Stones of the Temple; Or, Lessons from the Fabric and Furniture of the Church

CHAPTER XIII
THE WINDOWS

"I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones."

Isa. liv. 12

 
" … Sometimes thoughts proud and wild
Have risen, till I saw the sunbeams steal
Through painted glass at evensong, and weave
Their threefold tints upon the marble near,
Faith, Prayer, and Love, the spirit of a child!"
 

Faber.

Mr. Acres and his family had now learnt, from their many conversations with the Vicar on the subject, to take a deep interest in church architecture, and were ever seeking and finding some new beauties either in the solid building or the ornaments of their own ancient church, which now they looked upon with quite a new feeling of pride and admiration. When, therefore, Mr. Ambrose was a visitor at the Hall, he was not unfrequently called upon to deliver a short drawing-room lecture on some portion of the church or its furniture. "Now, Mr. Ambrose," said the Squire, on one of these occasions, "as we are only a family party this evening, will you kindly give us some more information on our favourite topic of conversation lately? I see the same request is on the lips of all these little people, but they are not so impudent, I suppose, as I am. You will, I hope, find us more profitable pupils than Mr. Dole, to whom you specially addressed your lecture in the church the other day."

"I am not so sure of that; for what I said to him, if it did no more, at least set him thinking; and that is a great point, you know. You see, those kind of people, as a rule, never read and never hear any thing really worth reading or hearing about matters of this sort. They are simply taught to believe that all outward form and ceremony in the Services, and all outward meaning and beauty in the fabric of the church, are idolatrous and superstitious, and they care to inquire no further than that. Their prejudice is fostered by ignorance, and to lead them to inquire is the first step to wards inducing conviction. Then, how very little our own people generally know about these things, and how seldom comparatively they are prepared with a ready answer with which to meet the objections of persons who are even more ignorant than themselves! This surely ought not to be. If we place beautiful and costly ornaments and furniture in our churches, the poorest person in the parish should be taught the meaning of them; and if the Stones of the Temple have each a lesson to teach, the poorest person in the parish ought to know what they say. But I am wandering from my point: our last subject was the walls of the church; what shall we talk about to-day, Constance?"

"Oh, I think the windows should come next, Mr. Ambrose; but there are so many different kinds of windows, that, of course, you cannot tell us all that might be said about them."

"No, indeed, my dear; I can only tell you a very small part of their history, but still enough, perhaps, to increase the interest you already feel on the subject. First, then, I shall say something about the stone-work of the windows; and what I say about windows applies very much also to the doors of a church, only the doors are generally much more richly ornamented. Now there are some very simple rules by which we may commonly know from the windows pretty nearly at what period that particular part of the church was built. You cannot, of course, always tell from any thing still existing at what time the church was first built, because often no part whatever of the first church is remaining. The font, from its sheltered position, is the most frequently preserved relic of the original church; sometimes one doorway alone remains, and sometimes but a single window to mark the earliest date of the church.

"As I must not puzzle your brains with the hard words employed by persons learned in church building, I do not profess to give you the nice distinctions by which they arrive almost at exact dates. Ours must be a very rapid glance at the whole subject. The two great distinct characters, then, in church windows, as also in other parts of the building, are the semi-circular arch and the pointed arch. The former is to be found in churches erected before the year 1150, and the latter since that year; but of course there are exceptions. The earliest round-headed windows (that the few buildings in which they are found were originally intended as Christian temples, I do not of course affirm) are the Roman, and these are easily known, for they are nearly always partly composed of red bricks⁶¹. Then come the Saxon; these are built of stone, but are quite plain, and generally as rude and rough as the Roman. You know the Romans held possession of our country from the year 50 before Christ till A.D. 450; and then the Saxons held the country till A.D. 1066; but it is impossible accurately to fix the dates of most of the churches they built. Next follow the Norman; these are more ornamental, and not so roughly executed; and after the Norman Conquest, when many clever builders and masons came over from Normandy, they were often most beautifully decorated. The figures of persons and animals, indeed, that are sometimes to be found (but more especially above the doorways) at this time seem very quaint and curious to us now, and often quite unintelligible, but no doubt they once all had an useful meaning and were specimens of the highest art of the time; very many of them are Scripture subjects. Sometimes triangular windows are to be met with of the Saxon and Norman periods, but very rarely. As I said before, some of their stone carvings appear to us to be very quaint and grotesque, and so too the arrangement of their windows was sometimes fanciful; they seem to have attempted occasionally⁶², to represent the features of the face, the doorway representing the mouth, and the windows the eyes and nose.

