FISHES AND INSECTS.
The MERMAID, as a sign, must have had great attractions for our
forefathers. Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other dramatists, notice this
taste for strange fishes. The ancient chronicles teem with captures of
mermen, mermaids, and similar creatures. Old Hollinshed gives a detailed
account of a merman caught at Orford, in Suffolk, in the reign of King
John. He was kept alive on raw meal and fish for six months, but at last
“fledde secretelye to the sea, and was neuer after seene nor heard off.”
Another chronicler says, “About this time [1202] fishes of strange
shapes were taken, armed with helmets and shields like armed men, only
they were much bigger.” And Gervase of Tilbury roundly asserts that
mermen and mermaids live in the British Ocean. Even in more modern
times, every now and then a mermaid (the mermen seem to have been more
scarce) made her appearance. In an advertisement at the beginning of the
seventeenth century, we find:--
“IN BELL YARD, on Ludgate Hill, is to be seen, at any hour of the day,
a living Mermaid, from the waist upwards of a party colour, from
thence downwards is very strange and wonderful.
Mulier formosa superne
Desinit in piscem.”
After which follows a most promising and tempting little bit of
information in French:--“Son corps est de divers couleurs avec beaucoup
d’autres curiosités qu’on ne peut exprimer.” Again, in 1747:--
“We hear from the north of Scotland, that some time this month a sea
creature, known by the name of Mermaid, which has the shape of a human
body from the trunk upwards, but below is wholly fish, was carried
some miles up the water of Devron.”[316]
In 1824, a mermaid or merman (for the sex was discreetly left _in
dubio_) made its appearance before “an enlightened public,” when, as the
papers inform us, “upwards of 150 distinguished fashionables” went to
see it. At Bartholomew Fair, in 1830, a stuffed mermaid was exhibited;
but if once she had been such a “mulier formosa” as captivated the
ancient mariners, she was certainly much altered.[317] A very different
specimen had been exhibited in Fleet Street in 1822; but she disappeared
all at once most mysteriously, not, however, without a rumour of her
being under the protection of the Lord Chancellor, which, as she was a
comely maiden with flaxen hair, “mulier superne _et inferne_,” lies
within the range of possibilities. The sea-serpent has now almost done
away with the mermaid; yet, as late as 1857, there appeared an article
in the _Shipping Gazette_, under the intelligence of 4th June, signed by
some Scotch sailors, and describing an object seen off the North British
coast, “in the shape of a woman, with full breast, dark complexion,
comely face,” and the rest.
At one time it appears to have been a very common sign, if we may judge
from the way in which it is mentioned by Brathwait in his New Cast of
Characters, (1631):--
“If she [the hostess] aspire to the conceit of a sine and device, her
birch pole pull’d downe, he will supply her with one, which he
performes so poorely as none that sees it, but would take it for a
_sign_ he was drunk when he made it. A long consultation is had before
they can agree what sign must be reared. ‘_A meere-mayde_’ says she,
‘for she will sing catches to the youths of the parish.’ ‘A lyon,’
says he, for that is the onely sign he can make; and this he formes so
artlessly, as it requires his expression, _this is a lyon_. Which old
Ellenor Rumming, his tapdame, denies, saying it should have been a
meere-mayde.”
Among the most celebrated of the Mermaid taverns in London, that in
Bread Street stands foremost. As early as the fifteenth century, it was
one of the haunts of the pleasure-seeking Sir John Howard, whose trusty
steward records, anno 1464:--“Paid for wyn at the Mermayd in Bred Stret,
for my mastyr and Syr Nicholas Latimer, x d. ob.” In 1603, Sir Walter
Raleigh established a literary club in this house, doubtless the first
in England. Amongst its members were Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont
and Fletcher, Selden, Carew, Martin, Donne, Cotton, &c. It is frequently
alluded to by Beaumont and Fletcher in their comedies, but best known is
that quotation from a letter of Beaumont to Ben Jonson:--
“What things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been
So nimble and so full of subtle flame,
As if that any one from whence they came
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,
And had resolved to live a fool the rest
Of his dull life; then when there hath been thrown
Wit able enough to justify the town
For three days past; wit that might warrant be
For the whole city to talk foolishly,
Till that were cancell’d; and when that was gone,
We left an air behind us, which alone
Was able to make the two next companies
(Right witty, though but downright fools) more wise.”
There was another Mermaid in Cheapside, frequented by Jasper Mayne, and
in the next reign by the poet laureate, John Dryden. Mayne mentions it
in “The City Match,” (1638:)--
“I had made an ordinary,
Perchance at the Mermaid.”
