Plate XIV.plate 14Lambader Brittany.Iron Screen at St.Riquier. 18th Century.Wooden Screen in the Church of Urnes, near Bergen.
Plate XIV.
Plate XIV.
Lambader Brittany.Iron Screen at St.Riquier. 18th Century.Wooden Screen in the Church of Urnes, near Bergen.
Lambader Brittany.
Iron Screen at St.Riquier. 18th Century.
Wooden Screen in the Church of Urnes, near Bergen.
There is no country in Christendom where so many screens are still preserved and standing, as in England. Till within a very recent period, every cathedral church had retained its ancient separation between the nave and choir; but sad to relate, one of the most venerable of our churches is now denuded of this most essential and ancient portion of the fittings of a cathedral. I refer to Durham: where choir and nave are thrown into one great vacant space, and all the dignity and reverence of choir worship, suited to a capitular body, destroyed. Although the screen was of most debased design, and erected by a Pagan architect (Inigo Jones), at a Pagan period; yet, being placed in the old and proper position, and having attained a respectable colour, through age, it did its work, and was ten times preferable to the modern vacuum caused by its removal. Indeed, all the alterations at Durham are so many enormities. For centuries the western doors of the cathedral were closed, a chapel built outside them, termed the Galilee, and an altar, dedicated in honour of the Blessed Virgin, stood in the recess of the centre door, but lately, without any reason, for, as I have before said, no entrance can be obtained to the church from that end, have these doors been opened, and the remains of the altar removed, thus destroying one of the most curious traditions belonging to this venerable cathedral. Even the old Cromwellian Puritans did not injure the church so much asits present restorers, and it is greatly to be regretted that there are no means to compel these authorities to desist from their insane innovations. In the eyes of all true ecclesiologists Durham has lost half its apparent length, half its grandeur, since it haslost its screen, and it has got somewhat of the conventicle. But to return—York, Lincoln, Southwell, Wells, Exeter, Bristol, Chichester, Canterbury, Rochester, Chester, Norwich,[18]have all their old screens and rood-lofts standing. These are too well known amongst persons interested in this subject to need detailed description, but I may observe that they nearly all are ascended by staircases in the thickness of the eastern walls, rising up on each side, and that lateral altars in the screens were not so common as on the continent. The roods, in all cases, have been replaced by organs, which are badly placed both as regards the chanters and the effect of the building. The only instance I have ever met with the remains of a rood is at Columpton, near Exeter, where a large block of oak, carved like rock-work, with a skull and bones, evidently intended to represent Calvary, is still left, and in its upper part a deep mortice to receive the end of the rood.
Our parochial churches are yet rich in screens; of wooden rood-lofts we may particularize Sleaford, Newark, Bury St. Edmunds, Fairford, Tong, Lanryst, Sefton, Ranworth, and Southwold as some amongst the most remarkable. The countries most abounding in screens, are Norfolk, Suffolk, Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, and Devonshire, but each county presents many interesting examples, and it must be distinctly understood that every church, small or great, was originally provided with a screen.
In Norfolk, the churches of Cawston, Sall, N. Walsham, Worsted, Walcot, Trunch, Happisburgh, Bacton, Paston, Lynn, Ranworth, Cley, Castle Acre, Cressingham, Snetisham, and Ackle, &c., have all fine screens. Many of them are richly painted, and the lower panels filled with images of saints on gold and diapered grounds. The best preserved are those at Ranworth and Cawston. About five different painters were employed in the decoration of these, as the various styles may be distinctly traced over various parts of the country. Some ofthem exhibit far greater skill than others, but all have a deal of quaint character, and the images fill up the spaces in which they are placed, by the adjustment of drapery, &c.
There is a great deal of fine screen-work in Suffolk, at Woolpitt, Elmswell, Thurston, Lavenham, Long Melford, Brandon, Southwold, Blythburgh, Hawsted, and many other churches.
In Lincolnshire there are splendid screens at Winthorpe, Ingoldmills, Orby, Burgh, Croft, Boston, Hackington, Swineshead, Tattershall, Ewerby, Newark, Grantham.
In Devonshire the screens have been generally preserved, and on many of them the painted panels with saints and imagery are quite perfect. They are mostly constructed on one principle, with projecting wooden ribbed-work crossing the rood-loft; at Honiton, Feniton, Bradwinch, West Buckland, Columpton, Dartmouth, Kenton, Pinhoe, Plymtree, Tollaton, Tiverton, Atherington, Dawlish, &c., are screens surmounted by rood-lofts; but at Bridford, Burlescombe, Clayhanger, Dartington, Hempston, Plymstock, West Ogwell, &c., there are only screens without lofts, but of exceedingly elaborate design, and for the most part richly painted and gilt, some with saints in the lower panels, like those in Norfolk. A very numerous list, indeed, might be made of churches in this country, where screens of some kind are to be found; they are not always of the same material, for the examples of stone are numerous, as at Totness, Culmstock, Colyton, and Paignton, &c., this latter being monumental, and containing family tombs, introduced in the screen-work. Although the counties above mentioned are those which abound the most in fine examples of screen-work, yet most numerous and interesting specimens may be found in every county.
Sefton church, in Lancashire, has a splendid rood and side screens enclosing the chancel, of a later period, but most elaborate detail.
