Produced by David Wilson
ECCLESIASTICAL CURIOSITIES.
[Illustration: _From a Photo by A. H. Pitcher, Gloucester._
PORCH, GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL.]
Ecclesiastical
Curiosities
Edited by
William Andrews
LONDON:
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., 5, FARRINGDON AVENUE, E.C.
1899.
[Illustration: William Andrews & Co
The Hull Press]
Preface.
This volume is on similar lines to some of my previously published
works, and I trust it will be equally well received by the public and
the press.
William Andrews.
The Hull Press,
_December 1st, 1898._
Contents.
PAGE
The Church Door. By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A. 1
Sacrificial Foundations. By England Howlett 30
The Building of the English Cathedrals. By the Rev.
Geo. S. Tyack, B.A. 46
Ye Chappell of Oure Ladye. By the Rev. J. H. Stamp 76
Some Famous Spires. By John T. Page 101
The Five of Spades and the Church of Ashton-under-Lyne.
By John Eglington Bailey, F.S.A. 113
Bells and their Messages. By Edward Bradbury 119
Stories about Bells. By J. Potter Briscoe, F.R.H.S. 133
Concerning Font-Lore. By the Rev. P. Oakley Hill 145
Watching-Chambers in Churches. By the Rev. Geo. S.
Tyack, B.A. 153
Church Chests. By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A. 161
An Antiquarian Problem: The Leper Window. By William
White, F.S.A. 183
Mazes. By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A. 186
Churchyard Superstitions. By the Rev. Theodore Johnson 206
Curious Announcements in the Church. By the Rev. R.
Wilkins Rees 216
Big Bones Preserved in Churches. By the Rev. R. Wilkins
Rees 230
Samuel Pepys at Church. 244
Ecclesiastical Curiosities.
The Church Door.
By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A.
That first impressions have no small influence in moulding the opinions
of most people can scarcely be denied; and therefore in our estimate of
the architectural value of a church the door is an element of some
importance. A shabby and undignified entrance raises no expectations of
a lofty and solemn interior; and that interior must be emphatically
fine, if we are not to read into it some of the meanness of its portal.
On the other hand, though the church be but plain and simple--so that
it lack not a measure of the dignity which may well accompany
simplicity--our thoughts will be raised and fitted to find in it
something worthy of its high purpose, if we have been prepared by
passing through a noble porch, and beneath a doorway that speaks itself
the entrance to no ordinary dwelling.
[Illustration: DOOR AT CROWLE CHURCH.]
In primitive times the approach to a church must have been full of
dignity, the worshippers being warned, by successive gates and doors, of
the sacredness of the building which they were about to enter. Eusebius
gives us a full account of a splendid church built at Tyre by Paulinus,
from which we may gather the plan on which such buildings were erected
in the primitive ages, when the means were forthcoming, and no
opposition from the heathen world prevented.
The whole church at Tyre and its precincts were enclosed within a wall,
at the front of which was a stately porch, known as the "great porch,"
or the "first entrance." Passing through this the worshipper entered the
courtyard, or _atrium_, round which ran a covered portico, or cloister,
and in the centre of which was a fountain, or cistern, of water.
Opposite the "great porch" was the door into the church itself; at Tyre
there were (as in many of our cathedrals) three such doors, a large one
in the centre, flanked by smaller ones at some distance along the wall.
These opened into a vestibule, or ante-temple, from which admittance was
gained into the nave of the church by yet another door or gate.
Each of the spaces formed by these several barriers had its special use.
Within the _atrium_ all the worshippers washed their hands as a
preparation, both literal and emblematic, for assisting in the sacred
mysteries; here, too, penitents under censure for the most flagrant sins
remained during the divine offices, and besought the prayers of their
brethren as they passed on to those holier courts, from which for a time
they were themselves excluded. Within this open courtyard, also, as in a
modern churchyard, burials were sometimes permitted. The portico beyond
the second entrance was the place for the "hearers," that is for those
who were not yet sufficiently instructed in the faith to be allowed to
be present except at the reading of the Scriptures and the sermons
(these were catechumens in their noviciate and the heathens and Jews),
and also for those Christians who were degraded temporarily to the same
position as a penance for some sin. Beyond this portico, the nave was
still further divided for the separation of different orders of
penitents; so that the faithful in possession of all their privileges
had quite a number of doors or gates through which to pass before
reaching that place, immediately outside the apse, or chancel, which it
was their right to occupy.
In order that the several classes of persons attending church might be
kept strictly within those portions of the building which were assigned
to them, a special order of door-keepers existed in the Church. The keys
of the church were solemnly delivered to these _ostiarii_, and they were
accounted to form the lowest in rank of the minor orders. The simple
words of the commission, uttered by the bishop to the _ostiarius_, were,
"Behave thyself as one that must give an account to God of the things
that are kept under these keys." Such was the formula prescribed by the
fourth Council of Carthage (398 A.D.), and found in the Roman ritual of
the eighth century. This order of clergy was almost confined to the
west, however; we find traces of its existence at one time at
Constantinople, but for the most part the deacons guarded the men's
entrance, and sub-deacons or deaconesses the women's, in the east.
