Part 7

‘There is a proverbial phrase to signify that the wife is master in the household, by which it is intimated that “she wears the breeches.”’ The phrase is, it must be confessed, an odd one, and is only half-understood by modern explanations; but in mediæval story we learn how ‘she’ first put in her claim to wear this particular article of dress, how it was first disputed and contested, how she was at times defeated; but how, as a general rule, the claim was enforced. There was a French poet of the thirteenth century, Hugues Piancelles, two of whose _faiblaux_, or metrical tales, entitled the _Faiblau d’Estaumi_ and the _Faiblau de Sire Hains et de Dame Anieuse_, are preserved in manuscript, and have been printed in the collection of Barbazan. The second of these relates some of the adventures of a mediæval couple, whose household was not the best regulated in the world. The name of the heroine of this story, Anieuse, is simply an old form of the French word _ennuyeuse_, and certainly Dame Anieuse was sufficiently _ennuyeuse_ to her lord and husband. ‘Sire Hains,’ her husband, was, it appears, a maker of ‘cottes’ and mantles, and we should judge, also, by the point on which the quarrel turned, that he was partial to a good dinner. Dame Anieuse was of that disagreeable temper that, whenever Sire Hains told her of some particularly nice thing which he wished her to buy for his meal, she bought instead something which she knew was disagreeable to him. If he ordered boiled meat, she invariably roasted it, and further contrived that it should be so covered with cinders and ashes that he could not eat it. ‘This,’ observes Mr. Wright, ‘would show that people in the Middle Ages, except, perhaps, professional cooks, were very unapt at roasting meat.’ This state of things had gone on for some time, when one day Sire Hains gave orders to his wife to buy him fish for his dinner. The disobedient wife, instead of buying fish, provided nothing for his meal but a dish of spinach, telling him falsely that all the fish stank. This led to a violent quarrel, in which, after some fierce wrangling, especially on the part of the lady, Sire Hains proposes to decide their difference in a novel manner. ‘Early in the morning,’ he said, ‘I will take off my breeches and lay them down in the middle of the court, and the one who can win them shall be acknowledged to be master or mistress of the house.’

‘_Le matinet sans contredire_ _Voudrai mes braies deschaucier,_ _Et enmui nostre cort couchier;_ _Et qui conquerre les porra,_ _Par bone reson monsterra_ _Qu’il est sire ou dame du nostre._’

Dame Anieuse accepted the challenge with eagerness, and each prepared for the struggle. After due preparation, two neighbours, friend Symon and Dame Aupais, having been called in as witnesses, and the breeches, the object of dispute, having been placed on the pavement of the court, the battle began, with some slight parody on the formalities of the judicial combat.

The first blow was given by the Dame, who was so eager for the fray that she struck her husband before he had put himself on his guard; and the war of tongues, in which at least Dame Anieuse had the best of it, went on at the same time as the other battle. Sire Hains ventured a slight expostulation on her eagerness for the fray, in answer to which she only threw in his teeth a fierce defiance to do his worst. Provoked at this, Sire Hains struck at her, and hit her over the eyebrows so effectively that the skin was discoloured; and, overconfident in the effect of this first blow, he began rather too soon to exult over his wife’s defeat. But Dame Anieuse was less disconcerted than he expected, and recovering quickly from the effect of the blow, she turned upon him and struck him on the same part of his face with such force, that she nearly knocked him over the sheepfold. Dame Anieuse, in her turn, now sneered over him, and while he was recovering from his confusion, her eyes fell upon the object of contention, and she rushed to it, and laid her hands upon it to carry it away. This movement roused Sire Hains, who instantly seized another part of the article of his dress of which he was thus in danger of being deprived, and began a struggle for possession, in which the said article underwent considerable dilapidation, and fragments of it were scattered about the court. In the midst of this struggle the actual fight recommenced, by the husband giving his wife so heavy a blow on the teeth, that her mouth was filled with blood. The effect was such that Sire Hains already reckoned on the victory, and proclaimed himself lord of the breeches.

