OTHER METALS
The "perils that environ men that meddle with cold iron" are many;
but those who attempt to control hot iron are also to be respected,
when they achieve an artistic result with this unsympathetic metal,
which by nature is entirely lacking in charm, in colour and texture,
and depends more upon a proper application of design than any other,
in order to overcome the obstacles to beauty with which it is beset.
"Rust hath corrupted," unfortunately, many interesting antiquities
in iron, so that only a limited number of specimens of this metal
have come down to us from very early times; one of the earliest
in England is a grave-stone of cast metal, of the date 1350: it
is decorated with a cross, and has the epitaph, "Pray for the soul
of Joan Collins."
The process of casting iron was as follows. The moulds were made
of a sandy substance, composed of a mixture of brick dust, loam,
plaster, and charcoal. A bed of this sand was made, and into it
was pressed a wooden or metal pattern. When this was removed, the
imprint remained in the sand. Liquid metal was run into the mould
so formed, and would cool into the desired shape. As with a
plaster cast, it was necessary to employ two such beds, the sand
being firmly held in boxes, if the object was to be rounded, and
then the two halves thus made were put together. Flat objects,
such as fire-backs, could be run into a single mould.
Bartholomew, in his book "On the Properties of Things," makes certain
statements about iron which are interesting: "Though iron cometh of
the earth, yet it is most hard and sad, and therefore with beating
and smiting it suppresseth and dilateth all other metal, and maketh
it stretch on length and on breadth." This is the key-note to the
work of a blacksmith: it is what he has done from the first, and
is still doing.
In Spain there have been iron mines ever since the days when Pliny
wrote and alluded to them, but there are few samples in that country
to lead us to regard it as æsthetic in its purpose until the fifteenth
century.
For tempering iron instruments, there are recipes given by the
monk Theophilus, but they are unfortunately quite unquotable, being
treated with mediæval frankness of expression.
St. Dunstan was the patron of goldsmiths and blacksmiths. He was
born in 925, and lived in Glastonbury, where he became a monk rather
early in life. He not only worked in metal, but was a good musician
and a great scholar, in fact a genuine rounded man of culture. He
built an organ, no doubt something like the one which Theophilus
describes, which, Bede tells us, being fitted with "brass pipes,
filled with air from the bellows, uttered a grand and most sweet
melody." Dunstan was a favourite at court, in the reign of King
Edmund. Enemies were plentiful, however, and they spread the report
that Dunstan evoked demoniac aid in his almost magical work in its
many departments. It was said that occasionally the evil spirits
were too aggravating, and that in such cases Dunstan would stand
no nonsense. There is an old verse:
"St. Dunstan, so the story goes,
Once pulled the devil by the nose,
With red hot tongs, which made him roar
That he was heard three miles or more!"
The same story is told of St. Eloi, and probably of most of the
mediæval artistic spirits who were unfortunate enough to be human
in their temperaments and at the same time pious and struggling. He
was greatly troubled by visitations such as persecuted St. Anthony.
On one occasion, it is related that he was busy at his forge when
this fiend was unusually persistent: St. Dunstan turned upon the
demon, and grasped its nose in the hot pincers, which proved a most
successful exorcism. In old portraits, St. Dunstan is represented
in full ecclesiastical habit, holding the iron pincers as symbols
of his prowess.
He became Archbishop of Canterbury after having held the Sees of
Worcester and London. He journeyed to Rome, and received the pallium
of Primate of the Anglo-Saxons, from Pope John XII. Dunstan was a
righteous statesman, twice reproving the king for evil deeds, and
placing his Royal Highness under the ban of the Church for immoral
conduct! St. Dunstan died in 988.
[Illustration: WROUGHT IRON HINGE, FRANKFORT]
Wrought iron has been in use for many centuries for hinges and
other decorations on doors; a necessity to every building in a
town from earliest times. The word "hinge" comes from the Saxon,
_hengen_, to hang. Primitive hinges were sometimes sockets cut
in stone, as at Torcello; but soon this was proved a clumsy and
inconvenient method of hanging a door, and hinges more simple in
one way, and yet more ornate, came into fashion. Iron hinges were
found most useful when they extended for some distance on to the
door; this strengthened the door against the invasion of pirates,
when the church was the natural citadel of refuge for the inhabitants
of a town, and also held it firmly from warping. At first single
straps of iron were clamped on: then the natural craving for beauty
prevailed, and the hinges developed, flowering out into scrolls and
leaves, and spreading all over the doors, as one sees them constantly
in mediæval examples. The general scheme usually followed was a
straight strap of iron flanked by two curving horns like a crescent,
and this motive was elaborated until a positive lace of iron, often
engraved or moulded, covered the surface of the door, as in the
wonderful work of Biscornette at Notre Dame in Paris.
Biscornette was a very mysterious worker, and no one ever saw him
constructing the hinges. Reports went round that the devil was helping
him, that he had sold his soul to the King of Darkness in order to
enlist his assistance in his work; an instance of æsthetic altruism
almost commendable in its exotic zeal. Certain jealous artificers
even went so far as to break off bits of the meandering iron, to
test it, but with no result; they could not decide whether it was
cast or wrought. Later a legend grew up explaining the reason why
the central door was not as ornate as the side doors: the story was
that the devil was unable to assist Biscornette on this door because
it was the aperture through which the Host passed in processions. It
is more likely, however, that the doors were originally uniform,
and that the iron was subsequently removed for some other reason.
The design is supposed to represent the Earthly Paradise. Sauval
says: "The sculptured birds and ornaments are marvellous. They are
made of wrought iron, the invention of Biscornette and which died
with him. He worked the iron with an almost incredible industry,
rendering it flexible and tractable, and gave it all the forms
and scrolls he wished, with a 'douceur et une gentillesse' which
surprised and astonished all the smiths." The iron master Gaegart
broke off fragments of the iron, and no member of the craft has
ever been able to state with certainty just how the work was
accomplished. Some think that it is cast, and then treated with
the file; others say that it must have been executed by casting
entire, with no soldering. In any case, the secret will never be
divulged, for no one was in the confidence of Biscornette.
