Folk-lore of Shakespeare

“Sed circumsiliens, modo huc, modo illuc,Ad solam dominam usque pipilabat.”

Skelton, in an elegy upon a sparrow, calls it “Phyllyp Sparowe;” and Gascoigne also writes “The praise of Philip Sparrow.”

In “Measure for Measure” (iii. 2), Lucio, speaking of Angelo, the deputy-duke of Vienna, says: “Sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous.”325

Sparrow-hawk. A name formerly given to a young sparrow-hawk was eyas-musket,326 a term we find in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iii. 3): “How now, my eyas-musket! what news with you?” It was thus metaphorically used as a jocular phrase for a small child. As the invention, too, of fire-arms took place327 at a time when hawking was in high fashion, some of the new weapons were named after those birds, probably from the idea of their fetching their prey from on high. Musket has thus become the established name for one sort of gun. Some, however, assert that the musket was invented in the fifteenth century, and owes its name to its inventors.

Starling. This was one of the birds that was in days gone by trained to speak. In “1 Henry IV.” (i. 3), Hotspur says:

“I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speakNothing but ‘Mortimer,’ and give it him,To keep his anger still in motion.”

Pliny tells us how starlings were taught to utter both Latin and Greek words for the amusement of the young Cæsars; and there are numerous instances on record of the clever sentences uttered by this amusing bird.

Swallow. This bird has generally been honored as the harbinger of spring, and Athenæus relates that the Rhodians had a solemn song to welcome it. Anacreon has a well-known ode. Shakespeare, in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 3), alludes to the time of the swallow’s appearance in the following passage:

“daffodils,That come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty.”

And its departure is mentioned in “Timon of Athens” (iii. 6): “The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship.”

We may compare Tennyson’s notice of the bird’s approach and migration in “The May Queen:”

“And the swallow ’ll come back again with summer o’er the wave.”

It has been long considered lucky for the swallow to build its nest on the roof of a house, but just as unlucky for it to forsake a place which it has once tenanted. Shakespeare probably had this superstition in his mind when he represents Scarus as saying, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 12):

“Swallows have builtIn Cleopatra’s sails their nests: the augurersSay, they know not, – they cannot tell; – look grimly,And dare not speak their knowledge.”

Swan. According to a romantic notion, dating from antiquity, the swan is said to sing sweetly just before its death, many pretty allusions to which we find scattered here and there throughout Shakespeare’s plays. In “Merchant of Venice” (iii. 2), Portia says:

“he makes a swan-like end,Fading in music.”

Emilia, too, in “Othello” (v. 2), just before she dies, exclaims:

“I will play the swan,And die in music.”

In “King John” (v. 7), Prince Henry, at his father’s death-bed, thus pathetically speaks:

“’Tis strange that death should sing.I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,And from the organ-pipe of frailty singsHis soul and body to their lasting rest.”

Again, in “Lucrece” (1611), we have these touching lines:

“And now this pale swan in her watery nest,Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending.”

And once more, in “The Phœnix and Turtle:”

“Let the priest in surplice white,That defunctive music can,Be the death-divining swan,Lest the requiem lack his right.”

This superstition, says Douce,328 “was credited by Plato, Chrysippus, Aristotle, Euripides, Philostratus, Cicero, Seneca, and Martial. Pliny, Ælian, and Athenæus, among the ancients, and Sir Thomas More, among the moderns, treat this opinion as a vulgar error. Luther believed in it.” This notion probably originated in the swan being identified with Orpheus. Sir Thomas Browne329 says, we read that, “after his death, Orpheus, the musician, became a swan. Thus was it the bird of Apollo, the bird of music by the Greeks.” Alluding to this piece of folk-lore, Carl Engel330 remarks: “Although our common swan does not produce sounds which might account for this tradition, it is a well-known fact that the wild swan (Cygnus ferus), also called the ‘whistling swan,’ when on the wing emits a shrill tone, which, however harsh it may sound if heard near, produces a pleasant effect when, emanating from a large flock high in the air, it is heard in a variety of pitches of sound, increasing or diminishing in loudness according to the movement of the birds and to the current of the air.” Colonel Hawker331 says, “The only note which I ever heard the wild swan make, in winter, is his well-known ‘whoop.’”332

Tassel-Gentle. 333 The male of the goshawk was so called on account of its tractable disposition, and the facility with which it was tamed. The word occurs in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 2):

“O, for a falconer’s voiceTo lure this tassel-gentle back again!”

Spenser, in his “Fairy Queen” (bk. iii. c. iv. l. 49), says:

“Having far off espied a tassel-gentWhich after her his nimble wings doth straine.”

