Daughter of Cymbeline, King of Britain, and his acknowledged heir,
Imogen had fallen into deep disgrace at Court, and incurred her
father’s severest displeasure. Cymbeline had lately married a second
wife, a widow with one son, and it had occurred to both the King and
Queen that it would be an excellent plan for Imogen to marry this
youth. But Cloten was a clownish, ill-conditioned lout, and Imogen had
chosen to prefer as her husband a poor but worthy gentleman. Posthumus
Leonatus had been her playfellow from childhood, for his parents dying
when he was an infant, he had been adopted by Cymbeline, who brought
him up almost as his own son. Though the King, Queen, and Cloten
himself were enraged at the choice Imogen had made, and the courtiers
were forced to appear as if they followed the royal example, not one
of the latter but was glad at heart at the thing he pretended to scowl
at. For while Cloten was, as one gentleman expressed it, “a thing too
bad for bad report,” Leonatus was a man endowed with such outward
personal grace, and such inward nobility of soul, that it would be
difficult to find his equal through all the world. Even as a boy, most
praised, most loved, he had come unharmed through the trying ordeal
of being a Court favourite, drinking in all branches of learning as
lightly as others do air; and the proof of his excellence was evident
in the fact that so peerless a lady as Imogen had chosen him for her
husband.
But Cymbeline, untouched by his merits, was indignant that his
daughter had married “a beggar” when she might have had the only son
of the Queen. He pronounced the sentence of banishment on Leonatus,
and commanded that Imogen should be imprisoned at Court, under the
custody of her step-mother.
The new Queen was a crafty, designing woman, whose chief aim at
present was to secure the future throne for her boorish son.
Cymbeline, it is true, had had two sons of his own, but they were
both stolen when they were little more than babies, the eldest being
only three, and the youngest, two years old. From the day of their
disappearance no trace of them had ever been found. The Princess
Imogen was now the only child, and as Cymbeline’s heir, the Queen was
anxious to entice her into a marriage with her son. When this attempt
failed, the Queen did not scruple to plan other and darker means to
accomplish her purpose. She had some knowledge of medicine, and took
pleasure in making perfumes and preserves from all sorts of herbs and
simples. Under pretence of perfecting her knowledge, she begged from a
physician, Cornelius--who had helped her with her studies--some most
poisonous compounds, which would produce a languishing death. She said
she did not intend to use them on human beings, but only on animals,
to try their power, and apply the antidote, in order to discover their
respective virtues and effects.
The good physician did not at all approve of such cruel experiments.
He knew the Queen’s evil nature, and would not trust one of such
malice with drugs of so deadly a kind. While, therefore, pretending
to comply with the Queen’s request, he really gave her some harmless
compounds which would only stupefy and dull the senses for awhile, but
do no ultimate injury.
It was well that Cornelius acted so discreetly, for the Queen lost no
time in putting her wicked schemes into practice.
When Leonatus, on his banishment, departed for Rome, he left
behind him a most faithful, devoted servant, called Pisanio, who
was to watch over and attend his dear wife. The crafty Queen tried
to win over Pisanio to her interests, promising him large bribes
if he would influence Imogen on behalf of her son. But Pisanio’s
steadfast fidelity was not to be shaken. Seeing that all her fawning
friendliness was not likely to achieve her aim, the Queen tried
another method to remove Leonatus from her path. While talking with
Pisanio, she cunningly let fall, as if by accident, the little box of
drugs which she had obtained from Cornelius. When Pisanio picked it
up, and would have returned it to her, she insisted on his keeping
it, as an earnest of future good which she intended to bestow on him,
explaining that it was a wonderful cordial by which she had five times
redeemed the King from death. The Queen hoped that Pisanio, wishing to
do his master good, would give him some of this cordial, which would
certainly prove fatal. After the death of Leonatus, if Imogen still
persisted in refusing to marry Cloten, the Queen determined that she,
too, should have a taste of the poison, when the way would be clear
for Cloten to ascend the throne.
* * * * *
While these things were happening in Britain, Leonatus had reached
Rome. Here, at the house of a friend, Philario, he happened to meet
some acquaintances that he had known in younger days--one a Frenchman,
and another an Italian called Iachimo. The Frenchman reminded him of
a quarrel which they had had on the occasion of their former meeting,
which, he said, was of a slight and trivial nature. But Leonatus, with
his ripened judgment, would not admit that the cause of the quarrel
was altogether slight.
“Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?” inquired Iachimo.
The Frenchman replied that a dispute had arisen as to which of the
ladies, whom each loved in his own country, was to be most praised;
and that Leonatus had asserted that his, in Britain, was the fairest,
most virtuous, wise, and constant; and that her favour was less easily
to be won than the rarest of the ladies in France.
“That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion is by this
time worn out,” laughed Iachimo.
“She holds her virtue still, and I my mind,” returned Leonatus.
“You must not so far prefer her before our ladies of Italy,” said
Iachimo, still in the same jesting way.
But Leonatus was in earnest, and, in spite of the good-natured
bantering of the others, he persisted in extolling the charms and
excellence of Imogen.
