Whilst these pages were going through the press, one of these old English pyx, or Corpus Christi cloths, was found at the bottom of a chest in Hessett church, Suffolk. As it is a remarkable and unique specimen of the ingenious handicraft done by our mediæval countrywomen, we notice it. To make this pyx-cloth, a piece of thick linen, about two feet square, was chosen, and being marked off into small equal widths on all its four edges, the threads at every other space were, both in the warp and woof, pulled out. The checquers or squares so produced all over it were then drawn in by threads tied on the under side, so as to have the shape of stars, so well and nicely given that, till this piece had been narrowly looked into, it was thought to be guipure lace. Of a textile so admirably wrought, it is to be regretted that there is, as yet, no sample in this collection. This curious liturgical appliance is figured in the April number, for the year 1868, of the “Ecclesiologist,” page 86.
For the several very curious sorts of ornamental needlework about it, and the somewhat intricate manner after which it is cut out, the old alb, No. [8710], p. 268, as well as the amice, [No. 8307], p. 185, having both of them the apparels yet remaining sewed on to these church garments, must draw the attention of every inquirer after such rare existing samples of the kind.
Some very fine threaden cloths—now become rare—for liturgical purposes, deserve attention. In the old inventories of church furniture in England, they are known under the name of “filatoria,” about which we have spoken just now, p. [cix]. At No. [4457], p. 99, is a towel which, it is likely, was spread under the tapers for Candlemass-day, and the twigs of the sallow, or willow (our so-called palm), and slips of the box-tree, for Palm-Sunday, while they were being hallowed before distribution. For several lectern veils, we shall have to go to [No. 7029], p. 120; No. [8358], p. 210; and [No. 8693], p. 261.
Those two linen napkins, formerly kept hanging down from just below the crook on a pastoral staff or crozier are become so excessively rare, that we unhesitatingly believe that none of our countrymen have ever been able to find, either in England or abroad, a single other sample; they are to be seen, No. [8279A], p. 174, and [No. 8662], p. 250.
Those who have ever witnessed on a Sunday morning in any of the great churches at Paris, the blessing of the French “pain beni”—our old English “holy loaf”—the “eulogia” of antiquity—will call to mind how a fair white linen cloth, like the one here, [No. 8698], p. 263, overspread, and fell in graceful folds down from two sides of the board upon which, borne on the shoulders of four youthful acolytes, a large round cake garnished with flowers and wax-tapers was carried through the chancel, and halting at the altar’s foot got its blessing from the celebrant.
The rich crimson velvet cope, [No. 79], p. 2, has a fine hood figured with the coming down, after the usual manner, of the Holy Ghost upon the infant church. [No. 8595], p. 226, presents us with a shred merely of what must have been once a large hanging for the chancel walls, or perhaps one of the two curtains at the altar’s sides, having such fragments of some Latin sentences as these:—“et tui amoris in eis ... tus. Re ... le tuoru.” The subject on the cope’s hood tells of Pentecost Sunday; so too does the second article, for those broken sentences are parts of particular words: “Veni Sancte Spiritus, reple tuorum corda fidelium: et tui amoris in eis ignem accende,” to be found both in our own old English Salisbury missal, and breviary, but in every like service-book in use during the mediæval period throughout western Christendom. Be it kept in mind that both these liturgical appliances are red or crimson; and as now, so heretofore, as well in old England, as elsewhere this very colour has been employed for the church’s vestments, thus to remind us of those parted tongues, as it were, of fire that sat upon every one of the Apostles.[393] We mention all this with a view to correct an error in lexicography. In our dictionaries we are told that “Whitsuntide” is a contracted form of White Sunday tide, so called from the white vestments worn on that day by the candidates for baptism. Nothing of the sort; but the word “wits,” our intellect or understanding, is the root of the term, for a curious and valuable old English book of sermons called “The Festival,” tells us:—“This day is called Wytsonday by cause the Holy Ghoost brought wytte and wysdom in to Cristis dyscyples; and so by her preachyng after in to all Cristendom.”[394]
[393] Acts ii. 1-11.
[394] In die Penthecostes, fol. xlvi. verso.
Somewhat akin to this subject, are those several christening cloaks here, pp. [8], [9], [10], [11]. Not long ago the custom was to carry to church for baptism the baby wrapped up in some such a silken covering which was called a bearing-cloth. Of old, that used to be a conspicuous article in all royal christenings; and amongst our gentry was looked upon as worthy enough of being made a testamentary bequest. At the christening of Arthur Prince of Wales, eldest son of Henry VII. “my Lady Cecill, the Queen’s eldest sister, bare the prince wrapped in a Mantell of Cremesyn Clothe of Golde furred with Ermyn,” &c.[395] Such ceremonial garments varied, according to the owner’s position of life, in costliness; hence Shakespeare makes the shepherd, in the “Winter’s Tale,” cry out, “Here’s a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing cloth for a squire’s child!”[396] A well-to-do tradesman bequeathed, A.D. 1648, to his daughter Rose his “beareing cloath such ... linnen as is belonginge to infants at their tyme of baptisme.”[397]
Very often in our old country houses are found, thrown aside in some antique chest, certain small square pieces of nice embroidery, the former use for which nobody now knows, and about which one is asked. If their owners would look at those several cradle-quilts here—pp. [4], [13], [66], [67], [100], [103], [104], [110]—they might find out such ancient household stuff was wrought for their forefathers’ comfort and adornment, when mere babies. The evangelists’ emblems figured on several among these coverlets: such as [No. 1344], p. 67, [No. 4459], p. 100, [No. 4644], p. 103, will call to mind those old nursery-rhymes we referred to at p. [103]. Of yore, not only little children, but grown-up, ay, aged men too loved to think about those verses, when they went to sleep, for the inventory of furniture taken, A.D. 1446, in the Priory of Durham, tells us that in the upper chamber there was a bed-quilt embroidered with the four Evangelists—one in each corner: “j culcitrum cum iiij or Evangelistis in corneriis.”[398]