Up and Down Stairs

by Jeremy Musson

  Mr Russell’s treatise, written in the 1460s, speaks in its very organisation of self-discipline and order: ‘All the officers I have mentioned have to obey me, ever to fulfil my commandment when I call, for our office is the chief in spicery and cellar, whether the cook belief or loth.’ Mr Russell clearly had to assert himself against the master cook. This almost comical aside hints at inevitable tensions between highly skilled senior officers, another feature echoing through the centuries right up until the present day.33

  But Mr Russell, diplomatically, celebrates the need for different skills in the great households, writing: ‘All these diverse offices may be filled by a single person, but the dignity of a prince requireth each office to have its officer and a servant waiting on him.’ Presumably the ‘diverse offices’ were divided up in different ways, depending on the size and wealth of the household.34

  The fictional narrator figure of this treatise meets a young man in need of an occupation, and agrees to teach him ‘the duties of a butler, a panter, of a chamberlain, and especially, the cunning of a carver’, all of which were normally learnt by observing the practitioners in action. A ‘henchman’, or young man from good background working as an attendant as part of his education or training for life, would begin by looking after the cups at the end of his lord’s table and observe in action the panter, butler, waiter, cupbearer, sewer and carver, through whose ranks he himself would rise.35

  Good manners and good carriage were highly prized in this environment: ‘Be fair of answer, ready to serve, and gentle of cheer, and then men will say: “There goes a gentle officer” . . . Be glad of cheer, courteous of knee, soft of speech; have clean hands and nails and be carefully dressed. Do not cough or spit or retch too loud, or put your fingers into the cups to seek bits of dust.’36

  Mr Russell also goes into other similar delicacies of behaviour that would not go amiss in a modern etiquette manual for restaurant waiters: ‘Do not pick your nose or let it drop clear pearls, or sniff, or blow it too loud, lest your lord hear . . . Retch not, nor spit too far, nor laugh or speak too loud. Beware of making faces and scorning; and be no liar with your mouth. Nor yet lick your lips or drivel . . . Good son, do not pick your teeth, or grind, or gnash them, or with puffing and blowing cast foul breath upon your lord.’37

  He outlines the duties of pantler and butler, starting with the duties of the first. The pantry in the medieval great house or manor house was the room between the kitchen and hall, from which bread and other perishable food was served: ‘In the pantry you must always keep three sharp knives, one to chop the loaves, another to pare them, and a third, sharp and keen, to smooth and square the trenchers with.’ During this period, the ‘trencher’ bread acted as a plate from which food would be eaten and after the meal distributed to the poor as alms. Mr Russell continues: ‘Always cut your lord’s bread, and see that it be new; and all other bread at the table one day old ere you cut it, all household bread three days old, and trencher-bread four days old.’38

  After bread comes the salt, an expensive commodity, the supply of which was regarded as an indication of status; hence the expression ‘below the salt’, which means being a person not invited to sit at the top table. Similarly, we speak of a man being ‘not worth his salt’. The salt cellar itself was then often an elaborate object of some beauty. The mid-fifteenth-century inventory of Sir John Fastolf’s Caister Castle, made after his death, lists two great silver-gilt salts, shaped like towers (one weighing eighty-six ounces).39

  Then after the preparation of bread and salt comes the care of napkins and tablecloth. ‘Good son, look that your napery be sweet and clean, and that your table-cloth, towel and napkin be folded neatly, your table-knives brightly polished and your spoons fair washed.’40 Next comes the wine: ‘Look ye have two wine-augers, a greater and a less, some gutters of boxwood that fit them, also a gimlet to pierce with, a tap and a bung, ready to stop the flow when it is time.’41

  For the duties of a butler in charge of the buttery – that is to say, the room off the great hall from which beer and wine were served – Russell wrote: ‘See that your cups and pots be clean, both within and without. Serve no ale till it is five days old, for new ale is wasteful. And look that all things about you be sweet and clean . . . Beware that ye give no person stale drink, for fear that ye bring many men into disease for many a year.’42 These instructions remind us that regulations were often inspired by issues of cleanliness and health, just as they are today. Indeed, it is surely the pursuit of hygiene and healthy practices that multiplies the numbers of servants needed in a great household at this date.

  Now everything is ready. ‘My son, it is now the time of the day to lay the table. First, wipe it with a cloth ere it be spread, than lay on it a cloth called a cowche. You take one end and your mate the other, and draw it straight; and lay a second cloth with its fold on the outer edge of the table. Lift the upper part and let it hang even. And then lay the third cloth with its fold on the inner edge, making a state half a foot wide, with the top.’43 Thus the table would appear like a long, crisp box of linen.

