name for them which you remember is not an unusual one. I remember one
church where there are eleven pillars, and the old sexton told me they
stood for eleven of the Apostles, and that there would have been twelve,
but Judas was omitted. The pillars of the church, as the chief supports
of the fabric, are said to represent the Apostles, Prophets, and
Martyrs[171]. As I have often told you, there is hardly a part of the
church without its special meaning: 'even the smallest details should
have a meaning, or serve a purpose[172],' and whatever has a meaning
serves a purpose, and whatever serves a purpose, has a meaning, and a
very important one too. The four main walls of the building have a
similar meaning to the pillars. They are supposed to represent the four
Evangelists[173]. The stones of which they are composed represent
Christians--the living stones of the spiritual building[174]; the
cement which joins them together is charity, 'the bond of
perfectness[175]' which binds together the members of the Christian
Church. The door[176] represents the means of entrance to the invisible
kingdom; the windows remind us of that sacred presence which keeps out
the storm of angry and sinful life, and admits the light of Christ and
His Word. You see, Matthew, the old church builders were themselves
_Churchmen_; sometimes even bishops were famous architects, like
Gundulph, Bishop of Rochester, and William of Wykeham, Bishop of
Winchester; and then they made themselves felt in all their works--I
mean, they gave a religious character and meaning to all parts of the
structure they reared. And so there were always a hundred preachers in
the Church, though not a tongue uttered a single word."
"I understand what you mean, sir--the stones were the preachers."
"Just so, Matthew; and then the churches were always open, and people
used to go and meditate and pray there at all hours; for in church they
found themselves surrounded by so much that reminded them of Heaven and
God's presence, and sacred things, and so little to remind them of the
world and of sin, that they could think and pray there better than any
where else. But in after times the old churches became neglected and
dilapidated, and the new churches were so mean and cold and bare, that
there was every thing to chill and nothing to warm devotion, and so
people gave up the good old custom of going to hear the stones preach,
and to say their daily prayers to God in His sanctuary. But the time is
coming back again, I am thankful to say, and church builders are again
good Churchmen, and regard the building of churches as a sacred art and
a religious work; and the people are less contented to be ignorant about
these things; and the churches are no longer closed from Sunday night to
the next Sunday morning, as they used to be."
"I haven't read my Bible right, Mr. Ambrose, if it isn't a very wicked
thing to allow God's House to go to decay. In our old church people
seemed to have forgotten all about the '_beauty_ of holiness,' both in
their manner of worship and in the house where they worshipped. They had
their own houses 'ceiled with cedar and painted with vermilion,' and
this house was 'laid waste[177].' I have been told how grand Queen
Victoria's Palace is, and how beautiful the Parliament House is, and I
have often thought that surely, sir, the house of the great King of
kings, and the great Ruler of all our rulers should be grand and
beautiful too. But our churchwardens not only didn't try to make the old
church beautiful, sir, but hid as much as possible of whatever beauty
they found."
"Too true, my friend," said the Vicar: "these old pillars had become so
coated over with whitewash that their rich carved work could hardly be
seen at all. Whitewash was the cheapest thing they could use to hide the
green damp and the plaster patches, and for that reason I suppose they
used it."
The work of decoration went on rapidly; the many busy hands soon
effected a wonderful change in the appearance of the church, which gave
it a very festive character. The choicest flowers were placed at the
back of the altar, others were used in various ecclesiastical designs,
or woven into wreaths of evergreens. The texts of Holy Scripture painted
above the arches from pillar to pillar were neatly framed in borders of
evergreens, and wreaths of the same were already twined around many of
the columns[178].
The capitals of all the pillars were carved in imitation of the many
wild flowers and ferns which grew in the neighbourhood[179]. Although
these had been carved not less than five hundred years ago, the same
wild flowers were still to be found in the parish; and every year on
Ascension Day it was the custom at St. Catherine's to decorate each of
these pillars with the same natural flowers that had been imitated in
stone. It was a pretty custom, for as the natural leaves and flowers
faded or were removed, their more enduring likenesses were disclosed,
and remained throughout the year the faithful representatives of their
bright and gay originals.
