Chapter X: Ecclesiastical Embroidery (2)

Exhibitions abroad and at home have shown us what a latent power in art embroidery still preserves, and architects have employed the women's needles to give colour and beauty to the decaying churches, which have been restored to their original architectural effects by careful copies of what remained in wood, stone, and glass.

The number of new churches has also given rise to the production, in more than one semi-conventual establishment, of beautiful and effective works, such as the altar-cloth at Durham, and those at Canterbury and Worcester. Such works have revived the impulse of artistic and ecclesiastical taste, and in many small churches we have seen beautifully embroidered altar decorations.[546]

There are, however, many amateurs who are perhaps mistresses of the craft of needlework, and who are yet not educated sufficiently to design a really thoughtful and beautiful work of art, and to these a few remarks may be addressed, which may help the struggling aspirants, and show them how they fail, and where to seek for assistance.

I shall begin by pleading for more careful design, and less parsimony in expenditure upon the usual church adornments. It is once more a received dogma in ecclesiastical art, one in which all religious opinions agree, that the building in the parish which is set apart for the first public duty, that of worship, should show as much beauty as the means and taste of the community can command.

Perhaps the little church has just been restored, or completely rebuilt from the foundations; the consecration is imminent. The white stone, carved or plain, shines fresh and cold, and the whole space looks poor and bare.

The rich woman of the neighbourhood sees and feels that colour is wanting (for the windows must wait till their use as pious memorials fills them with glowing tints). The central point of the whole edifice, the altar, calls for the first key-note in colour to be struck, and a splendid altar-cloth is the fitting instrument.

She consults the architect, who probably is also an artist, and the design is agreed upon, and hurriedly drawn and carried out; for there is not a moment to lose if it is to be ready for the opening day. It may be beautiful, and it sometimes is so, but the mere want of time for due consideration often results in the commonplace ornamentation, which neither satisfies the eye nor the mind. It is often only a mere bit of colour and a mediæval pattern, and has no apparent motive or meaning to give it value.

One sometimes finds that a conventional form has been selected, of which the emblematic intention it originally expressed has been forgotten or overlooked. Therefore, while to the unlearned it conveys no meaning, it is read as absolute nonsense by the ecclesiastical archæologist, simply because it is worked in a language of undeciphered hieroglyphics--unknown to the worker--meaningless, reminding us of the Græco-Egyptian inscriptions, of which the pictured words seem to have been copied at random for their prettiness, or the Arabian lettering on some of the ancient Sicilian textiles, which is nonsense. The sense and the emblematic meaning are forgotten, and the conventional form--an empty shell--is alone retained, conveying no idea, and reduced to the low purpose of being a pretty pattern, vague and unintelligent.

I have so often said that a pattern always originally possessed, and should always retain a meaning, that I fear to become tiresome; but I repeat it here, as in ecclesiastical design it is more important than elsewhere; the meanings are deeper, and convey more essentially solemn traditions and allusions. If the motive of the designer is evident, and is conscientiously worked out, its value receives an enduring quality, and its present interest is enhanced.

Embroidery is not less eloquent than her sister-arts in the teaching of divine lessons, and appealing through the beauty of form and colour to the poetical instincts of the congregation, of which the least educated members almost unconsciously feel the influence; and besides, the people are always alive to the charms of symbolism, when it is placed within their reach. As a proof of this, among our own peasantry and mechanics, I would point to their universal enjoyment of the "Pilgrim's Progress."

In the symbolism of art, the thoughts which are individual to the artist can only be expressed by known forms and colours, even as the poet must employ the words and the metres already accepted by the literature of his language.

Hurry is fatal to art. But another and very serious cause of its deterioration is its costliness.

In the dark and mediæval ages, time was of no account. Skilled labour, such as was needed for carving, illuminations, and embroideries, was freely given as the duty of a life, for one particular object, the good of a man's soul. The cloistered men and women worked for no wages; neither to benefit themselves nor their descendants; hardly for fame,--that was given to the convent which had the credit of patronizing and producing art,[547] while the very name of the artist was forgotten.

It was from pure love of the art as a craft, and the belief that it was a good work in which they were engaged, and from their abundant leisure, that they were enabled to evolve the lovely creations which delight and astonish us when shown in the sacristies and treasuries of foreign religious houses and churches, where they have been cherished for centuries. Like the silkworm they spent themselves; and by their industrious lives were surrounded in their living graves by the elaborated essence of their own natures, a joy and consolation to themselves, and a legacy to all time. To them, also, art appeared as the consoler.

