“Sun of York” is a direct allusion to the heraldic cognizance which Edward IV. adopted, “in memory,” we are told, “of the three suns,” which are said to have appeared at the battle which he gained over the Lancastrians at Mortimer’s Cross. Richard then adds,—
We meet, too, in the Pericles (act ii. sc. 3, l. 9, vol. ix. p. 345) with the words of Thaisa to the victor,—
But in the pure Roman manner, and according to the usage of Emblematists, Shakespeare also tells of “victors’ crowns;” following, as would appear, “Les Devises Heroiqves” of Paradin, edition Anvers, 1562, f. 147 verso, which contains several instances of garlands for noble brows. Of these, one is entitled, Seruati gratia ciuis,—“For sake of a citizen saved.”
The garland is thus described in Paradin’s French,—
“La Courõne, apellee Ciuique, eſtoit dõnee par le Citoyẽ, au Citoyẽ qu’il auoit ſauué en guerre: en repreſentatiõ de vie ſauuee. Et eſtoit cete Courõne, tiſſue de fueilles, ou petis rameaus de Cheſne: pour autãt qu’au Cheſne, la vielle antiquité, ſouloit prẽdre ſa ſubſtãce, ſõ mãger, ou sa nourriture.”
i.e.—“The crown called Civic was given by the Citizen to the Citizen[122] whom he had saved in war; in testimony of life saved. And this Crown was an inweaving of leaves or small branches of Oak; inasmuch as from the Oak, old antiquity was accustomed to take its subsistence, its food, or its nourishment.”
“Among the rewards” for the Roman soldiery, remarks Eschenburg (Manual of Classical Literature, p. 274), “golden or gilded crowns were particularly common; as, the corona castrensis, or vallaris, to him who first entered the enemy’s entrenchments; corona muralis, to him who first scaled the enemy’s walls; and corona navalis, for seizing a vessel of the enemy in a sea-fight; also wreaths and crowns formed of leaves and blossoms; as the corona civica, of oak leaves, conferred for freeing a citizen from death or captivity at the hands of the enemy; the corona obsidionalis, of grass, for delivering a besieged city; and the corona triumphalis, of laurel, worn by a triumphing general.”
Shakespeare’s acquaintance with these Roman customs we find, where we should expect it to be, in the Coriolanus and in the Julius Cæsar. Let us take the instances; first, from the Coriolanus, act i. sc. 9, l. 58, vol. vi. p. 304; act i. sc. 3, l. 7, p. 287; act ii. sc. 2, l. 84, p. 323; and act ii. sc. 1, l. 109, p. 312. Cominius thanks the gods that “our Rome hath such a soldier” as Caius Marcius, and declares (act i. sc. 9, l. 58),—
With most motherly pride Volumnia rehearses the brave deed to Virgilia, her son’s wife (act i. sc. 3, l. 7),—
“When, for a day of kings’ entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a person; that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.”
And the gaining of that early renown is most graphically drawn by Cominius, the consul (act ii. sc. 2, l. 84),—
The successful general is expected in Rome, and this dialogue is held between Menenius, Virgilia, and Volumnia (act ii. sc. 1, l. 109, p. 312),—
“Men. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.
Vir. O, no, no, no.
Vol. O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for’t.
Men. So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a’ victory in his pocket? The wounds become him.
Vol. On’s brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.”
Next, we have an instance from the Julius Cæsar (act v. sc. 3, l. 80, vol. vii. p. 409), on the field of Philippi, when “in his red blood Cassius’ day is set,” Titanius asks,—
The heraldry of honours from sovereign princes, as testified to, both by Paradin in his “Devises Heroiqves,” edition Antwerp, 1562, folio 12v, and 25, 26, and by Shakespeare, embraces but two or three instances, and is comprised in the magniloquent lines (1 Henry VI., act iv. sc. 7, l. 60, vol. v. p. 80) in which Sir William Lucy inquires,—
Paradin, ed. 1562, p. 12v.
From Paradin we learn that the Order of St. Michael had for its motto Immensi tremor Oceani,—“The trembling of the immeasurable ocean,”—and for its badge the adjoining collar.—
“This order was instituted by Louis XI., King of France, in the year 1469.[123] He directed for its ensign and device a collar of gold, made with shells laced together in a double row, held firm upon little chains or meshes of gold; in the middle of which collar on a rock was a gold-image of Saint Michael, appearing in the front. And this the king did (with respect to the Archangel) in imitation of King Charles VII. his father; who had formerly borne that image as his ensign, even at his entry into Rouen. By reason always (it is said) of the apparition, on the bridge of Orleans, of Saint Michael defending the city against the English in a famous attack. This collar then of the royal order and device of the Knights of the same is the sign or true ensign of their nobleness, virtue, concord, fidelity and friendship; Pledge, reward and remuneration of their valour and prowess. By the richness and purity of the gold are pointed out their high rank and grandeur; by the similarity or likeness of its shells, their equality, or the equal fraternity of the Order (following the Roman senators, who also bore shells on their arms for an ensign and a device); by the double lacing of them together, their invincible and indissoluble union; and by the image of Saint Michael, victory over the most dangerous enemy. A device then instituted for the solace, protection and assurance of this so noble a kingdom; and, on the contrary, for the terror, dread and confusion of the enemies of the same.”
