Folk-lore of Shakespeare - Chapter XIII. Marriage by T.F. Thiselton Dyer Lyrics
CHAPTER XIII.
MARRIAGE.
The style of courtship which prevailed in Shakespeare's time, and the numerous customs associated with the marriage ceremony, may be accurately drawn from the many allusions interspersed through his plays. From these, it would seem that the mode of love-making was much the same amongst all classes, often lacking that polish and refined expression which are distinguishing characteristics now-a-days. As Mr Drake remarks, the amatory dialogues of Hamlet, Hotspur, and Henry the Fifth, are not more refined than those which occur between Master Fenton and Anne Page in the "Merry Wives of Windsor," between Lorenzo and Jessica in the "Merchant of Venice," and between Orlando and Rosalind in "As You Like It." These last, which may be considered as instances taken from the middle class of life, together with a few drawn from the lower rank of rural manners, such as the courtship of Touchstone and Audrey, and of Silvius and Phoebe, in "As You Like It," are good illustrations of this subject, although it must be added, that in point of fancy, sentiment, and simplicity, the most pleasing love scenes in Shakespeare are those of Romeo and Juliet, and of Florizel and Perdita.
The ancient ceremony of betrothing seems still to have been in full use in Shakespeare's day. Indeed, he gives us several interesting passages upon the subject of troth-plight. Thus, in "Measure for Measure," (iii. 1), we learn that the unhappiness of the poor, dejected Mariana was caused by a violation of the troth-plight:—
"Duke. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.
Isab. Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?
Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not."
It is evident that Angelo and Mariana were bound by oath, the nuptial was appointed; there was a prescribed time between the contract and the performance of the solemnity of the Church. The lady, however, having lost her dowry, the contract was violated by her "combinate" or affianced husband—the oath, no doubt, having been tendered by a minister of the Church in the presence of witnesses. In "Twelfth Night" (iv. 3), we have a minute description of such a ceremonial; for when Olivia is hastily espoused to Sebastian, she says—
"Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chauntry by: there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth."
This, then, was a private ceremony before a single witness, who would conceal it till the proper period of the public ceremonial. Olivia, fancying that she has thus espoused the page, repeatedly calls him "husband;" and, being rejected, she summons the priest to declare (v. 1)—
"What thou dost know
Hath newly pass’d between this youth and me."
The priest answers—
"A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm’d by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings:
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal’d in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
I have travell’d but two hours."
Again, in the "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4), which contains many a perfect picture of real rustic life, it appears that occasionally the troth-plight was exchanged without the presence of a priest; but that witnesses were essential to the ceremony
"Florizel. O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime loved. I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann’d snow that's bolted
By the northern blasts twice o’er.
Polixenes. What follows this?—
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before! I have put you out:
But to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
Flor. Do, and be witness to ’t.
Pol. And this my neighbour too?
Flor. And he, and more
Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all;
That, were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them and condemn them to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Cam. This shows a sound affection.
Shep. But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
Per. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shep. Take hands, a bargain!
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to ’t:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flor. O, that must be
I’ the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
Contract us ’fore these witnesses.
Shep. Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours."
To the argument of Polixenes, that the father of Florizel ought to know of his proceeding, the young man answers—
"Flor. Come, come, he must not:
Mark our contract."
And then the father, discovering himself, exclaims—
"Mark your divorce, young sir."
Here, then, as Mr Knight remarks, in the publicity of a village festival, the hand of the loved one is solemnly taken by her lover, who breathes his life before the ancient stranger who is accidentally present. The stranger is called to be a witness to the protestation, and so is the neighbour who has come with him. The maiden is called upon by her father to speak, and then the old man adds—
"Take hands, a bargain!"
The friends are to bear witness to it—
"I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his."
The impatient lover then again exclaims—
"Contract us ’fore these witnesses."
The shepherd takes the hand of the youth and the maiden. Again the lover exclaims—
"Mark our contract."
The ceremony is left incomplete, for the princely father discovers himself with—
"Mark your divorce, young sir."
It appears, therefore, that espousals before witnesses were considered as constituting a valid marriage, if followed up within a limited time by the marriage of the Church. However much the Reformed Church might have endeavoured to abrogate this practice, it was unquestionably the ancient habit of the people. It was derived from the Roman law, and still prevails in the Lutheran Church.
Besides exchanging kisses, accompanied with vows of everlasting affection and whispering lovers’ reassurances of fidelity, it was customary to interchange rings. In Shakespeare's plays, however, espousals are made with and without the use of the ring. Thus, in the case of Ferdinand and Miranda, we read of their joining hands only ("Tempest," iii. 1)—
"Ferd. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e’er of freedom; here's my hand.
Mir. And mine, with my heart in’t; and now farewell
Till half an hour hence."
In the passage already quoted from "Twelfth Night" (v. 1) there seems to have been a mutual interchange of rings.
Some, indeed, considered that a betrothal was not complete unless each spouse gave the other a circlet. Lady Anne, in "Richard III." (i. 2), is made to share in this misconception:—
"Gloster. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give.
Gloster. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart:
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine."
In "Two Gentlemen of Verona" (ii. 2), we read:—
"Julia. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake, (giving a ring).
Proteus. Why, then, we'll make exchange; here, take you this.
Julia. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss."
A joint,or gimmal ring, was anciently a common token among lovers; an allusion to which is made by Emilia in "Othello" (iv. 3): "I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring." Their nature will be best understood by a passage in Dryden's "Don Sebastian," 1690 (act v.):—
"A curious artist wrought them,
With joints so close, as not to be perceiv’d;
Yet are they both each other's counterpart,
and in the midst,
A heart divided in two halves was plac’d."
They were generally made of two or three hoops, so chased and engraved that when fastened together by a single rivet, the whole three formed one design—the usual device being a hand. When an engagement was contracted the ring was taken apart, each spouse taking a division, and the third one being presented to the principal witness of the contract. Hence such a ring was known as a "Sponsalium Annulis," to which Herrick thus refers:—
"Thou sent’st me a true-love knot, but I
Returned a ring of jimmals, to imply
Thy love hath one knot, mine a triple tye."
