Pericles, Prince of Tyre
(By Mary Lamb)
Pericles, prince of Tyre, became a voluntary exile from his dominions,
to avert the dreadful calamities which Antiochus, the wicked emperor
of Greece, threatened to bring upon his subjects and city of Tyre, in
revenge for a discovery which the prince had made of a shocking deed
which the emperor had done in secret; as commonly it proves dangerous
to pry into the hidden crimes of great ones. Leaving the government of
his people in the hands of his able and honest minister, Hellicanus,
Pericles set sail from Tyre, thinking to absent himself till the wrath
of Antiochus, who was mighty, should be appeased.
The first place which the prince directed his course to was Tharsus,
and hearing that the city of Tharsus was at that time suffering under
a severe famine, he took with him store of provisions for its relief.
On his arrival he found the city reduced to the utmost distress; and,
he coming like a messenger from heaven with his unhoped-for succour,
Cleon, the governor of Tharsus, welcomed him with boundless thanks.
Pericles had not been here many days, before letters came from his
faithful minister, warning him that it was not safe for him to stay
at Tharsus, for Antiochus knew of his abode, and by secret emissaries
dispatched for that purpose sought his life. Upon receipt of these
letters Pericles put out to sea again, amidst the blessings and
prayers of a whole people who had been fed by his bounty.
He had not sailed far, when his ship was overtaken by a dreadful
storm, and every man on board perished except Pericles, who was cast
by the sea-waves naked on an unknown shore, where he had not wandered
long before he met with some poor fishermen, who invited him to their
homes, giving him clothes and provisions. The fishermen told Pericles
the name of their country was Pentapolis, and that their king was
Symonides, commonly called the good Symonides, because of his
peaceable reign and good government. From them he also learned that
king Symonides had a fair young daughter, and that the following day
was her birth-day, when a grand tournament was to be held at court,
many princes and knights being come from all parts to try their skill
in arms for the love of Thaisa, this fair princess. While the prince
was listening to this account, and secretly lamenting the loss of his
good armour, which disabled him from making one among these valiant
knights, another fisherman brought in a complete suit of armour that
he had taken out of the sea with his fishing-net, which proved to be
the very armour he had lost. When Pericles beheld his own armour, he
said, "Thanks, Fortune; after all my crosses you give me somewhat to
repair myself. This armour was bequeathed to me by my dead father, for
whose dear sake I have so loved it, that whithersoever I went I still
have kept it by me, and the rough sea that parted it from me, having
now become calm, hath given it back again, for which I thank it,
for, since I have my father's gift again, I think my shipwreck no
misfortune."
The next day Pericles, clad in his brave father's armour, repaired
to the royal court of Symonides, where he performed wonders at the
tournament, vanquishing with ease all the brave knights and valiant
princes who contended with him in arms for the honour of Thaisa's
love. When brave warriors contended at court-tournaments for the love
of kings' daughters, if one proved sole victor over all the rest, it
was usual for the great lady for whose sake these deeds of valour were
undertaken to bestow all her respect upon the conqueror, and Thaisa
did not depart from this custom, for she presently dismissed all the
princes and knights whom Pericles had vanquished, and distinguished
him by her especial favour and regard, crowning him with the wreath of
victory, as king of that day's happiness; and Pericles became a most
passionate lover of this beauteous princess from the first moment he
beheld her.
The good Symonides so well approved of the valour and noble qualities
of Pericles, who was indeed a most accomplished gentleman, and well
learned in all excellent arts, that though he knew not the rank of
this royal stranger (for Pericles for fear of Antiochus gave out that
he was a private gentleman of Tyre), yet did not Symonides disdain to
accept of the valiant unknown for a son-in-law, when he perceived his
daughter's affections were firmly fixed upon him.
Pericles had not been many months married to Thaisa, before he
received intelligence that his enemy Antiochus was dead; and that his
subjects of Tyre, impatient of his long absence, threatened to revolt,
and talked of placing Hellicanus upon his vacant throne. This news
came from Hellicanus himself, who being a loyal subject to his royal
master, would not accept of the high dignity offered him, but sent
to let Pericles know their intentions, that he might return home and
resume his lawful right. It was matter of great surprise and joy to
Symonides, to find that his son-in-law (the obscure knight) was the
renowned prince of Tyre; yet again he regretted that he was not the
private gentleman he supposed him to be, seeing that he must now part
both with his admired son-in-law and his beloved daughter, whom he
feared to trust to the perils of the sea, because Thaisa was with
child; and Pericles himself wished her to remain with her father till
after her confinement, but the poor lady so earnestly desired to go
with her husband, that at last they consented, hoping she would reach
Tyre before she was brought to-bed.
