Winter's Tale — Act 3, Scene 2 · Shakespeare for Bharat

LEONTES

This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party triedThe daughter of a king, our wife, and oneOf us too much beloved. Let us be clear'dOf being tyrannous, since we so openlyProceed in justice, which shall have due course,Even to the guilt or the purgation.Produce the prisoner.

Officer

It is his highness' pleasure that the queenAppear in person here in court. Silence!

LEONTES

Read the indictment.

Officer

[Reads] Hermione, queen to the worthyLeontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused andarraigned of high treason, in committing adulterywith Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiringwith Camillo to take away the life of our sovereignlord the king, thy royal husband: the pretencewhereof being by circumstances partly laid open,thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegianceof a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, fortheir better safety, to fly away by night.

HERMIONE

Since what I am to say must be but thatWhich contradicts my accusation andThe testimony on my part no otherBut what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot meTo say 'not guilty:' mine integrityBeing counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,Be so received. But thus: if powers divineBehold our human actions, as they do,I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush and tyrannyTremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,Who least will seem to do so, my past lifeHath been as continent, as chaste, as true,As I am now unhappy; which is moreThan history can pattern, though devisedAnd play'd to take spectators. For behold meA fellow of the royal bed, which oweA moiety of the throne a great king's daughter,The mother to a hopeful prince, here standingTo prate and talk for life and honour 'foreWho please to come and hear. For life, I prize itAs I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,'Tis a derivative from me to mine,And only that I stand for. I appealTo your own conscience, sir, before PolixenesCame to your court, how I was in your grace,How merited to be so; since he came,With what encounter so uncurrent IHave strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyondThe bound of honour, or in act or willThat way inclining, harden'd be the heartsOf all that hear me, and my near'st of kinCry fie upon my grave!

LEONTES

I ne'er heard yetThat any of these bolder vices wantedLess impudence to gainsay what they didThan to perform it first.

HERMIONE

That's true enough;Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.

LEONTES

You will not own it.

HERMIONE

More than mistress ofWhich comes to me in name of fault, I must notAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes,With whom I am accused, I do confessI loved him as in honour he required,With such a kind of love as might becomeA lady like me, with a love even such,So and no other, as yourself commanded:Which not to have done I think had been in meBoth disobedience and ingratitudeTo you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,Even since it could speak, from an infant, freelyThat it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'dFor me to try how: all I know of itIs that Camillo was an honest man;And why he left your court, the gods themselves,Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.

LEONTES

You knew of his departure, as you knowWhat you have underta'en to do in's absence.

HERMIONE

Sir,You speak a language that I understand not:My life stands in the level of your dreams,Which I'll lay down.

LEONTES

Your actions are my dreams;You had a bastard by Polixenes,And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,--Those of your fact are so--so past all truth:Which to deny concerns more than avails; for asThy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,No father owning it,--which is, indeed,More criminal in thee than it,--so thouShalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passageLook for no less than death.

HERMIONE

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 favour,I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,But know not how it went. My second joyAnd first-fruits of my body, from his presenceI am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfortStarr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,Haled out to murder: myself on every postProclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatredThe child-bed privilege denied, which 'longsTo women of all fashion; lastly, hurriedHere to this place, i' the open air, beforeI 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 honour,Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'dUpon surmises, all proofs sleeping elseBut what your jealousies awake, I tell you'Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all,I do refer me to the oracle:Apollo be my judge!

First Lord

This your requestIs altogether just: therefore bring forth,And in Apollos name, his oracle.

HERMIONE

The Emperor of Russia was my father:O that he were alive, and here beholdingHis daughter's trial! that he did but seeThe flatness of my misery, yet with eyesOf pity, not revenge!

Officer

You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,That you, Cleomenes and Dion, haveBeen both at Delphos, and from thence have broughtThe seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'dOf great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,You have not dared to break the holy sealNor read the secrets in't.

DION

All this we swear.

LEONTES

Break up the seals and read.

Officer

[Reads] Hermione is chaste;Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontesa jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;and the king shall live without an heir, if thatwhich is lost be not found.

Lords

Now blessed be the great Apollo!

HERMIONE

Praised!

LEONTES

Hast thou read truth?

Officer

Ay, my lord; even soAs it is here set down.

LEONTES

There is no truth at all i' the oracle:The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.

Servant

My lord the king, the king!

LEONTES

What is the business?

Servant

O sir, I shall be hated to report it!The prince your son, with mere conceit and fearOf the queen's speed, is gone.

LEONTES

How! gone!

Servant

Is dead.

LEONTES

Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselvesDo strike at my injustice.

LEONTES

How now there!

PAULINA

This news is mortal to the queen: look downAnd see what death is doing.

LEONTES

Take her hence:Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:I have too much believed mine own suspicion:Beseech you, tenderly apply to herSome remedies for life.

LEONTES

Apollo, pardonMy great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;For, being transported by my jealousiesTo bloody thoughts and to revenge, I choseCamillo for the minister to poisonMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,But that the good mind of Camillo tardiedMy swift command, though I with death and withReward did threaten and encourage him,Not doing 't and being done: he, most humaneAnd fill'd with honour, to my kingly guestUnclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,Which you knew great, and to the hazardOf all encertainties himself commended,No richer than his honour: how he glistersThorough my rust! and how his pityDoes my deeds make the blacker!

PAULINA

Woe the while!O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,Break too.

First Lord

What fit is this, good lady?

PAULINA

What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?In leads or oils? what old or newer tortureMust I receive, whose every word deservesTo taste of thy most worst? Thy tyrannyTogether working with thy jealousies,Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idleFor girls of nine, O, think what they have doneAnd then run mad indeed, stark mad! for allThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstantAnd damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckonThe casting forth to crows thy baby-daughterTo be or none or little; though a devilWould have shed water out of fire ere done't:Nor is't directly laid to thee, the deathOf the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heartThat could conceive a gross and foolish sireBlemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen,The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead,and vengeance for'tNot dropp'd down yet.

First Lord

The higher powers forbid!

PAULINA

I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oathPrevail not, go and see: if you can bringTincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve youAs I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!Do not repent these things, for they are heavierThan all thy woes can stir; therefore betake theeTo nothing but despair. A thousand kneesTen thousand years together, naked, fasting,Upon a barren mountain and still winterIn storm perpetual, could not move the godsTo look that way thou wert.

LEONTES

Go on, go onThou canst not speak too much; I have deservedAll tongues to talk their bitterest.

First Lord

Say no more:Howe'er the business goes, you have made faultI' the boldness of your speech.

PAULINA

I am sorry for't:All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too muchThe rashness of a woman: he is touch'dTo the noble heart. What's gone and what's past helpShould be past grief: do not receive afflictionAt my petition; I beseech you, ratherLet me be punish'd, that have minded youOf what you should forget. Now, good my liegeSir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!--I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;I'll not remember you of my own lord,Who is lost too: take your patience to you,And I'll say nothing.

LEONTES

Thou didst speak but wellWhen most the truth; which I receive much betterThan to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring meTo the dead bodies of my queen and son:One grave shall be for both: upon them shallThe causes of their death appear, untoOur shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visitThe chapel where they lie, and tears shed thereShall be my recreation: so long as natureWill bear up with this exercise, so longI daily vow to use it. Come and lead meUnto these sorrows.