Except so far as concerns the dragon form of the head whose mouth was
supposed to be the gates of Hell, the idea appears to be entirely
Christian. "Christ's descent into Hell" was a favourite subject of Mystery
plays. In the Coventry pageant the "book of words" contained but six
verses, in which Hell is styled the "cindery cell." The Chester play is
much longer, and is drawn from the Apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus. This
gospel, which has a version in Anglo-Saxon of A.D. 950, is no doubt the
source from which is derived a prevalent form of Hell's Mouth in which
Christ is represented holding the hand of one of the persons engulped in
the infernal jaws. This is seen in a carving on the east window of
Dorchester Abbey.
The Mouth is here scarcely that of a dragon, but that of an exceedingly
well-studied serpent; for intent and powerful malignity the expression of
this fine stone carving would be difficult to surpass. The Descent into
Hell is one of a series, on the same window, of incidents in the life of
Christ; all are exceedingly quaint, but their distance from the ground
improves them in a more than ordinary degree, and their earnest intention
prevails over their accidental grotesqueness. The beautiful curves in this
viperous head are well worthy of notice in connection with the remarks
upon the artistic qualities of Gothic grotesques.
[Illustration: HELL'S MOUTH, DORCHESTER, OXON.]
The verse of the Gospel (xix., 12), explains who the person is. "And [the
Lord] taking hold of Adam by his right hand he ascended from hell and all
the saints of God followed him." The female figure is of course Eve, who
is shewn with Adam in engravings of the subject by Albert Durer (1512,
etc.,) and others. The vision of Piers Ploughman (_circa_ 1362), has
particular mention of Adam and Eve among Satan's captive colony. Satan, on
hearing the order of a voice to open the gates of Hell, exclaims:--
"Yf he reve me of my ryght he robbeth me by mastrie,
For by ryght and reson the reukes [rooks] that be on here
Body and soul beth myne both good and ille
For he hyms-self hit seide that Syre is of Helle,
That Adam and Eve and al hus issue
Sholden deye with deol [should die with grief] and here dwell evere
Yf thei touchede a tree othr toke ther of an appel."
A MS. volume in the British Museum, of poems written in the thirty-fourth
year of the reign of Henry VI., has "Our Lady's Song of the Chyld that
soked hyr brest," in which other persons than Adam and Eve are stated to
have been taken out of hell on the same occasion:--
"Adam and Eve wyth hym he take,
Kyng David, Moyses and Salamon
And haryed hell every noke,
Wythyn hyt left he soulys non."
The belief in the descent in Hell can be traced back to the second
century. The form of Hell as a mouth is much later.
There is mention of a certain "Mouth of Hell," which in 1437 was used in a
Passion play in the plain of Veximiel; this Mouth was reported as very
well done, for it opened and shut when the devils required to pass in or
out, and it had two large eyes of steel.
The great east window of York Cathedral, the west front and south doorway
of Lincoln, and the east side of the altar-screen, Beverley Minster, have
representations of the Mouth of Hell. The chancel arch of Southleigh has a
large early fresco of the subject, in which two angels, a good and a bad
(white and black), are gathering the people out of their graves; the black
spirit is plucking up certain bodies (or souls) with a flesh-hook, and his
companions are conveying them to the adjacent Mouth. In a Flemish Book of
Hours of the fifteenth century (in the Bodleian Library) there is a
representation with very minute details of all the usual adjuncts of the
Mouth, and, in addition, several basketsful of children (presumably the
unbaptized) brought in on the backs of wolf-like fiends, and on sledges, a
common mediaeval method of conveyance.
Sackvil mentions Hell as "an hideous hole" that--
"With ougly mouth and griesly jawes doth gape."
Further instances of Hell's Mouth are in the block of the Ludlow ale-wife
on a following page.
Satanic Representations.
[Illustration: WINCHESTER COLLEGE, _14th century_.]
Quaint as are the grotesques derived from the great symbolic Dragon, there
is another series of delineations of Evil, which are still more curious.
These are the representations of Evil which are to be regarded not so much
symbolic as personal. The constant presence of Satan and his satellites on
capital and corbel, arcade and misericorde, is to be explained by the
exceedingly strong belief in their active participation in mundane affairs
in robust physical shapes.
[Illustration: SATAN AND A SOUL, DORCHESTER, OXON.]
