tower, constructed, according to tradition, in the year one thousand,
on the plan of the architect Huevar, the inventor of algebra; it
was modified in its upper part after the expulsion of the Moors and
converted into a Christian bell-tower, yet it has always preserved its
Arabian air and has always been prouder of the vanished standard of the
conquered race than the Cross which the victors have placed upon it.
This monument produces a novel sensation: it makes you smile: it is as
enormous and imposing as an Egyptian pyramid and at the same time as
gay and graceful as a garden kiosk. It is a square brick tower of a
beautiful rose-colour, bare up to a certain height, and then ornamented
all the way up by little Moorish twin-windows displayed here and there
at haphazard and provided with little balconies which produce a very
pretty effect. Upon the story, where formerly a roof of various colours
rested, surmounted by an iron shaft which supported four enormous
golden balls, the Christian bell-tower rises in three stories; the
first containing the bells, the second enclosed by a balustrade, and
the third forming a kind of cupola on which turns, like a weather-vane,
a statue of gilt bronze representing Faith, holding a palm in one hand
and in the other a standard visible at a long distance from Seville,
and which, when touched by the sun, glitters like an enormous ruby
imbedded in the crown of a Titan king who rules the entire valley of
Andalusia with his glance.
_La Spagna_ (Florence, 1873).
WINDSOR CASTLE.
WILLIAM HEPWORTH DIXON.
A steep chalk bluff, starting from a river margin with the heave and
dominance of a tidal wave is Castle Hill, now crowned and mantled by
the Norman keep, the royal house, the chapel of St. George, and the
depending gardens, terraces, and slopes.
Trees beard the slope and tuft the ridge. Live waters curl and murmur
at the base. In front, low-lying meadows curtsey to the royal hill.
Outward, on the flanks, to east and west, run screens of elm and oak,
of beech and poplar; here, sinking into clough and dell: there mounting
up to smiling sward and wooded knoll. Far in the rear lie forest
glades, with walks and chases, losing themselves in distant heath and
holt. By the edges of dripping wells, which bear the names of queen and
saint, stand aged oaks, hoary with time and rich in legend: patriarchs
of the forest, wedded to the readers of all nations by immortal verse.
A gentle eminence, the Castle Hill springs from the bosom of a typical
English scene.
[Illustration: WINDSOR CASTLE.]
Crowning a verdant ridge, the Norman keep looks northward on a wide and
wooded level, stretching over many shires, tawny with corn and rye,
bright with abundant pasture, and the red and white of kine and sheep,
while here again the landscape is embrowned with groves and parks.
The stream curves softly past your feet, unconscious of the capital,
unruffled by the tide. Beyond the river bank lie open meadows, out of
which start up the pinnacles of Eton College, the Plantagenet school
and cloister, whence for twenty-one reigns the youth of England have
been trained for court and camp, the staff, the mitre, and the marble
chair. Free from these pinnacles, the eye is caught by darksome clump,
and antique tower, and distant height; each darksome clump a haunted
wood, each antique tower an elegy in stone, each distant height a
storied and romantic hill. That darksome clump is Burnham wood; this
antique tower is Stoke; yon distant heights are Hampstead Heath and
Richmond Park. Nearer to the eye stand Farnham Royal, Upton park, and
Langley Marsh; the homes of famous men, the sceneries of great events.
Swing round to east or south, and still the eye falls lovingly on
household spots. There, beyond Datchet ferry, stood the lodge of Edward
the Confessor, and around his dwelling spread the hunting-grounds of
Alfred and other Saxon kings. Yon islet in the Thames is Magna Charta
Island; while the open field, below the reach, is Runnymede.
The heights all round the Norman keep are capped with fame--one
hallowed by a saint, another crowned with song. Here is St. Leonard’s
hill; and yonder, rising over Runnymede, is Cooper’s hill. Saints,
poets, kings and queens, divide the royalties in almost equal shares.
St. George is hardly more a presence in the place than Chaucer and
Shakespeare. Sanctity and poetry are everywhere about us; in the royal
chapel, by the river-side, among the forest oaks, and even in the
tavern yards. Chaucer and Shakespeare have a part in Windsor hardly
less pronounced than that of Edward and Victoria, that of St. Leonard
and St. George.
Windsor was river born and river named. The stream is winding,
serpentine; the bank by which it rolls was called the “winding shore.”
