A picture of the social life of England during the Norman period is a picture of manners and customs in a state of flux. But amid all the instability of the times, when political institutions, laws, customs, and language were inchoate, the tendencies were so marked that it is quite possible to watch the emergence of a solidified people. The two great social factors to be considered are the baronial castles and the women of those castles. The castle was the characteristic feature of the Anglo-Norman period; its conspicuousness increased as time went on, until, in the reign of Stephen, there were no less than eleven hundred of these units of divided sovereignty scattered over the country.

During the period of national unsettlement which followed upon the Conquest, these frowning castles arose; they owed their existence to the lack of adequate laws for the safeguarding of life and of property, and to the absence of the machinery of government for the enforcement of law. But, principally, they represented the mutual jealousies of the Norman barons, to whom had been apportioned the lands of the Saxons—jealousies which found a common attraction in an aversion to the centralizing of power in the hands of any monarch who had ambitions to be more than a superior overlord.

This social insecurity was intensified during the reign of William by the danger of attack from the implacable Saxon bands of warriors who had retired into the swamps and from those fastnesses conducted a fierce guerrilla warfare upon the Normans. So full of danger was the period, that the closing of the castle for the evening was always an occasion for serious prayer and commitment of the inmates to Divine protection, as there was no knowing but that before morning a besieging force might appear before the gates and institute all the horrors of attack and beleaguerment.

The elevation of woman to the plane of companionship with her husband was largely due to the peculiar conditions of the feudal state of society, of which the frowning castle that crowned the many hilltops was the sinister characteristic. Exposed as she was to the same dangers, and sharing the responsibilities of her husband, there was no room for a distinction of status to be drawn between them. By reason of environment, wifely equality with her husband was not a matter of theoretical but simply of practical settlement. It was needful that the wife should be a woman of courage and of resources. But while the matter of sex did not constitute a badge of inferiority in the home relations, the peculiar perils to which the women were exposed constituted an appeal to manhood that evoked a chivalrous response; and when life became less hard and there was better opportunity for the expression of the tenderer sentiments, this especial regard for woman rose to the height of an exalted devotion.

It would not be right to assume, however, that the greater prominence and influence of woman outside of her home was a sudden emergence from former conditions. In so unsettled an era it became, however, a more general, more pronounced feature. We may find an earlier indication of the interest of the great lady in the affairs of her lord and in the welfare of his dependants, as well as of the advance of chivalrous sentiments, in the story of Lady Godiva. It was in 1040 that Leofric, Earl of Mercia, was besought by his wife, who was remarkable for her beauty and piety, to relieve his tenantry of Coventry of a heavy toll. Probably little inclined to grant her request, he imposed what he may have thought impossible terms, when he consented to her plea on condition that she would ride naked through the town. To his amazement, doubtless, the Lady Godiva accepted the condition; and Leofric faithfully carried out his agreement. The lady, veiled only by her lovely hair, rode through the streets; and to the honor of the good people of Coventry, it is said that they kept within doors and would not look upon their benefactress to embarrass her. One person only is said to have peeped from behind the curtain of his window, and the story runs that he was struck blind, or, according to another version, had his eyes put out by the wrathful people. This curious person was the "Peeping Tom of Coventry," whose name has become proverbial.

Society develops in strata, so that the elevation of the women of the castles did not enable the women of the hovels to profit by conditions out of the range of their lives. The lower classes, or villains, which included the grades of society styled, in the Anglo-Saxon period, the freemen and the serfs, were the social antitheses of the society of the castles. The women of the lower class benefited not at all by the new dignity that was acquired by the women of the castles during the feudal régime; in fact, they suffered the imposition of new burdens and the exactions of a feudal practice which took the form of tribute, based on the persistent idea of the vassalage of their sex. The great middle class, which was to play such an important part in the social and industrial history of England, had not emerged as a separate section of the people of the country. But what the lady of the Norman castle obtained for her class through one phase of feudalism, the woman of the guild aided in securing by another in the centuries which marked the rule of the Angevin kings; and in both Norman and Angevin times the influence of the Church was constantly on the side of the womanhood of the country, and was probably a more potent force than any other, for the exaltation of woman was the one policy which proceeded on fixed principles.

