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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 
 
 1913 
 
j'^^:/lT'^ 
 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 McBride, Nast & Co. 
 
 Published, .October, 1913 
 
 ©C1.A358089 
 
To 
 the memory of that gallant gentle- 
 man, loyal friend and splendid actor, 
 
 LOUIS f AMES, 
 in close association with whom were 
 spent the happiest years of my profes- 
 sional life, is dedicated all that maybe 
 found worthy in the following pages. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; 
 it shines everywhere. 
 
 How far the above epigram may apply to the 
 compiler of this work, may be a matter of opinion. 
 
 Among the legion of books dealing with the 
 characters of Shakespeare, I have found the ma- 
 jority to be devoted to his tragic and serious crea- 
 tions, a few to his humorous types, but none to 
 his fools. 
 
 In the course of a lengthy career upon the 
 stage, which has been chiefly devoted to the plays 
 of Shakespeare, I have witnessed the performance 
 of these fools by accomplished actors whose skill 
 has illuminated the text, and whose abilities have 
 vitalized the poet's creations till they lived in my 
 mind, not as imaginary beings, but as real men 
 who walked, talked, and gamboled before me. 
 I have listened to their words, laughed at their 
 wit, pondered on their wisdom, and have marveled 
 
ii PREFACE 
 
 that their point and significance have apparently 
 escaped the notice of so many readers and students. 
 
 This must be my excuse, if not my justification, 
 for the book. 
 
 The matter was the subject of one of my lec- 
 tures, under the title, "The Wit and Wisdom 
 of Shakespeare's Fools" and included in my 
 series "Shakespeare and His Plays." I found, 
 however, the material so abundant I could not 
 include it in the limited time at my command on 
 the platform. I have therefore elaborated the 
 theme, enlarged the scope of the design, and 
 divided it into chapters, which I hope will enter- 
 tain the reader, instruct the student, and prove of 
 some interest generally. 
 
 I make no claim to originality, and have en- 
 deavored in all instances to credit the author with 
 the thoughts I have quoted. 
 
 I have found occasion in several instances, to 
 differ with some of the well known Shakespearean 
 scholars; but it must always be remembered that 
 I speak from the view-point of the actor, for 
 whom, and for whom alone the plays were written. 
 
PREFACE iii 
 
 I have not entered the literary dissecting room, nor 
 invaded the realm of psychology. The line of 
 demarcation between humor and imbecility, folly 
 and insanity, I leave to the professional alienist. 
 
 I have taken the characters as they appear in 
 the plays and as I conceive the author intended 
 them, with due reference to their relation to th% 
 other characters. 
 
 I proceed upon the fact that Shakespeare, being 
 an 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 presenta- 
 tion. I believe their literary quality was a mat- 
 ter of comparative indifference to him, the cre- 
 ation of the plot, the conception of the charac- 
 ters, and the arrangements of the incidents being 
 his first, if not his only consideration. The beauty 
 of diction, the delicate imagery, the exquisite 
 poetry, and the sublime philosophy, were the 
 spontaneous expression of his transcendent but 
 unconscious genius 
 
Scan the records of the thoughts of men, 
 
 On graven stone, or papyrus leaf; 
 
 On parchment scroll or printed page, 
 
 Through all the eons of the ages past 
 
 To 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 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction i 
 
 The Fool in Life and Literature .... 9 
 
 YoRicK 25 
 
 Touchstone 31 
 
 3*inculo in "The Tempest" 'J2 
 
 FesTE IN "Twelfth Night" 78 
 
 Launcelot Gobbo in "The Merchant of 
 Venice" 103 
 
 Citizen in "Julius C^sar" 121 
 
 ^Phe Clown in "Antony and Cleopatra" . .132 
 
 The Grave-Diggers in "Hamlet" . . . .139 
 
 Launce and Speed in "The Two Gentlemf^k 
 OF Verona" 162 
 
 Xhe Fool in "King Lear" 187 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Frederick Warde as "Cecco" in "The 
 
 Duke's Jester" Frontispiece ^ 
 
 FAOINa 
 PAGE 
 
 Edwin Booth as "Bertuccio" in "The Fool's 
 
 Revenge" 12 
 
 James Lewis as "Touchstone" in "As You Like 
 It" 34 
 
 T. C. Cooke as "Trinculo" in "The Tempest" . 74 , 
 
 E. Y. Backus as "Feste" in "Twelfth Night" . . 96 
 
 Charles Charters as "Launcelot Gobbo" in "The 
 
 Merchant of Venice" 116 
 
 Louis James as "Pepe" in "Francesco da Rimini" 150 / 
 
 James Lewis and Sidney Herbert as "Launce" and 
 
 "Speed" in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" 170 - 
 
THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The somewhat trite old adage, "It takes a wise 
 man to make a fool," is familiar to us all, but the 
 full point and significance of the proverb is only 
 comprehended by those who are familiar with 
 medigeval history, romance, or poetry. 
 
 Its apparent inconsistency, however, is founded 
 upon a substantial basis of reason, and a brief 
 relation of mediaeval conditions will show the 
 truth of the adage, and the point of its application. 
 
 In the early and middle ages it was customary 
 for a monarch, prince, or a powerful noble to have 
 in his retinue or household a fool or jester, whose 
 office was to entertain and amuse his master and 
 his friends. He was quite an important person- 
 age; enjoyed privileges, and was permitted liber- 
 ties that were denied the greatest nobles, the 
 closest friends, or the nearest kindred of his mas- 
 ter. 
 
 Nor birth nor rank were immune from the jests 
 
2 INTRODUCTION 
 
 and pranks of "The Jester," the monarch himself 
 often bearing with good humor the jibes that 
 would have cost the life of one less privileged. 
 The fool was, however, exempt, upon the prin- 
 ciple that "There is no slander in an allowed 
 fool." Usually a favorite with his master, his 
 influence was sought in many a state and court 
 intrigue, for under the cloak of folly he could by 
 tale or parable, tell his patron truths that others 
 could not or would not speak, and approve or 
 ridicule any scheme or project that his interest or 
 wishes might desire. However plain his truths 
 or bitter his satire few were rash enough to retali- 
 ate, and woe to that noble or courtier who might 
 incur the enmity or displeasure of the fool, for he 
 would become the target of his wit and the butt 
 of his jests, with little hope of 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 3 
 
 of more than ordinary wisdom. He could not be 
 without learning. He must be a man of great 
 observation, judgment, and understanding; quick 
 to take advantage of every occasion for the exer- 
 cise of his wit, with judgment of the time, and 
 discretion as to what to say as well as what to 
 leave unsaid. 
 
 Times have changed. Progress and evolution 
 have brought new conditions; folly no longer 
 carries a bauble, and the man who was wise enough 
 to wear the motley of the mediaeval fool might 
 don to-day the robe of the justice, or the toga of 
 the statesman with dignity to the office and honor 
 to himself. 
 
 The requirements of a court fool are well de- 
 scribed by Viola in 'Twelfth Night," Act 3, Sc. l. 
 
 This fellow's wise enough to play the 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 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 their w*^- 
 
4 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The dress of 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- 
 comb; his emblem, which he always carried, 
 was a lath or short staff, headed by a miniature 
 hood and cockscomb similar to his own called 
 a bauble, and was as sacred to the fool as 
 the sword to the soldier, or the crest to the 
 knight. The bauble also served as a protection, 
 and rendered him immune from the anger of those 
 whom he might offend — for, to strike the fool was 
 considered the act of a coward. The cap, bauble, 
 and points of the jester's dress were adorned with 
 small bells that jingled as he moved, and gave 
 warning of his approach. 
 
 Jaques, in "As You Like It," thus enumerates 
 the privileges of a fool : 
 
 O, that I were a fool ! 
 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 I must have liberty 
 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
 
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 so? 
 
 The *'why" is plain as way to parish church: 
 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart. 
 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob ; if not 
 
 The wise man's folly is anatomis'd 
 
 Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
 
 Invest me in my motley: give me leave 
 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 
 Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. 
 
 The jester was not usually a gentleman, but 
 history records several instances where men of 
 gentle birth and breeding have filled the office: 
 sometimes from design or policy, and sometimes 
 because of physical infirmities which rendered 
 them incapable of bearing arms, or prevented them 
 from taking part in feats of chivalry in field or 
 tourney. Not infrequently the jester was a 
 dwarf or cripple, his deformity giving a grotesque- 
 ness to his appearance and grim point to his satire. 
 
 Dr. Doran, in his "History of Court Fools," 
 gives us the following legend, as the origin of the 
 character, and the office: 
 
6 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Once upon a time, it happened that all Olympus 
 was dull and the gods were moping about, simply 
 bored to death. It 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 
 gala attire. The happy rustics were dancing and 
 singing, 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-natur- 
 edly, "it would be rare sport, O king of gods and 
 men, to scatter all these gaily-robed revelers, and 
 by a shower spoil their finery and their fun." 
 
 The suggestion was enthusiastically received by 
 the assembled deities. 
 
 "I propose an amendment," exclaimed Juno, 
 with feminine sympathy. "Before you send the 
 rain, let your priest from the shrine below an- 
 nounce to the people that a shower is about to 
 descend, but it shall wet only fools." 
 
 Zeus, approving, a slight sound of thunder was 
 heard, and the priest stood in front of the altar 
 and made the requisite announcement to the peo- 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 pie. Only one of the Greeks took the precaution 
 to go into his house. Every other man waited to 
 see the fools drenched, and every man there was 
 in two minutes wet to the skin. When the sun 
 reappeared the man who had sought shelter came 
 out of doors and laughed at his drenched and dis- 
 concerted fellows, who, angered at his dry and 
 comfortable condition, fell upon him and beat him 
 severely, calling him "a fool" and the like. 
 Bruised and battered, he defended himself as well 
 as he could, crying, "Have patience but a moment, 
 and I will prove to you that I am not such a fool 
 as I look." His tormentors paused, and he, look- 
 ing upward, fell on his knees, exclaiming: 
 
 "O, Zeus, merciful and just, send down another 
 shower ; wet me to the skin even as these fools are 
 wet, make me as great a fool as my neighbors 
 and enable me, a fool, to live at peace among 
 fools." 
 
 Down came the shower prayed for, and the two 
 assemblies, the gods above and the fools below, 
 roared with laughter, as he stood there drenched to 
 the skin like the rest. "This is unjust," cried 
 
8 INTRODUCTION 
 
 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 humorous philos- 
 opher home with him, to be at once his diverter 
 and 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," cried Zeus, "shall be the founder 
 of a race. Henceforward each court shall have 
 its fool; and fools shall be the preachers and ad- 
 monishers of kings. 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 
 
 HISTORY records the names of a number 
 of men who in the character of court fool 
 have made themselves famous both in word and 
 deed. Of these one of the most distinguished 
 was Triboulet, court jester to King Francis I, of 
 France. Triboulet was a nickname, but we know 
 no other. He was deformed in body, ludicrous 
 in appearance, but of a very brilliant mind. His 
 wisdom was equal to his wit, and he was, at times, 
 both fool and adviser to the king. Francis was 
 deeply attached to him and he returned the af- 
 fection loyally. Much of his wit is recorded, 
 and his pranks at the meeting of his master with 
 King Henry VIII, of England, at the "Field of 
 the cloth of gold," are related in the chronicles 
 
 9 
 
10 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of that brilliant spectacle. It is of Triboulet that 
 the following bon mot is related. He had of- 
 fended a powerful nobleman of the court, who, in 
 retaliation, threatened to hang him. As the 
 nobleman was a man of his word, poor Triboulet's 
 life was in danger, so he went to the king and 
 told him of the threat. 
 
 "Never fear, Triboulet," said the king, "if he 
 hangs you, I'll hang him fifteen minutes after- 
 wards." 
 
 To this Triboulet replied, "Couldn't your 
 Majesty contrive to hang him fifteen minutes 
 before?" 
 
 Two other French fools of distinction were 
 Brusquet and Chicot. The former held the 
 office of jester to three kings, Henri II, Francis 
 II, and Charles IX; while the latter was the 
 friend and fool to Henri III. 
 
 The most prominent English court fools or 
 jesters were: Will Sommers, in the reign of 
 Henry VIII; Patch, attached to the household of 
 Cardinal Wolsey; Hey wood, at the court of 
 Queen Mary ; and Dick Tarleton, at that of Eliz- 
 
IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE ii 
 
 abeth. Heywood, however, was also a drama- 
 tist of some distinction, and Tarleton, a very pop- 
 ular comic actor of the period. Later we 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- 
 ter is described by Pepys as "a merry droll, but 
 a gentleman of great esteem with the king." 
 Killigrew was probably the last of the licensed 
 court fools, and the office of household jester 
 ceased to exist, the character subsequently degen- 
 erating into the itinerant merry-andrew, a buffoon 
 who appeared at country fairs and village festi- 
 vals, and is now seen only at Christmas time with 
 the mummers that accompany the waits and carol 
 singers in old-fashioned English villages. 
 
 In romance the fool has prominently figured, 
 always with picturesque and frequently with dra- 
 matic effect. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, in his romantic novel "Ivan- 
 hoe," has described with much detail and fidelity 
 the character of "Wamba," and has given us a 
 very accurate and impressive picture of the life 
 
12 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 and characteristics of the jester-minstrel of the 
 time of Richard Coeur-de-Lion. 
 
 We are indebted to Victor Hugo, in "Le Roi 
 s'ammuse," for a striking and powerful picture 
 of the Italian court fool. The character is more 
 familiar, perhaps, in a dramatic version of the 
 same story, called "The Fool's Revenge," by Tom 
 Taylor, in which the late 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 court fool is most picturesquely 
 presented in ''La Dame de Monsereau," in which 
 the elder Dumas has 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. The romance 
 was dramatized for me recently, under the title 
 of "The Duke's Jester," by Mr. Espey Williams, 
 who transferred the scene of action from the court 
 
IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 13 
 
 of France to that of the Duke of Milan, in Italy; 
 and changed the name of "Chicot" to "Cecco." 
 I played the part of the jester with some success, 
 •and retained the play in my repertoire for several 
 years. 
 
 In the drama we have an admirably constructed 
 and splendidly written play, "Francesca di Ri- 
 mini," by the late George Boker, where we find 
 the fool "Pepe," keen of wit, but depraved in 
 mind, a very "lago" in motley. His fun is ma- 
 licious, his humor mischievous and his wit malev- 
 olent. A masterly performance of the character 
 was given by my friend and comrade, Mr. Louis 
 James, with whose name it will always be 
 identified. 
 
 It is Shakespeare, however, who has given us 
 the best types of fool, in which may be found not 
 only wit and wisdom, but all of those qualities 
 I have endeavored to enumerate. He has left us 
 enduring pictures of hiediseval life and manners, 
 that make the characters live again in their true 
 and perfect body and environment. 
 
 Of pertinent interest after this brief sketch of 
 
14 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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: "Desertation L, 
 The 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 Walnut Street Theater 
 in Philadelphia, while he was examining some 
 papers and effects of his deceased father. The 
 MSS. was written, I have subsequently learned, 
 by Mary Ann Booth, and is in a fine hand, on 
 old-fashioned blue note paper, now soiled 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. as characteristic of the 
 writer and the period. 
 
IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 15 
 
 I cannot agree with several of the propositions 
 advanced by the author, and it may be interest- 
 ing to know that on its first publication the book 
 met with severe condemnation at the hands of the 
 critics, so much so, that the author withdrew it 
 from sale, and it was not republished till some 
 five years after the author's death. 
 
 The significance of this little manuscript lies 
 in the evidence it gives us of the study and re- 
 search that such an actor as the late Mr. Clarke 
 gave to the accurate presentation of his characters, 
 fools and clowns though they were. The details 
 of the various kinds of fools may also be noted 
 with interest, as well as the difference of the kind 
 and quality of the costumes worn by these at- 
 tractive men of motley. 
 
 I. THE GENERAL DOMESTIC FOOL. 
 
 (Often but as it should seem improperly termed "a 
 clown.") 
 
 He was — i. A mere natural or idiot. 
 
 2. Silly by nature, yet cunning and sar- 
 
 castical. 
 
 3. Artificial. 
 
i6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 us laugh, because it is no part of his natural. 
 
 All these officiated occasionally as menial servants. 
 
 The Court Fool belonged to this 3rd class. 
 
 Immoderate and disordinate joy became incorpo- 
 rate in the body of a jeaster; this fellow in person is 
 comely, in appearell courtly, but in behaviour a very 
 ape and no man; his studie is to coine bitter jests, or 
 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 intemper- 
 ately 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 worid) utterly lost. 
 This is the picture of a real hireling or artificial fool, 
 from a singular tract entitled "Wit's miserie," 1599. 
 It is so exceedingly clear that the terms clown and 
 fool were used, however improperly, as synonymous of 
 our old writers that it would be an unnecessary occu- 
 pation of the reader's time to adduce examples. Their 
 confused introduction in the dramatis personse 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 fool, both retained for the purpose of 
 making sport for their employers, the clown was cer- 
 tainly a character of much greater variety. He oc- 
 casionally represented one of the above personages ; 
 sometimes he was a mere rustic, and very often no 
 more than a shrewd and witty domestic. There are 
 some instances in which any low character in a play 
 served to amuse the audiences with his sallies 
 of coarse buffoonery, and thus became the clown of 
 the piece. In short, the theatrical clown or fool 
 seems to have been a kind of heterogeneous character, 
 drawn in part from real life, but very considerably 
 heightened to produce stage effect; an opinion that 
 derives considerable support from what Shakespeare 
 has put into the mouth of Hamlet, when he makes him 
 admonish those who play the clowns to speak no 
 more than is set down for them. Indeed, the great 
 dramatist himself cannot be absolved from the imputa- 
 tion of having given too high a colouring to the char- 
 acters in question, unless we suppose, what is ex- 
 
i8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 tremely probable, that his plays have been very much 
 interpolated by the extemporaneous nonsense of the 
 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 v^hich none but he 
 that hath wit can perform, and none but he that wants 
 it will perform. 
 
 THE CLOWN. 
 
 1. A mere country booby. 
 
 2. A 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 familiarit> 
 in order to produce stage effect. 
 
 III. The female fool, who was generally idiot. 
 
 IV. The City or Corporation Fool, whose office was 
 to assist at public entertainments and in pageants. Tc 
 this class belong perhaps the Lord Mayor's state fool 
 and those employed by the companies of trades &c. 
 
 V. Tavern Fools. These seem to have been re- 
 tained to amuse the customers. We learn from om 
 of Ben Jonson's plays that they exhibited with tht 
 jews harp, mounted on a joint-stool, and in another oi 
 them he has preserved the name of such a character 
 they were sometimes qualified to sing after the Italiai 
 manner. Fools were also employed in the commor 
 brothels. 
 
 VI. The Fool of the ancient theatrical mysteries anc 
 moralities. He was more properly speaking, the Vice 
 
IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 19 
 
 a singular character, that would afford matter for 
 much better dessertations than those of Warburton 
 and Upton. Being generally dressed in a fool's habit, 
 he appears to have been gradually and undistinguish- 
 ably blended with the domestic fool ; yet he was cer- 
 tainly a buffoon of a different sort. He was always 
 a bitter enemy to the Devil, and a part of his employ- 
 ment consisted in teazing and tormenting the poor 
 fiend on every occasion. He ceased to be in fashion 
 at the end of the sixteenth century. 
 
 Vn. The Fool in the old dumb shows exhibited at 
 fairs, and perhaps at inns, in which he was generally 
 engaged in a struggle with death ; a fact that seems 
 alluded to more than once in Shakespeare's plays. It 
 is possible that some casual vestiges of this species of 
 entertainment might have suggested the modern Eng- 
 lish pantomimes. 
 
 Vni. The Fool in the Whitsun ales and Morris 
 dance. 
 
 IX. The Mountebank's fool, or Merry Andrew. 
 
 There may be others introduced into our old dramas 
 of an indefinite and irregular kind, and not reducible 
 to any of the above classes. 
 
 COSTUME. 
 
 Whoever is desirous of obtaining general and ac- 
 curate information concerning the great variety of 
 dresses that belong to some of the characters in ques- 
 tion at different periods, must study ancient prints and 
 paintings, and especially the miniatures that embel- 
 lished manuscripts. These will furnish sufficient 
 
20 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 specimens; but the difficulty of ascertaining how the 
 theatrical fools and clowns of Shakespeare's time 
 were always habited, is insuperable. In some instances 
 the plays themselves assist by peculiar references that 
 leave but little doubt; but this is not the case in gen- 
 eral. 
 
 It may be collected both from the plays themselves, 
 and from various other authorities, that the costume 
 of the domestic fool in Shakespeare's time was of 
 two sorts. 
 
 (Here follow some etchings in pencil.) 
 
 On the first of these the coat was motley or parti- 
 coloured, and attached to the body by a girdle, with 
 bells at the skirt and elbows, though not always. The 
 breeches and hose close, and sometimes each leg of 
 a different colour. A hood resembling a monk's cowl, 
 which at a very early period, it was certainly designed 
 to imitate, covered the head entirely, and fell down 
 over part of the breast and shoulders. It was some- 
 times decorated with asses' ears, or else terminated in 
 the neck and head of a cock, a fashion as old as the 
 fourteenth century. It had often the comb or crest 
 only of the animal. 
 
 The fool usually carried in his hand an official 
 sceptre or bauble, which was a short stick ornamented 
 at the end with the figure of a fool's head, or some- 
 times with that of a doll or puppet. To this instru- 
 ment 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. 
 
IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 21 
 
 The other dress, and which appears to have been 
 more common in the time of Shakespeare, was the 
 long petticoat. This originally appertained to the 
 idiot or natural fool. Why it came to be used for 
 the allowed fool is not apparent. It was like the first, 
 of various colours, the materials often costly, as of 
 velvet, and guarded or fringed with yellow. In one 
 instance we have a yellow leather doublet. 
 I 
 
 TRINCULO. 
 
 The character of Trinculo, who in the dramatis 
 personse is called a jester, is not very well discrim- 
 inated in the course of the play itself. As he is only 
 associated with Caliban and the drunken butler, there 
 was 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 
 King of Naples as well as Stephano. He must be 
 regarded as an allowed domestic buffoon, and habited 
 in the usual manner. 
 
