We can not blame Shakespeare for making use of cutthroats and villains in developing his plots, but we might have been spared the jokes which the jailors of Posthumus perpetrate when they come to lead him to the scaffold, and the ludicrous English of the clown who supplies Cleopatra with an asp. The apothecary who is in such wretched plight that he sells poison to Romeo in spite of a Draconian law, gives us another unflattering picture of a tradesman; and when Falstaff declares, “I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything,” we have a premature reflection on the Puritan, middle-class conscience and religion. In “As You Like It,” Shakespeare came near drawing a pastoral sketch of shepherds and shepherdesses on conventional lines. If he failed to do so, it was as much from lack of respect for the keeping of sheep as for the unrealities of pastoral poetry. Rosalind does not scruple to call the fair Phebe “foul,” and, as for her hands, she says:
“I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand, A freestone colored hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but ’twas her hands; She has a housewife’s hand.”
No one with a high respect for housewifery could have written that line. When in the same play Jaques sees the pair of rural lovers, Touchstone and Audrey, approaching, he cries: “There is, sure, another flood, and these couples are coming to the ark! Here come a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools” (Act 5, Sc. 4). The clown, Touchstone, speaks of kissing the cow’s dugs which his former sweetheart had milked, and then marries Audrey in a tempest of buffoonery. Howbeit, Touchstone remains one of the few rustic characters of Shakespeare who win our affections, and at the same time he is witty enough to deserve the title which Jaques bestows upon him of a “rare fellow.”
Occasionally Shakespeare makes fun of persons who are somewhat above the lower classes in rank. I have mentioned those on whom he bestows comical names. He indulges in humor also at the expense of the two Scottish captains, Jamy and Macmorris, and the honest Welsh captain, Fluellen (Henry V., Act 3, Sc. 2 et passim), and shall we forget the inimitable Falstaff? But, while making every allowance for these diversions into somewhat nobler quarters (the former of which are explained by national prejudices), do they form serious exceptions to the rule, and can Falstaff be taken, for instance, as a representative of the real aristocracy? As Queen and courtiers watched his antics on the stage, we may be sure that it never entered their heads that the “girds” were directed at them or their kind.
The appearance on Shakespeare’s stage of a man of humble birth who is virtuous without being ridiculous is so rare an event that it is worth while to enumerate the instances. Now and then a servant or other obscure character is made use of as a mere lay figure of which nothing good or evil can be predicated, but usually they are made more or less absurd. Only at long intervals do we see persons of this class at once serious and upright.
As might have been expected, it is more often the servant than any other member of the lower classes to whom Shakespeare attributes good qualities, for the servant is a sort of attachment to the gentleman and shines with the reflection of his virtues. The noblest quality which Shakespeare can conceive of in a servant is loyalty, and in “Richard II.” (Act 5, Sc. 3) he gives us a good example in the character of a groom who remains faithful to the king even when the latter is cast into prison. In “Cymbeline” we are treated to loyalty ad nauseam. The king orders Pisanio, a trusty servant, to be tortured without cause, and his reply is,
“Sir, my life is yours. I humbly set it at your will.” (Act 4, Sc. 3.)
In “King Lear” a good servant protests against the cruelty of Regan and Cornwall toward Gloucester, and is killed for his courage. “Give me my sword,” cries Regan. “A peasant stand up thus!” (Act 3, Sc. 7). And other servants also show sympathy for the unfortunate earl. We all remember the fool who, almost alone, was true to Lear, but, then, of course, he was a fool. In “Timon of Athens” we have an unusual array of good servants, but it is doubtful if Shakespeare wrote the play, and these characters make his authorship more doubtful. Flaminius, Timon’s servant, rejects a bribe with scorn (Act 3, Sc. 1). Another of his servants expresses his contempt for his master’s false friends (Act 3, Sc. 3), and when Timon finally loses his fortune and his friends forsake him, his servants stand by him. “Yet do our hearts wear Timon’s livery” (Act 4, Sc. 2). Adam, the good old servant in “As You Like It,” who follows his young master Orlando into exile, is, like Lear’s fool, a noteworthy example of the loyal servitor.
“Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.” (Act 2, Sc. 3.)
But Shakespeare takes care to point out that such fidelity in servants is most uncommon and a relic of the good old times–
“O good old man, bow well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, nor for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, When none will sweat but for promotion.”
Outside the ranks of domestic servants we find a few cases of honorable poverty in Shakespeare. In the play just quoted, Corin, the old shepherd, says:
“Sir, I am a true laborer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness; glad of other men’s good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.” (As You Like It, Act 3, Sc. 2.)
in short, an ideal proletarian from the point of view of the aristocrat.
The “Winter’s Tale” can boast of another good shepherd (Act 3, Sc. 3), but he savors a little of burlesque. “Macbeth” has several humble worthies. There is a good old man in the second act (Sc. 2), and a good messenger in the fourth (Sc. 2). King Duncan praises highly the sergeant who brings the news of Macbeth’s victory, and uses language to him such as Shakespeare’s yeomen are not accustomed to hear (Act 1, Sc. 2). And in “Antony and Cleopatra” we make the acquaintance of several exemplary common soldiers. Shakespeare puts flattering words into the mouth of Henry V. when he addresses the troops before Agincourt:
“For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile This day shall gentle his condition.” (Act 4, Sc. 4.)
And at Harfleur he is even more complaisant:
“And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, shew us here The metal of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not, For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble luster in your eyes.” (Act 3, Sc. 1.)
The rank and file always fare well before a battle.
“Oh, it’s ‘Tommy this’ and ‘Tommy that’ an’ ‘Tommy, go away’; But it’s ‘Thank you, Mr. Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.”
I should like to add some instances from Shakespeare’s works of serious and estimable behavior on the part of individuals representing the lower classes, or of considerate treatment of them on the part of their “betters,” but I have been unable to find any, and the meager list must end here.
But to return to Tommy Atkins. He is no longer Mr. Atkins after the battle. Montjoy, the French herald, comes to the English king under a flag of truce and asks that they be permitted to bury their dead and
“Sort our nobles from our common men; For many of our princes (wo the while!) Lie drowned and soaked in mercenary blood; So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes.” (Henry V., Act 4, Sc. 7.)
With equal courtesy Richard III., on Bosworth field, speaks of his opponents to the gentlemen around him:
“Remember what you are to cope withal– A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, A scum of Bretagne and base lackey peasants.” (Act 5, Sc. 3.)
But Shakespeare does not limit such epithets to armies. Having, as we have seen, a poor opinion of the lower classes, taken man by man, he thinks, if anything, still worse of them taken en masse, and at his hands a crowd of plain workingmen fares worst of all. “Hempen home-spuns,” Puck calls them, and again
“A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, That work for bread upon Athenian stalls.”
Bottom, their leader, is, according to Oberon, a “hateful fool,” and according to Puck, the “shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort” (Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 3, Scs. 1 and 2, Act 4, Sc. 1). Bottom’s advice to his players contains a small galaxy of compliments:
“In any case let Thisby have clean linen, and let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onion or garlic, for we are to utter sweet