The castles too often degenerated into centres of rapine and pillage; perpetual feuds led to constant forays, and no traveller could be assured that he would not be set upon by one of these robber barons and his band of retainers—little better than remorseless banditti. But there were castles of a better sort, nor were all knights recreant to their vows. In assuming the obligations of his order, the newly vested knight swore to defend the Church against attack by the perfidious; venerate the priesthood; repel the injustices of the poor; keep the country quiet; shed his blood, and if necessary lose his life, for his brethren. Nothing was said in the oath about devotion to women, nor was such a thing at first contemplated as a part of the knight's office. His office was a military one, and sentiment did not enter into it. The chivalrous feature grew out of the circumstances of the times—the unprotected situation of woman, the fact that the knight who enlisted in the service of a baron, and the baron as well, often had to leave the women of their households dependent for protection upon the opportune courtesy of other knights and lords. When the country had become more orderly and manners had softened, with the increased security given to life and property and the better means of obtaining justice, this chivalrous feature continued and became prominent in the knightly character and office.

In the early times, when the life of the knight was of the roughest, there were adventurous young women, caught by the excitement it offered, who donned the habiliments of the knight and plunged into the dangers of his career. The story is told of the quarrel of two Norman ladies, Eliosa and Isabella, both of them high-strung, loquacious, and beautiful, and both dominating their husbands by the forcefulness of their natures. But while Eliosa was crafty and effected her ends by scheming, Isabella was generous, courageous, sunny-tempered, merry, and convivial. Each gathered about her a band of knights and made war upon her adversary. Isabella led her knights in person, and, armed as they were and as adept in the use of her weapons, she advanced in open attack upon her foe. Such incidents, though not usual, were yet in accord with the spirit of the time.

Every lady was trained in the use of arms for the needs of her own protection when the occasion should arise. Sometimes the practice of sword drill was carried on in the privacy of the lady's apartment. Thus, it is related of the Lady Beatrix—who, by reason of her expertness and her intrepidity in the actual use of arms, gained for herself the sobriquet La belle Cavalier—that the first knowledge that her brother had of her martial proclivities was when, through a crevice in the wall, he happened to observe her throw off her robe, and, taking his sword out of its scabbard, toss it up into the air and, catching it with dexterity, go through all the drill of a knight with spirit and precision; wheeling from right to left, advancing, retreating, feinting, and parrying, until she at last disarmed her imaginary foe. We read of the Knight of Kenilworth that he made a round table of one hundred knights and ladies, to which came, for exercise in arms, persons from different parts of the land.

In such setting is found the life of the woman of the day. But below whatever of chivalry was to be found in this turbulent age, which extended from the coming of William the Conqueror to the end of the reign of Stephen, it was preëminently a rude, boisterous, and uncultured era. The lack of uniformity of language was as much opposed to the development of literature as was the general unsettled condition of the times. Education, slight as it was, had suffered a relapse, and it was not until the twelfth century that anything like real literature was developed.

As the castle was the characteristic feature of the time, and within its walls will be found much of the matters of interest relating to the women of the day, a description of one of these domestic fortresses will make clearer the customs of the times in so far as they relate to the women of the higher classes.

The site selected for the ancient castle was always a hilltop or knoll that lent itself to ready defence. The foot of the hill was enclosed by a palisade and a moat; these circumvallations frequently rendered successful assault impossible, and the only recourse open to the attacking force was a protracted siege. As the stranger on peaceful mission bent approached one of these massive structures, rearing its frowning walls in silhouette against the blue of the sky, he could not fail to be impressed with the majesty and grandeur of its walls and turrets. He would notice the round-headed windows, with their lattice of iron and the numerous slitlike openings which supplemented the windows for the access of light and, as loopholes, played an important part in the defence of the fortress. On coming to the gateway, flanked on either side by bastions, pierced to admit of the flight of arrows, the warden would open to him, and he would be conducted into a courtyard, whose sides were made by the walls of the hall, the chapel, the stable, and the offices. Within the courtyard, he would observe a garden of herbs and edible roots, and also a fine display of flowers; perhaps, too, a small enclosure in the nature of a cage, containing a number of animals—the trained animal collection of the jongleurs, who commonly attached themselves to the following of barons.

