Medieval English Nunneries c. 1275 to 1535 Part 38

GAY CLOTHES.

A council at London in 1200 had restrained the black nuns from wearing coloured headdresses[1680] but the standard English decree on the subject was that issued by the council of Oxford in 1222.

Since it is necessary that the female s.e.x, so weak against the wiles of the ancient enemy, should be fortified by many remedies, we decree that nuns and other women dedicated to divine wors.h.i.+p shall not wear a silken wimple, nor dare to carry silver or golden tiring-pins in their veil. Neither shall they, nor monks nor regular canons, wear belts of silk, or adorned with gold or silver, nor henceforth use burnet or any other unlawful cloth. Also let them measure their gown according to the dimension of their body, so that it does not exceed the length of the body, but let it suffice them to be clad, as beseems them, in a robe reaching to the ankles; and let none but a consecrated nun wear a ring and let her be content with one alone[1681].

Fifteen years later a synod declared:

Item, we forbid to monks, regular canons and nuns coloured garments or bed clothes, save those dyed black. And when they ride, let them use decent saddles and bridles and saddle-cloths[1682]. And nuns are not to use trained and pleated dresses, or any exceeding the length of the body, nor delicate or coloured furs; nor shall they presume to wear silver tiring-pins in their veil[1683].

These regulations were repeated almost word for word by William of Wykeham in his injunctions to Romsey and Wherwell in 1387[1684]. With them may be compared the rule as to dress in force at Syon Abbey in the fifteenth century:

whiche (clothes) in nowyse schal be ouer curyous, but playne and homly, witheoute weuynge of any straunge colours of silke, golde or syluer, hauynge al thynge of honeste and profyte, and nothyng of vanyte, after the rewle; ther knyves unpoynted and purses beyng double of lynnen clothe and not of sylke[1685].

The unsuccessful efforts of monastic Visitors to enforce these rules have been described; a few instances may be added here to show the directions in which the nuns erred. Peckham wrote to G.o.dstow:

Concerning the garments of the nuns let the rule of St Benedict be carefully observed. For which reason we forbid them ever in future to wear cloth of burnet, nor gathered tunics nor to make themselves garments of an immoderate width with excessive pleats (_nec etiam birrorum immoderantia vestes sibi faciant lat.i.tudine fluctuantes_); with this nevertheless carefully observing what was aforetime ordained in such matters by the Council of Oxford[1686].

Buckingham's injunction to Elstow in 1387 gives some interesting details; he forbade the nuns to wear any other veil than that of profession, or to "adorn their countenances" by arranging it in a becoming fas.h.i.+on, spreading out the white veil, which was meant to be worn underneath:

(Ainsi qu'il est pour le monde et les cours Un art, un gout de modes et d'atours, Il est aussi des modes pour le voile; Il est un art de donner d'heureux tours[1687]

a l'etamine, a la plus simple toile.)[1688]

They were not to wear gowns of black wide at the bottom, or turned back with fur at the wrists[1689], and they were in no wise to use "wide girdles or belts plaited (_spiratis_) or adorned with silver, nor wear these above their tunics open to the gaze of man"[1690]. Curious details are also given by Bishop Spofford, writing to the nuns of Lymbrook in 1437; their habit was to "be formed after relygyon in sydnesse and wydnesse, forbedyng long traynes in mantellys and kyrtellys and almaner of spaires and open semes in the same kyrtellys"[1691]. "Large collars, barred girdles and laced shoes" were forbidden at Swine in 1298[1692], red dresses and long supertunics "like secular women" at Wilberfoss in 1308[1693]; at Nunmonkton in 1397 (after Margaret Fairfax's fas.h.i.+onable clothes had been discovered) a general injunction was made to the nuns "not to use henceforth silken clothes, and especially silken veils, nor precious furs, nor rings on their fingers, nor tunics laced-up or fastened with brooches nor any robes, called in English 'gownes,' after the fas.h.i.+on of secular women"[1694]. These Northern houses were continually in need of admonition, sometimes their slashed tunics, sometimes their barred girdles, sometimes their shoes being condemned[1695]. Bishop Alnwick found silken veils at Langley, Studley and Rothwell[1696]; Bishop Fitzjames forbade silver and gilt pins and kirtles of fustian or worsted at Wix in 1509[1697]; and at Carrow in 1532 the subprioress complained that some of the nuns not only wore silk girdles, but had the impudence to commend the use thereof[1698].

