Part 32

In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was admitted into Diana’s chamber, and Helena was there ready to receive him. The flattering compliments and love discourse he addressed to Helena were precious sounds to her though she knew they were meant for Diana; and Bertram was so well pleased with her that he made her a solemn promise to be her husband, and to love her forever; which she hoped would be prophetic of a real affection, when he should know it was his own wife, the despised Helena, whose conversation had so delighted him.

Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena was, else perhaps he would not have been so regardless of her; and seeing her every day, he had entirely over looked her beauty; a face we are accustomed to see constantly losing the effect which is caused by the first sight either of beauty or of plainness; and of her understanding it was impossible he should judge, because she felt such reverence, mixed with her love for him, that she was always silent in his presence. But now that her future fate, and the happy ending of all her love-projects, seemed to depend on her leaving a favorable impression on the mind of Bertram from this night’s interview, she exerted all her wit to please him; and the simple graces of her lively conversation and the endearing sweetness of her manners so charmed Bertram that be vowed she should be his wife. Helena begged the ring from off his finger as a token of his regard, and he gave it to her; and in return for this ring, which it was of such importance to her to possess, she gave him another ring, which was one the king had made her a present of. Before it was light in the morning she sent Bertram away; and he immediately set out on his journey toward his mother’s house.

Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to accompany her to Paris, their further assistance being necessary to the full accomplishment of the plan she had formed. When they arrived there, they found the king was gone upon a visit to the Countess of Rousillon, and Helena followed the king with all the speed she could make.

The king was still in perfect health, and his gratitude to her who had been the means of his recovery was so lively in his mind that the moment he saw the Countess of Rousillon he began to talk of Helena, calling her a precious jewel that was lost by the folly of her son; but seeing the subject distressed the countess, who sincerely lamented the death of Helena, he said:

“My good lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all.”

But the good-natured old Lafeu, who was present, and could not bear that the memory of his favorite Helena should be so lightly passed over, said, “This I must say, the young lord did great offense to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady; but to himself he did the greatest wrong of all, for he has lost a wife whose beauty astonished all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, whose deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve her.”

The king said: “Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear. Well--call him hither”; meaning Bertram, who now presented himself before the king, and on his expressing deep sorrow for the injuries he had done to Helena the king, for his dead father’s and his admirable mother’s sake, pardoned him and restored him once more to his favor. But the gracious countenance of the king was soon changed toward him, for he perceived that Bertram wore the very ring upon his finger which he had given to Helena; and he well remembered that Helena had called all the saints in heaven to witness she would never part with that ring unless she sent it to the king himself upon some great disaster befalling her; and Bertram, on the king’s questioning him how he came by the ring, told an improbable story of a lady throwing it to him out of a window, and denied ever having seen Helena since the day of their marriage. The king, knowing Bertram’s dislike to his wife, feared he had destroyed her, and he ordered his guards to seize Bertram, saying:

“I am wrapt in dismal thinking, for I fear the life of Helena was foully snatched.”

At this moment Diana and her mother entered and presented a petition to the king, wherein they begged his Majesty to exert his royal power to compel Bertram to marry Diana, he having made her a solemn promise of marriage. Bertram, fearing the king’s anger, denied he had made any such promise; and then Diana produced the ring (which Helena had put into her hands) to confirm the truth of her words; and she said that she had given Bertram the ring he then wore, in exchange for that, at the time he vowed to marry her. On hearing this the king ordered the guards to seize her also; and, her account of the ring differing from Bertram’s, the king’s suspicions were confirmed, and he said if they did not confess how they came by this ring of Helena’s they should be both put to death. Diana requested her mother might be permitted to fetch the jeweler of whom she bought the ring, which, being granted, the widow went out, and presently returned, leading in Helena herself.

The good countess, who in silent grief had beheld her son’s danger, and had even dreaded that the suspicion of his having destroyed his wife might possibly be true, finding her dear Helena, whom she loved with even a maternal affection, was still living, felt a delight she was hardly able to support; and the king, scarce believing for joy that it was Helena, said:

“Is this indeed the wife of Bertram that I see?”

Helena, feeling herself yet an unacknowledged wife, replied, “No, my good lord, it is but the shadow of a wife you see; the name and not the thing.”

Bertram cried out: “Both, both! Oh pardon!”

