IF, among the nations of
Europe, Scotland has played but a humble part in the development of design
in furniture, the facts of nature and of history at least supply a simple
explanation. A high standard of domestic comfort is the outcome of a long
experience of national prosperity, and the sure index of a well established
social order. Now it is true that, in intellectual culture, Scotland had
reached even in mediaeval times a level which, considering her scattered
population and her meagre opportunities, is remarkable. But if her
reputation in letters was secure, so alas was her poverty proverbial. "What
could have brought us hither?" asked the French knights who, as Froissart
tells us, had come over in 1385 to march against England; "we have never
known till now what was meant by poverty and hard living!" It would be easy
to collect similar testimonies from those who have left records of their
journeyings in Scotland, but the task would be both dismal and unnecessary.
Some of these writers speak of the Scots with kindliness, some with contempt
; but there is hardly one among them who has not recorded some impression of
the poverty of the country. Some hundreds of years ago it was a current jibe
in France that when the Devil led our Lord into a high mountain and showed
him all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory thereof, he thought it
discreet to make one reservation. He "keipit his meikle thoomb on Scotland."
But besides being a poor
country, Scotland was also a singularly unsettled one. By a misfortune of
geography it was her richest provinces that lay exposed to the devastating
raids from the English border. History too brought her mischances. The long
series of regencies during the minorities of the Jameses gave rise to bitter
jealousies and family feuds among the nobles; and from the consequences of
these factions and the social anarchy they brought in their train, not even
the most peaceable country folk could count themselves secure.
"Sum time," says Lyndsay of
the Mount:
Sum time the realme was reulit
be Regentis,
Sum time lufetenantis, ledaris of the Iaw
Than rang sa mony inobedientis
That few or nane stude of ane other aw;
Oppression did sa lowd hys bugle blaw
That nane durst ride bot into feir of weir
Jok-upon-land that time did mis his meir."
This is no fancy picture. Jok-upon-land,
the decent peasant extorting a precarious living from an unkindly soil, was
but too often a sufferer from the violence of the times. The records of
actions for restoration of "spuilzie" not only tell us of such lawless deeds
done by one noble to another, but they are full of petty and ruthless damage
done to poor people who had little to lose. We read of attacks on richly
furnished houses, and we have but to turn the page to find some poor Jok-upon-land
complaining of "scaitht to his horse," another bent on recovering "auchteen
pence takyn furth of hys purs," and a third claiming a still smaller sum for
"hys wyfis hois and schone"; while the august pages of the Acta Dominorum
Concilii have embalmed for us the memory of "ane callit Cutsy," of whom only
this has come down to us, that in a bitter hour four hundred and thirty
years ago, he, or possibly she, suffered the " wrangous, violent and
maisterful spoliatioun of twa sarkis."
To us these acts of oppression bring this
compensation, that as the law required that the pursuer in an action for
restitution should set forth under oath "the avail and quantitie of the
gudis," we have a series of documents giving details and valuations of
household gear in early times, of which we should otherwise have had but
scanty record. Yet we cannot but realise as we read them, what tragedies of
domestic life they describe, tragedies none the less moving that their scale
is sometimes so pitifully small. They bring home to us that, for rich and
poor alike, life was at the mercy of shocks and dislocations of every kind.
Neither for life nor for property was there any security. And we must
acknowledge that, in conditions so unsettled, it was hardly possible that
there should be any equable and progressive development of the arts of
peace. Even if
conditions had, however, been otherwise more favourable, Scotland would
still have been at a disadvantage in the matter of furniture owing to her
comparative dearth of fine timber. Not that Scotland was the treeless waste
that some would have us believe. There was a fair amount of oak in the
neighbourhood of Inverness, as we know from the early records of that town,
while the forest of Badenoch produced quantities of fir trees. Artillery
wheels for the raid of Norham were made in Melrose wood; timber was got at
the same time from Clydesdale and the wood of Cockpen; while James IV used
to send messengers to the Forest of Tern-way, or Darnaway, in Morayshire, to
"ger fell tymmir" there. We have particulars, too, of timber felled at Luss,
and elsewhere in the neighbourhood of Loch Lomond, in connection with the
King's barge, built at Dumbarton in 1494. Still, the visitor who had passed
through England could not but be struck with the comparative scarcity of
trees in Scotland; and though Nicander Nucius, writing in 1545, states that
the whole island abounds with marshes and well-timbered oak forests, it is
questionable whether his journey actually extended to Scotland. We know
that, as a matter of fact, Scotland depended mainly on her imports of "eastland
burdis" from the Baltic; and it is safe to conclude that Scotland was poorly
supplied with timber, though not to the extent suggested by Sir Anthony
Weldon when he said that "had Christ been betrayed in this country, Judas
had sooner found the grace of repentance than a tree to hang himself on."
