The Princess Bride
Jan. 14th, 2017 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmictragedy "Has it got any sports in it?"
"Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest ladies. Snakes. Spiders. Beasts of all natures and description. Pain. Death. Brave men. Coward men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truth. Passion. Miracles."
"You didn't bathe," her father said.
"I did, I did" from Buttercup.
"Not with water," her father continued. "You reek like a stallion."
"I've been riding all day," Buttercup explained.
"You must bathe, Buttercup," her mother joined in. "The boys don't like their girls to smell of stables."
"Oh, the boys!" Buttercup fairly exploded. "I do not care about 'the boys.' Horse loves me and that is quite sufficient, thank you."
She said that speech loud, and she said it often.
And the Count could not stop looking at her.
Understand now, she was barely rated in the stop twenty; her hair was uncombed, unclean, her age just seventeen, so there was still, in occasional places, the remains of baby fat. Nothing had been done to the child. Nothing really there but potential.
But the Count still could not rip his eyes away.
"The Count would like to know the secrets behind our cows' greatness, is that not correct, sir?" Buttercup's father said.
The Count only nodded, staring.
Even Buttercup's mother noted a certain tension in the air.
"Ask the farm boy; he tends to them," Buttercup said.
"And is that the farm boy?" came a new voice from inside the carriage. Then the Countess's face was framed in the carriage doorway.
Her lips were painted a perfect red; her green eyes lined in black All the colors of the world were muted in her gown. Buttercup wanted to shield her eyes from the brilliance.
Buttercup's father glanced back toward the lone figure peering around the corner of the house. "It is."
"Bring him to me."
"He is not dressed properly for such an occasion," Buttercup's mother said.
"I have seen bare chests before," the Countess replied. Then she called out: "You!" and pointed at the farm boy. "Come here." Her fingers snapped on "here."
The farm boy did as he was told.
When he was a few paces behind Buttercup, he stopped, head properly bowed. He was ashamed of his attire, worn boots and torn blue jeans (blue jeans were invented considerably before most people suppose), and his hands were tight together in almost a gesture of supplication.
"Have you a name, farm boy?"
"Westley, Countess."
"Well, Westley, perhaps you can help us with our problem." She crossed to him. The fabric of her gown grazed his skin. "We are all of us here passionately interested in the subject of cows. We are practically reaching the point of frenzy, such is our curiosity. Why, do you suppose, Westley, that the cows of this particular farm are the finest in all of Florin. What do you do to them?"
"I just feed them, Countess."
"Well then, there it is, the mystery is solved, the secret; we can all rest. Clearly, the magic is in Westley's feeding. Show me how you do it, would you, Westley?"
"Feed the cows for you, Countess?"
"Bright lad."
"When?"
"Now will be soon enough," and she held out her arm to him. "Lead me, Westley."
Westley had no choice but to take her arm. Gently. "It's behind the house, madam; it's terrible muddy back there. Your gown will be ruined."
"I wear them only once, Westley, and I burn to see you in action."
So off they went to the cowshed.
Throughout all this, the Count kept watching Buttercup.
"I'll help you," Buttercup called after Westley.
"Perhaps I'd best see just how he does it," the Count decided.
"Strange things are happening," Buttercup's parents said, and off they went too, bringing up the rear of the cow-feeding trip, watching the Count, who was watching their daughter, who was watching the Countess.
Who was watching Westley.
"I've come to say good-by."
Buttercup's heart bucked, but she still held to fancy. "You're going to sleep, you mean, and you've come to say good night? How thoughtful of you, Farm Boy, showing me that you forgive me for my little morning tease; I certainly appreciate your thoughtfulness and-"
He cut her off. "I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" The floor began to ripple. She held to the doorframe. "Now?"
"Yes."
"Because of what I said this morning."
"Yes."
"I frightened you away, didn't I? I could kill my tongue." She shook her head and shook her head. "Well, it's done; you've made your decision. Just remember this: I won't take you back when she's done with you, I don't care if you beg."
He just looked at her.
Buttercup hurried on. "Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it;s made you conceited. You think people can't get tired of you, well you're wrong, they can, and she will, besides you're too poor."
