Chapter V: The Orientation of Churches (2)

Admitting, as we are compelled by the facts to admit, that there exist many undoubted examples of skew chancels, we next look for an interpretation. Two schools of thought, the symbolist and the rationalist, are soon encountered. The case presented by the rationalist group of authorities may be thus summarized; deflection is the result either of carelessness or of differences in the dates of building the nave and the chancel respectively. We will consider first the explanation involved in the question of dates. It is generally believed that the choir of a church was often consecrated as soon as it was completed, the consecration of the nave or vestibule being held over until that part of the building was, in turn, ready for use. For instance, as Mr Parker pointed out, the Norman choir and transepts of the earlier Westminster Abbey are known to have been consecrated in A.D. 1065, but the nave, if one were ever added, was probably not finished until the twelfth century. Separate alinements may, in such cases, have been set out, and slight errors have been made during the operation. Again, in some of the churches which show inharmonious alinements, the nave and the choir manifestly belong to different epochs, one or other portion having been rebuilt. The architect of the later period unconsciously took an orientation which deviated from the first axis, or, according to the alternative view, he was actually unable to make the axes correspond. If we assume that he employed a magnetic compass, there is a third possibility of error in the variation of that instrument. But all these hypothetical causes of miscalculation are removed if we attach weight to a simple suggestion which has been made by one or two writers. It is submitted that the axis of the nave or the choir, whichever portion was already standing, would probably be hidden from the mason’s view, through the temporary blocking up of the chancel arch. This might render harmonious alinement a task of some difficulty[576]. It has been averred that every case of deflection occurs in a church which has been partially rebuilt; hence the lack of agreement. It is difficult to say whether this statement is absolutely correct, but it seems to be true in many instances. Even so, why are the misalinements practically confined to re-buildings of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries?

Again, it is asserted that many cases of deflection were discovered only when, in modern times, the rood-screen was, for one reason or another, taken down. In such instances, it is argued, the mason would have his standard line concealed while setting out the new section of the building. But, as we shall shortly see, this fact about the rood-screen may be interpreted in another way. If we accept the Saint’s Day theory, there remains the possibility of error due to the re-dedication, or plural dedication, of churches. The difference might then conceivably originate without any re-building of the fabric. Mr Airy cites the case of Clapham, Bedfordshire. A better known example, possibly, is found in Whitby Abbey. The building, as a whole, is dedicated to St Peter and St Hilda jointly--a fact proved by the Abbey seal. St Peter’s Day is on the 29th of June, and St Hilda’s on the 25th of August[577]; it was therefore tentatively submitted that there have been two dedications for the existing building. At this point we are thrown back on the “two-period” theory, for the Abbey choir dates from the late twelfth century, while the nave, which is considered to be the deflected limb, belongs to the mid-fourteenth century. Yet why should the axis of the nave lie nine feet North of the choir line? Canon Atkinson, who carefully investigated this example, expressed the result thus: the axis of the nave diverges from true East and West by 14°·5, that of the choir by 9°·7. He adds this statement: “That it was planned so requires no elaborate proof[578].” The parish church of Whitby, St Mary’s, which is hard by, and which belongs to the twelfth century, runs exactly parallel to the Abbey choir. Why, again, assuming the theory of separate dedications, should the nave be assigned to one saint, and the choir to another[579]?

This query leads us to consider, for a moment, the subject of dedication to two, or even three patron saints. Miss Frances Arnold-Forster, in her _Studies in Church Dedications_, suggests several reasons for “twofold ascriptions[580].” The two names may represent that of the founder and that of the patron saint. The Lady chapel or chancel may have been placed under the invocation of one patron, and the rest of the building under another. Or, the founder may have deliberately intended to have a dual dedication. Again, when a church was rebuilt and re-dedicated, a new name may have taken its place alongside the old; such re-naming is thought to have been of frequent occurrence, especially in Cornwall. Lastly, the double dedication may be due to the union and consolidation of two parishes, as is the case with the large majority of our City churches.

