Folk-lore of Shakespeare

The notion of the brain as the seat of the soul is mentioned by Prince Henry, who, referring to King John (v. 7), says:

Ear. According to a well-known superstition, much credited in days gone by, and still extensively believed, a tingling of the right ear is considered lucky, being supposed to denote that a friend is speaking well of one, whereas a tingling of the left is said to imply the opposite. This notion, however, varies in different localities, as in some places it is the tingling of the left ear which denotes the friend, and the tingling of the right ear the enemy. In “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1), Beatrice asks Ursula and Hero, who had been talking of her:

the reference, no doubt, being to this popular fancy. Sir Thomas Browne[905] ascribes the idea to the belief in guardian angels, who touch the right or left ear according as the conversation is favorable or not to the person.

In Shakespeare’s day it was customary for young gallants to wear a long lock of hair dangling by the ear, known as a “love-lock.” Hence, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 3), the Watch identifies one of his delinquents: “I know him; a’ wears a lock.”[906]

Again, further on (v. 1), Dogberry gives another allusion to this practice: “He wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it.”

An expression of endearment current in years gone by was “to bite the ear.” In “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 4), Mercutio says:

a passage which is explained in Nares (“Glossary,” vol. i. p. 81) by the following one from Ben Jonson’s “Alchemist” (ii. 3):

Gifford, in his notes on Jonson’s “Works” (vol. ii. p. 184), says the odd mode of expressing pleasure by biting the ear seems “to be taken from the practice of animals, who, in a playful mood, bite each other’s ears.”

While speaking of the ear, it may be noted that the so-called want of ear for music has been regarded as a sign of an austere disposition. Thus Cæsar says of Cassius (“Julius Cæsar,” i. 2):

There is, too, the well-known passage in the “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1):

According to the Italian proverb: “Whom God loves not, that man loves not music.”[907]

Elbow. According to a popular belief, the itching of the elbow denoted an approaching change of some kind or other.[908] Thus, in “1 Henry IV.” (v. 1), the king speaks of

With this idea we may compare similar ones connected with other parts of the body. Thus, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), one of the witches exclaims:

Again, in “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Ajax says: “My fingers itch,”[909] and an itching palm was said to be an indication that the person would shortly receive money. Hence, it denoted a hand ready to receive bribes. Thus, in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 3), Brutus says to Cassius:

So, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 3), Shallow says: “If I see a sword out, my finger itches to make one.”

Again, in “Othello” (iv. 3), poor Desdemona says to Emilia:

Grose alludes to this superstition, and says: “When the right eye itches, the party affected will shortly cry; if the left, they will laugh.” The itching of the eye, as an omen, is spoken of by Theocritus, who says:

Eyes. A good deal of curious folk-lore has, at one time or another, clustered round the eye; and the well-known superstition known as the “evil eye” has already been described in the chapter on Birth and Baptism. Blueness above the eye was, in days gone by, considered a sign of love, and as such is alluded to by Rosalind in “As You Like It” (iii. 2), where she enumerates the marks of love to Orlando: “A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye, and sunken, which you have not.”

The term “baby in the eye” was sportively applied by our forefathers to the miniature reflection of himself which a person may see in the pupil of another’s eye. In “Timon of Athens” (i. 2), one of the lords says:

an allusion probably being made to this whimsical notion. It is often referred to by old writers, as, for instance, by Drayton, in his “Ideas:”

We may compare the expression, “to look babies in the eyes,” a common amusement of lovers in days gone by. In Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Loyal Subject” (iii. 2), Theodore asks:

And once more, to quote from Massinger’s “Renegado” (ii. 4), where Donusa says:

Another old term for the eyes was “crystal,” which is used by Pistol to his wife, Mrs. Quickly, in “Henry V.” (ii. 3):

that is, dry thine eyes.

In “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 2), the phrase is employed by Benvolio:

It also occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Double Marriage” (v. 3), where Juliana exclaims:

The expression “wall-eyed” denotes, says Dyce (“Glossary,” p. 486), “eyes with a white or pale-gray iris—glaring-eyed.” It is used by Lucius in “Titus Andronicus” (v. 1):

In “King John” (iv. 3), Salisbury speaks of “wall-eyed wrath.”

Brockett, in his “Glossary of North Country Words,” says: “In those parts of the north with which I am best acquainted, persons are said to be wall-eyed when the white of the eye is very large and to one side; on the borders ‘sic folks’ are considered lucky. The term is also occasionally applied to horses with similar eyes, though its wider general acceptation seems to be when the iris of the eye is white, or of a very pale color. A wall-eyed horse sees perfectly well.”

