The picture of human life which Boissard draws in his “Address to the Reader” is gloomy and dispiriting; there are in it, he declares, the various miseries and calamities to which man is subject while he lives,—and the conflicts to which he is exposed from the sharpest and cruellest enemies, the devil, the flesh, and the world; and from their violence and oppression there is no possibility of escape, except by the favour and help of God’s mercy.
Very similar ideas prevail in some of Shakespeare’s lines; as “the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to” (Hamlet, act iii. sc. 1, l. 62, vol. viii. p. 79); “my heart all mad with misery beats in this hollow prison of my flesh” (Titus Andronicus, act iii. sc. 2, l. 9, vol. vi. p. 483); and, “shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh” (Romeo and Juliet, act v. sc. 3, l. 111, vol. vii. p. 126).
But more particularly in As You Like It (act ii. sc. 7, l. 136, vol. ii. p. 409),—
Also in Macbeth (act v. sc. 5, l. 22, vol. vii. p. 512),—
And when the citizens of Angiers haughtily closed their gates against both King Philip and King John, the taunt is raised (King John, act ii. sc. 1, l. 373, vol. iv. p. 26),—
The stages or ages of man have been variously divided. In the Arundel MS., and in a Dutch work printed at Antwerp in 1820, there are ten of these divisions of Man’s Life.[170] The celebrated physician Hippocrates (B.C. 460–357), and Proclus, the Platonist (A.D. 412–485), are said to have divided human life, as Shakespeare has done, into seven ages. And a mosaic on the pavement of the cathedral at Siena gives exactly the same division. This mosaic is very curious, and is supposed to have been executed by Antonio Federighi in the year 1476. Martin’s “Shakspere’s Seven Ages,” published in 1848, contains a little narrative about it, furnished by Lady Calcott, who shortly before that time had been travelling in Italy,—
“We found,” she says, “in the cathedral of Sienna a curious proof that the division of human life into seven periods, from infancy to extreme old age with a view to draw a moral inference, was common before Shakspeare’s time: the person who was showing us that fine church directed our attention to the large and bold designs of Beccafumi, which are inlaid in black and white in the pavement, entirely neglecting some works of a much older date which appeared to us to be still more interesting on account of the simplicity and elegance with which they are designed. Several of these represent Sibyls and other figures of a mixed moral and religious character; but in one of the side chapels we were both suprised and pleased to find seven figures, each in a separate compartment, inlaid in the pavement, representing the Seven Ages of Man.”
Lord Lindsay notices the same work, and in his “Christian Art,” vol. iii. p. 112, speaking of the Pavement of the Duomo at Siena, says,—“Seven ages of life in the Southern Nave, near the Capella del Voto.”
Of as old a date, even if not more ancient, is the Representation of the Seven Ages from a Block-Print belonging to the British Museum, and of which we present a diminished facsimile (Plate XV.), the original measuring 15½ in. by 10½ in.
The inscription on the centre of the wheel, Rota vite que septima notatur,—“The wheel of life which seven times is noted:” on the outer rim,—Est velut aqua labuntur deficiens ita. Sic ornati nascuntur in hac mortali vita,—“It is as water so failing, they pass away. So furished are they born in this mortal life.” The figures for the seven ages are inscribed, Infans ad vii. annos,—“An infant for vii. years.” Pueritia[171] ad xv. años,—“Childhood up to xv. years.” Adolescẽtia ad xxv. años,—“Youthhood to xxv. years.” Iuvẽtus ad xxxv. annos,—“Young manhood to xxxv. years.” Virilitas ad l. annos,—“Mature manhood to 50 years.” Senatus ad lxx. annos,—“Age to 70 years.” Decrepitus usque ad mortem,—“Decrepitude up to death.” The angel with the scrolls holds in her right hand that on which is written Beuerano, in her left, Corruptio,—“Corruption;” below her left, clav, for clavis, “a key.”