But any preliminary survey of the conditions
affecting Scottish domestic life and its equipment would be incomplete and
wholly misleading if it did not look beyond the boundaries of the country
itself. Even in mediaeval times Scotland cannot be considered as existing
"in vacuo," or as insulated from foreign contacts. We must have some idea of
how social conditions in Scotland compared with those ruling elsewhere, and
particularly in those countries with which she had intimate relations ; and
we must know something of the channels through which the influences of
countries with a more highly organised social and domestic life were
conveyed to her. Even in England the standard of domestic comfort was, up to
the end of the fifteenth century, much lower than in the principal countries
on the continent of Europe. Indeed, even fifty years later, the Spaniards
are said to have remarked, "These English have their houses made of sticks
and dirt, but they fare commonly so well as the King." In the last quarter
of the fifteenth century, however, there was a clear advance towards comfort
and elegance in house equipment, and furniture of some artistic pretension
began to be introduced. For guidance in such matters England naturally
looked to France and Flanders, and there was, in fact, little important
furniture in England which was not either of foreign origin or at least of
foreign inspiration. It need hardly be said that Scotland, with her smaller
population, her poorer communities and her ruder material civilisation, was
even more dependent on her contact with foreign countries for an advancing
standard of domestic comfort and artistic seemliness. Fortunately we have,
in the Ledger of Andrew Halyburton, an authoritative document as to Scottish
trade with the Netherlands in the closing years of the fifteenth century.
Halyburton was an enterprising Scottish commission merchant, established at
Middelburg, and doing business also at Bruges, Antwerp and elsewhere; and
his clientele included many leading churchmen and laymen in Scotland, as
well as many of the tradesmen who supplied goods to the Royal Household. An
examination of his Ledger shows that the exports from Scotland consisted
almost entirely of unmanufactured products; a few bales of Scottish cloth
seem to be the only exception. The bulk of the trade is in skins, wool and
fish, and even these do not always arrive in creditable condition. It must
be confessed that the exports give a disappointing picture of the
productiveness and industry of the country, and we have to correct this
impression by reminding ourselves that most of the necessaries and some of
the luxuries for home consumption were produced by native industry.
The imports from Flanders are much more various
and interesting, and they may be examined in more detail because of the
light they throw on the social life of the time. We are struck at once, for
instance, with the large proportion of dress materials, velvets and damasks,
silks and satins, as well as humbler stuffs such as "ryssillis cloth,"
buckram and fustian. At first sight this seems inconsistent with the idea of
Scotland's poverty; but we may recall Pedro de Ayala's contemporaneous
statement that the people of Scotland spent all they had to keep up
appearances, and were as well dressed as it was possible to be in such a
country. It must be kept in mind too that a medioval conception of society
regulated the laws of costume; and the demand for costly materials is to
some extent explained by the fact that they had a definite significance in
announcing the rank and social importance of the wearer.
Next to the trade in dress materials comes that
in groceries, spices and wines, and the variety of these shows a rather more
luxurious standard of living than we might have expected. There was, for
instance, a demand for olives, as well as for figs, almonds, raisins and
dates, and for spices and confections of many kinds; while there are
frequent puncheons of "claret Gascheo" "Mawvyssie" and other wines,
including some from the Rhine. Next may be mentioned the trade in church and
domestic furnishings, a trade which considerably increased in the following
century, but was meanwhile of no great volume. To its details I must return
later. Another interesting import consists of illuminated books, chiefly
porteuses and breviaries, and there are occasional shipments of a ream or
half ream of paper. It will be noticed that in all that has been enumerated
there is little that is not destined for immediate use. If we look for
materials for work to be done in Scotland, we find little beyond madder, for
dyeing; some iron, for smith-work; gunpowder, carts and wheelbarrows for
quarrying and building; white and red lead and vermilion, and gold and
silver foil, probably for decoration of churches and other buildings; and
sewing silks for embroidery.
