The Shakespeare Story-Book

“Hence,” he said disdainfully, “thou art some fool; I am loath to beat thee.”

“Thou injurious thief, hear but my name, and tremble,” cried the silly youth.

“What’s thy name?”

“Cloten, thou villain.”

“Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it,” said Guiderius contemptuously. “Were it Toad, or Adder, or Spider, it would move me sooner.”

“To thy further fear – nay, to thy utter confusion – thou shalt know I am son to the Queen,” said Cloten braggingly.

“I am sorry for it, not seeming so worthy as thy birth.”

“Art not afraid?” demanded Cloten.

“Those that I reverence, those I fear – the wise,” answered Guiderius. “At fools I laugh, not fear them.”

“Die the death!” cried Cloten, springing at him. “When I have slain thee with my own hand, I’ll follow those that even now fled hence, and on the gates of Lud’s town set your heads. Yield, rustic mountaineer.”

But the “rustic mountaineer” had no intention of yielding, and it was the head of the foolish Cloten that presently paid the penalty for its owner’s blustering insolence.

Safe in the love and protection of her unknown brothers, Imogen had lived for some few days in their cave, making bright the rude dwelling with little womanly graces. Her new friends had taken her straight to their hearts, and in especial Arviragus, the younger Prince, felt for this stranger a deep attachment which he was unable to explain. But all united in praise of Fidele. Belarius noted his noble bearing and gracious manners, which spoke of good breeding. “How angel-like he sings!” put in Arviragus; and Guiderius commended the daintiness of his cooking, which served dishes fit for the banquet of some goddess.

But there came a day when Imogen could not attend as usual to her little household duties; she was very ill. Belarius bade her remain in the cave, and said they would come back to her after their hunting. Guiderius offered to remain at home with her, but Imogen would not hear of it. So, with many parting words of affection at last they left her. Remembering the little box of drugs that Pisanio had given her as a wonderful cordial, Imogen now resolved to try its power. But instead of curing her at once, the effect, as the good physician Cornelius had foreseen, was to send her off into a heavy sleep which seemed exactly like death.

On their return from hunting, Arviragus, running into the cave to look for Imogen, found her lying on the floor, her hands clasped, her right cheek reposing on a cushion. Thinking her asleep, Arviragus took off his rough brogues, in order that he might tread softly. But alas, he soon found that no step or voice could awaken Fidele from the smiling slumber in which he lay.

Stricken with grief, the two Princes prepared a bier to carry their dear young comrade to the place of burial, Arviragus saying that while summer lasted, and as long as he lived near, he would sweeten the sad grave with fairest flowers.

Then, as they bore him on the bier, they spoke in turn a tender dirge, for their hearts were too full of grief to allow them to sing it.

“Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,Nor the furious winter’s rages;Thou thy worldly task hast done,Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:Golden lads and girls all must,As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.“Fear no more the frown o’ the great;Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke;Care no more to clothe and eat;To thee the reed is as the oak;The sceptre, learning, physic, mustAll follow this, and come to dust.“Fear no more the lightning flash,Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone,Fear not slander, censure rash,Thou hast finished joy and moan:All lovers young, all lovers mustConsign to thee, and come to dust.“No exorciser harm thee!Nor no witchcraft charm theeGhost unlaid forbear thee!Nothing ill come near thee!Quiet consummation have;And renowned be thy grave!”

Grief for the loss of Imogen had for a moment caused the death of Cloten to be forgotten; but Belarius reminded the young Princes that, after all, he was a Queen’s son, and though they had killed him as a foe, they must bury him as a Prince. Fetching the dead body, therefore, they placed it not far from the bier where Imogen lay, and strewed both with flowers.

Soon after the mourners had retired, Imogen woke from the sleep into which the drug had thrown her. As she recovered her dazed senses, she presently became aware that near at hand lay a dead man, and recognising the garments of Leonatus, she at once took for granted that it was indeed her husband who had been thus cruelly slain. Struck to the heart by this new sorrow, she flung herself half fainting on the body, and there soon afterwards she was found by the Roman General, Lucius. Pitying her desolate condition, for he thought this lad in his page’s dress was weeping over his dead master, Lucius took Imogen into his own service.

