Chapter 24

Vnica semper auis.To my countrimen of theNamptwichein Cheshire.Whitney, 1586.

Vnica semper auis.To my countrimen of theNamptwichein Cheshire.

Vnica semper auis.

To my countrimen of theNamptwichein Cheshire.

Whitney, 1586.

“ThePhœnix rare, with fethers freshe of hewe,Arabiasrighte, and sacred to the Sonne:Whome, other birdes with wonder seeme to vewe,Dothe liue vntill a thousande yeares bee ronne:Then makes a pile: which, when with Sonne it burnes,Shee flies therein, and so to ashes turnes.Whereof, behoulde, an other Phœnix rare,With speede dothe rise most beautifull and faire:And thoughe for truthe, this manie doe declare,Yet thereunto, I meane not for to sweare:Althoughe I knowe that Aucthors witnes true,What here I write, bothe of the oulde, and newe.Which when I wayed, the newe, and eke the oulde,I thought vppon your towne destroyed with fire:And did in minde, the neweNampwichebehoulde,A spectacle for anie mans desire:Whose buildinges braue, where cinders weare but late,Did represente (me thought) the Phœnix fate.And as the oulde, was manie hundreth yeares,A towne of fame, before it felt that crosse:Euen so, (I hope) thisWiche, that nowe appeares,A Phœnix age shall laste, and knowe no losse:WhichGodvouchsafe, who make you thankfull, all:That see this rise, and sawe the other fall.”

“ThePhœnix rare, with fethers freshe of hewe,

Arabiasrighte, and sacred to the Sonne:

Whome, other birdes with wonder seeme to vewe,

Dothe liue vntill a thousande yeares bee ronne:

Then makes a pile: which, when with Sonne it burnes,

Shee flies therein, and so to ashes turnes.

Whereof, behoulde, an other Phœnix rare,With speede dothe rise most beautifull and faire:And thoughe for truthe, this manie doe declare,Yet thereunto, I meane not for to sweare:Althoughe I knowe that Aucthors witnes true,What here I write, bothe of the oulde, and newe.

Whereof, behoulde, an other Phœnix rare,

With speede dothe rise most beautifull and faire:

And thoughe for truthe, this manie doe declare,

Yet thereunto, I meane not for to sweare:

Althoughe I knowe that Aucthors witnes true,

What here I write, bothe of the oulde, and newe.

Which when I wayed, the newe, and eke the oulde,I thought vppon your towne destroyed with fire:And did in minde, the neweNampwichebehoulde,A spectacle for anie mans desire:Whose buildinges braue, where cinders weare but late,Did represente (me thought) the Phœnix fate.

Which when I wayed, the newe, and eke the oulde,

I thought vppon your towne destroyed with fire:

And did in minde, the neweNampwichebehoulde,

A spectacle for anie mans desire:

Whose buildinges braue, where cinders weare but late,

Did represente (me thought) the Phœnix fate.

And as the oulde, was manie hundreth yeares,A towne of fame, before it felt that crosse:Euen so, (I hope) thisWiche, that nowe appeares,A Phœnix age shall laste, and knowe no losse:WhichGodvouchsafe, who make you thankfull, all:That see this rise, and sawe the other fall.”

And as the oulde, was manie hundreth yeares,

A towne of fame, before it felt that crosse:

Euen so, (I hope) thisWiche, that nowe appeares,

A Phœnix age shall laste, and knowe no losse:

WhichGodvouchsafe, who make you thankfull, all:

That see this rise, and sawe the other fall.”

TheConcordance to Shakespeare, by Mrs. Cowden Clarke, for thoroughness hitherto unmatched,[166]notes down eleven instances in which the Phœnix is named, and in most of them, with some epithet expressive of its nature. It is spoken of as the Arabian bird, the bird of wonder; its nest of spicery is mentioned; it is made an emblem of death, and employed in metaphor to flatter both Elizabeth and James.

Besides the instances already given (p. 236), we here select others of a general nature; as:—When on the renowned Talbot’s death in battle, Sir William Lucy, in presence of Charles, the Dauphin, exclaims over the slain (1 Hen. VI., act iv. sc. 7, l. 92),—

“O that I could but call these dead to life!It were enough to fright the realm of France:”

“O that I could but call these dead to life!

It were enough to fright the realm of France:”

his request for leave to give their bodies burial is thus met,—

“Pucelle.I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost,He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.For God’s sake, let him have ’em....Charles.Go, take their bodies hence.Lucy.I’ll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear’dA phœnix, that shall make all France afeard.”

“Pucelle.I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost,

He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.

For God’s sake, let him have ’em....

Charles.Go, take their bodies hence.

Lucy.I’ll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear’d

A phœnix, that shall make all France afeard.”

And York, on the haughty summons of Northumberland and Clifford, declares (3 Hen. VI., act i. sc. 4, l. 35),—

“My ashes, as the Phœnix, may bring forthA bird that will revenge upon you all.”

“My ashes, as the Phœnix, may bring forth

A bird that will revenge upon you all.”

In thePhœnix and the Turtle(lines 21 and 49, vol. ix. p. 671), are the lines,—

“Here the anthem doth commence:Love and constancy is dead;Phœnix and the turtle fledIn a mutual flame from hence.. . . . . .Whereupon it made this threneTo the phœnix and the dove,Co-supremes and stars of love,As chorus to their tragic scene.”

