Act ii. sc. 2, l. 177

There is an Emblem by Whitney (p. 131), which, though in some respects similar to one at p. 178 of the “PEGMA” by Costalius, 1555, entitled “Iron,” “on the misery of the human lot,” is to a very great degree his own, and which makes it appear in a stronger light than usual, that a close resemblance exists between his ideas and even expressions and those of Shakespeare. The subject is “Writings remain,” and the device the overthrow of stately buildings, while books continue unharmed.

_Scripta manent._

_To Sir_ ARTHVRE MANWARINGE _Knight._

“If mightie TROIE, with gates of steele, and brasse, Bee worne awaie, with tracte of stealinge time: If CARTHAGE, raste: if THEBES be growne with grasse. If BABEL stoope: that to the cloudes did clime: If ATHENS, and NVMANTIA suffered spoile: If ÆGYPT spires, be euened with the soile.

Then, what maye laste, which time dothe not impeache, Since that wee see, theise monumentes are gone: Nothinge at all, but time doth ouer reache, It eates the steele, and weares the marble stone: But writinges laste, thoughe yt doe what it can, And are preseru’d, euen since the worlde began.

And so they shall, while that they same dothe laste, Which haue declar’d, and shall to future age: What thinges before three thousande yeares haue paste, What martiall knightes, haue march’d vppon this stage: Whose actes, in bookes if writers did not saue, Their fame had ceaste, and gone with them to graue.

Of SAMSONS strengthe, of worthie IOSVAS might. Of DAVIDS actes, of ALEXANDERS force. Of CÆESAR greate; and SCIPIO noble knight, Howe shoulde we speake, but bookes thereof discourse: Then fauour them, that learne within their youthe: But loue them beste, that learne, and write the truthe.”

_La vie de Memoire_, and _Vine ut viuas_,—“Live that you may live,”—emblematically set forth by pen, and book, and obelisk, and ruined towers, in Boissard’s _Emblems_ by Messin (1588, pp. 40, 41), give the same sentiment, and in the Latin by a few brief lines,—

“_Non omnis vivit, vitâ qui spirat in istâ: Sed qui post fati funera vivit adhuc: Et cui posteritas famæ præconia servat Æternum is, calamo vindice, nomen habet._”

Thus having the main idea taken up in the last of the four French stanzas,—

“Mais qui de ses vertus la plume a pour garand: Celuy centre le temps invincible se rend: Car elle vainc du temps & l’effort, & l’injure.”

In various instances, only with greater strength and beauty, Shakespeare gives utterance to the same sequences of thought. When, in _Love’s Labour’s Lost_ (act i. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. ii. p. 97), fashioning his court to be,—

“A little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art,”

Ferdinand, king of Navarre, proclaims,—

“Let Fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register’d upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity.”

In his Sonnets, more especially, Shakespeare celebrates the enduring glory of the mind’s treasures. Thus, the 55th Sonnet (_Works_, vol. ix. p. 578) is written almost as Whitney wrote,—

“Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents, Than unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish lime. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry. Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. ’Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity, Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.”

But the 65th Sonnet (p. 583) is still more in accordance with Whitney’s ideas,—not a transcript of them, but an appropriation,—

“Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o’ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O how shall summer’s honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? O fearful meditation! where, alack! Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? No one, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.”

How closely, too, are these thoughts allied to some in that Emblem (p. 197) in which Whitney, following Hadrian Junius, so well celebrates “the eternal glory of the pen.”

Pennæ gloria immortalis.

