[half title]
ECCLESIASTICAL CURIOSITIES.

[frontispiece]

From a Photo by A. H. Pitcher, Gloucester.
PORCH, GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL.

[title]
Ecclesiastical .
Curiosities . . .

Edited by
William Andrews . . .

LONDON:
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., 5, FARRINGDON AVENUE, E.C.
1899.

[p i]
Preface.

This volume is on similar lines to some of my previously published works, and I trust it will be equally well received by the public and the press.

William Andrews.

The Hull Press,
December 1st, 1898.

[p iii]
Contents.

[p 1]
Ecclesiastical Curiosities.

The Church Door.

By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A.

DOOR AT CROWLE CHURCH.

first impressions have no small influence in moulding the opinions of most people can scarcely be denied; and therefore in our estimate of the architectural value of a church the door is an element of some importance. A shabby and undignified entrance raises no expectations of a lofty and solemn interior; and that interior must be emphatically fine, if we are not to read into it some of the meanness of its portal. On the other hand, though the church be but plain [p 2] and simple—so that it lack not a measure of the dignity which may well accompany simplicity—our thoughts will be raised and fitted to find in it something worthy of its high purpose, if we have been prepared by passing through a noble porch, and beneath a doorway that speaks itself the entrance to no ordinary dwelling.

In primitive times the approach to a church must have been full of dignity, the worshippers being warned, by successive gates and doors, of the sacredness of the building which they were about to enter. Eusebius gives us a full account of a splendid church built at Tyre by Paulinus, from which we may gather the plan on which such buildings were erected in the primitive ages, when the means were forthcoming, and no opposition from the heathen world prevented.

The whole church at Tyre and its precincts were enclosed within a wall, at the front of which was a stately porch, known as the “great porch,” or the “first entrance.” Passing through this the worshipper entered the courtyard, or atrium, round which ran a covered portico, or cloister, and in the centre of which was a fountain, or cistern, of water. Opposite the “great porch” was the door into the church itself; at Tyre [p 3] there were (as in many of our cathedrals) three such doors, a large one in the centre, flanked by smaller ones at some distance along the wall. These opened into a vestibule, or ante-temple, from which admittance was gained into the nave of the church by yet another door or gate.

Each of the spaces formed by these several barriers had its special use. Within the atrium all the worshippers washed their hands as a preparation, both literal and emblematic, for assisting in the sacred mysteries; here, too, penitents under censure for the most flagrant sins remained during the divine offices, and besought the prayers of their brethren as they passed on to those holier courts, from which for a time they were themselves excluded. Within this open courtyard, also, as in a modern churchyard, burials were sometimes permitted. The portico beyond the second entrance was the place for the “hearers,” that is for those who were not yet sufficiently instructed in the faith to be allowed to be present except at the reading of the Scriptures and the sermons (these were catechumens in their noviciate and the heathens and Jews), and also for those Christians who were degraded temporarily to the same position [p 4] as a penance for some sin. Beyond this portico, the nave was still further divided for the separation of different orders of penitents; so that the faithful in possession of all their privileges had quite a number of doors or gates through which to pass before reaching that place, immediately outside the apse, or chancel, which it was their right to occupy.

In order that the several classes of persons attending church might be kept strictly within those portions of the building which were assigned to them, a special order of door-keepers existed in the Church. The keys of the church were solemnly delivered to these ostiarii, and they were accounted to form the lowest in rank of the minor orders. The simple words of the commission, uttered by the bishop to the ostiarius, were, “Behave thyself as one that must give an account to God of the things that are kept under these keys.” Such was the formula prescribed by the fourth Council of Carthage (398 A.D.), and found in the Roman ritual of the eighth century. This order of clergy was almost confined to the west, however; we find traces of its existence at one time at Constantinople, but for the most part the deacons guarded the men’s [p 7] entrance, and sub-deacons or deaconesses the women’s, in the east.

[p 5]

WEST DOOR, HOLY TRINITY, COLCHESTER.

In the earliest English churches the entrance was of a very simple nature; for the artistic skill of the people was small, and their ideals were unambitious. The buildings consisted of a nave without clerestory, and a chancel; the door being placed in the centre of the western wall. A curious example of such a door meets us at Holy Trinity, Colchester, although in this case it gives admittance not into the nave directly, but through the ancient tower. This tower, the oldest part of the church, has been constructed of the fragments of buildings older still; the Roman bricks of the ruined city of Camulodunum having been used to form it. In the western side is a narrow doorway, contained by two square shafts with very simple capitals, and having a triangular head with an equally simple moulding by way of drip-stone. The date is supposed to be between 800 and 1000 A.D. A church perhaps yet older is that of S. Lawrence at Bradford-on-Avon, which has a good claim to be the veritable structure reared by S. Aldhelm in the first years of the eighth century. Here there is a northern porch of unusual size in proportion to the rest of [p 8] the building; the entrance to which is by means of an arched doorway, tall and narrow. The narrowness of some of these ancient doorways is remarkable. At Sowerford-Keynes is one, now built up, which, though nearly nine feet high, is but 1 foot 9 inches wide at the springing of the arch, widening towards the base to 2 feet 5½ inches. The jambs are of “short and long” work, and the abacus has a very simple zig-zag moulding. The arch itself is not built up, but carved out of one stone, which is cut square on the upper side and scooped into a parabolic curve on the lower. A double row of cable moulding decorates it. This, which has been called “one of the most characteristic specimens of Saxon architecture in England,” was the northern entrance to the church. Another instance of a western door of simple design is supplied by Crowle, or Croule, in north Lincolnshire. Here we meet with a rectangular doorway, the top of which is formed of one long stone, on which is some antique carving and a fragment of a runic inscription.^[1] Above this is a tympanum filled with diamond-shaped stones of small size.

[p 9]
With the rise of the so-called Norman style of architecture the doors of our churches took a handsomer form; and as the churches themselves were now formed on a larger and nobler plan, more than one entrance was often required. The usual door for the people was now commonly placed at the south side, except in churches connected (as were so many of our cathedrals) with monastic foundations. In this latter case the south side was generally occupied by the cloisters and other conventual buildings, and the people’s door was therefore placed upon the north side. At this period, too, the church-porch begins its development; for, although porches in a strict sense were at any rate not usual, the door-way deeply sunk in the massive wall and protected by three, four, or even more concentric arches, suggests the more fully developed shelter of the porch. Of doors of this kind any of our older abbey-churches will supply adequate, and often splendid, examples. The great north door of Durham Cathedral, and the smaller, but not less beautiful doors into the cloisters there, are fine instances. The west and north doors of the little cathedral of Llandaff supply examples in another class of building; and even small and [p 10] obscure parish churches are sometimes dignified with the possession of an entrance full of the massive solemnity of this Norman work. The village church of Heysham, on Morecambe Bay, has a south door well worthy of mention in this connection; and the Lincolnshire church already cited, Crowle, has an interesting doorway of this kind.

As art progressed in Christendom, and exhibited its growing force especially in the churches, the entrances thereto shared in the increasing splendour of the whole. The mouldings of the arches and the pillars, the elaboration of capitals and bases, all showed the evidence of devotion guided by taste and skill. And often something more than mere decoration was attempted; the opportunity was seized to add instruction, and figures of saints and angels, or complete scenes from scriptural or ecclesiastical story, filled the expanse of the tympanum or the niches of the columns. About the twelfth century, also, it became customary to divide the main entrance into two by means of a pillar, or a group of pillars; the two-leaved door being thus made symbolical of the two natures of Christ, of Whom, as Durandus tells us, it is itself [p 11] the emblem, “according to that saying in the Gospel, ‘I am the Door!’”

The Continent presents some splendid examples of these decorated porticoes. The cathedral of Strasburg, preserved as by a series of miracles in spite of every danger that can assail a building, fire, lightning, earthquake, and cannonade, has a very grand west entrance; its tall doors set within a number of receding arches, and the sharply-pointed gable which crowns them flanked and crested with tapering pinnacles. The French artists of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were unrivalled in the beauty and wealth of statuary with which they adorned their churches, and not least their doors. “The glory and the beauty” of the great porch at Amiens has been set forth fully by Ruskin, who has woven into one wonderful whole the meaning of the statues, which, like “a cloud of witnesses,” throng the western front. But Amiens is not alone; S. Denis, Paris, Sens, Angouléme, Poictiers,

Autun, Chartres, Laon, Rheims, Vezelay, Auxerre, and other cathedrals are all magnificent in this respect. The principal entrance to Seville cathedral is flanked by columns upholding niches filled with figures of [p 12] saints and angels, while the tympanum contains a carving of the entrance of the Saviour into Jerusalem on the first Palm Sunday. In the island of Majorca, the south door-way of the cathedral of Palma is exceptionally beautiful. The statue of the Blessed Virgin crowns the centre column, and above is the Last Supper. A record of the architect of this splendid piece of work is preserved in an old account book of the cathedral: “On January 29th, 1394, Master Pedro Morey, sculptor, master artificer of the south door, which was begun by him, passed from this life. Anima ejus requiescat in pace. Amen.” The entrance in the west front is also a fine one, and is inscribed, “Non est factum tale opus in universis regnis.”

WEST DOOR, HIGHAM FERRERS CHURCH.

Although in England we cannot match the gorgeousness of detail exhibited by the flamboyant architecture of some of the examples above noticed, yet we too have instances of which we may well be proud. The western front of Peterborough cathedral, over the partial renovation of which there has recently been so much controversy between architects and antiquaries, has been pronounced to be “the grandest portico in Europe;” but this has reference to the whole [p 13] façade rather than to the door-way in itself. If our subject allowed of our taking so wide a view, the splendid west fronts of Exeter, York, and others of our minsters, would demand a place of honour in the list. Gloucester cathedral has a dignified porch over the south door, in which are the figures of a number of saints. The west door [p 14] of Rochester is also interesting; its decorated Norman arches are richly carved, and enclose a tympanum covered with characteristic sculpture. Of a different type is the graceful west door at Ely, whose pointed arches are upheld by delicately cut shafts, the tympanum over the twin doorways being pierced by a double trefoil within a vesica. The parish church of Higham Ferrers has double western doors, separated by a bold shaft, above which is a niche (now unoccupied) for a statue. The tympanum, anciently divided by this figure, has five medallions on each side filled with sculptured scenes from the New Testament, round which runs a scroll of conventional foliage. The neighbouring churches of Rushden and Raunds have also good double-leaved doors. To take one instance from the Northern Kingdom, S. Giles’s, Edinburgh, has a dignified west entrance. Many of the better examples of our modern churches have admirable porticoes, of which one example must suffice. All Saints’ Church, Cheltenham, has double doors within receding arches; the tympanum has the figure of Our Lord enthroned in glory surrounded by the saints, and the central shaft and the side pillars contain other statues.

[p 15]
There is occasionally found in a cathedral, or other large church, a porch of unusual depth, known as a Galilee. Here, during Lent, those assembled who were bidden to do public penance; the coming of Maundy Thursday being the signal for their admission once more into the church itself. Ely has a western Galilee entered by an arch, divided by a central pillar, and filled in the upper part with tracery. Lincoln has a Galilee, deep and dignified in plan, with a vaulted roof. Another English cathedral so provided is that of Chichester; and among parish churches the Galilee is found at Boxley, Llantwit, Chertsey, and S. Woolos.

Of door-ways which, independently of considerations of date, size, or form, are noteworthy for their sculpture, there are many that ought to be mentioned. At Lincoln, for instance, we have a south door carved with a Doom, or Last Judgment, wherein we see the effigy of the Divine Judge surrounded by the dead rising from their opening graves. The north door at Ely, the whole of the surrounding stone-work of which is elaborately carved, is surmounted by the figure of the Lord enthroned within a vesica, while adoring angels kneel before Him. At [p 16] Rougham, in Norfolk, the west door is surmounted by a crucifix, round which runs the emblematic vine. Founhope church, Hereford, has in the tympanum of the arch the Madonna and the Holy Child, a grotesque with birds and beasts surrounding the figures. At Elkstone, Gloucestershire, the south door-way, a specimen (like the one at Founhope) of Norman work, has some interesting sculptures. In the centre of the tympanum is Christ enthroned, with the apocalyptic symbols of the evangelists around Him; beyond these on the right hand of Christ is the Agnus Dei with the flag, an emblem of the Resurrection, while on the left is a wide open pair of jaws, known as a Hell-mouth: above all the Father’s Hand is seen in the attitude of benediction. Elstow church has sculptured figures above the north door; not within the containing arch, but within a separate arched space divided from the door-way by a string-course. Haltham church, in Lincolnshire, has some exceedingly curious designs on the tympanum of the south door; they are mostly cruciform figures within circles, and are arranged with strange irregularity. The north door of Lutterworth church has over it a fresco painting.

NORTH DOOR, ELSTOW CHURCH.