Now consider for a moment what is implied in the
contrast between the exports from Scotland and the imports from Flanders.
Scotland, as we have seen, exported practically nothing but fish, wool and
skins—fish speared or netted in her lochs and rivers and estuaries; wool
sheared from the sheep on her hillsides and lowland pastures; skins of
animals shot or snared in her mountains or forests. Thus the whole outward
foreign trade of Scotland was based, not on the organised industry of
communities of skilled craftsmen and workers, but on the primeval callings
of the fisherman, the shepherd and the huntsman ! In how different a social
atmosphere such a country must have lived from that of one able to send out
immense quantities of tapestries, carved furniture, vessels of silver and
gold, and fruits, spices and wines, to every part of Europe. We must, of
course, make a fair allowance for the fact that the Netherlands was a
clearing-house for European and extra-European trade. It is something that
Scotland was even importing such artistic and other luxuries as Flanders was
able to supply; and it is at least a tribute to Scottish enterprise that
these imports were brought in Scottish vessels, commanded and manned by
Scotsmen. But it can readily be seen that very little furniture, unless of a
rough and merely serviceable kind, was likely to be made in Scotland, and
that anything appealing to a more sophisticated taste would be introduced
from countries having a more highly developed standard of design and
workmanship. This further lesson may be drawn from the facts we have been
reviewing, that it would be misleading to transfer to Scotland any general
picture of mediaeval life which we may have formed from accounts based on
conditions elsewhere. Such accounts are usually drawn from the literature of
countries with a wealthy and elaborate civilisation; from illuminated
manuscripts, highly coloured fabliaux, and finely wrought interiors by
primitif painters, and they are apt to convey an impression that is
overcharged and, in its total effect, untrue, even of life in those favoured
lands. It would be unreasonable to expect to find in Scotland---a country so
poor, so unsettled and so isolated—any such development of the material
setting of social life as existed in Italy, with her splendid artistic
traditions; in Flanders, with her world-wide commerce ; or in France, with
her natural taste and the luxury of her brilliant court.
Of Scottish Furniture of the fifteenth century
little or nothing remains; nor have we any contemporary illustration to turn
to for information. But just because, in the absence of such material, the
subject has been neglected, it is worth while to collect such knowledge as
we can derive from literary and documentary sources and to form an idea of
mediaeval practice in house-furnishing, and of the social usages on which it
was founded. Early Scottish poetry is full of allusions to the arrangements
of domestic life, and unless we have some acquaintance with these
arrangements the allusions must remain obscure, instead of casting a homely
light on the poet's thought. It is the more necessary because, while the
medieval tradition persisted during the changes of the sixteenth century, it
disappeared altogether in the beginning of the seventeenth, and the very
words used to describe once-familiar pieces of furniture and traditional
domestic arrangements either acquired a new meaning or dropped completely
out of the language. It was not till two hundred years later, during the
Romantic Revival which originated, I suppose, with Horace Walpole and which
led up to Sir Walter Scott, that there was a movement to recover a knowledge
of medieval customs and to exhume the lost vocabulary. As we shall see, the
editors who at that time reprinted early Scottish poems were often puzzled
by words and allusions which would have been intelligible had they known
more of medieval life, and they were too apt to tamper light-heartedly with
the text, so that they sometimes introduced astonishing anachronisms. Even
the pronunciation of forgotten words was a matter of mere guesswork, and the
word "dais," which we pronounce to-day in two syllables, is an instance of
such ignorance. In early times in this country it was a monosyllable, as it
still is in France.
Let us see, therefore, what was the actual
furnishing of a Scottish Castle in the latter part of the fifteenth century.
