prisons, where prisoners suffer terribly from the summer sun beating
upon their flat roofs.
Among the sculptures found here were the Barberini Faun, now at Munich,
the Dancing Faun, at Florence, and the Bust of Hadrian at the Vatican.
The sepulchral inscriptions of the Antonines existed till 1572, when
they were cut up by Gregory XIII. (Buoncompagni), and the marble used
to decorate a chapel in St. Peter’s! The magnificent easter display of
fireworks (from an idea of Michael Angelo, carried out by Bernini),
called the girandola, used to be exhibited here, but now takes place
at S. Pietro in Montorio, or from the Pincio. From 1849 to 1870, the
Castle was occupied by French troops, and their banner floated here,
except on great festivals, when it was exchanged for that of the pope.
Running behind and crossing the back streets of the Borgo, is the
covered passage intended for the escape of the popes to the Castle.
It was used by Alexander VI. when invaded by Charles VIII. in 1494,
and twice by Clement VII. (Giulio de’ Medici), who fled, in 1527, from
Moncada, viceroy of Naples, and in May, 1527, during the terrible sack
of Rome by the troops of the Constable de Bourbon.
“The Escape” consists of two passages; the upper open like a loggia,
the lower covered, and only lighted by loop-holes. The keys of both are
kept by the pope himself.
S. Angelo is at the entrance of the Borgo, promised at the Italian
invasion of September, 1870, as the sanctuary of the papacy, the
tiny sovereignty where the temporal sway of the popes should remain
undisturbed,--the sole relic left to them of all their ancient
dominions.
SALISBURY CATHEDRAL
W. J. LOFTIE
Salisbury Cathedral, from the point of view of the architectural
artist, is the most beautiful and the most perfect in England. The
visitor who sees it first on a bright day, can never forget the
impression it has made on his mind. Unlike the architects of the
so-called “Great Gothic Revival,” the builders of Salisbury put their
trust in proportion. Incidentally they made their details as elaborate
and perfect as possible; but they were subordinated to the general
effect, and when during the frightful ravages of the “restorers,” let
loose upon the church in the past and present centuries, many of the
best and most precious of these details and ornaments perished or were
renewed, the main building survives, raising its exquisitely graceful
spire into the blue sky, its thousand pinnacles all pointing upward and
gleaming white against the deep green of the old trees and the emerald
turf of the surrounding close. “How long,” asked an American visitor,
“does it take to grow such turf?” “Oh! not long,” was the reply; “only
a couple of centuries.” One feels at Salisbury that whether the answer
was given there or at Oxford, of no place could it be more true. Though
when we look near enough, we can see that fresh and white as is the
general effect, the masonry of Salisbury is of great antiquity,
except, of course, where it has been restored; and antiquity adds
another charm, for Salisbury was the first complete cathedral built
after the Romanesque tradition had died out, as St. Paul’s is the
first built after it had been revived. In other cathedrals there are
portions and fragments of the same style, and they are always the most
beautiful features of the whole building. We can recall the western
porch at Ely, and the angel choir at Lincoln, and the Chapter-house at
Southwell; but here at Salisbury, we have the whole vast cathedral,
all in the same supreme style, every part fitting into its place, and
adding its contribution to the general effect, never in contrast, but
always in harmony until the effect is attained. What that is may be
read in countless books of travel or criticism. Salisbury cathedral,
like the Parthenon and all the other--there are not many--buildings
which tempt one to call them poems in stone--produces a different
feeling in the minds of all who see it. I am not going to add another
to the descriptions of the view. On the contrary, I am going about
the prosaic task of trying to find out to what circumstances its
beauty is due, and why the name of Richard Poore is honoured among
lovers of good architecture with that of Christopher Wren, no other
Englishman being worthy to make a third. The chief points to be noted
about Salisbury are these. The effect does not in any way depend upon
ornamental details. This may be proved by two examples taken from the
building. The west front was greatly injured at different times, its
carving broken, and its figures defaced. The carving has been copied
and “restored,” and new figures have replaced the old. The front is
now neat and spick and span, but the general effect is in no wise
improved, but rather deteriorated, by having its antiquity destroyed.
