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This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce, Even pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried The daughter of a king, our wife, and one Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear’d Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, Even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner.
In this trial, with great sadness, we announce, It feels like a blow to our heart: the case is about The daughter of a king, our wife, and someone We loved too much. Let’s clear ourselves Of being tyrants, since we are acting so openly In the name of justice, which will take its rightful course, Whether that means guilt or clearing her name. Bring in the prisoner.
It is his highness’ pleasure that the queen Appear in person here in court. Silence!
It is his highness’ command that the queen Appear in person here in court. Silence!
Read the indictment.
Read the indictment.
[Reads] Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night.
[Reads] Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia, you are here accused and charged with high treason, for committing adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring with Camillo to kill our sovereign lord the king, your royal husband: the accusation being partly revealed through evidence, you, Hermione, contrary to the loyalty of a true subject, advised and helped them, for their better safety, to run away by night.
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. You, my lord, best know, Who least will seem to do so, my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devised And play’d to take spectators. 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 honour ’fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, ’Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain’d to appear thus: if one jot beyond The bound of honour, or in act or will That way inclining, harden’d be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near’st of kin Cry fie upon my grave!
Since what I’m about to say must only be that Which contradicts my accusation and The evidence against me, there’s nothing I can add Except that it comes from myself, so it will hardly matter To say "not guilty": my integrity Being called a lie, will be taken as such when I say it. But here’s what I’ll say: if divine powers Watch our human actions, as they do, I’m sure innocence will make False accusations blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience. You, my lord, know best, Though you might not want to admit it, that my past life Has been as pure, as chaste, as true, As I am now miserable; which is more Than history can show, even though it’s made For people to watch. For look at me A woman of the royal bed, who owes A part of the throne, a great king’s daughter, The mother of a hopeful prince, now standing To plead for my life and honor before Anyone who chooses to listen. For life, I value it As I value grief, which I would avoid: for honor, It’s something I pass down to my children, And that’s all I stand for. I ask Your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your favor, How I earned it; since he came, With what kind of encounter so strange I Have struggled to appear this way: if I’ve gone even a bit Beyond the boundaries of honor, or in actions or intentions That way leaning, may the hearts Of everyone who hears me harden, And may my closest relatives Cry "shame" on my grave!
I ne’er heard yet That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did Than to perform it first.
I’ve never heard That any of these more shameless crimes lacked Less audacity to deny what they did Than to do it in the first place.
That’s true enough; Through ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
That’s true enough; Though it’s a saying, sir, not meant for me.
You will not own it.
You won’t admit it.
More than mistress of Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accused, I do confess I loved him as in honour he required, With such a kind of love as might become A 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 me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, I know not how it tastes; though it be dish’d For me to try how: all I know of it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
More than mistress of What comes to me as a fault, I must not Acknowledge at all. As for Polixenes, With whom I’m accused, I confess I loved him as honor required, With a love that was fitting For a lady like me, a love exactly like The one you commanded: To not have done this, I think, would have been Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and your friend, whose love had shown, Since he could first speak, freely That it was yours. Now, about conspiracy, I don’t know what it feels like; though it’s served To make me try it: all I know about it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Knowing no more than I, don’t understand.
You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta’en to do in’s absence.
You knew about his departure, as you know What you’ve secretly planned to do in his absence.
Sir, You speak a language that I understand not: My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I’ll lay down.
Sir, You’re speaking in a language I don’t understand: My life stands at the level of your dreams, Which I’ll lay down.
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 as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it,--which is, indeed, More criminal in thee than it,--so thou Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death.
Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard child by Polixenes, And I only dreamed it. You’ve gone beyond all shame,-- Those of your kind are so--so far beyond truth: Which denying does more harm than helps; for as Your child has been cast out, without a father to claim it,-- Which, in fact, Is more criminal in you than in it,--so you Shall face our justice, whose easiest punishment You can expect to be nothing less than death.
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 joy And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr’d, 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 honour, Which I would free, if I shall be condemn’d Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But 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!
Sir, spare your threats: The horror you’d use to scare me, I seek. To me, life has no value: The crown and comfort of my life, your favor, I have lost; for I feel it’s gone, But don’t know how it left. My second joy And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I’m cut off, like someone contagious. My third comfort Most unlucky, is from my breast, The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, Pulled out to be killed: I’m called a whore at every post With cruel hatred The right to give birth denied, which belongs To all women; finally, hurried Here to this place, in the open air, before I’ve regained any strength. Now, my lord, Tell me what blessings I have left alive, That I should fear to die? So go ahead. But still hear this: don’t misunderstand me; no life, I don’t value a bit, except for my honor, Which I would preserve, if I am condemned On suspicions, with no proof except What your jealousies create, I tell you It’s cruelty, not law. Your honors all, I refer myself to the oracle: Let Apollo be my judge!
This your request Is altogether just: therefore bring forth, And in Apollos name, his oracle.
Your request Is completely fair: so bring it out, And in Apollo’s name, his oracle.
The Emperor of Russia was my father: O 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!
The Emperor of Russia was my father: Oh, if he were alive, and here watching His daughter’s trial! If only he could see The depth of my misery, yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge!
You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought The seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d Of great Apollo’s priest; and that, since then, You have not dared to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in’t.
You will swear on this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Both been to Delphi, and from there brought The sealed oracle, delivered by the hand Of Apollo’s high priest; and that, since then, You have not dared to break the holy seal Or read the secrets within.
All this we swear.
We swear to all of this.
Break up the seals and read.
Break open the seals and read it.
