fools of shakespeare

-*V-*

".v.

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE

Frederick

Warde

as "Cecco" in

"The Duke's Jester"

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE An Interpretation of Their Wit, Wisdom and Personalities BY

FREDERICK WARDE

NEW YORK McBRIDE, NAST &

COMPANY

Copyright,

1913,

McBride, Nast

Published,

&

October,

by Co.

1913

To Ihe

memory of that gallant

gentle-

man, loyal friend and splendid actor,

LOUIS JAMES, whom were happiest years of my profes-

in close association with

spent the

sional life,

is

dedicated all that

found worthy

maybe

in the following pages.

PREFACE i:

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; shines everywhere.

How c

far the above epigram

ompiler of this work,

Among

may be

may

apply to the

a matter of opinion.

the legion of books dealing with the

ma-

characters of Shakespeare, I have found the j

devoted to his tragic and serious creaa few to his humorous types, but none to

ority to be

tions,

lis fools.

In the course of a lengthy career upon the stage, c

f

which has been

chiefly

devoted to the plays

Shakespeare, I have witnessed the performance

cf these fools by accomplished actors whose

and whose

1

as illuminated the text,

v

italized the poet's creations

till

abilities

have

they lived in

riind, not as imaginary beings, but as real "v^ho

skill

my

men

walked, talked, and gamboled before me.

have listened to their words, laughed at their ^ /it, pondered on their wisdom, and have marveled

]

PREFACE

U

that their point and significance have apparently

escaped the notice of so

This must be

many

my excuse,

if

readers

not

and students.

my justification,

for the book.

The matter was under the

tures,

of

Shakespeare's

the subject of one of

title,

my

lec-

"The Wit and Wisdom

Fools"

and included

my

in

I found, "Shakespeare and His Plays." the material so abundant I could not however, series

include

it

in the limited time at

the platform.

I

my command

have therefore elaborated the

theme,

enlarged the scope of the design,

divided

it

I

and

into chapters, which I hope will enter-

tain the reader, instruct the student,

some

on

and prove of

interest generally.

make no claim

deavored in

to originality,

all instances to credit

and have en-

the author with

the thoughts I have quoted. I have found occasion in several instances, to

with some of the well known Shakespearean scholars; but it must always be remembered that differ

from the view-point of the actor, for whom, and for whom alone the plays were written.

I speak

PREFACE I

have not entered the

iii

literary dissecting room,

invaded the realm of psychology.

The

nor

line of

demarcation between humor and imbecility, folly

and

insanity, I leave to the professional alienist.

have taken the characters as they appear in

I

the plays and as I conceive the author intended

them, with due reference to their relation to th% other characters. I

an

proceed upon the fact that Shakespeare, being

actor,

wrote these plays to be acted.

That

his

purpose was to create or draw the characters as

he saw or imagined them for dramatic presentation. I believe their literary quality was a matter of

comparative indifference to him, the

cre-

ation of the plot, the conception of the characters,

his

and the arrangements of the incidents being

first, if

not his only consideration.

of diction, poetry,

the

delicate

imagery,

The beauty the exquisite

and the sublime philosophy, were the

spontaneous expression of his transcendent but unconscious genius

Scan the records of the thoughts of men,

On On

graven stone, or papyrus leaf;

parchment

Through

To

all

scroll or printed page.

the eons of the ages past

the high noontide of the passing day:

Then add

the sum, and its grand total

Will be beggared by the genius of one name, alone.

Shakespeare!

Frederick Warde.

CONTENTS PAQB i

Introduction ".rHE

Fool in Life and Literature

....

9

"ToRicK

25

Touchstone

J5L<'

'Trinculo in ]êste in

"The Tempest"

ij-T^^''

"Twelfth Night"

3.AUNCEL0T

GOBBO

IN

7^)

"ThE MERCHANT

OF

Venice"

^.

13) 121

Citizen in "Julius C^sar"

The Clown in "Antony and Cleopatra" 132 The Grave-Diggers in "Hamlet" .139 ].AUNCE and Speed in "The Two Gentlemen .

.

OF Verona"

The Fool

IN "King Lear"

.

.

.

162 187

ILLUSTRATIONS 3'rederick

Warde

as

"Cecco"

in

"The

Duke's Jester"

Frontispiece FAOINa PAGE

Booth as "Bertuccio" Revenge"

iLdwin

James Lewis as "Touchstone"

in

"The

Fool's

12 in

"As You Like 34

It"

:\C. Cooke ]::.

as "Trinculo" in

"The Tempest"

Y. Backus as "Feste" in "Twelfth Night"

.

.

74

.

96

(;]harles Charters as "Launcelot Gobbo" in "The 116 Merchant of Venice"

Louis James as "Pepe" in "Francesco da Rimini" 150

ames Lewis and Sidney Herbert as "Launce" and "Speed" in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" 170


INTRODUCTION The somewhat

man

to

make

full point

a

and

trite

old adage! "It takes a wise

fool/^s familiar to us

all,

but the

significance of the proverb

comprehended by

those

who

are

is

only

familiar with

mediaeval history, romance, or poetry. Its

apparent inconsistency, however,

is

founded

ipon a substantial basis of reason, and a brief elation of medieval conditions will show the I

truth of the adage, and the p>oint of

In the early and middle i

ag;es it

its

application.

was customary

or a monarch, prince, or a powerful noble to

ii his retinu e or household a fool or jester, c

fBce

was to

l is friends.

entertaiiL-Rnd

He

nmns^

es

that

wh ose

bis m^^stfr f^nd

was quite an inipo rtanl; p erson*

age; enjoyed pri vHegesTând t

hav e

was

permitt-ed

Hbpr -

were denied the grea test nobles, the

cl osest friends,

or the nearest kindred of his mas-

_t;r.

Nor

birth nor rank were

immune from

the jests

INTRODUCTION

2

of "T he and pranks, -

Jester," the

jjjfc— ^

c

Len bearing with go od

would have

The

.

humor jhe

"There

is

influence

was sought

no slander

in

many

the prin-

upon in

Usually a favorite with

fool."

jibes

^-

tih.at

cost the life of one less privileged.

fool was, however, exempt,

ciple that

an allowed

hi s master^_jiis

a state and court

under the cloak of folly he could by

intrigue, for t ale

mon arch -— himse lf

p arable tell his p a tron truths th at otKers not or would not sp eak, and _apprnyeor

or

jônld^

,

ridicule

any scheme or proj ect that

wishes might desire.

However

his

nterest or

i

plain his truths

or bitter his satire few were rash enough to retaliate,

and woe

to that noble or courtier

who might

incur the enmity or displeasure of the fool, for he

would become the of his

jests,

with

target of his wit

little

hope of

and the butt

redress, or oppor-

tunity for revenge.

The

life

of a jester was a lonely one: he was

subject to the caprices of his master, contemned

above the board, hated below

it,

yet feared by

all.

To

play such a part successfully required a

man

INTRODUCTION of more than ordinary

wi^d^.

3

He

could not be

He

must be a man of great q3seryation._ju_dgment, and unde rstanding; quick ^ ithout learning.

<^

to take advantage of every occasion for the ext cise

o f his wit, with judgment of the time,

d scretion

as to jivb^^ ^^ '^^y ^^ well

as

Tnd

what

to

leavejjn said.

Times have changed.

Progress and evolution

have brought new conditions; folly no longer a Tries a bauble, and the man who was wi§e enough to wear the motley of the medisevaLfogJ might

don to-day the robe of the

justic^fe^r the toga of

the statesman with dignity to^the office and honor to himself.

The sc -ibed

requirements of a court fool are well de-

by Viola

in

"Twelfth Night," Act

This fellow's wise enough to play the

3, Sc. 1.

fool,

And to do that well craves a kind of wit He must observe their mood on whom he :

jests,

The

quality of persons, and the time. And, like the haggard, check at every feather

That comes before

As

full

his eye.

This

a practice

is

of labor as a wise man's art

;

For folly that he wisely shows is fit. But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint

their wit.

y

INTRODUCTION

4

The^css-pf

the fool

was a motley or

parti-

colored doublet and hose, with the arms of the

house to which he belonged embroidered on the breast or thigh;

his

head-dress,

a hood parti-

colored like his coat, and surmounted

by a

cocks-

which he always carried, was a lath or short staff, headed by a miniature

comb;

his

emblem,

hood and cockscomb similar a bauble, the

sword to the

sacred

as

soldier,

The bauble

knight.

and

and was

or

own

to his to

the

called

fool

as

the crest to the

also served as a protection,

frQmjh e anger of those for, to strike the fool was

rprir|prpd hi'rq jrnmnnp

whom he might offend

—

considered the act of a coward.

and points of the

The

cap, bauble,

jester's dress were adorned with

small bells that jingled as he moved, and gave

warning of

his approach.

Jaques, in "As

You

the privileges of a fool

O, that

I

were a

I

am

I

must have

fool

Like

It," thus

:

!

ambitious for a motley coat. liberty

Withal, as large a charter as the wind.

enumerates

INTRODUCTION

5

To blow on whom I please: for so fools have: And they that are most galled with my folly, They must most laugh. And why, sir, must they The "why"

so?

plain as way to parish church: lie, that a fool doth very wisely hit, is

Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not 'lie wise man's folly is anatomis'd iLven by the squandering glances of the fool.

Invest '^'o

me

in

my

speak

my

motley: give

mind, and

I will

me

leave

through and through

body of the infected world, ]f they will patiently receive my medicine. ('leanse the foul

Thejester was not usually a gentleman, but history records several instances~wTreTe"Tn€ltr of

and breeding have filled the office: sometimes from design or policy, and sometimes

^;entle birth

because of physical t

hem incapable of bearing

irom taking part t

infirmities

Not

ourney.

which rendered

arms, or prevented them

in feats of chivalry in field or

infrequently

the

jester

was

a

J

warf or

I

ess to his

^

ives us the following legend, as the origin of the

c

laracter,

cripple, his defornuty. giving

a..

grptesque-

appearance and grim point to his satire. Dr. Doran, in his "History of Court Fools,"

and the

office

:

INTRODUCTION

6

Once upon a time, it happened that all Olympus was dull and the gods were moping about, simply was a warm summer day and in a distant valley below they could see a group of Greek peasants disporting on the green turf in bored to death.

gala

attire.

singing,

It

The happy

rustics

were dancing and

enjoying the bright sunshine, and the

sounds of their mirth floated up faintly to the gods in a

manner

that

was altogether

offensive to them.

"Omnipotent Father," cried Mercury, ill-naturedly, "it would be rare sport, O king of gods and men, to scatter all these gaily-robed revelers, and

by a shower

The

spoil their finery

and

their fun."

suggestion was enthusiastically received by

the assembled deities.

"I propose an amendment," exclaimed Juno,

with feminine sympathy.

"Before you send the

your priest from the shrine below announce to the people that a shower is about to rain,

let

wet only fools." Zeus, approving, a slight sound of thunder was heard, and the priest stood in front of the altar descend, but

it

and made the

shall

requisite

announcement to the peo-

pie.

to

INTRODUCTION

7

Only one of the Greeks took

the precaution

see the fools in

Every other man waited to drenched, and every man there was

go into his house.

two minutes wet to the

man who had

reappeared the Dut of doors

and laughed

When

skin.

the sun

sought shelter came

at his drenched

and

dis-

:oncerted fellows, who, angered at his dry and

upon him and beat him him "a fool" and the like.

:omfortable condition, calling

severely,

fell

Bruised and battered, he defended himself as well is

he could, crying, "Have patience but a moment,

md

I will

prove to you that

I

am

not such a fool

His tormentors paused, and he, lookng upward, fell on his knees, exclaiming: "O, Zeus, merciful and just, send down another

IS

;

I look."

hower ; wet me vet,

md

make me

to the skin

even as these fools are

as great a fool as

my

neighbors

enable me, a fool, to live at peace

among

ools."

Down came

the shower prayed for,

assemblies, the gods above

and the

and the two fools below,

oared with laughter, as he stood there drenched to

he skin

like the

rest.

"This

is

unjust," cried

INTRODUCTION

8 Juno,

as

the

laughter ceased,

"and you have

spoiled that good fellow's robe."

"True," replied Zeus, "but with that shower

I

bestowed upon him wit, wisdom, and humor, and have breathed that fact into the ear of the chief of the

district,

who

will take this

opher home with him,

and

humorous

philos-

to be at once his diverter

instructor."

That night

at a banquet given

by the

chief, the

wise fool stood near his master, pouring out witty truths as fast as his lips could utter them,

and the

gods both envied the fun and admired the wisdom.

"That fellow," of a race. its

fool;

cried Zeus, "shall be the founder

Henceforward each court

and

shall

fools shall be the preachers

monishers of kings.

have

and ad-

Children," he added, to the

gods and goddesses, raising a goblet of nectar, "here's a health to the first of fools."

THE FOOLS OF SHAKE SPEARE THE FOOL

IN LIFE

AND

IN

LITERATURE

H

ISTORY

liave

made

of

records the

men who

names of a number

in the character of court fool

themselves famous both in word and

Of. these one of the most distinguished

^leed.

King Francis I, of Triboulet was a nickname, but we know

to was\Triboulet,! court jester ]<>ance.

no

other.

He

was deformed

in body, ludicrous

i

a appearance, but of a very brilliant mind.

^

^îsdom

lioth

His

was equal to his wit, and he was, at times, Francis was fool and adviser to the king.

deeply attached to him and he returned the afMuch of his wit is recorded, jection loyally.

pranks at the meeting of his master with of ICing Henry VIII, of England, at the "Field i.nd his

ihe cloth of gold," are related in the chronicles 9


10

of that brilliant spectacle. the following

bon mot

It is of Triboulet that

is

He

related.

had

of-

fended a powerful nobleman of the court, who, in threatened

to

nobleman was a man of

his

retaliation,

life

was

told

him of

in danger, so he

"Never

word, poor Triboulet's

went

and

to the king

the threat.

fear, Triboulet," said the king, "if

hangs you, wards."

To

As the

hang him.

this

hang him

I'll

Triboulet

Majesty contrive

to

fifteen

replied,

hang him

he

minutes after-

"Couldn't fifteen

your

minutes

before?"

Two

other French fools of distinction were

Brusquet

I

Chicot-

The former

of jester to three kings, Henri

oflSce II,

and

and Charles IX; while the

held II,

latter

the

Francis

was the

friend and fool to Henri III.

The most prominent English jesters

were:

or

Will Sommers, in the reign of

Henry VIII;^Patch, Cardinal

court fools

attached to the household of

Wolsey; /Hey wood, at the court of Queen Mary; and Dick Tarleton, at that of Eliz-

AND

IN LIFE abeth. tist

IN LITERATURE

Heywood, however, was

ii

also a _drama-

of some distinction, and Tarleton, a very pop-

alar comic„êto£ of the period.

we

Later

find

Archie Armstrong, at the court of James I; and

Tom

Killigrew,

who

besides

being jester was

''Master of the Revels," to Charles

I.

The

lat-

described by Pepys as "a merry droll, but

ter is

gentleman of great esteem with the king." Killigrew was probably the last of the licensed

a

court fools,

and the

office

of household jester

ceased to exist, the character subsequently degenerating into the itinerant merry-andrew, a buffoon

who appeared

and village

festi-

now seen only at Christmas time with mummers that accompany the waits and carol

vals,

the

at country fairs

and

is

singers in old-fashioned English villages.

In romance the fool has prominently figured, always with picturesque and frequently with draTiatic effect.

Sir

Walter

Scott, in his romantic novel "Ivan-

hoe," has described with die character of

much

detail

"Wamba," and

and

fidelity

has given us a

very accurate and impressive picture of the life

12


and

characteristics of the jester-minstrel of the

time of Richard Coeur-de-Lion.

We

Hugo, in "Le Roi and powerful picture

are indebted to Victor

s'ammuse," for a striking of the Italian court fool. The character

is

more

familiar, perhaps, in a dramatic version of the

same

story, called

"The

Fool's Revenge,"

Taylor, in which the late

by

Tom

Edwin Booth gave such

a wonderfully effective presentation of the poor

deformed

jester Bertuccio, concealing

under the

motley garb and mocking tones of the fool the intensity of a father's love.

The French presented in the elder

most picturesquely de Monsereau," in which

court fool

"La Dame

Dumas

has

is

woven a very

interesting

and exciting romance around the character of "Chicot," jester to

King Henry IIL

Chicot

is

represented as a gallant soul, full of honor and chivalry,

as

ready with his sword as with his

wit, both being equally effective.

was dramatized

for

me

recently,

The romance under the

title

of "The Duke's Jester," by Mr. Espey Williams,

who

transferred the scene of action from the court

m

richine

hH

" J-

H/nyifyn

/?;

f.ssession

of

Edwin Booth as "Bertuccio"

The PUrers," Sru- Yori

in

"The

Fool's

Revenge"

IN LIFE

AND

IN LITERATURE

of France to that of the

Duke

13

of Milan, in Italy;

changed the name of "Chicot" to "Cecco." played the part of the jester with some success,

iind

Z

.:ind

retained the play in

my

repertoire for several

years.

In the drama

we have an admirably

constructed

and splendidly written play, "Francesca di Ri]nini," by the late George Boker, where we find he fool "Pepe," keen of wit, but depraved in mind, a very "lago" in motley. His fun is maicious, his

A

olent.

humor mischievous and

malev-

masterly performance of the character

vas given by

James,

his wit

with

my

friend and comrade,

whose name

it

will

Mr. Louis always

be

dentified.

^

It

is

Shakespeare, however,

who

has given us

he best types of fool, in which may be found not and wisdom but, all of those^ qualities only wit He has left us [ have endeavored to enumerate. ,

-nduring pictures of mediaeval life and manners, :hat

make

md

perfect

Of

the characters live again in their true

body and environment.

pertinent interest after this brief sketch of

14


the historical position of the fool

is

the interpre-

tation of Shakespeare's fools contained in a post-

humous work by Francis Douce, published in London in 1839, entitled "Illustrations from Shakespeare."

There

I find

a chapter of about

twenty pages with the caption

The

:

"Desertation L,

character of Shakespeare's fools."

My

knowledge of this work was obtained from Mr. Wilfred Clarke, a son of the late eminent comedian, John Sleeper Clarke,

who found

the

manuscript of the extracts, printed below, in the property room of the old in Philadelphia,

Walnut

Street Theater

while he was examining some

papers and effects of his deceased father.

MSS. was written, I have by Mary Ann Booth, and

The

subsequently learned, is

in a fine hand,

old-fashioned blue note paper,

now

soiled

on

and

discolored with age, and dogs-eared as if from

frequent use and reference.

In the printing of the excerpts I have retained the capitalizing of the words and the punctuation as I

found

it

in the

MSS.

writer and the period.

as (Characteristic of the

IN LIFE

AND

IN LITERATURE

15

cannot agree with several of the propositions advanced by the author, and it may be interestI

know

ing to

met with

its first

publication the book

severe condemnation at the hands of the

so

much

sale,

and

critics,

from

that on

so,

that the author withdrew

was not republished

it

it

some

till

five years after the author's death.

The i]i

significance of this little manuscript lies

the evidence

it

gives us of the study

and

re-

Mr. Clarke

search that such an actor as the late

gave to the accurate presentation of his characters, The details f 3ols and clowns though they were. of the various kinds of fools

vith

may

also be noted

of the kind

interest, as well as the difference

and quality of the costumes worn by these t

-active

men

at-

of motley.

THE GENERAL DOMESTIC

I.

(Often but as

it

FOOL.

should seem improperly termed "a clown.")

He was — i. A mere 2.

Silly

natural or idiot.

by nature, yet cunning "' and sarT '

.

castical.

3/Artificial

I

.11

.iJii

II

i

i

i

i

';_


i6

Puttenham

speaking

of

the

latter,

says

—

A

buffoune or counterfeit foole, to hear him speake wisely which is like himself, it is no sport at all; but for such a counterfeit to talk and looke foolishly it

maketh v - laugh, because All

it is

no part of hisjiatural.

officiated occasionally as

i

Fool ^longed to this 3 rd

I

ate

f :

menial servants. class.

and disordinate joy became incorpo-

body of a

jeaster; this fellow in person

is

m

appearell courtly, but in behaviour a very ^ no and man; his studie is to coine bitter jests, or I, to shew antique motions, or to sing baudie ballads: give him a little wine in his head, he is continually ,

flearing and making of mouthes he laughs intemperately at every little occasion, and dances about the :

house, leaps over tables, outskips mens heads, trips up his companions heels, burns sack with a candle,

and hath

all

the feats of a lord of misrule in the coun-

try feed him in his humour, you shall have his heart, in meere kindness he will hug you in his armes, kisse :

you on the cheek, and rapping out an horrible oath, crie God's soul Tom, I love you, you know my poore heart, come to my chamber for a pipe of tobacco, there lives not a man in this world that I more honour. In these ceremonies you shall know his courting, and it is a speciall mark of him at the table, he sits and

makes

faces: keep not this fellow company, for in

jugling with him, your wardropes shall be wasted, your credits crackt, your crownes consumed, and time

IN LIFE

AND

IN LITERATURE

17

(the most precious riches of the world) utterly lost. is the picture of a real hireling or artificial fool,

This

from a singular

tract entitled "Wit's miserie," 1599. so exceedingly clear that the terms clown and fool were used, however improperly, as synonymous of It is

would be an unnecessary occuof the time to adduce examples. reader's Their pation

our old writers that

it

CDnfused introduction in the dramatis personae might indeed render this position doubtful to any one who

had not well considered the matter; but although the fool of our old plays denoted either a witty hireling

or

artificial

both retained for the purpose of

fool,

making sport for

their employer^, the

clown was cer-

greater variety. He occ isionally represented one of the above personages; sometimes hie was a mere rustic, and very often no t.'.inly

a character of

much

n ore than a shrewd and witty domestic. There are some instances in which any low character in a play served

to

amuse

the

with

audiences

his

sallies

'

o tl

coarse buffoonery, and thus became the clown of e piece. In short, the theatrical clown or fool

ems to have been a kind of heterogeneous character, d -awn in part from real life, but very considerably h lightened to produce stage effect an opinion that d ;rives considerable support from what Shakespeare S(

;

is put into the mouth of Hamlet, when he makes him ailmonish those who play the clowns to speak no nore than is set down for them. Indeed, the great

h

d amatist himself cannot be absolved from the imputa)n of having given too high a colouring to the char-

ti

acters in question, unless

we

suppose, what

is

ex-

\ 1

t


i8

tremely probable, that his plays have been very mucl interpolated by the extemporaneous nonsense of thi players.

Dr. Fuller, speaking of the Court Jester, whom he says some count a necessary evil, remarks in his usual quaint manner, that it is an office which none but he that hath wit can perform, and none but he that wants it

will

perform.

THE CLOWN. 1.

2.

A A

mere country

hoolpy.

witty rustic. 3. Any servant of a shrewd and witty disposition, and who, like a similar character in our modern plays,

was made

to treat his master with great familiarity " ""

'

""'--

in order to III.

produce stage effect. The female fool, who was generally

idiot.

IV. The City or Corporation Fool, whose office was To to assist at public entertainments and in pageants.

perhaps the Lord Mayor's state fool, and those employed by the companies of trades &c. V. Tavern Fools. These seem to have been retained 'To"lLmuse**the customers. We learn from one

this cla'ss'telong

of Ben Jonson's plays that they exhibited with the jews harp, mounted on a joint-stool, and in another of

them he has preserved the name of such a character: Italiar they were sometimes qualified to sing after the in commor the manner. Fools were also employed

V~Vlt The Fool moralities.

He

of the ancient theatrical mysteries anc was more properly speaking, the VicC;

IN LIFE

AND

IN LITERATURE

19

singular character, that would afford matter for better dessertations than those of Warburton

I.

much

Upton, Being generally dressed in a fool's habit, appears to have been gradually and undistinguishiibly blended with the domestic fool; yet he was cer-

;.nd lie

He

was always tainly a buffoon of a different sort. c. bitter enemy to the Devil, and a part of his employment consisted in teazing and tormenting the poor He ceased to be in fashion f:end on every occasion. end of the sixteenth century. Fool in the old dumb shows exhibited at iairs, and perhaps at inns, in which he was generally engaged in a struggle with death; a fact that seems i lluded to more than once in Shakespeare's plays. It

it the

Vn. The

i?

possible that

some casual

vestiges of this species of

entertainment might have suggested the modern Eng1 sh pantomimes.

Vni. The Fool {

in the

Whitsun

ales

and Morris

ance.

IX. The Mountebank's fool, or Merry Andrew. There may be others introduced into our old dramas c f an indefinite and irregular kind, and not reducible t) any of the above classes.

COSTUME.

,^

Whoever

( (

t

desirous of obtaining general and acurate information concerning the great variety of is

resses that belong to some of the characters in queson at different periods, must study ancient prints and

J

aintings,

1

shed

and

especially the miniatures that embelThese will furnish sufficient

manuscripts.


20

specimens; but the

difficulty of ascertaining

how

the

and clowns of Shakespeare's time were always habited, is insuperable. In some instances the plays themselves assist by peculiar references that fools

theatrical

leave but

little

doubt; but this

is

not the case in gen-

eral. It

may be

collected both

and from various other

from the plays themselves,

authorities, that the

costume

of the domestic fool in Shakespeare's time was of

two

sorts.

(Here follow some etchings

On

the

first

in pencil.)

of these the coat was motley or parti-

coloured, and attached to the body by a girdle, with The bells at the skirt and elbows, though not always. breeches and hose close, and sometimes each leg of

a different colour.

which

A

hood resembling a monk's cowl,

at a very early period,

it

was

certainly designed

head entirely, and fell down over part of the breast and shoulders. It was someto imitate, covered the

times decorated with asses' ears, or else terminated in the neck and head of a cock, a fashion as old as the

fourteenth century. only of the animal.

It

had often the comb or

crest

The

fool usually carried in his hand an official or bauble, which was a short stick ornamented sceptre at the end with the figure of a fool's head, or some-

times with that of a doll or puppet. To this instrument there was frequently annexed an inflated skin

or bladder, the form of it varied. It was not always filled with air, but occasionally with sand or peas.

AND

IN LIFE

IN LITERATURE

21

The other dress, and which appears to have been nore common in the time of Shakespeare, was the

/

long

petticoat.

idiot or natural t

le

allowed fool

This

originally

is

appertained

to

the

Why came to be used for not apparent. It was like the first,

fool.

it

of various colours, the materials often costly, as of In one velvet, and guarded or fringed with yellow. i istance we have a leather doublet. yellow I

TRINCULO.

