EMPLOYMENT OF ANIMALS IN MEDIÆVAL SATIRE.--POPULARITY OF FABLES;
ODO DE CIRINGTON.--REYNARD THE FOX.--BURNELLUS AND FAUVEL.--THE
CHARIVARI.--LE MONDE BESTORNÉ.--ENCAUSTIC TILES.--SHOEING THE
GOOSE, AND FEEDING PIGS WITH ROSES.--SATIRICAL SIGNS; THE MUSTARD
MAKER.
The people of the middle ages appear to have been great admirers
of animals, to have observed closely their various characters and
peculiarities, and to have been fond of domesticating them. They
soon began to employ their peculiarities as means of satirising and
caricaturing mankind; and among the literature bequeathed to them by
the Romans, they received no book more eagerly than the "Fables of
Æsop," and the other collections of fables which were published under
the empire. We find no traces of fables among the original literature
of the German race; but the tribes who took possession of the Roman
provinces no sooner became acquainted with the fables of the ancients,
than they began to imitate them, and stories in which animals acted
the part of men were multiplied immensely, and became a very important
branch of mediæval fiction.
Among the Teutonic peoples especially, these fables often assumed very
grotesque forms, and the satire they convey is very amusing. One of the
earliest of these collections of original fables was composed by an
English ecclesiastic named Odo de Cirington, who lived in the time of
Henry II. and Richard I. In Odo's fables, we find the animals figuring
under the same popular names by which they were afterwards so well
known, such as Reynard for the Fox, Isengrin for the wolf, Teburg for
the cat, and the like. Thus the subject of one of them is "Isengrin
made Monk" (_de Isengrino monacho_). "Once," we are told, "Isengrin
desired to be a monk. By dint of fervent supplications, he obtained
the consent of the chapter, and received the tonsure, the cowl, and
the other insignia of monachism. At length they put him to school,
and he was to learn the 'Paternoster,' but he always replied, 'lamb'
(_agnus_) or 'ram' (_aries_). The monks taught him that he ought to
look upon the crucifix and upon the sacrament, but he ever directed his
eyes to the lambs and rams." The fable is droll enough, but the moral,
or application is still more grotesque. "Such is the conduct of many
of the monks, whose only cry is 'aries,' that is, good wine, and who
have their eyes always fixed on fat flesh and their platter;" whence the
saying in English--
_They thou the vulf hore_ _Though thou the hoary wolf_
_hod to preste,_ _consecrate to a priest,_
_they thou him to skole sette_ _though thou put him to school_
_salmes to lerne,_ _to learn Psalms,_
_hevere bet hise geres_ _ever are his ears turned_
_to the grove grene_. _to the green grove._
These lines are in the alliterative verse of the Anglo-Saxons, and
show that such fables had already found their place in the popular
poetry of the English people. Another of these fables is entitled "Of
the Beetle (_serabo_) and his Wife." "A beetle, flying through the
land, passed among most beautiful blooming trees, through orchards
and among roses and lilies, in the most lovely places, and at length
threw himself upon a dunghill among the dung of horses, and found there
his wife, who asked him whence he came. And the beetle said, 'I have
flown all round the earth and through it; I have seen the flowers of
almonds, and lilies, and roses, but I have seen no place so pleasant as
this,' pointing to the dunghill." The application is equally droll with
the former and equally uncomplimentary to the religious part of the
community. Odo de Cirington tells us that, "Thus many of the clergy,
monks, and laymen listen to the lives of the fathers, pass among the
lilies of the virgins, among the roses of the martyrs, and among the
violets of the confessors, yet nothing ever appears so pleasant and
agreeable as a strumpet, or the tavern, or a singing party, though it
is but a stinking dunghill and congregation of sinners."