Norman blacksmiths and workers in wrought iron were more plentiful
than goldsmiths. They had, in those warlike times, more call for
arms and the massive products of the forge than for gaudy jewels and
table appointments. One of the doors of St. Alban's Abbey displays the
skill of Norman smiths dealing with this stalwart form of ornament.
Among special artists in iron whose names have survived is that
of Jehan Tonquin, in 1388. Earlier than that, a cutler, Thomas
de Fieuvillier, is mentioned, as having flourished about 1330.
[Illustration: BISCORNETTE'S DOORS AT PARIS]
Elaborate iron work is rare in Germany; the Germans always excelled
rather in bronze than in the sterner metal. At St. Ursula's in
Cologne there are iron floriated hinges, but the design and idea
are French, and not native.
One may usually recognize a difference between French and English
wrought iron, for the French is often in detached pieces, not an
outgrowth of the actual hinge itself, and when this is found in
England, it indicates French work.
Ornaments in iron were sometimes cut out of flat sheet metal, and
then hammered into form. In stamping this flat work with embossed
effect, the smith had to work while the iron was hot,--as Sancho
Panza expressed it, "Praying to God and hammering away." Dies were
made, after a time, into which the design could be beaten with
less effort than in the original method.
One of the quaintest of iron doors is at Krems, where the gate is
made up of square sheets of iron, cut into rude pierced designs,
giving scenes from the New Testament, and hammered up so as to be
slightly embossed.
The Guild of Blacksmiths in Florence flourished as early as the
thirteenth century. It covered workers in many metals, copper,
iron, brass, and pewter included. Among the rules of the Guild
was one permitting members to work for ready money only. They were
not allowed to advertise by street crying, and were fined if they
did so. The Arms of the Guild was a pair of furnace tongs upon a
white field. Among the products of the forge most in demand were
the iron window-gratings so invariable on all houses, and called
by Michelangelo "kneeling windows," on account of the bulging shape
of the lower parts.
One famous iron worker carried out the law of the Guild both in
spirit and letter to the extent of insisting upon payment in advance!
This was Nicolo Grosso, who worked about 1499. Vasari calls him
the "money grabber." His specialty was to make the beautiful torch
holders and lanterns such as one sees on the Strozzi Palace and
in the Bargello.
In England there were Guilds of Blacksmiths; in Middlesex one was
started in 1434, and members were known as "in the worship of St.
Eloi." Members were alluded to as "Brethren and Sisteren,"--this
term would fill a much felt vacancy! Some of the Guilds exacted
fines from all members who did not pay a proper proportion of their
earnings to the Church.
Another general use of iron for artistic purposes was in the manufacture
of grilles. Grilles were used in France and England in cathedrals.
The earliest Christian grille is a pierced bronze screen in the
Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.
In Hildesheim is an original form of grille; the leaves and rosettes
in the design are pierced, instead of being beaten up into bosses.
This probably came from the fact that the German smith did not
understand the Frankish drawing, and supposed that the shaded portions
of the work were intended to be open work. The result, however,
is most happy, and a new feature was thus introduced into grille
work.
[Illustration: WROUGHT IRON FROM THE BARGELLO, FLORENCE]
Many grilles were formed by the smith's taking an iron bar and,
under the intense heat, splitting it into various branches, each
of which should be twisted in a different way. Another method was
to use the single slighter bar for the foundation of the design,
and welding on other volutes of similar thickness to make the scroll
work associated with wrought iron.
Some of the smiths who worked at Westminster Abbey are known by
name; Master Henry Lewis, in 1259, made the iron work for the tomb
of Henry III. A certain iron fragment is signed Gilibertus. The iron
on the tomb of Queen Eleanor is by Thomas de Leighton, in 1294.
Lead workers also had a place assigned to them in the precincts,
which was known as "the Plumbery." In 1431 Master Roger Johnson
was enjoined to arrest or press smiths into service in order to
finish the ironwork on the tomb of Edward IV.
Probably the most famous use of iron in Spain is in the stupendous
"_rejas_," or chancel screens of wrought iron; but these are nearly
all of a late Renaissance style, and hardly come within the scope
of this volume. The requirements of Spanish cathedrals, too, for
wrought iron screens for all the side chapels, made plenty of work
for the iron masters. In fact, the "_rejeros_," or iron master, was
as regular an adjunct to a cathedral as an architect or a painter.
Knockers were often very handsome in Spain, and even nail heads
were decorated.
An interesting specimen of iron work is the grille that surrounds
the tomb of the Scaligers in Verolla. It is not a hard stiff
structure, but is composed of circular forms, each made separately,
and linked together with narrow bands, so that the construction is
flexible, and is more like a gigantic piece of chain mail than an
iron fence.
Quentin Matsys was known as the "blacksmith of Antwerp," and is
reported to have left his original work among metals to become a
painter. This was done in order to marry the lady of his choice, for
she refused to join her fate to that of a craftsman. She, however,
was ready to marry a painter. Quentin, therefore, gave up his hammer
and anvil, and began to paint Madonnas that he might prosper in his
suit. Some authorities, however, laugh at this story, and claim
that the specimens of iron work which are shown as the early works
of Matsys date from a time when he would have been only ten or
twelve years old, and that they must therefore have been the work
of his father, Josse Matsys, who was a locksmith. The well-cover
in Antwerp, near the cathedral, is always known as Quentin Matsys'
well. It is said that this was not constructed until 1470, while
Quentin was born in 1466.
The iron work of the tomb of the Duke of Burgundy, in Windsor,
is supposed to be the work of Quentin Matsys, and is considered
the finest grille in England. It is wrought with such skill and
delicacy that it is more like the product of the goldsmith's art
than that of the blacksmith.
[Illustration: MOORISH KEYS, SEVILLE]
Another object of utility which was frequently ornamented was the
key. The Key of State, especially, was so treated. Some are nine
or ten inches long, having been used to present to visiting grandees
as typical of the "Freedom of the City." Keys were often decorated
with handles having the appearance of Gothic tracery. In an old
book published in 1795, there is an account of the miraculous Keys
of St. Denis, made of silver, which they apply to the faces of
these persons who have been so unfortunate as to be bitten by mad
dogs, and who received certain and immediate relief in only touching
them. A key in Valencia, over nine inches in length, is richly
embossed, while the wards are composed of decorative letters, looking
at first like an elaborate sort of filigree, but finally resolving
themselves into the autographic statement: "It was made by Ahmed
Ahsan." It is a delicate piece of thirteenth or fourteenth century
work in iron.