But to return to the grievances of to-day--cheapness and hurry, economy of pence and hours--these often are the bane of the work which we give to the Church, sometimes as a memorial, sometimes as a thank-offering. The colours are bad, because cheap dyes fade, and none others can be had without much trouble, and we have only time to select among those that are for sale. The work is poor because it must be done quickly, and we cannot afford to delay and pay for the extra hours necessary to make the stitches worthy and capable of lasting. Possibly we cannot give the time ourselves, nor can find any one effectually to organize and overlook the work.

Though the design, the motive, the colours and materials, as well as the stitches, need to be each carefully studied, yet we perhaps accept an ancient drawing intended for a different place and use; and thus we fail to produce any effect, with uncongenial surroundings. Sometimes we feel obliged to take the design forced upon us by a shopwoman as ignorant as ourselves, with the submissive hope "that it will do."

Now to a truly artistic mind it would appear that each little church, however simple and devoid of ornament, requires its own special colours and design, besides the individual motive of the giver; and people forget that the whole effect in any such compositions must be comprehensive, and that one careless mistake spoils all.

The High Church, in its love of ritualistic vestments, has sometimes been prejudicial to the general adoption of properly studied altar decorations; as there is a common suspicion that a clergyman's personal wish for ornament, akin to a woman's addiction to fine clothes, governs all his attempts to adorn the altar; whereas there should be, and there often is, a real artistic feeling for the fitness of things, in the furnishings of the most beautiful building set aside by the community for the glory of God. But it is not necessary for beautiful effects that there should be any coloured vestments. When the clergy are duly robed in the orthodox surplice and scarves, there is, perhaps, something funereal in the white linens and black Geneva silk, but yet the traditional white and black have their own value against a background of altar-cloth and reredos splendidly coloured.

Now that, in spite of prejudice, church decoration is so much the custom of our day, it is worth our while to consider seriously how best to carry it out, and search into the principles which may apply to all ecclesiastical embroideries, whether they are to be dedicated in the Minster, the village Church, or the home Chapel.

We must begin by remembering that in these days, if we cannot do the work ourselves, it must be highly paid for. The skilled artisan who is no artist, receives enough to feed his family, according to the higher wages of the time. The woman's slow stitchery has to support probably as many claims, and yet it is always grudged as being too costly. The sculptor or the painter who succeeds in obtaining employment, is highly paid, but the designer for metal-work or embroideries occupies an unrecognized place in art, and barely earns enough to live by. The illuminator has ceased to exist; he would starve--probably has been starved out long ago.

The decorative designer, having, therefore, no status, has no education; and it is almost impossible to find in England an artist to accept orders for thoughtful ecclesiastical designs. Hundreds of boys and girls are taught "freehand drawing," and having copied some casts and lithographs and drawn some flower-pieces, without any particular aim, find a precarious living by designing frightful wall-papers for the million. These poor creatures, from whose lives all ambition and originality have been effaced, are our decorative artists.

Still a beautiful original design can sometimes be obtained, and if that is beyond our reach, we may courageously copy from ancient models, selecting judiciously what is most suitable for our purpose.

The ecclesiastical artist should be well informed in the modes of working a design. The stitch if selected without experience may mar the effect of the whole composition, as some stitches of themselves convey the meaning of shadow, and others that of light.

In ecclesiastical work which is intended to be effective in the distance, as well as perfect in detail, it is worth while to weigh the claims of the architectural low-relief motive, i.e. a flat raised surface, with an edge sufficiently accentuated to catch a light on one side, and cast a sharp shadow on the other. All flat _raised_ stitches conduce also to this effect, especially if edged with a cord, and it is much more striking than in stuffed work (on the stamp), which has not the incisive effect that is given by the tool to the sharp edge of stone or wood carvings.

If we can afford to give to our church without stint, let us seek for the most beautiful textiles, such as are again woven in imitation of the old fabrics; gratefully acknowledging all that Pugin, Ruskin, and the foreign manufacturers, especially those at Lyons, have done in the revival of woven designs. Let us avoid those materials which are easily spoiled by sunshine, dust, and smoke, and all those that fray easily. Woollens are not long lived. Crewels, beautiful as they are, are not salient in their effect. Silks, satins and velvet, and gold brocades,[548] or groundings worked in with gold thread, are the only materials worthy of bearing fine embroidery, fit to receive them, and capable of keeping them for centuries. Plushes and worsted velvets are unworthy, indeed they are worthless.

The gold we employ must be either pure "passing," or else the Chinese or Japanese gold threads which differ in colour, but have each their own value, and never tarnish, even in the coal smoke of London. Pure silver, too, is beautiful, and if it is really pure, can be kept bright with bread crumbs.