On passing into the hall, he would be at once struck by its absolute meagreness; a few stools, some seats in the alcoves of the wall, a few forms, some cushions and a sideboard, making its complement of furniture. The abundance and beauty of the plate on the sideboard might partially redeem in his eyes the barrenness of the place. The minstrel's gallery in the rear of the hall would be suggestive of the convivial uses of that portion of the castle. No elaborate draperies would be seen; some strips of dyed canvas upon the walls alone served to make up for the lack of plaster, and to afford some protection from damp and the spiders whose webs could be seen in the ceiling corners. On passing out again into the courtyard, he would observe the tokens of domestic pursuits in the kitchen utensils and the dairy vessels upon benches, and cloths hung upon poles above. Passing by the subsidiary buildings, and ascending to the ladies' bower by the outside staircase, he would find a few more evidences of comfort than greeted him in the hall below. Instead of common canvas, the walls would be draped with some embroidered materials, cushions would be more plentiful, the touches of femininity would be observed in various little elements of comfort and adornment; but, with all this, he would find it dreary enough. Should he return, however, to this boudoir when the ladies were gathered for their afternoon's sewing, the scene would make up in animation what it lacked in attractiveness of surroundings. On going into the bedchamber, a glance would reveal its contents. Seats in the wall, a stool, a curiously shaped bed, candelabra, and two projecting poles, the one for falcons and the other for clothes, would complete the sum of its furniture. The bed furnishings would consist of a drapery, pendent from an odd roof, rather than a canopy, over the bed. The bed would look to him comfortable enough, with its quilted feathers and pillow attached, and, over these, sheets of silk or of linen, and over all a coverlet of haircloth, or of woollen fabric, lined with skins. One compartmented bed fixture, with its curious divisions, was thought to afford sufficient privacy for honored guests of different sexes, who were all cared for in the same chamber; if the number of the guests and of the household was large, several bed fixtures or bedsteads might be observed. The servants slept indiscriminately in the hall below.

Such was the simplicity of the interior arrangements and furnishings of the castle. But within these rooms, devoid of many of the ordinary comforts of modern life and altogether lacking in its luxuries, assembled women who prided themselves on their noble estate and extraction; here, too, were held many assemblies of state; kings in their progresses through their kingdom tarried for entertainment, bringing with them magnificent retinues. Feasts and social functions called forth all the highbred graces of the fair hostess and made the castle a scene of merriment and of joyous conviviality. Here, too, were held orgies of drunkenness and of depravity; intrigues smouldered within these walls, to break out into an open flame of rebellion; while dramas of noble self-abnegation and plightings of faithful love were enacted there as well. Amid all these scenes moved the lady of the castle.

A few of the typical views of castle life in which the women figured conspicuously will serve to give a more particular setting to the general idea of their status and employments. While men gave themselves up to feats of arms, the women had the task of hospitably entertaining the guests who frequented the castles; in the interim of these festivities and the exacting care of a host of servants, they applied themselves assiduously to needlework, and in no other way does the woman of the times appear in so pleasant a light as when thus engaged. Her facility in lace and embroidery work is not attested alone by contemporary writers, but has come down to us in its finest expression. The famous Bayeux tapestry, possibly the most ingenious specimen of needlework that the world has known, calls up the most interesting of the castle scenes as related to woman. It is the expression of the artistic and historical sense of Matilda, the wife of William I. In some such lady's bower as has been described, the fair queen assembled the ladies of her court, and the Bayeux tapestry was created amid the interchange of small talk, becoming more serious as at times the figures of the pattern recalled some particular horror of personal loss on the part of some of the ladies present, entailed by the great battle whose glory was the central theme of their labors. With womanly self-effacement, they had in mind only those whose deeds were in this unique manner to be handed down to posterity, and had no thought of the monument to womanly devotion that they were erecting for the honor of the sex. Every scene involved the perpetuation of the memories and the valor of those who were dear to them; and as the record passed into the embroidered pattern, it was dwelt upon with words of glowing pride. In some such way took shape the picture-history of the event that found its consummation in the battle of Senlac. By its wealth and accuracy of detail, this monument of woman's skill became a historical document of the first order for the period to which it relates. But to the student of the English woman its chief value must lie in its revelation of the depth of the pride and devotion to husbands, brothers, and lovers that it reveals—devotion to the living and the dead alike, which is the secret of its reverent accuracy, excluding as it does vainglorious exaggeration. It thus becomes a memorial of deeds of valor and of defeat, of triumph and of death; a monument to the Norman, but, unwittingly, a monument to the defeated Saxon as well.