The term is used by the Duke of Anjou, in "1 Henry VI." (i. 2):—
"I think, by some old gimmors or device
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on;
Else ne’er could they hold out so as they do."
Again in "Henry V." (iv. 2), Grandpré tells how:—
"In their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chew’d grass, still and motionless."
Most readers of the "Merchant of Venice," remember the mirthful use which Shakespeare makes of lover's rings. Portia says (iii. 2), when giving her wealth and self to Bassanio.
"I give them with this ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love.
The last act, too, gives several particulars about lovers’ rings, which in Elizabethan England, often had posies engraved on them, and were worn by men on the left hand. Gratiano, for example, says:—
"About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world's like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, 'Love me and leave me not."
Again Bassiano exclaims:—
"Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear I lost the ring defending it."
In "Taming of the Shrew," Shakespeare gives numerous allusions to the customs of his day connected with courtship and marriage. Indeed, in the Second Act (2), we have a perfect betrothal scene:—
"Petruchio. Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding day.
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests:
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine.
Baptista. I know not what to say; but give me your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio, ’tis a match.
Gremio and Tranio. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
Petruchio. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;
I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace;
We will have rings and things and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o’ Sunday."
Although Katharina is only his spouse, and Baptista not yet his father-in-law, Petruchio in accordance with fashion calls her "wife" and him "father." The spouses of old times used to term one another "husband" and "wife," for, as they argued, they were as good as husband and wife.
Formerly there was a kind of betrothal or marriage contract prevalent among the lower orders, called "hand-fasting," or "hand-festing," said to have been much in use among the Danes, and which is mentioned by Ray in his "Glossary of Northumbrian Words." It simply means hand-fastening or binding. In "Cymbeline" (i. 5), the phrase is used in its secondary sense by the Queen, who, speaking of Pisanio, declares that he is—
"A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shaked; the agent for his master,
And the remembrancer of her to hold
The hand-fast to her lord."
In the "Christian State of Matrimony," 1543, we find the following illustration of this custom: "Yet in this thing almost must I warn every reasonable and honest person to beware that in the contracting of marriage they dissemble not, nor set forth any lie. Every man, likewise, must esteem the person to whom he is 'handfasted' none otherwise than for his own spouse; though as yet it be not done in the church, nor in the street. After the handfasting and making of the contract, the church-going and wedding should not be deferred too long." The author then goes on to rebuke a custom, "that at the handfasting there is made a great feast and superfluous banquet." Sir John Sinclair, in the "Statistical Account of Scotland," (1794, xii. 615), tells us that at a fair annually held at Eskdalemuir, Co. Dumfries, "it was the custom for the unmarried persons of both sexes to choose a companion according to their liking, with whom they were to live till that time next year. This was called 'handfasting,' or hand-in-fist. If they were pleased with each other at that time then they continued together for life; if not, they separated, and were free to make another choice as at the first."
Shakespeare has given us numerous illustrations of the marriage customs of our forefathers, many of which are interesting as relics of the past, owing to their having long ago fallen into disuse. The fashion of introducing a bowl of wine into the church at a wedding, which is alluded to in the "Taming of the Shrew," (iii. 2), to be drunk by the bride and bridegroom and persons present immediately after the marriage ceremony, is very ancient. Gremio relates how Petruchio,—
"Stamp’d and swore,
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine:—"A health," quoth he, as if
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates
After a storm,—quaff’d off the muscadel,
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face;
Having no other reason
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,
And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking."
It existed even among our Gothic ancestors, and is mentioned in the ordinances of the household of Henry VII., "For the Marriage of a Princess:—'Then pottes of ipocrice to be ready, and to be put into cupps with soppe, and to be borne to the estates, and to take a soppe and drinke." It was also practised at the magnificent marriage of Queen Mary and Philip, in Winchester Cathedral, and at the marriage of the Elector Palatine to the daughter of James I., in 1612–13. Indeed, it appears to have been the practice at most marriages. In Jonson's "Magnetic Lady" it is called a "knitting cup"; in Middleton's "No Wit like a Woman's" the "contracting cup." In Robert Armin's comedy of "The History of the Two Maids of More Clacke," 1609, the play begins with,
"Enter a maid strewing flowers, and a serving-man perfuming the door.
Maid. Strew, strew.
Man. The muscadine stays for the bride at church:
The priest and Hymen's ceremonies tend
To make them man and wife."
Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," (i. 1), the custom is referred to 2:—
"If my wedding smock were on,
Were the gloves bought and given, the licence come,
Were the rosemary branches dipp’d, and all
The hippocras and cakes eat and drunk off."
We find it enjoined in the Hereford Missal. By the Sarum missal it is directed that the sops immersed in this wine, as well as the liquor itself, and the cup that contained it, should be blessed by the priest. The beverage used on this occasion was to be drunk by the bride and bridegroom and the rest of the company.
The nuptial kiss in the church was anciently part of the marriage ceremony, as appears from a rubric in one of the Salisbury missals. In the "Taming of the Shrew," Shakespeare has made an excellent use of this custom, where he relates how Petruchio (iii. 2)
"Took the bride about the neck
And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack
That at the parting all the church did echo."
Again, in "King Richard II." (v. r), where the Duke of Northumberland announces to the king that he is to be sent to Pomfret, and his wife to be banished to France, the king exclaims—
"Doubly divorced!—Bad men, you violate
A twofold marriage,—’twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
Let me unkiss the oath ’twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss ’twas made."
Marston, too, in his "Insatiate Countess," mentions it—
"The kisse thou gav’st me in the church, here take."
The practice is still kept up among the poor; and Brand says it is "still customary among persons of middling rank as well as the vulgar, in most parts of England, for the young men present at the marriage ceremony to salute the bride, one by one, the moment it is concluded."
Music was the universal accompaniment of weddings in olden times. The allusions to wedding music that may be found in the works of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other Elizabethan dramatists, testify, as Mr Jeaffreson points out, that, in the opinion of their contemporaries, a wedding without the braying of trumpets, and beating of drums, and clashing of cymbals, was a poor affair. In "As You Like It" (v. 4), Hymen says—
"Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing."
