One of the most compelling parts of The Winter’s Tale is, to me, Hermione’s defense of herself when she’s being tried for adultery in the second scene of Act III. In general, Shakespeare’s skill in argumentation is repeatedly made evident through his deft interweaving of pathos and reason—a balance that, given the extremity of emotional duress some of these characters are subjected to, would normally be a difficult one to strike. Luckily, even when they seem to be down for the count, they have Shakespeare in their corner. I want to focus on Hermione’s speeches in 3.2, when she is at her most vulnerable—physically, emotionally, socially, and politically—and take a look at the way she makes her argument, expressing her own profound betrayal and loss while still upholding, in a highly illogical trial, the virtues of honor and reason.
Hermione’s argument in her defense is so comprehensive that one aspect of her plight that would otherwise be front and center seems to slip by nearly unnoticed—she repeatedly expresses her willingness to die. When Leontes tells her that he’ll seek nothing less than her execution in answer for her “crimes,” Hermione pulls the rug out from under his threats:
The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
To me life can be no commodity.
…
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? (3.2.90-106)
Hermione enumerates the losses she has suffered at the hand of her husband: the sudden, inexplicable loss of Leontes’ love; her enforced separation from her son, Mamillius; the seizure and exile of her newborn baby daughter; the destruction of her reputation (not only as an honest woman and a faithful wife, but also as a person generally not guilty of treason); and the cruel, humiliating, and downright dangerous denial of the customary period of rest afforded “to women of all fashion,” no matter their circumstances (3.2.102). Her person thus subjected to the “rigor” and tyranny of man, she turns instead to the legacy of her name:
…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 honor, fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honor,
‘Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. (3.2.35-43)
Hermione names honor as the single most important thing her children can inherit from her, essentially saying that her good name—more than that, her moral standing in a social and religious sense—is valuable beyond any worldly concern.
And because I can’t ever do anything without talking about Richard II (“Have you heard the Good Word about the Henriad?” -me, to strangers), I can’t help but compare this sentiment to Sir Thomas Mowbray’s own defense of himself against treason in the first scene of that play:
Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame.
…
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are buy gilded loam or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a noble breast.
Mine honor is my life, both grow in one:
Take honor from me and my life is done. (Richard II 1.1.166-183)
Mowbray, a knight whose investment in chivalric ideals could hardly be greater, mirrors Hermione’s conviction that the death of one’s honor is the death of one’s true self, and that a life without honor is a kind of living death from which nothing can be bequeathed to future generations. Of course, this concept would be challenged later in the Henriad, particularly by Falstaff, but the recurrence of the theme is notable. Also worth mentioning is the fact that Thomas Mowbray, who likely did commit some shady acts, derives his honor from his social position as a knight, whereas Hermione’s comes from actual guiltlessness. In her pre-emptive acknowledgement that Leontes will find her guilty no matter what, so long as his jealousy and delusion rule the verdict, Hermione again treads the ethical high ground, creating a dichotomy between human and divine justice:
…[If] I shall be condemned
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
‘Tis rigor and not law. Your honors all,
I do refer me to the oracle.
Apollo be my judge. (The Winter’s Tale 3.2.109-113)
Hermione effectively removes herself from the base corruption of such “just” proceedings, elevating herself morally in the eyes of her subjects even as Leontes makes every attempt to strip her of her dignity. We see in this passage that her apparent disregard for her own life is not simply a submission to despair, but rather a kind of martyrdom—a willingness to die an unjust death rather than capitulate to the hollow tantrums of a tyrant. She hasn’t forsaken the powers that be—only the powers that try their hardest to talk over them.