The parish church at Lancaster contains some very magnificent screen and canopy-work of the time of Edward I. The treatment ofthe crockets is quite peculiar, as they are joined together, forming a sort of solid enrichment on the gablets.
The priory church of Hexham is rich in carved fittings. The stalls and screen-work of the choir are perfect, and though rude in execution are extremely interesting; this being a conventual church, the screen-work is quite solid. If we proceed further north, we shall find the same system of enclosure of choirs and chancels by screens. The rood-loft at Glasgow is still perfect, and though the Scotch churches have been horribly mutilated, the ancient position of the enclosures is to be traced in most of them.
The churches in Wales were mostly furnished with rood-lofts. The screen and loft at Lanryst are most elaborate in carved enrichments; they were probably erected in the beginning of the fifteenth century, and it is worthy of remark that in this, as well as others, there is a striking similarity between the screens in Wales and Brittany.
Were it not tedious, I could supply a long list of fine screens yet remaining in every part of the country, but there are few of an older date than the thirteenth century, as so many of these churches have been rebuilt or refitted since that period. There can be no doubt that even the Saxon churches were provided with some enclosure across the arch which divided off the chancel. Indeed, so natural and right does it seem to have this separation, that the principles of screens survived the Reformation, as will be mentioned hereafter. But not only do we find the cathedrals and parochial churches to have been furnished with screens, but also chapels in private houses and hospitals for the poor. The archbishop's chapel at Croydon is divided by a plain but very substantial and effective screen, figured in the first volume of Pugin's examples.
Browne's hospital at Stamford, Bishop Bubwith's almshouses at Wells, S. John's hospital at Sherburne, the bede-houses at Northampton and Leicester, the Vicar's chapel at Wells, have all screens in their chapels, and some of them of most elegant design. In theprivate chapel of an ancient mansion at Cothele, on the banks of the Tamar, is an open screen of perpendicular work. In short, I do not imagine that any building dedicated to divine worship was considered complete, unless furnished with a suitable screen.
In the reign of Edward VI., the roods, with their attendant images, were removed, and it is probable that the lofts were stript at the same time of the candlesticks and basons of latten, wherein the lights were set up. But the screens themselves do not appear to have suffered, and indeed, in accordance with the decree that the chancels were to remain as in time past, the screens were absolutely necessary. Considering the great number of screens yet standing, it is evident that those which have been removed, were demolished, through the ignorance or indifference of the authorities during the repairs that the buildings have undergone, and I am personally acquainted with several instances which corroborate this fact. There are several examples of post-Reformation screens, one at Gedington church, of a simple but good character, and another at Martham church, Norfolk, which is painted and gilt.
The choir of Wimborne Minster, Dorsetshire, was fitted up in the beginning of the seventeenth, or end of the sixteenth century, quite after the old traditions, as regards screen-work and arrangement, though the details were of course debased.
The collegiate chapels of the universities present several remarkable examples of post-Reformation screens, as Wadham, Baliol, Lincoln, the old screen of Magdalene, before the recent alterations, at Oxford; and Peterhouse, Caius college, Clarehall, at Cambridge; even the screen of King's college chapel itself was not erected till after the schism, as the initials of Anna Boleyn occur in its decorations.
I have been informed of a screen in one of the churches at Leeds, erected in the seventeenth century; and an oak screen of a still later date is standing in the church of St. Peter, upon Cornhill, London. Lady Dudley, a most pious lady, in the time of Charles I. set up ascreen in the church of St. Giles-in-the-fields, which was afterwards destroyed by the Puritan faction. The whole transaction is so illustrative of the spirit of those times, and so applicable to the fanatics of our own days, that I have printed it at length at p. 74.
From these instances it will be seen that the principle of screening off chancels has been retained in the church of England since its separation from Catholic unity, and the partial discontinuance in the eighteenth century was purely owing to extreme ignorance of ecclesiastical traditions, which prevailed throughout the members of this communion at that period, remarkable only for debased taste, and a total disregard of the wonderful productions of Catholic antiquity.
To this brief account of screens in England, I have subjoined some interesting extracts from churchwardens' accounts and other documents, printed in Nichol's illustrations, which will illustrate their history and decoration.
"1510.
"Item. The said wardens, now accomptants, received of Mrs. Elizabeth Morley, widow, towards the new making of a Rood, Mary, and John, in the roodeloft, at the time the parish be of power and substance, to build and make the same rood loft, the sum of £10. 0s.0d.
"Item. Received of the gift of Watir Gardynar, to the making of the rode-loft in the middle isle within the church, as more plainly appeareth by acquittance made by the said churchwardens to the said N. Watir, dated the ... day of October, the 9eyere of the reign of King Henry VII., £38. 0s.0d."
The next item occurs in the reign of Edward VI.—
"Paid to Thomas Stockdale, of XXXV ells of cloth for the frunte of the rood-lofte, whereon the commandments be written...."
It appears from this, that the commandments were set up originally in the rood lofts, and not over the altars. But in the succeeding reign of Mary, this cloth, on which the commandments were painted, was turned to a different purpose, for in 1557, we find the following item:
"For making iii serplys of the cloth that hung before the rode loft, written with the commandments, 2s.0d."
In 1559, the rood was destroyed, and in a barbarous manner, for we find the following items:
"Paid to John Rial for his iii days' work to take down the roode, Mary, and John, 2s.8d.
"Item. To the same for cleaving and sawing of the rood, Mary, and John, 1s."
