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 THE 
 
 SHAKESPEAREAN 
 WORLD. 
 
 AN INTERPRETATION 
 
 "A WINTER'S TALE." 
 
 Mks. H. Kate Richmond-West. 
 
The Shakespearean World. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 (,(. 
 
 Il^TERPEETATIO:^ 
 
 OT 
 
 A WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 EDITED BT 
 
 MRS. H. KATE RICHMOND%EST, 
 
 Room 24, Times Building. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 KNIGHT & LEONARD, PRINTERS. 
 
 1882. 
 
•\x 
 
 Copyright, 1882, 
 Bt MRS. H. KATE RICHMOND-WEST. 
 
 \ 
 
mTBODUOTIOE^. 
 
 rriHE ever-growing influence of Shakespeare's genius, 
 -*- the sympathy it secures from all classes of people, 
 the 230wer it infuses into heart and brain of those who 
 enter into the Shakespearean world, fill us with longing 
 to lead humanity to its heritage; to make as familiar as 
 household words the breathings of this mighty spirit ; trust- 
 ing some imagination may be kindled, some life enriched, 
 through these interpretations of the great genius, William 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 This work is the outgrowth of such successes within 
 smaller circles that we feel sure an effort to reach the 
 masses will be keenly appreciated. The strongest impulse 
 to this course came from a group of illiterate people, a 
 class of fifty colored men and women. Their earnest 
 attention and marvellous appreciation of each story as it 
 was unfolded to them, and the direct knowledge of the 
 uplifting and joy those hours brought them, proved how 
 universal is the craving for food that shall satisfy the 
 busy working throng; lifting them above the cares of the 
 day into a new world, where they are strengthened and 
 refreshed. 
 
 Simply, then, this publication may be considered an 
 introduction into the Shakespearean World: — a world 
 where humanity never disappoints you; where all the 
 forms are truth and nature, which as long as literature 
 
shall last will feed the hungry soul. Count it a priceless 
 advantage to become a member of this exalted community; 
 to quit your politics, your shop, your kitchen and your 
 ball-room, and enter at will the royal palace, and the 
 shepherd's hut. 
 
 Humanity ordinarily lacks the opportunity to meet 
 with a sublime soul: yet through the power of Shake- 
 speare any one of us can illumine a quiet hour with the 
 companionship of souls more choice than we would meet 
 with in experience if we lived for centuries. 
 
 And this is the privilege of humanity — not narrowed 
 to a class, but the common heritage of all. 
 
A WIE-TEE^S TALE. 
 
 rr^HIS pastoral drama is supposed, with reasons almost 
 -'- conclusive, to be among the latest works of Shake- 
 speare. It is written in the poet's ripest style, and shows 
 that knowledge of the inner lives of men and women which 
 must be the result of experience. It is not as well known 
 as the plays which the stage of to-day represents, but it 
 is crammed with excellences, rich in characterization, and 
 varied in its scenic effects. One must know it well before 
 its full beauty can be caught; and each being of the drama 
 should become a familiar friend. 
 
 In the opening scenes we are introduced into the court 
 of Leontes, King of Sicilia, and the fair Queen Hermione, 
 who shares his throne, and nas the undivided love of her 
 people. A pure, sweet woman — "not too bright nor good 
 for human nature's daily food"; from whose life such 
 repose and dignity, such purity and sweetness, such wife 
 hood and motherhood and blessed friendship breathe forth, 
 as might elevate and crown with beauty the women of 
 God's earth. 
 
 The mighty magician weaves his spell around us, and 
 we are in the enchanted circle. Our real walls, poor or 
 rich though they be, fade away; and stately arches, and 
 rich tapestry, -and all that fertile imagination can create 
 for us, lend their beauty to the scene. King Leontes and 
 the fair Hermione are urging a lengthened visit from 
 
6 
 
 their guest Polixenes, the King of Bohemia. Polixenes 
 and Leontes have been friends from early boyhood, but for 
 some years have been separated; still keeping up an 
 " interchange of letters and loving embassies." At the 
 moment of our introduction to King Polixenes he is 
 making his adieus at the close of a nine months' visit. 
 Leontes urges a lo^iger stay, and, failing to persuade his 
 friend, appeals to his queen. "Tongue-tied, our queen? 
 Speak you." Thus urged, Hermione adds entreaty to 
 entreaty. . Her words, playful but persistent, overcome 
 the decision of King Polixenes, and he gracefully yields 
 to her persuasion. 
 
 At the moment when Queen Hermione has won the 
 consent of King Polixenes to lengthen his visit, there 
 bursts into a devouring flame the jealousy which has been 
 smouldering in Leontes' heart. This outburst falls upon 
 the happy scene as the hail-storm in a soft June day — 
 sudden, black, threatening, then tearing all before it. 
 
 The passion of jealousy is ugly, distorted and low; and 
 it poisons the heart and brain of its victim. It has been 
 said by some of the critics that this jealousy of King 
 ^/eontes was unnatural, too abrupt. But the careful 
 - ^ader is carried into the past of each of these human 
 ves. This is but the moment of its birth in the soul. 
 Che spark was lighted long ago; and now, fanned to a 
 flame, it blazes beyond control. Who of us can be con- 
 scious of all the power within us for good or evil? How 
 much lies dormant until the awakening? During this 
 nine months' visitation doubtless the King has felt his 
 guest more than once in the way — tired perhaps of the 
 divided attention of the Queen. One may easily conceive 
 of a soul, to whom jealousy is possible, finding more or 
 
less to feed upon during this lengthened visit. Besides, 
 we all recognize the fact that we have no right to expect 
 reason where jealousy reigns. The light of the soul goes 
 out in its darkness. 
 
 Leontes bids Hermione to entertain Polixenes in the 
 garden. With his eyes following them (a distorted vision 
 now), fondling his boy, Mamillius, his words lay bare to 
 us his secret soul. There are no hidden places — ^ there 
 is no reserve in nature. The mighty portrayer gives us 
 truth. It may be truth, lofty and sublime; it may be 
 virtue, magnanimity, loyalty, love; it may be vice and 
 lowest passions, but he gives us truth. The innocent, 
 unsuspecting Queen and the loyal friend, all unconscious, 
 walk together in the sunshine. 
 