The character of Trinculo, who in the dramatis fersonae is called a jester, is not very well discrimiiated in the course of the play itself. As he is only a ssociated with Caliban and the drunken butler, there V as no opportunity of exhibiting him in the legitimate character of a professed fool: but at the conclusion of the play it appears he was in the service of the Hing of Naples as well as Stephano. He must be

regarded as an allowed domestic buffoon, and habited ill the usual manner.

LAUNCE AND

The

character of Speed

servant.

Launce

is

SPEED. that of a

shrewd witty

is

something different, exhibiting a mixture of archness and rustic simplicity. There is ro allusion to dress, nor any other circumstance that

narks them as the domestic

fool or jester.

THE CLOWl/—FESTg. This clown i

e of

Olivia.

is

a domestic or hired fool, in the serv-

He

is

specially

termed "an allowed

22


fgl^ and father

"Feste, the jester, that the

took

much

delight

in."

speaks of him as "a set fool."

Of

Lady

Malvolio his dress

Olivia's

likewise it is

im-

If the fool's expression "I will impeticoat thy greatility," be the original lan-

possible to speak correctly.

guage, he must have been habited accordingly. Mr. Ritson has asserted that he has neither coxcomb nor bauble, deducing his argument from the want of any allusion to them. Yet such an omission may be a very fallacious guide in judging of the habit of this char-

acter on the stage. It must, however, be admitted that where this happens there can be no clue as to

the precise

manner

in

which the fool was dressed.

—^THE CLOWN.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

The clown brothel;

in this play officiates as the tapster of a

whence

it

has been concluded that he

is

not

a domestic fool, nor ought to appear in the dress of

A

that character.

little

shew that the opinion

consideration will serve to

erroneous, that this clown is a domestic and that he should be habfool, altogether ited accordingly. ancient prints furnish inMany stances of the

is

common

use of the domestic fool in

brothels.

—THE

r

love's labour's lost

CLOWN.

The clown in this play is a mere country fellow. The term "fool" applied to him in Act V, Sc. II, means nothing more than a silly fellow. He has not sufficient simplicity

for a natural fool, nor wit enough

for an artificial one.

IN LIFE

AND

IN LITERATURE

23

LAUNCELOT GOBBO. There V hole of

not a single circumstance through the which constitutes Launcelot an al-

is

this play

lowed fool or jester; and yet there is some reason for "sipposing that Shakespeare intended him as such, f -om his being called a patch, a fool of Hagar's offIt is not reasons )ring, and in one place the fool. however, to conclude that a person like Shylock vould entertain a domestic of this description; and it is possible that the foregoing terms may be merely

â^le,

designed as synonymous with the appellation of clown, On the whole we have a? in "Love's Labour's Lost." here a proof that Shakespeare has not observed that nice discrimination of character in his clowns for

V hich some have given him credit.

TOUCHSTONE. Touchstone is the domestic fooL of Frederick the^ cuke's brother, and belongs to the class of witty or He is threatened with the whip, a a 'lowed fools. node of chastisement which was often inflicted on motley personage. His dress should be a partioloured garment. He should carry a bauble in his hand, and wear asses ears to his hood, which is prob-

t lis

ably the head-dress intended by Shakespeare, there t eing no allusion whatever to the cock's head or comb.

all's

The clown '

ouchstone.

is

well that ends well. a domestic fool of the same kind as

24

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE THE winter's

The clown

is

tale.

a mere country booby.

KING LEAR.

The fool of this play is the genuine domestic buffoon; but notwithstanding his sarcastical flashes of which we must give the poet credit, and them in some degree to what is called stage effect, he is a mere natural with a considerable share of cunning. Thus Edgar calls him an innocent, and every one will immediately distinguish him from such a character as Touchstone. His dress on the stage should be particoloured; his hood crested either with a cock's comb to which he often alludes, or with the His bauble should have a head cock's head and neck.

wit,

for

ascribe

own

with a grinning countenance for the purpose of exciting mirth in those to whom he occasion-

like his

ally presents

it.

YORICK "The King's

Jester''

a young Danish prince, accompanied by his friend Horatio, stands by a

HAMLET,

low wall that encloses a graveyard watching an old sexton

who

is

digging a grave.

With

profes-

sional unconcern the old fellow shovels out the 'ârth,

together with some

:hem two «îth his

Drevent

skulls,

human

one of which he

imbed

spade to

it

bones; amongst strikes

smartly

in the soft earth,

and

its

rolling away. Shocked at the apparent indifference of the old nan to these dead relics, the prince advances, interrupts his work,

and engages him

in conversation.

The grave-digger is a quaint, independent old fellow, and answers the prince's questions with humorous bluntness. long will a

man

lie

The

prince inquires,

in the earth ere

he

"How rot*?"

After replying to the question, the sexton picks 25


26

up one of the skulls from the mound of earth and asserts, "This skull hath lain i' the earth three-and-twenty

"Whose

years."

asks the prince.

was

"A whoreson mad

was," replies the sexton, and then adds, him for a mad rogue! a'

lence on

"A

pesti-

poured a flagon

of Rhenish on sir,

it*?"

fellow's it

my

was Yorick's

head once.

This same

skull,

skull, the king's jester."

Gently taking the grim remainder from the irreverent hands of the old grave-digger, and gazing at claims

:

with loving tenderness, the prince exYorick !—I knew him, Hora"Alas, poor it

a fellow of infinite

tio:

fancy: he hath borne

jest,

me on

his

times; and now how abhorred it is

I

my

gorge

rises at it.

that I have kissed, I

be your gibes

of most excellent

back a thousand

in

my

imagination

Here hung those

know not how

lips

Where

oft.

now? your gambols? your

songs'?

your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar? Not one now to mock your

own

grinning! quite chap-fallen!"

For three-and-twenty years that

m

the earth,

till

every vestige of

skull its

had

la

personal!;

YORICK

27

had been destroyed, and only the experienced eye of the old sexton could recognize

A

chapless skull!

it.

dust and bones tossed

up

from the decaying earth from which they sprang, and to which, by the inexorable law of nature, covered tiey had returned; a skull that once was with skin and tissues, through which ran a myriad cf arteries and veins, conveying the blood to and

from the active brain that lay in the now empty A skull that had crowned a frame, clothed sbiell. 1

ke

itself,

intersected with nerves that connected

tie sensations of heart

and

carried the vital fluids

on

§

brain,

and canals that

their ceaseless course,

iving the entire structure a living entity,

and an

iidividual personality; the personality of Yorick, j

ester to the court

of Hamlet, King of Denmark.

Yorick! what a merry, loving soul he must I

ave been,

how

full of

fun and

frolic.

What

pranks he must have played on those big, goodI

atured, long-haired Viking warriors, as they sat

J

t

(

f Elsinore.

I

I

the banquet table in the great hall of the castle

In fancy, I can hear their laughter his madcap jests, and the deep roar of their


28

voices as they join in the chorus of his

merry

songs.

him

I can see

in the churchyard, serious for a

on an ancient tombstone, gravely watching the old sexton digging "a pit of clay";

moment,

the

sitting

last

resting

place

of

folly

and wisdom;

but his fun-loving soul cannot long be restrained by even such solemn environment; so, furtively, the

mad

rogue purloins the bibulous old grave

digger's flagon of Rhenish, standing near-by,

pours

its

and

contents over the head of the discomfited

sexton; then,

fleet as

the churchyard wall,

merry laughter

is

a deer he runs away, leaps

and the faint echo of

his

the only solace for the old man's

wrath.

Yorick! the lines are few, and the description brief that Shakespeare has given us of the

man,

but they are so pregnant with suggestion, so sweet in thought, in our

and so tender

minds

in

memory

as completely as

that he lives

though he gamboled

on the earth again, and laughingly jingled and bells in our very ears.

How

his

cap

happy must have been those early days

YORICK :it

Elsinore,

liis

when Hamlet was a

How

play-fellow.

'.ogether in the gardens. little

29

prince to climb

and Yorick

child

they must have romped

What

upon the

and race pick-back along the

fun

was for the

it

jester's shoulders

terraces, the boy's

Jong fair curls blowing in the wind, and his merry How pleaslaughter filling the air with music. iint to sit in

in the park,

the shade of one of the big old trees

and

listen to the jester tell

such inter-

esting tales of the folklore of the country; of the traditions of the prince's warlike race,

and the

nighty deeds of his great Viking ancestors. Then there were stories, too, wonderful stories, of goblins,

sprites

and

fairies

who

things that the relation of

the

little

prince; but he

is

did such strange

them almost frightens reassured

by a

smile,

jnd, twining his arms round dear old Yorick's reck,

and kissing the

to the breast of his s

jester's lips,

he nestles close

motley friend in confident

^curity.

Three-and-twenty years have passed since then ; 3

a

ears of sorrow, years of pain

!

The

prince

is

now

man, with more than a man's share of doubts,


30

and

perplexities

bare, chapless skull

the sweet

What

and yet at the sight of the of his dead play-fellow all

cares

:

and tender past comes back a tender pathos

is

prince's philosophic reflections his

dead

friend, as

incident.

It

is

memory

mingled with the

on the remains of

recalls

my

lady's chamber, and

an inch

all!

"Now

tell her, let

thick, to this favor she

So must we

each word and

indeed a reflex of Yorick himself,

as the prince utters the grim jest, to

again.

The king

get you

her paint

must come." lies in his

marble

humble grave in the ermine robe and motley

sepulcher, the jester in his

churchyard: coat, the

and

but

the

crown and bauble

will mingle their dust,

find equality in the universal

democracy of

death.

\

TOUCHSTONE "A Worthy Fool"

TO

teim Touchstone a clown, as he

in the cast of characters of

It,"

seems to

me

HQs knowledge,

"As

is

called

You

Like

both a misnomer and an injustice. his

wisdom,

his wit

and

his faculty

of observati on, raise him far above the condition

Hat such a term would imply. Fool to the court of The Duke, whose dukedom is

not named, the character of Touchstone

is

a

most positive and complete conception of the inediseval jester, and he more fully realizes the accomplishments essential to that fcribed

by Viola

:iny other of the t

in the

office,

as de-

"Twelfth Night," than

motley-minded gentlemen that

he poet has created.

He

1

is

a

man

of considerable learning, his wit

wisdom, he chooses the object of with prudence, the time with discretion,

jiever lacking in :iis

jests

is

31

1


32

the matter with judgment, and he

a reply that

loss for I

is

never at a

apt and to the point.

is

Touchstone scorns mere

persiflage,

is

happily

from the punning habit, and is seldom a corrupter of words; he makes his jests by logical defree

I

/

ductions, with a

I

good premise, a sound argument,

and a positive conclusion. This same happy quality may be found

\^

in his

encounters with the gentlemen of the court, the ladies in their disguises, the simple shepherds in

the forest, and with the grave philosopher Jaques; it is

indeed,

the latter gentleman

who most

rately summarizes the accomplishments,

the keynote to the jester's character, sents

him

good

my

to the

Duke

lord? he

is

:

as

accu-

and gives

when he

pre-

"Is not this a rare fellow,

good at anything, and yet

a fool." V

t

/ /

I

,

i

The

wit of Touchstone does not scintillaf^, but

burns with a steady flame ;

it is

not like the sparks

that fly from the contact of tempered steel, but

the bright and ruddy glow that radiates from

molten metal in the

crucible.

rather than brilliant,

more philosophic than

It is sententious friv-

TOUCHSTONE clous,

33

and invariably epigrammatic.

His humor

never malicious, nor his satire bitter; he shoots

is

his wit at every

mark

that presents

siafts are harmless; they

ro

but his

itself,

have no barb and leave

sting.

Touchstone

not a buffoon, he does not play

is

practical jests nor indulge in such pranks as did tliat

"mad

rogue" Yorick.

Had

it

stone in the churchyard at Elsinore

been Touch-

when

the sex-

ton was digging a grave, he would not have poured

a flagon of wine over the old grave-digger's head ;

h I would probably have leaned against one of the o d yew trees, watched the proceedings with quiet

n flection, and

if

the old sexton

had advanced any

o' his socialistic theories, the jester would have

agued b« :aten

the matter to the end,

him on

his

own

and no doubt have

proposition.

There are no demonstrations or expressions of alFection

by Touchstone,

Lâr," yet he the court of ti;

is

as

by the

fool in

"King

not lacking in loyalty; he leaves

Duke

Frederick to follow the for-

nes of Celia, the Duke's daughter, out of sincere

re ârd,

running the

risk of the

Duke's displeasure


34

and probably of punishment

if

discovered ; he ac-

cepts the fatigues of the journey forts of life in the forest of

and the discom-

Arden without

hesita-

tion or complaint; he readily adapts himself to his

new environment,

keeps his

own

counsel, as

well as that of his mistress, and holds the secret

of

the disguises of Celia

My

and Rosalind

inviolate.

first

acquaintance with Touchstone was

made many

years ago, at Manchester, in England.

A

very elaborate production of "As

was presented

You

Like It"

at the Prince's Theater there.

I

played the part of Orlando to the Rosalind of that beautiful and incomparable actress, Miss Adelaide

Mr. Compton was the fool. I cannot imagine a more adequate and effective performance of the part than Mr. Compton gave; his quaint Neilson.

personality, his unctuous humor, his artistic in-

added to

stinct,

present design. spirit

dom

his ripe experience,

a complete

The

combined

embodiment of the

to

poet's

mobility of his features reflected the

of every line he uttered; and though he

sel-

smiled, under the gravity of his expression

you seemed

to feel there

was the keenest appreci-

James Lewis as "Touchstone"

in

"As You Like

It"

TOUCHSTONE ation of the

humor of

35

the occasion, which laughter

V'ould have failed to convey.

The memory of Mr. Compton's performance ever remain with

\^'ill

me

embodiment

as the living

of Touchstone. It

a^pleasing- pastime to conjure

is

mind

in one's

the pictures that Shakespeare has drawn,

g ve them vitality, form and^ color. d savored to imagine the sceneôf the "

up

Touchstone

J iques,

with

tê

and

I_have en-i first

meeting]

gloomy philosopher!

in theTorest, as de scribed

by lHaFeccentric

gontleman.

A A As

fool, a fool!

motley fool

do

!

I

met a

fool

i'

the forest,

—a miserable world

!

by food, met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. I

The

live

I

description

is brief,

but

it

suggests to the

inagination a scene of rare sylvan beauty, and St

riking

human

contrast.

An

opening

in the trees

where the sun, unimpeded by the heavy foliage of tl e deep forest brightens the landscape, and the aimosphere

is

redolent with the fragrance of the

\<


36

wildwood ily,

flowers.

The

bees are

drows-

humming

by on speedy wings to reach and from their leafy homes trill out

the birds

nests,

flit

Touchstone

joy in sweetest melody.

upon the

is

their

their

lying

soft green turf; he imagines himself to

He

be alone, unseen, unheard.

speaking his thoughts aloud, as

is

soliloquizing,

many

thinkers do,

possibly contrasting the beauties of nature with

which he

is

environed, with the frowns of fortune

that have banished his mistress and himself from

the luxurious life of the court to the plain, homely existence in the primitive forest. alone.

But he

is

not

Jaques, wandering through the forest, ob-

on the ground, voice but seeing no auditor, stops

serves the motley figure reclining

and hearing and listens. first

his

his

motley coat, Jaques at takes the fellow for an ordinary fool, for

Noting

which most people at that time, including Shakespeare himself, had a profound contempt; but Touchstone's railing such

"good

is

terms,"

no ordinary abuse; such

"good

set

it is in

terms,"

that the philosopher not only stops to listen to

"the motley fool," but

is

so entertained that he

TOUCHSTONE finally accosts,

and

greets

37

him with a

salutation

that invites conference.

After the greeting there

background

changed

is

the

is

same,

their position.

now upon the ground,

another picture.

The

but the figures have

The

fool

is

still

lymg

alert and responsive; while

the trunk of a friendly tree, Jaques has found curioswhich he leans in contemplative

against ity.

It

would be

the interesting to hear

whole of the

the the recumbent fool and dialogue between but the dramatist was too standing philosopher; He of construction. wise to make such an error to ^^ main points and leaves the rest Touchstone was fully equal Lagination. That from the strange the occasion, and "vented gives us the

to

observation, his brain, crammed with places in astonished forms" that impressed and

mangled "Good Monsieur Melancholy,"

is

fact that the latter's usual gravity

proved by the is

changed to

in his exthe broadest merriment, culminating of the desire to emulate the province pressed

clown.

38

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE O I

But

am

were a fool!

that I

ambitious for a motley coat.

to return to that portion of this interesting

interview the poet has given us.

It is

narrated

by Jaques himself: "Good morrow, "Call

And And

me

fool,"

not fool

till

quoth I. "No, sir," quoth he, heaven hath sent me fortune."

then he drew a dial from his poke. looking on it with lack-lustre eye,

Says very wisely, "It

Thus may we

is

ten o'clock;

quoth he, "how the world wags. an hour ago since it was nine, after one hour more 'twill be eleven see,"

'Tis but

And And And And

;

from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, then from hour to hour we rot and rot;

so,

thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. That fools should be so deep-contemplative. And I did laugh sans intermission

The motley

—

An

A

hour by his dial. O noble fool! worthy fool Motley's the only wear. !

We

are not informed of the effect of the inter-

view on Touchstone but, doubtless, soldier that appreciates a

like

a good

foeman worthy of his steel, he esteemed the philosopher the more after the combat of their wits.

TOUCHSTONE Henry

I

Giles, in his

"Human

39 Life of Shake-

if:

speare," calls ley,"

and

Touchstone "The Hamlet of mot-

finds "a sadness in his jests"

and "in

his

Tiockery seem(s) to hear echoes from a solitary leart."

He

epigrammatically

character as follows: 1

"He

is

summarizes

the

a thinker out of place,

philosopher in mistaken vesture, a genius by

an outcast by destiny." It may be presumption on my part to differ from so distinlature,

;

fished an authority, but, while I approve the ipplication of the term "Hamlet of motley" as ustified by Touchstone's analogy to the Danish )rince in his reflective

ty of

philosophy on the mutabil-

any evidence of "sadness or the "echoes from a solitary heart"

life, I fail

to find

n his jests" n his sentiments or conduct.

As

I

have before

observed, his jests are not frivolous, but they are

man, quaint and sententious, and never lacking in humor. On the arrival of he fool in the forest of Arden, with Celia and

(

haracteristic of the

losalind, he jests at the love tale

which he and

he ladies overhear Sylvius relate to Corin, and l>urlesques the

amatory verses that Orlando has

40


written to Rosalind.

He

meets and courts Au-

drey, the country wench, with the usual attentions

and compliments of a lover

in his station,

and

in

the third act arranges to marry her; in fact, he

would have done

who

him

urges

so,

but for the advice of Jaques,

ceremony till a This opportunity

to postpone the

more favorable opportunity.

presents itself at the conclusion of the play,

Touchstone

is

and

there with his sweetheart, eager, as

he declares, to "swear and forswear, according as marriage binds."

These conditions do not seem

As

to indicate a solitary heart. final

summary of Touchstone's

genius I admit; but a thinker there

is

and the

I

no

/

It

Mr.

Giles's

character,

his

never out of place

:

distinctive vesture for a philosopher:

jester to so

_ûke can

is

to

important a personage as the

scarcely be termed an outcast.

would seem by the

initial

appearance of

Touchstone that Shakespeare intended to represent him as the ordinary type of "a dull fool," and later

wisdom that has

made

the wealth of wit

and

so enriched the character,

and

endowed him with

it

so conspicuous in the comedy.

TOUCHSTONE

41

This has caused so eminent an authority as Dr. j^'urness to

])resent

conclude that Shakespeare intended toj

two separate and

clown" or "clownish fool,"

c>rdinary "roynish

he

is

distinct characters: ani

called in the first act,

and the keen and

philosopher, the "worthy fool"

we

asi

witty!

I

find in thqi

later acts.

Again, I

am

compelled to

differ

with a

dis-

tinguished scholar.

can find nothing inconsistent in the character.

I

In the

first act.

Touchstone's

jests..,aie

light

and

frivolouSjHSut in perfect keeping with the duties;

of his

office,

which were to entertain and amuse

master "and" HTs household; and even" that

his

example of the knight and the pancakes h an apt illustration of his argument on "swearing t ifling

by

his

honor"; while his sarcastic reference to

"oreaking of ribs" as "sport for ladies"

is

entirely] consistent with his philosophic satire in the latei/j 'I

a.ts.

The

unities of the character are well preserved,

\\

a id the link connecting Touchstone at the court

uith Touchstone in the forest

is

clearly defined.?!

I

42


I

Rosalind and Celia, having decided to leave

'

tlw

court and seek security in the forest, Rosaline

I

proposes

:

What

if we assay 'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

To

this

proposal Celia eagerly assents

:

He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him.

.

That her wooing was successful is obvious, for the next time we meet them they are at the edge of with them, and like

the forest.

Touchstone

themselves

wearied by the journey they have

made.

The

continuity

is

is

complete.

The same

trenchant wit that satirized the "breaking of ribs"

humorously exclaims against the of fatigues of the journey, and the discomforts at the court,

the forest. Ros.

O

Tou.

I care

j ' ,''

Jupiter!

how weary

not for

my

are

spirits, if

my spirits! my legs were

not

iweary. '

Cel.

Tou.

I

me I cannot go further. had rather bear with you than

pray you bear with

For

my

part, I

;

TOUCHSTONE

43

you yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, you have no money in your purse. '' Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Dear

;

tor I think

/,

Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool II when was at home, I was in a better place: but travelers must be content. Tou.

I

It is obvious to

me

that the characters developed

n the mind of the author

as he progressed in the

construction of the play, and however clear

lave been his

first

may

conception of the part, he elab-

and perfected

orated

.

it as

the possibilities pre-

;ented themselves.

Dr. Fumess, however,

most emphatic

view of Shakespeare's methods. cannot suppose it is unthinkable

:his 'I

is

—

—

:he first instant

before

him

against!

He

says:

that from

each character was not present

in perfect

symmetry and absolute com-

oleteness."

This

is

the natural point of view of such an ac-

complished scholar and scientific literary Dr.

Fumess but Shakespeare had not ;

critic as

the Doctor's

idvantages of a systemized education, nor such

profound literary culture.

Shakespeare adopted

nethods of his own, which were at variance with

44


conventionality; he discarded the scientific rules

of construction, followed the natural instincts of his

own mind, and

established a

new standard

of dramatic writing.

Such evidence all

and

as

we

have, indicates that nearly

of the poet's play-writing was hastily done, as he then thought, but for

temporary use on

We have no evidence of revision either

the stage.

for publication or for subsequent reproduction,

but much that

justifies the inference that

indifferent to the merits of his dramatic

so that while his plots

may have

he was

work;

been carefully

prepared, the characters grew in detailed importance as they developed in the

mind of

the actor-

dramatist, and the construction of the play pro-

ceeded.

It

must

also be

remembered that Shake-

speare worked from more than one point of view ;

he possessed the creative faculty of the author, the ideality of the poet, the constructive ability

of the dramatist, as well as the actor's instinct of delineation.

This condition

I

assume to have

existed in the construction of "As

and the

result

You

Like It,"

was the evolution of Touchstone.

;

TOUCHSTONE The

45

story of the knight and the pancakes, re-

:êrred to in the

foregoing

lines, is

stone in the second scene of the

first

',

j

by Touch-

ji

act: his initial

j'

told

appearance in the play.

Rosalind and Celia are in the gardens of the jDuke's

palace,

Touchstone, 1

ress,

when they

who

"No,

Touchstone, "but I

— "Mis-

to your father."

responds with the question,

Honor being a

approached by

addressing Celia, says:

you must come away

messenger?"

are

Celia

"Were you made

the

by mine honor," asserts was bid to come for you."

quality with which a fool

was not

supposed to be familiar, his asseveration draws i

rom Rosalind

the query,

"Where

learned you that

(ath, fool?" to which Touchstone replies as fol-

"Of a

Idws: 1

1

certain knight

who swore by

his

onor they were good pancakes, and swore by his onor the mustard was naught. Now I'll stand

to

it,

the pancakes were naught

and the mus-

t

ard was good, and yet was not the knight for-

5

worn."

The (

.,.—.,

ladies at this apparent trifling,

as tic, Celia asking,

"How

grow

.

—

,-

L

sar-

prove you that in the


46

of

heap

great

Rosalind

knowledge^"

your

echoes her cousin's sentiment by adding,

marry,

now unmuzzle your wisdom."

"Ay,

For an-

swer. Touchstone requests the ladies, "Stand you

both forth now; stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave." The ladies do

hands over their

as requested, passing their

Celia exclaiming,

thou art."

"By our

beards, if

faces,

we had them,

Touchstone concludes the story and

the argument

by

asserting:

"By my

knavery,

if

you swear by that that No more was this is not, you are not forsworn. knight, swearing by his honor, for he never had I

had

it,

any; or

then I were ; but

if

if

he had, he had sworn

it

away

before

ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard."

Learning from the fool that the story has

ref-'

erence to a friend of her father, Celia threatens I

'

him with stone's

the

reply

"The more

is

whip,

for

worthy of the keenest

pity, that fools

when wise men do

The advent

"taxation."

may

Touchsatirist:

not speak wisely

foolishly."

of Le Beau, a courtier, puts an

end to the discussion.

Le Beau

invites the ladies to

TOUCHSTONE see

47

some wrestling, which he terms "good

rnd

describes with

much

sport,"

detail the bouts that

have

already occurred, in which Charles, the champion v/restler,

tiree

has overthrown and broken the ribs of

young men,

brothers,

who have

essayed to

CDmpete with him. Le Beau reports the young men as having been apparently fatally injured,

and that some of the more sympathetic spectators have joined the aged father of the boys in his Limentations at their hurts.

le Beau's

is

have lost?"

tliat

the sport, Monsieur, that the ladies

"Why,

courtier.

may grow

the conclusion of

narrative Touchstone gravely inquires,

"But what

tlie

At

this that I

"Thus,"

replies

wiser every day!

speak of," returns Touchstone, "men

It

is

the

first

time

ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for

h.dies."

In the early days of there

my

dramatic experience,

was an unworthy "gag" introduced into

S(

ene by comedians

tl

e conclusion

who played

Touchstone.

of the wrestling, which

is

this

At

witnessed

and Touchstone, the champion is worsted by Orlando, and thrown senseless to the

b/ the

ladies


48

The

ground.

whom

duke, with

the wrestler

should answer,

"He

cannot speak,

is

"How

a favorite, inquires with some anxiety, dost thou, Charles'?" in reply to which

j

Le Beau

my

lord."

Comedians, however, were permitted to appropriate this line

and would preface

"He

says,"

making

read,

"He

a

says

now The

its

cannot speak, jest

which

of

would have been incapable. is

with the words,

the sentence in

he

poverty-stricken

it

entirety

my

lord!"

