Enter Countess, with a paper, and Fool. COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. FOOL By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you? 5 FOOL Why, he will look upon his boot and sing, mend the ruff and sing, ask questions and sing, pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. COUNTESS Let me see what he writes and when he 10 means to come. She opens the letter. FOOL I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’ th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knocked out, and I begin to 15 love as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS What have we here? FOOL E’en that you have there. He exits. COUNTESS reads. "I have sent you a daughter-in-law. She hath recovered the King and undone me. I have 20 wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away. Know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. 25 Your unfortunate son, Bertram." This is not well, rash and unbridled boy: To fly the favors of so good a king, To pluck his indignation on thy head 30 By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. | In France, the Countess is happy with her matchmaking. Everything is going according to plan...except that Bertram sent Helen to Roussillon alone, that is. The Fool says Bertram is depressed and hands the Countess a letter from him. The letter basically says, "Hey Mom, hope your happy with your new daughter-in-law, 'cause that's all you're getting out of this deal. I'll never sleep with her, and I'm not coming home. Seeya. Bertram." The Countess flips out. Not only is Bertram an immature twit, he can't see that (a) Helen is too good for him, and (b) the King is going to kill him for this. |
Enter Fool. FOOL O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady. COUNTESS What is the matter? 35 FOOL Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort. Your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS Why should he be killed? FOOL So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he 40 does. The danger is in standing to ’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more. For my part, I only hear your son was run away. He exits. Enter Helen, with a paper, and two Gentlemen. FIRST GENTLEMAN, to Countess Save you, good 45 madam. HELEN Madam, my lord is gone, forever gone. SECOND GENTLEMAN Do not say so. COUNTESS Think upon patience, pray you.—Gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief 50 That the first face of neither on the start Can woman me unto ’t. Where is my son, I pray you? SECOND GENTLEMAN Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence. We met him thitherward, for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, 55 Thither we bend again. HELEN Look on his letter, madam; here’s my passport. She reads. "When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then 60 call me husband. But in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'" This is a dreadful sentence. COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen? SECOND GENTLEMAN Ay, madam, 65 And for the contents’ sake are sorry for our pains. COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer. If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son, But I do wash his name out of my blood, 70 And thou art all my child.—Towards Florence is he? SECOND GENTLEMAN Ay, madam. COUNTESS And to be a soldier? SECOND GENTLEMAN Such is his noble purpose, and, believe ’t, The Duke will lay upon him all the honor 75 That good convenience claims. COUNTESS Return you thither? FIRST GENTLEMAN Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELEN reads "Till I have no wife I have nothing in France." ’Tis bitter. 80 COUNTESS Find you that there? HELEN Ay, madam. FIRST GENTLEMAN ’Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, Which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS Nothing in France until he have no wife! 85 There’s nothing here that is too good for him But only she, and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? FIRST GENTLEMAN A servant only, and a gentleman 90 Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS Parolles was it not? FIRST GENTLEMAN Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derivèd nature 95 With his inducement. FIRST GENTLEMAN Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS You’re welcome, 100 gentlemen. I will entreat you when you see my son To tell him that his sword can never win The honor that he loses. More I’ll entreat you Written to bear along. 105 SECOND GENTLEMAN We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near? She exits with the Gentlemen. | Helen walks in with two Gentlemen and a letter from Bertram. The Gentlemen just passed Bertram on the road that leads to Florence. He's off to fight in the war. Helen reads Bertram's letter, and it's just as sweet as the one he sent his mom. It says, "Helen. You can call me your husband when you get my ring (which I'm never taking off) and have my baby (even though I'm never having sex with you). In other words: never. Also, I'm not coming back to France until I don't have a wife there. Ciao, Bertram." The Countess disowns Bertram on the spot and tells the Gentlemen she has a message for them to take to her son. She says no matter what heroics he may perform on the battlefield, he'll never be able to win back the honor he's lost. And that's not all. She's got more material. She'll tell them as they walk. |
HELEN“Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.” 110 Nothing in France until he has no wife. Thou shalt have none, Rossillion, none in France. Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is ’t I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event 115 Of the none-sparing war? And is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers That ride upon the violent speed of fire, 120 Fly with false aim; move the still-’pearing air That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to ’t; 125 And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected. Better ’twere I met the ravin lion when he roared With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere That all the miseries which nature owes 130 Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rossillion, Whence honor but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all. I will be gone. My being here it is that holds thee hence. Shall I stay here to do ’t? No, no, although 135 The air of paradise did fan the house And angels officed all. I will be gone, That pitiful rumor may report my flight To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day; For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away. 140 She exits. | Everyone leaves, except for Helen, who delivers a big woe-is-me speech. Helen worries that it's her fault that Bertram is in the middle of a war zone, since it seems like she drove him off to Italy. If he dies on the battlefield, it will be all her fault. She declares that everyone would have been better off if she had been eaten by a hungry lion. (Hmm. What's with all of Helen's fantasies about being devoured by hungry creatures? Sounds like a Bella Swan complex to us.) Our poor Helen decides to run away from France, since her being there is the only thing keeping Bertram from coming home. |