cathedral cities of england 60 reproductions from original watercolors by w. w. collins j. h. jansen cleveland, ohio 1908 [illustration: bath pulteney bridge] [illustration: canterbury the baptistery and chapter house] [illustration: canterbury christchurch gateway] [illustration: canterbury interior of the nave] [illustration: canterbury from the meadows] [illustration: canterbury the norman stairway] [illustration: chester the rows] [illustration: chester st. werburgh street] [illustration: chester bishop lloyd's palace and watergate street] [illustration: chester eastgate street] [illustration: chichester from the northeast] [illustration: durham the western towers] [illustration: durham from the railway] [illustration: durham interior of cathedral looking across the nave into south transept] [illustration: durham elvet bridge] [illustration: durham framwell gate bridge] [illustration: ely from the west front] [illustration: ely interior of the nave] [illustration: ely from the fens] [illustration: ely the market place] [illustration: exeter from the palace gardens] [illustration: exeter mol's coffee tavern] [illustration: exeter interior of the nave] [illustration: gloucester the cathedral and old parliament house] [illustration: gloucester from the paddock] [illustration: gloucester interior of the nave] [illustration: hereford the north transept] [illustration: london st. paul's and ludgate hill] [illustration: london westminster abbey the north transept] [illustration: lincoln by moonlight] [illustration: lincoln the west towers] [illustration: lincoln the steep hill] [illustration: norwich the æthelbert gate] [illustration: norwich the market place] [illustration: norwich from the northeast] [illustration: oxford christchurch gateway] [illustration: oxford christchurch interior of the nave] [illustration: peterborough the west front] [illustration: peterborough the market place] [illustration: ripon the cathedral] [illustration: rochester cathedral and castle] [illustration: st. albans from the walls of old verulam] [illustration: salisbury the market cross] [illustration: salisbury the cathedral] [illustration: salisbury the cloisters] [illustration: salisbury high street gateway into the close] [illustration: winchester from the deanery garden] [illustration: winchester the north aisle] [illustration: winchester st. cross] [illustration: winchester from st. catherine's hill] [illustration: worcester the cathedral] [illustration: wells the ruins of the banqueting hall] [illustration: wells cathedral and the pools] [illustration: wells from the fields] [illustration: york the shambles] [illustration: york micklegate bar] [illustration: york monk bar] [illustration: lichfield the west front] [illustration: york bootham bar] [illustration: york stonegate] [illustration: by internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the 60 lovely original illustrations in color. see 32255-h.htm or 32255-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32255/32255-h/32255-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32255/32255-h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/cathedralcitieso00colluoft cathedral cities of spain 60 reproductions from original water colours by w. w. collins. r. i. william wiehe collins * * * * * five portfolios of colour plates these make good studies and are full of suggestions for everyone doing water colour work. all uniform in size. 5-1/4 x 9. like sample. each portfolio done by a different artist sent prepaid on receipt of price new series spanish cathedrals. $2.00 60 reproductions from original water colours by w. w. collins. r. i. english cathedrals. $2.00 60 reproductions from original water colours by w. w. collins, r. i. french cathedral. $2.00 60 reproductions from original water colours by herbert marshall. r. w. s. versailles and the trianons. $2.00 56 reproductions from original water colours by renei binet. cairo, jerusalem and damascus. $2.00 58 reproductions from original water colours and paintings by w. s. s. tyrwhitt, r. b. a. and reginald barratt, a. r. w. s. the five portfolios will be sent, express paid on receipt of $9.00 they are all interesting j. h. jansen successor to m. a. vinson publisher, importer and dealer books on architecture, decoration and illustration 205-206 caxton building cleveland, o. _portion of review from "american architect," page 16, issue of july 8, 1908._ "probably the most interesting moments of the trip abroad by the architectural students are those spent in sketching bits of interest in water color. and it is equally true, we believe, that nothing is so helpful, so reminiscent as these same notes of color when viewed in alter years. we have been prompted to these remarks by the receipt of five portfolios of color plates, being copies of original water color drawings by english and french water colorists." * * * * * list of plates [illustration: barcelona. _in the cathedral._] [illustration: astorga.] [illustration: malaga. _the market._] [illustration: tortosa.] [illustration: toledo. _the cathedral._] [illustration: gerona. _the cattle market._] [illustration: gerona. _the cathedral._] [illustration: segovia. _plaza mayor._] [illustration: toledo. _the alcántara bridge._] [illustration: granada. _the alhambra, court of lions._] [illustration: valencia. _san pablo._] [illustration: leon. _san marcos._] [illustration: santiago. _the cathedral._] [illustration: cordoba. _interior of the mesquita._] [illustration: saragossa. _la seo._] [illustration: burgos. _the cathedral._] [illustration: cadiz. _the cathedral._] [illustration: cordoba. _the campanario tower._] [illustration: oviedo. _the cloisters._] [illustration: salamanca. _the old cathedral._] [illustration: segovia. _the aqueduct._] [illustration: burgos. _arch of santa maria._] [illustration: burgos. _the capilla mayor._] [illustration: leon. _the west porch of the cathedral._] [illustration: seville. _in the alcazar._] [illustration: seville. _view over the town._] [illustration: santiago. _south door of the cathedral._] [illustration: valencia. _door of the cathedral._] [illustration: valladolid. _san pablo._] [illustration: orense. _in the cathedral._] [illustration: tuy.] [illustration: seville. _the giralda tower._] [illustration: seville. _in the cathedral._] [illustration: tarragona.] [illustration: valencia. _religious procession._] [illustration: tarragona. _the cloisters._] [illustration: tarragona. _the archbishop's tower._] [illustration: salamanca.] [illustration: salamanca. _an old street._] [illustration: avila.] [illustration: toledo. _the south transept._] [illustration: malaga. _view from the harbour._] oviedo. _in the cathedral._ [illustration: zamora. _the cathedral._] [illustration: granada. _calle del darro._] [illustration: santiago. _interior of the cathedral._] [illustration: toledo. _the zócodover._] [illustration: gateway at avila. _puerta de san vicente._] [illustration: cadiz. _the market place._] [illustration: granada. _the alhambra._] [illustration: granada. _exterior of the cathedral._] internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 36552-h.htm or 36552-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36552/36552-h/36552-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36552/36552-h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/yorkminster00cust [illustration: york minster] york minster by the very rev. a. p. purey-cust, d.d. dean of york illustrated by alexander ansted london: isbister & co. ltd. 15 & 16 tavistock street covent garden mdcccxcvii york minster "ut rosa flos florum sic est domus ista domorum" are the words which some unknown hand has inscribed upon the walls of our minster; and we who love the habitation of his house and the place where god's honour dwelleth venture to think that these are "words of truth and soberness" even now, though we remember that when they were written there were many features of art and taste adorning the great fabric which have long since passed away. still york minster is "a thing of beauty" in spite of ruthless improvements and fanatical zeal and puritan philistinism and indiscriminating utilitarianism and ignorant restorations. in spite of these, and in consequence of these perhaps, york minster is what it is; and if we cannot recall all that tradition tells us once adorned its courts and enriched its sanctuaries, we can admire and appreciate what has come into our hands, and thank god that it is our privilege to worship in a house so worthy of his holy name. yes, and it is a pleasure and interest to recall the gradual development thereof through so many generations of men; how it has come up like a flower, from a very small and insignificant beginning, putting forth gradually, as time went on, larger developments, like the seed, first the blade then the ear; extending like the vine of old her branches unto the sea and her boughs unto the river--each with some fresh and characteristic novelty, as affected by the different schools of architectural taste, which, like the different seasons of the year, have shed their influence over it. and we love to idealise the scenes which have taken place therein, and the persons, many not unknown to history, who have had their share in the good work or whose lives and actions are associated therewith, or to recall how, sometimes in accordance with, sometimes in opposition to, what they most earnestly desired, it, at length, far eclipsed the most sanguine anticipations of its founders, and in its sober dignity and chastened ornamentation acquired a reputation second to none of "the houses of god in the land." it is, of course, a mere speculation, but fancy will sometimes be busy with vain surmises as to whether the present minster is a development of the original british church, a mere grain of mustard seed, no doubt, as compared with its aftergrowth. but some primitive building did exist, for, as far back as the year 180, beda tells us, missionaries were sent from rome by eleutherius at the request of the british chieftain lucius, not for the conversion of the people, but to settle controverted points of differences as to eastern and western ceremonials which were disturbing the church, and tradition speaks of twenty-eight british bishops, one for each of the greater british cities, over whom presided the archbishops of london, york and caerleon-on-usk. so that the romans probably found a christian church already established when agricola took possession of eburacum, towards the close of the first century after christ's birth, and probably tolerated it with proud indifference for many generations until the great persecution of diocletian in 294, when constantius chlorus, one of his associates in the empire, was in command, who, eusebius says, was nevertheless most liberal and tolerant; though beda tells us of numbers of martyrs and confessors, and how churches were thrown down, while trembling believers fled for refuge to the wilderness and the mountains. but certainly constantius professed himself favourable to christianity in 305, when he divided the empire with galerius, and, after reigning for a few months, died, and his body was probably burnt and buried here. here, at york, his son, constantine, if not born, was saluted as imperator by the army on his father's death, and eventually deliberately adopted the christian faith. [illustration: west front] this would lead us to expect that favour would be shown to the christian church, and tradition has handed down the names of several prelates of york about this date: eborius, who was present with two others at the councils of arles, 314, and nicæa and sardica and ariminium; sampson, who was driven out of the city by the incursion of pagans and fled to st david's; pyramus, chaplain of king arthur, that last tower of british strength, and charged by him to restore the desolated and ruined churches; and finally tadiocus, who, when he saw the armies of saxons pouring in, joined theonus, bishop of london, and fled to wales, whither, as the saxons did not tolerate christianity, they were followed by all those who desired to keep the faith in peace. however, in 597, augustine landed at ebbsfleet in kent, and eventually converted and baptized ethelbert, king of kent, who had married bertha, daughter of the frankish king, charibert, and in 601, pope gregory, with a desire to assist augustine in his work amongst the anglo-saxons, sent over paulinus, as a likely person, should occasion offer, to resuscitate the desolated church of northumbria, and restore the metropolitan see of york. it is said that "paulinus" was the latin title assumed by rum, the son of urien, a british chief, who having opposed the saxons in the north had, on their supremacy, fled with his family from the country and sought safety at rome, and that, therefore, augustine having endeavoured in vain to persuade the british clergy in kent to co-operate with him, gregory selected paulinus as likely to be a useful coadjutor to him in the evangelisation of kent. subsequent events, perhaps unexpectedly, favoured this plan, for edwin, the legitimate heir to the throne of northumbria, being driven away by his brother-in-law, ethelfrith, who had usurped the crown, sought for security and protection in other kingdoms, and, in his wanderings, came to the court of ethelbert, where he became fascinated by ethelburga, his daughter, and sought her for his wife. assent was given on condition that she, being a christian, should be allowed christian worship, and that he would consider the faith. this he promised to do, and redwald, king of east anglia, having slain ethelfrith in a battle near the sluggish waters of the river idle, edwin was restored to his inheritance, and proceeded to take possession of his kingdom accompanied not only by his wife but by paulinus as her chaplain, who had been consecrated bishop of the northumbrians by justus on july 21st, 625. for two years edwin remained uninfluenced alike by the entreaties of his wife and the arguments of the bishop, but at length gave way, and on easter day, april 12th, 627, he was baptized in a little church or chapel of wood, hastily constructed at his bidding, and dedicated to st. peter, right in front of the great heathen temple in the centre of his capital, eburacum. nothing is left of this primitive structure, but the well is still pointed out from which the water used at the ceremony was drawn, and a little beyond is a flight of stone stairs ending in a square stone slab which tradition says were the steps and altar of the temple. there are still traces, however, of the stone church which archbishop albert built in its place (741), when it had been greatly injured by fire. part of the herring-bone walls is still to be seen, and after the great fire in 1829, brown, the antiquary, successfully traced out the foundations, which, however, are now concealed. however, it remained uninjured, in spite of incursions of picts and scots, until the conquest, when it shared in the universal destruction meted out by the conqueror to york and the surrounding country; and thomas, the first norman archbishop, found little left but a few tottering roofless walls which had survived the flames. he re-roofed and restored the church as well as he could, rebuilt the refectory and dormitory, and in other respects set in order the affairs of the establishment. and so it remained until roger de pont l'evêque succeeded to the archiepiscopate in 1154. langfranc, on his accession to the see of canterbury in 1073, had found the cathedral of christ church, of which eadmer has left a curious record, almost consumed by fire; but in seven years he succeeded in rebuilding the whole church from the foundation on the plan and dimensions of st. stephen's at caen, the abbacy of which he had quitted to become archbishop. a detailed and singularly precise account by gervase, the monk, is still extant. on the death of lanfranc, 1089, the see was bestowed on anselm, who as soon as possible took down the short choir and replaced it with one extending magnificently eastward, provided with a crypt, an apsidal aisle, a processional path with flanking towers, called st. anselm's and st. andrew's towers, and radiating chapels, as well as with eastern transepts, all which was, in fact, an imitation of the great abbey of cluny, entrusting the superintendence of the work to the priors ernulph and conrad, eventually his successor, who, in 1114, completed the choir with so much magnificence that it was denominated "the glorious choir of conrad." all this, however, was destroyed by fire in 1174, which gervase himself witnessed, but in four years was restored and even improved by the great french architect william of sens. in 1154, when archbishop fitzherbert died at york, this fair building must have been in the zenith of its beauty, and we can well imagine the anxiety of robert the dean and osbert the archdeacon to secure the election by the chapter of roger, who had been archdeacon of canterbury from 1148, and who had no doubt already given promise of that architectural ability and liberality of character which eventually made him the most munificent ruler that ever presided over the see of york. becket succeeded him in the archdeaconry until 1162, when, elevated to the see of canterbury, the two quondam archdeacons of canterbury were at the very helm of the church of england. [illustration: norman piers in crypt] roger seems at once to have commenced the reproduction at york of this great work, by substituting for the short simple chancel of the minster a complex eastern building which, making due allowance for its want of equal dimensions with canterbury choir, was yet evidently planned on the same system, with the aisles square ended instead of apsidal, and the flanking towers made to perform the part of eastern transepts. of this choir, portions only of the crypt still survive. the base of the beautiful western entrance doorway to the north aisle can still be seen by adventurous explorers. the ordinary visitor can still admire the substantial and elaborately incised columns, which once supported the floor of the choir above, and see the arches, with the bold zigzag mouldings, which once rested on them, but which were removed in the days of edward i. to support a stone platform behind the high altar, on which was erected the shrine of william fitzherbert, then canonised as "st. william of york," to provide for the northern province a counter-attraction to st. thomas of canterbury. if the arches were replaced on the piers the pavement of the choir would be 15½ feet above the pavement of the crypt, within 6 inches of that of canterbury, and if the present nave floor were reduced 4 feet to its original level, the respective levels of the nave, crypt, and choir at york and canterbury would be the same. no doubt the arrangement of the different flights of steps from the nave to the choir and to the crypt, broken in the centre aisle with a broad landing which still remains at canterbury, was followed at york. but all this has passed away, and the feature of the "glorious choir" of roger can now only be realised from the conjectures of the archæologist or the dreams of the antiquary. [illustration: the choir looking east] but there were munificent laymen as well as ecclesiastics in those days, for lord william de percy gave the church of topcliffe, with all things pertaining, to the church of st. peter at york, as a perpetual alms for the repairing and building thereof, a gift which still remains in the possession of the dean and chapter; and he and his successors continued to assist the development of the cathedral with munificent contributions of wood until the completion of the nave, when his statue was placed, to commemorate his liberality, above the west door, on the right hand of archbishop melton, the metropolitan at that time. on his left stands another figure commemorating equally liberal benefactors: mauger le vavasour, who gave a grant of free way for the stone required for the foundation of the minster by archbishop thomas; his son, robert le vavasour, also gave 10 acres and half a rood of his quarry in thievesdale in free, pure and perpetual alms; and their descendants, in like manner, presented almost all the material required for the present buildings, even as late as the great fire in 1829, when sir edward vavasour, although a roman catholic, at once placed his quarries at the service of the dean and chapter for the restoration of the choir. fancy would fain idealise the choir of roger, which has passed away, for the superstructure to such substantial and dignified masonry as still remains must have been solemn and imposing. professor willis suggests a choir the floor of which was raised 15 feet above the floor of the nave, and transepts with eastern towers approached by flights of steps such as still exist at canterbury, but the learned professor had few reliable data for his conjectures, and it must remain a conjecture _usque ad finem_. geoffrey plantagenet, who succeeded roger, had not the opportunity, even if he had the will and capacity, to extend the buildings of the minster. the youngest child of fair rosamond, the lawful wife, historians now tell us, of henry ii., he was at least a loving son. on his breast his father died, to him the king gave his royal ring, and on his head with his last dying breath he invoked the blessing of heaven. but if his dutiful conduct caused the warm-hearted members of the chapter to elect their treasurer archbishop, it did not conciliate either of his half-brothers, richard and john. sixteen years of incessant discord ensued, and then he gave place to one more capable of his position, walter de gray. but the chapter did not at first think so. he was not one of themselves; they knew little of the bishop of worcester, and what they knew they disliked. he was, in their eyes, an illiterate person. simon de langton was more to their mind. but walter de gray was king john's friend, and john was not a man to be thwarted. he meant him to be archbishop, and his representatives persuaded pope innocent iii. to overrule the election of the chapter. at least, he was a man of pure life, they said. "per sanctum petrum," replied the pope, "virginitas magna est virtus, et nos eum damus vobis." and certainly posterity has had no reason to regret his decision. the glorious early english transepts and tower are believed to have been his conception, vast beyond anything which had been erected in those days, and, as the late mr. street has often told me, after all his experiences on the continent, unsurpassed in christendom. walter de gray, at least, completed the south transept, "in boldness of arrangement and design, and in richness of decoration without a peer." and there his body rests in the grave which received all that was mortal of him on the vigil of pentecost, 1255, still surmounted with the effigy of the great man in full canonicals carved in purbeck marble, under a comely canopy resting on ten light and graceful pillars, hidden, alas! by a crude and modern screen of iron, the well-intentioned addition of archbishop markham some eighty years ago. [illustration: south transept and founder's tomb] and providence had associated with walter de gray one worthy of such a fellowship, john le romain, the treasurer of the church, an italian ecclesiastic who, tradition says, smitten with the charms of some dark-eyed beauty of the south gladly associated himself with the clergy of the church where celibacy, at that day at least, was not _de rigueur_. he it was who completed the great work his superior had commenced, raised, at his own expense, the great tower, built the north transept, designed "the five sisters," and filled it with the exquisite grisaille geometrical glass, which has been the admiration of successive generations for six hundred years. how much walter de grey laid out in the erection of the transepts i cannot say: i only know that the south transept cost £23,000 to restore fifteen years ago. in addition to his work on the material fabric of the minster, archbishop walter de grey achieved that which had a substantial influence on its progress to its completion. archbishop roger had initiated the great work, but had died in his bed, and his influence had died with him. thomas à becket, his successor as archdeacon of canterbury, had also advanced to the dignity of the archiepiscopate, but he had fallen a victim to his zeal for the church spiritual, and his martyrdom and canonisation had entailed a shrine in the cathedral which was eliciting from innumerable pilgrims munificent offerings for the fabric of the church. if york were to compete with canterbury it was necessary that here, too, a shrine of some popular saint should attract the presence of the devout, and appeal to their munificence and liberality. this also walter de grey, supported as he was by the king, was able to accomplish, and in compliance with a petition from the archbishop and dean and chapter, pope honorius, on march 18th, 1226, issued a letter, "tied with thread of silk and a bull," to the effect that the name of william (fitzherbert) of holy memory, formerly archbishop of york, nominated by them for this honour, the predecessor of archbishop roger, was "inscribed in the catalogue of the saints of the church militant." little, however, seems to have been done during the archiepiscopates of sewell de bovell, geoffry de ludham and walter gifford. however, in 1279, william de wykewayne, chancellor of the church, was elected to the see, and he at once took action by translating the remains of the canonised william, on december 29th, to a becoming shrine prepared for them behind the high altar on a platform raised upon the arches of the crypt removed to this, their present, position, for that purpose. it was a grand day in the minster. edward i. himself, together with the bishops who were present, carried on their shoulders the chest or feretory containing the precious relics to their new resting-place, and anthony beck, consecrated the same day bishop of durham, paid all the expenses. in 1286, archbishop wykewayne died, and was succeeded by another, john romanus, the worthy son of the munificent treasurer, who had doubtless inherited the taste and munificence of his father. perhaps for that very reason the chapter selected him, when only prebendary of warthill in the church, to be his successor, and his ten years of office, if too short to do much, was sufficient to initiate the great work of building a nave consistent with the transepts. another style of architecture was setting in, the decorated, and where could it be better inaugurated than in such a church as this? for one hundred and fifty years the good work went on. four prelates in succession, henry de newark, thomas de corbridge, william de greenfield, william de melton, each, during his tenure of office, strove to promote the completion of the grand design his predecessor had indicated, in that full perfection of ecclesiastical architecture. no effort was spared, no personal self-denial evaded; clergy and laity alike shared in the enthusiasm of the moment, the plantagenet kings, for the most part resident in york, by offerings and by influence, encouraging and stimulating the good work. archbishop melton contributed many thousands of pounds from his own purse, and had the privilege of seeing the grand conception completed; and there he sits above the central doorway graven in stone in his archiepiscopal attire, with his hand still raised in the attitude of benediction; over his head one of the finest flamboyant windows in the world, and on either side the representatives of the houses of vavasour and percy, bearing in their arms emblems of the wood and stone which they had offered. [illustration: the chapter house showing vestibule exterior] and concurrently with the great work, another, in perfect harmony therewith, was proceeding, viz. the chapter house, with its great circumference occupied with stalls, surmounted by elaborate and delicate canopies, enriched with innumerable quaint and suggestive carvings of heads and features, some as warnings, some as encouragements, to those who have eyes to see, and of graceful foliage of trefoil and other plants, specially the _planta benedicta_, which illustrated the doctrine of the holy trinity and the love of god, girdled with a simple yet emblematical wreath of the vine; while the varied foliage rises again in the glass, bordering the noble windows, rich with heraldry and sacred subjects, until lost in the stately roof, which, spanning the whole area without any central column, and once glowing with emblematical figures and stars, is centred with a majestic boss of the lamb of god. alas that willement ever essayed to restore it, scraped the paintings from the walls, plastered the ceiling, repaired the floor, and ruined the east window which he had taken to pieces and found himself incompetent to put together again! still, though but the survival of its ancient glories, it is "the flower of our flowers," the focus of all the beauties which in their wanton profusion extend on all sides around us. who built it? who conceived this stately hall, with this elegant vestibule unique in the cloisters of europe? who furnished the funds by which it was founded and completed? well, if conjecture may supply what faith or modesty may have left unexpressed, bogo de clare, for the shields in the tracery point to that family. he, an ecclesiastical courtier nearly related to the royal family, and a not altogether worthy scion of the house of clare, but wealthy beyond all conception with the plurality of his benefices, which the late chancellor raine estimated at about £20,000 per annum, was treasurer of the minster from 1274 to 1285. a man probably not likely to do much to promote the devotion of the minster, though ready to devote the vast accumulation of money which he had acquired to exalt the glories of the house of which he was a member, and, for the time at least, the reputation of his name. melton's days closed under the dark shadow of his defeat at myton by the scotch, and zouche, dean of york, his successor, though he wiped off the stain thereof by his triumphant victory over them at nevill's cross, and took care of queen philippa and her children during the absence of edward iii. in his french wars, did little to promote the material dignity of the minster, save to build the chapel which bears his name, and which he had intended for a place of sepulture for himself. but thoresby, a yorkshireman from wensleydale, and a prebendary of the minster, his successor in 1352, bishop of worcester and lord chancellor, was a man of very different temperament. he had the further development of the glories of the minster thoroughly at heart. at once he sacrificed his palace at sherburn to provide materials for an appropriate ladye chapel, gave successive munificent donations of £100 at each of the great festivals of the christian year, and called on clergy and laity alike to submit cheerfully to stringent self-denial to supply the funds. [illustration: chapter house doorway from within] during his tenure of office of twenty-three years the ladye chapel was completed, a chaste and dignified specimen of early perpendicular style, into which the decorated gradually blended after the year 1360, and unique in its glorious east window 78 feet high and 33 feet wide, still the largest painted window in the world, enriched with its double mullions, which give such strength and lightness to its graceful proportions. but roger's choir, which was still standing, must now have looked sadly dwarfed between the lofty ladye chapel and the tower and transepts. alexander nevill, his immediate successor, probably did not do much to remedy this, for he soon became involved in richard ii.'s rash proceedings, and had to fly to louvain, where he died in poverty. neither did arundel or waldby, his successors, for the former was soon translated to canterbury, the latter soon died. but richard scrope, who was appointed in his place, would naturally be earnest and vigorous in the good work, for he was a yorkshireman by birth, son of lord scrope of masham, kinsman of lord scrope of bolton, and, during the short nine years which elapsed between his installation and his wanton, cruel murder by henry iv., the building seems to have made rapid progress. this was energetically continued by henry bowet, who followed him, and who, invoking the aid of pope gregory xii. to enforce his appeal for funds, and enlisting the aid of skirlaw, bishop of durham, one of the greatest architects of mediæval times, glazed the great east window with its elaborate glass executed by john thornton of coventry, 1409, raised the lantern on the central tower, completed the groining of the choir aisles, rebuilt archbishop zouche's chapel, the treasury and vestry, and commenced the library. he was indeed a man of action to the end, for when incapacitated for walking or riding by age and infirmity, he was carried in his chair, arrayed in a breastplate with three buckles, five pendants, and ten bars of silver gilt, at the head of the forces raised by the wardens of the north of england, and through the influence of his presence, encouraged the soldiers to rout the scotch who had invaded northumberland and besieged berwick, 1417. [illustration: the lady chapel] little now remained to be done. robert wolvedon and john de bermyngham, two munificent treasurers in succession, helped to bring matters to a prosperous conclusion, the former filling some of the windows with painted glass, the latter raising the south-western tower. the north-western tower was added probably during the archiepiscopate, if not by the munificence, of archbishop george nevill. the organ screen, with its elaborate cornice and canopies enriched with angels singing and playing instruments of music, and its stately niches filled with figures of the kings of england, from william i. to henry vi., was built by dean andrew, himself the friend and secretary of the last-named monarch. and the great church was solemnly reconsecrated as a completed building on july 3rd, 1472, when an ordinance was passed by the dean and chapter that "on the same day the feast of the dedication shall be celebrated in time to come." [illustration: perpendicular piscina] i have no space to dwell on all the innumerable details of architectural ornament or quaint mediæval devices which decorate the walls, neither on the many interesting monuments scattered throughout the aisles, such as the delicate piscinas, or the fiddler, a modern reproduction of an old figure which had crowned the little spiral turret of the south transept, intended as a portrait of dr. camidge, the organist, at the beginning of this century; or the tomb of good archbishop frewen, the first prelate of the province after the restoration. [illustration: the fiddler] but even a sketch of york minster would not be complete without some mention of the glass, for if the beauty in the form of our "flos florum" is due to its architecture, very much of its beauty in colour depends on the glowing and mellowed tints with which its windows are filled. but it is a large subject to enter upon, for as regards quantity there are no less than one hundred and three windows in the minster, most of them entirely, and the remainder partly filled with real old mediæval glass, excepting the tracery. some of the windows too are of great size. the east window, which is entirely filled with old glass, consists of nine lights, and measures 78 ft. in height, 31 ft. 2 in. in width. the two choir transept windows, that in the north transept to st. william, and the south to st. cuthbert, measure 73 ft. by 16 ft. they have both been restored, the latter very recently, but by far the greater part of them is old glass. on each side of the choir the aisles contain nine windows measuring 14 ft. 9 in. by 12 ft., only the tracery lights of which are modern; the same number of windows fill the clear-story above, the greater portions of which are ancient. the famous window of the north transept, the five sisters, consists of five lights, each measuring 53 ft. 6 in. by 5 ft. 1 in., and is entirely of old glass. there are six windows in the north and six in the south aisles of the nave, with only a little modern glass in the tracery. the superb flamboyant window at the west end of the centre aisle measures 56 ft. 3 in. by 25 ft. 4 in., and consists, i believe, entirely of old glass, except the faces of the figures. the clear-story windows are studded with ancient shields, but a great part of the glass is, i fancy, modern; those of the vestibule, 8 in number, measuring 32 ft. by 18, are of old glass, including the tracery lights. and in the chapter house the seven windows, of five lights each, are filled with old glass. the east window has been clumsily restored by willement. in the side windows of the transepts there is some old glass, and the great rose window over the south entrance still retains much of the old glass; while far overhead in the tower there are some really fine bold designs of late, but genuine, design and execution. altogether, according to actual measurements, there are 25,531 superficial feet of mediæval glass in the minster, _i.e._, more than half an acre--a possession, we should think, unequalled by any church in england, if not in christendom. but the difficulty in describing the glass arises from the fact that many of the windows are composed of fragments of glass of different dates, which, for various reasons, perhaps to preserve them, have been interchanged during past generations. the educated eye of the glass painter can detect splendid specimens of every school of glass painting throughout the minster, but sometimes comparatively small portions isolated in the midst of glass of a totally different period. the five sisters window is an almost complete specimen of early english glass, with an elaborate geometrical pattern formed by the conventional foliage of the _planta benedicta_, but at the foot of the central light there is a panel consisting of distinctly norman glass, portraying jacob's dream, or daniel in the lion's den, for it is indistinct, and critics differ. the suggestion is that this panel formed part of the previous window, in the old norman transept, and, for some unknown reason, being specially valuable, was preserved and incorporated in its successor. the tracery lights of the vestibule windows are filled with old norman glass, and the late canon sutton was of opinion that the stone tracery had been specially designed to suit it. the clear-story tracery in the nave contains also much norman glass, probably from the old norman nave, and in many other windows we can trace similar insertions. [illustration: transept, lantern, and five sisters' window] sometimes groups of figures may be noticed evidencing, by their utter lack of connection with their environment, that they have been transplanted from some other window. sometimes a single figure, under a decorated canopy, stands out in a window of distinctly perpendicular tracery. sometimes several of such figures fill separate lights when they have evidently been intended to be together. sometimes kneeling figures, each of which had been intended to represent the donor of some window, have been brought together in a rather amusing and inharmonious fellowship. sometimes the whole of some large figure has been removed, and only the outline left, which has been indiscriminately filled up with a patchwork of scraps of all kinds and subjects. this is specially noticeable in the window on the north side of the choir, where the letters r.s., in the bordure, indicate that it had been put up to the memory of archbishop scrope; here there are three large outlines of female figures, each with a child in her arms, one of them probably the virgin, but all detail has been obliterated. sometimes only a portion of a figure remains, _e.g._, a beautiful and venerable head and shoulders of some grave ecclesiastic in the most delicate mezzotint; or a dignified face with splendid crown and nimbus, and cope and pectoral cross adorning what remains of a saintly figure; or a crowned head, in a maze of painted fragments, around which the initials, e., in the bordure, evidently denote edward the confessor. again, there are legs only, with the water flowing over the feet and the end of the staff which the hands had grasped, evidently the remains of some grand figure of st. christopher, a very frequent and favourite figure in the church windows of york. or, again, draped figures of ecclesiastics, complete almost to the hem of their robes, but destitute of feet, which may be discovered in the tracery above, where they have been utilised simply to supply some fracture. sometimes heads and bodies, which have evidently no real association, are found united together. the former occasionally the work of some modern painter, who had attempted with his own brush to supply what was lacking. this is manifestly the case in the west windows of the central aisle of the nave, where the faces of the archbishops are evidently modern insertions, and in the west window of the south aisle, where a stately figure of our lord on the cross, tended by little angels, has been terribly marred by a most repulsive modern face, which has been added. but sometimes the head and body are both mediæval, but sadly incongruous, for male faces are to be found on female shoulders, and delicate crowned heads of virgins or angels on the stalwart bodies of men. and similar confusion exists in many other details: borders of different dates which have been pieced together, or incongruous modern borders which have been devised to make up the space on each side of some smaller window, which has been brought from some other church. some of the windows, indeed, are almost, if not altogether, perfect. the east window has been patched with pieces of crude coloured glass, but only as repairs, possibly after the great fire in 1829, otherwise it must be very much as put up by john thornton, 1405; and in its nine lights divided into six tiers, it contains two hundred panels of groups of figures, the two upper tiers being subjects from the creation of the world to the death of jacob, the remainder from the book of revelation. the tracery lights of the east window of the north aisle seem to me altogether untouched. [illustration: the north aisle] the choir transept windows have been restored, but contain a large portion of the old glass in five lights. that on the north side, erected by some member of the family of de ros, has one hundred panels of groups of figures illustrating the life of st. william, that on the south, erected by langley, bishop of durham, seventy-five similar panels illustrating the life of st. cuthbert. the grand series of windows in the vestibule also seems to me absolutely untouched since the day when they were first put up, and, with their figures of kings and queens and borders of plantagenet badges, contain very striking specimens of the best date of painted glass. the windows on the north aisle of the nave, no doubt erected soon after its completion, are equally perfect, and were probably presented by members of the court of edward i. the window next to the transept given by peter le dene, the court ecclesiastic and tutor of edward ii., when prince of wales, has six illustrations of the life and martyrdom of st. catherine, step-niece of constantine the great, and therefore a very acceptable subject to the people of york. it is adorned, moreover, with the shields of the immediate relations of edward i., while the border of the central light contains figures in tabards emblazoned with the arms of some of the principal nobility of the day. the next window, presented by richard tunnoc, the bell-founder, has three illustrations of the entrance of st. william to york, and two of the founding of bells, while peals of gold and silver bells are spread in profusion throughout it, and the worthy bell-founder himself kneels at the foot of the central light presenting his window to the archbishop. the next window, from its quaint border of birds and animals, seems to be the offering of brian fitzalan, lord of bedale, who treated with good-humoured banter and ridicule the dilemma caused at the siege of caerlaverock by banners emblazoned with similar coats of arms being displayed by hugh poyntz and himself. and the window beyond was evidently given by some member of the family of clare. on the opposite side the glass is more mutilated, and it is difficult to trace the subject in some of the windows. one, however, conspicuous with the lions of edward i. and the castle and dolphin of blanche of castile, in compliment to her great grand-daughter, his second wife, is believed to have been presented by archdeacon de maulay, when his friend, anthony bek, was consecrated bishop of durham here in the presence of the king. at the foot of the window the figures of his brothers, gallant knights in those days, bearing their shields above their heads, may be still traced on close examination. splendid figures of st. lawrence, st. christopher, and another fill the lights of the next window. the glass in all the windows is good and probably coeval with the building, though much of the tracery glass is modern and bad, the work of william peckett, a glass painter of some local repute, who, at the close of the last century, undertook to restore the glass of the minster. it is difficult to accord the measure of praise and blame to which he was entitled, for certainly, on the one hand, we are indebted to him for preserving many fragments which otherwise would have been lost, and yet, on the other, we cannot but condemn the strange medley of groups and figures, heads and bodies, together with large diapers of bright and coarse designs to fill up vacant spaces, which are evidently his work, and, in some instances, sadly inharmonious with the rest of the window. the single figures in the south window of the south transept are specimens of what he could do, and if lacking in artistic treatment of form and drawing, are not altogether defective in colouring. but we have much to be thankful for, for the elaborate ms. account of the minster, written by torre, the antiquary, in the reign of james ii., shows us that we have lost very little of what existed in his day; and it is marvellous to think that so much should have survived not only the mistaken zeal of would-be preservers and restorers, but the flames of the terrible fires, one of which consumed the woodwork and roof of the choir in 1829, and the other burnt off the roof of the nave in 1840. we could wish that we knew something more definitely about the glass painters of the minster. the fabric rolls tell us nothing before the fourteenth century, and are rather tantalising than satisfying afterwards. as early as 1338 thomas de boneston covenants by indenture to glaze two windows at his own proper cost, find all the glass, pay the workmen their wages for the finishing thereof, and thomas de ludham, the _custos_ of the fabric, became bound to pay him twenty-two marks sterling for the same. another indenture of the same date was made between thomas de boneston and robert: for making a window at the west gable of the cathedral church, the said robert is to find all sorts of glass and be paid 6d. per foot for white and 12d. per foot for coloured glass. in archbishop melton's register of the same year, the archbishop pays to master thomas sampson 100 marks for glasswork of the window at the west end of the church lately constructed--_i.e._, the great west window. in 1361 agnes de holm leaves 100s. to the fabric for a glass window containing figures of st. james the apostle and st. catherine. in 1371 the name of william de auckland appears as vitriarius, and it would seem that the dean and chapter always maintained such an official, with a working staff to execute what glass might be required. from time to time great stores of glass and lead seem to have been accumulated, and there are constant entries of expenses occurring in wages and materials, _e.g._, white glass for the great windows of the new choir, "coloured glass," "old coloured glass," "glass of small value." in 1400 john burgh seems to have been the glazier at 27s. 5d. per annum, with robert, his assistant, at 25s. in 1419 john glasman, of ruglay, supplies three sheets of white glass. john chambre is glazier in 1421. in 1443, thomas schirley with his assistant william; thomas cartmell in 1444; matthew pete with two assistants, thomas mylett and william cartmell, in 1447; matthew pete in 1456, when he seems to have employed several assistants, thomas clerk, thomas shirwynd, thomas coverham, william franklan, robert hudson, &c., with much expenditure for "yalow glass," &c.; john pety, 1472; robert pety, 1509, the last member of a family which had long filled the office. richard taylor supplies two chests of rennyshe glass in 1530; william matthewson, of hull, twenty-two wisps of borgandie glass; and in 1538, one cradle of normandie glass. the indenture with john thornton for glazing the great east window is still extant; he is to "complete it in three years, pourtray with his own hands the histories, images, and other things to be painted on the same. he is to provide glass and lead, and workmen, and receive four shillings per week, five pounds at the end of each year, and, after the work is completed, ten pounds for his reward." little enough it seems to us; but the system was very different from that which prevails now; yet certainly the result which it produced justified the system, whatever it was, for, admitting that length of time and atmospheric influences may have toned and mellowed the colouring, there are evidences of craftsmanship in the designing and production of those days, which the best workmen of our own time have been ever ready to acknowledge, and before which they have been willing to pay generous homage. [illustration: acceptus frewen qui inter vivos esse desijt mar 28 ad 1664] truly, at the reformation, the building must have been "flos florum," enriched with everything which the taste of man could devise or his skill execute. the massive walls, fashioned according to the highest canons of early english, decorated, and perpendicular architectural taste, the great windows glowing with painted glass of each successive style, the vast area subdivided by stately screens of carved wood and stone into countless chapels and chantries; shrines glittering with offerings of precious and jewelled metals, and adorned with colour and gilding; the treasury stored, as the fabric rolls tell us, with gold and silver plate in rich profusion; vestments of the most costly fabrics and approved fashions. exuberant in all that was of the earth earthy; but, i am afraid, sadly lacking in those inward and spiritual graces of which these should have been the outward and visible signs. history may not be impartial, perhaps not altogether accurate, and mixed motives may have animated those who dealt vigorously, not to say ruthlessly, with these things. but too many records remain to show us that "cleansing fires" were needed, and that, however depraved the instruments, however debased their motives, the work which they did was imperative, if christian faith and life, and the worship of god in spirit and in truth were to flourish and abound in this our fatherland. nor need we indulge in unavailing regrets. it is impossible not to wish that much which has been ruthlessly destroyed had been spared, and that many things of beauty could be recovered. we could wish that the unhallowed fingers which hesitated not even to rifle the very graves, had been checked, that the fires of 1829 and 1840 had not swept over the choir and nave; but enough survives to gladden eye and heart with the noblest evidences of mediæval work and taste, and tokens on every side abound to testify that, in these latter days, yorkshiremen have been as ready to repair the decay of age, restore the ravages of fire, and support the glory and dignity of god's house as ever they were in days gone by. we walk about our zion and go round about her and tell the towers thereof, and they speak to us of a living faith, not of an effete ecclesiasticism or of mere archæological interest. we rejoice that it is still emphatically a house of prayer, not only when "two or three are gathered together," but when its aisles are thronged with a vast multitude, uniting in some special act of prayer and praise, or listening to some eloquent exponent of the gospel of peace; and "when through the long drawn aisle and fretted vault the pealing anthem swells the notes of praise," we lift up grateful hearts in devout unison, that we are permitted to worship him in this his house on earth, and desiring that we may be permitted to attain to the "building of god, the house not made with hands eternal in the heavens." [illustration: perpendicular shell-ornament piscina] _printed by_ ballantyne, hanson & co. _london & edinburgh_ stained glass tours in england by charles hitchcock sherrill with sixteen illustrations london: john lane, the bodley head new york: john lane company: mcmx second edition printed by ballantyne &. co. limited tavistock street, covent garden, london stained glass tours in england by the same author stained glass tours in france. with numerous illustrations. [illustration: king's college chapel, cambridge] to lewis f. day from one whom he taught to love stained glass foreword although the purpose of this book is the quest of windows, it happens that these very windows are so obligingly disposed throughout the length and breadth of england, and light such different sorts of edifices, that in the search of them we shall obtain a very comprehensive idea of english architecture. not only shall we visit many noble cathedrals (canterbury, york, winchester, wells, &c. &c.), and smaller religious edifices (fairford, st. neot, norbury, &c.), but we shall also see secular buildings of many types. in this latter category will be included both the great universities of oxford and cambridge, a civic guildhall (coventry), an ancient hostel for the aged (guildford), and one of the finest of the "stately homes of england" (knole). thus it will be seen that our tours are more broadly catholic than their title would indicate--indeed, we are tempted to promise that by the time the pilgrim has completed them he will have obtained a well-rounded impression not only of glass, but also of the history as well as the ancient manners and customs of england. unfortunately, no form of illustration can hope to reproduce the combination of light and colour which makes the beauty of stained glass; those selected for this book are the best obtainable, but are chiefly useful in showing how the windows are set. this is not a technical book, so scale-drawings would be out of place. charles hitchcock sherrill. 20 east 65th street, new york city. _march 1, 1909._ contents introduction _page_ 1 tours 17 early english 21 early english tour 29 salisbury 30 canterbury 36 lincoln 51 york 57 decorated 65 decorated tour 75 york 76 norbury 82 shrewsbury 85 ludlow 92 hereford 96 tewkesbury 100 deerhurst 104 bristol 107 wells 114 exeter 120 dorchester 124 oxford 129 perpendicular 135 perpendicular tour 140 oxford 142 fairford 148 cirencester 154 gloucester 158 great malvern 166 little malvern 172 ross 174 warwick 177 coventry 181 york 185 salisbury 192 winchester 195 st. neot 203 renaissance 209 renaissance tours 214 london 216 cambridge 223 lichfield 230 guildford 236 gatton 239 knole 242 itineraries 251 list of towns 253 list of illustrations and maps _to face page_ cambridge, king's college chapel _frontispiece_ general map 18 map of early english tour 30 canterbury, "becket's crown" 36 thirteenth century medallions; notice circular and other forms enclosing the figures. the heavy iron bars needed to support the great weight of lead are skilfully adjusted to the design. the world-famous shrine stood in the centre of this space. tombof black prince in foreground, and above it armour he wore at crécy. lincoln, rose window 56 tracery unusual in that it does not radiate from centre. quantity of greenish grisaille used emphasises leaf-like design. thirteenth century medallions in the tall lancets below. york minster, "five sisters" 62 softly toned grisaille, with delicate patterns in faint colour. of its type unsurpassed in the world. note difference between mellow strength of this glass and thinness of modern glazing in upper tier of lancets. map of decorated tour 76 york minster, chapter-house 78 note the grouping together in each embrasure of five narrow lights below gracefully elaborated tracery openings. later on, in the perpendicular period, these traceries lose their individuality, become stiffly regular, and part of the window below. tewkesbury abbey, choir 100 a rare example of rounded apse, generally replaced in england by a square-ended chancel. chief charm of these windows is their rich colouring. wells, "golden window" 116 notice graceful setting, permitting a glimpse through into the lady chapel beyond. the large tree of jesse, rising from the loins of the patriarch, is portrayed in colours of almost barbaric richness. exeter, east window 122 perpendicular stone frame, glazed chiefly with very typically decorated figure-and-canopy glass preserved from the earlier and smaller window. below and beyond appears the lady chapel. map of perpendicular tour 140 oxford, new college antechapel 144 transition window, presented by william of wykeham, founder of the college. stone frames are already perpendicular: note the "pepper-box" tracery lights. the glazing, as usual, lags behind the architecture, and, because of its strong colour and flat drawing, is more decorated than perpendicular. gloucester, choir 162 great east window commemorative of knights who fought at crécy. backgrounds of pink and soft blue. tracery lights no longer differentiated from window below, as during decorated period. note elaborate masking of earlier walls by later perpendicular work. coventry, guildhall 182 splendid row of ancient english kings, and, below, a great tapestry. in the centre of the window, and again on the tapestry, appears henry vi., who was a member of the guild. handsome example of mediæval hall. york minster, east window 188 tremendous sheet of colour, 78 by 32 feet. lower half of stone frame built in a double plane, and carries a gallery across face of the glass. winchester, nave 200 the excellent effect produced by the fifteenth century fragments with which this window is glazed proves that colour is more important than design in glass. note swerving to right and left of two principal mullions, thus relieving a monotony of upright lines. map of renaissance tours 214 london, st. george's, hanover square 220 a renaissance tree of jesse from belgium, readjusted to fit its new embrasures. figures unusually large for this subject. fine colours and drawing. lichfield, lady chapel 232 excellent example of renaissance colouring, freer from applied paint than then customary. this glass was brought from belgium. guildford, bishop abbott's hospital 240 charming and complete glazing of a small chapel. renaissance glass coloured by the process of enamelling, often unsatisfactory because bits are apt to peel off. stained glass tours : : in england : : introduction the errand of a window seems always to have been that of beauty, although it has more than one way of performing that service. sometimes it seems to have chosen the inspiring manner of recalling ancient wars, as would appear from the "dreme" of chaucer: "and sooth to sayn, my chamber was full well depainted, and with glass were all the windows well y-glazed full clear, and not an hole y-crazed, that to behold it was great joy: for wholly all the story of troy was in the glazing y-wrought thus, of hector, and of king priamus; of achilles, and of king laomedon, and eke of medea, and of jason; of paris, helen, and of lavine." sometimes the errand is that of beauty alone, so "mystic, wonderful," as to make it seem that magic was invoked to yield so fair a result. in his "earthly paradise" morris voices this feeling: "folk say, a wizard to a northern king at christmastide such wondrous things did show, that through one window men beheld the spring, and through another saw the summer glow, and through a third the fruited vines a-row, while still, unheard, but in its wonted way, piped the drear wind of that december day." again, the errand of the window may have been not so much that of a story-teller, nor of a beautiful object to regale one's eyes withal, but rather to tint and temper the illumination of some holy place like that described in the "lay of the last minstrel" (canto xi.): "the silver light, so pale and faint, show'd many a prophet and many a saint, whose image on the glass was dyed; full in the midst, his cross of red triumphant michael brandished, and trampled the apostate's pride. the moonbeam kissed the holy pane, and threw on the pavement a bloody stain." beyond the enjoyment and artistic refreshment to be obtained from the contemplation of stained glass, who shall say that we do not receive other benefits, the nature of which are as yet undiscovered? it is only recently that our learned brothers, the scientists, have acquainted us with the helpful qualities of those rays of light which, in the language of the spectrum, are "out beyond the violet." in this connection, it may be edifying to quote from the "anecdotes and traditions" of aubrey: "the curious oriental reds, yellows, blews, and greens in glasse-painting, especially when the sun shines, doe much refresh the spirits. after this manner did dr. r. revive the spirits of a poor distracted gentleman, for whereas his former physitian shutt up his windows and kept him in utter darknesse, he did open his window lids, and let in the light, and filled his windows with glasses of curious tinctures, which the distempered person would always be looking on, and it did conduce to the quieting of his disturbed spirits." (aubrey in "anecdotes and traditions," edited for the camden society by w. j. thomas, p. 96.) nor is this the only _terra incognita_ still awaiting exploration. during some recent french experiments wide differences have been observed in the same kind of vegetable when grown under differently coloured glass covers. however, these are matters that will not be "dreamed of in our philosophy"--our investigations will be confined to a geographical search for that with which to delight our eyes. when one pauses to consider how fragile the beauty of a stained glass window, it becomes amazing that even so much as we can now visit has survived. over every european country there has, at one time or another, swept a wave of destruction engulfing things artistic. the causes for, as well as the agents of, this iconoclasm, differ widely. sometimes it comes from within, and is the result of civil war or of religious fanaticism--less often it is the result of foreign invasion. english windows had the good fortune to escape the destruction by foreigners which the french had to suffer during those dreadful fourteenth and fifteenth centuries when the hundred years' war outlasted its title, and when the hot-headed plantagenet kings kept france continually plagued with english soldiery. although we must record this particular immunity, other agencies equally baleful were at work. the puritans made a practice of smashing stained glass, either because they regarded it as one of the hated insignia of popery (some of their ministers even knocking out the glass in churches under their own charge, like "blue dick" culmer at canterbury cathedral), or for reasons of revenge, as in the case of the troops infuriated by the death of their leader in the assault upon lichfield. dwellers within the precincts of lincoln made a common practice of shooting with crossbows at the windows! at great malvern the possible excuse of crossbow practice is missing; the villagers quite simply amused themselves by throwing stones at the great east window, just from the sheer joy of destruction. in some instances, even the mitigating circumstances of religious fanaticism, revenge, competitive sport, or even amusement are entirely lacking. aubrey tells us in his "history of surrey," that "at a later date, one blesse was hired for half-a-crown a day to break the painted glass windows of croydon." little wonder is it that the citizens of york should have voted fairfax, the leader of the roundheads, a tun of wine, &c., in reward for his protecting care of the cathedral after he and his soldiers had captured that city. in an earlier book ("stained glass tours in france") we observed that french windows divided themselves into periods which were practically coterminous with the centuries, thus enabling us to designate the styles by their century number. in england the development of this craft brought about the style-changes at irregular dates; but here also the steps of this development are so marked as to separate it into distinct epochs. english glass follows its architecture so closely that one cannot do better than to accept the period-designation of the latter, and especially is this true during the so-called decorated and perpendicular epochs. for our purpose we will therefore use the following sub-divisions: early english, which will include all the glass prior to 1280; decorated, 1280 to 1380; perpendicular, 1380 to 1500; renaissance (sometimes styled sixteenth century or cinque cento), 1500 to 1550. there are extremely few examples of the first and of the last schools, in marked contrast to the great wealth in france of windows contemporary thereto. edward i. came to the throne in 1272, and it was during his reign that the decorated period began, running through the reigns of edward ii. (1307), edward iii. (1327), and richard ii. (1377)--all of them plantagenets. this and the succeeding period produced very little glass anywhere in france, because of the hundred years' war, begun 1337, lasting until 1447, and waged throughout the length and breadth of the land. the exact opposite is true in england, where during the decorated and perpendicular epochs it reached its greatest importance and beauty. the perpendicular period begins in 1380, shortly before richard ii., the last of the plantagenets, was succeeded by the representatives of the rival houses of lancaster and york, three lancastrians, henry iv., v., and vi. (1399), (1413), (1422), being succeeded by three yorkists, edward iv. (1461), edward v. (1483), and richard iii. (1483). this perpendicular period came to an end at just about the same time as that tremendous civil struggle, the war of the roses, was concluded by the accession of the house of tudor, in the person of henry vii. (1485). our renaissance glass period begins under him and lasts on through practically all the reigns of the house of tudor--henry viii. (1509), edward vi. (1547), mary (1553), elizabeth (1558). at the time that the tudors were succeeded by the stuarts (james i., 1603), there was hardly any english glass being manufactured, save a little for domestic use, although many dutch glaziers were then active in this country, as we shall regretfully observe when we visit oxford and cambridge. it is clear from many an entry in ancient english church archives that french glaziers were often in the early days summoned across the channel, and that it is to them that we owe the beginning of english glass; but we shall see that although it owes its origin to this foreign assistance, it developed along distinctly original lines, and that therefore the english glaziers deserve full credit for the charming traits peculiar to them. although the period styled early english has left comparatively few examples north of the channel, and cannot hope to vie with the many and rich displays of mosaic glass to be seen in france, we shall be greatly consoled by the splendid grisaille (or uncoloured glazing) that fills the "five sisters" at york, and by the remains of the great series at salisbury. we have just referred to the scarcity of french stained glass during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, those sorry days during which the english occupation of a large part of the country, repeated plagues, and uprisings of the lower classes against the nobles (like the jacquerie), vied with each other in the work of devastation. indeed, it is not strange that any art so dependent upon the fostering care of a luxury-loving class should have been entirely superseded by the sterner requirements of self-defence, to say nothing of the repairs necessitated by the ravages of war, pestilence, and famine. those two centuries, so dreadful to france and so discouraging to french glaziers, produced in england the greatest flowers of this craft. it is, therefore, clear that if one wishes to obtain a comprehensively consecutive knowledge of stained glass on both sides of the channel, he must leave france and cross over to england when the thread of his studies has obtained so far as the decorated and the perpendicular. when, however, he reaches the sixteenth century he must return to france, to revel in the wealth of renaissance glass so wofully lacking in england. after one has observed a sufficient number of windows to provide a basis for comparisons, it becomes easy to tell not only the epoch to which they belong, but also, in most instances, whether they are early or late in that epoch. in england one is assisted by an unusual amount of reliable information from two sources, viz., old records and heraldic indications from the coats of arms which are so often displayed. there is so little sixteenth century glass in this country as to give but small opportunity to observe the characteristic renaissance custom of placing the dates on the picture itself, which was then common in france. of earlier windows, however, english records and a knowledge of heraldry give us the dates of many more than are obtainable for their contemporaries in france. by way of example, the original contracts date the glass at beauchamp chapel, warwick, 1447; at king's college, cambridge, 1527; at york, in the nave, 1338, and in the choir, 1405, &c. a comparative and historical study of their heraldic blazons gives us a date for many of the windows at bristol and at wells, and of more still in private houses. the duty of the glazier was to adorn the window embrasures constructed for him by the architect, and thus assist in the decoration of the church. it is obvious that the size and shape of these apertures must necessarily have had considerable, if not controlling, effect upon the styles and methods of the glazier. a glance at the conformation of these openings often tells the sub-divisions in which its glass belongs. during norman times the window arch was round and the opening wide. in the early english style the arch at the top becomes pointed and the embrasures narrower. when the decorated time arrives several narrow lights are grouped together, separated only by slender stone mullions, and culminating under the pointed arch at the top in a group of gracefully adjusted small apertures called tracery lights. the perpendicular architect did little but straighten out the lines of his predecessors, especially in the traceries, so that they, as well as the mullions, should produce the effect of upright parallels which gave this type its name. in the sixteenth century the renaissance architect provided large windows, and the glazier filled them with great pictures of splendid colour. in our investigation of english glass of the early english (or mosaic) period, we shall often find ourselves regretting the almost entire absence of rose windows, so frequent and splendid across the channel, where those great blossoms of gothic architecture provided such glorious opportunities for the decorating hand of the glazier. for this lack we shall later on find ample compensation (especially during decorated and perpendicular times) in the huge sheet of glass filling the great east window of many english churches. while the southern architect decided in favour of the rounded apse for the east end of his cathedrals, his northern neighbour preferred a square ended one, thus permitting a fine broad embrasure, broken only by narrow mullions, and providing a golden chance for the glazier, which he lost no time in seizing. therefore, if we miss the innumerable rose windows of france, it is but fair to state that it possesses nothing that can vie with the great expanse of glowing colour found at the east end of york or gloucester or malvern. it is clear that the glass artist, whatever his nationality, had at all times to take heed of the architecture which provided the setting for his glass, and which his work was to help decorate. it is but natural, therefore, that his designs should have been influenced by the prevailing architectural style, and this was particularly true in england during the prevalence of both the decorated and the perpendicular schools. when the time arrived to change from the mosaic method of constructing stained glass, the whole effort of the englishman seemed to have been devoted to making his new product conform to the new decorated style of building. not so his neighbour across the channel, for there everything was then being sacrificed to the demand for better lighted interiors, even to the extent of filling much of his embrasures with grisaille, and using deep colour only in the borders or in bands of canopy-framed figures across parts of the windows (sées, evreux). the need for more illumination did not exist in england, for in that land of cloudy skies and infrequent sunshine they had already realised how greatly mosaic medallion glass obscured the light, and, therefore, had early struck out for themselves, and developed an admirable use of grisaille, as one may see at york and salisbury. they had already solved the problem of better illumination, and were that much ahead of their french neighbours. in france, because of light-admitting grisaille then demanded (either alone or in conjunction with the early canopies), the fourteenth century window gives a lighter effect than when later on, in the fifteenth century, the artist dispensed with the grisaille, enlarged his canopy completely to fill its lancet, and, thanks to the development of coated glass--_i.e._, several layers of different colours permitting, in combination, a wide range of hues--introduced more varied and richer colouring in both figures and costumes. in england, however, where light-admitting grisaille had already been freely used during the mosaic period, and the glazier began the fourteenth century untrammelled by any sudden demand for brilliant illumination, we shall easily observe a tendency directly contrary to that just remarked in france. the english decorated windows are much deeper in tone than the perpendicular ones which followed them. these latter seemed to have proved a satisfactory solution of the lighting problem for the english climate. indeed, we shall see some at st. neot, manufactured as late as 1530, that are copied after others of the preceding century, and yet the later ones are obviously from the hand of an artist so skilful as to have readily worked in the contemporary renaissance manner, had he not deliberately preferred the earlier one. those who desire to study this subject seriously should read lewis f. day's excellent "windows of stained glass" (1897). early english before 1280 ------------------------------------------------------------- plantagenet { edward i. 1272 1280-1380 { edward ii. 1307 decorated { edward iii. 1327 { (crécy, 1346) { (poitiers, 1356) ------------{------------------------------------------------ { richard ii. 1377 1380-1500 perpendicular lancaster { henry iv. 1399 { henry v. 1413 { (agincourt, 1415) { henry vi. 1422 york { edward iv. 1461 { edward v. 1483 { richard iii. 1483 tudor { henry vii. 1485 ------------{------------------------------------------------ { henry viii. 1509 1500-1550 { edward vi. 1547 renaissance { mary, 1553 { elizabeth, 1558 stuart { james i. 1603 tours our glass-hunting tours will take us into almost every part of england. we shall go up and down the east coast cathedrals, from york in the north to canterbury in the south-east. we shall also wander through the entire range of southern counties, and see the whole coast from winchester, west through salisbury and exeter to st. neot, far off in cornwall, hard by land's end. but it will be in that corner of england which lies between oxford and the welsh border, that the greatest wealth of windows will be found. we shall arrange the tours so that the order in which the windows are viewed will conform chronologically with the stages of the craft's development. it will, of course, largely depend on whether he elects to travel by rail, by automobile, or by bicycle, just how slavishly the pilgrim follows the order in which the towns have been set out. the trips have been arranged with an eye to geography rather than to railway time-tables--geography is so much more stable than "bradshaw's general railway guide"! the omission from the list of sundry important cathedrals, like durham, ely, peterborough, worcester, &c., is caused by the deplorable fact that all their ancient stained glass has been destroyed. the order of towns is as follows: early english epoch salisbury, canterbury, lincoln, york. decorated epoch york, norbury, shrewsbury, ludlow, hereford, tewkesbury, deerhurst, bristol, wells, exeter, dorchester, oxford. perpendicular epoch oxford, fairford, cirencester, gloucester, great malvern, little malvern, ross, warwick, coventry, york. salisbury. winchester. st. neot. renaissance epoch london, cambridge, lichfield, shrewsbury. guildford, gatton, knole. in selecting the order of the above itineraries, we have ended the first, or early english period, at york, because that city is not only rich in early mosaic glass, but also in that of the decorated period, thus making it most convenient for us there to begin the second or decorated tour. in the same manner we have concluded the itinerary of the decorated period at oxford, for there are found not only decorated, but also perpendicular windows, thus permitting us to commence the perpendicular tour in the same city which ends our decorated one. york is set down as the last of the perpendicular trip, but if our pilgrim has already visited that city on either the early english or the decorated tour, he will doubtless also have seen all of its perpendicular glass, which will obviate the necessity for again making the long journey north. in that event, with york left out of the perpendicular tour, it will prove to be much more condensed, both as to territory and distance, than either of the two earlier ones. the last, or renaissance epoch, has but few examples in england, and these are so widely separated that it seems best to break them up into two tours. of the seven places cited (london, cambridge, lichfield, shrewsbury, guildford, gatton, and knole) the best english glass is at london and cambridge, while that at lichfield is flemish, and most of that at shrewsbury german. for tables of distances, &c., _see_ pp. 251-254. [illustration: general map] early english we shall find it more convenient to group all early glass under the heading of "early english," although it will be found not only in its own narrow, pointed-arched windows, but also before that, in the round-arched ones of the norman style. so slow was the development of our craft during all the time covered by those two schools of architecture as to make it hardly proper or necessary that our subject be likewise divided into two epochs. during both of them there is found richly coloured glass of the "mosaic" type, and also uncoloured windows of the sort styled by the french "grisaille." obviously, uncoloured glass admits much more light than that made up of rich dark hues, and, therefore, it is but natural that the glazier who dwelt in a cloudy northern land should early have realised the need for sufficient light in his churches, a need which did not concern his fellow craftsmen in the sunny lands of the south. indeed if he had not appreciated this practical side of his craft he would not have been the artist which his windows prove him to have been. the glaziers of sunny italy were never confronted with this problem of sufficient illumination--if anything, they had too much, no matter how richly they painted the panes. their fellows in france had less sunlight than they, but more than the english, and therefore occupied an intermediate ground in the matter of church illumination; the result was that the french neglected it so entirely during both the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and so darkened their interiors by heavily leaded mosaic glazing as to bring about, at the opening of the fourteenth century, a sudden revulsion in favour of better lighted interiors, which went so far as to produce the excessive light and glare observable at sées, st. ouen (rouen) and evreux. this sudden revulsion did not appear in england where, indeed, there were no grounds for it, because, as we have just seen, the glaziers had already thoroughly grasped the need for, as well as the value of, light-admitting grisaille. that they thoroughly mastered the technique of uncoloured glass we will readily conclude from the splendid monuments to their genius in the "five sisters" at york, and the grisaille in the south transept at salisbury, ideal glazing for a land of infrequent sunshine. turning from these untinted windows to those filled with colour, one notices at once that the early examples of the latter are made up of very small pieces of different hues bound together by winding strips of lead having little sunken channels on both sides to hold the glass in place. so small are these pieces that the windows seem to have been composed much in the same way that the diminutive cubes are assembled to make a mosaic. it is because of this striking similarity of method, that this early glazing, constructed of small fragments, is frequently referred to as "mosaic" glass. another name which it often receives is also easily explainable. the stories on these early windows are told by groups of very small figures, and to prevent a chaotic multitude of these little persons spread over the glass, each episode or group is separated from the others by a frame of contrasting colour, thus breaking up the whole surface into medallions. for this reason, early mosaic glazing is sometimes spoken of as "medallion glass." unfortunately for england, it possesses but few remains of this delightful product, and therefore suffers sadly by comparison with the great wealth of it to be seen in france. we shall find enough, however, at canterbury and lincoln to kindle our enthusiasm for the splendid jewelled glow which the glazier of that time, and of no other, knew how to make his windows produce. it will not take long for the intelligent observer to notice that this glitter is due partly to the fact that the glass is free from paint (except that used to delineate features, folds of garments, &c.), and partly because its surface is not regular as is ours to-day. furthermore, the pieces were small, and the constantly recurring leadlines (breaking up and combining the rays of light coming through the little panes) assisted materially to produce the brilliancy and shimmer which so delight the eye. there is no doubt that the glazier thoroughly realised this, and availed himself of this mingling of the coloured rays to suit the purposes of his picture. we frequently see a thirteenth century window that produces a purple effect, and yet a closer inspection will reveal that there is only red and blue glass used in it, but so cunningly have they been intermingled as to produce a much warmer purple than any sheet of purple glass could render. some writers would have us believe that the glazier had no choice but to use these small bits in building up his picture, and that therefore the rich glowing effect was the result of chance, and not that of intelligent deliberation. any one who has been fortunate enough to visit st. maurice's cathedral at angers is amply equipped to refute this theory, and will be prepared to give full credit to the glazier of the thirteenth century, for, in that church, the twelfth century mosaic glass of the nave is readily seen to be composed of much larger fragments than were employed in the choir by the thirteenth century man. these latter in the choir glisten and glitter, while the earlier ones in the nave, composed of larger pieces, do not. this indicates that the improvement shown by the thirteenth century windows over those of the twelfth century was caused by artistic intelligence, and at the expense of more labour to the glazier, because in lessening the size of his panes, he greatly increased the work of leading them together. as he purposely used smaller fragments, he should receive full credit for his splendid results. those who have been so fortunate as to see the french thirteenth century windows will not only regret the fewness of examples of that period in england, but will also remark the dearth there of the great rose windows so frequent in france. furthermore, he will notice that in the case of english medallion windows, the medallions are smaller than those across the channel; this is caused by the fact that the lancets of the early english school were narrower than contemporary french ones, and therefore necessitated a smaller medallion. while it is true that it is only at lincoln that one finds the splendid rose windows which reach their greatest perfection in france, compensation for their absence is found in the development in their place of a style of window almost unknown in france, _i.e._, the great east window, of which such superb examples will be seen during the next (or decorated) period at york, bristol, and many other places. this difference in the development of the largest light aperture of a church is due to the architect; in france he built the eastern end of his churches round, but in england they were square, thereby permitting a large sheet of glazing at the east end, which the french rounded apse could not afford. it is gratifying to note the way in which the genius of the glazier, no matter where he lived, seized upon and developed to the utmost the artistic possibilities of his glass, and, furthermore, how cleverly he adapted them to the structures prepared for him by his architect. we shall see at canterbury, more clearly even than elsewhere, that in the manufacture of this early mosaic glass the english glaziers followed the french models. in "stained glass tours in france," p. 17, we have made some conjectures as to the beginnings of glass in france and whence it came into that country. indications appear to be in favour of its first steps being guided by a group of enamellers in limoges, who were instructed or influenced by a colony of venetians that settled near by in 979, bringing with them their byzantine art. whatever opinion we may hold, there can be no doubt that a striking similarity in drawing, colouring, &c., is to be remarked between stained glass of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, limoges enamels of those two and the two preceding centuries, and the byzantine mosaics of st. mark's in venice, &c. early english tour even though we shall encounter but few examples of this period in england, a tour of the towns in which they are to be found will perhaps yield us more interesting glimpses into history than our later tours, far richer though they may be in glass. starting at ancient salisbury hard by the site of druid stonehenge, we follow the oldest of english national roads, the "pilgrim's way," through winchester (for so long the english capital) on to canterbury with its dramatic history of the martyred archbishop. close to canterbury are chartham and willesborough; these may be seen _en route_ from salisbury. thence we go north to lincoln, and, after an interesting visit to its sanctuary-crowned hilltop, we will push on still further north to york, that treasure-house of glass of this as well as of all periods. although we end our first tour in that city, we shall also be able there to begin our second one, and may also, if we choose, inspect the glass of a still later (the perpendicular) epoch. [illustration: map of early english tour] salisbury there is no country in the world whose ancient history is writ so large upon its broad acres as old england. it is full of silent testimonials to past events which render those early days and their happenings more vivid than any printed page can hope to effect. many of these remains are of such remote antiquity as to long antedate our glass, but nevertheless we must not be so prejudiced as to neglect them when encountered on our travels. indeed, it may well be that the existence of other attractions of this sort may secure for us the company of certain archæological friends who at first will have but small interest in glass. nor need we distress ourselves about how small that interest may be; for if they, for any reason, accompany us, our charming windows will surely make converts of them long before the journey is ended. these same archæological folk will tell us that few localities in england can show more extraordinary historical remains than stonehenge and old sarum near salisbury. the great upright monoliths of stonehenge, stationed in the form of a horse-shoe within a circle, loom up in such a solitary and impressive way upon the great reaches of salisbury plain as to produce a mental picture long to be remembered. their very isolation makes them much more striking than the voluminous remains of a similar nature erected also by the druids on the west coast of brittany. as for old sarum, it is now nothing but a lofty fortified camp, but the enclosure within its circle of high walls formerly contained a town which was the predecessor of salisbury. the shape of this high truncated cone recalls the pictures of the tower of babel that used to appear in our child's geographies. whatever may have been the real cause for the removal of salisbury to its present site, the one generally alleged was that sarum lacked water--this certainly cannot be charged against the present city, which is so sorely harassed at certain seasons of the year by local floods, as well to merit the name often given it of the "english venice." its vast cathedral is much more regular and balanced in its proportions than are most examples of mediæval church architecture. the two great twin spires are esteemed the most beautiful in england. to one who has become accustomed to the archaic appearance of most european cathedrals, salisbury will prove quite a surprise; in the words of emerson, "the cathedral, which was finished six hundred years ago, has even a spruce and modern air." this splendid building, even if it were not so impressive as it is, would have been rendered sufficiently picturesque because of the setting provided by the shaded walks and green swards of its close. within the roomy interior are examples not only of thirteenth century medallion glass, but also some of the best types of english grisaille of that period. because of the belief that the doors, windows and pillars exactly coincide respectively with the number of months, days and hours in the year, thomas fuller said, "all europe affords not such an almanac of architecture." we are concerned only with that portion of the almanac that has to do with the days. an old rhyme says: "as many days as in one year there be so many windows in this church we see." notwithstanding the great number of light apertures thus provided by the architect, the glazier was not permitted to make excessive use of the light-obscuring coloured mosaic glass, as was then the custom in france. grisaille was plentifully used, and salisbury was famous for it. most of its remains are found in the upper lancets at the south end of the easterly transepts, as well as a little in the west windows of the nave aisles, the east one of the choir aisles, and the lower triplet in the south end of the small transepts. two of the easterly clerestory lights of the large northern transept also show this early pattern glass. instead of filling the other embrasures with rudely contrasting modern glazing, a very intelligent effort has been made throughout the choir and transept to model as closely as possible upon these ancient examples. the result is very agreeable--at least it contrives to give us some idea of how the church must have looked with its original windows all complete. little touches of colour are very judiciously interspersed throughout the strapwork, and serve to correct what otherwise might be dull-toned. blue is very extensively used here for this purpose, and to a greater extent than is usually found elsewhere. it tones in admirably with the greenish hue of the glass, and enriches it without risking too striking a contrast. the thirteenth century medallion remains have been collected into the three lancets at the western end. note especially the plentiful and interesting fragments of the tree of jesse done in mosaic style which has been introduced in two parallel columns into the central lancet: the borders are contemporary. the side lancets are not so satisfactorily filled, for the combination of strips of later glass separated by equally wide ones of old grisaille, and all surrounded by a rich old border on ruby and blue backgrounds, is not pleasing. the medallions are interesting, but nothing like so fine as we shall see elsewhere. we shall chiefly remember salisbury cathedral for the effective glazing of its choir and transepts afforded by thirteenth century grisaille eked out with good modern glass copied after it. one does not have to search far in the records of salisbury to find why there is so little remaining of its ancient glazing. time has been materially aided and abetted in its work of destruction by ruthless restorations, of which the worst was wyatt's in the eighteenth century. we read that "whole cartloads of glass, lead, and other rubbish were removed from the nave and transepts, and shot into the town ditch, then in course of being filled up; whilst a good deal of similar rubbish was used to level the ground near the chapter-house." nor was destruction the only means used to get rid of the salisbury windows, as will appear from the following letter written to mr. lloyd, of london, in 1788, by john berry, a glazier of salisbury: "sir.--this day i have sent you a box full of old stained & printed glass, as you desired me to due, which i hope will sute your purpos, it his the best that i can get at present. but i expect to beate to peceais a great deal very sune, as it his of now use to me, and we do it for the lead. if you want more of the same sorts you may have what thear is, if it will pay you for taking out, as it is a deal of truble to what beating it to peceais his; you will send me a line as soon as possable, for we are goain to move our glasing shop to a nother plase and thin we hope to save a great deal more of the like sort, which i ham your most omble servent--john berry." there is also later glass to be seen here. st. thomas's church, in the first embrasure from the east of the north aisle, has the remains of a decorated tree of jesse, in which, as well as in other fragments along the traceries, there is a good deal of yellow stain observable. in the vestry, which is off the north aisle, are three small lancets upon which appear figures against quarry backgrounds not as usual ensconced in canopies. the wooden ceilings in the north and south aisles are especially fine. for the perpendicular glass at salisbury _see_ p. 192. canterbury even a careless observer of the life and customs of the middle ages will have noticed that one of its most extraordinary features is the extent to which people of every european country went upon pilgrimages. the nature and object of these religious journeys varied widely, running the gamut from the crusades to the visiting of neighbouring shrines. the history of the crusades is well known, but perhaps few of us realise the tremendous interest taken in the more domestic and near-by pilgrimages. the english were like all the rest of christendom in this curious craze, and for several centuries the most revered, as well as the most popular of their many shrines was that of the martyred thomas à becket at canterbury. more highly prized than any other similar trophy was the small leaden flask hung about the neck of one who had taken that journey, and was thus qualified to bear away this pilgrim's token filled with water from the holy well beneath the cathedral. a modern counterpart is afforded by the value mohammedans set upon the wearing of a green turban, the privilege accorded to one who has visited mecca. although canterbury had always since the earliest days possessed many saintly relics, a marked increase in the number of pilgrims was noted after the martyrdom of à becket. these pilgrimages steadily grew in vogue until when, in the fifteenth century, they had reached their height, not only did the stream of travellers continue steadily throughout the year, but during the months of december and july (anniversaries of the martyrdom and the transference of the relics) we read that the numbers swelled to such an extent that the housing facilities of the little city were greatly overtaxed. a jubilee was held every fifty years, and on these occasions the crowds grew to enormous size. during the jubilee of 1420 we are told that over 100,000 pilgrims were gathered in the city at the same time. hay and wood were provided gratuitously for them, a bounty which the cathedral could well afford, because of the great value of the gifts constantly received from these visitors. it is easy to see how important a nationalising influence must have resulted from this meeting together of all classes of society from different parts of the country. how widely these pilgrims varied in station and occupation can be gathered from chaucer's inimitable "canterbury tales." those amusing chronicles also show that while religion was doubtless a powerful motive in causing these pilgrimages, there was besides a great deal of what is called to-day "the desire for foreign travel." in fact, it is difficult to find much religious flavour in the tales of merriment and adventure which follow each other in this delightful series. chaucer probably selected a canterbury pilgrimage as the setting for his poem in order to appeal to a great number of readers, for he well knew the kingdom to be full of people who had taken this journey, and to whom, therefore, his tales would be of peculiar interest. although chaucer was the son and grandson of vintners, he won his way into high favour at court, a hint of which is obtained from the fact that edward iii. paid £16 (then a considerable sum) to ransom him after his capture by the french. [illustration: _j. g. charlton, photo._ "becket's crown," canterbury cathedral thirteenth century medallions; notice circular and other forms enclosing the figures. the heavy iron bars needed to support the great weight of lead are skilfully adjusted to the design. the world-famous shrine stood in the centre of this space. tomb of black prince in foreground, and above it armour he wore at crécy] another group of equally diverting but more whimsical poems are inseparably connected with this neighbourhood. rev. richard barham lived near canterbury, and many of his engaging ingoldsby legends have their scenes laid there, some within the cathedral precincts. the county of kent, of which canterbury is the chief city, is peopled by a sturdy folk who have always been jealous of their rights and insistent upon their own interpretation of the law, as, for example, although primogeniture existed almost everywhere else in england, kent always preferred gavelkind (an equal division of property among the children of the deceased). as illustrating the strength of kentish traditions, it is amusing to note that one must remember carefully to apply the expression "kentish man" to a dweller in the western half of the county, and "man of kent" to him of the eastern. confuse these two designations at your peril! there is a bit of local history which has a fine heroic flavour, and which points our moral excellently. after william the conqueror had won the battle of hastings, all kent, headed by the archbishop of canterbury, gathered to protect its ancient rights against the invader. they marched forth to meet william at swanscourt, each man fully armed, and carrying above him a green bough to mask the numbers of their host. william's surprise and perplexity at seeing this perambulating forest approaching him can well be imagined. when he inquired the reason for it, there came the fine reply that kent demanded its ancient rights, and if granted them would live peaceably under his rule, but if they were to be denied, then there must be instant war! the politic norman complied with their request, and the kentish forest marched off. so beautiful are the distant prospects of canterbury cathedral that excellent æsthetic reasons may be advanced for the religious custom that required all mounted pilgrims to dismount as soon as they could spy the angel steeple, and complete the last stage of the pilgrimage on foot. proceeding in this more leisurely fashion, the beauties of the picturesque grouping of the buildings about the cathedral developed slowly before their eyes. on descending into the town, many interesting sights meet one's view in the quaint winding streets and narrow lanes. the name of one of these, watling street, recalls the fact that through this city ran that great roman road. another element of the picturesque is added by the meandering through the town of the river stour, over whose narrow stream project many of the houses. finally we arrive at a large gatehouse, whose modest portal affords access to the sacred precincts, and introduces us to a series of most delightful pictures, for there are few cathedrals in the world placed in so charming a setting. an old legend gravely narrates that when the walls of the sanctuary were heightened about the middle of the tenth century, the building was, perforce, roofless for three years, and that during that period no rain fell within this favoured enclosure! we need not stop to consider the different features of the architecture which have delighted so many eyes and are so well known from photographs and other reproductions. we must, however, note in passing that during à becket's exile he chanced to be in sens at the very time that the great french architect, william of sens, was finishing the first attempt in pointed gothic. this probably explains why, when the choir of canterbury cathedral was destroyed by fire, the monks in 1174 summoned william to rebuild it. during the work he fell from the scaffold and received injuries from which he died. the selection of that foreign architect assists in explaining why the mosaic glass at canterbury so closely resembles the late twelfth century windows at sens, and permits us to conjecture that with the french architect there came over french glaziers. the french gothic which was here introduced by william of sens was, to a certain extent, copied elsewhere. traces of it at york cathedral are doubtless due to the fact that the archbishop of york who caused its introduction had been archdeacon at canterbury during the time that william of sens was working there. we will enter the church and press on to the northern transept, where took place that tragic episode resulting from the constant strife between henry ii. and the proud churchman à becket. in the dimness of this old-world corner one can almost live over again the scene at twilight, december 29, 1170, when the four knights, taunted into exasperation by à becket's hot words, cut down the defenceless priest, thinking thus to serve their royal master. not only did this base act bring upon henry the open shame of being forced to do most abject penance before the shrine of his sainted victim, but it also produced many extraordinary results of widely differing nature during the centuries to follow. just after the assassination the monks, upon removing the garments of their murdered chief, found, to their great surprise, that beneath the rich raiment of him whom they had always mistrusted as a brilliant courtier, was worn the haircloth shirt of their monastic order. their sudden revulsion of feeling, and the religious enthusiasm which overcame them at that sight, seems prophetic of other revulsions that were to take place during the middle ages in the attitude of the public mind towards this bloody page of church history. just as then their feelings abruptly changed, so after wealth and costly gifts had flowed to this shrine for centuries, and almost every city in christendom had an altar or a church dedicated to st. thomas, suddenly men of thought became disgusted by the many reprehensible features connected with this cult, which, perhaps, were only the natural results of the throngs attending the pilgrimages. the pendulum, which had swung too high on one side, swept back to the other extreme; and this brings us to one of the strangest parts of this story, if not, indeed, the weirdest in all the annals of the law. henry viii. cast covetous eyes upon the hoard of jewels gathered together in canterbury cathedral, so he instituted a legal proceeding to enable him to lay hold upon them. as royal successor to henry ii. he caused the attorney-general in 1538 to bring suit against à becket for treason, and had the papers duly served upon the famous shrine! counsel was appointed to represent the long dead subject, and the case was argued with all the pomp and circumstance of legal warfare. the martyr was found guilty, and all the wealth of his shrine was declared escheated to the crown. we read that it was necessary to employ twenty-six carts to carry off the booty. could anything be more strange and fantastic than so material an outcome to the wild deed of the four knights! of the other tombs here, the most interesting are those of henry iv. and the black prince. above the latter is suspended the armour worn by him at the battle of crécy. before commencing to examine the stained glass, we must warn the reader that it suffered severely at the hands of that arch-ruffian of all glass destroyers, dick culmer (or "blue dick," as he was called), the minister in charge of the abbey during the commonwealth. so violently opposed to his appointment were the townspeople that they locked all the cathedral's doors against him, thus forcing him to effect his first entrance by breaking in one of the windows--an evil omen! no sooner was he installed than he set diligently to work to destroy the stained glass, and, furthermore, openly boasted of his energy in that respect. in his "cathedral news from canterbury," he says, "a minister on top of the city ladder, nearly sixty steps high, with a whole pike in his hand, rattling down proud becket's glassie bones when others present would not venture so high." this glass, so destroyed, was in the north transept. there is but little mosaic medallion thirteenth century glass in england, and therefore what there is of it at canterbury would for that reason alone have great value, but because the examples there found are among the best of that period now extant, its importance is thereby greatly enhanced. an ancient supplement to the "canterbury tales" relates, with amusing conversational detail, how the pilgrims, upon entering the church by the south-western door of the nave, at once fell to admiring the windows and studying out their legends. the ruthless hand of time, assisted by those of dick culmer and co., have made it impossible for us to enjoy that same pleasure, but certain fragments of that glass gathered together into the western window give a hint of what the beauty of the complete series must have been. with this exception there is nothing to detain one long in the nave, so we will pass on to the eastern end of the church to inspect the remaining contemporary windows--they are the finest of their type in england, and will be found in the north choir aisle, the circular apse at the extreme easterly end (known as becket's crown) and trinity chapel. there has been preserved for us an old latin list describing and locating all the windows in their original order, and from this we learn that the ancient panels now in the north choir aisle between the easterly transept and the chapel of the martyrdom (north end of the westerly transepts) were formerly in the embrasures of the latter. their workmanship is very fine, and they tell their parables with great distinctness. proceeding eastward to becket's crown, we shall be afforded an edifying opportunity to observe how much more brilliant and generally delightful are the old mosaic medallions than even the best modern copies. the oldest window dates from the middle of the thirteenth century, and it takes but a glance to betray those of its companions which are modern. the improvements of centuries in glass manufacture fail utterly to yield us an equivalent for the brilliancy of the crudely constructed panels of that time. the most interesting and, for various reasons, the most valuable medallions are those filling the six windows of trinity chapel which retain their original glazing. in those on the north side of where the shrine used to stand, are medallions whose groups display miracles performed by the saint, or episodes illustrative of his healing power. at the top of the second from the east on this side is a medallion of very peculiar interest because it depicts benedict's vision of the saint emerging from his shrine in full canonicals and moving toward the high altar to say mass. examine it carefully, for here we have the only representation now existing of that world-renowned shrine, whose lavish decoration of gold and jewels so roused the cupidity of henry viii. as to cause its destruction. there is every reason to believe this to be a veracious reproduction, for being installed directly opposite and a few yards from the shrine of which it was the counterfeit presentment, any but a careful copy thereof would have been useless in telling the window's story. more of this splendid glass is found filling the lower embrasures along the north side between the two sets of transepts, and also above in the three upper half-circle windows, both on this and the opposite side of the church ambulatory; note the mellow richness of their reds and blues. the central embrasure of the most easterly or trinity chapel retains its early mosaic medallions, easily distinguished from the modern imitations on either side. high up in the north wall of the easterly transepts is a rose window which retains its thirteenth century glazing in the large central circle, but alas! white glass replaces all but the borders of the outer circles, thus drowning the old glass in a glare of light and utterly extinguishing the splendid glow which would otherwise delight our eyes. although the handsome five-light decorated window on the south side of st. anselm's chapel (lying off the south choir aisle) has lost its original glass, the records of the cost contain features of interest. the contract for its construction is dated 1336, and the items of expense (which total £42 17_s._ 2_d._) indicate that the heavy iron saddle-bars, &c., required to support the great quantity of lead used in joining the glass, cost almost as much as the glazing; £4 4_s._ 0_d._ was paid for twenty hundredweight of iron, £6 13_s._ 4_d._ "for glass and the labour of the glaziers." the chief window of the north-west transept, generally called the chapel of the martyrdom, was presented by edward iv., and when complete must have been a fine example of the perpendicular school. its seven tall lancets are broken into four tiers, and surmounted by handsome tracery lights. here formerly appeared "the seven glorious appearances of the virgin," with à becket in the centre, but "blue dick" culmer destroyed them all while engaged in his pleasing task of "rattling down proud becket's glassie bones." notwithstanding the treatment to which this window was subjected, it still presents a very attractive appearance. the original fragments have been collected within coloured borders and throw into bold relief the richly toned kneeling figures of edward iv. and his wife, which are placed facing each other. behind the queen are stationed her five daughters, divided into one group of three and another of two, while behind the king are the two little princes, who were later murdered in the tower of london. the backgrounds behind the figures are noteworthy because they are composed of repetitions of the badge of each individual; behind the king are the white roses and suns of york; behind the queen, green thistles; feathers behind the prince of wales, &c. above them is a tier of white-robed angels with red wings, against backgrounds of blue or green, supporting heraldic shields. just below this