BEAUTIFUL STORIES FROM SHAKESPEARE
By E. Nesbit
“It may be said of Shakespeare, that from his works may be
collected a system of civil and economical prudence. He has
been imitated by all succeeding writers; and it may be
doubted whether from all his successors more maxims of
theoretical knowledge, or more rules of practical prudence
can be collected than he alone has given to his country.”--
Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON.
PREFACE
The writings of Shakespeare have been justly termed “the richest, the
purest, the fairest, that genius uninspired ever penned.”
Shakespeare instructed by delighting. His plays alone (leaving mere
science out of the question), contain more actual wisdom than the
whole body of English learning. He is the teacher of all good-- pity,
generosity, true courage, love. His bright wit is cut out “into little
stars.” His solid masses of knowledge are meted out in morsels and
proverbs, and thus distributed, there is scarcely a corner of the
English-speaking world to-day which he does not illuminate, or a cottage
which he does not enrich. His bounty is like the sea, which, though
often unacknowledged, is everywhere felt. As his friend, Ben Jonson,
wrote of him, “He was not of an age but for all time.” He ever kept the
highroad of human life whereon all travel. He did not pick out by-paths
of feeling and sentiment. In his creations we have no moral highwaymen,
sentimental thieves, interesting villains, and amiable, elegant
adventuresses--no delicate entanglements of situation, in which
the grossest images are presented to the mind disguised under the
superficial attraction of style and sentiment. He flattered no bad
passion, disguised no vice in the garb of virtue, trifled with no just
and generous principle. While causing us to laugh at folly, and shudder
at crime, he still preserves our love for our fellow-beings, and our
reverence for ourselves.
Shakespeare was familiar with all beautiful forms and images, with
all that is sweet or majestic in the simple aspects of nature, of
that indestructible love of flowers and fragrance, and dews, and
clear waters--and soft airs and sounds, and bright skies and woodland
solitudes, and moon-light bowers, which are the material elements of
poetry,--and with that fine sense of their indefinable relation to
mental emotion, which is its essence and vivifying soul--and which, in
the midst of his most busy and tragical scenes, falls like gleams of
sunshine on rocks and ruins--contrasting with all that is rugged or
repulsive, and reminding us of the existence of purer and brighter
elements.
These things considered, what wonder is it that the works of
Shakespeare, next to the Bible, are the most highly esteemed of all the
classics of English literature. “So extensively have the characters of
Shakespeare been drawn upon by artists, poets, and writers of fiction,”
says an American author,--“So interwoven are these characters in the
great body of English literature, that to be ignorant of the plot of
these dramas is often a cause of embarrassment.”
But Shakespeare wrote for grown-up people, for men and women, and in
words that little folks cannot understand.
Hence this volume. To reproduce the entertaining stories contained
in the plays of Shakespeare, in a form so simple that children can
understand and enjoy them, was the object had in view by the author of
these Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare.
And that the youngest readers may not stumble in pronouncing any
unfamiliar names to be met with in the stories, the editor has prepared
and included in the volume a Pronouncing Vocabulary of Difficult Names.
To which is added a collection of Shakespearean Quotations, classified
in alphabetical order, illustrative of the wisdom and genius of the
world's greatest dramatist.
E. T. R.
A BRIEF LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE.
In the register of baptisms of the parish church of Stratford-upon-Avon,
a market town in Warwickshire, England, appears, under date of April 26,
1564, the entry of the baptism of William, the son of John Shakspeare.
The entry is in Latin--“Gulielmus filius Johannis Shakspeare.”
The date of William Shakespeare's birth has usually been taken as three
days before his baptism, but there is certainly no evidence of this
fact.
The family name was variously spelled, the dramatist himself not always
spelling it in the same way. While in the baptismal record the name is
spelled “Shakspeare,” in several authentic autographs of the dramatist
it reads “Shakspere,” and in the first edition of his works it is
printed “Shakespeare.”
Halliwell tells us, that there are not less than thirty-four ways in
which the various members of the Shakespeare family wrote the name,
and in the council-book of the corporation of Stratford, where it is
introduced one hundred and sixty-six times during the period that
the dramatist's father was a member of the municipal body, there are
fourteen different spellings. The modern “Shakespeare” is not among
them.
Shakespeare's father, while an alderman at Stratford, appears to have
been unable to write his name, but as at that time nine men out of
ten were content to make their mark for a signature, the fact is not
specially to his discredit.
The traditions and other sources of information about the occupation
of Shakespeare's father differ. He is described as a butcher, a
woolstapler, and a glover, and it is not impossible that he may have
been all of these simultaneously or at different times, or that if
he could not properly be called any one of them, the nature of his
occupation was such as to make it easy to understand how the various
traditions sprang up. He was a landed proprietor and cultivator of his
own land even before his marriage, and he received with his wife, who
was Mary Arden, daughter of a country gentleman, the estate of Asbies,
56 acres in extent. William was the third child. The two older than he
were daughters, and both probably died in infancy. After him was born
three sons and a daughter. For ten or twelve years at least, after
Shakespeare's birth his father continued to be in easy circumstances. In
the year 1568 he was the high bailiff or chief magistrate of Stratford,
and for many years afterwards he held the position of alderman as he
had done for three years before. To the completion of his tenth year,
therefore, it is natural to suppose that William Shakespeare would get
the best education that Stratford could afford. The free school of the
town was open to all boys and like all the grammar-schools of that time,
was under the direction of men who, as graduates of the universities,
were qualified to diffuse that sound scholarship which was once the
boast of England. There is no record of Shakespeare's having been at
this school, but there can be no rational doubt that he was educated
there. His father could not have procured for him a better education
anywhere. To those who have studied Shakespeare's works without being
influenced by the old traditional theory that he had received a very
narrow education, they abound with evidences that he must have been
solidly grounded in the learning, properly so called, was taught in the
grammar schools.