[Illustration: WEST DOOR, HOLY TRINITY, COLCHESTER.]
In the earliest English churches the entrance was of a very simple
nature; for the artistic skill of the people was small, and their ideals
were unambitious. The buildings consisted of a nave without clerestory,
and a chancel; the door being placed in the centre of the western wall.
A curious example of such a door meets us at Holy Trinity, Colchester,
although in this case it gives admittance not into the nave directly,
but through the ancient tower. This tower, the oldest part of the
church, has been constructed of the fragments of buildings older still;
the Roman bricks of the ruined city of Camulodunum having been used to
form it. In the western side is a narrow doorway, contained by two
square shafts with very simple capitals, and having a triangular head
with an equally simple moulding by way of drip-stone. The date is
supposed to be between 800 and 1000 A.D. A church perhaps yet older is
that of S. Lawrence at Bradford-on-Avon, which has a good claim to be
the veritable structure reared by S. Aldhelm in the first years of the
eighth century. Here there is a northern porch of unusual size in
proportion to the rest of the building; the entrance to which is by
means of an arched doorway, tall and narrow. The narrowness of some of
these ancient doorways is remarkable. At Sowerford-Keynes is one, now
built up, which, though nearly nine feet high, is but 1 foot 9 inches
wide at the springing of the arch, widening towards the base to 2 feet
51/2 inches. The jambs are of "short and long" work, and the abacus has a
very simple zig-zag moulding. The arch itself is not built up, but
carved out of one stone, which is cut square on the upper side and
scooped into a parabolic curve on the lower. A double row of cable
moulding decorates it. This, which has been called "one of the most
characteristic specimens of Saxon architecture in England," was the
northern entrance to the church. Another instance of a western door of
simple design is supplied by Crowle, or Croule, in north Lincolnshire.
Here we meet with a rectangular doorway, the top of which is formed of
one long stone, on which is some antique carving and a fragment of a
runic inscription.[1] Above this is a tympanum filled with
diamond-shaped stones of small size.
[Footnote 1: See a full account of this stone in "Bygone
Lincolnshire,"--Vol. I, William Andrews & Co.]
With the rise of the so-called Norman style of architecture the doors of
our churches took a handsomer form; and as the churches themselves were
now formed on a larger and nobler plan, more than one entrance was often
required. The usual door for the people was now commonly placed at the
south side, except in churches connected (as were so many of our
cathedrals) with monastic foundations. In this latter case the south
side was generally occupied by the cloisters and other conventual
buildings, and the people's door was therefore placed upon the north
side. At this period, too, the church-porch begins its development; for,
although porches in a strict sense were at any rate not usual, the
door-way deeply sunk in the massive wall and protected by three, four,
or even more concentric arches, suggests the more fully developed
shelter of the porch. Of doors of this kind any of our older
abbey-churches will supply adequate, and often splendid, examples. The
great north door of Durham Cathedral, and the smaller, but not less
beautiful doors into the cloisters there, are fine instances. The west
and north doors of the little cathedral of Llandaff supply examples in
another class of building; and even small and obscure parish churches
are sometimes dignified with the possession of an entrance full of the
massive solemnity of this Norman work. The village church of Heysham, on
Morecambe Bay, has a south door well worthy of mention in this
connection; and the Lincolnshire church already cited, Crowle, has an
interesting doorway of this kind.
As art progressed in Christendom, and exhibited its growing force
especially in the churches, the entrances thereto shared in the
increasing splendour of the whole. The mouldings of the arches and the
pillars, the elaboration of capitals and bases, all showed the evidence
of devotion guided by taste and skill. And often something more than
mere decoration was attempted; the opportunity was seized to add
instruction, and figures of saints and angels, or complete scenes from
scriptural or ecclesiastical story, filled the expanse of the tympanum
or the niches of the columns. About the twelfth century, also, it became
customary to divide the main entrance into two by means of a pillar, or
a group of pillars; the two-leaved door being thus made symbolical of
the two natures of Christ, of Whom, as Durandus tells us, it is itself
the emblem, "according to that saying in the Gospel, 'I am the Door!'"
The Continent presents some splendid examples of these decorated
porticoes. The cathedral of Strasburg, preserved as by a series of
miracles in spite of every danger that can assail a building, fire,
lightning, earthquake, and cannonade, has a very grand west entrance;
its tall doors set within a number of receding arches, and the
sharply-pointed gable which crowns them flanked and crested with
tapering pinnacles. The French artists of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries were unrivalled in the beauty and wealth of statuary with
which they adorned their churches, and not least their doors. "The glory
and the beauty" of the great porch at Amiens has been set forth fully by
Ruskin, who has woven into one wonderful whole the meaning of the
statues, which, like "a cloud of witnesses," throng the western front.