Arriving at one of these strongholds in the dusk of a winter afternoon, we
are led up the winding stone staircase by a retainer swinging a horn
lantern. On the first floor is the great hall, an apartment some thirty feet
long, or more, in which the evening meal is about to be served. On one side
a great fire of turf and peat burns in the wide fireplace, where there is,
of course, no barred grate, and casts a ruddy glow through the room. A lad
stands holding a metal basin, and the guests wash in turn, water from a
laver or ewer being poured over their hands by another servant. A long
narrow table is set across one end of the room, and at this the principal
persons, some six or eight in number, take their seats with their backs to
the wall. This table is known as the "hie burde," and it stands on a dais
some inches higher than the rest of the floor, being reserved for the use of
the more important guests. On the wall behind them is a piece of tapestry,
or a simpler hanging of coloured worsted. The lord of the castle sits in a
high-backed chair in the middle, and if he observes great state, there may
be a canopy suspended from the ceiling above his seat. On his right and left
are the guests seated on benches provided with loose cushions, and sometimes
with "bancours" of tapestry or other woven material. The less important
members of the household are seated at side tables, and they too have their
backs to the wall, so that the opposite side of each table is left free for
service from the middle of the room. All those seated at the meal have their
heads covered, the ladies, according to Scottish fashion, wearing kerchiefs
draped from a high structure of real or false hair in the form of two
horns—a dress which the Spanish ambassador described as the handsomest in
the world. Only the servants are uncovered. The reason for wearing hats at
meals seems to have been that it was considered a precaution against the
contamination of the food by what a plain-spoken old writer calls "flyes and
other fylthe." Our present standards of cleanliness and decency were not
reached in a day, and a frank account of some of the table manners of the
fifteenth century would fill us with disgust. Even in France people had, to
be warned that it was bad manners to spit or blow the nose at meals without
turning aside the head ; that one must not struggle to catch fleas at table,
nor seek to relieve the irritation of a then prevalent scalp-disease by
scratching the head.
The table is spread with fair Dornick cloth, a
diapered linen first made at Tournai, the same town which the Dutch called
Dornewyk. Lighted cand1s stand on the tables and there are others in the
chandillars of brass which hang from the roof On the table itself the most
notable object is the salt-fatt, or salt-cellar, often of elaborate design
and considerable size. It had a quasi-ceremonial importance, and servants
were instructed that after the cloth was laid they must first see that the
salt cellar was in place; after that the knives, then the bread, and last of
all the food. The division of the table into "above and below the salt" is
not a medieval one, for those who were socially inferior sat at separate
tables. Pewter dishes were in fairly common use, but even in many important
Scottish houses the old wooden trenchers were not yet displaced. If there
were a shortage of plates, some of the retainers might have to use slices of
bread to hold their food. The spoons were of pewter or occasionally of
silver. Knives are seldom mentioned in early inventories, because it was
customary to use the knives which men carried about with them for general
use. Forks were unknown and food was carried to the mouth by the fingers.
Politeness required that only three fingers, that is two fingers and the
thumb, should be used in handling food; and in drinking, the cup was to be
lifted in the same way. This handling of food, and especially the fact that
it was lifted from the general dish with the fingers, explains the necessity
for the basins and lavers, sometimes of silver, but usually of less costly
metals, which were served for the use of the guests. Towels were provided
and each person had his table napkin. Their use is indicated in a line of
Gavin Douglas's Eneid, where he speaks of "soft serviettis to make their
handis clene"; and how this was done may be inferred from Welldon's
description of James VI, who, he tells us, "rubbed his fingers' ends
slightly with the wet end of a napkin." Well-bred persons of the time were
counselled to avoid gluttony, to eat without suffocating themselves and not
to stare rudely at others eating; they were also to drink moderately,
diluting their wine, and not to suck in their liquor "as if it were an
egg"—meaning, I suppose, audibly —and finally they must not, while drinking,
let their eyes roll about to this side and that.
