[373] Rog. Hoveden Annal. ed. Savile, p. 384, b.
[374] Hist. Elien. Lib. Secund. ed. Stewart, p. 160.
Queen Philippa gave to Symon, bishop of Ely, the gown she wore at her churching after the birth of her eldest son the Black Prince. The garment was of murrey-coloured velvet, powdered with golden squirrels, and so ample that it furnished forth three copes for choir use: “Contulit sibi (Symoni de Monte Acuto) Domina regina quandam robam preciosam cum omnibus garniamentis de velvet murreo squirrillis aureis pulverizato; qua induta erat in die Purificationis suæ post partum Principis excellentissimi Domini Edwardi filii sui primogeniti. De quibus garniamentis tres capæ efficiuntur,” &c.[375] To St. Alban’s Abbey was sent by Elizabeth Lady Beauchamp the splendid mantle made of cloth of gold lined with crimson velvet which Henry V. had on as he rode in state on horseback through London, the day before his coronation. Also another gown of green and gold velvet out of both of which vestments were made: “Elizabeth Beauchamp mulier nobilis ... contulit monasterio S. Albani quandam togam pretiosissimam auro textam duplicatam cum panno de velvetto rubeo resperso cum rosis aureis quæ quondam erat indumentum regis Henrici quinti dum regaliter equitaret per Londonias pridie ante coronationem suam. Item dedit et aliam gounam de viridi velvetto auro texto unde fieri posset integrum vestimentum quæ similiter fuit ejusdem regis.”[376] Naturally wishful to know something about such costly stuffs, the historian will have to come hither, where he may find specimens in the gorgeous velvet and gold chasubles in this collection. Whilst here perchance his eye may wander toward such pieces as those Nos. [1310], p. 53, and [8624], p. 239, whereon he sees figured, stags with tall branching horns, couchant, chained, upturning their antlered heads to sunbeams darting down upon them amid a shower of rain; and beneath the stags are eagles; p. [239]. This Sicilian textile, woven about the end of the fourteenth century, brings to his mind that bronze cumbent figure of a king in Westminster Abbey. It is of Richard II. made for him before his downfal, and by two coppersmiths of London, Nicholas Broker and Godfrey Prest. This effigy, once finely gilt, is as remarkable for its beautiful workmanship, as for the elaborate manner in which the cloak and kirtle worn by the king are diapered all over with the pattern (now hid under coats of dirt) on that silken stuff out of which those garments must have been cut for his personal wear while living; and it consists of a sprig of the Planta genesta, the humble broom plant—the haughty Plantagenets’ device—along with a couchant hart chained and gazing straight forwards, and above it a cloud with rays darting up from behind. With Edward III. Richard’s grandfather, “sunbeams issuing from a cloud” was a favourite cognizance. The white hart he got from the white hind, the cognizance of his mother Joan, the fair maid of Kent, and rendered remarkable by the unflinching steadfastness of the faithful Jenico in wearing it as his royal master’s badge after Richard’s downfal. Sometimes, did that king take as a device a white falcon, for, at a tournament held by him at Windsor, forty of his knights came clothed in green with a white falcon on the stuff. During a foppish reign, Richard was the greatest fop. When he sat to those two London citizens for his monument, which they so ably wrought, and which still is at Westminster, our own belief is that he wore a dress of silk which had been expressly woven for him at Palermo. We think, too, that the couple of specimens here, Nos. [1310], p. 53, and [8624], p. 239, were originally wrought in Sicily, after designs from England, and for the court of Richard: they quite answer the period, and show those favourite devices, the chained hart, sunbeams issuing from a cloud, the falcon or eagle—a group in itself quite peculiar to that monarch. For the slight variations in these stuffs from those upon the Westminster monument, we will account, a little further on, while treating the subject of symbolism, Section VII.
[375] Anglia Sacra, ed. Wharton, t. i. p. 650.
[376] Mon. Anglic. ed. Caley, t. ii. p. 223.
The seemliness, not to say comfort, of private life, was improved by the use, after several ways, of textiles. Let the historian contrast the manners, even in a royal palace during the twelfth century, with those that are now followed in every tradesman’s home. Then, rich barons and titled courtiers would sprawl amid the straw and rushes, strewed in the houses even of the king, upon the floor in every room, which, as Wendover says: “junco solent domorum areæ operiri;”[377] and, platting knots with the litter, fling them with a gibe at the man who had been slighted by the prince.[378] Not quite a hundred years later, when Eleanor of Castile came to London for her marriage with our first Edward, she found her lodgings furnished, under the directions of the Spanish courtiers who had arrived before her, with hangings and curtains of silk around the walls, and carpets spread upon the ground. This sorrowed some of our people; more of them giggled at the thought that some of these costly things were laid down to be walked upon, as we learn from Matthew Paris: “Cum venisset illa nurus nobilissima (Alienora) ad hospitium sibi assignatum invenit illud ... holosericis palliis et tapetiis, ad similitudinem templi appensis; etiam pavimentum aulæis redimitum, Hispanis, secundum patriæ suæ forte consuetudinem hoc procurantibus.”[379] Now, our houses have a carpet for every room as well as on its stair-case, and not a few of our shops are carpeted throughout.
[377] T. iii. p. 109.
[378] Vita S. Thomæ, auct. Eduardo Grim. ed. Giles, p. 47.
[379] Hist. Ang. in A.D. 1255, p. 612, col. b.
The Emperor Aurelian’s wife once tried to coax out of her imperial husband a silk cloak—only one silk cloak. “No,” was the answer; “I could never think,” said that lord of the earth, “of buying such a thing; it sells for its weight in gold;” as we showed before, p. [xix]. Now, however, little does the woman of the nineteenth century suspect, when she goes forth pranked out in all her bravery of dress, that an Egyptian Cleopatra equally with a Roman empress would have looked with a grudging eye upon her gay silk gown and satin ribbons; or that, as late as three hundred years ago, even her silken hose would have been an offering worthy of an English queen’s (Elizabeth’s) acceptance. Little, too, does that tall young man who, as he stands behind the lady’s chariot going to a Drawing-room, ever and anon lets drop a stealthy but complaisant look upon his own legs shining in soft blushing silk—ah! little does he dream that in that old palace before him there once dwelt a king (James I.) of Great Britain, who would have envied him his bright new stockings; and who, before he came to the throne of England, was fain to wear some borrowed ones, when in Scotland he had to receive an English ambassador. If we take this loan, for the nonce, from the Earl of Mar to his royal master, to have been as shapeless and befrilled as are the yellow pair (Blue Coat School boys’ as yet) once Queen Elizabeth’s, now among the curiosities at Hatfield; then were those stockings—the first woven in England, and presented by Lord Hunsdon—funny things, indeed.