The fact, common to all countries, gives a name which is common to all
languages. Snakes, dragons, serpentines, are names of winding rivers
in every latitude. There is a Snake river in Utah, another Snake river
in Oregon; there is a Drach river in France, another Drach river in
Switzerland. The straits between Paria and Trinidad is the Dragon’s
Mouth; the outfall of Lake Chiriqui is also the Dragon’s Mouth. In the
Morea, in Majorca, in Ionia, there are Dragons. There is a Serpent
islet off the Danube, and a Serpentaria in Sardinia. We have a modern
Serpentine in Hyde Park!
Windsor, born of that winding shore-line, found in after days her
natural patron in St. George.
With one exception, all the Castle builders were men and women of
English birth and English taste; Henry Beauclerc, Henry of Winchester,
Edward of Windsor, Edward of York, Henry the Seventh, Queen Elizabeth,
George the Fourth, and Queen Victoria; and these English builders
stamped an English spirit on every portion of the pile--excepting on
the Norman keep.
Ages before the Normans came to Windsor, a Saxon hunting-lodge had
been erected in the forest; not on the bleak and isolated crest of
hill, but by the river margin, on “the winding shore.” This Saxon lodge
lay hidden in the depths of ancient woods, away from any public road
and bridge. The King’s highway ran north, the Devil’s Causeway to the
south. The nearest ford was three miles up the stream, the nearest
bridge was five miles down the stream. A bridle-path, such as may
still be found in Spain or Sicily, led to that Saxon lodge; but here
this path was lost among the ferns and underwoods. No track led on
to other places. Free to the chase, yet severed from the world, that
hunting-lodge was like a nest. Old oaks and elms grew round about as
screens. Deep glades, with here and there a bubbling spring, extended
league on league, as far as Chertsey bridge and Guildford down. This
forest knew no tenants save the hart and boar, the chough and crow. An
air of privacy, and poetry, and romance, hung about this ancient forest
lodge.
Seeds of much legendary lore had been already sown. A builder of that
Saxon lodge had been imagined in a mythical king--Arthur of the Round
Table, Arthur of the blameless life--a legend which endures at Windsor
to the present day. There, Godwin, sitting at the king’s board, had met
his death, choked with the lie in his wicked throat. There, Edward the
Confessor had lisped his prayers, and cured the halt and blind. There,
too, the Saxon princes, Tosti and Harold, were supposed to have fought
in the king’s presence, lugging out each other’s locks, and hurling
each other to the ground. Of later growth were other legends; ranging
from the romance of the Fitz-Warines, through the Romaunt of the Rose,
down to the rhyme of King Edward and the Shepherd, the mystery of Herne
the Hunter, and the humours of the Merry Wives.
William the Conqueror preserved his Saxon hunting-lodge by the
river-side, but built his Norman keep on the Castle Hill--perhaps on
the ruins of a Celtic camp, certainly round the edges of a deep and
copious well.
Henry Beauclerc removed his dwelling from the river margin to the crest
of hill, building the First King’s House. This pile extended from the
Devil’s tower to the Watch tower, now renamed Victoria tower. A part of
Beauclerc’s edifice remains in massive walls of the Devil’s tower, and
a cutting through the chalk, sustained by Norman masonry, leading from
a shaft under the Queen’s apartment to the southern ditch.
Henry of Winchester, a man of higher genius as an architect, built
the Second King’s House, sweeping into his lines the lower ground,
which he covered by walls and towers, including Winchester tower, and
the whole curtain by Curfew tower and Salisbury tower, round to the
Lieutenant’s lodgings, now called Henry the Third’s tower. The Second
King’s House, long since ruined and removed, stood on the site of the
present cloisters. Much of Henry of Winchester’s work remains; in fact,
the circuit of the lower ward is mainly his, both walls and towers,
from the Devil’s tower, touching the upper ward, round to Curfew tower
in the north-west angle of the lower ward.
Edward of Windsor built the Third King’s House, fronting towards the
north, and gave the upper ward its final shape. On introducing a new
patron saint to Windsor, Edward removed his own lodging, and renounced
the lower ward entirely to the service of St. George. First came the
chapel of St. George; next came the College of St. George; then came
the Canons of St. George; lastly, came the Poor Knights of St. George.
The central ground was given up to the chapel, and the adjoining
quarter to the college. From Curfew tower to the Lieutenant’s lodgings,
all the ground was consecrated to the saint. The first tower, reckoning
from the south, became Garter House, the second Chancellor’s tower,
the third Garter tower, while the land within the walls was covered by
residences for the military knights. An area equal to the upper baily
was surrendered to his patron saint.