Some parts of the Latin stanzas are difficult to decipher; they appear, however, to be the following, read downward,—
The lines, however, are to be read across the page,—
They are only doggerel Latin, and in doggerel English may be expressed,—
The celebrated speech of Jaques to his dethroned master, “All the world’s a stage,” from As You Like It (act ii. sc. 7, lines 139–165, vol. ii. p. 409), is closely constructed on the model of the Emblematical Devices in the foregoing Block-print. The simple quoting of the passage will be sufficient to show the parallelism and correspondence of the thoughts, if not of the expressions,—
In far briefer phrase, but with a similar comparison, in reply to the charge of having “too much respect upon the world,” Antonia (Merchant of Venice, act i. sc. 1, l. 77, vol. ii. p. 281) remarked,—
The pencil and the skill alone are wanting to multiply the Emblems for the Poetic Ideas which abound in Shakespeare’s dramas. His thoughts and their combinations are in general so clothed with life and with other elements of beauty, that materials for pictures exist in all parts of his writings. Our office, however, is not to exercise the inventive faculty, nor, even when the invention has been perfected for us by the poet’s fancy, to give it a visible form and to portray its outward graces. We have simply to gather up the scattered records of the past, and to show what correspondencies there really are between Shakespeare and the elder Emblem artists, and, when we can, to point out where to him they have been models, imitated and thus approved. Though, therefore, we might draw many a sketch, and finish many a picture from ideas to be supplied from this unexhausted fountain, we are mindful of the humbler task belonging to him who collects, and on his shelf of literary antiquities places, only what has the stamp of nearly three centuries upon them.
Boissard, 1596.
REJOICING much if the end should crown the earlier portions of our work, we enter now on the last and most welcome section of this chapter,—on the Emblems which depict moral qualities and æsthetical properties,—the Emblems which concern the judgments and perceptions of the mind, and the conduct of the heart, the conscience, and the life.
We will initiate this division by the motto and device which Whitney (p. 64) adopts from Sambucus (edition 1564, p. 30),—“Things lying at our feet,”—that is, of immediate importance and urgency. The Emblems are warnings from the hen which is eating her own eggs, and from the cow which is drinking her own milk.
The Hungarian poet thus sets forth his theme,—
The sentiment is admirable, and well placed by Whitney in the foremost ground,—
These two, Sambucus and Whitney, are the types, affirming that our powers and gifts and opportunities were all bestowed, not for mere selfish enjoyments, but to be improved for the general welfare; Shakespeare is the antitype: he amplifies, and exalts, and finishes; he carries out the thought to its completion, and thus attains absolute perfection; for in Measure for Measure (act i. sc. 1, l. 28, vol. i. p. 296), Vincentio, the duke, addresses Angelo,—
Now, there is beauty in the types, brief though they be, and on a very lowly subject: but how admirable is the antitype! It entirely redeems the thought from any associated meanness, carries it out to its full excellence, and clothes it with vestments of inspiration. Such, in truth, is Shakespeare’s great praise;—he can lift another man’s thought out of the dust, and make it a fitting ornament even for an archangel’s diadem.
One of Whitney’s finest Emblems, in point of conception and treatment, and, I believe, peculiar to himself, one of those “newly devised,” is founded on the sentiment, “By help of God” (p. 203).
The representation is that of the hand of Divine Providence issuing from a cloud and holding the girdle which encompasses the earth. With that girdle Sir Francis Drake’s ship, “the Golden Hind,” was drawn and guided round the globe.
The whole Emblem possesses considerable interest,—for it relates to the great national event of Shakespeare’s youth,—the first accomplishment by Englishmen of the earth’s circumnavigation. With no more than 164 able-bodied men, in five small ships, little superior to boats with a deck, the adventurous commander set sail 13th December, 1577; he went by the Straits of Magellan, and on his return doubled the Cape of Good Hope, the 15th of March, 1580, having then only fifty-seven men and three casks of water. The perilous voyage was ended at Plymouth, September the 26th, 1580, after an absence of two years and ten months.
These few particulars give more meaning to the Poet’s description,—
How similar, in part at least, is the sentiment in Hamlet (act v. sc. 2, l. 8, vol. viii. p. 164),—
In the Emblem we may note the girdle by which Drake’s ship is guided; may it not have been the origin of Puck’s fancy in the Midsummer Night’s Dream (act ii. sc. 1, l. 173, vol. ii. p. 216), when he answers Oberon’s strict command,—
Besides, may it not have been from this voyage of Sir Francis Drake, and the accounts which were published respecting it, that the correct knowledge of physical geography was derived which Richard II. displays (act iii. sc. 2, l. 37, &c. vol. iv. p. 165)? as in the lines,—
A mere passing allusion to the same sentiment, a hint respecting it, a single line expressing it, or only a word or two relating to it, may sometimes very decidedly indicate an acquaintance with the author by whom the sentiment has been enunciated in all its fulness. Thus, Shakespeare, in speaking of Benedick, in Much Ado about Nothing (act v. sc. 1, l. 170, vol. ii. p. 75), makes Don Pedro say,—
“An if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man’s daughter told us all.”
To which Claudius replies,—
“All, all; and, moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden.”
Now, Whitney (p. 229) has an Emblem on this very subject; the motto, “God lives and sees.” It depicts Adam concealing himself, and a divine light circling the words, “Vbi es?”—Where art thou?