In composing the altar decoration for the cathedral or the village church, we ought to take into consideration what is suitable for the surrounding architecture. In great spaces, the majestic altar-cloth or frontal, shining with gold and silver, and glowing with silken embroideries, recalls the splendid altar "palli" encrusted with gems in St. Mark's, St. Peter's, and other ancient churches; and is in perfect keeping with the high and gorgeous reredos, the rich screen, the fretted roof and clustered ornaments of a great cathedral choir. Such glories are unattainable in the modest village church.

But though we may subdue the brilliancy of our decoration, we should try to make it yet a work of art. The design may have as much intention, the work be as refined and individual, and the gold as pure, as in larger works. The precious metals may be confined to small spaces in the parts we desire to accentuate, such as the cross in the centre, or the edges of the orphreys, or they may be entirely replaced with fine silk work.

The altar-cloth we desire to present, may be simply a gift, so that we may choose any design that will agree with the date of the building. We may prefer any subsequent style, but not one anterior to that of the architecture. It would be a mistake to imitate Anglo-Saxon ornaments in a church of the flamboyant style.

Perhaps the altar-cloth we are discussing may be intended as a sort of votive offering, a memorial of a baptism, a wedding, or a funeral.

For the first, white silk worked in gold and silver, or gold-coloured silk, or parsemé with conventional spring flowers would be appropriate. For a marriage, crimson, rose-colour, blue and gold, or a mixture of all these, to produce a festive and gorgeous effect. For a funeral, purple or violet silk or velvet, with palms and the crown of thorns in gold or silver.[549] These would serve at the festivals of the Church: the purple for Good Friday,[550] the crimson for Saints' days, the white for Christmas and Easter Sunday.

The reredos, or the screen curtain behind the altar, should be made available for enhancing its effect, as well as for enlarging the area of textile coloured decoration.

As this is intended for a background, it should be either subdued or else contrasting, in juxtaposition with that which it is intended to supplement. Woollen embroideries or tapestries are the most usually selected for this purpose. The softness of fine crewels is well shown near the more glowing tints of silk, velvet, and gold of the altar frontal. If this is white, or light coloured, the reredos hanging should be of dark or richly worked material; if the frontal is dark, the contrast should be preserved by hangings of tender shades.

The pulpit and reading-desk, with their small cushions and veils, and beautiful worked covers for the books, give opportunities for repetition of colour which is often required for picturesque effect.

I should recommend the young ecclesiastical designer to study the principles which guided the authors of some of the fine Gothic examples remaining to us, such as the great Stoneyhurst cope, and the palls of the different London companies, as well as the very few fine altar-cloths still existing. All these have their brilliant and effective treatment; they are intended to be glorious, and either represent massive jewellers' work or tissues of wrought gold.

Anciently, the ornaments for the different church services, which we timidly reduce to floral decorations (often, however, very beautifully planned and executed), gave the opportunity for displaying costly embroidered hangings.

The paschal of the choir of Durham, for example, was a marvellous construction of wood and gilding, metal-work, and (probably) hangings. It was as wide as the "lateral" of the choir, and as high as the building, so that the central and seventh candlestick (that from which the new fire for the year was kindled) was so near the roof that there was a "fine convenience through the said roof of the church for the help of lighting it." I quote from a rare book printed by G. S. Ross for Mrs. Waghorn, 1733.

This little book is full of interesting matter regarding Durham Cathedral, though the author is most concerned in relating the vandalisms committed by the dean's wife, Mrs. Whittinghame, who evidently had "no culture," and a strong turn for appropriating odds and ends, such as tombstones, embroidered silk, and other curiosities which she deemed valueless except for her own purposes,--such a woman is a real archæological misfortune!

The corporax used in celebrating the mass by St. Cuthbert in the seventh century (he died and was buried at Holy Isle in 657) was supposed to be endowed with miraculous powers and was carried into battle on many occasions as a banner.

This banner was of crimson velvet on both sides, wrought with flowers in green silk and gold, and fringed with red silk and gold. The corporax cloth was inserted in the centre, and covered with a square of white velvet, having on it a cross of red velvet, "most artificially worked and fringed, with little silver bells in the fringe." This was carried into battle, till Dame Whittinghame "did most injuriously destroy the same in her fire."

One feels as if this woman were spiteful, as well as stupid. But for her punishment, her memory is kept quite the contrary to green by Mrs. Waghorn's careful record of her iniquities; which has at the same time fortunately preserved to us the description of the banner of St. Cuthbert, and gives also an idea of "the good and sumptuous furniture of changeable suits," and of "the divers vestments wrought and set round about with pearls, both stoles and flannels, &c."

Looking at it from a distance, it appears that the "fair white linen" for the communion service always requires the softening of the edges by fringes, by cut work embroidery, or by thick lace edgings. If a white ground for embroidery is required, nothing is more beautiful than linen, especially if it is not over-bleached. White, in art, should be represented by the nearest approach to no colour; but it is more agreeable to the eye by its being tempered with a suggestion of the natural tint, of which all textile substances possess something (excepting cotton) before they have passed through the hands of the fuller or the chemist.