Edward of York rebuilt St. George’s Chapel on a larger scale; for
Edward of York had heavy sins to weigh him down, and pressing need for
saintly help.
Henry of Richmond roofed that chapel, built a “new tower” in the King’s
House, and made a fair causeway from Windsor to London--the first road
ever made between the castle and the capital.
Queen Elizabeth built the gallery which bears her name, and raised the
great terraces above the Thames. Before her time the scarp was rough
and steep: she built this solid wall, and laid this level road.
George the Fourth raised the Norman keep in height, flanked the park
entrance with another tower, opened St. George’s gate, buttressed the
North-east tower, and called his new edifice Brunswick tower.
Like Queen Elizabeth, Queen Victoria has devoted her attention rather
to the slopes and gardens than the structure; but the few additions of
her reign have been effected with a proper reverence for the ancient
pile. Her Majesty has cleared off slum and tenement from the slopes,
and opened the southern terrace, just as Elizabeth opened the northern
terrace. Work has been done in cloister and chapel. As Henry of
Richmond made a road from Windsor to London, Queen Victoria has brought
two railways to her castle gates.
Since the days of Edward of Windsor the Castle hill has kept the triple
character--upper ward, middle ward, and lower ward--baily of the King,
baily of the keep, and baily of St. George--the residence of our
sovereign, the symbol of our power, the altar of our saint.
_Royal Windsor_ (London, 1879).
THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.
ERNEST BRETON.
We are now in the middle of the Tenth Century and in the city of
Cologne; for several hours a man has been sitting upon the banks
of a river, flowing majestically at the base of those ramparts
which sixty years ago were erected by Philip von Heinsberg, and for
several hours his thoughtful brow has not been lifted. This man was
the first master-workman of his time; three centuries later he was
called the prince of architects. The Archbishop of Cologne had said
to him: “Master, we must build a cathedral here which will surpass
all the buildings of the world in grandeur and magnificence.” The
artist replied: “I will do it;” and now he was pondering over ways of
accomplishing his promise about which he was frightened. At this moment
he was trying to think out a marvellous plan which would give lustre to
his country and immortalize his name; but nothing came into his mind
worthy of the prodigy he was trying to conceive and could not create.
An unknown old man now approached and sat beside him, regarding him
with a mocking air, as if he rejoiced in his perplexity and despair;
every now and then he gave a little, dry cough, and when he had
attracted the attention of the artist, he rapidly traced on the sand
with a ring some lines which he immediately effaced. These lines
formed exactly that plan which always escaped the artist and whose
fugitive image he could not seize.
“You would like to have this plan?” asked the old man.
“I would give all I possess for it.”
“I exact nothing. The building that you construct will be the envy and
the eternal despair of all your successors, the admiration of centuries
to come, and your brilliant and celebrated name will be known to the
most remote generations. Your life will be long; you will pass it in
glory, wealth, and pleasure. For all that I only ask for your soul when
your life draws to its close.”
“_Vade retro Satanas!_” cried the agitated artist. “Better the
nothingness of oblivion than eternal damnation.”
“Patience,” said Satan, “reflect: we shall see,” and he vanished.
The master-workman returned to his humble dwelling, sadder and more
dreamful than when he left it; he could not close his eyes all night.
Glory, wealth, and pleasure for many long years, and all that for one
word! In vain he tried to shake himself free from the fatal temptation;
at every moment, at every step he again saw the tempter showing him his
transitory plan; he succumbed.
“To-morrow, at midnight,” said Satan, “go to that spot and I will bring
you the plan and the pact that you must sign.”
The artist returned to the city, divided between remorse and dreams of
pride and ambition. Remorse conquered, and before the appointed hour
he had told everything to his confessor. “It will be a master-stroke,”
said the latter, “to deceive Satan himself and snatch the famous plan
from him without paying the price of your soul,” and he sketched out
the line of conduct that he should follow.
At the appointed hour the two parties stood face to face. “Here,” said
Satan, “are the plan and pact; take it and sign it.” Quick as lightning
the master-workman snatched the plan with one hand and with the other
he brandished a piece of the True Cross, which the wily confessor had
given to him. “I am vanquished,” cried Satan, “but you will reap little
benefit through your treachery. Your name will be unknown and your work
will never be completed.”
