Seven Sides of Shakespeare
Transcriber: Alessia Chiodo
Reviewer: David DeRuwe
Talk about grit
(Laughter)
Not mine - Malvolio’s.
Malvolio, in Shakespeare’s
“Twelfth Night” or “What You Will.”
Malvolio is a supercilious, officious jerk
with delusions of grandeur,
but he never gives up.
He’s like grit gone wrong.
(Laughter)
Malvolio serves as steward
to the Lady Olivia,
and he becomes the butt
of a practical joke
employed by Sir Toby Belch
and his drinking partner,
Sir Andrew Aguecheek,
who compose and forge a letter
which Malvolio is bound to find
and
think is to him from the Lady Olivia.
Why would anyone play such a cruel trick?
I mean, it’s going to cost him everything:
his job, his reputation, his sanity.
Well,
let’s say it’s like 2:00 in the morning,
and we’re all having a really good time.
And this guy shows up.
My masters, are you mad?
Or what? Are you?
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty …
but to gabble like
tinkers at this time of night?
Do you make an
alehouse of my lady’s house,
that you squeak out your
coziers’ catches
without any mitigation
or remorse of voice?
Is there no respect of place,
persons, nor time in you?
Sir Toby, I must be round with you.
My lady bade me tell you, that,
though she harbours you as her kinsman,
she’s nothing allied to your disorders.
Now, if you can separate
yourself and your misdemeanors,
you are welcome into this house;
if not, then it should please
you to take leave of her,
she is very willing to bid you farewell.
Mistress Mary,
if you prized my lady’s favour
at anything more than contempt,
you would not give means
for this uncivil rule.
She shall know of it, by this hand.
Tis but fortune; all is fortune.
Ah, to be Count Malvolio.
There is example for’t;
the lady of the Strachy
married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Having been three months married to her,
sitting in my state,
calling my officers about me,
in my branched velvet gown;
having come from a day-bed,
where I have left Olivia sleeping …
And then to have the humour of state;
and after a demure travel of regard,
telling them I know my place
as I would they should do theirs,
to ask for my kinsman Toby
(Chuckles to himself)
Seven of my people,
with an obedient start, make out for him:
I frown the while;
perchance wind up my watch,
or play with my … some rich jewel.
(Laughter)
Toby approaches; curtsies there to me.
I extend my hand to him thus,
quenching my familiar smile
with an austere regard of control.
Saying, “Cousin Toby,
my fortunes having cast me on your niece
give me this prerogative of speech,”
you must amend your drunkenness.
(Chuckles to himself)
“Besides, you waste
the treasure of your time
with a foolish knight, one Sir Andrew.”
What employment have we here?
(Laughter)
By my life, this is my lady’s hand.
These be her very C’s, her U’s, her T’s
and thus makes she her great P’s.
It is, in contempt of question, her hand.
“To the unknown beloved,
this, and my good wishes.”
Her very phrases!
By your leave, wax,
and the impressure her Lucrece,
with which she uses to seal:
To whom should this be?
God knows I love. But who?
Lips do not move; no man must know.
“No man must know,” What follows?
If this should be thee,
Malvolio,
I may command where I adore,
but silence like a knife
with bloodless stroke
my heart doth gore:
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.
“M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.”
Nay, but let me see,
let me see, let me see.
“I may command what I adore.”
Why, she may command me:
I serve her; she’s my lady.
Why, this is evident
to any formal capacity;
there is no obstruction in this:
In the end
what should that alphabetical
position portend.
Oh, if I could make it
resemble something in me,
Softly! M, O, A, I,
M - Malvolio!
Why, that begins my name.
(Laughter)
But then there’s
no consonancy in the sequel;
which suffers under probation -
A should follow but O does,
then comes I behind.
this simulation is not as the former:
and yet, to crush it a little,
it would bow to me,
for every one of these letters
are in my name.
(Chuckles to himself)
Soft! Here follows prose:
(Laughter)
“If this fall into thy hands, revolve.
(Laughter)
In my stars I am above thee.
But be not afraid of greatness:
some are born great,
some achieve greatness,
some have greatness thrust upon ’em.
(Chuckles to himself)
Thy Fates open their hands;
let thy blood and spirit embrace them
and, to inure thyself
to what thou art like to be,
cast thy humble slough and appear fresh.
Be opposite with a kinsman,
surly with servants;
let thy tongue tang arguments of state;
put thyself into the trick of singularity:
she thus advises thee that sighs for thee.
Remember who commended
thy yellow stockings
(Laughter)
and wished to see thee
ever cross-gartered:
Go to, thou art made,
if thou desirest to be so;
if not, let me see thee a steward still,
and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers.
Farewell, she that would alter
services with thee,
THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.”
Daylight and champion discovers not more:
this is opened.
I will be proud.
Oh, I will read politic authors.
Well, I will baffle Sir Toby.
I will wash off gross acquaintance.
I will be point-device, the very man.
I do not now fool myself,
and let imagination jade me;
for every reason excites to this,
that my lady loves me.
She did commend
my yellow stockings of late,
She did.
(Laughter)
praise my leg being cross-gartered;
but in this, she manifests
herself to my love,
and with a kind of injunction
drives me to these habits of her liking.
Oh, I thank my stars.
I’m happy
(Laughter)
I will be strange
stout.
in yellow stockings and cross gartered,
even with the swiftness of putting on.
God and my stars be praised!
Here’s yet a postscript.
“Thou canst not choose but know who I am.
(Chuckles to himself)
If thou entertainest my love,
let it appear in thy smiling;
thy smiles become thee well;
There in my presence still smiles
Dearo, my sweet”
Oh God, I thank thee:
Well, I will smile;
(Laughter)
(Applause)
Thank you.