 Preface and a brief life of Shakespeare from beautiful stories from Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare by Edith Nesbitt. Preface. The writings of Shakespeare have been justly termed. The richest, the purest, the fairest, the genius uninspired ever penned. Shakespeare instructed by Delighting. His plays alone, leaving mere science out of the question, contain more actual wisdom than the whole body of English learning. He is the teacher of all good. Pity, generosity, true courage, love. His bright wit is cut out into little stars. His solid masses of knowledge are meted out in morsels and proverbs, and thus distributed. There is scarcely a corner of the English-speaking world today which he does not illuminate, or a cottage which he does not enrich. His bounty is like the sea, which though often unacknowledged, is everywhere felt. As his friend Ben Johnson wrote of him, He was not of an age, but for all time. He ever kept the high road of human life whereon all travel. He did not pick out by-paths of feeling and sentiment. In his creations we have no moral highwaymen, sentimental thieves, interesting villains, and amiable, elegant adventresses. No delicate entanglements of situation in which the grossest images are presented to the mind disguised under the superficial attraction of style and sentiment. He flattered no bad passion, disguised no vice in the garb of virtue, trifled with no just and generous principle. While causing us to laugh at folly and shudder at crime, he still preserves our love for our fellow beings and our reverence for ourselves. Shakespeare was familiar with all beautiful forms and images, with all that is sweet or majestic in the simple aspects of nature, of that indestructible love of flowers and fragrance and dews and clear waters, and soft airs and sounds, and bright skies and woodland solitudes, and moonlight bowers, which are the material elements of poetry, and with that fine sense of their indefinable relation to mental emotion, which is its essence and vivifying soul, and which in the midst of his most busy and tragical scenes falls like gleams of sunshine on rocks and ruins, contrasting with all that is rugged or repulsive, and reminding us of the existence of pure and brighter elements. These things considered, what wonder is it that the works of Shakespeare, next to the Bible, are the most highly esteemed of all the classics of English literature? So extensively have the characters of Shakespeare been drawn upon by artists, poets, and writers of fiction, says an American author. So interwoven are these characters in the great body of English literature, that to be ignorant of the plot of these dramas is often a cause of embarrassment. But Shakespeare wrote for grown-up people, for men and women, and in words that little folks cannot understand. Hence this volume. To reproduce the entertaining stories contained in the plays of Shakespeare, in a form so simple that children can understand and enjoy them, was the object had in view by the author of these beautiful stories from Shakespeare, and that the youngest readers may not stumble in pronouncing any unfamiliar names to be met within the stories. The editor has prepared and included in the volume a pronouncing vocabulary of difficult names, to which is added a collection of Shakespearean quotations, classified in alphabetical order, illustrative of the wisdom and genius of the world's greatest dramatist. E.T.R. A Brief Life of Shakespeare In the register of baptisms of the parish church of Stratford upon Avon, a market town in Warwickshire, England, appears, under date of April 26, 1564, the entry of the baptism of William, the son of John Shakespeare. The entry is in Latin, Guleilmus Philius Jehanus Shakespeare. The date of William Shakespeare's birth has usually been taken as three days before his baptism, but there is certainly no evidence of this fact. The family name was variously spelled. The dramatist himself not always spelling it in the same way. While in the baptismal record the name is spelled S-H-A-K-S-P-E-A-R-E, in several authentic autographs of the dramatist it reads, S-H-A-K-S-P-E-R-E, and in the first edition of his works it is printed, S-H-A-K-E-S-P-E-A-R-E. Hollowell tells us that there are not less than 34 ways in which the various members of the Shakespeare family wrote the name, and in the Council Book of the Corporation of Stratford, where it is introduced 166 times during the period that the dramatist's father was a member of the municipal body, there are 14 different spellings. The modern S-H-A-K-E-S-P-E-A-R-E is not among them. Shakespeare's father, while in Aldermen at Stratford, appears to have been unable to write his name, but as at that time nine men out of ten were content to make their mark for a signature, the fact is not specially to his discredit. The traditions and other sources of information about the occupation of Shakespeare's father differ. He is described as a butcher, a wolf stapler, and a glover, and it is not impossible that he may have been all of these simultaneously or at different times, or that if he could not properly be called any one of them, the nature of his occupation was such as to make it easy to understand how the various traditions sprang up. He was a landed proprietor and cultivator of his own land even before his marriage, and he received with his wife, who was Mary Arden, daughter of a country gentleman, the estate of Asby's, 56 acres in extent. William was their third child. The two older than he were daughters, and both probably died in infancy. After him were born three sons and a daughter. For ten or twelve years at least, after Shakespeare's birth, his father continued to be in easy circumstances. In the year 1568 he was the high bailiff or chief magistrate of Stratford, and for many years afterwards he held the position of alderman as he had done for three years before. To the completion of his tenth year, therefore, it is natural to suppose that William Shakespeare would get the best education that Stratford could afford. The free school of the town was open to all boys, and like all the grammar schools of that time was under the direction of men who, as graduates of the universities, were qualified to diffuse the sound scholarship which was once the boast of England. There is no record of Shakespeare having been at this school, but there can be no rational doubt that he was educated there. His father could not have procured for him a better education anywhere. To those who have studied Shakespeare's works without being influenced by the old traditional theory that he had received a very narrow education, they abound with evidences that he must have been solidly grounded in the learning, properly so-called, taught in the grammar schools. There are local associations connected with Stratford which could not be without their influence in the formation of young Shakespeare's mind. Within the range of such a boy's curiosity were the fine old historic towns of Warwick and Coventry, the sumptuous palace of Kennelworth, the grand monastic remains of Evesham, his own Avon abounded with spots of singular beauty, quiet hamlets, solitary woods, nor was Stratford shut out from the general world as many country towns are. His was a great highway, and dealers with every variety of merchandise resorted to its markets. The eyes of the poet dramatist must always have been open for observation, but nothing is known positively of Shakespeare from his birth to his marriage to Anne Hathaway in 1582, and from that day nothing but the birth of three children until we find him an actor in London about 1589. How long acting continued to be Shakespeare's sole profession we have no means of knowing, but it is in the highest degree probable that very soon after arriving in London he began that work of adaptation by which he is known to have begun his literary career. To improve and alter older plays, not up to the standard that was required at the time, was a common practice even among the best dramatists of the day, and Shakespeare's abilities would speedily mark him out as eminently fitted for this kind of work. When the alterations in plays originally composed by other writers became very extensive, the work of adaptation would become in reality a work of creation, and this is exactly what we have examples of in a few of Shakespeare's early works, which are known to have been founded on older plays. It is unnecessary here to extol the published works of the world's greatest dramatist. Criticism has been exhausted upon them, and the finest minds of England, Germany, and America have devoted their powers to an elucidation of their worth. Shakespeare died at Stratford on the 23rd of April 1616. His father had died before him in 1602, and his mother in 1608. His wife survived him till August 1623. His son Hamnet died in 1596 at the age of eleven years. His two daughters survived him, the eldest of whom, Susanna, had in 1607 married a physician of Stratford, Dr. Hall. The only issue of this marriage, a daughter named Elizabeth, born in 1608, married first Thomas Nasby, and afterwards Sir John Bernard, but left no children by either marriage. Shakespeare's younger daughter, Judith, on the 10th of February 1616, married a Stratford gentleman named Thomas Quincy, by whom she had three sons, all of whom died, however, without issue. There are thus no direct descendants of Shakespeare. Shakespeare's fellow actors, fellow dramatists, and those who knew him in other ways, agree in expressing not only admiration of his genius, but their respect and love for the man. Ben Johnson said, I love the man, and do honor his memory, on this side of doletry, as much as any. He was indeed honest, and of an open and free nature. He was buried on the second day after his death, on the north side of the chancel of Stratford Church. Over his grave there is a flat stone with this inscription, said to have been written by himself. My friend, for Jesus' sake, for bear, to dig the dust enclosed here. Blessed be ye man, yet spares these bones, and cursed be he, yet moves my bones. End of preface and a brief life of Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night's Dream Hermia and