STEPHANO Trinculo, run into no further danger. Interrupt the monster one word further, and by this hand I’ll turn my mercy out o’doors and make a stockfish of thee.
TRINCULO Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.
STEPHANO Didst thou not say he lied?
ARIEL [in Trinculo’s voice] Thou liest.
STEPHANO Do I so? Take thou that! [Hits Trinculo.] As you like this, give me the lie another time!
TRINCULO I did not give thee the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’your bottle! This can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers.
CALIBAN Ha, ha, ha!
STEPHANO Now, forward with your tale. [to Trinculo] Prithee, stand farther off.
CALIBAN Beat him enough; after a little time,
I’ll beat him too.
STEPHANO [to Trinculo] Stand farther. [to Caliban] Come, proceed. (3.2.66-86)
Stephano is enjoying magnanimity: thus far, he says, I have been merciful. But you are trying my patience, my mercy, to the limit. Stop interrupting the monster! (It is meant to sound ridiculous.) He is holding up his hand as he makes his promise, possibly first as if he were swearing an oath, and then in the form of a raised fist: shut up or I’ll stop being merciful, turn mercy out o’doors like a beggar, and beat you like a stockfish. Stockfish, dried cod or other fish, had to be beaten (and soaked) before it was cooked, and so to beat someone or something like a stockfish is proverbial, but the word tends to be comic whatever the context, cheap and smelly, stiff as a board and hard as nails. Trinculo is querulous, confused, petulant? It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me! I didn’t say anything! I’ll go farther off. Stephano, half-listening at least, briefly attempts to clarify – but Ariel’s on to it, and intervenes again. It’s striking that the terms in which Ariel is disrupting the plotters here relate to social aspiration and identity. To call someone a liar, to give them the lie (as Stephano accuses Trinculo of doing) is to impugn their honour as a gentleman, as well as accusing them of dishonesty. Neither Trinculo nor Stephano is a gentleman, but as servants in the royal household they might well assume the dignities and preoccupations of their social superiors, the courtiers whom they serve, and to stand on their honour in the same way. Stephano snaps – as you like this – this blow – call me a liar again, come here and say it to my face if you think you’re so tough. But I didn’t, protests Trinculo. You’re mad, and deaf – and drunk (true). And now he takes the moral high ground: this is what happens when you drink too much: this can sack and drinking do. You start hearing things, imagining things! A pox on your bottle, a murrain on your monster (some kind of generic plague or pestilence – hmmmmm – often applied to sheep and other livestock) – and the devil take your fingers, the hand you just hit me with. (Perhaps an open-handed slap rather than a punch, given the reference to fingers?) Caliban is amused; perhaps this discord is what he’s been anticipating and fostering all along? Do carry on, Stephano tells him, waving the sorry Trinculo away. Hit him again, and I’ll hit him too! says Caliban. Lovely.
In these strange and terrible times, this blog will continue, more or less daily. Comments are very welcome, as are more general Shakespeare questions and chat, especially from students (of whatever level) and teachers.