_Ad Iacobum Blondelium._

He has been telling of Sidney’s praise, and in a well-turned compliment to him and to his other friend, “EDWARDE DIER,” makes the award,—

“This Embleme lo, I did present, vnto this woorthie Knight. Who, did the same refuse, as not his proper due: And at the first, his sentence was, it did belonge to you. Wherefore, lo, fame with trompe, that mountes vnto the skye: And, farre aboue the highest spire, from pole, to pole dothe flye, Heere houereth at your will, with pen adorn’d with baies: Which for you bothe, shee hath prepar’d, vnto your endlesse praise. The laurell leafe for you, for him, the goulden pen; The honours that the Muses giue, vnto the rarest men. Wherefore, proceede I praye, vnto your lasting fame; For writinges last when wee bee gonne, and doe preserue our name. And whilst wee tarrye heere, no treasure can procure, The palme that waites vpon the pen, which euer doth indure. Two thousand yeares, and more, HOMERVS wrat his books; And yet, the same doth still remayne, and keepes his former looke. Wheare Ægypte spires bee gonne, and ROME doth ruine feele, Yet, both begonne since he was borne, thus time doth turne the wheele. Yea, thoughe some Monarche greate some worke should take in hand, Of marble, or of Adamant, that manie worldes shoulde stande, Yet, should one only man, with labour of the braine, Bequeathe the world a monument, that longer shoulde remaine, And when that marble waules, with force of time should waste; It should indure from age, to age, and yet no age should taste.”

“EX MALO BONUM,”—_Good out of evil_,— contains a sentiment which Shakespeare not unfrequently expresses. An instance occurs in the _Midsummer Nights Dream_ (act i. sc. 1, l. 232, vol. ii. p. 206),—

“Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity.”

Also more plainly in _Henry V._ (act iv. sc. 1, l. 3, vol. iv. p. 555),—

“God Almighty! There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out. For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful and good husbandry: Besides they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all, admonishing That we should dress us fairly for our end. Thus we may gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself!”

So in Georgette Montenay’s _Christian Emblems_ we find the stanzas,—

“_On tire bien des epines poignantes Rose tres bonn[e/] & pleine de beauté. Des reprouuer & leurs œuures meschantes Dieu tir[e/] aussi du bien par sa bonté, Faisant seruir leur fausse volonté A sa grand’ gloir[e/] & salut des esleuz, Et par iustic[e/], ainsi qu’ a decreté, Dieu fait tout bien; que nul n’en doute plus._”

As we have mentioned before (pp. 242, 3), Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ are the chief source to which, from his time downwards, poets in general have applied for their most imaginative and popular mythic illustrations; and to him especially have Emblem writers been indebted. For a fact so well known a single instance will suffice; it is the description of Chaos and of the Creation of the World (bk. i. fab. 1),—

“Ante mare et terras, et quod tegit omnia, cœlum, Unus erat toto naturæ vultus in orbe, Quem dixêre Chaos: rudis indigestaque moles.”

An early Italian Emblematist, Gabriel Symeoni, in 1559, presents on this subject the following very simple device in his _Vita et Metamorfoseo d’Ovidio_ (p. 12), accompanied on the next page by “The creation and confusion of the world,”—

Il Caos.

“_Prima fuit rerum confusa sine ordine moles, Vnaq. erat facies sydera, terra, fretum._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“First was there a confused mass of things without order, And one appearance was stars, earth, sea.”

But Ovid’s lines are applied in a highly figurative sense, to show the many evils and disorders of injustice. A wild state where wrong triumphs and right is unknown,—that is the Chaos which Anulus sets forth in his “PICTA POESIS” (p. 49); _Without justice, confusion_.

SINE IVSTITIA, CONFVSIO.

SI TERRAE _Cœlum ſemiſceat: & mare cœlo. Sol Erebo. Tenebris lumina, Terra Polo. Quattuor & Mundi mixtim primordia pugnent. Arida cum ſiccis, algida cum calidis. In Chaos antiquum omnia denique confundantur: Vt cùm ignotus adhuc mens Deus orbis erat. Eſt Mundanarum talis confuſio rerum. Quo Regina latet Tempore Iuſtitia._

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“If with earth heaven should mingle and the sea with heaven, The sun with Erebus, light with darkness, the earth with the pole, Should the four elements of the world in commixture fight, Dry things with the moist and cold things with the hot, Into ancient chaos at last all things would be confounded As when God as yet unknown was the soul of the globe. Such is the confusion of all mundane affairs, At what time soever Justice the queen lies concealed.”

