THE WOMEN OF THE ANGLO-NORMANS
A picture of the social life of England during the Norman period is
a picture of manners and customs in a state of flux. But amid all the
instability of the times, when political institutions, laws, customs,
and language were inchoate, the tendencies were so marked that it is
quite possible to watch the emergence of a solidified people. The two
great social factors to be considered are the baronial castles and the
women of those castles. The castle was the characteristic feature of
the Anglo-Norman period; its conspicuousness increased as time went
on, until, in the reign of Stephen, there were no less than eleven
hundred of these units of divided sovereignty scattered over the
country.
During the period of national unsettlement which followed upon the
Conquest, these frowning castles arose; they owed their existence
to the lack of adequate laws for the safeguarding of life and of
property, and to the absence of the machinery of government for the
enforcement of law. But, principally, they represented the mutual
jealousies of the Norman barons, to whom had been apportioned the
lands of the Saxons--jealousies which found a common attraction in an
aversion to the centralizing of power in the hands of any monarch who
had ambitions to be more than a superior overlord.
This social insecurity was intensified during the reign of William by
the danger of attack from the implacable Saxon bands of warriors who
had retired into the swamps and from those fastnesses conducted a
fierce guerrilla warfare upon the Normans. So full of danger was the
period, that the closing of the castle for the evening was always an
occasion for serious prayer and commitment of the inmates to Divine
protection, as there was no knowing but that before morning a
besieging force might appear before the gates and institute all the
horrors of attack and beleaguerment.
The elevation of woman to the plane of companionship with her husband
was largely due to the peculiar conditions of the feudal state of
society, of which the frowning castle that crowned the many hilltops
was the sinister characteristic. Exposed as she was to the same
dangers, and sharing the responsibilities of her husband, there was no
room for a distinction of status to be drawn between them. By reason
of environment, wifely equality with her husband was not a matter of
theoretical but simply of practical settlement. It was needful that
the wife should be a woman of courage and of resources. But while the
matter of sex did not constitute a badge of inferiority in the
home relations, the peculiar perils to which the women were exposed
constituted an appeal to manhood that evoked a chivalrous response;
and when life became less hard and there was better opportunity for
the expression of the tenderer sentiments, this especial regard for
woman rose to the height of an exalted devotion.
It would not be right to assume, however, that the greater prominence
and influence of woman outside of her home was a sudden emergence from
former conditions. In so unsettled an era it became, however, a more
general, more pronounced feature. We may find an earlier indication of
the interest of the great lady in the affairs of her lord and in the
welfare of his dependants, as well as of the advance of chivalrous
sentiments, in the story of Lady Godiva. It was in 1040 that Leofric,
Earl of Mercia, was besought by his wife, who was remarkable for her
beauty and piety, to relieve his tenantry of Coventry of a heavy toll.
Probably little inclined to grant her request, he imposed what he
may have thought impossible terms, when he consented to her plea
on condition that she would ride naked through the town. To his
amazement, doubtless, the Lady Godiva accepted the condition; and
Leofric faithfully carried out his agreement. The lady, veiled only
by her lovely hair, rode through the streets; and to the honor of the
good people of Coventry, it is said that they kept within doors and
would not look upon their benefactress to embarrass her. One person
only is said to have peeped from behind the curtain of his window,
and the story runs that he was struck blind, or, according to another
version, had his eyes put out by the wrathful people. This curious
person was the "Peeping Tom of Coventry," whose name has become
proverbial.
Society develops in strata, so that the elevation of the women of the
castles did not enable the women of the hovels to profit by conditions
out of the range of their lives. The lower classes, or villains, which
included the grades of society styled, in the Anglo-Saxon period, the
freemen and the serfs, were the social antitheses of the society of
the castles. The women of the lower class benefited not at all by the
new dignity that was acquired by the women of the castles during the
feudal regime; in fact, they suffered the imposition of new burdens
and the exactions of a feudal practice which took the form of tribute,
based on the persistent idea of the vassalage of their sex. The great
middle class, which was to play such an important part in the social
and industrial history of England, had not emerged as a separate
section of the people of the country. But what the lady of the Norman
castle obtained for her class through one phase of feudalism, the
woman of the guild aided in securing by another in the centuries which
marked the rule of the Angevin kings; and in both Norman and Angevin
times the influence of the Church was constantly on the side of the
womanhood of the country, and was probably a more potent force than
any other, for the exaltation of woman was the one policy which
proceeded on fixed principles.
