As the knights associated these birds with all their ideas of fame,

and made their most solemn vows over them, the highest honours were

conferred on them. Their flesh is celebrated as the "nutriment of

lovers," and the "viand of worthies;" and a peacock was always the

most distinguished dish at the solemn banquets of princes or nobles.

On these occasions it was served up on a golden dish, and carried to

table by a lady of rank, attended by a train of high-born dames and

damsels, and accompanied by music. If it was on the occasion of a

tournament, the successful knight always carved it, so regulating his

portions that each individual, be the company ever so numerous, might

taste. For the oath, the knight rising from his seat and extending his

hand over the bird, vowed some daring enterprise of arms or love:--"I

vow to God, to the blessed Virgin, to the dames, and to the _peacock_,

&c. &c."

In later and less imaginative times, the peacock, though still a

favourite dish at a banquet, seems to have been regarded more from its

affording "good eating" than from any more refined attribute.

Massinger speaks of

"the carcases

Of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to

Make sauce for a single peacock."

In Shakspeare's time the bird was usually put into a pie, the head,

richly gilt, being placed at one end of the dish, and the tail, spread

out in its full circumference, at the other. And alas! for the

degeneracy of those days. The solemn and knightly adjuration of former

times had even then dwindled into the absurd oath which Shakspeare

puts into the mouth of Justice Shallow:--

"By _cock_ and _pye_, Sir, you shall not away to night."

In some of the French tapestries birds of all shapes, natural and

unnatural, of all sizes and in all positions, form very important

parts of the subjects themselves; though this remark is hardly in

place here, as the tapestries are of later date, and not solely

needlework. To return, however: mention is made in an old chronicle of

_antiquitas Congregatio Ancilarum, quae opere plumario ornamenta

ecclesiam laborabant_. It has been a subject of much discussion

whether this Opus Plumarium signified some arrangement of real

feathers, or merely fanciful embroidery in imitation of them.

Lytlyngton, Abbot of Croyland, in Edward the Fourth's time, gave to

his church nine copes of cloth of gold, exquisitely feathered.[17]

This was perhaps embroidered imitation. A vestment which Cnute the

Great presented to this abbey was made of silk embroidered with eagles

of gold. Richard Upton, elected abbot in 1417, gave silk embroidered

with falcons for copes; and about the same time John Freston gave a

rich robe of Venetian blue embroidered with golden eagles. These were

positively imitations merely; yet they evince the prevailing taste for

feathered work, and, as we have shown, feathers themselves were much

used. It is recorded that Pope Paul the Third sent King Pepin a

present of a mantle interwoven with peacocks' feathers.

And from whatever circumstance the reverence for peacocks' feathers

originated,[18] it is not, even yet, quite exploded. There are some

lingering remnants of a superstitious regard for them which may have

had their origin in these very times and circumstances. For how

surely, where they are rigidly traced, are our country customs, our

vulgar ceremonies, our apparently absurd and senseless usages, found

to emanate from some principle or superstition of general and

prevailing adoption. In some counties we cannot enter a farm-house

where the mantel-piece in the parlour is not decorated with a diadem

of peacock feathers, which are carefully dusted and preserved. And in

houses of more assuming pretensions the same custom frequently

prevails; and we knew a lady who carefully preserved some peacock

feathers in a drawer long after her association with people in a

higher station than that to which she originally belonged had made her

ashamed to display them in her parlour. _This_ could not be for _mere_

ornament: there is some idea of _luck_ attached to them, which seems

not improbably to have arisen from circumstances connected originally

with the "Vow of the Peacock." At any rate, the religious care with

which peacocks' feathers are preserved by many who care not for them

as ornaments, is not a whit more ridiculous than to see people gravely

turn over the money in their pockets when they first hear the cuckoo,

or joyfully fasten a dropped horse-shoe on their threshold, or

shudderingly turn aside if two straws lie across in their path, or

thankfully seize an old shoe accidentally met with, heedless of the

probable state of the beggared foot that may unconsciously have left

it there, or any other of the million unaccountable customs which

diversify and enliven country life, and which still prevail and

flourish, notwithstanding the extensive travels and sweeping

devastations of the modern "schoolmaster."

Do not our readers recollect Cowper's thanksgiving "on finding the

heel of a shoe?"--

"Fortune! I thank thee, gentle goddess! thanks!

Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny

She would have thanked thee rather, hadst thou cast

A treasure in her way; for neither meed

Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes

And bowel-raking pains of emptiness,

Nor noontide feast, nor ev'ning's cool repast,

Hopes she from this--presumptuous, though perhaps

The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might.

Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,

Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock,

Vain-glorious fool! unknowing what he found,

Spurned the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah!

Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure!)

Conferr'dst, goddess! thou art blind, thou sayest:

Enough! thy blindness shall excuse the deed."

Return we to our needlework.

We have clear proof that, before the end of the seventh century, our

fair countrywomen were skilled not merely in the use of the needle as

applied to necessary purposes, but also in its application to the

varied and elegant embroidered garments to which we have so frequently

alluded, as forming properties of value and consideration. They were

chiefly executed by ladies of the highest rank and greatest

piety--very frequently, indeed, by those of royal blood--and were

usually (as we have before observed) devoted to the embellishment of

the church, or the decoration of its ministers. It was not unusual to

bequeath such properties. "I give," said the wife of the Conqueror, in

her will, "to the Abbey of the Holy Trinity, my tunic worked at

Winchester by Alderet's wife, and the mantle embroidered with gold,

which is in my chamber, to make a cope. Of my two golden girdles, I

give that which is ornamented with emblems for the purpose of

suspending the lamp before the great altar."[19] Amongst some costly

presents sent by Isabella, Queen of Edward the Second, to the Pope,

was a magnificent cope, embroidered and studded with large white

pearls, and purchased of the executors of Catherine Lincoln, for a sum

equivalent to between two and three thousand pounds of present money.

Another cope, thought worthy to accompany it, was also the work of an

Englishwoman, Rose de Bureford, wife of John de Bureford, citizen and

merchant of London.

Anciently, banners, either from being made of some relic, or from the

representation on them of holy things, were held sacred, and much

superstitious faith placed in them; consequently the pious and

industrious finger was much occupied in working them. King Arthur,

when he fought the eighth battle against the Saxons, carried the

"image of Christ and of the blessed Mary (always a virgin) upon his

shoulders." Over the tomb of Oswald, the great Christian hero, was

laid a banner of purple wrought with gold. When St. Augustine first

came to preach to the Saxons, he had a cross borne before him, with a

banner, on which was the image of our Saviour Christ. The celebrated

standard of the Danes had the sacred raven worked on it; and the

ill-fated Harold bore to the field of Hastings a banner with the

figure of an armed man worked in gold thread: to the same field

William bore a standard, a gift from the Pope, and blessed by his

Holiness.

It is recorded of St. Dunstan, who, as our readers well know, excelled

in many pursuits, and especially in painting, for which he frequently

forsook his peculiar occupation of goldsmith, that on one occasion, at

the earnest request of a lady, he _tinted_ a sacerdotal vestment for

her, which she afterwards embroidered in gold thread in an exquisitely

beautiful style. Most of these embroidered works were first tinted,

very probably in the way in which they now are, or until the freer

influx of the more beautiful German patterns, they lately were; and it

is from this previous tinting that they are so frequently described in

the old books as _painted_ garments, _pictured_ vestments, &c., this

term by no means seeming usually to imply that the use of the needle

had been neglected or superseded in them. The garments of Edward the

Confessor, which he wore upon occasions of great solemnity, were

sumptuously embroidered with gold by the hands of Edgitha, his Queen.

The four princesses, daughters of King Edward the Elder, were most

carefully educated: their early years were chiefly devoted to literary

pursuits, but they were nevertheless most assiduously instructed in

the use of the needle, and are highly celebrated by historians for

their assiduity and skill in spinning, weaving, and needlework. This

was so far, says the historian, from spoiling the fortunes of those

royal spinsters, that it procured them the addresses of the greatest

princes then in Europe, and one, "in whom the whole essence of beauty

had centered, was demanded from her brother by Hugh, King of the

Franks."

Our fair readers may take some interest in knowing what were the

propitiatory offerings of a noble suitor of those days.

"Perfumes, such as never had been seen in England before; jewels, but

more especially emeralds, the greenness of which, reflected by the

sun, illumined the countenances of the bystanders with agreeable

light; many fleet horses, with their trappings, and, as Virgil says,

'champing their golden bits;' an alabaster vase, so exquisitely

chased, that the corn-fields really seemed to wave, the vines to bud,

the figures of men actually to move, and so clear and polished, that

it reflected the features like a mirror; the sword of Constantine the

Great, on which the name of its original possessor was read in golden

letters; on the pommel, upon thick plates of gold, might be seen fixed

an iron spike, one of the four which the Jewish faction prepared for

the crucifixion of our Lord; the spear of Charles the Great, which,

whenever that invincible Emperor hurled in his expeditions against the

Saracens, he always came off conqueror; it was reported to be the same

which, driven into the side of our Saviour by the hand of the

centurion, opened, by that precious wound, the joys of paradise to

wretched mortals; the banner of the most blessed martyr Maurice, chief

of the Theban legion, with which the same King, in the Spanish war,

used to break through the battalions of the enemy, however fierce and

wedged together, and put them to flight; a diadem, precious from its

quantity of gold, but more so for its jewels, the splendour of which

threw the sparks of light so strongly on the beholders, that the more

steadfastly any person endeavoured to gaze, so much the more dazzled

he was--compelled to avert his eyes; part of the holy and adorable

cross enclosed in crystal, where the eye, piercing through the

substance of the stone, might discern the colour and size of the wood;

a small portion of the crown of thorns enclosed in a similar manner,

which, in derision of his government, the madness of the soldiers

placed on Christ's sacred head.

"The King (Athelstan), delighted with such great and exquisite

presents, made an equal return of good offices, and gratified the soul

of the longing suitor by a union with his sister. With some of these

presents he enriched succeeding kings; but to Malmesbury he gave part

of the cross and crown; by the support of which, I believe, that place

even now flourishes, though it has suffered so many shipwrecks of its

liberty, so many attacks of its enemies."[20]

It is not to be supposed that at a time when the "whole island" was

said to "blaze" with devotion, and when, moreover, her own fair

daughters surpassed the whole world in needlework, that the English

churches were deficient in its beautiful adornments. Far otherwise,

indeed. We forbear to enumerate many, because our chapter has already

exceeded its prescribed limits; but we may particularize a golden veil

or hanging (vellum), embroidered with the destruction of Troy, which

Witlaf, King of Mercia, gave to the abbey of Croyland; and the

coronation mantle of Harold Harefoot, son of Cnute, which he gave to

the same abbey, made of silk, and embroidered with "Hesperian apples."

Richard, who was abbot of St. Alban's from 1088 to 1119, made a

present to his monastery of a suit of hangings which contained the

whole history of the primitive martyr of England, Alban.