Paradin (f. 25) is also our authority with respect to the Order of the Golden Fleece, its motto and device being thus presented:—
“The order of the Golden Fleece,” says Paradin, “was instituted by Philip, Duke of Burgundy, styled the Good, in the year 1429, for which he named[124] twenty-four Knights without reproach, besides himself, as chief and founder, and gave to each one of them for ensign of the said Order a Collar of gold composed of his device of the Fusil, with the Fleece of gold appearing in front; and this (as people say) was in imitation of that which Jason acquired in Colchis, taken customarily for Virtue, long so much loved by this good Duke, that he merited this surname of Goodness, and other praises contained on his Epitaph, where there is mention made of this Order of the Fleece, in the person of the Duke saying,—
The expedition of the Argonauts, and Jason’s carrying off of the Golden Fleece may here be appropriately mentioned; they are referred to by the Emblem writers, as well as the exploit of Phrixus, the brother of Helle, in swimming across the Hellespont on the golden-fleeced ram. The former Whitney introduces when describing the then new and wonderful circumnavigation of the globe by Sir Francis Drake (p. 203),—
Alciat, 1551.
The latter forms the subject of one of Alciat’s Emblems, edition Antwerp, 1581, Emb. 189, in which, seated on the precious fleece, Phrixus crosses the waters, and fearless in the midst of the sea mounts the tawny sheep, the type of “the rich man unlearned.” Whitney (p. 214) substitutes In diuitem, indoctum,—“To the rich man, unlearned,”—and thus paraphrases the original,—
In a similar emblem, Beza, edition Geneva, 1580, Emb. 3, alludes to the daring deed of Phrixus,—
Thus rendered in the French version,—
The Merchant of Venice (act. i. sc. 1, l. 161, vol. ii. p. 284) presents Shakespeare’s counterpart to the Emblematists; it is in Bassanio’s laudatory description of Portia, as herself the golden fleece,—
To this may be added a line or two by Gratiano, l. 241, p. 332,—
The heraldry of Imaginative Devices in its very nature offers a wide field where the fancy may disport itself. Here things the most incongruous may meet, and the very contrariety only justify their being placed side by side.
Let us begin with the device, as given in the “Tetrastichi Morali,” p. 56, edition Lyons, 1561, by Giovio and Symeoni, used between 1498 and 1515; it is the device
to the motto, “Hand to hand and afar off”—
Cominus & eminus.
A Porcupine is the badge, and the stanza declares,—
Camerarius with the same motto and the like device testifies that this was the badge of Louis XI., king of France, to whose praise he also devotes a stanza,—
It was this Louis who laid claim to Milan, and carried Ludovic Sforza prisoner to France. He defeated the Genoese after their revolt, and by great personal bravery gained the victory of Agnadel over the Venetians in 1509. At the same time he made war on Spain, England, Rome, and Switzerland, and was in very deed the porcupine darting quills on every side.
The well known application in Hamlet (act. i. sc. 5, l. 13, vol. viii. p. 35) of the chief characteristic of this vexing creature is part of the declaration which the Ghost makes to the Prince of Denmark,—
And of “John Cade of Ashford,” in 2 Henry VI. (act. iii. sc. 1, l. 360, vol. v. p. 162), the Duke of York avers,—
From the same source, Giovio’s and Symeoni’s “Sententiose Imprese,” Lyons, 1561, p. 115, we also derive the cognizance,—
Giovio and Symeoni, 1561.
To this Ostrich, with a large iron nail in its mouth, and with a scroll inscribed, “Courage digests the hardest things,” the stanza is devoted which means,—
Camerarius, to the same motto, Ex Volatilibus (ed. 1595, p. 19), treats us to a similar couplet,—
Shakespeare’s description of the ostrich, as given by Jack Cade, 2 Henry VI. (act iv. sc. 10, l. 23, vol. v. p. 206), is in close agreement with the ostrich device,—
“Here’s the lord of the soil,” he says, “come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king for carrying my head to him; but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.”
Note the iron pin in the ostrich’s mouth.
“My Lady Bona of Savoy,” as Paradin (ed. 1562, fol. 165) names her, “the mother of Ian Galeaz, Duke of Milan, finding herself a widow, made a device on her small coins of a Phœnix in the midst of a fire, with these words, ‘Being made lonely, I follow God alone.’ Wishing to signify that, as there is in the world but one Phœnix, even so being left by herself, she wished only to love conformably to the only God, in order to live eternally.”[125]
The “Tetrastichi Morali” presents the same Emblem, as indeed do Giovio’s “Dialogo dell’ Imprese,” &c., ed. Lyons, 1574, and “Dialogve des Devises,” &c., ed. Lyons, 1561;
with the same motto, and the invariable Italian Quatrain,—
In English,—
The full description and characteristics of the Phœnix we reserve for the section which treats of Emblems for Poetic Ideas; but the loneliness, or if I may use the term, the oneliness of this fabulous bird Shakespeare occasionally dwells upon.
