During the time of Augustus Cæsar, Emperor of Rome,
there reigned in
England (which was then called Britain) a king whose
name was Cymbeline.
Cymbeline’s first wife died
when his three children (two sons and a daughter)
were very young. Imogen, the eldest of these children,
was brought up in her father’s court; but by
a strange chance the two sons of Cymbeline were stolen
out of their nursery, when the eldest was but three
years of age, and the youngest quite an infant; and
Cymbeline could never discover what was become of
them, or by whom they were conveyed away.
Cymbeline was twice married:
his second wife was a wicked, plotting woman, and
a cruel stepmother to Imogen, Cymbeline’s daughter
by his first wife.
The queen, though she hated Imogen,
yet wished her to marry a son of her own by a former
husband (she also having been twice married):
for by this means she hoped upon the death of Cymbeline
to place the crown of Britain upon the head of her
son Cloten; for she knew that, if the king’s
sons were not found, the Princess Imogen must be the
king’s heir. But this design was prevented
by Imogen herself, who married without the consent
or even knowledge of her father or the queen.
Posthumus (for that was the name of
Imogen’s husband) was the best scholar and most
accomplished gentleman of that age. His father
died fighting in the wars for Cymbeline, and soon
after his birth his mother died also for grief at
the loss of her husband.
Cymbeline, pitying the helpless state
of this orphan, took Posthumus (Cymbeline having given
him that name, because he was born after his father’s
death), and educated him in his own court.
Imogen and Posthumus were both taught
by the same masters, and were playfellows from their
infancy; they loved each other tenderly when they
were children, and their affection continuing to increase
with their years, when they grew up they privately
married.
The disappointed queen soon learnt
this secret, for she kept spies constantly in watch
upon the actions of her daughter-in-law, and she immediately
told the king of the marriage of Imogen with Posthumus.
Nothing could exceed the wrath of
Cymbeline, when he heard that his daughter had been
so forgetful of her high dignity as to marry a subject.
He commanded Posthumus to leave Britain, and banished
him from his native country for ever.
The queen, who pretended to pity Imogen
for the grief she suffered at losing her husband,
offered to procure them a private meeting before Posthumus
set out on his journey to Rome, which place he had
chosen for his residence in his banishment: this
seeming kindness she showed, the better to succeed
in her future designs in regard to her son Cloten;
for she meant to persuade Imogen, when her husband
was gone, that her marriage was not lawful, being
contracted without the consent of the king.
Imogen and Posthumus took a most affectionate
leave of each other. Imogen gave her husband
a diamond ring, which had been her mother’s,
and Posthumus promised never to part with the ring;
and he fastened a bracelet on the arm of his wife,
which he begged she would preserve with great care,
as a token of his love; they then bid each other farewell,
with many vows of everlasting love and fidelity.
Imogen remained a solitary and dejected
lady in her father’s court, and Posthumus arrived
at Rome, the place he had chosen for his banishment.
Posthumus fell into company at Rome
with some gay young men of different nations, who
were talking freely of ladies: each one praising
the ladies of his own country, and his own mistress.
Posthumus, who had ever his own dear lady in his mind,
affirmed that his wife, the fair Imogen, was the most
virtuous, wise and constant lady in the world.
One of those gentlemen, whose name
was Iachimo, being offended that a lady of Britain
should be so praised above the Roman ladies, his country-women,
provoked Posthumus by seeming to doubt the constancy
of his so highly-praised wife; and at length, after
much altercation, Posthumus consented to a proposal
of Iachimo’s, that he (Iachimo) should go to
Britain, and endeavour to gain the love of the married
Imogen. They then laid a wager, that if Iachimo
did not succeed in this wicked design, he was to forfeit
a large sum of money; but if he could win Imogen’s
favour, and prevail upon her to give him the bracelet
which Posthumus had so earnestly desired she would
keep as a token of his love, then the wager was to
terminate with Posthumus giving to Iachimo the ring,
which was Imogen’s love present when she parted
with her husband. Such firm faith had Posthumus
in the fidelity of Imogen, that he thought he ran
no hazard in this trial of her honour.
