PUNCH’S BOOK OF BRITISH COSTUMES.
CHAPTER VI. – THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD – (Concluded).
s Lords of the Creation, politeness of course tells us we must not forget the ladies: and having thoroughly described the mail armour of the period, we have now the pleasing labour of picturing the female. When we say this, we however do not mean it to be thought that the Anglo-Saxon women were really clothed in armour: for crinoline was not in use in that blest age, and the softer sec were not environed with hard steel, as in our own more savage time, they have been driven to defend themselves. But clothing may be fairly viewed as armour against weather, and when a woman puts it on it may be said to (w)arm her. Besides, we wished to make a play upon the two words “mail” and “female,” and we are not to be prevented from making a bad bun by any paltry doubt about the fitness of a synonym, which we may find it needful for the joke’s sake to bring forward.
Without, however, condescending to this careful explanation, we might have not unfitly used the word we did; for one of the chief articles of Saxon ladies’ dress was a garment which was called in their uncouth tongue a gunna; a term which certainly to our ears smacks much less of millinery than it seems to do of armoury. Antiquarians have made a lot of shots about this gunna, and as they cannot make their minds up as to what it really was, they have long-kept up a fire of critical remarks on it. There are some who like to liken it to the Roman-British gown, a word which, if spelt properly, would obviously be gown. This garment Varro speaks of by its Latin name gaunacum, and describes as a short tunic reaching half-way down the thigh, and furnished with loose sleeves extending only to the elbow. It is presumable, however, that no decent Anglo-Saxoness would have ever dreamt of dressing in so scanty an apparel: and we incline therefore to think, with other eminent authorities, that the gunna was a long robe reaching to the feet, which indeed in the old drawings it frequently conceals. Still, that short gunnas were worn, there is extant good episcopal evidence to prove: for in searching the old chronicles we find a copy of a letter from a Saxon Bishop of Winchester, who gives some one “a short gunna made in our manner.” Who this Some one could have been we dare not stop now to conjecture, nor can we at present spare the space for guessing whether bishops then employed their leisure time in needlework, as the phrase “made in our manner” might lead one to suppose.
From the conflict of opinions expressed upon the subject, gentlemen of the leng-robe might spend some daus in arguing as to whether the said gunna was a long robe or a short one. But the long and the short of it is, we think, it sometimes was a long robe, and sometimes was a short one, and we hope our readers will be satisfied with this solution of the point. Underneath the gunna, the Anglo-Saxonesses wore a kirtle and a tunic, whereof the latter had long sleeves like the tunics of the men, and wrinkled up in rolls from the elbow to the wrist. From the conflict of opinions expressed upon the subject, gentlemen of the leng-robe might spend some days is arguing as to whether the said gunna was a long robe or a short one. But the long and the short of it is, we think, it sometimes was a long robe, and sometimes was a short one, and we hope our readers will be satisfied with this solution of the point. Underneath the gunna, the Anglo-Saxonesses wore a kirtle and a tunic, whereof the latter had long sleeves like the tunics of the men, and wrinkled up in rolls from the elbow to the wrist. From their fitting with such tightness and closeness to the arm, these rolls must have in temperature been hot rolls to the wearer, who, in the summer-time, must frequently have felt herself half baked in them.
What the kirtle was, we shrink from questioning too narrowly, for in the will of one Wynfleda we find that it is mentioned with “other linen webb,” and described as being white. It seems therefore not improbable that the kirtle, though spelt differently, was in fact a sort of shirt; but as shirts, we are aware, are never worn by women, we guess the kirtle must have been that sort of she-shirt or che-mise, which inquiring-minded monsters have perhaps heard called a “shift.”
The mantle was a garment worn likewise at this period, and which bore a strong resemblance to the ancient priestly chasuble, so far as the illuminators suffer one to judge. Being fastened at the throat, it was made so as to hang loosely down the back and down in front; and except when looped up by the lifted arms, it covered the whole figure like a domino or cloak.
If we venture now to handle so delicate a subject as the Saxon ladies’ legs, it is only for the sake of silencing a writer who darkly hints that it is possible that they were left unclothed. This appalling fancy he deduces from the fact, that stockings are not seen in the pictures of the period, wherein the female figure is most carefully portrayed. But a sufficient cause to our mind why the stockings are not seen is, that the legs which wore them were kept purposely invisible: for the Anglo-Saxon artists were extremely modest men, and never, it would seem, were students of the nude, as is the case with their more modern, and perchance less modest, brethren, For ourselves, we blush to think that any foremothers of ours should ever have gone barelegged; and we cannot bear to dwell upon a point so barely possible. Our own impression is, that the Anglo-Saxon ladies not only had stockings, but actually wore them: in which respect they would have differed from some of their descendants; for many a Scotch lassie who likes to show her legs, will carry in her pocket the wherewithal to cover them.