[Illustration: _No. 45. The Fox in the Pulpit._]
[Illustration: _No. 46. Ecclesiastical Sincerity._]
[Illustration: _No. 47. Reynard turned Monk._]
Popular sculpture and painting were but the translation of popular
literature, and nothing was more common to represent, in pictures
and carvings, than individual men under the forms of the animals
who displayed similar characters or similar propensities. Cunning,
treachery, and intrigue were the prevailing vices of the middle ages,
and they were those also of the fox, who hence became a favourite
character in satire. The victory of craft over force always provoked
mirth. The fabulists, or, we should perhaps rather say, the satirists,
soon began to extend their canvas and enlarge their picture, and,
instead of single examples of fraud or injustice, they introduced
a variety of characters, not only foxes, but wolves, and sheep,
and bears, with birds also, as the eagle, the cock, and the crow,
and mixed them up together in long narratives, which thus formed
general satires on the vices of contemporary society. In this manner
originated the celebrated romance of "Reynard the Fox," which in
various forms, from the twelfth century to the eighteenth, has enjoyed
a popularity which was granted probably to no other book. The plot of
this remarkable satire turns chiefly on the long struggle between the
brute force of Isengrin the Wolf, possessed only with a small amount
of intelligence, which is easily deceived--under which character is
presented the powerful feudal baron--and the craftiness of Reynard
the Fox, who represents the intelligent portion of society, which had
to hold its ground by its wits, and these were continually abused to
evil purposes. Reynard is swayed by a constant impulse to deceive
and victimise everybody, whether friends or enemies, but especially
his uncle Isengrin. It was somewhat the relationship between the
ecclesiastical and baronial aristocracy. Reynard was educated in the
schools, and intended for the clerical order; and at different times
he is represented as acting under the disguise of a priest, of a monk,
of a pilgrim, or even of a prelate of the church. Though frequently
reduced to the greatest straits by the power of Isengrin, Reynard
has generally the better of it in the end: he robs and defrauds
Isengrin continually, outrages his wife, who is half in alliance
with him, and draws him into all sorts of dangers and sufferings,
for which the latter never succeeds in obtaining justice. The old
sculptors and artists appear to have preferred exhibiting Reynard in
his ecclesiastical disguises, and in these he appears often in the
ornamentation of mediæval architectural sculpture, in wood-carvings,
in the illuminations of manuscripts, and in other objects of art. The
popular feeling against the clergy was strong in the middle ages, and
no caricature was received with more favour than those which exposed
the immorality or dishonesty of a monk or a priest. Our cut No. 45 is
taken from a sculpture in the church of Christchurch, in Hampshire, for
the drawing of which I am indebted to my friend, Mr. Llewellynn Jewitt.
It represents Reynard in the pulpit preaching; behind, or rather
perhaps beside him, a diminutive cock stands upon a stool--in modern
times we should be inclined to say he was acting as clerk. Reynard's
costume consists merely of the ecclesiastical hood or cowl. Such
subjects are frequently found on the carved seats, or misereres, in the
stalls of the old cathedrals and collegiate churches. The painted glass
of the great window of the north cross-aisle of St. Martin's church in
Leicester, which was destroyed in the last century, represented the
fox, in the character of an ecclesiastic, preaching to a congregation
of geese, and addressing them in the words--_Testis est mihi Deus,
quam cupiam vos omnes visceribus meis_ (God is witness, how I desire
you all in my bowels), a parody on the words of the New Testament.[25]
Our cut No. 46 is taken from one of the misereres in the church of
St. Mary, at Beverley, in Yorkshire. Two foxes are represented in the
disguise of ecclesiastics, each furnished with a pastoral staff, and
they appear to be receiving instructions from a prelate or personage
of rank--perhaps they are undertaking a pilgrimage of penance. But
their sincerity is rendered somewhat doubtful by the geese concealed
in their hoods. In one of the incidents of the romance of Reynard,
the hero enters a monastery and becomes a monk, in order to escape the
wrath of King Noble, the lion. For some time he made an outward show of
sanctity and self-privation, but unknown to his brethren he secretly
helped himself freely to the good things of the monastery. One day he
observed, with longing lips, a messenger who brought four fat capons as
a present from a lay neighbour to the abbot. That night, when all the
monks had retired to rest, Reynard obtained admission to the larder,
regaled himself with one of the capons, and as soon as he had eaten it,
trussed the three others on his back, escaped secretly from the abbey,
and, throwing away his monastic garment, hurried home with his prey. We
might almost imagine our cut No. 47, taken from one of the stalls of
the church of Nantwich, in Cheshire, to have been intended to represent
this incident, or, at least, a similar one. Our next cut, No. 48, is
taken from a stall in the church of Boston, in Lincolnshire. A prelate,
equally false, is seated in his chair, with a mitre on his head, and
the pastoral staff in his right hand. His flock are represented by a
cock and hens, the former of which he holds securely with his right
hand, while he appears to be preaching to them.