There are local associations connected with Stratford which could not
be without their influence in the formation of young Shakespeare's mind.
Within the range of such a boy's curiosity were the fine old historic
towns of Warwick and Coventry, the sumptuous palace of Kenilworth, the
grand monastic remains of Evesham. His own Avon abounded with spots of
singular beauty, quiet hamlets, solitary woods. Nor was Stratford shut
out from the general world, as many country towns are. It was a great
highway, and dealers with every variety of merchandise resorted to its
markets. The eyes of the poet dramatist must always have been open for
observation. But nothing is known positively of Shakespeare from his
birth to his marriage to Anne Hathaway in 1582, and from that date
nothing but the birth of three children until we find him an actor in
London about 1589.
How long acting continued to be Shakespeare's sole profession we have
no means of knowing, but it is in the highest degree probable that very
soon after arriving in London he began that work of adaptation by which
he is known to have begun his literary career. To improve and alter
older plays not up to the standard that was required at the time was
a common practice even among the best dramatists of the day, and
Shakespeare's abilities would speedily mark him out as eminently fitted
for this kind of work. When the alterations in plays originally composed
by other writers became very extensive, the work of adaptation would
become in reality a work of creation. And this is exactly what we have
examples of in a few of Shakespeare's early works, which are known to
have been founded on older plays.
It is unnecessary here to extol the published works of the world's
greatest dramatist. Criticism has been exhausted upon them, and the
finest minds of England, Germany, and America have devoted their powers
to an elucidation of their worth.
Shakespeare died at Stratford on the 23rd of April, 1616. His father had
died before him, in 1602, and his mother in 1608. His wife survived
him till August, 1623. His so Hamnet died in 1596 at the age of eleven
years. His two daughters survived him, the eldest of whom, Susanna, had,
in 1607, married a physician of Stratford, Dr. Hall. The only issue of
this marriage, a daughter named Elizabeth, born in 1608, married first
Thomas Nasbe, and afterwards Sir John Barnard, but left no children by
either marriage. Shakespeare's younger daughter, Judith, on the 10th of
February, 1616, married a Stratford gentleman named Thomas Quincy, by
whom she had three sons, all of whom died, however, without issue. There
are thus no direct descendants of Shakespeare.
Shakespeare's fellow-actors, fellow-dramatists, and those who knew him
in other ways, agree in expressing not only admiration of his genius,
but their respect and love for the man. Ben Jonson said, “I love the
man, and do honor his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He
was indeed honest, and of an open and free nature.” He was buried on
the second day after his death, on the north side of the chancel
of Stratford church. Over his grave there is a flat stone with this
inscription, said to have been written by himself:
Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare
To digg the dust encloased heare:
Blest be ye man yt spares these stones,
And curst be he yt moves my bones.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
A BRIEF LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE . . . . . . . . . . . 7
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM . . . . . . . . . . . 19
THE TEMPEST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
AS YOU LIKE IT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
THE WINTER'S TALE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
KING LEAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
TWELFTH NIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
ROMEO AND JULIET . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
PERICLES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
HAMLET . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
CYMBELINE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
MACBETH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
TIMON OF ATHENS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
OTHELLO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
MEASURE FOR MEASURE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL . . . . . . . . . . . 272
PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY OF NAMES . . . . . . . . 286
QUOTATIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE . . . . . . . . . . 288
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
TITANIA: THE QUEEN OF THE FAIRIES . . . . . . . 20
THE QUARREL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
HELENA IN THE WOOD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
TITANIA PLACED UNDER A SPELL . . . . . . . . . 30
TITANIA AWAKES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
PRINCE FERDINAND IN THE SEA . . . . . . . . . . 36
PRINCE FERDINAND SEES MIRANDA . . . . . . . . . 39
PLAYING CHESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
ROSALIND AND CELIA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
ROSALIND GIVES ORLANDO A CHAIN . . . . . . . . 47
GANYMEDE FAINTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
LEFT ON THE SEA-COAST . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
THE KING WOULD NOT LOOK . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
LEONTES RECEIVING FLORIZEL AND PERDITA . . . . 60
FLORIZEL AND PERDITA TALKING . . . . . . . . . 62
HERMOINE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
CORDELIA AND THE KING OF FRANCE . . . . . . . . 67
GONERIL AND REGAN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
CORDELIA IN PRISON . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
VIOLA AND THE CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
VIOLA AS “CESARIO” MEETS OLIVIA . . . . . . . . 76
“YOU TOO HAVE BEEN IN LOVE” . . . . . . . . . . 78
CLAUDIA AND HERO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
HERO AND URSULA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
BENEDICK . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
FRIAR FRANCIS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
ROMEO AND TYBALT FIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
ROMEO DISCOVERS JULIET . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