 LAUNCE AND SPEED. 
 
 The character of Speed is that of a shrewd witty 
 servant. Launce is something different, exhibiting 
 a mixture of archness and rustic simplicity. There is 
 no allusion to dress, nor any other circumstance that 
 marks them as the domestic fool or jester. 
 
 THE CLOWN — FESTE. 
 
 This clown is a domestic or hired fool, in the serv- 
 ice of Olivia. He is specially termed "an allowed 
 
22 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 fool" and "Feste, the jester, that the Lady Olivia's 
 father took much delight in." MalvoHo likewise 
 speaks of him as "a set fool." Of his dress it is im- 
 possible to speak correctly. If the fool's expression 
 "I will impeticoat thy greatility," be the original lan- 
 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. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE — THE CLOWN. 
 
 The clown in this play officiates as the tapster of a 
 brothel ; whence it has been concluded that he is not 
 a domestic fool, nor ought to appear in the dress of 
 that character. A little consideration will serve to 
 shew that the opinion is erroneous, that this clown is 
 altogether a domestic fool, and that he should be hab- 
 ited accordingly. Many ancient prints furnish in- 
 stances of the common use of the domestic fool in 
 brothels. 
 
 love's labour's lost — THE 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 suf- 
 ficient simplicity for a natural fool, nor wit enough 
 for an artificial one. 
 
IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 23 
 
 LAUNCELOT GOBBO. 
 
 There is not a single circumstance through the 
 whole of this play which constitutes Launcelot an al- 
 lowed fool or jester; and yet there is some reason for 
 supposing that Shakespeare intended him as such, 
 from his being called a patch, a fool of Hagar's off- 
 spring, and in one place the fool. It is not reason- 
 able, however, to conclude that a person like Shylock 
 would entertain a domestic of this description; and 
 it is possible that the foregoing terms may be merely 
 designed as synonymous with the appellation of clown, 
 as in "Love's Labour's Lost." On the whole we have 
 here a proof that Shakespeare has not observed that 
 nice discrimination of character in his clowns for 
 which some have given him credit. 
 
 / TOUCHSTONE. 
 
 Touchstone is the domestic fool of Frederick the 
 duke's brother, and belongs to the class of witty or 
 allowed fools. He is threatened with the whip, a 
 mode of chastisement which was often inflicted on 
 this motley personage. His dress should be a parti- 
 coloured garment. He should carry a bauble in his 
 hand, and wear asses ears to his hood, which is prob- 
 ably the head-dress intended by Shakespeare, there 
 being no allusion whatever to the cock's head or comb. 
 
 all's well that ends well. 
 
 The clown is a domestic fool of the same kind as 
 Touchstone. 
 
24 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 THE winter's tale. 
 
 The clown is a mere country booby. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 The fool of this play is the genuine domestic buf- 
 foon; but notwithstanding his sarcastical flashes of 
 wit, for which we must give the poet credit, and 
 ascribe 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 
 cock's head and neck. His bauble should have a head 
 like his own with a grinning countenance for the pur- 
 pose of exciting mirth in those to whom he occasion- 
 ally presents it. 
 
YORICK 
 
 ''The King's Jester'' 
 
 HAMLET, a young Danish prince, accom- 
 panied by his friend Horatio, stands by a 
 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 
 earth, together with some human bones; amongst 
 them two skulls, one of which he strikes smartly 
 with his spade to imbed it in the soft earth, and 
 prevent its rolling away. 
 
 Shocked at the apparent indifference of the old 
 man to these dead relics, the prince advances, in- 
 terrupts his work, and engages him in conversation. 
 The grave-digger is a quaint, independent old fel- 
 low, and answers the prince's questions with 
 humorous bluntness. The prince inquires, "How 
 long will a man lie in the earth ere he rot?" 
 After replying to the question, the sexton picks 
 
 25 
 
26 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 up one of the skulls from the mound of earth 
 and asserts, "This skull hath lain i' the earth 
 three-and-twenty years." "Whose was it^" 
 asks the prince. "A whoreson mad fellow's it 
 was," replies the sexton, and then adds, "A pesti- 
 lence on him for a mad rogue ! a' poured a flagon 
 of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, 
 sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester." 
 
 Gently taking the grim remainder from the 
 irreverent hands of the old grave-digger, and 
 gazing at it with loving tenderness, the prince ex- 
 claims : "Alas, poor Yorick I — I knew him, Hora- 
 tio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent 
 fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand 
 times; and now how abhorred in my imagination 
 it is I my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips 
 that I have kissed, I know not how oft. Where 
 be your gibes 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 skull had lain 
 in the earth, till every vestige of its personality 
 
YORICK 27 
 
 had been destroyed, and only the experienced eye 
 of the old sexton could recognize it. 
 
 A chapless skull! dust and bones tossed up 
 from the decaying earth from which they sprang, 
 and to which, by the inexorable law of nature, 
 they had returned; a skull that once was covered 
 with skin and tissues, through which ran a myriad 
 of arteries and veins, conveying the blood to and 
 from the active brain that lay in the now empty 
 shell. A skull that had crowned a frame, clothed 
 like itself, intersected with nerves that connected 
 the sensations of heart and brain, and canals that 
 carried the vital fluids on their ceaseless course, 
 giving the entire structure a living entity, and an 
 individual personality; the personality of Yorick, 
 jester to the court of Hamlet, King of Denmark. 
 
 Yorick! what a merry, loving soul he must 
 have been, how full of fun and frolic. What 
 pranks he must have played on those big, good- 
 natured, long-haired Viking warriors, as they sat 
 at the banquet table in the great hall of the castle 
 of Elsinore. In fancy, I can hear their laughter 
 at his madcap jests, and the deep roar of their 
 
28 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 voices as they join in the chorus of his merry 
 songs. 
 
 I can see him in the churchyard, serious for a 
 moment, sitting on an ancient tombstone, gravely 
 watching the old sexton digging "a pit of clay" ; 
 the 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, and 
 pours its contents over the head of the discomfited 
 sexton; then, fleet as a deer he runs away, leaps 
 the churchyard wall, and the faint echo of his 
 merry laughter is 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, and so tender in memory that he lives 
 in our minds as completely as though he gamboled 
 on the earth again, and laughingly j ingled his cap 
 and bells in our very ears. 
 
 How happy must have been those early days 
 
YORICK 29 
 
 at Elsinore, when Hamlet was a child and Yorick 
 his play-fellow. How they must have romped 
 together in the gardens. What fun it was for the 
 little prince to climb upon the jester's shoulders 
 and race pick-back along the terraces, the boy's 
 long fair curls blowing in the wind, and his merry 
 laughter filling the air with music. How pleas- 
 ant to sit in the shade of one of the big old trees 
 in the park, 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 
 mighty deeds of his great Viking ancestors. Then 
 there were stories, too, wonderful stories, of gob- 
 lins, sprites and fairies who did such strange 
 things that the relation of them almost frightens 
 the little prince ; but he is reassured by a smile, 
 and, twining his arms round dear old Yorick's 
 neck, and kissing the jester's lips, he nestles close 
 to the breast of his motley friend in confident 
 security. 
 
 Three-and-twenty years have passed since then ; 
 years of sorrow, years of pain I The prince is now 
 a man, with more than a man's share of doubts, 
 
30 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 perplexities and cares : and yet at the sight of the 
 bare, chapless skull of his dead play-fellow all 
 the sweet and tender past comes back again. 
 
 What a tender pathos is mingled with the 
 prince's philosophic reflections on the remains of 
 his dead friend, as memory recalls each word and 
 incident. It is indeed a reflex of Yorick himself, 
 as the prince utters the grim jest, "Now get you 
 to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint 
 an inch thick, to this favor she must come." 
 
 So must we all! The king lies in his marble 
 sepulcher, the jester in his humble grave in the 
 churchyard: but the ermine robe and motley 
 coat, the crown and bauble will mingle their dust, 
 and find equality in the universal democracy of 
 death. 
 
TOUCHSTONE 
 
 "A Worthy Foor 
 
 TO term Touchstone a clown, as he is called 
 in the cast of characters of "As You Like 
 It," seems to me both a misnomer and an injustice. 
 His knowledge, his wisdom, his wit and his faculty 
 of observation, raise him far above the condition 
 that 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 
 mediseval jester, and he more fully realizes the 
 accomplishments essential to that office, as de- 
 scribed by Viola in the "Twelfth Night," than 
 any other of the motley-minded gentlemen that 
 the poet has created. 
 
 He is a man of considerable learning, his wit is 
 never lacking in wisdom, he chooses the object of 
 his jests with prudence, the time with discretion, 
 
 31 
 
32 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the matter with judgment, and he is never at a 
 loss for a reply that is apt and to the point. 
 
 Touchstone scorns mere persiflage, is happily 
 free from the punning habit, and is seldom a cor- 
 rupter of words; he makes his jests by logical de- 
 ductions, with a good premise, a sound argument, 
 and a positive conclusion. 
 
 This same happy quality may be found in his 
 enedunters with the gentlemen of the court, the 
 ladies in their disguises, the simple shepherds in 
 the forest, and with the grave philosopher Jaques ; 
 indeed, it is the latter gentleman who most accu- 
 rately summarizes the accomplishments, and gives 
 the keynote to the jester's character, when he pre- 
 sents him to the Duke : "Is not this a rare fellow, 
 good my lord? he is as good at anything, and yet 
 a fool." ^ 
 
 The wit of Touchstone does not scintillate, 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. It is sententious 
 rather than brilliant, more philosophic than friv- 
 
TOUCHSTONE 33 
 
 olous, and invariably epigrammatic. His humor 
 is never malicious, nor his satire bitter; he shoots 
 his wit at every mark that presents itself, but his 
 shafts are harmless; they have no barb and leave 
 no sting. 
 
 Touchstone is not a buffoon, he does not play 
 practical jests nor indulge in such pranks as did 
 that "mad rogue" Yorick. Had it been Touch- 
 stone in the churchyard at Elsinore when the sex- 
 ton was digging a grave, he would not have poured 
 a flagon of wine over the old grave-digger's head ; 
 he would probably have leaned against one of the 
 old yew trees, watched the proceedings with quiet 
 reflection, and if the old sexton had advanced any 
 of his socialistic theories, the jester would have 
 argued the matter to the end, and no doubt have 
 beaten him on his own proposition. 
 
 There are no demonstrations or expressions of 
 affection by Touchstone, as by the fool in "King 
 Lear," yet he is not lacking in loyalty; he leaves 
 the court of Duke Frederick to follow the for- 
 tunes of Celia, the Duke's daughter, out of sincere 
 regard, running the risk of the Duke's displeasure 
 
34 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 and probably of punishment if discovered; he ac- 
 cepts the fatigues of the journey and the discom- 
 forts of life in the forest of 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 and Rosalind inviolate. 
 My first acquaintance with Touchstone was 
 made many years ago, at Manchester, in England. 
 A very elaborate production of "As You Like It" 
 was presented at the Prince's Theater there. I 
 played the part of Orlando to the Rosalind of that 
 beautiful and incomparable actress. Miss Adelaide 
 Neilson. Mr. Compton was the fool. I cannot 
 imagine a more adequate and effective performance 
 of the part than Mr. Compton gave; his quaint 
 personality, his unctuous humor, his artistic in- 
 stinct, added to his ripe experience, combined to 
 present a complete embodiment of the poet's 
 design. The mobility of his features reflected the 
 spirit of every line he uttered ; and though he sel- 
 dom 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 35 
 
 ation of the humor of the occasion, which laughter 
 would have failed to convey. 
 
 The memory of Mr. Compton's performance 
 will ever remain with me as the living embodiment 
 of Touchstone. 
 
 It is a pleasing pastime to conjure up in one's 
 mind the pictures that Shakespeare has drawn, and 
 give them vitality, form and color. I have en- 
 deavored to imagine the scene of the first meeting 
 of Touchstone with the gloomy philosopher 
 Jaques, in the forest, as described by that eccentric 
 gentleman. 
 
 A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i' the forest, 
 
 A motley fool ! — a miserable world ! 
 
 As I do live by food, I 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. 
 
 The description is brief, but it suggests to the 
 imagination a scene of rare sylvan beauty, and 
 striking human contrast. An opening in the trees 
 where the sun, unimpeded by the heavy foliage of 
 the deep forest brightens the landscape, and the 
 atmosphere is redolent with the fragrance of the 
 
36 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 wild yood flowers. The bees are humming drows- 
 ily, the birds flit by on speedy wings to reach their 
 nests, and from their leafy homes trill out their 
 joy in sweetest melody. Touchstone is lying 
 upon the soft green turf; he imagines himself to 
 be alone, unseen, unheard. He is soliloquizing, 
 speaking his thoughts aloud, as 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. But he is not 
 alone. Jaques, wandering through the forest, ob- 
 serves the motley figure reclining on the ground, 
 and hearing his voice but seeing no auditor, stops 
 and listens. Noting his motley coat, Jaques at 
 first takes the fellow for an ordinary fool, for 
 which most people at that time, including Shake- 
 speare himself, had a profound contempt; but 
 Touchstone's railing is no ordinary abuse; it is in 
 such "good terms," such ''good set terms," 
 that the philosopher not only stops to listen to 
 "the motley fool," but is so entertained that he 
 
TOUCHSTONE 37 
 
 finally accosts, and greets him with a salutation 
 that invites conference. 
 
 After the greeting there is another picture. The 
 background is the same, but the figures have 
 changed their position. The fool is still lying 
 upon the ground, now alert and responsive ; while 
 Jaques has found the trunk of a friendly tree, 
 against which he leans in contemplative curios- 
 ity. 
 
 It would be interesting to hear the whole of the 
 dialogue between the recumbent fool and the 
 standing philosopher; but the dramatist was too 
 wise to make such an error of construction. He 
 gives us the main points and leaves the rest to the 
 imagination. That Touchstone was fully equal 
 to the occasion, and "vented from the strange 
 places in his brain, crammed with observation, 
 mangled forms" that impressed and astonished 
 "Good Monsieur Melancholy," is proved by the 
 fact that the latter's usual gravity is changed to 
 the broadest merriment, culminating in his ex- 
 pressed desire to emulate the province of the 
 clown. 
 
38 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 O that I were a fool! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 But to return to that portion of this interesting 
 interview the poet has given us. It is narrated 
 by Jaques himself: 
 
 "Good morrow, fool," quoth I. "No, sir," quoth he, 
 
 "Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune." 
 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke, 
 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 
 Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock; 
 
 Thus may we see," quoth he, "how the world wags. 
 
 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, 
 
 And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; 
 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
 
 And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; 
 
 And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 
 
 The motley 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 
 
 An hour by his dial. — O noble fool! 
 
 A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. 
 
 We are not informed of the effect of the inter- 
 view on Touchstone but, doubtless, like a good 
 soldier that appreciates a foeman worthy of his 
 steel, he esteemed the philosopher the more after 
 the combat of their wits. 
 
TOUCHSTONE 39 
 
 Henry Giles, in his "Human Life of Shake- 
 speare," calls Touchstone "The Hamlet of mot- 
 ley," and finds "a sadness in his jests" and "in his 
 mockery seem(s) to hear echoes from a solitary 
 heart." He epigrammatically summarizes the 
 character as follows: "He is a thinker out of place, 
 a philosopher in mistaken vesture, a genius by 
 nature, an outcast by destiny." It may be pre- 
 sumption on my part to differ from so distin- 
 guished an authority, but, while I approve the 
 application of the term "Hamlet of motley" as 
 justified by Touchstone's analogy to the Danish 
 prince in his reflective philosophy on the mutabil- 
 ity of life, I fail to find any evidence of "sadness 
 in his jests" or the "echoes from a solitary heart" 
 in his sentiments or conduct. As I have before 
 observed, his jests are not frivolous, but they are 
 characteristic of the man, quaint and sententious, 
 and never lacking in humor. On the arrival of 
 the fool in the forest of Arden, with Celia and 
 Rosalind, he jests at the love tale which he and 
 the ladies overhear Sylvius relate to Corin, and 
 burlesques the amatory verses that Orlando has 
 
40 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 so, but for the advice of Jaques, 
 who urges him to postpone the ceremony till a 
 more favorable opportunity. This opportunity 
 presents itself at the conclusion of the play, and 
 Touchstone is there with his sweetheart, eager, as 
 he declares, to "swear and forswear, according as 
 marriage binds." These conditions do not seem 
 to indicate a solitary heart. As to Mr. Giles's 
 final summary of Touchstone's character, his 
 genius I admit; but a thinker is never out of place : 
 there is no distinctive vesture for a philosopher: 
 and the jester to so important a personage as the 
 Duke can scarcely be termed an outcast. 
 
 It would seem by the initial appearance of 
 Touchstone that Shakespeare intended to repre- 
 sent him as the ordinary type of "a dull fool," and 
 later endowed him with the wealth of wit and 
 wisdom that has so enriched the character, and 
 made it so conspicuous in the comedy. 
 
TOUCHSTONE 41 
 
 This has caused so eminent an authority as Dr. 
 Furness to conclude that Shakespeare intended to 
 present two separate and distinct characters: an 
 ordinary "roynish clown" or "clownish fool," as 
 he is called in the first act, and the keen and witty 
 philosopher, the "worthy fool" we find in the 
 later acts. 
 
 Again, I am compelled to differ with a dis- 
 tinguished scholar. 
 
 I can find nothing inconsistent in the character. 
 
 In the first act. Touchstone's jests are light and 
 frivolous, but in perfect keeping with the duties 
 of his office, which were to entertain and amuse 
 his master and his household; and even that 
 trifling example of the knight and the pancakes 
 is an apt illustration of his argument on "swearing 
 by his honor" ; while his sarcastic reference to 
 "breaking of ribs" as "sport for ladies" is entirely 
 consistent with his philosophic satire in the later 
 acts. 
 
 The unities of the character are well preserved, 
 and the link connecting Touchstone at the court 
 with Touchstone in the forest is clearly defined. 
 
42 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Rosalind and Celia, having decided to leave the 
 court and seek security in the forest, Rosalind 
 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 vi^as successful is obvious, for 
 the next time we meet them they are at the edge of 
 the forest. Touchstone is with them, and like 
 themselves wearied by the journey they have 
 made. The continuity is complete. The same 
 trenchant wit that satirized the "breaking of ribs" 
 at the court, humorously exclaims against the 
 fatigues of the journey, and the discomforts of 
 the forest. 
 
 Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! 
 
 Tou. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not 
 weary. 
 
 Cel. I pray you bear with me ; I cannot go further. 
 
 Tou. For my part, I had rather bear with you than 
 
TOUCHSTONE 43 
 
 bear you ; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, 
 for I think you have no money in your purse. 
 
 Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
 
 Tou. Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool I! 
 when I was at home, I was in a better place: but 
 travelers must be content. / 
 
 It is obvious to me that the characters developed 
 in the mind of the author as he progressed in the 
 construction of the play, and however clear may 
 have been his first conception of the part, he elab- 
 orated and perfected it as the possibilities pre- 
 sented themselves. 
 
 Dr. Furness, however, is most emphatic against 
 this view of Shakespeare's methods. He says: 
 "I cannot suppose — it is unthinkable — that from 
 the first instant each character was not present 
 before him in perfect symmetry and absolute com- 
 pleteness." 
 
 This is the natural point of view of such an ac- 
 complished scholar and scientific literary critic as 
 Dr. Furness ; but Shakespeare had not the Doctor's 
 advantages of a systemized education, nor such 
 profound literary culture. Shakespeare adopted 
 methods of his own, which were at variance with 
 
44 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 as we have, indicates that nearly 
 all of the poet's pi ay- writing was hastily done, 
 and as he then thought, but for temporary use on 
 the stage. We have no evidence of revision either 
 for publication or for subsequent reproduction, 
 but much that justifies the inference that he was 
 indifferent to the merits of his dramatic work; 
 so that while his plots may have been carefully 
 prepared, the characters grew in detailed impor- 
 tance 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 You Like It," 
 and the result was the evolution of Touchstone. 
 
TOUCHSTONE 4^ 
 
 The story of the knight and the pancakes, re- 
 ferred to in the foregoing lines, is told by Touch- 
 stone in the second scene of the first act; his initial 
 appearance in the play. 
 
 Rosalind and Celia are in the gardens of the 
 Duke's palace, when they are approached by 
 Touchstone, who addressing Celia, says: — ''Mis- 
 tress, you must come away to your father." Celia 
 responds with the question, "Were you made the 
 messenger?" ''No, by mine honor," asserts 
 Touchstone, "but I was bid to come for you." 
 Honor being a quality with which a fool was not 
 supposed to be familiar, his asseveration draws 
 from Rosalind the query, "Where learned you that 
 oath, fool?" to which Touchstone replies as fol- 
 lows: "Of a certain knight who swore by his 
 honor they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
 honor the mustard was naught. Now I'll stand 
 to it, the pancakes were naught and the mus- 
 tard was good, and yet was not the knight for- 
 sworn." 
 
 The ladies at this apparent trifling, grow sar- 
 castic, Celia asking, "How prove you that in the 
 
46 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 great heap of your knowledge?" Rosalind 
 echoes her cousin's sentiment by adding, "Ay, 
 marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom." 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 
 as requested, passing their hands over their faces, 
 Celia exclaiming, "By our beards, if we had them, 
 thou art." Touchstone concludes the story and 
 the argument by asserting: "By my knavery, if 
 I had it, then I were ; but if you swear by that that 
 is not, you are not forsworn. No more was this 
 knight, swearing by his honor, for he never had 
 any; or 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 
 him with the whip, for "taxation." Touch- 
 stone's reply is worthy of the keenest satirist: 
 "The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely 
 when wise men do foolishly." 
 
 The advent of Le Beau, a courtier, puts an 
 end to the discussion. Le Beau invites the ladies to 
 
TOUCHSTONE 47 
 
 see some wrestling, which he terms "good sport," 
 and describes with much detail the bouts that have 
 already occurred, in which Charles, the champion 
 wrestler, has overthrown and broken the ribs of 
 three young men, brothers, who have essayed to 
 compete 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 
 lamentations at their hurts. At the conclusion of 
 Le Beau's narrative Touchstone gravely inquires, 
 "But what is the sport. Monsieur, that the ladies 
 have lost?" "Why, this that I speak of," returns 
 the courtier. "Thus," replies Touchstone, "men 
 may grow wiser every day! It is the first time 
 that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for 
 ladies." 
 