[Reads] Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.
[Reads] Hermione is pure; Polixenes is blameless; Camillo is a loyal subject; Leontes is a jealous tyrant; his innocent baby is truly his own; and the king will die without an heir, unless what is lost is found.
Now blessed be the great Apollo!
Now, praise be to Apollo, the great god!
Praised!
Praise be!
Hast thou read truth?
Did you read the truth?
Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down.
Yes, my lord; exactly As it’s written here.
There is no truth at all i’ the oracle: The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.
There’s no truth in the oracle at all: The trial will continue: this is all a lie.
My lord the king, the king!
My lord, the king, the king!
What is the business?
What’s going on?
O sir, I shall be hated to report it! The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the queen’s speed, is gone.
Oh, sir, I’ll be hated for saying this! The prince, your son, in his fear And his doubts about the queen’s health, has run away.
How! gone!
What! Gone?
Is dead.
He’s dead.
Apollo’s angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice.
Apollo is angry, and even the heavens Are punishing me for my wrongs.
How now there!
What’s going on there!
This news is mortal to the queen: look down And see what death is doing.
This news is killing the queen: look down And see what death is doing.
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 her Some remedies for life.
Take her away: Her heart is just overwhelmed; she’ll recover: I’ve trusted my own suspicions too much: Please, gently give her some remedies to save her life.
Apollo, pardon My 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 jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison My friend Polixenes: which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing ’t and being done: he, most humane And fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp’d my practise, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the hazard Of all encertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour: how he glisters Thorough my rust! and how his pity Does my deeds make the blacker!
Apollo, forgive My great disrespect against your oracle! I’ll make peace with Polixenes, Woo my queen again, bring back the good Camillo, Who I declare to be a man of truth and mercy; For, driven by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and revenge, I chose Camillo to poison My friend Polixenes: which would’ve happened, But the good heart of Camillo delayed My swift command, even though I threatened him with death and rewards, Not doing it, and having it done: he, most humane And filled with honor, revealed my plan to my royal guest And left his fortunes here, Which you knew were great, and risked everything With nothing but his honor: how he shines Through my shame! and how his pity Makes my deeds even worse!
Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too.
Woe is me! Oh, cut my corset, so my heart won’t crack And break too.
What fit is this, good lady?
What’s happening, good lady?
What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? In leads or oils? what old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine, O, think what they have done And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray’dst Polixenes,’twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant And 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 reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter To be or none or little; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire ere done’t: Nor is’t directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts, Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish’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’t Not dropp’d down yet.
What tortures, tyrant, have you planned for me? What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? In lead or oil? what old or new tortures Must I endure, every word of mine deserving To feel your worst? Your tyranny, Together with your jealousies, Imaginations too weak for boys, too childish and idle For nine-year-old girls, Oh, think what they’ve done And then go mad yourself, truly mad! For all Your past foolishness was just a taste of it. That you betrayed Polixenes, it was nothing; That only showed you were a fool, fickle And damnably ungrateful: nor was it much, That you would’ve poisoned good Camillo’s honor, To have him kill a king: petty wrongs, More monstrous when you stand by them: of those I count The throwing out of your baby-daughter To the crows, as either nothing or very little; though a devil Would’ve shed water out of fire before doing that: Nor is it directly your fault, the death Of the young prince, whose noble thoughts, Thoughts too high for one so young, broke the heart That could imagine a gross and foolish father Disgraced his noble mother: this is not, no, Laid to your charge: but the final straw,--Oh lords, When I say, cry ’woe!’ the queen, the queen, The sweetest, dearest creature’s dead, And vengeance for it Has not yet fallen.
The higher powers forbid!
May the higher powers forbid!
I say she’s dead; I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert.
I say she’s dead; I’ll swear to it. If words or oaths Don’t work, go and see: if you can find A color or shine in her lip, her eye, Heat in her body or breath in her, I’ll serve you As I would serve the gods. But, oh you tyrant! Don’t regret what you’ve done, because they are heavier Than all your troubles can stir; so give yourself Nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, On a barren mountain, with winter And a never-ending storm, could not make the gods Look at you with pity.
Go on, go on Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved All tongues to talk their bitterest.
Go on, go on You can’t speak too much; I’ve earned All the bitter words you can say.
Say no more: Howe’er the business goes, you have made fault I’ the boldness of your speech.
Say no more: However this turns out, you’ve made a mistake In the boldness of your words.
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 much The rashness of a woman: he is touch’d To the noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help Should be past grief: do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punish’d, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege Sir, 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.
I’m sorry for that: All mistakes I make, when I realize them, I do regret. Alas! I’ve shown too much The rashness of a woman: he is deeply affected To the noble heart. What’s done and beyond help Should be beyond grief: don’t let my sorrow Be your burden; I ask you, instead Let me be punished, for reminding you Of what you should forget. Now, good my king, Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: The love I had for your queen—oh, fool again!— I’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I won’t remind you of my own husband, Who is lost too: take your patience, And I’ll say nothing.
Thou didst speak but well When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son: One grave shall be for both: upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there Shall be my recreation: so long as nature Will bear up with this exercise, so long I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me Unto these sorrows.
You spoke well When you told most of the truth; which I accept much better Than to be pitied by you. Please, bring me To the bodies of my queen and son: One grave will be for both: upon them will The reasons for their death be revealed, for Our shame forever. Once a day I’ll visit The chapel where they lie, and the tears shed there Shall be my recreation: as long as nature Can stand this, I vow to do it every day. Come, lead me To this sorrow.