Such is the legend of the Cathedral of Cologne. I have told it here so
that the admiration of the Middle Ages for this plan, which could not
be considered the work of any human genius, may be measured, and for
six centuries the sinister prediction of Satan has held good.[4]
At the north-east end of the elevation occupied by the ancient _Colonia
Agrippina_, in the spot where the choir of the Cathedral raises its
magnificent pinnacles, there existed in very remote ages a Roman
_Castellum_. At a later period this was replaced by a palace of the
French kings, which Charlemagne gave to his chancellor and confessor
Hildebold....
The Cathedral of Cologne was one of the most ancient seats of
Christianity in Germany; it contained in its jurisdiction the capital
of Charlemagne’s Empire, the city where the Emperors were crowned. In
the Twelfth Century, Frederick Barbarossa enriched it with one of those
sacred treasures which in a time of faith attracted entire populations
and gave birth to the gigantic enterprises which seem so incredible in
our positive and sceptical age. All eyes were turned to the Holy Land,
and the pilgrims of Germany, as well as of other countries, before
undertaking this perilous voyage came by the thousands to the tomb of
the Magi, to pray to God that the same star which guided the Three Wise
Men to Christ’s cradle might lead them to his tomb. The celebrity and
wealth of the Cologne Cathedral was greatly due to the custom of the
Emperors visiting it after their coronation. Thus, from the moment it
was in possession of the sacred relics, everything combined to augment
its splendour; princes, emperors, and people of all classes were eager
to add to its treasures. Therefore, it was only a natural consequence
to erect on the site of the old Cathedral of St. Peter a building more
vast and magnificent, and which would accord better with its important
destiny. The Archbishop Angebert, Count of Altena and Berg, upon whom
Frederick II. conferred the dignity of vicar of the empire, conceived
the first idea; but at about the age of forty he was assassinated by
his cousin, the Count of Ysembourg, in 1225, and the enterprise was
abandoned. Finally, a great fire devoured the Cathedral in 1248 and its
immediate reconstruction was indispensable....
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.]
Everyone knows that almost all churches of the pointed arch which
occupied several centuries in building show the special mark of the
periods in which their various additions were constructed; this is not
the case with the Cathedral of Cologne, which is peculiar in the fact
that its foundations and its additions were all constructed on one
and the same plan, which preserves the original design, and therefore
it presents a rare and admirable unity.
On the side of the Rhine, or rather on the Margreten, between the
Trankgass and the Domhof, the choir of the basilica offers the most
imposing effect. It is only from this side that the edifice seems
to have an end. The end of the roof, edged in all its length by an
open-worked ridge, is surmounted by an enormous cross, nine metres
high, finished with a fleur-de-lis at each extremity. This cross,
weighing 694 kil., was only placed there on August 3, 1825, but it
was long in existence, having been, it is said, presented to the
church by Marie de’ Medici. In the centre of the transept there rose
a bell-tower, 65 metres high, which was demolished in 1812. The plan
carries a superb _flèche_ of stone, open-worked like the spires of the
façade, and about 100 metres high.
Fifteen flying-buttresses on each side proceed from the central window
and sustain the choir, leaning against the buttresses and surmounted by
elegant pyramids. Each of these pyramids carries twelve niches destined
to hold angels two metres high, many of which have been restored lately
by Wilhelm Imhoff. The upper part of the flying-buttresses, at the
point where they meet the balustrade of the roof, is crowned by another
and more simple pyramid. Finally, between these flying-buttresses in
the upper part of the wall of the choir, magnificent mullioned windows
are disclosed. The entire edifice is covered with gargoyles, each more
bizarre than the other....
Entering the cathedral by the door at the foot of the northern tower,
you find yourself in the double-lower northern nave. The first bays
do not contain altars, but their windows reveal magnificent panes,
of the beginning of the Sixteenth Century. The Archbishop Herman von
Hesse, the Chapter, the City, and many noble families united to have
them painted by the most distinguished artists of the period, which was
the apogee of Art in Germany; and therefore here are many of the most
admirable _chefs d’œuvre_ of glass-painting....
The Chapel of the Kings is almost entirely occupied by the building
erected in 1688 and ornamented by Ionic pilasters of marble, and which,
shut in by grilles and many locks, contains the marvellous reliquary in
which are preserved the relics of the Three Magi. According to Buttler,
these relics were found by Saint Helena, mother of Constantine,
during her pilgrimage to the Holy Land; she carried them carefully to
Constantinople. Soon afterwards the Archbishop Eustorge, to whom the
Emperor had presented them, brought them to Milan, where they were
deposited in the church subsequently consecrated to the same Eustorge,
who was canonized. When Frederick Barbarossa invaded the town in 1163,
Reinald von Dassile, Archbishop of Cologne, received them as a reward
for the services which he had rendered to the Emperor during the siege.