The castles too often degenerated into centres of rapine and pillage;
perpetual feuds led to constant forays, and no traveller could be
assured that he would not be set upon by one of these robber barons
and his band of retainers--little better than remorseless banditti.
But there were castles of a better sort, nor were all knights recreant
to their vows. In assuming the obligations of his order, the newly
vested knight swore to defend the Church against attack by the
perfidious; venerate the priesthood; repel the injustices of the poor;
keep the country quiet; shed his blood, and if necessary lose his
life, for his brethren. Nothing was said in the oath about devotion
to women, nor was such a thing at first contemplated as a part of the
knight's office. His office was a military one, and sentiment did not
enter into it. The chivalrous feature grew out of the circumstances
of the times--the unprotected situation of woman, the fact that the
knight who enlisted in the service of a baron, and the baron as
well, often had to leave the women of their households dependent for
protection upon the opportune courtesy of other knights and lords.
When the country had become more orderly and manners had softened,
with the increased security given to life and property and the better
means of obtaining justice, this chivalrous feature continued and
became prominent in the knightly character and office.
In the early times, when the life of the knight was of the roughest,
there were adventurous young women, caught by the excitement it
offered, who donned the habiliments of the knight and plunged into the
dangers of his career. The story is told of the quarrel of two Norman
ladies, Eliosa and Isabella, both of them high-strung, loquacious, and
beautiful, and both dominating their husbands by the forcefulness of
their natures. But while Eliosa was crafty and effected her ends by
scheming, Isabella was generous, courageous, sunny-tempered, merry,
and convivial. Each gathered about her a band of knights and made war
upon her adversary. Isabella led her knights in person, and, armed as
they were and as adept in the use of her weapons, she advanced in open
attack upon her foe. Such incidents, though not usual, were yet in
accord with the spirit of the time.
Every lady was trained in the use of arms for the needs of her own
protection when the occasion should arise. Sometimes the practice of
sword drill was carried on in the privacy of the lady's apartment.
Thus, it is related of the Lady Beatrix--who, by reason of her
expertness and her intrepidity in the actual use of arms, gained for
herself the sobriquet _La belle Cavalier_--that the first knowledge
that her brother had of her martial proclivities was when, through a
crevice in the wall, he happened to observe her throw off her robe,
and, taking his sword out of its scabbard, toss it up into the air
and, catching it with dexterity, go through all the drill of a knight
with spirit and precision; wheeling from right to left, advancing,
retreating, feinting, and parrying, until she at last disarmed her
imaginary foe. We read of the Knight of Kenilworth that he made a
round table of one hundred knights and ladies, to which came, for
exercise in arms, persons from different parts of the land.
In such setting is found the life of the woman of the day. But below
whatever of chivalry was to be found in this turbulent age, which
extended from the coming of William the Conqueror to the end of
the reign of Stephen, it was preeminently a rude, boisterous, and
uncultured era. The lack of uniformity of language was as much
opposed to the development of literature as was the general unsettled
condition of the times. Education, slight as it was, had suffered a
relapse, and it was not until the twelfth century that anything like
real literature was developed.
As the castle was the characteristic feature of the time, and within
its walls will be found much of the matters of interest relating
to the women of the day, a description of one of these domestic
fortresses will make clearer the customs of the times in so far as
they relate to the women of the higher classes.
The site selected for the ancient castle was always a hilltop or knoll
that lent itself to ready defence. The foot of the hill was enclosed
by a palisade and a moat; these circumvallations frequently rendered
successful assault impossible, and the only recourse open to the
attacking force was a protracted siege. As the stranger on peaceful
mission bent approached one of these massive structures, rearing its
frowning walls in silhouette against the blue of the sky, he could not
fail to be impressed with the majesty and grandeur of its walls and
turrets. He would notice the round-headed windows, with their lattice
of iron and the numerous slitlike openings which supplemented the
windows for the access of light and, as loopholes, played an important
part in the defence of the fortress. On coming to the gateway, flanked
on either side by bastions, pierced to admit of the flight of arrows,
the warden would open to him, and he would be conducted into a
courtyard, whose sides were made by the walls of the hall, the chapel,
the stable, and the offices. Within the courtyard, he would observe a
garden of herbs and edible roots, and also a fine display of flowers;
perhaps, too, a small enclosure in the nature of a cage, containing a
number of animals--the trained animal collection of the jongleurs, who
commonly attached themselves to the following of barons.