 In the frenzy of his jealousy, Leontes attacks his coun- 
 sellor, Camillo, who maintains his own calm center, and 
 stands firmly on the basis of his trust in himself and those 
 about him. Utterly unprepared for this condition of Leon- 
 tes' mind, Camillo fails to catch the spirit of his innuendos. 
 Unconscious of the king's interpretation of his words, 
 Camillo reveals clearly to us the simplicity of his noble 
 spirit ; and his utterances become torches to illumine for 
 us the dark and devious methods of this self-feeding pas- 
 sion, jealousy: 
 
 Leontes. " Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer." 
 Cam. " Tou had much ado to make his anchor hold, 
 
 When you cast out it still came home." 
 Leontes. "Didst note it?" 
 
 The bitterness in Leontes' sharp tone, not the question, 
 causes Camillo to give him a sudden look of inquiry, then 
 to answer calmly: 
 
8 
 
 "He would not stay at your petitions; made 
 His business more material." 
 Another flash, from Leontes: 
 
 " Didst perceive it?" 
 See how marvellously the brain process is revealed to us 
 in the reflection which follows, which is a communion with 
 himself, and must be so understood : 
 
 "They're here with me already, whispering, 
 rounding, 
 Sicilia is a so-forth! 'Tis far gone 
 When I shall gust it last." 
 He infers from Camillo's simple reply that the court has 
 observed and commented upon the relation of Polisenes and 
 Hermione, and has given himself already a name so odious 
 that the very thought of it still more inflames his passion. 
 From this moment every word from Camillo only adds fuel 
 to the flame. In spite of the false imputations of the king, 
 though charged with cowardice, dishonesty and treachery, 
 Camillo still preserves his dignified equipoise. He boldly 
 answers all the accusations in one stupendous sentence, full 
 of virtue and wisdom, and great in the patience which 
 means all that can be gleaned from the word obedience. 
 The king, as remote from the regions where Camillo 
 dwells as Camillo dwells remote from him, now puts into 
 words his whole thought, and clothes it in such form as fits 
 its substance. Camillo, roused by this slander of his queen, 
 rises now to the sublime: 
 
 " I would not be a stander-by to hear 
 My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 My present vengeance taken." 
 Then melting into compassion for the king's ungrounded 
 calumny, firmly rebukes him: 
 
9 
 
 " Shrew my heart, 
 You never spoke what did become you less, 
 Than this; which to reiterate were sin 
 As deep as that, though true." 
 Leontes finds in these words only new food for his wrath, 
 and pours out a torrent of vile suggestions upon the alarmed 
 Camillo. 
 
 Doubting now the sanity of his king, his mind is full of 
 questions as to the best method of dealing with him. As 
 Leontes reaches the climax of his thought and purpose, 
 which is the murder of Polixenes, he says: 
 " Thou mightst bespice a cup, 
 To give mine enemy a lasting wink." 
 Camillo is prepared for him and assents, to calm the 
 king, to close the interview, to think alone, and consider 
 the best course for the good of all. Here Leontes leaves 
 him. At this critical moment Camillo's heart yearns toward 
 his imperilled queen. His soul is overflowing with a great 
 sympathy for her, whicii he unselfishly pours out before 
 considering his own horrible position: 
 " miserable lady ! But for me. 
 What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner 
 Of good Polixenes ; and my ground to do 't 
 Is the obedience to a master; one, 
 Who in rebellion with himself, will have 
 All that are his so too. To do this deed 
 Promotion' follows. If I could find example 
 Of thousands that had struck anointed kings 
 And flourished after, I'd not do 't. But since 
 Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one. 
 Let villainy itself forswear 't." 
 What sermon upon the power of virtue could touch the 
 
10 
 
 soul more keenly than this dignity of virtuous thought, 
 lighting us through the darkness like a torch? This is but 
 one instance. The Shakespearean world is crowded with 
 such examples of virtue glowing triumphantly over the 
 depths of vice. 
 
 But the play moves on. King Polixenes, who is sup- 
 posed to have met the King Leontes in the ante-chamber, 
 wonders at the brusqueness of his manner, and ponders on 
 the cause. In this condition of mind he comes to Camillo 
 and questions him. When urged to the bitter truth, Camillo 
 confesses Leontes' suspicion that Polixenes " has touched 
 his queen forbiddenly." Polixenes utters these memorable 
 words : 
 
 " then my best blood turn 
 To an infected jelly; and my name 
 Be yoked with his that did betray the best." 
 
 Camillo urges Polixenes, for the sake of the queen, for 
 both their sakes, to flee the court and seek Bohemia, and 
 without delay prepares for their escape. 
 
 This is the position of affairs at the close of the first 
 act. Of Hermione, the central figure of the play, the 
 grand, womanly woman, we have seen as yet but little; 
 still the impress is strong, and she has our heart sympathy 
 at once. Fair, beautiful, heroic queen! Would your spirit 
 could be spread abroad, that every mother, wife and daugh- 
 ter might catch but a breath, and rejoice to claim you as 
 their, own. It is the feminine element in Shakespeare 
 which, beyond all others, insures the immortality of his 
 genius. For as woman is closer to nature than man, so a 
 literature that would endure must combine the masculine 
 and feminine. ^ 
 
 ; This is the one play of the great master's where the force 
 
11 
 
 of the sympathy, truth, and patience of a woman's invinci- 
 ble spirit holds her above all the contending elements of the 
 moving drama about her. We have in Henry VIII, the 
 noble Queen Catherine as a central figure, but the great 
 Buckingham and Wolsey divide the glory. Hermione 
 stands alone looking down majestically upon the tumultu- 
 ous court. Here the first act closes, leaving the dear queen 
 all unconscious of her wrongs; Leontes, feeding the flame 
 of his jealousy; Polixenes and the good Camillo, fleeing 
 under the protecting shadow of the night. 
 
 Act second opens in the queen's private apartment, 
 where, surrounded by her women, she is telling childish 
 stories to Mamillius, her son. Into this scene full of sweet- 
 ness and repose, breaks the angry king, now terrible in his 
 wrath, having learned of the flight of Polixenes and Cam- 
 illo; and hurls these words at the unsuspecting queen: 
 
 " Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him: 
 
 Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
 
 Have too much blood in him." 
 He then roughly seizes the child as if to part them, 
 Mamillius clings wildly to his mother, while she, with won- 
 der, fear, and imploring love, reaches towards her child her 
 sheltering arms. Thus addressed in the presence of her 
 child, her women, and the attendant noblemen of the king, 
 the queen rises, and with horror and surprise asks — 
 
 "What is this? sport?" 
 ' No reply but the awful accusation hurled mercilessly at 
 her, that Polixenes is father to her unborn child. 
 