At one time the landlord’s name was Dun, which is told us in a somewhat
amusing anecdote:--“When Dun, that kept the Meremaid Tavern in Cornhill,
being himself in a room with some witty gallants, one of them (which, it
seems, knew his wife) too boldly cryd out in a fantastick humour, ‘I’ll
lay five pound there’s a cuckhold in this company.’ ‘’Tis _Dun_,’ says
another.”[318] In 1681, there was a Mermaid in Carter Lane, which had a
great deal of traffic as a carriers’ inn.[319]
The sign was also used by printers. John Rastall, for instance,
brother-in-law of Sir Thomas More, “emprynted in the Cheapesyde at the
sygne of the Meremayde; next to Poulysgate in 1527;” and in 1576 a
translation of the History of Lazarillo de Tormes, dedicated to Sir
Thomas Gresham, was printed by Henry Binnemann, the queen’s printer, in
Knight-rider Street, at the sign of the Mermaid. A representation of
this fabulous creature was generally prefixed to his books.
The SEAHORSE may be seen in Birmingham, York, and various other places.
Bossewell, in his peculiar mixture of English and Latin, gives a quaint
description of this animal:--
“This waterhorse of the sea is called an hyppotame, for that he is
like an horse in back, mayne, and neying: _rostro resupinato a primis
dentibus: cauda tortuosa, ungulis binis_. He abideth in the waters on
the day, and eateth corn by night _et hunc Nilus gignit_.”[320]
The DOLPHIN is another sign of very old standing. One of the first
instances of its use was probably the following inn:--
“The other side of this High Street, from Bishopsgate and Houndsditch,
the first building is a large inn for the receipt of travellers, and
is called the Dolphin, of such a sign. In the year 1513, Margaret
Ricroft, widow, gave this house, with the gardens and appurtenances,
unto William Gam, R. Clye, their wives, her daughters, and to their
heirs, with condition they yearly do give to the warders or govornors
of the Greyfriars’ Church, within Newgate, 40 shillings, to find a
student of divinity in the university for ever.”[321]
Moser, in his “Vestiges Revived,” mentions this same inn as the Dolphin,
or rather, Dauphin Inn; and says that it was adorned with fleur-de-lys,
cognisances, and dolphins; and was reported to have been the residence
of one of the dauphins of France, probably Louis, the son of Philip
August, who, in 1216, came to England to contest the sceptre with King
John.[322] The house was still in existence at the end of the
seventeenth century, when it was a famous coaching inn. Perhaps it was
to this tavern that Pepys and his company adjourned on 27th March
1661:--
“To the Dolphin to a dinner of Mr Harris’s, where Sir William and my
Lady Batten and her two daughters, and other company, when a great
deal of mirth, and there staid till 11 o’clock at night, and in our
mirth I sang and sometimes fiddled, (there being a noise of fiddlers
there,) and at last we fell to dancing, the first time that ever I did
in my life, which I did wonder to see myself to do. At last we made
Mingo, Sir W. Batten’s black, and Jack, Sir W. Penn’s, dance, and it
was strange how the first did dance with a great deal of skill.”
Pepys might well wonder what a man may come to, he who had been born
when “lascivious dancing” was considered a heinous crime. Another
Dolphin, well worthy of remembrance, was the sign of Sam. Buckley, a
bookseller in Little Brittain, at whose house Steele and Addison’s
_Spectator_ was published.
Ancient naturalists made a wonderful animal of the dolphin. Bossewell,
for instance, from whom we have just quoted, tells most extraordinary
stories about him; but they are unfortunately too long to quote.
Londoners formerly might have seen the living fish from the river banks,
for old chroniclers every now and then have entries to the effect that
dolphins paid London a visit. Thus: “3 Henry V. Seven dolphins came up
the river Thames, whereof 4 were taken.” “14 Rich. II. On Christmas day
a dolphin was taken at London Bridge, being 10 ft. long, and a monstrous
grown fish.”[323] The DOLPHIN AND ANCHOR is still a common sign; and the
FISH AND ANCHOR, at North Littleton, Warwickshire, evidently implies the
same emblem. Aldus Manutius, the celebrated Venetian printer, was the
first to use the sign, adopting it from a silver medal of the Emperor
Titus, presented to him by Cardinal Bembo, with the motto, σπευδε
βραδεως. Camerarius thus (in our translation) mentions this sign in his
book on Symbols:--
“That the dolphin wound round the anchor was an emblem of the Emperors
August and Titus, to represent that maturity in business which is the
medium between too great haste and slowness; and that it was also used
in the last century by Aldus Manutius, that most famous printer, is
known to everybody. Erasmus clearly and abundantly explains the import
of that golden precept.