The sea was no friendly element to unhappy Pericles, for long before
they reached Tyre another dreadful tempest arose, which so terrified
Thaisa that she was taken ill, and in a short space of time her nurse
Lychorida came to Pericles with a little child in her arms, to tell
the prince the sad tidings that his wife died the moment her little
babe was born. She held the babe towards its father, saying, "Here is
a thing too young for such a place. This is the child of your dead
queen." No tongue can tell the dreadful sufferings of Pericles when
he heard his wife was dead. As soon as he could speak, he said, "O
you gods, why do you make us love your goodly gifts, and then snatch
those gifts away?" "Patience, good sir," said Lychorida, "here is all
that is left alive of our dead queen, a little daughter, and for your
child's sake be more manly. Patience, good sir, even for the sake of
this precious charge." Pericles took the new-born infant in his arms,
and he said to the little babe, "Now may your life be mild, for a
more blusterous birth had never babe! May your condition be mild and
gentle, for you have had the rudest welcome that ever prince's child
did meet with! May that which follows be happy, for you have had as
chiding a nativity as fire, air, water, earth, and heaven, could make,
to herald you from the womb! Even at the first, your loss," meaning in
the death of her mother, "is more than all the joys which you shall
find upon this earth, to which you are come a new visitor, shall be
able to recompence."
The storm still continuing to rage furiously, and the sailors having
a superstition that while a dead body remained in the ship the storm
would never cease, they came to Pericles to demand that his queen
should be thrown overboard; and they said, "What courage, sir? God
save you!" "Courage enough," said the sorrowing prince: "I do not fear
the storm; it has done to me its worst; yet for the love of this poor
infant, this fresh new sea-farer, I wish the storm was over." "Sir,"
said the sailors, "your queen must overboard. The sea works high, the
wind is loud, and the storm will not abate till the ship be cleared
of the dead." Though Pericles knew how weak and unfounded this
superstition was, yet he patiently submitted, saying, "As you think
meet. Then she must overboard, most wretched queen!" And now this
unhappy prince went to take a last view of his dear wife, and as he
looked on his Thaisa, he said, "A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my
dear; no light, no fire; the unfriendly elements forgot thee utterly,
nor have I time to bring thee hallowed to thy grave, but must cast
thee scarcely coffined into the sea, where for a monument upon thy
bones the humming waters must overwhelm thy corpse, lying with simple
shells. O Lychorida, bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper, my
casket and my jewels, and bid Nicandor bring me the satin coffin. Lay
the babe upon the pillow, and go about this suddenly, Lychorida, while
I say a priestly farewel to my Thaisa."
They brought Pericles a large chest, in which (wrapt in a satin
shroud) he placed his queen, and sweet-smelling spices he strewed
over her, and beside her he placed rich jewels, and a written paper,
telling who she was, and praying, if haply any one should find the
chest which contained the body of his wife, they would give her
burial: and then with his own hands he cast the chest into the sea.
When the storm was over, Pericles ordered the sailors to make for
Tharsus. "For," said Pericles, "the babe cannot hold out till we come
to Tyre. At Tharsus I will leave it at careful nursing."