We are reminded by this historic tapestry of the pathetic story of Edith of the Swan's Neck. King Harold had been slain on the battlefield by a Norman arrow which had pierced his brain. His mother and the Abbot of Waltham had successfully pleaded with Harold's victorious rival for permission to bury the king within the abbey. Two Saxon monks, Osgod and Ailrick, were deputed by the Abbot of Waltham to search for and bring to the abbey the body of their benefactor. Failing to identify on the field of Senlac (Hastings) the bodies denuded of armor and clothing, they applied to a woman whom Harold, before he was king, had had for a companion, and begged her to assist them in their search. She was called Edith, and surnamed la belle an you de cygne. Edith consented to aid the two monks, and readily discovered the body of him who had been her lover.

The queen who conceived and furthered the execution of the Bayeux tapestry was representative of the best type of Norman womanhood. Her devotion to her husband was proverbial, and his faithfulness to her has never been questioned. Intrigues among persons who could not brook the moral atmosphere of a court such as Matilda maintained were common enough, and the envious breath of scandal even sought to shake the confidence of her royal husband in her; but all such attempts were unavailing. Matilda became in every sense the consort of William, and thus marked a forward step for the womanhood of the country. Without such recognition of the wife of William I., England would never have had the brilliant and versatile Elizabeth or the wise and womanly Victoria to number among the great examples of high worth which make the list of England's notable women one of the chief glories of her history. As the manners of the court affect the standard of the nation, that the tone of the times was not lower in an age of turbulence, when moral standards were debased, must be to some extent accredited to the example of the queen.

When Matilda died, the country was still rent by fierce hatreds and passionate outbursts; the unplacated Saxon had been little influenced by her. It was reserved for another Matilda, the wife of Henry I., to aid in healing the breach, and, by uniting the discordant elements, put the country in a position for the development of those arts of civilization which only can flourish in an atmosphere of peace. When Matilda, then a religieuse, was adjudged by the Church authorities not to have taken the veil, or to have assumed the vows that would have severed her from the world and committed her to a life of virginity, she reluctantly heeded the clamor of the Saxon element of the people, and yielded to the importunities of Henry to become his wife and the country's queen. So was secured to the land a queen in whose veins ran Saxon blood and who had received an Anglo-Saxon education. Through her influence, many salutary laws were enacted to relieve the disabilities of the people. The wives and daughters of the Saxons were secured from insult; the poor and honest trader was assured equity in his business transactions, and other matters of equal import owed their enactment to the kindly disposed queen. In this manner were allayed animosities which had continued to smoulder under a sense of repeated injustices, and with the growth of mutual confidence there came about an identity of aspiration and effort on the part of the two elements of the population. Intermarriage facilitated this happy tendency, and the perseverance of the Anglo-Saxon tongue, modified indeed by Norman admixture, did much for its furtherance. Thus, the two peoples gradually fused into one nation. That Matilda did much to secure this desirable end entitles her to be regarded as the mother of reconciliation.

The Norman ladies of rank came under the influence of the queen, and it was not uncommon to find them, like the Anglo-Saxon ladies, engaged in the profitable concerns of the poultry yard and the dairy, instead of giving themselves up to court intrigues. The two Matildas represent the best element of the noble womanhood of the day; neither of them was faultless, and the first was charged with an act of vindictiveness toward a Saxon who spurned her love that ill comports with the accepted estimate of her amiability and worth; but while not impeccable, yet both reflected in their lives the signal qualities which, when illustrated in times adverse to them, ennoble the sex.

