Kitabı oku: «The Romance of the London Directory», sayfa 4

 
“From elves, hobs, and fairies,
 Defend us, good Heaven,”
 

say Beaumont and Fletcher in one of their plays. And every reader of Shakespear will remember how in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” the Fairy addresses Puck as —

 
“That shrewd and knavish sprite
Called Robin Goodfellow:”
 

while by-and-by she adds: —

 
“Those that Hob-goblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their worst, and they shall have good luck.”
 

In the extreme north of England the pet name for Robert was Dob, or “Dobbin.” Curiously enough, to this day the term for Hob-goblin is there “Dobby.” ⁶ I ask the reader, if this can be an accident? Could it have been possible that five distinct names should be given to the ignis fatuus, or to such woodland elves as were supposed to reveal themselves under his frolicsome light, all having Robert as their chief component, had not the thousand and one stories about Robin Hood and his merry men and their nightly escapades been spread over the land by the ballad-mongers of the time that immediately followed his death?

(4.) Once more: look at our general nomenclature of men, birds, beasts, and shrubs. So common had “Hob” become in the northern and midland districts (for every man you might meet ’twixt York and Leicester was sure to be “Hob”), that it became a cant term for a country yokel. Thomas Fuller in his “Lives” speaks of “country-hobs” where we should speak of “country-men.” Thus, too, Coriolanus is made to say —

 
“Why in this wool-less toge should I stand here,
To beg of Hob and Dick?”
 

The jack-ass is just as often called “dobbin” in the north, and an ewe-lamb a hob-lamb. The tame ruddock has become the “robin redbreast”; a chicken, a roblet (robelot, i. e., little robin); bindweed goes by the title of “Robin-run in the hedge”; the common club moss is “Robin Hood’s hatband”; while every child is familiar with “ragged robin,” and “herb-robert.”

Surely this is enough to testify to the popularity of Robert! The fact is, that Robin Hood gave a start to his name similar in its effects to that of a snowball. He has grasped all he has touched. He has left his memory upon everything. He has stamped his march upon things animate and inanimate. So long as we have a language and a dictionary, a nomenclature, and a directory, we shall daily be reading and looking upon words and names which, however meaningless on the surface, are teeming with recollections of the bold outlaw, whose thrilling adventures, whose kindly bounties, whose supposed devotion to liberty, made him the idol of his own time, and an object of interest to his countrymen so long as England shall endure.

And now we may ask, what has Robin Hood done for English nomenclature, so far as surnames are concerned? Well, in the first place, he made “Robert” the favourite name at the font for a century at least. We even find Robin Hood itself appearing as a surname. A tradesman bearing the sobriquet of Thomas Robyn-Hod, lived at Winchelsea in 1388. At the very time that Robert was thus popular, baptismal surnames were being established. As a consequence, Robert was no sooner a Christian name than it became a candidate for the place of a surname. Remembering the different pet names in familiar use, it will not be so astonishing that I should be able to collect no fewer than forty-six separately-spelled surnames, all descended from this one single appellation! while London alone could gather into Hyde Park as many as five thousand souls whose individuality is recognised by their associates through the medium of this famous title.

(a) Robert has given us Robert, Roberts, Robart, Robarts, Robertson, Roberson, and Roberton.

(b) Robin has bequeathed Robin, Robins, Robbins, Roblin, Robinson, and Robison.

(c) Rob has left us Robb, Robbs, Robbie, Robson Robkins, Ropkins, and Ropes.

(d) Dob has handed down to us Dobb, Dobbs, Dobbie, Dobson, Dobbins, Dobbing, Dobinson, and Dobison.

(e) Hob has transmitted Hobb, Hobbs, Hobbes, Hobbiss, Hobson, Hobbins, Hoblyn, Hopkins, Hopkinson, Hopps, and Hopson.

(f) Besides these there were once such familiar French diminutives as Robinet, Dobinet, Robelôt, and Robertôt. These did not come directly from France or Normandy. They were forms adopted by the country people from the habit, common then as now, of copying the fashions of the more noble families. Elizabeth Robinett will be found in the London Directory. Hers is the only instance that I can find still existing. The rest were all surnames in the fourteenth century. ⁷

(g) The Welsh, seizing upon the name, turned ap-Robert and ap-Robyn into Probert and Probyn, respectively.