[p 17]
Several of the churches in Brussels have door-ways which, though otherwise not remarkable, are noteworthy from the beauty of the carving of the central post dividing the two leaves of the door. The church of Notre Dame de Bon-Secours has the effigy of its patron saint crowned and robed, bearing the Infant Saviour; below are the emblems of pilgrimage, wallets, gourds, and cockle-shells. The church of La Madeleine has a crucifix with a weeping Magdalene at its foot. The old church of S. Catharine has its patroness on the door-post, and the Chapelle Sainte-Anne similarly has S. Anne holding the Blessed Virgin by the hand. Foliage or scrolls in each case fill up the rest of the column, which is of wood, and in some instances has been painted.

So far, the doorways have occupied our [p 18] attention; something must, however, be said of the doors themselves. The usual form of the old church door is familiar enough to all of us; the massive time-stained oak, the heavy iron nails that stud it, and the long broad hinges that reach almost across its full breadth. There is dignity in the very simplicity of all this; but not seldom far more ornate examples may be found.

The most elementary form of decoration consists in merely panelling the door, as is the case in numberless instances; occasionally the panels themselves are carved, as on the “Thoresby Door,” at Lynn, or the door of S. Mary’s, Bath; or tracery, as in a window, is introduced, as at Alford, Lincolnshire. These are but a few of the many instances which might be cited. Another striking form of decoration is produced by hammering out the long hinges into a design covering, more or less, the surface of the door. The west door at Higham Ferrers, already noticed, has on each of its leaves three hinges, which are formed into wide spreading scrolls. Sempringham Abbey has very fine beaten ironwork spread over almost the entire face of the door. A more curious example is afforded by Dartmouth church; where a conventional tree [p 19] with spreading branches covers the door, and across this the hinges are laid in the form of two heraldic lions. The date is added in the middle of the work, 1631.

DOOR AT LYNN CHURCH.

In the decoration of the church door the mediæval blacksmith proves himself in a thousand instances, at home and abroad, to have been an artist. Free from the hurry of the present age, he could work according to that canon of Chaucer’s,

“There is no workman

That can both worken well and hastilie,

This must be done at leisure, perfectlie.”

[p 20]
With him it was not the hand only that wrought, nor even the hand and head; but the soul within him gave life to both. Of the contrast between old ways and new, few examples are more striking than the hinges of the door at S. Mary Key, Ipswich; where we have a simple but graceful scroll of ancient date, and a clumsy iron bar of to-day, lying side by side. For a beautiful design in beaten iron the doors of Worksop Priory may claim to have not many rivals.

SOUTH PORCH, SEMPRINGHAM ABBEY.

[p 21]
The most splendid doors in the world are probably the bronze doors of the Baptistery at Florence. Other bronze doors there are on the Continent, and all of them fine; Aix-la-Chapelle, Mayence, Augsburg, Hildesheim, Novgorod, all have doors of this kind; at Verona, too, in the church of San Zeno, are ancient examples, whereon are set forth in panels a number of subjects from Holy Scripture and from the life of the patron saint. All, however, fall into [p 22] insignificance beside the “Gates of Paradise,” as the Florentines proudly call their doors.

DOOR AT DARTMOUTH CHURCH.

In 1400 the Gild of Cloth Merchants of Florence decided to make a thank-offering for the cessation of the plague; and the form which it took was a pair of bronze doors for the baptistery of the church of S. Giovanni, to correspond with some already there. These earlier ones are the work of Pisana and his son Nino, from designs by Giotto; the creation of the new ones was thrown open to competition. Many competitors appeared, of whom six were asked to submit specimens of designs for the panels; and, finally, when the choice lay between two only, the elder, Brunellesco, himself advised that the commission should be entrusted to Ghiberti, a youth then barely twenty years of age. The doors when completed contained twenty scenes from the Saviour’s life, together with figures of the four Latin Doctors and the four Evangelists, set in a frame of exquisite foliage. This splendid work was surpassed by a second pair of doors subsequently made for the same place. In this there are ten panels setting forth scenes from the Old Testament history; and the frame is adorned with niches and [p 23] medallions in which are placed some fifty allegorical figures and portrait heads. It was of these last doors, which were only completed in Ghiberti’s mature age, that no less a judge than Michael Angelo said, “They might stand as the gates of Paradise itself.”

Aix-en-Provence claims that her doors are as peerless as examples of the wood-carver’s art, as are the Florentine ones as types of the metal-worker’s. They have been preserved, it is said, from the sixth century, and are still wonderfully fresh and delicate. There are on each door six upper panels filled with figures of the twelve Sybils; and below one large panel, occupied, in one case, by effigies of the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, and in the other by Ezekiel and Daniel. The carving is only occasionally exhibited, two masking doors having been cleverly contrived to protect and cover the real ones.

Many of the doors of our cathedrals and great abbey churches have knockers, often of very striking designs. These as a rule indicate that the places in question claimed the right of sanctuary; and the knocker was to summon an attendant, or watcher, to admit the fugitive from justice at night, or at other times when the [p 24] entrance was closed. A curious head holding a ring within its teeth forms the knocker at Durham cathedral; a lion’s head was not an uncommon form for this to take, as at Adel, York (All Saints), and Norwich (S. Gregory’s); a singularly ferocious lion’s head knocker may be seen at Mayence.

[p 24a]

From a Photo by Albert E. Coe, Norwich.
ERPINGHAM

GATE, NORWICH.

The deep porch which we so frequently see over the principal door of the church was formerly something more than an ornament, or even a protection; it was a recognized portion of the sacred building, and had its appointed place in the services of the Church. Baptism was frequently administered in the church porch, to symbolize that by that Sacrament the infant entered into Holy Church. There are still relics of the existence of fonts in some of our porches, as at East Dereham, Norfolk. When baptism was thus administered in the south porch, it was also customary, so it is alleged, to throw wide open the north door; that the devil, formally renounced in that rite, might by that way flee “to his own place.” The font now usually stands just within the door. In the pre-reformation usage of the Church the thanksgiving of a woman after child-birth was also made in, or [p 25] before, the church porch; and concluded with the priest’s saying, “Enter into the temple of God, that thou mayest have eternal life, and live for ever and ever.” The first prayer-book of Edward VI. ordered the woman to kneel “nigh unto the quire door:” the next revision altered the words “to nigh unto the place where the table standeth;” and from Elizabeth’s days the rubric has simply said indefinitely “a convenient place.”

The rubric at the commencement of the Order of the Solemnization of Holy Matrimony according to the Sarum use began also in this way: “Let the man and woman be placed before the door of the church, or in the face of the church, before the presence of God, the Priest, and the People”; at the end of the actual marriage, and before the benedictory prayers which follow

it, the rubric says, “Here let them go into the church to the step of the altar.” Chaucer alludes to this usage when in his “Canterbury Tales” he says of the wife of Bath—

“She was a worthy woman all her live,

Husbands at the church dore had she five.”

Edward I. was united to Margaret at the door of [p 26] Canterbury Cathedral on September 9th, 1299, and other mediæval notices of the custom occur.

The first prayer-book of Edward VI. introduced an alteration which has been maintained ever since; the new rubric reading that “The persons to be married shall come into the body of the Church,” just as it does in our modern prayer-books. In France the custom survived as late as the seventeenth century, at least in some instances, for the marriage of Charles I., who was represented by a proxy, and Henrietta Maria was performed at the door of Notre Dame in Paris. In Herrick’s “Hesperides” is a little poem entitled “The Entertainment, or, A Porch-verse at the marriage of Mr. Henry Northly and the most witty Mrs. Lettice Yard.” It commences:—

“Welcome! but yet no entrance till we blesse

First you, then you, then both for white success.”

This was published in the midst of the great Civil War, and seems to show that the custom of marriage at the church porch was still sufficiently known, even if only by tradition, to make allusions to it “understanded of the people.”

Burials sometimes took place in the church [p 27] porch, in those days when interment within the building was much sought after.

Ecclesiastical Courts were frequently held in church porches, as at the south door of Canterbury Cathedral; schools were occasionally established in them; and here the dower of the bride was formally presented to the bridegroom. This last-named use of the porch is illustrated by a deed of the time of Edward I., by which Robert Fitz Roger, a gentleman of Northamptonshire, bound himself to marry his son within a given time to Hawisia, daughter of Robert de Tybetot, and “to endow her at the church door” with property equal to a hundred pounds per annum. We still have evidence of the fact that the church door was of old considered the most prominent and public place in the parish in the continued use of it as the official place for posting legal notices of general interest, such as lists of voters, summonses for public meetings, and so forth.

There are often in connection with ancient ecclesiastical foundations doors and gateways which are of great interest, though they can scarcely be called church doors. Of this class are the entrances to the chapter houses of [p 28] cathedrals, many of which are very fine. At York, for example, the chapter-house, which proudly asserts in an inscription near the entrance that, “as the rose is among the flowers, so is it among buildings,” has a doorway not unworthy of the beautiful interior.

The gateway which gave admittance to the sacred enclosure of the abbey—the garth or close round which were ranged the monastic buildings—is in many cases an imposing and elaborate piece of architecture. Bristol has an interesting Norman gateway, and that at Durham is massive and impressive, as are all the conventual remains there. Norwich is specially rich in this respect. The Erpingham Gate was the gift of Sir Thomas Erpingham, who died in 1420, and whom the King, in Shakespere’s play of “King Henry V.” (Act iv. sc. I), calls a “good old knight;” S. Ethelbert’s Gate was built at the cost of Bishop Alnwick, who ruled the see from 1426 to 1436.

But to speak of these things is to wander from our present subject, and even that is too wide to be dealt with fully in a paper such as this. The legends and traditions of the church porch might occupy many a page, while we gossiped over the mystic rites of S. John’s Eve or of All Hallow [p 29] E’en; or while we told how Ralph, Bishop of Chichester, barred his cathedral door with thorns in his anger against the King and his friends; or how the skins of marauding Danes have in more than one instance been nailed as leather coverings to the doors of English churches. Enough, however, has probably been said to show the wealth of interest which may often be found to hang about the old church porch, in which the village church may often be as rich as the great cathedral or the stately abbey.

[1]. See a full account of this stone in “Bygone Lincolnshire,”—Vol. I, William Andrews & Co.

[p 30]
Sacrificial Foundations.

By England Howlett.

In early ages a sacrifice of some sort or other was offered on the foundation of nearly every building. In heathen times a sacrifice was offered to the god under whose protection the building was placed; in Christian times, while many old pagan customs lingered on, the sacrifice was continued, but was given another meaning. The foundation of a castle, a church, or a house was frequently laid in blood; indeed it was said, and commonly believed, that no edifice would stand firmly for long unless the foundation was laid in blood. It was a practice frequently to place some animal under the corner stone—a dog, a wolf, a goat, sometimes even the body of a malefactor who had been executed.

Heinrich Heine says:—“In the middle ages the opinion prevailed that when any building was to be erected something living must be killed, in the blood of which the foundation had to be laid, by which process the building would be [p 31] secured from falling; and in ballads and traditions the remembrance is still preserved how children and animals were slaughtered for the purpose of strengthening large buildings with their blood.”

“ . . . I repent:

There is no sure foundation set on blood,

No certain life achiev’d by other’s death.”

King John, Act iv., Sc. 2.
Shakespeare.

To many of our churches tradition associates some animal and it generally goes by the name of the Kirk-grim. These Kirk-grims are of course the ghostly apparitions of the beasts that were buried under the foundation-stones of the churches, and they are supposed to haunt the churchyards and church lanes. A spectre dog which went by the name of “Bargest” was said to haunt the churchyard at Northorpe, in Lincolnshire, up to the first half of the present century. The black dog that haunts Peel Castle, and the bloodhound of Launceston Castle, are the spectres of the animals buried under their walls. The apparitions of children in certain old mansions are the faded recollections of the sacrifices offered when these houses were first [p 32] erected, not perhaps the present buildings, but the original halls or castles prior to the conquest, and into the foundations of which children were often built. The Cauld Lad of Hilton Castle in the valley of the Wear is well known. He is said to wail at night:

“Wae’s me, wae’s me,

The acorn’s not yet

Fallen from the tree

That’s to grow the wood,

That’s to make the cradle,

That’s to rock the bairn,

That’s to grow to a man,

That’s to lay me.”

Afzelius, in his collection of Swedish folk tales, says: “Heathen superstition did not fail to show itself in the construction of Christian churches. In laying the foundations the people retained something of their former religion, and sacrificed to their old deities, whom they could not forget, some animal, which they buried alive, either under the foundation, or within the wall. A tradition has also been preserved that under the altar of the first Christian churches a lamb was usually buried, which imparted security and duration to the edifice. This was an emblem of the true church lamb—the Saviour, [p 33] who is the corner stone of His church. When anyone enters a church at a time when there is no service, he may chance to see a little lamb spring across the choir and vanish. This is the church-lamb. When it appears to a person in the churchyard, particularly to the grave-digger, it is said to forbode the death of a child that shall be next laid in the earth.”

