Knitting

I confess…

I’m a life-long knitter. My greatest love (knitting wise) are the 1920′s and the 1930′s.

But—

A dive into the history of knitting has proved fascinating.

The Knitting Madonna 15th Century

Dutch Knitter 16th-17th century

17th Century Italian Knitted Jacket

17 stitches to the inch!!!

Only another knitter would understand how much work that would have needed.

The Smell of the Middle Ages – originally published at Trivium Publishing LLC

The Smell of the Middle Ages

By Jacquelyn Hodson

What did the Medieval world smell like? Was it as disgustingly ripe as we have sometimes been lead to believe? Research indicates that the answer would appear to be…not quite. Life may have been less hygienic and more fetid than our modern sanitised world, but not irredeemably so.

Early Herbal Manuscripts

Medieval man possessed a deep knowledge of and a great appreciation for the fragrances of the natural world. Herbs, flowers and perfumes formed a large part of every day existence and were inextricably linked with magic and medicine. The oldest surviving English herbal manuscript is the Saxon Leech Book of Bald written about AD 900-950. Its wisdom formed the foundation of every succeeding English medical treatise.

To read the Leech Book is to find vapour and herb baths prescribed for all manner of ailments. It shows how common it was to ‘smoke’ the sick (animal as well as human) with fragrant woods and plants. Scented garlands decorated homes and bodies. Every herb, every tree and every flower had its own special quality.

‘How can a man die who has sage in his garden?’

Rosemary is meant to have been introduced into England by Queen Philippa who received a plant as a gift from her mother the Countess of Hainault. Philippa carried a sprig of rosemary with her at all times.

But of all the scents – rose must be the one most associated with the Middle Ages.

The Rose

Trade routes- opened for the first time since the beginning of the Dark Ages – were threatened once more in the 11th century when Seljuk Turks conquered Palestine and closed off free access with the Levant. But not for long. An alliance of European Princes, with eyes on commerce as much as religion, decided to retake Jerusalem. The First Crusade was born.

When the Crusaders returned home, they brought with them perfumes beyond imagination, practises hitherto unknown. And rosewater.

Bowls of rosewater were soon standing on every noble trestle table for guests to wash their hands after meals – donner à laver. And nice little flirtations often arose during the manus manum lavat where you washed the hands of your dinner companion. The Empress Matilda received a silver peacock encrusted with pearls and gems from France to donner her laver. Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy owned a statue of a child that peed rosewater. Rose petals floated in the bath every good host was wont to offer to his newly arrived guests.

The Bath

People of the Middle Ages are known to have bathed more often than any of their descendants up to the 19th century. It was common for hosts and guests to share the experience.

Portable wooden tubs lined and padded with cloth and cushions are much associated with this period but it was not unknown for royal bathrooms to contain the type of bath we know today, cased in, set on a tiled floor and with bath mats surrounding it.

King John only bathed once every three weeks but he may have followed a similar regime to Edward IV whose household accounts show that his barbour was paid 2 loaves and a pitcher of wine every Saturday night ‘if it please the Kinge, to cleanse his head, legges or feet, and for his shaving…‘

One of the practises hitherto unknown that the Crusaders brought back with them from the Middle East concerned public bath houses. The Stews. Under Richard II there were 18 stews in the Southwark region of London alone. Young boys were often seen running through the streets shouting out that the water was now hot. The baths were open for business.

Hand and Hair Washing

To prove that hygiene was an important part of Medieval life, there were several curtasye books available to those who wished to improve their manners. Such things as cleaning your teeth with the tablecloth and spitting at the dinner table were frowned upon. Likewise blowing your nose into your hand and NOT wiping it on your clothes afterwards. Nails should always be clean. And hands, face and teeth must be washed every single morning.

Hand washing a person of highest rank was often a ritualistic affair concerning two bowls – one empty, one full of scented water – two servants and a towel. The bowl containing the warm water was placed on a sideboard covered by the empty bowl. On the arrival of the noble personage, the lid was lifted by one servant and handed to the other (known as the ewer) along with the full bowl. Said ewer – with a towel suspended from one arm – then had to kneel holding both bowls as the noble dandled his hands over the empty one. The warm water was poured, the noble washed and then had his clean hands dried by the first servant.

