Just then his father, Leontes, comes in, and the tale is interrupted, never to be resumed.

Mr. Knight assumes, with a good degree of probability, that William had access to some of the books from which he drew material for the story of his plays later in life, and that he may have told these tales, whether "merry or sad," to his brothers and sisters at home.

"He had," says this genial biographer, "a copy, well thumbed from his first reading days, of 'The Palace of Pleasure, beautified, adorned, and well furnished with pleasant histories and excellent novelles, selected out of divers good and commendable authors; by William Painter, Clarke of the Ordinaunce and Armarie.' In this book, according to the dedication of the translator to Ambrose Earl of Warwick, was set forth 'the great valiance of noble gentlemen, the terrible combats of courageous personages, the virtuous minds of noble dames, the chaste hearts of constant ladies, the wonderful patience of puissant princes, the mild sufferance of well-disposed gentlewomen, and, in divers, the quiet bearing of adverse fortune.' Pleasant little apothegms and short fables were there in the book; which the brothers and sisters of William Shakespeare had heard him tell with marvellous spirit, and they abided therefore in their memories. There was Æsop's fable of the old lark and her young ones, wherein 'he prettily and aptly doth premonish that hope and confidence of things attempted by man ought to be fixed and trusted in none other but himself.' There was the story, most delightful to a child, of the bondman at Rome, who was brought into the open place upon which a great multitude looked, to fight with a lion of a marvellous bigness; and the fierce lion, when he saw him, 'suddenly stood still, and afterwards by little and little, in gentle sort, he came unto the man as though he had known him,' and licked his hands and legs; and the bondman told that he had healed in former time the wounded foot of the lion, and the beast became his friend. These were for the younger children; but William had now a new tale, out of the same storehouse, upon which he had often pondered, the subject of which had shaped itself in his mind into dialogue that almost sounded like verse in his graceful and earnest recitation. It was a tale which Painter translated from the French of Pierre Boisteau.... It was 'The goodly history of the true and constant love between Romeo and Julietta.' ... From the same collection of tales had the youth before half dramatized the story of 'Giletta of Narbonne,' who cured the King of France of a painful malady, and the king gave her in marriage to the Count Beltramo, with whom she had been brought up, and her husband despised and forsook her, but at last they were united, and lived in great honor and felicity.

"There was another collection, too, which that youth had diligently read,—the 'Gesta Romanorum,' translated by R. Robinson in 1577,—old legends, come down to those latter days from monkish historians, who had embodied in their narratives all the wild traditions of the ancient and modern world. He could tell the story of the rich heiress who chose a husband by the machinery of a gold, a silver, and a leaden casket; and another story of the merchant whose inexorable creditor required the fulfilment of his bond in cutting a pound of flesh, nearest the merchant's heart, and by the skilful interpretation of the bond the cruel creditor was defeated.

"There was the story, too, in these legends, of the Emperor Theodosius, who had three daughters; and those two daughters who said they loved him more than themselves were unkind to him, but the youngest, who only said she loved him as much as he was worthy, succoured him in his need, and was his true daughter....

"Stories such as these, preserved amidst the wreck of time, were to that youth like the seeds that are found in the tombs of ruined cities, lying with the bones of forgotten generations, but which the genial influence of nature will call into life, and they shall become flowers, and trees, and food for man.

"But, beyond all these, our Mamillius had many a tale 'of sprites and goblins'.... Such appearances were above nature, but the commonest movements of the natural world had them in subjection:—

"Powerful they were, but yet powerless. They came for benevolent purposes: to warn the guilty; to discover the guilt. The belief in them was not a debasing thing. It was associated with the enduring confidence that rested upon a world beyond this material world. Love hoped for such visitations; it had its dreams of such—where the loved one looked smilingly, and spoke of regions where change and separation were not. They might be talked of, even among children then, without terror. They lived in that corner of the soul which had trust in angel protections, which believed in celestial hierarchies, which listened to hear the stars moving in harmonious music....

"William Shakespeare could also tell to his greedy listeners, how in the old days of King Arthur

"Here was something in his favorite old poet for the youth to work out into beautiful visions of a pleasant race of supernatural beings; who lived by day in the acorn cups of Arden, and by moonlight held their revels on the greensward of Avon-side, the ringlets of their dance being duly seen, 'whereof the ewe not bites'; who tasted the honey-bag of the bee, and held counsel by the light of the glowworm; who kept the cankers from the rosebuds, and silenced the hootings of the owl.... Some day would William make a little play of Fairies, and Joan should be their Queen, and he would be the King; for he had talked with the Fairies, and he knew their language and their manners, and they were 'good people,' and would not mind a boy's sport with them.