Nor could nuns always resist the temptation to let their shorn hair grow again, e.g. at the visitation of Romsey by the commissary of the Prior of Canterbury in 1502, the cellaress deposed "that Mary Tystede and Agnes Harvey wore their hair long"[1699]. Eudes Rigaud had some difficulty in this matter with the frivolous nuns of his diocese of Rouen; at Villarceaux in 1249 he recorded: "They all wear their hair long to their chins," and at Montivilliers he had to condemn ringlets[1700]. One is reminded of the scene in _Jane Eyre_, where Mr Brocklehurst visits Lowood:

Suddenly his eye gave a blink, as if he had met something that either dazzled or shocked its pupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents than he had hitherto used: "Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what--_what_ is that girl with curled hair? Red hair, ma'am, curled--curled all over?"

and extending his cane he pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so. "It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly. "Julia Severn, ma'am! And why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why, in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, does she conform to the world so openly--here in an evangelical, charitable establishment--as to wear her hair a ma.s.s of curls?... Tell all the first form to rise up and direct their faces to the wall."...

He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes, then p.r.o.nounced sentence. These words fell like the knell of doom: "All those top-knots must be cut off."

Or, as Eudes Rigaud expressed it some seven centuries earlier: "Quod comam non nutriatis ultra aures."

NOTE E.

CONVENT PETS IN LITERATURE.

It would be possible to compile a pretty anthology of convent pets, which have played a not undistinguished part in literature. The best known of all, perhaps, are Madame Eglentyne's little dogs, upon which Chaucer looked with a kindly unepiscopal eye:

Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed, But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte: And al was conscience and tendre herte[1701].

The tender-hearted Prioress risked a terrible fate by so pampering her dogs, if we are to believe the awful warning related by the knight of La Tour-Landry, to wean his daughters from similar habits:

Ther was a lady that had two litell doggis, and she loued hem so that she toke gret plesaunce in the sight and feding of hem. And she made euery day dresse and make for her disshes with soppes of mylke, and after gaue hem flesshe. But there was ones a frere that saide to her that it was not wel done that the dogges were fedde and made so fatte, and the pore pepill so lene and famished for hunger. And so the lady, for his saieing, was wrothe with hym, but she wolde not amende it. And after she happed she deied, and there fell a wonder meruailous sight, for there was seyn euer on her bedde ij litell blake dogges, and in her deyeng thei were about her mouthe and liked it, and whanne she was dede, there the dogges had lyked it was al blacke as cole, as a gentillwoman tolde me that sawe it and named me the lady[1702].

Poor Madame Eglentyne!

The anthologist would, however, have to go further back than Chaucer, into the eleventh century, and begin with that ill-fated donkey, which belonged to sister Alfrad of Homburg, and which the wit of a nameless goliard and the devotion of the monks of St Augustine's, Canterbury, have preserved for undying fame[1703]:

Est unus locus There is a towns.h.i.+p Hoinburh dictus, (Men call it Homburg) in quo pascebat There 'twas that Alfrad asinam Alfrad Pastured her she-a.s.s, viribus fortem Strong was the donkey, atque fidelem. Mighty and faithful.

Que dum in amplum And as it wandered exiret campum, Out to the meadow, vidit currentem It spied a greedy lupum voracem, Wolf that came running, caput abscondit, Head down and tail turned, caudam ostendit. Off the a.s.s scampered.

Lupus occurrit: Up the wolf hurried, caudam momordit, Seized tail and bit it.

asina bina Quickly the donkey levavit crura Lifted its hind legs, fecitque longum With the wolf bravely, c.u.m lupo bellum. Long did it battle.

c.u.m defecisse Then when at last it vires sensisset, Felt its strength failing, protulit magnam Raised it a mighty plangendo vocem Noise of lamenting, vocansque suam Calling its mistress, moritur domnam. So died the donkey.

