Twelfth Night

No. Either tell me where you’ve been, or I won’t make any excuses for you to Lady Olivia. Lady Olivia will have you executed for not showing up.

So let her execute me. Anyone who’s executed doesn’t have to be afraid of anything he sees.

How do you know?

Well, he’ll be dead, so he won’t see anything.

That’s a lame answer. By the way, I know where you get all your brave talk about not being afraid of anything.

Where, good Miss Mary?

From soldiers. But you’ll never see the front lines. It’s easy for you to talk about bravery, working as a fool in this palace.

Well, we all have our special gifts. Some people are born wise; those of us who were meant to be fools should do what they do best.

But still, she’s going to kill you for being gone so long. Or at least fire you. And wouldn’t that be as bad for you as being killed?

Sometimes getting killed is a good way to avoid getting married. And as for being fired, it’s summer, so it won’t be that bad to be homeless.

You’ve made up your mind, then?

No, but I’ve made up my mind on two points.

Ah yes, the two points where your suspenders are attached to your buttons. If one breaks, the other will hold, but if both points break, your pants will fall down.

Clever, very clever. Well, go along now. You’d be the funniest person in Illyria… if Sir Toby ever stopped drinking.

Shut up, you troublemaker, no more of that. Here comes my lady. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll think up some good excuse for being away so long.

(to himself) Please, let me think of something funny to say now! Smart people who think they’re witty often turn out to be fools, but I know I’m not witty, so I might pass for smart. What did that philosopher Quinapalus say? Ah yes, “A witty fool’s better than a foolish wit.”

Greetings to you, madam!

Get that fool out of here.

Didn’t you hear her, guys? Get the lady out of here.

Oh, go away, you’re a boring fool. I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Besides, you’ve gotten unreliable.

Madam, those are two character flaws that a little booze and some common sense can fix. If you hand a drink to a sober fool, he won’t be thirsty anymore. If you tell a bad man to mend his wicked ways, and he does, he won’t be bad anymore. If he cannot, let the tailor mend him. Anything that’s mended is only patched up. A good person who does something wrong is only patched up with sin. And a sinner who does something good is only patched up with goodness. If this logic works, that’s great. If not, what can you do about it? Since the only real betrayed husband in the world is the one deserted by Lady Luck—because we’re all married to her—beauty is a flower. The lady gave orders to take away the fool, so I’m telling you again, take her away.

I told them to take you away.

Oh, what a big mistake! Madam, you can’t judge a book by its cover. I mean, I may look like a fool, but my mind’s sharp. Please let me prove you’re a fool.

Can you do that?

Easily, madam.

Then go ahead and prove it.

I’ll have to ask you some questions, madam. Please answer, my good little student.

I’m listening to you only because I’ve got nothing better to do.

My dear madam, why are you in mourning?

My dear fool, because my brother died.

I think his soul’s in hell, my lady.

I know his soul’s in heaven, fool.

Then you’re a fool for being sad that your brother’s soul is in heaven. Take away this fool, gentlemen.

What do you think of this fool, Malvolio? Isn’t he getting funnier?

Yes, and he’ll keep getting funnier till he dies. Old age always makes people act funny—even wise people, but fools more than anybody.

I hope you go senile soon, sir, so you can become a more foolish fool! Sir Toby would bet a fortune that I’m not smart, but he wouldn’t bet two cents that you’re not a fool.

What do you say to that, Malvolio?

I’m surprised you enjoy the company of this stupid troublemaker. The other day I saw him defeated in a battle of wits by an ordinary jester with no more brains than a rock. Look at him, he’s at a loss for words already. Unless he’s got somebody laughing at him, he can’t think of anything to say. I swear, anyone smart who laughs at these courts jesters is nothing but a jester’s apprentice.

Malvolio, your vanity is damaging your good taste. If you were generous, innocent, and good-natured, you wouldn’t get so upset by what the fool says. You’d think of his wisecracks as harmless little firecrackers, not hurtful bullets. A court jester isn’t really criticizing people, even if he does nothing but make fun of them all day long. And a wise person doesn’t make fun of people, even if all he does is criticize them.

You speak so highly of fools! I hope the god of deception rewards you by making you a wonderful liar.

Madam, there’s a young gentleman at the gate who really wants to speak to you.

Was he sent by Count Orsino?