window and leading off to the east is the dean's chapel, lighted on the east by a very pleasant quarry window, upon each of whose panes appears in yellow stain the double knot which indicates the donor to have been archbishop bourchier, whom we shall encounter later on at knole. a relieving note of colour is lent by the shield of arms at the bottom of each lancet. three of the small windows that light the picturesque little baptistery contain effigies of ecclesiastical dignitaries and saints within richly toned borders, while in the small traceries above them are heraldic blazons. splendid as this noble cathedral now is, how much more impressive must it have been when all its windows were filled with mosaic medallions through which a warmly tinted illumination tempered the minster gloom. it is difficult to repress the anachronistic wish that the knights who came here seeking to slay à becket might instead have wreaked their lust for blood upon "blue dick" culmer! * * * * * near canterbury there are some early english fragments at chartham, four miles west on the road to maidstone. they are in the tracery lights on the north side of the chancel. in one of these small openings there has been inserted a baptismal scene, but because it is upside down the water seems like a cross between a shower-bath and the sword of damocles! the chief reason for stopping at this church is the very agreeable lighting of its chancel in the decorated manner. in the two embrasures on the north side have been collected all that remains of the original pattern glass, but the other lights have been glazed as much like these two as possible. a mellow richness, not often seen, is the chief characteristic of this low-toned grisaille, overrun with graceful coloured designs. in its perfection that style was most attractive. in a south-easterly suburb of ashford called willesborough there are in the chancel a couple of very complete and pleasing decorated windows. they both have quarry backgrounds with coloured borders, but the one to the north is much more attractive. upon its surface are not only the coloured bosses seen in the one across the chancel, but also some handsome canopy-framed figures. the leaf design on the borders should be noted, and also the labels below the figures. lincoln a golden-brown cathedral crowning the summit of a solitary hill rising from a wide plain--so lincoln lingers in one's memory! few towns have their situation more clearly described by their names than this one, derived, as it is, from "llin" a mere, and "dun" a hill, a hill above a mere. the plain is now drained of the marshes which formerly overspread it, but the great isolated mount remains always the same, and upon the summit is stationed, like a splendid sentinel, the mighty bulk of the cathedral. rarely, indeed, does a great church have so dominating and superb a site, nor is it often that so prominent a point is crowned by such a noble structure. near it is the ancient castle, built first by the romans and later strengthened by warriors of other races equally quick to appreciate the military strength of its commanding position. from the tower at one corner of its perfectly preserved ramparts is afforded a most inspiring view in every direction. nor were the great walls of the cathedral less serviceable in affording a strong refuge in war. it needs but a glance at the sturdy west front to show why stephen in 1141, during the war of the barons, finding the earls of lincoln and chester in possession of the castle, threw himself into the adjacent cathedral and thus secured as strong a fortress as they. not only is the western façade very beautiful, but it is also a manifestation, rare in england, of the practice usual in france of making this portion of the exterior the most important of all. here at lincoln it is as if a wide mask of stone had been built on to the end of the nave, lending as great an impression of width as one gets of height by a similar trick at peterborough. these two are almost the only attempts in england to use this façade for other than simply closing the end of the edifice. the result at lincoln is most imposing, but it produces its best effect when seen from a little distance, because then one gets the great sweep of the lines, relieved by the galleries of statues and warmed by the yellowish brown of the stone. a nearer inspection discloses how the later work has been pieced on to the older, which tends to distract our attention from the front as a whole. not satisfied with the great strength of the building itself, permission was early obtained from the crown to surround the close with walls and gates, of which the picturesque exchequer gate survives. this enclosure goes by the name of the minster yard. when visiting the little hamlet of dorchester we will remark upon how great was once its glory and how widely the sway of its bishop then extended. this glory departed when bishop remigius (who built the central and oldest part of the lincoln west front) decided about 1072 to remove his seat to the more lofty and far safer site upon lincoln hill. before concluding the inspection of the cathedral's exterior, it is timely to remark that through all the centuries it has been famous in story and song for its chime of bells. during the period when that delightful industry, the making of ballads, prevailed throughout england, there were many whose scenes were laid at lincoln, and in almost every one of these some reference is made to "the bells o' merrie lincoln." sad havoc has been played with the ancient glass, but here we cannot blame the puritans alone. to be sure, they exercised their usual zeal in destroying the windows as far up as they could reach, but it must be admitted that they only completed the task earlier begun by the citizens, who were wont to amuse themselves by shooting with arrows and crossbow bolts at the roof and at the windows. this appears in the defence set up by the dean when, during the time of henry viii., charges had been brought against him for permitting the cathedral to fall into such shocking disrepair. notwithstanding the efforts of the crossbow vandals and their successors, the puritans, there has been preserved for us a very considerable amount of old glass, and that, too, of the early english type, a period of which there are so few remains in england. these remnants are so placed as to be seen to great advantage. they fill the east windows of the north and south aisles of the choir, and the large windows in the end of the great northerly transept. the old glazing of the eastern windows of the north and south choir aisles is complete and very interesting. it is not so beautiful as it would have been if the spaces between the brilliant medallions had also been filled with colour instead of the greenish grisaille which the practical englishman used so as to admit more light than would have been possible through the entirely coloured panes of his more artistic, if less utilitarian, french contemporary. he succeeded in getting his illumination, but he lost the jewelled shimmer that meets one's eyes at chartres and reims. moreover, there is also lacking the richness and solidity of tone which is so enjoyable in france. the french system was followed at canterbury, and there is a marked difference in the effect of that glass from this at lincoln. unfortunately, the great east window between these two excellent aisle ones is filled with modern glass that suffers sadly by comparison with its ancient neighbours. passing to the transepts we shall encounter the pleasant custom so rare in england (though common in france) of giving a familiar name to a great window. here the splendid northern rose is called "the dean's eye," and its sister to the south "the bishop's eye," which names they have borne for more than six hundred years. many are the reasons that have been advanced for these titles, but probably the practical one is correct, viz., the dean's eye faces the deanery and the bishop's eye the bishop's palace. among the many fanciful and more poetic explanations there is one which, although it is less reasonable, we must be pardoned for finding more attractive, viz., as the north is the region of the evil one, it is proper that the dean's eye should look into that direction in order to guard against any attempt on his part to invade the sanctuary. the bishop's eye is turned toward the sunny south, "the region of the holy spirit whose sweet influence alone can overcome the wiles of the wicked one." the older of the pair, the dean's eye, was probably glazed about 1220. it is best seen from the gallery or from the triforium which runs along just below it, and is a fine rose of the usual type. below it there extends a row of five pointed lancets containing very light toned grisaille which almost entirely lacks the usual touches of colour. below these are two larger lancets flanking the doorway; the one to the east has grisaille quarries as a border and within, geometric designs in colour. the westerly lancet shows a vine in whose branches are angels playing upon musical instruments, the whole surrounded by grisaille touched with colour. across in the southern end of these transepts is one of the most delightful windows to be seen anywhere, the bishop's eye. not only is this rose window a jewel of the glazier's art, but the mason as well has added a wondrous charm by the lightness of his stone traceries and the curious interpenetrated stone frame which he has placed about it. the architect, too, has joined in beautifying the _ensemble_ by stationing below it four large lancets of such harmonious proportions as admirably to balance and set off their more important neighbour just above them. in these lancets are found some early english glass--broad borders of grisaille enframing the rich-toned medallions within. the bishop's eye was glazed about the middle of the fourteenth century and yields a warm greenish grey light. instead of having its lines radiate from the centre in the customary manner, its gracefully curved mullions tend to flow up and down and suggest the fibres of five great leaves standing upright side by side. [illustration: rose window, lincoln cathedral tracery unusual in that it does not radiate from centre. quantity of greenish grisaille used emphasises leaf-like design. thirteenth century medallions in the tall lancets below] york to one approaching york by road, especially if coming by way of scarcroft hill, the ancient appearance of the town seems to translate it out of the middle ages. the dust-grey line of walls along the grassy banks that slope down to the moat, sweep far around in unbroken majesty, strengthened here and there by bastions or by a sturdy gatehouse. to complete the old-world picture, above the walls peep red-tiled gables, or occasionally the towers and spires of numerous churches, all dominated by the great bulk of the cathedral. insignificant historically ever since the days when the city of eboren was the capital of britain, york is chiefly known for the use of its name in two prolonged struggles (fought out, however, on other fields), the one between the house of york and lancaster, called "the war of the roses," and the other the great contest lasting from 601 on till the middle of the fourteenth century to decide whether the archbishop of york or he of canterbury should be the primate of england. york's unimportance in english history may be due partly to its situation too far north to have been in the heart of the constant struggle for power, and partly to the fact that it was so repeatedly ravaged by danes and other invaders, the worst blow of all being when william the conqueror gave all that neighbourhood such a dreadful harrowing that the lands from york to durham laid untilled for nine years, and did not fully recover for centuries. almost the sole exception to this unimportant _rôle_ was the seven years during which edward i. moved the law courts to york and made it his royal capital. fortunately for the city, its connection with the bloody struggle of the rival roses was almost entirely confined to lending its name to one of the houses, for this great drama was chiefly enacted to the south of it. although the other famous contest to which we alluded, and which dragged its weary length through nearly eight centuries, had to do only with ecclesiastical predominance, yet it exercised a potent influence upon the destinies of the generations it concerned. it is impossible to obtain a realising sense of men and events in the middle ages unless one takes into account the tremendous force, and that, too, a militant one, exercised by the great ecclesiastics. a striking example is provided by archbishop scrope of york, who aspired so high that he rebelled against his king and was only defeated after the strenuous campaign described in shakespeare's "henry iv." he was executed at york in 1405. we remarked another example at canterbury in the bloody ending of à becket's attempt to brave henry ii. because he was archbishop of canterbury and opposed to the king, it is not surprising to find that the contemporary archbishop of york, roger pont l'evêque, was a staunch adherent of henry. it was this very roger who, in 1176, precipitated one of the many disgraceful rows that besmirched this struggle for the primacy. the papal legate was presiding at the council of westminster, and à becket's successor, richard of canterbury, was seated on his right. roger came in late, and, declining to accept any but the most honoured seat, sat down on richard's lap, whereupon a brawl ensued, ending in roger's discomfiture. pitiable as was this scene, at least it was less disastrous to the people at large than many another episode of this tedious and acrimonious struggle, finally ended by the bull of pope innocent vi., designating the archbishop of canterbury as the primate of all england. york is by all odds the most important of all english glass centres. although one often finds occasion elsewhere to curse the glass-destroying puritan, at york it must be admitted that the presence of so many ancient windows is due to the control exercised by fairfax over his parliamentary troops after a successful siege of the place. he well deserved the butt of sack and tun of french wine voted him by the corporation in recognition of his efforts in restraining the misguided enthusiasm of the soldiery. indeed, his action here almost atones for the devilish tricks at canterbury of "blue dick" culmer. even the most casual observer, and one entirely unlearned in our beautiful art, cannot fail to notice how large an amount of wall-space is given over to ancient glass in york minster. as a matter of fact it covers an area of more than 25,000 square feet, easily double that in any other english cathedral, and challenging comparison with any in the world. nor are the examples confined to one epoch, for there are fragments of norman mosaic medallions in the great transepts and the vestibule of the chapter-house, early english in the "five sisters" and along the nave clerestory, decorated in the nave and chapter-house, and perpendicular in the choir. not only are these examples plentiful, but they are of the first order. entering by the door at the southern end of the great transepts, one is at once confronted by the five tall lancets opposite him in the north wall, filled with the most deliciously soft greyish green grisaille. of their type there is nothing in the world to approach them for beauty. from where we stand the lead lines used in construction do not exist as lines, but melt away into a dainty film, like dew on the grass at morn. this set of lights is gracefully grouped, and is known by the pleasantly familiar title of the "five sisters." many fanciful tales are told of when and where they were constructed and how they received this name. dickens in his "nicholas nickleby" relates an engaging legend to explain how the design and the name were provided for them. that this legend has no basis in fact should not make us forget that his narrative has doubtless caused many of his readers to visit these windows--a most excellent justification. dickens tells of five maiden ladies having worked upon a large piece of embroidery and how, years later, when four of them met together in york (the youngest, alice, having been buried in the minster's nave), "they sent abroad, to artists of great celebrity in those times (henry iv.), and having obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, caused to be executed in five large compartments of richly stained glass, a faithful copy of their old embroidery work. these were fitted into a large window until that time bare of ornament; and when the sun shone brightly, as she had so well loved to see it, the familiar patterns were reflected in their original colours, and throwing a stream of brilliant light upon the pavement, fell warmly on the name of alice." those of our company who are by nature critical may point out that the windows date from the thirteenth century, not from the reign of henry iv., and also that they contain grisaille, not colour, and further, that being at the end of the north transept, they could not very well throw a stream of light into the nave! the writer urges leniency of criticism, but nevertheless, one is forced to the melancholy conclusion that the great dickens could never have delighted his eyes by this splendid glass, else he could not have made the windows coloured, or placed them in the nave! as for the four surviving sisters, they are certainly open to the severest censure in that they sent abroad for stained glass during the reign of henry iv., because there was then the highest development of the art in england, and its product could not be approached by that of any foreign contemporaries. close inspection discloses the design of the leads to be that of a graceful adjustment of the foliage of the benet plant. at the bottom of the central light is observable a panel of highly coloured mosaic glass. the glazing of the five small lancets above is modern. we must turn to the nave to see the rest of the early english glass, of which, however, only fragments remain. they are to be found along the clerestory, in all of its tracery lights on the south side except the third from the west, and also some in its lower panes; on the north side they are in the traceries of the second from the west, the next five east of it, and also in the lower panels of the fifth and seventh. [illustration: _f. valentine, photo._ "five sisters," york minster softly-toned grisaille with delicate patterns in faint colour. of its type unsurpassed in the world. note difference between mellow strength of this glass and thinness of modern glazing in upper tier of lancets] the church of st. dennis, walmgate, has attractive panels of early english glass dating from the latter half of the thirteenth century inserted in two decorated windows on the north side of the church. an account of the decorated glass at york will be found at p. 76, and of that of the perpendicular at p. 185. decorated before crossing the threshold into the two next periods (the decorated and perpendicular), it is worth pausing to notice that although architecture generally tends to elaborate as time goes on, the opposite was true in england during the two centuries of which we are about to speak. in fact, the work of the earlier of these two epochs obviously deserves the title of "decorated" and the later does not. its glass, too, is much more florid than its successor, and is far more ambitiously ornamental. it bears many bits of leafy foliage, twining vine tendrils, &c., all drawn as true to life as possible. later these bits of flora are rarely used, and then only in a conventional and, therefore, less decorative form. in our introduction we have stated that in england, the arrival of the fourteenth century does not show the abrupt difference found in france between the light-obscuring mosaic glass of the thirteenth century and the fainter tints of the fourteenth, permitting the brighter interior then demanded. the explanation seems to be that the english, having been early forced by cloudy skies to use light-admitting grisaille (either alone, or combined with their early medallions) already enjoyed the proper illumination which, at the beginning of the fourteenth century, was so lacking in france as to bring about a cry for light at any cost. in place of the early fourteenth century glare that strikes one at sées, evreux, and in st. ouen at rouen, we have rich strong colour in their contemporaries at tewkesbury, wells and bristol. occasionally grisaille will be found pleasantly combined with small coloured scenes, as at dorchester and in merton chapel, oxford, but even then it seems much like a local survival of the thirteenth century tradition. so much for the difference between the english decorated and the french fourteenth century windows. now let us briefly consider what it was that succeeded to the mosaic medallion style seen at canterbury, lincoln, &c., and also what causes must have been at work to produce the change. about the end of the thirteenth century there chanced to be discovered a method of producing yellow which obviated the necessity of cutting out a piece of glass of that tint and laboriously leading it into the picture where needed, as was still obligatory if they wanted blue or red, &c. some lucky glazier stumbled on the fact that if chloride of silver be put on a sheet of glass it would, when exposed to the fire, produce a handsome golden stain, and that only at the points to which it was applied. many stories are related to explain this discovery, but as they are all more pleasing than convincing, it seems best to credit dame fortune with this valuable assistant to the glazier. it is obvious that this facility in staining a touch of yellow just at the point desired by the artist was eagerly seized upon. he at once made use of it to decorate the robes of great personages, or to brighten the hair of women and angels, as well as to liven any bits of stonework necessary to his drawing. it made possible the development of an unimportant detail in the earlier windows into the perfected result called the "canopy window," which we shall learn to know as a most useful and satisfactory combination of decoration and serviceability. it will be remembered that from the earliest times there frequently appeared above the heads of saints certain conventional coverings meant to indicate an architectural shelter. upon the arrival of the decorated period this detail became more complete, the roof being fully depicted (although as yet in flat drawing, with no attempt at perspective) and columns added at the side to support it, thus completely enclosing the little figures in a niche. here we have the first, or decorated canopy, now complete in form although crude. it must be noticed, however, that these canopies, generally drawn to a small scale, do not attempt alone to fill the embrasures, and either are shown in bands across a ground of grisaille or occur alone surrounded by grisaille. their architectural portion is of a strong brassy yellow, that colour being provided by pot metal glass leaded in. now comes the next and final development. the discovery of yellow stain did away with the laborious need for leading in the yellow bits to simulate stonework, so the limit as to size of the canopy was removed, and at once they began to increase in dimensions. the obvious result ensued, each canopy was made to fill an entire lancet, its simulated stonework occupying as much surface as the enclosed figure, and we have the logical whole of a decorative colour panel within surrounded by a frame of lighter panes which admit the necessary amount of illumination. so satisfactory did this style of window prove that it persisted longer than almost any other type of glazing, and we must remember it is the discovery of yellow stain that we have to thank for making this result possible. during the period we are now considering, the canopy was, of course, rather crude, in fact it looked more like a sentry-box than anything else. there was as yet no pedestal beneath it, and the pinnacles at the top showed entire ignorance of perspective, as well as of drawing in relief. during the perpendicular period that followed, they did little but elaborate this canopy idea, combining and softening the colours so as to prevent jarring contrasts, and generally much improving the logical combination of a coloured central portion surrounded by light-admitting canopy framing. without the use of yellow stain all this would have been difficult, if not impossible, for without the little touches of gold livening the grey stonework these canopies would have been dull and unconvincing. nor was this the only novelty in the method of imparting colour to glass. they now began to enrich their palettes by coating one colour with another, thus getting a tint not before obtainable. for example, red on blue gave a rich purple, blue on yellow a fine green, &c. this was effected in a very simple manner. suppose the glass-blower wanted a purple--he dipped his pipe into liquid blue glass, and started to blow his bubble. when it began to take shape he dipped the small bubble into liquid red glass and then finished his blowing. this last dipping of course coated the outside of the blue bubble with red, and when it was completely blown, cut and opened out, it produced a sheet which was red on one side and blue on the other. held up to the light, the red and blue combined to produce purple. nor did the glass-blower confine himself to combinations of two colours, for the writer knows of an instance in france showing six superimposed coats. the french call this "verre doublé" (or lined glass), a very descriptive name. in passing we may say that although this manner of colouring glass first reached prominence during the decorated period, it was but an elaboration of the way the ruby or red glass had always been made, _i.e._, coated on to the colourless glass. we have said that the earlier canopies did not have pedestals below them. this lack was soon noted, and the need was felt for something to complete them below; the first expedient hit upon for this purpose was shields gay with heraldic tinctures. not only were these decorative, but we shall learn at tewkesbury and gloucester how valuable they have proved to be in enabling those learned in heraldry definitely to date windows whose histories have long since been forgotten. it must not be overlooked that the architect had much to do with the development from the mosaic to the canopy style. he decided to change from the wide single windows that one sees at salisbury, and to substitute for them groups of narrower lights separated only by slender stone mullions and all bound together at the top and tapered off by a pyramid of smaller openings called tracery lights. these latter will be particularly enjoyed by the glass-lover while studying this period, for the decorated glazier was singularly happy in his treatment of these smaller panes--much more so, in fact, than his successor of the perpendicular era, who was obliged to conform to the stiff little pill-boxes provided for him by the architect. the use of vines and leaves was of great assistance in this problem of treating small irregular openings; nor were these the only motives--at wells there is a very happy use of busts filling small trefoils. besides the canopy treatment, the english glazier of the decorated period was very fond of the tree of jesse theme, and, as is usually the case with congenial tasks, obtained most satisfactory results. he used it to great effect in his broad windows made up of several narrow lights, separated by slender mullions. the very shape of these windows invited this design, because a separate branch of the vine bearing its little personages could be run up each lancet without disturbing the coherence of the picture. the men of that time used the tree of jesse nearly as much as did their fellow craftsmen across the channel during the sixteenth century. in france the descendants of jesse almost always appear as blossoms on the vine, but their earlier english prototypes usually stand in small cartouches formed by convolutions of the vine. this brings us to yet another reason why the decorated glazier liked the tree of jesse. we have already stated that he was much given to introducing leaves, tendrils, &c., done in the natural manner, which, of course, made him entirely at home in delineating the great vine rising from the loins of the patriarch. what success he achieved with this style of window we shall judge for ourselves at ludlow, bristol, and wells. a convenient touchstone for deciding whether a window belongs to this or the next period is provided by an examination of the manner in which the artist executed his shading. it was smeared upon decorated glass, and a close inspection will reveal the streaky lines. during the perpendicular epoch the shading was stippled on with the end of a brush. to recapitulate, the distinctive features of the decorated epoch may be enumerated as follows: 1. windows of several lancets, with tracery lights above them. 2. decorative treatment of tracery lights. 3. yellow stain. 4. coated glass (several layers of different colours). 5. deep rich colouring. 6. canopies. 7. use of leaves, vines, &c., copied closely from nature. 8. tree of jesse windows. 9. shading which was smeared on. decorated tour our decorated tour will lead us far afield through the western part of the beautiful english country. at the end of the early english tour we found ourselves in the interesting walled city of york. there we shall also begin our study of the succeeding, or decorated, period. we shall next strike across to norbury, in derbyshire, then on to steep-streeted shrewsbury, and thence down through ludlow with its church and ancient castle, and stately hereford beside the wye to tewkesbury, and its ancient neighbour deerhurst. gloucester will be passed _en route_, and then west to smoky bristol, where the severn meets the bristol channel. from bristol it is only a short trip south to wells, then down to exeter, followed by a long one northeasterly to saxon dorchester, a few miles from oxford. this tour will end in that famous university town, where, in like manner to the ending of the last tour in york, we shall find ourselves able to begin the inspection of the next, or perpendicular, glass, without leaving the city. york an account of the early english glass at york will be found on p. 57. the decorated glass in the cathedral is almost entirely confined to the nave and the chapter-house (with the vestibule leading thereto). notwithstanding their early date, the nave windows are large and afford more illumination than one would expect at that time. so much wall-space is used for light apertures that of the entire height of ninety-nine feet only thirteen feet of stone intervene between the bottom of the clerestory windows and the top of the main arches. all this portion of the edifice is dominated by the great west window, given by archbishop melton in 1338, a splendid sheet (fifty-six feet by twenty-five feet) of highly coloured glass, supported by curvilinear stonework. its eight lights retain their original glazing almost intact (as does also the head of the door below). it is skilfully fitted to the elaborate pattern of the supporting stone frame. first there is a row of archbishops, then one of saints, and highest of all a line of smaller personages. the [illustration: map of decorated tour] windows in the west wall at the end of each aisle are of the same period, and also display excellent workmanship, especially the crucifixion in the northern one. it should be remarked that all the aisle embrasures but two, and all those of the clerestory but two, retain their original glazing, and if to this we add the windows in the west wall just described, it is clear that winston was right in stating that this nave contains the most perfect and extensive remains in england of the early part of the fourteenth century. his studious heraldic analysis of the first window from the east in the north aisle yields him the conclusion that it was made in 1306 or 1307. he remarks that the yellow stain there used to tint the hair of one of the personages is the earliest instance he ever found of the use of that new colour. next this on the west is a very charming window given by richard tunnoc, lord mayor of york, who died in 1330: above his effigy appears a small reproduction of this gift window. this is perhaps the finest of its type in england. it was in honour of the bell-founders' guild, and is appropriately ornamented by numerous bells in the borders as well as other parts of the design. for the rest of the decorated glass we must go to the chapter-house and the vestibule which leads thereto. it would be difficult to find a spot in which one becomes so thoroughly imbued with the feeling of decorated glazing as in this vestibule. here we have no distracting features from other periods. the tall, slender lancets that light this l-shaped hallway are completely filled with grisaille overrun with archaic figures and crude canopies, here displayed to the greatest advantage. passing through to the handsome octagonal chapter-house, we are at first disappointed to notice that the window facing us contains modern glass. although this first glance is unfortunate, one is soon consoled by observing that all the other six have excellent decorated glazing of the time of edward ii. and iii., showing four bands of late medallions in colour drawn across a grisaille background livened with occasional touches of red and blue. the grisaille here leans to grey rather than to the usual greenish hue, and moreover, the quarries are cut into irregular shapes, thus relieving the monotony of the commoner diamond-shaped panes. [illustration: _f. valentine, photo._ chapter-house, york minster note the grouping together, in each embrasure, of five narrow lights below gracefully elaborated tracery openings. later on, in the perpendicular period, these traceries lose their individuality, become stiffly regular, and part of the window below] even if the vast minster were not one of the world's greatest treasure-houses of glass, the many smaller churches of york would provide ample grounds for its being included in this book of tours. so numerous are these churches that, in several instances, there are found to be more than one dedicated to the same saint, and therefore the pilgrim will do well to note carefully the name of street or gate placed after that of the saint's to indicate which one is intended. the most interesting of these modest shrines is all saints' (or, as it is sometimes called, all hallows'), in north street. it alone is well worth a visit to york. not only is its decorated glass in excellent repair and in satisfactory quantity, but it evidences such careful attention to the little touches which make a window successful that one concludes the best artists must have been employed in its manufacture. for example, the canopies in the eastern embrasure of the north aisle have pedestals beneath them, a most unusual feature at that early date. furthermore, the scenes from the life of the virgin are depicted in a very careful manner, not only appearing in the three lancets below, but in the three major lights of the traceries above, although not there surrounded by canopies as below. older than this window, but also typically decorated, is that at the east end of the south aisle. the brassy tint is more noticeable in the canopies which run in two bands across its three lancets, and the canopies themselves are cruder in drawing than those just described, but are excellently illustrative of their period. these two windows are assisted in their service of beauty by the fact that the embrasures about them are not burdened with modern mistakes, but were glazed during the perpendicular period. reference will be made to this later glass further on (_see_ p. 188); although much more famous than its earlier neighbours, it is not a whit more satisfactory. these two sets contrive to set each other off in admirable fashion, and together they effect a delightful illumination for this interesting church. st. dennis (walmgate) has already been mentioned for its two early english panels (p. 63), but its chief interest lies in the really fine decorated remains. on entering you will not long be detained by the fragments of perpendicular canopies that are gathered into parts of the central eastern window and two other embrasures, but will pass on to the north aisle. the three most easterly windows in the north wall taken with the eastern one of that aisle provide an excellent exposition of the glazier's art during the epoch we are now considering. the eastern one has a fairly well preserved tree of jesse, filling all of its five lancets, except just along the lower sill. note the green vine and the use of many green leaves. turning to the three lights in the north wall we find the usual brassy canopies against a quarry background, surrounded by a coloured border. the traceries, too, show the most approved treatment of leaves, green vines, &c., as well as some small heads. the diminutive kneeling donors on the quarry-panes below are very interesting; note the pendent sleeves, and especially the tiny gift window held up by one of these little people. it is upon the central lancet of one of these windows that we find the two early english panels. st. martin-cum-gregory boasts of ten windows of decorated work, mostly small brassy canopies enclosing coloured figures, all placed upon a background of quarries. the best is that at the east end of the south aisle; across its three lancets is carried a row of canopies larger than then generally drawn--in fact, the space usually occupied by quarries at the upper parts of the lights is here pre-empted by the lofty pinnacles of the canopies; the quarries appear below, as usual, and upon them in the two outer lancets are the small kneeling donors. under the centre canopy is st. martin dividing his cloak with a beggar, and above in the flowing tracery lights are kneeling angels. this window is rendered especially brilliant by the generous use of red in the backgrounds. there is also some unimportant perpendicular glass in this church (_see_ p. 185). norbury tucked away within the peak of derbyshire there is a "happy valley" wherein, embowered in green woods and pleasant pastures, lie chatsworth and haddon hall, well known to and well beloved of all industrious tourists. sweeping around this valley as a protecting wall are rolling hills, whose bare summits have their sombre treeless austerity clothed by a mantle of purple heather. not very far to the south of this protecting girdle lies a little group of houses called norbury, nestled alongside a leaping stream that comes down from above. in the midst of this hamlet stands a small church which knows not the industrious tourist aforesaid, but to which we counsel the enlightened and eclectic pilgrims of our company to repair. the chancel here is a delicious morsel preserved for us out of the fourteenth century, complete, enchanting. in its midst are stationed two splendid marble tombs, one double, and both of the most exquisite workmanship. upon them are stretched the life-size effigies of the deceased, while along the sides are sculptured in high relief angels supporting shields. around the walls runs mellow wood panelling, set off by carved oak stalls of great beauty. to complete the picture the many windows which light the chancel contain some of the finest decorated pattern glass in england. nor does the quantity of it yield in any respect to the high quality. there are four three-lanceted windows on each side, while a larger one of five lights completely fills the eastern end. in those few parts of the surface which have lost their original glazing, no attempt at modern restoration has been made, but the space has been quite simply filled with white glass. across the pattern of the east window have been drawn two bands of very light-hued figures (lacking the usual canopies) and harmonising agreeably with the decorous tints of the background. labels appear above the heads. the figures in the upper row are slightly larger than those below. turning to the side windows, nothing of their type could be more attractive than the graceful grisaille patterns pricked out with points of colour and surrounded by broad borders which, in diminished scale, are carried up, into and around the tracery lights. very satisfactory use of blue is made, and that, too, in an unusually free manner. the heraldic blazons placed upon the panes add materially to the charm of the glazing, and in very decorative fashion preserve the names of the donors. although a special emphasis has been deservedly laid upon this altogether lovely chancel, the pilgrim must not leave the church without a peep into the diminutive chapel that opens off to the south. here we shall see a cross-legged crusader lying in effigy upon his place of last repose. the light that falls upon him streams through two small windows, one on the east and the other on the south, both having three lancets. these lancets each contain a saint framed in a perpendicular canopy, while below, in the center, an armorial shield separates two kneeling groups of donors. the southerly window shows the father with two sons on one side, and the mother similarly attended by her daughters on the other; while on the easterly lancets the father is accompanied by no less than eight sons and the mother by five daughters--a goodly company, and one which would have alarmed the philosopher malthus. note the steeple head-dresses of the women, pendent behind. "tell it not in gath" that this charming sanctuary lies hidden away in derbyshire, come away privately with us and enjoy its beauties undisturbed--"odi profanum vulgus et arceo." shrewsbury _"high the vanes of shrewsbury gleam islanded in severn stream; the bridges from the steepled crest cross the water east and west._ _the flag of morn in conqueror's state enters at the english gate; the vanquished eve, as night prevails, bleeds upon the road to wales."_ so sang the "shropshire lad" (a. e. housman) concerning that fair city of the welsh marches, high-perched shrewsbury. most picturesque is the fashion in which the river severn knots itself about the foot of the high peninsula upon which the town has been built, and to which access is given by the two ancient bridges, named english and welsh from the direction in which they lead. the kirkland bridge is an addition of modern times. thoroughly mediæval is the impression one receives as he approaches and enters shrewsbury. in the first place, the passage of a bridge always affords an excellent adjustment of the traveller's mental attitude; it lends a certain aloofness to the town on the other side. it seems to say, "we are letting you across the natural barrier established for us by this river; but remember, it is a privilege, and not a right!" directly we are arrived on the other side, there commences the ascent of the steep streets, and on the way up there is unfolded before us a series of old white and black half-timbered houses, which will serve to complete the mental picture of those distant days when protecting rivers and steep streets were not eschewed on the grounds of inconveniencing the city's prospective growth. safety was then vastly more important than commercial convenience. that features hampering to modern commerce were exactly suited to a border stronghold was proved by the way this town withstood shock after shock of warring tribes, or nations, or factions. in his play of _henry iv._, shakespeare tells how the prince of wales here made his sudden transformation from dissolute youth to resolute manhood by defeating and slaying harry hotspur, thus in one day quelling the mutinous combination of the scotch, the welsh under owen glendower, and the rebellious english archbishop scrope of york. quaint and ancient to the last degree is the flavour of this old city, which has owned, first and last, thirty-one charters. those interested in half-timbered dwellings will do well to come here and inspect their number, variety, and excellent state of preservation. perhaps the best are around wye cop, passed on the way up the steep streets. the remains of the ancient castle and walls add still other picturesque features to this artistically noteworthy town. an inspection of st. mary's church brings home to us the fact that as this was a fortress city, ground could not be spared to provide the usual close which so pleasantly surrounds most english churches; in fact, this modest sanctuary is so set upon by other buildings that it seems almost to shrink from public gaze. an outpost occupying a strategic position on an embattled frontier required every foot of ground within its walls, and could devote no space to artistic surroundings, even for a church. st. mary's is very rich in glass, and that, too, of varied epochs and styles. fortunately alike for that church and for us, the rev. w. g. rowlands (vicar from 1825 to 1850), was a discriminating collector of stained glass. he secured not only the great st. bernard window (of which we will speak later), but also much of the other glass that decorates the interior. we will begin our examination by inspecting the large east window, which displays a fourteenth century tree of jesse in the usual decorated manner, of which we shall see prototypes at ludlow, bristol, and wells. jesse is reclining across the bottom of three of the lancets, the convolutions of the vine arising from him forming series of oval enclosures in which appear his descendants. note the skilful use of the leads in providing the black outlines needed to draw the figure of jesse. in the row of panels below appear small figures of the donors. the fine reds and blues are hurt by the use of too much green--a common fault at that time. we must look to the nave windows (all of three lancets) for the other glazing of that period. the middle embrasure on the northerly side is beautified by the tasteful use of written scrolls, which wind about the figures and the columns of simulated architecture. scrolls are also used in the next one to the east, but there they are not so important a part of the decoration. on the southerly side of the nave the embrasures nearest to the west and to the east have single figures in canopy. that to the east displays shields below the figures, a decoration which is absent in the western one. the central window on this side dates from the sixteenth century, and is the best of that period here. it contains three subjects in each side lancet, and two in the central one. such intelligent use has been made of the leads that one concludes that the men who made the designs, and they who constructed the window, were either identical or else worked side by side. the result forms a pleasing contrast to the usual disregard during the renaissance for the decorative and useful purposes of the leads. the most interesting and pleasing of all the windows is the large one of three lancets on the north side of the choir showing fourteen scenes from the life of st. bernard, six in the central lancet, and four in each of the side ones. four more episodes from the same life are to be seen in the middle one of the south aisle. this glass, originally in the german abbey of altenberg, and then for many years in the vaults of st. severin at cologne, was finally brought to london, where it was secured for st. mary's by the rev. mr. rowlands. the designs are attributed to albrecht dürer, but this is a common claim for german glass of that time. the perspective throughout is good, and the colouring very satisfactory. an unusual charm is added to the little figures by the use of latin labels issuing from their mouths. there are also inscriptions below most of them, but these are frequently mutilated and misplaced. if proof were needed that this glass was not specially constructed for its present location, it is provided by the fact that the scenes do not follow in their proper order. a field-glass can be had on application to the clerk, and the use of it reveals many interesting and amusing details. the second window on the east in the chapel, south of the choir, has in its tracery-lights written music carried by angels. the pilgrim will later observe a great deal of this in the beauchamp chapel at warwick. although rare in england, it is rarer still in france. a fine sixteenth-century crucifixion scene, covering three lancets, decorates the north window just off the north transept. in the modest-sized east window of this transept are twelve small sixteenth-century enamel panels placed on white, a demonstration of yet another style of that later period. the rest of the glazing in st. mary's is either modern or so completely repaired with new glass as to have lost all its ancient feeling. an inspection of this church would not be complete without observing the fine wooden ceilings of both the nave and the choir. devotees of the ingoldsby legends will remember that when the great dog in the castle of "bloudie jacke of shrewsberrie" was about to seize upon mary anne, she vicariously appeased him with: "a shrewsbury cake, of pallin's own make, which she happened to take ere her run she begun, she'd been used to a luncheon at one." mindful of this dainty's historic existence, the traveller will doubtless regale himself therewith, that product of the town being as excellent and famous to-day as ever it was of yore. from shrewsbury our route lies southward over that centuries-old battle-ground, the welsh marches. we shall find not only much architectural beauty and fine glass, but also many inspiring memories of the border warfare whose bitterness lasted so many centuries. ludlow perched high in a strong position at a bend in the river teme rises the noble ruin of what was once the castle of ludlow, visible from quite a distance, no matter from which direction one approaches it along the winding shropshire lanes. it still retains enough of its ancient walls and towers to demonstrate what valiant service it must have rendered in keeping the turbulent welsh back on their own side of the border. nor is the note of war the only one that echoes from the early history of this castle, for in its great hall was enacted for the first time milton's "comus." after a brief visit to the castle let us wend our way to st. lawrence's church in the town, for which an effective and judicious restoration has revived much of its original charm. a diverting legend relates that the arrow at the top of the north transept gable was shot hither by robin hood from the old field two miles away. although many of the parishioners devoutly believe this to be true, it strikes the modern traveller that the great outlaw must on that occasion have drawn a very "long bow"! the ancient appearance of the fine hexagonal porch with the room above it makes a most inviting entrance. we shall find our glass in unusual parts of the church, nor is this the only unique feature of the edifice. the lady chapel is not at the east, but at the south side of the chancel; in it is an interesting tree of jesse in the approved decorated method, very like the one we have just seen at shrewsbury. unfortunately, the restorer has here been too thorough, but, nevertheless, the pattern has been preserved, and also many of the figures, for example, those just above the head and feet of jesse. he lies recumbent along the bottom of three of the five lancets which compose the window, while above, in compartments formed by the convolutions of the vine, are his descendants. in accordance with the common practice, too much green was used. although the chancel does not as usual afford the greatest attraction in the way of glazing, we must observe an interesting fifteenth century window in the middle of the southerly wall. its five lancets each contain three tiers of figures in canopy, the details of which are much elaborated, especially in the pedestals. notice also the jewelled borders to the robes. the red and blue glass is free from obscuring paint. although our principal object was the decorated glass, this church would repay a visit because of the perpendicular glazing of the chapel of st. john which lies north of the chancel, from which it is shut off by a beautiful fifteenth century screen. the two most easterly windows in the north wall are much lower in tone than either the very golden annunciation which adjoins them on the west, or the red, white and blue legend of edward the confessor and the palmers, which is round the corner in the east wall. this latter dates from about 1430 and has two tiers of canopies across its four lancets. there is here illustrated an absurd contradiction into which this originally graceful style was developed;--within one of its elaborately pinnacled shrines we find a ship! and under another a rural scene with trees! most out-of-place substitutes for the customary and appropriate saint. let us return to the two low-toned windows in the north wall, of which we have just spoken. the writer does not remember ever having seen any similar to them. each embrasure has three lancets subdivided horizontally at the middle, making six spaces. the two windows thus afford twelve panels, which are used to display the twelve apostles. local tradition says that there is here represented the council at which the apostolic creed was composed. each holy man sits on a bench behind a rail, but as they are drawn to a modest scale and occupy each the centre of his panel, they are thereby so far removed one from the other as to destroy utterly any appearance of a council. there is a great deal of soft-hued architecture throughout, but it is used as background and not as a frame, thus differing radically from typical canopies. a more satisfactory result would have been attained if they had adhered closely to contemporary tradition, for here the figures, low-hued as they are, start out too abruptly from the over-spacious architectural background. the general effect is not that of a series of gracefully framed apostolic portraits, but of lonely figures seated in empty halls. if for no other reason than that they have provoked this criticism, these windows should be carefully remarked, because they demonstrate how sound was the theory of employing the architectural canopy as a light-admitting frame for the coloured central figure. the east window of the south transept contains fragments of fourteenth and fifteenth century glass from other parts of the church. the wooden ceilings are well worthy of inspection. hereford a very charming feature of english country life is the pleasure one can derive from boating on the small rivers. our american watercourses are generally too wide or too turbulent to become such a domestic pet as we all know the river thames to be. to one who has not seen boulter's lock on a bright sunday, or who has never witnessed a henley regatta, that most brilliant of all athletic spectacles, it would be difficult to explain how thoroughly the englishman enjoys and how constantly he uses the opportunity which father thames affords for a short outing. nor is the thames the only stream thus available. small watercourses of the same sort are to be found all over the country, and afford delightful trips for those who are willing to travel in so leisurely a fashion. the writer remembers with the keenest pleasure certain canoe trips, one of three days from bedford to ely on the ouse, another on the stour, from sudbury to manningtree, lasting two days, and a third of similar duration from petworth down the rother into the arun at pullborough and thence to arundel. all the preparation necessary is to buy your canoe a third-class ticket, put it into the luggage van at the railway station, and set out for the point at which you wish to begin. jerome k. jerome has immortalised a similar trip taken down the thames from oxford to london. one of the most charming of all english river journeys is that down the wye. if one wishes to take a long trip, the start can be made at hay, thirty-four miles above hereford, or perhaps better at whitney, twenty-eight miles above. the next stretch is from hereford to ross, twenty-seven miles, and, if desired, this can be lengthened by continuing on down to monmouth, tintern and chepstow. the charming bits of scenery that unfold themselves as this little river lazily winds down the welsh marches are most varied and delightful. it must, however, be admitted that it is only the middle section of this agreeable trip that properly concerns one engaged in glass-hunting. we should, therefore, content ourselves with the stretch from hereford to ross, twenty-seven miles, if, indeed, we have the time to devote to this slow method of travelling. over by the river end of the peaceful town of hereford is the lovely green close which lies about the sturdy reddish brown cathedral. few churches, even those of great size, give such a square and solid impression as results here from the combination of the ruddy tones of the building material and the early type of its architecture. the defacing effects of an earlier restoration are being rectified by the erection of a new west front, now almost completed. the massive norman columns that support the nave within, carry out in their grand simplicity the sturdy promise of the exterior. every division of the church seems spacious, the ample transepts, wide choir aisles, and large lady chapel, completing the effect begun by the nave and choir. indeed, so commodious is the lady chapel, that it is used as a parish church. the cathedral has a number of interesting possessions, chief among which is the large mappa mundi made in 1300, and showing the world as then known. it hangs in the south choir aisle. the world is represented as round like a plate, and in addition to the cities and countries marked thereon, there also appear the fabulous animals which were then a part of orthodox geography. it was about this time that there was written the adventures of that famous traveller, sir john de maundeville, whose voyages were only exceeded in extent by his imagination. his reports of fabulous beasts, &c., are in excellent accord with the pictures on this map. the ancient glass here is somewhat limited, and is all of the decorated period. on the south side of the lady chapel we shall remark two windows, chiefly glazed in greenish grisaille, but each bearing four coloured decorations placed one above the other. in one case these prove to be geometrical designs outlined in colour, while in the other they are small coloured groups, the topmost scene showing christ, on a red background, pointing upward. glass even more typically decorated is to be seen in the eastern wall of the north-east transept, and again in the most easterly embrasure of the south choir ambulatory. these windows each contain four lancets surmounted by tracery lights, and in each lancet is a coloured figure framed in an unusually lofty canopy--in fact the latter is three times as high as the figure it encloses. note the brassy tone of the early golden stain used in the architecture. modern grisaille has replaced its ancient prototype, which, in accordance with the conventions, surrounded these early canopies to increase the light-admitting power of the embrasures. this glass was formerly in st. peter's church, but about sixty years ago that church disposed of it for £5 to a purchaser who presented it to the cathedral. limited though it be in amount, it will repay a careful examination. tewkesbury as one wanders through the streets of quiet tewkesbury, the half-timbered houses on every side lend it an old world flavour that most suitably prepares us for the sturdy abbey, the dignity of whose recessed west front is all in harmony with the mediæval gravity so characteristic of the place. it is as if that eloquently silent edifice had never been able to shake off the sombre memories of the sanguinary scenes enacted within it may 4, 1471, when, after the defeat of the lancastrians under the duke of somerset by edward iv. in the "bloody meadow" just outside the town, the slaughter of the wearers of the red rose was not only carried on through the streets of tewkesbury, but even into the abbey itself. an echo of this butchery is heard in shakespeare's _richard iii._, when the ghost of the murdered prince edward (son of henry vi.) appears to king richard the night before the fatal battle of bosworth and cries out: "let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! think, how thou stabb'st me in the prime of youth at tewkesbury." with what reproach must not that splendid row of fourteenth century knights, victors over the french at crécy, have looked down from the windows of the choir clerestory upon this bloody violation of the rights of sanctuary by those fifteenth century butchers of the house of york. indeed, these effigies of the earlier warriors were fortunate to have escaped those later desperate struggles. the ravages of war do not seem to have dealt so harshly with stained glass in this country as elsewhere. a learned french contemporary of these tragic events, philippe de comines, remarked this fact, and spoke of england as a land where "there are no buildings destroyed or demolished by war, and where the mischief falls on those who make the wars." although tewkesbury's fame in history rests largely upon its having been the theatre of this wild closing scene of the war of the roses, it is not because of any fifteenth century happening that we are moved to come here, but by reason of the seven large windows of the preceding, or decorated, period which fill the choir clerestory. this is one of the few instances where we shall remark the absence of the square eastern end so usual in england. it is here omitted in favour of the rounded apse then prevalent in france. advantage has been taken of this unusual shape to throw out a series of chapels around the chancel, which add greatly to the beauty of the decorated choir, and contrast sharply with the sturdy norman nave. the seven large embrasures that light the choir clerestory each contain a group of lancets, five in every case, except in the most westerly pair, where there are but four. although the design is the same throughout (a large figure in colour surrounded by a canopy frame), these frames are differently occupied, those in the westerly pair containing armoured knights, while in all the others are saints. the depth of their colour scheme is due partly to the great quantity of rich greens and reds used, and partly to the opacity of the panes depicting the canopies. the figures generally occupy about one half the window height, the rest being given over to the canopy. below the feet of the knights are their shields, which serve to provide the artistic balance later obtained from pedestals. the same conventional attitude has been assumed for all these warriors; each stands with his feet well apart, his left hand on the sword by his side, the right hand on the hip, holding up a sceptre. the pinnacles of almost all the canopies are outlined against red backgrounds. note the little rose windows introduced in the upper part of the canopies. the most easterly window provides a variation in that the enshrined saints are higher up on the panes, thus making room below them for small groups consisting mostly of naked figures, with flesh tints glazed in brown. the right-hand lancet shows six kneeling figures praying, doubtless the donors. the borders are carried up and around all the tracery lights, which are very decorated in form and do not yet show any hint of the stiffer perpendicular treatment to follow. perhaps here more effectively than anywhere in england shall we feel the warm colour-value of decorated glass, with as yet no tendency toward the paler tints that are to come with the perpendicular style. a similar warmth of tone is to be remarked in the east windows of bristol and wells cathedrals, and the writer is moved to conjecture that the same glazier had to do with all these three. this conjecture is not only based on the still undiminished strength of colour throughout them all, but also on the marked similarity in the drawing and tinting of a certain white vine decoration upon a red ground, to be remarked in the upper tracery lights of all three, and also in the traceries of certain transept windows at gloucester. whoever this workman was, we feel his results so satisfactory to-day that it would be small wonder if contemporary appreciation caused his employment in these different towns. [illustration: choir, tewkesbury abbey a rare example of rounded apse, generally replaced in england by a square ended chancel. chief charm of these windows is their rich colouring] deerhurst possibly some of our travellers are proceeding in so leisurely a fashion that they may decide to sojourn a day or two in tewkesbury. to them we address the suggestion that they visit the adjoining town of deerhurst and see its venerable church. it is but a two-mile walk across the fields, or a pleasant trip by boat on the severn. it may, however, by means of a small _détour_, be visited on the way to gloucester. although it can boast of but little decorated glass, that little is lodged in an edifice of great interest, because it is the earliest dated one in england. the obviously saxon architecture, with its "herring-bone" and "long and short" work, the window-tops composed of two slanting stones, or else of arches cut from one piece--these unmistakable signs would have told us that it antedated the normans, but of such buildings there are many in this country. here, however, we have an exact date given us, and, furthermore, the earliest known in all the land. a stone found here (now preserved at oxford) relates that this chapel was dedicated in 1056, and that earl odda caused it to be erected "in honour of the holy trinity and for the good of the soul of his brother, elfric, which at this place quitted the body." it goes on further to say that "bishop ealdred dedicated it on 12th april in the 14th year of edward king of the english." two other early saxon edifices of even more modest dimensions lie close at hand. the ancient glass is contained in the four small lancets of the west wall on the right as one enters, and is obviously of the decorated period. the most attractive bit is the small panel showing st. catherine framed in a canopy, holding her wheel in one hand, and revolving it with the other. the background is red within the canopy, but green outside, a very frequent adjustment at that time. in both the upper and lower parts of these lancets are groups of three and four kneeling donors, about eight inches high, with labels above them. this glass has not always remained in its original embrasures, but, fortunately, did not stray far. its travels were cut short by a gentleman who purchased it for £5 from an antiquary's shop in a neighbouring town, and restored it to its early home. more important and more beautiful sanctuaries will be encountered in our travels, but it is well to have halted for even a brief time at this ancient saxon fane, if only to ponder upon how tenacious must have been the traits of those early ancestors of ours, to have persisted to these modern days with such vigour as to have made the adjective "anglo-saxon" so significant. bristol bristol is connected with london by the old bath road. what memories that name arouses of beaux and belles of stage-coach days, gaily chatting to while away the fifteen-hour trip from london to bath, or furtively glancing out to see if bold dick turpin, or some gentleman of his profession, be not lurking in the shadows of the trees, intent on relieving the tired horses by lightening the passengers' luggage. this stage-coach period is of peculiar interest to visitors from across the seas, because it takes one back to old colony days, and the war of the revolution. in england the improved facilities of travel provided by the stage coach had much to do with advancing parliamentary government and doing away with the system of "rotten borough" representation in parliament. bustling and hearty days were those of the four georges, which produced a prime minister like william pitt. in this progressive era of railroad construction and stock manipulation, it is interesting to read how richard palmer besought the government to establish a regular mail-coach service on the bath road, alleging the great profits they could thereby secure, but really hoping in this way to increase the profits of his theatre in bath. after a long struggle he finally got the ear of william pitt. the service was established, and his subsidy (which was to be regulated by the amount saved in carrying the mails) proved so large that they cut it down to the lump sum of £50,000! the first coach started on august 8, 1784. nowadays it causes us to smile when we read of the tremendous effect produced throughout the country by the news that this coach left london at eight o'clock in the morning and arrived at bristol at eleven the same evening! such unheard-of speed aroused wide interest, and had much to do with the great success of bath as a fashionable watering-place. bowling along this historic road we shall only stop long enough at bath to see the remains of the baths built by the romans, and the famous pump room, the scene of the triumphs of beau nash, and many another. we may also take a peep into the small, but fine, church whose great window surface has earned for it the title of the "lantern of the west." it will not detain us long because its glass is all modern, except in the second embrasure from the west in the north aisle, where seven shields surmounted by elaborately plumed helmets are agreeably disposed across the five lancets. on we go out of bath and along the narrow valley of the avon, twelve miles further to smoky bristol, squatted like a puffing dutch burgher at the point where the severn empties into the bristol channel. although the great shipping industry that gave the town its early importance has of late years diminished, it still retains enough to be an active port of trade. to some fanciful folk the pall of smoke that hangs over the town may seem a gloomy retribution for the fact that from the days of the saxon and the norman down to the abolition of slavery, bristol was the greatest port in england for that nefarious traffic. changing to a brighter subject, this was the harbour from which john cabot, the anglicised venetian, and his son sebastian (who was born here), sailed upon their voyages of discovery across the little-known atlantic. the mayor's chapel contains some very interesting sixteenth century glass, but as it was bought abroad and fetched here, it has not, for us, the interest which we shall feel in the home-made decorated windows of the cathedral. bristol cathedral lacks the pleasing setting of foliage and green lawns which one finds about almost every english church. indeed, in this respect, it is more like the famous french ones, which nearly all rely upon architectural charm for their effectiveness. inside, the chief matters of interest are the great tree of jesse which fills the east window, and the two large lights on each side of the chancel. these side windows are glazed in grisaille upon which are figures framed in canopy, two tiers, one above the other. the most westerly embrasure of the southerly pair has in its upper row three canopies which, taken together, show the martyrdom of st. edmund. he is within the central canopy, while those on each side contain archers drawing their bows to shoot at him. the bent knees, the awkward pose of the heads, &c., show the drawing to be most primitive. the tracery lights are glazed in red, with white winding vines, and are remarkably like the traceries at tewkesbury. the berkeleys, who gave this glass, were related to the de clares of tewkesbury, so it is more than likely that they employed the same glazier. the great east window is in a very good state owing to its restoration in 1847 and is a graceful work of the decorated period. the erudite winston concludes that as it does not bear the arms of piers gaveston (murdered in 1312), and does show those of humphrey de bohun, earl of hereford (slain in open rebellion against his sovereign in 1322), the date of the window is probably about 1320, which furthermore is borne out by internal evidence. this great window rises above and behind the altar and has its nine lancets subdivided into three groups of three each by two mullions which, as was usual at that time, curve away from each other when nearing the upper part of the embrasure. although the subject is a tree of jesse, the patriarch himself does not appear. the various branches of the vine rise perpendicularly from the lower sill and are then gracefully intertwined. the treatment of the personages is the same throughout, each being enclosed by a loop of the vine. the 1847 restoration was so well done that except for an occasional harsh note of colour in the robes, it conceals its modern substitutions quite successfully. the lancets each contain two figures, one above the other. it is fair to comment that the encircling vine is rather too light to harmonise well with the figures in the background. after descending the hill, crowned by the cathedral, we cross over into the other part of the town to see the fine church of st. mary redcliffe, where, although there is but little glass, that little is arranged in a unique manner. each of the three easterly windows of the south transept consists of three lancets. for each window there is provided a border consisting of a series of fifteen small four-pointed openings fitted over it in the shape of an inverted u. the glazing of these stars reminds one of the ordinary decorated treatment of tracery lights. within a narrow border is a red field upon the centre of which appears a coloured boss from which radiate four leaves. the general effect is a yellowish green. these windows date from about 1360. on the way out let us stop in the north-west corner of the nave and notice in the north wall a window filled with a collection of about eighty-five roundels and heads, all helter-skelter, eked out with fragments from other embrasures. the effect, though motley, is interesting. a window in the westerly wall of this corner also contains _débris_, but here it is of figures and canopies. this church, called by queen elizabeth "the fairest, the goodliest, and the most famous parish church in england," is chiefly known for having been the literary browsing-ground of that infant prodigy thomas chatterton, who announced that it was an old chest in its muniment-room that yielded what he alleged to be transcriptions from certain ancient rowley manuscripts. so well were these forgeries contrived that it took horace walpole, himself the constructor of an imitation gothic romance ("the castle of otranto"), to discover the fraud. although but seventeen years old when he committed suicide in 1770, chatterton had already published a number of writings. no good american should depart without a glance at the monument and armour of admiral penn, father of our william penn. it will be no small relief to emerge from the smoky pall which hangs over this enterprising city and escape again into the clearer atmosphere of the charming english country. wells off in somerset, snugly tucked away at the foot of the mendip hills, lies one of the most charming cathedrals to be seen anywhere, and, in the opinion of fergusson, certainly the most beautiful in england. the fact that it has grouped about it more perfect ecclesiastical buildings than any other church of its size, and also that the town which grew up around is very interesting, combine to make wells a peculiarly delightful place. the distant prospects of it are very attractive, whether you stand upon moulton hill and look toward its western façade, or view the eastern end with the group of adjoining buildings from the top of thor hill. even when you have come down into the quiet town and the cathedral is near at hand, the approach to it continues to be most picturesque, first through a battlemented gateway in one corner of the market square, and then across a lovely lawn shaded by fine trees. the ample proportions of the rugged west front are saved from the appearance of excessive breadth because of the perpendicular lines lent by the buttresses built against it. a most attractive feature of this great façade is the unusual collection of carved figures beneath canopies with which, at the close of the thirteenth century, it was lavishly adorned. there are over six hundred in all, carved of stone from a local quarry, and originally gilded and coloured. nearly all are of life-size, and represent not only biblical characters, but also kings and queens of the saxon, norman, and plantagenet dynasties. within the building the scene is one of exceptional splendour and beauty. even what elsewhere might prove ugly is here turned to artistic account, as, for example, when the stability of the great central tower demanded a strengthening arch across the nave at that point, it was rendered a decorative feature by placing above it another arch inverted so that the lines should sweep upward as well as downward. an odd and unusual position was selected for the chapter-house--above and to the north of the chancel--and nothing could be more delightful than the way in which the old stone stairway bends gently up to it. east of the chancel is a fine roomy lady chapel. the entrance to this chapel is provided by the removal of the lower third of the east wall of the chancel, the middle third being stone wall with empty niches, and the upper third a great arched window of seven lancets containing a tree of jesse in the decorated manner, above which, in the traceries, is shown the judgment day. this is known as the "golden window," and canon church calls it "one of the most remarkable in england for simplicity and harmony and richness of colouring, for the force of character in the faces, and the stately figures in flowing mantles of green and ruby and gold, like arab chiefs; figures such as some artists in the last crusading host under edward might have seen and designed, and so different from the conventional portraiture of bible characters." although this window is less lofty than the similar one at bristol, it does not seem so incomplete and cut off, because we have here the recumbent figure of jesse across the bottom of the five central lancets, a feature lacking at bristol. another point of difference is that the convolutions of the vine do not here enclose the seventeen figures of the descendants, but instead they stand under canopies, of which, however, only the topmost ones have pinnacles. the broad borders have the same design throughout, viz., gold crowns alternated with colour, which changes from red to blue in each successive lancet. the backgrounds within the canopies also alternate red and blue, always contrasting with the colour outside. almost all the small personages are draped in either green or yellow, and four have undergarments of red. though their colouring is splendid, the figures are rather too crowded. the two most easterly lights on each side of the chancel are contemporary with the east window--they are each of three lancets and contain single figures, occupying about half the height of the embrasure, and have no pedestals below them. so similar is the treatment here to that at bristol that it seems safe to assign the same date to both (1320). the tracery lights around the choir ambulatory still retain their decorated glazing. to the right and left just before we enter the lady chapel are single windows containing fragments of ancient glass. the lady chapel itself is finely illuminated by five large windows of five lancets each containing figure and canopy work. one should remark the unique pedestals consisting of golden lions or bears surmounted by the characteristic ball-flower ornament. very interesting, also, are the tracery lights, which consist of pyramids of small trefoil openings, four at the base, then three, then two, then one. they are reminiscent of the tracery lights of the lichfield lady chapel, but here the glazier has been more adroit in the use of his opportunities. instead of putting a head alone in each opening, he has availed himself of the broader space at the bottom to put in the shoulders as well. these little busts adjust themselves admirably to the trefoils. although the glass which once filled the octagonal chapter-house is all gone save that up in the traceries, those remnants are of interest because the disposal of the designs against the red backgrounds is reminiscent of the work at tewkesbury and gloucester. the great west window of the nave has seventeenth and eighteenth century glass at the sides, and in the centre a fine sixteenth century french panel showing the beheading of st. john. this bears the date 1507 and a gascon inscription, and was bought by bishop creyghton during the time that he was sharing the exile of charles ii. on the continent. this provokes the comment that not only is there a small amount of sixteenth century glass in england, but curiously enough much of it proves upon inspection to have been made across the channel. before leaving this noble interior one should notice a feature of quaint interest. in the south choir aisle stands the monument to bishop bytton (1524), long renowned for his cures of toothache. after his canonisation this tomb was resorted to by pilgrims seeking relief from that malady, and so famous were the cures that we find carved upon the capitals of piers on the west side of the south transept, and again in the north transept, little men whose sufferings from toothache are reproduced in the most detailed and dramatic manner. [illustration: "golden window," wells cathedral notice graceful setting, permitting a glimpse through into the lady chapel beyond. the large tree of jesse rising from the loins of the patriarch is portrayed in colours of almost barbaric richness] no matter by which road we leave wells, one should look back more than once to enjoy the charming views of the cathedral and its close. exeter in travelling about england one is struck by how greatly the colour of the building-stone varies. one sees greenish grey around tavistock in west devon; golden brown in the country just north of oxford; silver-grey in many parts of yorkshire, &c. &c. one might continue to enumerate instances, but in the end the most marked of all would surely be the red seen about exeter. not only are many of the edifices built of this ruddy stone, but the earth in any ploughed field thereabouts shows the same unusual colouring. the normans must have been struck by this fact, for they called the hill on which they built their castle "rougemont." in view of this marked peculiarity of the exe valley, it is noteworthy that the exterior of the rugged cathedral, with its mighty transeptal towers, is blackish grey. within, it shows the reddish hue which one would expect hereabouts, but outside is similar in tone to westminster abbey. if one be so whimsically-minded as to group cathedrals by colour, one must class exeter with peterborough as black, while lincoln will be golden brown, york and canterbury soft grey, &c. &c. very fine as well as decorative glass is to be seen in this cathedral. it fills the east window, and another near it in the north choir clerestory, as well as a large window in each of the chapels that close the easterly end of the choir aisles. these charming little chapels are each reached by an entrance from the choir ambulatory, and are only separated from the lady chapel between them by a light screen. the east window of the northerly chapel has five lancets, although the glass was seemingly made for one of six, the number which still exists in that of the southerly chapel. the treatment in both is the same, a handsome and well-balanced combination of quarry-panes relieved by gaily-tinted heraldic shields, and all surrounded by coloured borders. in the northerly chapel there has been introduced into the central lancet a decorated panel, showing a kneeling chantry priest within a canopy praying for the donor. this appears to have been removed hither from the chapter-house, where there still remain a couple of similar panels. the two windows just described are excellent examples of one of the glazing methods of the epoch, while of still another style (the figure in canopy), equally good ones are above in the choir clerestory, the fourth from the east on the north side showing in each of its four lancets a figure under a canopy with a shield of arms at the feet. it is practically complete, except that the shields have lost their heraldic bearings. [illustration: east window, exeter cathedral perpendicular stone frame glazed chiefly with very typically decorated figure-and-canopy glass preserved from the earlier and smaller window. below and beyond appears the lady chapel] the archives tell of a large purchase of glass in rouen in 1301 and again in 1317 for use in this cathedral. much of these purchases is still to be seen in the large east window. here we are struck by a strange anomaly of obviously decorated glass in purely perpendicular masonry. nothing could be more distinctive of the later period than the perpendicular mullions surmounted by stiffly upright tracery lights, and yet the glazing could not be mistaken for anything but decorated. evidently old wine has been put into new bottles. although a great deal of restoration is noticeable in this window, the strongly brassy tone of the canopies in the three outer lancets on each side clearly indicate that they antedate the discovery of yellow stain. an explanation of this anachronistic clash between the glazing and its framing stonework appears upon the rolls of the chapter. april 21, 1389, one henry de blakeborn, then canon, moved by the fine appearance of the newly constructed west window, offered 100 marks towards properly enlarging the eastern one. this offer was accepted and the work at once put in hand. the glazing of the earlier east window was saved to put into the new and larger embrasure. as yellow stain was not known at the time of glazing the first east window, it is absent from the early glass, although it is plentifully used in the heads, &c., of the additions made necessary in 1389 by the increased size of the window. one must not quarrel with the judicious restoration which has preserved so charming an _ensemble_. but this indulgent mood will be abruptly dismissed when one examines the lights along the north side walls of the choir aisles, for here the colour in the patterns upon the white panes proves to be decorated glass cut up into bits for this purpose by some modern glazier! any further comment upon his taste is unnecessary. it is one of the instances which causes one to query if it be always wise to impose a punishment for murder! dorchester before setting out upon our journeys we stated that although the viewing of stained glass was our main purpose, we intended to be broad-minded and enjoy whatever other interesting sights might be encountered. when we approach the little hamlet that "dorchester ys ycluped, that bysyde oxenford ys" those of our company learned in archæology will doubtless point out the dykes, those two great parallel earthworks twenty feet high, separated by a dry fosse twenty yards wide, which run for a distance of 900 yards round the south side of the town, from the banks of the thames to those of the little thame. our archæological friend will not need to point out how strong a defence was provided for the ancient briton by these walls and the two rivers, but he will doubtless earnestly set forth many arguments for and against the theory that this fortification was an outpost of the entrenched camp on sinodun hill near by. the writer well remembers how strongly these dykes impressed him when he first saw them years ago. in company with two friends he was rowing down from oxford to london, and having arrived at dorchester after sunset, stopped there to spend the night. early in the morning, on our way down to the boat, we came upon these earthworks overgrown with yellow wheat and red poppies sparkling with dew. instantly one forgot the dull modern village, and went back in fancy to the days when these great lines of earth were thrown up to protect the early owners of this land, later to be so often harried by conqueror after conqueror. the greatest glory of dorchester came much later, in fact even after the centuries of roman occupation had come to an end and the last legions had left england for ever. it was under the rule of the west saxons that dorchester became the seat of a bishop whose see was so important that it included all those now known under the names of winchester, salisbury, exeter, bath, wells, lichfield, hereford and several others. the exact date of the present long stone church is not known, but it is generally believed to be about 1150. the interior will provide but little of interest that one does not often see in many another old english church, but a glance toward the eastern end reveals that some architect of the decorated period there added a veritable bower of light. one must search far and wide to find so pleasing a combination of excellent glass, disposed in such light and noteworthy stone traceries. the walls which enclose this chancel on the north, east and south are nearly of equal length, but the architect's treatment of each is quite different. that to the east seems almost entirely of glass, so greatly has the builder subordinated his stone structure to the glazing. in fact, so much is given over to the glazier as to necessitate the erection of a stout buttress which runs up the centre, and without the assistance of which the slender mullions would be unable to support so great a weight of glass. this buttress stops about three-fourths of the way up the window, the explanation of which is that the original roof was lowered to this point, and it was not until 1846 that it was again elevated to its original height, making necessary the modern glass in this restored portion. very graceful is the adjustment of the cartouches into which the stone mullions divide the entire surface, and also the way in which they tend to become pointed in the upper part of the embrasure. within each one we find evidence of the beginnings of the canopy style which was destined soon to emerge from the cramped methods of the glazier here visible. upon the four lancets of the northern window appear large figures displaying much more freedom of drawing. our first criticism tends to be that they would be more attractive if they had some background or framing and were not stationed alone upon white panes. the reason for this appears from a close inspection of the supporting mullions. along each of these are little carved figures. the writer believes this window to be unique in the respect that the carvings on the stone and the figures on the panes combine to form a tree of jesse. jesse, as usual, is reclining below; the stone mullions are used to represent the branches of the vine, and at their intersections are disposed the descendants, much as we have often seen them depicted on glass. they hold scrolls on which probably their names were once painted. the figures on the glass (some of them still labelled) supplement those in the carvings. carved figures are also freely introduced at the intersections of the stone mouldings of the east window, but here they represent new testament episodes, such as the cutting off of malchus's ear, the rousing of the sleeping guards, &c. so, too, along the transom that runs across the southern window are carved figures representing a religious procession. above are coats of arms distributed upon the panes. below is a handsome gothic stone seat or sedilia which has for us a great interest in that four little star-shaped lights are let into the back of it, containing late twelfth century medallions. these earliest remains were doubtless preserved from the edifice which preceded the present one. one of them shows a scene in which appears st. birinus, who converted the great kingdom of wessex and was the first bishop of dorchester (635-49). this little chancel, with its delightful glass gracefully supported by the quaintly carved stone traceries, will remain in one's memory as one of the loveliest nooks in england for the glass-lover. oxford probably there is no city in all england where the average american tourist feels more at home than at oxford. all of us have read a great deal about this city of colleges, and most american boys have perused "tom brown at oxford" more than once. besides, we all feel an interest in colleges and college men. while many realise the charms of this ancient city of learning, some of us know them in great detail; we have wandered in the lovely gardens of magdalen, of new and of worcester; we have heard the shouting of the multitudes along the banks of the isis when one eight has succeeded in bumping another just ahead; we have canoed up the silent tree-shaded windings of the cherwell--in a word, we are familiars of the place. apart from its life as a university, as a city of students, its chief association in history may be said to be that it was a refuge and stronghold of the ill-fated charles i., after his defeat at edgehill. it was admirably suited for this purpose, because rendered well-nigh impregnable by the encircling streams of the isis and the cherwell, the surrounding morass of flooded fens, and, last of all, its stout city walls. right loyally did both townspeople and students rally to the support of the unfortunate monarch. the colleges even melted down their plate to eke out his military chest. of all the towns of england it can, therefore, best lay claim to having been the most loyal to the fortunes of charles stuart at a time when loyalty meant most. but it is not for reminders of that dreadful civil strife, terminated by bloody tragedy, that we are coming to the ancient town built on the river near the "ford of the oxen," no, our researches lie a couple of centuries earlier than those bitter days. first of all we shall enter merton college to see its windows of the first part of the decorated period. then we will repair to new college to view its glass so instructive of the transition from decorated to perpendicular. lastly, all souls' chapel must be inspected for its examples of the perpendicular style. in many another college can be seen later glazing, but none so good or so important as those just cited. the presence here of such fine examples of the two best periods of english glass makes easy an instructive comparison of their methods and results. furthermore, it justifies the selection of oxford as the last stage of our second tour, because we have only to step from one college into another to begin our third tour. not only do the most ancient traditions of all oxford linger about merton, but it looks the part--it conveys the impression of its extreme age to any one who enters its gates. mob quad is the oldest quadrangle in the whole university. bishop walter de merton, chancellor of henry iii., devised the idea of segregating the students into colleges, so as to govern them better, and to render more difficult, if not impossible, the general lawlessness and bloody frays between nationalities that used to be so frequent. a visit to the chapel will not only show us glass of the early part of the decorated period, but in such quantity and so well placed as to give one the best possible impression of it. the large east window is filled with modern glazing, only the upper half of the traceries above retaining the original red and blue diaper work. in addition to this great embrasure, the choir is lighted by seven ample three-lanceted windows on each side. these are filled with grisaille bordered in colour, while across them, about two-thirds of the way up from the bottom, is drawn a band of strongly hued canopied figures. because of their early manufacture we are not surprised to find the canopies very crude, lacking pedestals, &c. the enclosed backgrounds are generally blue, although a few toward the east are red. in the central lancet of each embrasure the canopy usually contains an upright figure, while in the side lancets they are almost all kneeling. each personage has a written label which either winds gracefully over his head and down behind his back, or runs along beneath him. the borders are not carried up into the traceries; their design is sometimes a vine, sometimes yellow castles, or fleur-de-lis of white or green. in addition to the band of canopies, the duller grisaille is further enlivened by three coloured bosses in each lancet, mostly containing heads. the western end of the choir opens into the antechapel, which lacks its ancient glazing except for the fragments gathered together into the central western embrasure, whose original tracery glass, however, remains intact. before leaving merton mount the stairs to the quaint l-shaped library and inspect its attractive remains of renaissance glass. along the lower side of the east wall of the north wing are seven narrow lancets filled with dainty grisaille quarries, bordered in faint colour and bearing a brightly toned boss. of more importance to us, however, is the pleasing bay window at the east end of the south wing. here we find quarries of soft grey, each containing a monogram in yellow stain. in the midst of these quarry panes are placed little scenes, circular in form and decorated with enamel paint in grey and stain, each bearing a german inscription. the central embrasure contains six of these, three above and three below, and the two side bays have two each, one above the other. they bear the date 1598. an account of the perpendicular glass at oxford will be found at p. 142. perpendicular little proof is needed of how greatly the glazier depended upon the architect, or of how necessary and proper it was that his glazing should harmonise with the prevailing architectural style. the period we are about to study affords a striking example of this subserviency of the window to the building it lights. in no country can there be found a school whose glass was so dominated by its architecture as was that of the perpendicular in england. this perpendicular style never crossed the channel, for the french gothic of that time, instead of becoming stiff and regular, grew more flamboyant and elaborated. another marked difference is that all the time the english were softening their tints and striving for a silvery sheet of low tones (great malvern, &c.), the fifteenth century french were, on the contrary, using stronger and more varied colours than during the century before. to such excellence of delicate drawing and tints did the english attain in their perpendicular windows that it may safely be said that in those respects they were never surpassed elsewhere. this is particularly noticeable at ross and cirencester. an opportunity to compare the french with the english glass of that time is afforded by the fact that the french windows of the beauchamp chapel at warwick will be visited between the distinctively english ones of great malvern and york. this warwick glass was brought from france because the contract exacted "glasse from beyond the seas," and we at once notice the strong hues, which differ so markedly from the then prevailing english ones. nothing could be more convenient than the way in which these particular windows enable us to differentiate between contemporary glass on opposite sides of the channel. when the perpendicular architect arrived upon the scene, he found the canopy window already well developed. the shape of the embrasures which he provided were peculiarly suited to this agreeable method of glazing. the straight upward sweep of his mullions made easy an effective adjustment of the narrow canopy-framed niches, and left the artist little to do but elaborate the more modest sentry-box of the decorated period. this he did in a very artistic and pleasing manner. the signs of development are easily distinguishable, and chief among them are the elaboration of the architectural detail of the canopy (by increasing the number of pinnacles and drawing them in relief instead of flat), and the completing of the frame effect by adding elaborate pedestals below the feet of the figures. we must remember that the earlier glazier either placed nothing below the enframed figure or else, in a few instances, heraldic shields (as at tewkesbury). in many instances the earlier solitary figures within the canopies now give way to groups, although not so frequently as in france. the glazier did well to abstain from this change as much as possible, for although it is logical to find a saint within a shrine, nothing could be more absurd than to install therein a rural scene or a small battle picture. the perpendicular architect, unlike his decorated predecessor, was not content to leave the tracery lights differentiated from the rest of the window below. instead, he tied the upper and lower lights together by carrying his mullions straight up through them all, and thus deprived the tracery ones of the independence as well as the decorative success they formerly enjoyed. in a few instances (as at great malvern), the glazier accentuates the stiff regularity of these upper lights by filling each with a canopy-enclosed figure. lest the upright parallel lines of the mullions lend too monotonous an appearance, care was generally taken to make two of them (usually thicker than the others) swerve outward when nearing the top of the embrasure, one to the right and the other to the left. these two thicker mullions served the further artistic purpose of breaking the line of tall lights into groups of two or three each. this can be observed in the illustration. the chief features of this school are as follows: (_a_) increasingly lighter and softer tones; (_b_) stiff parallel lines of upright mullions; (_c_) tracery lights lose their independence; (_d_) greatly elaborated canopies; (_e_) stipple shading, replacing the earlier smear shading. it can be said with no fear of contradiction that we have now arrived at the finest period of english glazing. perpendicular tour our decorated tour was brought to a close by viewing the glass of that period in merton college at oxford. not only shall we be able to begin our new tour in that same city, by inspecting the fully developed perpendicular windows at all souls', but we are also afforded an opportunity, thanks to the transition character of the new college windows (1386), to learn the intermediate steps through which the change of style was effected. on leaving oxford, we will betake ourselves to the famously glazed church at fairford, and thence journey, _viâ_ cirencester, to gloucester. the next point will be great malvern and its neighbour little malvern, and then over the bold uplift of the malvern hills to ross. a northerly _détour_ will take us first to warwick and then to coventry, which will probably conclude this tour, for although york appears as the last of this series, it is so placed for the sake of regularity, and only for those who may not have taken the first or second tours. york was visited on both of those, and occasion was given to inspect the perpendicular glass which there abounds. [illustration: map of perpendicular tour] in addition to the places just mentioned there are three so situated as to make it inconvenient to include them in this tour--salisbury, winchester, and st. neot (cornwall). salisbury has already been visited on our early english tour. winchester lies well to the south near southampton, while st. neot is off in the west, a few miles beyond plymouth. these two towns should, however, be on no account omitted, even though each require a separate trip. oxford an account of the decorated glass at oxford will be found at p. 129. having visited merton, and, by examining its decorated glass, concluded our second tour, we must address ourselves to the third one, devoted to the perpendicular period. nothing could be easier. we have only to walk as far as new college to see how the forces of transition performed their work, and then to all souls' chapel to study the fully fledged product of the perpendicular glazier. new college is picturesquely alluring to all who visit oxford, thanks to the agreeable manner in which the college buildings are set off by attractive gardens enclosed within remnants of the ancient city walls. this corner of the old ramparts owes its preservation to a covenant for its upkeep between the founder and the city. we glass-lovers will remark that in similar fashion a very advantageous placing enhances the beauty of the glass which we are about to see. it is contained in the antechapel, which adjoins the chapel proper on the west and opens into it. a dim passage-way leads to the small portal by which one enters, admirably preparing our eyes to appreciate the beauty of the glazing. there is also some later work in the main chapel, but it is fortunately shut off from our observation by a conveniently placed screen, thus enabling us to enjoy the antechapel and its glazing without any distraction. the original glass that once filled the large window in the middle of the antechapel's west wall is now stored in boxes at that other foundation of william of wykeham, winchester college, winchester, having been removed to make room for an ambitious effort by sir joshua reynolds. all the other embrasures retain the original glazing, given about 1386 by the founder, whose name frequently appears thereon. let us not be drawn into the violent discussion which has so long raged on the subject of the rival merits of the earlier and later glazing. all glaziers condemn the work of the great sir joshua, and even most art critics agree with horace walpole that the painting of this large subject is "washy." he has confined himself to the use of browns, greys, and some pink in depicting the virtues and the other figures assembled in his composition; but, as was to be expected from one who was only a painter, and not also a glazier, he used so much paint as to interfere perceptibly with the translucence of the glass. nevertheless, the writer, although he vastly prefers the earlier windows, frankly states that he began by liking the west one best. the advantage which stained glass windows have over paintings on canvas is that while the latter have only colour the former have both colour and light. for this reason one should be disposed to admit a great deal on behalf of this picture painted by a great artist on a medium which adds light to his colour. there is no good reason why we should quarrel with a man who begins by preferring sir joshua's window, because it may lead him to become interested in stained glass. almost every one unlearned in our subject admires this west window;--if he will but come with us we will promise sooner or later to open his eyes to far greater beauties, which he will grow to love in the seeing! for those who have learned to enjoy the wykeham windows more than their showier neighbour, it is suggested that there are two points from which to view them so as to eliminate the contrasting presence of the later one--either stand close to the small entrance door, or else near the chapel screen so that one of the columns comes between you and the west window. thus one sees only the wykeham glazing, and that, too, in a frame of mind receptive of the latin legends which unceasingly beseech us to pray for him. this glass is not only beautiful, but very important, because it clearly illustrates the transition from the decorated to the perpendicular. the sixty-four personages ensconced in their canopies, while possessing traits of both schools, demonstrate clearly how naturally one led into the other. the figures are not yet well drawn, are rudely posed, and are still strongly coloured. although there is a general flatness in the composition, indicative of the earlier school, tapestries are already hung across the backs of the little niches, and handsome ones too, with crowned initials powdered over them. so, too, pedestals appear below the canopies, although, of course, not yet so complete or elaborate as those to be seen presently in all souls' chapel. the canopies themselves are more robust and not so finished as will be later encountered. an examination of the method of shading also bears witness to a transition, for there is observable both smear and stipple work. the learned winston makes a very interesting argument to the effect that the panels have been considerably changed about since their original placing, based on the seemingly disordered arrangement of the six varieties of canopies, the unusual order of displaying the apostles, &c. for us who are less enlightened, however, the chief interest of this delightful series is in the general harmony of the colour scheme, the judgment shown in adjusting the figures to the canopies, and both to the embrasures, and the graceful use of the written scrolls. [illustration: _taunt, photo._ new college antechapel, oxford transition window presented by william of wykeham, founder of the college. stone frames are already perpendicular: note the "pepper-box" tracery lights. the glazing, as usual, lags behind the architecture, and, because of its strong colour and flat drawing, is more decorated than perpendicular] the dining-hall possesses some interesting coats of arms glazed into seven of its large lights. half of these are contemporaneous with the founder, among them appearing his arms and those of his see; the other half are of the time of henry viii. from "the high" we enter all souls' college, undaunted by the scathing comment of humphrey prideaux in 1674, that "all souls' is a scandalous place and full of fast gentlemen." without stopping to remark the beauty of the full-domed radcliffe library, rising beyond the graceful stone screen that walls in the westerly side of all souls' inner quadrangle, we press on to the chapel at the further end. we shall not spend much time over the windows of the chapel proper, for they contain nothing of interest, but for this there is ample compensation in the splendid display all about the antechapel that opens off to the west. it is true that some of the panels have been restored, but this has been done so judiciously and patterned so closely after the originals that it is not only no detriment, but, on the contrary, enables us to enjoy a completed whole. as was to be expected, figures within canopies meet our eyes on all sides. owing to the date of their manufacture, the depicted architecture of the shrines is very elaborately worked out. pedestals are provided, and in the westerly embrasures we find small supplemental and supporting canopies on each side of the principal ones, which latter, however, alone contain figures. these western lights show more restoration than the others. there is a great deal of red and blue everywhere, not only in the backgrounds, but even in the pedestals below. the four large windows (each containing a double row of three lancets) in the easterly wall are, perhaps, more interesting than their more elaborate neighbours. especially note, in the one just north of the choir entrance, the charming group of salome and two children in the lowest panel on the left. most pleasing of all is the scene of st. mary, with two children in her arms and two more at her feet, in the right-hand lowest panel of the most northerly of these east windows. the glass here is so conveniently placed as to afford every facility for studying details, thus preparing us admirably for the highly interesting tour upon which we are about to set out. fairford lying in the midst of a pleasing but tame countryside the little village of fairford has nothing to recommend it to the seeker after the unusual but the windows of its parish church. this glass is not only historically famous, but also very complete and beautiful. on the outer side of the little church door we are still in the midst of the commonplace, nothing rises above the level of the unimportant; once inside that modest portal, what a change do we not experience! around us on every side and above in the clerestory opens out a complete series of windows--harmonious, excellent, delightful! and to add unneeded supplement to the charm that meets the eye, our ears are regaled with the strange tale of how these lovely panels found themselves here, and why they so perfectly fit the church. this latter query is answered most simply--the church was built to provide embrasures for these treasures. the records state that richard tame caused the building to be erected and finished in 1493 expressly for this glass, which had been captured at sea from a dutch vessel. from the same source we also learn that his son, who died in 1534, completed the building--a rather anomalous statement for, if it was finished in 1493, it would not seem to have needed a further completion by the son. it is to the windows themselves one must turn for some explanation of this