Orlando, in his new life, did not forget the lady whom he had seen at
the wrestling match, and who had so quickly won his heart. As he had
no chance of speaking to Rosalind, the only way in which he could
show his love was to carve her name on all the trees, and perpetually
to write verses in her praise, which he hung all over the forest.
“Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love,” he would say. “O
Rosalind, these trees shall be my books, and I will trace my thoughts
in their bark, so that every eye which looks in this forest shall see
your praise everywhere.”
[Illustration: “Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love.”]
Rosalind came across some of these papers, and wondered greatly who
the person could be who thus carved and hung her name on all the
trees; but Celia, who had also found some of the verses, was able to
enlighten her, for she had happened to see the writer. On hearing that
it was really Orlando, Rosalind became quite excited, and Celia had no
time to answer half the eager questions showered on her before Orlando
himself came that way.
Rosalind now for the first time rather regretted her boy’s dress,
for, of course, Orlando did not recognise the cousins in their
present attire. But, at any rate, in the guise of a saucy youth she
determined to have a little fun, and presently a whimsical idea
occurred to her nimble brain. Seeing how disconsolate Orlando was, she
suggested to him that she should _pretend_ to be really his Rosalind,
and that he should address all his affectionate speeches and verses to
her exactly in the same way as he would have done to the real person.
If he did this, she said, she would soon cure him of his love.
[Illustration: Audrey, the goatherd.]
Orlando replied that he did not want to be cured, but, all the same,
he was perfectly willing to go every day to the shepherd’s cottage,
and talk to this youth as if he were really Rosalind. The plan
succeeded admirably. Since he could not have Rosalind herself, it
pleased Orlando to be always talking about her, and he did not notice
how much in earnest this half-jesting companionship gradually became.
As time went on, the exiles from Duke Frederick’s court made other
acquaintances in the forest. Touchstone had found an object of
interest, which served as an excellent butt for displaying his satire.
This was a rustic goatherd, called Audrey, a simple, not bad-natured
girl, but one of the very stupidest and most ignorant specimens of
humanity possible to imagine. Touchstone seemed to be quite fascinated
by her extreme silliness, and out of sheer perversity declared he
meant to marry her. As for Audrey, she was perfectly unconscious of
any ridicule he chose to lavish on her, and followed Touchstone about
like a willing little slave.
Rosalind and Celia, also, had come across Jaques, and the latter would
willingly have become closer friends with the shepherd youth, but
Rosalind’s sunny nature had nothing in sympathy with this cynic.
“They say you are a melancholy fellow,” she said one day, in answer to
a suggestion from Jaques that they should become better acquainted.
“I am so; I love it better than laughing,” he replied. “It is good to
be sad and say nothing.”
“Why, then, it’s good to be a post,” remarked Rosalind.
There were many different kinds of melancholy, Jaques explained, such
as the scholar’s, the musician’s, the courtier’s, the soldier’s,
etc.; his, however, was a melancholy of his own, compounded of many
different ingredients, but especially due to reflections over his
travels.
“Yes, I have gained my experience,” he ended, with mournful
satisfaction.
“And your experience makes you sad?” quoth Rosalind. “I would rather
have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad. And to
travel for it too!”
* * * * *
But the joyous, free life of the forest was drawing to a close, though
much happiness was still in store for those who had wandered there. A
day came when Orlando for once failed to keep his tryst. He had left
Rosalind, promising to return within an hour, but in his stead there
came to the two cousins a stranger bearing a handkerchief stained with
blood. Briefly he told his tale. Orlando had been walking through the
forest, when he saw a wretched man, ragged and unkempt, sleeping under
a tree. Round his neck a green and gilded snake had twined itself, and
its head was just poised to strike, when, seeing Orlando, it glided
away under a bush. But the peril was not yet over, for under that very
bush couched a famished lioness, watching like a cat, to pounce on the
sleeping man the moment he should stir. And having seen this, Orlando
approached, and found it was his brother--his eldest brother.
Remembering the cruel way in which Oliver had always treated him, his
first impulse was to leave him to his fate, but his better nature
conquered. Orlando did battle with the lioness, who quickly fell
before him.
“And in the noise of the struggle I awakened from my miserable
slumber,” said the stranger.