Touchstone

Happily,

this

"gag"

omitted.

journey of Rosalind, Celia and Touchstone

Arden has been already referred together with the latter's witticisms on the

to the forest of to,

subject, but there

is

one passage of the fool's I

cannot refrain from repeating, "Travelers must be content."

Speaking from

many miles wisdom,

many years and in many lands,

of experience over I

know

of no bit of

wit, or philosophy in the realm of litera-

ture that expresses a

more emphatic truth than

those four words of Touchstone. It

is

while resting "in the skirt of the forest"

TOUCHSTONE

49

tiat the travelers, unperceived, overhear a lover's

complaint by a young shepherd, Sylvius, to his more mature friend Corin. The relation of the

\

passion of the young shepherd brings from Rosa-

acknowledgment that she is similarly a?ected; and Touchstone declares he too has suflind the

and humorously describes his experiences with Jane Smile, concluding with the sage aver-

fered,

nent:

"We

that are true lovers run into strange

capers; but as all

n

iture in love

is

mortal in nature, so

The

mortal in folly."

is

all

sentiment

approved by Rosalind, who remarks, "Thou "Nay," speakest wiser than thou art ware of." modestly replies Touchstone, "I shall ne'er be is

ware of mine own wit

till

I

break

my shins

against

it" Touchstone's scon find

make him him

adaptability friends

and

good

nature

in the third act

we

;, '

in pleasant converse with the old shep-

h( rd Corin,

who

evidently has considerable respect

fcr him, for he addresses

T mchstone" hcmely

and

wit,

him

first

as

"Master

and subsequently as "Sir." Corin's however, is no match for that of

1

i


50

Touchstone, but the latter

is

compelled, in justice,

acknowledge that even in the limited sphere of his pastoral life the shrewd observations of the to

j

made him a

iold shepherd have

The

;opher.

dialogue

is

natural philos-

bright and characteristic

throughout the scene, but the passages quoted be-

low are especially good examples of Touchs tone's IjQgicaLxeascaiiiig^ !

i

Cor. And how like you Touchstone ? Tou. Truly, shepherd,

good it

is

in respect of itself,

but in respect that naught. In respect that life;

very well vile life.

eth

this shepherd's life,

me

;

but in respect that

Master it

is

a shepherd's

it

is

solitary, I like

it is

private,

it is

a

is

it

life, it

a very

in respect it is in the fields, it pleasbut in respect it is not in the court, it is it is a spare life, look you, it fits my

Now,

well

;

As humor well: but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Wast ever at court.

tedious.

—

Shepherd ? Cor. No, truly. Tou. Then thou Cor.

art

For not being

damned. at court?

Your

reason.

thou never wast at court, thou never Why, saw'st good manners if thou never saw'st good man-

Tou.

if

;

manners must be wicked; and wickedand sin is damnation.

ners, then thy

ness

is

sin,

/

3

TOUCHSTONE A

little

more

reasoning,

51

and Corin confesses

himself unable to cope further with Touchstone: Cor.

You have

too courtly a wit for

me

;

I'll

rest, jj

Wilt thou rest damned ? God help thee, shalk w man. If thou be'st not damned for this, the devil h mself will have no shepherds. Tou.

It

is

;

evident that at this time Touchstone has

.

nDt yet fallen a victim to the bucolic charms of iûdrey; for he ridicules, doggerel,

the

with extemporaneous

very interesting love verses that

Posalind has found hanging on the forest

trees,

id so seriously offends the lady that he

sum-

a:

n arily

>

is

^ I

j

dismissed from her presence.

Shortly after, however, in spite of his sad experience with Jane Smile,

assiduous court to olFering "to fetch tl e

the

we

rustic

up her

find

him paying

maiden, Audrey;

goats," plying her with

usual questions, and awaiting her replies with

tie usual anxiety of a lover; but the court fool's

language and references to

classic

Ovid

are

beyond

tie understanding of the simple country wench,

wio ingenuously

asks

;

^

for

further information.

T lis is somewhat discouraging to the motley lover,

"


52

"When

and he thus complains: cannot be understood,

a man's verses

nor a man's

good wit

seconded with the forward child Understanding,

/j

it

strikes a

man more dead

than a great reckoning

in a little room."

\

He

then expresses the wish that the gods had

made her

This, too,

is

beyond Audrey's and she comprehension, artlessly inquires, "Is it honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing?" poetical.

In spite of Touchstone's desire that Audrey should

be poetical, he has apparently no very exalted

/

/

!

;

j

opinion of poetry, for in reply to her query he replies,

"No,

truly, for the truest poetry

is

the

most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers

< i

' ,

they do feign." I

i

j

I

I i

must confess that

culty as

Audrey

in

I find almost as

much

diffi-

comprehending the argument

of Touchstone in the following passages.

To

i

'

j

>.'

I

!

"Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?" Touchstone replies, "I

Audrey's query,

do, truly; for thou swear'st to

now,

if

me

thou art honest:

thou wert a poet, I might have some hope

TOUCHSTONE

53

These words are

thou didst feign."

clear enough,

even to the simple understanding of Audrey, asks

in

surprise,

honest^"

It

is

"Would you

not

have

who

me

1

Touchstone's reply to this question

He

that I find confusing. affection for this

evidently has a sincere

homely country

girl

;

he admires

ler ingenuous simplicity in spite of her ignorance,

and his intentions are honorable, for he proposes

make her

to

question,

his wife; yet

first,

he answers Audrey's

with an emphatic negative, "No,

and then makes the following reservation, 'Unless thou wert hard favour'd," and gives the

:ruly,"

concluding illogical reason, "For honesty coupled o beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar." :t

may

be that Touchstone's worldly wisdom sees

danger in too i

Audrey

There ^

:

sufficient

is is

many

and the honesty of

attraction

without beauty.

a ring of sincerity in Audrey's

re-

,

'

oinder ; a note that argues well for harmony,

md

a longer voyage on the sea of matrimony than

Jaques allots them. '

virtues,

)r

poetical,

he

little

Audrey may not be learned

but neither

is

she shallow nor vain like

shepherdess, Phoebe ; she

is

not coquet-

J

1

:


54

ting for a compliment, but with refreshing candor

admits:

am not fair, and make me honest." I

"Well, I

pray the gods to

therefore I find in

Au-

and womanly candor qualities the choice of a wife Touchstone

drey's simple prayer

indicating that in

has neither been unwise nor unfortunate. It

would appear that Touchstone had

doubt of the success of tells

Audrey that he

will

his suit, for

marry

her,

little

he not only

but has antici-

pated matters by engaging Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, to meet

them "in

this

place in the forest, and to couple us."

That Audrey approves of

this

hasty wooing

is

evidenced by her characteristically implied consent,

"Well, the gods give us joy!" to which

Touchstone adds, "Amen!"

As the fateful moment approaches, however, Touchstone indulges in some self-communion:

"A man may,

if

he were of a fearful heart, stagger

in this attempt; for here

the

wood,

no assembly but horn-beasts.

what, though? blessed"?

we have no temple but

No;

... as a

Is the single

walled town

is

man

But

therefore

more worthier

TOUCHSTONE than a village, so Tiore honorable

S5

the forehead of a married

is

man

than the bare brow of a bachelor;

how much defense is better than no skill, much is a horn more precious than to want."

ind by by so

Having

arrived at this conclusion, Sir Oliver

Vlartext having arrived also. Touchstone

is

anx-

ous that the ceremony shall proceed, and asks of :he vicar, :ree,

"Will you despatch us here under the

we go with you

or shall

to your chapel?"

For reply, the vicar, looking around, asks, "Is here none here to give the 'ool,

who

is

woman?"

to

which the

obviously unfamiliar with the mar-

iage service responds, "I will not take her

of any man."

As

this

on

gift

attitude of Touchstone

leems liable to postpone indefinitely, he ceremony altogether, Jaques,

if

who

not prevent

has been

lis-

ening unobserved to the entire scene, steps for-

vard and offers his services.

Having, however, acquired a profound respect for Touchstone, and )erceiving that he :

'

'

is

in earnest in his desire to

narried to Audrey, Jaques urges

him

to

b

have th

eremony performed in a church by a properly orf lained minister, and the appropriate surroundings

\


56

of a gentleman; rather than by a hedge-priest in

Touchstone hesitates

the forest, like a beggar.

before adopting this course, and Shakespeare has

put an aside speech into

mouth, which

would destroy much of our

seriously

Some of

him.

his

if

taken

respect for

the commentators have taken

it

and have deduced the conclusion that

seriously,

Touchstone intended to deceive Audrey ; but I cannot think it. Every action of the fool, and every other line that the author has given him, expresses Sincere regard

The

and indicates honorable

entire speech seems to

taneous expression of the as

it

me

intentions.

to be the spon-

humor of

the situation,

appears to the keen sense of our motley

friend.

The

treatment of

theme of people,

subject matter it

original.

is

not

new nor

the

Marriage has been the

jest at all times, to all conditions of

and Touchstone was too

instinctively a

jester not to appreciate the possibility of a jest,

even

The

on himself.

(Aside) "I

am

lines

are

as

follows:

not in the mind but I were better

to be married of

him than of

not like to marry

me

well,

another, for he

is

and not being well

TOUCHSTONE

57

married, will be a good excuse for to leave

my

me

hereafter

wife."

However, Touchstone and Audrey accompany Jaques to discuss the matter further, leaving the despised Sir Oliver in high dudgeon,

and without

1 fee.

Jaques

I

succeeded

evidently

Touchstone of the propriety of

Audrey

To

ay. ;

is

fails to

good

in

convincing

his suggestion,

but

comprehend the necessity of de-

her limited understanding, one priest

In the

as another.

first

is

scene of the fifth

act she emphatically expresses her impatience, in-

dicating that she has an opinion, if not a will, of lier

own, and

enough,

for

protests, "Faith, the priest

Touchstone finds ])acify the lady,

old

the

all

it

gentleman's

was good saying."

quite a task for his wit to

and

is

only successful by divert-

ing her attention to the claims of another to her :

-ffections

;

a certain forest youth

a shrewd piece of diplomacy on the part of

;

t is

1

he fool, and not

new

to the

world by any means ;

an argument by changing the suband affecting reproach, or of meeting one

10 terminate ject,

named William.


58

accusation by

making another.

Audrey, however,

denies the soft impeachment, and fortunately the

bucolic gentleman referred to appears most op-

portunely on the scene.

Touchstone regards the newcomer

^

and complacently to

me

observes, "It

to see a clown.

By my

good wits have much be flouting, It

is

fore us

we cannot

to

is

troth,

we

that have

answer for; we shall

hold."

we have

a curiously contrasted group

now:

critically,

meat and drink

The country

girl,

awkward and

embarrassed in the presence of her rustic

and

be-

suitor,

her court trained lover; the forest youth,

ill

at ease, nervously shifting

from one foot

other, as he stands, hat in

hand before her; and

the smug, self-satisfied court fool,

who

to the

conscious

of possession, revels in his superiority, and

re-

joices in the discomfiture of his unsuccessful rival.

With what

a delightful assumption of patron-

Touchstone questions the simple William, encourages, emboldens, then confuses, and finally age.

drives the poor fellow

from the

terrible threats of disaster

field

with the most

and death.

The

scene

TOUCHSTONE

59

comedy, but beneath the surface appreciated a deep satire on the world.

is

One passage some

especially, presents a

truth, that it

but which

phasize,

Amongst other William,

is

to

em-

Touchstone

wise"?"

of

asks

William

incau

have a pretty wit/ Touchstone's opportunity, and he retorts

"Why, thou saying. The wise

thou

"Ay,

tiously replies,

This

me

cannot forbear quoting.

I

questions.

"Art

II

most whole-

superfluous for

is

be

may

rich in

sir,

I

do now remember sj fool doth think he is wise, but th^' sayest well.

man knows

Touchstone

is

I

himself to be a fool."

now summoned by

J

his

"master

and mistress" (Rosalind, disguised as Ganymede, and Celia), who evidently acquaint him of their matrimonial intentions, and approve of his; for the next time lass," the

we meet

former

the motley "lover

tells her,

"To-morrow

is

and

his

the joy-

Audrey; to-morrow will we be married," which she candidly and sensibly replies, "I

ful day, to

do desire

it

with

all

my

dishonest desire to be a

heart ; and I hope

woman

it is

no

of the world."

Audrey's wishes are shortly realized; Rosalind,

jj


6o

and the

the good fairy, waves her wand,

Arden becomes a

Temple of Hymen.

veritable

All differences are adjusted,

and true love

betters,

heralded

by Jaques

"There

fashion:

wrongs righted, It is a

is,

joyous

to which

Touchstone

and

which they

brings his prospective bride, are

all

receives its reward.

meeting of their

forest of

in

to

his

characteristic

sure, another flood

toward,

and these couples are coming to the ark! Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools."

However, on

their appearance he bespeaks a

welcome for them from the Duke: lord, like this fellow," to

teously replies, "I like

which the

him very

Touchstone's acknowledgment

"Good my Duke cour-

well." is

characteristic,

if

not especially gallant; but his self-abnegation

is

scarcely consistent with his previously expressed

declaration, that he gift of

gram "God

any man."

is

would not take Audrey "on However,

his concluding epi-

convincing, and his metaphor perfect:

'ield

you,

press in here,

sir

sir,

!

I desire of

amongst the

you the

rest

like.

I

of the country

TOUCHSTONE copulatives, to swear

61

and forswear, according

as

marriage binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, a sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own;

poor humor of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir,

in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul

oyster."

The completeness stone

is

achieved in his last scene, which

given below in tions.

of the character of Touch-

full,

I

have

with some slight transposi-

Here Touchstone

is

in his element.

Sur-

rounded by persons who understand his office and can appremte his wit, he appears at his best.

The

various accomplishments

by which he claims

the title of a courtier, are irresistibly amusing,

and the humor may be applied to some modern views on gallantry, as well as to mediaeval standards of courtesy.

No

less entertaining is

Touchstone's parody on

certain books 6n_gaQd-manner'a, and oathe-ethics

of honor, whichâltrRcted some -attention-at this

timej'and

there. ..is-^-vein-of the

most

delicious

satirein his definitions jDf_ilic^-degrees_Q£_^

lie,


62

the cause of a quarrel, and the efficacy of that

redeeming, and peace-restoring preposition "if." presentation

Jaques'

of

Touchstone

Duke, and the subsequent dialogue

Good my

Jaq.

lord, bid

is

him welcome.

the

to

as follows:

This

is

the

motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest; he hath been a courtier, he swears. doubt that, let him put me to have trod a measure; I have flatmy purgation. tered a lady I have been politic with my friend, smooth

To%.

If

any

man

I

;

with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

And how was that ta'en up? Faith, we met and found the

Jaq.

Tou.

upon the seventh

How

Jaq.

quarrel

cause.

did you find the quarrel on the seventh

cause ?

Tou. I

sir.

was

Upon

a

lie

seven times rertioved

—as

thus,

did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard.

me word, if I said his beard was not cut he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please If again, it himself, this is called the Quip Modest.

He

sent

well,

was not

well cut, he disabled my judgment; this is Reply Churlish. If again it was not well

called the cut,

he would answer,

he would

I

spake not true; this

is

called

If again, it was not well cut, is called the Countercheck this I lied; say

the Reproof Valiant.

TOUCHSTONE

63

Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and rhe Lie Direct.

And how

Jaq. 'veil

you say

his beard

was not

I durst go no further than the Lie Circumnor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and

Tou. stantial,

so

oft did

cut?

we measured swords and Can you nominate

Jaq.

parted.

in

order

now

the degrees

of a lie?

Tou. O sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have books for good manners. I will name you Ihe degrees: the first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; he fourth, the Reproof Valiant the fifth, the Counter<;heck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circum1

;

stance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you nay avoid but the Lie Direct and you may avoid that

1

;

loo,

knew when seven justices could a up quarrel, but when the parties were met

with an 'If!

not take

I

Ihemselves, one of them thought but of an if! as, "If you said so, then I said so;" and they shook hands ; nd swore brothers. Your "if" is the only peace-

maker; much virtue

in "If."

The concluding compliment of Jaques ûst tribute to the accomplishments of !

tone,

and well epitomizes what

is

Touch-

I conceive to

ihe poet's conception; while the reply of the ;

but a

be

Duke

ndicates the vein of satirical truth that underlies


64

the entire character, and summarizes the motive, as well as the result of the author's clearly ex-

pressed intention. Is not this

Jaq.

at anything,

a rare fellow,

and yet a

my

lord? he's as

fool.

good Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. It

was

my

privilege to take part in the great

dramatic festival held in Cincinnati, in

One I

of the plays produced was "As

You

1885.

Like It."

played the part of Orlando to the Rosalind of

that

fine

actress,

Fanny

Robson was the Touchstone of the I recall

Stuart

Davenport.

occasion,

and

with pleasure the unique and interesting

His

performance he gave of the character.

was that of the conventional

dress

jesters; parti-colored

doublet and hose of the period, with the tradiHis walk, tional hood, cockscomb and bauble. or perhaps I could better describe

it

as

a

strut,

was like that of the barnyard bird whose head adorned his own, and

his carriage

was

in

harmony voice: His what with the same idea. playgoer in and heard Stuart Robson who has once seen

TOUCHSTONE

65

humorous characters can forget that

any of

his

voice!

The

peculiar Iis^with

nflections, rising to a

its

ever changing

high treble at the end of

accompanied with a constant snapof the eyes, and an abrupt jerking of the

ftach sentence,

p'lng

from side to

side,

at almost every otlier

Mr. Robson was held

in high esteem so that

liead ^vord.

was greeted with hearty applause,

his appearance i

nd almost every phrase he

cf laughter. J

The

uttered, with roars

story of the knight

ancakes never seemed to

me

and the

so humorous, while

tie request to Celia and Rosalind, to "stand forth, s:;roke

your chins and swear by your beards, etc."

vas so ludicrous that the c

ladies themselves

were

mvulsed with laughter and scarcely able to pro-

c ;ed

with their

lines.

which Mr. Robson appeared t<» the greatest advantage was in Scene I of the lifth Act; located in the forest of Arden. The Another scene

cliaracters

in

are Touchstone, Audrey, his country

sweetheart, and William, a simple rustic.

The

ktter character, though comparatively unimpor-

66


tant,

was on

H.

this occasion

played by Mr. William

Crane, out of compliment to his old friend

and comrade Mr. Robson, with

The

been so long associated.

whom

he had

delightful air of

by the court fool over the bucolic youth, who in his smock frock stood with vacuous stare and open-mouthed wonder in fear-

superiority assumed

motley tormentor, was a splendid contrast of diversified humor. The keen, incisive ful

awe of

his

Mr. Robson's comedy and the intelliof the text gent understanding and appreciation than underlying it was never better exampled "The fool by his delivery of that potent truism, doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows quality of

himself to be a fool."

wisdom

It

was indeed, a gem

in a setting of golden

comedy.

of

Again,

the assumption of anger, the direful threats of

bloodthirsty consequences

whelmed

him from

with which he over-

the terror-stricken

the

field,

William and drove

leaving the fool in full and

love were simplj undisputed possession of his lady delicious.

This scene was rendered doubly effective by

the

TOUCHSTONE

'

skill

the

gave

and

which Mr. Crane played

sincerity with

part of William.

Like

a true

part in the comedy. if

he

were the prinIn appearance, he

tention to every detail as though

looked as

artist,

of character work the same at-

this small bit

cipal

67

it

he had stepped out of an old English

was perfect and his ungainly walk and awkward bearing reminded one of the types that may yet be seen and heard engraving of rural

life

;

his dialect

in the remote villages of the

midland counties

in

England. In spite of Mr. Robson's success in the earlier scenes of the play, I think he in the last act.

It

was most

effective

be remembered that here

may

the various threads of the plot are

drawn together

and the fabric of the story completed.

After

their adventures in the forest, the several couples,

by mutual arrangement, meet at a certain point where their differences are arranged, their misunderstandings effected.

Among

Audrey.

Here Robson

ation.

He

and

explained

them,

their

conciliations

come Touchstone and

fairly reveled in the situ-

strutted, he crowed,

and

to continue

68


the simile, he flapped his wings with the satisfaction

umphant

of

a

barnyard

tri-

rooster;

argued his right to be called a courtier with the

and expounded the degrees of with the wisdom of an oracle.

logic of a lawyer,

a

lie

What

old playgoer does not recall the delicacy

and refinement of Mr. James Lewis's performance of the Shakespearean clowns in the several

comedy "As

revivals at Daly's Theater,

You

eighties,

New

York.

Like It" was produced there in the early with

as Orlando,

Ada Rehan

as Rosalind,

and Mr. Lewis

(Little

John Drew

Jimmie Lewis,

was affectionately called) as Touchstone. The cameo clearness of his conception, the quaint as he

incisiveness of his his business,

delivery,

and the

the significance of

delicate finish of the entire

characterization left an impression never to be forgotten.

The

performance

not

that

by some comedians, unction of others, but it was imbued

breadth of humor given to

nor the rich

had

with the quaint

little

it

gentleman's

own

personal-

TOUCHSTONE

69

^

ity,

and presented with an

artistic instinct that

l)ermeated every character he assumed.

t

was a witness

an eloquent though silent ribute paid to Mr. Lewis by a stranger, of which I

to

the actor was, at the time, unconscious.

i

Mr. Lewis was walking down Broadway one fternoon in the early fall. I was a short dis-

tance

behind

him.

Approaching,

somewhat

slowly, from the opposite direction was a well-

^Toomed gentleman of middle age, apparently a business man returning from his office down town, expression of the gentleman was absorbed

'^^"he

end thoughtful,

knotty problem in his

Lewis he raised

were revolving some mind. As he neared Mr.

as if he

his

eyes

and,

recognizing the

comedian, his expression changed completely; a s Tiile

replaced his frown, his eyes brightened, and

tie careworn look left

him

entirely.

He

paused

Mr. Lewis passed him, looked after retreating figure of the comedian a second,

Slightly as

tie

tien resumed his journey up town with a quick-


70

ened step and smiling

face,

the

tenor of his

thoughts apparently changed and brightened by the

memory

of the pleasures he had enjoyed by

the performances of the talented

little

gentleman

he had so unexpectedly met and recognized. I related the incident to

gratified it

him

Mr. Lewis

exceedingly, and he told

to be one of the

later.

me

he

It felt

most delightful compliments

he had ever received.

Another Touchstone worthy of note was that presented by Mr. Edwin Stevens, the successor of Mr. Lewis as the comedian of Daly's Theater.

Equally

artistic

ferent in

methods as he was

Mr. Stevens seemed

physique. tion

more

was Mr. Stevens, but

seriously than

in

features

and

to take his posi-

Mr. Lewis and main-

tained a greater personal dignity. lines

entirely dif-

He

spoke his

with the deliberation of oracular wisdom

rather than with spontaneous wit, and

among

the

courtiers carried himself as a social equal rather

than

as

a

retainer.

He wooed

the

humble

Audrey with condescension, and accepted com-

TOUCHSTONE raendation as a matter of course.

71 It

was a most

delightful performance of the character j'oint

of view of Mr.

Stevens,

from the

and a worthy

achievement of a versatile and intelligent

artist.

TRINCULO IN

THE TEMPEST "What

a pied ninny's in

this.'*

'The Tempest,"

is

the only

TRINCULO, one of Shakespeare's fools who in the dramatis personse of the is

play

is

called a jester;

the one least worthy of the

and

title.

Fool to the court of Alonzo, King of Naples, Trinculo,

while

accompanying

others on a sea voyage,

is

his

master and

shipwrecked and

cast,

with them, upon an unknown and apparently unHere he has wonderful adveninhabited island. tures,

by

meets extraordinary beings, and

is

brought,

the art of Prospero, the genius of the island,

under the influence of

fairies, sprites, goblins,

and

other strange creatures of the author's imagination.

Whatever may have been Trinculo's 72

ability as

TRINCULO

73

a wit at court, he certainly does not appear to

on the island, great advantage in that respect although,

it

must be admitted, he

is

environed by

an atmosphere of discomfort and danger, which while affording amusement to the observer, savors little

of

humor

In his

to him.

scene he

first

is

out on an open plain,

"with neither bush nor shrub" in a heavy storm;

on

his next appearance he

is

of liquor; and the third time

under the influence

we meet him, he has

been pursued by fiends through a horse-pond, and is

saturated with

He

dominated

is

in the second

by and

offensive contents.

its

in the first instance

liquor,

is and disgust; silly and disgusting.

in the third

are

terror,

by anger

in turn cowardly, maudlin,

His wit

of punning, and his pranks, called,

by

is

if

the poorest kind

so they

not spontaneous fun,

may

be

but drunken

folly. .

He

is

ungrateful and treacherous.

rescued from the

On

the safety of his master, nor loyalty to his ory,

when he

is

being

sea, he exhibits no anxiety for

mem-

supposed to be lost ; and he readily


74

joins in the miserable plot with Stephano, the

drunken

butler, to

murder Prospero, and gain pos-

session of the island.

Even

Caliban, the ignorant semi-savage, has a

contempt for him, and in turn ninny," "a jesting monkey," while

patch";

Stephano,

him "a pied

calls

and

"a.

scurvy

countryman and

his

comrade, in reply to the fool's boast that "I can

swim

like a duck," retorts,

swim

like a duck,

and does not

thou art

"Though thou cans't made like a goose";

hesitate to strike

him when he

is

offended.

The most is

pointed epigram

made by Trinculo

in the second scene of the second act,

when,

seeking shelter from the storm under the gaber-

dine of Caliban,

"Misery

who

acquaints

is

a

apparently dead, he says,

man

with

strange

bed-

fellows."

His best

retort

is

in the last scene of the last

enveloped in the foul effluvium of the horse-pond, when he is asked by Alonzo, his act,

while

master,

still

"How

which he

cam'st thou in this pickle*?" to

replies: "I

have been

in such a pickle,

T. C. Cooke as •Trinculo" in

"The Tempest"

TRINCULO saw you

since I

of

(»ut

He

fear me, will never

bones; I shall not fear fly-blowing."

my

indicates

is superficial.

ior in

last, that, I

75

Act

no learning, and his philosophy Of this he is apparently conscious,

three.

Scene two, he says:

"There's

upon this isle; we are three of them; if other two be brained like us, the state

but

five

the

totters."

As self

:

to his courage,

"Was

there ever

drunk so much sack

Taken

in

it is

its

best described

man

by him-

a coward, that hath

as I to-day?"

entirety, I

cannot but regard the

(haracter of Trinculo as the least interesting of the court jesters that Shakespeare has given us; ;

character type that

J

still

in existence

when

poet lived and wrote, examples of which

ttie lie

was

must have seen and

Elizabeth,

don.