And in "Romeo and Juliet" (iv. 5) Capulet says—
"Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change."
It seems to have been customary for the bride at her wedding to wear her hair unbraided and hanging loose over her shoulders. There may be an allusion to this custom in "King John" (iii. 1) where Constance says—
"O Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts thee here
In likeness of a new untrimmed bride."
At the celebration of her marriage with the Palatine, Elizabeth Stuart wore "her hair dishevelled and hanging down her shoulders." Heywood speaks of this practice in the following graphic words—
"At length the blushing bride comes, with her hair
Dishevelled ’bout her shoulders."
It has been suggested that the bride's veil, which of late years has become one of the most conspicuous features of her costume, may be nothing more than a milliner's substitute, which in old time concealed not a few of the bride's personal attractions, and covered her face when she knelt at the altar. Mr Jeaffreson thinks it may be ascribed to the Hebrew ceremony; or has come from the East, where veils have been worn from time immemorial. Some again connect it with the yellow veil which was worn by the Roman brides. Strange, too, as it may appear, it is nevertheless certain that knives and daggers were formerly part of the customary accoutrements of brides. Thus, Shakespeare, in the old quarto, 1597, makes Juliet wear a knife at the friar's cell, and when she is about to take the potion. This custom, however, is easily accounted for, when we consider that women anciently wore a knife suspended from their girdle. Many allusions to this practice occur in old writers. In Dekker's "Match Me in London," 1631, a bride says to her jealous husband—
"See at my girdle hang my wedding knives!
With those dispatch me."
In the "Witch of Edmonton," 1658, Somerton says—
"But see, the bridegroom and bride come; the new
Pair of Sheffield knives fitted both to one sheath."
Among other wedding customs alluded to by Shakespeare we may mention one referred to in "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), where Katharine, speaking of Bianca, says to her father—
"She is your treasure, she must have a husband:
I must dance bare-foot on the wedding-day,
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell,"
it being a popular notion that unless the elder sisters danced barefoot at the marriage of a younger one, they would inevitably become old maids, and be condemned "to lead apes in hell." The expression "to lead apes in hell," applied above to old maids, has given rise to much discussion, and the phrase has not yet been satisfactorily explained. Steevens suggests that it might be considered an act of posthumous retribution for women who refused to bear children, to be condemned to the care of apes in leading strings after death. Malone says that "to lead apes" was in Shakespeare's time one of the employments of a bear-ward, who often carried about one of these animals with his bear." Nares explains the expression by reference to the word ape as denoting a fool, it probably meaning that those coquettes who made fools of men, and led them about without real intention of marriage, would have them still to lead against their will hereafter. In "Much Ado about Nothing" (ii. 1), Beatrice says, "Therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell." Douce tells us that homicides and adulterers were in ancient times compelled, by way of punishment, to lead an ape by the neck, with their mouths affixed in a very unseemly manner to the animal's tail.
In accordance with an old custom, the bride on the wedding night had to dance with every guest, and play the amiable, however much against her own wishes. In "Henry VIII." (v. 2), there seems to be an allusion to this practice, where the King says—
"I had thought
They had parted so much honesty among ’em,
At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour,
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures," etc.
In the "Christian State of Matrimony" (1543), we read thus:—"Then must the poor bryde kepe foote with a dauncers, and refuse none, how scabbed, foule, droncken, rude, and shameless soever he be."
As in our own time, so, too, formerly flowers entered largely into the marriage festivities. Most readers will at once call to mind that touching scene (iv. 5) in "Romeo and Juliet," where Capulet says, referring to Juliet's supposed untimely death—
"Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse."
It seems, too, in days gone by to have been customary to deck the bridal bed with flowers, various allusions to which are given by Shakespeare. Thus, in "Hamlet" (v. 1), the Queen, speaking of poor Ophelia, says—
"I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid."
In the "Tempest" (iv. 1), we may compare the words of Prospero, who, alluding to the marriage of his daughter Miranda with Ferdinand, by way of warning, cautions them lest—
"Barren hate,
Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
That you shall hate it both."
In the Papal times no new married couple could go to bed together till the bridal-bed had been blessed—this being considered one of the most important of the marriage ceremonies. "On the evening of the wedding day," says Mr Jeaffreson, "when the married couple sat in state in the bridal-bed, before the exclusion of the guests, who assembled to commend them yet again to Heaven's keeping, one or more priests attended by acolytes swinging to and fro lighted censors, appeared in the crowded chamber to bless the couch, its occupants, and the truckle-bed, and fumigate the room with hallowing incense." In "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (v. 1), Oberon says:—
"Now, until the break of day,
Through the house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be
And the issue they create
Ever shall be fortunate."
Steevens in illustration of this custom quotes from Chaucer's "The Merchant's Tale" (ed. Tyrrwhitt), line 9693:—
"And when the bed was with the preest yblessed."
The formula for this curious ceremony is thus given in the Manual for the use of Salisbury:—"Nocte vero sequente cum sponsus et sponsa ad lectum pervenerint, accedat sacerdos et benedicat thalamum, dicens. Benedic, Domine, thalamum istum et omnes habitantes in eo; ut in tua pace consistant, et in tua voluntate pernaneant: et in tuo amore vivant et senescant et multiplicentur in longitudine dierum. Per Dominum.—Item benedictio super lectum. Benedic, Domine, hoc cubiculum, respice, quinon dormis neque dormitas. Qui custodis Israel, custodi famulos tuos in hoc lecto quiescentes ab omnibus fantasmaticis demonum illusionibus. Custodi eos vigilantes ut in preceptis tuis meditentur dormientes, et te per soporem sentiant; ut hic et ubique depensionis tuæ muniantur auxilio. Per Dominum—Deinde fiat benedictio super eos in lecto tantum cum oremus. Benedicat Deus corpora vestra et animas vestras; et det super eos benedictionem sicut benedixit Abraham, Isaac, et Jacob, Amen.—His peractis aspergat eos aqua benedicta, et sic discedat et dimittat eos in pace."