The Saxon ladies’ shoes were in shape much like their lords’: so far as one can guess from the small portion of the visible. In the manuscripts they mostly are half hidden by the gunna, and it is therefore difficult to say precisely how they looked. From their being coloured black we may presume that they were worn so; but whether they had heels “hath not yette come un-toe knowledge,” to quote the words of one who was once esteemed a wit.
It is doubtful whether gloves were worn by either Saxon sex until just before or after the close of the tenth century. As a proof of their great rarity, we find it mentioned that five pairs of them formed a chief part of the duty paid to Ethelred the Second, by a guild of German merchants for protection of their trade: a fact which serves to show that the earliest of protectionists found it pay to bribe our Government to ho hand in glove with them. In a miniature of a lady, supposed to have been done about the year 1001, the left hand is depicted in a sort of glove or muffler, having the thumb separate, but the fingers all together. Whether the lady was possessed of a right-hand glove as well, and if so, why she did not wear it when she sat to have her portrait taken, are questions we despair of ever hearing answered. It is possible, however, that as gloves were doubtless dear when they first were introduced, ladies wore them singly if their pin-money ran short; and so contrived to make a pair last them twice the time they would have done if both were worn together.
From the hand to the head is an easy transition, except with persons born in Cockneydom who can’t pronounce their h’a; so directing our attention to the Anglo-Saxon head-dress, we find that women of all classes wore a piece of silk or linen wrapped and folded over and about the head and neck, so that it looked a combination of a comforter and cap. Their name for it was wæfles, from the verb wæflan, to cover; but they also called in hæfpdes rægel, which means literally head-rail. As depicted in the manuscripts, the garment looks as uncouth nearly as its name; and from its bandage-like bemufflement gives the wearer the appearance of having a bad-ache, a sore throat and swelled face.
This head-gear was, however, seldom worn withindoors, for the women, like the men, were sadly proud of their long hair, and wasted their time terribly in combing it and curling it, and generally seeing to its proper cultivation. Bishop Adhelm writing De Virginitate (a queer theme for a bihop’s pen, some readers may think, but it is not long since a prelate* wrote against the polka) makes mention of a lady in the hands of her attendants, and having her locks delicately twisted by the frizzling tongs. But the bishop does not mention if her hair was brown or blue, and strange as it may seem, there are colourable grounds for thinking it may have been either. This we say on the authority of mountains of MSS., in which the hair and beard are mostly painted blue; and hosts of learned commentators coincide in guessing that the Saxons used some dye or powder for their hair, which imparted to their heads the ceruleum colorem, of which we learn from Cæsar, the old Britons were so fond. Now, as ladies often imitate the arts of their admirers, and follow in their fashions as far as it is practicable, we have very little doubt that the Anglo-Saxonesses likewise liked to make themselves look frights by using hair-dye; and that, when in love especially, they coloured their heads so as just to match with their “adorers.” Of this we partly have a proof in a painting of the period, wherein the flowing locks of Eve are depicted a bright blue: and firther evidence is furnished by a fragment of a love-song, which is commonly believed to have been written by King Vortigern, who was inveigled into marriage with the daughter of old Hengist. The original MS. of this is now in our possession, and the lines in question run, or rather hobble, thus:-
“Rowena is my ladie-love
Her robe itte is a gunna:
She wears blewe haire her ears above,
O is shee notte a stunna!”
Critics disagree as to the meaning of the word “stunna,” but we incline, ourselves, to think it was a bit of Saxon slang, and from the context we imagine it was used by way of compliment. About the fact of the “blewe haire,” however, there is no mistake, albeit a Civil Service Clerk might quarrel with the spelling. And the fact that it was worn thus being thoroughly established, we may fancy that young ladies of the Anglo-Saxon period spent a good deal of their leisure in colouring their hair, more especially perhaps when they were asked to spare a lock of it. “My Mother bids me dye my hair to a cerulean hue,” doubtless was a ditty much in vogue about this period, and matchmaking Mammas no doubt insisted on their bidding being put into effect, if they thought blue hair increased their girls’ capillary attractions. There were, however, some exceptions to the rule of admiration of it, as will be seen by the perusal of a sentimental couplet, which we presume to have been written by a poet of the period, though, who the poet was, posterity must guess. In this couplet the blue hair is coupled with black nails and other personal disfigurements; clearly showing that the writer was himself no great admirer of it. The couplet is however neat, and nicely turned, and besides confirming the fact which we have stated, may be quoted for its polish, if not for its point.-
“Youre nose is redde, your haire is blew,
Youre nailes are blacke, styl I loave yew!
Andd gif youre Ya wyl stande ye shine,
Sweette mayde, I’ll bee youre Vallentine!”
FROM A CURIOUS ILLUMINATED VALENTINE OF THE PERIOD.
* Archbishop Cullen
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