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The Shakespeare Story-Book
How Iachimo won his Wager
The trunk sent by Iachimo was duly placed for security in Imogen’s chamber, but it was no plate or jewels that it contained. That night, when the Princess slept, a lighted taper still burning in the room, and near at hand the book she had been reading ere she fell asleep, the lid of the trunk was lifted, and a man stepped out. It was Iachimo. With rapid glance he surveyed the room, carefully studying every detail, what pictures there were, where the window was placed, what was the adornment of the bed, the arras, the figures and the story represented. But even this was not sufficient for his purpose. He stealthily approached the bed, and while Imogen lay wrapt in deep sleep, he slipped from her arm the bracelet which Leonatus had given her, noting at the same time, on the pure whiteness of her skin, a little mole with five spots, like the crimson spots in the bottom of a cowslip. Next he took up the book she had been reading, looked carefully at the title, and observed the exact passage in the tale where she had left off. Then, satisfied with his ignoble work, he went back into the trunk. The lid shut with a spring, and once more there was apparently nothing in the room to disturb the innocent serenity of the sleeping Princess.
In the morning early came an unwelcome suitor. Cloten, the Queen’s son, had been advised to try the effects of music on the hard-hearted lady, who unceasingly repulsed his advances. He therefore ordered some musicians to attend outside her chamber window, and sing a charming little “aubade” – that is, a song of the nature of a serenade, but sung at dawn to waken the sleeper instead of during the night. The song chosen was an especially pretty one, with a wonderfully sweet air, and Cloten hoped it would not fail to touch Imogen’s heart.
“Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phœbus ’gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!”
Imogen liked the pretty music, but she was sorry not to be able to thank Cloten properly for his trouble, for she disliked him as heartily as ever, and, vexed by his importunity, was forced to tell him so. Cloten tried to persuade her to give up her husband, saying that the contract which she pretended with that “base wretch, one bred of alms, and fostered with cold dishes, with scraps of the Court,” was no contract, and that the marriage could easily be dissolved.
Imogen, furious that this contemptible creature should thus dare to insult the noble Leonatus, indignantly heaped scorn on Cloten, telling him that he was too base even to be her husband’s groom; that he would be too much honoured, and be worthy of envy, if he were styled the under hangman of his kingdom. In short, she ended, the meanest garment that Leonatus had ever worn was dearer in her eyes than a hundred thousand men such as Cloten.
Imogen had already had cause that morning for grave distress, for she had discovered the loss of her bracelet, and was greatly upset about it. Leaving her clownish wooer to brood sullenly over this unusual plain-speaking (for all the gentlemen at Court flattered and fawned on Cloten to his face, though they roundly abused him behind his back), Imogen now called her faithful Pisanio, and bade him tell her waiting-woman to make the most careful search for the missing jewel.
“It was thy master’s; I would not lose it for a revenue of any King’s in Europe. I think I saw it this morning; I am confident last night it was on my arm; I kissed it. I hope it be not gone to tell my lord that I kiss aught but him,” she ended, with a melancholy attempt at a little jest.
Alas, poor Imogen, if she had only known how fatally near the truth came her lightly-spoken words!
At that same moment Iachimo was speeding back to Rome with his unwelcome tidings. At first Leonatus took for granted that Iachimo must have lost his wager; he had an answer ready for everything that the latter could say; but little by little the wily Italian contrived to make it appear that Imogen had been far too generous in the favours and friendliness she had lavished on this stranger. He had seen her chamber, he said, and forthwith he described all the tapestry of silk and silver with which it was hung. The chimney was south of the room, and the story of the huntress Diana was wonderfully carved as the subject of the chimney-piece. The roof of the chamber was fretted with golden cherubs; the andirons on the hearth were two winking Cupids of silver, each standing on one foot.
Leonatus was forced to admit that all this was true; but still, he said, it did not prove that Iachimo had won his wager.
Then, with a self-assured air of triumph, Iachimo produced the bracelet, which he declared Imogen had taken from her arm to give him.
Leonatus, with one last effort to preserve his belief in Imogen’s love and fidelity, suggested that perhaps she had taken off the bracelet to send it to him.
“She writes so to you, doth she?” asked Iachimo cunningly. But alas, Imogen’s letter, which he had himself conveyed, made no mention of such a fact.
“O, no, no, no! It’s true. Here, take this too!” cried Leonatus, handing Iachimo the ring which he had wagered. And he broke out into a torrent of despairing scorn for the utter falsehood and inconstancy of all women.
“Have patience, sir, and take your ring again,” counselled Philario, who all through this interview had keenly distrusted the plausible Iachimo. “It is not yet won. Probably Imogen lost the bracelet; or who knows if one of her women, being bribed, has not stolen it from her?”
“Very true, and so I hope he came by it,” said Leonatus. “Return me my ring, and give me some stronger proof than this, for the bracelet was stolen.”
Then Iachimo told of the little mole which he had noticed on the white skin of Imogen, and Leonatus could no longer refuse to admit that he had lost his wager.
