Viewing the question simply in an artistic or archæological point of view, it may be very well doubted whether we can form a correct estimate of the real beauty and effect of mediæval architecture without restoring the colouring which originally formed a part of it. We do not see it as they who built the Churches saw it. If we trust to them for a correct taste in structural arrangement, why not trust them also in the point of colour? What would those mediæval artists feel, if brought back to see the now colourless walls and ceilings of their richly ornamented structures? What would Simon de Albo Monasterio say to the state of our Lady Chapel? What would Michael Angelo, or any person of taste, say if he could see the interior of St. Peter’s all covered with whitewash?
Whatever caution may be required in the revival of this ancient style of decoration,—and, beyond all question, great judgment and skill are needed to revive the ancient tone of colouring, so that it may serve to please the eye without offending the sense of propriety,—yet I think the advancing intelligence and taste of the age will be found to sanction the attempt. The few experiments which have lately been made in this art in Ely Cathedral and Salisbury Chapter House, have been eminently successful, and have brought out effects in the building unobserved before. It is probable that this will be also the effect here. And I will venture to add the expression of a hope that the day will come when the same style of decoration may he extended, in some measure, to the groined roof of the Choir. That monotonous mass of wood and plaster would be awakened into some life and beauty by a few touches of gold and colour, and it would be relieved from the reproach, now sometimes cast upon it, of being but a very poor attempt to represent stone.
To revert for a moment to the Lady Chapel. I have already complained of the incongruous character of the tracery of the east window as disturbing the harmonious effect of the interior. A project is now on foot for replacing it by a five-light Early English window, from a design by Mr. Scott. It were much to be wished that the benevolence of individuals, interested in Church restoration, could be applied to assist the Dean and Chapter in restoring the exterior of this Chapel. It is now in a dilapidated, if not a dangerous condition; and as it is the first part of the building which presents itself to the eye of an observer on the City Walls, it might be made as rich and pleasing in architectural effect, as it is now poor and offensive. The spirit of the citizens and of the county has been once called forth to aid the work of restoration. May it be again awakened to promote the honour of Almighty God, by beautifying this place of His sanctuary! [16]
FOOTNOTES.
[3] Read before the Society on Monday, February 1, 1858.
[5] Hanshall, in his History of Cheshire, 4to, 1817, page 221, states that the Shrine of St. Werburgh, and the pedestal on which it rested, “formerly stood in the Chapel of the Virgin at the east end of the Choir; and that the pedestal was removed to its present position soon after the Reformation, and converted into the Episcopal Throne.” History is silent as to the fate of the Shrine itself; but being of great intrinsic value, it no doubt vanished at the Dissolution, along with other precious relics belonging to the Abbey.
[9] Several examples of this Trinitarian device occur to us; but it will suffice to instance the beautiful contemporary seal of the Holy Trinity Priory at York, the general design of which very much resembles that upon the Lady Chapel boss, except in the position of the dove, which in the York seal appears to be in the act of descending from the Father upon the head of the crucified Saviour. Another and a later example, of the 16th century, is given in the Journal of the British Archæological Institute, Vol. VIII., p. 317, from a silver medallion, the work of Heinrich Reitz, of Leipsic, who flourished from A.D. 1553–1586. It ought perhaps to be mentioned, that this curious boss was for more than two centuries hidden from view by an immense block of plaster moulded into the form of a Tudor rose; and that its real character was only discovered by mere accident, while preparing the groined ceiling for chromatic treatment, at the hands of Mr. Octavius Hudson.
[11a] William de Cornhill, Bishop of Chester, Lichfield, and Coventry, from 1216 to 1223.