatrice stopped him in the middle of his discourse with telling +him nobody marked what he was saying, Benedick, affecting not to +have observed before that she was present, said: + +“What, my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?” And now war +broke out afresh between them, and a long jangling argument +ensued, during which Beatrice, although she knew be had so well +approved his valor in the late war, said that she would eat all +he had killed there; and observing the prince take delight in +Benedick’s conversation, she called him “the prince’s jester.” + This sarcasm sank deeper into the mind of Benedick than all +Beatrice had said before. The hint she gave him that he was a +coward, by saying she would eat all he bad killed, he did not +regard, knowing himself to be a brave man; but there is nothing +that great wits so much dread as the imputation of buffoonery, +because the charge comes sometimes a little too near the truth; +therefore Benedick perfectly hated Beatrice when she called him +“the prince’s jester.” + +The modest lady Hero was silent before the noble guests; and +while Claudio was attentively observing the improvement which +time had made in her beauty, and was contemplating the exquisite +graces of her fine figure (for she was an admirable young lady), +the prince was highly amused with listening to the humorous +dialogue between Benedick and Beatrice; and he said in a whisper +to Leonato: + +“This is a pleasant-spirited young lady. She were an excellent +wife for Benedick.” + +Leonato replied to this suggestion, “O my lord, my lord, if they +were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad!” + +But though Leonato thought they would make a discordant pair, the +prince did not give up the idea of matching these two keen wits +together. + +When the prince returned with Claudio from the palace he found +that the marriage he had devised between Benedick and Beatrice +was not the only one projected in that good company, for Claudio +spoke in such terms of Hero as made the prince guess at what was +passing in his heart; and he liked it well, and he said to +Claudio: + +“Do you affect Hero?” + +To this question Claudio replied, “O my lord, when I was last at +Messina I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye, that liked, but +had no leisure for loving; but now, in this happy time of peace, +thoughts of war have left their places vacant in my mind, and in +their room come thronging soft and delicate thoughts, all +prompting me how fair young Hero is, reminding me that I liked +her before I went to the wars.” + +Claudio’s confession of his love for Hero so wrought upon the +prince that be lost no time in soliciting the consent of Leonato +to accept of Claudio for a son-in-law. Leonato agreed to this +proposal, and the prince found no great difficulty in persuading +the gentle Hero herself to listen to the suit of the noble +Claudio who was a lord of rare endowments and highly +accomplished, and Claudio, assisted by his kind prince, soon +prevailed upon Leonato to fix an early day for the celebration of +his marriage with Hero. + +Claudio was to wait but a few days before he was to be married to +his fair lady; yet he complained of the interval being tedious, +as indeed most young men are impatient when they are waiting for +the accomplishment of any event they have set their hearts upon. +The prince, therefore, to make the time seem short to him, +proposed as a kind of merry pastime that they should invent some +artful scheme to make Benedick and Beatrice fall in love with +each other. Claudio entered with great satisfaction into this +whim of the prince, and Leonato promised them his assistance, and +even Hero said she would do any modest office to help her cousin +to a good husband. + +The device the prince invented was that the gentlemen should make +Benedick believe that Beatrice was in love with him, and that +Hero should make Beatrice believe that Benedick was in love with +her. + +The prince, Leonato, and Claudio began their operations first; +and watching upon an opportunity when Benedick was quietly seated +reading in an arbor, the prince and his assistants took their +station among the trees behind the arbor, so near that Benedick +could not choose but hear all they said; and after some careless +talk the prince said: + +“Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me the other +day--that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signor Benedick? I +did never think that lady would have loved any man.” + +“No, nor I neither, my lord,” answered Leonato. “It is most +wonderful that she should so dote on Benedick, whom she in all +outward behavior seemed ever to dislike.” + +Claudio confirmed all this with saying that Hero bad told him +Beatrice was so in love with Benedick that she would certainly +die of grief if he could not be brought to love her; which +Leonato and Claudio seemed to agree was impossible, he having +always been such a railer against all fair ladies, and in +particular against Beatrice. + +The prince affected to harken to all this with great compassion +for Beatrice, and he said, “It were good that Benedick were told +of this.” + +“To what end?” said Claudio. “He would but make sport of it, and +torment the poor lady worse.” + +“And if he should,” said the prince, “it were a good deed to hang +him; for Beatrice is an excellent sweet lady, and exceeding wise +in everything but in loving Benedick.” + +Then the prince motioned to his companions that they should walk +on and leave Benedick to meditate upon what he had overheard. + +Benedick had been listening with great eagerness to this +conversation; and he said to himself, when be heard Beatrice +loved him: “Is it possible? Sits the wind in that corner?” And +when they were gone, he began to reason in this manner with +himself: “This can be no trick! They were very serious, and they +have the truth from Hero, and seem to pity the lady. Love me! +Why, it must be requited! I did never think to marry. But when I +said I should die a bachelor, I did not think I should live to +be married. They say the lady is virtuous and fair. She is so. +And wise in everything but loving me. Why, that is no great +argument of her folly! But here comes Beatrice. By this day, she +is a fair lady. I do spy some marks of love in her.” + +Beatrice now approached him and said, with her usual tartness, +“Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.” + +Benedick, who never felt himself disposed to speak so politely to +her before, replied, “Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.” + And when Beatrice, after two or three more rude speeches, left +him, Benedick thought he observed a concealed meaning of kindness +under the uncivil words she uttered, and he said aloud: “If I do +not take pity on her, I am a villain. If I do not love her, I am +a Jew. I will go get her picture.” + +The gentleman being thus caught in the net they had spread for +him, it was now Hero’s turn to play her part with Beatrice; and +for this purpose she sent for Ursula and Margaret, two +gentlewomen who attended upon her, and she said to Margaret: + +“Good Margaret, run to the parlor; there you will find my cousin +Beatrice talking with the prince and Claudio. Whisper in her ear +that I and Ursula are walking in the orchard and that our +discourse is all of her. Bid her steal into that pleasant arbor, +where honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, like ungrateful minions, +forbid the sun to enter.” + +This arbor into which Hero desired Margaret to entice Beatrice +was the very same pleasant arbor where Benedick had so lately +been an attentive listener. + +“I will make her come, I warrant, presently,” said Margaret. + +Hero, then taking Ursula with her into the orchard, said to her: +“Now, Ursula, when Beatrice comes, we will walk up and down this +alley, and our talk must be only of Benedick, and when I name +him, let it be your part to praise him more than ever man did +merit. My talk to you must be how Benedick is in love with +Beatrice. Now begin; for look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs +close by the ground, to hear our conference.” + +They then began, Hero saying’, as if in answer to something which +Ursula had said: “No, truly, Ursula. She is too disdainful; her +spirits are as coy as wild birds of the rock.” + +“But are you sure,” said Ursula, “that Benedick loves Beatrice so +entirely?” + +Hero replied, “So says the prince and my lord Claudio, and they +entreated me to acquaint her with it; but I persuaded them, if +they loved Benedick, never to let Beatrice know of it.” + +“Certainly,” replied Ursula, “it were not good she knew his love, +lest she made sport of it.” + +“Why, to say truth,” said Hero, never yet saw a man, how wise +soever, or noble, young,@ or rarely featured, but she would +dispraise him.” + +“Sure@ sure, such carping is not commendable,” said Ursula. + +“No,” replied Hero, “but who dare tell her so? If I should speak, +she would mock me into air.” + +“Oh, you wrong your cousin!” said Ursula. “She cannot be so much +without true judgment as to refuse so rare a gentleman as Signor +Benedick.” + +“He hath an excellent good name,” said Hero. “Indeed, he is the +first man in Italy, always excepting my dear Claudio.” + +And now, Hero giving her attendant a hint that it was time to +change the discourse, Ursula said, “And when are you to be +married, madam?” + +Hero then told her that she was to be married to Claudio the next +day, and desired she would go in with her and look at some new +attire, as she wished to consult with her on what she would wear +on the morrow. + +Beatrice, who had been listening with breathless eagerness to +this dialogue, when they went away exclaimed: “What fire is in +mine ears? Can this be true? Farewell, contempt and scorn, and +maiden pride, adieu! Benedick, love on! I will requite you, +taming my wild heart to your loving hand.” + +It must have been a pleasant sight to see these old enemies +converted into new and loving friends, and to behold their first +meeting after being cheated into mutual liking by the merry +artifice of the good-humored prince. But a sad reverse in the +fortunes of Hero must now be thought of. The morrow, which was to +have been her wedding-day, brought sorrow on the heart of Hero +and her good father, Leonato. + +The prince had a half-brother, who came from the wars along with +him to Messina. This brother (his name was Don John) was a +melancholy, discontented man, whose spirits seemed to labor in +the contriving of villainies. He hated the prince his brother, +and he hated Claudio because he was the prince’s friend, and +determined to prevent Claudio’s marriage with Hero, only for the +malicious pleasure of making Claudio and the prince unhappy, for +he knew the prince had set his heart upon this marriage almost as +much as Claudio himself; and to effect this wicked purpose he +employed one Borachio, a man as bad as himself, whom he +encouraged with the offer of a great reward. This Borachio paid +his court to Margaret, Hero’s attendant; and Don John, knowing +this, prevailed upon him to make Margaret promise to talk with +him from her lady’s chamber window that night, after Hero was +asleep, and also to dress herself in Hero’s clothes, the better +to deceive Claudio into the belief that it was Hero; for that was +the end he meant to compass by this wicked plot. + +Don John then went to the prince and Claudio and told them that +Hero was an imprudent lady, and that she talked with men from her +chamber window at midnight. Now this was the evening before the +wedding, and he offered to take them that night where they should +themselves hear Hero discoursing with a man from her window; and +they consented to go along with him, and Claudio said: + +“If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her, to-morrow +in the congregation, where I intended to wed her, there will I +shame her.” + +The prince also said, “And as I assisted you to obtain her, I +will join with you to disgrace her.” + +When Don John brought them near Hero’s chamber that night, they +saw Borachio standing under the window, and they saw Margaret +looking out of Hero’s window and heard her talking with Borachio; +and Margaret being dressed in the same clothes they had seen Hero +wear, the prince and Claudio believed it was the lady Hero +herself. + +Nothing could equal the anger of Claudio when he had made (as be +thought) this discovery. All his love for the innocent Hero was +at once converted into hatred, and he resolved to expose her in +the church, as he had said he would, the next day; and the +prince agreed to this, thinking no punishment could be too severe +for the naughty lady who talked with a man from her window the +very night before she was going to be married to the noble +Claudio. + +The next day, when they were all met to celebrate the marriage, +and Claudio and Hero were standing before the priest, and the +priest, or friar, as he was called, was proceeding to pronounce +the marriage ceremony, Claudio, in the most passionate language, +proclaimed the guilt of the blameless Hero, who, amazed at the +strange words he uttered, said, meekly: + +“Is my lord well, that he does speak so wide?” + +Leonato, in the utmost horror, said to the prince, “My lord, why +speak not you?” + +“What should I speak?” said the prince. “I stand dishonored that +have gone about to link my dear friend to an unworthy woman. +Leonato, upon my honor, myself, my brother, and this grieved +Claudio did see and bear her last night at midnight talk with a +man at her chamber window.” + +Benedick, in astonishment at what he heard, said, “This looks not +like a nuptial.” + +“True, O God!” replied the heart-struck Hero; and then this +hapless lady sank down in a fainting fit, to all appearance dead. + +The prince and Claudio left the church without staying to see if +Hero would recover, or at all regarding the distress into which +they had thrown Leonato. So hard-hearted had their anger made +them. + +Benedick remained and assisted Beatrice to recover Hero from her +swoon, saying, “How does the lady?” + +“Dead, I think,” replied Beatrice, in great agony, for she loved +her cousin; and, knowing her virtuous principles, she believed +nothing of what she had heard spoken against her. + +Not so the poor old father. He believed the story of his child’s +shame, and it was piteous to hear him lamenting over her, as she +lay like one dead before him, wishing she might never more open +her eyes. + +But the ancient friar was a wise man and full of observation on +human nature, and he had attentively marked the lady’s +countenance when she heard herself accused and noted a thousand +blushing shames to start into her face, and then he saw an +angel-like whiteness bear away those blushes, and in her eye be +saw a fire that did belie the error that the prince did speak +against her maiden truth, and he said to the sorrowing father: + +“Call me a fool; trust not my reading nor my observation; trust +not my age, my reverence, nor my calling, if this sweet lady lie +not guiltless here under some biting error.” + +When Hero had recovered from the swoon into which she had fallen, +the friar said to her, “Lady, what man is he you are accused of?” + +Hero replied, “They know that do accuse me; I know of none.” Then +turning to Leonato, she said, “O my father, if you can prove that +any man has ever conversed with me at hours unmeet, or that I +yesternight changed words with any creature, refuse me, hate me, +torture me to death.” + +“There is,” said the friar, “some strange misunderstanding in the +prince and Claudio.” And then he counseled Leonato that he should +report that Hero was dead; and he said that the deathlike swoon +in which they had left Hero would make this easy of belief; and +he also advised him that he should put on mourning, and erect a +monument for her, and do all rites that appertain to a burial. + +“What shall become of this?” said Leonato. “What will this do?” + +The friar replied: “This report of her death shall change slander +into pity; that is some good. But that is not all the good 1 hope +for. When Claudio shall hear she died upon hearing his words, the +idea of her life shall sweetly creep into his imagination. Then +shall he mourn, if ever love had interest in his heart, and wish +that be had not so accused her; yea, though he thought his +accusation true.” + +Benedick now said, “Leonato, let the friar advise you; and though +you know how well I love the prince and Claudio, yet on my honor +I will not reveal this secret to them.” + +Leonato, thus persuaded, yielded; and he said, sorrowfully, “I am +so grieved that the smallest twine may lead me.” + +The kind friar then led Leonato and Hero away to comfort and +console them, and Beatrice and Benedick remained alone; and this +was the meeting from which their friends, who contrived the merry +plot against them, expected so much diversion; those friends who +were now overwhelmed with affliction and from whose minds all +thoughts of merriment seemed forever banished. + +Benedick was the first who spoke, and he said, “Lady Beatrice, +have you wept all this while?” + +“Yea, and I will weep awhile longer,” said Beatrice. + +“Surely,” said. Benedick, “I do believe your fair cousin is +wronged.” + +“Ah,” said Beatrice, “how much might that man deserve of me who +would right her!” + +Benedick then said: “Is there any way to show such friendship? I +do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that +strange?” + +“It were as possible,” said Beatrice, “for me to say I loved +nothing in the world so well as you; but believe me not, and yet +I lie not. I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for +my cousin.” + +“By my sword,” said Benedick, “you love me, and I protest I love +you. Come, bid me do anything for you.” + +“Kill Claudio,” said Beatrice. + +“Ha! not for the world,” said Benedick; for he loved his friend +Claudio and he believed he had been imposed upon. + +“Is not Claudio a villain that has slandered, scorned, and +dishonored my cousin?” said Beatrice. “Oh, that I were a man!” + +“Hear me, Beatrice!” said Benedick. + +But Beatrice would hear nothing in Claudio’s defense, and she +continued to urge on Benedick to revenge her cousin’s wrongs; and +she said: “Talk with a man out of the window? a proper saying! +Sweet Hero! she is wronged; she is slandered; she is undone. Oh, +that I were a man for Claudio’s sake! or that I had any friend +who would be a man for my sake! But valor is melted into +courtesies and compliments. I cannot be a man with wishing, +therefore I will die a woman with grieving.” + +“Tarry, good Beatrice,” said Benedick. “By this hand I love you.” + +“Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it,” said +Beatrice. + +“Think you on your soul that Claudio has wronged Hero?” asked +Benedick. + +“Yea,” answered Beatrice; CC as sure as I have a thought or a +soul.” + +“Enough,” said Benedick. “I am engaged; I will challenge him. I +will kiss your hand, and so leave you. By this hand Claudio shall +render me a dear account! As you hear from me, so think of me. +Go, comfort your cousin.” + +While Beatrice was thus powerfully pleading with Benedick, and +working his gallant temper, by the spirit of her angry words, to +engage in the cause of Hero and fight even with his dear friend +Claudio, Leonato was challenging the prince and Claudio to answer +with their swords the injury they had done his child, who, be +affirmed, had died for grief. But they respected his age and his +sorrow, and they said: + +“Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.” + +And now came Benedick, and be also challenged Claudio to answer +with his sword the injury be had done to Hero; and Claudio and +the prince said to each other: + +“Beatrice has set him on to do this.” + +Claudio, nevertheless, must have accepted this challenge of +Benedick had not the justice of Heaven at the moment brought to +pass a better proof of the innocence of Hero than the uncertain +fortune of a duel. + +While the prince and Claudio were yet talking of the challenge of +Benedick a magistrate brought Borachio as a prisoner before the +prince. Borachio had been overheard talking with one of his +companions of the mischief he had been employed by Don John to +do. + +Borachio made a full confession to the prince in Claudio’s +bearing that it was Margaret dressed in her lady’s clothes that +he had talked with from the window, whom they had mistaken for +the lady Hero herself. and no doubt continued on the minds of +Claudio and the prince of the innocence of Hero. If a suspicion +had remained it must have been removed by the flight of Don John, +who, finding his villainies were detected, fled from Messina to +avoid the just anger of his brother. + +The heart of Claudio was sorely grieved when he found he bad +falsely accused Hero, who, he thought, died upon bearing his +cruel words; and the memory of his beloved Hero’s image came over +him in the rare semblance that he loved it first; and the prince, +asking him if what he heard did not run like iron through his +soul, he answered that he felt as if he had taken poison while +Borachio was speaking. + +And the repentant Claudio implored forgiveness of the old man +Leonato for the injury he had done his child; and promised that, +whatever penance Leonato would lay upon him for his fault in +believing the false accusation against his betrothed wife, for +her dear sake he would endure it. + +The penance Leonato enjoined him was to marry the next morning a +cousin of Hero’s, who, he said, was now his heir, and in person +very like Hero. Claudio, regarding the solemn promise he made to +Leonato, said he would marry this unknown lady, even though she +were an Ethiop. But his heart was very sorrowful, and he passed +that night in tears and in remorseful grief at the tomb which +Leonato had erected for Hero. + +When the morning came the prince accompanied Claudio to the +church, where the good friar and Leonato and his niece were +already assembled, to celebrate a second nuptial; and Leonato +presented to Claudio his promised bride. And she wore a mask, +that Claudio might not discover her face. And Claudio said to the +lady in the mask: + +“Give me your hand, before this holy friar. I am your husband, if +you will marry me.” + +“And when I lived I was your other wife,” said this unknown +lady; and, taking off her mask, she proved to be no niece (as was +pretended), but Leonato’s very daughter, the lady Hero herself. +We may be sure that this proved a most agreeable surprise to +Claudio, who thought her dead, so that be could scarcely for joy +believe his eyes; and the prince, who was equally amazed at what +he saw, exclaimed: + +“Is not this Hero, Hero that was dead?”’ + +Leonato replied, “She died, my lord, but while her slander +lived.” + +The friar promised them an explanation of this seeming miracle, +after the ceremony was ended, and was proceeding to marry them +when he was interrupted by Benedick, who desired to be married at +the same time to Beatrice. Beatrice making some demur to this +match, and Benedick challenging her with her love for him, which +he had learned from Hero, a pleasant explanation took place; and +they found they had both been tricked into a belief of love, +which had never existed, and had become lovers in truth by the +power of a false jest. But the affection which a merry invention +had cheated them into was grown too powerful to be shaken by a +serious explanation; and since Benedick proposed to marry, he was +resolved to think nothing to the purpose that the world could say +against it; and he merrily kept up the jest and swore to Beatrice +that he took her but for pity, and because he heard she was dying +of love for him; and Beatrice protested that she yielded but upon +great persuasion, and partly to save his life, for she heard he +was in a consumption. So these two mad wits were reconciled and +made a match of it, after Claudio and Hero were married; and to +complete the history, Don John, the contriver of the villainy, +was taken in his flight and brought back to Messina; and a +@@brave +punishment it was to this gloomy, discontented man to see the joy +and feastings which, by the disappointment of his plots, took +place in the palace in Messina. + + + + +AS YOU LIKE IT + + +During the time that France was divided into provinces (or +dukedoms, as they were called) there reigned in one of these +provinces a usurper who had deposed and banished his elder +brother, the lawful duke. + +The duke who was thus driven from his dominions retired with a +few faithful followers to the forest of Arden; and here the good +duke lived with his loving friends, who had put themselves into a +voluntary exile for his sake, while their land and revenues +enriched the false usurper; and custom soon made the life of +careless ease they led here more sweet to them than the pomp and +uneasy splendor of a courtier’s life. Here they lived like the +old Robin Hood of England, and to this forest many noble youths +daily resorted from the court, and did fleet the time carelessly, +as they did who lived in the golden age. In the summer they lay +along under the fine shade of the large forest trees, marking the +playful sports of the wild deer; and so fond were they of these +poor dappled fools, who seemed to be the native inhabitants of +the forest, that it grieved them to be forced to kill them to +supply themselves with venison for their food. When the cold +winds of winter made the duke feel the change of his adverse +fortune, he would endure it patiently, and say: + +“These chilling winds which blow upon my body are true +counselors; they do not flatter, but represent truly to me my +condition; and though they bite sharply, their tooth is nothing +like so keen as that of unkindness and ingratitude. I find that +howsoever men speak against adversity, yet some sweet uses are to +be extracted from it; like the jewel, precious for medicine, +which is taken from the head of the venomous and despised toad.” + +In this manner did the patient duke draw a useful moral from +everything that he saw; and by the help of this moralizing turn, +in that life of his, remote from public haunts, he could find +tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, +and good in everything. + +The banished duke had an only daughter, named Rosalind, whom the +usurper, Duke Frederick, when he banished her father, still +retained in his court as a companion for his own daughter, Celia. +A strict friendship subsisted between these ladies, which the +disagreement between their fathers did not in the least +interrupt, Celia striving by every kindness in her power to make +amends to Rosalind for the injustice of her own father in +deposing the father of Rosalind; and whenever the thoughts of her +father’s banishment, and her own dependence on the false usurper, +made Rosalind melancholy, Celia’s whole care was to comfort and +console her. + +One day, when Celia was talking in her usual kind manner to +Rosalind, saying, “I pray you, Rosalind, my sweet cousin, be +merry,” a messenger entered from the duke, to tell them that if +they wished to see a wrestling-match, which was just going to +begin, they must come instantly to the court before the palace; +and Celia, thinking it would amuse Rosalind, agreed to go and see +it. + +In those times wrestling, which is only practised now by country +clowns, was a favorite sport even in the courts of princes, and +before fair ladies and princesses. To this wrestling-match, +therefore, Celia and Rosalind went. They found that it was likely +to prove a very tragical sight; for a large and powerful man, who +had been long practised in the art of wrestling and had slain +many men in contests of this kind, was just going to wrestle with +a very young man, who, from his extreme youth and inexperience in +the art, the beholders all thought would certainly be killed. + +When the duke saw Celia and Rosalind he said: “How now, daughter +and niece, are you crept hither to see the wrestling? You will +take little delight in it, there is such odds in the men. In pity +to this young man, I would wish to persuade him from wrestling. +Speak to him, ladies, and see if you can move him.” + +The ladies were well pleased to perform this humane office, and +first Celia entreated the young stranger that he would desist +from the attempt; and then Rosalind spoke so kindly to him, and +with such feeling consideration for the danger he was about to +undergo, that, instead of being persuaded by her gentle words to +forego his purpose, all his thoughts were bent to distinguish +himself by his courage in this lovely lady’s eyes. He refused the +request of Celia and Rosalind in such graceful and modest words +that they felt still more concern for him; he concluded his +refusal with saying: + +“I am sorry to deny such fair and excellent ladies anything. But +let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, +wherein if I be conquered there is one shamed that was never +gracious; if I am killed, there is one dead that is willing to +die. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament +me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; for I only +fill up a place in the world which may be better supplied when I +have made it empty.” + +And now the wrestling-match began. Celia wished the young +stranger might not be hurt; but Rosalind felt most for him. The +friendless state which he said he was in, and that he wished to +die, made Rosalind think that he was, like herself, unfortunate; +and she pitied him so much, and so deep an interest she took in +his danger while he was wrestling, that she might almost be said +at that moment to have fallen in love with him. + +The kindness shown this unknown youth by these fair and noble +ladies gave him courage and strength, so that he performed +wonders; and in the end completely conquered his antagonist, who +was so much hurt that for a while he was unable to speak or move. + +The Duke Frederick was much pleased with the courage and skill +shown by this young stranger; and desired to know his name and +parentage, meaning to take him under his protection. + +The stranger said his name was Orlando, and that he was the +youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. + +Sir Rowland de Boys, the father of Orlando, had been dead some +years; but when he was living he had been a true subject and dear +friend of the banished duke; therefore, when Frederick heard +Orlando was the son of his banished brother’s friend, all his +liking for this brave young man was changed into displeasure and +he left the place in very ill humor. Hating to bear the very name +of any of his brother’s friends, and yet still admiring the valor +of the youth, he said, as he went out, that he wished Orlando had +been the son of any other man. + +Rosalind was delighted to hear that her new favorite was the son +of her father’s old friend; and she said to Celia, “My father +loved Sir Rowland de Boys, and if I had known this young man was +his son I would have added tears to my entreaties before he +should have ventured.” + +The ladies then went up to him and, seeing him abashed by the +sudden displeasure shown by the duke, they spoke kind and +encouraging words to him; and Rosalind, when they were going +away, turned back to speak some more civil things to the brave +young son of her father’s old friend, and taking a chain from off +her neck, she said: + +“Gentleman, wear this for me. I am out of suits with fortune, or +I would give you a more valuable present.” + +When the ladies were alone, Rosalind’s talk being still of +Orlando, Celia began to perceive her cousin had fallen in love +with the handsome young wrestler, and she said to Rosalind: + +“Is it possible you should fall in love so suddenly?” + +Rosalind replied, “The duke, my father, loved his father dearly.” + +“But,” said Celia, “does it therefore follow that you should love +his son dearly?. For then I ought to hate him, for my father +hated his father; yet do not hate Orlando.” + +Frederick, being enraged at the sight of Sir Rowland de Boys’s +son, which reminded him of the many friends the banished duke had +among the nobility, and having been for some time displeased with +his niece because the people praised her for her virtues and +pitied her for her good father’s sake, his malice suddenly broke +out against her; and while Celia and Rosalind were talking of +Orlando, Frederick entered the room and with looks full of anger +ordered Rosalind instantly to leave the palace and follow her +father into banishment, telling Celia, who in vain pleaded for +her, that he had only suffered Rosalind to stay upon her account. + +“I did not then,” said Celia, “entreat you to let her stay, for I +was too young at that time to value her; but now that I know her +worth, and that we so long have slept together, rose at the same +instant, learned, played, and eat together, I cannot live out of +her company.” + +Frederick replied: “She is too subtle for you; her smoothness, +her very silence, and her patience speak to the people, and they +pity her. You are a fool to plead for her, for you will seem more +bright and virtuous when she is gone; therefore open not your +lips in her favor, for the doom which I have passed upon her is +irrevocable.” + +When Celia found she could not prevail upon her father to let +Rosalind remain with her, she generously resolved to accompany +her; and, leaving her father’s palace that night, she went along +with her friend to seek Rosalind’s father, the banished duke, in +the forest of Arden. + +Before they set out Celia considered that it would be unsafe for +two young ladies to travel in the rich clothes they then wore; +she therefore proposed that they should disguise their rank by +dressing themselves like country maids. Rosalind said it would be +a still greater protection if one of them was to be dressed like +a man. And so it was quickly agreed on between them that, as +Rosalind was the tallest, she should wear the dress of a young +countryman, and Celia should be habited like a country lass, and +that they should say they were brother and sister; and Rosalind +said she would be called Ganymede, and Celia chose the name of +Aliena. + +In this disguise, and taking their money and jewels to defray +their expenses, these fair princesses set out on their long +travel; for the forest of Arden was a long way off, beyond the +boundaries of the duke’s dominions. + +The lady Rosalind (or Ganymede, as she must now be called) with +her manly garb seemed to have put on a manly courage. The +faithful friendship Celia had shown in accompanying Rosalind so +many weary miles made the new brother, in recompense for this +true love, exert a cheerful spirit, as if he were indeed +Ganymede, the rustic and stout-hearted brother of the gentle +village maiden, Aliena. + +When at last they came to the forest of Arden they no longer +found the convenient inns and good accommodations they had met +with on the road, and, being in want of food and rest, Ganymede, +who had so merrily cheered his sister with pleasant speeches and +happy remarks all the way, now owned to Aliena that he was so +weary he could find in his heart to disgrace his man’s apparel +and cry like a woman; and Aliena declared she could go no +farther; and then again Ganymede tried to recollect that it was a +man’s duty to comfort and console a woman, as the weaker vessel; +and to seem courageous to his new sister, he said: + +“Come, have a good heart, my sister Aliena. We are now at the end +of our travel, in the forest of Arden.” + +But feigned manliness and forced courage would no longer support +them; for, though they were in the forest of Arden, they knew not +where to find the duke. And here the travel of these weary ladies +might have come to a sad conclusion, for they might have lost +themselves and perished for want of food, but, providentially, as +they were sitting on the grass, almost dying with fatigue and +hopeless of any relief, a countryman chanced to pass that way, +and Ganymede once more tried to speak with a manly boldness, +saying: + +“Shepherd, if love or gold can in this desert place procure us +entertainment, I pray you bring us where we may rest ourselves; +for this young maid, my sister, is much fatigued with traveling, +and faints for want of food.” + +The man replied that he was only a servant to a shepherd, and +that his master’s house was just going to be sold, and therefore +they would find but poor entertainment; but that if they would go +with him they should be welcome to what there was. They followed +the man, the near prospect of relief giving them fresh strength, +and bought the house and sheep of the shepherd, and took the man +who conducted them to the shepherd’s house to wait on them; and +being by this means so fortunately provided with a neat cottage, +and well supplied with provisions, they agreed to stay here till +they could learn in what part of the forest the duke dwelt. + +When they were rested after the fatigue of their journey, they +began to like their new way of life, and almost fancied +themselves the shepherd and shepherdess they feigned to be. Yet +sometimes Ganymede remembered be had once been the same Lady +Rosalind who had so dearly loved the brave Orlando because be was +the son of old Sir Rowland, her father’s friend; and though +Ganymede thought that Orlando was many miles distant, even so +many weary miles as they had traveled, yet it soon appeared that +Orlando was also in the forest of Arden. And in this manner this +strange event came to pass. + +Orlando was the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, who, when he +died, left him (Orlando being then very young) to the care of his +eldest brother, Oliver, charging Oliver on his blessing to give +his brother a good education and provide for him as became the +dignity of their ancient house. Oliver proved an unworthy +brother, and, disregarding the commands of his dying father, he +never put his brother to school, but kept him at home untaught +and entirely neglected. But in his nature and in the noble +qualities of his mind Orlando so much resembled his excellent +father that, without any advantages of education, he seemed like +a youth who had been bred with the utmost care; and Oliver so +envied the fine person and dignified manners of his untutored +brother that at last he wished to destroy him, and to effect this +be set on people to persuade him to wrestle with the famous +wrestler who, as has been before related, had killed so many men. +Now it was this cruel brother’s neglect of him which made Orlando +say he wished to die, being so friendless. + +When, contrary to the wicked hopes he had formed, his brother +proved victorious, his envy and malice knew no bounds, and he +swore he would burn the chamber where Orlando slept. He was +overheard making his vow by one that had been an old and faithful +servant to their father, and that loved Orlando because he +resembled Sir Rowland. This old man went out to meet him when he +returned from the duke’s palace, and when he saw Orlando the +peril his dear young master was in made him break out into these +passionate exclamations: + +“O my gentle master, my sweet master! O you memory of Old Sir +Rowland! Why are you virtuous? Why are you gentle, strong, and +valiant? And why would you be so fond to overcome the famous +wrestler? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.” + +Orlando, wondering what all this meant, asked him what was the +matter. And then the old man told him how his wicked brother, +envying the love all people bore him, and now hearing the fame he +had gained by his victory in the duke’s palace, intended to +destroy him by setting fire to his chamber that night, and in +conclusion advised him to escape the danger he was in by +instant flight; and knowing Orlando had no money, Adam (for that +was the good old man’s name) had brought out with him his own +little hoard, and he said: + +“I have five hundred crowns, the thrifty hire I saved under your +father and laid by to be provision for me when my old limbs +should become unfit for service. Take that, and He that doth the +ravens feed be comfort to my age! Here is the gold. All this I +give to you. Let me be your servant; though I look old I will do +the service of a younger man in all your business and +necessities.” + +“O good old man!” said Orlando, “how well appears in you the +constant service of the old world! You are not for the fashion of +these times. We will go along together, and before your youthful +wages are spent I shall light upon some means for both our +maintenance.” + +Together, then, this faithful servant and his loved master set +out; and Orlando and Adam traveled on, uncertain what course to +pursue, till they came to the forest of Arden, and there they +found themselves in the same distress for want of food that +Ganymede and Aliena had been. They wandered on, seeking some +human habitation, till they were almost spent with hunger and +fatigue. + +Adam at last said: “O my dear master, I die for want of food. I +can go no farther!” He then laid himself down, thinking to make +that place his grave, and bade his dear master farewell. + +Orlando, seeing him in this weak state, took his old servant up +in his arms and carried him under the shelter of some pleasant +trees; and he said to him: “Cheerly, old Adam. Rest your weary +limbs here awhile, and do not talk of dying!” + +Orlando then searched about to find some food, and he happened to +arrive at that part of the forest where the duke was; and he and +his friends were just going to eat their dinner, this royal duke +being seated on the grass, under no other canopy than the shady +covert of some large trees. + +Orlando, whom hunger had made desperate, drew his sword, +intending to take their meat by force, and said: “Forbear and eat +no more. I must have your food!” + +The duke asked him if distress had made him so bold or if he were +a rude despiser of good manners. On this Orlando said he was +dying with hunger; and then the duke told him he was welcome to +sit down and eat with them. Orlando, hearing him speak so gently, +put up his sword and blushed with shame at the rude manner in +which he had demanded their food. + +“Pardon me, I pray you,” said he. “I thought that all things had +been savage here, and therefore I put on the countenance of stern +command; but whatever men you are that in this desert, under the +shade of melancholy boughs, lose and neglect the creeping hours +of time, if ever you have looked on better days, if ever you have +been where bells have knolled to church, if you have ever sat at +any good man’s feast, if ever from your eyelids you have wiped a +tear and know what it is to pity or be pitied, may gentle +speeches now move you to do me human courtesy!” + +The duke replied: “True it is that we are men (as you say) who +have seen better days, and though we have now our habitation in +this wild forest, we have lived in towns and cities and have with +holy bell been knolled to church, have sat at good men’s feasts, +and from our eyes have wiped the drops which sacred pity has +engendered; therefore sit you down and take of our refreshment as +much as will minister to your wants.” + +“There is an old poor man,” answered Orlando, “who has limped +after me many a weary step in pure love, oppressed at once with +two sad infirmities, age and hunger; till he be satisfied I must +not touch a bit.” + +“Go, find him out and bring him hither,” said the duke. “We will +forbear to eat till you return.” + +Then Orlando went like a doe to find its fawn and give it food; +and presently returned, bringing Adam in his arms. + +And the duke said, “Set down your venerable burthen; you are both +welcome.” + +And they fed the old man and cheered his heart, and he revived +and recovered his health and strength again. + +The duke inquired who Orlando was; and when he found that he was +the son of his old friend, Sir Rowland de Boys, be took him under +his protection, and Orlando and his old servant lived with the +duke in the forest. + +Orlando arrived in the forest not many days after Ganymede and +Aliena came there and (as has been before related) bought the +shepherd’s cottage. + +Ganymede and Aliena were strangely surprised to find the name of +Rosalind carved on the trees, and love-sonnets fastened to them, +all addressed to Rosalind; and while they were wondering how this +could be they met Orlando and they perceived the chain which +Rosalind had given him about his neck. + +Orlando little thought that Ganymede was the fair Princess +Rosalind who, by her noble condescension and favor, had so won +his heart that he passed his whole time in carving her name upon +the trees and writing sonnets in praise of her beauty; but being +much pleased with the graceful air of this pretty shepherd-youth, +he entered into conversation with him, and be thought he saw a +likeness in Ganymede to his beloved Rosalind, but that he had +none of the dignified deportment of that noble lady; for Ganymede +assumed the forward manners often seen in youths when they are +between boys and men, -and with much archness and humor talked to +Orlando of a certain lover, “who,” said she, “haunts our forest, +and spoils our young trees with carving Rosalind upon their +barks; and he hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles, +all praising this same Rosalind. If I could find this lover, I +would give him some good counsel that would soon cure him of his +love.” + +Orlando confessed that he was the fond lover of whom he spoke,, +and asked Ganymede to give him the good counsel he talked Of. The +remedy Ganymede proposed, and the counsel he gave him was that +Orlando should come every day to the cottage where he and his +sister Aliena dwelt. + +“And then,” said Ganymede, “I will feign myself to be Rosalind, +and you shall feign to court me in the same manner as you would +do if I was Rosalind, and then I will imitate the fantastic ways +of whimsical ladies to their lovers, till I make you ashamed of +your love; and this is the way I propose to cure you.” + +Orlando had no great faith in the remedy, yet he agreed to come +every day to Ganymede’s cottage and feign a playful courtship; +and every day Orlando visited Ganymede and Aliena, and Orlando +called the shepherd Ganymede his Rosalind, and every day talked +over all the fine words and flattering compliments which young +men delight to use when they court their mistresses. It does not +appear, however, that Ganymede made any progress in curing +Orlando of his love for Rosalind. + +Though Orlando thought all this was but a sportive play (not +dreaming that Ganymede was his very Rosalind), yet the +opportunity it gave him of saying all the fond things he had in +his heart pleased his fancy almost as well as it did Ganymede’s, +who enjoyed the secret jest in knowing these fine love-speeches +were all addressed to the right person. + +In this manner many days passed pleasantly on with these young +people; and the good-natured Aliena, seeing it made Ganymede +happy, let him have his own way and was diverted at the +mock-courtship, and did not care to remind Ganymede that the Lady +Rosalind had not yet made herself known to the duke her father, +whose place of resort in the forest they had learned from +Orlando. Ganymede met the duke one day, and had some talk with +him, and the duke asked of what parentage he came. Ganymede +answered that he came of as good parentage as he did, which made +the duke smile, for he did not suspect the pretty shepherd-boy +came of royal lineage. Then seeing the duke look well and happy, +Ganymede was content to put off all further explanation for a few +days longer. + +One morning, as Orlando was going to visit Ganymede, he saw a man +lying asleep on the ground, and a large green snake had twisted +itself about his neck. The snake, seeing Orlando approach, glided +away among the bushes. Orlando went nearer, and then he +discovered a lioness lie crouching, with her head on the ground, +with a catlike watch, waiting until the sleeping man awaked (for +it is said that lions will prey on nothing that is dead or +sleeping). It seemed as if Orlando was sent by Providence to free +the man from the danger of the snake and lioness; but when +Orlando looked in the man’s face he perceived that the sleeper +who was exposed to this double peril was his own brother Oliver, +who had so cruelly used him and had threatened to destroy him by +fire, and he was almost tempted to leave him a prey to the hungry +lioness; but brotherly affection and the gentleness of his nature +soon overcame his first anger against his brother; and he drew +his sword and attacked the lioness and slew her, and thus +preserved his brother’s life both from the venomous snake and +from the furious lioness; but before Orlando could conquer the +lioness she had torn one of his arms with her sharp claws. + +While Orlando was engaged with the lioness, Oliver awaked, and, +perceiving that his brother Orlando, whom he had so cruelly +treated, was saving him from the fury of a wild beast at the risk +of his own life, shame and remorse at once seized him, and he +repented of his unworthy conduct and besought with many tears his +brother’s pardon for the injuries he had done him. Orlando +rejoiced to see him so penitent, and readily forgave him. They +embraced each other and from that hour Oliver loved Orlando with +a true brotherly affection, though he had come to the forest bent +on his destruction. + +The wound in Orlando’s arm having bled very much, he found +himself too weak to go to visit Ganymede, and therefore he +desired his brother to go and tell Ganymede, “whom,” said +Orlando, “I in sport do call my Rosalind,” the accident which had +befallen him. + +Thither then Oliver went, and told to Ganymede and Aliena how +Orlando had saved his life; and when he had finished the story of +Orlando’s bravery and his own providential escape he owned to +them that he was Orlando’s brother who had so cruelly used him; +and then be told them of their reconciliation. + +The sincere sorrow that Oliver expressed for his offenses made +such a lively impression on the kind heart of Aliena that she +instantly fell in love with him; and Oliver observing how much +she pitied the distress he told her he felt for his fault, he as +suddenly fell in love with her. But while love was thus stealing +into the hearts of Aliena and Oliver, he was no less busy with +Ganymede, who, hearing of the danger Orlando had been in, and +that he was wounded by the lioness, fainted; and when he +recovered he pretended that he had counterfeited the swoon in the +imaginary character of Rosalind, and Ganymede said to Oliver: + +“Tell your brother Orlando how well I counterfeited a swoon.” + +But Oliver saw by the paleness of his complexion that he did +really faint, and, much wondering at the weakness of the young +man, he said, “Well, if you did counterfeit, take a good heart +and counterfeit to be a man.” + +“So I do,” replied Ganymede, truly, “but I should have been a +woman by right.” + +Oliver made this visit a very long one, and when at last he +returned back to his brother he had much news to tell him; for, +besides the account of Ganymede’s fainting at the hearing that +Orlando was wounded, Oliver told him how he had fallen in love +with the fair shepherdess Aliena, and that she had lent a +favorable ear to his suit, even in this their first interview; +and he talked to his brother, as of a thing almost settled, that +he should marry Aliena, saying that he so well loved her that he +would live here as a shepherd and settle his estate and house at +home upon Orlando. + +“You have my consent,” said Orlando. “Let your wedding be +to-morrow, and I will invite the duke and his friends. Go +and persuade your shepherdess to agree to this. She is now alone, +for, look, here comes her brother.” + +Oliver went to Aliena, and Ganymede, whom Orlando had perceived +approaching, came to inquire after the health of his wounded +friend. + +When Orlando and Ganymede began to talk over the sudden love +which had taken place between Oliver and. Aliena, Orlando said be +had advised his brother to persuade his fair shepherdess to be +married on the morrow, and then he added how much he could wish +to be married on the same day to his Rosalind. + +Ganymede, who well approved of this arrangement, said that if +Orlando really loved Rosalind as well as he professed to do, he +should have his wish; for on the morrow he would engage to make +Rosalind appear in her own person, and also that Rosalind should +be willing to marry Orlando. + +This seemingly wonderful event, which, as Ganymede was the Lady +Rosalind, he could so easily perform, be pretended he would bring +to pass by the aid of magic, which he said he had learned of an +uncle who was a famous magician. + +The fond lover Orlando, half believing and half doubting what he +heard, asked Ganymede if he spoke in sober meaning. + +“By my life I do,” said Ganymede. “Therefore put on your best +clothes, and bid the duke and your friends to your wedding, for +if you desire to be married to-morrow to Rosalind, she shall be +here.” + +The next morning, Oliver having obtained the consent of Aliena, +they came into the presence of the duke, and with them also came +Orlando. + +They being all assembled to celebrate this double marriage, and +as yet only one of the brides appearing, there was much of +wondering and conjecture, but they mostly thought that Ganymede +was making a jest of Orlando. + +The duke, hearing that it was his own daughter that was to be +brought in this strange way, asked Orlando if he believed the +shepherd-boy could really do what he had promised; and while +Orlando was answering that he knew not what to think, Ganymede +entered and asked the duke, if he brought his daughter, whether +he would consent to her marriage with Orlando. + +“That I would,” said the duke, “if I had kingdoms to give with +her.” + +Ganymede then said to Orlando, “And you say you will marry her if +I bring her here.” + +“That I would,” said Orlando, “if I were king of many kingdoms.” + +Ganymede and Aliena then went out together, and, Ganymede +throwing off his male attire, and being once more dressed in +woman’s apparel, quickly became Rosalind without the power of +magic; and Aliena, changing her country garb for her own rich +clothes, was with as little trouble transformed into the lady +Celia. + +While they were gone, the duke said to Orlando that he thought +the shepherd Ganymede very like his daughter Rosalind; and +Orlando said he also had observed the resemblance. + +They had no time to wonder how all this would end, for Rosalind +and Celia, in their own clothes, entered, and, no longer +pretending that it was by the power of magic that she came there, +Rosalind threw herself on her knees before her father and begged +his blessing. It seemed so wonderful to all present that she +should so suddenly appear, that it might well have passed for +magic; but Rosalind would no longer trifle with her father, and +told him the story of her banishment, and of her dwelling in the +forest as a shepherd-boy, her cousin Celia passing as her sister. + +The duke ratified the consent he had already given to the +marriage; and Orlando and Rosalind, Oliver and Celia, were +married at the same time. And though their wedding could not be +celebrated in this wild forest with any of the parade of splendor +usual on such occasions, yet a happier wedding-day was never +passed. And while they were eating their venison under the cool +shade of the pleasant trees, as if nothing should be wanting to +complete the felicity of this good duke and the true lovers, an +unexpected messenger arrived to tell the duke the joyful news +that his dukedom was restored to him. + +The usurper, enraged at the flight of his daughter Celia, and +hearing that every day men of great worth resorted to the forest +of Arden to join the lawful duke in his exile, much envying that +his brother should be so highly respected in his adversity, put +himself at the head of a large force and advanced toward the +forest, intending to seize his brother and put him with all his +faithful followers to the sword; but by a wonderful interposition +of Providence this bad brother was converted from his evil +intention, for just as he entered the skirts of the wild forest +he was met by an old religious man, a hermit, with whom he had +much talk and who in the end completely turned his heart from his +wicked design. Thenceforward he became a true penitent, and +resolved, relinquishing his unjust dominion, to spend the +remainder of his days in a religious house. The first act of his +newly conceived penitence was to send a messenger to his brother +(as has been related) to offer to restore to him his dukedom, +which be had usurped so long, and with it the lands and revenues +of his friends, the faithful followers of his adversity. + +This joyful news, as unexpected as it was welcome, came +opportunely to heighten the festivity and rejoicings at the +wedding of the princesses. Celia complimented her cousin on this +good, fortune which had happened to the duke, Rosalind’s father, +and wished her joy very sincerely, though she herself was no +longer heir to the dukedom, but by this restoration which her +father had made, Rosalind was now the heir, so completely was the +love of these two cousins unmixed with anything of jealousy or of +envy. + +The duke had now an opportunity of rewarding those true friends +who had stayed with him in his banishment; and these worthy +followers, though they had patiently shared his adverse fortune, +were very well pleased to return in peace and prosperity, to the +palace of their lawful duke. + + + + +THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA + + +There lived in the city of Verona two young gentlemen, whose +names were Valentine and Proteus, between whom a firm and +uninterrupted friendship had long subsisted. They pursued their +studies together, and their hours of leisure were always passed +in each other’s company, except when Proteus visited a lady he +was in love with. And these visits to his mistress,, and this +passion of Proteus for the fair Julia, were the only topics on +which these two friends disagreed; for Valentine, not being +himself a lover, was sometimes a little weary of bearing his +friend forever talking of his Julia, and then he would laugh at +Proteus, and in pleasant terms ridicule the passion of love, and +declare that no such idle fancies should ever enter his head, +greatly preferring (as he said) the free and happy life he led to +the anxious hopes and fears of the lover Proteus. + +One morning Valentine came to Proteus to tell him that they must +for a time be separated, for that he was going to Milan. Proteus, +unwilling to part with his friend, used many arguments to prevail +upon Valentine not to leave him. But Valentine said: + +“Cease to persuade me, my loving Proteus. I will not, like a +sluggard, wear out my youth in idleness at home. Home-keeping +youths have ever homely wits. If your affection were not chained +to the sweet glances of your honored Julia, I would entreat you +to accompany me, to see the wonders of the world abroad; but +since you are a lover, love on still, and may your love be +prosperous!” + +They parted with mutual expressions of unalterable friendship. + +“Sweet Valentine, adieu!” said Proteus. “Think on me when you see +some rare object worthy of notice in your travels, and wish me +partaker of your happiness.” + +Valentine began his journey that same day toward Milan; and when +his friend had left him, Proteus sat down to write a letter to +Julia, which he gave to her maid Lucetta to deliver to her +mistress. + +Julia loved Proteus as well as he did her, but she was a lady of +a noble spirit, and she thought it did not become her maiden +dignity too easily to be won; therefore she affected to be +insensible of his passion and gave him much uneasiness in the +prosecution of his suit. + +And when Lucetta, offered the letter to Julia she would not +receive it, and chid her maid for taking letters from Proteus, +and ordered her to leave the room. But she so much wished to see +what was written in the letter that she soon called in her maid +again; and when Lucetta returned she said, “What o’clock is it?” + +Lucetta, who knew her mistress more desired to see the letter +than to know the time of day, without answering her question +again offered the rejected letter. Julia, angry that her maid +should thus take the liberty of seeming to know what she really +wanted, tore the letter in pieces and threw it on the floor,, +ordering her maid once more out of the room. As Lucetta was +retiring, she stopped to pick up the fragments of the torn +letter; but Julia, who meant not so to part with them, said, in +pretended anger, “Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie; you +would be fingering them to anger me.” + +Julia then began to piece together as well as she could the torn +fragments. She first made out these words, “Love-wounded +Proteus”; and lamenting over these and such like loving words, +which she