"The use of sewing is exceedingly old,
As in the sacred text it is enrolled;
Our parents first in Paradise began."
_John Taylor._
Needlework has been a favourite method of employing time, both in
courts and cottages, from very early days; and one is not surprised at
this, seeing that it is not only necessary for the comfort of daily
life, but a very attractive occupation, one capable of great variety
and of being practised without fatigue.
The history of needlework was almost unknown until Miss Lambert and the
Countess of Wilton devoted their time and talents to the collection and
classification of facts concerning it.
The first piece of needlework we know of is that of our first parents
in the Garden of Eden, who, with a thorn, probably, for a needle,
"sewed fig-leaves together to make themselves aprons."[1]
Milton refers to it thus:--
"Those leaves
They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe,
And, with what skill they had, together sewed,
To gird their waist."
From all records of early ages we learn that the women used first a
thorn and then a fish-bone sharpened at one end as a needle, to sew the
skins of animals or other material together. Most of our queens have
recognised the advantages of being good needlewomen, and several have
left behind them beautiful specimens of work, so that we have an almost
unbroken record of their achievements with the needle.
The inducements to royal ladies to become proficient in the art of
needlework have been many and varied; for example, some have been
influenced by the desire to set a good example to their subjects;
others in order to lighten the weariness of solitary hours; others that
they might record the deeds of valour and daring performed by their
husbands; some because they were thrown on their own resources through
lack of outdoor amusements and the absence of good roads; others for
real love of it; while other few practised it from pious motives that
they might contribute to the beauty of churches. Indeed, church, court,
camp and state have all more or less influenced royal ladies to become
good needlewomen.
Nothing creates a stronger bond of union between classes than like
tastes and occupations, and it holds good specially between sovereigns
and peoples. To know that probably the Queen and princesses of the
royal house are occupied in the same way as the poorest cottager,
either in sewing a seam, making a dress, trimming a bonnet, or
embroidering a tray-cloth, creates a kindly feeling between one and the
other, and bridges over the distance between them.
I remember when our Princess of Wales came over to dwell among us,
it was stated that she begged to retrim the Queen's bonnets and make
them pretty and fashionable, as she had always trimmed her own and her
mother's. When some of the London poor heard it they were delighted,
and said, "Bless her now; do you really think a laidy sich as her would
a' done it?"
Nothing that has been told of Princess Henry of Battenberg has brought
her so near to the hearts of the poor as the piece of news that "when
she is in sorrow or perplexity she is greatly soothed by sitting down
and sewing a long seam." It is something they can understand and
appreciate, for it is most likely the very thing they themselves would
do in like circumstances.
It has been of no slight benefit to us women and girls that our queens
and princesses should have been good needlewomen, for we are, to a
great extent, influenced by the daily life of those in high places;
indeed, the influence of queens upon their women subjects has always
been noticeable; their personal and private character, their passions
and prejudices, are always more or less reflected in the women of the
kingdom.
Proficiency in the art of needlework is by no means confined to the
great ladies of our nation, for we hear that the princesses in the
Court of Charlemagne were splendid needlewomen, and the work of Bertha,
wife of Rudolph the Second of Burgundy, has a world-wide fame. She is
represented on seals and monuments of her time as sitting on the throne
spinning, and even when out riding continuing her work. In the old town
of Payerne Canton de Freiburg, a residence of the kings of Burgundy,
her bones, together with those of her husband and son, Conrad, were
discovered in 1817 below the tower of the old church which she herself
had built, and they were buried in the parish church, where the
Queen's saddle is shown with a hole for her distaff. To this day the
expression is used, as a regretful allusion to the good old times, "_ce
n'est pas le temps où Berthe filait_."
Gisela, also, the wife of St. Stephen, king of Hungary, was a splendid
needlewoman, and organised embroidery work-rooms near her palace.
The mother of Charles the Bold and Adelaide the Consort of Hugh Capet
were also celebrated needlewomen.
Even nations far removed from civilisation have not been ignorant of
needlework, as the discovery of gold needles, etc., in the Scandinavian
tumuli testify.
To come back to our own country, the palm is certainly accorded to the
Anglo-Saxon ladies for excellence in this womanly accomplishment. We
have proof that those of rank and royal blood were skilled not only in
the use of the needle for necessary purposes but also in elegant and
intricate embroidery.
The fleece which was brought home by the Anglo-Saxon men in summer was
spun into clothing by the female part of each family during the winter.
Alfred the Great in his will calls the women-part of his family the
spindle side, and it was understood by our forefathers that no young
woman was fit to be a wife till she had spun for herself a set of body,
table and bed linen; this is why the maiden was called a spinner or
spinster, and the married woman a wife or one who has been a spinner
(from Anglo-Saxon wif, the verb being wyfan or wifan, to weave).
Perhaps you have noticed that the armorial bearings of women are
not painted on a shield like those of men but on a spindle called a
lozenge. The spindle half is a Saxon term for the female line, while
the spear half is the male side.
Among the Anglo-Saxon ladies Adelfleda and her three sisters, daughters
of Edward the Elder, stand out as famous for their skill in all kinds
of needlework, and are known in history as cunning workers.
William of Malmesbury says, "their father caused them in childhood to
give their whole attention to letters and afterwards employed them in
the labour of the distaff[2] and the needle."
The same authority says that Edgitha or Editha, the Queen of Edward
the Confessor, was "perfect mistress of her needle," while the Saxon
historian, Ingulphus, a scholar at Westminster Monastery, near to
Edgitha's palace, relates of her that "she was skilful in the works of
the needle, and that with her own hands she embroidered the garments of
her royal husband."
As a proof of the high value set on good needlework the Anglo-Saxon
Gudric gave Alcina a piece of land on condition that she instructed his
daughters in embroidery and needlework.
It was the custom in feudal times for high families to send their
daughters to the castles of their lords there to be taught spinning,
weaving and needlework under the eye of the lady chatelaine.
It was also a practice for great ladies and their attendants to pass
their mornings at needlework, singing and relating stories meanwhile.
It seems that William the Conqueror on his first appearance in public
after the Battle of Hastings wore a richly worked cloak of Anglo-Saxon
embroidery. It may have been this fact which roused his wife Matilda to
produce a piece of work which was to live for long ages as a specimen
of her industry and skill with the needle. She was a jealous woman
and might not have been pleased at other hands than her own working
her husband's apparel. It is difficult to understand the working of a
woman's mind.
There is no doubt that the work she left behind, and which is still
preserved in the Cathedral of Bayeux, is perfectly marvellous, or as
Dibdin says "it is an exceedingly curious document."
It is a piece of canvas or coarse linen cloth two hundred and
twenty-seven feet long and twenty inches wide; on it she has wrought
with woollen thread of eight different colours a picture of her
husband's exploits, from Harold's first landing in Normandy to his fall
at Hastings.
It is a most important record of the history of the period, because the
events, costumes, and warlike instruments are faithfully portrayed.
The canvas contains many hundreds of men, horses, trees, houses,
castles, ships and churches, with names and descriptions over them to
make the story clear; strangely enough there are only three women in
the whole picture. Taken as a whole it affords a curious insight into
the manners and customs of the Norman Period.
The figures and designs for tapestry work were always prepared by some
skilful artist who traced them out in the colours that were to be used
by the worker either in wool or silk.
Matilda seems to have employed the dwarf artist Turold to prepare her
work and illuminate the canvas: he was a dependent of Odo, Bishop of
Bayeux. The parts intended to represent flesh in the picture are left
untouched by the needle.
It is supposed that not only was Matilda assisted in her great work by
the ladies of her court but by some of the beautiful workers among the
Anglo-Saxon ladies. She was a woman who would not study the feelings
of those around her, nor would she consider their sorrow in having by
their needle to perpetuate their sufferings and defeat.
The work which is now in Bayeux is coiled round a machine like that
which lets down buckets into a well, and a woman is appointed to unroll
it for visitors and explain it.
A full-sized coloured photograph of it may be seen in the South
Kensington Museum, and the Society of Antiquaries have engraved the
whole of the Bayeux tapestry and have coloured it like the original.
We are told in the life of St. Dunstan that he was originally in an
obscure station of life, and crept into notice by means of his taste
and skill in delineating sacerdotal vestments and tapestry work for
great ladies. He must have had a great love of such work as well as
genius, for even when he came to high estate he did not disdain making
sketches for queens to work from.
We now pass on to Adelicia of Louvaine, the queen of Henry I., who was
distinguished for her great beauty and talents, but especially for her
proficiency in feminine accomplishments.
A standard which she embroidered in silk and gold for her father when
he was engaged in recovering his patrimony was celebrated throughout
Europe for the exquisite taste and skill displayed in its design and
execution. For centuries it was carried in procession on Rogation days
through the streets of the city of Liège, for it had been captured by
the bishop of that town in 1129.
(_To be continued._)
FOOTNOTES:
[1] There is an ancient engraving, in which Eve is stitching away at
the fig-leaves in a very edifying manner, while Adam, far from trying
to put in a stitch for himself, is gazing upon her in utter amazement.
And while she continues her task, as if she had been born to sewing,
his eyes follow her nimble fingers.
[2] _Distaff_--a woman. This explains the phrase and fact that "the
crown of France never falls to the _distaff_."
WHERE SWALLOWS BUILD.
BY SARAH DOUDNEY.