was impossible his son could know him: he therefore advanced near enough to hear the conversation. The simple yet elegant manner in which Perdita conversed with his son did not a little surprise Polixenes: he said to Camillo: ‘This is the prettiest low-born lass I ever saw; nothing she does or says but looks like something greater than herself, too noble for this place.’
Pamillo replied: ‘Indeed she is the very queen of curds and cream.’
‘Pray, my good friend,’ said the king to the old shepherd, ‘what fair swain is that talking with your daughter?’ ‘They call him Doricles,’ replied the shepherd. ‘He says he loves my daughter; and, to speak truth, there is not a kiss to choose which loves the other best. If young Doricles can get her, she shall bring him that he little dreams of’; meaning the remainder of Perdita’s jewels; which, after he had bought herds of sheep with part of them, he had carefully hoarded up for her marriage portion.
Polixenes then addressed his son. ‘How now, young man!’ said he: ‘your heart seems full of something that takes off your mind from feasting. When I was young, I used to load my love with presents; but you have let the pedlar go, and have bought your lass no toy.’
The young prince, who little thought he was talking to the king his father, replied: ‘Old sir, she prizes not such trifles; the gifts which Perdita expects from me are locked up in my heart.’ Then turning to Perdita, he said to her: ‘O hear me, Perdita, before this ancient gentleman, who it seems was once himself a lover; he shall hear what I profess.’ Florizel then called upon the old stranger to be a witness to a solemn promise of marriage which he made to Perdita, saying to Polixenes: ‘I pray you, mark our contract.’
‘Mark your divorce, young sir,’ said the king, discovering himself. Polixenes then reproached his son for daring to contract himself to this low-born maiden, calling Perdita ‘shepherd’s brat, sheep-hook,’ and other disrespectful names; and threatening, if ever she suffered his son to see her again, he would put her, and the old shepherd her father, to a cruel death.
The king then left them in great wrath, and ordered Camillo to follow him with prince Florizel.
When the king had departed, Perdita, whose royal nature was roused by Polixenes’ reproaches, said: ‘Though we are all undone, I was not much afraid; and once or twice I was about to speak, and tell him plainly that the selfsame sun which shines upon his palace, hides not his face from our cottage, but looks on both alike.’ Then sorrowfully she said: ‘But now I am awakened from this dream, I will queen it no further. Leave me, sir; I will go milk my ewes and weep.’
The kind-hearted Camillo was charmed with the spirit and propriety of Perdita’s behaviour; and perceiving that the young prince was too deeply in love to give up his mistress at the command of his royal father, he thought of a way to befriend the lovers, and at the same time to execute a favourite scheme he had in his mind.
Camillo had long known that Leontes, the king of Sicily, was become a true penitent; and though Camillo was now the favoured friend of king Polixenes, he could not help wishing once more to see his late royal master and his native home. He therefore proposed to Florizel and Perdita that they should accompany him to the Sicilian court, where he would engage Leontes should protect them, till, through his mediation, they could obtain pardon from Polixenes, and his consent to their marriage.
To this proposal they joyfully agreed; and Camillo, who conducted everything relative to their flight, allowed the old shepherd to go along with them.
The shepherd took with him the remainder of Perdita’s jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper which he had found pinned to her mantle.
After a prosperous voyage, Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the old shepherd, arrived in safety at the court of Leontes. Leontes, who still mourned his dead Hermione and his lost child, received Camillo with great kindness, and gave a cordial welcome to prince Florizel. But Perdita, whom Florizel introduced as his princess, seemed to engross all Leontes’ attention: perceiving a resemblance between her and his dead queen Hermione, his grief broke out afresh, and he said, such a lovely creature might his own daughter have been, if he had not so cruelly destroyed her. ‘And then, too,’ said he to Florizel, ‘I lost the society and friendship of your grave father, whom I now desire more than my life once again to look upon.’
When the old shepherd heard how much notice the king had taken of Perdita, and that he had lost a daughter, who was exposed in infancy, he fell to comparing the time when he found the little Perdita, with the manner of its exposure, the jewels and other tokens of its high birth; from all which it was impossible for him not to conclude that Perdita and the king’s lost daughter were the same.
Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the faithful Paulina, were present when the old shepherd related to the king the manner in which he had found the child, and also the circumstance of Antigonus’ death, he having seen the bear seize upon him. He showed the rich mantle in which Paulina remembered Hermione had wrapped the child; and he produced a jewel which she remembered Hermione had tied about Perdita’s neck, and he gave up the paper which Paulina knew to be the writing of her husband; it could not be doubted that Perdita was Leontes’ own daughter: but oh! the noble struggles of Paulina, between sorrow for her husband’s death, and joy that the oracle was fulfilled, in the king’s heir, his long-lost daughter being found. When Leontes heard that Perdita was his daughter, the great sorrow that he felt that Hermione was not living to behold her child, made him that he could say nothing for a long time, but ‘O thy mother, thy mother!’
Paulina interrupted this joyful yet distressful scene, with saying to Leontes, that she had a statue newly finished by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, which was such a perfect resemblance of the queen, that would his majesty be pleased to go to her house and look upon it, he would be almost ready to think it was Hermione herself. Thither then they all went; the king anxious to see the semblance of his Hermione, and Perdita longing to behold what the mother she never saw did look like.
When Paulina drew back the curtain which concealed this famous statue, so perfectly did it resemble Hermione, that all the king’s sorrow was renewed at the sight: for a long time he had no power to speak or move.
‘I like your silence, my liege,’ said Paulina, ‘it the more shows your wonder. Is not this statue very like your queen?’
At length the king said: ‘O, thus she stood, even with such majesty, when I first wooed her. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so aged as this statue looks.’ Paulina replied: ‘So much the more the carver’s excellence, who has made the statue as Hermione would have looked had she been living now. But let me draw the curtain, sire, lest presently you think it moves.’
The king then said: ‘Do not draw the curtain; would I were dead! See, Camillo, would you not think it breathed? Her eye seems to have motion in it.’ ‘I must draw the curtain, my liege,’ said Paulina. ‘You are so transported, you will persuade yourself the statue lives.’ ‘O, sweet Paulina,’ said Leontes, ‘make me think so twenty years together! 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.’ ‘Good my lord, forbear!’ said Paulina. ‘The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; you will stain your own with oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?’ ‘No, not these twenty years,’ said Leontes.
Perdita, who all this time had been kneeling, and beholding in silent admiration the statue of her matchless mother, said now: ‘And so long could I stay here, looking upon my dear mother.’
‘Either forbear this transport,’ said Paulina to Leontes, ‘and let me draw the curtain; or prepare yourself for more amazement. I can make the statue move indeed; ay, and descend from off the pedestal, and take you by the hand. But then you will think, which I protest I am not, that I am
