Folk-lore of Shakespeare

Notices of mermaids are scattered abundantly in books of bygone times. Mermen and mermaids, men of the sea, and women of the sea, having been as “stoutly believed in as the great sea-serpent, and on very much the same kind of evidence.” Holinshed gives a detailed account of a merman caught at Orford, in Suffolk, in the reign of King John. He was kept alive on raw meal and fish for six months, but at last “gledde secretelye to the sea, and was neuer after seene nor heard off.” Even in modern times we are told how, every now and then, a mermaid has made her appearance. Thus, in the Gentleman’s Magazine (Jan., 1747), we read: “It is reported from the north of Scotland that some time this month a sea creature, known by the name of mermaid, which has the shape of a human body from the trunk upwards, but below is wholly fish, was carried some miles up the water of Dévron.” In 1824 a mermaid or merman made its appearance, when, as the papers of that day inform us, “upwards of 150 distinguished fashionables” went to see it.

The “Mermaid” was a famous tavern, situated in Bread Street.933 As early as the fifteenth century, we are told it was one of the haunts of the pleasure-seeking Sir John Howard, whose trusty steward records, anno 1464: “Paid for wyn at the Mermayd in Bred Street, for my mastyr and Syr Nicholas Latimer, xd. ob.” In 1603 Sir Walter Raleigh established a Literary Club in this house, among its members being Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Selden, Carew, Martin, Donne, etc. It is often alluded to by Beaumont and Fletcher.

Minnow. This little fish, from its insignificant character, is used by “Coriolanus” (iii. 1) as a term of contempt: “Hear you this Triton of the minnows?” and, again, in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (i. 1), it occurs: “‘that base minnow of thy mirth.’”

Pike. An old name for this fish was luce. In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 1) we are told that “The luce is the fresh fish.” There can be no doubt, too, that there is in this passage an allusion to the armorial bearings of Shakespeare’s old enemy, Sir Thomas Lucy. Among the various instances of the use of this term we may quote Isaac Walton, who says: “The mighty luce or pike is taken to be the tyrant, as the salmon is the king, of the fresh waters.” Stow, in his “Survey of London,” describes a procession of the Fishmongers’ Company in 1298, as having horses painted like sea-luce: “Then four salmons of silver on foure horses, and after them sixe and fortie armed knightes riding on horses made like luces of the sea.”

Porpoise. According to sailors, the playing of porpoises round a ship is a certain prognostic of a violent gale of wind; hence the allusion in “Pericles” (ii. 1), where one of the fishermen says, speaking of the storm: “Nay, master, said not I as much, when I saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled?” Thus, too, in the “Canterbury Guests, or a Bargain Broken,” by Ravenscroft, we read: “My heart begins to leap and play, like a porpice before a storm.” And a further reference occurs in Wilsford’s “Nature’s Secrets:” “Porpoises, or sea-hogs, when observed to sport and chase one another about ships, expect then some stormy weather.”

Sea-monster. The reference in “King Lear” (i. 4), to the “sea-monster” —

“Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child,Than the sea-monster!” —

is generally supposed to be the hippopotamus, which, according to Upton, was the hieroglyphical symbol of impiety and ingratitude.934 Sandys935 gives a picture said to be portrayed in the porch of the temple of Minerva, at Sais, in which is the figure of a river-horse, denoting “murder, impudence, violence, and injustice; for they say that he killeth his sire and ravisheth his own dam.” His account is, no doubt, taken from Plutarch’s “Isis and Osiris;” and Shakespeare may have read it in Holland’s translation (p. 1300), but why he should call the river-horse a “sea-monster” is not very clear. It is more likely, however, that the whale is meant.936

CHAPTER XXII

SUNDRY SUPERSTITIONS

Almanacs. In Shakespeare’s day these were published under this title: “An Almanack and Prognostication made for the year of our Lord God, 1595.” So, in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 3), Autolycus says: “the hottest day prognostication proclaims;” that is, the hottest day foretold in the almanac. In Sonnet xiv. the prognostications in almanacs are also noticed:

“Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;And yet methinks I have astronomy,But not to tell of good or evil luck,Of plagues, of dearths, or season’s quality;Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind:Or say with princes if it shall go well,By oft predict that I in heaven find.”