I don’t know, madam. He’s a good-looking young man, and there are a lot of people with him.

Who’s talking to him now?

Sir Toby, madam, you’re relative.

Send Toby away, please. He talks nothing but nonsense.

Go out and talk to this visitor, Malvolio. If he’s got a message from the count, tell him I’m sick, or not home. Tell him anything you want, as long as you make him go away.

Now you see how your fooling gets boring, and people don’t like it.

Madam, you’ve spoken so highly of us fools, you’d think your oldest son was going into that line of work. I hope God crams his skull full of brains, because here comes one of your relatives who’s pretty weak in the head.

I swear, he’s half drunk already. Who’s that at the gate, uncle?

A gentleman.

A gentleman? What gentleman?

There’s some gentleman out there.—(belching) Damn these pickled herring! They upset my stomach. How’s it going, fool?

Good Sir Toby!

Uncle, uncle, how are you already so brain-dead so early in the day?

Brain-dead! Nonsense. I defy brain-death! I told you, someone’s at the gate.

Yes, but who is he?

Let him be the devil if he wants to, I don’t care. God will protect me. What do I care who it is?

Tell me what a drunk is like, fool.

He’s a fool, a madman, and a drowned man. The first drink makes him a fool, the second makes him crazy, and the third drowns him.

Go find the coroner and tell him to perform an inquest on my uncle, because he’s in the third degree of drunkenness—he’s drowned. Go take care of him.

He’s still only in the crazy phase. The fool will go take care of the madman.

Madam, that young man out there says he’s got to speak to you. I told him you were sick. He claimed he knew that, and that’s why he’s come to speak with you. I told him you were asleep. He claimed to know that already too, and said that’s the reason he’s come to speak with you. What can I say to him, lady? He’s got an answer for everything.

Tell him he’s not going to speak with me.

I told him that. He says he’ll stand at your door like a signpost or a bench until he speaks with you.

What kind of man is he?

Just a man, like any other.

But what’s he like?

He’s very rude. He insists he’ll speak with you whether you want him to or not.

What does he look like? How old is he?

Not old enough to be a man, but not young enough to be a boy. He’s like a bud before it becomes a pea pod, or like a little green apple before it gets big and ripe. He’s somewhere between boy and man. He’s very handsome and speaks well, but he’s very young. He looks like he just recently stopped breastfeeding.

Show him in. Call in my maid.

Maria, our lady wants you.

Give me my veil. Come, put it over my face. (OLIVIA puts on her veil) We’re going to hear Orsino’s pleas again.

Which one of you is the lady of the house?

You can speak to me. I represent her. What do you want?

What stunning, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty—but please, tell me if you’re the lady of the house, because I’ve never seen her. I’d hate to waste my speech on the wrong person, because It’s very well written and I spent a lot of time and energy memorizing it. Beautiful ladies, please don’t treat me badly. I’m very sensitive, and even the smallest bit of rudeness hurts my feelings.

Where do you come from, sir?

I’m sorry, but I memorized what I’m supposed to say here today, and that question isn’t part of the speech I learned. Please, my lady, just confirm that you’re the lady of the house so I can get on with my speech.

Are you an actor?

No, madam. But I swear I’m not the person I’m playing. Are you the lady of the house?

I am, unless I somehow stole this role.

If you’re the lady of the house, then it’s true you’re stealing your role, because what’s yours to give away is not yours to keep for yourself. But that’s not part of what I’m supposed to say. I’ll go on with my speech praising you, and then I’ll get to the point.

Get to the point now. I’ll let you get away with skipping the praise.

That’s too bad, because I spent a long time memorizing it, and it’s poetic.

That means it’s more likely to be fake. Please, keep it to yourself. I heard you were rude when you were standing outside my gate, and that’s the only reason I let you in. I was curious. But I don’t necessarily want to listen to you. If you’re just insane, then get out of here. If you’re in your right mind, get to the point. I’ve got no patience for lunacy at the moment, and I don’t want to waste my time on ridiculous conversations.

Ready to set sail, sir? The door’s right here.

No, this boat’s docking here a bit longer, little sailor.—My lady, would you mind asking your giant here to back off a bit?

Tell me what you want.

I have a message to deliver.

It must be a message about something horrible, since you deliver it so rudely. Tell me what it’s about.

It’s about you. I’m not bringing any declarations of war or demands for cash. I’m coming in peace.