Records from the 13th century show that hair washing was often accomplished by means of a large, shallow bowl set on a mat on the floor. The user would strip to their waist, hang their head over the bowl and then soap and rinse away to their heart’s content.

Before the advent of alcohol based toilet waters in the 14th century, our clean and well-mannered Medieval man or woman could have finished their ablutions with a dusting of powder on the face and/or the body. These were made from rice powder, ground orris root or ground calamus root and mixed with various ground spices and herbs including cloves, dried rose petals and lavender.

Sweete Cloth

Not only bodies were kept pleasant. Clothes and linens too were regularly sweetened. Edward IV was particularly fond of the violet smell of orris root. His linen was regularly boiled in water into which several roots tied with string were dangled.

Lavender, woodruff and many other herbs were often scattered amongst stored clothes but the favourite scent came from dried roses. And the very best roses to use were those from Provence. Would it be fanciful to imagine Eleanor of Aquitaine importing these flowers from her homeland to lay amidst her velvets and silks?

Homes

Castles and manor houses often smelled damp and musty. To counteract this, herbs and rushes were strewn across the floors. Lavender and thyme; meadowsweet and marjoram; germander and hyssop were all popular and if the house owner was wealthy enough – the stems and leaves of the Sweet Flag (Acorus calamus) which grew only in the Fenlands of Norfolk and Cambridge and the low-lying countries of Europe.

The floors of the court of King Stephen was regularly spread with rushes and flowers so that his knights need not sit on bare flags. And Thomas à Becket ordered his hall floors covered each day with May blossom in spring and sweet scented rushes in summer.

Churches

Churches too benefited from the fragrant strewing habit but all too often churchmen bent a malevolent eye on personal perfuming. Which could be construed as hypocritical when we consider that Roman worship was, and still is, a multi-sensory encounter. Eyes fed on the brilliant icons, ears were soothed by the cadences of the Latin liturgy, tongues tasted wine and wafer. Then, maybe, hands stroked the velvet or coarse wool of clothing before straying to finger those herbs and rushes spread about the wooden pews. And then the scent of rosemary or meadowsweet or violet would rise to mingle with the omnipresent odour of incense.

Medieval Lawns or Flowery Meads

Today’s lawns are manicured and tamed into submission with not a daisy or an inch of clover to mar the pristine green. But in the Middle Ages, a lawn was more a meadow…a ‘flowery mead,’ bursting with fragrant wild flowers and herbs and grasses.

These beautiful, wild acres were an integral part of life – used to their full for walking in, dancing on, sitting amongst. And in houses and castles where space and privacy were hard to come by, they were perfect places for lovers to share a moment or two of secluded passion.

He had made
very beautifully
a soft bed out of the flowers.
Anybody who comes by there
knowingly
may smile to himself
for by the upset roses he may see
tandaradei!
where my head lay.

If anyone were to know
how he lay with me
(may God forbid it), I’d feel such shame.
What we did together
may no one ever know
except us two
one small bird excepted
tandaradei!
and it can keep a secret.

Walther von der Vogelweide (c.1170-1230)

Sources:

A History of Scent – Roy Genders

Clean and Decent – Lawrence Wright

© 2002 Jacquelyn Hodson

Well Heeled

There is a legend that high heeled shoes were invented by a beautiful, young, vertically challenged girl who was fed up with always being kissed on the forehead. So – she decided to raise herself three inches. Clever girl!

 

The high heel got its real launch in 16th century France when a petite young Italian woman went to Paris to marry Henri II. Catherine de Medici’s trousseau included several pairs of high heeled shoes that had been designed by an Italian artisan to make her look taller and sexier. The fashion caught on very quickly and high heels became such a status symbol that ‘commoners’ were banned from wearing them. Hence the phrase ‘well-heeled.’

Walking became an art in 16th century Europe. The hips had to move so that the hooped skirt would swing backwards and forwards. Ladies also learned to lift their skirts just high enough to show the silk stocking and well-heeled foot.