In “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2) Enobarbus says: “They are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report;” and in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), Prince Henry says: “Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what says the almanac to that?”

Amulets. A belief in the efficacy of an amulet or charm to ward off diseases and to avert contagion has prevailed from a very early period. The use of amulets was common among the Greeks and Romans, whose amulets were principally formed of gems, crowns of pearls, necklaces of coral, shells, etc. The amulet of modern times has been of the most varied kinds; objects being selected either from the animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdom, pieces of old rags or garments, scraps of writing in legible or illegible characters, in fact, of anything to which any superstitious property has been considered to belong.937 This form of superstition is noticed in “1 Henry VI.” (v. 3), in the scene laid at Angiers, where La Pucelle exclaims:

“The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.Now help, ye charming spells and periapts”

– periapts being charms which were worn as preservatives against diseases or mischief. Thus Cotgrave938 explains the word as “a medicine hanged about any part of the bodie.”

Ceremonies. These, says Malone, were “omens or signs deduced from sacrifices or other ceremonial rites.” Thus, in “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 1), Cassius says of Cæsar, that —

“he is superstitious grown of late,Quite from the main opinion he held onceOf fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.”

And in the next scene Calpurnia adds:

“Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies,Yet now they fright me.”

Charms. These, as Mr. Pettigrew939 has pointed out, differ little from amulets, the difference consisting in the manner in which they are used rather than in their nature. Thus, whereas the amulet was to be suspended on the person when employed, the charm was not necessarily subjected to such a method of application. In days gone by, and even at the present day, in country districts, so universal has been the use of this source of supposed magical power that there is scarcely a disease for which a charm has not been given. It is not only to diseases of body and mind that the superstitious practice has been directed; having been in popular request to avert evil, and to counteract supposed malignant influences. As might be expected, Shakespeare has given various allusions to this usage, as, for example, in “Cymbeline” (v. 3), where Posthumus says:

“To day, how many would have given their honoursTo have sav’d their carcases! took heel to do’t,And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d,Could not find death where I did hear him groan,Nor feel him where he struck”

– this passage referring to the notion of certain charms being powerful enough to keep men unhurt in battle.

Othello (iii. 4), speaking of the handkerchief which he had given to Desdemona, relates:

“That handkerchiefDid an Egyptian to my mother give;She was a charmer, and could almost readThe thoughts of people.”

And in the same play (i. 1), Brabantio asks:

“Is there not charms,By which the property of youth and maidhoodMay be abus’d?”

Again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 2), Benedick, who is represented as having the toothache, after listening to the banter of his comrades, replies: “Yet is this no charm for the toothache.”

Perfect silence seems to have been regarded as indispensable for the success of any charm; and Pliny informs us that “favete linguis” was the usual exclamation employed on such an occasion. From this circumstance it has been suggested that the well-known phrase “to charm a tongue” may have originated. Thus we have the following dialogue in “Othello” (v. 2):

“Iago. Go to, charm your tongue.Emilia. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.”

Thus, on the appearance, amid thunder, of the first apparition to Macbeth, after the witches have performed certain charms (iv. 1), Shakespeare introduces the following dialogue:

“Macbeth. Tell me, thou unknown power —First Witch. He knows thy thought:Hear his speech, but say thou nought.”

Again, in “The Tempest” (iv. 1), Prospero says:

“hush, and be mute,Or else our spell is marr’d.”

Metrical Charms. There was a superstition long prevalent that life might be taken away by metrical charms.940 Reginald Scot, in his “Discovery of Witchcraft” (1584), says: “The Irishmen addict themselves, etc.; yea, they will not sticke to affirme that they can rime a man to death.” In “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1), the Duke of Exeter, referring to the lamented death of Henry V., says:

“Shall we think the subtle-witted FrenchConjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,By magic verses have contrived his end?”

These “magic verses,” to which the death of Henry V. is here attributed, were not required to be uttered in his presence; their deadly energy existing solely in the words of the imprecation and the malevolence of the reciter, which were supposed to render them effectual at any distance.