[25] An engraving of this scene, modernised in character, is given in
Nichols's "Leicestershire," vol. i. plate 43.
[Illustration: _No. 48. The Prelate and his Flock._]
Another mediæval sculpture has furnished events for a rather curious
history, at the same time that it is a good illustration of our
subject. Odo de Cirington, the fabulist, tells us how, one day, the
wolf died, and the lion called the animals together to celebrate his
exequies. The hare carried the holy water, hedgehogs bore the candles,
the goats rang the bells, the moles dug the grave, the foxes carried
the corpse on the bier. Berengarius, the bear, celebrated mass, the ox
read the gospel, and the ass the epistle. When the mass was concluded,
and Isengrin buried, the animals made a splendid feast out of his
goods, and wished for such another funeral. Our satirical ecclesiastic
makes an application of this story which tells little to the credit
of the monks of his time. "So it frequently happens," he says, "that
when some rich man, an extortionist or a usurer, dies, the abbot or
prior of a convent of beasts, _i.e._ of men living like beasts, causes
them to assemble. For it commonly happens that in a great convent of
black or white monks (Benedictines or Augustinians) there are none
but beasts--lions by their pride, foxes by their craftiness, bears by
their voracity, stinking goats by their incontinence, asses by their
sluggishness, hedgehogs by their asperity, hares by their timidity,
because they were cowardly where there was no fear, and oxen by their
laborious cultivation of their land."[26]
[26] The Latin text of this and some others of the fables of Odo de
Cirington will be found in my "Selection of Latin Stories," pp.
50-52, 55-58, and 80.
[Illustration: _No. 49. The Funeral of the Fox._]
A scene closely resembling that here described by Odo, differing only
in the distribution of the characters, was translated from some such
written story into the pictorial language of the ancient sculptured
ornamentation of Strasburg Cathedral, where it formed, apparently,
two sides of the capital or entablature of a column near the chancel.
The deceased in this picture appears to be a fox, which was probably
the animal intended to be represented in the original, although, in
the copy of it preserved, it looks more like a squirrel. The bier is
carried by the goat and the boar, while a little dog underneath is
taking liberties with the tail of the latter. Immediately before the
bier, the hare carries the lighted taper, preceded by the wolf, who
carries the cross, and the bear, who holds in one hand the holy-water
vessel and in the other the aspersoir. This forms the first division
of the subject, and is represented in our cut No. 49. In the next
division (cut No. 50), the stag is represented celebrating mass, and
the ass reads the Gospel from a book which the cat supports with its
head.
[Illustration: _No. 50. The Mass for the Fox._]
This curious sculpture is said to have been of the thirteenth century.
In the fifteenth century it attracted the attention of the reformers,
who looked upon it as an ancient protest against the corruptions of
the mass, and one of the more distinguished of them, John Fischart,
had it copied and engraved on wood, and published it about the year
1580, with some verses of his own, in which it was interpreted as a
satire upon the papacy. This publication gave such dire offence to the
ecclesiastical authorities of Strasburg, that the Lutheran bookseller
who had ventured to publish it, was compelled to make a public apology
in the church, and the wood-engraving and all the impressions were
seized and burnt by the common hangman. A few years later, however, in
1608, another engraving was made, and published in a large folio with
Fischart's verses; and it is from the diminished copy of this second
edition--given in Flögel's "Geschichte des Komisches Literatur"--that
our cuts are taken. The original Sculpture was still more unfortunate.
Its publication and explanation by Fischart was the cause of no little
scandal among the Catholics, who tried to retort upon their opponents
by asserting that the figures in this funeral celebration were intended
to represent the ignorance of the Protestant preachers; and the
sculpture in the church continued to be regarded by the ecclesiastical
authorities with dissatisfaction until the year 1685, when, to take
away all further ground of scandal, it was entirely defaced.