Now, with respect to Whitby, we seem to have obtained a clue to the dedication difficulty, at least. The Rev. Canon G. Austen, Rector of Whitby, informs me that the Saxon Abbey was dedicated to St Peter alone. Though somewhat contrary to popular belief, it must be accepted as a proof that the ascription to St Hilda was a later addition. Let us suppose that St Hilda’s name was introduced at one or other of the rebuildings of the Abbey; and let us assume that there was a second formal dedication. This admission does not, perforce, imply our acceptance of the Saint’s Day theory as explaining the discordant alinements. Else we should expect to find many more cases of deflection among the churches with double dedications. Nor, again, does the fact of re-dedication necessarily support the notion that the builder was incapable of setting out a straight line. In short, the solution tendered enforces the very difficulties which it professes to dispel. If it can be clearly shown beyond dispute how the Mediaevalists obtained their axial line, then the theory that the misalinement is the result of re-dedication will have to be faced seriously. Until that time comes, the theory is little more than a fair surmise. As a slight contribution to the inquiry, and as a possible instance of the architect’s incapacity, the case of Leatherhead parish church may be cited. Here the tower is deflected about 3´·6´´ from the axis of the nave, while the nave diverges from the chancel. The church is dedicated to St Mary and St Nicholas, but whether there is further connection between the two facts is uncertain. It was a visit to this church which led Dr J. C. Cox to refer to “symbolic absurdity,” and the “leaning-head” theory as being propounded by “ill-instructed persons.” His own explanation of the divergences is twofold: the “endeavours to obtain the true East at differing periods of the year,” and “the well-known carelessness of Mediaeval builders in following out a true square[581].”

We next consider the arguments of the symbolists. Several solutions are offered by these authorities, though there is no great divergence of fundamental ideas. The favourite explanation, as just hinted, is that Christ, while on the Cross, faced Westwards, and that His head leaned towards the left, or South side. Another school teaches that the inclination was to the North, and, as we have already seen, such Continental churches as have varying axes, are deflected towards that point. In roods, it may be noted, the head is usually made to fall towards the left[582]. The “leaning-head” theory was accepted by Dr Rock. M. Huysmans has evidently paid so much attention to this phase of the question that he may be again quoted. Describing the fine abbey church of Preuilly-sur-Claise, in Touraine, he declares that the builders gave life to the stones. In its serpentine line, in the perspective of its aisles, and the obliquity of its vaulting, the church gives an allegorical presentment of Our Lord on the Cross, and perpetuates “the never-to-be-forgotten moment between the ‘Sitio’ and the ‘Consummatum est’[583].” M. Huysmans mentions, with reserve, the opinion of some writers, that the bent line occasionally represents the body of a saint instead of that of the Saviour; thus the curved axis of St Savin is supposed to be symbolical of the wheel which was the instrument of martyrdom of the saint[584].

There are not lacking authorities who, like Dr Cox, spurn these theories as idle fancies. “Symbolism!” exclaimed Welby Pugin, when viewing a twisted chancel in Leicestershire, “Pack of nonsense: it was because they didn’t know how to build straight[585].” This summary verdict, told by a person who heard it delivered, may, however, be countered by an opinion in the opposite sense, uttered by the same architect, and equally well attested. Asked about the bend in the nave at Whitby Abbey, which has just been mentioned, Pugin declared that it signified that the debt of redemption had been paid; “for, after the Saviour had expired on the Cross, his head would naturally lean or incline to one side[586].” Which of Pugin’s two opinions is the earlier cannot be ascertained, but even if antagonism to the “leaning head” theory were representative of his maturer judgement, he surely could not pretend that the deflection can always be ascribed to a blunder. Mr Parker himself, who advanced the theory that the twist might be due to the consecration of a building before its completion, admitted that many cases of deflection are incapable of a constructional explanation[587]. One may well ask whether the architects who reared our magnificent Gothic cathedrals, edifices whose every part, when untouched by the restorer, exhibits skill in design and workmanship, were really unable to build straight. What of the deflection at St Ouen, in the city of Rouen, a building which Fergusson enthusiastically declares was “beyond comparison the most beautiful and most perfect of the abbey edifices of France[588]?” And, coming to meaner structures, dare we say that a discrepancy of 5° or 10° is likely to be the result of mere carelessness? One might as reasonably argue that the existence of a “low side window,” with its deviations of size, shape, and position, indicates a clumsy arrangement of fenestration.

