Leontes, King of Sicilia, and Polixenes, King of Bohemia, had always
been the closest and dearest friends. Trained together in childhood,
and as boys never apart, a deep-rooted affection had sprung up between
them, and when the necessities of their royal birth and dignities made
separation necessary, by calling each to rule over his own kingdom,
they still kept up the warmest intercourse by gifts, letters, and
loving embassies. Both in due course married. Hermione, wife of
Leontes, was a noble and beautiful woman, and they had one child, a
princely boy called Mamillius. Polixenes, in Bohemia, had also one
boy, Florizel, within a month of the same age as Mamillius. When
the children were five years old, Polixenes came to pay a visit to
Leontes, and for many months he remained in Sicilia, renewing the
happy days of boyhood with his old friend, and made cordially welcome
by Hermione for the sake of her husband.
But at last the time came when Polixenes must turn his steps homeward;
he had been long absent from Bohemia, and matters of state required
his presence. Leontes pressed him warmly to remain, even if it were
only for a few days longer, but Polixenes was firm. Then Leontes bade
his wife try her powers of persuasion. Glad to please her husband,
and liking their visitor for his own sake, Hermione merrily announced
that she absolutely refused to let Polixenes go. It was useless for
him to pretend excuses; Bohemia was getting on very well without him.
Polixenes must learn, she said, that a lady’s “Verily” was just as
potent as a lord’s; and she had said “Verily” he must stay, either
as her prisoner or her guest--he could take his choice, whichever he
preferred, but one of them he certainly should be.
Polixenes could not be so churlish as to resist such a sweet pleader,
and accordingly he said he would stay for another week. But no sooner
was this point settled than a strange fit of jealous rage took
possession of Leontes. To his unhappy temper it seemed that Hermione
was showing far too much affection to this friend of his, and he was
enraged that Polixenes had consented to do for her what he had refused
to do for himself. With growing wrath he watched their light-hearted
cordiality, for Hermione was gay and joyous by nature, and her
innocent playfulness was always ready to sparkle forth in merry words.
Instead of trying to banish his sullen suspicions Leontes chose to
keep brooding over them, and presently they overmastered his reason
to such an extent that he confided them to one of his lords, called
Camillo, and ordered him to find means of poisoning Polixenes.
In vain did the honest old courtier try to argue with Leontes, begging
him to put aside such delusions, for they were most dangerous, and
protesting there was no truth whatever in them. Leontes refused to
listen to reason, and Camillo thought the best plan was to appear to
yield. He therefore said he would undertake to get rid of Polixenes,
provided that after he was gone, Leontes would promise to treat his
Queen exactly the same as formerly. This, Leontes replied, it was his
intention to do.
Camillo, however, instead of poisoning Polixenes, warned him of the
danger he was in, and the King of Bohemia, already put on his guard
by the frowning looks which met him in all directions, determined to
leave at once. Knowing that it would be impossible to continue in
the service of Leontes when the latter discovered what he had done,
Camillo accepted an offer from Polixenes to join his followers, and
the two left Sicilia that very night.
Leontes, hearing of their hasty departure, was more convinced than
ever in his suspicions, and in spite of the indignant remonstrances
of all his lords, his next step was to order the imprisonment of his
noble Queen. Not long after she was shut up in prison, Hermione had a
little baby girl, but in his fury against his wife Leontes refused to
see his little daughter, or to treat her in any way as a child of his
own.
All the Court ladies were devoted to their beloved Queen, and not one
of them but believed in her innocence, and was indignant at the cruel
way in which she was treated. But not contented with simply pitying
her, one of them, Paulina, wife of the lord Antigonus, determined to
make an effort to get justice done. She thought that perhaps at the
sight of the innocent little child, the King’s stubborn heart might
relent. Paulina was a woman of firm and dauntless character. She went
to the prison, calmly carried off the infant in the face of some
feeble objections from the gaoler, then, proceeding to the palace,
she insisted on making her way into the presence of the King. Leontes
ordered her to be removed, but the spirited lady drew herself up with
such an air of defiance that for a moment no man dared lay hands on
her.
“Of my own accord I will go, but first I’ll do my errand,” she said
haughtily. Then, kneeling before the King, she placed the child at
his feet. “The good Queen--for she is good--hath brought you forth a
daughter,” she said. “Here it is; she commends it to your blessing.”
But her appeal was useless. With uncontrolled fury Leontes bade her be
gone, and to take the child with her. Paulina cared nothing for his
wild torrent of abuse, but unflinchingly expressed her opinion that he
was acting in a most senseless manner, and said that his cruel usage
of the Queen would make him scandalous to the world.
The outspoken lady was at last hustled away, but she left the child
behind her, bidding the King look to it. Paulina’s husband, Antigonus,
had taken up the infant in pity, and now Leontes turned on him with
fury, accusing him of having set on his wife, and ordering him to take
away the child and kill it.
[Illustration: “She commends it to your blessing.”]
Antigonus respectfully denied that he had set on his wife, and the
other lords confirmed what he said, and further besought on their
knees that Leontes would relent from his horrible purpose. Softening
a little, Leontes grudgingly consented that the child might live, but
he forthwith commanded Antigonus, on his allegiance, to carry it away
to some remote and desert place quite out of his dominions, and there
leave it, without more mercy, to its own protection and the favour of
the climate. Chance might nurse it, or end it.
Antigonus, though sore at heart, did as he had sworn to the King he
would do, and carried away the child. That night, as he was in the
ship that conveyed them away from the domain of Sicilia, there came
to him a dream. The spirit of Hermione stood before him, clad in pure
white robes, her eyes flashing fire. When their fury was spent, she
spoke thus:
“Good Antigonus, since Fate, against thy better disposition, had made
thy person for the thrower-out of my poor babe, according to thine
oath, there are places remote enough in Bohemia; there weep, and leave
it crying. And because the babe is counted lost for ever, prithee call
it Perdita. For this ungentle business, put on thee by my lord, thou
never more shalt see thy wife Paulina.”
And so, wailing, the vision melted into the air.
In accordance with this dream, Antigonus carried the babe into the
country of Bohemia. Unable to weep, but his heart bleeding for pity at
the cruel deed which his oath enjoined on him, he placed it tenderly
on the ground. As he turned away he was pursued by a savage bear,
which made him take to instant flight. He had not, therefore, the
happiness of knowing that the little child found a speedy preserver,
for within a few minutes an aged shepherd, in search of some strayed
sheep, came that way.
“Good luck, what have we here?” he cried in astonishment. “Mercy on
us, a bairn!--a very pretty bairn! A boy or a girl I wonder. A pretty
one--a very pretty one! I’ll take it up for pity; yet I’ll tarry till
my son come. He hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!”
The shepherd’s son, coming up to wonder over the strange discovery,
soon noticed there was a heap of gold hidden away in the costly
wrappings of the little foundling, and rejoicing in their luck, the
rustics carried Perdita home to their shepherd’s cottage.