But you began so rudely. Who are you? What do you want?

If I seemed rude, it’s because of how badly I was treated when I got here. Who I am and what I want are a secret. You’re the only one I can share the secret with. It’s sacred, just for you. It’s not for anyone else to hear.

Everyone, please leave us alone for a moment. I’ve got a “sacred” secret to hear.

Now, sir, what’s this holy secret you wanted to tell me?

Most sweet lady—

Oh, “sweet”! It sounds like a nice and gentle kind of faith. Where’s the passage of holy scripture that you’re basing your sermon on?

In Orsino’s heart.

In his heart? In what chapter and verse of his heart?

The table of contents says it’s in the first chapter of his heart.

Oh, I’ve read that. That’s not holy, it’s heresy. Do you have anything else to say?

Madam, please let me see your face.

Has your lord given you any orders to negotiate with my face? I don’t think so. You’re overstepping your bounds now. But I’ll open the curtain and let you see the picture. Look, sir, this is a portrait of me as I am at this particular moment. It’s pretty well done, isn’t it?

It was done excellently, if it’s all-natural, the way God made it.

Oh, it’s all-natural, sir. Wind and rain can’t wash it off.

That’s true beauty. Mother Nature herself painted your skin so white and your lips so red. My lady, you’d be the cruelest woman alive if you let your beauty die with you, with no children to inherit your good looks for future generations to enjoy.

Oh, I’d never be that cruel. I’ll definitely do as you say and leave my beauty for the rest of the world to enjoy. I’ll write out a detailed inventory of my beauty and label every part. For example—item: two lips, ordinary red. Item: two gray eyes, with lids on them. Item: one neck, one chin, and so on. Anyway, were you sent here just to tell me I’m beautiful?

I see what you’re like. You’re proud. But you’d still be gorgeous even if you were as proud as the devil. My lord loves you. You should return a love as deep as his, even if you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.

How does he love me?

He adores you. He cries and groans and sighs.

Your lord knows what I think. I can’t love him. I’m sure he’s a very nice man. I know he’s noble, rich, young, and with a fine reputation. People say he’s generous, well educated, and brave, and he’s very attractive. But I just can’t love him. He should have resigned himself to that a long time ago.

If I loved you as passionately as my master does, and suffered like he does, your rejection would make no sense to me. I wouldn’t understand it.

What would you do about it?

I’d build myself a sad little cabin near your house, where my soul’s imprisoned. From that cabin I’d call out to my soul. I’d write sad songs about unrequited love and sing them loudly in the middle of the night. I’d shout your name to the hills and make the air echo with your name, “Olivia!” Oh, you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without feeling sorry for me.

Not bad; you might accomplish something. Who are your parents?

I was born to a higher position than I’ve got now. But I’m still fairly high-ranking. I’m a gentleman.

Go back to your lord. I can’t love him. Tell him not to send any more messengers—unless you feel like coming back to tell me how he took the bad news. Goodbye. Thanks for your trouble. Here’s some money for you.

I’m not a paid messenger, my lady. Keep your money. It’s my master who’s not getting the reward he deserves, not me. I hope you fall in love with a man whose heart is hard as a rock and who treats your love like a big joke, just like you’ve done. Goodbye, you beautiful, cruel woman.

“Who are your parents?” “I was born to a higher position than I’ve got now. But I’m still fairly high-ranking. I’m a gentleman.” Yes, I’m sure you are. Your way of talking, your face, your body, your behavior, and your sensitive soul all prove you’re a gentleman. Ah, no. Calm down, calm down. If only his lord were more like him. How strange I’m feeling! Can someone fall in love this quickly? I can feel this young man’s perfection creeping in through my eyes like some kind of disease, slowly and invisibly. Oh, well.—Malvolio! Come here!

At your service, madam.

Run after that obnoxious messenger, the duke’s servant. He insisted on leaving this ring with me whether I wanted it or not. Tell him I want nothing to do with it. (she hands him a ring) Ask him not to encourage Orsino or to get his hopes up. I’m not for him. If that young man comes here again tomorrow, I’ll tell him why. Hurry, Malvolio.

Madam, I will.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid I’m not using my head, and I’m falling for his good looks. Fate, do your work. We human beings don’t control our own destinies. What is fated to happen must happen. So let it happen!