“Here the anthem doth commence:

Love and constancy is dead;

Phœnix and the turtle fled

In a mutual flame from hence.

. . . . . .

Whereupon it made this threne

To the phœnix and the dove,

Co-supremes and stars of love,

As chorus to their tragic scene.”

The “threne,” orLamentation(l. 53, vol. ix. p. 672), then follows,—

“Beauty, truth and rarityGrace in all simplicity,Here enclosed in cinders lie.Death is now the phœnix’ nest;And the turtle’s loyal breastTo eternity doth rest.”

“Beauty, truth and rarityGrace in all simplicity,Here enclosed in cinders lie.

“Beauty, truth and rarity

Grace in all simplicity,

Here enclosed in cinders lie.

Death is now the phœnix’ nest;And the turtle’s loyal breastTo eternity doth rest.”

Death is now the phœnix’ nest;

And the turtle’s loyal breast

To eternity doth rest.”

The Maiden inThe Lover’s Complaint(l. 92, vol. ix. p. 638) thus speaks of her early love,—

“Small show of man was yet upon his chin;His phœnix down began but to appear,Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,Whose bare out-bragg’d the web it seem’d to wear.”

“Small show of man was yet upon his chin;

His phœnix down began but to appear,

Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,

Whose bare out-bragg’d the web it seem’d to wear.”

Some of the characteristics of the Phœnix are adduced in the dialogue,Richard III.(act iv. sc. 4, l. 418, vol. v. p. 606), between Richard III. and the queen or widow of Edward IV. The king is proposing to marry her daughter,—

“Q. Eliz.Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?K. Rich.Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.Queen.Shall I forget myself, to be myself?K. Rich.Ay, if yourself’s remembrance wrong yourself.Queen.But thou didst kill my children.K. Rich.But in your daughter’s womb I bury them:Where in that nest of spicery, they shall breedSelves of themselves, to your recomforture.”

“Q. Eliz.Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

K. Rich.Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

Queen.Shall I forget myself, to be myself?

K. Rich.Ay, if yourself’s remembrance wrong yourself.

Queen.But thou didst kill my children.

K. Rich.But in your daughter’s womb I bury them:

Where in that nest of spicery, they shall breed

Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.”

Another instance is fromAntony and Cleopatra(act iii. sc. 2, l. 7, vol. ix. p. 64). Agrippa and Enobarbus meet in Cæsar’s ante-chamber, and of Lepidus Enobarbus declares,—

“O how he loves Cæsar!Agrip.Nay, but how dearly he adores Marc Antony!Enob.Cæsar? Why, he’s the Jupiter of men.Agrip.What’s Antony? The god of Jupiter.Enob.Speak you of Cæsar? How? the nonpareil!Agrip.O Antony! O thou Arabian bird!”

“O how he loves Cæsar!

Agrip.Nay, but how dearly he adores Marc Antony!

Enob.Cæsar? Why, he’s the Jupiter of men.

Agrip.What’s Antony? The god of Jupiter.

Enob.Speak you of Cæsar? How? the nonpareil!

Agrip.O Antony! O thou Arabian bird!”

And inCymbeline(act i. sc. 6, l. 15, vol. ix. p. 183), on being welcomed by Imogen, Iachimo says,aside,—

“All of her that is out of door most rich!If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare.She is alone th’ Arabian Bird, and IHave lost the wager.”

“All of her that is out of door most rich!

If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare.

She is alone th’ Arabian Bird, and I

Have lost the wager.”

But the fullest and most remarkable example is fromHenry VIII.(act v. sc. 5, l. 28, vol. vi. p. 114). Cranmer assumes the gift of inspiration, and prophesies of the new-born child of the king and of Anne Bullen an increase of blessings and of all princely graces,—

“Truth shall nurse her,Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:She shall be loved and fear’d: her own shall bless her;Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her:In her days every man shall eat in safety,Under his own vine, what he plants, and singThe merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:God shall be truly known; and those about herFrom her shall read the perfect ways of honour,And by these claim their greatness, not by blood.Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but, as whenThe bird of wonder dies, the maiden phœnix,Her ashes new create another heir,As great in admiration as herself,So shall she leave her blessedness to one—When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness—Who from the sacred ashes of her honourShall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,And so stand fix’d.”

“Truth shall nurse her,

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:

She shall be loved and fear’d: her own shall bless her;

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,

And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her:

In her days every man shall eat in safety,

Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing

The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:

God shall be truly known; and those about her

From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,

And by these claim their greatness, not by blood.

Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but, as when

The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phœnix,

Her ashes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herself,

So shall she leave her blessedness to one—

When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness—

Who from the sacred ashes of her honour

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,

And so stand fix’d.”

There is another bird, the emblem of tranquillity and of peaceful and happy days; it is theKing-fisher, which the poets have described with the utmost embellishment of the fancy. Aristotle and Pliny tell even more marvellous tales about it than Herodotus and Horapollo do about the Phœnix.

