FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[109]“Her Majesty told the ladies, that if the Bishop held more discourse on such matters, she would fit him for heaven; but he should walk thither without a staff, and leave his mantle behind him.”[110]Life of Raleigh, by Oldys.[111]Lady Morgan’s France in 1829-30.

[109]“Her Majesty told the ladies, that if the Bishop held more discourse on such matters, she would fit him for heaven; but he should walk thither without a staff, and leave his mantle behind him.”

[110]Life of Raleigh, by Oldys.

[111]Lady Morgan’s France in 1829-30.

“Where are the proud and lofty dames,Their jewell’d crowns, their gay attire,Their odours sweet?Where are the love-enkindled flames,The bursts of passionate desireLaid at their feet?Where are the songs, the troubadours,The music which delighted then?—It speaks no more.Where is the dance that shook the floors,And all the gay and laughing train,And all they wore?“The royal gifts profusely shed,The palaces so proudly built,With riches stor’d;The roof with shining gold o’erspread,The services of silver gilt,The secret hoard,The Arabian pards, the harness bright,The bending plumes, the crowded mews,The lacquey train,Where are they?—where!—all lost in night,And scatter’d as the early dewsAcross the plain.”Bowring’s Anc. Span. Romances.

“The royal gifts profusely shed,The palaces so proudly built,With riches stor’d;The roof with shining gold o’erspread,The services of silver gilt,The secret hoard,The Arabian pards, the harness bright,The bending plumes, the crowded mews,The lacquey train,Where are they?—where!—all lost in night,And scatter’d as the early dewsAcross the plain.”Bowring’s Anc. Span. Romances.

Romance and song have united to celebrate the splendours of the “Field of the Cloth of Gold.”The most scrupulously minute and faithful of recorders has detailed day by day, and point by point, its varied and showy routine, and every subsequent historian has borrowed from the pages of the old chronicler; and these dry details have been so expanded by the breath of Fancy, and his skeleton frame has been so fleshed by the magical drapery of talent, that there seems little left on which the imagination can dilate, or the pen expatiate.

The astonishing impulse which has in various ways within the last few years been given to the searching of ancient records, and the development of hitherto obscure and comparatively uninteresting details, and vesting them in an alluring garb, has made us as familiar with the domestic records of the eighth Henry, as in our school-days we were with the orthodox abstract of necessary historical information,—that “Henry the Eighth ascended the throne in the 18th year of his age;” that “he became extremely corpulent;” that “he married six wives, and beheaded two.” Not even affording gratuitously the codicil which the talent of some writer hath educed—that “if Henry the Eighth had not beheaded his wives, there would have been no impeachment on his gallantry to the fair sex.”

But in describing this, according to some, “the most magnificent spectacle that Europe ever beheld,” and to others, “a heavy mass of allegory and frippery,” historians have been contented to pourtray the outward features of the gorgeous scene, and have slightly, if at all, touched on the contending feelings which were veiled beneath a broad though thin surface of concord and joy. Truly, it were atask of deep interest, even slightly to picture them, or to attempt to enter into the feelings of the chief actors on that field.

First and foremost, as the guiding spirit of the whole, as the mighty artificer of that pageant on which, however gaudy in its particulars the fates of Europe were supposed to depend, and the earnest eyes of Europe were certainly fixed—comesWolsey.—Gorgeously habited himself, and the burnished gold of his saddle cloth only partially relieved by the more sombre crimson velvet; nay, his very shoes gleaming with brilliants, and himself withal so lofty in bearing, of so noble a presence, that this very magnificence seemed but a natural appendage, Wolsey took his lofty way from monarch to monarch; and so well did he become his dignity, that none but kings, and such kings as Henry and Francis, would have drawn the eyes of the myriad spectators from himself. And surely he was now happy; surely his ambition was now gratified to the uttermost; now, in the eyes of all Europe did the two proudest of her princes not merely associate with him almost as an equal, but openly yield to his suggestions—almost bow to his decisions. No—loftily as he bore himself, courtly as was his demeanour, rapid and commanding as was his eloquence, and influential as seemed his opinions on all and every one around—the cardinal had a mind ill at ease, as, despite his self-control, was occasionally testified by his contracted brow and thoughtful aspect. After exerting all the might of his mighty influence, and for his own aggrandisement, to procure this meeting between the two potentates, hehad at the last moment seen fit to alter his policy. He had sold himself to a higher bidder; he had pledged himself to Charles in the very teeth of his solemn engagement to Francis. Even whilst celebrating this league of amity, he was turning in his own mind the means by which to rupture it; and was yet withal, nervously fearful of any accident which should prematurely break it, or lead to a discovery of his own faithlessness.—So much for his enjoyment!

OurKing Henrywas all delight, and eager impetuous enjoyment. He had not outlived the good promise of his youth; nor had his foibles become, by indulgence, vices. He loved to see all around him happy; he loved, more especially, to make them so. He delighted in all the exercises of the field; he was unrivalled in the tilt and the tournament; and when engaged in them forgot kings and kingdoms. His vanity, outrageous as it was, hardly sat ungracefully on him, so much was it elevated then by buoyant good humour—so much was it softened at that time by his noble presence, his manly grace, his kingly accomplishments, and his regal munificence. The stern and selfish tyrant whom one shudders to think upon, was then only “bluff King Hal,” loving and beloved, courted and caressed by an empire. He gave himself up to the gaieties of the time without a care for the present, a thought for the future. Could he have glanced dimly into that future! But he could not, and he was happy.

Franciswas admirably qualified to grace this scene, and to enjoy it, as probably he did enjoy it, vividly. Yet was this gratification by no meansunalloyed. His gentle manly nature was irritated at certain stipulations of Henry’s advisers, by which their most trivial intercourse was subjected to specific regulations. There were recorded instances enough of treacherous advantages taken to justify fully this conduct on the part of Henry’s ministers; but Francis felt its injustice, as applied to himself, and at that time, made use of a generous and well-known stratagem to convince others. But in the midst of his enjoyments he had misgivings on his mind of a more serious nature, caused by the Emperor’s recent visit to Dover. These misgivings were increased by the meeting between Henry and Charles at Gravelines; and too surely confirmed by quickly-following circumstances.