“Are you his brother? Was it you who so often plotted to kill him?”
asked Celia.
[Illustration: “And your experience makes you sad?” quoth Rosalind.]
“It _was_ I, but it is I no longer,” said Oliver.
Orlando’s noble behaviour had completely overcome his malicious
nature; all evil thoughts against Orlando were banished, and for the
future the two brothers were the best of friends.
Oliver was made welcome by the Duke, and was afterwards talking
to Orlando in his own cave, when his brother, calling on the name
of Rosalind, suddenly fainted. His arm had been badly torn by the
lioness, and had been bleeding all this time. Oliver revived him,
bound up the wound, and after a little, Orlando, being brave of heart,
begged his brother, stranger as he was, to find his friends at the
shepherd’s cottage, and explain to them why he had been unable to
keep his promise. He sent the handkerchief dyed in his blood to the
shepherd youth whom he had called in sport his Rosalind.
On hearing of the peril through which Orlando had passed, Rosalind
was so moved that she almost betrayed herself by fainting. Oliver
was somewhat astonished at such weakness on the part of a youth, but
Rosalind tried to pretend it was only a counterfeit. Her pale looks,
however, showed too plainly that the swoon was no counterfeit, though
she persisted in declaring it was, and bade Oliver carry back word to
Orlando how well she had pretended to faint.
* * * * *
The sweetness and grace of Celia made so strong an impression on
Oliver that he soon fell deeply in love with her, and as she was
equally attracted by him, and as he was now quite converted from his
former evil nature, it was agreed they should be married without
delay. Orlando did all he could to help forward the wedding, though
the sight of his brother’s good fortune made him realise only more
clearly his own unavailing love for Rosalind.
“They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the Duke to the
nuptial,” he said. “But, oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into
happiness through another man’s eyes!”
“Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?” asked
the real Rosalind.
“I can live no longer by thinking,” said Orlando.
“I will weary you, then, no more with idle talking,” said Rosalind.
“Know now that I speak to some purpose. Believe, if you please, that I
can do strange things. I have, since I was three years old, conversed
with a magician, deeply skilled in his art. If you love Rosalind
as heartily as you appear to do, then, when your brother marries
Aliena, you shall marry Rosalind. I know into what straits of fortune
she is driven, and it is not impossible to me, if it does not seem
inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as
she is, and without any danger.”
“Do you speak in sober earnest?” demanded Orlando, scarcely able to
credit what he heard.
“I do, on my life--which I value tenderly, though I _am_ a magician.
Therefore put on your best array, invite your friends: for if you will
be married to-morrow, you shall; and to Rosalind if you will.”
The promise, which appeared so amazing to Orlando, was, of course,
easily kept, and the following day, when the Duke and all the wedding
guests assembled to witness Oliver’s wedding, Rosalind and Celia
appeared without their disguise, and in their real attire. The
banished Duke found a daughter, and Orlando found his Rosalind.
In the midst of the wedding festivities arrived the second son of Sir
Rowland de Boys, bearing the tidings that Duke Frederick had been
converted by a religious man, and meant to leave the world and all its
pomp. He bequeathed his crown to his banished brother, and restored
all their lands to the lords who had been exiled with him.
In the general chorus of pleasure there was only one discordant
note. Jaques the cynic--“melancholy Jaques”--refused to join in the
harmless mirth. He announced his intention of following Duke Frederick
into retirement. He bade the others all follow their different forms
of enjoyment,--as for himself, “I am for other than for dancing
measures,” he declared.
“Stay, Jaques--stay,” begged the Duke.
“Not to see any pastime,” was the grim response. “If you want
anything, I will stay to hear it at your abandoned cave.”
Like King Solomon of old, Jaques had tasted all the pleasures of life,
and had delighted in studying his fellow-mortals; but his stores of
wit and wisdom brought him no real satisfaction. “Vanity of vanities,
all is vanity,” was all that his worldly philosophy had taught him,
and his sharp-eyed cynicism saw only the base and ludicrous side of
human nature. So he went his way, rejecting the kindly fellowship
that was offered him, and taking a half-exultant pride in his own
loneliness and melancholy.
But the Duke ordered the rejoicings to proceed, and the green glades
of the Forest of Arden rang with the sound of song and laughter.