Face. A common expression “to play the hypocrite,” or feign, was “to face.” So, in “1 Henry VI.” (v. 3), Suffolk declares how:

Hence the name of one of the characters in Ben Jonson’s “Alchemist.” So, in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1):

The phrase, also, “to face me down,” implied insisting upon anything in opposition. So, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 1), Antipholus of Ephesus says:

Feet. Stumbling has from the earliest period been considered ominous.[911] Thus, Cicero mentions it among the superstitions of his day; and numerous instances of this unlucky act have been handed down from bygone times. We are told by Ovid how Myrrha, on her way to Cinyra’s chamber, stumbled thrice, but was not deterred by the omen from an unnatural and fatal crime; and Tibullus (lib. I., eleg. iii. 20), refers to it:

This superstition is alluded to by Shakespeare, who, in “3 Henry VI.” (iv. 7), makes Gloster say:

In “Richard III.” (iii. 4), Hastings relates:[912]

In the same way, stumbling at a grave has been regarded as equally unlucky; and in “Romeo and Juliet” (v. 3), Friar Laurence says:

Hair. From time immemorial there has been a strong antipathy to red hair, which originated, according to some antiquarians, in a tradition that Judas had hair of this color. One reason, it may be, why the dislike to it arose, was that this color was considered ugly and unfashionable, and on this account a person with red hair would soon be regarded with contempt. It has been conjectured, too, that the odium took its rise from the aversion to the red-haired Danes. In “As You Like It” (iii. 4), Rosalind, when speaking of Orlando, refers to this notion:[913] “His very hair is of the dissembling colour,” whereupon Celia replies: “Something browner than Judas’s.”

Yellow hair, too, was in years gone by regarded with ill-favor, and esteemed a deformity. In ancient pictures and tapestries both Cain and Judas are represented with yellow beards, in allusion to which Simple, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 4), when interrogated, says of his master: “He hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard—a Cain-coloured beard.”[914]

In speaking of beards, it may be noted that formerly they gave rise to various customs. Thus, in Shakespeare’s day, dyeing beards was a fashionable custom, and so Bottom, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (i. 2), is perplexed as to what beard he should wear when acting before the duke. He says: “I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.”[915]

To mutilate a beard in any way was considered an irreparable outrage, a practice to which Hamlet refers (ii. 2):

And in “King Lear” (iii. 7), Gloster exclaims:

Stroking the beard before a person spoke was preparatory to favor. Hence in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3), Ulysses, when describing how Achilles asks Patroclus to imitate certain of their chiefs, represents him as saying:

Again, the phrase “to beard” meant to oppose face to face in a hostile manner. Thus, in “1 Henry IV.” (iv. 1), Douglas declares:

And in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 3), the Bishop of Winchester says to Gloster:

It seems also to have been customary to swear by the beard, an allusion to which is made by Touchstone in “As You Like It” (i. 2): “stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.”

We may also compare what Nestor says in “Troilus and Cressida” (iv. 5):

Our ancestors paid great attention to the shape of their beards, certain cuts being appropriated to certain professions and ranks. In “Henry V.” (iii. 6), Gower speaks of “a beard of the general’s cut.” As Mr. Staunton remarks, “Not the least odd among the fantastic fashions of our forefathers was the custom of distinguishing certain professions and classes by the cut of the beard; thus we hear, inter alia, of the bishop’s beard, the judge’s beard, the soldier’s beard, the citizen’s beard, and even the clown’s beard.” Randle Holme tells us, “The broad or cathedral beard [is] so-called because bishops or gown-men of the church anciently did wear such beards.” By the military man, the cut adopted was known as the stiletto or spade. The beard of the citizen was usually worn round, as Mrs. Quickly describes it in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 4), “like a glover’s paring-knife.” The clown’s beard was left bushy or untrimmed. Malone quotes from an old ballad entitled “Le Prince d’ Amour,” 1660:

According to an old superstition, much hair on the head has been supposed to indicate an absence of intellect, a notion referred to by Antipholus of Syracuse, in the “Comedy of Errors” (ii. 2): “there’s many a man hath more hair than wit.” In the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (iii. 1), the same proverbial sentence is mentioned by Speed. Malone quotes the following lines upon Suckling’s “Aglaura,” as an illustration of this saying:[916]

Steevens gives an example from “Florio:” “A tisty-tosty wag-feather, more haire than wit.”