seeming contradiction. although but little comment has hitherto been made upon the subject, the writer was struck by the lack of any similarity between the figure-and-canopy windows in the western half of the church (including the clerestory), and those around the eastern half. the former show a conscientious following of perpendicular conventions and a careful attention to the proper use of colours, but the latter enjoy an easy victory in style, combination of hues and general artistic appreciation of the possibilities of glass. the sexton relates the usual legend about albrecht dürer having designed this latter series, but it is probably no truer here than elsewhere in england, for it is the customary tale one hears about german glass. there is no doubt, however, that in composition and style it differs noticeably from anything made north of the channel. while the figure-and-canopy work is clearly of the fifteenth century, it must be admitted that if the windows in the eastern part of the church be likewise of that period, then they certainly represent an early manifestation of a style that did not generally prevail until the sixteenth century. may not this very difference help to explain the second "completion" of the church? suppose we credit richard tame with having secured the canopy windows for the edifice he completed in 1493, and leave to his son the honour of having added the series showing later attributes when he finally finished the structure in 1534. the first windows may have been captured in the way reported in the legend, and the later ones secured in some other manner from the continent, for it is known that most of the sixteenth century glass in england was procured from foreign sources. let us leave this moot point to be conclusively decided by others, and turn to observing and enjoying the glass. the shape of the church is unusual and requires a brief word of description in order to understand the placing of the windows. the westerly half consists of the regulation nave with a broad aisle on each side. above the nave runs a glazed clerestory, which, of course, does not extend over the aisles. there are no transepts. at the middle of the church just where the nave ends there rises the tower, of the same width as the nave. the clerestory stops on the nave side of this tower; there is no clerestory above the eastern half of the church. this easterly half is the same width as that to the west, but it is all open and not separated into aisles like the other part. in the southerly wall of the building are six windows and a door, and in the northerly, seven windows. the clerestory has four lights of three lancets on each side. canopies containing figures standing upon pedestals and with gracefully written scrolls about them are to be found in all the clerestory windows, and also below in the four most westerly aisle windows on each side. the figures on the north of the clerestory represent roman emperors, and above in the traceries are little devils on a red ground. opposite them on the south appear martyrs and prophets of the faith, appropriately attended in the traceries above by angels on a blue ground. all the windows thus far described are clearly fifteenth century; the workmanship is good but not of such marked excellence as is shown in the eastern part of the church. these latter evidence remarkably skilful designing, and, furthermore, demonstrate that the artist understood the medium in which he had to work out his cartoons. they lean strongly towards the renaissance type: the colours used are very good, especially some of the greens. most of the subjects on the north are taken from the life of the virgin, while opposite, across the choir, appear scenes from the life of christ, such as the last supper, the miraculous draught of fishes, &c. the sexton delights to tell the visitor that the towers in the background of the last-named scene are faithful counterfeits of the towers of nuremburg, thus proving conclusively (except to hypercritical cavillers) that albrecht dürer designed them. the story is picturesque, but it is fortunate that the good man never saw nuremburg, or his conscience might force the suppression of this agreeable fiction. it must be admitted, however, that some of this glass is sufficiently excellent to have been designed by that great master. the five-lanceted window that fills the end of the little eastern extension behind the altar has five scenes across its lower half, while above them, occupying the entire width of the embrasure, is a fine crucifixion. the original background has been replaced by white glass, which enables us to appreciate all the more readily how well the picture is composed. the flowing garments and certain other details are very german in character, while some of the implements displayed are purely teutonic--_e.g._, the swinging mace, showing the spiked ball hanging from the handle by a chain. the perspective displayed in all these scenes is noticeably good. we must pass to the other end of the church in order to see its most entertaining window, at least to all those not deeply interested in the intricacies of technique. it fills the western end of the nave just above the portal, and is one of the rare sort known as "doom windows." there is here set forth a most edifying demonstration in glowing colours of what will some day happen to those who are not wise enough to be good! even foxe's "book of martyrs" cannot provide the exhilarating horrors that the numerous ingeniously minded devils here afford. most delightful is the enthusiasm and earnestness with which they are carrying on their presumably daily toil of keeping hades up to its unpleasant reputation. cirencester if the account of this town is not to be read aloud, everything will pass off peacefully, but if sound is going to be given to written words, then our trouble will begin at once, for the methods of pronouncing its name have led to unlimited discussion. all the disputants may be divided into two camps, in one the educated and refined citizens of the town, who pronounce the word as it is spelt, and are aided and abetted therein by all non-residents, while in the other camp we shall find an agreeable company, headed by the late william shakespeare, and consisting of all the humbler townspeople and the country folk residing near by. this latter group prefer the sound, which, reduced to spelling, approximates "cisseter." notwithstanding this centuries-long dispute, the town has declined in importance since the days of the romans! then it was the cross-roads of three great highways, and when one reflects that the roman road was even more potential in its developing effect upon territory than the modern railway, it is easy to see the advantages that cirencester enjoyed over towns not so favoured. while considering this practical feature there must not be forgotten the romantic glamour lent by the legend that king arthur was crowned here. the parish church is particularly delightful, not only because of its characteristically perpendicular gothic exterior, but also because of the logical way in which that same style has been carried out within, especially in the charming fan tracery of the vaults. the stained glass must be studied in detail in order to yield a full appreciation of its beauty, for we must not expect to find here the splendid _ensemble_ often seen elsewhere. there are few places in the land where perpendicular glass shows so clearly the delicacy of both design and colour which the art achieved in england during that epoch. this fact is borne home with marked emphasis because we are viewing it immediately after an examination of the much better designed but less delicately painted windows of fairford. as a result of this careful treatment of tint and drawing there is derived an unexpectedly satisfactory result from the collection of figures in canopies assembled in the five tall lancets of the east window. seen from the nave this collection is quite cool and silvery, and does not betray its composite nature. where the ancient heads have been lost or destroyed, their space has been frankly filled with white glass. toward the bottom are eight small panels containing kneeling donors. the large west window is also a composite one, but here honesty proves to have been the worst possible policy, because the original background having been lost, they filled in between the canopies with splotches of hideous modern blue! of course this kills any chance for the softly toned effect which we have often observed as the chief charm of the perfected canopy style. in this instance it is peculiarly unfortunate, because the canopies are carefully worked out in detail, showing as many little spires above them as we shall find later at great malvern. the figures which they enclose repay study. the centre three in the lower row are almost enveloped by broad written scrolls, which lend a most decorative effect. in the pedestals below the figures are little open galleries containing diminutive kneeling donors, very modestly and appropriately displayed. the colours here are noteworthy, especially the rich deep red in the robe of the cardinal at the top of the second lancet from the north; in the second to the south notice the combination of the mulberry gown, blue cape, and golden halo. the use of the leads to delineate folds in the cloth is as good as the colouring. it is evident that no mean artist produced these satisfactory results, but it is fortunate for him that he cannot see the atrocious blue that now strives to off-set his delightful work. in the chapel to the right of the chancel, the most easterly embrasure on the north has its three lancets filled with agreeably arranged figures and fragments. being on a level with the eye of the observer, this glazing can be examined closely. note the careful adjustment of the leads to suit the drawing of the hands in the right-hand lower corner. it is so evident that this glazier thoroughly understood his art that we are not surprised at the richness of the reds and the blues, or the mellow strength of his yellow stain. it is easy to deduce from the cirencester windows the lesson that design is not so important as colour, and that, while excellent effects can be produced by a collection of well-toned fragments, the best design done in bad colouring is sure to be unsatisfactory. gloucester in our wanderings to see glass we have observed how many and varied were the reasons for the presentation of those splendid offerings to religious edifices, and also that these reasons are often storied upon the windows themselves. wide as is the range of such causes it is reserved for gloucester cathedral to show us an ancient window erected to commemorate the winning of a great battle. thanks to the painstaking studies of charles winston (1863), backed by his exhaustive knowledge of heraldry, it is now known that the great expanse of coloured glass at the eastern end of the gloucester chancel is a thank-offering for the epoch-making victory at crécy of the little army of english over the french hosts. how incongruous it seems that such a feat of arms should be commemorated in this mild manner! the mind wanders off from this glorious wall of colour back to a certain cloudy afternoon in august 1346. edward iii. and his young son the black prince, with a force of only eight thousand englishmen, had swept triumphantly through normandy up to the very gates of paris. there the presence of a huge army of french and mercenaries forced them to turn northward toward the flemish border. fatigued by their dashing campaign, they were overtaken and brought to bay by the french at crécy, about fifteen miles east of abbeville. in the very front of the french hosts was stationed a body of 15,000 genoese crossbowmen who, by their discharge of arrows, were to disconcert the english, and disorder their ranks preparatory to the onslaught of the french knights. suddenly a great storm breaks upon the embattled armies, terrifying the genoese unaccustomed to the thunder, lightning and driving rainbursts of a northern tempest. nor is this all, for when the storm passes and the sun darts out from behind the clouds, the genoese, ordered to discharge their crossbows, find to their dismay that the bowstrings are rain-soaked and cannot be drawn. just at this juncture the english archers, taking their bows from water-tight cases, loose such a pestilential shower of arrows upon the already harassed genoese that they break and flee, throwing into the wildest confusion the ranks of the frenchmen behind them. effective as were the bows of the english archers, the long knives of the welshmen prove equally so, stabbing the horses of the french and thus placing the riders _hors de combat_. together these two bands of yeomen reverse the verdict of centuries of warfare;--they show the armoured knight to be an anachronism, and thus in one day feudalism begins to totter to its fall. the moment has come for the charge of the english chivalry. on they dash, led by the sixteen-year-old black prince. they fall upon the already panic-stricken french and what has been a battle becomes a rout. the king witnessed the conflict from a windmill on a ridge, being desirous that his son alone might have the glory of the victory. it is doubtful if the annals of chivalry record a finer scene than the meeting of the king and the black prince after the battle. in the blaze of the great camp-fires, and before the whole army, the father embraced his son, and would have given him alone the praise, but the prince "bowed to the ground and gave all the honour to the king his father." ten years later we find him of the same generous nature, for, in the evening after the great victory at poitiers, he caused the captured king john of france and his son to be seated, and standing behind, served them himself, modestly refusing to join in their repast. long since hushed is the din of that ancient strife, unless perhaps an harmonious echo thereof comes to us from the great east window. along its lower panes are displayed the shields of the black prince and the earls of warwick and oxford, who were with him in the 1st division on that glorious day, and of the earls of arundel and northampton who led the 2nd division (the 3rd being in command of king edward iii. himself). in this brave array we also find the shields of thomas lord de berkeley, his brother sir maurice de berkeley, richard lord talbot, and thomas lord bradeston, who all served in this expedition. here, also, are the arms of the earls of lancaster and pembroke, who, although at that time fighting in the south at aiguillon in guienne, were included as companions-in-arms of the same war. in this beautiful manner the glory and gallant memory of these knights are preserved within this stately cathedral, far removed from the din and carnage, the hissing flight of arrows, the clang of the forward dash of knights, the clash of steel on steel, the battle-cries, and the mingled roar of retreating hosts hotly pursued by exultant victors. here they dwell for ever in the midst of a great peace: around the grey walls and sturdy tower are the quiet walks, the green swards, the leafy foliage of a peaceful england--an england preserved inviolate from foreign invasion by the splendid deeds of these gallant warriors, and many another like them. so modestly are their blazons set out along the lower part of the great window that the story of their gift and its giving was forgotten, and lay hidden for centuries until rediscovered by mr. winston. much as our windows have hitherto revealed to us of quaint episode and romantic story, never have we happened upon so portentous a memory, nor one which so richly deserved this magnificent tribute. its huge expanse of 72 by 38 feet is only rivalled by that of the east window of york (78 by 33 feet). well did winston say, "i know of no window so likely as this to improve by a long contemplation the taste of modern glass-painters and their patrons." [illustration: _j. valentine, photo._ choir, gloucester cathedral great east window commemorative of knights who fought at crécy. backgrounds of pink and soft blue. tracery lights no longer differentiated from window below, as during decorated period. note elaborate masking of earlier walls by later perpendicular work] a great deal of really fine glass is so badly placed as to appeal only to the student, and not to the sightseer, but at gloucester this masterpiece exhibits itself to the greatest advantage. one should not speak of this vast window as being in the eastern wall, for it is so large that it takes the place of that wall. in fact it is somewhat wider than the interior of the church at that point, which for this reason has had its side walls slightly slanted out to receive the window. how great is this disparity in size may be estimated if one sights along the inside of either side wall, for you will miss entirely the outermost tier of glass panels. the superficial area of the glass is also increased by a slight bowing outward of the window structure. behind and to the east of this end of the cathedral was later built a lady chapel which, however, opens through into the older church. of course the shadow of this later structure could not help but fall upon the east window, and to that extent obscure it, but what might have proved a serious defect was avoided by stationing the chapel somewhat to the east of the older building, and also by not beginning the coloured canopied figures upon the east window until above the line of shadow cast by the lady chapel. the panes below that line are glazed in white bordered by colour, here and there relieved by the coats of arms already mentioned. viewed from the crossing this great window is more than delightful. row upon row of canopy-framed personages on red or blue backgrounds, are stationed one above another in splendid profusion. many of the books class it with the decorated period, although always explaining that its looks belie that early dating. our errand is to see how windows look, and therefore, because its stone framework is so obviously perpendicular, as is also the delicacy of the tones of its glass (particularly in the canopies), it would be unwise for us to consider it otherwise than as an early manifestation of the later style. it is very perpendicular in its lines and its colouring, and absolutely unlike the deep rich windows at tewkesbury, bristol and wells, which are so typically decorated. we must remember that the glazier had to conform to the styles of the architect, and because it was the latter who inaugurated the changes he was, perforce, always in advance of the glazier, which helps to explain why some of the details of the glass design are more archaic than the stone framework. looking eastward from the crossing, we can see through below this great window and above the altar into the ample lady chapel beyond. passing on into that chapel, we at once observe its most prominent feature, the east window, constructed during the latter part of the fifteenth century, a clearly marked example of the perpendicular. the colouring is here much richer than we are accustomed to find in english work of this time, in fact it reminds one of contemporary french windows. the figures within the canopies are more varied, and occur in groups, thus differing widely from the almost monotonous similarity of the softer toned solitary figures upon the choir window. in the north aisle of the nave the third, fifth and fifteenth embrasures from the west provide us with marked examples of the perpendicular. double sets of pinnacles, two-storeyed pedestals, jewels separately leaded into the borders of robes, &c., show a distinct advance upon the earlier and simpler methods of the great wall of glazing in the choir. one should remark the decorated work on the easterly side of both transepts. the clerestory lights are glazed in quarries with coloured borders, while above them the tracery embrasures are not only like those at tewkesbury, but are also glazed in the same fashion, white lines wound about on a red ground; we have remarked the same treatment at bristol and wells. even a brief glance about this great sanctuary reveals that huge sums must have been spent not only in veiling the older walls with the later decorated work, but also in the elaboration which is everywhere noticeable. nor is it difficult to understand how sufficient funds for this purpose were collected when one considers the vast store of gold, silver, and jewels brought here as offerings by pilgrims to the tomb of the murdered king edward ii. we must not depart without having a walk about the charming cloisters, which are by many considered the most beautiful in england. great malvern great malvern lies on the easterly slope of the famous malvern hills, which run nearly north and south, and form the western barrier of the severn valley. its site provides a pleasant and far-reaching prospect of smiling country, dotted here and there with the towers of worcester, gloucester, tewkesbury and many another town and hamlet. so lofty are these hills that the views from their summits are hardly to be equalled elsewhere in england; indeed, it is reckoned that on a fine day one can look into a dozen counties. the three chief heights have long been known as worcester beacon, hereford beacon, and gloucester beacon, each named after the county in which it stands. peaceful as is this delightful scene, certain of the memories which it awakens are those of warlike strife, for one can see from this vantage-point six of the great battlefields of england--edgehill, worcester, evesham, tewkesbury, shrewsbury, and mortimer's cross. nor are these the only reminders of warlike deeds, for about the top of two of those great eminences run encircling lines of strong earthworks, known to have existed since the time of the early britons, if, indeed, they do not antedate them--eloquently silent proof of how long men have realised that this fair land is worth fighting for. wonderful and inspiring is the view that unfolds itself before the eye of the traveller when he has reached the topmost point of the road and pauses before descending to great malvern. no wonder that william langland selects this site for the slumber which yielded him that marvellous dream which he describes in his "vision of piers plowman" (1362). he says: "on a may mornege · on malverne hulles, i was wery forwandred · and went me to reste under a brode banke · bi a bornes side, and as i lay and lened · and loked in ye wateres i slombred in a slepyng." tradition tells us that he learned the profession of clerk in great malvern priory, and there composed his splendid poem. his attempt to correct the abuses of his times accords more readily with the work of one contemporary, john wyclif (who about 1380 gave the people the bible in english), than it does with the merry "canterbury tales," written in 1387 by that court favourite chaucer. we have already encountered that jovial soul during our visit to the early glass of canterbury. it is significant that in a work which produced such a marked effect upon its time as "piers plowman," frequent testimony is given to show the esteem in which stained glass was then held. whenever church decoration is mentioned by any of his characters, they almost invariably dwell longer on this feature than upon any other. the franciscan monk speaks of his church: "with gay glitering glas glowying as the sunne." in similar fashion the dominican brother is made to say: "wyde wyndowes y-wrought, y-wryten ful thikke, shynen with shapen sheldes." a severe rap is given at those who glaze windows in order "hevene to have," and vain-glorious souls are urged not "to writen in wyndowes of youre wel dedes." but let us, like langland, arouse ourselves from the reverie superinduced by this wondrous outlook, and wend our way down the side of the great hill to the priory church. although its more famous windows date from a century later than langland's day, it may well be that his eye was gladdened by the older glass in the south aisle of the chancel. it is certainly fine enough to have attracted his notice, and one may safely assume that he loved glass, else his lines would not so frequently refer to it. before observing the perpendicular glazing in which this building abounds, let us consider that of the decorated epoch in the three embrasures that light the southerly wall of the aisle chapel south of the choir, and which were there in langland's time. the most westerly of these three is filled with heads and _débris_, formerly in other parts of the church. we shall have a treat in the two windows adjoining this to the east. each contains a dozen small scenes from the old testament, the four lancets of each window subdividing these scenes into three rows of four each. the backgrounds are diapered red or blue, and a crude border of architecture surrounds each. the drawing is crisp and the colours are strong and good. note particularly the red in the "naming of the fowls"; also observe noah sending forth the dove, while various sorts of animals crowd about his feet. the rich tones, the crudeness of the canopy work, and sundry other signs unmistakably mark this glazing as decorated. the corresponding chapel on the north side of the chancel has lost all its ancient glass, except a little in the tracery lights. the chief beauty of the interior is the delightful east window, whose stout central mullion, two-thirds of the way up, divides and inclines outward to right and left until it touches the frame. a charmingly soft colour scheme is here used, quite in the best manner of the perpendicular epoch. it is difficult to puzzle out the original order of the figures and canopies, for the window was greatly damaged during the prevalence of the playful custom, many years ago, of permitting the village urchins to throw stones at it! although the design has been injured, nothing could spoil the colour effect. viewed from a proper distance the whole presents an appearance of tender grey, mellowed by soft blue, with here and there a note of red. the tracery lights escaped practically unscathed, and each contains a complete figure and canopy. this great central embrasure is flanked on both the north and the south by three large clerestory lights, the glazing of the southerly ones being much less complete than that of their neighbours across the chancel, where the figure and canopy work is excellent, and the combination of tints remarkably good. the side columns of the shrines are broader than is customary, while at the top are an unusual number of pinnacles, as many as fifteen being noted in one case. these little spires are shown to advantage against backgrounds of soft blue and pink. at the top of the north-west window is the martyrdom of st. woerstan, in the background of which appear the malvern hills. the next most important glass occupies the large embrasure at the end of the north transept, which, however, is somewhat reduced from its original proportions by having the lower panels in some of the side lancets walled up. the glass here is not so disarranged as in the east window, and we are able to decipher portraits of henry vii., his queen, and members of his family. something out of the ordinary is the large blue corona spread over the central part, serving to tie three of the lancets into one picture. interesting details occur in the "adoration of the magi" (third from the right in lower row). in the west wall at the north-west corner of this transept are single figures in canopy, two rows of three each, one above the other. the great west window is filled with fragments brought from the nave clerestory, and is mostly figures and canopies. taken as a whole, the glass in this church provides a delightful experience. it is very typical of the lighter tones that came in with the perpendicular style, but its greatest service is in teaching the lesson that, no matter how much a window's design may have suffered, it will carry its message of beauty, if only the original colour scheme be sound. the fine encaustic tiles, not only in the flooring, but also set in the walls, are of local make. some date from the fourteenth century, and others from the fifteenth, at which latter time great malvern enjoyed a wide reputation for their manufacture. other examples may be seen at little malvern and at tewkesbury. little malvern about three miles from the centre of great malvern lies the hamlet of little malvern, dominated by its priory, now used as a parish church. of the original building, built by the benedictines, little now remains but the chancel and a great perpendicular tower, separated from it by an oakwood screen rich with carved vines. the chief attraction, however, is the east window, which, on the whole, is well preserved. its story can best be told in the words of that ancient writer nash: "the windows were curiously painted, rivalling those of great mal. in the e. wind. of the choir are 6 large compartments: in the middle one is represented edward iv. in a robe of ermine with an imperial crown on his head; in the next compartment is his queen with a like diadem; in the pane between them is painted his oldest son, afterwards edward v., his surcoat azure and his robe gules turned down and lined with ermine; and in the next panel is his brother richard, duke of york, his surcoat also gules, and his robe azure turned down one row to the feet, on his head a duke's coronet." ross twenty-seven miles below hereford on the wye (but only fifteen by road), there rises a small but steep bluff overlooking the sinuous windings of the river, and straggling down from its top is built the town of ross. pope, in his "moral essays," would give the credit for every one of the town's agreeable features to a certain john kyrle, who died in 1724 at the advanced age of ninety. the elaborately thorough pope credits him with all the civic virtues, and appends an inventory of benefits, which includes the benches disposed along the hill's brow for those wishing to view the landscape, the causeways, bridges, &c., not omitting minute charities to the villagers. some members of the legal and medical professions may join the writer in esteeming the poet fortunate in that he did not fall into our clutches after he had penned the following lines: "is any sick? the man of ross relieves, prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives. is there a variance; enter but his door, balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. despairing quacks with curses fled the place, and vile attorneys, now an useless race." this public benefactor lies buried in the northern side of the chancel, and near by there comes through an opening in the wall a large vine, rooted outside but bearing its leaves within the church. the glass here is limited in extent but very delicate and charming. it fills the eastern end of the chancel, which extends a short distance further to the east than do the two ample additions opening out from each side of that central portion of the church. these chancel windows are composed of four lancets each, and the treatment is the same throughout, viz., a single figure within a canopy. the personages are of good size, occupying about half of the entire height of the canopy. because the windows are near the ground, ross affords an excellent opportunity to examine the peculiarly delicate drawing on english glass at this time, which far excelled any contemporary french work. the architectural details of the canopies are carefully worked out, and each is surmounted by seven slender pinnacles standing out clearly against their red background. up the sides and into the cusps of each lancet runs a light border. a very sober use is made of the tints throughout, yielding a harmonious _ensemble_ of colour, well set off by the soft brownish shades used in the depicted architecture. warwick warwick castle should be visited in order to inspect one of the most perfectly preserved strongholds of the middle ages, the many features of interest which it contains and its picturesque situation on the river avon, rather than for the small amount of domestic stained glass (of the grey and yellow stain type) to be found in the long corridor and large banquet-room. although worth seeing if one is there, it is not of sufficient importance to cause a special visit. there are also some well-preserved panels showing coats of arms at the leicester hospital, but this is a form of glazing frequent in england, and it is no better here than in many other places. there is, however, glass of great value and beauty in the famous beauchamp chapel which adjoins, on the south, the chancel of st. mary's church. much interest is added to this glazing, because the contract for it (dated june 23, 1447) is so full of details and specifications as to throw valuable light on the conditions and requirements of the craft at that time. after one's eyes have become accustomed to the soft-hued english perpendicular glass, then in the height of its favour, it is very difficult to realise that these windows, with their strong colouring, are of the same period as the delicately toned ones which we have seen at great malvern and elsewhere. the explanation is provided in the contract. it there appears that the executors of richard earl of warwick were not satisfied with the then prevailing english system of soft tints, and also that they were sufficiently advised of the state of the art on the other side of the channel to realise that the richer hues which they demanded could be obtained in france, even though it was impossible or difficult in england. we read that they required the glazier, john prudde of westminster, to work "with glasse beyond the seas, and with no glasse of england." again and again they insist on richness of hue; not only must he glaze "in most fine and curious colours," but it is specified just what he shall use, for they provide him with a selection "of the finest colours of blew, yellow, red, purpure, sanguine and violet, and all other colours that shall be most necessary." they require that his designs be made by another artist, and even those must be "in rich colouring." the contract contains another criticism of earlier english methods, for they say "of white glasse, green glasse, black glasse, he shall put in as little as shall be needful." he complied with his requirements pretty strictly, and further, he used a glass so hard and tough that its surface has resisted the disintegration which the weather so frequently caused in english glass of that period. unfortunately all the ancient panes are not in place. the entire east window is filled with them, although a close scrutiny reveals that several of its panels are brought from side windows. along the sides of the chapel the original glazing is only to be found in the tracery lights and the upper parts of the embrasures, what little there was left in the lower panes having been used to eke out the east window. the effect of this latter is complete and splendid. the richness of its colours is assisted by the golden rays which are so plentiful in the central part of the picture. the use of the leads is very elaborated and painstaking, many of the folds of the garments being delineated in this laborious manner. two schemes are used for the backgrounds, one, red with lozenge-shaped squares enclosed by white and gold strapwork, and the other, blue with similarly bordered squares. note in the traceries the red angels, poised upon golden wheels. the most striking feature of this tracery glazing is the liberal use throughout of written music, generally supported by angels. in some instances psalms are written on the white sheets, but more often it is staves of notes. above the most easterly pair of windows on each side are groups of angels playing musical instruments and walking about on a blue sky dotted over with white stars, much resembling the apples on the trees of children's storybooks. one should observe what an agreeable use is made of these small angels that people the traceries. the glazier has skilfully avoided the ugly effect which would have been produced had the white sheets of music or psalms been continued in a horizontal line around the chapel, and has so waved this white line up and down that it becomes as decorative as the labels so common in german glazing. this appearance of music on glass is rare in england and rarer still in france. the rich colours demanded by the earl's executors must have produced a splendid effect in this chapel when all the embrasures were glazed as sumptuously as is the east window. enough remains, however, to make the beauchamp chapel an important station in any stained glass pilgrimage. on the other side of the chancel is the vestry, into whose small east window have been collected six diminutive panels formerly in the chancel's east window. they date from 1370 and contrast markedly with some small enamelled scenes in white and yellow stain (dated 1600) placed in the same embrasure with them. while the contrast is too sharp to be agreeable, we are afforded a comfortable, near-at-hand opportunity to observe the great strides which this craft took during that interval of time. coventry an english friend of a flippant turn of mind once remarked to the writer that the three most famous rides in english history were undoubtedly the charge of the light brigade, john gilpin's famous infringement of speed regulations, and lady godiva's effort on behalf of the citizens of coventry--and that the last was the most praiseworthy, because it had really accomplished something! viewed in this light, the episode of lady godiva passes from a matter of local interest to the higher plane of national pride;--upon the equity of this promotion it is certain that every citizen of quaint coventry will agree. if, peradventure, there shall have intruded into our company any who love not glass, let us protest with falstaff, "i'll not march through coventry with them, that's flat." the distant prospect of that warwickshire city is beautified by the three famous spires that proudly thrust their red sandstone peaks high above the huddled housetops. the ancient flavour of the place is preserved for us by the numerous old houses, one of which has in its topmost window a wooden figure, "peeping tom," that wicked exception who proved the rule that the worthy citizens could be relied upon to be loyal and true even under the application of that most searching test, curiosity. one of the three great spires rises from st. michael's church, a building of very great size, about whose spacious interior are disposed many perpendicular fragments, some arranged in bands along the clerestory, and others filling two windows (each of four lancets) that face each other in the chancel. these panels afford a useful part of the decoration, even in their present kaleidoscopic condition, and their colours put to shame those of the modern windows near them. [illustration: guildhall, coventry splendid row of ancient english kings, and below, a great tapestry. in the centre of the window and again on the tapestry appears henry vi, who was a member of the guild. handsome example of mediæval hall] just across the narrow street is one of the finest examples in england of stained glass used to decorate a municipal building devoted to secular purposes. it is to be found at the north end of st. mary's hall, and is as admirably placed as it is excellently composed. across that entire end of the spacious hall is a great window occupying the whole upper half of the wall, and broken up into nine wide lancets surmounted by tracery lights of the usual perpendicular form. across the entire lower half of the wall is suspended a long tapestry, which we shall see accords with the subjects appearing in the glass above it. nowhere can there be found a great window and a large tapestry used with such harmony of purpose and result. history tells us that henry vi. took so pronounced an interest in the guild of coventry that he was regularly inducted into its membership in 1450, and therefore we are not surprised that his effigy occupies the middle lancet of the window. inspection reveals that he is the central figure of a gallery of kings, for he is flanked on the left by henry iii., richard coeur de lion, william the conqueror, and king arthur; and on the right by edward iii., henry iv., henry v., and the emperor constantine (who was born in britain). all these royalties are in full armour, except their crowned heads, and they all stand firmly poised with their feet well apart. the backgrounds are unusually interesting, and consist of upright strips of red and blue separated by narrow lines of yellow, the strips being sprinkled over with the letter m, because st. mary is the patron saint of the hall. these figures all stand beneath canopies, and in the traceries above is still other canopy work, serving as background for gaily tinctured coats of arms. one, displaying a black eagle upon a yellow field, is said to be the blazon of leofric, earl of mercia, lady godiva's husband, "that grim earl who ruled in coventry." this hall was finished in 1414, and the glazier is said to have been the same thornton to whom we are indebted for the east window at york minster. henry vi. appears again in the tapestry below, this time attended by his wife, queen margaret of anjou, who shared his interest in coventry. nor were these the only royalties to feel a kindly interest in this city, for we also read that henry vii. and elizabeth of york were enrolled as members of the guild in 1499. upon this tapestry there is gathered a numerous company of individuals attending upon henry vi. and his wife, who are kneeling in their midst, while between them is a female figure labelled "justitia." local tradition says this label is a later substitute for a religious name, but whether that be true or not, a tapestry made for a guild hall in which justice was administered might well have originally had "justitia" as its central figure. the harmony between the splendid window and the adjoining tapestry finds an answering note in the ancient wooden ceiling with its quaintly carved bosses, and also in the fine wooden gallery at the south end, against which are arranged many suits of armour. our visit will not be complete without a peep into the spacious kitchen below, and also into a small muniment-room above, which is proved by a carefully preserved letter, bearing queen elizabeth's signature, to have once served as a prison for mary queen of scots. york an account of the early english glass at york will be found at p. 57, and of that of the decorated period at p. 76. the huge choir of the cathedral abounds in splendid specimens of the glazier's art during the perpendicular period. here is collected all that the minster possesses of that epoch except a few fragments in the east and west aisles of the great south transept. so attractive is the manner in which the illumination of the choir is effected, as to inspire many poetic descriptions of its windows. one author says that they "remind one of particles of sunlight on running water"; another speaks of "the glittering screens of colour and soaring shafts of stone." with this latter author we are disposed to take issue upon his use of the word "glittering" in describing glass of this period, for that description more properly belongs to the earlier brightly hued mosaic medallions. in fact, so soft and delicate are the colour and design upon perpendicular glass that one is apt to neglect the picture which it bears. indeed, one might say that the service performed at that time by the picture was but to lend coherence to the window, or, perhaps better, to prevent the colours from being unmeaningly kaleidoscopic when viewed from near at hand. winston says that the earliest windows in the choir date from the close of the fourteenth century, and are the third from the east in the south aisle, the third and fourth from the east in the north clerestory, and the fourth from the east in the south clerestory. note the early tree of jesse of this period in the third embrasure from the west in the south choir aisle. the other windows of these aisles east of the small easterly transepts, as well as the lancets on the east side of the great westerly transepts, are from the time of henry iv., while all the others date from henry v. and vi., chiefly from the latter. these small easterly transepts rejoice in the possession of two large windows, one at the north and the other at the south end, the former dedicated to st. william and the latter to st. cuthbert. in the latter, which is seventy-three feet by sixteen feet, appear members of the house of lancaster. beginning at the eastern end of the north aisle, we shall find that the first window possesses a few fragments, but that the next three are among the finest here, their combination of greys, browns and blues being noticeably good. the next three are paler in tone and not satisfactory. the crucifixion at the end of this aisle in the east wall is excellent. its companion at the east end of the south aisle is also fine in both colour and design. observe the drawing of the heads in the second window from the east in this aisle. the last one of all is french of about the end of the sixteenth century, and was brought here from rouen by lord carlisle in 1804. fine as it undeniably is, its rich renaissance hues do not harmonise with the lower tints of its earlier english neighbours. the examination of these minor possessions of this part of the edifice now leads us up to its crowning glory, the great east window. the nine lofty lights are subdivided into three groups of three each by two mullions thicker than the others. all these mullions are swerved above and then disposed in accordance with the best perpendicular traditions. like the large windows of the east transepts there is here a double plane of stonework reaching half-way up the face of the embrasure. at the point where this double stonework stops there is carried across its top a gallery right against the face of the glass. so vast is this great surface (seventy-eight feet by thirty-two feet) that the gallery would escape notice if it were not pointed out. the two hundred panels of figures which here appear depict in the upper half old testament scenes from the creation of the world to the death of absalom; below are scenes from the book of revelations, and lowest of all a series of kings and archbishops. the contract for the glazing is dated 1405 and calls for the completion of the work in three years. even if the rest of its great wealth of windows be disregarded, york cathedral, by virtue of this vast screen of colour and of the exquisite group of the "five sisters," would rank as one of the most notable points of interest in the world for the lover of stained glass. [illustration: east window, york minster tremendous sheet of colour, 78 by 32 feet. lower half of stone frame built in a double plane, and carries a gallery across face of the glass] several churches of this city also contain perpendicular windows of great interest. we have already visited most of these to inspect their decorated remains (_see_ p. 78), and, for the sake of regularity, will now take them up in the same order when viewing their perpendicular glazing. all saints' in north street, tucked snugly away among its surrounding buildings and only accessible by means of a narrow alley, is the most interesting of all the smaller churches. it is, fortunately, in the possession of a rector (rev. p. j. shaw) so keenly alive to its store of beauties that he has preserved them in a handsome volume, and thus made their enjoyment possible for those who live far away. fine as are the decorated windows already described, the perpendicular ones are finer still. they fill almost all the embrasures not occupied by the earlier glass. most of them are in the usual figure-and-canopy style, although here groups generally replace the figures, and the details of the architecture are worked out in a painstaking way. a very fine one is the east window with its three lancets containing respectively st. christopher carrying christ, st. ann instructing the youthful mary, and john the baptist, while below and in the side compartments are the donors, and in the central one a composition representing the trinity. still more interesting is the embrasure containing the "six corporal acts of mercy" with its engaging little groups, of which, perhaps, the quaintest is the upper central one, "giving drink to the thirsty." but the most interesting of all, indeed a famous window, is the eastmost in the north aisle. it is of the kind called "bede" window from its showing a bede or prayer for the donors. the fifteen small scenes under their squatty canopies are a most interesting representation of the last fifteen days of the world as recounted in the "prick of conscience" by richard rolle, a learned and pious writer who died 1349. the story begins at the lower left-hand corner and goes to the right. notice the careful realism of the timid worthies in the scene whose label describes it as "ye xi day sal men come owt of their holes and wende abowt." in st. dennis (walmgate) the chief remnants of perpendicular glass are gathered in the central east window, but they are not to be compared for excellence with their earlier neighbours. so, too, in st. martin-cum-gregory the perpendicular remains cannot vie with the decorated specimens. there is, however, a fine picture of st. george killing the dragon in the central lancet of the westmost embrasure in the south aisle. holy trinity (goodram gate) has a large east window dating from about 1470, whose five roomy lancets contain single figures in the upper canopies and groups within the lower ones. especially note the central lowest panel, for there appear three men intended to represent the trinity. this is said to be the only instance in english glass where the trinity is thus symbolised. on either side of this large window are smaller two-lanceted ones containing figures in canopy. all this glass is supposed to date from the reign of henry vi., as does also that at st. martin's (coney street). st. martin's is not only valuable as affording an example of the general arrangement of designs throughout an interior, but it specially rejoices in a great west window that is a real delight. its five lights set forth the life of st. martin, and from the records we learn that it was erected with funds received from a bequest dated 1447. three splendid tiers of canopies rise one above the other across the five lights, while below, where the shadow of an adjoining building might have robbed figures of their brilliancy or interest, the space is filled with elaborate quarry work. along the clerestory are four-lanceted lights with large saintly figures upon white quarries and blazons above them, each lancet bordered in colour. kneeling donors reveal whose piety contributed to these windows. st. michael's (spurrier's gate) has quite an amount of perpendicular glass which is in good condition owing to having been recently releaded. the windows along the south aisle beginning at the east are each four-lanceted; in the first appear the nine choirs of angels, and in the next two the genealogy of christ. in the south-west window are biblical scenes, while in the north-west one there has been collected heads, armorial bearings and conventional designs. fragments have also been gathered into the south-east window, including heads of three kings and a bishop. salisbury at p. 30 will be found an account of the early english glass at salisbury. as one reads history, the kings and nobles are apt to stand out in such sharp relief against the background of less illustrious folk that one often neglects to inquire into the nature of that background, if, indeed, it be not entirely ignored. nevertheless, the foreign campaigns of the english kings could never have been carried on without the "sinews of war," which brings us abruptly to the unromantic necessity of considering that very large portion of the community who stayed at home and paid the taxes and did other unattractive but necessary background work. chief among these useful people were the great merchants of england, and of these none were more important than those who dealt in wool. men of their significance in the financial world naturally lived in fine houses, so we are not surprised to find such edifices as crosby hall in london or the hall of john halle at salisbury. we read that this halle and one other "merchant of the staple" bought all the wool that came from salisbury plain, which fact helps to explain how he came to be four times chosen mayor of salisbury, and also sent to represent the burgesses when the king had occasion to summon parliament in london. his handsome hall is lighted by numerous windows, retaining to this day most of their original glazing. upon them appear sundry heraldic blazons, and also the merchant's mark of john halle, which is repeated again on the stone transom of the great fireplace. if we are to venture a date for the building, we may select the year 1471, and for the following reasons: the records show that john halle bought the land in 1467; the window above the fireplace displays that honest worthy in brave attire with motley hose supporting a banner whereon appear the arms of edward iv., but surcharged with the plain label of three points, indicating that they belong to his son the prince of wales (murdered in the tower); on the other window appear the arms of warwick, the "kingmaker." now a glance into history reveals that the prince was born november 4, 1470, during the time that his mother was obtaining sanctuary in westminster abbey, his father having fled the country. further, we know that his father returned and defeated warwick at the battle of barnet, april 12, 1471, which defeat cost the great earl his life. it is fair to conjecture that the warwick arms would not have been put upon these windows after his death, nor those of the prince of wales before young edward was born, so there remains to us only the period between his birth and warwick's death (viz., november 4, 1470 to april 12, 1471) as the probable time of the hall's erection. the embrasures were glazed in uniform manner (except the one over the fireplace already described), and they repay close examination. within coloured borders are quarry lights across which are drawn bands slanting downward from left to right which bear the word "drede" often repeated. up and down the lancets are placed gaily tinted shields of arms. these slanting bands, marked with motto or single words, were not uncommon at that time; interesting examples are to be seen at ockwell's manor (berks), gatton chapel (surrey), and benedict's chapel (peterborough), &c. it has been suggested that the word "drede" used here is a rebus composed of the initials of the words "dominus rex edwardus domina elizabeth," referring to edward iv. and his queen. the handsome pointed roof assists the windows and the fireplace in completing a most pleasing interior, giving one a high opinion of the style in which once lived john halle, the great wool merchant of salisbury. winchester the oldest known road in all england is the "pilgrim's way" which used to run along the southern coast from the neighbourhood of salisbury to canterbury. in very early times it started from stonehenge, but when that place yielded in importance to the newer settlement of sarum, and it in turn to salisbury, the section from stonehenge to alton was abandoned because of the new demands of traffic from salisbury to alton. many parts of it are still easily traceable and are worth study by those interested in historic national highways. maurice hewlett, in that charming book in the mediæval manner, "new canterbury tales," has his pilgrims proceed not from london, as did chaucer's people, but along this very road from salisbury to winchester and thence to canterbury. nothing is known of stonehenge, the earliest starting-point of this road--it lies hidden behind the veil on the hither side of which history begins. likewise, very ancient are the traditions which we shall find at winchester. as we wend our way along this time-worn highway toward the latter town, we are (in the words of le gallienne) "now entering on a region where the names of saxon kings are still on the lips of peasants, where the battlefields have been green for a thousand years, and the norman conquest is spoken of as elsewhere we speak of the french revolution--a comparatively recent convulsion of politics." to us, pondering upon these ancient thoughts, there comes forth to meet us from royal winchester a strange array of "visions, like alcestis, brought from underlands of memory." we seem to see alfred the great and his tutor st. swithin; king canute, whose imperious sway stopped only at controlling the tide; william of wykeham, the great builder of cathedrals, churches and colleges; jane austen, friend of us all; the gentle isaac walton, and many another. shades and visions of shades! nay, even the lovely new forest through which we are travelling seems peopled with ghosts from homes destroyed to provide space for it by the ruthless norman conqueror william--ghosts that old legends say winged the arrow that here slew his son william rufus. and is not winchester itself the ghost of the kingly capitals it has been--the saxon capital of alfred, who here wrote the anglo-saxon chronicle; the danish capital of canute, whose sway extended far out over scandinavia; the norman capital of william ruling both sides of the channel? in harmony with this weird ghostliness is a strange story that has to do with the building of the cathedral. william's bishop, walkelin, received a grant from his royal master of all the wood that he could cut from the forest of hannepings during the space of four days. when william rode forth to see how much had been removed for the purposes of the new building, he at first thought magic had been invoked, for lo! the entire forest was gone! the only magic used proved to be the great energy shown by the bishop in collecting such a horde of workmen as to perform this tremendous feat in so short a time. stately and impressive as is the long grey cathedral, and pregnant as are its memories, there are others in winchester equally potent to conjure up the distant past, for in the county hall we shall see suspended against the wall the table round of king arthur and his knights. tennyson, in his description of king arthur's hall, shows himself a stout advocate of how glorious a part stained glass can play in a scheme of decoration. he says: "and, brother, had you known our hall within, broader and higher than any in all the lands! where twelve great windows blazon arthur's wars and all the light that falls upon the board streams thro' the twelve great battles of our king. nay, one there is, and at the eastern end, wealthy with wandering lines of mount and mere where arthur finds the brand excalibur." the cathedral, although giving the impression of spaciousness, does not receive full credit for its size--as a matter of fact it is the largest in england. according to the delightful english custom, it lies within a charming close of green lawn and trees, while on one side a narrow passage called the slype, quaintly inscribed, gives access to the deanery, library, &c., close by, which buildings add so much to the picturesque effect of the whole. within the portal we shall find the remains of many ancient great ones, some in mortuary chests placed high aloft, and others interred in the customary manner beneath slabs of the pavement. walpole justly says, "how much power and ambition under half a dozen stones!" the remains of old glass in this church are more interesting than numerous. cromwell's ruffians here outdid themselves. not content with their usual method of smashing the windows as high up as they could thrust their pikes, they broke open the ancient mortuary chests containing the remains of early kings and ecclesiastics, and hurled through the upper window panes the bones of canute, william rufus, and many another long dead ruler--a gruesome destruction indeed! the most important examples of stained glass date from just after the death of william of wykeham (1404). so interested was this great man in our gentle art that he placed in his will minute instructions covering the glazing of the windows of his beloved cathedral. he ordains that it be commenced in the nave at the first embrasure west of the new work done by him and then proceed "bene et honeste et decenter" easterly along the south aisle and south clerestory, then, provided any money remains unexpended, the north aisle and the north clerestory. there are more remains of his beneficence on the north side than on the south. four of his canopied figures have been moved to the first embrasure from the east in the choir clerestory. all of this glass is quite similar to that which he installed in the antechapel of new college at oxford. there are earlier perpendicular remains in the great west window, in those at the west end of the nave aisles, and in the first of the south aisle. if it were not for the west window with its deliciously mellow effect, winchester would hardly have been included in this tour, for the remainder of the glass, though of interest, is not important. one should proceed eastward as far as the transept before turning to look at the west window, for thus he will be able to enjoy its effect without having first learned that it is really only a jumble of old glass put together every which way, another example of colour outlasting design. strangely enough, its soft grey-greenish tones remind one of the five sisters at york, earlier by two centuries. a nearer approach not only reveals the disordered array of fragments but also permits one to remark a few of the original figures and canopies in the upper left-hand corner. the nine lofty lights are subdivided into three groups of three each by means of two of the mullions which are thicker than the others; these two swerve off to the left and right when nearing the top in the usual perpendicular manner. an unusual feature is the fact that the mullions of the window have been carried down over the face of the stone wall below, thus agreeably tying together the wall of glass and the supporting one of stone. in this window there are two circles of geometric patterns, made up of early decorated fragments. glass dating from the end of the reign of henry vi. is to be seen in the three most westerly embrasures of the clerestory on the north, and the two most easterly on the south. these latter are from six to ten inches too short for the embrasures, thus indicating that they have been transferred from elsewhere. [illustration: nave, winchester cathedral the excellent effect produced by the fifteenth century fragments with which this window is glazed proves that colour is more important than design in glass. note swerving to right and left of two principal mullions, thus relieving a monotony of upright lines] our first glance toward the east makes one inclined to quarrel with what seems to be the excessive height of the gracefully carved reredos, which appears to encroach upon the east window and to leave only so much of it visible as to make it too wide for its height. a closer view exculpates the reredos, for it turns out that the window is placed so unusually high in the wall that none of it is concealed by the great altar. its seven lights separate into a central group of three and two side ones of two each. the original glazing has been replaced by some given about 1525 by bishop fox, which, however, is now much restored; there appear upon it his arms and motto, "est deo gracia." the top central light has some of the earlier wykeham glass. the manufacture of glass had much improved by the time of bishop fox, but the effect of this window cannot be compared with the larger one to the west. from fragments observable in some side windows, and also in the traceries of both the north and south aisles of the choir, it seems that the fox glass was also used there. it is to be regretted that there is not on view the contents of two boxes in the cloisters of winchester school, where are stored the wykeham panels taken from the west embrasures of new college antechapel to make room for sir joshua reynolds' "virtues." before leaving winchester one should take time to see the ancient church of st. cross. in 1136 henry de blois commanded that every one who demanded a piece of bread and a draught of beer at the gate of this church should receive it, a quaint echo of mediæval hospitality. st. neot the earliest appreciation by the outside world of the great natural wealth of england was evidenced by those perilous voyages out into the unknown sea beyond the pillars of hercules, undertaken by the early phoenicians in order to trade for tin with the inhabitants of what we now call cornwall. by one of the odd philological quirks of slang, the word "tin" is now endowed with a meaning inclusive of every form of wealth--a strange modern acknowledgment of the earliest form of english value. many of these ancient mines are still worked, as we shall see for ourselves when we visit st. neot. this centuries-old continuance of tin-mining is strongly in accord with all things cornish, for in that westernmost corner of england change does not intrude, and as things have been so they continue to be. we will assume that the pilgrim has reached plymouth, that western outpost of devon, seated beside her ample harbour, whose many bays and estuaries running up into the land seem to symbolise father neptune laying his mighty hand upon the smiling country. ferrying across to the cornish side, we proceed by pleasant woody roads giving glimpses of plymouth harbour, and on to solid stone-built liskeard. pushing past along the high road that leads to bodmin and the land's end, we shall be at some pains to notice a little road that, four miles beyond liskeard, turns off to the right up a narrow valley. a mile of pretty windings past several ancient but still active tin mines, brings us to st. neot, snugly stowed away among the hills. here, in this small community, which shows no trace of ever having been any larger, nor any indication of becoming so in the future, stands one of the most interesting glass shrines in england. the church has the appearance of many another of the perpendicular school--a type so common throughout the land. one notices that it is lighted by an ample number of large windows, each of four lancets. once inside the door, however, and the change from the usual to the extraordinary is immediate. the roomy interior is practically unbroken by the usual divisions of chancel, nave, &c., and this very appearance of spaciousness assists admirably in showing off the windows to the greatest advantage. the oldest ones are at diagonally opposite ends of the church from each other, and are found in the north-westerly and south-easterly corners. the many small groups or scenes (each installed in a canopy) into which these are subdivided render their legends all the more attractive, because they depict so many different points in the story's development. the architecture of their canopy frames shows that they date from rather early in the fifteenth century. in addition to this more common style of glazing there is another type, which has a number of examples here--a saint standing upon a bracket and displayed against a quarry background, but lacking a canopy. these date from a little later in the perpendicular period. this bracket feature is very english, and may also be seen at nettlestead and west wickham in kent. so pleased were the parishioners with these two types that, when some new windows were presented in 1528-29-30 (now seen along the north wall), the glazier did not work in the then prevailing renaissance method, but designed his story of st. neot's life after the earlier many-scened type, as well as copying some of them after that of the bracketed saints. one of these sixteenth century windows was presented by the young men of the parish, another by the young women, a third by the married women, and the rest by private individuals or families. below the two given by the married and the unmarried women are a row of kneeling donors which afford an interesting study of female costume. in the south wall is a window given by the mutton family. here the glazier did not copy earlier types, but struck out along a new line, making a very graceful use of winding scrolls. extremely pleasing as is the effect of all these windows, the result would have been even more gratifying had it not been for a restoration which befell the church in 1820, and which, when it subsided, left behind it not only three unsatisfactory new windows, but also certain misguided retouchings of the old ones. even this gentle criticism must not be allowed to affect the fact that the _ensemble_ of the interior here is delightful and one of the most complete in england. nor is this general effect one whit less engaging than the host of quaint details revealed by a close investigation of the glass, especially in the case of the noah window (most easterly of the south wall), and that devoted to st. neot (most westerly of the north wall). the mediæval idea of noah's ark is very diverting, as is also the artist's idea of how most of his wild animals must have looked. then, too, the attention paid by good st. neot to the sacred fish which his over-zealous servant had wickedly roasted and broiled is most entertaining. for beauty, and for interest as well, this noteworthy set of windows in far-off cornwall amply repay the length of the trip necessary to seek them out. renaissance in england there is not to be found the same awakening and change in art at the opening of the sixteenth century which is encountered in france, and is known to us as the renaissance. this revival of art reached the english at second hand, having been transmitted to them through the french. the soldiers of louis xii. and francis i., who fought in italy at the close of the fifteenth century, could not help but see and feel the new movement in matters artistic then bursting into bloom, and they carried home with them not only memories of what they had seen, but also many fine examples in their spoils of war. the tales and trophies of these soldiers proved a great force in starting the french renaissance. one of its first fruits was the change from the then flamboyant gothic to the classical style in architecture. in glass it was first evidenced by substituting canopies of classic form for the gothic ones which had been so much in vogue. the pictures they enclosed were gradually widened until it soon became necessary to discard altogether the canopy frame, which, on the passing of the narrow gothic embrasures, was seen to have outlived its usefulness. while this awakening in art ultimately reached england, it came slowly and never gained the influence it attained in france. the english ear and eye were not surprised and delighted as were the french by the return of soldiery laden with artistic spoils and enthusiastic over the new beauties which they had seen in italy. art in england developed quietly, steadily, as was but natural, lacking, as it did, this sudden impetus from the outside. there is another, and for us, a far more regrettable difference between those two countries during the sixteenth century, in that very little good glass was then made in england, while france was constantly adding to her wealth of windows during all of this, her great period of artistic revival. just as the golden age of glass seemed to die in france at the end of the sixteenth century, so, in england, it perished at the end of the fifteenth, a whole century earlier. there are, however, some fine examples of the sixteenth century in england even though much of it (as at lichfield) will prove to have come from abroad. what we shall find at cambridge is delightful, in fact so fine is it that one must deeply regret that there are so few towns on the roster of this epoch. a modest amount of glass was made in england during the seventeenth century (as, for example, the work of the crabeth brothers and von linge in certain oxford colleges), but as this is only fairly good and was, moreover, made by foreigners, we will not take our pilgrim to see it because its lesser interest might detract from his delightful memories of the glorious decorated and perpendicular windows. in english sixteenth century glass it is not easy to trace the transition from the perpendicular canopies to the large brilliant pictures, which can be so readily studied in france. the english glazier would almost seem to have realised abruptly the beauty of the large picture windows, and to have transferred his allegiance suddenly to this new method. delightful examples are to be seen at shrewsbury, but most satisfying of all is the very complete series around the chapel of king's college, cambridge, that gem of english architecture. lichfield must also be visited to view its flemish windows about the lady chapel, and st. margaret's church (close to westminster abbey) for its east window of the same provenance. concerning english glass of this period it may be said that it possesses all the rich colour treatment of its french contemporaries, and, moreover, that it has the added advantage of a more careful use of the leads in providing outlines for the designs. almost insignificant as are these sixteenth century remains when compared with the innumerable ones across the channel, their great beauty goes far towards compensating us for their lack of numbers. renaissance tours the seven towns containing noteworthy renaissance glass fall naturally into two groups, one to the north and the other to the south. supposing we begin with the one of greater distances, the first stage, after viewing the london windows, will be cambridge. thence we go north-westerly to lichfield, and, lastly, due west to shrewsbury. if the pilgrim has not already visited shrewsbury on our decorated tour, he will find an account of its sixteenth century glazing at p. 85. the second tour is to the south, and not only are all the points near london, but close to each other as well. the first will be guildford, which lies in surrey, as does also gatton park, the next in order. twenty miles to the east, over the kentish border, is knole, which concludes the tour. [illustration: map of renaissance tour] if a stay of any length is made in cambridge, occasion may be taken to use it as a centre for side-trips to margaretting, levrington and lowick. so, too, proximity may serve as an excuse for seeing nettlestead and west wickham on our way back to london from knole. london london, that capital of the world, contains no examples of early glass _in situ_, and it is not until we have arrived at the study of renaissance windows that she provides something to engage our attention. it must not be overlooked that there is an excellent collection of early glass at the victoria and albert museum which, by the way, is most advantageously displayed, thanks to the manner in which all light is cut off save that coming through the coloured panes: it is unfortunate that the same good taste and judgment is not in evidence at the louvre and other great museums. some of the original mosaic medallions from the sainte chapelle, paris, are here preserved. after all, though this south kensington exhibit is undeniably good, glass appeals to one less in a museum than when seen in its natural home, a church. two london churches have interesting examples of renaissance glass, which, however, came from abroad, the east window in st. margaret's, westminster, and three in the east wall of st. george's, hanover square. westminster abbey is generally entered by the north transept door, and almost every one of its visitors overlooks the modest little parish church of st. margaret, standing only a few paces off, so completely dwarfed and rendered almost insignificant is it by the imposing proportions of its impressive neighbour. nevertheless, small as is this interior, it possesses a window which the abbey would be proud to have, one of such pre-eminent excellence as to draw from winston the statement that "the harmonious arrangement of the colouring is worthy of attention. it is the most beautiful work in this respect that i am acquainted with." it completely fills the large eastern embrasure, and one needs but a glance to recognise it as a renaissance work of an excellent type. the three central lancets show christ between the thieves, and below, the holy women, and soldiers. the drops of blood from his wounded side fall into chalices held by three angels. the repentant thief has his soul carried away by an angel to heaven, while a devil is mocking the other one. on the north side is st. george, and below him a kneeling figure which provides the only authentic portrait of arthur prince of wales. on the left is katharine of aragon, the _fiancée_ of prince arthur, and later the first wife of henry viii. above her head appears her badge, the pomegranate. as no stranger tale could be related of the vicissitudes to which a glass window could be subjected than the adventures of this window during the 300 years that elapsed between its making and its installation at st. margaret's, the writer is moved to set it out in full in the words of the historian of that church, mrs. j. e. sinclair: "the window was ordered in 1499, and took five years to be executed at dordrecht (or, as some authorities state, at gouda) in holland. it was intended as a gift from king ferdinand the catholic and his wife, queen isabella, to henry vii. to commemorate the marriage of their children, and was originally purposed to be erected in the lady chapel of westminster abbey, then in course of construction by henry vii., and now generally designated by his name. as prince arthur died in 1502, before the arrival of the window in england, and as it was the policy of henry vii. to avoid the repayment of the widow's dowry by her marriage to his younger son, for obvious reasons, the window was never erected in the lady chapel of the abbey of st. peter. after the vicissitudes of three centuries, it has been eventually put up in st. margaret's church, within a very short distance of its original destination. henry viii., after marrying his brother's widow, naturally disliked the window, and presented it to the abbey of waltham, where it remained till the dissolution of religious houses in 1540. then the abbot, with a view to its preservation, transferred it to his private chapel at new hall in essex. this property, strange to relate, fell at the reformation into the hands of sir thomas boleyn, earl of wiltshire, father of queen katharine's rival, anne boleyn. on the death of sir thomas without a male heir, henry viii. seized new hall with the rest of the boleyn patrimony, in right of his murdered wife, on behalf of her daughter elizabeth. he then wished to alter the name of new hall into beaulieu, but the old nomenclature survived. queen elizabeth bestowed the estate on ratcliffe, earl of essex, who sold it to villiers, duke of buckingham. his son, in turn, sold it to general monk, duke of albemarle, who caused the window to be taken down and buried in chests, thus preserving it from the iconoclastic zeal of the puritans during the civil war. the next owner of new hall, john olmius, offered the window, in a letter dated july 30, 1738, preserved in the british museum, to the authorities of wadham college, oxford, for their chapel; he terms it 'one of the finest large windows of painted glass in england.' the negotiation apparently fell through, for it was bought from him by mr. john conyers of copt hall, essex, for fifty guineas. the son of this gentleman, on february 8, 1759, sold the 'window with its stone frame, ironwork, and other appurtenances' to the churchwardens of st. margaret's, westminster, for £420. this sum formed part of the parliamentary grant of £4500 then voted for the repair of the parish church of the house of commons." the parishioners of that small sanctuary possess in this much-travelled window as inspiring and beautiful a treasure as any of those which attract so great an attendance to its mighty neighbour westminster abbey. [illustration: st. george's, hanover square, london a renaissance tree of jesse from belgium, readjusted to fit its new embrasures. figures unusually large for this subject. fine colours and drawing] certainly one would not visit the abbey because of its stained glass, but equally certain is it that no one who happens into its neighbourhood can resist its spell and must enter the portal, if only for a moment of old-world inspiration. let us yield gracefully, and when we have entered look about us for what little ancient glazing remains after the visit of the roundhead despoilers. there are fragments in the two small windows of the nave's west end, but the most important remains are those in the east window above the altar. here are assembled pieces dating from the thirteenth to the eighteenth centuries, which serve as a background for edward the confessor and his patron saint--these figures are of the fifteenth century. passing on to the east through the maze of kingly remains, a few steps lead us up into the magnificent henry vii. chapel, whose noble proportions seem to mock the modesty of its name. the ancient glory of its glass has departed, but those who interest themselves in the light which heraldry throws upon history should repair to the easternmost chapel and examine the coats of arms set out upon its panes. here are blazoned all the tudor badges, picturing the claims upon which that new house based its right to occupy the throne of england. the red rose of lancaster and the white one of york are there alone and in combination. the portcullis of the beauforts, the family of henry vii.'s mother; the countess of richmond's root of daisies; the english lions; the fleur-de-lis of france; the cadwalader dragon, a reminder of henry's descent from the last of the british kings; the greyhound of the nevilles, from whom elizabeth of york descended through her grandmother, and also the badge of her father, edward iv.--a falcon within the open fetterlock; and last, but most significant of all, the green bush with its golden crown, emblematic of henry's hasty coronation on bosworth field with the diadem of richard iii. picked from off a hawthorn bush. in those strenuous days the proof of a legal title was not infrequently deferred until after the mailed fist had laid hold upon its prey! st. george's, hanover square, has long been famed far and wide for the great number of weddings there solemnised. it is perhaps not inappropriate that the old glass to be seen here once constituted a tree of jesse. the spacious window at the back of the chancel, and also those which flank it on either side, are filled with it. so large are the figures (the largest the writer has ever seen in this favourite glass design) that two of them suffice to fill each of these side windows, although their embrasures are by no means small. the glass was originally made for a church at mechlin, belgium, and though its figures have been necessarily readjusted to suit their new home, there remain so many sections of the vine as well as of the familiar name-labels as to make it obvious that the panels as originally combined made up a tree of jesse. the glazing as a whole is rich in tone, unmistakably renaissance, and, best of all, so agreeably disposed in its present abiding-place as to make it seem as if it had always belonged there. cambridge in the mind of most americans the names of oxford and cambridge are firmly locked together--a sort of siamese twins of university education. as a matter of fact, they are strangely different--very much more so, indeed, than any two american universities. while oxford has her charming quadrangles with their delightful gardens, cambridge not only has them also, but further rejoices in a very special beauty, her "backs," those admirable contrivances for preventing overstudy on the part of too zealous students. a "back" is that portion of a college's territory through which meanders the narrow cam, the scenic opportunities of that slender stream being developed to the uttermost with green banks, graceful bridges, and shaded walks. the writer never pursued a course of study at cambridge, and, therefore, is not competent to judge of the charms of her undergraduate life, but he has spent sundry happy hours canoeing on the gentle cam, which same hours have yielded him the impression that, fascinating as the undergraduates doubtless find the lecture halls, there is much to be said in favour of idling along the delightful "backs." hints of the joys of cambridge college life pervade the clever verses of calverley, and also those of his lineal successor, the unfortunate j. k. stephen. chief among the many victories of the wearers of the "light blue" are those won by the oarsmen, and these victories become doubly praiseworthy when we visit the miserable little stream on which the crews have to train. that a long line of successes have been achieved in the face of such disheartening obstacles adds all the more to the credit and glory of men like the brothers close, the giant muttlebury, dudley ward, and many another. most of the colleges follow the quadrangle system like their oxford cousins, but there is an exception in the case of king's college. here a handsome openwork screen of stone shuts off the street, but not the view. through it we are able to see, standing haughtily apart from the neighbouring buildings, the beautiful chapel of the college, one of the few perfect buildings in existence. goldwin smith says, "cambridge, in the chapel of king's college, has a single glory which oxford cannot match." it is a long, tall edifice, of the same width throughout, lighted by high windows of even size, and ceiled by graceful groups of fan vaultings of the most exquisite type. the only division of the interior is that effected by a wooden screen which runs across the middle, but, fortunately, stops before reaching a height which would interfere with an uninterrupted view of the sweep of the fan vaultings above. a full two-thirds of the wall-height is given over to lighting apertures. the records show that the two contracts for glazing the windows were dated 1527 and 1528. they require that the "wyndows be well, suerly, workmanly, substantyally, curyously, and sufficiently glase and sette up." it is said that holbein drew the cartoons from which they were made. the excellence and charm of this complete series makes one regret that there are so few examples of their epoch in this country; this strikes with peculiar force one coming from france, so prodigally rich in sixteenth century windows. at king's college the large picture treatment is seen at its best. not only is the composition of the groups of figures carefully studied, but so also is the adroit opposing of one colour by another. particularly daring is the use of large masses of the same tint. so little was the artist willing to be hampered in the development of his colour scheme that he even made his foliage red when he happened to need that hue in a certain part of his design. although the pictures here display careful drawing and elaborate composition, the excellence of the general result is certainly due to the fact that the artist thought fully as much of colour values as he did of his designs, something his contemporaries were prone to forget. these windows come as a delightful relief to one accustomed to the ill-considered use of renaissance architecture that so overloads and encumbers the sixteenth century stained glass pictures on the continent. an exquisite sense of balance seems to prevail throughout the interior, and in no feature of the decoration is it so noticeable as in the windows. the large expanse of each is broken into two parts by a horizontal transom, and both the upper and lower divisions are again subdivided, since the central lancet of each contains a figure in renaissance canopy over a similar figure below in the pedestal. this leaves a space two lancets wide on either side both above and below, and each of these spaces contains a large subject. this method of avoiding the monotony which would have been caused by the singlet-lancet treatment is carried out along both of the long sides. the nine lancets in the large east window permit the introduction of three pictures above, each spreading over three lancets, and the same number below. the three in the upper row set forth the crucifixion, the central one displaying the usual subject of christ crucified between the two thieves, while to the left is the preparation of the crosses, and to the right the taking down from the cross. the blues in these pictures are particularly fine. above in the traceries are red lancastrian roses, as well as some tudor ones of red and white combined. these roses are frequently repeated in the carvings of both stone and wood, as is also the portcullis badge of the tudors. the beautifully carved wooden panelling about the walls of the choir is rivalled by the rich stone screens that shut off the lateral chapels from the nave. there is some seventeenth century glass in the chapel of peterhouse college which should be seen, if only to learn how windows should not be coloured, for the thick application of blues and other tints have rendered the glass here and there almost opaque. there was in england about that time a good deal of thickly coloured, and therefore unsatisfactory, glass. one does not have to see many examples of it before the conclusion becomes inevitable that the english glaziers would better have followed the example of the frenchmen, who, when their art became moribund at the end of the sixteenth century, let it die and gave it decent burial! * * * * * most visitors find it difficult to escape speedily from the fascinations of cambridge, and if some of our pilgrims be minded to make a short stay in these erudite surroundings, we will remind them that there are, not far away, three pleasing bits of glass, and all of them trees of jesse--one of the perpendicular period at margaretting, about fifty miles south-east in essex, another one of the same period at levrington, thirty-three miles north in cambridgeshire, and a decorated example of the same subject at lowick, thirty-six miles west in cambridgeshire. the margaretting window is of three lancets and displays twenty-two figures, each with its own label, and together affording a peculiarly interesting study of costume. don't fail to notice how deftly the glazier has concealed the fact that the same cartoon is made to serve for several figures by facing them about, or varying the colour in the costumes. the handling of the whitish vine and the use of leaves is very artistic. the levrington window has five lancets, and its tree of jesse is larger and has more figures than the one at margaretting; it shows the marks of careful restoration. including the figures in the tracery lights, there are sixty in all--an unusually large number. each figure is placed within a loop of the deep orange-coloured vine, these enclosures being about 12 by 8 inches. this great company of personages, and the agreeable harmony of colour, make this window well worth a visit. lowick church does not have to rely alone upon its stained glass, but has many other attractions, such as its fine tombs, elaborately carved pew-heads, wooden ceiling, and last, but not least pleasing, the venerable prayer-books, dated 1724 and still in their original bindings, ornamented by coloured coats of arms on the covers. there are some heraldic panes along the south side of the chancel, but the chief interest for us is in the very fine series of sixteen personages originally forming a decorated tree of jesse, but now stationed along the upper lights on the north side of the nave. the drawing is good and the colouring strong, with as yet no trace of stain, the frequent touches of yellow being of pot-metal glass. the four most westerly figures are kings, and the eastmost is a knight in full armour, his head, arms and legs being covered with chain-mail. in his hands he holds a model of the church, upon which can be distinctly seen these windows, thus clearly indicating that he was the donor. lichfield there are few cathedrals in the world which, as one approaches, reveal themselves more charmingly than does lichfield; here one feels an almost studied coquetry, disclosing new beauties at each stage of our advance. when viewed from a distance the three graceful spires, "the ladies of the vale," seem to beckon one on to a nearer view of the sanctuary over which they preside. on entering the town it is temporarily lost from view, only promptly to appear again, this time across the little pools which lie along the south side of the close and which, aided by the green of the trees, provide so lovely a foreground and setting for the full-length picture of the great edifice. again we lose it, and then the last revelation of all comes when one rounds the corner into the green close and there bursts upon you the final and complete aspect of the glorious west front, brilliant in its red sandstone, adorned by its army of over 150 stone figures of prophets, saints, and english kings, a splendid façade, impressively culminated by the towering spires that first signalled to us where we should find this lovely picture. unfortunately for the cathedral, bishop de langdon, treasurer of england under edward i., by surrounding the close with a wall and a fosse, made of it a stout fortress. centuries after this very feature resulted most disastrously, for, during the civil wars, the military strength of its position caused it to sustain three successive sieges. of these the first was the most disastrous, for, when the roundheads broke in after a three days' assault, they revenged the death of their leader, lord brooke, first upon the royalist defenders, and next upon the cathedral itself, wrecking and destroying ancient tombs, stalls, &c., and, of course, the old glass. in addition to their work of destruction they carried off all that had been left by henry viii.'s commissioners of the rich offerings brought by devout pilgrims to the shrine of st. chad. to this same lord brooke sir walter scott pays his respects in the lines telling how lord marmion's body was brought "to moated lichfield's lofty pile; and there, beneath the southern aisle, a tomb, with gothic sculpture fair, did long lord marmion's image bear, (now vainly for its sight you look; 'twas levelled when fanatic brook the fair cathedral stormed and took; but thanks to heaven and good st. chad, a guerdon meet the spoilers had!)" the interior is of modest dimensions, and is elaborately decorated, the richly carved capitals, &c., giving us indications of how gorgeous it must all have been before it was looted. an interesting feature is the slight inclination of the choir northward from the axis of the nave, which is said to be symbolic of the inclination of christ's head on the cross after death. at troyes and at quimper in france there is the same deviation in orientation and the same poetic explanation, but investigation reveals that it was caused by a change in the street line in the first instance, and in the other by the annexation of an existing chapel standing slightly north of the true axis. [illustration: lady chapel, lichfield cathedral excellent example of renaissance colouring, freer from applied paint than then customary. this glass was brought from belgium] practically all of the ancient glass which originally adorned the embrasures has been destroyed; the north window of the north transept has some early english work much restored, and on the east of the south portal of the south transept is a short lower window, in the central lancet of which is a richly dressed female figure with arms thrown about a cross. just before entering the lady chapel we remark two small three-lanceted windows, one on each hand, the one to the left having donors on each side, and in the middle st. christopher carrying the infant jesus. but it is to the seven most easterly windows of the lady chapel that we must repair to see the famous flemish glass, brought here in 1803, which is the cause of our visit. the dates which appear upon them run from 1534 to 1539, and they were originally made for the abbey of herckenrode, near liége, belgium, by lambert lombard--the earliest and best of those glaziers of the low countries who show the italian influence. all are of three lancets, except the most westerly pair, which have six. the traceries above them are grouped in pyramids of trefoil openings, similar to some in the lady chapel at wells. the scenes are taken from the life of christ, and there are as well portraits of certain benefactors of the abbey. the composition as well as the grouping of the figures is not so crowded as in the slightly earlier (1527) glazing of king's college chapel, cambridge, or st. margaret's, westminster. the artist drew his personages on such a large scale that it is evident his work was planned for a more spacious interior--this chapel is so narrow that one cannot stand far enough away to get the full effect of the pictures. although now in the fully developed picture epoch and passed beyond the conventional trammels of the canopy with its imitation stonework, the glazier is not forgetful of what his craft had learned during that period, for he has made agreeable use of architecture, notably as the background for the last supper in the east window. even if the dates were not displayed in the usual sixteenth century continental fashion, we would have no difficulty in fixing them, not only because of the obviously renaissance style of the architecture depicted, but also by reason of the general breadth and style of the treatment. nor is it difficult to note the effect upon the artist of the italian influence, coming as it did from a land where abundant sunshine makes it desirable that the illumination of the windows be somewhat reduced by the use of paint. still, it is only fair to say that these particular windows contain much more than was then customary of glass coloured during the making and not painted afterwards. an excellent impression of the colour effect as a whole can be got if we retire to the central aisle of the nave and look east. now the sides of the choir become a graceful frame for the three easterly windows. the upper part and the centre show an almost solid expanse of blue, while all the rest of the glass yields a golden grey, forming an excellent _ensemble_. before leaving the town, admirers of english literature will do well to visit the house in which dr. samuel johnson was born. it now appropriately serves as a museum wherein are exposed a number of manuscripts, pictures, and familiar objects in some way related to that great scholar. although the worthy doctor said that his fellow townsmen were "more orthodox in their religion, purer in their language, and politer in their manners than any other town in the kingdom," one must be pardoned for taking _his_ opinion upon manners with a pinch of salt! guildford in england one is constantly coming upon manifestations only to be observed in a land whose civilisation and habits of life were long ago settled and have continued stable. one of the most interesting of these is the different methods adopted for perpetuating one's memory by a benevolent act toward the public--making it worth the public's while to act as trustee for the preservation of the said memory, so to speak! a very charming instance thereof is afforded by the buildings erected in guildford by archbishop abbott in 1619 as a permanent home for ten elderly men and eight elderly women, all presided over by a master: according to the fashion of the times it was styled bishop abbott's hospital. built on north street in the quadrangular form so reminiscent of an oxford or cambridge college, the rich plum-colour which age has lent to the brick needs only the primly demure assistance of the formal flower beds to make the altogether charming enclosure which we see to-day. entering this tranquil and ancient quadrangle one seems suddenly whisked by some magic wand far from the twentieth century world outside. the elderly resident of the establishment who escorts one about the premises descants upon each admirable detail in measured phrase that is pleasantly appropriate to the ancient flavour of the scene. one is shown the old dining-room below and the library above, both of which retain their elizabethan panelling on the walls and the carved overmantels, together with much of the original furniture. the large table in the library is an interesting piece, the lumpy adornment of its legs reminding one of the puffed sleeves and trunk hose then affected by gentlemen, while the rail running along the floor and connecting the legs prevents us from forgetting that rushes then strewed the floor, and that these rails were used to provide a convenient place to put the feet. the most interesting part of the building is the small square chapel which forms the north-east corner of the quadrangle. it is lighted by two large windows dating from the end of the renaissance period (1621) and contemporary with the chapel they adorn. they are unusually agreeable examples of the day when colour was applied to glass by enamelled painting. the serious technical defect of that method (the tendency of the enamel to peel off) is here noticeable in several spots, but not to such an extent as to impair seriously their decorative value. of these two ample embrasures, the easterly one is the larger, having five lancets surmounted by elaborate tracery lights, while its neighbour in the north wall has but four lancets with traceries of more modest design. all these lancets contain scenes taken from the life of jacob, the four to the north show rachel's subterfuge to obtain for jacob the parental blessing that should have been esau's, while the five easterly ones set forth jacob's dream, and the trick played upon him by laban in substituting leah for rebecca, together with jacob's retaliation by marking the cattle. remark esau shaking his fist at jacob for stealing his blessing; the solidity of the stairway in jacob's dream; the unusual number of animals shown in all the scenes. there should also be observed the very elaborate treatment of the eastern traceries. an examination of the outside of these windows indicates that they were probably brought from some other edifice, for the wall seems to have been cut away to provide sufficient room for them. [illustration: bishop abbott's hospital, guildford charming and complete glazing of a small chapel. renaissance glass coloured by the process of enamelling, often unsatisfactory because bits are apt to peel off] gatton it is not uncommon in england to find the chapel attached to the manor house of an estate used as a parish church for the neighbourhood. this is true of the family chapel at gatton park, surrey, just north of redhill, off the road leading to london. this chapel stands close to the mansion, and is connected with it by a passage. finer carved wood than the wainscotting of this small interior is far to seek. the wooden pulpit, too, is of skilful workmanship, and together with the panelling, is said to have come from germany, and to be the work of albrecht dürer; its beauty is certainly due to some great craftsman, if not to this very man. the principal illumination of the narrow edifice is derived from two large windows, one over the altar at the east end and the other of similar size in the south wall; there is none in the north one. both these embrasures are glazed with renaissance work of considerable excellence; the one to the east dates from about 1500, and the southerly one from about eighty years later. this latter, as is to be expected, shows a liberal use of enamel painting, something entirely absent in the earlier one, and each of its three lancets contains a different subject, against elaborate landscape backgrounds. the delicately outlined trees in the extreme distance are drawn upon a white field instead of upon the light blue then used in france. such architecture as appears in the design is, of course, renaissance. across the whole of the easterly window is stretched one large picture, the "eating of the passover," which is pleasantly brightened by the golden staves held by the figures who, with their raiment girded up and their feet shod by sandals, carry out to the full the mosaic law, "and thus shall ye eat it; with your loins girded, with shoes on your feet and your staff in your hand; and ye shall eat it in haste; it is the lord's passover" (exodus xii. 2). when about to leave this beautifully panelled charmingly glazed interior, note the small window in the west wall of the entrance vestibule. it is of a domestic type familiar during the perpendicular epoch. in the centre are the arms of henry vii. between two supporters. across the quarry background are bands slanting from the left down to the right bearing the motto, "honi soit qui mal y pense." some of the quarries show small leaves, and others an h surmounted by a crown. this window is similar in style to those already remarked at salisbury, in john halle's hall, and others maybe seen in many private houses dating from that time. although of modest size and possessing but two windows, gatton chapel is as delightful a bit of complete renaissance glazing as one will see in england. knole east and west across almost the whole width of kent run three parallel lines of low hills affording many charming views which, however, are only part of the many beauties of that picturesque county. upon the easterly end of one of these ridges lies sevenoaks. although the present town is by no means an ancient one, it possesses great interest in that just below its edge lies the large estate of knole park which, if we may play upon words, is a series of knolls that together with their intersecting glades are shaded by groves of great beeches whose soft green foliage has for many a long day sheltered the herds of deer wandering to and fro beneath them. upon an eminence of greater size than its fellows stands the ancient dwelling known as "knole," a great series of courts and quadrangles combined into an abode of such size that it is said to contain, in addition to its superb state apartments, no fewer than 365 bedrooms. enclosed within a wide sweeping battlemented wall are charming old-world gardens that nestle about the ancient grey mansion, and soften by their dainty setting of variegated flowers, green lawns and trees, the fortress-like appearance of its towers and long stretches of stone enclosure. thanks to a fine combination of patriotism and hospitality so often seen in england, a large portion of this house is (upon payment of a trifling fee) thrown open to the study and appreciation of the public on the afternoons of thursday and saturday (2-5), as well as all day friday (10-5). it is because it can be so conveniently seen by our glass-hunting pilgrim (owing to the generosity of the owners and the fact that it is under an hour by train from charing cross, london) that knole has been selected to illustrate in how decorative a fashion the sixteenth century glazier could spread the gay tints of heraldic story upon his windows. here can also be remarked one or two other minor manifestations of stained glass at that time. one of these is to be seen in the first stairway up which visitors are conducted. upon some of its diminutive diamond-shaped panes are enamelled armorial crests, much in vogue at the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the following one. on one of these little panes in the chapel of lullingstone castle near here appears the date 1612: these on the knole staircase are of about the same date. this house was long the property of the see of canterbury; perhaps the pilgrim may have one of the rare opportunities to visit the bedroom so long occupied by archbishop cranmer and observe in the upper lights of the bay window the six large ovals containing coats of arms in enamel, bits of which have peeled off, as is so often the case with this method of applying colour. how mystified that worthy ecclesiastic would be to see the modern bathroom which now opens into his old bedroom! while speaking of canterbury, it is of interest that we are enabled to date one of the knole towers by the fact that a morsel of glazing high up in the traceries of one window (all that is left of the original equipment) bears a double knot, the insignia of archbishop bourchier, thus proving that it is at least as old as his tenancy here (1456-86). but let us come to the main reason for our visit--the cartoon gallery. named after the set of raphael's cartoons especially copied for charles i., and by him presented to the earl of dorset to decorate these walls, this long room is brilliantly lighted by a series of windows giving off upon the delightful gardens. this is no place to dwell upon the sumptuous silver furnishings of king james' bedroom that opens out to the south, nor of the treasures of english portraiture in the rooms through which we have come to this gallery. we are here to enjoy the work of the glazier who set upon the windows the arms of the great houses allied to this one by marriage. one after another they unfold themselves all along the upper lights of this series of embrasures, and tell their story in a far more brilliant manner than can ever be attained by any musty tome on genealogy. this estate was more than once the property of the crown, and an evidence of one of these periods is provided by the appearance on some of the westerly windows of the arms of certain law officers of the crown, such as the lord chief justice, attorney-general, chief baron of the exchequer, master of the requests, judge of admiralty, &c. these are somewhat earlier than those first mentioned and are freer from the unfortunate enamel painting. taking into consideration the dimensions of this superb apartment, and the paintings and glass that adorn it, together with the pleasing outlook upon the gardens below, it is doubtful if a more impressive gallery is to be found in any of the stately homes of england. the chapel, which was built by archbishop cranmer, has an unpleasantly smeared east window, but upon its surface high up are a series of apostles done in grey and stain which, if brought down to the level for which they were originally intended, would show themselves to be very attractive. at the south end of the little gallery used as the "family pew" are a group of about a dozen scenes in grey and stain of excellent execution, and so placed as to permit of a satisfactory examination of this agreeable form of renaissance glass-painting. * * * * * if one be travelling by bicycle or automobile, a pleasant addition to this trip may be made, on the way back to london, by taking one small _détour_ of about ten miles to visit nettlestead, and another of about three to west wickham church. the glass at both these places is perpendicular, but not of sufficient importance to have made them stations on that tour. however, they can be so conveniently seen at this stage of our rambles that they are here duly mentioned. it is only recently that, thanks to the skilful heraldic researches of w. e. ball, ll.d., the date of the nettlestead windows has been discovered, as well as the significance of the many coats of arms scattered over them. recent restoration has made complete the glazing of the entire north side and also of the east window. note the narrow one at the north of the small chancel--quarry background with a large figure standing on a bracket, very reminiscent of sundry prototypes at st. neot in cornwall. the other windows on this side (except the westmost) are rich, almost florid examples of the elaborated canopy style. indeed, so deep are the tones that one is tempted to suspect that some frenchman had a hand in their manufacture. the smaller chancel light just noted is much lower in colour and therefore more typical of the then prevailing english taste. this is also true of the westmost or "becket window," as it is called, because it shows scenes from that martyr's life. the south windows retain their original glass only in the tracery lights, but it is planned to reglaze them as nearly as possible like those on the north side. nettlestead church is not easily noticed from the road because of some farm buildings and an orchard which mask it. if, when we resume our journey londonward, it be decided to take a peep at the west wickham glass, one should be careful not to overshoot the church, for it lies at least a half-mile nearer the london road than does the village whose name it bears. the embrasures on the north and east of a chapel opening off the chancel contain examples of a saint standing on a bracket against a quarry background, which we have just observed in the nettlestead chancel light and also on a former tour at st. neot. the quarries here each bear the monogram "i.h.s." in stain. the supports below the brackets are shorter than is