This species of hawk was also commonly called a “falcon-gentle,” on account of “her familiar, courteous disposition.”334

Turkey. This bird, so popular with us at Christmas-tide, is mentioned in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1), where the First Carrier says: “God’s body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.” This, however, is an anachronism on the part of Shakespeare, as the turkey was unknown in this country until the reign of Henry VIII. According to a rhyme written in 1525, commemorating the introduction of this bird, we are told how:

“Turkies, carps, hoppes, piccarell, and beere,Came into England all in one yeare.”

The turkey is again mentioned by Shakespeare in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 5), where Fabian says of Malvolio: “Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!”

Vulture. In several passages Shakespeare has most forcibly introduced this bird to deepen the beauty of some of his exquisite passages. Thus, in “King Lear” (ii. 4), when he is complaining of the unkindness of a daughter, he bitterly exclaims:

“O Regan, she hath tiedSharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here.”

What, too, can be more graphic than the expression of Tamora in “Titus Andronicus” (v. 2):

“I am Revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom,To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind.”

Equally forcible, too, are Pistol’s words in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 3): “Let vultures gripe thy guts.”

Johnson considers that “the vulture of sedition” in “2 Henry VI.” (iv. 3) is in allusion to the tale of Prometheus, but of this there is a decided uncertainty.

Wagtail. In “King Lear” (ii. 2), Kent says, “Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?” the word being used in an opprobrious sense, to signify an officious person.

Woodcock. In several passages this bird is used to denote a fool or silly person; as in “Taming of the Shrew” (i. 2): “O this woodcock! what an ass it is!” And again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (v. 1), where Claudio, alluding to the plot against Benedick, says: “Shall I not find a woodcock too?” In “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3) Biron says:

“O heavens, I have my wish!Dumain transformed: four woodcocks in a dish.”

The woodcock has generally been proverbial as a foolish bird – perhaps because it is easily caught in springes or nets.335 Thus the popular phrase “Springes to catch woodcocks” meant arts to entrap simplicity,336 as in “Hamlet” (i. 3):

“Aye, springes to catch woodcocks.”

A similar expression occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Loyal Subject” (iv. 4):

“Go like a woodcock,And thrust your neck i’ th’ noose.”

“It seems,” says Nares, “that woodcocks are now grown wiser by time, for we do not now hear of their being so easily caught. If they were sometimes said to be without brains, it was only founded on their character, certainly not on any examination of the fact.”337 Formerly, one of the terms for twilight338 was “cock-shut time,” because the net in which cocks, i. e., woodcocks, were shut in during the twilight, was called a “cock-shut.” It appears that a large net was stretched across a glade, and so suspended upon poles as to be easily drawn together. Thus, in “Richard III.” (v. 3), Ratcliff says:

“Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop,Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.”

In Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Gypsies” we read:

“Mistress, this is only spite;For you would not yesternightKiss him in the cock-shut light.”

Sometimes it was erroneously written “cock-shoot.” “Come, come away then, a fine cock-shoot evening.” In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iv. 1) we find the term “cock-light.”

Wren. The diminutive character of this bird is noticed in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1, song):

“The wren with little quill.”

In “Macbeth” (iv. 2), Lady Macbeth says:

“the poor wren,The most diminutive of birds, will fight,Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.”

Considering, too, that as many as sixteen young ones have been found in this little bird’s nest, we can say with Grahame, in his poem on the birds of Scotland:

“But now behold the greatest of this trainOf miracles, stupendously minute;The numerous progeny, claimant for foodSupplied by two small bills, and feeble wingsOf narrow range, supplied – ay, duly fed —Fed in the dark, and yet not one forgot.”

The epithet “poor,” applied to the wren by Lady Macbeth, was certainly appropriate in days gone by, when we recollect how it was cruelly hunted in Ireland on St. Stephen’s day – a practice which prevailed also in the Isle of Man.339

CHAPTER VII

ANIMALS

As in the case of the birds considered in the previous chapter, Shakespeare has also interwoven throughout his plays an immense deal of curious folk-lore connected with animals. Not only does he allude with the accuracy of a naturalist to the peculiarities and habits of certain animals, but so true to nature is he in his graphic descriptions of them that it is evident his knowledge was in a great measure acquired from his own observation. It is interesting, also, to note how carefully he has, here and there, worked into his narrative some old proverb or superstition, thereby adding a freshness to the picture which has, if possible, imbued it with an additional lustre. In speaking of the dog, he has introduced many an old hunting custom, and his references to the tears of the deer are full of sweet pathos, as, for instance, where Hamlet says (iii. 2), “Let the stricken deer go weep.” It is not necessary, however, to add further illustrations, as these will be found in the following pages.

