Produced by Ted Garvin, Keith Edkins and the PG Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
THE SOURCES AND
ANALOGUES OF 'A
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S
DREAM' COMPILED
BY FRANK SIDGWICK
[Duffield & Company Crest]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS
1908
* * * * *
"COMBIEN DE ROMANS DU JOUR ET DE GAZETTES AI-JE FERMÉS POUR ÉTUDIER PLUS
LONGTEMPS CES ADMIRABLES COMPOSITIONS, IMAGES DE L'ESPRIT, DES MOEURS ET
DES CROYANCES DE NOS ANCÊTRES!"
_Paulin Paris._
* * * * *
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION 1
§ 1. THE MAIN (SENTIMENTAL) PLOT 7
§ 2. THE GROTESQUE PLOT 27
§ 3. THE FAIRY PLOT 33
OBERON'S VISION 66
ILLUSTRATIVE TEXTS 69
NOTES 188
INDEX 194
* * * * *
THE SOURCES AND ANALOGUES
OF
"A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM"
A study such as the present one does not demand any elaborate investigation
of the date or circumstances of the first production of the play, unless
these throw light on the inquiry into its sources; but in any case it is
always well to base a literary study on literary history. Here it will
suffice to say shortly that _A Midsummer-Night's Dream_, first published in
1600, must have been acted before or during 1598, as it is definitely
mentioned in Mores' _Palladic Tamia_ of that year. A more exact
determination of its date can only be derived from the internal evidence
supplied by allusions in the text or by metrical and general style. Such
allusions as have been discovered--for example, that reference to "the
death of learning," V. i. 52-3--form here as elsewhere a battle-ground for
critics of all sorts, but do not really assist us to an answer. More
trustworthy testimony, however, is afforded by the general character of the
play, and by Shakespeare's handling of his material; these considerations,
combined with whatever other evidence is available, have caused the play to
be assigned to the winter of 1594-5. So placed, it is the latest of the
early comedies of Shakespeare, who makes an advance on _The Two Gentlemen
of Verona,_ but has not yet attained the firmness of hand which fills the
canvas of _The Merchant of Venice_ with so many well-delineated figures.
Once arrived at this conclusion, we need not let ourselves again be led
away into vagueness or critical polemics by an attempt to find any
aristocratic wedding which this masque-like play seems designed to
celebrate; such theorising, however interesting in other ways, does not
concern and will not avail us now.
It is none the less of value to recognise at the outset that _A
Midsummer-Night's Dream_ is more of a masque than a drama--an entertainment
rather than a play. The characters are mostly puppets, and scarcely any
except Bottom has the least psychological interest for the reader.
Probability is thrown to the winds; anachronism is rampant; classical
figures are mixed with fairies and sixteenth-century Warwickshire
peasants. The main plot is sentimental, the secondary plot is sheer
buffoonery; while the story; of Titania's jealousy and Oberon's method of
curing it can scarcely be dignified by the title of plot at all. The
threads which bind together these three tales, however ingeniously
fastened, are fragile. The Spirit of Mischief puts a happy end to the
differences of the four lovers, and by his transformation of Bottom
reconciles the fairy King and Queen, while he incidentally goes near to
spoiling the performance of the "crew of patches" at the nuptials of
Theseus by preventing due rehearsal of their interlude. It is perhaps a
permissible fancy to convert Theseus' words "the lunatic, the lover, and
the poet," to illustrate the triple appeal made by the three ingredients
the grotesque, the sentimental, and the fantastic. Each part, of course, is
coloured by the poet's genius, and the whole is devoted to the comic aspect
of love, its eternal youth and endless caprice, laughing at laws, and
laughed at by the secure. "What fools these mortals be!" is the comment of
the immortal; the corollary, left unspoken by those outside the pale, being
"What fools these lovers be!"
The sources from which Shakespeare drew the plots of his three dozen of
plays are for the most part easily recognisable; and although in each case
the material was altered to suit his requirements--_nihil tetigit quod non
ornavit_--there is as a rule very little doubt as to the derivation. We can
say with certainty that these nine plays were made out of stories from
Boccaccio, Masuccio, Bandello, Ser Giovanni, Straparola, Cinthio or
Belleforest; that those six were based on older plays, and another
half-dozen drawn from Holinshed; that Chaucer, Gower, Lydgate, Sidney,
Greene, and Lodge provided other plots; and so forth, until we are left
with _The Tempest_, founded in part on an actual contemporary event,
_Love's Labour's Lost_, apparently his only original plot--if indeed it
deserve the name--and finally our present subject _A Midsummer-Nights
Dream_.
The problem--given the play--is to discover what parts of it Shakespeare
conveyed from elsewhere, and to investigate those sources as far as is
compatible with the limits of this book. For this purpose, it is most
convenient to adopt the above-mentioned division into three component plots
or tales; and because these are rather loosely woven together, the
characters in the play may be simultaneously divided thus:--
1. Theseus. The main (sentimental) plot of the four
Hippolyta. lovers at the court of Theseus.
Egeus.
Philostrate.
Lysander.
Demetrius.
Helena.
Hermia.
2. Bottom. The grotesque plot, with the interlude
Quince. of _Pyramus and Thisbe_.
Snug.
Flute.
Snout.
Starveling.
3. Oberon. The fairy plot.
Titania.
Puck.
Fairies.
It may be observed that for these three plots Shakespeare draws
respectively on literature, observation, and oral tradition; for we shall
see, I think, that while there can be little doubt that he had been reading
Chaucer, North's Plutarch and Golding's Ovid, not to mention other works,
probably including some which are now lost, it is also impossible to avoid
the conclusion that much if not all of his fairy-lore is derived from no
literary source at all, but from the popular beliefs which must have been
current in oral tradition in his youth.
* * * * *
§ 1. THE MAIN (SENTIMENTAL) PLOT OF
THE FOUR LOVERS AND THE COURT OF THESEUS
"And out of olde bokes, in good feith,
Cometh al this newe science that men lere."
_Chaucer_.
* * * *
I
As the play opens with speeches of Theseus and Hippolyta, it is convenient
to treat first of these two characters. Mr. E.K. Chambers has collected (in
Appendix D to his edition) nine passages from North's Plutarch's _Life of
Theseus_, of which Shakespeare appears to have made direct use. For
example, Oberon's references to "Perigenia," "Aegles," "Ariadne and
Antiopa" (II. i. 79-80) are doubtless derived from North; and certainly the
reference by Theseus to his "kinsman Hercules" (V. i. 47) is based on the
following passage:--
... "they were near kinsmen, being cousins removed by the mother's
side. For Aethra was the daughter of Pittheus, and Alcmena (the mother
of Hercules) was the daughter of Lysidice, the which was half-sister to
Pittheus, both children of Pelops and of his wife Hippodamia."
In modern phraseology, Theseus and Hercules were thus second cousins.
Of the Amazon queen North says:--
"Touching the voyage he [Theseus] made by the sea Maior, Philochorus,
and some other hold opinion, that he went thither with Hercules against
the Amazons, and that to honour his valiantness, Hercules gave him
Antiopa the Amazon. But the more part of the other Historiographers ...
do write, that Theseus went thither alone, after Hercules' voyage, and
that he took this Amazon prisoner, which is likeliest to be true."
At this point we should interpolate the reason why Hercules went against
the Amazons. The ninth (as usually enumerated) of the twelve labours of
Hercules was to fetch away the girdle of the queen of the Amazons, a gift
from her father Ares, the god of fighting. Admete, the daughter of
Eurystheus (at whose bidding the twelve labours were performed) desired
this girdle, and Hercules was sent by her father to carry it off by force.
The queen of the Amazons was Hippolyta, and she had a sister named Antiopa.
One story says that Hercules slew Hippolyta; another that Hippolyta was
enticed on board his ship by Theseus; a third, as we have seen, that
Theseus married Antiopa. It is not easy to choose incidents from these
conflicting accounts so as to make a reasonable sequence; but, as North
says, "we are not to marvel, if the history of things so ancient, be found
so diversely written." Shakespeare simply states that Theseus "woo'd"
Hippolyta "with his sword." Later in the play we learn that the fairy King
and Queen not only are acquainted with court-scandal, but are each involved
with the past histories of Theseus and Hippolyta (II. i. 70-80).
Apart from these incidents in Theseus' life, Chaucer supplies the dramatist
with all he requires in the opening of _The Knightes Tale_, which we shall
discuss in full shortly.[1]
"Whylom, as olde stories tellen us,
Ther was a duke that highte[2] Theseus;
Of Athenes he was lord and governour,
And in his tyme swich a conquerour,
That gretter was ther noon under the sonne.
Ful many a riche contree hadde he wonne;
What with his wisdom and his chivalrye,
He conquered al the regne[3] of Femenye,
That whylom was y-cleped[4] Scithia;
And weddede the quene Ipolita,
And broghte hir hoom with him in his contree
With muchel glorie and greet solempnitee,
And eek hir yonge suster Emelye.
And thus with victorie and with melodye
Lete I this noble duke to Athenes ryde,
And al his hoost, in armes, him besyde.
And certes, if it nere[5] to long to here,
I wolde han told yow fully the manere,
How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
By Theseus, and by his chivalrye;
And of the grete bataille for the nones
Betwixen Athenës and Amazones,
And how asseged[6] was Ipolita,
The faire hardy quene of Scithia ..."
Egeus, whom Shakespeare makes a courtier of Theseus and father to Hermia,
is in the classical legend Aegeus, father of Theseus; both Plutarch and
Chaucer so mention him.
The name of Philostrate also comes from Chaucer, where, as we shall see, it
is the name adopted by Arcite when he returns to court in disguise, to
become first "page of the chamber" to Emelye, and thereafter chief squire
to Theseus. It is in this latter capacity that Chaucer's "Philostrate" is
nearest to Shakespeare's character, the Master of the Revels.
Of the four lovers, the names of Lysander, Demetrius, and Helena, are of
course classical; Shakespeare would find lives of Lysander and Demetrius in
North's Plutarch. The name of Hermia, who corresponds with Emilia or Emily
of _The Knightes Tale_, as being the lady on whom the affections of the two
young men are set, may have been taken from the legend of Aristotle and
Hermia, referred to more than once by Greene. The name cannot be called
classical, and appears to be a mistranslation of Hermias.[7]
The story of Palamon and Arcite has not been traced beyond Boccaccio, that
fountain of romance, though he himself says the tale of "Palemone and
Arcita" is "una antichissima storia." Possibly the story was taken, as much
of Boccaccio's writing must have been taken, from tradition. Palaemon is a
classical name,[8] and Arcite might be a corruption of Archytas.
Boccaccio's _Teseide_ (the story of Theseus) which was written about 1344,
and may have been first issued wholly or in part under the title of
_Amazonide_, is a poem in the vernacular consisting of twelve books and ten
thousand lines in _ottava rima_.[9]
Chaucer, in the Prologue to _The Legend of Good Women_ (which is presumably
earlier than the _Canterbury Tales_) states that he had already written
" ... al the love of Palamon and Arcyte
Of Thebes, thogh the story is knowen lyte.[10]"
Skeat says "some scraps are preserved in other poems" of Chaucer; he
instances (i) ten stanzas from this _Palamon and Arcite_ in a minor poem
_Anelida and Arcite_, where Chaucer refers to Statius, _Thebais_, xii.
519;[11] (ii) three stanzas in _Trolius and Crheyde_; and (iii) six stanzas
in _The Parlement of Foules_, where the description of the Temple of Love
is borrowed almost word for word from Boccaccio's _Teseide_.[12] Finally,
Chaucer used _Palamon and Arcite_ as the basis of _The Knightes Tale_. By
this time, while he retains what folk-lorists call the "story-radical," he
has reduced Boccaccio's epic to less than a quarter of its length, and
improved it in details. It stands as the first of _The Canterbury Tales_.
ANALYSTS OF CHAUCER'S _KNIGHTES TALE_
Old stories relate that once there was a Duke Theseus, lord of Athens, a
conqueror of many lands. His latest conquest was "Femenye" (once called
Scythia), whose queen Hippolyta he wedded and brought home, accompanied by
her young sister Emilia. Now as he drew near to Athens, a company of ladies
met him in the way, and laid before him their complaint, to the effect
that, their husbands having fallen at the siege of Thebes, Creon the tyrant
of Thebes would not let the bodies be buried or burned, but cast them on a
heap and suffered the dogs to eat them. Duke Theseus, having sworn to
avenge this wrong, sent Hippolyta and Emilia to Athens, and rode to Thebes,
where in full battle he fought and slew Creon, and razed the city. The due
obsequies were then performed.[13]
Amongst the slain were found, half-dead, two young knights named Palamon
and Arcite, whom the heralds recognised, from the cognisances on their
armour, as of blood-royal, and born of two sisters. Theseus sent them to
Athens to be held to ransom in prison perpetually, and himself returned
home in triumph.
So years and days passed, and Palamon and Arcite dwelt in durance in a
tower; till on a morrow of May it befel that the fair and fresh Emilia
arose to do observance to May, and walked in the garden, gathering flowers
and singing. Now in a high chamber of the tower, which adjoined the
garden-wall, Palamon by leave of his gaoler was pacing to and fro and
bewailing his lot, when he cast his eyes through the thick-barred window,
and beheld Emilia in the garden below; whereat he blenched, and cried out
as though struck to the heart. Arcite heard him, and, asking him why he so
cried out, bade him suffer imprisonment in patience; but Palamon replied
that the cause of his crying out was the beauty of the lady in the garden.
Thereupon Arcite spied out of the window at Emilia, and was so struck by
her fairness
"That if that Palamon was wounded sore,
Arcite is hurt as muche as he, or more."
So strife began between the two. Palamon said it were small honour for
Arcite to be false to his cousin and sworn brother, since each had taken an
oath not to hinder the other in love; nay, as a knight Arcite was bound to
help him in his amour. But Arcite replied that love knows no law; decrees
of man are every day broken for love; moreover Palamon and he were
prisoners, and were like two dogs fighting for a bone which meantime a kite
bears away. Let each continue in his love, for in prison each must endure.
Now a duke name Pirithous came to visit his friend Theseus; who being also
a friend to Arcite begged Theseus to let him go free out of prison, which
Theseus did. And Arcite was set free without ransom, but on condition that
his life should be forfeit if he ever set foot again in any domain of Duke
Theseus.
Yet now Arcite found himself in no better stead, being banished from the
sight of his lady; and could even find it in his heart to envy Palamon, who
might still blissfully abide in prison--nay, not in prison, in Paradise,
where sometimes he might see her whom both loved. And on his part Palamon
was jealous of Arcite, who might even now be calling together his kin in
Thebes to make onslaught on Athens and win his lady Emilia.
"Yow loveres axe I now this questioun,
Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun?"
Now when Arcite had for a year or two endured this torment, he dreamed one
night that the god Mercury appeared to him, and said to him, "To Athens
shalt thou wend." Whereupon Arcite started up, and saw in the mirror that
his sufferings had so changed him that he might live in Athens unknown. So
he clad himself as a labourer, and went with one squire to Athens, and
offered his service at the court, where for a year or two he was page of
the chamber to Emilia, and passed under the name of Philostrate. And in the
course of time he was so honoured that Theseus took notice of him, and made
him squire of his own chamber, and maintained him nobly.
Meantime Palamon had lain seven years in prison, when it befel on the third
day of May (as the old books that tell this story say) that, aided by a
friend, he broke prison, having given his gaoler to drink of drugged wine,
and so fled the city, and lay hid in a grove. Hither by chance came Arcite
to do observance to May; and first Palamon heard him sing
"Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May;
I hope that I som grene gete may,"
and thereafter fall into a study, as lovers will, lamenting his hard fate
that he should be passing under a false name, and daily be slain by the
eyes of Emilia. Whereat Palamon started up, and reproached him, and
challenged him to fight; and Arcite answered him no less boldly, saying he
would bring him arms and weapons on the morrow, as well as meat and drink
and bedding for the night.
So on the morrow the two donned their harness, helping each other to arm,
and then fell a-fighting, Palamon like a wild lion, and Arcite like a cruel
tiger, till they were ankle-deep in blood.
On the same day rode forth Theseus with Hippolyta and Emilia to hunt the
hart, and Theseus was aware of the two knights fighting. He spurred his
steed between them, and cried to them to hold their hands. And Palamon told
him who they were, and why they fought. Theseus at first was angry, and
condemned them both to death; but when the queen Hippolyta and Emilia and
the ladies of their train pleaded for them, he relented, bethinking himself
of what love is, for he himself had been a servant [lover] in his time;
wherefore, at the request of the queen and Emilia, he forgave them, if they
would swear to do his country no harm, and be his friends. And when they
had sworn, he reasoned with them, that each was worthy to wed Emilia, but
that both could not so do; therefore let each depart for a year, and gather
to him a hundred knights, and then return to tourney in the lists for the
hand of Emilia.
"Who loketh lightly now but Palamoun?
Who springeth up for joye but Arcite?"
And thanking him on their knees, they took their leave and rode away.
Royal were the lists which Theseus made, a mile in circuit, and walled with
stone. Eastward and westward were marble gates, whereon were built temples
of Venus and Mars, while in a turret on the north wall was a shrine of
Diana goddess of chastity. And each temple was nobly carven and wrought
with statues and pictures.
Now the day of the tourney approached, and Palamon and Arcite returned each
with a hundred knights.
"To fighte for a lady, _ben'cite!_
It were a lusty sighte for to see."
Palamon brought with him Ligurge king of Thrace, and with Arcite was
Emetreas, the king of India, each a giant in might. So on a Sunday they all
came to the city.