The traditions of Copenhagen are, that when the ramparts were being raised the earth always sank, so that it was impossible to get it to stand firm. They therefore took a little innocent girl, placed her on a chair by a table, and gave her playthings and sweetmeats. While she thus sat enjoying herself, twelve masons built an arch over her, which when completed they covered over with earth, to the sound of music with drums and trumpets. By this process they are, it is said, rendered immovable.^[2]

It is an old saying that there is a skeleton in every house, a saying which at one time was practically a fact. Every house in deed and in truth had its skeleton, and moreover every house was designed not only to have its skeleton, but its ghost also. The idea of providing every [p 34] building with its ghost as a spiritual guard was not of course the primary idea; it developed later out of the original pagan belief of a sacrifice associated with the beginning of every work of importance. Partly with the notion of offering a propitiatory sacrifice to mother earth, and partly also with the idea of securing for ever a portion of soil by some sacrificial act, the old pagan laid the foundation of his house in blood.

The art of building in early ages was not well understood, and the true principles of architecture and construction were but little appreciated. If the walls of a building showed any signs of settlement the reason was supposed to be that the earth had not been sufficiently propitiated, and that as a consequence she refused to carry the burden imposed upon her.

It is said that when Romulus was about to found the city of Rome he dug a deep pit and cast into it the “first fruits of everything that is reckoned good by use, or necessary by nature,” and before the pit was closed up by a great stone, Faustulus and Quinctilius were killed and laid under it. The legend of Romulus slaying his twin brother Remus because he jumped the walls of the city to show how poor they were, [p 35] probably arises out of a confusion of the two legends and has become associated with the idea of a sacrificial foundation. To the present day there is a general Italian belief that whenever any great misfortune is going to overtake the city of Rome the giant shadow of Remus may be seen walking over the highest buildings in the city, even to the dome of St. Peter’s.

Sacrifice was not by any means confined to the foundations of buildings only. A man starting on a journey or on any new and important work would first offer a sacrifice. A ship was never launched without a sacrifice, and the christening of a vessel in these days with a bottle of wine is undoubtedly a relic of the time when the neck of a human being was broken and the prow of the vessel suffused with blood as a sacrificial offering.

In our own time the burial of a bottle with coins under a foundation stone is the faded memory of the immuring of a human victim. So hard does custom and superstition die that even in the prosaic nineteenth century days we cannot claim to be altogether free from the bonds and fetters with which our ancestors were bound.

[p 36]
Grimm, in his German Mythology, tells us: “It was often considered necessary to build living animals, even human beings, into the foundations on which any edifice was reared, as an oblation to the earth to induce her to bear the superincumbent weight it was proposed to lay upon her. By this horrible practice it was supposed that the stability of the structure was assured as well as other advantages gained.” Of course the animal is merely the more modern substitute for the human being, just in the same manner as at the present day the bottle and coins are the substitute for the living animal. In Germany, after the burial of a living being under a foundation was given up, it became customary to place an empty coffin under the foundations of a house, and this custom lingered on in remote country districts until comparatively recent times.

With the spread of Christianity the belief in human sacrifice died out. In 1885, Holsworthy Parish Church was restored; during the work of restoration it was necessary to take down the south-west angle of the wall, and in this wall was found, embedded in the mortar and stone, a skeleton. The wall of this part of the church [p 37] had settled, and from the account given by the masons it would seem there was no trace of a tomb, but on the contrary every indication that the victim had actually been buried alive—a mass of mortar covered the mouth, and the stones around the body seemed to have been hastily built. Some few years ago the Bridge Gate of the Bremen city walls was taken down, and the skeleton of a child was found embedded in the foundations.^[3]

The practice of our masons of putting the blood of oxen into mortar was no doubt in the first instance associated with the idea of a sacrifice; however this may be, the blood had no doubt a real effect in hardening the mortar, just the same as treacle, which has been known to be used in our days. The use of cement when any extra strength is needed has put aside the use of either blood or treacle in the mixing of mortar.

It is a curious instance of the wide spread of the belief in blood as a cement for ancient buildings that Alá-ud-din Khilji, the King of Delhi, A.D. 1296–1315, when enlarging and strengthening the walls of old Delhi, is reported to have mingled in the mortar the bones and [p 38] blood of thousands of goat-bearded Moghuls, whom he slaughtered for the purpose. A modern instance is furnished by advices which were brought from Accra, dated December 8th, 1881, that the King of Ashantee had murdered 200 girls, for the purpose of using their blood to mix with the mortar employed in the building of a new palace.

A foundation sacrifice is suggested by the following curious discovery, reported in the Yorkshire Herald of May 31st, 1895: “It was recently ascertained that the tower of Darrington Church, about four miles from Pontefract, had suffered some damage during the winter gales. The foundations were carefully examined, when it was found that under the west side of the tower, only about a foot from the surface, the body of a man had been placed in a sort of bed in the solid rock, and the west wall was actually resting upon his skull. The gentle vibration of the tower had opened the skull and caused in it a crack of about two-and-a-half inches long. The grave must have been prepared and the wall placed with deliberate intention upon the head of the person buried, and this was done with such care that all remained as placed for at least 600 years.”

[p 39]
The majority of the clergy in the early part of the Middle Ages doubtless would be very strongly imbued with all the superstitions of the people. The mediæval priest, half believing in many of the old pagan customs, would allow them to continue, and it is both curious and interesting to notice how heathenism has for so long a period lingered on, mixed up with Christian ideas.

It is said that St. Odhran expressed his willingness to be the first to be buried in Iona, and, indeed, offered himself to be buried alive for sacrifice. Local tradition long afterwards added the still more ghastly circumstance that once, when the tomb was opened, he was found still alive, and uttered such fearful words that the grave had to be closed immediately.

Even at the present day there is a prejudice more or less deeply rooted against a first burial in a new churchyard or cemetery. This prejudice is doubtless due to the fact that in early ages the first to be buried was a victim. Later on in the middle ages the idea seems to have been that the first to be buried became the perquisite of the devil, who thus seems in the minds of the people to have taken the place of the pagan deity. Not in England alone, but all over Northern Europe, [p 40] there is a strong prejudice against being the first to enter a new building, or to cross a newly-built bridge. At the least it is considered unlucky, and the more superstitious believe it will entail death. All this is the outcome of the once general sacrificial foundation, and the lingering shadow of a ghastly practice.

Grimm, in his “Teutonic Mythology,” tells us that when the new bridge at Halle, finished in 1843, was building, the common people got an idea that a child was wanted to wall up in the foundations. In the outer wall of Reichenfels Castle a child was actually built in alive; a projecting stone marks the spot, and it is believed that if this stone were pulled out the wall would at once fall down.

Bones, both human and of animals, have been found under hearthstones of houses. When we consider that the hearth is the centre, as it were, and most sacred spot of a house, and that the chimney above it is the highest portion built, and the most difficult to complete, it seems easy to understand why the victim was buried under the hearthstone or jamb of the chimney.

There is an interesting custom prevailing in Roumania to the present day which is clearly a [p 41] remnant of the old idea of a sacrificial foundation. When masons are engaged building a house they try to catch the shadow of a stranger passing by and wall it in, and throw in stones and mortar whilst his shadow rests on the walls. If no one passes by to throw a shadow the masons go in search of a woman or child who does not belong to the place, and, unperceived by the person, apply a reed to the shadow and this reed is then immured. In Holland frequently there has been found in foundations curious looking objects something like ninepins, but which in reality are simply rude imitations of babies in their swaddling bands—the image representing the child being the modern substitute for an actual sacrifice. Carved figures of Christ crucified have been found in the foundations of churches. Some few years ago, when the north wall of Chulmleigh Church in North Devon was taken down there was found a carved figure of Christ crucified to a vine.^[4]

A story is told that the walls of Scutari contain the body of a victim. In this case it is a woman who is said to have been built in, but an opening was left through which her infant might be [p 42] passed in to be suckled by her as long as any life remained in the poor creature, and after her death the hole was closed.

The legend of Cologne Cathedral is well known. The architect sold himself to the devil for the plan, and gave up his life when the building was in progress; that is to say, the man voluntarily gave up his life to be buried under the tower to ensure the stability of the enormous superstructure, which he believed could not be held up in any other way.

It is well known that the extinguished torch is the symbol of departed life, and to the present day the superstitious mind always connects the soul with flame. It was at one time a common practice to bury a candle in a coffin, the explanation being that the dead man needed it to give him light on his way to Heaven. It is extremely doubtful, however, whether this was the original idea, for most probably the candle in the first instance really represented an extinguished life, and was thus a substitute for a human sacrifice which, in the pagan times, accompanied every burial. The candle, in fact, took the place of a life, human or animal, and in many instances candles have been found [p 43] immured in the walls and foundations of churches and houses.

Eggs have often been found built into foundations. The egg had, of course life in it—but undeveloped life, so that by its use the old belief in the efficacy of a living sacrifice was fully maintained without any shock to the feelings of people in days when they were beginning to revolt against the practices of the early ages.

Sir Walter Scott speaks of the tradition that the foundation stones of Pictish raths were bathed in human blood. In the ballad of the “Cout of Keeldar” it is said:

“And here beside the mountain flood

A massy castle frowned;

Since first the Pictish race, in blood,

The haunted pile did found.”

From Thorpe’s “Northern Mythology” we learn that in Denmark, in former days, before any human being was buried in a churchyard, a living horse was first interred. This horse is supposed to re-appear, and is known by the name of the “Hel-horse.” It has only three legs, and if anyone meets it it forebodes death. Hence is derived the saying when anyone has survived a dangerous illness: “He gave death a [p 44] peck of oats” (as an offering or bribe). Hel is identical with death, and in times of pestilence is supposed to ride about on a three-legged horse and strangle people.

The belief still lingers in Germany that good weather may be secured by building a live cock into a wall, and it is thought that cattle may be prevented from straying by burying a living blind dog under the threshold of a stable. Amongst the French peasantry a new farmhouse is not entered upon until a cock has been killed and its blood sprinkled in the rooms.^[5]

It is probable that sacrificial foundations had their origin in the idea of a propitiary offering to the Goddess Earth. However this may be, it is certain that for centuries, through times of heathenism, and well into even advanced Christianity, the people so thoroughly associated the foundation of buildings with a sacrifice that in some form or other it has lingered on to the present century. Now in our own day the laying the foundation of any important building is always attended with a ceremony—the form remains, the sacrifice is no longer offered. For ecclesiastical buildings, or those having some [p 45] charitable object, a religious ceremony is provided, while for those purely secular the event is marked by rejoicings. We cannot bring ourselves to pass over without notice the foundation laying of our great buildings, and who shall venture to say that superstition is altogether dead, and that we are free from the lingering remains of what was once the pagan belief?

[2]. “Thorpe’s Northern Mythology,” vol. II., p. 244.

[3]. “Strange Survivals,” Baring Gould.

[4]. “Strange Survivals,” Baring Gould.

[5]. “Strange Survivals,” Baring Gould.

[p 46]
The Building of the English Cathedrals.

By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A.

Of all the sins of the nineteenth century, the one which most militates against its attainment of excellence in art is its impatience. A work has been no sooner decided on, than there is a clamour for its completion. Our cathedrals were for the most part reared in far other times, and are therefore admirable. Growing with the stately, deliberate increase of the ponderous oak, they speak of days when art was original, sincere, patient, and therefore capable of great deeds; original, not in extravagance or eccentricity, but in the realization of the natural development of style, advancing from grace to grace, from the perfection of solidity to the perfection of adornment, by an unforced growth; sincere, in its confidence of its own capacity for fulfilling its appointed end, in its grasp of the possibilities in its materials, in its choice of the true, rather than the easy, method of working; and patient, finally, in its contentment to do in each age a little solidly and well, [p 47] rather than a great deal indifferently, in its aim at artistic perfection in preference to material completeness. Thus it is that none of our cathedrals are the work of one age, save those of Salisbury and London, and even they have details which they owe to succeeding times.

The above words are not intended to imply that our mediæval builders made no mistakes. The brief review of some of their work will show us proof to the contrary; but the mistakes were rare exceptions. If, for instance, a captious critic turns to Peterborough, and points us to the defective foundations, which have recently required the rebuilding of the central tower, and the supposed necessity of reconstructing the west front, all that the case will prove is that our great monastic architects’ work was not always absolutely eternal. “So there was jerry-building in those days too!” someone exclaims, with a note of triumph at the dragging down of the great ideals of the past to the level of the paltriness of the present. If such be the case, we reply, there were indeed giants in those days, the very “jerry building” of which rides out the storms of well-nigh seven centuries before revealing any fatal weaknesses.

[p 48]
In considering these splendid buildings, of which the present century has happily proved itself no unappreciative heir, it will be of interest to devote a few lines to the means which were employed to raise funds for their construction. Several illustrations of the methods employed in the case of cathedrals and other churches have come down to us. The story of the foundation of the new buildings at Crowland Abbey in 1112, exhibits an outburst of popular enthusiasm which irresistibly recalls the free gifts of the Hebrew people for the building of the first temple. “The prayers having been said and the antiphons sung,” says Peter Blesensis, vice-chancellor under Henry II., “the abbot himself laid the first corner-stone on the east side. After him every man according to his degree laid his stone; some laid money, others writings by which they offered their lands, advowsons of livings, tenths of sheep and other church tithes; certain measures of wheat, a certain number of workmen or masons, etc. On the other side, the common people, as officious with emulation and great devotion, offered, some money, some one day’s work every month till it should be finished, some to build whole pillars, others [p 49] pedestals, and others certain parts of the walls.”