customary. what painstaking care was used in the manufacture of these windows is revealed by an examination of the central one on the north side, bearing the familiar figure of st. christopher carrying the infant jesus. notice that the little pool of water in which he stands contains small golden fishes; also remark the careful leading of the three tiny red trees in the background. this very attention to detail noticeable in all the panels has much to do with the satisfactory effect of these windows. itineraries showing distances in miles early english (84 miles from london) salisbury--125--canterbury--180--lincoln--135 --york (197 miles to london) decorated (197 miles from london) york--84--norbury--62--shrewsbury--29--ludlow --24--hereford--28--tewkesbury--4--deerhurst--42--bristol--20--wells --63--exeter--130--dorchester--12--oxford (54 miles to london) perpendicular (54 miles from london) oxford--27--fairford--8--cirencester--17-gloucester--27--great malvern--2--little malvern--20--ross--60-warwick--10--coventry--128--york (197 miles to london) salisbury (84 miles from london) winchester (68 miles from london) st. neot (257 miles from london) renaissance london--53--cambridge--103--lichfield--41--shrewsbury (154 miles to london) (28 miles from london) guildford--23--gatton--20--knole (24 miles to london) list of towns showing distances from london miles from london page 119 bristol decorated 107 53 cambridge renaissance 223 56 canterbury early english 36 52 chartham decorated 49 90 cirencester perpendicular 154 91 coventry perpendicular 181 100 deerhurst decorated 104 42 dorchester decorated 124 169 exeter decorated 120 83 fairford {perpendicular 148 {renaissance 148 18 gatton renaissance 239 102 gloucester perpendicular 158 117 great malvern {perpendicular 166 {decorated 166 28 guildford renaissance 236 131 hereford decorated 96 24 knole renaissance 242 91 levrington perpendicular 228 117 lichfield renaissance 230 135 lincoln early english 51 120 little malvern perpendicular 172 -london renaissance 216 75 lowick decorated 228 150 ludlow {decorated 92 {perpendicular 92 30 margaretting perpendicular 228 32 nettlestead perpendicular 246 136 norbury decorated 82 54 oxford decorated 129 54 oxford perpendicular 142 118 ross perpendicular 174 257 st. neot perpendicular 203 84 salisbury early english 30 84 salisbury perpendicular 192 {decorated 85 154 shrewsbury {perpendicular 85 {renaissance 85 103 tewkesbury decorated 100 92 warwick perpendicular 177 121 wells decorated 114 17 west wickham perpendicular 247 32 willesborough decorated 49 68 winchester perpendicular 195 197 york early english 57 197 york decorated 76 197 york perpendicular 58 stained glass tours in england _with 16 full-page illustrations_ by c. h. sherrill demy 8vo. (9 × 5-3/4 ins.) price 7s. 6d. net. postage 6d. extra _spectator_: "mr. sherrill has written a book which not only proves him to be a true lover of mediæval glass, but proves also his enlightened comprehension of its evolution and its changing style.... a pleasant and entertaining instructor." _sunday times_: "the illustrations are delightful, and successfully capture the blended notes of opulence and beauty which the mediæval designers threw into their work." _daily telegraph_: "mr. sherrill leads his fellow-travellers by delightful paths.... he is a model guide, and all his illustrations are to the point. it is difficult to imagine how any instructor could pack more fruitful information into a smaller or more attractive parcel." _morning post_: "is well written, and in a style which shows that the author really feels the attraction of the art he describes." _daily chronicle_: "a distinct triumph to write a book of 250 pages on a restricted though very beautiful subject, and never become monotonous; this is the triumph mr. sherrill has achieved. a really delightful volume." _literary world_: "all who care for beautiful handiwork, and all interested visitors to our old cathedrals, colleges, and churches, should possess themselves of this charming book.... the illustrations are extremely good." _western morning news_: "the author describes the beauties he has seen in a most interesting style, and with exceedingly good taste. this volume deserves unstinted praise." john lane, the bodley head, vigo street, london, w. stained glass tours in france _with illustrations_ by c. h. sherrill crown 8vo. 6s. net _the builder_: "a very well-written book, with a very good æsthetic perception as to what is best and most to be admired in ancient stained glass." _the antiquary_: "a well-qualified guide for all who can appreciate the loveliness of the old glass in which france is still so rich." roger fry in _the burlington magazine_: "he has really looked, and looked lovingly, at the windows he describes. his knowledge is evidently adequate, and he rearranges it in a form which he who automobiles may read." _westminster gazette_: "useful and interesting. mr. sherrill gives just enough information to enable the lay reader to understand the difficulties with which the artist in coloured glass had to contend. moreover, he has the eloquence of a true enthusiast, and is able to communicate to others his own delight." _pall mall gazette_: "exceedingly useful. a work showing much industry, enthusiasm, and good taste, it is a really valuable supplementary volume to one's murray or baedeker. the author has excellent taste." _morning post_: "mr. sherrill does feel very sincerely the beauty of stained glass, and is able to communicate his feeling in writing. mr. sherrill pilots us on a pleasant cruise among some of the greatest of the french examples of the style." _british architect_: "the writer manages to say a good many interesting things. mr. sherrill's book is written in a most interesting style." _architectural review_: "a useful book. mr. sherrill has an acute appreciation of the important relationship between the glass and the surrounding architecture, and he has brought the fresh mind of the amateur to his subject." john lane, the bodley head, vigo street, london, w. transcriber's note: minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. cathedrals and cloisters of the south of france [illustration: _rodez._ "sheer and straight the pillars rise, ... and arch after arch is lost on the shadows of the narrow vaulting of the side-aisle."] cathedrals _and_ cloisters of the south of france by elise whitlock rose with illustrations from original photographs by vida hunt francis _in two volumes_ _volume i._ g. p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press 1906 copyright, 1906 by g. p. putnam's sons preface. for years the makers of this book have spent the summer time in wandering about the french country; led here by the fame of some old monument, or there by an incident of history. they have found the real, unspoiled france, often unexplored by any except the french themselves, and practically unknown to foreigners, even to the ubiquitous maker of guide-books. for weeks together they have travelled without meeting an english-speaking person. it is, therefore, not surprising that they were unable to find, in any convenient form in english, a book telling of the cathedrals of the south which was at once accurate and complete. for the cathedrals of that country are monuments not only of architecture and its history, but of the history of peoples, the psychology of the christianising and unifying of the barbarian and the gallo-roman, and many things besides, epitomised perhaps in the old words, "the struggle between the world, the flesh, and the devil." in french, works on cathedrals are numerous and exhaustive; but either so voluminous as to be unpractical except for the specialist--as the volumes of viollet-le-duc,--or so technical as to make each cathedral seem one in an endless, monotonous procession, differing from the others only in size, style, and age. this is distinctly unfair to these old churches which have personalities and idiosyncrasies as real as those of individuals. it has been the aim of the makers of this book to introduce, in photograph and in story,--not critically or exhaustively, but suggestively and accurately,--the cathedral of the mediterranean provinces as it exists to-day with its peculiar characteristics of architecture and history. they have described only churches which they have seen, they have verified every fact and date where such verification was possible, and have depended on local tradition only where that was all which remained to tell of the past; and they will feel abundantly repaid for travel, research, and patient exploration of towers, crypts, and archives if the leisurely traveller on pleasure bent shall find in these volumes but a hint of the interest and fascination which the glorious architecture, the history, and the unmatched climate of the southland can awaken. for unfailing courtesy and untiring interest, for free access to private as well as to ecclesiastical libraries, for permission to photograph and copy, for unbounding hospitality and the retelling of many an old legend, their most grateful thanks are due to the catholic clergy, from archbishop to curé and vicar. for rare old bits of information, for historical verification, and for infinite pains in accuracy of printed matter, they owe warm thanks to mrs. wilbur rose, to miss frances kyle, and to mrs. william h. shelmire, jr. for criticism and training in the art of photographing they owe no less grateful acknowledgment to mr. john g. bullock and mr. charles r. pancoast. e. w. r. v. h. f. contents. page the south of france i. the south of france 3 ii. architecture in provence, languedoc, and gascony 29 provence i. the cathedrals of the sea 55 marseilles--toulon--fréjus--antibes--nice ii. cathedrals of the hill-towns 72 carpentras--digne--forcalquier--vence--grasse iii. river-side cathedrals 101 avignon--vaison--arles--entrevaux--sisteron iv. cathedrals of the valleys 178 orange--cavaillon--apt--riez--senez--aix languedoc i. cathedrals of the cities 237 nîmes--montpellier--béziers--narbonne--perpignan- carcassonne--castres--toulouse--montauban illustrations page rodez _frontispiece_ "sheer and straight the pillars rise, ... and arch after arch is lost on the shadows of the narrow vaulting of the side-aisle." "carcassonne, the invulnerable" 5 "the tower of an early maritime cathedral"--_agde_ 10 "a nave of the earlier style"--_arles_ 15 "a nave of the later style"--_rodez_ 19 "the delicate choir of saint-nazaire"--_carcassonne_ 23 "a cloister of the south"--_elne_ 27 "a romanesque aisle"--_arles_ 31 "the sculptured portals of saint-trophime"--_arles_ 33 "a gothic aisle"--_mende_ 35 "corresponding differences in style"--_carcassonne_ 39 "fortified gothic built in brick"--_albi_ 43 "a church fortress"--_maguelonne_ 45 "stately gothic splendour"--_condom_ 47 entrevaux 52 "people gather around the mail-coach as it makes its daily halt before the drawbridge." "the new cathedral"--_marseilles_ 57 "the desecration of the little cloister"--_fréjus_ 65 "the military omen--the tower"--_antibes_ 70 "the interior of notre-dame-du-bourg"--_digne_ 77 "the interior has neither clerestory nor triforium"--_digne_ 81 "a large square tower served as a lookout"--_forcalquier_ 86 "a suggestive view from the side-aisle"--_forcalquier_ 87 "the old round arch of the bishop's palace"--_vence_ 92 "the low, broad arches, and the great supporting pillars"--_vence_ 93 "higher than them all stands the cathedral"--_grasse_ 97 "the pont d'avignon" 99 "the interior has a shallow, gracefully balustraded balcony"--_avignon_ 103 "the porch, so classic in detail"--avignon 107 from an old print "notre-dame-des-doms"--_avignon_ 111 "the tower of philip the fair"--_villeneuve-les-avignon_ 114 "the great palace"--_avignon_ 119 "on the banks of a pleasant little river is vaison" 123 "the ruined castle of the counts of toulouse"--_vaison_ 125 "the whole apse-end"--_vaison_ 127 "the south wall, which is clearly seen from the road"--_vaison_ 129 "two bays open to the ground"--_vaison_ 131 "the great piers and small firm columns"--_vaison_ 133 "in the midst of the wealth of antique ruins"--_arles_ 135 "the façade of saint-trophime"--_arles_ 137 "right detail--the portal"--_arles_ 141 "left detail--the portal"--_arles_ 145 "through the cloister arches"--_arles_ 147 "a nave of great and slender height"--_arles_ 149 "the beauty of the whole"--_arles_ 151 "the gothic walk"--cloister--_arles_ 153 "this interior"--_entrevaux_ 156 "the romanesque walk"--cloister--_arles_ 157 "one of the three small drawbridges"--_entrevaux_ 159 "the portcullis"--_entrevaux_ 160 "a fort that perches on a sharp peak"--_entrevaux_ 161 "a true 'place d'armes'"--_entrevaux_ 163 "the long line of walls that zigzag down the hillside"--_entrevaux_ 165 "the church tower stood out against the rocky peak"--_entrevaux_ 169 "the cathedral is near the heavy round towers of the outer ramparts"--_sisteron_ 172 "the bridge across the durance"--_sisteron_ 173 "entrances to two narrow streets"--_sisteron_ 176 "it was a low-vaulted, sombre little cloister"--_cavaillon_ 182 "the cathedral's tower and turret"--_cavaillon_ 187 "the main body of the church"--_apt_ 191 "the virgin and saint anne--by benzoni"--_apt_ 194 "saint-martin-de-brômes with its high slim tower" 197 "the fortified monastery of the templars"--_near gréoux_ 199 "the tower of notre-dame-du-siège"--_riez_ 201 "nothing could be more quaintly old and modest than the baptistery"--_riez_ 202 "between the columns an altar has been placed"--baptistery, _riez_ 203 "the beautiful granite columns"--_riez_ 207 "the mail-coach of senez" 211 "the open square"--_senez_ 213 "the palace of its prelates"--_senez_ 214 "the cathedral"--_senez_ 215 "the cathedral"--_senez_ 218 "tapestries beautify the choir-walls"--_senez_ 219 "between branches full of apple-blossoms--the church as the curé saw it"--_senez_ 221 "the south aisle"--_aix_ 224 "the romanesque portal"--_aix_ 225 "the cloister"--_aix_ 227 "the cathedral"--_aix_ 231 "an amphitheatre which rivals the art of the coliseum"--_nîmes_ 238 "the general effect is somewhat that of a port-cochère"--_montpellier_ 244 "the finest view is that of the apse"--_montpellier_ 245 "the clock tower is very square and thick"--_béziers_ 248 "the quaint and pretty fountain"--_béziers_ 250 "the door of the cloister"--_narbonne_ 255 "this is a place of deserted solitude"--_narbonne_ 257 "these flying-buttresses give to the exterior its most curious and beautiful effect"--_narbonne_ 261 "all the old buildings of the city are of spanish origin"--_perpignan_ 265 "the unfinished façade"--_perpignan_ 267 "the stony street of the hillside"--_carcassonne_ 269 "the ancient cross"--_carcassonne_ 272 "often too little time is spent upon the nave"--_carcassonne_ 275 "the choir is of the xiv century"--_carcassonne_ 279 "the façade, straight and massive"--_carcassonne_ 281 "perspective of the romanesque"--_carcassonne_ 283 "the nave of the xiii century is an aisle-less chamber, low and broadly arched"--_toulouse_ 291 "the present cathedral is a combination of styles"--_toulouse_ 294 list of works consulted. bayet. _précis de l'histoire de l'art._ bodley. _france._ bourg. _viviers, ses monuments et son histoire._ choisy. _histoire de l'architecture._ cougny. _l'art au moyen age._ cook. _old provence._ corroyer. _l'architecture romane._ " _l'architecture gothique._ cox. _the crusades._ darcel. _le mouvement archéologique relatif au moyen age._ de lahondès. _l'église saint-etienne, cathédrale de toulouse._ dempster. _maritime alps._ ducéré. _bayonne historique et pittoresque._ duruy. _histoire de france._ ferree. _articles on french cathedrals appearing in the "architectural record._" gardère. _saint-pierre de condom et ses constructeurs._ gould. _in troubadour land._ guizot. _histoire de france._ " _histoire de la civilisation en france._ hallam. _the middle ages._ hare. _south-eastern france._ " _south-western france._ _history of joanna of naples, queen of sicily_ (_published_ 1824). hunnewell. _historical monuments of france._ james. _a little tour through france._ _le moyen age_ (_avec notice par roger-milès_). larned. _churches and castles of mediæval france._ lasserre, l'abbé. _recherches historiques sur la ville d'alet et son ancien diocèse._ lechevallier chevignard. _les styles français._ macgibbon. _the architecture of provence and the riviera._ marlavagne. _histoire de la cathédrale de rodez._ martin. _histoire de france._ masson. _louis ix and the xiii century._ " _francis i and the xvi century._ mérimée. _études sur les arts au moyen age._ michelet. _histoire de france._ michelet and masson. _mediævalism in france._ _monographie de la cathédrale d'albi._ montalembert. _les moines d'occident._ milman. _history of latin christianity._ palustre. _l'architecture de la renaissance._ pastor. _lives of the popes._ pennell. _play in provence._ quicherat. _mélanges d'archéologie au moyen age._ renan. _études sur la politique religieuse du règne de philippe le bel._ révoil. _architecture romane du midi de la france._ rosieres. _histoire de l'architecture._ schnasse. _geschichte der bildenden künste._ (_volume iii, etc._) sentetz. _sainte-marie d'auch._ sorbets. _histoire d'aire-sur-l'adour._ soulié. _interesting old novels whose scenes are laid in the south of france_:- " "_le comte de toulouse._" " "_le vicomte de béziers._" " "_le château des pyrénées_," _etc._ stevenson. _travels with a donkey in the cévennes._ taine. _the ancient regime._ " _journeys through france._ " _origins of contemporary france._ " _tour through the pyrénées._ _'twixt france and spain._ viollet-le-duc. _histoire d'une cathédrale et d'un hôtel-de-ville._ _entretiens sur l'architecture._ _dictionnaire raisonné de l'architecture française du xi^e au xvi^e siècle._ the south of france. i. the south of france. if it is only by an effort that we appreciate the valour of columbus in the xv century, his secret doubts, his temerity, how much fainter is our conception of the heroism of the early mediterranean navigators. steam has destroyed for us the awful majesty of distance, and we can never realise the immensity of this "great sea" to the ancients. to virgil the adventures of the "pious æneas" were truly heroic. the western shores of the mediterranean were then the "end of the earth," and even during the first centuries of our own era, he who ventured outside the straits of gibraltar tempted either providence or the devil and was very properly punished by falling over the edge of the earth into everlasting destruction. "why," asks a mediæval text-book of science, "is the sun so red in the evening?" and this convincing answer follows, "because he looks down upon hell." for centuries before the christian era the south of france, with spain, lay in the unknown west end of the sea. along its eastern shores lay civilisations hoary with age; carthage, to the south, was moribund; greece was living on the prestige of her glorious past; while rome was becoming all-powerful. legend tells that adventurous phoenicians and greeks discovered the french coasts, that nîmes was founded by a tyrian hercules, and marseilles, about 600 b.c., by a phoenician trader who married a chief's daughter and settled at the mouth of the rhone. but these early settlements were merely isolated towns, which were not interdependent;--scarcely more than trading posts. it was rome who took southern gaul unto herself, and after roman fashion, built cities and towns and co-ordinated them into well-regulated provinces; and it is with roman rule that the connected history of gaul begins. from the outset we meet one basic fact, so difficult to realise when france is considered as one country, the essential difference between the north and the south. cæsar found in the south a partial roman civilisation ready for his organisation; and old, flourishing cities, like narbonne, aix, and marseilles. in the north he found the people advanced no further than the tribal stage, and paris--not even paris in name--was a collection of mud huts, which, from its strategic position, he elevated into a camp. the two following centuries, the height of roman dominion in france, accentuated these differences. the north was governed by the romans, never assimilated nor civilised by them. the south eagerly absorbed all the culture of the imperial city; her religions and her pleasures, her beautiful temples and great amphitheatres, finally her morals and effeminacy, till in the ii century of our era, anyone living a life of luxurious gaiety was popularly said to have "set sail for marseilles." to this day the south boasts that it was a very part of rome, and rome was not slow to recognise the claim. gallic poets celebrated the glory of augustus, a gaul was the master of quintilian, and antoninus pius, although born in the imperial city, was by parentage a native of nîmes. [illustration: "carcassonne, the invulnerable."] not to the rude north, but to this society, so pagan, so pleasure-loving, came the first missionaries of the new christian faith, to meet in the arenas of gaul the fate of their fellow-believers in rome, to hide in subterranean caves and crypts, to endure, to persist, and finally to conquer. in the iii and iv centuries many of the great bishoprics were founded, avignon, narbonne, lyons, arles, and saint-paul-trois châteaux among others; but these same years brought political changes which seemed to threaten both church and state. roman power was waning. tribes from across the rhine were gathering, massing in northern gaul, and its spirit was antagonistic to the contentment of the rich mediterranean provinces. the tribes were brave, ruthless, and barbarous. peace was galling to their uncontrollable restlessness. the gallo-romans were artistic, literary, idle, and luxurious. they fell, first to milder but heretical foes; then to the fierce but orthodox frank; and the story of succeeding years was a chronicle of wars. like a great swarm of locusts, the saracens--conquerors from india to spain--came upon the south. they took narbonne, nîmes, and even carcassonne, the invulnerable. they besieged toulouse, and almost destroyed bordeaux. other cities, perhaps as great as these, were razed to the very earth and even their names are now forgotten. europe was menaced; the south of france was all but destroyed. again the frank descended; and like a great wind blowing clouds from a stormy sky, charles martel swept back the arabs and saved christianity. before 740, he had returned a third time to the south, not as a deliverer, but for pure love of conquest; and by dismantling nîmes, destroying the maritime cities of maguelonne and agde, and taking the powerful strongholds of arles and marseilles, he paved the way for his great descendant who nominally united "all france." but charlemagne's empire fell in pieces; and as carlovingian had succeeded merovingian, so in 987 capetian displaced the weak descendants of the mighty head of the "holy roman empire." the map changed with bewildering frequency; and in these changes, the nobles--more stable than their kings--grew to be the real lords of their several domains. history speaks of france from clovis to the revolution as a kingdom; but even later than the first crusade the kingdom lay somewhere between paris and lyons; the royal domain, not france as we know it now. the duchy of aquitaine, the duchy of brittany, burgundy, the counties of toulouse, provence, champagne, normandy, and many smaller possessions, were as proudly separate in spirit as norway and sweden, and often as politically distinct as they from denmark. in the midst of these times of turmoil the church had steadily grown. every change, however fatal to north or south, brought to her new strength. confronted with cultured paganism in the first centuries, the blood of her martyrs made truly fruitful seed for her victories; and later, facing paganism of another, wilder race, she triumphed more peacefully in the one supreme conversion of clovis; and the devotion and interest which from that day grew between church and king, gradually made her the greatest power of the country. after the decline of roman culture the church was the one intellectual, almost peaceful, and totally irresistible force. the great lords scorned learning. an abbot, quaintly voicing the church's belief, said that "every letter writ on paper is a sword thrust in the devil's side." when there was cessation of war, the occupation of men, from clovis' time throughout mediævalism, was gone. they could not read; they could not write; the joy of hunting was, in time, exhausted. they were restless, lost. the justice meted out by the great lords was, too often, the right of might. but at the council of orléans, in 511, a church was declared an inviolable refuge, where the weak should be safe until their case could be calmly and righteously judged. the beneficent care of the church cannot be overestimated. between 500 and 700 she had eighty-three councils in gaul, and scarcely one but brought a reform,--a real amelioration of hardships. something of the general organisation of her great power in those rude times deserves more than the usual investigation. even in its small place in the "cathedrals and cloisters of the south of france," it is an interesting bit of church politics and psychology. the ecclesiastical tradition of france goes back to the very first years of the christian era. lazarus, mary magdalene, martha, and mary the mother of james, are only a few of those intimately connected with christ himself, who are believed to have come into gaul; and in their efforts to systematically and surely establish christianity, to have founded the first french bishoprics. this is tradition. but even the history of the ii century tells of a venerable, martyred bishop of lyons, a disciple of that polycarp who knew saint john; and in the iii century gaul added no less than fourteen to the sees she already had. enthusiastic tradition aside, it is evident that the missionary ardour of the gallic priests was intense; and the glory of their early victories belongs entirely to a branch of the church known as "the secular clergy." [illustration: the tower of an early maritime cathedral.--agde.] the other great branch, "the religious orders," were of later institution. from the oriental deserts of the thebaid, where saint anthony had early practised the austerities of monkish life, saint martin drew his inspiration for the monasticism of the west. but it was not until the last of the iv century that he founded, near poitiers, the first great monastery in france. the success of this form of pious life, if not altogether edifying, was immediate. devotional excesses were less common in the temperate climate of france than under the exciting oriental sun, yet that most bizarre of eastern fanatics, the "pillar saint," had at least one disciple in gaul. he--the good brother wulfailich--began the life of sanctity by climbing a column near trèves, and prepared himself to stand on it, barefooted, through winter and summer, till, presumably, angels should bear him triumphantly to heaven. but the west is not the east. and the good bishops of the neighbourhood drew off, instead of waiting at the pillar, as an exalted emperor had humbly stood beneath that of saint simeon stylites. far from being awe-struck, they were scandalised; and they forced wulfailich to descend from his eminence, and destroyed it. this is one of the first gallic instances of the antagonisms between the "secular" and the "regular" branches of the reverend clergy. within the french church from early times, these two great forces were arrayed, marching toward the same great end,--but never marching together. it is claimed they were, and are, inimical. in theory, in ideal, nothing could be further from truth. they were in fact sometimes unfriendly; and more often than not mutually suspicious. for the great abbot inevitably lived in a bishop's see; and with human tempers beneath their churchly garb, abbot and bishop could not always agree. now the bishop was lord of the clergy, supreme in his diocese; but should he call to account the lowest friar of any monastery, my lord abbot replied that he was "answerable only to the pope," and retired to his vexatious "imperium in imperio." the beginning of the vi century saw much that was irregular in monastic life. the whole country was either in a state of war or of unrestful expectation of war. many abbeys were yet to be established; many merely in process of foundation. wandering brothers were naturally beset by the dangers and temptations of an unsettled life; and if history may be believed, fell into many irregularities and even shamed their cloth by licentiousness. into this disorder came the great and holy benedict, the "learnedly ignorant, the wisely unlearned," the true organiser of western monachism. under his wise "rules" the abbey of the vi century was transformed. it became "not only a place of prayer and meditation, but a refuge against barbarism in all its forms. and this home of books and knowledge had departments of all kinds, and its dependencies formed what we would call to-day a 'model farm.' there were to be found examples of activity and industry for the workman, the common tiller of the soil, or the land-owner himself. it was a school," continues thierry, "not of religion, but of practical knowledge; and when it is considered that there were two hundred and thirty-eight of such schools in clovis' day, the power of the orders, though late in coming, will be seen to have grown as great as that of the bishops." from these two branches sprang all that is greatest in the ecclesiastical architecture of france. as their strength grew, their respective churches were built, and to-day, as a sign of their dual power, we have the abbey and the cathedral. the bishop's church had its prototype in the first christian meeting places in rome and was planned from two basic ideas,--the part of the roman house which was devoted to early christian service, and the growing exigencies of the ritual itself. at the very first of the christian era, converts met in any room, but these little groups so soon grew to communities that a larger place was needed and the "basilica" of the house became the general and accepted place of worship. the "basilica" was composed of a long hall, sometimes galleried, and a hemicycle; and its general outline was that of a letter t. into this purely secular building, christian ceremonials were introduced. the hemicycle became the apse; the gallery, a clerestory; the hall, a central nave. here the paraphernalia of the new church were installed. the altar stood in the apse; and between it and the nave, on either side, a pulpit or reading-desk was placed. bishop and priests sat around the altar, the people in the nave. this disposition of clergy, people, and the furniture of the sacred office is essentially that of the cathedral of to-day. there were however many amplifications of the first type. the basilica form, t, was enlarged to that of a cross; and increasingly beautiful architectural forms were evolved. among the first was the tower of the early italian churches. this single tower was doubled in the french romanesque, often multiplied again by gothic builders, and in byzantine churches, increased to seven and even nine domes. transepts were added, and as, one by one, the arts came to the knowledge of the middle ages and the renaissance, each was pressed into the service of the cathedral builders. the interior became so beautiful with carvings, windows of marvellously painted glass, rich tapestries and frescoes, that the ritual seemed yearly more impressive and awe-inspiring. the old, squat exterior of early days was forgotten in new height and majesty, and the cathedral became the dominant building of the city. although the country was early christianised, and on the map of merovingian france nearly all the present cathedral cities of the mediterranean were seats of bishoprics, we cannot now see all the successive steps of the church architecture of the south. the main era of the buildings which have come down to us, is the xi-xiv centuries. of earlier types and stages little is known, little remains. [illustration: a nave of the earlier style.--arles.] in general, gallic churches are supposed to have been basilican, with all the poverty of the older style. charlemagne's architects, with san vitale in mind, gave a slight impetus in the far-away chapel at aix-la-chapelle, and gregory of tours tells us that bishop perpetuus built a "glorious" church at tours. but his description is meagre. after a few mathematical details, he returns to things closer to his heart,--the church's atmosphere of holiness, the emblematic radiance of the candle's light, the ecstasy of worshippers who seemed "to breathe the air of paradise." and saint gregory's is the religious, uncritical spirit of his day, whose interest was in ecclesiastical establishment rather than ecclesiastical architecture. churches there were in numbers; but they were not architectural achievements. their building was like the planting of the flag; they were new outposts, signs of an advance of the faith. with this missionary spirit in the church, with priests still engaged in christianising and monks in establishing themselves on their domains, with a very general ignorance of art, with the absorbing interest of the powerful and great in warfare, and the very great struggle among the poor for existence, architecture before the x century had few students or protectors. france had neither sufficient political peace nor ecclesiastical wealth for elaborate church structures. no head, either of church or state, had taste and time enough to inaugurate such works. many causes have combined to destroy such churches as then existed. if they escaped the rasings and fires of a siege, they were often destroyed by lightning, or decayed by years; and some of the fragments which endured to the xiii century were torn down to make room for more beautiful buildings. it was the xi and xii centuries which saw the important beginnings of the great cathedrals of both north and south. these were the years when religion was the dominant idea of the western world,--when everything, even warfare, was pressed into its service. instead of devastating their own and their neighbour's country, christian armies were devastating the holy land; doing to the infidel in the name of their religion what he, in the name of his, had formerly done to them. the capture of jerusalem had triumphantly ended the first crusade; the church was everywhere victorious, and the pope in actual fact the mightiest monarch of the earth. these were the days when peter the hermit's cry, "god wills it," aroused the world, and aroused it to the most diverse accomplishments. one form of this activity was church building; but there were other causes than religion for the general magnificence of the effort. among these was communal pride, the interesting, half-forgotten motive of much that is great in mediæval building. the mediævalism of the old writers seems an endless pageant, in which indefinitely gorgeous armies "march up the hill and then march down again;" in newer histories this has disappeared in the long struggle of one class with another; and in neither do we reach the individual, nor see the daily life of the people who are the backbone of a nation. yet these are the people we must know if we are to have a right conception of the cathedral's place in the living interest of the middle ages. for the bishop's church was in every sense a popular church. the abbey was built primarily for its monks, and the abbey-church for their meditation and worship. the french cathedral was the people's, it was built by their money, not money from an abbey-coffer. it did not stand, as the cathedral of england, majestic and apart, in a scholarly close; it was in the open square of the city; markets and fairs were held about it; the doors to its calm and rest opened directly on the busiest, every-day bustle. it is not a mere architectural relic, as its building was never a mere architectural feat. it is the symbol of a past stage of life, a majestic part of the picture we conjure before our mind's eye, when we consider mediævalism. [illustration: a nave of the later style.--rodez.] such a picture of a city of another country and of the late middle ages exists in the drama of richard wagner's meistersinger; and his nuremberg of the xvi century, with changes of local colour, is the type of all mediæval towns. general travel was unknown. the activity of the great roads was the march of armies, the roving of marauders, the journeys of venturesome merchants or well-armed knights. not only roads, but even streets were unsafe at night; and after the sun had set he who had gone about freely and carelessly during the day, remained at home or ventured out with much caution. when armies camped about her walls, the city was doubtless much occupied with outside happenings. but when the camp broke up and war was far away, her shoemaker made his shoes, her goldsmith, fine chains and trinkets, her merchants traded in the market-place. their interests were in street brawls, romancings, new "privileges," the work or the feast of the day--in a word town-topics. yet being as other men, the burghers also were awakened by the energy of the age, and instead of wasting it in adventures and wars, their interest took the form of an intense local pride, narrow, but with elements of grandeur, seldom selfish, but civic. this absence of the personal element is nowhere better illustrated than in cathedral building. of all the really great men who planned the cathedrals of france, almost nothing is known; and by searching, little can be found out. who can give a dead date, much less a living fact, concerning the life of that gervais who conceived the great gothic height of narbonne? who can tell even the name of him who planned the sombre, battlemented walls of agde, or of that great man who first saw in poetic vision the delicate choir of saint-nazaire in carcassonne? artists have a well-preserved personality,--cathedral-builders, none. robert of luzarches who conceived the "parthenon of all gothic architecture," and the man who planned stately sens and the richness of canterbury, are as unknown to us as the quarries from which the stones of their cathedrals were cut. it is not the cathedral built by robert of luzarches belonging to amiens, as it is the assumption by rubens belonging to antwerp. it is scarcely the cathedral of its patron, saint firmin. it is the cathedral of amiens. [illustration: "the delicate choir of saint-nazaire."--carcassonne.] we hear many learned disquisitions on the decay of the art of church building. lack of time in our rushing age, lack of patience, decline of religious zeal, or change in belief, these are some of the popular reasons for this architectural degeneracy. strange as it may seem none of these have had so powerful an influence as the invention of printing. the first printing-press was made in the middle of the xv century,--after the conception of the great cathedrals. in an earlier age, when the greatest could neither read nor write and manuscripts even in monasteries were rare, sculpture and carving were the layman's books, and cathedrals were not only places of worship, they were the people's religious libraries where literature was cut in stone. in the north, the most unique form of this literature was the drama of the breton calvaries, which portrayed one subject and one only,--the "life and passion of christ," taken from prophecy, tradition, and the gospels. cathedrals, both north and south, used the narrative form. they told story after story; and their makers showed an intimate knowledge of biblical lore that would do credit to the most ardent theological student. at nîmes, by no means the richest church in carvings, there are besides the last judgment and the reward of the evil and the righteous,--which even a superficial christian should know,--many of the stories of the book of genesis. at arles, there is the dream of jacob, the dream of joseph, the annunciation, the nativity, purification, massacre of the innocents, the flight into egypt; almost a bible in stone. in these days of books and haste few would take the trouble to study such sculptured tales. but their importance to the unlettered people of the middle ages cannot be overestimated; and the incentive to magnificence of artistic conception was correspondingly great. the main era of cathedral building is the same all over france. but with the general date, all arbitrary parallel between north and south abruptly ends. the north began the evolution of the gothic, a new form indigenous to its soil; the south continued the romanesque, her evolution of a transplanted style, and long knew no other. she had grown accustomed to give northward,--not to receive; and it was the reign of saint louis before she began to assimilate the architectural ideas of the isle de france and to build in the gothic style, it was admiration for the newer ideals which led the builders of the south to change such of their plans as were not already carried out, and to try with these foreign and beautiful additions, to give to their churches the most perfect form they could conceive. and thus, from a web of fate, in which, as in all destinies, is the spinning of many threads, came the cathedrals and cloisters of the south. are they greater than those of the north? are they inferior to them? it is best said, "comparison is idle." who shall decide between the fir-trees and the olives--between the beautiful order of a northern forest and the strange, astounding luxuriance of the southern tangle? which is the better choice--the well-told tale of the cathedrals of the north, with their procession of kingly visitors, or the almost untold story of the cathedrals of the south, where history is still legend, tradition, romance--the story of fanatic fervour and still more fanatic hate? [illustration: a cloister of the south.--elne.] ii. architecture in provence, languedoc, and gascony. no better place can be found than the mediterranean provinces to consider the origins of the earliest southern style. here romanesque cathedrals arose in the midst of the vast ruins of imperial antiquity, here they developed strange similarities to foreign styles, domes suggesting the east, greek motives recalling byzantium, and details reminiscent of syria. and here is the battle-field for that great army who decry or who defend roman influences. some would have us believe that the romanesque dome is expatriated from the east; others, that it is naturalised; others, that it is native. the plan of the romanesque dome differs very much from that of the byzantine, yet the general conception seems eastern. if conceivable in the oriental mind, why not in that of the west? and yet, in spite of some native peculiarities of structure, why should not the general idea have been imported? who shall decide? in a book such as this, mooted questions which involve such multitudinous detail and such unprovable argument cannot be discussed. it is unreasonable to doubt, however, that roman influences dominated the south, herself a product of roman civilisation; and as in the curious ineradicable tendency of the south toward heresy we more than suspect a subtle infiltration of greek and oriental perversions, so in architecture it is logical to infer that mediterranean traders, crusaders, and perhaps adventurous architects who may have travelled in their wake, brought rumours of the buildings of the east, which were adopted with original or necessary modifications. viollet-le-duc, in summing up this much discussed question, has written that "in the romanesque art of the west, side by side with persistent latin traditions, a byzantine influence is almost always found, evidenced by the introduction of the cupola." in the lamentable absence of records of the majority of cathedrals, reasonings of origin must be inductive, and more or less imaginative, and have no legitimate place in the scope of a book which aims to describe the existing conditions and proven history of southern cathedrals. [illustration: a romanesque aisle.--arles.] quicherat, who has had much to say upon architectural subjects, defines the romanesque as an art "which has ceased to be roman, although it has much that is roman, and that is not yet gothic, although it already presages the gothic." this is not a very helpful interpretation. romanesque, as it exists in france to-day, is generally of earlier building than the gothic; it is an older and far simpler style. it was not a quick, brilliant outburst, like the gothic, but a long and slow evolution; and it has therefore deliberation and dignity, not the spontaneity of northern creations; strength, and at times great vigour, but not munificence, not the lavishness of art and wealth and adornment, of which the younger style was prodigal. few generalisations are flawless, but it may be truly said that romanesque cathedrals are lacking in splendour; and it will be found in a large majority of cases that they are also without the impressiveness of great size; that they are almost devoid of shapely windows or stained glass, of notable carvings or richness of decorative detail. their art is a simple art, a sober art, and in its nearest approach to opulence--the sculptured portals of saint-trophime of arles or saint-gilles-de-languedoc--there is still a reserved rather than an exuberant and uncontrolled display of wealth. [illustration: "the sculptured portals of saint-trophime."--arles.] by what simple, superficial sign can this architecture be recognised by those who are to see it for the first time? it exists "everywhere and always" in southern france; but, side by side with the encroachments and additions of other styles, how can it be easily distinguished? quicherat writes that the principal characteristic of the romanesque is "la voûte," and the great, rounded tunnel of the roofing is a distinction which will be found in no other form. but the easiest of superficial distinctions is the arch-shape, which in portal, window, vaulting or tympanum is round; wherever the arcaded form is used,--always round. with this suggestion of outline, and the universal principles of the style, simplicity and dignity and absence of great ornamentation, the untechnical traveller may distinguish the romanesque of the south, and if he be akin to the traveller who tells these cathedral tales, the interest and fascination which the old architecture awakes, will lead him to discover for himself the many differences which are evident between the ascetic strength of the one, and the splendour and brilliance of the other. [sidenote: provence.] [illustration: a gothic aisle.--mende.] the three provinces which compose the south of france are provence, languedoc, and gascony, and of these provence is, architecturally and historically, the first to claim our interest. during the era of colonisation it was the most thoroughly romanised, and in the early centuries of christianity the first to fall completely under the systematic organisation of the church. it has a large group of very old cathedrals, and is the best study-ground for a general scrutiny and appreciation of that style which the builders of the south assimilated and developed until, as it were, they naturalised it and made it one of the two greatest forms of architectural expression. provence does not contain the most impressive examples of romanesque. two abbeys of the far norman north are more finished and harmonious representations of the art, and languedoc, in the basilica of saint-sernin of toulouse, has a nobler interior than any in the midi, and many other churches of languedoc and gascony are most interesting examples of a style which belonged to them as truly as to provence. yet it is in this province that the romanesque is best studied. for here the great internecine struggles--both political and religious--of the middle ages were not as devastating as in languedoc and gascony; provence was a sunny land, where sonnets flourished more luxuriantly than did holy inquisition. her churches have therefore been preserved in their original form in greater numbers than those of the two other provinces. they are of all types of romanesque, all stages of its growth, from the small and simple cathedrals which were built when ecclesiastical exchequers were not overflowing, to the greater ones which illustrate very advanced and dignified phases of architectural development; and as a whole they exhibit the normal proportion of failure and success in an effort toward an ideal. [sidenote: languedoc.] léon renier, the learned lecturer of the collège de france, says: "it is remarkable that the changes, the elaborations, the modifications of the architecture given by rome to all countries under her domination were conceived in the provinces long before they were reproduced in italy. rome gave no longer; she received ... a transfusion of a new blood, more vital and more rich." in languedoc, the greater number of monuments of this ancient architecture have been destroyed; and those of their outgrowth, the later romanesque, were so repeatedly mutilated that the cathedrals of this province present even a greater confusion of originalities, restorations, and additions than those of provence. to a multitude of dates must be added corresponding differences in style. each school of architecture naturally considered that it had somewhat of a monopoly of good taste and beauty, or at least that it was an improvement on the manner which preceded it; and it would have been too much to expect, in ages when anachronisms were unrecognised, that churches should have been restored in their consonant, original style. architects of the gothic period were unable to resist the temptation of continuing a romanesque nave with a choir of their own school, and builders of the xviii century went still further and added a showy louis xv façade to a modest romanesque cathedral. some churches, built in times of religious storm and stress, show the preoccupation of their patrons or the lack of talent of their constructors; others belong to bishoprics that were much more lately constituted than the sees of provence, and in these cases the new prelate chose a church already begun or completed, and compromised with the demands of episcopal pomp by an addition, usually of different style. the numerous changes, political and religious, of the mediævalism of languedoc, had such considerable and diverse influence on the architecture of the province that it is not possible, as in provence, to trace an uninterrupted evolution of one style. the languedocian is generally a later builder than the provençal; he is bolder. having the romanesque and the gothic as choice, he chose at will and seemingly at random. he had spontaneity, enthusiasm, verve; and when no accepted model pleased his taste, he re-created after his own liking. languedoc has therefore a delightful quality that is wanting in provence; and in her greater cathedrals there is often an originality that is due to genius rather than to eccentricity. there is delicate gothic at carcassonne, lofty gothic at narbonne, sainte-cécile of albi is fortified gothic built in brick. the interior of saint-sernin of toulouse is an apotheosis of the austere romanesque, and saint-etienne of agde is a gratifying type of the maritime church of the midi. [illustration: "corresponding differences in style."--carcassonne.] this cathedral of the sea is a fitting example of a peculiar type of architecture which exists also in provence,--a succession of fortress-churches that extend along the mediterranean from spain to italy like the peaks of a mountain chain. nothing can better illustrate the continuous warrings and raidings in the south of france than these strange churches, and their many fortified counterparts inland, in both languedoc and gascony. castles and walled towns were not sufficient to protect the southerner from invasions and incursions; his churches and cathedrals, even to the xiv century, were strongholds, more suitable for men-at-arms than for priests, and seemingly dedicated to some war-god rather than to the gentle virgin mother and the martyr-saints under whose protection they nominally dwelt. although most interesting, the military church of the interior is seldom the bishop's church. the maritime church on the contrary is nearly always a cathedral, with strangely curious legends and episodes. the french coast of the mediterranean was the scene of continuous pillage. huns, normans, moors, saracens, unknown pirates and free-booters of all nationalities found it very lucrative and convenient to descend on a sea-board town, and escape as they had come, easily, their boats loaded with booty. "as late as the xii century," writes barr ferree, "buccaneers gained a livelihood by preying on the peaceful and unoffending inhabitants of the villages and cities. the cathedrals, as the most important buildings and the most conspicuous, were strongly fortified, both to protect their contents and to serve as strongholds for the citizens in case of need. in these churches, therefore, architecture assumed its most utilitarian form and buildings are real fortifications, with battlemented walls, strong and heavy towers, and small windows, and are provided with the other devices of romanesque architecture of a purely military type." [illustration: "fortified gothic built in brick."--albi.] "time has dealt hardly with them. the kingly power, being entrenched in paris, developed from the isle de france. the wealth that once enriched the fertile lands of the south moved northwards, and the great commercial cities of the north became the most important centres of activity. then the southern towns began to decline," and the buildings which remain to represent most perfectly the "church-fortress" are not those of provence, which are "patched" and "restored," but those of languedoc, agde, and maguelonne, and elne of the near-by country of rousillon. [illustration: "a church fortress."--maguelonne.] [sidenote: gascony.] gascony, the last of the southern provinces and the farthest from rome, had great prosperity under imperial dominion. many patricians emigrated there, roads were built, commerce flourished, and as in provence and languedoc, towns grew into large and well-established cities. christianity made a comparatively early conquest of the province; and at the beginning of the iv century, eleven suffragan bishoprics had been established under the archbishopric of eauze. gascony has many old cathedral cities, and has had many ancient cathedrals; but after the fall of the roman empire in the v century, a series of wars began which destroyed not only the christian architecture, but almost every trace of roman wealth and culture. little towers remain, supposed shrines of mercury, protector of commerce and travel; pieces of statues are found; but the temples, the amphitheatres, the forums, have disappeared, and even more completely, the rude christian churches of that early period. although the province has no mediterranean coast and could not be molested by the marauders of that busy sea, it lay directly upon the route of armies between france and spain; and it is no "gasconading" to say that it was for centuries one of the greatest battle-fields of the south. vandals, visigoths, franks, saracens, normans,--gascons against carlovingians, north against south, all had burned, raided, and destroyed gascony before the xi century. it is not surprising, then, that there are found fewer traces of antiquity here than in provence and languedoc. even the few names of decimated cities which survived, designated towns on new sites. eauze, formerly on the gélise, lay long in ruins, and was finally re-built a kilometre inland. lectoure and auch had long since retired from the river gers and taken refuge on the hills of their present situations, while other cities fell into complete ruin and forgetfulness. [illustration: stately gothic splendour.--condom.] the year 1000, which followed these events, was that of the predicted and expected end of the world. the extravagances of christians at that time are well known, the gifts of all property that were made to the church, the abandonment of worldly pursuits, the terrors of many, the anxiety of the calmest, the emotional excesses which led people to live in trees that they might be near to heaven when the "great trump" should sound,--"mundi fine appropinquante." but the trumpet did not sound, and raoul glaber, a monk of the xi century, writes that all over italy and the gaul of his day there was great haste to restore and re-build churches, a general rivalry between towns and between countries, as to which could build most remarkably. "this activity," says quicherat, "may show a desire to renew alliance with the creator." it certainly proves that the generation of the year 1000 had fresh and new architectural ideas. this was the period of recuperation and re-building for gascony. the monks of the viii, ix, and x centuries had devoted themselves with zeal and success to the cultivation of the soil. they had acquired fertile fields, and desiring peace, they had placed themselves in positions where their strength would defend them when their holy calling was not respected. these monasteries were places of refuge and soon gave their name and their protection to the towns and villages which began to cluster about them. except the declining settlements of roman days, gascony had few towns in the x century; and many of her most important cities of to-day owe their foundation, their existence, and their prosperity to these benedictine monasteries. eauze regained its life after the establishment of a convent, and in the xi, xii, and xiii centuries, the abbots of cîteaux, bishops, and even lords of the laity, occupied themselves in the creation of new cities. many of the towns of mediæval creation possessed broad municipal and commercial privileges, they grew to the importance of "communes" and bishoprics, and some even styled themselves "republics." although these were times of much re-building, restoring, and carrying out of older plans of ecclesiastical architecture, the xi and xii centuries were none the less filled with innumerable private wars, and in 1167 began the bloody and persistent struggle with england. the city of aire was at one time reduced to twelve inhabitants, and the horrors of the mediæval siege were more than once repeated. in these wars, cathedrals, as well as towns and their inhabitants, were scarred and wounded. hardly had these dissensions ended in 1494, when the wars of religion commenced under charles ix, and gascony was again one of the most terrible fields of battle. here the demoniac enthusiasm of both sides exceeded even the terrible exhibitions of languedoc. the royal family of navarre was openly protestant and contributed more than any others to the military organisations of their faith. jeanne d'albret, in 1566, wishing to repay intolerance with intolerance, forbade religious processions and church funerals in navarre. the people rose, and the next year the queen was forced to grant toleration to both religions. later the king of france entered the field and sent an army against the béarnaise huguenots, jeanne, in reprisal, called to her aid montmorency; and with a thoroughness born of pious zeal and hatred, each army began to burn and kill. all monasteries, all churches, were looted by the protestants; all cities taken by montluc, head of the catholics, were sacked. tarbes was devastated by the one, rabestans by the other, and the cathedral of pamiers was ruined. with the massacre of saint bartholomew, in 1572, the struggle began again, and the league flourished in all its malign enthusiasm. "such disorder as was introduced," says a writer of the period, "such pillage, has never been seen since war began. officers, soldiers, followers, and volunteers were so overburdened with booty as to be incommoded thereby. and after this brigandage, the peasants hereabouts [bigorre] abandoned their very farms from lack of cattle, and the greater number went into spain." during long centuries of such religious and political devastation the architectural energy of gascony was expended in replacing churches which had been destroyed, and were again to be destroyed or injured. it would be unfair to expect of this province the great magnificence which its brave, cheerful, and extravagant little people believe it "once possessed," or to look, amid such unrest, for the calm growth of any architectural style. it is a country of few cathedrals, of curious churches built for war and prayer, and of such occasional outbursts of magnificence as is seen in the romanesque portal of saint-pierre of moissac and in the stately gothic splendour of the cathedrals at condom and at bayonne. it is a country where cathedrals are surrounded by the most beautiful of landscapes, and where each has some legend or story of the english, the league, of the black prince, or the lion-hearted, of henry iv, still adored, or of simon de montfort, still execrated, where the towns are truly historic and the mountains truly grand. provence. i. the cathedrals of the sea. [sidenote: marseilles.] perhaps a phoenician settlement, certainly a carthaginian mart, later a grecian city, and in the final years of the pagan era possessed by the romans, no city of france has had more diverse influences of antique civilisation than marseilles, none responded more proudly to its ancient opportunities; and not only was it commercially wealthy and renowned, but so rich in schools that it was called "another, a new athens." it was also the port of an adventurous people, who founded nice, antibes, la ciotat, and agde, and explored a part of africa and northern europe; and at the fall of the roman empire it became, by very virtue of its riches and safe harbour, the envy and the prey of a succession of barbaric and "infidel" invaders. in the middle ages it had all the vicissitudes of wars and sieges to which a great city could be subjected. it had a viscount, and from very early days, a bishop; it was at one time part of the kingdom of arles; and later it recognised the suzerainty of the counts of provence. when these lords were warring or crusading, it took advantage of their absence or their troubles and governed itself through its consuls; became a provençal republic after the type of the italian cities and other towns of the mediterranean country; treated with the italian republics on terms of perfect equality; and although finally annexed to france by the wily louis of the madonnas, its people were continually haunted by memories of their former independence, and not only struggled for municipal rights and liberties, but took sides for or against the most powerful monarchs of continental history as if they had been a resourceful country rather than a city. it succored the league, defied henry iv and richelieu; and treating kings in trouble as cavalierly as declining counts, marseilles tried at the death of henry iii to secede from france and recover its autonomy under a consul, charles de cazaulx. promptly defeated, it still continued to think independently, and struggle, as best it might, for freedom of administration; and although from the time of pompey to that of louis xiv it has had an ineradicable tendency to stand against the government, it has survived the results of all its contumacies, its plagues, wars, and sieges, and the destructiveness of its phase of the revolution, when it had a terror of its own. notwithstanding modern rivals in the mediterranean, marseilles is to-day one of the largest and most prosperous of french cities. built in amphitheatre around the bay, it is beautiful in general view, its streets bustle with commercial activity, and its vast docks swarm with workmen. the storms of the past have gone over marseilles as the storms of nature over its sea, have been as passionate, and have left as little trace. instead of temples, forum, and arena, there are the palais de longchamps, the palais de justice, and the christian arch of triumph. instead of the muddy and unhealthy alley-ways of mediævalism, there are broad streets and wide boulevards, and in spite of its antiquity marseilles is a city of to-day, in monuments, aspect, spirit, and even in class distinction. "here," writes edmond about, "are only two categories of people, those who have made a fortune and those who are trying to make one, and the principal inhabitants are parvenus in the most honourable sense of the word." [illustration: _entrevaux._ people gather around the mail-coach as it makes its daily halt before the drawbridge.] [illustration: the new cathedral.--marseilles.] "in the most honourable sense of the word," the cathedral of marseilles is also typical of the city, "parvenue." its first stone was placed by prince louis napoleon in 1852, and as the modern has overgrown the classic and mediæval greatness of marseilles, so the new "majeure" has eclipsed, if it has not yet entirely replaced, the old cathedral; and except the stern abbey-church of saint-victor, an almost solitary relic of true mediæval greatness, it is the finest church of the city. the new cathedral and the old stand side by side; the one strong and whole, the other partly torn down, scarred and maimed as a veteran who has survived many wars. even in its ruin, it is an interesting type of the maritime provençal church, but so pitiably overshadowed by its successor that the charm of its situation is quite lost, and few will linger to study its three small naves, the defaced fresco of the dome, or even the little chapel of saint-lazare, all white marble and carving and small statues, scarcely more than a shallow niche in the wall, but daintily proportioned, and a charming creation of the renaissance. fewer still of those who pause to study what remains of the old "majeure," will stay to reconstruct it as it used to be, and realise that it had its day of glory no less real than that of the new church which replaces it. in its stead, saint-martin's, and saint-cannat's sometimes called "the preachers," have been temporarily used for the bishop's services. but now that the greater church, the assumption of the blessed virgin mary, has been practically completed, it has assumed, once and for all, the greater rank, and a cathedral of marseilles still stands on its terrace in full view of the sea. tradition has it that a temple of baal once stood on this site and later, a temple to diana; that lazarus came in the i century, converted the pagan marseillais and built a christian cathedral here. a more critical tradition says that saint victor first came as missionary, bishop, and builder. all these vague memories of conversion, more or less accurate, all the legends of an humble and struggling christianity, seem buried by this huge modern mass. it is not a church struggling and militant, but the church established and triumphant. it is a vast building over four hundred and fifty feet long, preceded by two domed towers. its transepts are surmounted at the crossing by a huge dome whose circumference is nearly two hundred feet, a smaller one over each transept arm, and others above the apsidal chapels. the exterior is built with alternate layers of green florentine stone and the white stone of fontvieille; and the style of the church, variously called french romanesque, byzantine, and neo-byzantine, is very oriental in its general effect. an arcade between the two towers forms a porch, the entrance to the interior whose central nave stretches out in great spaciousness. the lateral naves, in contrast, are exceedingly narrow and have high galleries supported by large monolithic columns. these naves are prolonged into an ambulatory, each of whose chapels, in consonance with the cathedral's colossal proportions, is as large as many a church. the building stone of the interior is grey and pink, with white marble used decoratively for capitals and bases; and these combinations of tints which would seem almost too delicate, too effeminate, for so large a building, are made rich and effective by their very mass, the gigantic sizes which the plan exacts. all that artistic conception could produce has been added to complete an interior that is entirely oriental in its luxury of ornamentation, half-oriental in style, and without that sober majesty which is an inherent characteristic of the most elaborate styles native to western christianity. under the gilded dome is a rich baldaquined high altar, and through the whole church there is a magnificence of mosaics, of mural paintings, and of stained glass that is sumptuous. mosaics line the arches of the nave and the pendentives, and form the flooring; and in the midst of this richness of colour the grey pillars rise, one after the other in long, shadowy perspective, like the trees of a stately grove. in planning this new provençal cathedral its architects did not attempt to reproduce, either exactly or in greater perfection, any maritime type which its situation on the mediterranean might have suggested, nor were they inspired by any of the models of the native style; and perhaps, to the captious mind, its most serious defect is that its building has destroyed not only an actual portion of the old majeure, but an historic interest which might well have been preserved by a wise restoration or an harmonious re-building. and yet, with the large palace of the archbishop on the port de la joliette near-by, the statue of a devoted and loving bishop in the open square, and the majestic cathedral of sainte-marie-majeure itself, the episcopacy of marseilles has all the outward and visible signs of strength and glory and power. [sidenote: toulon.] toulon, although a foundation of the romans, owes its rank to-day to henry iv, to richelieu, and to louis xiv's busy architect, vauban. it is the "gibraltar of france," a bright, bustling, modern city. sainte-marie-majeure, one of its oldest ecclesiastical names, is a title which belonged to churches of both the xi and xii centuries; but in the feats of architectural gymnastics to which their remains have been subjected, and in the wars and vicissitudes of provence, these buildings have long since disappeared. a few stones still exist of the xi century structure, void of form or architectural significance, and the ancient name of sainte-marie-majeure now protects a cathedral built in the most depressing style of the industrious philistines of the xvii and xviii centuries. it is not a provençal nor a truly "maritime" church, it is not a fortress nor a defence, nor a work of any architectural beauty. it has blatancy, size, pretension,--a profusion of rich incongruities; and although religiously interesting from its chapels and shrines, it is architecturally obtrusive and monstrous. the vagaries of the architects who began in 1634 to construct the present edifice, are well illustrated in the changes of plan to which they subjected this unfortunate church. the length became the breadth, the isolated chapel of the virgin, part of the main building; the choir, another chapel; and the high altar was removed from the eastern to the northern end, where a new choir had been built for its reception. this confusion of plan was carried out with logical confusion of style and detail. the façade has corinthian columns of the xvii century; the nave is said to be "transition gothic," the choir is decorated with mural paintings, and the high altar, a work of révoil, adds to the banalities of the xvii and xviii centuries a rich incongruity of which the xix has no reason to be proud. the whole interior is so full of naves of unequal length, and radiating chapels, of arches of differing forms, tastes, and styles, that it defies concise description and is unworthy of serious consideration. provence has modest cathedrals of small architectural significance, but except sainte-réparate of nice, it has none so chaotic and commonplace as sainte-marie-majeure of toulon. [sidenote: fréjus.] fréjus, which claims to be "the oldest city in france," was one of the numerous trading ports of the phoenician, and later, during the period of her civic grandeur, an arsenal of the roman navy. her most interesting ruins are the coliseum, the theatre, the old citadel, and the aqueduct, suggestions of a really great city of the long-gone past. fréjus lost prestige with the decadence of the empire, and after a destruction by the saracens in the x century, nature gave the blow which finally crushed her when the sea retreated a mile, and her old roman light-house was left to overlook merely a long stretch of barren, sandy land. owing to this stranded, inland position, she has escaped both the dignity of a modern sea-port and the prostitution of a rivieran resort, and is a little dead city, the seat of an ancient provençal "cathedral of the sea." this cathedral is largely free from xvii and xviii century disfigurements; and the pity is that having escaped this, a french church's imminent peril, it should have become so built around that the character of the exterior is almost lost. the façade is severely plain, an uninteresting re-building of 1823, but the carved wood of its portals is beautiful. the towers, as in other maritime cathedrals of provence, recall the perils and dangers of their days; and these towers of fréjus, although none the less practically defensive, have a more churchly appearance than those of antibes, grasse, and vence. over the vestibuled entrance rises the western tower. its heavy, rectangular base is the support of a super-structure which was replaced in the xvi century by one more in keeping with conventional ecclesiastical models. then the windows of the base, whose rounded arches are still traceable, were walled in; and the new octagonal stage with high windows of its own was completed by a tile-covered spire. the more interesting tower is that which surmounts the apse. this was the lookout, facing the sea, the really vital defence of the church. its upper room was a storage place for arms and ammunition, and on the side which faces the city was open, with a broad, pointed arch. above, the tower ends in machiolated battlements and presents a very strong and stern front seaward, perhaps no stronger, but more artistic and grim than towers of other provençal cathedrals. the entrance of the church is curiously complicated. to the left is the little baptistery; directly before one, a narrow stairway which leads to the cloister; and on the right, a low-arched vestibule which opens into the nave of the cathedral. the interior of saint-etienne is dark and somewhat gloomy, but that is an inherent trait of a fortress-church, for every added inch of window-opening brought an ell of danger. the nave is unusually low and broad, and its buttressed piers are of immense weight, ending severely in a plain, moulded band. on these great piers rest the cross-vaults of the roof and the broad arches of the wall. the north aisle, disproportionately narrow, is a later addition. behind the altar is a true provençal apse, shallow and rectangular, and beyond its rounded roof opens the smaller half-dome. architecturally, this is an interesting interior; but the traveller who has not time to spend in musings will fail to see it in its original intention;--cold, severely plain, heavy, with perhaps too many arch-lines, but sober and simple. a futile wooden wainscot now surrounds the church and breaks its wall space, liberal coats of whitewash conceal the building material, and taking from the church the severity of its stone, give it an appearance of poor deprecatory bareness. [illustration: "the desecration of the little cloister."--fréjus.] near the entrance of the cathedral is its most ancient portion, the baptistery, formerly a building apart, but now an integral part of the church itself. it is perhaps the most interesting christian monument in fréjus, a reminder of those early centuries when, in france as in italy, the little baptistery was the popular form of christian architectural expression. here it has the very usual octagonal shape; the arches are upheld by grayish columns of granite with capitals of white marble, and in the centre stands the font. between the columns are small recesses, alternately rectangular and semi-domed, and above all, is a modern dome and lantern. structurally interesting, and reminiscent of the stately baptistery of aix, the effect of this little chamber, like the church's interior, is marred by the whitewashes from whose industrious brushes nothing but the grayish columns have escaped. and here again, the traveller who would see the builders' work, free from the disfigurements of time, must pause and imagine. yet even imagination seems powerless before the desecration of the little cloister. charming it must have been to have entered its quiet walks, with their slender columns of white marble, to have seen the quaint old well in the little, sun-lit close. now, between the slender columns, boards have been placed which shut out light and sun. the traveller sat down on an old wheel-barrow, waiting till he could see in the dim and misty light. all around him was forgetfulness of the cloister's holy uses; signs of desecration and neglect. one end of the cloister-walk was a thoroughfare, where the wheel-barrow had worn its weary way; and even in the deserted corners there was the dust and dirt of a work-a-day world. the beautiful little capitals of the slender columns rose from among the boards, clipped and worn; above, he dimly saw the curious wooden ceiling which would seem to have taken the place of the usual stone vaulting; through chinks of the plank-wall he caught glimpses of a little close; and at length, having seen the most melancholy of "cathedrals of the sea," in its disguise of whitewash, decay, and misuse, he went his way. [sidenote: antibes.] that part of the southern coast of france called the riviera seems now only to evoke visions of the most beautiful banality; of a life more artificial than the stage--which at least aims to present reality--transplanted to a scene of such incomparable loveliness that nature herself adds a new and exquisite sumptuousness to the luxury of civilisation. the riviera means a land of many follies and every vice;--each folly so delicious, each vice so regal, they seem to be sought and desired of all men. where else can be seen in such careless magnificence dukes of russia with their polish of manner and their veiled insolence; englishmen correct and blasé; americans a bit vociferous and truly amused; great ladies of all ages and manners; adventurers high and low; and the beautiful, sparkling women of no name, bravely dressed and barbarously jewelled? such is the riviera of to-day; the life imposed upon it by hordes of foreign idlers in a land whose warmth and luxuriance may have lent itself but too easily to the vicious and frivolous pleasures for which they have made it notorious, but a land which has no native history that is effeminate, nor any so unworthy as its exotic present. "the riviera" may be nice, beaulieu, and their like, but the provençal mediterranean and its neighbouring territory have been the fatherland of warriors in real mail and of princes of real power, of the emperor pertinax of pagan times, of those who fought successfully against mahmoud and tergament, and of many knights of malta, long the "forlorn hope" of christendom. discreetly hidden from vulgar eyes that delight in the architecture of the modern caravanserai, are the ruins of these older days--amphitheatres, fountains, temples, and aqueducts of the romans; the castles, abbeys, and cathedrals of mediæval times. here are the larger number, if not the most interesting, of those curious churches of the sea, which protected the french townsman of the mediterranean coast from the rapacity of sea-rovers and pirates, and many more orthodox enemies of the middle ages. from the great beauty of its situation, the small city of antibes is at once a type of the old régime and of the new. lying on the sea, with a background of snow-capped mountains, it has not entirely escaped the fate of nice; neither has it yet lost all its old provençal characteristics. it is a pathetic compromise between the quaint reality of the old and the blatancy of the new. the little parish church is of the very far past, having lost its cathedral rank over six hundred years ago to sainte-marie in grasse, a town scarcely younger than its own. it is the type of the church of this coast, with its unpretentious smallness, its strength, and its disfiguring restorations; and it is, especially in comparison with vence and grasse, of small architectural interest. the façade, and the double archway which connects the church and the tower, are of the unfortunate xviii century, the older exterior is monotonous, and the interior, an unpleasing confusion of forms. [illustration: "the military omen--the tower." antibes.] the real interest of the little cathedral is its ancient military strength, neither very grand nor very imposing, but very real to the enemy who hundreds of years ago hurled himself against the hard, plain stones. from this view-point, the mannered façade and the inharmonious interior matter but little. toward the foe, whose sail might have arisen on the horizon at any moment, the protecting church presented the heavy rounded walls and safely narrowed windows of its three apses, and behind them the military omen of the severe, rectangular tower. high in every one of its four sides, seaward and landward, was a window, from which many a watcher must have looked and strained anxious eyes. this is the significance of the little sea-side cathedral, this the story its tower suggests. and now when the sea is sailed by peaceful ships, and the cathedral only a place of pious worship, the tower with its gaping windows is the only salient reminder of the ancient dignity of the church; the reminder to an indifferent generation of the days when antibes fulfilled to christians the promise of her old, pagan name, antipolis, "sentinel" of the perilous sea. [sidenote: nice.] the situation of its cathedral reveals a nice of which but little is written, the city of a people who live in the service of those whose showy, new villas and hotels stretch along the promenades and lie dotted on the hills in the nice of "all the world." besides this exotic city, there is "the nice of the niçois," a small district of dark, crowded streets that are too full of the sordid struggles of competing work-people to be truly picturesque. here, in the xvi century, when the citadel of nice was enlarged and the cathedral of sainte-marie-de-l'assomption destroyed, the church of sainte-réparate was re-built, and succeeded to the episcopal rank. standing on a little open square, surrounded by small shops and the poor homes of trades-folk, it seems in every sense a church of the people. here the native niçois, gay, industrious, mercurial, and dispossessed of his town, may feel truly at home. finished in the most exuberant rococo style, it is an edifice from which all architectural or religious inspiration is conspicuously absent. it is a revel of luxurious bad taste; a cathedral in provence, a cathedral by the sea, but neither provençal nor maritime,--rather a product of that italian taste which has so profoundly vitiated both the morals and the architecture of all the riviera. ii. cathedrals of the hill-towns. [sidenote: carpentras.] carpentras is a busy provincial town, the terminus of three diminutive railroads and of many little, lumbering, dust-covered stages. it stands high on a hill, and from the boulevards, dusty promenades under luxuriant shade-trees, which circle the town as its walls formerly did, there is an extended view over the pretty hills and valleys of the neighbouring country. at one end of the town the hospital rises, an immense, bare, and imposing edifice of the xviii century, built by a trappist bishop; and at the other is the orange gate, the last tower of the old fortifications. between these historic buildings and the encircling boulevards are the narrow streets and irregular, uninteresting buildings of the city itself. it is strange indeed that so isolated a place, which seems only a big, bustling country-town, should have been of importance in the middle ages, and that bits of its stirring history must have caused all orthodox europe to thrill with horror. stranger still would be the forgetfulness of modern writers, by whom carpentras is seldom mentioned, were it not that the city's real history is that of the church political, a story of strange manners and happenings, rather than a step in the vital evolution towards our own time. in the middle ages carpentras was an episcopal city, the capital of the county venaissin, governed by wealthy, powerful, and ambitious bishops, who took no small interest in worldly aggrandisement. passing by gift to the papacy, after the sudden death of clement v it was selected as the place of the conclave which was to elect his successor. the members were assembled in the great episcopal palace, when bertrand de goth, a nephew of the dead pope, claiming to be an ally of the french prelates against the italians in the conclave, arrived from a successful looting of the papal treasury at montreux to pillage in carpentras. he and his mercenaries massacred the citizens and burned the cathedral. the episcopal palace caught fire, and their eminences--in danger of their lives--were forced to squeeze their sacred persons through a hole which their followers made in the palace wall and fly northward. this unfortunate raid left carpentras with many ruins and a demolished cathedral, deserted by those in whose cause she had unwittingly suffered. the new pontiff was safely elected in lyons, and upon his return to the papal seat of avignon he administered carpentras by a "rector," and it continued as it had been before, the political capital of the county. during the reigns of succeeding popes it was apparently undisturbed by dangerous honours, until the accession of the anti-pope, benedict xiii. so great was this prelate's delight in the city that he reserved to himself the minor title of her bishop, re-built her walls, and was the first patron of the present and very orthodox cathedral, saint-siffrein. by a curious destiny, the church had this false prelate not only as its first patron, but as its first active supporter; and in 1404 he sent artaud, archbishop of arles, in his name, to lay its first stone. wars and rumours of wars soon possessed the province. benedict fled, and through unrest and lack of money the work of cathedral building was greatly hindered. in the meantime the ruins of the former cathedral seem to have been gradually disintegrating, and in 1829 the last of its cloister was destroyed, to be replaced by prison cells; and now only the choir dome and a suggestion of the nave exist, partly forming the present sacristy. from these meagre remains and from writings of the time, it may be fairly inferred that saint-pierre was a cathedral of the type of avignon and cavaillon and the old marseillaise church of la majeure, and that, architecturally considered, it was a far more important structure than saint-siffrein. with this depressing knowledge in mind the traveller was confronted with a sight as depressing--the present cathedral itself. fortunately, churches of a period antedating the xvii century are seldom so uninteresting. nothing more meagre nor dreary can be conceived than the façade with its three, poor, characterless portals. they open on a large vaulted hall, with chapels in its six bays and a small and narrow choir. the principal charm of the interior is negative; its dim misty light, by concealing a mass of tasteless decorations and the poverty and bareness of the whole architectural scheme, gives to the generous height and size of the room an atmosphere of subdued and mysterious spaciousness. the south door is the one bit of this gothic which passes the commonplace. set in a poor, plain wall, the portal has a graceful symmetry of design; and its few carved details, probably limited by the artistic power of its builder, are so simple and chaste that they do not inevitably suggest poverty of conception. the tympanum holds an exotic detail, a defaced and insignificant fresco of the coronation of the virgin; and on the pier which divides the door-way stands a very charming statue of our lady of snows, blessing those who enter beneath her outstretched hands. this simple portal, and indeed the whole church, is a significant example of provençal gothic, a style so foreign to the genius of the province that it could produce only feeble and attenuated examples of the art. compared with its northern prototypes, it is surprisingly tentative; and awkward, unaccustomed hands seem to have built it after most primitive conceptions. [sidenote: digne.] well outside the alpine city of digne, and almost surrounded by graves, stands a small and ancient church which is seldom opened except for the celebration of masses for the dead. coffin-rests stand always before the altar, and enough chairs for the few that mourn. there are old candlesticks for the tapers of the church's poor, and hidden in the shadows of the doors, a few broken crosses that once marked graves, placed, tenderly perhaps, above those who were alive some years ago and who now rest forgotten; on battered wood, one can still read a baby's age, an old man's record, and the letters r. i. p. in this strange, melancholy destiny of notre-dame-du-bourg there seems to be a peculiar fitness. the mutability of time, forgetfulness, and at length neglect, which death suggests, are brought to mind by this old church. once the cathedral of digne, but no longer cathedral, it stands almost alone in spite of its honours and its venerable age. after the desecration by the huguenots, its episcopal birthright was given to a younger and a larger church; the city has moved away and clusters about its new cathedral, saint-jérome; and notre-dame-du-bourg is no longer on a busy street, but near the dusty high-road, amid the quiet of the country and the hills. parts of its crypt and tower may antedate 900, but the church itself was re-built in the xii and xiii centuries. the course of time has brought none of the incongruities which have ruined many churches by the so-called restorations of the last three hundred years, and although its simple romanesque is sadly unrepaired, it is a delight to come into the solitude and find an unspoiled example of this stanch old style. [illustration: the interior of notre-dame-du-bourg.--digne.] the romanesque shows forth its great solidity in the exterior of its churches, and nowhere more than in digne's deserted cathedral. flat buttresses line the walls, the transepts are square and plain, and on either side the façade wall is upheld by a formidable support. this severity of line is not greatly modified by the deep recesses of a few windows; nor is the tower--which lost its spire three hundred years ago--of less sober construction, less solidly built. below the overhanging eaves of a miserable roof and the curious line of the nave vault which projects through the wall, is a round window with a frame of massive rolls and hollows; and below this again, under a narrow sloping covering, is the deep arch of the cathedral's porch. this, in its prime, must have been the church's ornamental glory. beneath the outer arch, which is continued to the buttresses by half-arches, are the great roll-mouldings that twist backward to a plain tympanum. capitals still support these massive curves of stone, but the niches in which the columns formerly stood are empty, and grinning lions, lying on the ground, no longer support the larger columns of the plain arch. all stands in solemn decay. the traveller entered a battered, brass-nailed door and saw before him the stretch of a single, empty nave, a choir beneath whose lower vault are three small windows, and on either side the archways which he knew must lead to narrow transepts. in the south side, plain, rounded windows give a glimmering light, and over each projects an arch, the modest decoration of the walls. far above rises the tunnel-vault, whose sheer height is grandly dignified; the arches rest on roughly carved capitals, and the outer rectangle of the piers is displaced for half a column. the rehearsal of these most simple details seems but the writing of "the letter which killeth," and not the portrayal of the spirit that seems to live within these walls. details which seem so poorly few when read, are nobly so when seen. this small old church has a true religious stateliness, and it seemed as if a priest should bring the sanctuary-light which says, "the lord is in his holy temple." saint-jérome was built between 1490 and 1500, a hundred years before its episcopal elevation, and forms a most complete antithesis to notre-dame-du-bourg which it supplanted in 1591. where notre-dame is small, saint-jérome is large, where the old church is simple, the newer one is either pretentious or sumptuous, and where the one is romanesque, the other is gothic. the present cathedral stands on the heights of the city; and from one side or another its clean, straight walls can be seen in all their large angularity and absence of architectural significance. towers rise conventionally above the façade; and a big broad flight of white stone steps leads to three modern portals that have been built in an economical imitation of the sculptured richness of the xiii century. the interior, also gothic, has neither clerestory nor triforium, and its naves are covered by a vaulting which springs broadly from the round, supporting piers. the conception is not noble, it has no simplicity, and no more of spiritual suggestion than a madonna of titian; but the space of the nave is so largely generous and the new polychrome so richly toned that the church has majesty of space and harmony, deep lights and subdued colourings; it is large and sumptuous with the munificence of a veronese canvas, a singular and most curious contrast to the cold severity of its outer walls. [illustration: "the interior has neither clerestory nor triforium."--digne.] before the high altar of this church lies buried one whose spirit suggests the christ, a bishop, yet a simple priest, whose life deserves more words than does the whole of saint-jérome, once his cathedral-church. he was a curé of brignoles, one of those keen, yet simple-hearted and hard-working priests who often bless provençal towns. he had no great ambitions, no patronage, no ties except a far-off brother who was an upstart general of that most upstart emperor, napoleon. one day while the priest was pottering in his little garden,--as provençal curés love to dig and work,--a letter was handed him, marked "thirty sous of postage due." he was outraged. his shining old soutane fell from the folds in which he had prudently tucked it, he shrugged his shoulders and protested,--"a great expense indeed for a trivial purpose. where should he find another thirty sous for his poor? he never wrote letters. therefore by no argument of any school of logic could he be compelled to receive them. obviously this was not for him." the unexpected letter was one for which his brother had asked and which napoleon had signed, a decree which made him bishop. long afterwards this simple, saintly prelate saved a man from crime, and history relates that this same man died at waterloo as a good and faithful soldier fighting for the fatherland. his benefactor, that loyal servant of christ and his church, soon followed him in death, and unlike many a saint whom this earth forgets his memory lives on, not only in the little city of the snow-clad alps, but in the hearts of those who read of his good deeds. for monseigneur miollis of digne is truly monseigneur bienvenu of "les misérables," and only the soldier of waterloo was glorified in jean valjean. [sidenote: forcalquier.] if it is difficult to picture sleepy, stately aix as one of the most brilliant centres of mediæval europe, and the garrisoned castle of tarascon filled with the gay courtiers and fair ladies of king rené's court, it will be almost impossible to walk in the smaller provençal "cities," and see in imagination the cavalcades of mailed soldiers who clattered through the streets on their way to the castle of some near-by hill-top, my lord proudly distinguishable by his mount or the length of his plume, a delicate countess languishing between the curtains of her litter, or a more sprightly one who rode her palfrey and smiled on the staring townsfolk. it is almost impossible to conceive that the four daughters of raymond bérenger, a queen of the romans, of france, of naples, and of england, were brought up in the castle of the little hillside hamlet of saint-maime dauphin. provence is quiet, rural, provincial; a land of markets, busy country inns, and farms; not of modern greatness nor of modern renown. its children are a fine and busy race, no less strong and fine than in the land's more stirring times, but they live their years of greatness in other, "more progressive" parts of france, and the provençal genius, which remains very native to the soil, is broadly known to fame as "french." like some rich old wine hidden in the cellars of the few, provence lies safely ensconced behind avignon and arles, and only the epicures of history penetrate her hills. her mediæval ruins seem to belong to a past almost as dead and ghostly as her roman days, and to realise her middle ages, one must leave the busy people in the town below, climb one of the hills, and sitting beside the crumbling walls of some great tower or castle, watch the hot sun setting behind the low mountains and lighting in a glow the bare walls of some other ruined stronghold on a neighbouring height. the shadows creep into the valleys, the rocks grow grey and cold, and the clusters of trees beside them become darkly mysterious. then far beneath a white thread seems to appear, beginning at the valley's entrance and twisting along its length until it disappears behind another hill. this is the road; and by the time the eye has followed its long course, daylight has grown fainter. then provence takes on a long-lost splendour. to those who care to see, cavalcades of soldiers or of hunters come home along the road, castles become whole and frowning, the dying sun casts its light through their gaping window-holes, as light of nightly revels used to shine, and a phantom mediævalism appears. one of the powerful families of the country, the counts of forcalquier, sprang from the house of bérenger in the xi century, and a hundred and fifty years later, grown too great, were crushed by the haughty parent house. more than one hill of eastern provence has borne their tall watchtowers, more than one village owed them allegiance, and a large town in the hills was their capital and bore their name. and yet not a ruined tower that overlooks the provençal mountains, not a village, gate, or castle--manosque or old saint-maime,--but speaks more vividly of the old counts than does forcalquier, formerly their city, now a mere country town which has lost prestige with its increasing isolation, many of its inhabitants by plagues and wars, and almost all of its picturesque mediævalism through the destructiveness of sieges. long before this day of contented stagnancy, in 1061, when forcalquier, fortified, growing, and important, claimed many honours, bishop gérard caprérius of sisteron had given the city a provost and a chapter, and created the church of saint-mary, co-cathedral with that of notre-dame of sisteron. not contented with this honour, forcalquier demanded and received a bishopric of her own. her hill was then crowned by a citadel, her cathedral stood near-by, her walls were intact. now the citadel is replaced by a peaceful pilgrims' chapel, the walls are gone, saint-mary, ruined in the siege of 1486, is recalled only by a few weed-covered stumps and bits of wall, and its title was given to notre-dame in the lower part of the town. no cathedral is a sadder example of architectural failure than notre-dame of forcalquier because it has so many of the beginnings of real beauty and dignity, so many parts of real worthiness that have been unfortunately combined in a confused and discordant whole. if, of all little cities of provence, forcalquier is one of the least unique and least holding, its cathedral is also one of the least satisfying. it is not beautiful in situation nor in its own essential harmony, and the fine but tantalising perspectives of its interior may be found again in happier churches. the exterior shows to a superlative degree that general tendency of provençal exteriors to be without definite or logical proportions. a large, square tower, heavier than that of grasse, served as a lookout, a tall, thin little turret served as a belfry. in the façade there is a gothic portal which notwithstanding its entire mediocrity is the chief adornment of the outer walls. they are irregular and uncouth to a degree and their only interesting features are at the eastern end. here the smaller, older apses on either side betray the church's early origin. the central apse, evidently of the same dimensions as the romanesque one originally designed, was re-built in severe, rudimentary gothic. looking at this shallow apse alone, and following its plain lines until they meet those of the big tower, there is a straight simplicity that is almost fine,--but this is one mere detail in a large and barren whole, and the cathedral-seeker turns to the nearest entrance. [illustration: "a large, square tower served as a lookout."--forcalquier.] [illustration: "a suggestive view from the side aisle."--forcalquier.] the first glimpse of the interior is so relieving that one is not quick to notice its lack of architectural unity. the few windows give a soft light, and the brown of the stone has a mellowness that is both rich and reposeful. if the cathedral could have been finished in the style of the first bays of the nave, it would have been a nobly dignified example of the romanesque. could it have been re-built in the slender gothic of the last bay, it would have been an exquisite example of provençal gothic. rather largely planned, its old form of tunnel vaulting and the fine curve of its nave arches and heavy piers are in violent contrast to the gothic bay, with its pointed arch, its clustered columns and carved capitals, which, even with the shallow choir and its long, slim windows, is too slight a portion of the cathedral to have independence or real beauty. from its ritualistic position, it is the culminating point of the church, and its discord with the romanesque is unpleasantly insistent. the side aisles, which were built in the xvii century, are low, agreeable walks ending in the chapels of the smaller apses. they are neither very regular nor very significant; but they give the church pleasant size and perspectives, and by avoiding the unduly large and shining modern chandeliers which hang between the nave arches, one gets from these side aisles the suggestive views which show only too well what true and good architectural ideas were brought to confusion in the re-building, the additions, and the restorations of the centuries. in painting, anachronisms may be quaint or even amusing; but in architecture, they are either grotesque or tragic, and in a church of such fine suggestiveness as notre-dame at forcalquier, one is haunted by lingering regrets for what might and should have been. [sidenote: vence.] a founder of the french academy and one of its first immortal forty was antoine godeau, "the idol of the hôtel rambouillet." his mind was formed, as it were, by one of the most clever women of that brilliantly foolish coterie, he sang frivolous sonnets to a beautiful red-haired mistress whom he sincerely admired, and when he entered holy church, none of his charming friends believed that he would do more than modify the proper and agreeable conventionalities of his former life. they thought that he would add to the grace of his worldly manner the suavity of the ecclesiastic, that he would choose a pulpit of paris, and that, sitting at his feet, they could enjoy the elegant phrases with which he would embellish a refined and delicately attenuated religion. but an aged prelate of the far south judged the new priest differently, he had sounded the heart of the man who, at the age of thirty, had quietly renounced a flattering, admiring world; and his dying prayer to richelieu was that godeau should succeed him in the see of vence. the keen worldly wisdom of the cardinal confirmed the old bishop's more spiritual insight, and godeau was named bishop of the neighbouring grasse. far away in his mountain-city of flower gardens and sweet odours, the new bishop wrote to his parisian friends that, for his part, he "found more thorns than orange-blossoms." the calvinists, from the rock of antibes, openly defied him; in spite of the vehement opposition of their chapters and against his will, the bishoprics of grasse and vence were united, and he was made the bishop of the two warring, discontented sees. he was stoned at vence; and even his colleague in temporal power, the marquis of villeneuve, showed himself as insolent as he dared. at length the king came to his aid, and being given his choice of the sees, godeau immediately left "the perfumed wench," as he called grasse, and chose to live and work among his one-time enemies of vence. this gentle and courageous prelate is typical of the long line of wise men who ruled the church in the tight little city of the provençal hills. from saint véran the wonder-worker, and saint lambert the tender nurse of lepers, to the end, they were men noted for bravery, goodness, and learning, and it was not till the revolution that one was found--and fittingly the last--who, hating the "oath" and fearing the guillotine, fled his see. this city of good bishops was founded in the dim, pagan past of gaul. from a rocky hill-top, its inhabitants had watched the burning of their first valley-town and they founded the second vence on that height of safety to which they had escaped with their lives. here, far above the aurelian road, the gallic tribes had a strong and isolated camp. then the prying romans found them out, and priests of mars and cybele replaced those of the cruder native gods, and they, in turn, gave way to the apostle of the christians. where a temple stood, a church was built; and unlike many early saints who looked upon old pagan images as homes of devils and broke them into a thousand pieces with holy wrath and words of exorcism, the prelate of vence buried an image of a vanquished god under each and every pillar of his church, in sign of christian triumph. these early days of the faith were days of growth for the little city, and she prospered in her mediævalism. high on her hill, she was too difficult of access to suffer greatly from marauding foes, and hidden from the sea, she did not excite the cupidity of the mediterranean rovers. when antibes and nice were sacked, her little ledge of rock was safe; and people crowded thick and fast behind her walls, until no bee-hive swarmed so thick with bees as her few streets with citizens. here were arts and occupations, burghers and charters, riches and liberties. here came the renaissance, and vence had eager, if not famous sculptors, painters, and organ-builders, and a family of artists whom even the dilettante francis i deigned to patronise. such memories of a busy, energetic past seem fairy-tales to those who walk to-day about the dark and narrow streets of vence. she scarcely has outgrown her ancient walls, her civic life is dead, and in her virtual isolation from the modern world she lives a dreary, quiet old age. the old cathedral, notre-dame, lies in the heart of the town; and takes one back along the years, far past the renaissance, to those grim mediæval days when even churches were places of defence. it is a low, unimpressive building, said to have been built on the site of the roman temple in the iv century. enlarged or re-built in the x century, it was then long and narrow, a latin cross. but in the xii century, deep, dark bays were added; in the xv, tribunes were built, the form of the apse was changed to an oval and it was decorated in an inharmonious style; and a hundred years ago the nave vault was re-built in an ellipse. [illustration: "the old round arch of the bishop's palace."--vence.] in the side wall there is a low portal of a late, decadent style, which opens on the little square, but there is no real façade; and to see the church, the traveller passed under the old round arch of the bishop's palace, through a small, damp street to another tinier square where the apse and tower stand. the little cathedral-churches of provence are always simply built, but here a rectangle, a low gabled roof, a small, round-headed window in the wall, would have been architectural bareness if a high, straight tower had not crowned it all. this crenellated tower is a true type of its time, square, yet slim and strong, and crudely graceful as some tall young poplar of the plains beneath. in the xi and xii centuries, its early days, it was the city's lookout. families lived high up in its walls, and the traveller could imagine, in this little old, deserted square, the crowds who gathered round the tower's base, and called for news of enemies and battle as moderns gather about the more prosaic bulletin of printed news. he could see them surging, peering up; and from above he almost heard the watcher's cry, "they're coming on,"--with the great answering howl beneath, and the rush to arms. or, "they pass us by," and then what breaking into little laughing groups, what joy, what dancing, and what praying, that lasted far into the evening hours. [illustration: "the low, broad arches and the great, supporting pillars."--vence.] the traveller came back in thought to modern times and went into the church, that church of five low naves and many restorations, that product of most diverse fancies. it is painted in lugubrious white, and its pillars have false bases in a palpable imitation of veined red marble. its pure and early form, the latin cross, is gone, its fine old stalls are hidden in a gallery, and at the altar corinthian columns desecrate its ancient romanesque. yet in spite of the incongruities the atmosphere of the church is truly that of its dim past. there are the low broad arches, the great, supporting pillars that are massive buttresses; there is the simple practicality of a style that aimed at a protecting strength rather than at any art of beauty; there is the semi-darkness of the small, safe windows, and the little, guarded space where the praying few increased a thousand-fold in times of danger. this is, in spite of all defects, the small provençal church where in days of peace cloudy incense slowly circled round the shadowy forms of chanting priests, and where in times of war a crowd of frightened women and their children prayed in safety for the men who sallied forth to fight in their defence. [sidenote: grasse.] he who is unloving of the past may well rush by its treasures in a puffing automobile, he who is bored by olden thoughts can hurry on by rail, but the man who wishes to know the old hill-towns of france, to see them as they seemed to their makers, and realise their one-time magnificence and strength, must walk from one town to the next, and climb their steep heights; must see great towers rise before him, great walls loom above him, and realise how grandly strong these places were when it was man to man and sword to sword, strength against strength. he must arrive, dust-covered, at the cities' gates or drive into their narrow streets on the small coach which still passes through,--for they are of the times when great men rode and peasants walked and steam was all unknown. then he will realise how very large the world once was, how far from town to town; and once within those high, protecting walls, he will understand why the citizen of mediæval days found in his town a world sufficient to itself, and why he was so often well content to spend his life at home. the power and the force of an isolated, self-concentrated interest is well illustrated in the history of the free cities of the middle ages, and grasse may be counted one of these. counts she had in name; but the bérengers and queen jeanne had granted her charters which she had the power to keep; she was once wealthy enough to declare war with pisa, and in the xii century the leaders of her self-government were "consuls by the grace of god alone." therefore when antibes continued to be greatly menaced by blasphemous pirates, the bishopric was removed to grasse, rich, strong, and safe behind the hills, where it endured from 1244, through all the perils of the centuries, until by a pen-stroke napoleon wiped it out in 1801. [illustration: "higher than them all stands the cathedral."