After that tempestuous night when Thaisa was thrown into the sea, and
while it was yet early morning, as Cerimon, a worthy gentleman of
Ephesus, and a most skilful physician, was standing by the sea-side,
his servants brought to him a chest, which they said the sea-waves had
thrown on the land. "I never saw," said one of them, "so huge a billow
as cast it on our shore." Cerimon ordered the chest to be conveyed to
his own house, and when it was opened he beheld with wonder the body
of a young and lovely lady; and the sweet-smelling spices, and rich
casket of jewels, made him conclude it was some great person who was
thus strangely entombed: searching further, he discovered a paper from
which he learned that the corpse which lay as dead before him had been
a queen, and wife to Pericles, prince of Tyre; and much admiring at
the strangeness of that accident, and more pitying the husband who
had lost this sweet lady, he said, "If you are living, Pericles, you
have a heart that even cracks with woe." Then observing attentively
Thaisa's face, he saw how fresh and unlike death her looks were; and
he said, "They were too hasty that threw you into the sea:" for he did
not believe her to be dead. He ordered a fire to be made, and proper
cordials to be brought, and soft music to be played, which might
help to calm her amazed spirits if she should revive; and he said
to those who crowded round her, wondering at what they saw, "I pray
you, gentlemen, give her air; this queen will live; she has not been
entranced above five hours; and see, she begins to blow into life
again; she is alive; behold, her eyelids move; this fair creature will
live to make us weep to hear her fate." Thaisa had never died, but
after the birth of her little baby had fallen into a deep swoon, which
made all that saw her conclude her to be dead; and now by the care
of this kind gentleman she once more revived to light and life; and
opening her eyes, she said, "Where am I? Where is my lord? What world
is this?" By gentle degrees Cerimon let her understand what had
befallen her; and when he thought she was enough recovered to bear the
sight, he shewed her the paper written by her husband, and the jewels;
and she looked on the paper, and said, "It is my lord's writing. That
I was shipped at sea, I well remember, but whether there delivered of
my babe, by the holy gods I cannot rightly say; but since my wedded
lord I never shall see again, I will put on a vestal livery, and never
more have joy." "Madam," said Cerimon, "if you purpose as you speak,
the temple of Diana is not far distant from hence, there you may abide
as a vestal. Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine shall there
attend you." This proposal was accepted with thanks by Thaisa; and
when she was perfectly recovered, Cerimon placed her in the temple of
Diana, where she became a vestal or priestess of that goddess, and
passed her days in sorrowing for her husband's supposed loss, and in
the most devout exercises of those times.
Pericles carried his young daughter (whom he named Marina, because she
was born at sea) to Tharsus, intending to leave her with Cleon, the
governor of that city, and his wife Dionysia, thinking, for the good
he had done to them at the time of their famine, they would be kind to
his little motherless daughter. When Cleon saw prince Pericles, and
heard of the great loss which had befallen him, he said, "O your sweet
queen, that it had pleased heaven you could have brought her hither
to have blessed my eyes with the sight of her!" Pericles replied, "We
must obey the powers above us. Should I rage and roar as the sea does
in which my Thaisa lies, yet the end must be as it is. My gentle babe,
Marina here, I must charge your charity with her. I leave her the
infant of your care, beseeching you to give her princely training."
And then turning to Cleon's wife, Dionysia, he said, "Good madam, make
me blessed in your care in bringing up my child:" and she answered,
"I have a child myself who shall not be more dear to my respect than
yours, my lord;" and Cleon made the like promise, saying, "Your noble
services, prince Pericles, in feeding my whole people with your corn
(for which in their prayers they daily remember you) must in your
child be thought on. If I should neglect your child, my whole people
that were by you relieved would force me to my duty; but if to that
I need a spur, the gods revenge it on me and mine to the end of
generation." Pericles being thus assured that his child would be
carefully attended to, left her to the protection of Cleon and his
wife Dionysia, and with her he left the nurse Lychorida. When he went
away, the little Marina knew not her loss, but Lychorida wept sadly
at parting with her royal master. "O, no tears, Lychorida," said
Pericles; "no tears; look to your little mistress, on whose grace you
may depend hereafter."
Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was once more settled in
the quiet possession of his throne, while his woeful queen, whom he
thought dead, remained at Ephesus. Her little babe Marina, whom this
hapless mother had never seen, was brought up by Cleon in a manner
suitable to her high birth. He gave her the most careful education, so
that by the time Marina attained the age of fourteen years, the most
deeply-learned men were not more studied in the learning of those
times than was Marina. She sung like one immortal, and danced as
goddess-like, and with her needle she was so skilful that she seemed
to compose nature's own shapes, in birds, fruits, or flowers, the
natural roses being scarcely more like to each other than they were to
Marina's silken flowers. But when she had gained from education all
these graces, which made her the general wonder, Dionysia, the wife of
Cleon, became her mortal enemy from jealousy, by reason that her own
daughter, from the slowness of her mind, was not able to attain to
that perfection wherein Marina excelled: and finding that all praise
was bestowed on Marina, whilst her daughter, who was of the same age
and had been educated with the same care as Marina, though not with
the same success, was in comparison disregarded, she formed a project
to remove Marina out of the way, vainly imagining that her untoward
daughter would be more respected when Marina was no more seen. To
encompass this she employed a man to murder Marina, and she well timed
her wicked design, when Lychorida, the faithful nurse, had just died.