He had loved Imogen so deeply, so tenderly, he had placed such absolute trust in her perfect goodness and truth, that the shock of discovering her falsehood and inconstancy was a terrible one. All women were alike, he thought bitterly; there was no fault in man that woman did not have in greater measure – lying, flattery, deceit, revenge, ambition, self-indulgence, covetousness, pride, disdain, luxury, slander, fickleness – every fault that could be named, was found more abundantly in woman than in man.
So, maddened by the supposed treachery of his peerless wife, the unhappy Leonatus began to brood thoughts of dark revenge.
The Cave of Belarius
About this time there came to the Court of Cymbeline emissaries from the Roman Emperor, demanding the annual tribute of three thousand pounds which Julius Cæsar had exacted from the conquered Britons, and which latterly Cymbeline had neglected to pay to his successor, Augustus Cæsar.
On hearing the demand brought by Caius Lucius, the Ambassador, the Queen at once took it upon herself to urge Cymbeline not to pay the tribute, and Cloten, in his foolish manner, chimed in with silly defiance and childish insults. With more dignity, Cymbeline confirmed the words of the Queen, and declined to pay, whereupon Caius Lucius pronounced a declaration of war against Britain in the name of his master Augustus Cæsar.
His unwelcome duty done, he was then ready to enjoy the hospitality which Cymbeline courteously offered to him during the remaining day or two of his visit to the Court, after which the King sent him with a safe conduct and an honourable escort to Milford Haven, and forthwith began his preparations for war.
In the meantime other messages had also come from Rome – letters to Pisanio and to Imogen. The one to Pisanio contained a terrible command. The one to Imogen filled her heart with joy. She was bidden to set off at once to Milford Haven, where Leonatus stated he was at that time, and where he wished his wife to join him. Imogen was all excitement and eagerness to be off; she begged Pisanio with pretty impatience to tell her how quickly they could get to Milford Haven, and chid him for the slowness of his reckoning. Her quick wit at once devised a scheme whereby she could escape unnoticed, and in the guise of her waiting-woman she contrived to slip out of the palace to where Pisanio was ready to conduct her on her journey.
But alas, poor lady, on the road to Milford Haven a terrible awakening awaited her. Pisanio showed her the letter he had received from Leonatus, and there she read of the crime of which he accused her, and that Pisanio had orders to put her to death. Knowing herself blameless, Imogen was nearly killed by the cruel words, and in heart-broken accents she begged Pisanio to strike at once, and obey his master’s bidding. But Pisanio indignantly flung his sword away, refusing to stain his hand with such a deed. He had only brought her thus far, he said, to think out what was best to be done. His master must certainly have been deceived; some villain, peculiarly skilful in his art, had done this injury. Pisanio said he would give notice to Leonatus that Imogen was dead, sending some token of the fact as he had been commanded. Imogen would be missed at Court, and that would confirm his words.
“Why, good fellow, what shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?” asked poor Imogen. “Or what comfort shall I take in life when I am dead to my husband?”
Pisanio asked if she would like to return to Court, but Imogen declared she would have no more of Court, or father, or the clownish Cloten, who had so pestered her with his love suit. Pisanio said that if she would not stay at Court she could not remain in Britain, whereupon Imogen asked were there not other places in the world than Britain where the sun shone? In the volume of the world, the little isle of Britain was no more than a swan’s nest in a great pool.
Pisanio was glad she was willing to think of other places, and went on to suggest a scheme, daring indeed, but which Imogen was only too glad to accept. This was nothing less than that Imogen should disguise herself as a page, and seek service with the Roman Ambassador, Lucius; then she could go with him to Rome, where she would be living near Leonatus, and, even if she did not see him, she could hear hourly reports of his doings. Pisanio, with this end in view, had taken care to provide himself with the dress of a page, which he now handed over to Imogen. Lucius was to arrive on the following day at Milford Haven, and Pisanio advised Imogen to go there to meet him, and offer her services, which he would probably accept. Pisanio himself must now return to the palace, in case his absence should give rise to suspicion, but from the mountain-top where they stood he pointed out Milford Haven, and it seemed within easy distance. Finally, before taking leave, he gave Imogen the little box of drugs which the Queen had presented to him, telling her that it contained some precious cordial that would cure her if ever she were ill. So the faithful servant bade farewell to his dearly loved mistress.
Poor Imogen set out with a brave heart on her perilous adventure, but the town that had looked so near seemed to recede as she walked towards it. For two days and nights she wandered on, almost spent with hunger, and making the ground her bed. At last she came to an opening in the side of the mountain, which looked as if it were used for some kind of habitation, for a path led to the low entrance. Imogen found it was a cave, evidently furnished for use. At first she was afraid to enter, not knowing what danger might lurk inside, but hunger made her valiant. She called, but no one answered.
“Ho! Who’s there? If anything that’s civil, speak. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter. Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy but fear the sword as I do, he’ll scarcely look at it. Grant such a foe, kind heaven!”