"The reason why the windows were in some instances so small, we may imagine was because they were sometimes not glazed, and it was desirable that, to keep out the wind and rain and the winter's cold, they should be only just large enough to admit the necessary light. I have lately seen an old Norman window which had been long bricked up, in which there had evidently never been any glass⁶³. We need not be surprised at this, for even so lately as in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, it was no uncommon thing for the windows in private houses to have no glass in them.

"Now we come to the pointed-headed arches. From about A.D. 1150 to A.D. 1200, which is called the Transition period the two styles were a good deal mixed. People have different, opinions as to the origin of these pointed arches. A learned friend of mine has an idea of his own about it, which he calls the finger theory. He supposes that all church arches and tracery may be derived from different positions in which the fingers may be placed when the hands are clasped as in prayer, and that from these, first the round, and then the pointed arch was suggested as a fit design to be adopted for a House of Prayer. It is at least an ingenious and a pleasing conception. Some have imagined that the meeting of branches in a grove of trees first gave the idea of the pointed arch. Often, as I have looked down the avenue by old Wood's cottage, has the opening at the opposite end reminded me of the eastern window of some splendid cathedral, whilst the long intervening rows of trees, with their branches uniting overhead, has suggested to my mind the pillars and groined roof of the building. Our old heathen forefathers knew well the grand effect of these magnificent temples of nature's building, when they selected them as the places best adapted for their awful sacrifices, and the worship of their 'Unknown God⁶⁴.' But it seems most probable that one style of architecture naturally introduced another, and that the pointed followed naturally from the semi-circular arch. When the builders saw what a beautiful arch was produced by a number of their old semi-circular arches intersecting each other, they gradually introduced the newly-discovered pointed arch, and at length, finding that it admitted of such a far greater variety of beautiful tracery in the window, they abandoned the old style altogether.

"The first pure style of pointed windows is called the Early English⁶⁵, which prevailed from about A.D. 1200 to A.D. 1300. It is often very simple, the plain lancet-shaped window being the most common; it frequently has the same ornaments as the Norman, but its peculiar ornament is a flower, almost round, called the ball-flower. This was followed, up to about A.D. 1400, by a more graceful flowing style, called the Decorated or Florid, and it is chiefly to be distinguished by the waving flame-like character of the stone-work in the upper part of the window. Then next we have quite a different style, which is called the Perpendicular, so named from its upright or perpendicular lines, some of which run up uninterruptedly from the bottom to the top of the window. This style is peculiar to England, and windows of this character are very rarely to be found elsewhere. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the arch of the window gradually becomes depressed, first sinking to the Tudor arch, and then losing its pointed character altogether and becoming quite flat; and this introduced what, from its comparative want of beauty, is called the Debased style. The windows of this period were usually square-headed, and possessed, like the other parts of the building, little ornament. It prevailed till the middle of the seventeenth century, and may be considered the second childhood of Church Architecture; and it was certainly far inferior to the first. Succeeding to this period came all those hideous semi-classical erections, most of which, I believe, were built in the reign of Queen Anne, though some were before and some after; and those still more unsightly parodies on Gothic architecture which were erected at the close of the last and commencement of the present century. In our own day we have far advanced by a complete retrogression, and churches are mostly copies of one or other of the styles I have mentioned. If, however, our present age may boast of a church architecture of its own, it will undoubtedly be that of those most beautiful brick churches which have been but lately erected, such as All Saints' and St. Alban's, London, and St. James', Oxford."

"You have not told us any thing about the round windows, Mr. Ambrose," said Constance; "you know we have a very pretty one in our church."

"Yes, I ought to have told you that these circular windows are to be found in all styles of architecture, usually at the west end of the church. They are called rose windows and marigold windows, from their supposed likeness to those flowers; and St. Catherine's windows, from their resemblance to the wheel on which she suffered martyrdom. It is likely that this window was placed in our church because it is dedicated to St. Catherine."