Croyland Abbey possessed many hangings for the altars, embroidered

with golden birds; and a garment, which seems to have been a peculiar,

and considered a valuable one, being a black gown wrought with gold

letters, to officiate in at funerals. The enigmatical letters which

were worked on ecclesiastical vestments in those days, were various

and peculiar, and have given abundant scope for antiquarian research.

We have heard it surmised that they took their rise in times of

persecution, being indications (then, doubtless, slight and

unostentatious ones) by which the Christians might know each other.

But they came into more general use, not merely as symbolical

characters, but individual names were wrought, and that not on

personal garments alone, for Pope Leo the Fourth placed a cloth on the

altar woven with gold, and spangled all over with pearls. It had on

each side (right and left) a circle bounded with gold, within which

the name of his Holiness was written in precious stones. In many old

paintings a letter or letters have been noticed on the garment of the

principal figure, and they have been taken for private marks of the

painter, but it is more probable, says Ciampini,[21] that they are

either copied from old garments, or are intended to denote the dignity

of the character to which they are attached.

We will conclude the present chapter by remarking that one of the most

magnificent specimens of ancient needlework in existence, and which is

in excellent preservation, is the State Pall belonging to the

Fishmongers Company. The end pieces are similar, and consist of a

picture, wrought in gold and silk, of the patron, St. Peter, in

pontificial robes, seated on a superb throne, and crowned with the

papal tiara. Holding in one hand the keys, the other is in the posture

of giving the benediction, and on each side is an angel, bearing a

golden vase, from which he scatters incense over the Saint. The

angel's wings, according to old custom, are composed of peacocks'

feathers in all their natural vivid colours; their outer robes are

gold raised with crimson; their under vests white, shaded with sky

blue; the faces are finely worked in satin, after nature, and they

have long yellow hair.

There are various designs on the side pieces; the most important and

conspicuous is Christ delivering the keys to Peter. Among other

decorations are, of course, the arms of the company, richly

emblazoned, the supporters of which, the merman and mermaid, are

beautifully worked, the merman in gold armour, the mermaid in white

silk, with long tresses in golden thread.

This magnificent piece of needlework has probably no parallel in this

country.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] When Robert, Abbot of St. Alban's, visited his countryman Pope

Adrian the Fourth, he made him several valuable presents, and amongst

other things three mitres and a pair of sandals of most admirable

workmanship. His holiness refused his other presents, but thankfully

accepted of the mitres and sandals, being charmed with their exquisite

beauty. These admired pieces of embroidery were the work of Christina,

Abbess of Markgate.

[12] "Anglicae nationis feminae multum acu et auri textura, egregie viri

in omni valeant artificio. Pero fu renomato Opus Anglicum."--From

Muratori.

[13] A florene is 4_s._ 6_d._

[14] "The pall was a bishop's vestment, going over the shoulders, made

of sheep-skin, in memory of him who sought the lost sheep, and when he

had found it laid it on his shoulders; and it was embroidered with

crosses, and taken off the body or coffin of St. Peter."--Camden.

[15] Anastasius Bibliothecarius. De Vitis Romanorum Pontificum.

As this work is the fountain whence subsequent writers have chiefly

obtained their information with regard to church vestments, that is to

say, decorative ones, it may not be amiss to transcribe a passage,

taken literally at random from scores of similar ones. It will give

the reader some idea of the profusion with which the expensive

garnitures were supplied:--

"Sed et super altare majus fecit tetra vela holoserica alithina

quatuor, cum astillis, et rosis chrysoclabis. Et in eodem altare fecit

cum historiis crucifixi Domini vestem tyriam. Et in Ecclesia Doctoris

Mundi beati Pauli Apostoli tetra vela holoserica alithyna quatuor, et

vestem super altare albam chrysoclabam, habentem historiam Sanctae

Resurrectionis, et aliam vestem chrysoclabam, habentem historiam

nativitatis Domini, et Sanctorum Innocentium. Immo et aliam vestem

tyriam, habentem historiam caeci illuminati, et Resurrectionem. Idem

autem sanctissimus Praesul fecit in basilica beatae Mariae ad Praesepe

vestem albam chrysoclabam, habentem historiam sanctae Resurrectionis.

Sed et aliam vestem in orbiculis chrysoclabis, habentem historias

Annunciationis, et sanctorum Joachim, et Annae. Fecit in Ecclesia beati

Laurentii foris muros eidem Praesul vestem albam rosatam cum

chrysoclabo. Sed et aliam vestem super sanctum corpus ejus albam de

stauraci chrysoclabam, cum margaritis. Et in titulo Calixti vestem

chrysoclabam ex blattin Byzanteo, habentem historiam nativitatis

Domini, et sancti Simeonis. Item in Ecclesia sancti Pancratii vestem

tyriam, habentem historiam Ascencionis Domini, seu et in sancta Maria

ad Martyres fecit vestem tyriam ut supra. Et in basilica sanctorum

Cosmae et Damiani fecit vestem de blatti Byzanteo, cum periclysin de

chrysoclabo, et margaritis."--i. 285.

[16] "De staurace."

[17] "Opere plumario exquitissime praeparatas."

[18] In the classical ages, they were in high repute. Juno's chariot

is drawn by peacocks; and Olympian Jove himself invests his royal

limbs with a mantle formed of their feathers.

[19] The name of Dame Leviet has descended to posterity as an

embroiderer to the Conqueror and his Queen.

[20] Will. of Malmesbury, 156.

[21] Vet. Mon. cap. 13.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.--PART I.

"Needlework sublime."

Cowper.

Great discussion has taken place amongst the learned with regard to

the exact time at which the Bayeux tapestry was wrought. The question,

except as a matter of curiosity, is, perhaps, of little account--fifty

years earlier or later, nearly eight hundred years ago. It had always

been considered as the work of Matilda, the wife of the conquering

Duke of Normandy until a few years ago, when the Abbe de la Rue

started and endeavoured to maintain the hypothesis that it was worked

by or under the direction of the Empress Matilda, the daughter of

Henry the First.[22] But his positions, as Dibdin observes,[23] are

all of a _negative_ character, and, "according to the strict rules of

logic, it must not be admitted, that because such and such writers

have _not_ noticed a circumstance, therefore that circumstance or

event cannot have taken place." Hudson Gurney, Charles A. Stothard,

and Thos. Amyot, Esqrs. have all published essays on the subject,[24]

which establish almost to certainty the fact of the production of this

tapestry at the earlier of the two periods contended for, viz. from

1066 to 1068.

In this we rejoice, because this Herculean labour has a halo of deep

interest thrown round it, from the circumstance of its being the proud

tribute of a fond and affectionate wife, glorying in her husband's

glory, and proud of emblazoning his deeds. As the work of the Empress

Matilda it would still be a magnificent production of industry and of

skill; as the work of "Duke William's" wife these qualities merge in

others of a more interesting character.[25]

This excellent and amiable princess was a most highly accomplished

woman, and remarkable for her learning; she was the affectionate

mother of a large family, the faithful wife of an enterprising

monarch, with whom she lived for thirty-three years so harmoniously

that her death had such an effect on her husband as to cause him to

relinquish, never again to resume, his usual amusements.[26]

Little did the affectionate wife think, whilst employed over this

task, that her domestic tribute of regard should become an historical

memento of her country, and blazon forth her illustrious husband's

deeds, and her own unwearying affection, to ages upon ages hereafter

to be born. For independently of the interest which may be attached to

this tapestry as a pledge of feminine affection, a token of

housewifely industry, and a specimen of ancient stitchery, it derives

more historic value as the work of the Conqueror's wife, than if it

were the production of a later time. For it holds good with these

historical tapestries as with the written histories and romances of

the middle ages;--authors wrote and ladies wrought (we mean no pun)

their characters, _not_ in the costume of the times in which the

action or event celebrated took place, but in that in which they were

at the time engaged; and thus, had Matilda the Empress worked this

tapestry, it is more than probable that she would have introduced the

armorial bearings which were in her time becoming common, and

especially the Norman leopards, of which in the tapestry there is not

the slightest trace. In her time too the hair was worn so long as to

excite the censures of the church, whilst at the time of the Conquest

the Normans almost shaved their heads; and this circumstance, more

than the want of beards, is supposed by Mr. Stothard[27] to have led

to the surmise of the Anglo-Saxon spies that the Normans were all

priests. This circumstance is faithfully depicted in the tapestry,

where also the chief weapon seen is a lance, which was little used

after the Conquest. These peculiarities, with several others which

have been commented on by antiquarian writers, seem to establish the

date of this production as coeval with the action which it represents,

and therefore invaluable as an historical document.

"It is, perhaps," says one of the learned writers on the Bayeux

tapestry, "a characteristic of the literature of the present age to

deduce history from sources of second-rate authority; from ballads and

pictures rather than from graver and severer records. Unquestionably

this is the preferable course, if amusement, not truth, be the object

sought for. Nothing can be more delightful than to read the reigns of

the Plantagenets in the dramas of Shakspeare, or the tales of later

times in the ingenious fictions of the author of Waverley. But those

who would draw historical facts from their hiding-places must be

content to plod through many a ponderous worm-eaten folio, and many a

half-legible and still less intelligible manuscript.

"Yet," continues he, "if the Bayeux tapestry be not history of the

first class, it is, perhaps, something better. It exhibits genuine

traits, elsewhere sought in vain, of the costume and manners of that

age which, of all others, if we except the period of the Reformation,

ought to be the most interesting to us; that age which gave us a new

race of monarchs, bringing with them new landholders, new laws, and

almost a new language.

"As in the magic pages of Froissart, we here behold our ancestors of

each race in most of the occupations of life, in courts and camps, in

pastime and in battle, at feasts and on the bed of sickness. These

are characteristics which of themselves would call forth a lively

interest; but their value is greatly enhanced by their connection with

one of the most important events in history, the main subject of the

whole design."

This magnificent piece of work is 227 feet in length by 20 inches in

width, is now usually kept at the Town-hall in Rouen, and is treasured

as the most precious relic. It was formerly the theme of some long and

learned dissertations of antiquarian historians, amongst whom

Montfaucon, perhaps, ranks most conspicuous.

Still so little _local_ interest does it excite, that Mr. Gurney, in

1814, was nearly leaving Bayeux without seeing it because he did not

happen to ask for it by the title of "Toile de St. Jean," and so his

request was not understood; and Ducarel, in his "Tour," says, "The

priests of this cathedral to whom we addressed ourselves for a sight

of this remarkable piece of antiquity, knew nothing of it; the

circumstance only of its being annually hung up in their church led

them to understand what we wanted; no person there knowing that the

object of our inquiry any ways related to William the Conqueror, whom

to this day they call Duke William."

During the French Revolution its surrender was demanded for the

purpose of covering the guns; fortunately, however, a priest succeeded

in concealing it until that storm was overpast.