The gentle and goodKatharineof England, and the equally amiable QueenClaude, the carefully-trained stepdaughter of the noble and admirable Anne of Bretagne, probably derived their chief gratification here from the pleasure of seeing their husbands amicable and happy. For queens though they were, their happiness was in domestic life, and their chief empire was over the hearts of those domesticated with them.

Not so theDowager Queenof France—the lively, and graceful, and beautiful Duchess of Suffolk; for though very fond of her royal brother, and devoted to her gallant husband, she had yet an eye and an ear for all the revelries around, and had a radiant glance and a beaming smile for all who crowded to do homage to her charms. And yet her heart must have been somewhat hard—and that we know it was not—if she could have inhaled the air of France, ortrod its sunny soil, without recollections which must have dimmed her eye at the thoughts of the past, even whilst breathing a thanksgiving for the present. Somewhat less than five years ago, she had been taken thither a weeping bride; youth, nature, inclination, nay, hope itself, sacrificed to that expediency by which the actions of monarchs are regulated. We are accustomed to read these things so much as mere historical memoranda, to look upon them in their cold unvarnished simplicity of detail, like the rigid outlines of stiff old portraits which we can scarcely suppose were ever meant to represent living flesh and blood—that it requires a strong effort to picture these circumstances to our eyes as actually occurring.

In considering the state policy of the thing—and the apparent national advantage of the King of England’s sister being married to the King of France—we forget that this King of England’s sister was a fair young creature, with warm heart, gushing affections, and passions and feelings just opening in all the vividness of early womanhood; and that she was condemned to marry a sickly, querulous, elderly man, who began his loving rule by dismissing at once, even while she was “a stranger in a foreign land,” every endeared friend and attendant who had accompanied her thither; and that, worse than all, her young affections had been sought and gained by a noble English gentleman, the favourite of the English king, and the pride of his Court.

Surely her lot was hard; and well might she weepingly exclaim, “Where is now my hope?”Little could she suppose (for Louis, though infirm, was not aged) that three or four short months would see her not only at liberty from her enforced vows, but united to the man of her heart.

Must there not, while watching the tilting of her graceful and gallant husband, must there not have been melancholy in her mirth?—must there not, in the keen encounter of wits during the banquet or the ball—must there not have mingled method with her madness?

Who shall record, or even refer to the hopes, and feelings, and wishes, and thoughts, and reflections of the thousands congregated thither; each one with feelings as intense, with hopes as individually important as those which influenced the royal King of France, or the majestic monarch of England! The loftiest of Christendom’s knights, the loveliest of Christendom’s daughters were assembled here; and the courteous Bayard, the noble Tremouille, the lofty Bourbon, felt inspired more gallantly, if possible, than was even their wont, when contending in all love and amity with the proudest of England’s champions, in presence of the fairest of her blue-eyed maidens,—the noblest of her courtly dames.

Nor were the lofty and noble alone there congregated. After the magnificent structure for the king and court, after every thing in the shape of a tenement in, out, or about the little town of Guisnes, and the neighbouring hamlets, were occupied, two thousand eight hundred tents were set up on the side of the English alone. No noble or baron would be absent; but likewise knights, and squires, and yeomen flocked to the scene: citizens and citywives disported their richest silks and their heaviest chains; jews went for gain, pedlars for knavery, tradespeople for their craft, rogues for mischief. Then there were “vagaboundes, plowmen, laborers, wagoners, and beggers, that for drunkennes lay in routes and heapes, so great resorte thether came, that bothe knightes and ladies that wer come to see the noblenes, were faine to lye in haye and strawe, and hold theim thereof highly pleased.”

The accommodations provided for the king and privileged members of his court on this occasion were more than magnificent; a vast and splendid edifice that seemed to be endued with the magnificence, and to rise almost with the celerity of that prepared by the slaves of the lamp, where the richest tapestry and silk embroidery—the costliest produce of the most accomplished artisans, were almost unnoticed amid the gold and jewellery by which they were surrounded—where all that art could produce, or riches devise had been lavished—all this has been often described. And the tent itself, the nucleus of the show, the point where the “brother” kings were to confer, was hung round with cloth of gold: the posts, the cones, the cords, the tents, were all of the same precious metal, which glittered here in such excessive profusion as to give that title to the meeting which has superseded all others—“The Field of the Cloth of Gold.”

This gaudy pageant was the prelude to an era of great interest, for while dwelling on the “galanty shew” we cannot forget that now reigned Solyman the magnificent, and that this was the age of Leo the Tenth; that Charles the Fifth was now beginninghis influential course; that a Sir Thomas More graced England; and that in Germany there was “one Martin Luther,” who “belonged to an order of strolling friars.” Under Leo’s munificent encouragement, Rafaello produced those magnificent creations which have been the inspiration of subsequent ages; and at home, under Wolsey’s enlightened patronage, colleges were founded, learning was encouraged, and the College of Physicians first instituted in 1518, found in him one of its warmest advocates and firmest supporters.

A modern writer gives the following amusing picture of part of the bustle attendant on the event we are considering. “The palace (of Westminster) and all its precincts became the elysium of tailors, embroiderers, and sempstresses. There might you see many a shady form gliding about from apartment to apartment, with smiling looks and extended shears, or armed with ell-wands more potent than Mercury’s rod, driving many a poor soul to perdition, and transforming his goodly acres into velvet suits, with tags of cloth of gold. So continual were the demands upon every kind of artisan, that the impossibility of executing them threw several into despair. One tailor who is reported to have undertaken to furnish fifty embroidered suits in three days, on beholding the mountain of gold and velvet that cumbered his shop-board, saw, like Brutus, the impossibility of victory, and, with Roman fortitude, fell on his own shears. Three armourers are said to have been completely melted with the heat of their furnaces; and an unfortunate goldsmithswallowed molten silver to escape the persecutions of the day.