"I'm going to America. To seek my fortune." (This was just after America but long after fortunes.) "A ship sails soon for London. There is great opportunity in America. I'm going to take advantage of it. I've been training myself. In my hovel. I've taught myself not to need sleep. A few hours only. I'll take a ten-hour-a-day job and then I'll take another then-hour-a-day job and I'll save every penny from both except what I need to eat and keep strong, and when I have enough I'll buy a farm and build a house and make a bed big enough for two."
"You're just crazy if you think she's going to be happy in some run-down farmhouse in America. Not with what she spends on clothes."
"Stop talking about the Countess! As a special favor. Before you drive me maaaaaaaad."
Buttercup looked at him.
"Don't you understand anything that's going on?"
Buttercup shook her head.
Westley shook his too. "You never have been the brightest, I guess."
"Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?"
He couldn't believe it. "Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were-"
"I don't understand that first one yet," Buttercup interrupted. She was starting to get very excited now. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying my love is this size of a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images just confuse me so--is this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Westley. I have the feeling we're on the verge of something just terribly important."
"I have stayed these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I have live my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking lids... Is any of this getting through to you, Buttercup, or do you want me to go on for awhile?"
"Never stop."
"There has not been--"
"If you're teasing me, Westley, I'm just going to kill you."
"How could you even dream I might be teasing?"
"Well, you haven't once said you loved me."
"That's all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out , should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I."
"You are teasing now; aren't you?"
"A little maybe; I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never hear, and you never heard."
"I hear you now, and I promise you this; I will never love anyone else. Only Westley. Until I die."
He nodded, took a step away. "I'll send for you soon. Believe me."
"Would my Westley ever lie?"
He tok another step. "I'm late. I must go. I hate it but I must. The ship sails soon and London is far."
"I understand."
He reached out with his right hand.
Buttercup found it very hard to breathe.
"Good-by."
She managed to raise her right hand to his.
They shook.
"Good-by," he said again.
She made a little nod.
He took a third step, not turning.
She watched him.
He turned.
And the words ripped out of her: "Without one kiss?"
They fell into each other's arms.
"Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest ladies. Snakes. Spiders. Beasts of all natures and description. Pain. Death. Brave men. Coward men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truth. Passion. Miracles."
"You didn't bathe," her father said.
"I did, I did" from Buttercup.
"Not with water," her father continued. "You reek like a stallion."
"I've been riding all day," Buttercup explained.
"You must bathe, Buttercup," her mother joined in. "The boys don't like their girls to smell of stables."
"Oh, the boys!" Buttercup fairly exploded. "I do not care about 'the boys.' Horse loves me and that is quite sufficient, thank you."
She said that speech loud, and she said it often.
And the Count could not stop looking at her.
Understand now, she was barely rated in the stop twenty; her hair was uncombed, unclean, her age just seventeen, so there was still, in occasional places, the remains of baby fat. Nothing had been done to the child. Nothing really there but potential.
But the Count still could not rip his eyes away.
"The Count would like to know the secrets behind our cows' greatness, is that not correct, sir?" Buttercup's father said.
The Count only nodded, staring.
Even Buttercup's mother noted a certain tension in the air.
"Ask the farm boy; he tends to them," Buttercup said.
"And is that the farm boy?" came a new voice from inside the carriage. Then the Countess's face was framed in the carriage doorway.
Her lips were painted a perfect red; her green eyes lined in black All the colors of the world were muted in her gown. Buttercup wanted to shield her eyes from the brilliance.
Buttercup's father glanced back toward the lone figure peering around the corner of the house. "It is."
"Bring him to me."
"He is not dressed properly for such an occasion," Buttercup's mother said.
"I have seen bare chests before," the Countess replied. Then she called out: "You!" and pointed at the farm boy. "Come here." Her fingers snapped on "here."
The farm boy did as he was told.
When he was a few paces behind Buttercup, he stopped, head properly bowed. He was ashamed of his attire, worn boots and torn blue jeans (blue jeans were invented considerably before most people suppose), and his hands were tight together in almost a gesture of supplication.
"Have you a name, farm boy?"
"Westley, Countess."