 Hermione cannot believe her senses, and calmly denies 
 the charge. 'Tis then the infuriated king, losing all con- 
 trol, adds insult to injury, and, appealing to the astonished 
 noblemen, before the whole group, dares to assert Hermione 
 
12 
 
 an adulteress. The women, weeping, gather about her, the 
 courtiers are all in sympathy with her, as this matchless 
 woman, self-poised, strong-centred, answers from her 
 purity : 
 
 " Should a villain say so 
 The most replenished villain in the world. 
 He were as much more villain: you my lord 
 Do but mistake." 
 Leontes, unheeding her words, accuses her further of 
 being ^rivy to the escape of Camillo and Polixenes. Her- 
 mione, with a dignity that reaches and blesses all humanity, 
 makes reply so simple, loving and true, so free from all 
 bitterness and reproach, that it stands as a tablet of beauty, 
 a light for the world. 
 
 " No, by my life, 
 Privy to none of this: how will this grieve you 
 When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
 You have thus published me? Gentle my lord. 
 You scarce can right me thoroughly then, to say 
 You did mistake." 
 With rngry retort the king, calling upon his guards, 
 bids them bear her away to prison. Hermione, serene, 
 strong, tender, unwilling to believe the cruel words are 
 from her husband's heart, in her entire love for him, seek- 
 ing some outward explanation, some force of circumstance, 
 says : 
 
 " There's some ill planet reigns. 
 I must be patient till the heavens look 
 With an aspect more favorable. Good my lords, 
 I am not prone to weeping as our sex 
 Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew 
 Perchance shall dry your pities ; but I have' 
 
13 
 
 That honorable grief lodged here which burns 
 Worse than tears drown." 
 Still no reproach for all this cruelty; too deep the 
 wound. Turning to her weeping attendants she says, 
 "Do not weep, good fools; 
 There is no cause. When you shall know your 
 
 mistress 
 Has deserved prison, then abound in tears, 
 As I come out. This action I now go on 
 Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord, 
 I never wished to see you sorry; now 
 I trust I shall." 
 Proudly she leads the way, and the guards reluctantly 
 do their master's bidding, and bear the queen to prison. 
 
 The courtiers plead for their queen. No doubt is in 
 any mind as to her purity and sanctity. All hearts bleed 
 for her. To justify to his people his tyrannous proceed- 
 ings, Leontes dispatches two messengers, Cleomenes and 
 Dion, to the Delphic Oracle to learn what the great Apollo 
 may reveal. 
 
 In the meantime, Hermione in the prison gives birth to 
 a daughter prematurely, forced by the terrible anguish of 
 these bitter weeks, and her maternal grief that her son 
 Mamillius has been kept from her, augmented by the 
 rumors of his illness and pining for his mother. Weep for 
 her ! weep for her ! let your hearts melt with pity for this 
 dear woman, this wife, this mother, titles of honor, where 
 the queen is all forgot. Weep for her ! as holding her new- 
 born child she says "my poor prisoner, I am as innocent as 
 you." 
 
 But " Stone walls cannot a prison make." Hermione is 
 a free spirit no iron bars can fetter. The immured, the 
 
14 
 
 prison-bound is lie whose soul is hampered, the cruel jealous 
 king. Hermione, speaking from her anguish, within the 
 gloomy prison walls, utters words which reveal the repose 
 of her innocence ; but for Leontes when he next speaks from 
 his palace chamber, there needs no prison grating, no clank- 
 ing chain to prove his spirit fettered. " ISTor night nor day 
 no rest." His diseased mind is now his prison house, his 
 accusing conscience his sleepless jailer. 
 
 One of the most remarkable feminine characterizations 
 of Shakespeare is Paulina, who in her devotion to the queen, 
 in her courage and self-reliance, in her vindication of the 
 truth, and her fearless " holding up the glass " to Leontes, 
 stands unrivalled among the whole feminine creation of the 
 Shakespearean world. Her motives will bear the closest 
 investigation, the sunshine of a loving spirit gleams 
 through her every word. But know her well, make her 
 your friend, she will be as faithful to you as to her king 
 and queen. You may trust her infinitely. She is the wife 
 of Antigonus, a nobleman, and is honored by the closest 
 friendship of Hermione. Pull of tenderest sympathy she 
 comes to the prison to bring some comfort to her royal 
 friend, but finds the orders are strictly given that no one 
 shall be allowed to see the queen ; but she is permitted to 
 see an attendant, and so learn of her condition. In con- 
 versation with Emilia she learns that the queen has given 
 birth to a daughter, prematurely. Paulina asserts boldly 
 that the king is insane, that some one must show him the 
 truth, and that the duty falls upon her as friend to both: 
 ' ril tak 't upon me; 
 
 If I prove honey-mouthed, let my tongue blister 
 
 And never to my red-looked anger be 
 
 The trumpet any more." 
 
15 
 
 Then, quick as thought can be born, comes to her the 
 possibility of the helpless infant's mute intercession for its 
 mother: 
 
 " We do not know 
 
 How he may soften at the sight o' the child ; 
 
 The silence often of pure innocence 
 
 Persuades, when speaking fails." 
 Hermione gladly gives her consent, and Paulina bears 
 her charge to the palace. She is denied admittance by the 
 attendant noblemen, Antigonus her husband among the 
 number, who advise her of Leontes' command that no one 
 should come about him. 
 
 Antigonus. "You must not enter." 
 
 Paulina. "Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me; 
 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 
 
 Than the queen's life? A gracious innocent soul; 
 
 More free than he is jealous?" 
 Here is a tender, womanly heart that pleads for another, 
 an intrepid soul whose fearlessness is born of the truth of 
 her convictions, and she will not be restrained. Rejecting 
 their counsel, she enters, bearing the child in her arms. 
 Leontes, astonished at her boldness, commands Antigonus to 
 compel her to withdraw. Antigonus, whose position was 
 already very trying, the right hand of the king, his confi- 
 dant and first attendant, yet feeling all sympathy for Her- 
 mione, deserves our pity when forced to maintain the king's 
 commands even against his wife, he says, 
 "I told her so, my lord. 
 
