with the Vicar on the subject, to take a deep interest in church
architecture, and were ever seeking and finding some new beauties either
in the solid building or the ornaments of their own ancient church,
which now they looked upon with quite a new feeling of pride and
admiration. When, therefore, Mr. Ambrose was a visitor at the Hall, he
was not unfrequently called upon to deliver a short drawing-room lecture
on some portion of the church or its furniture. "Now, Mr. Ambrose," said
the Squire, on one of these occasions, "as we are only a family party
this evening, will you kindly give us some more information on our
favourite topic of conversation lately? I see the same request is on the
lips of all these little people, but they are not so impudent, I
suppose, as I am. You will, I hope, find us more profitable pupils than
Mr. Dole, to whom you specially addressed your lecture in the church the
other day."
"I am not so sure of that; for what I said to him, if it did no more, at
least set him _thinking_; and that is a great point, you know. You see,
those kind of people, as a rule, never read and never hear any thing
really worth reading or hearing about matters of this sort. They are
simply taught to believe that all outward form and ceremony in the
Services, and all outward _meaning_ and _beauty_ in the fabric of the
church, are idolatrous and superstitious, and they care to inquire no
further than that. Their prejudice is fostered by ignorance, and to lead
them to _inquire_ is the first step to wards inducing conviction. Then,
how very little our own people generally know about these things, and
how seldom comparatively they are prepared with a ready answer with
which to meet the objections of persons who are even more ignorant than
themselves! This surely ought not to be. If we place beautiful and
costly ornaments and furniture in our churches, the poorest person in
the parish should be taught the meaning of them; and if the Stones of
the Temple have each a lesson to teach, the poorest person in the parish
ought to know what they say. But I am wandering from my point: our last
subject was the _walls_ of the church; what shall we talk about to-day,
Constance?"
"Oh, I think the _windows_ should come next, Mr. Ambrose; but there are
so many different kinds of windows, that, of course, you cannot tell us
all that might be said about them."
"No, indeed, my dear; I can only tell you a very small part of their
history, but still enough, perhaps, to increase the interest you already
feel on the subject. First, then, I shall say something about the
_stone-work_ of the windows; and what I say about windows applies very
much also to the _doors_ of a church, only the doors are generally much
more richly ornamented. Now there are some very simple rules by which we
may commonly know from the windows pretty nearly at what period that
particular part of the church was built. You cannot, of course, always
tell from any thing still existing at what time the church was _first_
built, because often no part whatever of the first church is remaining.
The font, from its sheltered position, is the most frequently preserved
relic of the original church; sometimes one doorway alone remains, and
sometimes but a single window to mark the earliest date of the church.
"As I must not puzzle your brains with the hard words employed by
persons learned in church building, I do not profess to give you the
nice distinctions by which they arrive almost at exact dates. Ours must
be a very rapid glance at the whole subject. The two great distinct
characters, then, in church windows, as also in other parts of the
building, are the _semi-circular arch_ and the _pointed arch_. The
former is to be found in churches erected before the year 1150, and the
latter since that year; but of course there are exceptions. The earliest
round-headed windows (that the few buildings in which they are found
were originally intended as Christian temples, I do not of course
affirm) are the _Roman_, and these are easily known, for they are nearly
always partly composed of red bricks[61]. Then come the _Saxon_; these
are built of stone, but are quite plain, and generally as rude and rough
as the Roman. You know the Romans held possession of our country from
the year 50 before Christ till A.D. 450; and then the Saxons held the
country till A.D. 1066; but it is impossible accurately to fix the dates
of most of the churches they built. Next follow the _Norman_; these are
more ornamental, and not so roughly executed; and after the Norman
Conquest, when many clever builders and masons came over from Normandy,
they were often most beautifully decorated. The figures of persons and
animals, indeed, that are sometimes to be found (but more especially
above the doorways) at this time seem very quaint and curious to us now,
and often quite unintelligible, but no doubt they once all had an useful
meaning and were specimens of the highest art of the time; very many of
them are Scripture subjects. Sometimes triangular windows are to be met
with of the Saxon and Norman periods, but very rarely. As I said before,
some of their stone carvings appear to us to be very quaint and
grotesque, and so too the arrangement of their windows was sometimes
fanciful; they seem to have attempted occasionally[62], to represent the
features of the face, the doorway representing the mouth, and the
windows the eyes and nose.
