Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare
begged him only to keep a few old men about him such as himself.
“My train are men who know all parts of duty,” said Lear. “Goneril, I
will not trouble you further--yet I have left another daughter.”
And his horses being saddled, he set out with his followers for the
castle of Regan. But she, who had formerly outdone her sister in
professions of attachment to the King, now seemed to outdo her in
undutiful conduct, saying that fifty knights were too many to wait on
him, and Goneril (who had hurried thither to prevent Regan showing any
kindness to the old King) said five were too many, since her servants
could wait on him.
Then when Lear saw that what they really wanted was to drive him away,
he left them. It was a wild and stormy night, and he wandered about the
heath half mad with misery, and with no companion but the poor Fool.
But presently his servant, the good Earl of Kent, met him, and at last
persuaded him to lie down in a wretched little hovel. At daybreak the
Earl of Kent removed his royal master to Dover, and hurried to the Court
of France to tell Cordelia what had happened.
Cordelia's husband gave her an army and with it she landed at Dover.
Here she found poor King Lear, wandering about the fields, wearing a
crown of nettles and weeds. They brought him back and fed and clothed
him, and Cordelia came to him and kissed him.
“You must bear with me,” said Lear; “forget and forgive. I am old and
foolish.”
And now he knew at last which of his children it was that had loved him
best, and who was worthy of his love.
Goneril and Regan joined their armies to fight Cordelia's army, and were
successful; and Cordelia and her father were thrown into prison. Then
Goneril's husband, the Duke of Albany, who was a good man, and had not
known how wicked his wife was, heard the truth of the whole story; and
when Goneril found that her husband knew her for the wicked woman she
was, she killed herself, having a little time before given a deadly
poison to her sister, Regan, out of a spirit of jealousy.
But they had arranged that Cordelia should be hanged in prison, and
though the Duke of Albany sent messengers at once, it was too late. The
old King came staggering into the tent of the Duke of Albany, carrying
the body of his dear daughter Cordelia, in his arms.
And soon after, with words of love for her upon his lips, he fell with
her still in his arms, and died.
TWELFTH NIGHT
Orsino, the Duke of Illyria, was deeply in love with a beautiful
Countess named Olivia. Yet was all his love in vain, for she disdained
his suit; and when her brother died, she sent back a messenger from the
Duke, bidding him tell his master that for seven years she would not
let the very air behold her face, but that, like a nun, she would walk
veiled; and all this for the sake of a dead brother's love, which she
would keep fresh and lasting in her sad remembrance.
The Duke longed for someone to whom he could tell his sorrow, and repeat
over and over again the story of his love. And chance brought him such a
companion. For about this time a goodly ship was wrecked on the Illyrian
coast, and among those who reached land in safety were the captain and
a fair young maid, named Viola. But she was little grateful for being
rescued from the perils of the sea, since she feared that her twin
brother was drowned, Sebastian, as dear to her as the heart in her
bosom, and so like her that, but for the difference in their manner of
dress, one could hardly be told from the other. The captain, for her
comfort, told her that he had seen her brother bind himself “to a strong
mast that lived upon the sea,” and that thus there was hope that he
might be saved.
Viola now asked in whose country she was, and learning that the young
Duke Orsino ruled there, and was as noble in his nature as in his name,
she decided to disguise herself in male attire, and seek for employment
with him as a page.
In this she succeeded, and now from day to day she had to listen to the
story of Orsino's love. At first she sympathized very truly with him,
but soon her sympathy grew to love. At last it occurred to Orsino that
his hopeless love-suit might prosper better if he sent this pretty lad
to woo Olivia for him. Viola unwillingly went on this errand, but when
she came to the house, Malvolio, Olivia's steward, a vain, officious
man, sick, as his mistress told him, of self-love, forbade the messenger
admittance.
Viola, however (who was now called Cesario), refused to take any denial,
and vowed to have speech with the Countess. Olivia, hearing how her
instructions were defied and curious to see this daring youth, said,
“We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.”
When Viola was admitted to her presence and the servants had been sent
away, she listened patiently to the reproaches which this bold messenger
from the Duke poured upon her, and listening she fell in love with the
supposed Cesario; and when Cesario had gone, Olivia longed to send some
love-token after him. So, calling Malvolio, she bade him follow the boy.
“He left this ring behind him,” she said, taking one from her finger.
“Tell him I will none of it.”
Malvolio did as he was bid, and then Viola, who of course knew perfectly
well that she had left no ring behind her, saw with a woman's quickness
that Olivia loved her. Then she went back to the Duke, very sad at heart
for her lover, and for Olivia, and for herself.
It was but cold comfort she could give Orsino, who now sought to ease
the pangs of despised love by listening to sweet music, while Cesario
stood by his side.
“Ah,” said the Duke to his page that night, “you too have been in love.”
“A little,” answered Viola.
“What kind of woman is it?” he asked.
“Of your complexion,” she answered.
“What years, i' faith?” was his next question.
To this came the pretty answer, “About your years, my lord.”
“Too old, by Heaven!” cried the Duke. “Let still the woman take an elder
than herself.”