Indulgences, remitting so many days’ penance, were sometimes issued to encourage the gifts of the faithful. Thus in the time of Henry VIII. a church brief was issued soliciting help towards the repair of Kirby Belers Church, in Leicestershire, part of which runs as follows:—“Also certayne patriarkes, prymates, &c., unto the nombre of sixtie-five, everie one of theym syngularly, unto all theym that put their helpyng handes unto the sayd churche, have granted xl dayes of pardon; which nombre extendeth unto vij yeres and cc dayes, totiens quotiens.” Sometimes, by way of penance itself, a fine was imposed, which was devoted to a local building fund. Gilbert, bishop of Chichester, in certain constitutions promulgated in 1289 rules that every priest in the diocese who shall be convicted of certain scandalous sins shall “forfeit forty shillings, to be applied to the structure of Chichester Cathedral.” In modern money this fine would amount to something like £40. Walter, Bishop of Worcester, also ordained in 1240 that beneficed priests who dressed unclerically should be fined to the extent of a tenth of their annual revenue for the benefit of the [p 50] building of his cathedral. A yet earlier order concerning laity as well as clergy was issued by the Witan at Engsham, in Oxfordshire, in the year 1009, which decides that “if any pecuniary compensation shall arise out of a mulct for sins committed against God, this ought to be applied, according to the discretion of the bishop,” to one of several pious purposes, of which two are “the repair of churches, and the purchase of books, bells, and ecclesiastical vestments.”

Another way of raising money was to exact a contribution from church dignitaries, as a kind of “entrance fee,” on their accepting preferment. William Heyworth, bishop of Coventry, (a see now owning Chester as its mother city), decreed in 1428 that “every canon on commencing his first residence should pay a hundred marks towards the structure of the cathedral, the purchase of ornaments,” and other similar expenses.

In 1247, Bishop Ralph Neville, of Chichester, having died indebted to some of the canons of the cathedral, left by will a sufficient sum to discharge his obligations. But these ecclesiastical creditors decided that it should be devoted to “the completion of a certain stone tower, [p 51] which had remained for a long time unfinished.” The same canons bitterly complained because the Pope had ordained that all vacant prebends throughout the country should remain unoccupied for a year, in order that their revenues might be devoted to the erection of the minster at Canterbury; whereas they not unnaturally felt that the needs of their own cathedral had the first claim upon them.

Those churches which contained the shrines of popular saints drew, for the repair or enlargement of the fabric, no small revenue from the offerings of pilgrims. The eastern part of Rochester Cathedral was paid for by the moneys deposited at the tomb of S. William of Perth; and the large sums given by visitors to the shrine of S. Thomas of Canterbury materially assisted in keeping the building in repair.

Unquestionably the sums needed for rearing these massive piles were in most cases given, either in money or in kind, by the faithful; sometimes the princely offerings of a few wealthy men, sometimes the countless small gifts of the multitude, have become transmuted into tapering spire, or ponderous tower, “long-drawn aisle and fretted vault.” The poor, in some instances, [p 52] as we have seen, voluntarily gave their labour; in others the hands of the monks themselves raised and cut the sculptured stones.

In most cases the cathedrals which we now possess are not the first that have occupied their sites. Some humble building, often reared by one of the pioneers of the faith, was in the majority of instances the shrine that first consecrated the spot to the service of God.

It was in 401, during the visit of Germanus and Lupus, bishops of Auxerre and of Troyes, to aid in exterminating the Pelagian heresy, that the earliest shrine of S. Alban, a simple wooden oratory, was erected at Verulam; S. Deiniol built a little stave-kirk, or timber church, at Bangor about 550; and Kentigern, some ten years later, raised the first religious establishment at Llanelwy, or S. Asaph; while where now the ruined Cathedral of Man rears its weather-beaten gables and sightless windows at Peel, tradition says S. Patrick consecrated S. Germain first bishop of the Southern Isles in 447.

Many causes, however, combined to sweep away not only all traces of these earliest churches, but also in many instances more than one more solidly constructed successor. The [p 53] growth of architectural taste and skill made men impatient of the rudeness of their forefathers’ simple fanes; in a surprising number of instances the lightning-flash or the raging fire destroyed the buildings wholly or in part. The cathedrals of the north felt more than once the shock of the Border wars; and civil strife, or religious fanaticism, wrought mischief in many others. Thus it has come to pass that the centuries have seen four cathedrals in succession at Hereford, at Gloucester, and at Bangor; and three at a multitude of places, Canterbury, London, Winchester, Peterborough, Lichfield, Oxford, and half-a-dozen more.

The incursions of the Danes were answerable for the destruction of several of the earlier foundations. Canterbury had a cathedral, the most ancient part of which had been erected, according to tradition, by Lucius, the first Christian King of the Britons, and afterwards restored by S. Augustine. To this, about the year 740, Cuthbert, the archbishop, added a chapel for the interment of the occupants of the see; and Odo, in the tenth century, enlarged and re-roofed it. But in the days of saintly Alphege, in 1005, the Danish invaders fell upon the city, [p 54] making of the church a ruin, and of its bishop a martyr. A similar fate befell the metropolitan church of the north. On the site where Paulinus baptized King Edwin and his two sons into the Christian faith a little wooden oratory was raised, over which ere long Edwin commenced to build a stone church, which S. Oswald, his successor, completed. This, after having been beautified by S. Wilfred, was burnt about 741, but re-built shortly afterwards by Archbishop Egbert. It was this latter building which fell before the Danes.

At Ely the religious house founded by S. Etheldreda, which was the precursor of the modern cathedral, was burnt by the same marauders about 870. Rochester suffered in the same way; and no trace of the church built, so says the Venerable Bede, by King Ethelbert himself now remains. Peterborough has been particularly unfortunate in this respect. The first building here was begun by Peada, King of Mercia, in the seventh century. In the year 870 the Danes, on one of their forays, burnt church and monastery to the ground, and massacred the abbot and all his monks. In 971 King Edgar raised the place once more from its desolation, [p 55] but again it was seriously damaged, though not absolutely destroyed, by the sea-kings shortly before the Norman Conquest. Oxford was partially burnt in 1002 owing to the same people, but in a different way. A number of Danes took refuge in the tower of S. Frideswide to escape the senseless and brutal massacre organised on S. Brice’s day in that year, and the English fired the structure rather than suffer their prey to escape them.

It will be convenient here, although it may take us in some cases away from those primitive foundations which so far we have considered, to glance at the other instances in which war has left its mark upon our cathedrals. Hereford, lying near the Welsh border, felt the storm and stress of warfare in 1056. Originally founded at some unknown date in very early English times, the church at Hereford was rebuilt about 830 by a noble Mercian, named Milfrid, and was repaired, if not actually renewed, by Athelstan the bishop, who came to the see in 1012. Ten years before the Norman Conquest, however, Griffith, prince of Wales, at the head of a combined host of Welsh and Irish, crossed the marches and plundered and burnt the church [p 56] and city. In the reign of Hardicanute (1039–1041) the citizens of Worcester, having risen against the payment of the ship-tax, were severely punished, a military force being sent to occupy their city. So thoroughly did it carry out the work of inflicting discipline on the malcontents, that the church, amongst other buildings, was left in ruins. The original church at Gloucester was built in 681, as part of a conventual establishment; this was destroyed, and, after an interval, rebuilt by Beornulph, King of Mercia, sometime previous to 825. This church was looted by the Danes, but restored by S. Edward the Confessor. In the year after the Conquest, Gloucester was occupied by the Normans, whose entrance was not, however, accepted quite peaceably by the citizens; and in the tumult the Cathedral was seriously injured by the one or the other party. Exeter provides us with another case. Here was a cathedral in early English days, which lasted until the time of Bishop William Warelwast, who began the erection of a new one in 1112. During the stormy reign of Stephen, the city was held for Matilda and had to stand a siege by the King, to the great damage of the still [p 57] unfinished church. To quote one further illustration only: Bangor, whose wooden church was replaced by a stone one somewhere about 1102, suffered grievously in the wars waged between Henry III. of England, and David, Prince of Wales, an episode in which was the destruction of the Cathedral.

[p 56a]

From a photo by Albert F. Coe, Norwich
NORWICH CATHEDRAL.

The conquest of England by William, Duke of Normandy, had a vast influence on the ecclesiastical buildings of the country. On the continent art had advanced at a pace unknown in this island, and the plain and massive churches scattered over the land must have seemed very rude structures in the eyes of the prelates who came in the victor’s train. S. Edward the Confessor, with his Norman predilections, had no doubt accustomed his courtiers to some aspects of foreign art, and through his influence the so-called Norman architecture preceded the Normans in the country; but such instances of it as were to be seen must have been few, and probably confined to the southern counties.

Scarcely had the Conqueror’s throne been secured before his countrymen, placed in the abbeys and sees of England, began to rebuild, on [p 58] new and grander plans, the churches under their charge.

Lanfranc, who ascended the throne of S. Augustine in 1070, set himself to the work of rebuilding Canterbury Cathedral, not contenting himself with any enlargement or embellishment of the older fane, but making a clean sweep of that, and beginning from the foundations. S. Anselm, and the prior of the monastery, Ernulph, took up the work and enlarged upon Lanfranc’s design, pulling down and re-building the choir. Early in the next century, namely in 1130, the new Cathedral, completed under the supervision of Conrad, successor to Ernulph, was solemnly dedicated with great pomp in the presence of the Kings of England and of Scotland.

[p 59]

RIPON CATHEDRAL.

Meanwhile, Thomas of Bayeux, who became Archbishop of York in the same year as that in which Lanfranc obtained his English see, was busy rebuilding his Minster at York. William of Carilef commenced the magnificent pile, forming one of the finest Norman churches in existence, which crowns the Wear at Durham, in 1093; and Ralph Flambard took up the work three years later, completing it in 1128. London [p 61] was deprived of its Cathedral by fire probably about 1088, and the work of restoration was at once undertaken by Maurice, its Norman bishop. In 1079 Bishop Walkelyn began the erection of a cathedral church at Winchester, in the place of the old Saxon building which had first been founded on the conversion of King Cynegils, about 635. In all parts of the land, east and west, north and south, the builders were at work, rearing massive temples to the glory and honour of God. The chink of chisel and the blow of hammer rang everywhere in the ears of the eleventh century in England. Bishop Herbert Losinga laid the first stone of Norwich Cathedral in 1096, at which time Remigius of Fescamp had been some twenty years at work on that of Lincoln, and had passed away, leaving the completion to others. The new Norman Cathedral of Hereford was begun by Robert Losinga, who reigned as bishop from 1079 to 1096. Abbot Simeon began to build the Minster at Ely about 1092; Worcester was commenced by Wulfstan in 1084; five years later the foundation of Gloucester was laid; and in 1091 S. Osmund consecrated the church of S. Nicholas at Newcastle. Other cathedrals which were built, or [p 62] rebuilt, at about the same date include those of Carlisle, S. Albans, Rochester, Chester, Lichfield and Oxford.

Surely never was an age so enthusiastic in building! All these cathedrals, many still remaining largely as their Norman builders left them, most retaining many relics of their work, were commenced within the space of two reigns of by no means great duration, lasting only from 1066 to 1100.

The energy of the time was not, however, exhausted by the fervour of this outburst. The twelfth century took up and vigorously prosecuted the tasks handed on to it by the eleventh.

[p 63]

SOUTHWELL MINSTER.

Among cathedrals which were entirely, or almost entirely, rebuilt during this century we have Chichester, Rochester, Peterborough, Lincoln, Oxford, Bristol, Southwell, S. David’s, Llandaff, and Ripon. In the first of these a great part of the work was done twice over within this period. Ralph de Luffa was bishop of the see when the cathedral was consecrated in 1108; two fires, however, did such serious damage to this building, the first in 1114, and the second in 1186, that it had practically to be re-constructed, and was re-dedicated in the year [p 65] 1199. The Cathedral at Rochester was largely re-built by John of Canterbury between 1125 and 1137, and like Chichester suffered twice during the century from the ravages of fire. Indeed, so frequently do we find mention of conflagrations in the cathedrals in the early mediæval days, that it is quite obvious that William I. was fully justified in taking such precautions against this enemy as the use of the curfew involved. In more than one instance the cathedral went up in flames as part only of a fire which destroyed a large portion of the town.