Corporals and veils for the pyx used to be of white linen, embroidered with white silk or linen thread; the silk gives a beautiful, varied, shining brightness.

I think a few words should be said about the fringe.[551] Its motive and _raison d'être_ is the disposal of the threads of the warp when it is cut out of the frame; these being tied and knotted symmetrically, become an artistic decoration instead of an untidy tangle of threads and thrums. Edging the material and finishing it with its own loose ends is a very ancient custom; and we can see from the sculptures of Nineveh that they were great in that city in the art of fringe-making, and the Israelites, when they made their hangings for the sanctuary, trimmed them with fringes. It stands to reason that an added fringe should be arranged with reference to the origin of the decoration, and the moment we think of it, the eye is annoyed by seeing a deep fringe of one or two colours traversing the whole widths of the frontal and super-frontal, quite irrelevantly, and without any reference to the masses of colours, woven or embroidered, above them; and the consequence of this carelessness is, that it makes it look as if this part of the decoration, came from another source, independent of the composition which it ought to supplement. The fringe should belong to the whole design, and be carefully fitted to the spaces occupied by the colours above it, each of its compartments or divisions being filled in with those tints which are most conspicuous in the general design and would show effectively in the warp. It is not necessary to account for all the colours, as the threads employed to form the woof would naturally disappear at the sides of the web. The sections of the fringe should be skilfully arranged so as to reappear at equal distances, or at least they should be so balanced as to produce that effect. If this is impossible, the fringe should be all of one shade, matching exactly the ground of the textile. It may be relieved by clustered knobs, or hanging beads or cups of different colours and gold. The celebrated pluvial at Aix-la-Chapelle has a fringe of gold bells hanging to a gold cord, which amalgamates with the pattern.[552] The veils of the Sanctuary in the wilderness were fringed with attached ornaments, bells, blossoms, knops, flowers, and fruit, which sounds extremely pretty.

To resume, let me once more urge that in church work neither time nor trouble be spared; nor yet money grudged, if possible. The design should be full of intention, the stitching perfect, and the materials most carefully chosen for tints, for endurance and smoothness. Remember that no inferior substitute will serve to give present effect, nor will it last into the future.

Design, as I have elsewhere said, is all the better for being to a certain degree circumscribed, relegated, and regulated by the laws of traditional usage, as well as those of good taste, and this applies especially to ecclesiastical design.

These laws serve as the frame which encloses the motive thought, and makes it a complete whole, that can admit of no amplifications.

New symbols should not be adopted except for the expression of new facts or altered circumstances, and these can but seldom enter into liturgical art.

There is so much already formulated and admitted, and the area in which we may gather our materials is so large, that we need not seek for more than we find under our hand, ready for use.

Besides the symbolism of dogma, we have all the heraldry of the Saints; and can repeat and vary the emblems of those to whom the church we are working for is dedicated. The keys of St. Peter, the sword of St. Paul, the lilies of the Virgin, the cross of St. Andrew, the eagle of St. John,--I need hardly enumerate all these legitimate sources of decoration. Then there is the lay heraldry which belongs to the history of each church, and which memorializes the reign of the monarch when it was begun, finished, or restored, and the pious work and care of the founder and benefactor, the architect, and sometimes that of the sculptor.

Now as our forefathers accepted all this material for ecclesiastical design, remodelling it to their own uses in different centuries, so we cannot ourselves do better than imitate them, and profit by their experience; never missing an opportunity of studying ancient embroideries; and while we admire in them all that is admirable, and appreciate their historical and archæological value, we may yet extract greater benefit for ourselves, by criticizing what is imperfect, as well as what is possibly a descent and failure from a higher type.

We must make a judicious selection of what to imitate and what to avoid.

As a general rule, I should warn the young artist against the imitation of "naïveté" and so-called "quaintness;" especially in our designs for Church embroidery as it is hardly a noble quality in art, though we look on it with a tender pity, half-way between admiration and contempt, when we find it inevitably in mediæval work; struggling to overcome the expression of something difficult, and expressing a difficulty only partly overcome. We find ourselves putting our minds into the attitude of the artist who conceived those figures with arms conventionally growing out of the encasing garment; conventionally holding a book, and giving a blessing with a conventional twist, not entirely ungraceful, nor devoid of a certain dignity, rather felt than perceived. Yet we contemplate them with a smile of conscious superiority, appreciating our own refined sense of their merits and infantine progress towards something good, that time--a long time--would, and did evolve. But those efforts at last culminated in a Christian art, such as is seen in the splendid forms and adornments in stone, gold, silver, glass, and embroideries of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Such splendours as the windows of Bourges, the Sainte-Chapelle at Paris, or those of the Cathedral of Toledo, or King's College Chapel at Cambridge. Such sculptures and traceries as those of the Puits de Moise at Dijon, and the Chapter House at Southwell in Nottinghamshire. Such embroideries as the Syon cope, and the Borghese triptych. These are types worthy of all praise, and they are full of instruction to the student of ecclesiastical art.