Looking round the hall, we see that the floor is
covered with rushes or bent grass. A "lyar," or rug, is stretched in front
of the fire, and on it are several cushions serving as footstools. At the
opposite end of the hall from the dais is a rude gallery in which two or
three pipers or fiddlers are exercising their art, and in the corner of the
hall below them are some stands of armour with spears and staves, while a "blawin'
horn" hangs on the wall. There is also on one side of the hall a kind of
service table, not a board detachable from its supports, but a solid table,
such as was called in England a "table dormant." On this any vessels of
silver or pewter that are not in use may be displayed. The only other piece
of furniture is a chest, in which napery is kept and which serves also as a
seat. In the shadow of a deep window we may perhaps discover a
spinning-wheel, and beside it, on a cushion on the stone seat, a "buke of
storeis," its parchment leaves enclosed in boards clasped with silver. On
the wall by the fire-place the light of the flickering candles finds
answering points of reflection in the gilding of a polychrome figure in
carved wood, representing some favourite saint, St. Ninian, perhaps, or St.
Kentigern. Now the
first thing that strikes us in this picture of the hall is how little
furniture it contains. Tables and forms, with a chair for the master of the
house, a side table and a chest, these are all that we find in a large room
where all that is important in the social life of the house takes place. Why
is the hall so scantily furnished? We know that pieces of furniture of many
types were in use—"copamries," "covartur-amries," "mcit-amries,"
"vessel-almeries," "wair-almries" and "wairstalls," besides chests and
coffers of various kinds. Yet these seldom appeared in the hall. Furniture
in Scotland was made for convenience, not for display, to keep dishes and
napery out of the way of dust and accidents, and it was accordingly made
locally of fir or other cheap wood, and consisted of plain, serviceable
pieces with little or no pretension to artistic treatment. On the other
hand, the foreign furniture which was being imported by Halyburton and
others had hardly begun to reach the private houses. The Church, by virtue
of her wealth and her foreign connections, was still the pioneer in
introducing the luxuries of civilisation, and it is to ecclesiastics that
Halyburton sends most of the tapestries and furniture that appear in his
Ledger. It is early in the sixteenth century before we find much Flemish or
French furniture in the houses of the laity. Yet we do find references,
exceptional rather than typical, to the "lang-sadyll" or settle, the "lettron"
or reading desk, and to Flanderis kists and counters, pieces of furniture
such as Halyburton was importing. Goods of foreign origin which were much
more widely diffused were silver salt-fatts and other vessels, brazen
chandillars and candlesticks, feather-beds, pillows and cushions, and, of
course, napery. One entry in Halyburton's Ledger may be specially
mentioned—a reference to an "oralag" sent by Bishop Elphinston for repair,
and returned "mended, and the cais new." This shows that clocks were already
in use in Scotland for ecclesiastical and public buildings, if not yet for
domestic purposes. Let
us examine in rather more detail some of the furnishings and arrangements of
the hall. The dining tables were merely long boards, of oak or fir,
supported by a pair of trestles which-were generally of fir, and when not in
use the board was laid against the wall and the trestles were cleared away.
There was no feeling that the room looked "unfurnished" without its tables.
In the Freiris of Berwik we read how a "hostillar's" wife entertains a friar
in her husband's absence. When the husband unexpectedly returns, she orders
her maiden, according to Sibbald's version (1802), which professes to take
no liberties with the text, to "clear the board." But if we turn to the
Bannatyne MS., we find it is "Close yon board," a much more characteristic
touch, implying that the table itself is to be dismounted and removed.
Go, clois yon burd, and tak awa the chyre
And lok up all into yone almery,
Baith met and drink with wyne and aill put by.
The reference to the single chair, which was the
rightful seat of the master of the house, and to the use of the almery, are
worth noting. We also read, earlier in the poem, that
The burde scho cuverit with clath of costly
greyne,
Hir napry aboif wes woundir weill besene,
and early inventories show that table covers
were, like the cloth of a modern billiard table, always green, a special
cloth known as "Inglis green " being imported from England for the purpose.