--grasse.] to come to grasse on foot or in the stage, will well repay the traveller of old-fashioned moods and fancies. afar, her houses seem to crowd together, as they used to crowd within the walls, her red roofs rise fantastically one above the other, and higher than them all stands the cathedral with its firm, square tower. such must have been old grasse, perched on the summit of her hill. but once inside the town, these illusions cease. here are the hotels and the casino of a thermal station, and the factories of a new world. the traveller finds that the broad upper boulevards are filled with tourists and smart english visitors; and in the narrow streets pert factory-hands come noisily from work. still he climbs on toward the cathedral, through tortuous streets and little alley-ways. and in the gloomiest of them all there is no odour of a stale antiquity, but the perfume of a garden-full of roses, of a thousand orange-blossoms, and of locusts, honey-sweet, and he begins to think himself enchanted. he feels the dark, old houses are unreal, as if, instead of cobble-stones beneath his feet, there must be the soft and tender grass of araby the blest. such is the magic of a trade, the perfume industry of grasse that for so many hundreds of years has made her meanest streets full of refreshing fragrance. breathless from the climb, the traveller stepped at length into the little square, before a most ungainly cathedral. "chiefly built in the xii century," it may have been, but so bedizened by the renaissance that its heavy old provençal walls and massive pillars seem to exist merely as supports for additions or unreasonable decorations of a poor italian style. a certain monseigneur of the xvii century re-built the choir in a deep, rectangular form; another prelate enlarged the church proper and ruined it by constructing a tribune over the aisles, and desiring the revenues of a new burial-place, he ordered vauban to accomplish the daring construction of a crypt. still another bishop with like architectural tastes built a large new chapel which opens from the south aisle; and with these additions and xviii century changes in the façade, the original style of the church was obscured. in spite of the pitiful remains of dignity which its three aisles, its firm old pillars, and its height still give to the interior, it is as a whole so mean a building that it has fittingly lost the title of cathedral. [illustration: the "pont d'avignon."] iii. river-side cathedrals. [sidenote: avignon.] everything which surrounds the cathedral of avignon, its situation, its city, its history, is so full of romance and glamour that it is only after very sober second thought one realises that the church itself is the least of the papal buildings which majestically overtower the rhone, or of those royal ruins which face them as proudly on the opposite bank of the river. yet no church in provence is richer in tradition, and in history more romantic than tradition. the foundation of this church goes back to the first avignon, a small colony of river-fishermen which gave way before the romans, who established a city, avernio, on the great rocky hill two hundred feet above the rhone. some hundreds of years later the first christian missionaries to gaul landed near the mouth of this river,--mary the mother of james, saint sara the patron of gypsies, lazarus, his sister martha, and saint maximin. before these storm-tossed saints lay the fair and pagan country of provence, the scene of their future mission; and if tradition is to be further believed, each went his way, to work mightily for the sacred cause. maximin lived in the town that bears his name, lazarus became the first bishop of marseilles, and saint martha ascended the rhone as far as avignon and built near the site of the present cathedral an oratory in honour of the virgin "then living on the earth." two early churches, of which this chapel was perhaps a part, were destroyed in the saracenic sieges of the viii century; an inscription in the porch of the present cathedral records the very interesting mediæval account of its re-building and re-consecration nearly a hundred years later. it was, so runs the tale, the habit of a devout woman to pray in the church every night; and after the cathedral had been finished by the generous aid of charlemagne, she happened there at midnight, and witnessed the descent of christ in wondrous, shining light. there at the high altar, surrounded by ministering angels, he dedicated the cathedral to his mother, our lady of cathedrals; and so it has been called to the present day. if it is an impossible and ungrateful task to disprove that the re-construction, or at least the re-founding of this cathedral was the work of charlemagne, so munificent a patron and dutiful a son of the church, to prove it is equally impossible. a martyrology of the xi century speaks of a dedication in 1069, but as this ceremony had been preceded by another extensive re-building, and was followed by many other changes, the oldest portions of the present church are to be most accurately ascribed to the xi, xii, and xiv centuries. the additions of the centuries following the papal return to rome have greatly changed the appearance of the church. a large chapel, built in 1506, gives almost a northern nave. in 1671, archbishop ariosto thought the interior would be gracefully improved by a renaissance gallery which should encircle the entire nave from one end of the choir to the other. to accomplish this new work, the old main piers below the gallery were cut away, the wall arches were changed, and columns and piers, almost entirely new, arose to support a shallow, gracefully balustraded balcony and its bases of massive carving. nine years later a new archbishop added to the north side a square xvii century chapel, richly ornamental in itself, but entirely out of harmony with the fundamental style of the church. other chapels, less distinguished, which have been added from time to time, line the nave both north and south, and all are excrescent to the original plan. of the exterior, only the façade retains its primitive character. the side-walls, "entirely featureless," as has been well said, "reflect only the various periods of the chapels which have been added to the cathedral," and the apse was re-built in 1671, in a heavy, uninteresting form. [illustration: "the interior has a shallow, gracefully balustraded balcony."--avignon.] these additions, superimposed ornamentations, and rebuildings, together with the very substantial substructure of the primitive cathedral, form to-day a small church of unimpressive, conglomerate style, and except for its history, unnoteworthy. it is therefore a church whose interest is almost wholly of the past; and the traveller goes back in imagination, century after century, to the era of papal residency, when the cathedral was not only ecclesiastically important, but architecturally in its best and purest form. this church, which clement v found on his removal to avignon, and which may still be easily traced, was of the simple, primitive provençal style. no dates of that period are sufficiently accurate to rely upon; but its interest lies not so much in chronology as in its portrayal of the general type. the interior is the usual little hall church of the xi century, with its aisle-less nave of five bays, and plain piers supporting a tunnelled roof, with double vault arches. beyond the last bay, over the choir, is the cathedral's octagonal dome, and from the rounded windows of its lantern comes much of the light of the interior, which is sombre and without other windows of importance. the façade is architecturally one of the most significant parts of the church. above the portal the wall is supported on either side by plain heavy buttresses, and directly continued by the solid bulk of the tower. in 1431 this tower replaced the original one which fell in the earthquake of 1405. it is conjecturally similar, a heavy rectangle which quite overweighs the church; plain, with its stiff pilasters and two stories of rounded windows; without grace or proper proportion, but pleasing by the unblemished severity of its lines. above the balustrade with which the tower may be properly said to terminate, the religious art of the xix century has erected as its contribution to the cathedral a series of steps, an octagon, and a colossal, mal-proportioned statue of the virgin. these additions are inharmonious; and the finest part of the façade is the porch, so classic in detail that it was formerly supposed to be roman, a work of the emperor constantine. like the rest of the church, its general structure is plain and somewhat severe, with small, richly carved details, in this instance closely corinthian. the rounded portal of entrance is an entablature, enclosed as it were by two supporting columns; and above, in the pointed pediment, is a circular opening curiously foreshadowing that magnificent development of the north--the rose-window. passing through the vestibule, whose tunnel-vault supports the tower, the minor portal appears, almost a replica of the outer door, and the whole forms an unusual mode of entrance, graceful in detail, ponderous in general effect. far behind the tower of the façade rises the last significant feature of the exterior, the little lantern. it is an octagon with doric and corinthian motifs, continuing the essential characteristics of the interior, and exceedingly typical of provence. [illustration: "the porch so classic in detail."--avignon. _from an old print._] into this church, with its few, unusually classic details, its provençal simplicity, its very modest size and plainness, the munificence of papal pomp was introduced. this was in 1308, an era of papal storm and stress. not ten years before, boniface viii, with the tradition of canossa spurring his haughty ambitions, had launched a bull against philip iii, whom he knew to be a bad king and whom he was to find an equally bad, rebellious christian. "god," said the prelate, from rome, "has constituted us, though unworthy, above kings and kingdoms, to seize, destroy, disperse, build, and plant in his name and by his doctrine. therefore, do not persuade thyself that thou hast no superior, and that thou art not subject to the head of the ecclesiastical hierarchy; he who thinks thus is insensate, he who maintains it is infidel." past indeed was the time of henry of germany, long past the proud day when a pope received an emperor who knelt and waited in the snow. philip burned the bull; and to prevent other like fulminations, sent an agent into italy. gathering a band, he found the aged pontiff at anagni, his birthplace, seated on a throne, crowned with the triple crown, the cross in one hand and in the other saint peter's keys, the terrible keys of heaven and hell. they called on him to abdicate, but boniface thought of christ his lord, and cried out in defiant answer, "here is my neck, here is my head. betrayed like jesus christ, if i must die like him, i will at least die pope." for reply, sciarra colonna, one of his own roman counts, struck him in the face. buffeted by a noble, and openly defied by a king, boniface died "of shame and anger." a month later, this same king rejoiced, if nothing more, at the death of the pope's successor; and in the dark forests of saint-jean-d'angély, philip bargained and sold the great tiara to a gascon archbishop who, if villani speaks truly, "threw himself at the royal feet, saying, 'it is for thee to command and for me to obey; such will ever be my disposition!'" as was not unnatural, the will of the french king was that the pope should remain within the zone of royal influence. so clement lived at bordeaux and at poitiers, and finally retired to the county of venaissin which the holy see possessed by right, and established the pontifical court at avignon. this transfer of the papal residence to avignon has left many and deep traces on the history of french catholicism. the holy see was no longer far remote; the french ecclesiastic desirous of promotion had no dangerous mountains to traverse, no strange city to enter, no foreign pontiff to besiege, ignorant or indifferent to his claims. the next successor of saint peter would logically be a frenchman, and there was not only a possibility, but a probability for every man of note, that he might be either the occupant of the sacred chair or its favoured supporter. so avignon became a city of priests as rome had been before her; and as france was the richest country in europe and the church regally wealthy, splendour, luxury, and constant religious spectacles rejoiced the city, and bishop, archbishop, and abbot, brazenly neglecting the duties of their sees, lived here and were seldom "in residence." every one had a secret ambition. of such a situation, the popes were not slow to reap the benefits. difference of wealth, which brought difference of position, counted much and was keenly felt. abbots of smaller monasteries found themselves inferior to bishops, especially in freedom from papal interference; while from the inherent wealth and power of their foundations, the heads of the great monasteries ranked sometimes with archbishops, sometimes even with cardinals. the pope had the right to elevate an abbey or a priory into a bishopric, and those who could offer the "gratification" or the "provocative," might reasonably hope for the desired elevation which at once increased their local importance, belittled a neighbouring diocese, and freed them to some extent from the direct intermeddling of the pope. the applications for such an increase of power became numerous, and by 1320 a number of benedictine abbeys had been made bishoprics. their creation greatly decreased the direct and intimate power of the papacy, but temporarily increased the papal treasury; and john xxii, who left ten million pieces of silver and fifteen million in gold with his florentine bankers, seems to have thought philosophically, "after us, the deluge." [illustration: notre-dame-des-doms.--avignon] another favourite diplomatic and financial device, which was invented by these famous popes of avignon, was the system of the "commende," which enabled relatives of nobles and all those whom it was desirable to placate, not alone ecclesiastics, but mere laymen and bloody barons, to become "commendatory abbots" or "commendatory priors," and to receive at least one-third of the monastery's revenues, without being in any way responsible for the monastery's welfare. this care was left to a prior or a sub-prior, a sort of clerical administrator who, crippled in means and in influence, was sometimes unable, sometimes unwilling, to carry out the duties and beneficences of past ages, and who was always the victim of a great injustice. the depths of uselessness to which this infamous practice reduced monastic establishments may be inferred, when it is remembered that before the xviii century the famous abbey of la baume had had thirteen commendatory abbots, and that the bastards of louis xiv were commendatory priors in their infancy. the popes found the commende useful, not only as a means of income, but as a method--at once secure and lucrative--of gaining to their cause the great feudal lords of france, and making the power of these lords an added buffer, as it were, between avignon and the grasping might of the french kings. for although the popes were under "the special protection" of the kings, it was as sheep under the special protection of a shearer, and they found that they must protect themselves against a too "special" and royal fleecing. for they did not always agree that- "'tis as goodly a match as match can be to marry the church and the fleur-de-lis should either mate a-straying go, then each--too late--will own 'twas so.'" [illustration: "the tower of philip the fair."--villeneuve-les-avignon.] haunted by the humiliation of their heaven-sent power, caged in "babylonish captivity," it is conceivable that the popes were too occupied or, perhaps too distracted, to object to the unsuitable modesty of notre-dame-des-doms. when a pope swept forth from his cathedral, new-crowned, to give "urbis et orbi" his first pontifical benediction, his eye glanced, it is true, on the crowds prostrate before him, before the church, awed and breathless; but it fell lingeringly--it was irresistibly drawn--across the swift rhone to the town of the kings who had defied his power, to the royal city of villeneuve, and to the strong tower of philip the fair, standing proudly in the sunlight. would it be thought strange if their thoughts wandered, or if the portraits of the "french popes" which hang about the cathedral walls at avignon, show more worldly preoccupation than is becoming to the successors of saint peter and vicars of christ? little indeed in the days of their residency did the popes add to notre-dame-des-doms. a fragile, slender marvel of gothic architecture, the tomb of john xxii, was placed in the nave before the altar; and a monument to benedict xii was raised in the church. but their holinesses incited others in avignon to good works so successfully that rabelais laughingly called it the "ringing city" of churches, convents, and monasteries. the bells of saint-pierre, saint-symphorien, saint-agricol, sainte-claire, and saint-didier chimed with those of chapels and religious foundations; the grey penitents, black penitents, and white penitents, priests, and nuns walked the streets, and avignon grew truly papal. clement v and his successors proceeded to the safeguarding of their temporal welfare in truly noble fashion; and scarcely fifty years later they had become so well pleased with their new residence that the magnificent clement vi refused to leave in spite of the supplications of petrarch and rienzi and a whole deputation of romans. during the reign of this pontiff, the papal court became one of the gayest in christendom. clement was frankly, joyously voluptuous; and his life seems one moving pageant in which luxurious banquets, beautiful women, and ecclesiastical pomps succeeded each other. the lovely countess of turenne sold his preferments and benefices, the immense treasure of john xxii was his, and he showered such benefits on a grateful family that of the five cardinals who accompanied his corpse from avignon, one was his brother, one his cousin, and three his nephews; and that the huguenots who violated his tomb at la-chaise-dieu, should have used his skull as a wine-cup, seems an horrible, but not an unfitting mockery. it was in vain that petrarch hotly wrote, "the pope keeps the church of jesus christ in shameful exile." the desire for return to rome had passed. avignon was not an original nor a plenary possession of the holy fathers, but "the fairest inheritance of the bérengers," and it was from that family that half of the city had to be wrested--or obtained. now the lords of provence were kings of naples and sicily, and therefore vassals of the holy see. for when the normans took these southern states from the greeks and thereby incurred the jealousy of all italy, they had warily placed themselves under the protection of the pope and agreed to hold their new possessions as a papal investiture. it happened at this time that the vassal of the pope in naples and in sicily was the beauteous "reino joanno," the heiress of provence. what she was no writer could describe in better words than these, "with extreme beauty, with youth that does not fade, red hair that holds the sunlight in its tangles, a sweet voice, poetic gifts, regal peremptoriness, a gallic wit, genuine magnanimity, and rhapsodical piety, with strange indecorum and bluntness of feeling under the extremes of splendour and misery, just such a lovely, perverse, bewildering woman was she, great granddaughter of raymond-bérenger, fourth count of provence,--the pupil of boccaccio, the friend of petrarch, the enemy of saint catherine of siena, the most dangerous and most dazzling woman of the xiv century. so typically provençal was this queen's nature, that had she lived some centuries later, she might have been mirabeau's sister. the same 'terrible gift of familiarity,' the same talent of finding favour and swaying popular assemblages, the same sensuousness, bold courage, and great generosity were found in this early orphaned, thrice widowed heiress of provence. to this day, the memory of the reino joanno lives in her native land, associated with numbers of towers and fortresses, the style of whose architecture attests their origin under her reign. it says much for her personal fascinations that far from being either cursed or blamed she is still remembered and praised. the ruins of gremaud, tour drainmont, of guillaumes, and a castle near roccaspervera, all bear her name: at draguignan and flagose, they tell you her canal has supplied the town with water for generations: in the esterels, the peasants who got free grants of land, still invoke their benefactress. at saint-vallier, she is blessed because she protected the hamlet near the siagne from the oppression of the chapters of grasse and lérins. at aix and avignon her fame is undying because she dispelled some robber-bands; at marseilles she is popular because she modified and settled the jurisdiction of viscounts and bishops. go up to grasse and in the big square where the trees throw a flickering shadow over the street-traders, you will see built in a vaulted passage a flight of stone steps, steps which every barefoot child will tell you belong to the palace of 'la reino joanno.' walls have been altered, gates have disappeared, but down those time-worn steps once paced the liege lady of provence, the incomparable 'fair mischief' whose guilt ... must ever remain one of the enigmas of history." this "enigma" has strange analogies to one which has puzzled and impassioned the writers of many generations, the mystery of that other "fair mischief" of a later century, mary queen of scots. like mary, jeanne was accused of the murder of her young husband, and being pressed by the vengeance of his brother--no less a person than the king of hungary,--she decided to retreat to her native provence and appeal to the pope, her gallant and not over-scrupulous suzerain. "jeanne landed at ponchettes," continues the writer who has so happily described her, "and the consuls came to assure her of their devotion. 'i come,' replied the heiress, whose wit always suggested a happy phrase, 'to ask for your hearts and nothing but your hearts.' as she did not allude to her debts, the populace threw up their caps; the prince de monaco, just cured of his wound at crécy, placed his sword at her service; and the baron de bénil, red-handed from a cruel murder, besought her patronage which, perhaps from a fellow-feeling, she promised with great alacrity. at grasse she won all hearts and made many more promises, and finally, arriving at avignon, she found clement covetous of the city and well-disposed to her. yet morality obliged him to ask an explanation of her recent change of husbands, and before three cardinals, whom he appointed to be her judges, the queen pleaded her own cause. not a blush tinged her cheek, no tremor altered her melodious voice as she stood before the red-robed princes of the church and narrated, in fluent latin, the story of the assassination of andrew, the death of her child, and her marriage with the murderer, louis of tarento, who stood by her side. the wily pope noted behind her the proud provençal nobles, the villeneuves and d'agoults, the de baux and the lescaris, who brought the fealty of the hill-country, and who did not know that, having already sold her jewels to the jews, their fair queen was covenanting with the pope for avignon. the formal trial ended, the pontiff solemnly declared the queen to be guiltless,--and she granted him the city for eighty thousand pieces of gold." [illustration: "the great palace."--avignon.] clement enjoyed ownership in the same agreeable manner as his predecessors, "without the untying of purse-strings." perhaps he used the purse's contents for the more pressing claim of the great palace of which he built so large a part; perhaps he handed it, still filled, to innocent vi who built the famous fortifications of avignon and protected himself against the marauding "white companies," perhaps it was still untouched when bertrand du guesclin and his grand company stood before the gate and demanded "benediction, absolution, and two hundred thousand pounds." "what!" the pope is said to have cried, "must we give absolution, which here in avignon is paid for, and then give money too--it is contrary to reason!" du guesclin replied to the bearer of these words, "here are many who care little for absolution, and much for money,"--and urban yielded. gregory xi, the last of the "french popes," returned to rome, and at his death the "great schism" followed;--clement vii, in avignon, was recognised by france, spain, scotland, sicily, and cyprus; urban vi, in rome, by italy, austria, and england. the county venaissin was ravaged by wars and the pests that come in their train. at length the avignonnais, who had not enjoyed greater peace under their anointed rulers than under worldling counts, rose against pierre de luna, the "anti-pope" benedict xiii, who fled. from that time no pontiff entered the gates, and the city was administered by papal legates. in later days, in spite of the sacred character of its rulers and his own undoubted orthodoxy, louis xiv seized avignon several times; and louis xv, in unfilial vengeance for the excommunication of the duke of parma, took possession of the city. but it was not until after the beginning of the french revolution, in 1791, that the avignonnais themselves arose, chased the vice-legate of the pope from the city, and appealed for union with france; and it was at this period that the chapel of sainte-marthe, the cloister, and the chapter house were swept away. thus ended the temporal power of the papacy in france, planned for worldly profit and carried out with many sordid compromises;--a residency unnoted for great deeds or noble intentions and whose close marked the "great schism." to-day papal avignon is become french avignon, a pleasant city where the provençal sun is hot and where the mistral whistles merrily. above the banks of the rhone the simple cathedral stands, with its priests still garbed in papal red, its host still carried under the white papal panoply. here also is the great palace of the popes, "which is indeed," says froissart, "the strongest and most magnificent house in the world." and yet its grim walls suggest neither peace nor rest; and to him who recalls, this great, impressive pile tells neither of glories nor of triumphs. bands of unbelieving pastoureaux marched toward it; soldiers of the "white companies" and soldiers of du guesclin gazed mockingly at it; it was the prison of rienzi, and the home of the harassed popes who had ever before them, just across the river, the menacing tower of that "fair king" who had led them into "babylonish captivity." [sidenote: vaison.] on the banks of a pleasant little river among the provençal hills is vaison, one of the ancient gallic towns which became entirely romanised; and many illustrious families of the empire had summer villas there as at arles and orange. barbarians of one epoch or another have devastated vaison of all her antique treasures, except the remains of an amphitheatre on the puymin hill. germanic tribes who swooped down in early centuries destroyed her villas and her greater buildings; and vandals of a later day have scattered her sculptures and her tablets here and there. some are in the galleries of avignon; a belus, the only one found in france, was sent to the museum of saint-germain; and in the multitude of treasures in the british museum, the most beautiful of all her statues, a diadumenus, is artistically lost. in the days when it still adorned the city, during the reign of the emperor gallienus, vaison was christianised by saint ruf, her bishopric was founded, and in 337 the first general council of the church held in gaul assembled here. another council in the v century, and still another in the vi, are proof of her continued importance. [illustration: "on the banks of a pleasant little river is vaison."] [illustration: "the ruined castle of the counts of toulouse."--vaison.] among the first of gallo-roman cities, she was also among the first to suffer. chrocus and his horde who sacked orange, seized her bishop and murdered him; and alains, vandals, and burgundians, following in their wake, brought disaster after disaster to the cities lying near the rhone. vaison, by miracle, did not lose her prestige. in the x and xi centuries she built her fine cathedral with its cloisters, and in 1179 she was still great enough to excite the covetousness of raymond vi, count of toulouse. this magnificent and ambitious prince built a castle on a height above the city, and as he had before terrorised my lord bishop of carpentras, so now he seized the anointed person of bérenger de reilhane, who was not only vaison's bishop, but her temporal prince as well. bérenger was a sufficiently powerful personage to make an outcry which re-echoed throughout christendom; the pope and the emperor came to his aid; and in the abbey church of saint-gilles-du-gard, raymond vi did solemn penance, and, before receiving absolution, was publicly struck by the papal legate with a bundle of birch rods. above the bishop's palace the great castle still loomed in menace, but on that day bérenger de reilhane triumphed and vaison was at peace. it was a peace which presaged her quiet, uneventful downfall. for other interests were growing stronger in the country, other cities grew where she stood still, and in the xiv century, when avignon became the seat of papal power, vaison had passed from the world's history. her bishopric endured till 1801, but her doings are worthy only of provincial chronicles and to-day she is but a little country town, served by the stage-coach. she still lies on both banks of the river; the "high city," with long rows of deserted houses, climbs the side of the steep hill and is dominated by the ruins of the great castle, which richelieu destroyed. the "lower city," which is the busier of the two, lies on the opposite bank; and on its outskirts, in a little garden-close, almost surrounded by the fields, is the cathedral,--solitary, lonely, and old. [illustration: "the whole apse-end."--vaison.] [illustration: "the south wall which is clearly seen from the road."--vaison.] the decoration of the exterior is slight, a dentiled cornice and a graceful foliated frieze extend along the top of the side-walls, which although most plainly built, are far from being severely angular or gaunt and have a quaint and pleasing harmony of line. the west front is so featureless that it scarcely deserves the title of façade. the south wall, which is clearly seen from the road, has a small portal and plain buttresses that slope at the top. the central apse is rectangular and heavy, the little southern apse is short and round, and that of the north is tall and thin as a pepper-box. behind them rise the pointed roof of the nave and the heavy tower. the whole apse-end is constructed in most picturesque irregularity, and the new red of the roof-tiles and sombre grey of the old stone add greatly to its charm. unlike many churches of its period notre-dame of vaison is three-aisled. slender, narrow naves, whose tunnel vaults are not extremely lofty, end in small circular apses. the nave is a short one of three irregular bays, and over the last, which precedes the choir, is the little eight-sided dome, which instead of projecting above the roof is curiously placed a little lower than the tunnel vaulting of the other bays. the high altar, which originally belonged to an older church, is well placed in the simple choir; for it belongs in style, if not in actual fact, to the first centuries of the faith; and in the semi-darkness behind the altar, the old episcopal throne still stands against the apse's wall, in memory of the custom of the church's early days. the low arches of the aisles, the dim lighting of the church, its simple ornaments of classic bands and little capitals, its slight irregularities of form and carvings, make an interior of fine and strong antique simplicity. a little door in the north wall leads to the cloisters, which are happily in a state of complete restoration, and not as a modern writer has described them, "practically a ruin." the wall which overlooks them has an inscription that adjures the canons to "bear with patience the north aspect of their cells." the short walks have tunnel vaults with cross-vaults in the corners and in parts of the north aisle. great piers and small, firm columns support the outer arches; and on the exterior of the cloister the little arches of the columns are enclosed in a large round arch. many of the capitals are uncarved, some of the piers have applied columns, but many are ornamented in straight cut lines. on one side, two bays open to the ground, forming an entrance-way into the pretty close, where the bushy tops of a few tall trees cast flickering shadows on the surrounding walls and the little grassy square. [illustration: "two bays open to the ground."--vaison.] [illustration: "the great piers and small firm columns."--vaison.] the cloister is small and simple in its rather heavy grace. noise and unrest seem far from it, and underneath its solid rounded vault is peace and shelter from the world. and in its firm solidity of architecture there is the spirit of a perfect quiet, a tranquil charm which must insensibly have calmed many a restless spirit that chafed beneath the churchly frock, and fled within its walls for refuge and for helpful meditation. few provençal cathedrals have the interest of vaison and its cloister. lying in the forgotten valley of the ouvèze, in an old-fashioned town, all its surroundings speak of the past and its atmosphere is quite unspoiled. the church itself has been spared degenerating restorations; and although it has no sumptuousness as at marseilles, no grandeur as at arles, no stirring history as the churches that lay near the sea, although it is one of the smallest and most venerable of them all, no cathedral of the southland has so great an architectural dignity and merit with so ancient and so quaint a charm. [sidenote: arles.] in the midst of the wealth of antique ruins, near the theatre, the coliseum, and the forum of this "little rome of the gauls," stands a noble monument of the ruder ages of christianity, the cathedral, saint-trophime. here saint augustine, apostle to england, was consecrated; here three general councils of the church were held, here the donatists were doomed to everlasting fire, and here the emperor constantine, from his summer palace on the rhone, must have come to "assist" at mass. the building in which these solemn scenes of the early church were enacted soon disappeared and was replaced by the present one whose older walls révoil attributes to the ix century. the present cathedral's first documentary date is 1152, in the era of the republic of arles. the name of saint-etienne was changed, and the body of saint-trophime, carried in state from the ruined church of the aliscamps, was buried under a new altar and he was solemnly proclaimed the patron of the richest and most majestic church in all provence. [illustration: "in the midst of the wealth of antique ruins."--arles.] [illustration: the façade of saint-trophime.--arles.] nearly eight hundred years later a traveller stood before the portal of this church. in the midst of his delighted study he suddenly felt the attraction of a pair of watchful eyes, and turned to find a peasant woman gazing fixedly at him. in her strange fascination she had placed beside her, on the ground, two huge melons and a mammoth cabbage, and her wizened hands were folded before her, sunday-fashion. she was a little witch of a woman, old and bent and brown. "yes, my good gentleman," she said, "i have been looking at you,--five whole minutes of the clock, and much good it has done me. in these days of books and such fine learning there is not enough time spent before our door; and i who pass by it every day, year in, year out, i have watched well, and only two except yourself have ever studied it. the foreigners come with red books and look at them more than at the door itself,--they stay perhaps three minutes, and go off, shaking their wise heads. our people, passing every day, see but a door, a place for going in and coming out." she paused for breath. "and what do you see?" asked the traveller. "you ask me?" she smiled wisely. "but you know, since you are standing here and looking too. listen!" and her old eyes began to gleam. "i'll tell you of a time before you were born. i was a child then; and we marched here every sunday, other little girls and myself, and we stood before this door. and the nuns--it was often sister mary dolorosa--told us the stories of these stones. see! here is our lord who loves all mankind, but has to judge us too;--and there is saint-trophime. but i cannot read, monsieur. an old peasant woman has no time for such fine things, and you will laugh at me for telling you what you have in your books,--but i have them all here, here in my heart, and many a time i too come to refresh my old memory, and to pray. those pictures tell great lessons to those that have eyes to see them. well, well-a-day, i must pick up my melons and begone, for i have taken up your time and said too much. but you will excuse it in an old woman who is good for little else than talking now." they parted in true french fashion, with "expressions of mutual esteem," and the traveller turned to the portal which was still fulfilling its ancient mission of teaching and of making beautiful the house of god. applied to a severe façade typical of the plainness of provençal outer walls, this is one of the noblest works of mediævalism, the richest and most beautiful portal of the south of france; and no others in the midi, except those of saint-gilles-du-gard and moissac, are worthy of comparison with it. in boldness and intellectuality of conception it excels many of the northern works and equals the finest of them. for the builder of the northern portal seems to have held closely to one architectural form, the beautiful convention of the gothic style; and within that door he placed, in a more or less usual way, the subjects which the church had sanctioned. in nearly every case the treatment of the subject is subordinated to the general architectural plan and symmetry. at saint-trophime there was the limit of space, the axiom that a door must be a door, and doubtless many allowable subjects. but within these necessary bounds the unknown sculptor recognised few conventionalities. the usual place for the portrayal of the last judgment, the tympanum, was too small for his conception of the scene; the pier that divides his door-way was not built to support the statue of the church's patron saint; he had a multitude of fancies, and instead of curbing them in some beautiful conventionality of form, as one feels great northern builders often did, this artist made a frame within which his ideas found free play, and, forcing conventionality to its will, his genius justified itself. for not only is the portal as a whole, full of dignity and true symmetry, but its details are thoughtfully worked out. they show, with the old scholastic form of his faith, the grasp of the unknown master's mind, the intellectuality of his symbolism, and few portals grow in fascination as this one, few have so interesting an originality. [illustration: right detail, portal.--arles.] in design it is simple, in execution incomparably rich. the principal theme of the last judgment has christ seated on a throne as the central figure, and about him are the symbols of the four evangelists. this is the treatment of the tympanum. underneath, patriarchs, saints, just, and condemned form the beautiful frieze. the apostles are seated; and to their left is an angel guarding the gates of paradise against two bishops and a crowd of laymen who have yet to fully expiate their sins in purgatory. behind them, naked, with their feet in the flames, are those condemned to everlasting hell; and still beyond is a lower depth where souls are already half-consumed in hideous fires. on the apostles' extreme right is the beginning of our human history, the temptation of adam and eve; and marching toward the holy men, on this same side, is the long procession of those redeemed from adam's fall, clothed in righteousness. an angel goes before them, and hands a small child--a ransomed soul--to abraham, isaac, and jacob. the end panels treat the last phases of the dominant theme;--a mammoth angel in the one weighs the souls of the dead; and an equally awe-inspiring devil in the other is preparing to cast two of the lost into a sea of fire. the remainder of the portal tells of many subjects, and represents much of the theological symbolism of its time. light, graceful columns, with delicately foliated capitals and bases rich with meaning sculptures, divide the lower spaces into niches, and in these niches stand statues of apostles and of saints, each having his story, each his peculiar attributes; and about these chief figures are carved rich designs, strange animals, and numberless short stories of the bible. above there is a small, subsidiary frieze; below, the pedestals which tell the tale of those who stand upon them. the figures have life and meaning, if not a true plasticity; and in this portal there is instruction, variety, and majesty, wealth of allegory and subtle symbols for those who love religious mysteries, and splendour of sculpture for those who come in search of art. there are those to whom a simple beauty does not appeal. after the richness of the portal's carving, the interior of saint-trophime is to them "far too plain;" in futile comparison with the cloister's grace, it is found "too severe;" and one author has written that only "when the refulgence of a mediterranean sun glances through a series of long lances, ... then and then only does the cathedral of saint-trophime offer any inducement to linger within its non-impressive walls." it may not be denied that, together with nearly all the cathedrals of provence, this interior has suffered from the addition of inharmonious styles. the most serious of these is its gothic choir of the xv century, which a certain cardinal louis allemand applied to the narrower romanesque naves. with irregular ambulatory, chapels of various sizes, and a general incongruity of plan, this construction has no architectural importance except that of a prominent place in the church's worship. the remaining excrescences, gothic chapels, ionic pilasters, elliptical tribune, and the like, are happily hidden along the side aisles or in the transepts; and during the restoration of révoil the naves were relieved of the disfiguring "improvements" of the xvii century, and stand to-day in much of their fine old simplicity. beyond the fifth bay, and rising in the tower, is the dome of dignified provençal form that rests on the lower arches of the crossing. small clerestory windows cast sheets of pale light on the plain piers, rectangular and heavy, that rise to support a tunnel vault and divide the church into three naves of great and slender height. the stern, ascetic style of the xi and xii centuries has given the nave piers mere small, plain bands as capitals, and for churchly decoration has allowed only a moulding of acanthus leaves placed high and unnoticed at the vaulting's base. there is no pleasing detail and no charming fancy; but a fine, exquisite loftiness, a faultless balance of proportion, are in this severe interior, and its solemn and majestic beauty is not surpassed in the southern romanesque. [illustration: left detail, portal.--arles.] beyond the south transept, a short passage and a few steps lead to the cloisters, the most famous of provence, perhaps of france. large, graceful, and magnificent in wealth of carving, they have yet none of the poetic charms that linger around many a smaller cloister. the vaultings are not more beautiful than other vaults less known; although they have the help of the great piers, the little, slender columns seem too light to support so much expanse of roof, and even the church's tower, square and high, looks dwarfed when seen across the close. the very spaciousness is solitary, and the long vista of the walks conduces to vague wonderings rather than to peaceful hours of thought. it has not the dreamy solitude of vaison, nor the bright beauty of elne's little close, nor any of the sunny cheerfulness that brightens the decaying walls of cahors. [illustration: through the cloister-arches.--arles.] the marvel of these cloisters is the sculptured decorations of their piers and columns. those of the xii century are the richest, but each of the later builders seems to have vied as best he might, in wealth of conception and in lavishness of detail, with those who went before, and, even in enforced re-building, the addition of the gothic to the romanesque has not destroyed the harmony of the effect. in all the sculptors' schemes, the outer of the double columns were given foliated patterns or a few, simple symbols, and the outer of the piers were channelled and conventionally cut; and although the fancy of the sculptor is marvellously subtle and full of grace, his greatest art was reserved for the capitals of the inner columns and the inner faces of the piers, which meditating priests would see and study. the symbolism authorised by holy church, the history of precursors of our lord, the incidents of his life and the more dramatic doings of the saints, all these are carved with greatest love of detail and of art; and in them the least arduous priest could find themes for a whole year of meditation, the least enthusiastic of travellers, a thousand quaint and interesting fancies and imaginations. it is not so much the beauty of the whole effect that is entrancing in these cloisters, nor that most subtle influence, the good or evil spirit of a past which lingers round so many ancient spots, as that mediæval thought and mediæval genius that found expression in these myriad fine examples of the sculptor's art. [illustration: "a nave of great and slender height."--arles.] [illustration: "the beauty of the whole."--arles.] alexandre dumas has written of arles: "roman monuments form the soil; and about them, at their feet, in their shadow, in their crevasses, a second gothic city has sprung--one knows not how--by the vegetative force of the religious civilisation of saint louis. arles is the mecca of archæologists." it is also the mecca of those who love to study people and customs, for, in spite of the railroad, and the consequent influx of "foreign french," it has preserved the old græco-roman-saracenic type which has made its beautiful women so justly famous, and, underneath its provençal gaieties, their classic origins may easily be traced. one should see the roman theatre, the solitary aliscamps, by moonlight, the busy market in the early day, the cathedral at a mass, and a fête at any time,--for "when the fête-days come, farewell the swath and labour, and welcome revels underneath the trees, and orgies in the vaulted hostelries, bull-baitings, never-ending dances, and sweet pleasures." [sidenote: entrevaux.] the most celebrated fortified town in france is the cité of carcassonne, yet, even in the days of its practical strength, it was scarcely a type. it was rather a marvel, a wonder,--the "fairest maid of languedoc," "the invincible." and now the citadel is almost deserted. the inhabitants are so few that weeds grow in their streets, and one who walks there in the still mid-day feels that all this completion of architecture, these walls, perfect in every stone, may be an enchanted vision, a mirage; he more than half believes that the cool of the sunset will dispel the illusion, and he will find himself on a pleasant little hill of languedoc, looking down upon the commonplace "lower city" of carcassonne. at entrevaux there is no suggestion of illusion. this is not a show-place that once was real; it is one of a hundred little agglomerations of the french middle ages. they had no great name to uphold; no riches to expend in impregnable walls and towers. they clung fearfully together for self-preservation, built ramparts that were as strong as might be, and dared not laugh at the "fortunes of war." except that there is safety outside the walls, and a tiny post and telegraph office within, they are now as they were in those dangerous days. the fortress of carcassonne is dead; but in the back country of provence, entrevaux is living, and scarcely a jot or tittle of its mediævalism is lost. among high rocks that close around it on every side, where, according to the season, the chalvagne trickles or plunges into the river var, and dominated by a fort that perches on a sharp peak, is the strangest of old provençal towns. [illustration: the gothic walk, cloister.--arles.] the founding of the tiny episcopal city was after this wise. toward the close of the xiv century, in a time of plagues, jewish persecutions, the growth of heresies, and the uncurbed ravages of free-booters, the city of glandèves, seat of an ancient bishopric, was destroyed. the living remnant abandoned its desolate ruins. searching for a stronger, safer home, they chose a site on the left bank of the var, and commenced the building of entrevaux. the bishop accompanied his flock, and although he retained the old title of glandèves, in memory of the antiquity of the see and its lost city, the cathedral-church was established at entrevaux. the first edifice, saint-martin's, built shortly after the founding of the town, has long been destroyed; and the second, begun in 1610, to the honour of the assumption of the blessed virgin mary, held episcopal rank until the see was disestablished by the great concordat. although this cathedral was built in the xvii century, a date perilously near that of decadence in french ecclesiastical architecture, it was situated in so obscure a corner of provence that its plan was unaffected by innovating ideas; it is of the old native type, a building of stout walls and heavy buttresses, a single tower, square and straight, and a tunnel-vaulted room, the place of congregation. this interior, with no beautiful details that may not be found in other churches, has as many of the defects of the italian school as the treasury could afford,--marble columns, frescoes, gilding, and other rococo decorations which show that the people of entrevaux had no higher and no better tastes than those of nice; and that the old, simple purity of the church's form was rather a matter of ignorance or necessity than of choice. the attraction of the episcopal church pales before the quaint delight of the episcopal city, and it is as part of the general civic defence that it shares in the interest of entrevaux. [illustration: "this interior."--entrevaux.] [illustration: the romanesque walk, cloister.--arles.] [illustration: "one of three small drawbridges."--entrevaux.] [illustration: "the portcullis."--entrevaux.] leaving the train at the nearest railroad station, the traveller followed the winding var, and he had scarcely walked four miles when he saw, across the river, the sharp peak with its fort, and the long lines of walls that zigzag down the hillside till they reach the crowded roofs that are clustered closely, in charming irregularity, near the bank. along the water's edge, the only part of the town that is not protected by rocks and hills, there is another line of stout walls and two heavy, jutting bastions. from a mediæval point of view entrevaux looks strong indeed. the only means of entrance, now as in those olden days, is by one of three small drawbridges, and so narrow is every street of the town that no wagon is allowed to cross, for if it made the passage of the bridge it would be caught hard and fast between the houses. as the traveller put foot on the drawbridge he felt as though he were a petty trader or wandering minstrel, or some other figure of the middle ages, entering for a few hours' traffic or a noon-day's rest, and when he paused under the low arch of the portcullis-gate, people stared at him as they do at a stranger in little far-off towns. once inside, he turned into a street, and was immediately obliged to step into a door-way, for a man leading a horse was approaching, and they needed all its breadth. houses, several stories high, bordered these incredibly dark, narrow ways, and some of the upper windows had the diminutive balconies so dear to the south. it was a bright, hot day, but the sun seldom peeped into these streets; and in the shops the light was dull at mid-day. as he thought of the men and women of mediævalism, who did not dare to wander in the fields beyond the town, because their safety lay within its ramparts, suddenly, the little public squares of walled towns appeared in all the real significance of their light and breadth and sunshine. space is precious in entrevaux, and open places are few. there is one where the hotels and cafés are found, another across the drawbridge behind the cathedral-tower, and a tiny one before the church itself. this is the most curious of them all; for, far from being a "place de la cathédrale," it is a true "place d'armes." near the portals, on whose wooden doors the mitre and insignia of papal favour are carved, a few steps lead to a narrow ledge where archers could stand and shoot from the loop-holes in the walls. as the traveller sat on this ledge and wondered what scenes had been enacted here, how many deadly shots had sped from out the holes, what crowds of excited townsfolk had gathered in the church, what grave words of exhortation and of blessing had been spoken from the altar or the threshold by anxious prelate, robed and mitred for the mass of supplication to a god of battles, an humble funeral appeared,--a priest, a peasant bearing a black wooden cross with the name of the deceased painted on it, a rope-bound coffin carried by hot and sorrowing women, and a little procession of friends. the pomps and vanities of the past disappeared as a mist from the traveller's mind, and he saw entrevaux as it really is, without the comforts of this world's goods, without the greatness of a bishopric, a small provençal village whose perfection of quaintness--so charming to him who passes on--means hardship and discomfort to those who have been born and must live and die there. [illustration: "a fort that perches on a sharp peak."--entrevaux.] [illustration: "a true place d'armes."--entrevaux.] and yet so potent is that charm, when the traveller re-crossed the drawbridge and looked up at the sharp teeth of the portcullis that may still fall and bite, when he had passed out on the high-road and turned again and again to watch the fading sunlight on the tangled mass of roofs, the illusion had returned. the bastions stood out in bold relief, the church tower with its crenellated top stood out against the rocky peaks, the sun fell suddenly behind the hill, and the traveller felt himself again a minstrel wandering in a mediæval night. [illustration: "the long lines of walls that zigzag down the hillside."--entrevaux.] [sidenote: sisteron.] the traveller is curious,--frankly curious. almost every time that he enters a cathedral, his memory recalls the words of renan, "these splendid marvels are almost always the blossoming of some little deceit," and after he has feasted his eye, he thinks of history and of details, and of renan, prejudiced but well-informed, and wonders what was here the "little deceit." at grasse, he had longed for the papers a certain lawyer has, which tell much of the city's life a hundred and fifty years ago, and at sisteron, he sat by the durance, wondering how he could induce a kind and good old lady of a remote corner of provence to lend him an ancient manuscript, which even the gentle curé said she "obstinately" refused to "impart." blessed are they who can be satisfied with guide-books, as his friends who had visited avignon and arles, tarascon and the saintes-maries-de-la-mer, and had seen provence to their entire edification while he was merely peering about notre-dame-des-doms and the fort saint-andré. of a more indolent and leisurely turn of mind, he suffers--and perhaps justly--the penalty of his joyous idleness, for even lawyers and good ladies with hidden papers are rare. revolutionary sieges, fires, and a wise discretion have led to the destroying of many a fine old page, and it is often in vain one goes to these decaying cities of provence. "we see," he said, gesticulating dejectedly, "we see their towers and their walls, but if we say we know that place, how many times do we deceive ourselves. it is too often as though we claimed to know the life and thought and passions of a man from looking on his grave." but--to consider what we may know. sisteron is an old roman city, most strongly and picturesquely built in a narrow defile of the durance. on one side the river is the high, bare rock of la baume; on the other, a higher rock where houses, supporting each other by outstretched buttresses, seem to cling to the sheer hillside as shrubs in mountain crevasses, and are dominated and protected by a large and formidable fortress-castle that crowns the very top of the peak. the town walls are almost gone; the fortress is abandoned; since the revolution there are no longer bishops in sisteron; but the old town has lost little of its war-like and romantic atmosphere of days when it commanded an important pass, and when the way across the durance was guarded by a drawbridge, and a big portcullis that now stands in rusty idleness. [illustration: "the church tower stood out against the rocky peaks."--entrevaux.] it is claimed that the bishopric of this stronghold was founded in the iv century, and grew and flourished mightily, until the bishop dwelt securely on his rock, his brother of gap had a "box" on the opposite bank, the convent of the little dominican sisters was further up the river, and, besides this busy ecclesiastical life, there was the world of burghers in the town and its convent of ursulines. here came once upon a time a sprightly lady who added a thousand lively interests. this was louise de cabris, sister of the great mirabeau, "who, when a mere girl, had been married to the marquis de cabris. part knave, part fool, the vices of de cabris sometimes ended in attacks of insanity. his marriage with one who united the violence of the mirabeaus to the license of the vassans was unfortunate; ... and after louise began to reign in the big dark house of the cours of grasse, life never lacked for incidents." matters were not mended by the arrival of her brother, twenty-four and wild, and supposed to be living under a "lettre de cachet" in the sleepy little town of manosque. the two were soon embroiled in so outrageous a scandal that their father, who loved a quarrel for its own sake, sided with the prosecution; and declaring that "no children like his had ever been seen under the sun," took out a "lettre de cachet" for louise, who was sent up to sisteron, where he requested her to "repent of her sins at leisure in the convent of the ursulines." inheriting a brilliant, restless wit and unbridled morals, her life with the stupid, vicious marquis had not improved her natural disposition, and she soon set sisteron agog. on pretence of business all the lawyers flocked to see her; and with no pretence at all the garrison flocked in their train. when the ursulines ventured to remonstrate, she diverted them with such anecdotes of gay adventure as were never found between the pages of their prayer-books. finally the whole town was divided into two camps; her foes called her "a viper," and many an eye peered into the dark streets, many a head was judiciously hidden behind bowed shutters, to see who went toward the convent; till by wit and scheming and after some months of most surprising incident, louise carried her point, left the good ursulines to a well-merited repose, and returned to the castle of mirabeau,--to laugh at the townsfolk of sisteron. [illustration: "the cathedral is near the heavy, round towers of the outer ramparts."--sisteron.] [illustration: "the bridge across the durance."--sisteron.] when in the city, the prelates occupied their castle of the citadel with the high lookouts and defences, far from their cathedral, which is in the lower town near the heavy, round towers of the ramparts. this church, which has been very slightly and very judiciously restored, is of unknown date, probably of the xii century, it is faithful to the native architectural tradition, and in some details more interesting than many of the provençal cathedrals. its exterior is small and low. there are the familiar, friendly little apses of the romanesque; near them, above the east end of the north aisle, the squat tower with a modest, modern spire; and at its side, above the roof-line, is the octagon that stands over the dome. all this structure is unaffectedly simple. the walls and buttresses which enclose the aisles are plain, and it is only by comparison with this architectural puritanism that the façade may be considered ornate. near the top of its wall, which is supported by sturdy piers, are three round windows, with deep, splayed frames. the largest of them is directly above the high, slender portal that is somewhat reminiscent of the italian influence, so elaborately marked further up the valley, at embrun. the rounded arch of the door-way and its pointed gable are repeated, on either side, in a half-arch and half-gable. an allegorical animal, in relief, stands above the central arch, and a few columns with delicate capitals complete the adornment of the entrance-way, which, in spite of being the most decorative part of the church, is most discreet. nine steps lead down into an interior that is small, very usually planned, and much defaced by xvii century gilt--yet is essentially dignified and impressive. eliminate the tawdry altars, take away the stucco saints and painted virgins, let the chapels be mere shadowy corners in the dark perspective, and the little church appears like the meeting-place of the faithful of an early christianity. its nave and each of the narrow side aisles rise to round tunnel-vaults; there are but five bays, and the last is covered by a small, octagonal dome. the whole church is built of a dark stone that is almost black, its lighting is very dim, and centres in the little apses where the holiest statues stand and the most sacred rites are celebrated; and the worshippers, shrouded in twilight, have more of the atmosphere of mystery than is usual in the cathedrals of provence, the subtle influence of quiet shadowy darkness that is so potent in the churches of the spanish borderland. [illustration: "entrances to two narrow streets."--sisteron.] many will pass through sisteron and enjoy its rugged strength, its sun-lit days, its narrow streets, and the peaks that stand out in solemn sternness against the dark blue sky at night. notre-dame-de-pomeriis has none of the salient beauty of any of these, and to appreciate its ancient charm, it must not be forgotten that the provençal cathedral has not the distinction of size or the elaboration of the greater cathedrals of gascony, that it is far removed from the fine originalities of languedoc, that it is conventional, and, as it were, clannish, and that its highest dignity is in a simple quiet that is never awe-full. there is, in truth, more than one church of this country that needs the embellishment of its history to make it truly interesting. but notre-dame of sisteron is not of these. it is not the big, empty shell of carpentras, nor the little rough cathedral of orange. it is the smaller, more perfect one, of finer inspiration, which the many will pass by, the few enjoy. iv. cathedrals of the valleys. [sidenote: orange.] lying on the rhone, and almost surrounded by the papal venaissin, is a tiny principality of less than forty thousand acres. this small state has given title to more than one distinguished european who never entered its borders, and who was alien to it not only in birth, but in language and family. so great was the fame of its rulers that this small, isolated strip of land suffered for their principles, and probably owes to them much of its devastation in the terrible wars of religion. from the well-known convictions of the princes of orange, the country was always counted a refuge for heretics of all shades, and in 1338 they were in sufficient force to demolish the tower of the cathedral. later in history, charles ix declared william of nassau "an outlaw" and his principality "confiscate"; and in 1571, there was a three days' massacre of protestants. in spite of this horrid orgy the reformers rose again in might and soon prevented all celebration of catholic rites. refugees fleeing from the dragonnades of dauphiné and of the cévennes poured into the principality; and when the princes of orange were strong enough to protect their state, its catholics lived restricted lives; but when the protestant power waned, kings and captains of france raided the land in the name of the church. and at the death of william of orange, king of england, louis xiv seized the capital of the state, razed its great palace and its walls, and after the treaty of utrecht had awarded the principality to the french crown, treated the defenceless huguenots with the same impartial cruelty he had meted to their fellow-believers in other parts of the kingdom. orange's changes in religious fate are not unlike those of nîmes, with this essential difference, that here catholicism has conquered triumphantly. where ten worship in the little protestant temple, a thousand throng to the mass. both in history and its monumental roman ruins, the capital of this province, orange, is one of the richest cities of the southland, but its cathedral is very poor and mean. the plan is one of the simplest of the provençal conceptions, a "hall basilica," archæologically interesting, but in its present state of patch and repair, architecturally commonplace and unbeautiful. in spite of protestant attacks and catholic restorations, the xi century type has been maintained, a rectangle whose plain double arches support a tunnel vault and divide the interior into four bays. the piers are heavy and severe; and between them are alcoves, used as chapels. the choir, narrower than the nave, is preceded by the usual dome, and beyond it is a little unused apse, concealed from the rest of the interior by a wall. unimportant windows built with distinctly utilitarian purpose successfully light this small, simple room, and no kindly shadow hides its bareness or diminishes the unhappy effect of the paintings which disfigure the walls. the cathedral's exterior is so surrounded by irregular old houses that the traveller had discovered it with some difficulty. it has little that is worthy of description, and after having entered by a conspicuously poor renaissance portal only to go out under an uninteresting modern one, he found himself lost in wonder that the cathedral-builders of notre-dame-de-nazareth should have utterly failed in a town which offered them such inspiring suggestions as the great arch of triumph and the still greater imperial theatre, besides all the other remains of roman antiquity which, long after the building of notre-dame, the practical maurice of orange demolished for the making of his mediæval castle. [sidenote: cavaillon.] it was growing dusk, of a spring evening, when the traveller arrived at cavaillon and wandered about the narrow streets and came upon the cathedral. glimpses of an interesting dome and a turret-tower had appeared once or twice above the house-tops, leading him on with freshened interest, and there was still light enough for many first impressions when he arrived before the low cloister-door. but here was no place for peaceful meditation. an old woman, coiffed and bent, brushed past him as she entered, a chair in each hand; and as he effaced himself against the church wall, a younger woman went by, also chair-laden. two or three others came, talking eagerly, little girls in all stages of excitement ran in and out, and little boys came and went, divided between assumed carelessness and a feeling of unusual responsibility. then a priest appeared on the threshold, not in meditation, but on business. another, old and heavy, and panting, hurried in; and through the cloister-door, monsieur le curé, breviary in hand, prayed watchfully. a little fellow, running, fell down, and the priest sprang to lift him; the child was too small not to wish to cry, but too much in haste to stop for tears. the priest watched him with a kindly shrug and a smile as he ran on;--there was no time for laughing or crying, there was time for nothing but the mysterious matter in hand. "what is it?" the traveller finally asked. "ah, monsieur, to-morrow is the day of the first communion. we all have just prayed, just confessed, in the church; and our parents are arranging their places. for to-morrow there will be crowds--everybody. you too, monsieur, are coming perhaps? the mass is at half-past six." such was the living interest of the place that the traveller moved away without any very clear architectural impression of the cathedral, except of the curiously narrow bell-turret and of the height of the dome. he did not see the early mass, but toward ten wandered again to the cathedral and entered the cloister-door. it was a low-vaulted, sombre little cloister which all the chattering, animated crowds could not brighten. formerly two sides were gated off, and priests alone walked there. the other sides were public passage-ways to the church. now only the iron grooves of the gates of separation remain, and the four walks were thronged with people. little girls in the white dresses of their first communion, veiled and crowned with roses, were hurrying to their places; an old grandmother, with her arm around one of the little communicants, knelt by a column, gazing up to the virgin of the cloister-close; proud and anxious parents led their children into church, and friends met and kissed on both cheeks. in one corner, an old woman was driving a busy trade in penny-worths of barley candy. diminutive altar-boys in white lace cassocks and red, fur-trimmed capes, offered religious papers for sale. it was a harvest day for beggars, and "for the love of the good god" many a sou was given into feeble dirty hands. [illustration: "it was a low-vaulted, sombre little cloister." cavaillon.] for a time the traveller walked about the cloister, so tiny and worn a cloister that on any other day it must have seemed melancholy indeed. so low a vaulting is not often found, massive and rounded and seeming to press, lowering, above the head. the columns, which help to support its weight, are short and heavy and thick, so worn that their capitals are sometimes only suggestive and sometimes meaningless. on one side the carving is distinctly corinthian; on another altogether lacking. between the columns, one could glance into a close so small that ten paces would measure its length. it was a charming little spot, all filled with flowers and plants that told of some one's constant, tender care. from above the nodding flowers and leaves rose the statue of the madonna and the child. the tolling bell called laggards to mass. with them, the traveller entered the church, and found it so crowded that it was only after receiving many knocks from incoming children, and sundry blows on the head and shoulders from ladies who carried their chairs too carelessly, after minutes of time and a store of patience, that he finally reached a haven, a corner of the chapel of saint-véran. there, under the care of the cathedral's patron, he escaped further injuries and assisted at a long, interesting ceremony. mass had already begun, but the voice of the priest and the answering organ were lost in the movement of excited friends, the murmur of questions, and the clatter of nailed shoes on the stone floor. a suisse, halberd in hand, and gorgeous in tri-cornered hat and the red and gold of office, kept the aisle-ways open with firm but kind insistence; and the priests who were directing the children in the body of the church, were wise enough to overlook the disorder, which was not irreverence, but interest. for days, everybody had been thinking of this ceremony; everybody wanted "good places." but few found them. for the little nave of the church was chiefly given up to the communicants. they sat on long benches, facing each other. the boys, sixty or seventy of them, were nearest the altar; the girls, even more numerous, nearest the door. a young priest walked between the rows of boys and the old, panting father directed the girls. the whole interior of the church, at whose consecration no less a prelate than pope innocent iv had presided, is small and its plan is essentially of the provençal type. the high tunnel vault rests, like that of orange, on double arches; and as the nave is very narrow and its light very dim, the church seems lofty, sombre, and impressive, with a very serious dignity which its detail fails to carry out. the chapels, which lie between the heavy buttresses, are dim recesses which increase the darkened effect of the interior. of the ten, only three differ essentially from the general plan; and although of the xvii century, their style is so severe and they are so ill-lighted that they do not greatly debase the church. the choir is entered from under a rounded archway, and its dome is loftier than the nave and much more beautiful than the semi-dome of the apse, whose roof, in these practical modern times, has been windowed. that which almost destroys the effect of the church's fine lines and would be intolerable in a stronger light, is the mass of gilt and polychrome with which the interior is covered. the altars are monstrously showy, the walls and buttresses are coloured, and even the interesting, sculptured figures beneath the corbels have been carefully tinted. the dead arise with appropriate mortuary pallor, the halo of christ is pure gold, and all the draperies of god and his saints are in true, primary shadings. from the contemplation of this misuse of paint, and of a sadly misplaced inner porch of the xvii century, the traveller's attention was recalled to the old priest. his hand was raised, the eye of every little girl was fixed on him and instantly, in their soft, shrill voices, they began the verse of a hymn. the traveller glanced down the nave. every boy was on his feet, white ribbons hanging bravely from the right arm, the crown of thorns correctly held in one white-gloved hand, a crucifix fastened with a bow of ribbon to the coat lapel. every eye was on the young priest, who also raised his hand. then they sang, as the girls had sung, and with a right lusty will. and then, under the guiding hands, both boys and girls sang together. there was a silence when their voices died away, and from the altar a deep voice slowly chanted "ite; missa est," and the high mass of the first communion day was over. outside, little country carts stood near the church, and fathers and brothers in blue blouses were waiting for the little communicants who had had so long and so exciting a morning. walking about with the crowds, the traveller saw an exterior whose façade was plainly commonplace and whose bare lateral walls were patched, and crowded by other walls. finally he came upon the apse, the most interesting part of the church's exterior; and he leaned against a café wall and looked across the little square. externally, the apse of saint-véran has five sides, and each side seems supported by a channelled column. the capitals of these columns are carved with leaves or with leaves and grotesques; on them round arches rest; and above is a narrow foliated cornice. in relieving contrast to the artificial classicism of the renaissance of the interior, the feeling of this apse is quite truly ancient and pagan, and it is not less unique nor less charming because it is placed against a plain, uninteresting wall. the eye travelling upward, above the choir-dome, meets the lantern with its rounded windows and pointed roof, and by its side the high little bell-turret which completes a curious exterior; an exterior which is interesting and even beautiful in detail, but irregular and heterogeneous as a whole. the cathedral of cavaillon is one of many possibilities. although small like those of its provençal kindred, it has more dignity than orange, more simplicity of interior line than the present avignon, and it is to be regretted that it should have suffered no less from restoration than from old age. [illustration: the cathedral's tower and turret.--cavaillon.] [sidenote: apt.] few of the cathedral-churches of the midi are without holy relics, but none is more famous, more revered, and more authentic a place of pilgrimage than the basilica of apt. it came about in this way, says local history. when martha, lazarus, and the holy marys of the gospels landed in france, they brought with them the venerated body of saint anne, the virgin's mother; and lazarus, being a bishop, kept the holy relic at his episcopal seat of marseilles. persecutions arose, and dangers innumerable; and for safety's sake the bishop removed saint anne's body to apt and sealed it secretly in the wall. for centuries, christians met and prayed in the little church, unconscious of the wonder-working relic hidden so near them; and it was only through a miracle, in charlemagne's time and some say in his presence, that the holy body was discovered. this is the history which a sacristan recites to curious pilgrims as he leads them to the sub-crypt. the sub-crypt of sainte-anne, one of the earliest of gallo-roman "churches," is not more than a narrow aisle; its low vault seems to press over the head; the air is damp and chill; and the one little candle which the patient sacristan moves to this side and to that, shows the plain, un-ornamented stone-work and the undoubted masonry of roman times. it was part of the aqueduct which carried water to the theatre in imperial days, and had become a chapel in the primitive christian era. at the end which is curved as a choir is a heavy stone, used as an altar; and high in the wall is the niche where the body of the church's patron lay buried for those hundreds of years. it is a gloomy, cell-like place, most curious and most interesting; and as the traveller saw faith in the earnest gaze of some of his fellow-visitors, and doubt in the smiles of others, he wondered what ancient ceremonials, secret masses, or secret prayers had been said in this tiny chamber, and what rows of phantom-like worshippers had filed in and out the dark corridor. directly above is the higher upper crypt of the church, a diminutive but true choir, with its tiny altar and ambulatory,--a jewel of the romanesque, heavy and plain and beautifully proportioned, with columns and vaulting in perfect miniature. this, from its absolute purity of style, is the most interesting part of the church; and being a crypt, it is also the most difficult to see. in vain the sacristan ran from side to side with his little candle, in vain the traveller gazed and peered,--the little church was full of shadows and mysteries, dark and lost under the weight of the great choir above. [illustration: "the main body of the church."--apt.] even the main body of the church, above ground, is dimly lighted by small, rounded windows above the arches of the nave, and from the dome of saint anne's chapel. doubtless, on sundays after high mass, when the great doors are opened, the merry sun of provence casts its cheerful rays far up the nave. but this is a church which is the better for its shadows. a romanesque aisle of the ix or x century, built by that same bishop alphant who had seen the construction of the little crypt church, a central nave of the xi century, romanesque in conception, and a north aisle of poor provençal gothic make a large but inharmonious interior. restoration following restoration, chapels of the xviii century, new vaultings, debased and conglomerate gothic, and spectacular decorations of gilded wood have destroyed the architectural value and real beauty of the cathedral's interior. yet in the dim light, which is the light of its every-day life, the great height of the church and its sombre massiveness are not without impressiveness. the exterior dominates the city, but it is so hopelessly confused and commonplace that its natural dignity is lost. the heavy arch which supports the clock tower forms an arcade across a narrow street and makes it picturesque without adding dignity to the church itself. the walls are unmeaning, often hidden by buildings, and there is not a portal worthy of description. there is the dome of saint anne's chapel with a huge statue of the patron, and the lantern of the central dome ending in a pointed roof; but each addition to the exterior seems only an ignorant or a spiteful accentuation of the general architectural confusion. to the faithful catholic, the interest of sainte-anne of apt lies in its wonderful and glorious relics. here are the bodies of saint eléazer and sainte delphine his wife, a couple so pious that every morning they dressed a statue of the infant jesus, and every night they undressed it and laid it to rest in a cradle. there is also the rosary of sainte delphine whose every bead contained a relic; and before the revolution there were other treasures innumerable. during many years apt has been the pilgrim-shrine of the faithful, and great and small offerings of many centuries have been laid before the miracle-working body of the virgin's sainted mother. [illustration: the virgin and saint anne. _by benzoni._] the most famous of those who came praying and bearing gifts was anne of austria, whose petition for the gift of a son, an heir for france, was granted in the birth of louis xiv. in gratitude, the queen enriched the church by vestments wrought in thread of gold and many sacred ornaments; and at length she commanded mansart to replace the little chapel in which she had prayed, by a larger and more sumptuous one, a somewhat uninteresting structure in the showy style of the xvii century, which is now the resting-place of saint anne. in this chapel is the most beautiful of the church's treasures which, strange to say, is a piece of modern sculpture given by the present "monseigneur of avignon." it is small, and badly placed on a marble altar of discordant toning, with a draped curtain of red gilt-fringed velvet for its background. yet in spite of these inartistic surroundings it has lost none of its tender charm. seated, with a scroll on her knees, the aged mother is earnestly teaching the young virgin who stands close by her side. the slender old hand with its raised forefinger emphasises the lesson, and the loving expression of the wrinkled, ascetic face, the attentiveness of the virgin and her slim young figure, make a touching picture, and a beautiful example of the power of the modern chisel. yet faith in shrines and miraculous power is not, in this xx century, as pure nor as universal as in the days of the past; and faith, in provençal apt which possesses so large a part of the saint's body, is not as simple, and therefore not as strong as in breton auray which has but a part of her finger. republicanism in the south country is not too friendly to the church, kings and queens no longer come with prodigal gifts, and sainte-anne of apt has not the peasant strength of sainte-anne of auray. and in spite of the great feast-day of july, in spite of aptoisian pride, in spite of the devotion and prayers of faithful worshippers, the cathedral of apt is a church of past rather than of present glories. [sidenote: riez.] just as the church-bells were chiming the morning angelus, and the warm sun was rising on a day of the early fall, a traveller drove out of old manosque. he had no gun,--therefore he had not come for the hunting; he had no brass-bound, black boxes, and therefore could not be a "commis." what he might be, he well knew, was troubling the brain of the broad-backed man sitting before him, who, with many a long-drawn "ou-ou-u-u-" was driving a fat little horse. but native courtesy conquered natural curiosity and they drove in silence to the long, fine bridge that spans the river of evil repute: "parliament, mistral, and durance are the three scourges of provence." at that time of year, however, the durance usually looks peaceable and harmless enough; half its great bed is dry and pebbly, and the water that rushes under the big arches of the bridge is not great in volume. but the size and strength of the bridge itself and certain huge rocks, placed for a long distance on either side of the road, are significant of floods and of the spring awakening of the monstrous river that, like doctor jekyll and mr. hyde, has two lives. [illustration: "saint-martin-de-brômes with its high, slim tower."] [illustration: "the fortified monastery of the templars."--(near gréoux).] the road wound about the low hills of the alps, past a massive, fortified monastery of the templars whose windows gape in ruin; past saint-martin-de-brômes with its high, slim, crenellated watch-tower; past many quiet little villages where in the old times, taine says, "good people lived as in an eagle's nest, happy as long as they were not slain--that was the luxury of the feudal times." between these villages lay vast groves of the grey-green olive-trees, large flourishing farms, and, further still, the bleak mountains of the lower alps. it was toward them the driver was turning, for rising above a smiling little valley, surrounded by fields of ripened grain, lay riez. a donjon stands above a broken wall, on the hillside houses cluster around a church's spire, and alone, on the top of the hill, stands the little chapel of saint-maxime, the only relic of the great seminary that was destroyed by the revolutionists of '89. here, after the destruction of one of the several cathedrals of riez, the bishop celebrated masses, but the little chapel was never consecrated a cathedral. it has been recently restored and re-built in an uninteresting style,--the exterior is bare to ugliness, the interior so painted that the six old roman columns which support the choir are overwhelmed by the banality of their surroundings. the plateau on which the chapel is built is now almost bare; olive-trees grow to its edges and there is no trace of the seminary that was once so full of active life. the traveller, sitting in the shade of the few pine-trees, looked over the broad view toward the peaks whose bare rocks rise with awful sternness, and the little hills that stand between them and the valley, till finally his eyes wandered to the town beneath, and the firm, broad roads which approach it from every direction. for riez, although in the lost depths of provence, far from railways and tourists, is a bee-hive of industry, largely supplying the necessities of these secluded little towns. its hat-making, rope factories, and tanneries are quite important; the shops of its main streets are not without a tempting attractiveness, and there is all the provincial stateliness of saint-remy with much less stagnancy. riez was the albece reiorum apollinarium in the colonia julia reiorum of the romans, but there are very few traces of the city with this high-sounding name. the whole atmosphere of the little town is xii century. two of its old gates, part of the wall, and the crenellated tower still stand, with ruined convents and monasteries of capuchins, cordeliers, and ursulines; and it may be inferred from the remains of the bishop's palace and the broad promenade which was one of its avenues, and from the episcopal château at montagnac, that ecclesiastical state was not less worthily upheld at riez than in the other sees of the south of france. many difficulties, however, had beset the cathedral-building prelates. their first church, notre-dame-du-siège, dating partly from the foundation of the see in the iv century, partly from the x and xii centuries, was destroyed by storm and flood, and its site near the treacherous little river being considered too perilous, a new cathedral of notre-dame-du-siège and saint-maxime was begun; and it was then that the bishops celebrated temporarily at saint-maxime's on the hill. during the revolution the see was suppressed; the church has been much re-built and changed; so that only a tower which is part of the present notre-dame-du-siège, and the traces of the earliest foundation near the little colostre, remain to tell of the different cathedrals of riez. [illustration: "the tower of notre-dame-du-siège."--riez.] near the site of the oldest church is one of the few monuments of a very early christianity which have escaped the perils of time. it is of unknown date, and although it is said to have been part of the cathedral which stood between it and the river, it appears to have been always an independent and separate building. the peasants say that in the memory of their forefathers it was used as a chapel, they call it indefinitely "the pantheon," "the temple," or "the chapel of saint-clair," but it was almost certainly a baptistery of that curious and beautiful type which was abandoned so early in the evolution of christian architecture. [illustration: "nothing could be more quaintly old and modest than the baptistery."--riez.] following the road which his innkeeper pointed out, the traveller became so absorbed in the busy movement of the communal threshing-ground, the arrival of the yellow grain, the women who were wielding pitchforks, and the horses moving in circles, with solemn rhythm, that he nearly passed a low building, the object of his search. nothing could be more quaintly old and modest than the baptistery of riez. it is a small square building of rough cemented stone whose stucco has worn away. the roof is tiled, and from out a flattened dome, blades of grass sprout sparsely. a tiny bell-turret and an arch in the front wall complete the ornamentation of this humble, diminutive bit of architecture, and except that it is different from the usual provençal manner of construction, one would pass many times without noticing it. [illustration: "between the columns an altar has been placed."--baptistery, riez.] walking down the steps which mark the differences that time has made in the levels of the ground and entering a small octagonal hall, one of the most interesting interiors of provence meets the eye. "each of its four sides," writes jules de laurière, "which correspond to the angles of the outer square, has a semicircular apse built in the walls themselves. the eight columns, placed in a circle about the centre of the edifice, divide it into a circular nave and a central rotunda, and support eight arches which, in turn, support an octagonal drum, and above this is the dome." this room is of simple and charming architectural conception, and even in melancholy ruin, it has much beauty. it gains in comparison with the re-constructed baptisteries of provence, for something of a primitive character has been preserved to which such modern altars and xvii century trappings as those of aix and fréjus are fatal. under the heavy dust there is visible an unhappy coating of whitewash, traces of a fire still blacken the walls, fragments of roman sculpture are scattered about, and between the columns a pagan altar has been placed for safe-keeping. the columns themselves are of pagan construction, and as they differ somewhat in size and capitals, it is not improbable that they came from the ruins of several of the great public buildings of riez. at the time of the baptistery's construction, the barbaric invasion had begun, and these roman monuments may have been in ruins; but in any case, it was a pious and justifiable custom of christians to take from pagan structures, standing or fallen, stones and pillars that would serve for building churches to the "one, true god." the pillars procured for this laudable purpose at riez, with their beautiful, carved capitals, gave the little baptistery its one decoration, and far from disturbing the simplicity of its style, they add a slenderness and height and harmony to a room which, without them, would be too stiffly bare. in the rotunda which they form, excavations have brought to light a baptismal pool, and conduits which brought to it sufficient quantities of water for the immersion--whole or partial--that was part of the baptismal service of the early church. but the archæological work has abruptly ceased, and it is to be deeply regretted that here, in this deserted place, where the church desires no present restorations in accordance with particular rites or modern styles of architecture, there should not be a complete rehabilitation, a baptistery restored to the actual state of its own era. [illustration: "the beautiful granite columns."--riez.] wandering across the fields, with the re-constructive mania strong upon him, the traveller came across the beautiful granite columns which with their capitals, bases, and architraves of marble, are the last standing monument of riez's roman greatness. fragments of sculpture, bits of stone set in her walls, exist in numbers; but they are too isolated, too vague, to suggest the lost beauty and grandeur which these lonely columns express. he gazed at them in wonder. was he stepping where once had been a grand and busy forum, was he looking at the temple of some great roman god? the voices of the threshers sounded cheerily, the provençal sun shone bright and warm, but one of the greatest of mysteries was before him,--the silent mystery of a dead past that had once been a living present. he sat by the river, and tossed pebbles into its shallow waters; the slanting rays of the sun gave the columns delicate tints, old yellows and greys and violets, and at length, as evening fell, they seemed to grow higher and whiter in the paler light, until they looked like lonely funereal shafts, recalling to the memory of forgetful man, riez's long-dead greatness. [sidenote: senez.] in the comfortable civilisation of france, the stage-coach usually begins where the railroad ends; and however remote a destination or tedious a journey, an ultimate and safe arrival is reasonably certain. this was the reflection which cheered the traveller when he began to search for senez, an ancient city of the romans which was christianised in the early centuries and enjoyed the rank of bishopric until the revolution of '89. in spite of this dignified rank and the tenacity of an ancient foundation, it lies so far from modern ken that even worthies who live fifty miles away could only say that "senez is not much of a place, but it doubtless may be found ten--perhaps fifteen--or even twenty kilometres behind the railroad." "if monsieur alighted at barrême, probably the mail for senez would be left there too. and where letters go, some man or beast must carry them, and one could always follow." with these vague directions, the traveller set gaily out for barrême, where a greater than he had spent one bleak march night on the anxious journey from elba to paris. the town shows no trace of napoleon's hurried visit. it looks a mere sleepy hamlet, and when the traveller left the train he had already decided to push his journey onward. "to senez?" a man stepped up in answer to his inquiry. "certainly there was a way to get there, the mail-coach started in an hour. and a hotel? a very good hotel--not parisian perhaps, but hot food, a bottle of good wine, and a clean bed. could one desire more on this earth?" the traveller thought not, and left the station--to stand transfixed before the most melancholy conveyance that ever bore the high-sounding name of "mail-coach." a little wagon in whose interior six thin persons might have crowded, old windows shaking in their frames, the remains of a coat of yellow paint, and in front a seat which a projecting bit of roof protected from the sun,--this was the mail-coach of senez, drawn by a dejected, small brown mule, ragged with age, and a gaunt white horse who towered above him. to complete the equipage, this melancholy pair were hitched with ropes. in due course of time the driver came, hooked an ancient tin box marked "lettres" to the dash-board, threw in a sacking-bag, and cap in hand, invited the traveller to mount with him "where there was air." the long whip cracked authoritatively, the postilion, a beautiful black dog, jumped to the roof, and the mail-coach of senez, with rattle and creak, started on its scheduled run. "houp-là, thou bag of lazy bones done up in a brown skin! ho-là, thou whited sepulchre, thinkest thou i will get out and carry thee? take this and that." [illustration: "the mail-coach of senez."] on either side the whip hit the road ferociously, but the old beasts of burden shook their philosophic heads and slowly jogged on, knowing well they would not be touched. the hot sun of provence, which "drinks a river as man drinks a glass of wine," shone on the long, white "route nationale" that stretched out in well-kept monotony through a valley which might well have been named "desolation." on either hand rose mountains that were great masses of bare, seared rocks, showing the ravages of forgotten glaciers; the soil that once covered them lay at their feet. scarcely a shrub pushed out from the crevices, and even along the road, the few thin poplars found the poorest of nourishment. crossing a small bridge, there came into view an ancient village, a mere handful of clustered wooden roofs, irregular, broken, and decayed. "it was a city in the days when we were romans," said the courier, "and they say that there are treasures underneath our soil. but who can tell when people talk so much? and certainly two sous earned above ground buy hotter soup than one can gain in many a search for twenty francs below." he whipped up for a suitable and striking entry into town, turned into a lane, and with much show of difficulty in reining up, stood before the "hotel." the traveller, having descended, entered a room that might have been the subject of a quaint dutch canvas. he saw a low ceiling, smoky walls, long rows of benches, a sanded floor, and pine-board tables that stretched back to an open door; and through the open door, the pot swinging above the embers of the kitchen fire. the mistress of the inn, a strong white-haired woman of seventy, came hurrying in to greet her guest. "it was late," she said, and quickly put a basin full of water, a new piece of soap, and a fresh towel on a chair near the kitchen door; and as the traveller prepared himself for dinner he heard the crackling of fresh boughs upon the fire and the cheerful singing of the pot. little lamps were lighted, and when he came to his table's end, he found good country wine and a steaming cabbage-soup. others came in to dine and smoke and talk, and later from his bed-room window, he saw their ghostly figures moving up and down the unlighted streets and heard them say good-night. the inn-door was noisily and safely barred, and when the retreating footsteps and the voices had died away, the quiet of the dark remained unbroken until a watchman, with flickering lantern, passed, and cried aloud "all's well." [illustration: "the open square."--senez.] next morning the sun shone brightly on senez, and the traveller hurried to the open square. a horse, carrying a farmer's boy, meandered slowly by, a chicken picked here and there, and water trickled slowly from the tiny faucet of the village fountain. [illustration: "the palace of its prelates."--senez.] in this quiet spot, near the lonely desolation of the hills, is the cathedral. the palace of its prelates, which is opposite, is now a farm-house where hay-ricks stand in the front yard, and windows have been walled up because provençal winds are cold and glass is dear. [illustration: the cathedral.--senez.] looking at this residence, one would think that the last bishops of senez were insignificant priests, steeped in country wine and country stagnancy. but such a supposition is very far from true. for we know that in the xviii century, jean soannen, bishop of the city, was called before a council at embrun to answer a charge of resistance to the far-famed bull "unigenitus," and so strong were his convictions and so great his loyalty to his conscience, that he resisted the council as well as the bull, and was deprived of his see as a jansenist and recalcitrant, and exiled to the abbey of la-chaise-dieu. in quiet senez there must always have been time for reflection, and one can imagine the bitter struggle of this brave man as he walked the rooms of the palace, as he crossed and re-crossed the small square to the cathedral. one can imagine his wrestling with god and his conscience every time that he celebrated a mass for the people before the cathedral's altar. one can understand the bitter fight between two high ideals, irreconcilable in his life,--that of work in god's vineyard or of doctrinal purity as he saw it. he had to choose between them, this bishop of senez, and when he left the town to answer the summons of the council at embrun, his heart must have been sore within him, he must have said farewell to many things. few decisions can be more serious than the renunciation of family and home for the service of god, few more solemn than the struggles between the flesh and the spirit; but no more pathetic picture can exist than that sad figure of jean soannen; for he had renounced family and the world, and for the sake of "accepted truth" which was false to him, endured helpless, solitary insignificance under the espionage of suspicious and unfriendly monks. the traveller remembered his tomb, that tomb in a small chapel near the foot of the stair-case in the famous abbey far-away, and sighing, hoped that in his mournful exile, the bishop may have realised that "they also serve who only stand and wait." the bull unigenitus, which caused his downfall, is believed to have caused, during the last years of louis xiv's bigotry, the persecution of thirty thousand respectable, intelligent, and orderly frenchmen. de noailles, several bishops, and the parliament of paris refused to accept it, though they stopped short of open rebellion, and even fénélon "submitted" rather than acceded to it. this famous and vexatious document was an unhappy emanation of pope clement xiii. hard pressed by his faithful supporters, the jesuits, he promulgated it in 1713, and it condemns with great explicitness one hundred and one propositions which are taken from quesnel's jansenistic "réflexions morales sur le nouveau testament." the jesuits held the jansenists in a horror which the jansenists reciprocated; the pope owed almost too heavy a debt of gratitude to the order of saint ignatius and was constrained to repay. but the bull, instead of procuring peace, brought the greatest affliction and desolation of mind to his holiness, and when later, the french envoy asked him why he had condemned such an odd number of propositions, the pope seizing his arm burst into tears. "ah monsieur amelot! monsieur amelot! what would you have me do? i strove hard to curtail the list, but père le tellier"--louis xiv's last confessor and a devoted jesuit--"had pledged his word to the king that the book contained more than one hundred errors, and with his foot on my neck, he compelled me to prove him right. i condemned only one more!" the cathedral of senez is an humble village church where frank and simple poverty exists with the remains of ancient splendour. it is small, as are all churches of its style, and although it does not lack a homely dignity, it is a modest work of xii century romanesque, and the sonorous title of its consecration in 1242, "the assumption of the blessed virgin mary," suggests an impressiveness which the cathedral never had. two heavy buttresses that support the façade wall are reminiscent of the more majestic notre-dame-du-bourg of digne, and on them rest the ends of a pointed gable-roof. between these buttresses, the wall is pierced by a long and graceful round-arched window, and below the window is the single, pointed portal whose columns are gone and whose delicate foliated carvings and mouldings are sadly worn away. a sun-dial painted on the wall tells the time of day, and at the gable's sharpest point a saucy little angel with a trumpet in his mouth blows with the wind. [illustration: the cathedral.--senez.] entering the little portal, the traveller saw the poor wooden benches of the congregation massed together, and beyond them, the stalls of long-departed canons. in front of these old stalls, stood the church's latest luxury, a melodeon, and above them hung the tapestries of its richer past. tapestries also beautify the choir-walls, and on either side, are the narrow transepts and the apses of a good old style. there are also poor and tawdry altars which stand in strange, pitiable contrast with the old walls and the fine tunnel vaulting, the dignified architecture of the past. [illustration: "tapestries beautify the choir walls."--senez.] leaving the interior, where a solitary peasant knelt in prayer, the traveller saw side-walls bare as the mountains round about, the squat tower that rises just above the roof, and coming to the apse-end he found the presbytery garden. from the garden, beyond the fallen gate, he saw the church as the curé saw it, the three round apses with their little columns, the smaller decorative arches of the cornices, the pointed roof, and between branches full of apple blossoms, the softened lines of the low square tower. here, trespassing, the curé found him. and after they had walked about the town, and talked the whole day long of the great world which lay so far beyond, they went into the little garden as the sun was going down, and fell to musing over coffee cups. the priest was first to speak. "perhaps, buried under those old church walls, lie proofs of our early history, the stones of some old temple, or statues of its gods; for we were once sanitium, a roman city in a country of six roman roads. perhaps all around us were great monuments of pagan wealth, a mausoleum near these bare old rocks like that which stands in loneliness near saint-remy, villas, baths, or triumphal arches." the keen eyes softened, as he continued in gentle irony, "down in this little valley of the asse de blieux, our town seems far away from any scene in which the great ones of earth took part. although i know that it is true, it often seems to me a legend that the gay and gallant francis i, rushing to a mad war, stopped on his way to injure us; and that four hundred years ago a band of huguenots raved around our old cathedral, and tried to pull it to the ground." "and do you think it can be true," the traveller asked, "that bishops held mysterious prisoners in that tower for most dreary lengths of time?" [illustration: "between branches full of apple-blossoms, the church as the curé saw it."--senez.] the curé smiled, and shook his white head. "that is a story which the peasants tell,--an old tradition of the land. it may be true, since priests are mortal men and doubtless dealt with sinners." he smiled indulgently. "through the many years i have been here, i have often wondered about all these things, but it is seldom i can speak my thoughts. sometimes when i am here alone, i lose the sense of present things and seem to see the phantoms of the past. then the dusk comes on, as it is coming now; the night blots senez from my sight as fate has blotted out its record from history,--and i realise that our human memory is in vain." [sidenote: aix.] the old cathedral of saint-sauveur at aix is not one of those rarely beautiful churches where a complete and restful homogeneity delights the eye, nor is it a church of crude and shocking transitions. it is rather a well-arranged museum of ecclesiastical architecture, where, in sufficient historical continuity and harmony, many provençal conceptions are found, and the evolution of provençal architecture may be very completely followed. as in all collections, the beauty of saint-sauveur is not in a general view or in any glance into a long perspective, but in a close and loving study of the details it encloses; and so charming, so really beautiful are many of the diverse little treasures of aix, that such study is better repaid here than in any other provençal cathedral. for this is one of the largest cathedrals of the province, and the buildings which form the ecclesiastical group are most complete. with its baptistery, cloister, church, and arch-episcopal palace, it is not only of many epochs and styles, but of many historical uncertainties, and the hypotheses of its construction are enough to daze the most hardened archæologist. [illustration: "the south aisle."--aix.] the oldest part of the cathedral is the baptistery, and the date of its origin is unknown. much of its character was lost in a restoration of the xvii century, but its old round form, the magnificent roman columns of granite and green marble said to have been part of the temple to apollo, give it an atmosphere of dignity and an ancient charm that even the xvii century--so potent in architectural evil--was unable to destroy. [illustration: the romanesque portal.] in 1060, after the destructive vicissitudes of the early centuries, archbishop rostaing d'hyères issued a pastoral letter appealing to the faithful to aid him in the re-building of a new cathedral; and it may be reasonably supposed that the nave which is at present the south aisle, the baptistery, and the cloisters were the buildings that were dedicated less than fifty years later. they are the only portions of the church which can be ascribed to so early a period, and with the low door of entrance, the single nave and the adjoining cloister-walk, they constitute the usual plan of xi century romanesque. considering this as the early church, in almost original form, it will be seen that the portal is a very interesting example of the provençal use not only of roman suggestion, but of the actual fragments of roman art which had escaped the invader; that the south aisle, in itself a completed interior, bears a close resemblance to avignon; and that the cloister, although now very worn and even defaced, must have been one of the quaintest and most delicate, as it is one of the tiniest, in provence. three sides of its arcades support plain buildings of a later date; the fourth stands free, as if in ruin. little coupled columns, some slenderly circular, some twisted, and some polygonal, rest on a low wall; piers, very finely and differently carved, are at each of the arcade angles; the little capitals of the columns were once beautifully cut, and even the surfaces of the arches have small foliated disks and rosettes and are finished in roll and hollow. unfortunately, a very large part of this detail-work is so defaced that its subjects are barely suggested, some are so eaten away that they are as desolate of beauty as the barren little quadrangle; and the whole cloister seems to have reached the brink of that pathetic old age which shakespeare has described, and that another step in the march of time would leave it "sans everything." [illustration: the cloister.