Dionysia was discoursing with the man she had commanded to commit this
murder, when the young Marina was weeping over the dead Lychorida.
Leoline, the man she employed to do this bad deed, though he was
a very wicked man, could hardly be persuaded to undertake it, so
had Marina won all hearts to love her. He said, "She is a goodly
creature!" "The fitter then the gods should have her," replied her
merciless enemy: "here she comes weeping for the death of her nurse
Lychorida: are you resolved to obey me?" Leoline, fearing to disobey
her, replied, "I am resolved." And so, in that one short sentence, was
the matchless Marina doomed to an untimely death. She now approached,
with a basket of flowers in her hand, which she said she would daily
strew over the grave of good Lychorida. The purple violet and the
marigold should as a carpet hang upon her grave, while summer days did
last. "Alas, for me!" she said, "poor unhappy maid, born in a tempest,
when my mother died. This world to me is like a lasting storm,
hurrying me from my friends." "How now, Marina," said the dissembling
Dionysia, "do you weep alone? How does it chance my daughter is not
with you? Do not sorrow for Lychorida, you have a nurse in me. Your
beauty is quite changed with this unprofitable woe. Come, give me your
flowers, the sea-air will spoil them; and walk with Leoline: the air
is fine, and will enliven you. Come, Leoline, take her by the arm,
and walk with her." "No, madam," said Marina, "I pray you let me
not deprive you of your servant:" for Leoline was one of Dionysia's
attendants. "Come, come," said this artful woman, who wished for a
pretence to leave her alone with Leoline, "I love the prince, your
father, and I love you. We every day expect your father here; and when
he comes, and finds you so changed by grief from the paragon of beauty
we reported you, he will think we have taken no care of you. Go,
I pray you, walk, and be cheerful once again. Be careful of that
excellent complexion, which stole the hearts of old and young."
Marina, being thus importuned, said, "Well, I will go, but yet I
have no desire to it." As Dionysia walked away, she said to Leoline,
"Remember what I have said!"--shocking words, for their meaning was
that he should remember to kill Marina.
Marina looked towards the sea, her birthplace, and said, "Is the wind
westerly that blows?" "South-west," replied Leoline. "When I was born
the wind was north," said she: and then the storm and tempest, and all
her father's sorrows, and her mother's death, came full into her mind;
and she said, "My father, as Lychorida told me, did never fear, but
cried, Courage, good seamen, to the sailors, galling his princely
hands with the ropes, and, clasping to the mast, he endured a sea
that almost split the deck." "When was this?" said Leoline. "When I
was born," replied Marina: "never were waves nor wind more violent."
And then she described the storm, the action of the sailors, the
boatswain's whistle, and the loud call of the master, "Which," said
she, "trebled the confusion of the ship." Lychorida had so often
recounted to Marina the story of her hapless birth, that these things
seemed ever present to her imagination. But here Leoline interrupted
her with desiring her to say her prayers. "What mean you?" said
Marina, who began to fear, she knew not why. "If you require a little
space for prayer, I grant it," said Leoline; "but be not tedious, the
gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn to do my work in haste." "Will
you kill me?" said Marina: "alas! why?" "To satisfy my lady," replied
Leoline. "Why would she have me killed?" said Marina: "now, as I can
remember, I never hurt her in all my life. I never spake bad word,
nor did any ill turn to any living creature. Believe me now, I never
killed a mouse, nor hurt a fly. I trod upon a worm once against my
will, but I wept for it. How have I offended?" The murderer replied,
"My commission is not to reason on the deed, but do it." And he was
just going to kill her, when certain pirates happened to land at that
very moment, who seeing Marina, bore her off as a prize to their ship.