“Our emblem is taken from Alciatus, and has a different meaning. He
reports, namely, that ‘when violent winds disturb the sea, as
Lucretius says, and the anchor is cast by seamen, the dolphin winds
herself round it, out of a particular love for mankind, and directs
it, as with a human intellect, so that it may more safely take hold of
the ground; for dolphins have this peculiar property, that they can,
as it were, foretell storms. The anchor, then, signifies a stay and
security, whilst the dolphin is a hieroglyphic for philanthropy and
safety.’”--_Joach. Camerarius_, “_Symbolorum et Emblematum Centuriæ
Quatuor_.” _Centuria_ iv. p. 19; _Moguntia_, 1697.
This sign was afterwards adopted by William Pickering, a worthy
“Discipulus Aldi,” as he styled himself; Sir Egerton Bridges made some
verses upon it, amongst which occur the following:--
“Would you still be safely landed,
On the Aldine _Anchor_ ride;
Never yet was vessel stranded,
With the Dolphin by its side.
* * * * *
“Nor time, nor envy ever shall canker
The sign that is my lasting pride;
Joy then to the Aldus Anchor,
And the Dolphin at its side.
“To the Dolphin as we ‘re drinking,
Life and health and joy we send;
A poet once he saved from sinking,
And still he lives--the poet’s friend.”
The DOLPHIN AND COMB was the sign of E. Herne, a milliner on London
Bridge in 1722. This is an instance of one of the articles sold within
being added to the original sign of the house. Milliners in those days
used to have a much more extensive variety of objects for sale than they
have now, comprehending almost every article required for female
apparel,--and including knives, scissors, combs, pattens, patches,
poking sticks, fans, bodkins, &c. Such additions to signs were of
frequent occurrence, thus the Fox and Topknot, the Lamb and Breeches,
the Fox and Cap, and the LAMB AND INKBOTTLE, which last figures on the
imprint of Thomas Roch, Newgate Street, a bookseller who made “the best
ink for deeds and records,” 1677. Frequently the sign of the Fish is
seen without any further specification; in this case it is probably
meant for the Dolphin, which is the signboard-fish _par excellence_. The
Fish sign is a very common public house decoration at the present day,
probably for the same reason as the Swan, because he is fond of
liquor,--nay, to such an extent goes his reputation for intemperance,
that to “drink like a fish” is a quality of no small excellence with
publicans. In Carlisle, however, there are two signs of the FISH AND
DOLPHIN, a rather puzzling combination,--unless it has reference to the
dolphin’s chase after the shoals of small fishes. The FISH AND BELL,
Soho, may either allude to a well-known anecdote of a certain numskull,
who, when he caught a fish, which he desired to keep for dinner on some
future grand occasion, put it back into the river, with a bell round its
neck, so that he should be able to know its whereabouts the moment he
wanted it; or it may be the usual Bell added in honour of the
bell-ringers. A quaint variety of this sign is the BELL AND MACKEREL, in
the Mile-End Road. The THREE FISHES was a favourite device in the Middle
Ages, crossing or interpenetrating each other in such a manner, that the
head of one fish was at the tail of another. We cannot prove that it had
any emblematic meaning, but it may possibly represent the Trinity, the
fish being a common symbol for Christ, derived from the Greek monogram
or abbreviation, ΙΧΘΥΣ. It occurs as a sign in the following
advertisement, which minutely describes the livery of a page in the year
of the Restoration:--
“On Saturday night last run away from the Lord Rich, Christophilus
Cornaro, a Turk christened; a French youth of 17 or 18 years of age,
with flaxen hair, little blew eyes, a mark upon his lip, and another
under his right eye; of a fair complexion, one of his ears pierced,
having a pearl-coloured suit, trimmed with scarlet and blue ribbons, a
coat of the same colour with silver buttons; his name Jacob David.
Give notice to the Lord, lodging at the Three Fishes in New Street, in
Covent Garden, a cook-shop, and good satisfaction shall be
given.”[324]
THE THREE HERRINGS, the sign of James Moxton, a bookseller in the
Strand, near Yorkhouse, in 1675, is evidently but another name for the
Three Fishes; at the present day it is the sign of an ale-house in Bell
Yard, Temple Bar. Several taverns with this sign are mentioned in the
French tales and plays of the 17th century; two of them seem to have
been very celebrated, one in the Faubourg St Marceau, the other near the
Palais de Justice; this last one seems to have been particularly
famous, for it is named as a rival to the celebrated Pomme de Pin. “Si
je vay au Palais, tous ces clercs sont alentour de moy; l’un me mène aux
Trois Poissons, l’autre à la Pomme de Pin.”--Comédie de la Vefve, ac.