Whitney (p. 122), borrowing this idea and extending it, works it out with more than his usual force and skill, and dedicates his stanzas to Windham and Flowerdewe, two eminent judges of Elizabeth’s reign,—but his amplification of the thought is to a great degree peculiar to himself. Ovid, indeed, is his authority for representing the elements in wild disorder, and the peace and the beauty which ensued,—

“When they weare dispos’d, eache one into his roome.”

The motto, dedication, and device, are these,—

_Sine iuſtitia, confuſio._ _Ad eoſdem Iudices_.

“When Fire, and Aire, and Earthe, and Water, all weare one: Before that worke deuine was wroughte, which nowe wee looke vppon. There was no forme of thinges, but a confused masse: A lumpe, which CHAOS men did call: wherein no order was. The Coulde, and Heate, did striue: the Heauie thinges, and Lighte. The Harde, and Softe, the Wette, and Drye, for none had shape arighte. But when they weare dispos’d, eache one into his roome: The Fire, had Heate: the Aire, had Lighte: the Earthe, with fruites did bloome. The Sea, had his increase: which thinges, to passe thus broughte: Behoulde, of this vnperfecte masse, the goodly worlde was wroughte.”

Whitney then celebrates “The goulden worlde that Poëttes praised moste;” next, “the siluer age;” and afterwards, “the age of brasse.”

“The Iron age was laste, a fearefull cursed tyme: Then, armies came of mischiefes in: and fil’d the worlde with cryme. Then rigor, and reuenge, did springe in euell hower: And men of mighte, did manadge all, and poore opprest with power.

And hee, that mightie was, his worde, did stand for lawe: And what the poore did ploughe, and sowe: the ritch away did drawe. None mighte their wiues inioye, their daughters, or their goodes, No, not their liues: such tyraunts broode, did seeke to spill their bloodes. Then vertues weare defac’d, and dim’d with vices vile, Then wronge, did maske in cloke of righte: then bad, did good exile. Then falshood, shadowed truthe: and hate, laugh’d loue to skorne: Then pitie, and compassion died: and bloodshed fowle was borne. So that no vertues then, their proper shapes did beare: Nor coulde from vices bee decern’d, so straunge they mixed weare. That nowe, into the worlde, an other CHAOS came: But GOD, that of the former heape: the heauen and earthe did frame. And all thinges plac’d therein, his glorye to declare: Sente IVSTICE downe vnto the earthe: such loue to man hee bare. Who, so suruay’d the world, with such an heauenly vewe: That quickley vertues shee aduanc’d: and vices did subdue. And, of that worlde did make, a paradice, of blisse: By which wee doo inferre: That where this sacred Goddes is. That land doth florishe still, and gladnes, their doth growe: Bicause that all, to God, and Prince, by her their dewties knowe. And where her presence wantes, there ruine raignes, and wracke: And kingdomes can not longe indure, that doe this ladie lacke. Then happie England most, where IVSTICE is embrac’d: And eeke so many famous men, within her chaire are plac’d.”

With the description thus given we may with utmost appropriateness compare Shakespeare’s noble commendation of order and good government, into which, by way of contrast, he introduces the evils and miseries of lawless power. The argument is assigned to Ulysses, in the _Troilus and Cressida_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 75, vol. vi. p. 144), when the great chieftains, Agamemnon, Nestor, Menelaus, and others are discussing the state and prospects of their Grecian confederacy against Troy. With great force of reasoning, as of eloquence, he contends,—

“Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, And the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master. But for these instances. bloodes. The specialty of rule hath been neglected: And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. When that the general is not like the hive, To whom the foragers shall all repair, What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre, Observe degree, priority and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office and custom, in all line of order: And therefore is the glorious planet Sol In noble eminence enthroned and sphered Amidst the other; . . . . . . but when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, Commotion in the winds, frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixure! O, when degree is shaked, Which is the ladder to all high designs, Then enterprise is sick! How could communities, Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities, Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, The primogenitive and due of birth, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels. But by degree, stand in authentic place? Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy: The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then everything includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite; And appetite, an universal wolf. So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when degree is suffocate, Follows the choking. And this neglection of degree it is That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose It hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d By him one step below; he, by the next; That next by him beneath: so every step, Exampled by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation: And ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.”