It is the same with the chromatic decoration of the interior, and with
the “improvement” of the Chapter-house. The painting on the roof tends
to lower it; the gaudy, shiny aspect of the Chapter-house goes far to
spoil, if it could spoil, the exquisite design and subtle proportions.
[Illustration: SALISBURY CATHEDRAL, ENGLAND.]
Another point to be noticed is this: Salisbury does not owe its beauty
to size, nor yet altogether to the style in which it is built. This is
easily proved. The great French cathedral of Amiens exceeds Salisbury
in all its dimensions, and was built, allowing for the difference
between France and England, in the self-same style. Both are examples
of First Pointed, and Amiens is, according to Fergusson, at least
twice as large in its cubic contents. “The French church covers 71,000
square feet, the English only 55,000. The vault of the first is one
hundred and fifty-two feet in height, the latter only eighty-five.”
There is still a more remarkable difference between the central spires
of the two churches. That of Amiens rises to a height of 422 feet;
that of Salisbury, the tallest in England, only to 404. Yet the great
height of the roof at Amiens robs its spire of any preponderance it
might otherwise boast, and leaves the comparatively small steeple of
Salisbury a feature of grandeur and beauty only approached by the still
lower dome of St. Paul’s, which rises at its highest part, the cross,
to 365 feet above the ground level.
It will be seen, therefore, that Salisbury owes its effect to something
beyond ornament or size. The extraordinary order and regularity of
the masonry may have something to say to it, although the stones, as
compared with what may be seen in Egypt, and elsewhere, are not very
large. But you can trace the same course all round the church and
the same stone, oolite from the quarry at Chilmark, has been used
throughout. This communicates a certain look of stability to the
structure, which is, in itself, more pleasing to the eye than any
amount of ornament out of place, or intended, as in modern Gothic, to
divert the eye from the poverty of the materials or the absence of
proportion. The proportions of Salisbury, like those of St. Paul’s, or
the Parthenon, are calculated to give the building its full measure of
beauty, without anything extraneous.
That Salisbury should have this unity of age and design is owing to a
curious fact in the history of the place. The “bishop’s stool” had been
upon the bleak, chalk down which borders Salisbury Plain. The place was
really a castle whose fortifications are still visible; the cathedral
within the walls must have been Norman in design, to judge in dry
seasons from the marks still visible among the grassy mounds, and from
fragments of carved stone built into the wall or cross. Mr. Walcott
gives its dimensions as follows: “A nave one hundred and fifty feet
by seventy-two feet, a transept one hundred and fifty feet by sixty
feet, and a choir sixty feet in length, in all two hundred and seventy
feet.” The situation was in every way inconvenient, having been chosen
for security not comfort. After the King took the fort and filled it
with his own soldiers, a governor superseding the bishop, the position
of the ecclesiastics became unendurable. The inhabitants in times of
comparative peace and security migrated to the rich pastures by the
Avon and the Bourne below, while cold winds in winter, and a scarcity
of water in summer, finally determined Bishop Poore and his canons, for
Sarum was a church of the old foundation, to seek a better country. The
old legend says that the site of the new cathedral was determined by
the fall of an arrow in Merrifield (or more likely Mirifield), shot by
a stalwart archer from the ramparts. The church was raised in a green
vale, surrounded by the downs. Pepys, in describing his journey from
Hungerford says, “So, all over the Plain by the sight of the steeple,
the Plain high and low; to Salisbury by night.”
“Of the cathedral,” Pepys remarks that it is “most admirable; as big,
I think, and handsomer than Westminster, and a most large close about
it.” Pepys’ comparison of Westminster and Salisbury is a very just
one; both were built in the then new First Pointed style, but there
is no doubt about the superiority of Salisbury in either design or
completeness.