Can I add anything to prove the popularity of Robin Hood? It is possible that we could not have spoken of Hobbism, or of a Hobbist, for the founder of that system of philosophy might have borne some other name. It is possible that there might have been no “Hobson’s choice,” for that worthy liveryman at Cambridge might, under some other sobriquet, have compelled the young collegian to take the next horse on the list, or none. Certainly our old friend Punch would have been unable to poke fun at Cockneydom under at least one name of the famous company of “Brown, Jones, Smith, and Robinson.” It is possible, too, that “before you could say Jack Robinson” would never have become an English commonplace. How the phrase originated I cannot say, but it is a very old one, if the couplet quoted from an old play by Dr. Halliwell be genuine: —

 
“A warke it ys as easie to be doone,
As tys to saye ‘Jacke Robyson.’”
 

CHAPTER V.
EARLY PET NAMES

The present and following chapter I purpose devoting to the further consideration of the subject of baptismal names. There are distinct epochs in the history of names, as in the history of everything else. One great crisis in our national nomenclature was the Norman Conquest. With the exception of Alfred, Arthur, Edwin, Edward, Ethel, and say a dozen other agnomens which were preserved through various accidents, all English names of the pre-Norman period disappeared before the end of the twelfth century. They were literally submerged beneath the advancing tide of Norman titles and usages. All the great popular sobriquets so familiar to us to-day, such as William, Henry, Ralph, Richard, Gerald, Robert, and even Scripture and Saint’s-day names like John, Ellis (Elias), Stephen, and Matthew, belong to the later epoch.

But an equally grave crisis in English nomenclature was the publication of an English Bible, and the Reformation of Religion that followed. From that day all our common and familiar Bible names came into use. Till then the only Scripture names in vogue were those set down in the Calendar of the Saints, or such names as were employed in the “Mysteries,” or “Plays” taken from Scripture stories, performed at festivals for the amusement and instruction of the peasantry and tradespeople. From the day of the Reformation the out-of-the-way sobriquets of the Bible came into favour. As these increased, what we may call the pagan names decreased. The popularity of Harry, Dick, Robert, and Walter began to fade. Some, like Hamond, Avice, Drew, Payn, and Warin, altogether disappeared, while Guy, Baldwin, and Edward held but a most precarious existence.

Here then are two epochs – the Norman, and the Puritan. Let us confine ourselves in this chapter to the first.

“Pagan” and “Christian” were both favourite baptismal names in the Norman epoch. The former was registered as “Payn” or “Paine.” Chaucer says, —

 
“The constable and Dame Hermigold, his wife,
Were payens, and that country everywhere.”
 

All our “Pagans,” “Payns,” “Paines,” and “Pinsons” are from this old-fashioned sobriquet. A century ago, the Hon. Thomas Erskine having been seized with a serious illness, and kindly tended at Lady Payne’s house in London, wrote, —

 
“’Tis true I am ill; but I need not complain,
For he never knew pleasure who never knew Payne.”
 

Christian has never been popular in England, but Christopher has; and besides the long “Christophers” and “Christopherson,” has left us Kitts and Kitson.

Another name, a Scripture name too, is now all but wholly disused – that of Samson. I daresay many of my readers have thought that our many Sampsons are all but entirely descended from Sam-son, i. e., the son of Samuel. I have no hesitation in claiming a full half for the son of Manoah, the Danite. The old registers teem with entries like “Samson de Battisford” or “Sampson Dernebrough.” Shallow says (2 Hen. IV.), “And the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer behind Gray’s Inn.”

 
“I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
To mow ’em down before me,”
 

says the porter’s assistant in Henry VIII. The fact is, the story of Samson was a favourite one with our forefathers, and often performed at the miracle-plays. There are nearly fifty Sampsons and Samsons in the London Directory, some of them being of purely Jewish descent. “Elegant Extracts,” a favourite storehouse of good, bad, and indifferent (very) poetry for the youth of our country in the last century, has the following, anent this name: —

 
“Jack, eating rotten cheese, did say,
‘Like Samson, I my thousands slay.’
‘I vow,’ quoth Roger, ‘so you do,
And with the self-same weapon too.’”
 

Speaking of Roger, we may note that he is fast going out of fashion. There was a day when “Hodge” was as familiar as Hob, Dicon, or Harry. A single glance at our Directory will prove this, for to him we owe all our Hodges, Hodgsons, Hodgkins, Hodgkinsons, Hodsons, Hotchkiss’s, etc. Just as Hob, from Robert, became Dob in North England, so Hodge, from Roger, became Dodge. From Dodge we get our Dodgshons, and Dodgesons. Just as, also, Hodgson became Hodson, so Dodgson has become Dodson. The Welsh turned Ap-Roger into Prodger. All this proves a popularity for Roger utterly beyond its present modest pretensions.