But Amiens is not alone; S. Denis, Paris, Sens, Angouleme, Poictiers,
Autun, Chartres, Laon, Rheims, Vezelay, Auxerre, and other cathedrals
are all magnificent in this respect. The principal entrance to Seville
cathedral is flanked by columns upholding niches filled with figures of
saints and angels, while the tympanum contains a carving of the entrance
of the Saviour into Jerusalem on the first Palm Sunday. In the island of
Majorca, the south door-way of the cathedral of Palma is exceptionally
beautiful. The statue of the Blessed Virgin crowns the centre column,
and above is the Last Supper. A record of the architect of this splendid
piece of work is preserved in an old account book of the cathedral: "On
January 29th, 1394, Master Pedro Morey, sculptor, master artificer of
the south door, which was begun by him, passed from this life. Anima
ejus requiescat in pace. Amen." The entrance in the west front is also a
fine one, and is inscribed, "Non est factum tale opus in universis
regnis."
[Illustration: WEST DOOR, HIGHAM FERRERS CHURCH.]
Although in England we cannot match the gorgeousness of detail exhibited
by the flamboyant architecture of some of the examples above noticed,
yet we too have instances of which we may well be proud. The western
front of Peterborough cathedral, over the partial renovation of which
there has recently been so much controversy between architects and
antiquaries, has been pronounced to be "the grandest portico in Europe;"
but this has reference to the whole facade rather than to the door-way
in itself. If our subject allowed of our taking so wide a view, the
splendid west fronts of Exeter, York, and others of our minsters, would
demand a place of honour in the list. Gloucester cathedral has a
dignified porch over the south door, in which are the figures of a
number of saints. The west door of Rochester is also interesting; its
decorated Norman arches are richly carved, and enclose a tympanum
covered with characteristic sculpture. Of a different type is the
graceful west door at Ely, whose pointed arches are upheld by delicately
cut shafts, the tympanum over the twin doorways being pierced by a
double trefoil within a vesica. The parish church of Higham Ferrers has
double western doors, separated by a bold shaft, above which is a niche
(now unoccupied) for a statue. The tympanum, anciently divided by this
figure, has five medallions on each side filled with sculptured scenes
from the New Testament, round which runs a scroll of conventional
foliage. The neighbouring churches of Rushden and Raunds have also good
double-leaved doors. To take one instance from the Northern Kingdom,
S. Giles's, Edinburgh, has a dignified west entrance. Many of the better
examples of our modern churches have admirable porticoes, of which one
example must suffice. All Saints' Church, Cheltenham, has double doors
within receding arches; the tympanum has the figure of Our Lord
enthroned in glory surrounded by the saints, and the central shaft and
the side pillars contain other statues.
There is occasionally found in a cathedral, or other large church, a
porch of unusual depth, known as a Galilee. Here, during Lent, those
assembled who were bidden to do public penance; the coming of Maundy
Thursday being the signal for their admission once more into the church
itself. Ely has a western Galilee entered by an arch, divided by a
central pillar, and filled in the upper part with tracery. Lincoln has a
Galilee, deep and dignified in plan, with a vaulted roof. Another
English cathedral so provided is that of Chichester; and among parish
churches the Galilee is found at Boxley, Llantwit, Chertsey, and
S. Woolos.
Of door-ways which, independently of considerations of date, size, or
form, are noteworthy for their sculpture, there are many that ought to
be mentioned. At Lincoln, for instance, we have a south door carved with
a Doom, or Last Judgment, wherein we see the effigy of the Divine Judge
surrounded by the dead rising from their opening graves. The north door
at Ely, the whole of the surrounding stone-work of which is elaborately
carved, is surmounted by the figure of the Lord enthroned within a
vesica, while adoring angels kneel before Him. At Rougham, in Norfolk,
the west door is surmounted by a crucifix, round which runs the
emblematic vine. Founhope church, Hereford, has in the tympanum of the
arch the Madonna and the Holy Child, a grotesque with birds and beasts
surrounding the figures. At Elkstone, Gloucestershire, the south
door-way, a specimen (like the one at Founhope) of Norman work, has some
interesting sculptures. In the centre of the tympanum is Christ
enthroned, with the apocalyptic symbols of the evangelists around Him;
beyond these on the right hand of Christ is the Agnus Dei with the flag,
an emblem of the Resurrection, while on the left is a wide open pair of
jaws, known as a Hell-mouth: above all the Father's Hand is seen in the
attitude of benediction. Elstow church has sculptured figures above the
north door; not within the containing arch, but within a separate arched
space divided from the door-way by a string-course. Haltham church, in
Lincolnshire, has some exceedingly curious designs on the tympanum of
the south door; they are mostly cruciform figures within circles, and
are arranged with strange irregularity. The north door of Lutterworth
church has over it a fresco painting.
[Illustration: NORTH DOOR, ELSTOW CHURCH.]
Several of the churches in Brussels have door-ways which, though
otherwise not remarkable, are noteworthy from the beauty of the carving
of the central post dividing the two leaves of the door. The church of
Notre Dame de Bon-Secours has the effigy of its patron saint crowned and
robed, bearing the Infant Saviour; below are the emblems of pilgrimage,
wallets, gourds, and cockle-shells. The church of La Madeleine has a
crucifix with a weeping Magdalene at its foot. The old church of
S. Catharine has its patroness on the door-post, and the Chapelle
Sainte-Anne similarly has S. Anne holding the Blessed Virgin by the
hand. Foliage or scrolls in each case fill up the rest of the column,
which is of wood, and in some instances has been painted.