On hearing of Cymbeline’s refusal to pay tribute, the Roman Emperor lost no time in sending over an army to enforce his demand. The rival forces met near Milford Haven, not far from the cave of Belarius. Hearing the noise of warfare, Belarius first suggested flight to the upper mountains for better security, but the noble spirit of the two young Princes scorned such cowardly counsel, and they boldly determined to throw in their lot with the British in fighting the enemy of their country.

Leonatus also at this crisis had returned from Rome, and, disguised as a poor soldier, he fought in the ranks of the British. Meeting Iachimo, who was commanding the Roman troops, Leonatus fought with him on the battle-field and vanquished him. The proud Roman was deeply mortified that a noble knight like himself should be overcome and disarmed by one whom he imagined to be a low churl. Repentance for the base way in which he had behaved to Imogen stirred in his heart; he thought it was the guilt and heaviness of his own soul that in this combat had unnerved his manhood and enfeebled his arm. As for Leonatus, he fought in reckless despair, his grief for Imogen’s murder, which he believed Pisanio to have carried out, making him long for the death which seemed to shun him.

The valour of Guiderius and Arviragus had soon an opportunity of displaying itself. The British, sorely bested, were in act of flight, and Cymbeline had been captured by the Romans, when Belarius and the two Princes went to his assistance, and with the aid of Leonatus succeeded in rescuing the King. By their desperate courage they drove back the flying Britons, and forced them to rally and resist the foe, and finally achieve a brilliant victory.

After the skirmish, some British soldiers coming across Leonatus, took him for a fugitive from the Romans, and put him into prison. Leonatus was ready to welcome bondage, for it was a way, as he looked at it, to liberty. Death was the key that would unbar those locks; his conscience was more heavily fettered than his limbs. It was not enough to be sorry; he longed to die. For Imogen’s dear life, which he had stolen from her, he would gladly yield up his own.

When, therefore, the gaolers came the following morning to lead him forth to death, Leonatus told them he was more than ready – he was merrier to die than they to live. Another messenger arriving with an order that his fetters were to be knocked off, and that he was to be conducted to the King. Leonatus followed him willingly, believing that at last the moment for death had come.

Cymbeline was seated in his tent, and at his side stood his three preservers – the aged warrior, with white flowing beard, and the two gallant striplings. A fourth was missing, and Cymbeline lamented for him – a poor soldier, he said, who fought so nobly that his rags shamed gilded arms. Anyone who found him should receive the highest favour from the King. No one could give tidings of this hero, but Cymbeline proceeded to confer the honour of knighthood on the three other champions, and to appoint them companions to his own person, with dignities becoming their estate.

At this moment there came an interruption, – Cornelius, the physician, entered; he brought the news that the wicked Queen’s life was ended, and that before her death she had confessed all her villainy – her duplicity towards Imogen, and her intention of poisoning both her and Cymbeline, in order to secure the crown for her own son. The strange disappearance of Cloten, for whose sake she had wrought so much evil, and the consequent failure of all her schemes, made her grow desperate, and so in despair she died. Cymbeline could not but be moved by the account of this unsuspected treachery on the part of his wife, for she was as beautiful in person as she was wicked in mind, and he had been quite deceived by her. His thoughts now began to turn with tenderness to the innocent daughter whom he had treated with such unjust severity.

Lucius, the Roman General, was next led as prisoner before the King. He was ready to accept with manly dignity the doom of death which he presumed would be meted out to him, but he petitioned as a last favour that the life of his little page might be spared.

“Never master had a page so kind, so duteous, diligent, so tender on occasion, so deft and careful,” pleaded Lucius. “He hath done no Briton harm, though he hath served a Roman. Save him, sir, and spare no blood beside.”

Lucius’s generous plea was scarcely needed, for Cymbeline, touched by some deep feeling which he could not explain, had already been won over to the boy’s side, and now not only granted him his life, but said he might ask what favour he chose, even if it were to demand the noblest prisoner taken.

Lucius naturally expected that Fidele would take this opportunity to beg for his master’s life, but Imogen had seen Iachimo standing among the other prisoners, and noticing on his finger the diamond ring which she had given to Leonatus, she begged as her favour of the King that Iachimo should be bidden to say of whom he had received the ring.