"Well, my dear," said the Vicar, addressing Ellen Walton, his
churchwarden's little daughter, "you have really shown great taste in
arranging those ferns; they look beautiful indeed."
"I deserve but little credit, sir, for any taste of my own," she
replied, "for I have but copied the stone carving as near as I could."
"Yes, but you _do_ deserve great credit, as every body does who copies
exactly that which is worth copying. The workman who so cleverly
imitated in stone these beautiful works of God, in order to adorn God's
House throughout the year with memorials of His goodness in making our
summer fields so lovely, deserved much praise; and now, though yours is
a lighter task, that you have given life, as it were, to his work, by
your nice arrangement of leaf to leaf, and flower to flower, I must give
you some praise too. But I see you are anxious to ask me a question."
"Yes, sir. I was talking to Sally Strike this morning about the
decorations, and she says they are all nonsense and unmeaning; she says,
too, it's very wicked to put flowers about the church, for it's nothing
but a heathen and idolatrous custom. Of course, I don't much notice what
she says about it, but I don't very well know what to answer her, and I
was going to ask you, sir, to be kind enough to tell me."
"Sally Strike doesn't often say any thing very wise, my dear, and this
is no exception to the rule. You had better answer her out of her own
mouth. Ask her, when she gathered all the flowers her own garden could
produce to decorate the little 'Rehoboth'--as they call that
meeting-house on Wanderer's Heath--when they held their last 'love
feast,' and had tea and cake in their chapel, did she put the flowers
there to make the place look gloomy, or to make it look festive and gay?
Or, why did she do the same thing a little while ago, when they gave a
children's treat in their meeting-house? Was it because it was a time of
sadness or of rejoicing? No doubt, she will tell you it was the latter.
Well, we decorate our churches for a similar reason. We regard all the
Christian festivals as seasons for great gladness and rejoicing, and
whilst at other times we are obliged, for the most part, to content
ourselves with such ornamentation of God's House as our own poor
imitations of the forms and colours of Nature can supply, on these high
days we press into the service of the temple the lovely originals of all
those forms and colours, fresh and pure as when they first left the hand
of their Divine Maker.
"'Tis true that the heathen used flowers in decorating their temples and
altars, and also their victims prepared for sacrifice[180]. But they
used them just as Sally Strike uses them at her meeting-house, for the
_sole_ purpose of _decoration_. Now, though we use flowers to give a
festive appearance to our churches, our use of them has, too, always a
meaning beyond that: how they remind us of the _love of God_ in arraying
this earth with so much beauty for our enjoyment; how they remind us of
the pure and lovely delights of the Paradise that is lost; and of our
future resurrection[181] to a Paradise of yet greater beauty. And it is
from our Bibles that we learn to give, too, an _emblematic_ meaning to
particular flowers, so that, whether carved by man, or moulded by the
hand of Nature, each one teaches its own useful lesson. There we find
the lily mentioned as the emblem of God's providence; the rose as the
type of youthful beauty; the cedar, of manly strength. Nay, my dear
Ellen, we may even find in Holy Scripture itself our authority for
decorating our churches with these pure and unsinning works of God. You
remember, no doubt, the verse to which I allude: 'The glory of Lebanon
shall come unto thee: the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together,
to beautify the place of My sanctuary[182]'."
"Thank you, sir, I quite understand your explanation. But Sally Strike
said she didn't object to the way the church used to be decorated thirty
years ago, when plain twigs of evergreen were put at the corners of the
pews, and some large branches fixed here and there on the walls; but she
does not like the triangles and circles and crosses, and the other
designs we now use."
"And yet nothing could be more silly than the dislike, though I fear it
is one in which many--for mere want of thought--share. Surely, the
twigs themselves must be at least as harmless when bound together as
when used singly; and certainly it is better that they should be formed
into beautiful and religiously _suggestive_ designs, than scattered
unmeaningly about the church. The cross, often repeated, reminds us, you
know, of the one grand pervading truth of our religion; the circle, of
eternity; the triangle, of the Holy Trinity. We almost even forget the
beauty of the design itself in the beauty of its symbol."