MARRIAGE OF ROMEO AND JULIET . . . . . . . . . 111
THE NURSE THINKS JULIET DEAD . . . . . . . . . 115
ROMEO ENTERING THE TOMB . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
PERICLES WINS IN THE TOURNAMENT . . . . . . . . 122
PERICLES AND MARINA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
THE KING'S GHOST APPEARS . . . . . . . . . . . 131
POLONIUS KILLED BY HAMLET . . . . . . . . . . . 135
DROWNING OF OPHELIA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
IACHIMO AND IMOGEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
IACHIMO IN THE TRUNK . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
IMOGEN STUPEFIED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
IMOGEN AND LEONATUS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
THE THREE WITCHES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
FROM “MACBETH” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
LADY MACBETH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
KING AND QUEEN MACBETH . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
MACBETH AND MACDUFF FIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . 163
ANTIPHOLUS AND DROMIO . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
LUCIANA AND ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE . . . . . . 175
THE GOLDSMITH AND ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE . . . 178
AEMILIA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
ANTONIO SIGNS THE BOND . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
JESSICA LEAVING HOME . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
BASSANIO PARTS WITH THE RING . . . . . . . . . 192
POET READING TO TIMON . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
PAINTER SHOWING TIMON A PICTURE . . . . . . . 197
“NOTHING BUT AN EMPTY BOX” . . . . . . . . . . 200
TIMON GROWS SULLEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
OTHELLO TELLING DESDEMONA HIS ADVENTURES . . . 211
OTHELLO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
THE DRINK OF WINE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
CASSIO GIVES THE HANDKERCHIEF . . . . . . . . 222
DESDEMONA WEEPING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
THE MUSIC MASTER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
KATHARINE BOXES THE SERVANT'S EARS . . . . . . 232
PETRUCHIO FINDS FAULT WITH THE SUPPER . . . . 235
THE DUKE IN THE FRIAR'S DRESS . . . . . . . . 244
ISABELLA PLEADS WITH ANGELO . . . . . . . . . 247
“YOUR FRIAR IS NOW YOUR PRINCE” . . . . . . . 253
VALENTINE WRITES A LETTER FOR SILVIA . . . . . 258
SILVIA READING THE LETTER . . . . . . . . . . 259
THE SERENADE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
ONE OF THE OUTLAWS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267
HELENA AND BERTRAM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272
HELENA AND THE KING . . . . . . . . . . . . . 276
READING BERTRAM'S LETTER . . . . . . . . . . . 281
HELENA AND THE WIDOW . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284
LIST OF FOUR-COLOR PLATES
PAGE
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
TITANIA AND THE CLOWN . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
FERDINAND AND MIRANDA . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
PRINCE FLORIZEL AND PERDITA . . . . . . . . . . 54
ROMEO AND JULIET . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
IMOGEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
CHOOSING THE CASKET . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
PETRUCHIO AND KATHERINE . . . . . . . . . . . 228
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
Hermia and Lysander were lovers; but Hermia's father wished her to marry
another man, named Demetrius.
Now, in Athens, where they lived, there was a wicked law, by which any
girl who refused to marry according to her father's wishes, might be put
to death. Hermia's father was so angry with her for refusing to do as
he wished, that he actually brought her before the Duke of Athens to
ask that she might be killed, if she still refused to obey him. The Duke
gave her four days to think about it, and, at the end of that time, if
she still refused to marry Demetrius, she would have to die.
Lysander of course was nearly mad with grief, and the best thing to
do seemed to him for Hermia to run away to his aunt's house at a place
beyond the reach of that cruel law; and there he would come to her and
marry her. But before she started, she told her friend, Helena, what she
was going to do.
Helena had been Demetrius' sweetheart long before his marriage with
Hermia had been thought of, and being very silly, like all jealous
people, she could not see that it was not poor Hermia's fault that
Demetrius wished to marry her instead of his own lady, Helena. She knew
that if she told Demetrius that Hermia was going, as she was, to the
wood outside Athens, he would follow her, “and I can follow him, and
at least I shall see him,” she said to herself. So she went to him, and
betrayed her friend's secret.
Now this wood where Lysander was to meet Hermia, and where the other two
had decided to follow them, was full of fairies, as most woods are, if
one only had the eyes to see them, and in this wood on this night were
the King and Queen of the fairies, Oberon and Titania. Now fairies
are very wise people, but now and then they can be quite as foolish as
mortal folk. Oberon and Titania, who might have been as happy as the
days were long, had thrown away all their joy in a foolish quarrel. They
never met without saying disagreeable things to each other, and scolded
each other so dreadfully that all their little fairy followers, for
fear, would creep into acorn cups and hide them there.
So, instead of keeping one happy Court and dancing all night through in
the moonlight as is fairies' use, the King with his attendants wandered
through one part of the wood, while the Queen with hers kept state in
another. And the cause of all this trouble was a little Indian boy whom
Titania had taken to be one of her followers. Oberon wanted the child to
follow him and be one of his fairy knights; but the Queen would not give
him up.
On this night, in a mossy moonlit glade, the King and Queen of the
fairies met.
“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” said the King.
“What! jealous, Oberon?” answered the Queen. “You spoil everything with
your quarreling. Come, fairies, let us leave him. I am not friends with
him now.”