The fable, on which the poetic idea rests, is two-fold; one that Alcyone, a daughter of the wind-god Æolus, had beenmarried to Ceyx; and so happily did they live that they gave one another the appellations of the gods, and by Jupiter in anger were changed into birds; the other narrates, that Ceyx perished from shipwreck, and that in a passion of grief Alcyone threw herself into the sea. Out of pity the gods bestowed on the two the shape and habit of birds. Ovid has greatly enlarged the fable, and has devoted to it, in hisMetamorphoses(xi. 10), between three and four hundred lines. We have only to do with the conclusion,—

“The gods at length taking compassionThe pair are transformed into birds; tried by one destinyTheir love remained firm; nor is the conjugal bondLoosened although they are birds; parents they become,And through a seven days’ quietness in midwinterIn nests upborne by the sea the King-fishers breed.Safe then is the sea-road; the winds Æolus guards,Debarring from egress; and ocean’s plain favours his children.”

“The gods at length taking compassion

The pair are transformed into birds; tried by one destiny

Their love remained firm; nor is the conjugal bond

Loosened although they are birds; parents they become,

And through a seven days’ quietness in midwinter

In nests upborne by the sea the King-fishers breed.

Safe then is the sea-road; the winds Æolus guards,

Debarring from egress; and ocean’s plain favours his children.”

According to Aristotle’s description (Hist. Anim.ix. 14),—

“The nest of the Alcyon is globular, with a very narrow entrance, so that if it should be upset the water would not enter. A blow from iron has no effect upon it, but the human hand soon crushes it and reduces it to powder. The eggs are five.”

“Thehalcyones,” Pliny avers, “are of great name and much marked. The very seas, and they that saile thereupon, know well when they sit and breed. This bird, so notable, is little bigger than a sparrow; for the more part of her pennage, blew, intermingled yet among with white and purple feathers; having a thin small neck and long withal they lay and sit about mid-winter, when daies be shortest; and the times while they are broodie, is called thehalcyondaies; for during that season the sea is calm and navigable, especially on the coast of Sicilie.”—Philemon Holland’s Plinie, x. 32.

We are thus prepared for the device which Paolo Giovio sets before his readers, with an Italian four-lined stanza to a French motto,We know well the weather. The drawing suggests that the two Alcyons in one nest are sailing “on the coast of Sicilie,” in the straits of Messina, with Scylla and Charybdis on each hand—but in perfect calmness and security,—

DE I MEDESIMI.Giovio, 1562.San gl’ Alcionij augei il tempo eletto,Ch’ al nido; e all’ oua lor non nuoca il mare.Infelice quell’ huom, ch’el dí aſpettareNon ſa, per dare al ſuo diſegno effetto.Nous ſauons bien le temps.“Happy the Alcyons, whom choice times defend.Nor in the nest nor egg the sea can harm;But luckless man knows not to meet alarm,Nor to his purpose gives the wished for end.”

DE I MEDESIMI.

Giovio, 1562.

San gl’ Alcionij augei il tempo eletto,Ch’ al nido; e all’ oua lor non nuoca il mare.Infelice quell’ huom, ch’el dí aſpettareNon ſa, per dare al ſuo diſegno effetto.Nous ſauons bien le temps.

San gl’ Alcionij augei il tempo eletto,Ch’ al nido; e all’ oua lor non nuoca il mare.Infelice quell’ huom, ch’el dí aſpettareNon ſa, per dare al ſuo diſegno effetto.

San gl’ Alcionij augei il tempo eletto,

Ch’ al nido; e all’ oua lor non nuoca il mare.

Infelice quell’ huom, ch’el dí aſpettare

Non ſa, per dare al ſuo diſegno effetto.

Nous ſauons bien le temps.

“Happy the Alcyons, whom choice times defend.Nor in the nest nor egg the sea can harm;But luckless man knows not to meet alarm,Nor to his purpose gives the wished for end.”

“Happy the Alcyons, whom choice times defend.

Nor in the nest nor egg the sea can harm;

But luckless man knows not to meet alarm,

Nor to his purpose gives the wished for end.”

The festival of Saint Martin, or Martlemas, is held November 11th, at the approach of winter, and was a season of merriment and good cheer. It is in connection with this festival that Shakespeare first introduces a mention of the Alcyon (1 Henry VI., act i. sc. 2, l. 129, vol. v. p. 14). The Maid of Orleans is propounding her mission for the deliverance of France to Reignier, Duke of Anjou,—

“Assign’d I am to be the English scourge.This night the siege assuredly I’ll raise:Expect Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon days,Since I have enter’d into these wars.”

“Assign’d I am to be the English scourge.

This night the siege assuredly I’ll raise:

Expect Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon days,

Since I have enter’d into these wars.”

It was, and I believe still is, an opinion prevalent in some parts of England, that a King-fisher, suspended by the tail or beak, will turn round as the wind changes. To this fancy, allusion is made inKing Lear(act ii. sc. 2, l. 73, vol. viii. p. 307),—

“Renege, affirm and turn their halcyon beaksWith every gale and vary of their masters,Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.”

“Renege, affirm and turn their halcyon beaks

With every gale and vary of their masters,

Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.”

The Poet delights to tell of self-sacrificing love; and hence the celebrity which thePelicanhas acquired for the strong natural affection which impels it, so the tale runs, to pour forth the very fountain of its life in nourishment to its young. From Epiphanius, bishop of Constantia in the island of Cyprus, whosePhysiologvswas printed by Plantin in 1588, we have the supposed natural history of the Pelicans and their young, which he symbolizes in the Saviour. His account is accompanied by a pictorial representation, “ΠΕΡΙ ΤΗΣ ΠΕΛΕΚΑΝΟΣ,”—Concerning the Pelican(p. 30).

Epiphanius, 1588.