“The road from London to Canterbury was covered during one whole week with carts and waggons, mules, horses, and soldiers; and so great was the confusion, that marshals were at length stationed to keep the whole in order, which of course increased the said confusion a hundred fold. So many were the ships passing between Dover and Calais, that the historians affirm they jostled each other on the road like a herd of great black porkers.

“The King went from station to station like a shepherd, driving all the better classes of the country before him, and leaving not a single straggler behind.”

Though we do not implicitly credit every point of this humorous statement, we think a small portion of description from the old chronicler Hall (we will really inflictonlya small portion on our readers) will justify a good deal of it; but more especially it will enlighten us as to some of the elaborate conceits of the day, in which, it seems, the needle was as fully occupied as the pen.

Indeed, what would the “Field of the Cloth of Gold” have been without the skill of the needlewoman?Would it have been at all?

“The Frenche kyng sette hymself on a courser barded, covered with purple sattin, broched with golde, and embraudered with corbyns fethers round and buckeled; the fether was blacke and hached with gold. Corbyn is a rauen, and the firste silable of corbyn isCor, whiche is a harte, a penne inEnglish, is a fether in Frenche, and signifieth pain, and so it stode; this fether round was endles, the buckels wherwith the fethers wer fastened, betokeneth sothfastnes, thus was the devise,harte fastened in pain endles, or pain in harte fastened endles.

“Wednesdaie the 13 daie of June, the twoo hardie kynges armed at all peces, entered into the feld right nobly appareled, the Frenche kyng and all his parteners of chalenge were arraied in purple sattin, broched with golde and purple velvet, embrodered with litle rolles of white sattin wherein was writtenquando, all bardes and garmentes wer set full of the same, and all the residue where was no rolles, were poudered and set with the letter ell as thus, L, whiche in Frenche is she, which was interpreted to bequando elle, when she, and ensuyng the devise of the first daie it signifieth together,harte fastened in pain endles, when she.

“The Frenche kyng likewise armed at al pointes mounted on a courser royal, all his apparel as wel bardes as garmentes were purple velvet, entred the one with the other, embrodred ful of litle bookes of white satten, and in the bokes were writtena me; aboute the borders of the bardes and the borders of the garmentes, a chaine of blewe like iron, resemblyng the chayne of a well or prison chaine, whiche was enterpreted to beliber, a booke; within this boke was written as is sayed,a me, put these two together, and it makethlibera me; the chayne betokeneth prison or bondes, and so maketh together in Englishe,deliver me ofbŏdes; put toyereason, the fyrst day, second day, and third day of chaunge, for he chaunged but the second day, and it ishartfastened in paine endles, when she deliuereth me not of bondes; thus was thinterpretation made, but whether it were so in all thinges or not I may not say.”

The following animated picture from an author already quoted, has been drawn of this spirit-stirring scene:—

“Upon a large open green, that extended on the outside of the walls, was to be seen a multitude of tents of all kinds and colours, with a multitude of busy human beings, employed in raising fresh pavilions on every open space, or in decorating those already spread with streamers, pennons, and banners of all the bright hues under the sun. Long lines of horses and mules, loaded with armour or baggage, and ornamented with gay ribbons to put them in harmony with the scene, were winding about all over the plain, some proceeding towards the town, some seeking the tents of their several lords, while mingled amongst them, appeared various bands of soldiers, on horseback and on foot, with the rays of the declining sun catching upon the heads of their bills and lances; and together with the white cassock and broad red cross, marking them out from all the other objects. Here and there, too, might be seen a party of knights and gentlemen cantering over the plain, and enjoying the bustle of the scene, or standing in separate groups, issuing their orders for the erection and garnishing of their tents; while couriers, and poursuivants, and heralds, in all their gay dresses, mingled with mule drivers, lacqueys, and peasants, armourers, pages, and tent stretchers, made up the living part of the landscape.

“The sounding of the trumpets to horse, the shouts of the various leaders, the loud cries of the marshals and heralds, and the roaring of artillery from the castle, as the king put his foot in the stirrup, all combined to make one general outcry rarely equalled. Gradually the tumult subsided, gradually also the confused assemblage assumed a regular form. Flags, and pennons, and banderols, embroidered banners, and scutcheons; silver pillars, and crosses, and crooks, ranged themselves in long line; and the bright procession, an interminable stream of living gold, began to wind across the plain. First came about five hundred of the gayest and wealthiest gentlemen of England, below the rank of baron; squires, knights, and bannerets, rivalling each other in the richness of their apparel and the beauty of their horses; while the pennons of the knights fluttered above their heads, marking the place of the English chivalry. Next appeared the proud barons of the realm, each with his banner borne before him, and followed by a custrel with the shield of his arms. To these again succeeded the bishops, not in the simple robes of the Protestant clergy, but in the more gorgeous habits of the Church of Rome; while close upon their steps rode the higher nobility, surrounding the immediate person of the king, and offering the most splendid mass of gold and jewels that the summer sun ever shone upon.

“Slowly the procession moved forward to allow the line of those on foot to keep an equal pace. Nor did this band offer a less gay and pleasing sightthan the cavalcade, for here might be seen the athletic forms of the sturdy English yeomanry, clothed in the various splendid liveries of their several lords, with the family cognisance embroidered on the bosom and arm, and the banners and banderols of their particular houses carried in the front of each company. Here also was to be seen the picked guard of the King of England, magnificently dressed for the occasion, with the royal banner carried in their centre by the deputy standard bearer, and the banner of their company by their own ancient. In the rear of all, marshalled by officers appointed for the purpose, came the band of those whose rank did not entitle them to take place in the cavalcade, but who had sufficient interest at court to be admitted to the meeting. Though of an inferior class, this company was not the least splendid in the field; for here were all the wealthy tradesmen of the court, habited in many a rich garment, furnished by the extravagance of those that rode before; and many a gold chain hung round their necks, that not long ago had lain in the purse of some prodigal customer.”

