Leontes, in order to avoid the reproach of tyranny which he feared his
people had only too much reason to fasten on him, decreed that the
Queen should be openly tried in a court of justice, and herself appear
in person to answer the charges he had seen fit to bring against her.
He had despatched messengers to the Temple of Apollo, at Delphos, to
consult the Oracle, and on their return the trial was appointed to
take place. The messengers had brought back the answer of the Oracle
in a sealed cover, and at the proper moment during the trial the seals
would be broken and the verdict would be read in open court.
Hermione’s answer to the accusations brought against her was an
indignant denial. She declared that she had never had for Polixenes
more affection than was right and fitting for any honourable lady to
have for her guest, such an affection as Leontes himself had commanded
her to bestow on the friend who had loved him from infancy. She had
never conspired with Camillo against Leontes; all she knew was that
Camillo was an honest man, and she was entirely ignorant why he had
left the court.
The only effect these words had on Leontes was to make him more
violent than before. He told his wife that as she had already been
past all shame, so she was now past all truth, and he threatened her
with the punishment of death.
“Sir, spare your threats,” said Hermione with noble dignity. “The
spectre you would frighten me with, I seek. To me life is no great
thing to be desired. The crown and comfort of my life--your favour--is
lost, for I feel it to be gone, though I know not how it went. My
second joy--my first-born child--I am debarred from his presence, like
one infectious. My third comfort--my dear little innocent baby--has
been torn from me. I have myself been branded with disgrace on every
hand. And, lastly, I have been hurried here to this place, in the open
court, while I am still weak and ill, and unfitted to appear. Now,
my liege, tell me what blessings I have here while I am alive, that
I should fear to die? Therefore proceed. But yet, hear this: mistake
me not, I do not beg for life; I prize it not a straw. But for mine
honour, I will not have that condemned without any proof except what
your jealous surmises awake. My lords, I refer me to the Oracle.
Apollo be my judge!”
The councillors present declared that Hermione’s request was
altogether just, and ordered the messengers from Delphos to be
summoned. The latter then handed to the officer of the court the
sealed letter from the Oracle, which he forthwith opened and read in
the presence of all.
The Oracle spoke thus:
“Hermione is innocent; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject;
Leontes a jealous tyrant; the innocent babe is his daughter; and the
King shall live without an heir if that which is lost be not found.”
“Now blessed be the great Apollo!” shouted all the lords.
“Praised!” cried Hermione.
“Hast thou read truth?” demanded Leontes.
“Ay, my lord, even so as it is here set down,” said the officer of the
court.
“There is no truth at all in the Oracle,” exclaimed Leontes. “The
trial shall proceed; this is mere falsehood.”
But at that instant came a terrible shock to the headstrong King. A
servant entered with the mournful tidings that the young Prince, the
noble boy Mamillius, was dead. The separation from his beloved mother,
and dread as to her possible fate, had so wrought on the imagination
of the sensitive child that he had died of grief.
On hearing of this new calamity, Hermione’s fortitude gave way, and
she fell fainting to the ground.
Leontes’s stubborn spirit began to quail. He saw in this blow the
wrath of heaven against his injustice. He admitted that he had too
much believed his suspicions; he ordered that the Queen should be
carried away, and every remedy tenderly applied to restore her to life.
In his new terror he hastily began to make good resolutions. He would
be reconciled with Polixenes; he would woo the Queen again; he would
recall Camillo, whom he forthwith proclaimed a man of mercy and truth,
for by his piety and humanity he had saved the life of Polixenes when
Leontes would have poisoned him.
But these good resolves came too late. Even as Leontes was speaking,
Paulina rushed back into the court, weeping and wringing her hands.
With burning words that went straight to the truth, she hurled the
bitterest reproaches at the King, denouncing his tyranny and worse
than childish jealousy, which had led to one evil after another. He
had betrayed Polixenes, attempted to poison Camillo’s honour, cast
forth to the crows his baby daughter, had indirectly brought about the
death of the young Prince. But last, beyond all these things--worst of
all--the Queen was dead!
“O, thou tyrant!” she cried, almost distracted with grief. “Do not
repent these things, for they are heavier than all thy woes can stir;
therefore betake thee to nothing but despair. A thousand knees, ten
thousand years together, naked, fasting, upon a barren mountain, and
still winter, in storm perpetual, could not move the gods to look on
thee with pity.”
“Go on, go on,” murmured the conscience-stricken Leontes. “I have
deserved all tongues to talk their bitterest.”
Paulina, seeing that Leontes was sincere in his repentance, now
softened, and in her impulsive fashion asked pardon for her rash and
impetuous words. But Leontes was honest enough to own that she had
spoken nothing but truth, and he would not let her retract what she
had said.
“Prithee, bring me to the dead bodies of my wife and son,” he said.
“One grave shall be for both; on it shall appear the cause of their
death, for my perpetual shame. Once a day I’ll visit the chapel where
they lie, and tears shed there shall be my recreation.”
So the unhappy King strove in vain by a tardy penance to atone for the
wrongs he had done.