Illustration: Crowmarsh Church
"The reason why the windows were in some instances so small, we may
imagine was because they were sometimes not glazed, and it was
desirable that, to keep out the wind and rain and the winter's cold,
they should be only just large enough to admit the necessary light. I
have lately seen an old Norman window which had been long bricked up, in
which there had evidently never been any glass[63]. We need not be
surprised at this, for even so lately as in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, it was no uncommon thing for the windows in private houses to
have no glass in them.
Illustration: Diagram of arches
"Now we come to the pointed-headed arches. From about A.D. 1150 to A.D.
1200, which is called the _Transition_ period the two styles were a good
deal mixed. People have different, opinions as to the origin of these
pointed arches. A learned friend of mine has an idea of his own about
it, which he calls _the finger theory_. He supposes that all church
arches and tracery may be derived from different positions in which the
fingers may be placed when the hands are clasped as in prayer, and that
from these, first the round, and then the pointed arch was suggested as
a fit design to be adopted for a House of Prayer. It is at least an
ingenious and a pleasing conception. Some have imagined that the meeting
of branches in a grove of trees first gave the idea of the pointed arch.
Often, as I have looked down the avenue by old Wood's cottage, has the
opening at the opposite end reminded me of the eastern window of some
splendid cathedral, whilst the long intervening rows of trees, with
their branches uniting overhead, has suggested to my mind the pillars
and groined roof of the building. Our old heathen forefathers knew well
the grand effect of these magnificent temples of nature's building, when
they selected them as the places best adapted for their awful
sacrifices, and the worship of their 'Unknown God[64].' But it seems
most probable that one style of architecture naturally introduced
another, and that the pointed followed naturally from the semi-circular
arch. When the builders saw what a beautiful arch was produced by a
number of their old semi-circular arches intersecting each other, they
gradually introduced the newly-discovered pointed arch, and at length,
finding that it admitted of such a far greater variety of beautiful
tracery in the window, they abandoned the old style altogether.
"The first pure style of pointed windows is called the _Early
English_[65], which prevailed from about A.D. 1200 to A.D. 1300. It is
often very simple, the plain lancet-shaped window being the most common;
it frequently has the same ornaments as the Norman, but its peculiar
ornament is a flower, almost round, called the _ball-flower_. This was
followed, up to about A.D. 1400, by a more graceful flowing style,
called the _Decorated_ or _Florid_, and it is chiefly to be
distinguished by the waving flame-like character of the stone-work in
the upper part of the window. Then next we have quite a different style,
which is called the _Perpendicular_, so named from its upright or
perpendicular lines, some of which run up uninterruptedly from the
bottom to the top of the window. This style is peculiar to England, and
windows of this character are very rarely to be found elsewhere. In the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the arch of the window gradually
becomes depressed, first sinking to the _Tudor_ arch, and then losing
its pointed character altogether and becoming quite flat; and this
introduced what, from its comparative want of beauty, is called the
_Debased_ style. The windows of this period were usually square-headed,
and possessed, like the other parts of the building, little ornament. It
prevailed till the middle of the seventeenth century, and may be
considered the second childhood of Church Architecture; and it was
certainly far inferior to the first. Succeeding to this period came all
those hideous semi-classical erections, most of which, I believe, were
built in the reign of Queen Anne, though some were before and some
after; and those still more unsightly parodies on Gothic architecture
which were erected at the close of the last and commencement of the
present century. In our own day we have far _advanced_ by a complete
_retrogression_, and churches are mostly copies of one or other of the
styles I have mentioned. If, however, our present age may boast of a
church architecture of its own, it will undoubtedly be that of those
most beautiful _brick_ churches which have been but lately erected, such
as All Saints' and St. Alban's, London, and St. James', Oxford."