The principal table, or "hie burde," set on the
dais and having behind it the tapestry or other wall-hanging, was, as I have
said, reserved for persons of importance, and the dais thus gave a line of
social distinction. The author of Schir Penny, satirising the deference paid
to wealth, in the person of Sir Penny, says:
"That Syre is set on heich deiss
And servit with mony rich meiss
At the hie burde." Some
years ago a paper was read before a learned Society giving an account of an
interesting sixteenth century inventory. The author, an experienced
archa?ologist, had little knowledge of the social uses of the time, and the
result was an extraordinary series of blunders. The first thing mentioned in
the hall was "ane desbuyrd," meaning of course the table on the dais, and
this was interpreted as "a dish-board, or perhaps a plate-rack." The author
then pointed out the remarkable absence of chairs, mentioning that only one
was specified, and that it stood in the hall, which, he said, "indicates a
meagreness of plenishing not easily reconcilable even with the plain living
of the times." The single chair, placed in the hall for the master's use,
was the invariable rule at the period of which he wrote, and chairs did not
come into ordinary domestic use till the seventeenth century. The author of
the paper also interpreted "treying copes" as trying cups, which he thought
might mean measuring cups, whereas they are simply "tree-en" cups, or cups
made of wood; and a "wairstall," a kind of press, he converted into a night
stool, a brilliant effort of fancy! Most of these mistakes arise not merely
from ignorance of the terminology of house furniture of the time, but from
failing to realise the difference between the domestic arrangements and
social life of that age and those of our own day. Early furniture owes much
of its interest to its reflecting customs with which we are no longer
familiar, and it is meaningless unless we interpret it in terms of the
social habits which produced it.
In Henryson's poem, The Twa Mice, we read how
the cat catches one of the mice, and how, in playing with her victim:
Quhyll wad she let her ryn under tthe strae
—the straw with which the floor was covered. The
mouse manages to escape, and Sibbald's version (18oz) tells us that she
crept "between the dressour and the wall " and climbed "behind the
panelling." Now the words "dressour" and "panelling" were not in use in
Scotland when the poem was written, and their introduction is but another
instance of the propensity to substitute for unfamiliar expressions others
more easily understood and perhaps considered more picturesque. When we
consult the early text we find that the mouse escapes, not between the
dressour and the wall, but between "ane burde and the wall," and climbs, not
behind the panelling, but behind "ane parelling," which was the usual name
for the hanging on the wall behind the dais table. The burde, taken from its
trestles, had no doubt been laid along the foot of the wall, and the mouse,
getting behind it, crept beneath the parelling and worked her way into a
position of safety. Accordingly she says, later in the poem:
I thank yone courtyne and yone perpall wall
For my defence now fra ane crewel heist,
the perpall wall being the partition wall on
which the courtyne or parelling hung.
A very interesting and characteristic piece of
furniture in the Scottish medieval hall was the Comptour, or Counter. Few
houses in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were without one, yet to-day
there are the most conflicting ideas as to what the counter really was, and
what part it played in the domestic life of the time. It has been defined as
a table, a cabinet, a desk and so on, while one reference in an old protocol
book has been held to prove that it was a penannular, or C-shaped, sofa. Let
us see what we can learn from documents of the time when the counter was in
everyday use. But we must bear in mind that in any investigation into early
furniture and its nomenclature we are dealing with names which, though
stereotyped themselves, are applied to furniture forms which are constantly
being modified and transformed in the attempt to adapt them to the varying
uses of a rapidly developing social system. Especially is this true of
pieces of furniture whose use is not limited by having to meet some definite
and permanent human need. Beds, dining-tables and chairs, for example, are
controlled by a certain fixed basis of human requirement; and, under all
their superficial varieties of form, their essential shape and measurements
must have a certain relation to the scale and movements of the human figure.
But when furniture is not so closely bound by elementary needs, the form
remains comparatively indeterminate, and may vary in any direction according
to the wants of those for whom it is made. Thus a name may persist long
after it has ceased to be a correct description of the thing. A Cupboard,
for instance—originally a table for displaying cups —has so changed its use
and form that it has now nothing to do with cups, it is not a table, and it
is used rather for concealment than display:. A Gardevyand, originally
intended, as its name implies, for storing food, developed into a sort of
portable strong box, so that we read of locks and "braycis " being added to
the King's "cardiviance" in order to "twrss west" the gold and silver
vessels of James IV "again Yule to Lythgow." In the same way we read of a "meit-almery
for conserving napery" and a "capamre" (or cup-almrie) for holding clothes.
Thus the name of a piece of furniture must not be taken as indicating
anything more than its original use.