In 1561, "Paid to joyners and labourers about the taking down and new reforming of the rood loft, as by a particular book thereof made doth appear, £37. 10s.2d."
This is the last item which occurs respecting the rood loft of this church.
From Coate's History of Reading.
"1499.
"It. Rec. at Alhalow-tyde for the rode light xs.iiiid.
"It. Payed for xliii.-li. of ire wark, on the south end of the rode loft to stay the lyght, the li. iid.Sma.viis.iid.
"It. Payed for xxvi. li. of irewark on the north syde or end of the same rode loft to stay the same lyght, pic le li., ii. Sma.iiiis.iiiid.
"It. Payed for lyne to draw the curtens in the same lofte, iiid.
"It. Payed for scouring of the laten bolls in the said loft, iiiid.
"It. Payed for six laten bolls on the north side of the rode loft, viiis.
"1506.
"It. Paied for settyng up of the said rode, Mary, and John, for theremouing of the organs, and for making yesete for yeplayer of yesame organs, xxd.
"It. Paied to Henry Blanksten, paynt for gilding the rode, Mary, and John, in the rode loft, xiiiis."
Costs paid for penting of the roodes, with karvying, and oder costs also.
"1497.
"Item. To Sir John Plomer, for makying of the fyugyrrs of the roode, £0. 1s.8d.
"Item. To the karvers for makyg of iii. dyadems,[19]and of oon of the Evangelists, and for mendyg the roode, the crosse, the Mary and John, the crown of thorn, with all odir fawts, £0. 10s.0d.
"Item. To Undirwood, for peynting and gyldyng of the roode, the crosse, Mary and John, iiii. Evangelists, and the iii. dyadems, with the nobills that I owe to him in money, £5.
"Item. For makyng clene of standards, candlesticks, braunches, with the bolls of laten upon the beame of the rodeloft, anenst the fest of Est., A.D., 1486."
"1555.
"Payde for making the roode and peynting the same, £0. 5s.4d..
"For making the roode lyghtes, £0. 10s.6d..
"For the roode lyghtes at Christmase, £1. 3s.2½d..
"1557.
"Received of the paryshe for the roode lyghts at Christmas. Payde for peynting the roode of Marie and John, and the patron of the churche, £0. 6s.8d..
"For the roode, Marie, and John, with the patron of the church, £0. 18s.0d.
"1561.
"To the somner, for bringing the order for the roode loft.
"To the carpenter and others for taking down the roode lofte, and stopping the holes in the wall, where the joices stoode, £0. 15s.8d.
"To the peynter, for writing the scripture where the roode loft stoode, and overthwarte the same isle, £0. 3s.4d."
"Payde for waxe for the roode-lofte light agenst Chrystemas last paste, pryce the pounde 10d., £0. 4s.2d.
"A cloth of the Passyon to hang in the roode lofte in Lente."
"Item. Paide to Robt. Bungyng, for helpyng of oon borde in the roode lofte, £0. 0s.2d.
"Item. Payd for mendyng and staying yeroodeloft, in hale, £0. 0s.2d.
"Item. To ye said Stephin, for mendyng yeherne wark in yerode lofte, £0. 0s.4d."
"Hic jacet Johannes Albred quondam Twelewever, istius ville. Ob. primo die Maii, 1400, et Agnes uxor eijus.
"This Twelewever, with Agnes, his wife, were at the charges (people of all degree being, as then, forward to beautifie the house of God), to cut, gild, and paint a rood loft or partition betwixt the body of the church and the quire, whereon the pictures of the crosse and crucifixe, the Virgin Mary, of angels, archangels, saints and martyrs are figured to the life: which how glorious it was when it was allstanding, may be discerned by that which remaineth. This, their work of pietie, was depensild [painted] upon the fabricke, of which so much as is left.
"'Orate.—Johannes Albrede et Agnetis—Soluerunt pro pictura totius hujus operis superne:—videlicet, crucis crucifixi, Marie, archangelorum et totius candeleb.'
"The names of some of the saints pourtraied upon the worke and yet remaining, are these, S. Paul, S. Edward, S. Kenelm, S. Oswald, S. Cuthbert, S. Blaze, S. Quintin, S. Leodegare, S. Barnaby, S. Jerome."—From Weever's Funeral Monuments.
"The said church is divided into three parts: the sanctum sanctorum being one of them, is separated by a large skreene in the figure of a beautiful gate in which is carved two large pillars and three large statues: on the one side is Paul with his sword; on the other Barnabas with his book; and over these, Peter with his keys; they are all set above with winged cherubims, and beneath supported by lions.
"This screen, which was erected by the pious munificence of Lady Dudley, about ten years previous, was demolished by the Puritans in 1644. We find a party in the parish in 1640, exhibiting articles to Parliament against the rector, Dr. Heywood. It was stated that, in the parish church were set up crucifixes, and divers images of saints, and likewise organs with other confused musicke, hindering devotion." The screen given by Lady Dudley was also decreed as superstitious, and in 1644 is the following memorandum respecting it: "Also, we, the auditors of this account, doe find that the accomptant, Edward Gerrard, was commanded, by ordinance of Parliament, to take down the screene in the chancell, it being foundsuperstitious, which was accordingly done, and it sold for fortye shillings;
"Also, out of the receipt for church goods, were paid the bricklayer for mending the walls on both sides the chancel, where the screen stood."—From Parton's History of St. Giles-in-the-Fields.
