The Duke of Milan had scarcely left Valentine, and the latter was
still dazed by the calamity which had befallen him, when Proteus
brought him word that the proclamation for his banishment had been
made public.
Silvia, however, was still true to him. With sobs and tears, she
implored pardon for him on her knees, but her father was relentless.
If Valentine were found again in his dominions he should be put to
death. Moreover, he was so enraged at his daughter’s daring to plead
for her young lover that he commanded she should be kept in close
prison.
The crafty Proteus counselled Valentine to depart at once, bidding
him not to lose hope, pretending the greatest sympathy with his love
affairs, and promising that if he sent letters they should be safely
conveyed to Silvia. Having thus hurried Valentine away with the utmost
despatch, Proteus returned to the Duke of Milan, to let him know that
his orders had been obeyed.
“My daughter is in great grief about his going,” said the Duke.
“A little time will kill that grief, my lord.”
“So I believe, but Sir Thurio here does not think so,” said the Duke,
and he then went on to consult Proteus as to the best way of winning
Silvia’s affections from the absent Valentine, in order that she might
transfer them to Sir Thurio.
It was agreed among them that the best plan would be for Proteus to
speak all he could in dispraise of Valentine, while at the same time
he was to speak in praise of Sir Thurio. For this purpose Proteus was
to be allowed free access to Silvia, who, for his friend’s sake, would
be glad to see him.
Proteus agreed to this, but said that Thurio himself must do something
to win the lady’s favour. He suggested that he should try to please
her with poetry and music, and that he should bring musicians, and
sing a serenade by night under her chamber window. Thurio said he
would put the plan in practice that very night; he knew some gentlemen
well skilled in music, and he had a song written that would be just
suitable. As for the Duke, he was delighted with the suggestion, and
bade them set to work at once to carry it into effect.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, in Verona, Julia was sorrowing for the absence of Proteus,
and at last her longing to see him again grew so keen that she
determined to follow him to Milan. Her waiting-maid, Lucetta, who had
plenty of shrewd common-sense, tried to persuade her not to go, but
Julia would listen to no reason.
“I feel as if I were dying with starvation until I see him again,” she
said. “If you only knew what it is to love anyone, you would know how
utterly useless it is to try to argue about it in words.”
As a young and beautiful lady travelling alone would be likely to
attract a good deal of notice, for safety’s sake Julia decided to
adopt the dress of a page, and she bade Lucetta procure for her all
that was necessary to play the part properly. In vain Lucetta tried to
warn her that perhaps Proteus would not be pleased to see her. Many
men were fickle and changeable, she said; they often pretended much
more affection than they really felt.
Julia indignantly replied that some men might, but not her Proteus.
Her trust in his fidelity was not to be shaken.
“His words are bonds, his oaths cannot be broken, his love is sincere,
his thoughts are stainless, his tears are pure messengers straight
from heaven, his heart is as free from fraud as heaven from earth!”
she cried.
“Pray heaven he prove so when you come to him!” said the shrewd
waiting-woman.
So the faithful, loving Julia set out on her journey to Milan. Alas,
poor lady, she little knew what a sorry welcome was awaiting her!
“Alas, poor Lady, desolate and left!”
Proteus soon found that his scheme for winning Silvia met with small
success. He had already been false to Valentine, and now he intended
to be false to Sir Thurio; but his treachery was likely to be of
little avail. Silvia was far too good and true to be corrupted by his
worthless gifts. When he protested his loyalty to her, she twitted him
with his falsehood to his absent friend; when he praised her beauty,
she bade him remember how he had been forsworn in breaking faith
with Julia, whom he loved. But, notwithstanding all her rebuffs and
rebukes, the more she spurned Proteus the greater grew his admiration
for her; and though he knew well how basely he was acting both to
Valentine and Julia, he had not enough strength of mind to turn aside
from the temptation.
That night, in accordance with what they had arranged, Sir Thurio
brought a band of musicians, and they sang a charming serenade outside
the Duke of Milan’s palace, under Silvia’s chamber. This is the pretty
song they sang:
“Who is Silvia? What is she,
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
“Is she kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness.
And, being help’d, inhabits there.
“Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her, garlands let us bring.”
Unknown to Proteus, there was another listener, of whom he little
recked.
Julia, on arriving at Milan, had made inquiries for her faithless
lover, and the landlord of the house where she lodged had brought her
to this spot to see the man for whom she had been inquiring. Now, in
her page’s costume, she was a witness of her lover’s inconstancy.
Proteus had sworn a thousand vows of love to her, and yet here he was
plainly playing court to another lady! Poor Julia! Sweet as the music
was, it had little charm for her; she heard only the jarring discord
of her lover’s false words.
“Doth this Sir Proteus that we speak of often come to visit this
gentlewoman?” she asked her host.
“I tell you what Launce, his man, told me--he loves her beyond all
measure,” replied the host.
“Peace, stand aside, they are going,” said Julia, stepping further
back into the shadow; and she heard Proteus say:
“Sir Thurio, do not fear; I will plead your cause so well that you
will own my cunning wit is matchless.”
“Where do we meet?” asked Sir Thurio, as he prepared to depart with
the musicians.
“At St. Gregory’s Well.”
“Farewell!”
And Proteus was left alone as Silvia appeared on the balcony of her
window above.
“Madam, good even to your ladyship,” said Proteus.
“I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who was that who spoke?”
“One, lady, whom--if you knew his true heart--you would quickly learn
to know by his voice.”
“Sir Proteus, as I take it.”
“Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.”
“What is your will?”
“That I may fulfil yours.”
“You have your wish. My will is this: that you immediately go home
to bed, you subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man! Do you think I am
so shallow, so witless, as to be won by your flattery--you, who have
deceived so many with your vows! Return, return, and make amends to
your own lady. As for me, I swear by this moon that I am so far from
granting your request that I despise you for your wrongful suit, and
could chide myself even for the time I spend in talking to you.”
“I grant that I did love a lady,” said Proteus, “but she is dead.”
“Supposing that she is, yet Valentine, your friend, is alive, to whom
you yourself are witness that I am betrothed. Are you not ashamed to
wrong him with this persistency?”
“I hear likewise that Valentine is dead.”
“Imagine, then, that I am also dead; for, be assured, my love is
buried in his grave.”
“Sweet lady, let me take it from the earth.”
“Go to your own lady’s grave, and call her love thence, or, at least,
bury your own in hers.”
“Madam, if your heart is so pitiless, yet grant me your picture, for
the sake of my love. For since you yourself are devoted elsewhere, I
am but a shadow, and to your shadow will I give my love.”
“I am very loath to be your idol, sir, but since it suits your
falsehood to admire shadows, send to me in the morning, and I will
send the picture. And so, good rest!”
“As wretches have overnight who wait for execution in the morning,”
said Proteus.
Poor Julia overheard all this conversation between her faithless
suitor and the lady Silvia. It was impossible to doubt his falsehood
any longer, yet so true and loving was her nature that she could not
harden her heart to go away and never see him again. As it happened,
Sir Proteus was staying at the very house in Milan where she had
found a lodging. His thoughts just then were entirely absorbed
with his latest fancy, and it never occurred to him to connect the
stranger lad, who called himself Sebastian, with his own lady Julia
at Verona. But something about the pretty boy attracted his liking.
Proteus’s servant Launce was a silly clown, whose half-witted blunders
were always bringing his master into ridicule, and, judging from
Sebastian’s face and bearing that he was well-born and trustworthy,
Proteus took him into his service as page.