 

Mount on French heels when you go to a ball -

‘Tis the fashion to totter and show you can fall

Chanson d’ami

From the Women Trouvères of the 14th Century

Alas, why did I refuse

The one who loved me so?

He whiled away much time with me

And found no mercy there.

Alas, what a cold heart I have!

Insane

Was I, more than mad, to rebuff him?

I will do

Justice to his wishes

If he should deign to hear me.

In the Virgin Queen’s Black & White World

Following on from the previous post written about a year ago (!) I’ve been reading again about textile history and was struck by the fact that if we could walk into the court of Elizabeth the First, we’d be slightly taken aback by the colours of the courtiers’ clothes.

The Queen’s preferred colours were ‘constant’ black and ‘virgin’ white.

The court followed the Queen in her choice of colours.

A survey was done of 101 male courtiers in Elizabethan portraits. 73% of the young men were dressed in white/light colours and 70% of the older men in black.

This may have had something to do with the fact that English dyers had much less knowledge of, and access to, dyes and dyestuffs than the rest of continental Europe.

It may be because of the notion that bright colours masked bad smells…

From a 1603 text Vertue’s Commonwealth – ‘in whomsoever such outward vanitie appears, it is a sure token there is a stinking puddle of vainglory within.’

Or it may be the symbolism of pure, virgin white and constant, solemn black that Elizabeth herself so knowingly used.

17th Century Textile Colours

PANSY FLOWERING; RAYFLAX BLUE; SUMMER BLUE; ROYAL BLUE; TURQUOISE; WATER COLOUR; PALE BLUE; BEAN BLUE; PASTEL;

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DAWN; CORAL; PEACH BLOSSOM; PALE YELLOW;GOLDEN YELLOW; CANARY;SULPHUR ;

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WILLOW GREEN; BUDDING GREEN; BRIGHT GREEN; BOTTLE GREEN; SEA GREEN; VERDIGRIS; GOSLING GREEN;

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GREY; DOVE; ARGENT; PEARL GREY; SLATE, PIGEON; SILVER GREY; CRYSTALLINE;

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REDDISH PURPLE;BRIGHT RED; AMARANTH; CARNATION; RUSSETT; SCARLET; OX BLOOD; ORANGE; NONAIN – ROSY WHITE.

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And colours to try and get our minds around.

I’ll have a go…

I love the idea of SICK SPANIARD - a yellowy olive?

JUDAS COLOUR- Silver?

TEMPS PERDU- I see this as a pale violet?

ANGRY MONKEY- Is red brown too obvious?

APE’S LAUGH- Again, a reddy colour. But only if they were always being pedantic?

RESURRECTION – Oh Gawd! A blue-grey????

KISS ME DARLING – Pale pink, maybe.

MORAL SIN – Love this. A deep, vibrant, singing red?

TRISTAMI – Sorry, can only think of pepparami here. Oops!

SCRATCH FACE – Purpley (if there’s such a word)?

SMOKED OX HAM COLOUR – Pinky, purpley (if it’s not a word, it should be!)

LOVE LONGINGS – Help!

CHIMNEY SWEEP – Too obvious????

FADING FLOWER – Mmmn. Pastel. Maybe like ashes of roses?

DYING MONKEY – Black, brown….ish?

MERRY WIDOW – Deep Purple – nearly black but not quite?

Lilac Time Again

May is the month for lilacs.

Mine are coming into bloom right now. The lilac above grows outside my back door and I adore everything about this shrub. The season is short but intense. In fact, much about lilac seems to be intense from the tight clusters of perfect flowers, to the unforgettable scent, to the historical perspective.

Syringa vulgaris - the common lilac – was brought into Europe in the 16th century by traders and ambassadors to the Persian and Ottoman empires. It represented the secrecy of paradise in these exotic domains.

In Renaissance times it was thought that Pan’s pipes were made from the hollow stems of the lilac bush as syringa comes from the word syrinx meaning tube.

The early 17th century gardens of England and France overflowed with lilac but as time passed and the plant came out of the privacy of royal and noble spaces and into public areas, it lost its original connection to that Eastern secret paradise.