Lysander were lovers, but Hermia's father wished her to marry another man, named Demetrius. Now in Athens where they lived there was a wicked law, by which any girl who refused to marry according to her father's wishes might be put to death. Hermia's father was so angry with her for refusing to do as he wished, that he actually brought her before the Duke of Athens to ask that she might be killed if she still refused to obey him. The Duke gave her four days to think about it, and at the end of that time, if she still refused to marry Demetrius, she would have to die. Lysander, of course, was nearly mad with grief, and the best thing to do seemed to him for Hermia to run away to his aunt's house at a place beyond the reach of that cruel law, and there he would come to her and marry her. But before she started, she told her friend Helena what she was going to do. Helena had been Demetrius's sweetheart long before his marriage with Hermia had been thought of, and being very silly, like all jealous people, she could not see that it was not poor Hermia's fault that Demetrius wished to marry her instead of his own lady, Helena. She knew that if she told Demetrius that Hermia was going, as she was, to the wood outside Athens, he would follow her, and I can follow him, and at least I shall see him, she said to herself. So she went to him and betrayed her friend secret. Now this wood where Lysander was to meet Hermia, and where the other two had decided to follow them, was full of fairies, as most woods are, if one only had the eyes to see them, and in this wood, on this night, were the king and queen of the fairies, Oberyn and Tutania. Now fairies are very wise people, but now and then they can be quite as foolish as mortal folk. Oberyn and Tutania, who might have been as happy as the days were long, had thrown away all their joy in a foolish quarrel. They never met without saying disagreeable things to each other, and scolded each other so dreadfully that all their little fairy followers, for fear, would creep into acorn cups and hide them there. So, instead of keeping one happy court, and dancing all night through in the moonlight as his fairies use, the king with his attendants wandered through one part of the wood, while the queen with hers kept state in another. And the cause of all this trouble was a little Indian boy, whom Tutania had taken to be one of her followers. Oberyn wanted the child to follow him, and be one of his fairy knights, but the queen would not give him up. On this night, in a mossy moonlit glade, the king and queen of the fairies met. Ill met by moonlight, proud to Tutania, said the king. What? Jealous, Oberyn? answered the queen. You spoil everything with your quarrelling. Come, fairies, let us leave him. I am not friends with him now. It rests with you to make up the quarrel, said the king. Give me that little Indian boy, and I will again be your humble servant and suitor. Set your minded rest, said the queen. Your whole fairy kingdom buys not that boy from me. Come, fairies! And she and her train rode off down the moon-beams. Well, go your ways, said Oberyn, but I'll be even with you before you leave this wood. Then Oberyn called his favourite fairy, Puck. Puck was the spirit of mischief. He used to slip into the dairies, and take the cream away, and get into the churn so that the butter would not come, and turn the beer sour, and leave people out of their way on dark nights, and then laugh at them, and tumble people's stalls from under them when they were going to sit down, and upset their hot air all over their chins when they were going to drink. Now, said Oberyn to this little sprite, fetch me the flower called Love in Idleness. The juice of that little purple flower laid on the eyes of those who sleep will make them, when they wake, to love the first thing they see. I will put some of the juice of that flower on my Titania's eyes, and when she wakes she will love the first thing she sees, where it's lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, or meddling monkey, or a busy ape. While Puck was gone Demetrius passed through the glade, followed by poor Helena, and still she told him how she loved him, and reminded him of all his promises, and still he told her that he did not and could not love her, and that his promises were nothing. Oberyn was sorry for poor Helena, and when Puck returned with the flower he bade him follow Demetrius, and put some of the juice on his eyes, so that he might love Helena when he woke, and looked on her as much as she loved him. So Puck set off, and wandering through the wood found, not Demetrius, but Lysander, on whose eyes he put the juice, but when Lysander woke he saw not his own Hermia, but Helena, who was walking through the wood looking for the cruel Demetrius, and directly he saw her, he loved her, and left his own lady under the spell of the purple flower. When Hermia woke she found Lysander gone, and wondered about the wood trying to find him. Puck went back and told Oberyn what he had done, and Oberyn soon found that he had made a mistake, and set her out looking for Demetrius, and having found him put some of the juice on his eyes. And the first thing Demetrius saw when he woke was also Helena. So now Demetrius and Lysander were both following her through the wood, and it was Hermia's turn to follow her lover as Helena had done before. The end of it was that Helena and Hermia began to quarrel, and Demetrius and Lysander went off to fight. Oberyn was very sorry to see his kind scheme to help these lovers turn out so badly. So he said to Puck, these two young men are going to fight. You must overhang the night with drooping fog, and lead them so astray that one will never find the other. When they are tired out they will fall asleep. Then dropped this other herb on Lysander's eyes. That will give him his old sight and his old love. Then each man will have the lady who loves him, and they will all think that this has only been a midsummer night's dream. Then when this is done all will be well with them. So Puck went and did as he was told, and when the two had fallen asleep without meeting each other, Puck poured the juice in Lysander's eyes and said, When thou wakest, thou takest true delight in the sight of thy former lady's eye. Jack shall have Jill, nor shall go ill. Meanwhile Oberyn found Tatania asleep on a bank where grew wild thyme, oxlips and violets and woodbine, musk roses and eglantine. There Tatania always slept a part of the night, wrapped in the enameled skin of a snake. Oberyn stooped over her and laid the juice on her eyes, saying, What thou seest when thou wake? Do it for thy true love take. Now it happened that when Tatania woke the first thing she saw was a stupid clown, one of a party of players who had come out into the wood to rehearse their play. This clown had met with Puck, who had clapped an ass's head on his shoulders so that it looked as if it grew there. Directly Tatania woke and saw this dreadful monster, she said, What angel is this? Are you as wise as you are beautiful? If I am wise enough to find my way out of this wood, that's enough for me, said the foolish clown. Do not desire to go out of the wood? said Tatania. The spell of the love-juice was on her, and to her the clown seemed the most beautiful and delightful creature on all the earth. I love you, she went on, come with me and I will give you fairies to attend on you. So she called for fairies, whose names were peas blossom, cobweb, moth, and mustard seed. You must attend this gentleman, said the queen, feed him with apricots and jubrues, purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries, steal honey-bags for him from the bumble-bees, and with the wings of painted butterflies fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes. I will, said one of the fairies, and all the others said, I will. Now, sit down with me, said the queen to the clown, and let me stroke your dear cheeks and stick musk-roses in your smooth, sleek head, and kiss your fair large ears, my gentle joy. Where's peas blossom? asked the clown with the asses' head. He did not care much about the queen's affection, but he was very proud of having fairies to wait on him. Ready! said peas blossom. Scratch me, Ed, please blossom! said the clown. Where's cobweb? Ready! said cobweb. Kill me! said the clown, the red bumble-bee on the top of the thistle yonder, and bring me the honey-bag. Where's mustard seed? Ready! said mustard seed. Oh, I want nothing, said the clown, only just help cobweb to scratch. I must go to the barbers, for me thinks I am marvellous hairy about the face. Would you like anything to eat? said the fairy queen. I should like some good dry oats, said the clown, for his donkey's head made him desire donkey's food, and some hay to follow. Shall some of my fairies fetch you new nuts from the squirrel's house? asked the queen. I'd rather have a handful or two of good dried peas, said the clown, but please don't let any of your people disturb me, I'm going to sleep. Then said the queen, and I will wind thee in my arms. And so when Oberon came along he found his beautiful queen lavishing kisses and endearments on a clown with a donkey's head. And before he released her from the enchantment he persuaded her to give him the little Indian boy he so much desired to have. Then he took pity on her, and threw some juice of the disenchanting flower on her pretty eyes. And then in a moment she saw plainly the donkey-headed clown she had been loving, and knew how foolish she had been. Oberon took off the ass's head from the clown, and left him to finish his sleep with his own silly head, lying on the time and violets. Thus all was made plain and straight again. Oberon and Titania loved each other more than ever. Demetrius thought of no one but Elena, and Elena had never had any thought of any one but Demetrius. As for Hermia and Lysander they were as loving a couple as you could meet in a day's march, even through a fairy wood. So the four mortal lovers went back to Athens and were married. And the fairy king and queen lived happily together in that fairy wood at this very day. End of the Midsummer Night's Dream. Recording by Stuart Bell, Cambridge UK. www.steartbell.co.uk