Again, the alphabet was called the Christ-cross-row; either because a cross was prefixed to the alphabet in the old primers, or, more probably, from a superstitious custom of writing the alphabet in the form of a cross by way of a charm. In “Richard III.” (i. 1), Clarence relates how King Edward —

“Hearkens after prophecies and dreams;And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.”

Dreams. These, considered as prognostics of good or evil, are frequently introduced by Shakespeare. In “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 3), Andromache exclaims:

“My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.”

While Romeo (“Romeo and Juliet,” v. 1) declares:

“My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.”

It is chiefly as precursors of misfortune that the poet has availed himself of their supposed influence as omens of future fate. Thus, there are few passages in his dramas more terrific than the dreams of Richard III. and Clarence; the latter especially, as Mr. Drake says,941 “is replete with the most fearful imagery, and makes the blood run chill with horror.”

Dreaming of certain things has generally been supposed to be ominous either of good or ill luck;942 and at the present day the credulous pay oftentimes no small attention to their dreams, should these happen to have referred to what they consider unlucky things. In the same way Shylock, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 5), is a victim to much superstitious dread:

“Jessica, my girl,Look to my house. I am right loath to go:There is some ill a brewing towards my rest,For I did dream of money-bags to-night.”

In “Julius Cæsar,” dreaming of banquet is supposed to presage misfortune.

It was also supposed that malicious spirits took advantage of sleep to torment their victims;943 hence Macbeth (ii. 1) exclaims:

“Merciful powers,Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that natureGives way to in repose!”944

Duels. The death of the vanquished person was always considered a certain evidence of his guilt. Thus, in “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 3), King Henry, speaking of the death of Horner in the duel with Peter, says:945

“Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt:And God in justice hath reveal’d to usThe truth and innocence of this poor fellow,Which he had thought to have murder’d wrongfully. —Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.”

We may also compare what Arcite says to Palamon in the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iii. 6):

“If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward;For none but such dare die in these just trials.”

Among the customs connected with duelling, it appears that, according to an old law, knights were to fight with the lance and the sword, as those of inferior rank fought with an ebon staff or baton, to the farther end of which was fixed a bag crammed hard with sand.946 Thus Shakespeare, in “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 3), represents Horner entering “bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it.” Butler, in his “Hudibras,” alludes to this custom:

“Engag’d with money-bags, as boldAs men with sand-bags did of old.”

Steevens adds that “a passage in St. Chrysostom very clearly proves the great antiquity of this practice.”

Fortune-tellers. A common method of fortune-tellers, in pretending to tell future events, was by means of a beryl or glass. In an extract from the “Penal Laws against Witches,” it is said, “they do answer either by voice, or else set before their eyes, in glasses, chrystal stones, etc., the pictures or images of the persons or things sought for.” It is to this kind of juggling prophecy that Angelo, in “Measure for Measure” (ii. 2), refers, when he tells how the law —

“like a prophet,Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,Either new, or by remissness new-conceiv’d.”

Again, Macbeth (iv. 1), when “a show of eight kings” is presented to him, exclaims, after witnessing the seventh:

“I’ll see no more: —And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,Which shows me many more.”

Spenser947 has given a circumstantial account of the glass which Merlin made for King Ryence. A mirror of the same kind was presented to Cambuscan, in the “Squier’s Tale” of Chaucer; and we are also told how “a certain philosopher did the like to Pompey, the which showed him in a glass the order of his enemies’ march.”948 Brand, in his “Popular Antiquities,”949 gives several interesting accounts of this method of fortune-telling; and quotes the following from Vallancey’s “Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicis:” “In the Highlands of Scotland, a large chrystal, of a figure somewhat oval, was kept by the priests to work charms by; water poured upon it at this day is given to cattle against diseases; these stones are now preserved by the oldest and most superstitious in the country; they were once common in Ireland.”

Further allusions to fortune-tellers occur in “Comedy of Errors” (v. 1), and “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv. 2).

It appears, too, that the trade of fortune-telling was, in Shakespeare’s day, as now, exercised by the wandering hordes of gypsies. In “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 12), the Roman complains that Cleopatra

“Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,Beguil’d me to the very heart of loss.”