And in the night, ere dawn, Palamon arose and went to the temple of Venus
to pray that he might win Emilia for his wife; and, as it seemed, in answer
to his prayer, the statue of Venus shook, and Palamon held it for a sign
that the boon he asked was granted. Emilia meanwhile went to the temple of
Diana, and prayed to the goddess, that she might remain a virgin, and that
the hearts of Palamon and Arcite might be turned from her; or, if she needs
must wed one of the twain, let him be the one that most desired her. To her
appeared the goddess Diana, and told her that she must be wedded to one of
the two, but she might not tell which that one should be.
And Arcite went to the temple of Mars, and prayed for victory; whereat the
door of the temple clattered, and the fires blazed up on the altar, while
the hauberk on the god's statue rang, and Arcite heard a murmur of
"Victory." So rejoicing thereat he returned home
"As fayn as fowel is of the brighte sonne."
Thereafter in the heavens above strife began betwixt Mars and Venus, such
that Jupiter himself was troubled to quell it; till Saturn (the father of
Venus) comforted his daughter with assurance that Palamon should win his
lady.
That day was high festival in Athens, and all Monday they justed and
feasted, but went betimes to rest that they might rise early to see the
great fight. And on the morrow there were lords and knights and squires,
armourers, yeomen and commoners, and steeds and palfreys, on every hand,
and all was ready.
Now a herald proclaimed from a scaffold the will of Duke Theseus, decreeing
the weapons with which the tourney should be fought, and the rules of the
combat. Then with trumpets and music, Theseus and Hippolyta and Emilia in a
noble procession took their places; and from the west gate under the temple
of Mars came Arcite with a red banner, and from the east, under the temple
of Venus, Palamon with a white banner. And the names of the two companies
were recited, the heralds left pricking up and down, the trumpet and
clarion sounded, and the just began. Sore was the fight, and many were
wounded and by the duke's proclamation removed from the fight; and many a
time fought Palamon and Arcite together. But everything must have an end;
Emetreus gave Palamon a wound; and though Ligurge attempted his rescue, he
was borne down; and though Emetreus was thrust from his saddle by Palamon,
Palamon was wounded, and had to give up the combat and the hope of winning
Emilia. And Theseus cried to them that the tourney was finished, and that
Arcite should have the lady; whereat the rejoicing of the people was loud.
But in heaven Venus wept, so that her tears fell down into the lists; yet
Saturn promised that her sorrow should be eased soon.
And in truth as Arcite rode in triumph down the lists, looking up at
Emilia, Pluto, at the bidding of Saturn, sent from hell a fury, that
started from the ground in front of Arcite's horse, which shied and threw
his rider; and Arcite pitched on his head, and lay as though dead. They
bore him to Theseus' palace, cut his harness from off him, and laid him in
a bed.
Theseus for three days entertained the knights of the tourney, and then all
of them went their several ways. But Arcite lay dying; no longer had Nature
any power;
"And certeinly, ther nature wol nat wirche,
Far-wel, phisyk! go ber the man to chirche!"
On his deathbed he called Palamon and Emilia to his side, and bade farewell
to his heart's queen, commending Palamon to her,
"As in this world right now ne knowe I non
So worthy to ben loved as Palamon
That serveth yow, and wol don al his lyf.
And if that ever ye shul ben a wyf,
Forget nat Palamon, the gentil man."
And his speech failed him, and his strength went out of him: but he still
kept his eyes fixed on his lady, and his last word was "Mercy, Emilye!"
Theseus gave Arcite a costly funeral, and built his funeral pyre in the
grove where Palamon had heard him lament on the morning of May. And when by
process of time the grief and mourning for Arcite had ceased, Theseus sent
for Palamon and Emilia; and with wise words bidding them be merry after
woe, gave Emilia to Palamon, who wedded her, and they lived in bliss and in
richness and in health.
"Thus endeth Palamon and Emelye.
And God save all this faire companye!"
Such is Chaucer's tale of Palamon and Arcite. It was dramatised before
Shakespeare's day by Richard Edwardes in a play now lost. Possibly the play
of "Palamon and Arcite" four times recorded--in for different spellings--by
Henslowe in his _Diary_[14] is Edwardes' play, but as the latter was
performed at Oxford before Queen Elizabeth as early as 1566, it is at least
equally possible that Henslowe's play is another version.
The complete Chaucerian form of the story of Palamon and Arcite is
dramatised in _The Two Noble Kinsmen_, a play to which Shakespeare
undoubtedly[15] contributed. The changes made by the authors--Fletcher and
Massinger or Shakespeare, or all three--are little more than such
limitations as are demanded by dramatic form; for instance, the Kinsmen,
when discovered fighting, are dismissed for a month to find three knights,
instead of being given a year to find one hundred. Chaucer's hint, that
Palamon was assisted to escape from prison by a friend, is developed by the
dramatists to make the sub-plot of the gaoler's daughter. The
character-drawing is far more subtle than the poet's; Chaucer leaves the
reader's sympathies equally divided, despite the fact that he says plainly
that Arcite was in the wrong, because he violated the compact of the two
kinsmen to assist each other in love.
We must now consider what justification there is for believing that the
main plot of _A Midsummer-Night's Dream_ was suggested by _The Knightes
Tale_. Firstly, as has already been pointed out, the nuptials of Theseus
form the beginning of both play and poem; though in the poem the actual
ceremony has been performed, and it is his triumphant return to the city of
Athens that is interrupted by the widows' appeal for justice; and in the
play the action passes in the three or four days before the marriage.
Secondly, the wedding-day is the first of May, and there are two references
to that "observance of May"[16] which is given by Chaucer as the reason
both for Emilia's walking in the garden and for Arcite's seeking of the
grove where Palamon lay hid.[17] Thirdly, it can hardly be doubted that
Shakespeare took the name of Philostrate from Chaucer; Egeus he would find
also in North's Plutarch as the name of the father of Theseus; and it is
possible that Chaucer's names for the champions, Ligurge and Emetreus, may
have suggested Lysander and Demetrius. Finally, there are two or three
minor indications; Lysander and Demetrius fight, or attempt to fight, for
Helena, in the "wood near Athens," just as Palamon and Arcite fight for
Emilia in the grove[18]; Theseus is a keen huntsman both in the poem and in
the play[19]; and he refers[20] to his conquest of Thebes, which, as we
have seen, is described in _The Knightes Tale_.
Apart from these details, I do not think Shakespeare is indebted to
Chaucer. It is conceivable that the story of Palamon and Arcite affected,
but did not supply, the plot of the four lovers in _A Midsummer-Night's
Dream_; but Shakespeare has added a second woman. This completion of the
antithesis is characteristic of his early work; with a happy ending in
view, the characters must fall into pairs, whereas with Palamon, Arcite,
and Emilia, one of the men must be removed. There is nothing to prevent the
supposition that Shakespeare was acquainted from boyhood with Chaucer's
story--either in Chaucerian form or possibly in the shape of a
chap-book--and that he constructed a first draft of _The Two Noble Kinsmen_
quite early in his career as a playwright, subsequently laying it aside as
unsatisfactory, and, in his declining years, collaborating with another or
others to produce the play on that theme.
* * * * *
§ 2. THE GROTESQUE PLOT: BOTTOM AND THE ASS'S HEAD:
WITH THE INTERLUDE OF _PYRAMUS AND THISBE_
"But, for I am a man noght textuel,
I wol noght telle of textes never a del;
I wol go to my tale."--_Chaucer_.
* * * *
II
The second portion of our study will not detain us long, as there are no
literary sources for the "rude mechanicals," and their interlude of Pyramus
and Thisbe is derived from a well-known classical story. Shakespeare draws
them from life, and from his own observation of Warwickshire rustics, as he
drew the two Gobbos, Launce, Christopher Sly, and a host of minor
characters. Doubtless he had met many of the crew of patches, perhaps
beneath the roof of "Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot," where we
may suppose him to have made merry with "Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of
Greece, and Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell."
Bottom takes his name from the wooden reel or spool on which thread is
wound; "bottom" simply meaning the base or foundation of the reel. The
names of his comrades have no specific connection with the trades they ply;
but "Starveling" is appropriate by tradition for a tailor--it takes seven
tailors to make a man.
The episode of Bottom's "translation," or transformation into an ass, may
have been suggested to Shakespeare by a passage in Reginald Scot's
_Discovery of Witchcraft_ (1584)--a book with which he must have been
acquainted, as we shall see in discussing the fairy-section of the play.
Scot mentions the supposed power of witches to change men into animals, and
quotes (in order to discredit) some recorded instances. Chief among these
is the story[21] of an English sailor abroad, who got into the power of a
witch and was transformed by her into an ass, so that when he attempted to
rejoin his crew, he was beaten from the gangway with contempt. This will be
found in the third chapter of Scot's fifth book: _Of a man turned into an
asse, and returned againe into a man by one of Bodin's witches: S.
Augustine's opinion thereof_. "Bodin" is Jean Bodin, who wrote a book _de
Magorum Daemonomania_ (1581; a French version was published in the previous
year), and mentions this story (lib. 2, cap. vi.). According to Scot, Bodin
takes the story "out of _M. Mal._ [_Malleus Maleficarum_], which tale was
delivered to _Sprenger_ by a knight of the Rhodes."
Scot mentions further the famous story of the _Golden Ass_ of Apuleius[22];
a legend of the reappearance of one of the Popes, a hundred years after his
death, with an ass's head; and gives a charm to put an ass's head on a
man.[23]
From these instances a literary origin for Bottom's transformation seems
probable but Shakespeare may himself have fallen in with a survival of the
witch-superstition Almost while writing these words I receive first-hand
evidence that such a tradition is not yet extinct in Welford-on-Avon, a
village, four miles from Stratford, with which Shakespeare must have been
perfectly familiar. The witch, as usual, was an old woman, credited with
the "evil eye" and the power of causing the death of cattle and farm-stock
by "overlooking" them; and the native of Welford, from whom the story was
communicated to me, would be prepared to produce eye-witnesses of various
transformations of the old woman into some kind of animal--transformations
effected not only at Welford, but even in the centre of Stratford on
market-day!
Shakespeare had probably met with the story of Pyramus and Thisbe in more
than one form. Golding's translation in 1575 of the story in Ovid's
_Metamorphoses_[24] is reprinted in this book[25]; Chaucer included the
_Legend of Thisbe of Babylon_ as the second story in the _Legend of Good
Women_; and there appears to have been also "a boke intituled Perymus and
Thesbye," for which the Stationers' Register record the granting of a
license in 1562. There is, too, a poem on the subject by I. Thomson in
Robinson's _Handeful of Pleasant Delites_ (1584).
The _Historia de Piramo e Tisbe_ was very early in print in Italy, and
continued to be popular in chap-book form until the nineteenth century at
least.
In his commentary on _A Midsummer-Night's Dream_ in the larger Temple
Shakespeare, Professor Gollancz points out the existence of a Pyramus and
Thisbe play, discovered by him in a manuscript at the British Museum.[26]
This MS. is a Cambridge commonplace book of about 1630, containing poems
attributed to Ben Jonson, Sir Walter Raleigh and others, though the greater
portion of the contents appear to be topical verses and epigrams unsigned.
Amongst these is "Tragaedia miserrima Pyrami & Thisbes fata enuncians.
Historia ex Publio Ovidio deprompta. Authore N.R." In the margins are
written corresponding passages in Latin from Ovid, whose story it follows
closely.
The play is in blank verse of a poor kind with occasional rhyming couplets.
After a prologue begins "Actus Primus and ultimus"; there are only five
scenes in all, and the whole is quite short. The characters consist of
Iphidius, father of Pyramus; Labetrus, father of Thisbe; their children,
the protagonists; their respective servants, Straton and Clitipho; and
Casina, "ancilla" or handmaid to Thisbe. There is also "a raging liones
from ye woods." The moral of the play, as stated by Iphidius, is that
"the erraticall motions in children's actions
Must to a regular form by parents be reduc'd."
These lines, and others in the play, would gain by being "reduc'd to a
regular form."
* * * * *
§ 3. THE FAIRY PLOT
Siècles charmants de féerie,
Vous avez pour moi mille attraits,
Que de fois dans le rêverie,
Mon coeur vous donne de regrets.
Tout ne fut alors que mensonge aimable;
Tout n'est plus que réalité;
Rien n'est si jolie que la fable,
Si triste que la verité!
* * * *
III
In _The Midsummer-Night's Dream_, Shakespeare presents a conception of
fairy-land as original as that which owes its propagation to Perrault and
the other French collectors of fairy-tales; its merits as a popular
delineation of the fairy-world are proved by the fact that it has obtained
the sanction and approval of tradition, passing almost at once into an
accepted literary convention; so that even to-day it is not easy to shake
off the inherited impression that the fairies are only what Shakespeare
shows them to be. He did not, of course, invent them; he had doubtless both
read of them and heard tales of them; but he invested them with a delicate
and graceful fancy that has held the popular imagination ever since. Thanks
to him, the modern English conception of the fairies is different from the
conceptions prevalent in other countries, and infinitely more picturesque
and pleasant.
As before, it will be convenient to deal first with the names of his
characters.
_Oberon_ is the English transliteration of the French Auberon in the
romance of _Huon of Bordeaux_, and Auberon is probably merely the French
counterpart of Alberich or Albrich, a dwarf occurring in the German
_Nibelungenlied_ and other works. Etymologically Alberich is composed of
_alb_ = elf and _rich_ = king. The name Oberon appears first in English
literature in Lord Berners' translation of _Huon of Bordeaux_ (c. 1534),
and afterwards in Spenser[27] and in Robert Greene's play _James IV_, which
was acted in 1589.[28] But the king of the fairies in Chaucer[29] is Pluto,
and the queen Proserpine.
_Titania._ Proserpine is the wife of Pluto (in Greek, form, Persephone,
wife of Dis). In Elizabethan times, Campion's charming poem "Hark, all you
ladies that do sleep"[30] keeps the name of "the fairy-queen Proserpina."
Shakespeare appears to have taken the name Titania from Ovid,[31] who uses
it as an epithet of Diana, as being the sister of Sol or Helios, the
Sun-god, a Titan. Scot, in his _Discovery of Witchcraft_,[32] gives Diana
as one of the names of the "lady of the fairies"; and James I, in his
_Demonology_ (1597) refers to a "fourth kind of sprites, which by the
Gentiles was called Diana and her wandering court, and amongst us called
the Phairie."
Curiously enough in Shakespeare's most famous description of the Fairy
Queen, she is called Queen Mab;[33] this is said to be of Celtic
derivation. Mercutio's catalogue of Mab's attributes and functions
corresponds closely with the description of Robin Goodfellow.
_Puck_ is strictly not a proper name; and in the quartos and folios of _A
Midsummer-Night's Dream_, Puck, Robin, and Robin Goodfellow are used
indiscriminately. In no place in the text is he addressed as "Puck"; it is
always "Robin"[34] (once[35] "Goodfellow" is added). In the last lines of
the play he twice refers to himself as "_an_ honest Puck" and "_the_
Puck," [36] showing that the word is originally a substantive. Dr. J.A.H.
Murray has very kindly allowed the slips of the _New English Dictionary_
which contain notes for the article 'Puck' to be inspected; his treatment
of the word will be awaited with much interest. The earliest and most
important reference is to Prof. A.S. Napier's _Old English Glosses_ (1900),
191, where in a list of glosses of the eleventh century to Aldhelm's
_Aenigmata_ occurs "larbula [i. e. larvula], _puca_." Prof. Napier notes
that O.E. puca, "a goblin," whence N.E. _Puck_, is a well authenticated
word. Dr. Bradley suggests that the source might be a British word, from
which the Irish _púca_ would be borrowed; this word _pooka_, as well as the
allied _poker_, has already been treated in the _N.E.D._ _Puck_, _pouke_,
we find in O.E. (Old English Miscellany, _E.E.T.S._, 76), in Piers Plowman,
and surviving in Spenser; but there are countless analogous forms:
_puckle_, _pixy_, _pisgy_, in English, and perhaps (through Welsh) _bug_,
the old word for _bugbear_, _bogy_, _bogle_, etc.; _puki_ in Icelandic;
_pickel_ in German; and many more.[37]
We may note here the euphemistic tendency to call powerful spirits by
propitiatory names. Just as the Greeks called the Furies "Eumenides," the
benevolent ones, so is Robin called Good-fellow; the ballad of _Tam
Lin_[38] refers to them as "gude neighbours"; the Gaels[39] term a fairy "a
woman of peace"; and Professor Child points out the same fact in relation
to the neo-Greek nereids.[40] Hence also "_sweet_ puck."[41] The names of
the four attendant fairies, Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed,
are Shakespeare's invention, chosen perhaps to typify grace, lightness,
speed, and smallness.
The _literary_ sources on which Shakespeare, in writing of fairies,
probably drew--or those, at least, on which he could have drawn--can be
shortly stated. We have already mentioned Scot's _Discovery of Witchcraft_
(1584); this was no doubt the chief source of information regarding Puck or
Robin Goodfellow, as well as of the fairies themselves. Shakespeare was
doubtless also familiar with the treatment accorded to the fairy-world by
Chaucer[42] and Spenser[43] and with the many tales of supernatural beings
in romances like _Huon of Bordeaux_ and others of the Arthurian cycle.
There is also a black-letter tract concerning Robin Goodfellow,[44] but no
one has yet proved that this pamphlet was in print before 1628, the date of
the earliest surviving edition. Ultimately, however, this matters little,
because the tract is evidently drawn largely from oral traditions about
Robin, and so has a source common with that of much of Shakespeare's
fairy-lore.
Minor allusions, chiefly, to Robin Goodfellow, he may have met with in
various works[45] published before the assumed date of the play; but these,
again, add nothing which Shakespeare could not have learned just as well
from the superstitions of his day. What these were, and how he handled
them, we must now proceed to discuss.
In approaching a subject such as fairy-lore, it is necessary to prepare the
mind of the reader to go back to days not merely pre-Christian but even
pre-national. Our fairies can no more justly be called English than can our
popular poetry. Folk-lore--the study of the traditional beliefs and customs
of the common people--is a science invented centuries too late;[46] for
lack of evidence, it is largely theoretical. But it teaches its students
continually to look further afield, and to compare the tales, ballads,
superstitions, rites, and mythologies of one country with those of another.
The surprising results thus obtained must not make us think that one
country has borrowed from another; we must throw our minds back to a common
ancestry and common creeds. "The attempt to discriminate modern national
characteristics in the older stratum of European folk-lore is not only idle
but mischievous, because it is based upon the unscientific assumption that
existing differences, which are the outcome of comparatively recent
historical conditions, have always existed." These are the wise words of a
sound folk-lorist,[47] and should be laid to heart by all who take up the
study.
We cannot begin to investigate the origins of the fairy superstition in the
cradle of the world; we must be content to realise that there was a creed
concerning supernatural beings common to all the European branches of the
Aryan peoples, Greek, Roman, Celt or Teuton. When Thomas Nashe wrote in
1594 of "the Robbin-good-fellowes, Elfes, Fairies, Hobgoblins of our latter
age, which idolatrous former daies and the fantasticall world of Greece
ycleaped _Fawnes_, _Satyres_, _Dryades_, and _Hamadryades_," he spoke more
truly than he knew.[48]
First of all, let us consider the word _fairy_. Strictly, this is a
substantive meaning either "the land of the fays," or else "the fay-people"
collectively; it is also used as an equivalent for "enchantment." It was
originally, therefore, incorrect to speak of "_a_ fairy";[49] the singular
term is "_a_ fay," as opposed to "_the_ fairy." _Fay_ is derived, through
French, from the Low Latin _fata_, misunderstood as a feminine singular; it
is in fact the plural of _Fatum_, and means "the Fates."
Reversing the chronological order, let us proceed to compare the functions
of these beings. The Fates, whether the Greek _Moirae_ or the Roman
_Parcae_, were three in number, and were variously conceived as goddesses
of birth or of death; the elements of the primitive idea are, at least,
comprised in the conception that they allotted man his fate; we may also
note that the metaphor of _spinning_ was used in connection with their
duties.
Leaving classical lands and times, we find in the tenth century, amongst
the Eddic Lays of northern Europe, the following passage:--
"It was in the olden days ... when Helgi the stout of heart was born of
Borghild, in Braeholt. Night lay over the house when the Fates came to
forecast the hero's life. They said that he should be called the most
famous of kings and the best among princes. With power they twisted the
strands of fate for Borghild's son in Braeholt...."[50]
Here the "Fates" are the "Norns" of the northern mythology. We find them
practising the same functions again in twelfth century Saxo
Grammaticus,[51] who calls them "three maidens"; their caprices are shown
when two of them bestow good temper and beauty on Fridleif's son Olaf, and
the third mars their gifts by endowing the boy with niggardliness.
In commenting upon both the Eddic Lay and the Danish Historian, the editors
remark that this point of the story--the bestowal of gifts at
birth--survives in the _chanson de geste_ of Ogier the Dane,[52] whose
relations with the fairy-world may be narrated shortly as follows.[53]
At the birth of Ogier the Dane, five fairies promised him strength,
bravery, success, beauty, and love; after them came Morgan le Fay, whose
gift was that, after a glorious career, Ogier should come to live with her
at her castle of Avalon. When the hero was over a hundred years of age,
Morgan caused him to be wrecked near Avalon. In his wanderings he comes to
an orchard, where he eats an apple. A beautiful lady approaches whom he
mistakes for the Virgin; but she tells him she is Morgan le Fay. She puts a
ring on his finger and he becomes young; she puts a crown on his head, and
he forgets the past. For two hundred years he lives in unearthly delights,
and the years seem to him to be but twenty. He then returns to earth to
champion Christendom; but after triumphing over his foes he returns to
Avalon.[54]
The tale of Ogier was long popular in Denmark--of which country he is the
national hero--and also in France; and the notion of supernatural gifts at
birth has obtained a very wide vogue. But Ogier's story also exhibits
another very popular piece of superstition--that of a journey to or a
sojourn in the supernatural world.[55] Our English parallel to Ogier, as
Professor Child points out,[56] is Thomas of Erceldoune.
This leads us to the consideration of three English metrical Romances,
which in all probability are derived from French sources, containing
accounts of the visits to fairy-land made by Thomas of Erceldoune, Launfal,
and Orfeo. The first and last of these are also known in the form of
ballads; whether these ballads derive directly from the romances, or may be
supposed to have existed side by side with them in the fifteenth century,
is a question which must not delay us here. The romances and the ballads
may all have been known to Shakespeare in book-form or in tradition.
The romance of _Thomas of Erceldoune_ is a poem in three "fyttes" or
sections, which is preserved wholly or in part in five manuscripts, of
which the earliest may be dated about 1435. The poem tells us that Thomas
of Erceldoune's prophetic power was a gift from the queen of Elf-land, with
whom he paid a visit to her realm. The first "fytte" is occupied in
narrating his sojourn;[57] while the other two set forth the predictions
with which the queen supplied him. The romance is probably of Scottish
origin, as the prophecies treat mainly of Scottish history; but the first
"fytte" (which alone concerns us here, and indeed appears to be separate in
origin from the other two) refers to an "older story." This, Professor
Child says, "was undoubtedly a romance which narrated the adventure of
Thomas with the elf queen _simply_, without specification of his
prophecies."
Doubtless the older story was not originally attached to Thomas of
Erceldoune, who, as "Thomas Rymour of Ercildoune," is a historical
character. He lived, as is proved by contemporary documents, in the
thirteenth century, at Ercildoune (Earlstoun on the banks of the Leader in
Berwickshire), and gained a reputation as a "rymour," _i.e._ poet and
prophet--in which character he was venerated by the folk for centuries.
But the Rymour does not concern us; the tale of a mortal's visit to
elf-land would have been told of some one, whether Thomas or another; he
was a prophet, and prophets needed explanation. His journal to fairy-land,
as narrated in the fifteenth-century romance, survives in the well-known
ballad of _Thomas the Rhymer_.[58]
Two points in romance and ballad may be noted. (i) In the romance the lady
shows Thomas four roads, leading respectively to heaven, paradise,
purgatory, and hell, besides the fair castle of Elf-land. The ballad is
content with three roads, to heaven, hell, and Elf-land. (ii) Both in the
romance and the ballad, _and also in Ogier the Dane_, the hero makes the
same mistake, of supposing his supernatural visitor to be the Virgin
Mary.[59]
A curious point about the first "fytte" is that it opens (ll. 1-18) in the
first person; at line 41 Thomas is mentioned, and the poem continues in the
third person to the end, with a single and sudden change to the first in
line 208. I do not know whether any assumption as to the authorship of the
romance can be based on such facts; the "I" question in early popular
poetry forms an interesting study in itself.[60]
The English romance of _Sir Launfal_, which survives in a manuscript[61] of
the fifteenth century, is therein said to have been "made by Thomas
Chestre"; but in fact it is chiefly a translation from Marie de France's
lay of _Lanval_, dating from the middle of the thirteenth century. The
translator, Thomas Chestre, has, however, taken incidents from other "lais"
by Marie de France, and enlarged the whole until it is some three hundred
lines longer than the French original.
Shakespeare may have read the tale in print. _Sir Lambewell_ appears to
have been printed about 1558,[62] and to have remained in circulation at
least until 1575,[63] but no complete copy is now known. A single MS.
version of 1650 survives, however, in the Percy Folio.[64] This is another
translation from the same French original, but made by some one acquainted
with Thomas Chestre's version.
The story as told in the first of these manuscripts may be condensed as
follows. Launfal had been ten years a steward to King Arthur before the
King's marriage. He did not like Guinevere, who gave him no gift at her
wedding; so he asked leave of the King to go home and bury his father. He
went to Caerleon, with two knights given him by Arthur, and sojourned with
the mayor; but when his money was spent, he fell into debt, and his knights
returned to Arthur's court in rags; but at Launfal's request, they gave out
that he was faring well.
One day Launfal rode out in poor attire into the forest, and sat him under
a tree to rest. After a while, two fair damsels, beautifully attired and
bearing a gold basin and a silk towel, approached him, and bade him come
speak with their lady, Dame Triamour, daughter to the King of Olyroun, king
of fairy. Launfal was led to where the lady lay, and "all his love in her
was light."
On the morrow she promised him rich presents, and said she would come to
him whenever he wished for her in a secret place; but he was never to boast
of her love. Her presents came to him at the mayor's house of Caerleon, and
he spent his riches charitably.
The King, hearing of an exploit of Launfal's, summoned him back to court.
The Queen tempted him, but he repulsed her by saying he loved a fairer
woman; this of course lost him Triamour. Guinevere (by a trick common in
romances) accused Launfal to Arthur; but he was saved from disgrace by the
appearance of Triamour, who then carried him off into fairy-land to
Olyroun.
The romance of _Sir Orpheo_, a mediaeval version of the classical story of
Orpheus and Eurydice, has come down to us in three manuscripts,[65] two of
which are not quite complete, which are to be assigned to the fifteenth
century at latest. As in the case of _Launfal_, it is doubtless a
translation from the French; but as there is no extant original, this can
only be presumed. Orpheus becomes Orpheo or Orfeo, and Eurydice becomes
Erodys, Heurodis, or Meroudys; in the last the initial letter may be due to
the _m_ in "dame," the word preceding it.
The story is told as follows.
In all the world there was no better harper than King Orfeo [Sir Orpheo],
and no fairer lady than dame Meroudys. On a morning in the beginning of
May, the queen went forth with her ladies to an orchard, and fell asleep
under an "ympe"[66] tree till it was long past noon. When her ladies woke
her, she cried aloud, tore her clothes, and disfigured herself with her
nails. They sought assistance and put her to bed in her chamber, whither
the king came to visit her, and ask her what might help her. She told him
how in her sleep she had been bidden by a knight to come and speak with his
lord the king; she refused, but the king came to her, with a hundred
knights and a hundred ladies in white on white steeds, and his crown was
all of precious stones. He bore her away to a fair palace, and showed her
his possessions. Then he took her back, but bade her be beneath the tree on
the morrow, when she should go with them and stay with them for ever.
King Orfeo was greatly distressed, and none could advise him. On the morrow
he took his queen and ten hundred knights to guard her beneath the ympe
tree; but in vain, she was away with the fairy, and they knew not whither.
King Orfeo in grief called together his barons and knights and squires, and
bade them obey his high steward as regent; he himself went forth barefoot
and in poor attire into the wilderness, with naught but his harp.
So for ten winters he abode in the forest and on the heath, in a hollow
tree, or under leaves and grass, till his frame shrank and his beard grew
long; and ever and anon, when the day was fair, he would play his harp, and
the beasts of the forest and the birds on bush and briar would come about
him to hearken.
Then on a hot day he saw the king of fairy and his retinue riding with
hounds and blowing horns; and again he saw a great host of knights with
drawn swords; and again he saw sixty ladies, gentle and gay, riding on
palfreys and bearing hawks on their wrists. Their falcons had good sport,
and Orfeo drew nigh to watch; and looking on the face of one of the ladies,
he recognised Meroudys. They gazed at each other speechless, and tears ran
from her eyes; but the other ladies bore her away. The king followed them
to a fair country where there was neither hill nor dale, and into a castle,
gaining entrance as a minstrel. Then he saw many men and women sleeping on
every side, seemingly dead; among them he again beheld his wife. And he
came before the king and queen of that realm, and harped so sweetly that
the king promised him whatever he might ask. He asked for the fair dame
Meroudys; and he took her by the hand, and they fared homewards.
In his own city he lodged awhile in poor quarters, and then went forth to
play his harp; and meeting his steward, who knew the harp but not his
master, told him he had found the harp ten winters ago, by the side of a
man eaten by lions. This evil news caused the steward to swoon, whereupon
King Orfeo revealed himself, and sent for dame Meroudys. She came in a
triumphant procession; there was mirth and melody; and they were
new-crowned king and queen. Harpers of Bretayne heard this tale and made
the lay and called it after the king
"That Orfeo hight, as men well wote; Good is the lay, sweet is the
note!"
The ballad which represents the débris of this romance has only been
recovered in a single text, from the memory of an old man in Unst,
Shetland, and it is incomplete in verse-form, though the reciter remembered
the gist of the story. This version of the ballad is further complicated by
the fact that the old man sang it to a refrain which appears to be Unst
pronunciation of Danish--a startling instance of phonetic tradition.
It is not, however, to be understood from this that it was impossible for
Shakespeare to have heard this ballad; English versions _may_ have been
current in his time. But even so, the ballad would add nothing to the
knowledge he might gain elsewhere; it is simply a short form of the romance
altered by tradition.[67]
There are half-a-dozen other English and Scottish ballads concerning
fairies, none of much importance touching our present theme. They may be
best studied in Child's collection, Nos. 35-41, where under _Tam Lin_ he
has put together the main features of fairy-lore revealed in traditional
ballads.[68] One or two such points may be noted here.
We have seen that Ogier saw the supernatural lady after plucking and eating
an apple from a tree. Thomas of Erceldoune, Launfal, and Meroudys, are
sleeping or lying beneath a tree when they see their various visitors. Tam
Lin in the ballad was taken by the fairies while sleeping under an apple
tree. Malory[69] tells us that Lancelot went to sleep about noon
(traditionally the dangerous hour) beneath an apple tree, and was bewitched
by Morgan le Fay. In modern Greek folk-lore, certain trees are said to be
dangerous to lie under at noon, as the sleeper may be taken by the nereids,
who correspond to our fairies.
At certain intervals--every seven years, the ballads say--the fiend of hell
takes a tithe from the fairies, usually preferring one who is fair and of
good flesh and blood. Hence in _Thomas of Erceldoune_,[70] the elf queen is
anxious that he should leave her realm, because she thinks the foul fiend
would choose him (ll. 219-224).
The notion of the fairies' demand of a tithe of produce, agricultural or
domestic, is parallel to this sacrifice.[71]
A third point on which fairy-lore usually insists is that the steeds of the
fairies shall be white; here _Thomas of Erceldoune_ is at variance with the
other poems, the elf-queen's palfrey being a dapple-grey. It is curious to
learn that this superstition still survives. "At that time there was a
gentleman who had been taken by the fairies, and made an officer among
them, and it was often people would see him and her riding on a white horse
at dawn and in the evening."[72]
It will have been observed that the tale of Orfeo varies considerably from
the classical tale of Orpheus; but this is not surprising; no one can
imagine that it comes direct from the classics. A French original is
presumed; indeed, there are references in early "lais" to a "Lai d'Orphey,"
indicating the existence of a poem which was probably the original of our
_King Orfeo_. This original is presumed to have been a Breton lay, one of
the many that were popular in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and the
English version may have been taken from the supposed source through a
French form.
Now, these Breton lays were chiefly on Celtic subjects, and placed their
scenes in the Celtic realms of Great Britain, Little Britain, Ireland, or
Scotland. The bards of Armorica doubtless picked up a good story wherever
they could find it; and the classical story of Orpheus and Eurydice would
appeal strongly to Celts, who have always been famous for harping. But why
should these early Celtic singers have made such changes in the story,
_unless they had a similar story of their own_ which was confused with it?
The parallel story has been adduced by Professor Kittredge[73] from an
Irish epic tale, The Wooing (or Courtship) of Etain. The portions of the
story which concern us here follow.
Eochaid Airemm, king of Ireland, found him a wife in Etain daughter of Etar
in the Bay of Cichmany, and with her Mider of Bri Leith (a fairy chief) was
in love. On a summer's day, as the king sat on the heights of Tara
beholding the plain of Breg, a strange young warrior appeared, gave his
name as Mider, and challenged Eochaid to a game of chess for a wager. Many
were the games they played, and at first Eochaid won, and bade Mider carry
out certain tasks. But at last Eochaid was defeated, and Mider for his
reward asked to be allowed to hold Etain in his arms and kiss her. Eochaid
put him off for a month; at the end of which time he called together the
armies of Ireland, and took Etain into the palace, and shut and locked the
doors, and ringed the house with guards. Yet at the appointed hour Mider
stood in their midst, fairer than ever; and he sang to Etain:--
"_O fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein
is music, where heads are covered with primrose hair and bodies are white
as snow? There is no "mine" or "thine" there; white are teeth, and black
are eyebrows, and cheeks are the hue of the foxglove, and eyes the hue of
blackbirds' eggs.... We see everything on every side, yet no man seeth us.
Though pleasant the plains of Ireland, yet are they a wilderness for him
who has known the great plain_."
But Etain would not go to him, before Eochaid was willing to resign her.
And the king would not, yet allowed Mider to embrace her before him. Mider
took his weapons into his left hand, and Etain with his right, and bore her
away through the skylight. The guards outside beheld two swans flying, and
they flew towards the elf-mound of Femun, which is called the Mound of the
Fair-haired Women.
For nine years Eochaid waged war against Mider, digging into the
elf-mounds, until he hit upon the fairy-mansion; whereupon Mider sent to
the side of the palace sixty women, all exactly like Etain. And first the
king carried away the wrong woman, but when he returned to sack Bri Leith,
Etain made herself known to him, and he bore her back to the palace at
Tara.
It is reasonable to suppose, then, that some Armorican bard, hearing the
classical tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, remembered the Celtic legend of
Eochaid and Etain, and grafted the one on the other. Hades became Bri
Leith, or the vaguely-defined beautiful unknown country; but the classical
names displaced the Celtic. The confusion, however, did not at once cease.
In one of the MSS. of _Sir Orfeo_ it is said that Orfeo's father
"Was comen of king Pluto,
And his moder of king Juno"
--confusion worse confounded. Moreover, as we have already seen, even
Chaucer called the fairy-king Pluto and the queen Proserpina.
Again, to hark back to the other romances, we have found the word _fay_
attached to the name of King Arthur's sister Morgan. Nothing is more
remarkably certain than the close and constant association in mediaeval
lore of the fairies and the fairy-world with the Arthurian cycle of
romance;[74] King Arthur's sister was Morgan le Fay, whose son by Ogier was
Merlin; and the romance of _Huon of Bordeaux_, which relates these facts,
though strictly belonging to the Charlemagne cycle, contains the account of
Oberon's bequest of his realm to King Arthur. Chaucer, whatever other
doubts he may have had, was convinced on this point:--[75]
"In th' olde daiès of the King Arthoure,
Of which that Bretons speken gret honoure,
Al was this land fulfild of fayerye;
The elfqueen with hir joly companye
Dauncèd ful ofte in many a grenè mede;
This was the olde opinion as I rede."
Now the Arthurian legends ultimately derive from Celtic tales, which must
be supposed to have travelled from Wales into France by way of
Brittany--Little Britain, or Armorica--in the eleventh and twelfth
centuries; for there are Welsh versions independent of the Breton forms,
though closely akin. Students of early Celtic literature have not as yet
agreed about the historical relations between Welsh and Irish
stories--whether the Welsh imposed their mythology and heroic legends on
the Irish, or _vice versa_; but the general similarity between them is
undeniable, and easily explicable by a common Celtic source.
Everything, then, points to the Celtic legends as the chief origin of the
mediaeval fairy-lore; and the early Celtic literature, although its study,
complicated by an unfamiliar language, has only recently been undertaken
scientifically, has already revealed an extremely rich and complete store
of romance that extends over a thousand years. From manuscripts which are
attributed to the twelfth century (and even so contain matter rightly
belonging to the ninth or tenth), we can trace the development of a creed
concerning supernatural beings through the succeeding centuries, down to a
time at which the written account is displaced by recorded oral tradition.
A race of beings, who must originally have fallen from the Celtic Olympus,
continue to appear, with characteristics that remain the same in essence,
and under a designation that may be heard in Ireland today, through ten
centuries of Irish tradition and literature.[76]
These people are called in Irish mythology the _Tuatha Dé Danann_,
described from at latest 1100 A.D. as _aes sidhe_, "the folk of the
[fairy-] hillock;" the name for fairies in Ireland now is "the Sidhe."[77]
Originally, it may be, the _aes sidhe_ were not identified with the _Tuatha
Dé Danann_; and before the twelfth century the Sidhe were not associated
with the Celtic belief in "a beautiful country beyond the sea," a happy
land called by various names--Tir-nan-Og (the land of youth), Tir Tairngire
(the land of promise)--which has now become "fairy-land." In the earliest
heroic legends the _Tuatha Dé Danann_ assist or protect mortal champions,
and fall in love with mortal men and maids; but with the spread of
Christianity (as might be expected) they lost many of their previous
characteristics.[78]
To look back for a moment, we must note that so far we have touched no
belief later than the fifteenth century, and already we have seen enough
blending of various superstitions and legends to give our fairies a very
mixed ancestry. Classical mythology, Celtic heroic sagas and northern Eddas
in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries, Saxo the Danish historian in
the twelfth, and a series of romances, running through
Celtic-Breton-French-English languages from the twelfth to fifteenth
centuries--all combine to alter or add to the popular conception of
fairies. Celtic Mider is of human stature, beautiful, powerful, dwelling
beneath the earth; he attempts to carry off a mortal bride. Teutonic
Alberich is a dwarf, presumably not handsome, but well disposed to mortals.
But when we come to _Huon of Bordeaux_ we find Oberon's characteristics are
derived from varying sources. He himself describes[79] to Huon, in a
fantastic romance-style, which attempts to associate him with as many
classic heroes as possible, his parentage and birth:--
"I shall show thee true, it is Julius Caesar engendered me on a lady of the
Privy Isle ... the which is now named Chifalonny [Cephalonia] ... after a
seven year Caesar passed by the sea as he went into Thessaly whereas he
fought with Pompey; in his way he passed by Chifalonny, where my mother
fetched him, and he fell in love with her because she showed him that he
should discomfit Pompey, as he did." We are almost supplied with the date
of Oberon's birth.
He proceeds to narrate how all the fairies but one were invited to his
birth, and that one, in anger, said that when he was three years old he
should cease to grow; however, she repented immediately and added that he
should be "the fairest creature that nature ever formed." Another fairy
endowed him with the power of seeing into the minds of all men; and a third
enabled him to go whither he would at a wish. "Moreover, if I will have a
castle or a palace at my own device, incontinent it shall be made, and as
soon gone again if I list; and what meat or wine that I will wish for, I
shall have it incontinent."
Elsewhere[80] in the romance his handsome equipment and dress are
described; his gown, his bow, and above all his horn, "made by four ladies
of the fairy," who endowed it with four gifts; it cured all diseases by its
blast, it banished hunger and thirst, it brought joy to the heavy-hearted,
and forced any one who heard to come at the wish of its owner.
Horns, in English folk-lore, appear to belong rather to elves than to
fairies[81]--the elves that haunt hills, and are known all over Europe;
dwarfs, trolls, kobolds, pixies, and so forth. Teutonic witches are called
horn-blowers. Again, the fairy-train or fairy-hunt is supposed to carry
horns; we have seen it already in _Sir Orfeo_,[82] and in _Thomas of
Erceldoune_,[83] the fairy-queen bears a horn about her neck.
But this Oberon of _Huon of Bordeaux_ is mortal, and is not pictured as
being abnormal in stature, any more than Mider. Shakespeare's Oberon and
Mider are invisible (or can make themselves so), both have supernatural
powers, and both are immortal.
The question of the _size_ conventionally attributed to the fairies is of
importance, because it shows that a confusion existed between the fays of
romance with the elves of folk-superstition. Elves and their numerous
counterparts in all European countries and elsewhere--we have just given a
list of names which can easily be extended--are above all things _small_;
they also are earth-dwellers, living in hills or underground chambers, and
originally, perhaps, were supposed to be mischievous by nature. But even in
Shakespeare's day, it would be impossible to say that fairies were
benevolent and elves malevolent; the two kinds and their respective
characteristics were already confused.
Robin Goodfellow, the Puck, or Hobgoblin, is however essentially
mischievous. In a book contemporary with our play we find:--
"Think me to be one of those _Familiares Lares_ that were rather pleasantly
disposed than endued with any hurtful influence, as Hob Thrust, Robin
Goodfellow, and suchlike spirits, as they term them, of the buttery,
famoused in every old wives' chronicle for their mad merry pranks."[84]
But four years later, as we have seen,[85] Nashe confounds elves with
fairies in deriving all alike from fauns and dryads. Robin is "mad-merry,"
"jocund and facetious," "a cozening idle friar or some such rogue" [in
origin], and so forth--simply described by Shakespeare as a "shrewd and
knavish sprite." The forms of mischief in which he delights are described
in _A Midsummer-Night's Dream_, II. i. 33-57, and all these "gests" may be
found in the contemporary Robin Goodfellow literature;[86] though we have
observed that some of the functions attributed to Queen Mab in Mercutio's
famous speech[87] belong rightly to Robin.[88]
Thus we see--to take into consideration but a few points of the myth--that
the fairy-superstition and the elf-superstition were melted together in the
popular pre-Shakespearean mind, and that Shakespeare himself, making a new
division of the characteristics of the two, yet re-welded the whole into
one realm by putting the Puck in subjection under the fairy king.
The main characteristics of Shakespeare's fairies, then, may be summarised
shortly:--[89]
They are a community under a king and queen, who hold a court; they are
very small, light, swift, elemental; they share in the life of nature; they
are fond of dancing and singing; they are invisible and immortal; they
prefer night, and midnight is their favourite hour; they fall in love with
mortals, steal babies and leave changelings, and usurp the function of
Hymen in blessing the marriage-bed. Oberon, "king of shadows," can
apparently see things hidden from Puck.[90]
Titania, "a spirit of no common rate," is yet subject to passion and
jealousy, and had a mortal friend, "a votaress of my order."[91]
The fairy of folk-lore in Shakespeare's day is nearly everything that the
fairies of _A Midsummer-Night's Dream_ are; we may possibly except their
exiguity, their relations in love with mortals, and their hymeneal
functions. His conception of their size as infinitesimal at least differs
from that of the popular stories, where (as far as can be ascertained) they
are shown to be about the size of mortal children.
We may conclude these remarks with the modern Irish-Catholic theory of the
origin of the fairies:--
"When Lucifer saw himself in the glass, he thought himself equal with
God. Then the Lord threw him out of Heaven, and all the angels that
belonged to him. While He was 'chucking them out,' an archangel asked
Him to spare some of them, and those that were falling are in the air
still, and have power to wreck ships, and to work evil in the
world."[92]
* * * *
OBERON'S VISION.
_A Midsummer-Night's Dream_, like too many other plays of Shakespeare, has
been unable to escape the inquisition of "deuteroscopists"--those who are
always on the look-out for historical and other allusions. The dainty
passage (II. i. 148-174), in which Oberon gives Puck directions how and
where to find the magic herb that works the transformations of love in the
rest of the play, appears to contain a reference to Elizabeth as "a fair
vestal throned by the west" and "the imperial votaress." So much may be
reasonably granted; but Warburton in his edition proceeded to identify "the
mermaid on a dolphin's back" with Mary Queen of Scots, the dolphin of
course being the Dauphin, and so forth. This interpretation of the alleged
secret allegory was displaced in 1843 by one rather more plausible--though
still needlessly fantastic.
_Oberon's Vision_, by the Rev. N.J. Halpin (Shakespeare Society, 1843)
attempts to prove that in composing this passage Shakespeare was referring
to the Earl of Leicester's attempt to win Elizabeth's hand, when she
visited him at Kenilworth in 1575; the mermaid, uttering dulcet and
harmonious breath, so that the rude sea grows civil, and the stars that
shot from their spheres, are explained, by parallel passages from
contemporary accounts, as parts of the pageant or "Princely Pleasures"
which formed the Queen's entertainment. The Earl was simultaneously
intriguing with Lettice, Countess of Essex, who ultimately became his wife;
and it is she who, according to the Rev. Halpin, is intended by the "little
western flower"; to him the passage means:--
"Cupid, on behalf of the Earl of Leicester, loosed an arrow at Queen
Elizabeth; but the Virgin Queen's maidenhood was so unassailable that
the bolt missed her, hitting the Countess of Essex, who succumbed."
In other words, Shakespeare mentions the Queen only in order to point out
her rival's success!
It is as unnecessary to discuss the degrees of probability in Halpin's
identifications as it was for him to elaborate them. Certainly it is likely
that Shakespeare intended a compliment to his queen; it is possible that
the "mermaid on a dolphin's back" was a reminiscence of a pageant which he
might have visited Kenilworth at the age of eleven to see; and it may be
true that he meant to hint at Leicester.
On the other hand, I think that another explanation is more obvious and
more rational. Shakespeare had to introduce into his play the magic herb
which was to alter the loves of those into whose eyes it was squeezed. We
may reasonably guess that he had read somewhere one of the many popular
legends that explain why the violet is purple, why the rose is red, _etc._;
there are some in Ovid's _Metamorphoses_[93] which Shakespeare read in
Golding's translation. He saw an opportunity of paying a graceful
compliment to Elizabeth by saying that the magic flower, once white, had
been empurpled by a shaft of Cupid's drawn at the fair vestal and imperial
votaress, who yet passed on untouched;
"And maidens call it love-in-idleness"
--a popular name for the common pansy.
NOTES ON THE INTRODUCTION
[1] For _The Knightes Tale_, see Prof. Skeat's edition (modern spelling) in
the "King's Classics," and his excellent introduction.
[2] was named
[3] realm
[4] called
[5] were not
[6] besieged
[7] See Mr. R.B. McKerrow's note on Nashe's reference to the name in _Have
with You to Saffron-Walden_ (_Works,_ iii. 111).
[8] See Statius, _Thebais_, I, 13-14, etc. (Chaucer refers to "Stace of
Thebes," _Knightes Tale_, 1436.) Athamas, having incurred the wrath of
Hera, was seized with madness, and slew his son Learchus. His wife Ino
threw herself, with his other son Melicertes, into the sea, and both were
changed into sea-deities, Ino becoming Leucothea, and Melicertes Palaemon,
whom the Greeks held to be friendly to the shipwrecked. The Romans
identified him with Portunus, the protector of harbours.
[9] See Skeat's _The Knight's Tale_, xi-xv.
[10] little.
[11] In this passage, Statius describes the meeting between Theseus,
returning in triumph with Hippolyta, and the widows of those slain at the
siege of Thebes, who complain that the tyrant Creon will not permit their
husbands' bodies to be either burned or buried. This episode, as we shall
see, is the opening of the _Knightes Tale,_ and reappears in a modified
form in _The Two Noble Kinsmen._
[12] J. M. Rigg's introduction to his translation of the _Decameron_ (1903)
[13] This opening, derived from Statius (see note, p. 13), serves merely to
introduce the main story, much in the same way as the Theseus story in _A
Midsummer-Night's Dream_ is simply the "enveloping action" of the play.
[14] W.W. Greg's edition, i 19-20, ii. 168. Henslowe's dates for the
performances are 17 September, 16 and 27 October, and November, 1594.
Against the first entry are the much-discussed letters "ne," which appear
to mark a new play. It will be seen that according to the theory that _A
Midsummer-Night's Dream_ belongs to the winter of 1594-5, this Palamon and
Arcite play was performed immediately before.
[15] Professor Gollancz considers that Shakespeare had no hand in the play.
[16] Cf. I. i. 167 and IV. i. 129-30.
[17] It is perhaps fantastic to interpret too literally Arcite's song to
May--"I hope that I som grene gete may"--but, however little of their
primitive significance now remains, celebration of the rites of May is by
no means extinct. See E.K. Chambers, _The Mediaeval Stage_, I. 117: "their
object is to secure the beneficent influence of the fertilization spirit by
bringing the persons or places to be benefited into direct contact with the
physical embodiment of that spirit."
Shakespeare's apparent confusion of a May-day with a Mid-summer-night may
seem pardonable to the folk-lorist in the light of the fact that various
folk-festivals appear to take place indiscriminately on May-day or
Midsummer-day. See Chambers, _op. cit._ i. 114, 118, 126.
[18] Cf. III. ii. 331 and 401, _etc_.
[19] Cf. IV. i. 100-183.
[20] In V. i. 51.
[21] Reprinted in this book, p. 135.
[22] He might have added _Lucius the Ass_, a similar tale by Lucian of
Samosata.
[23] Reprinted in this book, p. 139.
[24] Ovid, _Met._ iv. 55, sqq.
[25] See p. 73.
[26] Addl. MS. 15227, f. 56b.
[27] _Faerie Queen,_ II. i. 6, II. x. 75.
[28] See A.W. Ward's _English Dramatic Literature_, i. 400, ii. 85.
[29] _The Marchantes Tale_, 983 (Skeat, E. 2227).
[30] A.H. Bullen's edition of Campion (1903), p. 20.
[31] _Metamorphoses_, iii. 173. Ovid, in the same work, uses "Titania" also
as an epithet of Latona (vi. 346), Pyrrha (i. 395), and Circe (xiv. 382,
438). The fact that Golding gives "Phebe" as the translation of "Titania"
in iii. 173, is a strong piece of evidence that Shakespeare sometimes at
least read his Ovid in the Latin.
[32] Ed. Brinsley Nicholson, p. 32. Book III, chap. ii. (See p. 135.)
[33] _Romeo and Juliet_, I. iv, 53, sqq.
[34] In II. i. 40, "sweet puck" is no more a proper name than "Hobgoblin";
so also in l. 148 of the same scene. In neither case should the name be
printed with a capital P.
[35] II. i. 34.
[36] V. i. 418, 421.
[37] Wright, _English Dialect Dictionary_, s.v. Puck, gives Scotland,
Ireland, Derby, Worcester, Shropshire, Gloucester, Sussex and Hampshire as
localities where the name is recorded.
[38] Text H in Child's _Ballads_, I. 352.
[39] Campbell's _Popular Tales of the West Highlands_ (1890), vol. ii,
tales xxv, xxvi, etc.
[40] _Ballads_, I. 314, and note.
[41] _M.N.D._, II. i. 40. (See note on p. 37.)
[42] _The Wyf of Bathe's Tale_, at the beginning; and elsewhere.
[43] _The Faerie Queene,_ chiefly in Book II, where in Canto X, stanzas
70-76, he gives a fictitious list of the generations of fairies; the first
"Elfe" was the image made by Prometheus, to animate which he stole fire
from heaven; the list ends with Oberon, and Tanaquil the Faerie Queen.
[44] Reprinted in this book, pp. 81-121.
[45] Mr. Chambers, in his edition of the play, Appendix A, § l8, gives (i)
_Tarlton's News out of Purgatory_ (1590) (see p. 63), (ii) Churchyard's
_Handfull of Gladsome Verses_ (1592) (see p. 141), (iii) Nashe's _Terrors
of the Night_ (1594).
[46] The word _folk-lore_ has only been in existence sixty years, and the
science is very little older; it was vaguely referred to as "popular
antiquities" before that time.
[47] Alfred Nutt, _The Fairy Mythology of Shakespeare_ (1900), p. 24. This
little book is instructive and valuable.
[48] Nashe's Works, ed. R.B. McKerrow, i. 347.
[49] Gower, however, does so, as early as the fourteenth century;
_Confessio Amantis_, ii. 371.
[50] The opening of the beautiful _Helgi and Sigrun Lay_ as translated by
Vigfusson and York Powell in _Corpus Poeticum Boreale_ (1883), i. 131; see
also the editors' Introduction, i. lxi, lxiv.
[51] _Danish History_, iii. 70, 77; vi. 181; cf. O. Elton's translation
(1894), pp. 84, 93, 223, and York Powell's introduction thereto, lxiv.
[52] "It is worth noting that the Romance of Olger the Dane contains
several late echoes of the old Helgi myth. _a._ The visit of the fairies by
night to the new-born child ... _e._ His return to earth after death or
disappearance ... Mark that Holgi is the true old form ... The old hero
Holgi and the Carling peer Otgeir (Eadgar) are distinct persons confused by
later tradition."--_Corpus Poeticum Boreale_, i. cxxx.
"The _Fates_ ... bestow endowments on the new-born child, as in the
beautiful Helge Lay ... a point of the story which survives in the Ogier of
the Chansons de Geste, wherein Eadgar (Otkerus or Otgerus) gets what
belonged to Holger (Holge), the Helga til of Beowulf's Lay."--Saxo, _Danish
History_, lxiv.
[53] Cf. Child's _Ballads_, i. 319.
[54] In _Huon of Bordeaux_ Merlin comes with King Arthur to Oberon's
death-bed; Arthur introduces him as his nephew, the son of Ogier the Dane
and "my sister Morgan."
[55] The mere mention of these subterranean explorations opens up an
immense field of discussion and speculation that can here be only relegated
to a note; we can treat at greater length none but those legends which bear
directly on our subject. Odysseus visited Hades, Aeneas descended to Orcus
or Tartarus, and they have their counterparts in every land and every
mythology. Human aetiological tendencies supply explanations of any cavern
or natural chasm--even a volcano must be the mouth of the entrance to hell
or purgatory--from Taenarus, where Pluto carried off Proserpine, and the
Sibyl's cavern, whence Aeneas sought the lower regions, to the famous Lough
Dearg in Donegal, the entrance to "St. Patrick's Purgatory," and the Peak
cavern in Derbyshire. The student may begin his researches with T. Wright's
_St. Patrick's Purgatory_ (1844). A very common tale in Celtic literature
is that of the visit of some hero to the underworld and his seizure of some
gift of civilisation--just as Prometheus stole fire from heaven.
[56] _Ballads_, loc. cit.
[57] A version of Fytte I will be found in this book, pp. 122-132.
[58] See Child's _Ballads_, No. 37, Thomas Rymer, i. 317-329; also the
romance, _Thomas of Erceldoune_ (E.E.T.S., 1875), where Prof. J.A.H. Murray
prints all texts parallel, and adds a valuable introduction.
[59] A similar episode survives in a Breton folk-tale, cited by Professor
Kittredge in Child's _Ballads_, iii. 504. In _Huon of Bordeaux_ (E.E.T.S.
edition, p. 265), Charlemagne mistakes Oberon for God.
[60] See Gummere, _The Popular Ballad_ (1907), pp. 66-7.
[61] Cottonian, Caligula A. II. A later version is at the Bodleian, MS.
Rawlinson C. 86, and a Scottish version in Cambridge University Library,
MS. Kk. 5. 30.
[62] It was licensed to John Kynge the printer between 19 July 1557 and 9
July 1558. See Arber, Stationers' Registers, i. 79. Two fragments are in
the Bodleian; see Hales and Furnivall, _Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript_
(1867), i. 521-535.
[63] In this year it is mentioned, as having been amongst Captain Cox's
books, in Laneham's famous _Letter_. See _Shakespeare Library_ reprint, p.
xxx.
[64] Brit. Mus. MS. Addl. 27,879; see Hales and Furnivall, _Bishop Percy's
Folio Manuscript_, i. 142.
[65] Harl. 3810 (British Museum), printed by Ritson in _Ancient English
Metrical Romances_ (1802) ii. 248; the Auchinleck MS. (W. 4. 1, in the
Advocates' Library, Edinburgh), printed by D. Laing in _Ancient Popular
Poetry of Scotland_, iii; and Ashmolean 61 (Bodleian Library, Oxford),
printed by Halliwell in his _Fairy Mythology_, p. 36. The three are
collated by O. Zielke, _Sir Orfeo_ (Breslau 1880), a fully annotated
edition. The last is used here.
[66] A grafted fruit tree; here probably an apple.
[67] It may be seen in Child's _Ballads_, i. 215, with a full analysis of
the romance, and in the present editor's _Popular Ballads of the Olden
Time_, Second Series, p. 208.
[68] _Ballads_, i. 338-340; see also various "Additions and Corrections" in
the later volumes, and s.v. _Elf_, _Elves_, etc. in the _Index of Matters
and Literature_.
[69] _Morte Darthur_ (ed. Sommer), vi. l. 3.
[70] See below, p. 131.
[71] See J.M. Synge, _The Aran Islands_ (1907), p. 48, and A. Nutt, _Fairy
Mythology of Shakespeare_, p. 22.
[72] See Synge, _op. cit._, p. 47.
[73] See his admirable article on _Sir Orfeo_ in the _American Journal of
Philology_, vii. 176-202. _The Courtship of Etain_ may be seen in English,
translated from the two versions in Egerton MS. 1782. and the "Leabhar na
h-Uidhri"--an eleventh century Irish MS.--in _Heroic Romances of Ireland_,
by A. H, Leahy, i. 7-32.
[74] A. Nutt, _Fairy Mythology of Shakespeare_, p. 12.
[75] _Wyf of Bathe's Tale_, 1-6.
[76] See A. Nutt, _op. cit._, pp. 16-17; and various authorities given by
G.L. Kittredge, _op. cit._, p. 196 notes.
[77] Pronounced _shee_.
[78] Mr. Alfred Nutt (_op. cit._, pp. 19-23) is at pains to show the close
association of the _Tuatha Dé Danann_ with ritual of an
agricultural-sacrificial kind, in the aspect they have
assumed--"fairies"--to the modern Irish peasant. The Sidhe have fallen from
the high estate of the romantic and courtly wooers and warriors, as they
must once have fallen from the Celtic pantheon.
[79] Chap, xxv. (E.E.T.S. edition, 72). Oberon recites his history again in
chap. lxxxiv. (p. 264).
[80] Chap. xxii. (E.E.T.S. edition, p. 65, sqq.).
[81] Cf. Child's _Ballads_, Nos. 2 (_The Elfin Knight_), 4 (_Lady Isabel
and the Elf-Knight_), 41 (_Hina Etin_), and perhaps 35 (_Allison Gross_),
with his note on the last, l. 314, referring to No. 36 (_The Laily Worm and
the Machrel of the Sea_).
[82] See above, p. 51.
[83] See p. 124, l. 39.
[84] _Tarlton's News out of Purgatory, published by Robin Goodfellow_
(1590), Shakespeare Society reprint, p. 55.
[85] See above, p. 41.
[86] See the extracts from Scot's _Discovery of Witchcraft_ and the _Robin
Goodfellow_ tract, pp. 133-140 and 81-121.
[87] Romeo and Juliet, I. iv. 33-94. See above, p. 37.
[88] Had I been able to find a book, _Veridica relatio de daemonio Puck_,
referred to in the article _Diable_ in the _Dictionnaire des Sciences
Occultes_ (in Migne, tome 48, vol. i., p. 475), it might be that it would
prove of great interest. In any case this allusion (pointed out to me by
Mr. R.B. McKerrow) is an early instance of Puck used as a proper name.
[89] Abbreviated from E.K. Chambers' full analysis with references,
_Warwick Shakespeare_ edition of _M.N.D._ pp. 142-4.
[90] See II. i. 155.
[91] How far Shakespeare associated his fairy queen Titania with her
nominal parent Diana, is a question that would make matter for an elaborate
study in mythology and mysticism, and might yet lead to no result. Diana is
Luna in the heavens; Lucina (the goddess of child-birth) and the Huntress
on earth; and Hecate in the underworld, goddess of enchantments and
nocturnal incantations, often also identified with Proserpina. Titania is a
votaress of the moon; we have seen that fairies are intimately concerned
with mortal babies, and that there is a fairy-hunt (see the quotation from
James I's _Demonology_, p. 37 above); and we have also noted the confusion
of Proserpina with the fairy-queen.--The _Tuatha Dé Danann_ are said to be
"the folk of _Danu_"--who is Danu? Hecate was called Trivia, on account of
the above tripartition of Diana; her statues were set up where three roads
met, and the fairy-queen in _Thomas the Rhymer_ points out to him the three
roads that lead to heaven, hell, and elf-land. Speculation is easily led
astray.
[92] J.M. Synge, _Aran Islands_, p. 10.
[93] The metamorphosis of Hyacinthus, for instance, Bk. X, 162, sqq.;
although there are others in the same book. See also the alteration in the
mulberry caused by Pyramus' blood (pp. 77-80).
* * * * *
ILLUSTRATIVE TEXTS
TEXTS
THE LEGEND OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE 73
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW 81
THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE 122
SCOT'S DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT 133
'STRANGE FARLIES' 141
THE MAD MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN 144
QUEEN MAB 149
THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL 151
THE FAIRY QUEEN 155
NYMPHIDIA 158
* * * * *
THE LEGEND OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE
From Arthur Golding's translation of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ (1575), Book
IV, ff. 52-3.
Within the town (of whose huge walls so monstrous high and thick,
The fame is given Semiramis for making them of brick)
Dwelt hard together two young folk, in houses joined so near,
That under all one roof well nigh both twain conveyéd were.
The name of him was Pyramus, and Thisbe call'd was she,
So fair a man in all the East was none alive as he.
Nor ne'er a woman, maid, nor wife in beauty like to her.
This neighbourhood bred acquaintance first, this neighbourhood first did
stir
The secret sparks: this neighbourhood first an entrance in did show
For love, to come to that to which it afterward did grow.
And if that right had taken place they had been man and wife,
But still their parents went about to let[1] which (for their life)
They could not let. For both their hearts with equal flame did burn.
No man was privy to their thoughts. And for to serve their turn,
Instead of talk they uséd signs: the closelier they suppressed
The fire of love, the fiercer still it ragéd in their breast.
The wall that parted house from house had riven therein a cranny,
Which shrunk at making of the wall: this fault not marked of any
Of many hundred years before (what doth not love espy?)
These lovers first of all found out, and made a way whereby
To talk together secretly, and through the same did go
Their loving whisp'rings very light and safely to and fro.
Now as at one side Pyramus, and Thisbe on the tother
Stood often drawing one of them the pleasant breath from other:
O spiteful wall (said they) why dost thou part us lovers thus?
What matter were it if that thou permitted both of us
In arms each other to embrace? or if thou think that this
Were over-much, yet mightest thou at least make room to kiss.
And yet thou shalt not find us churls: we think ourselves in debt
For the same piece of courtesy, in vouching safe[2] to let
Our sayings to our friendly ears thus freely come and go.
Thus having where they stood in vain complainéd of their woe,
When night drew near they bade adieu, and each gave kisses sweet
Unto the parget[3] on their side the which did never meet.
Next morning with her cheerful light had driven the stars aside,
And Phoebus with his burning beams the dewy grass had dried,
These lovers at their wonted place by fore-appointment met,
Where after much complaint and moan they covenanted to get
Away from such as watchéd them, and in the evening late
To steal out of their fathers' house and eke the city gate.
And to th' intent that in the fields they strayed not up and down,
They did agree at Ninus' tomb to meet without the town,
And tarry underneath a tree that by the same did grow;
Which was a fair high mulberry with fruit as white as snow,
Hard by a cool and trickling spring. This bargain pleased them both,
And so daylight (which to their thought away but slowly go'th)
Did in the Ocean fall to rest, and night from thence doth rise.
As soon as darkness once was come, straight Thisbe did devise
A shift to wind her out of doors, that none that were within
Perceivéd her; and muffling her with clothes about her chin,
That no man might discern her face, to Ninus' tomb she came
Unto the tree, and set her down there underneath the same.
Love made her bold. But see the chance, there comes besmeared with blood
About the chaps, a lioness all foaming from the wood,
From slaughter lately made of kine to staunch her bloody thirst
With water of the foresaid spring. Whom Thisbe, spying first
Afar by moonlight, thereupon with fearful steps gan fly
And in a dark and irksome cave did hide herself thereby.
And as she fled away for haste she let her mantle fall,
The which for fear she left behind not looking back at all.
Now when the cruel lioness her thirst had staunchéd well,
In going to the wood she found the slender weed that fell
From Thisbe, which with bloody teeth in pieces she did tear.
The night was somewhat further spent ere Pyramus came there.
Who seeing in this subtle sand the print of lion's paw,
Waxed pale for fear. But when that he the bloody mantle saw
All rent and torn; one night (he said) shall lovers two confound,
Of which long life deservèd she of all that live on ground.
My soul deserves of this mischance the peril for to bear.
I, wretch, have been the death of thee, which to this place of fear
Did cause thee in the night to come, and came not here before.
My wicked limbs and wretched guts with cruel teeth therefore
Devour ye, O ye lions all that in this rock do dwell.
But cowards use to wish for death. The slender weed that fell
From Thisbe up he takes, and straight doth bear it to the tree,
Which was appointed erst the place of meeting for to be.
And when he had bewept and kissed the garment which he knew,
Receive thou my blood too (quoth he), and therewithal he drew
His sword, the which among his guts he thrust, and by and by
Did draw it from the bleeding wound, beginning for to die,
And cast himself upon his back. The blood did spin on high
As when a conduit pipe is cracked, the water bursting out
Doth shoot itself a great way off, and pierce the air about.
The leaves that were upon the tree besprinkled with his blood
Were dyéd black. The root also, bestained as it stood
A deep dark purple colour, straight upon the berries cast,
Anon scarce ridded of her fear with which she was aghast,
For doubt of disappointing him comes Thisbe forth in haste,
And for her lover looks about, rejoicing for to tell
How hardly she had 'scaped that night the danger that befell.
And as she knew right well the place and fashion of the tree
(As which she saw so late before) even so when she did see
The colour of the berries turned, she was uncertain whether
It were the tree at which they both agreed to meet together.
While in this doubtful stound[4] she stood, she cast her eye aside,
And there beweltered in his blood her lover she espied
Lie sprawling with his dying limbs; at which she started back,
And lookéd pale as any box; a shuddering through her strack,
Even like the sea which suddenly with whissing noise doth move,
When with a little blast of wind it is but touched above.
But when approaching nearer him she knew it was her love,
She beat her breast, she shriekéd out, she tare her golden hairs,
And taking him between her arms did wash his wounds with tears;
She meint[5] her weeping with his blood, and kissing all his face
(Which now became as cold as ice) she cried in woeful case:
Alas! what chance, my Pyramus hath parted thee and me?
Make answer, O my Pyramus: it is thy Thisbe, even she
Whom thou dost love most heartily that speaketh unto thee:
Give ear and raise thy heavy head. He, hearing Thisbe's name,
Lift up his dying eyes, and, having seen her, closed the same.
But when she knew her mantle there, and saw his scabbard lie
Without the sword: Unhappy man, thy love had made thee die;
Thy love (she said) hath made thee slay thyself. This hand of mine
Is strong enough to do the like. My love no less than thine
Shall give me force to work my wound. I will pursue thee dead,
And, wretched woman as I am, it shall of me be said,
That like as of thy death I was the only cause and blame,
So am I thy companion eke and partner in the same.
For death which only could, alas! asunder part us twain,
Shall never so dissever us but we will meet again.
And you the parents of us both, most wretched folk alive,
Let this request that I shall make in both our names belyve[6]
Entreat you to permit that we, whom chaste and steadfast love,
And whom even death hath joined in one, may, as it doth behove,
In one grave be together laid. And thou unhappy tree,
Which shroudest now the corse of one, and shalt anon through me
Shroud two, of this same slaughter hold the sicker[7] signs for ay
Black be the colour of thy fruit and mourning-like alway,
Such as the murder of us twain may evermore bewray.
This said, she took the sword, yet warm with slaughter of her love,
And setting it beneath her breast did to the heart it shove.
Her prayer with the gods and with their parents took effect,
For when the fruit is throughly ripe, the berry is bespect[8]
With colour tending to a black. And that which after fire
Remainéd, rested in one tomb as Thisbe did desire.
* * * * *
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW; HIS MAD PRANKS AND MERRY JESTS
Not omitting that ancient form of beginning tales, _Once upon a time_ it
was my chance to travel into that noble county of Kent. The weather being
wet, and my two-legged horse being almost tired (for indeed my own legs
were all the supporters that my body had), I went dropping into an
alehouse; there found I, first a kind welcome, next good liquor, then kind
strangers (which made good company), then an honest host, whose love to
good liquor was written in red characters both in his nose, cheeks and
forehead: an hostess I found there too, a woman of very good carriage; and
though she had not so much colour (for what she had done) as her rich
husband had, yet all beholders might perceive by the roundness of her
belly, that she was able to draw a pot dry at a draught, and ne'er unlace
for the matter.
Well, to the fire I went, where I dried my outside and wet my inside. The
ale being good, and I in good company, I lapt in so much of this nappy
liquor, that it begot in me a boldness to talk, and desire of them to know
what was the reason that the people of that country were called
Long-tails[1]. The host said, all the reason that ever he could hear was,
because the people of that country formerly did use to go in side-skirted
coats. "There is," said an old man that sat by, "another reason that I have
heard: that is this. In the time of the Saxons' conquest of England there
were divers of our countrymen slain by treachery, which made those that
survived more careful in dealing with their enemies, as you shall hear.
"After many overthrows that our countrymen had received by the Saxons, they
dispersed themselves into divers companies into the woods, and so did much
damage by their sudden assaults to the Saxons, that Hengist, their king,
hearing the damage that they did (and not knowing how to subdue them by
force), used this policy. He sent to a company of them, and gave them his
word for their liberty and safe return, if they would come unarmed and
speak with him. This they seemed to grant unto, but for their more security
(knowing how little he esteemed oaths or promises) they went every one of
them armed with a short sword, hanging just behind under their garments, so
that the Saxons thought not of any weapons they had: but it proved
otherwise; for when Hengist his men (that were placed to cut them off) fell
all upon them, they found such unlooked a resistance, that most of the
Saxons were slain, and they that escaped, wondering how they could do that
hurt, having no weapons (as they saw), reported that they struck down men
like lions with their tails; and so they ever after were called Kentish
Long-tails."
I told him this was strange, if true, and that their country's honour bound
them more to believe in this than it did me.
"Truly, sir," said my hostess, "I think we are called Long-tails, by reason
our tales are long, that we used to pass the time withal, and make
ourselves merry." "Now, good hostess," said I, "let me entreat from you one
of those tales." "You shall," said she, "and that shall not be a common one
neither, for it is a long tale, a merry tale, and a sweet tale; and thus it
begins."
THE HOSTESS'S TALE OF THE BIRTH OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW
Once upon a time, a great while ago, when men did eat more and drink
less--then men were more honest, that knew no knavery, than some now are
that confess the knowledge and deny the practice--about that time
(whensoe'er it was) there was wont to walk many harmless spirits called
fairies, dancing in brave order in fairy rings on green hills with sweet
music (sometime invisible) in divers shapes: many mad pranks would they
play, as pinching of sluts black and blue, and misplacing things in
ill-ordered houses; but lovingly would they use wenches that cleanly were,
giving them silver and other pretty toys, which they would leave for them,
sometimes in their shoes, other times in their pockets, sometimes in bright
basins and other clean vessels.
Amongst these fairies was there a he-fairy; whether he was their king or no
I know not, but surely he had great government and command in that country,
as you shall hear. This same he-fairy did love a proper young wench, for
every night would he with other fairies come to the house, and there dance
in her chamber; and oftentimes she was forced to dance with him, and at his
departure would he leave her silver and jewels, to express his love unto
her. At last this maid was with child, and being asked who was the father
of it, she answered a man that nightly came to visit her, but early in the
morning he would go his way, whither she knew not, he went so suddenly.
Many old women, that then had more wit than those that are now living and
have less, said that a fairy had gotten her with child; and they bid her be
of good comfort, for the child must needs be fortunate that had so noble a
father as a fairy was, and should work many strange wonders. To be short,
her time grew on, and she was delivered of a man child, who (it should
seem) so rejoiced his father's heart, that every night his mother was
supplied with necessary things that are befitting a woman in child-birth,
so that in no mean manner neither; for there had she rich embroidered
cushions, stools, carpets, coverlets, delicate linen: then for meat she had
capons, chickens, mutton, lamb, pheasant, snite[2], woodcock, partridge,
quail. The gossips liked this fare so well that she never wanted company;
wine had she of all sorts, muskadine, sack, malmsey, claret, white and
bastard; this pleased her neighbours well, so that few that came to see
her, but they had home with them a medicine for the fleas. Sweetmeats too
had they in such abundance that some of their teeth are rotten to this day;
and for music she wanted not, or any other thing she desired.
All praised this honest fairy for his care, and the child for his beauty,
and the mother for a happy woman. In brief, christened he was, at the which
all this good cheer was doubled, which made most of the women so wise, that
they forgot to make themselves unready, and so lay in their clothes; and
none of them next day could remember the child's name but the clerk, and he
may thank his book for it, or else it had been utterly lost. So much for
the birth of little Robin.
OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW'S BEHAVIOUR WHEN HE WAS YOUNG
When Robin was grown to six years of age, he was so knavish that all the
neighbours did complain of him; for no sooner was his mother's back turned,
but he was in one knavish action or other, so that his mother was
constrained (to avoid the complaints) to take him with her to market, or
wheresoever she went or rode. But this helped little or nothing, for if he
rode before her, then would he make mouths and ill-favoured faces at those
he met; if he rode behind her, then would he clap his hand on his tail; so
that his mother was weary of the many complaints that came against him, yet
knew she not how to beat him justly for it, because she never saw him do
that which was worthy blows. The complaints were daily so renewed that his
mother promised him a whipping. Robin did not like that cheer, and
therefore, to avoid it, he ran away, and left his mother a heavy woman for
him.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW DWELT WITH A TAILOR
After that Robin Good-fellow had gone a great way from his mother's house,
he began to be hungry, and going to a tailor's house, he asked something
for God's sake. The tailor gave him meat, and understanding that he was
masterless, he took him for his man, and Robin so plied his work that he
got his master's love.
On a time his master had a gown to make for a woman, and it was to be done
that night: they both sat up late so that they had done all but setting on
the sleeves by twelve o'clock. This master then being sleepy said, "Robin,
whip thou on the sleeves, and then come thou to bed; I will go to bed
before." "I will," said Robin. So soon as his master was gone, Robin hung
up the gown, and taking both sleeves in his hands, he whipped and lashed
them on the gown. So stood he till the morning that his master came down:
his master seeing him stand in that fashion asked him what he did? "Why,"
quoth he, "as you bid me, whip on the sleeves." "Thou rogue," said his
master, "I did mean that thou shouldst have set them on quickly and
slightly." "I would you had said so," said Robin, "for then had I not lost
all this sleep." To be short, his master was fain to do the work, but ere
he had made an end of it, the woman came for it, and with a loud voice
chafed for her gown. The tailor, thinking to please her, bid Robin fetch
the remnants that they left yesterday (meaning thereby meat that was left);
but Robin, to cross his master the more, brought down the remnants of the
cloth that was left of the gown. At the sight of this, his master looked
pale, but the woman was glad, saying, "I like this breakfast so well, that
I will give you a pint of wine to it." She sent Robin for the wine, but he
never returned again to his master.
WHAT HAPPENED TO ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW AFTER HE WENT FROM THE TAILOR
After Robin had travelled a good day's journey from his master's house he
sat down, and being weary he fell asleep. No sooner had slumber taken full
possession of him, and closed his long-opened eyelids, but he thought he
saw many goodly proper personages in antic measures tripping about him, and
withal he heard such music as he thought that Orpheus, that famous Greek
fiddler (had he been alive), compared to one of these, had been as infamous
as a Welsh harper that plays for cheese and onions. As delights commonly
last not long, so did those end sooner than he would willingly they should
have done; and for very grief he awaked, and found by him lying a scroll,
wherein was written these lines following in golden letters.
Robin, my only son and heir,
How to live take thou no care:
By nature thou hast cunning shifts,
Which I'll increase with other gifts.
Wish what thou wilt, thou shalt it have;
And for to vex both fool and knave,
Thou hast the power to change thy shape,
To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape.
Transforméd thus, by any means
See none thou harm'st but knaves and queans;
But love thou those that honest be,
And help them in necessity.
Do thus, and all the world shall know
The pranks of Robin Good-fellow;
For by that name thou called shalt be
To age's last posterity.
If thou observe my just command,
One day thou shalt see Fairy Land.
This more I give: who tells thy pranks
From those that hear them shall have thanks.
Robin having read this was very joyful, yet longed he to know whether he
had this power or not, and to try it he wished for some meat: presently[3]
it was before him. Then wished he for beer and wine: he straightway had it.
This liked him well, and because he was weary, he wished himself a horse:
no sooner was his wish ended, but he was transformed, and seemed a horse of
twenty pound price, and leaped and curveted as nimble as if he had been in
stable at rack and manger a good month. Then wished he himself a dog, and
was so: then a tree, and was so: so from one thing to another, till he was
certain and well assured that he could change himself to any thing
whatsoever.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A CLOWNISH FELLOW
Robin Good-fellow going over a field met with a clownish fellow, to whom he
spake in this manner. "Friend," quoth he, "what is a clock?" "A thing,"
answered the clown, "that shows the time of the day." "Why then," said
Robin Good-fellow, "be thou a clock, and tell me what time of the day it
is." "I owe thee not so much service," answered he again, "but because thou
shalt think thyself beholden to me, know that it is the same time of the
day as it was yesterday at this time."
These cross-answers vexed Robin Good-fellow, so that in himself he vowed to
be revenged of him, which he did in this manner.
Robin Good-fellow turned himself into a bird, and followed this fellow, who
was going into a field a little from that place to catch a horse that was
at grass. The horse being wild ran over dyke and hedge, and the fellow
after; but to little purpose, for the horse was too swift for him. Robin
was glad of this occasion, for now or never was the time to put his revenge
in action.
Presently Robin shaped himself like to the horse that the fellow followed,
and so stood before the fellow: presently the fellow took hold of him and
got on his back, but long had he not rid, but with a stumble he hurled this
churlish clown to the ground, that he almost broke his neck; yet took he
not this for a sufficient revenge for the cross-answers he had received,
but stood still and let the fellow mount him once more.
In the way the fellow was to ride was a great plash of water of a good
depth: through this must he of necessity ride. No sooner was he in the
midst of it, but Robin Good-fellow left him with nothing but a pack-saddle
betwixt his legs, and in the shape of a fish swam to the shore, and ran
away laughing, _ho, ho, hoh!_[4] leaving the poor fellow almost drowned.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW HELPED TWO LOVERS AND DECEIVED AN OLD MAN
Robin going by a wood heard two lovers make great lamentation, because they
were hindered from enjoying each other by a cruel old lecher, who would not
suffer this loving couple to marry. Robin, pitying them, went to them and
said: "I have heard your complaints, and do pity you; be ruled by me, and I
will see that you shall have both your hearts' content, and that suddenly
if you please." After some amazement the maiden said, "Alas! sir, how can
that be? My uncle, because I will not grant to his lust, is so straight
over me, and so oppresseth me with work night and day, that I have not so
much time as to drink or speak with this young man, whom I love above all
men living." "If your work be all that hindereth you," said Robin, "I will
see that done: ask me not how, nor make any doubt of the performance; I
will do it. Go you with your love: for twenty-four hours I will free you.
In that time marry or do what you will. If you refuse my proffered kindness
never look to enjoy your wished-for happiness. I love true lovers, honest
men, good fellows, good housewives, good meat, good drink, and all things
that good is, but nothing that is ill; for my name is Robin Good-fellow,
and that you shall see that I have power to perform what I have undertaken,
see what I can do." Presently he turned himself into a horse, and away he
ran: at the sight of which they were both amazed, but better considering
with themselves, they both determined to make good use of their time, and
presently they went to an old friar, who presently married them. They paid
him, and went their way. Where they supped and lay, I know not, but surely
they liked their lodging well the next day.
Robin, when that he came near the old man's house, turned himself into the
shape of the young maid, and entered the house, where, after much chiding,
he fell to the work that the maid had to do, which he did in half the time
that another could do it in. The old man, seeing the speed he made, thought
that she had some meeting that night (for he took Robin Good-fellow for his
niece); therefore he gave him order for other work, that was too much for
any one to do in one night; Robin did that in a trice, and played many mad
pranks beside ere the day appeared.
In the morning he went to the two lovers to their bed-side, and bid God
give them joy, and told them all things went well, and that ere night he
would bring them ten pounds of her uncle's to begin the world with. They
both thanked him, which was all the requital that he looked for, and being
therewith well contented he went his way laughing.
Home went he to the old man, who then was by, and marvelled how the work
was done so soon. Robin, seeing that, said: "Sir, I pray marvel not, for a
greater wonder than that this night hath happened to me." "Good niece, what
is that?" said the old man. "This, Sir; but I shame to speak it, yet I
will: weary with work, I slept, and did dream that I consented to that
which you have so often desired of me (you know what it is I mean), and
methought you gave me as a reward ten pounds, with your consent to marry
that young man that I have loved so long." "Didst thou dream so? thy dream
I will make good, for under my handwriting I give my free consent to marry
him, or whom thou dost please to marry (and withal writ); and for the ten
pounds, go but into the out-barn, and I will bring it thee presently. How
sayest thou," said the old lecher; "wilt thou?" Robin with silence did seem
to grant, and went toward the barn. The old man made haste, told out his
money, and followed.
Being come thither, he hurled the money on the ground, saying, "This is the
most pleasing bargain that ever I made;" and going to embrace Robin, Robin
took him up in his arms and carried him forth; first drew him through a
pond to cool his hot blood, then did he carry him where the young married
couple were, and said, "Here is your uncle's consent under his hand; then,
here is the ten pounds he gave you, and there is your uncle: let him deny
it if he can."
The old man, for fear of worse usage, said all was true. "Then am I as good
as my word," said Robin, and so went, away laughing. The old man knew
himself duly punished, and turned his hatred into love, and thought
afterward as well of them as if she had been his own. The second part shall
show many incredible things done by Robin Good-fellow (or otherwise called
Hob-goblin) and his companions, by turning himself into divers sundry
shapes.
THE SECOND PART OF ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW, COMMONLY CALLED HOB-GOBLIN
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW HELPED A MAID TO WORK
Robin Good-fellow oftentimes would in the night visit farmers' houses, and
help the maids to break hemp, to bolt[5], to dress flax, and to spin and do
other work, for he was excellent in everything. One night he came to a
farmer's house, where there was a good handsome maid: this maid having much
work to do, Robin one night did help her, and in six hours did bolt more
than she could have done in twelve hours. The maid wondered the next day
how her work came, and to know the doer, she watched the next night that
did follow. About twelve of the clock in came Robin, and fell to breaking
of hemp, and for to delight himself he sung this mad song.
And can the physician make sick men well?
And can the magician a fortune divine?
Without lily, germander and sops-in-wine?
With sweet-brier
And bon-fire,
And strawberry wire,
And columbine.
Within and out, in and out, round as a ball,
With hither and thither, as straight as a line,
With lily, germander and sops-in-wine.
With sweet-brier,
And bon-fire,
And strawberry wire,
And columbine.
When Saturn did live, there lived no poor,
The king and the beggar with roots did dine,
With lily, germander and sops-in-wine.
With sweet-brier,
And bon-fire,
And strawberry wire,
And columbine.
The maid, seeing him bare in clothes, pitied him, and against the next
night provided him a waistcoat. Robin, coming the next night to work, as he
did before, espied the waistcoat, whereat he started and said--
Because thou lay'st me, himpen, hampen,[6]
I will neither bolt nor stampen;
'Tis not your garments new or old
That Robin loves: I feel no cold.
Had you left me milk or cream,
You should have had a pleasing dream:
Because you left no drop or crumb,
Robin never more will come.
So went he away laughing, _ho, ho, hoh!_ The maid was much grieved and
discontented at his anger: for ever after she was fain to do her work
herself without the help of Robin Good-fellow.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW LED A COMPANY OF FELLOWS OUT OF THEIR WAY
A company of young men having been making merry with their sweethearts,
were at their coming home to come over a heath. Robin Good-fellow, knowing
of it, met them, and to make some pastime, he led them up and down the
heath a whole night, so that they could not get out of it; for he went
before them in the shape of a walking fire, which they all saw and followed
till the day did appear: then Robin left them, and at his departure spake
these words--
Get you home, you merry lads!
Tell your mammies and your dads,
And all those that news desire,
How you saw a walking fire.
Wenches, that do smile and lisp
Use to call me Willy Wisp.
If that you but weary he,
It is sport alone for me.
Away: unto your houses go
And I'll go laughing _ho, ho, hoh!_
The fellows were glad that he was gone, for they were all in a great fear
that he would have done them some mischief.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A LECHEROUS GALLANT
Robin always did help those that suffered wrong, and never would hurt any
but those that did wrong to others. It was his chance one day to go through
a field where he heard one call for help: he, going near where he heard the
cry, saw a lusty gallant that would have forced a young maiden to his lust;
but the maiden in no wise would yield, which made her cry for help. Robin
Good-fellow, seeing of this, turned himself into the shape of a hare, and
so ran between the lustful gallant's legs. This gallant, thinking to have
taken him, he presently turned himself into a horse, and so perforce
carried away this gallant on his back. The gentleman cried out for help,
for he thought that the devil had been come to fetch him for his
wickedness; but his crying was in vain, for Robin did carry him into a
thick hedge, and there left him so pricked and scratched, that he more
desired a plaister for his pain than a wench for his pleasure. Thus the
poor maid was freed from this ruffian, and Robin Good-fellow, to see this
gallant so tame, went away laughing, _ho, ho, hoh!_
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TURNED A MISERABLE USURER TO A GOOD HOUSE-KEEPER
In this country of ours there was a rich man dwelled, who to get wealth
together was so sparing that he could not find in his heart to give his
belly food enough. In the winter he never would make so much fire as would
roast a black-pudding, for he found it more profitable to sit by other
men's. His apparel was of the fashion that none did wear; for it was such
as did hang at a broker's stall, till it was as weather-beaten as an old
sign. This man for his covetousness was so hated of all his neighbours,
that there was not one that gave him a good word. Robin Good-fellow grieved
to see a man of such wealth do so little good, and therefore practised to
better him in this manner.