Ape. In addition to Shakespeare’s mention of this animal as a common term of contempt, there are several other allusions to it. There is the well-known phrase, “to lead apes in hell,” applied to old maids, mentioned in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1) – the meaning of this term not having been yet satisfactorily explained.340 (It is further discussed in the chapter on Marriage.)

In “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), the word is used as a term of endearment, “Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat’st.”

Ass. Beyond the proverbial use of this much ill-treated animal to denote a silly, foolish person, Shakespeare has said little about it. In “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Thersites uses the word assinego, a Portuguese expression for a young ass, “Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee.” It is used by Beaumont and Fletcher in the “Scornful Lady” (v. 4): “All this would be forsworn, and I again an assinego, as your sister left me.”341 Dyce342 would spell the word “asinico,” because it is so spelled in the old editions of Shakespeare, and is more in accordance with the Spanish word.343 In “King Lear” (i. 4), the Fool alludes to Æsop’s celebrated fable of the old man and his ass: “thou borest thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt.”

Bat. The bat, immortalized by Shakespeare (“The Tempest,” v. 1) as the “delicate Ariel’s” steed —

“On the bat’s back I do fly,”

– has generally been an object of superstitious dread, and proved to the poet and painter a fertile source of images of gloom and terror.344 In Scotland345 it is still connected with witchcraft, and if, while flying, it rise and then descend again earthwards, it is a sign that the witches’ hour is come – the hour in which they are supposed to have power over every human being who is not specially shielded from their influence. Thus, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the “wool of bat” forms an ingredient in the witches’ caldron. One of its popular names is “rere-mouse,” which occurs in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 2), where Titania says:

“Some, war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,To make my small elves coats.”

This term is equivalent to the Anglo-Saxon, hrére-mús, from hreran, to stir, agitate, and so the same as the old name “flitter-mouse.”346 The early copies spell the word reremise.347 It occurs in the Wicliffite version of Leviticus xi. 19, and the plural in the form “reremees” or “rere-myis” is found in Isaiah ii. 20. At Polperro, Cornwall,348 the village boys call it “airy-mouse,” and address it in the following rhyme:

“Airy mouse, airy mouse! fly over my head,And you shall have a crust of bread;And when I brew, and when I bake,You shall have a piece of my wedding-cake.”

In Scotland349 it is known as the Backe or Bakie bird. An immense deal of folk-lore has clustered round this curious little animal.350

Bear. According to an old idea, the bear brings forth unformed lumps of animated flesh, and then licks them into shape – a vulgar error, referred to in “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), where Gloster, bemoaning his deformity, says of his mother:

“She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,*****To disproportion me in every part,Like to a chaos, or an unlick’d bear-whelp,That carries no impression like the dam.”

This erroneous notion, however, was long ago confuted by Sir Thomas Browne.351 Alexander Ross, in his “Arcana Microcosmi,” nevertheless affirms that bears bring forth their young deformed and misshapen, by reason of the thick membrane in which they are wrapped, that is covered over with a mucous matter. This, he says, the dam contracts in the winter-time, by lying in hollow caves without motion, so that to the eye the cub appears like an unformed lump. The above mucilage is afterwards licked away by the dam, and the membrane broken, whereby that which before seemed to be unformed appears now in its right shape. This, he contends, is all that the ancients meant.352 Ovid (Metamorphoses, bk. xv. l. 379) thus describes this once popular fancy:

“Nec catulus, partu quem reddidit ursa recenti,Sed male viva caro est: lambendo mater in artusFingit, et in formam, quantam capit ipsa, reducit.”

Bears, in days gone by, are reported to have been surprised by means of a mirror, which they would gaze on, affording their pursuers an opportunity of taking the surer aim. In “Julius Cæsar” (ii. I), this practice is mentioned by Decius:

“unicorns may be betray’d with trees,And bears with glasses.”353

Batman, “On Bartholomæus” (1582), speaking of the bear, says, “And when he is taken he is made blinde with a bright basin, and bound with chaynes, and compelled to playe.” This, however, says Mr. Aldis Wright,354 probably refers to the actual blinding of the bear.

A favorite amusement with our ancestors was bear-baiting. As early as the reign of Henry II. the baiting of bears by dogs was a popular game in London,355 while at a later period “a royal bear-ward” was an officer regularly attached to the royal household. In “2 Henry VI.” (v. 1), this personage is alluded to by Clifford, who says:

“Are these thy bears? We’ll bait thy bears to death,And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,If thou dar’st bring them to the baiting place.”