 On your displeasure's peril and on mine 
 
 She should not visit you." 
 Leontes, out of his own bitterness flings an arrow at 
 Paulina as the representative of the sex he had so outraged. 
 
16 
 
 Turning to Antigonus he says: "What, canst not rule 
 her?" Paulina answers, vigorously, but with the delicacy 
 inherent in her womanhood, — 
 
 " From all dishonesty he can. In this 
 (Unless he take the course that you have done. 
 Commit me for committing honor), trust it, 
 He shall not rule me." 
 Antigonus shows in his next sentence more than his 
 present trust, the growth of his confidence through a mar- 
 ried life: 
 
 " Lo you now; you hear! 
 When she will take the rein I let her run; 
 But she'll not stumble." 
 Besides Paulina's strength of will rising to the heroic, 
 besides her depth of love as portrayed in the wife and the 
 friend, she now reveals her wisdom: 
 
 " Good my liege, I come. 
 And I beseech you hear me ; who profess 
 Myself your loyal servant, your physician, 
 Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare 
 Less appear so in comforting your evils. 
 Than such as most seem yours." 
 Is she not brave and true and tender? "Loyal ser- 
 vant" — does not the expression mean much? "Physician," 
 who cures and heals; " Counsellor," who comes, not flatter- 
 ing the weakness of a king, but daring to cut into the very 
 heart of his folly. As she continues, " I say, I come from 
 your good queen." Am I not right? Should not humanity 
 be enriched by the knowledge of this ennobling spirit? 
 Leontes flings back her words, ''''Good queen?" Paulina, 
 nothing daunted, repeats her words with stronger force: 
 
17 
 
 " Good queen! my lord, good queen! I say good queen; 
 And would by combat make her good, were I 
 A man, the worst about you." 
 Is she not justice personified, holding aloft the scales 
 and the sword? Is she not upholding a race of women in 
 her justification of Hermione? We confess to have breathed 
 deeper, truer breaths of freedom for the comprehension of 
 this huge spirit. With unfaltering heart she repeats yet 
 again : 
 
 " The good queen, 
 For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter. 
 Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing." 
 Then Paulina lays down the child before the throne. 
 Leontes becomes furious at the sight of it, and orders 
 Antigonus to bear away the bastard. Paulina turns then 
 to her husband: 
 
 " Forever 
 Un venerable be thy hands if thou 
 Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
 Which he has put upon it." 
 Prom the first to the last she maintains her free thought 
 and speech. Leontes then threatens her: 
 " I'll have thee burned." 
 In Paulina's retort lies a volume. The old ecclesiastical 
 fires had not yet burned low, and the broad-minded Shake- 
 speare puts into these words of Paulina his own thought in 
 the great question: 
 
 " I care not, 
 It is an heretic that makes the fire. 
 Not she that burns in it." 
 With a final appeal to the weak-hearted ones who dare 
 only to reflect him, she bids the tyrant farewell: 
 
18 
 
 * You that are thus so tender o'er his follies 
 Will never do him good; not one of you." 
 Leontes revenges himself now upon the weaker vessel, 
 and turning to Antigonus, makes him swear a solemn oath, 
 under the penalty of forfeiting his own life and the lives of 
 his wife and the child. Antigonus swears to obey the man- 
 date of the king, to bear the infant to some distant shore, ^ 
 there to leave her, " Where chance might nurse or end 
 her." With anguish in his face, he says: 
 
 " I swear to do this, though a present death 
 Had been more merciful." 
 His heart , bleeds as he folds in his arms the little inno- 
 cent, and we respect his tenderness as he utters these words : 
 "Come on, poor babe; 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
 To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say. 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like offices of pity." 
 Antigonus goes forth, bearing .the child to its cruel des- 
 tiny. This ends the second act of the drama; and if we 
 have followed it closely, the reader is now a part of the 
 movement, in closest sympathy with each life ; one in the 
 dramatic unity. 
 
 The opening scene of the third act gives us a glimpse of 
 the messengers sent by Leontes to the Delphic Oracle. They 
 are returning to the court bearing the sealed judgment of 
 Apollo. Now Leontes has summoned Hermione for public 
 trial, and all the people are gathered in the court-room to 
 witness the proceedings. The interest is intense as the 
 king commands an officer to produce the prisoner. We " 
 cannot be one of the deeply sympathetic group unless we 
 allow ourselves to feel as they have felt during this interval 
 
19 
 
 of separation from the queen — an absorbing interest ; a 
 love made painful by the very powerlessness of it to help 
 the sufferer. Hermione has the devoted trust of her entire 
 people; and as, pale and worn from her anxiety, in a weak- 
 ened condition from her recent confinement, she is led into 
 the court by the guard, the feeling is too deep for words. 
 The faithful Paulina accompanies the queen, and watches 
 her every breath. The indictment is read; and Hermione 
 responds. It is a marvellous plea — a perfect mosaic of 
 words, no one of which could be spared. Not for one 
 moment does she lose her self-control, nor forget she is 
 wife, mother, queen: 
 
 "Since what I am to say must be but that 
 Which contradicts my accusation, and 
 The testimony on my part no other 
 ■ But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me 
 To say ' not guilty.' Mine integrity 
 Being counted falsehood shall as I express it 
 Be so received. But thus: if powers divine 
 Behold our human actions (as they do), 
 I doubt not then but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 Tremble at patience. For behold me! 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter. 
 The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing 
 To prate and talk for life and honor 'fore 
 Who please to come and hear." 
 As we listen to these words from Hermione's lips, we 
 can almost hear her heart beat; and only that she teaches 
 us an infinite patience, we should feel an angry tide sweep 
 over us as we hear the sentence of the self-deceived king; 
 
20 
 
 " For as thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
 No father owning it, * * * so thou 
 Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage 
 Look for no less than death." 
 Then Hermione pours out all the anguish of her spirit, 
 and the lines are red with the emptied wine of her life: 
 " Sir, spare your threats! 
 The bug which you would fright me with I seek. 
 To me can life be no commodity. 
 The crown and comfort of my life, your favor, 
 I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, 
 But know not how it went: My second joy, 
 And first fruits of my body, from his presence 
 I am barred like one infectious; my third comfort 
 Starr'd most unluckily is from my breast, 
 The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, 
 Haled out to murder; myself on every post 
 Proclaimed a strumpet; with immodest hatred 
 The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
 To women of all fashion ; — lastly hurried 
 Here to this place i' the open air, before 
 I have got strength of limit. Now my liege. 
 Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
 That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed. 
 But yet hear this: Mistake me not; — No! Life, 
 I prize it not a straw ; — but for mine honor 
 (Which I would free), if I shall be condemned 
 Upon surmises — all proofs sleeping else 
 But what your jealousies awake — I tell you 
 'Tis rigour and not law. Your honors all, 
 I do refer me to the oracle. 
 Apollo be my judge." 
 