_CHAPTER XXVIII_
THE ROOF
"Thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, the roof thereof."
Exod. xxx. 3.
"Give all thou canst; high heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less or more:
So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense
These lofty pillars,--spread that branching roof,
Self-poised, and scoped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
Ling'ring and wand'ring on, as loth to die,
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality."
WORDSWORTH.
Illustration: Keynsham Church
THE ROOF
"I'm glad to see you both among the helpers to-day," said the Vicar, as
he shook hands with William Hardy and Richard Atkinson, "though I know
this must cost you at least the value of a day's work."
The village carpenter and mason were always accustomed on these
occasions to give their services gratuitously.
"Very glad indeed to come and do the best we can, sir," replied William
Hardy, "though we couldn't quite agree about it at home, my wife and me,
till we'd talked it over a bit."
Now Hardy's wife, though not generally unamiable, was like many other
wives in this respect; namely, she had acquired a habit of always
questioning the wisdom or sincerity of her husband's actions, which she
could now no more shake off than she could her own identity.
"I'm sorry to hear that," said the Vicar; "but how was it?"
"Well, you see, sir, my wife says to me, 'William, you might turn your
time to better account than going up to the church with Richard Atkinson
to-day. You'd be able to earn five shillings, and that would just pay
for the new ribbon for my bonnet, which indeed I do want very much.' 'I
really believe you do, my dear,' says I, 'and so I must just alter my
plans a little. I thought I wanted a new Sunday hat very much indeed,
and I was just going to buy one at Master Dole's the other day, when
thinks I to myself--no, I mustn't buy it, because I shall lose a day's
earnings at church next week, so I'll give the new hat to the church,
and have one for myself six months hence. But that's no reason why you
should lose your ribbons, so I'll over-work for a few days, and earn the
ribbons that way.' You see, Mr. Ambrose, I was thinking of that text,
'God forbid that I should offer to the Lord my God of that which doth
cost me nothing.' Well, sir, them words softened her a good deal; but
then she says to me, 'William, what's the _use_ of all them ornaments at
the church? I really do call it waste of time and money.' 'My dear,'
says I, 'there's something better than _use_, I mean as you and I talk
of use, there is such a thing as doing things out of love and reverence
for God, and for nothing else, and that's what I should like to do if I
can. There wasn't no more _use_ in the precious ointment which the good
woman poured on our Saviour's head, than in these ornaments we put up in
His church. And you know who it was that called that a _waste_, and you
know who it was too that praised her for what she did[183].' 'I think
you're right,' says she; and so I came away."
"And so you were, my friend. But it's hard to persuade people that there
is such a thing as _a worship of adoration_, prompted simply by a sense
of love, gratitude, veneration, entirely apart from all idea of benefit,
advantage, or use to ourselves in _any way_. As you rightly say,
however, _there is_.--But I see the children have finished the frames
for the clerestory[184] windows, so you had better put them up."
"You mean the windows just under the roof, sir?"
"Yes; it is not safe for them to climb so high."
"I suppose you won't attempt to carry your decorations higher than that,
Mr. Vicar?" said the Squire, as he approached to see how the work was
going on.
"No, that must satisfy us. Indeed, this roof is so rich in colour and
carving that we could hardly make it look more festive than it does."
"It is, indeed, a grand old roof; but I rather prefer the high-pitched
roof of the chancel to this flatter one of the nave, though certainly
nothing can be more beautiful than its carving. The figures of angels on
the corbels[185] supporting the principal timbers are exceedingly well
done. What do you imagine to be the dates of these two roofs?"
"I should say that that in the chancel was built about A.D. 1350, and
this in the nave about A.D. 1500. These flatter roofs of our
perpendicular period do not any of them date much farther back than A.D.
1500[186]."
"I quite agree with you in preferring the older high-pitch for our
timber roofs. By-the-bye, it is a curious conception that this
particular kind of roof has a likeness to the inverted keel of the
ark[187]--itself an emblem of the Christian Church. But I prefer to
regard it, as I do the windows, and doors, and arches of _pointed_
architecture, as an emblem of the _incompleteness_ of our worship here.