Returning to the employments of the ladies of the castles, the most typical of these as illustrating the manners of the times, next to the industry of the bower, was the hospitality of the hall. The hostess took her place beside her lord, by virtue of her recognized equality of position, and directed the movements of the servants, who were kept busily employed passing around the dishes—the meat being served upon the spits, from which the guests might carve what they pleased. No forks were used at the table, fingers answering every purpose. On very great occasions the pièce de résistance was a boar's head, which was brought into the hall with a fanfare of trumpets, the guests greeting its appearance with noisy demonstrations. Another delicacy, which a hostess was always pleased to serve to persons of consequence, was peacock. The presence of this bird was the signal for the nobility to pledge themselves afresh to deeds of knightly valor. Cranes formed another of the unusual dishes generally found at these state banquets. As the dinner proceeded, the thirst of the company was assuaged by copious draughts of ale or mead and of spiced wines. That such festivities invariably developed scenes of hilarity and disorder was in the nature of the case, and it was not a strange thing to see the valorous knights, under the mellowing influence of too frequent potations, indulge in such disgraceful acts as throwing bones about the room and at one another, until these bone battles passed into more serious fracases. The woman of refinement had reason to dread these carnivals of gluttony and debauch; and when they became too offensive, she sought the seclusion of her private apartments.

All the while the minstrels played their instruments and sang their songs, often improvising from incidents in the careers of those present, or taking for a theme some vaunting sentiment to which a cup-valorous knight gave expression. No bounds of propriety were observed in the theme or in its treatment by these paid entertainers.

As the dishes were brought in, amid the rude songs and coarse jests of these jongleurs, another company, even more reprobate than they, gathered about the hall door and sought to snatch the dishes out of the hands of the servants. These were the ribalds or letchers—a set of degraded hangers-on at the castle, lost to all self-respect and ready for any base deed that might be required of them. To them was allotted the refuse of the feast.

A vivid picture of a wedding banquet of the times is afforded in a scene from the earlier career of Hereward, the last of patriotic leaders of the Saxons. The daughter of a Cornish chief had been affianced to one of her countrymen, who was notoriously wicked and tyrannical; but she herself had pledged her affections to an Irish prince. Hereward, who was a guest in the country of Cornwall, became an object of hatred to the Cornish bully, who picked a quarrel with him and in the encounter was slain. This awakened a spirit of vengeance among his fellows, and it was only through the assistance of the young princess that Hereward was enabled to escape from the prison where he had been confined and to flee the country. He carried with him a tender message from the lady to her Irish suitor. In the latter's absence she was again betrothed by her father, and sent a messenger to notify her lover of the near approach of the wedding. He sent forty messengers to her father to demand his daughter's hand by virtue of a promise one time made to him. These were put in prison. Hereward doubted the success of the lover's embassage; and having dyed his skin and colored his hair, he made his way, with three companions, to the young lady's home, arriving there the day of the nuptial feast. The next day, when she was to be conducted to her husband's dwelling, Hereward and his companions entered the hall, and, as strangers, came under especial observation. He saw the eyes of the princess fixed upon him as though she penetrated his disguise; and as if moved by the recollections his presence awakened, she burst into tears.

As was the custom of the times, the bride, in her wedding costume, assisted by her maidens, served the cup to the guests before she left her father's home; and the harper, following, played before each guest as he was served. Hereward had registered an oath not to receive anything at the hands of a lady until it was proffered by the princess herself. So, when the cup was offered to him by a maiden, he refused it with abruptness, and declined to listen to the harper. His rude conduct raised a tumult of excitement and indignation, whereupon the princess herself approached him and offered the cup, which he received with courtesy. The princess, entirely confirmed in her suspicions as to his identity, threw a ring into his bosom, and, turning to the company, craved indulgence for the stranger, who was not acquainted with their customs. The minstrel remained sullen, whereupon Hereward seized his harp and played with such exquisite skill as to awaken the astonishment of the company. As he played and sang, his companions, "after the manner of the Saxons," joined in at intervals; whereupon the princess, to help him in his assumed character, presented him the rich cloak which was the reward of the minstrel. Suspicions as to his real character were not, however, entirely allayed; and these were increased by his request to the father of the bride for the release of the Irish messengers.