iii. s. 3.[325] The FISH AND QUART at Leicester must be passed by in
silence, as the combination cannot immediately be accounted for. Were it
in France a solution would be easier, for in French slang a “poisson,”
or fish, means a small measure of wine. The FISH AND EELS at Roydon, in
Essex; the FISH AND KETTLE, Southampton; and the WHITE BAIT, Bristol,
all tell their own tale, and need no comment. The SALMON is seen
occasionally near places where it is caught. The SALMON AND BALL is the
well-known Ball of the silkmercers in former times, added to the sign of
the Salmon; whilst the SALMON AND COMPASSES is the masonic emblem that
is added to the sign. Both these occur in more than one instance in
London. The FISHBONE is rarely met with as a public-house sign, though
there is an example of it at Netherton in Cheshire, and also amongst the
seventeenth century tokens of New Cheapside, Moorfields. But generally
it is the sign of a rag and bone shop, or, in the euphonious language of
the day, a “miscellaneous repository,” or “bank of commerce.” These
shops, as their title of “marine stores” implies, used to buy all the
odds and ends of rope, sails, seamen’s old clothes, in short all the
rubbish of which a ship is cleared after its return from a long voyage.
Bones of large fish would be often amongst the curiosities brought home
by the sailors, these also they bought and hung them up outside their
doors, and in the end these bones became their distinctive sign. The SUN
AND WHALEBONE at Latton, in Essex, may have originated from a whalebone
hanging outside the house, or that the landlord had laid the foundation
of his fortune as a rag merchant.
* * * * *
Insects are of very rare occurrence. The industrious habits of the bees,
however, made their habitation a favourite object to imply a similar
industry in the shopkeepers. Many years ago there used to be at Grantham
in Lincolnshire, a signpost on which was placed a Beehive in full swarm,
with the following lines under it:--
“Two wonders, Grantham, now are thine,
The highest spire and a living sign.”
Though the living bees were gone the following season, yet the sign and
inscription remained until very recently. The following is a common
inscription under the sign of the Beehive:--
“Within this hive we’re all alive,
Good liquor makes us funny;
If you are dry, step in and try
The flavour of our honey.”
A tea-dealer at the corner of Oxford Street, Tottenham Court Road, in
the end of the last century, had for his sign the Walking Leaf, (the
_Phyllium siccifolium_ of the naturalists,) an East Indian insect, of an
anything but agreeable association, when we consider the remarkable
vegetable appearance of this insect, and the possibility that it might
be dried among the tea-leaves.
Although the frog cannot be considered either an insect or a fish, yet
we may include it in this chapter. Of frogs there are some instances on
the signboard; the THREE FROGS, (see under _Heraldic Signs_,) and
FROGHALL, formerly a public-house at the south end of Frog Lane,
Islington. On the front of this house there was exhibited the ludicrous
sign of a plough drawn by frogs. There is at the present day a Froghall
Inn at Wolston, near Coventry; and a public-house of that name at
Layerthorpe in the West Riding, but the picture of the sign was
doubtless unique. The principal inn on the island of Texel is called the
GOLDEN FROG, (_de Goude kikker_.) We may wonder that there are not more
examples of this sign in Holland, for there are, without doubt, as many
frogs in that country as there are Dutchmen; and even unto this day it
is a mooted point, which of the two nations has more right to the
possession of the country; both, however, are of a pacific disposition,
so that they live on in a perfect _entente cordiale_.
[316] _General Magazine_, Jan. 1747.
[317] It was sketched by George Cruikshank; and a wood-cut of it may be
seen in Morley’s “Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair,” p. 488.
[318] “Coffeehouse Jests,” 1688, p. 128.
[319] Delaune’s “Present State of London,” 1681.
[320] Bossewell’s “Works of Armourie,” 1589, p. 65.
[321] Stow, p. 62. A striking instance of the depreciation of money
within the last three centuries. At the present day, 40s. would scarcely
keep an Oxford or Cambridge student in cigar-lights.
[322] Moser makes a slight error. The heir-apparent to the throne of
France did not assume the title of Dauphin till 1349, when Humbert II.,
Dauphin of Vienne, having no posterity, retired to a monastery, and sold
his estates to Philip VI., King of France, on behalf of his grandson,
afterwards Charles V.
[323] Delaune’s “Present State of London.”
[324] “Mercurius Publicus,” Aug. 30; Sep. 6, 1660.
[325] “If I go to the Palace of Justice, all those clerks are constantly
after me; one takes me to the Three Fishes, the other to the Pine
Cone.”--_Comedy of the Widow_, a. iii. s. 3.