Another old Spanish key has a Hebrew inscription round the handle:
"The King of Kings will open: the King of the whole Earth will
enter," and, in the wards, in Spanish, "God will open, the King
will enter."
The iron smiths of Barcelona formed a Guild in the thirteenth century:
it is to be regretted that more of their work could not have descended
to us.
A frank treatment of locks and bolts, using them as decorations,
instead of treating them as disgraces, upon the surface of a door,
is the only way to make them in any degree effective. As Pugin has
said, it is possible to use nails, screws, and rivets, so that
they become "beautiful studs and busy enrichments." Florentine
locksmiths were specially famous; there also was a great fashion
for damascened work in that city, and it was executed with much
elegance.
In blacksmith's work, heat was used with the hammer at each stage
of the work, while in armourer's or locksmith's work, heat was
employed only at first, to achieve the primitive forms, and then
the work was carried on with chisel and file on the cold metal.
Up to the fourteenth century the work was principally that of the
blacksmith, and after that, of the locksmith.
The mention of arms and armour in a book of these proportions must
be very slight; the subject is a vast one, and no effort to treat
it with system would be satisfactory in so small a space. But a
few curious and significant facts relating to the making of armour
may be cited.
The rapid decay of iron through rust--rapid, that is to say, in
comparison with other metals--is often found to have taken place when
the discovery of old armour has been made; so that gold ornaments,
belonging to a sword or other weapon, may be found in excavating,
while the iron which formed the actual weapon has disappeared.
Primitive armour was based on a leather foundation, hence the name
cuirass, was derived from _cuir_ (leather). In a former book I have
alluded to the armour of the nomadic tribes, which is described by
Pausanias as coarse coats of mail made out of the hoofs of horses,
split, and laid overlapping each other, making them "something like
dragon's scales," as Pausanias explains; adding for the benefit
of those who are unfamiliar with dragons' anatomy, "Whoever has
not _yet_ seen a dragon, has, at any rate, seen a pine cone still
green. These are equally like in appearance to the surface of this
armour." These horny scales of tough hoofs undoubtedly suggested,
at a later date, the use of thick leather as a form of protection,
and the gradual evolution may be imagined.
The art of the armourer was in early mediæval times the art of the
chain maker. The chain coat, or coats of mail, reached in early
days as far as the knees. Finally this developed into an entire
covering for the man, with head gear as well; of course this form
of armour allowed of no real ornamentation, for there was no space
larger than the links of the chain upon which to bestow decoration.
Each link of a coat of mail was brought round into a ring, the ends
overlapped, and a little rivet inserted. Warriors trusted to no
solder or other mode of fastening. All the magnificence of knightly
apparel was concentrated in the surcoat, a splendid embroidered or
gem-decked tunic to the knees, which was worn over the coat of
mail. These surcoats were often trimmed with costly furs, ermine
or vair, the latter being similar to what we now call squirrel,
being part gray and part white. Cinderella's famous slipper was
made of "vair," which, through a misapprehension in being translated
"verre," has become known as a glass slipper.
[Illustration: ARMOUR, SHOWING MAIL DEVELOPING INTO PLATE]
After a bit, the makers of armour discovered that much tedious
labor in chain making might be spared, if one introduced a large
plate of solid metal on the chest and back. This was in the thirteenth
century. The elbows and knees were also treated in this way, and in
the fourteenth century, the principle of armour had changed to a set
of separate plates fastened together by links. This was the evolution
from mail to plate armour. A description of Charlemagne as he appeared
on the field of battle, in his armour, is given by the Monk of
St. Gall, his biographer, and is dramatic. "Then could be seen
the iron Charles, helmeted with an iron helmet, his iron breast
and broad shoulders protected with an iron breast plate; an iron
spear was raised on high in his left hand, his right always rested
on his unconquered iron falchion.... His shield was all of iron,
his charger was iron coloured and iron hearted.... The fields and
open spaces were filled with iron; a people harder than iron paid
universal homage to the hardness of iron. The horror of the dungeon
seemed less than the bright gleam of iron. 'Oh, the iron! woe for
the iron!' was the confused cry that rose from the citizens. The
strong walls shook at the sight of iron: the resolution of young
and old fell before the iron."
By the end of the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, whole
suits of armour were almost invariable, and then came the opportunity
for the goldsmith, the damascener, and the niellist. Some of the
leading artists, especially in Italy, were enlisted in designing
and decorating what might be called the _armour-de-luxe_ of the
warrior princes! The armour of horses was as ornate as that of
the riders.
The sword was always the most imposingly ornamented
part of a knight's equipment, and underwent various modifications
which are interesting to note. At first, it was the only weapon
invariably at hand: it was enormously large, and two hands were
necessary in wielding it. As the arquebuse came into use, the sword
took a secondary position: it became lighter and smaller. And ever
since 1510 it is a curious fact that the decorations of swords
have been designed to be examined when the sword hangs with the
point down; the earlier ornament was adapted to being seen at its
best when the sword was held upright, as in action. Perhaps the
later theory of decoration is more sensible, for it is certain
that neither a warrior nor his opponent could have occasion to
admire fine decoration at a time when the sword was drawn! That
the arts should be employed to satisfy the eye in times of peace,
sufficed the later wearers of ornamented swords.
Toledo blades have always been famous, and rank first among the
steel knives of the world. Even in Roman times, and of course under
the Moors, Toledo led in this department. The process of making a
Toledo blade was as follows. There was a special fine white sand
on the banks of the Tagus, which was used to sprinkle on the blade
when it was red hot, before it was sent on to the forger's. When
the blade was red hot from being steeped four-fifths of its length
in flame, it was dropped point first into a bucket of water. If it
was not perfectly straight when it was withdrawn, it was beaten
into shape, more sand being first put upon it. After this the
remaining fifth of the blade was subjected to the fire, and was
rubbed with suet while red hot; the final polish of the whole sword
was produced by emery powder on wooden wheels.