Whitney, 1586.
With the same motto, “Vbi es?” and a similar device, Georgette de Montenay (editions 1584 and 1620) carries out the same thought,—
The similarity is too great to be named on Shakespeare’s part an accidental coincidence; it may surely be set down as a direct allusion, not indeed of the mere copyist, but of the writer, who, having in his mind another’s thought, does not quote it literally, but gives no uncertain indication that he gathered it up he cannot tell where, yet has incorporated it among his own treasures, and makes use of it as entirely his own.
From Corrozet, Georgette de Montenay, Le Bey de Batilly, and others their contemporaries, we might adduce various Moral and Æsthetical Emblems to which there are similarities of thought or of expression in Shakespeare’s Dramas, but too slight to deserve special notice. For instance, there are ingratitude, the instability of the world, faith and charity and hope, calumny, adversity, friendship, fearlessness,—but to dwell upon them would lengthen our statements and remarks more than is necessary.
We will, however, make one more extract from Corrozet’s “Hecatomgraphie” (Emb. 83); to the motto, Beauty the companion of goodness; which might have been in Duke Vincentio’s mind (Measure for Measure, act iii. sc. 1, l. 175, vol. i. p. 340) when he addressed Isabel,—
“The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair.”
Corrozet, 1540.
The French verse which immediately follows the Emblem well describes it,—
The dramas we have liberty to select from furnish several instances of the same thought. First, from the Two Gentlemen of Verona (act iv. sc. 2, l. 38, vol. i. p. 135), in that exquisitely beautiful little song which answers the question, “Who is Silvia?”—
But a closer parallelism to Corrozet’s Emblem of beauty joined to goodness occurs in Henry VIII. (act ii. sc. 3, lines 60 and 75, vol. vi. pp. 45, 46); it is in the soliloquy or aside speech of the Lord Chamberlain, who had been saying to Anne Bullen,—
With perfect tact Anne meets the flowing honours, and says,—
In an aside the Chamberlain owns,—
So on Romeo’s first sight of Juliet (Romeo and Juliet, act i. sc. 5, l. 41, vol. vii. p. 30), her beauty and inner worth called forth the confession,—
And the Sonnet (CV. vol. ix. p. 603, l. 4) that represents love,—
also tells us of the abiding beauty of the soul,—
The power of Conscience, as the soul’s bulwark against adversities, has been sung from the time when Horace wrote (Epist. i. 1. 60),—
“This be thy wall of brass, to be conscious to thyself of no shame, to become pale at no crime.”
Or, in the still more popular ode (Carm. i. 22), which being of old recited in the palaces of Mæcenas and Augustus at Rome, has, after the flow of nearly nineteen centuries, been revived in the drawing rooms of Paris and London, and of the whole civilized world;—
Both these sentiments of the lyric poet have been imitated or adapted by the dramatic; as in 2 Henry VI. (act iii. sc. 2, l. 232, vol. v. p. 171), where the good king exclaims,—
And again, in Titus Andronicus (act iv. sc. 2, l. 18, vol. vi. p. 492), in the words of the original, on the scroll which Demetrius picks up,—
Several of the Emblem writers, however, propound a sentiment not so generally known, in which Apollo’s favourite tree, the Laurel, is the token of a soul unalarmed by threatening evils. Sambucus and Whitney so consider it, and illustrate it with the motto,—The pure conscience is man’s laurel tree.
The saying rests on the ancient persuasion that the laurel is the sign of joy, victory and safety, and that it is never struck even by the bolts of Jove. Sambucus, personifying the laurel, celebrates its praise in sixteen elegiac lines beginning,—
These thoughts in briefer and more nervous style Whitney rehearses to the old theme, A brazen wall, a sound conscience (p. 67),—
But a much fuller agreement with the above motto does Whitney express in the last stanza of Emblem 32,—
The same property is assigned to the Laurel by Joachim Camerarius (“Ex Re Herbaria,” p. 35, edition 1590). He quotes several authorities, or opinions for supposing that the laurel was not injured by lightning. Pliny, he says, supported the notion; the Emperor Tiberius in thunder storms betook himself to the shelter of the laurel; and Augustus before him did the same thing, adding as a further protection a girdle made from the skin of a sea-calf. Our modern authorities give no countenance to either of these fancies.
Now, combining the thoughts on Conscience presented by the Emblems on the subject which have been quoted, can we fail to perceive in Shakespeare, when he speaks of Conscience and its qualities, a general agreement with Sambucus, and more especially with Whitney?
How finely, in Henry VIII. (act iii. sc. 2, l. 372, vol. vi. p. 76), do the old Cardinal and his faithful Cromwell converse,—