In the close, which occupies an extent of half a square mile, there
are three gates, the South or Harnham, the East or St. Anne’s, and the
North or Close Gate, built about 1327. The ground-plan of the church
embraces a nave of ten bays, with aisles; a northern porch; a main and
a choir transept of four and three bays each; to the east a choir and
presbytery, each of three bays, and the so-called Lady Chapel, all
having aisles. The cloister is on the south side, and to eastwards of
the cloister is the Chapter-house. An octangular canon’s vestry and
muniment room is to the south of the south-east transept. The pyramidal
disposition of the leading lines is very observable from certain
points of view. It is the only ancient cathedral in England begun and
finished on a uniform plan and in one style. The foundations were laid
under Bishop Poore, on the Feast of St. Vitalis (April 28), 1220, and
it was built by Elias of Dereham, clerk of the works, and by Nicholas
of Portland, and Richard of Farleigh, his successors, the last named
completing the spire in 1375. The Beauchamp and Hungerford Chapels,
both subsequently removed, were built in the Lady Chapel in the
Fifteenth Century. Bishop Audley’s Chantry in the choir was built in
1502. In the close, near the north aisle of the nave, as at Chichester,
was the Clochard or Campanile. There are several points of resemblance,
of which this is one, between Chichester and Salisbury. This
bell-tower was taken down in “cold blood” as we may say, or by way of
“restoration” in 1799. About the same time Wyatt made many structural
and other alterations, which are detailed with undisguised approbation
by contemporary writers. Dodsworth gives particulars received from
Wyatt himself. They are in form and language, and, I may add, conceit,
so like what the “restorer” of to-day uses of a building which he has
done his best to ruin, and are besides so interesting, historically,
that I am tempted to quote some sentences. Wyatt was first let loose
on Salisbury about 1789. He went to work without a doubt or a scruple.
The Hungerford and Beauchamp Chapels were “defects.” He “expressed his
astonishment at the temerity of their builders. They were destroyed,
though the consent of their owners had to be obtained first. Their
fragments were used in the alterations, some in the organ screen,
some in the choir. The walls and buttresses of the Lady Chapel were
restored, the windows brought to their proper level, the seats which
disfigured it removed, and the pavement was raised a few inches to give
an ascent from the choir.” The phrase “proper level” is good. Then came
almost the worst of Wyatt’s “restorations.” It was found “necessary”
to remove several monuments. New sites were prepared--the result being
what we now see in the nave, where the mixture of the fragments of
one monument with the ruins of another of a different period has not
even the merit of being picturesque. The tomb ascribed traditionally
to Bishop Poore and nine others were destroyed, portions being neatly
arranged as in a kind of museum “along the plinth between the series
of pillars on each side of the nave.” Two small porches, one at the
north end of the great transept, and the other on the south side, near
the Lady Chapel, “were considered as neither adding to the beauty, nor
to the convenience of the building. They were accordingly taken down.”
The “accordingly” is another happy expression. We might be reading a
report of Sir G. Scott, or Mr. Pearson, or Mr. Butterfield. Yet this
was written close on a hundred years ago. A very interesting series
of paintings, representing the months or the Zodiac, were on some of
the eastern bays of vaulting. They were highly admired, we are told, by
those “regard the mere antiquity of an object as a sufficient title to
admiration.” These are precisely the words used lately by an architect
about the north transept of Westminster Abbey. Wyatt promptly wiped
off the traces of these decorations, and “judiciously coloured the
arches and ribs of the choir like the original stone. As the Campanile
intercepted the most striking view of the structure it was taken down.”
When we enter by the west door the first view is hardly so striking as
the first view of the exterior. A closer examination and a comparison
with other cathedrals shows how far Salisbury is in advance of
everything else of its kind. The exquisite lightness and delicate
proportions of the steeple are equally apparent in the nave and its
aisles, the slender columns, the pointed arches, the light triforium,
the lancets of the clerestory, and the soaring vault. The same
“order,” as the classical architect would say, is practically carried
round the church. As we advance eastward, and reach the crossing
of the transepts, we observe the curious four centred buttressing
arches erected by Bishop Wayte, 1415, to increase the supports of the
tower. Similar precautions are seen in Canterbury, Hereford and Wells
Cathedrals. Under the tower is a brass plate in the pavement which
was placed here in 1737, and marks the fact that the spire inclines
twenty-two and a half inches to the south-west. This inclination,
which is perfectly visible on the outside, was first calculated by
Sir Christopher Wren, who put iron “bandages” round the masonry, and
made other repairs. No increase of the deflection has been observed
since his time, although the spire was struck by lightning in 1741. The
choir screen is by Skidmore. The organ is divided. Some ancient glass
may be seen in the triplet windows at the ends of the transepts. The
altar stood to the eastward of the second or choir transept, and some
parts of the old stalls are still to be seen, but almost everything
in this part of the church is new. The Audley chantry (1524), in the
latest style of Gothic, is on the north side. There are some remains
of the very curious and interesting if not unique iron chantry of Lord
Hungerford, formerly in the Lady Chapel, made into a kind of pew or
cage, about a hundred years ago, by the heirs of the family when Wyatt
destroyed it. A somewhat similar example, or part of one, the Chantry
of Edward IV. in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor, has already been
“restored” away.