So far, the doorways have occupied our attention; something must,
however, be said of the doors themselves. The usual form of the old
church door is familiar enough to all of us; the massive time-stained
oak, the heavy iron nails that stud it, and the long broad hinges that
reach almost across its full breadth. There is dignity in the very
simplicity of all this; but not seldom far more ornate examples may be
found.
The most elementary form of decoration consists in merely panelling the
door, as is the case in numberless instances; occasionally the panels
themselves are carved, as on the "Thoresby Door," at Lynn, or the door
of S. Mary's, Bath; or tracery, as in a window, is introduced, as at
Alford, Lincolnshire. These are but a few of the many instances which
might be cited. Another striking form of decoration is produced by
hammering out the long hinges into a design covering, more or less, the
surface of the door. The west door at Higham Ferrers, already noticed,
has on each of its leaves three hinges, which are formed into wide
spreading scrolls. Sempringham Abbey has very fine beaten ironwork
spread over almost the entire face of the door. A more curious example
is afforded by Dartmouth church; where a conventional tree with
spreading branches covers the door, and across this the hinges are laid
in the form of two heraldic lions. The date is added in the middle of
the work, 1631.
[Illustration: DOOR AT LYNN CHURCH.]
In the decoration of the church door the mediaeval blacksmith proves
himself in a thousand instances, at home and abroad, to have been an
artist. Free from the hurry of the present age, he could work according
to that canon of Chaucer's,
"There is no workman
That can both worken well and hastilie,
This must be done at leisure, perfectlie."
With him it was not the hand only that wrought, nor even the hand and
head; but the soul within him gave life to both. Of the contrast between
old ways and new, few examples are more striking than the hinges of the
door at S. Mary Key, Ipswich; where we have a simple but graceful scroll
of ancient date, and a clumsy iron bar of to-day, lying side by side.
For a beautiful design in beaten iron the doors of Worksop Priory may
claim to have not many rivals.
[Illustration: SOUTH PORCH, SEMPRINGHAM ABBEY.]
The most splendid doors in the world are probably the bronze doors of
the Baptistery at Florence. Other bronze doors there are on the
Continent, and all of them fine; Aix-la-Chapelle, Mayence, Augsburg,
Hildesheim, Novgorod, all have doors of this kind; at Verona, too, in
the church of San Zeno, are ancient examples, whereon are set forth in
panels a number of subjects from Holy Scripture and from the life of the
patron saint. All, however, fall into insignificance beside the "Gates
of Paradise," as the Florentines proudly call their doors.
[Illustration: DOOR AT DARTMOUTH CHURCH.]
In 1400 the Gild of Cloth Merchants of Florence decided to make a
thank-offering for the cessation of the plague; and the form which it
took was a pair of bronze doors for the baptistery of the church of
S. Giovanni, to correspond with some already there. These earlier ones
are the work of Pisana and his son Nino, from designs by Giotto; the
creation of the new ones was thrown open to competition. Many
competitors appeared, of whom six were asked to submit specimens of
designs for the panels; and, finally, when the choice lay between two
only, the elder, Brunellesco, himself advised that the commission should
be entrusted to Ghiberti, a youth then barely twenty years of age. The
doors when completed contained twenty scenes from the Saviour's life,
together with figures of the four Latin Doctors and the four
Evangelists, set in a frame of exquisite foliage. This splendid work was
surpassed by a second pair of doors subsequently made for the same
place. In this there are ten panels setting forth scenes from the Old
Testament history; and the frame is adorned with niches and medallions
in which are placed some fifty allegorical figures and portrait heads.
It was of these last doors, which were only completed in Ghiberti's
mature age, that no less a judge than Michael Angelo said, "They might
stand as the gates of Paradise itself."
Aix-en-Provence claims that her doors are as peerless as examples of the
wood-carver's art, as are the Florentine ones as types of the
metal-worker's. They have been preserved, it is said, from the sixth
century, and are still wonderfully fresh and delicate. There are on each
door six upper panels filled with figures of the twelve Sybils; and
below one large panel, occupied, in one case, by effigies of the
prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, and in the other by Ezekiel and Daniel.
The carving is only occasionally exhibited, two masking doors having
been cleverly contrived to protect and cover the real ones.
Many of the doors of our cathedrals and great abbey churches have
knockers, often of very striking designs. These as a rule indicate that
the places in question claimed the right of sanctuary; and the knocker
was to summon an attendant, or watcher, to admit the fugitive from
justice at night, or at other times when the entrance was closed. A
curious head holding a ring within its teeth forms the knocker at Durham
cathedral; a lion's head was not an uncommon form for this to take, as
at Adel, York (All Saints), and Norwich (S. Gregory's); a singularly
ferocious lion's head knocker may be seen at Mayence.