The Tempest of Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare by Edith Nespit. The Tempest. Prospero, the Duke of Milan, was a learned and studious man, who lived among his books, leaving the management of his dukedom to his brother Antonio, in whom indeed he had complete trust. But that trust was ill-rewarded, for Antonio wanted to wear the duke's crown himself, and, to gain his ends, would have killed his brother, but for the love the people bore him. However, with the help of Prospero's great enemy, Alonso King of Naples, he managed to get into his hands the dukedom with all its honor, power, and riches. For they took Prospero to sea, and when they were far away from land, forced him into a little boat with no tackle, mast, or sail. In their cruelty and hatred, they put his little daughter, Miranda, not yet three years old, into the boat with him, and sailed away, leaving them to their fate. But one among the courtiers with Antonio was true to his rightful master, Prospero. To save the duke from his enemies was impossible, but much could be done to remind him of a subject's love. So this worthy lord, whose name was Gonzalo, secretly placed in the boat some fresh water, provisions, and clothes, and what Prospero valued most of all, some of his precious books. The boat was cast on an island, and Prospero and his little one landed in safety. Now this island was enchanted, and for years had lain under the spell of a fell witch, Sycorax, who had imprisoned in the trunks of trees all the good spirit she found there. She died shortly before Prospero was cast on those shores, but the spirits, of whom Ariel was the chief, still remained in their prisons. Prospero was a great magician, for he had devoted himself almost entirely to the study of magic during the years in which he allowed his brother to manage the affairs of Milan. By his art he set free the imprisoned spirits, yet kept them obedient to his will, and they were more truly his subjects than his people in Milan had been, for he treated them kindly, as long as they did his bidding, and he exercised his power over them wisely and well. One creature alone he found it necessary to treat with harshness. This was Calaman, the son of the wicked old witch, a hideous deformed monster, horrible to look on, and vicious and brutal in all his habits. When Miranda was grown up into a maiden, sweet and fair to see, a chance that Antonio and Alonzo, with Sebastian, his brother, and Ferdinand, his son, were at sea together with old Gonzalo, and their ship came near Prospero's island. Prospero, knowing they were there, raised by his art a great storm, so that even the sailors on board gave themselves up for lost, and first among them all Prince Ferdinand leaped into the sea, and as his father thought in his grief was drowned. But Ariel brought him safe ashore, and all the rest of the crew, although they were washed overboard, were landed unhurt in different parts of the island, and the good ship herself, which they all thought had been wrecked, lay at anchor in the harbor where their Ariel had brought her. Such wonders could Prospero and his spirits perform. While yet the tempest was raging, Prospero showed his daughter the brave ship laboring in the trough of the sea, and told her that it was filled with living human beings like themselves. She, in pity of their lives, prayed him who had raised the storm to quell it. Then her father bade her to have no fear, for he intended to save every one of them. Then, for the first time, he told her the story of his life and hers, and that he had caused the storm to rise in order that his enemies, Antonio and Alonso, who were on board, might be delivered into his hands. When he had made an end of his story he charmed her into sleep, for Ariel was at hand, and he had work for him to do. Ariel, who longed for his complete freedom, grumbled to be kept in drudgery, but on being threateningly reminded of all the sufferings he had undergone when Sycorax ruled in the land, and of the dead of gratitude he owed to the master who had made those sufferings to end, he ceased to complain, and promised faithfully to do whatever Prospero might command. Do so, said Prospero, and in two days I will discharge thee. Then he bade Ariel take the form of a water-nymph, and sent him in search of the young prince, and Ariel, invisible to Ferdinand, hovered near him, singing the while. Come unto these yellow sands, and then take hands, curtsied when you have, and kissed, the wild waves wist, foot it feetly here and there, and sweet sprites the burden bear. And Ferdinand followed the magic singing, as the song changed with solemn air, and the words brought grief to his heart, and tears to his eyes, for thus they ran. Full fathom five thy father lies, of his bones are coral made, those are pearls that were his eyes, nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange. See nymphs hourly ring his knell. Hark! Now I hear them! Ding dong bell! And so singing, Ariel led the spellbound prince into the presence of Prospero and Miranda. Then behold, all happened as Prospero desired, for Miranda, who had never, since she could first remember, seen any human being save her father, looked on the youthful prince with reverence in her eyes, and love in her secret heart. I might call him, she said, a thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. And Ferdinand, beholding her beauty with wonder and delight, exclaimed, Most sure that goddess on whom these heirs attend! Nor did he attempt to hide the passion which she inspired in him, for scarcely had they exchanged half a dozen sentences, before he vowed to make her his queen if she were willing. But Prospero, though secretly delighted, pretended wrath. You come here as a spy, he said to Ferdinand. I will manacle your neck and feet together, and you shall feed on freshwater muscles, withered roots and husk, and have sea-water to drink. Follow. No! said Ferdinand, and drew his sword. But on the instant Prospero charmed him so that he stood there like a statue, still as stone. And Miranda, in terror, prayed her father to have mercy on her lover. But he harshly refused her, and made Ferdinand follow him to his cell. There he set the prince to work, making him remove thousands of heavy logs of timber and pile them up. And Ferdinand patiently obeyed, and thought his toil all too well repaid by the sympathy of the sweet Miranda. She, in very pity, would have helped him in his hard work. But he would not let her, yet he could not keep from her the secret of his love, and she, hearing it, rejoiced and promised to be his wife. Then Prospero released him from his servitude, and glad at heart he gave his consent to their marriage. Take her, he said. She is thine own. In the meantime, Antonio and Sebastian, in another part of the island, were plotting the murder of Alonzo, the king of Naples. For Ferdinand, being dead, as they thought, Sebastian would succeed to the throne on Alonzo's death. And they would have carried out their wicked purpose while their victim was asleep, but that Ariel woke him in good time. Many tricks did Ariel play them. Once he set a banquet before them, and just as they were going to fall too, he appeared to them amid thunder and lightning in the form of a harpy, and immediately the banquet disappeared. Then Ariel upgraded them with their sins and vanished too. Prospero by his enchantments drew them all to the grove without his cell, where they waited, trembling and afraid, and now at last bitterly repenting them of their sins. Prospero determined to make one last use of his magic power. And then, said he, I'll break my staff, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. So he made heavenly music to sound in the air, and appeared to them in his proper shape as the Duke of Milan. Because they repented, he forgave them and told them the story of his life since they had cruelly committed him and his baby daughter to the mercy of wind and waves. Alonso, who seemed sorriest of them all for his past crimes, lamented the loss of his heir. But Prospero drew back a curtain and showed them Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess. Great was Alonso's joy to greet his loved son again, and when he heard that the fair maid with whom Ferdinand was playing was Prospero's daughter, and that the young folks had plighted their troth, he said, Give me your hands, let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart that doth not wish you joy. So all ended happily. The ship was safe in the harbour, and next day they all set sail for Naples, where Ferdinand and Miranda were to be married. Ariel gave them calm seas and auspicious gales, and many were the rejoicings at the wedding. Then Prospero, after many years of absence, went back to his own dukedom, where he was welcomed with great joy by his faithful subjects. He practised the arts of magic no more, but his life was happy, and not only because he had found his own again, but chiefly because, when his bitterest foes who had done him deadly wrong lay at his mercy, he took no vengeance on them, but nobly forgave them. As for Ariel, Prospero made him free as air, so that he could wander where he would, and sing with a light heart his sweet song. Where the bee sucks, there suck I. In a cowslip's bell I lie. There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, after summer merrily, merrily, merrily shall I live now, under the blossom that hangs on the bell. End of the Tempest For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Charlene V. Smith As Robin Hood did in the Sherwood Forest in Mary England, Bobanish Duke's daughter, Rosalind, remained with Celia, Frederick's daughter, and the two loved each other more than most sisters. One day there was a wrestling match at court, and Rosalind and Celia went to see it. Charles, a celebrated wrestler, was there, who had killed many men in contests of this kind. Orlando, the young man he was to wrestle with, was so slender and youthful, that Rosalind and Celia thought he would surely be killed, as others had been, so they spoke to him, and asked him not to attempt so dangerous an adventure. But the only effect of their words was to make him wish more to come off well in the