At a hasty glance the two passages may appear to have little more connection than that of similarity of subject, leading to several coincidences of expression; but the Emblem of Chaos, given by Whitney, represents the winds, the waters, the stars of heaven, all in confusion mingling, and certainly is very suggestive of the exact words which the dramatic poet uses,—

“What raging of the sea? shaking of earth? Commotion in the winds? . . . . . . The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe.”

Discord as one of the great causes of confusion is also spoken of with much force (_1 Henry VI_., act iv. sc. 1, l. 188, vol. v. p. 68),—

“No simple man that sees This jarring discord of nobility, This should’ring of each other in the court, This factious bandying of their favourites, But that he doth presage some ill event. ’Tis much, when sceptres are in children’s hands; But more when envy breeds unkind division; There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.”

The Paris edition of Horapollo’s _Hieroglyphics_, 1551, subjoins several to which there is no Greek text (pp. 217–223). Among them (at p. 219) is one that figures, _The thread of life_, a common poetic idea.

Quo pacto mortem ſeu hominis exitum.

Hominis exitum innuentes, fuſum pingebant, & fili extremum reſectum, quaſi à colo diuulſum, finguntur ſiquidem à poetis Parcæ hominis vitam nere: Clotho quidem colum geſtans: Lacheſis quæ Sors exponitur, nens: Atropos verò inconuertibilis ſeu inexorabilis Latinè redditur, filum abrumpens.

The question is asked, “How do they represent the death or end of man?” Thus answered,—“To intimate the end of man they paint a spindle, and the end of the thread cut off, as if broken from the distaff: so indeed by the poets the Fates are feigned to spin the life of man: Clotho indeed bearing the distaff; Lachesis spinning whatever lot is declared; but Atropos, breaking the thread, is rendered unchangeable and inexorable.”

This thread of life Prospero names when he speaks to Ferdinand (_Tempest_, act iv. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. i. p. 54) about his daughter,—

“If I have too austerely punish’d you, Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a thread[179] of mine own life Or that for which I live.”

“Their thread of life is spun,” occurs in _2 Henry VI._ (act iv. sc. 2, l. 27).

So the “aunchient Pistol,” entreating Fluellen to ask a pardon for Bardolph (_Henry V._, act iii. sc. 6, l. 44, vol. iv. p. 544). says,—

“The duke will hear thy voice; And let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord and vile reproach. Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.”

The full application of the term, however, is given by Helena in the _Pericles_ (act i. sc. 2, l. 102, vol. ix. p. 325), when she says to the Prince of Tyre,—

“Antiochus you fear, And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, Who either by public war or private treason Will take away your life. Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, Till that his rage and anger be forgot, Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.”

The same appendix to Horapollo’s _Hieroglyphics_ (p. 220) assigns a burning lamp as the emblem of life; thus,—

Quo modo vitam.

Vitam innuentes ardentem lampada pingebant: quòd tantiſper dum accenſa lampas eſt, luceat, extincta verò tenebras offundat, ita & anima corpore ſoluta, & aſpectu & luce caremus.

“To intimate life they paint a burning lamp; because so long as the lamp is kindled it gives forth light, but being extinguished spreads darkness; so also the soul being freed from the body we are without seeing and light.”

This Egyptian symbol Cleopatra names just after Antony’s death (_Antony and Cleopatra_, act iv. sc. 15, l. 84, vol. ix. p. 132),—

“Ah, women, women, look Our lamp is spent, it’s out.”

Similar the meaning when Antony said (act iv. sc. 14, l. 46, vol. ix. p. 123),—

“Since the torch is out, Lie down and stray no farther.”