 In the early days of my dramatic experience, 
 there was an unworthy "gag" introduced into this 
 scene by comedians who played Touchstone. At 
 the conclusion of the wrestling, which is witnessed 
 by the ladies and Touchstone, the champion is 
 worsted by Orlando, and thrown senseless to the 
 
48 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ground. The duke, with whom the wrestler is 
 a favorite, inquires with some anxiety, "How 
 dost thou, Charles^" in reply to which Le Beau 
 should answer, "He cannot speak, my lord." 
 Comedians, however, were permitted to appropri- 
 ate this line and would preface it with the words, 
 "He says," making the sentence in its entirety 
 read, "He says he cannot speak, my lord!" 
 a poverty-stricken jest of which Touchstone 
 would have been incapable. Happily, this "gag" 
 is now omitted. 
 
 The journey of Rosalind, Celia and Touchstone 
 to the forest of Arden has been already referred 
 to, together with the latter's witticisms on the 
 subject, but there is one passage of the fool's I 
 cannot refrain from repeating, "Travelers must 
 be content." 
 
 Speaking from many years of experience over 
 many miles and in many lands, I know of no bit of 
 wisdom, 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 
 
 that 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- 
 lind the acknowledgment that she is similarly 
 affected; and Touchstone declares he too has suf- 
 fered, and humorously describes his experiences 
 with Jane Smile, concluding with the sage aver- 
 ment: ''We that are true lovers run into strange 
 capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all 
 nature in love mortal in folly." The sentiment 
 is approved by Rosalind, who remarks, "Thou 
 speakest wiser than thou art ware of." "Nay," 
 modestly replies Touchstone, "I shall ne'er be 
 ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against 
 it." 
 
 Touchstone's adaptability and good nature 
 soon make him friends and in the third act we 
 find him in pleasant converse with the old shep- 
 herd Corin, who evidently has considerable respect 
 for him, for he addresses him first as "Master 
 Touchstone" and subsequently as "Sir." Corin's 
 homely wit, however, is no match for that of 
 
50 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Touchstone, but the latter is compelled, in justice, 
 to acknowledge that even in the limited sphere 
 of his pastoral life the shrewd observations of the 
 old shepherd have made him a natural philos- 
 opher. The dialogue is bright and characteristic 
 throughout the scene, but the passages quoted be- 
 low are especially good examples of Touchstone's 
 logical reasoning. 
 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master 
 Touchstone ? 
 
 Ton. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a 
 good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, 
 it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it 
 very well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a very 
 vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleas- 
 eth me well ; but in respect it is not in the court, it is 
 tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my 
 humor well: but as there is no more plenty in it, it 
 goes much against my stomach. — Wast ever at court, 
 Shepherd ? 
 
 Cor. No, truly. 
 
 Tou. Then thou art damned. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. 
 
 Toil. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never 
 saw'st good manners ; if thou never saw'st good man- 
 ners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wicked- 
 ness is sin, and sin is damnation. 
 
TOUCHSTONE 51 
 
 A little more reasoning, and Corin confesses 
 himself unable to cope further with Touchstone: 
 
 Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. 
 
 Tou. Wilt thou rest damned ? God help thee, shal- 
 low man. If thou be'st not damned for this, the devil 
 himself will have no shepherds. 
 
 It is evident that at this time Touchstone has 
 not yet fallen a victim to the bucolic charms of 
 Audrey; for he ridicules, with extemporaneous 
 doggerel, the very interesting love verses that 
 Rosalind has found hanging on the forest trees, 
 and so seriously offends the lady that he is sum- 
 marily dismissed from her presence. 
 
 Shortly after, however, in spite of his sad ex- 
 perience with Jane Smile, we find him paying 
 assiduous court to the rustic maiden, Audrey; 
 offering "to fetch up her goats," plying her with 
 the usual questions, and awaiting her replies with 
 the usual anxiety of a lover; but the court fool's 
 language and references to classic Ovid are beyond 
 the understanding of the simple country wench, 
 who ingenuously asks for further information. 
 This is somewhat discouraging to the motley lover, 
 
 s^- 
 
52 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 and he thus complains: "When a man's verses 
 cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit 
 seconded with the forward child Understanding, 
 it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning 
 in a little room."j 
 
 He then expresses the wish that the gods had 
 made her poetical. This, too, is beyond Audrey's 
 comprehension, and she artlessly inquires, "Is it 
 honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing?" 
 In spite of Touchstone's desire that Audrey should 
 be poetical, he has apparently no very exalted 
 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 
 they do feign." 
 
 I must confess that I find almost as much diffi' 
 culty as Audrey in comprehending the argument 
 of Touchstone in the following passages. To 
 Audrey's query, "Do you wish then that the gods 
 had made me poetical?" Touchstone replies, "I 
 do, truly; for thou swear'st to me thou art honest: 
 now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope 
 
TOUCHSTONE 53 
 
 thou didst feign." These words are clear enough, 
 even to the simple understanding of Audrey, who 
 asks in surprise, "Would you not have me 
 honest?" It is Touchstone's reply to this question 
 that I find confusing. He evidently has a sincere 
 affection for this homely country girl; he admires 
 her ingenuous simplicity in spite of her ignorance| 
 and his intentions are honorable, for he proposes 
 to make her his wife; yet he answers Audrey's 
 question, first, with an emphatic negative, "No, 
 truly," and then makes the following reservation, 
 "Unless thou wert hard favour'd," and gives the 
 concluding illogical reason, "For honesty coupled 
 to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar." 
 It may be that Touchstone's worldly wisdom sees 
 danger in too many virtues, and the honesty of 
 Audrey is sufficient attraction without beauty. 
 There is a ring of sincerity in Audrey's re- 
 joinder; a note that argues well for harmony, 
 and a longer voyage on the sea of matrimony than 
 Jaques allots them. Audrey may not be learned 
 or poetical, but neither is she shallow nor vain like 
 the little shepherdess, Phoebe; she is not coquet- 
 
54 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ting for a compliment, but with refreshing candor 
 admits: "Well, I am not fair, and therefore I 
 pray the gods to make me honest." I find in Au- 
 drey's simple prayer and womanly candor qualities 
 indicating that in the choice of a wife Touchstone 
 has neither been unwise nor unfortunate. 
 
 It would appear that Touchstone had little 
 doubt of the success of his suit, for he not only 
 tells Audrey that he will marry her, 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 con- 
 sent, "Well, the gods give us joy!" to which 
 Touchstone adds, "Amen I" 
 
 \ 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 we have no temple but 
 the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But 
 what, thought ... Is the single man therefore 
 blessed? No; as a walled town is more worthier 
 
TOUCHSTONE S5 
 
 than a village, so is the forehead of a married man 
 more honorable than the bare brow of a bachelor; 
 and by how much defense is better than no skill, 
 by so much is a horn more precious than to want." 
 Having arrived at this conclusion. Sir Oliver 
 Martext having arrived also. Touchstone is anx- 
 ious that the ceremony shall proceed, and asks of 
 the vicar, "Will you despatch us here under the 
 tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?" 
 For reply,' the vicar, looking around, asks, "Is 
 there none here to give the woman?" to which the 
 fool, who is obviously unfamiliar with the mar- 
 riage service responds, "I will not take her on gift 
 of^ any man." As this attitude of Touchstone 
 seems liable to postpone indefinitely, if not prevent 
 the ceremony altogether, Jaques, who has been lis- 
 tening unobserved to the entire scene, steps for- 
 ward and offers his services. Having, however, 
 acquired a profound respect for Touchstone, and 
 perceiving that he is in earnest in his desire to be 
 married to Audrey, Jaques urges him to have the 
 ceremony performed in a church by a properly or- 
 dained minister, and the appropriate surroundings 
 
56 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 of a gentleman; rather than by a hedge-priest in 
 the forest, like a beggar. Touchstone hesitates 
 before adopting this course, and Shakespeare has 
 put an aside speech into his mouth, which if taken 
 seriously would destroy much of our respect for 
 him. Some of the commentators have taken it 
 seriously, and have deduced the conclusion that 
 Touchstone intended to deceive Audrey ; but I can- 
 not think it. Every action of the fool, and every 
 other line that the author has given him, expresses 
 sincere regard and indicates honorable intentions. 
 The entire speech seems to me to be the spon- 
 taneous expression of the humor of the situation, 
 as it appears to the keen sense of our motley 
 friend. The subject matter is not new nor the 
 treatment of it original. Marriage has been the 
 theme of jest at all times, to all conditions of 
 people, and Touchstone was too instinctively a 
 jester not to appreciate the possibility of a jest, 
 even on himself. The lines are as follows: 
 (Aside) "I am not in the mind but I were better 
 to be married of him than of another, for he is 
 not like to marry me well, and not being well 
 
TOUCHSTONE 57 
 
 married, will be a good excuse for me hereafter 
 to leave my wife." 
 
 However, Touchstone and Audrey accompany 
 Jaques to discuss the matter further, leaving the 
 despised Sir Oliver in high dudgeon, and without 
 a fee. 
 
 Jaques evidently succeeded in convincing 
 Touchstone of the propriety of his suggestion, but 
 Audrey fails to comprehend the necessity of de- 
 lay. To her limited understanding, one priest is 
 as good as another. In the first scene of the fifth 
 act she emphatically expresses her impatience, in- 
 dicating that she has an opinion, if not a will, of 
 her own, and protests, "Faith, the priest was good 
 enough, for all the old gentleman's saying." 
 Touchstone finds it quite a task for his wit to 
 pacify the lady, and is only successful by divert- 
 ing her attention to the claims of another to her 
 affections; a certain forest youth named William. 
 It is a shrewd piece of diplomacy on the part of 
 the fool, and not new to the world by any means ; 
 to terminate an argument by changing the sub- 
 ject, and affecting reproach, or of meeting one 
 
58 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 critically, 
 and complacently observes, "It is meat and drink 
 to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have 
 good wits have much to answer for; we shall 
 be flouting, we cannot hold." 
 
 It is a curiously contrasted group we have be- 
 fore us now: The country girl, awkward and 
 embarrassed in the presence of her rustic suitor, 
 and her court trained lover; the forest youth, ill 
 at ease, nervously shifting from one foot to the 
 other, as he stands, hat in hand before her; and 
 the smug, self-satisfied court fool, who conscious 
 of possession, revels in his superiority, and re- 
 joices in the discomfiture of his unsuccessful rival. 
 
 With what a delightful assumption of patron- 
 age. Touchstone questions the simple William, 
 encourages, emboldens, then confuses, and finally 
 drives the poor fellow from the field with the most 
 terrible threats of disaster and death. The scene 
 
TOUCHSTONE 59 
 
 is rich in comedy, but beneath the surface may be 
 appreciated a deep satire on the world. 
 
 One passage especially, presents a most whole- 
 some truth, that it is superfluous for me to em- 
 phasize, but which I cannot forbear quoting. 
 Amongst other questions, Touchstone asks of 
 William, "Art thou wise*?" William incau- 
 tiously replies, "Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit." 
 This is Touchstone's opportunity, and he retorts: 
 "Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a 
 saying. The fool doth think he is wise, but the 
 wise man knows himself to be a fool." 
 
 Touchstone is now summoned by 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 we meet the motley "lover and his 
 lass," the former tells her, "To-morrow is the joy- 
 ful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married," 
 to which she candidly and sensibly replies, "I 
 do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no 
 dishonest desire to be a woman of the world." 
 
 Audrey's wishes are shortly realized; Rosalind, 
 
6o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the good fairy, waves her wand, and the forest of 
 Arden becomes a veritable Temple of Hymen. 
 All differences are adjusted, all wrongs righted, 
 and true love receives its reward. It is a joyous 
 meeting of their betters, to which Touchstone 
 brings his prospective bride, and to which they 
 are heralded by Jaques in his characteristic 
 fashion: ''There is, 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: "Good my 
 lord, like this fellow," to which the Duke cour- 
 teously replies, "I like him very well." 
 
 Touchstone's acknowledgment is characteristic, 
 if not especially gallant; but his self-abnegation 
 is scarcely consistent with his previously expressed 
 declaration, that he would not take Audrey "on 
 gift of any man." However, his concluding epi- 
 gram is convincing, and his metaphor perfect: 
 "God 'ield you, sir I I desire of you the like. I 
 press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country 
 
TOUCHSTONE 61 
 
 copulatives, to swear and forswear, according as 
 marriage binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, 
 sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own; a 
 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 of the character of Touch- 
 stone is achieved in his last scene, which I have 
 given below in full, with some slight transposi- 
 tions. Here Touchstone is in his element. Sur- 
 rounded by persons who understand his office and 
 can appreciate 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 mediseval stand- 
 ards of courtesy. 
 
 No less entertaining is Touchstone's parody on 
 certain books on good manners, and on the ethics 
 of honor, which attracted some attention at this 
 time; and there is a vein of the most delicious 
 satire in his definitions of the degrees of a lie, 
 
62 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the cause of a quarrel, and the efficacy of that 
 
 redeeming, and peace-restoring preposition "if." 
 
 Jaques' presentation of Touchstone to the 
 
 Duke, and the subsequent dialogue is as follows: 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the 
 motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in 
 the forest; he hath been a courtier, he swears. 
 
 Ton-. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
 my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flat- 
 tered a lady ; I have been politic with my friend, smooth 
 with mine enemy ; I have undone three tailors ; I 
 have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 
 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? 
 
 Tou. Faith, we met and found the quarrel was 
 upon the seventh cause. 
 
 Jaq. How did you find the quarrel on the seventh 
 cause ? 
 
 Tou. Upon a lie seven times removed — as thus, 
 sir. I did disHke the cut of a certain courtier's beard. 
 He sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut 
 well, 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 
 himself, this is called the Quip Modest. If again, it 
 was not well cut, he disabled my judgment; this is 
 called the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well 
 cut, he would answer, I spake not true; this is called 
 the Reproof Valiant. If again, it was not well cut, 
 he would say I lied; this is called the Countercheck 
 
TOUCHSTONE 63 
 
 Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and 
 the Lie Direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not 
 well cut? 
 
 Tou. I durst go no further than the Lie Circum- 
 stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and 
 so we measured swords and parted. 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
 of a lie? 
 
 Toti. O sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as 
 you have books for good manners. I will name you 
 the degrees: the first, the Retort Courteous; the sec- 
 ond, the Quip Modest ; the third, the Reply Churlish ; 
 the fourth, the Reproof Valiant ; the fifth, the Counter- 
 check Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circum- 
 stance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you 
 may avoid but the Lie Direct ; and you may avoid that 
 too, with an 'If ! I knew when seven justices could 
 not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met 
 themselves, one of them thought but of an if ! as, "If 
 you said so, then I said so;" and they shook hands 
 and swore brothers. Your "if" is the only peace- 
 maker; much virtue in "If." 
 
 The concluding compliment of Jaques is but a 
 just tribute to the accomplishments of Touch- 
 stone, and well epitomizes what I conceive to be 
 the poet's conception; while the reply of the Duke 
 indicates the vein of satirical truth that underlies 
 
64 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the entire character, and summarizes the motive, 
 as well as the result of the author's clearly ex- 
 pressed intention. 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as 
 good at anything, and yet a fool. 
 
 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 1885. 
 One of the plays produced was "As You Like It." 
 I played the part of Orlando to the Rosalind of 
 that fine actress, Fanny Davenport. Stuart 
 Robson was the Touchstone of the occasion, and 
 I recall with pleasure the unique and interesting 
 performance he gave of the character. His dress 
 was that of the conventional jesters; parti-colored 
 doublet and hose of the period, with the tradi- 
 tional hood, cockscomb and bauble. His walk, 
 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 
 with the same idea. His voice: what playgoer 
 who has once seen and heard Stuart Robson in 
 
TOUCHSTONE 65 
 
 any of his humorous characters can forget that 
 voice! The peculiar lisp with its ever changing 
 inflections, rising to a high treble at the end of 
 each sentence, accompanied with a constant snap- 
 ping of the eyes, and an abrupt jerking of the 
 head from side to side, at almost every other 
 word. 
 
 Mr. Robson was held in high esteem so that 
 his appearance was greeted with hearty applause, 
 and almost every phrase he uttered, with roars 
 of laughter. The story of the knight and the 
 pancakes never seemed to me so humorous, while 
 the request to Celia and Rosalind, to "stand forth, 
 stroke your chins and swear by your beards, etc." 
 was so ludicrous that the ladies themselves were 
 convulsed with laughter and scarcely able to pro- 
 ceed with their lines. 
 
 Another scene in which Mr. Robson appeared 
 to the greatest advantage was in Scene I of the 
 Fifth Act; located in the forest of Arden. The 
 characters are Touchstone, Audrey, his country 
 sweetheart, and William, a simple rustic. The 
 latter character, though comparatively unimpor- 
 
66 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 tant, was on this occasion played by Mr. William 
 H. Crane, out of compliment to his old friend 
 and comrade Mr. Robson, with whom he had 
 been so long associated. The delightful air of 
 superiority assumed by the court fool over the 
 bucolic youth, who in his smock frock stood with 
 vacuous stare and open-mouthed wonder in fear- 
 ful awe of his motley tormentor, was a splendid 
 contrast of diversified humor. The keen, incisive 
 quality of Mr. Robson's comedy and the intelli- 
 gent understanding and appreciation of the text 
 underlying it was never better exampled than 
 by his delivery of that potent truism, "The fool 
 doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows 
 himself to be a fool." It was indeed, a gem of 
 wisdom in a setting of golden comedy. Again, 
 the assumption of anger, the direful threats of 
 bloodthirsty consequences with which he over- 
 whelmed the terror-stricken William and drove 
 him from the field, leaving the fool in full and 
 undisputed possession of his lady love were simply 
 delicious. 
 
 This scene was rendered doubly effective by the 
 
TOUCHSTONE 67 
 
 skill and sincerity with which Mr. Crane played 
 the part of William. Like a true artist, he 
 gave this small bit of character work the same at- 
 tention to every detail as though it were the prin- 
 cipal part in the comedy. In appearance, he 
 looked as if he had stepped out of an old English 
 engraving of rural life ; his dialect was perfect and 
 his ungainly walk and awkward bearing reminded 
 one of the types that may yet be seen and heard 
 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 was most effective 
 in the last act. It may be remembered that here 
 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 misun- 
 derstandings explained and their conciliations 
 effected. Among them, come Touchstone and 
 Audrey. Here Robson fairly reveled in the situ- 
 ation. He strutted, he crowed, and to continue 
 
68 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the simile, he flapped his wings with the tri- 
 umphant satisfaction of a barnyard rooster; 
 argued his right to be called a courtier with the 
 logic of a lawyer, and expounded the degrees of 
 a lie with the wisdom of an oracle. 
 
 What old playgoer does not recall the delicacy 
 and refinement of Mr. James Lewis's perform- 
 ance of the Shakespearean clowns in the several 
 comedy revivals at Daly's Theater, New York. 
 "As You Like It" was produced there in the early 
 eighties, with Ada Rehan as Rosalind, John Drew 
 as Orlando, and Mr. Lewis (Little Jimmie Lewis, 
 as he was affectionately called) as Touchstone. 
 The cameo clearness of his conception, the quaint 
 incisiveness of his delivery, the significance of 
 his business, and the delicate finish of the entire 
 characterization left an impression never to be 
 forgotten. The performance had not that 
 breadth of humor given to it by some comedians, 
 nor the rich unction of others, but it was imbued 
 with the quaint little gentleman's own personal- 
 
TOUCHSTONE 69 
 
 ity, and presented with an artistic instinct that 
 permeated every character he assumed. 
 
 I was a witness to an eloquent though silent 
 tribute paid to Mr. Lewis by a stranger, of which 
 the actor was, at the time, unconscious. 
 
 Mr. Lewis was walking down Broadway one 
 afternoon in the early fall. I was a short dis- 
 tance behind him. Approaching, somewhat 
 slowly, from the opposite direction was a well- 
 groomed gentleman of middle age, apparently a 
 business man returning from his office down town. 
 The expression of the gentleman was absorbed 
 and thoughtful, as if he were revolving some 
 knotty problem in his mind. As he neared Mr. 
 Lewis he raised his eyes and, recognizing the 
 comedian, his expression changed completely; a 
 smile replaced his frown, his eyes brightened, and 
 the careworn look left him entirely. He paused 
 slightly as Mr. Lewis passed him, looked after 
 the retreating figure of the comedian a second, 
 then resumed his journey up town with a quick- 
 
70 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 Mr. Lewis later. It 
 gratified him exceedingly, and he told me he felt 
 it to be one of the 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 was Mr. Stevens, but entirely dif- 
 ferent in methods as he was in features and 
 physique. Mr. Stevens seemed to take his posi- 
 tion more seriously than Mr. Lewis and main- 
 tained a greater personal dignity. He spoke his 
 lines 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 71 
 
 mendation as a matter of course. It was a most 
 delightful performance of the character from the 
 point of view of Mr. Stevens, and a worthy 
 achievement of a versatile and intelligent artist. 
 
TRINCULO 
 
 IN 
 
 THE TEMPEST 
 
 ''What a pied ninny's this.'" 
 
 TRINCULO, in 'The Tempest," is the only 
 one of Shakespeare's fools who in the dram- 
 atis personae of the play is called a jester; and 
 is the one least worthy of the title. 
 
 Fool to the court of Alonzo, King of Naples, 
 Trinculo, while accompanying his master and 
 others on a sea voyage, is shipwrecked and cast, 
 with them, upon an unknown and apparently un- 
 inhabited island. Here he has wonderful adven- 
 tures, meets extraordinary beings, and is brought, 
 by 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 ability as 
 72 
 
TRINCULO 73 
 
 a wit at court, he certainly does not appear to 
 great advantage in that respect on the island, 
 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 to him. 
 
