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| Character | Helena | |
|---|---|---|
| Gender | Female | |
| Age Range(s) | Teenager (13-19), Young Adult (20-35) | |
| Type of monologue / Character is | In love, Depressed, Lamenting, Frustrated, Insecure, Afraid | |
| Type | Serio-comic | |
| Period | Renaissance | |
| Genre | Romance, Comedy | |
| Description | Helena laments about Bertram leaving for France | |
| Details | ACT 1 Scene 1 | |
Summary
Helena is a beautiful young woman who lives with the Countess of Rousillon. Her father, a famous doctor, has just died and she is now the protege' of the Countess. The play starts with the Countess' son, Bertram, leaving for France where he is supposed to attend the King who is dying. Helena, we find out in this monologue, is madly in love with Bertram and laments the fact that he is leaving for France and also that he is above her reach since he is a nobleman and she is a commoner.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
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| HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone: there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? [Enter PAROLLES] [Aside] One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. |