It is remarkable what a similarity of feeling against screens is to be found among Puritans and Paganisers.
[18]Till very recently there were distinct traces of the side altars under this screen, but they have been removed, and modern tracery put in their place.[19]Diadem, the old English word for Nimbus.
[18]Till very recently there were distinct traces of the side altars under this screen, but they have been removed, and modern tracery put in their place.
[19]Diadem, the old English word for Nimbus.
When we now behold the city of London, with its narrow lanes, lined with lofty warehouses and gloomy stores, leading down to the banks of the muddy Thames, whose waters are blackened with foul discharges from gas-works and soap-boilers, while the air is darkened with the dense smoke of chimneys rising high above the parish steeples, which mark the site of some ancient church, destroyed in the great conflagration, it is difficult to realize the existence of those venerable and beautiful fabrics where the citizens of London assembled in daily worship, and whose rood lofts shone so gloriously on Easter and Christmas feasts. But this great and ancient city was inferior to none in noble religious buildings; and in the sixteenth century the traveller who approached London from the west, by the way called Oldbourne, and arriving at the brow of the steep hill, must have had a most splendid prospect before him; to the right the parish church of S. Andrew's, rising most picturesquely from the steep declivity, and surrounded by elms, with its massive tower, decorated nave, and still later chancel; on the left the extensive buildings of Ely-house, its great gateway, embattled walls, lofty chapel and refectory, and numerous other lodgings and offices, surrounded by pleasant gardens, as then unalienated from the ancient see after which it was called, it presented a most venerable and ecclesiastical appearance. Further in the same direction might be perceived the gilded spire of S. John's church of Jerusalem and the Norman towers of S. Bartholomew'spriory. Immediately below was the Fleet river, with its bridge, and the masts of the various craft moored along the quays. At the summit of the opposite hill, the lofty tower of S. Sepulchre's, which though greatly deteriorated in beauty, still remains. In the same line, and over the embattled parapets of the Newgate, the noble church of the Grey Friars, inferior in extent only to the cathedral of S. Paul, whose gigantic spire, the highest in the world, rose majestically from the centre of a cruciform church nearly seven hundred feet in length, and whose grand line of high roofs and pinnacled buttresses stood high above the group of gable-houses, and even the towers of the neighbouring churches. If we terminate the panorama with the arched lantern of S. Mary-le-Bow, the old tower of S. Michael, Cornhill, and a great number of lesser steeples, we shall have a faint idea of the ecclesiastical beauty of Catholic London. But to return to our more immediate subject, each of these fine churches was provided with its screen and rood. Numerous are the entries in the old churchwardens' accounts yet remaining of pious offerings made by the citizens to beautify the devotional sculptures which decorated them, and to provide tapers and branches to deck them for the returning festivals. There were veils for Lent, when the glory of our Lord was partially obscured by his approaching Passion; and there were garlands for Easter, and paschal lights, and crowns, and diadems. The old parish church of S. Mary-at-Hill was inferior to none in the beautiful partition of its chancel; it was principally the work of a pious citizen, who, on the decay of the older work, renewed the same; or, as the old chronicle expresses it:—"For the love he bore to Jesu and his holy Modir did sett up at his own proper costes and charges, and most artificially dispensil, the image of Christ, Mary, and John, and many saynts and aungels, with the loft whereon they stood: and for the due maintainyng of a perpetual light to hang brenyng before the same, and for a priest to synge at his anniversary he also left two tenements in the paryshe of Barkynge; and when he diedhe was buried under a grey stone, over and against the holy doors of the chancel, and till the sad time of the civil wars, was his portraieture in brass, and that of his wife, and 3 sons and 5 daughters at their feet, and his shield of mark, and the arms of the honourable Company of the Fishmongers, and round the bordure, with an Evangelist at every corner, was this inscription: '✠ Good Christen people, of your charitie pray for the soulys of John Layton, citizen and fyshemonger of London, who deceeded on the feast of S. Stephen, in the yeare of our Lorde 1456, and of Margaret his wyffe, on whose sowlys and the sowlys of Christen men may Jesu have mercy. Pater, ave, Amen.'" And on the brestsumer of the rood loft were carved divers devices, such as S. Peter's keys for his Patron, and dolphins and sea-luces salterwise for the Company, and scrolls, withLayscoming out of tuns for the founder, and above all was a most artificial bratishing, with large bowls of brass, with prickets for tapers on great feasts, and there was a staircase of freestone, closed by an oak door, set up on the south side of the aisle, for the convenience of ascending to the same; and on each of the lower panels of the holy doors and of the bays of the screen were pictures of saints and martyrs, on grounds of gold diaper, each with their legend. For nearly a century this goodly work had stood the pride and delight of the parishioners, who bestowed much cost on sustaining its lights and ornaments, as the church books yet testify. But a sad and fearful change was approaching—new and heretical doctrines were circulated and even heard at Paul's Cross; men became divided in heart and mind; the returning festivals exhibited no unity of joy and devotion; many gloomily stayed away; and it was currently reported that nocturnal meetings were privately held at some citizens' houses, where preachers from beyond sea taught novel opinions, and inveighed against altars and priests, and sacred images and ancient rites; and soon there was a quest to examine into the ornaments of the churches, and many a goodly pyx, and chalice, and chrismatory were seized bythe sacrilegious spoilers for the state; and shortly after the ancient service was interrupted by scoffers and infidels, and they who adhered to the old faith of England's church were filled with sorrow and dismay, and they worshipped in fear and sadness, and every day brought new troubles and greater sacrilege.
It was late in the evening, or rather the early part of the night, that a number of persons, evidently of very varied ranks and conditions, were crowded into a back chamber in the habitation of a citizen notoriously disaffected to the ancient religion; they were listening with considerable earnestness of attention, to the exhortations, or rather ravings, of a man of sour aspect, whose dress and gestures announced him as belonging to the class of unordained preachers called the New Gospellers. The subject of his discourse was the extirpation of idolatry; the triumphs of the Jewish people over the unbelieving nations was the principal source from whence he drew his denunciations. The texts relating to the destruction of the heathen idols he transferred to the ancient images of the church, and succeeded in rousing the passions of his hearers to the utmost frenzy. "But why," he exclaimed, "do we waste time? Let us lay the axe to the root of the tree; the famous rood of S. Mary-at-Hill standeth hard by, to the shame and reproach of Christian men. Let us pluck it down and utterly deface it, so it perish and be seen no more." Some of the most zealous of the fanatics instantly acted on this suggestion. Descending to the street, they soon surrounded the residence of the aged sacrist (who still retained his office, though the duties were sadly curtailed), and rousing him from his rest, demanded the keys of the church. Alarmed by the uproar, many casements were opened; but the numbers of the clamouring party appeared so considerable, and the prospect of any assistance from the watch (which was then only perambulatory) so remote, that none ventured down to the assistance of the old clerk, who, terrified by the menaces of his assailants, and without any companion except a lad who acted as his servant, atlength surrendered the keys. A few links had by this time been procured, and by their smoky and lurid light the southern door was opened, and the whole party tumultuously crowded into the venerable edifice. The lamp so liberally provided by John Layton had ceased to burn for some time; its revenue had been sequestered as superstitious, and the chancel was shrouded in impenetrable darkness. Against this gloomy background the rood and its attendant images stood out in red reflected light, but the Jews themselves that scoffed on Calvary's mount were not more bitter in their scorn than the New Gospellers, who uttered loud shouts and cries as they beheld the object of their sacrilegious vengeance. The sound of hollow blows echoes through the church, the lower door is forced: ascending footsteps are heard on the staircase; then the rebounding tread of heavy feet on the loft itself, torches appear—axes gleam—heavy blows fall thick; some cleave, some pierce, some shout, and with one great crash it totters and falls—images, cross—all lie a ruin on the ancient pavement. The work of destruction now proceeds: some wrench the extended limbs from the sculptured cross; broken and dismembered, the sacred image of the Redeemer is dragged down the nave; while others deface and cleave the evangelistic symbols, tossing the fragments in wild derision; some curse, some spit, some foam, others exclaim, "Into the fire with it!" and a glare of light striking through the western window, showed that the suggestion had been followed; it crackled in the garth, and now the mangled images are piled on the roaring mass, while furious cries, "Away with it! Destroy it utterly!" break through the stillness of the night, and scare the affrighted parishioners, who behold this horrible spectacle from their gabled residences. Nearly three hundred years have elapsed, and the rood was again raised in glory in this very city, and the cry "Away with it!" was again heard. Came it from the blaspheming Jews? No. Came it from the bitter Calvinists? No. Came it from the incarnate fiends? No. It proceeded from amodern Catholic ambonoclast!!!!
Louis de Chantal was born in France, of noble parents, about the middle of the eighteenth century; being a younger brother, he was destined from his earliest years to the ecclesiastical state, but on arriving at a maturer age, his tastes and inclinations were so adverse to the sacred functions, that he proceeded no further than receiving the tonsure, which enabled him to hold the rich ecclesiastical preferment in the gift of his family, and entitled him to the appellation of Monsieur l'Abbé de Chantal. He soon became commendatory abbot of two once great religious establishments, then languishing under a sad decay of zeal and discipline consequent on the loss of a regular head. The great object of commendatory abbots was to keep the number of religious to the lowest possible amount, in order to profit the more by the revenues, which they diverted to their own private benefit and luxury. At Conques the decay of the temporal kept pace with that of the spiritual; the buildings which, for the most part, had been erected during the glorious period of S. Louis, were falling fast to ruin. The regular portions, now much too large for the habitations of the few religious that remained, exhibited the desolate appearance of neglect and emptiness. Verdure luxuriated in the untrodden courts, and sprung up even in the very cloister, whose vaults had long ceased to echo the regulated tread and solemn chaunt of the ancient Benedictines. It was evident that essential repairs could not long be postponed, and a bull issued by the Pope a few years previous, requiring the conventualbuildings of France to be substantially repaired out of the revenues, was still in force. The matter was, however, deferred for a short time, as our young abbé