Rebutting arguments against the “theory of error” may be urged on broad grounds. We have seen that in the greater number of instances, our undeflected buildings bear to the North of the equinoctial point, indicating, if we suppose a calendar alinement at sunrise, that work was begun either a little after the advent of spring, or, less probably, a little before the autumnal equinox. Consider, then, the case of a church of which one member is to be rebuilt. Under similar conditions of starting work, the assumed error in direction might be on either side of the axis. We might perhaps conclude that it would actually tend to be on the Northern side of that axis--a Northern deviation added to a Northern deviation--for, in spite of liturgical rules, a liking for summer orientations (North of East) appears to have been very common. But, not to press this probability, it is at least claimable that, on a balance of instances, the deflections, if due to clumsy workmanship, would range themselves in equal numbers North and South of the earlier alinement. But the fact remains that the Southern variations form the rule, and we are driven to the belief that they are Southern by reason of design.

This leads us to consider an hypothesis which embraces a purpose more aesthetic than symbolical. Put shortly, this hypothesis is, that the bend was designed to produce an artistic illusion--a perspective effect whereby a building appeared to be longer than it actually was. Thus, if one of the side walls of a church with a “weeping chancel” be viewed from the Western entrance, an impression of greater length and of undefined distance is received by the spectator. Again, where a rood screen exists, the bend in the wall, not a pleasing feature, considered separately, would be concealed, but a change in the direction in a lofty roof would still produce an illusion that the church is indefinitely extended. Moreover, as the beholder caught a glimpse of a portion of the sanctuary window, which was often richly ornamented, both in form and in colour, the beauty of the vista was much enhanced. On this hypothesis, the screen, instead of being the immediate cause of the inclined axis, was an accessory to a complete design, a feature of which the effect was foreseen and provided for. To round off this question, it should be added that not many relics of screen-work exist which belong to a period earlier than the fourteenth century. A few specimens of thirteenth century work remain, and doubtless others were swept away at the Reformation, but most of the examples which have come down to us are assignable to the fifteenth century[589]. In short, the middle stage of the development of rood-lofts seems to correspond roughly with the period in which deflection is most commonly observable. This coincidence does not, indeed, solve the riddle, since each of the opposing schools may produce it as testimony.

Seeing that the “aesthetic theory” is unsupported by documentary proof, evidence must be sought in the possible existence of similar contrivances associated with other architectural features. Can such evidence be produced? The reply is in the affirmative. As one enters certain Egyptian temples, he perceives a gradual transition from light to darkness. This effect is brought about by the forced ascent of a few steps, combined with a lowering of the roof; thus the sense of gloom and mystery increases as the worshipper moves forward[590]. Again, we find that, in the columns of the Parthenon and other Greek buildings, there is an entasis, or slight convexity of outline, perchance not more than the length of a finger nail, yet sufficient to prevent the appearance of hollowness. The Parthenon is said to possess scarcely a vertical or a horizontal line throughout the whole design. The columns lean a little inwards, the corners incline diagonally, the entablature is curved and recedes in the centre[591]. Such subtle niceties, trivial when taken singly, prove that, in Classical times at least, the aesthetic phase of architecture was not ignored. The next question is, Can parallel instances of design be observed in our own country? The Norman church of Barfreston, Kent, may be cited. In this building, the axes of the nave and chancel correspond, but the walls of the chancel are so built that this portion appears to incline about 5° North. One can hardly find a rectangle in the plan of the church--“everything is oblique[592],” and apparently oblique by intention. Again, the South arcade of the nave of Scarborough parish church has a distinct curve, as if deliberately thus planned. In the case of Whitby Abbey, before cited, Canon Atkinson discovered another intentional irregularity. The West wall of the North transept projects into the interior at least a foot more than does the East wall. The view, being thus interrupted by the broken line, has a pleasing effect upon the mind of the spectator. Consider, too, the churches, to be met with in many a village, in which the pillars and mouldings of the Northern arcade are simpler than those of the Southern, the Northern windows less rich in tracery, the specimens of painted glass more sombre in motive and execution. It will be understood that a reservation must be made for those churches in which the South arcade is of slightly later date than the North. The symbolism of the Northern aspect of Nature must have been clearly appreciated for these conditions to have arisen (see p. 334 _infra_). Or, take the feature just alluded to as entasis, by which the optical illusion of hollowness in upright lines is corrected. Many of our spires exhibit this convexity. Mr Francis Bond, a high authority on such matters, states that the entasis probably does not exceed 1 inch for 60 feet in our best examples of Gothic spires. The important point to notice is, that the curvature exists as the result of design. True, it has been mooted whether the bulging is not an incidental consequence of a peculiar method of building, but this idea is not commonly accepted, nor does it seem to satisfy the conditions of the problem. Sometimes, as in the Lincolnshire spires of Caythorpe and Welbourn, and of Glinton (Northants), the limit just given is greatly exceeded, with results not at all pleasing to the eye[593]. Caythorpe spire, once grotesque with its “sugar loaf” protuberance, exhibits the familiar curve even after being shortened and rebuilt[594]. That there appears to be an artistic necessity for the convex treatment, or for some equivalent device, is exemplified once more in the steeple at Louth. There, the impression of concavity is prevented by increasing the projection of the crockets about one-third of the way up the spire[595]. Again, there is the artistic disposition and gradation of ornament, the delicate, enriched carvings being reserved for the parts of the building near the eye, while a “greater effective quantity” is provided in the upper parts, as on pinnacles and parapets. Perhaps the reader will admit that there is no need to press further the plea of aesthetic artifices on the part of the early builders. It is, at least, conceivable that our English masons understood the value and charm of subtle suggestions of spaciousness and mystery. To elaborate their art, and to conceal it, and to keep