Iachimo, who had long bitterly repented of his unworthy deed, now made a true confession of all that had happened, lavishing praise on Leonatus and his peerless wife, and heaping all the blame upon himself. Leonatus, who had been standing in the background, unable to contain himself when he heard how cruelly he had been tricked, would gladly have killed Iachimo on the spot, and then died, himself, with grief and shame.

“O Imogen! My queen, my life, my wife!” he cried, frantic with despair at the tragedy he had himself wrought. “O Imogen, Imogen, Imogen!”

But, happily, the calamity was not past remedy. Imogen herself was at hand, and soon everything was put right. Belarius restored to Cymbeline the two boys stolen in infancy, and in the joy of finding them again, Cymbeline pardoned the offender.

“I lost my children,” he said; “if these be they, I know not how to wish a pair of worthier sons.”

The young Princes welcomed with rapture their dear young comrade Fidele, whom they had mourned as dead, and who was now given back to them as their own beloved sister.

To Caius Lucius, the Roman General, Cymbeline, with royal generosity, announced that though the victor, he would henceforth pay to Augustus Cæsar the rightful tribute he demanded, which his wicked Queen had dissuaded him from doing.

The poor soldier whom Cymbeline was desirous of thanking turned out to be no other than Leonatus, his own son-in-law.

Even Iachimo met with mercy. In deep contrition he knelt before Leonatus, saying humbly:

“Take that life, I beseech you, which I owe you; but your ring first; and here the bracelet of the truest Princess that ever swore her faith.”

“Kneel not to me,” said Leonatus. “The power that I have over you is to spare you; the malice towards you, to forgive you; live, and deal with others better.”

“Nobly doomed!” pronounced Cymbeline. “We will learn generosity of our son-in-law. Pardon’s the word to all.”

The Winter’s Tale

At the Palace of Leontes

Leontes, King of Sicilia, and Polixenes, King of Bohemia, had always been the closest and dearest friends. Trained together in childhood, and as boys never apart, a deep-rooted affection had sprung up between them, and when the necessities of their royal birth and dignities made separation necessary, by calling each to rule over his own kingdom, they still kept up the warmest intercourse by gifts, letters, and loving embassies. Both in due course married. Hermione, wife of Leontes, was a noble and beautiful woman, and they had one child, a princely boy called Mamillius. Polixenes, in Bohemia, had also one boy, Florizel, within a month of the same age as Mamillius. When the children were five years old, Polixenes came to pay a visit to Leontes, and for many months he remained in Sicilia, renewing the happy days of boyhood with his old friend, and made cordially welcome by Hermione for the sake of her husband.

But at last the time came when Polixenes must turn his steps homeward; he had been long absent from Bohemia, and matters of state required his presence. Leontes pressed him warmly to remain, even if it were only for a few days longer, but Polixenes was firm. Then Leontes bade his wife try her powers of persuasion. Glad to please her husband, and liking their visitor for his own sake, Hermione merrily announced that she absolutely refused to let Polixenes go. It was useless for him to pretend excuses; Bohemia was getting on very well without him. Polixenes must learn, she said, that a lady’s “Verily” was just as potent as a lord’s; and she had said “Verily” he must stay, either as her prisoner or her guest – he could take his choice, whichever he preferred, but one of them he certainly should be.

Polixenes could not be so churlish as to resist such a sweet pleader, and accordingly he said he would stay for another week. But no sooner was this point settled than a strange fit of jealous rage took possession of Leontes. To his unhappy temper it seemed that Hermione was showing far too much affection to this friend of his, and he was enraged that Polixenes had consented to do for her what he had refused to do for himself. With growing wrath he watched their light-hearted cordiality, for Hermione was gay and joyous by nature, and her innocent playfulness was always ready to sparkle forth in merry words. Instead of trying to banish his sullen suspicions Leontes chose to keep brooding over them, and presently they overmastered his reason to such an extent that he confided them to one of his lords, called Camillo, and ordered him to find means of poisoning Polixenes.