In the Cymbeline (act i. sc. 6, l. 12, vol. ix. p. 183), Posthumus and Iachimo had made a wager as to the superior qualities and beauties of their respective ladies, and Iachimo takes from Leonatus an introduction to Imogen; the Dialogue thus proceeds,—
Rosalind, in As You Like It (act iv. sc. 3, l. 15, vol. ii. p. 442), thus speaks of the letter which Phebe, the shepherdess, had sent her,—
The oneliness of the bird is, too, well set forth in the Tempest (act iii. sc. 3, l. 22, vol. i. p. 50),—
To the Heraldry of Imaginative Devices might be referred the greater part of the coats of arms, badges and cognizances by which noble and gentle families are distinguished. To conclude this branch of our subject, I will name a woodcut which was probably peculiar to Geffrey Whitney at the time when Shakespeare wrote, though accessible to the dramatist from other sources; it is the fine frontispiece to the Choice of Emblemes, setting forth the heraldic honours and arms of Robert, Earl of Leycester, and in part of his brother, Ambrose, Earl of Warwick. Each of these noblemen bore the same crest, and it was, what Shakespeare, 2 Henry VI. (act v. sc. 1, l. 203, vol. v. p. 215), terms “the rampant bear chained to the ragged staff.”
Whitney, 1586.
How long this had been the cognizance of the Earls of Warwick, and whether it was borne by all the various families of the Saxon and Norman races who held the title,—by the Beauchamps, the Nevilles, and the Dudleys, admits of doubt; but it is certain that such was the cognizance in the reign of Henry VI. and in that of Elizabeth.
According to Dugdale’s Antiquities of Warwickshire, edition 1730, p. 398, the monument of Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick in Edward III.’s time, has a lion, not a bear; and a lamb for his Countess, the Lady Katherine Mortimer. Also on the monument of another Earl (p. 404), who died in 1401, the bear does not appear; but on the monument of Richard Beauchamp, who died “the last day of Aprill, the year of our lord god 1434,” the inscriptions are crowded with bears, instead of commas and colons; and the recumbent figure of the Earl has a muzzled bear at his feet (p. 410). The Nevilles now succeeded to the title, and a limner’s or designer’s very curious bill, of the fifteenth year of Henry VI., 1438, shows that the bear and ragged staff were then both in use and in honour,—
Among the monuments in the Lady Chapel at Warwick is a full length figure of “Ambrose Duddeley,” who died in 1589, and of a muzzled bear crouching at his feet. Robert Dudley, Earl of Leycester, his brother, died in 1588; and on his magnificent tomb, in the same chapel, is seen the same cognizance of the bear and ragged staff. The armorial bearings, however, are a little different from those which Whitney figures.
If, according to the Cambridge edition of Shakespeare’s works, 1863–1866, vol. v. p. vii., “the play upon which the Second part of Henry the Sixth was founded was first printed in quarto, in 1594;” or if, as some with as much reason have supposed,[126] it existed even previous to 1591, it is not likely that these monuments of elaborate design and costly and skilled workmanship could have been completed, so that from them Shakespeare had taken his description of “old Nevil’s crest.” Nathan Drake’s Shakspeare and his Times (vol. i. pp. 410, 416) tells us that he left Stratford for London “about the year 1586, or 1587;” yet “the family residence of Shakspeare was always at Stratford: that he himself originally went alone to London, and that he spent the greater part of every year there alone, annually, however, and probably for some months, returning to the bosom of his family, and that this alternation continued until he finally left the capital.”
Of course, had the monuments in question existed before the composition of the Henry VI., his annual visits to his native Warwickshire would have made them known to him, and he would thus have noted the family cognizance of the brother Earls; but reason favours the conjecture that these monuments in the Lady Chapel were not the sources of his knowledge.
Common rumour, indeed, may have supplied the information; but as Geffrey Whitney’s book appeared in 1586, its first novelty would be around it about the time at which Shakespeare was engaged in producing his Henry VI. That Emblem-book was dedicated to “Robert Earle of Leycester;” and, as we have said, contains a drawing, remarkably graphic, of a bear grasping a ragged staff, having a collar and chain around him, and standing erect on the helmet’s burgonet. There is also a less elaborate sketch of the same badge on the title-page to the second part of Whitney’s Emblemes, p. 105.
Most exactly, most artistically, does the dramatist ascribe the same crest, in the same attitude, and in the same standing place, to Richard Nevil, Earl of Warwick, the king-setter-up and putter-down of History. In the fields between Dartford and Blackheath, in Kent, the two armies of Lancaster and York are encamped; in the Dialogue, there is almost a direct challenge from Lord Clifford to Warwick to meet upon the battle-field. York is charged as a traitor by Clifford (2 Henry VI., act v. sc. 1, l. 143, vol. v. p. 213), but replies,—
The Dialogue continues until just afterwards Warwick makes this taunting remark to Clifford (l. 196),—
A closer correspondence between a picture and a description of it cannot be desired; Shakespeare’s lines and Whitney’s frontispiece exactly coincide;