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 learnt this secret, for she kept spies
constantly in watch upon the actions of her daughter-in-law, 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 for ever.
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 bid 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 endeavour 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 favour, 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 honour.
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
dishonourable 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
chimney-piece 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
meantime, 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 travelling; to which device 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 not 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 phial 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 phial, 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 someone 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 offence.'
'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 travelling 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 demeanour of the youth Fidele.
Imogen was no sooner left alone then 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
blue-bell, 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 corset.'
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 valour, 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 valour 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 valour 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 he 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 dignity, 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 nurse-like. 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
favour 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, telling, as
has been before related, the whole story of his wager with Posthumus,
and how he had succeeded in imposing upon his 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 defence, 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.