Of the Emblems which depict moral qualities and æsthetical principles, scarcely any are more expressive than that which denotes an abiding sense of injury. This we can trace through Whitney (p. 183) to the French of Claude Paradin (fol. 160), and to the Italian of Gabriel Symeoni (p. 24). It is a sculptor, with mallet and chisel, cutting a memorial of his wrongs into a block of marble; the title, _Of offended Poverty_, and the motto, “Being wronged he writes on marble.”

DI POVERTA OFFESA.

Scribit in marmore læſus.

_Tempri l’ ira veloce ogniun, che viue, Et per eſſer potente non ha cura, Di far’ altrui talhor danno o paura, Che l’offeſo l’ingiuria in marmo ſeriue_.

Like the other “Imprese” of the “TETRASTICHI MORALI,” the woodcut is surrounded by a curiously ornamented border, and manifests much artistic skill. The stanza is,—

“Each one that lives may be swift passion’s slave, And through a powerful will at times delight In causing others harm and terror’s fright: The injured doth those wrongs on marble grave.”

The “DEVISES HEROIQVES” adds to the device a simple prose description of the meaning of the Emblem,—

Scribit in marmore leſus.

_Certains fols éuentés s’ aſſeurans trop ſus leur credit & richeſſes, ne font point cas d’iniurier ou gourmander de faict & de paroles une pauure perſonne, eſtimans que à faute de biens, de faueur, de parens, ou d’amis elle n’aura jamais le moyen de ſe venger, ou leur rẽdre la pareille, ains qu’elle doiue lien toſt oublier le mal qu’elle a receu. Or combien ces Tirans (c’eſt leur propre nom) ſoyent abuſez de leur grande folie & ignorance, l’occaſion & le temps le leur fera à la fin connoiſtre, apres les auoir admoneſtez par ceſte Deuiſe d’un homme aſſis, qui graue en un tableau de marbre ce qu’il a en memmoire auec ces parolles_: Scribit in marmore læsus. (f.160.)

The word here propounded is of very high antiquity. The prophet Jeremiah (xvii. 1 and 13) set forth most forcibly what Shakespeare names “men’s evil manners living in brass;” and Whitney, “harms graven in marble hard.” “The sin of Judah is written with a pen of iron, and with the point of a diamond: it is graven upon the table of their heart, and upon the horns of your altars.” And the writing in water, or in the dust, is in the very spirit of the declaration, “They that depart from me shall be written in the earth,”—_i.e._, the first wind that blows over them shall efface their names,—“because they have forsaken the LORD, the fountain of living waters.”

Some of Shakespeare’s expressions,—some of the turns of thought, when he is speaking of injuries,—are so similar to those used by the Emblem writers in treating of the same subject, that we reasonably conclude “the famous Scenicke Poet, Master W. Shakespeare,” was intimate with their works, or with the work of some one out of their number; and, as will appear in a page or two, very probably those expressions and turns of thought had their origin in the reading of Whitney’s _Choice of Emblemes_ rather than in the study of the French and Italian authors.

Of the same cast of idea with the lines illustrative of _Scribit in marmore læsus_, are the words of Marc Antony’s oration over Cæsar (_Julius Cæsar_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 73, vol. vii. p. 375),—

“I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Cæsar.”

A sentiment, almost the converse of this, and of higher moral excellence, crops out where certainly we should not expect to find it—in the _Timon of Athens_ (act iii. sc. 5, l. 31, vol. vii. p. 254),—

“He’s truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne’er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly ’tis to hazard life for ill!”

In that scene of unparalleled beauty, tenderness, and simplicity, in which there is related to Queen Katharine the death of “the great child of honour,” as she terms him, Cardinal Wolsey (_Henry VIII._, act iv. sc. 2, l. 27, vol. vi. p. 87), Griffith describes him as,—

“Full of repentance, Continual meditations, tears and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.”

And just afterwards (l. 44), when the Queen had been speaking with some asperity of the Cardinal’s greater faults, Griffith remonstrates,—

“Noble Madam, Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now?”

How very like to the sentiment here enunciated is that of Whitney (p. 183),—

“In marble harde our harmes wee alwayes graue, Bicause, wee still will beare the same in minde: In duste wee write the benifittes wee haue, Where they are soone defaced with the winde. So, wronges wee houlde, and neuer will forgiue, And soone forget, that still with vs shoulde liue.”

