Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare
he had not patience to wait till they came back, and so it happened that
they arrived in the middle of the trial. The Oracle said--
“Hermione is innocent, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject,
Leontes a jealous tyrant, and the King shall live without an heir, if
that which is lost be not found.”
Then a man came and told them that the little Prince was dead. The
poor Queen, hearing this, fell down in a fit; and then the King saw how
wicked and wrong he had been. He ordered Paulina and the ladies who were
with the Queen to take her away, and try to restore her. But Paulina
came back in a few moments, and told the King that Hermione was dead.
Now Leontes' eyes were at last opened to his folly. His Queen was dead,
and the little daughter who might have been a comfort to him he had sent
away to be the prey of wolves and kites. Life had nothing left for him
now. He gave himself up to his grief, and passed many sad years in
prayer and remorse.
The baby Princess was left on the seacoast of Bohemia, the very kingdom
where Polixenes reigned. Paulina's husband never went home to tell
Leontes where he had left the baby; for as he was going back to the
ship, he met a bear and was torn to pieces. So there was an end of him.
But the poor deserted little baby was found by a shepherd. She was
richly dressed, and had with her some jewels, and a paper was pinned to
her cloak, saying that her name was Perdita, and that she came of noble
parents.
The shepherd, being a kind-hearted man, took home the little baby to
his wife, and they brought it up as their own child. She had no more
teaching than a shepherd's child generally has, but she inherited from
her royal mother many graces and charms, so that she was quite different
from the other maidens in the village where she lived.
One day Prince Florizel, the son of the good King of Bohemia, was
bunting near the shepherd's house and saw Perdita, now grown up to a
charming woman. He made friends with the shepherd, not telling him that
he was the Prince, but saying that his name was Doricles, and that he
was a private gentleman; and then, being deeply in love with the pretty
Perdita, he came almost daily to see her.
The King could not understand what it was that took his son nearly every
day from home; so he set people to watch him, and then found out that
the heir of the King of Bohemia was in love with Perdita, the pretty
shepherd girl. Polixenes, wishing to see whether this was true,
disguised himself, and went with the faithful Camillo, in disguise
too, to the old shepherd's house. They arrived at the feast of
sheep-shearing, and, though strangers, they were made very welcome.
There was dancing going on, and a peddler was selling ribbons and laces
and gloves, which the young men bought for their sweethearts.
Florizel and Perdita, however, were taking no part in this gay scene,
but sat quietly together talking. The King noticed the charming manners
and great beauty of Perdita, never guessing that she was the daughter of
his old friend, Leontes. He said to Camillo--
“This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever ran on the green
sward. Nothing she does or seems but smacks of something greater than
herself--too noble for this place.”
And Camillo answered, “In truth she is the Queen of curds and cream.”
But when Florizel, who did not recognize his father, called upon the
strangers to witness his betrothal with the pretty shepherdess, the King
made himself known and forbade the marriage, adding that if ever she saw
Florizel again, he would kill her and her old father, the shepherd; and
with that he left them. But Camillo remained behind, for he was charmed
with Perdita, and wished to befriend her.
Camillo had long known how sorry Leontes was for that foolish madness of
his, and he longed to go back to Sicily to see his old master. He now
proposed that the young people should go there and claim the protection
of Leontes. So they went, and the shepherd went with them, taking
Perdita's jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper he had found pinned to
her cloak.
Leontes received them with great kindness. He was very polite to Prince
Florizel, but all his looks were for Perdita. He saw how much she was
like the Queen Hermione, and said again and again--
“Such a sweet creature my daughter might have been, if I had not cruelly
sent her from me.”
When the old shepherd heard that the King had lost a baby daughter, who
had been left upon the coast of Bohemia, he felt sure that Perdita, the
child he had reared, must be the King's daughter, and when he told
his tale and showed the jewels and the paper, the King perceived that
Perdita was indeed his long-lost child. He welcomed her with joy, and
rewarded the good shepherd.
Polixenes had hastened after his son to prevent his marriage with
Perdita, but when he found that she was the daughter of his old friend,
he was only too glad to give his consent.
Yet Leontes could not be happy. He remembered how his fair Queen,
who should have been at his side to share his joy in his daughter's
happiness, was dead through his unkindness, and he could say nothing for
a long time but--
“Oh, thy mother! thy mother!” and ask forgiveness of the King of
Bohemia, and then kiss his daughter again, and then the Prince Florizel,
and then thank the old shepherd for all his goodness.
Then Paulina, who had been high all these years in the King's favor,
because of her kindness to the dead Queen Hermione, said--“I have a
statue made in the likeness of the dead Queen, a piece many years in
doing, and performed by the rare Italian master, Giulio Romano. I keep
it in a private house apart, and there, ever since you lost your Queen,
I have gone twice or thrice a day. Will it please your Majesty to go and
see the statue?”