The good bishop narrates as physiological history the following,—

“Beyond all birds the Pelican is fond of her young. The female sits on the nest, guarding her offspring, and cherishes and caresses them and wounds them with loving; and pierces their sides and they die. After three days the male pelican comes and finds them dead, and very much his heart is pained. Driven by grief he smites his own side, and as he stands over the wounds of the dead young ones, the blood trickles down, and thus are they made alive again.”

Reusner and Camerarius both adopt the Pelican as the emblem of a good king who devotes himself to the people’s welfare.For Law and for Flock, is the very appropriate motto they prefix; Camerarius simply saying (ed. 1596, p. 87),—

“Sanguine vivificat Pelicanus pignora, sic rexPro populi vitæ est prodigus ipse suæ.”“By blood the Pelican his young revives; and so a kingFor his people’s sake himself of life is prodigal.”

“Sanguine vivificat Pelicanus pignora, sic rexPro populi vitæ est prodigus ipse suæ.”

“Sanguine vivificat Pelicanus pignora, sic rex

Pro populi vitæ est prodigus ipse suæ.”

“By blood the Pelican his young revives; and so a kingFor his people’s sake himself of life is prodigal.”

“By blood the Pelican his young revives; and so a king

For his people’s sake himself of life is prodigal.”

Reusner (bk. ii. p. 73) gives the following device,—

Pro lege, & grege.Emblema xiv.Reusner, 1581.

Pro lege, & grege.Emblema xiv.

Pro lege, & grege.

Emblema xiv.

Reusner, 1581.

And tells how,—

“Alphonsus the wise and good king of Naples, with his own honoured hand painted a Pelican which with its sharp beak was laying open its breast so as with its own blood to save the lives of its young. Thus for people, for law, it is right that a king should die and by his own death restore life to the nations. As by his own death Christ did restore life to the just, and with life peace and righteousness.”

He adds this personification of the Pelican,—

“For people and for sanctioned law heart’s life a king will pour;So from this blood of mine do I life to my young restore.”

“For people and for sanctioned law heart’s life a king will pour;

So from this blood of mine do I life to my young restore.”

The other motto, which Hadrian Junius and Geffrey Whitney select, opens out another idea,Quod in te est, prome,—“Bring forth what is in thee.” It suggests that of the soul’s wealth we should impart to others.

Junius (Emb. 7) thus addresses the bird he has chosen,—

“By often striking, O Pelican, thou layest open the deep recesses of thy breast and givest life to thy offspring. Search into thine own mind (my friend), seek what is hidden within, and bring forth into the light the seeds of thine inner powers.”

And very admirably does Whitney (p. 87) apply the sentiment to one of the most eminent of divines in the reign of Queen Elizabeth,—namely, to Dr. Alexander Nowell, the celebrated Dean of St. Paul’s, illustrious both for his learning and his example,—

“The Pellican, for to reuiue her younge,Doth peirce her brest, and geue them of her blood:Then searche your breste, and as yow haue with tonge,With penne proceede to doe our countrie good:Your zeale is great, your learning is profounde,Then helpe our wantes, with that you doe abounde.”

“The Pellican, for to reuiue her younge,

Doth peirce her brest, and geue them of her blood:

Then searche your breste, and as yow haue with tonge,

With penne proceede to doe our countrie good:

Your zeale is great, your learning is profounde,

Then helpe our wantes, with that you doe abounde.”

The full poetry of the thoughts thus connected with the Pelican is taken in, though but briefly expressed by Shakespeare.InHamlet(act iv. sc. 5, l. 135, vol. viii. p. 135), on Laertes determining to seek revenge for his father’s death, the king adds fuel to the flame,—

“King.Good Laertes,If you desire to know the certaintyOf your dear father’s death, is’t writ in your revenge,That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,Winner and loser?Laer.None but his enemies.King.Will you know them then?Laer.To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms;And like the kind life-rendering pelican,Repast them with my blood.”[167]

“King.Good Laertes,

If you desire to know the certainty

Of your dear father’s death, is’t writ in your revenge,

That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,

Winner and loser?

Laer.None but his enemies.

King.Will you know them then?

Laer.To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms;

And like the kind life-rendering pelican,

Repast them with my blood.”[167]

FromRichard II.(act ii. sc. 1, l. 120, vol. iv. p. 140) we learn how in zeal and true loyalty John of Gaunt counsels his headstrong nephew, and how rudely the young king replies,—

“Now, by my seat’s right royal majesty,Wert thou not brother to great Edward’s son,This tongue that runs so roundly in thy headShould run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.Gaunt.O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son,For that I was his father Edward’s son;That blood already, like the pelican,Hast thou tapp’d out and drunkenly caroused.”

“Now, by my seat’s right royal majesty,

Wert thou not brother to great Edward’s son,

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head

Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

Gaunt.O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son,

For that I was his father Edward’s son;

That blood already, like the pelican,

Hast thou tapp’d out and drunkenly caroused.”

The idea, indeed, almost supposes that the young pelicans strike at the breasts of the old ones, and forcibly or thoughtlessly drain their life out. So it is inKing Lear(act iii. sc. 4, l. 68, vol. viii. p. 342), when the old king exclaims,—

“Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued natureTo such a lowness but his unkind daughters.Is it the fashion that discarded fathersShould have thus little mercy on their flesh?Judicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begotThose pelican daughters.”

“Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature

To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion that discarded fathers

Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?

Judicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begot

Those pelican daughters.”