“This modest charm of not too much,
Part seen, imagined part,”

may well have been one of the golden rules of the Gothic architect. For the trained eyes of the sympathetic beholder admire “both what they half create, and half perceive,” and they will find privileged pleasures in sublimities of form and colour.

Nevertheless, in the absence of positive testimony that our early builders were actuated by artistic principles such as those just described, there is no justification for putting the case a whit more strongly. Is there, indeed, any evidence at all for the intentional designing of deflected churches? St Charles Borromeo (A.D. 1538-1584) has been cited as recommending deflection towards the South, if deflection be necessary[596]. The reference is probably the result of misunderstanding St Charles’s meaning, and, in that case, the claim is vitiated. What the writer actually required was, that the High Chapel (cappella) should look directly East, equinoctial East. Should dwellings exist which obscured the view, that fact did not relieve the builder of his responsibility. If the axis of the building must be turned, it should be towards the South, and not towards the North. The passage seems to allude to the church as a whole, not to the High Chapel, but I admit that there is some little ambiguity[597].

Attention has been drawn by Mr W. F. Hobson to an early allusion to orientation, involving, as he considers, the principle of deflection also. The passage occurs in the writings of St Paulinus of Nola, c. A.D. 420. Speaking of a church which he had built, St Paulinus remarks, “_Prospectus basilicae vero non, ut usitatior mos est, Orientem spectat, sed ad Domini mei B. Felicis basilicam pertinent Memoriam ejus aspiciens_[598].” The statement is that the outlook of the church was not directed towards the East, following the more common practice, but towards a certain basilica, containing a particular tomb, that of the martyred presbyter, St Felix. That we have here an early instance of orientation is manifest, but whether “_aspiciens_” may be interpreted so as to prove deflection is doubtful. It is, however, possible that while the church had its general alinement to the sacred basilica, there was a bend or slant which caused the “chancel”--speaking conventionally--to face the monument. Mr Hobson urges that, from orientation towards a tomb and orientation for a Saint’s Day there is but a slight transition[599].

We will now attempt to sum up the evidence. Skew chancels were, in some cases at least, due to carelessness or unskilfulness. A few deflections seem to have been caused by the architect’s dislike to build on old foundations--a prejudice felt by Wren in re-building St Paul’s. The Saint’s Day theory may hold for some examples, since a few positive instances of observance, if these can be produced, cannot be nullified even by many negative exceptions. As to the symbolism of the leaning head, whimsical though it may at first sight appear, one cannot dismiss it as mere folly. Mediaeval symbolism was no dead art, and it is visible in many guises, though to a less extent than its advocates would insist. Unless, therefore, we are to believe that symbolical explanation is altogether an after-thought--the creation of cultured ecclesiastics--we have to find a reason for its existence in Mediaeval days. And, if the idea be so old as the foundation of our finest churches, we may conjecture that it received an embodiment in architecture. Lastly, the theory of artistic design, though least advocated, seems most in consonance with all the facts. The deflection does cause an agreeable optical illusion; and it is probable that this was intended. While we search in vain for some early document to throw a glimmering of light on the problem, we are bound to consider all tentative solutions unsatisfactory. He would be a bold man who should unhesitatingly affirm that one explanation will meet every case, and hardier still would be the prosaic architect who should dismiss every instance of deflection as the result of pure chance or blundering ignorance.