The pirate who had made Marina his prize carried her to Metaline, and
sold her for a slave, where, though in that humble condition, Marina
soon became known throughout the whole city of Metaline for her beauty
and her virtues; and the person to whom she was sold became rich by
the money she earned for him. She taught music, dancing, and fine
needle works, and the money she got by her scholars she gave to her
master and mistress; and the fame of her learning and her great
industry came to the knowledge of Lysimachus, a young nobleman who was
the governor of Metaline, and Lysimachus went himself to the house
where Marina dwelt, to see this paragon of excellence, whom all the
city praised so highly. Her conversation delighted Lysimachus beyond
measure, for though he had heard much of this admired maiden, he did
not expect to find her so sensible a lady, so virtuous, and so good,
as he perceived Marina to be; and he left her, saying, he hoped she
would persevere in her industrious and virtuous course, and that if
ever she heard from him again, it should be for her good. Lysimachus
thought Marina such a miracle for sense, fine breeding, and excellent
qualities, as well as for beauty and all outward graces, that he
wished to marry her, and notwithstanding her humble situation, he
hoped to find that her birth was noble; but ever when they asked her
parentage, she would sit still and weep.
Meantime, at Tharsus, Leoline, fearing the anger of Dionysia, told
her he had killed Marina; and that wicked woman gave out that she was
dead, and made a pretended funeral for her, and erected a stately
monument; and shortly after Pericles, accompanied by his loyal
minister Hellicanus, made a voyage from Tyre to Tharsus, on purpose to
see his daughter, intending to take her home with him; and, he never
having beheld her since he left her an infant in the care of Cleon and
his wife, how did this good prince rejoice at the thoughts of seeing
this dear child of his buried queen! but when they told him Marina was
dead, and showed the monument they had erected for her, great was the
misery this most wretched father endured, and not being able to bear
the sight of that country where his last hope and only memory of his
dear Thaisa was entombed, he took ship, and hastily departed from
Tharsus. From the day he entered the ship, a dull and heavy melancholy
seized him. He never spoke, and seemed totally insensible to every
thing around him.
Sailing from Tharsus to Tyre, the ship in its course passed by
Metaline, where Marina dwelt; the governor of which place, Lysimachus,
observing this royal vessel from the shore, and desirous of knowing
who was on board, went in a barge to the side of the ship, to satisfy
his curiosity. Hellicanus received him very courteously, and told him
that the ship came from Tyre, and that they were conducting thither
Pericles, their prince; "A man, sir," said Hellicanus, "who has not
spoken to any one these three months, nor taken any sustenance, but
just to prolong his grief; it would be tedious to repeat the whole
ground of his distemper, but the main springs from the loss of a
beloved daughter and a wife." Lysimachus begged to see this afflicted
prince, and when he beheld Pericles, he saw he had been once a goodly
person, and he said to him, "Sir king, all hail, the gods preserve
you, hail, royal sir!" But in vain Lysimachus spoke to him; Pericles
made no answer, nor did he appear to perceive any stranger approached.
And then Lysimachus bethought him of the peerless maid Marina, that
haply with her sweet tongue she might win some answer from the silent
prince: and with the consent of Hellicanus he sent for Marina, and
when she entered the ship in which her own father sat motionless with
grief, they welcomed her on board as if they had known she was their
princess; and they cried, "She is a gallant lady." Lysimachus was
well pleased to hear their commendations, and he said, "She is such
an one that were I well assured she came of noble birth, I would wish
no better choice, and think me rarely blest in a wife." And then he
addressed her in courtly terms, as if the lowly-seeming maid had
been the high-born lady he wished to find her, calling her Fair and
beautiful Marina, telling her a great prince on board that ship had
fallen into a sad and mournful silence; and, as if Marina had the
power of conferring health and felicity, he begged she would undertake
to cure the royal stranger of his melancholy. "Sir," said Marina, "I
will use my utmost skill in his recovery, provided none but I and my
maid be suffered to come near him."
She, who at Metaline had so carefully concealed her birth, ashamed to
tell that one of royal ancestry was now a slave, first began to speak
to Pericles of the wayward changes in her own fate, telling him from
what a high estate herself had fallen. As if she had known it was her
royal father she stood before, all the words she spoke were of her own
sorrows; but her reason for so doing was, that she knew nothing more
wins the attention of the unfortunate than the recital of some sad
calamity to match their own. The sound of her sweet voice aroused the
drooping prince; he lifted up his eyes, which had been so long fixed
and motionless; and Marina, who was the perfect image of her mother,
presented to his amazed sight the features of his dead queen. The
long-silent prince was once more heard to speak. "My dearest wife,"
said the awakened Pericles, "was like this maid, and such a one might
my daughter have been. My queen's square brows, her stature to an
inch, as wand-like straight, as silver-voiced, her eyes as jewel-like.
