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[Illustration: Kirkstall Abbey.]
The first page or frontispiece embellisment of the present Number of the
MIRROR illustrates one of the most recent triumphs of art; and the above
vignette is a fragment of the monastic splendour of the twelfth century.
Truly this is the _bathos_ of art. The plaster and paint of the
_Colosseum_ are scarcely dry, and half the work is in embryo;
whilst _Kirkstall_ is crumbling to dust, and reading us "sermons in
stones:" we may well say,
"Look here, upon this picture, and on this."
Kirkstall Abbey is situated a short distance from Leeds, in the West
Riding of Yorkshire. Its situation is one of the most picturesque that
the children of romance can wish for, being in a beautiful vale, watered
by the river Aire. It was of the Cistercian order, founded by Henry de
Lacy in 1157, and valued at the dissolution at 329l. 2s. 11d. Its rents
are now worth 10,253l. 6s. 8d. The gateway has been walled up, and
converted into a farm-house. The abbot's palace was on the south; the
roof of the aisle is entirely gone; places for six altars, three on each
side the high altar, appear by distinct chapels, but to what saints
dedicated is not easy, at this time, to discover. The length of the
church, from east to west, was 224 feet; the transept, from north to
south, 118 feet. The tower, built in the time of Henry VIII., remained
entire till January 27, 1779, when three sides of it were blown down,
and only the fourth remains. Part of an arched chamber, leading to the
cemetery, and part of the dormitory, still remain. On the ceiling of a
room in the gatehouse is inscribed,
Mille et Quingentos postquam compleverit Orbis
Tuq: et ter demos per sua signi Deus
Prima sauluteferi post cunabula Christi,
Cui datur omnium Honor, Gloria, Laus, et Amor.
The principal window is particularly admired as a rich specimen of
Gothic beauty, and a tourist, in 1818, says, "bids defiance to time
and tempest;" but in our engraving, which is of very recent date, the
details of the window will be sought for in vain. "Shrubs and trees,"
observes the same writer, "have found a footing in the crevices, and
branches from the walls shook in undulating monotony, and with a gloomy
and spiritual murmur, that spoke to the ear of time and events gone by,
and lost in oblivion and dilapidation. At the end, immediately beneath
the colossal window, grows an alder of considerable luxuriance, which,
added to the situation of every other object, brought Mr. Southey's
pathetic ballad of 'Mary the Maid of the Inn,' so forcibly before my
imagination,[5] that I involuntarily turned my eye to search for the
grave, where the murderers concealed their victim." He likewise tells
us of "the former garden of the monastery, still cultivated, and
exhibiting a fruitful appearance;" cells and cavities covered with
underwood; and his ascent to a gallery by a winding turret stair,
whence, says he, "the monks of Kirkstall feasted their eyes with all
that was charming in nature. It is said," adds he, "that a subterraneous
passage existed from hence to Eshelt Hall, a distance of some miles,
and that the entrance is yet traced."
[5] We ourselves remember the thrilling effect of our first reading
this ballad; especially while clambering over the ruins of
Brambletye House. Indeed, the incident of the ballad is of the
most sinking character, and it works on the stage with truly
melo-dramatic force, Perhaps, there is not a more interesting
picture than a solitary tree, tufted on a time-worn ruin; there
are a thousand associations in such a scene, which, to the
reflective mind, are dear as life's-blood, and as an artist
would say, they make a fine study.
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