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The Shakespeare Story-Book
A Midsummer-Night’s Dream
Helena and Hermia
Theseus, Duke of Athens, was to wed Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and the whole city was given up to merriment in honour of the occasion. Theseus had won his bride by the sword, but he was to wed her in another fashion – with pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. Four days had yet to elapse before the marriage, and during that time the citizens of Athens were to busy themselves with preparations for the great event.
In the midst of the general rejoicing, a gentleman of Athens, by name Egeus, came to invoke the authority of the Duke. Full of vexation, he came to complain against his child, his daughter Hermia. Egeus wished her to marry a certain gentleman called Demetrius; but meanwhile Hermia had already fallen in love with another gentleman called Lysander, and she declared she would marry no one but Lysander.
Now, the law of Athens at that time gave full power to a father to dispose of his daughter as he chose; that is to say, if she declined to marry the man he selected, the father had power to put her to death or to shut her up in a convent.
The Duke of Athens gave Hermia four days to make her choice. At the end of that time she must either consent to marry Demetrius, in accordance with her father’s wishes, or else she must retire to a convent for the rest of her days.
Hermia answered without hesitation: she would rather be shut up in a convent all her life than marry a man she did not love.
Lysander himself pleaded that he was in every way as suitable a match as Demetrius – quite as well born and equally wealthy. Beyond all this, he was beloved of Hermia. Why, then, should he not try to win her? Besides, he added, Demetrius had already paid court to another lady – Helena – and had won her heart; and this sweet lady was still devoted to this fickle and unworthy man.
“I must confess I have heard of this, and I intended to speak to Demetrius on the subject,” said the Duke. “But being so overfull of my own affairs, the matter slipped out of my mind. But come, Demetrius, and come, Egeus, I wish to speak to you both in private. As for you, fair Hermia, see that you prepare to obey your father’s will, or else the law of Athens which I have no power to alter, yields you up to death or to a vow of single life.”
The Duke went off with Egeus and Demetrius, and Hermia and Lysander were left alone. They were very sorry for themselves, and began to lament the misfortunes and the difficulties that always seem to beset the path of true love.
Hermia was inclined to submit without further struggle, but Lysander was not going to give in so easily, and he hurriedly unfolded a plan to save Hermia from the fate that lay before her.
“I have a widow aunt, very wealthy, who has no child,” he said. “Her house is seven leagues distant from Athens, and she treats me as her own son. There, gentle Hermia, I can marry you, and in that place the sharp law of Athens cannot touch us. If you love me, then, steal from your father’s house to-morrow night, and I will wait for you a league outside the town, in that wood where I met you once with Helena, gathering flowers before the dawn on the first of May.”
“My good Lysander!” cried Hermia, hiding her real earnestness under half-jesting words, “I swear to you by Cupid’s strongest bow – by his best arrow with the golden head – and by all the vows that ever men broke, that I will truly meet you to-morrow in the place you have appointed.”
“Keep promise, love. Look! here comes Helena.”
From their earliest days Helena and Hermia had been the dearest of friends and the closest of companions, never apart, either at work or play, growing up together side by side, like a double cherry, or two lovely berries moulded on one stem.
But, alas! love – or, rather, jealousy – had come to thrust them apart. Demetrius, who had at first paid court to Helena, afterwards transferred his affection to Hermia, and persuaded her father Egeus to favour his suit. Hermia cared nothing at all for Demetrius, and loved no one but Lysander. But Helena could not forgive her friend for having taken her fickle lover from her, and now she bitterly lamented that her own charms had been powerless to retain him.
“I frowned upon Demetrius, but he loves me still,” said Hermia, for she did not wish her friend to think she had acted unfairly. “The more I hate, the more he follows me.”
“The more I love, the more he hates me,” said Helena sadly.
“His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine,” said Hermia.
“None. Your only fault is your beauty. Would that fault were mine,” sighed Helena.
“Take comfort; he shall see my face no more,” said Hermia. “Lysander and I are going to fly this place. We are to meet to-morrow in that wood where you and I have so often wandered, and thence we shall turn our eyes from Athens to seek new friends and strange companions. Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray for us, and good luck grant you your Demetrius.”