made out though they were all torn asunder, or, she +said WOUNDED (the expression “Love-wounded Proteus” giving her +that idea), she talked to these kind words, telling them she +would lodge them in her bosom as in a bed, till their wounds were +healed, and that she would kiss each several piece to make +amends. + +In this manner she went on talking with a pretty, ladylike +childishness, till, finding herself unable to make out the whole, +and vexed at her own ingratitude in destroying such sweet and +loving words, as she called them, she wrote a much kinder letter +to Proteus than she had ever done before. + +Proteus was greatly delighted at receiving this favorable answer +to his letter. And while he was reading it he exclaimed, “Sweet +love! sweet lines! sweet life!” + +In the midst of his raptures he was interrupted by his father. +“How now?” said the old gentleman. “What letter are you reading +there?” + +“My lord,” replied Proteus, “it is a letter from my friend +Valentine, at Milan.” + +“Lend me the letter,” said his father. “Let me see what news.” + +“There is no news, my lord,” said Proteus, greatly alarmed, “but +that he writes how well beloved he is of the Duke of Milan, who +daily graces him with favors, and how he wishes me with him, the +partner of his fortune.” + +“And how stand you affected to his wish?” asked the father. + +“As one relying on your lordship’s will and not depending on his +friendly wish,” said Proteus. + +Now it had happened that Proteus’s father had just been talking +with a friend on this very subject. His friend had said he +wondered his lordship suffered his son to spend his youth at home +while most men were sending their sons to seek preferment abroad. + +“Some,” said he, “to the wars, to try their fortunes there, and +some to discover islands far away, and some to study in foreign +universities. And there is his companion Valentine; he is gone to +the Duke of Milan’s court. Your son is fit for any of these +things, and it will be a great disadvantage to him in his riper +age not to have traveled in his youth.” + +Proteus’s father thought the advice of his friend was very good, +and upon Proteus telling him that Valentine “wished him with him, +the partner of his fortune,” he at once determined to send his +son to Milan; and without giving Proteus any reason for this +sudden resolution, it being the usual habit of this positive old +gentleman to command his son, not reason with him, he said: + +“My will is the same as Valentine’s wish.” And seeing his son +look astonished, he added: “Look not amazed, that I so suddenly +resolve you shall spend some time in the Duke of Milan’s court; +for what I will I will, and there is an end. Tomorrow be in +readiness to go. Make no excuses, for I am peremptory.” + +Proteus knew it was of no use to make objections to his father, +who never suffered him to dispute his will; and he blamed himself +for telling his father an untruth about Julia’s letter, which had +brought upon him the sad necessity of leaving her. + +Now that Julia found she was going to lose Proteus for so long a +time she no longer pretended indifference; and they bade each +other a mournful farewell, with many vows of love and constancy. +Proteus and Julia exchanged rings, which they both promised to +keep forever in remembrance of each other; and thus, taking a +sorrowful leave, Proteus set out on his journey to Milan, the +abode of his friend Valentine. + +Valentine was in reality, what Proteus had feigned to his father, +in high favor with the Duke of Milan; and another event had +happened to him of which Proteus did not even dream, for +Valentine had given up the freedom of which he used so much to +boast, and was become as passionate a lover as Proteus. + +She who had wrought this wondrous change in Valentine was the +Lady Silvia, daughter of the Duke of Milan, and she also loved +him; but they concealed their love from the duke, because, +although he showed much kindness for Valentine and invited him +every day to his palace, yet he designed to marry his daughter to +a young courtier whose name was Thurio. Silvia despised this +Thurio, for he had none of the fine sense and excellent qualities +of Valentine. + +These two rivals, Thurio and Valentine, were one day on a visit +to Silvia, and Valentine was entertaining Silvia with turning +everything Thurio said into ridicule, when the duke himself +entered the room and told Valentine the welcome news of his +friend Proteus’s arrival. + +Valentine said, “If I had wished a thing, it would have been to +have seen him here!” And then he highly praised Proteus to the +duke, saying, “My lord, though I have been a truant of my time, +yet hath my friend made use and fair advantage of his days, and +is complete in person and in mind, in all good grace to grace a +gentleman.” + +“Welcome him, then, according to his worth,” said the duke. +“Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio; for Valentine, I +need not bid him do so.” + +They were here interrupted by the entrance of Proteus, and +Valentine introduced him to Silvia, saying, “Sweet lady, +entertain him to be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.” + +When Valentine and Proteus had ended their visit, and were alone +together, Valentine said: + +“Now tell me how all does from whence you came? How does your +lady, and how thrives your love?” + +Proteus replied: “My tales of love used to weary you. I know you +joy not in a love discourse.” + +“Aye, Proteus,” returned Valentine, “but that life is altered +now. I have done penance for condemning love. For in revenge of +my contempt of love, love has chased sleep from my enthralled +eyes. O gentle Proteus, Love is a mighty lord, and hath so +humbled me that I confess there is no woe like his correction nor +no such joy on earth as in his service. I now like no discourse +except it be of love. Now I can break my fast, dine, sup, and +sleep upon the very name of love.” + +This acknowledgment of the change which love had made in, the +disposition of Valentine was a great triumph to his friend +Proteus. But “friend” Proteus must be called no longer, for the +same all-powerful deity Love, of whom they were speaking (yea, +even while they were talking of the change he had made in +Valentine), was working in the heart of Proteus; and he, who had +till this time been a pattern of true love and perfect +friendship, was now, in one short interview with Silvia, become a +false friend and a faithless lover; for at the first sight of +Silvia all his love for Julia vanished away like a dream, nor did +his long friendship for Valentine deter him from endeavoring to +supplant him in her affections; and although, as it will always +be, when people of dispositions naturally good become unjust, be +bad many scruples before he determined to forsake Julia and +become the rival of Valentine, yet be at length overcame his +sense of duty and yielded himself up, almost without remorse, to +his new unhappy passion. + +Valentine imparted to him in confidence the whole history of his +love, and how carefully they had concealed it from the duke her +father, and told him that, despairing of ever being able to +obtain his consent, he had prevailed upon Silvia to leave her +father’s palace that night and go with him to Mantua; then he +showed Proteus a ladder of ropes by help of which he meant to +assist Silvia to get out of one of the windows of the palace +after it was dark. + +Upon hearing this faithful recital of his friend’s dearest +secrets, it is hardly possible to be believed, but so it was that +Proteus resolved to go to the duke and disclose the whole to him. + +This false friend began his tale with many artful speeches to the +duke, such as that by the laws of friendship he ought to conceal +what he was going to reveal, but that the gracious favor the duke +had shown him, and the duty he owed his grace, urged him to tell +that which else no worldly good should draw from him. He then +told all he had heard from Valentine, not omitting the ladder of +ropes and the manner in which Valentine meant to conceal them +under a long cloak. + +The duke thought Proteus quite a miracle of integrity, in that he +preferred telling his friend’s intention rather than he would +conceal an unjust action; highly commended him, and promised him +not to let Valentine know from whom he had learned this +intelligence, but by some artifice to make Valentine betray the +secret himself. For this purpose the duke awaited the coming of +Valentine in the evening, whom he soon saw hurrying toward the +palace, and he perceived somewhat was wrapped within his cloak, +which he concluded was the rope ladder. + +The duke, upon this, stopped him, saying, “Whither away so fast, +Valentine?” + +“May it please your grace,” said Valentine, “there is a messenger +that stays to bear my letters to my friends, and I am going to +deliver them.” + +Now this falsehood of Valentine’s had no better success in the +event than the untruth Proteus told his father. + +“Be they of much import?” said the duke. + +“No more, my lord,” said Valentine, “than to tell my father I am +well and happy at your grace’s court.” + +“Nay then,” said the duke, “no matter; stay with me awhile. I +wish your counsel about some affairs that concern me nearly.” + +He then told Valentine an artful story, as a prelude to draw his +secret from him, saying that Valentine knew he wished to match +his daughter with Thurio, but that she was stubborn and +disobedient to his commands. + +“Neither regarding,” said he, “that she is my child nor fearing +me as if I were her father. And I may say to thee this pride of +hers has drawn my love from her. I had thought my age should have +been cherished by her childlike duty. I now am resolved to take a +wife, and turn her out to whosoever will take her in. Let her +beauty be her wedding dower, for me and my possessions she +esteems not.” + +Valentine, wondering where all this would end, made answer, “And +what would your grace have me to do in all this?” + +“Why,” said the duke, “the lady I would wish to marry is nice and +coy and does not much esteem my aged eloquence. Besides, the +fashion of courtship is much changed since I was young. Now I +would willingly have you to be my tutor to instruct me how I am +to woo.” + +Valentine gave him a general idea of the modes of courtship then +practised by young men when they wished to win a fair lady’s +love, such as presents, frequent visits, and the like. + +The duke replied to this that the lady did refuse a present which +he sent her, and that she was so strictly kept by her father that +no man might have access to her by day. + +“Why, then,” said Valentine, “you must visit her by night.” + +“But at night,” said the artful duke, who was now coming to the +drift of his discourse, “her doors are fast locked.” + +Valentine then unfortunately proposed that the duke should get +into the lady’s chamber at night by means of a ladder of ropes,, +saying he would procure him one fitting for that purpose; and in +conclusion advised him to conceal this ladder of ropes under such +a cloak as that which he now wore. + +“Lend me your cloak,” said the duke, who had feigned this long +story on purpose to have a pretense to get off the cloak; so upon +saying these words he caught hold of Valentine’s cloak and, +throwing it back, he discovered not only the ladder of ropes but +also a letter of Silvia’s, which he instantly opened and read; +and this letter contained a full account of their intended +elopement. The duke, after upbraiding Valentine for his +ingratitude in thus returning the favor he had shown him, by +endeavoring to steal away his daughter, banished him from the +court and city of Milan forever, and Valentine was forced to +depart that night without even seeing Silvia. + +While Proteus at Milan was thus injuring Valentine, Julia at +Verona was regretting the absence of Proteus; and her regard for +him at last so far overcame her sense of propriety that she +resolved to leave Verona and seek her lover at Milan; and to +secure herself from danger on the road she dressed her maiden +Lucetta and herself in men’s clothes,-. and they set out in this +disguise, and arrived at Milan soon after Valentine was banished +from that, city through the treachery of Proteus. + +Julia entered Milan about noon, and she took up her abode at an +inn; and, her thoughts being all on her dear Proteus, she entered +into conversation with the innkeeper--or host, as he was +called--thinking by that means to learn some news of Proteus. + +The host was greatly pleased that this handsome young gentleman +(as he took her to be), who from his appearance be concluded was +of high rank, spoke so familiarly to him, and, being a +good-natured man, he was sorry to see him look so melancholy; and +to amuse his young guest he offered to take him to hear some fine +music, with which, he said, a gentleman that evening was going to +serenade his mistress. + +The reason Julia looked so very melancholy was, that she did not +well know what Proteus would think of the imprudent step she had +taken, for she knew he had loved her for her noble maiden pride +and dignity of character, and she feared she should lower herself +in his esteem; and this it was that made her wear a sad and +thoughtful countenance. + +She gladly accepted the offer of the host to go with him and hear +the music; for she secretly hoped she might meet Proteus by the +way. + +But when she came to the palace whither the host conducted a very +different effect was produced to what the kind host intended; for +there, to her heart’s sorrow, she beheld her lover, the +inconstant Proteus, serenading the Lady Silvia with music, and +addressing discourse of love and admiration to her. And Julia +overheard Silvia from a window talk with Proteus, and reproach +him for forsaking his own true lady, and for his ingratitude his +friend Valentine; and then Silvia left the window, not choosing +to listen to his music and his fine speeches; for she was a +faithful lady to her banished Valentine, and abhorred the +ungenerous conduct of his false friend, Proteus. + +Though Julia was in despair at what she had just witnessed, yet +did she still love the truant Proteus; and hearing that he had +lately parted with a servant, she contrived, with the assistance +of her host, the friendly innkeeper, to hire herself to Proteus +as a page; and Proteus knew not she was Julia, and he sent her +with letters and presents to her rival, Silvia, and he even sent +by her the very ring she gave him as a parting gift at Verona. + +When she went to that lady with the ring she was most glad to +find that Silvia utterly rejected the suit of Proteus; and +Julia--or the page Sebastian, as she was called, entered into +conversation with Silvia about Proteus’s first love, the forsaken +Lady Julia. She putting in (as one may say) a good word for +herself, said she knew Julia; as well she might, being herself +the Julia of whom she spoke; telling how fondly Julia loved her +master, Proteus, and how his unkind neglect would grieve her. And +then she with a pretty equivocation went on: “Julia is about my +height, and of my complexion, the color of her eyes and hair the +same as mine.” And indeed Julia looked a most beautiful youth in +her boy’s attire. + +Silvia was moved to pity this lovely lady who was so sadly +forsaken by the man she loved; and when Julia offered the ring +which Proteus had sent, refused it, saying: + +“The more shame for him that he sends me that ring. I will not +take it, for I have often heard him say his Julia gave it to him. +I love thee, gentle youth, for pitying her, poor lady! Here is a +purse; I give it you for Julia’s sake.” + +These comfortable words coming from her kind rival’s tongue +cheered the drooping heart of the disguised lady. + +But to return to the banished Valentine, who scarce knew which +way to bend his course, being unwilling to return home to his +father a disgraced and banished man. As he was wandering over a +lonely forest, not far distant from Milan, where he had left his +heart’s dear treasure, the Lady Silvia, he was set upon by +robbers, who demanded his money. + +Valentine told them that he was a man crossed by adversity, that +be was going into banishment, and that he had no money, the +clothes he had on being all his riches. + +The robbers, hearing that he was a distressed man, and being +struck with his noble air and manly behavior, told him if he +would live with them and be their chief, or captain, they would +put themselves under his command; but that if he refused to +accept their offer they would kill him. + +Valentine, who cared little what became of himself, said he would +consent to live with them and be their captain, provided they did +no outrage on women or poor passengers. + +Thus the noble Valentine became, like Robin Hood, of whom we read +in ballads, a captain of robbers and outlawed banditti; and in +this situation he was found by Silvia, and in this manner it came +to pass. + +Silvia, to avoid a marriage with Thurio, whom her father insisted +upon her no longer refusing, came at last to the resolution of +following Valentine to Mantua, at which place she had heard her +lover had taken refuge; but in this account she was misinformed, +for he still lived in the forest among the robbers, hearing the +name of their captain, but taking no part in their depredations, +and using the authority which they had imposed upon him in no +other way than to compel them to show compassion to the travelers +they robbed. + +Silvia contrived to effect her escape from her father’s palace in +company with a worthy old gentleman whose name was Eglamour, whom +she took along with her for protection on the road. She had to +pass through the forest where Valentine and the banditti dwelt; +and one of these robbers seized on Silvia, and would also have +taken Eglamour, but he escaped. + +The robber who had taken Silvia, seeing the terror she was in, +bade her not be alarmed, for that he was only going to carry her +to a cave where his captain lived, and that she need not be +afraid, for their captain had an honorable mind and always showed +humanity to women. Silvia found little comfort in hearing she was +going to be carried as a prisoner before the captain of a lawless +banditti. + +“O Valentine,” she cried, “this I endure for thee!” + +But as the robber was conveying her to the cave of his captain he +was stopped by Proteus, who, still attended by Julia in the +disguise of a page, having heard of the flight of Silvia, had +traced her steps to this forest. Proteus now rescued her from the +hands the robber; but scarce had she time to thank him for the +service he had done her before be began to distress her afresh +with his love suit; and while he was rudely pressing her to +consent to marry him, and his page (the forlorn Julia) was +standing beside him in great anxiety of mind, fearing lest the +great service which Proteus had just done to Silvia should win +her to show him some favor, they were all strangely surprised +with the sudden appearance of Valentine, who, having heard his +robbers had taken a lady prisoner, came to console and relieve +her. + +Proteus was courting Silvia, and he was so much ashamed of being +caught by his friend that he was all at once seized with +penitence and remorse; and he expressed such a lively sorrow for +the injuries he had done to Valentine that Valentine, whose +nature was noble and generous, even to a romantic degree, not +only forgave and restored him to his former place in his +friendship, but in a sudden flight of heroism he said: + +“I freely do forgive you; and all the interest I have in Silvia I +give it up to you.” + +Julia, who was standing beside her master as a page, hearing this +strange offer, and fearing Proteus would not be able with this +new-found virtue to refuse Silvia, fainted; and they were all +employed in recovering her, else would Silvia have been offended +at being thus made over to Proteus, though she could scarcely +think that Valentine would long persevere in this overstrained +and too generous act of friendship. When Julia recovered from the +fainting fit, she said: + +“I had forgot, my master ordered me to deliver this ring to +Silvia.” + +Proteus, looking upon the ring, saw that it was the one he gave +to Julia in return for that which he received from her and which +he had sent by the supposed page to Silvia. + +“How is this?” said he. “This is Julia’s ring. How came you by +it, boy?” + +Julia answered, “Julia herself did give it me, and Julia herself +hath brought it hither.” + +Proteus, now looking earnestly upon her, plainly perceived that +the page Sebastian was no other than the Lady Julia herself; and +the proof she had given of her constancy and true love so wrought +in him that his love for her returned into his heart, and he took +again his own dear lady and joyfully resigned all pretensions to +the Lady Silvia to Valentine, who had so well deserved her. + +Proteus and Valentine were expressing their happiness in their +reconciliation, and in the love of their faithful ladies, when +they were surprised with the sight of the Duke of Milan and +Thurio, who came there in pursuit of Silvia. + +Thurio first approached, and attempted to seize Silvia, saying, +“Silvia is mine.” + +Upon this Valentine said to him in a very spirited manner: +“Thurio, keep back. If once again you say that Silvia is yours, +you shall embrace your death. Here she stands, take but +possession of her with a touch! I dare you but to breathe upon my +love.” + +Hearing this threat, Thurio, who was a great coward, drew back, +and said he cared not for her and that none but a fool would +fight for a girl who loved him not. + +The duke, who was a very brave man himself, said now, in great +anger, “The more base and degenerate in you to take such means +for her as you have done and leave her on such slight +conditions.” + +Then turning to Valentine he said: “I do applaud your spirit, +Valentine, and think you worthy of an empress’s love. You shall +have Silvia, for you have well deserved her.” + +Valentine then with great humility kissed the duke’s hand and +accepted the noble present which he had made him of his daughter +with becoming thankfulness, taking occasion of this joyful minute +to entreat the good-humored duke to pardon the thieves with whom +he had associated in the forest, assuring him that when reformed +and restored to society there would be found among them many +good, and fit for great employment; for the most of them had been +banished, like Valentine, for state offenses, rather than for any +black crimes they had been guilty of. To this the’ ready duke +consented. And now nothing remained but that Proteus, the false +friend, was ordained, by way of penance for his love-prompted +faults, to be present at the recital of the whole story of his +loves and falsehoods before the duke. And the shame of the +recital to his awakened conscience was judged sufficient +punishment; which being done, the lovers, all four, returned back +to Milan, and their nuptials were solemnized in the presence of +the duke, with high triumphs and feasting. + + + + +THE MERCHANT OF VENICE + + +Shylock, the Jew, lived at Venice. He was a usurer who had +amassed an immense fortune by lending money at great interest to +Christian merchants. Shylock, being a hard-hearted man, exacted +the payment of the money he lent with such severity that he was +much disliked by all good men, and particularly by Antonio, a +young merchant of Venice; and Shylock as much hated Antonio, +because he used to lend money to people in distress, and would +never take any interest for the money he lent; therefore there +was great enmity between this covetous Jew and the generous +merchant Antonio. Whenever Antonio met Shylock on the Rialto, (or +Exchange) he used to reproach him with his usuries and hard +dealings, which the Jew would bear with seeming patience, while +he secretly meditated revenge. + +Antonio was the kindest man that lived, the best conditioned, and +had the most unwearied spirit in doing courtesies; indeed, he was +one in whom the ancient Roman honor more appeared than in any +that drew breath in Italy. He was greatly beloved by all his +fellow-citizens; but the friend who was nearest and dearest to +his heart was Bassanio, a noble Venetian, who, having but a small +patrimony, had nearly exhausted his little fortune by living in +too expensive a manner for his slender means, at young men of +high rank with small fortunes are too apt to do. Whenever +Bassanio wanted money Antonio assisted him; and it seemed as if +they had but one heart and one purse between them. + +One day Bassanio came to Antonio and told him that he wished to +repair his fortune by a wealthy marriage with a lady whom he +dearly loved, whose father, that was lately dead, had left her +sole heiress to a large estate; and that in her father’s lifetime +he used to visit at her house, when he thought he had observed +this lady had sometimes from her eyes sent speechless messages +that seemed to say he would be no unwelcome suitor; but not +having money to furnish himself with an appearance befitting the +lover of so rich an heiress, he besought Antonio to add to the +many favors he had shown him by lending him three thousand +ducats. + +Antonio had no money by him at that time to lend his friend; but +expecting soon to have. some ships come home laden with +merchandise, he said he would go to Shylock, the rich +moneylender, and borrow the money upon the credit of those ships. + +Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock, and Antonio asked +the Jew to lend him three thousand ducats upon any interest he +should require, to be paid out of the merchandise contained in +his ships at sea. + +On this, Shylock thought within himself: “If I can once catch him +on the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He +hates our Jewish nation; he lends out money gratis; and among the +merchants he rails at me and my well-earned bargains, which he +calls interest. Cursed be my tribe if I forgive him!” + +Antonio, finding be was musing within himself and did not answer, +and being impatient for the money, said: + +“Shylock, do you hear? Will you lend the money?” + +To this question the Jew replied: “Signor Antonio, on the Rialto +many a time and often you have railed at me about my moneys and +my usuries, and I have borne it with a patient shrug, for +sufferance is the badge of all our tribe; and then you have +called me unbeliever, cutthroat dog, and spit upon my Jewish +garments, and spurned at me with your foot, as if I was a cur. +Well, then, it now appears you need my help, and you come to me +and say, ‘Shylock, lend me moneys.’ Has a dog money? Is it +possible a cur should lend three thousand ducats? Shall I bend +low and say, ‘Fair sir, you spit upon me on Wednesday last; +another time you called me dog, and for these courtesies I am to +lend you moneys.”’ + +Antonio replied: “I am as like to call you so again, to spit on +you again, and spurn you, too. If you will lend me this money, +lend it not to me as to a friend, but rather lend it to me as to +an enemy, that, if I break, you may with better face exact the +penalty.” + +“Why, look you,” said Shylock, “how you storm! I would be friends +with you and have your love. I will forget the shames you have +put upon me. I will supply your wants and take no interest for my +money.” + +This seemingly kind offer greatly surprised Antonio; and then +Shylock, still pretending kindness and that all he did was to +gain Antonio’s love, again said he would lend him the three +thousand ducats, and take no interest for his money; only Antonio +should go with him to a lawyer and there sign in merry sport a +bond that, if he did not repay the money by a certain day, he +would forfeit a pound of flesh, to be cut off from any part of +his body that Shylock pleased. + +“Content,” said Antonio. “I will sign to this bond, and say there +is much kindness in the Jew.” + +Bassanio said Antonio should not sign to such a bond for him; but +still Antonio insisted that he would sign it, for that before the +day of payment came his ships would return laden with many times +the value of the money. + +Shylock, hearing this debate, exclaimed: “O Father Abraham, what +suspicious people these Christians are! Their own hard dealings +teach them to suspect the thoughts of others. I pray you tell me +this, Bassanio: if he should break his day, what should I gain by +the exaction of the forfeiture? A pound of man’s flesh, taken +from a man, is not so estimable, profitable, neither, as the +flesh of mutton or beef. I say, to buy his favor I offer this +friendship: if he will take it, so; if not, adieu.” + +At last, against the advice of Bassanio, who, notwithstanding all +the Jew had said of his kind intentions, did not like his friend +should run the hazard of this shocking penalty for his sake, +Antonio signed the bond, thinking it really was (as the Jew said) +merely in sport. + +The rich heiress that Bassanio wished to marry lived near Venice, +at a place called Belmont. Her name was Portia, and in the graces +of her person and her mind she was nothing inferior to that +Portia, of whom we read, who was Cato’s daughter and the wife of +Brutus. + +Bassanio being so kindly supplied with money by his friend +Antonio, at the hazard of his life, set out for Belmont with a +splendid train and attended by a gentleman of the name of +Gratiano. + +Bassanio proving successful in his suit, Portia in a short time +consented to accept of him for a husband. + +Bassanio confessed to Portia that he had no fortune and that his +high birth and noble ancestry were all that he could boast of; +she, who loved him for his worthy qualities and had riches enough +not to regard wealth in a husband, answered, with a graceful +modesty, that she would wish herself a thousand times more fair, +and ten thousand times more rich, to be more worthy of him; and +then the accomplished Portia prettily dispraised herself and said +she was an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised, yet not so +old but that she could learn, and that she would commit her +gentle spirit to be directed and governed by him in all things; +and she said: “Myself and what is mine to you and yours is now +converted. But yesterday, Bassanio, I was the lady of this fair +mansion, queen of myself, and mistress over these servants; and +now this house, these servants, and myself are yours, my lord; I +give them with this ring,” presenting a ring to Bassanio. + +Bassanio was so overpowered with gratitude and wonder at the +gracious manner in which the rich and noble Portia accepted of a +man of his humble fortunes that he could not express his joy + +and reverence to the dear lady who so honored him, by anything +but broken words of love and thankfulness; and, taking the ring, +he vowed never to part with it. + +Gratiano and Nerissa, Portia’s waiting-maid, were in attendance +upon their lord and lady when Portia so gracefully promised to +become the obedient wife of Bassanio; and Gratiano, wishing +Bassanio and the generous lady joy, desired permission to be +married at the same time. + +“With all my heart, Gratiano,” said Bassanio, “if you can get a +wife.” + +Gratiano then said that he loved the Lady Portia’s fair +waiting-gentlewoman, Nerissa, and that she had promised to be his +wife if her lady married Bassanio. Portia asked Nerissa if this +was true. Nerissa replied: + +“Madam, it is so, if you approve of it.” + +Portia willingly consenting, Bassanio pleasantly said: + +“Then our wedding-feast shall be much honored by your marriage, +Gratiano.” + +The happiness of these lovers was sadly crossed at this moment by +the entrance of a messenger, who brought a letter from Antonio +containing fearful tidings. When Bassanio read Antonio’s letter, +Portia feared it was to tell him of the death of some dear +friend, he looked so pale; and, inquiring what was the news which +bad so distressed him, he said: + +“Oh, sweet Portia, here are a few of the unpleasantest words that +ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, when I first imparted my love to +you, I freely told you all the wealth I had ran in my veins; but +I should have told you that I had less than nothing, being in +debt.” + +Bassanio then told Portia what has been here related, of his +borrowing the money of Antonio, and of Antonio’s procuring it of +Shylock the Jew, and of the bond by which Antonio had engaged to +forfeit a pound of flesh if it was not repaid by a certain day: +and then Bassanio read Antonio’s letter, the words of which were: + +‘Sweet Bassanio, my ships are all lost, my bond to the Jew is +forfeited, and since in paying it is impossible I should live, I +could wish, to see you at my death; notwithstanding, use your +pleasure. If your love for me do not persuade you to come, let +not my letter.’ + +“Oh, my dear love,” said Portia, “despatch all business and +begone; you shall have gold to pay the money twenty times over, +before this kind friend shall lose a hair by my Bassanio’s fault; +and as you are so dearly bought, I will dearly love you.” + +Portia then said she would be married to Bassanio before he set +out, to give him a legal right to her money; and that same day +they were married, and Gratiano was also married to Nerissa; and +Bassanio and Gratiano, the instant they were married, set out in +great haste for Venice, where Bassanio found Antonio in prison. + +The day of payment being past, the cruel Jew would not accept of +the money which Bassanio offered him, but insisted upon having a +pound of Antonio’s flesh. A day was appointed to try this +shocking cause before the Duke of Venice, and Bassanio awaited in +dreadful suspense the event of the trial. + +When Portia parted with her husband she spoke cheeringly to him +and bade him bring his dear friend along with him when he +returned; yet she feared it would go hard with Antonio, and when +she was left alone she began to think and consider within herself +if she could by any means be instrumental in saving the life of +her dear Bassanio’s friend. And notwithstanding when she wished +to honor her Bassanio she had said to him, with such a meek and +wifelike grace, that she would submit in all things to be +governed by his superior wisdom, yet being now called forth into +action by the peril of her honored husband’s friend, she did +nothing doubt her own powers, and by the sole guidance of her own +true and perfect judgment at once resolved to go herself to +Venice and speak in Antonio’s defense. + +Portia had a relation who was a counselor in the law; to this +gentleman, whose name was Bellario, she wrote, and, stating the +case to him, desired his opinion, and that with his advice he +would also send her the dress worn by a counselor. When the +messenger returned he brought letters from Bellario of advice how +to proceed, and also everything necessary for her equipment. + +Portia dressed herself and her maid Nerissa in men’s apparel, +and, putting on the robes of a counselor, she took Nerissa along +with her as her clerk; setting out immediately, they arrived at +Venice on the very day of the trial. The cause was just going to +be heard before the Duke and Senators of Venice in the Senate +House when Portia entered this high court of justice and +presented a letter from Bellario, in which that learned counselor +wrote to the duke, saying he would have come himself to plead for +Antonio but that he was prevented by sickness, and he requested +that the learned young Doctor Balthasar (so he called Portia) +might be permitted to plead in his stead. This the Duke granted, +much wondering at the youthful appearance of the stranger, who +was prettily disguised by her counselor’s robes and her large +wig. + +And now began this important trial. Portia looked around her and +she saw the merciless Jew; and she saw Bassanio, but he knew her +not in her disguise. He was standing beside Antonio, in an agony +of distress and fear for his friend. + +The importance of the arduous task Portia had engaged in gave +this tender lady courage, and she boldly proceeded in the duty +she had undertaken to perform. And first of all she addressed +herself to Shylock; and allowing that he had a right by the +Venetian law to have the forfeit expressed in the bond, she spoke +so sweetly of the noble quality of MERCY as would have softened +any heart but the unfeeling Shylock’s, saying that it dropped as +the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath; and how mercy +was a double blessing, it blessed him that gave and him that +received it; and how it became monarchs better than their crowns, +being an attribute of God Himself; and that earthly power came +nearest to God’s in proportion as mercy tempered justice; and she +bade Shylock remember that as we all pray for mercy, that same +prayer should teach us to show mercy. Shylock only answered her +by desiring to have the penalty forfeited in the bond. + +“Is he not able to pay the money?” asked Portia. + +Bassanio then offered the Jew the payment of the three thousand +ducats as many times over as he should desire; which Shylock +refusing, and still insisting upon having a pound of Antonio’s +flesh, Bassanio begged the learned young counselor would endeavor +to wrest the law a little, to save Antonio’s life. But Portia +gravely answered that laws once established never be altered. +Shylock, hearing Portia say that the law might not be altered, it +seemed to him that she was pleading in his favor, and he said: + +“A Daniel is come to judgment! O wise young judge, how I do honor +you! How much elder are you than your looks!” + +Portia now desired Shylock to let her look at the bond; and when +she had read it she said: “This bond is forfeited, and by this +the Jew may lawfully claim a pound of flesh, to be by him cut off +nearest Antonio’s heart.” Then she said to Shylock, “Be merciful; +take the money and bid me tear the bond.” + +But no mercy would the cruel Shylock show; and he said, “By my +soul, I swear there is no power in the tongue of man to alter +me.” + +“Why, then, Antonio,” said Portia, “you must prepare your bosom +for the knife.” And while Shylock was sharpening a long knife +with great eagerness to cut off the pound of flesh, Portia said +to Antonio, “Have you anything to say?” + +Antonio with a calm resignation replied that he had but little to +say, for that he had prepared his mind for death. Then he said to +Bassanio: + +“Give me your hand, Bassanio! Fare you well! Grieve not that I am +fallen into this misfortune for you. Commend me to your honorable +wife and tell her how I have loved you!” + +Bassanio in the deepest affliction replied: “Antonio, I am +married to a wife who is as dear to me as life itself; but life +itself, my wife, and all the world are not esteemed with me above +your life. I would lose all, I would sacrifice all to this devil +here, to deliver you.” + +Portia hearing this, though the kind-hearted lady was not at all +offended with her husband for expressing the love he owed to so +true a friend as Antonio in these strong terms, yet could not +help answering: + +“Your wife would give you little thanks, if she were present, to +hear you make this offer.” + +And then Gratiano, who loved to copy what his lord did, thought +he must make a speech like Bassanio’s, and he said, in Nerissa’s +hearing, who was writing in her clerk’s dress by the side of +Portia: + +“I have a wife whom I protest I love. I wish she were in heaven +if she could but entreat some power there to change the cruel +temper of this currish Jew.” + +“It is well you wish this behind her back, else you would have +but an unquiet house,” said Nerissa. + +Shylock now cried out, impatiently: “We trifle time. I pray +pronounce the sentence.” + +And now all was awful expectation in the court, and every heart +was full of grief for Antonio. + +Portia asked if the scales were ready to weigh the flesh; and she +said to the Jew, “Shylock, you must have some surgeon by, lest he +bleed to death.” + +Shylock, whose whole intent was that Antonio should bleed to +death, said, “It is not so named in the bond.” + +Portia replied: “It is not so named in the bond, but what of +that? It were good you did so much for charity.” + +To this all the answer Shylock would make was, “I cannot find it; +it is not in the bond.” + +“Then,” said Portia, “a pound of Antonio’s flesh is thine. The +law allows it and the court awards it. And you may cut this flesh +from off his breast. The law allows it and the court awards it.” + +Again Shylock exclaimed: “O wise and upright judge! A Daniel is +come to judgment!” And then he sharpened his long knife again, +and looking eagerly on Antonio, he said, “Come, prepare!” + +“Tarry a little, Jew,” said Portia. “There is something else. +This bond here gives you no drop of blood; the words expressly +are, ‘a pound of flesh.’ If in the cutting off the pound of flesh +you shed one drop of Christian blood, your lands and goods are by +the law to be confiscated to the state of Venice.” + +Now as it was utterly impossible for Shylock to cut off the pound +of flesh without shedding some of Antonio’s blood, this wise +discovery of Portia’s, that it was flesh and not blood that was +named in the bond, saved the life of Antonio; and all admiring +the wonderful sagacity of the young counselor who had so happily +thought of this expedient, plaudits resounded from every part of +the Senate House; and Gratiano exclaimed, in the words which +Shylock had used: + +“O wise and upright judge! Mark, Jew, a Daniel is come to +judgment!” + +Shylock, finding himself defeated in his cruel intent, said, with +a disappointed look, that he would take the money. And Bassanio, +rejoiced beyond measure at Antonio’s unexpected deliverance, +cried out: + +“Here is the money!” + +But Portia stopped him, saying: “Softly; there is no haste. The +Jew shall have nothing but the penalty. Therefore prepare, +Shylock, to cut off the flesh; but mind you shed no blood; nor do +not cut off more nor less than just a pound; be it more or less +by one poor scruple, nay, if the scale turn but by the weight of +a single hair, you are condemned by the laws of Venice to die, +and all your wealth is forfeited to the state.” + +“Give me my money and let me go,” said Shylock. + +“I have it ready,” said Bassanio. “Here it is.” + +Shylock was going to take the money, when Portia again stopped +him, saying: “Tarry, Jew. I have yet another hold upon you. By +the laws of Venice your wealth is forfeited to the state for +having conspired against the life of one of its citizens, and +your life lies at the mercy of the duke; therefore, down on your +knees and ask him to pardon you.” + +The duke then said to Shylock: “That you may see the difference +of our Christian spirit, I pardon you your life before you ask +it. Half your wealth belongs to Antonio, the other half comes to +the state.” + +The generous Antonio then said that he would give up his share of +Shylock’s wealth if Shylock would sign a deed to make it over at +his death to his daughter and her husband; for Antonio knew that +the Jew had an only daughter who had lately married against his +consent a young Christian named Lorenzo, a friend of Antonio’s, +which had so offended Shylock that he had disinherited her. + +The Jew agreed to this; and being thus disappointed in his +revenge and despoiled of his riches, he said: “I am ill. Let me +go home. Send the deed after me, and I will sign over half my +riches to my daughter.” + +“Get thee gone, then,” said the duke, “and sign it; and if you +repent your cruelty and turn Christian, the state will forgive +you the fine of the other half of your riches.” + +The duke now released Antonio and dismissed the court. He then +highly praised the wisdom and ingenuity of the young counselor +and invited him home to dinner. + +Portia, who meant to return to Belmont before her husband, +replied, “I humbly thank your Grace, but I must away directly.” + +The duke said he was sorry he had not leisure to stay and dine +with him, and, turning to Antonio, he added, “Reward this +gentleman; for in my mind you are much indebted to him.” + +The duke and his senators left the court; and then Bassanio said +to Portia: “Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend Antonio have +by your wisdom been this day acquitted of grievous penalties, and +I beg you will accept of the three thousand ducats due unto the +Jew.” + +“And we shall stand indebted to you over and above,” said +Antonio, “in love and service evermore.” + +Portia could not be prevailed upon to accept the money. But upon +Bassanio still pressing her to accept of some reward, she said: + +“Give me your gloves. I will wear them for your sake.” And then +Bassanio taking off his gloves, she espied the ring which she had +given him upon his finger. Now it was the ring the wily lady +wanted to get from him to make a merry jest when she saw her +Bassanio again, that made her ask him for his gloves; and she +said, when she saw the ring, “And for your love, I will take this +ring from you.” + +Bassanio was sadly distressed that the counselor should ask him +for the only thing he could not part with, and he replied, in +great confusion, that be could not give him that ring, because it +was his wife’s gift and he had vowed never to part with it; but +that he would give him the most valuable ring in Venice, and find +it out by proclamation. + +On this Portia affected to be affronted, and left the court, +saying, “You teach me, sir, how a beggar should be answered.” + +“Dear Bassanio,” said Antonio, “let him have the ring. Let My love and +the great service he has done for me be valued against your wife’s +displeasure.” Bassanio, ashamed to appear so ungrateful, yielded, and +sent Gratiano after Portia with the ring; and then the “clerk” Nerissa, +who had also given Gratiano a ring, begged his ring, and Gratiano (not +choosing to be outdone in generosity by his lord) gave it to her. And +there was laughing among these ladies to think, when they got home, how +they would tax their husbands with giving away their rings and swear +that they had given them as a present to some woman. + +Portia, when she returned, was in that happy temper of mind which +never fails to attend the consciousness of having performed a +good action. Her cheerful spirits enjoyed everything she saw: the +moon never seemed to shine so bright before; and when that +pleasant moon was hid behind a cloud, then a light which she saw +from her house at Belmont as well pleased her charmed fancy, and +she said to Nerissa: + +“That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little +candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty +world.” And hearing the sound of music from her house, she said, +“Methinks that music sounds much sweeter than by day.” + +And now Portia and Nerissa entered the house, and, dressing +themselves in their own apparel, they awaited the arrival of +their husbands, who soon followed them with Antonio; and Bassanio +presenting his dear friend to the Lady Portia, the +congratulations and welcomings of that lady were hardly over when +they perceived Nerissa and her husband quarreling in a corner of +the room. + +“A quarrel already?” said Portia. “What is the matter?” + +Gratiano replied, “Lady, it is about a paltry gilt ring that +Nerissa gave me, with words upon it like the poetry on a cutler’s +knife: ‘Love me, and leave me not.’” + +“What does the poetry or the value of the ring signify?” said +Nerissa. “You swore to me, when I gave it to you, that you would +keep it till the hour of death; and now you say you gave it to +the lawyer’s clerk. I know you gave it to a woman.” + +“By this hand,” replied Gratiano, “I gave it to a youth, a kind +Of boy, a little scrubbed boy, no higher than yourself; be was +clerk to the young counselor that by his wise pleading saved +Antonio’s life. This prating boy begged it for a fee, and I could +not for my life deny him.” + +Portia said: “You were to blame, Gratiano, to part with your +wife’s first gift. I gave my Lord Bassanio a ring, and I am sure +be would not part with it for all the world.” + +Gratiano, in excuse for his fault, now said, “My Lord Bassanio +gave his ring away to the counselor, and then the boy, his clerk, +that took some pains in writing, he begged my ring.” + +Portia, hearing this, seemed very angry and reproached Bassanio +for giving away her ring; and she said Nerissa had taught her +what to believe, and that she knew some woman had the ring. +Bassanio was very unhappy to have so offended his dear lady, and +he said with great earnestness: + +“No, by my honor, no woman had it, but a civil doctor who refused +three thousand ducats of me and begged the ring, which when I +denied him he went displeased away. What could I do, sweet +Portia? I was so beset with shame for my seeming ingratitude that +I was forced to send the ring after him. Pardon me, good lady. +Had you been there, I think you would have begged the ring of me +to give the worthy doctor.” + +“Ah!” said Antonio, “I am the unhappy cause of these quarrels.” + +Portia bid Antonio not to grieve at that, for that be was welcome +notwithstanding; and then Antonio said: + +“I once did lend my body for Bassanio’s sake; and but for him to +whom your husband gave the ring I should have now been dead. I +dare be bound again, my soul upon the forfeit, your lord will +never more break his faith with you.” + +“Then you shall be his surety,” said Portia. “Give him this ring +and bid him keep it better than the other.” + +When Bassanio looked at this ring be was strangely surprised to +find it was the same he gave away; and then Portia told him how +she was the young counselor, and Nerissa was her clerk; and +Bassanio found, to his unspeakable wonder and delight, that it +was by the noble courage and wisdom of his wife that Antonio’s +life was saved. + +And Portia again welcomed Antonio, and gave him letters which by +some chance had fallen into her hands, which contained an account +of Antonio’s ships, that were supposed lost, being safely arrived +in the harbor. So these tragical beginnings of this rich +merchant’s story were all forgotten in the unexpected good +fortune which ensued; and there was leisure to laugh at the +comical adventure of the rings and the husbands that did not know +their own wives, Gratiano merrily swearing, in a sort of rhyming +speech, that-- + + While he lived, he’d fear no other thing + So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring. + + + + +CYMBELINE + + +During the time of Augustus Caesar, Emperor of Rome, there +reigned in England (which was then called Britain) a king whose +name was Cymbeline. + +Cymbeline’s first wife died when his three children (two sons and +a daughter) were very young. Imogen, the eldest of these +children, was brought up in her father’s court; but by a strange +chance the two sons of Cymbeline were stolen out of their nursery +when the eldest was but three years of age and the youngest quite +an infant; and Cymbeline could never discover what was become of +them or by whom they were conveyed away. + +Cymbeline was twice married. His second wife was a wicked, +plotting woman, and a cruel stepmother to Imogen, Cymbeline’s +daughter by his first wife. + +The queen, though she hated Imogen, yet wished her to marry a son +of her own by a former husband (she also having been twice +married), for by this means she hoped upon the death of Cymbeline +to place the crown of Britain upon the head of her son Cloten; +for she knew that, if the king’s sons were not found, the +Princess Imogen must be the king’s heir. But this design was +prevented by Imogen herself, who married without the consent or +even knowledge of her father or the queen. + +Posthumus (for that was the name of Imogen’s husband) was the +best scholar and most accomplished gentleman of that age. His +father died fighting in the wars for Cymbeline, and soon after +his birth his mother died also for grief at the loss of her +husband. + +Cymbeline, pitying the helpless state of this orphan, took +Posthumus (Cymbeline having given him that name because he was +born after his father’s death), and educated him in his own +court. + +Imogen and Posthumus were both taught by the same masters, and +were playfellows from their infancy; they loved each other +tenderly when they were children, and, their affection continuing +to increase with their years, when they grew up they privately +married. + +The disappointed queen soon learned this secret, for she kept +spies constantly in watch upon the actions of her stepdaughter, +and she immediately told the king of the marriage of Imogen with +Posthumus. + +Nothing could exceed the wrath of Cymbeline when he heard that +his daughter had been so forgetful of her high dignity as to +marry a subject. He commanded Posthumus to leave Britain and +banished him from his native country forever. + +The queen, who pretended to pity Imogen for the grief she +suffered at losing her husband, offered to procure them a private +meeting before Posthumus set out on his journey to Rome, which +place he had chosen for his residence in his banishment. This +seeming kindness she showed the better to succeed in her future +designs in regard to her son Cloten, for she meant to persuade +Imogen, when her husband was gone, that her marriage was not +lawful, being contracted without the consent of the king. + +Imogen and Posthumus took a most affectionate leave of each +other. Imogen gave her husband a diamond ring which had been her +mother’s, and Posthumus promised never to part with the ring; and +he fastened a bracelet on the arm of his wife, which he begged +she would preserve with great care, as a token of his love; they +then bade each other farewell, with many vows of everlasting love +and fidelity. + +Imogen remained a solitary and dejected lady in her father’s +court, and Posthumus arrived at Rome, the place he had chosen for +his banishment. + +Posthumus fell into company at Rome with some gay young men of +different nations, who were talking freely of ladies, each one +praising the ladies of his own country and his own mistress. +Posthumus, who had ever his own dear lady in his mind, affirmed +that his wife, the fair Imogen, was the most virtuous, wise, and +constant lady in the world. + +One of those gentlemen, whose name was Iachimo, being offended +that a lady of Britain should be so praised above the Roman +ladies, his country-women, provoked Posthumus by seeming to doubt +the constancy of his so highly praised wife; and at length, after +much altercation, Posthumus consented to a proposal of Iachimo’s +that he (Iachimo) should go to Britain and endeavor to gain the +love of the married Imogen. They then laid a wager that if +Iachimo did not succeed in this wicked design he was to forfeit a +large sum of money; but if he could win Imogen’s favor, and +prevail upon her to give him the bracelet which Posthumus had so +earnestly desired she would keep as a token of his love, then the +wager was to terminate with Posthumus giving to Iachimo the ring +which was Imogen’s love present when she parted with her husband. +Such firm faith had Posthumus in the fidelity of Imogen that he +thought he ran no hazard in this trial of her honor. + +Iachimo, on his arrival in Britain, gained admittance and a +courteous welcome from Imogen, as a friend of her husband; but +when he began to make professions of love to her she repulsed him +with disdain, and he soon found that he could have no hope of +succeeding in his dishonorable design. + +The desire Iachimo had to win the wager made him now have +recourse to a stratagem to impose upon Posthumus, and for this +purpose he bribed some of Imogen’s attendants and was by them +conveyed into her bedchamber, concealed in a large trunk, where +he remained shut up till Imogen.was retired to rest and had +fallen asleep; and then, getting out of the trunk, he examined +the chamber with great attention, and wrote down everything he +saw there, and particularly noticed a mole which he observed upon +Imogen’s neck, and then softly unloosing the bracelet from her +arm, which Posthumus had given to her, he retired into the chest +again; and the next day he set off for Rome with great +expedition, and boasted to Posthumus that Imogen had given him +the bracelet, and likewise permitted him to pass a night in her +chamber. And in this manner Iachimo told his false tale: “Her +bedchamber,” said he, “was hung with tapestry of silk and silver, +the story was the proud Cleopatra when she met her Anthony, a +piece of work most bravely wrought.” + +“This is true,” said Posthumus; “but this you might have heard +spoken of without seeing.” + +“Then the chimney,” said Iachimo, “is south of the chamber, and +the chimneypiece is Diana bathing; never saw I figures livelier +expressed.” “This is a thing you might have likewise heard,” said +Posthumus; “for it is much talked of.” + +Iachimo as accurately described the roof of the chamber; and +added, “I had almost forgot her andirons; they were two winking +Cupids made of silver, each on one foot standing.’” He then took +out the bracelet, and said: “Know you this jewel, sir? She gave +me this. She took it from her arm. I see her yet; her pretty +action did outsell her gift, and yet enriched it, too. She gave +it me, and said, SHE PRIZED IT ONCE.” He last of all described +the mole he had observed upon her neck. + +Posthumus, who had heard the whole of this artful recital in an +agony of doubt, now broke out into the most passionate +exclamations against Imogen. He delivered up the diamond ring to +Iachimo which he had agreed to forfeit to him if he obtained the +bracelet from Imogen. + +Posthumus then in a jealous rage wrote to Pisanio, a gentleman of +Britain, who was one of Imogen’s attendants, and had long been a +faithful friend to Posthumus; and after telling him what proof he +had of his wife’s disloyalty, he desired Pisanio would take +Imogen to Milford Haven, a seaport of Wales, and there kill her. +And at the same time he wrote a deceitful letter to Imogen, +desiring her to go with Pisanio, for that, finding he could live +no longer without seeing her, though he was forbidden upon pain +of death to return to Britain, he would come to Milford Haven, at +which place he begged she would meet him. She, good, unsuspecting +lady, who loved her husband above all things, and desired more +than her life to see him, hastened her departure with Pisanio, +and the same night she received the letter she set out. + +When their journey was nearly at an end, Pisanio, who, though +faithful to Posthumus, was not faithful to serve him in an evil +deed, disclosed to Imogen the cruel order he had received. + +Imogen, who, instead of meeting a loving and beloved husband, +found herself doomed by that husband to suffer death, was +afflicted beyond measure. + +Pisanio persuaded her to take comfort and wait with patient +fortitude for the time when Posthumus should see and repent his +injustice. In the mean time, as she refused in her distress to +return to her father’s court, he advised her to dress herself in +boy’s clothes for more security in traveling; to which advice she +agreed, and thought in that disguise she would go over to Rome +and see her husband, whom, though he had used her so barbarously, +she could no-t forget to love. + +When Pisanio had provided her with her new apparel he left her to +her uncertain fortune, being obliged to return to court; but +before he departed he gave her a vial of cordial, which he said +the queen had given him as a sovereign remedy in all disorders. + +The queen, who hated Pisanio because he was a friend to Imogen +and Posthumus, gave him this vial, which she supposed contained +poison, she having ordered her physician to give her some poison, +to try its effects (as she said) upon animals; but the physician, +knowing her malicious disposition, would not trust her with real +poison, but gave her a drug which would do no other mischief than +causing a person to sleep with every appearance of death for a +few hours. This mixture, which Pisanio thought a choice cordial, +he gave to Imogen, desiring her, if she found herself ill upon +the road, to take it; and so, with blessings and prayers for her +safety and happy deliverance from her undeserved troubles, he +left her. + +Providence strangely directed Imogen’s steps to the dwelling of +her two brothers who had been stolen away in their infancy. +Bellarius, who stole them away, was a lord in the court of +Cymbeline, and, having been falsely accused to the king of +treason and banished from the court, in revenge he stole away the +two sons of Cymbeline and brought them up in a forest, where he +lived concealed in a cave. He stole them through revenge, but he +soon loved them as tenderly as if they had been his own children, +educated them carefully, and they grew up fine youths, their +princely spirits leading them to bold and daring actions; and as +they subsisted by hunting, they were active and hardy, and were +always pressing their supposed father to let them seek their +fortune in the wars. + +At the cave where these youths dwelt it was Imogen’s fortune to +arrive. She had