[Illustration: DAMASCENED HELMET]
Damascening was a favourite method of ornamenting choice suits
of armour, and was also applied to bronzes, cabinets, and such
pieces of metal as lent themselves to decoration. The process began
like niello: little channels for the design were hollowed out, in
the iron or bronze, and then a wire of brass, silver, or gold, was
laid in the groove, and beaten into place, being afterwards polished
until the surface was uniform all over. One great feature of the art
was to sink the incision a little broader at the base than at the top,
and then to force the softer metal in, so that, by this undercutting,
it was held firmly in place. Cellini tells of his first view of
damascened steel blades. "I chanced," he says, "to become possessed
of certain little Turkish daggers, the handle of which together
with the guard and blade were ornamented with beautiful Oriental
leaves, engraved with a chisel, and inlaid with gold. This kind of
work differed materially from any which I had as yet practised or
attempted, nevertheless I was seized with a great desire to try my
hand at it, and I succeeded so admirably that I produced articles
infinitely finer and more solid than those of the Turks." Benvenuto
had such a humble opinion of his own powers! But when one considers
the pains and labour expended upon the arts of damascening and
niello, one regrets that the workers had not been inspired to attempt
dentistry, and save so much unnecessary individual suffering!
On the Sword of Boabdil are many inscriptions, among them, "God is
clement and merciful," and "God is gifted with the best memory."
No two sentiments could be better calculated to keep a conqueror
from undue excesses.
Mercia was a headquarters for steel and other metals
in the thirteenth century. Seville was even then famous for its
steel, also, and in the words of a contemporary writer, "the steel
which is made in Seville is most excellent; it would take too much
time to enumerate the delicate objects of every kind which are
made in this town." King Don Pedro, in his will, in the fourteenth
century, bequeathes to his son, his "Castilian sword, which I had
made here in Seville, ornamented with stones and gold." Swords
were baptized; they were named, and seemed to have a veritable
personality of their own. The sword of Charlemagne was christened
"Joyeuse," while we all know of Arthur's Excalibur; Roland's sword
was called Durandel. Saragossa steel was esteemed for helmets,
and the sword of James of Arragon in 1230, "a very good sword,
and lucky to those who handled it," was from Monzon. The Cid's
sword was similar, and named Tizona. There is a story of a Jew who
went to the grave of the Cid to steal his sword, which, according
to custom, was interred with the owner: the corpse is said to have
resented the intrusion by unsheathing the weapon, which miracle
so amazed the Jew that he turned Christian!
[Illustration: MOORISH SWORD]
German armour was popular. Cologne swords were great favourites
in England. King Arthur's sword was one of these,--
"For all of Coleyne was the blade
And all the hilt of precious stone."
In the British Museum is a wonderful example of a wooden shield,
painted on a gesso ground, the subject being a Knight kneeling
before a lady, and the motto: "Vous ou la mort." These wooden shields
were used in Germany until the end of Maximilian's reign.
The helmet, or Heaume, entirely concealed the face, so that for
purposes of identification, heraldic badges and shields were displayed.
Later, crests were also used on the helmets, for the same purpose.
Certain armourers were very well known in their day, and were as
famous as artists in other branches. William Austin made a superb
suit for the Earl of Warwick, while Thomas Stevyns was the coppersmith
who worked on the same, and Bartholomew Lambspring was the polisher.
There was a famous master-armourer at Greenwich in the days of
Elizabeth, named Jacob: some important arms of that period bear
the inscription, "Made by me Jacob." There is some question whether
he was the same man as Jacob Topf who came from Innsbruck, and
became court armourer in England in 1575. Another famous smith
was William Pickering, who made exquisitely ornate suits of what
we might call full-dress armour.
Colossal cannon were made: two celebrated guns may be seen, the
monster at Ghent, called Mad Meg, and the huge cannon at Edinburgh
Castle, Mons Meg, dating from 1476. These guns are composed of steel
coils or spirals, afterwards welded into a solid mass instead of
being cast. They are mammoth examples of the art of the blacksmith
and the forge. In Germany cannon were made of bronze, and these
were simply cast.
Cross bows obtained great favour in Spain, even after the arquebuse
had come into use. It was considered a safer weapon to the one
who used it. An old writer in 1644 remarks, "It has never been
known that a man's life has been lost by breaking the string or
cord, two things which are dangerous, but not to a considerable
extent,"... and he goes on "once set, its shot is secure, which
is not the case with the arquebus, which often misses fire." There
is a letter from Ambassador Salimas to the King of Hungary, in
which he says: "I went to Balbastro and there occupied myself in
making a pair of cross bows for your Majesty. I believe they will
satisfy the desires which were required... as your Majesty is annoyed
when they do not go off as you wish." It would seem as though his
Majesty's "annoyance" was justifiable; imagine any one dependent
upon the shot of a cross bow, and then having the weapon fail to
"go off!" Nothing could be more discouraging.
[Illustration: ENAMELLED SUIT OF ARMOUR]
There is a contemporary treatise which is full of interest,
entitled, "How a Man shall be Armed at his ease when he shall Fight
on Foot." It certainly was a good deal of a contract to render
a knight comfortable in spite of the fact that he could see or
breathe only imperfectly, and was weighted down by iron at every
point. This complete covering with metal added much to the actual
noise of battle. Froissart alludes to the fact that in the battle of
Rosebeque, in 1382, the hammering on the helmets made a noise which
was equal to that of all the armourers of Paris and Brussels working
together. And yet the strength needed to sport such accoutrements
seems to have been supplied. Leon Alberti of Florence, when clad
in a full suit of armour, could spring with ease upon a galloping
horse, and it is related that Aldobrandini, even with his right
arm disabled, could cleave straight through his opponent's helmet
and head, down to the collar bone, with a single stroke!