The

at Kenil worth, at the court of

later at that of

species,

James

I,

in

Lon-

however, was rapidly becom-

ing extinct; printing began to develop, knowl(

]

j

f

dge to be more general, and literature to be ap)reciated

;

entertainment was found in the printed

)ublications of wit

and humor, rather than from


76

the lips of the jester, and the quality of the latter

began to deteriorate from the witty retainer of the court, to the coarse buffoon whose jests appealed to the low and the ignorant, rather than to the cultivated

was

It

at

and

intelligent.

this

period

of deterioration that

Shakespeare wrote "The Tempest," and possibly his conception of

Trinculo

may

be based upon the

conditions that then existed, and the character

made

to present his

own view

of the coarseness of

expression and the poverty of wit exhibited by the professional fools of his time.

That Shakespeare was

alive

to

current

the

events of the period in which he wrote

is

by a passage spoken by Trinculo

trated

illus-

in his

first scene.

A

number of American Indians had been

brought from the newly established colony of Vir-

London; the novelty of their color, appearance and dress attracted great attention, and ginia to

caused

One

considerable

excitement

and

curiosity.

of the Indians succumbed to the rigors of the

TRINCULO

77

English climate, and died, the corpse being subsequently placed on public exhibition, sons paying a substantial fee to look at

When

many

per-

it.

Trinculo sees the apparently dead body

of Caliban lying upon the ground, and does not

know whether its

it is

"a

foul odor believes

it

man

or a fish," but from

to be the latter, the poet

satirizes the prevailing sensation, in the

the fool

now

:

"A

strange fish

(as I once was)

!

Were

and had but

I in

words of

England

this fish painted,

not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver; there would this monster

make a man;

any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian."

FESTE IN

TWELFTH NIGHT 'I

am

indeed not her fool^ but her corrupter

o]

words'^

the

list

fY.Night,"

of

the

the fool

characters

in

"Twelftl

not given a name.

is

He

ii

coupled with Fabian, as "Clown," and tugethei they are called "Servants to Olivia," but in Act

\ 2,

Scene 4 of the play, he

is

spoken of by Curio,

a gentleman attending on the Duke, as "Feste,"

and

is

described as "the jester, a fool that th<

Iâdy Olivia's father took is

much

a^mmbiriatioja.of jesjter^nd

member

delight in."

He

imn^^

a

of the household of the CojjulessjDliviaj

a wealthy noblewoman of lUyria. Feste

is

not of the gentle disposition of Yorick,

nor of the mental

fiber

of Touchstone ; his wit has

neither the spontaneous

humor we can imagine 78

in

TESTE

79 wisdom we

the former, nor the sententious in the latter; it

forced,

at tjmes labored«_frequeritl i

is

and seldom

free fro

m

professional

foolery,

—

obvious effort. *™ ^g^- "

II

is

find

rather

i

.

than

_iîi f

^

"

It »•

intuitive

fun.^

He i^

is o'

coarsei

the world, worldly; his conversation

even for the period, and

many

of his

jestS~-are Vulga^.

His

retorts-are neither keen nor incisive; they

have the brutality of the cudgel, rather than the point of the rapier.

He wit,

trusts

more

to

and many of

"good

fooling*' than to read y

his sallies are

but thinly

dis-

impudenc e; yet it must be, .admitted that times he makes some tellings pointSLândLê-

ff uised

at

liyers

He does

some very clever epigrams. is shrewd and thrifty if not covetous; he not scruple to accept money,

even from

stran gers, nor does he hesitate broadly to suggest liberality__to those patrons

their

who

are tardy with

bounty^;

Disguised as Sir Topaz he quotes Latin aptly

and accurately; he shows familiarity with Gre-

\C^

jlN


8o M

.

cian history and legend, and

is

not unacquainted

'

'

/

IAX

with the philosophy of Pythagoras. In spite of his knowledge, he appears to be

tol-

efated~ratHeF than appreciated; and although he is

admitted to the revels of Sir

Sir

Toby

Belch, and

Andrew Aguecheek, on a comparative

ity, itisjchififlv

as a minstrel.

on account of

He

J of tKe' houSe^^ and

his

equal-

accomplishments

associates with the servants

is

treated as one

by

his

mis -

tress.

His best friend appears

ing-woman

to

Lady

to be Maria, the wait-

On

Olivia.

ance in the play, in Act

l.

his first appear-

Scene

5,

he

is

appar-

ently seeking her good offices with her mistress, to excuse his evidently unauthorized,

absence

from

curiosity

Maria endeavors

the

and lengthy

With feminine

household.

to gain

from him an

account of his truancy, but Feste shrewdly avoids

any compromising admissions. irritated, expresses herself cision,

he

may

Maria, somewhat

with characteristic de-

and warns him of the severe punishment expect.

Feste assumes a recklessness, but

realizes the gravity of his offense

:

FESTE

81

Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Mar.

I will

;

Let her hang me; he that world needs to fear no colors.

Clo. this

Make

Mar. Clo.

He

Mar.

A

is

well hanged in

that good.

none to fear. good lenten answer; I can tell thee where ;hat saying was born, of "I fear no colors." Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary? Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long abHere comes my lady; make your excuse ;ent. visely, you were best. .

.

shall see

.

Maria

'' i

oliloquizes

:

^;ood fooling! ihee^ ]

5

i

Those

do very oft prove

lack thee, ays

and being alone Feste thus Wit, an't be thy wi ll, put me into

leaves him,

may

Qui napalus?

oolish wit.*

"

pass

ha^

wits, that think they

fools;

and

for a wise

I^

that

man

:

am

for

sure

what

'Better a witty fool than a "~"

The Lady Olivia enters, whom he respectfully "God bless thee, lady!" jalutes, with:


82

But

the lady

is

and

promptly

very

"Take the

With

evidently

much

and

displeased,

commands:

indignantly

fool away."

characteristic

the

audacity

fool

chal-

lenges the lady, in the following dialogue: Clo.

Do you

not hear, fellows?

Take away

the

lady.

OH.

Go

besides you Clo.

to,

you're a dry fool

grow

Two

;

I'll

no more of you

;

dishonest.

madonna, that drink and good

faults,

counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry ; hid the dishonest man mend him-

he mend, he is no longer dishonest; anything that's mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but The lady bade take away the patched with virtue. self

;

if

.

.

.

therefore I say again, take her away. Oh. Sir, I bade them take away you.

fool

;

Clo.

Misprison in the highest degree!

madonna, give me leave OH. Can you do it?

to prove

you a

Clo.

Dexterously, good madonna.

OH.

Make your

Clo.

I

donna,

.

.

Good

proof.

must catechise you for

why

.

fool.

it.

.

.

.

Good ma-

mourn'st thou?

OH.

Good

Clo.

I

think his soul

OH.

I

know

fool, for

my is

brother's death. in hell,

madonna.

his soul is in heaven, fool.

FESTE The more

Clo.

83

madonna, to mourn for your

fool,

orother's soul being in heaven,

—Take away

the fool,

gentlemen.

:

The wit of

the

fool

inger of the lady,

who

somewhat

the

appeals to Malvolio to

ndorse her approval of his readiness lot

molifies

:

"Doth he

mend'?"

But plies

the steward

is

no friend of Feste, and

with a sarcasm that

is

re-

not lost on the fool:

'Yes; infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever

make

the better fool."

This brings from Feste the prompt and clever *'God send you,

]etort: :'or

a speedy infirmity,

the better increasing your folly!

be sworn that I

^vill

jiot

sir,

pass his

word

am no

fox,

for twopence that

Sir

Toby

but he will

you are no

Jool."

1

Malvolio, thus goaded, continues to dispraise he fool, but Olivia warmly defends him, and ad-

ninisters a severe reproof to the steward for his '^

.

"O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio. There is no slander in an allowed fool,

anity .

.

:

though he do nothing but

rail;

nor no railing in


84

a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove."

Feste

is

not without gratitude to his mistress

and thus expresses

for his defense,

Mercury endue thee with

it:

"Now

leasing, for thou speak-

est well of fools."

But on

the retirement of Malvolio, the lady

does not hesitate to rebuke the fool see, sir,

how your

"Now

:

fooling grows old,

you and people

dislike it."

The of Sir

dialogue

Toby

is

here interrupted

Belch, a cousin of the

by the advent

Lady

Olivia,

who

appears on the scene in a very drunken conThe lady is properly indignant, and dedition.

mands of

Feste:

"What's a drunken man

like,

fooir' Feste replies:

"Like a drown'd man, a fool

and a madman; one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him." Olivia, pleased with the fool's epigrammatic

humor, continues the pleasantry:

"Go

thou and

FESTE seek the crowner, rie's

and

let

him

Ss sit o'

my

in the third degree of drink, he's

coz; for

drowned:

50 look after him."

Feste obeys, and retires with the words s

:o

mad

but the

yet,

madonna and ;

:

"He

the fool shall look

madman."

In Marie Wainwright's production of this expisite comedy, in which she toured the country

some seasons ago, the part of Feste was played 5y Mr. E. Y. Bachus, who brought a keen intelliand appreciation to his performance. In he foregoing scene, Mr. Bachus mitigated the

iênce

i^ross

impertinence of Feste to his mistress by the

ntroduction of some business that I believe was entirely original with him.

j)ouch or pocket

some

He

carried in his

little dolls in

the form of

diminutive zanies, which as the dialogue pro-

he proceeded with apparent unconsciousto dress. This business seemed to dull the

{jressed 3

less

dge of his_rudeness by dividing the attention of Ills hearers between his words and his actions. I

At the conclusion of the dialogue, Feste dropped


86

on the ground; and at his exit Marie picked them up, and contemptuously threw them after him.

his little zanies

Feste next appears in the third scene of Act 2, joining in the noisy midnight revels of Sir

and

He

Andrew Aguecheek.

Sir

sings

Toby

them a

love song, and without any special wit ridicules the shallow egotistical affectations of the one, and

He

the drunken folly of the other.

improvises

a "catch" cleverly, but promptly disappears at the

sign of trouble.

first

Festc'âbilltyâs a minstrel^

is

evidently

apid appreciated, for in the fourth scene

for

by the Duke Orsino,

Fes.

There's for thy pains. pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, I'll

Fes.

sent

him money:

No

Duke.

sir.

pay thy pleasure then.

Truly, or another.

A

is

to sing to him, who, at

the cpnclusipn of the song gives

Duke.

he

known

sir,

and pleasure

will

be paid, one time

truism, as wise as witty.

The

character as well as the compass of Feste's

capacity

is

well illustrated in the

first

scene of the

FESTE third

act,

his tabSr, is

Olivia's garde

met by

87

The

nT^

fool,

carrying

Viola, disguised as Cesario

and

an admirable interchange of equivoque aptly

in

describes the faculty of wit, the province of the

and the prevalence of

fool,

folly.

The

scene

is

but as a "corrupter of words" the fool ap-

brief,

pears to better advantage than in any other part of the play,

and displays a readiness of

is

Viola furnishes him his

not always in evidence. first

retort that

opportunity by her greeting

:

thee, friend, and thy music; dost thou tabor? by thy Fes. No, sir, I live by the church. Art thou a churchman? Vio.

Vio.

Save

live

Fes. for I

do

No

such matter,

live at

my

sir

;

house, and

I

do

my

live by the church ; house doth stand by

the church.

So thou may'st say the King lives by a bega beggar dwell near him or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. sentence is but a Fes. You have said, sir. ... Vio.

gar, if

;

A

cheveril glove to a side

may

good wit; how quickly the wrong

be turned outward J

Laughingly acknowledging the truth of this, Viola compliments him on his humor and clever-


88

"I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and

ness:

carest for nothing."

The lite

reply she receives, however,

something; but in

/"

so, sir, I

my conscience,

sir, I

neither po-

do care

for

do not care I

would

Ignoring this discourtesy, Viola asks:

"Art

you if that be to care for nothing, would make you invisible."

for it

"Not

nor encouraging:

is

;

not thou the

Lady

Again Feste

Olivia's fool?"

justifies his office

tion he gives of himself:

Lady Olivia has no sir, till

sir,

by

the descrip-

"No, indeed,

folly; she will keep

sir;

no

the

fool,

she be married; and fools are as like hus-

bands as pilchards are to herrings; the husband's the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her co rrupter of wordsj

'

In reply to Viola's assertion that she saw Feste recently at the palace of the

Count Orsino, the

gives us the following terse but eloquent

truism:

"Foolery,

sir,

like the sun; it shines (jester

At is

this,

Viola,

who

doth walk about the orb

ev erywhere." is

disguised as a youth, and

mistaken for one by Feste,

offers

him a

coin.

FESTE In

89

"Now

of thanks the latter exclaims:

way

Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a

beard."

Viola

who

is

deeply in love with the

is

Orsino,

ignorant of her passion; and at this sally

"By my

of the fool, wittily rejoins: tell

Duke

thee; I

not have

it

am

troth, I'll

almost sick for one, though I would

grow on

my

chin."

i{^^^^

^

Feste does not understand this allusion, but

holding the coin he has received in his hand,

makes the pointed suggestion: pair of these have bred, sir'?" Viola replies:

"Would

not a

"Yes, being kept together and

put to use."

and returns to the charge armed with a simile from Grecian legend. Feste

Fes.

is

I

resourceful,

would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia,

sir,

to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

understand you,

Vio.

I

Fes.

The

I

well begged. not great, sir, begging

sir, 'tis is

matter, hope, but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar.

Finding his fectual,

efforts to increase his

Feste continues to

bounty

inef-

"dally nicely with

A


90

words," and then

"My

retires.

is

lady

within,

them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin; I might say element, but the word is I will construe to

sir.

overworn." It

the preceding scene that suggests to Viola

is

the passage that so aptly describes the require-

the introduction to this

have quoted at length in book, and which I repro-

duce here to accentuate

its

ments of a

fool,

which

I

significance.

This fellow's wise enough to play the fool

And

He

do that well craves a kind of wit must observe their mood on whom he

The

to

;

;

quality of persons,

jests,

and the time,

And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice

As

full

of labor as a wise man's art;

For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly- fallen, quite taint

The

their wit.

complications that arise in Act 4, conse-

quent on the disguise of Viola as Cesario, and her subsequent mistaken identity for Sebastian, occur in rapid succession.

Feste, of course, be-

comes involved in them, and in the

first

scene,

FESTE

91

with the real Sebastian, there considerable

humor.

as

Feste,

a dialogue of

is

is

usual,

"dal-

some lying with words" and unusually, exhibiting impatience ;

however

the

irritation

is

quickly

a allayed by the soothing^ appncation of a coin, effective witJti. the fool at all

remedy that seems times.

In the second scene, Feste, at the instigation of

Maria, assumes the character of Sir Topaz, the

enemy Mal-

curate, to assist in tormenting his old volio,

who, by a

of that mischief-loving

trick

maid, has been seized as a madman, bound, and

The

cellar. P -confined in a dark good foo lin^^ rafhaf-than

w itty

I

scene

dialogue Jbutin f

assuming the robe of the curate, Feste

\

\

rellectiohS iprtiratrng

-

risy

were

hypoc^

as pxeval.ent in the days of Shakespeare

self in't,

Well and

sembled

in

I'll

I

it

put

would

on,

I

.

am

:

.

.

dissemble

I will

not

my-

that ever dis-

first

enough to beenough to be

tall

nor lean

well,

thought a good student ;

and

were the

I

such a gown.

come the function Prague

makes some

thnf snnrfimnnv nnd

as they unfortunately are in ours

Fes.

one of

is

but as the old hermit of

very wittily said to a niece of

King Gorboduc,


92 \

"That that

is,

is;

so

I,

\ter parson, for what

being master parson, am masbut 'that'? and 'is' but

is 'that'

Vis'?"

He greets bears

Sir

himself

Toby with with

a Latin salutation, and

humorous

gravity

^

He

Topaz.

as

Sir

and applies them He questions Mal-

,usesJbig_jsiii::^,

with a contrary meaning.

volio as to his views on the opinions of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl,

and leaves him with

assumed indignation when the alleged lunatic will not agree with the philosopher. Fes.

Remain thou

still

in darkness.

Thou

shalt

hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam.

Feste then doffs his disguise,

Malvolio

in

sympathy: five

his

own

"Alas,

sir,

character,

how

fell

and addresses with assumed

you besides your

wits?"

"I

am

as well in

my

wits, fool, as thou art,"

replies Malvolio.

"Then,"

retorts

Feste;

"you

are

mad

in-

deed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool."

FESTE

93

Feste continues to plague the poor steward,

now

as Sir

Topaz, now as himself, reveling in the

prisoner's discomfiture

till

the

man

is

almost

dis-

and begs for candle, ink, and paper that he may communicate with his mistress. These tracted,

articles Feste

promises to obtain, but before going

delivers a parting shaft Fes.

:

Are you not mad indeed ? or do you but coun-

terfeit?

Md.

Believe me, I

Fes.

Nay,

I'll

am

not

;

I tell

ne'er believe a

thee true.

madman

till

I see his

brains.

And

with a merry catch, the laughing fool

leaves the poor imprisoned steward to his misery.

Malvolio evidently obtains his ink and paper, writes his letter, and intrusts it to Feste for delivery; the latter, however, pockets the missive,

and on the principle that "A mad man's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not when they are delivered," keeps

it

there

till

inclination prompts,

and opportunity provides a suitable occasion present

it

to

to his mistress.

In the meantime, in company with Fabian, Feste


94

Duke

encounters the

Orsino, for

sang.yThe Duke asks household of the Lady

whom

he lately

they belong to the

if

With

Olivia.

his usual

and lack of reverence, he answers,

effrontery

we

some of her trappings." The Duke recognizes him, and graciously

"Ay,

sir,

are

"How

quires:

dost thou,

my

in-

good fellow?"

His reply and argument are worthy a wiser man than Feste, and exhibit a philosophy as sound, as Fes.

wholesome.

it is

Truly,

sir,

the better for

worse for my friends. Duke. Just the contrary;

foes and the

my

the

better

for

thy

friends.

Fes.

Duke. Fes.

/

/ /

No,

the worse.

sir,

How Marry,

of me;

now my

that by

my

can that be? sir,

tell

me

knowledge of myabused why, then,

foes, sir, I profit in the

and by my the worse for my

friends I

self,

me and make an ass plainly I am an ass; so

they praise

foes

am

:

.

.

.

friends, and the better for

my

foes.

Appreciating the shrewd wisdom of the fool, the

Duke

exclaims,

"This

is

excellent,"

which

gives Feste an opportunity for one of the cleverest retorts in the play:

FESTE By my

Fes.

be one of

my

troth, sir,

no

;

though

95 it

please

you

to

friends.

The Duke

is

himself not without wit, and

promptly recognizing the ready sarcasm of the

"Thou

fool, replies:

me;

shalt not be the worse for

there's gold."

Feste accepts the gratuity, and again exhibits his avaricious shrewdness

by suggesting:

But that it would be double dealing, Fes. would you could make it another.

sir,

I

After a brief passage of protest and replication, the

Duke

yields to the fool's clever pleading:

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer; there's another.

Even

this liberality does

of the fool,

who

the principle that

that

nobleman

ers his

is

;o

again importunes the Duke, on

"The

third pays for all."

But

not so easily cajoled, and deliv-

ultimatum with some emphasis.

Duke. You can throw if you

;his

not satisfy the greed

;

speak with her,

fool

no more money out of me

your lady know I am here may awake my bounty further.

will let it

at

96


Finding that any further

Duke would be

purse at the expense of the less,

effort to enlarge his

use-

for the present, Feste retires; not, however,

without a parting hint of future Fes. again.

Marry, I

go

sir

lullaby to but, as you

sir, ;

take a nap, I will awake

it

possibilities.

your bounty saj^

sir, let

till

I

come

your bounty

anooM

After much delay, Feste finds an opportunity to deliver the letter of

Malvolio to

his mistress.

She commands him to "open and read it," which he proceeds to do, prefacing his task with the admonition Fes.

:

Look, then, to be well edified when the fool

delivers the

madman.

But Lady Olivia has had enough of his folly, and instructs another to read the letter, which being done explains the trick that has been played

on Malvolio, and assists in unraveling the complications, and clearing up the mysteries of the play. /

Malvolio's humili ation

ishment to

all

but the

fool,

is

suffic ient

whose petty nature^

cannot refrain from gloating over his tallen

by repeatingîepassages

pun-

toe,'

in the decoying letter,

FESTE

97

and former reproaches that he has received at the hands of the steward:

Why, "Some

Fes.

are born great, some achieve

and some have greatness thrown upon was one, sir, in this interlude; "By the But do you remember? fool, I am not mad."

afreatness,

;hem," I ..ord,

.

"Madam, why laugh you ;/ou smile not, he's

And

.

.

an

at such a barren rascal?

gagged."

to quote Feste's

own words

in conclusion:

'And thus the whirligig of time brings in

his

jevenges."

At

the culmination of

what may be termed

the

{erious interest of the play, all the characters ex-

cept the clown retire: he being alone concludes ihe

comedy with a songr

When With

A

was and a little tiny boy, ho, the wind and the rain, thing was but a toy.

that I

hey,

foolish

For the

rain

But when

I

it

raineth every day.

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.

But when With hey,

I

came, alas! to wive.

ho, the

wind and the

rain,

;


98

never thrive,

By swaggering

could

For the

raineth every day.

rain

it

I

But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. With toss-pots still had drunken heads. For the rain it raineth every day.

A

great while ago the world begun. hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

With But

that's all one,

And

our play

we'll strive to please

is

done.

you every day.

This song has caused such an amount of conflicting

that I in

his

comment, so opposite append a few excerpts consideration

of

in its conclusions, to assist the reader

intention

its

and

sig-

nificance.

George P. Goodale, the dramatic porates the view of Charles Knight series of essays

critic,

incor-

in one of a

on the subject, published recently,

under the caption of "The Kaleidoscope" in The He says "The song of the Detroit Free Press. :

Clown, originally given

as

an epilogue, though

not retained in the acting editions of the hour, judiciously regarded

Clown song on

as

record,

is

the most philosophical

on the discoverable wis-

FESTE dom

which

of

a

treatise

99 might

be

written.

Charles Knight, indeed, goes so far as to characterize it as the history of a life,

of a

from the condition

tiny boy, through man's estate, to de-

little

The

caying age.

of the individual

conclusion is

is

that

what

true of the species,

is

true

and that

what was of yesterday was also of generations long passed

—

away

world begun.'

for

'a

great while ago the

"

Howard Staunton

takes another view of the

and quotes Stevens, in support of his theory, n his notes on the subject: "It is to be regretted,

i.ong,

])erhaps, that this 'nonsensical ditty,' as Stevens

erms

it,

has not been long since degraded to the

:oot-notes. 'vith

It

which

it

was evidently one of those jigs, was the rude custom of the Clown

to gratify the groundlings I

(

}

I

play.

These

absurd

upon the conclusion of compositions,

intended

nly as a vehicle for buffoonery, were usually imrovizations of the singer, tagged to

allad-burden —

or the

first lines

some popular

of various songs

sprung together in ludicrous juxtaposition, at the

end of each of which, the performer indulged

in


loo

hideous grimace, and a grotesque sort of 'Jump

Jim Crow' dance." Weiss takes a more sentimental view of the song, and, in a to

somewhat lengthy

essay, attaches

a deep significance, concluding with a tender

it

King Lear, who uses some same song, but with a far dif-

reference to the Fool in

of the lines of the ferent motive.

Feste

l^When

left alone

is

the play

upon the

stage.

is

over,

Then he

.

.

.

sings

a song which conveys to us his feeling of the world's partiality!

law; nobody consequence

is

all

humored; people must abide the

of their

but a

'for

actions,

A

raineth every day.' his toy;

things proceed according to

'little

the

tiny boy'

man must guard

rain

it

may have

against knavery

and thieving: marriage itself cannot be sweetened by swaggering; whoso drinks with 'toss-pots' will get a 'drunken head'

:

it is

a very old world, and

began so long ago that no change in can be looked

song play.

is .

for.

The grave

its

habits

insinuation of this

touched with the vague, soft bloom of the .

than the

.

The note

is

hardly more presageful

cricket's stir in the late silence of a

sum-

FESTE

How

mer.

mankind

loi

gracious hath Shakespeare been to

in this play.

He

could not do other-

wise than leave Feste all alone to pronounce for his heart

benediction,

its

was a nest of songs

whence they rose to whistle with the air of wisdom. Alas for the poor fool in Lear who sang :o

drown the

cries

from a violated

nest." |

I

wish that

I

could take the same view as Dr.

Weiss of the song and the

singer.

It

is

not only

ingenious but poetical in the extreme and ]

eflex of the gentle nature

'vriter; :

s

a

and sweet fancy of the

but with exception of the love songs, sung

a minstrel, I do not find a line of poetry in the

])art c

is

of the jester, nor a single expression of sin-

ere or

even simulated sentimentality.

Lloyd seems to have summed up the character "He knows the world concisely when he says:

tDOwell ... \

to feel

nd y, nr conseque ntly

much sympadiy to êt much in

"VVhile Ulrici goes still further

and

tor a nyreturn.

asserts:

"

"He

(Feste^ alone in full rnnsrinusness ronte mplates \

fp as a TTifiry

cne has, in

fact,

T wflf^h

Night, in which every

only to play his allotted part to

102


th e greatest possible

amusement of himself and

others."

For

my

part I think the song

tional conclusion of the play,

is

the conven-

appropriate, but

with no special significance.

The same Lost,"

design

is

followed in "Love's Labor's

and the "Midsummer Night's Dream";

they both terminate with a song. clude "As

You

Epilogues con-

Like It" and "Henry VIII"; and

Chorus closes the

historical plays.

The

tragedies

alone close with the culminating incident. I recall

when almost every form of dramatic

composition closed with a "Tag," and

it

was one

of the superstitions of the dramatic profession, that to speak the tag at rehearsal augured failure.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO IN

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE ''A

N

I

Merry Devil"

that delightful comedy,

Venice,"

we have

"The Merchant of

a type of the shrewd but

ignorant serving man, or boy, drawn on the same

Launce and Speed in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," and the two Dromios, in "The lines as

Comedy less

of Errors," but apparently younger and

matured than

His name

is

either of them.

Launcelot Gobbo, a fact of which

somewhat proud. He has a crude philosophy and a rude kind of wit. He uses big words and misapplies them most ingenuously. He is

he

is

good-natured, full of fun, and rejoices in a practical jest.

Launcelot

is

the servant to Shylock, a wealthy

Jewish merchant and money lender of Venice, 103


104

whom

with

he lives and of

whom

he stands in

wholesome awe.