On passing into the hall, he would be at once struck by its absolute
meagreness; a few stools, some seats in the alcoves of the wall, a
few forms, some cushions and a sideboard, making its complement of
furniture. The abundance and beauty of the plate on the sideboard
might partially redeem in his eyes the barrenness of the place. The
minstrel's gallery in the rear of the hall would be suggestive of the
convivial uses of that portion of the castle. No elaborate draperies
would be seen; some strips of dyed canvas upon the walls alone served
to make up for the lack of plaster, and to afford some protection from
damp and the spiders whose webs could be seen in the ceiling corners.
On passing out again into the courtyard, he would observe the tokens
of domestic pursuits in the kitchen utensils and the dairy vessels
upon benches, and cloths hung upon poles above. Passing by the
subsidiary buildings, and ascending to the ladies' bower by the
outside staircase, he would find a few more evidences of comfort than
greeted him in the hall below. Instead of common canvas, the walls
would be draped with some embroidered materials, cushions would be
more plentiful, the touches of femininity would be observed in various
little elements of comfort and adornment; but, with all this, he would
find it dreary enough. Should he return, however, to this boudoir when
the ladies were gathered for their afternoon's sewing, the scene would
make up in animation what it lacked in attractiveness of surroundings.
On going into the bedchamber, a glance would reveal its contents.
Seats in the wall, a stool, a curiously shaped bed, candelabra, and
two projecting poles, the one for falcons and the other for clothes,
would complete the sum of its furniture. The bed furnishings would
consist of a drapery, pendent from an odd roof, rather than a canopy,
over the bed. The bed would look to him comfortable enough, with its
quilted feathers and pillow attached, and, over these, sheets of
silk or of linen, and over all a coverlet of haircloth, or of woollen
fabric, lined with skins. One compartmented bed fixture, with its
curious divisions, was thought to afford sufficient privacy for
honored guests of different sexes, who were all cared for in the same
chamber; if the number of the guests and of the household was large,
several bed fixtures or bedsteads might be observed. The servants
slept indiscriminately in the hall below.
Such was the simplicity of the interior arrangements and furnishings
of the castle. But within these rooms, devoid of many of the ordinary
comforts of modern life and altogether lacking in its luxuries,
assembled women who prided themselves on their noble estate and
extraction; here, too, were held many assemblies of state; kings in
their progresses through their kingdom tarried for entertainment,
bringing with them magnificent retinues. Feasts and social functions
called forth all the highbred graces of the fair hostess and made the
castle a scene of merriment and of joyous conviviality. Here, too,
were held orgies of drunkenness and of depravity; intrigues smouldered
within these walls, to break out into an open flame of rebellion;
while dramas of noble self-abnegation and plightings of faithful love
were enacted there as well. Amid all these scenes moved the lady of
the castle.
A few of the typical views of castle life in which the women figured
conspicuously will serve to give a more particular setting to
the general idea of their status and employments. While men gave
themselves up to feats of arms, the women had the task of hospitably
entertaining the guests who frequented the castles; in the interim of
these festivities and the exacting care of a host of servants, they
applied themselves assiduously to needlework, and in no other way
does the woman of the times appear in so pleasant a light as when
thus engaged. Her facility in lace and embroidery work is not attested
alone by contemporary writers, but has come down to us in its finest
expression. The famous Bayeux tapestry, possibly the most ingenious
specimen of needlework that the world has known, calls up the most
interesting of the castle scenes as related to woman. It is the
expression of the artistic and historical sense of Matilda, the wife
of William I. In some such lady's bower as has been described, the
fair queen assembled the ladies of her court, and the Bayeux tapestry
was created amid the interchange of small talk, becoming more serious
as at times the figures of the pattern recalled some particular horror
of personal loss on the part of some of the ladies present, entailed
by the great battle whose glory was the central theme of their labors.
With womanly self-effacement, they had in mind only those whose deeds
were in this unique manner to be handed down to posterity, and had no
thought of the monument to womanly devotion that they were erecting
for the honor of the sex. Every scene involved the perpetuation
of the memories and the valor of those who were dear to them; and
as the record passed into the embroidered pattern, it was dwelt
upon with words of glowing pride. In some such way took shape the
picture-history of the event that found its consummation in the battle
of Senlac. By its wealth and accuracy of detail, this monument of
woman's skill became a historical document of the first order for
the period to which it relates. But to the student of the English
woman its chief value must lie in its revelation of the depth of
the pride and devotion to husbands, brothers, and lovers that it
reveals--devotion to the living and the dead alike, which is the
secret of its reverent accuracy, excluding as it does vainglorious
exaggeration. It thus becomes a memorial of deeds of valor and of
defeat, of triumph and of death; a monument to the Norman, but,
unwittingly, a monument to the defeated Saxon as well.
We are reminded by this historic tapestry of the pathetic story
of Edith of the Swan's Neck. King Harold had been slain on the
battlefield by a Norman arrow which had pierced his brain. His mother
and the Abbot of Waltham had successfully pleaded with Harold's
victorious rival for permission to bury the king within the abbey. Two
Saxon monks, Osgod and Ailrick, were deputed by the Abbot of Waltham
to search for and bring to the abbey the body of their benefactor.
Failing to identify on the field of Senlac (Hastings) the bodies
denuded of armor and clothing, they applied to a woman whom Harold,
before he was king, had had for a companion, and begged her to assist
them in their search. She was called Edith, and surnamed la belle
an you de cygne. Edith consented to aid the two monks, and readily
discovered the body of him who had been her lover.
The queen who conceived and furthered the execution of the Bayeux
tapestry was representative of the best type of Norman womanhood. Her
devotion to her husband was proverbial, and his faithfulness to her
has never been questioned. Intrigues among persons who could not brook
the moral atmosphere of a court such as Matilda maintained were common
enough, and the envious breath of scandal even sought to shake the
confidence of her royal husband in her; but all such attempts were
unavailing. Matilda became in every sense the consort of William, and
thus marked a forward step for the womanhood of the country. Without
such recognition of the wife of William I., England would never have
had the brilliant and versatile Elizabeth or the wise and womanly
Victoria to number among the great examples of high worth which
make the list of England's notable women one of the chief glories
of her history. As the manners of the court affect the standard of
the nation, that the tone of the times was not lower in an age of
turbulence, when moral standards were debased, must be to some extent
accredited to the example of the queen.
When Matilda died, the country was still rent by fierce hatreds and
passionate outbursts; the unplacated Saxon had been little influenced
by her. It was reserved for another Matilda, the wife of Henry I., to
aid in healing the breach, and, by uniting the discordant elements,
put the country in a position for the development of those arts of
civilization which only can flourish in an atmosphere of peace. When
Matilda, then a _religieuse_, was adjudged by the Church authorities
not to have taken the veil, or to have assumed the vows that would
have severed her from the world and committed her to a life of
virginity, she reluctantly heeded the clamor of the Saxon element of
the people, and yielded to the importunities of Henry to become his
wife and the country's queen. So was secured to the land a queen
in whose veins ran Saxon blood and who had received an Anglo-Saxon
education. Through her influence, many salutary laws were enacted to
relieve the disabilities of the people. The wives and daughters of
the Saxons were secured from insult; the poor and honest trader was
assured equity in his business transactions, and other matters of
equal import owed their enactment to the kindly disposed queen. In
this manner were allayed animosities which had continued to smoulder
under a sense of repeated injustices, and with the growth of mutual
confidence there came about an identity of aspiration and effort
on the part of the two elements of the population. Intermarriage
facilitated this happy tendency, and the perseverance of the
Anglo-Saxon tongue, modified indeed by Norman admixture, did much
for its furtherance. Thus, the two peoples gradually fused into one
nation. That Matilda did much to secure this desirable end entitles
her to be regarded as the mother of reconciliation.
The Norman ladies of rank came under the influence of the queen, and
it was not uncommon to find them, like the Anglo-Saxon ladies, engaged
in the profitable concerns of the poultry yard and the dairy, instead
of giving themselves up to court intrigues. The two Matildas represent
the best element of the noble womanhood of the day; neither of them
was faultless, and the first was charged with an act of vindictiveness
toward a Saxon who spurned her love that ill comports with the
accepted estimate of her amiability and worth; but while not
impeccable, yet both reflected in their lives the signal qualities
which, when illustrated in times adverse to them, ennoble the sex.
Returning to the employments of the ladies of the castles, the most
typical of these as illustrating the manners of the times, next to the
industry of the bower, was the hospitality of the hall. The hostess
took her place beside her lord, by virtue of her recognized equality
of position, and directed the movements of the servants, who were kept
busily employed passing around the dishes--the meat being served upon
the spits, from which the guests might carve what they pleased. No
forks were used at the table, fingers answering every purpose. On very
great occasions the _piece de resistance_ was a boar's head, which was
brought into the hall with a fanfare of trumpets, the guests greeting
its appearance with noisy demonstrations. Another delicacy, which a
hostess was always pleased to serve to persons of consequence, was
peacock. The presence of this bird was the signal for the nobility
to pledge themselves afresh to deeds of knightly valor. Cranes formed
another of the unusual dishes generally found at these state banquets.
As the dinner proceeded, the thirst of the company was assuaged
by copious draughts of ale or mead and of spiced wines. That such
festivities invariably developed scenes of hilarity and disorder was
in the nature of the case, and it was not a strange thing to see
the valorous knights, under the mellowing influence of too frequent
potations, indulge in such disgraceful acts as throwing bones about
the room and at one another, until these bone battles passed into more
serious fracases. The woman of refinement had reason to dread these
carnivals of gluttony and debauch; and when they became too offensive,
she sought the seclusion of her private apartments.
All the while the minstrels played their instruments and sang their
songs, often improvising from incidents in the careers of those
present, or taking for a theme some vaunting sentiment to which a
cup-valorous knight gave expression. No bounds of propriety were
observed in the theme or in its treatment by these paid entertainers.
As the dishes were brought in, amid the rude songs and coarse jests
of these jongleurs, another company, even more reprobate than they,
gathered about the hall door and sought to snatch the dishes out of
the hands of the servants. These were the _ribalds_ or _letchers_--a
set of degraded hangers-on at the castle, lost to all self-respect and
ready for any base deed that might be required of them. To them was
allotted the refuse of the feast.
A vivid picture of a wedding banquet of the times is afforded in
a scene from the earlier career of Hereward, the last of patriotic
leaders of the Saxons. The daughter of a Cornish chief had been
affianced to one of her countrymen, who was notoriously wicked and
tyrannical; but she herself had pledged her affections to an Irish
prince. Hereward, who was a guest in the country of Cornwall, became
an object of hatred to the Cornish bully, who picked a quarrel
with him and in the encounter was slain. This awakened a spirit of
vengeance among his fellows, and it was only through the assistance
of the young princess that Hereward was enabled to escape from the
prison where he had been confined and to flee the country. He carried
with him a tender message from the lady to her Irish suitor. In the
latter's absence she was again betrothed by her father, and sent a
messenger to notify her lover of the near approach of the wedding. He
sent forty messengers to her father to demand his daughter's hand by
virtue of a promise one time made to him. These were put in prison.
Hereward doubted the success of the lover's embassage; and having dyed
his skin and colored his hair, he made his way, with three companions,
to the young lady's home, arriving there the day of the nuptial feast.
The next day, when she was to be conducted to her husband's dwelling,
Hereward and his companions entered the hall, and, as strangers, came
under especial observation. He saw the eyes of the princess fixed
upon him as though she penetrated his disguise; and as if moved by the
recollections his presence awakened, she burst into tears.
As was the custom of the times, the bride, in her wedding costume,
assisted by her maidens, served the cup to the guests before she left
her father's home; and the harper, following, played before each
guest as he was served. Hereward had registered an oath not to receive
anything at the hands of a lady until it was proffered by the princess
herself. So, when the cup was offered to him by a maiden, he refused
it with abruptness, and declined to listen to the harper. His rude
conduct raised a tumult of excitement and indignation, whereupon the
princess herself approached him and offered the cup, which he received
with courtesy. The princess, entirely confirmed in her suspicions
as to his identity, threw a ring into his bosom, and, turning to the
company, craved indulgence for the stranger, who was not acquainted
with their customs. The minstrel remained sullen, whereupon Hereward
seized his harp and played with such exquisite skill as to awaken the
astonishment of the company. As he played and sang, his companions,
"after the manner of the Saxons," joined in at intervals; whereupon
the princess, to help him in his assumed character, presented him the
rich cloak which was the reward of the minstrel. Suspicions as to his
real character were not, however, entirely allayed; and these were
increased by his request to the father of the bride for the release of
the Irish messengers.
Finding that he had endangered his safety and the success of his plans
by his indiscretion, Hereward slipped away unobserved, and, with his
companions, lay in ambush the next day along the road by which he knew
the bride would be conducted by her father to her new home. As the
bridal procession passed, and with it the Irish prisoners, Hereward
rushed out upon the unsuspecting company; and while his companions
released the prisoners, he seized the lady and bore her away in true
knightly fashion. It may well be believed that the bride was soon
united in wedlock to the husband of her choice.
One other circumstance in the history of this man, whose life was a
series of bold undertakings, serves to illustrate the superstitions
of the times. When King William had besieged the island of Ely, which
was the headquarters of Hereward and his large following of Saxon
warriors, and had failed to subdue them, he gave heed to the counsel
of one of his courtiers, to have recourse to a celebrated witch
for aid in the destruction of his foes. Hereward, to spy upon his
adversary and discover his plans, disguised himself as a potter,
and stopped at the house of the old woman whose magic was to be used
against him; that night he followed her and another crone out into
the fields, where they engaged in their curious rites. From their
conversation he learned of the scheme against him, which was to have a
platform erected in the marshes surrounding the island; the hag was to
repeat thrice her charm, when he and his followers would be destroyed.
Accordingly, when the platform was erected and the besiegers drew as
near as they could, expectantly awaiting Hereward's destruction, he
and his companions, under the cover of the brush, crept close to the
platform and, taking advantage of the favorable direction of the wind,
set fire to the reeds. The witch, who was about to repeat her charm
for the third time, leaped from the platform in terror, and was
killed, while in the panic many of the soldiers lost their lives
by fire or by water. The scene here depicted bears a remarkable
similarity to the weird rites of the ancient British Druidesses, and
doubtless represents a continuance of the mysteries of that order,
which came down in forms of magic and witchcraft through many
centuries.
This glimpse of the witchcraft that was to become more prominent, or
at least with which we become more familiar at a later period, will
suffice to show that the plane of general intelligence was not yet
high. Education was limited to subjects that have no special interest
for us to-day. Such as it was, it was accessible to the lower classes
as well as to the upper. There were schools connected with the
churches and the monasteries. Apparently, there was no distinction
in the subjects pursued by the sexes, excepting in the case of the
nobility, whose sons were trained for the positions they were to
occupy. It would appear that some priests were so zealous for the
prosperity of their schools that they sought to entice scholars from
other schools to their own. A law to correct the practice provided
"that no priest receive another's scholar without leave of him whom he
had previously followed." Latin was in the list of the studies pursued
by the ladies, but few could read in the vernacular.
At that day there was the same tendency that is familiar to-day,--to
cast alleged feminine inconsistencies into the form of adages. One
of these proverbs is found in the instructions of a baron who was
counselling his son on his going out from the paternal roof: "If
you should know anything that you would wish to conceal," says this
generalizer from a personal experience, "tell it by no means to your
wife, if you have one; for if you let her know it, you will repent of
it the first time you displease her."
The amusements that were popular in the Anglo-Saxon days continued
during the Norman period, but hunting and hawking, by reason of the
stringent game laws, were sports practically limited to the upper
class. The lady kept her falcons and knew well how to set them on the
quarry, and with the men she could ride in the hunt to the baying of
the hounds. It is interesting to note that with women the usual method
of riding was on a side-saddle; seldom are they found seated otherwise
in the representations of riding scenes. Among all classes dancing
seems to have been in favor. The exercise was more graceful and
intricate than the dance of the Saxons. Among the young people of the
lower classes it was the chief amusement, and was attended by much
mirth and boisterousness. Games of chance were popular among both
sexes, and chess was a favorite pastime.
The art of the Anglo-Saxon gleemen and maidens under the Normans was
represented by two classes of public entertainers, the minstrels and
the jongleurs. The minstrels confined themselves for the most part to
music and poetry; while the jongleurs were the jugglers, tricksters,
and exhibitors of trained animals. But the distinction was not sharply
drawn, although in general the minstrels were considered to afford a
higher form of entertainment than did the jongleurs. Both sexes were
represented in these bands of itinerant amusement purveyors. Companies
of them were more or less permanently attached to the retinues of
the great barons, for the whiling away of the long evenings and the
entertainment of the guests. The sentiments of the songs and stories
of these people were full of suggestiveness and coarseness. The merry
and licentious lives of the disreputable traffickers in amusement
brought them under moral reprobation, even in that rude age. They drew
into their ranks many persons of depraved life, who, when the times
improved, contributed, by their abandon, to create sentiment against
all profligate strollers. Yet these minstrels represented the
beginnings of music and of vernacular literature after the conquest of
England.
In the matter of dress there was a marked departure from the
Anglo-Saxon costume, which varied little. Just as long as England
was not in touch with continental ideas and customs, the women of
the country wore the costumes of their ancestors. That dress is
cosmopolitan never entered into their conceptions, any more than it
does into those of any of the Eastern nations who in modern times have
been brought suddenly into the stream of European customs and manners.
But with the coming of the Normans, national conservatism yielded to
comparison with the fashions of other peoples, and fashion assumed
the sceptre that it has continued to wield over the English woman. The
changes in dress were at first slight, but by the end of the twelfth
century they had become sufficiently marked to be the target of
witticism and the subject of satire. The foibles of the women were
little regarded by the writers of the time. The dress of the men was
not passed over in like silence, however; it drew from the censors of
the day the severest strictures on account of its flaunting meagreness
and its improprieties in the eyes of its monkish critics. The same
condemnation was visited upon the practice of the men of dyeing their
hair or otherwise coloring it, wearing flowing locks, and painting
their faces. Such fashions were styled reprehensible and effeminate.
It would have been instructive to subsequent generations if these
censorious critics had not been so gallant toward women, and had
given to us the spicy descriptions of feminine attire that, in their
indignation, they have afforded us of that of the men. Had they but
realized that it was the sex whose sins of dress they passed over
so lightly, with charity or indifference, that was to follow the
inconsequential wake of fashion into the wildest vagaries of costume
and adornment, they would have let the men have their brief day, and
massed their strictures against those who were to elevate fashion
to an art and make of its following a devotion. As it is, for our
knowledge of the dress of the weaker sex we are dependent upon the
illuminations, whose brilliant coloring and faithfulness of detail
left little for the text to elucidate. That the new styles were not
received with approbation by the clerical artists is clear enough
from the caricatures and exaggerations of them that appear in their
drawings. The inordinate length of the sleeves, reaching as they did,
in a long, mandolin-shaped pocket, to the knees of the wearer, made
them surely hideous enough to draw out the indignation of those who
had artistic sensibilities to be shocked.
That the notion of fashionable dress as Satanic is very old is shown
by one of the representations of his infernal majesty, where he
is portrayed dressed in the height of feminine fashion. One of the
sleeves of his gown is short and full, while the other, in caricature
of the style of the day, is so long that it has to be tied in a knot
to get it out of the way. The gown, also, being of impossible length
and fulness, is disposed of by the simple expedient of knotting.
In the dress of Satan, as an exponent of the iniquity of feminine
attire, there also appears unmistakable evidence of a tight bodice
of stays, the lacing of which, after drawing his majesty's waist into
approved dimensions, hangs carelessly down to view and terminates in
a tag. As stays were not commonly worn, and as a writer at a little
later time is found vehemently inveighing against them, it is fair to
conclude that their presence on Satan is to indicate, in the eyes of
the better element of the day, the indelicacy and impropriety of
their use. Ridiculous and unsightly as were the long sleeves and other
novelties of dress, the particular displeasure with which they were
regarded by the element whose views the ecclesiastics reflected must
be attributed somewhat to their foreign origin. Although they were
introduced into the country by the Normans, the long sleeves, at
least, appear to have originated in Italy. Down to the twelfth
century, there was sufficient conservatism remaining to deprecate the
introduction of foreign novelties, just as in Elizabeth's days the
economists strongly protested against bringing into the country
"foreign gewgaws."
The girdle remained a part of the dress of the women, although it was
not so much in evidence as in the Anglo-Saxon time. It was probably
worn under the gown, and in some cases may have been dispensed
with. That queens and princesses, however, wore very fine girdles,
ornamented with pearls and precious stones, is abundantly attested by
the contemporary writers.
The mantle was the most changeful article of dress at this period.
Sometimes it was worn in the old way, being put on by passing the head
through an aperture made for that purpose; but more often it was worn
opening down the front and fastened at the throat by an embroidered
collar clasped by a brooch. Again, it was fastened in a similar
way at the throat, but covered only one side of the form, falling
coquettishly over the shoulder and hanging down the side. A
particularly pleasing effect was obtained by having it fasten at the
throat by a collar, whose rich, gold-embroidered border continued
down the front to the waist. Sometimes the garment was sleeveless, and
again it was worn with short sleeves, or sleeves long and full. For
winter wear, it covered the form entirely and terminated in a hood.
These mantles were often of the finest imported textiles, embroidered
in elegant figures and with richly wrought borders, and were lined
throughout with costly furs.
The kerchief, like the mantle, quite lost its conventional style in
the period we are describing, and was often omitted altogether. It
was usually worn over the head, and hanging down to the right breast,
while the end on the left side was gathered about the neck and thrown
over the right shoulder. Sometimes it was gathered in fulness upon
the head and bound there by a diadem, though otherwise worn as just
described. Toward the end of the twelfth century it became much
smaller, and was tied under the chin, looking very much like an
infant's cap. The women's shoes were very much the same as those
worn by the Anglo-Saxons. It is quite likely that the stockings were
close-fitting and short, as was the style among the men.
There were different ways of wearing the hair, but the most usual was
to have it parted in front and flowing loosely down the back, with a
lock on either side falling over the shoulders and upon the breast;
this was the style for young girls especially. Another fashion was
to have it fall down the back in two masses, where it was wrapped by
ribbons and so bound into tails. Young girls never wore a headdress of
any sort. On reaching maturity, it was usual for the women to enclose
their hair in a net, with a kerchief cap drawn tightly over it.
The ornaments in use need no particular description, because of
their similarity to those worn during the Anglo-Saxon period. Crowns
were, of course, the chief adornments of queens on state occasions;
circlets of gold, elegantly patterned, formed the diadems of the noble
ladies; and half-circlets of gold, connected behind, constituted
the distinctive headdress of women of wealth. Rings, armlets, and
necklaces, as well as the generally serviceable brooch, were in use.
Turning from the fashions of the wealthy to the condition of the poor,
what a difference appears! The age was one of sharp contrasts;
for while gayety reigned in the high circles of court and castle,
wretchedness was more usual in the hovels with their mud walls and
thatched roofs, to which nature may have added the gracious garniture
of herbs, mosses, and lichens. But it would be too much to assume that
the persons of humble estate were not happy in their own way. Lacking
the luxuries of the table and the fine attire of the ladies of the
castles, life still had for them many elements of pure joy. But while
the women of the lower ranks would have contrasted well in the matter
of morals with the women of the nobility, yet no more then than now
was virtue the exclusive possession of any class.
The monasteries were not only centres of culture, but were also the
great distributing centres of charity, the nuns being looked upon as
the especial friends of the poor. We hear little of complaint against
the character of these houses at this time, and it is clear that the
rules for their direction had become efficacious for the establishing
of a discipline sufficiently rigid, on the whole, to ensure exemplary
character. Many penances and mortifications were imposed on the nuns,
besides others which were voluntarily assumed. In a book of rules
published at this time appears the following, which seems to indicate
that even sunshine savored too much of worldliness for the occupants
of the religious houses: "My dear sisters, love your windows as little
as you may, and let them be small, and the parlor's the narrowest; let
the cloth in them be twofold, black cloth, the cross white within and
without." It may be, however, that it was not too much sunlight that
was to be avoided, but men, who sought to converse with the nuns
at their windows. This indeed appears to be the true meaning of the
recommendation, as is indicated by another enjoinment: "If any man
become so mad and unreasonable that he put forth his hand toward the
window cloth, shut the window quickly and leave him."
Besides the nuns, whose office dedicated them to acts of charity, many
of the noble ladies found pleasure in alleviating the afflictions of
the poor. In their care of the distressed they were incited to acts
of humility by the very high value that the Church placed upon the
performance of such deeds. Matilda, the good wife of Henry I., had the
training of the monastery in developing her benevolent instincts, and
set an example to the ladies of her court by establishing the leper
hospital of Saint Giles; there she herself washed the feet of lepers,
esteeming such lowly service as done unto Christ. In a hard and cruel
age, the gentler sentiments common to womanly nature, especially when
under the influence of Christian feeling, poured themselves out in a
wealth of affection upon those who were stricken and left helpless by
the hardness of the times.