“It rests with you to make up the quarrel,” said the King.
“Give me that little Indian boy, and I will again be your humble servant
and suitor.”
“Set your mind at rest,” said the Queen. “Your whole fairy kingdom buys
not that boy from me. Come, fairies.”
And she and her train rode off down the moonbeams.
“Well, go your ways,” said Oberon. “But I'll be even with you before you
leave this wood.”
Then Oberon called his favorite fairy, Puck. Puck was the spirit of
mischief. He used to slip into the dairies and take the cream away, and
get into the churn so that the butter would not come, and turn the beer
sour, and lead people out of their way on dark nights and then laugh at
them, and tumble people's stools from under them when they were going to
sit down, and upset their hot ale over their chins when they were going
to drink.
“Now,” said Oberon to this little sprite, “fetch me the flower called
Love-in-idleness. The juice of that little purple flower laid on the
eyes of those who sleep will make them, when they wake, to love the
first thing they see. I will put some of the juice of that flower on
my Titania's eyes, and when she wakes she will love the first thing she
sees, were it lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, or meddling monkey, or a
busy ape.”
While Puck was gone, Demetrius passed through the glade followed by poor
Helena, and still she told him how she loved him and reminded him of all
his promises, and still he told her that he did not and could not love
her, and that his promises were nothing. Oberon was sorry for poor
Helena, and when Puck returned with the flower, he bade him follow
Demetrius and put some of the juice on his eyes, so that he might love
Helena when he woke and looked on her, as much as she loved him. So
Puck set off, and wandering through the wood found, not Demetrius, but
Lysander, on whose eyes he put the juice; but when Lysander woke, he saw
not his own Hermia, but Helena, who was walking through the wood looking
for the cruel Demetrius; and directly he saw her he loved her and left
his own lady, under the spell of the purple flower.
When Hermia woke she found Lysander gone, and wandered about the wood
trying to find him. Puck went back and told Oberon what he had done,
and Oberon soon found that he had made a mistake, and set about looking
for Demetrius, and having found him, put some of the juice on his eyes.
And the first thing Demetrius saw when he woke was also Helena. So now
Demetrius and Lysander were both following her through the wood, and it
was Hermia's turn to follow her lover as Helena had done before. The
end of it was that Helena and Hermia began to quarrel, and Demetrius and
Lysander went off to fight. Oberon was very sorry to see his kind scheme
to help these lovers turn out so badly. So he said to Puck--
“These two young men are going to fight. You must overhang the night
with drooping fog, and lead them so astray, that one will never find the
other. When they are tired out, they will fall asleep. Then drop this
other herb on Lysander's eyes. That will give him his old sight and his
old love. Then each man will have the lady who loves him, and they will
all think that this has been only a Midsummer Night's Dream. Then when
this is done, all will be well with them.”
So Puck went and did as he was told, and when the two had fallen asleep
without meeting each other, Puck poured the juice on Lysander's eyes,
and said:--
“When thou wakest,
Thou takest
True delight
In the sight
Of thy former lady's eye:
Jack shall have Jill;
Nought shall go ill.”
Meanwhile Oberon found Titania asleep on a bank where grew wild thyme,
oxlips, and violets, and woodbine, musk-roses and eglantine. There
Titania always slept a part of the night, wrapped in the enameled skin
of a snake. Oberon stooped over her and laid the juice on her eyes,
saying:--
“What thou seest when thou wake,
Do it for thy true love take.”
Now, it happened that when Titania woke the first thing she saw was a
stupid clown, one of a party of players who had come out into the wood
to rehearse their play. This clown had met with Puck, who had clapped
an ass's head on his shoulders so that it looked as if it grew there.
Directly Titania woke and saw this dreadful monster, she said, “What
angel is this? Are you as wise as you are beautiful?”
“If I am wise enough to find my way out of this wood, that's enough for
me,” said the foolish clown.
“Do not desire to go out of the wood,” said Titania. The spell of the
love-juice was on her, and to her the clown seemed the most beautiful
and delightful creature on all the earth. “I love you,” she went on.
“Come with me, and I will give you fairies to attend on you.”
So she called four fairies, whose names were Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth,
and Mustardseed.
“You must attend this gentleman,” said the Queen. “Feed him with
apricots and dewberries, purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries.
Steal honey-bags for him from the bumble-bees, and with the wings of
painted butterflies fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.”
“I will,” said one of the fairies, and all the others said, “I will.”
“Now, sit down with me,” said the Queen to the clown, “and let me stroke
your dear cheeks, and stick musk-roses in your smooth, sleek head, and
kiss your fair large ears, my gentle joy.”
“Where's Peaseblossom?” asked the clown with the ass's head. He did not
care much about the Queen's affection, but he was very proud of having
fairies to wait on him. “Ready,” said Peaseblossom.
“Scratch my head, Peaseblossom,” said the clown. “Where's Cobweb?”
“Ready,” said Cobweb.
“Kill me,” said the clown, “the red bumble-bee on the top of the thistle
yonder, and bring me the honey-bag. Where's Mustardseed?”
“Ready,” said Mustardseed.
“Oh, I want nothing,” said the clown. “Only just help Cobweb to scratch.
I must go to the barber's, for methinks I am marvelous hairy about the
face.”
“Would you like anything to eat?” said the fairy Queen.