The undertaking of new work at Peterborough was the result of a similar cause. In the year 1116 fire destroyed almost the whole church and monastery, but in two years’ time the re-erection had commenced, and was continued throughout the remainder of the century. The choir was ready for the resumption of the Divine offices in 1143, but the builders did not reach the end of their labours until 1237. Re-construction was necessitated at Lincoln by the occurrence of an earthquake in 1185, following once more upon a fire which took place in 1141. The stone vaulting and the western towers were undertaken by Alexander, bishop from 1123 to 1147; and in [p 66] 1192 S. Hugh of Avalon, who held the see from 1186 to 1203, began a thorough re-building of the pile. This work marks an epoch in the progress of architecture in England, as in the choir of S. Hugh we meet with the earliest examples of the use of the lancet form of arch to which we can assign a known date. About the middle of this century a new church, not yet advanced to the dignity of a cathedral, was commenced at Oxford, and by the year 1180 it was sufficiently advanced to allow of the translation of the relics of S. Frideswide to their new shrine. In 1142 was founded the Abbey of Bristol, and its church was consecrated on Easter Day, 1148, although the completion of the buildings occupied the attention of the abbots for many years after. Southwell Minster was also building during the first half of the twelfth century; Peter de Leia, who became Bishop of S. David’s in 1176, commenced the erection of his cathedral four years later, following the example of Arban, who entered upon the neighbouring see of Llandaff in 1107, and reared a mother church for his diocese. Finally, Ripon also saw the masons busily at work almost through the century. First Thurstan, [p 67] Archbishop of York in 1114, began the enlargement of the Abbey Church, and after him Archbishop Roger (1154–1181) entirely rebuilt it.

But the record of the churches re-built during this century by no means exhausts the tale of work performed during that time. At Winchester, for example, in 1107 the central tower fell, necessitating the building of a new one. Lucy, bishop here from 1189 to 1205, erected a new Lady Chapel and made other alterations. At Hereford, too, operations were going forward almost throughout the century, the bishops Reynelm (1107–1115) and Betun (1131–1148) being especially energetic in pressing them on; and the closing years of this period saw the rearing of the eastern transepts. At this time also the beautiful Galilee Chapel was added to Durham Cathedral; Ely was consecrated in 1106, and towards the end of the century received its central tower and other additions; and S. Albans, moreover, had a façade built on its western front by John de Cella.

The chronicle of the damages by fire during the twelfth century is not complete without mentioning that S. Paul’s, London, which was re-building during a large portion of that time, [p 68] was injured by it in 1136; and the same foe destroyed the roof of Worcester Cathedral in the early days of the century.

The period which our rapid survey has so far covered embraces broadly the eras of the Norman and of the so-called Early English architecture. In the thirteenth century the Decorated Style came into being, and with its rise arose also the desire for greater richness of ornament even in those churches which had already, to all appearances, been completed. On all hands, therefore, in this new century, we find the pulling down of portions of the stern Norman work and the substitution of lighter and more graceful designs.

The great work of the thirteenth century, however, was begun before the birth of the more florid style, and shows little trace of the dawning of its influence. Salisbury Cathedral was begun in 1220, the work commencing, as was usual, at the eastern end and advancing westward. The whole was proceeded with continuously, and since its completion no alteration of any importance has been made in it. Other cathedrals in England exhibit in almost every case a conglomerate of several orders of architecture, blended generally with great skill, but necessarily [p 69] lacking to some extent in unity of design in consequence. In Salisbury we have one complete and splendid example of English architecture of the best period, carried out from beginning to end with unbroken unity of purpose.

Other churches which then were, or were subsequently to become, cathedrals, dating in their present form from the thirteenth century, are those of Lichfield, Wells, Manchester, Bangor, and S. Asaph.

A Norman church had been reared at Lichfield of which very few relics have survived to the present day, a new building having been begun about the year 1200, and the work of construction carried on for the major part of the century, the west front being reached about 1275. Bishop Joceline was the chief founder of the existing Cathedral at Wells, most of the previous work having been taken down in his time, and the new church solemnly dedicated by him in 1239. The Church at Manchester was probably built about 1220, but the present building is of a later date. The Cathedral at S. Asaph suffered from the great mediæval enemy of such foundations, fire, twice during this period. On the first occasion, in 1247, the [p 70] troops of Henry III. of England must be held responsible for the destruction wrought; on the second, in 1282, the outbreak was probably accidental. Repairs, if not actual rebuilding, took place in consequence of these injuries towards the end of the century. Bangor Cathedral was probably also rebuilt about 1291.

Fire played its old part throughout the century in providing work for the ecclesiastical masons, in other instances besides that referred to in the Welsh diocese. The choir at Carlisle was rebuilt probably about 1250 and the following years, but had scarcely been fully completed before it fell in a fire which destroyed a large portion of the city. In 1216, S. Nicholas, Newcastle, was almost destroyed by the same fatal agency. Worcester Cathedral was again burnt in 1202, and was rebuilt between then and 1218 sufficiently to be re-dedicated; although the retro-choir, the choir, the Lady Chapel, and some details were added at a later time in the same century.

Imperfections in the work of the preceding age were answerable for a certain amount of loss and consequent re-construction (not seldom actually a gain) in this. At Lincoln, for instance, the [p 71] central tower fell in 1237, and was replaced by the present one, which has been described as one of the finest in Europe. The east end of Ripon had to be rebuilt owing to the structure giving way in 1280; and in consequence again of the fall of the tower, repairs had to be undertaken at S. David’s in 1220.

The popular regard for Hugh, the sainted bishop of Lincoln, led to the building of one of the most beautiful sections of that Minster, namely the Angel-choir, erected as a worthy chapel for the shrine of S. Hugh, between 1255 and 1280. At Hereford, the Lady Chapel was built about the middle of this century; and at Ely, the presbytery and retro-choir at about the same date; at Bristol, the elder Lady Chapel probably a little earlier; at Southwell, the choir between 1230 and 1250; and the choir also at S. Albans, in 1256.

Several of our cathedral towers, moreover, besides that at Lincoln, date from the thirteenth century. York, S. Paul’s, Chichester and Gloucester, all had the towers erected during this period.

Passing on to the fourteenth century, we meet with the same wide-spread activity, but it is [p 72] expended now rather in additions and embellishments to existing buildings than in actual re-constructions. At Ripon, the Cathedral was partially burnt by the Scots in 1319, and later in the century the tower was struck by lightning. At S. Alban’s, part of the nave fell in 1323, as did the tower at Ely in 1322. In each of these cases repairs were of course rendered needful. More important works were the rebuilding of the nave and transepts at Canterbury at the end of the century (1378–1410), the erection of the Zouche Chapel at York about 1350, the addition of both the central and the western towers to Wells, the spires to Peterborough, and the towers also to Hereford.

The fifteenth century is specially marked by the growing popularity of chantries and side chapels. We find them erected at this time at Hereford and elsewhere; but little building on a large scale is done. In several cases the vaulting of the roofs dates from this period, and a good deal of internal carving in wood or stone was also done. Among the latter we may note the high altar screen at S. Alban’s, and the stalls at Carlisle and Ripon. Of the former work, reference may be made to the vaulting [p 73] of part of the choir and transepts at Norwich.

The sixteenth century is not a pleasant one to contemplate in connection with our ancient cathedrals. Ignorance and fanaticism were then beginning to show themselves in their treatment of the miracles of art bequeathed to the ages, and soon became more obvious than culture or reverence. This century saw the nave of Bristol taken down, the spires removed from the towers of Ripon, and other precautions against a threatened collapse; but steps were not taken to repair the losses thus caused. And in view of the nameless horrors perpetrated within the hallowed walls of churches and cathedrals, first by the extreme reformers, and in the next century by the Puritans, in the name of religion, it is only wonderful that so much that is beautiful still survives.

The one constructive work of the seventeenth century was, of course, the building of the Cathedral of London, S. Paul’s, in the place of that “Old S. Paul’s” which perished in the fire of 1666. This building shares with Salisbury the credit of complete unity, but is unique among English Cathedrals in being classical in style. However much more admirable the Gothic style may be admitted to be for [p 74] ecclesiastical purposes, probably all will admit that the grandeur of St. Paul’s grows upon one the more familiar one becomes with it; and certainly no tower, or collection of towers, could possibly dominate a vast city like London in the way that Wren’s splendid dome does.

The eighteenth century witnessed, among other things, the removal of most of the spires which down to that time had crowned the towers of many of the cathedrals. Such was the case with Hereford and Wakefield; the same thing was attempted at Lincoln in 1727, but popular tumult saved the spires; only, however, until 1807, when they were removed.

Of one work of construction the eighteenth century was also guilty; the year 1704 gave birth to that abortion among English cathedrals known as S. Peter’s, Liverpool; with which, for nearly twenty years, the population of one of the wealthiest cities in the empire has been content! Something in the way of restoration was attempted in this century, but it was for the most part done ignorantly, and no small part of the restoration of the nineteenth century has consisted in undoing so far as possible the work of the eighteenth.

[p 75]
The present century has seen the commencement, on noble lines, of the Cathedral of Truro; and the beautifying of not a few of our old minsters, which had been stript almost bare by the destroyers of past times. Happily, the guardians of these treasures of art and devotion have for the most part been conscious of the greatness of their trust, and the fabrics have been dealt with reverently and with judgment. Amongst others, Bristol, Chichester, St. Albans, and Peterborough have required more or less extensive measures of re-building.

[p 76]
Ye Chappell of Oure Ladye.

By the Rev. J. H. Stamp.

The sacred buildings designated by this title were dedicated to the service of God, in mediæval times, in honour of the Mother of our Lord. The veneration of S. Mary, the Blessed Virgin, had been growing up in the Church from the fifth century, when the reality of the incarnation of the Son of God was first called into question by men who professed and called themselves Christians. The defence of the true doctrine brought clearly into view the high dignity which God had conferred on the humble maiden of Nazareth, and so reverence for her memory, as the most blessed among women, grew into veneration for her person as the Mother of God. The faithful of the Middle Ages were, therefore, not content with simply retaining her name at the head of the list of saints, but raised the human mother to a position which was almost, if not quite, equal to that of her Divine Son. They conferred on her the title of “Our Lady,” and hailed her as “The [p 77] Queen of Heaven,” just as they were accustomed to address the Saviour as “Our Lord” and worship Him as “The King of Heaven.” This title still survives in the terms which are so familiar to us, namely, “Lady Day” and “Lady Chapel.”

We see evidences of this growth of the cultus of the Blessed Virgin in the erection and elaborate ornamentation of Lady Chapels throughout Christendom. It does not seem probable, however, that our pious forefathers in the ancient Church of England intended to encourage Mariolatry, by the introduction of these buildings into this country; for it is a singular and significant fact that in Spain, where this heretical and superstitious practice chiefly prevailed, Lady Chapels are very rare, because the church itself has been made to serve the purpose. English Churchmen, in their desire to honour the Mother of Christ, were careful to avoid this evil example. The erection of smaller buildings, and the setting apart, for the purpose, of one of the side aisles rather than the sanctuary itself, tend to show that they did not assign to the Blessed Virgin that divine honour which was due only to her Son and Lord. The usual [p 78] position of the Lady Chapel, beyond the choir, has, indeed, been considered as a proof that the honour paid to “Our Lady” exceeded that which was rendered unto our Lord, since the altar dedicated to her was set up beyond the High Altar in the most sacred portion of the church, and, in that position, might be said to overshadow it. But the usual situation of the Lady Chapel, at the east end of the choir or presbytery, proves nothing of the kind. One celebrated writer on the subject disclaims the idea in the following words, “Poole principally objects to the position of the Lady Chapel at the east end, ‘above,’ as he expresses it ‘the High Altar.’ Now we believe the Lady Chapel to have occupied the place merely on grounds of convenience, and not from any design—which is shocking to imagine—of exalting the Blessed Virgin to any participation in the honours of the Deity.”^[6]

It is true that the Lady Chapel was generally erected at the extreme east end, or one of the aisles near the choir was used for the purpose, because it was considered the most sacred part of the church next to the sanctuary. It was [p 79] erected at the east end of the Abbey Churches of Westminster and S. Albans; in the Cathedral Churches of Winchester, Salisbury, Chichester, Exeter, Gloucester, Worcester, Wells, Hereford, Chester and Manchester; at Christ Church, Hants, where there is a chantry above, called S. Michael’s Loft, which once served as the Chapter House of the Priory, but in modern times has been converted into a schoolroom; and also at the parish church of S. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, where it is situated over a thoroughfare, after the example of several churches in Exeter. But the ecclesiastics and architects of the Middle Ages did not consider themselves bound, by a hard and fast rule, to set up the Lady Chapel at the east end. If an available site could be found beyond the Choir the Chapel was erected in that position, otherwise, the north aisle of the Church, or a convenient site near the Choir, was utilised for the purpose. The building has been erected on the north or south side of the Choir or Nave, and even at the west end when deemed expedient. It was erected on the north side at the Cathedrals of Canterbury, Oxford, Bristol, and Peterborough; at the Abbeys of Glastonbury, Bury St. [p 80] Edmunds, Walsingham, Thetford, Wymondham, Belvoir, Llanthony, Hulme, and Croyland, where there was a second Lady Chapel with a lofty screen, in the south transept.^[7] It is on the south side at Kilkenny and at Elgin Cathedral. It stands in a similar position over the Chapter House at Ripon Minster. Sometimes it was placed above the chancel, as in Compton Church, Surrey; Compton Martin, Somerset; and Darenth, Kent; or over the porch, as at Fordham, Cambs. At Ely Cathedral it is connected with the extremity of the north transept. At Wimborne Minster it stands in the south transept, whilst at Rochester Cathedral and at Waltham Abbey, Essex, it was erected at the west of the south transept. At Durham Cathedral an attempt was made to build a Lady Chapel at the east end, but owing, it is said, to the supernatural intervention of S. Cuthbert, whose relics were deposited in the Choir, the building was erected instead at the west end, where it stands under the name of the Galilee Chapel. The original Lady Chapel at Canterbury also stood in this unusual position, until the days of Archbishop Lanfranc, 1070–1089, when [p 81] it was removed and the present building set up at the east end. The aisles were also frequently used as “ye Chappell of oure Ladye,” as at Haddenham, Cambs.

