No. 170. A Lady Spinning.
| No. 171. The Three Fates. | No. 172. Birds Encaged. |
Domestic animals, particularly dogs and birds, were favourite companions of the ladies in their chambers. A favourite falcon had frequently its “perche” in a corner of the chamber; and in the illuminations we sometimes see the lady seated with the bird on her wrist. Birds in cages are also not unfrequently alluded to through the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In the romance of “La Violette” a tame lark plays rather an important part in the story. Our cut No. 172, where we see two birds in a cage together, and which is curious for the form of the cage, is given by Willemin from a manuscript of the fourteenth century at Paris. The hawk, though usually kept only for hunting, sometimes became a pet, and persons carried their hawks on the fist even in social parties within doors. The jay is spoken of as a cage-bird. The parrot, under the name of papejay, popinjay, or papingay, is also often spoken of during the middle ages, although, in all probability, it was very rare. The favourite talking-bird was the pie, or magpie, which often plays a very remarkable part in mediæval stories. The aptness of this bird for imitation led to an exaggerated estimate of its powers, and it is frequently made to give information to the husband of the weaknesses of his wife. Several mediæval stories turn upon this supposed quality. The good chevalier de la Tour-Landry, in his book of counsels to his daughters, composed in the second half of the fourteenth century, tells a story of a magpie as a warning of the danger of indulging in gluttony. “I will tell you,” he says, “a story in regard to women who eat dainty morsels in the absence of their lords. There was a lady who had a pie in a cage, which talked of everything which it saw done. Now it happened that the lord of the household preserved a large eel in a pond, and kept it very carefully, in order to give it to some of his lords or of his friends, in case they should visit him. So it happened that the lady said to her female attendant that it would be good to eat the great eel, and accordingly they eat it, and agreed that they would tell their lord that the otter had eaten it. And when the lord returned, the pie began to say to him, ‘My lord, my lady has eaten the eel.’ Then the lord went to his pond, and missed his eel; and he went into the house, and asked his wife what had become of it. She thought to excuse herself easily, but he said that he knew all about it, and that the pie had told him. The result was that there was great quarrelling and trouble in the house; but when the lord was gone away, the lady and her female attendant went to the pie, and plucked all the feathers from his head, saying, ‘You told about the eel.’ And so the poor pie was quite bald. But from that time forward, when it saw any people who were bald or had large foreheads, the pie said to them, ‘Ah! you told about the eel!’ And this is a good example how no woman ought to eat any choice morsel by gluttony without the knowledge of her lord, unless it be to give it to people of honour; for this lady was afterwards mocked and jeered for eating the eel, through the pie which complained of it.” The reader will recognise in this the origin of a much more modern story.
One of the stories in the celebrated mediæval collection, entitled “The Seven Sages,” also turns upon the talkative qualities of this bird. There was a burgher who had a pie which, on being questioned, related whatever it had seen, for it spoke uncommonly well the language of the people. Now the burgher’s wife was a good-for-nothing woman, and as soon as her husband went from home about business, she sent for her friend out of the town; but the pie, which was a great favourite of the burgher, told him all the goings on when he returned, and the husband knew that it always spoke the truth. So he became acquainted with his wife’s conduct. One day the burgher went from home, and told his wife he should not return that night, and she immediately sent for her friend; but he was afraid to enter, for “the pie was hung up in his cage on a high perch in the middle of the porch of the house.” Encouraged, however, by the lady, the friend ventured in, and passed through the hall to the chamber. The pie, which saw him pass, and knew him well on account of some tricks he had played upon it, called out, “Ah, sir! you who are in the chamber there, why don’t you pay your visits when the master is at home?” It said no more all the day, but the lady set her wits to work for a stratagem to avert the danger. So when night came, she called her chamber-maiden, and gave her a great jug full of water, and a lighted candle, and a wooden mallet, and about midnight the maiden mounted on the top of the house, and began to beat with the mallet on the laths, and from time to time showed the light through the crevices, and threw the water right down upon the pie till the bird was wet all over. Next morning the husband came home, and began to question his pie. “Sir,” it said, “my lady’s friend has been here, and stayed all night, and is only just gone away. I saw him go.” Then the husband was very angry, and was going to quarrel with his wife, but the pie went on—“Sir, it has thundered and lightened all night, and the rain was so heavy that I have been wet through.” “Nay,” said the husband, “it has been fine all night, without rain or storm.” “You see,” said the crafty dame, “you see how much your bird is to be believed. Why should you put more faith in him when he tells tales about me, than when he talks so knowingly about the weather?” Then the burgher thought he had been deceived, and turning his wrath upon the pie, drew it from the cage and twisted its neck; but he had no sooner done so than, looking up, he saw how the laths had been deranged. So he got a ladder, mounted on the roof, and discovered the whole mystery. If, says the story, he had not been so hasty, the life of his bird would have been saved. In the English version of this series of tales, printed by Weber, the pie’s cage is made to hang in the hall:— The burgeis hadde a pie in his halle,
That couthe telle tales alle
Apertlich (openly), in French langage,
And heng in a faire cage.
In the other English version, edited by the author of this work for the Percy Society, the bird is said to have been, not a pie, but a “popynjay,” or parrot, and there are other variations in it which show that it had been taken more directly from the Oriental original, in which, as might be expected, the bird is a parrot.
No. 173. Lady and Dog.
Among the animals mentioned as pets we sometimes find monkeys. One of the Latin stories in the collection printed by the Percy Society, tells how a rustic, entering the hall of a certain nobleman, seeing a monkey dressed in the same suit as the nobleman’s family, and supposing, as its back was turned, that it was one of his sons, began to address it with all suitable reverence; but when he saw that it was only a monkey chattering at him, he exclaimed, “A curse upon you! I thought you had been Jenkin, my lord’s son.”[26] The favourite quadruped, however, has always been the dog, of which several kinds are mentioned as lady’s pets. Chaucer tells us of his prioress,— Of smale houndes hadde sche, that sche fedde
With rostud fleissh and mylk and wastel breed.
—Cant. Tales, l. 147.
Our cut [No. 173], from a manuscript of the St. Graal, in the British Museum (MS. Addit. No. 10,293, fol. 31), written in the thirteenth century, represents a queen seated in conversation, with her dog in her lap. The next cut ([No. 174]), from an illumination in the interesting manuscript of the Roman de Meliadus in the British Museum (MS. Addit. 12,228, fol. 310), belonging to the latter half of the fourteenth century (the reign of our Edward III.), represents the interior of a chamber, with two little dogs gamboling about. In the singular work on domestic economy, entitled the “Ménagier de Paris,” written about the year 1393, the lady of the household is particularly recommended to think of the “chamber beasts,” such as little dogs, the “chamber birds,” &c., inasmuch as these creatures, not having the gift of speech, could not ask for themselves.[27] I have printed in the “Reliquiæ Antiquæ” a curious Anglo-Norman poem, of the beginning of the fourteenth century, written as a satire on the ladies of the time, who were too fond of their dogs, and fed them delicately, while the servants were left to short commons (Reliq. Antiq. vol. i. p. 155). Cats are seldom mentioned as pets, except of ill-famed old women. There was a prejudice against them in the middle ages, and they were joined in people’s imagination with witchcraft, and with other diabolical agencies. The accompanying group of an old lady and her cats (cut [No. 175]) is taken from a carving on one of the misereres in the church of Minster, in the Isle of Thanet. Curiously enough, the English “Rule of Nuns,” of the earlier half of the thirteenth century, forbids the nuns to keep any “beast” but a cat.
No. 174. Interior of a Chamber.
