Bardisms (25 page)

I WANT TO BE KNOWN AS AN HONORABLE PERSON

Shakespeare well knows a storytelling principle that might be called the Gospel According to the Tabloid Journalist: the destruction of a reputation sells more newspapers than the building of one. It sells more theater tickets, too. But unlike the ink-stained wretches of the
New York Post
, the ink-stained Bard of Avon boasts a preternatural command of a key principle of good dramatic construction, namely, that you can’t get theatrical value out of a giant’s fall in Act 5 unless you’ve established the giant’s spotless bona fides in Acts 1 through 4. Adhering to this principle, Shakespeare makes sure that all his characters who endure devastating public shame—both those who survive it and those who don’t—spend a fair amount of time talking up their devotion to the very values whose abandonment leads to trouble. And no value gets more face time with the canon’s greatest heroes than that old standby of soldiers, politicians, and people of integrity the world over, honor. Brutus talks (and talks) about it; Hamlet soliloquizes about it; Coriolanus rants about it; Hermione and Queen Katherine swear oaths upon it. All these figures enjoy richly deserved reputations for unimpeachable honor. Only one character, however, delivers an all-occasions quotable on the subject: King Henry V, with Shakespeare on the Occasion of a Deep Commitment to Honor:

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It ernes me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honor, 5

I am the most offending soul alive.

—K
ING
H
ENRY
,
Henry V
, 4.3.24–29

In other words:

I swear to God, I’m not into money. I don’t care how huge an entourage lives off my bank account. I’m not upset if other people use my stuff. These material things aren’t my gig. But if it’s bad to be addicted to honor, then today I consider myself the wickedest man on the face of the earth.

How to use it:

For all you politicians out there, this is a great speech for that defiant press conference in which you deny all the tawdry allegations against you. You admit to wrongdoing and to being less than perfect, but the crime you cop to is valuing honor higher than anything else in life. It’s a perfect piece of political jujitsu—the iambic pentameter version of the Checkers speech, “I am not a crook,” and “I did not have sex with that woman” all rolled into one. Of course, the speech also works fine with no ulterior motive: use it to announce to the world exactly how unassailable is your rectitude.

To use the speech in tribute to the sturdy weave of another’s moral fiber, simply change the first-person pronouns to the second person if you’re speaking directly to your paragon, or to third-person pronouns if you’re speaking about him or her. Some verbs may have to change, too:
I am
in lines 1 and 6 would become
you are
or
he is
;
care I
would become
care you
or
cares she
.

Henry uses antithesis in an interesting way in this speech. He opposes the abstract idea
honor
in line 5 to the collective idea
outward things
in line 4.

Line 3’s
ernes
is an obscure word. It’s an old spelling of
earns
, which in Shakespeare’s day could be more or less synonymous with
grieves
. When I directed the play, that’s what Henry said:
It grieves me not if men my garments wear
. Feel free to make that change.

SHAKESPEARE ON VIOLENT CONFRONTATION

Let’s make us medicines of our great revenge To cure this deadly grief.

—M
ALCOLM
,
Macbeth
, 4.3.215–16

In Shakespeare’s plays, as in life, sometimes conflict escalates from the firm but non-violent disagreement of a cold war to the vicious physical confrontation of a hot one. That escalation is accompanied by escalating rhetoric that ratchets up the heat a degree at a time, until it boils over. I despise violence and I’d much rather see disputes resolved over a nice meal than in a back alley, but I’ve watched enough episodes of
The Sopranos
to recognize that, alas, sometimes a knuckle sandwich is the only food that will do the job. So I here offer a selection of Bardisms I’d call Shakespeare on the Occasions of Violence: making a threat, vowing revenge, and coming to blows.

I’LL GET BACK AT YOU EVENTUALLY

I wouldn’t know much about this, but I understand that certain high school students who prefer books to sports are often picked on by the bully gang. The bespectacled nerds may not be able to hold their own through fisticuffs, but some literary pugilistics can at least generate a buffer of condescension sufficient enough to let them retreat with dignity. Hamlet, hero of brooding bookish types the world over, offers this exemplar of the “Don’t worry, you’ll get yours” genre:

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

—H
AMLET
,
Hamlet
, 5.1.276–77

In other words:

Not even the strongest superhero on earth could bar me from my eventual triumph.

How to use it:

Use the rhyme of
may
and
day
to put a nice flourish on your vow of revenge to come, making sure that your vocal energy drives through to the word at the end of each line.

Hercules
is the most powerful obstacle you can think of, the perfect image of how even the greatest bar won’t stand in your way. Be sure to endow his name with grandiosity and super strength as you say it. The alliterative
h
’s in
Hercules
and
himself
will help you hit a hyperbole home run.

The monosyllabic nature of the second line will make you take it slowly and deliberately, and spread the iambic stress across each word. But remember that
cat
and
dog
, like
mew
and
have his day
, are antitheses, so those words need special stress.