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 some one 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 than she recollected the cordial Pisanio
had given her, and drank it off, and presently fell into a sound and
death-like 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 corse."
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 Cæsar 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 villany, 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 villany having missed its final aim, was dismissed
without punishment.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
KING LEAR
Lear, King of Britain, had three daughters; Goneril, wife to the Duke of
Albany; Regan, wife to the Duke of Cornwall; and Cordelia, a young maid,
for whose love the King of France and Duke of Burgundy were joint
suitors, and were at this time making stay for that purpose in the court
of Lear.
[Illustration: CORDELIA]
The old king, worn out with age and the fatigues of government, he being
more than fourscore years old, determined to take no further part in
state affairs, but to leave the management to younger strengths, that he
might have time to prepare for death, which must at no long period
ensue. With this intent he called his three daughters to him, to know
from their own lips which of them loved him best, that he might part his
kingdom among them in such proportions as their affection for him should
seem to deserve.
Goneril, the eldest, declared that she loved her father more than words
could give out, that he was dearer to her than the light of her own
eyes, dearer than life and liberty, with a deal of such professing
stuff, which is easy to counterfeit where there is no real love, only a
few fine words delivered with confidence being wanted in that case. The
king, delighted to hear from her own mouth this assurance of her love,
and thinking truly that her heart went with it, in a fit of fatherly
fondness bestowed upon her and her husband one third of his ample
kingdom.
Then calling to him his second daughter, he demanded what she had to
say. Regan, who was made of the same hollow metal as her sister, was not
a whit behind in her professions, but rather declared that what her
sister had spoken came short of the love which she professed to bear for
his highness; insomuch that she found all other joys dead, in comparison
with the pleasure which she took in the love of her dear king and
father.
Lear blessed himself in having such loving children, as he thought; and
could do no less, after the handsome assurances which Regan had made,
than bestow a third of his kingdom upon her and her husband, equal in
size to that which he had already given away to Goneril.
Then turning to his youngest daughter Cordelia, whom he called his joy,
he asked what she had to say, thinking no doubt that she would glad his
ears with the same loving speeches which her sisters had uttered, or
rather that her expressions would be so much stronger than theirs, as
she had always been his darling, and favoured by him above either of
them. But Cordelia, disgusted with the flattery of her sisters, whose
hearts she knew were far from their lips, and seeing that all their
coaxing speeches were only intended to wheedle the old king out of his
dominions, that they and their husbands might reign in his lifetime,
made no other reply but this,--that she loved his majesty according to
her duty, neither more nor less.
The king, shocked with this appearance of ingratitude in his favourite
child, desired her to consider her words, and to mend her speech, lest
it should mar her fortunes.
Cordelia then told her father, that he was her father, that he had
given her breeding, and loved her; that she returned those duties back
as was most fit, and did obey him, love him, and most honour him. But
that she could not frame her mouth to such large speeches as her sisters
had done, or promise to love nothing else in the world. Why had her
sisters husbands, if (as they said) they had no love for anything but
their father? If she should ever wed, she was sure the lord to whom she
gave her hand would want half her love, half of her care and duty; she
should never marry like her sisters, to love her father all.
Cordelia, who in earnest loved her old father even almost as
extravagantly as her sisters pretended to do, would have plainly told
him so at any other time, in more daughter-like and loving terms, and
without these qualifications, which did indeed sound a little
ungracious; but after the crafty flattering speeches of her sisters,
which she had seen drawn such extravagant rewards, she thought the
handsomest thing she could do was to love and be silent. This put her
affection out of suspicion of mercenary ends, and showed that she loved,
but not for gain; and that her professions, the less ostentatious they
were, had so much the more of truth and sincerity than her sisters'.
This plainness of speech, which Lear called pride, so enraged the old
monarch--who in his best of times always showed much of spleen and
rashness, and in whom the dotage incident to old age had so clouded over
his reason, that he could not discern truth from flattery, nor a gay
painted speech from words that came from the heart--that in a fury of
resentment he retracted the third part of his kingdom which yet
remained, and which he had reserved for Cordelia, and gave it away from
her, sharing it equally between her two sisters and their husbands, the
Dukes of Albany and Cornwall; whom he now called to him, and in presence
of all his courtiers bestowing a coronet between them, invested them
jointly with all the power, revenue, and execution of government, only
retaining to himself the name of king; all the rest of royalty he
resigned; with this reservation, that himself, with a hundred knights
for his attendants, was to be maintained by monthly course in each of
his daughters' palaces in turn.
So preposterous a disposal of his kingdom, so little guided by reason,
and so much by passion, filled all his courtiers with astonishment and
sorrow; but none of them had the courage to interpose between this
incensed king and his wrath, except the Earl of Kent, who was beginning
to speak a good word for Cordelia, when the passionate Lear on pain of
death commanded him to desist; but the good Kent was not so to be
repelled. He had been ever loyal to Lear, whom he had honoured as a
king, loved as a father, followed as a master; and he had never esteemed
his life further than as a pawn to wage against his royal master's
enemies, nor feared to lose it when Lear's safety was the motive; nor
now that Lear was most his own enemy, did this faithful servant of the
king forget his old principles, but manfully opposed Lear, to do Lear
good; and was unmannerly only because Lear was mad. He had been a most
faithful counsellor in times past to the king, and he besought him now,
that he would see with his eyes (as he had done in many weighty
matters), and go by his advice still; and in his best consideration
recall this hideous rashness: for he would answer with his life, his
judgment that Lear's youngest daughter did not love him least, nor were
those empty-hearted whose low sound gave no token of hollowness. When
power bowed to flattery, honour was bound to plainness. For Lear's
threats, what could he do to him, whose life was already at his service?
That should not hinder duty from speaking.