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The Shakespeare Story-Book
The Challenge
When Viola, saved from the wreck, was grieving over the supposed loss of her brother, she was comforted by the sea-captain, who told her that he had seen Sebastian bind himself to a strong mast, which floated on the sea, and that probably he too had been saved. This turned out to be really the case. Sebastian was picked up by another ship, the captain of which, Antonio by name, most kindly befriended the destitute young stranger. For three months he kept Sebastian with him, and he loved the boy so dearly that, when Sebastian left him to go to the Court of Orsino, Antonio followed him to Illyria, fearing lest some harm should come to him.
Antonio dared not show himself openly in Illyria, for several years before he had fought valiantly on the side of the enemies of Orsino, and done much damage to the Duke’s fleet. When on their arrival, therefore, Sebastian proposed to take a walk to see anything of note in the city, Antonio replied that it would be better for himself to go and secure a lodging, and order food to be prepared; he knew of a place that would suit very well, the Elephant Inn, in the south suburbs of the city. Sebastian in the meanwhile could go for a walk, and join him in about an hour’s time.
Knowing that Sebastian had no money, or very little, Antonio further insisted on giving him his purse, in case he should see any trifle he wished to purchase. Everything being thus arranged, they parted, Antonio to go to the Elephant Inn, and Sebastian to take a walk through the town.
In the palace of the Duke there was still sadness, for the young page Cesario, in spite of his kind reception by the Countess Olivia, had brought back no more cheering answer than former envoys. Weary at heart, Orsino longed to hear some soothing music, and he called for a touching little song which he had heard sung the night before – a plaintive, old-world ditty, whose quaint sadness and simplicity had more power to relieve his sorrow than the more light and cheerful strains of modern music.
His servants told him that the person who had sung the song was Feste the jester, who had been in the service of the Countess Olivia’s father, and, as he was still about the house, Orsino ordered him to be fetched. So Feste came, and this was the song he sang:
“Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair, cruel maid;
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
“Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be strown;
A thousand, thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!”
This sad little song just suited the melancholy mood of the Duke, and when Feste had sung it, and gone away, Orsino went on talking to Viola – or his young page Cesario, as he thought her – about his unhappy love for Olivia. He bade her go once more to the cruel lady, and insist on her listening to him.
“But if she cannot love you, sir?” said Viola.
“I cannot be answered so,” said Orsino.
“Sooth, but you must,” replied Viola. “Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, has as great a love for you as you have for Olivia; you cannot love her; you tell her so; must she not then be answered?”
Orsino replied that no woman could ever love any man as he loved Olivia; that women’s hearts were much more shallow than men’s, etc. Viola, knowing her own deep and hidden affection for the Duke himself, protested that she knew too well how much women could love, and in veiled language she went on to describe the case of “a daughter of her father,” whom Orsino naturally took to mean a sister, but who was in reality herself. However, the end of it was that Viola again went to Olivia.
She was received just as kindly as before, but Olivia said plainly that it was quite useless for her to plead on behalf of Orsino, although if Cesario would undertake another suit she would listen to it more gladly than to the music of the spheres. Viola could only reply to this as she had done before, that she had one heart, and that no woman except herself should ever be mistress of it. So she took her leave.
The interview between the Countess and the young page had been jealously watched; the spectator was the foolish knight, Sir Andrew Aguecheek. It had occurred to Sir Toby that it would be a very good plan to wed his niece Olivia to this silly gentleman, and he kept urging Sir Andrew to pay his court to her. Sir Andrew spent money lavishly in riotous living with Sir Toby, hoping to repay himself when he married Olivia. He was therefore very indignant when he saw her bestow more favours on Orsino’s messenger than she had ever done on him, and he angrily told Sir Toby that he intended to leave at once.
Sir Toby tried to soothe him, and he and another gentleman of Olivia’s household who happened to be present persuaded him that Olivia knew all the time that he was looking on, and only showed favour to the youth to exasperate Sir Andrew and to awaken his dormouse valour. They said he ought immediately to have fired up, and frightened the boy into dumbness, and that he had damaged his own cause by not doing so. The only thing now to do was to redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.
“If it is to be anyway, it must be with valour, for policy I hate,” said Sir Andrew.
“Why, then, build your fortunes on the basis of valour,” said Sir Toby in his loud, jovial voice. “Challenge the youth to fight; hurt him in eleven places; my niece shall take note of it; and be assured, nothing prevails more to win a man favour with women than a report of valour.”
“There is no way but this, Sir Andrew,” added Fabian.
“Will either of you bear a challenge to him from me?” asked Sir Andrew.
“Go, write it in a martial hand,” said Sir Toby. “Be sharp and brief. Make it as rude and insolent as you possibly can.”