“I should like some good dry oats,” said the clown--for his donkey's
head made him desire donkey's food--“and some hay to follow.”
“Shall some of my fairies fetch you new nuts from the squirrel's house?”
asked the Queen.
“I'd rather have a handful or two of good dried peas,” said the clown.
“But please don't let any of your people disturb me; I am going to
sleep.”
Then said the Queen, “And I will wind thee in my arms.”
And so when Oberon came along he found his beautiful Queen lavishing
kisses and endearments on a clown with a donkey's head.
And before he released her from the enchantment, he persuaded her to
give him the little Indian boy he so much desired to have. Then he took
pity on her, and threw some juice of the disenchanting flower on her
pretty eyes; and then in a moment she saw plainly the donkey-headed
clown she had been loving, and knew how foolish she had been.
Oberon took off the ass's head from the clown, and left him to finish
his sleep with his own silly head lying on the thyme and violets.
Thus all was made plain and straight again. Oberon and Titania loved
each other more than ever. Demetrius thought of no one but Helena, and
Helena had never had any thought of anyone but Demetrius.
As for Hermia and Lysander, they were as loving a couple as you could
meet in a day's march, even through a fairy wood.
So the four mortal lovers went back to Athens and were married; and the
fairy King and Queen live happily together in that very wood at this
very day.
THE TEMPEST
Prospero, the Duke of Milan, was a learned and studious man, who lived
among his books, leaving the management of his dukedom to his brother
Antonio, in whom indeed he had complete trust. But that trust was
ill-rewarded, for Antonio wanted to wear the duke's crown himself, and,
to gain his ends, would have killed his brother but for the love the
people bore him. However, with the help of Prospero's great enemy,
Alonso, King of Naples, he managed to get into his hands the dukedom
with all its honor, power, and riches. For they took Prospero to sea,
and when they were far away from land, forced him into a little boat
with no tackle, mast, or sail. In their cruelty and hatred they put his
little daughter, Miranda (not yet three years old), into the boat with
him, and sailed away, leaving them to their fate.
But one among the courtiers with Antonio was true to his rightful
master, Prospero. To save the duke from his enemies was impossible, but
much could be done to remind him of a subject's love. So this worthy
lord, whose name was Gonzalo, secretly placed in the boat some fresh
water, provisions, and clothes, and what Prospero valued most of all,
some of his precious books.
The boat was cast on an island, and Prospero and his little one landed
in safety. Now this island was enchanted, and for years had lain under
the spell of a fell witch, Sycorax, who had imprisoned in the trunks
of trees all the good spirits she found there. She died shortly before
Prospero was cast on those shores, but the spirits, of whom Ariel was
the chief, still remained in their prisons.
Prospero was a great magician, for he had devoted himself almost
entirely to the study of magic during the years in which he allowed
his brother to manage the affairs of Milan. By his art he set free the
imprisoned spirits, yet kept them obedient to his will, and they were
more truly his subjects than his people in Milan had been. For he
treated them kindly as long as they did his bidding, and he exercised
his power over them wisely and well. One creature alone he found it
necessary to treat with harshness: this was Caliban, the son of the
wicked old witch, a hideous, deformed monster, horrible to look on, and
vicious and brutal in all his habits.
When Miranda was grown up into a maiden, sweet and fair to see, it
chanced that Antonio and Alonso, with Sebastian, his brother, and
Ferdinand, his son, were at sea together with old Gonzalo, and their
ship came near Prospero's island. Prospero, knowing they were there,
raised by his art a great storm, so that even the sailors on board gave
themselves up for lost; and first among them all Prince Ferdinand leaped
into the sea, and, as his father thought in his grief, was drowned. But
Ariel brought him safe ashore; and all the rest of the crew, although
they were washed overboard, were landed unhurt in different parts of
the island, and the good ship herself, which they all thought had been
wrecked, lay at anchor in the harbor whither Ariel had brought her. Such
wonders could Prospero and his spirits perform.
While yet the tempest was raging, Prospero showed his daughter the brave
ship laboring in the trough of the sea, and told her that it was filled
with living human beings like themselves. She, in pity of their lives,
prayed him who had raised this storm to quell it. Then her father bade
her to have no fear, for he intended to save every one of them.
Then, for the first time, he told her the story of his life and hers,
and that he had caused this storm to rise in order that his enemies,
Antonio and Alonso, who were on board, might be delivered into his
hands.
When he had made an end of his story he charmed her into sleep, for
Ariel was at hand, and he had work for him to do. Ariel, who longed
for his complete freedom, grumbled to be kept in drudgery, but on being
threateningly reminded of all the sufferings he had undergone when
Sycorax ruled in the land, and of the debt of gratitude he owed to the
master who had made those sufferings to end, he ceased to complain, and
promised faithfully to do whatever Prospero might command.
“Do so,” said Prospero, “and in two days I will discharge thee.”
Then he bade Ariel take the form of a water nymph and sent him in search
of the young prince. And Ariel, invisible to Ferdinand, hovered near
him, singing the while--
“Come unto these yellow sands
And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd
(The wild waves whist),
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear!”
And Ferdinand followed the magic singing, as the song changed to a
solemn air, and the words brought grief to his heart, and tears to his
eyes, for thus they ran--
“Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made.
Those are pearls that were his eyes,
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell.