Helena’s passion for Demetrius was so strong that it overpowered all other consideration, and on this occasion it made her do a very mean and disloyal action. Anxious to win back a little affection from her faithless lover, no matter at what cost, she determined to betray Hermia’s secret, and to go and tell Demetrius of her flight. Then Demetrius would pursue her to-morrow night to the wood, and if he rewarded Helena with even a little gratitude for the information, she felt her attempt would not have been in vain.
Playing the Lion
Unknown to the lovers, that same wood was chosen as a meeting-place for the following night by a very different set of people. Several of the petty artisans of Athens, anxious to celebrate the wedding in proper style, had decided to perform a little play – or “interlude,” as it was called – in the presence of the Duke and Duchess. Quince, the carpenter, was supposed to direct the proceedings of this little band of amateur actors, but the ruling spirit of the company was in reality Bottom, the weaver. Bursting with self-conceit, never able to keep silent a moment, Bottom was ready to instruct everyone else in his duties, and if it had only been possible for him to have played every character in the piece, in addition to his own, he would have been quite content. As each part was mentioned, and Quince began to apportion them out, Bottom’s voice was heard again and again, declaring how well he could perform each one. The play was to be “The Most Lamentable Comedy and Most Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby,” and Bottom was selected for Pyramus, the hero.
“What is Pyramus – a lover or a tyrant?” he inquired.
“A lover that kills himself most gallantly for love,” answered Quince.
“That will ask some tears in the true performing of it,” said Bottom, swelling with self-importance. “If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes.”
The next character was Thisby, the heroine, and this was given to Flute, the bellows-mender, a thin, lanky youth with a squeaky voice.
“Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming,” he said piteously.
“That’s all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will,” said Quince.
“If I hide my face, let me play Thisby, too,” cried Bottom eagerly. “I’ll speak in a monstrous little voice. ‘Thisne, Thisne!’ ‘Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear! Thy Thisby dear, and lady dear!’”
“No, no! you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, you Thisby,” said Quince.
“Well, proceed,” said Bottom.
Quince went on with his list, and presently he called out the name of Snug, the joiner.
“You will play the lion’s part, Snug,” he said; “and now, I hope, there is the play fitted.”
“Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study,” said Snug modestly, for he was a very meek and mild little man.
“You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring,” said Quince.
“Let me play the lion, too,” burst in Bottom. “I will roar that it will do any man’s heart good to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say: ‘Let him roar again.’”
“If you should do it too terribly, you would frighten the Duchess and the ladies out of their wits, so that they would shriek, and that were enough to hang us all,” said Quince.
“That would hang us, every mother’s son,” agreed the rest of the little band, quaking with terror.
“I grant you, friends, that if you should frighten the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us,” said Bottom. “But I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar as if it were any nightingale.”
“You can play no part but Pyramus,” said Quince firmly. So Bottom had reluctantly to give in, and to devote his energies to deciding what coloured beard it would be best to play the important part of Pyramus in. It was really quite a difficult matter, there were so many to choose from, – straw-colour, orange tawny, purple-in-grain, or French-crown, which was perfect yellow. But Quince said any colour would do, or he might play it without a beard.
“Masters, here are your parts,” he concluded, “and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to know them by to-morrow night, and meet me in the palace wood, a mile outside the town, by moonlight. There we will rehearse, for if we meet in the city we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. I pray you, do not fail me.”
The Magic Flower
Now, the wood which Hermia and Lysander had appointed as their trysting-place, and where Bottom and his fellow-actors were also to meet to rehearse their play, was the favourite haunt of fairies, and on this Midsummer Night Oberon, King of the Fairies, was to hold his revels there. Sad to say, for some time past there had been great dissension between Oberon and his Queen, Titania, and because of their quarrels nothing went well in the surrounding country. The cause of their disagreement was a lovely Indian boy, the sweetest little changeling imaginable. Queen Titania had him as her attendant, and jealous Oberon wanted the boy for his own page. Titania refused to give him up; he was the child of a dear friend, now dead, and for her sake she had reared up the boy, and for her sake she would not part with him.
