Of this Mr. Francis Douce, in his volume "The Dance of Death," says it was "undoubtedly a portion of the Macaber Dance, as there was close to it another compartment belonging to the same subject. This painting was made about the year 1460, and from the remaining specimen its destruction is greatly to be regretted, as judging from the dress of the young gallant the dresses of the time would be correctly exhibited."
There were other wall paintings, including a large St. Christopher with the Christ Child on his shoulder, and an Annunciation, said to have been a fine work. An interesting memorial of the chapel as it stood in the middle of the seventeenth century, is to be found in an MS. pocket-book, still preserved in the British Museum (Harl. MS. 939), which belonged to a Captain Symons, of the Royalist Army. When he visited Salisbury in 1644 he made many notes and sketches of the armorial bearings in this chantry.
The Beauchamp Chapel.—The interior view here reproduced from "Gough's Sepulchral Monuments of Great Britain" although not very clear is curiously interesting, conveying as it does trustworthy evidence of the building so wantonly swept away.
INTERIOR OF THE DEMOLISHED BEAUCHAMP CHAPEL.[ToList]
Of the Beauchamp Chapel, on the south side of the Lady Chapel, there appears to be no exterior view extant, but from sketches of its interior, and descriptions, it must have been a fine specimen of its period, and worthy of its designer, the builder of St. George's Chapel, Windsor. It was larger and more elaborate in detail than the Hungerford chantry, but like it in plan, and similarly lighted by one large east window, and three in the side wall. The remains of its founder, Bishop Beauchamp, reposed in a plain tomb in the centre. In the wall on the north side were exquisite canopies above the tombs of the father and mother of the bishop. An altar tomb of Sir John Cheyne, now in the nave, stood formerly at the south-west corner (see [page 48]). There was a custom that on Christmas Day and all holy days the wives of the mayor and aldermen and gentry of the city, came to prayers in the Beauchamp chapel in the evening with flambeaux and torches, excepting on Innocents' Day, when they went to their own parish churches. In an interesting Guide to the Cathedral, now in the British Museum, annotated in the last century by some visitor, we find an entry concerning this chapel, "The ceiling is of Irish oak, and never known to have spiders or cobwebs in it."
Much of the carved work in both these chantries was employed elsewhere in the buildings. The plea put forward for their removal was founded on a report by Francis Price thirty-six years before, wherein he considered them unsafe. When the Hungerford Chantry was added one of the outside buttresses of the Lady Chapel aisle was removed to make room for it; the opening pierced through the main walls of the cathedral into both the chapels were also sources of weakness. Wyatt seized upon these facts, and with the precedent of Price's report, declared the chapels unsafe, and also, which was no doubt his real motive for action, that "their lack of uniformity" injured the appearance of the buildings. Wyatt's ideal virtues were of the lowest order, to obtain neatness and tidiness he was prepared to sacrifice any and every thing, and the two chapels were obviously not in the style of the cathedral, nor, unluckily (for had they been they might yet be standing), precisely symmetrical in effect, so they were swept away. These actions at Salisbury, and similar destruction at Lincoln, Hereford, and elsewhere, have made Wyatt's name odious; but deserving though he be of all blame, it must not be forgotten that restorers of to-day, even at Salisbury, have effaced much interesting work of past time on the same pretext: that it failed to accord with the rest of the work to which it was obviously a late addition. This plea, specious and even excellent in theory, has probably done more irreparable injury to our ancient buildings than even the iconoclasts of the Reformation. A shattered ruin may convey a clear idea of its original state, while a smooth, pedantic restoration will obliterate it entirely.
The Stained Glass throughout the whole building survives but in a few instances, and these, with two exceptions, not in their original places. Of its wholesale destruction we have sad evidence extant in a letter, dated 1788, from John Berry, glazier, of Salisbury, to Mr. Lloyd, of Conduit Street, London. It may be transcribed in full, to show how reckless the custodians of the fabric were at that time:—"Sir. This day I have sent you a Box full of old Stained & Painted glass, as you desired me to due, which I hope will sute your Purpos, it his the best that I can get at Present. But I expect to Beate to Peceais a a great deal very sune, as it his of now use to me, and we do it for the lead. If you want more of the same sorts you may have what thear is, if it will pay for taking out, as it is a Deal of Truble to what Beating it to Peceais his; you will send me a line as soon as Possoble, for we are goain to move our glasing shop to a Nother plase, and thin we hope to save a great deal more of the like sort, which I ham your most Omble servant—John Berry."