At their parting in Britain Imogen had given her husband as a
remembrance a diamond ring, which had been her mother’s, and which she
held very precious; and Leonatus, on his part, had clasped on her arm
a bracelet.
Iachimo now said laughingly that if only he had the chance of a few
minutes’ conversation with Imogen he would soon win her affection,--in
fact, he was ready to wager the half of his estate against Leonatus’s
ring that there was no lady in the world of whom he could not say the
same.
Leonatus began to get annoyed, and Philario begged them to let the
subject drop. But Iachimo would not give in. He now said he wished he
had wagered his whole estate. He would lay ten thousand ducats against
Leonatus’s ring that if he went to the Court of Britain he would bring
back evidence that Imogen’s favour was by no means so hard to win as
Leonatus imagined.
Leonatus, stung by Iachimo’s remarks, and longing to prove the falsity
of his assertions, and to punish him for his impertinence, said he
would accept the wager. But he would wager gold against Iachimo’s
gold; the ring he held as dear as his finger--it was part of it.
Iachimo accused him of fearing to lose the wager, and said he was wise
in declining to risk his ring, which so irritated Leonatus that he
accepted the challenge.
“I dare you to this match; here’s my ring,” he exclaimed.
“I will not have this wager,” said Philario.
But both Leonatus and Iachimo declared it should go on, and proceeded
to settle the conditions, and to have them lawfully recorded. Only
Leonatus further determined that, if Iachimo succeeded in winning his
wager owing to Imogen’s fault or weakness, Leonatus would cast off
his wife utterly; she was not worth debate. If, on the other hand,
Iachimo’s advances were repulsed with the contempt they deserved,
Iachimo should answer with his sword for his impertinence.
To this Iachimo agreed, and without delay he started for Britain.
Arrived at the Court of Cymbeline, he was introduced to Imogen as
the bearer of letters from Leonatus. She received him with charming
frankness and cordiality, delighted to welcome one of whom her husband
wrote as bestowing much kindness on him. In accordance with a plan
Iachimo had thought out, he replied in answer to Imogen’s eager
questions concerning Leonatus that he was quite well, exceedingly
pleasant, and very merry and gamesome--in fact, he was called “the
Briton reveller.”
Imogen was somewhat surprised and a little hurt to hear this, for at
home Leonatus was, if anything, of a grave and melancholy disposition.
“_I_ never saw him sad,” protested Iachimo; and further he added,
Leonatus always laughed loudly when one of his companions, a
Frenchman, seemed sorrowful because he had left behind him in his own
country a lady whom he loved. “Fancy a man sighing for the bondage of
any woman!” Leonatus had said.
It pained Imogen to think that Leonatus cared so little about her,
as Iachimo’s words implied; but when this smooth-tongued Italian
gentleman went on to pity her for the way in which her husband seemed
to have forgotten her, and counselled her to take revenge, she began
to be on her guard.
“Revenge?” she said. “How should I be revenged? If this be true, how
should I be revenged?”
Iachimo replied that if Leonatus cared so little about her as to be
able to amuse himself happily with all the most riotous companions in
Rome, why, then, let Imogen waste no longer any thought on him, but
bestow her affection on one who was ready to be her devoted friend and
servant. _He_--Iachimo--would never neglect her as Leonatus had done.
Imogen interrupted these silky speeches with indignant scorn, and
ordered Iachimo to leave her presence instantly. “What ho, Pisanio!“
she cried, to summon her faithful attendant, for she would not listen
to another word from this insulting stranger.
Then, with supple guile, Iachimo suddenly changed his tactics, and
burst into the most glowing praise of Leonatus. He implored Imogen’s
pardon, and declared that all he had said was quite false, and only
to test her love. Leonatus was one of the best and truest of men--“he
sits among men like a descended god; he hath a kind of honour sets him
off, more than mortal seeming.”
Iachimo’s present words made amends to Imogen for his unworthy
artifice, and she pardoned him, and resumed all her former gracious
charm of manner.
“I had almost forgotten to entreat your grace in a small request,”
said Iachimo, as he was taking his leave. “And yet of moment, too, for
it concerns your lord; myself and other noble friends are partners in
the business.”
“Pray, what is it?” asked Imogen.
Iachimo answered that Leonatus and about a dozen of his friends in
Rome had joined together to buy a present for the Emperor. He, as
their agent, had purchased this in France; it was plate of rare
device, and jewels of rich and exquisite form. They were of great
value, and being a stranger in Britain, Iachimo was anxious to have
them in safe keeping. Might he beg of Imogen to take them under her
protection?
“Willingly; and I will pledge mine honour for their safety,” responded
Imogen. “Since my lord hath interest in them, I will keep them under
my own protection, in my bedchamber.”
“They are in a trunk, attended by my men,” said Iachimo. “I will make
bold to send them to you, only for this night. I must leave to-morrow.
Therefore, if you please to greet your lord with writing, do it
to-night.”
“I will write,” said Imogen. “Send your trunk to me; it shall be
safely kept and faithfully yielded to you. You are very welcome.”