Oberon and Titania never met now, in grove or green, by the clear fountain, or in the spangled starlight, without quarrelling so fiercely that their elves crept for fear into acorn-cups, and hid themselves there. They generally tried to keep out of each other’s way, but on this night it happened that as King Oberon, with his little sprite Puck and his train, approached from one direction, Queen Titania and her attendant fairies came near from the other. Titania reproached Oberon with all the ill-luck that was happening because of their dissension, and Oberon replied that it only lay with her to amend it.
“Why should Titania cross her Oberon?” he asked. “I do but beg a little changeling boy to be my henchman.”
“Set your heart at rest,” replied Titania; “the whole of Fairyland will not buy the child of me.”
“How long do you intend to stay in this wood?” asked Oberon.
“Perhaps till after Theseus’s wedding-day,” said Titania. “If you will join patiently in our dance, and see our moonlight revels, go with us. If not, shun me, and I will take care to avoid your haunts.”
“Give me that boy, and I will go with you,” said Oberon.
“Not for your fairy kingdom!” was the decided answer. “Fairies, away! We shall quarrel in earnest if I stay any longer.”
As he could not win the boy by entreaty, Oberon resolved to try another plan to gain his desire. Calling his little sprite Puck to him, he bade him go and fetch a certain magic flower, which maidens call “love-in-idleness.” The juice of this flower had a wonderful charm. When laid on the eyelids of a sleeping man or woman it had the power of making that person doat madly on the next living creature that was seen. Oberon determined to squeeze some of the juice of this flower on Titania’s eyes while she slept, so that when she woke up she should immediately fall in love with the first creature she saw, whether it were lion, bear, wolf, or bull, meddling monkey or busy ape. He determined also that he would not take off the charm (which he could do with another herb) until she had rendered up the little Indian boy as page to him.
“Fetch me this herb,” he said to Puck, “and be thou here again before the leviathan can swim a league.”
“I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes,” cried the prompt little messenger, and away he flew.
While King Oberon was awaiting Puck’s return, he saw the unhappy lady Helena approaching with her faithless lover Demetrius. Oberon was invisible, and thus he overheard what they said. Demetrius had come to the wood in search of Hermia and Lysander, for Helena had told him of their proposed flight. Oberon heard Helena confess how deeply she loved Demetrius, and he heard Demetrius spurn her roughly, and declare he loved no one but Hermia.
Oberon was sorry for Helena, and he determined to punish Demetrius. He resolved to put some of the magic juice on the eyes of Demetrius, so that when he woke and saw Helena he should fall in love with her again, and then it would be Helena’s turn to repulse Demetrius and refuse to listen to him.
Demetrius and Helena had scarcely gone on their way when Puck returned.
“Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer,” said Oberon.
“Ay, there it is,” said Puck.
“I pray thee, give it me,” said Oberon, and his voice glided into a sweet chant:
“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamelled skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:
And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.”
Oberon found Titania, as he had expected, and, stealing up quietly while she slept, he squeezed some of the magic juice on her eyelids, repeating this charm as he did so:
“What thou seest when thou dost wake,
Do it for thy true-love take,
Love and languish for his sake;
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
When thou wakest, it is thy dear.
Wake when some vile thing is near.”
And, laughing to himself at the strange experience which was likely to befall Titania, off went Oberon.
The next wanderers to pass through that part of the wood were Hermia and Lysander in their flight from Athens. Being weary, they lay down to rest, and speedily fell asleep.
King Oberon had told Puck to go in search of a sweet Athenian lady who was in love with a disdainful youth. When Puck found them, he was to drop some of the juice on the eyes of the man, but to take care to do this when the next thing he espied would be the lady. Puck would know the man by his Athenian garments, added Oberon. Of course, by this, Oberon meant Demetrius; but Puck came across Lysander and Hermia instead, and, thinking they must be the couple referred to, he squeezed the magic juice on the eyelids of Lysander.
This mistake of little Puck’s led to a great deal of fresh mischief.
Soon afterwards Demetrius came running along, followed by Helena. In the darkness of the night Demetrius did not notice the very people he was in search of – Lysander and Hermia. Demetrius was very angry that Helena would persist in following him, and, bidding her roughly stay where she was, he hurried off alone. Helena, indeed, was too weary to pursue him further. She was just bewailing his unkind treatment, when she was startled to see Lysander lying on the ground. She did not know whether he were dead or asleep, and hastily roused him.