  Side-tables or cupboards were also covered with a cloth and used to display precious cups, ewers (or jugs) and basins, as an indication of status: ‘Cover your ewery-cupboard with a diapered towel, and put a towel round your neck, for that is courtesy, and put one end of it mannerly over your left arm; and on the same arm place your lord’s napkin, and on it lay eight loaves of bread, with three or four trencher-loaves. Take one end of the towel in your left hand, as the manner is, together with the salt-cellar – look you do this – and take the end of the towel in your right hand with the spoon and knives.’44

  The setting out of the table reflects the sparse, elegant laying out shown in fifteenth-century illuminated manuscripts and paintings.45 ‘Set the salt on your lord’s right hand, and to the left of your salt, one or two trenchers, and to the left again, your knife by itself and plain to see, and the white rolls, and beside them a fair folded napkin. Cover your spoon, napkin, trencher and knife so that they cannot be seen; and at the other end of the table place a salt with two trenchers. Bread could be wrapped in the napkins. When your sovereign’s table is dressed in this array, place salts on all other tables, and lay trenchers and cups.’ After all this has been completed, ‘set out your cupboard with gay silver and silver-gilt, and your ewery board with basins and ewers, and hot and cold water, each to temper the other.’46

  Even the actual physical movement was considered significant: ‘Carry a towel about your neck when serving your lord, bow to him, uncover your bread and set it by the salt. Look that all have knives, spoons and napkins, and always when you pass your lord, see that you bow your knees.’47

  After that, he has to watch the other servants to make sure the food is distributed correctly and according to precedence. ‘Watch the sewer to see how many pottages he covers, and do ye for as many, and serve each according to his degree; and see that none lack bread, ale or wine.’48

  The carver’s duties are also explained, for carving was always done in public: ‘Thy knife must be clean and bright: and it beseems thee to have thy fair hands washed. Hold always the knife surely, so as not to hurt thyself, and have not more than two fingers and the thumb on thy keen knife.’ Describing different techniques for cutting fish, flesh and fowl, he adds: ‘Touch no manner of meat with thy right hand, but with thy left, as is proper. Always with thy left hand grasp the loaf with all thy might . . . You do not right to soil your table, nor to wipe your knives on that, but on your napkin.’49

  Various meats were carved differently. Brawn was cut on the dish and slices lifted off with the knife; with a fawn, kid or lamb, the kidney was served first, after which the carver had to lift up the shoulder and remove the tendon of the neck. Capon, chicken or teal pies had to be taken out of the crust, the wings minced and then stirred with the gravy so that it could be eaten with a spoon. In a typical menu three such courses would be followed by one of fruit.50

  The
server (or sewer) was expected to ‘Take heed when the worshipful head of any household has washed before meat and begins to say grace, then hie you to the kitchen where the servants must attend and take your orders. First ask the panter or officer of the spicery for fruits, such as . . . plums, damsons, grapes and cherries which are served before dinner according to the season to make men merry, and ask if any be served that day.’ Then he must confer with the cook about the dishes to be served and have the ‘surveyor’ carry them to him, which he would then ‘convey to the lord’. Men should be standing by ‘to prevent any dish being stolen’.51

  Over and over again, Mr Russell emphasises the hierarchy of the servants, and who was to obey whom, a recurring theme throughout the centuries. A line of command was essential for discipline and smooth management: ‘Panter, yeoman of the cellar, butler and ewerer, I will that ye obey the marshal, sewer and carver.’52

  Mr Russell’s treatise also gives us a delicious portrait of a lord being dressed, which was the responsibility of the chamberlain (in charge of the chamber, the more private apartment of the lord). We exchange the public ritual of dining for the somewhat more intimate ritual of the bedchamber that was just as elaborate in its own way.

  The duty of a chamberlain is to be ‘diligent in office, neatly clad, his clothes not torn, hands and face well washed and head well kempt. He must be ever careful – not negligent – of fire and candle.’ Once again, the manner and conduct of the service are stressed. It is always more pleasant to be looked after by men who are in good spirits, although this is not always easy: ‘Be courteous, glad of cheer, quick of hearing in every way, and be ever on the lookout for things to do him pleasure; if you will acquire these qualities it may advance you well.’53

  The very preparation of the master’s clothes fell to the chamberlain, to whom a yeoman and a groom of the chamber would report for more manual tasks: ‘See that your lord has a clean shirt and hose, a short coat, a doublet, and a long coat, if he wear such, his hose well brushed, his socks at hand, his shoes or slippers as brown as a water leech. In the morning, against your lord shall rise, take care that his linen be clean, and warm it at a clear fire, not smoky, if [it] be cold or freezing.’54

  This is so practical and obvious that some sections of this treatise could equally have been applied to the Edwardian valet: ‘When he rises make ready the foot-sheet, and forget not to place a chair or some other seat with a cushion on it before the fire, with another cushion for the feet. Over the cushion and chair spread this sheet so as to cover them, and see that you have a kerchief and a comb to comb your lord’s head before he is fully dressed.’55

  It is no wonder that, given the scope of medieval heating, the chamberlain would position the lord by his fire before he is dressed:

  Then pray your lord in humble words to come to a good fire and array him thereby, and there to stand or stand pleasantly; and wait with due manners to assist him. First hold out to him his tunic, then his doublet while he puts in his arms, and have his stomacher well aired to keep off harm, as also his vamps [short stockings] and socks, so he shall go warm all day.