It became common.

The Victorian language of flowers further damaged lilac’s reputation by making it the indicator of death – coffins were routinely draped with white lilac boughs.

In England the profusion of tiny flowers, the magical colours and the heady scent all came to be associated with decadence and sexuality.

In France these qualities were embraced. Louis XIV adored lilac.

So did the Empress Josephine who had Redoute paint pictures of the plant for her.

Lilac – the symbol of ’ever-returning spring.’

Too much History for Historical Fiction

What does a writer (unpublished) do when told by someone in the publishing industry that although she (the writer) has an impressive knowledge of history, there is far too much of it going on in her Historical Fiction novel?

And – that her Main Character is not famous enough for anyone to EVER be interested in reading her story?

My main character – Marie de Rohan – helped drive a fundamental change in 17th century European history. Her story can’t be told without this ‘history’ aspect. She was interesting enough for Alexandre Dumas to write about her and for Marcel Proust to mention her in his Remembrance of Things Past. Also – Queen Victoria was on the throne when the last major study of her life happened.

Both comments have utterly floored me for a while now. Are these industry wide thoughts?
Is there no room anymore for the new subject – a Scarlett O’Hara rather than sweetie-pie?
No room for the pure, un-PC historical without pages of velvet bodices and excruciating post- Freudian self-examination?

I don’t – I can’t – believe that this is true. Am I wrong? Do you have any thoughts about marquee names and watered down history? Help, please!

Picking myself off the floor now.
I’m stubborn enough to carry on regardless. Just not sure which way to turn!!

Writing is like prostitution….

Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for

love, and then for a few close friends, and then

for money.

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin aka Molière (January 15, 1622 – February 17, 1673)

Louise Labé – a hoax?

Way behind the cutting edge here – but I’ve just been reading about a book called

Louise Labe: Une creature de papier by Mireille Huchon published in 2006.

In the book Mireille Huchon – a specialist in 16th century literature – speculates that Louise’s canon of poetry was a hoax perpetrated by several 16th century male Lyonnaise poets including de Magny, Scève and the publisher Jean de Tournes.

Huchon equates the woman Louise Labé with the courtesan, la Belle Cordière, but not with the poetry carrying her name.

From The Free Library –

‘…As suggested by Clement Marot in 1542, was there a project to louer Louise (praise Louise)? Was this a scheme, in the eyes of the participants, to rival Petrarch’s laudare Laure? Huchon’s well-researched arguments are insightful. She analyzes and compares literary texts and demonstrates how they were manipulated, imitated, and plagarized.

Huchon brings her book to a close with a convincing conclusion: a group of male poets contributed their writings to create the CEuvres de Louize Labe Lionnoize, under the orchestration of Maurice Sceve. Two critics, Verdun Louis Saulnier in 1948 and Keith Cameron in 1990, had earlier put into question the authenticity of the CEuvres. The Debat de Folie  et d’Amour, in particular, was most likely written by Sceve with the contribution of Claude de Taillemont. As early as 1584, Pierre de Saint-Julien wrote that in the Debat can be detected the “erudite bawdiness of Maurice Sceve.” As for the Escriz de divers Poetes, a la louange de Louise Labe Lionnoize, they comprise twenty-four poems, principally by anonymous writers who appear to have disguised their real identities behind masks made of anagrams, play on words, or simple initials.

Poets such as Jean-Antoine de Baif, Olivier de Magny, Guillaume Aubert, and Charles Fontaine, among others, played a significant role in the composition of the CEuvres, which were edited by Jean de Tournes, then the most important editor in Lyon. Therefore, according to Huchon, the whole volume amounts to a “bright fancy work of imagination” of a circle of poets from Lyon, reworking the various facets of Petrarchan or Platonic Love, by means of feminine pseudo-writing and the many literary devices already mentioned, elements of which were then all the rage in sixteenth-century Lyon…’

How sad.

I live, I die, I burn, I drown
I endure at once chill and cold
Life is at once too soft and too hard
I have sore troubles mingled with joys…