It would, perhaps, not seem improper to refer the class of carving
instanced by the three cuts, next following, to the Typhon myth. I think,
however, a distinction may be drawn between such carvings as represent
combat, and such as represent victimization; the former I would attribute
to the myth, the latter to the Christian idea of the torments consequent
on sin. At the same time, the victim-carving, generally easily disposed of
by styling it "Satan and a Soul," is undoubtedly largely influenced by
the myth-idea of Typhon (by whatever name known) as a _seizer_, as
indicated definitely in one of his general names, Graha. The figure was
naturally one according well with the mediaeval understanding of spiritual
punishment, and its varieties in carving are numerous enough to furnish an
adequate inferno. The Dorchester example is a small boss in the groined
ceiling of the sedilia of celebrants; that at Ewelme is a weather-worn
parapet-ornament on the south of the choir; the carving at Farnsham is on
a misericorde.
[Illustration: SATAN AND A SOUL, EWELME, OXON.]
Not entirely, though in some degree, the two next illustrations support
the theory, of punishment rather than conflict, for the others.
[Illustration: REMORSE, YORK.]
The carving in York Cathedral is of a graceful type; there is one closely
resembling it at Wells. The Glasgow sketch is from the drawing of a
fragment of the cathedral; it is more vivid and ludicrous than the other.
A comparison of these two affords a good idea of the excellent in Gothic
ornament. The Glasgow carving lacks everything but vigor; the York
production, though no exceptional example, has vigor, poetry, and grace.
We will now revert to the more personal and "human" aspect of Satan.
[Illustration: REMORSE, GLASGOW.]
A writer[4] in the _Art Journal_ some years ago offered excellent general
observations upon the ideas of the Evil One found at various periods. He
pointed out that the frolicsome character of the mediaeval demon was
imparted by Christianity, with its forbidden Satan coming into contact
with the popular belief in hobgoblins and fairies which were common in the
old heathen belief of this island, and so the sterner teaching was tinged
by more popular fancies.
There is much truth in this, except that for the hobgoblins and fairies we
may very well read ancient deities, for the ultimate effect of
Christianity upon Pagan reverence was to turn it into contempt and
abhorrence for good and bad deities alike. We can read this in the slender
records of ancient worships whose traces are left in language. Thus _Bo_
is apparently one of the ancient root-words implying divinity; _Bod_, the
goddess of fecundity; _Boivani_, goddess of destruction; _Bolay_, the
giant who overcame heaven, earth and hell; _Bouders_, or _Boudons_, the
genii guarding Shiva, and _Boroon_, a sea-god, are in Indian mythology.
_Bossum_ is a good deity of Africa. _Borvo_ and _Bormania_ were guardians
of hot springs, and with _Bouljanus_ were gods of old Gaul. _Borr_ was
the father of Odin, and _Bure_ was Borr's sister. The _Bo_-tree of
India is the sacred tree of wisdom. In Sumatra _boo_ is a root-word
meaning good (as in _booroo_). _Bog_ is the Slavonic for god. These are
given to shew a probable connection among wide-spread worships.
[Illustration: SATAN AND A SOUL, DORCHESTER.]
We are now chiefly concerned with the last instance. The Slavonic _Bog_, a
god, is met in Saxon as a goblin, for the "boy" who came into the court of
King Arthur and laid his wand upon a boar's head was clearly a "bog" (the
Saxon _g_ being exchanged erroneously for _y_, as in _dag's aeg_, day's
eye, etc). In Welsh, similarly, _Brog_ is a goblin, and we have the evil
idea in _bug_.
"Warwick was a bug that feared us all."
--_Shakespeare. Henry IV., v., 2._
That is "Warwick was a goblin that made us all afraid." The Boggart is a
fairy still believed in by Staffordshire peasants. We have yet _bugbear_,
as the Russians have _Buka_, and the Italians _Buggaboo_, of similar
meaning.
As with the barbaric gods, so with the classic deities, who equally
supplied material of which to make foul fiends. Bacchus, with the legs and
sprouting horns of a goat, that haunter of vine-yards, then his fauns
constructed on the same symbolic principle, gave rise to the satyrs.
These, offering in their form disreputable points for reprobation, were
found to be a sufficiently appropriate symbol of the Devil. The reasons of
variety in the satyr figure are not far to seek, beyond the constant
tendency of the mediaeval artist to vary form while preserving essence.