At the same time Reinald obtained several relics of the Maccabees,
of the Saints Apollinaris, Felix, Nabor, Gregory di Spoletto, etc.
He, himself, accompanied this treasure, which crossed Switzerland in
triumph, descended the Rhine to Remagen, where he gave it to Philip of
Heinsberg, then provost of the Chapter.
On July 23, 1164, the relics were deposited in the ancient cathedral,
from which they were transferred to the new one; they were guarded
there simply by an iron grille until the Archbishop Maximilian Heinrich
constructed the building which encloses them to-day, upon whose
pediment you see sculptured in marble, by Michael Van der Voorst of
Antwerp, the Adoration of the Magi, Saint Felix, Saint Nabor, and two
female figures guarding the arms of the Metropolitan Chapter, in the
midst of which figure those of the Archbishop Maximilian Heinrich.
On the frieze you read the inscription: “_Tribus ab oriente regibus
devicto in agnitione veri numinis capitulum metropol erexit_.” Above
the grilled window, which is opened during grand ceremonies to permit
the people to see the reliquary, is written:
“_Corpora sanctorum recubant hic terna magorum;
Ex his sublatum nihil est alibive locatum._”
Finally, above the reliquary placed to the right and left between the
columns one reads: “_Et apertis thesauris suis obtulerunt munera_.”
In 1794 the relics were carried to the treasury of Arnsberg, then to
Prague, where the three crowns of diamonds were sold, and finally
to Frankfort-on-the-Main. When they were brought back in 1804, the
reliquary was repaired and put in its old place. This reliquary, a
_chef d’œuvre_ of Twelfth Century _orfèvrerie_, is of gilded copper
with the exception of the front, which is of pure gold; its form is
that of a tomb; its length 1 m. 85, its breadth 1 m. at the base, its
height 1 m. 50; on the side turned to the west you see represented
the Adoration of the Magi and the baptism of Jesus Christ. Above the
sculpture is a kind of lid which may be raised, permitting you to see
the skulls of the Three Kings ornamented with golden crowns garnished
with Bohemian stones,--a kind of garnet; in the pediment is the image
of the Divine Judge sitting between two angels who hold the attributes
of the Passion; the two busts above represent Gabriel and Raphael; and,
finally, an enormous topaz occupies the summit of the pediment. The
right side of the reliquary is ornamented with images of the prophets,
Moses, Jonah, David, Daniel, Amos, and Obadiah. The apostles Paul,
Philip, Simon, Thomas, and Judas Thaddeus are placed in six niches
above. In the left side you see the prophets Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Nahum,
Solomon, Joel, and Aaron, and the apostles Bartholomew, Matthew, John
the Lesser, Andrew, Peter, and John the Great. The back of the monument
presents the flagellation of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, Saint John,
the Saviour on the Cross, Saint Felix, Saint Nabor, the Archbishop
Reinald and eight busts of angels. The monument is surmounted by an
open-work ridge of copper lace. This magnificent reliquary is covered
with more than 1,500 precious stones and antique cameos representing
subjects which are not exactly Christian such as the apotheosis of an
Emperor, two heads of Medusa, a head of Hercules, one of Alexander,
etc. Behind the reliquary is a bas-relief in marble 1 m. 33 in height
and 1 m. 40 in length, representing the solemn removal of the relics.
The bas-reliefs of richly-gilt bronze, placed below the windows which
occupy the back of the chapel, represent the Adoration of the Magi:
these were the gift of Jacques de Croy, Duke of Cambrai in 1516. This
window is ornamented with beautiful panes of the Thirteenth Century,
representing various subjects of sacred history.
Jules Gaillhabaud, _Monuments anciens et modernes_ (Paris, 1865).
THE PALACE OF VERSAILLES.
AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE.
The first palace of Versailles was a hunting-lodge built by Louis XIII.
at the angle of the present Rue de la Pompe and Avenue de Saint-Cloud.
This he afterwards found too small, and built, in 1627, a moated
castle, on the site of a windmill in which he had once taken shelter
for the night. The buildings of this _château_ still exist, respected,
as the home of his father, in all the alterations of Louis XIV., and
they form the centre of the present place. In 1632 Louis XIII. became
seigneur of Versailles by purchase from François de Gondi, Archbishop
of Paris.
[Illustration: THE PALACE OF VERSAILLES.]