Lavinia’s deep wrongs (_Titus Andronicus_, act iv. sc. 1, l. 85, vol. vi. p. 490) were written by her on the sand, to inform Marcus and Titus what they were and who had inflicted them; and Marcus declares,—

“There is enough written upon this earth To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.”

Marcus is for instant revenge, but Titus knows the power and cruel nature of their enemies, and counsels (l. 102),—

“You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone; And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass. And with a gad of steel will write these words, And lay it by: the angry northern wind Will blow these sands, like Sibyl’s leaves, abroad. And where’s your lesson then?”

The Italian and French Emblems as pictures to be looked at would readily supply Shakespeare with thoughts respecting the record of “men’s evil manners,” and of “their virtues,” but there is a closer correspondence between him and Whitney; and allowing for the easy substitution of “brass” and of “water” for “marble” and “dust,” the parallelism of the ideas and words is so exact as to be only just short of being complete.

We must not, however, conceal what may have been a common origin of the sentiment for all the four writers,—for the three Emblematists and for the dramatist, namely, a sentence written by Sir Thomas More, about the year 1516, before even Alciatus had published his book of Emblems. Dr. Percy, as quoted by Ayscough (p. 695), remarks that, “This reflection bears a great resemblance to a passage in Sir Thomas More’s _History of Richard III._, where, speaking of the ungrateful turns which Jane Shore experienced from those whom she had served in her prosperity, More adds, ‘Men use, if they have an evil turne, to write it in marble, and whoso doth us a good turne, we write it in duste.’”

But the thought is recorded as passing through the mind of Columbus, when, during mutiny, sickness, and cruel tidings from home, he had, on the coast of Panama, the vision which Irving describes and records. A voice had been reproving him, but ended by saying, “Fear not, Columbus, all these tribulations are written in marble, and are not without cause.”

“To write in dust,” however, has sometimes a simple literal meaning in Shakespeare; as when King Edward (_3 Henry VI._, act v. sc. 1, l. 54, vol. v. p. 319), uses the threat,—

“This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, Shall, while thy head is warm and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,— Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.”

But in the _Titus Andronicus_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 12, vol. vi. p. 472), the phrase is of doubtful meaning: it may denote the oblivion of injuries or the deepest of sorrows,—

“In the dust I write My heart’s deep languor, and my soul’s sad tears.”

Whitney also has the lines to the praise of Stephen Limbert, Master of Norwich School (p. 173),—

“Our writing in the duste, can not indure a blaste; But that which is in marble wroughte, from age to age, doth laste.”

It is but justice to Shakespeare to testify that at times his judgment respecting injuries rises to the full height of Christian morals. The spirit Ariel avows, that, were he human, his “affections would become tender” towards the shipwrecked captives on whom his charms had been working (_Tempest_, act v. sc. 1, l. 21, vol. i. p. 64); and Prospero enters into his thought with strong conviction,—

“Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further.”

The subject in this connection finds a fitting conclusion from the words of a later writer, communicated to me by the Rev. T. Walker, M.A., formerly of Nether Tabley, in which a free forgiveness of injuries is ascribed to the world’s great and blessed Saviour,—

“Some write their wrongs on marble, He more just Stoop’d down serene, and wrote them in the dust, Trod under foot, the sport of every wind, Swept from the earth, quite banished from his mind, There secret in the grave He bade them lie, And grieved, they could not ’scape the Almighty’s eye.”

Footnote 153:

See a most touching account of a she-hear and her whelps in the _Voyage of Discovery to the North Seas_ in 1772, under Captain C. J. Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave.

Footnote 154:

“Zodiacvs Christianvs, seu signa 12, _diuinæ Prædestinationis, &c., à Raphaele Sadelero_, 12mo, p. 126, Monaci CD. DCXVIII.”