Sir Andrew retired to write his challenge, leaving the other two men to laugh heartily over the prospect of a good joke.
“We shall have a rare letter from him,” said Fabian, “but you will not deliver it?”
“Faith, and I will!” exclaimed Sir Toby, “and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and cart-ropes will not drag them together.”
For he knew Sir Andrew had not a grain of courage in his whole body; and as for Orsino’s page, he looked far too soft and gentle to be in the least brave or daring.
Sir Andrew wrote his challenge, but when finished it was such an extraordinary production that Sir Toby decided not to deliver it.
“The behaviour of the young gentleman,” he said, “shows him to be of good capacity and breeding; therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will not terrify him in the least; he will know it comes from a clodpole. I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth, give a notable report of Aguecheek’s valour, and drive the gentleman, who is so young I know he will readily believe it, into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so frighten them both that they will kill each other by the look, like cockatrices.”
What Sir Toby had planned came to pass, and he and Fabian were soon hugely enjoying the success of their joke. They first found Viola, and delivered Sir Andrew’s challenge, assuring her that he was terribly incensed, and was a most dangerous adversary.
“If you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard,” counselled Sir Toby, “for your opponent has everything that youth, strength, skill, and wrath can furnish a man with.”
Poor Viola was in the greatest alarm on hearing of the encounter that awaited her; she would gladly have wriggled out of it if she could, but Sir Toby would listen to no excuses.
“I will return again to the house, and desire some escort of the lady,” said Viola. “I am no fighter.”
But Sir Toby insisted that she positively must fight with Sir Andrew, that he had real ground of injury, and that if she declined to fight with him she would have to fight with himself, which would be just as dangerous.
“This is as uncivil as strange,” said poor Viola, inwardly quaking with terror. “I beseech you, do me the courtesy to find out from the knight what my offence is; it must be some oversight on my part – certainly I have done nothing on purpose.”
“I will do so,” said Sir Toby. “Signor Fabian, stay with this gentleman till my return.”
Sir Toby went off in search of Sir Andrew, to whom he proceeded to give the most glowing account of the young page’s furious disposition, and his marvellous skill in fencing. Sir Andrew was in a perfect agony of fear.
“If I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I would have seen him hanged before I would have challenged him!” he cried miserably. “Let him let the matter slip, and will give him my horse, Gray Capilet.”
“I will suggest it to him,” said Sir Toby. “Stand here, make a good show of it; this shall end without loss of life.” Then, with a chuckle to himself: “Marry, I’ll ride your horse, as well as I ride you!.. I have his horse to take up the quarrel,” he added in a low voice to Fabian. “I have persuaded him the youth is a fury.”
“He thinks just as horribly of Sir Andrew,” laughed back Fabian, “and pants and looks pale as if a bear were at his heels.”
“There is no remedy, sir; he will fight with you, because of his oath,” announced Sir Toby to Viola. “He has thought better of his quarrel, and finds now that is scarcely worth talking of; therefore draw, for the sake of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.”
“Pray heaven defend me,” murmured Viola aside. “A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.”
“Give ground, if you see him furious,” advised Fabian apart to Viola.
“Come, Sir Andrew, there is no remedy,” said Sir Toby aside to the other trembling combatant. “The gentleman will, for his honour’s sake, have one bout with you; he cannot, by the laws of duelling, avoid it; but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; begin!”
“Pray heaven he keep his oath!” murmured Sir Andrew.
“I do assure you it is against my will,” said Viola piteously.
The two unhappy champions then reluctantly allowed themselves to be almost dragged into position by their determined seconds, who had much ado to prevent them both ignominiously taking to their heels. It would be difficult to say which was in the most abject state of fear. Sir Andrew was quaking in every limb, and Viola turned quite pale at the sight of her own sword. But before their shaking weapons managed to meet there came an interruption. Antonio, the sea-captain, passed that way, and seeing Viola, he thought it was Sebastian, for in her page’s dress Viola had copied her brother in every particular.
Ever careful for Sebastian’s safety, Antonio at once interfered.
“Put up your sword,” he said to Sir Andrew. “If this young gentleman has offended you in any way, I take the fault on me. If you offend him, I will fight you for him.”
“You, sir! Why, what are you?” demanded Sir Toby, not at all pleased to have his joke spoilt in this fashion.
“One, sir, who for his love dares yet do more than you have heard him brag to you he will,” said Antonio proudly.
“Nay, if you are a boaster, I am for you,” said Sir Toby, who, with all his faults, was no coward.
The swords clashed in good earnest this time, but again there came an interruption. Some officers arrived, who proceeded to arrest Antonio at the suit of Duke Orsino; he had been seen and recognised as an ancient enemy; there was no escape.
“This comes with seeking you,” said Antonio to Viola, whom he took for Sebastian; “but there is no remedy, I shall answer it. What will you do now that my necessity makes me ask you for my purse? I am much more grieved for what I am prevented doing for you than for anything that befalls myself. You stand amazed, but be comforted.”
“Come, sir, away,” said one of the officers, as Viola stood staring in astonishment at Antonio. Of course she did not know in the least what he meant, for she had never seen him before in her life.
“I must entreat of you some of that money,” pleaded Antonio.
“What money, sir?” asked Viola. “Because of the kindness you have shown me here, and partly prompted by your present trouble, I will lend you something out of my own very small means; I have not much. I will divide with you what I have. Hold! there is half my purse.”
Antonio was deeply wounded by such apparent ingratitude from one for whom he had done so much. He was reluctant to proclaim his own good deeds, but when Viola persisted in declaring that she did not know him, he could not help relating how he had saved the youth from shipwreck, and what devotion he had lavished on him afterwards. In telling this, he called him by his name, as he thought – “Sebastian” – but he was hurried away by the officers before Viola had time to answer.
This name “Sebastian” filled her with sudden hope; she knew how closely she resembled her brother, and she had imitated the same fashion, colour, and ornament which he was accustomed to wear. Perhaps, then, the tempests had been kind and Sebastian was really saved.
“A very dishonest, paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare,” was Sir Toby’s disgusted comment, as Viola walked off. “His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardice, ask Fabian.”
“A coward – a most devout coward,” agreed Fabian.
“Ha, I’ll after him again, and beat him,” said the valiant Sir Andrew.
“Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw your sword,” said Sir Toby.
“If I do not – ” bragged Sir Andrew, swaggering away.
“Come, let us see what happens,” said Fabian.
“I dare lay any money, it will be nothing, after all,” said Sir Toby shrewdly.
Yellow Stockings
Olivia was very sad when Viola, or the young page Cesario, as she thought her, went away saying that no woman should ever win his heart; and feeling that Malvolio’s grave dignity just suited her present mood, she asked for her steward.
“He is coming, madam, but in very strange manner,” said the naughty Maria. “He is surely possessed, madam.”
“Why, what is the matter? Doth he rave?”
“No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were best to have some guard about you if he come; for, sure, the man has something wrong with his wits.”
“Go, call him hither,” said Olivia.
When Maria returned with Malvolio, Olivia was amazed to see the extraordinary change that had come over her usually sober and sedate steward. Malvolio advanced with mincing step and many fantastic gestures, which he intended to represent gracious affability; his lantern jaws and severe features were twisted into strange grimaces, which he imagined to be fascinating smiles; his lanky legs were encased in brilliant yellow stockings, and were further adorned with cross-gartering from the ankle upwards. Olivia thought he must certainly be bereft of his wits, especially when, in answer to all her questions, he poured forth a series of incomprehensible remarks. They were really quotations from the letter he had picked up, but Olivia, of course, did not know this, and to her they sounded like senseless jargon. Malvolio kept on bowing and smirking, and kissing his hand to Olivia, while he waved Maria aside with intense scorn. Olivia was really distressed to think of the sudden calamity that had befallen the poor man’s wits, for she valued his honesty and faithful service. She gave directions that her people should take especial care of him, and sent Maria to find Sir Toby to look after him.
Malvolio was quite pleased to find himself of such importance, and continued his self-complacent reflections on the greatness which he thought he had achieved. He was firmly convinced that Olivia really liked him, and that she had only sent for Sir Toby on purpose that he might be severe with him, as the letter advised. When Maria reappeared with Sir Toby and Fabian, he treated them all with the most lofty disdain. They were greatly delighted with the success of their trick, and determined to carry on the joke still further. Pretending to think that Malvolio had really lost his wits, they had him bound and carried to a dark room. Then Feste, the clown, disguised his voice, and spoke to him as if he were a curate, come to visit him in his misfortune. He had an argument with Malvolio, in which the poor man made it quite apparent that he was still in possession of his proper reason. But Feste, or Sir Topas, as he called himself for this occasion, would not hold out any hope of release, and, as far as Malvolio could tell in his dark prison, presently departed, without bringing him any comfort.
Sir Toby now began to think the joke had gone far enough, and that it was time to release Malvolio as soon as it could conveniently be done. He knew that Olivia would be seriously displeased if she came to learn what had happened, and he was already so deep in disgrace with his niece that he could not with safety pursue the sport any further. He therefore told the clown to speak to Malvolio in his own voice. Feste began singing one of his songs, as if he had just come near, and Malvolio, recognising it, called piteously to him for help.