‘_Hains fiert sa fame enmi les denz_ _Tel cop, que la bouche dedenz_ _Li a toute emplie de sancz_ _“Tien ore,” dist Sire Hains, “anc_ _Je cuit que je t’ai bien atainte,_ _Or t’ai-je de deux colors tainte--_ _J’aurai les braies toutes voies.”_’

But the immediate effect on Dame Anieuse was only to render her more desperate. She quitted her hold on the disputed garment, and fell upon her husband with such a shower of blows that he hardly knew which way to turn. She was thus, however, unconsciously exhausting herself, and Sire Hains soon recovered. The battle now became fiercer than ever, and the lady seemed to be gaining the upper hand, when Sire Hains gave her a skilful blow in the ribs, which nearly broke one of them, and considerably checked her ardour. Friend Symon here interposed, with the praiseworthy aim of restoring peace before further harm might be done, but in vain, for the lady was only rendered more obstinate by her mishap; and he agreed that it was useless to interfere before one had got a more decided advantage over the other. The fight therefore went on, the two combatants having now seized each other by the hair of the head, a mode of combat in which the advantages were rather on the side of the male. At this moment one of the judges, Dame Aupais, sympathising too much with Dame Anieuse, ventured some words of encouragement, which drew upon her a severe rebuke from her colleague, Symon, who intimated that if she interfered again there might be two pairs of combatants instead of one. Meanwhile, Dame Anieuse was becoming exhausted, and was evidently getting the worst of the contest, until at length, staggering from a vigorous push, she fell back into a large basket which lay behind her. Sire Hains stood over her exultingly, and Symon, as umpire, pronounced him victorious. He thereupon took possession of the disputed article of raiment, and again invested himself with it, while the lady accepted faithfully the conditions imposed upon her, and we are assured by the poet that she was a good and obedient wife during the rest of her life.

In this story, which affords a curious picture of mediæval life, we learn the origin of the proverb relating to the possession and the wearing of the breeches. Hugues Piancelles concludes his _faiblau_ by recommending every man who has a disobedient wife to treat her in the same manner; and mediæval husbands appear, to have followed his device without fear of laws against the ill-treatment of women.

Van Mecken, a Flemish artist who flourished in the fifteenth century, has left a record of domestic strife in an engraving which shows the wife as victor in the struggle for the breeches; and an ungenerous victor she would seem to have been, judging from the picture, where she is seen engaged at once in putting on the hard-won garments and striking her husband on the head with a distaff. He, poor fellow, is following, under compulsion, some merely feminine occupation, and seems to find it uncongenial.

In Germany, during mediæval times, domestic differences were settled by judicial duels between man and wife, and a regular code for their proper conduct was observed. ‘The woman must be so prepared,’ so the instructions run, ‘that a sleeve of her chemise extend a small ell beyond her hand like a little sack: there indeed is put a stone weighing iii pounds; and she has nothing else but her chemise, and that is bound together between the legs with a lace. Then the man makes himself ready in the pit over against his wife. He is buried therein up to the girdle, and one hand is bound at the elbow to the side.’

The seventeenth century seems to have been prolific of domestic broils, for an unusual number of pamphlets exist which have as their subject the attempts of women to obtain the upper hand over their husbands. One there is, called _Women’s Fegaries_, which is especially bitter. A spirited woodcut on the cover shows a man and woman struggling for a pair of breeches, which certainly would be no gain to either of them, except as a trophy of victory, so immensely large are they. The woman wields a ladle; the man brandishes something that may be either a sword or a cudgel, and both seem in deadly earnest. The contents of this counterblast to women’s efforts are extravagant and amusing; but you shall judge for yourself:--

‘The proverb says, “There is no wit like the woman’s wit,” especially in matters of mischief, their natures being more prone to evil than good; for, being made of a knobby crooked rib, they contain something in their manners and dispositions of the matter and form of which they were created, as may be instanced in several examples, of which we shall in this sheet of paper give you some of them.

‘At a town called _Stocking Pelham_, in the county [_sic_] of England, not long ago there happened a terrible fray betwixt the man of the house on one side, and his wife and his maid on the other side, and though two to one be great odds at football, yet, by the strength of his arm, and a good crab-tree cudgel, they felt by their bruised sides that he had gotten the victory. Now, though the man’s name was _William_, yet the wife for a great while did want her _Will_--I mean, how to be revenged upon him--until at last she effected, by policy, what she could not compass by strength; for he, putting his head out of a window that had neither Glass nor Lettice belonging to it, but only a riding shutter, he having no eyes behind him, she nimbly stept to the shutter, and ran it up close to his neck, so that he was locked fast, as in a Pillory; where, whilst the one kept him in, the other with a great washing-beetle, belaboured his body, as your Seamen do stock-fish. The maid-servant, a strong-docht wench, with both her hands laying on, and at every blow saying:--

‘“_Remember how you beat my dame:_ _Now look for to be served the same._”

‘The poor man, to be rid of his tormentors, was glad to pray, crave, and entreat, and promise whatsoever they would have him, vowing never after to use Crab-tree Cudgel again, nor so much as to eat of Mustard, if it were made of Verjuice, out of detestation to Crabs and Crab-trees.

