Part 13

"Sally Strike doesn't often say any thing very wise, my dear, and this is no exception to the rule. You had better answer her out of her own mouth. Ask her, when she gathered all the flowers her own garden could produce to decorate the little 'Rehoboth'--as they call that meeting-house on Wanderer's Heath--when they held their last 'love feast,' and had tea and cake in their chapel, did she put the flowers there to make the place look gloomy, or to make it look festive and gay? Or, why did she do the same thing a little while ago, when they gave a children's treat in their meeting-house? Was it because it was a time of sadness or of rejoicing? No doubt, she will tell you it was the latter. Well, we decorate our churches for a similar reason. We regard all the Christian festivals as seasons for great gladness and rejoicing, and whilst at other times we are obliged, for the most part, to content ourselves with such ornamentation of God's House as our own poor imitations of the forms and colours of Nature can supply, on these high days we press into the service of the temple the lovely originals of all those forms and colours, fresh and pure as when they first left the hand of their Divine Maker.

"'Tis true that the heathen used flowers in decorating their temples and altars, and also their victims prepared for sacrifice[180]. But they used them just as Sally Strike uses them at her meeting-house, for the _sole_ purpose of _decoration_. Now, though we use flowers to give a festive appearance to our churches, our use of them has, too, always a meaning beyond that: how they remind us of the _love of God_ in arraying this earth with so much beauty for our enjoyment; how they remind us of the pure and lovely delights of the Paradise that is lost; and of our future resurrection[181] to a Paradise of yet greater beauty. And it is from our Bibles that we learn to give, too, an _emblematic_ meaning to particular flowers, so that, whether carved by man, or moulded by the hand of Nature, each one teaches its own useful lesson. There we find the lily mentioned as the emblem of God's providence; the rose as the type of youthful beauty; the cedar, of manly strength. Nay, my dear Ellen, we may even find in Holy Scripture itself our authority for decorating our churches with these pure and unsinning works of God. You remember, no doubt, the verse to which I allude: 'The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee: the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of My sanctuary[182]'."

"Thank you, sir, I quite understand your explanation. But Sally Strike said she didn't object to the way the church used to be decorated thirty years ago, when plain twigs of evergreen were put at the corners of the pews, and some large branches fixed here and there on the walls; but she does not like the triangles and circles and crosses, and the other designs we now use."

"And yet nothing could be more silly than the dislike, though I fear it is one in which many--for mere want of thought--share. Surely, the twigs themselves must be at least as harmless when bound together as when used singly; and certainly it is better that they should be formed into beautiful and religiously _suggestive_ designs, than scattered unmeaningly about the church. The cross, often repeated, reminds us, you know, of the one grand pervading truth of our religion; the circle, of eternity; the triangle, of the Holy Trinity. We almost even forget the beauty of the design itself in the beauty of its symbol."

_CHAPTER XXVIII_

THE ROOF

"Thou shalt overlay it with pure gold, the roof thereof."

Exod. xxx. 3.

"Give all thou canst; high heaven rejects the lore Of nicely calculated less or more: So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense These lofty pillars,--spread that branching roof, Self-poised, and scoped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Ling'ring and wand'ring on, as loth to die, Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality."

WORDSWORTH.

Illustration: Keynsham Church

THE ROOF

"I'm glad to see you both among the helpers to-day," said the Vicar, as he shook hands with William Hardy and Richard Atkinson, "though I know this must cost you at least the value of a day's work."

The village carpenter and mason were always accustomed on these occasions to give their services gratuitously.

"Very glad indeed to come and do the best we can, sir," replied William Hardy, "though we couldn't quite agree about it at home, my wife and me, till we'd talked it over a bit."

Now Hardy's wife, though not generally unamiable, was like many other wives in this respect; namely, she had acquired a habit of always questioning the wisdom or sincerity of her husband's actions, which she could now no more shake off than she could her own identity.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said the Vicar; "but how was it?"

"Well, you see, sir, my wife says to me, 'William, you might turn your time to better account than going up to the church with Richard Atkinson to-day. You'd be able to earn five shillings, and that would just pay for the new ribbon for my bonnet, which indeed I do want very much.' 'I really believe you do, my dear,' says I, 'and so I must just alter my plans a little. I thought I wanted a new Sunday hat very much indeed, and I was just going to buy one at Master Dole's the other day, when thinks I to myself--no, I mustn't buy it, because I shall lose a day's earnings at church next week, so I'll give the new hat to the church, and have one for myself six months hence. But that's no reason why you should lose your ribbons, so I'll over-work for a few days, and earn the ribbons that way.' You see, Mr. Ambrose, I was thinking of that text, 'God forbid that I should offer to the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing.' Well, sir, them words softened her a good deal; but then she says to me, 'William, what's the _use_ of all them ornaments at the church? I really do call it waste of time and money.' 'My dear,' says I, 'there's something better than _use_, I mean as you and I talk of use, there is such a thing as doing things out of love and reverence for God, and for nothing else, and that's what I should like to do if I can. There wasn't no more _use_ in the precious ointment which the good woman poured on our Saviour's head, than in these ornaments we put up in His church. And you know who it was that called that a _waste_, and you know who it was too that praised her for what she did[183].' 'I think you're right,' says she; and so I came away."