The counter, compter-buird or compt burde, was
originally a table whose top was used as a reckoning board, being marked out
into spaces with distinguishing symbols. It was used for such purposes as
adding up accounts, and for these calculations disc-shaped counters or
jet-tons were employed. When not in use the jettons were kept in metal
cylindrical cases, referred to in Halyburton's Ledger as "nests of countaris."
A reference to the use of the compter burde for calculating occurs in
Calderwood's History of the Kirk of Scotland, where we are told, as one
incident of an earthquake in 1597, that "a man in St. Johnston, laying
compts with his compters, the compts lap off the buird; the man's thighs
trembled, and," adds the faithful historian, "ane leg went up and the other
doun." Counter boards were tables of convenient size and they were built on
fixed legs, not simply laid on trestles. When we bear in mind that these
tables, which were originally imported from Flanders, were the only tables
known except the cumbrous long boards and trestles used for meals, we need
not be surprised that they soon came into common use even among those who
had little need for arithmetical calculation, but who appreciated the
usefulness of a steady, moderate-sized table for many domestic purposes.
Early inventories show that in a large number of houses there was no table
but the counter; sometimes "ane comptar with the furmes" is mentioned,
clearly showing that it was used for the household meals. Medioval
illustration proves that the reckoning board was sometimes provided on the
table-cloth, and this would enable the table itself to be without special
marking and so to lose its arithmetical associations.
There is documentary evidence that as the
counter developed as a piece of furniture it was made with some enclosed
accommodation below. Thus Sir David Lyndsay, of the Mount, left among his
furnishings "ane lokit comptar burde," and we find in the second half of the
sixteenth century an increasing number of references to the locks and keys
of counters, implying that they had closed receptacles. As time went on the
enclosed accommodation seems to have extended downwards till it became the
characteristic feature of the counter, and what had been the surface of the
table now shrank in importance till it was merely the top of a small
rectangular almerie. In the seventeenth century we read of
"counter-almries"; and in the list issued in 1612 of foreign goods subject
to duty on import to Scotland, we find a fixed rate levied on "cabinettis or
countaris." Thus the counter, which, under the name of "ane stop-compter,"
had been used for the display of stoups or vessels as early as 1489, had
gone through a similar course of development to that of the cupboard in
England. The counter, as an article of domestic furniture, seems to have
gone out of use, or at least to have been superseded by other forms of table
and cupboard, about the middle of the seventeenth century. It was retained,
however, among merchants and tradesmen as a useful piece of business
furniture, and the shop and bank counters of our day are thus survivals or
developments of a forgotten medieval form.
In connection with the vessels which stood upon
the counter when it was used as a side table, one interesting question
arises. What is meant by the "compterfute weschel" which often appears in
early lists of household goods? In an English inventory of 1487, quoted as
an appendix to the Paston Letters, we read of "ij garnysshe" (i.e. two
complete sets) "of pewter vessel counterfete"; and, according to an
inventory of 1598, transcribed in the Black Book of: Taymouth, there were
"off counterfute plaittis in the galarie garderob of Balloch, iiij dosane."
These are the only references I have found to counterfute dishes in the
plural, and in these cases it is probable that a counterfeit metal is
intended, though it is hard to say what is meant by pewter counterfeit. The
dictionaries interpret "compterfute" in the sense of "imitation," an
inferior metal meant to imitate one more valuable, and they give no
alternative definition. As a matter of fact the base metal made to resemble
gold was commonly called "alchemy."