"Well, Westley, perhaps you can help us with our problem." She crossed to him. The fabric of her gown grazed his skin. "We are all of us here passionately interested in the subject of cows. We are practically reaching the point of frenzy, such is our curiosity. Why, do you suppose, Westley, that the cows of this particular farm are the finest in all of Florin. What do you do to them?"
"I just feed them, Countess."
"Well then, there it is, the mystery is solved, the secret; we can all rest. Clearly, the magic is in Westley's feeding. Show me how you do it, would you, Westley?"
"Feed the cows for you, Countess?"
"Bright lad."
"When?"
"Now will be soon enough," and she held out her arm to him. "Lead me, Westley."
Westley had no choice but to take her arm. Gently. "It's behind the house, madam; it's terrible muddy back there. Your gown will be ruined."
"I wear them only once, Westley, and I burn to see you in action."
So off they went to the cowshed.
Throughout all this, the Count kept watching Buttercup.
"I'll help you," Buttercup called after Westley.
"Perhaps I'd best see just how he does it," the Count decided.
"Strange things are happening," Buttercup's parents said, and off they went too, bringing up the rear of the cow-feeding trip, watching the Count, who was watching their daughter, who was watching the Countess.
Who was watching Westley.
"I've come to say good-by."
Buttercup's heart bucked, but she still held to fancy. "You're going to sleep, you mean, and you've come to say good night? How thoughtful of you, Farm Boy, showing me that you forgive me for my little morning tease; I certainly appreciate your thoughtfulness and-"
He cut her off. "I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" The floor began to ripple. She held to the doorframe. "Now?"
"Yes."
"Because of what I said this morning."
"Yes."
"I frightened you away, didn't I? I could kill my tongue." She shook her head and shook her head. "Well, it's done; you've made your decision. Just remember this: I won't take you back when she's done with you, I don't care if you beg."
He just looked at her.
Buttercup hurried on. "Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it;s made you conceited. You think people can't get tired of you, well you're wrong, they can, and she will, besides you're too poor."
"I'm going to America. To seek my fortune." (This was just after America but long after fortunes.) "A ship sails soon for London. There is great opportunity in America. I'm going to take advantage of it. I've been training myself. In my hovel. I've taught myself not to need sleep. A few hours only. I'll take a ten-hour-a-day job and then I'll take another then-hour-a-day job and I'll save every penny from both except what I need to eat and keep strong, and when I have enough I'll buy a farm and build a house and make a bed big enough for two."
"You're just crazy if you think she's going to be happy in some run-down farmhouse in America. Not with what she spends on clothes."
"Stop talking about the Countess! As a special favor. Before you drive me maaaaaaaad."
Buttercup looked at him.
"Don't you understand anything that's going on?"
Buttercup shook her head.
Westley shook his too. "You never have been the brightest, I guess."
"Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?"
He couldn't believe it. "Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were-"
"I don't understand that first one yet," Buttercup interrupted. She was starting to get very excited now. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying my love is this size of a grain of sand and yours is this other thing? Images just confuse me so--is this universal business of yours bigger than my sand? Help me, Westley. I have the feeling we're on the verge of something just terribly important."
"I have stayed these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I have live my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking lids... Is any of this getting through to you, Buttercup, or do you want me to go on for awhile?"
"Never stop."
"There has not been--"
"If you're teasing me, Westley, I'm just going to kill you."
"How could you even dream I might be teasing?"
"Well, you haven't once said you loved me."
"That's all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out , should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I."
"You are teasing now; aren't you?"
"A little maybe; I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never hear, and you never heard."
"I hear you now, and I promise you this; I will never love anyone else. Only Westley. Until I die."
He nodded, took a step away. "I'll send for you soon. Believe me."
"Would my Westley ever lie?"
He tok another step. "I'm late. I must go. I hate it but I must. The ship sails soon and London is far."
"I understand."
He reached out with his right hand.
Buttercup found it very hard to breathe.
"Good-by."
She managed to raise her right hand to his.
They shook.
"Good-by," he said again.
She made a little nod.
He took a third step, not turning.
She watched him.
He turned.
And the words ripped out of her: "Without one kiss?"
They fell into each other's arms.
