Mary Macleon - The Shakespeare Story-Book

The task did not seem an impossible one, for Valentine, in the full glow of his unsuspicious nature, was ready to place unbounded trust in his friend, and in this way he gave into his hands the means by which he was betrayed. He told Proteus that, unknown to the Duke, her father, Silvia and he were betrothed – nay, more, that the hour of their marriage and the method of their flight were already arranged. Silvia was locked into her tower every night, but Valentine was to come with a ladder of ropes, by which he could climb up and help her to descend. That very evening was fixed for the carrying out of their scheme, and Valentine was now on his way to procure the ladder of ropes by which the attempt was to be made.

Proteus listened to this plot, and then in the depths of his meanness he determined to give Silvia’s father notice of what was planned, for he thought it would turn out greatly to his own advantage to do so. Valentine would be banished, and the way would then be left open for himself to try to win Silvia. True, her father favoured another suitor, Sir Thurio, but Proteus had little fear of that dull gentleman, and he thought it would be very easy to thwart his proceedings with some sly trick.

Proteus lost no time in carrying out his scheme, and it was immediately successful. With feigned reluctance, and under the hypocritical pretence that he was only acting from a sense of duty, Proteus repeated to the Duke of Milan what Valentine had told him. He made the Duke promise that he would not reveal his treachery, and pointed out how he could easily entrap Valentine as if the discovery had been made by himself. The Duke acted on this advice. He pretended to ask Valentine’s counsel as to the best way of winning a lady to be his wife, whose friends kept her securely shut up. Valentine at once suggested the method of escape which he was hoping to use in his own case.

“A ladder quaintly made of cords,” he said, “with hooks at the end, which you can throw up, and by which you can scale the tower.”

“But how shall I convey the ladder?” asked the Duke.

“It will be so light, my lord, that you can easily carry it under your cloak,” said Valentine.

“Will a cloak as long as yours serve the purpose?”

“Why, any cloak will serve, my lord.”

“How shall I wear it?” said the Duke. “Pray let me feel your cloak upon me.”

Valentine could scarcely refuse, and the next moment the Duke had drawn forth from the cloak not only a letter addressed to Silvia, saying that Valentine would set her free that night, but also the ladder of ropes that was to be used for that purpose.

Then the Duke’s anger blazed forth.

“Go, base intruder! Overweening slave!” he exclaimed; and in words of the most contemptuous wrath he ordered Valentine to leave his Court and his territories, and never to be seen in them again on pain of death.

The Duke of Milan had scarcely left Valentine, and the latter was still dazed by the calamity which had befallen him, when Proteus brought him word that the proclamation for his banishment had been made public.

Silvia, however, was still true to him. With sobs and tears, she implored pardon for him on her knees, but her father was relentless. If Valentine were found again in his dominions he should be put to death. Moreover, he was so enraged at his daughter’s daring to plead for her young lover that he commanded she should be kept in close prison.

The crafty Proteus counselled Valentine to depart at once, bidding him not to lose hope, pretending the greatest sympathy with his love affairs, and promising that if he sent letters they should be safely conveyed to Silvia. Having thus hurried Valentine away with the utmost despatch, Proteus returned to the Duke of Milan, to let him know that his orders had been obeyed.

“My daughter is in great grief about his going,” said the Duke.

“A little time will kill that grief, my lord.”

“So I believe, but Sir Thurio here does not think so,” said the Duke, and he then went on to consult Proteus as to the best way of winning Silvia’s affections from the absent Valentine, in order that she might transfer them to Sir Thurio.

It was agreed among them that the best plan would be for Proteus to speak all he could in dispraise of Valentine, while at the same time he was to speak in praise of Sir Thurio. For this purpose Proteus was to be allowed free access to Silvia, who, for his friend’s sake, would be glad to see him.

Proteus agreed to this, but said that Thurio himself must do something to win the lady’s favour. He suggested that he should try to please her with poetry and music, and that he should bring musicians, and sing a serenade by night under her chamber window. Thurio said he would put the plan in practice that very night; he knew some gentlemen well skilled in music, and he had a song written that would be just suitable. As for the Duke, he was delighted with the suggestion, and bade them set to work at once to carry it into effect.

Meanwhile, in Verona, Julia was sorrowing for the absence of Proteus, and at last her longing to see him again grew so keen that she determined to follow him to Milan. Her waiting-maid, Lucetta, who had plenty of shrewd common-sense, tried to persuade her not to go, but Julia would listen to no reason.

“I feel as if I were dying with starvation until I see him again,” she said. “If you only knew what it is to love anyone, you would know how utterly useless it is to try to argue about it in words.”

As a young and beautiful lady travelling alone would be likely to attract a good deal of notice, for safety’s sake Julia decided to adopt the dress of a page, and she bade Lucetta procure for her all that was necessary to play the part properly. In vain Lucetta tried to warn her that perhaps Proteus would not be pleased to see her. Many men were fickle and changeable, she said; they often pretended much more affection than they really felt.

Julia indignantly replied that some men might, but not her Proteus. Her trust in his fidelity was not to be shaken.

“His words are bonds, his oaths cannot be broken, his love is sincere, his thoughts are stainless, his tears are pure messengers straight from heaven, his heart is as free from fraud as heaven from earth!” she cried.

“Pray heaven he prove so when you come to him!” said the shrewd waiting-woman.

So the faithful, loving Julia set out on her journey to Milan. Alas, poor lady, she little knew what a sorry welcome was awaiting her!

Proteus soon found that his scheme for winning Silvia met with small success. He had already been false to Valentine, and now he intended to be false to Sir Thurio; but his treachery was likely to be of little avail. Silvia was far too good and true to be corrupted by his worthless gifts. When he protested his loyalty to her, she twitted him with his falsehood to his absent friend; when he praised her beauty, she bade him remember how he had been forsworn in breaking faith with Julia, whom he loved. But, notwithstanding all her rebuffs and rebukes, the more she spurned Proteus the greater grew his admiration for her; and though he knew well how basely he was acting both to Valentine and Julia, he had not enough strength of mind to turn aside from the temptation.

That night, in accordance with what they had arranged, Sir Thurio brought a band of musicians, and they sang a charming serenade outside the Duke of Milan’s palace, under Silvia’s chamber. This is the pretty song they sang: