Part 5 (1/2)
Or it might be a magnificent pall, in the days in which this garment had lost its primitive character, that taxed the skill and the patience of the fair needlewoman. It was about the year A.D. 601 that Pope Gregory sent two archbishop's palls into England; the one for London, which see was afterwards removed to Canterbury, and the other to York. Fuller gives the following account of this garment primitively:--
”The pall is a pontificall vestment, considerable for the matter, making, and mysteries thereof. For the matter, it is made of lamb's-wooll and superst.i.tion. I say, _of lamb's-wooll, as it comes from the sheep's back, without any other artificiall colour_, spun (say some) by a peculiar order of nunnes, _first cast into the tombe of St. Peter_, taken from his body (say others); surely most sacred if from both; and (superst.i.tiously) adorned with little black crosses.
For the form thereof, the _breadth exceeded not three fingers_ (one of our bachelor's lamb-skin hoods in Cambridge would make three of them), _having two labells hanging down before and behind_, which the archbishops onely, when going to the altar, put about their necks, above their other pontificall ornaments. Three mysteries were couched therein. First, humility, which beautifies the clergy above all their costly copes; secondly, innocency, to imitate lamb-like simplicitie; and thirdly, industry, to follow him who fetched his wandering sheep home on his shoulders. But to speak plainly, the mystery of mysteries in this pall was, that the archbishops receiving it showed therein their dependence on Rome; and a mote in this manner ceremoniously taken was a sufficient acknowledgment of their subjection. And, as it owned Rome's power, so in after ages it increased their profit. For, though now such palls were freely given to archbishops, whose places in Britain for the present were rather c.u.mbersome than commodious, having little more than their paines for their labour; yet in after ages the archbishop of Canterburie's pall was sold for five thousand florenes:[13] so that the Pope might well have the Golden Fleece, if he could sell all his lamb's-wooll at that rate.”[14]
The accounts of the rich embroidered ecclesiastical vestments--robes, sandals, girdles, tunics, vests, palls, cloaks, altar-cloths, and veils or hangings of various descriptions, common in churches in the dark ages--would almost surpa.s.s belief, if the minuteness with which they are enumerated in some few ancient authors did not attest the fact. Still these in the most diffuse writers are a mere catalogue of church properties, and, as such, would, in the dry detail, be but little interesting to our readers. There is enough said of them, however, to attest their variety, their beauty, their magnificence; and to impress one with a very favourable idea of the female ingenuity and perseverance of those days. The cost of many of these garments was enormous, for pearls and precious jewels were literally interwrought, and the time and labour bestowed on them was almost incredible. It was no uncommon circ.u.mstance for three years to be spent even by these a.s.siduous and indefatigable votaries of the needle on one garment. But it is only casually, in the pages of the antiquarian, that there is any record of them:--
”With their names No bard embalms and sanctifies his song: And history, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this.”
”Noi” (says Muratori) ”che ammiriamo, e con ragione, la belta e varieta di tante drapperie dei nostri tempi, abbiam nondimeno da confessare un obbligo non lieve agli antichi, che ci hanno prima spianata la via, e senza i lumi loro non potremmo oggid vantare un s gran progresso nell'Arti.”
And that this was the case a few instances may suffice to show; and it may not be quite out of place here to refer to one out of a thousand articles of value and beauty which were lost in the great conflagration (”which so cruelly laid waste the habitations of the servants of G.o.d”) of the doomed and often suffering, but always magnificent, Croyland Abbey. It was ”that beautiful and costly sphere, most curiously constructed of different metals, according to the different planets. Saturn was of copper, Jupiter of gold, Mars of iron, the Sun of bra.s.s, Mercury of amber, Venus of tin, and the Moon of silver: the colours of all the signs of the Zodiac had their several figures and colours variously finished, and adorned with such a mixture of precious stones and metals as amused the eye, while it informed the mind of every beholder. Such another sphere was not known or heard of in England; and it was a present from the King of France.”
No insignificant proof this of the mechanical skill of the eleventh century.
We are told that Pope Eutychia.n.u.s, who lived in the reign of the Emperor Aurelian, buried in different places 342 martyrs with his own hands; and he ordained that a faithful martyr should on no account be interred without a dalmatic robe or a purple colobio. This is perhaps one of the earliest notices of ecclesiastical pomp or pride in vestments. But some forty years afterwards Pope Silvester was invested by the hands of his attendants with a Phrygian robe of snowy white, on which was traced in sparkling threads by busy female hands the resurrection of our Lord; and so magnificent was this garment considered that it was ordained to be worn by his successors on state occasions: and to pa.s.s at once to the seventh century, there are records of various church hangings which had become injured by old age being carefully repaired at considerable expense; which expense and trouble would not, we may fairly infer, have been incurred if the articles in question, even at this more advanced period, had not been considered of value and of beauty.
Leo the Third, in the eighth century, was a magnificent benefactor to the church. With the vessels of rich plate and jewels of various descriptions which were in all ages offering to the church we have nothing to do: amongst various other vestments, Leo gave to the high altar of the blessed Peter, the Prince of the Apostles, a covering spangled with gold (_chrysoclabam_) and adorned with precious stones; having the histories both of our Saviour giving to the blessed Apostle Peter the power of binding and loosing, and also representing the suffering of Peter, the Prince of the Apostles, and Paul. It was of great size, and exhibited on St. Peter and St. Paul's days.[15]
Pope Paschal, early in the ninth century, had some magnificent garments wrought, which he presented to different churches. One of these was an altar-cloth of Tyrian purple, having in the middle a picture of golden emblems, with the countenance of our Lord, and of the blessed martyrs Cosman and Damian, with three other brothers. The cross was wrought in gold, and had round it a border of olive-leaves most beautifully worked. Another had golden emblems, with our Saviour, surrounded with archangels and apostles, of wonderful beauty and richness, being ornamented with pearls.
In these ages robes and hangings with crimson or purple borders, called _blatta_, from the name of the insect from which the dye was obtained, were much in use. An insect, supposed to be the one so often referred to by this name in the writings of the ancients, is found now on the coasts of Guayaquil and Guatima. The dye is very beautiful, and is easily transferred. The royal purple so much esteemed of old was of very different shades, for the terms purple, red, crimson, scarlet, are often used indiscriminately; and a pretty correct conception may be acquired of the value of this imperial tint formerly from the circ.u.mstance that, when Alexander took possession of the city of Susa and of its enormous treasures, among other things there were found five thousand quintals of Hermione purple, the finest in the world, which had been treasured up there during the s.p.a.ce of 190 years; notwithstanding which, its beauty and l.u.s.tre were no way diminished.
Some idea may be formed of the prodigious value of this store from the fact that this purple was sold at the rate of 100 crowns a pound, and the quintal is a hundredweight of Paris.
Pope Paschal had a robe worked with gold and gems, having the history of the Virgins with lighted torches beautifully related: he had another of Byzantine scarlet with a worked border of olive-leaves.
This was a very usual decoration of ecclesiastical robes, and a very suitable one; for, from the time when in the beak of Noah's dove it was first an emblem of comfort, it has ever, in all ages, in all nations, at all times, been symbolical of plenty and peace. This pope had also a robe of woven gold, worn over a ca.s.sock of scarlet silk; a dress certainly worth the naming, though not so much as others indebted to our useful little implement which Cowper calls the ”threaded steel.” But he had another rich and peculiar garment, which was entirely indebted to the needlewoman for its varied and radiant hues. This was a robe of an amber colour,[16] _having peac.o.c.ks_.
Pope Leo the Fourth had a hanging worked with the needle, having the portrait of a man seated upon a peac.o.c.k. Pope Stefano the Fifth had four magnificent hangings for the great altar, one of which was wrought in peac.o.c.ks. We find in romance that there was a high emblematical value attached to peac.o.c.ks; not so high, however, as to prevent our ancestors from eating them; but it is difficult to account for their being so frequently introduced in designs professedly religious. In romance and chivalry they were supereminent. ”To mention the peac.o.c.k (says M. Le Grand) is to write its panegyrick.” Many n.o.ble families bore the peac.o.c.k as their crest; and in the Provencal Courts of Love the successful poet was crowned with a wreath formed of them.
The coronation present given to the Queen of our Henry the Third, by her sister, the Queen of France, was a large silver peac.o.c.k, whose train was set with sapphires and pearls, and other precious jewels, wrought with silver. This elegant piece of jewellery was used as a reservoir for sweet waters, which were forced out of its beak into a basin of white silver chased.
As the knights a.s.sociated 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 peac.o.c.k was always the most distinguished dish at the solemn banquets of princes or n.o.bles.
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 G.o.d, to the blessed Virgin, to the dames, and to the _peac.o.c.k_, &c. &c.”
In later and less imaginative times, the peac.o.c.k, 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.
Ma.s.singer speaks of
”the carcases Of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to Make sauce for a single peac.o.c.k.”
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 circ.u.mference, 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 _c.o.c.k_ 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 c.n.u.te 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 peac.o.c.ks' feathers.
And from whatever circ.u.mstance the reverence for peac.o.c.ks' feathers originated,[18] it is not, even yet, quite exploded. There are some lingering remnants of a superst.i.tious regard for them which may have had their origin in these very times and circ.u.mstances. 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 superst.i.tion 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 peac.o.c.k feathers, which are carefully dusted and preserved. And in houses of more a.s.suming pretensions the same custom frequently prevails; and we knew a lady who carefully preserved some peac.o.c.k feathers in a drawer long after her a.s.sociation 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 circ.u.mstances connected originally with the ”Vow of the Peac.o.c.k.” At any rate, the religious care with which peac.o.c.ks' 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 G.o.ddess! thanks!