But we cease, being fully of opinion with the old chronicler that “to tell the apparel of the ladies, their riche attyres, their sumptuous juelles, their diversities of beauties, and their goodly behaviour from day to day sithe the fyrst metyng, I assure you ten mennes wittes can scarce declare it.”

And in a few days, a few short days, all was at an end; and the pomp and the pageantry, the mirth and the revelry, was but as a dream—a most bitter,indeed, and painful dream to hundreds who had bartered away their substance for the sake of a transient glitter:

“We seken fast after feliciteBut we go wrong ful often trewely,Thus may we sayen alle.”

Homely indeed, after the paraphernalia of the “Field of the Cloth of Gold,” would appear the homes of England on the return of their masters. For though the nobles had begun to remove the martial fronts of their castles, and endeavoured to render them more commodious, yet in architecture the nation participated neither the spirit nor the taste of its sovereign. The mansions of the gentlemen were, we are told, still sordid; the huts of the peasantry poor and wretched. The former were generally thatched buildings composed of timber, or, where wood was scarce, of large posts inserted in the earth, filled up in the interstices with rubbish, plastered within, and covered on the outside with coarse clay. The latter were light frames, prepared in the forest at small expense, and when erected, probably covered with mud. In cities the houses were constructed mostly of the same materials, for bricks were still too costly for general use; and the stories seem to have projected forward as they rose in height, intercepting sunshine and air from the streets beneath. The apartments were stifling, lighted by lattices, so contrived as to prohibit the occasional and salutary admission of external air. The floors were of clay, strewed with rushes, which often remained for years a receptacle of every pollution.[112]

In an inventory of the goods and chattels of Sir Andrew Foskewe, Knight, dated in the 30th year of King Henry the Eighth, are the following furnitures. We select the hall and the best parlour, in which he entertained company, first premising that he possessed a large and noble service of rich plate worth an amazing sum, and so much land as proved him to be a wealthy man:—

“The hall.—A hangin of greine say, bordered with darneng (or needlework); item a grete side table, with standinge tressels; item a small joyned cuberde, of waynscott, and a short piece of counterfett carpett upon it; item a square cuberde, and a large piece of counterfett wyndowe, and five formes, &c.

“Perler.—Imprim., a hangynge of greene say and red, panede; item a table with two tressels, and a greyne verders carpet upon it; three greyne verders cushyns; a joyned cupberd, and a carpett upon it; a piece of verders carpet in one window, and a piece of counterfeit carpett in the other; one Flemishe chaire; four joyned stooles; a joyned forme; a wyker skryne; two large awndyerns, a fyer forke, a fyer pan, a payer of tonges; item a lowe joyned stole; two joyned foote-stoles; a rounde table of cipress; and a piece of counterfeitt carpett upon it; item a paynted table (or picture) of the Epiphany of our Lord.”[113]

But notwithstanding this apparent meagreness of accommodation, luxury in architecture was making rapid strides in the land. Wolsey was as magnificent in this taste as in others, as Hampton Court,“a residence,” says Grotius, “befitting rather a god than a king,” yet remains to attest. The walls of his chambers at York Place, (Whitehall,) were hung with cloth of gold, and tapestry still more precious, representing the most remarkable events in sacred history—for the easel was then subordinate to the loom.

The subjects of the tapestry in York Place consisted, we are told, of triumphs, probably Roman; the story of Absalom, bordered with the cardinal’s arms; the Petition of Esther, and the Honouring of Mordecai; the History of Sampson, bordered with the cardinal’s arms; the History of Solomon; the History of Susannah and the Elders, bordered with the cardinal’s arms; the History of Jacob, also bordered; Holofernes and Judith, bordered; the Story of Joseph, of David, of St. John the Baptist; the History of the Virgin; the Passion of Christ; the Worthies; the Story of Nebuchadnezzar; a Pilgrimage; all bordered.

This place—Whitehall—Henry decorated magnificently; erected splendid gateways, and threw a gallery across to the Park, where he erected a tilt-yard, with all royal and courtly appurtenances, and converted the whole into a royal manor. This was not until after fire had ravaged the ancient, time-honoured, and kingly palace of Westminster, a place which perhaps was the most truly regal of any which England ever beheld. Recorded as a royal residence as early—almost—as there is record of the existence of our venerable abbey; inhabited by Knute the Dane; rebuilt by Edward the Confessor; remodelled by Henry the Third; receiving lustrefrom the residence, and ever-added splendour from the liberality of a long line of illustrious monarchs, it had obtained a hold on the mind which is even yet not passed away, although the ravages of time, and of fire, and the desecrations of subsequent ages, have scarcely left stone or token of the original structure.

After the fire, however, Henry forsook it. He it was who first built St. James’s Palace on the site of an hospital which had formerly stood there. He also possessed, amongst other royal retreats, Havering Bower, so called from the legend of St. Edward receiving a ring from St. John the Evangelist on this spot by the hands of a pilgrim from the Holy Land; which legend is represented at length in Westminster Abbey; Eltham, in Kent, where the king frequently passed his Christmas; Greenwich, where Elizabeth was born; and Woodstock, celebrated for

“the unhappy fateOf Rosamond, who long agoProv’d most unfortunate.”

The ancient palace of the Savoy had changed its destination as a royal residence only in his father’s time. With the single exception of Westminster—if indeed that—the most magnificent palace which the hand of liberality ever raised, which the finger of taste ever embellished. Various indeed have been the changes to which it has been doomed, and now not one stone remains on another to say that such things have been. Now—of the thousands who traverse the spot, scarce one, at long and far distant intervals, may glance at the dim memories of the past, to think of the plumed knights and high-borndames who revelled in its halls; the crowned and anointed kings who, monarch or captive, trod its lofty chambers; the gleaming warriors who paced its embattled courts; the gracious queen who caused its walls to echo the sounds of joy; the subtle heads which plodded beneath its gloomy shades; the unhappy exiles who found a refuge within its dim recesses; or[114]the lame, the sick, the impotent, who in the midst of suffering blessed the home that sheltered them, the hands that ministered to their woes.