His fun-loving nature, howhas served to brighten the dull and dreary

ever,

home of fact

that stern and revengeful gentleman, a

that Jessica,

the

acknowledges in her

Our house

is hell,

Did'st rob

it

Jew's daughter, frankly

first

interview with the boy.

and thou a merry

Launcelot does not appear

till

the second scene

of the second act of the comedy,

him

devil

of some taste of tediousness.

when we

stealthily leaving his master's house.

find

We

some apparent employer, and is debat-

learn that he feels aggrieved at

wrong

at the

hands of

his

ing whether to remain in his service, or to run

His soliloquy or self-argument on the He would be just, point is most entertaining. but being both plaintiff and defendant, as well away.

as advocate

and judge of the question

at issue,

he can scarcely be credited with impartiality. However, the motives that he frankly acknowledges,

and the reasons he advances are most de-

lightfully pressed.

human,

The

and

most

entire passage

is

humorously exa quaint, and by

LAUNCELOT GOBBO no means unnatural,

105

between duty and inclination; the conclusion, as a matter of self-contention

course, being in favor of inclination.

me to run from mine elbow, and Jew, Launcelot to Gobbo, me, "Gobbo, tempts me, saying ôod Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away." My

my conscience will my master: the fiend

Certainly,

this

serve

is at

—

conscience says "No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or," as aforesaid, "honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with :hy heels."

—Well, the most courageous

fiend bids

me

pack via ! says the fiend away, says the fiend for the leavens rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and -un.

;

;

;

Well,

my

conscience, hanging about the neck

—

says very wisely to me "my honest Launcelot, being an honest man's son" or -ather an honest woman's son; for, indeed, my ather did something smack, something grow to, he Df

my

heart,

friend

lad

a

—

—

kind of taste;

—

well,

my

—

conscience

says

—

the

fiend; budge not;" "budge," says 'budge not," says my conscience. Conscience, say I, ôu counsel well fiend, say I, you counsel well to be •uled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew,

'Launcelot,

;

;

ny master, who. Heaven

bless the

mark!

is

a kind of

and, to run away from the Jew, I should be uled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the Ievil himself: certainly, the Jew is the very devil

ievil;

ncarnation, and, in

my

conscience,

my

conscience

is


io6

but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew the fiend gives the more friendly :

counsel

!

I will

run

fiend,

;

my

heels are at your

com-

I will run.

mandment,

However, Launcelot does not run; he

is

that violence to his conscientious scruples

spared

by the

unexpected advent of his father, an old Italian peasant, whose voice tance,

is

heard calling in the

dis-

and halts the would-be runaway.

Launcelot's decision of character

is

not very

marked, nor his resentments very strong, for in a moment his wrongs are forgotten, and he is designing a practical jest on his aged parent.

"O

heavens

begotten

I"

father;

he exclaims, "this

is

my

true-

who, being more than sand-

blind, high-gravel-blind,

knows me not:

—

I will

try confusions with him."

Old Gobbo, bent with feeling his

way by

age, almost blind,

and

the aid of a staff, hobbles on

the scene; he carries a small basket on his arm,

and ter

in a voice of "childish treble" cries:

young gentleman,

to master Jew's?"

I

pray you, which

is

"Masthe

way

LMJNCELOT GOBBO

107

Launcelot takes the old fellow by the shoulders,

and turns him

left,

and

first

to the right, then to the

round, giving

finally completely

him

somewhat confusing directions: "Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all, on your left; the

following,

marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down directly to the Jew's house."

Small

wonder that the old man exclaims:

"By God's

sonties, 'twill

However, he find his son,

is

and

be a hard

way

to hit."

seeking and most anxious to

as sOon as

he has recovered from

the jolting he has received at the hands of his

demonstrative informant, he asks him the following most extraordinary and confusing question:

"Can you

tell

me whether

one Launcelot, that

dwells with him, dwell with him, or no'?"

This

is

excellent matter for the

boy to try con-

fusions with, so he answers question with question,

prefacing

me now; now

it,

however, with an aside,

will I raise the waters.

"Mark

Talk you

of young Master Launcelot*?"

But the old man

will not

admit that his son


io8 is

entitled to the dignity of

"Master" Launcelot:

young gentleman, who certainly has a novel sense of humor, tells him that his son so that eccentric

is

The

dead.

sincere grief of the old

man

evi-

dently shames the boy, for he quickly changes his tone,

and asks:

Old Gobbo

am

"Do you know

pitifully

sand blind;

I

replies:

know you

me, father*?"

"Alack,

I

sir,

not."

This induces some shrewd observations from Launcelot, which are worthy of note:

you might fail of the knowing me a wise father that knows his own child."

had your it is

"If you

eyes,

:

down with his back to and continues: "Give me your bless-

Launcelot then kneels his father,

ing: truth will

come

to light,

murder cannot be

hid long, a man's son may, but in the end truth will out."

The

man

old

has been deceived once and hesi-

upon which Launcelot exclaims with some impatience "Pray you, let's have no more fooltates;

:

ing about

it,

but give

me

your blessing;

I

Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that

your child that shall be."

am is,

LAUNCELOT GOBBO man

the old

Still

is

not convinced, and pro-

"I cannot think you are

tests:

To

son."

my

which Launcelot answers:

what

I shall think of that;

gery,

your wife,

This lay his

my

is

109

but

know not

"I I

am

sure

Mar-

mother."

and Old Gobbo proceeds to hand upon his son's head to give him his is

blessing;

conclusive,

but Launcelot having knelt with his

back towards him, the paternal hand encounters ::he 1

back of the boy's head which

is

crowned with

luxurious growth of hair, and causes the old

nan Del

"Lord worshipp'd might he

to exclaim:

what a beard thou hast got: thou hast got

nore hair on thy chin than Dobbin, las

on

fill-horse,

his tail."

Which informs Door,"

my

Gobbo

is

us,

that

though

sufficiently well

"exceeding

off to

own

a

haft horse, and as he subsequently states, he has )rought a dish of doves as a present to Launceot's

master,

we may

infer that he

and

his wife

Vlargery cultivate a piece of ground, or a small

•arm outside the city; and possibly raise pigeons

md

doves, a not

uncommon

industry

among

the

no THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE Italian peasantry.

Having

established his iden-

with his father, Launcelot proceeds to tell him of his intention to run away from the Jew's tity

service,

and we gather

his reason to be, that he

does not get sufficient food to satisfy his youthful appetite; but perhaps the fact that the

new

Lord Bas-

engaging servants, and giving them liveries," may be the temptation.

sanio

is

The contemptuous this ignorant boy,

by word Jew are

"jcare

reference to the Jewish race

and

his

vulgar pun on the

significant indications of the general

prejudice against the Jews at this period; not only in Venice, but in all parts of the civilized world.

mine own part, as I have set run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master's a very Jew give him a present give him a halter I am famish in his servWell, well

up

my

;

but, for

rest to

;

!

;

every finger I have with my ribs. glad you are come give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare niew ice;

you may

Father, I

tell

am

;

liveries if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. rare fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for I am a Jew if I serve the

—O

;

—

Jew any

longer.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO The

interview between

Lord Bassanio

the

is

Old Gobbo,

in his son,

and

delightfully entertaining.

Launcelot's usual volubility halts in the presence Df the

young nobleman, and

his father's assistance

Decomes necessary to prefer the suit "impertinent" ;o

himself, and express "the very defect of the

natter."

However,

Launcelot

is

the

suit

is

granted,

instructed to take leave of his old

master, and report at the lodgings of his )loyer.

The

and

self-satisfaction of

ot at his success

new em-

Master Launce-

most humorously expressed,

is

and with an egotism equally amusing; while his optimistic views of the future, obtained from the lines

in his hand,

indicate a confidence in the

fcience of palmistry, <

loes

not share.

;

—

cannot get a service, no I have ne'er tongue Well, if any man in Italy have my fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book Father,

I

which the author evidently

in.

in

I

head.

—

;

!

—

--I shall have good fortune. Go to, here's a simple 1 ne of life here's a small trifle of wives alas fifteen wives is nothing! eleven widows and nine maids is a ;

;

{

imple coming-in for one

(

rowning

thrice,

and to be

man

;

and then

in peril of

my

!

to life

'scape

from


112

—

the edge of a feather bed, here are simple 'scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench

—

my

for this gear. Father, come; I'll take in the twinkling of an eye. Jew

leave of

the

Notwithstanding

his scruples of conscience that

much

caused him so

when we

anxiety,

first

met

him, Launcelot has not been entirely loyal to his master, and on leaving

we

find

him

secretly bear-

ing a letter from Jessica, the Jew's daughter, to

her young Christian lover, Lorenzo. sive requires a reply

bally,

it

man-

young Jewess, while bearher father, from his new mas-

His words

Bassanio.

rascal cleverly

to the

ing an invitation to ter,

mis-

which Launcelot obtains ver-

and the cunning young

ages to convey

The

are not brilliant, but

serve to indicate his ingenuity. Mistress, look out at window, for

There

will

come a Christian

all this;

by,

Will be worth a Jewess' eye.

Launcelot accompanies his new master to Bel-

mont, where on our next meeting we find him comfortably installed; very much at home, and in a

new

livery.

He

is still

bandying words with

LAUNCELOT GOBBO Jessica,

who

is

now

the wife of Lorenzo, and, in

absence of Portia,

:he

113

of the house.

mistress

His self-esteem seems to have grown his

service,

vocabulary has

new

in his

increased,

and he

with more authority, but with the same

.'.peaks

He

unfortunate propensity for punning.

is

ob-

by his "betters," and like many of small mind takes advantage of that fact

viously favored others

10 speak with a '"ôid

of impudence.

much, and

ior

freedom that

his

is

However,

not entirely de-

his

humor

atones

good-nature accomplishes the

lest.

The

dialogue quoted (with some slight elim-

iiations) tia's

below takes place

house (Act

3,

in the

Scene 5).

garden of Por-

It is

apparently

the continuation of a discussion of the old theme c

f

Jessica's

parentage,

Launcelot taking a I

recept in her case.

f

ither are to be laid

Laun.

and her

literal

sins

father's

;

view of the scriptural

Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the

upon the children

;

therefore, I

I was always plain with you, p romise you, I fear you. a id so now I speak my agitation of the matter theref )re, be of good cheer for, truly, I think thou art ;

;


114

damned.

There

is

but one hope in

it

that can

do you

any good. Jess.

Laun.

And what hope is Marry, you may

that, I

pray thee?

partly hope that

you are

not the Jew's daughter. Jess. So the sins of

my mother should be visited on me. Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by father and mother; thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis,

your mother;

are gone both ways. I shall be saved by Jess. made me a Christian.

my

well,

you

husband; he hath

the more to blame he; we were enow before; e'en as many as could well This making of Christians will live, one by another. raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-

Laun.

Truly,

Christians

eaters,

we

shall not shortly

have a rasher on the coals

for money.

The

of

entrance

Launcelot's

calamitous

gentleman having ter's

Lorenzo

little

puts

an

predictions,

end

and

to

that

appreciation of the lat-

verbal fooling, directs him.

"Go

in, sirrah

:

bid them prepare for dinner."

To which "That

is

the irrepressible Launcelot replies:

done, sir; they have all stomachs."

With some

impatience,

Lorenzo

exclaims:

LAUNCELOT GOBBO "Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper bid them prepare dinner."

115

art thou

then

!

This does not discourage the boy, who sponds

:

"That

done

is

too, sir; only, cover

is

re-

the

word." Lorenzo, with some irritation, seeks to bring :his

equivocation to a close, and

directions with emphasis:

stand a plain 'ellows, bid ]neat,

man

in his plain

will

come

The imperturbable )f

<

Launcelot

is

gives his

"I pray thee, under-

them cover the

and we

now

meaning; go to thy table, serve in the

in to dinner."

self-esteem

and good-nature

proof, however, against censure or

jarcasm; and with unruffled gravity he replies 'vith

humorous

iteration:

"For the

fhall be served in; for the meat,

table, sir,

sir,

it

covered; for your coming in to dinner, 1st it

it

shall be sir,

why,

be as humors and conceits shall govern."

And having

thus delivered himself, Launcelot

iiakes a dignified exit from the scene.

Lorenzo's apostrophe to Launcelot's discourse i; t

an admirable summary of the shallow mind,

lat mistakes the

mere jugglery of words for

wit.


ii6

was a favorite method of Shakespeare's to furnish humor in his "simples" and serving men,

It

and proved an amusing diversion but, in others,

it is

in their

mouths

:

the unconscious tribute that

ignorance and incapacity pays to knowledge and distinction.

Lor.

O

dear discretion, how his words are suited! fool hath planted in his memory

The

An army

A

many

of good words and I do know fools that stand in better place, ;

Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word

Defy the

matter.

Launcelot makes one more brief appearance, to

announce the early return of Bassanio to Belmont, and as a harbinger of glad tidings we leave

him

in the service of a noble

master and a gra-

cious mistress.

The

business of the Shakespearean clowns

traditional.

dians

It has

is

been handed down by come-

from generation

to

generation.

It

was

familiar to every stage manager of experience, in the days of the resident stock

company; and any

departure from the conventional business of these

Charles Charters as "Launcelot Gobbo" in "The Merchant of

Venice"

LAUNCELOT GOBBO parts

was,

proval,

until

recently,

and regarded

117

viewed with disap-

as presumption.

A

most interesting and unique performance of Launcelot Gobbo was given some years ago by that sterling character actor, Mr. Robert Peyton associated

with

Miss Maude

Carter,

so

\dams.

was the Shylock of the performance to refer. Mr. Carter's Launcelot was not a

ivhich I )oy,

long

I

but a humorous and mischievous young man.

At no time during

the performance, even

when

rembling with fear before his master, was a smile absent from his face; with this result, the audience vere smiling all the time Launcelot

You

was

in view.

knew, as you looked at him during his

self-

argument between duty and inclination, that his aind was already made up to run away, and that Ids conscientious scruples (if he really ever had 1

ny) were overcome before he uttered them. His his father, when he misdirects jiractical jest with :

1

;

im

to the Jew's house, indicated that

sample of the pranks the young

it

was but

man had

playec/


ii8

upon him

and the bright twinkle in young mistress called him "a merry

all his life,

his eyes as his

devil" connoted a thousand tricks that the

young had played during the term of his service in the Jew's house and robbed that somewhat dreary rascal

residence of

"taste of tediousness."

on the delivery of Jessica's to Lorenzo was original and good ; his exag-

Mr. letter

its

Carter's business

gerated obeisance to the several friends in

company

with that gentleman being particularly characteristic

and happy.

In the last act of the comedy, too

frequently omitted in representation, Mr. Carter's appreciation of Shakespearean

humor was mani-

The importance of vanity in his "rare new

new employment,

fest.

his

his

livery,"

and confidence

of privileged service were delightfully presented, and rounded out a performance as notable as it

was consistent and

effective.

"The Merchant of Venice" held an important place in the repertoire of the late Mr. Richard Mansfield.

In discussing the various characters

in the play with that distinguished gentleman, he

LAUNCELOT GOBBO told

me he

considered the Launcelot

119

Gobbo of Mr.

A. G. Andrews, of his company, the best he had ever seen.

Andrews

It

did not surprise me, for I

knew Mr.

and painstaking artist, studying out to the most minute detail every point Mr. of his make-up, costume and business. to be a thorough

Andrews presented Launcelot as a boy to whom His costume life was a very serious problem. was extremely characteristic; his doublet and trunks were worn and patched, his hose seamed and darned, and his sandal-shoes with their leather straps

had seen

service

his first entrance

from

hard and long.

He made

his master's house hastily,

then looked round fearfully and, finding himself

unobserved, sat

down upon

the

door-step

and

self-communion as to the justice of In other respects he leaving his master's service.

seriously held

followed

the

Dut nothing

traditional

business

of the part;

was exaggerated, rather subdued;

his

as a possible )bject being to present Launcelot

luman

being,

and not an impossible clown,

as

nany comedians have done. The humor of the oart was always present, never intruded, but con-

120


veyed naturally and without being a well proportioned and ance.

effort:

the result

artistic

perform-

CITIZEN IN

JULIUS CiESAR

THE

tragedy of "Julius Csesar"

in theme, so heroic in sentiment

n

principle, that

humor would

propriate factor in

manhood

:ude of

its

sm and

so exalted

and

so noble

scarcely be an ap-

composition.

The magni-

that the author has brought into

;uch striking contrast )letely sustained,

is

and juxtaposition

is

and the elements of lofty

so

com-

patriot-

civic virtue are preserved so exclusively,

:hat the lesser qualities

and conditions of

life are

Iwarfed into insignificance.

The

\ntony, Csesar, ire ;

Marcus Brutus, Cassius, Marc Casca, Trebonius and the others,

characters of

cast in such "heroic

mold," that they repre-

ent "the highest heaven of invention," and like !;!horus,

in the prologue to

veil ask: 121

"Henry V," we might


122

A

kingdom

for a stage, princes to act to behold the swelling scene!

And monarchs

However, before the great personages in the drama make their appearance, Shakespeare has given us an illustration of the character of the

Roman

populace, and has introduced an episode

that serves as a foundation for the later incidents,

and

at the

same time furnishes an excellent exam-

ple of broad

comedy and wholesome humor.

It is in the first scene of the play,

simply described as "Rome.

which

is

A Street." A num-

ber of citizens are assembled; a typical crowd of

mechanics, artisans, serving-men, and

idlers,

who

are awaiting the advent of the procession to the

ceremonies of the feast of the Lupercal.

They

are good-naturedly but somewhat boisterously

and shouting, when they are interrupted by the approach of two of the tribunes, Flavins •and MaruUus, who in turn silence, reprove and jostling,

question them. indialogue between the characters briefly forms us of the sumptuary laws of Rome at that

The

period,

and indicates the sentiments and

relations

CITIZEN IN JULIUS CESAR that existed

123

between the patricians and the com-

Tion people.

In the assemblage, two only of the citizens reply to the questions of the tribunes; they

10

names

have

in the list of characters, but are simply

distinguished as "First" and "Second" citizens.

The

an ordinary mechanic, dis:inguished by no especial feature from the rest of he crowd; but the wit and humor of the second first

^varrants

In I

citizen

some

is

description.

many places

that I have visited, I have found

local wit or jester.

The community

proud of him, and he

/ery

all social

own

is

is

usually

brought forward on

occasions to sustain the reputation of the

for humor,

and

its

appreciation.

These

al-

eged wits vary in condition, but never in charac-

.

eristic. ;

They

are usually fat, ruddy- faced

and

jood-natured, with a stock of well-seasoned wit ind fully matured stories which they exploit elate

much

to their

own

satisfaction

and

and the ad-

niration of their local admirers, but not always

o the enjoyment of the .

ay

is

visitor.

Whatever they

supposed to be witty, and they are at

all


124

times ready for a verbal passage at arms with any one who has the temerity to challenge them. This

type

not

is

an one

I

but occasionally one meets a is both mellow and keen. Such

rare,

who

natural wit

imagine the individual to be

under the

title

who

appears

of the "Second Citizen" in "Julius

Cffisar."

The man

is

a cobbler by trade, and a wit by

nature; his replies to the questions of the tribunes are respectful, but each of

them

is

accompanied

which in the presentation of the play is followed by a hearty laugh from his fellows, to

by a

jest

indicate

their

appreciation,

and

his

popularity

with them.

The

scene, as I before observed,

is

brief

and

largely self-explanatory; I therefore give the text in full without further Flavius.

comment:

Hence! home, you home.

idle creatures, get

you

Is this a holiday?

What! know you

not,

Being mechanical, you ought not walk, ''"';'" ''

Upon a laboring day, Of your profession? art thou?

without the sign Speak, what trade

CITIZEN IN JULIUS CAESAR First Cit.

Why, sir, a carpenter. Where is thy leather

Marullus.

125

apron, and thy

rule?

What

dost thou with thy best apparel

on?

You,

Second

Cit.

what trade are you?

sir,

sir, in

Truly,

respect of a fine work-

nan, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Marullus. But what trade art thou? Answer

me

iirectly.

Second Aîth )f

Cit.

A

trade,

a safe conscience

bad

;

I hope, I

sir, that,

which

is

indeed,

sir,

may a

use

mender

soles.

What trade, thou knave? thou naughty what trade? cnave, Second Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out vith me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Marullus.

Marullus.

What

mean'st thou by that?

hou saucy fellow? Second Cit. Why, Flavius.

.

Thou

sir,

Mend

me,

cobble you.

art a cobbler, art thou?

Second Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor

iwl

:

vomen's matters but with awl.

I

am

indeed,

sir,

a

urgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon leats-leather have gone upon my handiwork. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? Flavius. Why dost thou lead these men about the

'.

streets ?


126

Second

Cit.

get myself into

Truly,

sir,

more work.

to

wear out their shoes, to But indeed, sir, we make

holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.

The

cobbler's reply brings even a

more severe

reproof from the tribunes, but trumpets are heard in the distance, the procession

is

seen approaching,

and the censures of the patricians

are

unheeded

as

the citizens disperse in the direction of the coming spectacle.

An amusing

incident occurred in a notable per-

formance of "Julius Csesar" given some years ago in

San Francisco.

As a matter of

interest I

mention the cast of

the principal characters, all of the actors having since passed away.

Brutus

Mr. Edwin Booth

Cassius

Mr. Barton Hill

Marc Antony. .Mr. John McCullough .

Julius Casar

Mr. Henry Edwards

All of these characters, with others, enter on the first

scene in a procession returning from the games

of the Lupercal, and are followed by a crowd of

CITIZEN IN JULIUS CiESAR i:itizens.

Caesar, impressed

by an

act of

127

marked

discourtesy on the part of the lean

Marc Antony to his "Let me have men about me

Cassius, calls

claims

:

;vlr.

that are fat."

two comedians playing the First Second Citizens, Mr. C. B. Bishop and

Upon :ind

and hungry side, and ex-

the

this,

William

Mestayer,

both

of

very robust

and each turning the scales at 250 pounds least, advanced, one on either side of Csesar,

Jigures,

at

and placing

their

hands on

and pro-

their rotund

man

truding stomachs, looked up at the great as

much

as to say,

"Well! here

is

just

what you

^vant."

Of (

course, this interpolation of business caused

onsiderable

ihe actors,

amusement both

for the audience

and

and completely destroyed the dignity

of the scene; but both gentlemen were great personal favorites with the public, and their

little

joke was tolerated by their indulgent friends as I

n evidence of their

i

bsurd and inappropriate introduction.

eccentricity, in spite of its

The two comedians have long ^

reat majority," their exuberant

since joined "the

humor

is

but a


128

memory, but

it is still

affectionately cherished in

the sphere in which they lived.

The

appear on several occasions during

citizens

the progress of the tragedy, notably, in the Senate

scene at the assassination of Csesar, and later, in the market-place, where they are addressed in turn

by Brutus and Marc Antony.

Their lines are

merely acquiescent to the sentiments of the principal characters; but tJiere

me

struck in

Act

3,

as

humorous

Scene

is

one line that always

in the extreme.

2, after the first

part of

body of

Csesar.

tony's address over the

It occurs

Marc An-

Antony, overcome apparently by emotion, pauses in his eloquent argument in defense of his dead friend,

when

"Me-

the First Citizen sagely remarks:

thinks there

much

is

which our old

reason in his sayings."

friend, the

Second Citizen

To

replies:

"If thou consider rightly of the matter, Csesar

hath had great wrong." It

is

to this last speech that I refer.

His ab-

surdly inadequate expression of sympathy for the great

man who

whose body

lies

has been so foully murdered, and before

him covered with wounds,

CITIZEN IN JULIUS CAESAR always seemed to

me

to carry with

it

129

a sense of

the ridiculous, that I could never completely over-

come; although £e,

it is

I

am

prepared to admit that, per

not inappropriate to the limited

intelli-

^;ence of the speaker.

There

same 1

is

act in

a brief episode in the next scene of the

which the

citizens again appear, that

as a delightful touch of satirical

humor.

It oc-

curs after the people have been aroused to venge-

ance against the conspirators by the address of

Antony, and are seeking the assassins in

lÎarc

tie streets of the city.

Among many

the crowd

suspicious

Cinna, the poet, by V'ho is seized and assailed by a perfect volley of questions from the excited multitude; to which he

persons accosted

is

"What is my name? Whither am I goWhere do I dwell? Am I a married man bachelor? Then to answer every man di-

r plies:

ing?

c r<

I

a

ctly,

and

and truly wisely

am a bachelor." To this our ever-humorous

Citizen, ai

briefly, wisely,

id

who

is

;

I say,

friend the Second

one of the foremost in the crowd,

evidently a married man, responds in charac-

130


teristic

fashion

"That's as

:

much

are fools that marry; you'll bear

as to say, they

me

a bang for

that, I fear."

Further questioning reveals the name of the captured

man

be Cinna, which being also the

to

name of one of

the conspirators, for

mistaken, the crowd cry is

whom

"Tear him to

:

he

is

he

pieces,

a conspirator!"

The poor

Cinna, the poet; I

am

am

"I

fellow, however, protests:

Cinna, the poet."

Cinna's poetry does not appear to be highly appreciated by the people, or he has unfortunately

encountered an unsympathetic the citizens exclaims: verses; tear

him

for his

critic,

for one of

"Tear him for

bad

Again the poet protests

bad

verses."

"I

:

his

am

not Cinna, the

conspirator."

Whatever

justice there

may have

fate adjudged the poor poet lace,

been in the

by the enraged popu-

our ingenuous friend, the Second Citizen,

is

no

not without mercy, and he proposes:

"It

matter; his name's Cinna; pluck but his

name out

of his heart, and turn him going."

is

CITIZEN IN JULIUS CiESAR Which £

131

suggests the significance of the trite old

dage, "Save us from our friends."

In a memorable production of "Julius Csesar," at Booth's Theater,

New

York, in the early seven-

a most excellent actor, Mr. Charles Leclerq,

t es,

played the Second Citizen, and gave

it

an impor-

tance and significance I had never before witnessed.

Mr. Leclerq was nitural manner

tall

F[is conceptions

were the result of well-digested

tliought,

p

and

his

incisive

Surrounded by

ete.

el

rather

figure;

and

his

than unctuous.

performances rounded and com-

ccnfident of their nc

and of spare

homely fellows, and support, he was important but his

and impressed his audience with the aracteristics I have endeavored to describe, so

tt

intrusive,

that,

when one

left the theater, in spite

of the

OAcrwhelming predominance of the other characte s, Mr. Leclerq's performance of the homely old

Roman

cobbler lingered in the memory.