The deep porch which we so frequently see over the principal door of the
church was formerly something more than an ornament, or even a
protection; it was a recognized portion of the sacred building, and had
its appointed place in the services of the Church. Baptism was
frequently administered in the church porch, to symbolize that by that
Sacrament the infant entered into Holy Church. There are still relics of
the existence of fonts in some of our porches, as at East Dereham,
Norfolk. When baptism was thus administered in the south porch, it was
also customary, so it is alleged, to throw wide open the north door;
that the devil, formally renounced in that rite, might by that way flee
"to his own place." The font now usually stands just within the door. In
the pre-reformation usage of the Church the thanksgiving of a woman
after child-birth was also made in, or before, the church porch; and
concluded with the priest's saying, "Enter into the temple of God, that
thou mayest have eternal life, and live for ever and ever." The first
prayer-book of Edward VI. ordered the woman to kneel "nigh unto the
quire door:" the next revision altered the words "to nigh unto the place
where the table standeth;" and from Elizabeth's days the rubric has
simply said indefinitely "a convenient place."
[Illustration: _From a Photo by Albert E. Coe, Norwich._
ERPINGHAM GATE, NORWICH.]
The rubric at the commencement of the Order of the Solemnization of Holy
Matrimony according to the Sarum use began also in this way: "Let the
man and woman be placed before the door of the church, or in the face of
the church, before the presence of God, the Priest, and the People"; at
the end of the actual marriage, and before the benedictory prayers which
follow it, the rubric says, "Here let them go into the church to the
step of the altar." Chaucer alludes to this usage when in his
"Canterbury Tales" he says of the wife of Bath--
"She was a worthy woman all her live,
Husbands at the church dore had she five."
Edward I. was united to Margaret at the door of Canterbury Cathedral on
September 9th, 1299, and other mediaeval notices of the custom occur.
The first prayer-book of Edward VI. introduced an alteration which has
been maintained ever since; the new rubric reading that "The persons to
be married shall come into the body of the Church," just as it does in
our modern prayer-books. In France the custom survived as late as the
seventeenth century, at least in some instances, for the marriage of
Charles I., who was represented by a proxy, and Henrietta Maria was
performed at the door of Notre Dame in Paris. In Herrick's "Hesperides"
is a little poem entitled "The Entertainment, or, _A Porch-verse_ at the
marriage of Mr. Henry Northly and the most witty Mrs. Lettice Yard." It
commences:--
"Welcome! but yet no entrance till we blesse
First you, then you, then both for white success."
This was published in the midst of the great Civil War, and seems to
show that the custom of marriage at the church porch was still
sufficiently known, even if only by tradition, to make allusions to it
"understanded of the people."
Burials sometimes took place in the church porch, in those days when
interment within the building was much sought after.
Ecclesiastical Courts were frequently held in church porches, as at the
south door of Canterbury Cathedral; schools were occasionally
established in them; and here the dower of the bride was formally
presented to the bridegroom. This last-named use of the porch is
illustrated by a deed of the time of Edward I., by which Robert Fitz
Roger, a gentleman of Northamptonshire, bound himself to marry his son
within a given time to Hawisia, daughter of Robert de Tybetot, and "to
endow her at the church door" with property equal to a hundred pounds
per annum. We still have evidence of the fact that the church door was
of old considered the most prominent and public place in the parish in
the continued use of it as the official place for posting legal notices
of general interest, such as lists of voters, summonses for public
meetings, and so forth.
There are often in connection with ancient ecclesiastical foundations
doors and gateways which are of great interest, though they can scarcely
be called church doors. Of this class are the entrances to the chapter
houses of cathedrals, many of which are very fine. At York, for
example, the chapter-house, which proudly asserts in an inscription near
the entrance that, "as the rose is among the flowers, so is it among
buildings," has a doorway not unworthy of the beautiful interior.
The gateway which gave admittance to the sacred enclosure of the
abbey--the garth or close round which were ranged the monastic
buildings--is in many cases an imposing and elaborate piece of
architecture. Bristol has an interesting Norman gateway, and that at
Durham is massive and impressive, as are all the conventual remains
there. Norwich is specially rich in this respect. The Erpingham Gate was
the gift of Sir Thomas Erpingham, who died in 1420, and whom the King,
in Shakespere's play of "King Henry V." (Act iv. sc. I), calls a "good
old knight;" S. Ethelbert's Gate was built at the cost of Bishop
Alnwick, who ruled the see from 1426 to 1436.
But to speak of these things is to wander from our present subject, and
even that is too wide to be dealt with fully in a paper such as this.
The legends and traditions of the church porch might occupy many a page,
while we gossiped over the mystic rites of S. John's Eve or of All
Hallow E'en; or while we told how Ralph, Bishop of Chichester, barred
his cathedral door with thorns in his anger against the King and his
friends; or how the skins of marauding Danes have in more than one
instance been nailed as leather coverings to the doors of English
churches. Enough, however, has probably been said to show the wealth of
interest which may often be found to hang about the old church porch, in
which the village church may often be as rich as the great cathedral or
the stately abbey.
Sacrificial Foundations.
By England Howlett.
