CHAPTER XI.
After tracing the political history of the Church, and the development of Nonconformity in different directions, I proceed to gather up a number of facts illustrative of the worship and social religious life of England after the Restoration.
I. The injuries done to cathedrals during the Civil Wars were repaired, and such partitions as had been erected to adapt them for Nonconformist use were removed.
Seth Ward, first as Dean, afterwards as Bishop of Exeter, improved the cathedral of that diocese. The same may be said respecting Salisbury, to which he was translated. That cathedral had been kept in repair during the Commonwealth, at whose expense no one knew, for the workmen engaged upon it were wont to reply to inquirers, “They who employ us well pay us—trouble not yourselves to inquire who they are. Whoever they are they do not desire to have their names known.” But Ward increased the beauty of the building, for he paved the cloisters and choir, the latter with black and white marble.[252]
CHURCHES.
Hacket persevered in his labours at Lichfield until the sacred edifice reached its completion. He raised money “by bare-faced begging,” and no gentleman lodged or baited in the City whom he did not visit, that he might solicit contributions towards the object so dear to his heart. North, who says this, also remarks, that the Bishop adorned the choir so “completely and politely,” that he had never seen a “more laudable and well-composed structure.” He also mentions the Cathedral of York as “stately,” only “disgraced by a wooden roof.” Durham too is described by the same pen as most ancient, with the “marks of old ruin;” and of that, and of York Minster, the judge says that “the gentry affect to walk there to see and be seen.”[253] Dr. John Barwick, who, for his loyalty, was first rewarded by the bestowment upon him of the Deanery of Durham, exerted himself vigorously during the short time that he held that office, in the reparation of the cathedral and the prebendal houses.[254] And when removed to the Deanery of St. Paul’s he evinced equal zeal in promoting the restoration of that edifice. The rebuilding of it after the fire was a great undertaking, and called forth the strenuous efforts of Sancroft, who succeeded Barwick in the Deanery. To him, as much as to any one, posterity owes the adoption of Sir Christopher Wren’s design, after abortive attempts had been made to build anew upon the old foundations. Sancroft’s correspondence with the architect indicates his interest in the preparation of the plans; the passing of the Coal Act, by which funds were secured, was promoted by his exertions, and amongst the voluntary subscribers the Dean’s name is conspicuous.[255] The first stone was laid in 1675, and ten years afterwards the edifice had so far advanced that the walls of the choir and side-aisles were completed, and the porticoes and pillars of the dome were finished.
The style of architecture adopted in new ecclesiastical structures was debased Grecian; of which a specimen may be found at Northampton, in All Saints’ Church, with its Ionic columns supporting a balustrade, in the centre of which—symbolical of the worship of royalty—stands the statue of Charles II., who gave towards the building a large quantity of timber. The pencil of Sir Godfrey Kneller was employed upon pictures of Moses and Aaron for the decoration of the altar-piece; there, and in several cathedrals and large churches, remained until of late, hideous examples of the wooden screens and galleries of the period. In connection with this allusion to ecclesiastical carpentry, it is not impertinent to notice that there is a paper in the Record Office, dated February 18th, 1677, thanking Williamson for a new pulpit just erected at Bridekirk, “gilded with gold and silver for its better adornment, and all covered over with a brownish ointment.” The churchwardens ask for a new pulpit-cloth and cushion. Sculptured sepulchres of the same age, now, after a complete revolution in public taste, excite as much ridicule as they then excited admiration; yet long before it was said, “Princes’ images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray to Heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the tooth-ache. They are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but, as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the self-same way they seem to turn their faces.”[256]
CHURCHES.
The ornaments of the church, like its architecture and its sculpture, expressed the taste of the day. An altar “especially adorned, the white marble enclosure curiously and richly carved,”—flowers and garlands, the work of Grinling Gibbons,—purple velvet fringed with gold, with the letters I H S richly embroidered,—sacramental plate valued at £200—these are notable objects which, in the new church of St. James, Westminster, erected at that time, called forth admiring words from the eminent Anglican John Evelyn.[257] They indicate a feeling totally at variance with mediæval Catholicism; and nowhere does it appear that in those days vases of flowers, or painted banners, or other accompaniments of mediæval Ritualism, were in any case employed. On the contrary, a keen jealousy of Romanism extensively prevailed, and it may be discovered very plainly in the following passage, extracted from a contemporary diary:—“The Church of Allhallows, Barking, in London, was presented for innovations, as bowing to the East, and for the picture of the Angel Gabriel over the altar. It came to a trial, Monday, March 1st, and the picture was brought into the Court; and the minister that caused it to be set up submitted to the Court, and the picture must be set up no more, and so the business ends.”[258]
In Articles of Visitation we meet with minute inquiries respecting parish churches; but many of the old fabrics must have been in a miserable condition, if we may judge from complaints made in the diocese of Winchester; it being said that “some in late times were totally ruined and demolished, and those of them still standing were much decayed and out of repair.” The Bishop, in pursuance of an Act of Parliament, united some of the parishes, “for the encouragement of able ministers to undertake the care of them.”[259] The cost expended on the church at Euston, in Suffolk, is mentioned as “most laudable,” in contrast with other Houses of God in that county, which resembled thatched cottages rather than “temples in which to serve the Most High.”[260] Even cathedrals were badly furnished, and in sorry repair. “Are the uncomely forms,” asks the Bishop of Durham, in 1668, “and coarse mats, lately used at the administration of the Holy Communion, for such persons as usually resort thither, without the rails, taken away; and others more comely put in their place, and decently covered, as heretofore hath been accustomed? And are the partitions on each hand of these forms, under the two arches of the church next the said rails, well framed in joiners’ work, and there set up for the better keeping out of the wind and cold, which otherwise do many times molest and annoy the communicant?”[261]