Iachimo answered that Leonatus and about a dozen of his friends in Rome had joined together to buy a present for the Emperor. He, as their agent, had purchased this in France; it was plate of rare device, and jewels of rich and exquisite form. They were of great value, and being a stranger in Britain, Iachimo was anxious to have them in safe keeping. Might he beg of Imogen to take them under her protection?
“Willingly; and I will pledge mine honour for their safety,” responded Imogen. “Since my lord hath interest in them, I will keep them under my own protection, in my bedchamber.”
“They are in a trunk, attended by my men,” said Iachimo. “I will make bold to send them to you, only for this night. I must leave to-morrow. Therefore, if you please to greet your lord with writing, do it to-night.”
“I will write,” said Imogen. “Send your trunk to me; it shall be safely kept and faithfully yielded to you. You are very welcome.”
How Iachimo won his Wager
The trunk sent by Iachimo was duly placed for security in Imogen’s chamber, but it was no plate or jewels that it contained. That night, when the Princess slept, a lighted taper still burning in the room, and near at hand the book she had been reading ere she fell asleep, the lid of the trunk was lifted, and a man stepped out. It was Iachimo. With rapid glance he surveyed the room, carefully studying every detail, what pictures there were, where the window was placed, what was the adornment of the bed, the arras, the figures and the story represented. But even this was not sufficient for his purpose. He stealthily approached the bed, and while Imogen lay wrapt in deep sleep, he slipped from her arm the bracelet which Leonatus had given her, noting at the same time, on the pure whiteness of her skin, a little mole with five spots, like the crimson spots in the bottom of a cowslip. Next he took up the book she had been reading, looked carefully at the title, and observed the exact passage in the tale where she had left off. Then, satisfied with his ignoble work, he went back into the trunk. The lid shut with a spring, and once more there was apparently nothing in the room to disturb the innocent serenity of the sleeping Princess.
In the morning early came an unwelcome suitor. Cloten, the Queen’s son, had been advised to try the effects of music on the hard-hearted lady, who unceasingly repulsed his advances. He therefore ordered some musicians to attend outside her chamber window, and sing a charming little “aubade”—that is, a song of the nature of a serenade, but sung at dawn to waken the sleeper instead of during the night. The song chosen was an especially pretty one, with a wonderfully sweet air, and Cloten hoped it would not fail to touch Imogen’s heart.
“Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, And Phœbus ’gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise!”
Imogen liked the pretty music, but she was sorry not to be able to thank Cloten properly for his trouble, for she disliked him as heartily as ever, and, vexed by his importunity, was forced to tell him so. Cloten tried to persuade her to give up her husband, saying that the contract which she pretended with that “base wretch, one bred of alms, and fostered with cold dishes, with scraps of the Court,” was no contract, and that the marriage could easily be dissolved.
Imogen, furious that this contemptible creature should thus dare to insult the noble Leonatus, indignantly heaped scorn on Cloten, telling him that he was too base even to be her husband’s groom; that he would be too much honoured, and be worthy of envy, if he were styled the under hangman of his kingdom. In short, she ended, the meanest garment that Leonatus had ever worn was dearer in her eyes than a hundred thousand men such as Cloten.