One of the richest suits of armour in the world is to be seen at
Windsor; it is of Italian workmanship, and is made of steel, blued
and gilded, with wonderfully minute decorations of damascene and
appliqué work. This most ornate armour was made chiefly for show,
and not for the field: for knights to appear in their official
capacity, and for jousting at tournaments, which were practically
social events. In the days of Henry VIII. a chronicler tells of
a jouster who "tourneyed in harneyse all of gilt from the head
piece to the sabattons." Many had "tassels of fine gold" on their
suits.
Italian weapons called "lasquenets" were very deadly. In a letter
from Albrecht Dürer to Pirckheimer, he alludes to them, as having
"roncions with two hundred and eighteen points: and if they pink a
man with any of these, the man is dead, as they are all poisoned."
Bronze is composed of copper with an alloy of about eight or ten
per cent. of tin. The fusing of these two metals produces the brown
glossy substance called bronze, which is so different from either of
them. The art of the bronze caster is a very old and interesting one.
The method of proceeding has varied very little with the centuries. A
statue to be cast either in silver or bronze would be treated in
the following manner.
A general semblance of the finished work was first set up in clay;
then over this a layer of wax was laid, as thick as the final bronze
was intended to be. The wax was then worked with tools and by hand
until it took on the exact form designed for the finished product.
Then a crust of clay was laid over the wax; on this were added other
coatings of clay, until quite a thick shell of clay surrounded
the wax. The whole was then subjected to fervent heat, and the wax
all melted out, leaving a space between the core and the outer
shell. Into this space the liquid bronze was poured, and after it
had cooled and hardened the outer shell was broken off, leaving
the statue in bronze exactly as the wax had been.
Cellini relates an experience in Paris, with an old man
eighty years of age, one of the most famous bronze casters whom
he had engaged to assist him in his work for Francis I. Something
went wrong with the furnace, and the poor old man was so upset and
"got into such a stew" that he fell upon the floor, and Benvenuto
picked him up fancying him to be dead: "Howbeit," explains Cellini,
"I had a great beaker of the choicest wine brought him,... I mixed
a large bumper of wine for the old man, who was groaning away like
anything, and I bade him most winning-wise to drink, and said:
'Drink, my father, for in yonder furnace has entered in a devil,
who is making all this mischief, and, look you, we'll just let him
bide there a couple of days, till he gets jolly well bored, and
then will you and I together in the space of three hours firing,
make this metal run, like so much batter, and without any exertion
at all.' The old fellow drank and then I brought him some little
dainties to eat: meat pasties they were, nicely peppered, and I
made him take down four full goblets of wine. He was a man quite
out of the ordinary, this, and a most lovable old thing, and what
with my caresses and the virtue of the wine, I found him soon moaning
away as much with joy as he had moaned before with grief." Cellini
displayed in this incident his belief in the great principle that
the artist should find pleasure in his work in order to impart
to that work a really satisfactory quality, and did exactly the
right thing at the right minute; instead of trusting to a faltering
effort in a disheartened man, he cheered the old bronze founder
up to such a pitch that after a day or two the work was completed
with triumph and joy to both.
In the famous statue of Perseus, Cellini experienced much difficulty
in keeping the metal liquid. The account of this thrilling experience,
told in his matchless autobiography, is too long to quote at this
point; an interesting item, however, should be noted. Cellini used
pewter as a solvent in the bronze which had hardened in the furnace.
"Apprehending that the cause of it was, that the fusibility of
the metal was impaired, by the violence of the fire," he says, "I
ordered all my dishes and porringers, which were in number about
two hundred, to be placed one by one before my tubes, and part of
them to be thrown into the furnace, upon which all present perceived
that my bronze was completely dissolved, and that my mould was
filling," and, such was the relief that even the loss of the entire
pewter service of the family was sustained with equanimity; the
family, "without delay, procured earthen vessels to supply the place
of the pewter dishes and porringers, and we all dined together very
cheerfully." Edgecumb Staley, in the "Guilds of Florence," speaks
of the "pewter fattened Perseus:" this is worthy of Carlyle.
Early Britons cast statues in brass. Speed tells of King Cadwollo,
who died in 677, being buried "at St. Martin's church near Ludgate,
his image great and terrible, triumphantly riding on horseback,
artificially cast in brass, was placed on the Western gate of the
city, to the further fear and terror of the Saxons!"
In 1562 Bartolomeo Morel, who made the celebrated statue of the
Giralda Tower in Seville, executed a fifteen branched candelabrum
for the Cathedral. It is a rich Renaissance design, in remarkably
chaste and good lines, and holds fifteen statuettes, which are
displaced to make room for the candles only during the last few
days of Lent.
A curious form of mediæval trinket was the perfume ball; this consisted
of a perforated ball of copper or brass, often ornamented with
damascene, and intended to contain incense to perfume the air, the
balls being suspended.
The earliest metal statuary in England was rendered in latten, a
mixed metal of a yellow colour, the exact recipe for which has not
survived. The recumbent effigies of Henry III. and Queen Eleanor
are made of latten, and the tomb of the Black Prince in Canterbury
is the same, beautifully chased. Many of these and other tombs were
probably originally covered with gilding, painting, and enamel.
The effigies of Richard II. and his queen, Anne of Bohemia, were
made during the reign of the monarch; a contemporary document states
that "Sir John Innocent paid another part of a certain indenture
made between the King and Nicolas Broker and Geoffrey Prest,
coppersmiths of London, for the making of two images, likenesses
of the King and Queen, of copper and latten, gilded upon the said
marble tomb."
There are many examples of bronze gates in ecclesiastical
architecture. The gates of St. Paolo Fuori le Mura in Rome were
made in 1070, in Constantinople, by Stauracius the Founder. Many
authorities think that those at St. Mark's in Venice were similarly
produced. The bronze doors in Rome are composed of fifty-four small
designs, not in relief, but with the outlines of the subjects inlaid
with silver. The doors are in Byzantine taste.
The bronze doors at Hildesheim differ from nearly all other such
portals, in the elemental principle of design. Instead of being
divided into small panels, they are simply blocked off into seven
long horizontal compartments on each side, and then filled with a
pictorial arrangement of separate figures; only three or four in
each panel, widely spaced, and on a background of very low relief.
The figures are applied, at scattered distances apart, and are
in unusually high modelling, in some cases being almost detached
from the door. The effect is curious and interesting rather than
strictly beautiful, on the whole; but in detail many of the figures
display rare power of plastic skill, proportion, and action. They
are, at any rate, very individual: there are no other doors at
all like them. They are the work of Bishop Bernward.
Unquestionably, one of the greatest achievements in bronze of any
age is the pair of gates by Lorenzo Ghiberti on the Baptistery
in Florence. Twenty-one years were devoted to their making, by
Ghiberti and his assistants, with the stipulation that all figures
in the design were to be personal work of the master, the
assistants only attending to secondary details. The doors were in
place in April, 1424.
[Illustration: BRUNELLESCHI'S COMPETITIVE PANEL]
The competition for the Baptistery doors reads like a romance,
and is familiar to most people who know anything of historic art.
When the young Ghiberti heard that the competition was open to
all, he determined to go to Florence and work for the prize; in
his own words: "When my friends wrote to me that the governors
of the Baptistery were sending for masters whose skill in bronze
working they wished to prove, and that from all Italian lands many
maestri were coming, to place themselves in this strife of talent,
I could no longer forbear, and asked leave of Sig. Malatesta, who
let me depart." The result of the competition is also given in
Ghiberti's words: "The palm of victory was conceded to me by all
judges, and by those who competed with me. Universally all the
glory was given to me without any exception."
[Illustration: GHIBERTI'S COMPETITIVE PANEL]
Symonds considers the first gate a supreme accomplishment in bronze
casting, but criticizes the other, and usually more admired gate, as
"overstepping the limits that separate sculpture from painting," by
"massing together figures in multitudes at three and sometimes four
distances. He tried to make a place in bas-relief for perspective."
Sir Joshua Reynolds finds fault with Ghiberti, also, for working at
variance with the severity of sculptural treatment, by distributing
small figures in a spacious landscape framework. It was not really
in accordance with the limitations of his material to treat a bronze
casting as Ghiberti treated it, and his example has led many men of
inferior genius astray, although there is no use in denying that
Ghiberti himself was clever enough to defy the usual standards
and rules.
Fonts were sometimes made in bronze. There is such a one at Liege
cast by Lambert Patras, which stands upon twelve oxen. It is decorated
with reliefs from the Gospels. This artist, Patras, was a native
of Dinant, and lived in the twelfth century. The bronze font in
Hildesheim is among the most interesting late Romanesque examples in
Germany. It is a large deep basin entirely covered with enrichment
of Scriptural scenes, and is supported by four kneeling figures,
typical of the four Rivers of Paradise. The conical cover is also
covered with Scriptural scenes, and surmounted by a foliate knob.
Among the figures with which the font is covered are the Cardinal
Virtues, flanked by their patron saints. Didron considers this a most
important piece of bronze from an iconographic point of view
theologically and poetically. The archaic qualities of the figures
are fascinating and sometimes diverting. In the scene of the Baptism
of Christ the water is positively trained to flow upwards in pyramidal
form, in order to reach nearly to the waist, while at either side it
recedes to the ground level again,--it has an ingenuous and almost
startling suddenness in the rising of its flood! An interesting
comment upon the prevalence of early national forms may be deduced,
when one observes that on the table, at the Last Supper, there
lies a perfectly shaped pretzel!
The great bronze column constructed by St. Bernward at Hildesheim
has the Life of Christ represented in consecutive scenes in a spiral
form, like those ornamenting the column of Trajan. Down by Bernward's
grave there is a spring which is said to cure cripples and rheumatics.
Peasants visit Hildesheim on saints' days in order to drink of
it, and frequently, after one of these visitations, crutches are
found abandoned near by.
Saxony was famous for its bronze founders, and work was sent forth,
from this country, in the twelfth century, all over Europe.
[Illustration: FONT AT HILDESHEIM, 12TH CENTURY]
Orcagna's tabernacle at Or San Michele is, as Symonds
has expressed it, "a monumental jewel," and "an epitome of the
minor arts of mediæval Italy." On it one sees bas-relief carving,
intaglios, statuettes, mosaic, the lapidary's art in agate; enamels,
and gilded glass, and yet all in good taste and harmony. The sculpture
is properly subordinated to the architectonic principle, and one
can understand how it is not only the work of a goldsmith, but
of a painter.
Of all bronze workers, perhaps Peter Vischer is the best known
and is certainly one of the best deserving of his wide fame. Peter
Vischer was born about the same time as Quentin Matsys, between
1460 and 1470. He was the most important metal worker in Germany.
He and Adam Kraft, of whom mention will be made when we come to
deal with sculptural carving, were brought up together as boys,
and "when older boys, went with one another on all holidays, acting
still as though they were apprentices together." Vischer's normal
expression was in Gothic form. His first design for the wonderful
shrine of St. Sebald in Nuremberg was made by him in 1488, and
is still preserved in Vienna. It is a pure late-Gothic canopy,
and I cannot help regretting that the execution was delayed until
popular taste demanded more concession towards the Renaissance,
and it was resolved in 1507, "to have the Shrine of St. Sebald
made of brass."
Therefore, although the general lines continue to hold a Gothic
semblance, the shrine has many Renaissance features. Regret, however,
is almost morbid, in relation to such a perfect work of art. Italian
feeling is evident throughout, and the wealth of detail in figures
and foliate forms is magnificent. The centre of interest is the
little portrait statuette of Peter Vischer himself, according to his
biographer, "as he looked, and as he daily went about and worked in
the foundry." Though Peter had not been to Italy himself, his son
Hermann had visited the historic land, and had brought home "artistic
things that he sketched and drew, which delighted his old father, and
were of great use to his brothers." Peter Vischer had three sons, who
all followed him in the craft. His workshop must have been an ideal
institution in its line.
Some remnants of Gothic grotesque fancy are to be seen on the shrine,
although treated outwardly with Renaissance feeling. A realistic
life-sized mouse may be seen in one place, just as if it had run
out to inspect the work; and the numbers of little tipsy "putti"
who disport themselves in all attitudes, in perilous positions
on narrow ledges, are full of merry humour.