encounter, so as to win praise from such sweet ladies. Orlando, like Rosalind's father, was being kept out of his inheritance by his brother, and was so sad at his brother's unkindness that, until he saw Rosalind, he did not care much whether he lived or died. But now the sight of the fair Rosalind gave him strength and courage, so that he did marvelously, and at last threw Charles to such a tune that the wrestler had to be carried off the ground. Duke Frederick was pleased with his courage, and asked his name. My name is Orlando, and I am the youngest son of Sir Roland de Bois, said the young man. Now Sir Roland de Bois, when he was alive, had been a good friend to the banished Duke, so that Frederick heard with regret whose son Orlando was, and would not befriend him. But Rosalind was delighted to hear that this handsome young stranger was the son of her father's old friend, and as they were going away, she turned back more than once to say another kind word to the brave young man. Gentlemen, she said, giving him a chain from her neck, wear this for me. I could give more, but that my hand lacks means. Rosalind and Celia, when they were alone, began to talk about the handsome wrestler, and Rosalind confessed that she loved him at first sight. Come, come, said Celia, wrestle with thy affections. Oh, answered Rosalind, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Look, here comes the Duke, with his eyes full of anger, said Celia. You must leave the court at once, he said to Rosalind. Why? she asked. Never mind why, answered the Duke. You are banished. If within ten days you are found within twenty miles of my court, you die. So Rosalind set out to seek her father, the banished Duke, in the Forest of Arden. Celia loved her too much to let her go alone, and as it was rather a dangerous journey, Rosalind, being the taller, dressed up as a young countryman, and her cousin as a country girl, and Rosalind said that she would be called Ganymede, and Celia, Eliana. They were very tired when at last they came to the Forest of Arden, and as they were sitting on the grass, a countryman passed that way, and Ganymede asked him if he could get them food. He did so, and told him that a shepherd's flocks and house were to be sold. They bought these, and settled down as shepherd and shepherdess in the Forest. In the meantime, Oliver, having sought to take his brother Orlando's life, Orlando also wandered into the Forest, and there met the rightful Duke, and being kindly received stayed with him. Now Orlando could think of nothing but Rosalind, and he went about the forest carving her name on trees, and writing love sonnets and hanging them on the bushes, and there Rosalind and Celia found them. One day Orlando met them, but he did not know Rosalind and her boys' clothes, though he liked the pretty shepherd youth, because he fancied a likeness in him to her he loved. There is a foolish lover, said Rosalind, who haunts these woods and hangs sonnets on the trees. If I could find him I would soon cure him of his folly. Orlando confessed that he was the foolish lover, and Rosalind said, if you will come and see me every day I will pretend to be Rosalind, and I will take her part and be wayward and contrary as is the way of women, till I make you ashamed of your folly in loving her. And so every day he went to her house, and took a pleasure in saying to her all the pretty things he would have said to Rosalind, and she had the fine and secret joy of knowing that all his love words came to the right ears. Thus many days passed pleasantly away. One morning, as Orlando was going to visit Ganymede, he saw a man asleep on the ground, and that there was a lioness crouching near, waiting for the man who was asleep to wake, for they said that lions will not prey on anything that is dead or sleeping. Then Orlando looked at the man, and saw that it was his wicked brother Oliver who had tried to take his life. He fought with the lioness and killed her, and saved his brother's life. While Orlando was fighting the lioness, Oliver woke to see his brother whom he had treated so badly, saving him from a wild beast at the risk of his own life. This made him repent of his wickedness, and he begged Orlando's pardon, and from men's forth they were dear brothers. The lioness had wounded Orlando's arm so much that he could not go on to see the shepherd, so he sent his brother to ask Ganymede to come to him. Oliver went and told the whole story to Ganymede and Eliana, and Eliana was so charmed with his manly way of confessing his faults that she fell in love with him at once. But when Ganymede heard of the danger Orlando had been in, she fainted, and when she came to herself, said truly enough, I should have been a woman by right. Oliver went back to his brother and told him all this, saying, I love Eliana so well that I will give up my estates to you and marry her, and live here as a shepherd. Let your wedding be tomorrow, said Orlando, and I will ask the Duke and his friends. When Orlando told Ganymede how his brother was to be married on the morrow, he added, oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes. Then answered Rosalind, still in Ganymede's dress and speaking with his voice, if you do love Rosalind so near the heart, then when your brother marries Eliana, shall you marry her. Now the next day the Duke and his followers and Orlando and Oliver and Eliana were all gathered together for the wedding. Then Ganymede came in and said to the Duke, if I bring in your daughter Rosalind, will you give her to Orlando here? That I would, said the Duke, if I had all kingdoms to give with her. And you say you will have her when I bring her, she said to Orlando. That would I, he answered, were I king of all kingdoms. Then Rosalind and Celia went out and Rosalind put on her pretty woman's clothes again and after a while came back. She turned to her father, I give myself to you for I am yours. If there be truth in sight, he said, you are my daughter. Then she turned to Orlando, I give myself to you for I am yours. If there be truth in sight, he said, you are my Rosalind. I will have no father if you be not he, she said to the Duke and to Orlando. I will have no husband if you be not he. So Orlando and Rosalind were married and Oliver and Celia and they lived happily ever after returning with the Duke to the kingdom. For Frederick had been shown by a holy hermit the wickedness of his ways and so gave back the Dukedom of his brother and himself went into a monastery to pray for forgiveness. The wedding was a merry one in the mossy glades of the forest. A shepherd and shepherdess who had been friends with Rosalind when she was herself disguised as a shepherd were married on the same day and all with such pretty feastings and merry makings as could be nowhere within four walls but only in the beautiful green wood. End of As You Like It Recording by Charlene V. Smith The Winter's Tale of Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Klett Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare by Edith Nespot The Winter's Tale Leontes was the king of Sicily and his dearest friend was Polyxonys, king of Bohemia. They had been brought up together and only separated when they reached man's estate and each had to go and rule over his kingdom. After many years, when each was married and had a son, Polyxonys came to stay with Leontes in Sicily. Leontes was a violent tempered man, and rather silly, and he took it into his stupid head that his wife, Hermione, liked Polyxonys better than she did him, her own husband. When once he had got this into his head, nothing could put it out, and he ordered one of his lords, Camillo, to put a poison in Polyxonys wine. Camillo tried to dissuade him from this wicked action, but finding he was not to be moved, pretended to consent. He then told Polyxonys what was proposed against him, and they fled from the court of Sicily that night, and returned to Bohemia, where Camillo lived on as Polyxonys' friend and counselor. Leontes threw the queen into prison, and her son, the heir to the throne, died of sorrow to see his mother so unjustly and cruelly treated. While the queen was in prison, she had a little baby, and a friend of hers, named Paulina, had the baby dressed in its best, and took it to show the king, thinking that the sight of his helpless little daughter would soften his heart towards his dear queen, who had never done him any wrong, and who loved him a great deal more than he deserved. But the king would not look at the baby, and ordered Paulina's husband to take it away in a ship, and leave it in the most desert and dreadful place he could find, which Paulina's husband, very much against his will, was obliged to do. Then the poor queen was brought up to be tried for treason in preferring Polyxonys to her king, but really she had never thought of any one except Leontes, her husband. Leontes had sent some messengers to ask the god Apollo whether he was not right in his cruel thoughts of the queen. But he had not patience to wait till they came back, and so it happened that they arrived in the middle of the trial. The oracle said, Hermione is innocent, Polyxonys blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found. Then a man came and told them that the little prince was dead. The poor queen hearing this fell down in a fit, and then the king saw how wicked and wrong he had been. He ordered Paulina and the ladies who were with the queen to take her away, and try to restore her. But Paulina came back in a few moments, and told the king that Hermione was dead. Now Leontes' eyes were at last opened to his folly. His queen was dead, and the little daughter who might have been a comfort to him he had sent away to be the prey of wolves and kites. Life had nothing left for him now. He gave himself up to his grief, and passed many sad years in prayer and remorse. The baby princess was left on the sea-coast of Bohemia, the very kingdom where Polyxonys reigned. Paulina's husband never went home to tell Leontes where he had left the baby, for as he was going back to the ship he met a bear and was torn to pieces. So there was an end of him. But the poor deserted little baby was found by a shepherd. She was richly dressed, and