As I look up through the intricate multitude of timbers, and my gaze
becomes lost amid the dark top beams of the roof, my thoughts are
insensibly led higher still[188]. There is something in these lofty open
roofs that always seems to invite one's thoughts _above them_--so
different from the flat ceilings of most dissenting meeting-houses, and
some of our churches built a hundred years ago. To me these flat
ceilings are very depressing."
"Yes; and not a little irritating too, when you consider what splendid
timber roofs in old churches, they often conceal. Ugly, however, and
objectionable as they are, they have the one merit of being
_unpretending_; and give me any thing rather than a _sham_--a
lath-and-plaster roof with papier-mache or stucco bosses, and all sorts
of painting and shading in perspective, in imitation of wood or stone,
making the poor roof guilty of a perpetual _lie_. I do own that tries my
temper immensely!"
"There can be no doubt, too, that the high-pitch better suits our
variable climate than any other. I fear, however, that many of those
which were built but a few years since are not very enduring. Young, or
badly-seasoned wood, thin, poor timbers, which cannot last long, have
too often been put into the roof. Sometimes this has been the dishonest
act of the builder; but we have been too much in the habit of building
for _ourselves only_--not like our forefathers, who put up those big
masses of timber over our heads. They built for themselves and for
_posterity too_.
"'They dreamt not of a perishable home,
Who thus could build[189].'"
"Ah, yes! and that is, of course, especially true of those who erected
the noble _stone_ roofs of our cathedrals, and many parish churches too.
Nothing, of course, can equal the stone roof with its beautiful carvings
and mouldings, richly gilt and coloured. Nothing like stone for colour!
How very beautiful is the deep blue, with its golden stars, over the
altar in our own cathedral! They look well in our own church, but the
colours are richer there, not so much faded. That representation of
Heaven's canopy mantling over the most holy part of our church always
seems to me so very appropriate and suggestive."
"It is a matter of surprise to me," said the Squire, "that more care has
not generally been taken to beautify the _external_ part of our church
roofs. What relief is given to the long line of a nave roof by a good
patterned row of ridge tiles, or by some ornamental ironwork on the
ridge! The gable cross considerably relieves the chancel roof. And
where the roof is of stone, why don't we have richly-carved _external_,
as well as internal, stone-work? That, to my mind, is the perfection of
a stone roof[190]."
At this point, the attention of both was directed to little Harry, old
Matthew's grandson, who, with a fixed expression of deep thoughtfulness,
was looking up to wards the roof of the church.
"Why so very serious just now, my dear boy? What may your thoughts be
about, Harry?" said the Vicar.
"Please, sir, I was wondering what they used to do with the
roof-gallery, where we've been putting the evergreens?"
"What does he mean by the roof-gallery?" said Mr. Acres.
"Oh, he means the triforium[191]."
"I must confess that is still more unintelligible to me. Please explain
it to me, as well as to Harry, for we are evidently equally ignorant
about it."
"The triforium is the gallery you see just above the arches of the
nave--between them and the clerestory. It is not commonly found in
parish churches, but I believe all cathedrals have it. It generally
extends nearly all round the building. There are different opinions as
to its original purpose. Some suppose that it was reserved for the use
of women. On the Continent, it has been set apart for young men, or for
strangers. It is the opinion of some that it was merely built for
affording ready access to the various parts of the roof. As an
architectural feature, it is very effective, and occupies a space which
would otherwise be a blank wall. In this country, however, we know that
it was often used for a similar purpose to that for which we have now
been using it--the ornamentation of the church on special festivals,
when banners and tapestry and other ornaments were suspended from the
several arches[192]."
"I have often, like little Harry, looked up at those arches and wondered
what they were built for; and, not knowing, I came to the conclusion
that the passage must have been used for religious processions."
"It is not at all improbable that occasionally they were so used. And I
can hardly imagine any thing more solemn than a torch-light procession
of chanting choristers threading their way round the sacred building,
the sound of their voices undulating in solemn cadence as they would
pass the arches of the triforium, and then dying away amid the groined
or timber roof above them."