"And so you were, my friend. But it's hard to persuade people that there is such a thing as _a worship of adoration_, prompted simply by a sense of love, gratitude, veneration, entirely apart from all idea of benefit, advantage, or use to ourselves in _any way_. As you rightly say, however, _there is_.--But I see the children have finished the frames for the clerestory[184] windows, so you had better put them up."

"You mean the windows just under the roof, sir?"

"Yes; it is not safe for them to climb so high."

"I suppose you won't attempt to carry your decorations higher than that, Mr. Vicar?" said the Squire, as he approached to see how the work was going on.

"No, that must satisfy us. Indeed, this roof is so rich in colour and carving that we could hardly make it look more festive than it does."

"It is, indeed, a grand old roof; but I rather prefer the high-pitched roof of the chancel to this flatter one of the nave, though certainly nothing can be more beautiful than its carving. The figures of angels on the corbels[185] supporting the principal timbers are exceedingly well done. What do you imagine to be the dates of these two roofs?"

"I should say that that in the chancel was built about A.D. 1350, and this in the nave about A.D. 1500. These flatter roofs of our perpendicular period do not any of them date much farther back than A.D. 1500[186]."

"I quite agree with you in preferring the older high-pitch for our timber roofs. By-the-bye, it is a curious conception that this particular kind of roof has a likeness to the inverted keel of the ark[187]--itself an emblem of the Christian Church. But I prefer to regard it, as I do the windows, and doors, and arches of _pointed_ architecture, as an emblem of the _incompleteness_ of our worship here. As I look up through the intricate multitude of timbers, and my gaze becomes lost amid the dark top beams of the roof, my thoughts are insensibly led higher still[188]. There is something in these lofty open roofs that always seems to invite one's thoughts _above them_--so different from the flat ceilings of most dissenting meeting-houses, and some of our churches built a hundred years ago. To me these flat ceilings are very depressing."

"Yes; and not a little irritating too, when you consider what splendid timber roofs in old churches, they often conceal. Ugly, however, and objectionable as they are, they have the one merit of being _unpretending_; and give me any thing rather than a _sham_--a lath-and-plaster roof with papier-mache or stucco bosses, and all sorts of painting and shading in perspective, in imitation of wood or stone, making the poor roof guilty of a perpetual _lie_. I do own that tries my temper immensely!"

"There can be no doubt, too, that the high-pitch better suits our variable climate than any other. I fear, however, that many of those which were built but a few years since are not very enduring. Young, or badly-seasoned wood, thin, poor timbers, which cannot last long, have too often been put into the roof. Sometimes this has been the dishonest act of the builder; but we have been too much in the habit of building for _ourselves only_--not like our forefathers, who put up those big masses of timber over our heads. They built for themselves and for _posterity too_.

"'They dreamt not of a perishable home, Who thus could build[189].'"

"Ah, yes! and that is, of course, especially true of those who erected the noble _stone_ roofs of our cathedrals, and many parish churches too. Nothing, of course, can equal the stone roof with its beautiful carvings and mouldings, richly gilt and coloured. Nothing like stone for colour! How very beautiful is the deep blue, with its golden stars, over the altar in our own cathedral! They look well in our own church, but the colours are richer there, not so much faded. That representation of Heaven's canopy mantling over the most holy part of our church always seems to me so very appropriate and suggestive."

"It is a matter of surprise to me," said the Squire, "that more care has not generally been taken to beautify the _external_ part of our church roofs. What relief is given to the long line of a nave roof by a good patterned row of ridge tiles, or by some ornamental ironwork on the ridge! The gable cross considerably relieves the chancel roof. And where the roof is of stone, why don't we have richly-carved _external_, as well as internal, stone-work? That, to my mind, is the perfection of a stone roof[190]."

At this point, the attention of both was directed to little Harry, old Matthew's grandson, who, with a fixed expression of deep thoughtfulness, was looking up to wards the roof of the church.

"Why so very serious just now, my dear boy? What may your thoughts be about, Harry?" said the Vicar.

"Please, sir, I was wondering what they used to do with the roof-gallery, where we've been putting the evergreens?"

"What does he mean by the roof-gallery?" said Mr. Acres.

"Oh, he means the triforium[191]."