No. The majestic walls of the Savoy are in the dust, and not merely all trace, but all idea of its radiant gardens and sunny bowers, its sparkling fountains and verdant lawns, is lost even to the imagination in the matter-of-fact, business-like demeanour of the myriads of plodders who are ever traversing the dusty and bustling environs of Waterloo-bridge. In our closets we may perchance compel the unromantic realities of the present to yield beneath the brilliant imaginations of the past; but on the spot itself it is impossible.

Who can stand in Wellington-street, on the verge of Waterloo-bridge, and fancy it a princely mansion from the lofty battlements of which a royal banner is flying, while numerous retainers keep watch below? Probably the sounds of harp and song may be heard as lofty nobles and courtly dames are seen to tread the verdant alleys and flower-bestrewn paths which lead to the bright and glancing river, where a costly barge (from which the sounds proceed) is waitingits distinguished freight. Ever and anon are these seen gliding along in the sunbeams, or resting at the avenue leading to one or other of the noble mansions with which the bright strand is sprinkled.

Of these, perhaps, the most gorgeous is York-place, while farthest in the distance rise the fortified walls of the old palace of Westminster, inferior only to those of the ancient abbey, which are seen to rise, dimmed, yet distinct, in the soft but glowing haze cast around by the setting sun.

And that building seen on the opposite side of the river? Strangely situated it seems, and in a swamp, and with none of the felicity of aspect appertaining to its loftier neighbour, the Savoy. Yet its lofty tower, its embattled gateway, seem to infer some important destination. And such it had. The unassuming and unattractively placed edifice has outlived its more aspiring neighbours; and while the stately palace of the Savoy is extinct, and the slight remains of Westminster are desecrated, the time-honoured walls of Lambeth yet shelter the head of learning and dignify the location in which they were reared.

Eastward of our position the city looks dim and crowded; but, with the exception of the sprinkled mansions to which we have alluded, there is little to break the natural characteristics of the scene between Temple-bar and the West Minster. The hermitage and hospital on the site of Northumberland House harmonise well with the scene; the little cluster of cottages at Charing has a rural aspect; and that beautiful and touching memento of unfailing love and undiminished affection—that tributeto all that was good and excellent in woman—the Cross, which, formed of the purest and, as yet, unsoiled white marble, raised its emblem of faith and hope, gleaming like silver in the brilliant sky—that—would that we had it still!

Somewhat nearer, the May-pole stands out in gay relief from the woods which envelop the hills northward, where yet the timid fawn could shelter, and the fearful hare forget its watch; where yet perchance the fairies held their revels when the moon shone bright; where they filled to the brim the “fairy-cups” and pledged each other in dew; where they played at “hide and seek” in the harebells, ran races in the branches of the trees, and nestled on the leaves, on which they glittered like diamonds; where they launched their tiny barks on the sparkling rivulets, breathing ere morning’s dawn on the flowers to awaken them, tinting the gossamer’s web with silver, and scattering pearls over the drops of dew.

Closer around, among meadows and pastures, are all sounds and emblems of rural life; which as yet are but agreeably varied, not ruthlessly annihilated, by the encroachments of population and the increase of trade.

Truly this is a difficult picture to realise on Waterloo-bridge, yet is it nevertheless a tolerably correct one of this portion of our metropolis at the time of “The Field of the Cloth of Gold.”

FOOTNOTES:[112]Henry.[113]Strutt’s Manners and Customs.[114]It was at length converted into an hospital.

[112]Henry.

[113]Strutt’s Manners and Customs.

[114]It was at length converted into an hospital.

“A grave Reformer of old Rents decay’d.”J. Taylor.

“His garment—With thornes together pind and patched was.”Faerie Queene.

Hodge.“Tush, tush, her neele, her neele, her neele, man; neither flesh nor fish,A lytle thing with an hole in the ende, as bright as any syller,Small, long, sharp at the point, and straight as any piller.”Diccon.“I know not what it is thou menest, thou bringst me more in doubt.”Hodge.“Knowest not what Tom tailor’s man sits broching thro’ a clout?A neele, a neele, a neele, my gammer’s neele is gone.”Gammer Gurton’s Needle.

Diccon.“I know not what it is thou menest, thou bringst me more in doubt.”

Hodge.“Knowest not what Tom tailor’s man sits broching thro’ a clout?A neele, a neele, a neele, my gammer’s neele is gone.”Gammer Gurton’s Needle.

It is said in the old chronicles that previous to the arrival of Anne of Bohemia, Queen of Richard the Second, the English ladies fastened their robes with skewers; but as it is known that pins were in use among the early British, since in the barrows that have been opened numbers of “neat and efficient” ivory pins were found to have been used in arrangingthe grave-clothes, it is probable that this remark is unfounded.

The pins of a later date than the above were made of boxwood, bone, ivory, and some few of silver. They were larger than those of the present day, which seem to have been unknown in England till about the middle of the fifteenth century. In 1543, however, the manufacture of brass pins had become sufficiently important to claim the attention of the legislature, an Act having been passed that year by which it was enacted, “That no person shall put to sale any pins, but only such as shall be double headed and have the head soldered fast to the shank, the pins well smoothed, and the shank well sharpened.”

Gloucestershire is noted for the number of its pin manufactories. They were first introduced in that county, in 1626, by John Tilsby; and it is said that at this time they employ 1,500 hands, and send up to the metropolis upwards of £20,000 of pins annually.

Our motto says, however, that his garment

“With thornes together pind andpatchedwas;”

and a French writer says, that before the invention of steel needles people were obliged to make use of thorns, fish bones, &c., but that since “l’établissement des sociétés, ce petit outil est devenu d’un usage indispensable dans une infinité d’arts et d’occasions.”

He proceeds:—“De toutes les manières d’attacher l’un à l’autre deux corps flexibles, celle qui se pratique avec l’aiguille est une des plus universellementrépandues: aussi distingue-t-on un grand nombre d’aiguilles différentes. On a les aiguilles à coudre, ou de tailleur; les aiguilles de chirurgie, d’artillerie, de bonnetier, ou faiseur de bas au métier, d’horloger, de cirier, de drapier, de gainier, de perruquier, de coiffeuse, de faiseur de coiffe à perruques, de piqueur d’étuis, tabatières, et autres semblables ouvrages; de sellier, d’ouvrier en soie, de brodeur, de tapissier, de chandelier, d’emballeur; à matelas, à empointer, à tricoter, à enfiler, à presser, à brocher, à relier, à natter, à boussole ou aimantée, &c. &c.”

Needles are said to have been first made in England by a native of India, in 1545, but the art was lost at his death; it was, however, recovered by Christopher Greening, in 1560, who was settled with his three children, Elizabeth, John, and Thomas, by Mr. Damar, ancestor of the present Lord Milton, at Long Crendon, in Bucks, where the manufactory has been carried on from that time to the present period.[115]

Thus our readers will remark, that until far on in the sixteenth century, there was not a needle to be had but of foreign manufacture; and bearing this circumstance in mind, they will be able to enter more fully into the feelings of those who set such inestimable value on a needle. And, indeed,ifall we are told of them be true, needles could not betoo highly esteemed. For instance, we were told of an old woman who had used one needle so long and so constantly for mending stockings, that at last the needle was able to do them of itself. At length, and while the needle was in the full perfection of its powers, the old woman died. A neighbour, whose numerous “olive branches” caused her to have a full share of matronly employment, hastened to possess herself of this domestic treasure, and gathered round her the weekly accumulation of sewing, not doubting but that with her new ally, the wonder-working needle, the unwieldy work-basket would be cleared, “in no time,” of its overflowing contents. But even the all-powerful needle was of no avail without thread, and she forthwith proceeded to invest it with a long one. But thread it she could not; it resisted her most strenuous endeavours. In vain she turned and re-turned the needle, the eye was plain enough to be seen; in vain she cut and screwed the thread, she burnt it in the candle, she nipped it with the scissars, she rolled it with her lips, she twizled it between her finger and thumb: the pointed end was fine as fine could be, but enter the eye of the needle it would not. At length, determined not to relinquish her project whilst any hope remained of its accomplishment, she borrowed a magnifying glass to examine the “little weapon” more accurately. And there, “large as life and twice as natural,” a pearly gem, a translucent drop, a crystaltearstood right in the gap, and filled to overflowing the eye of the needle. It was weeping for the death of its old mistress; it refused consolation; it was never threaded again.

We give this incident on the testimony of a gallant naval officer; an unquestionable authority, though we are fully aware that some of our readers may be ungenerously sceptical, and perhaps even rude enough to attempt some vile pun about the brave sailor’s “drawing a long yarn.”

If, however, Gammer Gurton’s needle resembled the one we have just referred to, and that, too, at a time when a needle, even not supernaturally endowed, was not to be had of English manufacture, and therefore could only be purchased probably at a high price, we cannot wonder at the aggrieved feelings of her domestic circle when the catastrophe occurred which is depicted as follows:—The parties interested were the Dame Gammer Gurton herself; Hodge, her farming man; Tib, her maid; Cocke, her boy; and Gib, her cat. The play from which our quotation is taken is not without some pretensions to wit, though of the coarsest kind: it is supposed to have been first performed at Christ’s College, Cambridge, in 1566; and Warton observes on it, that while Latimer’s sermons were in vogue at court, Gammer Gurton’s needle might well be tolerated at the university.

Act I. Scene 3. Hodge and Tib.Hodge.“I am agast, by the masse, I wot not what to do;I had need blesse me well before I go them to:Perchance, some felon spirit may haunt our house indeed,And then I were but a noddy to venter where’s no need.”Tib.“I’m worse than mad, by the masse, to be at this stay.I’m chid, I’m blam’d, and beaten all th’ hours on the day.Lamed and hunger starved, pricked up all in jagges,Having no patch to hide my backe, save a few rotten ragges.”Hodge.“I say, Tib, if thou be Tib, as I trow sure thou be,What devil make ado is this between our dame and thee?”Tib.“Truly, Hodge, thou had a good turn thou wart not here this while;It had been better for some of us to have been hence a mile:My Gammer is so out of course, and frantike all at once,That Cocke, our boy, and I poor wench, have felt it on our bones.”Hodge.“What is the matter, say on, Tib, whereat she taketh so on?”Tib.“She is undone, she saith (alas) her life and joy is gone:If she hear not of some comfort, she is she saith but dead,Shall never come within her lips, on inch of meat ne bread.And heavy, heavy is her grief, as, Hodge, we all shall feel.”Hodge.“My conscience, Tib, my Gammer has never lost her neele?”Tib.“Her neele.”Hodge.“Her neele?”Tib.“Her neele, by him that made me!”Hodge.“How a murrain came this chaunce (say Tib) unto her dame?”Tib.“My Gammer sat her down on the pes, and bade me reach thy breches,And by and by, a vengeance on it, or she had take two stitchesTo clout upon the knee, by chaunce aside she lears,And Gib our cat, in the milk pan, she spied over head and ears.Ah! out, out, theefe, she cried aloud, and swapt the breeches down,Up went her staffe, and out leapt Gib at doors into the town:And since that time was never wight cold set their eyes upon it.God’s malison she have Cocke and I bid twentie times light on it.”Hodge.“And is not then my breches sewed up, to-morrow that I shuld wear?”Tib.“No, in faith, Hodge, thy breches lie, for all this never the near.”Hodge.“Now a vengeance light on al the sort, that better shold have kept it;The cat, the house, and Tib our maid, that better should have swept it.Se, where she cometh crawling! Come on, come on thy lagging way;Ye have made a fair daies worke, have you not? pray you, say.”———Act I. Scene 4. Gammer, Hodge, Tib, Cocke.Gammer.“Alas, alas, I may well curse and banThis day, that ever I saw it, with Gib and the milke pan.For these, and ill lucke together, as knoweth Cocke my boy,Have stacke away my dear neele, and rob’d me of my joy,My fair long straight neele, that was mine only treasure,The first day of my sorrow is, and last of my pleasure.”Hodge.“Might ha kept it when ye had it; but fools will be fools still:Lose that is fast in your hands? ye need not, but ye will.”Gammer.“Go hie the, Tib, and run along, to th’ end here of the town.Didst carry out dust in thy lap? seek where thou porest it down;And as thou sawest me roking in the ashes where I morned,So see in all the heap of dust thou leave no straw unturned.”Hodge.“Your neele lost? it is pitie you shold lacke care and endles sorrow.Tell me, how shall my breches be sewid? shall I go thus to-morrow?”Gammer.“Ah, Hodge, Hodge, if that I could find my neele, by the reed,I’d sew thy breches, I promise the, with full good double threed,And set a patch on either knee, shall last this months twain,Now God, and Saint Sithe, I pray, to send it back again.”Hodge.“Whereto served your hands and eyes, but your neele keep?What devil had you els to do? ye keep, I wot, no sheep.I’m fain abrode to dig and delve, in water, mire and clay,Sossing and possing in the dirt, still from day to dayA hundred things that be abroad, I’m set to see them weel;And four of you sit idle at home, and cannot keep a neele.”Gammer.“My neele, alas, I lost, Hodge, what time I me up hasted,To save milk set up for thee, which Gib our cat hath wasted.”Hodge.“The devil he take both Gib and Tib, with all the rest;I’m always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best.Where ha you ben fidging abroad, since you your neele lost?”Gammer.“Within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same post;Where I was looking a long hour, before these folke came here;But, wel away! all was in vain, my neele is never the near!”