The practice of dedicating Chapels to the Blessed Virgin was introduced into this country during the twelfth century, shortly after the monastic orders had gained the supremacy over the parochial clergy. These buildings were generally founded not only to satisfy the spirit of the age, which demanded the veneration of the Mother of our Lord, but also to afford the necessary accommodation at the east end for the increased number of clergy. The founders, moreover, hoped to secure an augmentation of the revenues, by the offerings of the faithful at the shrines of the new Chapels, as appears to have been the case at Walsingham, Norfolk; All Hallows, Barking; and S. Stephen’s, Westminster. The building, in many instances, became the depository of the relics of a saint. The Galilee Chapel at Durham, dedicated to S. Mary the Virgin in 1175, contains the bones of the Venerable Bede, the earliest historian of the Church of England, who died at Jarrow-on-Tyne, on the eve of Ascension Day, [p 82] A.D. 735. These relics were translated, in 1370, from the tomb of S. Cuthbert, and placed in the Chapel, in a magnificent shrine of gold and silver. The Lady Chapel at Oxford contains the shrine of S. Frideswide, the daughter of the founder of the convent, and its first prioress, whose relics were translated from the north choir aisle in 1289. This Chapel is now called the Dormitory, as the remains of several deans and canons have been laid to rest within its walls.

The Lady Chapel has frequently served as the mausoleum of saints, princes, noblemen, and dignitaries of the Church. The stately and magnificent edifice at Westminster, known as Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, was built for this purpose in 1502, by the first Tudor monarch, on the site of the original Lady Chapel, erected by Henry III. in 1220. The royal founder, his wife, and other royal personages now await the resurrection in the tomb set up in this famous building. The Lady Chapel at S. Mary’s, Warwick, which is said to be the chief ornament of that church, was also built as a tomb-house in 1443, by Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick. Their desire to rest in the chapel, dedicated to [p 83] the blessed Virgin, was closely associated with the idea which chiefly moved our forefathers to erect these buildings. They had been taught to believe in the invocation of saints, and were anxious to secure, for themselves and their dear ones, the mediation and intercession of the Mother of our Lord, whose influence with her Divine Son, they supposed, was all prevailing. So they founded these chapels in her honour, and solicited her good offices on their behalf by frequent services and prostrations before her image, which occupied the place of honour above “oure Ladye’s Altar” crowned as the Queen of Heaven, and profusely adorned with splendid jewels and exquisite embroidery. They believed, moreover, that as she could succour the living, so she would prevail with her Son on behalf of the dead. These sacred buildings were, accordingly, used also as chantries, where masses were offered daily, and the intervention of “oure Ladye S. Mary” was solicited to secure the release of the souls of the faithful departed from the flames of purgatory, through which, it was supposed, they must pass, to be purified from all the defilements of their earthly course, and “made meet for the inheritance of the saints in light.” [p 84] In frescoes on the walls, and in paintings on the windows, the Virgin was represented, interceding for the souls of the faithful as they came forth to judgment.

After the dissolution of monasteries by Henry VIII., and the suppression of chantries by Edward VI., many of these buildings shared the fate of the conventual churches to which they were attached. In some places the Lady Chapel was left to decay, and disappeared in the course of a few years, like that at Norwich, which fell into a ruinous condition as early as 1569. In other localities it was allowed to stand until the turbulent days of the Commonwealth, as at Peterborough, where it was taken down to supply materials for the reparation of the Cathedral, which had been greatly injured by Cromwell’s soldiers. In several places it was appropriated to other uses, and even divested of its sacred character. The elegant chapel at Ely, erected 1321–49, and said to have been one of the most perfect buildings of that age, was assigned at the Reformation to the parishioners of Holy Trinity to serve as their Parish Church, and is now called Trinity Church. The splendid specimen at S. Albans was [p 85] separated from the presbytery by a public thoroughfare, which was made through the antechapel, and a charter of Edward VI. transferred the sacred building to the authorities of the ancient Grammar School, and it was used as a schoolroom until the restoration in 1870. At S. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, the Lady Chapel has also been used for scholastic purposes, and at Waltham Abbey it has accommodated not only parochial schools but public meetings and petty sessions.

Among existing Lady Chapels, King Henry the Seventh’s Chapel occupies the first place for magnificence. The first Tudor monarch, in his anxiety to make his peace with God before his death, and to commemorate the union of the houses of York and Lancaster, determined to found a chapel in honour of the blessed Virgin, “in whom,” he declares in his will, “hath ever been my most singulier trust and confidence, ... and by whom I have hitherto in al myne adversities ever had my special comforte and relief.” He also made due provision for the celebration of masses and the distribution of alms “perpetually, for ever, while the world shall endure” for the welfare of his soul. The laying [p 86] of the foundation stone is recorded by the ancient chronicler as follows: “On the 24th daie of January 150⅔ a quarter of an houre afore three of the clocke at after noone of the same daie, the first stone of our Ladie Chapell, within the monasterie of Westminster, was laid by the hands of John Islip, Abbot of the same monasterie ... and diverse others.”^[8] After its completion it was so universally admired, that Leland the antiquary describes it as “orbis miraculum”—the wonder of the world. About fifty years after its dedication the services, for which it was specially designed by its royal founder, were brought to an end by the Act of Parliament which suppressed the chantries throughout the kingdom, and then followed three centuries of gross neglect which reduced it to “an almost shapeless mass of ruins,” as it was described in 1803. Four years later, in 1807, Dean Vincent obtained a parliamentary grant for the restoration of the building, and the necessary repairs were completed in 1822. The Chapel still retains much of its ancient splendour, and the elegant and elaborate ceiling is a marvel of architectural skill. It has been used since the [p 87] year 1725 for the installation of the Knights of the Bath, and their banners are suspended over the old carved misereres or misericordes of the monks.

“Ye Chappell of oure Ladye” at S. Alban’s is also a most elegant specimen of the buildings, dedicated to the blessed Virgin. The foundations appear to have been laid by John de Hertford, abbot from 1235 to 1260. But at the election of Hugh de Eversdone, in 1308, the walls had only reached the level of the underside of the window sills, a height of ten feet above the ground. During his rule he laboured so assiduously to complete the work, that in a short time he finished it. The building, at its dedication, was so rich in detail that it is described by ancient writers as “a magnificent sight.” The work of Abbot Hugh included the exquisite carvings in stone, which represent about seventy different specimens of forms in nature. During its use as a Grammar School, from 1553 to 1870, the interior suffered much injury from the hands of the schoolboys, and was allowed to fall into a state of ruin and decay. Shortly after the removal of the School in 1870, a restoration was undertaken by the ladies of Hertfordshire, but [p 88] their good intentions were not carried into effect, through lack of the necessary funds. Lord Grimthorp then generously came to the rescue, and through his munificence the Chapel has been thoroughly and judiciously restored. It now stands once more in all its glory, as a perfect gem of architecture and one of the most elegant Lady Chapels in Christendom.

“Ye Chappell of oure Ladye” at Waltham Abbey is said to be one of the richest specimens of mediæval architecture in Essex. The building has been greatly defaced since the suppression of chantries, but still bears traces of its original glory. “The Lady Chapel,” says the late Professor Freeman, “must have been a most beautiful specimen of its style, but few ancient structures have been more sedulously disfigured.” It was erected before A.D. 1292, as, during that year, Roger Levenoth, an inhabitant, endowed the chantry, with a house and 100 acres of land in Roydon. The Chapel was in a flourishing condition in the reign of Edward III., as we find from the return made in obedience to the royal order, which was issued to the master of the ceremonies of every guild and chantry in the King’s dominions. In the Court language of [p 89] that period, which was Norman French, Roger Harrof and John de Poley, the chantry priests, are described as “meisters de la petit compaignie ordeigne al honor de Dieu et ure Donne seyncte Marie en la Ville de Waltham seynte croice.” The architect selected, as the site of the building, the space formed by the easternmost bay of the south aisle of the nave and the western side of the south transept. This peculiar position indicates that it was not the work of the monks, but that of the parishioners, who were allowed the use of the nave as their parish church from the days of King Harold II., the founder. A well-known antiquarian writes: “It seems to have been built by the parishioners, and not by the abbot and convent, and its position is due to its occupying the only available spot, and where only two walls wanted building. A similar case occurs at Rochester. Where the Abbey built the Lady Chapel it was usually east of the transept—at the east end if there was room, at the north side if otherwise.”^[9] The parishioners could not erect their Lady Chapel at the east end, because the choir or presbytery had been used as the monastic church from the days of [p 90] Henry II., who, to atone for the massacre of Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, changed the secular foundation of Harold, and introduced an abbot and monks of the Augustinian order. Another Lady Chapel had probably been erected at the east end for the use of the monks, in accordance with the custom of the age, but this shared the destruction which befell the whole of the eastern portion of the church after the dissolution of the monastery in 1540. The preservation of the parish Lady Chapel is therefore due to its position at the west of the presbytery. In a transcript by Peter le Neve, Norroy King at Arms, 1698, it is stated that a chapel was dedicated at Waltham in the year 1188, by William de Vere, Bishop of Hereford, “in honore Dei [et gloriosæ Virginis Mariae] et B. Martyris atque pontificis Thomae nomine.”^[10] This has led to the conjecture that reference is made to the existing building,^[11] or to that which formerly stood at the east end.^[12] But the original Waltham manuscript shows that it does not refer to a Lady Chapel at all, but to the Chapel of S. Thomas of Canterbury.^[13]

[p 91]
The masonry of the exterior of the two walls erected when the Chapel was founded, consists of alternating bands of stone, squared bricks, and flint, so that it produces a “poly-chromatic effect.”^[14] There are three large buttresses of considerable projection, with pedimented sets-off and slopes, one being situated at the south-west angle, and the other two on the south of the building. Two smaller buttresses also occupy a place on the south. Niches, with pedestals for images, are still standing in the primary buttresses.

The interior of the Chapel measures 41 feet 7 inches in length, 23 feet in breadth, and 23 feet in height. It is approached by a steep ascent of nine long narrow stone steps, which are situated near the south-west buttress. The ancient doorway is beautifully decorated with ball flowers. The floor stands at an elevation of nearly five feet above the floor of the chancel, an arrangement which appears to be peculiar to Waltham. It was apparently built at this high level to add to the loftiness of the crypt below, which was a capacious chamber of much importance in olden times, and consists of two wide bays of quadripartite [p 92] vaulting. There is no way of access from the interior of the Church, but “the chapel is connected with the south aisle by a single arch of poor and ordinary architecture, a sad contrast to the glorious Romanesque work of the nave.”^[15] At the west end there is a large and beautiful six-light, square-headed window, with a rich and peculiar arrangement of a double plane of tracery, the inner plane consisting of three arches. This window, and the four elegant windows of three lights on the south side, are supposed to have been filled with stained glass, like that of the Chapter House at York Minster, and other buildings of the same period. At the extreme south-east of the building the remains of the ancient sedilia and piscina may still be seen. The walls were adorned with distemper paintings, chocolate coloured vine-leaves on a yellow ground running round the spandrels and windows. This decoration probably included a series of paintings, representing scenes in the life of the Mother of our Lord, and concluding with her assumption and coronation as the Queen of Heaven. There was also a representation of the Last Judgment in which “Our Lady” occupied [p 93] the place of honour near her Divine Son and Lord, interceding for the faithful as they appeared before their Judge. On the removal of the plaster from the east wall during the restoration in 1875, the remains of a fresco of “the Doom” were discovered, and here are depicted the Judge of all mankind in the scarlet robes of majesty, the Virgin as intercessor, S. Michael the Archangel, presiding over the balances in which souls are weighed, the Apostles as assessors, bishops and abbots with the keys of S. Peter, admitting the faithful into the Holy Catholic Church, human forms emerging from the grave, the path of life, the chains of everlasting darkness, demons clothed in flames, and the jaws of hell. The space under this fresco was probably occupied by beautiful statuary, the image of the blessed Virgin standing in the centre, immediately above the altar of “Our Ladye.” At the dissolution of the monastery “a table of imagery of the xii. apostles,” belonging to this Chapel, was valued at ten shillings. A few fragments of statuary, supposed to have formed part of this decoration, were discovered during the restoration of the Abbey Church in 1860, and have been inserted in the south-east wall of the [p 94] chancel. These relics of the splendid past include the mutilated stone figures of four saints, probably the evangelists, beautifully carved, and a representation of the crucifixion in black marble, but the ornament of precious metal, with which it was adorned, has long since disappeared.