Excessive fear has been said to cause the hair to stand on end: an instance of which Shakespeare records in “Hamlet” (iii. 4), in that celebrated passage where the Queen, being at a loss to understand her son’s strange appearance during his conversation with the Ghost, which is invisible to her, says:

A further instance occurs in “The Tempest” (i. 2), where Ariel, describing the shipwreck, graphically relates how

Again, Macbeth says (i. 3):

And further on he says (v. 5):

In “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 2) it is referred to by Suffolk as a sign of madness:

And, once more, in “Richard III.” (i. 3), Hastings declares:

Another popular notion mentioned by Shakespeare is, that sudden fright or great sorrow will cause the hair to turn white. In “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), Falstaff, in his speech to Prince Henry, tells him: “thy father’s beard is turned white with the news.”

Among the many instances recorded to establish the truth of this idea, it is said that the hair and beard of the Duke of Brunswick whitened in twenty-four hours upon his hearing that his father had been mortally wounded in the battle of Auerstadt. Marie Antoinette, the unfortunate queen of Louis XVI., found her hair suddenly changed by her troubles; and a similar change happened to Charles I., when he attempted to escape from Carisbrooke Castle. Mr. Timbs, in his “Doctors and Patients” (1876, p. 201), says that “chemists have discovered that hair contains an oil, a mucous substance, iron, oxide of manganese, phosphate and carbonate of iron, flint, and a large proportion of sulphur. White hair contains also phosphate of magnesia, and its oil is nearly colourless. When hair becomes suddenly white from terror, it is probably owing to the sulphur absorbing the oil, as in the operation of whitening woollen cloths.”

Hair was formerly used metaphorically for the color, complexion, or nature of a thing. In “1 Henry IV.” (iv. 1), Worcester says:

In Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Nice Valour” it is so used:

Hands. Various superstitions have, at different times, clustered round the hand. Thus, in palmistry, a moist one is said to denote an amorous constitution. In “Othello” (iii. 4) we have the following allusion to this popular notion:

Again, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2), Iras says: “There’s a palm presages chastity;” whereupon Charmian adds: “If an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear.” And, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 2), Dromio of Syracuse speaks of barrenness as “hard in the palm of the hand.”

A dry hand, however, has been supposed to denote age and debility. In “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2) the Lord Chief Justice enumerates this among the characteristics of such a constitution.[917]

In the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2), Launcelot, referring to the language of palmistry, calls the hand “the table,” meaning thereby the whole collection of lines on the skin within the hand: “Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune.” He then alludes to one of the lines in the hand, known as the “line of life:” “Go to, here’s a simple line of life.”

In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iii. 5) palmistry is further mentioned:

It was once supposed that little worms were bred in the fingers of idle servants. To this notion Mercutio refers in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4), where, in his description of Queen Mab, he says:

This notion is alluded to by John Banister, a famous surgeon in Shakespeare’s day, in his “Compendious Chyrurgerie” (1585, p. 465): “We commonly call them worms, which many women, sitting in the sunshine, can cunningly picke out with needles, and are most common in the handes.”

A popular term formerly in use for the nails on the ten fingers was the “ten commandments,” which, says Nares,[918] “doubtless led to the swearing by them, as by the real commandments.” Thus, in “2 Henry VI.” (i. 3), the Duchess of Gloster says to the queen:

In the same way the fingers were also called the “ten bones,” as a little further on in the same play, where Peter swears “by these ten bones.”

The phrase “of his hands” was equivalent to “of his inches, or of his size, a hand being the measure of four inches.” So, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 4), Simple says: “Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands as any is between this and his head,” “the expression being used probably for the sake of a jocular equivocation in the word tall, which meant either bold or high.”[919]

Again, in the “Winter’s Tale” (v. 2), the Clown tells the Shepherd: “I’ll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk; but I’ll swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.”

A proverbial phrase for being tall from necessity was “to blow the nail.” In “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 5) the king says:

It occurs in the song at the end of “Love’s Labour’s Lost:”

“To bite the thumb” at a person implied an insult; hence, in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 1), Sampson says: “I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.”

The thumb, in this action, we are told, “represented a fig, and the whole was equivalent to a fig for you.”[920] Decker, in his “Dead Term” (1608), speaking of the various groups that daily frequented St. Paul’s Church, says: “What swearing is there, what shouldering, what justling, what jeering, what byting of thumbs, to beget quarrels?”

Hare-lip. A cleft lip, so called from its supposed resemblance to the upper lip of a hare. It was popularly believed to be the mischievous act of an elf or malicious fairy. So, in “King Lear” (iii. 4), Edgar says of Gloster: “This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he ... squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip.” In “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 2), Oberon, in blessing the bridal-bed of Theseus and Hippolyta, says:

The expression “hang the lip” meant to drop the lip in sullenness or contempt. Thus, in “Troilus and Cressida” (iii. 1), Helen explains why her brother Troilus is not abroad by saying: “He hangs the lip at something.” We may compare, too, the words in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4): “a foolish hanging of thy nether lip.”

