"Impediments" in Shakespeare's Sonnet 116

"Impediments" in Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Let m e not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon m e proved,i I never writ, nor no man ever loved. In 1934 L.C. Knights suggested, in one of his cryptic critical asides, that the difficulties of Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 had never been squarely faced. The situation has not changed much since: this essay is an attempt to remedy it. In particular it seeks to modify or set aside two recent affirmations. The first is that "although a dramatic situation is implied" in the poem, "neither speaker, audience, nor occasion is particularized. The second is that "Sonnet 116 has simple clear content; indeed, its first clause aside, it is one of the few Shakespeare sonnets that can be paraphrased without brutality." I shall (hopefully without brutality) paraphrase the first clause and suggest that it allows us to particularize the speaker, audience, and occasion of the poem. I shall also suggest that, while the surface is indeed clear and beautiful, it is disturbed by small ripples that betray the presence of large rocks. The central problem of the poem has been neatly posed by John Doebler: The "alteration" in line three has been thought to mean the betrayal, or the indifference, or the flight of the beloved, cruel possibilities which would not, however, affect the constancy of the poet's love. But the reference in the opening line to the "marriage of true minds," rather than to the marriage of a true mind and a potentially false mind (an impediment), offers some difficulty to this widely accepted interpretation. The difficulty is a formidable one. It is not to be resolved by pretending that one of the apparently contradictory elements is not really present. If, as Doebler finds himself arguing, the traditional reading of the sonnet is incorrect—if, in fact, there has been no betrayal, indifference, or flight—it is difficult to see what all the fuss is about. To say that no frivolous impediment should be allowed to stand in the way of a marriage between two minds whose truth and constancy has never been seriously in 186 T.G.A. Nelson question is to say what nobody needs to be told. That, however, is not quite what the poem does say. It says: "Let m e not ... admit impediments." This is, of course, a much less decisive form of words. It must imply that the speaker knows of possible objections but is telling himself not to take any notice of them. Who, then, is the speaker and in what circumstances does he speak? The choice of the word "impediments" offers a clue. It is agreed that it alludes to the moment in the marriage service when the minister invites the parties to state any objections they may have to the marriage. (A parallel usage of the word occurs in Much Ado About Nothing, when the Friar asks if either bride or groom knows of any "inward impediment" which might prevent solemnization.) Who is it that would be called upon, in the event of alleged impediments to a marriage being cited, to decide whether they ought to be judged admissible or not? Presumably the judge in an ecclesiastical court. That this is the persona adopted in the poem seems likely in view of the distinctively legal language with which the poem begins and ends: "Let me not . . . Admit impediments . . . If this be error and upon m e proved." (It should be noted that "admit," like "impediments," can also carry a specifically legal meaning—"To allow or receive as valid or lawful"—which was current...