Bonaparte better knew its value. It was displayed for some time in

Paris, and afterwards at some seaport towns. M. Denon had the charge

of it committed to him by Bonaparte, but it was afterwards restored

to Bayeux. It was at the time of the usurper's threatened invasion of

our country that so much value was attached to, and so much pains

taken to exhibit this roll. "Whether," says Dibdin, "at such a sight

the soldiers shouted, and, drawing their glittering swords,

"Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war,--"

confident of a second representation of the same subject by a second

subjugation of our country--is a point which has not been exactly

detailed to me! But the supposition may not be considered very violent

when I inform you that I was told by a casual French visitor of the

tapestry, that '_pour cela, si Bonaparte avait eu le courage, le

resultat auroit ete comme autrefois_.' Matters, however, have taken

_rather_ a different turn."

The tapestry is coiled round a machine like that which lets down the

buckets to a well, and a female unrols and explains it. It is worked

in different coloured worsteds on white cloth, to which time has given

the tinge of brown holland; the parts intended to represent flesh are

left untouched by the needle. The colours are somewhat faded, and not

very multitudinous. Perhaps it is the little variety of colours which

Matilda and her ladies had at their disposal which has caused them to

depict the horses of any colour--"blue, green, red, or yellow." The

outline, too, is of course stiff and rude.[28] At the top and bottom

of the main work is a narrow allegorical border; and each division or

different action or event is marked by a branch or tree extending the

whole depth of the tapestry; and most frequently each tableau is so

arranged that the figures at the end of one and the beginning of the

next are turned from each other, whilst above each the subject of the

scene and the names of the principal actors are wrought in large

letters. The subjects of the border vary; some of AEsop's fables are

depicted on it, sometimes instruments of agriculture, sometimes

fanciful and grotesque figures and borders; and during the heat of the

battle of Hastings, when, as Montfaucon says, "le carnage est grand,"

the appropriate device of the border is a _layer of dead men_.

"From the fury of the Normans, good Lord deliver us," was, we are

told, in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries a petition in the

Litanies of all nations.[29] For long did England sorrow under their

"fury," though _in time_ the Conquest produced advantageous results to

the kingdom at large. Whether this Norman subjugation was in

accordance with the will of the monarch Edward, or whether it was

entirely the result of Duke William's ambition, must now ever remain

in doubt. Harold asserted that Edward the Confessor appointed him his

successor (of which, however, he could not produce proof); to this

must be opposed the improbability of Edward thus ennobling a family of

whom he felt, and with such abundant cause, so jealous.

Probably the old chronicler (Fabyan) has hit the mark when he says,

"This Edgarre (the rightful heir) was yonge, and specyally for

Harolde was stronge of knyghtes and rychesse, he wanne the reygne." Be

this as it may, however, Harold on the very day of Edward's interment,

and that was only the day subsequent to his death, was crowned king in

St. Paul's; apparently with the concurrence of all concerned, for he

was powerful and popular. And his government during the chief part of

his short kingly career was such as to increase his popularity: he was

wise, and just, and gracious. "Anone as he was crowned, he began to

fordoo euyll lawes and customes before vsed, and stablysshed the good

lawes, and specyally whiche (suche) as were for the defence of holy

churche, and punysshed the euyll doers, to the fere and example of

other."[30]

But uncontrolled authority early began to produce its wonted results.

He "waxyd so prowd, and for couetouse wold not deuyde the prayes that

he took to hys knyghtys, that had well deseruyd it, but kepte it to

hymself, that he therby lost the fauour of many of his knyghtys and

people."[31] This defection from his party doubtless made itself felt

in the mortal struggle with the Norman duke which issued in Harold's

discomfiture and death.

Proceed we to the tapestry.

The first scene which the needlewoman has depicted is a conference

between a person who, from his white flowing beard and regal costume,

is easily recognized as the "sainted Edward," and another, who, from

his subsequent embarkation, is supposed to be Harold. The subject of

the conference is, of course, only conjectured. Harold's visit to

Normandy is well known; but whether, as some suppose, he was driven

thither by a tempest when on a cruise of pleasure; whether he went as

ambassador from Edward to communicate the intentions of the Confessor

in William's behoof; or whether, as the tapestry is supposed more

strongly to indicate, he obtained Edward's reluctant consent to his

visit to reclaim his brother who, a hostage for his own good conduct,

had been sent to William by Edward; these are points which now defy

investigation, even if they were of sufficient importance to claim it.

Harold is then seen on his journey attended by cavaliers on horseback,

surrounded by dogs, and, an emblem of his own high dignity, a hawk on

his fist.

One great value of this tapestry is the scrupulous regard paid to

points and circumstances which at first view might appear

insignificant, but which, as correlative confirmations of usages and

facts, are of considerable importance. Thus, it is known to

antiquarians that great personages formerly had two only modes of

equipment when proceeding on a journey, that of war or the chase.

Harold is here fully equipped for the chase, and consequently the

first glimpse obtained of his person would show that his errand was

one of peace. The hawk on the fist was a mark of high nobility: no

inferior person is represented with one: Harold and Guy Earl of

Ponthieu alone bear them.

In former times this bird was esteemed so sacred that it was

prohibited in the ancient laws for any one to give his hawk even as a

part of his ransom. In the reign of Edward the Third it was made

felony to steal a hawk; and to take its eggs, even in a person's own

ground, was punishable with imprisonment for a year and a day, besides

a fine at the king's pleasure. Nay, more than this, by the laws of one

part of the island, and probably of the whole,[32] the price of a

hawk, or of a greyhound, was once the very same with the price of a

man; and there was a time when the robbing of a hawk's nest was as

great a crime in the eye of the law, and as severely punished, as the

murder of a Christian. And of this high value they were long

considered. "It is difficult," says Mr. Mills,[33] "to fancy the

extravagant degree of estimation in which hawks were held during the

chivalric ages. As symbols of high estate they were constantly carried

about by the nobility of both sexes. There was even a usage of

bringing them into places appropriated to public worship; a practice

which, in the case of some individuals, appears to have been

recognised as a right. The treasurer of the church of Auxerre enjoyed

the distinction of assisting at divine service on solemn days with a

falcon on his fist; and the Lord of Sassai held the privilege of

perching his upon the altar. Nothing was thought more dishonourable to

a man of rank than to give up his hawks; and if he were taken prisoner

he would not resign them even for liberty."

The different positions in which the hawk is placed in our needlework

are worthy of remark. Here its head is raised, its wings fluttering,

as if eager and ready for flight; afterwards, when Harold follows the

Earl of Ponthieu as his captive, he is not, of course, deprived of his

bird, but by a beautiful fiction the bird is represented depressed,

and with its head turned towards its master's breast as if trying to

nestle and shelter itself there. Could sympathy be more poetically

expressed? Afterwards, on Harold's release, the bird is again depicted

as fluttering to "soar elate."

The practice very prevalent in these "barbarous times," as we somewhat

too sweepingly term them, of entering on no expedition of war or

pastime without imploring the protection of heaven, is intimated by a

church which Harold is entering previously to his embarkation. That

this observance might degenerate in many instances into mere form may

be very true; and the "hunting masses" celebrated in song might, some

of them, be more honoured in the breach than the observance:

nevertheless in clearing away the dross of old times, we have, it is

to be feared, removed some of the gold also; and the abolition of the

custom of having the churches open at _all times_, so that at any

moment the heart-prompted prayer might be offered up under the holy

shelter of a consecrated roof, has tended very much, it is to be

feared, to abolish the habit of frequent prayer. A habit in itself,

and regarded even merely as a habit, fraught with inestimable good.

We next see Harold and his companions refreshing themselves prior to

their departure, pledging each other, and doubtless drinking to the

success of their enterprise whatever it might be. The horns from which

they are drinking have been the subject of critical remark. We find

that horns were used for various purposes, and were of four sorts,

drinking horns, hunting horns, horns for summoning the people, and of

a mixed kind.

They were used as modes of investiture, and this manner of endowing

was usual amongst the Danes in England. King Cnute himself gave lands

at Pusey in Berkshire to the family of that name, with a horn solemnly

at that time delivered, as a confirmation of the grant. Edward the

Confessor made a like donation to the family of Nigel. The celebrated

horn of Alphus, kept in the sacristy in York Minster, was probably a

drinking cup belonging to this prince, and was by him given together

with all his lands and revenues to that church. "When he gave the horn

that was to convey it (his estate) he filled it with wine, and on his

knees before the altar, 'Deo et S. Petro omnes terras et redditus

propinavit.' So that he drank it off, in testimony that thereby he

gave them his lands."[34] Many instances might be adduced to show that

this mode of investiture was common in England in the time of the

Danes, the Anglo-Saxons, and at the close of the reign of the Norman

conqueror.

The drinking horns had frequently a screw at the end, which being

taken off at once converted them into hunting horns, which

circumstance will account for persons of distinction frequently

carrying their own. Such doubtless were those used of old by the

Breton hunters about Brecheliant, which is poetically described as a

forest long and broad, much famed throughout Brittany. The fountain of

Berenton rises from beneath a stone there. Thither the hunters are

used to repair in sultry weather, and drawing up water with their

horns (those horns which had just been used to sound the animated

warnings of the chase), they sprinkle the stone for the purpose of

having rain, which is then wont to fall throughout the whole forest

around. There too fairies are to be seen, and many wonders happen. The

ground is broken and precipitous, and deer in plenty roam there, but

the husbandmen have forsaken it. Our author[35] goes on to say that he

personally visited this enchanted region, but that, though he saw the

forest and the land, no marvels presented themselves. The reason is

obvious. He had, before the time, contracted some of the scepticism of

these matter-of-fact "schoolmaster abroad" days. He wanted faith, and

therefore he did not _deserve_ to see them.

The use of drinking horns is very ancient. They were usually

embellished or garnished with silver; they were in very common use

among our Saxon ancestors, who frequently had them gilded and

magnificently ornamented. One of those in use amongst Harold's party

seems to be very richly decorated.

The revellers are, however, obliged to dispatch, as their leader,

Harold, is already wading through the water to his vessel. The

character of Harold as displayed throughout this tapestry is a

magnificent one, and does infinite credit to the generous and noble

disposition of Matilda the queen, who disdained to depreciate the

character of a fallen foe. He commences his expedition by an act of

piety; here, on his embarkation at Bosham, he is kindly carrying his

dog through the water. In crossing the sands of the river Cosno, which

are dangerous, so very dangerous as most frequently to cause the

destruction of those who attempt their transit, his whole concern

seems to be to assist the passage of others, whose inferior natural

powers do not enable them to compete with danger so successfully as

himself; his character for undaunted bravery is such, that William

condescends to supplicate his assistance in a feud then at issue

between himself and another nobleman, and so nobly does he bear

himself that the proud Norman with his own hands invests him with the

emblems of honour (as seen in the tapestry); and, last scene of all,

he disdained all submission, he repelled all the entreaties with which

his brothers assailed him not personally to lead his troops to the

encounter, and the corpses of 15,000 Normans on this field, and of

even a greater number on the English monarch's side, told in bloody

characters that Harold had not quailed in the last great encounter.