"But when the youth began to speak of witches there was fear and silence. For did not his mother recollect that in the year she was married Bishop Jewell had told the Queen that her subjects pined away, even unto the death, and that their affliction was owing to the increase of witches and sorcerers? Was it not known how there were three sorts of witches,—those that can hurt and not help, those that can help and not hurt, and those that can both help and hurt? It was unsafe even to talk of them.

"But the youth had met with the history of the murder of Duncan King of Scotland, in a chronicler older than Holinshed; and he told softly, so that 'yon crickets shall not hear it,' that, as Macbeth and Banquo journeyed from Forres, sporting by the way together, when the warriors came in the midst of a laund, three weird sisters suddenly appeared to them, in strange and wild apparel, resembling creatures of an elder world, and prophesied that Macbeth should be King of Scotland; and Macbeth from that hour desired to be king, and so killed the good king his liege lord.

"And then the story-teller would pass on to safer matters—to the calculations of learned men who could read the fates of mankind in the aspects of the stars; and of those more deeply learned, clothed in garments of white linen, who had command over the spirits of the earth, of the water, and of the air. Some of the children said that a horseshoe over the door, and vervain and dill, would preserve them, as they had been told, from the devices of sorcery. But their mother called to their mind that there was security far more to be relied on than charms of herb or horseshoe—that there was a Power that would preserve them from all evil, seen or unseen, if such were His gracious will, and if they humbly sought Him, and offered up their hearts to Him in all love and trust. And to that Power this household then addressed themselves; and the night was without fear, and their sleep was pleasant."

CHRISTENINGS.

In the olden time the christening of a child was an occasion of feasting and gift-giving. It was an ancient custom for the sponsors to make a present of silver or gilt spoons to the infant. These were called "apostle spoons," because the end of the handle was formed into the figure of one of the apostles. The rich or generous gave the whole twelve; those less wealthy or liberal limited themselves to the four evangelists; while the poor contented themselves with the gift of a single spoon.

There is an allusion to this custom in Henry VIII. (v. 3. 168), where the King replies to Cranmer, who has professed to be unworthy of being a sponsor to the baby Elizabeth, "Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons,"—a playful insinuation that the archbishop wants to escape making a present to the child.

It is related that Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's children, and said to his friend after the christening, "I' faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a dozen good Latin spoons, and thou shalt translate them." That is, as Mr. Thoms explains it, "Shakespeare, willing to show his wit, if not his wealth, gave a dozen spoons, not of silver, but of latten, a name formerly used to signify a mixed metal resembling brass, as being the most appropriate gift to the child of a father so learned."

After baptism at the church a piece of white linen was put upon the head of the child. This was called the "chrisom" or "chrisom-cloth," and originally was worn seven days; but after the Reformation it was kept on until the churching of the mother. If the child died before the churching, it was buried with the chrisom upon it. In parish registers such infants are often referred to as "chrisoms." In Henry V. (ii. 3. 12), Dame Quickly says of Falstaff, "A' made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child"; that is, his death was like that of a young infant. "Christom" is the old woman's blunder for "chrisom."

The "bearing-cloth" was the mantle which covered the child when it was carried to the font. In the Winter's Tale (iii. 3. 119), the Shepherd, when he finds the infant Perdita abandoned on the sea-shore, says to his son: "Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open 't." John Stow, writing in the closing years of the 16th century, says that at that time it was not customary "for godfathers and godmothers generally to give plate at the baptism of children, but only to give 'christening shirts,' with little bands and cuffs, wrought either with silk or blue thread. The best of them, for chief persons, were edged with a small lace of black silk and gold, the highest price of which, for great men's children, was seldom above a noble [a gold coin worth 6s. 8d.], and the common sort, two, three, or four, and six shillings apiece."

The "gossips' feast" (or sponsors' feast) held in honor of those who were associated in the christening, was an ancient English custom often mentioned by dramatists and other writers of the Elizabethan age. In the Comedy of Errors (v. 1. 405) the Abbess, when she finds that the twin brothers Antipholus are her long-lost sons, says to the company present:—

And the Duke replies, "With all my heart I'll gossip at this feast."