Where do you live, young maid? Report your parentage. I think you said
you had been tossed from wrong to injury, and that you thought your
griefs would equal mine, if both were opened." "Some such thing I
said," replied Marina, "and said no more than what my thoughts did
warrant me as likely." "Tell me your story," answered Pericles; "if
I find you have known the thousandth part of my endurance, you have
borne your sorrows like a man, and I have suffered like a girl;
yet you do look like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling
Extremity out of act. Tell me your name, my most kind virgin? Recount
your story, I beseech you. Come, sit by me." How was Pericles
surprised when she said her name was Marina, for he knew it was
no usual name, but had been invented by himself for his own child
to signify sea-born: "O, I am mocked," said he, "and you are sent
hither by some incensed god to make the world laugh at me." "Patience,
good sir," said Marina, "or I must cease here." "Nay," said Pericles,
"I will be patient; you little know how you do startle me, to call
yourself Marina." "The name," she replied, "was given me by one that
had some power, my father, and a king." "How, a king's daughter!" said
Pericles, "and called Marina! But are you flesh and blood? Are you no
fairy? Speak on; where were you born? and wherefore called Marina?"
She replied, "I was called Marina, because I was born at sea. My
mother was the daughter of a king; she died the minute I was born, as
my good nurse Lychorida has often told me weeping. The king my father
left me at Tharsus, till the cruel wife of Cleon sought to murder
me. A crew of pirates came and rescued me, and brought me here to
Metaline. But, good sir, why do you weep? It may be, you think me an
impostor. But indeed, sir, I am the daughter to king Pericles, if good
king Pericles be living." Then Pericles, terrified as it seemed at
his own sudden joy, and doubtful if this could be real, loudly called
for his attendants, who rejoiced at the sound of their beloved king's
voice; and he said to Hellicanus, "O Hellicanus, strike me, give me a
gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea of joys rushing upon
me overbear the shores of my mortality. O, come hither, thou that wast
born at sea, buried at Tharsus, and found at sea again. O Hellicanus,
down on your knees, thank the holy gods! This is Marina. Now blessings
on thee, my child! Give me fresh garments, mine own Hellicanus! She is
not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been by the savage Dionysia.
She shall tell you all, when you shall kneel to her, and call her
your very princess. Who is this?" (observing Lysimachus for the first
time). "Sir," said Hellicanus, "it is the governor of Metaline, who,
hearing of your melancholy, came to see you." "I embrace you, sir,"
said Pericles. "Give me my robes! I am well with beholding--O heaven
bless my girl! But hark! what music is that?"--for now, either sent by
some kind god, or by his own delighted fancy deceived, he seemed to
hear soft music. "My lord, I hear none," replied Hellicanus. "None,"
said Pericles; "why it is the music of the spheres." As there was
no music to be heard, Lysimachus concluded that the sudden joy had
unsettled the prince's understanding; and he said, "It is not good to
cross him; let him have his way:" and then they told him they heard
the music; and he now complaining of a drowsy slumber coming over him,
Lysimachus persuaded him to rest on a couch, and placing a pillow
under his head, he, quite overpowered with excess of joy, sunk into
a sound sleep, and Marina watched in silence by the couch of her
sleeping parent.
While he slept, Pericles dreamed a dream which made him resolve to go
to Ephesus. His dream was, that Diana, the Goddess of the Ephesians,
appeared to him, and commanded him to go to her temple at Ephesus,
and there before her altar to declare the story of his life and
misfortune; and by her silver bow she swore, that if he performed her
injunction, he should meet with some rare felicity. When he awoke,
being miraculously refreshed, he told his dream, and that his
resolution was to obey the bidding of the Goddess.