Hark! now I hear them,-- ding dong bell!”
And so singing, Ariel led the spell-bound prince into the presence of
Prospero and Miranda. Then, behold! all happened as Prospero desired.
For Miranda, who had never, since she could first remember, seen
any human being save her father, looked on the youthful prince with
reverence in her eyes, and love in her secret heart.
“I might call him,” she said, “a thing divine, for nothing natural I
ever saw so noble!”
And Ferdinand, beholding her beauty with wonder and delight, exclaimed--
“Most sure the goddess on whom these airs attend!”
Nor did he attempt to hide the passion which she inspired in him, for
scarcely had they exchanged half a dozen sentences, before he vowed to
make her his queen if she were willing. But Prospero, though secretly
delighted, pretended wrath.
“You come here as a spy,” he said to Ferdinand. “I will manacle your
neck and feet together, and you shall feed on fresh water mussels,
withered roots and husk, and have sea-water to drink. Follow.”
“No,” said Ferdinand, and drew his sword. But on the instant Prospero
charmed him so that he stood there like a statue, still as stone; and
Miranda in terror prayed her father to have mercy on her lover. But he
harshly refused her, and made Ferdinand follow him to his cell. There
he set the Prince to work, making him remove thousands of heavy logs of
timber and pile them up; and Ferdinand patiently obeyed, and thought his
toil all too well repaid by the sympathy of the sweet Miranda.
She in very pity would have helped him in his hard work, but he would
not let her, yet he could not keep from her the secret of his love, and
she, hearing it, rejoiced and promised to be his wife.
Then Prospero released him from his servitude, and glad at heart, he
gave his consent to their marriage.
“Take her,” he said, “she is thine own.”
In the meantime, Antonio and Sebastian in another part of the island
were plotting the murder of Alonso, the King of Naples, for Ferdinand
being dead, as they thought, Sebastian would succeed to the throne on
Alonso's death. And they would have carried out their wicked purpose
while their victim was asleep, but that Ariel woke him in good time.
Many tricks did Ariel play them. Once he set a banquet before them, and
just as they were going to fall to, he appeared to them amid thunder
and lightning in the form of a harpy, and immediately the banquet
disappeared. Then Ariel upbraided them with their sins and vanished too.
Prospero by his enchantments drew them all to the grove without his
cell, where they waited, trembling and afraid, and now at last bitterly
repenting them of their sins.
Prospero determined to make one last use of his magic power, “And then,”
said he, “I'll break my staff and deeper than did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book.”
So he made heavenly music to sound in the air, and appeared to them in
his proper shape as the Duke of Milan. Because they repented, he
forgave them and told them the story of his life since they had cruelly
committed him and his baby daughter to the mercy of wind and waves.
Alonso, who seemed sorriest of them all for his past crimes, lamented
the loss of his heir. But Prospero drew back a curtain and showed them
Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess. Great was Alonso's joy to greet
his loved son again, and when he heard that the fair maid with whom
Ferdinand was playing was Prospero's daughter, and that the young folks
had plighted their troth, he said--
“Give me your hands, let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart that
doth not wish you joy.”
So all ended happily. The ship was safe in the harbor, and next day they
all set sail for Naples, where Ferdinand and Miranda were to be married.
Ariel gave them calm seas and auspicious gales; and many were the
rejoicings at the wedding.
Then Prospero, after many years of absence, went back to his own
dukedom, where he was welcomed with great joy by his faithful subjects.
He practiced the arts of magic no more, but his life was happy, and not
only because he had found his own again, but chiefly because, when his
bitterest foes who had done him deadly wrong lay at his mercy, he took
no vengeance on them, but nobly forgave them.
As for Ariel, Prospero made him free as air, so that he could wander
where he would, and sing with a light heart his sweet song--
“Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip's bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer, merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.”
AS YOU LIKE IT
There was once a wicked Duke named Frederick, who took the dukedom that
should have belonged to his brother, sending him into exile. His
brother went into the Forest of Arden, where he lived the life of a bold
forester, as Robin Hood did in Sherwood Forest in merry England.
The banished Duke's daughter, Rosalind, remained with Celia, Frederick's
daughter, and the two loved each other more than most sisters. One day
there was a wrestling match at Court, and Rosalind and Celia went to see
it. Charles, a celebrated wrestler, was there, who had killed many men
in contests of this kind. Orlando, the young man he was to wrestle with,
was so slender and youthful, that Rosalind and Celia thought he would
surely be killed, as others had been; so they spoke to him, and asked
him not to attempt so dangerous an adventure; but the only effect of
their words was to make him wish more to come off well in the encounter,
so as to win praise from such sweet ladies.
Orlando, like Rosalind's father, was being kept out of his inheritance
by his brother, and was so sad at his brother's unkindness that, until
he saw Rosalind, he did not care much whether he lived or died. But now
the sight of the fair Rosalind gave him strength and courage, so that
he did marvelously, and at last, threw Charles to such a tune, that the
wrestler had to be carried off the ground. Duke Frederick was pleased
with his courage, and asked his name.
“My name is Orlando, and I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys,”
said the young man.
Now Sir Rowland de Boys, when he was alive, had been a good friend to
the banished Duke, so that Frederick heard with regret whose son Orlando
was, and would not befriend him. But Rosalind was delighted to hear that
this handsome young stranger was the son of her father's old friend, and
as they were going away, she turned back more than once to say another
kind word to the brave young man.
