Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

SHAKESPEAR'S FOOLS.

I WAS of half a dozen minds how to begin, till at last I fixed upon gravity. So here goes:

"If a man were to introduce a Fool, to do nothing but speak folly, it were foolishness itself," as was well said or sung by Mr. Coleridge (and he is a grave man) among other good things touching motley gentry, in an extempore lecture; for his pocket was picked of the written one in his way to the Institution. It was pleasant to see Kant's philosophy, once in a way, hand-in-hand with Tom-foolery. Just then I heard there was extant a huge production on Shakespear's Fools, by one Douce. A friend lent me the volumes, assuring me it was a "standard work," and so were all the books in his library;-they were ever standard. With what joy I soiled my white handkerchief in flapping away the dust, how snugly they lay under my arm, and what care I promised to take of them! Ah, thought I, now I have a treasure!—What a diappointment! Why this man, Douce, had no more to do with Shakespear, than the housewife who sacrilegiously steals one of his pages to tie down a picklejar. The deuce was in Douce. It was an antiquarian treatise on Fools' dresses, grounded on authorities from Shakespear, all up-side-down. For instance, because one of them says, "I did impetticoat thy gratuity," he gravely proves that Fools wore petticoats, blind to the staring fact that it was the sweetheart's petticoat intended, and follows it up with

copies from monstrous old wood-cuts. Again, he affirms this particular Fool was not quite an idiot, and this one only half a natural, and so on, classing them as a gardener does cabbages. Touchstone half a natural! Oh, Mr. Douce, what are you? That a man should knock his head against a wall is pardonable; but that he should obstinately keep it there, through two such big volumes, is by no means pardonable, -it is only astonishing.

It is said, in Shakespear's time Fools became less tolerable. Most likely. In his days there was an inquiring spirit abroad, which made truth insupportable; though once it was pretty sport to hear it spoken when no one else believed in it, as a beauty enjoys the joke of being called ugly; but when her charms begin to fade, it becomes a serious matter, a very intolerable piece of insolence.

Now to speak of them as individuals. It is a blank mistake to imagine, because they are all in motley, that their characters are of one colour. They are not like our harlequins in a Christmas pantomime, always the same identical harlequins, whether under the influence of a Mother Goose, a Friar Bacon, or a little silver fairy, jumping out of a fullblown tinsel rose. Even Douce could distinguish between them in his dousing way. Come forth, my merry gentles, all four of you (I wish there were a dozen) and let me take you by the hand, one by one, that I may introduce you in a particular manner to our friends and acquaintance.

The lady Olivia's Fool shall be first,-not for his own merits, but purely in compliment to the lady. There is something suspicious about him. Would you believe it?— he hath a leman! yea, and absents himself from the house, we don't know how long, and will not confess where he has been. This is the more inexcusable, as there happens to be a touch of prudery among the good qualities of his noble

[ocr errors]

mistress. He is a wild young rogue, and ought not to be
amended. Besides, I don't half dislike him on another score.
I pass by his cutting a joke about hell" to ears polite," and
his contending he "lives by the church;" the most orthodox
have been guilty of the like. But what are we to think of
him when he puts on the gown of Sir Topaz the curate?
Soon as it is thrown over his shoulders, he speaks this perti-
nence "I will dissemble myself in it; and I would I were the
first that ever dissembled in such a gown." Then he pays a visit
to a poor wretch in the clutches of his masters, with the text
of "Peace in this prison!"-declaring he is "one of those
gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with courtesy,"
and, at the same time, falls into most intolerant abuse. So,
this is his idea of a Sir Topaz! After endeavouring to per-
suade the prisoner he is vexed by a fiend, is a lunatic, and
that a dark room is a light one, he questions him as to the
tenets of a particular kind of faith, which was once held most
sacred. When this is answered, his catechism comes to that
fearful point of "What think'st thou of his opinion ?" "I
think," says the prisoner, "nobly of the soul, and no way ap-
prove his opinion." This, considering it was impossible for him
to believe, seems moderate. But his Reverence, who (you
must all the while understand) is the Fool, immediately puts
on the sullens, croaks out, "Fare thee well: remain thou
still in darkness!"-insists on his giving credence to an in-
credible faith, and then, with another "Fare thee well,"
leaves him to his evil fate. If these mysteries are too sub-
lime, gentlemen, for your understanding, it is pitiful. But
as this Fool, who "wore not motley in his brain," did not
choose to apply them to his times, I will even follow so wise
an example. What's this, my boy? A tabor! Ah! I know
thou art very fond of music, and hast " a sweet breath to
sing," "a mellifluous voice," "a contagious breath,”-no

wonder thou hast a leman! Thou canst sing "a love-song, or a song of good life," or join in a catch that shall " rouse the night owl, and draw three souls out of one weaver," or chaunt a pathetic tender ditty, which

"is silly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age."

But your epilogue-song, I hear, from good authority, is the most despairing thing your father ever wrote. With submission I think these five stanzas are not more despairing than the "Seven Ages;" though in a song, and with the original music, the bare history of man falls upon the heart with greater melancholy. I had always regarded it in no other light than as a hint to the audience, after having laughed, through a pleasant comedy, at the frailties and passions of their fellows, to look to themselves. At all events, I contend it does but "dally with the innocence" of despair.

Next, "good Mr. Lavatch," as thou art highly titled by the crest-fallen Parolles, step forth thou whose wit is like a "barber's chair." You may see, with half an eye, he has not the same jaunty air with the rest; though, when occasion serves, he can "make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing." His knowledge is somewhat limited; he has never been much beyond the walls of the Castle of Roussillon; yet when he visits the court he comes off with a passable grace. "My lord, that's gone, made himself much sport out of him;" and as every one must love the memory of the old count, this is the brightest feather in his cap. He too can sing, though he treats us with only one specimen, and that is the most appropriate to his situation, a fragment from the old Troubadours of Provenge; albeit a little twisted "corrupted," the countess calls it-to serve his own pur

poses. He should be designated in the Dramatis Personæ as an uneasy bachelor. Benedick rails at love and marriage, but not at womankind, as they are to him quite an abstract species; but this Fool, having a mind to marry, especially "Isbel the woman," looks forward to his chance in the lottery with strange misgivings, and, in his fears, finds fault with all the sex together. A marrying man is often thus. Our experienced dames know how to translate this language of general abuse, and when they meet with a likely young man shockingly guilty of it, entertain high hopes, and are remarkably busy in thrusting daughters and nieces in his way. Hannah More has but sublimated the first part of the character of Mr. Lavatch in her "Coelebs in search of a Wife." Both give their special reasons for matrimony, only the Fool's are the more unanswerable, and both bewail the uncertainty of their approaching fate with sundry insinuations against the good qualities of all expecting maidens. The only difference is, that one sets out with a sweetheart in his eye, and the other sets his eye agog for a sweetheart. Cœlebs at last finds an angelic nonpareil; but as Shakespear had no acquaintance with such young ladies, he finishes his bachelor otherwise, and down falls the curtain without a wife for Mr. Lavatch. He had been to court, forsooth! and returns home with "no mind to Isbel. The brain," quoth he, "of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach." Upon this theme, a married man, with plenty of leisure and industry, might furnish a considerable folio; but that is none of my business; besides, Touchstone is growing impatient.

Here he comes, lugging in something after him. What, Audrey! I can't speak to thee now, Audrey. Go along, Audrey. "The Gods have not made thee poetical."-This fellow is the reverse of Mr. Lavatch; he has been brought up at court, and

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »