Margery Paston, writing on "Crestemes Evyn" of the year 1484, tells her
husband that she had sent their eldest son to Lady Morley (the widow of
William Lovel, Lord Morley), "to hav knolage wat sports wer husyd [used]
in her hows in Kyrstemesse next folloyng aftyr the decysse of my lord,
her husbond [who died 26th July, 1476]; and sche sayd that ther wer non
dysgysyngs [guisings], ner harpyng, ner lutyng, ner syngyn, ner non
lowde dysports; but pleyng at the tabyllys, and schesse, and cards:
sweche dysports sche gaue her folkys leve to play and non odyr." The
lady adds that the youth did his errand right well, and that she sent
the like message by a younger son to Lady Stapleton, whose lord had died
in 1466. "Sche seyd according to my Lady Morlees seyng in that, and as
sche hadde seyn husyd in places of worschip [_i.e._, of distinction:
good families] ther as [= where] sche hath beyn." This letter opens up
an interesting view of the amusements which at the time were introduced
into the houses of the nobility and gentry during Christmas-tide. At
that festival cards from the first formed one of the chief amusements.
Henry VII., who was a great card player, forbad cards to be used except
during the Christmas holidays. Their ancient association with Christmas
is seen in the kindness of Sir Roger de Coverley, who was in the habit
of sending round to each of his cottagers "a string of hogs'-puddings
and a pack of cards," that good old squire being doubtless of the
opinion of Dr. Johnson, who, with a deeper human insight than
S. Bernardin and Henry VII., could see the usefulness of such a pastime:
"It generates kindness and consolidates society."
The inscription I have alluded to takes us back to the reign of an
earlier English king than those named--Henry V., who reigned 1413-1422.
In his time, it seems, viz., in 1413, the steeple of Ashton Church was
a-building; when a certain butcher, Alexander Hyll, playing at noddy
with a companion, doubtless in the neighbourhood of the church, swore
that if the dealer turned up _the five of spades_ he would build a foot
of the steeple. The very card was turned up! Hyll, like a good Catholic,
performed his promise, and had his name carved, a butcher's cleaver
being put before _Alexander_, and the five of spades before _Hyll_. A
new tower was erected in 1516, when the church was enlarged; but the
stone containing the curious inscription was somewhere retained, for it
was visible in the time of Robert Dodsworth, the industrious Yorkshire
antiquary, and the projector and co-worker with Dugdale of the
_Monasticon_. Dodsworth, being at Ashton on the 2nd of April, 1639,
copied the inscription, stating that it was on the church steeple. He
wrote down the tradition, adding that its truth was attested by Henry
Fairfax, then rector there, second son of Thomas Fairfax, Baron de
Cameron (Dodsworth's MSS. in Bibl. Bodl., vol. 155, fol. 116). The
eldest son of Lord Fairfax was Ferdinando, the celebrated general of the
Commonwealth, and the generous patron of Dodsworth. Henry, the younger
son, at whose rectory-house Dodsworth was entertained on the occasion of
his Lancashire visit, is described by Oley (in his preface to George
Herbert's _Country Parson_) as "a regular and sober fellow of Trinity
College in Cambridge, and afterwards rector of Bolton Percy in
Yorkshire." He held, besides, the rectory of Ashton from, at least, 1623
till 1645, when he was forcibly ejected; and that of Newton Kyme. He was
a correspondent of Daniel King, author of _The Vale Royal_, for he had
antiquarian tastes like his brother. He died at Bolton Percy 6th April,
1665. The tower of Ashton Church, as Rector Fairfax knew it, was taken
down and re-built in 1818, by which time all recollection of that
ancient piece of cartomancy in connection with the steeple had passed
out of mind. Let it be hoped that while the tradition was lively,
pleasanter things were said of Hyll, when the five of spades was thrown
upon the card tables of Ashton, than assailed the name of Dalrymple when
the nine of diamonds--the curse of Scotland--came under the view of
Tory Scotchmen. We may bestow on Hyll the card-player's epitaph:--
His card is cut--long days he shuffled through
The game of life--he dealt as others do:
Though he by honours tells not its amount,
When the last trump is played his tricks will count.
"Noddy" is, of course, the very attractive game of "cribbage." A great
aunt of mine still living at Ashbourne, with whom I used to play when a
boy, always called it by that name. It is one of the Court games,
_temp._ James I., noticed by Sir John Harrington:--
Now noddy followed next, as well it might,
Although it should have gone before of right;
At which I say, I name not anybody,
One never had the knave yet laid for noddy.
The same is also alluded to in a satirical poem, 1594, entitled, _Batt
upon Batt_:--
Shew me a man can turn up Noddy still,
And deal himself three fives, too, when he will;
Conclude with one and thirty, and a pair,
Never fail ten in Hock, and yet play fair;
If Batt be not that night, I lose my aim.
Bells and their Messages.
By Edward Bradbury.
Do not imagine that this is an essay on campanology, on change-ringing,
grandsires, and triple bob-majors. Do not fancy that it will deal with
carillons, the couvre-feu, or curfew bell, with the solemn Passing bell,
the bell of the public crier, the jingling sleigh bell, the distant
sheep bell, the noisy railway bell, the electric call bell, the frantic
fire bell, the mellow, merry marriage peal, the sobbing muffled peal,
the devout Angelus, or the silvery convent chimes that ring for prime
and tierce, sext, nones, vespers, and compline. Do not conclude that it
will describe bell-founding; and deal with the process of casting, with
technical references to cope, and crook, and moulding, drawing the
crucible, or tuning.
It is of bells and their associations and inscriptions that we would
write, the bells that are linked with our lives, and record the history
of towns, communities, and nations; announcing feasts and fasts and
funerals, interpreting with metal tongue rejoicings and sorrowings,
jubilees and reverses; paeans for victories by sea and land; knells for
the death of kings and the leaders of men. As we write, the bells of our
collegiate church are announcing with joyous clang the arrival of Her
Majesty's Judge of Assize. Before many days have passed another bell in
the same town will tell with solemn toll of the short shrift given by
him to a pinioned culprit, the only mourner in his own funeral
procession.
Bells are sentient things. They are alike full of humour and pathos, of
laughter and tears, of mirth and sadness, of gaiety and grief. One may
pardon Toby Veck, in Charles Dickens' goblin story, for investing the
bells in the church near his station with a strange and solemn
character, and peopling the tower with dwarf phantoms, spirits, elfin
creatures of the bells, of all aspects, shapes, characters, and
occupations. "They were so mysterious, often heard and never seen, so
high up, so far off, so full of such a deep, strong melody, that he
regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes, when he looked up at
the dark, arched windows in the tower, he half expected to be beckoned
to by something which was not a bell, and yet was what he had heard so
often sounding in the chimes." The bells! The word carries sound and
suggestion with it. It fills the air with waves of cadence. "Those
Evening Bells" of Thomas Moore's song swing out undying echoes from
Ashbourne Church steeple; Alfred Tennyson's bells "ring out the false,
ring in the true" across the old year's snow, and his Christmas bells
answer each other from hill to hill. There are the tragic bells that Sir
Henry Irving hears as the haunted Mathias; "Les Cloches de Corneville"
that agitate the morbid mind of the miser Gaspard; and the wild bells
that Edgar Allen Poe has set ringing in Runic rhyme.
"Bell," says the old German song, "thou soundest merrily when the bridal
party to the church doth hie; thou soundest solemnly when, on Sabbath
morn, the fields deserted lie; thou soundest merrily at evening, when
bed-time draweth nigh; thou soundest mournfully, telling of the bitter
parting that hath gone by! Say, how canst thou mourn or rejoice, that
art but metal dull? And yet all our sorrowings and all our rejoicings
thou art made to express!" In the words of the motto affixed to many
old bells, they "rejoice with the joyful, and grieve with the
sorrowful"; or, in the original Latin,
Gaudemus gaudentibus,
Dolemus dolentibus.
An old monkish couplet makes the bell thus describe its uses--
Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, congrego clerum:
Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro.
"I praise the true God, call the people, convene the clergy; I mourn for
the dead, drive away pestilence, and grace festivals." Who that
possesses--to quote from Cowper--a soul "in sympathy with sweet sounds,"
can listen unmoved to
----the music of the village bells
Falling at intervals upon the ear,
In cadence sweet--now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on.
The same poet makes Alexander Selkirk lament on his solitary isle--
The sound of the church going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.
Longfellow has several tender references to church bells. He sets the
Bells of Lynn to ring a requiem of the dying day. He mounts the lofty
tower of "the belfry old and brown" in the market place of Bruges--
Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.
From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.
Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,
With their strange unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes.
Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the
choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.
Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.
Who does not remember Father Prout's lyric on "The Bells of Shandon"? We
venture to quote the four delicious verses _in extenso_--
With deep affection and recollection
I often think of the Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle their magic spells--
On this I ponder where'er I wander,
And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;
With thy bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
I have heard bells chiming, full many a chime in
Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;
While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate,
But all their music spoke naught to thine;
For memory dwelling on each proud swelling
Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,
Made the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
I have heard bells tolling "old Adrian's mole" in
Their thunder rolling from the Vatican,
With cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame;
But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of Peter
Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.
Oh! the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
There's a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosko,
In St. Sophia the Turkman gets,
And loud in air, calls men to prayer,
From the tapering summits of tall minarets,
Such empty phantom I freely grant them,
But there's an anthem more dear to me--
It's the bells of Shandon
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day," in Gray's "Elegy," the best
known, and, in its own line, the best poem in the English language.
More dramatic is Southey's story of the warning bell that the Abbot of
Aberbrothock placed on the Inchcape Rock. James Russell Lowell has a
beautiful thought in his little poem "Masaccio"--
Out clanged the Ave Mary bells,
And to my heart this message came;
Each clamorous throat among them tells
What strong-souled martyrs died in flame,
To make it possible that thou
Should'st here with brother sinners bow.
* * * * *
Henceforth, when rings the health to those
Who live in story and in song,
O, nameless dead, who now repose
Safe in Oblivion's chambers strong,
One cup of recognition true
Shall silently be drained to you!
In the belfry of Tideswell and of Hathersage, in the Peak of Derbyshire,
are a set of rhymed bell-ringing laws. Those at Hathersage we give
below; the Tideswell ones are almost word for word similar.
You gentlemen that here wish to ring,
See that these laws you keep in everything;
Or else be sure you must without delay
The penalty thereof to the ringers pay.
First, when you do into the bellhouse come,
Look if the ringers have convenient room,
For if you do be an hindrance unto them,
Fourpence you forfeit unto these gentlemen.
Next, if here you do intend to ring,
With hat or spur do not touch a string;
For if you do, your forfeit is for that
Just fourpence down to pay, or lose your hat.
If you a bell turn over, without delay
Fourpence unto the ringers you must pay;
Or, if you strike, miscall, or do abuse,
You must pay fourpence for the ringers' use.
For every oath here sworn, ere you go hence,
Unto the poor then you must pay twelve pence;
And if that you desire to be enrolled
A ringer here these orders keep and hold.
But whoso doth these orders disobey,
Unto the stocks we will take him straight way,
There to remain until he be willing
To pay his forfeit, and the clerk a shilling.
Churchwardens' accounts abound with bell charges. We have before us the
accounts of the churchwardens of Youlgreave, in the Peak of Derbyshire,
for a period of a century and a half. Under the year 1604 we have "Item
to the ringers on the Coronation Day (James I.), 2s. 6d.; for mending
the Bels agaynst that day, 1s.; and for fatchinge the great bell yoke at
Stanton hall, 6d." In 1605 there is "Item for a rope for a little bell,
5d." In the following year is "Item to the Ringers the 5th day of
August, when thanks was given to God for the delyvering of King James
from the conspiracye of the Lord Gowyre, 5s." In 1613 we find the sum of
6d. expended in purchasing "a stirropp for the fyrst bell wheele, 8d."
The year 1614 is prolific in charges connected with the belfry, as the
following enumeration will show: "Item for the bellefonder, his dinner,
and his sonnes, with other chargs at the same time, 10d.; at the second
coming of the sayd bellfonder, 9d.; at the taking downe of the bell,
6d.; for castyng the fyrst bell, L4; for the surplus mettall which wee
bought of the bellfounder because the new bell waeghed more than ye old,
L3 15s. 10d.; to the bellfounder's men, 4d.; for the carryage of our old
bell to Chesterfield, 3s.; for carrying the great bell clapper to
Chesterfield, 4d.; for carrying the new bell from Chesterfield, 2s. 8d.;
to Nicholos Hibbert, for hanging the said bell, 1s. 1d.; to Nicholas
Hibbert the younger, for amending the great bell yoke and wheele, 6d.;
spent at Gybs house at the bellfounder's last coming, 3d.; for amending
the great bell clapper, 10d."
The inscriptions on church bells would make an interesting chapter. On
the second bell at Aston-on-Trent appears in Lombardic capitals, the
words, "Jhesus be our spede, 1590," and on the fourth bell is inscribed,
"All men that heare my mournful sound, repent before you lye in ground,
1661." The fourth bell of S. Werburgh's at Derby is inscribed--
My roaring sounde doth warning geve
That men cannot heare always lyve.--1605.
The third bell at Allestree bears the words--
I to the church the living call,
And to the grave do summons all.--1781.
The second bell on the old peal at Ashbourne was inscribed--
Sweetly to sing men do call
To feed on meats that feed the soul.
The fifth bell at Dovebridge has the words: "Som rosa polsata monde
Maria vocata, 1633." This is--according to the Rev. Dr. John Charles
Cox--a corrupt reading of "Sum Rosa pulsata mundi Maria vocata," a
legend occasionally found on pre-Reformation bells, and which may be
thus Englished--
Rose of the world, I sound
Mary, my name, around.
A similar inscription--similarly mis-spelt--occurs on the third bell at
Ibstock, Leicestershire, the date of which is 1632. Mr. Sankey, of
Marlborough College, gives it a graceful French rendering--
Ici je sonne et je m'appelle,
Marie, du monde la rose plus belle.
The fourth bell at Coton-in-the-Elms has the inscription--
The bride and groom we greet
In holy wedlock joined,
Our sounds are emblems sweet
Of hearts in love combined.
The sixth bell is inscribed--
The fleeting hours I tell,
I summon all to pray,
I toll the funeral knell,
I hail the festal day.
The seventh bell at Castleton has the following legend--
When of departed hours we toll the knell,
Instruction take, and spend the future well.
James Harrison, Founder, 1803.
The second bell at Monyash is inscribed: "Sca Maria o. p. n." (Sancta
Maria ora pro nobis.)
The old curfew custom is still kept up in the Peak district of
Derbyshire, notably at Winster, where the bell is rung throughout
November, December, January, and February at eight o'clock every work
day evening, except on Saturdays, when the hour is seven. There are
Sanctus bells at Tideswell, Hathersage, Beeley, Ashover, and other
Derbyshire churches. All Saints' Church, at Derby ("All Saints," _i.e._,
"the unknown good"), has a melodious set of chimes. They play the
following tunes: Sunday, "Old One Hundred and Fourth" (Hanover); Monday,
"The Lass of Patie's Mill"; Tuesday, "The Highland Lassie"; Wednesday,
"The Shady Bowers"; Thursday, "The National Anthem"; Friday, Handel's
"March in Scipio"; Saturday, "The Silken Garter." They all date from the
last century.
Church bells have the subtle charm of sentiment. When they swing in the
hoary village tower, and send their mellifluous message across the
country side and down the deep and devious valley, or when they make
musical with mellow carillon the dreamy atmosphere of moss grown
cathedral closes, they have a poetical influence. How pleasant it is to
listen to the chimes which ring out from time to time from the towers
of Notre Dame, in the city of Rubens, and from the Campanile at Venice!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Church bells in large towns, where one section of the community are
night workers and seek their rest in the day-time, are by no means
invested with sentiment. We have in our mind a church which is set in a
dense population of railwaymen, engine drivers, stokers, guards,
porters, &c. It possesses a particularly noisy peal of bells. They begin
their brazen tintinnabulations at breakfast time, and ring on, at
intervals, until past the supper hour. Sometimes the sound is a dismal
monotone, as if the bellman had no heart for his work. At other times a
number of stark mad Quasimodos seem to be pulling at the ropes to
frighten the gilded cock on the vane into flapping flight. Sunday only
brings an increase of the din, distracting all thought, destroying all
conversation, defying all study, turning the blessed sense of hearing
into a curse, and making you envy the deaf. It is well known that upon
many persons in health the clangour of bells has a very depressing
effect; but at night, when narcotics are given and the sick are wearied
out, it is very easy to imagine how irritating these bells must be both
to the invalids and their attendants. One is inclined to exclaim with
the Frenchman--
Disturbers of the human race,
Whose charms are always ringing,
I wish the ropes were round your necks,
And you about them swinging.