had with her some jewels, and a paper was pinned to her cloak, saying that her name was Perdita, and that she came of noble parents. The shepherd, being a kind-hearted man, took home the little baby to his wife, and they brought it up as their own child. She had no more teaching than a shepherd's child generally has, but she inherited from her royal mother many graces and charms, so that she was quite different from the other maidens in the village where she lived. One day Prince Floresel, the son of the good king of Bohemia, was hunting near the shepherd's house, and saw Perdita, now grown up to a charming woman. He made friends with the shepherd, not telling him that he was the prince, but saying that his name was Dorocles, and that he was a private gentleman. And then, being deeply in love with the pretty Perdita, he came almost daily to see her. The king could not understand what it was that took his son nearly every day from home, so he set people to watch him, and then found out that the heir of the king of Bohemia was in love with Perdita, the pretty shepherd girl. Polyxonies, wishing to see whether this was true, disguised himself, and went with the faithful Camillo, in disguise too, to the old shepherd's house. They arrived at the feast of sheep shearing, and, though strangers, they were made very welcome. There was dancing going on, and a peddler was selling ribbons and laces and gloves, which the young men bought for their sweethearts. Florsel and Perdita, however, were taking no part in this gay scene, but sat quietly together, talking. The king noticed the charming manners and great beauty of Perdita, never guessing that she was the daughter of his old friend Leontes. He said to Camillo, This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever ran on the Greensward. Nothing she does or seems but smacks of something greater than herself, too noble for this place. And Camillo answered, In truth she is the queen of curds and cream. But when Florsel, who did not recognize his father, called upon the strangers to witness his betrothal with the pretty shepherdess, the king made himself known and forbade the marriage, adding that if ever she saw Florsel again he would kill her and her old father the shepherd, and with that he left them. But Camillo remained behind, for he was charmed with Perdita and wished to befriend her. Camillo had long known how sorry Leontes was for that foolish madness of his, and he longed to go back to Sicily and see his old master. He now proposed that the young people should go there and claim the protection of Leontes. So they went, and the shepherd went with them, taking Perdita's jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper he had found pinned to her cloak. Leontes received them with great kindness. He was very polite to Prince Florsel, but all his looks were for Perdita. He saw how much she was like the queen Hermione, and said again and again, Such a sweet creature my daughter might have been, if I had not cruelly sent her from me. When the old shepherd heard that the king had lost a baby daughter, who had been left upon the coast of Bohemia, he felt sure that Perdita, the child he had reared, must be the king's daughter. And when he told his tale and showed the jewels and the paper, the king perceived that Perdita was indeed his long lost child. He welcomed her with joy, and rewarded the good shepherd. Polyxonies had hastened after his son to prevent his marriage with Perdita, but when he found that she was the daughter of his old friend, he was only too glad to give his consent. Yet Leontes could not be happy. He remembered how his fair queen, who should have been at his side to share his joy in his daughter's happiness, was dead through his unkindness, and he could say nothing for a long time, but— Oh, thy mother, thy mother, and ask forgiveness of the king of Bohemia, and then kiss his daughter again, and then the prince Floresel, and then thank the old shepherd for all his goodness. Then Paulina, who had been high all these years in the king's favour, because of her kindness to the dead queen Hermione, said— I have a statue made in the likeness of the dead queen, a piece many years in doing, and performed by the rare Italian master, Giulio Romano. I keep it in a private house apart, and there, ever since you lost your queen, I have gone twice or thrice a day. Will it please your majesty to go and see the statue? So Leontes and Polyxonies, and Floresel and Perdida, with Camillo and their attendants, went to Paulina's house where there was a heavy purple curtain screening off an alcove, and Paulina, with her hand on the curtain, said— She was peerless when she was alive, and I do believe that her dead likeness excels whatever yet you have looked upon, or that the hand of man hath done. Therefore I keep it lonely, apart. But here it is, behold, and say tis well. And with that she drew back the curtain and showed them the statue. The king gazed and gazed on the beautiful statue of her dead wife, but said nothing. I like your silence, said Paulina. It the more shows off your wonder. But speak, is it not like her? It is almost herself, said the king. And yet Paulina, Hermione, was not so much wrinkled, nothing like so old as this seems. Oh, not by much, said Polyxonies. Ah, said Paulina, that is the cleverness of the carver, who shows her to us as she would have been had she lived till now. And still Leontes looked at the statue, and could not take his eyes away. If I had known, said Paulina, that this poor image would so have stirred your grief and love, I would not have shown it to you. But he only answered, do not draw the curtain. No, you must not look any longer, said Paulina, or you will think it moves. Let be, let be, said the king. Would you not think it breathed? I will draw the curtain, said Paulina. You will think it lives presently. Ah, sweet Paulina, said Leontes, make me to think so twenty years together. If you can bear it, said Paulina, I can make the statue move, make it come down and take you by the hand. Only you would think it was by wicked magic. Whatever you can make her do, I am content to look on, said the king. And then, all folks there admiring and beholding, the statue moved from its pedestal, and came down the steps and put its arms round the king's neck. And he held her face and kissed her many times, for this was no statue, but the real living queen Hermione herself. She had lived hidden by Paulina's kindness all these years, and would not discover herself to her husband, though she knew he had repented, because she could not quite forgive him till she knew what had become of her little baby. Now that Perdida was found, she forgave her husband everything, and it was like a new and beautiful marriage to them, to be together once more. Floresel and Perdida were married and lived long and happily. To Leontes, his many years of suffering were well paid for in the moment when, after long grief and pain, he felt the arms of his true love around him once again. End of The Winter's Tale Two of his daughters were married to the dukes of Albany and Cornwall, and the duke of Burgundy and the king of France were both suitors for the hand of Cordelia, his youngest daughter. Lear called his three daughters together and told them that he proposed to divide his kingdom between them. But first, said he, I should like to know how much you love me. Gonneral, who was really a very wicked woman, and did not love her father at all, said she loved him more than words could say, she loved him dearer than eyesight, space, or liberty, more than life, grace, health, beauty, and honour. I love you as much as my sister and more, professed Regan, since I care for nothing but my father's love. Lear was very much pleased with Regan's professions and turned to his youngest daughter, Cordelia. Now, our joy, though last not least, said he, the best part of my kingdom I have kept for you. What can you say?" Nothing, my lord, answered Cordelia. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again, said the king. And Cordelia answered, I love your majesty according to my duty, no more nor less. And this she said, because she was disgusted with the way in which her sisters professed love, when really they had not even a right sense of duty to their old father. I am your daughter, she went on, and you have brought me up and loved me, and I returned those duties back as a right and fit. Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Lear, who loved Cordelia best, had wished her to make more extravagant professions of love than her sisters. Go, he said, be forever a stranger to my heart and me. The Earl of Kent, one of Lear's favourite courtiers and captains, tried to say a word for Cordelia's sake, but Lear would not listen. He divided the kingdom between Gonneral and Regan, and told them that he should only keep a hundred knights at arms, and would live with his daughters by turns. When the Duke of Burgundy knew that Cordelia would have no share of the kingdom, he gave up his courtship of her. But the King of France was wiser and said, Thy dourless daughter, King, is Queen of us, of ours, and our Fair France. Take her, take her, said the King, for I will never see that face of hers again. So Cordelia became Queen of France, and the Earl of Kent, for having ventured to take her part, was banished from the kingdom. The King now went to stay with his daughter, Gonneral, who had got everything from her father that he had to give, and now began to grudge even the hundred knights that he had reserved for himself. She was harsh and undutiful to him, and her servants either refused to obey his orders or pretended that they did not hear him. Now the Earl of Kent, when he was banished, made as though he would go into another country, but instead he came back in the disguise of a serving-man and took service with the King. The King now had two friends, the Earl of Kent, whom he only knew as a servant, and his fool, who was faithful to him. Gonneral told her father plainly that his knights only served to fill her court with riot and feasting, and so she 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. Gonneral, 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 Reagan. 