 In his first scene he is out on an open plain, 
 "with neither bush nor shrub" in a heavy storm; 
 on his next appearance he is under the influence 
 of liquor; and the third time we meet him, he has 
 been pursued by fiends through a horse-pond, and 
 is saturated with its offensive contents. 
 
 He is dominated in the first instance by terror, 
 in the second by liquor, in the third by anger 
 and disgust; and is in turn cowardly, maudlin, 
 silly and disgusting. His wit is the poorest kind 
 of punning, and his pranks, if so they may be 
 called, are not spontaneous fun, but drunken 
 folly. 
 
 • He is ungrateful and treacherous. On being 
 rescued from the sea, he exhibits no anxiety for 
 the safety of his master, nor loyalty to his mem- 
 ory, when he is supposed to be lost; and he readily 
 
74 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 calls him "a pied 
 ninny," "a jesting monkey," and "a scurvy 
 patch"; while Stephano, his countryman and 
 comrade, in reply to the fool's boast that "I can 
 swim like a duck," retorts, "Though thou cans' t 
 swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose"; 
 and does not hesitate to strike him when he is 
 offended. 
 
 The most pointed epigram made by Trinculo 
 is in the second scene of the second act, when, 
 seeking shelter from the storm under the gaber- 
 dine of Caliban, who is apparently dead, he says, 
 "Misery acquaints a man with strange bed- 
 fellows." 
 
 His best retort is in the last scene of the last 
 act, while still enveloped in the foul effluvium of 
 the horse-pond, when he is asked by Alonzo, his 
 master, "How cam's t thou in this pickle"?" to 
 which he replies: "I have been in such a pickle, 
 
T, C. Cooke as "Trinculo" in "The Tempest' 
 
TRINCULO 75 
 
 since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never 
 out of my bones; I shall not fear fly-blowing." 
 
 He indicates no learning, and his philosophy 
 is superficial. Of this he is apparently conscious, 
 for in Act three. Scene two, he says: "There's 
 but five upon this isle; we are three of them; if 
 the other two be brained like us, the state 
 totters." 
 
 As to his courage, it is best described by him- 
 self: "Was there ever man a coward, that hath 
 drunk so much sack as I to-day *?" 
 
 Taken in its entirety, I cannot but regard the 
 charact-er of Trinculo as the least interesting of 
 the court jesters that Shakespeare has given us; 
 a character type that was still in existence when 
 the poet lived and wrote, examples of which 
 he must have seen at Kenilworth, at the court of 
 Elizabeth, and later at that of James I, in Lon- 
 don. The species, however, was rapidly becom- 
 ing extinct; printing began to develop, knowl- 
 edge to be more general, and literature to be ap- 
 preciated ; entertainment was found in the printed 
 publications of wit and humor, rather than from 
 
76 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 ap- 
 pealed to the low and the ignorant, rather than to 
 the cultivated and intelligent. 
 
 It was at 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 the current 
 events of the period in which he wrote is illus- 
 trated by a passage spoken by Trinculo in his 
 first scene. 
 
 A number of American Indians had been 
 brought from the newly established colony of Vir- 
 ginia to London; the novelty of their color, ap- 
 pearance and dress attracted great attention, and 
 caused considerable excitement and curiosity. 
 One of the Indians succumbed to the rigors of the 
 
TRINCULO 77 
 
 English climate, and died, the corpse being subse- 
 quently placed on public exhibition, many per- 
 sons paying a substantial fee to look at it. 
 
 When Trinculo sees the apparently dead body 
 of Caliban lying upon the ground, and does not 
 know whether it is "a man or a fish," but from 
 its foul odor believes it to be the latter, the poet 
 satirizes the prevailing sensation, in the words of 
 the fool : "A strange fish ! Were I in England 
 now (as I once was) and had but 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 
 
 "/ am indeed not her fool^ hut her corrupter of 
 words'^ 
 
 IN the list of the characters in "Twelfth 
 Night," the fool is not given a name. He is 
 coupled with Fabian, as "Clown," and together 
 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 the 
 Lady Olivia's father took much delight in." He 
 is a combination of jester and minstrel, and is a 
 member of the household of the Countess Olivia, 
 a wealthy noblewoman of Illyria. 
 
 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 in 
 
 78 
 
FESTE 79 
 
 the former, nor the sententious wisdom we find 
 in the latter; it is at times labored, frequently 
 forced, and seldom free from obvious effort. It 
 is professional foolery, rather than intuitive 
 fun. 
 
 He is o' the world, worldly; his conversation 
 is coarse, even for the period, and many of his 
 jests are vulgar. 
 
 His retorts are neither keen nor incisive; they 
 have the brutality of the cudgel, rather than the 
 point of the rapier. 
 
 He trusts more to "good fooling" than to ready 
 wit, and many of his sallies are but thinly dis- 
 guised impudence; yet it must be admitted that 
 at times he makes some telling points, and de- 
 livers some very clever epigrams. 
 
 He is shrewd and thrifty if not covetous; he 
 does not scruple to accept money, even from 
 strangers, nor does he hesitate broadly to suggest 
 liberality to those patrons who are tardy with 
 their bounty. 
 
 Disguised as Sir Topaz he quotes Latin aptly 
 and accurately; he ^ows familiarity with Gre- 
 
8o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 cian history and legend, and is not unacquainted 
 with the philosophy of Pythagoras. 
 
 In spite of his knowledge, he appears to be tol- 
 erated rather than appreciated; and although he 
 is admitted to the revels of Sir Toby Belch, and 
 Sir Andrew Aguecheek, on a comparative equal- 
 ity, it is chiefly on account of his accomplishments^ 
 as a minstrel. He associates with the servants 
 of the house, and is treated as one by his mis- 
 tress. 
 
 His best friend appears to be Maria, the wait- 
 ing-woman to Lady Olivia. On his first appear- 
 ance in the play, in Act i. Scene 5, he is appar- 
 ently seeking her good offices with her mistress, 
 to excuse his evidently unauthorized, and lengthy 
 absence from the household. With feminine 
 curiosity Maria endeavors to gain from him an 
 account of his truancy, but Feste shrewdly avoids 
 any compromising admissions. Maria, somewhat 
 irritated, expresses herself with characteristic de- 
 cision, and warns him of the severe punishment 
 he may expect. Feste assumes a recklessness, but 
 realizes the gravity of his offense : 
 
FESTE 81 
 
 Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or 
 I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter 
 in way of thy excuse ; my lady will hang thee for thy 
 absence. 
 
 Clo. Let her hang me; he that is well hanged in 
 this world needs to fear no colors. 
 
 Mar. Make that good. 
 
 Clo. He shall see none to fear. 
 
 Mar. A good lenten answer; I can tell thee where 
 that 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 ab- 
 sent. . . . Here comes my lady; make your excuse 
 wisely, you were best. 
 
 Maria leaves him, and being alone Feste thus 
 soliloquizes: "Wit, an't be thy will, put me into 
 good fooling I Those wits, that think they have 
 thee, do very oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure 
 I lack thee, may pass for a wise man; for what 
 says Quinapalus^ 'Better a witty fool than a 
 foolish wit.' " 
 
 The Lady Olivia enters, whom he respectfully 
 salutes, with: "God bless thee, lady I" 
 
82 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 But the lady is evidently much displeased, and 
 very promptly and indignantly commands: 
 "Take the fool away." 
 
 With characteristic audacity the fool chal- 
 lenges the lady, in the following dialogue: 
 
 Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the 
 lady. 
 
 OH. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you; 
 besides you grow dishonest. 
 
 Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
 counsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then 
 is the fool not dry ; hid the dishonest man mend him- 
 self ; if 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 
 patched with virtue. . . . The lady bade take away the 
 fool ; therefore I say again, take her away. 
 
 Oh. Sir, I bade them take away you. 
 
 Clo. Misprison in the highest degree! . . . Good 
 madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 
 
 OH. Can you do it? 
 
 Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 
 
 OH. Make your proof. 
 
 Clo. I must catechise you for it. . . . Good ma- 
 donna, why mourn'st thou? 
 
 OH. Good fool, for my brother's death. 
 
 Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 
 
 OH. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 
 
FESTE 83 
 
 Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your 
 brother's soul being in heaven. — Take away the fool, 
 gentlemen. 
 
 The wit of the fool somewhat molifies the 
 anger of the lady, who appeals to Malvolio to 
 indorse her approval of his readiness : "Doth he 
 not mend'?" 
 
 But the steward is no friend of Feste, and re- 
 plies with a sarcasm that is 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 
 retort: "God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, 
 for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby 
 will be sworn that I am no fox, but he will 
 not pass his word for twopence that you are no 
 fool." 
 
 Malvolio, thus goaded, continues to dispraise 
 the fool, but Olivia warmly defends him, and ad- 
 ministers a severe reproof to the steward for his 
 vanity: "O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio. 
 . . . There is no slander in an allowed fool, 
 though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in 
 
84 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 a known discreet man, though he do nothing but 
 reprove." 
 
 Feste is not without gratitude to his mistress 
 for his defense, and thus expresses it: "Now 
 Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak- 
 est well of fools." 
 
 But on the retirement of Malvolio, the lady 
 does not hesitate to rebuke the fool: "Now you 
 see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people 
 dislike it." 
 
 The dialogue is here interrupted by the advent 
 of Sir Toby Belch, a cousin of the Lady Olivia, 
 who appears on the scene in a very drunken con- 
 dition. The lady is properly indignant, and de- 
 mands of Feste: "What's a drunken man like, 
 fool?" 
 
 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 Ss 
 
 seek the crowner, and let him sit o* my coz; for 
 he's in the third degree of drink, he's drowned: 
 go look after him." 
 
 Feste obeys, and retires with the words: "He 
 is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look 
 to the madman." 
 
 In Marie Wainwright's production of this ex- 
 quisite comedy, in which she toured the country 
 some seasons ago, the part of Feste was played 
 by Mr. E. Y. Bachus, who brought a keen intelli- 
 gence and appreciation to his performance. In 
 the foregoing scene, Mr. Bachus mitigated the 
 gross impertinence of Feste to his mistress by the 
 introduction of some business that I believe was 
 entirely original with him. He carried in his 
 pouch or pocket some little dolls in the form of 
 diminutive zanies, which as the dialogue pro- 
 gressed he proceeded with apparent unconscious- 
 ness to dress. This business seemed to dull the 
 edge of his rudeness by dividing the attention of 
 his hearers between his words and his actions. 
 At the conclusion of the dialogue, Feste dropped 
 
86 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 his little zanies on the ground; and at his exit 
 Marie picked them up, and contemptuously threw 
 them after him. 
 
 fFeste next appears in the third scene of Act 2, 
 joining in the noisy midnight revels of Sir Toby 
 and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He sings them a 
 love song, and without any special wit ridicules 
 the shallow egotistical affectations of the one, and 
 the drunken folly of the other. He improvises 
 a "catch" cleverly, but promptly disappears at 
 the first sign of trouble. 
 
 Feste's ability as a minstrel is evidently known 
 and appreciated, for in the fourth scene he is sent 
 for by the Duke Orsino, to sing to him, who, at 
 the conclusion of the song gives him money: 
 
 Duke. There's for thy pains. 
 Fes. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. 
 Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 
 Fes. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time 
 or another. 
 
 A 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 87 
 
 third act, Olivia's garden. The fool, carrying 
 his tabor, is met by Viola, disguised as Cesario and 
 in an admirable interchange of equivoque aptly 
 describes the faculty of wit, the province of the 
 fool, and the prevalence of folly. The scene is 
 brief, but as a "corrupter of words" the fool ap- 
 pears to better advantage than in any other part of 
 the play, and displays a readiness of retort that is 
 not always in evidence. Viola furnishes him his 
 first opportunity by her greeting : 
 
 Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music; dost thou 
 live by thy tabor? 
 
 Fes. No, sir, I live by the church. 
 
 Vio. Art thou a churchman? 
 
 Fes. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church ; 
 for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by 
 the church. 
 
 Vio. So thou may'st say the King lives by a beg- 
 gar, if a beggar dwell near him ; or, the church stands 
 by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 
 
 Fes. You have said, sir. ... A sentence is but a 
 cheveril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong 
 side may be turned outward J 
 
 Laughingly acknowledging the truth of this, 
 Viola compliments him on his humor and clever- 
 
88 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ness: "I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and 
 carest for nothing." 
 
 The reply she receives, however, is neither po- 
 lite nor encouraging: "Not so, sir, I do care for 
 something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care 
 for you ; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would 
 it would make you invisible." 
 
 Ignoring this discourtesy, Viola asks: "Art 
 not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?" 
 
 Again Feste justifies his office by the descrip- 
 tion he gives of himself: "No, indeed, sir; the 
 Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep no fool, 
 sir, till 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 
 corrupter of words." 
 
 In reply to Viola's assertion that she saw Feste 
 recently at the palace of the Count Orsino, the 
 jester gives us the following terse but eloquent 
 truism: "Foolery, sir, doth walk about the orb 
 like the sun; it shines everywhere." 
 
 At this, Viola, who is disguised as a youth, and 
 is mistaken for one by Feste, offers him a coin. 
 
FESTE 89 
 
 In way of thanks the latter exclaims: "Now 
 Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a 
 beard." 
 
 Viola is deeply in love with the Duke Orsino, 
 who is ignorant of her passion; and at this sally 
 of the fool, wittily rejoins: "By my troth, I'll 
 tell thee; I am almost sick for one, though I would 
 not have it grow on my chin." 
 
 Feste does not understand this allusion, but 
 holding the coin he has received in his hand, 
 makes the pointed suggestion: "Would not a 
 pair of these have bred, sir^" 
 
 Viola replies: "Yes, being kept together and 
 put to use." 
 
 Feste is resourceful, and returns to the charge 
 armed with a simile from Grecian legend. 
 
 Fes. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, 
 to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 
 
 Vio. I understand you, sir, 'tis well begged. 
 
 Fes. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging 
 but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. 
 
 Finding his efforts to increase his bounty inef- 
 fectual, Feste continues to "dally nicely with 
 
90 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 words," and then retires. "My lady is within, 
 sir. I will construe to them whence you come; 
 who you are and what you would are out of my 
 welkin; I might say element, but the word is 
 overworn." 
 
 It is the preceding scene that suggests to Viola 
 the passage that so aptly describes the require- 
 ments of a fool, which I have quoted at length in 
 the introduction to this book, and which I repro- 
 duce here to accentuate its significance. 
 
 This fellow's wise enough to play the 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 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 their wit. 
 
 The 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 is a dialogue of 
 considerable humor. Feste, as usual, is "dal- 
 lying with words" and unusually, exhibiting some 
 impatience; however the irritation is quickly 
 allayed by the soothing application of a coin, a 
 remedy that seems effective with the fool at all 
 times. 
 
 In the second scene, Feste, at the instigation of 
 Maria, assumes the character of Sir Topaz, the 
 curate, to assist in tormenting his old enemy Mal- 
 volio, who, by a trick of that mischief-loving 
 maid, has been seized as a madman, bound, and 
 confined in a dark cellar. The scene is one of 
 good fooling, rather than witty dialogue; but in 
 assuming the robe of the curate, Feste makes some 
 reflections indicating that sanctimony and hypoc- 
 risy were as prevalent in the days of Shakespeare 
 as they unfortunately are in ours : 
 
 Fes. Well I'll put it on, and I will dissemble my- 
 self in't, and I would I were the first that ever dis- 
 sembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to be- 
 come the function well, nor lean enough to be 
 thought a good student ; . . . but as the old hermit of 
 Prague very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 
 
92 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 'That that is, is; so I, being master parson, am mas- 
 ter parson, for what is 'that' but 'that'? and 'is' but 
 
 'is'?" 
 
 He greets Sir Toby with a Latin salutation, and 
 bears himself with humorous gravity as Sir 
 Topaz. He uses big words, and applies them 
 with a contrary meaning. He questions Mal- 
 volio as to his views on the opinions of Pythag- 
 oras 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 dis- 
 possess the soul of thy grandam. 
 
 Feste then doffs his disguise, and addresses 
 Malvolio in his own character, with assumed 
 sympathy: "Alas, sir, how fell you besides your 
 five 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- 
 tracted, and begs for candle, ink, and paper that 
 he may communicate with his mistress. These 
 articles Feste promises to obtain, but before going 
 delivers a parting shaft : 
 
 Fes. Are you not mad indeed ? or do you but coun- 
 terfeit? 
 
 Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. 
 
 Fes. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a 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 de- 
 livery; 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 de- 
 livered," keeps it there till inclination prompts, 
 and opportunity provides a suitable occasion to 
 present it to his mistress. 
 
 In the meantime, in company with Fabian, Feste 
 
94 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 encounters the Duke Orsino, for whom he lately 
 sang. The Duke asks if they belong to the 
 household of the Lady Olivia. With his usual 
 effrontery and lack of reverence, he answers, 
 "Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings." 
 
 The Duke recognizes him, and graciously in- 
 quires: "How dost thou, my good fellow*?" 
 
 His reply and argument are worthy a wiser 
 man than Feste, and exhibit a philosophy as 
 sound, as it is wholesome. 
 
 Fes. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the 
 worse for my friends. 
 
 Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy 
 friends. 
 
 Fes. No, sir, the worse. 
 
 Duke. How can that be? 
 
 Fes. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass 
 of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so 
 that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of my- 
 self, and by my friends I am abused : . . . why, then, 
 the worse for my 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 95 
 
 Fes. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you to 
 be one of my friends. 
 
 The Duke is himself not without wit, and 
 promptly recognizing the ready sarcasm of the 
 fool, replies: "Thou shalt not be the worse for 
 me; there's gold." 
 
 Feste accepts the gratuity, and again exhibits 
 his avaricious shrewdness by suggesting: 
 
 Fes. But that it would be double dealing, sir, I 
 would you could make it another. 
 
 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 not satisfy the greed 
 of the fool, who again importunes the Duke, on 
 the principle that "The third pays for all." But 
 that nobleman is not so easily cajoled, and deliv- 
 ers his ultimatum with some emphasis. 
 
 ( 
 
 Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
 this throw; if you will let your lady know I am here 
 to speak with her, it may awake my bounty further. 
 
96 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Finding that any further effort to enlarge his 
 purse at the expense of the Duke would be use- 
 less, for the present, Feste retires; not, however, 
 without a parting hint of future possibilities. 
 
 Fes. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come 
 again. I go sir; but, as you say, sir, let your bounty 
 take a nap, I will awake it anon. 
 
 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 ad- 
 monition : 
 
 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 com- 
 plications, and clearing up the mysteries of the 
 play. Malvolio's humiliation is sufficient pun- 
 ishment to all but the fool, whose petty nature 
 cannot refrain from gloating over his fallen foe, 
 by repeating the passages in the decoying letter, 
 
J3 
 
 to 
 Z 
 
FESTE 97 
 
 and former reproaches that he has received at the 
 hands of the steward: 
 
 Fes. Why, **Some are born great, some achieve 
 greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
 them," I was one, sir, in this interlude; . . . "By the 
 Lord, fool, I am not mad." But do you remember? 
 ''Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? an 
 you smile not, he's gagged." 
 
 And to quote Teste's own words in conclusion: 
 "And thus the whirligig of time brings in his 
 revenges." 
 
 At the culmination of what may be termed the 
 serious interest of the play, all the characters ex- 
 cept the clown retire: he being alone concludes 
 the comedy with a song: 
 
 When that I was and a little tiny boy, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 A foolish thing was but a toy. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I 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 I came, alas! to wive. 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, | 
 
98 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 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, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
 But that's all one, our play is done. 
 And we'll strive to please you every day. 
 
 This song has caused such an amount of con- 
 flicting comment, so opposite in its conclusions, 
 that I append a few excerpts to assist the reader 
 in his consideration of its intention and sig- 
 nificance. 
 
 George P. Goodale, the dramatic critic, incor- 
 porates the view of Charles Knight in one of a 
 series of essays on the subject, published recently, 
 under the caption of "The Kaleidoscope" in The 
 Detroit Free Press. He says : "The song of the 
 Clown, originally given as an epilogue, though 
 not retained in the acting editions of the hour, is 
 judiciously regarded as the most philosophical 
 Clown song on record, on the discoverable wis- 
 
FESTE 99 
 
 dom of which a treatise might be written. 
 Charles Knight, indeed, goes so far as to charac- 
 terize it as the history of a life, from the condition 
 of a little tiny boy, through man's estate, to de- 
 caying age. The conclusion is that what is true 
 of the individual is true of the species, and that 
 what was of yesterday was also of generations 
 long passed away — for 'a great while ago the 
 world begun.' " 
 
 Howard Staunton takes another view of the 
 song, and quotes Stevens, in support of his theory, 
 in his notes on the subject: "It is to be regretted, 
 perhaps, that this 'nonsensical ditty,' as Stevens 
 terms it, has not been long since degraded to the 
 foot-notes. It was evidently one of those jigs, 
 with which it was the rude custom of the Clown 
 to gratify the groundlings upon the conclusion of 
 a play. These absurd compositions, intended 
 only as a vehicle for buffoonery, were usually im- 
 provizations of the singer, tagged to some popular 
 ballad-burden — or the first lines of various songs 
 strung together in ludicrous juxtaposition, at the 
 end of each of which, the performer indulged in 
 
100 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 hideous grimace, and a grotesque sort of 'Jump 
 Jim Crow' dance." 
 
 Weiss takes a more sentimental view of the 
 song, and, in a somewhat lengthy essay, attaches 
 to it a deep significance, concluding with a tender 
 reference to the Fool in King Lear, who uses some 
 of the lines of the same song, but with a far dif- 
 ferent motive. "When the play is over, . . . 
 Feste is left alone upon the stage. Then he sings 
 a song which conveys to us his feeling of the 
 world's partiality: all things proceed according to 
 law; nobody is humored; people must abide the 
 consequence of their actions, 'for the rain it 
 raineth every day.' A 'little tiny boy' may have 
 his toy; but a man must guard 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 its habits 
 can be looked for. The grave insinuation of this 
 song is touched with the vague, soft bloom of the 
 play. . . . The note is hardly more presageful 
 than the cricket's stir in the late silence of a sum- 
 
FESTE loi 
 
 mcr. How gracious hath Shakespeare been to 
 mankind in this play. He could not do other- 
 wise than leave Feste all alone to pronounce its 
 benediction, for his heart was a nest of songs 
 whence they rose to whistle with the air of wis- 
 dom. Alas for the poor fool in Lear who sang 
 to 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 is a 
 reflex of the gentle nature and sweet fancy of the 
 writer; but with exception of the love songs, sung 
 as a minstrel, I do not find a line of poetry in the 
 part of the jester, nor a single expression of sin- 
 cere or even simulated sentimentality. 
 