"That leads me to ask," said Mr. Acres, "what symbolism there may be in the windows of a church; for in your sermon last Sunday you said that there was a lesson to be learnt from all the speechless stones of the sanctuary."

"Yes; and every window in the church should remind us of certain Christian truths. The light which they admit should make us think of Him who is the 'Light of the world,' 'a Light to lighten the Gentiles,' 'the Day-spring from on high,' 'the Sun of Righteousness,' 'that lighteth every man that cometh into the world.' The window with its double compartments reminds us of the two natures of Christ; the triple window, and the many triple forms in it, of the Trinity⁶⁶. But it is of course most chiefly in its storied panes that the church window becomes our teacher."

"Certainly; I see that: and, by-the-by, as I am as ignorant as my children about the history of stained glass, please tell us something about that before we part."

"I will, gladly. As far as we know, stained glass was never used before about the year 850; but when it once came into general use, it would appear that no church was considered complete unless every window was furnished with it. At first, it probably consisted of rude imitations of old mosaic patterns⁶⁷. Then figures were introduced, which depended for their general effect upon broad black lines either produced by lead or colour. The old stained glass may always be known by the deep richness of its colours, especially of the blue and ruby. Probably Canterbury Cathedral possesses the earliest and best specimens remaining, the date of some of which is about A.D. 1120⁶⁸. In the glass of this time you find small medallions containing several figures, the surrounding parts being filled with tracery. Next come small single figures, or groups of figures, with or without canopies, with border tracery and foliage; sometimes there are the shields of founders and benefactors. About A.D. 1350 larger figures of saints were painted, each occupying a whole compartment of the window, with larger and more elaborate canopies. Now, too, windows began to be mortuary, and contained figures of deceased persons, with their shields and banners. In the following century single subjects often extended over several compartments, or even the whole of the window. Sentences in old English letters were frequently painted, issuing from the mouths of figures (just as we find them on monumental brasses of the same date), and also in various other parts of the window. One colour only, commonly yellow, with black lines to mark the features and dresses, was now, and also before this time, frequently used.

"At this period glass painters fell into a great error by studying more to paint pictures, correct in all the lesser and unimportant parts of the drawing, than to produce a pleasing and solemn distant effect; they often lost the effect of a grand accessory to the beauty and harmony of a Gothic temple, in order to gain that of a piece of painted calico. From about A.D. 1600 this art gradually declined, and, with some exceptions, the glass painting and architecture of our churches fell together, the inferior artist of the former being often employed in depicting the debased style of the latter. Immense quantities of stained glass were destroyed by the sacrilegious hands of the Puritans in the seventeenth century⁶⁹, and of course much, from its brittle nature, has otherwise perished; enough, however, remains to show how splendidly our churches were formerly decorated with it, and to afford invaluable aid to those who are now engaged in promoting the happy revival of this noble art.

"There is just one other point to which I must briefly allude – the value of stained glass windows as historical records. There can be no objection to windows in some parts of the church (specially those placed over the arches of the nave which are called clerestory windows) being thus employed, though the presence of these subjects in some parts would be most objectionable. There are some most interesting windows of this character still remaining. I have only time to notice some of those in Great Malvern Church. I have brought you some drawings of these windows; they represent some events in the life of St. Werstan, who was martyred in a small chapel near to the spot where these windows are. This glass preserves the only ancient record we have of this saint. In the first pane you see there is a representation of Werstan himself; the hills at the back, with the flowers and ferns upon them, probably represent the Malvern hills; and the painting above, the plot of ground on which his church was built. The key has reference either to the material fabric or the spiritual efficacy of its sacred services, and the four corner-stones, held by four angels, each with three fingers raised in the attitude of blessing in the name of the Trinity, are doubtless intended to indicate the favour of Heaven on his pious work. In the next pane the figure and hills are repeated, and above is a representation of the different ceremonies attending the consecration of the completed church. In the third pane you see the hills, with their flowers and ferns, covering the whole background; in the lower part, the now regular services of St. Werstan's little church appear to be represented by three choristers; and standing near them are two persons who are probably their instructors. The upper part represents the martyrdom of the saint in his own chapel. The stained glass in Great Malvern Church contains other historical records, but we have not time to notice them."