Unpropitious winds drive him and his attendants from their intended

course. Many historians accuse the people of Ponthieu of making

prisoners all whose ill fortune threw them upon their coast, and of

treating them with great barbarity, in order to extort the larger

ransom. Be this as it may, Harold has scarcely set his foot on shore

ere he is forcibly captured by the vassals of Guy of Ponthieu, who is

there on horseback to witness the proceeding. The tapestry goes on to

picture the progress of the captured troop and their captors to Belrem

or Beurain, and a conference when there between the earl and his

prisoner, where the fair embroideresses have given a delicate and

expressive feature by depicting the conquering noble with his sword

elevated, and the princely captive, wearing indeed his sword, but with

the point depressed.

It is said that a fisherman of Ponthieu, who had been often in England

and knew Harold's person, was the cause of his capture. "He went

privily to Guy, the Count of Pontif, and would speak to no other; and

he told the Count how he could put a great prize in his way, if he

would go with him; and that if he would give him only twenty livres he

should gain a hundred by it, for he would deliver him such a prisoner

as would pay a hundred livres or more for his ransome." The Count

agreed to his terms, and then the fisherman showed him Harold.

Hearing of Harold's captivity, William the Norman is anxious on all

and every account to obtain possession of his person. He consequently

sends ambassadors to Guy, who is represented on the tapestry as giving

them audience. The person holding the horses is somewhat remarkable;

he is a bearded dwarf. Dwarfs were formerly much sought after in the

houses of great folks, and they were frequently sent as presents from

one potentate to another. They were petted and indulged somewhat in

the way of the more modern fool or jester. The custom is very old. The

Romans were so fond of them, that they often used artificial methods

to prevent the growth of children designed for dwarfs, by enclosing

them in boxes, or by the use of tight bandages. The sister of one of

the Roman emperors had a dwarf who was only two feet and a hand

breadth in height. Many relations concerning dwarfs we may look upon

as not less fabulous than those of giants. They are, like the latter,

indispensable in romances, where their feats, far from being dwarfish,

are absolutely gigantic, though these diminutive heroes seldom occupy

any more ostensible post than that of humble attendant.

"Fill'd with these views th' _attendant dwarf_ she sends:

Before the knight the dwarf respectful bends;

Kind greetings bears as to his lady's guest,

And prays his presence to adorn her feast.

The knight delays not."

"A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,

All foule of limbe and lere;

Two goggling eyen like fire farden,

A mouthe from eare to eare.

Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,

That _waited on his knee_."

Sir Cauline.

"Behind her farre away a dwarfe did lag

That lasie seem'd, in being ever last,

Or wearied with _bearing of her bag_

Of needments at his backe."

Faerie Queene.

The dwarf worked in the tapestry has the name TVROLD placed above him,

and seems to have been a dependant of Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, William

the Conqueror's brother.[36]

The first negotiations are unsuccessful; more urgent messages are

forwarded, and in the end Duke William himself proceeds at the head of

some troops to _compel_ the surrender of the prisoner. Count Guy is

intimidated, and the object is attained; every stage of these

proceedings is depicted on the canvas, as well as William's courteous

reception of Harold at his palace.

The portraiture of a female in a sort of porch, with a clergyman in

the act of pronouncing a benediction on her, is supposed to have

reference to the engagement between William and his guest, that the

latter should marry the daughter of the former. Many other

circumstances and conditions were tacked to this agreement, one of

which was that Harold should guard the English throne for William;

agreements which one and all--under the reasonable plea that they were

enforced ones--the Anglo-Saxon nobleman broke through. It is said that

his desertion so affected the mind of the pious young princess,[37]

that her heart broke on her passage to Spain, whither they were

conveying her to a forced union with a Spanish prince. As this young

lady was a mere child at the time of Harold's visit to Normandy, the

story, though exceedingly pretty, is probably very apocryphal. Ducarel

gives an entirely different explanation of the scene, and says that it

is probably meant to represent a secretary or officer coming to

William's duchess, to acquaint her with the agreement just made

relative to her daughter.

The Earl of Bretagne is at this moment at war with Duke William, and

the latter attaching Harold to his party, from whom indeed he receives

effectual service, arrives at Mount St. Michel, passes the river Cosno

(to which we have before alluded), and arrives at Dol in Brittany.

Parties are seen flying towards Rennes. William and his followers

attack Dinant, of which the keys are delivered up, and the Normans

come peaceably to Bayeux; William having previously, with his own

hands, invested Harold with a suit of armour.

Harold shortly returns to England, but not before a very important

circumstance had taken place. William and Harold had mutually entered

into an agreement by which the latter had pledged himself to be true

to William, to acknowledge him as Edward's successor on the English

throne, and to do all in his power to obtain for him the peaceable

possession of that throne; and as Harold was, the reigning monarch

excepted, the first man in England, this promised support was of no

trifling moment. William resolved therefore to have the oath repeated

with all possible solemnity. His brother Odo, the Bishop of Bayeux,

assisted him in this matter. Accordingly we see Harold standing

between two altars covered with cloth of gold, a hand on each,

uttering the solemn adjuration, of which William, seated on his

throne, is a delighted auditor; for he well knew that the oath was

more fearful than Harold was at all aware of. For "William sent for

all the holy bodies thither, and put so many of them together as to

fill a whole chest, and then covered them with a pall; but Harold

neither saw them, nor knew of their being there, for nought was shown

or told to him about it; and over all was a phylactery, the best that

he could select. When Harold placed his hand upon it, the hand

trembled and the flesh quivered; but he swore, and promised upon his

oath, to take Ele to wife, and to deliver up England to the duke; and

thereunto to do all in his power, according to his might and wit,

after the death of Edward, if he should live, so help him God and the

holy relics there! (meaning the Gospels, for he had none idea of any

other). Many cried 'God grant it!' and when Harold had kissed the

saints, and had risen upon his feet, the duke led him up to the chest,

and made him stand near it; and took off the chest the pall that had

covered it, and showed Harold upon what holy relics he had sworn, and

he was sorely alarmed at the sight."

FOOTNOTES:

[22] Archaeologia, vol. xvii.

[23] Biblio. Tour, vol. i., 138.

[24] Archaeol. vols. xviii., xix.

[25] One writer, Bolton Corney, Esq., maintains that this work was

provided at the expense of the Chapter of Bayeux, under their

superintendence, and from their designs. "If it had not (says he) been

devised within the precincts of a church it could not have escaped

female influence: it could not have contained such indications of

_celibatic_ superintendence. It is not without its domestic and

festive scenes; and comprises, exclusive of the borders, about 530

figures; but in this number there are only three females."

[26] Henry III., 25.

[27] Archaeol. vol. xix.

[28] The attempts to imitate the human figure were, at this period,

stiff and rude: but arabesque patterns were now _chiefly_ worked; and

they were rich and varied.

[29] Henry III., 554.

[30] Fabyan's Chron.

[31] Rastell's Chron.

[32] Henry II., 515.

[33] Hist. Chiv.

[34] Archaeol. 1 and 3.

[35] Master Wace. Roman de Rou, &c., by Taylor.

[36] Archaeologia, vol. xix.

[37] "Her knees were like horn with constant kneeling."

CHAPTER IX.

THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.--PART II.

"But bloody, bloody was the field,

Ere that lang day was done."

Hardyknute.

"King William bithought him alsoe of that

Folke that was forlorne,

And slayn also thoruz him

In the bataile biforne.

And ther as the bataile was,

An abbey he lite rere

Of Seint Martin, for the soules

That there slayn were.

And the monkes well ynoug

Feffed without fayle,

That is called in Englonde

Abbey of Bataile."

Immediately after the solemn ceremony described in the foregoing

chapter, Harold is depicted as returning to England and presenting

himself before the king, Edward the Confessor. "But the day came that

no man can escape, and King Edward drew near to die." His deathbed and

his funeral procession are both wrought in the tapestry, but by some

accident have been transposed. His remains are borne in splendid

procession to the magnificent house which he had builded (_i.e._

rebuilded), Westminster Abbey; over which, in the sky, a hand is seen

to point as if in benediction. It is well known that the Abbey was

barely finished at the time of the pious monarch's death, and this

circumstance is intimated in an intelligible though homely manner in

the tapestry by a person occupied in placing a weathercock on the

summit of the building.

The first pageant seen within its walls was the funeral array of the

monarch who so beautifully rebuilt and so amply endowed it. Before the

high altar, in a splendid shrine, where gems and jewelry flashed back

the gleams of innumerable torches, and amid the solemn chant of the

monks, whose "Miserere" echoed through the vaulted aisles, interrupted

but by the subdued wail of the mourners, or the emphatic benediction

of the poor whose friend he had been, were laid the remains of him who

was called the Sainted Edward; whose tomb was considered so hallowed a

spot that the very stones around it were worn down by the knees of the

pilgrims who resorted thither for prayer; and the very dust of whose

shrine was carefully swept and collected, exported to the continent,

and bought by devotees at a high price.

We next see in the tapestry the crown _offered_ to Harold (a

circumstance to be peculiarly remarked, since thus depicted by his

opponent's wife), and then Harold shows right royally receiving the

homage and gratulations of those around.

But the next scene forbodes a change of fortune: "ISTI MIRANT STELLA,"

is the explanation wrought over it. For there appeared "a blasing

starre, which was seene not onelie here in England, but also in other

parts of the world, and continued the space of seven daies. This

blasing starre might be a prediction of mischeefe imminent and hanging

over Harold's head; for they never appeare but as prognosticats of

afterclaps."

Popular belief has generally invested these ill-omened bodies with

peculiar terrors. "These blasing starres--dreadful to be seene, with

bloudie haires, and all over rough and shagged at the top." They vary,

however, in their appearance. Sometimes they are pale, and glitter

like a sword, without any rays or beams. Such was the one which is

said to have hung over Jerusalem for near a year before its

destruction, filling the minds of all who beheld it with awe and

superstitious dread. A comet resembling a horn appeared when the

"whole manhood of Greece fought the battaile of Salamis." Comets

foretold the war between Caesar and Pompey, the murder of Claudius, and

the tyranny of Nero. Though _usually_, they were not _invariably_,

considered as portents of evil omen: for the birth and accession of

Alexander, of Mithridates, the birth of Charles Martel, and the

accession of Charlemagne, and the commencement of the Tatar empire,

were all notified by blazing stars. A very brilliant one which

appeared for seven consecutive nights soon after the death of Julius

Caesar was supposed to be conveying the soul of the murdered dictator

to Olympus. An author who wrote on one which appeared in the reign of

Elizabeth was most anxious, as in duty bound, to apply the phenomenon

to the queen. But here was the puzzle. "To have foretold calamities

might have been misprision of treason; and the only precedent for

saying anything good of a comet was to be drawn from that which

occurred after the death of Julius Caesar;" but it so happened that at

this time Elizabeth was by no means either ripe or willing for her

apotheosis.[38]

Comets, one author writes, "were made to the end the etherial regions

might not be more void of monsters than the ocean is of whales and

other great thieving fishes, and that a gross fatness being gathered

together as excrements into an imposthume, the celestial air might

thereby be purged, lest the sun should be obscured." Another says,

they "signifie corruption of the ayre. They are signes of earthquake,

of warres, chaunging of kyngdomes, great dearth of corne, yea, a

common death of man and beast." So a poet of the same age:--

"There with long bloody hair a blazing star

Threatens the world with famine, plague, and war;

To princes death, to kingdoms many crosses,

To all estates inevitable losses;

To herdsmen rot, to plowmen hapless seasons,

To sailors storms, to cities civil treasons."