[Illustration: _No. 51. The Fox Provided._]
Reynard's mediæval celebrity dates certainly from a rather early
period. Montflaucon has given an alphabet of ornamental initial
letters, formed chiefly of figures of men and animals, from a
manuscript which he ascribes to the ninth century, among which is the
one copied in our cut No. 51, representing a fox walking upon his hind
legs, and carrying two small cocks, suspended at the ends of a cross
staff. It is hardly necessary to say that this group forms the letter
T. Long before this, the Frankish historian Fredegarius, who wrote
about the middle of the seventh century, introduces a fable in which
the fox figures at the court of the lion. The same fable is repeated
by a monkish writer of Bavaria, named Fromond, who flourished in the
tenth century, and by another named Aimoinus, who lived about the year
1,000. At length, in the twelfth century, Guibert de Nogent, who died
about the year 1124, and who has left us his autobiography (_de Vita
sua_), relates an anecdote in that work, in explanation of which he
tells us that the wolf was then popularly designated by the name of
Isengrin; and in the fables of Odo, as we have already seen, this name
is commonly given to the wolf, Reynard to the fox, Teburg to the cat,
and so on with the others. This only shows that in the fables of the
twelfth century the various animals were known by these names, but it
does not prove that what we know as the romance of Reynard existed.
Jacob Grimm argued from the derivation and forms of these names, that
the fables themselves, and the romance, originated with the Teutonic
peoples, and were indigenous to them; but his reasons appear to me to
be more specious than conclusive, and I certainly lean to the opinion
of my friend Paulin Paris, that the romance of Reynard was native of
France,[27] and that it was partly founded upon old Latin legends
perhaps poems. Its character is altogether feudal, and it is strictly
a picture of society, in France primarily, and secondly in England and
the other nations of feudalism, in the twelfth century. The earliest
form in which this romance is known is in the French poem--or rather
poems, for it consists of several branches or continuations--and is
supposed to date from about the middle of the twelfth century. It soon
became so popular, that it appeared in different forms in all the
languages of Western Europe, except in England, where there appears
to have existed no edition of the romance of Reynard the Fox until
Caxton printed his prose English version of the story. From that time
it became, if possible, more popular in England than elsewhere, and
that popularity had hardly diminished down to the commencement of the
present century.
[27] See the dissertation by M. Paulin Paris, published in his nice
popular modern abridgment of the French romance, published in
1861, under the title "Les Aventures de Maître Renart et
d'Ysengrin son compère." On the debated question of the origin
of the Romance, see the learned and able work by Jonckbloet,
8vo., Groningue, 1863.
The popularity of the story of Reynard caused it to be imitated in a
variety of shapes, and this form of satire, in which animals acted
the part of men, became altogether popular. In the latter part of the
twelfth century, an Anglo-Latin poet, named Nigellus Wireker, composed
a very severe satire in elegiac verse, under the title of _Speculum
Stultorum_, the "Mirror of Fools." It is not a wise animal like the
fox, but a simple animal, the ass, who, under the name of Brunellus,
passes among the various ranks and classes of society, and notes their
crimes and vices. A prose introduction to this poem informs us that its
hero is the representative of the monks in general, who were always
longing for some new acquisition which was inconsistent with their
profession. In fact, Brunellus is absorbed with the notion that his
tail was too short, and his great ambition is to get it lengthened.
For this purpose he consults a physician, who, after representing to
him in vain the folly of his pursuit, gives him a receipt to make
his tail grow longer, and sends him to the celebrated medical school
of Salerno to obtain the ingredients. After various adventures, in
the course of which he loses a part of his tail instead of its being
lengthened, Brunellus proceeds to the University of Paris to study and
obtain knowledge; and we are treated with a most amusingly satirical
account of the condition and manners of the scholars of that time.
Soon convinced of his incapacity for learning, Brunellus abandons the
university in despair, and he resolves to enter one of the monastic
orders, the character of all which he passes in review. The greater
part of the poem consists of a very bitter satire on the corruptions of
the monkish orders and of the Church in general. While still hesitating
which order to choose, Brunellus falls into the hands of his old
master, from whom he had run away in order to seek his fortune in the
world, and he is compelled to pass the rest of his days in the same
humble and servile condition in which he had begun them.
A more direct imitation of "Reynard the Fox" is found in the early
French romance of "Fauvel," the hero of which is neither a fox nor
an ass, but a horse. People of all ranks and classes repair to the
court of Fauvel, the horse, and furnish abundant matter for satire
on the moral, political, and religious hypocrisy which pervaded the
whole frame of society. At length the hero resolves to marry, and,
in a finely illuminated manuscript of this romance, preserved in the
Imperial Library in Paris, this marriage furnishes the subject of a
picture, which gives the only representation I have met with of one of
the popular burlesque ceremonies which were so common in the middle
ages.
[Illustration: _No. 52. A Mediæval Charivari._]
Among other such ceremonies, it was customary with the populace, on the
occasion of a man's or woman's second marriage, or an ill-sorted match,
or on the espousals of people who were obnoxious to their neighbours,
to assemble outside the house, and greet them with discordant music.
This custom is said to have been practised especially in France, and
it was called a _charivari_. There is still a last remnant of it in
our country in the music of marrow-bones and cleavers, with which the
marriages of butchers are popularly celebrated; but the derivation
of the French name appears not to be known. It occurs in old Latin
documents, for it gave rise to such scandalous scenes of riot and
licentiousness, that the Church did all it could, though in vain, to
suppress it. The earliest mention of this custom, furnished in the
_Glossarium_ of Ducange, is contained in the synodal statutes of the
church of Avignon, passed in the year 1337, from which we learn that
when such marriages occurred, people forced their way into the houses
of the married couple, and carried away their goods, which they were
obliged to pay a ransom for before they were returned, and the money
thus raised was spent in getting up what is called in the statute
relating to it a _Chalvaricum_. It appears from this statute, that
the individuals who performed the _charivari_ accompanied the happy
couple to the church, and returned with them to their residence,
with coarse and indecent gestures and discordant music, and uttering
scurrilous and indecent abuse, and that they ended with feasting.
In the statutes of Meaux, in 1365, and in those of Hugh, bishop of
Beziers, in 1368, the same practice is forbidden, under the name of
_Charavallium_; and it is mentioned in a document of the year 1372,
also quoted by Ducange, under that of _Carivarium_, as then existing at
Nîmes. Again, in 1445, the Council of Tours made a decree, forbidding,
under pain of excommunication, "the insolences, clamours, sounds, and
other tumults practised at second and third nuptials, called by the
vulgar a _Charivarium_, on account of the many and grave evils arising
out of them."[28] It will be observed that these early allusions to
the _charivari_ are found almost solely in documents coming from the
Roman towns in the south of France, so that this practice was probably
one of the many popular customs derived directly from the Romans.
When Cotgrave's "Dictionary" was published (that is, in 1632) the
practice of the _charivari_ appears to have become more general in its
existence, as well as its application; for he describes it as "a public
defamation, or traducing of; a foule noise made, blacke santus rung,
to the shame and disgrace of another; hence an infamous (or infaming)
ballad sung, by an armed troupe, under the window of an old dotard,
married the day before unto a yong wanton, in mockerie of them both."
And, again, a _charivaris de poelles_ is explained as "the carting of
an infamous person, graced with the harmonie of tinging kettles and
frying-pan musicke."[29] The word is now generally used in the sense
of a great tumult of discordant music, produced often by a number of
persons playing different tunes on different instruments at the same
time.
[28] "Insultationes, clamores, sonos, et alios tumultus, in
secundis et tertiis quorundam nuptiis, quos charivarium vulgo
appellant, propter multa et gravia incommoda, prohibemus sub pœna
excommunitationis."--Ducange, v. _Charivarium_.
[29] Cotgrave's Dictionarie, v. _Charivaris_.
[Illustration: _No. 53. Continuation of the Charivari._]
As I have stated above, the manuscript of the romance of "Fauvel" is in
the Imperial Library in Paris. A copy of this illumination is engraved
in Jaime's "Musée de la Caricature," from which our cuts Nos. 52 and 53
are taken. It is divided into three compartments, one above another,
in the uppermost of which Fauvel is seen entering the nuptial chamber
to his young wife, who is already in bed. The scene in the compartment
below, which is copied in our cut No. 52, represents the street
outside, and the mock revellers performing the _charivari_; and this is
continued in the third, or lowest, compartment, which is represented
in our cut No. 53. Down each side of the original illumination is a
frame-work of windows, from which people, who have been disturbed by
the noise, are looking out upon the tumult. It will be seen that all
the performers wear masks, and that they are dressed in burlesque
costume. In confirmation of the statement of the ecclesiastical synods
as to the licentiousness of these exhibitions, we see one of the
performers here disguised as a woman, who lifts up his dress to expose
his person while dancing. The musical instruments are no less grotesque
than the costumes, for they consist chiefly of kitchen utensils, such
as frying-pans, mortars, saucepans, and the like.
[Illustration: _No. 54. The Tables Turned._]
There was another series of subjects in which animals were introduced
as the instruments of satire. This satire consisted in reverting
the position of man with regard to the animals over which he had
been accustomed to tyrannise, so that he was subjected to the same
treatment from the animals which, in his actual position, he uses
towards them. This change of relative position was called in old French
and Anglo-Norman, _le monde bestorné_, which was equivalent to the
English phrase, "the world turned upside down." It forms the subject
of rather old verses, I believe, both in French and English, and
individual scenes from it are met with in pictorial representation at
a rather early date. During the year 1862, in the course of accidental
excavations on the site of the Friary, at Derby, a number of encaustic
tiles, such as were used for the floors of the interiors of churches
and large buildings, were found.[30] The ornamentation of these tiles,
especially of the earlier ones, is, like all mediæval ornamentations,
extremely varied, and even these tiles sometimes present subjects of
a burlesque and satirical character, though they are more frequently
adorned with the arms and badges of benefactors to the church or
convent. The tiles found on the site of the priory at Derby are
believed to be of the thirteenth century, and one pattern, a diminished
copy of which is given in our cut No. 54, presents a subject taken
from the _monde bestorné_. The hare, master of his old enemy, the
dog, has become hunter himself, and seated upon the dog's back he
rides vigorously to the chace, blowing his horn as he goes. The design
is spiritedly executed, and its satirical intention is shown by the
monstrous and mirthful face, with the tongue lolling out, figured on
the outer corner of the tile. It will be seen that four of these tiles
are intended to be joined together to make the complete piece. In an
illumination in a manuscript of the fourteenth century in the British
Museum (MS. Reg. 10 E iv.), the hares are taking a still more severe
vengeance on their old enemy. The dog has been caught, brought to trial
for his numerous murders, and condemned, and they are represented here
(cut No. 55) conducting him in the criminal's cart to the gallows. Our
cut No. 56, the subject of which is furnished by one of the carved
stalls in Sherborne Minster (it is here copied from the engraving
in Carter's "Specimens of Ancient Sculpture"), represents another
execution scene, similar in spirit to the former. The geese have seized
their old enemy, Reynard, and are hanging him on a gallows, while two
monks, who attend the execution, appear to be amused at the energetic
manner in which the geese perform their task. Mr. Jewitt mentions two
other subjects belonging to this series, one of them taken from an
illuminated manuscript; they are, the mouse chasing the cat, and the
horse driving the cart--the former human carter in this case taking the
place of the horse between the shafts.
[30] Mr. Llewellynn Jewitt, in his excellent publication, the
_Reliquary_, for October, 1862, has given an interesting paper on
the encaustic tiles found on this occasion, and on the conventual
house to which they belonged.
[Illustration: _No. 55. Justice in the Hands of the Persecuted._]
[Illustration: _No. 56. Reynard brought to Account at Last._]
"The World turned upside down; or, the Folly of Man," has continued
amongst us to be a popular chap-book and child's book till within a
very few years, and I have now a copy before me printed in London
about the year 1790. It consists of a series of rude woodcuts, with a
few doggrel verses under each. One of these, entitled "The Ox turned
Farmer," represents two men drawing the plough, driven by an ox. In the
next, a rabbit is seen turning the spit on which a man is roasting,
while a cock holds a ladle and bastes. In a third, we see a tournament,
in which the horses are armed and ride upon the men. Another represents
the ox killing the butcher. In others we have birds netting men and
women; the ass, turned miller, employing the man-miller to carry his
sacks; the horse turned groom, and currying the man; and the fishes
angling for men and catching them.
In a cleverly sculptured ornament in Beverley Minster, represented
in our cut No. 57, the goose herself is represented in a grotesque
situation, which might almost give her a place in "The World turned
upside down," although it is a mere burlesque, without any apparent
satirical aim. The goose has here taken the place of the horse at the
blacksmith's, who is vigorously nailing the shoe on her webbed foot.
[Illustration: _No. 57. Shoeing the Goose._]
[Illustration: _No. 58. Food for Swine._]
Burlesque subjects of this description are not uncommon, especially
among architectural sculpture and wood-carving, and, at a rather
later period, on all ornamental objects. The field for such subjects
was so extensive, that the artist had an almost unlimited choice,
and therefore his subjects might be almost infinitely varied, though
we usually find them running on particular classes. The old popular
proverbs, for instance, furnished a fruitful source for drollery, and
are at times delineated in an amusingly literal or practical manner.
Pictorial proverbs and popular sayings are sometimes met with on the
carved misereres. For example, in one of those at Rouen, in Normandy,
represented in our cut No. 58, the carver has intended to represent
the idea of the old saying, in allusion to misplaced bounty, of
throwing pearls to swine, and has given it a much more picturesque and
pictorially intelligible form, by introducing a rather dashing female
feeding her swine with roses, or rather offering them roses for food,
for the swine display no eagerness to feed upon them.
[Illustration: _No. 59. The Industrious Sow._]
We meet with such subjects as these scattered over all mediæval
works of art, and at a somewhat later period they were transferred
to other objects, such as the signs of houses. The custom of placing
signs over the doors of shops and taverns, was well known to the
ancients, as is abundantly manifested by their frequent occurrence
in the ruins of Pompeii; but in the middle ages, the use of signs
and badges was universal, and as--contrary to the apparent practice
in Pompeii, where certain badges were appropriated to certain trades
and professions--every individual was free to choose his own sign,
the variety was unlimited. Many still had reference, no doubt, to the
particular calling of those to whom they belonged, while others were of
a religious character, and indicated the saint under whose protection
the householder had placed himself. Some people took animals for their
signs, others monstrous or burlesque figures; and, in fact, there were
hardly any of the subjects of caricature or burlesque familiar to
the mediæval sculptor and illuminator which did not from time to time
appear on these popular signs. A few of the old signs still preserved,
especially in the quaint old towns of France, Germany, and the
Netherlands, show us how frequently they were made the instruments of
popular satire. A sign not uncommon in France was _La Truie qui file_
(the sow spinning). Our cut No. 59 represents this subject as treated
on an old sign, a carving in bas-relief of the sixteenth century, on
a house in the Rue du Marché-aux-Poirées, in Rouen. The sow appears
here in the character of the industrious housewife, employing herself
in spinning at the same time that she is attending to the wants of her
children. There is a singularly satirical sign at Beauvais, on a house
which was formerly occupied by an _épicier-moutardier_, or grocer who
made mustard, in the Rue du Châtel. In front of this sign, which is
represented in our cut No. 60, appears a large mustard-mill, on one
side of which stands Folly with a staff in her hand, with which she
is stirring the mustard, while an ape with a sort of sardonic grin,
throws in a seasoning, which may be conjectured by his posture.[31] The
trade-mark of the individual who adopted this strange device, is carved
below.
[31] See an interesting little book on this subject by M. Ed. de
la Quérière, entitled "Recherches sur les Enseignes des Maisons
Particulières," 8vo., Rouen, 1852, from which both the above
examples are taken.
[Illustration: _No. 60. Adulteration._]