“Gentleman,” she said, giving him a chain from her neck, “wear this for
me. I could give more, but that my hand lacks means.”
Rosalind and Celia, when they were alone, began to talk about the
handsome wrestler, and Rosalind confessed that she loved him at first
sight.
“Come, come,” said Celia, “wrestle with thy affections.”
“Oh,” answered Rosalind, “they take the part of a better wrestler than
myself. Look, here comes the Duke.”
“With his eyes full of anger,” said Celia.
“You must leave the Court at once,” he said to Rosalind. “Why?” she
asked.
“Never mind why,” answered the Duke, “you are banished. If within ten
days you are found within twenty miles of my Court, you die.”
So Rosalind set out to seek her father, the banished Duke, in the Forest
of Arden. Celia loved her too much to let her go alone, and as it was
rather a dangerous journey, Rosalind, being the taller, dressed up as
a young countryman, and her cousin as a country girl, and Rosalind said
that she would be called Ganymede, and Celia, Aliena. They were very
tired when at last they came to the Forest of Arden, and as they were
sitting on the grass a countryman passed that way, and Ganymede
asked him if he could get them food. He did so, and told them that
a shepherd's flocks and house were to be sold. They bought these and
settled down as shepherd and shepherdess in the forest.
In the meantime, Oliver having sought to take his brother Orlando's
life, Orlando also wandered into the forest, and there met with the
rightful Duke, and being kindly received, stayed with him. Now, Orlando
could think of nothing but Rosalind, and he went about the forest
carving her name on trees, and writing love sonnets and hanging them on
the bushes, and there Rosalind and Celia found them. One day Orlando met
them, but he did not know Rosalind in her boy's clothes, though he liked
the pretty shepherd youth, because he fancied a likeness in him to her
he loved.
“There is a foolish lover,” said Rosalind, “who haunts these woods and
hangs sonnets on the trees. If I could find him, I would soon cure him
of his folly.”
Orlando confessed that he was the foolish lover, and Rosalind said--“If
you will come and see me every day, I will pretend to be Rosalind, and I
will take her part, and be wayward and contrary, as is the way of women,
till I make you ashamed of your folly in loving her.”
And so every day he went to her house, and took a pleasure in saying to
her all the pretty things he would have said to Rosalind; and she had
the fine and secret joy of knowing that all his love-words came to the
right ears. Thus many days passed pleasantly away.
One morning, as Orlando was going to visit Ganymede, he saw a man asleep
on the ground, and that there was a lioness crouching near, waiting for
the man who was asleep to wake: for they say that lions will not prey on
anything that is dead or sleeping. Then Orlando looked at the man, and
saw that it was his wicked brother, Oliver, who had tried to take his
life. He fought with the lioness and killed her, and saved his brother's
life.
While Orlando was fighting the lioness, Oliver woke to see his brother,
whom he had treated so badly, saving him from a wild beast at the risk
of his own life. This made him repent of his wickedness, and he begged
Orlando's pardon, and from thenceforth they were dear brothers. The
lioness had wounded Orlando's arm so much, that he could not go on to
see the shepherd, so he sent his brother to ask Ganymede to come to him.
Oliver went and told the whole story to Ganymede and Aliena, and Aliena
was so charmed with his manly way of confessing his faults, that she
fell in love with him at once. But when Ganymede heard of the danger
Orlando had been in she fainted; and when she came to herself, said
truly enough, “I should have been a woman by right.”
Oliver went back to his brother and told him all this, saying, “I love
Aliena so well that I will give up my estates to you and marry her, and
live here as a shepherd.”
“Let your wedding be to-morrow,” said Orlando, “and I will ask the Duke
and his friends.”
When Orlando told Ganymede how his brother was to be married on the
morrow, he added: “Oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness
through another man's eyes.”
Then answered Rosalind, still in Ganymede's dress and speaking with his
voic--“If you do love Rosalind so near the heart, then when your brother
marries Aliena, shall you marry her.”
Now the next day the Duke and his followers, and Orlando, and Oliver,
and Aliena, were all gathered together for the wedding.
Then Ganymede came in and said to the Duke, “If I bring in your daughter
Rosalind, will you give her to Orlando here?” “That I would,” said the
Duke, “if I had all kingdoms to give with her.”
“And you say you will have her when I bring her?” she said to Orlando.
“That would I,” he answered, “were I king of all kingdoms.”
Then Rosalind and Celia went out, and Rosalind put on her pretty woman's
clothes again, and after a while came back.
She turned to her father--“I give myself to you, for I am yours.” “If
there be truth in sight,” he said, “you are my daughter.”
Then she said to Orlando, “I give myself to you, for I am yours.” “If
there be truth in sight,” he said, “you are my Rosalind.”
“I will have no father if you be not he,” she said to the Duke, and to
Orlando, “I will have no husband if you be not he.”
So Orlando and Rosalind were married, and Oliver and Celia, and they
lived happy ever after, returning with the Duke to the kingdom. For
Frederick had been shown by a holy hermit the wickedness of his ways,
and so gave back the dukedom of his brother, and himself went into a
monastery to pray for forgiveness.