Then Lysimachus invited Pericles to come on shore, and refresh himself
with such entertainment as he should find at Metaline, which courteous
offer Pericles accepting, agreed to tarry with him for the space of a
day or two. During which time we may well suppose what feastings, what
rejoicings, what costly shews and entertainments the governor made in
Metaline, to greet the royal father of his dear Marina, whom in her
obscure fortunes he had so respected. Nor did Pericles frown upon
Lysimachus's suit, when he understood how he had honoured his child in
the days of her low estate, and that Marina shewed herself not averse
to his proposals; only he made it a condition, before he gave his
consent, that they should visit with him the shrine of the Ephesian
Diana: to whose temple they, shortly after, all three undertook a
voyage; and, the goddess herself filling their sails with prosperous
winds, after a few weeks they arrived in safety at Ephesus.
There was standing near the altar of the goddess, when Pericles with
his train entered the temple, the good Cerimon (now grown very aged)
who had restored Thaisa, the wife of Pericles, to life; and Thaisa,
now a priestess of the temple, was standing before the altar; and
though the many years he had passed in sorrow for her loss had much
altered Pericles, Thaisa thought she knew her husband's features, and
when he approached the altar and began to speak, she remembered his
voice, and listened to his words with wonder and a joyful amazement.
And these were the words that Pericles spoke before the altar: "Hail,
Diana! to perform thy just commands, I here confess myself the prince
of Tyre, who, frighted from my country, at Pentapolis wedded the fair
Thaisa: she died at sea in childbed, but brought forth a maid-child
called Marina. The maid at Tharsus was nursed with Dionysia, who at
fourteen years thought to kill her; but her better stars brought her
to Metaline, by whose shores as I sailed, her good fortunes brought
this child on board, where by her most clear remembrance she made
herself known to be my daughter."
Thaisa, unable to bear the transports which his words had raised in
her, cried out, "You are, you are, O royal Pericles"--and fainted.
"What means this woman?" said Pericles: "she dies; help, gentlemen!"
"Sir," said Cerimon, "if you have told Diana's altar true, this is
your wife." "Reverend gentleman, no;" said Pericles: "I threw her
overboard with these very arms." Cerimon then recounted how, early one
tempestuous morning, this lady was thrown upon the Ephesian shore;
how, opening the coffin, he found therein rich jewels, and a paper;
how, happily, he recovered her, and placed her here in Diana's temple.
And now, Thaisa being restored from her swoon, said, "O my lord, are
you not Pericles? Like him you speak, like him you are. Did you not
name a tempest, a birth and death?" He, astonished, said, "The voice
of dead Thaisa!" "That Thaisa am I," she replied, "supposed dead and
drowned." "O true Diana!" exclaimed Pericles, in a passion of devout
astonishment. "And now," said Thaisa, "I know you better. Such a ring
as I see on your finger did the king my father give you, when we
with tears parted from him at Pentapolis." "Enough, you gods!" cried
Pericles, "your present kindness makes my past miseries sport. O come,
Thaisa, be buried a second time within these arms."
And Marina said, "My heart leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom."
Then did Pericles shew his daughter to her mother, saying, "Look
who kneels here, flesh of thy flesh, thy burthen at sea, and called
Marina, because she was yielded there." "Blest and my own!" said
Thaisa: and while she hung in rapturous joy over her child, Pericles
knelt before the altar, saying, "Pure Diana, bless thee for thy
vision. For this, I will offer oblations nightly to thee." And then
and there did Pericles, with the consent of Thaisa, solemnly affiance
their daughter, the virtuous Marina, to the well-deserving Lysimachus
in marriage.
Thus have we seen in Pericles, his queen, and daughter, a famous
example of virtue assailed by calamity (through the sufferance of
Heaven, to teach patience and constancy to men), under the same
guidance becoming finally successful, and triumphing over chance and
change. In Hellicanus we have beheld a notable pattern of truth, of
faith, and loyalty, who, when he might have succeeded to a throne,
chose rather to recall the rightful owner to his possession, than to
become great by another's wrong. In the worthy Cerimon, who restored
Thaisa to life, we are instructed how goodness directed by knowledge,
in bestowing benefits upon mankind, approaches to the nature of the
gods. It only remains to be told, that Dionysia, the wicked wife of
Cleon, met with an end proportionable to her deserts; the inhabitants
of Tharsus, when her cruel attempt upon Marina was known, rising
in a body to revenge the daughter of their benefactor, and setting
fire to the palace of Cleon, burnt both him and her, and their whole
household: the gods seeming well pleased, that so foul a murder,
though but intentional, and never carried into act, should be punished
in a way befitting its enormity.