Hanging on one of the walls in the Pastry Pub, where we take our lunches when we’re in Cedar City, is this Irish toast:
May those that love us, love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if he doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.
This afternoon, we saw a performance of a very loose adaptation, entitled Scapin, of a minor Moliére farce. (The title should be pronounced in the French — Frahhhnsh? — manner, as Skuh-PAHNH, or something like that.) The thing is utterly and absolutely devoid of even a single discernible idea, and some will be bothered by its off-color aspects, but it’s really very funny:
“Sir!” remarks the clever Scapin to his master, who thinks of himself as having been quite a lover in his younger days and imagines that he’s being complimented, “They say when you chased them they stayed chaste.”
“He will disown me,” says the rather dimwitted son of another wealthy character, “leaving me as poor as . . . some person without money.”
Incidentally, I failed to mention, in my report about yesterday’s plays at the Utah Shakespearean Festival, the excellent little article by Cheryl Hogue Smith in the Festival’s Midsummer Magazine, entitled “Vice and Verses in Titus Andronicus.” Ms. Smith points out some interesting facets of the language of the play that will enhance understanding of its technique. There really is more to this thing than I (and many others, I know) have seen.
Cedar City, Utah.