Every artist had his idea of the devil, either drawn from the rich depths
of a Gothic imagination, from the descriptions accumulated by popular
credulity, and most of all from that result of both--the Devil of the
Mystery or Miracle Plays.
The plays were performed by trade gilds. Every town had many of these
gilds, though several would sometimes join at the plays; and even very
small villages had both gild and plays. There are yet existing some slight
traces of the reputation which obscure villages had in their own vicinity
for their plays, of which Christmas mumming contains the last tattered
relic. So that, the Devil being a favourite character in the pieces so
widely performed, it is not surprising to find him equally at home among
the works of the carvers, who, according to the nature of artists of all
time, would doubtless holiday it with the best, and look with more or less
appreciation upon such drama as was set before them.
Where we see Satan as the satyr, he is the rollicking fiend of the Mystery
stage, tempting with sly good-humour, tormenting with a grim and ferocious
joy, or often merely posturing and capering in a much to be envied height
of the wildest animal spirits. There is in popular art no trace, so far as
the writer's observation extends, of that lofty sorrow at man's
unworthiness, which has occasionally been attributed to Satan.
The general feeling is that indicated by the semi-contemptuous epithets
applied to the satyr-idea of "Auld Clootie" (cloven-footed), and "Auld
Hornie," of our Northern brethren.
[Illustration: A MAN-GOAT, ALL SOULS, OXFORD.]
Horns were among all ancient nations symbolic of power and dignity.
Ancient coinages shew the heads of kings and deities thus adorned. The
Goths wore horns. Alexander frequently wore an actual horn to indicate his
presumption of divine descent. The head dress of priests was horned on
this account. This may point to a pre-historic period when the horned
animals were not so much of a prey as we find them in later days; thus the
aurochs of Western Europe appears to have been more dreaded by the wild
men of its time, than has been, say, the now fast-disappearing bison by
the North American Indians. On the other hand, the marvellous continuity
of nature's designs lead us to recognize that the carnivorous animals must
always have had the right to be the symbols of physical power. Therefore,
the idea of power, originally conveyed by the horns, is that carried by
the possession of riches in the shape of flocks and herds. The pecunia
were the means of power, and their horns the symbol of it. With the
Egyptians, the ox signified agriculture and subsistence. Pharaoh saw the
kine coming out of the Nile because the fertility of Egypt depends upon
that river. So that it is easy to see how the ox became the figure of the
sun, and of life. Similar significance attached to the sheep, the goat,
and the ram. Horus is met as "Orus, the Shepherd." Ammon wore the horns of
a ram. Mendes was worshipped as a goat.
[Illustration: A CHERISHED BEARD, CHICHESTER.]
The goat characteristics are well carved on a seat in All Souls. A goat
figure of the thirteenth century at Chichester has the head of a man with
a curious twisted or tied beard, clutched by one of the hands in which the
fore feet terminate. The clutching of the beard is not uncommon among
Gothic figures, and has doubtless some original on a coin, or other
ancient standard design. At St. Helen's, Abingdon, Berkshire, in different
parts of the church, three heads, one being a king, another a bishop, are
shewn grasping or stroking each his own beard. It is to be remembered that
the stroking of the beard is a well-known Eastern habit.
Of close kindred to the goat form is the bull form. Just as Ceres
symbolized the fecundity of the earth in the matter of cereals, so Pan was
the emblem by which was figured its productiveness of animal life. Thus
Priapus was rendered in goat form, as the ready type of animal sexual
vigor; but not less familiar in this connection was the bull, and that
animal also symbolizes Pan, who became, when superstition grew out of
imagery, the protector of cattle in general. An old English superstition
was that a piece of horn, hung to the stable or cowhouse key, would
protect the animals from night-fright and other ills. When the pagan Gods
were skilfully turned into Christian devils, we find the bull equally with
the goat as a Satanic form, and several examples will be seen in the
drawings.
The ox, as the symbol of St. Luke, is stated to refer, on account of its
cud-chewing, to the eclectic character of this evangelist's gospel.
Irenaeus, speaking of the second cherubim of the Revelation, which is the
same animal, says the calf signifies the sacerdotal office of Christ; but
the fanciful symbolisms of the fathers and of the Bestiaries are often
indifferent guides to original meaning. It may be that in the ox forms we
have astronomical allusions to Taurus, Bacchus, to Diana, or to Pan. A
note on the emblems of the Evangelists follows in the remarks on the
combinatory forms met in grotesque art.