Audiens grandem Hearing the mighty asine vocem Voice of her donkey Alfrad cucurrit, Alfrad came running.

"sorores," dixit, "Come, sisters" cried she "cito venite, "Sisters, come quickly, me adiuvate! Come now and help me!

Asinam caram My darling donkey misi ad erbam. Out to gra.s.s put I.

illius magnum I hear a mighty audio planctum, Sound of complaining.

spero c.u.m sevo Sure with a cruel ut pugnet lupo." Wolf is it fighting!"

Clamor sororum Heard is her crying venit in claustrum, In the nuns' cloister, turbe virorum Men come and women, ac mulierum Crowding together, a.s.sunt, cruentum All that the b.l.o.o.d.y ut captent lupum. Wolf may be taken.

Adela namque Adela also, soror Alfrade, sister of Alfrad, Rikilam querit, Rikila seeketh, Agatham invenit, Agatha findeth, ibant ut fortem All go to vanquish sternerent hostem. The mighty foeman.

At ille ruptis But he tore open asine costis Sides of the donkey, sanguinis undam Flesh and blood gobbled carnemque totam All up together, simul voravit, Then helter-skeltered silvam intravit. Back to the forest.

Illud videntes And when they saw him cuncte sorores Wept all the sisters, crines scindebant, Tearing their tresses, pectus tundebant, Beating their bosoms, flentes insontem Weeping the guiltless asine mortem. Death of their donkey.

Denique parvum Long time a tiny portabat pullum; Foal it had carried.

illum plorabat Sadly wept Alfrad maxime Alfrad, Thinking upon it, sperans exinde All her hopes ended prolem crevisse. Of rearing the offspring.

Adela mitis Adela gentle, Fritherunque dulcis Fritherun charming, venerunt ambe, Both came together, ut Alverade That they might strengthen cor confirmarent Sad heart of Alfrad, atque sanarent. Strengthen and heal it.

"Delinque mestas, "Leave now thy gloomy soror, querelas! Wailing, O sister!

lupus amarum Wolf never heedeth non curat fletum: Thy bitter weeping.

dominus aliam, The Lord will give thee dabit tibi asinam." Another donkey."

Exquisite ending! "The Lord will give thee another donkey." With what delighted applause must the unknown jongleur have been greeted by the monks or n.o.bles, who first listened after dinner to this little masterpiece of humour.

All the convent pets who are famed in literature came by a coincidence to a bad end. Our anthologist would seize on two other hapless creatures, both of them birds, Philip Sparrow and the never-to-be-forgotten Vert-Vert. Philip Sparrow needs no introduction to English readers; Skelton was never in happier vein than when he sang the dirge of that pet of Joanna Scrope, boarder at Carrow Priory, dead at the claws of a "vylanous false cat." s.p.a.ce allows only a few lines of the long poem to be quoted here. It begins with the office for the dead, sung by the mourning mistress over her bird:

_Pla ce bo_, Who is there, who?

_Di le xi_, Dame Margery; _Fa, re, my, my_, Wherefore and why, why?

For the sowle of Philip Sparowe, That was late slayn at Carowe, Among the Nones Blake, For that swete soules sake, And for all sparowes soules, Set in our bederolles _Pater noster qui_, With an _Ave Mari_, And with the corner of a Crede The more shalbe your mede.

Whan I remembre agayn How mi Philyp was slayn, Neuer halfe the payne Was betwene you twayne, Pyramus and Thesbe, As than befell to me: I wept and I wayled, The tearys doune hayled; But nothynge it auayled To call Phylyp agayne, Whom Gyb our cat hath slayne.

It was so prety a fole, It wold syt on a stole, And lerned after my scole For to kepe his cut, With, Phyllyp, kepe your cut!

It had a veluet cap, And wold syt upon my lap, And seke after small wormes, And somtyme white bred crommes; And many tymes and ofte Betwene my brestes softe It wolde lye and rest; It was propre and prest.

Somtyme he wolde gaspe Whan he sawe a waspe; A fly or a gnat, He wolde flye at that; And prytely he wold pant Whan he saw an ant; Lord, how he wolde pry After the b.u.t.terfly!

Lorde, how he wolde hop After the gra.s.sop!