  Then draw on his socks and his hose by the fire, and lace or buckle his shoes, draw his hosen on well and truss them up to the height that suits him, lace his doublet in every hole, and put round his neck and on his shoulders a kerchief; and then gently comb his head with an ivory comb, and give him water where with to wash his hands and face.

  After that the chamberlain was to kneel and ask which robe or gown he wants. ‘Before he goes out, brush busily about him, and whether he wear satin, sendal, velvet, scarlet or grain, see that all be clean and nice.’56

  After the lord has left, the room must be set straight, the bed made ‘mannerly’ and the fire laid ready. The wardrobe must also be attended to, the clothes kept well, with instructions ‘to brush them cleanly’ and inspect furs regularly against moths. Later,

  when he has supped and goes to his chamber, spread forth your foot-sheet, as I have already shown you, take off his gown or whatever garment by the license of his estate he wear, and lay it up in such place as ye best know . . .

  Put a mantle on his back to keep his body from cold, set him on the foot-sheet made ready as I have directed, and pull of[f] his shoes, socks and hosen, and throw these last over your shoulder, or hold them on your arm. Comb his hair, but first kneel down and put on his kerchief and nightcap wound in seemly fashion.

  The bed and candles must be prepared, and, in a very human detail, the dogs and cats chased out of the chamber: ‘take no leave of your lord, but bow low to him and retire.’57

  Every comfort was considered, a theme that lies at the heart of the role of the body-servant down the ages. The Book of Nurture gives memorable recipes for a sweet-smelling ‘bath or stew so-called’ and there is also a medicinal version: ‘boil together hollyhock, mallow, wall pellitory and brown fennel, St. John’s wort, centuary, ribwort and camomile, hehove, heyriff, herb-benet, brese-wort, smallage, water speedewell, scabious, bugloss, and wild flax which is good for aches – boil with leaves and green oats together with them, and throw them hot into a vessel and put your lord over it.’58 This was the original herbal bath essence.

  Among the other offices that Mr Russell detailed were his own, that of usher and marshal. Above all, the marshal must know the precedence of the nobility, an essential skill for upper servants well into the twentieth century, as well as ‘all the estates of the church’ and their status.

  To show off his part-royal duties, he recites the hierarchy from the top, beginning with emperor, pope, and king, continuing down through the copious ranks of late medieval society. An usher or marshal must be able to seat them all appropriately: ‘a bishop, viscount, marquis, goodly earl may sit at two messes [dishes to be shared between four] if they be agreeable thereunto’. The key issue is to ‘set all according to their birth, riches and dignity’.59

  Mr Russell’s treatise takes us deep into the minutiae and the mindset of the senior medieval servant. Although these elaborate rituals might seem alien to a modern reader, many practices would have been recognisable in aristocratic households up until the nineteenth century, when technology first has an impact on the roles of body-servants. Some would be recognisable even today. It is perhaps not surprising that caring for a high-status and wealthy employer should require many services that stay basically the same, despite advances in technology and changes in social values.

  Noble households regularly moved between the landholdings of the head of the household, although by the end of the sixteenth century there was a greater emphasis on attendance at court. The household on the move must have been one of the great spectacles of the Middle Ages. It was divided usually into three parties. One went ahead to announce the arrival of a lord and to prepare his apartments; another, the main one, comprised the lord and his immediate household, with appropriate attendants. Then came the baggage train, with the cooks, scullions and pack horses, carrying clothes, linen, furniture and provisions for the journey.60

  Appreciating the scale of this operation helps us understand the rather formulaic layout of the medieval castle and manor house, which assisted the smooth transition from house to house of the mobile household, as well as being able to absorb a visiting lord, his family and attendants. A medieval householder could call on the attendance of knights and squires, who owed military service in return for their landholdings. They made up the ‘fighting’ household, but were not on permanent alert, and could swell the numbers for a special procession.61 Later in the medieval period, a smaller group of individuals, then known as the ‘secret household’, remained in attendance on the lord, his wife and children when it did not suit him to keep house formally; this often coincided with the annual audit, when all the complex expenditure of a household was closely reviewed.62

  The most elaborate household of the day, which set the standards of visual magnificence and efficiency, was of course the royal household – or, strictly speaking, households, as
queens and princes each had their own, not least to emphasise their individual dignity. There is perhaps no modern equivalent of this, other than perhaps great state occasions. The households of the upper nobility naturally largely followed the pattern set by the monarchy, although on differing scales; indeed, they were mirrored in turn by the households of the gentry. Those of leading bishops and abbots played a role in setting high standards of ritual and devotion that would have been imitated by other great households.

  In the larger households, the upper servants, overseen by figures such as John Russell, had the principal duties of looking after the family rooms and the great hall. They were expected to be well trained and well dressed, usually in a designated livery, whose colours were chosen by the head of the household and were usually based on the main pigments in the family’s coat of arms. In all other respects, they followed the fashion of the day, unlike liveries from the late seventeenth century that tended to deliberate old-fashionedness.63