And again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (ii. 1), Beatrice says, “I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.” The synonymous term, “bear-herd,” occurs in “Taming of the Shrew” (Ind. scene 2), where Sly speaks of himself as “by transmutation a bear-herd;” and in “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2), Sir John Falstaff remarks how “true valor is turned bear-herd.” Among the Harleian MSS.356 is preserved the original warrant of Richard III. appointing John Brown to this office, and which recites “the diligent service he had done the king” as the ground for granting him the privilege of wandering about the country with his bears and apes, and receiving the “loving benevolence and favors of the people.”357 In the time of Queen Elizabeth bear-baiting was still a favorite pastime, being considered a fashionable entertainment for ladies of the highest rank.358 James I. encouraged this sport. Nichols359 informs us that on one occasion the king, accompanied by his court, took the queen, the Princess Elizabeth, and the two young princes to the Tower to witness a fight between a lion and a bear, and by the king’s command the bear (which had killed a child that had been negligently left in the bear-house) was afterwards “baited to death upon a stage in the presence of many spectators.” Popular, says Mr. Kelly, as bear-baiting was in the metropolis and at court, it was equally so among all classes of the people.360 It is on record that at Congleton, in Cheshire, “the town-bear having died, the corporation in 1601 gave orders to sell their Bible, in order to purchase another, which was done, and the town no longer without a bear.” This event is kept up in a popular rhyme:

“Congleton rare, Congleton rare,Sold the Bible to pay for a bear.”

The same legend attaches to Clifton, a village near Rugby:

“Clifton-upon-Dunsmore, in Warwickshire,Sold the Church Bible to buy a bear.”

In Pulleyn’s “Etymological Compendium,”361 we are told that “this cruel amusement is of African origin, and was introduced into Europe by the Romans.” It is further alluded to by Shakespeare in “Twelfth Night” (i. 3), “dancing and bear-baiting;” and further on in the same play (ii. 5) Fabian says, “he brought me out o’ favor with my lady about a bear-baiting here;” and Macbeth (v. 7) relates:

“They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,But, bear-like, I must fight the course.”362

And in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 1), Octavius says:

“we are at the stake,And bay’d about with many enemies.”

Boar. It appears that in former times boar-hunting was a favorite recreation; many allusions to which we find in old writers. Indeed, in the Middle Ages, the destruction of a wild boar ranked among the deeds of chivalry,363 and “won for a warrior almost as much renown as the slaying an enemy in the open field.” So dangerous, too, was boar-hunting considered, that Shakespeare represents Venus as dissuading Adonis from the perilous practice:

“‘O be advised! thou know’st not what it is,With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.*****His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d,Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d;Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.’”

Such hunting expeditions were generally fatal to some of the dogs, and occasionally to one or more of the hunters. An old tradition of Grimsby, in Lincolnshire,364 asserts that every burgess, at his admission to the freedom of the borough, anciently presented to the mayor a boar’s head, or an equivalent in money, when the animal could not be procured. The old seal of the mayor of Grimsby represents a boar hunt. The lord, too, of the adjacent manor of Bradley, was obliged by his tenure to keep a supply of these animals in his wood, for the entertainment of the mayor and burgesses.365 A curious triennial custom called the “Rhyne Toll,” is observed at Chetwode, a small village about five miles from Buckingham.366 According to tradition, it originated in the destruction of an enormous wild boar – the terror of the surrounding county – by one of the lords of Chetwode; who, after fighting with it for four hours on a hot summer’s day, eventually killed it:

“Then Sir Ryalas he drawed his broad sword with might,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite,For he was a jovial hunter.”

As a reward, it is said, the king “granted to him and to his heirs forever, among other immunities and privileges, the full right to levy every year the Rhyne Toll.” This is still kept up, and consists of a yearly tax on all cattle found within the manor of Chetwode between the 30th of October and the 7th of November, inclusive. In “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 13) Cleopatra alludes to the famous boar killed by Meleager,

“the boar of ThessalyWas never so emboss’d.”367

Bull. Once upon a time there was scarcely a town or village of any magnitude which had not its bull-ring.368 Indeed, it was not until the year 1835 that baiting was finally put down by an act of Parliament, “forbidding the keeping of any house, pit, or other place for baiting or fighting any bull, bear, dog, or other animal;” and, after an existence of at least seven centuries, this ceased to rank among the amusements of the English people.369 This sport is alluded to in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), “Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa.” We may, too, compare the expressions in “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 7), “Now, bull, now, dog!.. The bull has the game.”370