In the Bachelor's Banquet (1603) we find an allusion to these feasts: "What cost and trouble will it be to have all things fine against the Christening Day; what store of sugar, biscuits, comfets, and caraways, marmalet, and marchpane, with all kinds of sweet-suckers and superfluous banqueting stuff, with a hundred other odd and needless trifles, which at that time must fill the pockets of dainty dames." It would appear from this that the women at the feast not only ate what they pleased, but carried off some of the good things in their pockets.

A writer in 1666, alluding to this and the falling-off in the custom of giving presents at christenings, says:—

He insinuates that some of the guests were as likely to steal spoons from the table as to give gilt bowls or "apostle spoons" to the infant.

The boy Shakespeare must have often seen this ceremony of christening. His sister Joan was baptized when he was five years old; his sister Anna when he was eight; his brother Richard when he was ten; and Edmund when he was sixteen.

SUPERSTITIONS CONNECTED WITH BIRTH AND BAPTISM.

In the time of Shakespeare babies were supposed to be exposed to other risks and dangers than the infantile disorders to which they are subject. Mary Shakespeare, as she watched the cradle of the infant William, may have been troubled by fears and anxieties that never occur to a fond mother now.

Witches and fairies were supposed to be given to stealing beautiful and promising children, and substituting their own ugly and mischievous offspring. Shakespeare alludes to these "changelings," as they were called, in the Midsummer-Night's Dream (ii. 1. 23), where Puck says that Oberon is angry with Titania

This "changeling boy" is alluded to several times afterwards in the play.

In the Winter's Tale (iii. 3. 122), when the Shepherd finds Perdita, he says: "It was told me I should be rich by the fairies; this is some changeling"; and the money left with the infant he believes to be "fairy gold." As the child is beautiful he does not take it to be one of the ugly elves left in exchange for a stolen babe, but a human changeling which the fairy thieves have for some reason abandoned. If it were not for the gold left with it, he might suppose that the stolen infant had been temporarily hidden there. We have an allusion to such behavior on the part of the fairies in Spenser's Faerie Queene (i. 10. 65):—

In 1 Henry IV. (i. 1. 87), the King, contrasting the gallant Hotspur with his own profligate son, exclaims:

The belief in the "evil eye" was another superstition prevalent in Shakespeare's day, as it had been from the earliest times. It dates back to old Greek and Roman days, being mentioned by Theocritus, Virgil, and other classical writers. In Turkey passages from the Koran used to be painted on the outside of houses as a protection against this malignant influence of witches, who were supposed to cause serious injury to human beings and animals by merely looking at them.

Thomas Lupton, in his Book of Notable Things (1586) says: "The eyes be not only instruments of enchantment, but also the voice and evil tongues of certain persons." Bacon, in one of his minor works, remarks: "It seems some have been so curious as to note that the times when the stroke or percussion of an envious eye does most hurt are particularly when the party envied is beheld in glory and triumph."

Robert Heron, writing in 1793 of his travels in Scotland, says: "Cattle are subject to be injured by what is called an evil eye, for some persons are supposed to have naturally a blasting power in their eyes, with which they injure whatever offends or is hopelessly desired by them. Witches and warlocks are also much disposed to wreak their malignity on cattle.... It is common to bind into a cow's tail a small piece of mountain-ash wood, as a charm against witchcraft."

As recently as August, 1839, a London newspaper reports a case in which a woman was suspected of the evil eye by a fellow-lodger merely because she squinted.

In this case, as in many others, the possession of the evil eye may not have been supposed due to any evil purpose or character. Good people might be born with this baleful influence, and might exert it against their will or even unconsciously. It is said that Pius IX., soon after his election as Pope, when he was perhaps the best loved man in Italy, happened while passing through the streets in his carriage to glance upward at an open window at which a nurse was standing with a child. A few minutes afterward the nurse let the child drop and it was killed. Nobody thought that the Pope wished this, but the fancy that he had the evil eye became universal and lasted till his death.

In the Merry Wives of Windsor (v. 5. 87) Pistol says to Falstaff: "Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth." In the Merchant of Venice (iii. 2. 15) Portia playfully refers to the same superstition in talking with Bassanio:—

CHARMS AND AMULETS.