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 Gonneral, who had hurried thither to prevent Reagan showing any kindness to the old King, said five were too many, since her servants could wait on him. Then when Lear saw 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 him 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. Gonneral and Reagan joined their armies to fight Cordelia's army and were successful, and Cordelia and her father were thrown into prison. Then Gonneral'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 Gonneral found out 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 and 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, had 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 is 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, Will 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. 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 of 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 her 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 and 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? Tour and 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 others' 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 Agacic, 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 errant 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. But you shall not to the house, said Sir Toby, unless you fight me first. And as he appeared 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, hitting 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 haste, 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 avenged 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 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 friar, cried Olivia. The priest, who had married Sebastian and Olivia, coming in, declared Cesario to be the bridegroom. Oh, 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 Certobes 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 change to wonder when Sebastian came in. I am sorry, madam, he said to his wife. I have hurt your kinsmen. Pardon me, sweet, even for the vows we made each other so long ago. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons, cried the Duke, looking first at Viola and then at Sebastian. An apple cleft in two, said one who knew Sebastian, is not more twin than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? I never had a brother, said Sebastian. I had a sister whom the blind waves and surges have devoured. Were you a woman, he said to Viola, I should let my tears fall upon your cheek and say, Thrice, welcome, drowned Viola. Then Viola, rejoicing to see her dear brother alive, confessed that she was indeed his sister Viola. As she spoke, Orsino felt the pity that is akin to love. Boy, he said, Thou hast said to me a thousand times Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. And all those sayings will I over swear, Viola replied, and all those swearings keep true. Give me thy hand, Orsino cried in gladness. Thou shalt be my wife and my fancies queen. Thus was the gentle Viola made happy, while Olivia found in Sebastian a constant lover and a good husband, and he and her a true and loving wife. End of Twelfth Night. Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon in Spain, had gained so complete a victory over his foes that the very land whence they came is forgotten. Feeling happy and playful after the fatigues of war, Don Pedro came for a holiday to Messina. And in his suite, the Prince of Aragon, the Prince of Aragon, the Prince of Aragon, the Prince of Aragon, and in his suite were his step-brother Don John and two young Italian lords, Benedict and Claudio. Benedict was a merry chatterbox who had determined to live a bachelor. Claudio, on the other hand, no sooner arrived at Messina than he fell in love with Hiro, the daughter of Leonardo, governor of Messina. One July day, a perfumer called Boraccio burning dried lavender in a musty room in Leonardo's house when the sound of conversation floated through the open window. Give me your candid opinion of Hiro, Claudio asked, and Boraccio settled himself for comfortable listening. Too short and brown for praise, was Benedict's reply. But alter her color or height and you spoil her. In my eyes she is the sweetest of women, said Claudio. Not in mine, retorted Benedict. And I have no need for glasses. She is like the last day of December compared with the first of May if you set her beside her cousin. Unfortunately, the Lady Beatrice is a fury. Beatrice was Leonardo's niece. She amused herself by saying witty and severe things about Benedict, who called her dear lady disdain. She was want to say that she was born under a dancing star and could not therefore be dull. Claudio and Benedict were still talking when Don Pedro came up and said good humorly, Well, gentlemen, what's the secret? I am longing, answered Benedict, for your grace to command me to tell. I charge you then, on your allegiance to tell me, said Don Pedro, falling in with his humor. I can be as dumb as a mute, apologized Benedict to Claudio, but his grace commands my speech. To Don Pedro, he said, Claudio is in love with Hero, Leonardo's short daughter. Don Pedro was pleased, for he admired Hero and was fond of Claudio. When Benedict had departed, he said to Claudio, Be steadfast in your love for Hero and I will help you to win her. Tonight her father gives a masquerade and I will pretend I am Claudio and tell her how Claudio loves her and if she be pleased, I will go to her father and ask his consent to your union. Most men like to do their own wooing, but if you fall in love with a governor's only daughter, you are fortunate if you can trust a prince to plead for you. Claudio then was fortunate, but he was unfortunate as well, for he had an enemy who was outwardly a friend. This enemy was Don Pedro's step-brother, Don John, who was jealous of Claudio, because Don Pedro preferred him to Don John. It was to Don John that Boraccio came with the interesting conversation which he had overheard. I shall have some fun at that masquerade myself, said Don John when Boraccio ceased speaking. On the night of the masquerade, Don Pedro, masked and pretending he was Claudio, asked Hiro if he might walk with her. They moved away together and Don John went up to Claudio and said, Signore Benedic, I believe. The same, fibbed Claudio. I should be much obliged then, said Don John, if you would use your influence with my brother to cure him of his love for Hiro. She is beneath him in rank. How do you know he loves her? inquired Claudio. Where his affection was a reply and Boraccio chimed in with, So did I, too! Claudio was then left to himself and his thought was that his prince had betrayed him. Farewell, Hiro, he muttered. I was a fool to trust to an agent. Meanwhile, Beatrice and Benedic, who was masked, were having a brisk exchange of opinions. Did Benedic ever make you laugh, asked she? Who is Benedic? he inquired. The prince's gesture replied Beatrice and she spoke so sharply that I would not marry her, he declared afterwards, if her estate were the Garden of Eden. But the principal speaker at the masquerade was neither Beatrice nor Benedic. It was Don Pedro, who carried out his plan to the letter and brought the light back into Claudio's face in a twinkling, by appearing before him with Leonardo and Hiro and saying, Claudio, when would you like to go to church? Tomorrow! was a prompt answer. Time goes on crutches till I marry Hiro. Give her a week, my dear son, said Leonardo, and Claudio's heart thumped with joy. And now, said the amiable Don Pedro, we must find a wife for Senor Benedic. It is a task for Hercules. I will help you, said Leonardo, if I have to sit up ten nights. Then Hiro spoke. I will do what I can, my lord, to find a good husband for Beatrice. Thus, with happy laughter, ended the masquerade, which had given Claudio lesson for nothing. Baraccio cheered up Don John by laying a plan before him that he was confident he could persuade both Claudio and Don Pedro that Hiro was a fickle girl who had two strings in her bow. Don John agreed to this plan of hate. Don Pedro, on the other hand, had devised a cunning plan of love. If, he said to Leonardo, we pretend when Beatrice is near enough to overhear us that Benedic is pining for her love, she will pity him, see his good qualities, and love him. And if, when Benedic thinks we don't know he is listening, we say how sad it is that the beautiful Beatrice should be in love with a heartless scoffer like Benedic, he will certainly be on his knees before her in a week or less. So, one day, when Benedic was reading in a summer house, Claudio sat down outside it with Leonardo and said, Your daughter told me something about a letter she wrote. A letter, exclaimed Leonardo, she will get up twenty times in the night and write, goodness knows what. But once Hiro peeped and she saw the words Benedic and Beatrice on the sheet. And then Beatrice tore it up. Hiro told me, said Claudio, that she cried, Oh, sweet Benedic! Benedic was touched to the core by this improbable story, which he was vain enough to believe. She is fair and good, he said to himself. I must not seem proud. I feel that I love her. People will laugh, of course, but their paper bullets will do me no harm. At this moment Beatrice came to the summer house and said, Against my will I have come to tell you that dinner is ready. Fair Beatrice, I thank you, said Benedic. I took no more pains to come than you take pains to thank me, was the rejoinder, intended to freeze him. But it did not freeze him, it warmed him. The meaning he squeezed out of her rude speech was that she was delighted to come to him. Hiro, who had undertaken the task of melting the heart of Beatrice, took no trouble to seek an occasion. She simply said to her maid Margaret one day, run into the parlor and whisper to Beatrice that Ursula and I are talking about her in the orchard. Having said this, she was as sure that Beatrice would overhear what was meant for her ears as if she had made an appointment with her cousin. And the orchard was a bower, screened from the sun by honeysuckles. And Beatrice entered it a few minutes after Margaret had gone on her errand. But are you