So, timid and quavering, in her boy’s tunic, with her short, broad-bladed sword gripped in her trembling hand, Imogen pushed aside the brushwood and entered the cave.
She had not long disappeared when the real owners of the cave approached. These were an elderly man of commanding presence and two noble-looking youths of twenty-two and twenty-three years old. In spite of their rustic and almost savage garb of hunters, there was an air of unmistakable distinction about all three; to the frank brow and free step of the mountaineer the lads joined a princely grace of bearing which told of high birth and noble breeding.
Their appearance did not belie them, for these boys were no other than the two sons of Cymbeline, stolen in their infancy by a banished lord in revenge for an act of great injustice. Belarius had been a gallant soldier, first among the best, and much beloved by Cymbeline, by whose side he had often fought the Romans. But at the very height of his renown he was suddenly reduced to the deepest disgrace, not for any fault of his own, but because two villains, whose false oaths prevailed before his perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline that he was confederate with the Romans. Then followed his banishment and his theft of the two young Princes; and so for twenty years he had lived this wild life among the Welsh mountains, bringing up the boys as if they had been his own sons, and training them in all sorts of manly exercises. In this new existence Belarius called himself “Morgan”; Cymbeline’s eldest son Guiderius went by the name of “Polydore”; and the younger, Arviragus, was known as “Cadwal.”
Weary and hungry with a long day’s hunting, and looking forward to a good meal from the spoils of the chase, these three were about to enter their cave, when a sudden sign from Belarius stopped the other two.
“Stay; come not in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think here were a fairy,” said Belarius.
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Guiderius, the elder boy.
“By Jupiter, an angel! Or, if not, an earthly paragon! Behold divineness no elder than a boy!” cried Belarius, as Imogen, alarmed by the sound of voices, came to the entrance of the cave.
Terrified at the sight of these newcomers, who, for their part, stood gazing in bewilderment at this strange intruder, she began a hasty apology.
“Good masters, harm me not. Before I entered here, I called, and thought to have begged or bought what I have taken. Good troth, I have stolen nothing, and would not, though I had found gold strewed on the floor. Here’s money for my meat; I would have left it on the board as soon as I had made my meal, and parted with prayers for the provider.”
“Money, youth?” exclaimed the elder Prince disdainfully.
“All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!” added the second.
“I see you are angry,” said Imogen piteously. “Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should have died if I had not made it.”
“Whither bound?” asked Belarius.
“To Milford Haven.”
“What’s your name?”
“Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who is bound for Italy; he embarked at Milford, to whom being on my way, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen into this offence.”
“Prithee, fair youth, think us no churls, nor measure our good minds by this rude place we live in,” said Belarius kindly. “Well encountered! ’Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid him welcome.”
At Belarius’s words the two young Princes stepped forward, and with the most courteous grace did their best to comfort the timid wayfarer, trying with gentle words to put him at his ease, and saying affectionately they would love and welcome him like a brother.
And so, cheered and comforted, and led by the younger lad’s arm thrown protectingly around her, the poor wanderer entered the rude cave, which love and courtesy made so fair an abiding-place.
Fidele
The absence of Imogen was not long in being discovered at Court. The Queen secretly rejoiced, for she hoped that Imogen had either killed herself in despair, or gone to rejoin her husband, in which latter case she would be too deeply dishonoured ever to return. Either of these would forward the Queen’s aim, for Imogen being disposed of, she would have the placing of the British crown.
Cymbeline was so enraged at his daughter’s disappearance that no one dared go near him. But Cloten, meeting Pisanio as he returned to the palace, forced from him the letter which Leonatus had written to Imogen, telling her to meet him at Milford Haven. This put into Cloten’s boorish head a brilliant scheme of revenge. He had not forgotten Imogen’s disdainful taunt that she held in more respect “the meanest garment” of Leonatus than the noble person of Cloten, together with the adornment of his qualities. Cloten now procured from Pisanio a suit of clothes that had belonged to Leonatus. He intended to dress himself in these, and to go in pursuit of Imogen. He reckoned on finding her at Milford Haven with her husband, where he promised himself the pleasure of slaying Leonatus in front of her eyes, in the very garments she had seen fit to honour so much, after which he intended to drive Imogen back to Court with the roughest and most insulting treatment he could devise.
Such was the alluring plan which presented itself to the brain of this amiable creature, but the reality did not happen quite in accordance with the design he had sketched.
Following in the track of Imogen, he managed to trace her to the cave which now sheltered her. There, happening to fall in with Belarius and the two young Princes, Cloten at once began his usual style of bullying insult. Recognising him for the Queen’s son, and fearing some ambush which threatened danger to them, Belarius and Arviragus started to search for any enemies that might be hidden near, leaving the elder lad to deal with the intruder. The haughty spirit of Guiderius was certainly not framed to brook the uncalled-for insolence of this blusterer, and when Cloten addressed him as “a robber, a law breaker, a villain,” and bade him “Yield thee, thief!” Guiderius retorted with equal scorn.
“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, must
All 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 must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
“No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee
Ghost 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.”