Now, what happened? The fairy charm began to take effect. Lysander had gone to sleep in love with Hermia, but, opening his eyes, his first glance fell on Helena, and, in accordance with the fairy charm, his affections were immediately transferred to Helena. He began speaking at once to Helena, and told her that he no longer cared for Hermia.
Helena could not understand what all this meant. She thought Lysander was mocking her, and left him indignantly. But Lysander followed, for he was now determined to have no one but Helena.
Poor Hermia awoke in terror from a horrible dream. She thought a serpent was crawling over her, eating her heart, and that Lysander sat by smiling. She shrieked to Lysander to come and help her. But there was no answer; Lysander had gone. Again she called:
“Lysander, lord! What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word! Alack, where are you? Speak, if you can hear! Speak! I almost swoon with dread.”
But when again no answer came to her piteous appeal, Hermia knew in truth that Lysander was gone, and she set off at once to try to find him.
Puck in Mischief
Queen Titania, meanwhile, was quietly sleeping, and she did not even waken when Quince and Bottom, with their ambitious little troupe of actors, came and began to rehearse their play close by. Bottom, as usual, took the lead, and made himself very officious in directing all the rest.
But if Titania did not see them, someone else did.
Puck, the little imp, or Robin Goodfellow, as he was also called, was always alert for any mischief. Sometimes he played pranks to frighten the village maidens; sometimes he frolicked in the churn, and prevented the butter coming, so that the busy housewife toiled in vain; at other times, as Hobgoblin or Will-o’-the-Wisp, he led astray unwary travellers by night; sometimes he took the guise of a roasted apple in a bowl of hot spiced ale, and bobbed against the lips of some old gossip as she was drinking; or perhaps just when some sedate elderly spinster was sitting down to tell a sad story, Puck would skip away with her three-legged stool, and down she would go on the ground – bang! – while all the other old cronies shook with laughter.
Puck was much diverted with the strange crew of petty artisans from Athens, who had come into the wood to rehearse their play, and he presently played one of his pranks on the conceited Bottom. The latter, having spoken some of his lines, stood aside for a few minutes, while the others went on with their parts, and, unseen by anyone, Puck seized this opportunity to pop an ass’s head on Bottom.
Quite unconscious of the strange change that had taken place in his appearance, Bottom calmly advanced when his turn came again, but at the sight of the ass’s head all his companions shrieked and fled in terror, calling out that they were bewitched. Bottom could not imagine why they behaved in this queer fashion, and thought it was some trick to frighten him.
“I will not stir from this place, do what they can,” he said stolidly. “I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, so that they shall hear I am not afraid.”
So he began to pace up and down, singing in a very harsh, discordant manner, more like an ass’s bray than a man’s voice:
“The ousel-cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill – ”
“What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?” cried Titania, starting up from slumber.
The charm was beginning to work, and she gazed with rapture on the curious monster.
Bottom sang on:
“The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay.”
“I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again,” entreated Titania. “My ear is charmed as much with your music as my eye is enthralled with your appearance. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.”
“Not so, neither,” said Bottom bluntly; “but if I had wit to get out of this wood I have enough to serve my own turn.”
“Do not desire to go out of this wood,” pleaded Titania. “Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wish it or not. I am a spirit of no common kind, and I love thee; therefore go with me. I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee, and they shall fetch thee jewels, and sing while thou liest sleeping on a bank of flowers. Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed!”
Four little elves came flying at the summons, and the infatuated Queen of the Fairies gave this new object of her affections into their special charge. They led him away to the bower of the Queen, and there they decked him with flowers, while Titania lavished caresses on the clownish monster.
Bottom was not in the least impressed with the dainty loveliness of the Queen of the Fairies. He accepted all her attentions with stolid indifference, and ordered the little elves about with loutish stupidity. But the magic charm was so strong that Titania was quite bewitched with him.
“Say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat,” she said coaxingly.
“Truly, a peck of provender,” was the gruff reply. “I could munch you your good dry oats. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir. I feel I am getting sleepy.”