"You have not told us any thing about the _round_ windows, Mr. Ambrose,"
said Constance; "you know we have a very pretty one in our church."
"Yes, I ought to have told you that these circular windows are to be
found in all styles of architecture, usually at the west end of the
church. They are called rose windows and marigold windows, from their
supposed likeness to those flowers; and St. Catherine's windows, from
their resemblance to the wheel on which she suffered martyrdom. It is
likely that this window was placed in our church because it is dedicated
to St. Catherine."
"That leads me to ask," said Mr. Acres, "what _symbolism_ there may be
in the windows of a church; for in your sermon last Sunday you said that
there was a lesson to be learnt from all the speechless stones of the
sanctuary."
"Yes; and every window in the church should remind us of certain
Christian truths. The _light_ which they admit should make us think of
Him who is the 'Light of the world,' 'a Light to lighten the Gentiles,'
'the Day-spring from on high,' 'the Sun of Righteousness,' 'that
lighteth every man that cometh into the world.' The window with its
double compartments reminds us of the two natures of Christ; the triple
window, and the many triple forms in it, of the Trinity[66]. But it is
of course most chiefly in its storied panes that the church window
becomes our teacher."
"Certainly; I see that: and, by-the-by, as I am as ignorant as my
children about the history of stained glass, please tell us something
about that before we part."
"I will, gladly. As far as we know, stained glass was never used before
about the year 850; but when it once came into general use, it would
appear that no church was considered complete unless every window was
furnished with it. At first, it probably consisted of rude imitations of
old mosaic patterns[67]. Then figures were introduced, which depended
for their general effect upon broad black lines either produced by lead
or colour. The old stained glass may always be known by the deep
richness of its colours, especially of the blue and ruby. Probably
Canterbury Cathedral possesses the earliest and best specimens
remaining, the date of some of which is about A.D. 1120[68]. In the
glass of this time you find small medallions containing several figures,
the surrounding parts being filled with tracery. Next come small single
figures, or groups of figures, with or without canopies, with border
tracery and foliage; sometimes there are the shields of founders and
benefactors. About A.D. 1350 larger figures of saints were painted, each
occupying a whole compartment of the window, with larger and more
elaborate canopies. Now, too, windows began to be _mortuary_, and
contained figures of deceased persons, with their shields and banners.
In the following century single subjects often extended over several
compartments, or even the whole of the window. Sentences in old English
letters were frequently painted, issuing from the mouths of figures
(just as we find them on monumental brasses of the same date), and also
in various other parts of the window. One colour only, commonly yellow,
with black lines to mark the features and dresses, was now, and also
before this time, frequently used.
"At this period glass painters fell into a great error by studying more
to paint pictures, correct in all the lesser and unimportant parts of
the drawing, than to produce a pleasing and solemn distant effect; they
often lost the effect of a grand accessory to the beauty and harmony of
a Gothic temple, in order to gain that of a piece of painted calico.
From about A.D.1600 this art gradually declined, and, with some
exceptions, the glass painting and architecture of our churches fell
together, the inferior artist of the former being often employed in
depicting the debased style of the latter. Immense quantities of stained
glass were destroyed by the sacrilegious hands of the Puritans in the
seventeenth century[69], and of course much, from its brittle nature,
has otherwise perished; enough, however, remains to show how splendidly
our churches were formerly decorated with it, and to afford invaluable
aid to those who are now engaged in promoting the happy revival of this
noble art.