lost her way in a large forest through which .her +road lay to Milford Haven (from which she meant to embark for +Rome); and being unable to find any place where she could +purchase food, she was, with weariness and hunger, almost dying; +for it is not merely putting on a man’s apparel that will enable +a young lady, tenderly brought up, to bear the fatigue of +wandering about lonely forests like a man.. Seeing this cave, she +entered, hoping to find some one within of whom she could procure +food. She found the cave empty, but, looking about, she +discovered some cold meat, and her hunger was so pressing that +she could not wait for an invitation, but sat down and began to +eat. + +“Ah,” said she, talking to herself, “I see a man’s life is a +tedious one. How tired am I! For two nights together I have made +the ground my bed. My resolution helps me, or I should be sick. +When Pisanio showed me Milford Haven from the mountain-top, how +near it seemed!” Then the thoughts of her husband and his cruel +mandate came across her, and she said, “My dear Posthumus, thou +art a false one!” + +The two brothers of Imogen, who had been hunting with their +reputed father, Bellarius, were by this time returned home. +Bellarius had given them the names of Polydore and Cadwal, and +they knew no better, but supposed that Bellarius was their +father; but the real names of these princes were Guiderius and +Arviragus. + +Bellarius entered the cave first, and, seeing Imogen, stopped +them, saying: “ Come not in yet. It eats our victuals, or I +should think it was a fairy.” + +“What is the matter, sir?” said the young men. + +“By Jupiter!” said Bellarius, again, “there is an angel in the +cave, or if not, an earthly paragon.” So beautiful did Imogen +look in her boy’s apparel. + +She, hearing the sound of voices, came forth from the cave and +addressed them in these words: “Good masters, do not harm me. +Before I entered your cave I had thought to have begged or bought +what I have eaten. Indeed, I have stolen nothing, nor would I, +though I had found gold strewed on the floor. Here is money for +my meat, which I would have left on the board when I had made my +meal, and parted with prayers for the provider.” + +They refused her money with great earnestness. + +“I see you are angry with me,” said the timid Imogen; “but, sirs, +if you kill me for my fault, know that I should have died if I +had not made it.” + +“Whither are you bound,” asked Bellarius, “and what is your +name?” + +“Fidele is my name,” answered Imogen. “I have a kinsman who is +bound for Italy; he embarked at Milford Haven, to whom being +going, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen into this offense.” + +“Prithee, fair youth,” said old Bellarius, “do not think us +churls, nor measure our good minds by this rude place we live in. +‘You are well encountered; it is almost night. You shall have +better cheer before you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. +Boys, bid him welcome.” + +The gentle youths, her brothers, then welcomed Imogen to their +cave with many kind expressions, saying they would love her (or, +as they said, HIM) as a brother; and they entered the cave, where +(they having killed venison when they were hunting) Imogen +delighted them with her neat housewifery, assisting them in +preparing their supper; for, though it is not the custom now for +young women of high birth to understand cookery, it was then, and +Imogen excelled in this useful art; and, as her brothers prettily +expressed it, Fidele cut their roots in characters, and sauced +their broth, as if Juno had been sick and Fidele were her dieter. + +“And then,” said Polydore to his brother, “how angel-like he +sings!” + +They also remarked to each other that though Fidele smiled so +sweetly, yet so sad a melancholy did overcloud his lovely face, +as if grief and patience had together taken possession of him. + +For these her gentle qualities (or perhaps it was their near +relationship, though they knew it not) Imogen (or, as the boys +called her, Fidele) became the doting-piece of her brothers, and +she scarcely less loved them, thinking that but for the memory of +her dear Posthumus she could live and die in the cave with these +wild forest youths; and she gladly consented to stay with them +till she was enough rested from the fatigue of traveling to +pursue her way to Milford Haven. + +When the venison they had taken was all eaten and they were going +out to hunt for more, Fidele could not accompany them because she +was unwell. Sorrow, no doubt, for her husband’s + +cruel usage, as well as the fatigue of wandering in the forest, +was the cause of her illness. + +They then bid her farewell, and went to their hunt, praising all +the way the noble parts and graceful demeanor of the youth +Fidele. + +Imogen was no sooner left alone than she recollected the cordial +Pisanio had given her, and drank it off, and presently fell into +a sound and deathlike sleep. + +When Bellarius and her brothers returned from hunting, Polydore +went first into the cave, and, supposing her asleep, pulled off +his heavy shoes, that he might tread softly and not awake her (so +did true gentleness spring up in the minds of these princely +foresters); but he soon discovered that she could not be awakened +by any noise, and concluded her to be dead, and Polydore lamented +over her with dear and brotherly regret, as if they had never +from their infancy been parted. + +Bellarius also proposed to carry her out into the forest, and +there celebrate her funeral with songs and solemn dirges, as was +then the custom. + +Imogen’s two brothers then carried her to a shady covert, and +there, laying her gently on the grass, they sang repose to her +departed spirit, and, covering her over with leaves and flowers, +Polydore said: + +“While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I will daily strew +thy grave. The pale primrose, that flower most like thy face; the +bluebell, like thy clear veins; and the leaf of eglantine, which +is not sweeter than was thy breath-all these will I strew over +thee. Yea, and the furred moss in winter, when there are no +flowers to cover thy sweet corse.” + +When they had finished her funeral obsequies they departed, very +sorrowful. + +Imogen had not been long left alone when, the effect of the +sleepy drug going off, she awaked, and easily shaking off the +slight covering of leaves and flowers they had thrown over her, +she arose, and, imagining she had been dreaming, she said: + +“I thought I was a cave-keeper and cook to honest creatures. How +came I here covered with flowers?” + +Not being able to find her way back to the cave, and seeing +nothing of her new companions, she concluded it was certainly all +a dream; and once more Imogen set out on her weary pilgrimage, +hoping at last she should find her way to Milford Haven, and +thence get a passage in some ship bound for Italy; for all her +thoughts were still with her husband, Posthumus, whom she +intended to seek in the disguise of a page. + +But great events were happening at this time, of which Imogen +knew nothing; for a war had suddenly broken out between the Roman +Emperor Augustus Caesar and Cymbeline, the King of Britain; and a +Roman army had landed to invade Britain, and was advanced into +the very forest over which Imogen was journeying. With this army +came Posthumus. + +Though Posthumus came over to Britain with the Roman army, he did +not mean to fight on their side against his own countrymen, but +intended to join the army of Britain and fight in the cause of +his king who had banished him. + +He still believed Imogen false to him; yet the death of her he +had so fondly loved, and by his own orders, too (Pisanio having +written him a letter to say he had obeyed his command, and that +Imogen was dead), sat heavy on his heart, and therefore he +returned to Britain, desiring either to be slain in battle or to +be put to death by Cymbeline for returning home from banishment. + +Imogen, before she reached Milford Haven, fell into the hands of +the Roman army, and, her presence and deportment recommending +her, she was made a page to Lucius, the Roman general. + +Cymbeline’s army now advanced to meet the enemy, and when they +entered this forest Polydore and Cadwal joined the king’s army. +The young men were eager to engage in acts of valor, though they +little thought they were going to fight for their own royal +father; and old Bellarius went with them to the battle. + +He had long since repented of the injury he had done to Cymbeline +in carrying away his sons; and, having been a warrior in his +youth, he gladly joined the army to fight for the king he had so +injured. + +And now a great battle commenced between the two armies, and the +Britons would have been defeated, and Cymbeline himself killed, +but for the extraordinary valor of Posthumus and Bellarius and +the two sons of Cymbeline. They rescued the king and saved his +life, and so entirely turned the fortune of the day that the +Britons gained the victory. + +When the battle was over, Posthumus, who had not found the death +he sought for, surrendered himself up to one of the officers of +Cymbeline, willing to suffer the death which was to be his +punishment if he returned from banishment. + +Imogen and the master she served were taken prisoners and brought +before Cymbeline, as was also her old enemy, Iachimo, who was an +officer in the Roman army. And when these prisoners were before +the king, Posthumus was brought in to receive his sentence of +death; and at this strange juncture of time Bellarius with +Polydore and Cadwal were also brought before Cymbeline, to +receive the rewards due to the great services they had by their +valor done for the king. Pisanio, being one of the king’s +attendants, was likewise present. + +Therefore there were now standing in the king’s presence (but +with very different hopes and fears) Posthumus and Imogen, with +her new master the Roman general; the faithful servant Pisanio +and the false friend Iachimo; and likewise the two lost sons of +Cymbeline, with Bellarius, who had stolen them away. + +The Roman general was the first who spoke; the rest stood silent +before the king, though there was many a beating heart among +them. + +Imogen saw Posthumus, and knew him, though he was in the disguise +of a peasant; but he did not know her in her male attire. And she +knew Iachimo, and she saw a ring on his finger which she +perceived to be her own., but she did not know him as yet to have +been the author of all her troubles; and she stood before her own +father a prisoner of war. + +Pisanio knew Imogen, for it was he who had dressed her in the +garb of a boy. “It is my mistress,” thought he. “Since she is +living, let the time run on to good or bad.” Bellarius knew her, +too, and softly said to Cadwal, “Is not this boy revived from +death?” + +“One sand,” replied Cadwal, “does not more resemble another than +that sweet, rosy lad is like the dead Fidele.” + +“The same dead thing alive,” said Polydore. + +“Peace, peace,” said Bellarius. “If it were he, I am sure be +would have spoken to us.” + +“But we saw him dead,”, again whispered Polydore. + +“Be silent,” replied Bellarius. + +Posthumus waited in silence to hear the welcome sentence of his +own death; and he resolved not to disclose to the king that he +had saved his life in the battle, lest that should move Cymbeline +to pardon him. + +Lucius, the Roman general, who had taken Imogen under his +protection as his page, was the first (as has been before said) +who spoke to the king. He was a man of high courage and noble and +this was his speech to the king: + +“I hear you take no ransom for your prisoners, but doom them all +to death. I am a Roman, and with a Roman heart will suffer, +death. But there is one thing for which I would entreat.” Then +bringing Imogen before the king, he said: “This boy is a Briton +born. Let him be ransomed. He is my page. Never master had a page +so kind, so duteous, so diligent on all occasions, so true, so +nurselike. He hath done no Briton wrong, though he hath served a +Roman. Save him, if you spare no one beside.” + +Cymbeline looked earnestly on his daughter Imogen. He knew her +not in that disguise; but it seemed that all-powerful Nature +spake in his heart, for he said: “I have surely seen him; his +face appears familiar to me. I know not why or wherefore I say, +live, boy, but I give you your life; and ask of me what boon you +will and I will grant it you. Yea, even though it be the life of +the noblest prisoner I have.” + +“I humbly thank your Highness,” said Imogen. + +What was then called granting a boon was the same as a promise to +give any one thing, whatever it might be,. that the person on +whom that favor was conferred chose to ask for. + +They all were attentive to hear what thing the page would ask +for; and Lucius, her master, said to her: + +“I do not beg my life, good lad, but I know that is what you will +ask for.” + +“No, no, alas!” said Imogen. “I have other work in hand, good +master. Your life I cannot ask for.” + +This seeming want of gratitude in the boy astonished the Roman +general. + +Imogen then, fixing her eye on Iachimo, demanded no other boon +than this: that Iachimo should be made to confess whence he had +the ring he wore on his finger. + +Cymbeline granted her this boon, and threatened Iachimo with the +torture if he did not confess how he came by the diamond ring on +his finger. + +Iachimo then made a full acknowledgment of all his villainy, in +telling, as has been before related, the whole story of his wager +with Posthumus and how he had succeeded in imposing upon is +credulity. + +What Posthumus felt at hearing this proof of the innocence of his +lady cannot be expressed. He instantly came forward and confessed +to Cymbeline the cruel sentence which he had enjoined Pisanio to +execute upon the princess, exclaiming, wildly: + +“O Imogen, my queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, Imogen, Imogen!” + +Imogen could not see her beloved husband in this distress without +discovering herself, to the unutterable joy of Posthumus, who was +thus relieved from a weight of guilt and woe, and restored to the +good graces of the dear lady he had so cruelly treated. + +Cymbeline, almost as much overwhelmed as he with joy, at finding +his lost daughter so strangely recovered, received her to her +former place in his fatherly affection, and not only gave her +husband Posthumus his life, but consented to acknowledge him for +his son-in-law. + +Bellarius chose this time of joy and reconciliation to make his +confession. He presented Polydore and Cadwal to the king, telling +him they were his two lost sons, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +Cymbeline forgave old Bellarius; for who could think of +punishments at a season of such universal happiness? To find his +daughter living, and his lost sons in the persons of his young +deliverers, that he had seen so bravely fight in his defense, was +unlooked-for joy indeed! + +Imogen was now at leisure to perform good services for her late +master, the Roman general, Lucius, whose life the king, her +father, readily granted at her request; and by the mediation of +the same Lucius a peace was concluded between the Romans and the +Britons which was kept inviolate many years. + +How Cymbeline’s wicked queen, through despair of bringing her +projects to pass, and touched with remorse of conscience, +sickened and died, having first lived to see her foolish son +Cloten slain in a quarrel which he had provoked, are events too +tragical to interrupt this happy conclusion by more than merely +touching upon. It is sufficient that all were made happy who were +deserving; and even the treacherous Iachimo, in consideration of +his villainy having missed its final aim, was dismissed without +punishment. + + + + +KING LEAR + + +Lear, King of Britain, had three daughters: Goneril, wife to the +Duke of Albany; Regan, wife to the Duke of Cornwall; and +Cordelia, a young maid, for whose love the King of France and +Duke of Burgundy were joint suitors, and were at this time making +stay for that purpose in the court of Lear. + +The old king, worn out with age and the fatigues of government, +he being more than fourscore years old, determined to take no +further part in state affairs, but to leave the management to +younger strengths, that he might have time to prepare for death, +which must at no long period ensue. With this intent he called +his three daughters to him, to know from their own lips which of +them loved him best, that he might part his kingdom among them in +such proportions as their affection for him should seem to +deserve. + +Goneril, the eldest, declared that she loved her father more than +words could give out, that he was dearer to her than the light of +her own eyes, dearer than life and liberty, with a deal of such +professing stuff, which is easy to counterfeit where there is no +real love, only a few fine words delivered with confidence being +wanted in that case. The king, delighted to hear from her own +mouth this assurance of her love, and thinking truly that her +heart went with it, in a fit of fatherly fondness bestowed upon +her and her husband one-third of his ample kingdom. + +Then calling to him his second daughter he demanded what she had +to say. Regan, who was made of the same hollow metal as her +sister, was not a whit behind in her professions, but rather +declared that what her sister had spoken came short of the love +which she professed to bear for his Highness; in so much that she +found all other joys dead in comparison with the pleasure which +she took in the love of her dear king and father. + +Lear blessed himself in having such loving children, as he +thought; and could do no less, after the handsome assurances +which Regan had made, than bestow a third of his kingdom upon her +and her husband, equal in size to that which he had already +given away to Goneril. + +Then turning to his youngest daughter, Cordelia, whom he called +his joy, he asked what she had to say,thinking no doubt that she +would glad his ears with the same loving speeches which her +sisters had uttered, or rather that her expressions would be so +much stronger than theirs, as she had always been his darling, +and favored by him above either of them. But Cordelia, disgusted +with the flattery of her sisters, whose hearts she knew were far +from their lips, and seeing that all their coaxing speeches were +only intended to wheedle the old king out of his dominions, that +they and their husbands might reign in his lifetime, made no +other reply but this--that she loved his Majesty according to her +duty, neither more nor less. + +The king, shocked with this appearance of ingratitude in his +favorite child, desired her to consider her words and to mend her +speech, lest it should mar her fortunes. + +Cordelia then told her father that he was her father, that he had +given her breeding, and loved her; that she returned those duties +back as was most fit, and did obey him, love him, and most honor +him. But that she could not frame her mouth to such large +speeches as her sisters had done, or promise to love nothing else +in the world. Why had her sisters husbands if (as they said) they +had no love for anything but their father? If she should ever +wed, she was sure the lord to whom she gave her husband would +want half her love, half of her care and duty; she should never +marry like her sisters, to love her father all. + +Cordelia, who in earnest loved her old father even almost +extravagantly as her sisters pretended to do, would have plainly +told him so at any other time, in more daughter-like and loving +terms, and without these qualifications, which did indeed sound a +little ungracious; but after the crafty, flattering speeches of +her sisters, which she had seen draw such extravagant rewards, +she thought the handsomest thing she could do was to love and be +silent. This put her affection out of suspicion of mercenary +ends, and showed that she loved, but not for gain; and that her +professions, the less ostentatious they were, had so much the +more of truth and sincerity than her sisters’. + +This plainness of speech, which Lear called pride, so enraged the +old monarch--who in his best of times always showed much of +spleen and rashness, and in whom the dotage incident to old age +had so clouded over his reason that he could not discern truth +from flattery, nor a gaypainted speech from words that came from +the heart--that in a fury of resentment he retracted the third +part of his kingdom which yet remained, and which he had reserved +for Cordelia, and gave it away from her, sharing it equally +between her two sisters and their husbands, the Dukes of Albany +and Cornwall, whom he now called to him and in presence of all +his courtiers, bestowing a coronet between them, invested them +jointly with all the power, revenue, and execution of government, +only retaining to himself the name of king; all the rest of +royalty he resigned, with this reservation, that himself, with a +hundred knights for his attendants, was to be maintained by +monthly course in each of his daughters’ palaces in turn. + +So preposterous a disposal of his kingdom, so little guided by +reason, and so much by passion, filled all his courtiers with +astonishment and sorrow; but none of them had the courage to +interpose between this incensed king and his wrath, except the +Earl of Kent, who was beginning to speak a good word for +Cordelia, when the passionate Lear on pain of death commanded him +to desist; but the good Kent was not so to be repelled. He had +been ever loyal to Lear, whom he had honored as a king, loved as +a father, followed as a master; and he had never esteemed his +life further than as a pawn to wage against his royal master’s +enemies, nor feared to lose it when Lear’s safety was the motive; +nor, now that Lear was most his own enemy, did this faithful +servant of the king forget his old principles, but manfully +opposed Lear to do Lear good; and was unmannerly only because +Lear was mad. He had been a most faithful counselor in times past +to the king, and he besought him now that he would see with his +eyes (as he had done in many weighty matters) and go by his +advice still, and in his best consideration recall this hideous +rashness; for he would answer with his life his judgment that +Lear’s youngest daughter did not love him least, nor were those +empty-hearted whose low sound gave no token of hollowness. When +power bowed to flattery, honor was bound to plainness. For Lear’s +threats, what could he do to him whose life was already at his +service? That should not hinder duty from speaking. + +The honest freedom of this good Earl of Kent only stirred up the +king’s wrath the more, and, like a frantic patient who kills his +physician and loves his mortal disease, he banished this true +servant, and allotted him but five days to make his preparations +for departure; but if on the sixth his hated person was found +within the realm of Britain, that moment was to be his death. And +Kent bade farewell to the king, and said that, since he chose to +show himself in such fashion, it was but banishment to stay +there; and before he went he recommended Cordelia to the +protection of the gods, the maid who had so rightly thought and +so discreetly spoken; and only wished that her sisters’ large +speeches might be answered with deeds of love; and then he went, +as he said, to shape his old course to a new country. + +The King of France and Duke of Burgundy were now called in to +hear the determination of Lear about his youngest daughter, and +to know whether they would persist in their courtship to +Cordelia, now that she was under her father’s displeasure and had +no fortune but her own person to recommend her. And the Duke of +Burgundy declined the match, and would not take her to wife upon +such conditions. But the King of France, understanding what the +nature of the fault had been which had lost her the love of her +father--that it was only a tardiness of speech and the not being +able to frame her tongue to flattery like her sisters--took this +young maid by the hand and, saying that her virtues were a dowry +above a kingdom, bade Cordelia to take farewell of her sisters +and of her father, though he had been unkind, and she should go +with him and be Queen of him and of fair France, and reign over +fairer possessions than her sisters. And he called the Duke of +Burgundy, in contempt, a waterish duke, because his love for this +young maid had in a moment run all away like water. + +Then Cordelia with weeping eyes took leave of her sisters, and +besought them to love their father well and make good their +professions; and they sullenly told her not to prescribe to them, +for they knew their duty, but to strive to content her husband, +who had taken her (as they tauntingly expressed it) as Fortune’s +alms. And Cordelia with a heavy heart departed, for she knew the +cunning of her sisters and she wished her father in better hands +than she was about to leave him in. + +Cordelia was no sooner gone than the devilish dispositions of her +sisters began to show themselves ‘in their true colors. Even +before the expiration of the first month, which Lear was to spend +by agreement ,with his , daughter, Goneril, the old king began to +find out the difference between promises and performances. This +wretch, having got from her father all that he had to bestow, +even to the giving away of the crown from off his head, began to +grudge even those small remnants of royalty which the old man had +reserved to himself, to please his fancy with the idea of being +still a king. She could not bear to see him and his knights. +Every time she met her father she put on a frowning countenance; +and when the old man wanted to speak with her she would feign +sickness or anything to get rid of the sight of him, for it was +plain that she esteemed his old age a useless burden and his +attendants an unnecessary expense; not only she herself slackened +in her expressions of duty to the king, but by her example, and +(it is to be feared) not without her private instructions, her +very servants affected to treat him with neglect, and would +either refuse to obey his orders or still more contemptuously +pretend not to hear them. Lear could not but perceive this +alteration in the behavior of his daughter, but he shut his eyes +against it as long as he could, as people commonly are unwilling +to believe the unpleasant consequences which their own mistakes +and obstinacy have brought upon them. + +True love and fidelity are no more to be estranged by ILL, than +falsehood and hollow-heartedness can be conciliated by GOOD, +USAGE. This eminently appears in the instance of the good Earl of +Kent, who, though banished by Lear, and his life made forfeit if +he were found in Britain, chose to stay and abide all +consequences as long as there was a chance of his being useful to +the king his master. See to what mean shifts and disguises poor +loyalty is forced to submit sometimes; yet it counts nothing base +or unworthy so as it can but do service where it owes an +obligation! In the disguise of a serving-man, all his greatness +and pomp laid aside, this good earl proffered his services to the +king, who, not knowing him to be Kent in that disguise, but +pleased with a certain plainness, or rather bluntness, in his +answers, which the earl put on (so different from that smooth, +oily flattery which he had so much reason to be sick of, having +found the effects not answerable in his daughter), a bargain was +quickly struck, and Lear took Kent into his service by the name +of Caius, as he called himself, never suspecting him to be his +once great favorite, the high and mighty Earl of Kent. + +This Caius quickly found means to show his fidelity and love to +his royal master, for, Goneril’s steward that same day behaving +in a disrespectful manner to Lear, and giving him saucy looks and +language, as no doubt he was secretly encouraged to do by his +mistress, Caius, not enduring to hear so open an affront put upon +his Majesty, made no more ado, but presently tripped up his heels +and laid the unmannerly slave in the kennel; for which friendly +service Lear became more and more attached to him. + +Nor was Kent the only friend Lear had. In his degree, and as far +as so insignificant a personage could show his love, the poor +fool, or jester, that had been of his palace while Lear had a +palace, as it was the custom of kings and great personages at +that time to keep a fool (as he was called) to make them sport +after serious business--this poor fool clung to Lear after he had +given away his crown, and by his witty sayings would keep up his +good-humor, though he could not refrain sometimes from jeering at +his master for his imprudence in uncrowning himself and giving +all away to his daughters; at which time, as he rhymingly +expressed it, these daughters-- + + “For sudden joy did weep, + And I for sorrow sung, + That such a king should play bo-peep + And go the fools among.” + +And in such wild sayings, and scraps of songs, of which he had +plenty, this pleasant, honest fool poured out his heart even in +the presence of Goneril herself, in many a bitter taunt and jest +which cut to the quick, such as comparing the king to the +hedgesparrow, who feeds the young of the cuckoo till they grow +old enough, and then has its head bit off for its pains; and +saying that an ass may know when the cart draws the horse +(meaning that Lear’s daughters, that ought to go behind, now +ranked before their father); and that Lear was no longer Lear, +but the shadow of Lear. For which free speeches he was once or +twice threatened to be whipped. + +The coolness and falling off of respect which Lear had begun to +perceive were not all which this foolish fond father was to +suffer from his unworthy daughter. She now plainly told him that +his staying in her palace was inconvenient so long as he insisted +upon keeping up an establishment of a hundred knights; that this +establishment was useless and expensive and only served to fill +her court with riot and feasting; and she prayed him that he +would lessen their number and keep none but old men about him, +such as himself, and fitting his age. + +Lear at first could not believe his eyes or ears, nor that it was +his daughter who spoke so unkindly. He could not believe that she +who had received a crown from him could seek to cut off his train +and grudge him the respect due to his old age. But she persisting +in her undutiful demand, the old man’s rage was so excited that +he called her a detested kite and said that she spoke an untruth; +and so indeed she did, for the hundred knights were all men of +choice behavior and sobriety of manners, skilled in all +particulars of duty, and not given to rioting or feasting, as she +said. And he bid his horses to be prepared, for he would go to +his other daughter, Regan, he and his hundred knights; and he +spoke of ingratitude, and said it was a marble-hearted devil, and +showed more hideous in a child than the sea-monster. And he +cursed his eldest daughter, Goneril, so as was terrible to hear, +praying that she might never have a child, or, if she had, that +it might live to return that scorn and contempt upon her which +she had shown to him; that she might feel how sharper than a +serpent’s tooth it was to have a thankless child. And Goneril’s +husband, the Duke of Albany, beginning to excuse himself for any +share which Lear might suppose he had in the unkindness, Lear +would not hear him out, but in a rage ordered his horses to be +saddled and set out with his followers for the abode of Regan, +his other daughter. And Lear thought to himself how small the +fault of Cordelia (if it was a fault) now appeared in comparison +with her sister’s, and he wept; and then he was ashamed that such +a creature as Goneril should have so much power over his manhood +as to make him weep. + +Regan and her husband were keeping their court in great pomp and +state at their palace; and Lear despatched his servant Caius with +letters to his daughter, that she might be prepared for his +reception, while he and his train followed after. But it seems +that Goneril had been beforehand with him, sending letters also +to Regan, accusing her father of waywardness and ill-humors, and +advising her not to receive so great a train as he was bringing +with him. This messenger arrived at the same time with Caius, and +Caius and he met, and who should it be but Caius’s old enemy the +steward, whom he had formerly tripped up by the heels for his +saucy behavior to Lear. Caius not liking the fellow’s look, and, +suspecting what he came for, began to revile him and challenged +him to fight, which the fellow refusing, Caius, in a fit of +honest passion, beat him soundly, as such a mischief-maker and +carrier of wicked messages deserved; which coming to the ears of +Regan and her husband, they ordered Caius to be put in the +stocks, though he was a messenger from the king her father and in +that character demanded the highest respect. So that the first +thing the king saw when he entered the castle was his faithful +servant Caius sitting in that disgraceful situation. + +This was but a bad omen of the reception which he was to expect; +but a worse followed when, upon inquiry for his daughter and her +husband, he was told they were weary with traveling all night and +could not see him; and when, lastly, upon his insisting in a +positive and angry manner to see them, they came to greet him, +whom should he see in their company but the hated Goneril, who +had come to tell her own story and set her sister against the +king her father! + +This sight much moved the old man, and still more to see Regan +take her by the hand; and he asked Goneril if she was not ashamed +to look upon his old white beard. And Regan advised him to go +home again with Goneril, and live with her peaceably, dismissing +half of his attendants, and to ask her forgiveness; for he was +old and wanted discretion, and must be ruled and led by persons +that had more discretion than himself. And Lear showed how +preposterous that would sound, if he were to go down on his knees +and beg of his own daughter for food and raiment; and he argued +against such an unnatural dependence, declaring his resolution +never to return with her, but to stay where he was with Regan, he +and his hundred knights; for he said that she had not forgot the +half of the kingdom which he had endowed her with, and that her +eyes were not fierce like Goneril’s, but mild and kind. And he +said that rather than return to Goneril, with half his train cut +off, he would go over to France and beg a wretched pension of the +king there, who had married his youngest daughter without a +portion. + +But he was mistaken in expecting kinder treatment of Regan than +he had experienced from her sister Goneril. As if willing to +outdo her sister in unfilial behavior, she declared that she +thought fifty knights too many to wait upon him; that +five-and-twenty were enough. Then Lear, nigh heartbroken, turned +to Goneril and said that he would go back with her, for her fifty +doubled five-and-twenty, and so her love was twice as much as +Regan’s. But Goneril excused herself, and said, what need of so +many as five-and twenty? or even ten? or five? when he might be +waited upon by her servants or her sister’s servants? So these +two wicked daughters, as if they strove to exceed each other in +cruelty to their old father, who had been so good to them, by +little and little would have abated him of all his train, all +respect (little enough for him that once commanded a kingdom) +which was left him to show that he had once been a king! Not that +a splendid train is essential to happiness, but from a king to a +beggar is a hard change, from commanding millions to be without +one attendant; and it was the ingratitude in his daughters’ +denying more than what he would suffer by the want of it, which +pierced this poor king to the heart; in so much that, with this +double ill-usage, and vexation for having so foolishly given away +a kingdom, his wits began to be unsettled, and while he said he +knew not what, he vowed revenge against those unnatural hags and +to make examples of them that should be a terror to the earth! + +While he was thus idly threatening what his weak arm could never +execute, night came on, and a loud storm of thunder and lightning +with rain; and his daughters still persisting in their resolution +not to admit his followers, he called for his horses, and chose +rather to encounter the utmost fury of the storm abroad than stay +under the same roof with these ungrateful daughters; and they, +saying that the injuries which wilful men procure to themselves +are their just punishment, suffered him to go in that condition +and shut their doors upon him. + +The winds were high, and the rain and storm increased, when the +old man sallied forth to combat with the elements, less sharp +than his daughters’ unkindness. For many miles about there was +scarce a bush; and there upon a heath, exposed to the fury of the +storm in a dark night, did King Lear wander out, and defy the +winds and the thunder; and he bid the winds to blow the earth +into the sea, or swell the waves of the sea till they drowned the +earth, that no token might remain of any such ungrateful animal +as man. The old king was now left with no other companion than +the poor fool, who still abided with him, with his merry conceits +striving to outjest misfortune, saying it was but a naughty night +to swim in, and truly the king had better go in and ask his +daughter’s blessing: + + But he that has a little tiny wit-- + With heigh ho, the wind and the rain,-- + Must make content with his fortunes fit + Though the rain it raineth every day, + +and swearing it was a brave night to cool a lady’s pride. + +Thus poorly accompanied, this once great monarch was found by his +ever-faithful servant the good Earl of Kent, now transformed to +Caius, who ever followed close at his side, though the king did +not know him to be the earl; and be said: + +“Alas, sir, are you here? Creatures that love night love not such +nights as these. This dreadful storm has driven the beasts to +their hiding-places. Man’s nature cannot endure the affliction or +the fear.” + +And Lear rebuked him and said these lesser evils were not felt +where a greater malady was fixed. When the mind is at ease the +body has leisure to be delicate, but the tempest in his mind did +take all feeling else from his senses but of that which beat at +his heart. And he spoke of filial ingratitude, and said it was +all one as if the mouth should tear the hand for lifting food to +it; for parents were hands and food and everything to children. + +But the good Caius still persisting in his entreaties that the +king would not stay out in the open air, at last persuaded him to +enter a little wretched hovel which stood upon the heath, where +the fool first entering, suddenly ran back terrified, saying that +he had seen a spirit. But upon examination this spirit proved to +be nothing more than a poor Bedlam beggar who had crept into this +deserted hovel for shelter, and with his talk about devils +frighted the fool, one of those poor lunatics who are either mad, +or feign to be so, the better to extort charity from the +compassionate country people, who go about the country calling +themselves poor Tom and poor Turlygood, saying, “Who gives +anything to poor Tom?” sticking pins and nails and sprigs of +rosemary into their arms to make them bleed; and with horrible +actions, partly by prayers, and partly with lunatic curses, they +move or terrify the ignorant country folk into giving them alms. +This poor fellow was such a one; and the king, seeing him in so +wretched a plight, with nothing but a blanket about his loins to +cover his nakedness, could not be persuaded but that the fellow +was some father who had given all away to his daughters and +brought himself to that pass; for nothing, he thought, could +bring a man to such wretchedness but the having unkind daughters. + +And from this and many such wild speeches which he uttered the +good Caius plainly perceived that he was not in his perfect mind, +but that his daughters’ ill-usage had really made him go mad. And +now the loyalty of this worthy Earl of Kent showed itself in more +essential services than he had hitherto found opportunity to +perform. For with the assistance of some of the king’s attendants +who remained loyal he had the person of his royal master removed +at daybreak to the castle of Dover, where his own friends and +influence, as Earl of Kent, chiefly lay; and himself, embarking +for France, hastened to the court of Cordelia, and did there in +such moving terms represent the pitiful condition of her royal +father, and set out in such lively colors the inhumanity of her +sisters, that this good and loving child with many tears besought +the king, her husband, that he would give her leave to embark for +England, with a sufficient power to subdue these cruel daughters +and their husbands and restore the old king, her father, to his +throne; which being granted, she set forth, and with a royal army +landed at Dover. + +Lear, having by some chance escaped from the guardians which’ the +good Earl of Kent had put over him to take care of him in his +lunacy, was found by some of Cordelia’s train, wandering about +the fields near Dover, in a pitiable condition, stark mad, and +singing aloud to himself, with a crown upon his head which he had +made of straw and nettles and other wild weeds that he had picked +up in the corn-fields. By the advice of the physicians, Cordelia, +though earnestly desirous of seeing her father, was prevailed +upon to put off the meeting till, by sleep and the operation of +herbs which they gave him, he should be restored to greater +composure. By the aid of these skilful physicians, to whom +Cordelia promised all her gold and jewels for the recovery of the +old king, Lear was soon in a condition to see his daughter. + +A tender sight it was to see the meeting between this father and +daughter; to see the struggles between the joy of this poor old +king at beholding again his once darling child, and the shame at +receiving such filial kindness from her whom he had cast off for +so small a fault in his displeasure; both these passions +struggling with the remains of his malady, which in his +half-crazed brain sometimes made him that he scarce remembered +where he was or who it was tb at so kindly kissed him and spoke +to him. And then he would beg the standers-by not to laugh at him +if he were mistaken in thinking this lady to be his daughter +Cordelia! And then to see him fall on his knees to beg pardon of +his child; and she, good lady, kneeling all the while to ask a +blessing of him, and telling him that it did not become him to +kneel, but it was her duty, for she was his child, his true and +very child Cordelia! And she kissed him (as she said) to kiss +away all her sisters’ unkindness, and said that they might be +ashamed of themselves, to turn their old kind father with his +white beard out into the cold air, when her enemy’s dog, though +it had bit her (as she prettily expressed it), should have stayed +by her fire such a night as that, and warmed himself. And she +told her father how she had come from France with purpose to +bring him assistance; and he said that she must forget and +forgive, for he was old and foolish and did not know what he did; +but that to be sure she had great cause not to love him, but her +sisters had none. And Cordelia said that she had no cause, no +more than they had. + +So we will leave this old king in the protection of his dutiful +and loving child, where, by the help of sleep and medicine, she +and her physicians at length succeeded in winding up the untuned +and jarring senses which the cruelty of his other daughters had +so violently shaken. Let us return to say a word or two about +those cruel daughters. + +These monsters of ingratitude, who had been so false to their old +father, could not be expected to prove more faithful to their own +husbands. They soon grew tired of paying even the appearance of +duty and affection, and in an open way showed they had fixed +their loves upon another. It happened that the object of their +guilty loves was the same. It was Edmund, a natural son of the +late Earl of Gloucester, who by his treacheries had succeeded in +disinheriting his brother Edgar, the lawful heir, from his +earldom, and by his wicked practices was now earl himself; a +wicked man, and a fit object for the love of such wicked +creatures as Goneril and Regan. It falling out about this time +that the Duke of Cornwall, Regan’s husband, died, Regan +immediately declared her intention of wedding this Earl of +Gloucester, which rousing the jealousy of her sister, to whom as +well as to Regan this wicked earl had at sundry times professed +love, Goneril found means to make away with her sister by poison; +but being detected in her practices, and imprisoned by her +husband, the Duke of Albany, for this deed, and for her guilty +passion for the earl which had come to his ears, she, in a fit of +disappointed love and rage, shortly put an end to her own life. +Thus the justice of Heaven at last overtook these wicked +daughters. + +While the eyes of all men were upon this event, admiring the +justice displayed in their deserved deaths, the same eyes were +suddenly taken off from this sight to admire at the mysterious +ways of the same power in the melancholy fate of the young and +virtuous daughter, the Lady Cordelia, whose good deeds did seem +to deserve a more fortunate conclusion. But it is an awful truth +that innocence and piety are not always successful in this world. +The forces which Goneril and Regan had sent out under the command +of the bad Earl of Gloucester were victorious, and Cordelia, by +the practices of this wicked earl, who did not like that any +should stand between him and the throne, ended her life in +prison. Thus heaven took this innocent lady to itself in her +young years, after showing her to the world an illustrious +example of filial duty. Lear did not long survive this kind +child. + +Before he died, the good Earl of Kent, who had still attended his +old master’s steps from the first of his daughters’ ill-usage to +this sad period of his decay, tried to make him understand that +it was he who had followed him under the name of Caius; but +Lear’s care-crazed brain at that time could not comprehend how +that could be, or how Kent and Caius could be the same person, so +Kent thought it needless to trouble him with explanations at such +a time; and, Lear soon after expiring, this faithful servant to +the king, between age and grief for his old master’s vexations, +soon followed him to the grave. + +How the judgment of Heaven overtook the bad Earl of Gloucester, +whose treasons were discovered, and himself slain in single +combat with his brother, the lawful earl, and how Goneril’s +husband, the Duke of Albany, who was innocent of the death of +Cordelia, and had never encouraged his lady in her wicked +proceedings against her father, ascended the throne of Britain +after the death of Lear, it is needless here to narrate, Lear and +his three daughters being dead, whose adventures alone concern +our story. + + + + +MACBETH + + +When Duncan the Meek reigned King of Scotland there lived a great +thane, or lord, called Macbeth. This Macbeth was a near kinsman +to the king, and in great esteem at court for his valor and +conduct in the wars, an example of which he had lately given in +defeating a rebel army assisted by the troops of Norway in +terrible numbers. + +The two Scottish generals, Macbeth and Banquo, returning +victorious from this great battle, their way lay over a blasted +heath, where they were stopped by the strange appearance of three +figures like women, except that they had beards, and their +withered skins and wild attire made them look not like any +earthly creatures. Macbeth first addressed them, when they, +seemingly offended, laid each one her choppy finger upon her +skinny lips, in token of silence; and the first of them saluted +Macbeth with the title of Thane of Glamis. The general was not a +little startled to find himself known by such creatures; but how +much more, when the second of them followed up that salute by +giving him the title of Thane of Cawdor, to which honor he had no +pretensions; and again the third bid him, “All hail! that shalt +be king hereafter!” Such a prophetic greeting might well amaze +him, who knew that while the king’s sons lived he could not hope +to succeed to the throne. Then turning to Banquo, they pronounced +him, in a sort of riddling terms, to be LESSER THAN MACBETH, AND +GREATER! NOT SO HAPPY, BUT MUCH HAPPIER! and prophesied that +though he should never reign, yet his sons after him should be +kings in Scotland. They then turned into air and vanished; by +which the generals knew them to be the weird sisters, or witches. + +While they stood pondering on the strangeness of this adventure +there arrived certain messengers from the king, who were +empowered by him to confer upon Macbeth the dignity of Thane of +Cawdor. An event so miraculously corresponding with the +prediction of the witches astonished Macbeth, and he stood +wrapped in amazement, unable to make reply to the messengers; and +in that point of time swelling hopes arose in his mind that the +prediction of the third witch might in like manner have its +accomplishment, and that he should one day reign king in +Scotland. + +Turning to Banquo, he said, “Do you not hope that your children +shall be kings, when what the witches promised to me has so +wonderfully come to pass?” + +“That hope,” answered the general, “might enkindle you to aim at +the throne; but oftentimes these ministers of darkness tell us +truths in little things, to betray us into deeds of greatest +consequence.” + +But the wicked suggestions of the witches had sunk too deep into +the mind of Macbeth to allow him to attend to the warnings of the +good Banquo. From that time he bent all his thoughts how to +compass the throne of Scotland. + +Macbeth had a wife, to whom he communicated the strange +prediction of the weird sisters and its partial accomplishment. +She was a bad, ambitious woman, and so as her husband and herself +could arrive at greatness she cared not much by what means. She +spurred on the reluctant purpose of Macbeth, who felt compunction +at the thoughts of blood, and did not cease to represent the +murder of the king as a step absolutely necessary to the +fulfilment of the flattering prophecy. + +It happened at this time that the king, who out of his royal +condescension would oftentimes visit his principal nobility upon +gracious terms, came to Macbeth’s house, attended by his two +sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, and a numerous train of thanes and +attendants, the more to honor Macbeth for the triumphal success +of his wars. + +The castle of Macbeth was pleasantly situated and the air about +it was sweet and wholesome, which appeared by the nests which the +martlet, or swallow, had built under all the jutting friezes and +buttresses of the building, wherever it found a place of +advantage; for where those birds most breed and haunt the air is +observed to be delicate. The king entered, well pleased with the +place, and not less so with the attentions and respect of his +honored hostess, Lady Macbeth, who had the art of covering +treacherous purposes with smiles, and could look like the +innocent flower while she was indeed serpent under it. + +The king, being tired with his journey, went early to bed, and in +his state-room two grooms of his chamber (as was the custom) +beside him. He had been unusually pleased with his reception, and +had made presents before he retired to his principal ; and among +the rest had sent a diamond to Lady Macbeth, greeting the name of +his most kind hostess. + +Now was the middle of night, when over half the world nature +seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse men’s minds asleep, and none +but the wolf and the murderer are abroad. This was the time when +Lady Macbeth waked to plot the murder of the king. She would not +have undertaken a deed so abhorrent to her sex but that she +feared her husband’s nature, that it was too full of the milk of +human kindness to do a contrived murder. She knew him to be +ambitious, but withal to be scrupulous, and not yet prepared for +that height of crime which commonly in the end accompanies +inordinate ambition. She had won him to consent to the murder, +but she doubted his resolution; and she feared that the natural +tenderness of his disposition (more humane than her own) would +come between and defeat the purpose. So with her own hands armed +with a dagger she approached the king’s bed, having taken care to +ply the grooms of his chamber so with wine that they slept +intoxicated and careless of their charge. There lay Duncan in a +sound sleep after the fatigues of his journey, and as she viewed +him earnestly there was something in his face, as he slept, which +resembled her own father, and she had not the courage to proceed. + +She returned to confer with her husband. His resolution had begun +to stagger. He considered that there were strong reasons against +the deed. In the first place, he was not only a subject, but a +near kinsman to the king; and he had been his host and +entertainer that day, whose duty, by the laws of hospitality, it +was to shut the door against his murderers, not bear the knife +himself. Then he considered how just and merciful a king this +Duncan had been, how clear of offense to his subjects, how loving +to his nobility, and in particular to him; that such kings are +the peculiar care of Heaven, and their subjects doubly bound to +revenge their deaths. Besides, by the favors of the king, Macbeth +stood high in the opinion of all sorts of men, and how would +those honors be stained by the reputation of so foul a murder! + +In these conflicts of the mind Lady Macbeth found her husband +inclining to the better part and resolving to proceed no further. +But she, being a woman not easily shaken from her evil purpose, +began to pour in at his ears words which infused a portion of her +own spirit into his mind, assigning reason upon reason why he +should not shrink from what he had undertaken; how easy the deed +was; how soon it would be over; and how the action of one short +night would give to all their nights and days to come sovereign +sway and royalty! Then she threw contempt on his change of +purpose, and accused him of fickleness and cowardice; and +declared that she had given suck, and knew how tender it was to +love the babe that milked her, but she would, while it was +smiling in her face, have plucked it from her breast and dashed +its brains out if she had so sworn to do it as he had sworn to +perform that murder. Then she added, how practicable it was to +lay the guilt of the deed upon the drunken, sleepy grooms. And +with the valor of her tongue she so chastised his sluggish +resolutions that he once more summoned up courage to the bloody +business. + +So, taking the dagger in his hand, he softly stole in the dark to +the room where Duncan lay; and as he went he thought he saw +another dagger in the air, with the handle toward him, and on the +blade and at the point of it drops of blood; but when be tried to +grasp at it it was nothing but air, a mere phantasm proceeding +from his own hot and oppressed brain and the business he had in +hand. + +Getting rid of this fear, he entered the king’s room, whom he +despatched with one stroke of his dagger. just as he had done the +murder one of the grooms who slept in the chamber laughed in his +sleep, and the other cried, “Murder,” which woke them both. + +But they said a short prayer; one of them said, “God less us!” + and the other answered, “Amen”; and addressed themselves to sleep +again. Macbeth, who stood listening to them, tried to say “Amen” + when the fellow said “God bless us!” but, though he had most need +of a blessing, the word stuck in his throat and he could not +pronounce it. + +Again he thought he heard a voice which cried: “Sleep no more! +Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep, that nourishes +life.” Still it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house. “Glamis +hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more, +Macbeth shall sleep no more.” + +With such horrible imaginations Macbeth returned to his listening +wife, who began to think he had failed of his purpose and that +the deed was somehow frustrated. He came in so distracted a state +that she reproached him with his want of firmness and sent him to +wash his hands of the blood which stained them, while she took +his dagger, with purpose to stain the cheeks of the grooms with +blood, to make it seem their guilt. + +Morning came, and with it the discovery of the murder, which +could not be concealed; and though Macbeth and his lady made +great show of grief, and the proofs against the grooms (the +dagger being produced against them and their faces smeared with +blood) were sufficiently strong, yet the entire suspicion fell +upon Macbeth, whose inducements to such a deed were so much more +forcible than such poor silly grooms could be supposed to have; +and Duncan’s two sons fled. Malcolm, the eldest, sought for +refuge in the English court; and the youngest, Donalbain, made +his escape to Ireland. + +The king’s sons, who should have succeeded him, having thus +vacated the throne, Macbeth as next heir was crowned king, and +thus the prediction of the weird sisters was literally +accomplished. + +Though placed so high, Macbeth and his queen could not forget the +prophecy of the weird sisters that, though Macbeth should be +king, yet not his children, but the children of Banquo, should be +kings after him. The thought of this, and that they had defiled +their hands with blood, and done so great crimes, only to place +the posterity of Banquo upon the throne, so rankled within them +that they determined to put to death both Banquo and his son, to +make void the predictions of the weird sisters, which in their +own case had been so remarkably brought to pass. + +For this purpose they made a great supper, to which they invited +all the chief thanes; and among the rest, with marks of +particular respect, Banquo and his son Fleance were invited. The +way by which Banquo was to pass to the palace at night was beset +by murderers appointed by Macbeth, who stabbed Banquo; but in the +scuffle Fleance escaped. From that Fleance descended a race of +monarchs who afterward filled the Scottish throne, ending with +James the Sixth of Scotland and the First of England, under whom +the two crowns of England and Scotland were united. + +At supper, the queen, whose manners were in the highest degree +affable and royal, played the hostess with a gracefulness and +attention which conciliated every one present, and Macbeth +discoursed freely with his thanes and nobles, saying that all +that was honorable in the country was under his roof, if he had +but his good friend Banquo present, whom yet he hoped he should +rather have to chide for neglect than to lament for any +mischance. just at these words the ghost of Banquo, whom he had +caused to be murdered, entered the room and placed himself on the +chair which Macbeth was about to occupy. Though Macbeth was a +bold man, and one that could have faced the devil without +trembling, at this horrible sight his cheeks turned white with +fear and he stood quite unmanned, with his eyes fixed upon the +ghost. His queen and all the nobles, who saw nothing, but +perceived him gazing (as they thought) upon an empty chair, took +it for a fit of distraction; and she reproached him, whispering +that it was but the same fancy which made him see the dagger in +the air when he was about to kill Duncan. But Macbeth continued +to see the ghost, and gave no heed to all they could say, while +he addressed it with distracted words, yet so significant that +his queen, fearing the dreadful secret would be disclosed, in +great haste dismissed the guests, excusing the infirmity of +Macbeth as disorder he was often troubled with. + +To such dreadful fancies Macbeth was subject. His queen and he +had their sleeps afflicted with terrible dreams, and the blood of +Banquo troubled them not more than the escape of Fleance, whom +now they looked upon as father to a line of kings who should keep +their posterity out of the throne. With these miserable thoughts +they found no peace, and Macbeth determined once more to seek out +the weird sisters and know from them the worst. + +He sought them in a cave upon the heath, where they, who knew by +foresight of his coming, were engaged in preparing their dreadful +charms by which they conjured up infernal spirits to reveal to +them futurity. Their horrid ingredients were toads, bats, and +serpents, the eye of a newt and the tongue of a dog, the leg of a +lizard and the wing of the night-owl, the scale of a dragon, the +tooth of a