Giants. The belief in giants and other monsters was much credited in olden times, and, “among the legends of nearly every race or tribe, few are more universal than those relating to giants or men of colossal size and superhuman power.”950 That such stories were current in Shakespeare’s day, is attested by the fact that the poet makes Othello (i. 3), in his eloquent defence before the Senate of Venice, when explaining his method of courtship, allude to

“the Cannibals that each other eat,The Anthropophagi, and men whose headsDo grow beneath their shoulders.”

In “The Tempest” (iii. 3), Gonzalo relates how —

“When we were boys,Who would believe that there were mountaineersDew-lapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’emWallets of flesh? or that there were such men,Whose heads stood in their breasts?”

And after the appearance of Prospero’s magic repast, Sebastian says:

“Now I will believeThat there are unicorns; that in ArabiaThere is one tree, the phœnix’ throne; one phœnixAt this hour reigning there.”

Among the numerous references to giants by Shakespeare, we may quote the following. In “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 3), Horner says: “Peter, have at thee with a downright blow [as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart].”951

Ascapart, according to the legend, was “ful thyrty fote longe,” and was conquered by Sir Bevis of Southampton.

In “Cymbeline” (iii 3), Belarius says:

“the gates of monarchsAre arch’d so high, that giants may jet throughAnd keep their impious turbans on, withoutGood morrow to the sun.”

In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 1), Mrs. Page says: “I had rather be a giantess, and lie under Mount Pelion.”952

Lucky Days. From the most remote period certain days have been supposed to be just as lucky as others are the reverse, a notion which is not confined to any one country. In Shakespeare’s day great attention was paid to this superstitious fancy, which is probably alluded to in the “Winter’s Tale” (iii. 3), where the Shepherd says to the Clown, “’Tis a lucky day, boy; and we’ll do good deeds on’t.”

In “King John” (iii. 1) Constance exclaims:

“What hath this day deserv’d? what hath it done,That it in golden letters should be setAmong the high tides in the calendar?Nay, rather turn this day out of the week,This day of shame, oppression, perjury:Or, if it must stand still, let wives with childPray that their burthens may not fall this day,Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross’d:But on this day let seamen fear no wreck;No bargains break that are not this day made:This day, all things begun come to ill end,Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!”

Again, Macbeth (iv. 1) says:

“Let this pernicious hourStand aye accursed in the calendar!”

In the old almanacs the days supposed to be favorable or unfavorable are enumerated, allusion to which occurs in Webster’s “Duchess of Malfy,” 1623:

“By the almanack, I think,To choose good days and shun the critical.”

At the present day this superstition still retains its hold on the popular mind, and in the transactions of life exerts an important influence.953

Magic. The system of magic, which holds such a prominent place in “The Tempest,” was formerly an article in the popular creed, and as such is frequently noticed by the writers of Shakespeare’s time. Thus, in describing Prospero, Shakespeare has given him several of the adjuncts, besides the costume, of the popular magician, much virtue being inherent in his very garments. So Prospero, when addressing his daughter (i. 2), says:

“Lend thy hand,And pluck my magic garment from me. – So;Lie there, my art.”

A similar importance is assigned to his staff, for he tells Ferdinand (i. 2):

“I can here disarm thee with this stick,And make thy weapon drop.”

And when he abjures the practice of magic, one of the requisites is “to break his staff,” and to (v. 1)

“Bury it certain fathoms in the earth.”

The more immediate instruments of power were books, by means of which spells were usually performed. Hence, in the old romances, the sorcerer is always furnished with a book, by reading certain parts of which he is enabled to summon to his aid what demons or spirits he has occasion to employ. When he is deprived of his book his power ceases. Malone quotes, in illustration of this notion, Caliban’s words in “The Tempest” (iii. 2):

“Remember,First to possess his books; for without themHe’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath notOne spirit to command.”

Prospero, too, declares (iii. 1):

“I’ll to my book;For yet, ere supper time, must I performMuch business appertaining.”

And on his relinquishing his art he says that:

“Deeper than did ever plummet soundI’ll drown my book.”

Those who practise nocturnal sorcery are styled, in “Troilus and Cressida” (iv. 2), “venomous wights.”