Illustration: Stained Glass Window in Great Malvern Church
Illustration: Stained Glass Window in Great Malvern Church
Illustration: Stained Glass Window in Great Malvern Church
"There is just one other point to which I must briefly allude--the value
of stained glass windows as _historical records_. There can be no
objection to windows in some parts of the church (specially those placed
over the arches of the nave which are called _clerestory_ windows) being
thus employed, though the presence of these subjects in some parts would
be most objectionable. There are some most interesting windows of this
character still remaining. I have only time to notice some of those in
Great Malvern Church. I have brought you some drawings of these windows;
they represent some events in the life of St. Werstan, who was martyred
in a small chapel near to the spot where these windows are. This glass
preserves the only ancient record we have of this saint. In the first
pane you see there is a representation of Werstan himself; the hills at
the back, with the flowers and ferns upon them, probably represent the
Malvern hills; and the painting above, the plot of ground on which his
church was built. The key has reference either to the material fabric or
the spiritual efficacy of its sacred services, and the four
corner-stones, held by four angels, each with three fingers raised in
the attitude of blessing in the name of the Trinity, are doubtless
intended to indicate the favour of Heaven on his pious work. In the next
pane the figure and hills are repeated, and above is a representation of
the different ceremonies attending the consecration of the completed
church. In the third pane you see the hills, with their flowers and
ferns, covering the whole background; in the lower part, the now regular
services of St. Werstan's little church appear to be represented by
three choristers; and standing near them are two persons who are
probably their instructors. The upper part represents the martyrdom of
the saint in his own chapel. The stained glass in Great Malvern Church
contains other historical records, but we have not time to notice them."
Illustration: Rose Window, Cremona Cathedral
_CHAPTER XIV_
A LOOSE STONE IN THE BUILDING
A DIGRESSION
"Let the priests repair the breaches of the house, wheresoever any
breach shall be found."
2 Kings xii. 5.
"Men, who have ceased to reverence, soon defy
Their forefathers; lo! sects are form'd, and split
With morbid restlessness;--the ecstatic fit
Spreads wide; though special mysteries multiply,
_The saints must govern_, is their common cry;
And so they labour, deeming Holy Writ
Disgraced by aught that seems content to sit
Beneath the roof of settled modesty."
WORDSWORTH.
Illustration: Amberley Church, in ruin, and restored
A LOOSE STONE IN THE BUILDING
A DIGRESSION
Since the last conversation which we recorded between the Vicar and Mr.
Dole, the character of the latter had become much softened. On various
occasions they had been brought into each other's company, and the
consequence was that each had begun to think more favourably of the
other, and to find some unsuspected good qualities which promised well
to establish between them that cordial good feeling and mutual respect
which ought always to exist between a Pastor and each member of his
flock.
The following close of a long conversation might explain the loss of
esteem and influence which many a parish priest, besides the Vicar of
St. Catherine's, has had to deplore:--
"Well, Mr. Ambrose, had we known each other more, we should have
understood each other better; my lips, at least, would have been saved
the guilt of many hard words; perhaps, too, sir, you would have thought
of me a little more charitably."
"There may be truth in that, Mr. Dole," said the Vicar; "but then you
must own that you have always shown such sternness and severity to wards
me as to forbid any friendly approach on my part. I have, indeed, put it
down, in a great measure, to that harsh judgment of the conduct and
opinions of others which I considered your form of dissent tended to
foster--but this has not relieved me of my difficulty."
"I suppose I must confess that those who hold very strictly to the
doctrines in which I have been brought up, have generally a severe and
sour bearing to wards others who do not believe as they do, and,
indeed, very often to wards members of their own body also. Then, you
see, sir, at their prayer meetings, and their Sabbath services, they get
much more excited and animated than people do at church, and so,
perhaps, it's natural for them to be a little more subdued and less
lively when they are out of 'meeting.'"
"Yes, that's natural; and no doubt what you say accounts for some
differences in the opinions we form of each other's characters. At
'meeting' I am aware persons are commonly wrought up, by exciting
appeals, loud words, and wild gestures, to a state of _high pressure_,
of which we at church know little; and so they consider the calm,
dignified solemnity of our services as cold and lifeless. Out of
'meeting' a reaction takes place, and they become comparatively
depressed and undemonstrative, and we consider them morose and
ill-tempered; _we_ have no such reaction to undergo, and to us the world
seems brighter than to them, and so they think us frivolous and worldly.