“Good fool, as ever you will deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to you for it!”
The clown still went on teasing Malvolio a little before he would grant his request, but finally said he would get what he wanted, and went off to fetch a light and writing materials. Malvolio wrote his letter, which the clown duly delivered, and which clearly proved that the poor man was quite sane, though justly indignant at the way in which he had been treated. Olivia ordered his immediate release, and when Malvolio came and bitterly reproached her for the letter she had written, and the way in which he had been befooled, she assured him that the fault was none of hers, and that the handwriting was Maria’s.
Fabian then stepped forward and took the whole blame on himself and Sir Toby. He said they had played this trick on Malvolio because of his ill-nature towards themselves. Maria had only written the letter under great persuasion from Sir Toby, who now, out of recompense, had married her. Fabian added that he thought the playful malice with which the joke was carried out deserved laughter rather than revenge, if the injuries on both sides were justly weighed.
“Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!” said Olivia.
“I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you,” cried Malvolio, taking himself off in a terrible fury.
And the laughter of the others was checked by the stern rebuke of Olivia:
“He has been treated most shamefully.”
Sebastian and Viola
Olivia, wishing to speak once more with the young page Cesario, sent the clown in search of him, but Feste, by chance, happened to meet Sebastian instead, and thinking he was the person he was in search of, he delivered his lady’s message to him.
Sebastian could not understand in the least what he meant, but he was still further surprised when a very foolish-looking gentleman ran up to him, and struck him a blow, saying:
“Now, sir, have I met you again? There’s for you!”
“Why, there’s for you, and there, and there!” retorted Sebastian, repaying his blows with interest. “Are all the people mad?”
Sir Andrew was surprised and very much disgusted to find that the young man whom they had taken for a coward could strike so vigorously with his fists. Sir Toby interfered on behalf of his timorous friend, and he and Sebastian had drawn their swords to fight in earnest, when Olivia, warned by Feste, came hurrying up. She sternly commanded Sir Toby to stay his hand, and implored Sebastian, whom she took for Cesario, to pardon the rudeness of her kinsman, and to go with her into the house.
“Either I am mad or else this is a dream,” thought the bewildered Sebastian, when he heard this beautiful lady speaking to him as if he were already a dear friend. But, dream or not, it was extremely pleasant, and he was quite willing that the illusion should continue. “If it be thus to dream, let me sleep still,” he said to himself.
This handsome young gallant was by no means so indifferent to the Countess Olivia as Cesario had been, and when she proposed that they should be married at once, he was quite willing to consent. He would gladly have consulted his kind friend Antonio, the sea-captain, but this was not possible, for on going to the Elephant Inn, which was the place of meeting arranged, Antonio had never appeared to keep his appointment. The reason we know already, although Sebastian did not – Antonio had been arrested by Duke Orsino’s officers.
The marriage had only taken place two hours, when Orsino, accompanied by Viola, came to Olivia’s house, and almost immediately afterwards Antonio was led in by the officers. Now came fresh confusion; Antonio again thought Viola was Sebastian, and taxed him bitterly with his ingratitude. Viola stoutly denied ever having seen Antonio before, except on the one occasion when he had saved him from the valiant Sir Andrew. Antonio declared that for the last three months they had never parted company, day or night, whereupon the Duke declared his words must be madness, because for the last three months the youth had been his own attendant.
Then came Olivia, who thought that Viola was the man to whom she had been married, and amazed her by calling her “husband.” The priest who had actually married them was called as witness, and declared this was true. It was now the Duke’s turn to be indignant with Viola for her supposed deceit and treachery, for he thought that when he had sent Cesario to woo Olivia on his behalf, the young page had taken the opportunity to secure the lady for himself.
Matters were in this tangled state of confusion, when all was happily put right by the arrival of Sebastian. When the twins stood together everyone was amazed at the resemblance. The brother and sister were delighted to meet once more. Antonio found that his friend was not the monster of ingratitude he had taken him for; and Olivia was restored to a handsome and devoted husband, who had no intention of denying his own wife.
Orsino might perhaps have been sad at discovering that the Countess Olivia was now lost to him for ever, but while a charming young bride stood ready at his hand, he was not unwilling to be consoled. Viola’s faithful service met its reward.
“Since you have called me ‘master’ for so long,” said the Duke, “here is my hand; you shall from this time be your master’s mistress.”
Olivia said that Viola and the Duke must now look on her as a sister, and that the wedding should take place from her house.
So they all trooped merrily away, and Feste, the clown, was left singing to himself:
“When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
“But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
“A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.”