--aix.] about two hundred years later, in 1285, the archbishop of aix found the cathedral too unpretending for the rank and dignity of the see, and he began the gothic additions. like many another prelate his ambitions were larger than his means; and the history of saint-sauveur from the xiii to the xix century, is that oft-told tale of new indulgences offered for new contributions, halts and delays in construction, emptied treasuries, and again, appeals and fresh efforts. the beginnings of the enlarged cathedral were architecturally abrupt. the old nave, becoming the south aisle, was connected with the new by two small openings; it retained much of its separateness and in spite of added chapels much actual isolation. the gothic nave, the north aisle and its many chapels, the apse, and the transepts, whose building and re-construction stretched over the long period between the xiii and xvii centuries, are comparatively regular, uniform, and uninteresting. the most ambitious view is that of the central nave, whose whole length is so little broken by entrances to the side aisles, that it seems almost solidly enclosed by its massive walls. here in gothic bays, are found those rounded, longitudinal arches which belong to the romanesque and to some structure whose identity is buried in the mysterious past. the choir, with its long, narrow windows, and clusters of columnettes, is very pleasing, and its seven sides, foreign to provence, remind one of italian and spanish constructive forms and take one's memory on strange jaunts, to the far-away frari in venice and the colder abbey of london. from the choir of saint-sauveur two chapels open; and one of them is a charming bit of architecture, a replica in miniature of the mother-apse itself. the paintings of this mother-apse are neutral, its glass has no claim to sumptuousness, and the stalls are very unpretending; but above them hang tapestries ascribed to matsys, splendid hangings of the flemish school that were once in old saint paul's. with these beautiful details the rich treasure-trove of the interior is exhausted, and one passes out to study the details of the exterior. the cathedral's single tower, which rises behind the façade line, was one of the parts that was longest neglected,--perhaps because a tower is less essential to the ritual than any other portion of an ecclesiastical building. begun in 1323, the work dragged along with many periods of absolute idleness, until 1880, when a balustrade with pinnacles at each angle was added to the upper octagonal stage, and the building of the tower was thus ended. the octagon with its narrow windows rests on a plain, square base that is massively buttressed. it is a pleasant, rather than a remarkable tower, and one's eye wanders to the more beautiful façade. here, encased by severely plain supports, is one of the most charming portals of provençal gothic. decorated buttresses stand on either side of a large, shallow recess which has a high and pointed arch, and in the centre, a slim pier divides the entrance-way into two parts, pre-figuring the final division of the just and the unjust. a multitude of finely sculptured statues were formerly hidden in niches, under graceful canopies, and in the hundred little nooks and corners which lurk about true gothic portals. standing apostles and seated patriarchs, baby cherubs peering out, and the more dramatic composition of the tympanum--the transfiguration,--all lent a dignity and wealth to saint-sauveur. unfortunately many of these sculptures were torn from their crannies in the great revolution; and it is only a few of the heavenly hosts,--the gracious madonna, saint michael, and the prophets,--that remain as types of those that were so wantonly destroyed. the low, empty gables that sheltered lost statues, their slender, tapering turrets, and the delicate outer curve of the arch, are of admirable, if not imposing, composition. the portal's wooden doors, protected by plain casings, abound in carvings partly renaissance, partly gothic. the sibyls and prophets stand under canopies, surrounded by foliage, fruits, and flowers, or isolated from each other by little buttresses or pilasters. this gothic portal quite outshines, in its graceful elaboration, the smaller door which stands near it, in the simpler and not less potent charm of the romanesque. and side by side, these portals offer a curiously interesting comparison of the essential differences and qualities of their two great styles. if the romanesque of saint-sauveur is far surpassed at arles and digne and sisteron, nowhere in provence has gothic richer details; and if the noblest of provençal creations must be sought in other little cities, the lover of architectural comparisons, of details, of the many lesser things rather than of the harmony of a single whole, will linger long in aix. [illustration: the cathedral.--aix.] the old city itself shows scarcely a trace of the many historic dramas of which it has been the scene,--the lowering tragedy of the vaudois time,--the bright, gay comedy of good king rené's court,--the shorter scenes of charles v's occupation,--the parliament's struggle with richelieu and mazarin,--the day of the fiery mirabeau,--the grim melodrama of the revolution,--all have passed, and time has destroyed their monuments almost as completely as the saracens destroyed those of the earlier roman days. only a few, unformed fragments of the great temple of apollo remain in the walls of saint-sauveur. the earliest cathedral, sainte-marie-de-la-seds, has entirely disappeared, the old thermal springs are enclosed by modern buildings, and only the statue of "the good king rené" and the church of the knights of malta give to aix a faint atmosphere of its past distinction. who would dream that here were the homes of the elegant and lettered courtiers of king rené's brilliant capital, who would think that this town was the earliest roman settlement in gaul, the aquæ sextiæ of baths, temples, theatres, and great wealth? aix is a stately town, a provincial capital which balzac might well have described--with old, quiet streets that are a little dreary, with a fine avenue shaded by great trees in whose shadows a few fountains trickle, with lines of little stages that come each day from the country,--a city whose life is as far in spirit from the near-by modernity of marseilles as it is from that of paris, as quaintly and delightfully provincial as that other little provençal city, the tarascon of king rené and of tartarin. languedoc. i. cathedrals of the cities. [sidenote: nîmes.] entering languedoc from the valley of the rhone, the cathedral-lover is doomed to disappointment in the city of nîmes. all that intense, intra-mural life of the middle ages seems to have passed this city by, and its traces, which he is so eager to find, prove to be neither notable nor beautiful. [illustration: "an amphitheatre which rivals the art of the coliseum."--nîmes.] the great past of nîmes is of a more remote antiquity than the cathedral building ages. a small but exquisite temple, a nymphæum, baths, parts of a fine portal, roman walls, and an amphitheatre which rivals the art of the coliseum,--these are the ruins of nîmean greatness. she was essentially a city of the romans, and that, even to-day, she has not lost the memory of her glorious antiquity was well illustrated in 1874, when the nîmois, with much pomp and civic pride, unveiled a statue to "their fellow-countryman," the emperor antoninus pius. these are the memories in which nîmes delights. yet her history of later times, if not glorious, is full of strange and curious interest. like all the ancient cities of the south, she fell into the hands of many a wild and alien foe, and at length in 737, charles martel arrived at her gates. grossly ignorant of art, no thing of beauty that stood in his path escaped fire and axe; and smoke-marks along the arena walls show to-day how narrowly they escaped the irreparable destruction which had wiped out the forum, the capitol, the temple, the baths, and all the magnificence of roman narbonne. to both the early and the later middle ages, roman remains had scarcely more meaning than they had for the franks. the delicate temple of trajan's wife, scorned for its pagan associations, was used as a stable, a store-house, and, purified by proper ceremonials, it even became a christian church. the amphitheatre has had a still stranger destiny. to a mediæval viscount, it was naturally inconceivable as a place of amusement, and as naturally, he saw in its walls a stronghold where he could live as securely as ever lord in castle. as a fortress which successfully defied charles martel, it was a place of no mean strength, and in 1100 it had become "a veritable hornets' nest, buzzing with warriors." a few years before, pope urban ii had landed at maguelonne and ridden to clermont to preach the first crusade. on his return he stopped at nîmes and held a council for the same holy purpose. raymond de saint-gilles, count of toulouse and overlord of nîmes, travelled there to meet the sovereign pontiff, and amid the wonderful ferment of enthusiasm which the "holy war" had aroused, the south was pledged anew to this romantic and war-like phase of the cause of christ. trencavel, viscount of nîmes, loyal to god and his suzerain, followed raymond to palestine. its natural protectors gone, the city formed a defensive association called the "chevaliers of the arena." as its name implies, this curious fraternity was composed of the soldiers of the ancient amphitheatre. like many others of the time it was semi-military, semi-religious, its members bound by many solemn oaths and ceremonies, and thus, by the eccentricity of fate, this old pagan playground became a fortress consecrated to christian defence, the scene of many a solemn mass. the divisions in the christian faith, which followed so closely the fervours of the crusades, were most disastrous to nîmes. from the xiii until the xvii centuries, wars of religion were interrupted by suspicious and unheeded truces, and these in turn were broken by fresh outbursts of embittered contest. an ally of the new "crusaders" in simon de montfort's day, nîmes became largely protestant in the xvi century; and in 1567, as if to avenge the injuries their ancestors had formerly inflicted on the albigenses, the nîmois sacked their bishop's palace and threw all the catholics they could find down the wells of the town. this celebration of saint michael's day was repaid at the massacre of saint bartholomew. the wise edict of nantes brought a truce to these hostilities,--its revocation, new persecutions and flights. a hundred years later the huguenots were again in force, and, aided by the unrest of the revolution, successfully massacred the catholics of the city; and during the "white terror" of 1815 the catholics arose and avenged themselves with equal vigour. when it is remembered that this savage and vindictive spirit has characterised the nîmois of the last six hundred years, it is scarcely surprising that they should prefer to dwell on the remote antiquity of their city rather than on the unedifying episodes of her christian history. between the glories of her paganism and the disputes of christians, the faith has struggled and survived; but in the cathedral-building era, religious enthusiasm was so often expended in mutual fury and reprisals that neither time nor thought was left for that common and gentle expression of mediæval fervour, ecclesiastical architecture. and the church of notre-dame-et-saint-castor, which would seem to have suffered from the neglect and ignorance of both patrons and builders, is one of the least interesting cathedrals in languedoc. a graceful gallery of the nave, which also surrounds the choir, is the notable part of the interior, and the insignificance of the exterior is relieved only by a frieze of the xi and xii centuries. on this frieze is sculptured, in much interesting detail, the biblical stories of the early years of mankind; but it is unfortunately placed so high on the front wall that it seems badly proportioned to the façade, and as a carved detail it is almost indistinguishable. as has been finely said the whole church is "gaunt" and unbeautiful; it is a depressing mixture of styles, roman, romano-byzantine, and gothic; and in studying its one fine detail, a photograph or a drawing is much more satisfactory than an hour's tantalising effort to see the original. [sidenote: montpellier.] montpellier is "an agreeable city, clean, well-built, intersected by open squares with wide-spread horizons, and fine, broad boulevards, a city whose distinctive characteristics would appear to be wealth, and a taste for art, leisure, and study." the "taste" and the "art" are principally those of the pseudo-classic style, an imitation of "ancient greece and imperial rome," which the french of the xviii century carried to such unpleasant excess. the general characteristics of the imitation, size and bombast, are well epitomised in the principal statue of montpellier's fine champ de mars, which represents the high-heeled and luxurious louis xiv in the unfitting armour of a roman imperator, mounted on a huge and restive charger. such affectation in architectural subjects is the death-blow to all real beauty and originality, and montpellier has gained little from its bourbon patrons except a series of fine broad vistas. no city could offer greater contrast to the ancient and dignified classicism of nîmes. if the mediæval origin of montpellier were not well known, one would believe it the creation of the renaissance, and the few narrow, tortuous streets of the older days recall little of its intense past, when the city grew as never before nor since, when scholars of the genius of petrarch and the wit of rabelais sought her out, when she belonged to aragon or navarre and not to the king of france. this is the interesting montpellier. in the xiii century, she had a university which the pope formally sanctioned, and a school of medicine founded by arabian physicians which rivalled that of paris. more significant still to languedoc, her prosperity had begun to overshadow that of the neighbouring bishopric of maguelonne, and a bitter rivalry sprang up between the two cities. from the first maguelonne was doomed. she had no schools that could rival those of montpellier; she ceased to grow as the younger city increased in fame and size, till even history passed her by, and the stirring events of the times took place in the streets of her larger and more prosperous neighbour. finally she was deserted by her bishops, and no longer upheld by their episcopal dignity, her fall was so overwhelming that to-day her mediæval walls have crumbled to the last stone and only a lonely old cathedral remains to mark her greatness. in 1536 my lord bishop, with much appropriate pomp and ceremony, rode out of her gates and entered those of montpellier as titular bishop for the first time. he did not find the townsmen so elated by the new dignity of the city as to have broken ground for a new cathedral, nor did he himself seem ambitious, as his predecessors of maguelonne had been, to build a church worthy of his rank. however, as a bishop must have a cathedral-church, the chapel of the benedictine monastery was chosen for this honour and solemnly consecrated the cathedral of saint-pierre of montpellier. this chapel had been built in the xiv century, and at the time of these episcopal changes, only the nave was finished. it was, however, gothic; and as this style had become much favoured by the south at this late period, the bishop must have believed that he had the beginning of a very fine and admirable cathedral. in the religious wars which followed 1536, succeeding prelates found much to distract them from any further building; the cathedral itself was so injured that such attention as could be spared from heretics to mere architectural details was devoted to necessary restorations and reconstructions, and the finished saint-pierre of to-day is an edifice of surprising modernity. in the interior, the nave and aisles are partially of old construction, but the beautiful choir is the xix century building of révoil. of the exterior, the entire apse is his also, and as the portal of the south wall was built in 1884 and the northern side of the cathedral is incorporated in that of the bishop's palace, only the tower and the façade are mediæval. [illustration: "its general effect is somewhat that of a porte-cochére."--montpellier.] none of the towers have much architectural significance, either of beauty or originality. in comparison with the decoration of the façade they make but little impression. this decoration has more original incongruity than any detail ever applied to façade, gothic or romanesque, and is an extreme example of the license which southern builders allowed themselves in their adaptation of the northern style. it is a vagary, and has appealed to some anglo-saxon travellers, but french authorities, almost without dissent, allude to it apologetically as "unpardonable." its general effect is somewhat that of a porte-cochère, whose roofing, directly attached to the front wall, is gothically pointed, and supported by two immense pillars. the pillars end in cones that resemble nothing in the world so much as sugar-loaves, and the whole structure is marvellously unique. yet strange to say, the effect of the façade, with the smoothness and roundness of its pillars and the uncompromising squareness of its towers, while altogether bad, is not altogether unpleasing. standing before it the traveller was both bewildered and fascinated as he saw that even in the extravagance of their combinations, the builders, with true southern finesse, had avoided both the grotesque and the monstrous. [illustration: "the finest view is that of the apse."--montpellier.] as a whole, saint-pierre is a fine cathedral; through many stages of building, enlarging, and re-constructing, its style has remained consonant; but the general impression is not altogether harmonious. the perspective of the western front, which should be imposing, is destroyed by a hill which slopes sharply up before the very portal. the façade is attached to the immense, unbroken wall of the old episcopal palace, and the majesty, which is a cathedral's by very virtue of its height alone, is entirely destroyed by a seemingly interminable breadth of wall. reversing the natural order of things, the finest view is that of the apse. and this modern part is, in reality, the chief architectural glory of this comparatively new cathedral and its comparatively modern town. [sidenote: béziers.] "you have only to look from a distance at any old-fashioned cathedral-city and you will see in a moment the mediæval relations between church and state. the cathedral is the city. the first object you catch sight of as you approach is the spire tapering into the sky, or the huge towers holding possession of the centre of the landscape--majestically beautiful--imposing by mere size. as you go nearer, the pinnacles are glittering in the tints of the sunset, when down below among the streets and lanes twilight is darkening. and even now, when the towns are thrice their ancient size, ... the cathedral is still the governing force in the picture, the one object which possesses the imagination, and refuses to be eclipsed." these words are the description of béziers as it is best and most impressively seen. from the distance, the cathedral and its ramparts rise in imposing mass, a fine example of the strength, pride, and supremacy of the church. as we approach, the cathedral grows much less imposing, and its façade gives the impression of an unpleasant conglomeration of styles. it is not a fortress church, yet it was evidently built for defence; it is gothic, yet the lightness and grace of that art are sacrificed to the massiveness and resistive strength, imperatively required by southern cathedrals in times of wars and bellicose heretics. the whole building seems a compromise between necessity and art. it is, however, a notable example of the gothic of the south, and of the modifications which that style invariably underwent, through the artistic caprice of its builders, or the political fore-sight of their patrons, the bishops. the façade of saint-nazaire of béziers has a gothic portal of good but not notable proportions, and a large and beautiful rose-window. as if to protect these weaker and decorative attempts, the builder flanked them with two square towers, whose crenellated tops and solid, heavy walls could serve as strongholds. perhaps to reconcile the irreconcilable, crenellations joining the towers were placed over the rose-window, and at either end of the portal, a few inches of gothic carving were cut in the tower-wall. the result is frank incongruity. and the traveller left without regret, to look at the apse. it cannot be denied that the clock-tower which comes into view is very square and thick; but in spite of that it has a simple dignity, and as the apse itself is not florid, this proved to be the really pleasing detailed view of the cathedral. the open square behind the church is tiny, and there one can best see the curious grilled iron-work, which in the times of mediæval outbreaks protected the fine windows of the choir and preserved them for future generations of worshippers and admirers. it was after noon when the traveller finished his investigations of saint-nazaire; and as the southern churches close between twelve and two, he took déjeuner at a little café near-by and patiently waited for the hour of re-opening. had there been nothing but the interior to explore, he could not have spent two hours in such contented waiting. but there was a cloister,--and on the stroke of two he and the sacristan met before the portal. [illustration: "the clock-tower is very square and thick."--béziers.] in describing their "monuments," french guide-books confine themselves to facts, and the adjectives "fine" and "remarkable"; they are almost always strictly impersonal, and the traveller who uses them as a cicerone, has a sense of unexpected discovery, a peculiar elation, in finding a monument of rare beauty; but he is never subjected to that disappointed irritation which comes when one stands before the "monument" and feels that one's expectations have been unduly stimulated. the cloister of béziers is a "fine monument," but as he walked about it, the traveller felt no sense of elation. he found a small cloister, gothic like the cathedral, with clustered columns and little ornamentation. it was not very completely restored, and had a sad, melancholy charm, like a solitary sprig of lavender in an old press, or a rose-leaf between the pages of a worn and forgotten missal. in the cloister-close, stands a gothic fountain; but the days when its waters dropped and tinkled in the stillness, when their sound mingled with the murmured prayers and slow steps of the priests,--those days are long forgotten. the quaint and pretty fountain is now dry and dust-covered; while about it trees and plants and weeds grow as they may, and bits of the cloister columns have fallen off, and niches are without their guarding saints. [illustration: "the quaint and pretty fountain."--béziers.] by contrast, the cathedral itself seems full of life. its interior is an aisle-less gothic room, whose fine height and emptiness of column or detail give it an appearance of vast and well-conceived proportions. except the really beautiful windows of the choir, which are a study in themselves, there is very little in this interior to hold the mind; one is lost in a pleasant sense of general symmetry. as the traveller was sitting in the nave, a few priests filed into the choir, and began, in quavering voices, to intone their prayers, and in the peacefulness of the church, in the trembling monotony of the weak, old voices, his thoughts wandered to the stirring history which had been lived about the cathedral, and within its very walls. for béziers was and had always been a hot-bed of heretics. here in the iv century, long before the building of the cathedral, the emperor constantius ii forced the unwilling catholic bishops of gaul to join their heretical aryan brethren in council; here the equally heretical visigoths gave new strength to the dissenters; and here, again, after centuries of orthodoxy which clovis had imposed, a new centre of religious storm was formed. it was about this period, the xii and xiv centuries, that the cathedral was built; and it is perhaps because of the strength of those french protestants against the church of rome, the albigenses, that its essentially gothic style was so confused by military additions. at the beginning of the troublous times of which these towers are reminders, raymond-roger of trencavel, the gallant and romantic lord of carcassonne, was also viscount of béziers; and contrary to the fanatical enthusiasm of his day, was much disposed toward religious toleration; therefore in the early wars of catholics and protestants the city of béziers became the refuge not only for the terrified faithful of the surrounding country, but for many hunted protestants. in the xiii century, the zeal of the catholic party, reinforced by the political interests of its members, grew most hot and dangerous. saint dominic had come into the south; and in his fearful, fiery sermons, he not only prophesied that the albigenses would swell the number of the damned at the day of judgment, but also advocated that, living, they should know the hell of inquisition. partisans of the catholic faith were solemnly consecrated "crusaders" by pope innocent iii, and wore the cross in these wars of extermination as they had worn it in the holy wars of palestine. in 1209 their army advanced against béziers, and from out their councils the leaders sent the bishop of the city to admonish his flock. all the inhabitants were summoned to meet him, and they gathered in the choir and transepts of the cathedral,--the only parts which were finished at that time. one can imagine the anxious citizens crowding into the church, the coming of the angered prelate, whose state and frown were well calculated to intimidate the wavering, and the tense silence as he passed, with grave blessing, to the altar. in a few words, he advised them of their peril, spiritual and material; he told them he knew well who was true and who false to the church, that he had, in written list, the very names of the heretics they seemed to harbour. then he begged them to deliver those traitors into his hands, and their city to the legate of the holy father. in fewer words came their answer; "venerable father, all that are here are christians, and we see amongst us only our brethren." such words were a refusal, a heinous sin, and dread must have been written on every face, as without a word or sign of blessing, the outraged bishop swept from the church and returned to the camp of their enemy. the crusaders' councils were stormy; for some of the nobles wished to save the catholics, others cried out for the extermination of the whole rebellious place, and finally the choleric legate, armand-amaury, abbot of cîteaux, could stand it no longer, and cried out fiercely, "kill them all! god will know his own." the words of their legate were final, the army attacked the city, and--as henri martin finely writes,--"neither funeral tollings nor bell-ringings, nor canons in all their priestly robes could avail, all were put to the sword; not one was saved, and it was the saddest pity ever seen or heard." the city was pillaged, was fired, was devastated and burned "till no living thing remained." "no living thing remained" to tell the awful tale, and yet with time and industry, a new and forgetful béziers has risen to all its old prestige and many times its former size; the cathedral alone was left, and its most memorable tale to our day is not that of the abiding peace of the faith, but that of the terrible travesty of religion of the twenty-second of july, hundreds of years ago. [sidenote: narbonne.] "narbonne is still mighty and healthful, if one is to judge from the activities of the present day; is picturesque and pleasing, and far more comfortably disposed than many cities with a more magnificently imposing situation." these words, which were running in the traveller's mind, grew more and more derisive, more and more ironical, as he walked about narbonne. not in all the south of france had he seen a city so depressing. her decline has been continuous for the long five hundred years since the roman dykes gave way and she was cut off from the sea. agde, almost as old, displays the decline of a dignified, retired old age; saint-gilles-du-gard was as dirty, but not a whit as pretentious; nîmes was majestically antique; narbonne, simply sordid. it is sad to think that over two thousand years ago she was a second marseilles, that she was the first of rome's transalpine colonies, and that under tiberius her schools rivalled those of the capital of the world. it is sadder to think that all the magnificence of roman luxury, of sculptured marble--a forum, capitol, temples, baths, triumphal arches,--stood where dreary rows of semi-modern houses now stand. it is almost impossible to believe in the lost grandeur of this city, and that it was veritably under the tutelage of so great and superb a god as mars. the eventful christian period of narbonne was very noted but not very long. her melancholy decay began as early as the xiv century. of her great antiquity nothing is left but a few hacked and mutilated carvings; of her ambitious mediævalism, nothing but an unfinished group of ecclesiastical buildings. long gone is the lordly "narbo" dedicated to mars, gone the city of the latin poet, whose words repeated to-day in her streets are a bitter mockery, and gone the stronghold of mediæval times. there remains a rare phenomenon for cleanly france,--a dirty city, whose older sections are reminiscent of unbeautiful old age, decrepit and unwashed; and whose newly projected boulevards are distinguished by tawdry and pretentious youth. in the midst of this city, stands a group of mediæval churchly buildings, the palace of the prelate, his cathedral, and an adjoining cloister. they are all either neglected, unfinished, or re-built; but are of so noble a plan that the traveller feels a "divine wrath" that they should never have reached their full grandeur of completion, that this great architectural work should have been begun so near the close of the city's prosperity, and that in spite of several efforts it has never been half completed. it is as if a fatality hung over the whole place, and as if all the greatness narbonne had conceived was predestined to destruction or incompletion. [illustration: "the door of the cloister."--narbonne.] of the three structures, the least interesting is the former palace of the archbishops. this is now the hôtel-de-ville, and as all the body of the structure between the towers of the xii century was built in our day by viollet-le-duc, very little of the old palace can properly be said to exist. besides its two principal towers, a smaller one, a gate, and a chapel remain. viollet-le-duc has constructed the hôtel-de-ville after the perfectly appropriate style of the xiii century, but its stone is so new and its atmosphere so modern and republican that the traveller left it without regret and made his way up the dark, steep, badly-paved alley-way which leads to the door of the cloister. this cloister, which separated the palace from the cathedral, is now dreary and desolate and neglected. like the cathedral, it is gothic, with sadly decaying traces of graceful ornament. the little plot of enclosed ground, which should be planted in grass or with a few flowers, is a mere dirt court, tramped over by the few worshippers who enter the cathedral this way. two or three trees grow as they will, gnarled or straight. the sense of peaceful melancholy which the traveller had felt in the cloister of béziers is wanting here. this is a place of deserted solitude; and with a sigh for the beauty that might have been, the traveller crossed the enclosure and entered the church by the cloister-door. [illustration: "this is a place of deserted solitude."--narbonne.] architecturally dissimilar, the fate of this cathedral is not unlike that of beauvais. each was destined to have a completed choir, and each to remain without a nave. at beauvais the addition of transepts adds very materially to the beauty of the cathedral. at narbonne no transepts exist. there is simply a choir, which makes a very singular disposition of the church both religious and architectural. entering the gates which lead from the ambulatory to the choir, the traveller found that benediction had just begun. on his immediate right, before the altar all aglow with lights, were the officiating priests and the altar-boys; on his left, in the choir, was the congregation in the canons' stalls; and at the back, as at the end of a nave, rose the organ. the traveller walked about the ambulatory, and leaning against the farthest wall, tried to view the church, only to be baffled. there was no perspective. the ambulatory is very narrow and the choir-screen very high. the impressions he formed were partly imaginative, partly inductive; and the clearest one was that of sheer height, straight, superhuman height that is one of the unmatchable glories of french gothic. here the traveller thought again of beauvais, and wished as he had so often wished in the northern cathedral and with something of the same intensity, that this freedom and majesty of height might have been gloriously continued and completed in the nave. such a church as his imagination pictured would have been worthy of a place with the best of northern gothic. now it is a suggestion, a beginning of greatness; and its chief glory lies in the simplicity and directness of its height. clustered columns rise plainly to the pointed gothic roof. there is so marked an absence of carving that it seems as if ornamentation would have been weakening and trammelling. it is not bareness, but beautiful firmness, which refreshes and uplifts the heart of man as the sight of some island mountain rising sheer from the sea. the exterior of the cathedral, imposing from a distance, is rather complicated in its unfinished compromise of detail. in the xv century, two towers were built which flank the western end as towers usually flank a façade; and this gives the church a foreshortened effect. of real façade there is none, and the front wall which protects the choir is plainly temporary. in front of this wall there are portions of the unfinished nave, stones and other building materials, a scaffolding, and a board fence; and the only pleasure the traveller could find in this confusion was the fancy that he had discovered the old-time appearance of a cathedral in the making. the apse is practically completed, and one has the curious sensation that it is a building without portals. having no façade, it has none of the great front entrances common to the gothic style; neither has it the usual lateral door. the choir is entered by the temporary doors of the pseudo-façade; the ambulatory is entered through the cloister, or a pretty little gothic door-way which if it were not the chief entrance of the church, would properly seem to have been built for the clergy rather than for the people who now use it. if these portals are strangely unimportant, their insignificance does not detract materially from the stateliness of the apse, which is created by its great height--one hundred and thirty feet in the interior measurement--and the magnificent flying-buttresses. these flying-buttresses give to the exterior its most curious and beautiful effect. they are a form of gothic seldom attempted in the south, and exist here in a rather exceptional construction. over the chapels which surround the apse rise a series of double-arched supports, the outer ones ending in little turrets with surmounting crenellations. on these supports, after a splendid outward sweep, rest the abutments of the flying arches. these have a fine sure grace and withal a lightness that relieves the heaviness imposed on the church by the towers and the immense strength of the body of the apse. they are the chief as well as the most salient glory of the exterior, and give to the cathedral its peculiar individuality. [illustration: "these flying-buttresses give to the exterior its most curious and beautiful effect."--narbonne.] apart from its buttresses, saint-just has little decorative style. its crenellations and turrets are military and forceful, not ornate. for the church had its defensive as truly as its religious purpose, and formerly was united on the north with the fortifications of the palace, and contributed to the protection of its prelates as well as to their arch-episcopal prestige. in spite of the fostering care of the french government, the palace, the cloister, and the cathedral seem in the hands of strangers. the traveller who had longed to see them in their finished magnificence realised the futility of this wish, but he turned away with another as vain, that he might have known them even in incompletion, when they were in the hands of the church, when the archbishop still ruled in his palace, when the canons prayed in the cloister, and the cathedral was still a-building. [sidenote: perpignan.] perpignan, like elne, is in rousillon. the period of her most brilliant prosperity was that of the majorcan dominion in the xii century. later she reverted to aragon, and was still so fine a city that for two hundred years france coveted and sought her, until she finally yielded to the greedy astuteness of richelieu and became formally annexed to the kingdom of louis xiii. perpignan is a gay little town, much affected by the genius and indolence of the spanish race. morning is work-time, noon-tide is siesta, but afternoon and evening were made for pleasure; and every bright day, when the sun begins to cast shadows, people fill the narrow, shady streets and walk along the promenade by the shallow river, under the beautiful plane-trees. the pavements in front of the cafés are filled with little round tables, and here and there small groups of men idle cheerfully over tiny glasses of liqueur and cups of cool, black coffee; perhaps they talk a little business, certainly they gossip a great deal. noisy little teams filled with merry people run down from the promenade to the sea-shore; and after an hour's dip, almost in the shadow of the tall pyrénées, the same merry people return, laughing, to a cooler perpignan. in the evening, they seek the bright cafés and the waiters run busily to and fro among the crowded little tables; the narrow streets, imperfectly lighted, are full of moving shadows, and through the open church-doors, candles waver in the fitful draught, and quiet worshippers pass from altar to altar in penance or in supplication. all the old buildings of the city are of spanish origin. the prison is the brick, battlemented castle of a majorcan sancho, the citadel is as old, and the aragonese bourse is divided between the town-hall and the city's most popular café. the cathedral of saint-jean, which faces a desolate, little square, was also begun in majorcan days and under that sancho who ruled in 1324. at first it was merely a church; for elne had always been the seat of the bishopric of rousillon, and although the town had suffered from many wars and had long been declining, it was not shorn of its episcopal glory until there was sufficient political reason for the act. this arose in 1692, and was based on the old-time french and spanish claims to the same county to which these two cities belonged. [illustration: "all of the old buildings of the city are of spanish origin."--perpignan.] over a hundred years before charles viii had plenarily ceded to ferdinand and isabella all power in rousillon, even that shadowy feudal suzerainty with which, in default of actual possession, many a former french king had consoled himself and irritated a royal spanish brother. ferdinand and isabella promptly visited their new possessions, and made solemn entry into perpignan. unfortunately the inquisition came in their train, and the unbounded zeal of the holy office brought the spanish rule which protected it into ever-increasing disfavour. in vain philip iii again bestowed on perpignan the title of "faithful city," which she had first received from john of aragon for her loyal resistance to louis xi; in vain he ennobled several of her inhabitants and transferred to her, from elne, the episcopal power. the city was ready for new and kinder masters than the most catholic kings, and in 1642 the french were received as liberators. during all these years the cathedral had grown very slowly. commenced in 1324, over a century elapsed before the choir was finished and the building of the nave was not begun until a hundred years later. the high altar, a porch, and the iron cage of the tower were added with equal deliberation, and even to-day it is still unfinished. the most beautiful part is the strongly buttressed apse; the poorest, the unfinished façade, which has been very fitly described as "plain and mean." looking disconsolately at it from the deserted square, scarcely tempted to go nearer, the traveller was astounded at the thought that for several centuries this unsightly wall had stared on generations of worshippers without goading them into any frenzy of action,--either destructive or constructive. his only comfort lay in the scaffolding which was building around it, and which seemed to promise better things. [illustration: "the unfinished façade."--perpignan.] the interior of the cathedral is very large and lofty. it is without aisles and the chapels are discreetly hidden between the piers. far above one's head curves the ribbed gothic vaulting, and all around is unbroken space that ends in darkness or the vague outline of an altar, dimly lighted by a flickering candle. the walls are painted in rich, sombre colours, and the light comes very gently through the good old stained-glass windows. it is a southern church, dark, cool, and somewhat mysterious; quite foreign to the glare and heat of reality. people are lost in its solemn vastness, and even with many worshippers it is a solitude where most holy vigils could be kept, a mystic place where the southern imagination might well lose itself in such sacred ardours as saint theresa felt. the traveller liked to linger here; in the day-time when he peered vainly at the re-redos of soler de barcelona, at mass-time, when the lighted altar-candles glimmered over its fine old marble, but best of all he liked to come at night. those summer nights in rousillon were hot and full of the murmur of voices. the cathedral was the only silent place; more full than ever of the mysterious--the felt and the unseen. as one entered, the sanctuary light shone as a star out of a night of darkness; in a near-by chapel, a candle sputtered itself away, and a woman--whether old or young one could not see--lighted a fresh taper. sometimes a man knelt and told his beads, sometimes two women entered and separated for their differing needs and prayers. sometimes one sat in meditation, or knelt, unmoving, for a space of time; once a child brought a new candle to saint antony; always some one came or some one went, until the hour of closing. then, the bell was rung, the door shut by a hand but dimly seen, and the last few watchers went out--across the little square, down this street or that, until they were lost in the darkness of the summer's night. [illustration: "the stony street of the hillside."--carcassonne.] [sidenote: carcassonne.] the train puffed into the station at carcassonne, and the impatient traveller, throwing his bags into an hotel omnibus, asked for the cathedral and walked eagerly on that he might the more quickly "see in line the city on the hill," "the castle walls as grand as those of babylon," and "gaze at last on carcassonne." his mind was full of the poem, and faithfully following directions, he hurried through clean, narrow streets until he came at length, not upon a poetic vision of battlemented walls and towers, but on the most prosaic of boulevards and the church of saint-michel which has been the cathedral since 1803, a large, uncouth building with a big, unfinished tower. there is no façade portal, and a small door-way in the north side leads into the great vaulted hall, one of the most usual and commonplace forms of the gothic interior of the south. this room, which is painted, receives light from a beautiful rose-window at the west, and a series of small roses, like miniatures of the greater one, are cut in the upper walls of the nave; and little chapels, characterised by the same heavy monotony which hangs like a pall over the whole cathedral, are lost in the church's capacious flanks. [illustration: "the ancient cross."--carcassonne.] having lost much of his enthusiasm, the traveller asked for the old--he had almost said the "real"--cathedral, and with new directions, he started afresh. leaving the well-built, agreeable, commonplace "lower city" of the plain, he came to the bridge, and there, sitting on its parapet, near the ancient cross, he feasted his longing eyes on that perfect vision of mediævalism. the high, arid, and almost isolated hill of the cité stood before him, and at the top rose battlements and flanking towers in double range, bristling, war-like, and strong; yet beautiful in their mass of uneven, peaked tower-roofs and crenellations. he climbed wearily up the stony street of the hillside, and as he passed through the open gate, he realised that hunnewell had written truly when he said "carcassonne is a romance of travel." for he went into a town so quiet, into streets so still, so weed-grown, and lonely, and yet so well built, that he felt as a "fairy prince" who has penetrated into some enchanted castle, and it seemed as if the inhabitants were asleep in the upper rooms, behind those bowed windows, and as if, when the mysterious word of disenchantment should be uttered, all would come trooping forth, men-at-arms hurrying to clean their rusty swords, old women trudging along to fill their dusty pitchers at the well, and younger women staring from doors and windows to see the stranger within their streets. the cadets de gascogne knew the city before the evil spell of modern times was cast about it. they know and miss it now. and although they may no longer wear the plumed hat and clanking sword of their ancestors, the spirit beneath their more conventional garb is as gay and daring as that of cadets more picturesque. they have conceived a plan as exciting as any old adventure, an idea which they present to the world, not as cyrano, their most famous member, was wont to convey his thoughts at the end of a sword, but none the less dexterously and delightfully. this plan, like the magic word of the traveller's fancy, is to make the old carcassonne live again, not as the traveller had timidly imagined, in time of peace, but in the stirring times of war and battle, and its magic word is "the siege of carcassonne." truly it is but a matter of bengal lights, blank cartridges, and fire-crackers, though for the matter of that, cinderella's coach was but a pumpkin, yet the effect was none the less real. [illustration: "often, too little time is spent upon the nave."--carcassonne.] on the evening of "the siege," a rare, great fête, the forces of the cadets with their lights and ammunition are in the "upper town", and long before dark, their friends and every inhabitant of the country for miles around have gathered in the houses which face the cité, on the bridges, and along the banks of the little aude. as the sunlight fades and the shadows creep along, a strange feeling of expectancy comes over everybody, a hush, almost a dread of danger. the towers on the hill-top loom dark against the sky and the battlements bristle in the moonlight, no sound comes from the cité, and it seems to lay in unconcerned security. memories of besieging armies which have vainly encamped in this valley return to the traveller's mind, memories of the treacheries of simon de montfort, and he wonders if any "crusading" sentinel ever paced where he now stands watching along the aude, if any spy or even the terrible simon himself had ever crept so near the walls to reconnoitre. suddenly every one is startled by the sound of distant shots, which are repeated nearer the walls. every one peers into the darkness. there is no sign of life on wall or tower, the attacking force must still be climbing the hill, out of range of the stones and burning oil of the defenders. more shots are fired, and now there are answering shots from the besieged; and so naturally does the din increase, that one can follow, by listening, the progress of the attack and the slow, sure gain of the invader. some of the illusion of the anxiety and mental tension which war brings, steals over the watching crowd, and they breathlessly await the outcome of the struggle. the attacking party is now seen under the walls--now on them--they throw wads of burning cotton, which are at first extinguished. they still gain--they fire the walls in several places; and the defenders, who can be seen in the flashes of light, run frantically to the danger spots; but they are gradually overcome, beaten back by the intensity of the heat. flames now burst forth from a tower; there is an explosion, and the fire curls and creeps along the walls unchecked. another explosion follows, another burst of flames which soar higher and higher. the men of the cité seem still more frantic and powerless. all the towers now stand out in bold relief,--as if they were just about to crumble into the seething mass below. roofs within the walls are on fire, and finally a red tongue licks the turret of the cathedral. in a few seconds its walls are hideously aglow, and the people in the valley--although they know the truth--groan aloud, so real is the illusion. the nave lines of the cathedral are silhouetted as it burns, the fires along the walls growing brighter, spread gradually at first,--then rapidly, and the whole cité is the prey of great, waving clouds of flame and smoke. men and women, as if fascinated by this lurid and magnificent destruction, press forward to get the last view of the cathedral's lovely rose, or the peaked roof of some tower which is dear to them. but slowly the deep red flames are growing paler, less strong, and less high. then the glare, too, begins to die away; the fire turns to smoke and the light becomes grey and misty. "it is all over," some one whispers, and with backward glances at the charred, smoldering hill-top, they turn silently towards home. a few, sitting on the stone parapet of the bridge, remain to talk of the evening's magic, of the inspiration of the cadets de gascogne, and other scenes which their memory suggests, of wars and rumours of other wars. and when at length they turn to go, they see the moonlight on the glimmering aude, the peaceful lower city, and above, carcassonne--the invincible--rising from her ashes. [illustration: "the choir is of the xiv century."--carcassonne.] [illustration: "the façade--straight and massive."--carcassonne.] the cathedral of the cité is worthy of great protecting walls and there are few churches whose destruction would have been so sad a blow to the architecture of the midi. saint-nazaire is typical at once of the originality of the southern builders, of their idealism, and their joyous freedom from conventional thrall. the façade, straight, and massive, has the frowning severity of an old donjon wall. its towers are solid masses of heavy stone; instead of spires, there are crenellations; instead of graceful flying-buttresses at the sides, there are solid, upright supports on the firm, plain side-walls. this is the true old romanesque. a few steps further, and the apse appears, as great a contrast to the body of the church as a bit of mechlin lace to a coat-of-mail. a little tower with gargoyles, another with a fine-carved turret, windows whose delicate traceries could be broken by a blow, and an upper balustrade which would have been as easily crushed as an egg-shell in the hands of the lusty huguenots,--these are the ornaments of its wall, as true xiv century gothic as the nave is xii century romanesque. it is sadly disappointing to find the cloisters in uninteresting ruin, but the church within is so full of great beauty that all other things are unimportant. the windows glow in the glory of their glass, and the tombs, especially those of the lower chapel of the bishop, are wonderfully carved. the first burial place of de montfort, terrible persecutor of his church's foes, lies near the high altar, and in the wall, there is a rude bas-relief representing his siege of toulouse. all these admirable details are puny in comparison with the interior which contains them. it is to be feared that often, too little time is spent upon the nave. even in mid-day, lighted by the southern sun, its beautiful, severe lines are mellowed but little, and one turns too instinctively to the gothic, the greater lightness beyond. yet it is a nave of exceedingly fine, rugged strength, and to pass on lightly, to belittle it in comparison with its brighter choir, is to wantonly miss in the great round columns, the heavy piers, and the dark tunnel vaulting, the conception of generations of men who had ever before their mind--and literally believed--"a mighty fortress is our god." the choir is of the xiv century, a day when the "beauty of holiness" seems to have been the cathedral architect's ideal. delicate, clustered columns from which saints look down, long windows beautifully veined, a glorious rose at each transept's end, and high vault arches springing with a slender pointed grace, all these are of exquisite proportions; and the brilliant stained-glass adds a softening warmth of colour, but not too great a glow, to the cold fragility of the shafts of stone. nothing in the gothic art of the south, little of gothic elsewhere, is more thoughtfully and lovingly wrought than this choir of saint-nazaire, and few churches in the romanesque form are more finely constructed than its nave. on the exterior, the gothic choir and the romanesque nave are so different in style it seems they must be, perforce, antagonistic, that the grace of the gothic must make romanesque plainness appear dull, or that the noble simplicity of the rounded arch must cause the gothic arches, here so particularly tall and slender, to seem almost fragile and undignified. in reality, this juxtaposition of the styles has justified itself; and passing from one to the other, the traveller is more impressed by the subtle analogies they suggest than by the differences of their architectural forms. on week-days, when the church is empty, they seem to prefigure the two ideals of the religion which they serve--the stern, self-conquering asceticism of a saint dominic, and the exquisite, radiant visions which saint cecelia saw when heavenly music was vouchsafed her. or, if one has time to fancy further, the nave is the epic of its great religion; the choir, a song which is the expression of most delicate aspiration, most tender worship. on sunday, when to this beauty of the godly habitation is added all the beauty of worship, the music of the oldest organs in france, slow-moving priests in gorgeous vestments, sweet smelling incense, chants, and prayers of a most majestic ritual, one is tempted to read into these stones symbolical meanings,--as if the heavy nave, where the dim praying figures kneel, were typical of their life of struggle--and their glances altarward, where all is light and beauty, presaged their final coming into the presence and glory of god. [illustration: perspective of the romanesque.--carcassonne.] hunnewell has finely written, that "while the passions and the terrors of a fierce, rude age made unendurable the pleasant land where we may travel now so peacefully, ... and while religion, grown political, forgot the mercy of its lord and ruled supreme, ... an earnest faith and consecrated genius were creating some of the noblest tributes man has offered to his creator," and it may be truly said that of these one of the noblest is the church begun in that most cruel age of saint dominic and de montfort, in the very heart of the country they laid waste, in the city which one conquered by ruse and the other tortured by inquisition, the old cathedral of saint-nazaire in carcassonne. [sidenote: castres.] in the vii century castres, which had been the site of a roman camp, became that of a benedictine abbey; and around this foundation, as about so many others, a town grew through the middle ages, and came safely to prosperity and importance. untrue to its early protectors and in opposition to the fervent orthodoxy of the neighbouring city of albi, castres became a protestant stronghold, and its fortunes rose and fell with the chances of religious wars. it was, perhaps, one of the most intrepid and obstinate of all the centres of heresy, and the centuries of struggle seem only to have strengthened the fierceness of its faith. in 1525, when the duke de rohan was absent and a royal army again summoned it to submission and conversion, the duchess had herself carried from a sick bed to the gate of the city which was threatened, and it is related that the inhabitants of all classes, men, women, and children, without distinction of sex or age, armed themselves and rushed victoriously to her aid. thirty-five years later, their children sacked churches, destroyed altars and images, and drove out monks and nuns. bellicose incidents make history a thrilling story, but they are accompanied by such material destruction that they too often rob a city of its greatest treasures, and leave it, as far as architectural interest is concerned, an arid waste. such a place is castres, prosperous, industrial, historically dramatic, but actually commonplace. old houses, picturesque and mouldy, with irregular, overhanging eaves, lean along the banks of the little river as they are wont to line the banks of every old stream of the midi, and they are nearly all the remains of castres' mediævalism. for her streets are well-paved, trolleys pass to and fro, department stores are frequent, and that most modern of vehicles, the automobile, does not seem anachronistic. no building could be more in harmony with the city's atmosphere of uninteresting prosperity than its cathedral, and he who enters in search of beauty and repose, is doomed to miserable disappointment. confronted in the xiv century by a growing heresy, john xxii devised, among other less christian methods of combat, that of the creations of sees, whose power and dignity of rank should check the progress of the enemies of the church; and in 1317, that year which saw the beginning of so many of these new sees, the old benedictine abbey of castres, lying in the very centre of protestantism, was created a bishopric. the century, if unpropitious to catholicism, was favourable to architecture, the abbey was of ancient foundation, and from either of these facts, a fine cathedral might reasonably be hoped for,--a dim abbey-church whose rounded arches are lost in the gloom of its vaulting, or a bit of southern gothic which the newly consecrated prelate might have ambitiously planned. but the cathedral of saint-benoît is neither of these, for it was re-constructed in the xvii century, the xvii century in all its confusion of ideas, all its lack of taste, all its travesty of styles. there is the usual multitude of detail, the usual unworthiness. portals which have no beauty, an expanse of unfinished façade, dark, ugly walls whose bareness is not sufficiently hidden by the surrounding houses, heavy buttresses, ridiculously topped off by globes of stone,--such are the salient features of the exterior of saint-benoît. the "spaciousness" of the interior has given room, if not for an impartial representation, at least for a reminder of all the styles of architecture to which the xvii century was heir. there is the renaissance conception of the antique in the ornamental columns; in the rose-window, there is a tribute to the gothic; the tradition of the south is maintained by a coat of colours--many, if subdued; and the ground plan of nave and side-chapels might be called romanesque. although the vaulting is high and the room large, there is no simplicity, no beauty, no artistic virtue in this interior. opposite the church is the episcopal palace which mansart built, a large construction that serves admirably as a city hall. behind it, along the river, are the charming gardens designed by le nôtre, where bishops walked and meditated, looking upon their not too faithful city of castres. upon this very ground was the ancient abbey and close of the benedictines; and as if in memory of these monkish predecessors, bishop and builder of the xvii century left in an angle of the palace the old abbey-tower. this is the treasure of castres' past, a romanesque belfry with the pointed roofing of the campanile of italy, heavy in comparison with their grace, and stout and strong. [sidenote: toulouse.] toulouse is one of the most charming cities of the south of france. it is also one of the largest; but in spite of its size, it is neither noisy nor stupidly conventional; it is, on the contrary, an ideal provincial "capital," where everything, even the climate, corresponds to our preconceived and somewhat romantic ideal of the southern type. when the wind blows from the desert it comes with fierce and sudden passion, the sun shines hot, and under the awnings of the open square, men fan themselves lazily during a long lunch hour. under this appearance of semi-tropical languor, there is the persistent energy of the great southern peoples, an energy none the less real because it is broken by the long siestas, the leisurely meal-times, and the day-time idling, which seem so shiftless and so strange to northern minds. this is the energy, however, which has made toulouse a rich, opulent city,--a city with broad boulevards, open squares, and fine buildings, and a city of the gay renaissance rather than of the stern middle ages. yet for toulouse the middle ages were a dark time. what could be gotten by the sword was taken by the sword, and even the mind of man, in that gross age, was forced and controlled by the agony of his body. it is a time whose most peaceful outward signs, the churches, have been preserved to toulouse, and the war-signs, towers, walls, and fortifications, dungeons, and the torture-irons of inquisition, are now--and wisely--hidden or destroyed. of the fierce tragedies which were played in toulouse, even to the days of the great revolution, few traces remain,--the stern, orthodox figure of simon de montfort, and of count raymond, his too politic foe, and the anguish of the crusaders' siege, the bent form of jean calas and the shrewd, keen face of voltaire, who vindicated him from afar, these memories seem dimmed; and those which live are of light-hearted troubadours and gaily dressed ladies of the city of the gay, insouciant renaissance to whom an auto-da-fè was a gala between the blithesome robing of the morning and the serenade in the moonlight. fierce and steadfast, sentimentally languishing, dying for a difference of faith, or dying as violently to avenge the insult of a frown or a lifted eye-brow, such are the languedocians whom toulouse evokes, near to the gascons and akin to them. here is the académie des jeux-floreaux, the "college of gay wit" which was founded in the xiv century, and still distributes on the third of every may prizes of gold and silver flowers to poets, and writers of fine prose; and here are many "hôtels" of the renaissance, rich and beautiful homes of the old toulousan nobility whose courts are all too silent. here is the hôtel du vieux-raisin, the maison de pierre, and the hôtel d'assézat where jeanne d'albret lived; and near-by is a statue of her son, the strongest, sanest, and most debonnaire of all the great south-men, henry of navarre. here in toulouse is indeed material for a thousand fancies. [illustration: "the nave of the xiii century is an aisle-less chamber, low and broadly arched."--toulouse.] and here the cathedral-seeker, who had usually had the proud task of finding the finest building in every city he visited, was doomed to disappointment. in vain he tried to console himself with the fact that toulouse had had two cathedrals. of one there was no trace; in the other, confusion; and he was met with the axiom, true in architecture as in other things, that two indifferent objects do not make one good one. the "dalbade," formerly the place of worship of the knights of malta, has a more elegant tower; the church of the jacobins a more interesting one; the portal of the old chartreuse is more beautiful; the church of the bull, more curious; and the basilica of saint-sernin so interesting and truly glorious that the cathedral pales in colourless insignificance. some cities of mediæval france possessed, at the same time, two cathedrals, two bodies of canons, and two chapters under one and the same bishop. such a city was toulouse; and until the xii century, saint-jacques and saint-etienne were rival cathedrals. then, for some reason obscure to us, saint-jacques was degraded from its episcopal rank and remained a simple church until 1812 when it was destroyed. the present cathedral of saint-etienne is a combination of styles and a violation of every sort of architectural unity, and realises a confusion which the most perverse imagination could scarcely have conceived. according to every convention of building, the cathedral is not only artistically poor, but mathematically insupportable. the proportions are execrable; and the interior, the finest part of the church, reminds one irresistibly of a good puzzle badly put together. the weak tower is a sufficient excuse for the absence of the other; from the tower the roof slopes sharply and unreasonably, and the rose-window is perched, with inappropriate jauntiness, to the left of the main portal. the whole structure is not so much the vagary of an architect as the sport of fate, the self-evident survival of two unfitting façades. walking through narrow streets, one comes upon the apse as upon another church, so different is its style. it is disproportionately higher than the façade; instead of being conglomerate, it is homogeneous; instead of a squat appearance, uninterestingly grotesque, it has the dignity of height and unity. and although it is too closely surrounded by houses and narrow streets, and although a view of the whole apse is entirely prevented by the high wall of some churchly structure, it is the only worthy part of the exterior and, by comparison, even its rather timid flying-buttresses and insignificant stone traceries are impressive. [illustration: "the present cathedral is a combination of styles."--toulouse.] the nave of the early xiii century is an aisle-less chamber, low and broadly arched. as the eye continues down its length, it is met by the south aisle of the choir,--opening directly into the centre of the nave. except for this curiously bad juxtaposition, both are normally constructed, and each is of so differing a phase of gothic that they give the effect of two adjoining churches. the choir was begun in the late xii century, on a new axis, and was evidently the commencement of an entire and improved re-construction. in spite of the poorly planned restoration in the xvii century, the worthy conception of this choir is still realised. it is severe, lofty gothic, majestic by its own intrinsic virtue, and doubly so in comparison with the uncouth puzzle-box effect of the whole. its unity came upon the traveller with a shock of surprise, relieving and beautiful, and after he had walked about its high, narrow aisles and refreshed his disappointed vision, he left the cathedral quickly--looking neither to the right nor to the left, without a trace of the temptation of lot's wife, to "glance backward." [sidenote: montauban.] although montauban was founded on the site of a roman station, the mons albanus, it is really a city of the late middle ages, re-created, as it were, by alphonse i., count of toulouse in 1144. and it was even a greater hot-bed of heretics than béziers. incited first by hatred of the neighbouring monks of le moustier, and then by the bitter agonies of the inquisition, it became fervently albigensian, and as fervently huguenot; and even now it has many protestant inhabitants and a protestant faculty teaching theology. the montauban of the present day is busy and prosperous, very prettily situated on the turbid little tarn. in spite of her constant loyalty to the huguenot cause, perhaps partly because of it, she has had three successive cathedrals; saint-martin, burned in 1562; the pro-cathedral of saint-jacques; and, finally, notre-dame, the present episcopal church, a heavy structure in the italian style of the xviii century. large and light and bare, the nudeness of the interior is uncouth, and the stiff exterior, decorated with statues, impresses one as pleasantly as clothes upon crossed bean-poles. it is artificial and mannered; the last of the city cathedrals of languedoc and the least. if the notorious vices of the xviii century were as bad as its style of ecclesiastical architecture, they must have been indeed monstrous. end of volume i. cathedral cities of spain _uniform with this volume_ cathedral cities of england. by george gilbert. with 60 reproductions from water-colours by w.w. collins, r.i. demy 8vo, 16s. net. cathedral cities of france. by herbert and hester marshall. with 60 reproductions from water-colours by herbert marshall, r.w.s. demy 8vo, 16s. net. also large paper edition, £2 2s. net. _books illustrated by joseph pennell_ italian hours. by henry james. with 32 plates in colour and numerous illustrations in black and white by joseph pennell. large crown 4to. price 20s. net. a little tour in france. by henry james. with 94 illustrations by joseph pennell. pott 4to. price 10s. net. english hours. by henry james. with 94 illustrations by joseph pennell. pott 4to. price 10s. net. italian journeys. by w.d. howells. with 103 illustrations by joseph pennell. pott 4to. price 10s. net. castilian days. by the hon. john hay. with 111 illustrations by joseph pennell. pott 4to. price 10s. net. london: william heinemann 21 bedford street, w.c. [illustration] [illustration: burgos. the cathedral] cathedral cities of spain written and illustrated by w. w. collins, r.i. [illustration: colophon] london: william heinemann new york: dodd, mead and company 1909 _all rights reserved_ _copyright, london, 1909, by william heinemann and washington, u.s.a., by dodd, mead & co_ preface spain, the country of contrasts, of races differing from one another in habits, customs, and language, has one great thing that welds it into a homogeneous nation, and this is its religion. wherever one's footsteps wander, be it in the progressive provinces of the north, the mediævalism of the great plain, or in that still eastern portion of the south, andalusia, this one thing is ever omnipresent and stamps itself on the memory as the great living force throughout the peninsula. in her cathedrals and churches, her ruined monasteries and convents, there is more than abundant evidence of the vitality of her faith; and we can see how, after the expulsion of the moor, the wealth of the nation poured into the coffers of the church and there centralised the life of the nation. in the mountain fastnesses of asturias the churches of santa maria de naranco and san miguel de lino, dating from the ninth century and contemporary with san pablo and santa cristina, in barcelona, are the earliest christian buildings in spain. as the moor was pushed further south, a new style followed his retreating steps; and the romanesque, introduced from over the pyrenees, became the adopted form of architecture in the more or less settled parts of the country. creeping south through leon, where san isidoro is well worth mention, we find the finest examples of the period in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, at segovia, avila, and the grand catedral vieja of salamanca. spain sought help from france to expel the moor, and it is but natural that the more advanced nation should leave her mark somewhere and in some way in the country she pacifically invaded. before the spread of this influence became general, we find at least one great monument of native genius rise up at tarragona. the transition cathedral there can lay claim to be entirely spanish. it is the epitome and outcome of a yearning for the display of spain's own talent, and is one of the most interesting and beautiful in the whole country. toledo, leon, and burgos are the three cathedrals known as the "french" cathedrals of spain. they are gothic and the first named is the finest of all. spanish gothic is best exemplified in the cathedral of barcelona. for late-gothic, we must go to the huge structures of salamanca, segovia, and the cathedral at seville which almost overwhelms in the grandeur of its scale. after the close of the fifteenth century italian or renaissance influence began to be felt, and the decoration of the plateresque style became the vogue. san marcos at leon, the university of salamanca, and the casa de ayuntamiento at seville are among the best examples of this. the influence of churriguera, who evolved the churrigueresque style, is to be met with in almost every cathedral in the country. he it is who was responsible for those great gilded altars with their enormous twisted pillars so familiar to travellers in spain; and which, though no doubt a tribute to the glory of god, one feels are more a vulgar display of wealth than a tasteful or artistic addition to her architecture. the finest of the renaissance cathedrals is that of granada, and the most obtrusive piece of churrigueresque is the cartuja in the same city. taking the cathedrals as a whole the two most unfamiliar and notable features are the coros or choirs, and the retablos. these latter--gorgeous backings to the high altar, generally ill-lit, with a superabundance of carving sometimes coloured and gilded, sometimes of plain stone--are of low-country or flemish origin. the former, with one exception at oviedo, are placed in the nave west of the crossing, and enclose, as a rule, two or more bays in this direction. every cathedral is a museum of art, and these two features are the most worth study. note.--_since the revolution in catalonia of july-august 1909, the king has decreed that no one can secure exemption from military service by the payment of a sum of money._ contents page cadiz 1 seville 7 cordova 23 granada 31 malaga 57 valencia 65 tortosa 77 tarragona 83 barcelona 91 gerona 101 toledo 107 salamanca 121 avila 137 segovia 145 saragossa 159 santiago 174 tuy 183 orense 187 astorga 193 zamora 199 leon 205 oviedo 217 valladolid 225 burgos 233 index 249 illustrations _to face page_ burgos. the cathedral _frontispiece_ cadiz. the cathedral 2 cadiz. the market place 4 seville. in the cathedral 8 seville. the giralda tower 12 seville. in the alcázar, the patio de las doncellas 14 seville. view over the town 18 cordova. interior of the mesquita 24 cordova. the campanario tower 26 cordova. the bridge 28 cordova. fountain in the court of oranges 30 granada. carrera de darro 32 granada. exterior of the cathedral 38 granada. the alhambra 46 granada. the alhambra, court of lions 50 granada. generalife 54 malaga. view from the harbour 58 malaga. the market 62 valencia. san pablo 66 valencia. door of the cathedral 68 valencia. religious procession 72 tortosa 80 tarragona 84 tarragona. the archbishop's tower 86 tarragona. the cloisters 88 barcelona. the cathedral 92 barcelona. the rambla 96 gerona. the cattle market 102 gerona. the cathedral 104 toledo. the cathedral 108 toledo. the south transept 110 toledo. the zócodover 114 toledo. the alcántara bridge 116 salamanca 122 salamanca. the old cathedral 124 salamanca. an old street 128 avila 138 avila. puerta de san vicente 142 segovia at sunset 146 segovia. the aqueduct 148 segovia. plaza mayor 152 saragossa. la seo 160 saragossa. in the old cathedral 164 saragossa. easter procession 166 santiago. the cathedral 172 santiago. south door of the cathedral 174 santiago. interior of the cathedral 178 tuy 184 orense. in the cathedral 188 astorga 194 zamora. the cathedral 202 leon. the cathedral 208 leon. the west porch of the cathedral 210 leon. san marcos 214 oviedo. in the cathedral 218 oviedo. the cloisters 222 valladolid.santa maria la antigua 226 valladolid.san pablo 228 burgos. the capilla mayor 236 burgos. arch of santa maria 242 cadiz at one time the greatest port in the world--"where are thy glories now, oh, cadiz?" she is still a white city lying embosomed on a sea of emerald and topaz. her streets are still full of the colour of the east, but alas! seville has robbed her of her trade, and in the hustle of modern life she is too far from the busy centre, too much on the outskirts of everything, to be anything more than a port of call for american tourists and a point from whence the emigrant leaves his native country. this isolation is one of her great charms, and the recollections i have carried away of her quiet clean streets, her white or pink washed houses with their flat roofs and _miradores_, her brilliant sun and blue sea, can never be effaced by time's subtle hand. landing from a coasting-boat from gibraltar, i began my travels through spain at cadiz; and it was with intense regret, so pleasant was the change from the grey skies and cold winds of england, that i took my final stroll along the broad alameda bordered with palms of all sorts, and lined with other exotic growth--that i bid good-bye to the parque de genoves where many a pleasant hour had been spent in the grateful shade of its trees. i shall probably never again lean idly over the sea-washed walls and watch the graceful barques with their cargoes of salt, spread their sails to the breeze and glide away on the long voyage to south america. looking out eastwards over the marshes i was at first much puzzled to know what were the white pyramids that stood in rows like the tents of an invading host. then i was told. shallow pans are dug out in the marsh and the sea let in. after evaporation this is repeated again and again, until the saline deposit is thick enough to be scraped and by degrees grows into a pyramid. every pan is named after a saint from whom good luck is implored. no, i doubt if ever my eyes will wander again over the blue waters to the marsh lands of san fernando. [illustration: cadiz. the cathedral] life is short and i can hardly hope that fate will carry me back to those sea walls and once more permit me as the sun goes down to speculate on the catch of the fishing-fleet as each boat makes for its haven in the short twilight of a southern clime. i cannot but regret that all this is of the past, but i shall never regret that at cadiz, the most enchanting of spain's seaports, began my acquaintance with her many glorious cities. in ancient times cadiz was the chief mart for the tin of the cassiterides and the amber of the baltic. founded by the tyrians as far back as 1100 b.c., it was the gadir (fortress) of the phoenicians. later on hamilcar and hannibal equipped their armies and built their fleets here. the romans named the city gades, and it became second only to padua and rome. after the discovery of america, cadiz became once more a busy port, the great silver fleets discharged their precious cargoes in its harbour and from the estuary sailed many a man whose descendants have created the great spain over the water. the loss of the spanish colonies ruined cadiz and it has never regained the place in the world it once held. huge quays are about to be constructed and the present king has just laid the first stone of these, in the hopes that trade may once more be brought to a city that sleeps. there are two cathedrals in cadiz. the catedral nueva is a modern structure commenced in 1722 and finished in 1838 by the bishop whose statue faces the rather imposing west façade. built of limestone and jérez sandstone, it is white--dazzling white, and rich ochre brown. there is very little of interest in the interior. the _silleria del coro_ (choir stalls) were given by queen isabel, and came originally from a suppressed carthusian convent near seville. the exterior can claim a certain grandeur, especially when seen from the sea. the drum of the _cimborio_ with the great yellow dome above, and the towers of the west façade give it from a distance somewhat the appearance of a mosque. the catedral vieja, built in the thirteenth century, was originally gothic, but being almost entirely destroyed during lord essex's siege in 1596, was rebuilt in its present unpretentious renaissance form. cadiz possesses an académia de bellas artes where zurbaran, murillo and alfonso cano are represented by second-rate paintings. to the suppressed convent of san francisco is attached the melancholy interest of murillo's fatal fall from the scaffolding while at work on the _marriage of st. catherine_. the picture was finished by his apt pupil meneses osorio. another work by the master, a _san francisco_, quite in his best style also hangs here. [illustration: cadiz. the market place] the churches of cadiz contain nothing to attract one, indeed if it were not for the fine setting of the city surrounded by water, and the semi-eastern atmosphere that pervades the place, there is but little to hold the ordinary tourist. the mercado, or market-place, is a busy scene and full of colour; the fish market, too, abounds in varieties of finny inhabitants of the deep and compares favourably in this respect with that of bergen in far away norway. the sole attraction in this city of the past--in fact, i might say in the past of spain as far as it concerns cadiz--lies on the stretch of water into which the rivers guadalete and san pedro empty themselves. from the very earliest days down to the time when columbus sailed on his voyage which altered the face of the then known globe, and so on to our own day, it is in the bahia de cadiz that her history has been written. seville seville, the "sephela" of the phoenicians, "hispalis" of the romans, and "ishbilyah" of the moors, is by far the largest and most interesting city of southern spain. in visigothic times seville was the capital of the silingi until leovigild moved his court to toledo. it was captured by julius cæsar in 45 b.c., but during the roman occupation was overshadowed by italica, the birthplace of the emperors trajan, adrian, and theodosius, and the greatest of rome's cities in hispania. this once magnificent place is now a desolate ruin, plundered of its glories and the haunt of gipsies. under the moors, who ruled it for five hundred and thirty-six years, seville was second only to cordova, to which city it became subject when abdurrhaman established the western kalifate there in the year 756. san ferdinand, king of leon and castile, pushed his conquests far south and seville succumbed to the force of his arms in 1248. seville is the most fascinating city in spain. it is still moorish in a way. its houses are built on the eastern plan with _patios_, their roofs are flat and many have that charming accessory, the _miradore_. its streets are narrow and winding, pushed out from a common centre with no particular plan. it is andalusian and behind the times. triana, the gipsy suburb, is full of interest. the cathedral, though of late and therefore not particularly good gothic, is, on account of its great size, the most impressive in the whole country. the alcázar, once more a royal residence, vies with granada's alhambra in beauty; and as a mercantile port, sixty miles from the estuary, seville ranks second to none in southern spain. the cathedral stands third in point of size if the ground space is alone considered, after st. peter's at rome and the mesquita at cordova. the proportions of the lofty nave, one hundred feet in height, are so good that it appears really much higher. the columns of the double aisles break up the two hundred and sixty feet of its width and add much to the solemn dignity of the vast interior, enhanced greatly by the height of the vaulting above the spectator. standing anywhere in the cathedral i felt that there was a roof above my head, but it seemed lost in space. and this is the great characteristic of seville's cathedral, _i.e._, space. [illustration: seville. in the cathedral] the _coro_ is railed off from the crossing by a simple iron-gilt _reja_. the _silleria_, by sanchez, dancart, and guillier are very fine and took seventy years to execute. between the _coro_ and capilla mayor, in holy week the great bronze candlestick, twenty-five feet high, a fine specimen of sixteenth-century work, is placed alight. when the _misere_ is chanted during service, twelve of its thirteen candles are put out, one by one, indicating the desertion of christ by his apostles. the thirteenth left burning symbolises the virgin, faithful to the end. from this single light all the other candles in the cathedral are lit. the _reja_ of the capilla mayor is a grand example of an iron-gilt screen, and with those to the north and south, is due to the talent of the dominican, francisco de salamanca. the fine gothic _retablo_ of the high altar surpasses all others in spain in size and elaboration of detail. it was designed by dancart and many artists were employed in its execution. when the sun finds his way through the magnificent coloured glass of the windows between noon and three o'clock, and glints across it, few "interior" subjects surpass the beautiful effect on this fine piece of work. in front of the high altar at the feast of corpus christi and on three other occasions, the _seises's_ dance takes place. this strange ceremony is performed by chorister boys who dance a sort of minuet with castanets. their costume is of the time of philip iii., _i.e._, 1630, and they wear plumed hats. of the numerous chapels the most interesting is the capilla real. it possesses a staff of clergy all to itself. begun in 1514 by martin de gainza, it was finished fifty years later. over the high altar is the almost life-size figure of the virgin de los reyes, given by st. louis of france to san ferdinand. its hair is of spun gold and its numerous vestments are marvellous examples of early embroidery. the throne on which the virgin is seated is a thirteenth-century piece of silver work, with the arms of castile and leon, san ferdinand's two kingdoms. before it lies the king himself in a silver shrine. three times a year, in may, august and november, a great military mass takes place before this royal shrine, when the garrison of seville marches through the chapel and colours are lowered in front of the altar. in the vault beneath are the coffins of pedro the cruel and maria padilla his mistress, the only living being who was humanly treated by this scourge of spain. their three sons rest close to them. on the north and south sides of this remarkable chapel, within arched recesses, are the sarcophagi of beatrice of swabia and alfonso the learned. they are covered with cloth of gold emblazoned with coats-of-arms. a crown and sceptre rest on the cushion which lies on each tomb. in the dim light, high above and beyond mortal reach rest these two--it is very impressive. each of the remaining twenty-nine chapels contains something of interest. in the capilla de santiago is a beautiful painted window of the conversion of st. paul. the _retablo_ in the capilla de san pedro contains pictures by zurbaran. in the north transept in a small chapel is a good virgin and child by alonso cano; in the south is the altar de la gamba, over which hangs the celebrated _la generacion_ of louis de vargas, known as _la gamba_ from the well-drawn leg of adam. on the other side of this transept is the altar de la santa cruz and between these two altars is the monument to christopher columbus. erected in havana it was brought to spain after the late war and put up here. murillo's work outshines all other's in the cathedral. the grand _san antonio de padua_, in the second chapel west of the north aisle, is difficult to see. the window which lights it is covered by a curtain, which, however, the silver key will pull aside. over the altar of nuestra señora del consuelo is a beautiful guardian angel from the same brush. close by is another, _santa dorotea_, a very choice little picture. in the sacristy are two more, _s.s. isidore_ and _leander_. in the sala capitular a _conception_ and a _mater dolorosa_ in the small sacristy attached to the capilla real complete the list. besides these fine pictures there are others which one can include in the same category by cano, zurbaran, morales, vargas, pedro campaña and the flemish painter sturm, a veritable gallery! and when i went into the treasury and saw the priceless relics which belong to seville's cathedral, priceless in value and interest, and priceless from my own art point of view, "surely," thought i, "not only is it a picture gallery, it is a museum as well." the original mosque of abu yusuf yakub was used as a cathedral until 1401, when it was pulled down, the present building, which took its place, being finished in 1506. the dome of this collapsed five years later and was re-erected by juan gil de hontañon. earthquake shocks and "jerry-building" were responsible for a second collapse in the august of 1888. the restoration has since been completed in a most satisfactory manner--let us hope it will last. [illustration: seville. the giralda tower] the exterior of the cathedral is a very irregular mass of towers, domes, pinnacles and flying buttresses, which give no clue to the almost over-powering solemnity within the walls. three doorways occupy the west façade, which is of modern construction, and there are three also on the north side of the cathedral, one of which opens into the _segrario_, another into the patio de los naranjos and the third into the arcade of the same patio. this last retains the horse-shoe arch of the old mosque. in the porch hangs the stuffed crocodile which was sent by the sultan of egypt to alfonso el sabio with a request for the hand of his daughter. on the south is one huge door seldom opened. on the east there are two more, that of la puerta de los palos being under the shadow of the great giralda tower. this magnificent relic of the moslem's rule rears its height far above everything else in seville. erected at the close of the twelfth century by order of abu yusuf yakub, it belongs to the second and best period of moorish architecture. on its summit at the four corners rested four brazen balls of enormous size overthrown by one of the numerous earthquakes which have shaken seville in days gone by. the belfry above the moorish portion of the tower, which ends where the _solid_ walls stop, was put up in 1568, and has a second rectangular stage of smaller dimensions above. both these are in keeping with the moorish work below and in no way detract from its beauty. on top of the small cupola which caps the whole is the world-famed figure of faith. cast in bronze, with the banner of constantine spread out to the winds of heaven, this, the _giraldilla_, or weather-cock, moves to the slightest breeze. it is thirteen feet high, and weighs one and a quarter tons. over three hundred feet above the ground, the wonder is--how did it get there? and how has it preserved its equipoise these last three hundred years? it is difficult to find a point from which one can see the giralda tower, in fact the only street from which it is visible from base to summit is the one in which i made my sketch. even this view does not really convey its marvellous elegance and beauty. next to the cathedral the alcázar is the most famous building in seville. it is now a royal residence in the early part of the year, and when the king and queen are there, no stranger under any pretext whatever is admitted. its courtyards and gardens are its glory. the scent of orange blossom perfumes the air, the fountains splash and play, all is still within these fascinating courts save the tinkle of the water and cooing of doves. of its orange trees, one was pointed out to me which pedro the cruel planted! and many others are known to be over two hundred years old. [illustration: seville. in the alcázar, the patio de las doncellas] of all its courts, the patio de las doncellas is the most perfect. fifty-two marble columns support the closed gallery and rooms above, and the walls of the arcade are rich with glazed tiles. of all its chambers, the hall of ambassadors is the finest and is certainly the architectural gem of the alcázar. its dome is a marvel of media naranja form, and the frieze of window-shaped niches but adds to its beauty. very little remains of the first alcázar, which, by the way, is a derivation of al-kasr or house of cæsar, and the present building as it now stands was due to pedro the cruel, henry ii., charles v. and philip v. the first named employed moorish workmen from granada, who emulated, under his directions, the newly finished palace of the alhambra. many a treacherous deed has taken place within these walls, and none more loathsome than those credited to pedro the cruel. however, one thing can be put to his credit and that is this fairy palace, this flower from the east, by the possession of which seville is the gainer. to the east of the alcázar is the old jewish quarter, the most puzzling in plan, if plan it has, and the oldest part of seville. the balconies of the houses opposite one another almost touch; there certainly, in some cases, would be no difficulty in getting across the street by using them as steps, and if a laden donkey essayed the passage below i doubt if he could get through. poking about in these narrow alley-ways one day, i fell into conversation with a _guardia municipal_ who entertained me greatly with his own version of seville's history, which ended, as he melodramatically pointed down the lane in which we were standing--"and here, señor, one man with a sword could keep an army at bay, and"--this in confidence, whispered--"i should not like to be the first man of the army"! in almost every quarter of the city fine old houses are to be found amidst most squalid and dirty surroundings. you may wander down some mean _calle_, where children in dozens are playing on the uneven pavement, their mothers sit about in the doorways shouting to one another across the street. suddenly a wall, windowless save for a row of small openings under the roof, is met. a huge portal, above which is a sculptured coat-of-arms, with some old knight's helmet betokening a noble owner, is let into this, look inside, as you pass by--behind the iron grille is a deliciously cool _patio_, full of palms and shrubs. a moorish arcade runs round supporting the glazed galleries of the first floor. a man in livery sits in a rocking chair dosing with the eternal cigarette between his lips. beyond the first _patio_ you can see another, a bigger one, which the sun is lighting up. the life in this house is as different to the life of its next door neighbours as park lane is to shoreditch. one of these great houses--owned by the duke of medinaceli--the casa del pilatos, has a large moorish court, very similar to those of the alcázar. they will tell you in seville, that pilate was a spaniard, a lawyer, and failing to win the case for christ, left the holy land, where he had a good practice, and returned to spain to assist ferdinand to drive out the moors. "yes, señor, he settled here and built this fine house about five hundred years ago." as a rule, in the better-class houses a porch opens into the street. on the inner side of this there is always a strong iron gate with a grille around to prevent any entry. these gates served a purpose in the days of the inquisition, when none knew if the holy office might not suddenly descend upon and raid the house. seville suffered terribly from the horrors of those dark times; even now--when a ring at the bell calls forth: "who is there?" from the servant in the balcony above, before she pulls the handle which connects with the catch that releases the lock of the gate--the answer often is: "people of peace." some houses have interior walls six feet thick and more, which being hollow contain hiding-places with access from the roof by a rope. in the heat of summer--and seville is called the "frying-pan of europe"--when the temperature in the shade of the streets rises to over 115° fahr. family life is spent below in the cool _patio_. a real house moving takes place as the heat comes on. the upper rooms, which are always inhabited in the winter, the kitchen, servants' rooms and all are deserted, every one migrates with the furniture to the lower floors. the upper windows are closed, shutters put up and a great awning drawn across the top of the courtyard. despite the great heat, summer is a perfectly healthy period. no one dreams of going out in the daytime, and all seville begins life towards five o'clock in the afternoon; 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. being the time to retire for the night! seville can be very gay, and _sevillanos_ worship the _torrero_ or bull-fighter (_toreador_ is a word unknown to the spaniard). if a favourite _torrero_, who has done well in the ring during the afternoon, enters the dining-room of a hotel or goes into a café it is not unusual for every one at table to rise and salute him. [illustration: seville. view over the town] there is another life in seville, the life of the roofs. in early spring before the great heat comes, and in autumn before the cold winds arrive, the life of the roofs fascinated me. up on the roofs in the dry atmosphere, seville's washing hangs out to air, and up on the roofs, in the warm sun, with the hum of the streets far below, you will hear the quaint song--so arabian in character--of the _lavandera_, as she pegs out the damp linen in rows. in the evening the click-a-click-click of the castanets and the sound of the guitar, broken by merry laughter, tells one that perhaps the _sevillano_ has fathomed the mystery of knowing how best to live. and as sundown approaches what lovely colour effects creep o'er this city in the air! the light below fades from housetop and _miradore_, pinnacle and dome, until the last rays of the departing majesty touch the vane of the giralda, that superb symbol of faith,--and all is steely grey. over the guadalquiver lies triana, and as i crossed the bridge for the first time the remains of an old tower were pointed out to me on the river bank. the subterranean passage through which the victims of the inquisition found their exit to another world in the dark waters below is exposed to view, the walls having fallen away. it was therefore with something akin to relief i reached the gipsy quarter in this quaint, dirty suburb and feasted my eyes on the colours worn by its dark-skinned people. the potteries of triana are world-renowned, and still bear traces in their output of moorish tradition and design. seville's quays are the busiest part of the city, and the constant dredging of the river permits of vessels of four thousand tons making this a port of call. next to the prado in madrid, the museum of seville is more full of interest than any other. it is here that murillo is seen at his best. the building was at one time the convento de la mercede founded by san ferdinand. the exhibits in the archæological portion nearly all come from that ruin, the wonderful city of italica. among the best of murillo's work are _st. thomas de villa nueva distributing alms_, _saint felix of cantalicio_ and a _saint anthony of padua_. a large collection of zurbaran's works also hangs in the gallery, but his big composition of the _apotheosis of saint anthony_, is not so good as his single-figure subjects, and none of these approach in quality the fine _monk_ in the possession of the bankes family at kingston lacy in dorset. seville is the home of bull-fights. the first ever recorded took place in 1405, in the plaza del triunfo, in honour of the birth of a son to henry ii. of castile. the world of fashion takes the air every evening in the beautiful paseo de las delicias. the humbler members of society throng the walks watching their wealthier sisters drive down its fine avenues--this daily drive being the only exercise the ladies of seville permit themselves to take. it is a pretty sight to watch the carriages coming home as twilight begins, and the last rays of the sun light up the torre del oro. built by the almohades this moorish octagon stood at the river extremity of moslem seville. the golden yellow of the stone no doubt gave it the name of "borju-d-dahab," "the tower of gold," which has stuck to it under christian rule. but "how are the mighty fallen," and one of the glories of the moor debased. it is now an office used by clerks of the port, and, instead of the dignified tread of the sentinel, resounds to the scribble of pens. cordova it is hard to realise that the cordova of to-day was, under the rule of the moor, a city famous all the world over and second only to the great damascus. long before the moor's beneficent advent, in the far-off days of carthage, cordova was known as "the gem of the south." its position on the mighty guadalquiver, backed by mountains on the north, always seems to have attracted the best of those who conquered. in the time of the romans, marcellus peopled it with poor patricians from rome, and cordova became colonia patricia, the capital of hispania ulterior. but it was left to the infidel to make it what is now so difficult to realise--the first city in western europe. the zenith of its fame was reached during the tenth century, when the mighty abderrhaman iii., ruler of the omayyades reigned, and did not begin to decrease until the death of almanzor at the beginning of the next century. if we are to believe the historian almakkari, cordova contained at one time a million inhabitants, for whose worship were provided three hundred mosques, and for whose ablutions nine hundred baths were no more than was necessary. (the arch-destroyer of all things infidel, philip ii., demolished these.) it was the centre of art and literature, students from all parts flocked hither, its wealth increased and its fame spread, riches and their concomitant luxury made it the most famous place in western europe. nothing could exceed the grace and elegance of its life, the courtly manners of its people, nor the magnificence of its buildings. from the years 711 to 1295, when ferdinand drove him out, the cultivated moslem reigned in this his second mecca. and now?--under christian rule it has dwindled down to what one finds it to-day--a quiet, partly ruinous town. of all its great buildings nothing remains to remind one of the past but the ruins of the alcázar--now a prison, a portion of its walls, and the much mutilated mesquita--the cathedral. [illustration: cordova. interior of the mesquita] i could not at first entry grasp the size of this the second largest church of any in existence. coming suddenly into the cool shade of its many pillared avenues, i felt as if transplanted into the silent depths of a great forest. in every direction i looked the trunks of huge trees apparently rose upwards in ordered array. the light here and there filtered through gaps on to the red-tiled floor, which only made the deception greater by its resemblance to the needles of a pine-wood or the dead leaves of autumn. then the organ boomed out a note and the deep bass of a priest in the _coro_ shattered the illusion. the first mosque built on the site of leovigild's visigothic cathedral, occupied one-fifth of the present mesquita. it was "ceca" or house of purification, and a pilgrimage to it was equivalent to a visit to mecca. it contained ten rows of columns, and is that portion which occupies the north-west corner ending at the south-east extremity where the present _coro_ begins. this space soon became insufficient for the population, and the mosque was extended as far as the present capilla de nuestra señora de villavicosia. subsequent additions were made by different rulers. the caliph al-hakim ii., who followed abderrhaman iii., expanded its size by building southwards as far as the inclination of the sloping ground would allow. to him is due the third mihrâb, or holy of holies, the pavement of which is worn by the knees of the devout who went thus round the mihrâb seven times. this mihrâb is the most beautiful chamber i came across in all spain. the byzantine mosaics which adorn it are among the most superb that exist, the domed ceiling of the recess is hewn out of a solid block of marble, and its walls, which leo the emperor of constantinople sent a greek artist and skilled workmen to put up, are chiselled in marble arabesques and moulded in stucco. the entrance archway to this gem of the east, an intricate and well-proportioned feature, rests on two green and two dark coloured columns. close by is the private door of the sultan which led from the alcázar to the mesquita. the last addition of all nearly doubled the size of the mosque. building to the south was impracticable on account of the fall in the land towards the river. eastwards was the only way out of the difficulty unless the beautiful court of the oranges was to be enclosed. eastwards, therefore, did almanzor extend his building, and the whole space in this direction from the transepts or _crucero_ of the present church, in a line north and south, was due to his initiative. [illustration: cordova. the campanario tower] the mesquita at one time contained twelve hundred and ninety columns. sixty eight were removed to make room for the _coro_, _crucero_ and _capilla major_, which is the portion reserved for service now. in the _coro_, the extremely fine _silleria_, are some of the best in spain. the lectern is very good flemish work in brass of the sixteenth century. the choir books are beautifully illuminated missals, especially those of the "crucifixion" and the "calling of the apostles." all this does not, however, compensate for the partial destruction of the mosque. so thought the people of cordova, who petitioned charles v. in vain against the alterations which have destroyed the harmony of the wonderful building. when passing through the city at a later date and viewing the mischief that had been done, the king rebuked the chapter thus: "you have built here what you, or any one, might have built anywhere else; but you have destroyed what was unique in the world." eight hundred and fifty columns now remain out of the above number. the odd four hundred and forty occupied the place where now stand the rows of orange trees in the courtyard, one time covered in, which is known as the patio de los naranjos, or court of the oranges. the fountain used for the ablutions of the holy still runs with a crystal stream of pure water, and is to-day the meeting place of all the gossips in cordova. of the five gates to this enchanting court, that of the puerta del perdon, over which rises the great tower, el campanario, is the most important. it is only opened on state occasions. erected in 1377 by henry ii. it is an imitation of moorish design. the immense doors are plated with copper arabesques. the exterior of the mesquita is still moorish despite the great church which has been thrust through the centre and rises high above the flat roof of the remainder of the mosque. a massive terraced wall with flame-shaped battlements encircles the whole, the view of which from the bridge over the river is more eastern than anything else i saw in spain. this fine bridge, erected by the infidel on roman foundations, is approached at the city end by a doric gateway, built by herrera in the reign of philip ii., that philip who married mary of england. it consists of sixteen arches and is guarded at its southern extremity by the _calahorra_ or moorish tower, round which the road passes instead of through a gateway, thus giving additional security to the defence. the mills of the moslem's day still work, both above and below bridge, and the patient angler sits in the sun with his bamboo rod, while the wheels of these relics groan and hum as they did in days gone by. more cunning is isaac walton's disciple who fishes from the bridge itself. a dozen rods with heavily weighted lines, for the guadalquiver runs swift beneath the arches, and a small bell attached to the end of each rod is his armament. and when the unwary fish impales himself on the hook and the bell gives warning of a bite, the excitement is great. greater still when a peal begins as three or four rods bend! [illustration: cordova. the bridge] the beggars of cordova were the most importunate that fate sent across my path in the whole of spain. i found it impossible to sit in the streets where i would gladly have planted my easel, and it was only by standing with my back to the wall that i was able to make my sketch of the campanario. these streets are tortuous and narrow, and the houses, built on the moorish plan with a beautiful _patio_ inside, are low. at many a corner i came across marble columns, some with roman inscriptions, probably from italica, placed against the house to prevent undue wear and tear. in the narrowest ways i noticed how the load borne by the patient ass had scooped out a regular track on either wall about three or four feet from the ground. wherever i went, to the oldest quarters of the town in the south-east corner or the modern in the north-west, i could never rid myself of the feeling that cordova was a city of the past. her life is more eastern than that of seville, and her people bear more traces of the moor. decay and ruin are apparent at every turn, but how picturesque it all is!--the rags, the squalor, and the ruin. how i anathematised those beggars with no legs, or minus arms, when i tried to begin a street sketch! the patience of job would not have helped me, it was the loathsomeness of these cripples that drove me away. begging is prohibited in seville and madrid and in one or two other towns, would that it were so in cordova. away up in the southern slopes of the sierra de cordoba stands the convento de san jerónimo, now a lunatic asylum. built out of the ruins of the once magnificent medînat-az-zahrâ, the palace that abderrhaman iii. erected, its situation is perfect. in the old days this palace surpassed all others in the wonders of its art and luxury. the plough still turns up ornaments of rare workmanship, but like so many things in spain its glories have departed. yes, cordova has seen its grandest days, the birthplace of seneca, lucan, averroes, juan de mena--the spanish chaucer--morales, and many another who became famous, can now boast at best with regard to human celebrities as being the government establishment for breaking in horses for the cavalry. certainly the men employed in this are fine dashing specimens of humanity, and they wear a very picturesque dress. but cordova like her world-famed sons, sleeps--and who can say that it would be better now if her sleep were broken? [illustration: cordova. fountain in the court of oranges] granada spread out on the edge of a fertile plain at the base of the sierra nevada, granada basks in the sun; and though the wind blows cold with an icy nip from the snows of the highest peaks in spain, i cannot but think that this, the last stronghold of the moors, is the most ideal situation of any place i have been in. the city is divided into three distinct districts, each with its own peculiar characteristics. the albaicin, antequeruela, and alhambra. the first named covers the low ground and the hills on the bank of the darro, a gold-bearing stream which rushes below the alhambra hill on the north. the second occupies the lower portion of the city which slopes on to the plain, and the alhambra rises above both, a well-nigh demolished citadel, brooding over past glories of the civilised moor, the most fascinating spot in all spain. the albaicin district is practically the rebuilt moorish town, where the aristocrats of seville and cordova settled when driven out of those cities by st. ferdinand in the thirteenth century. many traces remain to remind one of their occupation in the tortuous streets which wind up the steep hill sides, and the wall which they built for greater security is still the boundary of the city on the north. the albaicin is a grand place to wander in and lose oneself hunting for relics and little bits of architecture. at every turn of the intricate maze i came across something of interest, either moorish or mediæval. a mean looking house with a fine coat-of-arms over the door had evidently been built by a knight with the collector's craze. he had specialised in millstones; a round dozen or more were utilised in the lower portions of the wall and looked strange with stones set in the plaster between them. a delicious _patio_, now given over to pigs and fowls, with a broken-down fountain in the centre of its ruined arcaded court, recalled the luxuries of the infidel. the terraced gardens standing behind and above many a blank wall carried me back to those days of old when the opulence of the east pervaded every dwelling in this mayfair of granada. of all these the casa del chapiz, though degraded into a low-class dwelling, is with its beautiful garden the most perfect remnant of the exotic moor. [illustration: granada. carrera de darro] in the carrera de darro, just opposite the spot where once a handsome moorish arch spanned the stream, stands a house wherein is a moorish bath surrounded by horseshoe arcades. the bath is 18 ft. square, and in the vaulted recess beyond is one of smaller dimensions commanding more privacy for the cleanly eastern whose day was never complete without many ablutions. not far away up the hillside, in cave-dwellings amidst an almost impenetrable thicket of prickly pears, live the _gitanos_. i fear they now exist on the charity of the tourist, and make a peseta or two by fortune-telling or in the exercise of a more reprehensible cleverness, a light-fingered dexterity which is generally only discovered by those who "must go to the gipsy quarter" on their return to the hotel. these gipsies no longer wander in the summer months and lie up for the winter as they did of yore. they are not the romanies of old times, and a nomadic life holds no charm for them now. they make enough out of the tourist to eke out a lazy existence throughout the year, and are fast losing all the character of a wandering tribe and the lively splendour of their race. higher up, the banks of the darro are lined with more cave-dwellings, a great many of which, to judge by their present inaccessibility, are undoubtedly of prehistoric origin. those that i took to be of later date have a sort of level platform in front of the entrance, from which the approach of a stranger could be seen and due warning taken by those inside of any hostile intent. the antequeruela quarter, called thus from the remnant of moorish refugees who driven from antequera found here a home, extends from the base of monte mauro to some distance below the confluence of the darro and genil, granada's other river. it is the most modern quarter and busiest part of the city. the life of an ordinary spanish town passes in front of me as i sit in the sun sharing a seat with an old man wrapped closely in a _capa_. it is april. we are in the alameda, a broad promenade which leads to the gardens of the paseo de salòn and de la bomba. on either side are many coloured houses with green shutters. they are very french, and to this day i try to recall the town in france where i had seen them before. how often this happens when we travel abroad!