THE CLOWN IN

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA that most excellent

work

entitled "Studies in

INShakespeare,"

by Richard Grant White, the author gives some sound advice to students and readers of the poet, which I most heartily indorse :

"Don't skip small parts, such rustics, etc.; read them all."

as servants, clowns,

This suggestion cannot be too emphatically impressed upon the minds of young readers, who,

eager for the development of the plot or for the

main points of

the story, frequently neglect or

omit the minor parts, deeming them non-essential This is to be deplored to the interest of the play.

;

for

Shakespeare has placed

many

of his

best

thoughts and most pointed epigrams in the mouths of comparatively unimportant characters; so that to pass over or neglect these passages 132

is

to lose

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

IN nany

beauties of thought,

and a fund of

iection,

From

the rich

much

philosophic re-

characteristic

mine of

133

humor.

his transcendent genius,

he poet has drawn such a wealth of wit and wis-

dom, that he has endowed the peasant as liberally as the prince, and the clown as the courtier; the J

lashes of brilliancy that sparkle in the repartee of

homely humor in the eimple dialogue of the peasant, and the compliment of the courtier is bluntly expressed in the ihe prince

become

bits of

lugged honesty of the clown. iig and appropriate, c

is

The

fitted to the

garb, becom-

wearer; the

oublet to the one, the smock to the other.

In

all

of his rustic and humorous characters,

Shakespeare has been most conservative of their jossibilities;

probably from the fact that prior to

and also during his early career on the the clown monopolized the attention of the

his time, s

age,

a iidience to the exclusion of the serious interest of t le

play,

c iture

and was usually a most exaggerated

cari-

without sense or significance.

Shakespeare felt this condition keenly and exiressed

himself emphatically on the subject; espe-

134


daily in the prince's instructions to the player in

Hamlet (Act

Scene 2.)

3,

to reform the evil,

He

by keeping

comedian within the

set

himself about

the clown

limits of "the

and the

modesty of

nature."

The

brief sketch of the bucolic

tony and Cleopatra" in character,

and

is

it is

clown

distinctly Shakespearean

to be regretted that he does

While

not appear at greater length in the play. the tragedy

is

located in Egypt, the clown

tially English,

clodhopper,

and

many

is

of

"An-

in

is

essen-

a capital type of the country

whom

still

survive in remote

English villages to-day, and such as the poet saw daily at Stratford

This clown

is

when

a boy.

a stockily-built, ruddy-faced man,

with a shock head of

hair, dressed in a

or coarse canvas smock,

homespun

awkwardly stamping

into

the apartment, stolidly indifferent to conditions or

environment, bent only on the execution of his commission, which

is

to bring "the pretty

worm

of

Nilus, that kills and pains not," concealed in a

basket of

figs to

some unknown lady.

He

is

in-

IN


135

sensible to the significance of his errand, ignorant

of

design, but honest in his

warning as to the dangerous character of the worm; and what a its

powerful dramatic contrast

is

presented by the in-

troduction of this dense, slow-witted fellow as an

instrument to bring the means of death to the imperious "Sorceress of the Nile,"

despairing

now

woman; "Tho' uncrowned,

a hopeless

yet

still

a

queen and daughter of a king." At first he is denied admission by the soldier guards, but he creates such a disturbance, and the contents of his basket appear to be so harmless, that

on the queen's intervention, the clown

is

per-

mitted to enter her presence.

The lis

fellow

is

ignorant of the exalted rank of

patron, and entirely lacking in reverence, for

pays the queen no deference, but gabbles on

le

;ensible of dismissal ill

his tale

is

and oblivious

in-

to interruption

finished.

"Hast thou the pretty worm To which he replies: "Truly

Cleopatra asks: of Nilus there?" '

have him; but

I

would not be the party that

136


should desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those that do die of it do seldom or never recover."

The

perversion of language in the above

and

licious,

to

my mind

is

de-

equal to anything that

Dogberry says in "Much Ado About Nothing"; and is another example of Shakespeare's favorite method of expressing humor by the misuse of words by

his

clowns and

fools.

Ignoring the warning of the clown, the queen

"Rememb'rest thou any that

eagerly inquires:

have died

on't'?"

I

:

terday ; a very honest to

lie,

the garrulous old

"Very many, men and women, heard of one of them no longer than yes-

fellow responds too.

To which

as a

of honesty ;

pain she

woman should not do but in the way how she died of the biting of it, what

felt.

port of the

woman, but something given

Truly she makes a very good

worm but ;

he that will believe

re-

all that

they say, shall never be saved by half that they do."

The

unconscious but direct reference to Cleo-

patra herself in the above

is

passed without notice,


IN

or in the extremity of her grief, unperceived; the clown

But

is

137

and

dismissed.

the fellow

is

not to be gotten rid of so

easily ; he starts to go, but returns repeatedly with

continued warnings as to the dangerous character of the

and "Give

trusted," is

"Look you, the worm

worm:

it

is

not to be

nothing, I pray you, for

it

not worth the feeding."

To "Will

this it

last

admonition, Cleopatra inquires:

eat me*?"

as a reflection

The clown

on himself, and

takes this question replies

with some

"You must not think I am so simple, but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman; I know that a woman is a dish for the

emphasis:

gods, if the devil dress her not.

But, truly, these

5ame whoreson devils do the gods great harm in

women, for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five." And with the parting saluta-

their

tion:

"I wish you joy of the

worm," the clown

inally takes his departure.

Ordinary students of Shakespeare must have loted that in spite of the fact that the poet has

138


given us some of the noblest ideals of womanhood, there are passages in his plays of the keenest satire,

and

bitterest denunciation of

How the sex

far his

own

may have

women.

unfortunate experience with

influenced his mind,

my purpose to discuss here spoken by the clown, that cannot but think there

is

;

it is

not

but in the two passages I

have quoted above,

I

an echo from the heart of

the man, that as the poet sounds the key-note of

an uncongenial marriage, an unappreciative mistress, and a friend's duplicity.

It

is

two great "Julius Csesar" and "Antony and Cleo-

interesting to note, that in the

tragedies,

patra," the only scenes of humor, in both instances

equally brief, are placed, in the former at the be-

ginning of the play, and in the latter almost at conclusion.

its

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS IN

HAMLET "Has this fellow no feeling of his business^ that he sings at grave-making?" would

ITyard

scarcely

seem possible that a grave-

attached to a church, with a half-dug

grave in the foreground, for the scene; midnight or near thereto, for the time ; a pickax, a spade, a

heap of fresh earth, some human skulls and bones for the properties; and two grave-diggers for the dramatis personse would furnish a location and material for

comedy and humor, yet

in the first

scene of the fifth act of the tragedy of "Hamlet,"

Shakespeare has taken these materials and con-

and given us a series of incidents, a variety of character, and a dialogue replete with the most

ditions,

delightful comedy, brilliant repartee, ready wit

and subtle humor. 139

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE The circumstances are these: A young lady

140

attached to the court of the

The

been drowned.

general opinion being that

In the time of Shake-

she committed suicide. speare,

and prior

King of Denmark has

thereto, such unfortunates

were

Their remains were

denied Christian burial.

in-

terred outside of consecrated ground without service or

any of the

rites

of the Church.

In fact,

it

bury them at the intersection of the highways, very deeply, and to drive a strong

was not unusual

to

The

stake through the body.

object of this bar-

barous proceeding being, to empale and destroy the evil

spirit,

which the prevailing superstition

supposed to be in possession of the suicide. In the present instance, the King has commanded that the remains of the unfortunate lady should be

buried in the consecrated ground of the churchyard.

The King's command, and accepted

violating all the ancient

traditions of the church, arouses the

indignation of the old sexton, office

of grave-digger.

To

who combines

this

the

personage Shake-

such speare has given such a strong individuality,

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS

141

a pungency of wit and wealth of humor, together

with such delightful touches of nature, making it so true to life, that I cannot but think the poet

must have had a prototype and experience. list

and

his

Clowns

own

observation

of characters in the play this person-

In the age

in his

assistant

are

set

down

as

"Two

Grave-diggers," but modern editors

as

have separated them

in the cast,

and called them

"First and Second Grave-diggers."

has been adopted in

all the

This method

acting editions, and

in the following observations I shall so designate

them.

The

first

found in

grave-digger

many

is

of a type that

may

of our country villages to-day,

be

—

a quaint sententious old fellow "dressed in a little brief authority,"

He two

has a

and

full of his

own

importance.

knowledge of law, quotes one or phrases in Latin incorrectly, and

little

legal

preaches a crude idea of socialism to his younger assistant,

much

to the

simple individual,

awe and admiration of that

who

addresses

his

edged superior as "Goodman delver."

acknowl-


142

I picture the old fellow in

my mind

as robust

of figure, ruddy of feature, with distinct evidences

of bibulous taste on his nose and cheeks, a humorous twinkle in his eyes, in spite of an assumed

homely smock of the peasant of that place and period, and about fifty dressed

severity,

years of age.

in

He

the

has the courage of his con-

victions for he has seldom

found any one to com-

bat them, so he advances his arguments with the authority of one whose dictum tioned.

Should these

command

fail

is

not to be ques-

him, however, he can

the respect of his fellows

by a ready

tongue and homely wit, as exampled in his dialogue with his subordinate, and later with Prince

Hamlet.

He

is

no respecter of persons

questions of

Hamlet being

:

his replies to the

and

as straightforward

blunt as those to his peasant companion, while his replications in the

exchange of wit with the

former indicate so much irreverence and independence, that

it

draws from the Prince the

cant observation:

"By

signifi-

the Lord, Horatio,

.

.

.

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS the age

is

grown

143

so picked that the toe of the

peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe."

The

character of the old sexton bears in

some

5mall degree a resemblance to that of "Dogberry" ;n

"Much Ado About Nothing,"

mce, but

it is

more

in its self-import-

consistent, less bombastic,

and

lever servile.

Our

first

acquaintance with the old fellow

is

nade at the beginning of the first scene of the ifth act of the play, when he enters the churchyard followed by his

and a mattock. •

assistant,

That

his

who carries

mind

he violation of ancient traditions

liis first

liis

follower:

which

A/ith

disturbed by

is is

evidenced in

speech given in the form of a question to "Is she to be buried in Christian

burial that willfully seeks her 'ô

a spade

own

his assistant, evidently a

salvation*?"

younger man,

the assurance of accurate information, re-

"I

j'lies:

tell

thee she

is;

and therefore make her

^

rave straight: the crowner hath sat on her and

i

nds

it

Christian burial."

144


Now

comes the inherent love of argument in "How can that be, unless she the old man:

drowned

herself in her

The younger man tion,

but

"Why,

'tis

defense"?"

has no reply to this proposi-

contents

found

own

with

himself

To

so."

reiteration:

the ordinary peasant

of the time this would have concluded the matter,

but the sexton,

who

has small respect for the

verdict of the crowner's quest,

and perceiving an

opportunity to expound his wisdom, proceeds with his argument. It requires little imagination to realize the

pom-

posity of the sturdy old stickler for tradition, as

he emphasizes his points; or to note the syllabic orotundity with which he utters the Latin phrase that he has probably heard in some legal proceedings,

awe

and memorized f6r use his adversary

at a future time, to

with his learning; and to ob-

serve the originality of his logic in the conclusion

that the lady's death was not accidental.

must be

'se

here

the point: if I

it

lies

offendendo';

it

cannot be

drown myself

else.

"It

For

wittingly,

argues an act: and an act hath three branches;

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS it

and

to act, to do,

is,

to perform: argal, she

drowned herself wittingly." His assistant is not without some in spite

145

self-assertion

of Latin and logic, and makes a valiant

attempt to enter a protest against the old man's conclusions.

prejudiced

"Nay,

but

But the goodman

hear

you,

will not be

ôodman

delver."

ulenced

with flattery nor does he propose

to

lonor his youthful disputant with more controversy,

but proceeds to demonstrate his theory in

practical fashion.

I

down on

his

spade he lays

it

the smooth turf of the church-yard, ex-

"Here

)laining:

some

Taking

lies

the water; good."

Then

from the spade he stands he pick or mattock on end: "Here stands the man, good," and taking a position between the two It

little

mplements, 1

distance

with judicial gravity, he delivers

limself as follows

:

and drown himself, ;

nark you that ; but

"If the it is

if

man go

will he, nill he, he goes;

the water

come

drown him, he drowns not himself: s

not guilty of his

own

life."

to this water

own death

to

him and

argal, he that

shortens not his


146

This demonstration almost convinces the rustic skeptic,

but he

in

still

is

doubt

"But

aspect of the case, and inquires:

"Ay, marry,

is't;

as to the legal is

this

law^"

crowner's quest law," concludes

the old man.

Finding no argument to combat this conclusion, the young fellow falls back on the elemental socialistic question of

you

human

ha' the truth on't'?

inequality.

If this

"Will

had not been a

gentlewoman, she should have been buried out

The

Christian burial." this proposition,

more

forcible

old fellow fully indorses

and emphasizes

example,

o'

though,

it

with a

perhaps

still

some

not recognize the advantages of the special "Why, there thou sayest: and privileges quoted.

may

more pity that great folks should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, the

more spade."

than

The

even-Christian.

their

old

man

Come,

my

takes his spade, but before

of proceeding to work, asserts the natural dignity his trade, and bemoans the degeneracy of the age ;

which provokes the following equivoque

:

bit of delightful

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 1st Gra.

147

There is no ancient gentlemen but garand grave-makers: they hold up

ditchers

deners,

Adam's profession. 2nd Gra. Was he a gentleman? 1st Gra.

2nd Gra. 1st

Gra.

A' the

first

that ever bore arms.

Why, he had What,

none.

How

art a heathen?

dost thou

understand the Scripture? The Scripture says digged Could he dig without arms ?

Adam

:

After a hearty laugh at the

jest,

the old fellow

propounds a conundrum, a very popular form of

mtertainment among simple country ever, to realize the significance

the preceding dialogue, it full >f

picture in one's

1

:

How-

of the riddle and

essential to

have the

the solemn background

the church, the grim environment of the old

lieadstones :

mind

is

wits.

and tombs, ghostlike

in the

midnight

hadows, the newly made grave waiting for enant, the odor of the fresh earth,

its

and the homely

i

gures of the two sextons with the dismal tools

(

f their trade,

irast c

form a combination

with the humor of the dialogue, and yet in

amplete harmony with the

"he

in strong con-

spirit

of the occasion,

old grave-digger standing with one foot on

his spade, his eyes sparkling

with humor, empha-


148 sizes

with his index finger the question that

is

to

confuse the wits of his younger assistant; the other leaning on the mattock listens with parted

eager to catch

lips,

ever)'-

word, and match his wit

against that of the veteran humorist.

"What

is

he that builds stronger than either

the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?"

The young man

puzzled for a moment,

is

scratches his head, then with a look of triumph,

"The gallows-maker;

answers quickly:

for that

frame outlives a thousand tenants." It

a good answer and the old fellow

is

slow to acknowledge one, so the

man

momentary

How

effort.

young one

and how

deliciously

follows:

faith:

it is

not the correct

satisfaction of the

young

The

the old fellow chuckles as

wrestles with the knotty problem,

egotist's superior

that

but

not

turned to chagrin, and his wits spurred to

is

another the

it,

is

is

the patronage of the old

wisdom expressed

"I

like

thy wit well,

in

good

how does it do ill now thou

gallows does well: but

well?

It does well to those that

dost

to say the gallows

ill

in the passage

is

:

built stronger than

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS the church

:

argal

:

the gallows

149

may do well

to thee.

To't again, come."

The young man

repeats the proposition

:

"Who

stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a

r;niilds

and ruefully struggles to find another But his mental faculties are dull, reply.

carpenter*?" :itting t is

;

beyond him, he has to confess

it,

and the old

rellow does not spare him, but accentuates his

riumph, and completes the poor fellow's humili-

1

ation

him

by giving the answer, and then dismissing

to fetch a stoop of liquor.

"Cudgel thy brains no more about (lull ass

will not

when you I (

mend

his

it,

for your

pace with beating, and

are asked this question next, say *a

;rave-maker'

:

the houses that he

makes

last till

Go, get thee to Yaughan, fetch

oomsday.

me

a

stoop of liquor."

The thie (

traditional business at this point

for

old grave-digger to remove with great delib-

ration a

colors

number of

and

vests or waist-coats of various

patterns, carefully fold

£t one side, c

was

and then

roll

up

and lay them

his sleeves before

escending into the uncompleted grave to proceed


150 with

his

This absurd piece of business has,

work.

however, long since been discarded, and the actor of

to-day

the

plays

with

part

more

appro-

priate action, consistent with the character, and

within scope of

human

Laying

possibility.

his

spade and pick by the side of the grave he gradually lowers himself into of a

effort

man

it

of his age,

man-like manner proceeds

first

with his pick, then to throw

it

with the natural

then in a workto loosen the earth out, together with

the skulls and bones as the dialogue calls for them,

chanting the words of the old ballad at the proper

and punctuating his singing with the strokes of his mattock, and the work of the spade. cues,

It

emphasizing the

is

effort,

at this point that Prince

Hamlet and

his

friend Horatio appear outside of the low wall

that

encloses

the

grave-yard.

Seeing

man's grim occupation, and hearing

his

the

old

humorous

song, the incongruity of the proceeding surprises

the Prince,

who

inquires of his friend:

"Has

this

fellow no feeling of his business that he sings at

grave-making?"

To which

Horatio sagely

re-

Louis James as "Pepe"

in

"Francesco da Rimini"

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS plies:

"Custom hath made

it

ip

him a property

in

of easiness."

Unconscious of observation, the sexton continues his iârth,

M\t

work and

his song,

throwing out the

some human bones, and two chapless skulls; the Prince and his friend look on and

on the gruesome relics that are so The secirreverently handled by the old man. ond skull thrown from the grave is about to roll

])hilosophize

:.way,

when

the sexton strikes

spade to imbed

it

it

sharply with his

in the soft, fresh earth.

This

apparent brutal indifference to the grim remains c

f

poor mortality

tive philosophy f

is

the subject of further specula-

on the part of the Prince, who

nally steps over the wall, advances to the side

cf the grave, and addresses the grave-digger, aski:ig:

I

"Who's

grave's this, sirrah'?"

imagine the old

man

q jestion so frequently,

has been asked this

and by

all

manner of peo-

p le, that he has grown impatient at the query, and V ith scarcely a glance at his questioner he answers ajruptly,

"Mine,

a id his song.

sir,"

and continues

his

work


152

when

recall

I

was a very small boy,

I

liv-

ing in an English country village, an old cobbler,

whose shop, or rather stall, was on the street by which I went to school.

and

quaint, good-natured old fellow,

I

side of the

He

was a

would

fre-

quently stop, watch him at work and talk to him.

He

All of his work was done by hand. to

were

the

at

sit

all

used

end of a low bench on which

and

of his materials

tools,

in

little

He

wore a large pair of spectacles with horn frames, and would bend over a wooden last, held fast to his knee by a

square compartments.

circular leathern strap

from

his foot,

make

holes

with an awl, insert and draw the

wax end

as he attached the

upper to the

sole of the shoe

he was making.

used to regard him with great

interest,

I

knew

I

and wonder

at his dexterity

and

tightly,

rapidity.

practically everybody in the village,

and

|

with boyish curiosity would ask the old cobbler

who

the shoes were for.

reply:

"Mr. Wearem."

some time,

as I

He

would invariably

This puzzled

knew no one of

ultimately I comprehended:

it

that

me

for

name; but

was a reproof

to

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS

153

man's standing jest, and a whimsical evasion of the question he was asked

my

curiosity, the old

a parallel in

I find

so frequently.

and the grave-digger's reply

bler's jest

old cob-

my

Ham-

to

let.

The

however,

Prince,

silenced

by

is

this discourtesy,

that bluntly

charges

not disposed to be

but makes a rejoinder

the old

man

with a

-lie.

Against this accusation the grave-digger stoutly defends himself, and makes countercharge with a

shrewd wit in a dialogue replete with ingenious Dunning, and a crude logic that carries his point,

md

who

compels recognition from the Prince,

diplomatically changes the subject.

To "Jie

facilitate the reader's appreciation, I

quote

dialogue that follows the grave-digger's reply :

Ham.

You

Gra. ôurs

:

for

Ham. hine:

hou

think

I

my

be thine indeed, for thou

liest in't.

out on't, sir, and therefore part, I do not lie in't and yet, it

Thou

'tis

it

lie

dost

lie in't,

to be in't

and

'tis

is

not

mine.

to say

it is

for the dead, not for the quick: therefore

liest.

Gra.

'Tis a quick

ne to you.

lie,

sir,

'twill

away again from


154

Ham.

What man

Gra.

For no man,

Ham. Gra.

Ham. Gra.

dost thou dig

What woman For none

Who One

is

that

it

for ?

sir.

,

then?

neither.

to be buried in't ?

was a woman

sir,

but, rest her soul,

she's dead.

Ham.

How

long hast thou been a grave-maker?

The answer ity,

is

given with characteristic loquac-

by the old man, who

still

maintains his repu-

tation as a wit-snapper.

The most

casual reader of Shakespeare cannot

but observe

how much

expressed in

many

poet.

is

connoted as well as

of the brief passages of the

In answer to the above simple question,

the valor of the late King, and the martial character of the

Danes

is

suggested;

we

are told the

day of Hamlet's birth; we learn of the gossip of the people and the general impression of the Prince's mental condition, the supposed reason of his despatch to

England, together with some

ical allusions to the

while the old

man

satir-

people of that country; and,

ingeniously reveals the age of

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS

155

Hamlet, he incidentally suggests his own. *T have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years."

This, granting he was about twenty years old

when he began

his

work

as a grave-maker,

and

it

improbable to suppose that he would be en-

is

trusted with such serious

would make him

work

at an earlier age,

fifty at this time, as I

have be-

fore suggested.

Hamlet's next question: Tian lie in the earth ere he Dunning by the old

"How

long will a

rot*?"

provokes more

man and some

very plain and

original reasoning as to the time

and process of

he decay of mortal remains ; those of a tanner in ârticular.

The

dialogue

is

terminated by the selection of

me

of the skulls by the grave-digger to illustrate

lis

arguments, which the old

man

asserts

is

the

kull of Yorick, the late King's jester.

The "property atio,

is

of easiness," suggested by

Ho-

again exampled by the irreverence and

amiliarity with which the grave-maker handles his skull.

As he

recalls the

pranks of the dead

156


jester,

he laughingly slaps the hollow temples of

the unconscious remnant, as if he were boxing the

and gleefully chuckles memory revives the "mad rogue's" wit and

ears of the living jester, as

humor, before handing it to the Prince. This incident diverts the mind of Hamlet from his catechism of the grave-digger to tender ories of his childhood's friend

and playmate, so

that the sentiment of the scene to this I have referred at

mem-

changed, but

is

some length

in a former

chapter.

The

funeral procession enters the church-yard,

the sexton assists in lowering the

fortunate lady to

its last

resting

body of the unplace, and with

that duty done, the character of the grave-digger in the play

is

imagination a

concluded. little scope,

But

if

we permit our

we might

see, after the

funeral party has left the scene, the old fellow

shoveling the earth back into the newly-tenanted grave,

and hear the

borne upon the

A

refrain of his quaint song

stillness of the early

morning

pick-axe, and a spade, a spade. For and a shrouding sheet:

air:

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS O

a pit of clay for to be is meet.

157

made

For such a guest

The most

conspicuous figure that I can recall

as a representative of the first grave-digger,

the late J.

H. McVicker, founder and

law,

when en

tour with

who was

proprietor

He

played the

Edwin Booth,

his son-in-

of McVicker's Theater, Chicago. part

was

then under his management.

I

had the honor of being Mr. Booth's principal supMr. Mcport, and played the part of Laertes. Vicker was of Irish and Scotch descent, and com-

bined the general characteristics of those two na-

He

was strong in his own opinions, somewhat harsh and dictatorial in his manner, tionalities.

but with a vein of quaint humor that was in

evidence

Hardly say"?

when not

obsessed

much

with business.

the temperament for an artist,

you would

True! but in the case of the old sexton

these very qualities fitted the character.

Vicker used

little if

any make-up,

Mr. Mc-

in fact

he did

not need any; he was at this time, I should judge,

about sixty years of age, rotund of the face,

figure, full in

which was clean-shaven, and with sparse

158


gray

hair,

that

was

dressed the part in a dark his

arms were bare, but

encased

in

brown

tunic or smock;

his legs

buskins

rough

He

disheveled.

always

and

and

feet

were

sandals.

He

looked the part to perfection; he did not have to act,

only to speak the

grave-digger.

The

lines,

and he was the old

self-importance, the

sumption of knowledge, and the over his

authority"

grave

as-

of "brief

air

were finely

fellow-worker

given ; while his surprised expression at the audacity of the

younger

man

in questioning his judg-

ment was a splendid illustration of of ignorance and self-conceit.

At

the time of which I speak

(1876) very and few any, scenery properties were

if

little,

carried ried

the assurance

by touring dramatic companies.

none,

theaters

we

We

car-

but depended on the stock of the visited for the scenery,

and borrowed

the properties and furniture from local stores, giv-

ing in return complimentary tickets to the per-

formance.

The two human

cially difficult to obtain

in

skulls

were espe-

the smaller towns.

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS Our property-man, however, was of

159

considerable

experience and full of resource in an emergency

and when unable

to obtain the real article invari-

ably found a substitute that served the purpose.

For the

them

skulls he used

like

sockets,

coloring

the

human

two large

turnips, shaping

head, excavating the eye

hollowing the jaws and mouth, and then

them with brown

paint.

Indeed, they

looked remarkably well and few of the audience

could detect the imposition from the front of the theater.

One

night,

however,

Vicker, as the grave-digger,

handed the supposed

Mr. Booth,

as

Hamlet, the

failed to grasp

it

securely and

skull to

man

when Mr. Mc-

latter gentleit fell

with a

heavy thud to the stage. The deception was then obvious, and the audience roared with laughter.

But

worse

consequences

followed.

founded turnip rolled down to the knocked off one of the tips of the gas tricity

was not then

The

con-

footlights, jets (elec-

in use), a big flame rose

the broken jet, a cry of Fire!

was

raised,

panic in the audience was only averted

from

and a

by the

i6o

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE action of the leader of the orchestra,

prompt

who

reached over and smothered the flaming gas-jet

with his pocket handkerchief.

On

another occasion during our Southern tour,

Mr. McVicker

called

beginning of the pered in

my

ear,

last act

one side prior to the

of Hamlet, and whis-

"Watch me when

the skull to-night." It

me on

I

hand Edwin

I watched.

appeared that our property-man had been

unable to obtain even turnips with which to fashion skulls for the grave-yard scene, so he had

procured a couple of very large Bermuda onions, cut and perforated them as he had done the turnips, colored,

and placed them

in the grave:

Mr. McVicker alone being cognizant of acter of the

them out

remains.