"I must confess that is still more unintelligible to me. Please explain it to me, as well as to Harry, for we are evidently equally ignorant about it."

"The triforium is the gallery you see just above the arches of the nave--between them and the clerestory. It is not commonly found in parish churches, but I believe all cathedrals have it. It generally extends nearly all round the building. There are different opinions as to its original purpose. Some suppose that it was reserved for the use of women. On the Continent, it has been set apart for young men, or for strangers. It is the opinion of some that it was merely built for affording ready access to the various parts of the roof. As an architectural feature, it is very effective, and occupies a space which would otherwise be a blank wall. In this country, however, we know that it was often used for a similar purpose to that for which we have now been using it--the ornamentation of the church on special festivals, when banners and tapestry and other ornaments were suspended from the several arches[192]."

"I have often, like little Harry, looked up at those arches and wondered what they were built for; and, not knowing, I came to the conclusion that the passage must have been used for religious processions."

"It is not at all improbable that occasionally they were so used. And I can hardly imagine any thing more solemn than a torch-light procession of chanting choristers threading their way round the sacred building, the sound of their voices undulating in solemn cadence as they would pass the arches of the triforium, and then dying away amid the groined or timber roof above them."

Illustration: Clerestory Window

_CHAPTER XXIX_

THE TOWER

"The house that is to be builded for the Lord must be exceeding magnifical."

1 Chron. xxii. 5.

"Lift it gently to the steeple, Let our bell be set on high; There fulfil its daily mission, Midway 'twixt the earth and sky.

"As the birds sing early matins To the God of nature's praise, This its nobler daily music To the God of grace shall raise.

"And when evening shadows soften Chancel-cross, and tower, and aisle, It shall blend its vesper summons With the day's departing smile.

"Year by year the steeple-music O'er the tended graves shall pour Where the dust of saints is garner'd, Till the Master comes once more."

J. M. NEALE.

Illustration: Meopham Church

THE TOWER

When the Vicar and the Squire met on their way to church the following day, the conversation of the previous evening was thus resumed:--

"You will, I am sure, agree with me," said Mr. Ambrose, "in regarding the church spire as ever teaching _outside_ the building the same lesson that the open timber roof, as you so truly said yesterday, is teaching _inside_. It is always pointing the thoughts of thoughtful men up above the earthly temple."

"Quite so; and, as is the case with many other great teachers, the earthly fabric has, I believe, in both these cases, a very humble origin; for as the grandest cathedral roof is but a development of the simple _tent_ which formed the early habitation of the once rude inhabitants of this and other countries, so has its lofty and elegant spire gradually raised itself from the low and unpretending roof which covered in the towers of our earliest parish churches.

"I am inclined myself to think that, as a matter of taste and beauty, no church tower is complete without a spire in some form[193], and it is a question whether, in every case, the tower was not at first built with a view to such an ornament. The termination with a flat or only embattled cornice does not harmonize well with pointed architecture; the spiral form seems to me the only appropriate termination; and, as you say, the symbolic teaching of this part of the building depends upon it. And yet, though it may almost seem a contradiction to what I have said, the spire always needs some object for the eye to rest upon at its summit. The time-honoured _weather-cock_ which every body knows to be the emblem of _watchfulness_, seems by far the most convenient and suitable, though I am aware that other forms--such as a dragon, and a boat--are fixed to the summits of some spires."

"We do not generally succeed well," said Mr. Ambrose, "in our imitations of the Norman style of architecture. Its extreme massiveness, on which so much of its beauty depends, renders it very costly; and if this is abandoned, as it often is, for the sake of saving expense, and only the details of the style are copied, whilst the walls are thin and unsubstantial, the building has always a mean and cardboard appearance. But where the style is faithfully carried out, it is a matter of surprise to me that the _round_ tower is not more often adopted. It harmonizes so well with the semi-circular arches and the apsidal termination of the chancel. We have, you know, many splendid examples of such towers[194]. It is true, indeed, that the architects may in some cases have adopted this form, in places where there was difficulty in obtaining the stone required for the corners of a square tower, as being the most convenient for a building composed of flint only; but that they did not always choose this form as a mere matter of convenience, and not for its own peculiar beauty, is evident from the fact that in the construction of some round towers not only flint, but also stone, is largely employed. The objection to these towers, founded on the supposition that they are not adapted for the use of bells, may, I think, be easily met by a little constructional arrangement of the interior of the belfry."

"The erection of towers _detached_ from the church has not, I am glad to say, gained much favour in this country[195]. They certainly lose much of their beauty when separated from the main building. The custom, however, greatly prevails in Italy. The appropriation of a portion of the tower as a priest's chamber is, I believe, far more common with us than it is abroad[196]."

At this moment the bells of St. Catherine's commenced a cheerful peal.

"After all," said the Vicar, "_that sound_ indicates the real purpose of the tower."