Head. According to the old writers on physiognomy, a round head denoted foolishness, a notion to which reference is made in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii. 3), in the following dialogue, where Cleopatra, inquiring about Octavia, says to the Messenger:

In Hill’s “Pleasant History,” etc. (1613), we read: “The head very round, to be forgetful and foolish.” Again: “The head long, to be prudent and wary.”

Heart. The term “broken heart,” as commonly applied to death from excessive grief, is not a vulgar error, but may arise from violent muscular exertion or strong mental emotions. In “Macbeth” (iv. 3), Malcolm says:

We may compare, too, Queen Margaret’s words to Buckingham, in “Richard III.” (i. 3), where she prophesies how Gloster

Mr. Timbs, in his “Mysteries of Life, Death, and Futurity” (1861, p. 149), has given the following note on the subject: “This affection was, it is believed, first described by Harvey; but since his day several cases have been observed. Morgagni has recorded a few examples: among them, that of George II., who died suddenly of this disease in 1760; and, what is very curious, Morgagni himself fell a victim to the same malady. Dr. Elliotson, in his Lumleyan Lectures on Diseases of the Heart, in 1839, stated that he had only seen one instance; but in the ‘Cyclopædia of Practical Medicine’ Dr. Townsend gives a table of twenty-five cases, collected from various authors.”

In olden times the heart was esteemed the seat of the understanding. Hence, in “Coriolanus” (i. 1), the Citizen speaks of “the counsellor heart.” With the ancients, also, the heart was considered the seat of courage, to which Shakespeare refers in “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 2):

Liver. By a popular notion, the liver was anciently supposed to be the seat of love, a superstition to which Shakespeare frequently alludes. Thus, in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3), Biron, after listening to Longaville’s sonnet, remarks:

In “Much Ado About Nothing” (iv. 1), Friar Francis says:

Again, in “As You Like It” (iii. 2), Rosalind, professing to be able to cure love, which, he says, is “merely a madness,” says to Orlando, “will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in’t.” In “Twelfth Night” (ii. 4), the Duke, speaking of women’s love, says:

And Fabian (ii. 5), alluding to Olivia’s supposed letter to Malvolio, says: “This wins him, liver and all.”

Once more, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 1), Pistol alludes to the liver as being the inspirer of amorous passions, for, speaking of Falstaff, he refers to his loving Ford’s wife “with liver burning hot.”[921] Douce says, “there is some reason for thinking that this superstition was borrowed from the Arabian physicians, or at least adopted by them; for, in the Turkish tales, an amorous tailor is made to address his wife by the titles of ‘thou corner of my liver, and soul of my love;’ and, in another place, the King of Syria, who had sustained a temporary privation of his mistress, is said to have had ‘his liver, which had been burnt up by the loss of her, cooled and refreshed at the sight of her.’”[922] According to an old Latin distich:

Bartholomæus, in his “De Proprietatibus Rerum” (lib. v. 39), informs us that “the liver is the place of voluptuousness and lyking of the flesh.”

Moles. These have, from time immemorial, been regarded as ominous, and special attention has been paid by the superstitious to their position on the body.[923] In “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 1), a mole on a child is spoken of by Oberon as a bad omen, who, speaking of the three couples who had lately been married, says:

Iachimo (“Cymbeline,” ii. 2) represents Imogen as having

And we may also compare the words of Cymbeline (v. 5):

Spleen. This was once supposed to be the cause of laughter, a notion probably referred to by Isabella in “Measure for Measure” (ii. 2), where, telling how the angels weep over the follies of men, she adds:

In “Taming of the Shrew” (Induction, sc. i.), the Lord says:

And Maria says to Sir Toby, in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 2): “If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me.”

Wits. With our early writers, the five senses were usually called the “five wits.” So, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1), Beatrice says: “In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one.” In Sonnet cxli., Shakespeare makes a distinction between wits and senses:

The five wits, says Staunton, are “common wit, imagination, fantasy, estimation, memory.” Johnson says, the “wits seem to have been reckoned five, by analogy to the five senses, or the five inlets of ideas.” In “King Lear” (iii. 4) we find the expression, “Bless thy five wits.”

According to a curious fancy, eating beef was supposed to impair the intellect, to which notion Shakespeare has several allusions. Thus, in “Twelfth Night” (i. 3), Sir Andrew says: “Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.” In “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Thersites says to Ajax: “The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!”

CHAPTER XXI.

FISHES.

Although it has been suggested that Shakespeare found but little recreation in fishing,[924] rather considering, as he makes Ursula say, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1):