And Viola very meekly said, “I think it well, my lord.”
By and by Orsino begged Cesario once more to visit Olivia and to plead
his love-suit. But she, thinking to dissuade him, said--
“If some lady loved you as you love Olivia?”
“Ah! that cannot be,” said the Duke.
“But I know,” Viola went on, “what love woman may have for a man. My
father had a daughter loved a man, as it might be,” she added blushing,
“perhaps, were I a woman, I should love your lordship.”
“And what is her history?” he asked.
“A blank, my lord,” Viola answered. “She never told her love, but let
concealment like a worm in the bud feed on her damask cheek: she
pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy she sat, like
Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?”
“But died thy sister of her love, my boy?” the Duke asked; and Viola,
who had all the time been telling her own love for him in this pretty
fashion, said--
“I am all the daughters my father has and all the brothers-- Sir, shall
I go to the lady?”
“To her in haste,” said the Duke, at once forgetting all about the
story, “and give her this jewel.”
So Viola went, and this time poor Olivia was unable to hide her love,
and openly confessed it with such passionate truth, that Viola left her
hastily, saying--
“Nevermore will I deplore my master's tears to you.”
But in vowing this, Viola did not know the tender pity she would feel
for other's suffering. So when Olivia, in the violence of her love,
sent a messenger, praying Cesario to visit her once more, Cesario had no
heart to refuse the request.
But the favors which Olivia bestowed upon this mere page aroused the
jealousy of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, a foolish, rejected lover of hers, who
at that time was staying at her house with her merry old uncle Sir Toby.
This same Sir Toby dearly loved a practical joke, and knowing Sir Andrew
to be an arrant coward, he thought that if he could bring off a duel
between him and Cesario, there would be rare sport indeed. So he induced
Sir Andrew to send a challenge, which he himself took to Cesario. The
poor page, in great terror, said--
“I will return again to the house, I am no fighter.”
“Back you shall not to the house,” said Sir Toby, “unless you fight me
first.”
And as he looked a very fierce old gentleman, Viola thought it best to
await Sir Andrew's coming; and when he at last made his appearance, in
a great fright, if the truth had been known, she tremblingly drew her
sword, and Sir Andrew in like fear followed her example. Happily for
them both, at this moment some officers of the Court came on the scene,
and stopped the intended duel. Viola gladly made off with what speed she
might, while Sir Toby called after her--
“A very paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare!”
Now, while these things were happening, Sebastian had escaped all
the dangers of the deep, and had landed safely in Illyria, where he
determined to make his way to the Duke's Court. On his way thither he
passed Olivia's house just as Viola had left it in such a hurry, and
whom should he meet but Sir Andrew and Sir Toby. Sir Andrew, mistaking
Sebastian for the cowardly Cesario, took his courage in both hands, and
walking up to him struck him, saying, “There's for you.”
“Why, there's for you; and there, and there!” said Sebastian, bitting
back a great deal harder, and again and again, till Sir Toby came to
the rescue of his friend. Sebastian, however, tore himself free from Sir
Toby's clutches, and drawing his sword would have fought them both, but
that Olivia herself, having heard of the quarrel, came running in, and
with many reproaches sent Sir Toby and his friend away. Then turning
to Sebastian, whom she too thought to be Cesario, she besought him with
many a pretty speech to come into the house with her.
Sebastian, half dazed and all delighted with her beauty and grace,
readily consented, and that very day, so great was Olivia's baste,
they were married before she had discovered that he was not Cesario, or
Sebastian was quite certain whether or not he was in a dream.
Meanwhile Orsino, hearing how ill Cesario sped with Olivia, visited her
himself, taking Cesario with him. Olivia met them both before her
door, and seeing, as she thought, her husband there, reproached him for
leaving her, while to the Duke she said that his suit was as fat and
wholesome to her as howling after music.
“Still so cruel?” said Orsino.
“Still so constant,” she answered.
Then Orsino's anger growing to cruelty, he vowed that, to be revenged on
her, he would kill Cesario, whom he knew she loved. “Come, boy,” he said
to the page.
And Viola, following him as he moved away, said, “I, to do you rest, a
thousand deaths would die.”
A great fear took hold on Olivia, and she cried aloud, “Cesario,
husband, stay!”
“Her husband?” asked the Duke angrily.
“No, my lord, not I,” said Viola.
“Call forth the holy father,” cried Olivia.
And the priest who had married Sebastian and Olivia, coming in, declared
Cesario to be the bridegroom.
“O thou dissembling cub!” the Duke exclaimed. “Farewell, and take her,
but go where thou and I henceforth may never meet.”
At this moment Sir Andrew came up with bleeding crown, complaining that
Cesario had broken his head, and Sir Toby's as well.
“I never hurt you,” said Viola, very positively; “you drew your sword on
me, but I bespoke you fair, and hurt you not.”
Yet, for all her protesting, no one there believed her; but all their
thoughts were on a sudden changed to wonder, when Sebastian came in.
“I am sorry, madam,” he said to his wife, “I have hurt your kinsman.
Pardon me, sweet, even for the vows we made each other so late ago.”
“One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!” cried the Duke,