In vain did the honest old courtier try to argue with Leontes, begging him to put aside such delusions, for they were most dangerous, and protesting there was no truth whatever in them. Leontes refused to listen to reason, and Camillo thought the best plan was to appear to yield. He therefore said he would undertake to get rid of Polixenes, provided that after he was gone, Leontes would promise to treat his Queen exactly the same as formerly. This, Leontes replied, it was his intention to do.

Camillo, however, instead of poisoning Polixenes, warned him of the danger he was in, and the King of Bohemia, already put on his guard by the frowning looks which met him in all directions, determined to leave at once. Knowing that it would be impossible to continue in the service of Leontes when the latter discovered what he had done, Camillo accepted an offer from Polixenes to join his followers, and the two left Sicilia that very night.

Leontes, hearing of their hasty departure, was more convinced than ever in his suspicions, and in spite of the indignant remonstrances of all his lords, his next step was to order the imprisonment of his noble Queen. Not long after she was shut up in prison, Hermione had a little baby girl, but in his fury against his wife Leontes refused to see his little daughter, or to treat her in any way as a child of his own.

All the Court ladies were devoted to their beloved Queen, and not one of them but believed in her innocence, and was indignant at the cruel way in which she was treated. But not contented with simply pitying her, one of them, Paulina, wife of the lord Antigonus, determined to make an effort to get justice done. She thought that perhaps at the sight of the innocent little child, the King’s stubborn heart might relent. Paulina was a woman of firm and dauntless character. She went to the prison, calmly carried off the infant in the face of some feeble objections from the gaoler, then, proceeding to the palace, she insisted on making her way into the presence of the King. Leontes ordered her to be removed, but the spirited lady drew herself up with such an air of defiance that for a moment no man dared lay hands on her.

“Of my own accord I will go, but first I’ll do my errand,” she said haughtily. Then, kneeling before the King, she placed the child at his feet. “The good Queen – for she is good – hath brought you forth a daughter,” she said. “Here it is; she commends it to your blessing.”

But her appeal was useless. With uncontrolled fury Leontes bade her be gone, and to take the child with her. Paulina cared nothing for his wild torrent of abuse, but unflinchingly expressed her opinion that he was acting in a most senseless manner, and said that his cruel usage of the Queen would make him scandalous to the world.

The outspoken lady was at last hustled away, but she left the child behind her, bidding the King look to it. Paulina’s husband, Antigonus, had taken up the infant in pity, and now Leontes turned on him with fury, accusing him of having set on his wife, and ordering him to take away the child and kill it.

Antigonus respectfully denied that he had set on his wife, and the other lords confirmed what he said, and further besought on their knees that Leontes would relent from his horrible purpose. Softening a little, Leontes grudgingly consented that the child might live, but he forthwith commanded Antigonus, on his allegiance, to carry it away to some remote and desert place quite out of his dominions, and there leave it, without more mercy, to its own protection and the favour of the climate. Chance might nurse it, or end it.

Antigonus, though sore at heart, did as he had sworn to the King he would do, and carried away the child. That night, as he was in the ship that conveyed them away from the domain of Sicilia, there came to him a dream. The spirit of Hermione stood before him, clad in pure white robes, her eyes flashing fire. When their fury was spent, she spoke thus:

“Good Antigonus, since Fate, against thy better disposition, had made thy person for the thrower-out of my poor babe, according to thine oath, there are places remote enough in Bohemia; there weep, and leave it crying. And because the babe is counted lost for ever, prithee call it Perdita. For this ungentle business, put on thee by my lord, thou never more shalt see thy wife Paulina.”

And so, wailing, the vision melted into the air.

In accordance with this dream, Antigonus carried the babe into the country of Bohemia. Unable to weep, but his heart bleeding for pity at the cruel deed which his oath enjoined on him, he placed it tenderly on the ground. As he turned away he was pursued by a savage bear, which made him take to instant flight. He had not, therefore, the happiness of knowing that the little child found a speedy preserver, for within a few minutes an aged shepherd, in search of some strayed sheep, came that way.

“Good luck, what have we here?” he cried in astonishment. “Mercy on us, a bairn! – a very pretty bairn! A boy or a girl I wonder. A pretty one – a very pretty one! I’ll take it up for pity; yet I’ll tarry till my son come. He hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!”

