Thus the several parts are drawn into each other, and thereby made to evolve a manifold rich significance; insomuch that the characters of Helena and Bertram, as Shakespeare conceived them, cannot be rightly understood apart from the others with which they are dramatically associated.

It is indeed curious to observe how much care the Poet takes that his heroine may come safe and sweet through the perils of her course.  For instance, at the very outset, when she first learns of the King’s disease, in the dialogue about her father, the Countess says in her hearing, “Would, for the King’s sake, he were living!  I think it would be the death of the King’s disease”; and Lafeu replies, “The King very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly.”  This serves as a pregnant hint to her for what she afterwards undertakes.  She now remembers the special instructions of her father touching that disease; and the hint combining with her treasured science, her loyalty, and affection, works her into the strong confidence of being able to help the King.  Thus the main point of her action is put into her mind incidentally by the speech of others.  And she goes to Paris, with the full approval and blessing of her foster-mother, mainly with the view of securing to one whom she highly reveres the benefit of her father’s skill.  It is true, a still deeper and dearer hope underlies and supports her action; which hope however springs and grows, not because she foresees at all how things are to turn, but merely from a pious trust, which is in her case both natural and just, that her father’s “good receipt” will somehow, “for her legacy, be sanctified by the luckiest stars in heaven.”

The same delicate care for her honour, as if this were indeed sacred and precious in the Poet’s regard, is shown at various other points.  It is very note-worthy how, all along, she shapes her action from step to step, not by any long-headed planning, but merely as events suggest and invite her onward.  Helena is indeed brave, wise, prudent, sagacious, quick and clear of perception, swift and steadfast in resolution, prompt, patient, and persevering in action; but there is nothing of a crafty or designing mind in what she does.  She displays no special forecast, no subtle or far-sighted scheming; though quick and apt at seizing and using opportunities, she does not make or even seek them.  So it is in the strange proceedings at Florence, whereby she manages to fulfil the hard conditions imposed by her husband.  Here, as elsewhere, she has her fine penetrative faculties all wide-awake, but there is no contriving or forcing of occasions:  when she sees a way open before her, she strikes into it promptly, and pursues it with quiet yet energetic constancy; and whatever apt occasions emerge to her view, she throws herself into them at once, and, with a sort of divine tact, turns them to the best possible account in furtherance of her cherished hope.  In this way the Poet manages to bring her character off clean and fragrant in our thoughts, by making us feel that in whatever blame might else attach to her acts, the circumstances only are responsible, while to her belongs the credit of using those circumstances purely, wisely, and well.