The altars, desks, and tables in the Lady Chapel were covered with plates of silver, as in the crypt beneath, which was also, in those days, a splendid chantry, served by its own priest, who was called “the Charnel Priest.” The sacramental vessels and plate, which were of great value, were sold after the suppression. Dr. Thomas Fuller, Incumbent of Waltham Abbey in 1648, gives the following extracts from the churchwarden’s accounts: “1549. Imprimis.—Sold the silver plate which was on the desk in the charnel, weighing five ounces, for twenty-five shillings. Guess,” adds the historian, “the gallantry of our church by this (presuming all the rest in proportionable equipage) when the desk whereon the priest read was inlaid with plate of silver.” “1551. Item.—Received for two hundred seventy-one ounces of plate, sold at several times for the best advantage, sixty-seven [p 95] pound fourteen shillings and ninepence.”^[16] The inventory of goods made by order of Henry VIII. also mentions “iiii. tables [of oure Ladye] plated with sylver and gylte, every one of them with ii. folding leves.” The Chapel was furnished besides with “a lytell payre of organes,” valued at xxs., at the dissolution of the monastery, when Thomas Tallis, the father of English church music, was organist of the Abbey Church, and presided at the “greate large payre of organes” in the Choir. He was assisted by John Boston, of Waltham, who probably performed on the smaller instrument in the Lady Chapel. Both names are mentioned in the pension list, Tallis receiving xxs. for wages and xxs. reward, and Boston iiis. for wages and iiis. reward.

A large number of wax tapers and candles was consumed annually at the various services held in the Lady Chapel and Crypt. In the return made by Sir Roger Harrop and Sir John de Poley, masters of the two chantries in the reign of Edward III., it is stated that every man and woman in this guild paid a yearly subscription of sixpence towards the expenses, and at the feasts of “oure Ladye” all [p 96] “Christiens” of the company gave five burning tapers (tapres ardant); in honour of our Lord four large torches; and on other special occasions fifteen tapers. Lights were also kept burning during the solemn requiem and funeral services, when prayers were offered that perpetual light might shine upon the souls of the departed. It is most likely that this impressive ceremonial had been observed in both chantries, when the body of Queen Eleanor rested for the night in the Abbey Church on its way to Westminster, and again when the remains of her royal consort, Edward I., were deposited for three months before the tomb of Harold. The wax in stock for these memorial services at the suppression was sold by the churchwardens as follows: “Item.—Sold so much wax as amounts to twenty six shillings.” Dr. Fuller remarks on this transaction, “So thrifty the wardens that they bought not candles and tapers ready made, but bought the wax at the best hand and paid poor people for the making of them. Now they sold their magazine of wax as useless. Under the Reformation more light and fewer candles.”^[17]

In the days of the chantry, lands, tenements, [p 97] and other gifts were presented and bequeathed that “obits” or prayers for the dead might be offered before the altar and image of “oure Ladye.” Dr. Fuller gives the following account of “obits” at Waltham: “The charge of an obit was two shillings and two pence; and, if any be curious to have the particulars thereof, it was thus expended: to the parish priest, three pence; to our Lady’s priest, three pence; to the charnel priest, threepence; to the two clerks, four pence; to the children (these I conceive choristers) three pence; to the sexton, two pence; to the bellman, two pence; for two tapers, two pence; for oblation, two pence. O, the reasonable rates at Waltham! Two shillings and two pence for an obit, the price whereof in S. Paul’s, in London, was forty shillings! For, forsooth, the higher the church, the holier the service, the dearer the price, though he had given too much that had given but thanks for such vanities. To defray the expenses of these obits, the parties prayed for, or their executors, left lands, houses, or stock to the churchwardens.”^[18] These obits were abolished when the chantries were suppressed in the first year of the reign of King Edward VI. [p 98] “Now,” says Dr. Fuller, “was the brotherhood in the church dissolved, consisting as formerly of three priests, three choristers, and two sextons; and the rich plate belonging to them was sold for the good of the parish. Superstition by degrees being banished out of the church, we hear no more of prayers and masses for the dead. Every obit now had its own obit, and fully expired; the lands formerly given thereunto being employed to more charitable uses.”^[19]

Since the suppression both chantries have been stripped of almost all their glory. The beautiful statuary in the Lady Chapel has disappeared, the decorated walls were covered with plaster, the west window blocked up, three of the elegant south windows were partly bricked up, and the fourth was converted into a door-way. The building was entirely separated from the Church by a wall of lath and plaster, and the west front obscured by the erection of an unsightly porch, which also concealed from view the grand south Norman entrance to the Abbey Church. The exterior walls were covered with cement, in imitation of classic rustic work. The Chapel has been used during the last three centuries [p 99] for various purposes, some of which were degrading in the extreme to its sacred character. It has been used as a vestry, parochial schoolroom and lending library, also for public meetings and petty sessions, and, in its darkest days, as a store-room. The crypt has also passed through many changes, and has been stripped of its original splendour. It retained much of its beauty for a century after the suppression, as Dr. Fuller writes during his incumbency:—“To the south side of the Church is joined a chapel, formerly our Lady’s, now a school-house, and under it an arched charnel-house, the fairest that I ever saw.”^[20] This beautiful chantry, which is partly underground, has been used since as a sepulchre for the dead, a prison cell for the living,^[21] a receptacle for human bones, a coal cellar and heating chamber.

The Lady Chapel resumed its sacred character in 1876, after it had been carefully restored by Sir T. Fowell Buxton, Bart., K.C.M.G.^[22] whose seat, Warlies Park, is situated in the parish. The modern porch was removed from the west end, the large arch in the south wall of the [p 100] Church re-opened, and the five elegant windows were made good. A splendidly carved memorial screen has since been erected under the arch by the parishioners, and some beautifully carved altar rails set up at the east end. The arms of the Abbey and Parish of Waltham Holy Cross are represented on the screen, namely, two angels exalting the Cross. The appearance of the interior is, however, still mean and bare, when compared with its former magnificence, although so much has been done to rescue from a state of degradation and neglect, this interesting relic of mediæval times, “ye Chappell of oure Ladye.”

[6]. Durandus Symbol. lxxxviii.

[7]. “Gough’s History of Croyland. 1783.”

[8]. Holinshed.

[9]. W. H. St. John Hope, F.S.A.

[10]. Harl. MS. 6974, fol. 106.

[11]. Gentleman’s Magazine, April, 1860, and May, 1864.

[12]. The Builder, April 2, 1898.

[13]. Harl. MS. 391, fol. 100.

[14]. Professor Freeman.

[15]. Professor Freeman.

[16]. History of Waltham Abbey, cap. 5.

[17]. History of Waltham Abbey, cap. v.

[18]. Cap. iv.

[19]. Cap. v.

[20]. History of Waltham Abbey, cap. I., 9.

[21]. The Quakers were incarcerated here during the reign of Charles II.

[22]. Now Governor General of South Australia.

[p 101]
Some Famous Spires.

By John T. Page.

It is practically impossible to point to the exact date when spires first assumed a place in the category of ecclesiastical architecture. They belong to the Gothic style, and like the pointed arch were evolved rather than created. The low pointed roof of the tower gradually gave place to a more tapering finish, but the transition was by no means progressive, and cannot be clearly traced. Some of the earliest attempts at spire-building were uncouth and ungraceful, and even in these days the addition of a spire to a modern church does not necessarily add to its beauty. This is nearly always the case where an undue regard is paid to ornamentation, either at the base, or on the surface of the spire itself. Undoubtedly the most beautiful spires are those which at once spring clear from the summit of the tower and gradually rise needle-like towards the blue vault of heaven.

By far the greater number of our principal [p 102] spires date from the fourteenth century—a time when spire-building appears to have reached the zenith of its glory. Splendour and loftiness combine to render the examples of this period distinguished above those of any other.

Northamptonshire has been well termed the county of “Squires and Spires,” and it is probably within its borders that the largest number of really beautiful spires may be found. A journey from Northampton to Peterborough along the Nene Valley is never to be forgotten for the continually recurring spires which greet the eye of the traveller at almost every point. Rushden, Higham Ferrers, Irchester, Raunds, Stanwick, Oundle, Finedon, Aldwinckle S. Peter’s, Barnwell S. Andrew, and many others all combine to render the term “Valley of Spires” peculiarly appropriate to this district.

These spires of course cover a wide area. The two finest groups of spires are those of Coventry and Lichfield. When the cathedral at Coventry, with its three spires, was in existence in immediate proximity to the churches of S. Michael’s and Holy Trinity, the group formed “a picture not to be surpassed in England,” and even now, with Christ Church added, the [p 103] “Ladies of the Vale,” of Lichfield, suffer somewhat in comparison.

In point of height the cathedral spires of Salisbury and Norwich hold their own, while for beauty of outline Louth must be mentioned, and for elaborateness of detail the spire of Grantham.

It now remains to give a cursory glance at some of our most famous spires, and to endeavour to enumerate some of their chief characteristics.

The spire of Salisbury Cathedral rises from the centre of the main transept to a height of 410 feet. This is, without doubt, the tallest of our English spires.^[23] It is octagonal in shape, and springs from four pinnacles. The surface is enriched with three bands of quatre-foiled work, and the angles are decorated throughout with ball-flower ornament. From a storm in 1703 it received some damage, and was, under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren, braced with ironwork. It does not appear to have moved since then, but from experiments made in 1740 it was found to be out of the perpendicular 24½ inches to the south, and 16¼ inches to the west. [p 104] On the 21st of June, 1741, it was struck by lightning and set on fire, but did not receive any great damage, and in 1827, by means of an ingenious wicker-work contrivance suspended from the top, extensive repairs were carried out. The name of the architect who conceived this lofty tower is unknown, but the date of its erection was probably at the beginning of the fourteenth century.

The spire of Norwich Cathedral rises to a height of 315 feet, and on a clear day can be seen for a distance of twenty miles. It was probably built by Bishop Percy in the latter half of the fourteenth century. About one hundred years after, it was struck by lightning, but the damage was speedily repaired. In 1629 the upper part was blown down, and was re-built in 1633.

[p 104a]

LOUTH CHURCH SPIRE.

The three spires of Coventry are those of S. Michael’s, Holy Trinity, and Christ Church. Of these, S. Michael’s is the chief, being 303 feet high. Amongst parish churches, it is therefore the tallest. The base consists of a lantern flanked by four pinnacles, to which it is connected by flying buttresses. Its erection was commenced in the year 1373, and completed in 1394. At [p 105] the restoration of the church, which took place in 1885, the tower was found to have been erected on the edge of an old quarry, and it cost no less a sum than £17,000 to add a new foundation. During the most critical period of the work the structure visibly moved, and the apex of the spire now leans 3ft. 5in. out of the perpendicular towards the north-west.

Holy Trinity spire is 237 feet high, and much less ornate than S. Michael’s. During a violent tempest of “wind, thunder, and earthquake,” which occurred

on the 24th of January, 1665, it was overthrown, and much injury was done to the church in consequence. The re-building was finished in 1668. It has been completely restored in recent years.

The spire of Christ Church is some little distance away from the other two. It is octagonal in shape, and rises from an embattled tower to a height of 230 feet. It was restored in 1888.

Lichfield Cathedral contains three spires within its precincts. The grouping is, therefore, more uniform than that of Coventry, although the general effect is not thereby accentuated. The central spire rises to a height of 258 feet, [p 106] and the two which grace the west front are each 183 feet high. In the time of the great civil war, when Lichfield was besieged, the central spire was demolished. After the Restoration, it was re-built by good old Dr. Hackett.

The spire of Chichester Cathedral, built in the fourteenth century over a rotten sub-structure, was destroyed by its own weight in 1861. It was 271 feet high, and has now been re-built in its original style on a slightly higher tower. The story of its fall has often been told. On the night of Wednesday, the 20th of February, 1861, a heavy gale occurred. The next day, about twenty minutes past one o’clock, the spire was observed to suddenly lean towards the south-west, and then to right itself again. Soon after, it disappeared into the body of the cathedral, sliding down like the folding of a telescope. Only the coping-stone and the weather-vane fell outside, the rest of the masonry formed a huge cairn in the centre of the edifice, which was practically cut into four portions by the wreck. The present spire was completed in 1867.