Act I. Scene 3. Hodge and Tib.

Hodge.“I am agast, by the masse, I wot not what to do;I had need blesse me well before I go them to:Perchance, some felon spirit may haunt our house indeed,And then I were but a noddy to venter where’s no need.”

Tib.“I’m worse than mad, by the masse, to be at this stay.I’m chid, I’m blam’d, and beaten all th’ hours on the day.Lamed and hunger starved, pricked up all in jagges,Having no patch to hide my backe, save a few rotten ragges.”

Hodge.“I say, Tib, if thou be Tib, as I trow sure thou be,What devil make ado is this between our dame and thee?”

Tib.“Truly, Hodge, thou had a good turn thou wart not here this while;It had been better for some of us to have been hence a mile:My Gammer is so out of course, and frantike all at once,That Cocke, our boy, and I poor wench, have felt it on our bones.”

Hodge.“What is the matter, say on, Tib, whereat she taketh so on?”

Tib.“She is undone, she saith (alas) her life and joy is gone:If she hear not of some comfort, she is she saith but dead,Shall never come within her lips, on inch of meat ne bread.And heavy, heavy is her grief, as, Hodge, we all shall feel.”

Hodge.“My conscience, Tib, my Gammer has never lost her neele?”

Tib.“Her neele.”

Hodge.“Her neele?”

Tib.“Her neele, by him that made me!”

Hodge.“How a murrain came this chaunce (say Tib) unto her dame?”

Tib.“My Gammer sat her down on the pes, and bade me reach thy breches,And by and by, a vengeance on it, or she had take two stitchesTo clout upon the knee, by chaunce aside she lears,And Gib our cat, in the milk pan, she spied over head and ears.Ah! out, out, theefe, she cried aloud, and swapt the breeches down,Up went her staffe, and out leapt Gib at doors into the town:And since that time was never wight cold set their eyes upon it.God’s malison she have Cocke and I bid twentie times light on it.”

Hodge.“And is not then my breches sewed up, to-morrow that I shuld wear?”

Tib.“No, in faith, Hodge, thy breches lie, for all this never the near.”

Hodge.“Now a vengeance light on al the sort, that better shold have kept it;The cat, the house, and Tib our maid, that better should have swept it.Se, where she cometh crawling! Come on, come on thy lagging way;Ye have made a fair daies worke, have you not? pray you, say.”

———

Act I. Scene 4. Gammer, Hodge, Tib, Cocke.

Gammer.“Alas, alas, I may well curse and banThis day, that ever I saw it, with Gib and the milke pan.For these, and ill lucke together, as knoweth Cocke my boy,Have stacke away my dear neele, and rob’d me of my joy,My fair long straight neele, that was mine only treasure,The first day of my sorrow is, and last of my pleasure.”

Hodge.“Might ha kept it when ye had it; but fools will be fools still:Lose that is fast in your hands? ye need not, but ye will.”

Gammer.“Go hie the, Tib, and run along, to th’ end here of the town.Didst carry out dust in thy lap? seek where thou porest it down;And as thou sawest me roking in the ashes where I morned,So see in all the heap of dust thou leave no straw unturned.”

Hodge.“Your neele lost? it is pitie you shold lacke care and endles sorrow.Tell me, how shall my breches be sewid? shall I go thus to-morrow?”

Gammer.“Ah, Hodge, Hodge, if that I could find my neele, by the reed,I’d sew thy breches, I promise the, with full good double threed,And set a patch on either knee, shall last this months twain,Now God, and Saint Sithe, I pray, to send it back again.”

Hodge.“Whereto served your hands and eyes, but your neele keep?What devil had you els to do? ye keep, I wot, no sheep.I’m fain abrode to dig and delve, in water, mire and clay,Sossing and possing in the dirt, still from day to dayA hundred things that be abroad, I’m set to see them weel;And four of you sit idle at home, and cannot keep a neele.”

Gammer.“My neele, alas, I lost, Hodge, what time I me up hasted,To save milk set up for thee, which Gib our cat hath wasted.”

Hodge.“The devil he take both Gib and Tib, with all the rest;I’m always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best.Where ha you ben fidging abroad, since you your neele lost?”