“O my lord,” said Helena, “when I personated this fair maid I found you wondrous kind; and look, here is your letter!” reading to him in a joyful tone those words which she had once repeated so sorrowfully, “WHEN FROM MY FINGER YOU CAN GET THIS RING--This is done; it was to me you gave the ring. Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?”

Bertram replied, “If you can make it plain that you were the lady I talked with that night I will love you dearly, ever, ever dearly.”

This was no difficult task, for the widow and Diana came with Helena to prove this fact; and the king was so well pleased with Diana for the friendly assistance she had rendered the dear lady he so truly valued for the service she had done him that he promised her also a noble husband, Helena’s history giving him a hint that it was a suitable reward for kings to bestow upon fair ladies when they perform notable services.

Thus Helena at last found that her father’s legacy was indeed sanctified by the luckiest stars in heaven; for she was now the beloved wife of her dear Bertram, the daughter-in-law of her noble mistress, and herself the Countess of Rousillon.

TAMING OF THE SHREW

Katharine, the Shrew, was the eldest daughter of Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. She was a lady of such an ungovernable spirit and fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold, that she was known in Padua by no other name than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed very unlikely, indeed impossible, that any gentleman would ever be found who would venture to marry this lady, and therefore Baptista was much blamed for deferring his consent to many excellent offers that were made to her gentle sister Bianca, putting off all Bianca’s suitors with this excuse, that when the eldest sister was fairly off his bands they should have free leave to address young Bianca.

It happened, however, that a gentleman, named Petruchio, came to Padua purposely to look out for a wife, who, nothing discouraged by these reports of Katharine’s temper, and hearing she was rich and handsome, resolved upon marrying this famous termagant, and taming her into a meek and manageable wife. And truly none was so fit to set about this herculean labor as Petruchio, whose spirit was as high as Katharine’s, and he was a witty and most happy-tempered humorist, and withal so wise, and of such a true judgment, that he well knew how to feign a passionate and furious deportment when his spirits were so calm that himself could have laughed merrily at his own angry feigning, for his natural temper was careless and easy; the boisterous airs he assumed when he became the husband of Katharine being but in sport, or, more properly speaking, affected by his excellent discernment, as the only means to overcome, in her own way, the passionate ways of the furious Katharine.

A-courting, then, Petruchio went to Katharine the Shrew; and first of all he applied to Baptista, her father, for leave to woo his GENTLE DAUGHTER Katharine, as Petruchio called her, saying, archly, that, having heard of her bashful modesty and mild behavior, he had come from Verona to solicit her love. Her father, though he wished her married, was forced to confess Katharine would ill answer this character, it being soon apparent of what manner of gentleness she was composed, for her music-master rushed into the room to complain that the gentle Katharine, his pupil, had broken his head with her lute for presuming to find fault with her performance; which, when Petruchio heard, he said:

“It is a brave wench. I love her more than ever, and long to have some chat with her.” And hurrying the old gentleman for a positive answer, he said: “My business is in haste, Signor Baptista. I cannot come every day to woo. You knew my father. He is dead, and has left me heir to all his lands and goods. Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love, what dowry you will give with her.”

Baptista thought his manner was somewhat blunt for a lover; but, being glad to get Katharine married, he answered that he would give her twenty thousand crowns for her dowry, and half his estate at his death. So this odd match was quickly agreed on and Baptista went to apprise his shrewish daughter of her lover’s addresses, and sent her in to Petruchio to listen to his suit.

In the mean time Petruchio was settling with himself the mode of courtship be should pursue; and he said: “I will woo her with some spirit when she comes. If she rails at me, why, then I will tell her she sings as sweetly as a nightingale; and if she frowns, I will say she looks as clear as roses newly washed with dew. If she will not speak a word, I will praise the eloquence of her language; and if she bids me leave her, I will give her thanks as if she bid me stay with her a week.”

Now the stately Katharine entered, and Petruchio first addressed her with:

“Good morrow, Kate, for that is your name, I hear.”

Katharine, not liking this plain salutation, said, disdainfully, “They call me Katharine who do speak to me.”

“You lie,” replied the lover; “for you are called plain Kate, and bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the Shrew; but, Kate, you are the prettiest Kate in Christendom, and therefore, Kate, hearing your mildness praised in every town, I am come to woo you for my wife.”