"True enough," answered Mr. Acres; "no doubt our towers were built to hold the _bells_[197]; and so, if the tower is good and sound, and the bells are there, we must not complain if the spire is wanting."

"Yes; but I wish the bells were under better control than they commonly are."

"Ah, so indeed do I. There's no part of the church so much desecrated as the tower. Now, I grieve for this; for to my mind there's no music so delightful as that of the church bells, provided there is nothing in the occasion of their being rung which grates upon one's feelings. I often think of the story of a savage people who had never seen a church bell before, when for the first time they heard it ringing, they believed that it was _talking_ to them[198]. There is certainly no music that _speaks_ to us like that of the church bells. What call is there more eloquent than the chimes 'going for church'? What voice more reproachful than theirs to one who disobeys their summons? What sound so solemn as the deep-toned knell? What so happy as the marriage peal? Ah, my dear friend, you and I know full well what joys and sorrows, what hopes and fears, the dear old church bells can tell of. How the old memories of half-forgotten home-scenes come back to us when we listen to their merry Christmas ringing! Nothing like them to fill the arm-chairs that have so long stood empty, to tenant the old places with the once familiar forms which have long gone from us! Nothing like them to bring back the dear old voices and the dear old faces; nothing like them to put back the old furniture in its old places again; nothing like them to revive the bright and happy hours that are past! Then, somehow, the bells always seem to adapt their voices to each particular season. What joyful hope there was in their music at Easter! a still gladder song they sing to-day. They seem to me to have their own peculiar utterance for Sunday and for saints' day, for fast and for festival. What a joyful song of thanksgiving they sang at our harvest festival last year! I shall never forget what the bells said to me on that day.

"You must forgive me, my dear Vicar, for intruding this long rhapsody into our conversation, my fondness for the music of church bells is so intense, that I fear you will consider the expression of my admiration to be quite childish. I don't mean to say they always make me feel cheerful and happy. Oh, no, they don't do that; but most commonly they induce a sort of pleasant melancholy--harmless, and even good in moderation, but morbid in excess. These simple lines exactly express what I often feel when the bells are ringing:--

"When twilight steals along the ground, And all the bells are ringing round, One, two, three, four, and five; I at my study window sit, And, wrapt in many a musing fit, To bliss am all alive.

"But though impressions calm and sweet Thrill round my heart a holy heat, And I am inly glad, A tear-drop stands in either eye, And yet, I cannot tell thee why, _I'm pleased, and yet I'm sad_[199]."

Illustration: Tower, Saragosa

"I know the feeling well," said Mr. Ambrose; "we love the _silent eloquence_ of each feature of the church's fabric as we love the vivid expression of each feature of a dear friend, and we love--as we love his familiar voice--the well-known _uttered language_ of the old church tower."

"Yes; and not more discordant would be the merry voice of a friend, with a heart bowed down with sorrow, than seems to me a merry peal of the church bells, with the penitential seasons of the Christian year. I greatly admire your custom of only ringing three bells during Lent and Advent, and tolling a single bell on Good Friday. The contrast to the usual joyful chimes cannot fail to strike every one."

"I am most thankful that in our parish we have a set of bellringers who really feel a proper interest in the work, and regard theirs as a _religious_ office. I have only allowed men of well-known steady habits and good moral character to be among them. From the time I came here, as you know, I have been their president, and have always attended their annual dinners. Then their _rules_[200] are good. No drinking is allowed in the belfry, no one is allowed to wear his hat there, and no loud and boisterous language is permitted: any one using offensive words or swearing is at once expelled. In fact, I think we do all that can be done to teach the ringers that they are engaged in a religious duty, in a part of _God's house_. I am fully sensible that much of our success is due to your influence among them, and I very much wish that more Church laymen in your position would follow your example, and take part in the _actual ringing_ of the church bells[201]. On one occasion, long ago, I had some difficulty with our ringers. You remember old Sir Perrygal Biber? a greater profligate or drunkard perhaps never lived. He had wit enough, however, to secure his election for the county, and money enough to reward those who voted for him. I am sorry to say that in many parishes the church bells, which had once been solemnly dedicated to God's service, were impressed to do honour to that man, whose immorality was patent to the whole county. Our ringers naturally thought that what was not wrong elsewhere would not be wrong here, and so begged permission to follow the example of their neighbours. However, they were good fellows, and open to reason. I explained to them first that our church bells had nothing whatever to do with mere secular matters, such as the election of a member of Parliament; and then I showed them that their neighbours were specially wrong in this instance, because they were employing what was intended for God's service in doing honour to an impious man. I believe they were all of them, at heart, glad to get out of it; and, in fact, would never have thought of ringing at all had not William Strike put it into their heads. Since then they have not caused me a moment's trouble.