The wedding was a merry one, in the mossy glades of the forest. A
shepherd and shepherdess who had been friends with Rosalind, when she
was herself disguised as a shepherd, were married on the same day, and
all with such pretty feastings and merrymakings as could be nowhere
within four walls, but only in the beautiful green wood.
THE WINTER'S TALE
Leontes was the King of Sicily, and his dearest friend was Polixenes,
King of Bohemia. They had been brought up together, and only separated
when they reached man's estate and each had to go and rule over
his kingdom. After many years, when each was married and had a son,
Polixenes came to stay with Leontes in Sicily.
Leontes was a violent-tempered man and rather silly, and he took it into
his stupid head that his wife, Hermione, liked Polixenes better than
she did him, her own husband. When once he had got this into his head,
nothing could put it out; and he ordered one of his lords, Camillo, to
put a poison in Polixenes' wine. Camillo tried to dissuade him from this
wicked action, but finding he was not to be moved, pretended to consent.
He then told Polixenes what was proposed against him, and they fled from
the Court of Sicily that night, and returned to Bohemia, where Camillo
lived on as Polixenes' friend and counselor.
Leontes threw the Queen into prison; and her son, the heir to the
throne, died of sorrow to see his mother so unjustly and cruelly
treated.
While the Queen was in prison she had a little baby, and a friend of
hers, named Paulina, had the baby dressed in its best, and took it to
show the King, thinking that the sight of his helpless little daughter
would soften his heart towards his dear Queen, who had never done him
any wrong, and who loved him a great deal more than he deserved; but the
King would not look at the baby, and ordered Paulina's husband to take
it away in a ship, and leave it in the most desert and dreadful place
he could find, which Paulina's husband, very much against his will, was
obliged to do.
Then the poor Queen was brought up to be tried for treason in preferring
Polixenes to her King; but really she had never thought of anyone except
Leontes, her husband. Leontes had sent some messengers to ask the god,
Apollo, whether he was not right in his cruel thoughts of the Queen. But
he had not patience to wait till they came back, and so it happened that
they arrived in the middle of the trial. The Oracle said--
“Hermione is innocent, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject,
Leontes a jealous tyrant, and the King shall live without an heir, if
that which is lost be not found.”
Then a man came and told them that the little Prince was dead. The
poor Queen, hearing this, fell down in a fit; and then the King saw how
wicked and wrong he had been. He ordered Paulina and the ladies who were
with the Queen to take her away, and try to restore her. But Paulina
came back in a few moments, and told the King that Hermione was dead.
Now Leontes' eyes were at last opened to his folly. His Queen was dead,
and the little daughter who might have been a comfort to him he had sent
away to be the prey of wolves and kites. Life had nothing left for him
now. He gave himself up to his grief, and passed many sad years in
prayer and remorse.
The baby Princess was left on the seacoast of Bohemia, the very kingdom
where Polixenes reigned. Paulina's husband never went home to tell
Leontes where he had left the baby; for as he was going back to the
ship, he met a bear and was torn to pieces. So there was an end of him.
But the poor deserted little baby was found by a shepherd. She was
richly dressed, and had with her some jewels, and a paper was pinned to
her cloak, saying that her name was Perdita, and that she came of noble
parents.
The shepherd, being a kind-hearted man, took home the little baby to
his wife, and they brought it up as their own child. She had no more
teaching than a shepherd's child generally has, but she inherited from
her royal mother many graces and charms, so that she was quite different
from the other maidens in the village where she lived.
One day Prince Florizel, the son of the good King of Bohemia, was
bunting near the shepherd's house and saw Perdita, now grown up to a
charming woman. He made friends with the shepherd, not telling him that
he was the Prince, but saying that his name was Doricles, and that he
was a private gentleman; and then, being deeply in love with the pretty
Perdita, he came almost daily to see her.
The King could not understand what it was that took his son nearly every
day from home; so he set people to watch him, and then found out that
the heir of the King of Bohemia was in love with Perdita, the pretty
shepherd girl. Polixenes, wishing to see whether this was true,
disguised himself, and went with the faithful Camillo, in disguise
too, to the old shepherd's house. They arrived at the feast of
sheep-shearing, and, though strangers, they were made very welcome.
There was dancing going on, and a peddler was selling ribbons and laces
and gloves, which the young men bought for their sweethearts.
Florizel and Perdita, however, were taking no part in this gay scene,
but sat quietly together talking. The King noticed the charming manners
and great beauty of Perdita, never guessing that she was the daughter of
his old friend, Leontes. He said to Camillo--
“This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever ran on the green
sward. Nothing she does or seems but smacks of something greater than
herself--too noble for this place.”
And Camillo answered, “In truth she is the Queen of curds and cream.”
But when Florizel, who did not recognize his father, called upon the
strangers to witness his betrothal with the pretty shepherdess, the King
made himself known and forbade the marriage, adding that if ever she saw
Florizel again, he would kill her and her old father, the shepherd; and
with that he left them. But Camillo remained behind, for he was charmed
with Perdita, and wished to befriend her.
Camillo had long known how sorry Leontes was for that foolish madness of
his, and he longed to go back to Sicily to see his old master. He now
proposed that the young people should go there and claim the protection
of Leontes. So they went, and the shepherd went with them, taking
Perdita's jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper he had found pinned to
her cloak.