Finding that he had endangered his safety and the success of his plans by his indiscretion, Hereward slipped away unobserved, and, with his companions, lay in ambush the next day along the road by which he knew the bride would be conducted by her father to her new home. As the bridal procession passed, and with it the Irish prisoners, Hereward rushed out upon the unsuspecting company; and while his companions released the prisoners, he seized the lady and bore her away in true knightly fashion. It may well be believed that the bride was soon united in wedlock to the husband of her choice.

One other circumstance in the history of this man, whose life was a series of bold undertakings, serves to illustrate the superstitions of the times. When King William had besieged the island of Ely, which was the headquarters of Hereward and his large following of Saxon warriors, and had failed to subdue them, he gave heed to the counsel of one of his courtiers, to have recourse to a celebrated witch for aid in the destruction of his foes. Hereward, to spy upon his adversary and discover his plans, disguised himself as a potter, and stopped at the house of the old woman whose magic was to be used against him; that night he followed her and another crone out into the fields, where they engaged in their curious rites. From their conversation he learned of the scheme against him, which was to have a platform erected in the marshes surrounding the island; the hag was to repeat thrice her charm, when he and his followers would be destroyed. Accordingly, when the platform was erected and the besiegers drew as near as they could, expectantly awaiting Hereward's destruction, he and his companions, under the cover of the brush, crept close to the platform and, taking advantage of the favorable direction of the wind, set fire to the reeds. The witch, who was about to repeat her charm for the third time, leaped from the platform in terror, and was killed, while in the panic many of the soldiers lost their lives by fire or by water. The scene here depicted bears a remarkable similarity to the weird rites of the ancient British Druidesses, and doubtless represents a continuance of the mysteries of that order, which came down in forms of magic and witchcraft through many centuries.

This glimpse of the witchcraft that was to become more prominent, or at least with which we become more familiar at a later period, will suffice to show that the plane of general intelligence was not yet high. Education was limited to subjects that have no special interest for us to-day. Such as it was, it was accessible to the lower classes as well as to the upper. There were schools connected with the churches and the monasteries. Apparently, there was no distinction in the subjects pursued by the sexes, excepting in the case of the nobility, whose sons were trained for the positions they were to occupy. It would appear that some priests were so zealous for the prosperity of their schools that they sought to entice scholars from other schools to their own. A law to correct the practice provided "that no priest receive another's scholar without leave of him whom he had previously followed." Latin was in the list of the studies pursued by the ladies, but few could read in the vernacular.

At that day there was the same tendency that is familiar to-day,—to cast alleged feminine inconsistencies into the form of adages. One of these proverbs is found in the instructions of a baron who was counselling his son on his going out from the paternal roof: "If you should know anything that you would wish to conceal," says this generalizer from a personal experience, "tell it by no means to your wife, if you have one; for if you let her know it, you will repent of it the first time you displease her."

The amusements that were popular in the Anglo-Saxon days continued during the Norman period, but hunting and hawking, by reason of the stringent game laws, were sports practically limited to the upper class. The lady kept her falcons and knew well how to set them on the quarry, and with the men she could ride in the hunt to the baying of the hounds. It is interesting to note that with women the usual method of riding was on a side-saddle; seldom are they found seated otherwise in the representations of riding scenes. Among all classes dancing seems to have been in favor. The exercise was more graceful and intricate than the dance of the Saxons. Among the young people of the lower classes it was the chief amusement, and was attended by much mirth and boisterousness. Games of chance were popular among both sexes, and chess was a favorite pastime.

The art of the Anglo-Saxon gleemen and maidens under the Normans was represented by two classes of public entertainers, the minstrels and the jongleurs. The minstrels confined themselves for the most part to music and poetry; while the jongleurs were the jugglers, tricksters, and exhibitors of trained animals. But the distinction was not sharply drawn, although in general the minstrels were considered to afford a higher form of entertainment than did the jongleurs. Both sexes were represented in these bands of itinerant amusement purveyors. Companies of them were more or less permanently attached to the retinues of the great barons, for the whiling away of the long evenings and the entertainment of the guests. The sentiments of the songs and stories of these people were full of suggestiveness and coarseness. The merry and licentious lives of the disreputable traffickers in amusement brought them under moral reprobation, even in that rude age. They drew into their ranks many persons of depraved life, who, when the times improved, contributed, by their abandon, to create sentiment against all profligate strollers. Yet these minstrels represented the beginnings of music and of vernacular literature after the conquest of England.