‘_Thus, women, you may learn a ready way_ _To make resisting husbands to obey:_ _Although to baste your sides their fingers itches,_ _You may, by policy, obtain the breeches._

‘It is in the memory of man, since in _Black-Fryers_ a Taylor and his Wife fell out about superiority. The Taylor fretted, and his Wife scolded, whereupon this ninth part of a man challenged her out into the street to try the conquest, having provided broom-staves there for that purpose. Being both entered the lists, the woman thought it best policy to begin first, and, catching up a Ram’s Horn, which lay at her foot, she threw it at her husband, which by chance lighted on his forehead at the great end, and stuck there as fast as ever it grew upon the Ram’s head; which, having done, she ran in at the door again. The Taylor, being mad to be served so, went to run after her, but, making more haste than good speed, he ran his horn into the staple of the door, where he was so entangled by his brow antlers, that he could stir no further, which the woman perceiving, she got up one of the broom-staves, and so belaboured poor _Pilgarlick_, that, in great humility, he asked her forgiveness, and resigned the right of the breeches up to her.

‘’Twas in the sound of _Clerkenwell_ bells, and therefore of long standing, that a Plaisterer had gotten a most damnable Scold to his wife, who used to fetch him from the Ale-house. One night, coming home three-quarters drunk, she acted the part of _Zantippe_, and made the house to Ring with her scolding. This music was so untunable in her Husband’s Ears, that, getting a cudgel in his hands, he fell to belabouring her until he made her to ask him for forgiveness, and promise never to scold so again. Having thus, as he thought, got an absolute conquest over her tongue, he went quietly to bed, where he slept soundly, whilst she lay awake studying of mischief. In the morning, before he awaked, she examined his pockets for money (the common tricks of a good many women), but found nothing in them, save only some lath nails; these did she take and set upright all about the room, which done, she gets a Pail of Water in her hands, and, calling aloud, commanded him to rise, which he refused to do; whereupon she throws the pail of water upon the bed. This so vexed him that, starting suddenly up, he went to run after her; when his naked feet lighting upon the lath nails, he was forced to slacken his pursuit, being so mortified with them that he could neither stand nor walk. Whereupon his wife, taking the same cudgel he had beaten her withall the night before, told him that _what was sauce for a Goose was sauce for a Gander_, and so be-rib-roasted him, that with great penitency he now asked her forgiveness, resigning the whole right and title of the Breeches unto her, and that though he was superior to her in strength, yet he was inferior to her in policy.’

‘_When as that women do themselves apply_ _To mischief, they perform it readily._ _Nothing will serve them when their fingers itches_ _Until such time they have attained the breeches._ _Be it to scold, to brangle, scratch, or fight,_ _Their hands are heavy though their tails are light._

‘In that part of _Albion_ which is called _Veal Country_, there formerly lived a merry saddler who had gotten a scolding carrion to wife that would frequent the ale-house almost every day, from which he was forced to fetch her home at night, where he would bestow some rib-roast upon her to give her a breathing that she might not grow foggy with drinking so much ale. However, the woman did not take it so kindly but that she vowed to be revenged upon him for it; and to put her determination into practice, one day she asked two of her boon companions to get her husband to the ale-house and make him drunk, which they performed according to her desire, leading him home about ten o’clock at night, and placing him in a chair with a good fire before him, where he presently fell fast asleep: now had the woman a fit opportunity to put her design into practice, when pulling out his feet towards the fire, and the fire so near towards them as it almost touched them, she went to bed, when quickly his shoes began to fry, and his feet were mortified with the burning, so that he made a most sad, dolorous noise. She, knowing the fish was caught that she had laid wait for, went down with a good ashen wand in her hand. “You ill-conditioned slave,” quoth she, “must you come home drunk and make such a noise that one cannot rest in quiet for you? I will make you to roar for something,” and thereupon fell on him with as much Fury as a Pyrat doth on a Merchant’s bark. The poor Sadler was forced to endure all, for he could not help himself; but, desiring her to be merciful, he resigned up the breeches to her, she tryumphing in her double conquest, first paying him who used to pay her, and, secondly, bringing him into that condition that for three-quarters of a year afterwards he did not stir out of doors to fetch her from the ale-house:--

‘_Women, like pismires, have their sting,_ _And several ways to pass their ends do bring._ _Their tongues are nimble, nor their hands crazy,_ _Although to work, each limb they have is lazy._

‘Many other examples might we instance of the imperiousness of women, and what stratagems they have invented for gaining the Breeches from their Husbands, but these I think may suffice for one single sheet of paper, and, indeed, as many as can well be afforded for four Farthings; but least any one should complain of a hard pennyworth, to make him amends, I will afford him a song into the bargain:--

‘THE SONG.