--a face, a scent, a sound. memory racks the tortuous channels of half-forgotten things stored away somewhere in the brain, and for days with an irritating restlessness we wander fruitlessly amid the paths of long ago. i turned to my companion on the seat, he looked chilled despite the warmth of an april sun. "tell me, sir, to whom does all the fine country of the vega belong?" "absent landlords, señor; they take their rents and they live in madrid, and the poor man has no one to care for him." "but surely he begs and does not wish to work or to be cared for. the beggars in granada are more numerous than in any place i know." "that is true, señor," and with a shake he relapsed into silence, drawing his _capa_ closer around him. the turn the conversation had taken was not worth pursuing. new buildings are superseding the old in antequeruela, and poverty and squalor pushed further out of the sight of el caballero, his highness the tourist. æsthetically we appreciate the picturesque side of poverty, the tumble-down houses, the rags, the graceful attitudes of the patient poor for ever shifting in the patches of sunlight as the great life-giver moves round. dinner will be ready for us at 7 o'clock in the hotel, there would be no call to leave home if every town we came to was clean and its people prosperous. "but what about _los pobres_, the beggars?" you ask. "are they really deserving of charity, or only lazy scoundrels?" i cannot answer you. i can only tell you that i have never seen such terrible emaciated bundles of rags as those i saw in granada. in seville, though it is forbidden to beg, it was the one-eyed that predominated; in cordova he of no legs, who having marked down his prey, displayed great agility as he scuttled across the street with the help of little wooden hand-rests; but here not only were both combined, but various horrors of crippled and disfigured humanity with open sores and loathsome disease thrust themselves before me wherever i went. it was disgusting--but oh! how picturesque! if only, my good _pobres_, you would not come so close to me! they say spain is the one unspoilt country in europe. personally i think she is the one country that wants regenerating. her girls are women at sixteen, old at thirty, and aged ten years later. her men take life as it comes with very little initiative to better themselves. very few display any energy. their chief thoughts are woman, and how to pass the day at ease. luckily for the country, at the age when good food and clean living helps to make men, her youth is invigorated by army service. true it is not popular. in the late war they died like flies through fever and ill-feeding, and many were the sad tales i heard of josé and pedro returning from the front with health ruined for life. it was a sad blow to spain, that war. her navy demolished and her colonies lost. it may be the regeneration of the nation, her well-wishers hope so, but it is a difficult thing to change the leopard's spots. the beggar being hungry begs, and well-nigh starves, his children follow his example and probably his great grandchildren will be in the same line of business a hundred years hence--_quien sabe?_ who knows? i still sit in the sun rolling cigarettes; it is extraordinary how soon the custom becomes a habit, and think of all this. a string of donkeys passes with baskets stuffed tight with half a dozen large long-funnelled water cans. they have come in with fresh drinking water from the spring up the darro under the alhambra hill, and a little later the water-sellers will be offering glasses of the refreshingly cool contents of their cans. granada is a city running with water, but the pollution from the drains and the never-ending ranks of women on their knees wrinsing clothes in its two streams, into which, by the way, all dead refuse is thrown, makes that which is fit to drink a purchasable quantity only. i watch the peasants from the vega, who come in with empty panniers slung across their donkeys, scraping up the dirt of the streets which they take away to fertilise their cottage gardens. herds of goats go by muzzled until milking is over. they make for that bit of blank wall opposite, and stand licking the saline moisture which oozes from the plaster in the shade. the goats of granada are reckoned the finest in spain, and, as is the custom throughout andalusia, graze in the early spring on the tender shoots of the young corn. this not only keeps them in food, but improves the quality of that part of the crop which reaches maturity. i could sit all day here if only the sun stood still. my companion removed himself half an hour ago and it is getting chilly in the shade, so up and on to the cathedral. what a huge renaissance pile it is. built on the gothic plans of diego de siloe it is undoubtedly the most imposing edifice of this style in spain. fergusson considers its plan makes it one of the finest churches in europe. the western façade was erected by alonso cano and josé granados, and does not follow siloe's original design. the name of the sculptor-painter is writ in big letters throughout the building. to him are due the colossal heads of adam and eve, let into recesses above the high altar, and the seven pictures of the _annunciation_, _conception_, _presentation in the temple_, _visitation_, _purification_ and _assumption_ in the capilla mayor. the two very fine colossal figures, bronze gilt, which stand above the over-elaborated pulpits; a couple of beautiful miniatures on copper in the capilla de la trinidad; a fine christ bearing the cross and a head of s. pedro over the altar of jesus nazareno, are also by cano. many other examples from his carving tools and brush are to be found in the cathedral, of which he was made a "racione" or minor canon, after fleeing from valladolid when accused of the murder of his wife. the little room he used as a workshop in the great tower may still be visited and his remains lie tranquilly beneath the floor of the _coro_. [illustration: granada. exterior of the cathedral] in the capilla de la antigua there is that curious little image which, found in a cave, served ferdinand as a battle banner; and also contemporary (?) portraits of the king and his queen. to me the thing of surpassing interest, which ought to be the most revered building in all spain, was the capilla real and its contents. the _reja_, which separates the choir from the rest of the chapel, is a magnificent piece of work, coloured and gilded, by bartolomé. as the verger unlocked the great gate he drew my attention to the box containing the lock with its three beautifully wrought little iron figures and intricate pattern. we passed in, the gate swung to with a click, the lock was as good as if it had but recently been placed there. these _rejas_ throughout the country are all in splendid condition. a dry climate no doubt preserves them as it has preserved everything else, and i very seldom detected rust on any iron work. the humidity of the winter atmosphere is insufficient, i suppose, to set up much decay in metal, and certainly the only decay in spain is where inferior material has been used in construction, or the negligence of man has left things to rot. with the gate locked behind me i stood in front of the two marble monuments, the one of the recumbent figures of ferdinand and isabella, the other of philip and juana la loca--crazy jane. beyond rose the steps up to the high altar, close at my side those--a short flight--that led to the crypt where the coffins of these four rest. i felt surrounded by the great of this earth, and certainly a feeling of awe took hold of me as their deeds passed through my mind and i realised that here lay the remains of those who had turned out the moor, bidden god-speed to columbus, and instituted the inquisition. they are wonderful tombs these two. ferdinand wears the order of st. george, the ribbon of the garter, isabella that of the cross of santiago, philip and his wife the insignia of the order of the golden fleece. four doctors of the church occupy the corners of the first tomb, with the twelve apostles at the sides. the other has figures of ss. michael, andrew, and john the baptist, and the evangelist. both tombs are elaborately carved, the medallions in _alto-relievo_ being of very delicate work. next to that magnificent tomb in the cartuja de miraflores at burgos, these are the finest monuments in all spain. above the high altar is a florid _retablo_ with not much artistic merit. my interest was entirely centred in the two portrait figures of ferdinand and isabella. they each kneel at a prie-dieu facing one another on either side of the altar--the king to the north, the queen to the south. below them in double sections are four wooden panels in bas-relief, to which i turned after a long examination of these authentic and contemporary portraits. these panels are unsurpassed as records of the costume of the day and a faithful representation of their subject. on the left is the mournful figure of boabdil giving up the key of the alhambra to cardinal mendoza, who seated on his mule between the king and queen, alone wears gloves. surrounding them are knights, courtiers and the victorious soldiery. in the background are the towers of the alhambra. to the right is seen the wholesale conversion by baptism of the infidel, the principal figures being monks who are very busy over their work, inducing the reluctant moor to enter an alien faith. there is something very impressive about these panels, they render so well and in such a naïve manner the history they record. the surrender of the moor after 750 years' rule, the end of his dreams, the final triumph of the king and queen, who devoted the first portion of their reign to driving him out of the country, and the great church receiving the token of submission at the end of last act, they are all here.--the verger touched my arm, my reverie of those stirring times was broken, he had other things to show and noon was fast approaching. pointing to three iron plates let into the floor of the chapel, he inquired if i would like to see the spot where rest the coffins of these great makers of history. certainly; i could not leave the cathedral without a silent homage to those who placed spain first among the nations. he lifted the plates, and lighting a small taper which he thrust into the end of a long pole, disappeared down the steps, with a warning to mind my head for the entry was very low. i followed, stooping. at the bottom of the steps was a small opening heavily barred. the verger pushed his lighted taper and pole through the bars, and beckoned to me to look. i peered into the dark chamber, there resting on a marble slab were the rough iron-bound coffins of the "catholic kings." the taper flickered and cast long shadows in the gloom, discovering the coffins of philip and juana. it was all very eerie, a fitting climax in its simplicity to the magnificent monuments above and to the history writ on the walls of the capilla real. i shall never forget it. in the sacristy i was shown the identical banner which floated from the torre de la vela when the alhambra had surrendered. isabella herself had worked this for the very object to which it was put. next to it hangs ferdinand's sword, with a remarkably small handle. i had thought, from the kneeling effigy in the capilla real, that both he and isabella must have been small-made and this verified my guess. many other personal relics of the two were shown me. the queen's own missal, a beautiful embroidered chasuble from her industrious fingers, an exquisitely enamelled viril, &c. time was short, my verger wanted his dinner, and i had seen enough for one morning. he let me out through the closed door into the placeta de la lonja and in a sort of dream i carried away all i had seen. the next morning i returned to the placeta and stood in the doorway of the old royal palace, now used as a drapery warehouse, and commenced the drawing figured in the illustration. the rich late gothic ornament of the exterior of the capilla real is well balanced by the lonja which backs on to the sacristy. here pradas's work has been much mutilated and the lower stage of the arcading built up. the twisted columns of the gallery and its original wooden roof remain to tell us what this fine façade once was. there is a great deal of interest in this huge cathedral, which to the tourist is quite overshadowed by the alhambra. in the north-west corner of the segrario which adjoins the building on the south, is the capilla de pulgar. herman perez del pulgar was a knight serving under ferdinand's banner. filled with holy zeal, he entered granada one stormy night in december 1490 by the darro conduit, and making his way to the mosque which then stood where the segrario now is, pinned a scroll bearing the words ave maria to its principal door with his dagger. this daring deed was not discovered until the next morning, by which time the intrepid knight was safe back in camp. his courage was rewarded by a seat in the _coro_ of the cathedral, and at his death his body was interred in the chapel which bears his name. nearly all the churches of granada occupy the sites of mosques. santa anna, like san nicolás, has a most beautiful wooden roof. san juan de los reyes contains portraits of ferdinand and isabella; its tower is the minaret of what was once a mosque. the cathedral itself is so crowded in by other buildings, that no comprehensive view of the fabric is possible. unfortunately this is the case, with one or two notable exceptions, throughout the country. its fine proportions are thus lost, and it is only the interior with its great length and breath, its lofty arches and fine corinthian pilasters that serve to dignify this house of god. taking a morning off, i walked out to the cartuja convent. the gran capitan, gonzalo de cordoba, at one time granted an estate to the carthusians and on it they erected the convent to which i turned my steps. the order about this time was immensely wealthy and they spent money with reckless lavishness on the interior of their church. mother-of-pearl, tortoiseshell, ebony and cedar-wood entered largely into their decorations, as well as ivory and silver. but perhaps the marbles in the church are the most remarkable part of their scheme. these were chosen for the wonderful patterns of the sections, and with a little stretch of the imagination i could trace well-composed landscapes, human and animal forms in a great many of the slabs. the overdone chirrugueresque work, to which add these fantastic wall decorations, makes this interior positively scream. it is nothing more nor less than a vulgar display of wealth. the cloisters of the convent also attest the bad taste of the carthusians, they contain a series of pictures which represent the most repugnant and bloodthirsty scenes of persecutions and martyrdoms of the order. in another convent, san gerónimo, was buried the gran capitan. a slab marks the spot, but his poor bones were exhumed and carried off to madrid in 1868 to form the nucleus of a spanish pantheon. needless to say, like so many other great ideas in spain, nothing further was done, and gonzalo's remains still await a last resting-place. one more fact before i reach the alhambra. in the church of san juan de dios you may see the cage in which the founder, juan de robles, was shut up as a lunatic. what do you think his lunacy was? having the infirm and the poor always before him, this tender-hearted man went about preaching the necessity of hospitals to alleviate their distress. aye, he was a hundred years and more before his time, so they shut him up in a cage and there let him rot and die. those that came after in more enlightened days valued the good man's crusade at its proper price, and he was eventually canonised, and his supposed remains now rest in an _urna_. up a toilsome approach, splashing through the mud, i drove on the night i reached granada. as the horses slowed up, i put my head out of the carriage window, we were passing under an archway and i knew that at last one of the dreams of my life was realised. i was in the alhambra. i became conscious of rows and rows of tall trees swaying in the wind. i smelt the delicious scent of damp earth, and could just distinguish, as the carriage crawled up the steep ascent, in the lulls of the storm, the sound of running water. it was fairyland, it was peace. after that long, tedious journey and the glare of the electric lit streets i had just passed through, i sank back on the cushions and felt my reward had come. [illustration: granada. the alhambra] how is it possible to describe the alhambra? it has been done so often and so well. every one has read washington irving, and most of us know victor hugo's eulogy. i had better begin at the beginning, which is the gateway erected by charles v. under which i passed with such a happy consciousness. further up the hill, through which only pedestrians can go, is the gate of judgment, the first gateway into the moorish fortress. above it is the torre de justicia erected by yusuf i. in 1348. on the external keystone is cut a hand, on the inner a key. much controversy rages round these two signs and i leave it to others to find a solution. in old days the kadi sat in this gateway dispensing justice. the massive doors still turn on their vertical pivots, the spear rests of the moorish guard are still attached to the wall, and you must enter, as the moors did, by the three turns in the dark passage beyond the gate. a narrow lane leads to the plaza de las algibes, under the level of which are the old moorish cisterns. to the right is the torre del vino, and on the left the acazaba. come with me up the short flight of steps into the little strip of garden. let us lean over the wall and look out on to the vega. is there anywhere so grand and varied an outline of plain and mountain? do you wonder at the tears that suffused the eyes of boabdil as he turned for a last look at this incomparable spot? the brown roofs of granada lie at our feet. far away through the levels of the green plain, the vega, i can see the winding of many silver streams. beyond those rugged peaks to the south lies the alpujarras district, the last abiding place of the conquered moor. further on the mass of the sierra aburijara bounds the horizon, west of it is the town of loja, thirty miles away, buried in the dip towards antequerra. to the north is mount parapanda, the barometer of the vega, always covered with mist when rain is at hand. nearer in is the sierra de elvira, spread out below which are the dark woods of the duke of wellington's property--he is known in spain as duque de ciudad rodriguez. it is clear enough for us to see the blue haze of the mountains round jaen, and the rocky defile of mochin. the torre de la vela shuts out the rest of the view. there is a bell hanging in this tower which can be heard as far away as loja. now turn and look behind. right up into the blue sky rise the snow peaks of the sierra nevada. mulhacen, the highest point in all spain, is not visible, but we can see veleta which is but a few feet lower. the whole range glistens in the afternoon sun, but it is the evening hour that brings such wonderful changes of colour over these great snowfields, and, after the sun is down, such a pale mother-of-pearl grey silhouetted against the purple sky. the entrance into what we call the alhambra is hidden away behind the unfinished palace of charles v. the low door admits us directly in the patio de los arrayanes, or court of the myrtles. running north and south it gets more sun than any other court of the alhambra. what a revelation it is! in the centre is an oblong tank full of golden carp. the neatly kept myrtle hedges encircle this, reflected in the clear water they add refreshing charm to a first impression of the moorish palace. on the north rises the torre de comares, the approach to which is through a beautifully proportioned chamber, the roof of which was unfortunately destroyed by fire in 1890. the whole of the ground-floor of this tower is known as the hall of the ambassadors. the monarch's throne occupied a space opposite the entrance and it was here that the last meeting to consider the surrender was held by boabdil. the elaborate domed roof of this magnificent chamber is of larch wood, but the semi-darkness prevents one realising to the full extent its beauties. from the windows, which almost form small rooms, so thick are the walls of the tower of comares, fine views over the roofs of the city and the albaicin hill are obtained. the court of the lions, so called from the central fountain upheld by marble representations of the kingly beast, is surrounded by a beautiful arcade. at either end this is thrown out, forming a couple of extremely elegant pavilions. fairy columns support a massive roof, the woodwork of which is carved with the pomegranate of granada. intricate fret-work is arranged to break the monotony of strong sunlight on a flat surface. arabesques and inscriptions, stamped with an iron mould on the wet clay, repeat themselves all round the frieze. orange trees at one time adorned the court and cast gracious shade on its surface. the fountain threw up jets of splashing water, the musical sound harmonising with the wonderful arrangement of light and shade. i tried to picture all this as i sat making my sketch, but even in april, though hot in the sun, i required an overcoat in the shadow, and i must own that the ever-present tourist with his kodak sadly disturbed all mental attempts at the reconstruction of moorish life. [illustration: granada. the alhambra, court of lions] on the south side of the court is the hall of the abencerrages, named after that noble family. the massive wooden doors, which shut it off from the arcade, are of most beautiful design. the hall is rectangular and has a fine star-shaped stalactite dome. the _azulejos_, or tiles, are the oldest that remain in the alhambra. a passage leads to what was once the royal sepulchral chamber. on the east side is the so-called sala de la justicia divided into several recesses and running the whole length of this portion of the court. the central recess was used by ferdinand and isabella when they held the first mass after the surrender of the moors. the chief interest of the sala i found to be in a study of the paintings on the semicircular domed roofs. they portray the moor of the period. the middle one, that in the chapel-recess, no doubt contains portraits of granada's rulers in council. the other two represent hunting scenes and deeds of chivalry. it is supposed that the koran forbids the delineation of any living thing. the moor got over this difficulty by portraying animal life in as grotesque a manner as possible, or by employing foreign captives to do this for him. one theory of the origin of the lion fountain is that a captive christian carved the lions and gave his best--or his worst--as the price of his liberation. personally i think they are of phoenician origin. animals and birds in decoration reached the moor from persia, where from unknown ages they had always been employed in this way; and the môsil style of hammered metal work is replete with this feature. on the north side of the court lies the room of the two sisters, with others opening out from it, which seems to point to the probability that this was the suite occupied by the sultana herself. moorish art has here reached its highest phase. the honeycomb roof contains nearly five thousand cells, all are different, yet all combine to form a marvellously symmetrical whole. fancy ran free with the architect who piled one tiny cell upon another and on these supported a third. pendant pyramids cluster everywhere and hang suspended apparently from nothing. in the fertility of his imagination the designer surpassed anything of the kind that went before or has since been attempted. truly the verses of a poem copied on to the _azulejos_ are well set. "look well at my elegance, and reap the benefit of a commentary on decoration. here are columns ornamented with every perfection, the beauty of which has become proverbial." beyond this entrancing suite of rooms is the miradoro de daraxa with three tall windows overlooking that little gem of a garden the patio de daraxa. it was here that washington irving lodged when dreaming away those delicious days in the alhambra. the old council chamber of the moors, the meshwâr, is reached through the patio de mexuar. charles v. turned this chamber into a chapel, and the hideous decorations he put up are still extant. an underground passage, which leads to the baths, ran from the _patio_ and gave access to the battlements and galleries of the fortress as well as forming a connecting link between each tower. the baths are most interesting, but to me were pervaded by a deadly chill. i felt sorry for the guardian who spends his days down in such damp, icy quarters. a remark i made to him inquiring how long his duty kept him in so cold a spot, called forth so terrible a fit of coughing that i got no reply. i was told afterwards that he was only placed there as he was too ill for other duty, and it was expected he would not live much longer! there are two baths of full size and one for children. the _azulejos_ in them are very beautiful, as they also are in the disrobing room and chamber for rest. an open corridor leads from the hall of the ambassadors to the torre del peinador which yusuf i. built. the small tocador de la reina, or queen's dressing-room, with its quaint frescoes, was modernised by charles v. let into the floor is a marble slab drilled with holes, through which perfumes found their way from a room below while the queen was dressing. the glamour of the east clings to every corner of the alhambra, and the wonder of it all increased as i began to grow familiar with its courtyards and halls, the slender columns of its arcades, with their tracery and oft-repeated verses forming ornament and decoration, and the well thought-out balance of light and shade. what must it all have been like when the sedate moor glided noiselessly through the cool corridors, or the clang of arms resounded through the now silent halls! it is difficult to imagine. the inner chambers were then lined with matchless carpets and rugs and the walls were covered with subtly coloured _azulejos_. many are the changes since those days of the infidel who cultivated the art of living as it has never been cultivated since. restoration is judiciously but slowly going on, and every courtesy is shown to the visitor. a small charge might be levied, however, to assist the government, even in a slight degree, with restoration, and i am sure no one would grudge paying for the privilege of sauntering through the most interesting remains of the moorish days of spain. the unfinished palace of charles v. occupies a large space, to clear which a great deal of the moorish palace was demolished. the interior is extremely graceful. the double arcades, the lower of which is doric and the upper ionic, run round a circular court which for good proportion it would be hard to beat. [illustration: granada. generalife] on the corre de sol, a little way out of the alhambra and situated above it, is the generalife. it belongs to the pallavicini family of genoa, but on the death of the present representative becomes the property of the spanish government. a stately cypress avenue leads to the entrance doorway, through which one enters an oblong court full of exotic growth and even in april a blaze of colour. through a tank down the centre runs a delicious stream of clear water. at the further end of this captivating court are a series of rooms, one of which contains badly painted portraits of the spanish sovereigns since the days of ferdinand and isabella. up some steps is another garden court with another tank, shaded by more cypress trees. one huge patriarch is over six hundred years old, and it is supposed that under it boabdil's wife clandestinely met hamet the abencerrage. space will not permit me to tell of the many entrancing excursions i made to the foot-hills of the sierra nevada and up the two rivers. i can only add that the valleys disclosed to the pedestrian are a wealth of rare botanical specimens, and if time permits will well repay a lengthened sojourn in the last stronghold of the moors in spain. malaga malaga disputes with cadiz the honour of being the oldest seaport in the country. in early days the phoenicians had a settlement here, and in after times both the carthagenians and romans utilised "malacca" as their principal port on the mediterranean littoral of spain. in 571 the goths under their redoubtable king, leovigild, wrested the town from the byzantines. once more it was captured, by tarik, in the year 710 and remained a moorish stronghold until ferdinand took it after a long siege in 1487. it is said that gunpowder was first used in spain at this siege, when the "seven sisters of ximenes," guns planted in the gibralfaro, belched forth fire and smoke. in the year 709 the berber tarif entered into an alliance with julian, governor of ceuta, who held that place for witiza the gothic king of spain. with four ships and five hundred men he crossed the narrow and dangerous straits to reconnoitre the european coast, having secretly in view an independent kingdom for himself on the iberian peninsula. he landed at cape tarifa. this expedition was so far successful that in two years' time another berber, of a name almost similar, tarík to wit, was sent over with twelve thousand men and landed near the rock which received the name of jabal-tarík, or mountain of tarík, the present gibraltar. witiza in the meantime died and was succeeded by roderic, who, hearing of the invasion of this moorish host, hastened south from toledo and met his death in the first decisive battle between christian and infidel on the banks of the guadalete near cadiz. tarík then commenced his victorious march, which ended in less than three years with the subjugation of the whole country as far as the foot of the pyrenees--pelayo, in his cave at covadonga near oviedo, alone holding out with a mere remnant against the all-conquering moor. [illustration: malaga. view from the harbour] if you ask me, "what is malaga to-day?" i can reply with truth, "the noisiest town in spain." like all places in the south it is a babel of street-cries, only a little more so than any of the others. the _seranos_, or night-watchmen, disturb one's rest as they call out the hour of the night, or whistle at the street corners to their comrades. a breeze makes hideous the hours of darkness by the banging to and fro of unsecured shutters. the early arrival of herds of goats with tinkling bells heralds the dawn, which is soon followed by the discordant clatter of all those, cracked and otherwise, which hang in the church belfries. the noisiest town i visited, most certainly, but for all that a very enchanting place. in a way not unlike naples, for the malagueno is the spanish prototype of the neapolitan. lazy, lighthearted, good-natured, but quick to take affront, he gets through the day doing nothing in a manner that won my sincere admiration. "why work, señor, when you have the sun? i do not know why the english travellers are always in such a hurry. and the north american, he is far worse. i earned two pesetas yesterday. to-day i have no wants, i do not work. to-morrow? yes, perhaps to-morrow i work, but to-day i sit here in the sun, i smoke my cigarette, i am content to watch others, that is life!"--and who can say that the malagueno is far wrong? not i. malaga's cathedral, an imposing building of a very mixed corinthian character, occupies the site of a moorish mosque which was converted into a church. of this early church of the incarnation, the gothic portal of the _segragrio_ is the only portion remaining. the present edifice was begun in 1538 from the plans of that great architect diego de siloe, but being partially destroyed by an earthquake in 1680, was not completed until 1719. it cannot be called complete even now, and the long period over which its construction has been spread accounts for the very many inconsistencies in a building which is full of architectural defects. the west façade is flanked by two towers, only one of which has been finished; this is drawn out in three stages like the tower of la seo at saragossa, and has a dome with lantern above. the doors of the north and south transepts are also flanked by towers, but they do not rise beyond the cornice line. the interior, reminding one of granada's cathedral, is seemingly immense. the proportions are massive and decidedly good. it was in his proportions that siloe excelled. the length of this is three hundred and seventy-five feet, the width two hundred and forty, and the height one hundred and thirty feet. the columns which support the heavy roof consist of two rows of pillars one above the other. the vaulting is of round arches. a picture by alonso cano in the chapel of our lady of the rosary, and one of a _virgin and child_, in that of san francisco, by morales, were the only two objects that i could say interested me, besides the magnificently carved _silleria del coro_, the work of many hands, but chiefly those of pedro de mena, a pupil of cano. with all its architectural incongruities it is an impressive fabric, and rises high above the surrounding roofs, like a great liner with a crowd of smaller boats lying around her. so it struck me as i sat on the quayside of the malagueta making my sketch, sadly interfered with by an unpleasant throng of idling loafers. beyond malagueta lies caleta, and on the hill above them is the castilla de gibralfaro, from which when the sky is clear the african mountains near ceuta can be seen. below the gibralfaro and between it and the cathedral, lies the most ancient part of the city, the alcazába, the glorious castle and town of moorish days. and now?--like so many of spain's departed glories, it is not much more than a ruined conglomeration of huts and houses of a low and very insanitary order. at the other end of malaga is the mercado, and close by is the old moorish sea gateway, the puerta del mar, washed by the waters of the blue mediterranean in their day, but at the present time well away from the sea and surrounded by houses. the everyday market is held in the dry bed of the treacherous guadelmedina, a stream which rose in the fatal october of 1907 and swept away all the bridges, swamping the lower quarters of the city. many lives were lost in this disastrous flood and many bodies picked up by fishing-boats far out at sea. however, when i made my sketch there was no chance of such a visitation, and i found the market folk more polite than the loafers on the quay. the country lying at the back of the city and at the base of the sun-baked and scarred mountains by which it is surrounded, produces almost everything that grows. from this--the vega--come grapes, raisins, figs, oranges, lemons, water and sweet melons, quinces, pomegranates, medlars, plantains, custard-apples, guava, olives and sugar-cane--a veritable paradise for the fruit grower. up the hill slopes, where the olive luxuriates, fine woods of sweet acorn and cork trees are passed, and any day you may see large herds of swine feeding on the acorns that have fallen, and routing out other delicacies that their sensitive noses tell them lie hidden beneath the surface. the pork of estremadura is reckoned the best in spain, and that from these oak woods a good second. the pig in spain is a clean feeder, and you can eat him with perfect safety anywhere. such a thing as the offensive pig-sty, the disgrace of rural england, is absolutely unknown here. [illustration: malaga. the market] malaga's climate is delightful, despite the fierce winds and the dust they raise. though rain seldom falls the cool sea breezes in summer bring a refreshing tonic to the dweller up country; and many spaniards at this season come here for bathing, and obtain a maximum of sunshine without the intense heat of the interior. valencia valencia del cid is inseparably connected with the hero of spanish romance, rodrigo diaz of bivar, to give him his real name, "cid" being a corruption of the moorish _seyyid_, and first appearing in historical documents of the year 1064. rising to great power, alfonso of leon appointed him to the command of his army, but through jealousy banished him in 1081. from that date the cid became a true knight-errant. barred from the kingdom of leon, he was ever ready to sell his services to the highest bidder; and after many wanderings found himself with a goodly following of knights, only too eager in those days, when might was right, to be in the train of so redoubtable a champion, _en route_ to saragossa. the moorish ruler of that city being at logger-heads with the count of barcelona accepted the cid's proffered services, and the result was a battle in which the catalans were badly beaten. with no prospects of further service in aragon, the cid turned his face south and marched on valencia, whose moorish king yahya was only too pleased to request his protection in advance, instead of succumbing to his conquering arm. thus began rodrigo's connection with the city, which with one or two intervals ended only at his death. it was from the top of the miguelete tower, which is pictured in my illustration of the cathedral, that he showed his wife ximena and their daughters the fair land he had conquered. this was in 1095, when after having rejoined alfonso and left him again, he had returned and recaptured the city after a siege of twenty months. four years later died the man whose name was a terror to the infidel, and his widow ximena, following the traditions of her warrior husband, held valencia against overwhelming hordes of moors. the story of the bitter end, how she placed his body on his favourite war-horse and drove it through the ranks of the enemy, has always been a theme for the balladmonger of spain. it was in 140 b.c. that junius brutus founded a small roman colony on the banks of the river turia. pompey destroyed this settlement and rebuilt it. in 413 the goths took possession. the emir of cordova captured it in 714 and valencia remained a vassal state until the fall of the omayeh dynasty. like other provinces, it became merged under the single banner that floated over the greater part of the peninsula at the union of aragon and castile. being a coast town and savouring of the south, it was not until the time of the bigoted philip iii. that the industrious and unfortunate moriscoe was finally expelled from the shelter of valencia's walls. [illustration: valencia. san pablo] souchet sacked the place in the napoleonic wars and received the title of duke of albufera from his master. rather an empty honour, albufera being the large and malarious tract of marshland along the coast a few miles to the south of el grao, and worth but very little. el grao is valencia's port, and is three miles distant from the city. the road which connects the two is about the busiest high road i saw in spain. from sunrise till long after sunset two streams of vehicles pass to and fro. strings of laden donkeys, waggonettes crammed with good-humoured laughing fisher and country folk pass along, an electric tram carries those who can afford the extra _centimos_, and the carriages of valencia's well-to-do citizens take them to the harbour for a breath of sea air out on the breakwaters. everything seems alive, and though there is that balmy feeling in the air which one gets in andalusia, there is none of the indolence and seductive _dolce far niente_ of that enchanting province. no! quite the other way in valencia. the peasants are extremely industrious. the soil of the _huerta_ bears them three crops during the year. the system of irrigation, the old moorish system by-the-way, is perfect, and though the product of a soil which is forced to bear more than it naturally can, is reinforced at sowing time, in the case of corn, by russian grain, it cannot be said that valencia depends on any outside help for her prosperity. the swamps bordering the coast grow the finest rice in the world. the wines of the province are good and cheap, held in much esteem by french merchants to fortify the lighter produce of their own country. so cheap are they in fact, that in some parts of the province it costs more to get a drink of water than a glass of wine. yet drunkenness is unknown. if a valencian took a drop too much, he would be promptly boycotted by his neighbours, and for ever after looked upon as a disgusting and outlandish boor, a disgrace to his village and a man to be shunned. the peasant is very illiterate and scrupulously honest--the one follows the other. like the andalusian, he is absolutely trustworthy in all his dealings, which are conducted by word of mouth. in buying and selling no signatures to documents pass between the contracting parties. if any paper is ever signed, it is confirmed by certain scratches or marks known to belong to so and so--the signee. his word is his bond, it is generally all he can give, but it is enough and is worth more than signatures sometimes are. further north, where modern ways of life are more in vogue, and where all is more "advanced," there are ten lawyers to the one in valencia and the south. [illustration: valencia. door of the cathedral] the cathedral was originally a gothic structure, but one fashion following another, has been at different times so altered and robbed of all architectural beauty that there remains but little of interest in the building. it was founded in 1262 and finished two hundred years later. el miguelete, the celebrated bell tower, is so named because the bells were first hung on st. michael's day. like the torre de vela of the alhambra, a bell is here struck which regulates the irrigation of the _huerta_. in this connection, and as an exemplification of the peasant's trustworthiness, once a month, on a thursday, the tribunal de aguas sits in the plaza de la seo outside the puerto de los apóstoles or north door of the cathedral. its presiding members are chosen by their fellow peasants for their integrity and general standing in the community. they exercise absolute control over the seven different irrigation districts. the government has once or twice interfered with this, but unsuccessfully. plaintiffs and defendants appear before this primitive tribunal seated in a public square. the case is stated, _pros_ and _cons_ weighed, and judgment given fairly on its merits. any one passing can stop and hear the arguments of both sides. as a proof of the shrewdness the peasants possess and the confidence they have in their dealings with one another, no appeal is ever made from the judgment of their elders. this north door has good sculptured figures in the jambs and archivolt. above is a fine rose window. these are among the remains of the first building. another relic of the early structure is the octagonal _cimborio_ erected about the same time as the doorway, _i.e._, 1350. the lancet windows over the puerta del paláu, which is surmounted by a round arch with carvings in the jambs, are all of the same period. the third doorway, the puerta del miguelete, is florid and overdone, and dates from the eighteenth century. its bronze doors however are extremely fine. the best features of the much-spoilt interior are the octagon and the very beautiful corinthian _silleria del coro_. the original _retablo_ over the high altar was set on fire by the lighted cotton attached to a pigeon let loose at a religious ceremony in 1469. the side panels alone were saved from the results of the terrified bird's erratic flight. close by on a pillar is hung the armour of james i. of aragon. over the sacristy door is a good painting by ribalta of _christ bearing the cross_, and in the ante-room an _adoration_ by ribera, besides five good examples of juanes' brush. among the treasures of the cathedral is an extraordinary piece of goldsmith's work, a calix, showing four different periods of this art, _i.e._, roman, ixth, xvth and xvith centuries. it figures in the picture of the _last supper_ by juanes, which is now in the prado at madrid. an interesting trophy also belongs to the cathedral in the shape of the chain which at one time closed the old port of marseilles. the many different varieties of marble used in the decoration of the building form a very pleasing series, and go some way towards compensating the disappointment one experiences with the much-altered style of what ought to be a grand interior. i saw a good procession one evening wending its way through the crowds which lined the narrow street near the church of santa catalina. the balconies were filled with occupants who showered rose leaves down as the effigy of st. john passed by. the light from the torches carried by some boys flickered upwards and caught the faces of those peering over from their vantage posts above. the crowd knelt as the saint passed, and once more the vitality of the church, which i could not but feel wherever i went in spain is _the_ thing that lives, was again in evidence. over the door of the church of san martin is a good equestrian group in bronze. san domingo has some very beautiful cloisters of late gothic date, and san salvador possesses valencia's miraculous image. nicodemus is reputed to have made this, the christ of beyrout. the marvellous relic navigated itself from syria across the waters of the mediterranean and reached valencia against the river's stream. a monument on the bank marks the spot where the wonderful voyage ended by the safe landing of the christ. it is much visited by the devout. in the chapel attached to the colegio del patriarca hangs ribalta's fine _last supper_. every friday morning at ten o'clock the _miserere_ is celebrated here. the impressive ceremony commences with the slow lowering of this picture from its place above the high altar. the void is filled by a dark cloth, which, as the service proceeds, is gently drawn aside disclosing a second cloth, this is again repeated, followed by another, and when this, the fourth cloth, is parted asunder a fine painting of _christ crucified_ is revealed. meanwhile chants appropriate to the solemn service have been filling the church and increasing the tension of the congregation. the whole ceremony is a very good piece of stage management and certainly most thrilling and inspiring. the black _mantilla_ for ladies is _de rigeur_. [illustration: valencia. religious procession] valencia's walls, erected in 1356, were demolished in 1871 to give work to the unemployed, and the spacious _paseo_ made in their stead. the trees planted along this carriage drive have added materially to the health of the city. of the two remaining gates, the torres de serranos is much the better. built in the second half of the fourteenth century on roman foundations, its massive construction and great height are very grand. it is one of the best gates i know. the archway itself is rather low. the double floors above have fine gothic vaulting and are approached by a flight of steps. the gallery is supported on heavy corbels, and the cornice has deep machicolations. the whole rises in isolated grandeur and may perhaps gain, from the painter's point of view, by the absence of flanking walls. the torre de cuarto is another enormous gateway with two huge round towers on either side. it still bears the marks of souchet's artillery--whose round shot did apparently no damage whatever. not far from this gate lies the mercado situated in the middle of the old quarters of the city. valencia is quite a modern town, it is rapidly losing everything of any age, and changing its narrow insanitary streets for spacious well-built thoroughfares. the mercado is by far the largest and most attractive market in spain. fruit and vegetables, wicker goods of all sorts, baskets, chairs, toys, leather-work and harness, brightly coloured mule trappings, every description of wood and metal-work, the usual assortment of old iron, lamps antique and modern, oleographs and chromos, saints and virgins jostling the latest cheap reproduction of a famous _torrero_ or _bailarina_, furniture, worn-out field implements and new cutlery, lace, everything, in fact, including smells, the variety of which i found unequalled anywhere. strong garlic assaulted my nostrils--in three more steps i was in the midst of roses and carnations, half a dozen more and a horribly rank cheese made the air vibrate; and so it continued from one end to the other of this most fascinating kaleidoscopic throng, to study which i returned every day of my sojourn in valencia. on one side of this wonderful market-place stands the lonja de la seda. it dates from 1482 and occupies the site of the moorish alcázar. perhaps of all the examples of gothic civil architecture in europe, the lonja de la seda can claim the first place. the west façade, facing the mercado, has a double row of square-topped gothic windows, above which is a traceried gallery running round the entire building with gargoyles and a frieze of heads below the embattled parapet. in the centre is a tower with a couple of gothic windows. there are two separate buildings in this "silk exchange," one of which has a beautiful court. the whole of the other is occupied by the exchange hall. the rich star vaulting of the interior is borne by two rows of spiral columns without capitals; they branch out to the roof like the leaves of a palm tree and it is very evident that this beautiful treatment was suggested by the growth of the tree. valencia has always been celebrated for a certain style or school of painting, and in the museum, which occupies the buildings of the old convento del carmen, ribalta, espinosa and juanes are seen at their best. the school is noted for the peculiar deep red undertone of the shadows, which is very markedly apparent in the works hanging on these walls. there are also some beautiful examples of native faience and pottery, for valencia is still the home of spanish lustre ware. the valencians are great bird fanciers, and very keen pigeon shots. numerous lofts built on the roofs for these birds cut the sky-line in the old quarters of the city. sunday sees the dry bed of the turia full of competitors in shooting matches, when toll is taken of the feathered inhabitants of these airy dwellings. if it were not for the rather bad drinking water and the malarious marshes, the breeding-ground of a most particularly venomous mosquito, valencia would be as pleasant and lively a spot for residence as any in spain. the climate is good and it is near the sea. it stands on the edge of a veritable fruit garden, and its people are pleasant and friendly. tortosa journeying to valencia from the north one is carried along a grand bit of coast with glimpses of the blue mediterranean rolling in on stretches of yellow sand, and breaking into spray on the rocks above which the train runs. the _rapido_ stops for lunch at tortosa, and i got out intending to stay if there was anything in the famous old city or its cathedral which might bear illustrating in this book. i reached the best _fonda_ in the place, and was heartily welcomed by its lively little landlord, who immediately handed me one of his cards, whereon was set out, amongst many superlatives, the news that an interpreter was attached to the house. "gone away for the day, señor," was the reply when i asked for an interview. he was always away i fear; however, i did not need his services and my host and i became fast friends. so friendly indeed that i only just avoided an embrace at parting on the day i left. he took great interest in my doings, and on his side gave me much information. he explained to me how the mighty ebro, on which tortosa is situated, and to which it owes its existence, had risen in flood during the disastrous october of 1907. "right up to here, señor"--this while i was having lunch--and he pointed to a spot a couple of inches off the floor of the _comedor_, which was on the first floor of the house--"a terrible flood that?"--"yes, señor, the streets were for weeks full of mud and all sorts of things. hundreds of poor people lost everything and many were swept out to sea." another day i remarked on the gas that lit the _fonda_ and asked my host why he had not put in electric light. "it is too expensive, señor; some people have it, and the market hall is lit by it; but you must understand that tortosa long ago did away with oil lamps and was one of the first places in spain to use gas. and now?--well it is enough for us, and the electric light is too expensive." elsewhere in spain i have been told with pride that the country is still in the foremost rank of civilisation--whatever the progressive press says--and the almost universal use of electricity has been pointed out to verify the boast. but tortosa, which led the van when gas was a novelty, is the only place of any importance that i know which is still lit by this means. local tradition has it, that the city dates back to the time of st. paul who, i was told, settled here and built himself a nice little house. whatever the saint did it is on record that before his day the town was an important iberian port of the ilercaones tribe, and in later years under the romans, possessed a mint of its own, being then known as julia augusta dertosa. strategically the key of the great river, tortosa was subject to repeated attempts at capture by those not in occupation. during the time when it was held by the moors, charlemagne's son louis, after an unsuccessful attempt, gained possession, only to be driven out in the year 810. it was not until 1148 that the infidel's reign was finally terminated by ramon bereuguer, count of barcelona. in the following year a desperate attempt was made by the moors to retake their stronghold, and the inhabitants, reduced to the last stage of despair, contemplated the sacrifice of their women and children, and then a final sortie to end their own lives. the women, however, showed a true militant spirit, they courted death, but not in this mean manner. mounting the hardly defensible walls with every and any weapon they could lay hands on, the men were directed to sally forth. the gates were opened, and cheered on by their wives and daughters, the sterner sex rushed out. so determined was the onslaught that the moorish host was beaten back and fled leaving all the plunder in his camp behind. ramon, to show his appreciation of the heroism displayed by the fair ones, invested them with the order of the axe (la hacha) and decorated them with the red military scarf. also decreeing that at their marriage they should precede mankind, and to this added the privilege of duty-free dress materials. what more could woman want? the cathedral occupies the site of a mosque erected in 914 by abderrhaman. a cufic inscription in the wall at the back of the sacristy relates this with the date. bishop lanfredo dedicated the building to the virgin in 1158, but the present structure dates from 1347. it is extremely good gothic, with a heavy baroque west façade, ugly and ill-proportioned. of the exterior but little is visible, and my sketch simply includes the upper part of the façade, visible over the roofs of the quaint old town, with the river flowing in front. the interior is very simple and dignified. the slender columns of the nave rise to a great height; the light that filters through the few clerestory windows that are not blocked subdues the garishness of a bad _trascoro_, and finds its way amongst the tracery of the arches of the double apse. in avila cathedral this same feature prevails. a double aisled apse with open-work tracery between the arches and below the vaulting of the aisles. [illustration: tortosa] the _silleria_ of the _coro_ were carved by cristóbal de salamanca in 1588, and are really beautiful. the two pulpits are covered with interesting iron bas-reliefs, and the high altar encased in a mass of plateresque silver work. the _retablo_ is a good specimen of early gothic work, and i could not help thinking how much better such an one is than the many overdone chirrugueresque atrocities met with in more famous places. tortosa is the centre of a district the mountains of which yield many different kinds of marble, and the cathedral is especially rich in these. perhaps the chapel of cinta contains the best; the most used is the _broccatello di spagna_ a purple colour with tiny marine molluscs embedded in the hard clay. the cathedral is adorned at certain festivals with a series of splendid tapestries, and amongst many relics overlooked and left by the french is a fine moorish casket of ivory. pope adrian iv., the englishman, was at one time bishop of tortosa, a fact which added interest to this beautiful little cathedral. the cloisters are early pointed gothic, now much dilapidated and uncared for. on the encircling walls are many highly interesting mural tablets, a few of which have recumbent figures cut in low relief with their backs to the wall, as is the case in the earliest gothic effigies of this sort. tarragona my recollections of tarragona can be summed up in three words--blue sea, sunshine, and peace. some fifteen or twenty years ago the quays of its fine harbour were full of life and bustle, ships entered the port and ships went out. the trade with france in light wines was good, and with england and america in those of heavier quality, better still. nowadays it is cheaper to send wines by rail. reus, a railway centre a few miles inland, has captured a great deal of tarragona's trade, and modern history repeats itself once more. cheap and quick delivery are the watchwords. hurry and hustle are leaving the old trading towns behind. barcelona is not far away. centralisation is everything, and thus it happened that i found very few places in spain so reposeful as tarragona. and i might add so beautifully situated as this old city which climbs and crowns a hill that rises from the very edge of the blue mediterranean. very few cities in spain can boast of prehistoric walls still extant. tarragona can do so. the huge uneven blocks of granite, which may be seen in my sketch of the archbishop's tower, occupy the lower portion of the old roman walls. on the north side of the city they are even more visible than in the sketch. some of the blocks measure thirteen by seven by five feet. three of the ancient portals, the stone of which is faced inside, still exist, but apparently no records do, to tell us who placed these cyclopean defences where they stand to-day. many remains of roman days may be seen built into the houses of the old and higher town, tablets, mural inscriptions, bits of columns, &c. the cathedral possesses numerous plinths and pillars of marble from the quarries at tortosa, built into its walls, and the font in the baptistery is an old roman basin. what a glorious city it must have been when the emperor augustus made it his capital! and the overland trade met the sea-going in the harbour below. twenty miles away at gayá the romans tapped a continuous supply of fresh water, and their aqueduct, a good deal of which remains, ranks next to that of segovia in size, and stands as an example of how the romans built. roman villas with incomparable views out to sea, dotted the hillsides; temples to every god and goddess rose in the city, which contained a million inhabitants. it possessed a mint of its own, and, favoured by nature and art, became known as "colonia victrix togata turrita." [illustration: tarragona] the moslem sacked tarragona, and for four centuries one of the glories of colonial rome lay a heap of ruins. in 1089, at the commencement of the building of the cathedral, the see, much to the disgust of toledo, was raised to metropolitan dignity. thenceforth, between the two cities, endless disputes have arisen as to the primacy of spain. though begun at the above date, most of the cathedral is of twelfth and early thirteenth-century work. it is not known who designed this magnificent church, the finest example of transition in spain. the interior is very simple and very dignified. the roof is borne by grand piers, thirty-five feet in circumference. their bases are broken by four seats, one in each corner, placed thus to enhance the line of the composition, and break the otherwise too great severity of the foundations. there is no triforium; but an early pointed clerestory of large bays, and a superb rose window in the west, of date 1131, admit a flood of light. nothing could well be simpler than the pairs of massive columns which carry the centre arches of the vaulting, nor finer than the delicate single attendant at their sides from which spring the transverse sections. all these are capped with square romanesque capitals. the chancel is pure romanesque and very beautiful. the semicircular end of the capilla mayor and the two small apses are the oldest part of this noble building. the _retablo_ of the high altar is alabaster, and carved with reliefs of the martyrdom of santa tecla, tarragona's patroness. the delicate tapering finials and the figures under canopies below, are carved in wood. behind the high altar is a very interesting urn which contains the ashes of cyprian, a gothic archbishop. the fine _cimborio_ which rises above the crossing has eight windows of three and four lights alternately, which contain fragments of very brilliant coloured glass. in the transepts are two magnificent wheel windows full of good glass, indeed i know of no better scheme of colour than that which adorns this window on the south side. the _silleria del coro_ are the work of francisco gomar and date from 1478. the body of james i. of aragon lies in a tomb at the west end of the _trascoro_, having been brought here from the ruined monastery of poblet--the escorial of aragon. a ruin where still lie under their much despoiled and mutilated tombs some of the rulers of that kingdom. [illustration: tarragona. the archbishop's tower] this grand cathedral is not dependent on gloom or subdued light for its great impressiveness. on the contrary it is the best lit of any of spain's cathedrals, and it is on its excellent proportions and scale alone that its reputation for solemnity will always rest, and its majesty be ever remembered. the west façade, commenced in 1248, is constructed of a light-coloured stone, which time has improved into a very beautiful sienna brown. the upper portion is unfinished. in the centre is a fine and deeply recessed gothic portal, flanked by two massive buttresses. under gothic canopies stand statues of the apostles and prophets, the lintel of the doorway is supported by a virgin and child, above which is the saviour, and a row of figures rising out of their tombs on the judgment day. above all is the already-mentioned rose window. so well does the mass of the building rise above the adjacent roofs that this window is visible from the breakwater of the harbour. the two doorways on either side of the façade are pure romanesque. each is surmounted by a small wheel window. the iron work which covers the doors is of a very intricate design; and the huge iron knockers with grotesque heads, the hinges of the doors, and the copper work as well, gave me many pleasant moments in marvelling at the skill of the smiths of days gone by. it was in the cloisters however that i found the greatest charm of the whole cathedral. the court is a veritable garden, where date palms, fig trees and oleanders crowd one another in the neatly arranged beds behind box hedges. i spent many pleasant hours in this delightful spot, my solitude broken by occasional visits from the sacristan, who, in his faded and patched purple cassock, came in at odd times for a chat. very proud of his cathedral was this quiet custodian, and i shall never forget his soft voice and winning smile, nor the great interest he evinced in my sketch. the swifts rushed screaming past, the bees hummed from flower to flower, the scent of the plants was delicious, the warm sun and the splash of the fountain--turned on for my benefit--all went to help the welcome repose and forgetfulness of the outer world that overcame me as long as i was at work in this little paradise. the double doorway in the north transept through which one enters the cloisters from the cathedral, is the finest of all. the capitals of its detached shafts are wonderfully carved. they represent the awaking of the three kings by an angel, the nativity and the journey of the magi. the arcading of the cloisters consists of six bays on all four sides, these bays are subdivided into three round arches, with a couple of circular openings above and enclosed within the arch. some of these openings contain very beautifully carved tracery. [illustration: tarragona. the cloisters] the capitals of the columns are a museum of quaint fancy and good carving. in one set, all the incidents of a sea voyage are cut, in another, mice are seen carrying a cat to his grave, who, shamming death, turns and devours some of them before his obsequies are complete. there is a descent from the cross, where one of the faithful wields a pair of pincers much longer than his own arms, so determined is he to pull out the nails that cruelly wound christ's hands. many fragments of roman sculpture are let into the walls; and a lovely little moorish arch, with a cufic inscription and date 960, reminds one of the infidel's rule over the city. to reach times nearer our own, there are two inscriptions telling of the occupation by british troops, which run--_5th company_ and further on _6th company_--obviously pointing to the fact that these lovely cloisters sheltered some of our own troops during the peninsular war. like many other cathedrals, tarragona's possesses a grand series of tapestries, which are hung round the columns and walls during certain festivals. they are mostly flemish and not in any way ecclesiastical. one indeed that i saw was anything but this. cupid was leading a lady, who was in _déshabille_, into her chamber, wherein, by a four-post bed, stood a gentleman with a lighted taper in his hand! it was pleasant in the evening to stroll down to the harbour and out along the mole, to watch the deep-sea fishing fleet race home with the long sweeps out in every boat as the wind dropped and the sea became an oily calm. i must own it was with great regret i left this now peaceful spot--a city that once boasted of a million inhabitants, and prior to that was a great phoenician port! of all the cathedral cities of spain i would rather return to tarragona than any other, hold converse with my friend the sacristan, who knows and loves his cathedral so well, and end the day as the sun goes down watching the boats return from long hours of toil. barcelona barcelona the progressive, the finest port of spain, with its large harbour, its wide boulevards, splendid suburbs, good hotels, huge factories and modern prosperity has well earned the title of first city of the new spain. amilcar barca in 225 b.c. founded the carthagenian city which occupied the taber hill on which the cathedral now stands, and twenty years later it became a colony of rome. remnants of the old walls can still be traced in the narrow streets which centre round the holy fabric. under the goths, barcino, as it was then called, rose to some importance, money coined here bears the legend "barcinona." the moors were in possession of the sea-washed fortress for about one hundred years, and then the reign of the counts of barcelona, independent sovereigns, began. count ramon berenguer i., who ruled from 1025 to 1077, instituted the famous "códego de los usatjes de cataluña," an admirable code of laws, to which was added in the thirteenth century the "consulado del mar de barcelona." this latter code obtained in the commercial world of europe the same authority as the old "leges rhodiæ" of the ancients. when at the height of its prosperity, barcelona, the centre of commerce, received a severe blow by the union of cataluña with aragon, on the occasion of the marriage of count ramon berenguer iv. to petronila daughter of ramiro ii. king of aragon. when aragon and castile were united barcelona became subject to the "catholic kings," and ever since, in language, in habits and enterprise has shown her dislike for and her struggle against the ways of castile. to-day barcelona is far in advance of any other city of spain. i felt i was once more in europe when the comfortable hotel 'bus rattled along through the well-lit streets. perhaps i was getting tired of life in the middle ages, and was obsessed with mediæval cities! at any rate, a clean bed in a modern hotel was a luxury i thoroughly appreciated, and i started the next morning to explore, with a mind at ease and a consciousness that there would be no irritating little pin-pricks, no _mañana_ for a couple of weeks at least. [illustration: barcelona. in the cathedral] the cathedral stands on the site of a pagan church converted by the moors into a mosque. the present edifice replaced the christian church which superseded this mosque, and was begun in 1298. the crypt was finished in 1339 and the cloisters in 1388. the west façade was covered with scaffolding while i was there, and so may perhaps be completed in another thirty years. the interior of this splendid gothic church is very dark. the pointed windows are all filled with magnificent fifteenth-century glass. at the sunset hour, when the rays of light strike low and filter through the many colours of these windows, the effect in the gloom of this solemn building is most beautiful. as the orb of day sinks lower and lower the light lingers on column after column right up the lofty nave to the high altar until he suddenly disappears, and all within is wrapt in deep twilight. the nave is very narrow and very high. the clustered columns seem to disappear into space, and the vaulting is almost lost in the darkness. there are deep galleries over the side chapels in the aisles, which have a rather curious arrangement of vaulting. from the roof of the aisles at each bay depend massive circular lamps which catch the light and heighten the effect of mystery which is omnipresent throughout the cathedral. a flight of steps in front of the high altar--an almost unique feature--leads down to the crypt, where rests the body of santa eulalia, barcelona's patron saint. her alabaster shrine is adorned with reliefs of different incidents in her life. the _retablo_ of the high altar is richly ornate with tapering gothic finials of the fifteenth century; below it is a sarcophagus containing the remains of st. severus. above the gothic _silleria del coro_ hang the coats-of-arms of the knights of the golden fleece. among them are those of henry viii. of england. the only installation of the order was held here by charles v. the side chapels contain very little of interest, but the cloisters are otherwise. entered either from the street or the south door of the cathedral their beauty is very striking. in the centre palms and orange trees rear their heads, and the splash of the fountains, in one of which the sacred geese are kept, is refreshingly cool after the bustle of streets outside. san pablo del campo, now a barrack, is the most interesting of barcelona's ecclesiastical remains. this church, built by wilfred ii. in 913, is more like the ancient churches of galicia than those of catalonia. very small and cruciform, a solid dome rises from the centre. its cloisters are perfect, the arcading is composed of double shafts with well-cut figures on the capitals. the peculiarity of catalonia's churches is well illustrated in the aisleless santa maria del mar, san just, and santa maria del pi. the first named has some magnificent glass and four good pictures by viladomát, and in the crypt beneath the high altar a curious wooden figure of san alajo. san just has the belfry common to the churches of catalonia, an open iron-work screen, from which depend the bells, and santa maria del pi contains a fine wheel window and more magnificent glass. a relic of loyola, the sword that he offered on the altar of the virgin at montserrat, is still preserved in the old jesuit church of nuestra señora de belen. among the many notable buildings in barcelona is the casa consistorial, or town hall. it was built in 1378, and has a very original gothic front. a beautiful _patio_ with slender arches and twisted columns adds to the interest of the interior. the casa de la diputacion opposite contains the picture on which fortuny was at work when he died. the _patio_ here is perhaps better than that in the casa consistorial. it is in three stages, from the topmost of which huge gargoyles of all sorts of devils and monsters rear their ugly heads. in the old quarters of the city, where the five-and six-storied houses almost touch, the streets are very tortuous and not considered safe at night. in this respect, however, barcelona does not stand alone. any one who ventures into the low parts of a mediterranean seaport after dusk generally does so at his own risk. very few brawls commence among the hot-blooded lower orders of the south without the finale of the knife. by far the most interesting suburb of the city is barceloneta. this self-contained town is entirely given up to the fisherfolk and seafaring portion of barcelona's inhabitants. philip v., when planning his citadel, now demolished, turned out the people who dwelt where he afterwards erected it. to compensate them for loss of home and property, he built this well-planned and well-paved suburb out along the coast to the north-east. with the breeze coming in every afternoon off the sea my favourite walk was through the park to barceloneta. of all the seaports i know, naples not excepted, though the sta. lucia of five-and-twenty years ago might have beaten it, the harbour front of barceloneta is without an equal. here one may watch the boat-builders at work under the oddest roofs imaginable, carpenters busy with the shaping of masts and oars, and ship's painters putting the finishing touches to boat accessories. i used to stand awhile admiring the inventive turn displayed on the exterior embellishments of the marine-dealers' stores. wonderful pictures, of ships that could never float, from brushes wielded by very local talent in glaring vermilion and green. i watched the holiday-makers sitting in ramshackle booths, rapidly putting away all sorts of curiosities of the shell-fish order, and i wondered if they would survive the day. perhaps the copious draughts of wine they took was an antidote, at any rate their laughter and good humour gave point to my unspoken thought--"let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." [illustration: barcelona. the rambla] going on, i often spent some time comparing the drill of artillery recruits, whose instructors marched them up and down on a quiet bit of the roadway, with those at home, and i generally finished my walk and sat me down on the glorious stretch of sand that runs away north as far as eye can follow. the evening would then draw in, and the twinkling lights on the ships in the harbour warn me it was time to return. while twilight lasted i retraced my steps homewards along the quay-side, invigorated by an afternoon of sea breeze and salt spray. the focus of barcelona's life is the celebrated rambla. the derivation of this word is arabic--"raml-sand"--a river bed, for a small stream at one time meandered down to the sea where now is the liveliest street in the north of spain. on either side of the central promenade, under the shade of stately plane trees, are the carriage drives. the broad walk itself is thronged, especially in the morning when marketing is done, with an ever-changing crowd. boys distribute hand-bills, dog-fanciers stroll about bargaining with dealers, itinerant merchants cry their wares. a family of father, mother, and children cross the stream of promenaders, followed by a pet lamb. acquaintances meet and gossip away a good ten minutes. at the top end of the rambla are situated the stalls of the bird-sellers, who also deal in mice, a great place this for mama and her small daughters. lower down, the flower-sellers congregate under their red-striped umbrellas. it was here that i made my sketch, in which luckily, for a bit of colour, i was able to include the blue-bloused porters in their red caps who wait about for a job with the rope of their calling slung over their shoulders. here too all the odd job men stand awaiting hire. house painters in white blouses with insignia of their trade--a whitewash brush on the end of a pole--held high, and others--an endless variety. barcelona, being a business town, is democratic to the core, it is also to the core, catalan. the names of streets are displayed in catalan as well as spanish. the animals in the zoological gardens also are known by their catalan, and castilian as well as latin names! barcelona will have no dealings with castile, its people speak their own language and address the foreigner in french. barcelona is go-ahead. in the houses of the new suburbs l'art nouveau screams at one, and everything is up-to-date! the spaniard is well-known to be lazy, not so the catalan. i have never seen a spaniard running, but i have seen a catalan walking fast! gerona the siege of gerona is as celebrated in the spanish history of the napoleonic wars as that of saragossa. both exemplify the bravery and tenacity of the spaniard of the north. in the first siege in 1808, three hundred men of the ulster regiment, under their gallant leader o'daly, helped to garrison the place against two ferocious attacks by duchesne and his french soldiery. the first failed and the second ended in the utter rout of the besiegers with the loss of all the artillery and baggage train. in the following year three french generals with an army of thirty thousand men invested the city. alvarez, the spanish governor, was almost without any means of defence, and the women of gerona enrolled themselves under the banner of santa barbara, the patron saint of spain's artillery, and took their places on the ramparts side by side with their husbands and sweethearts. alvarez, ably seconded by a few english under marshall, held out until he was struck down by disease and death. the city then, without a leader, its inhabitants starving, at length surrendered. so ancient is gerona that its early history is lost in the mist of ages. charlemagne drove the moors out when they were in possession, but it soon passed back into their hands again. the counts of barcelona ruled over the place until the union of catalonia and aragon, an event which gave birth to the crown prince's title of principe de gerona. hence we know that in the twelfth century it was a city of great importance. in consequence of its adhesion, at the end of the war of succession, to the house of hapsburg, gerona was deprived of its privileges and university, since which time it has steadily gone down hill. down hill it may have proceeded, but i found it a very pleasant, quaint old-world city set in the midst of verdant hills and running waters. shady walks are taking the place of now useless fortifications; and have not i sat in one of the most delightful rose gardens you could wish to rest in, and heard the note of the nightingale trilling on the perfumed air? most of spain has gone down hill, and most of spain is nothing but enchanting. [illustration: gerona. the cattle market] gerona is bisected by the river oñar, and from its waters which wash them, the houses rise tier above tier up the hill side. in the summer when the river is running low, and if it happens to be a saturday, you will see one of the most remarkable sights that spain can boast of. under and around the arches of the old bridge are congregated hundreds of brown and fawn-coloured cattle. the background of ancient houses, yellow, grey, white, brown--every tone, rises up above this throng. coloured garments, the week's washing, flutter in the breeze, green shutters and blinds hang from the creeper-clad balconies. it is market day. the lowing of oxen, mingled with the hum of bargaining humanity in red caps and prussian-blue blouses, surges up like the sound of breakers on a distant shore. you who enter spain by the east route, go to gerona at the end of the week--you will never regret its saturday market. the cathedral stands well. the west façade, a renaissance addition, is approached from the plaza below by a grand flight of ninety steps in three tiers. in the unfinished jambs of the south door are a series of interesting terra-cotta figures dating from 1458. there is nothing else in the exterior worthy of note, but directly i entered i stopped in amazement at the daring of an architect who could build so enormous a span as that under which i found myself. this span is seventy-three feet, the clear width of the nave, and unsupported by any pillars. no flying buttresses outside give additional strength to the thrust of the roof. the stonework is perfect and the vaulting inside simple. so bold and hazardous were the plans of guillermo boffy that the chapter at first refused to sanction them. being in doubts as to his sanity, they sought the opinion of twelve other architects, who were examined separately. as they all approved and passed boffy's plans, the construction of this marvel was commenced, and the first stone laid in 1416. the apsidal chancel had been begun a century earlier and finished in 1346, pretty much on the same lines as this part of barcelona's cathedral. unfortunately--how often does one have to acknowledge this!--the _coro_, with its hideous _respaldos_, painted to imitate gothic arches in perspective, almost ruins this splendid and solemn interior. among the seats of the _silleria del coro_ there are still preserved some that date from the fourteenth century. early carved work of the same period is found in the elaborate _retablo_ over the high altar, which is surmounted by three fine processional crosses. the _baldaquino_, also of wood, is covered like the _retablo_ with plates of silver. it is a mass of precious metal, enamelled coats-of-arms and gems, and is an extremely interesting relic of that century. [illustration: gerona. the cathedral] over the sacristy door are the tombs of count ramon berenguer ii. and his wife ermensendis, who died in 1058, predeceasing her husband by twenty-four years. the sacristy itself contains a remarkable piece of twelfth-century crewel work, said to be the earliest known specimen in existence. it is covered with figures of a type similar to those of contemporary mss. the romanesque cloisters form an irregular trapezium. the columns are doubled and about a foot apart, not unlike those of tarragona. the finest romanesque example that gerona possesses is the church of san pedro de los galligans. the apse, little damaged during the siege, forms a tower in the town wall. there is no doubt of the great antiquity of this building, which dates probably from the early part of the tenth century. the east end is mostly constructed of black volcanic scoriæ. the nave and aisles, the bays of which are very simply built, are almost prehistoric in their roughness. in the cloisters attached to the church is the museo provincial. many relics of gerona's heroic defence can here be seen, as well as some early christian and hebrew remains. toledo standing high above the yellow tagus, which, confined in a deep gorge, rushes and swirls far below between precipitous granite cliffs, toledo was always an ideal position for a fortress before modern firearms rendered nature's defences of little avail. its name is associated with the great cardinals of the rodrigo, tenorio, and foncesca families, as well as scions of the houses of ximenes, mendoza, tavera, and lorenzana. the wealth of these prelates was immense, and their power, ecclesiastical and temporal, proportionate. they practically had no rivals, they certainly feared none, they ruled kings as well as countries, and their allegiance to rome was purely nominal. they made wars and fought in them. for their patronage of art and literature future generations have had good cause to be grateful. they built schools and improved the means of communication throughout the land. under their influence the church was omnipotent, and they have written their names deep in the pages of spanish history. in fact, so great was the power of toledo's clergy that it grew to be the cause of the foundation of the capital at madrid. philip ii., who removed the court from valladolid to toledo, found it better, after a short residence here, to take himself and his court to a town where he no longer encountered the arrogance of ecclesiastical rule. under the romans, who captured it in 193 b.c., "toletum" became the capital of hispania. leovigild removed hither from seville, and his successor, reccared, who embraced the orthodox form of christianity, made it the ecclesiastical as well as political capital of his dominions. for nearly four centuries, from 712, when the moors took toledo, it was under their rule; but divided counsels and the treachery of the down-trodden hebrew enabled alfonso vi. to enter in triumph with the cid. the king then styled himself emperor, and promoted the archbishop to the primacy of spain. under alfonso's rule the city grew rapidly in every way. churches and convents were built, defences strengthened, and toledo knew no rival. with far-seeing wisdom, moor and christian were allowed to intermarry, and lived together in peace for wellnigh one hundred and fifty years. the advent in 1227 of that ecclesiastical firebrand, st. ferdinand, however, altered this. one of his first acts was to pull down the mosque, wherein the moors of the city, by alfonso's royal prerogative, had been allowed to worship, and commence the building on its site of the great cathedral. [illustration: toledo. the cathedral] for two hundred years and more did the architects who followed pedro perez add bit by bit, leaving their mark on its stones. partly constructed of granite it is immensely strong. a softer stone has been used with great discretion in the decorative portions of the building. no comprehensive view of the cathedral is obtainable, so closely do the houses surround it on the south and east, and creep up the hill on which it is built, on the north. the west front is best seen from the plaza ayuntamiento, a pleasant little garden which the town hall bounds on one side. i managed a sketch from the narrow street below this garden. only one of the two towers of the west façade is finished as originally intended. the other is capped by a dome, designed by el greco, that painter of the weird, and under which is the chapel wherein the mozárabic ritual is celebrated daily at 9 a.m. the great west door, la puerta del perdon, is enriched with embossed bronze work. flanking on it either side are the doors of las palmas, and de los escribanos. the arches of all three have figures in the jambs, which are continued round each arch in the very best gothic of the fifteenth century. above the doors the façade is adorned with a sculptured last supper and colossal figures in niches. in the centre is a splendid rose window twenty-eight feet in diameter. the north transept is entered from the steep calle de la chapineria by la puerta del reloj, the oldest doorway of the cathedral. its bronze doors, of later date than the doorway, were cast to match those of la puerta de los leones in the south transept. this doorway's name is derived from the lions, which holding shields, occupy positions on its pillars. another entrance is through la puerta de la presentacion which opens on the cloisters. the effect produced by the magnificent interior is much enhanced by the beauty of the glass which fills most of the windows. the earliest are on the north side of the nave, and form a series which was commenced in 1418 and finished one hundred and fifty years later. the glass in the rose window over the west door is superb, and the same may be said for that in the north transept and the wheel window over la puerta de los leones. there is no triforium, and the transepts do not project beyond the nave. the arches of the very beautiful chancel serve as niches for figures. here in each bay is a rose window forming a clerestory, and the colours in the glass of these shine like jewels in a crown. [illustration: toledo. the south transept] there are in all twenty chapels, every one of which contains something worth study. the lofty _retablo_ in the capilla mayor is of the richest gothic. above is a colossal calvary of later workmanship. cardinal ximenes built this chapel, among the many monuments of which are the tombs of spain's earliest kings. separating it from the _crucero_ is a magnificent plateresque _reja_, on either side of which stands a gilded pulpit. behind the _retablo_ is the _transparente_, much admired by toledans, but the one jarring note in the finest of spain's cathedrals. this theatrical mass of marble figures, in the midst of which the archangel rafael kicks his feet high in the air and squeezes a gold fish in one hand! is lit from a window let into the roof of the apse. the capilla de reyes nuevos contains the tombs of the kings descended from henry ii. his tomb and that of his wife, as well as the spouse of henry iii., a daughter of john of gaunt duke of lancaster, are among the many that crowd the walls. the capilla de san ildefonso is an extremely beautiful example of early gothic work. the much-mutilated tomb in the centre of cardinal albornoz is a masterpiece of the same style. many other great ecclesiastics rest in this elegant octagon, notably inigo de mendoza, viceroy of sardinia, who was killed at the siege of granada. the capilla de santiago was erected in 1435 by alvaro de luna, the man who saved spain for juan ii. by repressing the turbulent nobles, and who for his fidelity was rewarded by disgrace and execution in the plaza mayor at valladolid. the scallop shells which decorate the walls represent de luna's office of grand master of the order of santiago. cardinal ximenes re-established the mozárabic ritual, which is celebrated in the capilla mozárabe, as a reminder to the pope that spain did not owe implicit allegiance to rome. the small detached capilla de la descension de nuestra señora stands against the second pier in the north aisle. it marks the spot where the virgin came down and presented san ildefonso with the _casulla_ or chausable. the salle capitular is a grand example of early sixteenth-century work, with a plateresque frieze and gilt _artesonado_ ceiling by francisco de lara. it contains a series of portraits of the cardinal archbishops of toledo, and frescoes by juan de borgoña. the work of this painter is to be met with throughout the cathedral. the _coro_ occupies two bays of the nave and is a veritable museum of carving and sculpture. its _silleria_ are in two rows. the lower is of walnut and enriched with scenes representing the campaigns of ferdinand and isabella. the upper of the same wood is a perfect classical contrast and is inlaid not carved. berruguete, whose work may be best studied in valladolid, executed the seats on the south side, and vigarney those on the north. a small figure of the virgin in blackened stone looks really ancient. it stands in the middle of the _coro_ on a pedestal. nicolas de vergara was responsible for the two reading desks, which are masterpieces of gilded metal work. the gothic cloisters enclose a delightful garden, and have an upper cloister reached by a door in the archbishop's palace. from this pleasant _claustro alto_ a very good idea of the size of the cathedral is obtained. space does not permit me to enlarge on the manifold works of art which this noble building contains. the pictures, the iron work--though i must just mention a beautifully fanciful knocker of two nude nymphs hanging downwards from the head of a satyr whose hands clasped together form the handle, which adorns la puerta de la presentacion--the sculpture, notably that on the _respaldo_, or outer wall of the _coro_, and the many relics in the treasury, would all occupy more than i can afford. suffice it to say that nowhere in spain is there a gothic building of such well-proportioned dimensions, such simplicity in its leading features, such a fine idea in the interior of the spacing out of light and shade, as in this magnificent cathedral--the grandest of the three due to french influence. and toledo's churches? there are nearly sixty still remaining, every street seems to contain one! and toledo's convents? there are almost as many. of the former, san juan de los reyes, on the high ground above the bridge of saint martin, the last remnant left of a once wealthy franciscan convent, was built by cardinal ximenes in commemoration of the "catholic kings" victory of toro. on its outer walls still hang the manacles and chains of the captive christians who were set free at the conquest of granada, and the interior is embellished with the arms of ferdinand and isabella, and covered with sculptured heraldry. [illustration: toledo. the zócodover] santa maria la blanca, originally a jewish synagogue, is in the _mudéjar_ style, and has some charming arabesques, with a fine cedar ceiling said to be of wood from the trees at lebanon. almost opposite--we are in the juderia, or jews' quarter, to the south-east of san juan de los reyes--is another synagogue, el transito. built in 1366 by samuel levi, pedro the cruel's treasurer, in the moorish style, it is almost a better piece of architecture than santa maria la blanca. levi lived next door, in the house known now as la casa del greco, that painter having occupied it during his residence in toledo. the house and synagogue are connected by a secret passage from the vaults of the former. these are of immense size and strength, and in levi's day held an enormous amount of treasure--too much for the poor man's good. his royal master, when sufficient was accumulated, put him to death and appropriated all he could find. el cristo de la luz, one of the most interesting churches in toledo, was originally a tiny mosque. it is divided into nine different compartments by four columns, from the capitals of which spring sixteen arches. it was here that alfonso vi. attended the first mass after the city was captured. close by is the convent of san domingo el real, where a glimpse may be had of picturesque nuns while at their devotions during early service. as the station 'bus rattled up the steep winding ascent to the despacho central we dashed through the zocodovér, the square celebrated for numerous _auto de fés_ and other executions. all day long it is crowded with sauntering folk, who walk up and down, quietly enough now, on the scene of much former cruelty, bloodshed, and many bull-fights. on its eastern side a fine moorish arch leads down the hill by a footpath to the bridge of alcántara. immediately the arch is passed on the left lies the old hospital de santa cruz. it is one of the best examples of the transition to renaissance in spain. the portal is deeply undercut and elaborately carved in soft "white rose" stone and marble. the inner gate is plateresque and only surpassed by san marcos at leon and the gateway of the university at salamanca. cardinal mendoza's arms adorn the beautiful _patio_, which has a double arcade of great elegance, and the stone work on the balustrade of the staircase leading out of this is very fine. opposite, on the other side of this steep descent, are the military governor's quarters which are dominated by the huge alcázar, now the military academy for infantry cadets. destroyed by fire in 1886, the present edifice, rebuilt soon after, is seen in the illustration of the alcántara bridge rising a great square mass on the top of the hill. it was the fortress and palace of moorish days. alvaro de luna had a share in its alteration and herrera completed it to the present size by additions executed for philip ii. many a time has it been sacked by the conquerors of toledo and many a prisoner of note passed his last hours within its gloomy walls, before being led out to death in the zocodovér. [illustration: toledo. the alcántara bridge] both toledo's bridges are magnificent. the alcántara, crossed on the way from the station, has but a couple of arches which span the mighty river at a great height. it is defended by a gateway at either end, that on the inner side being the moorish tower in my sketch. the bridge of saint martin has one arch of enormous span with four smaller, which carry it over the rushing tagus. between these two bridges from the opposite bank of the river one gets the best idea of toledo's strength. nothing in spain surpasses the grim majesty of the city, which rises above the sun-baked and wind-blistered crags that form the gorge below through which the river has cut its way. no spot could have been better chosen for defence than the hill enclosed in this "horseshoe" of mad waters. small wonder that within its encircling walls grew up a race of prelates whose rule spread far beyond the borders of castile, and whose powerful hand was felt in countries of an alien tongue. of the eight city gates the most interesting is the puerta del sol, a moorish structure with two towers on either side of a horseshoe arch. it is close to the little church of el cristo de la luz, and from either of the towers a very good idea is obtained of toledo's defences. near the puerta del cambon, another of the gates, is the site of the old palace of the last of the spanish goths, roderic, who lost his life on the banks of the guadalete near cadiz when giving battle to tarik and his berbers. my whole impression of toledo was that of a city of gloom. its larger houses were forbidding in the extreme. in these a huge portal, with armorial bearings and massive pillars, defended by a stout iron-bound door, opens into a dark porch, from which one enters the _patio_ through an equally strong entrance. the windows that look on to the street are heavily barred and none are within reach of the pedestrian. its streets, too narrow and steep for vehicular traffic, are as silent as the grave (most spaniards wear shoes made of esparto grass or soft leather), save when a young cadet from the alcázar passes along rattling his sword, and attracts the attention of the señoritas who sit high up in those inaccessible balconies. built on the moorish plan, these tortuous thoroughfares twist and turn like a maze, and it seemed to me that the sun never entered them. houses and streets, walls and towers, still remain as they were in the great cardinal's days, and stand, even now, as symbols of the iron rule of the church. the cardinal's hat is to be found graved in stone over many a door, and the "sheaf of arrows," the arms of the "catholic kings," is still to be seen over the entrance of what was once the palace of pedro the cruel. toledo blades are still made and proved in the ugly factory a mile outside the city. toledo ware (made in germany) is sold by most of the shops. the growing trade in liquorice is a modern industry, but if it were not for another recent innovation, the military academy, it would take no stretch of the imagination to carry one back again into the middle ages and to sink one's individuality and become a human atom under the rule of the great church. salamanca before i ever thought that fate would take me to spain, i had formed in my mind, as one is apt to do, a spain of my own, a spain of glorious romance. i had been in many cities throughout the country, but it was not until i reached salamanca that, "surely," thought i, "the spain of my imagination is now realised." here in the middle of the plain, with which one's thoughts are somehow familiar, rises the great cathedral, its towers are landmarks for miles round. here is a beautiful river winding through valleys deep cut in the ochre-coloured soil, its banks are clad with verdure and it is spanned by an ancient bridge. away over the plain, just visible in the haze, are the blue mountains of the south. in the midst of all, the dull mud and yellow walls of the city, the many-hued roofs of red and brown, with deep shadows under their eaves, rise tier above tier to the cathedral above. and this, the prototype of spain's greatness, her church, the ever-present reminder that in days gone by its princes led her armies to victory and placed her in the van of nations. i am standing on the noble bridge, half of which is even now as it was in the days of the roman occupation. those massive walls up there of monasteries and convents always formed part of the picture of my imagination. they bake under a september sun, just as all spain ought to do. a long string of heavily laden mules trots past, their bells jingling merrily, their drivers shouting and cracking their whips. a well set-up peasant with his head in a handkerchief and broad-brimmed hat, cut-away tunic, red sash and tight knee breeches, canters by seated on a high peaked saddle. his well-bred horse shows a good deal of the arab strain, across its quarters are a couple of rugs and its rider carries an umbrella. a beggar stops before me, and prays that, for the love of the holy mary, i will give him a _perro chico_. two wizened old cronies go by chattering about manuelo's wife. one carries a couple of fowls tied together by their legs, the poor birds are doing their best to hold their heads in a natural position. some little urchins are throwing stones at the washerwomen by the riverside below. an old man seated on a donkey's rump ambles past. yes, this is what i imagined spain to be. i turn my steps towards the city. i wander by the cathedral and reach the great university of the middle ages. what would salamanca have been without its university! i pass many fine houses, with coats-of-arms emblazoned over their portals. i gaze at their high walls and windows barred to keep the intruder from the fair sex. most of them seem falling into decay, but this only adds to the romance. at length i reach an arcaded square. the columns of the arcades are wooden, they are at all sorts of angles, but the houses above still stand. the sun blazes down on scores of picturesque market folk, who sell almost everything from peaches and fowls to little tinsel images and double-pronged hoes. dogs are sniffing about picking up stray scraps. children run in and out, fall down and get up laughing. every one is busy. the animation of this little square, as i suddenly come upon it out of a deeply shaded and aristocratic street, is just the spain i had always thought of--a spain of contrasts. brilliant sun and grateful shade. seclusion behind high walls, and a strange medley of noisy folk, for ever bargaining, buying and selling. certainly in salamanca it is all here. i hear the click of the castanets and the sound of the guitar in the evening, i see the ardent lover standing at those iron bars whispering soft raptures to his mistress, and the picture is complete. [illustration: salamanca] salamanca is a sleepy old city which the world seems to have left behind. in the summer it is a veritable furnace, in the winter it is swept by icy blasts. before the christian era it was known as salmantica. hannibal came and captured it in b.c. 247 and under the romans it was the ninth military station on the great road which they built connecting cadiz and merida with astorga and gijón. alfonso ix. of leon founded the university, which reached its zenith as a seat of learning during the sixteenth century. philip ii., having transferred his court from valladolid to toledo, made salamanca's bishop suffragan to that city's, since when it seems to have been left out in the cold and slowly but surely proceeded down hill. this is the reason, i think, why it attracted me so much. it is essentially a city with a past and of the past. the french under thiébaut pulled it to pieces and used the material from its demolished buildings to fortify the place. this was in 1811. the following year saw marmont's troops utterly routed by wellington, three miles south of the fortifications. it was this victory that gained him his marquisate and a grant from parliament of £100,000. like saragossa, salamanca possesses two cathedrals. the older intensely interesting in every way, the later, a huge late gothic pile begun in 1513 and finished in 1733. this immense structure affords a good study of the changes of architectural taste spread over the years which intervened between these two dates. [illustration: salamanca. the old cathedral] the west façade is a marvel of intricate sculpture in the richly-coloured soft stone that has been used as if it were plaster or wax. late gothic predominates amidst a deal of plateresque and barroque ornament. despite its incongruities it is extremely fine, but would look even better if some of the numerous niches had not lost their statues, and if little boys did not find a pastime in lodging stones amongst those that are left, greatly i fear to their detriment. over the double doorway are high reliefs of the nativity and adoration of the magi, a negro prince being an especially good figure in the latter subject. above is a crucifixion. the north porch is also very fine and gains in effect, as indeed does the whole of this side of the cathedral, by the raised piazza on which it is built. the approach is up some dozen steps, the whole of the piazza being surrounded by pillars as at leon and seville. juan gil de hontañon, who designed this and the sister cathedral at segovia, surpassed himself with the great tower and its finely-proportioned dome, the top of which is 360 feet high. the crocketed pinnacles, the flying buttresses, the dome over the crossing, and the wonderful deep yellow of this huge church, whatever may be one's opinion about the architecture, make it one of the most impressive of spain's cathedrals. i was disappointed with the interior on first acquaintance, but it has only to be known to be appreciated. the imposing proportions, it is 340 feet long, 158 feet wide and close on 100 feet high, gradually asserted themselves, and before i left salamanca i was much in love with hontañon's masterpiece. a pierced balustrade takes the place of a triforium, flamboyant renaissance in the aisles and classical in nave. it runs round the whole church and in the transepts and choir these two occur together. medallions in the spandrils of the arches add to the rich effect. many details in this interior i found to be worth a second and third visit. the chapel of dorado, a veritable museum, contains the tomb of the builder, fransico de palenzuela. its walls are covered with a profusion of coloured saints on gilt pedestals. there is a very curious old organ, standing at the back of an also curious old minstrel's gallery. a sad-looking skeleton, with "memento mori" cut on a slab at his feet, occupies a dark hole in one of the walls. fine _azulejos_ decorate the chapel, and many other antiquities too, which i cannot enumerate. in the capilla del carmen rest the remains of gerómino, the cid's bishop and confessor. an ancient wooden crucifix stands over the altar, it is the identical one carried by the bishop in the wars of the cid. another relic of the great campeador is to be seen in the relicario. a small byzantine bronze, "el crucifijo de las batallas," studded with chequer work--a fine specimen of early limoges enamel. all this interested me muchly, but the "catedral vieja," a grand example of late romanesque style, interested me more. fortis salmantica, as it was called, on account of the thickness of its walls, has not been used for service since its huge neighbour was erected. i made a drawing of the only view which can be obtained of the exterior from the plazuela chica. the central lantern is surmounted by the emblem of nobility, a cock, and is formed by an octagonal tower with a stone dome. the tower is arcaded and has four domed turrets and dormers at the corners similar to those at zamora. street considers that he has "never seen any central lantern more thoroughly good and effective from every point of view than this is." to reach the interior one has to retrace one's steps to the "catedral nueva" and from its south aisle pass through a doorway into the other building. this was erected on a lower level than its big neighbour and with the attendant verger i descended ten steps and found myself in a very beautiful mellow-coloured church. the arches of the nave and aisles are pointed, but the windows and arcading are round. the capitals of the columns are a museum of carved fantasies, imps, animals, birds, &c. on the wall of the north aisle, which was partly demolished when the "catedral nueva" was built, are some very curious frescoes; the church has a clerestory of single lights but no triforium. there is a wonderful _retablo_ in the capilla mayor by an italian, nicolas florentino. it is still in perfect preservation, and the fifty-five frescoes set in white and gold of which it is composed have a beautiful effect in the semi-gloom of the dark chapel. the mozárabic ritual is celebrated six times a year in another chapel, la capilla de talavera. the groining of its roof is the only one of the sort i have seen, it is composed of parallel ribs which cross one another. in the capilla de san bartolomé lies bishop diego de anaya. his tomb is surrounded by one of the finest examples of wrought and hammered iron work in the whole of spain. some other members of this family are also interred in the chapel, which contains a mediæval organ covered by a screen of coloured moorish arabesques. [illustration: salamanca. an old street.] the cloisters were built in 1170, but have been partly modernised and totally disfigured by a coat of whitewash. an uncared-for garden filled with rubbish occupies the centre. surely some one might be found to tend this little secluded patch of quietness and make it a place for delightful repose instead of the disgrace it now is! before the french occupation salamanca was a city of churches and monastic buildings. to build their fortifications they destroyed thirteen convents and twenty colleges besides many churches. the south-west corner of the city is still an empty desert full of rubble and stone strewn about everywhere, the remains of the now dismantled fortress which overlooked the valley of the tormes. among the churches left, that attached to the now suppressed dominican convent of san estéban is by far the finest. it is a miniature cathedral in itself. the gothic exterior is extremely good. the great west façade is highly enriched with plateresque ornament. an elliptical arch of great dimensions roofs the porch. below it is a realistic group illustrating the martyrdom of st. stephen, with the date 1610 cut upon a stone which one of the figures is picking up to hurl at the saint. the _coro_ is over the west end, and for once the whole of the interior is visible. this is very lofty, and the view up to the immense high altar, executed by chirriguera himself, superb. there are two more altars in the church by the same hand, and although his flamboyant style is not to my liking, i could not help admiring the way in which he had evidently allowed himself all the licence he was capable of in their sumptuous design. to the south of the little _plaza_ in which san estéban stands are the cloisters of the convent, in the upper storey of which is salamanca's museum. unfortunately it contains nothing of interest. columbus was lodged by the dominicans in this convent, and propounded those schemes to the monks, which the learned members of the university had pronounced worthless and crack-brained. he found in fray diego de deza and the other brothers warm supporters. the once magnificent convent of las agustinas recoletas, founded by the count of monterey, has a beautiful church in the shape of a latin cross. over the high altar is one of ribera's masterpieces--_the immaculate conception_. monterey was known as "the good slow man" and was viceroy of naples in philip iv.'s reign. he accumulated great wealth during his viceroyalty and built himself the fine palace which stands close to the convent. there is an anecdote current in salamanca that when a peasant woman craved an audience of the king, which he granted, she prayed "god might make him also viceroy of naples." the university which made salamanca famous was united with that of palencia by ferdinand, and very soon took the foremost rank as a seat of learning in europe, though at the council of constance in the year 1414, oxford was given precedence, a ruling which much disgusted the patriotic spaniard. the building was entirely altered by the "catholic kings," who erected the marvellous west façade, one of the best examples of plateresque work in the country. like that of the cathedral and san estèban, it is a wonderful example of what can be done with soft stone, and how well the most delicate modelling has survived in this dry climate. some of the moorish ceilings of the interior have been restored. the grand staircase leading to the upper floors and cloister is especially well carved with dancers and foliage. over the door of each _aula_, or lecture room, is a tablet denoting the science taught within. the fine library is rich in theological lore and early editions of aristotle, &c. the little square on to which the west façade opens also leads through a good doorway into the grammar school, with a delicious cloister and shady garden. the four sides of the square and the walls of the cathedral are covered with numerous hieroglyphics and names in roman characters. they are the initials, signs, and names of the numerous scholars who have distinguished themselves in different walks of life. a custom now followed in all our own schools on boards of honour. the collegio mayor de santiago apostol is a seminary for irish priests. the number in training is generally about twenty. this building, originally founded in 1592 by philip ii. and dedicated to st. patrick, is a very good example of cinquecento architecture. among the many fine houses still left after french depredations, that of la casa de las conchas is the most celebrated. it dates from 1512, and is so named on account of the scallop shells which decorate the exterior walls. the window grilles are exceptionally fine. the spanish proverb "la mujer y el vidrio siempre estan en peligro"--"a woman and glass are always in danger," evidently held good when these intricate and beautiful guards were let into the stone. the house has a lovely _patio_ and a very fine staircase. la casa de sal is another house with a good court, the gallery above being supported by life-size figures. la casa de las duendes, or ghosts, built by archbishop fonseca, was supposed to be haunted, hence the name. the torre del clavero is a good specimen of the castilian keep. it was built in 1488 by a sotomayer who was clavero or key-bearer to the alcántara order, and is still in the possession of this noble family. throughout the churches, in these houses, and the convents which remain unsuppressed are many fine pictures, and except for seville, i found here more of interest than in any other city of spain. in the convents of course mortal man is forbidden entrance, and i could only look at their lofty walls and wish myself a nearer acquaintance with the artistic treasures which i was told lay buried behind them. perhaps the best example of a square in the whole of the country is the plaza mayor. a lofty colonnade runs around the four sides and every evening the beauties and others of salamanca make it their promenade. the men stroll round in one direction and the women in the opposite. the social life of a spanish town passed in view before me, with all its fan and language of the eyes, as i sat at one of the small tables of a café and got this cheap and harmless entertainment for one _real_. the square dates from 1720; the houses are four storeys high and on the north and south sides bear medallions of kings and celebrated men. the ayuntamiento, with its chirrigueresque façade, occupies the centre of the north side and adds greatly to the appearance of this fine plaza where up to fifty years ago bull fights took place. my work over, i nearly always found myself wandering on to the desert created by the french at the south-west angle of the city, and with my pipe spending half an hour or so meditating on the salamanca of the past and its contrast with the present. the rock stands high here over the road and river below, and there is a drop of 100 feet or more down on to the former. it is but a narrow lane hedged in by a high wall and this forbidding-looking rock. when walking along this lane one day i noticed many crosses cut in the wall and chalked red. on inquiry i was told that each cross represented a suicide. from the height above, those tired of life or disappointed in love hurl themselves down and it is the unwritten law or prerogative of him who finds the mutilated body to carve a little cross on the wall at the spot where the unhappy mortal has ended his days. but it was not to prevent suicides that i wandered there and sat smoking my afternoon pipe. no, i fear it was something inglorious, it was to get away from the stenches and filth of the town and breathe the fresh air of the plain. i do not think that anywhere, unless it be in tarragona, were my olfactory nerves so insulted as in salamanca. flies in thousands settled on my colour box and paper wherever i sat sketching. i can now appreciate fully the torture of the egyptians during the plague. add to the flies beggars innumerable, with horrible sores, offal and filth in the streets and some of the romance vanishes. yet salamanca still remains the spain of my imagination, for was not all this part and parcel of my dream? avila avila is one of the most perfectly preserved towns in spain. it gave me the impression of having been dropped from the sky,--complete as it is--so desolate and barren is the boulder-strewn waste that surrounds it. a sort of suburb pushes its mean houses straggling beyond the walls, but avila itself lies snugly within them. they are perfect--these walls that entirely encircle the old portion of the town. forty feet high, twelve thick, with eighty-six defensive towers and bastions, and ten gates, they are constructed of slabs of granite set end upwards, and were always a hard nut for invaders to crack. the roman avela afterwards fell into the hands of the moors, who for long held it as a fortress of the first class. alfonso vi., the conqueror of toledo, drove them out after a lengthy siege, and avila was rebuilt by his son ramon of burgundy. it was then that the present walls were built, being erected under the supervision of two foreigners, a frenchman and an italian, florian de pituenga and cassandro. since their day avila has played an important _rôle_ in the history of the country and witnessed many strange events. in 1465 an extraordinary scene took place on the plain outside the city. that unpopular king, enrique iv., was reigning at the time, and the hatred of the people towards him reached its height when his effigy was dragged from the city and set upon a throne which had been prepared for the ceremony of degradation. the archbishop of toledo having recounted the people's grievances, removed the crown from the effigy's head, others high in the land insulted it and at length pushed it off the throne, the people then kicked it about and a game of "socker" ensued. prince alfonso, a mere boy, was raised to the unoccupied seat, and hailed king by the archbishop, nobles and people, amidst a blare of trumpets and general rejoicing. avila is an intensely cold place, frosts often occur here in may, but the summer months are delightful. every street, every house almost is of interest, and in the old days of its importance there could have been few strongholds in the country so safe as this. the cathedral is almost a fort in itself. the east end forms part of the city walls, the apse abutting in line with the next two towers on either side forms part of the defensive works. [illustration: avila] commenced at the end of the eleventh century by alva garcia, a native of navarre, this early gothic building is still unfinished. not much is, however, of this early date, for the general style of the building is of the end of the next century, and many alterations have followed this in later years. the west front has but one tower, the north--the other, the south, does not rise above the roof. the favourite ball decoration of late gothic spain is in evidence, and guarding the doorway are a couple of uncouth mace-bearers. very terrible are these hairy granite men, but not so dangerous looking as the two lions which stand on pedestals and are chained to the cathedral walls. always on guard, these four strange figures have no doubt many a time struck a holy terror into the hearts of would-be evil-doers as they entered the church, and i daresay kept the thoughts of others in the straight line. the north door is early pointed and carries figures in each jamb, the tympanum is decorated with reliefs of the betrayal and last supper, but all the figures are sadly mutilated. the third entrance is at the south-east corner of the cathedral, and is a later addition, opening outside the walls of the city on to the calle de s. segundo. the interior of the cathedral is very simple and massive, partaking more of strength than elegance. it is a fitting inside to the severity of the fortress-like exterior. the nave is narrow and lofty, and so are the aisles. the large clerestory windows have their tracery above blocked up, and the lower lights have been treated in the same way, thus giving a certain resemblance to a triforium, a feature the church does not possess. the aisles in the apse are double, like those at tortosa, and although the single columns in the centre are very beautiful, these aisles have not the elegance of those in the other cathedral. the apse is very dark, the stone work at one time was painted red and the little that remains of this colour adds to the religious gloom of its double aisles. the columns throughout the cathedral were built to bear great weight, their capitals are simple and their bases the same. the little light that glimmers through the windows adds greatly to the sombre strength of this fine building, which, more than any other of its size, reflects the life of the spain of those days in which it was erected. street thinks it less influenced by outside art than any other building in the country, and instances the unique method of laying the stone of the root as supporting this opinion. the transepts contain some good glass, as also do the windows in the chancel. there are many good early tombs throughout the cathedral. judging from their style avila was left alone when chirriguera was erecting monstrosities elsewhere, and to me it is the most homogeneous of spain's cathedrals. the _retablo_ over the high altar rises in three stages and contains pictures by berruguete, santos cruz and juan de borgoña. on this account my last remark might be criticised, for the whole piece is a jumble of styles. the chancel is, however, too narrow for a view of this medley from the body of the church, and wherever one roams in the building nothing attracts the eye or disturbs the mind by being too flagrantly incongruous. so dark is the apse that the renaissance _trassegrario_ does not obtrude in the early gothic of its surroundings. the very fine tomb of bishop alfonso de madrigal, the solomon of his day, is fortunately illumined by a little light, and i could see the effigy of this wise prelate seated at his desk busily engaged with his pen and scroll, while above him the magi and shepherds are adoring in a good relief. there are some early paintings in most of the chapels, the _retablo_ in that of san pedro being perhaps the best. the work of cornielis, a flemish sculptor, _circa_ 1537-47, is admirably displayed in the very beautiful carving of the _silleria de coro_, and there is no better example of spanish metal work of the fifteenth century to be found than in the two iron-gilt pulpits. the sacristy contains a splendid silver monstrance by arfe, and an italian enamelled chalice of the fourteenth century by petrucci orto of siena. the cloisters are disappointing, having been much mutilated and the fourteenth-century tracery of the arches blocked up. avila, like its neighbour segovia, contains some of the best examples of romanesque work, and its many churches are archæologically as interesting as the cathedral. sheltering from the keen north wind under the arcade of san vicente i made a sketch of the gateway of that name. the church was founded in 1307 and dedicated to three martyrs who were put to death on the rock which may still be seen in the crypt below. the west façade has two incomplete towers, between which is a most elaborately carved romanesque doorway, standing in a deeply recessed arch. [illustration: avila. puerta de san vicente] the pure romanesque nave has both triforium and clerestory and the unusual feature of pointed vaulting. the proportions of this noble church are very fine, but the interest of the non-architectural visitor will be centred in the tomb of san vicente and his two sisters ss. sabina and cristeta. a metal work canopy resting on twisted columns surmounts the tomb which is a sarcophagus of the thirteenth century. the legend tells how, after the martyrdom of these three, the body of the first-named was cast out to the dogs, and that a serpent came out of the hole in the rock (still visible) and watched over it. a jew who mocked was smitten unto death by the reptile and lies buried in the south transept. the transept choir and three semicircular apses are transitional, and carry a barrel vaulting. outside the city wall, a little way down the hillside and beyond the dirty suburb that intervenes, is the late gothic church of san tomás. it possesses a fine _retablo_ of the patron st. thomas aquinas. the high altar is placed in a gallery above a low elliptical arch, this feature being repeated at the west end with the _coro_ above. at the crossing of the transepts is the beautiful but greatly mutilated tomb of prince juan, the only son of ferdinand and isabella, by whose untimely death the crown of spain passed to austria. two other tombs of great interest are those of juan de avila and juana velasquez. messer dominco, the florentine, executed them both. san pedro, standing at the east side of the mercado grande, is another romanesque church of great beauty. over the west door is a fine wheel window. the interior is pure romanesque and rich in ornament, and the north portal is replete with the same. santa teresa was born of noble parents in avila. in her early youth her heart hungered for saintly adventures in the broiling sun of africa and her mind was set upon martyrdom at the hands of the moors. fate, however, decreed otherwise. at twenty years of age she took the veil and within a few years had founded seventeen convents of bare-footed carmelite nuns. a favourite saint of spain, the date of her death, august 27, is kept all over the peninsula and her festival celebrated with great honour in avila on october 15. segovia dirty, dilapidated and sleepy, but the most enchanting town in spain. what a treat it was to find myself once more in the middle ages after the bustle and noise of madrid! the springs of a spanish 'bus are good. i never entered one without great misgivings as to how long i was fated to remain in this world. to drive into a town such as segovia is a grand test for the nerves. crack goes the whip, off start the sorry-looking horses with a jerk. i am flung violently against my neighbour. i hasten to apologise. a disconcerting jolt knocks the hat over my eyes, before it is adjusted i find myself in an attitude of prayer with my head buried in the lap of the stout lady who pants opposite, another bump and she is embracing me, we disentangle ourselves, we apologise, every one in the 'bus is doing the same. the jehu on the box fears no obstacles, a rock or a rut, they are all the same to him, he takes them all with utter disregard to everything in his way. we fly along, and somehow we land safely. we always do. yes, the steel of those spiderlike springs must be good, or the saints are watching our venture. perhaps both. the scenery on the journey from madrid is very fine after the train leaves the junction at villalba. slowly we crawled up the incline winding round and doubling on our course. merry little snow-fed streams eager to join with their fellows below sped along in a race to the sea. the summer villas of the madrileños dot the hill slopes on the ground above the withy beds. we went up and up until the highest point on the line was reached under the road along which, marching north, napoleon's troops toiled in the face of a fearful blizzard. before entering the tunnel at the top of the pass a glorious panorama is spread out to the south. away in the distance are the mountains of toledo and the spires of far-off madrid. on leaving this point the descent became rapid, and we whirled through a magnificent valley amidst true alpine scenery. the rugged tops of the sierra rose above thick forests of pine, brawling torrents dashed headlong down through green pastures, grand cattle were browsing on every side, it was indeed more swiss than spanish. [illustration: segovia at sunset] one often hears the question asked--why are there no trees in spain? a french writer answers, that the moors are responsible for the lack of shade in a spanish landscape. he tells us they cut down all the trees they found, because trees harbour birds, and birds destroy all fruit and grain!