In the matter of dress there was a marked departure from the Anglo-Saxon costume, which varied little. Just as long as England was not in touch with continental ideas and customs, the women of the country wore the costumes of their ancestors. That dress is cosmopolitan never entered into their conceptions, any more than it does into those of any of the Eastern nations who in modern times have been brought suddenly into the stream of European customs and manners. But with the coming of the Normans, national conservatism yielded to comparison with the fashions of other peoples, and fashion assumed the sceptre that it has continued to wield over the English woman. The changes in dress were at first slight, but by the end of the twelfth century they had become sufficiently marked to be the target of witticism and the subject of satire. The foibles of the women were little regarded by the writers of the time. The dress of the men was not passed over in like silence, however; it drew from the censors of the day the severest strictures on account of its flaunting meagreness and its improprieties in the eyes of its monkish critics. The same condemnation was visited upon the practice of the men of dyeing their hair or otherwise coloring it, wearing flowing locks, and painting their faces. Such fashions were styled reprehensible and effeminate. It would have been instructive to subsequent generations if these censorious critics had not been so gallant toward women, and had given to us the spicy descriptions of feminine attire that, in their indignation, they have afforded us of that of the men. Had they but realized that it was the sex whose sins of dress they passed over so lightly, with charity or indifference, that was to follow the inconsequential wake of fashion into the wildest vagaries of costume and adornment, they would have let the men have their brief day, and massed their strictures against those who were to elevate fashion to an art and make of its following a devotion. As it is, for our knowledge of the dress of the weaker sex we are dependent upon the illuminations, whose brilliant coloring and faithfulness of detail left little for the text to elucidate. That the new styles were not received with approbation by the clerical artists is clear enough from the caricatures and exaggerations of them that appear in their drawings. The inordinate length of the sleeves, reaching as they did, in a long, mandolin-shaped pocket, to the knees of the wearer, made them surely hideous enough to draw out the indignation of those who had artistic sensibilities to be shocked.

That the notion of fashionable dress as Satanic is very old is shown by one of the representations of his infernal majesty, where he is portrayed dressed in the height of feminine fashion. One of the sleeves of his gown is short and full, while the other, in caricature of the style of the day, is so long that it has to be tied in a knot to get it out of the way. The gown, also, being of impossible length and fulness, is disposed of by the simple expedient of knotting.

In the dress of Satan, as an exponent of the iniquity of feminine attire, there also appears unmistakable evidence of a tight bodice of stays, the lacing of which, after drawing his majesty's waist into approved dimensions, hangs carelessly down to view and terminates in a tag. As stays were not commonly worn, and as a writer at a little later time is found vehemently inveighing against them, it is fair to conclude that their presence on Satan is to indicate, in the eyes of the better element of the day, the indelicacy and impropriety of their use. Ridiculous and unsightly as were the long sleeves and other novelties of dress, the particular displeasure with which they were regarded by the element whose views the ecclesiastics reflected must be attributed somewhat to their foreign origin. Although they were introduced into the country by the Normans, the long sleeves, at least, appear to have originated in Italy. Down to the twelfth century, there was sufficient conservatism remaining to deprecate the introduction of foreign novelties, just as in Elizabeth's days the economists strongly protested against bringing into the country "foreign gewgaws."

The girdle remained a part of the dress of the women, although it was not so much in evidence as in the Anglo-Saxon time. It was probably worn under the gown, and in some cases may have been dispensed with. That queens and princesses, however, wore very fine girdles, ornamented with pearls and precious stones, is abundantly attested by the contemporary writers.