The

the char-

grave-digger threw

and the deception when the old sexton handed

at the proper cue,

passed unnoticed, but,

the supposed skull of poor dead Yorick to

Booth,

who had

Mr.

a particular aversion to onions in

any form, the aroma of that mutilated sphere, mingled with the odor of the paint, became so offensive to

him that he was

seized with nausea,

THE GRAVE-DIGGERS and with

difficulty

tender

apostrophe

friend.

However,

as

161

completed the delivery of his to

the

remains

of his dead

his final questions to Horatio,

he handed, with unusual alacrity the repulsive

vegetable to that gentleman:

Alexander looked

o'

this

And smelt so? pah I" had tofore

had not been

"Dost thou think

fashion

i'

the earth?

a significance that here-

in evidence.

Subsequently Mr. Booth joined in a hearty laugh at the inci-

dent,

and shortly afterwards two human

vere purchased for the performance.

skulls

LAUNCE AND SPEED IN

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA seems to be

THERE comedy

of

little

Two

"The

doubt but that the

Gentlemen of Ve-

rona" was one of the earliest of the poet's dra-

matic works. first

presentation, but

among or

There

is

no authentic record of

it is

its

the general impression

the commentators that

it

occurred in 1591

Sidney Lee, probably the most ac-

1592.

curate and reliable authority on Shakespeareana, places

it

second in order of production.

not printed in the author's lifetime, nor was lished

till it

was included

It

was

it

pub-

in the First Folio edition

of collected plays that appeared in 1623, seven years after the poet's death.

There

is

a crude conventionality in the con-

struction of the plot, inexperience in the develop162

LAUNCE AND SPEED

163

ment of

the characters, and immaturity in

ductive

philosophy.

its

de-

These conditions confirm

sistent

and are entirely conwith the known facts. Shakespeare was

at this

time but twenty-seven years of age, had

the view-point taken above,

London but

and though study and observation had given him some idea )f dramatic composition, it was on conventional

been in

had not yet developed powers or given him any marked individ-

ines jiis

six or seven years,

only;

experience

uality.

Mrs. Cowden Clarke goes so far

as to suggest

comedy was probably one of the MSS. ihat Shakespeare took with him to London, ihat the

""his

is

disproved, I think,

by

his references in the

and mythological characters, ^ nth which he would hardly be familiar before his

I

lay to historical

advent into the metropolis. I

doubt

if

Shakespeare did any literary work

cf a dramatic character before he went to Lond3n.

It

was

p rofessional 'w

ith

his association

with a company of

actors, in a varied repertory

of plays,

the environment of a regularly equipped


i64

theater, that revealed to

him

the possibilities of

the drama, inspired his ambition, and developed his genius.

There

Two

is

no

originality in the story of

Gentlemen of Verona," nor

incidents of the comedy.

The

in

"The

any of the

characters are but

prototypes of those which appear, elaborated and

completed, in his later plays, after experience had

matured

his

sight into

This the

is

powers and given him a deeper

human

nature.

particularly true of

two clownish servants

Launce and Speed,

in the

comedy, who are

reproduced as the two Dromios, in "The of Errors"; as Peter, in as Launcelot

"Romeo and

Comedy

Juliet,"

and

Gobbo, in "The Merchant of Ven-

ice"; but with far

and

in-

more consistency of purpose

detail of character.

Launce and Speed are servants: born to serve, contented to serve, with little or no ambition be-

yond

it.

They

are personal attendants

on Val-

and Proteus, two young noblemen, and accompany their respective masters on their

entine

travels,

obeying their orders without question,

LAUNCE AND SPEED

165

accepting their wages with satisfaction, and sub-

mitting upon occasion to personal chastisement

without resentment.

They

are young, full of

Their humor they exercise upon their

mischief.

masters,

humor, and fond of

when they can do

so with safety,

and

mdulge in their mischief between themselves. Both are shrewd and keenly observant, particularly

of

the

and weaknesses of

foibles

their

inasters.

Speed

is

at times exuberant; Launce,

iipparently the elder,

is

who

more thoughtful and

is

sen-

and with the egotism of a little learniig patronizes and reproves the youth and Launce has some ignorance of his comrade. tentious,

s

mtimentality in his nature which

affection for his dog, Crab,

is

and

V holly unaffected) at the parting ily.

Launce

does

not,

however,

shown

in his

his grief

(not

from

his

fam-

permit

that

sentimentality to affect his material interests at a ly time, or even influence his considerations in tlie

selection of a wife.

Both have the punning habit to an abnormal

i66

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE and

degree,

vie with each other in amphibolous

repartee.

Of

the two, Launce has the keener wit and

He

deeper philosophy.

when

is

also

more resourceful

occasion demands; witness, his

prompt acceptance of the punishment that had been imposed on his "ungentlemanlike" dog, Crab, which

would have ended the

career of that canine;

and

the substitution of the same ill-bred cur for the "little

jewel" he was commissioned to carry to

Mistress Sylvia, which had been stolen from him

by

the boys in the market-place.

Speed

is

the

pear in the play. first act,

and

of these two worthies to ap-

first

It is in the first scene of the

in his second speech he begins a cor-

ruption of words in a succession of the most atrocious puns

and ingenious

positively appall tinues

it

by

transliterations, that

their audacity:

throughout the scene.

and he con-

The play on

the

words. Ship and sheep, pound and pinfold, and the evolution

from a nod of the head, and the

exclamation "ay" to the word "Noddy," fully justifies the

term Proteus applies to

it,

"silly."

LAUNCE AND SPEED In

fact,

there

is

167

but one bit of repartee in the

worthy of note: Proteus exclaims with obvious sarcasm "Beshrew me, but entire

dialogue

:

you have a quick wit," to which Speed, who has been unable to extract a gratuity from him, re-

"And

plies:

yet

it

cannot overtake your slow

purse."

The

dialogue in Act 2, Scene

and

Sir Valentine,

first

act; but

in

it,

is

in the

1,

between Speed

same vein

as in the

Speed seems to have some advantage for travel appears to have sharpened the wit

of the servant, while love has dulled the spirit of the master.

In Speed there

is

evidence of more

observation both of incidents and circumstances; a clearer and brighter expression of ideas, com-

bined with a shrewdness that approaches wisdom,

—

especially in his reflections on Sir Valentine's

love-lorn condition; while there

is

a dimness of

comprehension that amounts almost to density in the lack of understanding displayed

by

his master.

Speed's critical philosophy, however, never permits

him

to lose sight of the

demands of

stomach, or the perquisites of his position.

his

i68


This scene

humor and

so admirable in

is

satire, that I

quote

Why, how know you

Vol.

its it

that I

commingling of at length:

am

in love?

Marry, by these special marks. First, you have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, Speed.

like a

malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robinredbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a schoolboy that had lost his

AB

C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, You were wont, when like a beggar at Hallowmas. you laugh'd, to crow like a cock when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was ;

presently after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money and now you are metamorphosed ;

with a mistress, that, when think you are Val.

Are

Speed.

my

all

They

I

look on you,

I

can hardly

master.

these things perceived in me? are all perceived without ye.

.

.

.

These follies are within you, and shine through you that not an eye that sees you, but like the water .

is

.

a physician to

.

comment on your malady.

same scene the dialogue is noteworthy, and again illustrates the shrewd observance of Speed, and the privilege of speech perLater, in the

mitted him by his master.

LAUNCE AND SPEED You

Speed.

long hath she been deform'd? Ever since you loved her.

Speed. Val.

never saw her since she was deform'd.

How

Val.

still

169

have loved her ever since

I

I

saw

her,

and

her beautiful.

I see

you love her, you cannot see

If

Speed.

her.

Why?

Val.

Speed. Because Love is blind. O! that you had nine eyes or your own eyes had the lights they were vvont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for go;

ng ungartered!

What

Val.

should

I see

then?

Your own

present folly, and her passing for he, being in love, could not see to gardeformity; er his hose and you, being in love, cannot see to put

Speed.

1

;

on your hose. Sir Valentine, probably realizing the truth of

Speed's remarks, and finding no adequate reply, :.ttempts

a

reproof,

which,

however,

does not

1

eaze his irrepressible follower

r

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last lorning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I

t

:

lank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes the bolder to chide you for yours.

r le

Mistress Sylvia, 1

)ve,

the lady of Sir Valentine's

now comes upon

the scene,

and Speed

is

a


iTo

most attentive observer and

listener to the inter-

view between the lover and the lady.

Sylvia has

apparently commissioned Sir Valentine to write

some appropriate

lines for her to

Sir Valentine, hav-

a "secret nameless friend." ing written the delivers

lines, in the

to the lady,

it

"one she loves,"

form of a

who

"They

it

are

Sir Valentine, however, does not ap-

for you."

preciate her meaning, looks bewildered in great perplexity ;

and stands

and the lady, disappointed

lack of comprehension,

leave with considerable

at

abruptly takes her

show of

anger.

tine stands in speechless astonishment,

who

now

thereupon returns

to the writer, pointedly exclaiming:

his

letter,

Sir Valen-

but Speed,

has realized the full significance of the lady's

device, exclaims:

O

jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,

As

a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple

!

My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device! was there ever heard a better, That my master being scribe, to himself should write the letter.

James Lewis and Sidney Herbert as "Launce" and "Speed" in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona"

LAUNCE AND SPEED

171

Sir Valentine, still oblivious to the lady's design,

and Speed's meaning, declares:

VaL

Why, she hath not writ to me? What need she when she hath made you to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the

Speed. write jest?

Vol.

No, believe me.

Val.

she hath given you a letter. I writ to her friend.

Why,

Speed.

That's the letter

And

Speed.

that

letter

hath she ddiver'd, and

there an end. Val.

Speed.

I

it were no worse! warrant you, 'tis as well For often have you writ to her, and she,

would I'll

:

in

modesty.

Or

else for

want of

idle time,

could not

again reply;

Or

fearing

some

else

messenger,

that

might her mind discover. Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover. Sir Valentine

is

still

perplexed, he cannot see

the jest, so Speed, seeing the matter clear, suggests Sir

Valentine

replies:

it :

"I

impossible to make " 'Tis dinner time."

have

dined,"

but

^peed requires a more substantial diet than love,

md

concludes the scene with the following most


172

"Ay, but hearken,

earnestly delivered protest:

Though

sir: air, I

am

one that

and would mistress

:

Love can feed on

the chameleon

am

nourish'd

O

fain have meat.

!

by

my

victuals,

be not like your

be moved, be moved."

Launce does not appear the second act,

when he

till

the third scene of

introduces himself, his

sentiments, and his dog Crab,

by

whom

he

companied, with much humor and, as with

ac-

is

all

of

Shakespeare's characters, his mental, sentimental

and

social status

is

at once established; while the

domestic drama played with a pair of old shoes,

a hat, and a

staff as representatives

of the family

of the Launces, gives us an introduction to them as effectively as if

One can

we had met them

all in person.

to easily understand that Crab's failure

appreciate the importance of the journey, and the

pathos of parting with such a family of great disappointment to his master.

sode

is

described with so

much

a source

is

The

epi-

delightful original-

humorous detail, that the ity of expression and reader must be dull indeed who cannot see the scene enacted before his eyes

:

the weeping

women,

LAUNCE AND SPEED the wailing father,

173

and the

the howling maid,

"perplexed" household; while the dog, unmoved,

watches the entire proceedings with a

stolidly

bored expression of canine indifference. Nay,

be this hour ere

'twill

I

have done weeping:

the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son,

all

am going with Sir Proteus to the imperial's court. think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that

and [

mother weeping, my father wailing, my sismaid howling, our cat wringing her lands, and all our house in great perplexity, yet did lot this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear he is a stone, :i very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting: why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept ives

;er

my

:

crying, our

:

li.

my

lierself blind at

icianner of 5

hoe

is

it:

my

parting.

This shoe

father

;

is

Nay,

I'll

show you the

my father; —no,

no, no, this left

shoe

is

this left

mother

my

--that cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so; 1 ath the worser sole. This shoe with a hole in

my

mother, and this

i

;

t

lere

}

ou, she

I

is

:

is

now,

father.

sir, this staff is

as white as a

lily,

A my

it,

vengeance on't sister

;

:

for, look

and as small as a wand

—

:

Nan, our maid I am the dog no, the dog himself, and I am the dog, O, the dog is me, and

t lis i

't

my

:

it

hat

am

is

myself

;

ay, so, so.

lather, your blessing;

:

—

;

Now

now

come

I to

my

father

;

should not the shoe speak

174 a


word

for weeping

—

;

now

should

I

kiss

my

father

;

now come I to my mother, (O, well, he weeps on: that she could speak now, like a wood woman.) well, I kiss her; why, there't is; here's my mother's breath up and down the moan she makes

;

:

—

now come I now the dog

not a tear, nor speaks a word dust with my tears.

The misuse

;

to

my

all this

but see

of the words

sister

;

mark

while sheds

how

I lay the

"prodigious"

and

"perplexity" has a most familiar sound, and may be readily recognized as a favorite comedy device

of the poet, to provide

humor

for his clowns

and

serving-men.

In an interesting work by Dr. A. O. Kellogg, of the State Lunatic Asylum, at Utica,

New York,

entitled "Shakespeare's Delineations of Insanity,

and Suicide," that distinguished alienist places Launce among the imbeciles, and by way of preface to an able analysis of the charImbecility,

acter, in

which

is

included Crab, the constant com-

conpanion of the boy, he makes the following crete

summary:

Another shade of mental obtuseness and imbecility has been exhibited by the poet in the character of

LAUNCE AND SPEED

175

Launce, the clown par excellence, in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona." Launce is not a character manufactured by the playwright, one of "Nature's journeymen," to serve a particular purpose, but is a product of Nature's own handiwork, and if not the most cunning, still none the less genuine. The close companionship which exists between him and his interesting dog, Crab, is evidently one based upon a moral and intellectual fitness in the characters The clown is such by natural organizaDf the two. ;ion, and no education or change of circumstances or

could

:ondition

Crab,

is

.

.

.

make him

So the dog made him; and we

otherwise.

the cur that nature

scarcely conceive that even the cultivation of ihree generations would suffice to make either a ourtier of the one, or "a gentleman-like dog" of the other. The spirits of the two are so "married in "•.an

.

.

.

<

.

.

.

(onjunction" by mutual intercourse, that the one has c ome to conduct himself in all companies, as a currish clown, and the other as a clownish cur.

As

have stated in the preface, I do not presume to differentiate between folly and imbecili

y.

I

I

quote the foregoing as the indorsement of

a scientist a

to the accuracy of the poet's conception

nd treatment of the character. In reference to the habit of punning, which

is

oie of the characteristics of Launce, to which I


176

have before alluded in the

same

practice

this article, as well as to

by similar characters

chapters, I again quote Dr. Kellogg

in previous

:

His humorous punning and play upon words is also quite characteristic, and shows that this faculty may be possessed in quite an eminent degree by those of very inferior mental caliber, like Launce."

How dition

completely Shakespeare realized this conevidenced, not only by the countrymen

is

and clowns

in his comedies,

acters of inferior rank

tragedies

:

but also by the char-

and humble station

notably, Peter, in

"Romeo and

the Citizens, in "Julius Caesar" in

;

in his

Juliet"

;

the Grave-diggers,

"Hamlet"; and the drunker Porter,

in

"Mac-

beth."

"The

Two

Gentlemen of Verona"

is

unfortu-

nately seldom presented on the stage, but Mr.

Augustin Daly made a production of the comedy in his series of Shakespearean revivals at Daly's

Theater,

New

York,

some

years

James Lewis played Launce, and while recall the entire

remember

performance in

his first appearance

Mr.

ago. I

cannot

detail, I distinctly

on the scene.

He

LAUNCE AND SPEED came upon

177

the stage slowly, with an expression

of extreme disgust on his face, leading his dog

Crab by a

The property man who had

cord.

procured the dog for the production had been

most fortunate

in his selection, for a

plete specimen of a It

"low-down cur"

I

more comnever saw.

would have puzzled the most experienced dog

fancier to

Most

name

animals,

his breed or trace his ancestry.

when they appear upon

the stage,

become frightened by the glare of the footlights, and startled by any applause that may come from the audience, but this dog that played Crab

absolutely oblivious to his surroundings. received even a

more

was

Crab

cordial greeting than his

popular master, but while the latter acknowledged the

compliment gracefully, the dog looked on with

:omplete indifference as

if

the entire proceedings

Launce began his first speech, which ncluded a mild reproach of Crab's lack of sym-

3ored him.

)athy,

but

it

made no

impression on the cur: he

hen led the dog to the base of a statue, or founlain on the scene, seated himself on the steps, 1

t

he cur

by

his side,

and enacted the domestic scene

178


described in the text with a droll

audience found

on Crab, who

but

irresistible,

sat

humor

it

that the

had no

effect

his haunches, looked at

upon

Mr. Lewis' manipulation of

the shoes,

and

lis-

tened to his detailed description of the parting o( the family of the Launces as

if,

like

Baron Grog,

"The Grand Duchess," he had always been

in

taught "to observe an impassive countenance." I regret that I cannot

remember more of the

performance of Mr. Lewis, for everything he did

was worthy of memory: but the picture of the dog. Crab, is indelibly impressed on my mind, and the

memory

of that frowsy cur that was such an

appropriate companion to his master, tempts

again to quote Dr. Kellogg

Next

to the

human

me

:

associates

whom

a

man

takes

into his confidence, nothing seems to furnish a more correct index to his character than the species of the

canine race which he selects as his companions. The grim-looking, fighting bulldog is found at the heels of the bully and prize-fighter.

and

gentlemanly

stately banker. of the active,

The

Newfoundland,

The gaunt hound vigorous,

poodle or spaniel

...

is

is

dignified mastiff

the guard found in the train

fox-hunting

.

.

squire.

.

The

the combed, washed, and

LAUNCE AND SPEED

179

])etted companion of my lady, but the cur, who seems to be a combination of the evil qualities of all these, }our "yaller dog," is found at the heels of the clown,

itid the nature of the relationship

is nowhere so adas the in his nirably depicted delineations of by poet Launce and his dog Crab,

The play upon

the words "tide"

and "tied"

fii the brief dialogue with Panthino, that con-

cludes the scene

is

another capital illustration of

tie quality of wit possessed

by Launce.

It is

anusing, harmless and characteristic. Pan.

You'll lose the tide,

Launce. it is

It is

no matter

if

if

you tarry any longer. the tied were lost; for

the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. What's the unkindest tide?

Pan.

Launce.

Why, he

Scene

of Act

5,

that's tied here, Crab,

2, is entirely

Icgue between Launce

my

dog.

occupied by a dia-

and Speed.

The

scene

does not advance the plot or develop the characters, but is marked by the same quality of wit tt which I have before a brief referred;

example

oi

which will Speed.

Launce.

nc

:.

My

suffice.

understand thee not. a block art thou, that thou canst staff understands me. I

What


i8o

Speed. Latmce.

and

lean,

Speed. Launce.

What

thou sayest?

Ay, and what

my

do too look

I

thee,

:

but

I'll

understands me.

staff

under thee, indeed. Why, stand-under and under-stand

It stands

is

all

new phase

of

one.

In the

first

scene of act third a

the character of Launce

We

love.

have

is

own

his

with the addenda:

developed.

'tis

a

woman

myself; and yet

:

fact,

"But a team of horse

shall

who

'tis

but what woman, a milkmaid."

'tis

in

is

admission of the

not pluck that from me; not yet

He

and

I love,

I will

not

tell

Launce does

not give us his reasons for the secrecy that he so ingeniously negatives, and to the bashful

negatived Speed.

we

by

modesty of a his

The name

we might lover,

;subsequent

of the lady

are frankly informed of

conditions."

Launce

is

a

but

this

is

interview is

"The

man

attribute

it

again

with

withheld, but

cate-log of her

of method and has

carefully collated both the virtues and vices of the lady,

and

set

them down

creditor arrangement,

in a sort of debtor

and

which he not only carefully

considers himself, but on a convenient opportu-

LAUNCE AND SPEED r ity

i8i

submits to the judgment of his friend Speed,

reserving, however, the privilege of

making

the

f nal decision himself.

The

merits of the lady are set

down somewhat

a 5 follows:

She She She She She She She She

can fetch and carry.

can milk. brews good

ale.

can sew. can knit.

can wash and scour. can spin. hath many nameless virtues.

And

her demerits

:

She is not to be kissed fasting. She hath a sweet mouth. She doth talk in her sleep. She

is

She

is

She

is

slow in words.

proud. She hath no teeth. curst.

She will often praise her liquor. 5he is liberal. 7he hath

ha

rs,

more

hair than wit,

and more wealth than

and more

faults.

faults than


i82

One can

easily imagine the sapient

and judicial

assumed by Launce, as Speed reads the "catethat the decilog" to him; but I shrewdly suspect air

sion of the judge

began,

or

virtues he

had been made before the evidence

the

appreciates

at

was their

The

presented. practical

trial

value,

the vices he ingeniously transforms into virtues, in real life of far greater social

and

like

and

intellectual pretensions,

many

the finally permits

money to be the deciding factor With Launce, wealth appears choice.

possession of in

his

to

have been a cloak whose ample folds are

sufficient

to

cover

a

multitude

of

vices,

for

than hairs" her though she have "more faults

wealth was gracious."

the faults powerful "to make I am very much inclined, however, all

to think that the affectation of prudence

was an-

other of the practical jests of this exuberant youth that he himself concocted with his friend

Speed;

the "cate-log," and the entire matter

had

its exist-

ence only in the vivid and picturesque imaginathat of our friend Launce; for later we learn

tion

the

himself both boy has voluntarily taken upon

LAUNCE AND SPEED the

183

blame and the punishment for the

dog Crab.

He

hath "sat in the stocks for pud-

he hath stolen";

dings

sins of his

"stood

in

the

pillory

and taken a whipping cur from the consequences of

for geese he hath killed"; to save that ill-bred

"ungentleman-like conduct"

his

Now

table.

it is

at

the

but reasonable to assume that

a man, however humble his station in

would of a

sacrifice

dumb

Duke's

life,

who

himself so completely for the sake

animal, would have some sentimental-

ity in the choice of a wife,

and however merce-

nary he might assume to be, his selection would not be influenced by wealth alone, but be governed

by the

feelings of his heart, rather than

by the

calculations of his head.

Be

that as

common

it

sense,

method of

may, there is a good deal of sound even if it was assumed, in the

selecting a wife as affected

by Launce, that might be adopted with advantage by some of our modern young men who so heedlessly as-

sume

the responsibilities of marriage.

A

little

more prudence and consideration of their respective qualifications for what should be a life-long


i84

union, might avert

many an unhappy

marriage,

and considerably diminish the congestion

in our

courts of law.

The

brief dialogue concluding the scene bears

Speed, whose

out the above suggestion. the

appears to be a misnomer,

way

is

name by

waited for

by his master at the north gate of the city. Launce knows this, and out of sheer mischief, as he inferentially admits,

would seem

is

detaining him.

to indicate that the

her "cate-log of conditions"

is

This

milkmaid with

pure imagination

on the part of Launce, and his apparent indecision a mere device to detain the already dilatory The solo and exit speech of Launce on Speed. the hasty departure

view: letter.

of Speed,

"Now will he be An unmannerly

himself into secrets.

accentuates

swing'd for reading slave,

I'll after,

the

my

that will thrust to rejoice in the

boy's correction."

Scene 4 of Act 4 in the comedy brings the charactor of

Launce

to its conclusion.

Crab seems

to be as incorrigible as impenitent, and Launce entertains us with a

most diverting account of the

LAUNCE AND SPEED own

dog's misdeeds and his behalf.

cur's

humor of

To

full perusal of the

self-sacrifice in the

commend

same

the reader to a

in the play itself.

the irony of fate, Crab seems to be the fac-

By

Launce has been

in his master's undoing.

tor

the

thoroughly

appreciate

the scene, I

185

commissioned by his master. Sir Proteus, to deliver

"a

little

as a present. in

this

jewel" of a dog to Mistress Sylvia

Launce

dilemma

The lady

loses the little jewel,

substitutes his

own dog

and

Crab.

indignantly rejects such a present, and

returns a most sarcastic response to the advances

of the amorous Sir Proteus, whose anger on learning the details of the adventure

may

be better

imagined than described.

The explanation the boy, while his lis

of Launce

characteristic of

humor, love of mischief, and

"old vice" of punning

Pro.

is

is

Where have you been

sustained to the these

two days

last.

loiter-

ng? Launce. '

Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the you bade me. Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur, and

log


i86 tells

you, currish thanks

is

good enough for such a

present.

But she received

Pro.

my dog? No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought him back again. Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? Launce. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place: and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Launce.

Poor Launce narrowly escapes the whip at the hands of his outraged master, and is angrily dis-

The

missed from his presence. is

left to

our conjecture.

future of the boy

Did he

lose his place*?

master restore him to favor"? and did he

Did

his

wed

the lady whose qualifications were the source

of so

much

does not

careful

tell

us.

calculation*?

Let

us,

The author

however, express the

hope that an indulgent master forgave the exuberant humor of his youthful servant, and permitted Launce and his dog Crab, with possibly

the lady Launce has chosen, to share in his ownj felicity so

completely expressed in the concluding

lines of the

comedy, "One

mutual happiness."

feast,

one house, one

THE FOOL KING LEAR ^'Foor fool

Thafs

and knave^ I have one part

in

heUrt

my

sorry yet for thee."

"'the fool

His

who

labors to outjest

heart'Strook injuries."

an exquisite picture the poet presents of the Fool in *'Lear" He has no

WHAT name.

He

•

!

does not need one.

his significance.

His

would

lessen

age, his personality, are left'

Whether

to our imagination.

It

the unswerving loyalty,

the

the tender pathos^;

shrewd

obseryaiicfjf.

and the snatches of quaint, tVom the soul of a youth;;or a

the pointed parables,

old songs emana(-<

man

of maturity,

tain

'tis,

we

are not informed; but cer-

the tears that force themselves thrdugE.

the fragments of

melody and almost choke

their


i88

utterance come from the loving heart of one whose affection time has tried .

His master

calls

and found

sterling.

him "Boy," but

that

is

from

custom rather than fact; in the same sense that a negro servant in the South

is

called a "boy" tiU

he, dies of old age.

He king

has been a long time in 'the service of the

who

his train,

evidently loves, him,! misses

and

repeatedly

is

him from

impatient of his absence; for after'

calling

abruptly demands:

for

him without

"But

reply,

wh ere's.my

fool*?

he;

j

have not seen him for these two days." Th^t the Fool has penetrated the hvDocr jr^^^] rrr'r'"'rpH'^Tt^' -

^

of the kinp^s eldest

and learned

to love the gpntle

tive Cordelia ;

"Since

the

my

Jaa:^ffirers ^ f?-nnprU

is

ev idenced by

th e

youn^ lady's going

fool hath

h•^^r

and "Rpg^ TT^-

nnHprnfynsfra-^^

knight's. replY»

into

much pined aw ay."