And again (2 Henry VI., act iv. sc. 1, l. 83, vol. v. p. 182), in the words addressed to Suffolk,—

“By devilish policy art thou grown great,And, like ambitious Sylla, over-gorgedWith gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart.”

“By devilish policy art thou grown great,

And, like ambitious Sylla, over-gorged

With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart.”

The description of the wounded stag, rehearsed to the banished duke by one of his attendants, is as touching a narrative, as full of tenderness, as any which show the Poet’s wonderful power over our feelings; it is fromAs You Like It(act ii. sc. 1, l. 29, vol. ii. p. 394),—

“To-day my Lord of Amiens and myselfDid steal behind him [Jaques] as he lay alongUnder an oak whose antique root peeps outUpon the brook that brawls along this wood:To the which place a poor sequester’d stag,That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt,Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,That their discharge did stretch his leathern coatAlmost to bursting, and the big round tearsCoursed one another down his innocent noseIn piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,Much marked of the melancholy Jacques,Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,Augmenting it with tears.”

“To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself

Did steal behind him [Jaques] as he lay along

Under an oak whose antique root peeps out

Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:

To the which place a poor sequester’d stag,

That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt,

Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,

The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,

That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat

Almost to bursting, and the big round tears

Coursed one another down his innocent nose

In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,

Much marked of the melancholy Jacques,

Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,

Augmenting it with tears.”

Graphic and highly ornamented though this description may be, it is really the counterpart of Gabriel Symeoni’s Emblem of love incurable. The poor stag lies wounded and helpless,—the mortal dart in his flank, and the life-stream gushing out. Thescroll above bears a Spanish motto,This holds their Remedy and not I; and it serves to introduce the usual quatrain.

D’VN AMORE.INCVRABILE.Giovio and Symeoni, 1562.Troua il ceruio ferito al ſuo gran maleNel dittamo Creteo fido ricorſo,Ma laſſo (io’lsò) rimedio ne ſoccorſoAll’ amoroſo colpo alcun non vale.Eſto tiene ſu remedio, y non yo.“The smitten stag hath found sad pains to feel,No trusted Cretan dittany[168]is near,Wearied, for succour there is only fear,—The wounds of love no remedy can heal.”

D’VN AMORE.INCVRABILE.

D’VN AMORE.

INCVRABILE.

Giovio and Symeoni, 1562.

Troua il ceruio ferito al ſuo gran maleNel dittamo Creteo fido ricorſo,Ma laſſo (io’lsò) rimedio ne ſoccorſoAll’ amoroſo colpo alcun non vale.Eſto tiene ſu remedio, y non yo.

Troua il ceruio ferito al ſuo gran maleNel dittamo Creteo fido ricorſo,Ma laſſo (io’lsò) rimedio ne ſoccorſoAll’ amoroſo colpo alcun non vale.

Troua il ceruio ferito al ſuo gran male

Nel dittamo Creteo fido ricorſo,

Ma laſſo (io’lsò) rimedio ne ſoccorſo

All’ amoroſo colpo alcun non vale.

Eſto tiene ſu remedio, y non yo.

“The smitten stag hath found sad pains to feel,No trusted Cretan dittany[168]is near,Wearied, for succour there is only fear,—The wounds of love no remedy can heal.”

“The smitten stag hath found sad pains to feel,

No trusted Cretan dittany[168]is near,

Wearied, for succour there is only fear,—

The wounds of love no remedy can heal.”

To the same motto and the same device Paradin (fol. 168) furnishes an explanation,—

“The device of love incurable,” he says, “may be a stag wounded by an arrow, having a branch of Dittany in its mouth, which is a herb that grows abundantly in the island of Crete. By eating this the wounded stag heals all its injuries. The motto,‘Esto tienne su remedio, y no yo,’follows those verses of Ovid in the Metamorphoses, where Phœbus, complaining of the love for Daphne, says, ‘Hei mihi, quòd nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.’”

The connected lines in Ovid’sMetamorphoses(bk. i. fab. 9), show that even Apollo, the god of healing, whose skill does good to all others, does no good to himself. TheEmblemsof Otho Vænius (p. 154) gives a very similar account to that of Symeoni,—

“Cerua venenato venantûm saucia ferroDyctamno quærit vulneris auxilium.Hei mihi, quod nullis sit Amor medicabilis herbis,Et nequeat medicâ pellier arte malum.”

“Cerua venenato venantûm saucia ferro

Dyctamno quærit vulneris auxilium.

Hei mihi, quod nullis sit Amor medicabilis herbis,

Et nequeat medicâ pellier arte malum.”

The following is the English version of that date,—

“No help for the louer.”“The hert that wounded is, knowes how to fynd relief,And makes by dictamon the arrow out to fall,And with the self-same herb hee cures his wound withall,But love no herb can fynd to cure his inward grief.”

“No help for the louer.”

“The hert that wounded is, knowes how to fynd relief,And makes by dictamon the arrow out to fall,And with the self-same herb hee cures his wound withall,But love no herb can fynd to cure his inward grief.”

“The hert that wounded is, knowes how to fynd relief,

And makes by dictamon the arrow out to fall,

And with the self-same herb hee cures his wound withall,

But love no herb can fynd to cure his inward grief.”