 Lloyd seems to have summed up the character 
 concisely when he says: "He knows the world 
 too well ... to feel much sympathy for any- 
 body, or consequently to get much in return." 
 While Ulrici goes still further and asserts: "He 
 (Feste) alone in full consciousness contemplates 
 life as a merry Twelfth Night, in which every 
 one has, in fact, only to play his allotted part to 
 
102 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the greatest possible amusement of himself and 
 others." 
 
 For my part I think the song is the conven- 
 tional conclusion of the play, appropriate, but 
 with no special significance. 
 
 The same design is followed in "Love's Labor's 
 Lost," and the "Midsummer Night's Dream"; 
 they both terminate with a song. Epilogues con- 
 clude "As You 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 Merry Devir 
 
 IN that delightful comedy, "The Merchant of 
 Venice," we have a type of the shrewd but 
 ignorant serving man, or boy, drawn on the same 
 lines as Launce and Speed in "The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona," and the two Dromios, in "The 
 Comedy of Errors," but apparently younger and 
 less matured than either of them. 
 
 His name is Launcelot Gobbo, a fact of which 
 he is somewhat proud. He has a crude philos- 
 ophy and a rude kind of wit. He uses big words 
 and misapplies them most ingenuously. He is 
 good-natured, full of fun, and rejoices in a prac- 
 tical jest. 
 
 Launcelot is the servant to Shylock, a wealthy 
 Jewish merchant and money lender of Venice, 
 
 103 
 
104 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 with whom he lives and of whom he stands in 
 wholesome awe. His fun-loving nature, how- 
 ever, has served to brighten the dull and dreary 
 home of that stern and revengeful gentleman, a 
 fact that Jessica, the Jew's daughter, frankly 
 acknowledges in her first interview with the boy. 
 
 Our house is hell, and thou a merry devil 
 Did'st rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
 
 Launcelot does not appear till the second scene 
 of the second act of the comedy, when we find 
 him stealthily leaving his master's house. We 
 learn that he feels aggrieved at some apparent 
 wrong at the hands of his employer, and is debat- 
 ing whether to remain in his service, or to run 
 away. His soliloquy or self-argument on the 
 point is most entertaining. He would be just, 
 but being both plaintiff and defendant, as well 
 as advocate and judge of the question at issue, 
 he can scarcely be credited with impartiality. 
 However, the motives that he frankly acknowl- 
 edges, and the reasons he advances are most de- 
 lightfully human, and most humorously ex- 
 pressed. The entire passage is a quaint, and by 
 
LAUNCELOT GOBBO 105 
 
 no means unnatural, self-contention between duty 
 and inclination; the conclusion, as a matter of 
 course, being in favor of inclination. 
 
 Certainly, my conscience will serve me to run from 
 this Jew, my master: the fiend is at mine elbow, and 
 tempts me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, 
 good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot 
 Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away." My 
 conscience says — "No; take heed, honest Launcelot; 
 take heed, honest Gobbo; or," as aforesaid, ''honest 
 Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with 
 thy heels." — Well, the most courageous fiend bids me 
 pack ; via ! says the fiend ; away, says the fiend ; for the 
 heavens rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and 
 run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck 
 of my heart, says very wisely to me — "my honest 
 friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son" — or 
 rather an honest woman's son; — for, indeed, my 
 father did something smack, something grow to, — he 
 had a kind of taste; — well, my conscience says — 
 "Launcelot, budge not;" "budge," says the fiend; 
 "budge not," says my conscience. Conscience, say I, 
 you counsel well ; fiend, say I, you counsel well ; to be 
 ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew, 
 my master, who. Heaven bless the mark! is a kind of 
 devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be 
 ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the 
 devil himself: certainly, the Jew is the very devil 
 incarnation, and, in my conscience, my conscience is 
 
io6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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- 
 mandment, I will run. 
 
 However, Launcelot does not run; he is spared 
 that violence to his conscientious scruples by the 
 unexpected advent of his father, an old Italian 
 peasant, v^hose voice is heard calling in the dis- 
 tance, 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 de- 
 signing a practical jest on his aged parent. 
 
 "O* heavens !" he exclaims, "this is my true- 
 begotten father; who, being more than sand- 
 blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not: — I will 
 try confusions with him." 
 
 Old Gobbo, bent with age, almost blind, and 
 feeling his way by the aid of a staff, hobbles on 
 the scene; he carries a small basket on his arm, 
 and in a voice of "childish treble" cries: "Mas- 
 ter young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way 
 to master Jew's ^" 
 
LAUNCELOT GOBBO 107 
 
 Launcelot takes the old fellow by the shoul- 
 ders, and turns him first to the right, then to the 
 left, and finally completely round, giving him 
 the following, somewhat confusing directions: 
 "Turn up on your right hand at the next turn- 
 ing, but at the next turning of all, on your left; 
 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 be a hard way to hit." 
 
 However, he is seeking and most anxious to 
 find his son, and as soon as he has recovered from 
 the jolting he has received at the hands of his 
 demonstrative informant, he asks him the follow- 
 ing 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 ques- 
 tion, prefacing it, however, with an aside, "Mark 
 me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you 
 of young Master Launcelot^" 
 
 But the old man will not admit that his son 
 
io8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 is entitled to the dignity of "Master" Launcelot: 
 so that eccentric young gentleman, who certainly 
 has a novel sense of humor, tells him that his son 
 is dead. The sincere grief of the old man evi- 
 dently shames the boy, for he quickly changes 
 his tone, and asks: "Do you know me, father?" 
 
 Old Gobbo pitifully replies: "Alack, sir, I 
 am sand blind; I know you not." 
 
 This induces some shrewd observations from 
 Launcelot, which are worthy of note: "If you 
 had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me : 
 it is a wise father that knows his own child." 
 
 Launcelot then kneels down with his back to 
 his father, and continues: "Give me your bless- 
 ing: truth will come to light, murder cannot be 
 hid long, a man's son may, but in the end truth 
 will out." 
 
 The old man has been deceived once and hesi- 
 tates; upon which Launcelot exclaims with some 
 impatience : "Pray you, let's have no more fool- 
 ing about it, but give me your blessing; I am 
 Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, 
 your child that shall be." 
 
LAUNCELOT GOBBO 109 
 
 Still the old man is not convinced, and pro- 
 tests : "I cannot think you are my son." 
 
 To which Launcelot answers: "I know not 
 what I shall think of that; but I am sure Mar- 
 gery, your wife, is my mother." 
 
 This is conclusive, and Old Gobbo proceeds to 
 lay his hand upon his son's head to give him his 
 blessing; but Launcelot having knelt with his 
 back towards him, the paternal hand encounters 
 the back of the boy's head which is crowned with 
 a luxurious growth of hair, and causes the old 
 man to exclaim: "Lord worshipp'd might he 
 be! what a beard thou hast got: thou hast got 
 more hair on thy chin than Dobbin, my fill-horse, 
 has on his tail." 
 
 Which informs us, that though "exceeding 
 poor," Gobbo is sufficiently well off to own a 
 shaft horse, and as he subsequently states, he has 
 brought a dish of doves as a present to Launce- 
 lot's master, we may infer that he and his wife 
 Margery cultivate a piece of ground, or a small 
 farm outside the city; and possibly raise pigeons 
 and doves, a not uncommon industry among the 
 
no THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Italian peasantry. Having established his iden- 
 tity with his father, Launcelot proceeds to tell 
 him of his intention to run away from the Jew's 
 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 Lord Bas- 
 sanio is engaging servants, and giving them "rare 
 new liveries," may be the temptation. 
 
 The contemptuous reference to the Jewish race 
 by this ignorant boy, and his vulgar pun on the 
 word Jew are significant indications of the general 
 prejudice against the Jews at this period; not only 
 in Venice, but in all parts of the civilized world. 
 
 Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set 
 up my rest to 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 serv- 
 ice; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. 
 Father, I am glad you are come ; give me your present 
 to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new 
 liveries ; if I serve not him, I will run as far as God 
 has any ground. — O rare fortune ! here comes the 
 man : — to him, father ; for I am a Jew if I serve the 
 Jew any longer. 
 
LAUNCELOT GOBBO iii 
 
 The interview between Old Gobbo, his son, and 
 the Lord Bassanio is delightfully entertaining. 
 Launcelot's usual volubility halts in the presence 
 of the young nobleman, and his father's assistance 
 becomes necessary to prefer the suit "impertinent" 
 to himself, and express "the very defect of the 
 matter." However, the suit is granted, and 
 Launcelot is instructed to take leave of his old 
 master, and report at the lodgings of his new em- 
 ployer. The self-satisfaction of Master Launce- 
 lot at his success is most humorously expressed, 
 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 
 science of palmistry, which the author evidently 
 does not share. 
 
 Father, in. — I cannot get a service, no ; I have ne'er 
 a tongue in my head. — Well, if any man in Italy have 
 a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book ! 
 — I shall have good fortune. — Go to, here's a simple 
 line of life; here's a small trifle of wives; alas! fifteen 
 wives is nothing! eleven widows and nine maids is a 
 simple coming-in for one man; and then to 'scape 
 drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life from' 
 
112 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 the edge of a feather bed, — here are simple 'scapes. 
 Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench 
 for this gear. — Father, come; I'll take my leave of 
 the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 Notwithstanding his scruples of conscience that 
 caused him so much anxiety, when we 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. The mis- 
 sive requires a reply which Launcelot obtains ver- 
 bally, and the cunning young rascal cleverly man- 
 ages to convey it to the young Jewess, while bear- 
 ing an invitation to her father, from his new mas- 
 ter, Bassanio. His words are not brilliant, but 
 serve to indicate his ingenuity. 
 
 Mistress, look out at window, for all this; 
 There will come a Christian 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 113 
 
 Jessica, who is now the wife of Lorenzo, and, in 
 the absence of Portia, mistress of the house. 
 His self-esteem seems to have grown in his new 
 service, his vocabulary has increased, and he 
 speaks with more authority, but with the same 
 unfortunate propensity for punning. He is ob- 
 viously favored by his "betters," and like many 
 others of small mind takes advantage of that fact 
 to speak with a freedom that is not entirely de- 
 void of impudence. However, his humor atones 
 for much, and his good-nature accomplishes the 
 rest. 
 
 The dialogue quoted (with some slight elim- 
 inations) below takes place in the garden of Por- 
 tia's house (Act 3, Scene 5). It is apparently 
 the continuation of a discussion of the old theme 
 of Jessica's parentage, and her father's sins; 
 Launcelot taking a literal view of the scriptural 
 precept in her case. 
 
 Laun. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the 
 father are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I 
 promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, 
 and so now I speak my agitation of the matter ; there- 
 fore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I think thou art 
 
114 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 damned. There is but one hope in it that can do you 
 any good. 
 
 Jess. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 
 
 Laun. Marry, you may 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; well, you 
 are gone both ways. 
 
 Jess. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath 
 made me a Christian. 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he; we were 
 Christians enow before ; e'en as many as could well 
 live, one by another. This making of Christians will 
 raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to be pork- 
 eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals 
 for money. 
 
 The entrance of Lorenzo puts an end to 
 Launcelot's calamitous predictions, and that 
 gentleman having little appreciation of the lat- 
 ter's verbal fooling, directs him. "Go in, sirrah : 
 bid them prepare for dinner." 
 
 To which the irrepressible Launcelot replies: 
 'That is done, sir; they have all stomachs." 
 
 With some impatience, Lorenzo exclaims: 
 
LAUNCELOT GOBBO 115 
 
 "Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper art thou ! then 
 bid them prepare dinner." 
 
 This does not discourage the boy, who re- 
 sponds: "That is done too, sir; only, cover is the 
 word." 
 
 Lorenzo, with some irritation, seeks to bring 
 this equivocation to a close, and now gives his 
 directions with emphasis: "I pray thee, under- 
 stand a plain man in his plain meaning ; go to thy 
 fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the 
 meat, and we will come in to dinner." 
 
 The imperturbable self-esteem and good-nature 
 of Launcelot is proof, however, against censure or 
 sarcasm; and with unruffled gravity he replies 
 with humorous iteration: "For the table, sir, it 
 shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be 
 covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, 
 let it be as humors and conceits shall govern." 
 
 And having thus delivered himself, Launcelot 
 makes a dignified exit from the scene. 
 
 Lorenzo's apostrophe to Launcelot's discourse 
 is an admirable summary of the shallow mind, 
 that mistakes the mere jugglery of words for wit. 
 
ii6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 It was a favorite method of Shakespeare's to 
 furnish humor in his "simples" and serving men, 
 and proved an amusing diversion in their mouths : 
 but, in others, it is the unconscious tribute that 
 ignorance and incapacity pays to knowledge and 
 distinction. 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 An army of good words ; and I do know 
 A many 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 Bel- 
 mont, 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 is 
 traditional. It has been handed down by come- 
 dians 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 
 
p- • '■ 
 
 .'';*«■-■■ ?:*- * " -I !^v-. *?. 
 
 Charles Charters as "Launcelot Gobbo" in "The Merchant 
 of Venice" 
 
LAUNCELOT GOBBO 117 
 
 parts was, until recently, viewed with disap- 
 proval, and regarded as presumption. 
 
 A most interesting and unique performance of 
 Launcelot Gobbo was given some years ago by 
 that sterling character actor, Mr. Robert Peyton 
 Carter, so long associated with Miss Maude 
 Adams. I was the Shylock of the performance to 
 which I refer. Mr. Carter's Launcelot was not a 
 boy, but a humorous and mischievous young man. 
 At no time during the performance, even when 
 trembling with fear before his master, was a smile 
 absent from his face; with this result, the audience 
 were smiling all the time Launcelot was in view. 
 You knew, as you looked at him during his self- 
 argument between duty and inclination, that his 
 mind was already made up to run away, and that 
 his conscientious scruples (if he really ever had 
 any) were overcome before he uttered them. His 
 practical jest with his father, when he misdirects 
 him to the Jew's house, indicated that it was but 
 a sample of the pranks the young man had playec/ 
 
ii8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 upon him all his life, and the bright twinkle in 
 his eyes as his young mistress called him "a merry 
 devil" connoted a thousand tricks that the young 
 rascal had played during the term of his service in 
 the Jew's house and robbed that somewhat dreary 
 residence of its "taste of tediousness." 
 
 Mr. Carter's business on the delivery of Jessica's 
 letter to Lorenzo was original and good ; his exag- 
 gerated obeisance to the several friends in company 
 with that gentleman being particularly character- 
 istic and happy. In the last act of the comedy, too 
 frequently omitted in representation, Mr. Carter's 
 appreciation of Shakespearean humor was mani- 
 fest. The importance of his new employment, 
 his vanity in his "rare new 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 119 
 
 told me he considered the Launcelot Gobbo of Mr. 
 A. G. Andrews, of his company, the best he had 
 ever seen. It did not surprise me, for I knew Mr. 
 Andrews to be a thorough and painstaking artist, 
 studying out to the most minute detail every point 
 of his make-up, costume and business. Mr. 
 Andrews presented Launcelot as a boy to whom 
 life was a very serious problem. His costume 
 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 hard and long. He made 
 his first entrance from his master's house hastily, 
 then looked round fearfully and, finding himself 
 unobserved, sat down upon the door-step and 
 seriously held self-communion as to the justice of 
 leaving his master's service. In other respects he 
 followed the traditional business of the part; 
 but nothing was exaggerated, rather subdued; his 
 object being to present Launcelot as a possible 
 human being, and not an impossible clown, as 
 many comedians have done. The humor of the 
 part was always present, never intruded, but con- 
 
120 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 veycd naturally and without effort: the result 
 being a well proportioned and artistic perform- 
 ance. 
 
; CITIZEN 
 
 IN 
 JULIUS CiESAR 
 
 THE tragedy of "Julius Csesar" is so exalted 
 in theme, so heroic in sentiment and so noble 
 in principle, that humor would scarcely be an ap- 
 propriate factor in its composition. The magni- 
 tude of manhood that the author has brought into 
 such striking contrast and juxtaposition is so com- 
 pletely sustained, and the elements of lofty patriot- 
 ism and civic virtue are preserved so exclusively, 
 that the lesser qualities and conditions of life are 
 dwarfed into insignificance. 
 
 The characters of Marcus Brutus, Cassius, Marc 
 Antony, Caesar, Casca, Trebonius and the others, 
 are cast in such "heroic mold," that they repre- 
 sent "the highest heaven of invention," and like 
 Chorus, in the prologue to "Henry V," we might 
 well ask: 
 
 121 
 
122 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act 
 And monarchs to behold the swelHng scene! 
 
 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, which is 
 simply described as "Rome. 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 
 jostling, and shouting, when they are interrupted 
 by the approach of two of the tribunes. Flavins 
 and MaruUus, who in turn silence, reprove and 
 question them. 
 
 The dialogue between the characters briefly in- 
 forms us of the sumptuary laws of Rome at that 
 period, and indicates the sentiments and relations 
 
CITIZEN IN JULIUS CESAR 123 
 
 that existed between the patricians and the com- 
 mon people. 
 
 In the assemblage, two only of the citizens 
 reply to the questions of the tribunes; they have 
 no names in the list of characters, but are simply 
 distinguished as "First" and "Second" citizens. 
 
 The first citizen is an ordinary mechanic, dis- 
 tinguished by no especial feature from the rest of 
 the crowd; but the wit and humor of the second 
 warrants some description. 
 
 In many places that I have visited, I have found 
 a local wit or jester. The community is usually 
 very proud of him, and he is brought forward on 
 all social occasions to sustain the reputation of the 
 town for humor, and its appreciation. These al- 
 leged wits vary in condition, but never in charac- 
 teristic. They are usually fat, ruddy-faced and 
 good-natured, with a stock of well-seasoned wit 
 and fully matured stories which they exploit and 
 relate much to their own satisfaction and the ad- 
 miration of their local admirers, but not always 
 to the enjoyment of the visitor. Whatever they 
 say is supposed to be witty, and they are at all 
 
124 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 times ready for a verbal passage at arms with any 
 one who has the temerity to challenge them. This 
 type is not rare, but occasionally one meets a 
 natural wit who is both mellow and keen. Such 
 an one I imagine the individual to be who appears 
 under the title of the "Second Citizen" in "Julius 
 C^sar." 
 
 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 
 by a jest which in the presentation of the play is 
 followed by a hearty laugh from his fellows, to 
 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 comment: 
 
 Flavins. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you 
 
 home. 
 Is this a holiday? What! know you not, 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk, 
 Upon a laboring day, without the sign 
 Of your profession? Speak, what trade 
 
 art thou? 
 
CITIZEN IN JULIUS CESAR 125 
 
 First Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 Marullus. Where is thy leather apron, and thy 
 rule? 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel 
 
 on 
 
 You, sir, what trade are you? 
 
 Second Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work- 
 man, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Marullus. But what trade art thou? Answer me 
 directly. 
 
 Second Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use 
 with a safe conscience ; which is indeed, sir, a mender 
 of bad soles. 
 
 Marullus. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
 knave, what trade? 
 
 Second Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out 
 with me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 Marullus. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, 
 thou saucy fellow? 
 
 Second Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flavius. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 
 
 Second Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the 
 awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor 
 women's matters but with awl. I am indeed, sir, a 
 surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, 
 I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon 
 neats-leather have gone upon my handiwork. 
 
 Flavius. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the 
 streets ? 
 
126 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Second Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to 
 get myself into more work. 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 C(£sar 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 C^SAR 127 
 
 citizens. Csesar, impressed by an act of marked 
 discourtesy on the part of the lean and hungry 
 Cassius, calls Marc Antony to his side, and ex- 
 claims : "Let me have men about me that are fat." 
 Upon this, the two comedians playing the First 
 and Second Citizens, Mr. C. B. Bishop and 
 Mr. William Mestayer, both of very robust 
 figures, and each turning the scales at 250 pounds 
 at least, advanced, one on either side of Csesar, 
 and placing their hands on their rotund and pro- 
 truding stomachs, looked up at the great man 
 as much as to say, "Well ! here is just what you 
 want." 
 
 Of course, this interpolation of business caused 
 considerable amusement both for the audience and 
 the actors, and completely destroyed the dignity 
 of the scene; but both gentlemen were great per- 
 sonal favorites with the public, and their little 
 joke was tolerated by their indulgent friends as 
 an evidence of their eccentricity, in spite of its 
 absurd and inappropriate introduction. 
 
 The two comedians have long since joined "the 
 great majority," their exuberant humor is but a 
 
128 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 memory, but it is still affectionately cherished in 
 the sphere in which they lived. 
 
 The citizens appear on several occasions during 
 the progress of the tragedy, notably, in the Senate 
 scene at the assassination of Caesar, 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 prin- 
 cipal characters; but there is one line that always 
 struck me as humorous in the extreme. It occurs 
 in Act 3, Scene 2, after the first part of Marc An- 
 tony's address over the body of Csesar. Antony, 
 apparently overcome by emotion, pauses in his 
 eloquent argument in defense of his dead friend, 
 when the First Citizen sagely remarks: "Me- 
 thinks there is much reason in his sayings." To 
 which our old friend, the Second Citizen 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 has been so foully murdered, and 
 whose body lies before him covered with wounds, 
 
CITIZEN IN JULIUS CAESAR 129 
 
 always seemed to me to carry with it a sense of 
 the ridiculous, that I could never completely over- 
 come; although I am prepared to admit that, per 
 se, it is not inappropriate to the limited intelli- 
 gence of the speaker. 
 
 There is a brief episode in the next scene of the 
 same act in which the citizens again appear, that 
 has 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 
 Marc Antony, and are seeking the assassins in 
 the streets of the city. Among many suspicious 
 persons accosted by the crowd is Cinna, the poet, 
 who is seized and assailed by a perfect volley of 
 questions from the excited multitude ; to which he 
 replies : "What is my name? Whither am I go- 
 ing? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man 
 or a bachelor? Then to answer every man di- 
 rectly, and briefly, wisely, and truly ; wisely I say, 
 I am a bachelor." 
 