In early ages a sacrifice of some sort or other was offered on the
foundation of nearly every building. In heathen times a sacrifice was
offered to the god under whose protection the building was placed; in
Christian times, while many old pagan customs lingered on, the sacrifice
was continued, but was given another meaning. The foundation of a
castle, a church, or a house was frequently laid in blood; indeed it was
said, and commonly believed, that no edifice would stand firmly for long
unless the foundation was laid in blood. It was a practice frequently to
place some animal under the corner stone--a dog, a wolf, a goat,
sometimes even the body of a malefactor who had been executed.
Heinrich Heine says:--"In the middle ages the opinion prevailed that
when any building was to be erected something living must be killed, in
the blood of which the foundation had to be laid, by which process the
building would be secured from falling; and in ballads and traditions
the remembrance is still preserved how children and animals were
slaughtered for the purpose of strengthening large buildings with their
blood."
"... I repent:
There is no sure foundation set on blood,
No certain life achiev'd by other's death."
King John, Act iv., Sc. 2.
Shakespeare.
To many of our churches tradition associates some animal and it
generally goes by the name of the Kirk-grim. These Kirk-grims are of
course the ghostly apparitions of the beasts that were buried under the
foundation-stones of the churches, and they are supposed to haunt the
churchyards and church lanes. A spectre dog which went by the name of
"Bargest" was said to haunt the churchyard at Northorpe, in
Lincolnshire, up to the first half of the present century. The black dog
that haunts Peel Castle, and the bloodhound of Launceston Castle, are
the spectres of the animals buried under their walls. The apparitions of
children in certain old mansions are the faded recollections of the
sacrifices offered when these houses were first erected, not perhaps
the present buildings, but the original halls or castles prior to the
conquest, and into the foundations of which children were often built.
The Cauld Lad of Hilton Castle in the valley of the Wear is well known.
He is said to wail at night:
"Wae's me, wae's me,
The acorn's not yet
Fallen from the tree
That's to grow the wood,
That's to make the cradle,
That's to rock the bairn,
That's to grow to a man,
That's to lay me."
Afzelius, in his collection of Swedish folk tales, says: "Heathen
superstition did not fail to show itself in the construction of
Christian churches. In laying the foundations the people retained
something of their former religion, and sacrificed to their old deities,
whom they could not forget, some animal, which they buried alive, either
under the foundation, or within the wall. A tradition has also been
preserved that under the altar of the first Christian churches a lamb
was usually buried, which imparted security and duration to the edifice.
This was an emblem of the true church lamb--the Saviour, who is the
corner stone of His church. When anyone enters a church at a time when
there is no service, he may chance to see a little lamb spring across
the choir and vanish. This is the church-lamb. When it appears to a
person in the churchyard, particularly to the grave-digger, it is said
to forbode the death of a child that shall be next laid in the earth."
The traditions of Copenhagen are, that when the ramparts were being
raised the earth always sank, so that it was impossible to get it to
stand firm. They therefore took a little innocent girl, placed her on a
chair by a table, and gave her playthings and sweetmeats. While she thus
sat enjoying herself, twelve masons built an arch over her, which when
completed they covered over with earth, to the sound of music with drums
and trumpets. By this process they are, it is said, rendered
immovable.[2]
[Footnote 2: "Thorpe's Northern Mythology," vol. II., p. 244.]
It is an old saying that there is a skeleton in every house, a saying
which at one time was practically a fact. Every house in deed and in
truth had its skeleton, and moreover every house was designed not only
to have its skeleton, but its ghost also. The idea of providing every
building with its ghost as a spiritual guard was not of course the
primary idea; it developed later out of the original pagan belief of a
sacrifice associated with the beginning of every work of importance.
Partly with the notion of offering a propitiatory sacrifice to mother
earth, and partly also with the idea of securing for ever a portion of
soil by some sacrificial act, the old pagan laid the foundation of his
house in blood.
The art of building in early ages was not well understood, and the true
principles of architecture and construction were but little appreciated.
If the walls of a building showed any signs of settlement the reason was
supposed to be that the earth had not been sufficiently propitiated, and
that as a consequence she refused to carry the burden imposed upon her.
It is said that when Romulus was about to found the city of Rome he dug
a deep pit and cast into it the "first fruits of everything that is
reckoned good by use, or necessary by nature," and before the pit was
closed up by a great stone, Faustulus and Quinctilius were killed and
laid under it. The legend of Romulus slaying his twin brother Remus
because he jumped the walls of the city to show how poor they were,
probably arises out of a confusion of the two legends and has become
associated with the idea of a sacrificial foundation. To the present day
there is a general Italian belief that whenever any great misfortune is
going to overtake the city of Rome the giant shadow of Remus may be seen
walking over the highest buildings in the city, even to the dome of St.
Peter's.
Sacrifice was not by any means confined to the foundations of buildings
only. A man starting on a journey or on any new and important work would
first offer a sacrifice. A ship was never launched without a sacrifice,
and the christening of a vessel in these days with a bottle of wine is
undoubtedly a relic of the time when the neck of a human being was
broken and the prow of the vessel suffused with blood as a sacrificial
offering.
