Mojo, The Bard, & Me

Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

Constance

King John                                            Act III, scene iv Line 98

Stick with me for a minute so that I can explain who and what’s involved, and then we’ll get back to the line. Constance, today’s speaker, is the widow of King John’s older brother, Geoffrey. Her young son, Arthur, has a legitimate claim to the throne over King John, and John is very well aware of this. Arthur has just been captured by John’s men and now Constance is sure that John will kill her young son and that she will never see him alive again. She happens to be right, and this is what she’s talking about in this scene.

Cardinal Pandulph (the name alone is enough to make you not like this guy) has just told Constance that she has ‘too heinous a respect for grief’ and that she is ‘as fond of grief as of your child,’ basically, ‘get over it!’ And then she gets into what grief is all about to her.

                Grief fills up the room of my absent child,

                Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,

                Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,

                Remembers me of all his gracious parts,

                Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;

                Then have I reason to be fond of grief!

Yeah, okay, I added the emphasis and the exclamation point on the last line. But I can see these words being spoken by some mistress of the stage, a Streep or a Mirren, and I can’t help but feel that this last line would be spit at Cardinal Pandulph. Honestly, I can’t read these words without being moved. Grief ‘stuffs out his vacant garments.’ I really don’t think Will ever did any better than this. I really don’t.  Can’t you feel a mother’s broken heart? Please tell me you can.

So there's not going to be a picture today. That's right, sorry, no picture. There is no picture that’s worth these 51 words. Today you’re just going to have to savor the words because you’re not going to be reading anything as well written as this for quite some time. Go ahead, one more time read these six lines again. Please.

                             Grief fills up the room of my absent child,

                    Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,

                    Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,

                    Remembers me of all his gracious parts,

                    Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;

                    Then have I reason to be fond of grief!