One night the usurer being in bed, Robin in the shape of a night-raven[7]
came to the window, and there did beat with his wings, and croaked in such
manner that this old usurer thought he should have presently died for fear.
This was but a preparation to what he did intend; for presently after he
appeared before him at his bed's feet, in the shape of a ghost, with a
torch in his hand. At the sight of this the old usurer would have risen out
of his bed, and have leaped out of the window, but he was stayed by Robin
Good-fellow, who spake to him thus--
If thou dost stir out of thy bed,
I do vow to strike thee dead.
I do come to do thee good;
Recall thy wits and starkled[8] blood.
The money which thou up dost store
In soul and body makes thee poor.
Do good with money while you may;
Thou hast not long on earth to stay.
Do good, I say, or day and night
I hourly thus will thee affright.
Think on my words, and so farewell,
For being bad I live in hell.
Having said thus he vanished away and left this usurer in great terror of
mind; and for fear of being frighted again with this ghost, he turned very
liberal, and lived amongst his neighbours as an honest man should do.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW LOVED A WEAVER'S WIFE,
AND HOW THE WEAVER WOULD HAVE DROWNED HIM
One day Robin Good-fellow, walking through the street, found at the door
sitting a pretty woman: this woman was wife to the weaver, and was
a-winding of quills[9] for her husband. Robin liked her so well, that for
her sake he became servant to her husband, and did daily work at the loom;
but all the kindness that he showed was but lost, for his mistress would
show him no favour, which made him many times to exclaim against the whole
sex in satirical songs; and one day being at work he sung this, to the tune
of _Rejoice Bag-pipes_--
Why should my love now wax
Unconstant, wavering, fickle, unstaid?
With nought can she me tax:
I ne'er recanted what I once said.
I now do see, as nature fades,
And all her works decay,
So women all, wives, widows, maids,
From bad to worse do stray.
As herbs, trees, roots, and plants
In strength and growth are daily less,
So all things have their wants:
The heavenly signs move and digress;
And honesty in women's hearts
Hath not her former being:
Their thoughts are ill, like other parts,
Nought else in them's agreeing.
I sooner thought thunder
Had power o'er the laurel wreath,
Than she, women's wonder,
Such perjured thoughts should live to breathe.
They all hyena-like will weep,
When that they would deceive:
Deceit in them doth lurk and sleep,
Which makes me thus to grieve.
Young man's delight, farewell;
Wine, women, game, pleasure, adieu:
Content with me shall dwell;
I'll nothing trust but what is true.
Though she were false, for her I'll pray;
Her falsehood made me blest:
I will renew from this good day
My life by sin opprest.
Moved with this song and other complaints of his, she at last did fancy
him, so that the weaver did not like that Robin should be so saucy with his
wife, and therefore gave him warning to be gone, for he would keep him no
longer. This grieved this loving couple to part one from the other, which
made them to make use of the time that they had. The weaver one day coming
in, found them a-kissing: at this he said [nothing] but vowed in himself to
be revenged of his man that night following. Night being come, the weaver
went to Robin's bed, and took him out of it (as he then thought) and ran
apace to the river side to hurl Robin in; but the weaver was deceived, for
Robin, instead of himself, had laid in his bed a sack full of yarn: it was
that that the weaver carried to drown. The weaver standing by the river
side said:--Now will I cool your hot blood, Master Robert, and if you
cannot swim the better you shall sink and drown, With that he hurled the
sack in, thinking that it had been Robin Good-fellow. Robin, standing
behind him, said--
For this your kindness, master, I you thank:
Go swim yourself; I'll stay upon the bank.
With that Robin pushed him in, and went laughing away, _ho, ho, hoh!_
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW WENT IN THE SHAPE OF A FIDDLER TO A WEDDING,
AND OF THE SPORT THAT HE HAD THERE
On a time there was a great wedding, to which there went many young lusty
lads and pretty lasses. Robin Good-fellow longing not to be out of action,
shaped himself like unto a fiddler, and with his crowd under his arm went
amongst them, and was a very welcome man. There played he whilst they
danced, and took as much delight in seeing them, as they did in hearing
him. At dinner he was desired to sing a song, which he did to the tune of
_Watton Town's End_[10].
THE SONG
It was a country lad
That fashions strange would see,
And he came to a vaulting school,
Where tumblers used to be:
He liked his sport so well,
That from it he'd not part:
His doxy to him still did cry,
Come, buss thine own sweetheart.
They liked his gold so well,
That they were both content,
That he that night with his sweetheart
Should pass in merriment.
To bed they then did go;
Full well he knew his part,
Where he with words, and eke with deeds,
Did buss his own sweetheart.
Long were they not in bed,
But one knocked at the door,
And said, Up, rise, and let me in:
This vexed both knave and whore.
He being sore perplexed
From bed did lightly start;
No longer then could he endure
To buss his own sweetheart.
With tender steps he trod,
To see if he could spy
The man that did him so molest;
Which he with heavy eye
Had soon beheld, and said,
Alas! my own sweetheart,
I now do doubt, if e'er we buss,
It must be in a cart.
At last the bawd arose
And opened the door,
And saw Discretion cloth'd in rug,
Whose office hates a whore.
He mounted up the stairs,
Being cunning in his art;
With little search at last he found
My youth and his sweetheart.
He having wit at will,
Unto them both did say,
I will not hear them speak one word
Watchmen, with them away!
And cause they loved so well
'Tis pity they should part.
Away with them to new Bride-well;
There buss your own sweetheart.
His will it was fulfilled,
And there they had the law;
And whilst that they did nimbly spin,
The hemp he needs must taw.
He ground, he thumped, he grew
So cunning in his art,
He learnt the trade of beating hemp
By bussing his sweetheart.
But yet, he still would say,
If I could get release
To see strange fashions I'll give o'er,
And henceforth live in peace,
The town where I was bred,
And think by my desart
To come no more into this place
For bussing my sweetheart.
They all liked his song very well, and said that the young man had but
ill-luck. Thus continued he playing and singing songs till candle-light:
then he began to play his merry tricks in this manner. First he put out the
candles, and then, being dark, he struck the men good boxes on the ears:
they, thinking it had been those that did sit next them, fell a-fighting
one with the other; so that there was not one of them but had either a
broken head or a bloody nose. At this Robin laughed heartily. The women did
not escape him, for the handsomest he kissed; the other he pinched, and
made them scratch one the other, as if they had been cats. Candles being
lighted again, they all were friends, and fell again to dancing, and after
to supper.
Supper being ended, a great posset was brought forth: at this Robin
Good-fellow's teeth did water, for it looked so lovely that he could not
keep from it. To attain to his wish, he did turn himself into a bear: both
men and women (seeing a bear amongst them) ran away, and left the whole
posset to Robin Good-fellow. He quickly made an end of it, and went away
without his money; for the sport he had was better to him than any money
whatsoever. The fear that the guests were in did cause such a smell, that
the bridegroom did call for perfumes; and instead of a posset, he was fain
to make use of cold beer.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A TAPSTER FOR NICKING HIS POTS
There was a tapster, that with his pots' smallness, and with frothing of
his drink, had got a good sum of money together. This nicking of the pots
he would never leave, yet divers times he had been under the hand of
authority, but what money soever he had [to pay] for his abuses, he would
be sure (as they all do) to get it out of the poor man's pot again. Robin
Good-fellow, hating such knavery, put a trick upon him in this manner.
Robin shaped himself like to the tapster's brewer, and came and demanded
twenty pounds which was due to him from the tapster. The tapster, thinking
it had been his brewer, paid him the money, which money Robin gave to the
poor of that parish before the tapster's face. The tapster praised his
charity very much, and said that God would bless him the better for such
good deeds: so after they had drank one with the other, they parted.
Some four days after the brewer himself came for his money: the tapster
told him that it was paid, and that he had a quittance from him to show.
Hereat the brewer did wonder, and desired to see the quittance. The tapster
fetched him a writing, which Robin Good-fellow had given him instead of a
quittance, wherein was written as followeth, which the brewer read to him--
I, Robin Good-fellow, true man and honest man, do acknowledge to have
received of Nick and Froth, the cheating tapster, the sum of twenty
pounds, which money I have bestowed (to the tapster's content) among
the poor of the parish, out of whose pockets this aforesaid tapster had
picked the aforesaid sum, not after the manner of foisting, but after
his excellent skill of bombasting[11], or a pint for a penny.
If now thou wilt go hang thyself,
Then take thy apron strings;
It doth me good when such foul birds
Upon the gallows sings.
_Per me_ ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.
At this the tapster swore Walsingham; but for all his swearing, the brewer
made him pay him his twenty pounds.
HOW KING OBREON[12] CALLED ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TO DANCE
King Obreon, seeing Robin Good-fellow do so many honest and merry tricks,
called him one night out of his bed with these words, saying--
Robin, my son, come quickly, rise:
First stretch, then yawn, and rub your eyes;
For thou must go with me to-night,
To see, and taste of my delight.
Quickly come, my wanton son;
'Twere time our sports were now begun.
Robin, hearing this, rose and went to him. There were with King Obreon a
many fairies, all attired in green silk; all these, with King Obreon, did
welcome Robin Good-fellow into their company. Obreon took Robin by the hand
and led him a dance: their musician was little Tom Thumb; for he had an
excellent bag-pipe made of a wren's quill, and the skin of a Greenland
louse: this pipe was so shrill, and so sweet, that a Scottish pipe compared
to it, it would no more come near it, than a Jew's-trump doth to an Irish
harp. After they had danced, King Obreon spake to his son, Robin
Good-fellow, in this manner--
When e'er you hear my piper blow,
From thy bed see that thou go;
For nightly you must with us dance,
When we in circles round do prance.
I love thee, son, and by the hand
I carry thee to Fairy Land,
Where thou shalt see what no man knows:
Such love thee King Obreon owes.
So marched they in good manner (with their piper before) to the Fairy Land:
there did King Obreon show Robin Good-fellow many secrets, which he never
did open to the world.
HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW WAS WONT TO WALK IN THE NIGHT
Robin Good-fellow would many times walk in the night with a broom on his
shoulder, and cry "chimney sweep," but when any one did call him, then
would he run away laughing _ho, ho, hoh!_ Sometimes he would counterfeit a
beggar, begging very pitifully, but when they came to give him an alms, he
would run away, laughing as his manner was. Sometimes would he knock at
men's doors, and when the servants came, he would blow out the candle, if
they were men; but if they were women, he would not only put out their
light, but kiss them full sweetly, and then go away as his fashion was,
_ho, ho, hoh!_ Oftentimes would he sing at a door like a singing man, and
when they did come to give him his reward, he would turn his back and
laugh. In these humours of his he had many pretty songs, which I will sing
as perfect as I can. For his chimney-sweeper's humours he had these songs:
the first is to the tune of _I have been a fiddler these fifteen years_.
Black I am from head to foot,
And all doth come by chimney soot:
Then maidens, come and cherish him
That makes your chimneys neat and trim.
Horns have I store, but all at my back;
My head no ornament doth lack:
I give my horns to other men,
And ne'er require them again.
Then come away, you wanton wives,
That love your pleasures as your lives:
To each good woman I'll give two,
Or more, if she think them too few.
Then would he change his note and sing this following, to the tune of _What
care I how fair she be?_[13]
Be she blacker than the stock,
If that thou wilt make her fair,
Put her in a cambric smock,
Buy her paint and flaxen hair.
One your carrier brings to town
Will put down your city-bred;
Put her on a broker's gown,
That will sell her maiden-head.
Comes your Spaniard, proud in mind,
He'll have the first cut, or else none:
The meek Italian comes behind,
And your Frenchman picks the bone.
Still she trades with Dutch and Scot,
Irish, and the German tall,
Till she gets the thing you wot;
Then her end's an hospital.
A song to the tune of _The Spanish Pavin_[14].
When Virtue was a country maid,
And had no skill to set up trade,
She came up with a carrier's jade,
And lay at rack and manger.
She whiffed her pipe, she drunk her can,
The pot was ne'er out of her span;
She married a tobacco man,
A stranger, a stranger.
They set up shop in Honey Lane,
And thither flies did swarm amain,
Some from France, some from Spain,
Train'd in by scurvy panders.
At last this honey pot grew dry,
Then both were forcéd for to fly
To Flanders, to Flanders.
Another to the tune of _The Coranto_.
I peeped in at the Woolsack,
O, what a goodly sight did I
Behold at midnight chime!
The wenches were drinking of mulled sack;
Each youth on his knee, that then did want
A year and a half of his time.
They leaped and skipped,
They kissed and they clipped,
And yet it was counted no crime.
The grocer's chief servant brought sugar,
And out of his leather pocket he pulled,
And culled some pound and a half;
For which he was suffered to smack her
That was his sweetheart, and would not depart,
But turned and lick'd the calf.
He rung her, and he flung her,
He kissed her, and he swung her,
And yet she did nothing but laugh.
Thus would he sing about cities and towns, and when any one called him, he
would change his shape, and go laughing _ho, ho, hoh!_ For his humours of
begging he used this song, to the tune of _The Jovial Tinker_[15].
Good people of this mansion,
Unto the poor be pleased
To do some good, and give some food,
That hunger may be eased.
My limbs with fire are burned,
My goods and lands defaced;
Of wife and child I am beguiled,
So much am I debased.
Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese, or butter,
Bacon, hemp, or flax;
Some pudding bring, or other thing:
My need doth make me ax[16].
I am no common beggar,
Nor am I skilled in canting:
You ne'er shall see a wench with me,
Such tricks in me are wanting.
I curse not if you give not,
But still I pray and bless you,
Still wishing joy, and that annoy
May never more possess you.
Oh, give the poor some bread, cheese or butter,
Bacon, hemp or flax;
Some pudding bring, or other thing,
My need doth make me ax.
When any came to relieve him, then would he change himself into some other
shape, and run laughing, _ho, ho, hoh!_ Then would he shape himself like to
a singing man; and at men's windows and doors sing civil and virtuous
songs, one of which I will sing to the tune of _Broom_[17].
If thou wilt lead a blest and happy life,
I will describe the perfect way:
First must thou shun all cause of mortal strife,
Against thy lusts continually to pray.
Attend unto God's word:
Great comfort 'twill afford;
'Twill keep thee from discord.
Then trust in God, the Lord,
for ever,
for ever;
And see in this thou persever.
So soon as day appeareth in the east
Give thanks to him, and mercy crave;
So in this life thou shalt be surely blest,
And mercy shalt thou find in grave.
The conscience that is clear
No horror doth it fear;
'Tis void of mortal care,
And never doth despair;
but ever,
but ever
Doth in the word of God persever.
Thus living, when thou drawest to thy end
Thy joys they shall much more increase,
For then thy soul, thy true and loving friend,
By death shall find a wished release
From all that caused sin,
In which it lived in;
For then it doth begin
Those blessed joys to win,
for ever,
for ever,
For there is nothing can them sever.
Those blessed joys which then thou shalt possess,
No mortal tongue can them declare:
All earthly joys, compared with this, are less
Than smallest mote to the world so fair.
Then is not that man blest
That must enjoy this rest?
Full happy is that guest
Invited to this feast,
that ever,
that ever
Endureth and is ended never.
When they opened the window or door, then would he run away laughing _ho,
ho, hoh!_ Sometimes would he go like a bellman in the night, and with many
pretty verses delight the ears of those that waked at his bell ringing: his
verses were these--
Maids in your smocks,
Look well to your locks,
And your tinder box,
Your wheels and your rocks,
Your hens and your cocks,
Your cows and your ox,
And beware of the fox.
When the bellman knocks,
Put out your fire and candle-light,
So they shall not you affright:
May you dream of your delights,
In your sleeps see pleasing sights.
Good rest to all, both old and young:
The bellman now hath done his song.
Then would he go laughing _ho, ho, hoh!_ as his use was. Thus would he
continually practise himself in honest mirth, never doing hurt to any that
were cleanly and honest-minded.
HOW THE FAIRIES CALLED ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW TO DANCE WITH THEM,
AND HOW THEY SHOWED HIM THEIR SEVERAL CONDITIONS
Robin Good-fellow being walking one night heard the excellent music of Tom
Thumb's brave bag-pipe: he remembering the sound (according to the command
of King Obreon) went towards them. They, for joy that he was come, did
circle him in, and in a ring did dance round about him. Robin Good-fellow,
seeing their love to him, danced in the midst of them, and sung them this
song to the tune of _To him Bun_.
THE SONG
Round about, little ones, quick and nimble,
In and out wheel about, run, hop, or amble.
Join your hands lovingly: well done, musician!
Mirth keepeth man in health like a physician.
Elves, urchins, goblins all, and little fairies
That do filch, black, and pinch maids of the dairies;
Make a ring on the grass with your quick measures,
Tom shall play, and I'll sing for all your pleasures.
Pinch and Patch, Gull and Grim,
Go you together,
For you can change your shapes
Like to the weather.
Sib and Tib, Lick and Lull,
You all have tricks, too;
Little Tom Thumb that pipes
Shall go betwixt you.
Tom, tickle up thy pipes
Till they be weary:
I will laugh, _ho, ho, hoh!_
And make me merry.