But for my part, Mr. Dole, I can't possibly see what is the use of a
man's speaking ten times louder than is necessary in order to make
himself heard, just that he may produce a fever-heat in the pulses of
his congregation. If continued for any length of time, it leads to
something very like temporary madness; if not, it is likely to subside
into a dull, sullen apathy. Moreover, I have yet to learn that it is
wrong, provided we do not abuse them, to enjoy the good things God gives
us, with a _cheerful countenance_--aye, and with a merry heart, too.
"On that point I have for some time been inclining to your opinion, sir;
though, I fear, you will think I have not given much outward proof of
it. But, nevertheless, you have in this matter as yet partly mistaken
me--indeed we have partly mistaken each other. Perhaps my religion may,
in some degree, account for my seeming gloominess and indifference; but
these have arisen quite as much from home sorrows and disappointments,
and the coldness and cruelty I have experienced from others. I will not,
however, trouble you with these matters now, more than to say, that if
you could have overlooked the ungracious words I may sometimes have said
to and of you, and have looked in upon me, and for my evil have
returned good, by speaking some kind and friendly words to me, you would
have done much to brighten a life that has known but little sunshine;
for I have longed more than I can tell you for a friend to whom I could
fearlessly tell the sorrows of my heart. I know I have been to blame,
for I always used to think you too _proud_ to take much interest in my
cares and troubles; may be, sir--I am sure you will forgive my plain
speaking--may be we have been both a little to blame.
"Now, Mr. Ambrose," continued his parishioner, in a far more cheerful
voice than was usual with him, "you know that since your friendly
conversation with me that day in the church, I have followed the advice
you then gave me, and have never failed to be one of your congregation
at least once on the Sunday. I trust I have profited by what you have
taught me: will you not be offended if I for a moment turn the tables,
and preach a few words to you? I don't mean to _you_ yourself
personally, sir, but I mean to you as one of the ministers of the
Church."
"I am sure you will not say any thing that will give me just cause for
offence, my friend, and so I promise not to be offended."
"Well then, sir, you know I have always lived amongst Dissenters, so I
know pretty well who and what they are. You will agree with me, that
there are many excellent people among them, and there are some learned
people among them; but generally they have but little learning. Very
often their attention has been almost solely directed to _a single point
of doctrine_ which itself forms the ground of their dissent from the
Church--just as with me; though I do not think the Church is quite right
on some other matters, yet I should not separate from it could I be
persuaded that the Church was right about _Baptism_. That has always
been _my one_ great stumbling-block. But I think, sir, speaking with all
respect for yourself, that there is _one great cause_ in the Church
ministers themselves which has kept the Dissenters from coming back to
the Church. I know that this has more to do with the _past_ than the
_present_; I know too that it could not of itself justify any one in
separating from the Church. But, sir, look at the class of people
Dissenters are of, in this country; their whole strength lies in the
middle and the small-trade class. There are among them comparatively
very few rich and educated, very few poor. You will say the love of the
power and position which those people obtain for themselves in the
meeting-house, but which they could not possess, in the same way, in the
Church, naturally draws them to the Dissenters. That is no doubt partly
true; giving them also credit--as I am sure you do, sir--for higher
motives. But I see another reason; and that is, the wide difference
between the Church ministers and the people."
"I see what you mean," said the Vicar: "the difference in their social
position. I admit that the social position of the dissenting preacher is
more on a level with that class of which, as you say, Dissenters are
chiefly composed than is that of the Clergy. But then, Mr. Dole, the
Church does not only retain its hold on the upper and the educated
classes, but also on the poor (of course I speak generally; for there
are, alas! a large number of these which are beyond the reach of any
religious ministrations whatever)."