Before passing on to consider particular examples of satyr or bull-form
fiends, a few words may be said as to another form which, though allied to
the dragon-shape embodiments, has the personal character. This is the
Serpent. The origin of this appears to be the translation of the word
_Nachasch_ for serpent in the Biblical account of the momentous Eden
episode, a rendering which, without philological certainty, is
countenanced by the general presence of the serpent in one form or another
in every system of theology in the world. Jewish tradition states that the
serpent, with beauty of form and power of flight, had no speech, until in
the presence of Eve he ate of the fruit of the Tree, and so acquired
speech, immediately using the gift to tempt Eve. Other traditions say that
Nachasch was a camel, and became a serpent by the curse. Adam Clarke
maintained that Nachasch was a monkey. The traditional and mystic form of
the angels was that of a serpent. _Seraph_ means a fiery serpent. In
Isaiah's vision, the seraphim are human-headed serpents. One of the most
remarkable items in the history of worship is the account of the symbolic
serpent erected by Moses, and the subsequent use of it as an idol until
the time of Hezekiah. In the first satire of Perseus, he says, "paint two
snakes, the place is sacred!"
[Illustration: THE SERPENT, ELY.]
The use of the serpent as the Church symbol of regeneration and revival of
health or life is not common in carvings. In these senses it was used by
the Greeks, though chiefly as the symbol of the Supreme Intellect, being
the special attribute and co-type of Minerva. The personal apparition
which confronted Eve is not so infrequent, though without much variety.
In a representation of the temptation of Adam and Eve among the
misericordes of Ely, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is shewn
of a very peculiar shape. The serpent, whose coils are difficult to
distinguish from the foliage of the tree, has the head of a saturnine
Asiatic, who is taking the least possible notice of "our first parents,"
as they stand eating apples and being ashamed, one on each side of the
composition.
[Illustration: THE OLD SERPENT, CHICHESTER. _13th century._]
A carving in the choir of Chichester Cathedral shews in a double
repetition, one half of which is here shewn, the evil head with an attempt
at the legendary comeliness, mingled with debased traits, that is
artistically very creditable to the sculptor. As though dissatisfied with
the amount of beauty he had succeeded in imparting to the heads on the
serpents, he adds, on the side-pieces of the carving, two other heads of
females in eastern head-dresses, to which he has imparted a demure Dutch
beauty, due perhaps to his own nationality. Human-headed serpents are in
carvings at Norwich and at Bridge, Kent.
[Illustration: DEMURENESS MEDITATING MISCHIEF. DEUTCHO-EGYPTIAN MASK,
CHICHESTER.]
With regard to Satan's status as an angel, a considerable number of
representations of him are to be found, in which he conforms to a
prevalent mediaeval idea as to the plumage of the spirit race. Angels are
found clothed entirely with feathers, as repeated some scores of times in
the memorial chapel, at Ewelme, of Alice, Duchess of Suffolk,
grand-daughter of Chaucer, who died in 1475. The annexed block shews a
small archangel which surmounts the font canopy, and is of the same
character as the chapel angels. At All Souls, Oxford, is a carving of a
warrior-visaged person wearing a morion, and armed with a falchion and
buckler. He is clad in feathers only, appearing to be flying downward, and
is either a representation of St. Michael or Lucifer.
[Illustration: ANGEL, EWELME.]
[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL, ALL SOULS, OXFORD.]
Satan is often similarly treated. Loki, the tempter of the Scandinavian
Eden, who was ordered to seek the lost Idun he had deceived, had to go
forth clad in borrowed garments of falcon's feathers with wings. When the
pageant at the Setting of the Midsummer Watch at Chester was forbidden by
the Mayor, in 1599, one of the prohibited figures was "the Devil and his
Feathers."
There may be a connection between the final punishment of Loki and the
idea embodied in the carvings mentioned above as being at, among other
places, Wells, York, and Glasgow, and which have been considered as
conceptions of Remorse. Loki was condemned to be fastened to a rock to
helplessly endure the eternal dropping upon his brow of poison from the
jaws of a serpent; only that there is neither in these carvings, nor any
others noted to the present, any indication of the presence of the
ministering woman-spirit who for even the fiend Loki stood by to catch the
death-drops in a cup of mercy.
The Devil and the Vices.