CHAPTER XIV
A LOOSE STONE IN THE BUILDING
A DIGRESSION

"Let the priests repair the breaches of the house, wheresoever any breach shall be found."

2 Kings xii. 5

 
"Men, who have ceased to reverence, soon defy
Their forefathers; lo! sects are form'd, and split
With morbid restlessness; – the ecstatic fit
Spreads wide; though special mysteries multiply,
The saints must govern, is their common cry;
And so they labour, deeming Holy Writ
Disgraced by aught that seems content to sit
Beneath the roof of settled modesty."
 

Wordsworth.

Since the last conversation which we recorded between the Vicar and Mr. Dole, the character of the latter had become much softened. On various occasions they had been brought into each other's company, and the consequence was that each had begun to think more favourably of the other, and to find some unsuspected good qualities which promised well to establish between them that cordial good feeling and mutual respect which ought always to exist between a Pastor and each member of his flock.

The following close of a long conversation might explain the loss of esteem and influence which many a parish priest, besides the Vicar of St. Catherine's, has had to deplore: —

"Well, Mr. Ambrose, had we known each other more, we should have understood each other better; my lips, at least, would have been saved the guilt of many hard words; perhaps, too, sir, you would have thought of me a little more charitably."

"There may be truth in that, Mr. Dole," said the Vicar; "but then you must own that you have always shown such sternness and severity to wards me as to forbid any friendly approach on my part. I have, indeed, put it down, in a great measure, to that harsh judgment of the conduct and opinions of others which I considered your form of dissent tended to foster – but this has not relieved me of my difficulty."

"I suppose I must confess that those who hold very strictly to the doctrines in which I have been brought up, have generally a severe and sour bearing to wards others who do not believe as they do, and, indeed, very often to wards members of their own body also. Then, you see, sir, at their prayer meetings, and their Sabbath services, they get much more excited and animated than people do at church, and so, perhaps, it's natural for them to be a little more subdued and less lively when they are out of 'meeting.'"

"Yes, that's natural; and no doubt what you say accounts for some differences in the opinions we form of each other's characters. At 'meeting' I am aware persons are commonly wrought up, by exciting appeals, loud words, and wild gestures, to a state of high pressure, of which we at church know little; and so they consider the calm, dignified solemnity of our services as cold and lifeless. Out of 'meeting' a reaction takes place, and they become comparatively depressed and undemonstrative, and we consider them morose and ill-tempered; we have no such reaction to undergo, and to us the world seems brighter than to them, and so they think us frivolous and worldly. But for my part, Mr. Dole, I can't possibly see what is the use of a man's speaking ten times louder than is necessary in order to make himself heard, just that he may produce a fever-heat in the pulses of his congregation. If continued for any length of time, it leads to something very like temporary madness; if not, it is likely to subside into a dull, sullen apathy. Moreover, I have yet to learn that it is wrong, provided we do not abuse them, to enjoy the good things God gives us, with a cheerful countenance– aye, and with a merry heart, too.

"On that point I have for some time been inclining to your opinion, sir; though, I fear, you will think I have not given much outward proof of it. But, nevertheless, you have in this matter as yet partly mistaken me – indeed we have partly mistaken each other. Perhaps my religion may, in some degree, account for my seeming gloominess and indifference; but these have arisen quite as much from home sorrows and disappointments, and the coldness and cruelty I have experienced from others. I will not, however, trouble you with these matters now, more than to say, that if you could have overlooked the ungracious words I may sometimes have said to and of you, and have looked in upon me, and for my evil have returned good, by speaking some kind and friendly words to me, you would have done much to brighten a life that has known but little sunshine; for I have longed more than I can tell you for a friend to whom I could fearlessly tell the sorrows of my heart. I know I have been to blame, for I always used to think you too proud to take much interest in my cares and troubles; may be, sir – I am sure you will forgive my plain speaking – may be we have been both a little to blame.

