Proteus: I’ve got bad news; Valentine *lalalalala* (3.1.204-212) #2Dudes1Dog #SlowShakespeare

VALENTINE My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news,

So much of bad already hath possessed them.

PROTEUS       Then in dumb silence will I bury mine,

For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

VALENTINE Is Silvia dead?

PROTEUS No, Valentine.

VALENTINE No Valentine indeed, for sacred Silvia.

Hath she forsworn me?

PROTEUS No, Valentine.

VALENTINE No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.

What is your news?              (3.1.204-212)

 

Is Valentine curled up on the ground, sobbing, his hands over his ears? Not impossibly. (It also perhaps models what Romeo is later going to do, in the same situation.) My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news. I’m not listening; and also, I can’t hear anything good, because my ears are so full of terrible news, so much of bad already hath possessed them. I can’t take any more news. Proteus suggests that in that case he won’t say anything at all: then in dumb silence will I bury mine, my news, for they (news, plural) are harsh, untuneable, and bad. Both Proteus and Valentine think of bad news as the opposite of music, recalling Valentine’s lament that, without Silvia, he will hear no music in the nightingale’s song. Without love, there’s no harmony, no beauty. (Ophelia describes Hamlet’s madness and cruelty towards her as sweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh.)

 

Valentine steels himself for the worst possible thing that he can imagine: is Silvia dead? Proteus perhaps smiles, a little indulgently: no, Valentine. But even that starts Valentine off: no Valentine indeed, for sacred Silvia. She’s not going to have me, no lover for her, for my goddess. The next worst possible thing, or perhaps an even more devastating thought: hath she forsworn me? doesn’t she love me anymore? Does she not want even to see me any more? No, Valentine. Not that either. (Do get a grip.) No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me; I can’t live without her and I can’t live if she doesn’t want me any more. I can’t exist. (And also, perhaps, a more sinister suggestion: if she doesn’t love me any more I’ll kill myself.) But, finally, he asks: what is your news? Tell me, then.

 

 

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