Cat. Few animals, in times past, have been more esteemed than the cat, or been honored with a wider folk-lore. Indeed, among the Egyptians this favored animal was held sacred to Isis, or the moon, and worshipped with great ceremony. In the mythology of all the Indo-European nations the cat holds a prominent place; and its connection with witches is well known. “The picture of a witch,” says Mr. Henderson,371 “is incomplete without her cat, by rights a black one.” In “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the first witch says:

“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d” —

it being a common superstition that the form most generally assumed by the familiar spirits of witches was the cat. Thus, in another passage of the same play (i. 1), the first witch says: “I come, Graymalkin” – the word otherwise spelled Grimalkin,372 meaning a gray cat. Numerous stories are on record of witches having disguised themselves as cats, in order to carry out their fiendish designs. A woodman out working in the forest has his dinner every day stolen by a cat. Exasperated at the continued repetition of the theft, he lies in wait for the aggressor, and succeeds in cutting off her paw, when lo! on his return home he finds his wife minus a hand.373 An honest Yorkshireman,374 who bred pigs, often lost the young ones. On applying to a certain wise man of Stokesley, he was informed that they were bewitched by an old woman who lived near. The owner of the pigs, calling to mind that he had often seen a cat prowling about his yard, decided that this was the old woman in disguise. He watched for her, and, as soon as she made her appearance, flung at her a poker with all his might. The cat disappeared, and, curiously enough, the poor old woman in question that night fell and broke her leg. This was considered as conclusive that she was the witch that had simulated the form of a cat. This notion is very prevalent on the Continent. It is said that witch-cats have a great hankering after beer.375 Witches are adepts in the art of brewing, and therefore fond of tasting what their neighbors brew. On these occasions they always masquerade as cats, and what they steal they consume on the spot. There was a countryman whose beer was all drunk up by night whenever he brewed, so that at last he resolved for once to sit up all night and watch. As he was standing by his brewing pan, a number of cats made their appearance, and calling to them, he said; “Come, puss, puss, come, warm you a bit.” So in a ring they all sat round the fire as if to warm themselves. After a time, he asked them “if the water was hot.” “Just on the boil,” said they; and as he spoke he dipped his long-handled pail in the wort, and soused the whole company with it. They all vanished at once, but on the following day his wife had a terribly scalded face, and then he knew who it was that had always drunk his beer. This story is widely prevalent, and is current among the Flemish-speaking natives of Belgium. Again, a North German tradition376 tells us of a peasant who had three beautiful large cats. A neighbor begged to have one of them, and obtained it. To accustom it to the place, he shut it up in the loft. At night, the cat, popping its head through the window, said, “What shall I bring to-night?” “Thou shalt bring mice,” answered the man. The cat then set to work, and cast all it caught on the floor. Next morning the place was so full of dead mice that it was hardly possible to open the door, and the man was employed the whole day in throwing them away by bushels. At night the cat again asked, “What shall I bring to-night?” “Thou shalt bring rye,” answered the peasant. The cat was now busily employed in shooting down rye, so that in the morning the door could not be opened. The man then discovered that the cat was a witch, and carried it back to his neighbor. A similar tradition occurs in Scandinavian mythology.377 Spranger378 relates that a laborer, on one occasion, was attacked by three young ladies in the form of cats, and that they were wounded by him. On the following day they were found bleeding in their beds. In Vernon,379 about the year 1566, “the witches and warlocks gathered in great multitudes under the shape of cats. Four or five men were attacked in a lone place by a number of these beasts. The men stood their ground, and succeeded in slaying one cat and wounding many others. Next day a number of wounded women were found in the town, and they gave the judge an accurate account of all the circumstances connected with their wounding.” It is only natural, then, that Shakespeare, in his description of the witches in “Macbeth,” should have associated them with the popular superstition which represents the cat as their agent – a notion that no doubt originated in the classic story of Galanthis being turned into a cat, and becoming, through the compassion of Hecate, her priestess. From their supposed connection with witchcraft, cats were formerly often tormented by the ignorant vulgar. Thus it appears380 that, in days gone by, they (occasionally fictitious ones) were hung up in baskets and shot at with arrows. In some counties, too, they were enclosed, with a quantity of soot, in wooden bottles suspended on a line, and he who could beat out the bottom of the bottle as he ran under it, and yet escape its contents, was the hero of the sport.381 Shakespeare alludes to this practice in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1), where Benedick says: “Hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me.”