21 
 
 While the officers of the court are dispatched for the 
 oracle, Hermione lifts up her agonized soul — as she recalls 
 her girlish days, her childhood home, her father — 
 " The emperor of Russia was my father. 
 that he were alive and here, beholding 
 His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
 The flatness of my misery — yet with eyes 
 Of pity, not revenge! " 
 
 No wish for a father to justify or revenge the bitter 
 wrong; only the cry of the daughter for the dear love and 
 sympathy forever gone. 
 
 These were heathen times, and we must keep close to 
 the atmosphere of the drama, and let ourselves feel all the 
 mingled hope and fear experienced by the court, as the 
 officers return with the sealed and sacred message of the 
 divine Apollo. Hermione stands the central figure in the 
 group, calm in the consciousness of her innocence, sur- 
 rounded by the ladies of the court, supported by Paulina, 
 while all eyes are fixed upon the returning officers. After 
 the court forms, Leontes gives the command to open and 
 read the oracle. '''' Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, 
 Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tgrant, his in- 
 nocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live ivith- 
 out an heir if that which is lost be not found." Then 
 the whole court in grand chorus breaks into a paean of 
 thanksgiving: "Now blessed be the great Apollo." Her- 
 mione, folding her arms across her saintly breast, murmurs, 
 ^' Praised." The king impiously refutes the words of the 
 oracle: "This is mere falsehood." As if in direct proof 
 that these are indeed the words of Apollo, a messenger 
 enters, bearing the tidings of the sudden death of the prince 
 Mamillius. This verification of the oracle terrifies Leon- 
 
22 
 
 tes into submission, and he falls upon his knees, and with 
 uplifted hands seems trying to avert the thunder-bolts of 
 the gods. Hermione, who has borne all to this last worst 
 stroke (the death of her son), faints in Paulina's arms, and 
 by the command of the king is carried into her chamber, 
 followed by her loyal subjects. 
 
 It seems impossible at this point ever to take Leontes 
 to our love or respect again. But we do; — and it is that 
 wonderful process by which we are made to do so, wherein 
 lies one of the Shakespearean methods of enlarging our 
 natures. We see clearly and conclusively all the processes 
 of the soul; and as we know now, if we have studied 
 Leontes carefully, the -damning power of a passion, so it 
 is also our privilege to contemplate from this point the 
 healing, purifying power of remorse. It searches his soul 
 and casts out the evil spirit, and we do take him to our 
 hearts again, and forgive him. It is so human to err; 
 it is so divine to forgive. His prayer still on his lips, 
 Paulina enters, wringing her hands, and crying, 
 
 " Woe! Woe! the queen is dead." 
 She now thrusts the iron into his very soul, and lays bare 
 before the agonized king the awful consequences of his- 
 passion, antil, seeing that remorse is torturing him almost 
 beyond endurance, she melts her reproaches into pity, and 
 the strength intended for rebuke becomes the rock of his. 
 consolation. Here we leave Leontes in solitude, crushed 
 with the burden of himself, mourning the death of his 
 queen and his son, and uncertain of the fate of the little 
 innocent one abandoned in the wilderness. 
 
 We are prepared for meeting Antigonus, bearing the' 
 child into the vast, 
 
 " Where chance may nurse or end it; " 
 
23 
 
 and we now find him in the remote wilderness of Bohemia 
 on a lonely shore. The tumultuous sea, the threatening 
 sky, the vessel tossing at anchor, and that darkness which 
 foretells the fierce battle of the elements, are a fit prelude 
 to this black and portentous deed. The transition from 
 the trial scene with its brilliant assemblage, and the heart- 
 throes of kings and potentates, to this outward desolation, 
 made blacker and more threatening by the shadow of the 
 cruel wrong, thrills us with 
 
 " That spark divine, 
 Which makes the whole world kin;" 
 and Antigonus, as he unfolds his dream, clasping to his 
 heart the forlorn little princess, adds another shadow to 
 the general gloom. 
 
 According to Hermione's wish as expressed in his dream, 
 the child is placed upon the breast of its mother earth 
 — a pitiless breast for a new-born babe — and Antigonus' 
 words, as he lays her tenderly down, sound as a requiem 
 for his own ill-fated end so close at hand: 
 
 " Blossom, speed thee well! * * * Poor wretch! 
 That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed 
 To loss, and what may follow. Weep I cannot, v 
 But my heart bleeds, and most accursed am I 
 
 To be by oath enjoined to this Farewell! 
 
 The day frowns more and more: thou art like to 
 
 have 
 A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
 The heavens so dim by day." 
 Watching the ominous heavens, and alarmed by the 
 sounds of the chase and the growing darkness, Antigonus 
 hurries toward the ship which avenging fate forbids his 
 reaching. The combined oppressiveness of nature, and the 
 
24 
 
 cruel wrong are almost too heavy to be borne; and tbe 
 wandering shepherd who breaks the spell, with his sim- 
 plicity and vigor, brings life and hope to us anew. The 
 hunters have terrified and .scattered his sheep, and now, as 
 he clambers down the rocky pass, we welcome him, and his 
 manly voice and homely phrases become dear to us, as 
 searching he stumbles upon this lambkin afar from its fold. 
 With the superstition of peasant life he hesitates to touch 
 the foundling, and in his fear calls loudly to his son; who, 
 coming at his call, with face full of a great alarm, scarcely 
 finds breath at once to tell what he has witnessed. But 
 at last the facts are told of Antigonus hurrying to the 
 shore, of the pursuit by wild beasts, and of his instant 
 death, and of the storm which tossed and wrecked the ves- 
 sel. The old shepherd now discloses his stranger experi- 
 ence, and opens the wrappings of the child; they find a 
 casket and gold. They swear secrecy, and bear their new 
 found treasures home. 
 