Merlin’s Prophecies. In Shakespeare’s day there was an extensive belief in strange and absurd prophecies, which were eagerly caught up and repeated by one person to another. This form of superstition is alluded to in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1), where, after Owen Glendower has been descanting on the “omens and portents dire” which heralded his nativity, and Hotspur’s unbelieving and taunting replies to the chieftain’s assertions, the poet makes Hotspur, on Mortimer’s saying,

“Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!”

thus reply:

“I cannot choose: sometime he angers me,With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies;And of a dragon and a finless fish.”

In “King Lear” (iii. 2) the Fool says

“I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go:When priests are more in word than matter;When brewers mar their malt with water;When nobles are their tailors’ tutors;No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors;When every case in law is right;No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;When slanders do not live in tongues.Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;When usurers tell their gold i’ the field;And bawds and whores do churches build; —Then shall the realm of AlbionCome to great confusion:Then comes the time, who lives to see’t,That going shall be us’d with feet.This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.”

This witty satire was probably against the prophecies attributed to Merlin, which were then prevalent among the people.954

Formerly, too, prophecies of apparent impossibilities were common in Scotland; such as the removal of one place to another. So in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), the apparition says:

“Macbeth shall never vanquish’d be, untilGreat Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hillShall come against him.”

Portents and Prodigies. In years gone the belief in supernatural occurrences was a common article of faith; and our ancestors made use of every opportunity to prove the truth of this superstitious belief. The most usual monitions of this kind were, “lamentings heard in the air; shakings and tremblings of the earth; sudden gloom at noon-day; the appearance of meteors; the shooting of stars; eclipses of the sun and moon; the moon of a bloody hue; the shrieking of owls; the croaking of ravens; the shrilling of crickets; night-howlings of dogs; the death-watch; the chattering of pies; wild neighing of horses; blood dropping from the nose; winding-sheets; strange and fearful noises, etc.,” many of which Shakespeare has used, introducing them as the precursors of murder, sudden death, disasters, and superhuman events.955 Thus in “Richard II.” (ii. 4), the following prodigies are selected as the forerunners of the death or fall of kings:

“’Tis thought, the king is dead: we will not stay.The bay-trees in our country are all wither’d,And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;The pale-fac’d moon looks bloody on the earth,And lean-look’d prophets whisper fearful change;Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,The other to enjoy by rage and war:These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.”

Previous to the assassination of Julius Cæsar, we are told, in “Hamlet” (i. 1), how:

“In the most high and palmy state of Rome,A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted deadDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,Disasters in the sun; and the moist star,Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands,Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.”

More appalling still are the circumstances which preceded and accompanied the murder of Duncan (“Macbeth,” ii. 3). We may also compare the omens which marked the births of Owen Glendower and Richard III. Indeed, the supposed sympathy of the elements with human joy or sorrow or suffering is evidently a very ancient superstition; and this presumed sensitiveness, not only of the elements, but of animated nature, to the perpetration of deeds of darkness and blood by perverted nature, has in all ages been extensively believed. It is again beautifully illustrated in the lines where Shakespeare makes Lenox, on the morning following the murder of Duncan by his host (“Macbeth,” ii. 3), give the following narrative:

“The night has been unruly; where we lay,Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,Lamentings heard i’ the air; strange screams of death;And prophesying with accents terribleOf dire combustion, and confus’d events,New hatch’d to the woeful time: the obscure birdClamour’d the livelong night: some say, the earthWas feverous and did shake.”

This idea is further illustrated in the dialogue which follows, between Ross and an old man:

“Old Man. Threescore and ten I can remember well:Within the volume of which time I have seenHours dreadful, and things strange: but this sore nightHath trifled former knowings.Ross. Ah, good father,Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man’s act,Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, ’tis day,And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame,That darkness does the face of earth entomb,When living light should kiss it?”

Supernatural Authority of Kings. The belief in the supernatural authority of monarchs is but a remnant of the long-supposed “divine right” of kings to govern, which resulted from a conviction that they could trace their pedigrees back to the deities themselves.956 Thus Shakespeare even puts into the mouth of the murderer and usurper Claudius, King of Denmark, the following sentence: