to sport with them, as youth required, and so passed by the queen and came to the Duchess of Berry, who took and held him by the arm to know what he was, but the king would not show his name. Then the duchess said, Ye shall not escape me till I know your name. In this mean season great mischief fell on the other, and by reason of the Duke of Orléans; howbeit, it was by ignorance, and against his will, for if he had considered before the mischief that fell, he would not have done as he did for all the good in the world; but he was so desirous to know what personages the five were that danced, he put one of the torches that his servant held so near, that the heat of the fire entered into the flax (wherein if fire take there is no remedy), and suddenly was on a bright flame, and so each of them set fire on other; the pitch was so fastened to the linen cloth, and their shirts so dry and fine, and so joining to their flesh, that they began to burn and to cry for help: none durst come near them; they that did burnt their hands by reason of the heat of the pitch: one of them called Nanthorillet advised him how the botry was thereby; he fled thither, and cast himself into a vessel full of water, wherein they rinsed pots, which saved him, or else he had been dead as the other were; yet he was sore hurt with the fire. When the queen heard the cry that they made, she doubted her of the king, for she knew well that he should be one of the six; therewith she fell into a swoon, and knights and ladies came and comforted her. A piteous noise there was in the hall. The Duchess of Berry delivered the king from that peril, for she did cast over him the train of her gown, and covered him from the fire. The king would have gone from her. Whither will ye go? quoth she; ye see well how your company burns. What are ye? I am the king, quoth he. Haste ye, quoth she, and get you into other apparel, and come to the queen. And the Duchess of Berry had somewhat comforted her, and had showed her how she should see the king shortly. Therewith the king came to the queen, and as soon as she saw him, for joy she embraced him and fell in a swoon; then she was borne to her chamber, and the king went with her. And the bastard of Foix, who was all on a fire, cried ever with a loud voice, Save the king, save the king! Thus was the king saved. It was happy for him that he went from his company, for else he had been dead without remedy. This great mischief fell thus about midnight in the hall of Saint Powle in Paris, where there was two burnt to death in the place, and other two, the bastard of Foix and the Earl of Jouy, borne to their lodgings, and died within two days after in great misery and pain."

The illuminated Froissart in the British Museum supplies us with a representation of this tragical event. It would appear from a passage in Melvil's Memoirs' that the French brought this species of mummery to the court of Mary Queen of Scots :

"During their abode (that of the ambassadors who assembled to congratulate Mary Queen of Scots on the birth of her son) at Stirling, there was daily banqueting, dancing, and triumph. And at the principal banquet there fell out a great grudge among the Englishmen ; for a Frenchman, called Bastian, devised a number of men formed like satyrs, with long tails, and whips in their hands, running before the meat, which was brought through the great hall upon a machine or engine, marching as appeared alone, with musicians clothed like maids, singing, and playing upon all sorts of instruments. But the satyrs were not content only to make way or room, but put their hands behind them to their tails, which they wagged with their hands in such sort as the Englishmen supposed it had been devised and done in derision of them, weakly apprehending that which they should not have appeared to understand. For Mr. Hatton, Mr. Lignish, and the most part of the gentlemen, desired to sup before the queen and great banquet, that they might see the better the order and ceremonies of the triumph: but so soon as they perceived

the satyrs wagging their tails, they all sat down upon the bare floor behind the back of the table, that they might not see themselves derided, as they thought. Mr. Hatton said unto me, if it were not in the queen's presence, he would put a dagger to the heart of that French knave Bastian, who, he alleged, had done it out of despite that the queen made more of them than of the Frenchmen."

We have a passage in Cavendish's Life of Wolsey' in which the great cardinal is described coming after mass into his privy chamber, "holding in his hand a very fair orange, whereof the meat or substance within was taken out, and filled up again with the part of a sponge, wherein was vinegar and other confections against the pestilent airs; the which he most commonly smelt unto, passing among the press, or else when he was pestered with many suitors." This was a pomander. It appears from a passage in Mr. Burgon's valuable Life of Sir Thomas Gresham' that the supposed orange held in the hand in several ancient portraits, amongst others in those of Lord Berners and Gresham, was in truth a pomander.

ACT V.

SCENE I.—Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of Leontes. Enter LEONTEs, Cleomenes, DION, PAULINA, and others. Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence, than done trespass: At the last Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil; With them, forgive yourself.

Leon.

Whilst I remember
Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them; and so still think of
The wrong I did myself: which was so much,
That heirless it hath made my kingdom; and
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man
Bred his hopes out of.

Paul.

True, too true, my lord:
If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
Or, from the all that are took something good,
To make a perfect woman, she, you kill'd,

Would be unparallel'd.

Leon.

I think so. Kill'd!

She I kill'd! I did so but thou strik'st me

Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter

Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.

Cleo.

Not at all, good lady;

You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign name; consider little,
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue,
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour
Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy
Than to rejoice the former queen is well? a
What holier than,-for royalty's repair,
For present comfort and for future good,—
To bless the bed of majesty again

With a sweet fellow to 't?

Paul.

Respecting her that's gone.

There is none worthy,

Besides, the gods

Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes:
For has not the divine Apollo said,

Is 't not the tenor of his oracle,

That king Leontes shall not have an heir
Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall,
Is all as monstrous to our human reason,

As my Antigonus to break his grave,
And come again to me; who, on my life,

Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel

My lord should to the heavens be contrary,

Oppose against their wills.-Care not for issue; [To LEON.

The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander

Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor

Was like to be the best.

Leon.

Good Paulina,

Who hast the memory of Hermione,

I know, in honour,-O, that ever I

Had squar'd me to thy counsel! then, even now,

I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes;

Have taken treasure from her lips,—

Paul.

More rich, for what they yielded.

Leon.

And left them

Thou speak'st truth.

No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,

And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit

6

a In Antony and Cleopatra' we have an explanation of the text :

"We use to say, the dead are well."

Again possess her corps; and, on this stage,
(Where we offenders now,) appear,a soul-vex'd,

And begin, "Why to me?"

Paul.

She had just cause."

Leon.

Had she such power,

She had; and would incense me

To murther her I married.

Paul.

I should so :

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark
Her eye; and tell me, for what dull part in 't
You chose her: then I'd shriek, that even your ears
Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd
Should be," Remember mine!"

Leon.

Stars, stars,c

And all eyes else dead coals!-fear thou no wife,
I'll have no wife, Paulina.

Paul.

Will you swear

Never to marry, but by my free leave?

Leon. Never, Paulina: so be bless'd my spirit!

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath,— Cleo. You tempt him over-much.

Paul.

As like Hermione as is her picture,

Affront his eye;-d

Unless another,

Cleo.
Good madam, I have done.
Paul. Yet, if my lord will marry,—if you will,

No remedy but you will; give me the office

a The original reads

(Where we offenders now appear.)

We have shifted the place of the parenthesis, making “her sainted spirit" the nominative case to "appear." By this arrangement, "where we offenders now are must be understood. By any other construction we lose the force of the word "appear," as applied to "sainted spirit." Malone proposed to read,—

"Again possess her corps, (and on this stage

Where we offenders now appear soul-vex'd,)
And begin, Why to me?"

b Just cause. In the original just such cause. In modern editions uch is omitted, following the authority of the third folio.

c Stars, stars. So the original, but diluted by Hanmer into stars, very stars.

d The vehemence of Paulina overbears the interruption of Cleomenes, and he

says

"I have done." The modern editors give "I have done" to Paulina; she is evidently going on, perfectly regardless of any opposition.

when