was about to proceed on his travels to the more classic ground of Italy, at that period ignorantly regarded as the great repository and source of all art and taste. The noble mediæval cathedrals of France were considered by Monsieur de Chantal as so many specimens of ancient barbarism, but the extravagancies of Bernini and the distortions of Le Pautre were splendid achievements in his eyes. It may be readily conceived what class of objects arrested his attention in his travels: his enthusiasm on arriving at the Eternal City was boundless—he almost believed that the heathen mythology was revived, and that he was in the presence of those divinities whose exploits had been the study of his early youth. The splendid galleries of voluptuous art, where the metamorphoses and amatory combats of Ovid were depicted to the life. The marble goddesses in shady groves, and sporting tritons cooling the air in high and sparkling jets—the obelisks, the sarcophagi, the endless treasures of classic art. Then even the churches, they were scarcely to be distinguished from the exquisite taste of the heathens themselves. Thinly draperied saints were borne into paradise by hovering Cupids. Voluptuous female statues reclined on the sarcophagi of bishops and ecclesiastics,—herculean martyrs writhed like dying gladiators, while naked angels held aloft the victor's crown. Our abbé was ravished with astonishment and delight as the eager cicerone drew him from one far-famed object to another, each more wonderful than the last. In his perambulations he occasionally passed some venerable looking sanctuaries, but the usual exclamation of the guide,eh, una porcheria, was quite sufficient to repress any desire of examining them; and in a word, he returned from Italy like most of the ecclesiastics of that period, with a thorough contempt for the ancient traditions of church architecture, and a determination to Italianize, as far as possible, in any work with which he might be connected. The time had nowarrived when the repairs of the abbey of Conques could be no longer delayed, and accompanied by an architect of the Souflot style, with a thickly curled wig reaching half-way down his shoulders, he one morning started from his hotel at Paris, and proceeded thither. Although only a few leagues distant, the bad roads so delayed their progress, that it was late in the afternoon when they attained the top of the descent that led down into the valley where the abbey was situated. A little to the eastward of the scattered houses which formed the village, and small but characteristic church, stood the then lofty and irregular abbatial buildings. High above the rest rose the long grey mass of the church, surmounted by a high leaden roof, whitened with age. A forest of pinnacles surrounded the apse, while buttress and arc buttant continued in regular succession to surround the vast fabric. At the western end were two towers, but the southern one alone had been carried up to its intended height, the other had received a temporary roof, when raised a few feet above the nave; the abbacy shortly after fell intocommendam, and it rose no higher. A small but elegant leaded spire was placed at the intersection of the nave and transept, but it was evidently a substitute for some far grander design in the way of a centre lantern, as might be divined by the rising of angle masonry left incomplete.
A dense mass of wood covered the opposite hill with a deep green, while the warm tints of a westerning sun relieved each turret and pinnacle in a glowing hue on the verdant background. A rapid descent soon brought the abbé and his companion to the gates, which were opened with some difficulty to admit the equipage within the first court; such vehicles were utterly unknown when these buildings were raised, and further progress was impossible except on foot. The abbé then alighted, and was received with much external respect by the few religious who remained the occupants of a monastery, where more than a hundred sons of S. Benedict had kept the rule together in older and better times.
The next morning the architect waited on Monsieur de Chantal in his chamber, "Monseigneur," he exclaimed, "j'ai parcouru les bâtimens;—rien de plus gothique, de plus mauvais; point de règles, point de principes; ces gens-là ils n'ont jamais connu le beau; il faut tout démonter, tout démolir." This proposition, however well it might accord with the tastes of the commendatory abbot, was by no means agreeable to his intentions, as the proposed demolition and rebuilding would cost a considerable sum, which he thought might be as well expended on some new gardens attached to his hotel at Paris, and he therefore, on a personal inspection, considerably modified the sweeping intentions of his architect, and confined his operations to indispensable repairs and the erection of some new offices. These points arranged, he proceeded at once to the inspection of the church. On entering by the western cloister door, the venerable fabric appeared nearly in its original state: the nave was divided into nine bays with light clustered shafts, the centre one of each running quite up to receive the groin; the triforium was divided into compartments corresponding to the mullions of the clerestory windows, and filled with imagery and devices in painted glass. The upper windows contained the image of a saint in every light, under a high canopy of rich design. The lower windows of the aisles had been altered in the fifteenth century, the tracery was more elaborately ramified and the glass exhibited a higher degree of pictorial skill, though inferior in severity and style to the more ancient glazing.
