The Ornithology of Shakespeare Part 34

Those who made their living by fowling, and could not afford to hawk, took their birds by springe and net; and partridge-netting was, perhaps, as much in vogue in Shakespeare's day as now.

[Sidenote: PARTRIDGE-NETTING.]

In _Much Ado about Nothing_, allusion is again made to the partridge by Beatrice, who, referring to the ill-humour of Bened.i.c.k, says,--

"He'll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure, not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night."--_Much Ado about Nothing_, Act ii. Sc. 1.

As we speak of a "covey" of partridges, so we say a "bevy" of quails:--

"And many more of the same bevy."

_Hamlet_, Act v. Sc. 2.

[Sidenote: THE QUAIL.]

It was formerly the practice to keep Quails, and make them fight like game-c.o.c.ks. Solon directed that quails should be made to fight in the presence of the Athenian youths, in order to inflame their courage, and the Romans held quail-fighting in still higher estimation. Augustus punished a prefect of Egypt with death for buying and bringing to table a quail which had acquired celebrity by its victories.[124]

Shakespeare was doubtless alluding to this sport when he wrote:--

"Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails."--_Troilus and Cressida_, Act v. Sc. 1.

Even at the present day this sort of amus.e.m.e.nt is common in some parts of Italy, and still more so in China. In Italy, the practice is to feed up two quails very highly, and then place them opposite to each other at the end of a long table, throwing between them a few grains of millet-seed to make them quarrel. At first they merely threaten, lowering the head and ruffling all the neck feathers, but at length they rush on furiously, striking with their bills, erecting their heads, and rising upon their spurs, until one is forced to yield.

In _Antony and Cleopatra_ (Act ii. Sc. 3), Antonius says of Caesar:--

"His c.o.c.ks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought; and his quails ever Beat mine inhoop'd at odds."

[Sidenote: QUAIL-FIGHTING.]

That there was some foundation for this a.s.sertion, we may gather from the following extract from North's "Plutarch":--

"With Antonius there was a soothsayer or astronomer in Egypt that coulde cast a figure and judge of men's nativities, to tell them what should happen to them. He told Antonius plainly that his fortune (which of itself was excellent good and very great) was altogether blemished and obscured by Caesar's fortune; and therefore he counselled him utterly to leave his company, and get him as farre from him as he coulde. Howsoever it was, the event ensuing proved the Egyptian's words true; for it is said that as often as they drew lots for pastime, who should have anything, or whether they played at dice, Antonius always lost. _Oftentimes when they were disposed to see c.o.c.k-fights, or quails that were taught to fight one with another, Caesar's c.o.c.ks or quails did ever overcome._ The which spited Antonius in his mind, although he made no outward show of it, and therefore he believed the Egyptian the better."

In Kircher's "Musurgia" the note of this bird is thus faithfully rendered[125]:--

[Music: Bi-ke-bik, Bi-ke-bik, Bi-ke-bik.]

Quails have always been considered a delicacy for the table, and those who may have the curiosity to visit the London markets in the spring of the year, will see large boxes full of live quails, which have been taken in nets and imported to this country for food.

[Sidenote: THE LAPWING.]

In the same way immense numbers of Lapwings (_Vanellus cristatus_), or Green Plovers, as they are called, find their way into the London markets. This bird has been noticed by Shakespeare chiefly on account of a peculiar trait in its character, with which most naturalists are very familiar. Like the partridge and some other birds, it has a curious habit of trying to draw intruders away from its nest or young by fluttering along the ground in an opposite direction, or by feigning lameness, or uttering melancholy cries at a distance:--

"Far from her nest the lapwing cries away."

_Comedy of Errors_, Act iv. Sc. 2.

Allusions to this habit are not unfrequent in our older poets. Lily, in his "Campaspe," 1584, says:--

"You resemble the lapwing, who crieth most where her nest is not."

So also Greene, in the second part of his "Coney Catching," 1592:--

"But again to our priggers, who, as before I said, cry with the lapwing farthest from her nest."

And in Ben Jonson's _Underwoods_ we are told,--

"Where he that knows will like a lapwing flie, Farre from the nest, and so himselfe belie."

Hence the phrase "to seem the lapwing," which occurs in _Measure for Measure_, Act i. Sc. 4. So also in _Much Ado about Nothing_,--

"For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs, Close by the ground, to hear our conference."

Act iii. Sc. 1.

It is rather curious that Shakespeare has not alluded to this bird under its popular name of "Peewit,"--a name which, derived from its cry, we believe to be of some antiquity. Nor has he referred to it by another name, which must have been commonly applied to it in his day, _i.e._, "Wype." In the old "Household Books" and "Privy Purse Expenses," we frequently meet with such entries as the following:--

"Item, it is thought goode that wypes[126] be hade for my Lordes own mees onely and to be at jd. a pece."

The young of this, and many other, species run almost as soon as hatched, and Shakespeare has not overlooked this peculiarity:--

"This lapwing runs away with the sh.e.l.l on his head."

_Hamlet_, Act v. Sc. 2.

We have before had occasion to make a pa.s.sing allusion to the Heron, and in the present chapter this bird deserves more particular attention, from the fact of its being so frequently flown at by falconers.

Hawking at herons was thought to be "a marvellous and delectable pastime," and in all the published treatises upon falconry, many pages are dedicated to this particular branch of the sport.

Not only were herons protected by Act of Parliament, but penalties were incurred for taking the eggs,[127] and no one was permitted to shoot within 600 paces of a heronry, under a penalty of 20 (7 Jac. I. c. 27).

[Sidenote: THE HERNSHAW.]

We should scarcely have thought it possible to find a man who would not know a hawk from a heron when he saw it, and Hamlet evidently considered that such an one would not be in his right mind, for he says of himself:--

"I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a _handsaw_."--_Hamlet_, Act ii. Sc. 2.

He referred here to an old proverbial saying, originally "he does not know a hawk from a hernshaw," that is, a heron; but the word was thus corrupted before Shakespeare's day. (See _ante_, p. 75.)

[Sidenote: HERON-HAWKING.]

John Shaw (M.A., of Cambridge), who published a curious book in 1635, ent.i.tled "Speculum Mundi," tells us therein that "the heron or _hernsaw_ is a large fowle that liveth about waters," and that "hath a marvellous hatred to the hawk, which hatred is duly returned. When they fight above in the air, they labour both especially for this one thing--that one may ascend and be above the other. Now, if the hawk getteth the upper place, he overthroweth and vanquisheth the heron with a marvellous earnest flight." This old pa.s.sage contrasts quaintly with the animated description of heron-hawking in Freeman and Salvin's modern treatise.[128] Those who have taken part in the sport cannot fail to be interested in a truthful narrative of what they must so often have witnessed; while those who have never seen a trained falcon on the wing will learn a good deal from the following excellent description:--

"'Well, then, here goes,' says the falconer; and having let the heron get a little past, off go the hoods. For a moment one hawk looks up, and is cast off; the other a moment or two afterwards. They both see him; now for a flight. The heron was about 250 yards high, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide. The hawks had gone up about a quarter of the way before the heron saw them in hot pursuit. 'Now he sees them!' is exclaimed; and the riders rattle their horses as hard as they can, over deep sand-hills, down wind. The heron, in the meanwhile, vomits up his fish to lighten himself, and begins ringing-up down wind. It is a curious thing to see the different manuvres of the birds. With his large wings, the heron can mount very fair, and has a far better chance of beating off the hawks than if he flew straight forward. This he knows full well by instinct, and puts on accordingly all sail for the upper regions, generally in short rings. Hawks make larger rings as a general rule, if, like these, they are good ones. Those have but a bad chance with a good heron if they adopt the same tactics that he does in mounting. This the two old hawks know full well. So far they have been pretty near together, but, seeing the prey beginning to mount, they separate, each their own way, now taking a long turn down wind, and then breasting the wind again. 'De Ruyter' makes the best rings, and after having gone a mile, there is a shout--'Now "De Ruyter" is above him!'

and the hawk is seen poising herself for a stoop; down she comes, with closed wings, like a bullet, and hits the heron; it is too high to see _where_, but the scream the quarry gives is tremendous. Hurrah! there's a stoop for you! Both hawk and heron have descended some yards; the former, from the impetus of her stoop, much beneath the heron, but she shoots up again to a level. In fact, it was a perfect stoop. Though so near the heron, she does not attempt a _little_ stoop, but again heads the wind so that the heron appears to be flying the hawk. 'Sultan' is now above both, and makes her stoop, but not so good as her partner's.

However, she makes two quickly, and is within an ace of catching; but the good heron will not give an inch, and 'Sultan' will have to give another ring for another stoop. But where is 'De Ruyter' all this time?

She has made a long ring, and is now a long way above them. She makes another full stoop, and this time there is no mistake about it, for she hits the heron so hard that he is nearly stupefied. 'Sultan' joins in the fray and catches. Whoo-whoo-o-p! down they come. Down they all three go together, till, just before reaching the ground, the two old hawks let go of their prey, which falls b.u.mp. Before he has had time to recover himself, in a moment the hawks are on him, 'De Ruyter' on the neck, and 'Sultan' on his body. Hurrah for the gallant hawks! and loud whoops proclaim his capture. 'Wouldn't take 100 for them,' says their owner, who has ridden well, judiciously as well as hard, and has got up in time to save the heron's life. He gives the hawks a pigeon, and puts the heron between his knees in a position so that he can neither spike him nor the hawks with his bill. He has two beautiful long black feathers, which are duly presented to Prince Alexander--alas! now no more--who is well up at the take. These feathers are the badge of honour in heron-hawking in Holland, as the fox's brush is in hunting in England. The hawks are fed up as speedily as possible, the heron has a ring put round his leg, and is let loose, evidently not knowing what to make of it.

"We hasten back as fast as we can, but the weather being now hot, the herons move more by night than by day. Many anxious eyes search the horizon for another.