wolf, the maw of the ravenous salt-sea shark, the +mummy of a witch, the root of the poisonous hemlock (this to have +effect must be digged in the dark), the gall of a goat, and the +liver of a Jew, with slips of the yew-tree that roots itself in +graves, and the finger of a dead child. All these were set on to +boil in a great kettle, or caldron, which, as fast as it grew too +hot, was cooled with a baboon’s blood. To these they poured in +the blood of a sow that had eaten her young, and they threw into +the flame the grease that had sweaten from a murderer’s gibbet. +By these charms they bound the infernal spirit to answer their +questions. + +It was demanded of Macbeth whether he would have his doubts +resolved by them or by their masters, the spirits. + +He, nothing daunted by the dreadful ceremonies which be saw, +boldly answered: “Where are they? Let me see them.” + +And they called the spirits, which were three. And the first +arose in the likeness of an armed head, and he called Macbeth by +name and bid him beware of the Thane of Fife; for which caution +Macbeth thanked him; for Macbeth had entertained a jealousy of +Macduff, the Thane of Fife. + +And the second spirit arose in the likeness of a bloody child, +and he called Macbeth by name and bid him have no fear, but laugh +to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born should have +power to hurt him; and he advised him to be bloody, bold, and +resolute. + +“Then live, Macduff!” cried the king. “What need I fear thee? But +yet I will make assurance doubly sure. Thou shalt not live, that +I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, and sleep in spite of +thunder.” + +That spirit being dismissed, a third arose in the form of a child +crowned, with a tree in his hand. He called Macbeth by name and +comforted him against conspiracies, saying that he should never +be vanquished until the wood of Birnam to Dunsinane hill should +come against him. + +“Sweet bodements! good!” cried Macbeth; “who can unfix the +forest, and move it from its earth-bound roots? I see I shall +live the usual period of man’s life, and not be cut off by a +violent death. But my heart throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if +your art can tell so much, if Banquo’s issue shall ever reign in +this kingdom?” + +Here the caldron sank into the ground, and a noise of music was +heard, and eight shadows, like kings, passed by Macbeth, and +Banquo last, who bore a glass which showed the figures of many +more, and Banquo, all bloody, smiled upon Macbeth, and pointed to +them; by which Macbeth knew that these were the posterity of +Banquo, who should reign after him in Scotland; and the witches, +with a sound of soft music, and with dancing, making a show of +duty and welcome to Macbeth, vanished. And from this time the +thoughts of Macbeth were all bloody and dreadful. The first thing +he heard when he got out of the witches’ cave was that Macduff, +Thane of Fife, had fled to England to join the army which was +forming against him under Malcolm, the eldest son of the late +king, with intent to displace Macbeth and set Malcolm, the right +heir, upon the throne. Macbeth, stung with rage, set upon the +castle of Macduff and put his wife and children, whom the thane +had left behind, to the sword, and extended the slaughter to all +who claimed the least relationship to Macduff. + +These and such-like deeds alienated the minds of all his chief +nobility from him. Such as could fled to join with Malcolm and +Macduff, who were now approaching with a powerful army which they +had raised in England; and the rest secretly wished success to +their arms, though, for fear of Macbeth, they could take no +active part. His recruits went on slowly. Everybody hated the +tyrant; nobody loved or honored him; but all suspected him; and +he began to envy the condition of Duncan, whom he had murdered, +who slept soundly in his grave, against whom treason had done its +worst. Steel nor poison, domestic malice nor foreign levies, +could hurt him any longer. + +While these things were acting, the queen, who had been the sole +partner in his wickedness, in whose bosom he could sometimes seek +a momentary repose from those terrible dreams which afflicted +them both nightly, died, it is supposed, by her own hands, unable +to bear the remorse of guilt and public hate; by which event he +was left alone, without a soul to love or care for him, or a +friend to whom he could confide his wicked purposes. + +He grew careless of life and wished for death; but the near +approach of Malcolm’s army roused in him what remained of his +ancient courage, and he determined to die (as he expressed it) +“with armor on his back.” Besides this, the hollow promises of +the witches had filled him with a false confidence, and he +remembered the sayings of the spirits, that none of woman born +was to hurt him, and that he was never to be vanquished till +Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane, which he thought could +never be. So he shut himself up in his castle, whose impregnable +strength was such as defied a siege. Here he sullenly waited the +approach of Malcolm. When, upon a day, there came a messenger to +him, pale and shaking with fear, almost unable to report that +which he had seen; for he averred, that as he stood upon his +watch on the hill he looked toward Birnam, and to his thinking +the wood began to move! + +“Liar and slave!” cried Macbeth. “If thou speakest false, thou +shalt hang alive upon the next tree, till famine end thee. If thy +tale be true, I care not if thou dost as much by me”; for Macbeth +now began to faint in resolution, and to doubt the equivocal +speeches of the spirits. He was not to fear till Birnam wood +should come to Dunsinane; and now a wood did move! “However,” + said he, “if this which he avouches be true, let us arm and out. +There is no flying hence, nor staying here. I begin to be weary +of the sun, and wish my life at an end.” With these desperate +speeches he sallied forth upon the besiegers, who had now come up +to the castle. + +The strange appearance which had given the messenger an idea of a +wood moving is easily solved. When the besieging army marched +through the wood of Birnam, Malcolm, like a skilful general, +instructed his soldiers to hew down every one a bough and bear it +before him, by way of concealing the true numbers of his host. +This marching of the soldiers with boughs had at a distance the +appearance which had frightened the messenger. Thus were the +words of the spirit brought to pass, in a sense different from +that in which Macbeth had understood them, and one great hold of +his confidence was gone. + +And now a severe skirmishing took place, in which Macbeth, though +feebly supported by those who called themselves his friends, but +in reality hated the tyrant and inclined to the party of Malcolm +and Macduff, yet fought with the extreme of rage and valor, +cutting to pieces all who were opposed to him, till he came to +where Macduff was fighting. Seeing Macduff, and remembering the +caution of the spirit who had counseled him to avoid Macduff, +above all men, he would have turned, but Macduff, who had been +seeking him through the whole fight, opposed his turning, and a +fierce contest ensued, Macduff giving him many foul reproaches +for the murder of his wife and children. Macbeth, whose soul was +charged enough with blood of that family already, would still +have declined the combat; but Macduff still urged him to it, +calling him tyrant, murderer, hell-hound, and villain. + +Then Macbeth remembered the words of the spirit, how none of +woman born should hurt him; and, smiling confidently, he said to +Macduff: + +“Thou losest thy labor, Macduff. As easily thou mayest impress +the air with thy sword as make me vulnerable. I bear a charmed +life, which must not yield to one of woman born.” + +“Despair thy charm,” said Macduff, “and let that lying spirit +whom thou hast served tell thee that Macduff was never born of +woman, never as the ordinary manner of men is to be born, but was +untimely taken from his mother.” + +“Accursed be the tongue which tells me so,” said the trembling +Macbeth, who felt his last hold of confidence give way; “and let +never man in future believe the lying equivocations of witches +and juggling spirits who deceive us in words which have double +senses, and, while they keep their promise literally, disappoint +our hopes with a different meaning. I will not fight with thee.” + +“Then live!” said the scornful Macduff. “We will have a show of +thee, as men show monsters, and a painted board, on which all be +written, ‘Here men may see the tyrant!’” + +“Never,” said Macbeth, whose courage returned with despair. “I +will not live to kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet to +be baited with the curses of the rabble. Though Birnam wood be +come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed to me, who wast born of +woman, yet will I try the last.” + +With these frantic words he threw himself upon Macduff, who, +after a severe struggle, in the end overcame him, and, cutting +off his head, made a present of it to the young and lawful king, +Malcolm, who took upon him the government which, by the +machinations of the usurper, he had so long been deprived of, and +ascended the throne of Duncan the Meek among the acclamations of +the nobles and the people. + + + + +ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL + + +Bertram, Count of Rousillon, had newly come to his title and +estate by the death of his father. The King of France loved the +father of Bertram, and when he heard of his death he sent for his +son to come immediately to his royal court in Paris, intending, +for the friendship he bore the late count, to grace young Bertram +with his especial favor and protection. + +Bertram was living with his mother, the widowed countess, when +Lafeu, an old lord of the French court, came to conduct him to +the king. The King of France was an absolute monarch and the +invitation to court was in the form of a royal mandate, or +positive command, which no subject, of what high dignity soever, +might disobey; therefore, though the countess, in parting with +this dear son, seemed a second time to bury her husband, whose +loss she had so lately mourned, yet she dared not to keep him a +single day, but gave instant orders for his departure. Lafeu, who +came to fetch him, tried to comfort the countess for the loss of +her late lord and her son’s sudden absence; and he said, in a +courtier’s flattering manner, that the king was so kind a prince, +she would find in his Majesty a husband, and that he would be a +father to her son; meaning only that the good king would befriend +the fortunes of Bertram. Lafeu told the countess that the king +had fallen into a sad malady, which was pronounced by his +physicians to be incurable. The lady expressed great sorrow on +hearing this account of the king’s ill health, and said she +wished the father of Helena (a young gentlewoman who was present +in attendance upon her) were living that she doubted not he could +have cured his Majesty of his disease. And she told Lafeu +something of the history of Helena, saying she was the only +daughter of the famous physician, Gerard de Narbon, and that he +had recommended his daughter to her care when he was dying, so +that since his death she had taken Helena under her protection; +then the countess praised the virtuous disposition and excellent +qualities of Helena, saying she inherited these virtues from her +worthy father. While she was speaking, Helena wept in sad and +mournful silence, which made the countess gently reprove her for +too much grieving for her father’s death. + +Bertram now bade his mother farewell. The countess parted with +this dear son with tears and many blessings, and commended him to +the care of Lafeu, saying: + +“Good my lord, advise him, for he is an unseasoned courtier.” + +Bertram’s last words were spoken to Helena, but they were words +of mere civility, wishing her happiness; and he concluded his +short farewell to her with saying: + +“Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of +her.” + +Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she wept in sad and +mournful silence the tears she shed were not for Gerard de +Narbon.. Helena loved her father, but in the present feeling of a +deeper love, the object of which she was about to lose, she had +forgotten the very form and features of her dead father, her +imagination presenting no image to her mind but Bertram’s. + +Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always remembered that he +was the Count of Rousillon, descended from the most ancient +family in France. She of humble birth. Her parents of no note at +all. His ancestors all noble. And therefore she looked up to the +high-born Bertram as to her master and to her dear lord, and +dared not form any wish but to live his servant, and, so living, +to die his vassal. So great the distance seemed to her between +his height of dignity and her lowly fortunes that she would say: + +“It were all one that I should love a bright particular star, and +think to wed it, Bertram is so far above me.” + +Bertram’s absence filled her eyes with tears and her heart with +sorrow; for though she loved without hope, yet it was a pretty +comfort to her to see him every hour, and Helena would sit and +look upon his dark eye, his arched brow, and the curls of his +fine hair till she seemed to draw his portrait on the tablet of +her heart, that heart too capable of retaining the memory of +every line in the features of that loved face. + +Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no other portion than +some prescriptions of rare and well-proved virtue, which, by deep +study and long experience in medicine, he had collected as +sovereign and almost infallible remedies. Among the rest there +was one set down as an approved medicine for the disease under +which Lafeu said the king at that time languished; and when +Helena heard of the king’s complaint, she, who till now had been +so humble and so hopeless, formed an ambitious project in her +mind to go herself to Paris and undertake the cure of the king. +But though Helena was the possessor of this choice prescription, +it was unlikely, as the king as well as his physicians was of +opinion that his disease was incurable, that they would give +credit to a poor unlearned virgin if she should offer to perform +a cure. The firm hopes that Helena had of succeeding, if she +might be permitted to make the trial, seemed more than even her +father’s skill warranted, though he was the most famous physician +of his time; for she felt a strong faith that this good medicine +was sanctified by all the luckiest stars in heaven to be the +legacy that should advance her fortune, even to the high dignity +of being Count Rousillon’s wife. + +Bertram had not been long gone when the countess was informed by +her steward that he had overheard Helena talking to herself, and +that he understood, from some words she uttered, she was in love +with Bertram and thought of following him to Paris. The countess +dismissed the steward with thanks, and desired him to tell Helena +she wished to speak with her. What she had just heard of Helena +brought the remembrance of days long past into the mind of the +countess; those days, probably, when her love for Bertram’s +father first began; and she said to herself: + +“Even so it was with me when I was young. Love is a thorn that +belongs to the rose of youth; for in the season of youth, if ever +we are Nature’s children, these faults are ours, though then we +think not they are faults.” + +While the countess was thus meditating on the loving errors of +her own youth, Helena entered, and she said to her, “Helena, you +know I am a mother to you.” + +Helena replied, “You are my honorable mistress.” + +“You are my daughter,” said the countess again. “I say I am your +mother. Why do you start and look pale at my words?” + +With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, fearing the countess +suspected her love, Helena still replied, “Pardon me, madam, you +are not my mother; the Count Rousillon cannot be my brother, nor +I your daughter.” + +“Yet, Helena,” said the countess, “you might be my +daughter-in-law; and I am afraid that is what you mean to be, the +words MOTHER and DAUGHTER so disturb you. Helena, do you love my +son?” + +“Good madam, pardon me,” said the affrighted Helena. + +Again the countess repeated her question. “Do you love my son?” + +“Do not you love him, madam?” said Helena. + +The countess replied: “Give me not this evasive answer, Helena. +Come, come, disclose the state of your affections, for your love +has to the full appeared.” + +Helena, on her knees now, owned her love, and with shame and +terror implored the pardon of her noble mistress; and with words +expressive of the sense she had of the inequality between their +fortunes she protested Bertram did not know she loved him, +comparing her humble, unaspiring love to a poor Indian who adores +the sun that looks upon his worshiper but knows of him no more. +The countess asked Helena if she had not lately an intent to go +to Paris. Helena owned the design she had formed in her mind when +she heard Lafeu speak of the king’s illness. + +“This was your motive for wishing to go to Paris,” said the +countess, “was it? Speak truly.” + +Helena honestly answered, “My lord your son made me to think of +this; else Paris. and the medicine and the king had from the +conversation of my thoughts been absent then.” + +The countess heard the whole of this confession without saying a +word either of approval or of blame, but she strictly questioned +Helena as to the probability of the medicine being useful to the +king. She found that it was the most prized by Gerard de Narbon +of all he possessed, and that he had given it to his daughter on +his death-bed; and remembering the solemn promise she had made at +that awful hour in regard to this young maid, whose destiny, and +the life of the king himself, seemed to depend on the execution +of a project (which, though conceived by the fond suggestions of +a loving maiden’s thoughts, the countess knew not but it might be +the unseen workings of Providence to bring to pass the recovery +of the king and to lay the foundation of the future fortunes of +Gerard de Narbon’s daughter), free leave she gave to Helena to +pursue her own way, and generously furnished her with ample means +and suitable attendants; and Helena set out for Paris with the +blessings of the countess and her kindest wishes for her success. + +Helena arrived at Paris, and by the assistance of her friend, the +old Lord Lafeu, she obtained an audience of the king. She had +still many difficulties to encounter, for the king was not easily +prevailed on to try the medicine offered him by this fair young +doctor. But she told him she was Gerard de Narbon’s daughter +(with whose fame the king was well acquainted), and she offered +the precious medicine as the darling treasure which contained the +essence of all her father’s long experience and skill, and she +boldly engaged to forfeit her life if it failed to restore his +Majesty to perfect health in the space of two days. The king at +length consented to try it, and in two days’ time Helena was to +lose her fife if the king did not recover; but if she succeeded, +he promised to give her the choice of any man throughout all +France (the princes only excepted) whom she could like for a +husband; the choice of a husband being the fee Helena demanded if +she cured the king of his disease. + +Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she conceived of the +efficacy of her father’s medicine. Before two days were at an +end the king was restored to perfect health, and he assembled all +the young noblemen of his court together, in order to confer the +promised reward of a husband upon his fair physician; and he +desired Helena to look round on this youthful parcel of noble +bachelors and choose her husband. Helena was not slow to make her +choice, for among these young lords she saw the Count Rousillon, +and, turning to Bertram, she said: + +“This is the man. I dare not say, my lord, I take you, but I give +me and my service ever whilst I live into your guiding power.” + +“Why, then,” said the king, “young Bertram, take her; she is your +wife.” + +Bertram did not hesitate to declare his dislike to this present +of the king’s of the self-offered Helena, who, he said, was a +poor physician’s daughter, bred at his father’s charge, and now +living a dependent on his mother’s bounty. + +Helena heard him speak these words of rejection and of scorn, and +she said to the king: “That you are well, my lord, I am glad. Let +the rest go.” + +But the king would not suffer his royal command to be so +slighted, for the power of bestowing their nobles in marriage was +one of the many privileges of the kings of France, and that same +day Bertram was married to Helena, a forced and uneasy marriage +to Bertram, and of no promising hope to the poor lady, who, +though she gained the noble husband she had hazarded her life to +obtain, seemed to have won but a splendid blank, her husband’s +love not being a gift in the power of the King of France to +bestow. + +Helena was no sooner married than she was desired by Bertram to +apply to the king for him for leave of absence from court; and +when she brought him the king’s permission for his departure, +Bertram told her that he was not prepared for this sudden +marriage, it had much unsettled him, and therefore she must not +wonder at the course he should pursue. If Helena wondered not, +she grieved when she found it was his intention to leave her. He +ordered her to go home to his mother. When Helena heard this +unkind command, she replied: + +“Sir, I can nothing say to this but that I am your most obedient +servant, and shall ever with true observance seek to eke out that +desert wherein my homely stars have failed to equal my great +fortunes.” + +But this humble speech of Helena’s did not at all move the +haughty Bertram to pity his gentle wife, and he parted from her +without even the common civility of a kind farewell. + +Back to the countess then Helena returned. She had accomplished +the purport of her journey, she had preserved the life of the +king, and she had wedded her heart’s dear lord, the Count +Rousillon; but she returned back a dejected lady to her noble +mother-in-law, and as soon as she entered the house she received +a letter from Bertram which almost broke her heart. + +The good countess received her with a cordial welcome, as if she +had been her son’s own choice and a lady of a high degree, and +she spoke kind words to comfort her for the unkind neglect of +Bertram in sending his wife home on her bridal day alone. But +this gracious reception failed to cheer the sad mind of Helena, +and she said: + +“Madam, my lord is gone, forever gone.” She then read these words +out of Bertram’s letter: + +“When you can get the ring from my finger, which never shall come +off, then call me husband, but in such a Then I write a Never.” + +“This is a dreadful sentence!” said Helena. + +The countess begged her to have patience, and said, now Bertram +was gone, she should be her child and that she deserved a lord +that twenty such rude boys as Bertram might tend upon, and hourly +call her mistress. But in vain by respectful condescension and +kind flattery this matchless mother tried to soothe the sorrows +of her daughter-in-law. + +Helena still kept her eyes fixed upon the letter, and cried out +in an agony of grief, “TILL I HAVE NO WIFE, I HAVE NOTHING IN +FRANCE.” The countess asked her if she found those words in the +letter. + +“Yes, madam,” was all poor Helena could answer. + +The next morning Helena was missing. She left a letter to be +delivered to the countess after she was gone, to acquaint her +with the reason of her sudden absence. In this letter she +informed her that she was so much grieved at having driven +Bertram from his native country and his home, that to atone for +her offense, she had undertaken a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. +Jaques le Grand, and concluded with requesting the countess to +inform her son that the wife he so hated had left his house +forever. + +Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence, and there became +an officer in the Duke of Florence’s army, and after a successful +war, in which he distinguished himself by many brave actions, +Bertram received letters from his mother containing the +acceptable tidings that Helena would no more disturb him; and he +was preparing to return home, when Helena herself, clad in her +pilgrim’s weeds, arrived at the city of Florence. + +Florence was a city through which the pilgrims used to pass on +their way to St. Jaques le Grand; and when Helena arrived at this +city she heard that a hospitable widow dwelt there who used to +receive into her house the female pilgrims that were going to +visit the shrine of that saint, giving them lodging and kind +entertainment. To this good lady, therefore, Helena went, and the +widow gave her a courteous welcome and invited her to see +whatever was curious in that famous city, and told her that if +she would like to see the duke’s army she would take her where +she might have a full view of it. + +“And you will see a countryman of yours,” said the widow. “His +name is Count Rousillon, who has done worthy service in the +duke’s wars.” Helena wanted no second invitation, when she found +Bertram was to make part of the show. She accompanied her +hostess; and a sad and mournful pleasure it was to her to look +once more upon her dear husband’s face. + +“Is he not a handsome man?” said the widow. + +“I like him well,” replied Helena, with great truth. + +All the way they walked the talkative widow’s discourse was all +of Bertram. She told Helena the story of Bertram’s marriage, and +how he had deserted the poor lady his wife and entered into the +duke’s army to avoid living with her. To this account of her own +misfortunes Helena patiently listened, and when it was ended the +history of Bertram was not yet done, for then the widow began +another tale, every word of which sank deep into the mind of +Helena; for the story she now told was of Bertram’s love for her +daughter. + +Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced on him by the +king, it seems he was not insensible to love, for since he had +been stationed with the army at Florence he had fallen in love +with Diana, a fair young gentlewoman, the daughter of this widow +who was Helena’s hostess; and every night, with music of all +sorts, and songs composed in praise of Diana’s beauty, he would +come under her window and solicit her love; and all his suit to +her was that she would permit him to visit her by stealth after +the family were retired to rest. But Diana would by no means be +persuaded to grant this improper request, nor give any +encouragement to his suit, knowing him to be a married man; for +Diana had been brought up under the counsels of a prudent mother, +who, though she was now in reduced circumstances, was well born +and descended from the noble family of the Capulets. + +All this the good lady related to Helena, highly praising the +virtuous principles of her discreet daughter, which she said were +entirely owing to the excellent education and good advice she had +given her; and she further said that Bertram had been +particularly importunate with Diana to admit him to the visit he +so much desired that night, because he was going to leave +Florence early the next morning. + +Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram’s love for the +widow’s daughter, yet from this story the ardent mind of Helena +conceived a project (nothing discouraged at the ill success of +her former one) to recover her truant lord. She disclosed to the +widow that she was Helena, the deserted wife of Bertram, and +requested that her kind hostess and her daughter would suffer +this visit from Bertram to take place, and allow her to pass +herself upon Bertram for Diana, telling them her chief motive for +desiring to have this secret meeting with her husband was to get +a ring from him, which, he had said, if ever she was in +possession of he would acknowledge her as his wife. + +The widow and her daughter promised to assist her in this affair, +partly moved by pity for this unhappy, forsaken wife and partly +won over to her interest by the promises of reward which Helena +made them, giving them a purse of money in earnest of her future +favor. In the course of that day Helena caused information to be +sent to Bertram that she was dead, hoping that, when he thought +himself free to make a second choice by the news of her death, he +would offer marriage to her in her feigned character of Diana. +And if she could obtain the ring and this promise, too, she +doubted not she should make some future good come of it. + +In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was admitted into +Diana’s chamber, and Helena was there ready to receive him. The +flattering compliments and love discourse he addressed to Helena +were precious sounds to her though she knew they were meant for +Diana; and Bertram was so well pleased with her that he made her +a solemn promise to be her husband, and to love her forever; +which she hoped would be prophetic of a real affection, when he +should know it was his own wife, the despised Helena, whose +conversation had so delighted him. + +Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena was, else perhaps +he would not have been so regardless of her; and seeing her every +day, he had entirely over looked her beauty; a face we are +accustomed to see constantly losing the effect which is caused by +the first sight either of beauty or of plainness; and of her +understanding it was impossible he should judge, because she felt +such reverence, mixed with her love for him, that she was always +silent in his presence. But now that her future fate, and the +happy ending of all her love-projects, seemed to depend on her +leaving a favorable impression on the mind of Bertram from this +night’s interview, she exerted all her wit to please him; and the +simple graces of her lively conversation and the endearing +sweetness of her manners so charmed Bertram that be vowed she +should be his wife. Helena begged the ring from off his finger as +a token of his regard, and he gave it to her; and in return for +this ring, which it was of such importance to her to possess, she +gave him another ring, which was one the king had made her a +present of. Before it was light in the morning she sent Bertram +away; and he immediately set out on his journey toward his +mother’s house. + +Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to accompany her to +Paris, their further assistance being necessary to the full +accomplishment of the plan she had formed. When they arrived +there, they found the king was gone upon a visit to the Countess +of Rousillon, and Helena followed the king with all the speed she +could make. + +The king was still in perfect health, and his gratitude to her +who had been the means of his recovery was so lively in his mind +that the moment he saw the Countess of Rousillon he began to talk +of Helena, calling her a precious jewel that was lost by the +folly of her son; but seeing the subject distressed the countess, +who sincerely lamented the death of Helena, he said: + +“My good lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all.” + +But the good-natured old Lafeu, who was present, and could not +bear that the memory of his favorite Helena should be so lightly +passed over, said, “This I must say, the young lord did great +offense to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady; but to himself +he did the greatest wrong of all, for he has lost a wife whose +beauty astonished all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, +whose deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve her.” + +The king said: “Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear. +Well--call him hither”; meaning Bertram, who now presented +himself before the king, and on his expressing deep sorrow for +the injuries he had done to Helena the king, for his dead +father’s and his admirable mother’s sake, pardoned him and +restored him once more to his favor. But the gracious countenance +of the king was soon changed toward him, for he perceived that +Bertram wore the very ring upon his finger which he had given to +Helena; and he well remembered that Helena had called all the +saints in heaven to witness she would never part with that ring +unless she sent it to the king himself upon some great disaster +befalling her; and Bertram, on the king’s questioning him how he +came by the ring, told an improbable story of a lady throwing it +to him out of a window, and denied ever having seen Helena since +the day of their marriage. The king, knowing Bertram’s dislike to +his wife, feared he had destroyed her, and he ordered his guards +to seize Bertram, saying: + +“I am wrapt in dismal thinking, for I fear the life of Helena was +foully snatched.” + +At this moment Diana and her mother entered and presented a +petition to the king, wherein they begged his Majesty to exert +his royal power to compel Bertram to marry Diana, he having made +her a solemn promise of marriage. Bertram, fearing the king’s +anger, denied he had made any such promise; and then Diana +produced the ring (which Helena had put into her hands) to +confirm the truth of her words; and she said that she had given +Bertram the ring he then wore, in exchange for that, at the time +he vowed to marry her. On hearing this the king ordered the +guards to seize her also; and, her account of the ring differing +from Bertram’s, the king’s suspicions were confirmed, and he said +if they did not confess how they came by this ring of Helena’s +they should be both put to death. Diana requested her mother +might be permitted to fetch the jeweler of whom she bought the +ring, which, being granted, the widow went out, and presently +returned, leading in Helena herself. + +The good countess, who in silent grief had beheld her son’s +danger, and had even dreaded that the suspicion of his having +destroyed his wife might possibly be true, finding her dear +Helena, whom she loved with even a maternal affection, was still +living, felt a delight she was hardly able to support; and the +king, scarce believing for joy that it was Helena, said: + +“Is this indeed the wife of Bertram that I see?” + +Helena, feeling herself yet an unacknowledged wife, replied, “No, +my good lord, it is but the shadow of a wife you see; the name +and not the thing.” + +Bertram cried out: “Both, both! Oh pardon!” + +“O my lord,” said Helena, “when I personated this fair maid I +found you wondrous kind; and look, here is your letter!” reading +to him in a joyful tone those words which she had once repeated +so sorrowfully, “WHEN FROM MY FINGER YOU CAN GET THIS RING--This +is done; it was to me you gave the ring. Will you be mine, now +you are doubly won?” + +Bertram replied, “If you can make it plain that you were the lady +I talked with that night I will love you dearly, ever, ever +dearly.” + +This was no difficult task, for the widow and Diana came with +Helena to prove this fact; and the king was so well pleased with +Diana for the friendly assistance she had rendered the dear lady +he so truly valued for the service she had done him that he +promised her also a noble husband, Helena’s history giving him a +hint that it was a suitable reward for kings to bestow upon fair +ladies when they perform notable services. + +Thus Helena at last found that her father’s legacy was indeed +sanctified by the luckiest stars in heaven; for she was now the +beloved wife of her dear Bertram, the daughter-in-law of her +noble mistress, and herself the Countess of Rousillon. + + + + +TAMING OF THE SHREW + + +Katharine, the Shrew, was the eldest daughter of Baptista, a rich +gentleman of Padua. She was a lady of such an ungovernable spirit +and fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold, that she was known +in Padua by no other name than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed +very unlikely, indeed impossible, that any gentleman would ever +be found who would venture to marry this lady, and therefore +Baptista was much blamed for deferring his consent to many +excellent offers that were made to her gentle sister Bianca, +putting off all Bianca’s suitors with this excuse, that when the +eldest sister was fairly off his bands they should have free +leave to address young Bianca. + +It happened, however, that a gentleman, named Petruchio, came to +Padua purposely to look out for a wife, who, nothing discouraged +by these reports of Katharine’s temper, and hearing she was rich +and handsome, resolved upon marrying this famous termagant, and +taming her into a meek and manageable wife. And truly none was so +fit to set about this herculean labor as Petruchio, whose spirit +was as high as Katharine’s, and he was a witty and most +happy-tempered humorist, and withal so wise, and of such a true +judgment, that he well knew how to feign a passionate and furious +deportment when his spirits were so calm that himself could have +laughed merrily at his own angry feigning, for his natural temper +was careless and easy; the boisterous airs he assumed when he +became the husband of Katharine being but in sport, or, more +properly speaking, affected by his excellent discernment, as the +only means to overcome, in her own way, the passionate ways of +the furious Katharine. + +A-courting, then, Petruchio went to Katharine the Shrew; and +first of all he applied to Baptista, her father, for leave to woo +his GENTLE DAUGHTER Katharine, as Petruchio called her, saying, +archly, that, having heard of her bashful modesty and mild +behavior, he had come from Verona to solicit her love. Her +father, though he wished her married, was forced to confess +Katharine would ill answer this character, it being soon apparent +of what manner of gentleness she was composed, for her +music-master rushed into the room to complain that the gentle +Katharine, his pupil, had broken his head with her lute for +presuming to find fault with her performance; which, when +Petruchio heard, he said: + +“It is a brave wench. I love her more than ever, and long to have +some chat with her.” And hurrying the old gentleman for a +positive answer, he said: “My business is in haste, Signor +Baptista. I cannot come every day to woo. You knew my father. He +is dead, and has left me heir to all his lands and goods. Then +tell me, if I get your daughter’s love, what dowry you will give +with her.” + +Baptista thought his manner was somewhat blunt for a lover; but, +being glad to get Katharine married, he answered that he would +give her twenty thousand crowns for her dowry, and half his +estate at his death. So this odd match was quickly agreed on and +Baptista went to apprise his shrewish daughter of her lover’s +addresses, and sent her in to Petruchio to listen to his suit. + +In the mean time Petruchio was settling with himself the mode of +courtship be should pursue; and he said: “I will woo her with +some spirit when she comes. If she rails at me, why, then I will +tell her she sings as sweetly as a nightingale; and if she +frowns, I will say she looks as clear as roses newly washed with +dew. If she will not speak a word, I will praise the eloquence of +her language; and if she bids me leave her, I will give her +thanks as if she bid me stay with her a week.” + +Now the stately Katharine entered, and Petruchio first addressed +her with: + +“Good morrow, Kate, for that is your name, I hear.” + +Katharine, not liking this plain salutation, said, disdainfully, +“They call me Katharine who do speak to me.” + +“You lie,” replied the lover; “for you are called plain Kate, and +bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the Shrew; but, Kate, you are the +prettiest Kate in Christendom, and therefore, Kate, hearing your +mildness praised in every town, I am come to woo you for my +wife.” + +A strange courtship they made of it. She in loud and angry terms +showing him how justly she had gained the name of Shrew, while he +still praised her sweet and courteous words, till at length, +hearing her father coming, he said (intending to make as quick a +wooing as possible): + +“Sweet Katharine, let us set this idle chat aside, for your +father has consented that you shall be my wife, your dowry is +agreed on, and whether you will or no I will marry you.” + +And now Baptista entering, Petruchio told him his daughter had +received him kindly and that she had promised to be married the +next Sunday. This Katharine denied, saying she would rather see +him hanged on Sunday, and reproached her father for wishing to +wed her to such a madcap ruffian as Petruchio. Petruchio desired +her father not to regard her angry words, for they had agreed she +should seem reluctant before him, but that when they were alone +he had found her very fond and loving; and he said to her: + +“Give me your hand, Kate. I will go to Venice to buy you apparel +against our wedding-day. Provide the feast, father, bid the +wedding guests. I will be sure to bring rings, fine array, and +rich clothes, that my Katharine may be fine. And kiss me, Kate, +for we will be married on Sunday.” + +On the Sunday all the wedding guests were assembled, but they +waited long before Petruchio came, and Katharine wept for +vexation to think that Petruchio had only been making a jest of +her. At last, however, he appeared; but he brought none of the +bridal finery be had promised Katharine, nor was he dressed +himself like a bridegroom, but in strange, disordered attire, as +if he meant to make a sport of the serious business he came +about; and his servant and the very horses on which they rode +were in like manner in mean and fantastic fashion habited. + +Petruchio could not be persuaded to change his dress. He said +Katharine was to be married to him, and not to his clothes. And, +finding it was in vain to argue with him, to the church they +went, he still behaving in the same mad way, for when the priest +asked Petruchio if Katharine should be his wife, he swore so loud +that she should, that, all amazed, the priest let fall his book, +and as he stooped to take it up this mad-brained bridegroom gave +him such a cuff that down fell the priest and his book again. And +all the while they were being married he stamped and swore so +that the high-spirited Katharine trembled and shook with fear. +After the ceremony was over, while they were yet in the church, +he called for wine, and drank a loud health to the company, and +threw a sop which was at the bottom of the glass full in the +sexton’s face, giving no other reason for this strange act than +that the sexton’s beard grew thin and hungerly, and seemed to ask +the sop as he was drinking. Never sure was there such a mad +marriage; but Petruchio did but put this wildness on the better +to succeed in the plot he had formed to tame his shrewish wife. + +Baptista had provided a sumptuous marriage feast, but when they +returned from church, Petruchio, taking hold of Katharine, +declared his intention of carrying his wife home instantly, and +no remonstrance of his father-in-law, or angry words of the +enraged Katharine, could make him change his purpose. He claimed +a husband’s right to dispose of his wife as he pleased, and away +he hurried Katharine off; he seeming so daring and resolute that +no one dared attempt to stop him. + +Petruchio mounted his wife upon a miserable horse, lean and lank, +which he had picked out for the purpose, and, himself and his +servant no better mounted, they journeyed on through rough and +miry ways, and ever when this horse of Katharine’s stumbled he +would storm and swear at the poor jaded beast, who could scarce +crawl under his burthen, as if he had been the most passionate +man alive. + +At length, after a weary journey, during which Katharine had +heard nothing but the wild ravings of Petruchio at the servant +and the horses, they arrived at his house. Petruchio welcomed her +kindly to her home, but he resolved she should have neither rest +nor food that night. The tables were spread, and supper soon +served; but Petruchio, pretending to find fault with every dish, +threw the meat about the floor, and ordered the servants to +remove it away; and all this he did, as he said, in love for his +Katharine, that she might not eat meat that was not well dressed. +And when Katharine, weary and supperless, retired to rest, he +found the same fault with the bed, throwing the pillows and +bedclothes about the room, so that she was forced to sit down in +a chair, where, if, she chanced to drop asleep, she was presently +awakened by the loud voice of her husband storming at the +servants for the ill-making of his wife’s bridal-bed. + +The next day Petruchio pursued the same course, still speaking +kind words to Katharine, but, when she attempted to eat, finding +fault with everything that was set before her, throwing the +breakfast on the floor as he had done the supper; and Katharine, +the haughty Katharine, was fain to beg the servants would bring +her secretly a morsel of food; but they, being instructed by +Petruchio, replied they dared not give her anything unknown to +their master. + +“Ah,” said she, “did he marry me to famish me? Beggars that come +to my father’s door have food given them. But I, who never knew +what it was to entreat for anything, am starved for want of food, +giddy for want of sleep, with oaths kept waking, and with +brawling fed; and that which vexes me more than all, he does it +under the name of perfect love, pretending that if I sleep or +eat, it were present death to me.” + +Here the soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of Petruchio. +He, not meaning she should be quite starved, had brought her a +small portion of meat, and he said to her: + +“How fares my sweet Kate? Here, love, you see how diligent I am. +I have dressed your meat myself. I am sure this kindness merits +thanks. What, not a word? Nay, then you love not the meat, and +all the pains I have taken is to no purpose.” He then ordered the +servant to take the dish away. + +Extreme hunger, which had abated the pride of Katharine, made her +say, though angered to the heart, “I pray you let it stand.” + +But this was not all Petruchio intended to bring her to, and he +replied, “The poorest service is repaid with thanks, and so shall +mine before you touch the meat.” + +On this Katharine brought out a reluctant “I thank you, sir.” + +And now he suffered her to make a slender meal, saying: “Much +good may it do your gentle heart, Kate. Eat apace! And now, my +honey love, we will return to your father’s house and revel it as +bravely as the best, with silken coats and caps and golden rings, +with ruffs and scarfs and fans and double change of finery.” And +to make her believe be really intended to give her these gay +things, he called in a tailor and a haberdasher, who brought some +new clothes he had ordered for her, and then, giving her plate to +the servant to take away, before she had half satisfied her +hunger, he said: + +“What, have you dined?” + +The haberdasher presented a cap, saying, “Here is the cap your +worship bespoke.” On which Petruchio began to storm afresh, +saying the cap was molded in a porringer and that it was no +bigger than a cockle or walnut shell, desiring the haberdasher to +take it away and make it bigger. + +Katharine said, “I will have this; all gentlewomen wear such caps +as these.” + +“When you are gentle,” replied Petruchio, “you shall have one, +too, and not till then.” + +The meat Katharine had eaten had a little revived her fallen +spirits, and she said: “Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to +speak, and speak I will. I am no child, no babe. Your betters +have endured to hear me say my mind; and if you cannot, you had +better stop your ears.” + +Petruchio would not hear these angry words, for he had happily +discovered a better way of managing his wife than keeping up a +jangling argument with her; therefore his answer was: + +“Why, you say true; it is a paltry cap, and I love you for not +liking it.” + +“Love me, or love me not,” said Katharine, “I like the cap, and I +will have this cap or none.” + +“You say you wish to see the gown,” said Petruchio, still +affecting to misunderstand her. + +The tailor then came forward and showed her a fine gown he had +made for her. Petruchio, whose intent was that she should have +neither cap nor gown, found as much fault with that. + +“Oh, mercy, Heaven!” said he, “what stuff is here! What, do you +call this a sleeve? it is like a demi-cannon, carved up and down +like an apple tart.” + +The tailor said, “You bid me make it according to the fashion of +the times”; and Katharine said she never saw a better-fashioned +gown. This was enough for Petruchio, and privately desiring these +people might be paid for their goods, and excuses made to them +for the seemingly strange treatment he bestowed upon them, he +with fierce words and furious gestures drove the tailor and the +haberdasher out of the room; and then, turning to Katharine, he +said: + +“Well, come, my Kate, we will go to your father’s even in these +mean garments we now wear.” + +And then he ordered his horses, affirming they should reach +Baptista’s house by dinner-time, for that it was but seven +o’clock. Now it was not early morning, but the very middle of the +day, when he spoke this; therefore Katharine ventured to say, +though modestly, being almost overcome by the vehemence of his +manner: + +“I dare assure you, sir, it is two o’clock, and will be +suppertime before we get there.” + +But Petruchio meant that she should be so completely subdued that +she should assent to everything he said before he carried her to +her father; and therefore, as if he were lord even of the sun and +could command the hours, he said it. should be what time he +pleased to have it, before beset forward. “For,” he said, +“whatever I say or do, you still are crossing it. I will not go +to-day, and when I go, it shall be what o’clock I say it is.” + +Another day Katharine was forced to practise her newly found +obedience, and not till he had brought her proud spirit to such a +perfect subjection that she dared not remember there was such a +word as contradiction would Petruchio allow her to go to her +father’s house; and even while they were upon their journey +thither she was in danger of being turned back again, only +because she happened to hint it was the sun when he affirmed the +moon shone brightly at noonday. + +“Now, by my mother’s son,” said be, “and that is myself, it shall +be the moon, or stars, or what I list, before I journey to your +father’s house.” He then made as if he were going back again. But +Katharine, no longer Katharine the Shrew, but the obedient wife, +said, “Let us go forward, I pray, now we have come so far, and it +shall be the sun, or moon, or what you please; and if you please +to call it a rush candle henceforth, I vow it shall be so for +me.” + +This he was resolved to prove, therefore he said again, “I say it +is the moon.” + +“I know it is the moon,” replied Katharine. + +“You lie. It is the blessed sun,” said Petruchio. + +“Then it is the blessed sun,” replied Katharine; “but sun it is +not when you say it is not. What you will have it named, even so +it is, and so it ever shall be for Katharine.” + +Now then he suffered her to proceed on her journey; but further +to try if this yielding humor would last, he addressed an old +gentleman they met on the road as if he had been a young woman, +saying to him, “Good morrow, gentle mistress”; and asked +Katharine if she had ever beheld a fairer gentlewoman, praising +the red and white of the old man’s cheeks, and comparing his eyes +to two bright stars; and again he addressed him, saying, “Fair, +lovely maid, once more good day to you!” and said to his wife, +“Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.” + +The now completely vanquished Katharine quickly adopted her +husband’s opinion, and made her speech in like sort to the old +gentleman, saying to him: “Young budding virgin, you are fair and +fresh and sweet. Whither are you going, and where is your +dwelling? Happy are the parents of so fair a child.” + +“Why, how now, Kate,” said Petruchio. “I hope you are not mad. +This is a man, old and wrinkled, faded and withered, and not a +maiden, as you say he is.” + +On this Katharine said, “Pardon me, old gentleman; the sun has so +dazzled my eyes that everything I look on seemeth green. Now I +perceive you are a reverend father. I hope you will pardon me for +my sad mistake.” + +“Do, good old grandsire,” said Petruchio, “and tell us which way +you are traveling. We shall be glad of your good company, if you +are going our way.” + +The old gentleman replied: “Fair sir, and you, my merry mistress, +your strange encounter has much amazed me. My name is Vincentio, +and I am going to visit a son of mine who lives at Padua.” + +Then Petruchio knew the old gentleman to be the father of +Lucentio, a young gentleman who was to be married to Baptista’s +younger daughter, Bianca, and he made Vincentio very happy by +telling him the rich marriage his son was about to make; and they +all journeyed on pleasantly together till they came to Baptista’s +house, where there was a large company assembled to celebrate the +wedding of Bianca and Lucentio, Baptista having willingly +consented to the marriage of Bianca when he had got Katharine off +his hands. + +When they entered, Baptista welcomed them to the wedding feast, +and there was present also another newly married pair. + +Lucentio, Bianca’s husband, and Hortensio, the other new-married +man, could not forbear sly jests, which seemed to hint at the +shrewish disposition of Petruchio’s wife, and these fond +bridegrooms seemed highly pleased with the mild tempers of the +ladies they had chosen, laughing at Petruchio for his less +fortunate choice. Petruchio took little notice of their jokes +till the ladies were retired after dinner, and then he perceived +Baptista himself joined in the laugh against him, for when +Petruchio affirmed that his wife would prove more obedient than +theirs, the father of Katharine said, “Now, in good sadness, son +Petruchio, I fear you have got the veriest shrew of all.” + +“Well,” said Petruchio, “I say no, and therefore, for assurance +that I speak the truth, let us each one send for his wife, and he +whose wife is most obedient to come at first when she is sent for +shall win a wager which we will propose.” + +To this the other two husbands willingly consented, for they were +confident that their gentle wives would prove more obedient than +the headstrong Katharine, and they proposed a wager of twenty +crowns. But Petruchio merrily said he would lay as much as that +upon his hawk or hound, but twenty times as much upon his wife. +Lucentio and Hortensio raised the wager to a hundred crowns, and +Lucentio first sent his servant to desire Bianca would come to +him. But the servant returned, and said: + +“Sir, my mistress sends you word she is busy and cannot come.” + +“How,” said Petruchio, “does she say she is busy and cannot come? +Is that an answer for a wife?” + +Then they laughed at him, and said it would be well if Katharine +did not send him a worse answer. And now it was Hortensio’s turn +to send for his wife; and be said to his servant, “Go, and +entreat my wife to come to me.” + +“Oh ho! entreat her!” said Petruchio. + +“Nay, then, she needs must come.” + +“I am afraid, sir,” said Hortensio, “your wife will not be +entreated.” But presently this civil husband looked a little +blank when the servant returned without his mistress; and he said +to him: + +“How now? Where is my wife?” + +“Sir,” said the servant, “my mistress says you have some goodly +jest in hand, and therefore she will not come. She bids you come +to her.” + +“Worse and worse!” said Petruchio. And then he sent his servant, +saying, “Sirrah, go to your mistress and tell her I command her +to come to me.” + +The company had scarcely time to think she would not obey this +summons when Baptista, all in amaze, exclaimed: + +“Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharine!” + +And she entered, saying meekly to Petruchio, “What is your will, +sir, that you send for me?” + +“Where is your sister and Hortensio’s wife?” said he. + +Katharine replied, “They sit conferring by the parlor fire.” + +“Go, fetch them hither!” said Petruchio. + +Away went Katharine without reply to perform her husband’s +command. + +“Here is a wonder,” said Lucentio, “if you talk of a wonder.” + +“And so it is,” said Hortensio. “I marvel what it bodes.” + +“Marry, peace it bodes,” said Petruchio, “and love, and quiet +life, and right supremacy; and, to be short, everything that is +sweet and happy.” + +Katharine’s father, overjoyed to see this reformation in his +daughter, said: “Now, fair befall thee, son Petruchio! You have +won the wager, and I will add another twenty thousand crowns to +her dowry, as if she were another daughter, for she is changed as +if she had never been.” + +“Nay,” said Petruchio, “I will win the wager better yet, and show +more signs of her new-built virtue and obedience.” Katharine now +entering with the two ladies, he continued: “See where she comes, +and brings your froward wives as prisoners to her womanly +persuasion. Katharine, that cap of yours does not become you; off +with that bauble, and throw it underfoot.” + +Katharine instantly took off her cap and threw it down. + +“Lord!” said Hortensio’s wife, “may I never have a cause to sigh +till I am brought to such a silly pass!” + +And Bianca, she, too, said, “Fie! What foolish duty call you +this?” + +On this Bianca’s husband said to her, “I wish your duty were as +foolish, too! The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, has cost me a +hundred crowns since dinner-time.” + +“The more fool you,” said Bianca, “for laying on my duty.” + +“Katharine,” said Petruchio, “I charge you tell these headstrong +women what duty they owe their lords and husbands.” + +And to the wonder of all present, the reformed shrewish lady +spoke as eloquently in praise of the wifelike duty of obedience +as she had practised it implicitly in a ready submission to +Petruchio’s will. And Katharine once more became famous in Padua, +not as heretofore as Katharine the Shrew, but as Katharine the +most obedient and duteous wife in Padua. + + + + +THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + + +The states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at variance, there was a +cruel law made at Ephesus, ordaining that if any merchant of +Syracuse was seen in the city of Ephesus he was to be put to +death, unless he could pay a thousand marks for the ransom of his +life. + +Aegeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was discovered in the +streets of Ephesus, and brought before the duke, either to pay +this heavy fine or receive sentence of death. + +Aegeon had no money to pay the fine, and the duke, before he +pronounced the sentence of death upon him, desired him to relate +the history of his life, and to tell for what cause he had +ventured to come to the city of Ephesus, which it was death for +any Syracusan merchant to enter. + +Aegeon said that he did not fear to die, for sorrow had made him +weary of his life, but that a heavier task could not have been +imposed upon him than to relate the events of his unfortunate +life. He then began his own history, in the following words: + +“I was born at Syracuse, and brought up to the profession of a +merchant. I married a lady, with whom I lived very happily, but, +being obliged to go to Epidamnum, I was detained there by my +business six months, and then, finding I should be obliged to +stay some time longer, I sent for my wife, who, as soon as she +arrived, was brought to bed of two sons, and what was very +strange, they were both so exactly alike that it was impossible +to distinguish the one from the other. At the same time that my +wife was brought to bed of these twin boys a poor woman in the +inn where my wife lodged was brought to bed of two sons, and +these twins were as much like each other as my two sons were. The +parents of these children being exceeding poor, I bought the two +boys and brought them up to attend upon my sons. + +“My sons were very fine children, and my wife was not a little +proud of two such boys; and she daily wishing to return home, I +unwillingly agreed, and in an evil hour we got on shipboard, for +we had not sailed above a league from Epidamnum before a dreadful +storm arose, which continued with such violence that the sailors, +seeing no chance of saving the ship, crowded into the boat to +save their own lives, leaving us alone in the ship, which we +every moment expected would be destroyed by the fury of the +storm. + +“The incessant weeping of my wife and the piteous complaints of +the pretty babes, who, not knowing what to fear, wept for +fashion, because they saw their mother