sure, asked Ursula, who was one of Hiro's attendants, that Benedic loves Beatrice so devotedly? So say the prince and man betrothed, said Hiro, and they wished me to tell her. But I said, no, let Benedic get over it. Why did you say that? Because Beatrice is unbearably proud. Her eyes sparkle with disdain and scorn. She is too conceited for love. I should not like to see her making game of poor Benedic's love. I would rather see Benedic waste away like a covered fire. I don't agree with you, said Ursula. I think your cousin is too clear-sighted not to see the merits of Benedic. He is the one man in Italy, except Claudio, said Hiro. The talkers then left the orchard, and Beatrice, excited and tender, stepped out of the summer house, saying to herself, Poor dear Benedic, be true to me, and your heart shall tame this wild heart of mine. We now return to the plan of hate. The night before the day fixed for Claudio's wedding, Don John entered a room in which Don Pedro and Claudio were conversing, and asked Claudio if he intended to be married tomorrow. You know he does, said Don Pedro. He may know differently, said Don John, when he has seen what I will show him if he will follow me. They followed him into the garden, and they saw a lady leaning out of Hiro's window, talking love to Boraccio. Claudio thought the lady was Hiro and said, I will shame her for it tomorrow. Don Pedro thought she was Hiro too, but she was not Hiro, she was Margaret. Don John chuckled noiselessly, when Claudio and Don Pedro quitted the garden. He gave Boraccio a purse containing a thousand ducats. The money-made Boraccio feel very gay, and when he was walking in the street with his friend Conrad, he boasted of his wealth and the giver, and told what he had done. A watchman overheard them, and thought the man who had been paid a thousand ducats for his villainy was worth taking in charge. He therefore arrested Boraccio and Conrad, who spent the rest of the night in prison. Before noon of the next day, half the aristocrats and mestina were at church. Hiro thought it was her wedding day, and she was there in her wedding dress, no cloud on her pretty face, or in her frank and shining eyes. The priest was friar Francis. Turning to Claudio, he said, you come hither my lord to marry this lady? No, contradicted Claudio. Leonardo thought he was quibbling over grammar. You should have said friar, said he. You come to be married to her. Friar Francis turned to Hiro. Lady, he said, you come hither to be married to this count? I do, replied Hiro. If either of you know any impediment to this marriage, I charge you to utter it, said the friar. Do you know of any, Hiro? asked Claudio. None, she said. Know you of any? Count? demanded the friar. I dare reply for him, none, said Leonardo. Claudio exclaimed bitterly. Oh, what will not men dare say? Father, he continued, will you give me your daughter? As freely, said Leonardo, as God gave her to me. And what can I give you, asked Claudio, which is worthy of this gift? Nothing, said Don Pedro, unless you give the gift back to the giver. Sweet Prince, you teach me, said Claudio. There, Leonardo, take her back. These brutal words were followed by others which flew from Claudio, Don Pedro, and Don John. The church seemed no longer sacred. Hiro took her own part as long as she could, then she swooned. All her persecutors left the church, except her father, who was befooled by the accusations against her. Hence from her, let her die. But friar Francis saw Hiro blameless clear eyes that probed the soul. She is innocent, he said. A thousand signs have told me so. Hiro revived under his kind gaze. Her father, flurried and angry, knew not what to think. And the friar said, they have left her as one dead with shame. Let us pretend that she is dead until the truth is declared, and slander turns to remorse. The friar advises well, said Benedict. Then Hiro was led away into a retreat, and Beatrice and Benedict remained alone in the church. Benedict knew she had been weeping bitterly and long. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged, he said. She still wept. Is it not strange, asked Benedict gently, that I love nothing in the world as well as you. It was possible for me to say I love nothing as well as you, said Beatrice, but I do not say it. I am sorry for my cousin. Tell me what to do for her, said Benedict. Kill Claudio. Ha, not for the wide world, said Benedict. Your refusal kills me, said Beatrice. Farewell. Enough, I will challenge him, cried Benedict. During the scene, Boraccio and Conrad were in prison. There they were examined by a constable called Dogberry. There was no evidence to the effect that Boraccio had said that he had received a thousand dockets for conspiring against Hiro. Leonardo was not present at this examination, but he was nevertheless now thoroughly convinced of Hiro's innocence. He played the part of bereaved father very well, and when Don Pedro and Claudio called on him in a friendly way, he said to the Italian, you have slandered my child's death and I challenge you to combat. Claudio, you could kill a girl, sneered Leonardo, and Claudio crimsoned. Hot words grew from hot words, and both Don Pedro and Claudio were feeling scorched when Leonardo left the room, and Benedict entered. The old man, said Claudio, was like to have snapped my nose off. You are a villain, said Benedict shortly. Fight me when and with what weapon you please, or I call you a coward. Claudio was astounded, I'll meet you. Nobody shall say I can't carve a calf's head. Benedict smiled, and as it was time for Don Pedro to receive officials, the prince sat down in a chair of state and prepared his mind for justice. The door soon opened to admit Dogberry and his prisoners. What a fence, said Don Pedro, are these men charged with. Baraccio thought the moment a happy one for making a clean breast of it. He laid the whole blame on Don John, who had disappeared. The lady hero being dead, he said, I desire nothing but the reward of a murderer. Claudio heard with anguish and deep repentance. Upon the re-entrance of Leonardo, he said to him, this slave makes clear your daughter's innocence, choose your revenge. Leonardo, said Don Pedro humbly, I am ready for any penance you may impose. I ask you both then, said Leonardo, to proclaim my daughter's innocence and to honor her tomb by singing her praise before it. As for you, Claudio, I have this to say. My brother has a daughter so like hero that she might be a copy of her. Marry her and my vengeful feelings die. Noble sir, said Claudio, I am yours. Claudio went to his room and composed a solemn song. Going to the church with Don Pedro and his attendants, he sang it before the monument of Leonardo's family. When he had ended, he said, good night, hero, yearly will I do this. Then he gravely, as became a gentleman whose heart was heroes, made ready to marry a girl whom he did not love. He was told to meet her in Leonardo's house and was faithful to his appointment. He was shown into a room where Antonio, Leonardo's brother, and several masked ladies entered after him, Friar Francis, Leonardo, and Benedict were present. Antonio led one of the ladies towards Claudio. Sweet, said the young man, let me see your face. Swear first to marry her, said Leonardo. Give me your hand, said Claudio to the lady. Before this holy Friar, I swear to marry you if you will be my wife. Alive, I was your wife, said the lady as she drew off her mask. Another hero, exclaimed Claudio. Hero died, explained Leonardo, only while slander lived. The Friar was going to marry the reconciled pair, but Benedict interrupted him with softly Friar. Which of these ladies is Beatrice? Here at, Beatrice unmasked, and Benedict said, you love me, don't you? Only moderately, was the reply, do you love me? Moderately, answered Benedict. I was told you were well night dead for me, remarked Beatrice. Of you I was told the same, said Benedict. Here is your own hand in evidence of your love, said Claudio, producing a feeble sonnet which Benedict had written to his sweetheart. And here, said Hero, is a tribute to Benedict, which I picked out of the pocket of Beatrice. A miracle, exclaimed Benedict. Our hands are against our hearts. Come, I will marry you, Beatrice. You shall be my husband to save your life, was rejoinder. Benedict kissed her on the mouth, and here married them after he had married Claudio and Hero. How is Benedict, the married man? asked Don Pedro. Too happy to be made unhappy, said Benedict. Crack what jokes you will. As for you, Claudio, I had hoped to run you through the body. But as you are now, my kinsmen, live whole and love my cousin. My cudgel was in love with you, Benedict, until today, said Claudio. But come, come, let's dance, said Benedict. And dance they did. Not even the news of the capture of Don John was able to stop the flying feet of the happy lovers, for revenge is not sweet against an evil man who has failed to do harm. End of Much Ado About Nothing. Section 8 Romeo and Juliet of beautiful stories from Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare by Edith Nesbitt Romeo and Juliet Once upon a time there lived in Verona two great families named Montague and Capulet. They were both rich, and I suppose they were as sensible in most things as other rich people. But in one thing they were extremely silly. There was an old, old quarrel between the two families, and instead of making it up like reasonable folks, they made a sort of pet of their quarrel and would not let it die out. So that a Montague wouldn't speak to a Capulet if he met one in the street, nor a Capulet to a Montague. Or if they did speak it was to say rude and unpleasant things which often ended in a fight. And their relations and servants were just as foolish so that street fights and duels and uncomfortableness of that kind were always growing out of the Montague and Capulet quarrel. Now Lord Capulet, the head of that family, had a party, a grand supper and a dance, and he was so hospitable that he said anyone might come to it except, of course, the Montagues. But there was a young Montague named Romeo who very much wanted to be there because Rosaline, the lady he loved, had been asked. This lady had never been at