A great deal of nonsense has been written upon one of the noblest family names in England – Howard. It is constantly said, and as constantly reiterated, that the sobriquet is one of occupation, being nothing more nor less than Hog-ward, or hog-herd, corresponding to Swinnart from swine-herd, Coward from cow-herd, Shepherd from sheep-herd, Calvert from calve-herd, and Stoddart and Stottard from stot-herd (i. e., stot, bullock). All these latter are without doubt what they seem to be, for old registers give them in their more manifest dress. But Howard is only another form of Harvard, or Hereward, or Heoruvard. Thus we find such an early entry as John Fitz-howard (that is, John, the son of Howard), clearly a baptismal surname. When Byron wished to hurl an invective at the head of his relative, the Earl of Carlisle, he quoted Pope, —

“What can ennoble knaves, or fools, or cowards?

Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.”

The italics are Byron’s, and every one knows the family name of the Lords of Carlisle. As a quotation, it was apt; as applicable to the Earl, it was the opposite; but Byron in a rage meant Byron ungovernable either by courtesy or truth. However, my point is, that the ancestral house of the Howards are not descended from a hog-herd, – though it would be no disgrace if they were, for a shepherd once became a king and a poet, – but from one of those grand personal names which existed in England before the Norman Conquest was dreamt of. “Hereward, the Saxon” has been made familiar within the last few years by Charles Kingsley. This is but the same name in an earlier dress. It might have been considered a happy thought, if the author had dedicated his book to one of the Howards, and stereotyped their identity.

In my work on “English Surnames” I have given a somewhat exhaustive list of the various appellations formed from English baptismal names. So I will merely hint at a few and pass on. Walter, as Wat, gave us Watkins, Watts, Watson, and Watkinson. The old familiar form for Walter was Water, which explains Shakespear’s play upon the name in Henry VI.: —

 
“My name is Walter Whitmore.
How now! why start’st thou? What, doth death affright?
 
 
Suffolk. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth,
And told me that by water I should die.”
 

Our Waters and Watersons are thus explained. Antony has bequeathed us Tonkin, Tonson, and Tounson; Philip, Phipps, Phillips, and Philpotts (i. e. Philipot, that is, little Philip, a pet name). A curious form of Philpot may be seen in the Directory in the shape of Fillpot. This reminds us that many a play has been made on the name. It was not so very long ago that Punch facetiously remarked upon the fact that the newly elected Bishop of Worcester was Philpott, the then Bishop of Exeter being the celebrated Philpotts, —

 
“‘A good appointment? No, it’s not,’
Said old beer-drinking Peter Watts;
‘At Worcester one but hears “Philpott,”
At generous Exeter “Philpotts.”’”
 

A large number of patronymics are to be seen in the surnames that come under the division “N” in the Directory. In the old song “Joan to the Maypole” it is said, —

 
“Nan, Noll, Kate, Moll,
Brave lasses, have lads to attend ’em:
Hodge, Nick, Tom, Dick,
Brave country dancers, who can amend ’em?”
 

“Nan” stands for Anna or Hannah, Noll for Olive or Oliver, in this case Olive, a girl’s name. In fact, every name that began with a vowel was turned into a pet form beginning with “N.” Edward became Ned, and Emma Nem. Thus in St. Peter’s, Cornhill, the register says, —

“Sept. 20, 1577. Fryday, buryed, Nem Carye, daughter of Harry Carye.”

Humphrey became Nump, and Abel, Nāb. In Ben Jonson’s “Alchemist,” the tobacco man Abel addresses Face, —

“Yes, sir; I have another thing I would impart,”

to which Face replies, —

“Out with it, Nāb.”

Again, Isabella became Nib. The result of this is, that such surnames as Nibbs, Nabbs, and Nemms or Neams, are common. Even Nance, which figures twice in the Postal Directory, is just as likely to be the old “Nans,” from Anna, as from the town of Nantes. The owner can take his choice, however, and probably will prefer the local origin.

Talking of girls’ names, we may notice how many surnames owe their origin to Matilda, Emma, Isabella, and Petronilla. There are pages of Tillotsons, Tillots, Tilletts, Tilts, and Tills, all from the old pet form Till. Emma, too, is commemorated in little companies of Emms, Emps, Emsons, Empsons, Emmotts, Emmetts, and Emmotsons; while Isabella is not far behind with the retinue of Ibbs, Nibbs, Ibbotts, Ibbetts, and Ibbotsons. Petronilla, the feminine form of Peter, was always known as Parnel, and is thus found in St. Peter’s, Cornhill: —

“1586, Aprill 17. Sonday, christening of Parnell, daughter of William Averell, merchaunt tailor.”