weep, filled me with +terror for them, though I did not for myself fear death; and all +my thoughts were bent to contrive means for their safety. I tied +my youngest son to the end of a small spire mast, such as +seafaring men provide against storms; at the other end I bound +the youngest of the twin slaves, and at the same time I directed +my wife how to fasten the other children in like manner to +another mast. She thus having the care of the eldest two +children, and I of the younger two, we bound ourselves separately +to these masts with the children; and but for this contrivance we +had all been lost, for the ship split on a mighty rock and was +dashed in pieces; and we, clinging to these slender masts, were +supported above the water, where I, having the care of two +children, was unable to assist my wife, who, with the other +children, was soon separated from me; but while they were yet in +my sight they were taken up by a boat of fishermen, from Corinth +(as I supposed), and, seeing them in safety, I had no care but to +struggle with the wild sea-waves, to preserve my dear son and the +youngest slave. At length we, in our turn, were taken up by a +ship, and the sailors, knowing me, gave us kind welcome and +assistance and landed us in safety at Syracuse; but from that sad +hour I have never known what became of my wife and eldest child. + +“My youngest son, and now my only care, when he was eighteen +years of age, began to be inquisitive after his mother and his +brother, and often importuned me that he might take his +attendant, the young slave, who had also lost his brother, and +go in search of them. At length I unwillingly gave consent, for, +though I anxiously desired to hear tidings of my wife and eldest +son, yet in sending my younger one to find them I hazarded the +loss of him also. It is now seven years since my son left me; +five years have I passed in traveling through the world in search +of him. I have been in farthest Greece, and through the bounds of +Asia, and, coasting homeward, I landed here in Ephesus, being +unwilling to leave any place unsought that harbors men; but this +day must end the story of my life, and happy should I think +myself in my death if I were assured my wife and sons were +living.” + +Here the hapless Aegeon ended the account of his misfortunes; and +the duke, pitying this unfortunate father who had brought upon +himself this great peril by his love for his lost son, said if it +were not against the laws, which his oath and dignity did not +permit him to alter, he would freely pardon him; yet, instead of +dooming him to instant death, as the strict letter of the law +required, he would give him that day to try if he could beg or +borrow the money to pay the fine. + +This day of grace did seem no great favor to Aegeon, for, not +knowing any man in Ephesus, there seemed to him but little chance +that any stranger would lend or give him a thousand marks to pay +the fine; and, helpless and hopeless of any relief, he retired +from the presence of the duke in the custody of a jailer. + +Aegeon supposed he knew no person in Ephesus; but at the time he +was in danger of losing his life through the careful search he +was making after his youngest son that son, and his eldest son +also, were in the city of Ephesus. + +Aegeon’s sons, besides being exactly alike in face and person, +were both named alike, being both called Antipholus, and the two +twin slaves were also both named Dromio. Aegeon’s youngest son, +Antipholus of Syracuse, he whom the old man had come to Ephesus +to seek, happened to arrive at Ephesus with his slave Dromio that +very same day that Aegeon did; and he being also a merchant of +Syracuse, he would have been in the same danger that his father +was, but by good fortune he met a friend who told him the peril +an old merchant of Syracuse was in, and advised him to pass for a +merchant of Epidamnum. This Antipholus agreed to do, and he was +sorry to hear one of his own countrymen was in this danger, but +he little thought this old merchant was his own father. + +The eldest son of Aegeon (who must be called Antipholus of +Ephesus, to distinguish him from his brother Antipholus of +Syracuse) had lived at Ephesus twenty years, and, being a rich +man, was well able to have paid the money for the ransom of his +father’s life; but Antipholus knew nothing of his father, being +so young when he was taken out of the sea with his mother by the +fishermen that he only remembered he had been so preserved; but +he had no recollection of either his father or his mother, the +fishermen who took up this Antipholus and his mother and the +young slave Dromio having carried the two children away from her +(to the great grief of that unhappy lady), intending to sell +them. + +Antipholus and Dromio were sold by them to Duke Menaphon, a +famous warrior, who was uncle to the Duke of Ephesus, and he +carried the boys to Ephesus when he went to visit the duke, his +nephew. + +The Duke of Ephesus, taking a liking to young Antipholus, when he +grew up made him an officer in his army, in which he +distinguished himself by his great bravery in the wars, where he +saved the life of his patron, the duke, who rewarded his merit by +marrying him to Adriana, a rich lady of Ephesus, with whom he was +living (his slave Dromio still attending him) at the time his +father came there. + +Antipholus of Syracuse, when he parted with his friend, who, +advised him to say he came from Epidamnum, gave his slave Dromio +some money to carry to the inn where he intended to dine, and in +the mean time he said he would walk about and view the city and +observe the manners of the people. + +Dromio was a pleasant fellow, and when Antipholus was dull and +melancholy he used to divert himself with the odd humors and +merry jests of his slave, so that the freedoms of speech he +allowed in Dromio were greater than is usual between masters and +their servants. + +When Antipholus of Syracuse had sent Dromio away, he stood awhile +thinking over his solitary wanderings in search of his mother and +his brother, of whom in no place where he landed could he hear +the least tidings; and he said sorrowfully to himself, “I am like +a drop of water in the ocean. which, seeking to find its fellow +drop, loses itself in the wide sea, So I, unhappily, to find a +mother and a brother, do lose myself.” + +While he was thus meditating on his weary travels, which had +hitherto been so useless, Dromio (as he thought) returned. +Antipholus, wondering that he came back so soon, asked him where +he had left the money. Now it was not his own Dromio, but the +twin-brother that lived with Antipholus of Ephesus, that he spoke +to. The two Dromios and the two Antipholuses were still as much +alike as Aegeon had said they were in their infancy; therefore no +wonder Antipholus thought it was his own slave returned, and +asked him why he came back so soon. + +Dromio replied: “My mistress sent me to bid you come to dinner. +The capon burns, and the pig falls from the spit, and the meat +will be all cold if you do not come home.” + +“These jests are out of season,” said Antipholus. “Where did you +leave the money?” + +Dromio still answering that his mistress had sent him to fetch +Antipholus to dinner, “What mistress?” said Antipholus. + +“Why, your worship’s wife, sir!” replied Dromio. + +Antipholus having no wife, he was very angry with Dromio, and +said: “Because I familiarly sometimes chat with you, you presume +to jest with me in this free manner. I am not in a sportive humor +now. Where is the money? We being strangers here, how dare you +trust so great a charge from your own custody?” + +Dromio, hearing his master, as he thought him, talk of their +being strangers, supposing Antipholus was jesting, replied, +merrily: “I pray you, sir, jest as you sit at dinner. I had no +charge but to fetch you home to dine with my mistress and her +sister.” + +Now Antipholus lost all patience, and beat Dromio, who ran home +and told his mistress that his master had refused to come to +dinner and said that he had no wife. + +Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, was very angry when +she heard that her husband said he had no wife; for she was of a +jealous temper, and she said her husband meant that he loved +another lady better than herself; and she began to fret, and say +unkind words of jealousy and reproach of her husband; and her +sister Luciana, who lived with her, tried in vain to persuade her +out of her groundless suspicions. + +Antipholus of Syracuse went to the inn, and found Dromio with the +money in safety there, and, seeing his own Dromio, he was going +again to chide him for his free jests, when Adriana came up to +him, and, not doubting but it was her husband she saw, she began +to reproach him for looking strange upon her (as well he might, +never having seen this angry lady before); and then she told him +how well he loved her before they were married, and that now he +loved some other lady instead of her. + +“How comes it now, my husband,” said she, “oh, how comes it that +I have lost your love?” + +“Plead you to me, fair dame?” said the astonished Antipholus. + +It was in vain he told her he was not her husband and that he had +been in Ephesus but two hours. She insisted on his going home +with her, and Antipholus at last, being unable to get away, went +with her to his brother’s house, and dined with Adriana and her +sister, the one calling him husband and the other brother, he, +all amazed, thinking he must have been married to her in his +sleep, or that he was sleeping now. And Dromio, who followed +them, was no less surprised, for the cook-maid, who was his +brother’s wife, also claimed him for her husband. + +While Antipholus of Syracuse was dining with his brother’s wife, +his brother, the real husband, returned home to dinner with his +slave Dromio; but the servants would not open the door, because +their mistress had ordered them not to admit any company; and +when they repeatedly knocked, and said they were Antipholus and +Dromio, the maids laughed at them, and said that Antipholus was +at dinner with their mistress, and Dromio was in the kitchen, and +though they almost knocked the door down, they could not gain +admittance, and at last Antipholus went away very angry, and +strangely surprised at, hearing a gentleman was dining with his +wife. + +When Antipholus of Syracuse had finished his dinner, he was so +perplexed at the lady’s still persisting in calling him husband, +and at hearing that Dromio had also been claimed by the cookmaid, +that he left the house as soon as he could find any pretense to +get away; for though he was very much pleased with Luciana, the +sister, yet the jealous-tempered Adriana he disliked very much, +nor was Dromio at all better satisfied with his fair wife in the +kitchen; therefore both master and man were glad to get away from +their new wives as fast as they could. + +The moment Antipholus of Syracuse had left the house he was met +by a goldsmith, who, mistaking him, as Adriana had done, for +Antipholus of Ephesus, gave him a gold chain, calling him by his +name; and when Antipholus would have refused the chain, saying it +did not belong to him, the goldsmith replied he made it by his +own orders, and went away, leaving the chain in the hands of +Antipholus, who ordered his man Dromio to get his things on board +a ship, not choosing to stay in a place any longer where he met +with such strange adventures that he surely thought himself +bewitched. + +The goldsmith who had given the chain to the wrong Antipholus was +arrested immediately after for a sum of money he owed; and +Antipholus, the married brother, to whom the goldsmith thought he +had given the chain, happened to come to the place where the +officer was arresting the goldsmith, who, when he saw Antipholus, +asked him to pay for the gold chain he had just delivered to him, +the price amounting to nearly the same sum as that for which he +had been arrested. Antipholus denying the having received the +chain, and the goldsmith persisting to declare that he had but a +few minutes before given it to him, they disputed this matter a +long time, both thinking they were right; for Antipholus knew the +goldsmith never gave him the chain, and so like were the two +brothers, the goldsmith was as certain he had delivered the chain +into his hands, till at last the officer took the goldsmith away +to prison for the debt he owed, and at the same time the +goldsmith made the officer arrest Antipholus for the price of the +chain; so that at the conclusion of their dispute Antipholus and +the merchant were both taken away to prison together. + +As Antipholus was going to prison, he met Dromio of Syracuse, his +brother’s slave, and, mistaking him for his own, he ordered him +to go to Adriana his wife, and tell her to send the money for +which he was arrested. Dromio, wondering that his master should +send him back to the strange house where he dined, and from which +he had just before been in such haste to depart, did not dare to +reply, though he came to tell his master the ship was ready to +sail, for he saw Antipholus was in no humor to be jested with. +Therefore he went away, grumbling within himself that he must +return to Adriana’s house, “Where,” said he, “Dowsabel claims me +for a husband. But I must go, for servants must obey their +masters’ commands.” + +Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio was returning he met +Antipholus of Syracuse, who was still in amaze at the surprising +adventures he met with, for, his brother being well known in +Ephesus, there was hardly a man he met in the streets but saluted +him as an old acquaintance. Some offered him money which they +said was owing to him, some invited him to come and see them, and +some gave him thanks for kindnesses they said he had done them, +all mistaking him for his brother. A tailor showed him some silks +he had bought for him, and insisted upon taking measure of him +for some clothes. + +Antipholus began to think he was among a nation of sorcerers and +witches, and Dromio did not at all relieve his master from his +bewildered thoughts by asking him how he got free from the +officer who was carrying him to prison, and giving him the purse +of gold which Adriana had sent to pay the debt with. This talk of +Dromio’s of the arrest and of a prison, and of the money he had +brought from Adriana, perfectly confounded Antipholus, and he +said, “This fellow Dromio is certainly distracted, and we wander +here in illusions,” and, quite terrified at his own confused +thoughts, he cried out, “Some blessed power deliver us from this +strange place!” + +And now another stranger came up to him, and she was a lady, and +she, too, called him Antipholus, and told him he had dined with +her that day, and asked him for a gold chain which she said he +had promised to give her. Antipholus now lost all patience, and, +calling her a sorceress, he denied that he had ever promised her +a chain, or dined with her, or had even seen her face before that +moment. The lady persisted in affirming he had dined with her and +had promised her a chain, which Antipholus still denying, she +further said that she had given him a valuable ring, and if he +would not give her the gold chain, she insisted upon having her +own ring again. On this Antipholus became quite frantic, and +again calling her sorceress and witch, and denying all knowledge +of her or her ring, ran away from her, leaving her astonished at +his words and his wild looks, for nothing to her appeared more +certain than that he had dined with her, and that she had given +him a ring in consequence of his promising to make her a present +of a gold chain. But this lady had fallen into the same mistake +the others had done, for she had taken him for his brother; the +married Antipholus had done all the things she taxed this +Antipholus with. + +When the married Antipholus was denied entrance into his house +(those within supposing him to be already there) be had gone away +very angry, believing it to be one of his wife’s jealous freaks, +to which she was very subject, and, remembering that she had +often falsely accused him of visiting other ladies, he, to be +revenged on her for shutting him out of his own house, determined +to go and dine with this lady, and she receiving him with great +civility, and his wife having so highly offended him, Antipholus +promised to give her a gold chain which he had intended as a +present for his wife; it was the same chain which the goldsmith +by mistake had given to his brother. The lady liked so well the +thoughts of having a fine gold chain that she gave the married +Antipholus a ring; which when, as she supposed (taking his +brother for him), he denied, and said he did not know her, and +left her in such a wild passion, she began to think he was +certainly out of his senses; and presently she resolved to go and +tell Adriana that her husband was mad. And while she was telling +it to Adriana he came, attended by the jailer (who allowed him to +come home to get the money to pay the debt), for the purse of +money which Adriana had sent by Dromio and he had delivered to +the other Antipholus. + +Adriana believed the story the lady told her of her husband’s +madness must be true when he reproached her for shutting him out +of his own house; and remembering how he had protested all +dinner-time that he was not her husband and had never been in +Ephesus till that day, she had no doubt that he was mad; she +therefore paid the jailer the money, and, having discharged him, +she ordered her servants to bind her husband with ropes, and had +him conveyed into a dark room, and sent for a doctor to come and +cure him of his madness, Antipholus all the while hotly +exclaiming against this false accusation, which the exact +likeness he bore to his brother had brought upon him. But his +rage only the more confirmed them in the belief that he was mad; +and Dromio persisting in the same story, they bound him also and +took him away along with his master. + +Soon after Adriana had put her husband into confinement a servant +came to tell her that Antipholus and Dromio must have broken +loose from their keepers, for that they were both walking at +liberty in the next street. On hearing this Adriana ran out to +fetch him home, taking some people with her to secure her husband +again; and her sister went along with her. When they came to the +gates of a convent in their neighborhood, there they saw +Antipholus and Dromio, as they thought, being again deceived by +the likeness of the twin brothers. + +Antipholus of Syracuse was still beset with the perplexities this +likeness had brought upon him. The chain which the goldsmith had +given him was about his neck, and the goldsmith was reproaching +him for denying that he had it and refusing to pay for it, and +Antipholus was protesting that the goldsmith freely gave him the +chain in the morning, and that from that hour he had never seen +the goldsmith again. + +And now Adriana came up to him and claimed him as her lunatic +husband who had escaped from his keepers, and the men she brought +with her were going to lay violent hands on Antipholus and +Dromio; but they ran into the convent, and Antipholus begged the +abbess to give him shelter in her house. + +And now came out the lady abbess herself to inquire into the +cause of this disturbance. She was a grave and venerable lady, +and wise to judge of what she saw, and she would not too hastily +give up the man who had sought protection in her house; so she +strictly questioned the wife about the story she told of her +husband’s madness, and she said: + +“What is the cause of this sudden distemper of your husband’s? +Has he lost his wealth at sea? Or is it the death of some dear +friend that has disturbed his mind?” + +Adriana replied that no such things as these had been the cause. + +“Perhaps,” said the abbess, “he has fixed his affections on some +other lady than you, his wife, and that has driven him to this +state.” + +Adriana said she had long thought the love of some other lady was +the cause of his frequent absences from home. + +Now it was not his love for another, but the teasing jealousy of +his wife’s temper, that often obliged Antipholus to leave his +home; and the abbess (suspecting this from the vehemence of +Adriana’s manner), to learn the truth, said: + +“You should have reprehended him for this.” + +“Why, so I did,” replied Adriana. + +“Aye,” said the abbess, “but perhaps not enough.” + +Adriana, willing to convince the abbess that she had said enough +to Antipholus on this subject, replied: “It was the constant +subject of our conversation; in bed I would not let him sleep for +speaking of it. At table I would not let him eat for speaking of +it. When I was alone with him I talked of nothing else; and in +company I gave him frequent hints of it. Still all my talk was +how vile and bad it was in him to love any lady better than me.” + +The lady abbess, having drawn this full confession from the +jealous Adriana, now said: “And therefore comes it that your +husband is mad. The venomous clamor of a jealous woman is a more +deadly poison than a mad dog’s tooth. It seems his sleep was +hindered by your railing; no wonder that his head is light; and +his meat was sauced with your upbraidings; unquiet meals make ill +digestions, and that has thrown him into this fever. You say his +sports were disturbed by your brawls; being debarred from the +enjoyment of society and recreation, what could ensue but dull +melancholy and comfortless despair? The consequence is, then, +that your jealous fits have made your husband mad.” + +Luciana would have excused her sister, saying she always +reprehended her husband mildly; and she said to her sister, “Why +do you hear these rebukes without answering them?” + +But the abbess had made her so plainly perceive her fault that +she could only answer, “She has betrayed me to my own reproof.” + +Adriana, though ashamed of her own conduct, still insisted on +having her husband delivered up to her; but the abbess would +suffer no person to enter her house, nor would she deliver up +this unhappy man to the care of the jealous wife, determining +herself to use gentle means for his recovery, and she retired +into her house again, and ordered her gates to be shut against +them. + +During the course of this eventful day, in which so many errors +had happened from the likeness the twin brothers bore to each +other, old Aegeon’s day of grace was passing away, it being now +near sunset; and at sunset he was doomed to die if he could not +pay the money. + +The place of his execution was near this convent, and here he +arrived just as the abbess retired into the convent; the duke +attending in person, that, if any offered to pay the money, he +might be present to pardon him. + +Adriana stopped this melancholy procession, and cried out to the +duke for justice, telling him that the abbess had refused to +deliver up her lunatic husband to her care. While she was +speaking, her real husband and his servant, Dromio, who had got +loose, came before the duke to demand justice, complaining that +his wife had confined him on a false charge of lunacy, and +telling in what manner he had broken his bands and eluded the +vigilance of his keepers. Adriana was strangely surprised to see +her husband when she thought he had been within the convent. + +Aegeon, seeing his son, concluded this was the son who had left +him to go in search of his mother and his brother, and he felt +secure that this dear son would readily pay the money demanded +for his ransom. He therefore spoke to Antipholus in words of +fatherly affection, with joyful hope that he should now be +released. But, to the utter astonishment of Aegeon, his son +denied all knowledge of him, as well he might, for this +Antipholus had never seen his father since they were separated in +the storm in his infancy. But while the poor old Aegeon was in +vain endeavoring to make his son acknowledge him, thinking surely +that either his griefs and the anxieties he had suffered had so +strangely altered him that his son did not know him or else that +he was ashamed to acknowledge his father in his misery--in the +midst of this perplexity the lady abbess and the other Antipholus +and Dromio came out, and the wondering Adriana saw two husbands +and two Dromios standing before her. + +And now these riddling errors, which had so perplexed them all, +were clearly made out. When the duke saw the two Antipholuses and +the two Dromios both so exactly alike, he at once conjectured +aright of these seeming mysteries, for he remembered the story +Aegeon had told him in the morning; and he said these men must be +the two sons of Aegeon and their twin slaves. + +But now an unlooked-for joy indeed completed the history of +Aegeon; and the tale he had in the morning told in sorrow, and +under sentence of death, before the setting sun went down was +brought to a happy conclusion, for the venerable lady abbess made +herself known to be the long-lost wife of Aegeon and the fond +mother of the two Antipholuses. + +When the fishermen took the eldest Antipholus and Dromio away +from her, she entered a nunnery, and by her wise and virtuous +conduct she was at length made lady abbess of this convent and in +discharging the rites of hospitality to an unhappy stranger she +had unknowingly protected her own son. + +Joyful congratulations and affectionate greetings between these +long-separated parents and their children made them for a while +forget that Aegeon was yet under sentence of death. When they +were become a little calm, Antipholus of Ephesus offered the duke +the ransom money for his father’s life; but the duke freely +pardoned Aegeon, and would not take the money. And the duke went +with the abbess and her newly found husband and children into the +convent, to hear this happy family discourse at leisure of the +blessed ending of their adverse fortunes. And the two Dromios’ +humble joy must not be forgotten; they had their congratulations +and greetings, too, and each Dromio pleasantly complimented his +brother on his good looks, being well pleased to see his own +person (as in a glass) show so handsome in his brother. + +Adriana had so well profited by the good counsel of her +mother-in-law that she never after cherished unjust suspicions +nor was jealous of her husband. + +Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana, the sister of +his brother’s wife; and the good old Aegeon, with his wife and +sons, lived at Ephesus many years. Nor did the unraveling of +these perplexities so entirely remove every ground of mistake for +the future but that sometimes, to remind them of adventures past, +comical blunders would happen, and the one Antipholus, and the +one Dromio, be mistaken for the other, making altogether a +pleasant and diverting Comedy of Errors. + + + + +MEASURE FOR MEASURE + + +In the city of Vienna there once reigned a duke of such a mild +and gentle temper that he suffered his subjects to neglect the +laws with impunity; and there was in particular one law the +existence of which was almost forgotten, the duke never having +put it in force during his whole reign. This was a law dooming +any man to the punishment of death who should live with a woman +that was not his wife; and this law, through the lenity of the +duke, being utterly disregarded, the holy institution of marriage +became neglected, and complaints were every day made to the duke +by the parents of the young ladies in Vienna that their daughters +had been seduced from their protection and were living as the +companions of single men. + +The good duke perceived with sorrow this growing evil among his +subjects; but he thought that a sudden change in himself from the +indulgence he had hitherto shown, to the strict severity +requisite to check this abuse, would make his people (who had +hitherto loved him) consider him as a tyrant; therefore he +determined to absent himself awhile from his dukedom and depute +another to the full exercise of his power, that the law against +these dishonorable lovers might be put in effect, without giving +offense by an unusual severity in his own person. + +Angelo, a man who bore the reputation of a saint in Vienna for +his strict and rigid life, was chosen by the duke as a fit person +to undertake this important charge; and when the duke imparted +his design to Lord Escalus, his chief counselor, Escalus said: + +“If any man in Vienna be of worth to undergo such ample grace and +honor, it is Lord Angelo.” + +And now the duke departed from Vienna under pretense of making a +journey into Poland, leaving Angelo to act as the lord deputy in +his absence; but the duke’s absence was only a feigned one, for +he privately returned to Vienna, habited like a friar, with the +intent to watch unseen the conduct of the saintly-seeming Angelo. + +It happened just about the time that Angelo was invested with his +new dignity that a gentleman, whose name was Claudio, had seduced +a young lady from her parents; and for this offense, by command +of the new lord deputy, Claudio was taken up and committed to +prison, and by virtue of the old law which had been so long +neglected Angelo sentenced Claudio to be beheaded. Great interest +was made for the pardon of young Claudio, and the good old Lord +Escalus himself interceded for him. + +“Alas!” said he, “this gentleman whom I would save had an +honorable father, for whose sake I pray you pardon the young +man’s transgression.” + +But Angelo replied: “We must not make a scarecrow of the law, +setting it up to frighten birds of prey, till custom, finding it +harmless, makes it their perch and not their terror. Sir, he must +die.” + +Lucio, the friend of Claudio, visited him in the prison, and +Claudio said to him: “I pray you, Lucio, do me this kind service. +Go to my sister Isabel, who this day proposes to enter the +convent of Saint Clare; acquaint her with the danger of my state; +implore her that she make friends with the strict deputy; bid her +go herself to Angelo. I have great hopes in that; for she can +discourse with prosperous art, and well she can persuade; +besides, there is a speechless dialect in youthful sorrow such as +moves men.” + +Isabel, the sister of Claudio, had, as he said, that day entered +upon her novitiate in the convent, and it was her intent, after +passing through her probation as a novice, to take the veil, and +she was inquiring of a nun concerning the rules of the convent +when they heard the voice of Lucio, who, as he entered that +religious house, said, “Peace be in this place!” + +“Who is it that speaks?” said Isabel. + +“It is a man’s voice,” replied the nun. “Gentle Isabel, go to +him, and learn his business; you may, I may not. When you have +taken the veil, you must not speak with men but in the presence +of the prioress; then if you speak you must not show your face, +or if you show your face you must not speak.” + +“And have you nuns no further privileges?” said Isabel. + +“Are not these large enough?” replied the nun. + +“Yes, truly,” said Isabel. “I speak not as desiring more, but +rather wishing a more strict restraint upon the sisterhood, the +votarists of Saint Clare.” + +Again they heard the voice of Lucio, and the nun said: “He calls +again. I pray you answer him.” + +Isabel then went out to Lucio, and in answer to his salutation, +said: “Peace and Prosperity! Who is it that calls?” + +Then Lucio, approaching her with reverence, said: “Hail, virgin, +if such you be, as the roses on your cheeks proclaim you are no +less! Can you bring me to the sight of Isabel, a novice of this +place, and the fair sister to her unhappy brother Claudio?” + +“Why her unhappy brother?” said Isabel, “let me ask! for I am +that Isabel and his sister.” + +“Fair and gentle lady,” he replied, “your brother kindly greets +you by me; he is in prison.” + +“Woe is me! for what?” said Isabel. + +Lucio then told her Claudio was imprisoned for seducing a young +maiden. “Ah,” said she, “I fear it is my cousin Juliet.” + +Juliet and Isabel were not related, but they called each other +cousin in remembrance of their school-days’ friendship; and as +Isabel knew that Juliet loved Claudio, she feared she had been +led by her affection for him into this transgression. + +“She it is,” replied Lucio. + +“Why, then, let my brother marry Juliet,” said Isabel. + +Lucio replied that Claudio would gladly marry Juliet, but that +the lord deputy had sentenced him to die for his offense. +“Unless,” said he, “you have the grace by your fair prayer to +soften Angelo, and that is my business between you and your poor +brother.” + +“Alas!” said Isabel, “what poor ability is there in me to do him +good? I doubt I have no power to move Angelo.” + +“Our doubts are traitors,” said Lucio, “and make us lose the good +we might often win, by fearing to attempt it. Go to Lord Angelo! +When maidens sue and kneel and weep men give like gods.” + +“I will see what I can do said Isabel. “I will but stay to give +the prioress notice of the affair, and then I will go to Angelo. +Commend me to my brother. Soon at night I will send him word of +my success.” + +Isabel hastened to the palace and threw herself on her knees +before Angelo, saying, “I am a woeful suitor to your Honor, if it +will please your Honor to hear me.” + +“Well, what is your suit?” said Angelo. + +She then made her petition in the most moving terms for her +brother’s life. + +But Angelo said, “Maiden, there is no remedy; your brother is +sentenced, and he must die.” + +“Oh, just but severe law!” said Isabel. “I had a brother then. +Heaven keep your Honor!” and she was about to depart. + +But Lucio, who had accompanied her, said: “Give it not over so; +return to him again, entreat him, kneel down before him, hang +upon his gown. You are too cold; if you should need a pin, you +could not with a more tame tongue desire it.” + +Then again Isabel on her knees implored for mercy. + +“He is sentenced,” said Angelo. “It is too late.” + +“Too late!” said Isabel. “Why, no! I that do speak a word may +call it back again. Believe this, my lord, no ceremony that to +great ones belongs, not the king’s crown, nor the deputed sword, +the marshal’s truncheon, nor the judge’s robe, becomes them with +one half so good a grace as mercy does.” + +“Pray you begone,” said Angelo. + +But still Isabel entreated; and she said: “If my brother had been +as you, and you as he, you might have slipped like him, but he, +like you, would not have been so stern. I would to Heaven I had +your power and you were Isabel. Should it then be thus? No, I +would tell you what it were to be a judge, and what a prisoner.” + +“Be content, fair maid!” said Angelo: “it is the law, not I, +condemns your brother. Were he my kinsman, my brother, or my son, +it should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow.” + +“To-morrow?” said Isabel. “Oh, that is sudden! Spare him, spare +him. He is not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens we kill +the fowl in season; shall we serve Heaven with less respect than +we minister to our gross selves? Good, good, my lord, bethink +you, none have died for my brother’s offense, though many have +committed it. So you would be the first that gives this sentence +and he the first that suffers it. Go to your own bosom, my lord; +knock there, and ask your heart what it does know that is like my +brother’s fault; if it confess a natural guiltiness such as his +is, let it not sound a thought against my brother’s life!” + +Her last words more moved Angelo than all she had before said, +for the beauty of Isabel had raised a guilty passion in his heart +and he began to form thoughts of dishonorable love, such as +Claudio’s crime had been, and the conflict in his mind made him +to turn away from Isabel; but she called him back, saying: +“Gentle my lord, turn back. Hark, how I will bribe you. Good my +lord, turn back!” + +“How! bribe me?” said Angelo, astonished that she should think of +offering him a bribe. + +“Aye,” said Isabel, “with such gifts that Heaven itself shall +share with you; not with golden treasures, or those glittering +stones whose price is either rich or poor as fancy values them, +but with true prayers that shall be up to Heaven before +sunrise--prayers from preserved souls, from fasting maids whose +minds are dedicated to nothing temporal.” + +“Well, come to me to-morrow,” said Angelo. + +And for this short respite of her brother’s life, and for this +permission that she might be heard again, she left him with the +joyful hope that she should at last prevail over his stern +nature. And as she went away she said: “Heaven keep your Honor +safe! Heaven save your Honor!” Which, when Angelo heard, he said +within his heart, “Amen, I would be saved from thee and from thy +virtues.” And then, affrighted at his own evil thoughts, he said: +“What is this? What is this? Do I love her, that I desire to hear +her speak again and feast upon her eyes? What is it I dream on? +The cunning enemy of mankind, to catch a saint, with saints does +bait the hook. Never could an immodest woman once stir my temper, +but this virtuous woman subdues me quite. Even till now, when men +were fond, I smiled and wondered at them.” + +In the guilty conflict in his mind Angelo suffered more that +night than the prisoner he had so severely sentenced; for in the +prison Claudio was visited by the good duke, who, in his friar’s +habit, taught the young man the way to heaven, preaching to him +the words of penitence and peace. But Angelo felt all the pangs +of irresolute guilt, now wishing to seduce Isabel from the paths +of innocence and honor, and now suffering remorse and horror for +a crime as yet but intentional. But in the end his evil thoughts +prevailed; and he who had so lately started at the offer of a +bribe resolved to tempt this maiden with so high a bribe as she +might not be able to resist, even with the precious gift of her +dear brother’s life. + +When Isabel came in the morning Angelo desired she might be +admitted alone to his presence; and being there, he said to her, +if she would yield to him her virgin honor and transgress even as +Juliet had done with Claudio, he would give her her brother’s +life. + +“For,” said he, “I love you, Isabel.” + +“My brother,” said Isabel, “did so love Juliet, and yet you tell +me he shall die for it.” + +“But,” said Angelo, “Claudio shall not die if you will consent to +visit me by stealth at night, even as Juliet left her father’s +house at night to come to Claudio.” + +Isabel, in amazement at his words, that he should tempt her to +the same fault for which he passed sentence upon her brother, +said, “I would do as much for my poor brother as for myself; that +is, were I under sentence of death, the impression of keen whips +I would wear as rubies, and go to my death as to a bed that +longing I had been sick for, ere I would yield myself up to this +shame.” And then she told him she hoped he only spoke these words +to try her virtue. + +But he said, “Believe me, on my honor, my words express my +purpose.” + +Isabel, angered to the heart to hear him use the word honor to +express such dishonorable purposes, said: “Ha! little honor to be +much believed; and most pernicious purpose. I will proclaim thee, +Angelo, look for it! Sign me a present pardon for my brother, or +I will tell the world aloud what man thou art!” + +“Who will believe you, Isabel?” said Angelo; “my unsoiled name, +the austereness of my life, my word vouched against yours, will +outweigh your accusation. Redeem your brother by yielding to my +will, or he shall die to-morrow. As for you, say what you can, my +false will overweigh your true story. Answer me to-morrow.” + +“To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, who would believe +me?” said Isabel, as she went toward the dreary prison where her +brother was confined. When she arrived there her brother was in +pious conversation with the duke, who in his friar’s habit had +also visited Juliet and brought both these guilty lovers to a +proper sense of their fault; and unhappy Juliet with tears and a +true remorse confessed that she was more to blame than Claudio, +in that she willingly consented to his dishonorable +solicitations. + +As Isabel entered the room where Claudio was confined, she said, +“Peace be here, grace, and good company!” + +“Who is there?” said the disguised duke. “Come in; the wish +deserves a welcome.” + +“My business is a word or two with Claudio,” said Isabel. + +Then the duke left them together, and desired the provost who had +the charge of the prisoners to place him where he might overhear +their conversation. + +“Now, sister, what is the comfort?” said Claudio. + +Isabel told him he must prepare for death on the morrow. + +“Is there no remedy?” said Claudio. + +“Yes, brother,” replied Isabel, “there is; but such a one as if +you consented to it would strip your honor from you and leave you +naked.” + +“Let me know the point,” said Claudio. + +“Oh, I do fear you, Claudio!” replied his sister; “and I quake, +lest you should wish to live, and more respect the trifling term +of six or seven winters added to your life than your perpetual +honor! Do you dare to die? The sense of death is most in +apprehension, and the poor beetle that we tread upon feels a pang +as great as when a giant dies.” + +“Why do you give me this shame?” said Claudio. “Think you I can +fetch a resolution from flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will +encounter darkness as a bride and hug it in my arms.” + +“There spoke my brother,” said Isabel; “there my father’s grave +did utter forth a voice! Yes, you must die; yet would you think +it, Claudio, this outward sainted deputy, if I would yield to him +my virgin honor, would grant your life? Oh, were it but my life, +I would lay it down for your deliverance as frankly as a pin!” + +“Thanks, dear Isabel,” said Claudio. + +“Be ready to die to-morrow,” said Isabel. + +“Death is a fearful thing,” said Claudio. + +“And shamed life a hateful,” replied his sister. + +But the thoughts of death now overcame the constancy of Claudio’s +temper, and terrors, such as the guilty only at their deaths do +know, assailing him, he cried out: “Sweet sister, let me live! +The sin you do to save a brother’s life, nature dispenses with +the deed so far that it becomes a virtue.” + +“O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!” said Isabel. “Would you +preserve your life by your sister’s shame? Oh, fie, fie, fie! I +thought, my brother, you had in you such a mind of honor that, +had you twenty heads to render up on twenty blocks, you would +have yielded them up all before your sister should stoop to such +dishonor.” + +“Nay, hear me, Isabel!” said Claudio. + +But what he would have said in defense of his weakness in +desiring to live by the dishonor of his virtuous sister was +interrupted by the entrance of the duke; who said: + +“Claudio, I have overheard what has passed between you and your +sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; what he +said, has only been to make trial of her virtue. She, having the +truth of honor in her, has given him that gracious denial which +he is most ill glad to receive. There is no hope that he will +pardon you; therefore pass your hours in prayer, and make ready +for death.” + +Then Claudio repented of his weakness, and said: “Let me ask my +sister’s pardon! I am so out of love with life that I will sue to +be rid of it.” And Claudio retired, overwhelmed with shame and +sorrow for his fault. + +The duke, being now alone with Isabel, commended her virtuous +resolution, saying, “The hand that made you fair has made you +good.” + +“Oh,” said Isabel, “how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! +If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will discover his +government.” Isabel knew not that she was even now making the +discovery she threatened. + +The duke replied: “That shall not be much amiss; yet as the +matter now stands, Angelo will repel your accusation; therefore +lend an attentive ear to my advisings. I believe that you may +most righteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit, redeem +your brother from the angry law, do no stain to your own most +gracious person, and much please the absent duke, if peradventure +he shall ever return to have notice of this business.” + +Isabel said she had a spirit to do anything he desired, provided +it was nothing wrong. + +“Virtue is bold and never fearful,” said the duke: and then he +asked her, if she had ever heard of Mariana, the sister of +Frederick, the great soldier who was drowned at sea. + +“I have heard of the lady,” said Isabel, “and good words went +with her name.” + +“This lady,” said the duke, “is the wife of Angelo; but her +marriage dowry was on board the vessel in which her brother +perished, and mark how heavily this befell to the poor +gentlewoman! for, besides the loss of a most noble and renowned +brother, who in his love toward her was ever most kind and +natural, in the wreck of her fortune she lost the affections of +her husband, the well-seeming Angelo, who, pretending to discover +some dishonor in this honorable lady (though the true cause was +the loss of her dowry), left her in her tears and dried not one +of them with his comfort. His unjust unkindness, that in all +reason should have quenched her love, has, like an impediment in +the current, made it more unruly, and Mariana loves her cruel +husband with the full continuance of her first affection.” + +The duke then more plainly unfolded his plan. It was that Isabel +should go to Lord Angelo and seemingly consent to come to him as +he desired at midnight; that by this means she would obtain the +promised pardon; and that Mariana should go in her stead to the +appointment, and pass herself upon Angelo in the dark for Isabel. + +“Nor, gentle daughter,” said the feigned friar, “fear you to this +thing. Angelo is her husband, and to bring them thus together is +no sin. + +Isabel, being pleased with this project, departed to do as he +directed her; and he went to apprise Mariana of their intention. +He had before this time visited this unhappy lady in his assumed +character, giving her religious instruction and friendly +consolation, at which times he had learned her sad story from her +own lips; and now she, looking upon him as a holy man, readily +consented to be directed by him in this undertaking. + +When Isabel returned from her interview with Angelo, to the house +of Mariana, where the duke had appointed her to meet him, he +said: “Well met, and in good time. What is the news from this +good deputy?” + +Isabel related the manner in which she had settled the affair. +“Angelo,” said she, “has a garden surrounded with a brick wall, +on the western side of which is a vineyard, and to that vineyard +is a gate.” And then she showed to the duke and Mariana two keys +that Angelo had given her; and she said: “This bigger key opens +the vineyard gate; this other a little door which leads from the +vineyard to the garden. There I have made my promise at the dead +of the night to call upon him, and have got from him his word of +assurance for my brother’s life. I have taken a due and wary note +of the place; and with whispering and most guilty diligence he +showed me the way twice over.” + +“Are there no other tokens agreed upon between you, that Mariana +must observe?” said the duke. + +“No, none,” said Isabel, “only to go when it is dark. I have told +him my time can be but short; for I have made him think a servant +comes along with me, and that this servant is persuaded I come +about my brother.” + +The duke commended her discreet management, and she, turning to +Mariana, said, “Little have you to say to Angelo, when you depart +from him, but soft and low, REMEMBER NOW MY BROTHER!” + +Mariana was that night conducted to the appointed place by +Isabel, who rejoiced that she had, as she supposed, by this +device preserved both her brother’s life and her own honor. But +that her brother’s life was safe the duke was not well satisfied, +and therefore at midnight he again repaired to the prison, and it +was well for Claudio that he did so, else would Claudio have that +night been beheaded; for soon after the duke entered the prison +an order came from the cruel deputy commanding that Claudio +should be beheaded and his head sent to him by five o’clock in +the morning. But the duke persuaded the provost to put off the +execution of Claudio, and to deceive Angelo by sending him the +head of a man who died that morning in the prison. And to prevail +upon the provost to agree to this, the duke, whom still the +provost suspected not to be anything more or greater than he +seemed, showed the provost a letter written with the duke’s hand, +and sealed with his seal, which when the provost saw, he +concluded this friar must have some secret order from the absent +duke, and therefore he consented to spare Claudio; and he cut off +the dead man’s head and carried it to Angelo. + +Then the duke in his own name wrote to Angelo a letter saying +that certain accidents had put a stop to his journey and that he +should be in Vienna by the following morning, requiring Angelo to +meet him at the entrance of the city, there to deliver up his +authority; and the duke also commanded it to be proclaimed that +if any of his subjects craved redress for injustice they should +exhibit their petitions in the street on his first entrance into +the city. + +Early in the morning Isabel came to the prison, and the duke, who +there awaited her coming, for secret reasons thought it good to +tell her that Claudio was beheaded; therefore when Isabel +inquired if Angelo had sent the pardon for her brother, he said: + +“Angelo has released Claudio from this world. His head is off and +sent to the deputy.” + +The much-grieved sister cried out, “O unhappy Claudio, wretched +Isabel, injurious world, most wicked Angelo!” + +The seeming friar bid her take comfort, and when she was become a +little calm he acquainted her with the near prospect of the +duke’s return and told her in what manner she should proceed in +preferring her complaint against Angelo; and he bade her not fear +if the cause should seem to go against her for a while. Leaving +Isabel sufficiently instructed, he next went to Mariana and gave +her counsel in what manner she also should act. + +Then the duke laid aside his friar’s habit, and in his own royal +robes, amid a joyful crowd of his faithful subjects assembled to +greet his arrival, entered the city of Vienna, where he was met +by Angelo, who delivered up his authority in the proper form. And +there came Isabel, in the manner of a petitioner for redress, and +said: + +“Justice, most royal duke! I am the sister of one Claudio, who, +for the seducing a young maid, was condemned to lose his head. I +made my suit to lord Angelo for my brother’s pardon. It were +needless to tell your Grace how I prayed and kneeled, how he +repelled me, and how I replied; for this was of much length. The +vile conclusion I now begin with grief and pain to utter. Angelo +would not, but by my yielding to his dishonorable love, release +my brother; and after much debate within myself my sisterly +remorse overcame my virtue, and I did yield to him. But the next +morning betimes, Angelo, forfeiting his promise, sent a warrant +for my poor brother’s head!” + +The duke affected to disbelieve her story; and Angelo said that +grief for her brother’s death, who had suffered by the due course +of the law, had disordered her senses. + +And now another suitor approached, which was Mariana; and Mariana +said: “Noble prince, as there comes light from heaven and truth +from breath, as there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, I am +this man’s wife, and, my good lord, the words of Isabel are +false, for the night she says she was with Angelo I passed that +night with him in the garden-house. As this is true let me in +safety rise, or else forever be fixed here a marble monument.” + +Then did Isabel appeal for the truth of what she had said to +Friar Lodowick, that being the name the duke had assumed in his +disguise. Isabel and Mariana had both obeyed his instructions in +what they said, the duke intending that the innocence of Isabel +should be plainly proved in that public manner before the whole +city of Vienna; but Angelo little thought that it was from such a +cause that they thus differed in their story, and he hoped from +their contradictory evidence to be able to clear himself from the +accusation of Isabel; and he said, assuming the look of offended +innocence: + +“I did but smile till now; but, good my lord, my patience here is +touched, and I perceive these poor, distracted women are but the +instruments of some greater one who sets them on. Let me have +way, my lord, to find this practice out.” + +“Aye, with all my heart,” said the duke, “and punish them to the +height of your pleasure. You, Lord Escalus, sit with Lord Angelo, +lend him your pains to discover this abuse; the friar is sent for +that set them on, and when he comes do with your injuries as may +seem best in any chastisement. I for a while will leave you, but +stir not you, Lord Angelo, till you have well determined upon +this slander.” The duke then went away, leaving Angelo well +pleased to be deputed judge and umpire in his own cause. But the +duke was absent only while he threw off his royal robes and put +on his friar’s habit; and in that disguise again he presented +himself before Angelo and Escalus. And the good old Escalus, who +thought Angelo had been falsely accused, said to the supposed +friar, “Come, sir, did you set these women on to slander Lord +Angelo?” + +He replied: “Where is the duke? It is he who should hear me +speak.” + +Escalus said: “The duke is in us, and we will hear you. Speak +justly.” + +“Boldly, at least,” retorted the friar; and then he blamed the +duke for leaving the cause of Isabel in the hands of him she had +accused, and spoke so freely of many corrupt practices he had +observed while, as he said, he had been a looker-on in Vienna, +that, Escalus threatened, him with the torture for speaking words +against the state and for censuring the conduct of the duke, and +ordered him to be taken away to prison. Then, to the amazement of +all present, and to the utter confusion of Angelo, the supposed +friar threw off his disguise, and they saw it was the duke +himself. + +The duke first addressed Isabel. He said to her: “Come hither, +Isabel. Your friar is now your prince, but with my habit I have +not changed my heart. I am still devoted to your service.” + +“Oh, give me pardon,” said Isabel, “that I, your vassal, have +employed and troubled your unknown sovereignty.” + +He answered that he had most need of forgiveness from her for not +having prevented the death of her brother for not yet would he +tell her that Claudio was living; meaning first to make a further +trial of her goodness. + +Angelo now knew the duke had been a secret witness of his bad +deeds, and be said: “O my dread lord, I should be guiltier than +my guiltiness, to think I can be undiscernible, when I perceive +your Grace, like power divine, has looked upon my actions. Then, +good prince, no longer prolong my shame, but let my trial be my +own confession. Immediate sentence and death is all the grace I +beg.” + +The duke replied: “Angelo, thy faults are manifest. We do condemn +thee to the very block where Claudio stooped to death, and with +like haste away with him; and for his possessions, Mariana, we do +instate and widow you withal, to buy you a better husband.” + +“O my dear lord,” said Mariana, “I crave no other, nor no better +man!” And then on her knees, even as Isabel had begged the life +of Claudio, did this kind wife of an ungrateful husband beg the +life of Angelo; and she said: “Gentle my liege, O good my lord! +Sweet Isabel, take my part! Lend me your knees and all my life to +come I will lend you all my life, to do you service!” + +The duke said: “Against all sense you importune her. Should +Isabel kneel down to beg for mercy, her brother’s ghost would +break his paved bed and take her hence in horror.” + +Still Mariana said: “Isabel, sweet Isabel, do but kneel by me, +hold up your hand, say nothing! I will speak all. They say best +men are molded out of faults, and for the most part become much +the better for being a little bad. So may my husband. O Isabel! +will you not lend a knee?” + +The duke then said, “He dies for Claudio.” But much pleased was +the good duke when his own Isabel, from whom he expected all +gracious and honorable acts, kneeled down before him, and said: +“Most bounteous sir, look, if it please you, on this man +condemned, as if my brother lived. I partly think a due sincerity +governed his deeds till he did look on me. Since it is so, let +him not die! My brother had but justice in that he did the thing +for which he died.” + +The duke, as the best reply he could make to this noble +petitioner for her enemy’s life, sending for Claudio from his +prisonhouse, where he lay doubtful of his destiny, presented to +her this lamented brother living; and he said to Isabel: “Give me +your hand, Isabel. For your lovely sake I pardon Claudio. Say you +will be mine, and he shall be my brother, too.” + +By this time Lord Angelo perceived he was safe; and the duke, +observing his eye to brighten up a little, said: + +“Well, Angelo, look that you love your wife; her worth has +obtained your pardon. Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo! I +have confessed her and know her virtue.” + +Angelo remembered, when dressed in a little brief authority, how +hard his heart had been, and felt how sweet is mercy. + +The duke commanded Claudio to marry Juliet, and offered himself +again to the acceptance of Isabel, whose virtuous and noble +conduct had won her prince’s heart. Isabel, not having taken the +veil, was free to marry; and the friendly offices, while hid +under the disguise of a humble friar, which the noble duke had +done for her, made her with grateful joy accept the honor he +offered her; and when she became Duchess of Vienna the excellent +example of the virtuous Isabel worked such a complete reformation +among the young ladies of that city, that from that time none +ever fell into the transgression of Juliet, the repentant wife of +the reformed Claudio. And the mercy-loving duke long reigned with +his beloved Isabel, the happiest of husbands and of princes. + + + + +TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL + + +Sebastian and his sister Viola, a young gentleman and lady of +Messaline, were twins, and (which was accounted a great wonder) +from their birth they so much resembled each other that, but for +the difference in their dress, they could not be known apart. +They were both born in one hour, and in one hour they were both +in danger of perishing, for they were shipwrecked on the coast of +Illyria, as they were making a sea-voyage together. The ship on +board of which they were split on a rock in a violent storm, and +a very small number of the ship’s company escaped with their +lives. The captain of the vessel, with a few of the sailors that +were saved, got to land in a small boat, and with them they +brought Viola safe on shore, where she, poor lady, instead of +rejoicing at her own deliverance, began to lament her brother’s +loss; but the captain comforted her with the assurance that he +had seen her brother, when the ship split, fasten himself to a +strong mast, on which, as long as he could see anything of him +for the distance, he perceived him borne up above the waves. +Viola was much consoled by the hope this account gave her, and +now considered bow she was to dispose of herself in a strange +country, so far from home; and she asked the captain if he knew +anything of Illyria. + +“Aye, very well, madam,” replied the captain, “for I was born not +three hours’ travel from this place.” + +“Who governs here?” said Viola. The captain told her Illyria was +governed by Orsino, a duke noble in nature as well as dignity. + +Viola said, she had heard her father speak of Orsino, and that he +was unmarried then. + +“And he is so now,” said the captain; “or was so very late for, +but a month ago, I went from here, and then it was the general +talk (as you know what great ones do, the people will prattle of) +that Orsino sought the love of fair Olivia, a virtuous maid, the +daughter of a count who died twelve months ago, leaving Olivia to +the protection of her brother, who shortly after died also; and +for the love of this dear brother, they say, she has abjured the +sight and company of men.” + +Viola, who was herself in such a sad affliction for her brother’s +loss, wished she could live with this lady who so tenderly +mourned a brother’s death. She asked the captain if be could +introduce her to Olivia, saying she would willingly serve this +lady. But he replied this would be a hard thing to accomplish, +because the Lady Olivia would admit no person into her house +since her brother’s death, not even the duke himself. Then Viola +formed another project in her mind, which was, in a man’s habit, +to serve the Duke Orsino as a page. It was a strange fancy in a +young lady to put on male attire and pass for a boy; but the +forlorn and unprotected state of Viola, who was young and of +uncommon beauty, alone, and in a foreign land, must plead her +excuse. + +She having observed a fair behavior in the captain, and that he +showed a friendly concern for her welfare, intrusted him with her +design, and he readily engaged to assist her. Viola gave him +money and directed him to furnish her with suitable apparel, +ordering her clothes to be made of the same color and in the same +fashion her brother Sebastian used to wear, and when she was +dressed in her manly garb she looked so exactly like her brother +that some strange errors happened by means of their being +mistaken for each other, for, as will afterward appear, Sebastian +was also saved. + +Viola’s good friend, the captain, when he had transformed this +pretty lady into a gentleman, having some interest at court, got +her presented to Orsino under the feigned name of Cesario. The +duke was wonderfully pleased with the address and graceful +deportment of this handsome youth, and made Cesario one of his +pages, that being the office Viola wished to obtain; and she so +well fulfilled the duties of her new station, and showed such a +ready observance and faithful attachment to her lord, that she +soon became his most favored attendant. To Cesario Orsino +confided the whole history of his love for the lady Olivia. To +Cesario he told the long and unsuccessful suit he had made to one +who, rejecting his long services and despising his person, +refused to admit him to her presence; and for the love of this +lady who had so unkindly treated him the noble Orsino, forsaking +the sports of the field and all manly exercises in which he +used to delight, passed his hours in ignoble sloth, listening to +the effeminate sounds of soft music, gentle airs, and passionate +love-songs; and neglecting the company of the wise and learned +lords with whom he used to associate, he was now all day long +conversing with young Cesario. Unmeet companion no doubt his +grave courtiers thought Cesario was for their once noble master, +the great Duke Orsino. + +It is a dangerous matter for young maidens to be the confidantes +of handsome young dukes; which Viola too soon found, to her +sorrow, for all that Orsino told her he endured for Olivia she +presently perceived she suffered for the love of him, and much it +moved her wonder that Olivia could be so regardless of this her +peerless lord and master, whom she thought no one could behold +without the deepest admiration, and she ventured gently to hint +to Orsino, that it was a pity he should affect a lady who was so +blind to his worthy qualities; and she said: + +“If a lady were to love you, my lord, as you love Olivia (and +perhaps there may be one who does), if you could not love her in +return) would you not tell her that you could not love, and must +she not be content with this answer?” + +But Orsino would not admit of this reasoning, for he denied that +it was possible for any woman to love as he did. He said no +woman’s heart was big enough to hold so much love, and therefore +it was unfair to compare the love of any lady for him to his love +for Olivia. Now, though Viola had the utmost deference for the +duke’s opinions, she could not help thinking this was not quite +true, for she thought her heart had full as much love in it as +Orsino’s had; and she said: + +“Ah, but I know, my lord.” + +“What do you know, Cesario?” said Orsino. + +“Too well I know,” replied Viola, “what love women may owe to +men. They are as true of heart as we are. My father had a +daughter loved a man, as I perhaps, were I a woman, should love +your lordship.” + +“And what is her history?” said Orsino. + +“A blank, my lord,” replied Viola. “She never told her love, but +let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask +cheek. She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow +melancholy she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at +Grief.” + +The duke inquired if this lady died of her love, but to this +question Viola returned an evasive answer; as probably she had +feigned the story, to speak words expressive of the secret love +and silent grief she suffered for Orsino. + +While they were talking, a gentleman entered whom the duke had +sent to Olivia, and he said, “So please you, my lord, I might not +be admitted to the lady, but by her handmaid she returned you +this answer: Until seven years hence the element itself shall not +behold her face; but like a cloistress she will walk veiled, +watering her chamber with her tears for the sad remembrance of +her dead brother.” + +On hearing this the duke exclaimed, “Oh, she that has a heart of +this fine frame, to pay this debt of love to a dead brother, how +will she love when the rich golden shaft has touched her heart!” + +And then he said to Viola: “You know, Cesario, I have told you +all the secrets of my heart; therefore, good youth, go to +Olivia’s house. Be not denied access; stand at her doors and tell +her there your fixed foot shall grow till you have audience.” + +“And if I do speak to her, my lord, what then?” said Viola. + +“Oh, then,” replied Orsino, “unfold to her the passion of my +love. Make a long discourse to her of my dear faith. It will well +become you to act my woes, for she will attend more to you than +to one of graver aspect.” + +Away then went Viola; but not willingly did she undertake this +courtship, for she was to woo a lady to become a wife to him she +wished to marry; but, having undertaken the affair, she performed +it with fidelity, and Olivia soon heard that a youth was at her +door who insisted upon being admitted to her presence. + +“I told him,” said the servant, “that you were sick. He said he +knew you were, and therefore he came to speak with you. I told +him that you were asleep. He seemed to have a foreknowledge of +that, too, and said that therefore he must speak with you. What +is to be said to him, lady? for he seems fortified against all +denial, and will speak with you, whether you will or no.” + +Olivia, curious to see who this peremptory messenger might be, +desired be might be admitted, and, throwing her veil over her +face, she said she would once more hear Orsino’s embassy, not +doubting but that he came from the duke, by his importunity. +Viola, entering, put on the most manly air she could assume, and, +affecting the fine courtier language of great men’s pages, she +said to the veiled lady: + +“Most radiant, exquisite, and matchless beauty, I pray you tell +me if you are the lady of the house; for I should be sorry to +cast away my speech upon another; for besides that it is +excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to learn it.” + +“Whence come you, sir?” said Olivia. + +“I can say little more than I have studied,” replied Viola, and +that question is out of my part.” + +“Are you a comedian?” said Olivia. + +“No,” replied Viola; “and yet I am not that which I play,” + meaning that she, being a woman, feigned herself to be a man. And +again she asked Olivia if she were the lady of the house. + +Olivia said she was; and then Viola, having more curiosity to see +her rival’s features than haste to deliver her master’s message, +said, “Good madam, let me see your face.” With this bold request +Olivia was not averse to comply, for this haughty beauty, whom +the Duke Orsino had loved so long in vain, at first sight +conceived a passion for the supposed page, the humble Cesario. + +When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said, “Have you any +commission from your lord and master to negotiate with my face?” + And then, forgetting her determination to go veiled for seven +long years, she drew aside her veil, saying: “But I will draw the +curtain and show the picture. Is it not well done?” + +Viola replied: “It is beauty truly mixed; the red and white upon +your cheeks is by Nature’s own cunning hand laid on. You are the +most cruel lady living if you lead these graces to the grave and +leave the world no copy.” + +“Oh, sir,” replied Olivia, “I will not be so cruel. The world may +have an inventory of my beauty. As, item, two lips, indifferent +red; item, two gray eyes with lids to them; one neck; one chin; +and so forth. Were you sent here to praise me?” + +Viola replied, “I see what you are: you are too proud, but you +are fair. My lord and master loves you. Oh, such a love could but +be recompensed though you were crowned the queen of beauty; for +Orsino loves you with adoration and with tears, with groans that +thunder love, and sighs of fire.” + +“Your lord,” said Olivia, “knows well my mind. I cannot love him; +yet I doubt not he is virtuous; I know him to be noble and of +high estate, of fresh and spotless youth. All voices proclaim him +learned, courteous, and valiant; yet I cannot love him. He might +have taken his answer long ago.” + +“If I did love you as my master does,” said Viola, “I would make +me a willow cabin at your gates, and call upon your name. I would +write complaining sonnets on Olivia, and sing them in the dead of +the night. Your name should sound among the hills, and I would +make Echo, the babbling gossip of the air, cry out OLIVIA. Oh, +you should not rest between the elements of earth and air, but +you should pity me.” + +“You might do much,” said Olivia. “What is your parentage?’” + +Viola replied: “Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a +gentleman.” + +Olivia now reluctantly dismissed Viola, saying: “Go to your +master and tell him I cannot love him. Let him send no more, +‘unless perchance you come again to tell me how he takes it.” + +And Viola departed, bidding the lady farewell by the name of Fair +Cruelty. When she was gone Olivia repeated the words, ABOVE MY +FORTUNES, YET MY STATE IS WELL. I AM A GENTLEMAN. And she said +aloud, “I will be sworn he is; his tongue, his face, his limbs, +action, and spirit plainly show he is a gentleman.” And then she +wished Cesario was the duke; and, perceiving the fast hold he had +taken on her affections, she blamed herself for her sudden love; +but the gentle blame which people lay upon their own faults has +no deep root, and presently the noble lady Olivia so far forgot +the inequality between, her fortunes and those of this seeming +page, as well as the maidenly reserve which is the chief ornament +of a lady’s character, that she resolved to court the love of +young Cesario, and sent a servant after him with a diamond ring, +under the pretense that he had left it with her as a present from +Orsino. She hoped by thus artfully making Cesario a present of +the ring she should give him some intimation of her design; and +truly it did make Viola suspect; for, knowing that Orsino had +sent no ring by her, she began to recollect that Olivia’s looks +and manner were expressive of admiration, and she presently +guessed her master’s mistress had fallen in love with her. + +“Alas!” said she, “the poor lady might as well love a dream. +Disguise I see is wicked, for it has caused Olivia to breathe as +fruitless sighs for me as I do for Orsino.” + +Viola returned to Orsino’s palace, and related to her lord the +ill success of the negotiation, repeating the command of Olivia +that the duke should trouble her no more. Yet still the duke +persisted in hoping that the gentle Cesario would in time be able +to persuade her to show some pity, and therefore he bade him he +should go to her again the next day. In the mean time, to pass +away the tedious interval, he commanded a song which he loved to +be sung; and he said: + +“My good Cesario, when I heard that song last night, methought it +did relieve my passion much. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and +plain. The spinsters and the knitters when they sit in the sun, +and the young maids that weave their thread with bone, chant this +song. It is silly, yet I love it, for it tells of the innocence +of love in the old times.” + + SONG + + Come away, come away, Death, + And in sad cypress let me be laid; + Fly away, fly away, breath, + I am slain by a fair cruel maid. +My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! +My part of death no one so true did share it. + Not a flower, not a flower sweet, + On my black coffin let there be strewn: + Not a friend, not a friend greet + My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. +A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where +Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there! + +Viola did not fail to mark the words of the old song, which in +such true simplicity described the pangs of unrequited love, and +she bore testimony in her countenance of feeling what the song +expressed. Her sad looks were observed by Orsino, who said to +her: + +“My life upon it, Cesario, though you are so young, your eye has +looked upon some face that it loves. Has it not, boy?” + +“A little, with your leave,” replied Viola. + +“And what kind of woman, and of what age is she?” said Orsino. + +“Of your age and of your complexion, my lord,” said Viola; which +made the duke smile to hear this fair young boy loved a woman so +much older than himself and of a man’s dark complexion; but Viola +secretly meant Orsino, and not a woman like him. + +When Viola made her second visit to Olivia she found no +difficulty in gaining access to her. Servants soon discover when +their ladies delight to converse with handsome young messengers; +and the instant Viola arrived the gates were thrown wide open, +and the duke’s page was shown into Olivia’s apartment with great +respect. And when Viola told Olivia that she was come once more +to plead in her lord’s behalf, this lady said: + +“I desired you never to speak of him again; but if you would +undertake another suit, I had rather hear you solicit, than music +from the spheres.” + +This was pretty plain speaking, but Olivia soon explained herself +still more plainly, and openly confessed her love; and when she +saw displeasure with perplexity expressed in Viola’s face, she +said: “Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful in the contempt +and anger of his lip! Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by +maidhood, honor, and by truth, I love you so that, in spite of +your pride, I have neither wit nor reason to conceal my passion.” + +But in vain the lady wooed. Viola hastened from her presence, +threatening never more to come to plead Orsino’s love; and all +the reply she made to Olivia’s fond solicitation was, a +declaration of a resolution NEVER TO LOVE ANY WOMAN. + +No sooner had Viola left the lady than a claim was made upon her +valor. A gentleman, a rejected suitor of Olivia, who had learned +how that lady had favored the duke’s messenger, challenged him to +fight a duel. What should poor Viola do, who, though she carried +a man-like outside, had a true woman’s heart and feared to look +on her own sword? + +When, she saw her formidable rival advancing toward her with his +sword drawn she began to think of confessing that she was a +woman; but she was relieved at once from her terror, and the +shame of such a discovery, by a stranger that was passing by, who +made up to them, and as if he had been long known to her and were +her dearest friend said to her opponent: + +“If this young gentleman has done offense, I will take the fault +on me; and if you offend him, I will for his sake defy you.” + +Before Viola had time to thank him for his protection, or to +inquire the reason of his kind interference, her new friend met +with an enemy where his bravery was of no use to him; for the +officers of justice coming up in that instant, apprehended the +stranger in the duke’s name, to answer for an offense he had +committed some years before; and he said to Viola: + +“This comes with seeking you.” And then he asked her for a purse, +saying: “Now my necessity makes me ask for my purse, and it +grieves me much more for what I cannot do for you than for what +befalls myself. You stand amazed, but be of comfort.” + +His words did indeed amaze Viola, and she protested she knew him +not, nor had ever received a purse from him; but for the kindness +he had just shown her she offered him a small sum of money, being +nearly the whole she possessed. And now the stranger spoke severe +things, charging her with ingratitude and unkindness. He said: + +“This youth whom you see here I snatched from the jaws of death, +and for his sake alone I came to Illyria and have fallen into +this danger.” + +But the officers cared little for harkening to the complaints of +their prisoner, and they hurried him off, saying, “What is that +to us?” And as he was carried away, he called Viola by the name +of Sebastian, reproaching the supposed Sebastian for disowning +his friend, as long as he was within hearing. When Viola heard +herself called Sebastian, though the stranger was taken away too +hastily for her to ask an explanation, she conjectured that this +seeming mystery might arise from her being mistaken for her +brother, and she began to cherish hopes that it was her brother +whose life this man said he had preserved. And so indeed it was. +The stranger, whose name was Antonio, was a sea-captain. He had +taken Sebastian up into his ship when, almost exhausted with +fatigue, he was floating on the mast to which he had fastened +himself in the storm. Antonio conceived such a friendship for +Sebastian that he resolved to accompany him whithersoever he +went; and when the youth expressed a curiosity to visit Orsino’s +court, Antonio, rather than part from him, came to Illyria, +though he knew, if his person should be known there, his life +would be in danger, because in a sea-fight he had once +dangerously wounded the Duke Orsino’s nephew. This was the +offense for which he was now made a prisoner. + +Antonio and Sebastian had landed together but a few hours before +Antonio met Viola. He had given his purse to Sebastian, desiring +him to use it freely if he saw anything he wished to purchase, +telling him he would wait at the inn while Sebastian went to view +the town; but, Sebastian not returning at the time appointed, +Antonio had ventured out to look for him, and, priest made Orsino +believe that his page had robbed him of the treasure he prized +above his life. But thinking that it was past recall, he was +bidding farewell to his faithless mistress, and the YOUNG +DISSEMBLER, her husband, as he called Viola, warning her never to +come in his sight again, when (as it seemed to them) a miracle +appeared! for another Cesario entered, and addressed Olivia as +his wife. This new Cesario was Sebastian, the real husband of +Olivia; and when their wonder had a little ceased at seeing two +persons with the same face, the same voice, and the same habit, +the brother and sister began to question each other; for Viola +could scarce be persuaded that her brother was living, and +Sebastian knew not how to account for the sister he supposed +drowned being found in the habit of a young man. But Viola +presently acknowledged that she was indeed Viola, and his sister, +under that disguise. + +When all the errors were cleared up which the extreme likeness +between this brother and sister had occasioned, they laughed at +the Lady Olivia for the pleasant mistake she had made in falling +in love with a woman; and Olivia showed no dislike to her +exchange, when she found she had wedded the brother instead of +the sister. + +The hopes of Orsino were forever at an end by this marriage of +Olivia, and with his hopes, all his fruitless love seemed to +vanish away, and all his thoughts were fixed on the event of his +favorite, young Cesario, being changed into a fair lady. He +viewed Viola with great attention, and he remembered how very +handsome he had always thought Cesario was, and he concluded she +would look very beautiful in a woman’s attire; and then he +remembered how often she had said SHE LOVED HIM, which at the +time seemed only the dutiful expressions of a faithful page; but +now he guessed that something more was meant, for many of her +pretty sayings, which were like riddles to him, came now into his +mind, and he no sooner remembered all these things than he +resolved to make Viola his wife; and he said to her (he still +could not help calling her CESARIO and BOY): + +“Boy, you have said to me a thousand times that you should never +love a woman like to me, and for the faithful service you have +done for me so much beneath your soft and tender breeding, and +since you have called me master so long, you shall now be your +master’s mistress, and Orsino’s true duchess.” + +Olivia, perceiving Orsino was making over that heart, which she +had so ungraciously rejected, to Viola, invited them to enter her +house and offered the assistance of the good priest who had +married her to Sebastian in the morning to perform the same +ceremony in the remaining part of the day for Orsino and Viola. +Thus the twin brother and sister were both wedded on the same +day, the storm and shipwreck which had separated them being the +means of bringing to pass their high and mighty fortunes., Viola +was the wife of Orsino, the Duke of Illyria, and Sebastian the +husband of the rich and noble countess, the Lady Olivia. + + + + +TIMON OF ATHENS + + +Timon, a lord of Athens, in the enjoyment of a princely fortune, +affected a humor of liberality which knew no limits. His almost +infinite wealth could not flow in so fast but he poured it out +faster upon all sorts and degrees of people. Not the poor only +tasted of his bounty, but great lords did not disdain to rank +themselves among his dependents and followers. His table was +resorted to by all the luxurious feasters, and his house was open +to all comers and goers at Athens. His large wealth combined with +his free and prodigal nature to subdue all hearts to his love; +men of all minds and dispositions tendered their services to Lord +Timon, from the glass-faced flatterer whose face reflects as in a +mirror the present humor of his patron, to the rough and +unbending cynic who, affecting a contempt of men’s persons and an +indifference to worldly things, yet could not stand out against +the gracious manners and munificent soul of Lord Timon, but would +come (against his nature) to partake of his royal entertainments +and return most rich in his own estimation if he had received a +nod or a salutation from Timon. + +If a poet had composed a work which wanted a recommendatory +introduction to the world, he had no more to do but to dedicate +it to Lord Timon, and the poem was sure of sale, besides a +present purse from the patron, and daily access to his house and +table. If a painter had a picture to dispose of he had only to +take it to Lord Timon and pretend to consult his taste as to the +merits of it; nothing more was wanting to persuade the liberal- +hearted lord to buy it. If a jeweler had a stone of price, or a +mercer rich, costly stuffs, which for their costliness lay upon +his hands, Lord Timon’s house was a ready mart always open, where +they might get off their wares or their jewelry at any price, and +the good-natured lord would thank them into the bargain, as if +they had done him a piece of courtesy in letting him have the +refusal of such precious commodities. So that by this means his +house was thronged with superfluous purchases, of no use but to +swell uneasy and ostentatious pomp; and his person was still more +inconveniently beset with a crowd of these idle visitors, lying +poets, painters, sharking tradesmen, lords, ladies, needy +courtiers, and expectants, who continually filled his lobbies, +raining their fulsome flatteries in whispers in his ears, +sacrificing to him with adulation as to a God, making sacred the +very stirrup by which he mounted his horse, and seeming as though +they drank the free air but through his permission and bounty. + +Some of these daily dependents were young men of birth who (their +means not answering to their extravagance) had been put in prison +by creditors and redeemed thence by Lord Timon; these young +prodigals thenceforward fastened upon his lordship, as if by +common sympathy he were necessarily endeared to all such +spendthrifts and loose livers, who, not being able to follow him +in his wealth, found it easier to copy him in prodigality and +copious spending of what was their own. One of these flesh-flies +was Ventidius, for whose debts, unjustly contracted, Timon but +lately had paid down the sum of five talents. + +But among this confluence, this great flood of visitors, none +were more conspicuous than the makers of presents and givers of +gifts. It was fortunate for these men if Timon took a fancy to a +dog or a horse, or any piece of cheap furniture which was theirs. +The thing so praised, whatever it was, was sure to be sent the +next morning with the compliments of the giver for Lord Timon’s +acceptance, and apologies for the unworthiness of the gift; and +this dog or horse, or whatever it might be, did not fail to +produce from Timon’s bounty, who would not be outdone in gifts, +perhaps twenty dogs or horses, certainly presents of far richer +worth, as these pretended donors knew well enough, and that their +false presents were but the putting out of so much money at large +and speedy interest. In this way Lord Lucius had lately sent to +Timon a present of four milk-white horses, trapped in silver, +which this cunning lord had observed Timon upon some occasion to +commend; and another lord, Lucullus, had bestowed upon him in the +same pretended way of free gift a brace of greyhounds whose make +and fleetness Timon had been heard to admire; these presents the +easy-hearted lord accepted without suspicion of the dishonest +views of the presenters; and the givers of course were rewarded +with some rich return, a diamond or some jewel of twenty times +the value of their false and mercenary donation. + +Sometimes these creatures would go to work in a more direct way, +and with gross and palpable artifice, which yet the credulous +Timon was too blind to see, would affect to admire and praise +something that Timon possessed, a bargain that he had bought, or +some late purchase, which was sure to draw from this yielding and +soft-hearted lord a gift of the thing commended, for no service +in the world done for it but the easy expense of a little cheap +and obvious flattery. In this way Timon but the other day had +given to one of these mean lords the bay courser which he himself +rode upon, because his lordship had been pleased to say that it +was a handsome beast and went well; and Timon knew that no man +ever justly praised what he did not wish to possess. For Lord +Timon weighed his friends’ affection with his own, and so fond +was he of bestowing, that be could have dealt kingdoms to these +supposed friends and never have been weary. + +Not that Timon’s wealth all went to enrich these wicked +flatterers; he could do noble and praiseworthy actions; and when +a servant of his once loved the daughter of a rich Athenian, but +could not hope to obtain her by reason that in wealth and rank +the maid was so far above him, Lord Timon freely bestowed upon +his servant three Athenian talents, to make his fortune equal +with the dowry which the father of the young maid demanded of him +who should be her husband. But for the most part, knaves and +parasites had the command of his fortune, false friends whom he +did not know to be such, but, because they flocked around his +person, he thought they must needs love him; and because they +smiled and flattered him, he thought surely that his conduct was +approved by all the wise and good. And when be was feasting in +the midst of all these flatterers and mock friends, when they +were eating him up and draining his fortunes dry with large +draughts of richest wines drunk to his health and prosperity, be +could not perceive the difference of a friend from a flatterer, +but to his deluded eyes (made proud with the sight) it seemed a +precious comfort to have so many like brothers commanding one +another’s fortunes (though it was his own fortune which paid all +the costs), and with joy they would run over at the spectacle of +such, as it appeared to him, truly festive and fraternal meeting. + +But while he thus outwent the very heart of kindness, and poured +out his bounty, as if Plutus, the god of gold, had been but his +steward; while thus he proceeded without care or stop, so +senseless of expense that he would neither inquire how he could +maintain it nor cease his wild flow of riot--his riches, which +were not infinite, must needs melt away before a prodigality +which knew no limits. But who should tell him so? His flatterers? +They had an interest in shutting his eyes. In vain did his honest +steward Flavius try to represent to him his condition, laying his +accounts before him, begging of him, praying of him, with an +importunity that on any other occasion would have been unmannerly +in a servant, beseeching him with tears to look into the state of +his affairs. Timon would still put him off, and turn the +discourse to something else; for nothing is so deaf to +remonstrance as riches turned to poverty, nothing is so unwilling +to believe its situation, nothing so incredulous to its own true +state, and hard to give credit to a reverse. Often had this good +steward, this honest creature, when all the rooms of Timon’s +great house had been choked up with riotous feeders at his +master’s cost, when the floors have wept with drunken spilling of +wine, and every apartment has blazed with lights and resounded +with music and feasting, often had he retired by himself to some +solitary spot, and wept faster than the wine ran from the +wasteful casks within, to see the mad bounty of his lord, and to +think, when the means were gone which brought him praises from +all sorts of people, how quickly the breath would be gone of +which the praise was made; praises won in feasting would be lost +in fasting, and at one cloud of winter-showers these flies would +disappear. + +But now the time was come that Timon could shut his ears no +longer to the representations of this faithful steward. Money +must be had; and when he ordered Flavius to sell some of his land +for that purpose, Flavius informed him, what he had in vain +endeavored at several times before to make him listen to, that +most of his land was already sold or forfeited, and that all he +possessed at present was not enough to pay the one-half of what +he owed. Struck with wonder at this presentation, Timon hastily +replied: + +“My lands extend from Athens to Lacedoemon.” + +“O my good lord,” said Flavius, “the world is but a world, and +has bounds. Were it all yours to give in a breath, how quickly +were it gone!” + +Timon consoled himself that no villainous bounty had yet come +from him, that if he had given his wealth away unwisely, it had +not been bestowed to feed his vices, but to cherish his friends; +and he bade the kind-hearted steward (who was weeping) to take +comfort in the assurance that his master could never lack means +while he had so many noble friends; and this infatuated lord +persuaded himself that he had nothing to do but to send and +borrow, to use every man’s fortune (that had ever tasted his +bounty) in this extremity, as freely as his own. Then with a +cheerful look, as if confident of the trial, he severally +despatched messengers to Lord Lucius, to Lords Lucullus and +Sempronius, men upon whom he had lavished his gifts in past times +without measure or moderation; and to Ventidius, whom he had +lately released out of prison by paying his debts, and who, by +the death of his father, was now come into the possession of an +ample fortune and well enabled to requite Timon’s courtesy; to +request of Ventidius the return of those five talents which he +had paid for him, and of each of those noble lords the loan +of fifty talents; nothing doubting that their gratitude would +supply his wants (if he needed it) to the amount of five hundred +times fifty talents. + +Lucullus was the first applied to. This mean lord had been +dreaming overnight of a silver bason and cup, and when Timon’s +servant was announced his sordid mind suggested to him that this +was surely a making out of his dream, and that Timon had sent him +such a present. But when he understood the truth of the matter, +and that Timon wanted money, the quality of his faint and +watery friendship showed itself, for with many protestations he +vowed to the servant that he had long foreseen the ruin of his +master’s affairs, and many a time had he come to dinner to tell +him of it, and had come again to supper to try to persuade him to +spend less, but he would take no counsel nor warning by his +coming. And true it was that he had been a constant attender (as +he said) at Timon’s feasts, as he had in greater things tasted +his bounty; but that he ever came with that intent, or gave good +counsel or reproof to Timon, was a base, unworthy lie, which he +suitably followed up with meanly offering the servant a bribe to +go home to his master and tell him that be had not found Lucullus +at home. + +As little success had the messenger who was sent to Lord Lucius. +This lying lord, who was full of Timon’s meat and enriched almost +to bursting with Timon’s costly presents, when he found the wind +changed, and the fountain of so much bounty suddenly stopped, at +first could hardly believe it; but on its being confirmed he +affected great regret that he should not have it in his power to +serve Lord Timon, for, unfortunately (which was a base +falsehood), he had made a great purchase the day before, which +had quite disfurnished him of the means at present, the more +beast he, he called himself, to put it out of his power to serve +so good a friend; and he counted it one of his greatest +afflictions that his ability should fail him to pleasure such an +honorable gentleman. + +Who can call any man friend that dips in the same dish with him? +Just of this metal is every flatterer. In the recollection of +everybody Timon had been a father to this Lucius, had kept up his +credit with his purse; Timon’s money had gone to pay the wages of +his servants, to pay the hire of the laborers who had sweat to +build the fine houses which Lucius’s pride had made necessary to +him. Yet---oh, the monster which man makes himself when he proves +ungrateful!--this Lucius now denied to Timon a sum which, in +respect of what Timon had bestowed on him, was less than +charitable men afford to beggars. + +Sempronius, and every one of these mercenary lords to whom Timon +applied in their turn, returned the same evasive answer or direct +denial; even Ventidius, the redeemed and now rich Ventidius, +refused to assist him with the loan of those five talents which +Timon had not lent but generously given him in his distress. + +Now was Timon as much avoided in his poverty as he had been +courted and resorted to in his riches. Now the same tongues which +had been loudest in his praises, extolling him as bountiful, +liberal, and open-handed, were not ashamed to censure that very +bounty as folly, that liberality as profuseness, though it had +shown itself folly in nothing so truly as in the selection of +such unworthy creatures as themselves for its objects. Now was +Timon’s princely mansion forsaken and become a shunned and hated +place, a place for men to pass by, not a place, as formerly, +where every passenger must stop and taste of his wine and good +cheer; now, instead of being thronged with feasting and +tumultuous guests, it was beset with impatient and clamorous +creditors, usurers, extortioners, fierce and intolerable in their +demands, pleading bonds, interest, mortgages; iron-hearted men +that would take no denial nor putting off, that Timon’s house was +now his jail, which he could not pass, nor go in nor out for +them; one demanding his due of fifty talents, another bringing in +a bill of five thousand crowns, which, if he would tell out his +blood by drops and pay them so, he had not enough in his body to +discharge, drop by drop. + +In this desperate and irremediable state (as it seemed) of his +affairs, the eyes of all men were suddenly surprised at a new and +incredible luster which this setting sun put forth. Once more +Lord Timon proclaimed a feast, to which he invited his accustomed +guests--lords, ladies, all that was great or fashionable in +Athens. Lord Lucius and Lucullus came, Ventidius, Sempronius, and +the rest. Who more sorry now than these fawning wretches, when +they found (as they thought) that Lord Timon’s poverty was all +pretense and had been only put on to make trial of their loves, +to think that they should not have seen through the artifice at +the time and have had the cheap credit of obliging his lordship? +Yet who more glad to find the fountain of that noble bounty which +they had thought dried up, still fresh and running? They came +dissembling, protesting, expressing deepest sorrow and shame, +that when his lordship sent to them they should have been so +unfortunate as to want the present means to oblige so honorable a +friend. But Timon begged them not to give such trifles a thought, +for he had altogether forgotten it. And these base, fawning +lords, though they had denied him money in his adversity, yet +could not refuse their presence at this new blaze of his +returning prosperity. For the swallow follows not summer more +willingly than men of these dispositions follow the good fortunes +of the great, nor more willingly leaves winter than these shrink +from the first appearance of a reverse. Such summer birds are +men. But now with music and state the banquet of smoking dishes +was served up; and when the guests had a little done admiring +whence the bankrupt Timon could find means to furnish so costly a +feast, some doubting whether the scene which they saw was real, +as scarce trusting their own eyes, at a signal given the dishes +were uncovered and Timon’s drift appeared. Instead of those +varieties and far-fetched dainties which they expected, that +Timon’s epicurean table in past times had so liberally presented, +now appeared under the covers of these dishes a preparation more +suitable to Timon’s poverty--nothing but a little smoke and +lukewarm water, fit feast for this knot of mouth-friends, whose +professions were indeed smoke, and their hearts lukewarm and +slippery as the water with which Timon welcomed his astonished +guests, bidding them, “Uncover, dogs, and lap;” and, before they +could recover their surprise, sprinkling it in their faces, that +they might have enough, and throwing dishes and all after them, +who now ran huddling out, lords, ladies, with their caps snatched +up in haste, a splendid confusion, Timon pursuing them, still +calling them what they were, “smooth smiling parasites, +destroyers under the mask of courtesy, affable wolves, meek +bears, fools of fortune, feast-friends, time-flies.” They, +crowding out to avoid him, left the house more willingly +than they had entered it; some losing their gowns and caps, and +some their jewels in the hurry, all glad to escape out of the +presence of such a mad lord, and from the ridicule of his mock +banquet. + +This was the last feast which ever Timon made, and in it he took +farewell of Athens and the society of men; for, after that, he +betook himself to the woods, turning his back upon the hated +city and upon all mankind, wishing the walls of that detestable +city might sink, and the houses fall upon their owners, wishing +all plagues which infest humanity--war, outrage, poverty, +diseases--might fasten upon its inhabitants, praying the just +gods to confound all Athenians, both young and old, high and low; +so wishing, he went to the woods, where he said he should find +the unkindest beast much kinder than mankind. He stripped himself +naked, that he might retain no fashion of a man, and dug a cave +to live in, and lived solitary in the manner of a beast, eating +the wild roots and drinking water, flying from the face of his +kind, and choosing rather to herd with wild beasts, as more +harmless and friendly than man. + +What a change from Lord Timon the rich, Lord Timon the delight of +mankind, to Timon the naked, Timon the man-hater! Where were his +flatterers now? Where were his attendants and retinue? Would the +bleak air, that boisterous servitor, be his chamberlain, to put +his shirt on warm? Would those stiff trees that had outlived the +eagle turn young and airy pages to him, to skip on his errands +when he bade them? Would the cool brook, when it was iced with +winter, administer to him his warm broths and caudles when sick +of an overnight’s surfeit? Or would the creatures that lived in +those wild woods come and lick his hand and flatter him? + +Here on a day, when he was digging for roots, his poor +sustenance, his spade struck against something heavy, which +proved to be gold, a great heap which some miser had probably +buried in a time of alarm, thinking to have come again and taken +it from its prison, but died before the opportunity had arrived, +without making any man privy to the concealment; so it lay, doing +neither good nor harm, in the bowels of the earth, its mother, as +if it had never come thence, till the accidental striking of +Timon’s spade against it once more brought it to light. + +Here was a mass of treasure which, if Timon had retained his old +mind, was enough to have purchased him friends and flatterers +again; but Timon was sick of the false world and the sight of +gold was poisonous to his eyes; and he would have restored it to +the earth, but that, thinking of the infinite calamities which by +means of gold happen to mankind, how the lucre of it causes +robberies, oppression, injustice, briberies, violence, and +murder, among men, he had a pleasure in imagining (such a rooted +hatred did he bear to his species) that out of this heap, which +in digging he had discovered, might arise some mischief to plague +mankind. And some soldiers passing through the woods near to his +cave at that instant, which proved to be a part of the troops of +the Athenian captain Alcibiades, who, upon some disgust taken +against the senators of Athens (the Athenians were ever noted to +be a thankless and ungrateful people, giving disgust to their +generals and best friends), was marching at the head of the same +triumphant army which he had formerly headed in their defense, to +war against them. Timon, who liked their business well, bestowed +upon their captain the gold to pay his soldiers, requiring no +other service from him than that he should with his conquering +army lay Athens level with the ground, and burn, slay, kill all +her inhabitants; not sparing the old men for their white beards, +for (he said) they were usurers, nor the young children for their +seeming innocent smiles, for those (he said) would live, if they +grew up, to be traitors; but to steel his eyes and ears against +any sights or sounds that might awaken compassion; and not to let +the cries of virgins, babes, or mothers hinder him from making +one universal massacre of the city, but to confound them all in +his conquest; and when he had conquered, he prayed that the gods +would confound him also, the conqueror. So thoroughly did Timon +hate Athens, Athenians, and all mankind. + +While he lived in this forlorn state, leading a life more brutal +than human, he was suddenly surprised one day with the appearance +of a man standing in an admiring posture at the door of his +cave. It was Flavius, the honest steward, whom love and zealous +affection to his master had led to seek him out at his wretched +dwelling and to offer his services; and the first sight of his +master, the once noble Timon, in that abject condition, naked as +he was born, living in the manner of a beast among beasts, +looking like his own sad ruins and a monument of decay, so +affected this good servant that he stood speechless, wrapped up +in horror and confounded. And when he found utterance at last to +his words, they were so choked with tears that Timon had much ado +to know him again, or to make out who it was that had come (so +contrary to the experience he had had of mankind) to offer him +service in extremity. And being in the form and shape of a man, +he suspected him for a traitor, and his tears for false; but the +good servant by so many tokens confirmed the truth of his +fidelity, and made it clear that nothing but love and zealous +duty to his once dear master had brought him there, that Timon +was forced to confess that the world contained one honest man; +yet, being in the shape and form of a man, be could not look upon +his man’s face without abhorrence, or hear words uttered from his +man’s lips without loathing; and this singly honest man was +forced to depart, because he was a man, and because, with a heart +more gentle and compassionate than is usual to man, he bore man’s +detested form and outward feature. + +But greater visitants than a poor steward were about to interrupt +the savage quiet of Timon’s solitude. For now the day was come +when the ungrateful lords of Athens sorely repented the injustice +which they had done to the noble Timon. For Alcibiades, like an +incensed wild boar, was raging at the walls of their city, and +with his hot siege threatened to lay fair Athens in the dust. And +now the memory of Lord Timon’s former prowess and military +conduct came fresh into their forgetful minds, for Timon had been +their general in past times, and a valiant and expert soldier, +who alone of all the Athenians was deemed able to cope with a +besieging army such as then threatened them, or to drive back the +furious approaches of Alcibiades. + +A deputation of the senators was chosen in this emergency to wait +upon Timon. To him they come in their extremity, to whom, when he +was in extremity, they had shown but small regard; as if they +presumed upon his gratitude whom they had disobliged, and had +derived a claim to his courtesy from their own most discourteous +and unpiteous treatment. + +Now they earnestly beseech him, implore him with tears, to return +and save that city from which their ingratitude had so lately +driven him; now they offer him riches, power, dignities,, +satisfaction for past injuries, and public honors, and the public +love; their persons, lives, and fortunes to be at his disposal, +if he will but come back and save them. But Timon the naked, +Timon the man-hater, was no longer Lord Timon, the lord of +bounty, the flower of valor, their defense in war, their ornament +in peace. If Alcibiades killed his countrymen, Timon cared not. +If he sacked fair Athens, and slew her old men and her infants, +Timon would rejoice. So he told them; and that there was not a +knife in the unruly camp which he did not prize above the +reverendest throat in Athens. + +This was all the answer he vouchsafed to the weeping, +disappointed senators; only at parting he bade them commend him +to his countrymen, and tell them that to ease them of their +griefs and anxieties, and to prevent the consequences of fierce +Alcibiades’s wrath, there was yet a way left, which he would +teach them, for he had yet so much affection left for his dear +countrymen as to be willing to do them a kindness before his +death. These words a little revived the senators, who hoped that +his kindness for their city was returning. Then Timon told them +that he had a tree, which grew near his cave, which he should +shortly have occasion to cut down, and he invited all his friends +in Athens, high or low , of whatsoever degree, who wished to shun +affliction, to come and take a taste of his tree before he cut it +down; meaning that they might come and hang themselves on it and +escape affliction that way. + +And this was the last courtesy, of all his noble bounties, which +Timon showed to mankind, and this the last sight of him which his +countrymen had, for not many days after, a poor soldier, passing +by the sea-beach which was at a little distance from the woods +which Timon frequented, found a tomb on the verge of the sea, +with an inscription upon it purporting that it was the grave of +Timon the man-hater, who “While he lived, did hate all living +men, and, dying, wished a plague might consume all caitiffs +left!” + +Whether he finished his life by violence, or whether mere +distaste of life and the loathing he had for mankind brought +Timon to his conclusion, was not clear, yet all men admired the +fitness of his epitaph and the consistency of his end, dying, as +he had lived, a hater of mankind. And some there were who fancied +a conceit in the very choice which he had made of the sea-beach +for his place of burial, where the vast sea might weep forever +upon his grave, as in contempt of the transient and shallow tears +of hypocritical and deceitful mankind. + + + + +ROMEO AND JULIET + + +The two chief families in Verona were the rich Capulets and the +Montagues. There had been an old quarrel between these families, +which was grown to such a height, and so deadly was the enmity +between them, that it extended to the remotest kindred, to the +followers and retainers of both sides, in so much that a servant +of the house of Montague could not meet a servant of the house of +Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a Montague by chance, but +fierce words and sometimes bloodshed ensued; and frequent were +the brawls from such accidental meetings, which disturbed the +happy quiet of Verona’s streets. + +Old Lord Capulet made a great supper, to which many fair ladies +and many noble guests were invited. All the admired beauties of +Verona were present, and all comers were made welcome if they +were not of the house of Montague. At this feast of Capulets, +Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to the old Lord Montague, was +present; and though it was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in +this assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, persuaded the +young lord to go to this assembly in the disguise of a mask, that +he might see his Rosaline, and, seeing her, compare her with some +choice beauties of Verona, who (he said) would make him think his +swan a crow. Romeo had small faith in Benvolio’s words; +nevertheless, for the love of Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. +For Romeo was a sincere and passionate lover, and one that lost +his sleep for love and fled society to be alone, thinking on +Rosaline, who disdained him and never requited his love with the +least show of courtesy or affection; and Benvolio wished to cure +his friend of this love by showing him diversity of ladies and +company. To this feast of Capulets, then, young Romeo, with +Benvolio and their friend Mercutio, went masked. Old Capulet bid +them welcome and told them that ladies who had their toes +unplagued with corns would dance with them. And the old man was +light-hearted and merry, and said that he had worn a mask when he +was young and could have told a whispering tale in a fair lady’s +ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was suddenly struck with +the exceeding beauty of a lady who danced there, who seemed to +him to teach the torches to burn bright, and her beauty to show +by night like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; beauty too rich +for use, too dear for earth! like a snowy dove trooping with +crows (he said), so richly did her beauty and perfections shine +above the ladies her companions. While he uttered these praises +he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of Lord Capulet, who knew +him by his voice to be Romeo. And this Tybalt, being of a fiery +and passionate temper, could not endure that a Montague should +come under cover of a mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at +their solemnities. And he stormed and raged exceedingly, and +would have struck young Romeo dead. But his uncle, the old Lord +Capulet, would not suffer him to do any injury at that time, both +out of respect to his guests and because Romeo had borne himself +like a gentleman and all tongues in Verona bragged of him to be a +virtuous and well-governed youth. Tybalt, forced to be patient +against his will, restrained himself, but swore that this vile +Montague should at another time dearly pay for his intrusion. + +The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place where the lady +stood; and under favor of his masking habit, which might seem to +excuse in part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest manner to +take her by the hand, calling it a shrine, which if he profaned +by touching it, he was a blushing pilgrim and would kiss it for +atonement. + +“Good pilgrim,” answered the lady, “your devotion shows by far +too mannerly and too courtly. Saints have hands which pilgrims +may touch but kiss not.” + +“Have not saints lips, and pilgrims, too?” said Romeo. + +“Aye,” said the lady, “lips which they must use in prayer.” + +“Oh, then, my dear saint,” said Romeo, “hear my prayer, and grant +it, lest I despair.” + +In such like allusions and loving conceits they were engaged when +the lady was called away to her mother. And Romeo, inquiring who +her mother was, discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he +was so much struck with was young Juliet, daughter and heir to +the Lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Montagues; and that he +had unknowingly engaged his heart to his foe. This troubled him, +but it could not dissuade him from loving. As little rest had +Juliet when she found that the gentle man that she had been +talking with was Romeo and a Montague, for she had been suddenly +smit with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo +which he had conceived for her; and a prodigious birth of love it +seemed to her, that she must love her enemy and that her +affections should settle there, where family considerations +should induce her chiefly to hate. + +It being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed; but they +soon missed him, for, unable to stay away from the house where he +had left his heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard which was at +the back of Juliet’s house. Here he had not been long, ruminating +on his new love, when Juliet appeared above at a window, through +which her exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of the +sun in the east; and the moon, which shone in the orchard with a +faint light, appeared to Romeo as if sick and pale with grief at +the superior luster of this new sun. And she leaning her cheek +upon her hand, he passionately wished himself a glove upon that +hand, that he might touch her cheek. She all this while thinking +herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed: + +“Ah me!” + +Romeo, enraptured to bear her speak, said, softly and unheard by +her, “Oh, speak again, bright angel, for such you appear, being +over my head, like a winged messenger from heaven whom mortals +fall back to gaze upon.” + +She, unconscious of being overheard, and full of the new passion +which that night’s adventure had given birth to, called upon her +lover by name (whom she supposed absent). “O Romeo, Romeo!” said +she, “wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy +name, for my sake; or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and +I no longer will be a Capulet.” + +Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have spoken, but he +was desirous of hearing more; and the lady continued her +passionate discourse with herself (as she thought), still chiding +Romeo for being Romeo and a Montague, and wishing him some other +name, or that he would put away that hated name, and for that +name which was no part of himself he should take all herself. At +this loving word Romeo could no longer refrain, but, taking up +the dialogue as if her words had been addressed to him +personally, and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him Love, +or by whatever other name she pleased, for he was no longer +Romeo, if that name was displeasing to her. Juliet, alarmed to +hear a man’s voice in the garden, did not at first know who it +was that by favor of the night and darkness had thus stumbled +upon the discovery of her secret; but when he spoke again, though +her ears had not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue’s +uttering, yet so nice is a lover’s hearing that she immediately +knew him to be young Romeo, and she expostulated with him on the +danger to which he had exposed himself by climbing the orchard +walls, for if any of her kinsmen should find him there it would +be death to him, being a Montague. + +“Alack!” said Romeo, “there is more peril in your eye than in +twenty of their swords. Do you but look kind upon me, lady, and I +am proof against their enmity. Better my life should be ended by +their hate than that hated life should be prolonged to live +without your love.” + +“How came you into this place,” said Juliet, “and by whose +direction?” + +“Love directed me,” answered Romeo. “I am no pilot, yet ‘wert +thou as far apart from me as that vast shore which is washed with +the farthest sea, I should venture for such merchandise.” + +A crimson blush came over Juliet’s face, yet unseen by Romeo by +reason of the night, when she reflected upon the discovery which +she had made, yet not meaning to make it, of her love to Romeo. +She would fain have recalled her words, but that was impossible; +fain would she have stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a +distance, as the custom of discreet ladies is, to frown and be +perverse and give their suitors harsh denials at first; to stand +off, and affect a coyness or indifference where they most love, +that their lovers may not think them too lightly or too easily +won; for the difficulty of attainment increases the value of the +object. But there was no room in her case for denials, or +puttings off, or any of the customary arts of delay and +protracted courtship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue, when +she did not dream that he was near her, a confession of her love. +So with an honest frankness which the novelty of her situation +excused she confirmed the truth of what he had before heard, and, +addressing him by the name of FAIR MONTAGUE (love can sweeten a +sour name), she begged him not to impute her easy yielding to +levity or an unworthy mind, but that he must lay the fault of it +(if it were a fault) upon the accident of the night which had so +strangely discovered her thoughts. And she added, that though her +behavior to him might not be sufficiently prudent, measured by +the custom of her sex, yet that she would prove more true than +many whose prudence was dissembling, and their modesty artificial +cunning. + +Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to witness that nothing +was farther from his thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonor +to such an honored lady, when she stopped him, begging him not to +swear; for although she joyed in him, yet she had no joy of that +night’s contract--it was too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But +he being urgent with her to exchange a vow of love with him that +night, she said that she already had given him hers before he +requested it, meaning, when he overheard her confession; but she +would retract what she then bestowed, for the pleasure of giving +it again, for her bounty was as infinite as the sea, and her love +as deep. From this loving conference she was called away by her +nurse, who slept with her and thought it time for her to be in +bed, for it was near to daybreak; but, hastily returning, she +said three or four words more to Romeo the purport of which was, +that if his love was indeed honorable, and his purpose marriage, +she would send a messenger to him to-morrow to appoint a time for +their marriage, when she would lay all her fortunes at his feet +and follow him as her lord through the world. While they were +settling this point Juliet was repeatedly called for by her +nurse, and went in and returned, and went and returned again, for +she seemed as jealous of Romeo going from her as a young girl of +her bird, which she will let hop a little from her hand and pluck +it back with a silken thread; and Romeo was as loath to part as +she, for the sweetest music to lovers is the sound of each +other’s tongues at night. But at last they parted, wishing +mutually sweet sleep and rest for that night. + +The day was breaking when they parted, and Romeo, who was too +full of thoughts of his mistress and that blessed meeting to +allow him to sleep, instead of going home, bent his course to a +monastery hard by, to find Friar Lawrence. The good friar was +already up at his devotions, but, seeing young Romeo abroad so +early, he conjectured rightly that he had not been abed that +night, but that some distemper of youthful affection had kept him +waking. He was right in imputing the cause of Romeo’s wakefulness +to love, but he made a wrong guess at the object, for he thought +that his love for Rosaline had kept him waking. But when Romeo +revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested the assistance +of the friar to marry them that day, the holy man lifted up his +eyes and hands in a sort of wonder at the sudden change in +Romeo’s affections, for he had been privy to all Romeo’s love for +Rosaline and his many complaints of her disdain; and he said that +young men’s love lay not truly in their hearts, but in their +eyes. But Romeo replying that he himself had often chidden him +for doting on Rosaline, who could not love him again, whereas +Juliet both loved and was beloved by him, the friar assented in +some measure to his reasons; and thinking that a matrimonial +alliance between young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the +means of making up the long breach between the Capulets and the +Montagues, which no one more lamented than this good friar who +was a friend to both the families and had often interposed his +mediation to make up the quarrel without effect; partly moved by +policy, and partly by his fondness for young Romeo, to whom he +could deny nothing, the old man consented to join their hands in +marriage. + +Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who knew his intent +from a messenger which she had despatched according to promise, +did not fail to be early at the cell of Friar Lawrence, where +their hands were joined in holy marriage, the good friar praying +the heavens to smile upon that act, and in the union of this +young Montague and young Capulet, to bury the old strife and long +dissensions of their families. + +The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home, where she stayed, +impatient for the coming of night, at which time Romeo promised +to come and meet her in the orchard, where they had met the night +before; and the time between seemed as tedious to her as the +night before some great festival seems to an impatient child that +has got new finery which it may not put on till the morning. + +That same day, about noon, Romeo’s friends, Benvolio and +Mercutio, walking through the streets of Verona, were met by a +party of the Capulets with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. +This was the same angry Tybalt who would have fought with Romeo +at old Lord Capulet’s feast. He, seeing Mercutio, accused him +bluntly of associating with Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio, who had +as much fire and youthful blood in him as Tybalt, replied to this +accusation with some sharpness; and in spite of all Benvolio +could say to moderate their wrath a quarrel was beginning when, +Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt turned from +Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgraceful appellation of +villain. Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel with Tybalt above all +men, because he was the kinsman of Juliet and much beloved by +her; besides, this young Montague had never thoroughly entered +into the family quarrel, being by nature wise and gentle, and the +name of a Capulet, which was his dear lady’s name, was now rather +a charm to allay resentment than a watchword to excite fury. So +he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he saluted mildly by the +name of GOOD CAPULET, as if he, though a Montague, had some +secret pleasure in uttering that name; but Tybalt, who hated all +Montagues as he hated hell, would hear no reason, but drew his +weapon; and Mercutio, who knew not of Romeo’s secret motive for +desiring peace with Tybalt, but looked upon his present +forbearance as a sort of calm dishonorable submission, with many +disdainful words provoked Tybalt to the prosecution of his first +quarrel with him; and Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio +fell, receiving his death’s wound while Romeo and Benvolio were +vainly endeavoring to part the combatants. Mercutio being dead, +Romeo kept his temper no longer, but returned the scornful +appellation of villain which Tybalt had given him, and they +fought till Tybalt was slain by Romeo. This deadly broil falling +out in the midst of Verona at noonday, the news of it quickly +brought a crowd of citizens to the spot and among them the Lords +Capulet and Montague, with their wives; and soon after arrived +the prince himself, who, being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt +had slain, and having had the peace of his government often +disturbed by these brawls of Montagues and Capulets, came +determined to put the law in strictest force against those who +should be found to be offenders. Benvolio, who had been +eye-witness to the fray, was commanded by the prince to relate +the origin of it; which he did, keeping as near the truth as he +could without injury to Romeo, softening and excusing the part +which his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief +for the loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in her +revenge, exhorted the prince to do strict justice upon his +murderer, and to,pay no attention to Benvolio’s representation, +who, being Romeo’s friend and a Montague, spoke partially. Thus +she pleaded against her new son-in-law, but she knew not yet that +he was her son-in-law and Juliet’s husband. On the other hand was +to be seen Lady Montague pleading for her child’s life, and +arguing with some justice that Romeo had done nothing worthy of +punishment in taking the life of Tybalt, which was already +forfeited to the law by his having slain Mercutio. The prince, +unmoved by the passionate exclamations of these women, on a +careful examination of the facts pronounced his sentence, and by +that sentence Romeo was banished from Verona. + +Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few hours a bride +and now by this decree seemed everlastingly divorced! When the +tidings reached her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo, +who had slain her dear cousin. She called him a beautiful tyrant, +a fiend angelical, a ravenous dove, a lamb with a wolf’s nature, +a serpent-heart hid with a flowering face, and other, like +contradictory names, which denoted the struggles in her mind +between her love and her resentment. But in the end love got the +mastery, and the tears which she shed for grief that Romeo had +slain her cousin turned to drops of joy that her husband lived +whom Tybalt would have slain. Then came fresh tears, and they +were altogether of grief for Romeo’s banishment. That word was +more terrible to her than the death of many Tybalts. + +Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in Friar Lawrence’s cell, +where he was first made acquainted with the prince’s sentence, +which seemed to him far more terrible than death. To him it +appeared there was no world out of Verona’s walls, no living out +of the sight of Juliet. Heaven was there where Juliet lived, and +all beyond was purgatory, torture, hell. The good friar would +have applied the consolation of philosophy to his griefs; but +this frantic young man would hear of none, but like a madman he +tore his hair and threw himself all along upon the ground, as he +said, to take the measure of his grave. From this unseemly state +he was roused by a message from his dear lady which a little +revived him; and then the friar took the advantage to expostulate +with him on the unmanly weakness which he had shown. He had slain +Tybalt, but would he also slay himself, slay his dear lady, who +lived but in his life? The noble form of man, he said, was but a +shape of wax when it wanted the courage which should keep it +firm. The law had been lenient to him that instead of death, +which he had incurred, had pronounced by the prince’s mouth only +banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have slain +him-there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive and +(beyond all hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most +happy. All these blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did +Romeo put from him like a sullen misbehaved wench. And the friar +bade him beware, for such as despaired (he said) died miserable. +Then when Romeo was a little calmed he counseled him that he +should go that night and secretly take his leave of Juliet, and +thence proceed straightway to Mantua, at which place he should +sojourn till the friar found fit occasion to publish his +marriage, which might be a joyful means of reconciling their +families; and then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved +to pardon him, and he would return with twenty times more joy +than he went forth with grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise +counsels of the friar, and took his leave to go and seek his +lady, proposing to stay with her that night, and by daybreak +pursue his journey alone to Mantua; to which place the good friar +promised to send him letters from time to time, acquainting him +with the state of affairs at home. + +That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining secret +admission to her chamber from the orchard in which he had heard +her confession of love the night before. That had been a night of +unmixed joy and rapture; but the pleasures of this night and the +delight which these lovers took in each other’s society were +sadly allayed with the prospect of parting and the fatal +adventures of the past day. The unwelcome daybreak seemed to come +too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song of the lark she +would have persuaded herself that it was the nightingale, which +sings by night; but it was too truly the lark which sang, and a +discordant and unpleasing note it seemed to her; and the streaks +of day in the east too certainly pointed out that it was time for +these lovers to part. Romeo took his leave of his dear wife with +a heavy heart, promising to write to her from Mantua every hour +in the day; and when he had descended from her chamber window, as +he stood below her on the ground, in that sad foreboding state of +mind in which she was, he appeared to her eyes as one dead in the +bottom of a tomb. Romeo’s mind misgave him in like manner. But +now he was forced hastily to depart, for it was death for him to +be found within the walls of Verona after daybreak. + +This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this pair of star- +crossed lovers. Romeo had not been gone many days before the old +Lord Capulet proposed a match for Juliet. The husband he had +chosen for her, not dreaming that she was married already, was +Count Paris, a gallant, young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy +suitor to the young Juliet if she had never seen Romeo. + +The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her father’s +offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to marriage, the recent +death of Tybalt, which had left her spirits too weak to meet a +husband with any face of joy, and how indecorous it would show +for the family of the Capulets to be celebrating a nuptial feast +when his funeral solemnities were hardly over. She pleaded every +reason against the match but the true one, namely, that she was +married already. But Lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, +and in a peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for by the +following Thursday she should be married to Paris. And having +found her a husband, rich, young, and noble, such as the proudest +maid in Verona might joyfully accept, he could not bear that out +of an affected coyness, as he construed her denial, she should +oppose obstacles to her own good fortune. + +In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly friar, always a +counselor in distress, and he asking her if she had resolution to +undertake a desperate remedy, and she answering that she would go +into the grave alive rather than marry Paris, her own dear +husband living, he directed her to go home, and appear merry, and +give her consent to marry Paris, according to her father’s +desire, and on the next night, which was the night before the +marriage, to drink off the contents of a vial which he then gave +her, the effect of which would be that for two-and-forty hours +after drinking it she should appear cold and lifeless, and when +the bridegroom came to fetch her in the morning he would find her +to appearance dead; that then she would be borne, as the manner +in that country was, uncovered on a bier, to be buried in the +family vault; that if she could put off womanish fear, and +consent to this terrible trial, in forty-two hours after +swallowing the liquid (such was its certain operation) she would +be sure to awake, as from a dream; and before she should awake he +would let her husband know their drift, and he should come in the +night and bear her thence to Mantua. Love, and the dread of +marrying Paris, gave young Juliet strength to undertake this +horrible adventure; and she took the vial of the friar, promising +to observe his directions. + +Going from the monastery, she met the young Count Paris, and, +modestly dissembling, promised to become his bride. This was +joyful news to the Lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put +youth into the old man; and Juliet, who had displeased him +exceedingly by her refusal of the count, was his darling again, +now she promised to be obedient. All things in the house were in +a bustle against the approaching nuptials. No cost was spared to +prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before +witnessed. + +On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion. She had many +misgivings lest the friar, to avoid the blame which might be +imputed to him for marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison; +but then he was always known for a holy man. Then lest she should +awake before the time that Romeo was to come for her; whether the +terror of the place, a vault full of dead Capulets’ bones, and +where Tybalt, all bloody, lay festering in his shroud, would not +be enough to drive her distracted. Again she thought of all the +stories she had heard of spirits haunting the places where their +bodies were bestowed. But then her love for Romeo and her +aversion for Paris returned, and she desperately swallowed the +draught and became insensible. + +When young Paris came early in the morning with music to awaken +his bride, instead of a living Juliet her chamber presented the +dreary spectacle of a lifeless corse. What death to his hopes! +What confusion then reigned through the whole house! Poor Paris +lamenting his bride, whom most detestable death had beguiled him +of, had divorced from him even before their hands were joined. +But still more piteous it was to hear the mournings of the old +Lord and Lady Capulet, who having but this one, one poor loving +child to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had snatched her from +their sight, just as these careful parents were on the point of +seeing her advanced (as they thought) by a promising and +advantageous match. Now all things that were ordained for the +festival were turned from their properties to do the office of a +black funeral. The wedding cheer served for a sad burial feast, +the bridal hymns were changed for sullen dirges, the sprightly +instruments to melancholy.bells, and the flowers that should have +been strewed in the bride’s path now served but to strew her +corse. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was needed +to bury her, and she was borne to church indeed, not to augment +the cheerful hopes of the living, but to swell the dreary numbers +of the dead. + +Bad news, which always travels faster than good, now brought the +dismal story of his Juliet’s death to Romeo, at Mantua, before +the messenger could arrive who was sent from Friar Lawrence to +apprise him that these were mock funerals only, and but the +shadow and representation of death, and that his dear lady lay in +the tomb but for a short while, expecting when Romeo would come +to release her from that dreary mansion. Just before, Romeo had +been unusually joyful and light-hearted. He had dreamed in the +night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave a dead man +leave to think) and that his lady came and found him dead, and +breathed such life with kisses in his lips that he revived and +was an emperor! And now that a messenger came from Verona, he +thought surely it was to confirm some good news which his dreams +had presaged. But when the contrary to this flattering vision +appeared, and that it was his lady who was dead in truth, whom he +could not revive by any kisses, he ordered horses to be got +ready, for he determined that night to visit Verona and to see +his lady in her tomb. And as mischief is swift to enter into the +thoughts of desperate men, he called to mind a poor apothecary, +whose shop in Mantua he had lately passed, and from the beggarly +appearance of the man, who seemed famished, and the wretched show +in his show of empty boxes ranged on dirty shelves, and other +tokens of extreme wretchedness, he had said at the time (perhaps +having some misgivings that his own disastrous life might haply +meet with a conclusion so desperate): + +“If a man were to need poison, which by the law of Mantua it is +death to sell, here lives a poor wretch who would sell it him.” + +These words of his now came into his mind and he sought out the +apothecary, who after some pretended scruples, Romeo offering him +gold, which his poverty could not resist, sold him a poison +which, if he swallowed, he told him, if he had the strength of +twenty men, would quickly despatch him. + +With this poison he set out for Verona, to have a sight of his +dear lady in her tomb, meaning, when he had satisfied his sight, +to swallow the poison and be buried by her side. He reached +Verona at midnight, and found the churchyard in the midst of +which was situated the ancient tomb of the Capulets. He had +provided a light, and a spade, and wrenching-iron, and was +proceeding to break open the monument when he was interrupted by +a voice, which by the name of VILE MONTAGUE bade him desist from +his unlawful business. It was the young Count Paris, who had come +to the tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable time of night to strew +flowers and to weep over the grave of her that should have been +his bride. He knew not what an interest Romeo had in the dead, +but, knowing him to be a Montague and (as he supposed) a sworn +foe to all the Capulets, he judged that he was come by night to +do some villainous shame to the dead bodies; therefore in an +angry tone he bade him desist; and as a criminal, condemned by +the laws of Verona to die if he were found within the walls of +the city, he would have apprehended him. Romeo urged Paris to +leave him, and warned him by the fate of Tybalt, who lay buried +there, not to provoke his anger or draw down another sin upon his +head by forcing him to kill him. But the count in scorn refused +his warning, and laid hands on him as a felon, which, Romeo +resisting, they fought, and Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help +of a light, came to see who it was that he had slain, that it was +Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua) should have +married Juliet, he took the dead youth by the hand, as one whom +misfortune had made a companion, and said that he would bury him +in a triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet’s grave, which he now +opened. And there lay his lady, as one whom death had no power +upon to change a feature or complexion, in her matchless beauty; +or as if death were amorous, and the lean, abhorred monster kept +her there for his delight; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as +she had fallen to sleep when she swallowed that benumbing potion; +and near her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing, +begged pardon of his lifeless corse, and for Juliet’s sake called +him COUSIN, and said that he was about to do him a favor by +putting his enemy to death. Here Romeo took his last leave of his +lady’s lips, kissing them; and here he shook the burden of his +cross stars from his weary body, swallowing that poison which the +apothecary had sold him, whose operation was fatal and real, not +like that dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed, the +effect of which was now nearly expiring, and she about to awake +to complain that Romeo had not kept his time, or that he had come +too soon. + +For now the hour was arrived at which the friar had promised that +she should awake; and he, having learned that his letters which +he had sent to Mantua, by some unlucky detention of the +messenger, had never reached Romeo, came himself, provided with a +pickax and lantern, to deliver the lady from her confinement; but +he was surprised to find a light already burning in the Capulets’ +monument, and to see swords and blood near it, and Romeo and +Paris lying breathless by the monument, + +Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine how these +fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of her trance, +and, seeing the friar near her, she remembered the place where +she was, and the occasion of her being there, and asked for +Romeo, but the friar, hearing a noise, bade her come out of that +place of death and of unnatural sleep, for a greater power than +they could contradict had thwarted their intents; and, being +frightened by the noise of people coming, he fled. But when +Juliet saw the cup closed in her true love’s hands, she guessed +that poison had been the cause of his end, and she would have +swallowed the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his +still warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang upon them; then +hearing a nearer noise of people coming, she quickly unsheathed a +dagger which she wore, and, stabbing herself, died by her true +Romeo’s side. + +The watch by this time had come up to the place. A page belonging +to Count Paris, who had witnessed the fight between his master +and Romeo, had given the alarm, which had spread among the +citizens, who went up and down the streets of Verona confusedly +exclaiming, “A Paris! a Romeo! a Juliet!” as the rumor had +imperfectly reached them, till the uproar brought Lord Montague +and Lord Capulet out of their beds, with the prince, to inquire +into the causes of the disturbance. The friar had been +apprehended by some of the watch, coming from the churchyard, +trembling, sighing, and weeping in a suspicious manner. A great +multitude being assembled at the Capulets’ monument, the friar +was demanded by the prince to deliver what he knew of these +strange and disastrous accidents. + +And there, in the presence of the old Lords Montague and Capulet, +he faithfully related the story of their children’s fatal love, +the part he took in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that +union to end the long quarrels between their families; how Romeo, +there dead, was husband to Juliet, and Juliet, there dead, was +Romeo’s faithful wife; how, before he could find a fit +opportunity to divulge their marriage, another match was +projected for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime of a second +marriage, swallowed the sleeping-draught (as he advised), and all +thought her dead; how meantime he wrote to Romeo to come and take +her thence when the force of the potion should cease, and by what +unfortunate miscarriage of the messenger the letters never +reached Romeo. Further than this the friar could not follow the +story, nor knew more than that, coming himself to deliver Juliet +from that place of death, he found the Count Paris and Romeo +slain. The remainder of the transactions was supplied by the +narration of the page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by +the servant who came with Romeo from Verona, to whom this +faithful lover had given letters to be delivered to his father in +the event of his death, which made good the friar’s words, +confessing his marriage with Juliet, imploring the forgiveness of +his parents, acknowledging the buying of the poison of the poor +apothecary and his intent in coming to the monument to die and +lie with Juliet. All these circumstances agreed together to clear +the friar from any hand he could be supposed to have in these +complicated slaughters, further than as the unintended +consequences of his own well-meant, yet too artificial and subtle +contrivances. + +And the prince, turning to these old lords, Montague and Capulet, +rebuked them for their brutal and irrational enmities, and showed +them what a scourge Heaven had laid upon such offenses, that it +had found means even through the love of their children to punish +their unnatural hate. And these old rivals, no longer enemies, +agreed to bury their long strife in their children’s graves; and +Lord Capulet requested Lord Montague to give him his hand, +calling him by the name of brother, as if in acknowledgment of +the union of their families by the marriage of the young Capulet +and Montague; and saying that Lord Montague’s hand (in token of +reconcilement) was all he demanded for his daughter’s jointure. +But Lord Montague said he would give him more, for he would raise +her a statue of pure gold that, while Verona kept its name, no +figure should be so esteemed for its richness and workmanship as +that of the true and faithful Juliet. And Lord Capulet in return +said that he would raise another statue to Romeo. So did these +poor old lords, when it was too late, strive to outgo each other +in mutual courtesies; while so deadly had been their rage and +enmity in past times that nothing but the fearful overthrow of +their children (poor sacrifices to their quarrels and +dissensions) could remove the rooted hates and jealousies of the +noble families. + + + + +HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + + +Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, becoming a widow by the sudden death +of King Hamlet, in less than two months after his death married +his brother Claudius, which was noted by all people at the tim +for a strange act of indiscretion, or unfeelingness, or worse; +for this Claudius did no way resemble her late husband in the +qualities of his person or his mind, but was as contemptible in +outward appearance as he was base and unworthy in disposition; +and suspicions did not fail to arise in the minds of some that he +had privately made away with his brother, the late king, with the +view of marrying his widow and ascending the throne of Denmark, +to the exclusion of young Hamlet, the son of the buried king and +lawful successor to the throne. + +But upon no one did this unadvised action of the queen make such +impression as upon this young prince, who loved and venerated the +memory of his dead father almost to idolatry, and, being of a +nice sense of honor and a most exquisite practiser of propriety +himself, did sorely take to heart this unworthy conduct of his +mother Gertrude; in so much that, between grief for his father’s +death and shame for his mother’s marriage, this young prince was +overclouded with a deep melancholy, and lost all his mirth and +all his good looks; all his customary pleasure in books forsook +him, his princely exercises and sports, proper to his youth, were +no longer acceptable; he grew weary of the world, which seemed to +him an unweeded garden, where all the wholesome flowers were +choked up and nothing but weeds could thrive. Not that the +prospect of exclusion from the throne, his lawful inheritance, +weighed so much upon his spirits, though that to a young and +high-minded prince was a bitter wound and a sore indignity; but +what so galled him and took away all his cheerful spirits was +that his mother had shown herself so forgetful to his father’s +memory, and such a father! who had been to her so loving and so +gentle a husband! and then she always appeared as loving and +obedient a wife to him, and would hang upon him as if her +affection grew to him. And now within two months, or, as it +seemed to young Hamlet, less than two months, she had married +again, married his uncle, her dear husband’s brother, in itself a +highly improper and unlawful marriage, from the nearness of +relationship, but made much more so by the indecent haste with +which it was concluded and the unkingly character of the man whom +she had chosen to be the partner of her throne and bed. This it +was which more than the loss of ten kingdoms dashed the spirits +and brought a cloud over the mind of this honorable young prince. + +In vain was all that his mother Gertrude or the king could do to +contrive to divert him; he still appeared in court in a suit of +deep black, as mourning for the king his father’s death, which +mode of dress he had never laid aside, not even in compliment to +his mother upon the day she was married, nor could he be brought +to join in any of the festivities or rejoicings of that (as +appeared to him) disgraceful day. + +What mostly troubled him was an uncertainty about the manner of +his father’s death. It was given out by Claudius that a serpent +had stung him; but young Hamlet had shrewd suspicions that +Claudius himself was the serpent; in plain English, that he had +murdered him for his crown, and that the serpent who stung his +father did now sit on the throne. + +How far he was right in this conjecture and what he ought to +think of his mother, how far she was privy to this murder and +whether by her consent or knowledge, or without, it came to pass, +were the doubts which continually harassed and distracted him. + +A rumor had reached the ear of young Hamlet that an apparition, +exactly resembling the dead king his father, had been seen by the +soldiers upon watch, on the platform before the palace at +midnight, for two or three nights successively. The figure came +constantly clad in the same suit of armor, from head to foot, +which the dead king was known to have worn. And they who saw it +(Hamlet’s bosom friend Horatio was one) agreed in their testimony +as to the time and manner of its appearance that it came just as +the clock struck twelve; that it looked pale, with a face more of +sorrow than of anger; that its beard was grisly, and the color a +SABLE SILVERED, as they had seen it in his lifetime; that it +made no answer when they spoke to it; yet once they thought it +lifted up its head and addressed itself to motion, as if it were +about to speak; but in that moment the morning cock crew and it +shrank in haste away, and vanished out of their sight. + +The young prince, strangely amazed at their relation, which was +too consistent and agreeing with itself to disbelieve, concluded +that it was his father’s ghost which they had seen, and +determined to take his watch with the soldiers that night, that +he might have a chance of seeing it; for he reasoned with himself +that such an appearance did not come for nothing, but that the +ghost had something to impart, and though it had been silent +hitherto, yet it would speak to him. And he waited with +impatience for the coming of night. + +When night came he took his stand with Horatio, and Marcellus, +one of the guard, upon the platform, where this apparition was +accustomed to walk; and it being a cold night, and the air +unusually raw and nipping, Hamlet and Horatio and their companion +fell into some talk about the coldness of the night, which was +suddenly broken off by Horatio announcing that the ghost was +coming. + +At the sight of his father’s spirit Hamlet was struck with a +sudden surprise and fear.’ He at first called upon the angels and +heavenly ministers to defend them, for he knew not whether it +were a good spirit or bad, whether it came for good or evil; but +he gradually assumed more courage; and his father (as it seemed +to him) looked upon him so piteously, and as it were desiring to +have conversation with him, and did in all respects appear so +like himself as he was when he lived, that Hamlet could not help +addressing him. He called him by his name, “Hamlet, King, +Father!” and conjured him that he would tell the reason why he +had left his grave, where they had seen him quietly bestowed, to +come again and visit the earth and the moonlight; and besought +him that he would let them know if there was anything which they +could do to give peace to his spirit. And the ghost beckoned to +Hamlet, that he should go with him to some more removed place +where they might be alone; and Horatio and Marcellus would have +dissuaded the young prince from following it, for they feared +lest it should be some evil spirit who would tempt him to the +neighboring sea or to the top of some dreadful cliff, and there +put on some horrible shape which might deprive the prince of his +reason. But their counsels and entreaties could not alter +Hamlet’s determination, who cared too little about life to fear +the losing of it; and as to his soul, he said, what could the +spirit do to that, being a thing immortal as itself? And he felt +as hardy as a lion, and, bursting from them, who did all they +could to hold him, he followed whithersoever the spirit led him. + +And when they were alone together, the spirit broke silence and +told him that he was the ghost of Hamlet, his father, who had +been cruelly murdered, and he told the manner of it; that it was +done by his own brother Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle, as Hamlet had +already but too much suspected, for the hope of succeeding to his +bed and crown. That as he was sleeping in his garden, his custom +always in the afternoon, his treasonous brother stole upon him in +his sleep and poured the juice of poisonous henbane into his +ears, which has such an antipathy to the life of man that, swift +as quicksilver, it courses through all the veins of the body, +baking up the blood and spreading a crust-like leprosy all over +the skin. Thus sleeping, by a brother’s hand he was cut off at +once from his crown, his queen, and his life; and he adjured +Hamlet, if he did ever his dear father love, that he would +revenge his foul murder. And the ghost lamented to his son that +his mother should so fall off from virtue as to prove false to +the wedded love of her first husband and to marry his murderer; +but he cautioned Hamlet, howsoever he proceeded in his revenge +against his wicked uncle, by no means to act any violence against +the person of his mother, but to leave her to Heaven, and to the +stings and thorns of conscience. And Hamlet promised to observe +the ghost’s direction in all things, and the ghost vanished. + +And when Hamlet was left alone he took up a solemn resolution +that all he had in his memory, all that he had ever learned by +books or observation, should be instantly forgotten by him, and +nothing live in his brain but the memory of what the ghost had +told him and enjoined him to do. And Hamlet related the +particulars of the conversation which had passed to none but his +dear friend Horatio; and he enjoined both to him and Marcellus +the strictest secrecy as to what they had seen that night. + +The terror which the sight of the ghost had left upon the senses +of Hamlet, he being weak and dispirited before, almost unhinged +his mind and drove him beside his reason. And he, fearing that it +would continue to have this effect, which might subject him to +observation and set his uncle upon his guard, if he suspected +that he was meditating anything against him, or that Hamlet +really knew more of his father’s death than he professed, took up +a strange resolution, from that time to counterfeit as if he were +really and truly mad; thinking that he would be less an object of +suspicion when his uncle should believe him incapable of any +serious project, and that his real perturbation of mind would be +best covered and pass concealed under a disguise of pretended +lunacy. + +From this time Hamlet affected a certain wildness and strangeness +in his apparel, his speech, and behavior, and did so excellently +counterfeit the madman that the king and queen were both +deceived, and not thinking his grief for his father’s death a +sufficient cause to produce such a distemper, for they knew not +of the appearance of the ghost, they concluded that his malady +was love and they thought they had found out the object. + +Before Hamlet fell into the melancholy way which has been +related he had dearly loved a fair maid called Ophelia, the +daughter of Polonius, the king’s chief counselor in affairs of +state. He had sent her letters and rings, and made many tenders +of his affection to her, and importuned her with love in +honorable fashion; and she had given belief to his vows and +importunities. But the melancholy which he fell into latterly +had made him neglect her, and from the time he conceived the +project of counterfeiting madness he affected to treat her with +unkindness and a sort of rudeness; but she, good lady, rather +than reproach him with being false to her, persuaded herself that +it was nothing but the disease in his mind, and no settled +unkindness, which had made him less observant of her than +formerly; and she compared the faculties of his once noble mind +and excellent understanding, impaired as they were with the deep +melancholy that oppressed him, to sweet bells which in themselves +are capable of most exquisite music, but when jangled out of +tune, or rudely handled, produce only a harsh and unpleasing +sound. + +Though the rough business which Hamlet had in hand, the revenging +of his father’s death upon his murderer, did not suit with the +playful state of courtship, or admit of the society of so idle a +passion as love now seemed to him, yet it could not hinder but +that soft thoughts of his Ophelia would come between, and in one +of these moments, when he thought that his treatment of this +gentle lady had been unreasonably harsh, he wrote her a letter +full of wild starts of passion, and in extravagant terms, such as +agreed with his supposed madness, but mixed with some gentle +touches of affection, which could not but show to this honored +lady that a deep love for her yet lay at the bottom of his heart. +He bade her to doubt the stars were fire, and to doubt that the +sun did move, to doubt truth to be a liar, but never to doubt +that he loved; with more of such extravagant phrases. This letter +Ophelia dutifully showed to her father, and the old man thought +himself bound to communicate it to the king and queen, who from +that time supposed that the true cause of Hamlet’s madness was +love. And the queen wished that the good beauties of Ophelia +might be the happy cause of his wildness, for so she hoped that +her virtues might happily restore him to his accustomed way +again, to both their honors. + +But Hamlet’s malady lay deeper than she supposed, or than could +be so cured. His father’s ghost, which he had seen, still haunted +his imagination, and the sacred injunction to revenge his murder +gave him no rest till it was accomplished. Every hour of delay +seemed to him a sin and a violation of his father’s commands. Yet +how to compass the death of the king, surrounded as he constantly +was with his guards, was no easy matter. Or if it had been, the +presence of the queen, Hamlet’s mother, who was generally with +the king, was a restraint upon his purpose, which he could not +break through. Besides, the very circumstance that the usurper +was his mother’s husband, filled him with some remorse and still +blunted the edge of his purpose. The mere act of putting a +fellow-creature to death was in itself odious and terrible to a +disposition naturally so gentle as Hamlet’s was. His very +melancholy, and the dejection of spirits he had so long been ill, +produced an irresoluteness and wavering of purpose which kept him +from proceeding to extremities. Moreover, he could not help +having some scruples upon his mind, whether the spirit which he +had seen was indeed his father, or whether it might not be the +devil, who he had heard has power to take any form he pleases, +and who might have assumed his father’s shape only to take +advantage of his weakness and his melancholy, to drive him to the +doing of so desperate an act as murder. And he determined that he +would have more certain grounds to go upon than a vision, or +apparition, which might be a delusion. + +While he was in this irresolute mind there came to the court +certain players, in whom Hamlet formerly used to take delight, +and particularly to hear one of them speak a tragical speech, +describing the death of old Priam, King of Troy, with the grief +of Hecuba his queen. Hamlet welcomed his old friends, the +players, and remembering how that speech had formerly given him +pleasure, requested the player to repeat it; which he did in so +lively a manner, setting forth the cruel murder of the feeble old +king, with the destruction of his people and city by fire, and +the mad grief of the old queen, running barefoot up and down the +palace, with a poor clout upon that head where a crown had been, +and with nothing but a blanket upon her loins, snatched up in +haste, where she had worn a royal robe; that not only it drew +tears from all that stood by, who thought they saw the real +scene, so lively was it represented, but even the player himself +delivered it with a broken voice and real tears. This put Hamlet +upon thinking, if that player could so work himself up to passion +by a mere fictitious speech, to weep for one that he had never +seen, for Hecuba, that had been dead so many hundred years, how +dull was he, who having a real motive and cue for passion, a real +king and a dear father murdered, was yet so little moved that his +revenge all this while had seemed to have slept in dull and muddy +forgetfulness! and while he meditated on actors and acting, and +the powerful effects which a good play, represented to the life, +has upon the spectator, he remembered the instance of some +murderer, who, seeing a murder on the stage, was by the mere +force of the scene and resemblance of circumstances so affected +that on the spot he confessed the crime which he had committed. +And he determined that these players should play something like +the murder of his father before his uncle, and he would watch +narrowly what effect it might have upon him, and from his looks +he would be able to gather with more certainty if he were the +murderer or not. To this effect he ordered a play to be prepared, +to the representation of which he invited the king and queen. + +The story of the play was of a murder done in Vienna upon a duke. +The duke’s name was Gonzago, his wife’s Baptista. The play showed +how one Lucianus, a near relation to the duke, poisoned him in +his garden for his estate, and how the murderer in a short time +after got the love of Gonzago’s wife. + +At the representation of this play, the king, who did not know +the trap which was laid for him, was present, with his queen and +the whole court; Hamlet sitting attentively near him to observe +his looks. The play began with a conversation between Gonzago and +his wife, in which the lady made many protestations of love, and +of never marrying a second husband if she should outlive Gonzago, +wishing she might be accursed if she ever took a second husband, +and adding that no woman did so but those wicked women who kill +their first husbands. Hamlet observed the king his uncle change +color at this expression, and that it was as bad as wormwood both +to him and to the queen. But when Lucianus, according to the +story, came to poison Gonzago sleeping in the garden, the strong +resemblance which it bore to his own wicked act upon the late +king, his brother, whom he had poisoned in his garden, so struck +upon the conscience of this usurper that he was unable to sit out +the rest of the play, but on a sudden calling for lights to his +chamber, and affecting or partly feeling a sudden sickness, he +abruptly left the theater. The king being departed, the play was +given over. Now Hamlet had seen enough to be satisfied that the +words of the ghost were true and no illusion; and in a fit of +gaiety, like that which comes over a man who suddenly has some +great doubt or scruple resolved, he swore to Horatio that he +would take the ghost’s word for a thousand pounds. But before he +could make up his resolution as to what measures of revenge he +should take, now he was certainly informed that his uncle was his +father’s murderer, he was sent for by the queen his mother, to a +private conference in her closet. + +It was by desire of the king that the queen sent for Hamlet, +that she might signify to her son how much his late behavior +had displeased them both, and the king, wishing to know all that +passed at that conference, and thinking that the too partial +report of a mother might let slip some part of Hamlet’s words, +which it might much import the king to know, Polonius, the old +counselor of state, was ordered to plant himself behind the +hangings in the queen’s closet, where he might, unseen, hear all +that passed. This artifice was particularly adapted to the +disposition of Polonius, who was a man grown old in crooked +maxims and policies of state, and delighted to get at the +knowledge of matters in an indirect and cunning way. + +Hamlet being come to his mother, she began to tax him in the +roundest way with his actions and behavior, and she told him that +he had given great offense to HIS FATHER, meaning the king, his +uncle, whom, because he had married her, she called Hamlet’s +father. Hamlet, sorely indignant that she should give so dear and +honored a name as father seemed to him to a wretch who was +indeed no better than the murderer of his true father, with some +sharpness replied: + +“Mother, YOU have much offended MY FATHER.” + +The queen said that was but an idle answer. + +“As good as the question deserved,” said Hamlet. + +The queen asked him if he had forgotten who it was he was +speaking to. + +“Alas!” replied Hamlet, “I wish I could forget. You are the +queen, your husband’s brother’s wife; and you are my mother. I +wish you were not what you are.” + +“Nay, then,” said the queen, “if you show me so little respect, I +will set those to you that can speak,” and was going to send the +king or Polonius to him. + +But Hamlet would not let her go, now he had her alone, till he +had tried if his words could not bring her to some sense of her +wicked life; and, taking her by the wrist, he held her fast, and +made her sit down. She, affrighted at his earnest manner, and +fearful lest in his lunacy he should do her a mischief, cried +out; and a voice was heard from behind the hangings, “Help, help’ +the queen!” which Hamlet hearing, and verily thinking that it was +the king himself there concealed, he drew his sword and stabbed +at the place where the voice came from, as he would have stabbed +a rat that ran there, till, the voice ceasing, he concluded the +person to be dead. But when he dragged forth the body it was not +the king, but Polonius, the old, officious counselor, that had +planted himself as a spy behind the hangings. + +“Oh, me!” exclaimed the queen, “what a rash and bloody deed have +you done!” + +“A bloody deed, mother,” replied Hamlet, “but not so bad as +yours, who killed a king, and married his brother.” + +Hamlet had gone too far to leave off here. He was now in the +humor to speak plainly to his mother, and he pursued it. And +though the faults of parents are to be tenderly treated by their +children, yet in the case of great crimes the son may have leave +to speak even to his own mother with some harshness, so as that +harshness is meant for her good and to turn her from her wicked +ways, and not done for the purpose of upbraiding. And now this +virtuous prince did in moving terms represent to the queen the +heinousness of her offense in being so forgetful of the dead +king, his father, as in so short a space of time to marry with +his brother and reputed murderer. Such an act as, after the vows +which she had sworn to her first husband, was enough to make all +vows of women suspected and all virtue to be accounted hypocrisy, +wedding contracts to be less than gamesters’ oaths, and religion +to be a mockery and a mere form of words. He said she had done +such a deed that the heavens blushed at it, and the earth was +sick of her because of it. And he showed her two pictures, the +one of the late king, her first husband, and the other of the +present king, her second husband, and he bade her mark the +difference; what a grace was on the brow of his father, how like +a god he looked! the curls of Apollo, the forehead of Jupiter, +the eye of Mars, and a posture like to Mercury newly alighted on +some heaven-kissing hill! this man, he said, HAD BEEN her +husband. And then be showed her whom she had got in his stead; +how like a blight or a mildew he looked, for so he had blasted +his wholesome brother. And the queen was sore ashamed that he +should so turn her eyes inward upon her soul, which she now saw +so black and deformed. And he asked her how she could continue to +live with this man, and be a wife to him, who had murdered her +first husband and got the crown by as false means as a thief--and +just as he spoke the ghost of his father, such as he was in his +lifetime and such as he had lately seen it, entered the room, and +Hamlet, in great terror, asked what it would have; and the ghost +said that it came to remind him of the revenge he had promised, +which Hamlet seemed to have forgot; and the ghost bade him speak +to his mother, for the grief and terror she was in would else +kill her. It then vanished, and was seen by none but Hamlet, +neither could he by pointing to where it stood, or by any +description, make his mother perceive it, who was terribly +frightened all this while to hear him conversing, as it seemed to +her, with nothing; and she imputed it to the disorder of his +mind. But Hamlet begged her not to flatter her wicked soul in +such a manner as to think that it was his madness, and not her +own offenses, which had brought his father’s spirit again on the +earth. And he bade her feel his pulse, how temperately it beat, +not like a madman’s. And he begged of her, with tears, to confess +herself to Heaven for what was past, and for the future to +avoid the company of the king and be no more as a wife to him; +and when she should show herself a mother to him, by respecting +his father’s memory, he would ask a blessing of her as a son. And +she promising to observe his directions, the conference ended. + +And now Hamlet was at leisure to consider who it was that in his +unfortunate rashness he had killed; and when he came to see that +it was Polonius, the father of the Lady Ophelia whom he so dearly +loved, he drew apart the dead body, and, his spirits being now a +little quieter, he wept for what he had done. + +The unfortunate death of Polonius gave the king a pretense for +sending Hamlet out of the kingdom. He would willingly have put +him to death, fearing him as dangerous; but he dreaded the +people, who loved Hamlet, and the queen, who, with all her +faults, doted upon the prince, her son. So this subtle king, +under pretense of providing for Hamlet’s safety, that he might +not be called to account for Polonius’s death, caused him to be +conveyed on board a ship bound for England, under the care of two +courtiers, by whom he despatched letters to the English court, +which in that time was in subjection and paid tribute to Denmark, +requiring, for special reasons there pretended, that Hamlet +should be put to death as soon as he landed on English ground. +Hamlet, suspecting some treachery, in the nighttime secretly got +at the letters, and, skilfully erasing his own name, he in the +stead of it put in the names of those two courtiers, who had the +charge of him, to be put to death; then sealing up the letters, +he put them into their place again. Soon after the ship was +attacked by pirates, and a sea-fight commenced, in the course of +which Hamlet, desirous to show his valor, with sword in hand +singly boarded the enemy’s vessel; while his own ship, in a +cowardly manner, bore away; and leaving him to his fate, the two +courtiers made the best of their way to England, charged with +those letters the sense of which Hamlet had altered to their own +deserved destruction. + +The pirates who had the prince in their power showed themselves +gentle enemies, and, knowing whom they had got prisoner, in the +hope that the prince might do them a good turn at court in +recompense for any favor they might show him, they set Hamlet on +shore at the nearest port in Denmark. From that place Hamlet +wrote to the king, acquainting him with the strange chance which +had brought him back to his own country and saying that on the +next day he should present himself before his Majesty. When he +got home a sad spectacle offered itself the first thing to his +eyes. + +This was the funeral of the young and beautiful Ophelia, his once +dear mistress. The wits of this young lady had begun to turn ever +since her poor father’s death. That he should die a violent +death, and by the hands of the prince whom she loved, so affected +this tender young maid that in a little time she grew perfectly +distracted, and would go about giving flowers away to the ladies +of the court, and saying that they were for her father’s burial, +singing songs about love and about death, and sometimes such as +had no meaning at all, as if she had no memory of what happened +to her. There was a willow which grew slanting over a brook, and +reflected its leaves on the stream. To this brook she came one +day when she was unwatched, with garlands she had been making, +mixed up of daisies and nettles, flowers and weeds together, and +clambering up to bang her garland upon the boughs of the willow, +a bough broke and precipitated this fair young maid, garland, and +all that she had gathered, into the water, where her clothes bore +her up for a while, during which she chanted scraps of old tunes, +like one insensible to her own distress, or as if she were a +creature natural to that element; but long it was not before her +garments, heavy with the wet, pulled her in from her melodious +singing to a muddy and miserable death. It was the funeral of +this fair maid which her brother Laertes was celebrating, the +king and queen and whole court being present, when Hamlet +arrived. He knew not what all this show imported, but stood on +one side, not inclining to interrupt the ceremony. He saw the +flowers strewed upon her grave, as the custom was in maiden +burials, which the queen herself threw in; and as she threw them +she said: + +“Sweets to the sweet! I thought to have decked thy bride bed, +sweet maid, not to have strewed thy grave. Thou shouldst have +been my Hamlet’s wife.” + +And he heard her brother wish that violets might spring from her +grave; and he saw him leap into the grave all frantic with grief, +and bid the attendants pile mountains of earth upon him, that he +might be buried with her. And Hamlet’s love for this fair maid +came back to him, and he could not bear that a brother should +show so much transport of grief, for he thought that he loved +Ophelia better than forty thousand brothers. Then discovering +himself, he leaped into the grave where Laertes was, all as +frantic or more frantic than he, and Laertes, knowing him to be +Hamlet, who had been the cause of his father’s and his sister’s +death, grappled him by the throat as an enemy, till the +attendants parted them; and Hamlet, after the funeral, excused +his hasty act in throwing himself into the grave as if to brave +Laertes; but he said he could not bear that any one should seem +to outgo him in grief for the death of the fair Ophelia. And for +the time these two noble youths seemed reconciled. + +But out of the grief and anger of Laertes for the death of his +father and Ophelia the king, Hamlet’s wicked uncle, contrived +destruction for Hamlet. He set on Laertes, under cover of peace +and reconciliation, to challenge Hamlet to a friendly trial of +skill at fencing, which Hamlet accepting, a day was appointed to +try the match. At this match all the court was present, and +Laertes, by direction of the king, prepared a poisoned weapon. +Upon this match great wagers were laid by the courtiers, as both +Hamlet and Laertes were known to excel at this sword play; and +Hamlet, taking up the foils, chose one, not at all suspecting the +treachery of Laertes, or being careful to examine Laertes’s +weapon, who, instead of a foil or blunted sword, which the laws +of fencing require, made use of one with a point, and poisoned. +At first Laertes did but play with Hamlet, and suffered him to +gain some advantages, which the dissembling king magnified and +extolled beyond measure, drinking to Hamlet’s success and +wagering rich bets upon the issue. But after a few pauses +Laertes, growing warm, made a deadly thrust at Hamlet with his +poisoned weapon, and gave him a mortal blow. Hamlet, incensed, +but not knowing,the whole of the treachery, in the scuffle +exchanged his own innocent weapon for Laertes’s deadly one, and +with a thrust of Laertes’s own sword repaid Laertes home, who was +thus justly caught in his own treachery. In this instant the +queen shrieked out that she was poisoned. She had inadvertently +drunk out of a bowl which the king had prepared for Hamlet, in +case that, being warm in fencing, he should call for drink; into +this the treacherous king had infused a deadly poison, to make +sure of Hamlet, if Laertes had failed. He had forgotten to warn +the queen of the bowl, which she drank of, and immediately died, +exclaiming with her last breath that she was poisoned. Hamlet, +suspecting some treachery, ordered the doors to be shut while he +sought it out. Laertes told him to seek no farther, for he was +the traitor; and feeling his life go away with the wound which +Hamlet had given him, he made confession of the treachery he had +used and how he had fallen a victim to it: and he told Hamlet of +the envenomed point, and said that Hamlet had not half an hour to +live, for no medicine could cure him; and begging forgiveness of +Hamlet, he died, with his last words accusing the king of being +the contriver of the mischief. When Hamlet saw his end draw near, +there being yet some venom left upon the sword, he suddenly +turned upon his false uncle and thrust the point of it to his +heart, fulfilling the promise which he had made to his father’s +spirit, whose injunction was now accomplished and his foul murder +revenged upon the murderer. Then Hamlet, feeling his breath fail +and life departing, turned to his dear friend Horatio, who had +been spectator of this fatal tragedy; and with his dying breath +requested him that he would live to tell his story to the world +(for Horatio had made a motion as if he would slay himself to +accompany the prince in death), and Horatio promised that he +would make a true report as one that was privy to all the +circumstances. And, thus satisfied, the noble heart of Hamlet +cracked; and Horatio and the bystanders with many tears commended +the spirit of this sweet prince to the guardianship of angels. +For Hamlet was a loving and a gentle prince and greatly beloved +for his many noble and princelike qualities; and if he had lived, +would no doubt have proved a most royal and complete king to +Denmark. + + + + +OTHELLO + + +Brabantio, the rich senator of Venice, had a fair daughter, the +gentle Desdemona. She was sought to by divers suitors, both on +account of her many virtuous qualities and for her rich +expectations. But among the suitors of her own clime and +complexion she saw none whom she could affect, for this noble +lady, who regarded the mind more than the features of men, with a +singularity rather to be admired than imitated had chosen for the +object of her affections a Moor, a black, whom her father loved +and often invited to his house. + +Neither is Desdemona to be altogether condemned for the +unsuitableness of the person whom she selected for her lover. +Bating that Othello was black, the noble Moor wanted nothing +which might recommend him to the affections of the greatest lady. +He was a soldier, and a brave one; and by his conduct in bloody +wars against the Turks had risen to the rank of general in the +Venetian service, and was esteemed and trusted by the state. + +He had been a traveler, and Desdemona (as is the manner of +ladies) loved to hear him tell the story of his adventures, which +he would run through from his earliest recollection; the battles, +sieges, and encounters which he had passed through; the perils he +had been exposed to by land and by water; his hair-breadth +escapes, when he had entered a breach or marched up to the mouth +of a cannon; and how he had been taken prisoner by the insolent +enemy, and sold to slavery; how he demeaned himself in that +state, and how he escaped: all these accounts, added to the +narration of the strange things he had seen in foreign countries, +the vast wilderness and romantic caverns, the quarries, the rocks +and mountains whose heads are in the clouds; of the savage +nations, the cannibals who are man-eaters, and a race of people +in Africa whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. These +travelers’ stories would so enchain the attention of Desdemona +that if she were called off at any time by household affairs she +would despatch with all haste that business, and return, and with +a greedy ear devour Othello’s discourse. And once he took +advantage of a pliant hour and drew from her a prayer that he +would tell her the whole story of his life at large, of which she +had heard so much, but only