The metal of St. Sebald's shrine is left as it came from the casting,
and owes much of its charm to the lack of filing, polishing, and
pointing usual in such monuments. The molten living expression is
retained. Only the details and spirit of the figures are Renaissance;
the Gothic plan is hardly disturbed, and the whole monument is
pleasing in proportion. The figures are exquisite, especially that
of St. Peter.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT STATUETTE OF PETER VISCHER]
A great Renaissance work in Germany was the grille
of the Rathaus made for Nuremberg by Peter Vischer the Younger. It
was of bronze, the symmetrical diapered form of the open work part
being supported by chaste and dignified columns of the Corinthian
order. It was first designed by Peter Vischer the Elder, and revised
and changed by the whole family after Hermann's return from Rome
with his Renaissance notions. It was sold in 1806 to a merchant
for old metal; later it was traced to the south of France, where
it disappeared.
Another famous bronze of Nuremberg is the well-known "Goose Man"
fountain, by Labenwolf. Every traveller has seen the quaint half-foolish
little man, as he stands there holding his two geese who politely
turn away their heads in order to produce the streams of water!
With the best bronzes, and with steel used for decorative purposes,
the original casting has frequently been only for general form,
the whole of the surface finishing being done with a shaping tool,
by hand, giving the appearance of a carving in bronze or steel. In
Japanese bronzes this is particularly felt. The classical bronzes
were evidently perfect mosaics of different colours, in metal. Pliny
tells of a bronze figure of a dying woman, who was represented
as having changed colour at the extremities, the fusion of the
different shades of bronze being disguised by anklets, bracelets,
and a necklace! A curious and very disagreeable work of art, we
should say. One sometimes sees in antique fragments ivory or silver
eyeballs, and hair and eyelashes made separately in thin strips and
coils of metal; while occasionally the depression of the edge of
the lips is sufficient to give rise to the opinion that a thin
veneer of copper was applied to give colour.
The bronze effigies of Henry III. and Eleanor, at Westminster, were
the work of a goldsmith, Master William Torel, and are therefore
finer in quality and are in some respects superior to the average
casting in bronze. Torel worked at the palace, and the statues were
cast in "cire perdue" process, being executed in the churchyard
itself. They are considered among the finest bronzes of the period
extant. Gilding and enamel were often used in bronze effigies.
Splendid bronzes, cast each in a single flow, are the recumbent
figures of two bishops at Amiens; they are of the thirteenth century.
Ruskin says: "They are the only two bronze tombs of her men of the
great ages left in France." An old document speaks of the "moulds
and imagines" which were in use for casting effigy portraits, in
1394.
Another good English bronze is that of Richard Beauchamp at Warwick,
the work of Thomas Stevens, which has been alluded to. In Westminster
Abbey, the effigy of Aymer de Valence, dating from 1296, is of
copper, but it is not cast; it is of beaten metal, and is enamelled,
probably at Limoges.
Bells and cannon are among the objects of actual utility which
were cast in bronze. Statues as a rule came later. In the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries in England, bronze was used to such an
extent, that one authority suggested that it should be called the
"Age of Bronze." Primitive bells were made of cast iron riveted
together: one of these is at the Cologne museum, and the Irish bells
were largely of this description. A great bell was presented to the
Cathedral of Chartres in 1028, by a donor named Jean, which affords
little clue to his personality. This bell weighed over two tons.
There is considerable interest attaching to the subject of the
making of bells in the Middle Ages. Even in domestic life bells
played quite a part; it was the custom to ring a bell when the
bath was ready and to announce meals, as well as to summon the
servitors. Church bells, both large and small, were in use in England
by 670, according to Bede. They were also carried by missionaries;
those good saints, Patrick and Cuthbert, announced their coming
like town criers! The shrine of St. Patrick's bell has been already
described. Bells used to be regarded with a superstitious awe, and
were supposed to have the ability to dispel evil spirits, which were
exorcised with "bell, book, and candle." The bell of St. Patrick,
inside the great shrine, is composed of two pieces of sheet iron,
one of which forms the face, and being turned over the top, descends
about half-way down the other side, where it meets the second sheet.
Both are bent along the edges so as to form the sides of the bell,
and they are both secured by rivets. A rude handle is similarly
attached to the top.
A quaint account is given by the Monk of St. Gall
about a bell ordered by Charlemagne. Charlemagne having admired
the tone of a certain bell, the founder, named Tancho, said to
him: "Lord Emperor, give orders that a great weight of copper be
brought to me that I may refine it, and instead of tin give me as
much silver as I need,--a hundred pounds at least,--and I will
cast such a bell for you that this will seem dumb in comparison
to it." Charlemagne ordered the required amount of silver to be
sent to the founder, who was, however, a great knave. He did not
use the silver at all, but, laying it aside for his own use, he
employed tin as usual in the bell, knowing that it would make a
very fair tone, and counting on the Emperor's not observing the
difference. The Emperor was glad when it was ready to be heard,
and ordered it to be hung, and the clapper attached. "That was soon
done," says the chronicler, "and then the warden of the church,
the attendants, and even the boys of the place, tried, one after
the other, to make the bell sound. But all was in vain; and so
at last the knavish maker of the bell came up, seized the rope,
and pulled at the bell. When, lo! and behold! down from on high
came the brazen mass; fell on the very head of the cheating brass
founder; killed him on the spot; and passed straight through his
carcase and crashed to the ground.... When the aforementioned weight
of silver was found, Charles ordered it to be distributed among
the poorest servants of the palace."
There is record of bronze bells in Valencia as early as 622, and
an ancient mortar was found near Monzon, in the ruins of a castle
which had formerly belonged to the Arabs. Round the edge of this
mortar was the inscription: "Complete blessing, and ever increasing
happiness and prosperity of every kind and an elevated and happy
social position for its owner." The mortar was richly ornamented.
At Croyland, Abbot Egebric "caused to be made two great bells which
he named Bartholomew and Bethelmus, two of middle size, called
Turketul and Tatwyn, and two lesser, Pega and Bega." Also at Croyland
were placed "two little bells which Fergus the brass worker of St.