 To this our ever-humorous friend the Second 
 Citizen, who is one of the foremost in the crowd, 
 and evidently a married man, responds in charac- 
 
130 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 teristic fashion : "That's as much as to say, they 
 are fools that marry; you'll bear me a bang for 
 that, I fear." 
 
 Further questioning reveals the name of the 
 captured man to be Cinna, which being also the 
 name of one of the conspirators, for whom he is 
 mistaken, the crowd cry: "Tear him to pieces, he 
 is a conspirator I" 
 
 The poor fellow, however, protests: "I am 
 Cinna, the poet; I am Cinna, the poet." 
 
 Cinna's poetry does not appear to be highly 
 appreciated by the people, or he has unfortunately 
 encountered an unsympathetic critic, for one of 
 the citizens exclaims: "Tear him for his bad 
 verses; tear him for his bad verses." 
 
 Again the poet protests : "I am not Cinna, the 
 conspirator." 
 
 Whatever justice there may have been in the 
 fate adjudged the poor poet by the enraged popu- 
 lace, our ingenuous friend, the Second Citizen, is 
 not without mercy, and he proposes: "It is no 
 matter; his name's Cinna; pluck but his name out 
 of his heart, and turn him going." 
 
CITIZEN IN JULIUS CiESAR 131 
 
 Which suggests the significance of the trite old 
 adage, "Save us from our friends." 
 
 In a memorable production of "Julius Csesar," 
 at Booth's Theater, New York, in the early seven- 
 ties, a most excellent actor, Mr. Charles Leclerq, 
 played the Second Citizen, and gave it an impor- 
 tance and significance I had never before witnessed. 
 Mr. Leclerq was tall and of spare figure; and his 
 natural manner incisive rather than unctuous. 
 His conceptions were the result of well-digested 
 thought, and his performances rounded and com- 
 plete. Surrounded by his homely fellows, and 
 confident of their support, he was important but 
 not intrusive, and impressed his audience with the 
 characteristics I have endeavored to describe, so 
 that, when one left the theater, in spite of the 
 overwhelming predominance of the other charac- 
 ters, Mr. Leclerq's performance of the homely old 
 Roman cobbler lingered in the memory. 
 
THE CLOWN 
 
 IN 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 
 IN that most excellent work entitled "Studies in 
 Shakespeare," 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 as servants, clowns, 
 rustics, etc. ; read them all." 
 
 This suggestion cannot be too emphatically im- 
 pressed 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 
 to the interest of the play. This is to be deplored ; 
 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 is to lose 
 
 132 
 
IN ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 133 
 
 many beauties of thought, much philosophic re- 
 flection, and a fund of characteristic humor. 
 
 From the rich mine of his transcendent genius, 
 the 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 
 flashes of brilliancy that sparkle in the repartee of 
 the prince become bits of homely humor in the 
 simple dialogue of the peasant, and the compli- 
 ment of the courtier is bluntly expressed in the 
 rugged honesty of the clown. The garb, becom- 
 ing and appropriate, is fitted to the wearer; the 
 doublet to the one, the smock to the other. 
 
 In all of his rustic and humorous characters, 
 Shakespeare has been most conservative of their 
 possibilities; probably from the fact that prior to 
 his time, and also during his early career on the 
 stage, the clown monopolized the attention of the 
 audience to the exclusion of the serious interest of 
 the play, and was usually a most exaggerated cari- 
 cature without sense or significance. 
 
 Shakespeare felt this condition keenly and ex- 
 pressed himself emphatically on the subject; espe- 
 
134 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 daily in the prince's instructions to the player in 
 Hamlet (Act 3, Scene 2.) He set himself about 
 to reform the evil, by keeping the clown and the 
 comedian within the limits of "the modesty of 
 nature." 
 
 The brief sketch of the bucolic clown in "An- 
 tony and Cleopatra" is distinctly Shakespearean 
 in character, and it is to be regretted that he does 
 not appear at greater length in the play. While 
 the tragedy is located in Egypt, the clown is essen- 
 tially English, and is a capital type of the country 
 clodhopper, many of whom still survive in remote 
 English villages to-day, and such as the poet saw 
 daily at Stratford when a boy. 
 
 This clown is a stockily-built, ruddy-faced man, 
 with a shock head of hair, dressed in a homespun 
 or coarse canvas smock, 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 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 135 
 
 sensible to the significance of his errand, ignorant 
 of its design, but honest in his warning as to the 
 dangerous character of the worm; and what a 
 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 im- 
 perious "Sorceress of the Nile," now a hopeless 
 despairing woman; ''Tho' uncrowned, 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 fellow is ignorant of the exalted rank of 
 his patron, and entirely lacking in reverence, for 
 he pays the queen no deference, but gabbles on in* 
 sensible of dismissal and oblivious to interruption 
 till his tale is finished. 
 
 Cleopatra asks: "Hast thou the pretty worm 
 of Nilus there *?" To which he replies: "Truly 
 I have him; but I would not be the party that 
 
136 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 is de- 
 licious, and to my mind 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 
 eagerly inquires: "Rememb'rest thou any that 
 have died on't*?" To which the garrulous old 
 fellow responds: "Very many, men and women, 
 too. I heard of one of them no longer than yes- 
 terday ; a very honest woman, but something given 
 to lie, as a woman should not do but in the way 
 of honesty; how she died of the biting of it, what 
 pain she felt. Truly she makes a very good re- 
 port of the worm; but he that will believe 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 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 137 
 
 or in the extremity of her grief, unperceived; and 
 the clown is dismissed. 
 
 But 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 worm: "Look you, the worm is not to be 
 trusted," and ''Give it nothing, I pray you, for it 
 is not worth the feeding." 
 
 To this last admonition, Cleopatra inquires: 
 "Will it eat me*?" The clown takes this question 
 as a reflection on himself, and replies with some 
 emphasis: "You must not think I am so sim- 
 ple, but I know the devil himself will not eat 
 a woman; I know that a woman is a dish for the 
 gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these 
 same whoreson devils do the gods great harm in 
 their women, for in every ten that they make, the 
 devils mar five." And with the parting saluta- 
 tion: "I wish you joy of the worm," the clown 
 finally takes his departure. 
 
 Ordinary students of Shakespeare must have 
 noted that in spite of the fact that the poet has 
 
138 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 given us some of the noblest ideals of womanhood, 
 there are passages in his plays of the keenest satire, 
 and bitterest denunciation of women. 
 
 How far his own unfortunate experience with 
 the sex may have influenced his mind, it is not 
 my purpose to discuss here ; but in the two passages 
 spoken by the clown, that I have quoted above, I 
 cannot but think there is an echo from the heart of 
 the man, that as the poet sounds the key-note of 
 an uncongenial marriage, an unappreciative mis- 
 tress, and a friend's duplicity. 
 
 It is interesting to note, that in the two great 
 tragedies, "Julius Csesar" and "Antony and Cleo- 
 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 its 
 conclusion. 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 
 
 IN 
 
 HAMLET 
 
 "Has this fellow no feeling of his business^ that 
 he sings at grave-tnaking ?" 
 
 IT would scarcely seem possible that a grave- 
 yard 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- 
 ditions, and given us a series of incidents, a variety 
 of character, and a dialogue replete with the most 
 delightful comedy, brilliant repartee, ready wit 
 and subtle humor. 
 
 139 
 
140 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 The circumstances are these: A young lady 
 attached to the court of the King of Denmark has 
 been drowned. The general opinion being that 
 she committed suicide. In the time of Shake- 
 speare, and prior thereto, such unfortunates were 
 denied Christian burial. Their remains were in- 
 terred outside of consecrated ground without serv- 
 ice or any of the rites of the Church. In fact, it 
 was not unusual to bury them at the intersection 
 of the highways, very deeply, and to drive a strong 
 stake through the body. The 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 church- 
 yard. 
 
 The King's command, violating all the ancient 
 and accepted traditions of the church, arouses the 
 indignation of the old sexton, who combines the 
 office of grave-digger. To this personage Shake- 
 speare has given such a strong individuality, such 
 
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 in his own observation 
 and experience. 
 
 In the list of characters in the play this person- 
 age and his assistant are set down as "Two 
 Clowns as Grave-diggers," but modern editors 
 have separated them in the cast, and called them 
 "First and Second Grave-diggers." This method 
 has been adopted in all the acting editions, and 
 in the following observations I shall so designate 
 them. 
 
 The first grave-digger is of a type that may be 
 found in many of our country villages to-day, — 
 a quaint sententious old fellow "dressed in a little 
 brief authority," and full of his own importance. 
 He has a little knowledge of law, quotes one or 
 two legal phrases in Latin incorrectly, and 
 preaches a crude idea of socialism to his younger 
 assistant, much to the awe and admiration of that 
 simple individual, who addresses his acknowl- 
 edged superior as "Goodman delver." 
 
142 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 humor- 
 ous twinkle in his eyes, in spite of an assumed 
 severity, dressed in the homely smock of the 
 peasant of that pl^ce and period, and about fifty 
 years of age. He 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 is not to be ques- 
 tioned. Should these fail him, however, he can 
 command the respect of his fellows by a ready 
 tongue and homely wit, as exampled in his dia- 
 logue with his subordinate, and later with Prince 
 Hamlet. 
 
 He is no respecter of persons : his replies to the 
 questions of Hamlet being as straightforward and 
 blunt as those to his peasant companion, while 
 his replications in the exchange of wit with the 
 former indicate so much irreverence and indepen- 
 dence, that it draws from the Prince the signifi- 
 cant observation: "By the Lord, Horatio, . . , 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 143 
 
 the age is grown 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 
 small degree a resemblance to that of "Dogberry" 
 in "Much Ado About Nothing," in its self-import- 
 ance, but it is more consistent, less bombastic, and 
 never servile. 
 
 Our first acquaintance with the old fellow is 
 made at the beginning of the first scene of the 
 fifth act of the play, when he enters the church- 
 yard followed by his assistant, who carries a spade 
 and a mattock. That his mind is disturbed by 
 the violation of ancient traditions is evidenced in 
 his first speech given in the form of a question to 
 his follower: "Is she to be buried in Christian 
 burial that willfully seeks her own salvation?' 
 To which his assistant, evidently a younger man, 
 with the assurance of accurate information, re- 
 plies: "I tell thee she is; and therefore make her 
 grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her and 
 finds it Christian burial." 
 
144 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Now comes the inherent love of argument in 
 the old man: "How can that be, unless she 
 drowned herself in her own defense?" 
 
 The younger man has. no reply to this proposi- 
 tion, but contents himself with reiteration: 
 "Why, 'tis found so." To 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 proceed- 
 ings, and memorized for use at a future time, to 
 awe his adversary with his learning; and to ob- 
 serve the originality of his logic in the conclusion 
 that the lady's death was not accidental. "It 
 must be 'se offendendo'; it cannot be else. For 
 here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, 
 it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 145 
 
 it is, to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she 
 drowned herself wittingly." 
 
 His assistant is not without some self-assertion 
 in spite of Latin and logic, and makes a valiant 
 attempt to enter a protest against the old man's 
 prejudiced conclusions. ''Nay, but hear you, 
 goodman delver." But the goodman will not be 
 silenced with flattery nor does he propose to 
 honor his youthful disputant with more contro- 
 versy, but proceeds to demonstrate his theory in 
 a practical fashion. Taking his spade he lays it 
 down on the smooth turf of the church-yard, ex- 
 plaining: "Here lies the water; good." Then 
 at some little distance from the spade he stands 
 the pick or mattock on end: ''Here stands the 
 man, good," and taking a position between the two 
 implements, with judicial gravity, he delivers 
 himself as follows : "If the man go to this water 
 and drown himself, it is will he, nill he, he goes ; 
 mark you that; but if the water come to him and 
 drown him, he drowns not himself : argal, he that 
 is not guilty of his own death shortens not his 
 own life." 
 
146 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 This demonstration almost convinces the rustic 
 skeptic, but he is still in doubt as to the legal 
 aspect of the case, and inquires: "But is this law?" 
 "Ay, marry, is't; 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 human inequality. "Will 
 you ha' the truth on't*? If this had not been a 
 gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' 
 Christian burial." The old fellow fully indorses 
 this proposition, and emphasizes it with a still 
 more forcible example, though, perhaps some 
 may not recognize the advantages of the special 
 privileges quoted. "Why, there thou sayest: and 
 the more pity that great folks should have coun- 
 tenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, 
 more than their even-Christian. Come, my 
 spade." The old man takes his spade, but before 
 proceeding to work, asserts the natural dignity of 
 his trade, and bemoans the degeneracy of the age; 
 which provokes the following bit of delightful 
 equivoque : 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 147 
 
 1st Gra. There is no ancient gentlemen but gar- 
 deners, ditchers and grave-makers: they hold up 
 Adam's profession. 
 
 2nd Gra. Was he a gentleman? 
 
 1st Gra. A' the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2nd Gra. Why, he had none. 
 
 1st Gra. What, art a heathen? How dost thou 
 understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam 
 digged : Could he dig without arms ? 
 
 After a hearty laugh at the jest, the old fellow 
 propounds a conundrum, a very popular form of 
 entertainment among simple country wits. How- 
 ever, to realize the significance of the riddle and 
 the preceding dialogue, it is essential to have the 
 full picture in one's mind : the solemn background 
 of the church, the grim environment of the old 
 headstones and tombs, ghostlike in the midnight 
 shadows, the newly made grave waiting for its 
 tenant, the odor of the fresh earth, and the homely 
 figures of the two sextons with the dismal tools 
 of their trade, form a combination in strong con- 
 trast with the humor of the dialogue, and yet in 
 complete harmony with the spirit of the occasion. 
 The old grave-digger standing with one foot on 
 his spade, his eyes sparkling with humor, empha- 
 
148 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 
 lips, eager to catch every 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 is puzzled for a moment, 
 scratches his head, then with a look of triumph, 
 answers quickly: "The gallows-maker; for that 
 frame outlives a thousand tenants." 
 
 It is a good answer and the old fellow is not 
 slow to acknowledge it, but it is not the correct 
 one, so the momentary satisfaction of the young 
 man is turned to chagrin, and his wits spurred to 
 another effort. How the old fellow chuckles as 
 the young one wrestles with the knotty problem, 
 and how deliciously is the patronage of the old 
 egotist's superior wisdom expressed in the passage 
 that follows: "I like thy wit well, in good 
 faith: The gallows does well: but how does it 
 well ^ It does well to those that do ill : now thou 
 dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 149 
 
 the church : argal : the gallows may do well to thee. 
 To't again, come." 
 
 The young man repeats the proposition: "Who 
 builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a 
 carpenter^" and ruefully struggles to find another 
 fitting reply. But his mental faculties are dull, 
 it is beyond him, he has to confess it, and the old 
 fellow does not spare him, but accentuates his 
 triumph, and completes the poor fellow's humili- 
 ation by giving the answer, and then dismissing 
 him to fetch a stoop of liquor. 
 
 "Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your 
 dull ass will not mend his pace with beating, and 
 when you are asked this question next, say *a 
 grave-maker' : the houses that he makes last till 
 doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, fetch me a 
 stoop of liquor." ^ 
 
 The traditional business at this point was for 
 the old grave-digger to remove with great delib- 
 eration a number of vests or waist-coats of various 
 colors and patterns, carefully fold and lay them 
 at one side, and then roll up his sleeves before 
 descending into the uncompleted grave to proceed 
 
150 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 with his work. This absurd piece of business has, 
 however, long since been discarded, and the actor 
 of to-day plays the part with more appro- 
 priate action, consistent with the character, and 
 within scope of human possibility. Laying his 
 spade and pick by the side of the grave he 
 gradually lowers himself into it with the natural 
 effort of a man of his age, then in a work- 
 man-like manner proceeds first to loosen the earth 
 with his pick, then to throw it out, together with 
 the skulls and bones as the dialogue calls for them, 
 chanting the words of the old ballad at the proper 
 cues, emphasizing the effort, and punctuating his 
 singing with the strokes of his mattock, and the 
 work of the spade. 
 
 It is at this point that Prince Hamlet and his 
 friend Horatio appear outside of the low wall 
 that encloses the grave-yard. Seeing the old 
 man's grim occupation, and hearing his 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 iji 
 
 plies: "Custom hath made it in him a property 
 of easiness." 
 
 Unconscious of observation, the sexton con- 
 tinues his work and his song, throwing out the 
 earth, some human bones, and two chapless skulls ; 
 while the Prince and his friend look on and 
 philosophize on the gruesome relics that are so 
 irreverently handled by the old man. The sec- 
 ond skull thrown from the grave is about to roll 
 away, when the sexton strikes it sharply with his 
 spade to imbed it in the soft, fresh earth. This 
 apparent brutal indifference to the grim remains 
 of poor mortality is the subject of further specula- 
 tive philosophy on the part of the Prince, who 
 finally steps over the wall, advances to the side 
 of the grave, and addresses the grave-digger, ask- 
 ing: "Who's grave's this, sirrah"?" 
 
 I imagine the old man has been asked this 
 question so frequently, and by all manner of peo- 
 ple, that he has grown impatient at the query, and 
 with scarcely a glance at his questioner he answers 
 abruptly, "Mine, sir," and continues his work 
 and his song. 
 
152 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 I recall when I was a very small boy, liv- 
 ing in an English country village, an old cobbler, 
 whose shop, or rather stall, was on the side of the 
 street by which I went to school. He was a 
 quaint, good-natured old fellow, and I would fre- 
 quently stop, watch him at work and talk to him. 
 All of his work was done by hand. He used 
 to sit at the end of a low bench on which 
 were all of his materials and tools, in little 
 square compartments. He wore a large pair of 
 spectacles with horn frames, and would bend 
 over a wooden last, held fast to his knee by a 
 circular leathern strap from his foot, make holes 
 with an awl, insert and draw the wax end tightly, 
 as he attached the upper to the sole of the shoe 
 he was making. I used to regard him with great 
 interest, and wonder at his dexterity and rapidity. 
 I knew practically everybody in the village, and 
 with boyish curiosity would ask the old cobbler 
 who the shoes were for. He would invariably 
 reply: "Mr. Wearem." This puzzled me for 
 some time, as I knew no one of that name; but 
 ultimately I comprehended: it was a reproof to 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 153 
 
 my curiosity, the old man's standing jest, and a 
 whimsical evasion of the question he was asked 
 so frequently. I find a parallel in my old cob- 
 bler's jest and the grave-digger's reply to Ham- 
 let. 
 
 The Prince, however, is not disposed to be 
 silenced by this discourtesy, but makes a rejoinder 
 that bluntly charges 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 
 punning, and a crude logic that carries his point, 
 and compels recognition from the Prince, who 
 diplomatically changes the subject. 
 
 To facilitate the reader's appreciation, I quote 
 the dialogue that follows the grave-digger's reply : 
 
 Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't. 
 
 Gra. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not 
 yours : for my part, I do not lie in't and yet, it is mine. 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and to say it is 
 thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick: therefore 
 thou liest. 
 
 Gra. 'Tis a quick lie, sir, 'twill away again from 
 me to you. 
 
154 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 
 Gra. For no man, sir. ^ 
 
 Ham. What woman then? 
 Gra. For none neither. 
 Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 
 Gra. One that was a woman sir, but, rest her soul, 
 she's dead. 
 
 Ham. How long hast thou been a grave-maker? 
 
 The answer is given with characteristic loquac- 
 ity, 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 is connoted as well as 
 expressed in many of the brief passages of the 
 poet. In answer to the above simple question, 
 the valor of the late King, and the martial char- 
 acter 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 satir- 
 ical allusions to the people of that country; and, 
 while the old man 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 
 is improbable to suppose that he would be en- 
 trusted with such serious work at an earlier age, 
 would make him fifty at this time, as I have be- 
 fore suggested. 
 
 Hamlet's next question: "How long will a 
 man lie in the earth ere he rot*?" provokes more 
 punning by the old man and some very plain and 
 original reasoning as to the time and process of 
 the decay of mortal remains ; those of a tanner in 
 particular. 
 
 The dialogue is terminated by the selection of 
 one of the skulls by the grave-digger to illustrate 
 his arguments, which the old man asserts is the 
 skull of Yorick, the late King's jester. 
 
 The "property of easiness," suggested by Ho- 
 ratio, is again exampled by the irreverence and 
 familiarity with which the grave-maker handles 
 this skull. As he recalls the pranks of the dead 
 
156 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 jester, he laughingly slaps the hollow temples of 
 the unconscious remnant, as if he were boxing the 
 ears of the living jester, and gleefully chuckles 
 as memory revives the "mad rogue's" wit and 
 humor, before handing it to the Prince. 
 
 This incident diverts the mind of Hamlet from 
 his catechism of the grave-digger to tender mem- 
 ories of his childhood's friend and playmate, so 
 that the sentiment of the scene is changed, but 
 to this I have referred at some length in a former 
 chapter. 
 
 The funeral procession enters the church-yard, 
 the sexton assists in lowering the body of the un- 
 fortunate lady to its last resting place, and with 
 that duty done, the character of the grave-digger 
 in the play is concluded. But if we permit our 
 imagination a little scope, 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 refrain of his quaint song 
 borne upon the stillness of the early morning air: 
 
 A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, 
 For and a shrouding sheet: 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 157 
 
 O a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 The most conspicuous figure that I can recall 
 as a representative of the first grave-digger, was 
 the late J. H. McVicker, founder and proprietor 
 of McVicker's Theater, Chicago. He played the 
 part when en tour with Edwin Booth, his son-in- 
 law, who was then under his management. I 
 had the honor of being Mr. Booth's principal sup- 
 port, and played the part of Laertes. Mr. Mc- 
 Vicker was of Irish and Scotch descent, and com- 
 bined the general characteristics of those two na- 
 tionalities. He was strong in his own opinions, 
 somewhat harsh and dictatorial in his manner, 
 but with a vein of quaint humor that was much 
 in evidence when not obsessed with business. 
 Hardly the temperament for an artist, you would 
 say*? True! but in the case of the old sexton 
 these very qualities fitted the character. Mr. Mc- 
 Vicker used little if any make-up, in fact he did 
 not need any; he was at this time, I should judge, 
 about sixty years of age, rotund of figure, full in 
 the face, which was clean-shaven, and with sparse 
 
158 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 gray hair, that was always disheveled. He 
 dressed the part in a dark brown tunic or smock; 
 his arms were bare, but his legs and feet were 
 encased in rough buskins and sandals. He 
 looked the part to perfection; he did not have to 
 act, only to speak the lines, and he was the old 
 grave-digger. The self-importance, the grave as- 
 sumption of knowledge, and the air of "brief 
 authority" over his fellow- worker were finely 
 given ; while his surprised expression at the audac- 
 ity of the younger man in questioning his judg- 
 ment was a splendid illustration of the assurance 
 of ignorance and self-conceit. 
 