Against these dangers, and many like them which it would take an entire volume to enumerate, protection was sought by charms and amulets. These were also supposed to prevent or cure certain diseases. Magicians and witches employed charms to accomplish their evil purposes; and other charms were used to thwart these purposes by those who feared mischief from them.

In Othello (i. 2. 62) Brabantio, the father of Desdemona, suspects that the Moor has won his daughter's love by charms. He says to Othello:—

In the preceding scene, talking with Roderigo, he asks:—

And Roderigo replies: "Yes, sir, I have indeed." When Othello afterward tells how he had gained the maiden's love, he says in conclusion:—

In the Midsummer-Night's Dream (i. 1. 27) Egeus accuses Lysander of wooing Hermia by magic arts: "This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child."

In Much Ado About Nothing (iii. 2. 72) Benedick, when his friends banter him for pretending to have the toothache, replies: "Yet this is no charm for the toothache."

John Melton, in his Astrologaster (1620), says it is vulgarly believed that "toothaches, agues, cramps, and fevers, and many other diseases may be healed by mumbling a few strange words over the head of the diseased."

Written charms in prose or verse—or neither, being nonsensical combinations of words, letters, or signs—were in great favor then, as before and since. The unmeaning word abracadabra was much used in incantations, and worn as an amulet was supposed to cure or prevent certain ailments. It was necessary to write it in the following form, if one would secure its full potency:—

A B R A C A D A B R A
A B R A C A D A B R
A B R A C A D A B
A B R A C A D A
A B R A C A D
A B R A C A
A B R A C
A B R A
A B R
A B
A

A manuscript in the British Museum contains this note: "Mr. Banester saith that he healed 200 in one year of an ague by hanging abracadabra about their necks."

Thomas Lodge, in his Incarnate Divels (1596) refers to written charms thus: "Bring him but a table [tablet] of lead, with crosses (and 'Adonai' or 'Elohim' written in it), he thinks it will heal the ague."

Certain trees, like the elder and the ash, were supposed to furnish valuable material for charms and amulets. A writer in 1651 says: "The common people keep as a great secret the leaves of the elder which they have gathered the last day of April; which to disappoint the charms of witches they affix to their doors and windows." An amulet against erysipelas was made of "elder on which the sun never shined," a "piece betwixt two knots" being hung about the patient's neck.

In a book published in 1599 it is asserted that "if one eat three small pomegranate-flowers, they say for a whole year he shall be safe from all manner of eye sore." According to the same authority, "it hath been and yet is a thing which superstition hath believed, that the body anointed with the juice of chicory is very available to obtain the favor of great persons."

Wearing a bay-leaf was a charm against lightning. Robert Greene, Penelope's Web (1601), says: "He which weareth the bay leaf is privileged from the prejudice of thunder." In Webster's White Devil (1612) Cornelia says:—

Burton, in his Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), remarks: "Amulets, and things to be borne about, I find prescribed, taxed [condemned] by some, approved by others.... I say with Renodeus, they are not altogether to be rejected."

Reginald Scot, in his Discoverie of Witchcraft, published in 1584, in which he exposed and ridiculed the pretensions of witches, magicians, and astrologers, tells an amusing story of an old woman who cured diseases by muttering a certain form of words over the person afflicted; for which service she always received a penny and a loaf of bread. At length, terrified by threats of being burned as a witch, she owned that her whole conjuration consisted in these lines, which she repeated in a low voice near the head of the patient:—

Scot was one of the few men of that age who dared to assail the general belief in witchcraft and magic; and James I. ordered his book to be burned by the common hangman. That monarch also wrote his Demonology, as he tells us, "chiefly against the damnable opinions of Wierus and Scot; the latter of whom is not ashamed in public print to deny there can be such a thing as witchcraft." Eminent divines and scientific writers joined in the attempt to refute this bold attack upon the ignorance and superstition of the time.

We infer, from certain passages in the plays, that Shakespeare had read Scot's book; and we have good reason to believe that, like Scot, he was far enough in advance of his age to see the absurdity of the popular faith in magic and witchcraft. In his boyhood we may suppose that he believed in them, as his parents and everybody in Stratford doubtless did; but when he became a man he appears to have regarded them only as curious old folk-lore from which he could now and then draw material for use in his plays and poems.

The illustrations here given of the vulgar superstitions of Shakespeare's time are merely a few out of thousands equally interesting to be found in books on the subject, or scattered through the dramatic and other literature of the period.