 Here there is a lapse of sixteen years, which is a griev- 
 ous dramatic fault; but it is mended with consummate skill. 
 The last scene of act third, serving to bridge the long inter- 
 val, and preparing for the opening scenes of the fourth act, 
 fixes the events in Bohemia, and leaves the baby princess in 
 the care of the old shepherd. Besides, a personification of 
 Time is introduced as chorus, and helps to join the severed 
 periods, by preparing us for the growth of the princess 
 Perdita, and for the appearance of Florizel, the princely 
 son of Polixenes. 
 
 The two parts of the drama are utterly contrasting. 
 The first movement hurried, stormy, passionate, a strife of 
 conflicting sin and emotion; the last half, a sweet pastoral, 
 brings us morning, and sunshine, and gladness, love and 
 
25 
 
 roses, the tinkle of sheep bells, and music of murmuring 
 brooks. 
 
 Rustic fun and rustic simplicity are here ; and over all 
 and beyond all, the actor of many roles, Autolycus; the 
 rogue so keen and witty that we forgive his villainy even 
 in the midst of his most knavish tricks. 
 
 Once more we meet the king Polixenes, and Camillo. 
 The king is inquiring anxiously for the young prince, Flori- 
 zel, who absents himself too frequently from court. Camillo 
 informs the king that rumor says the young prince passes 
 his time at a certain shepherd's cot, and in the company of 
 a most fair shepherdess. Polixenes bids Camillo to accom- 
 pany him thither, and to-morrow, as that will be the festi- 
 val of the sheep-shearing; and in disguise, that they may 
 become a part of the group and see this fair maiden. 
 
 And now we must picture a roadway before the shep- 
 herd's cottage, and Autolycus stretched idly singing one of 
 his snatches of song. He catches joy on the wing, and puts 
 us in a merry mood, as listening to the shepherd's son. who 
 wanders down the road, he sets a snare for the simple 
 fellow. 
 
 He picks his pocket, learns of the festival, and plans 
 further mischief. Autolycus is not merely a fellow of infi- 
 nite variety, but he is a relic of bygone ways and methods, 
 and is not only interesting in himself, but interesting in 
 what he suggests. 
 
 The clown, the shepherd's son, throws light upon the 
 influence of Perdita in the cottage, and shows us in a few 
 words that his adopted sister is mistress of them all, as, 
 repeating her message, he says: "What will this sister of 
 mine do with rice? But my father has made her mistress 
 of the feast, and she lays it on." 
 
Scene tlird, act fourth, is full of a rich poetry, in per- 
 fect harmony with the spring of love in these pure souls, 
 and we catch the very essence of joy and beauty as it is 
 breathed from the sweet mingling of the whole. The shep- 
 herd's cottage, the grassy sweep of lawn, the porch all hung 
 with blossoming vines, the tables spread beneath the trees, 
 and lads and lasses in gay holiday garments, grouped about 
 or flashing by in pairs, like happy birds. From the jarring 
 clash and hurried movement of the first part of the drama, 
 from its fierce battle with the strongest elements of our 
 natures, from its pain and heartache, the restfulness of this 
 scene comes to .us as nature's sweet repose after her tempest 
 and destruction. Soothed and comforted, we bathe our 
 souls in its freshness, and rejoice in the innocence and 
 sweetness of these youthful lovers. Is it not wonderful 
 that the same power that has portrayed for us kings and 
 courtiers, ripe manhood and womanhood, now opens to us 
 this very spring-time of the heart? 
 
 Florizel, the son of Polixenes, a graceful prince, while 
 hunting, has met the lovely Perdita in the meadows, as she 
 watched her flock. Enamored by her beauty, he has sought 
 her in her home, and there the enchantment was completed. 
 Sweet Perdita has given her heart, but fears the conse- 
 quences, now that Florizel has told her his rank, Perdita 
 appears to us in holiday array, and Florizel has wreathed 
 her with flowers ; and gazing at her, says : 
 
 " These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
 Do give a life; no shepherdess, but Flora 
 Peering in April's front." 
 
 In the course of the delicious love-warblings, Perdita 
 lets us into her little trembling fear: 
 
27 
 
 " Even now I tremble 
 
 To think your father, by some accident, 
 
 Should pass this way, as you did." 
 In spite of Florizel's strong assertions of his enduring 
 love, through all trial, Perdita says: " lady fortune stand 
 you auspicious." The old shepherd now ushers in the 
 guests, and playfully rebukes Perdita for being forgetful of 
 her duty as hostess. Among the guests are King Polixenes 
 and Camillo, in their disguise, and Perdita goes forward to 
 greet them, and calling to Dorcas to bring her flowers, and 
 with grace, which is nature, and spontaneity beyond all art, 
 she bids them welcome, and bestows her flowers upon them. 
 Polixenes is charmed with her graces, talks with her of her 
 flowers, and is surprised at her bright replies ; and Camillo, 
 in his turn fascinated, says to the king, " She is the very 
 queen of curds and cream." But the festival gaieties now 
 prevent further conversation, and the rustic reel weaves 
 itself to the vibrant sound of the fiddle, into a many hued 
 ribbon, stretched across the green. 
 
 This scene is interrupted by a travelling pedler who 
 joins the lively group. Singing, he opens his pack, and the 
 lads and lasses gather about him like bees around a hive; 
 it is the sly Autolycus who has disguised himself and now 
 displays his wares: 
 
 " "Will you buy any tape. 
 
 Or lace for your cape. 
 
 My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
 
 Any silk, any thread, any lace for your head. 
 