 At the time of which I speak (1876) very 
 little, if any, scenery and few properties were 
 carried by touring dramatic companies. We car- 
 ried none, but depended on the stock of the 
 theaters we 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 skulls were espe- 
 cially difficult to obtain in the smaller towns. 
 
THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 159 
 
 Our property-man, however, was of 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 skulls he used two large turnips, shaping 
 them like the human head, excavating the eye 
 sockets, hollowing the jaws and mouth, and then 
 coloring 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, when Mr. Mc- 
 Vicker, as the grave-digger, handed the supposed 
 skull to Mr. Booth, as Hamlet, the latter gentle- 
 man failed to grasp it securely and it fell with a 
 heavy thud to the stage. The deception was then 
 obvious, and the audience roared with laughter. 
 But worse consequences followed. The con- 
 founded turnip rolled down to the footlights, 
 knocked off one of the tips of the gas jets (elec- 
 tricity was not then in use), a big flame rose from 
 the broken jet, a cry of Fire! was raised, and a 
 panic in the audience was only averted by the 
 
i6o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 prompt action of the leader of the orchestra, who 
 reached over and smothered the flaming gas-jet 
 with his pocket handkerchief. 
 
 On another occasion during our Southern tour, 
 Mr. McVicker called me on one side prior to the 
 beginning of the last act of Hamlet, and whis- 
 pered in my ear, "Watch me when I hand Edwin 
 the skull to-night." I watched. 
 
 It 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 the char- 
 acter of the remains. The grave-digger threw 
 them out at the proper cue, and the deception 
 passed unnoticed, but, when the old sexton handed 
 the supposed skull of poor dead Yorick to Mr. 
 Booth, who had 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 161 
 
 and with difficulty completed the delivery of his 
 tender apostrophe to the remains of his dead 
 friend. However, his final questions to Horatio, 
 as he handed, with unusual alacrity the repulsive 
 vegetable to that gentleman: "Dost thou think 
 Alexander looked o' this fashion i' the earth'? 
 And smelt so*? pah I" had a significance that here- 
 tofore had not been in evidence. Subsequently 
 Mr. Booth joined in a hearty laugh at the inci- 
 dent, and shortly afterwards two human skulls 
 were purchased for the performance. 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 
 
 IN 
 
 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 THERE seems to be little doubt but that the 
 comedy of ''The Two Gentlemen of Ve- 
 rona" was one of the earliest of the poet's dra- 
 matic works. There is no authentic record of its 
 first presentation, but it is the general impression 
 among the commentators that it occurred in 1591 
 or 1592. Sidney Lee, probably the most ac- 
 curate and reliable authority on Shakespeareana, 
 places it second in order of production. It was 
 not printed in the author's lifetime, nor was it pub- 
 lished till it was included 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 develop- 
 
 162 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 163 
 
 ment of the characters, and immaturity in its de- 
 ductive philosophy. These conditions confirm 
 the view-point taken above, and are entirely con- 
 sistent with the known facts. Shakespeare was 
 at this time but twenty-seven years of age, had 
 been in London but six or seven years, and though 
 study and observation had given him some idea 
 of dramatic composition, it was on conventional 
 lines only; experience had not yet developed 
 his powers or given him any marked individ- 
 uality. 
 
 Mrs. Cowden Clarke goes so far as to suggest 
 that the comedy was probably one of the MSS. 
 that Shakespeare took with him to London. 
 This is disproved, I think, by his references in the 
 play to historical and mythological characters, 
 with which he would hardly be familiar before his 
 advent into the metropolis. 
 
 I doubt if Shakespeare did any literary work 
 of a dramatic character before he went to Lon- 
 don. It was his association with a company of 
 professional actors, in a varied repertory of plays, 
 with the environment of a regularly equipped 
 
i64 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 theater, that revealed to him the possibilities of 
 the drama, inspired his ambition, and developed 
 his genius. 
 
 There is no originality in the story of "The 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona," nor in any of the 
 incidents of the comedy. The characters are but 
 prototypes of those which appear, elaborated and 
 completed, in his later plays, after experience had 
 matured his powers and given him a deeper in- 
 sight into human nature. 
 
 This is particularly true of Launce and Speed, 
 the two clownish servants in the comedy, who are 
 reproduced as the two Dromios, in "The Comedy 
 of Errors"; as Peter, in "Romeo and Juliet," and 
 as Launcelot Gobbo, in "The Merchant of Ven- 
 ice"; but with far more consistency of purpose 
 and 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- 
 entine and Proteus, two young noblemen, and 
 accompany their respective masters on their 
 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 humor, and fond of 
 mischief. Their humor they exercise upon their 
 masters, when they can do so with safety, and 
 indulge in their mischief between themselves. 
 Both are shrewd and keenly observant, particu- 
 larly of the foibles and weaknesses of their 
 masters. 
 
 Speed is at times exuberant; Launce, who is 
 apparently the elder, is more thoughtful and sen- 
 tentious, and with the egotism of a little learn- 
 ing patronizes and reproves the youth and 
 ignorance of his comrade. Launce has some 
 sentimentality in his nature which is shown in his 
 affection for his dog. Crab, and his grief (not 
 wholly unaffected) at the parting from his fam- 
 ily. Launce does not, however, permit that 
 sentimentality to affect his material interests at 
 any time, or even influence his considerations in 
 the selection of a wife. 
 
 Both have the punning habit to an abnormal 
 
i66 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 degree, and vie with each other in amphibolous 
 repartee. 
 
 Of the two, Launce has the keener wit and 
 deeper philosophy. He is also more resourceful 
 when occasion demands; witness, his prompt ac- 
 ceptance of the punishment that had been im- 
 posed 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 first of these two worthies to ap- 
 pear in the play. It is in the first scene of the 
 first act, and in his second speech he begins a cor- 
 ruption of words in a succession of the most 
 atrocious puns and ingenious transliterations, that 
 positively appall by their audacity: and he con- 
 tinues it throughout the scene. 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 167 
 
 In fact, there is but one bit of repartee in the 
 entire dialogue worthy of note: Proteus ex- 
 claims with obvious sarcasm: "Beshrew me, but 
 you have a quick wit," to which Speed, who has 
 been unable to extract a gratuity from him, re- 
 plies: "And yet it cannot overtake your slow 
 purse." 
 
 The dialogue in Act 2, Scene 1, between Speed 
 and Sir Valentine, is in the same vein as in the 
 first act; but Speed seems to have some advantage 
 in it, 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 
 cpmprehension that amounts almost to density in 
 the lack of understanding displayed by his master. 
 Speed's critical philosophy, however, never per- 
 mits him to lose sight of the demands of his 
 stomach, or the perquisites of his position. 
 
i68 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 This scene is so admirable in its commingling of 
 humor and satire, that I quote it at length: 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you 
 have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, 
 like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, Hke a robin- 
 redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pes- 
 tilence; to sigh, like a schoolboy that had lost his 
 A B 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, 
 like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when 
 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 I look on you, I can hardly 
 think you are my master. 
 
 VaL Are all these things perceived in me? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without ye. . . . 
 These follies are within you, and shine through you 
 like the water . . . that not an eye that sees you, but 
 is a physician to comment on your malady. 
 
 Later, in the same scene the dialogue is note- 
 worthy, and again illustrates the shrewd observ- 
 ance of Speed, and the privilege of speech per- 
 mitted him by his master. 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 169 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd. 
 
 Val. How long hath she been deform'd? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and 
 still I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 
 
 Val Why? 
 
 Speed. Because Love is blind. O ! that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were 
 wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for go- 
 ing ungartered! 
 
 Val. What should I see then? 
 
 Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing 
 deformity ; for he, being in love, could not see to gar- 
 ter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put 
 on your hose. 
 
 Sir Valentine, probably realizing the truth of 
 Speed's remarks, and finding no adequate reply, 
 attempts a reproof, which, however, does not 
 feaze his irrepressible follower: 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last 
 morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I 
 thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes 
 me the bolder to chide you for yours. 
 
 Mistress Sylvia, the lady of Sir Valentine's 
 love, now comes upon the scene, and Speed is a 
 
170 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 ''one she loves," 
 a "secret nameless friend." Sir Valentine, hav- 
 ing written the lines, in the form of a letter, now 
 delivers it to the lady, who thereupon returns it 
 to the writer, pointedly exclaiming: "They are 
 for you." Sir Valentine, however, does not ap- 
 preciate her meaning, looks bewildered and stands 
 in great perplexity ; and the lady, disappointed at 
 his lack of comprehension, abruptly takes her 
 leave with considerable show of anger. Sir Valen- 
 tine stands in speechless astonishment, but Speed, 
 who 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 de- 
 sign, and Speed's meaning, declares: 
 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? 
 Speed. What need she when she hath made you 
 write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the 
 jest? 
 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and 
 there an end. 
 
 Val. I would it were no worse! 
 Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : 
 
 For often have you writ to her, and she, in 
 
 modesty. 
 Or else for want of idle time, could not 
 
 again reply; 
 Or fearing else some 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 it impossible to make 
 the matter clear, suggests: " 'Tis dinner time." 
 Sir Valentine replies: "I have dined," but 
 Speed requires a more substantial diet than love, 
 and concludes the scene with the following most 
 
172 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 earnestly delivered protest: "Ay, but hearken, 
 sir: Though the chameleon Love can feed on 
 air, I am one that am nourish' d by my victuals, 
 and would fain have meat. O I be not like your 
 mistress : be moved, be moved." 
 
 Launce does not appear till the third scene of 
 the second act, when he introduces himself, his 
 sentiments, and his dog Crab, by whom he is ac- 
 companied, with much humor and, as with 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 we had met them all in person. 
 One can easily understand that Crab's failure to 
 appreciate the importance of the journey, and the 
 pathos of parting with such a family is a source 
 of great disappointment to his master. The epi- 
 sode is described with so much delightful original- 
 ity of expression and humorous detail, that the 
 reader must be dull indeed who cannot see the 
 scene enacted before his eyes : the weeping women, 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 173 
 
 the wailing father, the howling maid, and the 
 "perplexed" household; while the dog, unmoved, 
 stolidly watches the entire proceedings with a 
 bored expression of canine indifference. 
 
 Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping: 
 all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I 
 have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, 
 and am going with Sir Proteus to the imperial's court. 
 I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that 
 lives : my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sis- 
 ter crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her 
 hands, and all our house in great perplexity, yet did 
 not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear : he is a stone, 
 a very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than 
 a dog : a Jew would have wept to have seen our part- 
 ing : why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept 
 herself blind at my parting. Nay, FU show you the 
 manner of it: This shoe is my father; — no, this left 
 shoe is my father ; no, no, this left shoe is my mother : 
 — that cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so; it 
 hath the worser sole. This shoe with a hole in it, 
 is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on't: 
 there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look 
 you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand : 
 this hat is Nan, our maid ; I am the dog : — no, the dog 
 is himself, and I am the dog, — O, the dog is me, and 
 I am myself ; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father ; 
 Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe speak 
 
174 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; 
 well, he weeps on: — now come I to my mother, (Q, 
 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; now come I to my sister; mark 
 the moan she makes : now the dog all this while sheds 
 not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the 
 dust with my tears. 
 
 The misuse of the words "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, 
 Imbecility, and Suicide," that distinguished alien- 
 ist places Launce among the imbeciles, and by 
 way of preface to an able analysis of the char- 
 acter, in which is included Crab, the constant com- 
 panion of the boy, he makes the following con- 
 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 Gen- 
 tlemen of Verona." Launce is not a character manu- 
 factured by the playwright, one of "Nature's journey- 
 men," to serve a particular purpose, but is a product 
 of Nature's own handiwork, and if not the most cun- 
 ning, 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 
 of the two. The clown is such by natural organiza- 
 tion, and no education or change of circumstances or 
 condition could make him otherwise. So the dog 
 Crab, is . . . the cur that nature made him; and we 
 can scarcely conceive that even the cultivation of 
 three generations . . . would suffice to make either a 
 courtier of the one, or "a gentleman-like dog" of the 
 other. . . . The spirits of the two are so "married in 
 conjunction" by mutual intercourse, that the one has 
 come to conduct himself in all companies, as a currish 
 clown, and the other as a clownish cur. 
 
 As I have stated in the preface, I do not pre- 
 sume to differentiate between folly and imbecil- 
 ity. I quote the foregoing as the indorsement of 
 a scientist to the accuracy of the poet's conception 
 and treatment of the character. 
 
 In reference to the habit of punning, which is 
 one of the characteristics of Launce, to which I 
 
176 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 have before alluded in this article, as well as to 
 the same practice by similar characters in previous 
 chapters, I again quote Dr. Kellogg: 
 
 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 completely Shakespeare realized this con-» 
 dition is evidenced, not only by the countrymen 
 and clowns in his comedies, but also by the char- 
 acters of inferior rank and humble station in his 
 tragedies: notably, Peter, in ''Romeo and Juliet"; 
 the Citizens, in "Julius Csesar" ; the Grave-diggers, 
 in "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 ago. Mr. 
 James Lewis played Launce, and while I cannot 
 recall the entire performance in detail, I distinctly 
 remember his first appearance on the scene. He 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 177 
 
 came upon the stage slowly, with an expression 
 of extreme disgust on his face, leading his dog 
 Crab by a cord. The property man who had 
 procured the dog for the production had been 
 most fortunate in his selection, for a more com- 
 plete specimen of a "low-down cur" I never saw. 
 It would have puzzled the most experienced dog 
 fancier to name his breed or trace his ancestry. 
 Most animals, 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 was 
 absolutely oblivious to his surroundings. Crab 
 received even a more cordial greeting than his 
 popular master, but while the latter acknowledged 
 the compliment gracefully, the dog looked on with 
 complete indifference as if the entire proceedings 
 bored him. Launce began his first speech, which 
 included a mild reproach of Crab's lack of sym- 
 pathy, but it made no impression on the cur: he 
 then led the dog to the base of a statue, or foun- 
 tain on the scene, seated himself on the steps, 
 the cur by his side, and enacted the domestic scene 
 
178 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 described in the text with a droll humor that the 
 audience found irresistible, but it had no effect 
 on Crab, who sat upon his haunches, looked at 
 Mr. Lewis' manipulation of the shoes, and lis- 
 tened to his detailed description of the parting of 
 the family of the Launces as if, like Baron Grog, 
 in "The Grand Duchess," he had always been 
 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 me 
 again to quote Dr. Kellogg: 
 
 Next to the human 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. The dignified mastifif 
 and gentlemanly Newfoundland, guard . . . the 
 stately banker. The gaunt hound is found in the train 
 of the active, vigorous, fox-hunting squire. The 
 poodle or spaniel ... is the combed, washed, and 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 179 
 
 petted companion of my lady, but the cur, who seems 
 to be a combination of the evil qualities of all these, 
 your "yaller dog," is found at the heels of the clown, 
 and the nature of the relationship is nowhere so ad- 
 mirably depicted as by the poet in his delineations of 
 Launce and his dog Crab. 
 
 The play upon the words "tide" and "tied" 
 in the brief dialogue with Panthino, that con- 
 cludes the scene is another capital illustration of 
 the quality of wit possessed by Launce. It is 
 amusing, harmless and characteristic. 
 
 Pan. You'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 
 Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for 
 it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 
 Pan. What's the unkindest tide? 
 Launce. Why, he that's tied here. Crab, my dog. 
 
 Scene 5, of Act 2, is entirely occupied by a dia- 
 logue between Launce and Speed. The scene 
 does not advance the plot or develop the char- 
 acters, but is marked by the same quality of wit 
 to which I have before referred; a brief example 
 of which will suffice. 
 
 Speed. I understand thee not. 
 Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst 
 not. My staff understands me. 
 
i8o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Speed. What thou sayest? 
 
 Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I'll but 
 lean, and my staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 
 Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all 
 one. 
 
 In the first scene of act third a new phase of 
 the character of Launce is developed. He is in 
 love. We have his own admission of the fact, 
 with the addenda: "But a team of horse shall 
 not pluck that from me; not who 'tis I love, and 
 yet 'tis a woman: but what woman, I will not tell 
 myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid." Launce does 
 not give us his reasons for the secrecy that he so 
 ingeniously negatives, and we might attribute it 
 to the bashful modesty of a lover, but this is again 
 negatived by his subsequent interview with 
 Speed. The name of the lady is withheld, but 
 we are frankly informed of "The cate-log of her 
 conditions." Launce is a man of method and has 
 carefully collated both the virtues and vices of the 
 lady, and set them down in a sort of debtor and 
 creditor arrangement, which he not only carefully 
 considers himself, but on a convenient opportu- 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 181 
 
 nity submits to the judgment of his friend Speed, 
 reserving, however, the privilege of making the 
 final decision himself. 
 
 The merits of the lady are set down somewhat 
 as follows : 
 
 She can fetch and carry. 
 
 She can milk. 
 
 She brews good ale. 
 
 She can sew. 
 
 She can knit. 
 
 She can wash and scour. 
 
 She can spin. 
 
 She 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 slow in words. 
 She is proud. 
 She hath no teeth. 
 She is curst. 
 
 She will often praise her liquor. 
 She is liberal. 
 
 She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than 
 hairs, and more wealth than faults. 
 
i82 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 One can easily imagine the sapient and judicial 
 air assumed by Launce, as Speed reads the "cate- 
 log" to him; but I shrewdly suspect that the deci- 
 sion of the judge had been made before the trial 
 began, or the evidence was presented. The 
 virtues he appreciates at their practical value, 
 the vices he ingeniously transforms into virtues, 
 and like many in real life of far greater social 
 and intellectual pretensions, finally permits the 
 possession of money to be the deciding factor 
 in his choice. With Launce, wealth appears 
 to have been a cloak whose ample folds are 
 sufficient to cover a multitude of vices, for 
 though she have "more faults than hairs" her 
 wealth was all powerful "to make the faults 
 gracious." I am very much inclined, however, 
 to think that the affectation of prudence was an- 
 other of the practical jests of this exuberant youth 
 with his friend Speed; that he himself concocted 
 the "cate-log," and the entire matter had its exist- 
 ence only in the vivid and picturesque imagina- 
 tion of our friend Launce; for later we learn that 
 the boy has voluntarily taken upon himself both 
 
LAUNCE AND SPEED 183 
 
 the blame and the punishment for the sins of his 
 dog Crab. He hath "sat in the stocks for pud- 
 dings he hath stolen"; "stood in the pillory 
 for geese he hath killed"; and taken a whipping 
 to save that ill-bred cur from the consequences of 
 his "ungentleman-like conduct" at the Duke's 
 table. Now it is but reasonable to assume that 
 a man, however humble his station in life, who 
 would sacrifice himself so completely for the sake 
 of a dumb 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 it may, there is a good deal of sound 
 common sense, even if it was assumed, in the 
 method of 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 respec- 
 tive qualifications for what should be a life-long 
 
i84 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 union, might avert many an unhappy marriage, 
 and considerably diminish the congestion in our 
 courts of law. 
 
 The brief dialogue concluding the scene bears 
 out the above suggestion. Speed, whose name by 
 the way appears to be a misnomer, is waited for 
 by his master at the north gate of the city. 
 Launce knows this, and out of sheer mischief, as 
 he inferentially admits, is detaining him. This 
 would seem to indicate that the milkmaid with 
 her "cate-log of conditions" is pure imagination 
 on the part of Launce, and his apparent inde- 
 cision a mere device to detain the already dilatory 
 Speed. The solo and exit speech of Launce on 
 the hasty departure of Speed, accentuates the 
 view: "Now will he be swing'd for reading my 
 letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust 
 himself into secrets. I'll after, to rejoice in the 
 boy's correction." 
 
 Scene 4 of Act 4 in the comedy brings the char- 
 actor 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 185 
 
 dog's misdeeds and his own self-sacrifice in the 
 cur's behalf. To appreciate thoroughly the 
 humor of the scene, I commend the reader to a 
 full perusal of the same in the play itself. 
 
 By the irony of fate, Crab seems to be the fac- 
 tor in his master's undoing. Launce has been 
 commissioned by his master, Sir Proteus, to de- 
 liver "a little jewel" of a dog to Mistress Sylvia 
 as a present. Launce loses the little jewel, and 
 in this dilemma substitutes his own dog Crab. 
 The lady indignantly rejects such a present, and 
 returns a most sarcastic response to the advances 
 of the amorous Sir Proteus, whose anger on learn- 
 ing the details of the adventure may be better 
 imagined than described. 
 
 The explanation of Launce is characteristic of 
 the boy, while his humor, love of mischief, and 
 his "old vice" of punning is sustained to the last. 
 
 Pro. Where have you been these two days loiter- 
 ing? 
 
 Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the 
 dog you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 
 
 Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur, and 
 
i86 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
 present. 
 
 Pro. But she received my dog? 
 
 Launce. 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. 
 
 Poor Launce narrowly escapes the whip at the 
 hands of his outraged master, and is angrily dis- 
 missed from his presence. The future of the boy 
 is left to our conjecture. Did he lose his place*? 
 Did his master restore him to favor *? and did he 
 wed the lady whose qualifications were the source 
 of so much careful calculation*? The author 
 does not tell us. Let us, however, express the 
 hope that an indulgent master forgave the ex- 
 uberant humor of his youthful servant, and per- 
 mitted Launce and his dog Crab, with possibly 
 the lady Launce has chosen, to share in his own 
 felicity so completely expressed in the concluding 
 lines of the comedy, ''One feast, one house, one 
 mutual happiness." 
 