Gammer.“Within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same post;Where I was looking a long hour, before these folke came here;But, wel away! all was in vain, my neele is never the near!”

“Gammer Gurton’s Needle,” says Hazlitt, “is a regular comedy, in five acts, built on the circumstance of an old woman having lost her needle which throws the whole village into confusion, till it is at last providentially found sticking in an unlucky part of Hodge’s dress. This must evidently have happened at a time when the manufactures ofSheffield and Birmingham had not reached the height of perfection which they have at present done. Suppose that there is only one sewing needle in a village, that the owner, a diligent notable old dame, loses it, that a mischief-making wag sets it about that another old woman has stolen this valuable instrument of household industry, that strict search is made every where in-doors for it in vain, and that then the incensed parties sally forth to scold it out in the open air, till words end in blows, and the affair is referred over to the higher authorities, and we shall have an exact idea (though, perhaps, not so lively a one) of what passes in this authentic document between Gammer Gurton and her gossip Dame Chat; Dickon the Bedlam (the causer of these harms); Hodge, Gammer Gurton’s servant; Tyb, her maid; Cocke, her ’prentice boy; Doll Scapethrift; Master Baillie, his master; Dr. Rat, the curate; and Gib, the cat, who may fairly be reckoned one of thedramatis personæ, and performs no mean part.”

From the needle itself the transition is easy to the needlework which was in vogue at the time when this little implement was so valuable and rare a commodity. We are told that the various kinds of needlework practised at this time would, if enumerated, astonish even the most industrious of our modern ladies. The lover of Shakspeare will remember that the termpoint deviceis often used by him, and that, indeed, it is a term frequently met with in the writers of that age with various applications; and it is originally derived, according to Mr. Douce, from the fine stitchery of the ladies.

It has been properly stated, thatpoint devicesignifiesexact,nicely,finical; but nothing has been offered concerning the etymology, except that we got the expression from the French. It has, in fact, been supplied from the labours of the needle.Poinct, in the French language, denotes astitch;deviseany thinginvented, disposed, orarranged.Point devisewas, therefore, a particular sort of patterned lace worked with the needle; and the termpoint laceis still familiar to every female. They had likewise theirpoint-coupé,point-compté,dentelle au point devant l’aiguille, &c. &c.

But it is apparent, he adds, that the expressionpoint devisebecame applicable, in asecondarysense, to whatever was uncommonly exact, or constructed with the nicety and precision of stitches made or devised with the needle.

Various books of patterns of needlework for the assistance and encouragement of the fair stitchers were published in those days. Mr. Douce[116]enumerates some of them, and the omission of any part of his notation would be unpardonable in the present work.

The earliest on the list is an Italian book, under the title of “Esemplario di lavori: dove le tenere fanciulle et altre donne nobile potranno facilmente imparare il modo et ordine di lavorare, cusire, raccamare, et finalmente far tutte quelle gentillezze et lodevili opere, le quali pò fare una donna virtuosa con laco in mano, con li suoi compasse et misure. Vinegia, per Nicolo D’Aristotile detto Zoppino,MDXXIX.8vo.”

The next that occurs was likewise set forth by an Italian, and entitled, “Les singuliers et nouveaux pourtraicts du Seigneur Federic de Vinciolo Venitien, pour toutes sortes d’ouvrages de lingerie. Paris, 1588. 4to.” It is dedicated to the Queen of France, and had been already twice published.

In 1599 a second part came out, which is much more difficult to be met with than the former, and sometimes contains a neat portrait, by Gaultier, of Catherine de Bourbon, the sister of Henry the Fourth.

The next is “Nouveaux pourtraicts de point coupé et dantelles en petite moyenne et grande forme, nouvellement inventez et mis en lumière. Imprimé à Montbeliard, 1598. 4to.” It has an address to the ladies, and a poem exhorting young damsels to be industrious; but the author’s name does not appear. Vincentio’s work was published in England, and printed by John Wolfe, under the title of “New and Singular Patternes and Workes of Linnen, serving for paternes to make all sortes of lace, edginges, and cutworkes. Newly invented for the profite and contentment of ladies, gentilwomen, and others that are desireous of this Art. 1591. 4to.” He seems also to have printed it with a French title.

We have then another English book, of which this is the title: “Here foloweth certaine Patternes of Cutworkes; newly invented and never published before. Also, sundry sortes of spots, as flowers, birdes, and fishes, &c., and will fitly serve to be wrought, some with gould, some with silke, and some with crewell in coullers; or otherwise at yourpleasure. And never but once published before. Printed by Rich. Shorleyker.” No date. In oblong quarto.

And lastly, another oblong quarto, entitled, “The Needle’s Excellency, a new booke, wherein are divers admirable workes wrought with the needle. Newly invented and cut in copper for the pleasure and profit of the industrious.” Printed for James Boler, &c., 1640. Beneath this title is a neat engraving of three ladies in a flower garden, under the names of Wisdom, Industrie, and Follie. Prefixed to the patterns are sundry poems in commendation of the needle, and describing the characters of ladies who have been eminent for their skill in needlework, among whom are Queen Elizabeth and the Countess of Pembroke. The poems were composed by John Taylor the water poet. It appears that the work had gone through twelve impressions, and yet a copy is now scarcely to be met with. This may be accounted for by supposing that such books were generally cut to pieces, and used by women to work upon or transfer to their samplers. From the dress of a lady and gentleman on one of the patterns in the last mentioned book, it appears to have been originally published in the reign of James the First. All the others are embellished with a multitude of patterns elegantly cut in wood, several of which are eminently conspicuous for their taste and beauty.

We are happy to add a little further information on some of these works, and on others preserved in the British Museum.

“Les singuliers et nouveaux Pourtraicts du Seigneur Federic de Vinciolo Venitien, pour toutessortes d’ouvrages de Lingerie. Dédié à la Reyne. A Paris, 1578.”[117]

The book opens with a sonnet to the fair, which announces to them an admirable motive for the work itself:—

Back to Index Next