The Lady Chapel is probably not correctly described by that name. The
whole church is dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. It is perhaps more
correctly called Trinity Chapel. Here the colouring, modern, of the
roof, and other amendments and improvements made and suggested by
Scott, for the most part, though Clutton also showed himself a worthy
successor of Wyatt, are exceedingly offensive.
The cloisters are entered from the south-western transept. They are
slightly later, in the same style as the church, but were evidently
not built till it was finished. In churches of the old foundation
cloisters were an ornament, a luxury, and not a necessity, as at
Canterbury or Gloucester, where they were needed for the use of the
monks. The cloisters of Salisbury are the largest in England, each walk
being, within, 181 feet long, or from wall to wall, without, 195 feet.
Over the east walk is a fine Library, containing many illuminated and
other manuscripts, including some early liturgies.
THE CASTLE OF ANGERS
HENRI JOUIN
On the 7th of September, 1661, as night was falling, a company of
musketeers crossed the drawbridge of the Castle of Angers. Scarcely had
they entered the fortress when these musketeers expelled the garrison.
This was the King’s order. A sub-lieutenant commanded these men: it
was d’Artagnan. A prisoner had been confided to him: this was Nicholas
Fouquet. The superintendent’s servant, La Vallée, and his physician,
Pecquet, taking pity upon Fouquet, who was the prey of a quartan
fever, obtained leave to share his captivity. The Castle then had shut
within it three prisoners, who were subjected to the most rigorous
treatment. We know by the official account of Fouquet’s detention that
the bed in which he had to sleep on the 7th of September “was not of
the cleanest.” Now for the rest, d’Artagnan, and his two officers,
Saint Mars and Saint Leger, maintained an extreme reserve towards their
guests. There is no news from outside. Pecquet, before leaving Nantes,
had, it is true, fortuitously met Gourville. It was from him that
Pecquet got the news of the arrest of Pellisson and the exile of Madame
Fouquet. Sorrowful presage! The accused one began first of all to
prepare his defence. He wrote several memoirs, but at the end of a few
days, writing was prohibited. The president of Chalain, suspected of
having wished to bribe a musketeer was also apprehended to be conducted
to the Bastille. Louis XIV., Colbert, Le Tellier, and Séguier kept
their eyes fixed on Angers. Fouquet lived there until the first of
December, having no other pastime between his two attacks of fever than
to contemplate with a melancholy look “_la fillette du Roi_.” This
was the name by which they designated an iron cage, in which, according
to legend, a queen of Sicily had been shut up by her husband “for
having built the church of Saint-Maurice at Angers too magnificently.”
This legend was not calculated to reassure the Superintendent. He knew
that he was accused precisely of having used the money of the Treasury
to build Vaux-le-Vicomte, the magnificence of which had offended the
King. If, through misfortune, the thought of keeping him under such
good guard, between these bars, had entered the heads of his enemies,
of what advantage was the little bit of liberty that he still enjoyed?
Moreover, he was not unaware of the refinements of cruelty that had
been practiced for the past two centuries upon the prisoners of State.
The “_fillette du Roi_,” made at the order of Louis XI., had not
been empty at any period. Had not Cardinal Balue, bishop of Angers,
known this instrument of torture at the _Château d’Onzain_, near
Blois? Fouquet might well be afraid, for there entered perhaps far more
passion than justice in his disgrace. They did not go so far, however,
as to put him in a cage. The vigilance and the loyalty of d’Artagnan,
and the thickness of the walls of the Castle seemed to Fouquet’s
enemies, a sufficient safeguard against all danger of his escape. What
is then the Castle of Angers?