The Kensington Museum offers us endless help and suggestions in its very interesting collection of liturgical vestments of every date and school; and its textiles, illustrated by the inventory of their learned collector, Dr. Rock, are most instructive.[553]

In the library of that museum are to be found many of the learned works on these subjects by French and German _savants_. The exhibitions in the English counties are never without a case or a room full of embroideries, collected from the treasure-chests of the neighbouring churches and country houses, and especially from those of the ancient Roman Catholic families. The colleges of Oscott and Stoneyhurst have collected, by purchase or by gift, many fine relics of the craft, which are most liberally granted for exhibition.

For those who can go further afield there is instruction in almost every Continental town. Rome, Florence, Milan, Toledo, Sens, Rheims, Aix-la-Chapelle, Berne, Vienna, Halberstadt, Berlin, and Munich--each and all have stores of beautiful liturgical objects carefully preserved; of many dates, and many styles, and showing endless varieties of design, which can be employed on new works by careful selection and adaptation. Most of these belong to the eleventh and succeeding centuries; any earlier examples are fragmentary, and have generally been taken from the tombs of kings and bishops.

It seems to savour of desecration, this opening of shrines and disturbing the ashes of the illustrious dead, if only for the satisfaction of archæological curiosity. But except where it has hitherto been protected by the sanctity of the tomb, there is so little that remains to us,--so few textiles have survived the friction of use, or even that of the air, through as many as a thousand years or more, that we may plead the hunger for truth, and the eager desire for proofs of identity and verification of historical legends, which are to be extracted from the shape of a garment, from the pattern on the border, or the lettering on the web of which it is composed; whence we reverently cut a fragment, and preserve it under glass.

"If studious, copie fair what time hath blurr'd,
Redeem truth from his jawes."[554]

Before closing this chapter, I would wish to observe that I have entered into the subject of church decoration in no ritualistic spirit; I do not treat it theologically, but as art; and if these decorations are to be carried out at all, I feel that I am rendering a service to those whose duty or pleasure it is to provide them, by pointing out where they may find the principles which have been the spring and life of mediæval art, and the survivals which are now the best exponents of those principles to guide us in the works of our day.

FOOTNOTES:

[479] Figure-drawing in early Christian art was for
nearly a thousand years primitively barbarous, with
occasional exceptions. The rapid decline in Europe,
through the art of the Catacombs and St. Clemente at
Rome, and the frescoes and mosaics of Ravenna, down to
the Bayeux tapestries, is very remarkable. In those
inartistic compositions during the early Middle Ages,
the figures were drawn facing the spectator, the head
and feet in profile, differing in nothing from the
Egyptian and Assyrian modes of representation. We can
hardly account for this return to childish ways, from
which Greece and Rome had so long been emancipated,
except by supposing that they came from the imitations
of Oriental textiles, which still retained very ancient
forms; for instance, the motive of the sculptured lions
over the gate of Mycenæ. We cannot say that Greek art in
Rome was quite extinct till the eighth century. About
that time there was a remarkable revival in England.

[480] Till very lately we have been entirely dependent
on the frescoes in the Catacombs and in the underground
Church of St. Clemente at Rome, and on monumental art
and illuminations, for our knowledge of the textiles of
the earliest days of Christianity. But Herr Graf'schen's
discoveries in Egypt will, when published, add greatly
to our information on this subject.

[481] The book by Parker on the "Liturgical Use" says
that only the five liturgical colours were permitted in
the use of the Church of England. Before the Reformation
the Norman and English liturgical colours were
different. (Rock, "Church of our Fathers," ii. p. 268.)
Perhaps nothing was originally worked departing from
this rule, but votive offerings are inventoried as being
of all colours, having been accepted and used as
decoration and for vestments.

[482] I have already spoken of the custom of clothing
the images of the gods as a classical tradition. The
Greeks draped their statues in precious garments, often
the spoils of subjugated nations, offerings from the
conquerors, or obsequious tribute from the conquered.
Newton (Appendix 1) tells us of inscriptions containing
inventories of old clothes offered in the Greek Temples.
Ezekiel (xvi.) speaks of silk and linen embroideries
given for covering the idols. The images of the saints
in Roman Catholic churches are, we know, constantly
draped in splendid embroideries, and hung with jewels.