In the presence of those who had slain Cæsar, and over his dead body at the foot of Pompey’s statue, “which all the while ran blood,” Marc Antony poured forth his fine avowal of continued fidelity to his friend (Julius Cæsar, act iii. sc. 1, l. 205, vol. vii. p. 368),—

“Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay’d, brave hart;Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand,Sign’d in thy spoil and crimson’d in thy lethe.O world! thou wast the forest to this hart;And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.How like a deer strucken by many princesDost thou here lie!”

“Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay’d, brave hart;

Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand,

Sign’d in thy spoil and crimson’d in thy lethe.

O world! thou wast the forest to this hart;

And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.

How like a deer strucken by many princes

Dost thou here lie!”

The same metaphor from the wounded deer is introduced inHamlet(act iii. sc. 2, l. 259, vol. viii. p. 97). The acting of theplay has had on the king’s mind the influence which Hamlet hoped for; and as in haste and confusion the royal party disperse, he recites the stanza,—

“Why, let the stricken deer go weep,The hart ungalled play;For some must watch, whilst some must sleep:Thus runs the world away.”

“Why, let the stricken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play;

For some must watch, whilst some must sleep:

Thus runs the world away.”

The very briefest allusion to the subject of our Emblem is also contained in theWinter’s Tale(act i. sc. 2, l. 115, vol. iii. p. 323). Leontes is discoursing with his queen Hermione,—

“But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,As now they are, and making practised smiles,As in a looking glass, and then to sigh, as ’twereThe mort o’ the deer; O, that is entertainmentMy bosom likes not, nor my brows!”

“But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,

As now they are, and making practised smiles,

As in a looking glass, and then to sigh, as ’twere

The mort o’ the deer; O, that is entertainment

My bosom likes not, nor my brows!”

The poetical epithet “golden,” so frequently expressive of excellence and perfection, and applied even to qualities of the mind, is declared by Douce (vol. i. p. 84) to have been derived by Shakespeare either from Sidney’sArcadia(bk. ii.), or from Arthur Golding’s translation of Ovid’sMetamorphoses(4to, fol. 8), where speaking of Cupid’s arrows, he says,—

“That causeth loveis all ofgoldewith point full sharp and bright.That chaseth love, is blunt, whose steele with leaden head is dight.”

“That causeth loveis all ofgoldewith point full sharp and bright.

That chaseth love, is blunt, whose steele with leaden head is dight.”

This borrowing and using of the epithet “golden” might equally well, and with as much probability, have taken place through the influence of Alciat, or by adoption from Whitney’s very beautiful translation and paraphrase of Joachim Bellay’sFable of Cupid and Death. The two were lodging together at an inn,[169]and unintentionally exchanged quivers: death’s darts were made of bone, Cupid’s were “dartes of goulde.”

The conception of the tale is admirable, and the narrative itself full of taste and beauty. Premising that the same device is employed by Whitney as by Alciat, we will first give almost a literal version from the 154th and 155th Emblems of the latter author (edition 1581),—

“Wandering about was Death along with Cupid as companion,With himself Death was bearing quivers; little Love his weapons;Together at an inn they lodged; one night together one bed they shared;Love was blind, and on this occasion Death also was blind.Unforeseeing the evil, one took the darts of the other,Death the golden weapons,—those of bone the boy rashly seizes.Hence an old man who ought now to be near upon Acheron.Behold him loving,—and for his brow flower-fillets preparing.But I, since Love smote me with the dart that was changed,I am fainting, and their hand the fates upon me are laying.Spare, O boy; spare, O Death, holding the ensigns victorious,—Make me the lover, the old man make him sink beneath Acheron.”

“Wandering about was Death along with Cupid as companion,

With himself Death was bearing quivers; little Love his weapons;

Together at an inn they lodged; one night together one bed they shared;

Love was blind, and on this occasion Death also was blind.

Unforeseeing the evil, one took the darts of the other,

Death the golden weapons,—those of bone the boy rashly seizes.

Hence an old man who ought now to be near upon Acheron.

Behold him loving,—and for his brow flower-fillets preparing.

But I, since Love smote me with the dart that was changed,

I am fainting, and their hand the fates upon me are laying.

Spare, O boy; spare, O Death, holding the ensigns victorious,—

Make me the lover, the old man make him sink beneath Acheron.”

And carrying on the idea into the next Emblem (155),—

“Why, O Death, with thy wiles darest thou deceive Love the boy,That thy weapons he should hurl, while he thinks them his own?”

“Why, O Death, with thy wiles darest thou deceive Love the boy,

That thy weapons he should hurl, while he thinks them his own?”

Whitney’s “sportive tale, concerning death and love,” possesses sufficient merit to be given in full (p. 132),—

De morte, & amore: Iocoſum.ToEdward Dyer,Eſquier.Whitney, 1586.

De morte, & amore: Iocoſum.ToEdward Dyer,Eſquier.

De morte, & amore: Iocoſum.

ToEdward Dyer,Eſquier.

Whitney, 1586.