The ribs of the groining were richly painted at the intersections, with images in relief on every boss. The pavement was irregularly studded with incised slabs of benefactors, who were permitted to repose beneath the floor of that edifice to whose support and glory they had contributed while living. But the most striking object that presented itself to the sight, was a most elaborate jubé or rood loft, extending completely across the entrance to the choir. Eight slender shafts sustained seven arches, richly crocketted on the labels, with images ofangels in sexfoils, filling up the spandrils. Between every arch and over the shafts, was an image standing on a corbel under a projecting tabernacle; immediately over them were sixteen arched and canopied recesses, each containing, in high relief, a mystery of our Lord's life and passion, most artificially wrought in stone, and heightened with gilding and colours, and over all, in the midst, was a great rood rising almost to the vault of the church, with most cunning work of leaves and foliage running up and about it, and sprouting forth at its extremities, and on it an image of our Lord as it were a king with a diadem on his head, and a long tunic, all gilt, reaching down to his feet, with the borders set with crystals, and on either side an image of our Blessed Lady and S. John, and two cherubims with images of gold. This rood, which was held in singular veneration by neighbouring inhabitants, and by them commonly termed Le Bon Dieu de Conques, found but little favour in the eyes of our refined abbé; "Il faut démonter cette vieillerie-là," said he, turning to the architect. "Ah, mon Dieu, oui," was the ready answer, "ça fera du bien; on peut y mettre une grillage en fer, comme à S. Denis."[20]—"C'est une bonne idée!" cried Monsieur de Chantal, "et je la ferai exécuter." It is probable that, in carrying out this barbarous and sacrilegious intention, the abbé meant toimprovethe church!! Brought up in the principles of error and paganism, to him nothing was beautiful that did not savour of classic art. It is probable that he really meant well, as far as so debased a mind could mean well; let us hope his ignorance obtained his final pardon, and that he was permitted to expiate in his doleful end this terrible deed of destruction. The religious of Conques mourned most bitterly over the demolition of the ancient jubé. Men who live a religious life are naturally adverse to change: the removal of an image, a picture, an object on which they have been accustomed to look with devotion, is to them an irreparable loss, and great werethe wailings of the little community when they learned their abbé's decision; remonstrance was, however, useless against such superior power, and the demolition of the whole was finally decided. But its destruction was not deplored by the religious only,—the inhabitants of Conques, a simple-minded but devout race, had, for many generations, regarded this ancient and edifying imagery with singular veneration. From their early years, succeeding fathers had taught their little ones that the great king upon the cross was the son of the king of kings, who expired on the rood to save them, and there was his blessed mother weeping at his side, and the beloved disciple to whose care she was committed; and below all were wonderful mysteries shown, from the salutation of the angel to the painful bearing of the cross to Calvary. All these and much more were set forth and most artificially, and great was the lamentation of the good people of Conques when they heard that it was to be no more seen.
Impatient to begin his improvements, the abbé procured some workmen to commence the demolition before his return to Paris. Among those who presented themselves was a young man of great athletic powers, but of a sinister and scornful countenance, and who appeared to proceed in the task of destruction with singular alacrity and energy. Several men with ropes and ladders had now ascended the upper part of the rood, while the young man before mentioned stood at the foot, and alternately applied a crow and axe to cut away the mortice in which the base rested and prise it out. Before the men above had the ropes properly fast to lower all, by a tremendous effort he forced the foot from its socket, and the cross, inclining to the Gospel side, fell over, carrying away the image of the Blessed Virgin in descent, and the whole mass lay broken on the pavement. The movement was so sudden that it startled the abbé, who was standing near the man, and a feeling of dread seemed to appal the other workmen as they gazed on the fallen rood, but the face of the youth was flushed with ill-concealed exultation, which the abbé remarked, and attributedat the time to his successful display of strength; but it came from a far deeper feeling, as he afterwards discerned to his own destruction.
The whole screen was afterwards demolished; and by the end of the succeeding year, when Monsieur de Chantal came to inspect the alterations, he found, to his great satisfaction, that something of the character of a Berninian church had been imparted to the ancient choir. A rococo screen of open iron work, with his own arms in the centre, had supplanted the ancient screen. Pointed arches had been turned into round ones by help of plaster; the ancient capitals, luxuriant in salient foliage and quaint imagery, had been transferred into heavy Corinthians; most of the painted glass had been removed and replaced by large square white panes. The shafts of the pillars were marbled by streaks of paint, and this once perfect choir reduced down to a base and bad imitation of the corrupt Italian style.
About a furlong from the abbey-gate was the old parish church, a simple and unpretending structure, with its slate-topped steeple and gilded cock, a most fitting emblem of the exemplary and vigilant pastor, the Père Duchesne, a venerable priest, who for many years had most faithfully discharged the sacred duties of his cure; a man of most retired habits, who devoted that portion of his time that was not occupied by parochial cares to learned researches and pursuits. He was deeply read in liturgical lore, and held the ancient traditions and offices of the church in great veneration. Every Sunday and feast the most respected of his parishioners assembled round the lectern in the chancel, where they sang the praises of God in the old plain song, for no other music was tolerable to the ears of either priest or people. The interior of the church, though simple, was not devoid of interest. There were considerable remains of painted glass, especially towards the eastern end; the high altar was coeval with the erection of the church itself, and had been traditionally consecrated by a holy bishop, now numbered among the saints of God. The altar of the Lady chapel dated from the end of the fourteenth century, and was erectedby a seigneur who lived in the old chateau on the hill, then in ruins. The rood loft was remarkable; the front was supported by four pillars, sustaining three equal arches; the space between these pillars was enclosed by a sort of iron trellis, set up with the original work, as a protection to two side altars, the reredoses of which formed a solid wall for nearly six feet high, and were then divided by mullions into