History of English Humour, Vol. 1: With an Introduction upon Ancient HumourL'Estrange, A. G. K. (Alfred Guy Kingan)
Philosophy
History of English Humour, Vol. 1: With an Introduction upon Ancient Humour
L'Estrange, A. G. K. (Alfred Guy Kingan)
English wit and humor -- History and criticism; Wit and humor -- History and criticism
We must not confuse folly and wit, though they may exist in the same
person and in close relationship. The latter requires intelligence and
intention. If a humorous man ever purposely enacts the dullard, the
impersonation is always modified--he is like Snug, the joiner, who does
not "fright the ladies." There is always some peculiar point in his
blunders; if he acted the fool to the life we should not laugh with him.
We always see something clever and admirable in him, and to be
successful in this way, a man should possess considerable mental gifts,
and be able to gauge the feelings of others. Still we can hardly assent
to the proposition that "it takes a wise man to make a fool." A man may
be witty without having any constructive power of mind. It is easier to
find fault than to be faultless, to see a blemish than to produce what
is perfect--a pilot may point out rocks, but not be able to steer a safe
course.
At the time of which we are now speaking, the double character of the
court fool corresponded with that early and inferior humour which was
always on the verge of the ludicrous. The connection thus established,
long remained and led to witty observations being often spoken of as
"foolerie." Upon this conceit or confusion Shakespeare founded the
speech of Jaques in "As you like it."
Act II. Scene IV.
_Jaques._ A fool! a fool!--I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley fool:--a miserable fool!--
As I do live by food, I met a fool:
Who laid him down, and basked him in the sun,
And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms.
In good set terms--and yet a motley fool.
"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 we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags;
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more t'will 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."
There is nothing very laughable in the above reflections, but they
contain a deep satire, and afford a beautiful example of Shakespearian
complexity. From the mixture of wisdom and folly compounded in the
"fool" of the day--who was then, it must be remembered, the monitor of
the great--it is here implied that in his awkward way he sometimes
arrived at truth better than the sage. As supremely wise men are often
regarded as fools, so what seems folly may be the highest
wisdom--"motley's your only wear."
The fool is generally represented in Shakespeare as saying things which
have a certain wit and shrewdness.
_Clown._ God bless thee, lady.
_Olivia._ Take the fool away.
_Clo._ Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
* * * * *
Good Madonna, why mournest thou?
_Oli._ Good fool, for my brother's death.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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