The shepherd’s son, coming up to wonder over the strange discovery, soon noticed there was a heap of gold hidden away in the costly wrappings of the little foundling, and rejoicing in their luck, the rustics carried Perdita home to their shepherd’s cottage.

The Oracle Speaks

Leontes, in order to avoid the reproach of tyranny which he feared his people had only too much reason to fasten on him, decreed that the Queen should be openly tried in a court of justice, and herself appear in person to answer the charges he had seen fit to bring against her. He had despatched messengers to the Temple of Apollo, at Delphos, to consult the Oracle, and on their return the trial was appointed to take place. The messengers had brought back the answer of the Oracle in a sealed cover, and at the proper moment during the trial the seals would be broken and the verdict would be read in open court.

Hermione’s answer to the accusations brought against her was an indignant denial. She declared that she had never had for Polixenes more affection than was right and fitting for any honourable lady to have for her guest, such an affection as Leontes himself had commanded her to bestow on the friend who had loved him from infancy. She had never conspired with Camillo against Leontes; all she knew was that Camillo was an honest man, and she was entirely ignorant why he had left the court.

The only effect these words had on Leontes was to make him more violent than before. He told his wife that as she had already been past all shame, so she was now past all truth, and he threatened her with the punishment of death.

“Sir, spare your threats,” said Hermione with noble dignity. “The spectre you would frighten me with, I seek. To me life is no great thing to be desired. The crown and comfort of my life – your favour – is lost, for I feel it to be gone, though I know not how it went. My second joy – my first-born child – I am debarred from his presence, like one infectious. My third comfort – my dear little innocent baby – has been torn from me. I have myself been branded with disgrace on every hand. And, lastly, I have been hurried here to this place, in the open court, while I am still weak and ill, and unfitted to appear. Now, my liege, tell me what blessings I have here while I am alive, that I should fear to die? Therefore proceed. But yet, hear this: mistake me not, I do not beg for life; I prize it not a straw. But for mine honour, I will not have that condemned without any proof except what your jealous surmises awake. My lords, I refer me to the Oracle. Apollo be my judge!”

The councillors present declared that Hermione’s request was altogether just, and ordered the messengers from Delphos to be summoned. The latter then handed to the officer of the court the sealed letter from the Oracle, which he forthwith opened and read in the presence of all.

The Oracle spoke thus:

“Hermione is innocent; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; the innocent babe is his daughter; and the King shall live without an heir if that which is lost be not found.”

“Now blessed be the great Apollo!” shouted all the lords.

“Praised!” cried Hermione.

“Hast thou read truth?” demanded Leontes.

“Ay, my lord, even so as it is here set down,” said the officer of the court.

“There is no truth at all in the Oracle,” exclaimed Leontes. “The trial shall proceed; this is mere falsehood.”

But at that instant came a terrible shock to the headstrong King. A servant entered with the mournful tidings that the young Prince, the noble boy Mamillius, was dead. The separation from his beloved mother, and dread as to her possible fate, had so wrought on the imagination of the sensitive child that he had died of grief.

On hearing of this new calamity, Hermione’s fortitude gave way, and she fell fainting to the ground.

Leontes’s stubborn spirit began to quail. He saw in this blow the wrath of heaven against his injustice. He admitted that he had too much believed his suspicions; he ordered that the Queen should be carried away, and every remedy tenderly applied to restore her to life.

In his new terror he hastily began to make good resolutions. He would be reconciled with Polixenes; he would woo the Queen again; he would recall Camillo, whom he forthwith proclaimed a man of mercy and truth, for by his piety and humanity he had saved the life of Polixenes when Leontes would have poisoned him.

But these good resolves came too late. Even as Leontes was speaking, Paulina rushed back into the court, weeping and wringing her hands. With burning words that went straight to the truth, she hurled the bitterest reproaches at the King, denouncing his tyranny and worse than childish jealousy, which had led to one evil after another. He had betrayed Polixenes, attempted to poison Camillo’s honour, cast forth to the crows his baby daughter, had indirectly brought about the death of the young Prince. But last, beyond all these things – worst of all – the Queen was dead!