In Lincolnshire there are two remarkable spires at Louth and Grantham. The one at Louth rises to a height of 294 feet. At the [p 107] corners of the tower are four tall turret pinnacles to which the spire is connected by flying buttresses. In 1843 it was struck by lightning; steps were at once taken for its restoration, which was completed three years later.

Grantham spire is octagonal in shape, and 285 feet in height. It is very light and graceful in appearance, and is richly ornamented with sculpture. It suffered from lightning in 1797, and again in 1882. Since the latter date sixteen feet of the masonry has been removed from the summit and re-built.

The church of S. Mary Redcliffe, Bristol, has been aptly termed by the poet Chatterton, “the pride of Bristowe and the Western land.” The spire rises to a height of 300 feet, and has lately been restored at a cost of upwards of £50,000. In 1445, during a storm, the greater part of the original spire fell through the roof of the church, and for about four centuries it remained in a truncated state, although the damage done to the interior was speedily repaired.

The spire of S. Mary’s, Shrewsbury, is 220 feet high, and rises from an embattled tower, the four corners of which contain crocketed [p 108] pinnacles. During a gale on the night of Sunday, the 11th of February, 1894, about 50 feet of the masonry of the spire crashed through the church roof and did enormous damage. This has, however, since been repaired. A memorial stone on the west wall of the tower tells how one Thomas Cadman, was killed on the 2nd of February, 1739, when attempting to descend from the spire by a rope.

For elaborateness of detail, the spire of S. Mary the Virgin, Oxford, surpasses all others in this country. Its apex is some 90 feet from the ground, and around the base of the spire clusters a mass of richly decorated pinnacles, small spirelets, and canopies containing statues. The effect is picturesque in the extreme, and lends to the town of Oxford a unique charm. Its conception dates from the fourteenth century, but it has been much restored and added to since.

Of the Northamptonshire spires, Oundle is the loftiest, being 210 feet high. It bears date 1634, but this evidently refers to a re-building. It was partly taken down again and rebuilt in 1874. It is hexagonal in shape, and the angles are crocketed. Raunds church is surmounted by an [p 109] octagonal broach spire 186 feet high. It was struck by lightning on the 31st of July, 1826, and about 30 feet of the masonry was shattered. This was at once rebuilt at a cost of £1,737 15s. 3d. The octagonal spire of Higham Ferrers is 170 feet high, and was rebuilt after destruction by a storm of wind in 1632. Rushden spire is an octagon 192 feet high, and richly crocketed. At its base flying buttresses connect it with pinnacles at the corners of the tower. The spire at Finedon rises from an embattled tower to a height of 133 feet; that of Stanwick is 156 feet high, and that of Irchester 152 feet.

Space forbids more than a passing allusion to the fine spires of Newcastle Cathedral, S. Mary de Castro, Leicester, Ross, Herefordshire, and Olney, Bucks. The latter rises to a height of 185 feet. At its summit is a weathercock which, when taken down for regilding in 1884, was found to contain the following triplet—

I never crow,

But stand to show

Where winds do blow.

Several of the spires which have been mentioned are perceptibly out of the perpendicular, but in this respect the “tall twisted spire [p 110] of Chesterfield has no rival either in shape or pose.” It is no less than 230 feet high, and the wonder to many is that it has for so long maintained its equilibrium. Various conjectures have been made to account for the grotesque twist which the spire assumes; but none of these seems so likely as that which accounts for it by the combined action of age, wind, and sun. There are those who aver that it never was straight, and never will be, and one such person even goes so far as to attempt this statement in rhyme as follows:—

“Whichever way you turn your eye

It always seems to be awry,

Pray can you tell the reason why?

The only reason known of weight

Is that the thing was never straight,

Nor know the people where to go

To find the man to make it so.”

However this may be, it is satisfactory to note that a movement has recently been set on foot to collect subscriptions towards its much needed repair.

When speaking of Salisbury Cathedral spire, allusion was made to the repairs being carried out from a wicker-work contrivance suspended from the top. This was not the first time that [p 111] wicker-work had been used for such a purpose, for in 1787 the spire at S. Mary’s, Islington, was entirely encased in a cage composed of willow, hazel, and other sticks, while undergoing repair. An ingenious basket-maker of S. Albans, named Birch, carried out the work, and constructed a spiral staircase inside the cage. His contract was to do the work for £20 paid down, and to be allowed to charge sixpence a head to any sightseers who liked to mount to the top. It is said that in this way he gained some two or three pounds a day above his contract.

People and steeple rhymes are by no means uncommon; perhaps the most spiteful is that relating to an Essex village:—

“Ugley church, Ugley steeple,

Ugley parson, Ugley people.”

The Yorkshire village of Raskelfe is usually called Rascall, and an old rhyme says:—

“A wooden church, a wooden steeple,

Rascally church, rascally people.”

Mr. William Andrews, in his “Antiquities and Curiosities of the Church” (London, 1897), gives many examples of “People and Steeple Rhymes.”

There is a never-ending romance connected [p 112] with the subject of spires. Every one possesses some story or legend. Spirits are supposed to inhabit their gloomy recesses, and are even credited with their construction. There is certainly an uncanny feeling connected with the interior of a spire, even on a sunny summer’s day, and given sufficient stress of howling winds and gloomy darkness, one can almost imagine a situation conducive to the acutest kind of devilry. So much for the interior of spires. What sensations may be produced by climbing the exterior is given to few to experience. The vast majority of mankind must perforce content themselves with a position on terra firma, whence they may with pleasure and safety combined behold

“——the spires that glow so bright

In front of yonder setting sun.”

[23]. The spire of Old Saint Paul’s, which dated from the thirteenth century, rose to a height of 520 feet. It was destroyed by lightning on the 4th of June, 1561. The spire of Lincoln Cathedral measured 524 feet, and was destroyed in 1548. These are the two highest spires which have ever been erected in England.

[p 113]
The Five of Spades and the Church of Ashton-under-Lyne.

By John Eglington Bailey, F.S.A.

On the old tower of the church of Ashton-under-Lyne there was formerly an old inscription, which incidently testifies to the popularity of cards in England at a period when the notices of that fascinating means of diversion are both few and of doubtful import. Cards were given to Europe by the Saracens at the end of the fourteenth century, and the knowledge of their use extended itself from France to Greece. The French clergy were so engrossed by the pastime that the Synod of Langres, 1404, forbad it as unclerical. At Bologna, in 1420, S. Bernardin of Sienna preached with such effect against the gambling which was indulged in, that his hearers made on the spot a large bonfire with packs of cards taken out of their pockets. Under the word Χαρτια Du Cange quotes extracts from two Greek writers, which show that cards were popular in Greece before 1498. Chaucer, who died in 1400, and who indirectly depicted much [p 114] of the every-day life of his countrymen, does not once mention cards. But they begin to be noticed about the time of Edward IV. and Henry VI. The former king prohibited the importation of “cards for playing,” in order to protect the English manufacture of them. An old ale-wife or brewer, in one of the Chester plays or mysteries, is introduced in a scene in Hell, when one of the devils thus addresses her:—

Welcome, deare darlinge, to endless bale,

Usinge cardes, dice, and cuppes smale

With many false other, to sell thy ale

Now thou shalte have a feaste.

A more interesting notice of cards occurs in the Paston Letters, where Margery Paston, writing on “Crestemes Evyn” of the year 1484, tells her husband that she had sent their eldest son to Lady Morley (the widow of William Lovel, Lord Morley), “to hav knolage wat sports wer husyd [used] in her hows in Kyrstemesse next folloyng aftyr the decysse of my lord, her husbond [who died 26th July, 1476]; and sche sayd that ther wer non dysgysyngs [guisings], ner harpyng, ner lutyng, ner syngyn, ner non lowde dysports; but pleyng at the tabyllys, and [p 115] schesse, and cards: sweche dysports sche gaue her folkys leve to play and non odyr.” The lady adds that the youth did his errand right well, and that she sent the like message by a younger son to Lady Stapleton, whose lord had died in 1466. “Sche seyd according to my Lady Morlees seyng in that, and as sche hadde seyn husyd in places of worschip [i.e., of distinction: good families] ther as [= where] sche hath beyn.” This letter opens up an interesting view of the amusements which at the time were introduced into the houses of the nobility and gentry during Christmas-tide. At that festival cards from the first formed one of the chief amusements. Henry VII., who was a great card player, forbad cards to be used except during the Christmas holidays. Their ancient association with Christmas is seen in the kindness of Sir Roger de Coverley, who was in the habit of sending round to each of his cottagers “a string of hogs’-puddings and a pack of cards,” that good old squire being doubtless of the opinion of Dr. Johnson, who, with a deeper human insight than S. Bernardin and Henry VII., could see the usefulness of such a pastime: “It generates kindness and consolidates society.”

[p 116]
The inscription I have alluded to takes us back to the reign of an earlier English king than those named—Henry V., who reigned 1413–1422. In his time, it seems, viz., in 1413, the steeple of Ashton Church was a-building; when a certain butcher, Alexander Hyll, playing at noddy with a companion, doubtless in the neighbourhood of the church, swore that if the dealer turned up the five of spades he would build a foot of the steeple. The very card was turned up! Hyll, like a good Catholic, performed his promise, and had his name carved, a butcher’s cleaver being put before Alexander, and the five of spades before Hyll. A new tower was erected in 1516, when the church was enlarged; but the stone containing the curious inscription was somewhere retained, for it was visible in the time of Robert Dodsworth, the industrious Yorkshire antiquary, and the projector and co-worker with Dugdale of the Monasticon. Dodsworth, being at Ashton on the 2nd of April, 1639, copied the inscription, stating that it was on the church steeple. He wrote down the tradition, adding that its truth was attested by Henry Fairfax

, then rector there, second son of Thomas Fairfax, Baron de Cameron (Dodsworth’s MSS. in Bibl. Bodl., [p 117] vol. 155, fol. 116). The eldest son of Lord Fairfax was Ferdinando, the celebrated general of the Commonwealth, and the generous patron of Dodsworth. Henry, the younger son, at whose rectory-house Dodsworth was entertained on the occasion of his Lancashire visit, is described by Oley (in his preface to George Herbert’s Country Parson) as “a regular and sober fellow of Trinity College in Cambridge, and afterwards rector of Bolton Percy in Yorkshire.” He held, besides, the rectory of Ashton from, at least, 1623 till 1645, when he was forcibly ejected; and that of Newton Kyme. He was a correspondent of Daniel King, author of The Vale Royal, for he had antiquarian tastes like his brother. He died at Bolton Percy 6th April, 1665. The tower of Ashton Church, as Rector Fairfax knew it, was taken down and re-built in 1818, by which time all recollection of that ancient piece of cartomancy in connection with the steeple had passed out of mind. Let it be hoped that while the tradition was lively, pleasanter things were said of Hyll, when the five of spades was thrown upon the card tables of Ashton, than assailed the name of Dalrymple when the nine of diamonds—the curse of [p 118] Scotland—came under the view of Tory Scotchmen. We may bestow on Hyll the card-player’s epitaph:—

His card is cut—long days he shuffled through

The game of life—he dealt as others do:

Though he by honours tells not its amount,

When the last trump is played his tricks will count.

“Noddy” is, of course, the very attractive game of “cribbage.” A great aunt of mine still living at Ashbourne, with whom I used to play when a boy, always called it by that name. It is one of the Court games, temp. James I., noticed by Sir John Harrington:—

Now noddy followed next, as well it might,

Although it should have gone before of right;

At which I say, I name not anybody,

One never had the knave yet laid for noddy.

The same is also alluded to in a satirical poem, 1594, entitled, Batt upon Batt:—

Shew me a man can turn up Noddy still,

And deal himself three fives, too, when he will;

Conclude with one and thirty, and a pair,

Never fail ten in Hock, and yet play fair;

If Batt be not that night, I lose my aim.

[p 119]
Bells and their Messages.

By Edward Bradbury.

Do not imagine that this is an essay on campanology, on change-ringing, grandsires, and triple bob-majors. Do not fancy that it will deal with carillons, the couvre-feu, or curfew bell, with the solemn Passing bell, the bell of the public crier, the jingling sleigh bell, the distant sheep bell, the noisy railway bell, the electric call bell, the frantic fire bell, the mellow, merry marriage peal, the sobbing muffled peal, the devout Angelus, or the silvery convent chimes that ring for prime and tierce, sext, nones, vespers, and compline. Do not conclude that it will describe bell-founding; and deal with the process of casting, with technical references to cope, and crook, and moulding, drawing the crucible, or tuning.

It is of bells and their associations and inscriptions that we would write, the bells that are linked with our lives, and record the history of towns, communities, and nations; announcing feasts and fasts and funerals, interpreting with [p 120] metal tongue rejoicings and sorrowings, jubilees and reverses; pæans for victories by sea and land; knells for the death of kings and the leaders of men. As we write, the bells of our collegiate church are announcing with joyous clang the arrival of Her Majesty’s Judge of Assize. Before many days have passed another bell in the same town will tell with solemn toll of the short shrift given by him to a pinioned culprit, the only mourner in his own funeral procession.