So Leontes and Polixenes, and Florizel and Perdita, with Camillo and
their attendants, went to Paulina's house where there was a heavy purple
curtain screening off an alcove; and Paulina, with her hand on the
curtain, said--
“She was peerless when she was alive, and I do believe that her dead
likeness excels whatever yet you have looked upon, or that the hand
of man hath done. Therefore I keep it lonely, apart. But here it
is--behold, and say, 'tis well.”
And with that she drew back the curtain and showed them the statue. The
King gazed and gazed on the beautiful statue of his dead wife, but said
nothing.
“I like your silence,” said Paulina; “it the more shows off your wonder.
But speak, is it not like her?”
“It is almost herself,” said the King, “and yet, Paulina, Hermione was
not so much wrinkled, nothing so old as this seems.”
“Oh, not by much,” said Polixenes.
“Al,” said Paulina, “that is the cleverness of the carver, who shows her
to us as she would have been had she lived till now.”
And still Leontes looked at the statue and could not take his eyes away.
“If I had known,” said Paulina, “that this poor image would so have
stirred your grief, and love, I would not have shown it to you.”
But he only answered, “Do not draw the curtain.”
“No, you must not look any longer,” said Paulina, “or you will think it
moves.”
“Let be! let be!” said the King. “Would you not think it breathed?”
“I will draw the curtain,” said Paulina; “you will think it lives
presently.”
“Ah, sweet Paulina,” said Leontes, “make me to think so twenty years
together.”
“If you can bear it,” said Paulina, “I can make the statue move, make
it come down and take you by the hand. Only you would think it was by
wicked magic.”
“Whatever you can make her do, I am content to look on,” said the King.
And then, all folks there admiring and beholding, the statue moved from
its pedestal, and came down the steps and put its arms round the King's
neck, and he held her face and kissed her many times, for this was
no statue, but the real living Queen Hermione herself. She had lived
hidden, by Paulina's kindness, all these years, and would not discover
herself to her husband, though she knew he had repented, because she
could not quite forgive him till she knew what had become of her little
baby.
Now that Perdita was found, she forgave her husband everything, and it
was like a new and beautiful marriage to them, to be together once more.
Florizel and Perdita were married and lived long and happily.
To Leontes his many years of suffering were well paid for in the moment
when, after long grief and pain, he felt the arms of his true love
around him once again.
KING LEAR
King Lear was old and tired. He was aweary of the business of his
kingdom, and wished only to end his days quietly near his three
daughters. Two of his daughters were married to the Dukes of Albany
and Cornwall; and the Duke of Burgundy and the King of France were both
suitors for the hand of Cordelia, his youngest daughter.
Lear called his three daughters together, and told them that he proposed
to divide his kingdom between them. “But first,” said he, “I should like
to know how much you love me.”
Goneril, who was really a very wicked woman, and did not love her father
at all, said she loved him more than words could say; she loved him
dearer than eyesight, space or liberty, more than life, grace, health,
beauty, and honor.
“I love you as much as my sister and more,” professed Regan, “since I
care for nothing but my father's love.”
Lear was very much pleased with Regan's professions, and turned to his
youngest daughter, Cordelia. “Now, our joy, though last not least,” he
said, “the best part of my kingdom have I kept for you. What can you
say?”
“Nothing, my lord,” answered Cordelia.
“Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again,” said the King.
And Cordelia answered, “I love your Majesty according to my duty--no
more, no less.”
And this she said, because she was disgusted with the way in which her
sisters professed love, when really they had not even a right sense of
duty to their old father.
“I am your daughter,” she went on, “and you have brought me up and loved
me, and I return you those duties back as are right and fit, obey you,
love you, and most honor you.”
Lear, who loved Cordelia best, had wished her to make more extravagant
professions of love than her sisters. “Go,” he said, “be for ever a
stranger to my heart and me.”
The Earl of Kent, one of Lear's favorite courtiers and captains, tried
to say a word for Cordelia's sake, but Lear would not listen. He divided
the kingdom between Goneril and Regan, and told them that he should only
keep a hundred knights at arms, and would live with his daughters by
turns.
When the Duke of Burgundy knew that Cordelia would have no share of the
kingdom, he gave up his courtship of her. But the King of France was
wiser, and said, “Thy dowerless daughter, King, is Queen of us--of ours,
and our fair France.”
“Take her, take her,” said the King; “for I will never see that face of
hers again.”
So Cordelia became Queen of France, and the Earl of Kent, for having
ventured to take her part, was banished from the kingdom. The King now
went to stay with his daughter Goneril, who had got everything from her
father that he had to give, and now began to grudge even the hundred
knights that he had reserved for himself. She was harsh and undutiful
to him, and her servants either refused to obey his orders or pretended
that they did not hear them.
Now the Earl of Kent, when he was banished, made as though he would
go into another country, but instead he came back in the disguise of
a servingman and took service with the King. The King had now two
friends--the Earl of Kent, whom he only knew as his servant, and his
Fool, who was faithful to him. Goneril told her father plainly that his
knights only served to fill her Court with riot and feasting; and so she