Botolph's had lately given," in the church tower, "until better
times," when the monks expressed a hope that they should improve
all their buildings and appointments.
Oil that dropped from the framework on which church bells were
hung was regarded in Florence as a panacea for various ailments.
People who suffered from certain complaints were rubbed with this
oil, and fully believed that it helped them.
The curfew bell was a famous institution; but the name was not
originally applied to the bell itself. This leads to another curious
bit of domestic metal. The popular idea of a curfew is that of
a bell; a bell was undoubtedly rung at the curfew hour, and was
called by its name; but the actual curfew (or _couvre feu_) was an
article made of copper, shaped not unlike a deep "blower," which
was used in order to extinguish the fire when the bell rang. There
are a few specimens in England of these curious covers: they stood
about ten to fifteen inches high, with a handle at the top, and
closed in on three sides, open at the back. The embers were
shovelled close to the back of the hearth, and the curfew, with the
open side against the back of the chimney, was placed over them,
thus excluding all air. Horace Walpole owned, at Strawberry Hill,
a famous old curfew, in copper, elaborately decorated with vines
and the York rose.
[Illustration: A COPPER "CURFEW"]
[Illustration: SANCTUARY KNOCKER, DURHAM CATHEDRAL]
The Sanctuary knocker at Durham Cathedral is an important example
of bronze work, probably of the same age as the Cathedral door on
which it is fastened. They both date from about the eleventh
century. Ever since 740, in the Episcopate of Cynewulf, criminals
were allowed to claim Sanctuary in Durham. When this knocker was
sounded, the door was opened, by two porters who had their
accommodations always in two little chambers over the door, and
for a certain length of time the criminal was under the protection
of the Church.
In speaking of the properties of lead, the old English Bartholomew
says: "Of uncleanness of impure brimstone, lead hath a manner of
neshness, and smircheth his hand who toucheth it... a man may wipe
off the uncleanness, but always it is lead, although it seemeth
silver." Weather vanes, made often of lead, were sometimes quite
elaborate. One of the most important pieces of lead work in art
is the figure of an angel on the chewet of Ste. Chapelle in Paris.
Originally this figure was intended to be so controlled by clockwork
that it would turn around once in the course of the twenty-four
hours, so that his attitude of benediction should be directed to
all four quarters of the city; but this was not practicable, and
the angel is stationary. The cock on the weather vane at Winchester
was described as early as the tenth century, in the Life of St.
Swithin, by the scribe Walstan. He calls it "a cock of elegant
form, and all resplendent and shining with gold who occupies the
summit of the tower. He regards the world from on high, he commands
all the country. Before him extend the stars of the North, and all
the constellations of the zodiac. Under his superb feet he holds
the sceptre of the law, and he sees under him all the people of
Winchester. The other cocks are humble subjects of this one, whom
they see thus raised in mid-air above them: he scorns the winds,
that bring the rains, and, turning, he presents to them his back.
The terrible efforts of the tempest do not annoy him, he receives
with courage either snow or lightning, alone he watches the sun as
it sets and dips into the ocean: and it is he who gives it its first
salute on its rising again. The traveller who sees him afar off,
fixes on him his gaze; forgetting the road he has still to follow,
he forgets his fatigues: he advances with renewed ardour. While he
is in reality a long way from the end, his eyes deceive him, and he
thinks that he has arrived." Quite a practical tribute to a weather
cock!
The fact that leaden roofs were placed on all churches and monastic
buildings in the Middle Ages, accounts in part for their utter
destruction in case of fire; for it is easy to see how impossible
it would be to enter a building in order to save anything, if, to
the terror of flames, were added the horror of a leaden shower
of molten metal proceeding from every part of the roof at once!
If a church once caught fire, that was its end, as a rule.
The invention of clocks, on the principle of cog-wheels and weights,
is attributed to a monk, named Gerbert, who died in 1013. He had
been instructor to King Robert, and was made Bishop of Rheims,
later becoming Pope Sylvester II. Clocks at first were large affairs
in public places. Portable clocks were said to have been first made
by Carovage, in 1480.
[Illustration: ANGLO SAXON CRUCIFIX OF LEAD]
An interesting specimen of mediæval clock work is the old Dijon time
keeper, which still performs its office, and which is a privilege
to watch at high noon. Twelve times the bell is struck: first by a
man, who turns decorously with his hammer, and then by a woman,
who does the same. This staunch couple have worked for their living
for many centuries. Froissart alludes to this clock, saying: "The
Duke of Burgundy caused to be carried away from the market place at
Courtray a clock that struck the hours, one of the finest which could
be found on either side of the sea: and he conveyed it by pieces in
carts, and the bell also, which clock was brought and carted into the
town of Dijon, in Burgundy, where it was deposited and put up, and
there strikes the twenty-four hours between day and night." This was
in 1382, and there is no knowing how long the clock may have performed
its functions in Courtray prior to its removal to Dijon.
The great clock at Nuremberg shows a procession of the Seven Electors,
who come out of one door, pass in front of the throne, each turning
and doing obeisance, and pass on through another door. It is quite
imposing, at noon, to watch this procession repeated twelve times.
The clock is called the Mannleinlauffen.
In the Statutes of Francis I., there is a clause stating that
clockmakers as well as goldsmiths were authorized to employ in their
work gold, silver, and all other materials.
In Wells Cathedral is a curious clock, on which is a figure of a
monarch, like Charles I., seated above the bell, which he kicks
with his heels when the hour comes round. He is popularly known as
"Jack Blandiver." This clock came originally from Glastonbury. On
the hour a little tournament takes place, a race of little mounted
knights rushing out in circles and charging each other vigorously.
Pugin regrets the meaningless designs used by early Victorian clock
makers. He calls attention to the fact that "it is not unusual to
cast a Roman warrior in a flying chariot, round one of the wheels
of which on close inspection the hours may be descried; or the whole
front of a cathedral church reduced to a few inches in height,
with the clock face occupying the position of a magnificent rose
window!" This is not overdrawn; taste has suffered many vicissitudes
in the course of time, but we hope that the future will hold more
beauty for us in the familiar articles of the household than have
prevailed at some periods in the past.