In the French romance of Melusine, the Bishop who marries her to Raymondin blesses the nuptial bed. The ceremony is there presented in a very ancient cut, of which Douce has given a copy. The good prelate is sprinkling the parties with holy water. It appears that, occasionally during the benediction, the married couple only sat on the bed; but they generally received a portion of the consecrated bread and wine. It is recorded in France, that, on frequent occasions, the priest was improperly detained till midnight, while the wedding guests rioted in the luxuries of the table, and made use of language that was extremely offensive to the clergy. It was therefore ordained, in the year 1577, that the ceremony of blessing the nuptial bed should for the future be performed in the day-time, or at least before supper, and in the presence of the bride and bridegroom, and of their nearest relations only.
On the morning after the celebration of the marriage, it was formerly customary for friends to serenade a newly married couple, or to greet them with a morning song to bid them good morrow. In "Othello" (iii. i), this custom is referred to by Cassio, who speaking of Othello and Desdemona, says to the musicians:—
"Masters, play here, I will content your pains;
Something that's brief; and bid—'Good morrow, general."
According to Cotgrave, the morning-song to a newly married woman was called the "hunt's up." It has been suggested that this may be alluded to by Juliet (iii. 5) who, when urging Romeo to make his escape tells him—
"Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day.
O, now be gone."
In olden times torches were used at weddings—a practice, indeed, dating as far back as the time of the Romans. From the following lines in Herrick's "Hesperides," it has been suggested that the custom once existed in this country
"Upon a maid that dyed the day she was marryed
That morne which saw me made a bride,
The eve’ning witnest that I dy’d.
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide
Unto the bed the bashful bride,
Serv’d but as tapers for to burne
And light my reliques to their urne.
This epitaph which here you see,
Supply’d the Epithalamie."
Shakespeare alludes to this custom in "1 Henry VI." (iii. 2), where Joan of Arc, thrusting out a burning torch on the top of the tower at Rouen, exclaims—
"Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen."
In "Tempest," too, (iv. 1), Iris says—
"No bed-right shall be paid
Till Hymen's torch be lighted."
According to a Roman marriage custom, the bride on her entry into her husband's house was prohibited from treading over his threshold, and lest she should even so much as touch it, she was always lifted over it. Shakespeare seems inadvertently to have overlooked this usage in "Coriolanus" (iv. 5), where he represents Aufidius as saying to Coriolanus:—
"I loved the maid I married; never man
Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold."
Lucan in his "Pharsalia" (lib. ii. 359), says:—
"Translata vetuit contingere limina planta."
Once more, Sunday appears to have been a popular day for marriages; the brides of the Elizabethan dramas being usually represented as married on Sundays. In the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), Petruchio after telling his future father-in-law "that upon Sunday is the wedding-day," and laughing at Katharine's petulant exclamation, "I'll see thee hanged on Sunday first," says:—
"Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu;
I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace:
We will have rings and things and give array;
And, kiss me Kate, we will be married o’ Sunday."
Thus, Mr Jeaffreson, speaking of this custom in his "Brides and Bridals," rightly remarks,—"A fashionable wedding, celebrated on the Lord's Day in London, or any part of England, would now-a-days be denounced by religious people of all Christian parties. But in our feudal times, and long after the Reformation, Sunday was of all days of the week the favourite one for marriages. Long after the theatres had been closed on Sundays, the day of rest was the chief day for weddings with Londoners of every social class."
Love charms have from the earliest times been much in request amongst the credulous anxious to gain an insight into their matrimonial prospects. 1 In the "Merchant of Venice," (v. 1), we have an allusion to the practice of kneeling and praying at wayside crosses for a happy marriage, in the passage where Stephano tells how his mistress
"Doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours."
The use of love potions by a despairing lover to secure the affections of another was a superstitious practice much resorted to in olden times. This mode of enchantment, too, was formerly often employed in our own country, and Gay, in his "Shepherd's Week," relates how Hobnelia was guilty of this questionable practice:—
"As I was wont, I trudged, last market-day,
To town with new-laid eggs, preserved in hay.
I made my market long before ’twas night;
My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.
Straight to the ’pothecary's shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,
When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow."
In the "Character of a Quack Astrologer," 1673, quoted by Brand, we are told how "he trappans a young heiress to run away with a footman, by persuading a young girl ’tis her destiny; and sells the old and ugly philtres and love-powder to procure them sweet-hearts." Shakespeare has represented Othello as accused of winning Desdemona "by conjuration and mighty magic." Thus Brabantio (i. 2), says:—
"Thou hast practised on her with foul charms,
Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals
That waken motion."
And in the following scene he further repeats the same charge against Othello:—
"She is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
For nature so preposterously to err,
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
Sans witchcraft could not."
Othello, however, in proving that he had won Desdemona only by honourable means, addressing the Duke, replies,—
"By your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjurations and what mighty magic,
For such proceeding I am charged withal,
I won his daughter."
It may have escaped the poet's notice that, by the Venetian law, the giving love-potions was held highly criminal, as appears in the code "Della Promission del Malefico," cap. xvii., "Dei Maleficii et Herbarie."
A further allusion to this practice occurs in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (ii. 1), where Puck and Oberon amuse themselves at Titania's expense.
An expression common in Shakespeare's day for any one born out of wedlock is mentioned by the Bastard in "King John" (i. 1)—
"In at the window, or else o’er the hatch."
The old saying also that "hanging and wives go by destiny," is quoted by Nerissa in the "Merchant of Venice" (ii. 9). In "Much Ado about Nothing" (ii. 1), Don Pedro makes use of an old popular phrase in asking Claudio, "When mean you to go to church?" referring to his marriage.
A solemn and even melancholy air was often affected by the beaux of Queen Elizabeth's time, as a refined mark of gentility, a most sad and pathetic allusion to which custom is made by Arthur in "King John" (iv. 1)—
"Methinks, nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness."
There are frequent references to this fashion in our old writers. Thus, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in His Humour" (i. 3), we read:—"Why, I do think of it; and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentlemanlike than I have been, I'll insure you."
MARRIAGE.
The style of courtship which prevailed in Shakespeare's time, and the numerous customs associated with the marriage ceremony, may be accurately drawn from the many allusions interspersed through his plays. From these, it would seem that the mode of love-making was much the same amongst all classes, often lacking that polish and refined expression which are distinguishing characteristics now-a-days. As Mr Drake remarks, the amatory dialogues of Hamlet, Hotspur, and Henry the Fifth, are not more refined than those which occur between Master Fenton and Anne Page in the "Merry Wives of Windsor," between Lorenzo and Jessica in the "Merchant of Venice," and between Orlando and Rosalind in "As You Like It." These last, which may be considered as instances taken from the middle class of life, together with a few drawn from the lower rank of rural manners, such as the courtship of Touchstone and Audrey, and of Silvius and Phoebe, in "As You Like It," are good illustrations of this subject, although it must be added, that in point of fancy, sentiment, and simplicity, the most pleasing love scenes in Shakespeare are those of Romeo and Juliet, and of Florizel and Perdita.
The ancient ceremony of betrothing seems still to have been in full use in Shakespeare's day. Indeed, he gives us several interesting passages upon the subject of troth-plight. Thus, in "Measure for Measure," (iii. 1), we learn that the unhappiness of the poor, dejected Mariana was caused by a violation of the troth-plight:—
"Duke. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.
Isab. Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?
Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not."
It is evident that Angelo and Mariana were bound by oath, the nuptial was appointed; there was a prescribed time between the contract and the performance of the solemnity of the Church. The lady, however, having lost her dowry, the contract was violated by her "combinate" or affianced husband—the oath, no doubt, having been tendered by a minister of the Church in the presence of witnesses. In "Twelfth Night" (iv. 3), we have a minute description of such a ceremonial; for when Olivia is hastily espoused to Sebastian, she says—
"Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chauntry by: there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth."
This, then, was a private ceremony before a single witness, who would conceal it till the proper period of the public ceremonial. Olivia, fancying that she has thus espoused the page, repeatedly calls him "husband;" and, being rejected, she summons the priest to declare (v. 1)—
"What thou dost know
Hath newly pass’d between this youth and me."
The priest answers—
"A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm’d by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings:
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal’d in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
I have travell’d but two hours."
Again, in the "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4), which contains many a perfect picture of real rustic life, it appears that occasionally the troth-plight was exchanged without the presence of a priest; but that witnesses were essential to the ceremony
"Florizel. O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime loved. I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann’d snow that's bolted
By the northern blasts twice o’er.
Polixenes. What follows this?—
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before! I have put you out:
But to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
Flor. Do, and be witness to ’t.
Pol. And this my neighbour too?
Flor. And he, and more
Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all;
That, were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them and condemn them to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Cam. This shows a sound affection.
Shep. But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
Per. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shep. Take hands, a bargain!
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to ’t:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flor. O, that must be
I’ the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
Contract us ’fore these witnesses.
Shep. Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours."
To the argument of Polixenes, that the father of Florizel ought to know of his proceeding, the young man answers—
"Flor. Come, come, he must not:
Mark our contract."
And then the father, discovering himself, exclaims—
"Mark your divorce, young sir."
Here, then, as Mr Knight remarks, in the publicity of a village festival, the hand of the loved one is solemnly taken by her lover, who breathes his life before the ancient stranger who is accidentally present. The stranger is called to be a witness to the protestation, and so is the neighbour who has come with him. The maiden is called upon by her father to speak, and then the old man adds—
"Take hands, a bargain!"
The friends are to bear witness to it—
"I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his."
The impatient lover then again exclaims—
"Contract us ’fore these witnesses."
The shepherd takes the hand of the youth and the maiden. Again the lover exclaims—
"Mark our contract."
The ceremony is left incomplete, for the princely father discovers himself with—
"Mark your divorce, young sir."
It appears, therefore, that espousals before witnesses were considered as constituting a valid marriage, if followed up within a limited time by the marriage of the Church. However much the Reformed Church might have endeavoured to abrogate this practice, it was unquestionably the ancient habit of the people. It was derived from the Roman law, and still prevails in the Lutheran Church.
Besides exchanging kisses, accompanied with vows of everlasting affection and whispering lovers’ reassurances of fidelity, it was customary to interchange rings. In Shakespeare's plays, however, espousals are made with and without the use of the ring. Thus, in the case of Ferdinand and Miranda, we read of their joining hands only ("Tempest," iii. 1)—
"Ferd. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e’er of freedom; here's my hand.
Mir. And mine, with my heart in’t; and now farewell
Till half an hour hence."
In the passage already quoted from "Twelfth Night" (v. 1) there seems to have been a mutual interchange of rings.
Some, indeed, considered that a betrothal was not complete unless each spouse gave the other a circlet. Lady Anne, in "Richard III." (i. 2), is made to share in this misconception:—
"Gloster. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give.
Gloster. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart:
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine."
In "Two Gentlemen of Verona" (ii. 2), we read:—
"Julia. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake, (giving a ring).
Proteus. Why, then, we'll make exchange; here, take you this.
Julia. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss."
A joint,or gimmal ring, was anciently a common token among lovers; an allusion to which is made by Emilia in "Othello" (iv. 3): "I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring." Their nature will be best understood by a passage in Dryden's "Don Sebastian," 1690 (act v.):—
"A curious artist wrought them,
With joints so close, as not to be perceiv’d;
Yet are they both each other's counterpart,
and in the midst,
A heart divided in two halves was plac’d."
They were generally made of two or three hoops, so chased and engraved that when fastened together by a single rivet, the whole three formed one design—the usual device being a hand. When an engagement was contracted the ring was taken apart, each spouse taking a division, and the third one being presented to the principal witness of the contract. Hence such a ring was known as a "Sponsalium Annulis," to which Herrick thus refers:—
"Thou sent’st me a true-love knot, but I
Returned a ring of jimmals, to imply
Thy love hath one knot, mine a triple tye."
The term is used by the Duke of Anjou, in "1 Henry VI." (i. 2):—
"I think, by some old gimmors or device
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on;
Else ne’er could they hold out so as they do."
Again in "Henry V." (iv. 2), Grandpré tells how:—
"In their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chew’d grass, still and motionless."
Most readers of the "Merchant of Venice," remember the mirthful use which Shakespeare makes of lover's rings. Portia says (iii. 2), when giving her wealth and self to Bassanio.
"I give them with this ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love.
The last act, too, gives several particulars about lovers’ rings, which in Elizabethan England, often had posies engraved on them, and were worn by men on the left hand. Gratiano, for example, says:—
"About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world's like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, 'Love me and leave me not."
Again Bassiano exclaims:—
"Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear I lost the ring defending it."
In "Taming of the Shrew," Shakespeare gives numerous allusions to the customs of his day connected with courtship and marriage. Indeed, in the Second Act (2), we have a perfect betrothal scene:—
"Petruchio. Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding day.
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests:
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine.
Baptista. I know not what to say; but give me your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio, ’tis a match.
Gremio and Tranio. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
Petruchio. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;
I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace;
We will have rings and things and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o’ Sunday."
Although Katharina is only his spouse, and Baptista not yet his father-in-law, Petruchio in accordance with fashion calls her "wife" and him "father." The spouses of old times used to term one another "husband" and "wife," for, as they argued, they were as good as husband and wife.
Formerly there was a kind of betrothal or marriage contract prevalent among the lower orders, called "hand-fasting," or "hand-festing," said to have been much in use among the Danes, and which is mentioned by Ray in his "Glossary of Northumbrian Words." It simply means hand-fastening or binding. In "Cymbeline" (i. 5), the phrase is used in its secondary sense by the Queen, who, speaking of Pisanio, declares that he is—
"A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shaked; the agent for his master,
And the remembrancer of her to hold
The hand-fast to her lord."
In the "Christian State of Matrimony," 1543, we find the following illustration of this custom: "Yet in this thing almost must I warn every reasonable and honest person to beware that in the contracting of marriage they dissemble not, nor set forth any lie. Every man, likewise, must esteem the person to whom he is 'handfasted' none otherwise than for his own spouse; though as yet it be not done in the church, nor in the street. After the handfasting and making of the contract, the church-going and wedding should not be deferred too long." The author then goes on to rebuke a custom, "that at the handfasting there is made a great feast and superfluous banquet." Sir John Sinclair, in the "Statistical Account of Scotland," (1794, xii. 615), tells us that at a fair annually held at Eskdalemuir, Co. Dumfries, "it was the custom for the unmarried persons of both sexes to choose a companion according to their liking, with whom they were to live till that time next year. This was called 'handfasting,' or hand-in-fist. If they were pleased with each other at that time then they continued together for life; if not, they separated, and were free to make another choice as at the first."
Shakespeare has given us numerous illustrations of the marriage customs of our forefathers, many of which are interesting as relics of the past, owing to their having long ago fallen into disuse. The fashion of introducing a bowl of wine into the church at a wedding, which is alluded to in the "Taming of the Shrew," (iii. 2), to be drunk by the bride and bridegroom and persons present immediately after the marriage ceremony, is very ancient. Gremio relates how Petruchio,—
"Stamp’d and swore,
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine:—"A health," quoth he, as if
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates
After a storm,—quaff’d off the muscadel,
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face;
Having no other reason
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,
And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking."
It existed even among our Gothic ancestors, and is mentioned in the ordinances of the household of Henry VII., "For the Marriage of a Princess:—'Then pottes of ipocrice to be ready, and to be put into cupps with soppe, and to be borne to the estates, and to take a soppe and drinke." It was also practised at the magnificent marriage of Queen Mary and Philip, in Winchester Cathedral, and at the marriage of the Elector Palatine to the daughter of James I., in 1612–13. Indeed, it appears to have been the practice at most marriages. In Jonson's "Magnetic Lady" it is called a "knitting cup"; in Middleton's "No Wit like a Woman's" the "contracting cup." In Robert Armin's comedy of "The History of the Two Maids of More Clacke," 1609, the play begins with,
"Enter a maid strewing flowers, and a serving-man perfuming the door.
Maid. Strew, strew.
Man. The muscadine stays for the bride at church:
The priest and Hymen's ceremonies tend
To make them man and wife."
Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," (i. 1), the custom is referred to 2:—
"If my wedding smock were on,
Were the gloves bought and given, the licence come,
Were the rosemary branches dipp’d, and all
The hippocras and cakes eat and drunk off."
We find it enjoined in the Hereford Missal. By the Sarum missal it is directed that the sops immersed in this wine, as well as the liquor itself, and the cup that contained it, should be blessed by the priest. The beverage used on this occasion was to be drunk by the bride and bridegroom and the rest of the company.
The nuptial kiss in the church was anciently part of the marriage ceremony, as appears from a rubric in one of the Salisbury missals. In the "Taming of the Shrew," Shakespeare has made an excellent use of this custom, where he relates how Petruchio (iii. 2)
"Took the bride about the neck
And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack
That at the parting all the church did echo."
Again, in "King Richard II." (v. r), where the Duke of Northumberland announces to the king that he is to be sent to Pomfret, and his wife to be banished to France, the king exclaims—
"Doubly divorced!—Bad men, you violate
A twofold marriage,—’twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
Let me unkiss the oath ’twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss ’twas made."
Marston, too, in his "Insatiate Countess," mentions it—
"The kisse thou gav’st me in the church, here take."
The practice is still kept up among the poor; and Brand says it is "still customary among persons of middling rank as well as the vulgar, in most parts of England, for the young men present at the marriage ceremony to salute the bride, one by one, the moment it is concluded."
Music was the universal accompaniment of weddings in olden times. The allusions to wedding music that may be found in the works of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other Elizabethan dramatists, testify, as Mr Jeaffreson points out, that, in the opinion of their contemporaries, a wedding without the braying of trumpets, and beating of drums, and clashing of cymbals, was a poor affair. In "As You Like It" (v. 4), Hymen says—
"Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing."
And in "Romeo and Juliet" (iv. 5) Capulet says—
"Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change."
It seems to have been customary for the bride at her wedding to wear her hair unbraided and hanging loose over her shoulders. There may be an allusion to this custom in "King John" (iii. 1) where Constance says—
"O Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts thee here
In likeness of a new untrimmed bride."
At the celebration of her marriage with the Palatine, Elizabeth Stuart wore "her hair dishevelled and hanging down her shoulders." Heywood speaks of this practice in the following graphic words—
"At length the blushing bride comes, with her hair
Dishevelled ’bout her shoulders."
It has been suggested that the bride's veil, which of late years has become one of the most conspicuous features of her costume, may be nothing more than a milliner's substitute, which in old time concealed not a few of the bride's personal attractions, and covered her face when she knelt at the altar. Mr Jeaffreson thinks it may be ascribed to the Hebrew ceremony; or has come from the East, where veils have been worn from time immemorial. Some again connect it with the yellow veil which was worn by the Roman brides. Strange, too, as it may appear, it is nevertheless certain that knives and daggers were formerly part of the customary accoutrements of brides. Thus, Shakespeare, in the old quarto, 1597, makes Juliet wear a knife at the friar's cell, and when she is about to take the potion. This custom, however, is easily accounted for, when we consider that women anciently wore a knife suspended from their girdle. Many allusions to this practice occur in old writers. In Dekker's "Match Me in London," 1631, a bride says to her jealous husband—
"See at my girdle hang my wedding knives!
With those dispatch me."
In the "Witch of Edmonton," 1658, Somerton says—
"But see, the bridegroom and bride come; the new
Pair of Sheffield knives fitted both to one sheath."
Among other wedding customs alluded to by Shakespeare we may mention one referred to in "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), where Katharine, speaking of Bianca, says to her father—
"She is your treasure, she must have a husband:
I must dance bare-foot on the wedding-day,
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell,"
it being a popular notion that unless the elder sisters danced barefoot at the marriage of a younger one, they would inevitably become old maids, and be condemned "to lead apes in hell." The expression "to lead apes in hell," applied above to old maids, has given rise to much discussion, and the phrase has not yet been satisfactorily explained. Steevens suggests that it might be considered an act of posthumous retribution for women who refused to bear children, to be condemned to the care of apes in leading strings after death. Malone says that "to lead apes" was in Shakespeare's time one of the employments of a bear-ward, who often carried about one of these animals with his bear." Nares explains the expression by reference to the word ape as denoting a fool, it probably meaning that those coquettes who made fools of men, and led them about without real intention of marriage, would have them still to lead against their will hereafter. In "Much Ado about Nothing" (ii. 1), Beatrice says, "Therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell." Douce tells us that homicides and adulterers were in ancient times compelled, by way of punishment, to lead an ape by the neck, with their mouths affixed in a very unseemly manner to the animal's tail.
In accordance with an old custom, the bride on the wedding night had to dance with every guest, and play the amiable, however much against her own wishes. In "Henry VIII." (v. 2), there seems to be an allusion to this practice, where the King says—
"I had thought
They had parted so much honesty among ’em,
At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour,
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures," etc.
In the "Christian State of Matrimony" (1543), we read thus:—"Then must the poor bryde kepe foote with a dauncers, and refuse none, how scabbed, foule, droncken, rude, and shameless soever he be."
As in our own time, so, too, formerly flowers entered largely into the marriage festivities. Most readers will at once call to mind that touching scene (iv. 5) in "Romeo and Juliet," where Capulet says, referring to Juliet's supposed untimely death—
"Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse."
It seems, too, in days gone by to have been customary to deck the bridal bed with flowers, various allusions to which are given by Shakespeare. Thus, in "Hamlet" (v. 1), the Queen, speaking of poor Ophelia, says—
"I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid."
In the "Tempest" (iv. 1), we may compare the words of Prospero, who, alluding to the marriage of his daughter Miranda with Ferdinand, by way of warning, cautions them lest—
"Barren hate,
Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
That you shall hate it both."
In the Papal times no new married couple could go to bed together till the bridal-bed had been blessed—this being considered one of the most important of the marriage ceremonies. "On the evening of the wedding day," says Mr Jeaffreson, "when the married couple sat in state in the bridal-bed, before the exclusion of the guests, who assembled to commend them yet again to Heaven's keeping, one or more priests attended by acolytes swinging to and fro lighted censors, appeared in the crowded chamber to bless the couch, its occupants, and the truckle-bed, and fumigate the room with hallowing incense." In "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (v. 1), Oberon says:—
"Now, until the break of day,
Through the house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be
And the issue they create
Ever shall be fortunate."
Steevens in illustration of this custom quotes from Chaucer's "The Merchant's Tale" (ed. Tyrrwhitt), line 9693:—
"And when the bed was with the preest yblessed."
The formula for this curious ceremony is thus given in the Manual for the use of Salisbury:—"Nocte vero sequente cum sponsus et sponsa ad lectum pervenerint, accedat sacerdos et benedicat thalamum, dicens. Benedic, Domine, thalamum istum et omnes habitantes in eo; ut in tua pace consistant, et in tua voluntate pernaneant: et in tuo amore vivant et senescant et multiplicentur in longitudine dierum. Per Dominum.—Item benedictio super lectum. Benedic, Domine, hoc cubiculum, respice, quinon dormis neque dormitas. Qui custodis Israel, custodi famulos tuos in hoc lecto quiescentes ab omnibus fantasmaticis demonum illusionibus. Custodi eos vigilantes ut in preceptis tuis meditentur dormientes, et te per soporem sentiant; ut hic et ubique depensionis tuæ muniantur auxilio. Per Dominum—Deinde fiat benedictio super eos in lecto tantum cum oremus. Benedicat Deus corpora vestra et animas vestras; et det super eos benedictionem sicut benedixit Abraham, Isaac, et Jacob, Amen.—His peractis aspergat eos aqua benedicta, et sic discedat et dimittat eos in pace."
In the French romance of Melusine, the Bishop who marries her to Raymondin blesses the nuptial bed. The ceremony is there presented in a very ancient cut, of which Douce has given a copy. The good prelate is sprinkling the parties with holy water. It appears that, occasionally during the benediction, the married couple only sat on the bed; but they generally received a portion of the consecrated bread and wine. It is recorded in France, that, on frequent occasions, the priest was improperly detained till midnight, while the wedding guests rioted in the luxuries of the table, and made use of language that was extremely offensive to the clergy. It was therefore ordained, in the year 1577, that the ceremony of blessing the nuptial bed should for the future be performed in the day-time, or at least before supper, and in the presence of the bride and bridegroom, and of their nearest relations only.
On the morning after the celebration of the marriage, it was formerly customary for friends to serenade a newly married couple, or to greet them with a morning song to bid them good morrow. In "Othello" (iii. i), this custom is referred to by Cassio, who speaking of Othello and Desdemona, says to the musicians:—
"Masters, play here, I will content your pains;
Something that's brief; and bid—'Good morrow, general."
According to Cotgrave, the morning-song to a newly married woman was called the "hunt's up." It has been suggested that this may be alluded to by Juliet (iii. 5) who, when urging Romeo to make his escape tells him—
"Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day.
O, now be gone."
In olden times torches were used at weddings—a practice, indeed, dating as far back as the time of the Romans. From the following lines in Herrick's "Hesperides," it has been suggested that the custom once existed in this country
"Upon a maid that dyed the day she was marryed
That morne which saw me made a bride,
The eve’ning witnest that I dy’d.
Those holy lights, wherewith they guide
Unto the bed the bashful bride,
Serv’d but as tapers for to burne
And light my reliques to their urne.
This epitaph which here you see,
Supply’d the Epithalamie."
Shakespeare alludes to this custom in "1 Henry VI." (iii. 2), where Joan of Arc, thrusting out a burning torch on the top of the tower at Rouen, exclaims—
"Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen."
In "Tempest," too, (iv. 1), Iris says—
"No bed-right shall be paid
Till Hymen's torch be lighted."
According to a Roman marriage custom, the bride on her entry into her husband's house was prohibited from treading over his threshold, and lest she should even so much as touch it, she was always lifted over it. Shakespeare seems inadvertently to have overlooked this usage in "Coriolanus" (iv. 5), where he represents Aufidius as saying to Coriolanus:—
"I loved the maid I married; never man
Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold."
Lucan in his "Pharsalia" (lib. ii. 359), says:—
"Translata vetuit contingere limina planta."
Once more, Sunday appears to have been a popular day for marriages; the brides of the Elizabethan dramas being usually represented as married on Sundays. In the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), Petruchio after telling his future father-in-law "that upon Sunday is the wedding-day," and laughing at Katharine's petulant exclamation, "I'll see thee hanged on Sunday first," says:—
"Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu;
I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace:
We will have rings and things and give array;
And, kiss me Kate, we will be married o’ Sunday."
Thus, Mr Jeaffreson, speaking of this custom in his "Brides and Bridals," rightly remarks,—"A fashionable wedding, celebrated on the Lord's Day in London, or any part of England, would now-a-days be denounced by religious people of all Christian parties. But in our feudal times, and long after the Reformation, Sunday was of all days of the week the favourite one for marriages. Long after the theatres had been closed on Sundays, the day of rest was the chief day for weddings with Londoners of every social class."
Love charms have from the earliest times been much in request amongst the credulous anxious to gain an insight into their matrimonial prospects. 1 In the "Merchant of Venice," (v. 1), we have an allusion to the practice of kneeling and praying at wayside crosses for a happy marriage, in the passage where Stephano tells how his mistress
"Doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours."
The use of love potions by a despairing lover to secure the affections of another was a superstitious practice much resorted to in olden times. This mode of enchantment, too, was formerly often employed in our own country, and Gay, in his "Shepherd's Week," relates how Hobnelia was guilty of this questionable practice:—
"As I was wont, I trudged, last market-day,
To town with new-laid eggs, preserved in hay.
I made my market long before ’twas night;
My purse grew heavy, and my basket light.
Straight to the ’pothecary's shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,
When to the ale-house Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow."
In the "Character of a Quack Astrologer," 1673, quoted by Brand, we are told how "he trappans a young heiress to run away with a footman, by persuading a young girl ’tis her destiny; and sells the old and ugly philtres and love-powder to procure them sweet-hearts." Shakespeare has represented Othello as accused of winning Desdemona "by conjuration and mighty magic." Thus Brabantio (i. 2), says:—
"Thou hast practised on her with foul charms,
Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals
That waken motion."
And in the following scene he further repeats the same charge against Othello:—
"She is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks;
For nature so preposterously to err,
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
Sans witchcraft could not."
Othello, however, in proving that he had won Desdemona only by honourable means, addressing the Duke, replies,—
"By your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjurations and what mighty magic,
For such proceeding I am charged withal,
I won his daughter."
It may have escaped the poet's notice that, by the Venetian law, the giving love-potions was held highly criminal, as appears in the code "Della Promission del Malefico," cap. xvii., "Dei Maleficii et Herbarie."
A further allusion to this practice occurs in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (ii. 1), where Puck and Oberon amuse themselves at Titania's expense.
An expression common in Shakespeare's day for any one born out of wedlock is mentioned by the Bastard in "King John" (i. 1)—
"In at the window, or else o’er the hatch."
The old saying also that "hanging and wives go by destiny," is quoted by Nerissa in the "Merchant of Venice" (ii. 9). In "Much Ado about Nothing" (ii. 1), Don Pedro makes use of an old popular phrase in asking Claudio, "When mean you to go to church?" referring to his marriage.
A solemn and even melancholy air was often affected by the beaux of Queen Elizabeth's time, as a refined mark of gentility, a most sad and pathetic allusion to which custom is made by Arthur in "King John" (iv. 1)—
"Methinks, nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness."
There are frequent references to this fashion in our old writers. Thus, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in His Humour" (i. 3), we read:—"Why, I do think of it; and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentlemanlike than I have been, I'll insure you."