[483] There is here an overlap of several centuries.

[484] Charlemagne's dalmatic, described hereafter, of
which the pedigree is well ascertained, justifies
Woltmann and Woermann's theory; as this eighth-century
embroidery shows, by its design, that Greek art was
still a living power.

[485] Of which we have yet examples on the Continent,
here and there; for instance, in the Cathedral at Coire
in the Grisons, and in the Romanesque church at Clermont
in Auvergne (not the cathedral). I do not include in
this statement of the rare occurrence of the ogee, the
European countries which were subject to Moorish rule,
i.e. Spain and Portugal.

[486] This, slightly modified, continued to prevail till
the time of Louis XIV., when France took the lead, and
gave a style to the world which entirely broke away from
all mediæval tradition.

[487] Rock's "Church of our Fathers," i. p. 409. Compare
Wilkinson's "Ancient Egyptians," i. p. 332 (see fig. 1);
and Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," taf. i., i. p. 130,
fig. 6. Bock does not give his authority for the pattern
on the ephod.

[488] Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," i. taf. i., iii.,
vi.

[489] Yates' "Textrinum Antiquorum," pp. 203, 376, §
103. He quotes from Claudian the description of a
trabea, said to have been woven by the goddess Roma
herself, for the consul Stilicho. I give this as showing
how forms and patterns become sacred by their being
attributed to the inspiration of the gods. The name of
Stilicho marks his tomb in Sant' Ambrogio's Church at
Milan, on which is a curious moulding, carved with
alternate roses and mystic crosses.

[490] Clapton Rolfe, "Ancient Use of Liturgical
Colours."

[491] See the Book of Kells, Library, Dublin; also St.
Cuthbert's Durham Book, British Museum, and the Celtic
MSS. in the Lambeth Palace Library.

[492] Celtic and Scandinavian designs are characterized
by meandering, interlaced, and knotted lines, which are
described and discussed in the chapter on patterns. The
forms of the Celtic stone crosses are very beautiful.
See "L'Atlas de l'Archéologie du Nord, par la Société
Royale des Antiquaires du Nord" (Copenhagen, 1857),
where the metal remains are shown by careful engravings;
also George Stephen's "Old Northern Runic Monuments."

[493] See Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," i. p. 126,
quoting Anastasius Bibliothecarius, pp. 153, 156, 189.

[494] Ibid. p. 189.

[495] The information here collected proves that these
sovereign gifts to the great basilicas were by no means
of costly materials, especially as compared with the
preceding splendours of Rome, or the still more
astounding luxury of Alexandria through the Greek
conquests of the Eastern nations. To these rules of
economical decoration, however, we find occasionally
exceptions. We gather also from later lists that the
embroideries of the Papal See were culled, in the
thirteenth century, from France, Spain, Germany, and
England.

[496] See also Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," vol. i.
pp. 9, 18, 56, 86, plate 2. At a later period the lion
motive is supposed to have represented a Christian in
the arena, and it certainly in time was symbolical of
man struggling with the dominion of sin. However, Bock
considers the design to have been originally classical
Greek, and it survived to the seventh and eighth
centuries, and was reproduced as late as the sixteenth.

[497] The Code of Manu in India, which 2500 years ago
regulated all the crafts and ruled their decorations, is
still in full force, and Chinese art was crystallized in
the reigns of the first emperors of the Hia dynasty,
2197 B.C.

[498] We cannot but respect the memory of Attila, who
checked the spoliation of Rome by his troops.

[499] The collections of needlework in Germany are very
rich. The treasury of the cathedral at Halberstadt, the
Markt-Kirche of Brunswick, the sacristy of the
Marien-Kirche of Dantzic, and that of the Kaland
Brethren at Strahlsund are especially quoted by Bock. At
Quedlinburg are the tapestries of its famous abbess; at
the Pilgrim Church of Marie at Zell are fine remains of
stuffs and embroideries by the ladies of the imperial
house of Hapsburg, of the thirteenth century; at the
Abbey of Göss (near Lieben, Steiermark) is to be seen
the remarkable needlework of the Abbess Kunigunda, and
in the cathedral treasury of Heidelberg the antipendium
of the fourteenth century, made for the church at Tirna.
The museums of Berlin, Munich, and Vienna are very rich
in textiles.

[500] See Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," p. 133.

[501] Helen Lwyddawc. See "Mabinogion," by Lady C.
Guest, pp. 279-284. This beautiful story is told in the
language of the romance period, and yet has a certain
Celtic colouring in it, which shows its origin. The
ballad opens with a description of Helen watching a game
of chess, clothed in white and gold, seated on a chair
of gold, when Maxentius finds her in her father's
palace.