But a writer on comets in 1665 crowned all previous conjecture. "As if

God and Nature intended by comets to ring the knells of princes;

esteeming the bells of churches upon earth not sacred enough for such

illustrious and eminent performances."

No wonder that the comet in Harold's days was regarded with fearful

misgivings.

It did not, however, dismay him. Duke William, as may be supposed, did

not tamely submit to a usurpation of what he considered, or affected

to consider, his own dominions--a circumstance which we see an envoy,

probably from his party in England, makes him acquainted with. He

holds a council, seemingly an earnest and animated one, which

evidently results in the immediate preparation of a fleet; of which

the tapestry delineates the various stages and circumstances, from the

felling of the timber in its native woods to the launching of the

vessels, stored and fully equipped in arms, provisions, and heroes for

invasion and conquest.

William in this expedition received unusual assistance from his own

tributary chiefs, and from various other allies, who joined his

standard, and without whom, indeed, he could not, with any chance of

success, have made his daring attempt. A summer and autumn were spent

in fitting-up the fleet and collecting the forces, "and there was no

knight in the land, no good serjeant, archer, nor peasant of stout

heart, and of age for battle, that the duke did not summon to go with

him to England; promising rents to the vavassors, and honours to the

barons." Thus was an armament prepared of seven hundred ships, but the

one which bore William, the hero of the expedition, shone proudly

pre-eminent over the rest. It was the gift of his affectionate queen.

It is represented in the canvas of larger size than the others: the

mast, surmounted by a cross, bears the banner which was sent to

William by the Pope as a testimony of his blessing and approbation. On

this mast also a beacon-light nightly blazed as a _point d'approche_

of the remainder of the fleet. On the poop was the figure of a boy

(supposed to be meant for the conqueror's youngest son), gilded, and

looking earnestly towards England, holding in one hand a banner, in

the other an ivory horn, on which he is sounding a joyful reveillee.

But long the fleet waited at St. Valeri for a fair wind, until the

barons became weary and dispirited. Then they prayed the convent to

bring out the shrine of St. Valeri and set it on a carpet in the

plain; and all came praying the holy relics that they might be allowed

to pass over sea. They offered so much money, that the relics were

buried beneath it; and from that day forth they had good weather and a

fair wind. "Than Willyam thanked God and Saynt Valary, and toke

shortly after shyppynge, and helde his course towarde Englande."

On the arrival of the fleet in England a banquet is prepared. The

shape of the table at which William sits has been the theme of some

curious remarks by Father Montfaucon, which have been copied by

Ducarel and others. It is in form of a half-moon, and was called by

the Romans _sigma_, from the Greek +s+. It was calculated only for

seven persons; and a facetious emperor once invited eight, on purpose

to raise a laugh against the person for whom there would be no place.

"A knight in that country (Britain) heard the noise and cry made by

the peasants and villains when they saw the great fleet arrive. He

well knew that the Normans were come, and that their object was to

seize the land. He posted himself behind a hill, so that they should

not see him, and tarried there watching the arrival of the great

fleet. He saw the archers come forward from the ships, and the knights

follow. He saw the carpenters with their axes, and the host of people

and troops. He saw the men throw the materials for the fort out of the

ships. He saw them build up and enclose the fort, and dig the fosse

around it. He saw them land the shields and armour. And as he beheld

all this his spirit was troubled; and he girt his sword and took his

lance, saying he would go straightway to King Harold and tell the

news. Forthwith he set out on his way, resting late and rising early;

and thus he journeyed on by night and by day to seek Harold his lord."

And we see him in the tapestry speeding to his beloved master.

Meanwhile Harold is not idle. But the fleet which, in expectation of

his adversary's earlier arrival, he had stationed on the southern

coast, had lately dispersed from want of provisions, and the King,

occupied by the Norwegian invasion, had not been able to reinstate it;

and "William came against him (says the Saxon chronicle) unawares ere

his army was collected." Thus the enemy found nor opposition nor

hinderance in obtaining a footing in the island.

Taken at such disadvantage, Harold did all that a brave man could do

to repel his formidable adversary. The tapestry depicts, as well as

may be expected, the battle.

"The priests had watched all night, and besought and called upon God,

and prayed to him in their chapels, which were fitted up throughout

the host. They offered and vowed fasts, penances, and orisons; they

said psalms and misereres, litanies and kyriels; they cried on God,

and for his mercy, and said paternosters and masses; some the SPIRITUS

DOMINI, others SALUS POPULI, and many SALVE SANCTE PARENS, being

suited to the season, as belonging to that day, which was Saturday.

"AND NOW, BEHOLD! THAT BATTLE WAS GATHERED WHEREOF THE FAME IS YET

MIGHTY.

"Then Taillefer, who sang right well, rode, mounted on a swift horse,

before the duke.

"Loud and far resounded the bray of the horns, and the shocks of the

lances, the mighty strokes of clubs, and the quick clashing of swords.

One while the Englishmen rushed on, another while they fell back; one

while the men from over sea charged onwards, and again at other times

retreated. When the English fall, the Normans shout. Each side taunts

and defies the other, yet neither knoweth what the other saith; and

the Normans say the English bark, because they understand not their

speech.

"Some wax strong, others weak; the brave exult, but the cowards

tremble, as men who are sore dismayed. The Normans press on the

assault, and the English defend their post well; they pierce the

hauberks and cleave the shields; receive and return mighty blows.

Again some press forwards, others yield, and thus in various ways the

struggle proceeds."

The death of Harold's two brothers is depicted, and, finally, his own.

It is said that his mother offered the weight of the body in gold to

have the melancholy satisfaction of interring it, and that the

Conqueror refused the boon. But other writers affirm, and apparently

with truth, that William immediately transmitted the body, unransomed,

to the bereaved parent, who had it interred in the monastery of

Waltham.

With the death of Harold the tapestry now ends, though some writers

think it probable that it once extended as far as the coronation of

William. There can be little doubt of its having been intended to

extend so far, though it is impossible now to ascertain whether the

Queen was ever enabled quite to complete her Herculean task. Enough

there is, however, to stamp it as one of the "most noble and

interesting relics of antiquity;" and, as Dibdin calls it, "an

exceedingly curious document of the conjugal attachment, and even

enthusiastic veneration of Matilda, and a political record of more

weight than may at first sight appear to belong to it." Taking it

altogether, he adds, "none but itself could be its parallel."

Almost all historians describe the Normans as advancing to the onset

"singing the song of Roland," that is, a detail of the achievements

of the slaughtered hero of Roncesvalles, which is well known to have

been, for ages after the event to which it refers, a note of magical

inspiration to deeds of "derring do". On this occasion it is recorded

that the spirit note was sung by the minstrel Taillefer, who was,

however, little contented to lead his countrymen by voice alone. It is

not possible that our readers can be otherwise than pleased with the

following animated account of his deeds:[39]--

THE ONSET OF TAILLEFER

"Foremost in the bands of France,

Arm'd with hauberk and with lance,

And helmet glittering in the air,

As if a warrior-knight he were,

Rushed forth the minstrel Taillefer--

Borne on his courser swift and strong,

He gaily bounded o'er the plain,

And raised the heart-inspiring song

(Loud echoed by the warlike throng)

Of Roland and of Charlemagne,

Of Oliver, brave peer of old,

Untaught to fly, unknown to yield,

And many a knight and vassal bold,

Whose hallowed blood, in crimson flood,

Dyed Roncesvalles' field.

"Harold's host he soon descried,

Clustering on the hill's steep side:

Then turned him back brave Taillefer,

And thus to William urged his prayer:

'Great Sire, it fits me not to tell

How long I've served you, or how well;

Yet if reward my lays may claim,

Grant now the boon I dare to name;

Minstrel no more, be mine the blow

That first shall strike yon perjured foe.'

'Thy suit is gained,' the Duke replied,

'Our gallant minstrel be our guide.'

'Enough,' he cried, 'with joy I speed,

Foremost to vanquish or to bleed.'

"And still of Roland's deeds he sung,

While Norman shouts responsive rung,

As high in air his lance he flung,

With well directed might;

Back came the lance into his hand,

Like urchin's ball, or juggler's wand,

And twice again, at his command,

Whirled its unerring flight.--

While doubting whether skill or charm

Had thus inspired the minstrel's arm,

The Saxons saw the wondrous dart

Fixed in their standard bearer's heart.

"Now thrice aloft his sword he threw,

'Midst sparkling sunbeams dancing,

And downward thrice the weapon flew,

Like meteor o'er the evening dew,

From summer sky swift glancing:

And while amazement gasped for breath,

Another Saxon groaned in death.

"More wonders yet!--on signal made,

With mane erect, and eye-balls flashing,

The well taught courser rears his head,

His teeth in ravenous fury gnashing;

He snorts--he foams--and upward springs--

Plunging he fastens on the foe,

And down his writhing victim flings,

Crushed by the wily minstrel's blow.

Thus seems it to the hostile band

Enchantment all, and fairy land.

"Fain would I leave the rest unsung:--

The Saxon ranks, to madness stung,

Headlong rushed with frenzied start,

Hurling javelin, mace, and dart;

No shelter from the iron shower

Sought Taillefer in that sad hour;

Yet still he beckoned to the field,

'Frenchman, come on--the Saxons yield--

Strike quick--strike home--in Roland's name--

For William's glory--Harold's shame.'

Then pierced with wounds, stretched side by side,

The minstrel and his courser died."

We have dwelt on the details of the tapestry with a prolixity which

some may deem tedious. Yet surely the subject is worthy of it; for, in

the first place, it is the oldest piece of needlework in the

world--the only piece of that era now existing; and this circumstance

in itself suggests many interesting ideas, on which, did our space

permit, we could readily dilate. Ages have rolled away; and the fair

hands that wrought this work have mouldered away into dust; and the

gentle and affectionate spirit that suggested this elaborate memorial

has long since passed from the scene which it adorned and dignified.

In no long period after the battle thus commemorated, an abbey,

consecrated to praise and prayer, raised its stately walls on the very

field that was ploughed with the strife and watered with the blood of

fierce and evil men. The air that erst rang with the sounds of wrath,

of strife, of warfare, the clangour of armour, the din of war, was now

made musical with the chorus of praise, or was gently stirred by the

breath of prayer or the sigh of penitence; and where contending hosts

were marshalled in proud array, or the phalanx rushed impetuous to the

battle, were seen the stoled monks in solemn procession, or the holy

brother peacefully wending on his errand of charity.

But the grey and time-honoured walls waxed aged as they beheld

generation after generation consigned to dust beneath their shelter.

Time and change have done their worst. A few scattered ruins, seen

dimly through the mist of years, are all that remain to point to the

inquiring wanderer the site of the stupendous struggle of which the

results are felt even after the expiration of eight hundred years.

These may be deemed trite reflections: still it is worthy of remark,

that many of the turbulent spirits who then made earth echo with their

fame would have been literally and altogether as though they never had

been--for historians make little or no mention of them--were it not

for the lasting monument raised to them in this tapestry by woman's

industry and skill.

Matilda the Queen's character is pictured in high terms by both

English and Norman historians. "So very stern was her husband, and

hot, that no man durst do anything against his will. He had earls in

his custody who acted against his will. Bishops he hurled from their

bishoprics, and abbots from their abbacies, and thanes into prison;"

yet it is recorded that even his iron temper was not proof against the

good sense, the gentleness, the piety, and the affection of a wife who

never offended him but once; and on this occasion there was so much to

palliate and excuse her fault, proceeding as it did from a mother's

yearnings towards her eldest son when he was in disgrace and sorrow,

that the usually unyielding King forgave her immediately. She lived

beloved, and she died lamented; and, from the time of her death, the

King, says William of Malmsbury, "refrained from every gratification."

Independently of the value of this tapestry as an historical

authority, and its interest as being projected, and in part executed,

by a lady as excellent in character as she was noble in rank, and its

high estimation as the oldest piece of needlework extant--independently

of all these circumstances, it is impossible to study this memorial

closely, "rude and skilless" as it at first appears, without becoming

deeply interested in the task. The outline engravings of it in the

"Tapisseries Anciennes Historiees" are beautifully executed, but are

inferior in interest to Mr. Stothart's (published by the Society of

Antiquarians), because these have the advantage of being coloured

accurately from the original. In the study of these plates alone, days

and weeks glided away, nor left us weary of our task.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] The Comet of 1618 carried dismay and horror in its course. Not

only mighty monarchs, but the humblest private individuals seem to

have considered the sign as sent to them, and to have set a double

guard on all their actions. Thus Sir Symonds D'Ewes, the learned

antiquary, having been in danger of an untimely end by entangling

himself among some bell-ropes, makes a memorandum in his private diary

never more to exercise himself in bell-ringing when there is a comet

in the sky.--Aikin.

[39] By Thomas Amyot, Esq., F.S.A.--Archaeol., vol. xix

CHAPTER X.

NEEDLEWORK OF THE TIMES OF ROMANCE AND CHIVALRY.

"As ladies wont

To finger the fine needle and nyse thread."

Faerie Queene.

Though, during bygone ages, the fingers of the fair and noble were

often sedulously employed in the decoration and embellishment of the

church, and of its ministers, they were by no means universally so.

Marvellous indeed in quantity, as well as quality, must have been the

stitchery done in those industrious days, for the "fine needle and

nyse thread" were not merely visible but conspicuous in every

department of life. If, happily, there were not proof to the contrary,

we might be apt to imagine that the women of those days came into the

world _only_ "to ply the distaff, broider, card, and sew." That this

was not the case we, however, well know; but before we turn to those

embroideries which are more especially the subject of this chapter, we

will transcribe, from a recent work,[40] an interesting detail of the

household responsibilities of the mistress of a family in the

fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

"While to play on the harp and citole (a species of lute), to execute

various kinds of the most costly and delicate needle-work, and in some

instances to 'pourtraye,' were, in addition to more literary pursuits,

the accomplishments of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the

functions which the mistress of an extensive household was expected to

fulfil were never lost sight of.

"Few readers are aware of the various qualifications requisite to form

the 'good housewife' during the middle ages. In the present day, when

household articles of every kind are obtainable in any country town,

and, with few exceptions, throughout the year, we can know little of

the judgment, the forethought, and the nice calculation which were

required in the mistress of a household consisting probably of

three-score, or even more persons, and who, in the autumn, had to

provide almost a twelvemonth's stores. There was the fire-wood, the

rushes to strew the rooms, the malt, the oatmeal, the honey (at this

period the substitute for sugar), the salt (only sold in large

quantities), and, if in the country, the wheat and the barley for the

bread--all to be provided and stored away. The greater part of the

meat used for the winter's provision was killed and salted down at

Martinmas; and the mistress had to provide the necessary stock for the

winter and spring consumption, together with the stockfish and

'baconed herrings' for Lent. Then at the annual fair, the only

opportunity was afforded for purchasing those more especial articles

of housewifery which the careful housewife never omitted buying--the

ginger, nutmegs, and cinnamon, for the Christmas posset, and

Sheer-Monday furmety; the currants and almonds for the Twelfth-Night

cake (an observance which dates almost as far back as the Conquest);

the figs, with which our forefathers always celebrated Palm-Sunday;

and the pepper, the saffron, and the cummin, so highly prized in

ancient cookery. All these articles bore high prices, and therefore it

was with great consideration and care that they were bought.

"But the task of providing raiment for the family also devolved upon

the mistress, and there were no dealers save for the richer articles

of wearing apparel to be found. The wool that formed the chief

clothing was the produce of the flock, or purchased in a raw state;

and was carded, spun, and in some instances woven at home. Flax, also,

was often spun for the coarser kinds of linen, and occasionally woven.

Thus, the mistress of a household had most important duties to fulfil,

for on her wise and prudent management depended not merely the

comfort, but the actual well-being of her extensive household. If the

winter's stores were insufficient, there were no markets from whence

an additional supply could be obtained; and the lord of wide estates

and numerous manors might be reduced to the most annoying privations

through the mismanagement of the mistress of the family."

The "costly and delicate needle-work" is here, as elsewhere, passed

over with merely a mention. It is, naturally, too insignificant a

subject to task the attention of those whose energies are devoted to

describing the warfare and welfare of kingdoms and thrones. Thus did

we look only to professed historians, though enough exists in their

pages to evidence the existence of such productions as those which

form the subject of our chapter, our evidence would be meagre indeed

as to the minuter details: but as the "novel" now describes those

minutiae of every day life which we should think it ridiculous to look

for in the writings of the politician or historian, so the romances of

the days of chivalry present us with descriptions which, if they be

somewhat redundant in ornament, are still correct in groundwork; and

the details gathered from romances have in, it may be, unimportant

circumstances, that accidental corroboration from history which fairly

stamps their faithfulness in more important particulars: and it has

been shown, says the author of 'Godefridus,' by learned men, in the

memoirs of the French Academy of Inscriptions, that they may be used

in common with history, and as of equal authority whenever an inquiry

takes place respecting the _spirit and manners of the ages_ in which

they were composed. But we are writing a dissertation on romance

instead of describing the "clodes ryche," to which we must now

proceed.

So highly was a facility in the use of the needle prized in these

"ould ancient times," that a wandering damsel is not merely

_tolerated_ but _cherished_ in a family in which she is a perfect

stranger, solely from her skill in this much-loved art.

After being exposed in an open boat, Emare was rescued by Syr Kadore,

remained in his castle, and there--

"She tawghte hem to _sewe_ and _marke_

All _maner of sylkyn werke_,

Of her they wer ful fayne."[41]

Syr Kadore says of her--

"She ys the konnyngest wommon,

I trowe, that be yn Crystendom,

Of _werk_ that y have sene."

And again describing her--

"She _sewed sylke_ werk yn bour."

This same accomplished and luckless lady had, princess though she was,

every advantage of early tuition in this notable art, having been sent

in her childhood to a lady called Abro, who not only taught her

"curtesye and thewe" (virtue and good manners), but also

"Golde and sylke for to sewe,

Amonge maydenes moo:"

evidently an old dame's school; where, however, we may infer from the

arrangement of the accomplishments taught, and the special mention of

needlework, that the extra expense would be for the _sewing_; whereas,

in our time and country (or county), the routine has been, "REDING AND

SOING, THREE-PENCE A WEEK: A PENY EXTRA FOR MANNERS."

This expensive and troublesome acquirement--the art of sewing in

"golde and silke"--was of general adoption: gorgeous must have been

the appearance of the damsels and knights of those days, when their

"----Clothys wyth bestes & byrdes wer _bete_,[42]

All abowte for pryde."

"By that light Amadis saw his lady, and she appeared more beautiful

than man could fancy woman could be. She had on a robe of _Indian

silk, thickly wrought with flowers of gold_; her hair was so beautiful

that it was a wonder, and she had covered it only with a garland."[43]

"Now when the fair Grasinda heard of the coming of the fleet, and of

all that had befallen, she made ready to receive Oriana, whom of all

persons in the world she most desired to see, because of her great

renown that was everywhere spread abroad. She therefore wished to

appear before her like a lady of such rank and such wealth as indeed

she was: the robe which she put on was adorned with _roses of gold,

wrought with marvellous skill, and bordered with pearls and precious

stones_ of exceeding value."[44]

"His fine, soft garments, wove with cunning skill,

All over, ease and wantonness declare;

These with her hand, such subtle toil well taught,

For him, in silk and gold, Alcina wrought."[45]

"Mayde Elene, al so tyte.

In a robe of samyte,[46]

Anoon sche gan her tyre,

To do Lybeau's profyte

In kevechers whyt,

Arayde wyth golde wyre.

A velvwet mantyll gay,

Pelored[47] wyth grys and gray

Sche caste abowte her swyre;

A sercle upon her molde,

Of stones and of golde,

The best yn that empyre."[48]

We read perpetually of "kercheves well schyre,[49]

"Arayde wyth ryche gold wyre."

But the labours of those days were not confined to merely

good-appearing garments: the skill of the needlewoman--for doubtless

it was solely attributable to that--could imbue them with a value far

beyond that of mere outward garnish.

"She seyde, Syr Knight, gentyl and hende,[50]

I wot thy stat, ord, and ende,

Be naught aschamed of me;

If thou wylt truly to me take,

And alle wemen for me forsake

Ryche i wyll make the.

I wyll the geve an alner,[51]

Imad of sylk and of gold cler,

Wyth fayr ymages thre;

As oft thou puttest the hond therinne

A mark of gold thou schalt wynne,

In wat place that thou be."[52]

But infinitely more marvellous is the following:--"King Lisuarte was

so content with the tidings of Amadis and Galaor, which the dwarf had

brought him, that he determined to hold the most honourable court that

ever had been held in Great Britain. Presently three knights came

through the gate, two of them armed at all points, the third unarmed,

of good stature and well proportioned, his hair grey, but of a green

and comely old age. He held in his hand a coffer; and, having inquired

which was the king, dismounted from his palfrey and kneeled before

him, saying, 'God preserve you, Sir! for you have made the noblest

promise that ever king did, if you hold it.' 'What promise was that?'

quoth Lisuarte. 'To maintain chivalry in its highest honour and

degree: few princes now-a-days labour to that end; therefore are you

to be commended above all other.' 'Certes, knight, that promise shall

hold while I live.' 'God grant you life to complete it!' quoth the old

man: 'and because you have summoned a great court to London, I have

brought something here which becomes such a person, for such an

occasion.' Then he opened the coffer and took out a Crown of Gold, so

curiously wrought and set with pearls and gems, that all were amazed

at its beauty; and it well appeared that it was only fit for the brow

of some mighty lord. 'Is it not a work which the most cunning artists

would wonder at?' said the old knight. Lisuarte answered, 'In truth it

is.' 'Yet,' said the knight, 'it hath a virtue more to be esteemed

than its rare work and richness: whatever king hath it on his head

shall always increase his honour; this it did for him for whom it was

made till the day of his death: since then no king hath worn it. I

will give it you, sir, for one boon.'----'You also, Lady,' said the

knight, 'should purchase a rich mantle that I bring:' and he took from

the coffer the richest and most beautiful mantle that ever was seen;

for besides the pearls and precious stones with which it was

beautified, there were figured on it all the birds and beasts in

nature; so that it looked like a miracle. 'On my faith,' exclaimed the

Queen, 'this cloth can only have been made by that Lord who can do

everything.' 'It is the work of man,' said the old knight; 'but rarely

will one be found to make its fellow: it should belong to wife rather

than maiden, for she that weareth it _shall never have dispute with

her husband_.' Britna answered, 'If that be true, it is above all

price; I will give you for it whatsoever you ask.' And Lisuarte bade

him demand what he would for the mantle and crown."[53]

But the robe which occupied the busy fingers of the Saracen king's

daughter for seven long years, and of which the jewelled ornaments

inwrought in it--as was then very usual--were sought far and wide, has

often been referred to (albeit wanting in fairy gifts) as a crowning

proof of female industry and talent. We give the full description from

the Romance of 'EMARE,' in Ritson's collection:--

"Sone aftur yu a whyle,

The ryche Kynge of Cesyle

To the Emperour gaun wende,

A ryche present wyth hym he browght,

A cloth that was wordylye wroght,

He wellcomed hym at the hende.[54]

"Syr Tergaunte, that nobyll knyghte hyghte,

He presented the Emperour ryght,

And sette hym on hys kne,

Wyth that cloth rychyly dyght.

Full of stones ther hit was pyght,

At thykke as hit myght be,

Off topaze and rubyes,

And other stones of myche prys,

That semely wer to se,

Of crapowtes and nakette,

As thykke ar they sette

For sothe as y say the.

"The cloth was displayed sone,

The Emperoer lokede therupone,

And myght hyt not se,

For glysteryng of the ryche ston

Redy syght had he non,

And sayde, How may thys be?

The Emperour sayde on hygh,

Sertes thys ys a fayry,

Or ellys a vanyte.

The Kyng of Cysyle answered than,

So ryche a jewell ys ther non

In all Crystyante.

"The amerayle[55] dowghter of hethennes

Made this cloth withouten lees,

And wrowghte hit all with pride,

And purtreyed hyt with gret honour,

Wyth ryche golde and asowr,[56]

And stones on ylke a side;

And, as the story telles in honde,

The stones that yn this cloth stonde

Sowghte they wer full wyde.

Seven wynter hit was yn makynge,

Or hit was browght to endynge,

In herte ys not to hyde.

"In that on korner made was

Idoyne and Amadas,

With love that was so trewe,

For they loveden hem wit honour,

Portrayed they wer with trewe-love flour,

Of stones bryght of hewe,

Wyth carbankull and safere,

Kasydonys and onyx so clere,

Sette in golde newe,

Deamondes and rubyes,

And other stones of mychyll pryse,

And menstrellys with her gle.

"In that other korner was dyght,

Trystram and Isowde so bryght,

That semely wer to se,

And for they loved hem ryght,

As full of stones ar they dyght,

As thykke as they may be,

Of topase and of rubyes,

And other stones of myche pryse,

That semely wer to se,

With crapawtes and nakette,

Thykke of stones ar they sette,

For sothe as y say the.

"In the thyrdde korner, with gret honour,

Was Florys and dame Blawncheflour,

As love was hem betwene,

For they loved wyth honour,

Purtrayed they wer with trewe-love-flower,

With stones bryght and shene.

Ther wer knyghtes and senatowres,

Emerawdes of gret vertues,

To wyte withouten wene,

Deamondes and koralle,

Perydotes and crystall,

And gode garnettes bytwene.

"In the fowrthe korner was oon

Of Babylone the sowdan sonne,

The amerayle's dowghter hym by,

For hys sake the cloth was wrowght,

She loved hym in hert and thowght,

As testy-moyeth thys storye.

The fayr mayden her byforn

Was purtrayed an unykorn,

With hys horn so hye,

Flowres and bryddes on ylke a syde,

Wyth stones that wer sowght wyde,

Stuffed wyth ymagerye.

"When the cloth to ende was wrought,

To the sowdan sone hit was browght,

That semely was of syghte:

'My fadyr was a nobyll man,

Of the sowdan he hit wan,

Wyth maystrye and myghth;

For gret love he yaf hyt me,

I brynge hit the in specyalte,

Thys cloth ys rychely dyght.'

He yaf hit the Emperour,

He receyved hit wyth gret honour,

And thonkede hym fayr and ryght."

We must not dismiss this subject without recording a species of mantle

much celebrated in romance, and which must have tried the skill and

patience of the fair votaries of the needle to the uttermost. We all

have seen, perhaps we have some of us been foolish enough to

manufacture, initials with hair, as tokens or souvenirs, or some other

such fooleries. In our mothers' and grandmothers' days, when "fine

marking" was the _sine qua non_ of a good education, whole sets of

linen were thus elaborately marked; and often have we marvelled when

these tokens of grandmotherly skill and industry were displayed to our

wondering and aching eyes. What then should we have thought of King

Ryence's mantle, of rich scarlet, bordered round with the beards of

kings, sewed thereon full craftily by accomplished female hands. Thus

runs the anecdote in the 'Morte Arthur:'--

"Came a messenger hastely from King Ryence, of North Wales, saying,

that King Ryence had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and

everiche of them did him homage, and that was thus: they gave him

their beards cleane flayne off,--wherefore the messenger came for King

Arthur's beard, for King Ryence had purfeled a mantell with king's

beards, and there lacked for one a place of the mantell, wherefore he

sent for his beard, or else he would enter into his lands, and brenn

and slay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. 'Well,'

said King Arther, 'thou hast said thy message, which is the most

villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king.

Also thou mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell

of; but tell thou the king that--or it be long--he shall do to _me_

homage on both his knees, or else he shall leese his head.'"

In Queen Elizabeth's day, when they were beginning to skim the cream

of the ponderous tomes of former times into those elaborate ditties

from which the more modern ballad takes its rise, this incident was

put into rhyme, and was sung before her majesty at the grand

entertainment at Kenilworth Castle, 1575, thus:--

"As it fell out on a Pentecost day,

King Arthur at Camelot kept his Court royall,

With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay,

And many bold barons sitting in hall;

With ladies attired in purple and pall;

And heraults in hewkes,[57] hooting on high,

Cryed, _Largesse, largesse, Chevaliers tres hardie_.

"A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas

Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;

With steven[58] fulle stoute amids all the preas,

Sayd, Nowe sir King Arthur, God save thee, and see!

Sir Ryence of Northgales greeteth well thee,

And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,

Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.

"For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,

With eleven kings beards bordered about,

And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,[59]

For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:

This must be done, be thou never so stout;

This must be done, I tell thee no fable,

Maugre the teethe of all thy rounde table.

"When this mortal message from his mouthe past,

Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower,

The king fum'd; the queen screecht; ladies were aghast;

Princes puff'd; barons blustered; lords began lower;

Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower;

Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall;

Then in came Sir Kay, the king's seneschal.

"Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight,

And in that stound the stowre began still:

Then the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight;

Of wine and wassel he had his wille:

And when he had eaten and drunken his fill,

An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold

Were given this dwarfe for his message bold.

"But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarfe, quoth the king,

That for his bold message I do him defye;

And shortly with basins and pans will him ring

Out of North Gales; where he and I

With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye

Whether he or King Arthur will prove the best barbor:

And therewith he shook his good sword Excalabor."

Drayton thus alludes to the same circumstance:--

"Then told they, how himselfe great Arthur did advance,

To meet (with his Allies) that puissant force in France,

By Lucius thither led; those Armies that while ere

Affrighted all the world, by him strooke dead with feare:

Th' report of his great Acts that over Europe ran,

In that most famous field he with the Emperor wan:

As how great Rython's selfe hee slew in his repaire,

Who ravisht Howell's Neece, young Helena the faire;

And for a trophy brought the Giant's coat away,

Made of the beards of kings."[60]----

And Spenser is too uncourteous in his adoption of the incident; for he

not only levels tolls on the gentlemen's beards, but even on the

flowing and golden locks of the gentle sex:--

"Not farre from hence, upon yond rocky hill,

Hard by a streight there stands a castle strong,

Which doth observe a custom lewd and ill,

And it hath long mayntaind with mighty wrong:

For may no knight nor lady passe along

That way, (and yet they needs must passe that way,

By reason of the streight, and rocks among,)

But they that Ladies locks doe shave away,

And that knight's berd for toll, which they for passage pay.

"A shamefull use, as ever I did heare,

Said Calidore, and to be overthrowne.

But by what means did they at first it reare,

And for what cause, tell, if thou have it knowne.

Sayd then that Squire: The Lady which doth owne

This Castle is by name Briana hight;

Then which a prouder Lady liveth none;

She long time hath deare lov'd a doughty knight,

And sought to win his love by all the meanes she might.

"His name is Crudor, who through high disdaine

And proud despight of his selfe-pleasing mynd,

Refused hath to yeeld her love againe,

Untill a Mantle she for him doe fynd,

With beards of knights and locks of Ladies lynd,

Which to provide, she hath this Castle dight,

And therein hath a Seneschall assynd,

Cald Maleffort, a man of mickle might,

Who executes her wicked will, with worse despight."[61]

"To pluck the beard" of another has ever been held the highest

possible sign of scorn and contumely; but it was certainly a

refinement on the matter, for which we are indebted to the Morte

Arthur, or rather probably, according to Bishop Percy, to Geoffrey of

Monmouth's history originally, for the unique and ornamental purpose

to which these despoiled locks were applied. So particularly anxious

was Charlemagne to shew this despite to an enemy that, as we read in

Huon de Bordeaux, he despatched no less than fifteen successive

messengers from France to Babylon to pull the beard of Admiral

Gaudisse. And this, by no means pleasant operation, was to be

accompanied by one even still less inviting.