Footnote 155:

See also the Emblems of Camerarius (pt. iii. edition 1596, Emb. 47), where the turkey is figured to illustrate “RABIE SVCCENSA TVMESCIT,”—_Being angered it swells with rage._

“_Quam deforme malum ferventi accensa furore Ira sit, iratis Indica monstrat avis,_”—

“How odious an evil to the violent anger may be Inflamed to fury.—the Indian bird shows to the angry.”

Footnote 156:

See also other passages from the _Georgics_,—

“Ut, cum prima novi ducent examina reges Vere suo.” iv. 21.

“Sin autem ad pugnam exierint, nam sæpe duobus Regibus incessit magno discordia motu.” iv. 67.

Description of the kings (iv. 87–99),—

“tu regibus alas Eripe.” iv. 106.

And,—

“ipsæ regem parvosque Quirites Sufficiunt, aulasque ei cerea regna refingunt.” iv, 201.

Footnote 157:

At a time even later than Shakespeare’s the idea of a king-bee prevailed; Waller, the poet of the Commonwealth, adopted it, as in the lines to Zelinda,—

“Should you no honey vow to taste But what the master-bees have placed In compass of their cells, how small A portion to your share will fall.”

In Le Moine’s _Devises Heroiqves et Morales_ (4to, Paris, 1649, p. 8) we read, “Du courage & du conseil au Roy des abeilles,”—and the creature is spoken of as a male.

Footnote 158:

To mention only Joachim Camerarius, edition 1596, _Ex Volatilibus_ (Emb. 29–34); here are no less than five separate devices connected with Hawking or Falconry.

Footnote 159:

Take an example from the Paraphrase in an old Psalter: “The arne,” _i.e._ the eagle, “when he is greved with grete elde, his neb waxis so gretely, that he may nogt open his mouth and take mete: hot then he smytes his neb to the stane, and has away the slogh, and then he gaes til mete, and he commes yong a gayne. Swa Crist duse a way fra us oure elde of syn and mortalite, that settes us to ete oure brede in hevene, and newes us in hym.”

Footnote 160:

The Virgin, in Brucioli’s _Signs of the Zodiac_, as given in our Plate XIII., has a unicorn kneeling by her side, to be fondled.

Footnote 161:

The wonderful curative and other powers of the horn are set forth in his _Emblems_ by Joachim Camerarius, _Ex Animalibus Quadrupedibus_ (Emb. 12, 13 and 14). He informs us that “Bartholomew Alvianus, a Venetian general, caused to be inscribed on his banner, _I drive away poisons_, intimating that himself, like a unicorn putting to flight noxious and poisonous animals, would by his own warlike valour extirpate his enemies of the contrary factions.”

Footnote 162:

See the fable of the Wolf and the Ass from the _Dialogues of Creatures_ (pp. 53–55 of this volume).

Footnote 163:

See p. 11 of J. Payne Collier’s admirably executed Reprint of “THE PHŒNIX NEST,” from the original edition of 1593.

Footnote 164:

There are similar thoughts in Shakespeare’s _Phœnix and Turtle_ (Works, lines 25 and 37, vol. ix. p. 671),—

“So they loved, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none, Number there in love was slain.”

And,—

“Property was thus appalled, That the self was not the same; Single nature’s double name Neither two nor one was called.”

Footnote 165:

Reusner adopts this first line from Ovid’s _Fable of the Phœnix_ (_Metam._, bk. xv. 37. l. 3),—

“Sed thuris lacrymis, & succo vivit amomi.”

Footnote 166:

To render it still more useful, the words should receive something of classification, as in Cruden’s _Concordance to the English Bible_, and the _number_ of the _line_ should be given as well as of the _Act_ and _Scene_.

Footnote 167:

The whole stanza as given on the last page, beginning with the line,—

“The Pellican, for to reuiue her younge,”

is quoted in Knight’s “PICTORIAL SHAKSPERE” (vol. i. p. 154), in illustration of these lines from _Hamlet_ concerning “the kind life-rendering pelican.” The woodcut which Knight gives is also copied from Whitney, and the following remark added,—“Amongst old books of emblems there is one on which Shakspere himself might have looked, containing the subjoined representation. It is entitled ‘A Choice of Emblemes and other Devices by Geffrey Whitney, 1586.’” Knight thus appears prepared to recognise what we contend for, that Emblem writers were known to Shakespeare.