“Sleep thou, and I will stay here beside thee,” said the Queen. “Fairies, begone! Oh, how I love thee! how I doat on thee!”
Hermia had gone in search of Lysander, but instead of finding him she came across Demetrius. The latter immediately began, as usual, to declare his affection for her, and Hermia, as before, repulsed him angrily. Lysander was the only person in the world for whom she would ever care, though she could not imagine why he had deserted her so cruelly while she lay asleep.
“This is the Athenian whose eyes I told you to anoint,” said King Oberon to Puck, as they watched from the thicket all that was happening.
“This is the woman, but this is not the man,” said Puck.
“What have you done?” exclaimed the King. “You have made a great mistake. You have placed the love-juice on some true-love’s eyes, and now, because of your error, some true love has turned false, instead of some false love turning true! Go swifter than the wind through the wood, and look you find Helena of Athens. She is pale and ill with sighing for love. See that you bring her here by some device. I will charm the eyes of Demetrius before she appears.”
Puck flew off, eager to repair the mischief he had done, and King Oberon squeezed some of the magic juice on the eyes of Demetrius.
A few minutes later Helena arrived, but Lysander was with her. Now there were fresh troubles and perplexities. Demetrius woke up, and, as the first object on which his eyes fell was Helena, he immediately fell in love with her again, and forgot Hermia.
But Helena could not understand what all this meant. She thought both men were mocking and insulting her. She knew that only the day before Lysander had wanted to marry Hermia, and that Demetrius also wanted to marry Hermia, although he had originally paid court to herself. Why, then, did they both now pretend that it was herself that they wanted? She did not know it was all the fault of that mischievous little flower.
Hermia was as much distressed as Helena. It was perplexing enough when Demetrius suddenly turned round and would have nothing more to say to her; but what cut Hermia to the heart was that her own faithful Lysander should not only forsake her for Helena, but shower insults on her whenever she came near.
A pretty tangle Puck had caused by his mistake!
Demetrius and Lysander became so enraged with jealousy that they challenged each other to fight, but here Puck interfered again to good effect. He contrived so to baffle and mislead them that, instead of meeting, they did nothing but chase each other about in the darkness. At last, quite wearied out, Lysander sank down to rest, while the faithful Hermia took up her place near him. Then Puck applied the love-juice again to Lysander’s eyes, and this time when he woke his glance fell first on Hermia, so at last all went well. His affection was restored to her, and as Demetrius was already in love again with Helena, both sets of lovers could be happy.
In the meanwhile, King Oberon began to pity his beautiful Queen, for he could not bear to see her doating on such a hideous monster. Titania, in the height of her new folly, had willingly yielded up the little changeling, and now that Oberon had got possession of the boy he dissolved the spell without delay.
“Be as thou wast wont to be;
See as thou wast wont to see!”
he chanted. “Now, my Titania, wake, my sweet Queen!”
“My Oberon! What visions I have had!” said the Queen. “I thought I was in love with an ass.”
“There lies your love,” said the King, pointing to where Bottom still lay snoring.
“How came these things to pass? Oh, how I loathe his visage now!” exclaimed Titania, shrinking back in disgust.
Oberon next bade Puck remove the ass’s head from Bottom, so that when he awoke he should think that all that had happened was nothing but a dream, and then, to the sound of sweet music, the King and the Queen of the Fairies took flight, once more good friends.
Early the next morning, Theseus, Duke of Athens, with his promised bride, Hippolyta, went hunting in the wood, and there they came across the two pairs of lovers. Egeus, the father of Hermia, was with the Duke, but there was no need now to enforce the cruel law. Demetrius resigned all claim on Hermia, and declared that the only person he wished to marry was his first love, Helena. To these happy lovers it seemed now that everything that had passed was a dream.
“Are you sure that we are awake?” said Demetrius. “It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream.”
But their happiness was no dream, and did not melt away with morning light. The wedding of Lysander and Hermia and of Demetrius and Helena took place at the same time as that of Duke Theseus and Hippolyta. Great were the festivities at Athens, and one of the most notable features of the evening’s entertainment was undoubtedly the play acted by Bottom and his valiant companions.
“A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe: very tragical mirth,” ran the title in the programme, and very mirthful tragedy most of the spectators found it.