"Alors le duc Naymes, & tres tous les Barons, s'en retournerent au

palais avec le Roy, lequel s'assist sur un banc dore de fin or, & les

Barons tous autour de luy. Si commanda qu'on luy amenast Huon, lequel

il vint, et se mist a genoux devant le roy, ou luy priant moult

humblement que pitie & mercy voulsist avoir de luy. Alors le roy le

voyant en sa presence luy dist: Huon puisque vers moy veux estre

accorde, si convient que faciez ce que je vous or donneray. Sire, ce

dist Huon, pour obeir a vous, il n'est aujourd'huy chose en ce monde

mortel, que corps humain puisse porter, que hardiment n'osasse

entreprendre, ne ia pour peur de mort ne le laisseray a faire, & fust

a aller jusques a l'arbre sec, voire jusques aux portaux d'enfer

combattre aux infernaux, comme fist le fort Hercule: avant qu'a vous

ne fusse accorde. Huon, ce dist Charles, je cuide qu'en pire lieu vous

envoyeray, car, de quinze messages qui de par moy y ont este envoyez,

n'en est par revenu un seul homme. Si te diray ou tu iras, puis que tu

veux qui de toy aye mercy, m'a volonte est, qu'il te convient aller en

la cite de Babylonne, par devers diray, & gardes que sur ta vie ne

face faute, quand la seras venu tu monteras en son palais, la ou tu

attendras l'heure de son disner & que tu le verras assis a table. Si

convient que tu sois arme de toutes armes, l'espee nue au poing, par

tel si que le premier & le plus grand baron que tu verras manger a sa

table tu luy trencheras le chef quel qu'il soit, soit Roy, ou Admiral.

Et apres ce te convient tant faire que la belle Esclarmonde fille a

l'Amiral Gaudisse tu fiances, & la baises trois fois en la presence de

son pere, & de tous sous qui la seront presens, car je veux que tu

scaches que c'est la plus belle pucelle qu'aujourd'huy soit en vie,

puis apres diras de par moy a l'Admiral qu'il m'envoye mille

espreuiers, mille ours, mille viautres, tous enchainez, & mille jeune

valets, & mille des plus belles pucelles de son royaume, & avecques

ce, convient _que tu me rapportes une poignee de sa barbe, et quatre

de ses dents machoires_. Ha! Sire, dirent les Barons, bien desirez sa

mort, quant de tel message faire luy enchargez, vous dites la verite

ce dit le Roy, car si tant ne fait que j'aye la barbe & les dents

machoires sans aucune tromperie ne mensonge, jamais ne retourne en

France, ne devant moi ne se monstre. Car je le ferois pendre &

trainer. Sire, ce dit Huon, m'avez vous dit & racompte tout ce que

voulez que je face. Oui dist le Roy Charles ma volonte est telle, si

vers moy veux avoir paix. Sire ce dit Huon, au plaisir de nostre

Seigneur, je feray & fourniray vostre message."

In what precise way the beards were sewed on the mantles we are not

exactly informed. Whether this royal exuberance was left to shine in

its own unborrowed lustre, its own naked magnificence, as too valuable

to be intermixed with the grosser things of earth: whether it was

thinly scattered over the surface of the "rich scarlet;" or whether it

was gathered into locks, perhaps gemmed round with orient pearl, or

clustered together with brilliant emeralds, sparkling diamonds, or

rich rubies--"Sweets to the sweet:" whether it was exposed to the

vulgar gaze on the mantle, or whether it was so arranged that only at

the pleasure of the mighty wearer its radiant beauties were

visible:--on all these deeply interesting particulars we should

rejoice in having any information; but, alas! excepting what we have

recorded, not one circumstance respecting them has "floated down the

tide of years." But we may perhaps form a correct idea of them from

viewing a shield of human hair in the museum of the United Service

Club, which may be supposed to have been _compiled_ (so to speak)

with the same benevolent feelings as that of the heroes to whom we

have been alluding. It is from Borneo Island, and is formed of locks

of hair placed at regular intervals on a ground of thin tough wood: a

refined and elegant mode of displaying the scalps of slaughtered foes.

These coincidences are curious, and may serve at any rate to show that

King Ryence's mantle was not the _invention_ of the penman; but, in

all probability, actually existed.

The ladies of these days did not confine their handiwork merely to the

adornment of the person. We have seen that among the Egyptians the

couches that at night were beds were in the daytime adorned with

richly wrought coverlets. So amongst the classical nations

"------the menial fair that round her wait,

At Helen's beck prepare the room of state;

Beneath an ample portico they spread

The downy fleece to form the slumberous bed;

And o'er soft palls of purple grain, unfold

_Rich tapestry, stiff with inwoven gold_."

And during the middle ages the beds, not excluded from the day

apartments, often gave gorgeous testimony of the skill of the

needlewoman, and were among the richest ornaments of the sitting room,

so much fancy and expense were lavished on them. The curtains were

often made of very rich material, and usually adorned with embroidery.

They were often also trimmed with expensive furs: Philippa of Hainault

had a bed on which sea-syrens were embroidered. The coverlid was

often very rich:

"The ladi lay in hire bed,

With riche clothes bespred,

Of gold and purpre palle."[62]

"Here beds are seen adorned with silk and gold."[63]

"------on a bed design'd

With gay magnificence the fair reclin'd;

High o'er her head, on silver columns rais'd,

With broidering gems her proud pavilion blaz'd."

"Thence pass'd into a bow'r, where stood a bed,

With milkwhite furs of Alexandria spread:

Beneath, a richly broider'd vallance hung;

The pillows were of silk; o'er all was flung

A rare wrought coverlet of phoenix plumes,

Which breathed, as warm with life, its rich perfumes."[64]

The array of the knights of these days was gorgeous and beautiful; and

though the materials might be in themselves, and frequently were

costly, still were they entirely indebted to the female hand for the

rich elegance of the _tout ensemble_. And the custom of disarming and

robing knights anew after the conflict, whether of real or mimic war,

to which we have alluded as a practice of classical antiquity, was as

much or even more practised now, and afforded to the ladies an

admirable opportunity of exhibiting alike their preference, their

taste, and their liberality.

"Amadis and Agrayes proceeded till they came to the castle of Torin,

the dwelling of that fair young damsel, where they were disarmed and

mantles given them, and they were conducted into the hall."[65]

"Thus they arrived at the palace, and there was he (the Green Sword

Knight) lodged in a rich chamber, and was disarmed, and his hands and

face washed from the dust, and they gave him a rose-coloured

mantle."[66]

The romance of "Ywaine and Gawin" abounds in instances:

"A damisel come unto me,

The semeliest that ever I se,

Lufsumer lifed never in land,

Hendly scho toke me by the hand,

And sone that gentyl creature

Al unlaced myne armure;

Into a chamber scho me led,

And with a mantil scho me cled;

It was of purpur, fair and fine;

And the pane of ermyne."

Again--

"The maiden redies hyr fal rath,[67]

Bilive sho gert syr Ywaine bath,

And cled him sethin[68] in gude scarlet,

Forord wele with gold fret,

A girdel ful riche for the nanes,

Of perry[69] and of precious stanes."

And--

"The mayden was bowsom and bayne[70]

Forto unarme syr Ywayne,

Serk and breke both sho hym broght,

That ful craftily war wroght,

Of riche cloth soft als the sylk,

And tharto white als any mylk.

Sho broght hym ful riche wedes to wer."

On the widely acknowledged principle of "Love me, love my dog," the

steed of a favoured knight was often adorned by the willing fingers of

the fair.

"Each damsel and each dame who her obeyed,

She task'd, together with herself, to sew,

With subtle toil; and with fine gold o'erlaid

A piece of silk of white and sable hue:

With this she trapt the horse."[71]

The tabards or surcoats which knights wore over their armour was the

article of dress in which they most delighted to display their

magnificence. They varied in form, but were mostly made of rich silk,

or of cloth of gold or silver, lined or trimmed with choice and

expensive furs, and usually, also, having the armorial bearings of the

family richly embroidered. Thus were women even the heralds of those

times. Besides the acknowledged armorial bearings, devices were often

wrought symbolical of some circumstance in the life of the wearer.

Thus we are told in Amadis that the Emperor of Rome, on his black

surcoat, had a golden chain-work woven, which device he swore never to

lay aside till he had Amadis in chains. The same romance gives the

following incident regarding a surcoat.

"Then Amadis cried to Florestan and Agrayes, weeping as he spake, good

kinsman, I fear we have lost Don Galaor, let us seek for him. They

went to the spot where Amadis had smitten down King Cildadan, and seen

his brother last on foot; but so many were the dead who lay there that

they saw him not, till as they moved away the bodies, Florestan knew

him by the sleeve of his _surcoat_, which was of azure, worked with

silver flowers, and then they made great moan over him."

The shape of them, as we have remarked, varied considerably; besides

minor alterations they were at one time worn very short, at another so

long as to trail on the ground. But this luxurious style was

occasionally attended with direful effects. Froissart names a surcoat

in which Sir John Chandos was attired, which was embroidered with his

arms in white sarsnet, argent a field gules, one on his back and

another on his breast. It was a long robe which swept the ground, and

this circumstance, most probably, caused the untimely death of one of

the most esteemed knights of chivalry.

Sir John Chandos was one of the brightest of that chivalrous circle

which sparkled in the reign of Edward the Third. He was gentle as well

as valiant; he was in the van with the Black Prince at the battle of

Cressy; and at the battle of Poictiers he never left his side. His

death was unlooked for and sudden. Some disappointments had depressed

his spirits, and his attendants in vain endeavoured to cheer them.

"And so he stode in a kechyn, warmyng him by the fyre, and his

servantes jangled with hym, to {thentent} to bring him out of his

melancholy; his servantes had prepared for hym a place to rest hym:

than he demanded if it were nere day, and {therewith} there {came} a

man into the house, and came before hym, and sayd,

'Sir, I have brought you tidynges.'

'What be they, tell me?'

'Sir, surely the {frenchmen} be rydinge abrode.'

'How knowest thou that?'

'Sir,' sayd he, 'I departed fro saynt Saluyn with them.'

'What way be they ryden?'

'Sir, I can nat tell you the certentie, but surely they take the

highway to Poiters.'

'What {Frenchmen} be they; canst thou tell me?'

'Sir, it is Sir Loys of Saynt Julyan, and Carlovet the Breton.'

'Well, quoth Sir Johan Chandos, I care nat, I have no lyst this night

to ryde forthe: they may happe to be {encountred} though I be nat

ther.'

"And so he taryed there styll a certayne space in a gret study, and at

last, when he had well aduysed hymselfe, he sayde, 'Whatsoever I have

sayd here before, I trowe it be good that I ryde forthe; I must

retourne to Poictiers, and anone it will be day.'

'That is true sir,' quoth the knightes about hym.

'Then,' he sayd, 'make redy, for I wyll ryde forthe.'

"And so they dyd."

The skirmish commenced; there had fallen a great dew in the morning,

in consequence of which the ground was very slippery; the knight's

foot slipped, and in trying to recover himself, it became entangled in

the folds of his magnificent _surcoat_; thus the fall was rendered

irretrievable, and whilst he was down he received his death blow.