Characteristics of Women Part 17

The artless manner in which her innate n.o.bility of soul shines forth through her pastoral disguise, is thus brought before us at once:--

This is the prettiest low-born la.s.s that ever Ran on the green sward; nothing she does or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself; Too n.o.ble for this place.

Her natural loftiness of spirit breaks out where she is menaced and reviled by the King, as one whom his son has degraded himself by merely looking on; she bears the royal frown without quailing; but the moment he is gone, the immediate recollection of herself, and of her humble state, of her hapless love, is full of beauty, tenderness, and nature:--

Even here undone!

I was much afeard: for once or twice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly The self-same sun, that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.

Will't please, you Sir, be gone?

I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care; this dream of mine-- Being now awake--I'll queen it no inch further, But milk my ewes, and weep.

How often have I told you 'twould be thus How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known!

FLORIZEL.

It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.

Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd! for all the sun sees, or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To thee, my fair beloved!

Perdita has another characteristic, which lends to the poetical delicacy of the delineation a certain strength and moral elevation, which is peculiarly striking. It is that sense of truth and rect.i.tude, that upright simplicity of mind, which disdains all crooked and indirect means, which would not stoop for an instant to dissemblance, and is mingled with a n.o.ble confidence in her love and in her lover. In this spirit is her answer to Camilla, who says, courtier like,--

Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love; Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together Affliction alters.

To which she replies,--

One of these is true; I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind.

In that elegant scene where she receives the guests at the sheep-shearing, and distributes the flowers, there is in the full flow of the poetry, a most beautiful and striking touch of individual character: but here it is impossible to mutilate the dialogue.

Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savor all the winter long; Grace and remembrance be to you both, And welcome to our shearing!

POLIXENES.

Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages With flowers of winter.

PERDITA.

Sir, the year growing ancient, Nor yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season Are our carnations, and streaked gilliflowers, Which some call nature's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds: of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them.

POLIXENES.

Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them?

PERDITA.

For I have heard it said, There is an art, which in their piedness, shares With great creating nature.

POLIXENES.

Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so o'er that art Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentle scion to the wildest stock; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of n.o.bler race. This is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather; but The art itself is nature.

PERDITA.

So it is.

POLIXENES.

Then make your garden rich in gilliflowers, And do not call them b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

PERDITA.

I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted, I would wish This youth should say 'twere well.

It has been well remarked of this pa.s.sage, that Perdita does not attempt to answer the reasoning of Polixenes: she gives up the argument, but, woman-like, retains her own opinion, or rather, her sense of right, unshaken by his sophistry. She goes on in a strain of poetry, which comes over the soul like music and fragrance mingled: we seem to inhale the blended odors of a thousand flowers, till the sense faints with their sweetness; and she concludes with a touch of pa.s.sionate sentiment, which melts into the very heart:--

O Proserpina!

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's wagon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er.

FLORIZEL.

What! like a corse?

PERDITA.

No, like a bank, for Love to lie and play on; Not like a corse: or if,--not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms!

This love of truth, this _conscientiousness_, which forms so distinct a feature in the character of Perdita, and mingles with its picturesque delicacy a certain firmness and dignity, is maintained consistently to the last. When the two lovers fly together from Bohemia, and take refuge in the court of Leontes, the real father of Perdita, Florizel presents himself before the king with a feigned tale, in which he has been artfully instructed by the old counsellor Camillo. During this scene, Perdita does not utter a word. In the strait in which they are placed, she cannot deny the story which Florizel relates--she will not confirm it. Her silence, in spite of all the compliments and greetings of Leontes, has a peculiar and characteristic grace and, at the conclusion of the scene, when they are betrayed, the truth bursts from her as if instinctively, and she exclaims, with emotion,--

The heavens set spies upon us--will not have Our contract celebrated.

After this scene, Perdita says very little. The description of her grief, while listening to the relation of her mother's death,--

"One of the prettiest touches of all, was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came by it, how attentiveness wounded her daughter: till from one sign of dolor to another, she did, with an _alas_! I would fain say, bleed tears:"--

her deportment too as she stands gazing on the statue of Hermione, fixed in wonder, admiration and sorrow, as if she too were marble--

O royal piece!

There's magic in thy majesty, which has From thy admiring daughter ta'en the spirits, Standing like stone beside thee!

are touches of character conveyed indirectly, and which serve to give a more finished effect to this beautiful picture.

VIOLA.

As the innate dignity of Perdita pierces through her rustic disguise, so the exquisite refinement of Viola triumphs over her masculine attire.

Viola is, perhaps, in a degree less elevated and ideal than Perdita, but with a touch of sentiment more profound and heart-stirring; she is "deep-learned in the lore of love,"--at least theoretically,--and speaks as masterly on the subject as Perdita does of flowers.