Play of the Month: All's Well that Ends Well

I just completed studying All's Well That Ends Well, my seventh Shakespeare play. It's been almost two months since I last posted my Shakespearean study because of my ten-day trip to England, so in a way, I skipped posting my 'Play of the Month' blog for November. On the other hand, I stumbled upon a few spots related to Shakespeare’s plays during my stay in London and York, which helped me better visualize Shakespeare’s settings and enriched my self-study of his works.

All's Well That Ends Well is a comedy, consisting of just over 3000 lines, about the average length among Shakespeare’s plays. It explores themes of social classes, gender inequality, unrequited love, virginity, sex and marriage, set in early 17th century Italy and France. Thankfully there are good study guides available online, with that I studied the play on my own without difficulty.

Interestingly, this play is categorized under a sub-genre called "Shakespearean problem plays", which are characterized by their complex and ambiguous tone embodying yet shifting between a comedy and a tragedy, and are considered predecessors to what we call the tragicomedy today. There are three such plays: All's Well That Ends Well, Measure for Measure, and Troilus and Cressida.

While Shakespeare often depicted the demeaned role of women in line with the contemporary social norm, I'm impressed by his genius for plotting, where women are portrayed tougher and wiser than men. In this play, I was fascinated by the dialogue between Helena, the protagonist, and the Countess, Helena's protector and her would-be mother-in-law, in Act I, Scene 3. Knowing the good virtue of Helena, the Countess deems Helena as her own daughter, but Helena hesitates to call the Countess her mother, fearing that Bertram, the Countess's son whom she loves unrequitedly, will become her brother. The wise and righteous Countess eventually realizes the truth and gives Helena her full support.

I was amazed, too, by how Helena responds to the question from the King of France  ('What if you fail to cure my illness?') in Act II, Scene 1. The bravery and determination of Helena's reply, fueled by her love for Bertram, are unmatched by even the bravest man, as quoted below in modern English from the study guide:

"An accusation of arrogance, the boldness of a whore, an infamous shame carried out in horrid ballads: my maiden's name defamed this way and that. No, worse—if this is worse—let my life be ended with vilest torture."

Then, this is my favorite narrative by the King of France, counselling Bertram about virtue, honor, and social class in Act II, Scene 3, as quoted below in modern English:

"It's only her title that you hate in her, and that I can improve. How strange it is that our blood, its color and weight and heat, when you pour all our blood together, all looks the same but we still put so much stock in social differences. If she is totally virtuous, and you only dislike her because she's a poor physician's daughter, you dislike someone virtuous only because she lacks a title. Don't do that. When low-born people do virtuous things, their status is raised up by their virtuous deed. When a high-born person has no virtue, it's a swollen, fake honor. Goodness is goodness with or without a title. Vileness is the same. It's the deeds that matter, not the title. She is young, wise, and beautiful. She's the legitimate heir of nature in all of that and those qualities make her honorable. Honor mocks people who claim to be honorable by birth but don't behave like it. Honors matter most when they come from our acts, not from our ancestors. The mere word "honor" is a slave we carve into every tomb, a memorial on every grave. In every case, it's a silent legacy because dust and eternal nothingness are all that's inside a tomb of so-called "honored" bones. What else can be said? If you can like this creature just as she is, I can provide the rest. She herself and her virtue is what she brings. I can supply honor and wealth. "

I was moved by and deeply sympathetic toward Helena in Act II, Scene 5, when at parting she humbly requests a kiss from her newlywed husband, but Bertram coldly refuses. This is the tragedy part of this tragicomedy, I suppose, and here's their dialogue in modern English:

"Helena: Something. And hardly that much. Nothing, indeed. I can't tell you what I want, my lord. Well, yes. Only strangers and foes part ways without a kiss." 

"Bertram: I plead with you, don't stay here, but hurry to your horse."

 

And, here is the narrative containing the phrase "All's Well That Ends Well", that inspired the plays title from Act IV, Scene 4. In this narrative Helena expresses her gratitude to Diana and the widow. They are off to see the king, and pledge mutual loyalty, in modern English quoted below:

"Not quite yet. But when it comes time for me to give the word, summer will arrive, and the roses will have leaves as well as thorns and be as sweet as they are sharp. We must get away. Our wagon is ready, and time is ticking. All's well that end's well. The conclusion is the crowning moment. Whatever the means, the end is what will be remembered."

The low-ranking clown plays an indispensable role in many scenes, using his wordplay to joke about sex and mock his powerful social superiors. This creates a lighthearted atmosphere in the play where the protagonist, Helena, endures adversities until the very last scene.  

Diana is another virtuous and brave female character, whose name symbolizes the Roman goddess of chastity. Her narrative in Act V, Scene 3 is the climax of the play, culminating in a riddle that will be answered by Helena, the presumed dead wife of Bertram. Here are what Diana and Helena say in modern English:

"Diana: The jeweler that the ring came from is coming, and he will pay my bail. As for this lord, who has abused me, as he's said himself, although he's never yet harmed me, this is the last I'll say of him: He knows he's defiled my bed, and when he did so, he got his wife pregnant. Even though she's dead, she feels her child kick inside her. So there's my riddle: someone who's dead is pregnant. And now you'll see what I mean."

"Helena: (To Bertram) Oh, my good lord, when I pretended to be this maid, I found you incredibly kind. There's your ring. And, look at this, here's your letter. Here's what it says: "When you can get this ring from my finger and are pregnant by me, etc." This is done. Will you be mine, now that I've fulfilled both conditions?"

This is a sketch depicting the final scene of the play: against all odds, Helena, presumed dead, meets the two implausible conditions set by Bertram and wins back her husband. He has never loved her but now vows to do so, bringing the play to a dramatic and comedic ending.

According to some Shakespearean critics, the drastic change of Bertram's attitude toward Helena at the end of the play is equally implausible. Some relate Bertram's awkward declaration of love for Helena, demanded by both Helena and the King of France in the play, to the Oath of Allegiance, a new requirement introduced in England in 1606 which compelled Catholics to swear allegiance to the Protestant King James I.  What an interesting parallel it is!