Mary Macleon - The Shakespeare Story-Book

Unknown to Proteus, there was another listener, of whom he little recked.

Julia, on arriving at Milan, had made inquiries for her faithless lover, and the landlord of the house where she lodged had brought her to this spot to see the man for whom she had been inquiring. Now, in her page’s costume, she was a witness of her lover’s inconstancy. Proteus had sworn a thousand vows of love to her, and yet here he was plainly playing court to another lady! Poor Julia! Sweet as the music was, it had little charm for her; she heard only the jarring discord of her lover’s false words.

“Doth this Sir Proteus that we speak of often come to visit this gentlewoman?” she asked her host.

“I tell you what Launce, his man, told me – he loves her beyond all measure,” replied the host.

“Peace, stand aside, they are going,” said Julia, stepping further back into the shadow; and she heard Proteus say:

“Sir Thurio, do not fear; I will plead your cause so well that you will own my cunning wit is matchless.”

“Where do we meet?” asked Sir Thurio, as he prepared to depart with the musicians.

“At St. Gregory’s Well.”

“Farewell!”

And Proteus was left alone as Silvia appeared on the balcony of her window above.

“Madam, good even to your ladyship,” said Proteus.

“I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who was that who spoke?”

“One, lady, whom – if you knew his true heart – you would quickly learn to know by his voice.”

“Sir Proteus, as I take it.”

“Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.”

“What is your will?”

“That I may fulfil yours.”

“You have your wish. My will is this: that you immediately go home to bed, you subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man! Do you think I am so shallow, so witless, as to be won by your flattery – you, who have deceived so many with your vows! Return, return, and make amends to your own lady. As for me, I swear by this moon that I am so far from granting your request that I despise you for your wrongful suit, and could chide myself even for the time I spend in talking to you.”

“I grant that I did love a lady,” said Proteus, “but she is dead.”

“Supposing that she is, yet Valentine, your friend, is alive, to whom you yourself are witness that I am betrothed. Are you not ashamed to wrong him with this persistency?”

“I hear likewise that Valentine is dead.”

“Imagine, then, that I am also dead; for, be assured, my love is buried in his grave.”

“Sweet lady, let me take it from the earth.”

“Go to your own lady’s grave, and call her love thence, or, at least, bury your own in hers.”

“Madam, if your heart is so pitiless, yet grant me your picture, for the sake of my love. For since you yourself are devoted elsewhere, I am but a shadow, and to your shadow will I give my love.”

“I am very loath to be your idol, sir, but since it suits your falsehood to admire shadows, send to me in the morning, and I will send the picture. And so, good rest!”

“As wretches have overnight who wait for execution in the morning,” said Proteus.

Poor Julia overheard all this conversation between her faithless suitor and the lady Silvia. It was impossible to doubt his falsehood any longer, yet so true and loving was her nature that she could not harden her heart to go away and never see him again. As it happened, Sir Proteus was staying at the very house in Milan where she had found a lodging. His thoughts just then were entirely absorbed with his latest fancy, and it never occurred to him to connect the stranger lad, who called himself Sebastian, with his own lady Julia at Verona. But something about the pretty boy attracted his liking. Proteus’s servant Launce was a silly clown, whose half-witted blunders were always bringing his master into ridicule, and, judging from Sebastian’s face and bearing that he was well-born and trustworthy, Proteus took him into his service as page.

Those were dark days for the lady Silvia: her lover Valentine banished, she herself kept in close imprisonment by her angry and tyrannical father, threatened with marriage to a suitor whom she hated and despised. What prospect of release could she look forward to?

But she was not without courage, and she was not without hope.

At the Court of Milan there was one friend on whom she could rely – the kind Sir Eglamour, a gentleman, valiant, wise, compassionate, well-accomplished; one who had himself known sorrow, for his lady and true love had died, and his heart still mourned her memory.

Silvia told this gentleman that she was anxious to go to Valentine – to Mantua – where she had heard he was staying, and because the ways were dangerous she begged him to accompany her, in whose faith and honour she trusted. Pitying her distress, and knowing that the Duke was acting cruelly in trying to force his daughter into an unworthy marriage, Sir Eglamour willingly agreed, and it was arranged they should start that evening.

Sir Eglamour had scarcely left Silvia, when the messenger arrived from Proteus to claim the portrait which Silvia had promised. And who should Proteus have chosen for this errand but his new young page, Sebastian, whom he little thought was his own dear lady Julia in disguise. Not only this, but he also entrusted a ring to Sebastian to give to Silvia, and this ring was no other than the one which Julia had given to him when they parted, and which he had received with so many protestations of affection and vows of fidelity.

Julia, or Sebastian, as we ought now to call her, was nearly heart-broken at the task imposed on her, but she carried it through faithfully. And in one way she met with her reward. For the noble lady Silvia showed no pleasure at this proof of Proteus’s affection, only scorn and indignation at his treachery to his own love. She gave her portrait, as she had promised it, but she tore up his letter in contempt, without even reading it; and as for the ring, she refused to accept it.

“Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring,” said the pretty lad Sebastian.

“The more shame for him that he sends it me!” said Silvia warmly. “For I have heard him say a thousand times that Julia gave it him at his departure. Though his false finger have profaned the ring, mine shall never do his Julia so much wrong,” she declared.

Julia was deeply touched and grateful at Silvia’s generous sympathy, and still more so when the lady went on to question her about Julia, and to say how much she felt for her and pitied her.

“Alas, poor lady, desolate and left! I could weep for her,” she said. “Here, youth, there is my purse. I give you this for your sweet mistress’s sake, because you love her. Farewell!”

“And she shall thank you for it if ever you know her,” cried Julia, as Silvia retired with her attendants. “A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful! I hope my master’s suit will be but cold, since she respects my mistress’s love so much.”

And somewhat comforted she returned to Proteus.

Silvia fled that night, as she had arranged with Sir Eglamour. The news soon reached her father’s ears, and he immediately set out in pursuit of her, the party also including Sir Thurio, Proteus, and Sebastian. But in crossing a dangerous forest Sir Eglamour and Silvia had been seized by a band of outlaws. Sir Eglamour contrived to make his escape, but the outlaws were conveying Silvia to their chief, when Proteus came up with them and with some difficulty rescued their captive.