How very wise those Spanish innkeepers were who, in the olden time, used
to make "ruido" an item in their bills, charging their guests with the
noise they made!
Stories about Bells.
By J. Potter Briscoe, F.R.H.S.
On the eve of the feast of Corpus Christi the choristers of Durham
Cathedral ascend the tower, and, clad in their fluttering robes of
white, sing the _Te Deum_. This custom is performed to commemorate the
miraculous extinguishing of a conflagration on that night in the year
1429. The legend goes that, whilst the monks were engaged in prayer at
midnight, the belfry was struck by the electric current and set on fire.
Though the flames continued to rage until the middle of the next day,
the tower escaped serious damage, and the bells were uninjured--an
escape which was imputed to the special interference of the
incorruptible S. Cuthbert, who was enshrined in that cathedral. These
are not the bells which now reverberate among the housetops on the steep
banks of the Wear, they having been cast by Thomas Bartlett during the
summer of 1631.
The fine peal of bells in Limerick Cathedral were originally brought
from Italy, having been manufactured by a young native, who devoted
himself enthusiastically to the work, and who, after the toil of many
years, succeeded in finishing a splendid peal, which answered all the
critical requirements of his own musical ear. Upon these bells the
artist greatly prided himself, and they were at length bought by the
prior of a neighbouring convent at a very liberal price. With the
proceeds of that sale the young Italian purchased a little villa, where,
in the stillness of the evening, he could enjoy the sound of his own
melodious bells from the convent cliff. Here he grew old in the bosom of
his family and of domestic happiness. At length, in one of those feuds
common to the period, the Italian became a sufferer amongst many others.
He lost his all. After the passing of the storm, he found himself
preserved alone amid the wreck of fortune, friends, family, and home.
The bells too--his favourite bells--were carried off from the convent,
and finally removed to Ireland. For a time their artificer became a
wanderer over Europe; and at last, in the hope of soothing his troubled
spirit, he formed the resolution of seeking the land to which those
treasures of his memory had been conveyed. He sailed for Ireland.
Proceeding up the Shannon one beautiful evening, which reminded him of
his native Italy, his own bells suddenly struck upon his ear! Home, and
all its loving ties, happiness, early recollections, all--all were in
the sound, and went to his heart. His face was turned towards the
cathedral in the attitude of intently listening. When the vessel reached
its destination the Italian bellfounder was found to be a corpse!
Odoceus, Bishop of Llandaff, removed the bells from his cathedral during
a time of excommunication. Earlier still they are assumed to have been
in use in Ireland as early as the time of S. Patrick, who died in 493.
In those days much superstitious feeling, as in later ages, hung around
the bells, and many sweetly pretty and very curious legends are known
respecting them. Thus it is said S. Odoceus, of Llandaff, being thirsty
after undergoing labour, and more accustomed to drink water than
anything else, came to a fountain in the vale of Llandaff, not far from
the church, that he might drink. Here he found women washing butter
after the manner of the country. Sending to them his messengers and
disciples they requested that they would accommodate them with a vessel
that their pastor might drink therefrom. These mischievous girls
replied, "We have no other cup besides that which we hold in our hands,"
namely, the butter. The man of blessed memory taking it, formed one
piece into the shape of a small bell, and drank from it. The story goes
that it permanently remained in that form, so that it appeared to those
who beheld it to consist altogether of the purest gold. It is preserved
in the church at Llandaff, and it is said that, by touching it, health
is given to the diseased.