Illustration: Clerestory Window
_CHAPTER XXIX_
THE TOWER
"The house that is to be builded for the Lord must be exceeding
magnifical."
1 Chron. xxii. 5.
"Lift it gently to the steeple,
Let our bell be set on high;
There fulfil its daily mission,
Midway 'twixt the earth and sky.
"As the birds sing early matins
To the God of nature's praise,
This its nobler daily music
To the God of grace shall raise.
"And when evening shadows soften
Chancel-cross, and tower, and aisle,
It shall blend its vesper summons
With the day's departing smile.
"Year by year the steeple-music
O'er the tended graves shall pour
Where the dust of saints is garner'd,
Till the Master comes once more."
J. M. NEALE.
Illustration: Meopham Church
THE TOWER
When the Vicar and the Squire met on their way to church the following
day, the conversation of the previous evening was thus resumed:--
"You will, I am sure, agree with me," said Mr. Ambrose, "in regarding
the church spire as ever teaching _outside_ the building the same lesson
that the open timber roof, as you so truly said yesterday, is teaching
_inside_. It is always pointing the thoughts of thoughtful men up above
the earthly temple."
"Quite so; and, as is the case with many other great teachers, the
earthly fabric has, I believe, in both these cases, a very humble
origin; for as the grandest cathedral roof is but a development of the
simple _tent_ which formed the early habitation of the once rude
inhabitants of this and other countries, so has its lofty and elegant
spire gradually raised itself from the low and unpretending roof which
covered in the towers of our earliest parish churches.
"I am inclined myself to think that, as a matter of taste and beauty, no
church tower is complete without a spire in some form[193], and it is a
question whether, in every case, the tower was not at first built with a
view to such an ornament. The termination with a flat or only embattled
cornice does not harmonize well with pointed architecture; the spiral
form seems to me the only appropriate termination; and, as you say, the
symbolic teaching of this part of the building depends upon it. And yet,
though it may almost seem a contradiction to what I have said, the spire
always needs some object for the eye to rest upon at its summit. The
time-honoured _weather-cock_ which every body knows to be the emblem of
_watchfulness_, seems by far the most convenient and suitable, though I
am aware that other forms--such as a dragon, and a boat--are fixed to
the summits of some spires."
"We do not generally succeed well," said Mr. Ambrose, "in our imitations
of the Norman style of architecture. Its extreme massiveness, on which
so much of its beauty depends, renders it very costly; and if this is
abandoned, as it often is, for the sake of saving expense, and only the
details of the style are copied, whilst the walls are thin and
unsubstantial, the building has always a mean and cardboard appearance.
But where the style is faithfully carried out, it is a matter of
surprise to me that the _round_ tower is not more often adopted. It
harmonizes so well with the semi-circular arches and the apsidal
termination of the chancel. We have, you know, many splendid examples of
such towers[194]. It is true, indeed, that the architects may in some
cases have adopted this form, in places where there was difficulty in
obtaining the stone required for the corners of a square tower, as being
the most convenient for a building composed of flint only; but that they
did not always choose this form as a mere matter of convenience, and not
for its own peculiar beauty, is evident from the fact that in the
construction of some round towers not only flint, but also stone, is
largely employed. The objection to these towers, founded on the
supposition that they are not adapted for the use of bells, may, I
think, be easily met by a little constructional arrangement of the
interior of the belfry."
"The erection of towers _detached_ from the church has not, I am glad to
say, gained much favour in this country[195]. They certainly lose much
of their beauty when separated from the main building. The custom,
however, greatly prevails in Italy. The appropriation of a portion of
the tower as a priest's chamber is, I believe, far more common with us
than it is abroad[196]."
At this moment the bells of St. Catherine's commenced a cheerful peal.
"After all," said the Vicar, "_that sound_ indicates the real purpose of
the tower."
"True enough," answered Mr. Acres; "no doubt our towers were built to
hold the _bells_[197]; and so, if the tower is good and sound, and the
bells are there, we must not complain if the spire is wanting."
"Yes; but I wish the bells were under better control than they commonly
are."