THE FOOL 
 
 IN 
 KING LEAR 
 
 "Poor fool and knave^ I have one part in my heart 
 Thafs sorry yet for theeT 
 
 ''l^he fool who labors to out jest 
 His heart'Strook injuries^ 
 
 WHAT an exquisite picture the poet pre- 
 sents of the Fool in "Lear" ! He has no 
 name. • He does not need one. It would lessen 
 his significance. His age, his personality, are left 
 to our imagination. Whether the tender pathos, 
 the unswerving loyalty, the shrewd observance, 
 the pointed parables, and the snatches of quaint 
 old songs emanate from the soul of a youth or a 
 man of maturity, we are not informed; but cer- 
 tain 'tis, the tears that force themselves through 
 the fragments of melody and almost choke their 
 
 187 
 
i88 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 utter,ance come from the loving heart of one whose 
 affection time has tried and found sterling. 
 
 His master calls 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" till 
 he dies of old age. 
 
 He has been a long time in the service of the 
 king who evidently loves him, misses him from 
 his train, and is impatient of his absence ; for after 
 repeatedly calling for him without reply, he 
 abruptly demands: "But where's my fool? I 
 have not seen him for these two days." That the 
 Fool has penetrated the hypocritical protestations 
 of the king's eldest daughters, Goneril and Regan, 
 and learned to love the gentle but undemonstra- 
 tive Cordelia is evidenced by the knight's reply: 
 "Since my young lady's going into France, sir, 
 the fool hath much pined away." 
 " I picture the Fool as a young-old man, not as 
 old as the king, of course; spare of body and of 
 homely features, weak in frame but shrewd of 
 mind ; a gentle heart, full of gratitude for years of 
 kindness and consideration at the hands of his semi- 
 
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; 
 impotent to save, but steadfast to soothe the 
 subsequent sorrow and remorse of his deluded 
 master. 
 
 Some of the recent commentators have found 
 so much love and tenderness in the Fool for the 
 king as to be almost filial, and have advanced the 
 theory that Cordelia and the fool are one and the 
 same person. This view I do not think is justi- 
 fied, either by the language or conditions. The 
 only passage in the play that affords any author- 
 ity for the theory is found in the last scene: 
 Lear enters, carrying the body of Cordelia in 
 his arms. He lays it upon the ground, and as 
 he bends over the lifeless form of his daughter, 
 he utters in his grief a number of broken phrases, 
 among them the words: "And my poor fool is 
 hanged." This may refer to Cordelia, for 
 Shakespeare frequently uses the words, "poor 
 fool," as a term of endearment, but I am of the 
 opinion they have a literal meaning. The 
 
190 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 enemies of the king, knowing the loyalty and af- 
 fectionate devotion of the Fool for his master, 
 have hanged him; adding another 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 by the aged 
 king, which seems to me 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 down 
 at the foot of the throne. I instructed him to 
 watch every motion, to listen intently to every 
 word, and by facial expression silently but elo- 
 quently to reflect his emotions as the action of the 
 scene proceeded. First, surprise at the king's di- 
 vision of the realm, awe at the terrible passion of 
 his aged master, consternation at the dismissal of 
 Kent, and horror at the denunciation and banish- 
 ment of Cordelia. This business, together with 
 his hardly suppressed gestures of protest and ap- 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 191 
 
 peal, and his final despair at his utter helpless- 
 ness to stem the torrent of the king's anger, I 
 found a most effective adjunct to the scene. I 
 directed the Fool to linger on the scene after the 
 exit of the king and the court, and with dog-like 
 affection stealthily to creep over to the grief- 
 stricken, banished princess, furtively kiss the hem 
 of her robe, and then make his own exit from the 
 scene in sadness and silence. 
 
 The Fool disappears after Cordelia's departure 
 from the court with her husband, the King of 
 France, and hiding his grief is not seen again till 
 the growing impatience and repeated calls of his 
 master make his presence imperative. 
 
 In the fourth scene of the first act, Lear has 
 taken the disguised Earl of Kent into his service 
 as a reward for justly punishing an insolent fol- 
 lower of his daughter, when the Fool runs on, and 
 offering Kent his fools-cap, exclaims: "Let me 
 hire him, too: here's my coxcomb." 
 
 Kent, with good humored amusement, asks: 
 "Why, fool?" 
 
 To which the Fool answers: "Why, for tak- 
 
192 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ing one's part that's out of favor. Nay, and thou 
 canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold 
 shortly : there, take my coxcomb. Why, this fel- 
 low has banish' d two of his daughters, and did the 
 third a blessing against his will; if thou follow 
 him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb." 
 
 The scene that follows is full of the deepest 
 significance. The contrast between the gradually 
 increasing anger of the king, that culminates in 
 the terrible curse hurled on his daughter Goneril, 
 and the pungent wit of the Fool, who, while he is 
 unsparing with the lash of keenest satire, softens 
 each blow with improvised lines of humor, and 
 snatches of song (themselves the very quintes- 
 sence of satire) is most striking. Epigrams, each 
 more pointed than its predecessor, follow in rapid 
 sequence, while the application of the couplets and 
 doggerel to the situation is perfect; and yet, 
 through it all there is a veiled tenderness, an in- 
 definable sympathy that as we laugh at the wit, 
 brings a tear of pity to the eye. 
 
 The scene is so full of wit, wisdom and sound 
 philosophy, each phrase following the other with 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 193 
 
 such cumulative precision, that I quote it almost 
 in its entirety. 
 
 Fool. How now, nuncle? Would I had two cox- 
 combs, and two daughters ! 
 Lear. Why, my boy? 
 
 Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
 coxcombs myself; there's mine; beg another of thy 
 daughters. 
 
 Lear. Take heed, sirrah: the whip. 
 Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel ; he must be 
 whipp'd out, when the lady brach may stand by the 
 fire. . . . Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. Mark it 
 nuncle : — 
 
 Have more than thou showest. 
 Speak less than thou knowest. 
 Lend less 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 tens to a score. 
 
 Kent. This is nothing, fool. 
 
 Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd law- 
 yer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no 
 use of nothing, nuncle ? 
 
 Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of 
 nothing. 
 
 Fool. Pr'thee tell him, so much the rent of his land 
 comes to; he will not believe a fool. 
 
194 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Lear. A bitter fool ! 
 
 Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
 tween a bitter fool and a sweet one? 
 Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
 
 Fool. That lord that counsell'd thee to give away 
 thy land 
 Come place him here by me, do thou for 
 
 him stand; 
 The sweet and bitter fool will presently ap- 
 pear; 
 The one in motley here — the other found out 
 there. (pointing to the King.) 
 
 Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 
 Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; 
 that thou wast born with. . . . Nuncle, give me an 
 tgg, and I'll give thee two crowns. 
 
 Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
 Fool. Why, after I have cut the Q,gg i' the middle, 
 and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the t.gg. 
 When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle and gavest 
 away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back 
 o'er the dirt: thou had'st little wit in thy bald crown, 
 when thou gavest thy golden one away. 
 
 (singing) Fools had ne'er less grace in a year: 
 For wise men are grown foppish; 
 And know not how their wits to wear, 
 Their manners are so apish. 
 Lear. 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, 
 And I for sorrow sung, 
 That such a king should play bo-peep 
 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 you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 
 
 Fool. 1 marvel what kin thou and thy daughters 
 are ; they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true, thou'lt 
 have me whipp'd for lying; and sometimes I am 
 whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be any 
 kind o' thing than a fool : and yet I would not be thee, 
 nuncle; 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 daugh- 
 ter, comes upon the scene; she is apparently very 
 angry, and her feelings are reflected in her coun- 
 tenance, for the king challenges her : 
 
 Lear. How now, daughter ? what makes that front- 
 let on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the 
 frown. 
 
 Before Goneril can reply, and much to the 
 manifest indignation of that lady, subsequently 
 
196 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 expressed, the "all-licensed" Fool accurately sums 
 up the situation. 
 
 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 nor crust nor crumb. 
 
 Weary of all, shall want some. 
 
 Goneril's wrath now breaks forth in a most 
 bitter and vituperative speech to her father, the 
 insolence and audacity of which strikes the old 
 king momentarily dumb. The Fool, however, is 
 neither surprised nor affrighted, but exclaims: 
 
 Fool. For you know, nuncle. 
 
 The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
 That it's had its head bit off by its young. 
 
 With consummate art, the poet has gradually 
 eliminated the humor and satire as the tragic pas- 
 sion of the situation increases ; but he has reserved 
 one line to the Fool that to me is awful in its 
 significance, and connotes limitless possibilities of 
 thought and conjecture. - Lear, appalled at the 
 audacity and disrespect of his daughter, doubts 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 197 
 
 the evidence of his eyes and his ears, his person- 
 ality, his very existence; and exclaims: "Does 
 any here know me*? Who is it that can tell me 
 who I am?' 
 
 To which the Fool replies: "Lear's shadow." 
 
 The words seem to carry corroboration with 
 them ; for instead of the powerful monarch whose 
 will was law, and word a command, we see before 
 us a weak, indefinite remainder of something 
 which was a personality, and now is nothing; 
 nothing but a shadow; realizing but too late the 
 fatal error that robbed him of the power he is now 
 impotent to regain. Something, however, of his 
 old self returns as insults accumulate on his rev- 
 erend head; the limit of even paternal endurance 
 is reached, and the outraged father hurls on the 
 head of his thankless child a curse, the terrific 
 force of which is probably unequaled in literature, 
 and leaves her. 
 
 Goneril orders the Fool to follow him : "You, 
 sir, more knave than fool, after your master." 
 
 The Fool obeys, leaving, however, his compli- 
 ments behind him. 
 
198 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 A fox, when one has caught her, 
 And such a daughter, 
 Should sure to the slaughter, 
 If my cap would buy a halter; 
 So the fool follows after. 
 
 Loyally the faithful Fool follows his master; 
 with tender solicitude he strives, by quip and 
 quaint reply, to divert the remnant of the poor 
 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 and dissolves it 
 into tears. 
 
 How pathetic are the steadfast efforts of the 
 Fool to change the current of the old king's 
 thoughts, and dull the constantly recurring mem- 
 ories of his wrongs. As one witty suggestion 
 fails to hold his attention, the Fool flits to an- 
 other; a jest, a riddle, a pun, anything that will 
 stifle the sob, hold back the tear, or deaden the 
 memory. Not folly for folly's sake, but to allay 
 the pain of a breaking heart. This is comedy 
 brought into such close relation with the great 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 199 
 
 sorrows of life that it is transformed to the deep- 
 est tragedy. Combination and contrast ! A king 
 and a fool I Reverence and folly! Majesty and 
 motley! Weakness protecting strength! A 
 clown defending a scepter, and a bauble shielding 
 a crown; and yet all of these contrasts are har- 
 monized by the holiest of human emotions, fidel- 
 ity and love. 
 
 How significant are the lines, how clear their 
 purpose ! 
 
 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 tell what I can tell. 
 
 Lear. What canst tell, boy? 
 
 Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does to 
 a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the 
 middle on's face? 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's 
 nose; that what a man cannot smell out he may spy 
 into. 
 
 Here, the king's mind reverts to the banish- 
 ment of his daughter Cordelia : 
 
 Lear. I did her wrong: — 
 
200 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 But the Fool changes the current of his 
 thoughts by another qu^stion_: 
 
 Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Nor I neither : but I can tell why a snail has 
 a house. 
 
 Lear. Why? 
 
 Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it away 
 to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. 
 
 Again the memory of his grief returns, and 
 again the Fool provides a diversion: 
 
 Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a father! 
 — Be my horses ready? 
 
 Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason 
 why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty 
 reason. 
 
 Lear. Because they are not eight? 
 
 Fool. Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good 
 fool. 
 
 However Lear might have appreciated this 
 doubtful compliment, in his normal mental con- 
 dition, it is lost on him now, and his thoughts are 
 once more on his wrongs: 
 
 Lear. To tak't again perforce! — Monster ingrati- 
 tude! 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 201 
 
 Once more the Fool recalls him from himself: 
 
 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 till thou 
 hadst been wise. 
 
 The horses are now brought out, and the king, 
 with the Fool, and his reduced train of 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, di- 
 verting his old master's mind from its heavy sor- 
 row by numberless devices, till they reach the 
 castle of Gloster, where Regan, the king's 
 second daughter, and her husband, the Duke of 
 Cornwall, are visitors. 
 
 Though the king's visit is not unexpected, the 
 gates are closed, no preparation is made for his 
 reception, and his arrival is 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 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 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 iiis messenger, endeavors 
 to dwarf the aifront by turning it to folly: 
 
 Fool. Ha, ha ; he wears cruel garters ! Horses are 
 tied by the head; dogs and bears by the neck; mon- 
 keys by the loins ; and men by the legs ; when a man is 
 over lusty at legs, then 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 indignities, and provokes from 
 the Fool the following sage reflections : 
 
 Fool Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly 
 that way. 
 
 Fathers that wear rags do make their chil- 
 dren blind; 
 
 But fathers that bear bags shall see their 
 children kind. 
 
 Lear, commanding his train to remain without 
 enters the castle to seek his daughter. Kent, still 
 in the stocks, noting the reduced number of the 
 king's attendants, asks: 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 203 
 
 Kent How chance the king comes with so small a 
 number ? 
 
 To which the Fool replies: 
 
 Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that 
 question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
 Kent. Why, fool? 
 
 •*"The answer to Kent's question contains so much 
 of bitter truth, worldly wisdom and sound reason- 
 ing, that the speaker might well be a grave and 
 reverend man of age, deducing his philosophy 
 from a 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 ant, 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 hill, 
 lest it break thy neck with following; but the great 
 one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. 
 When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me 
 mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, 
 since a fool gives it. 
 
 That sir which serves and seeks for gain, 
 And follows but for form, 
 Will pack when it begins to rain, 
 
204 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 And leave thee in the storm. 
 
 But I will tarry; the fool will stay, 
 
 And let the wise man fly: 
 
 The knave turns fool that runs away; 
 
 The fool no knave, perdy. 
 
 Take the above, phrase by phrase, note its ap- 
 plication and 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 I will tarry; the fool will stay. 
 And let the wise man fly. 
 
 The reply to Kent's query is certainly true. 
 The lesson 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 to have 
 full sway without interruption, till passion gives 
 way to grief; this he tries to stay with the jest of 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 205 
 
 the cockney and the eels and the butter' d hay, but 
 the great flood of an outraged father's wrath is 
 beyond his power to stem. Awestricken and 
 dumb he stands, impotently watching the sturdy 
 defense of his aged master against the combined 
 attack of his unnatural daughters. Powerless to 
 shield him from a single blow, he sees his 
 strength waning, and his reason totter, till the 
 limit of human endurance is reached, and the old 
 man, exhausted in mind and body, falls into the 
 arms of his humble friend with the agonizing cry, 
 *^0, fool, I shall go mad!" 
 XThe gates, like the hearts of his "pernicious 
 daughters," are closed against him; night falls, 
 and the storm descends. "The fretful elements 
 contend," "the to-and-fro conflicting wind and 
 rain," struggle for supremacy, and vent their fury 
 on the earth. 
 
 The Fool is not consistent ; he has not taken his 
 own advice to "Let go thine hold when a great 
 wheel runs down a hill," but clings to the descend- 
 ing and revolving disk as it rolls to destruction. 
 
 The rain drenches him to the skin, the wind 
 
2o6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 chills his blood to ice, and the flashing fire and 
 rolling thunder fill his heart 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 
 garments, and, first by suggestion and then ap- 
 peal, endeavors to guide the grief-stricken old man 
 to shelter. 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is 
 better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, 
 in ; ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's a night pities 
 neither wise men nor fools. * 
 
 Yet both are abroad, exposed to its impetuous 
 blasts. 
 
 How well our poet knew that contrast was, 
 and is, the very essence of the drama; and how 
 strikingly the contrasts of life are here presented ! 
 Great nature in the majesty of its wrath, weak 
 humanity at its mercy ! The deep philosophy of 
 a child-changed father, and the trifling jests of a 
 motley clown ! A witty fool, and a witless king ! 
 and yet these contrasts are woven into the fabric 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 207 
 
 of the play with such consummate skill that a 
 natural and perfect harmony is preserved. 
 
 Truly there is 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 his toe 
 What he his heart should make 
 Shall of a corn cry woe, 
 And turn his sleep to wake. 
 
 For there was never yet fair woman but she made 
 mouths in a glass. 
 
 Truisms but trifles ! 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 hill. 
 
 We recognize the 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 inducing the old king to seek 
 
2o8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 some shelter, and the fool and the knave lead him 
 unresistingly to the hovel. 
 
 The art of our necessities is strange, 
 That can make 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, and regal grace still shines 
 about him. In his great extremity the fidelity of 
 his friends is not forgotten; nothing <:ould be 
 more tender than his gracious acknowledgment of 
 his love and appreciation, ere he seeks the humble 
 shelter they have found for him : 
 
 Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
 That's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 Oh! faithful Fool! unselfish friend! thou 
 need'st not 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 IN KING LEAR 209 
 
 severe; and above the soughing of the wind the 
 sweet melody of thy gentle song, infected with thy 
 tears fills the air with the soft tranquillity of a 
 mother's lullaby, and soothes the vexed spirit of 
 thy much loved master. 
 
 He that has and a little tiny wit, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit. 
 Though the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 -•^ow true to nature is the reaction. The king 
 is sheltered, at least for a time ; for himself or his 
 own ease the Fool has no thought, so the keen 
 edge of his wit is directed to the world and its 
 injustices. How bitterly cynical his arraignment 
 of fortune, an indictment that in its quality is so 
 comprehensive and prophetic, it would seem as if 
 the poet's vision had pierced the veil of time, and 
 named the wrongs and corruptions of the present 
 day. 
 
 The Fool is alone and his thoughts are ex- 
 pressed in the nature of a soliloquy: 
 
 I'll speak a prophecy ere I go: 
 
 When priests are more in word than matter; 
 
210 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 When brewers mar their malt with water; 
 When nobles are their tailors' tutors; 
 No heretics burn'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 come not to throngs ; 
 When usurers tell their gold i' the field; 
 And bawds and wantons churches build: 
 Then shall the realm of Albion 
 Come to great confusion: 
 Then comes the time, who lives to see't, 
 That going shall be us'd with feet. 
 
 It will be observed that the above is the first 
 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 is an exception. The 
 shrewd satire of the parabolical epigrams that the 
 Fool has uttered with so much deliberation would 
 indicate a worldly wisdom and embittered sar- 
 casm, rather than the loyalty and love which is 
 his distinguishing characteristic, and which seems 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 211 
 
 to 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 
 another character is added to the scene — "Poor 
 Tom," the Bedlam beggar, whose exaggerated 
 ravings make an appropriate addition to the en- 
 vironment, and complete the picture of human 
 misery. 
 
 Small wonder that, appalled by the combina- 
 tion by which he is surrounded, the Fool exclaims : 
 "This cold night will turn us all to fools and 
 madmen." 
 
 What a trio of contrast is presented at the rude 
 farmhouse in which they are now sheltered: 
 The poor old king, his clothing torn by the briers, 
 his hair and beard ravished by the wind, rain- 
 soaked to the skin, and growing more witless every 
 minute; the naked Bedlam beggar (Edgar dis- 
 guised), "Poor Tom," assuming madness for 
 safety; and the motley fool, serving and suffering 
 with dog-like fidelity, content to share his master's 
 fortune, be it good or ill. Among them it is 
 
212 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 indeed difficult to determine who is sane, and who 
 is not, and the declaration of the Fool seems to 
 be apt and appropriate: ''He's mad that trusts 
 in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's 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 mad king 
 to try imaginary offenders, forms a most "honor- 
 able assembly," and is indeed a grim satire on the 
 administration of justice. 
 
 It may be observed, that while Shakespeare has 
 treated the Chief Justice in Henry IV, and the 
 higher judges, if so I may term them in his sev- 
 eral plays, with respect and dignity, he is very 
 severe on the ignorance and arrogance of the petty 
 justices and local magistrates. How far this 
 may be due to his own experience with several 
 Warwickshire justices, with whom it is said he 
 became somewhat unpleasantly familiar in his 
 youth, and against whom he appears to have re- 
 tained some resentment all his life, I am not pre- 
 pared to say. 
 
THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 213 
 
 <rhe long, long day of sorrow, pain and suffer- 
 ing comes to an end at last. "Oppressed nature" 
 has reached the limit of its endurance, her "foster- 
 nurse," repose, has "closed the eye of anguish," 
 and compassionate sleep, the "balm of hurt 
 minds," brings oblivion, for a time at least. 
 
 The king falls asleep, his clouded mind mur- 
 muring, "We'll go to supper i' the morning," and 
 the faithful Fool, his limbs benumbed with cold, 
 his eyes wearied with watching and his heart 
 heavy with grief, responds, "And I'll go to bed 
 at noon." 
 
 These are the last lines spoken by the Fool ; the 
 litter to carry the king to a place of safety is pre- 
 pared; the Fool, at Kent's command, assists the 
 others to bear away his sleeping master, and is 
 seen no more. No further reference is made to 
 him, and we are left in ignorance of his fate if 
 we except a brief passage spoken by the king in 
 the last scene of the tragedy: "And my poor fool 
 is hanged." 
 
 Commentators as I have said, differ as to the 
 application of these words. Some claim that 
 
214 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 they refer to his dead daughter Cordelia, but I 
 prefer to regard them as informing us of the fate 
 of the poor Fool, whose life has been sacrificed 
 to his fidelity. 
 
 ^ It is but a natural conclusion, and in perfect 
 harmony with the tragic incidents of the play. 
 Such love, such unselfish devotion could not sur- 
 vive its object. It was inevitable. Life with 
 such tragic memories would be impossible to en- 
 dure. No. One fate encompassed them both. 
 The gentle spirit of the faithful friend has gon; 
 before, and patiently waits for the poor tortured 
 soul of his loved master to share the peace that he 
 has found. f 
 
 He that hath a little tiny wit, — 
 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 
 
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