“While furious Mors, from place, to place did flie,And here, and there, her fatall dartes did throwe:At lengthe shee mette, with Cupid passing by,Who likewise had, bene busie with his bowe:Within one Inne, they bothe togeather stay’d,And for one nighte, awaie theire shooting lay’d.The morrowe next, they bothe awaie doe haste,And eache by chaunce, the others quiuer takes:The frozen dartes, on Cupiddes backe weare plac’d.The fierie dartes, the leane virago shakes:Whereby ensued, suche alteration straunge,As all the worlde, did wonder at the chaunge.For gallant youthes, whome Cupid thoughte to wounde,Of loue, and life, did make an ende at once.And aged men, whome deathe woulde bringe to grounde:Beganne againe to loue, with sighes, and grones;Thus natures lawes, this chaunce infringed soe:That age did loue, and youthe to graue did goe.Till at the laste, as Cupid drewe his bowe,Before he shotte: a younglinge thus did crye,Oh Venus sonne, thy dartes thou doste not knowe,They pierce too deepe: for all thou hittes, doe die:Oh spare our age, who honored thee of oulde,Theise dartes are bone, take thou the dartes of goulde.Which beinge saide, a while did Cupid staye,And sawe, how youthe was almoste cleane extinct:And age did doate, with garlandes freshe, and gaye,And heades all balde, weare newe in wedlocke linckt:Wherefore he shewed, this error vnto Mors,Who miscontent, did chaunge againe perforce.Yet so, as bothe some dartes awaie conuay’d,Which weare not theirs: yet vnto neither knowne,Some bonie dartes, in Cupiddes quiver stay’d,Some goulden dartes, had Mors amongst her owne.Then, when wee see, vntimelie deathe appeare:Or wanton age: it was this chaunce you heare.”

“While furious Mors, from place, to place did flie,

And here, and there, her fatall dartes did throwe:

At lengthe shee mette, with Cupid passing by,

Who likewise had, bene busie with his bowe:

Within one Inne, they bothe togeather stay’d,

And for one nighte, awaie theire shooting lay’d.

The morrowe next, they bothe awaie doe haste,And eache by chaunce, the others quiuer takes:The frozen dartes, on Cupiddes backe weare plac’d.The fierie dartes, the leane virago shakes:Whereby ensued, suche alteration straunge,As all the worlde, did wonder at the chaunge.

The morrowe next, they bothe awaie doe haste,

And eache by chaunce, the others quiuer takes:

The frozen dartes, on Cupiddes backe weare plac’d.

The fierie dartes, the leane virago shakes:

Whereby ensued, suche alteration straunge,

As all the worlde, did wonder at the chaunge.

For gallant youthes, whome Cupid thoughte to wounde,Of loue, and life, did make an ende at once.And aged men, whome deathe woulde bringe to grounde:Beganne againe to loue, with sighes, and grones;Thus natures lawes, this chaunce infringed soe:That age did loue, and youthe to graue did goe.

For gallant youthes, whome Cupid thoughte to wounde,

Of loue, and life, did make an ende at once.

And aged men, whome deathe woulde bringe to grounde:

Beganne againe to loue, with sighes, and grones;

Thus natures lawes, this chaunce infringed soe:

That age did loue, and youthe to graue did goe.

Till at the laste, as Cupid drewe his bowe,Before he shotte: a younglinge thus did crye,Oh Venus sonne, thy dartes thou doste not knowe,They pierce too deepe: for all thou hittes, doe die:Oh spare our age, who honored thee of oulde,Theise dartes are bone, take thou the dartes of goulde.

Till at the laste, as Cupid drewe his bowe,

Before he shotte: a younglinge thus did crye,

Oh Venus sonne, thy dartes thou doste not knowe,

They pierce too deepe: for all thou hittes, doe die:

Oh spare our age, who honored thee of oulde,

Theise dartes are bone, take thou the dartes of goulde.

Which beinge saide, a while did Cupid staye,And sawe, how youthe was almoste cleane extinct:And age did doate, with garlandes freshe, and gaye,And heades all balde, weare newe in wedlocke linckt:Wherefore he shewed, this error vnto Mors,Who miscontent, did chaunge againe perforce.

Which beinge saide, a while did Cupid staye,

And sawe, how youthe was almoste cleane extinct:

And age did doate, with garlandes freshe, and gaye,

And heades all balde, weare newe in wedlocke linckt:

Wherefore he shewed, this error vnto Mors,

Who miscontent, did chaunge againe perforce.

Yet so, as bothe some dartes awaie conuay’d,Which weare not theirs: yet vnto neither knowne,Some bonie dartes, in Cupiddes quiver stay’d,Some goulden dartes, had Mors amongst her owne.Then, when wee see, vntimelie deathe appeare:Or wanton age: it was this chaunce you heare.”

Yet so, as bothe some dartes awaie conuay’d,

Which weare not theirs: yet vnto neither knowne,

Some bonie dartes, in Cupiddes quiver stay’d,

Some goulden dartes, had Mors amongst her owne.

Then, when wee see, vntimelie deathe appeare:

Or wanton age: it was this chaunce you heare.”

For an interlude to our remarks on the “golden,” we must mention that the pretty taleConcerning Death and Cupidwasattributed to Whitney by one of Shakespeare’s contemporaries; and, if known to other literary men of the age, very reasonably may be supposed not unknown to the dramatist. Henry Peacham, in 1612, p. 172 of hisEmblems, acknowledges that it was from Whitney that he derived his own tale,—

“De Morte, et Cupidine.”“Deathmeeting once, withCvpidin an Inne,Where roome was scant, togeither both they lay.Both weariè, (for they roving both had beene,)Now on the morrow when they should away,CvpidDeath’s quiver at his back had throwne,AndDeathtookeCvpids, thinking it his owne.By this o’re-sight, it shortly came to passe,That young men died, who readie were to wed:And age did revell with his bonny-lasse,Composing girlonds for his hoarie head:Invert not Nature, oh ye Powers twaine,GiueCvpid’sdartes, andDeathtake thine againe.”