 Of new'st and finest wear-a?" 
 Songs he sings to them and with them, sells all his goods 
 and picks every pocket worth the rifling. In the meantime 
 Polixenes, who has been questioning the old shepherd has 
 
learned much of his son's devotion to the fair shepherdess, 
 when Florizel, selecting from the guests his disguised father, 
 and taking Perdita by the hand, calls upon him to " mark 
 his contract." Tearing off his disguise in a passion, he 
 answers the amazed prince: 
 
 " Mark your divorce, young sir, 
 Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base 
 To be acknowledged. Thou, a sceptre's heir, v 
 That thus afifect'st a sheep-hook! " 
 Then turning to the trembling Perdita: 
 "And thou, fresh piece 
 Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must krow 
 The royal fool thou cop'st with; 
 I'll have thy beauty scratched with briars, and made 
 More homely than thy state." 
 But the poor old shepherd, who is innocent of Florizel's 
 rank, is terrified beyond all, as the king turns his wrath 
 upon him:- 
 
 " And thou, old traitor, 
 I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but 
 Shorten thy life one week." 
 Polixenes leaves the dismayed group — Florizel comforts 
 his love, and the little maiden gathers her courage suffi- 
 ciently to say: 
 
 " I was not much afeard ; for once or twice 
 I was about to speak and tell him plainly. 
 The self- same sun that shines upon his court. 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on all alike." 
 Florizel, whom we have enjoyed as a lover, now wins our 
 respect as, rising superior to the difficulties about him, he 
 communes with Camillo as to some plan by which, inde- 
 
pendent of his father, he may marry the fair Perdita. 
 Camillo, finding Plorizel fixed upon a voyage in some direc- 
 tion, counsels him to turn his face towards Sicilia, the king- 
 dom of Leontes, where he may be sure of a cordial wel- 
 come; and in this way hoping to bring about a reconciliation 
 between the kings, and to visit once more his home. 
 
 Camillo makes all needful arrangements. Perdita and 
 Florizel therefore embark, having first disguised themselves 
 to prevent detection. Autolycus, who always happens 
 upon the scene at the interesting moment, assists by lending 
 his clothing, and assumes the court dress of Prince Florizel. 
 
 Meanwhile the poor old shepherd talks with his son as 
 to the best method of appeasing King Polixenes' anger, 
 and they decide to relate to the king all the facts in the 
 finding of Perdita. This conversation is overheard by the 
 omnipresent Autolycus, who being at this time in the gar- 
 ments of Prince Florizel, assumes the manners of the court, 
 and strutting about under plea of helping them in their 
 dilemma, sends them on shipboard in the same vessel with 
 the runaways. 
 
 When the ship has fairly started upon its voyage, Ca- 
 millo breaks the news to Polixenes, and all falls as he has 
 planned. Polixenes proposes to follow the fugitives. This 
 they do at once. 
 
 Florizel and Perdita arrive first, and are announced at 
 the palace. King Leontes and Paulina receive them joy- 
 fully. Leontes is much struck with the resemblance of 
 Perdita to Hermione. The scene is interrupted by a mes- 
 senger who states that King Polixenes and Camillo have 
 arrived in pursuit of the fugitives, and are awaiting Leon- 
 tes in another room of the palace; thither Leontes leads 
 the cast-down lovers. 
 
30 
 
 The suggestions of the meeting in that other apartment 
 of the palace would fill volumes, if each -thread of these 
 human lives, now drawn together by the mysteries of fate, 
 could be followed. King Leontes, whose life for sixteen 
 years has been a sacrifice upon the altar of his remorse, 
 goes to meet his old friend, the injured Polixenes. Camillo, 
 the faithful counsellor, w:ith a love the dividing years have 
 not weakened, awaits his king. The old shepherd and his 
 son, with a sense of heavy responsibility, and uncertain 
 which way it leads them, are come to reveal the secret 
 of the finding the child upon the shore, and to show the 
 mantle and jewels, those precious relics. Florizel, the 
 noble-minded prince, invincible in his love, thwarted and 
 crossed as it is; and sweet Perdita, clinging to her lover, 
 yet as strong as the prince in her plighted affection, un- 
 conscious of her birthright, yet showing every inch a 
 princess, growing as nature's violets, whose bloom is no less 
 sweet, although the soil be poor and rough, is now to learn 
 of her strange history, to rejoice in a father's love, and 
 mourn a sainted mother. Paulina, whose strength of pur- 
 pose made all reel before her, as she gave herself to the 
 duty nearest her (in the early years of the drama), even 
 to the peril of her life, now is the very prop of the grief- 
 worn king; all her passionate love for the queen seems 
 softened and hallowed, and proudly she holds her place in 
 this gathering, and silently endures her part of the sacri- 
 fice, the loss of her husband, Antigonus. 
 
 Picture this meeting as we may. and it is food for re- 
 flection. The occasion is brilliantly described by a group 
 of noblemen who were present, and proclaimed the glad 
 tidings. 
 
 Bogero. — "Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled. 
 
31 
 
 the king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is 
 broken out within this hour, that ballad-makers cannot be 
 able to express it." 
 
 The old shepherd has told his story of the finding of 
 the child — has shown the mantle and the jewels found 
 about her — , and another -^nobleman brings the news. It 
 is proved to be Hermione's mantle, by her jewel about 
 the neck of it. A third nobleman states Paulina has 
 urged the royal group to visit her gallery to see her famous 
 statue of Hermione, sculptured by that rare artist, Julio 
 Eomano, and many years in doing. How full of Paulina's 
 devotion is the next suggestion of one of the noblemen: 
 "I thought she had some great matter there in hand; 
 for she hath, privately, once or twice a day since the death 
 of Hermione, visited that removed house." This inference 
 blooms into beauty when the story is complete, and we see 
 Paulina clearly. 
 
 If we have lived closely to each of .these human lives, 
 we know more surely than ever before, what the great 
 spirit, creator, ruler, God, means, when close to virtue he 
 places vice. We are made to see that virtue is the light 
 of the soul which vice cannot extinguish ; we know one ray 
 of its glory was never lost although buried beneath mount- 
 ains of sin. In all studies of the frailties of human lives 
 about us, we get scarcely more than facts and immediate 
 consequences; life is not long enough to learn the fruition, 
 and humanity is silent as to life's deepest lessons. Here 
 we see what havoc in the soul a base passion causes; we see 
 its cruel power to blast and wither all it touches; but we 
 are not left to wonder at God's injustice, nor to feel despair 
 at life's misery, because we see the process, and can follow 
 its labyrinthian ways. We know not merely cause and 
 
32 
 
 effect, but the vital power given to the moral forces, 
 through remorse, a consequent of sin, and love, the highest 
 law of human life. King Leontes, whom, at one point of 
 the drama, we despise, we pity in his despair; we take back 
 to our hearts in his self abnegation and repentant life. 
 And we rejoice at his just appreciation of Paulina's long 
 and patient service. 
 
 The finale sweeps majestically over the whole, takes up 
 tenderly the severed and tangled threads of these sacred- 
 human lives,, unites the broken, unravels the snarled skein,. 
 and weaves anew each separate thread. Like richest organ 
 music, in one great wave of sound blending all into har- 
 mony, the notes of discord, like the clash of arms; the 
 trembling minors, like repentant tears. 
 
 The closing scene presents Paulina's gallery of art. The 
 mysteriously united group, father and daughter, king and 
 king, lover and mistress, are come at Paulina's request to 
 see her statue of Queen Hermione. As Paulina, drawings 
 aside the curtain, discloses the perfect counterpart, each 
 separate being of the royal group stands transfixed before 
 it. Out of a silence all eloquent with prayers and tears, 
 Leontes speaks words which send the life-blood leaping 
 through our human veins, until our hearts pulsate with his: 
 " Chide me, dear stone; that I may say indeed 
 Thou art Hermione; or rathei, thou art she. 
 In thy not chiding; for she was as tender 
 As infancy and grace. 
 
 thus she stood, 
 
 Even with such life of majesty (warm life, 
 
 As now it coldly stands), when first I woo'd her I 
 
 1 am ashamed: Does not the stone rebuke me 
 For being more stone than it? " 
 
33 
 
 The sixteen years of separation and remorse have puri- 
 fied and made whole his entire nature; his love for his 
 beautiful queen the torturing years have but strengthened. 
 As he gazes, lost to the world about him, what wonder that 
 in this intensity he feels the statue moves. With sus- 
 pended breath we follow his thought. 
 
 Paulina tries in vain to draw him from his growing 
 consciousness of life and motion in the glorious form. 
 Eeplying to her, yet never for one moment removing his 
 eyes from the life-breathing figure before him, he speaks: 
 " Still methinks there is an air comes from her- 
 
 What fine chisel could ever yet 
 
 Cut breath? Let no man mock me, 
 
 For I will kiss her." 
 'Tis now Paulina's hour of triumph. For this moment 
 she has given her soul's devotion through the emptied 
 years. Seeing the way is prepared, the hour ripe with a 
 promised fruition, she now awakens to life the statue-like 
 Hermione, and her words, from their electric power, seem 
 to give the vital spark to the marble form: 
 "Music! Awake her! strike. 
 
 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; 
 
 Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; 
 
 I'll fill your grave up ; stir, nay, come away ; 
 
 Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
 
 Dear life redeems you. You perceive, she stirs." 
 Down from her lofty pedestal now steps the glorious 
 queen, and turning towards Leontes, holds out forgiving 
 arms. Not daring to believe his vision, Leontes starts 
 back amazed. Paulina, leading him with loving touch, 
 places his hand in Hermione's: " When she was young you 
 woo'd her; now in age is she become the suitor." And 
 
34 
 
 here, safe-folded in Hermione s arms, we leave the rejoicing 
 king. 
 
 If students or readers glean but a part of the lessons 
 these lives teach, they are broadened mentally and morally. 
 If Leontes, in his passion, seems to demand more of mercy 
 and charity than jealousy commonly demands, we must 
 remember Leontes' soul was laid bare before us, and we 
 were allowed to see every motion of heart and brain. Who 
 , of us, happily freed from the evils consequent upon master- 
 ing passions, could bear the sifting light through and through 
 our calmer souls? Who of us are ready to believe " there 
 is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth than 
 over ninety and nine just men who need no repentance?" 
 We say it over and mumble it, but we do not live up to it. 
 A deep moral lesson has been taught us in this dramatic form 
 of King Leontes, real life can rarely give to us ; and then 
 we owe to his grievous fault such a train of towering vir- 
 tues as else might never have grown so dear. 
 
 To Paulina we say adieu, as, all forgetful of self, she 
 rejoices in the joy of these hearts about her. It is clear 
 that these long years of her own widowhood she has filled 
 with teiiderest solicitude for the comfort and welfare of her 
 beloved and self- exiled queen. It is clear that her truthful 
 words to the king, in her effort to recall him to his better 
 self, did not alienate Leontes' heart, tor he, too, leans upon 
 her strong spirit, and she is as openly necessary to him as 
 invisibly the stay and consolation of Hermione. Whether 
 she marries Camillo or no, as Leontes suggests, we cannot 
 say, but we may be sure she did not " take some withered 
 bough" and spend her days in lamenting. Grieve over the 
 loss of Antigonus she doubtless did ; but the current of her 
 useful life was too strong to be turned now. If she did not 
 
35 
 
 marry Camillo, she still gave her life in blessing all these 
 lives about her. Yes! and blessing the broad world, who 
 may claim her friendship as long as literature shall last. 
 
 For Perdita, having taken her to our hearts at once, we 
 never need say adieu. She is ours, with her beauty and 
 her freshness, forever and forever; and in life's cold and 
 barren places, with an autumn in the heart, can waft to us 
 the sunshine of a perpetual, blossoming spring. 
 
 For Florizel, love crowns him poet, and his pure, manly 
 spirit crowns him prince; and although we know he owes 
 much of his attraction to the reflected charm of Perdita's 
 grace and beauty, we confess we love him because she 
 does. 
 
 But Hermione still keeps her statuesque position, never 
 descending from her pedestal. There she stands, monu- 
 mental of all that makes a perfect woman. Borne from 
 the court-room, at the close of her trial, in a fainting con- 
 dition, she remained long in a swoon, which was death's 
 counterfeit. Paulina believed her dead, and acted upon 
 that belief. Eecovering from that death in life, can we 
 wonder at her wish still to be dead to all the world? We 
 cannot conceive of this self-poised, calm-centred woman 
 resuming her position as wife and queen. Her mind is too 
 clear; her soul too upright. So she dwelt apart, awaiting 
 the fulfilment of the oracle, that the child " that was lost 
 should be found." Her silent forgiveness of her husband 
 was eloquent with that love which means reconciliation. 
 But it remains for Perdita to unite what she had separated. 
 And now Hermione, turning from Leontes, places her 
 hands upon that kneeling daughter's head, and all her 
 heart gushes in her words : 
 
36 
 
 " You gods, look down, 
 And from your saci'ed vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's head." 
 We may not put into words this essence of the soul, this 
 divine afflatus, which, brimming from Hermione's heart, fills 
 ours to overflowing. But we have met with the gods on 
 high Olympus, and our souls are fed. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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