But the references in early Scottish inventories
are nearly always to "ane compterfute vessel," or simply "ane comptarfut,"
in the singular, and when this is mentioned as one particular vessel among
others whose character or use is stated, it is difficult to resist the
con-elusion that the name was applied to a vessel serving a specific purpose
or occupying a particular place. This impression is confirmed when we find
the counterfoot grouped with vessels which were certainly silver; and any
lingering uncertainty disappears when we read, in a carefully detailed
inventory of 1542, of a counterfoot expressly stated to be of silver, its
weight being given and worked out at the value of silver per ounce. What a "comptarfut"
was must remain a matter of conjecture till some literary reference is found
which throws light on the problem. The word might conceivably be applied to
a vessel cast in two halves; or, as an alternative suggestion, it might be
used of a vessel which stood at the foot of, or underneath, the
counter—perhaps on a tray contained between the stretchers near the ground,
just as we see vessels displayed in this position in early illustrations of
similar pieces of furniture in other countries, such as credences and
dressers. Let us pass
from the Hall to another room which is often mentioned in documents as to
old Scottish houses, the "Chalmer of Des." The name has, like other medioval
terms, dropped out of use ; I do not think it is mentioned in McGibbon and
Ross, and its meaning has puzzled antiquarians and lexicographers. Jamieson,
discussing the corruption "chambradeeze," properly dismisses the suggestion
that it stood for "la chambre ou ils disent," and tells us that the word was
still in use among old people in Fife for a parlour, and that the original
form was "Chamber of Dais." Sir Walter Scott said it was still common in his
day in the South of Scotland, and was applied to the best sleeping room; and
he suggested that it was the room in which there was a bed with a dais, or
canopy. But the term originated in castles where there were many beds with
canopies, but only one Chamber of Dais; and, moreover, in Scottish records
the word dais is applied to the raised platform, and not, as in France, to
the canopy, which is called the "cannabie" or "rufe," or sometimes, in
connection with beds, the "sparwort." A study of early inventories leaves
little doubt that the Chamber of Dais was the private apartment which so
often communicated with the upper or dais end of the hall. It was the
bedchamber of the master of the house, and it was also used, in accordance
with medimval custom, as a retiring room for those who sat at the dais
table. Those who sat there represented what is called "the quality," and the
chamber was for their exclusive use. Its position and use are clearly shown
by an extract from an old protocol book, which tells us that Peter Rankin,
the heir of Shield, "entered the hall of Scheld and the chalmer of des
within the hall" (meaning that to reach it he had to go through the hall).
After describing the furniture which he found in the hall it goes on, "and
in the chalmer of des he found twa fedder beddis with necessaries, and a
wooden press." It is evident that the Chamber of Dais was in effect the
principal bedroom. I
have spoken of the bareness of the hall in the matter of furniture, but the
furnishing of the bedrooms was equally meagre, and this simply because of
the primitive standard of comfort of the times. Even in an English house so
richly furnished as Arundel Castle, the furnishing of the King's Chamber, so
late as the year 1580, consisted only of a bed, a table and a chair, besides
the tapestry hangings. We need not expect to find a more luxurious standard
in Scotland. In the well-equipped house of Lord Lindsay of Byres—a house
which had its own private chapel with suitable vestments and a gilded
chalice—the Chalmer of Des had no furniture but the bed and "an aid compter,"
on which stood a candle and two books. In nearly all the other bedrooms of
the house there was nothing but the bed or beds, for it was common to put
several beds in one room. Occasionally there is a chest to hold clothes, or
a form or stool, but nothing else was considered necessary. The bed,
however, was often fitted with a "futegang," corresponding to the French "narchepied"—the
long step or stool which we see in medieval illustrations placed along the
side of the bed. The "futegang" was sometimes "bandit," that is, hinged, so
that the top could be opened and the inside used for keeping clothes, and in
this form it is sometimes called a "buncar."
We need not concern ourselves with kitchen
furniture nor with the equipment of the brew-house and bakehouse which were
found in every medieval mansion. If what has been said conveys the
impression that life in a Scottish medieval castle must have been a stern
and comfortless existence, remember that a hardy race is not reared in
luxury. Cast your minds back to the Scotland of that day, set far from the
centres of medieval culture, hard pressed to hold her own against her richer
and more powerful neighbour; a land of mountain and moor, shrouded with
mist, drenched with rain, visited with short and fitful summers and long and
bitter winters, and predestined to a history of jealous factions and
relentless feuds; and remember that in this land was reared a race
hard-headed, resolute and tenacious, yet ever quick to shed its blood for a
great cause, a dear name or a fine point of doctrine; a race ready to go
forth to other lands, however distant and however inhospitable, in quest of
profit or adventure; yet with hearts that kept turning always homeward with
something of the passion which a man cherishes for the mother who has borne
him in pain and nurtured him in poverty. |