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF ANGERS, FRANCE.]
Péan de la Tuilerie--the _d’Argenville angevin_--comes to tell us.
“The Castle is at one of the extremities of the city, on a rock, and
surrounded with deep moats, cut in the rock, which is an escarpment on
the bank of a river that flows at its base, and from which they lift,
by means of a very convenient machine, all the munitions which are
necessary. It is of a triangular form, all built of slate and flanked
by eighteen round towers and a crescent, which is the gate of the
faubourg.”
Péan de la Tuilerie wrote in 1778. His description is still very nearly
exact. To speak the truth, this military post forms less of a triangle
than a pentagon, but the appearance of the Castle remains what it was
in the last century. The girdle of moats has been, however, a little
changed. The Maine rolls no longer beneath its towers. It is not, as
you will readily believe, that the course of the river has been turned.
To change the position of the fortress would have been difficult.
They considered it simpler to fill up the canal. Some factories, some
counting-houses, and some private dwellings occupy the place of the
moat, and the traveller seeks vainly at the present moment for that
“very convenient machine,” of which Péan speaks. Moreover, it would be
useless. The Castle has no more need of munitions. English, Bretons
and Normans have left it. Their attacks are ended. Angers ignores
to-day those savage incursions and perpetual threats, which for several
centuries, troubling its repose, kept its independence in check. Then
the Castle had to sustain repeated sieges. The silence that envelops it
has grown out of the clank of arms and the cries of the combatants, who
many times made this stone colossus tremble to its very foundations.
Ah! the noble rampart of the city! Its great days and its glorious
past, haunt my memory.
Who chose its site? Count Eudes, under the royal approbation of Charles
the Bald. The Plantagenets seem to have embellished and fortified the
north turret of the building, but it is to Louis IX. that the primitive
castle is indebted to its transformation into a military post. Its
imposing towers, firmly planted on their bases of schist, are the work
of Louis IX. Its large canals hollowed out of the slate date from
the last years of the Fifteenth Century. They give character to the
citadel. You judge it most impregnable in measuring the depth of its
moats with your eye; but how many times had the enemy been repulsed by
the rain of projectiles thrown from the Castle?
In 1444, the English approached the city. They ravaged the country
mercilessly, and pillaged and ruined according to their good pleasure.
The army encamped near the fortress, intending to open the siege on
the following day. On the following day the English troops took their
departure. What could have been the cause of their retreat? One of
the English chiefs was hit in the forehead by a shot and instantly
killed. This occasioned such confusion that the assailants fled. An
artilleryman thus saved the city.
The Fifteenth Century was, moreover, the great epoch for the Castle
of Angers. Louis XI., profound politician and crafty of action,
meditated upon uniting the Duchy of Anjou to the crown of France.
This was shown on two occasions. The second time, the Prince being at
war with Bretagne had levied previously upon the city of Angers for
subsidies for his troops. He came again. Behnard Guillaume Cerizay,
his secretary, and three chamberlains entered Angers. They convoked
and consulted with the notables. At this time _plébiscites_ were
unknown. People did not have the character to defend their rights and
their interests. They were minors. But if the Angevin populace could
have spoken, it would not have spoken better than its representatives.
The notables chose for France. “The assembly,” wrote M. Port, “through
the voice of the Chancellor of Anjou, pledged its faith to the King.
On the following day, Louis XI. had come to the Castle offering
a favourable reply to all requests, granting to the most zealous
petitions leave to have a house in the city.” The Castle in which this
act of submission to the King of France took place, was formerly the
property of the Duc d’Anjou, who was at the same time Count of Provence
and King of Sicily, René, son of Yolande, poet, amateur, bibliophile,
collector, and patron of poets, sculptors, goldsmiths, tapestry-workers
and illuminators who filled his court,
“_René le prince populaire,
Doux artiste aux yeux éblouis
Des peintres que, pour lui plaire
Lui fait offrir le roi Louis._”