[Illustration: RECORDING IMP. ST. KATHERINE'S, REGENT'S PARK. (_Initial
added_).]
Having examined the various lower forms given by man to his great enemy,
and now noting that to such forms may be added the human figure in whole
or part, we will next take in review a few of the sins which bring erring
humanity into the clutches of Satan; for we find some of the most
grotesque of antique carvings devoted to representation of what may be
called the finale of the Sinner's Progress. These are probably largely
derived from the Mystery Plays; for the moral teaching has the same direct
soundness. The ideas are often jocosely put, but the principle is one of
mere retribution. The Devil cannot hurt the Saint and he pays out to the
Wicked the exact price of his wrong-doing. Thus in nearly all of what may
be termed the Sin series there is a Recording Imp who bears a tablet or
scroll, on which we are to suppose the evil commissions and omissions of
the sinner are duly entered, entitling the fiend to take possession. This
reminds of the Egyptian Mercury, Thoth, who recorded upon his tablets the
actions of men, in order that at the Judgment there might be proper
evidence.
[Illustration: THE UNSEEN WITNESS, ELY.
The Account Presented. Satan Satisfied. The Record of Sin.]
There is a series of carvings, examplified at Ely, New College, Oxford,
St. Katherine's (removed from near the Tower to the Regent's Park) and
Gayton, which have Satan encouraging or embracing two figures apparently
engaged in conversation. I have placed these among the Sins, for though no
very particular explanation is forthcoming as to the meaning of the group,
it is clear that the two human beings are engaged in some occupation
highly agreeable to the fiend. This evidently has a connection with the
monkish story told of St. Britius. One day, while St. Martin was saying
mass, Britius, who was officiating as deacon, saw the devil behind the
altar, writing on a slip of parchment "as long as a proctor's bill" the
sins which the congregation were then and there committing. The people,
both men and women, appear to have been doing many other things besides
listening to St. Martin, for the devil soon filled his scroll on both
sides. Thus far our carvings.
The story goes further, and states that the devil, having further sins to
record, but no further space on which to write them, attempted to stretch
the parchment with teeth and claws, which, however, broke the record, the
devil falling back against a wall. The story then betrays itself. Britius
laughed loudly, whereat St. Martin, highly displeased, demanded the
reason, when Britius told him what he had seen, which relation the other
saint accepted as being true.
This story is one of a class common among mediaeval pulpit anecdotes. It
cannot well be considered that the carvings arose from the story, nor the
story from the carvings. Probably both arose from something else,
accounting for the number of sinners being uniformly two, and for the
attitude of the fiend in each case being so similar. With regard to the
latter I must leave the matter as it is.
I venture, as to the signification of the two figures, to make a
suggestion to stand good until a better be found. In the Mystery Play
entitled the "Trial of Mary and Joseph" (Cotton MS., Pageant xiv.,
amplified out of the Apocryphal New Testament, _Protevan_, xi.), the story
runs that Mary and Joseph, particularly the former, are defamed by two
Slanderers. The Bishop sends his Summoner for the two accused persons, and
orders that they drink the water of vengeance "which is for trial," a kind
of miraculous ordeal by poison. Joseph drinks and is unhurt; Mary likewise
and is declared a pure maid in spite of facts. One of the Slanderers
declares that the drink has been changed because the Virgin was of the
High Priest's kindred, upon which the Slanderer is himself ordered to
drink what is left in the cup. Doing so he instantly becomes frantic. All
ask pardon of Mary for their suspicions, and, that being granted, the play
is ended.
Now the play commences with the meeting of the Two Slanderers. A brief
extract or two will shew their method.
1ST DETRACTOR.--To reyse blawthyr is al my lay,
Bakbyter is my brother of blood
Dede he ought come hethyr in al this day
Now wolde God that he were here,
And, by my trewth, I dare well say
That if we tweyn to gethyr apere
Mor slawndyr we t[w]o schal a rere
With in an howre thorwe outh this town,
Than evyr ther was this thouwsand yer,
Now, be my trewth, I have a sight
Evyn of my brother ... Welcome ...
2ND DETRACTOR.--I am ful glad we met this day.
1ST DETRACTOR.--Telle all these pepyl [the audience] what is yor name--
2ND DETRACTOR.--I am Bakbyter, that spyllyth all game,
Both hyd and known in many a place.
Then they fall to, and in terms of some wit and much freedom describe the
physical condition of she who was "calde mayd Mary."