Part 9

But Portia stopped him, saying: “Softly; there is no haste. The Jew shall have nothing but the penalty. Therefore prepare, Shylock, to cut off the flesh; but mind you shed no blood; nor do not cut off more nor less than just a pound; be it more or less by one poor scruple, nay, if the scale turn but by the weight of a single hair, you are condemned by the laws of Venice to die, and all your wealth is forfeited to the state.”

“Give me my money and let me go,” said Shylock.

“I have it ready,” said Bassanio. “Here it is.”

Shylock was going to take the money, when Portia again stopped him, saying: “Tarry, Jew. I have yet another hold upon you. By the laws of Venice your wealth is forfeited to the state for having conspired against the life of one of its citizens, and your life lies at the mercy of the duke; therefore, down on your knees and ask him to pardon you.”

The duke then said to Shylock: “That you may see the difference of our Christian spirit, I pardon you your life before you ask it. Half your wealth belongs to Antonio, the other half comes to the state.”

The generous Antonio then said that he would give up his share of Shylock’s wealth if Shylock would sign a deed to make it over at his death to his daughter and her husband; for Antonio knew that the Jew had an only daughter who had lately married against his consent a young Christian named Lorenzo, a friend of Antonio’s, which had so offended Shylock that he had disinherited her.

The Jew agreed to this; and being thus disappointed in his revenge and despoiled of his riches, he said: “I am ill. Let me go home. Send the deed after me, and I will sign over half my riches to my daughter.”

“Get thee gone, then,” said the duke, “and sign it; and if you repent your cruelty and turn Christian, the state will forgive you the fine of the other half of your riches.”

The duke now released Antonio and dismissed the court. He then highly praised the wisdom and ingenuity of the young counselor and invited him home to dinner.

Portia, who meant to return to Belmont before her husband, replied, “I humbly thank your Grace, but I must away directly.”

The duke said he was sorry he had not leisure to stay and dine with him, and, turning to Antonio, he added, “Reward this gentleman; for in my mind you are much indebted to him.”

The duke and his senators left the court; and then Bassanio said to Portia: “Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend Antonio have by your wisdom been this day acquitted of grievous penalties, and I beg you will accept of the three thousand ducats due unto the Jew.”

“And we shall stand indebted to you over and above,” said Antonio, “in love and service evermore.”

Portia could not be prevailed upon to accept the money. But upon Bassanio still pressing her to accept of some reward, she said:

“Give me your gloves. I will wear them for your sake.” And then Bassanio taking off his gloves, she espied the ring which she had given him upon his finger. Now it was the ring the wily lady wanted to get from him to make a merry jest when she saw her Bassanio again, that made her ask him for his gloves; and she said, when she saw the ring, “And for your love, I will take this ring from you.”

Bassanio was sadly distressed that the counselor should ask him for the only thing he could not part with, and he replied, in great confusion, that be could not give him that ring, because it was his wife’s gift and he had vowed never to part with it; but that he would give him the most valuable ring in Venice, and find it out by proclamation.

On this Portia affected to be affronted, and left the court, saying, “You teach me, sir, how a beggar should be answered.”

“Dear Bassanio,” said Antonio, “let him have the ring. Let My love and the great service he has done for me be valued against your wife’s displeasure.” Bassanio, ashamed to appear so ungrateful, yielded, and sent Gratiano after Portia with the ring; and then the “clerk” Nerissa, who had also given Gratiano a ring, begged his ring, and Gratiano (not choosing to be outdone in generosity by his lord) gave it to her. And there was laughing among these ladies to think, when they got home, how they would tax their husbands with giving away their rings and swear that they had given them as a present to some woman.

Portia, when she returned, was in that happy temper of mind which never fails to attend the consciousness of having performed a good action. Her cheerful spirits enjoyed everything she saw: the moon never seemed to shine so bright before; and when that pleasant moon was hid behind a cloud, then a light which she saw from her house at Belmont as well pleased her charmed fancy, and she said to Nerissa:

“That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.” And hearing the sound of music from her house, she said, “Methinks that music sounds much sweeter than by day.”

And now Portia and Nerissa entered the house, and, dressing themselves in their own apparel, they awaited the arrival of their husbands, who soon followed them with Antonio; and Bassanio presenting his dear friend to the Lady Portia, the congratulations and welcomings of that lady were hardly over when they perceived Nerissa and her husband quarreling in a corner of the room.

“A quarrel already?” said Portia. “What is the matter?”

Gratiano replied, “Lady, it is about a paltry gilt ring that Nerissa gave me, with words upon it like the poetry on a cutler’s knife: ‘Love me, and leave me not.’”

“What does the poetry or the value of the ring signify?” said Nerissa. “You swore to me, when I gave it to you, that you would keep it till the hour of death; and now you say you gave it to the lawyer’s clerk. I know you gave it to a woman.”

“By this hand,” replied Gratiano, “I gave it to a youth, a kind Of boy, a little scrubbed boy, no higher than yourself; be was clerk to the young counselor that by his wise pleading saved Antonio’s life. This prating boy begged it for a fee, and I could not for my life deny him.”

Portia said: “You were to blame, Gratiano, to part with your wife’s first gift. I gave my Lord Bassanio a ring, and I am sure be would not part with it for all the world.”

Gratiano, in excuse for his fault, now said, “My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away to the counselor, and then the boy, his clerk, that took some pains in writing, he begged my ring.”

Portia, hearing this, seemed very angry and reproached Bassanio for giving away her ring; and she said Nerissa had taught her what to believe, and that she knew some woman had the ring. Bassanio was very unhappy to have so offended his dear lady, and he said with great earnestness:

“No, by my honor, no woman had it, but a civil doctor who refused three thousand ducats of me and begged the ring, which when I denied him he went displeased away. What could I do, sweet Portia? I was so beset with shame for my seeming ingratitude that I was forced to send the ring after him. Pardon me, good lady. Had you been there, I think you would have begged the ring of me to give the worthy doctor.”

“Ah!” said Antonio, “I am the unhappy cause of these quarrels.”

Portia bid Antonio not to grieve at that, for that be was welcome notwithstanding; and then Antonio said:

“I once did lend my body for Bassanio’s sake; and but for him to whom your husband gave the ring I should have now been dead. I dare be bound again, my soul upon the forfeit, your lord will never more break his faith with you.”

“Then you shall be his surety,” said Portia. “Give him this ring and bid him keep it better than the other.”

When Bassanio looked at this ring be was strangely surprised to find it was the same he gave away; and then Portia told him how she was the young counselor, and Nerissa was her clerk; and Bassanio found, to his unspeakable wonder and delight, that it was by the noble courage and wisdom of his wife that Antonio’s life was saved.

And Portia again welcomed Antonio, and gave him letters which by some chance had fallen into her hands, which contained an account of Antonio’s ships, that were supposed lost, being safely arrived in the harbor. So these tragical beginnings of this rich merchant’s story were all forgotten in the unexpected good fortune which ensued; and there was leisure to laugh at the comical adventure of the rings and the husbands that did not know their own wives, Gratiano merrily swearing, in a sort of rhyming speech, that--

While he lived, he’d fear no other thing So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.

CYMBELINE

During the time of Augustus Caesar, 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 learned this secret, for she kept spies constantly in watch upon the actions of her stepdaughter, 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 forever.

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 bade 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 endeavor 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 favor, 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 honor.

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 dishonorable 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 off 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 chimneypiece 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 mean time, 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 traveling; 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 no-t 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 vial 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 vial, 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 offense.”

“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.”