In our own time the burial of a bottle with coins under a foundation
stone is the faded memory of the immuring of a human victim. So hard
does custom and superstition die that even in the prosaic nineteenth
century days we cannot claim to be altogether free from the bonds and
fetters with which our ancestors were bound.
Grimm, in his German Mythology, tells us: "It was often considered
necessary to build living animals, even human beings, into the
foundations on which any edifice was reared, as an oblation to the earth
to induce her to bear the superincumbent weight it was proposed to lay
upon her. By this horrible practice it was supposed that the stability
of the structure was assured as well as other advantages gained." Of
course the animal is merely the more modern substitute for the human
being, just in the same manner as at the present day the bottle and
coins are the substitute for the living animal. In Germany, after the
burial of a living being under a foundation was given up, it became
customary to place an empty coffin under the foundations of a house, and
this custom lingered on in remote country districts until comparatively
recent times.
With the spread of Christianity the belief in human sacrifice died out.
In 1885, Holsworthy Parish Church was restored; during the work of
restoration it was necessary to take down the south-west angle of the
wall, and in this wall was found, embedded in the mortar and stone, a
skeleton. The wall of this part of the church had settled, and from the
account given by the masons it would seem there was no trace of a tomb,
but on the contrary every indication that the victim had actually been
buried alive--a mass of mortar covered the mouth, and the stones around
the body seemed to have been hastily built. Some few years ago the
Bridge Gate of the Bremen city walls was taken down, and the skeleton of
a child was found embedded in the foundations.[3]
[Footnote 3: "Strange Survivals," Baring Gould.]
The practice of our masons of putting the blood of oxen into mortar was
no doubt in the first instance associated with the idea of a sacrifice;
however this may be, the blood had no doubt a real effect in hardening
the mortar, just the same as treacle, which has been known to be used in
our days. The use of cement when any extra strength is needed has put
aside the use of either blood or treacle in the mixing of mortar.
It is a curious instance of the wide spread of the belief in blood as a
cement for ancient buildings that Ala-ud-din Khilji, the King of Delhi,
A.D. 1296-1315, when enlarging and strengthening the walls of old Delhi,
is reported to have mingled in the mortar the bones and blood of
thousands of goat-bearded Moghuls, whom he slaughtered for the purpose.
A modern instance is furnished by advices which were brought from Accra,
dated December 8th, 1881, that the King of Ashantee had murdered 200
girls, for the purpose of using their blood to mix with the mortar
employed in the building of a new palace.
A foundation sacrifice is suggested by the following curious discovery,
reported in the _Yorkshire Herald_ of May 31st, 1895: "It was recently
ascertained that the tower of Darrington Church, about four miles from
Pontefract, had suffered some damage during the winter gales. The
foundations were carefully examined, when it was found that under the
west side of the tower, only about a foot from the surface, the body of
a man had been placed in a sort of bed in the solid rock, and the west
wall was actually resting upon his skull. The gentle vibration of the
tower had opened the skull and caused in it a crack of about
two-and-a-half inches long. The grave must have been prepared and the
wall placed with deliberate intention upon the head of the person
buried, and this was done with such care that all remained as placed for
at least 600 years."
The majority of the clergy in the early part of the Middle Ages
doubtless would be very strongly imbued with all the superstitions of
the people. The mediaeval priest, half believing in many of the old pagan
customs, would allow them to continue, and it is both curious and
interesting to notice how heathenism has for so long a period lingered
on, mixed up with Christian ideas.
It is said that St. Odhran expressed his willingness to be the first to
be buried in Iona, and, indeed, offered himself to be buried alive for
sacrifice. Local tradition long afterwards added the still more ghastly
circumstance that once, when the tomb was opened, he was found still
alive, and uttered such fearful words that the grave had to be closed
immediately.
Even at the present day there is a prejudice more or less deeply rooted
against a first burial in a new churchyard or cemetery. This prejudice
is doubtless due to the fact that in early ages the first to be buried
was a victim. Later on in the middle ages the idea seems to have been
that the first to be buried became the perquisite of the devil, who thus
seems in the minds of the people to have taken the place of the pagan
deity. Not in England alone, but all over Northern Europe, there is a
strong prejudice against being the first to enter a new building, or to
cross a newly-built bridge. At the least it is considered unlucky, and
the more superstitious believe it will entail death. All this is the
outcome of the once general sacrificial foundation, and the lingering
shadow of a ghastly practice.
Grimm, in his "Teutonic Mythology," tells us that when the new bridge at
Halle, finished in 1843, was building, the common people got an idea
that a child was wanted to wall up in the foundations. In the outer wall
of Reichenfels Castle a child was actually built in alive; a projecting
stone marks the spot, and it is believed that if this stone were pulled
out the wall would at once fall down.
Bones, both human and of animals, have been found under hearthstones of
houses. When we consider that the hearth is the centre, as it were, and
most sacred spot of a house, and that the chimney above it is the
highest portion built, and the most difficult to complete, it seems easy
to understand why the victim was buried under the hearthstone or jamb of
the chimney.
There is an interesting custom prevailing in Roumania to the present day
which is clearly a remnant of the old idea of a sacrificial foundation.
