Part 24

“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.”

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 traveling 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