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
learnt 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 cat-like 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 he told them of
their reconciliation.
The sincere sorrow that Oliver expressed for his offences 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 favourable 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 he 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, he pretended he would bring to
pass by the aid of magic, which he said he had learnt 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 or splendour 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 towards 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 he 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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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 hearing his friend for
ever 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 honoured 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 towards 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 favourable 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 are 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 favours; 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' 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 travelled in his youth."
Proteus' 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. To-morrow 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 for ever 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 favour 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' 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."
"Ay, 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 endeavouring to supplant him in her
affections; and although, as it will always be, when people of
dispositions naturally good become unjust, he had many scruples before
he determined to forsake Julia, and become the rival of Valentine; yet
he 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 favour 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 learnt 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 towards 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 a while. 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?"