"Now, Mr. Ambrose," continued his parishioner, in a far more cheerful voice than was usual with him, "you know that since your friendly conversation with me that day in the church, I have followed the advice you then gave me, and have never failed to be one of your congregation at least once on the Sunday. I trust I have profited by what you have taught me: will you not be offended if I for a moment turn the tables, and preach a few words to you? I don't mean to you yourself personally, sir, but I mean to you as one of the ministers of the Church."

"I am sure you will not say any thing that will give me just cause for offence, my friend, and so I promise not to be offended."

"Well then, sir, you know I have always lived amongst Dissenters, so I know pretty well who and what they are. You will agree with me, that there are many excellent people among them, and there are some learned people among them; but generally they have but little learning. Very often their attention has been almost solely directed to a single point of doctrine which itself forms the ground of their dissent from the Church – just as with me; though I do not think the Church is quite right on some other matters, yet I should not separate from it could I be persuaded that the Church was right about Baptism. That has always been my one great stumbling-block. But I think, sir, speaking with all respect for yourself, that there is one great cause in the Church ministers themselves which has kept the Dissenters from coming back to the Church. I know that this has more to do with the past than the present; I know too that it could not of itself justify any one in separating from the Church. But, sir, look at the class of people Dissenters are of, in this country; their whole strength lies in the middle and the small-trade class. There are among them comparatively very few rich and educated, very few poor. You will say the love of the power and position which those people obtain for themselves in the meeting-house, but which they could not possess, in the same way, in the Church, naturally draws them to the Dissenters. That is no doubt partly true; giving them also credit – as I am sure you do, sir – for higher motives. But I see another reason; and that is, the wide difference between the Church ministers and the people."

"I see what you mean," said the Vicar: "the difference in their social position. I admit that the social position of the dissenting preacher is more on a level with that class of which, as you say, Dissenters are chiefly composed than is that of the Clergy. But then, Mr. Dole, the Church does not only retain its hold on the upper and the educated classes, but also on the poor (of course I speak generally; for there are, alas! a large number of these which are beyond the reach of any religious ministrations whatever)."

"Ah, yes, sir, that's the very point. I think in times past the Church ministers have stood too much on their social and worldly dignity: they have made too much of the man, and too little of the office. It's different now almost every where. But you see, sir, this just separated them from the tradespeople, but it didn't separate them from the poor. They didn't feel their pride wounded when they took the horny hand of the labourer; but it was a greater trial of humility to shake hands with the tradesman over the counter, and to go and sit down in the parlour behind the shop, in the same friendly way in which they visited the poor cottagers. Then, you know, sir, there were many other ways in which this class was neglected: we think it was lest too great attention should lead to too great familiarity. The wealth and education of a tradesman perhaps sometimes made his social position border too closely on that of the Church minister, and perhaps the minister felt it his duty carefully to guard the narrow barrier; but, oh, dear me, sir, what is all that compared with the work God has given him to do! I don't think that one who has the salvation of his people at heart will stop to consider whether a friendly, faithful pastoral visit may or may not result in a more familiar nod from his parishioners for the future. Do you know, sir, I think this is one of the loose stones in your spiritual House."

"I agree with much that you have said, as regards past years: but you must not put all down to pride; you must make more allowances for men's peculiar habits, and circumstances, and manners. Only just now you excused a kindred fault in yourself on the ground of private cares and anxieties. However, our views on this matter are not far apart. I consider, with you, that a clergyman's office overrides all social distinctions; and that he should be equally at home at the squire's mansion, the tradesman's parlour, and the meanest cottage in his parish; none should be too high for his familiarity, none too low for his friendship: as Chaucer says, 'the beggar is his brother.' His social position is certainly as nothing compared with his official, and should always be made subservient to it. I cannot understand how any clergyman, who rightly estimates the high dignity of his sacred office as a priest, can take a different view from this. However – God be praised! – times are altered in this respect: the Clergy have thrown away almost every where that reserve which no doubt lost to the Church many of the class which the Dissenters have gained. And we see now the good results; for in thousands of parishes the sons and daughters of these very people are working hand-in-hand with their Pastor, and are among the most zealous and faithful children of the Church, bringing again within the walls of her Temples multitudes of those who have been fellow-wanderers with themselves, and so helping to repair, one by one, the many breaches which have, alas! been made in the House of the Lord."