This being All Fools’ Day, I have a mind to speak of my friend Robert Armin. A marvellous witty man and nonpareil of players, it was for him my best of fooling was writ. Feste, Touchstone, the Fool in King Lear, all were he. A goldsmith’s apprentice, he became a player not for need but for love: he saw Dick Tarleton, that merry man, and from that moment nothing would do but he too must wear motley. He ceased from keeping the touch for the Queen's coinage, and began to coin my words, which grew the more current for his stamp upon ‘em.
More than this, he was my Touchstone of the wits, and he kept me true gold. A sonnetteer and talesmith himself, he knew much of the playmaker’s art (as ye may see in his Two Maids of Mortlake.) It was Armin who first divided the world of fools into fools natural (such as Kempe excell’d at playing,) and fools artificiall-- they who
“...with their wits lay waite
To make themseives fooles, liking the disguise,
To please their own minde and the gazers’ eyes.” (Armin, Foole upon Foole)
Such a one was mine honest Armin. He and I shall drain a glass anon, to all ye fooles and jesters that yet walk in the world.
But first: I have committed a fault, and it must be amended. One good Master Hackett hath writ unto me:
“I seek work as a schoolteacher, but with all intent of using the entertainment of your works to dazzle my pupils and perhaps trick them into enjoying what they think dull, rather than bludgeon them into learning.”
Why sir, then I must most humbly cry you mercy of my harsh words last entry, concerning schoolmasters. If thou art, or seekest to be a schoolmaster who doth inspire and amaze, so that my words to the young shall seem as sack and sugar rather than sackcloth and ashes-- why then, thou art a very Phoenix of Araby, and to be treasur’d as such. Forward, sir, upon thy quest, and may the good will of all dead bards go with thee!
For myself, I was not so fortunate as, mayhap, thy students shall be: in all my works a man may be hard press’d to find a good word concerning schoolmasters, whereby it may be divin’d that mine own school days were passing dull. Old habits, sir, die hard: yet I know well that those of thy profession do much to keep me alive and footing the stage of the world, and for that do I uncover my poor deceas’d head to them.
Now, on to two most merry maidens:
"We give thee good day, Master Shakespeare. We are two humble sisters of the order of the Interfaith Nunnery, come to peruse thine epistles from the green world. Iris desireth to know whether it might please thee to enter the nunnery's broom closet, where thou two might disport thyselves."
O sweet sister, whose name doth well befit the bright messenger of Jove: alas that I no longer possess a body corporeal wherewith to do thee right! Else would I be full fain of thine offer, I promise thee. Also, I am on a sudden consumed with regret that I writ no play involving sportful nuns in a broom closet. A most pregnant matter, i'faith.
"Andrea, who oft has thought Silvia most ill-used in not winning the hand of fair Rosalind, is not so inclined to share the broom closet with thee. She would, however, gladly converse with thee on plays and players. Couldst tell us, good sir, about Isabella of Measure for Measure? We have been much disturbed by the Duke's o'erweening pride in assuming that the lady, having spent the course of the play protecting her maidenhead, would then desire the hand of a man only slightly greater in power than the man she so recently refused."
Marry, well said, mistress Andrea. 'Tis true, I grant ye, that the ending of Measure for Measure is but a patch'd affair. And the Duke, as thou say'st, is a prideful man: else why let all Vienna suffer to entrap one parasite, a man he knew to be corrupt? Yet one of the things on which he prides himself is justice.
For Isabella herself, in the play she speaks not of virginity but of chastity, and a wife may be as chaste as may a maid: the luckless Lucrece was one such. To be chaste may, if you will, mean for one's body to be at the disposal of one's mind. Isabella's chastity, then, may mean her power not only to refuse such as the lustful Angelo, but to choose where (and whether) to bestow her favour, should she find one deserving. Perchance I chop logic: 'tis true that she most earnestly desires to become a nun, with all that that entails.
As the the play endeth, Isabella saith no word of yea or nay. So, should Isabella refuse the Duke, I think he would be no such tyrant as Angelo, but take it in good part, and perchance even give a gift of gold to her order of St Clare. Or should she take his offer, then is she Duchess, and Vienna the better govern'd for it. Perchance it would be kinder to spare them marriage, since o' my conscience, none of the matches made at the ending of that play are like to speed well. The question is open, to be read or play'd as you will.
Now, my mistresses, have I done my utmost to content ye both, which is truly all a man may do, and I confess myself quite outworn by the sport (which ne'ertheless I would not have lost for kingdoms!) Rest ye merry both, and in your orisons be all my sins remember'd.
Now, away to the sign of the Staggering Seraph to burn a cup of sack with Armin, Kit and Ben, and good master Ustinov, newly come to us. Here's to thee!
Posted by Shakespeare at April 1, 2004 12:51 AM