Hence our many Parnells and Parnalls. Mary has left us Mollison and Marriott (i. e. little Mary), but was never popular in England during the days of surname formation. Maria was practically unknown till the seventeenth century. As Charles Lamb says, —

 
“Maria asks a statelier pace, —
‘Ave, Maria, full of grace!’
Romish rites before me rise,
Image worship, sacrifice,
And well-meant but mistaken pieties.”
 

It is a proof that even in days long anterior to the Reformation the English peasantry had an inrooted objection to a foreign religious yoke, in the shape of Popery, that such names as Peter and Mary should be so scantily represented. ’Tis true that Peter has left his mark upon the Directory. There are shoals of Peters, Petersons, Perkins, Pearces, Piers, Pierces, and Pearsons, but their origin belongs to an earlier day. Certain it is, that at least a century before the reign of Mary, the name was growing into disrepute with the English people, and no doubt the obnoxious tax of Peter’s-pence was at the root of it.

Guy was turned in Norman nurseries into Guiot (i. e., little Guy); this in English was transformed into Wyatt. How popular this name was four hundred years ago, is proved by the fact that there are nearly sixty Wyatts set down in the London Directory alone. William, Walter, Warin, and Wyatt all testify to the change of French G into English W. In the French Directories they will still be found as Guillaume, Gualter, Guarin, and Guiot. And as Guillaume became William, so Guillemot (little William) became Williamot, and then Wilmot. The French, however, unlike the English, were very fond of adding two diminutives to the name. Thus, Guillot (little Will) became Guillotin (little wee Will). This reminds us of Dr. Guillotin, who invented that terrible instrument which played such a horrible part in the French Revolution. In the same way, Hugh (always spelt “Hew” in mediæval records) became English Hewet (little Hugh), and French Hugot. But our neighbours, inserting another diminutive, turned it into Hugenot (little wee Hugh). This at once explains a matter of much contention. There has been much strife as to the origin of the word Huguenot. Had our friends only been aware of the fondness of the French some centuries ago for double diminutives, they would have seen at once that the sect sprang from some individual bearing that name, the origin of which is perfectly simple. It may be of interest to add, that we in England have never used double diminutives. In France it was the rule rather than the exception, as their Directories fully prove. Introduced by the Normans, we have both “in” and “ot” or “et,” as in “Colin” and “Hewet,” from Nicholas and Hugh; but we never conjoin them to one name. A Frenchman four hundred years ago would have turned them into “Col-in-et,” “Col-ot-in,” “Hugu-in-ot,” or “Hug-ot-in.” ’Tis true, we in England called children “Rob-in-et,” as I have shown in a previous chapter; but it was a mere passing fancy. I was wrong, however, in stating that the surname “Robinet” is practically obsolete, for Mr. Hutton, the Rector of Stilton, writes to inform me that in a village adjacent there are several families of this name.

Thomas owed its great popularity to Thomas à Becket, who for a time at least was a popular idol. Few baptismal names have laid their impress on the London Directory as this has done. Rows of Thomas’s appear, many hailing from the Welsh border. These are flanked by columns of Thompsons with a “p,” and Thomsons without a “p.” Dancing attendance on these more important members of the Thomas family, are scattered up and down a few Thomassets, and Thomsetts, memorials of the old pet name “Thomaset” (i. e. little Thomas). But Thomas seemed to imagine that the “h” in his side ought to be got rid of, so he appears in shoals as Tompkins, with a “p” again, and again as Tomkins without a “p.” Poor relations do not like to make their connection too prominent, for fear of giving offence, so in the background, but close enough to be ready to make good their claim, appear several Toms, Thoms, Tomes, and Tombs. This last looks very funereal indeed, and would seem to be a local name taken from one who has had his dwelling amid the tombs, but “b” was often put at the end in that way. Thus Timbs is from Tims, that is, Timothy. A string of Tomlins and Tomlinsons completes the list. Many will remember the rhyme about Thomas the footman, whom his lady married: —

 
“Dear lady, think it no reproach,
It showed a generous mind,
To take poor Thomas in the coach,
Who rode before behind.
 
 
“Dear lady, think it no reproach,
It show’d you loved the more,
To take poor Thomas in the coach,
Who rode behind before.’”
 

There are a fair number of Guns, Gunns, and Gunsons, in our Directory. There is a slang phrase about being the “son of a gun.” This was a common occurrence in old days when such entries as “Richard filius Gunne” were frequently made. The fact is, “Gun” was a baptismal name, and the surnames mentioned above are but sprung from it. It is not many years since Mr. Gunson preached the assize sermon at Cambridge before Mr. Baron Alderson and Mr. Justice Patteson. The following rhyme got abroad: —

 
“A Baron, a Justice, a Preacher, – sons three:
The Preacher, the son of a Gun is he;
The Baron, he is the son of a tree;
Whose son is the Justice I can’t well see,
But read him Paterson, and all will agree
That the son of his father the Justice must be.”
 

Alderson is but a form of Aldrichson, Aldrich being once a common baptismal name; while Patterson, Paterson, Pattison, and Patteson, are all commemorative of Patrick, who, strange to say, was scarcely remembered at the font at all in Ireland at a time when he was very popular in England.

Every country has a sobriquet which stands as a kind of baptismal name for the nation, as distinct from the individual. England is represented by John, or John Bull; Scotland by Alexander, as Sawney or Sandy; Ireland by Patrick, as Pat; and Wales by David, in the dress of Taffy. Let us trace their origin very briefly, and see their effect upon our nomenclature. In 1385 the Guild of St. George, at Norwich, contained 376 names; of these 128 were John! This extraordinary proportion was the direct result of the Crusades. From the Jordan, in which Christ had been baptized, every crusader brought home in his bottle water for baptismal purposes. He could not christen his child by the name of Jesus, the Baptized – this would be blasphemy; but he could give it the name of the baptizer, John. Remember, too, that John the Baptist was “Elias.” Hence Baptist, John, Ellis, and Jordan, became the favourite baptismal names for several generations. Our Jordans, Jordansons, Jordsons, Judds, Judsons, and Judkins are all memorials of this, for Judd did not become the pet name of George till the seventeenth century. In early days it was the nickname of Jordan. The other day I saw a register of a child christened “River,” his surname being Jordan. Thus both names have the same origin. This kind of thing is common. I know registers where may be seen three “River Jordans.” “Windsor Castle” occurs in a Derbyshire church record. But John took the lead.

One of the most curious freaks in the history of nomenclature is that which made Jack the nickname for “John.” The French for James was Jaques (Jacobus). This being the then favourite name in France, got popularized in England, with this difference, that the common folk took it and made it the pet name of their own favourite name “John.” Thus our Jacks, Jacksons, Jacklins, are all reminiscences of John rather than James. It is so still. No one ever dreams of styling a boy called James, Jack. To this day, John and Jack are synonymous. The Flemings brought in “Hans” (i. e. Johannes). These have originated our Hankins, Hankinsons, Hancocks, Handcocks, Hanks, and Hands. Further distinction was obtained by nicknaming some boys as “Little-John,” “Proper-John” (i. e., handsome: in country parts, they still say of a young man, “He’s a proper young fellow”). The French introduced Gros-Jean (Big-John) and Bon-Jean (Good-John), and the latter got corrupted into Bunyan. To John we owe our Johnsons, Jones, Jennings, Jenkinsons, Jenkins, and Jenks. No doubt, when Mr. Jenkins wrote “Ginx’s Baby,” he was aware that both author and hero bore the same name, for “Ginx” is simply “Jinks” or “Jenks” caricatured.

Miss Yonge thinks that Margaret Atheling introduced Alexander into Scotland from the Hungarian Court. Her third son was Alexander, and under him and the other two Alexanders Scotia was prosperous. Hence its great popularity. Sawney and Sandy are the pet forms, and the surnames Alister, McAlister in the Highlands, and Sanders or Saunders in the Lowlands, will for ever prevent the name being forgotten.

Patrick, the patron saint of Irishmen, whose festival is kept wherever Irishmen may be, has, strange to say, left scarcely a single surname. There is “Kil-patrick,” and “Gos-patrick” —i. e., servant of Patrick (Gos = gossoon, i. e. garçon), but no real patronymic. How is this? One single reason will suffice. At the time of surname formation “Patrick” was scarcely ever used at the font. “Teague” was the popular name till the end of the seventeenth century. Under 150 years ago, Englishmen spoke of an Irishman, not as “Pat,” but as “Teague.” I could prove this equally from registers and ballads.

“Taffy,” of course, was and is the Welsh national name, and owes his origin to St. David, who lived in the sixth century, and through his sanctity caused his bishop’s see to be changed from Menevia into St. David’s. Davy, Davis, and Davies are therefore common enough in the Principality. From our childhood we have heard that —

 
“Taffy was a Welshman,
Taffy was a thief;”
 

but we trust, for the credit of our friends across the Severn, that this refers to a particular Taffy, and not to the national Taffy. Black sheep are to be found in every flock. That Taffy can be a hero, Happy Dodd and his compatriots can prove; and never was the Albert Medal more richly deserved or more bravely won, than on the morning that witnessed the rescue of the imprisoned miners in the Welsh coal-pit. All honour to Taffy!