[502] See Mrs. Palliser's "Lace," p. 4.

[503] See chapter on English embroidery, _post_.

[504] Early decorations of ecclesiastical dress are so
thoroughly illustrated by the ancient frescoes and
mosaics in Italy, that we can form an idea of the
embroidered vestments of each period by studying them,
and the early illuminated books that are scattered over
Europe. Dr. Bock gives authentic illustrations as well
as information about the finest Continental specimens.

[505] For the mosaics of Santa Pudenziana, see Woltmann
and Woermann, i. p. 167, "History of Painting."
Translated by Sidney Colvin.

[506] Appendix 4. Lord Lindsay's "History of
Ecclesiastical Art," i. p. 136. These gorgeous vestments
are engraved by Sulpiz Boisserée in his "Kaiser
Dalmatika in der St. Peterskirche," and far better by
Dr. Rock, in his splendid work on the "Coronation Robes
of the German Emperors."

[507] It is singular that we find the starry cross and
the swastika filling alternate square spaces on the
mantle of Achilles--playing at dice with Ajax--on a
celebrated Greek vase in the Etruscan Museum at the
Vatican. I have referred to this design elsewhere.
(Plate 26.)

[508] Rock's "Introduction," p. liii.

[509] This date is assigned to it by Monsignor Clifford.

[510] Kindly supplied to me by the Father Superior of
San Clemente in Rome.

[511] In the cathedral of Aix, Switzerland. Bock's
"Liturgische Gewänder," i. taf. ii.

[512] One of these mitres has, it is said, been brought
to England.

[513] Bock, "Liturgische Gewänder," ii. taf. xii. This
is dyed in Tyrian purple (rosy red), and is simply the
cross, representing the tree with twelve leaves, "for
the healing of the nations."

[514] Bock, "Liturgische Gewänder," i. taf. iii. pp.
157-160.

[515] Bock, _ibid._, p. 158, quotes the Jesuit Erasmus
Fröhlich, (1754).

[516] See Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," i. taf. iv. pp.
165, 166. "One of three costly garments."

[517] Modifications of the "wheel pattern" ("wheel and
plate"). Of these works of the tenth and eleventh
centuries the fine Roman lettering in the borders is a
marking characteristic.

[518] See Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," i. p. 214.

[519] There was no guild of embroiderers in England that
we know of till that incorporated in the reign of
Elizabeth. See chapter on English embroidery.

[520] Bock, i. 214, says that the splendid stuffs and
embroideries were entirely consecrated to the use of the
Church, till the luxurious arts invaded European
domestic life from the seventh to the twelfth century.

[521] See the cross on the Rheims cope (plate 63).

[522] There is no doubt it was only used for church
work.

[523] At Aachen, in Switzerland, there is a very
remarkable pluvial of one kind of opus Anglicanum, which
has been already alluded to. The border, of splendid
gold embroidery, has the pattern completed in fine
flowers of jewellers' work. (See Bock, "Liturgische
Gewänder," ii. p. 297, taf. xli.-xliv.) Rock, "Textile
Fabrics," Introduction, p. xxxi, cites from Mon. Angl.
(ii. 222), the vestments given to St. Alban's Abbey by
Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, A.D. 1429, as being
remarkable for pure gold in its texture and the
splendour of the jewels and precious stones set into it,
as well as for the exquisite beauty of its embroideries.
These are some of the characteristics of the opus
Anglicanum.

[524] Appendix 6.

[525] Mrs. Bayman, of the Royal School of Art
Needlework.

[526] If it is true that in the days of the Greeks and
Romans the art of acupictura or needle-painting copied
pictorial art, so likewise in the Egyptian early times,
painted linens imitated embroideries. This we learn by
specimens from the tombs. Painted hangings and
embroideries appear to have been equally used for
processional decorations. In the Middle Ages painted
hangings imitated embroideries and woven hangings, and
were considered as legitimate art.

[527] See Bock, vol. i. p. 10.

[528] Exhibited in the "Esposizione Romana" in 1869, in
the cloisters of Santa Maria degli Angeli.

[529] See Woltmann and Woermann, who quote evidence as
to works in painted glass as early as the ninth and
tenth centuries in France and Germany ("History of
Painting," vol. i. pp. 316-339). They remark that the
character of painted glass is nearly akin to textile
decoration, that it is essentially flat and unpictorial.
And doubtless there is an analogy between the two, but
rather suggesting patchwork or cut work than legitimate
embroidery.

[530] "Vasari," ed. Monce, taf. v. p. 101.

[531] See plate 69, which is a fine altar-frontal of the
plâteresque Spanish.