‘_When women that they do meet together,_ _Their tongues do run all sorts of weather,_ _Their noses are short, and their tongues they are long,_ _And tittle, tittle, tattle is all their song._

‘Now that women (like the world) do grow worse and worse, I have read in a very learned authour, viz., _Poor Robin’s Almanack_, how that about two hundred and fifty years ago (as near as he could remember) there was a great sickness almost throughout the whole world, wherein there dyed Forty-five millions, eight hundred, seventy-three thousand, six hundred and ninety-two good women, and of bad women only three hundred, forty and four; by reason whereof there hath been such a scarcity of good women ever since: the whole breed of them being almost utterly extinct.’

* * * * *

And so an end. But the author of this pamphlet is not alone in his satires of domestic infelicity. Here you shall see, in _The Woman to the Plow_, how these things struck our forbears. He has good ideas, this seventeenth-century versifier, but his gifts in the matter of rhyme and rhythm are all too slight:--

THE WOMAN TO THE PLOW AND THE MAN TO THE HEN-ROOST;

OR, A FINE WAY TO CURE A COT QUEAN.

Both men and women, listen well, A merry jest I will you tell, Betwixt a good man and his wife Who fell the other day at strife. He chid her for her huswivery, And she found fault as well as he.

He says:--

‘Sith you and I cannot agree, Let’s change our work’--‘Content,’ quoth she. ‘My wheel and distaff, here, take thou, And I will drive the cart and plow.’ This was concluded ’twixt them both: To cart and plow the good wife goeth. The good man he at home doth tarry, To see that nothing doth miscarry. An apron he before him put: Judge:--Was not this a handsome slut? He fleets the milk, he makes the cheese; He gropes the hens, the ducks, and geese; He brews and bakes as well’s he can; But not as it should be done, poor man. As he did make his cheese one day Two pigs their bellies broke with whey: Nothing that he in hand did take Did come to good. Once he did bake, And burnt the bread as black as a stock. Another time he went to rock The cradle, and threw the child o’ the floor, And broke his nose, and hurt it sore. He went to milk, one evening-tide, A skittish cow, on the wrong side-- His pail was full of milk, God wot, She kick’d and spilt it ev’ry jot: Besides, she hit him a blow on th’ face Which was scant well in six weeks’ space. Thus was he served, and yet to dwell On more misfortunes that befell Before his apron he’d leave off, Though all his neighbours did him scoff. Now list and mark one pretty jest, ’Twill make you laugh above the rest. As he to churn his butter went One morning, with a good intent, The cot-quean fool did surely dream, For he had quite forgot the cream. He churned all day with all his might, And yet he could get no butter at night. ’Twere strange indeed, for me to utter That without cream he could make butter. Now having shew’d his huswivery, Who did all things thus untowardly, Unto the good wife I’ll turn my rhyme, And tell you how she spent her time. She used to drive the cart and plow, But do’t well she knew not how. She made so many banks i’ th’ ground, He’d been better have given five pound That she had never ta’en in hand, So sorely she did spoil the land. As she did go to sow likewise, She made a feast for crows and pies, She threw away a handful at a place, And left all bare another space. At the harrow she could not rule the mare, But bid one land, and left two bare: And shortly after, well-a-day, As she came home with a load of hay, She overthrew it, nay, and worse, She broke the cart and kill’d a horse. The goodman that time had ill-luck; He let in the sow and killed a duck, And, being grieved at his heart, For loss on’s duck, his horse and cart, The many hurts on both sides done, His eyes did with salt water run. ‘Then now,’ quoth he, ‘full well I see, The wheel’s for her, the plow’s for me. I thee entreat,’ quoth he, ‘good wife, To take my charge, and all my life I’ll never meddle with huswivery more.’

The goodwife she was well content, And about her huswivery she went; He to hedging and to ditching, Reaping, mowing, lading, pitching.

And let us hope that, like the Prince and Princess in the fairy tale, they lived happily ever afterwards. But I have my doubts.

VI.--WOMEN IN MEN’S EMPLOYMENTS.