lights, like a window; these were also secured by bars, and a massive pair of doors, with rich ornamental iron-work, closed the entrance to the chancel. I have been thus particular in the description of this screen, as it is important for a subsequent part of this history. Such was the church, and such its curé. The Abbé de Chantal, in ordinary courtesy to the old priest, determined to call at his residence previous to his departure. On arriving, he was ushered into a small chamber, where the curé was seated with a folio extended on the table before him. Somewhat surprised at the sudden entrance of the abbé, and not over well pleased, as he held such quasi ecclesiastics at the lowest estimation, he begged to know the reason for so unlooked-for a visit. "Oh, Monsieur le curé," carelessly exclaimed the abbé, "I have been making great improvements at the abbey, and I wish to know if you have seen what has been done?" "I have, indeed, seen what has been done, or rather undone," cried the old priest with increasing emotion, "but surely you cannot expect me to approve the destruction of Catholic antiquity and symbolism, and the substitution of unmeaning and offensive novelties." "Eh, patience, Monsieur le curé; why I was going to propose to you to reform your churchà l'Italienne, and to get rid of the monstrous barrack in the middle,on les démonte partout." At these words, the curé, reddening with indignation, exclaimed, "Monsieur de Chantal, the present degraded state of ecclesiastical discipline permits you, a layman in every respect but in the fashion of your clothes and the form of your peruke, to hold the highest office in a foundation where, in more ancient and better days, you would not have been permitted to take part in the mostmenial duties. You have destroyed that which your predecessors respected; you have defaced and mangled the Temple of God; you have dressed it out à la mode; and its solemnity is departed for ever, to the sorrow and disgust of myself and my people. But allow me to tell you, the parish church is under my care, and while I live not one stone of that venerable enclosure of the holy place shall be touched or removed, or its sacred imagery injured." The abbé, deeply mortified at the reproaches of the curé, endeavoured to conceal his mortification by diverting the discourse on the times and his parishioners. The curé, however, turning to his visitor, said in a sad and solemn tone, "The times are full of sad presage. The riches, the corruptions, immunities, and extravagant privileges that disgrace even the highest ecclesiastics of the land, are the subject of deep and merited murmurs among the neglected people; men begin to hate religion for the vices of its ministers, and those who squander in worldly vanity the revenues intended for the service of religion and Christ's poor, will have to give a fearful reckoning." The abbé started to his feet: "Nay, hear me," continued the curé. "You are one of these spoilers; it is true the abbey was given to you as a heritage, but it was the gift of those who had no power to bestow. Think of that choir, once filled with a hundred devout servants of God chanting his praises by night and day, now debased and almost deserted. The vast refectory in ruins,—its vaulted gateway, where hundreds partook the hospitality and charity of the house, now scarcely shelters a single straying mendicant—all is neglect and decay, and how will it end?" "Ah, mon Dieu," cried the abbé, "I cannot bear this; how often have I thought and tried for better things! But no, impossible. My rank, my family honour, all must be supported." So, hastily departing, he summoned his servants and carriage.—"To Paris!" he exclaimed. That night the Hotel de Chantal was a blaze of light, the rendezvous of theéliteof the capital; and among the many cavaliers who escorted the fair dames of Paristhat graced the mirrored and lustred saloons, none could surpass the gallantry and devotion of the noble owner of the mansion, the commendatory abbot of Conques....
Fifteen years had elapsed since that night of revelry—the Hotel de Chantal is closed—it has been pillaged of its costly furniture—its saloons are desolate: some few miserable people live in its upper rooms—a ferocioussans-culottehas replaced the liveried porter. Where is its once noble, its wealthy owner? In the corner of a miserable mansard of the Faubourg S. Germain crouched the figure of a man approaching the middle age, but whose unshaven visage and neglected state added several years to his appearance. His dress was that of a labourer, but the coarseness of his outer garments but ill accorded with his fair and unworked hands. A small leathern valise was by his side, and he anxiously listened to every sound. "This was the time he should have arrived," he exclaimed, "my retreat is only known to him. Mon Dieu! can he have betrayed me?" At this moment a confused and increasing sound of cries and snatches of songs was heard in the street—it is on the staircase—the tramp of ascending footsteps, mingled with imprecations of vengeance, strikes on the terrified ears of the unhappy Chantal, for such was the seeming labourer. He rushed to the window, but it afforded no chance of escape, as the eaves of the tiles were overhanging the street at a prodigious height, and the steepness of the pitch precluded all hope of ascending to the top. At this moment the door was assailed, the feeble fastenings soon gave way, and a party of men rushed in, among whom De Chantal distinguished his treacherous servant, who had betrayed his retreat. "Le voila!" he exclaimed, and in a moment the abbé was in the grasp of men who never spared an aristocrat. At the same time a red handkerchief held out of the window, announced to the crowd below that the victim had been captured and was secured, amid yells of triumph and execration. A few moments served to drag down the unfortunate abbé to the street, half filled by a mixed rabble, in which the women wereconspicuous for their savage exclamations and menaces. "A bas les aristocrats, à bas les prêtres, à bas les tyrans," were heard on all sides, while the terrified abbé was forced along, strongly grasped by two ferocioussans-culottes.
In a short time they arrived at a small open space; some straw was scattered on the pavement, and by the side of a common butcher's block, hastily brought to the spot, stood a man of enormous muscular strength and lofty stature, a shirt loosely bound round his waist and a pair of sabots completed his attire, while he wielded a huge chopper or axe, in savage impatience for his victim. The abbé cast a terrified look at this popular executioner, and seemed indistinctly to recollect his ferocious features. "Oh, Jesu, Jesu," he shrieked, in agony of soul, when the furious infidel, bending towards him, in a voice of savage irony exclaimed, "Il n'y est plus, Monsieur l'Abbe;nous l'avons démonté à Conques, ha! ha!"—The executioner and the youth who cut away the rood were the same.—In a few moments a badly severed head and a bleeding corpse were tossed to and fro amid the frantic mob, and exposed to every indignity, till a common cart removed them and bore them to an unhallowed grave, and no cross ever marked the spot which held the mutilated remains of the last commendatory abbot of Conques, thePagan ambonoclast.