all kind to him and he had no reason to love her because that he wanted to love somebody and as he hadn't seen the right lady he was obliged to love the wrong one. So to the Capulet's grand party he came with his friends Mercutio and Benvolio. Old Capulet welcomed him and his two friends very kindly and young Romeo moved about among the crowd of courtly folk dressed in their velvets and satins the men with jeweled sword-hills and collars and the ladies with brilliant gems on breasts and arms and stones of price set in their bright girdles. Romeo was in his best too and though he wore a black mask over his eyes and nose everyone could see by his mouth and his hair and the way he held his head that he was twelve times handsomer than anyone else in his room. Presently amid the dancers he saw a lady so beautiful and so lovable that from that moment he never again gave one thought to that Rosaline whom he had thought he loved and he looked at this other fair lady as she moved in the dance in her white satin and pearls and all the world seemed vain and worthless to him compared with her and he was saying this or something like it when Tybalt, Lady Capulet's nephew hearing his voice knew him to be Romeo. Tybalt, being very angry went at once to his uncle and told him how a Montague had come uninvited to the feast but old Capulet was too fine a gentleman to be discourteous to a young man under his own roof and he bade Tybalt be quiet but this young man only waited for a chance to quarrel with Romeo. In the meantime Romeo made his way to the fair lady and told her in sweet words that he loved her and kissed her. Just then her mother sent for her and then Romeo found out that the lady on whom Tybalt had set his heart's hopes was Juliet the daughter of Lord Capulet his sworn foe so he went away sorrowing indeed but loving her nonetheless. Then Juliet said to her nurse who is that gentleman that would not dance? His name is Romeo and a Montague the only son of your great enemy answered the nurse then Juliet went to her room and looked out of her window over the beautiful green gray garden where the moon was shining and Romeo was hidden in that garden among the trees because he could not bear to go right away without trying to see her again so she not knowing him to be there but she spoke her secret thought aloud and told the quiet garden how she loved Romeo and Romeo heard and was glad beyond measure hidden below he looked up and saw her fair face in the moonlight framed in the blossoming creepers that grew round her window and as he looked and listened he felt as though he had been carried away in a dream and set down by some magician in that beautiful and enchanted garden ah why are you called Romeo said Juliet since I love you what does it matter what you are called? call me but love and I'll be new baptized henceforth I never will be Romeo and I'll be your guide stepping into the full white moonlight from the shade of the cypresses and oleanders that had hidden him she was frightened at first but when she saw that it was Romeo himself and no stranger she too was glad and he standing in the garden below and she leaning from the window they spoke long together each one trying to find to make that pleasant talk that lovers use and the tale of all they said and the sweet music their voices made together is all set down in a golden book where you children may read it for yourselves some day and the time passed so quickly as it does for folk who love each other and are together that when the time came to part it seemed as though they had met but that moment and indeed they hardly knew how to part I will send to you tomorrow said Juliet and so at last with lingering and longing they said good night Juliet went into her room and a dark curtain hid her bright window Romeo went away through the still and dewy garden like a man in a dream the next morning very early Romeo went to Friar Lawrence a priest and telling him all the story begged him to marry him to Juliet without delay and this after some talk the priest consented to do so when Juliet sent her old nurse to Romeo that day to know what he wished to do the old woman took back a message that all was well and all things ready for the marriage of Juliet and Romeo on the next morning the young lovers were afraid to ask their parents consent to their marriage as young people should do because of this foolish old quarrel between the Capulets and the Montague's and Friar Lawrence was willing to help the young lovers secretly because he thought that when they were once married their parents might soon be told and that the match might put a happy end to the old quarrel so the next morning early Romeo and Juliet were married at Friar Lawrence's cell and parted with tears and kisses and Romeo promised to come that evening and the nurse got ready a rope ladder to let down from the window so that Romeo could climb up and talk to his dear wife quietly and alone but that very day a dreadful thing happened Tybalt, the young man who had been so vexed at Romeo's going to the Capulets feast, met him and his two friends Romeo and Benvolio in the street called Romeo a villain and asked him to fight Romeo had no wish to fight with Juliet's cousin but Mercutio drew his sword and he and Tybalt fought and Mercutio was killed when Romeo saw that this friend was dead he forgot everything except anger at the man who had killed him and he and Tybalt fought until Tybalt fell dead so on the very day of his wedding Romeo killed his dear Juliet's cousin and was sentenced to be banished poor Juliet and her young husband met that night indeed he climbed the rope ladder among the flowers and found her window but their meeting was a sad one bitter tears and hearts heavy because they could not know when they should meet again now Juliet's father who of course had no idea that she was married wished her to wed a gentleman named Paris and was so angry when she refused that she hurried away to ask Friar Lawrence what she should do he advised her to pretend to consent and then he said I will give you a draft that will make you seen to be dead for two days and then when they take you to church it will be to bury you and not to marry you they will put you in the vault thinking you are dead and before you wake up Romeo and I will be there to take care of you will you do this I will do it talk not to me of fear said Juliet and she went home and told her father she would marry Paris if she had spoken out and told her father the truth well then this would have been a different story Lord Capulet was very much pleased to get his own way and set about inviting his friends and getting the wedding feast ready everyone stayed up all night for there was a great deal to do and very little time to do it in Lord Capulet was anxious to get Juliet married because he saw she was very unhappy of course she was really fretting about her husband Romeo but her father thought she was grieving for the death of her cousin Tybalt and he thought marriage would give her something else to think about early in the morning the nurse came to call Juliet and to dress her for her wedding but she would not wake and at last the nurse cried out suddenly alas! alas! help! help! my lady's dead oh well a day that ever I was born Lady Capulet came running in and then Lord Capulet and Lord Paris the bridegroom there lay Juliet cold and white and lifeless and all their weeping could not wake her so it was a burying that day instead of a marrying meanwhile Friar Lawrence had sent a messenger to Mantua with a letter to Romeo telling him of all these things and all would have been well only the messenger was delayed could not go but ill news travels fast Romeo's servant who knew the secret of the marriage but not of Juliet's pretended death heard of her funeral and hurried to Mantua to tell Romeo how his young wife was dead and lying in the grave is it so cried Romeo then I will lie by Juliet's side to-night and he bought himself a poison and went straight back to Verona he hastened to the tomb where Juliet was lying it was not a grave but a vault he broke open the door and was just going down the stone steps that led to the vault where all the dead Capulets lay when he heard a voice behind him calling on him to stop it was the Count Paris who was to have married Juliet that very day how dare you come here and disturb the dead bodies of the Capulets you vile Montague cried Paris poor Romeo half mad with sorrow yet tried to answer gently you were told, said Paris that if you return to Verona you must die I must indeed, said Romeo I came here for nothing else good gentle youth leave me oh go before I do any harm I love you better than myself go leave me here then Paris said I defy you and I arrest you as a felon and Romeo in his anger and despair drew his sword they fought and Paris was killed as Romeo's sword pierced him Paris cried oh I am slain if thou be merciful open the tomb and lay me with Juliet and Romeo said in faith I will and he carried the dead man into the tomb and laid him by the dear Juliet's side then he kneeled by Juliet and spoke to her and held her in his arms and kissed her cold lips believing that she was dead while all the while she was coming nearer to the time of her awakening then he drank the poison and died beside his sweetheart and wife and now came Friar Lawrence when it was too late and saw all that had happened and then poor Juliet woke out of her sleep to find her husband and her friend and died beside her the noise of the fight had brought other folks to the place too and Friar Lawrence hearing them ran away and Juliet was left alone she saw the cup that had held the poison and knew how all had happened and since no poison was left for her she drew her Romeo's dagger and thrust it into her heart and so falling with her head on her Romeo's breast she died and here ends the story of these faithful and most unhappy lovers and when the old folks knew from Friar Lawrence of all that had befallen they sorrowed exceedingly and now seeing all the mischief and over the bodies of their dead children they clasped hands at last in friendship and forgiveness End of Section 8 Read by Dennis Sares in Modesto, California for LibriVox Fall 2007