Twins and Trickery in Twelfth Night

No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere
extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a
touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me
what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges
me in manners the rather to express myself. You
must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
which I called Roderigo. My father was that
Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard
of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both
born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased,
would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that;
for some hour before you took me from the breach of
the sea was my sister drowned.

The first few lines of this speech, spoken by Sebastian at the start of Act 2 Scene i of Twelfth Night, are frequently cut.  In the Trevor Nunn screen play for Renaissance Films, for example, the speech starts with the words ‘You must know of me then, Antonio…’

There is, of course, nothing wrong with such editing – unless it is done without due diligence.

So what is ‘due diligence’ when it comes to reviewing a Shakespeare text for performance?

Primarily you must seek to understand why the text exists in the first place.  But the answer to this question might require some thinking ‘outside the box’ – depending on how immersed you are in the text to begin with.

So, taking the Sebastian example above, you might wonder why he needs to talk about his father and his family history in this way.  You might also question why the preamble exists.  After all, Trevor Nunn’s edited version is perfectly sufficient to get the main point across.

At this point, you might be tempted to dismiss the extra material as ‘Shakespeare’; it’s what he does, after all – “use ten words where one would do”.

This would be folly on your part, not his.

For Shakespeare understands Theatre and, in this play, he has a very clear idea of how and why the text needs to unfold in the way it does.

So, if you are tempted to think that these lines are superfluous, take yourself to an imaginary space where you are about to watch this play for the first time…

You do not know the story and you certainly do not know the characters and their relationship to each other.  You do not even know their names.

Have you noticed that Viola is not named correctly in Act 1? She appears and she dresses as a man but she is only ever referred to under her pseudonym of Cesario.

This means the audience do not know her real name.  Only what she looks like.

Then, at the start of Act 2, she comes onstage talking of leaving.

Except, with hindsight, we know it is not her who enters in Act 2 scene i; it is her brother, Sebastian.

But the audience watching this for the first time, seeing an identical twin appear at the start of Act 2 scene 1, has no idea that they can be watching anyone other than Viola/Cesario.  After all, there has not even been a mention yet that Viola’s brother is her twin – let alone identical.

And so Shakespeare is playing with us.  He brings a character on stage that we presume to be Viola and he sustains the illusion by ensuring that some dialogue takes place which is sufficiently abstract to be spoken, potentially, by Viola.

This is why the first few lines of the scene exist: to set-up a joke.  The joke requires them to be a meaningless preamble that could be spoken by anyone, to allow the audience to presume that they know who is talking.  Their very value lies in their vagueness.

And then the joke gets a head of steam: in a change of tone and clarity we are told that this is ‘Sebastian’ who was formerly known as ‘Roderigo’.

What’s that about?

Why throw in another pseudonym, when we already have the Cesario name in the frame?

For one reason only: to confuse the audience further.  For momentarily we find ourselves disorientated.  Who is this before us?  Surely it is that girl from the first Act, who dressed as a man?  But she wasn’t called Roderigo, was she?  And why is she now saying she is called Sebastian, after Sebastian of Messaline?

And then it dawns on us: this is NOT the girl dressed as a man; this is a man who looks just like her… and who had a twin sister who was identical to him... and who was also the offspring of Sebastian of Messaline.  This is a play about identical twins!

Now, having deduced this today, imagine the added level of confusion in Shakespeare’s theatre when both parts are played by a male actor.  And you might also notice the mention of a brother’s death in Act 1 scene 3, and the mourning there.  Another brother dead?  It’s madness. 

And that is the point: it is all designed to disorientate and confuse the audience.  And it makes us see, eventually, that if we can confuse Viola and Sebastian as being the same person… then how easy for the people on this island to do the same.

And thus it sets up the whole of the rest of the play.  And it demonstrates how vital it is for a faithful production to make sure the twins in the lead roles are IDENTICAL.  And it casts a whole new gloss on the reaction to Sebastian of Olivia, Feste, Antonio, Sir Andrew and Sir Toby in Acts 4 and 5. And, if we can see it, this one seemingly abstract scene transforms – and uplifts - our experience of the whole play.

But what does all this also say about the tenour of Act 2 scene i?

Far from being the atmospheric, melancholy, storm-tossed sequence of the Trevor Nunn film, this scene is essentially comic at heart.

It is entirely unexpected that it should be so.  For it even ends with some words of reflection on the sister who has apparently died in the storm (‘She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more’).

But this is Shakespeare and, like the best pantomime writers, he knows he can move an audience from laughter to sadness in an instant.  It is all play.

So the words of Sebastian and Antonio, in Act 2 scene i, serve to ensure that the audience is firstly tricked… and then let in on the deceit.  The audience, in turn, laugh uproariously as they realise this is all a confusion spun for them to enjoy.  Then they gasp - as they realise the potential for other characters within the play to be deceived just as they have been.  Oh what a clever writer Mr Shakespeare is! 

And then, so that the story can move forward, we are all brought back on task by some faux seriousness which serves to remind us all of where we were in the story before this little sideshow.  Talk of salt tears here is not an indication of genuine weeping on the part of the actor; it is simply a signpost to the audience that directs them back to the main ‘shipwrecked’ thread.

By all means cut Sebastian’s lines - as Trevor Nunn chose to do in his film.  But make sure you know what you are cutting out.

And please acknowledge that you are horribly distorting Shakespeare’s vision when you do.