“De Morte, et Cupidine.”

“Deathmeeting once, withCvpidin an Inne,Where roome was scant, togeither both they lay.Both weariè, (for they roving both had beene,)Now on the morrow when they should away,CvpidDeath’s quiver at his back had throwne,AndDeathtookeCvpids, thinking it his owne.

“Deathmeeting once, withCvpidin an Inne,

Where roome was scant, togeither both they lay.

Both weariè, (for they roving both had beene,)

Now on the morrow when they should away,

CvpidDeath’s quiver at his back had throwne,

AndDeathtookeCvpids, thinking it his owne.

By this o’re-sight, it shortly came to passe,That young men died, who readie were to wed:And age did revell with his bonny-lasse,Composing girlonds for his hoarie head:Invert not Nature, oh ye Powers twaine,GiueCvpid’sdartes, andDeathtake thine againe.”

By this o’re-sight, it shortly came to passe,

That young men died, who readie were to wed:

And age did revell with his bonny-lasse,

Composing girlonds for his hoarie head:

Invert not Nature, oh ye Powers twaine,

GiueCvpid’sdartes, andDeathtake thine againe.”

Whitney luxuriates in this epithet “golden;”—golden fleece, golden hour, golden pen, golden sentence, golden book, golden palm are found recorded in his pages. At p. 214 we have the lines,—

“A Leaden sworde, within a goulden sheathe,Is like a foole of natures finest moulde,To whome, shee did her rarest giftes bequethe,Or like a sheepe, within a fleece of goulde.”

“A Leaden sworde, within a goulden sheathe,

Is like a foole of natures finest moulde,

To whome, shee did her rarest giftes bequethe,

Or like a sheepe, within a fleece of goulde.”

We may indeed regard Whitney as the prototype of Hood’s world-famous “Miss Kilmansegg, with her golden leg,”—

“And a pair of Golden Crutches.” (vol. i. p. 189.)

Shakespeare is scarcely more sparing in this respect than the Cheshire Emblematist; he mentions for us “golden tresses of the dead,” “golden oars and a silver stream,” “the glory, that in gold clasps locks in the golden story,” “a golden casket,” “agolden bed,” and “a golden mind.”Merchant of Venice(act ii. sc. 7, lines 20 and 58, vol. ii. p. 312),—

“A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.. . . . . .But here an angel in a golden bedLies all within.”

“A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.

. . . . . .

But here an angel in a golden bed

Lies all within.”

And applied direct to Cupid’s artillery inMidsummer Night’s Dream(act i. sc. 1, l. 168, vol. ii. p. 204), Hermia makes fine use of the epithet golden,—

“My good Lysander!I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,By his best arrow with the golden head.”

“My good Lysander!

I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,

By his best arrow with the golden head.”

So inTwelfth Night(act i. sc. 1, l. 33, vol. iii. p. 224), Orsino, Duke of Milan, speaks of Olivia,—

“O, she that hath a heart of that fine frameTo pay the debt of love but to a brother,How will she love, when the rich golden shaftHath kill’d the flock of all affections elseThat live in her; when liver, brain and heartThese sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill’dHer sweet perfections with one self king!”

“O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame

To pay the debt of love but to a brother,

How will she love, when the rich golden shaft

Hath kill’d the flock of all affections else

That live in her; when liver, brain and heart

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill’d

Her sweet perfections with one self king!”

And when Helen praised the complexion or comeliness of Troilus above that of Paris, Cressida avers (Troilus and Cressida, act i. sc. 2, l. 100, vol. vi. p. 134),—

“I had as lief Helen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.”

Plate 14Life as a Theatre, from Boissards Theatrum 1596.

Plate 14

Life as a Theatre, from Boissards Theatrum 1596.

As Whitney’s pictorial illustration represents them, Death and Cupid are flying in mid-air, and discharging their arrows from the clouds. Confining the description to Cupid, this is exactly the action in one of the scenes of theMidsummer Night’s Dream(act ii. sc. 1, l. 155, vol. ii. p. 216). The passage was intended to flatter Queen Elizabeth; it is Oberon who speaks,—

“That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,Flying between the cold moon and the earth,Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he tookAt a fair vestal throned by the west,And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaftQuench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon,And the imperial votaress passed on,In maiden meditation, fancy free.Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:It fell upon a little western flower,Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,And maidens call it love-in-idleness.”

“That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,

Flying between the cold moon and the earth,

Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took

At a fair vestal throned by the west,

And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,

As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:

But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft

Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon,

And the imperial votaress passed on,

In maiden meditation, fancy free.

Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:

It fell upon a little western flower,

Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,

And maidens call it love-in-idleness.”

Scarcely by possibility could a dramatist, who was also an actor, avoid the imagery of poetic ideas with which his own profession made him familiar. I am not sure if Sheridan Knowles did not escape the temptation; but if Shakespeare had done so, it would have deprived the world of some of the most forcible passages in our language. The theatre for which he wrote, and the stage on which he acted, supplied materials for his imagination to work into lines of surpassing beauty.

Boissard’s“Theatrvm Vitæ Humanæ”(edition Metz, 4to, 1596) presents its first Emblem with the title,—Human life is as a Theatre of all Miseries. (See PlateXIV.)

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