Gentleman.
Camillo.
The gods send him safe passage to
us, for he seems embarked in a tempestuous
season.
Gent.
I pray thee, Lord Camillo, instruct
me, what concealed matter there is in the coming
of Leontes to Bohemia, shou'd so wrap our king in
astonishment?
Camillo.
Good sign your knowledge in the court is young,
if you make that your question.
Gent.
I wou'd not be thought too curious, but I prithee,
be my tutor in this matter.
-- 2 --
Camillo.
To be short then—Give it thy hearing, for my
tale is well worthy of it; these two kings, Leontes of
Sicily, and Polixenes of Bohemia, were train'd together
in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt
'em such an affection as cou'd not chuse but branch
as it grew up. One unhappy summer (and full sixteen
as unhappy have follow'd it) our Polixenes went
to repay Sicily the visitation which he justly ow'd
him.—Most royalty, and with the utmost freedom
of society, was he entertain'd both by Leontes, and
his queen Hermione; a lady, whose bodily accomplishments
were unparallel'd, but by those of her
own mind. The free strokes of youth and gaiety,
in her extended civility to Polixenes (pleas'd as she
was to see her lord delighted) bred in him suspicion
of her conduct.
Gent.
And that is an evil weed, that once taking root,
needs no manure.
Camillo.
I then waited about the person of Leontes, and
was alone thought worthy the participation of his
jealousy. Into my bosom he disgorg'd his monstrous
secret, with no tenderer an injunction than to take
off his innocent, abused guest, by poison.
Gent.
To kill Polixenes!
Camillo.
Even so.—What cou'd I do? What ran evenest
with the grain of my honesty I did, and have not
since repented me:—whisper'd Polixenes of the matter
—left my large fortunes, and my larger hopes
in Sicily, and on the very wing of occasion slew with
-- 3 --
him hither, no richer than my honor; and have
since been ever of his bosom.
Gent.
I tremble for the poor queen, left to the injuries
of a powerful king, and jealous husband.
Camillo.
Left too in her condition! for she had some while
promis'd an heir to Sicily, and now, mark me,—
for the occasion—
Gent.
Cannot surpass my attention.
Camillo.
Scarcely settled in Bohemia here, we are alarm'd
with the arrival of Paulina (that excellent matron,
and true friend of her unhappy queen) from whom
we too soon learn how sad a tragedy had been acted
in Sicily—the dishonor'd Hermione clapp'd up in
prison, where she gave the king a princess—the
child (the innocent milk yet in her innocent mouth)
by the king's command, expos'd; expos'd even on
the desarts of this kingdom;—our Polixenes being
falsly deem'd the father.
Gent.
Poor babe! unhappy queen! tyrant Leontes!
Camillo.
What blacker title will you fix upon him, when
you shall hear that Hermione, in her weak condition
(the child bed privilege deny'd, which belongs to
women of all fashion) was haul'd out to an open
mockery of trial; that on this inhuman outrage
(her fame being kill'd before) she died—in the very
prison where she was deliver'd, died; and that on
her decease, Paulina (whose free tongue was the
-- 4 --
king's living scourge, and perpetual remembrancer
to him of his dead queen) fled with her effects, for
safety of her life, to Bohemia, here—I tire
you.
Gent.
My king concern'd, I am too deeply interested in
the event, to be indifferent to the relation.
Camillo.
All this did Leontes, in defiance of the plain answer
of the oracle, by him consulted at Delphi;
which now, after sixteen years occurring to his more
sober thoughts, he first thinks it probable, then finds
it true, and his penitence thereupon is as extreme,
as his suspicions had been fatal. In the course of his
sorrows he has, as we are inform'd, twice attempted
on his life; and this is now his goad to the present
expedition; to make all possible atonement to his
injur'd brother Bohemia, and to us the fellow-sufferers
in his wrongs—we must break off—the king and
good Paulina—
Enter Polixenes and Paulina.
Polixenes.
Weep not now, Paulina, so long-gone-by misfortunes;
this strange and unexpected visit, from Leontes,
calls all your sorrows up a-new: but good Paulina,
be satisfied that heav'n has will'd it so. That sixteen
years absence shou'd pass unnotic'd by this king,
without exchange of gifts, letters, or embassies; and
now!—I am amaz'd as thou art; but not
griev'd—
Paulina.
Grudge me not a tear to the memory of my
queen, my royal mistress; and there dies my resentment;
now, Leontes, welcome.
-- 5 --
Polixenes.
Nobly resolv'd: of him think we no more 'till he
arrives.
Camillo.
Hail, royal Sir. If the king of Sicily escape this
dreadful tempest, I shall esteem him a favourite of
the gods, and his penitence effectual.
Polixenes.
Of that fatal country Sicily, and of its penitent
(as we must think him) and reconcil'd king, my
brother, (whose loss of his most precious queen and
child are even now afresh lamented) I prithee, speak
no more—say to me, when saw'st thou prince Florizel,
my son? Fathers are no less unhappy, their issue
not being gracious, than they are in losing 'em, when
they have approv'd their virtues.
Camillo.
Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince; what
his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown; but
I have musingly noted, he is of late much retir'd
from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises
than formerly he hath appear'd.
Polixenes.
I have consider'd so much, Camillo, and with some
care; so far, that I have eyes under my service,
which look upon his removedness; from whom I
have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the
house of a most homely shepherd—A man, they say,
that from very nothing, is grown rich beyond the
imagination of his neighbours.
Paulino.
I have heard too of such a man, who hath a
daughter of most rare note; the report of her is
-- 6 --
extended more than can be thought to begin from
such a cottage.
Polixenes.
That's likewise part of my intelligence, and I fear,
the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou, Camillo,
shalt accompany us to the place, where we
will (not appearing what we are) have some question
with the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I think
it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort
thither.
Camillo.
I willingly obey your command.
Polixenes.
My best Camillo!—we must disguise ourselves.
Paulina.
Lest your royalty be discover'd by the attendance
of any of your own train; my steward, Dion, shall
provide disguises, and accompany your design with
all secrecy.
Polixenes.
It is well advis'd—I will make choice of some
few to attend us, who shall wait at distance from the
cottage—you instruct Dion in the matter, while we
prepare ourselves.
[Ex. Polix. and Camillo.
Paulina, sola.
What fire is in my ears! can it be so,
Or are my senses cheated with a dream?
Leontes in Bohemia!—O most welcome,
My penitent liege—my tears were those of joy
—Paulina, for her royal mistress' sake,
Shall give thee welcome to this injur'd coast:
Such as the riches of two mighty kingdoms,
-- 7 --
Bohemia join'd with fruitful Sicily,
Wou'd not avail to buy—Leontes, welcome.
Let thy stout vessel but the beating stand
Of this chaf'd sea, and thou art whole on land.
[Ex. Paulina.
David Garrick [1758], Florizel and Perdita. A Dramatic Pastoral, In three acts. Alter'd from The Winter's Tale of Shakespear. By David Garrick. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S33300].