The mantle was the most changeful article of dress at this period. Sometimes it was worn in the old way, being put on by passing the head through an aperture made for that purpose; but more often it was worn opening down the front and fastened at the throat by an embroidered collar clasped by a brooch. Again, it was fastened in a similar way at the throat, but covered only one side of the form, falling coquettishly over the shoulder and hanging down the side. A particularly pleasing effect was obtained by having it fasten at the throat by a collar, whose rich, gold-embroidered border continued down the front to the waist. Sometimes the garment was sleeveless, and again it was worn with short sleeves, or sleeves long and full. For winter wear, it covered the form entirely and terminated in a hood. These mantles were often of the finest imported textiles, embroidered in elegant figures and with richly wrought borders, and were lined throughout with costly furs.

The kerchief, like the mantle, quite lost its conventional style in the period we are describing, and was often omitted altogether. It was usually worn over the head, and hanging down to the right breast, while the end on the left side was gathered about the neck and thrown over the right shoulder. Sometimes it was gathered in fulness upon the head and bound there by a diadem, though otherwise worn as just described. Toward the end of the twelfth century it became much smaller, and was tied under the chin, looking very much like an infant's cap. The women's shoes were very much the same as those worn by the Anglo-Saxons. It is quite likely that the stockings were close-fitting and short, as was the style among the men.

There were different ways of wearing the hair, but the most usual was to have it parted in front and flowing loosely down the back, with a lock on either side falling over the shoulders and upon the breast; this was the style for young girls especially. Another fashion was to have it fall down the back in two masses, where it was wrapped by ribbons and so bound into tails. Young girls never wore a headdress of any sort. On reaching maturity, it was usual for the women to enclose their hair in a net, with a kerchief cap drawn tightly over it.

The ornaments in use need no particular description, because of their similarity to those worn during the Anglo-Saxon period. Crowns were, of course, the chief adornments of queens on state occasions; circlets of gold, elegantly patterned, formed the diadems of the noble ladies; and half-circlets of gold, connected behind, constituted the distinctive headdress of women of wealth. Rings, armlets, and necklaces, as well as the generally serviceable brooch, were in use.

Turning from the fashions of the wealthy to the condition of the poor, what a difference appears! The age was one of sharp contrasts; for while gayety reigned in the high circles of court and castle, wretchedness was more usual in the hovels with their mud walls and thatched roofs, to which nature may have added the gracious garniture of herbs, mosses, and lichens. But it would be too much to assume that the persons of humble estate were not happy in their own way. Lacking the luxuries of the table and the fine attire of the ladies of the castles, life still had for them many elements of pure joy. But while the women of the lower ranks would have contrasted well in the matter of morals with the women of the nobility, yet no more then than now was virtue the exclusive possession of any class.

The monasteries were not only centres of culture, but were also the great distributing centres of charity, the nuns being looked upon as the especial friends of the poor. We hear little of complaint against the character of these houses at this time, and it is clear that the rules for their direction had become efficacious for the establishing of a discipline sufficiently rigid, on the whole, to ensure exemplary character. Many penances and mortifications were imposed on the nuns, besides others which were voluntarily assumed. In a book of rules published at this time appears the following, which seems to indicate that even sunshine savored too much of worldliness for the occupants of the religious houses: "My dear sisters, love your windows as little as you may, and let them be small, and the parlor's the narrowest; let the cloth in them be twofold, black cloth, the cross white within and without." It may be, however, that it was not too much sunlight that was to be avoided, but men, who sought to converse with the nuns at their windows. This indeed appears to be the true meaning of the recommendation, as is indicated by another enjoinment: "If any man become so mad and unreasonable that he put forth his hand toward the window cloth, shut the window quickly and leave him."

Besides the nuns, whose office dedicated them to acts of charity, many of the noble ladies found pleasure in alleviating the afflictions of the poor. In their care of the distressed they were incited to acts of humility by the very high value that the Church placed upon the performance of such deeds. Matilda, the good wife of Henry I., had the training of the monastery in developing her benevolent instincts, and set an example to the ladies of her court by establishing the leper hospital of Saint Giles; there she herself washed the feet of lepers, esteeming such lowly service as done unto Christ. In a hard and cruel age, the gentler sentiments common to womanly nature, especially when under the influence of Christian feeling, poured themselves out in a wealth of affection upon those who were stricken and left helpless by the hardness of the times.