Make a ring on this grass
With your quick measures:
Tom shall play, I will sing
For all your pleasures.
The moon shines fair and bright,
And the owl hollos,
Mortals now take their rests
Upon their pillows:
The bat's abroad likewise,
And the night-raven,
Which doth use for to call
Men to Death's haven.
Now the mice peep abroad,
And the cats take them,
Now do young wenches sleep,
Till their dreams wake them.
Make a ring on the grass
With your quick measures:
Tom shall play, I will sing
For all your pleasures.
Thus danced they a good space: at last they left and sat down upon the
grass; and to requite Robin Good-fellow's kindness, they promised to tell
to him all the exploits that they were accustomed to do: Robin thanked them
and listened to them, and one began to tell his tricks in this manner.
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED PINCH
"After that we have danced in this manner as you have beheld, I, that am
called Pinch, do go about from house to house: sometimes I find the doors
of the house open; that negligent servant that left them so, I do so nip
him or her, that with my pinches their bodies are as many colours as a
mackerel's back. Then take I them, and lay I them in the door, naked or
unnaked I care not whether: there they lie, many times till broad day, ere
they waken; and many times, against their wills, they show some parts about
them, that they would not have openly seen.
"Sometimes I find a slut sleeping in the chimney-corner, when she should be
washing of her dishes, or doing something else which she hath left undone:
her I pinch about the arms, for not laying her arms to her labour. Some I
find in their bed snorting and sleeping, and their houses lying as clean as
a nasty dog's kennel; in one corner bones, in another egg-shells, behind
the door a heap of dust, the dishes under feet, and the cat in the
cupboard: all these sluttish tricks I do reward with blue legs, and blue
arms. I find some slovens too, as well as sluts: they pay for their
beastliness too, as well as the women-kind; for if they uncase a sloven and
not untie their points, I so pay their arms that they cannot sometimes
untie them, if they would. Those that leave foul shoes, or go into their
beds with their stockings on, I use them as I did the former, and never
leave them till they have left their beastliness.
But to the good I do no harm,
But cover them and keep them warm:
Sluts and slovens I do pinch,
And make them in their beds to winch
This is my practice, and my trade;
Many have I cleanly made."
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED PATCH
"About midnight do I walk, and for the tricks I play they call me Patch.
When I find a slut asleep, I smutch her face if it be clean; but if it be
dirty, I wash it in the next piss pot that I can find: the balls I use to
wash such sluts withal is a sow's pancake or a pilgrim's salve. Those that
I find with their heads nitty and scabby, for want of combing, I am their
barbers, and cut their hair as close as an ape's tail; or else clap so much
pitch on it, that they must cut it off themselves to their great shame.
Slovens also that neglect their masters' business, they do not escape. Some
I find that spoil their masters' horses for want of currying: those I do
daub with grease and soot, that they are fain to curry themselves ere they
can get clean. Others that for laziness will give the poor beasts no meat,
I oftentimes so punish them with blows, that they cannot feed themselves
they are so sore.
Thus many tricks I Patch can do,
But to the good I ne'er was foe:
The bad I hate and will do ever,
Till they from ill themselves do sever.
To help the good I'll run and go,
The bad no good from me shall know."
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED GULL
"When mortals keep their beds I walk abroad, and for my pranks am called by
the name of Gull. I with a feigned voice do often deceive many men, to
their great amazement. Many times I get on men and women, and so lie on
their stomachs, that I cause there great pain, for which they call me by
the name of Hag, or Nightmare. 'Tis I that do steal children, and in the
place of them leave changelings. Sometimes I also steal milk and cream, and
then with my brothers, Patch, Pinch, and Grim, and sisters Sib, Tib, Lick,
and Lull, I feast with my stolen goods: our little piper hath his share in
all our spoils, but he nor our women fairies do ever put themselves in
danger to do any great exploit.
What Gull can do, I have you shown;
I am inferior unto none.
Command me, Robin, thou shalt know,
That I for thee will ride or go:
I can do greater things than these
Upon the land, and on the seas."
THE TRICKS OF THE FAIRY CALLED GRIM
"I walk with the owl, and make many to cry as loud as she doth hollo.
Sometimes I do affright many simple people, for which some have termed me
the Black Dog of Newgate. At the meetings of young men and maids I many
times am, and when they are in the midst of all their good cheer, I come
in, in some fearful shape, and affright them, and then carry away their
good cheer, and eat it with my fellow fairies. 'Tis I that do, like a
screech-owl cry at sick men's windows, which makes the hearers so fearful,
that they say, that the sick person cannot live. Many other ways have I to
fright the simple, but the understanding man I cannot move to fear, because
he knows I have no power to do hurt.
My nightly business I have told,
To play these tricks I use of old:
When candles burn both blue and dim,
Old folk will say, Here's fairy Grim.
More tricks than these I use to do:
Hereat cried Robin, _Ho, ho, hoh!_"
THE TRICKS OF THE WOMEN FAIRIES TOLD BY SIB
"To walk nightly, as do the men fairies, we use not; but now and then we go
together, and at good housewives' fires we warm and dress our fairy
children. If we find clean water and clean towels, we leave them money,
either in their basins or in their shoes; but if we find no clean water in
their houses, we wash our children in their pottage, milk, or beer, or
whate'er we find: for the sluts that leave not such things fitting, we wash
their faces and hands with a gilded child's clout, or else carry them to
some river, and duck them over head and ears. We often use to dwell in some
great hill, and from thence we do lend money to any poor man or woman that
hath need; but if they bring it not again at the day appointed, we do not
only punish them with pinching, but also in their goods, so that they never
thrive till they have paid us.
Tib and I the chiefest are,
And for all things do take care.
Lick is cook and dresseth meat,
And fetcheth all things that we eat:
Lull is nurse and tends the cradle,
And the babes doth dress and swaddle.
This little fellow, called Tom Thumb,
That is no bigger than a plum,
He is the porter to our gate,
For he doth let all in thereat,
And makes us merry with his play,
And merrily we spend the day."
She having spoken, Tom Thumb stood up on tip-toe and showed himself,
saying--
My actions all in volumes two are wrote,
The least of which will never be forgot.
He had no sooner ended his two lines, but a shepherd (that was watching in
the field all night) blew up a bag-pipe: this so frightened Tom, that he
could not tell what to do for the present time. The fairies seeing Tom
Thumb in such a fear, punished the shepherd with his pipes' loss, so that
the shepherd's pipe presently brake in his hand, to his great amazement.
Hereat did Robin Good-fellow laugh, _ho, ho, hoh!_ Morning being come, they
all hasted to Fairy Land, where I think they yet remain.
My hostess asked me how I liked this tale? I said, it was long enough, and
good enough to pass time that might be worser spent. I, seeing her dry,
called for two pots: she emptied one of them at a draught, and never
breathed for the matter: I emptied the other at leisure; and being late I
went to bed, and did dream of this which I had heard.
* * * * *
THE ROMANCE OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE
FYTTE I
As I me went this endris[1] day,
Full fast in mind making my moan,
In a merry morning of May
By Huntlie banks myself alone,
I heard the jay and the throstle-cock; 5
The mavis meaned[2] her of her song;
The woodwale berèd[3] as a bell,
That all the wood about me rong.
Alone in longing thus as I lay
Underneath a seemly tree, 10
Saw I where a lady gay
Came riding over a longè lea.
If I should sit to Doomèsday
With my tongue to wrable and wry[4],
Certainly that lady gay 15
Never be she described for me!
Her palfrey was a dapple-gray,[5]
Swilk[6] one ne saw I never none;
As does the sun on summer's day,
That fair lady herself she shone. 20
Her saddle it was of roelle-bone[7];
Full seemly was that sight to see!
Stiffly set with precious stone
And compast all with crapotee[8]--
Stones of Orient great plenty; 25
Her hair about her head it hang;
She rode over that longè lea;
A while she blew, another she sang.
Her girths of noble silk they were;
The buckles were of beryl-stone; 30
Her stirrups were of crystal clear,
And all with pearl overbegone[9];
Her paytrell[10] was of iral-stone;
Her crupper was of orpharè[11];
And as clear gold her bridle shone; 35
On either side hang bellès three.
She led three grew-hounds in a leash,
And seven raches[12] by her they ran;
She bare an horn about her halse[13],
And under/her belt full many a flane[14]. 40
Thomas lay and saw that sight
Underneath a seemly tree.
He said "Yon is Mary most of might,[15]
That bare that child that died for me.
But-if[16] I speak with yon lady bright, 45
I hope my heart will break in three!
Now shall I go with all my might
Her for to meet at Eildon tree[17]."
Thomas rathely[18] up he rase,
And he ran over that mountain high; 50
If it be as the story says,
Her he met at Eildon tree.
He kneelèd down upon his knee,
Underneath that greenwood spray,
And said "Lovely lady, rue on me, 55
Queen of heaven, as thou well may!"
Then spake that lady mild of thought,
"Thomas, let such wordès be;
Queen of heaven ne am I nought,
For I took never so high degree. 60
But I am of another country,
If I be 'parelled most of price;
I ride after these wildè fee[19];
My raches runnès at my device."
"If thou be 'parelled most of price, 65
And here rides thus in thy folly,
Of love, lady, as thou art wise,
Thou give me leave to lie thee by!"
She said "Thou man, that were folly;
I pray thee, Thomas, thou let me be; 70
For I say thee full sekerly[20],
That sin will fordo all my beauty,"
"Now, lovely lady, rue on me,
And I will evermore with thee dwell;
Here my troth I will plight to thee, 75
Whether thou wilt in heaven or hell."
"Man of mould, thou wilt me mar;
But yet thou shalt have all thy will;
And, trow it well, thou 'chievest the ware[21],
For all my beauty wilt thou spill." 80
Down then light that lady bright
Underneath that greenwood spray.
And, as the story tells full right,
Seven times by her he lay.
She said "Man, thee likes thy play; 85
What byrde[22] in bower may deal with thee?
Thou marrest me all this longè day;
I pray thee, Thomas, let me be!"
Thomas stood up in that stead[23],
And he beheld that lady gay; 90
Her hair it hang all over her head;
Her eyne were out, that ere were gray;
And all the rich clothing was away
That he before saw in that stead;
Her one shank black, her other gray, 95
And all her body like the lead.
Then said Thomas "Alas, alas!
In faith this is a duleful[24] sight;
How art thou faded thus in the face,
That shone before as the sun so bright!" 100
She said, "Thomas, take leave at sun and moon,
And also at leaf that grows on tree;
This twelvemonth shalt thou with me gone[25],
And Middle-earth[26] shalt thou none see."
He kneelèd down upon his knee, 105
Underneath that greenwood spray,
And said "Lovely lady[27], rue on me,
Mild queen of heaven, as thou best may!
Alas!" he said, "and woe is me!
I trow my deeds will work me care; 110
My soul, Jesu, beteach[28] I thee,
Whithersoever my bones shall fare."
She led him in at Eildon hill
Underneath a dernè[29] lea,
Where it was dark as midnight mirk, 115
And ever the water till his knee.
The mountenance[30] of dayès three
He heard but swoughing of the flood;
At the last he said "Full woe is me!
Almost I die for fault of food." 120
She led him intill a fair herbere[31]
Where fruit was growing great plenty;
Pear and apple, both ripe they were,
The date, and also the damasee,
The fig, and also the wine-berry; 125
The nightègales bigging[32] on their nest;
The papejoys[33] fast about gan fly,
And throstles sang, would have no rest.
He pressed to pull fruit with his hand,
As man for food that was near faint. 130
She said "Thomas, thou let them stand,[34]
Or else the fiend thee will attaint!
If thou it pluck, soothly to say,
Thy soul goes to the fire of hell;
It comes never out or Doomèsday, 135
But there in pain aye for to dwell.
Thomas, soothly, I thee hight[35],
Come lay thy head down on my knee,
And thou shalt see the fairest sight
That ever saw man of thy country." 140
He did in hight[36] as she him bade;
Upon her knee his head he laid,
For her to pay[37] he was full glad,
And then that lady to him said:
"Seest thou[38] now yon fair[39] way, 145
That lieth over yon high mountain?
Yon is the way to heaven for aye
When sinful souls are past their pain.
Seest thou now yon other way,
That lieth low beneath yon rise[40]? 150
Yon is the way, thee sooth to say,
Unto the joy of Paradise.
Seest thou yet yon thirdè way,
That lieth under yon greenè plain?
Yon is the way, with teen and tray[41], 155
Where sinful soulès suffer their pain.
But seest thou now yon fourthè way,
That lieth over yon deepè dell?
Yon is the way, so wellaway!
Unto the burning fire of hell. 160
Seest thou yet yon fair castel,
That standeth over yon highè hill?
Of town and tower it bears the bell,
In earth is none like it untill.
For sooth, Thomas, yon is mine own, 165
And the king's of this country;
But me were lever[42] be hanged and drawn
Or that[43] he wist thou lay me by.
When thou com'st to yon castle gay,
I pray thee courteous man to be, 170
And whatso any man to thee say,
Look thou answer none but me.
My lord is servèd at each mess
With thirty knightès fair and free;
I shall say, sitting at the dess[44], 175
I took thy speech beyond the sea."
Thomas still as stone he stood,
And he beheld that lady gay;
She came again as fair and good
And also rich on her palfrey. 180
Her grewhounds fillèd with deer-blood;
Her raches coupled, by my fay;
She blew her horn with main and mood[45];
Unto the castle she took the way.
Into the hall soothly she went; 185
Thomas followèd at her hand;
Then ladies came, both fair and gent,
With courtesy to her kneeland[46].
Harp and fithel both they fand[47],
Gittern and also the sawtery[48], 190
Lute and ribib[49] both gangand[50],
And all manner of minstrelsy.
The most marvel that Thomas thought,
When that he stood upon the floor,
For fifty hartès in were brought, 195
That were bothè great and store[51].
Raches lay lapping in the blood;
Cookès came with dressing-knife;
They brittened[52] them as they were wood;
Revel among them was full rife. 200
Knightès danced by three and three,
There was revel, gamen, and play;
Lovely ladies, fair and free,
That sat and sang on rich array.
Thomas dwelled in that solace 205
More than I you say, pardè;
Till on a day, so have I grace,
My lovely lady said to me[53];
"Do busk thee, Thomas; thee buse[54] again;
For thou may here no longer be; 210
Hie thee fast with might and main;
I shall thee bring till Eildon tree."
Thomas said then with heavy cheer[55],
"Lovely lady, now let me be;
For certes, lady, I have been here 215
Nought but the space of dayès three!"
"For sooth, Thomas, as I thee tell,
Thou hast been here three year and more;
But longer here thou may not dwell;[56]
The skill[57] I shall thee tell wherefore. 220
To-morn[58], of hell the foulè fiend
Among this folk will fetch his fee;
And thou art mickle man and hend[59],
I trow full well he would choose thee.
For all the gold that ever may be 225
From hethen[60] unto the worldès end,
Thou beest never betrayed for me;
Therefore with me I rede[61] thou wend."
She brought him again to Eildon tree,
Underneath that greenwood spray. 230
In Huntlie banks is merry to be,
Where fowlès sing both night and day.[62]
"Farewell, Thomas, I wend my way,
For me buse[63] over the bentès brown."
--Lo, here a fytte; more is to say[64] 235
All of Thomas of Erceldoune.
* * * * *
REGINALD SCOT
DISCOVERY OF WITCHCRAFT (1584)
_From_ "To the Readers."
I should no more prevail herein [_i.e._ in securing attention] than if a
hundred years since I should have entreated your predecessors to believe,
that Robin Goodfellow, that great and ancient bull-beggar, had been but a
cozening merchant and no devil indeed.... But Robin Goodfellow ceaseth now
to be much feared, and popery is sufficiently discovered.
Book I, chap. iv.--"What miraculous actions are imputed to witches by
witchmongers, papists, and poets."
[Quoted here to show that certain attributes of Shakespeare's fairies
belong also to witches.]
[They] raise hail, tempests, and hurtful weather, as lighting, thunder,
&c.... These can pass from place to place in the air invisible.... These
can alter men's minds to inordinate love or hate.... Ovid affirmeth that
they can raise and suppress lighting and thunder, rain and hail, clouds and
winds, tempests and earthquakes. Others do write that they can pull down
the moon and the stars.... They can also bring to pass, that, churn as long
as you list, your butter will not come.
Book III, chap. iv.
The Fairies do principally inhabit the mountains and caverns of the earth,
whose nature is to make strange apparitions on the earth, in meadows or on
mountains, being like men and women, soldiers, kings, and ladies, children
and horsemen, clothed in green, to which purpose they do in the night steal
hempen stalks from the fields where they grow, to convert them into horses,
as the story goes.... Such jocund and facetious spirits are said to sport
themselves in the night by tumbling and fooling with servants and shepherds
in country houses, pinching them black and blue, and leaving bread, butter,
and cheese sometimes with them, which, if they refuse to eat, some mischief
shall undoubtedly befall them by the means of these Fairies; and many such
have been taken away by the said spirits for a fortnight or a month
together, being carried with them in chariots through the air, over hills
and dales, rocks and precipices, till at last they have been found lying in
some meadow or mountain, bereaved of their senses and commonly one of their
members to boot.
Book III, chap. xvi.
It may not be omitted that certain wicked women ... being seduced by the
illusion of devils, believe and profess that in the night-times they ride
abroad with Diana, the goddess of the Pagans, or else with Herodias, with
an innumerable multitude, upon certain beasts, and pass over many countries
and nations in the silence of the night, and do whatsoever those fairies or
ladies command.