[532] The dress of the "Virgin del Sagrario" at Toledo,
embroidered with pearls, and the chasuble of Valencia,
worked with corals, show how profusely these costly
materials were employed.

[533] See "The Industrial Arts of Spain," pp. 250-264,
by Don Juan F. Riano, and catalogues of Loan Exhibition
by him for the South Kensington Museum series, 1881. The
works of Spanish Queens and Infantas are to be seen at
the Atocha, the church of the Virgin del Pilar at
Madrid.

[534] There are most interesting examples of Scriptural
subjects in Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," i. taf. x.
pp. 207, 208; taf. xi. pp. 239-278. These are of the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; and we have some
good fifteenth century bead-work in the South Kensington
Museum.

[535] The splendid embroideries from Westminster Abbey,
sold to Spanish merchants at the Reformation, now at
Valencia, and the cope in the Museum at Madrid, are
instances of these exportations. The Syon cope also was
returned to England, after its long wanderings, about
sixty years ago. I give its history by Dr. Rock in the
Appendix 6.

[536] For examples of this ornate and graceful, but
frivolous style, we may remember the mosaic altar
frontals throughout the basilica of St. Peter's at Rome.

[537] See Dr. Rock's "Catalogue of Textile Fabrics,"
South Kensington Museum, Introduction, p. cxxxvi.

[538] Bock's "Liturgische Gewänder," i. taf. vi., vii.,
pp. 385-392. The emblematic meanings of stones is
constantly alluded to in the Old Testament. Their
symbolism has, therefore, a high authority and most
ancient descent. In the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford is an
illuminated copy of Philip de Than's Bestiarium,
composed for Adelais, second wife of Henry I.

[539] "Cyclopædia of Bible Literature," vol. vii. p.
477.

[540] See Clapton Rolfe, "The Ancient Use of Liturgical
Colours." (Parker, 1879.)

[541] See "Indian Arts," by Sir G. Birdwood, i. p. 97.
He says this form is the sign of the
Buddhist or Jainis, and that the
fire-stick form was that of the Sakti race in India.

[542] See chapter on patterns, p. 103-4, _ante_.

[543] Revelations chap. xxii. v. 2.

[544] In mediæval times the cross in a circle was
sometimes called the "clavus" . It was
the same as an Egyptian sign, meaning "land" (plate 25).
Donelly fancifully claims the sign as being that of the
garden of Eden, and of the four rivers flowing from it
(see "Atlantis").

[545] See plate 70, No. 1. In the upper part of the
Halberstadt diptych, No. 1, the "gens togata" are
sitting on Olympus, clothed in such purple garments
embroidered with the chrysoclavus.

[546] I would instance the little church of St. Mary,
built and adorned by the late W. E. Street, at Feldy, in
Surrey.

[547] The art of illumination had in general kept a
little in front of that of the painter, and illumination
and embroidery went hand in hand.

[548] The fine brocades of velvet and gold, of which we
find examples in the centres of palls, and a notable one
in the celebrated Stoneyhurst cope, are still reproduced
to order at Lyons, Genoa, Florence, and in Spain. The
Florentine is distinguished by the little loops of gold
thread which pervade it.

[549] In the English ritual gold was permitted wherever
white was enjoined. This shows a true appreciation of
the effect of the metal, separating and isolating all
colours, and being of none.

[550] The purple is not one of the five mystic colours
named; it is included in blue, and therefore the most
ritualistic critic need not object to it.

[551] Under the Carlovingians, priestly garments were
often enriched with splendid fringes, trimmed with
bells. A Bishop of Elne, who died in 915, left to his
church a stole embroidered with gold and garnished with
bells. So rich were the fringes at that epoch, that King
Robert, praying one day in the church, became aware that
while he was lost in meditation a thief had ripped off
part of the fringes of his mantle. He interrupted his
proceedings by saying, "My friend, suppose you content
yourself with what you have taken, and leave the rest
for some other member of your guild." See "Histoire du
Tissu Ancien," Union Central des Arts Décoratifs. For a
fringe with bells, see the beautiful example in Bock's
"Liturgische Gewänder" (plates xli. xlii. xliii. vol.
ii. p. 297), already quoted.

[552] Resembling the fringe of St. Cuthbert's corporax,
with its silver bells.

[553] This valuable collection of textiles is so ancient
and therefore so frail, that it seems a pity to send
portions of it continually travelling about the country
for loan exhibitions. Change of climate--cold, heat, and
damp--carelessness in packing and unpacking--above all,
the reckless exposure to floods of sunshine even when
they are protected from dust by glass,--all these
endanger the preservation of what can never be replaced,
and has only survived till now because of the quiet and
darkness in which it has lain for centuries.

[554] George Herbert, "The Churchyard Porch," v. 15.