When masons are engaged building a house they try to catch the shadow of
a stranger passing by and wall it in, and throw in stones and mortar
whilst his shadow rests on the walls. If no one passes by to throw a
shadow the masons go in search of a woman or child who does not belong
to the place, and, unperceived by the person, apply a reed to the shadow
and this reed is then immured. In Holland frequently there has been
found in foundations curious looking objects something like ninepins,
but which in reality are simply rude imitations of babies in their
swaddling bands--the image representing the child being the modern
substitute for an actual sacrifice. Carved figures of Christ crucified
have been found in the foundations of churches. Some few years ago, when
the north wall of Chulmleigh Church in North Devon was taken down there
was found a carved figure of Christ crucified to a vine.[4]
[Footnote 4: "Strange Survivals," Baring Gould.]
A story is told that the walls of Scutari contain the body of a victim.
In this case it is a woman who is said to have been built in, but an
opening was left through which her infant might be passed in to be
suckled by her as long as any life remained in the poor creature, and
after her death the hole was closed.
The legend of Cologne Cathedral is well known. The architect sold
himself to the devil for the plan, and gave up his life when the
building was in progress; that is to say, the man voluntarily gave up
his life to be buried under the tower to ensure the stability of the
enormous superstructure, which he believed could not be held up in any
other way.
It is well known that the extinguished torch is the symbol of departed
life, and to the present day the superstitious mind always connects the
soul with flame. It was at one time a common practice to bury a candle
in a coffin, the explanation being that the dead man needed it to give
him light on his way to Heaven. It is extremely doubtful, however,
whether this was the original idea, for most probably the candle in the
first instance really represented an extinguished life, and was thus a
substitute for a human sacrifice which, in the pagan times, accompanied
every burial. The candle, in fact, took the place of a life, human or
animal, and in many instances candles have been found immured in the
walls and foundations of churches and houses.
Eggs have often been found built into foundations. The egg had, of
course life in it--but undeveloped life, so that by its use the old
belief in the efficacy of a living sacrifice was fully maintained
without any shock to the feelings of people in days when they were
beginning to revolt against the practices of the early ages.
Sir Walter Scott speaks of the tradition that the foundation stones of
Pictish raths were bathed in human blood. In the ballad of the "Cout of
Keeldar" it is said:
"And here beside the mountain flood
A massy castle frowned;
Since first the Pictish race, in blood,
The haunted pile did found."
From Thorpe's "Northern Mythology" we learn that in Denmark, in former
days, before any human being was buried in a churchyard, a living horse
was first interred. This horse is supposed to re-appear, and is known by
the name of the "Hel-horse." It has only three legs, and if anyone meets
it it forebodes death. Hence is derived the saying when anyone has
survived a dangerous illness: "He gave death a peck of oats" (as an
offering or bribe). Hel is identical with death, and in times of
pestilence is supposed to ride about on a three-legged horse and
strangle people.
The belief still lingers in Germany that good weather may be secured by
building a live cock into a wall, and it is thought that cattle may be
prevented from straying by burying a living blind dog under the
threshold of a stable. Amongst the French peasantry a new farmhouse is
not entered upon until a cock has been killed and its blood sprinkled in
the rooms.[5]
[Footnote 5: "Strange Survivals," Baring Gould.]
It is probable that sacrificial foundations had their origin in the idea
of a propitiary offering to the Goddess Earth. However this may be, it
is certain that for centuries, through times of heathenism, and well
into even advanced Christianity, the people so thoroughly associated the
foundation of buildings with a sacrifice that in some form or other it
has lingered on to the present century. Now in our own day the laying
the foundation of any important building is always attended with a
ceremony--the form remains, the sacrifice is no longer offered. For
ecclesiastical buildings, or those having some charitable object, a
religious ceremony is provided, while for those purely secular the event
is marked by rejoicings. We cannot bring ourselves to pass over without
notice the foundation laying of our great buildings, and who shall
venture to say that superstition is altogether dead, and that we are
free from the lingering remains of what was once the pagan belief?
The Building of the English Cathedrals.
By the Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A.
Of all the sins of the nineteenth century, the one which most militates
against its attainment of excellence in art is its impatience. A work
has been no sooner decided on, than there is a clamour for its
completion. Our cathedrals were for the most part reared in far other
times, and are therefore admirable. Growing with the stately, deliberate
increase of the ponderous oak, they speak of days when art was original,
sincere, patient, and therefore capable of great deeds; original, not in
extravagance or eccentricity, but in the realization of the natural
development of style, advancing from grace to grace, from the perfection
of solidity to the perfection of adornment, by an unforced growth;
sincere, in its confidence of its own capacity for fulfilling its
appointed end, in its grasp of the possibilities in its materials, in
its choice of the true, rather than the easy, method of working; and
patient, finally, in its contentment to do in each age a little solidly
and well, rather than a great deal indifferently, in its aim at
artistic perfection in preference to material completeness. Thus it is
that none of our cathedrals are the work of one age, save those of
Salisbury and London, and even they have details which they owe to
succeeding times.