Iachimo, on his arrival in Britain,
gained admittance, and a courteous welcome from Imogen,
as a friend of her husband; but when he began to make
professions of love to her, she repulsed him with disdain,
and he soon found that he could have no hope of succeeding
in his dishonourable design.
The desire Iachimo had to win the
wager made him now have recourse to a stratagem to
impose upon Posthumus, and for this purpose he bribed
some of Imogen’s attendants, and was by them
conveyed into her bedchamber, concealed in a large
trunk, where he remained shut up till Imogen was retired
to rest, and had fallen asleep; and then getting out
of the trunk, he examined the chamber with great attention,
and wrote down everything he saw there, and particularly
noticed a mole which he observed upon Imogen’s
neck, and then softly unloosing the bracelet from
her arm, which Posthumus had given to her, he retired
into the chest again; and the next day he set on for
Rome with great expedition, and boasted to Posthumus
that Imogen had given him the bracelet, and likewise
permitted him to pass a night in her chamber:
and in this manner Iachimo told his false tale:
“Her bedchamber,” said he, “was hung
with tapestry of silk and silver, the story was the
proud Cleopatra when she met her Anthony, a piece
of work most bravely wrought.”
“This is true,” said Posthumus;
“but this you might have heard spoken of without
seeing.”
“Then the chimney,” said
Iachimo, “is south of the chamber, and the chimney-piece
is Diana bathing; never saw I figures livelier
expressed.”
“This is a thing you might have
likewise heard,” said Posthumus; “for it
is much talked of.”
Iachimo as accurately described the
roof of the chamber; and added, “I had almost
forgot her andirons; they were two winking Cupids
made of silver, each on one foot standing.”
He then took out the bracelet, and said, “Know
you this jewel, sir? She gave me this. She
took it from her arm. I see her yet; her pretty
action did outsell her gift, and yet enriched it too.
She gave it me, and said, she prized it once.”
He last of all described the mole he had observed
upon her neck.
Posthumus, who had heard the whole
of this artful recital in an agony of doubt, now broke
out into the most passionate exclamations against
Imogen. He delivered up the diamond ring to Iachimo,
which he had agreed to forfeit to him, if he obtained
the bracelet from Imogen.
Posthumus then in a jealous rage wrote
to Pisanio, a gentleman of Britain, who was one of
Imogen’s attendants, and had long been a faithful
friend to Posthumus; and after telling him what proof
he had of his wife’s disloyalty, he desired
Pisanio would take Imogen to Milford-Haven, a seaport
of Wales, and there kill her. And at the same
time he wrote a deceitful letter to Imogen, desiring
her to go with Pisanio, for that finding he could
live no longer without seeing her, though he was forbidden
upon pain of death to return to Britain, he would
come to Milford-Haven, at which place he begged she
would meet him. She, good unsuspecting lady,
who loved her husband above all things, and desired
more than her life to see him, hastened her departure
with Pisanio, and the same night she received the letter
she set out.
When their journey was nearly at an
end, Pisanio, who, though faithful to Posthumus, was
not faithful to serve him in an evil deed, disclosed
to Imogen the cruel order he had received.
Imogen, who, instead of meeting a
loving and beloved husband, found herself doomed by
that husband to suffer death, was afflicted beyond
measure.
Pisanio persuaded her to take comfort,
and wait with patient fortitude for the time when
Posthumus should see and repent his injustice:
in the meantime, as she refused in her distress to
return to her father’s court, he advised her
to dress herself in boy’s clothes for more security
in travelling; to which advice she agreed, and thought
in that disguise she would go over to Rome, and see
her husband, whom, though he had used her so barbarously,
she could not forget to love.
When Pisanio had provided her with
her new apparel, he left her to her 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.