by parts. To which he consented, and +beguiled her of many a tear when he spoke of some distressful +stroke which his youth had suffered. + +His story being done, she gave him for his pains a world of +sighs. She swore a pretty oath that it was all passing strange, +and pitiful, wondrous pitiful. She wished (she said) she had not +heard it, yet she wished that Heaven had made her such a man; and +then she thanked him, and told him, if he had a friend who loved +her, he had only to teach him how to tell his story and that +would woo her. Upon this hint, delivered not with more frankness +than modesty, accompanied with certain bewitching prettiness and +blushes, which Othello could not but understand, he spoke more +openly of his love, and in this golden opportunity gained the +consent of the generous Lady Desdemona privately to marry him. + +Neither Othello’s color nor his fortune was such that it could be +hoped Brabantio would accept him for a son-in-law. He had left +his daughter free; but he did expect that, as the manner of noble +Venetian ladies was, she would choose erelong a husband of +senatorial rank or expectations; but in this he was deceived. +Desdemona loved the Moor, though he was black, and devoted her +heart and fortunes to his valiant parts and qualities. So was her +heart subdued to an implicit devotion to the man she had selected +for a husband that his very color, which to all but this +discerning lady would have proved an insurmountable objection, +was by her esteemed above all the white skins and clear +complexions of the young Venetian nobility, her suitors. + +Their marriage, which, though privately carried, could not long +be kept a secret, came to the ears of the old man, Brabantio, who +appeared in a solemn council of the senate as an accuser of the +Moor Othello, who by spells and witchcraft (he maintained) had +seduced the affections of the fair Desdemona to marry him, +without the consent of her father, and against the obligations of +hospitality. + +At this juncture of time it happened that the state of Venice had +immediate need of the services of Othello, news having arrived +that the Turks with mighty preparation had fitted out a fleet, +which was bending its course to the island of Cyprus, with intent +to regain that strong post from the Venetians, who then held it; +in this emergency the state turned its eyes upon Othello, who +alone was deemed adequate to conduct the defense of Cyprus +against the Turks. So that Othello, now summoned before the +senate, stood in their presence at once as a candidate for a +great state employment and as a culprit charged with offenses +which by the laws of Venice were made capital. + +The age and senatorial character of old Brabantio commanded a +most patient hearing from that grave assembly; but the incensed +father conducted his accusation with so much intemperance, +producing likelihoods and allegations for proofs, that, when +Othello was called upon for his defense, he had only to relate a +plain tale of the course of his love; which he did with such an +artless eloquence, recounting the whole story of his wooing as we +have related it above, and delivered his speech with so noble a +plainness (the evidence of truth) that the duke, who sat as chief +judge, could not help confessing that a tale so told would have +won his daughter, too, and the spells and conjurations which +Othello had used in his courtship plainly appeared to have been +no more than the honest arts of men in love, and the only +witchcraft which he had used the faculty of telling a soft tale +to win a lady’s ear. + +This statement of Othello was confirmed by the testimony of the +Lady Desdemona herself, who appeared in court and, professing a +duty to her father for life and education, challenged leave of +him to profess a yet higher duty to her lord and husband, even so +much as her mother had shown in preferring him (Brabantio) above +HER father. + +The old senator, unable to maintain his plea, called the Moor to +him with many expressions of sorrow, and, as an act of necessity, +bestowed upon him his daughter, whom, if he had been free to +withhold her (he told him), he would with all his heart have kept +from him; adding that he was glad at soul that he had no other +child, for this behavior of Desdemona would have taught him to be +a tyrant and hang clogs on them for her desertion. + +This difficulty being got over, Othello, to whom custom had +rendered the hardships of a military life as natural as food and +rest are to other men, readily undertook the management of the +wars in Cyprus; and Desdemona, preferring the honor of her lord +(though with danger) before the indulgence of those idle delights +in which new-married people usually waste their time, cheerfully +consented to his going. + +No sooner were Othello and his lady landed in Cyprus than news +arrived that a desperate tempest had dispersed the Turkish fleet, +and thus the island was secure from any immediate apprehension of +an attack. But the war which Othello was to suffer was now +beginning; and the enemies which malice stirred up against his +innocent lady proved in their nature more deadly than strangers +or infidels. + +Among all the general’s friends no one possessed the confidence +of Othello more entirely than Cassio. Michael Cassio was a young +soldier, a Florentine, gay, amorous, and of pleasing address, +favorite qualities with women; he was handsome and eloquent, and +exactly such a person as might alarm the jealousy of a man +advanced in years (as Othello in some measure was) who had +married a young and beautiful wife; but Othello was as free from +jealousy as he was noble, and as incapable of suspecting as of +doing a base action. He had employed this Cassio in his love +affair with Desdemona, and Cassio had been a sort of go-between +in his suit; for Othello, fearing that himself had not those soft +parts of conversation which please ladies, and finding these +qualities in his friend, would often depute Cassio to go (as he +phrased it) a-courting for him, such innocent simplicity being +rather an honor than a blemish to the character of the valiant +Moor. So that no wonder if, next to Othello himself (but at far +distance, as beseems a virtuous wife), the gentle Desdemona loved +and trusted Cassio. Nor had the marriage of this couple made any +difference in their behavior to Michael Cassio. He frequented +their house, and his free and rattling talk was no unpleasing +variety to Othello, who was himself of a more serious temper; for +such tempers are observed often to delight in their contraries, +as a relief from the oppressive excess of their own; and +Desdemona and Cassio would talk and laugh together, as in the +days when he went a-courting for his friend. + +Othello had lately promoted Cassio to be the lieutenant, a place +of trust, and nearest to the general’s person. This promotion +gave great offense to Iago, an older officer who thought he had a +better claim than Cassio, and would often ridicule Cassio as a +fellow fit only for the company of ladies and one that knew no +more of the art of war or how to set an army in array for battle +than a girl. Iago hated Cassio, and he hated Othello as well for +favoring Cassio as for an unjust suspicion, which he had lightly +taken up against Othello, that the Moor was too fond of Iago’s +wife Emilia. From these imaginary provocations the plotting mind +of Iago conceived a horrid scheme of revenge, which should +involve Cassio, the Moor, and Desdemona in one common ruin. + +Iago was artful, and had studied human nature deeply, and he knew +that of all the torments which afflict the mind of man (and far +beyond bodily torture) the pains of jealousy were the most +intolerable and had the sorest sting. If he could succeed in +making Othello jealous of Cassio he thought it would be an +exquisite plot of revenge and might end in the death of Cassio or +Othello, or both; he cared not. + +The arrival of the general and his lady in Cyprus, meeting with +news of the dispersion of the enemy’s fleet, made a sort of +holiday in the island. Everybody gave himself up to feasting and +making merry. Wine flowed in abundance, and cups went round to +the health of the black Othello and his lady the fair Desdemona. + +Cassio had the direction of the guard that night, with a charge +from Othello to keep the soldiers from excess in drinking, that +no brawl might arise to fright the inhabitants or disgust them +with the new-landed forces. That night Iago began his deep-laid +plans of mischief. Under color of loyalty and love to the +general, he enticed Cassio to make rather too free with the +bottle (a great fault in an officer upon guard). Cassio for a +time resisted, but he could not long hold out against the honest +freedom which Iago knew how to put on, but kept swallowing glass +after glass (as Iago still plied him with drink and encouraging +songs), and Cassio’s tongue ran over in praise of the Lady +Desdemona, whom he again and again toasted, affirming that she +was a most exquisite lady. Until at last the enemy which he put +into his mouth stole away his brains; and upon some provocation +given him by a fellow whom Iago had set on, swords were drawn, +and Montano, a worthy officer, who interfered to appease the +dispute, was wounded in the scuffle. The riot now began to be +general, and Iago, who had set on foot the mischief, was foremost +in spreading the alarm, causing the castle bell to be rung (as if +some dangerous mutiny instead of a slight drunken quarrel had +arisen). The alarm-bell ringing awakened Othello, who, dressing +in a hurry and coming to the scene of action, questioned Cassio +of the cause. + +Cassio was now come to himself, the effect of the wine having a +little gone off, but was too much ashamed to reply; and Iago, +pretending a great reluctance to accuse Cassio, but, as it were, +forced into it by Othello, who insisted to know the truth, gave +an account of the whole matter (leaving out his own share in it, +which Cassio was too far gone to remember) in such a manner as, +while he seemed to make Cassio’s offense less, did indeed make it +appear greater than it was. The result was that Othello, who was +a strict observer of discipline, was compelled to take away +Cassio’s place of lieutenant from him. + +Thus did Iago’s first artifice succeed completely; he had now +undermined his hated rival and thrust him,out of his place; but a +further use was hereafter to be made of the adventure of this +disastrous night. + +Cassio, whom this misfortune had entirely sobered, now lamented +to his seeming friend Iago that he should have been such a fool +as to transform himself into a beast. He was undone, for how +could he ask the general for his place again? He would tell him +he was a drunkard. He despised himself. Iago, affecting to make +light of it, said that he, or any man living, might be drunk upon +occasion; it remained now to make the best of a bad bargain. The +general’s wife was now the general, and could do anything with +Othello; that he were best to apply to the Lady Desdemona to +mediate for him with her lord; that she was of a frank, obliging +disposition and would readily undertake a good office of this +sort and set Cassio right again in the general’s favor; and then +this crack in their love would be made stronger than ever. A good +advice of Iago, if it had not been given for wicked purposes, +which will after appear. + +Cassio did as Iago advised him, and made application to the Lady +Desdemona, who was easy to be won over in any honest suit; and +she promised Cassio that she should be his solicitor with her +lord, and rather die than give up his cause. This she immediately +set about in so earnest and pretty a manner that Othello, who was +mortally offended with Cassio, could not put her off. When he +pleaded delay, and that it was too soon to pardon such an +offender, she would not be beat back, but insisted that it should +be the next night, or the morning after, or the next morning to +that at farthest. Then she showed how penitent and humbled poor +Cassio was, and that his offense did not deserve so sharp a +check. And when Othello still hung back: + +“What! my lord,” said she, “that I should have so much to do to +plead for Cassio, Michael Cassio, that came a-courting for you, +and oftentimes, when I have spoken in dispraise of you has taken +your part! I count this but a little thing to ask of you. When I +mean to try your love indeed I shall ask a weighty matter.” + +Othello could deny nothing to such a pleader, and only requesting +that Desdemona would leave the time to him, promised to receive +Michael Cassio again in favor. + +It happened that Othello and Iago had entered into the room where +Desdemona was, just as Cassio, who had been imploring her +intercession, was departing at the opposite door; and Iago, who +was full of art, said in a low voice, as if to himself, “I like +not that.” Othello took no great notice of what he said; indeed, +the conference which immediately took place with his lady put it +out of his head; but he remembered it afterward. For when +Desdemona was gone, Iago, as if for mere satisfaction of his +thought, questioned Othello whether Michael Cassio, when Othello +was courting his lady, knew of his love. To this the general +answering in the affirmative, and adding, that he had gone +between them very often during the courtship, Iago knitted his +brow, as if he had got fresh light on some terrible matter, and +cried, “Indeed!” This brought into Othello’s mind the words which +Iago had let fall upon entering the room and seeing Cassio with +Desdemona; and he began to think there was some meaning in all +this, for he deemed Iago to be a just man, and full of love and +honesty, and what in a false knave would be tricks in him seemed +to be the natural workings of an honest mind, big with something +too great for utterance. And Othello prayed Iago to speak what he +knew and to give his worst thoughts words. + +“And what,” said Iago, “if some thoughts very vile should have +intruded into my breast, as where is the palace into which foul +things do not enter?” Then Iago went on to say, what a pity it +were if any trouble should arise to Othello out of his imperfect +observations; that it would not be for Othello’s peace to know +his thoughts; that people’s good names were not to be taken away +for slight suspicions; and when Othello’s curiosity was raised +almost to distraction with these hints and scattered words, Iago, +as if in earnest care for Othello’s peace of mind, besought him +to beware of jealousy. With such art did this villain raise +suspicions in the unguarded Othello, by the very caution which he +pretended to give him against suspicion. + +“I know,” said Othello, “that my wife is fair, loves company and +feasting, is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; but +where virtue is, these qualities are virtuous. I must have proof +before I think her dishonest.” + +Then Iago, as if glad that Othello was slow to believe ill of his +lady, frankly declared that he had no proof, but begged Othello +to see her behavior well, when Cassio was by; not to be jealous +nor too secure neither, for that he (Iago) knew the dispositions +of the Italian ladies, his country-women, better than Othello +could do; and that in Venice the wives let Heaven see many pranks +they dared not show their husbands. Then he artfully insinuated +that Desdemona deceived her father in marrying with Othello, and +carried it so closely that the poor old man thought that +witchcraft had been used. Othello was much moved with this +argument, which brought the matter home to him, for if she had +deceived her father why might she not deceive her husband? + +Iago begged pardon for having moved him; but Othello, assuming an +indifference, while he was really shaken with inward grief at +Iago’s words, begged him to go on, which Iago did with many +apologies, as if unwilling to produce anything against Cassio, +whom he called his friend. He then came strongly to the point and +reminded Othello how Desdemona had refused many suitable matches +of her own clime and complexion, and had married him, a Moor, +which showed unnatural in her and proved her to have a headstrong +will; and when her better judgment returned, how probable it was +she should fall upon comparing Othello with the fine forms and +clear white complexions of the young Italians her countrymen. He +concluded with advising Othello to put off his reconcilement with +Cassio a little longer, and in the mean while to note with what +earnestness Desdemona should intercede in his behalf; for that +much would be seen in that. So mischievously did this artful +villain lay his plots to turn the gentle qualities of this +innocent lady into her destruction, and make a net for her out of +her own goodness to entrap her, first setting Cassio on to +entreat her mediation, and then out of that very mediation +contriving stratagems for her ruin. + +The conference ended with Iago’s begging Othello to account his +wife innocent until he had more decisive proof; and Othello +promised to be patient; but from that moment the deceived Othello +never tasted content of mind. Poppy, nor the juice of mandragora, +nor all the sleeping potions in the world, could ever again +restore to him that sweet rest which he had enjoyed but +yesterday. His occupation sickened upon him. He no longer took +delight in arms. His heart, that used to be roused at the sight +of troops and banners and battle array, and would stir and leap +at the sound of a drum or a trumpet or a neighing war-horse, +seemed to have lost all that pride and ambition which are a +soldier’s virtue; and his military ardor and all his old joys +forsook him. Sometimes he thought his wife honest, and at times +he thought her not so; sometimes he thought Iago just, and at +times he thought him not so; then he would wish that he had never +known of it; he was not the worse for her loving Cassio, so long +as he knew it not. Torn to pieces with these distracting +thoughts, he once laid hold on Iago’s throat and demanded proof +of Desdemona’s guilt, or threatened instant death for his having +belied her. Iago, feigning indignation that his honesty should be +taken for a vice, asked Othello if he had not sometimes seen a +handkerchief spotted with strawberries in his wife’s hand. +Othello answered that he had given her such a one, and that it +was his first gift. + +“That same handkerchief,” said Iago, “did I see Michael Cassio +this day wipe his face with.” + +“If it be as you say,” said Othello, “I will not rest till a wide +revenge swallow them up; and first, for a token of your fidelity, +I expect that Cassio shall be put to death within three days; and +for that fair devil [meaning his lady] I will withdraw and devise +some swift means of death for her.” + +Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as strong as holy +writ. A handkerchief of his wife’s seen in Cassio’s hand was +motive enough to the deluded Othello to pass sentence of death +upon them both, without once inquiring how Cassio came by it. +Desdemona had never given such a present to Cassio, nor would +this constant lady have wronged her lord with doing so naughty a +thing as giving his presents to another man; both Cassio and, +Desdemona were innocent of any offense against Othello; but the +wicked Iago, whose spirits never slept in contrivance of +villainy, had made his wife (a good, but a weak woman) steal this +handkerchief from Desdemona, under pretense of getting the work +copied, but in reality to drop it in Cassio’s way, where he might +find it, and give a handle to Iago’s suggestion that it was +Desdemona’s present. + +Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended that he had a +headache (as he might indeed with truth), and desired her to lend +him her handkerchief to hold to his temples. She did so. + +“Not this,” said Othello, “but that handkerchief I gave you.” + +Desdemona had it not about her (for indeed it was stolen, as we +have related). + +“How?” said Othello, “this is a fault indeed. That handkerchief +an Egyptian woman gave to my mother; the woman was a witch and +could read people’s thoughts. She told my mother while she kept +it it would make her amiable and my father would love her; but if +she lost it or gave it away, my father’s fancy would turn and he +would loathe her as much as he had loved her. She, dying, gave it +to me, and bade me, if I ever married, to give it to my wife. I +did so. Take heed of it. Make it a darling as precious as your +eye.” + +“Is it possible?” said the frighted lady. + +“‘Tis true,” continued Othello; “it is a magical handkerchief; a +sibyl that had lived in the world two hundred years, in a fit of +prophetic fury worked it; the silkworms that furnished the silk +were hallowed, and it was dyed in a mummy of maidens’ hearts +conserved.” + +Desdemona, hearing the wondrous virtues of the handkerchief, was +ready to die with fear, for she plainly perceived she had lost +it, and with it, she feared, the affections of her husband. Then +Othello started and looked as if he were going to do some rash +thing, and still he demanded the handkerchief, which when she +could not produce, she tried to divert her husband from too +serious thoughts, and cheerfully told him she saw all his talk +about the handkerchief was only to put her off from her suit +about Michael Cassio, whom she went on to praise (as Iago had +foretold), till Othello in perfect distraction burst out of the +room, and then Desdemona, though unwillingly, began to suspect +that her lord was jealous. + +What cause she could have ministered to him she knew not, and +then she accused herself for accusing the noble Othello, and +thought, to be sure, that some untoward news from Venice or some +state troubles had puddled his spirits and made his temper not so +sweet as formerly. And she said, “Men are not gods, and we must +not look for that observance from them when they are married +which they show us on the bridal day.” And she beshrewed herself +for so unkindly judging of his unkindness. + +Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he accused her more plainly +of being unfaithful and of loving another man, but he did not +name whom. And Othello wept, and Desdemona said, “Alas! the heavy +day! why do you weep?” And Othello told her he could have borne +all sorts of evils with fortitude--poverty, and disease, and +disgrace--but her infidelity had broken his heart. And he called +her a weed that looked so fair and smelled so sweet that the +sense ached at it; and wished she had never been born. And when +he had left her this innocent lady was so stupefied with wonder +at her lord’s untrue suspicion of her that a weightlike sleep +came over her, and she only desired her attendant to make her bed +and to lay her wedding-sheets upon it, saying that when people +teach their babes they do it by gentle means and easy tasks, and +Othello might have chid her so; for in good faith she was but a +child when she was chidden. And this was all the complaint which +this gentle lady made. + +Desdemona being retired to bed, expecting her lord would follow +her, soon fell into a slumber, the effect of her troubled +spirits, when Othello entered the chamber, full of the black +purpose which he had meditated, of putting his lady to death. But +when he saw her asleep he thought he would not shed her blood, +nor scar that white skin of hers, more white than alabaster. But +he was resolved she should die, else (as he said) she would live +to betray, more men as she had done him. Then he kissed her for +the last time (as he said), and that kiss was so sweet that he +must needs kiss her again; and he wept, but he said they were +cruel tears. + +Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and she looked upon +Othello, and she saw him gnaw his under lip and roll his eyes, +and she knew he was always fatal when he looked so; and he bade +her prepare for death and to say her prayers, for he would not +kill her soul. And this innocent wife, as she lay at his mercy, +begged for compassion and to know her fault, and then he named +Cassio, and the handkerchief which (he said) she had given him; +and as the guiltless lady was proceeding to clear herself he +suddenly would hear no more, but, covering her up in the +bedclothes, stifled her till she died. + +In this instant of time was brought into the house Cassio, +wounded and bleeding, whom Iago had set one of his creatures on +to assassinate; but the fellow not succeeding in his attempt to +kill Cassio (whom he wounded, but not mortally), and being him- +self killed by Iago to prevent discovery, in his pockets were +found certain letters, which made the guilt of Iago, and the +innocence of Cassio, clear beyond all doubt; and Cassio now came +to beg pardon of Othello, and to ask wherein he had offended him, +that he had employed Iago to murder him. + +This discovery was as a thunderstroke to Othello, who now plainly +saw that he was no better than a murderer, and that his wife +(poor innocent lady) had been ever faithful to him; the extreme +anguish of which discovery making life insupportable, he fell +upon his sword, and throwing himself upon the body of his dear +injured lady, expired. + +These rash acts raised much passion of horror and amazement in +the bystanders, for Othello had borne a fair reputation, and till +he was wrought upon by the arts of a villain, which his own noble +nature never gave him leave to suspect, he was a loving and a +doting husband. He had loved not wisely, but too well; and his +manly eyes (when be learned his mistake), though not used to weep +on every small occasion, dropped tears as fast as the Arabian +trees their gum. And when he was dead all his former merits and +his valiant acts were remembered. Nothing now remained for his +successor but to put the utmost censure of the law in force +against Iago, who was executed with strict tortures; and to send +word to the state of Venice of the lamentable death of their +renowned general. + + + + +PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE + + +Pericles, Prince of Tyre, became a voluntary exile from his +dominions, to avert the dreadful calamities which Antiochus, the +wicked emperor of Greece, threatened to bring upon his subjects +and city of Tyre, in revenge for a discovery which the prince had +made of a shocking deed which the emperor had done in secret; as +commonly it proves dangerous to pry into the hidden crimes of +great ones. Leaving the government of his people in the hands of +his able and honest minister, Helicanus, Pericles set sail from +Tyre, thinking to absent himself till the wrath of Antiochus, who +was mighty, should be appeased. + +The first place which the prince directed his course to was +Tarsus, and hearing that the city of Tarsus was at that time +suffering under a severe famine, he took with him a store of +provisions for its relief. On his arrival he found the city +reduced to the utmost distress; and, he coming like a messenger +from heaven with his unhoped-for succor, Cleon, the governor of +Tarsus, welcomed him with boundless thanks. Pericles had not been +here many days before letters came from his faithful minister, +warning him that it was not safe for him to stay at Tarsus, for +Antiochus knew of his abode, and by secret emissaries despatched +for that purpose sought his life. Upon receipt of these letters +Pericles put out to sea again, amid the blessings and prayers of +a whole people who had been fed by his bounty. + +He had not sailed far when his ship was overtaken by a dreadful +storm, and every man on board perished except Pericles, who was +cast by the sea waves naked on an unknown shore, where he had not +wandered long before he met with some poor fishermen, who invited +him to their homes, giving him clothes and provisions. The +fishermen told Pericles the name of their country was Pentapolis, +and that their king was Simonides, commonly called the good +Simonides, because of his peaceable reign and good government. +From them he also learned that King Simonides had a fair young +daughter, and that the following day was her birthday, when a +grand tournament was to be held at court, many princes and +knights being come from all parts to try their skill in arms for +the love of Thaisa, this fair princess. While the prince was +listening to this account, and secretly lamenting the loss of his +good armor, which disabled him from making one among these +valiant knights, another fisherman brought in a complete suit of +armor that he had taken out of the sea with his fishing-net, +which proved to be the very armor he had lost. When Pericles +beheld his own armor he said: “Thanks, Fortune; after all my +crosses you give me somewhat to repair myself This armor was +bequeathed to me by my dead father, for whose dear sake I have so +loved it that whithersoever I went I still have kept it by me, +and the rough sea that parted it from me, having now become calm, +hath given it back again, for which I thank it, for, since I have +my father’s gift again, I think my shipwreck no misfortune.” + +The next day Pericles, clad in his brave father’s armor, repaired +to the royal court of Simonides, where he performed wonders at +the tournament, vanquishing with ease all the brave knights and +valiant princes who contended with him in arms for the honor of +Thaisa’s love. When brave warriors contended at court tournaments +for the love of kings’ daughters, if one proved sole victor over +all the rest, it was usual for the great lady for whose sake +these deeds of valor were undertaken to bestow all her respect +upon the conqueror, and Thaisa did not depart from this custom, +for she presently dismissed all the princes and knights whom +Pericles had vanquished, and distinguished him by her especial +favor and regard, crowning him with the wreath of victory, as +king of that day’s happiness; and Pericles became a most +passionate lover of this beauteous princess from the first moment +he beheld her. + +The good Simonides so well approved of the valor and noble +qualities of Pericles, who was indeed a most accomplished +gentleman and well learned in all excellent arts, that though he +knew not the rank of this royal stranger (for Pericles for fear +of Antiochus gave out that he was a private gentleman of Tyre), +yet did not Simonides disdain to accept of the valiant unknown +for a son-in-law, when he perceived his daughter’s affections +were firmly fixed upon him. + +Pericles had not been many months married to Thaisa before he +received intelligence that his enemy Antiochus was dead, and that +his subjects of Tyre, impatient of his long absence, threatened +to revolt and talked of placing Helicanus upon his vacant throne. +This news came from Helicanus himself, who, being a loyal subject +to his royal master, would not accept of the high dignity +offered him, but sent to let Pericles know their intentions, that +he might return home and resume his lawful right. It was matter +of great surprise and joy to Simonides to find that his +son-in-law (the obscure knight) was the renowned Prince of Tyre; +yet again he regretted that he was not the private gentleman he +supposed him to be, seeing that he must now part both with his +admired son-in-law and his beloved daughter, whom he feared to +trust to the perils of the sea, because Thaisa was with child; +and Pericles himself wished her to remain with her father till +after her confinement; but the poor lady so earnestly desired to +go with her husband that at last they consented, hoping she would +reach Tyre before she was brought to bed. + +The sea was no friendly element to unhappy Pericles, for long +before they reached Tyre another dreadful tempest arose, which so +terrified Thaisa that she was taken ill, and in a short space of +time her nurse, Lychorida, came to Pericles with a little child +in her arms, to tell the prince the sad tidings that his wife +died the moment her little babe was born. She held the babe +toward its father, saying: + +“Here is a thing too young for such a place. This is the child of +your dead queen.” + +No tongue can tell the dreadful sufferings of Pericles when he +heard his wife was dead. As soon as he could speak he said: + +“O you gods, why do you make us love your goodly gifts and then +snatch those gifts away?” + +“Patience, good sir,” said Lychorida, “here is all that is left +alive of our dead queen, a little daughter, and for your child’s +sake be more manly. Patience, good sir, even for the sake of this +precious charge.” + +Pericles took the newborn infant in his arms, and he said to the +little babe: “Now may your life be mild, for a more blusterous +birth had never babe! May your condition be mild and gentle, for +you have had the rudest welcome that ever prince’s child did meet +with! May that which follows be happy, for you have had as +chiding a nativity as fire, air, water, earth, and heaven could +make to herald you from the womb! Even at the first, your loss,” + meaning in the death of her mother, “is more than all the joys, +which you shall find upon this earth to which you are come a new +visitor, shall be able to recompense.” + +The storm still continuing to rage furiously, and the sailors +having a superstition that while a dead body remained in the ship +the storm would never cease, they came to Pericles to demand that +his queen should be thrown overboard; and they said: + +“What courage, sir? God save you!” + +“Courage enough,” said the sorrowing prince. “I do not fear the +storm; it has done to me its worst; yet for the love of this poor +infant, this fresh new seafarer, I wish the storm was over.” + +“Sir,” said the sailors, “your queen must overboard. The sea +works high, the wind is loud, and the storm will not abate till +the ship be cleared of the dead.” + +Though Pericles knew how weak and unfounded this superstition +was, yet he patiently submitted, saying: “As you think meet. Then +she must overboard, most wretched queen!” + +And now this unhappy prince went to take a last view of his dear +wife, and as he looked on his Thaisa he said: “A terrible +childbed hast thou had, my dear; no light, no fire; the +unfriendly elements forget thee utterly, nor have I time to bring +thee hallowed to thy grave, but must cast thee scarcely coffined +into the sea, where for a monument upon thy bones the humming +waters must overwhelm thy corpse, lying with simple shells. O +Lychorida, bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper, my casket +and my jewels, and bid Nicandor bring me the satin coffin. Lay +the babe upon the pillow, and go about this suddenly, Lychorida, +while I say a priestly farewell to my Thaisa.” + +They brought Pericles a large chest, in which (wrapped in a satin +shroud) he placed his queen, and sweet-smelling spices he strewed +over her, and beside her he placed rich jewels, and a written +paper telling who she was and praying if haply any one should +find the chest which contained the body of his wife they would +give her burial; and then with his own hands he cast the chest +into the sea. When the storm was over, Pericles ordered the +sailors to make for Tarsus. “For,” said Pericles, “the babe +cannot hold out till we come to Tyre. At Tarsus I will leave it +at careful nursing.” + +After that tempestuous night when Thaisa was thrown into the sea, +and while it was yet early morning, as Cerimon, a worthy +gentleman of Ephesus and a most skilful physician, was standing +by the seaside, his servants brought to him a chest, which they +said the sea waves had thrown on the land. + +“I never saw,” said one of them, “so huge a billow as cast it on +our shore.” + +Cerimon ordered the chest to be conveyed to his own house, and +when it was opened he beheld with wonder the body of a young and +lovely lady; and the sweet-smelling spices and rich casket of +jewels made him conclude it was some great person who was thus +strangely entombed. Searching farther, he discovered a paper, +from which he learned that the corpse which lay as dead before +him had been a queen, and wife to Pericles, Prince of Tyre; and +much admiring at the strangeness of that accident, and more +pitying the husband who had lost this sweet lady, he said: +“If you are living, Pericles, you have a heart that even cracks +with woe.” Then, observing attentively Thaisa’s face, he saw how +fresh and unlike death her looks were, and he said, “They were +too hasty that threw you into the sea”; for he did not believe +her to be dead. He ordered a fire to be made, and proper cordials +to be brought, and soft music to be played, which might help to +calm her amazed spirits if she should revive; and he said to +those who crowded round her, wondering at what they saw, “O, I +pray you, gentlemen, give her air; this queen will live; she has +not been entranced above five hours; and see, she begins to blow +into life again; she is alive; behold, her eyelids move; this +fair creature will live to make us weep to hear her fate.” + +Thaisa had never died, but after the birth of her little baby had +fallen into a deep swoon which made all that saw her conclude her +to be dead; and now by the care of this kind gentleman she once +more revived to light and life; and, opening her eyes, she said: + +“Where am I? Where is my lord? What world is this?” + +By gentle degrees Cerimon let her understand what had befallen +her; and when he thought she was enough recovered to bear the +sight he showed her the paper written by her husband, and the +jewels; and she looked on the paper and said: + +“It is my lord’s writing. That I was shipped at sea I well +remember, but whether there delivered of my babe, by the holy +gods I cannot rightly say; but since my wedded lord I never +shall see again, I will put on a vestal livery and never more +have joy.” + +“Madam,” said Cerimon, “if you purpose as you speak, the temple +of Diana is not far distant from hence; there you may abide as a +vestal. Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine shall there +attend you.” This proposal was accepted with thanks by Thaisa; +and when she was perfectly recovered, Cerimon placed her in the +temple of Diana, where she became a vestal or priestess of that +goddess, and passed her days in sorrowing for her husband’s +supposed loss, and in the most devout exercises of those times. + +Pericles carried his young daughter (whom he named Marina, +because she was born at sea) to Tarsus, intending to leave her +with Cleon, the governor of that city, and his wife Dionysia, +thinking, for the good he had done to them at the time of their +famine, they would be kind to his little motherless daughter. +When Cleon saw Prince Pericles and heard of the great loss which +had befallen him he said, “Oh, your sweet queen, that it had +pleased Heaven you could have brought her hither to have blessed +my eyes with the sight of her!” + +Pericles replied: “We must obey the powers above us. Should I +rage and roar as the sea does in which my Thaisa has, yet the end +must be as it is. My gentle babe, Marina here, I must charge your +charity with her. I leave her the infant of your care, beseeching +you to give her princely training.” And then turning to Cleon’s +wife, Dionysia, he said, “Good madam, make me blessed in your +tare in bringing up my child.” + +And she answered, “I have a child myself who shall not be more +dear to my respect than yours, my lord.” + +And Cleon made the like promise, saying: “Your noble services, +Prince Pericles, in feeding my whole people with your corn (for +which in their prayers they daily remember you) must in your +child be thought on. If I should neglect your child, my whole +people that were by you relieved would force me to my duty; but +if to that I need a spur, the gods revenge it on me and mine to +the end of generation.” + +Pericles, being thus assured that his child would be carefully +attended to, left her to the protection of Cleon and his wife +Dionysia, and with her he left the nurse, Lychorida. When he went +away the little Marina knew not her loss, but Lychorida wept +sadly at parting with her royal master. + +“Oh, no tears, Lychorida,” said Pericles; “no tears; look to your +little mistress, on whose grace you may depend hereafter.” + +Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was once more settled in +the quiet possession of his throne, while his woeful queen, whom +he thought dead, remained at Ephesus. Her little babe Marina, +whom this hapless mother had never seen, was brought up by Cleon +in a manner suitable to her high birth. He gave her the most +careful education, so that by the time Marina attained the age of +fourteen years the most deeply learned men were not more studied +in the learning of those times than was Marina. She sang like one +immortal, and danced as goddess-like, and with her needle she was +so skilful that she seemed to compose nature’s own shapes in +birds, fruits, or flowers, the natural roses being scarcely more +like to each other than they were to Marina’s silken flowers. But +when she had gained from education all these graces which made +her the general wonder, Dionysia, the wife of Cleon, became her +mortal enemy from jealousy, by reason that her own daughter, from +the slowness of her mind, was not able to attain to that +perfection wherein Marina excelled; and finding that all praise +was bestowed on Marina, while her daughter, who was of the same +age and had been educated with the same care as Marina, though +not with the same success, was in comparison disregarded, she +formed a project to remove Marina out of the way, vainly +imagining that her untoward daughter would be more respected when +Marina was no more seen. To encompass this she employed a man to +murder Marina, and she well timed her wicked design, when +Lychorida, the faithful nurse, had just died. Dionysia was +discoursing with the man she had commanded to commit this murder +when the young Marina was weeping over the dead Lychorida. +Leonine, the man she employed to do this bad deed, though he was +a very wicked man, could hardly be persuaded to undertake it, so +had Marina won all hearts to love her. He said: + +“She is a goodly creature!” + +“The fitter then the gods should have her,” replied her merciless +enemy. “Here she comes weeping for the death of her nurse +Lychorida. Are you resolved to obey me?” + +Leonine, fearing to disobey her, replied, “I am resolved.” And +so, in that one short sentence, was the matchless Marina doomed +to an untimely death. She now approached, with a basket of +flowers in her hand, which she said she would daily strew over +the grave of good Lychorida. The purple violet and the marigold +should as a carpet hang upon her grave, while summer days did +last. + +“Alas for met” she said, “poor unhappy maid, born in a tempest, +when my mother died. This world to me is like a lasting storm, +hurrying me from my friends.” + +“How now, Marina,” said the dissembling Dionysia, “do you weep +alone? How does it chance my daughter is not with you? Do not +sorrow for Lychorida; you have a nurse in me. Your beauty is +quite changed with this unprofitable woe. Come, give me your +flowers--the sea air will spoil them--and walk with Leonine; the +air is fine, and will enliven you. Come, Leonine, take her by the +arm and walk with her.” + +“No, madam,” said Marina, “I pray you let me not deprive you of +your servant”; for Leonine was one of Dionysia’s attendants. + +“Come, come,” said this artful woman, who wished for a pretense +to leave her alone with Leonine, “I love the prince, your father, +and I love you. We every day expect your father here; and when he +comes and finds you so changed by grief from the paragon of +beauty we reported you, he will think we have taken no care of +you. Go, I pray you, walk, and be cheerful once again. Be careful +of that excellent complexion which stole the hearts of old and +young.” + +Marina, being thus importuned, said, “Well, I will go, but yet I +have no desire to it.” + +As Dionysia walked away she said to Leonine, “Remember what I +have said!” shocking words, for their meaning was that he should +remember to kill Marina. + +Marina looked toward the sea, her birthplace, and said, “Is the +wind westerly that blows?” + +“Southwest,” replied Leonine. + +“When I was born the wind was north,” said she; and then the +storm and tempest and all her father’s sorrows, and her mother’s +death, came full into her mind, and she said, “My father, as +Lychorida told me, did never fear, but cried, COURAGE, GOOD +SEAMEN, to the sailors, galling his princely hands with the +ropes, and, clasping to the masts, he endured a sea that almost +split the deck.” + +“When was this?” said Leonine. + +“When I was born,” replied Marina. “Never were wind and waves +more violent.” And then she described the storm, the action of +the sailors, the boatswain’s whistle, and the loud call of the +master, which,” said she, “trebled the confusion of the ship.” + +Lychorida had so often recounted to Marina the story of her +hapless birth that these things seemed ever present to her +imagination. But here Leonine interrupted her with desiring her +to say her prayers. “What mean you?” said Marina, who began to +fear, she knew not why. + +“If you require a little space for prayer, I grant it,” said +Leonine; “but be not tedious; the gods are quick of ear and I am +sworn to do my work in haste.” + +“Will you kill me?” said Marina. “Alas! why?” + +“To satisfy my lady,” replied Leonine. + +“Why would she have me killed?” said Marina. “Now, as I can +remember, I never hurt her in all my life. I never spake bad word +nor did any ill turn to any living creature. Believe me now, I +never killed a mouse nor hurt a fly. I trod upon a worm once +against my will, but I wept for it. How have I offended?” + +The murderer replied, “My commission is not to reason on the +deed, but to do it.” And he was just going to kill her when +certain pirates happened to land at that very moment, who, seeing +Marina, bore her off as a prize to their ship. + +The pirate who had made Marina his prize carried her to Mitylene +and sold her for a slave, where, though in that humble condition, +Marina soon became known throughout the whole city of Mitylene +for her beauty and her virtues, and the person to whom she was +sold became rich by the money she earned for him. She taught +music, dancing, and fine needleworks, and the money she got by +her scholars she gave to her master and mistress; and the fame of +her learning and her great industry came to the knowledge of +Lysimachus, a young nobleman who was governor of Mitylene, and +Lysimachus went himself to the house where Marina dwelt, to see +this paragon of excellence whom all the city praised so highly. +Her conversation delighted Lysimachus beyond measure, for, +though he had heard much of this admired maiden, he did not +expect to find her so sensible a lady, so virtuous, and so good, +as he perceived Marina to be; and he left her, saying he hoped +she would persevere in her industrious and virtuous course, and +that if ever she heard from him again it should be for her good. +Lysimachus thought Marina such a miracle for sense, fine +breeding, and excellent qualities, as well as for beauty and all +outward graces, that he wished to marry her, and, notwithstanding +her humble situation, he hoped to find that her birth was noble; +but whenever when they asked her parentage she would sit still +and weep. + +Meantime, at Tarsus, Leonine, fearing the anger of Dionysia, told +her he had killed Marina; and that wicked woman gave out that she +was dead, and made a pretended funeral for her, and erected a +stately monument; and shortly after Pericles, accompanied by his +loyal minister Helicanus, made a voyage from Tyre to Tarsus, on +purpose to see his daughter, intending to take her home with him. +And he never having beheld her since he left her an infant in the +care of Cleon and his wife, how did this good prince rejoice at +the thought of seeing this dear child of his buried queen! But +when they told him Marina was dead, and showed the monument they +had erected for her, great was the misery this most wretched +father endured, and, not being able to bear the sight of that +country where his last hope and only memory of his dear Thaisa +was entombed, he took ship and hastily departed from Tarsus. From +the day he entered the ship a dull and heavy melancholy seized +him. He never spoke, and seemed totally insensible to everything +around him. + +Sailing from Tarsus to Tyre, the ship in its course passed by +Mitylene, where Marina dwelt; the governor of which place, +Lysimachus, observing this royal vessel from the shore, and +desirous of knowing who was on board, went in a barge to the side +of the ship, to satisfy his curiosity. Helicanus received him +very courteously and told him that the ship came from Tyre, and +that they were conducting thither Pericles, their prince. “A man +sir,” said Helicanus, “who has not spoken to any one these three +months, nor taken any sustenance, but just to prolong his grief; +it would be tedious to repeat the whole ground of his distemper, +but the main springs from the loss of a beloved daughter and a +wife.” + +Lysimachus begged to see this afflicted prince, and when he +beheld Pericles he saw he had been once a goodly person, and he +said to him: “Sir king, all hail! The gods preserve you! Hail, +royal sir!” + +But in vain Lysimachus spoke to him. Pericles made no answer, nor +did he appear to perceive any stranger approached. And then +Lysimachus bethought him of the peerless maid Marina, that haply +with her sweet tongue she might win some answer from the silent +prince; and with the consent of Helicanus he sent for Marina, and +when she entered the ship in which her own father sat motionless +with grief, they welcomed her on board as if they had known she +was their princess; and they cried: + +“She is a gallant lady.” + +Lysimachus was well pleased to hear their commendations, and he +said: + +“She is such a one that, were I well assured she came of noble +birth, I would wish no better choice and think me rarely blessed +in a wife.” And then he addressed her in courtly terms, as if the +lowly seeming maid had been the high-born lady he wished to find +her, calling her FAIR AND BEAUTIFUL MARINA, telling her a great +prince on board that ship had fallen into a sad and mournful +silence; and, as if Marina had the power of conferring health +and felicity, he begged she would undertake to cure the royal +stranger of his melancholy. + +“Sir,” said Marina, “I will use my utmost skill in his recovery, +provided none but I and my maid be suffered to come near him.” + +She, who at Mitylene had so carefully concealed her birth, +ashamed to tell that one of royal ancestry was now a slave, first +began to speak to Pericles of the wayward changes in her own +fate, telling him from what a high estate herself had fallen. As +if she had known it was her royal father she stood before, all +the words she spoke were of her own sorrows; but her reason for +so doing was that she knew nothing more wins the attention of the +unfortunate than the recital of some sad calamity to match their +own. The sound of her sweet voice aroused the drooping prince; he +lifted up his eyes, which had been so long fixed and motionless; +and Marina, who was the perfect image of her mother, presented to +his amazed sight the features of his dead queen. The long silent +prince was once more heard to speak. + +“My dearest wife,” said the awakened Pericles, “was like this +maid, and such a one might my daughter have been. My queen’s +square brows, her stature to an inch, as wand-like straight, as +silver-voiced, her eyes as jewel-like. Where do you live, young +maid? Report your parentage. I think you said you had been tossed +from wrong to injury, and that you thought your griefs would +equal mine, if both were opened.” + +“Some such thing I said,” replied Marina, “and said no more than +what my thoughts did warrant me as likely.” + +“Tell me your story,” answered Pericles. “If I find you have +known the thousandth part of my endurance you have borne your +sorrows like a man and I have suffered like a girl; yet you do +look like Patience gazing on kings’ graves and smiling extremely +out of act. How lost you your name, my most kind virgin? Recount +your story, I beseech you. Come, sit by me.” + +How was Pericles surprised when she said her name was MARINA, for +he knew it was no usual name, but had been invented by himself +for his own child to signify SEA-BORN. + +“Oh, I am mocked,” said he, “and you are sent hither by some +incensed god to make the world laugh at me.” + +“Patience, good sir,” said Marina, “or I must cease here.” + +“Na@,” said Pericles, “I will be patient. You little know how you +do startle me, to call yourself Marina.” + +“The name,” she replied, “was given me by one that had some +power, my father and a king.” + +“How, a king’s daughter!” said Pericles, “and called Marina! But +are you flesh and blood? Are you no fairy? Speak on. Where were +you born, and wherefore called Marina?” + +She replied: “I was called Marina because I was born at sea. My +mother was the daughter of a king; she died the minute I was +born, as my good nurse Lychorida has often told me, weeping. The +king, my father, left me at Tarsus till the cruel wife of Cleon +sought to murder me. A crew of pirates came and rescued me and +brought me here to Mitylene. But, good sir, why do you weep? It +may be you think me an impostor. But indeed, sir, I am the +daughter to King Pericles, if good King Pericles be living.” + +Then Pericles, terrified as he seemed at his own sudden joy, and +doubtful if this could be real, loudly called for his attendants, +who rejoiced at the sound of their beloved king’s voice; and he +said to Helicanus: + +“O Helicanus, strike me, give me a gash, put me to present pain, +lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me overbear the shores +of my mortality. Oh, come hither, thou that wast born at sea, +buried at Tarsus, and found at sea again. O Helicanus, down on +your knees, thank the holy gods! This is Marina. Now blessings on +thee, my child! Give me fresh garments, mine own Helicanus! She +is not dead at Tarsus as she should have been by the savage +Dionysia. She shall tell you all, when you shall kneel to her and +call her your very Princess. Who is this?” (observing Lysimachus +for the first time). + +“Sir,” said Helicanus, “it is the governor of Mitylene, who, +hearing of your melancholy, came to see you.” + +“I embrace you, sir,” said Pericles. “Give me my robes! I am well +with beholding. O Heaven bless my girl! But hark, what music is +that?”--for now, either sent by some kind god or by his own +delighted fancy deceived, he seemed to hear soft music. + +“My lord, I hear none,” replied Helicanus. + +“None?” said Pericles. “Why, it is the music of the spheres.” + +As there was no music to be heard, Lysimachus concluded that the +sudden joy had unsettled the prince’s understanding, and he said, +“It is not good to cross him; let him have his way.” And then +they told him they heard the music; and he now complaining of a +drowsy slumber coming over him, Lysimachus persuaded him to rest +on a couch, and, placing a pillow under his head, he, quite +overpowered with excess of joy, sank into a sound sleep, and +Marina watched in silence by the couch of her sleeping parent. + +While he slept, Pericles dreamed a dream which made him resolve +to go to Ephesus. His dream was that Diana, the goddess of the +Ephesians, appeared to him and commanded him to go to her temple +at Ephesus, and there before her altar to declare the story of +his life and misfortunes; and by her silver bow she swore that if +he performed her injunction he should meet with some rare +felicity. When he awoke, being miraculously refreshed, he told +his dream, and that his resolution was to obey the bidding of the +goddess. + +Then Lysimachus invited Pericles to come on shore and refresh +himself with such entertainment as he should find at Mitylene, +which courteous offer Pericles accepting, agreed to tarry with +him for the space of a day or two. During which time we may well +suppose what feastings, what rejoicings, what costly shows and +entertainments the governor made in Mitylene to greet the royal +father of his dear Marina, whom in her obscure fortunes he had so +respected. Nor did Pericles frown upon Lysimachus’s suit, when he +understood how he had honored his child in the days of her low +estate, and that Marina showed herself not averse to his +proposals; only he made it a condition, before he gave his +consent, that they should visit with him the shrine of the +Ephesian Diana; to whose temple they shortly after all three +undertook a voyage; and, the goddess herself filling their sails +with prosperous winds, after a few weeks they arrived in safety +at Ephesus. + +There was standing near the altar of the goddess, when Pericles +with his train entered the temple, the good Cerimon (now grown +very aged), who had restored Thaisa, the wife of Pericles, to +life; and Thaisa, now a priestess of the temple, was standing +before the altar; and though the many years he had passed in +sorrow for her loss had much altered Pericles, Thaisa thought she +knew her husband’s features, and when he approached the altar and +began to speak, she remembered his voice, and listened to his +words with wonder and a joyful amazement. And these were the +words that Pericles spoke before the altar: + +“Hail, Diana! to perform thy just commands I here confess myself +the Prince of Tyre, who, frighted from my country, at Pentapolis +wedded the fair Thaisa. She died at sea in childbed, but brought +forth a maid-child called Marina. She at Tarsus was nursed with +Dionysia, who at fourteen years thought to kill her, but her +better stars brought her to Mitylene, by whose shores as I sailed +her good fortunes brought this maid on board, where by her most +clear remembrance she made herself known to be my daughter.” + +Thaisa, unable to bear the transports which his words had raised +in her, cried out, “You are, you are, O royal Pericles” and +fainted. + +“What means this woman?” said Pericles. “She dies! Gentlemen, +help.” + +“Sir,” said Cerimon, “if you have told Diana’s altar true, this +is your wife.” + +“Reverend gentleman, no,” said Pericles. “I threw her overboard +with these very arms.” + +Cerimon then recounted how, early one tempestuous morning, this +lady was thrown upon the Ephesian shore; how, opening the coffin, +he found therein rich jewels and a paper; how, happily, he +recovered her and placed her here in Diana’s temple. + +And now Thaisa, being restored from her swoon, said: “O my lord, +are you not Pericles? Like him you speak, like him you are. Did +you not name a tempest, a birth, and death?” + +He, astonished, said, “The voice of dead Thaisa!” + +“That Thaisa am I,” she replied, “supposed dead and drowned.” + +“O true Diana!” exclaimed Pericles, in a passion of devout +astonishment. + +“And now,” said Thaisa, “I know you better. Such a ring as I see +on your finger did the king my father give you when we with tears +parted from him at Pentapolis.” + +“Enough, you gods!” cried Pericles. “Your present kindness makes +my past miseries sport. Oh, come, Thaisa, be buried a second time +within these arms.” + +And Marina said, “My heart leaps to be gone into my mother’s +bosom.” + +Then did Pericles show his daughter to her mother, saying, “Look +who kneels here, flesh of thy flesh, thy burthen at sea, and +called Marina because she was yielded there.” + +“Blessed and my own!” said Thaisa. And while she hung in +rapturous joy over her child Pericles knelt before the altar, +saying: + +“Pure Diana, bless thee for thy vision. For this I will offer +oblations nightly to thee.” + +And then and there did Pericles, with the consent of Thaisa, +solemnly affiance their daughter, the virtuous Marina, to the +well-deserving Lysimachus in marriage. + +Thus have we seen in Pericles, his queen, and daughter, a famous +example of virtue assailed by calamity (through the sufferance of +Heaven, to teach patience and constancy to men), under the same +guidance becoming finally successful and triumphing over chance +and change. In Helicanus we have beheld a notable pattern of +truth, of faith, and loyalty, who, when he might have succeeded +to a throne, chose rather to recall the rightful owner to his +possession than to become great by another’s wrong. In the worthy +Cerimon, who restored Thaisa to life, we are instructed how +goodness, directed by knowledge, in bestowing benefits upon +mankind approaches to the nature of the gods. It only remains to +be told that Dionysia, the wicked wife of Cleon, met with an end +proportionable to her deserts. The inhabitants of Tarsus, when +her cruel attempt upon Marina was known, rising in a body to +revenge the daughter of their benefactor, and setting fire to the +palace of Cleon, burned both him and her and their whole +household, the gods seeming well pleased that so foul a murder, +though but intentional and never carried into act, should be +punished in a way befitting its enormity. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1286 *** |