I picture the Fool as a young-old

France," '

'

sir,.'

'^ .

man,

.

S"fr^?

riot 1^;

old as the king, of course; spare of body and

oE

"homely features, weak in frame but shrewd ol; •

mindâ

gentle heart, fidlpf gratitude iQx:y£ai:§,^|:

kindness and consideration at the hands of his

seirii^

THE FOOL IN KING LEAR

189

barbaric master; seeing with silent concern the"

gradual decay of a powerful personality; appalled

by

the

mad

king's

disposition of his^,kingdom J

impotent to save, but steadfast to soothe

the

subsequent sorrow and remorse of his deludec ^

master.

-

--^

••

l^me of the recent commentators have found so much love and tenderness in the Fool for the king as to be almost filial,_ind-have advanced the theory _that Cordelia and the fool are one and the

same

This view I do not think

person.

iied, either

by

i^-justi-

the language or conditions. __The

only passage in the play that affords any authorjty for the theory

Lear

enters,

his arms.

is

found in the

body of Cordelia

in

upon the ground, and

as

carrying the

He

lays it

he bends over the

last scene:

lifeless

form of

his daughter,

he utters in his grief a number of broken phrases,

among them hanged."

the words:

This

Shakespeare

may

"And my poor refer

frequently

uses

they

have

a

is

for

to

Cordelia,

the

words,

"poor

am

of the

meaning.

The

fool," as a term of endearment,

opinion

fool

literal

but

I


igo

enemies of the king, knowing the loyalty and affectionate devotion of the Fool for his master, .

have hanged him; adding anotjier sorrow to the over-burdened heart of the grief-stricken king.

In representing' the play, I have always had the Fool. present in the opening scene, a silent spec-" tator of the disposition of the realm

king,

which seems to

me

by the aged

consistent with the sub-

sequent dialogue. I directed

him

to

run upon the scene following

the entrance of the king and his court^-but before

the beginning of the dialogue,

and with a merry

salutation to his master to throw himself at the foot of the throne.

watch every motion,

I instructed

down

him

to

to listen intently to every

word, and by facial expression silently but eloquently to

reflect his

scene proceeded.

emotions as the action of the

First, surprise at the king's di-

vision of the realm,

awe

at the terrible passion of

aged master, consternation at the dismissal of Kent, and horror at the denunciation and banish-

his

ment of his

Cordelia,

This business, together with

hardly suppressed gestures of protest and ap-

;

THE FOOL IN KING LEAR peal,

and

191

his final despair at his utter helpless-

ness to stem

th*^

torrent of the king's anger, I

found a most efFective adjunct" to the scene. directed the Fool to linger exit of the king

affection stricken,

and the

stealthily to

on the scene after the

court,

and with dog-like

creep over to the grief-

banished princess, furtively

of her robe, and then scene in sadness

and

I

make

his

own

kiss the

exit

hem

from the

silence.

The Fool disappears

after Cordelia's departure

from the court with her husband, the France, and hiding his grief the growing impatience

is

^ng

not seen again

and repeated

calls

of till

of his

master make his presence imperative. In the fourth scene of the

taken the disguised Earl of

first

Kent

act,

Lear has

into his service

reward for justly punishing an insolent follower of his daughter, when the Fool runs on, and as a

offering

Kent

his fools-cap, exclaims:

hire him, too: here's

my

"Let

me

coxcomb."

Kent, with good humored amusement, asks:

"Why,

To

fool*?"

\Yhich the Fool answers:

"Why,

for tak-

192

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE Nay, and thpu

ing one's part that's out of favor. canst not smile" as"tRe shortly : there, take '

wind

thou'lt catch cold

sits,

coxcomb.

my

low has banish'd two of

this fel-

Why,

_

his daughters,

and did the

third "a blessing against, iiia will; if thou follow

him, thou must needs wear

'

The

scene that follows

significancer"" ,The_ contrast

coxcomb."

my is

'X

v^^

full of the deepest

between die gradually

increasing anger of the king, that culminates in the terrible eiirse hurled on his daughter Goneril,

and_ the pungent. wit of the Fool, who, while, he

unsparing With the lash of-keenest

is

satire, softens

each blow with improvised lines of humor, and "

snatches of sori^ (themselves the very quintessence of satire)

is

more pointed than

most.striking. its

Epigrams, each

predecessor, follow in rapid

sequence, while the application of the couplets and. to

through

it all

definable

•

the

doggerel

situation

the re

is

is

perfect;

and

yet,

a v eiled tenderness, an in-

sympathy that

"as

we laugh

at the wit,

'

bfin^ a

The

tear of pity to the eye.

scene

is

so full of wit,

wisdom and sound

with philosophy, "each phrase following the other

THE FOOL

IN KING LEAR

such cumulative precision, that I quote

it

193 almost

in its entirety. Fool. How now, nuncle? combs, and two daughters!

Lear.

Why, my boy?

Fool.

If I gave

CDxcombs myself;

them

Would

I

had two cox-

my living, I'd keep my mine; beg another of thy

all

there's

daughters. Lear. Take heed, sirrah the whip. Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be \\hipp'd out, when the lady brach may stand by the fi-e. . Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. Mark it :

.

.

n incle

:

—

Have more than thou less

Speak

Lend

less

showest, than thou knowest, than thou owest,

Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest. Set less than thou throwest; And thou shalt have more

Than two Kent.

This

Fool.

Then

is

tens to a score.

nothing, fool. like the breath of an unfee'd law-

'tis

yer; you gave me nothing us ; of nothing, nuncle ? Lear.

Why,

for't.

Can you make no

no, boy; nothing can be

made out of

nc thing. Fool.

CO nes to

Pr'thee ;

he

tell

him, so

much

the rent of his land

will not believe a fool.


194

Lear.

,

A

bitter fool!

Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one? Lear. No, lad teach me. Fool. That lord that counsell'd thee to give away Fool.

;

thy land

Come

place him here by me, do thou him stand;

The sweet and

bitter fool will presently ap-

pear one in motley here

—the other found out

;

The

{pointing to the King.)

there.

Lear.

for

Dost thou

call

me

fool,

boy?

All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast bom with. . Nuncle, give me an I'll give thee two crowns. and egg,

Fool.

.

Lear. Fool.

and

eat

What two crowns Why, after I have

.

shall they

be?

cut the tgg

i'

the middle,

two crowns of the egg. i' the middle and gavest crown thy

up the meat, the

When

thou clovest ass on thy back both parts, thou borest thine away in wit little had'st thou dirt o'er the thy bald crown, :

.when thou gavest thy golden one away. Fools had ne'er less grace in a year: (singing) For wise men are grown foppish;

And know .

Lear.

not

how

their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish. When were you wont to be so full of songs,

sirrah?

Fool.

I

have used

it,

nuncle, ever since thou mad'st

THE FOOL

IN

KING LEAR

195

thy daughters thy mothers ; for then thou gavest them the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches, (singing)

Then they

for sudden joy did weep, sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep

And

I for

And go the fools among. Prythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie. Lear.

An

Fool.

I

you lie, sirrah, we'll have yon whipp'd. marvel what kin thou and thy daughters J. re; they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true, thou'lt liave me whipp'd for lying; and sometimes I am I had rather be any "vhipp'd for holding my peace. Icind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nUticle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing in the middle. Here comes one o' the

parings.

At

this point Goneril, the king's eldest

daughcomes upon the scene; she is apparently very :ingry, and her feelings are reflected in her coun,er,

enance, for the king challenges her: Lear. Jet

on?

How

now, daughter ? what makes that frontMethinks you are too much of late i' the

frown.

Before Goneril can reply, and

much

to the

manifest indignation of that lady, subsequently


196

expressed, the "all-licensed" Fool accurately

sums

the situation.

up

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now: I

am

a fool, thou art nothing.

Mum, mum. He that keeps Weary

of

—

nor crust nor crumb, want some.

all, shall

Goneril's wrath

now

breaks forth in a most

and vituperative speech to her father, the insolence and audacity of which strikes the old bitter

king momentarily dumb.

The

Fool, however,

is

neither surprised nor affrighted, but exclaims: Fool.

For you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow That

it's

had

its

fed the cuckoo so long.

head

bit off

With consummate art, eliminated the humor and

by

its

young.

the poet has gradually satire as the tragic pas-

sion of the situation increases ; but he has reserved

one line to the Fool that to significance,

and connotes

thought and conjecture.

me

is

awful in

its

limitless possibilities of,

Lear, appalled at the,

audacity and disrespect of his daughter, doubts

THE FOOL

IN KING LEAR

tie evidence of his eyes

Who

aiy here know me"?

is it

that can

The words seem

" replies

:

me

to carry corroboration

with

monarch whose

was law, and word a command, we see before'

a weak,

u.i

tell

Leafs shadow^!

tliem; for instead of the powerful will

"Does-

am?" which the Fool

"ITo

his ears, his person-

very existence; and exclaims:

ality, his

\^ho I

and

197

w hich was

indefinite

remainder of something;

now is nothin^d but a shadow; realizing but too late the,^ nothing fj.tal error that robbed him of the power he is now; a personality, and

inpotent to

of his regainj Something, however, old self retums as insults accumulate on his rev-

erend head; the limit of even paternal endurance is

reached,

h(ad of

his thankless child

of which

fc rce ai

and the outraged father hurls on the

d leaves

is

a curse, the

probably unequaled in

,

more knave than

The Fool

m :nts

literature,

her.

Goneril orders the Fool to follow si;

terrific

fool, after

him

:

"You,

your master."

obeys, leaving, however, his compli-

behind him.

198

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE A

when one has caught her, such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter ; fox,

And

So the

fool follows after.

Loyally the faithful Fool follows his master; with tender solicitude he strives, by quip and

the poor quaint reply, to divert the remnant of king's mind from the deep grief that envelops it,

and by

folly "labors to outjest his heart-strook

injuries."

The

effort,

however,

is

but partially

successful; the deep sorrow beneath absorbs the

rippling laughter on the surface into tears.

How

•;^

{'A

and

dissolves

it

/

efforts of the pathetic are the steadfast

Fool to change the current of the old king's

mem-

thoughts, and dull the constantly recurring ories

of his wrongs.

As one witty

fails to hold his attention, the Fool

suggestior flits

to an^

that wil. other; a jest, a riddle, a pun, anything stifle

the sob, hold back the tear, or deaden th(

memory.

Not

to alia] folly for folly's sake, but

the pain of a breaking heart.

This

with brought into such close relation

is

comed]

the-

grea

THE FOOL sorrows of •est

life

fool

clown defending a a crown; and yet

monized by the and

protecting

!

I

A king

Majesty and strength!

A

and a bauble shielding

scepter, all

199

transformed to the deep-

Reverence and folly

!

Weakness

motley!

ity

it is

Combination and contrast

tragedy.

and a

that

KING LEAR

IN

of these contrasts are har-

holiest of

human

emotions,

fidel-""

love.'

How purpose

significant are the lines,

how

clear their

!

Fool.

Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee

kindly ;

for though she's as like this as a crab's like an

apple, yet I can

Lear.

What

Fool.

She

a crab.

what

tell

canst

tell,

I

can

tell.

boy?"

/

will taste as like this as a crab does to

Thou

canst

tell

why

one's nose stands

i'

the

middle on's face? Lear.

No.

Fool.

Why,

nos{.; that

to

keep one's eyes of either

side's

what a man cannot smell out he may spy

into.

Here, the king's mind reverts to the banish-

ment of Lear.

his

daughter Cordelia

I did

her wrong:

—

:


200 '

But

Fool

the

chanees

the

thoughts by another question Fool.

Canst

Lear.

No.

Fool.

Nor

tell

how an

I neither

:

I

of

his

:

oyster

but

current

can

makes tell

his shell?

why

a snail has

a house. Lear.

Why?

Fool.

Why,

head

to put his

to his daughters,

and leave

in

his

Again the memory of

his

;

not to give

it

away

horns without a case. grief returns,

and

again the Fool provides a diversion: Lear.

I will forget

Fool.

Thy

—Be my horses why

my

nature.

—So kind a

father!

ready?

asses are

the seven stars are

gone about 'em. The reason no more than seven is a pretty

reason.

Lear. Fool.

Because they are not eight? thou wouldst make a good Yes, indeed ;

----fool,.

However Lear might have

appreciated

this

doubtful compliment, in his normal mental condition, it

is

lost

on him now, and

his thoughts are

once more on his wrongs: Lear.

tude

!

To

tak't

again perforce!

—Monster

ingrati-

THE FOOL INHKING LEAR Once more

201

him from himself:

the Fool recalls

Fool. If thou.wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for being .old before thy time. Lear. How's -that?— '-^'' Fool.

Thou

shouldst not have been old

thou

till

hadst been wise.

The

horses are

now brought

with the Fool, and

his

out,

and the

reduced train of

king,

fifty fol-

lowers start on their journey.^

,With untiring devotion the Fool follows the wandering way of the king, hovering near his side and lightening the journey with jest and song, diverting his old master's

row by numberless castle

of

Gloster,

mind from

devices,

where

till

its

heavy

they reach the

Regan,

the

second daughter, and her husband, the Cornwall, are

Though

the king's visit

and

king's

Duke

of

visitors. is

not unexpected, the

gates are closed, no preparation reception,

sor-

his

arrival

is

is

made

for his

unheralded.

His

messenger, the disguised Kent,- whom he had sent before to announce his coming,

is

set in the stocks

before the entrance to the- castle ; a degradation

202


and punishment reserved- only for the basest of men. -The Fool is the first to observe this, and realizing^ at once the outrage

on the 'dignity of the

king by the stocking of his messenger, endeavorsto "dwarf the affront

by turning

it

to folly-:

•

•

Horses are Ha, ha; he wears cruel garters head the bears the monand neck ; by dogs by keys by the loins ; and men by the legs ; when a man is Fool.

!

tied

;

over lusty-at legSjMiien he wears wooden nether-stocks. -•

-But

the insult

is

too apparent, the outrage too

flagrant, to be overlooked; the king

demands an

explanation from his servant, which being given, indicates further "indigiiities,

and provokes frosf

the Fool the followin g sag e reflections: Winter's not gone ytt/

Wool. •

--V-rthat-iway.

if

—

the wild geese

Fathers that wear rags do _^

.

.

make

their chil-

."""ciren blind;

But

f athers

that bear bags "shall see'Their

children kind.

Lear,

fly

.

commanding

J

his train to

remain without

enters the castle to seek his daughter.

in the stocks, noting the reduced king's attendants,-asks

:

Kent,

number of

still

the

THE FOOL How

Kent.

IN KING LEAR

203

chance the king comes with so small a

number ?

To which An

Fool.

the Fool replies: thou hadst been set

i'

question, thou hadst well deserved Kent. Why, fool?

The answer

the stocks for that it.

to Kent's question contains so

much

of bitter truth, worldly wisdom and sound reasoning, that the speaker

reverend

from a

man

might well be a grave and

of age, deducing his philosophy

life-long experience, rather than a

motley

fool venting his folly for the diversion of the

moment. Fool.

We'll set thee to school to an anl, to teach

thee there's no laboring i' the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men. Let

go thine hold when a great wheel runs down a lest it

hill,

break thy neck with following; but the great

one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me

When

mine again

:

I

would have none but knaves follow

since a fool gives

That

And

sir

it.

which serves and seeks for gain.

follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain,

it,

204

THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE And

leave thee in the storm.

But

I will tarry; the fool will stay,

And

the wise

let

man

fly

:

The knave turns fool that runs away The fool no knave, perdy.

Take

the above, phrase

plication

and

;

by phrase, note

its

ap-

significance; the bitter reflections of

the Fool on the disloyalty of the king's former friends; the doubts of his present followers; the

truisms of

wisdom and

folly; the

more than sug-

gestion of knavery; and the declaration of his

own

devotion, that in another might appear ego-

tistically effusive,

but in the fool

is

natural and,

sincere.

But

And

The

The

I will tarry; the fool will stay, let

the wise

man

fly.

reply to Kent's query

lesson

is

certainly true.

was well learned, but "Not

i'

the

stocks, fool."

The Fool

is

silent

during the scene that follows,

and allows the indignation of the king full

sway without

way

to grief; this he tries to stay

interruption,

till

to

have

passion gives

with the jest of

THE FOOL the cockney

and the

IN KING LEAR and the

eels

205

butter* d hay, but

the great flood of an outraged father's wrath his

beyond

power

stem.

to

is

and

Awestricken

dumb

he stands, impotently watching the sturdy cefense of his aged master against the combined attack of his unnatural daughters.

him from a

siield

limit of

he sees

blow,

single

sjength waning, and

Powerless to

his reason totter,

human endurance

is

reached,

till

hisi

the!

and the old

man, exhausted in mind and body, falls into the a -ms of his humble friend with the agonizing cry^"3,

fool, I shall

The

gates,

go mad!"

of

like the hearts

dmghters," are closed against

and the storm descends.

his

"pernicious

him; night

"The

falls,

fretful elements

ccntend," "the to-and-fro conflicting wind and rsin," struggle for supremacy,

the earth.

01.

The Fool

o\m

;

^,

runs

their fury

not consistent ; he has not taken his

down

..Jiold

when

a great

a hill," but cling^ to the descend-

and revolving disk

The

and vent

-

advice to "Let go thine

w leel in

is

-1^

rain drenches

'

as it rolls to destruct ion>

him

to the skin, the

wind

2o6


chills his

blood to

rolling thunder

ice,

fill

and the

his heart

flashing fire

and

with fear; but the

combined fury of the elements cannot drive him

from

his master's side, or shake the loyalty of his

love.

Patiently he follows the aimless footsteps

of the distracted king, clinging to his dripping first by suggestion and then apgarments, and, to guide the grief-stricken old man peal, endeavors to shelter,

i

-4

,

house is nuncle, court holy-water in a dry nuncle Good door. o' out better than this rain-water a here's night pities ask daughters' blessing; '

O

Fool.

thy

in;

neither wise

Yet both

men nor

fools.

are abroad, exposed to its impetuou:

blasts.

How and

is,

well our poet

knew

that_contrast was

the very essence of the

drama; and ho\

of life are here presented strikingly the contrasts

Great nature in the majesty of

humanity

at

its

mercy!

its

wrath, wea!

The deep philosophy

o

a child-changed father, and the trifli^Jests^

motley clown !0"wihy fioTand^^^

and yet these

contrasts" are

woven -into

the fabn

THE FOOL

IN KING LEAR

207

of the play with such consummate skill that a natural and perfect

Truly there

is

harmony is preserved. wisdom beneath the coxcomb

in

the following:

He

that has a house to put's head in has a

good head-

piece.

That man that makes

What he

his heart should

Shall of a

And

his toe

com

make

cry woe.

turn his sleep to wake.

For there was never yet mouths in a glass.

Truisms but

trifles

!

fair

woman

but she

made

yet they form the only rem-

edy the poor Fool can

offer to cure the

deadly

grief of the old king; the only stay his

puny

strength can put forth to prevent that "great

wheel" from running down the

We recognize the

hill.

truth of the boy's reply to the

demand of Kent upon

the heath,

'Who's

there *?"

"Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece; that's a wise man and a fool." But we reverse the intent of the assertion.

Kent succeeds

in in ducin g the old king to seek


2o8 some

and the fjopLand the 1^

shelter,

unresistingly to the hovel.

The

art of our necessities

That can make

is

strange,

vile things precious.

Foul straw that has bedded

cattle

is

the pallet

of a king, and his chamber a hovel that a swine-

herd would despise; yet the royalty of his nature reigns within his heart,

friends

is

shines

not forgotten; nothing could be

more tender than

his gracious

acknowledgment of he seeks the humble

and appreciation, ere shelter they have found for him

his love

:

Poor fool and knave, I have one part in That's sorry yet for thee.

Oh!

still

In his great extremity the fidelity of

about him. his

and regal grace

faithful

Fool!

unselfish

my

heart

friend!

thou

need'strliot the sunlight of fortune to develop thy

love; storms

may

fright thee; cold

may

chill

thy

blood; and fear invade thy heart, but thou art steadfast.

The

elements themselves approve thy fidelity,

and abate

their fury,

for the storm grows less

THE FOOL severe;

IN KING LEAR

209

and above the soughing of the wind the

sweet melody of thy gentle song, infected with thy tears

the air with the soft tranquillity of a

fills

mother's lullaby, and soothes the vexed spirit of

thy

much loved

He

master.

and a

that has

little

tiny wit,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. Must make content with his fortunes fit,

Though

How is

the rain

it

true to nature

raineth every day. is

the reaction.

The

king

sheltered, at least for a time; for himself or his

own

edge of his

Fool has no thought, so the keen wit is directed to the world and its

injustices.

Hdw

ease the

bitterly cynical his arraignment

of fortune, an indictment that in

comprehensive and prophetic,

it

its

quality

would seem

is

so

as if

had pierced the veil of time, and wrongs and corruptions of the present

the poet's vision

named day.

the"

.

The Fool

is

alone and his thoughts are ex-

pressed in the nature of a soliloquy

:

speak a prophecy ere I go: When priests are more in word than matter; I'll


210

When brewers mar their malt with water; When nobles are their tailors' tutors; No heretics bum'd, but wenches' suitors; When every case in law is right; No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; When slanders do not live in tongues ;

Nor

cutpurses When usurers

come not to throngs tell

their gold

And bawds and wantons

i'

;

the field;

churches build:

Then

shall the

Come

to great confusion:

realm of Albion

Then comes the time, who lives to That going shall be us'd with feet. I t wil l

see't,

be observe d that the_jLbove-is-tbe-fiFSt-

soliloquy of the Fool, in other words, the

first

time that, being alone, he has spoken his thoughts that

we might„know.them.

As a

rule, I

have found in Shakespeare the

first

soliloquy to be the keynote to the character; but I think the present instance

shrewd

indicate a worldly

The

an exception.

epigrams that the

satire of the parabolical

Fool has uttered with so

"

is

much

deliberation

would

wisdom and embittered

casm. rather than the

lo:v:altv

sar-'î

and loxe ..which

his distinguishing characteristic^

is'

and which seems

THE FOOL

IN KING LEAR

211

expand and grow as the poor old king's strength fails, and wits give way. Once more the king is out in the storm, and now

to

mother character

is

Bedlam

added to the scene

—"Poor

Pom,"

the

beggar,

whose exaggerated

-avings

make an appropriate

addition to the en-

vironment, and complete the picture of

human

nisery.

Small wonder ion by

that, appalled

which he is

by the combina-

surrounded, the Fool exclaims

1

:

nadmen//} '"'^'Pât

a trio of contrast

'armhouse

in

which

is

they

presented at the rude are

now

sheltered:

The poor old king, his clothing torn by the briers, lis hair and beard ravished by the wind, rain;.oaked to the

skin,^n^giwmig^morejwitL^

:ninutej__the^

naked_Bedlam__beggar (Edgar

;

;

dis-

*Toor_ To]7i^l„as_summg__madness for. afety; and the motley fool, servin^;jmd su%ring

juised) ,

vith dog-like fidelity, content to share his rnaster's ortune,"'be

it

good or

ill.

Among them

it

is

.


212 indeed

difficult to

who

determine

is

and who

sane,

and the declaration of thp Fool seems to be apt and appropriate: "He's' mad that trusts is

not,

in the tameness of a wolf,_ahorse'^ health, a boy*s love, or a wanton's oath.'*

The composition

of the court of justice, in the

old farmhouse, of a serving man, a beggar, and a Fool on the bench, commissioned by a ito •

i

try imaginary offenders, fomis a

able assembly," and

mad

king

most "honor-

indeed a grim satire on the

is

administration of justice. It

may

be observed, that while Shakespeare has

treated the Chief Justice in

higher judges, eral plays,

if so I

may

justices

m4y

terai

with respect and

severe on the ignorance

and

local

be due to his

Warwickshire

them

in his sev-

he

digni.ty,

is

very

and arrogance of the petty

magistratesi'

own

justices,

IV, and the

Henry

How

whom

it

is

said he

became somewhat unpl'easahtly familiar in youth, and against whom he appears to have tained some resentment all his

pared to say.

this

with several

experience

with

far

life, I

am

his re-

not pre-

THE FOOL The

213

day of sorrow, pain and sufferan end at last. "Oppressed nature"

long, long

ing comes to lias

IN KING LEAR

reached the limit of

its

endurance, her "foster-

nurse," repose, has "closed the eye of anguish," :ind

compassionate

the

sleep,

"balm of hurt

minds," brings oblivion, for a time at

VThe king

muring, "We'll go to supper the faithful Fool, his limbs his

eyes

least.

clouded mind mur-

falls asleep, his

i'

the morning,"

benumbed with

and

cold,

wearied with watching and his heart

heavy with

"And

grief, responds,

I'll

go

to

bed

It noon.

These are the

last lines spokeri

litter to carry the

thers to bear

seen no more. 1

im, and

we

No

further reference

and

is

is

made

to

:

"And my poor

hanged."

fool i

Commentators spplication

pre-

assists the

spoken by the king in

he last scene of the tragedy

i;

is

are left in ignorance of his fate if

\ê except a brief passage t

command,

his sleeping master,

away ',

the Fool ; the

king to a place of safety

])ared; the Fool, at Kent's {

by

as I

of these

have

said, differ as to the

words.

fSome claim

that

214


they refer to his dead daughter Cordelia, but I prefer to regard them as informing us of the fate

of the poor Fool, whose to his fidelityjS It

,

life

has been sacrificed

J^

:t]

but a natural conclusion, and in perfect

is

hatmony with

the tragic incidents of the play.

Such

love, such unselfish devotion could not sur-

vive

its

object.

was

It

inevitable.

Life with

such tragic memories would be impossible to en-

No.

dure.

The

One

fate

encompassed them both.

gentle spirit of the faithful friend has gone

and patiently waits for the poor tortured soul of his loved master to share the peace that he before,

has found.

He

that hath

P^ttmf'vni^y

With

heigh, ho, the'wind'and the rain Though the rain it raineth every day. Oh the wind, the wind and the rain.

THE END

;

A'

',(•

<:'-

d -ii'^s^

'^M^''

BINDING SECT.

OCT 2

1 1982

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CARDS OR SUPS FROM THIS POCKET UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

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Waxde, Frederick B. The fools of Shakespeare i

3^ "'^"^^MiiAjv^v^Hk

fools of shakespeare

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