Footnote 168:

Virgil’s _Æneid_ (bk. xii. 412–414), thus expressed in Dryden’s rendering, will explain the passage; he is speaking of Venus,—

“A branch of healing dittany she brought: Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought: Rough is the stem, which wooly leafs surround; The leafs with flow’rs, the flow’rs with purple crown’d.”

See also Joachim Camerarius, _Ex Animalibus Quadrup._ (ed. 1595, Emb. 69, p. 71).

Footnote 169:

In Haechtan’s _Parvus Mundus_ (ed. 1579), Gerard de Jode represents the sleeping place as “sub tegmine fagi,”—but the results of the mistake as equally unfortunate with those in Bellay and Whitney.

Footnote 170:

See “ARCHÆOLOGIA,” vol. xxxv. 1853, pp. 167–189; “Observations on the Origin of the Division of Man’s Life into Stages. By John Winter Jones, Esq.”

Footnote 171:

It may be noted that the Romans understood by _Pueritia_ the period from infancy up to the 17th year; by _Adolescentia_, the period from the age of 15 to 30; by _Juventus_, the season of life from the 20th to the 40th year. _Virilitas_, manhood, began when in the 16th year a youth assumed the _virilis toga_, “the manly gown.”

Footnote 172:

Soon after Whitney’s time this emblem was repeated in that very odd and curious volume; “Stamm Buch, Darinnen Christliche Tugenden Beyspiel Einhundert ausserlesener _Emblemata_, mit schönen Kupffer-stücke geziener:” Franckfurt-am-Mayn, Anno MDCXIX. 8vo, pp. 447. At p. 290, Emb. 65, with the words “UBI ES?” there is the figure of Adam hiding behind a tree, and among descriptive stanzas in seven or eight languages, are some intended to be specimens of the language at that day spoken and written in Britain:—

“Adam did breake God’s commandement, In Paradise against his dissent, Therefore he hyde him vnder a tree Because _h_is Lorde, him _sh_ould not see. But (alas) to God is all t_h_ing euident. Th_a_n _h_e faunde _h_im in a moment _A_n_d_ will alwayes such wicked men Feind, if they doo from _h_im runn.”

Footnote 173:

For a fine Emblem to illustrate this passage, see “HORATII EMBLEMATA,” by Otho Vænius, pp. 58, 59, edit. Antwerp, 4to, 1612; also pp. 70 and 71, to give artistic force to the idea of the “just man firm to his purpose.”

Footnote 174:

Shakespeare illustrated by parallelisms from the Fathers of the Church might, I doubt not, be rendered very interesting and instructive by a writer of competent learning and enthusiasm, not to name it _furore_, in behalf of his subject.

Footnote 175:

_Opera_, vol. i. p. 649 B, Francofurti, 1620.

Footnote 176:

Reference might be made also to Whitney’s fine tale, _Concerning Envy and Avarice_, which immediately follows the _Description of Envy_.

Footnote 177:

The original lines are,—

“Innvmeris _agitur Respublica nostra procellis, Et spes venturæ sola salutis adest: Non secus ac nauis medio circum æquore, venti, Quam rapiunt; falsis tamq. fatiscit aquis. Quòd si Helenæ adueniant lucentia sidera fratres: Amissos animos spes bona restituit._”

Footnote 178:

The original lines by Hadrian Junius are,—

“_Oculata, pennis fulta, sublimem vehens Calamum aurea inter astra Fama collocat. Illustre claris surgit è scriptis decus, Feritque perpes vertice alta sidera._”

Footnote 179:

“A third,” in the modern sense of the word, is just nonsense, and therefore we leave the reading of the Cambridge edition, and abide by those critics who tell us that thread was formerly spelt thrid or third. See Johnson and Steevens’ _Shakspeare_, vol. i. ed. 1785, p. 92.