--a truly ingenious theory, quite worthy of the fertile brains of the french, but surely a most ridiculous solution. the moor brought the orange and the lemon to europe; he was a lover of shade, he was also a great gardener. no, the reason why spain has apparently no trees, is that very few have been planted for hundreds of years. wood is necessary for fires in a country where there is practically no coal. the peasant has always been poor, he has always taken anything that came to hand. he helped himself to the wood of the forests around him. his betters did the same. all the trees near madrid are known to have been ruthlessly cut down and sold to defray the expenses of philip ii.'s court; and it is only of recent years that any replanting has been taken in hand. when the present king was a boy of four years old, a ceremony, now repeated every year at the fiesta del arbol, was inaugurated. the queen mother took him to guindebra outside madrid, where he planted several trees. at every anniversary the day is devoted by school children all over the country to this same object. as many as 10,000 saplings have been put into the ground in a single day, thus laying by a store of wealth for future generations. segovia is surrounded by trees. hidden from the great plain in which the town lies, they cover the banks of the two streams which join issue below the city, thus forming the mass of rock on which it stands. these valleys, eaten out by the running water, are among the great charms of this romantic place. nothing can exceed the beauty of early spring. fruit trees in full blossom, tall poplars bending their graceful heads in the breeze and chestnuts bursting into leaf. the air is filled with the twitterings of nesting birds, the sloping banks covered with the tender green of young grass; all nature is alive, the sun is warm and the sound of rushing waters brings peace to the soul. perched high up, hanging apparently on mighty rocks, the alcázar broods grimly over the gorge below. still further up and beyond, rises the mass of the cathedral, towers, domes and pinnacles. three hundred and thirty feet high, the great tower rears itself like a sentinel, a landmark for many miles. round the base cluster the houses of the town like chickens seeking shelter under the wings of a mother hen. no place in all spain appealed to me so much. no town was so replete with subjects for my brush, and nowhere else did i feel the romance of this marvellous country as in segovia. [illustration: segovia. the aqueduct] a town of iberian origin and name, under the roman rule it was of some importance. the great aqueduct, which spans the valley that divides segovia in the plaza del azoquéjo, brought pure water from a mountain torrent, the rio frio, ten miles away. it does the same to-day. constructed of granite blocks, laid cyclopean fashion without mortar or cement, it commences near san gabriel. to break the force of the rushing stream the conduit has many angles. without doubt it is the most important roman remain in spain, for this alone segovia would be famous. once upon a time his satanic majesty fell desperately in love with a beautiful segovian. to further his suit, an offer was made to do anything she might require. her home was on a hill; her work, to fetch water from the stream below. finding the continual tramp down and up rather irksome, this daughter of eve bethought herself of a request to mitigate her toil. "done," said the evil one, and the aqueduct was built in one night! in terror she fled to the church, and the church discovered that one stone had been left out, also that the aqueduct was extremely useful. the contract was declared void and the maiden freed from the rash promise she had playfully given his majesty. the country folk still know it by the name of the puento del diabolo. during the siege of segovia, the moors destroyed thirty-five of the arches, but these were cleverly rebuilt in 1493 by juan escovedo, a monk of el parral, who received the scaffolding in payment for his work. more recently, extensive repairs in the same way have been successfully carried out. the most imposing view is in the plaza del azoquéjo, from which it towers upwards in a double line of arches one above the other, and its length is best grasped from el calvario, a hill to the south of the town. the cathedral is a late gothic pile, built of a warm yellow stone, and looks particularly impressive from the shady walk among the rocks on the left bank of the clamores, the stream which cuts off segovia from the southern plateau. it was begun in 1525 by the builder of salamanca's cathedral which it greatly resembles, juan gil de hontañon, and continued at his death by his son. the weak point in the exterior, which masses very grandly, is the western façade. the interior is very striking. the wide span of the arches, the richness of the admirable vaulting, the splendid late gothic windows and the feeling of light and space are fine examples of the last stage of gothic work, just before the influence of the oncoming renaissance took hold of the architects of that day. the floor is beautifully laid with red, blue and white diamond-shaped slabs of marble; and the very necessary notice--"no escupir, la religiosidad y higiene la prohibur"--keeps it clean and decent. in the _coro_, which occupies nearly the whole of the centre of the nave, there is a _retablo_ by sabatini. the _silleria_ are very fine. they were rescued from the old cathedral, which was destroyed in charles v.'s time by the comunéros, who started business by pulling down churches, appropriating all they could lay hands on, plundering the wealthy and generally behaving as a mob that has the upper hand always does. the outer walls of the _coro_ are stucco, painted to represent different species of marble; described, by the way, in a reputable guide book--"beautifully coloured marbles"! most of the _rejas_ which shut off the side chapels are good gilded iron work. in that of la piedad there is a good _retablo_ with life-sized figures by juan de juni, 1571; and in the chapel of the segragrio a wooden figure of christ by alonso cano. through a fine gothic portal in the capilla del cristo del consuelo i entered the cloisters in company with a verger, who took great pride in his cathedral. these cloisters are surpassingly beautiful; a very good example of flamboyant gothic. in vain did i search for a corner from which to make a sketch. the courtyard was overgrown with shrubs, tall cypresses and vines climbing at random shut out everything. the garden itself was a mass of rubbish and old timber. the well in the centre, overgrown with creepers and weeds; while in the cloisters themselves preparations were afoot for the coming easter processions, and all available space taken up by carpenters and painters at work on the pasos. in the little dark chapel of santa catalina on the west side, is the tiny tomb of the unfortunate infante pedro, the three-year-old son of henry ii. the poor little child was dropped by his nurse from a window in the alcazar, and ended his young life on the rocks below. 'tis a pitiful object this pathetic tomb, alone, here in this damp spot where daylight only enters when the door is opened. in the sacristy there is a custodia in the form of a temple, six feet high, silver and exquisitely chased. the vestments possessed by the clergy are most rarely worked and of great value. segovia was once rich in churches. like the rest of the city, a great many have alas! fallen into decay, and those not in this state are rapidly approaching it. they are mostly small and retain the apse. several are cloistered and every one of them is architecturally of great interest. here again is another charm of this romantic old city, evidence of past glories and ecclesiastical power, the history of spain written in its stones. [illustration: segovia. plaza mayor] san millan, a romanesque structure of the twelfth century, is the best preserved church in segovia. the exquisite arcades on the north and south sides have coupled columns with elaborately carved capitals. like most of the buildings of this period solidity rather than grace was the effect aimed at by their architects. it possesses a triple apse; the piers supporting the roof are very massive, the capitals to the columns are formed of semi-grotesque figures of man and beast. the two doorways are good. in the church of san martin there is a carved wooden passion. four life-sized figures take the place of shafts in the great doorway, and again a cloister forms the exterior of the south and west walls. in the dominican convent of santa cruz, founded by ferdinand and isabella, is still to be seen a sepulchral urn of one of the original companions of st. dominic. "tanto monta" the motto of the king and queen is cut both inside and out on the walls. over the west portal are good reliefs of the crucifixion and the pietà. la vera cruz, a church built by the templars in 1204, is difficult of access. i procured the key after much trouble, and found the twelve-sided nave forming a sort of ambulatory round the central walled-in chamber. it is an imitation of the holy sepulchre at jerusalem. the templars were suppressed in 1312, so this gem had but a short existence as their house of prayer. nestling amidst a grove of acacia trees, hidden away under the rock, is the santuario de fuencisla. built to commemorate the miraculous rescue of maria del salto, a beautiful jewess, this little sanctuary is much affected by pilgrims. the rock which overshadows it is known as la peña grajera, or "crow's cliff," taking this name from the multitude of carnivorous birds who always assembled here for a meal after a victim had been hurled down to expiate his crime in a death below. maria, accused of adultery, was led to the top and pushed off the edge to find the fate of so many before her. with great presence of mind she called loudly on the virgin, who hearing, came to her assistance; and so retarded her downward flight that she alighted gently, escaping unhurt. here in days long gone by lived a hermit, whose good life and deeds are still a much-reverenced legend among segovians. the monastery of el parral, once a wealthy and powerful house of the brotherhood of san gerónimo, contains a very good _retablo_ by diego de urbina. it was founded by a member of the great pacheco family, who fought three antagonists one after another and came off successful. he vowed to build a church on the spot where his skill and prowess gave him so splendid a victory, and to endow it as well. it is now a convent of franciscan nuns. next in importance to the cathedral is the comparatively new building of the alcázar. standing high up on the crags, below which the eresma and clamores meet, it occupies an unrivalled position. a fine view of this truly castilian fortress is obtained from the beautiful walk which encircles the city on the further bank of each stream. above the tall poplars and thick scrub rise its turrets and spires. the massive walls go sheer up from the rock on which their foundations rest. the huge embattled tower and drawbridge assist the feeling of strength; and it only requires the weathering of years, adding broken colour to the somewhat new-looking exterior, to make this a perfect specimen of mediæval architecture. the building was originally moorish, but the many vicissitudes of troublous times saw it in a bad state when henry iv., "el impotente," repaired and made it his residence. within its walls isabella was proclaimed queen of castile in 1474. cabrera, the husband of her greatest friend, beatrice of boabdilla, held the fortress and its treasure, and it was mainly through his valour that isabella succeeded to the throne. during the comunéros insurrection the alcázar held out for charles v. at the quelling of the revolt charles did all in his power to thoroughly restore the building and furnish it with great splendour. his son philip added much that the father's death had left unfinished. our own king, charles i., was here entertained, and gil blas confined a prisoner. the great fire, originated by some of the students of the military college, almost entirely destroyed the whole castle in 1862. the present edifice dates from shortly after that year and is now used as a storehouse for military archives and an academy for artillery officers. a very good gateway spans the road that leads out past the santuario de fuencisla along the right bank of the eresma. the river here is an ideal looking trout stream, but alas! fish are not as plentiful now as when charles i. was entertained and fed on "fatte troute" in the alcázar. follow the path over the bridge to the left, it soon narrows into a mere goat track as it skirts the rock; a few steps farther on and the wonderful position of the fortress-castle bursts into view. how fascinating it looked as i saw it one night in the moonlight with the silver beams glinting on its spires. all was very still as i entered the wood of stunted pines beyond. across the ravine rose the mighty cathedral silhouetted against a dark star-laden sky. a light here and there shone from a window in the houses beneath. i heard the distant cry of the watchman on his rounds. a faint scent from the heavy dew rose to my nostrils, a scent of mother earth. it was with unwilling steps i crossed the stream and sought my bed that night. such moments are rare. on the left bank of the eresma, almost hidden in the trees, stands a building which once was the mint of spain. up till the year 1730 all spain's money was coined here, the proximity to the impregnable alcázar, which was used as the treasury, affording security against untimely raids. the old mint is now a flour mill, but still bears the royal arms over its gateway. at one time segovia was the great castilian mart for wool. the church, and monasteries of el parral, el paular, and the escorial owning immense flocks. these were driven to the pure waters of the eresma, to be cleansed before being shorn. after the sheep-washing, the animals were put into the sweating house, and their legs tied together. the shearer then commenced operations, and as each sheep passed out of his hands it was branded; the shepherds standing by made a selection of the older animals for the butcher, the remainder being taken away to their mountain pastures. even now there are many flocks in the country around, particularly on the lower hills near la granja, where i noticed a large number not at all unlike the kentish breed of romney marsh. seven miles from segovia the summer royal palace of la granja lies in the midst of beautiful woods and clear streams. at the foot of the sierra, the highest peak of which, la peñalara, raises its crest a few miles off, this elysium is a beautiful spot for those who have earned a holiday from the cares of state. the gardens are most charmingly arranged, and the fountains with a never ending supply of water, better than those at versailles. built by philip v., whose tastes and inclinations were thoroughly french, la granja has been the scene of important events in the history of the country. the treaty which handed spain over to france in 1796 was here signed by godoy. in 1832 ferdinand vii. revoked the decree by which he had abolished the salic law, and summoned don carlos to the palace as heir to the throne, a call which plunged his unhappy country into civil war. four years later the queen regent was compelled within its walls, by the leader of the revolutionary soldiery, to accept the constitution of cadiz. every corner of spain holds history, but none can compare with segovia and its surroundings in romance and old-world charm. saragossa saragossa lies midway on the railway between madrid and barcelona, and, having about it a touch of both these, can qualify as one of spain's progressive cities. the unsightly factory chimney is beginning to sprout up in the suburbs; old and narrow streets are making way for broader and better; and insanitary quarters giving place to modern hygiene. aragon is the poorest portion of this fair land, and saragossa is its capital. in every age this little kingdom has been torn by war and has suffered heavily, but its people have never wavered in their faith, and are still among the most pious and superstitious of the many different races that people the iberian peninsula. they possess that strong attachment for their sterile plains and barren mountains so common to those who wring from nature a bare existence. the emperor augustus, in the year 25 b.c., vastly improved "salduba," and gave it the title of cæsarea augusta. when in the occupation of rome it was a free city and had a coinage of its own. the first place in spain to renounce paganism, saragossa has always been a city of great holiness. when besieged by the french under childebert in 540, the inhabitants carried the stole of san vicente round the walls--and the invader fled. the infidel, however, proved less susceptible to a christian relic, and the city fell to the weight of his arms in the eighth century. being a berber infidel he recognised no kalif of cordova, and between the two there soon began one of those internecine conflicts that in the end led to the termination of moorish rule. it was in this connection that charlemagne was implored to assist the northern moor against the andalusian and crossed the pyrenees with an eye, no doubt, in the long run, to the acquisition of new territory. no sooner had he reached the plains of aragon than he was recalled to quell a rising in his own dominions. his back turned, and he being presumably in retreat, the ungrateful people, eager for plunder, followed and inflicted on his rearguard a terrible defeat in the most famous pyrenean pass, the pass of roncesvalles, a disaster in which roland, that hero of romance, lost his life. thence onward, as the centuries went by, saragossa was the scene of many a fight. alfonso i. in 1118 recovered it from the moor after a long siege, and moslem rule was ended. [illustration: saragossa. la seo] saragossa is best known in the annals of its warfare for the heroic defence, immortalised by byron, in the war with france. in the month of may 1808, the invader was close at hand, and the citizens organised themselves for defence. a young aristocrat, josé palafox, was chosen as the nominal leader, and had at his right hand the redoubtable peasant, tio jorge ibort--gaffer george. his two lieutenants were mariano cerezo and tio marin, while the courageous priest santiago sas assisted greatly, through his influence with the populace, to keep things together and prevent petty squabbles. one hundred _duros_ supplied the sinews of war! sixteen cannon, a few old muskets and two hundred and twenty fighting men were all that the leaders could count upon to repel the army of lefebvre. the siege began in june and was abandoned in august, in consequence of the disaster to dupont at bailén. in the following december four marshals of france, junot, lannes, mortier and moncey, with eighteen thousand men, invested the city, but it was not until february of the next year that, having driven the defenders out of the jesuit convent across the river, the french were able to establish a foothold in the outskirts of the city itself. every one knows how the maid of saragossa took the place of her dead artillery lover who was killed at his gun; an episode that has since become a theme to instil the young with heroic ideals. such was the spirit that gained for the city the proud title of _siempre heróica_. her citizens fought from house to house, every street had barricades, and it was only that when decimated by pestilence and famine, with half the place a smoking ruin, one of the most celebrated sieges of history came to end. as in cadiz and salamanca, there are two cathedrals in saragossa, la seo and el pilar. the former occupies the site of a church which stood here before the moors took possession of the place and turned it into a mosque. a year after the advent of alfonso i., bishop pedro de lebrana reconsecrated la seo, and its walls have witnessed many historical events in the life of aragon before the kingdom became merged into one with castile. it was before the high altar that her kings were crowned, and at the font many a royal babe baptized. la seo is constructed almost entirely of the dull brown brick with which the older part of the city is also built; the interior piers and vaulting alone being of stone. on the north-east wall, which faces the gloomy palace of the archbishop, there is still extant the most elaborate arrangement of brick work, inlaid with coloured glazed tiles, blue, green, red, white and yellow, forming a very harmonious and attractive scheme. from the centre of the north-west façade, which is extremely ugly, rises a well-proportioned tower arranged in four stages, with corinthian columns, the top of which is surmounted by a red tiled cupola and spire. the colour of this took my fancy, it "sang out" so much against the blue of the sky--a contrast i thought worthy of an illustration. entering the building by the door in the façade, i was immediately nonplussed as to the orientation of the cathedral. to add to the puzzle, for the structure is almost square, four rows of columns seemed mixed up in endless confusion, and the dim light admitted from the few windows only accentuated the mystery. very beautiful, however, is this gothic interior which runs north-east and south-west, and i soon found a spot from whence to make a sketch. the columns rise from marble bases of a rich crimson; the vaulting above was lost in gloom, the light coming in from the south-west window struck vividly on portions of the renaissance _respaldos_, the niches of which are filled with saints and archbishops, and the pattern of the marble floor served but to heighten the general effect. in the picture may be seen a tabernacle with twisted black marble columns, this marks the spot where the virgin suddenly appeared and held converse with canónigo fuenes. besides the archbishop's throne, the _coro_, which is not particularly interesting, contains a huge reading desk. there is a great deal of alabaster throughout the cathedral, notably the very fine gothic _retablo_ of the high altar by dalman de mur, around which are many tombs of the kings of aragon. close by, a black slab marks the place where rests the heart of don baltazar carlos, the son of philip iv., who was immortalised by the brush of velasquez, and who died in saragossa at the early age of seventeen. among the chapels, that used as the _segrario_, or parish church, has a magnificent moorish ceiling, and the fine alabaster tomb of bernardo de aragon. the cathedral is rich in splendid tapestries and ecclesiastical vestments. among the former is certainly the best i have ever set eyes upon. it is a very early piece and has a wonderful blue sky. in it are woven the last supper, christ bearing the cross, the agony in the garden and the crucifixion, while in the lower right-hand corner our saviour is assisting with a long pole to stir up devils who are roasting in hades. among the vestments is an extremely beautiful chasuble brought here at the time of the reformation from old st. paul's in london. i wondered, when i looked at it, whether catherine of aragon, henry viii.'s consort, had been instrumental in its removal from england. [illustration: saragossa. in the old cathedral] the cathedral of el pilar is thus named as it possesses the identical pillar on which the virgin descended from heaven and appeared to st. james. at first a modest chapel, it has grown by the addition of cloisters and subsidiary chapels to the present stupendous building. the length is close on five hundred feet and the breadth two hundred. the possession of this miraculous pillar has brought untold wealth to the cathedral. votive offerings on the anniversary of the festival at the shrine often amount to many thousands of pounds. jewelry, gems and costly objects of every description are given; these are now sold by auction, the large sum of £20,000 being realised a few years ago. to these sales we owe a fine rock crystal and gold medallion, given to the virgin of el pilar by henry iv. of france, and now in south kensington museum. many examples of old spanish goldsmith's work have also been acquired for the same collection in this way. the towers and pinnacles of el pilar pile up grandly, and are best seen from the fine bridge which spans the yellow flood of the river ebro. silhouetted against the evening sky, with the smooth running waters below, it seemed to me a worthy example in brick and stone of the church's magnificence. the interior is an immense temple, the frescoes of which are from the brush of that extraordinary genius, goya, who turned his talent to any job that was productive of the cash he spent so freely. the _retablo_ of the high altar is a fine piece of work from the alabaster quarries at escatron. composed of three good gothic canopies with tapering finials, it has seven smaller divisions below. damian forment was the artist who designed and carried out this, one of the most beautiful _retablos_ in the country. the _reja_ which stands in front of _coro_ is superb, and considered to be juan celma's masterpiece. behind the high altar is the celebrated chapel of the virgin. the figure itself is of very old blackened wood, evidently a specimen of early christian work. on october 12, the anniversary of her descent, thousands of pilgrims flock hither to kiss her foot through a hole in the wall at the back of the chapel. the city is then full of visitors and it is next to impossible to find quarters or a room of any sort. [illustration: saragossa. easter procession] i happened to be in saragossa for _semana santa_. and watched the processions of groups of heavy wooden figures, illustrative of our lord's life-history, proceed through crowded streets. my sketch shows the last _paso_ of the crucifixion, with a figure of the virgin bringing up the rear, as they passed the intensely devout throngs on good friday. masked members of different religious brother and sisterhoods, walk along keeping the route clear. the whole procession was led by soldiery, and "romans," men attired in the garb of ancient rome, while an infantry band followed the virgin. the _pasos_ are deposited in the church of santiago built on the spot where st. james passed a night. in the belfry of this church is an old gothic bell of which the inhabitants are justly proud. san pablo is a very interesting fabric, dating from the year 1259. the floor of the church is a dozen steps below the street. the _retablo_ is another fine example of damian forment's art. the aisles are cut off from the nave by a flat wall with square pillars and ill-proportioned pointed arches. the _coro_ is at the west end, from whence also issue the notes of a very beautifully toned organ. the extraordinary octagonal brick steeple might pass as of russian or tartar origin. of all the gateways to the city, there remains but one, the puerta del carmen. it has been left as it stood after the french bombardment, and retains many marks of shot and soft-nosed bullets. the site of the historic puerta del portillo, where the maid of saragossa won immortal fame, is in the square of the same name. outside it stands the castillo de la aljaferia, the palace of the sheikhs of saragossa, and the residence of the kings of aragon. ferdinand gave it to the holy office, and from out its portals issued many terrible orders for the suppression of the wretched heretic. there still remains a small octagonal mosque, and many of the rooms have their original _artesonado_ ceilings. in it also is the "torreta," the dungeon in _il trovatore_; while from the tower can be seen the castillo de castlejar, mentioned in the drama by garcia gaturrio, from which the libretto of the opera was taken. this one-time fine palace is now a barrack, and i used to watch the recruits drilling and exercising outside. when the recruiting season commences, the numbers are drawn among those liable to serve--the lucky ones being those who are not compelled to take any part in the military service of their country. there exist societies in spain to which a sum of 750 pesetas can be paid, that undertake to pay another 750 pesetas to the state, if the payee's name is drawn for service, 1500 pesetas being the sum which enables any one to forego his military career. if his number is not drawn, he loses his deposit, if it is, the society pays the full sum. in the old days the nobles of aragon safe-guarded their privileges by the fuéros de sobrarbe, a code something like our magna charta, which reduced the king's authority to almost vanishing point. pedro iv. got rid of the fuéros by cutting to pieces the parchment incorporating the union or confederacy, whose members, if the king was thought to have exceeded his prerogative, were absolved from allegiance. they were a hard-headed race, these aragonese, and are still like those of the other northern provinces, very independent and jealous of castile's rule. among other things handed down from time immemorial is a national dance, and the jota aragonesa, the national air, known beyond the limits of spain. very few of these old airs still exist. as a fact, the old songs of spain and their music are better known in the jewish colony of salonika than in the country of their origin. the upper classes of this colony still speak the pure castilian of cervantes' time, and being the descendants of spanish refugees hounded out of the country by the inquisition, still observe the customs, songs and language of their immigrant forefathers. the aragonese also have a national game, tirando a la barra, which consists in passing an iron bar from one hand to the other, thereby gaining impetus for the final swing which sends it hurtling through the air towards a mark on the ground, like a javelin. one or two good old houses still remain in saragossa to testify to its former greatness, notably that of the great luna family. two gigantic uncouth figures with clubs stand on either side of the doorway which is the centre of a simple but good façade. the cornice above is very heavy and the eaves project far out, a feature that i noticed was very characteristic of the old quarters of the city. it was in this house that the besieged, during the french war, held their councils. the casa zaporta can boast of a very fine staircase and beautiful _patio_ with elegant fluted columns and reliefs and medallions breaking the spandrils. a few other good houses still exist, but as they are in the old quarters of the city, and as these are rapidly disappearing, i fear that saragossa will not contain for long anything beyond her cathedrals that is of tangible interest. santiago the evening train from pontevedra deposited me sometime about midnight at cernes, the hamlet outside santiago where the line ends. the full moon during the latter portion of the journey had been a source of endless delight. my face was glued to the window watching the ever-changing hills and valleys through which the train crept, shrouded in that mystery which obliterates detail and suggests so much in great masses of subdued light and deep shade. i reached the hotel, procured a room, threw open the window, and stood on the balcony listening to the intense stillness of a wonderful night. suddenly a dull rumbling down some side street disturbed my reverie of the santiago of days gone by. the only thing to be expected at this time of night was the station 'bus, but i heard no clattering hoofs and was lost in surmise, when out of the dark shadow of a narrow lane into the moonlight swung a yoke of oxen drawing a long cart with slow majestic pace. but what a cart! a low sort of wooden box balanced between two solid wooden wheels. the rumbling was explained. it was primitive and the most mediæval thing i had yet seen in a country which is barely european. the peasant owner, a few steps in advance, never turned his head, but guided his beasts with a long stick which he waved from side to side over his back. there was no shout, no cry of command. the _mise en scène_ was beautifully arranged, it was complete. there was the background of ancient grey houses, beyond them, tapering into the starry sky, the slender pinnacles of the great cathedral. a row of stunted trees occupied places down one side of the little square which filled my stage. the subdued colour and silence of the moonlit night, and the slow passage of the ox-cart as it passed out of sight, bettered irving's best effects at the lyceum. a clock in a neighbouring tower struck the quarters, the moment had arrived for the anti-climax! i expected every minute to see a door open, a light stream across the square, a cloaked figure steal furtively out, and disappear down into the shadow of the lane. it was perfect, nothing could have been arranged better as an introduction to santiago de compostela. [illustration: santiago. the cathedral] the body of st. james landed itself at padron on the coast not far from santiago, and his bones were brought to the spot where now stands the cathedral. in the course of time their whereabouts was forgotten and it remained for bishop theodomir to rediscover the sacred spot in 829, guided thither by a star. hence the campus stellæ--or compostela. the shrine of the saint is still visited by innumerable pilgrims, and perhaps more arrive in santiago than any other city of spain. in olden days so great was the number that "el camino de santiago"--"the road to santiago," gave rise to the spanish term for the "milky way." i have watched them in the cathedral, peasants, men and women, come from afar, to judge by their dress. they each carried a staff decorated with tufts of herbs and little star-shaped pieces of bread tied on with gay ribbons. i have seen women making the round of the altars in the different chapels with great bundles of clothes, through which were thrust umbrellas, balanced on their heads. they never lost the poise of their burden as they knelt and rose again. but of all the pilgrims i saw, one who might have stepped out of chaucer's pages carried me back to the days of long ago. she wore a short skirt of thick brown material, sandals protected her stockinged feet, from her girdle hung rosary, scallop shells and a stoneware pilgrim's bottle, a hooked staff lent support to her bent, travelled-stained figure. her leather wallet was stuffed with bread, and covering her short cropped hair was a grey felt hat, mushroom shaped. a little black dog entered the cathedral with her, and squatted silently by his mistress's side as she knelt praying in the dim light of a grey day. chaucer's "wyt of bath" had made a pilgrimage to "seynt jame," and my pilgrim with her little lame companion might very well have been with him too. the cathedral, founded in 1078, was built on the site of one destroyed by almanzor in 997. the legend of the destruction of the first church, which had been standing for just one hundred years, was thus--almanzor, after sacking leon and astorga, swept all the country westwards with his moorish hosts until he reached santiago. so great was his fame and in such terror was his name held that no one had the courage to face him and fight for saint and city. riding through its deserted streets he came to the church, and to his surprise at last espied a solitary christian, a monk, praying alone at the shrine of the saint. "what dost thou here?" inquired the haughty moor. "i am at my prayers," curtly answered the holy man, continuing his devotions. this reply and the courage of the single enemy so called forth the admiration of almanzor, that his life was spared and an infidel guard set over the tomb. [illustration: santiago. south door of the cathedral] the west façade, a renaissance outer covering, so to speak, of the older façade, would not look so imposing as it does if granite had not been used in its construction. the grey tones of the lichen-covered stone redeem the somewhat overdone florid design, and it stands well above a double flight of steps on the east side of the huge plaza mayor. the south door, or puerta de las platerias, takes this name from the silversmiths whose workshops are still under the arcades around the plaza on to which it opens. it is the oldest portion of the cathedral and dates from the foundation. the shafts contain tiers of figures in carved niches, and the tympanum has rows of smaller ones. the north door fronts on to the plaza fuente san juan, and faces the convent of san martin pinario, which was founded in 912 by ordoño ii. in the days before this plaza was officially given its present name, it was known as azabacheria, _azabache_ is jet, and it was here that vast quantities of rosaries made of this were sold to pilgrims. in the south-east angle of the cathedral is the puerta santa, bearing the inscription "hace est domus dei et porta coeli." it is only opened in the jubilee year and then by the archbishop himself. the entrance to it is from the plaza de los literarios. it will be seen from this that the cathedral is practically set in four great plazas, el mayor, de las platerías, la fuente san juan, and de los literarios, and for this reason, although the roof towers high above, it is one of the few cathedrals the size of which can be appreciated by an exterior view. the early romanesque interior is superb, and not unlike our own ely cathedral. the finest thing in it of archæological interest is the "portico de la gloria," which street calls "one of the greatest glories of christian art." this portico, situated at the west end of the nave, formed at one time the façade. the idea of the whole doorway is christ at the last judgment. his figure, twice life-size, occupies the centre. below him is seated st. james, while around them are angels worshipping. four and twenty elders are arranged in the circumference of the archivolt; each one holds a musical instrument, most of which are shaped like violas and guitars. a most beautifully sculptured marble column supports this in the centre, resting on a base of devils, with the portrait of maestro matio, who executed the whole from his own designs, facing the nave. an inscription under this doorway states that the work was finished in 1188. to the right and left are smaller arches, portraying in well-cut granite good souls on their way to paradise and wicked ones in the clutches of devils on their way to hell. nothing can exceed the primitive religious feeling pervading this work. mateo must have given his whole soul with fervour to his labours; and the almost obliterated traces of painting and gilding enhance their result by giving a touch of warmth to the cold colour of the stone. west of the portico, above which are the remains of a fine wheel window, has been built the present renaissance façade known as el obradorio, the two being connected by quadripartite vaulting. the nave itself has a walled-in triforium, but no clerestory and the vaulting of the roof is barrel. the saint's shrine is in the crypt beneath the capilla mayor. the extra extravagant _retablo_ above the high altar is chirrigueresque, and hardly redeemed by the lavish employment of jasper, alabaster and silver with which it is decorated. a jewelled figure of st. james is seated in a niche above the mass of precious metal in which the altar is encased. it is all very gorgeous and must impress the pious pilgrim who has journeyed hither from afar, but i could not help wishing it were simpler. however, the one living vital thing in spain is her religion, and her church knows so well how to conduct its business that my feelings of regret are purely æsthetic. the _cimborio_ is a fine creation, under which swings on certain _fiestas_ the huge silver _incensario_, a lamp wellnigh six feet high. the two bronze pulpits are real masterpieces of cinquecento art and are adorned by subjects from the old testament by juan bantista celma. in one of the side chapels, known as the relicario, are recumbent figures on the tombs of don ramon, the husband of urraca, berenguela 1187, fernando ii. 1226, alfonso xii. of leon 1268, and that faithful, pitiable figure juan de castro, wife of pedro the cruel. even now, after the spoliation by soult, who carried away ten hundredweight of precious metal in sacred vessels, the relicario is a perfect museum. all the other chapels contain good tombs, especially that of espiritu santo in the north transept; and among other beautiful objects with which the cathedral is replete are two ancient _limosneras_ or alms-boxes, two very ancient gilt pyxes, a carved wooden cross, similar to the much-revered cross of los angeles at oviedo, given by don alfonso and doña jimena in 874. the large cloisters to the south-west of the cathedral were built by archbishop fonseca in 1521. they are bad gothic enriched with renaissance details. the centre court is paved with granite and gives an impression of bareness which is not redeemed by the architecture. it was in this cathedral that john of gaunt, duke of lancaster, was crowned king of spain. [illustration: santiago. interior of the cathedral] santiago possesses a much frequented university, which is extremely well provided with books. in the church of santa maria de la sar may be seen relics of the holy office which held its sittings in the adjoining monastery. the president's chair, marked with a palm, a cross and a red sword is perhaps the most notable. this monastic church, at one time owned by templars, is situated outside the city boundary on the orense road. like all the others, in fact like the whole of santiago, it is built of granite. it possesses a triple apse; the nave is of five bays without a triforium or clerestory, and the interior, in consequence, is very dark, heavy and gloomy. in it is the tomb of archbishop bernardo, 1242. the cloister at one time must have been exceptionally fine, but alas! only nine arches now remain; and the whole edifice is of the fast-crumbling away type not uncommon in the country. the fine plaza mayor, or plaza alfonso doce, is bounded on the north by the huge hospice erected by enrique de egas for ferdinand and isabella for the use of poor pilgrims. the royal coat-of-arms is in evidence over the entrance portal, enriched, in addition, with figures of saints and pilgrims. the massive cornice has a course of heavy chain work and the ball decoration so common in toledo. this huge pile of buildings is now used as a hospital. it is divided into four courts with fountains and is admirably adapted for its present use. the small chapel is one of the gems of santiago. the roof springs from four arches with gothic statues and niches clustered round a central column. on the west side of the plaza stands the great seminario founded in 1777 for the education of young priests. the ground floor is now occupied as the ayuntamiento of santiago. to the south is the collegio de san gerónimo, with a remarkable early doorway. the college was known as _pan y sardina_ from the poverty of its accommodation. sardines, the staple industry of vigo and other coast towns of the district, are the cheapest food obtainable, hence the appellation. santiago is delightfully situated amidst heather-clad hills, the lower slopes of which are well wooded with oak, fir, and eucalyptus. great boulders of granite stand out like the monoliths of prehistoric ages. many a pleasant walk through the purple heather revealed to me a landscape such as one sees in parts of cornwall and scotland. the grey city with its red-tiled roofs, its huge deserted monastic buildings, the many spires and domes of the cathedral and other churches, all set in patches of brilliant green meadows and maize fields look particularly beautiful from monte pedroso, a fine vantage point surmounted by a huge calvary. the climate is comparatively moist, ferns of all sorts grow in the shade of garden walls, and bracken is thick in the oak woods. the galician is well favoured by nature, and being a patient, hard-working man of not much mental capacity, very pious and an ardent advocate of small holdings, gets through life with a contented spirit. he is very close and knows the value of a peseta. unfortunately he is looked down upon by the castilian, and the term "gallego" is rather one of abuse than respect. driven to emigration by the subdivision of land which cannot support more than those who own and work it now, he goes south in great numbers and is the trusted _concierge_ in many a large house and hotel in madrid and elsewhere. the panama canal too attracts him from his native hills, in fact the gallego is to be met with wherever spanish is the spoken language. tuy the train deposited me one morning at this little frontier town. it was very hot, and it was sunday. the only porter in the station volunteered to carry my bag to the fonda, so we joined a long file of peasants and tramped up the dusty road to the old gothic capital which stands splendidly situated above the river minho. from a distance the cathedral rises like a fort, capping the white houses and brown roofs which are terraced below. at one time in the far away past tuy was a town of great importance. greek remains have been dug up here, but history does not go further back than ætolian diomede, the son of tydeus, who founded what became under king witiza the gothic capital. this was in the year 700. ordoño i. rebuilt it two hundred years later, and i did not find it difficult to trace the massive granite walls which sheltered the inhabitants, and preserved it as the most important city of these parts. truly a crown to the fortress, the castellated walls of the cathedral give it a martial air. the nave of five bays is early pointed, with a blind triforium and blocked up clerestory. so narrow and dark are the aisles and so massive the columns which support the fine vaulting of the roof, that i could never get rid of the feeling that i was in some great hall of an ancient castle. it only wanted a few halberdiers or men-at-arms, instead of the black-garbed peasant women kneeling at the different altars, to make the illusion perfect. the transepts, which have aisles, are romanesque with an early pointed triforium. after the great earthquake at lisbon many strengthening additions were made to the interior, blocking out most of the light. in the case of the aisles arches were run up at different intervals with no sense of proportion, quite hap-hazard, and creating a very much askew appearance in this part of the building. transoms were built across the nave to add to the disfigurement of one of the most perfect little cathedrals in spain. the west doorway is very fine, with four detached columns on either side, thus forming a narrow porch. the upper half of these columns each consists of a good figure of a saint whose feet rest on a devil. in the tympanum are good reliefs and a well-cut adoration of the magi. the archivolt is seven-fold and is an excellent piece of rich carving. all is granite, and all is solemn, quite in keeping with this hard material. [illustration: tuy] the cloister court, round which runs a most beautiful arcade of early pointed work with detached shafts, has unfortunately fallen into decay. but the charming little garden in the centre somewhat compensates for this. when i strolled in the silence was only broken by the cooing of doves and the hum of bees. the sun seemed to find his way into every nook and cranny, and here, thought i, is peace. away beyond the outer wall, a wall which is part of the old defence of ordoño's day, is the road to portugal. passing through vineyards it reaches the river a mile distant and crosses the water by a very fine bridge. it was from this road that i made my sketch of the quaint old-world town. down by the river at the end of the one broad street that tuy possesses is the old convent of santo domingo. now a barrack, it still keeps its grand transitional church. the chancel is extremely fine and among its many tombs a knight in armour with his lady at his side i thought the best. on the grassy platform in front of the church i spent one or two pleasant evenings. the river flows below and the mountains of portugal rise sublimely from the opposite bank. i was decidedly pleased with my short sojourn in this typical spanish town, the wonderful position of which, right on the frontier overlooking another land, makes it one of spain's most unique cathedral cities. orense "in the gold district," such is the meaning of orense. in roman days it was the headquarters for working the gold in which the district abounded. three warm springs, situated close to the road which leads out of the town to the south-west, also brought fame to orense, though they possessed, apparently, no medicinal properties. nowadays the poorer classes use the water for domestic purposes, thereby saving fires. in visigothic times orense was the capital of the suevi, and was the scene of the renunciation of paganism by this tribe. besides its warm springs the town boasts of two other wonders, its bridge and its cathedral. the former is certainly a grand piece of work. the centre arch rises one hundred and thirty-five feet above the river minho, with a magnificent span of one hundred and forty feet. of the six remaining arches some are pointed and some are round. the cathedral is a most interesting structure, more's the pity it is so little known. built on an artificial platform to throw it out from the hillside, it rises well above the neighbouring roofs. silversmiths and metal workers ply their trades in the dark shops between the buttresses which hold up this platform on three sides. there is nothing much to attract one in the exterior of the cathedral except the gothic north and south doors. they both have rounded arches with good figures in the jambs and archivolts. the south is the better of the two, as the north bears traces of alteration, the case in the whole appearance of the exterior. a third door opens in the second bay west of the north aisle, and is approached from the street below by steps leading up between two shops. the massive north-west tower is adjoining and stands over perhaps half a dozen small rooms where all day long the musical tap of the metal workers' hammers are heard. the side chapels of the interior are all recessed, and standing in the south-west corner of the cathedral i obtained an uninterrupted view for my sketch along the south aisle into the apse. there is no triforium in the nave, but a beautiful lancet clerestory enhances both this and the aisles. i thought the octagon at the crossing extremely good. two rows of lights, one above the other, have an interior gallery with an unobtrusive balustrade round each. the supporting corbels are well-cut bosses. the spandrils between the arches are recessed with well-carved figures of angels and archangels playing on musical instruments. of course this octagon bears no comparison with that at burgos, it is much simpler and much smaller, but has a tentative beauty of its own. [illustration: orense. in the cathedral] the transepts are of earlier date, and have been altered, though not injudiciously. the _coro_ is small, very dark and solemn, and in this respect bears favourable comparison with many another which may be far finer. its _reja_, like that of the capilla mayor, is a very good example of wrought and hammered iron-work, and does credit to the skill of those who no doubt sat in the little shops below giving their life-work to the adornment of the church above. the high altar is a mass of silver with a background of glittering carving which forms the gilded _retablo_. the warm yellow of the cathedral stone and the time-worn colour of the figures which decorate this _retablo_ have a very pleasing effect to the eye. the ashes of santa eufemia, orense's patroness, rest beneath her effigy which stands to the south of the high altar, and those of ss. facundo and primivo under theirs on the north side. santa eufemia's body was found by a poor shepherdess lying out on the mountain slopes of the portuguese border, and was brought here to rest. the cathedral is full of fine tombs, among which that of cardinal quintata in carrara marble is the best. it is placed on the north side of the chancel facing a much earlier gothic tomb with a well-carved canopy which stands on the south side. the present edifice was founded in 1220 by bishop lorenzo, displacing the older church erected in 550 and dedicated to saint martin. wandering at random up the narrow streets which covered the hill i found myself outside the convent of san francisco. like so many institutions of a kindred nature it is now a barrack, and difficult of access. however, i managed to get in and found the chief interest centred in the cloisters. they are beautiful relics of the thirteenth century. sixty arches complete the arcade, with coupled shafts standing free. the capitals are well carved and the dog-tooth moulding above them has not suffered much from the ravages of time. here, as in other towns where money in late mediæval days was scarce, it is pleasant to find untouched remains of an earlier past. the streets are mostly arcaded and very tortuous and quaint. the market is held on the plaza of the cathedral, and fruit vendors sit in the sun on the steps which lead into the holy fane. the _alamedas_ are thronged at night with a crowd which, for spain, seemed to take life seriously. i had finished my usual after-dinner stroll one evening, and returned to my hotel. it was a balmy night and i pulled my chair out on to the balcony. the lights in the cottages on the hill opposite went out one by one, and away down below, amongst the dark foliage of a vineyard, i heard the sound of a guitar. a voice breathed out a love song, and once more i felt the romance of the south--that indescribable feeling which comes over one when nerves are attune to enchanting surroundings. astorga "no, you won't find much for your brush to do in astorga, señor"--was the answer to a query addressed to a fellow passenger in the train. i fear he was not far wrong, though i knew with the cathedral i should not be disappointed. it was a wet evening, and i landed at the station in the dark; gave my traps to a porter, and found myself after a tramp through the mud at the only fonda in the place. my baggage was deposited in a sort of glorified cupboard containing a bed. the small window had no glass, and i discovered the next day that it opened on to the stables. i objected to these quarters, and later on in the evening my belongings were moved into a room just vacated by some one who had gone on to madrid in _el rapido_. the next morning i made my way to the cathedral. it stands well and quite isolated, except for the "new art" bishop's palace which is in course of erection. the cathedral is late gothic, built in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries on the site of a former church. the interior is lofty and very beautiful, though spoilt by a bad _trascoro_ in execrable taste and quite out of keeping with the elegant columns of the nave. this consists of seven bays. the bases of the piers run up ten feet or more, and resemble the later additions to leon cathedral and those at oviedo. the intersecting mouldings on them are the very last style of gothic work and exemplify the beginning of a more florid taste. there is no triforium. the clerestory windows are of unusual height, as at leon, and are filled with very fine glass. the aisles are also very lofty. the chapels attached to that on the north have their vaulting carried up to the height of the aisle, a very unusual feature. all the windows on this side, with one exception, are blocked. in the south aisle the vaulting of the lateral chapels is low. the windows are glazed and contain good glass; and in the first chapel from the west is a very fine early german _retablo_. the transepts are of one bay only. the south has perhaps the best glass in a cathedral which is specially rich in this. [illustration: astorga] there is much good iron work in the different _rejas_, and the walnut _silleria_ in the _coro_ are exceptionally well carved. but the gem of the cathedral is undoubtedly the magnificent _retablo_ over the high altar. its author, gaspar becerra, was a native of baeza, and studied in italy under michael angelo. it is his masterpiece, and well merits this title. of the fourteen panels, _the disputation_ and _ascension_ are the best. the exterior of this lofty church is much enhanced by its flying buttresses. the west façade is good renaissance work, with flanking towers, only one of which is, however, finished. a flying buttress connects them with the centre of the façade as at leon, in fact i could not help drawing comparison, when i knew them both, between these two cathedrals. the warm red stone of which this at astorga is built has weathered most beautifully, and contrasts with the grey balustrade composed of figures holding hands--a very quaint device, by the way--which adorns the ridge above the clerestory. at the south-east corner, instead of the usual pinnacle, a huge weathercock stands. it is a wooden statue of pedro mato, a celebrated maragato, in the dress of his tribe. la maragateria is a territory of small extent in the middle of which astorga is situated. the inhabitants, the maragatos, mix with no one. they live exclusively to themselves, preserve their costume and their customs, and never marry out of their own clan. the men hire themselves out as carriers, the women stay at home and work. it is supposed that as they have many arabic words still in use, they are a remnant of the moorish occupation left behind when christian armies finally swept the infidel back into the south. this may be so, for the moors are past masters at caravan work, and the maragatos are the great carriers of spain. when on the road their strings of mules take precedence, and everything clears out of their way. the men dress in loose baggy knickers and the women attire themselves in short red or canary-coloured skirts with green or light blue lining, one pleat remains open and shows either of these colours. they wear white stockings, black shoes, and very gaily-coloured handkerchiefs cover their heads. on a sunday they swarm into the town, going off in the evening at sundown to their different villages in picturesque chattering throngs. twice a year the whole tribe assembles at the feasts of corpus christi and the ascension, when they dance for an hour, el cañizo, a dance which if an outsider dare join in is immediately stopped. i had heard a great deal of the dignity of the spaniard, before i went to spain, and had failed to find that this reputation was at all justified, except in the case of the _guardia civil_, until i came across the maragatos. i found them to be among the most self-respecting and courteous folk that one could meet anywhere; they certainly are amongst the most interesting of the many distinct tribes that people the peninsula. astorga, the asturia augusta of the romans, is described by pliny as a "magnificent city." it was once the capital of southern asturia and was always an important outpost fortress. as indicative of its strength i may mention that astorga bears for arms a branch of oak. like leon, the importance of its position as a base, both for those who lived in the mountains to the north and west, as well as for those who came from the plain, was always appreciated, and was for ever a bone of contention between the inhabitants of these districts. the bishopric was founded in 747 by alfonso el catolico, but no man of note has ever been appointed to the see as far as i could discover. indeed, astorga is another of those old spanish cities which are passed by in the train, with the remark--"how nice the old walls look, i do wish we had time to stop here." a saunter round the walls i must own is very disappointing. it is so evident that but little veneration is felt, or respect shown, for any antiquities or historical associations. in many places they have been pulled about for the sake of the building materials they yielded. they are the rubble heaps of astorga and have fallen into sad decay. one portion is, however, preserved. in the south corner, where a pretty little _paseo_ garden affords shade and a pleasant promenade, a splendid view is obtained "over the hills and far away." here, at any rate, restoration has been undertaken for the sake of the common ground where men and women walk, as custom dictates, every evening. at the spot where the cathedral stands a great deal of demolition has taken place, and even to-day the huge new château-like palace of the bishop, now in process of erection, closes in a fine space and detracts from the little antiquity which is left in this corner of astorga. such is modern taste in spain. besides its walls, astorga is celebrated for its _mantecadas_, small square sponge-cakes, neatly folded in pieces of greased paper, which find their way all over this part of the country; but the farther off you find them the less do they resemble the originals, and these are very good. zamora travelling through the great plain of leon by train is apt to become intensely monotonous, especially when, as in the case of reaching zamora, fate decreed that i should sit baking for hours in the slowest of all, the undesirable _mercantilo_. very few villages enlivened the yellow landscape, which bare of vegetation lay blistering under the midday sun; those that were visible were all _tapia_ built with unglazed lights, and seemed to have grown outwards from the little brown-walled churches in their midst. on rising ground beyond the limits of these sad-looking hamlets, i could see the dwellings of the poorest of the poor. dug out of the bank-sides, they resemble rabbit holes more than anything else. a door gives light, ventilation and access to the interior, a tiny chimney sticking out of the ground above carries off the extra fumes of smoke. life inside must be nearer that of the beasts than that of any other race in europe; and as the slow _mercantilo_ crawled along i had plenty of time to note the stunted growth and wearied mien of those whose day of toil ends in these burrows under the earth. in many places, the year's vintage is stored in these subterranean holes. at last the train crept into the station and i read the name of my destination on its wall. zamora adds another to the list of those very interesting old cities of spain which still have a remnant of their ancient walls left standing. known at one time as ocellum duri, "the eye of the douro," from its strategical position on that barrier river, it still bears many traces of a glorious past. of old, an outpost for defence against the infidel of the south, with its natural barrier, zamora nevertheless changed hands many times. the veracious chronicler records how in 939 ramiro ii. came to the city's relief and slew forty thousand moors--their whole force, in fact, to a man!--only to be revenged a few years later by the all-conquering almanzor. ferdinand i. in 1065 rebuilt the defences which this redoubtable warrior had levelled and presented the city to his daughter urraca, whose son, alfonso vi., was the first king of united leon and castile. zamora figures, too, in the cid's meteoric life. he appointed geronimo, his confessor, who lies buried in salamanca, to the bishopric, and when sancho besieged the place, it being then held by urraca, the defence was so excellent that "no se tomó zamora en una hora" (zamora was not taken in one hour) became a proverb. it was at this siege that five moorish sheiks brought the cid tribute and saluted him as "campeador." there are more tangible remains of the quaint old city's importance to be found in its cathedral and streets than its proverbs and anecdotes. here is the house of urraca, with an almost obliterated inscription over the gateway--"afuera! afuera! rodrigo el soberbio castellano"--culled from the ballad of the cid, and referring to his exclusion from the place. in the church of san pedro y ildefonso are a couple of fine bronze-gilt shrines containing the remains of ss. ildefonso and atilano. the romanesque church of the templars, la magdalena, dates from the twelfth century. its rose window is formed with small columns like the temple church in london; and within are some beautiful tombs. the hospital is a good building with an overhanging porch, very effectively coloured and having the appearance of glazed tiles. many old houses of the nobility now slumber tranquilly in slow decay, and zamora, like so many other spanish towns of its class, seems left behind in the modern hurry of life; and this is one of its greatest charms, the charm that is so typical of old spain. the cathedral abuts on to the city wall and is almost surrounded by a bare piece of ground, where the remains of dismantled fortifications give a deserted and forlorn air to the very unecclesiastical aspect of the exterior. i made a sketch among these ruins and could not help feeling the result looked more like an eastern farm enclosure than a really fine cathedral. there was the huge unfinished square tower, baked a brilliant yellow, the _cimborio_ and dome, with its eight curious little domes, all roofed in cement, and a copy of, if not contemporary with, the same in the old cathedral of salamanca; the low mud walls and almost flat roofs; a party of peasants in a sort of nomad encampment, innumerable fowls pecking at the dust--what more could you have to remind one of the east. the sun was broiling, and nothing disturbed this "bit" of the spain of long ago. the exterior of the cathedral has been much marred by the poor renaissance north façade, not visible in my drawing, and a tower with a slate roof. the south porch is, however, intact, and from it, for the building stands high above the douro, the view must have been grand before the bishop's palace was built and obliterated the whole prospect. a dozen steps, narrowing as they approach the portal, lead up to the door which is surrounded by four good round arches with scroll mouldings of simple design. inside this i found myself in the south transept. [illustration: zamora. the cathedral] the interior, with the exception of that portion east of the crossing, which is poor renaissance with perpendicular vaulting, is exceedingly massive. the nave is but twenty-five feet in width, the columns which support the bays are ten feet through; the aisles are very narrow, but so good are the proportions of all these that this miniature cathedral is one of the finest romanesque churches in the country. the _cimborio_ is round in plan with sixteen windows from which the ribs of the vaulting spring. unfortunately the columns have been decorated with a spiral pattern of a chocolate colour, quite destroying the beauty and simple grandeur of a feature which for simplicity ranks next to that of the catedral vieja at salamanca. in the capilla del cardenal at the west end of the nave is a very fine _retablo_ divided into six panels painted by gallegos, whose signature is on the central one. i was examining this one morning when an old priest passed through into the adjoining sacristy. he stopped and explained the subjects to me, taking particular interest in this when he learnt i was a painter and what my mission to zamora was. i cannot forget his courtesy and pride while showing me some of the treasures the cathedral possesses, and shared his regret that the wonderful tapestries were only on view at certain festivals. in this chapel are some good tombs of the great romero family, others too of interest are in the capilla de san miguel, and the finest of all that of canon juan de grado has the genealogy of the virgin sculptured above the effigy of the canon. i was very grateful for the seats which here are available for a rest and quiet examination of the church. in burgos is the only other cathedral where it is possible to sit and gaze. leon situated on the edge of the great plain which stretches away south to the sierra de gredos and beyond to toledo, leon served as a sort of buffer town between the highlanders of the north and the dwellers on the castilian uplands. the headquarters of the seventh roman legion, from which the name is derived, it may be described as a great fortress of bygone days. astorga, some thirty miles westwards, being an outpost in that direction no doubt helped to preserve leon from the ravages of the galician visigoths. the romans held their fortress for five hundred years until leovigild in 586 captured it after a long and strenuous siege. so highly was the position and strength of these two towns appreciated, that when witiza, the king of the goths, issued a decree levelling all defensive works to the ground, they were exempted and their fortifications preserved. the moors held leon for a very short spell, and then only as a defence against northern invasion. when ordoño i. descended from his mountain fastnesses and drove them out, leon changed front with its new occupants, and became a stronghold to be held at all costs against invaders from the south. the great almanzor, in his victorious march north with the soldiery of cordova, swept away all opposition and this buffer town was sacked. however, after his defeat at calatanavor and subsequent death, the banner of christ was once more unfurled to the breeze from what little was left of its walls. these were almost entirely rebuilt of _tapia_ and cob-stones by alfonso v., since whose time they have remained or slowly fallen away. leon stands in a verdant pasture valley intersected by many streams and shady roads lined with tall poplars. the fields on either side are divided from one another by hedges and willow trees, thick scrub follows the streams and grows down to the water edge, and walking in these pleasant places it was not difficult to imagine myself back in england. the city itself is really little better than a big village, and considering the important part it has played in the history spain, seems sadly neglected and left out in the cold. this, too, despite the fact that it is an important junction and railway centre. there are no buildings of any present importance, and those that once could lay claim to this are in a state of decay. it is only on sundays and market days, when the peasants in picturesque costume and gay colours come in, that leon can boast of the smallest animation. i remember one sabbath evening as i stood on my balcony, that vantage ground from which one sees all the life of the place pass by in the street below, watching the folk parade up and down. a military band discoursed "brassy" music, the crowd was packed as tight as sardines in a tin, when suddenly the "toot, toot" of a motor horn was heard above the clash of cymbals and boom of the drum. a large car came down a by-street opposite, turned sharply and charged the crowd. the spaniard is of an excitable temperament, loud cries of disapproval, and screams from the gentler sex drowned all else. the chauffeur discovered his mistake none too soon and attempted to turn the car. at this the uproar grew louder and he brought it to a standstill. youths climbed the steps, boys hung on behind, "toot, toot" went the horn; the bandmaster, with an eye to the situation, waved his _bâton_ more energetically than ever, the big drum boomed, the trombones blurted out for all they were worth, but the hooting and whistling drowned everything. at last the car began to back and became disengaged, the chauffeur adroitly turned, and started down the street followed by the noisier elements of the crowd eventually pulling up at a café, just out of the parade zone. in leon as elsewhere, fashion dictates a limit to the walk in either direction and the chauffeur had stopped beyond this. the two occupants of the car got out in a very unconcerned manner, sat down at a table and ordered a drink. for at least a quarter of an hour, while these two were taking their coffee, the crowd stood round booing, whistling and shouting. i do not think i have ever seen anything cooler than the way in which, their thirst satisfied, and the account settled, they got up and walked slowly after the car which long ago had disappeared out of danger. by this time, despite the presence of a couple of the _guardia civil_, the crowd was excited. a cart full of peasant folk next essayed the perils of the thoroughfare, they however got through safely after much badinage and fun. no sooner had they gone, the band meantime had vanished, when out from a wine shop came some peasants with castanets a little light-headed for once. there were four of them, two men and two women. they immediately began a dance on the pavement. a ring was formed and a storm of hand-clapping encouraged them, for ten minutes they footed it admirably. more castanets appeared from somewhere and soon half leon was dancing in the middle of the calle. the feeble-looking policemen, who had been terribly worried over the motor-car incident, thrust out their chests, or tried to, and beamed all over. the scene had changed from what had first looked very much like an ugly row, to one of pure enjoyment, they were safe, every one else was out of danger, and leon too was saved. [illustration: leon. the cathedral] the night i arrived in leon, having finished dinner, i left the hotel and taking the first turn hap-hazard wandered up the street. the electric lights were soon behind me and i found myself in what seemed to be a huge deserted square. the dark night was lit by milliards of twinkling stars, and gazing upwards at them my eye followed the line of what appeared to be immensely tall poplar trees. i looked again, i had never seen trees that colour, then it slowly dawned on me that i was in front of the great cathedral. slowly, slowly as my eye became accustomed to the dark i made out tapering spires that met the very stars themselves embedded in the purple-blue sky, an infinitude of pinnacles, with a wonderful building beneath. the mystery of a beautiful night conjures up all that is best in this country. squalor and dirt are hidden; one's thoughts take flight and wander back to the spain of old, the glorious spain of bygone days. at moments like this i certainly would never have been surprised to hear the clatter of hoofs and see a band of knights with pennons flying and armour glinting appear suddenly in the semi-darkness. well, the days of chivalry have gone but the romance of a starry night will never die. the next morning i returned eager to discover what my impressions would unfold. much to my delight i found the restoration of the cathedral, which i knew was in progress, so far finished that not a single scaffold pole, nor any rubbish heaps of old stones were anywhere to be seen. extremely well have the designs of señor don juan madrazo been carried out, and the cathedral to-day stands a magnificent church and grand monument of christianity. santa maria de regla is the third cathedral which has existed in leon. the site of the first is supposed to have been outside the city walls. the second was built where once stood the palace of ordoño ii., and this had been raised on ground occupied by roman baths. the present edifice was founded in 1190 by bishop manrique de lara, a scion of a great family which was always in revolt, but was not completed until the early part of the fourteenth century. with toledo and burgos, leon's cathedral forms the group of three great churches that are distinctly french, and closely resemble amiens and rheims. it would be difficult to find another building the interior of which exceeded the colour elegance and grace of this airy structure. [illustration: leon. the west porch of the cathedral] the west porch is the finest gothic specimen of its kind which exists in spain and recalls those of notre dame de paris and the cathedral at chartres. three archways are supported by cloistered columns to which are attached figures under beautiful canopies. the archivolts and tympanum are covered with sculpture representing the reward of the just and unjust, the nativity, adoration, flight in egypt, and massacre of the innocents. all are extremely interesting, many of the figures being in contemporary costume. two grand towers flank the west façade, of which the north is the older and some thirty feet less in height than its neighbour. both are surmounted by spires, that of the south being an excellent example of open filigree work, rivalling those at burgos and very much better than that of oviedo. between these towers and above the porch is a pediment with spires and a glorious wheel window, underneath which is a row of windows that corresponds to the triforium. this portion is part of the late restoration. the south porch also has three arches, which have been well renovated. the centre one alone has a door to admit into the interior, it is double and surrounded by figures in the archivolt with reliefs in the tympanum. on the centre column is a figure of san froilan, at one time bishop of leon. a beautiful balustrade follows the sky-line of the whole cathedral. this is broken by many pinnacles, some of which are spiral, with others on the façades and finishing the supports of the flying buttresses, give the exterior a resemblance to a forest of small spires. the interior is a marvel of beauty and lightness. the nave and aisles consist of six bays, no lateral chapels disfigure the latter with chirrigueresque atrocities. the triforium runs round the whole cathedral. so cleverly has the spacing here been arranged, that with the clerestory it makes one magnificent panel of gorgeous light. the windows of this, forty feet high, were at one time blocked up for safety. they now contain stained glass, and soar upwards to the vaulting of the roof. every window in the cathedral is coloured and the effect as the sun streams through can well be imagined. no flamboyant _retablo_ spoils the simplicity of the east end, the place of what might have been a jarring note amidst the gothic work being taken by good paintings in flat gilded frames. it was señor madrazo's idea to remove the _coro_ from the centre of the nave, and had this been done santa maria de regla would have gained immensely. the carved stalls are good, and the _trascoro_ sculptured in white marble, which age has toned, and picked out in gold, is decidedly a fine work. among the chapels in the apse that of la nuestra señora del dado contains a miraculous virgin and child. tradition tells that a gambler who had lost heavily threw his dice at her and smote her on the nose. this forthwith bled copiously, hence the miracle and the name of "dado" or "die." another chapel contains the tomb of a great benefactress of the cathedral, the condesa sancha. an expectant nephew, seeing her property slowly dwindling in the cause of the faith, put an end to his aunt, and thereby met his own death by being pulled asunder by horses to which he was tied. however, the chapels are not very interesting, but the tombs in the cathedral are. of all these that of ordoño ii., behind the chancel, is certainly the finest. the king lies at full length with a herald at his head and a monk at his feet holding a scroll inscribed "aspice." he wears his crown and carries the royal emblems. this tomb was erected five hundred years after the king's death, and is guarded by a quaint iron grille. the cloisters, entered from a door in the north transept, are a jumble of gothic and renaissance, with a romanesque arcade and a good deal of plateresque work as well. some of the earliest frescoes in spain are fast disappearing from the walls. they illustrate events in the life of christ, and are in an early italian style that places their origin in doubt. from the western spires to the angular exterior of the chevet, a good idea is obtained of the beauty of the cathedral as one stands in these cloisters, and when they, too, are restored the great work begun in 1860 will be finished. next to the cathedral, and perhaps in a way more interesting, is the convent of san isidoro el real. this, the escorial of leon and castile, is a building which soult's soldiers desecrated in a most abominable manner; next to the lower or roman portion of the city walls it is the most ancient building in leon. the body of san isidoro was brought hither in the reign of ferdinand i. who obtained it from the emir of seville, and the present church was erected to receive it. this was in 1063, the original convent being a hundred years older. san isidoro was declared by the council of toledo to be the egregious doctor of spain, and in his capacity of titular saint fought with cross and sword at the battle of baeza against the moors. the church is romanesque and dark with a lofty clerestory but no triforium. the high altar shares with that at lugo in galicia the privilege of having the host always _manifestado_. [illustration: leon. san marcos] in the panteon, a small low chapel at the west end, lie buried the kings and queens and other royalties of leon. the columns are very massive with heavy capitals; the ceiling is adorned with early frescoes which happily escaped the depredations of the french, they are crude, but the colour adds to the impressiveness of this gloomy abode of the dead. representing scenes from the lives of our lord and his apostles, with signs of the zodiac and months of the year, they date from 1180. the whole convent is replete with mural paintings, and before soult sacked it contained many extremely interesting and rare missals of the seventh and eighth centuries. unique is another convent, that of san marcos, which stands on the river bank outside the city on the road to astorga. founded as a chapel in 1168 for the knights of santiago, it was rebuilt in 1514-49 by juan de badajos, and is certainly his masterpiece. it would be difficult to find a façade of greater beauty than this marvel of plateresque work. the remarkable pink and golden colour of the stone, intensified against the background of a deep blue sky, the delicacy of the carving in which angels and cherubs, griffons and monsters intermingle with floral wreaths and branches of fruit in orderly confusion, the elegant pillars and pilasters, all so truly spanish under the blazing sun, fascinated me immensely as time after time i returned to wonder and admire. here again i could conjure up the past, the romance of spain's greatest order; well housed were those knights of old in their glorious hospice, and now--the river still runs under the walls of what afterwards became a convent, its banks are lined with tall poplars, far away rise the mountains of the north in rugged outline just as they did of yore--and san marcos? alas! half is a museum and the rest a barrack. a forlorn air pervades the place, the old garden wants tending, and despite the life of the military, i could not help sighing once again, as i have so often sighed in spain--"how are the mighty fallen!" oviedo oviedo, seldom visited by the foreigner, lies well situated on rising ground in a fine open valley. grand mountains surround and hem it in on the east, south and west, to the north the country undulates until it reaches the biscay coast twenty odd miles away. these natural barriers gather the clouds and the climate is humid; on an average there are but sixty cloudless days in the year. while i was in oviedo it rained almost incessantly, and the "clang of the wooden shoon" kept the streets lively with a clattering "click-clack." all the poorer classes wear sabots in wet weather, sabots that are pegged on the soles, difficult to walk in, but kept well out of the mud and puddles by these pegs. this particular make is common to asturias, just as the ordinary french shape is to galicia. oviedo is one of spain's university cities, and i happened to strike the week when the festivities in celebration of its tercentenary were in progress. wet weather and pouring rain never damp the ardour of the spaniard during a _fiesta_, and despite the rain, powder was kept dry somehow or other, and enthusiasm vented itself regularly up to eleven o'clock every night by terrific explosions. functions of some sort seemed to be going on all day long. societies from the country paraded the streets, led by music, in most cases bagpipes and a drum, and oviedo was evidently "doing itself proud." i happened on a ceremony in the cathedral one morning. the bishop was preaching to an immense crowd when i entered. seated in the nave were the professors of the university, doctors of law and medicine, the military governor and his staff, the alcalde and town councillors, besides representatives from the universities of every european country, except, strangely enough, germany, and one from harvard, the first to attend a function of this sort since the war. it was a really wonderful sight, for the cathedral is not marred by a _coro_ in the nave. the hues of the many-coloured robes, from canary yellow and scarlet to cerulean blue and black, the vast throng literally filling every available bit of space, even on to the pulpit steps, gave me a subject for my brush, and i surreptitiously made a hasty sketch, to be finished afterwards in my room. [illustration: oviedo. in the cathedral] the cathedral was founded by fruela in 781, and enlarged in 802 by alfonso the chaste, who made oviedo the capital of asturias, and with his court resided here. he created the see in 810. the present edifice was begun by bishop gutierrez of toledo in 1388, and the tower added by cardinal mendoza in 1528. hedged in, although fronting on to a little _plaza_, the grand west façade with its beautiful porch can hardly be said to be visible. this lofty portico of richly ornamented gothic, under the shelter of which the gossips parade to and fro, leads into the cathedral and stands thrust out and between the two towers. only one of these towers is completed, and it is surmounted by a good open-work spire the top of which rises two hundred and seventy feet from the ground. i wandered about hopelessly trying to gain some idea of the exterior of the cathedral and found that it was only by walking outside the city that anything at all can be seen of it, and then the towers and roof of the nave, with the flying buttresses attached, were the only features that came into view. the entrance by the south door leads through a dark passage, in which many votive offerings hang over a tiny shrine where burnt a little flickering lamp; going in i found myself at the spot from which i had made my sketch the previous day. what a relief it was to find no _coro_ blocking up the nave! the eye could wander over the whole of this lofty interior--could follow the beautiful open work of the triforium and rest on the stained glass of the clerestory windows. the aisles are very shadowy, all the light being concentrated in the nave and the crossing, and the vision, with a great sense of good effect, is led up to the white tabernacle on the high altar and the immense _retablo_ beyond. a little theatrical if you like, but it is business, and the church understands this so well. among the chapels, good, bad and indifferent, is one containing a gorgeous silver-gilt shrine wherein rests the body of santa eulalia, oviedo's patroness. in another, tucked away behind the north transept, the capilla del rey casto, lies buried alfonso the chaste who did so much for the city. six niches in the walls contain stone coffins, which are supposed to hold the remains of fruela i., urraca, wife of ramiro i., alfonso el católico, ramiro, and ordoño i. the bodies of these royalties at one time lay here, and a modern inscription on a mural tablet relates how they were removed, but not how their tombs were destroyed. many other kings and princes we are told by this tablet also lie here, and as there are but half a dozen coffins their bones must be _bien mélange_. there are the usual overdone chirrigueresque altars which do their best to mar this imposing church, though i am glad to say they hardly succeed. from them, however, it was a relief to be taken by a very intelligent verger up the winding stairs which led to the cámara santa. this is by far the most interesting portion of the cathedral. built by alfonso in 802 to hold the sacred relics brought hither from toledo at the time of the moorish invasion, it stands above a vaulted basement; the reason for this arrangement evidently being the damp climate, and the wish to keep so holy a charge free from moisture. the chapel is divided into two parts. the inner, of very small dimensions, has a low barrel vaulting borne by arches with primitive twelfth-century figures. the _sanctum sanctorum_ is slightly raised, and from this inmost holy of holies the relics are shown to the devout who kneel in front of a low railing every day at 8.30 a.m. and 3.30 p.m. the cedar wood _arca_ in which they are kept is of byzantine workmanship. the relics include some of mary magdalene's hair, and crumbs left over from the feeding of the five thousand. the outer chamber of the chapel has a finely-groined roof, attached to the columns supporting which are statues of the twelve apostles. the richly-tesselated pavement resembles the norman-byzantine work of sicily, and was not uncommon in spain prior to the thirteenth century. a bell tower, in which at one time hung "wamba," the great bell of the church cast in 1219, stands partly on the roof and at the south-east corner of the cámara santa. it was erected by alfonso vi., and to judge by its present state will not long survive, most decidedly "wamba" could not swing there now. the cathedral possesses three remarkable crosses, la cruz de los angeles, maltese in shape, is studded with uncut gems. it dates from 808, and like the cross at santiago is 1200 years old. la cruz de la victoria, the cross of pelayo, is encased in beautiful filigree work, and is the identical one borne aloft before pelayo at his glorious victory over the moor at the cave of covadonga. the third is a crucifix on an ivory diptych, absolutely identical with the cristo de las batallas of the cid at salamanca. many other relics of great archæological interest belong to the cathedral, and make it well worth the journey to see. this journey from leon is long and trying, but the line, which climbs to an altitude of 4110 feet, is one of the finest pieces of engineering skill in spain. [illustration: oviedo. the cloisters] the dark entry of the south door leads not only into the cathedral and up to the cámara santa, but also through a side door opens on to the fourteenth-century cloisters. they are well kept and the little garden court a paradise in comparison with some of those i know. the capitals of the columns are well carved with prophets and saints under canopies, angels and angels' heads, grotesques and good floral cutting; while into the walls beneath them and round the arcades are let many tombs and gravestones brought here from different ruined or desecrated churches. i went off one morning to see the earliest christian church in the country. braving the rain i tramped through mud ankle-deep for an hour up the hill slopes westward. it was a case of two steps forward and one back, but the spirit of the tourist was on me. i could not leave oviedo and acknowledge i had not been to naranco. i was desperate and i got there. what a charming out-of-the-way spot it is! hidden behind a grove of ancient chestnut trees, under the brow of the mountain, stands santa maria. a triple arched porch at the top of a dozen steps gives entrance on the north side to this minute and primitive place of worship. i entered and found myself in a barrel-vaulted parallelogram, with a curious arcade running round the walls. the west end is raised three steps above the nave, from which it is cut off by three arches ten feet high at the centre. the east end also has this feature, but the floor is level with the nave. all the columns in the church are of twisted cable design with shield capitals containing figures in low relief. the arcades, which are walled up, have depending from the plain groining bands slabs of cut stone with plaques below, something like a ribbon and medal in the way they hang. the interior is but thirty-five feet in length and fifteen feet across. beneath the church is a semicircular stone crypt, similar to that beneath the cámara santa; it is entered from the cottage in which at one time lived the officiating priest. the caretaker inhabits this cottage, which is built on to the church, and i had come at her dinner hour. alas! she could not leave me in peace, and i must own to a defeat. i was practically driven away, for the meal was spoiling and required her undivided attention, but i had seen santa maria de naranco; i had grasped how in the early days, when the infidel was overrunning the land, this little building on the lone hillside was a centre of the faith, and how from the surrounding mountain fastnesses worshippers had gathered here and gone away strengthened by prayer, and how from this little seed of the church sown on the forest-clad hill spain's mightiness had grown. valladolid for nearly one hundred and fifty years, from the reign of juan ii., 1454, to philip ii., 1598, valladolid was a royal city and the capital of castile. it lies on the plain through which the river pisuerga meanders, just touching the outskirts of the city on the western side. in the moorish days valladolid was known as belad al wali, "the town of the governor," and flourished as a great agricultural centre. it is still the focus of the corn trade of old castile. it was here that prince ferdinand, despite attempts on the part of his father juan ii. to frustrate it, was introduced to isabella the reigning queen of castile and leon. many suitors had proposed themselves and paid their addresses to this paragon among women, but possessing a will of her own she made her choice and selected the prince whom she married on october 19, 1469. valladolid suffered more severely at the hands of the french than any other city of spain. they demolished most of the good houses and despoiled the churches; among those that are left, however, i found plenty to interest me and to make a stay, after i had discovered them, well worth the while. i made a sketch of santa maria la antigua, which is the most interesting edifice in the place. the fine romanesque tower is surmounted by a tiled steeple which recalls lombardy, and although many additions have been made to the original fabric the whole building piles up very well, the early gothic east end being particularly beautiful. this church dates from the twelfth century, but the greater part of it is pure gothic. the roof is richly groined; there are three parallel apses, and the _coro_ is at the west end--an always welcome place to find it. the _retablo_ by juan de juni, whose work is scattered throughout the churches of valladolid, is fine though over-elaborate. another good church is san pablo, partly rebuilt by the great cardinal torquemada, whose name will for ever be associated with the terrors of the inquisition. i found another subject for my brush in its very intricate late gothic west façade. the upper part of this contains the arms of the catholic kings, below which on either side are those of the duque de lerma. the niches are luckily all filled with their original figures, and the wonderful tracery of the round window is also in good preservation. the grey finials are weather-worn and contrast well with the rich yellow and pink of the rest of the front, a façade which is absolutely crammed with intricate design. two hideous towers of later date and of the same stone as that with which the cathedral is built, flank this and detract unfortunately from one of the best examples of late gothic work in the country. [illustration: valladolid. santa maria la antigua] hard by, up the street pictured in my sketch, stands the colegiata de san gregorio, with an equally fine façade, though being an earlier gothic it is more severe in type. the doorway of this is surmounted by a genealogical tree and the arms of ferdinand and isabella. some of the figures of rough hairy men with cudgels are very primitive. san gregorio was a foundation of cardinal ximenes, it is now used as municipal offices. passing through the doorway i entered a beautiful little court, rather dark, but with sufficient light to enable me to appreciate the good artesonade ceiling of its cloisters. the second court is a blaze of light. spiral fluted columns form the cloister, the ceiling of which is picked out in a cerulean blue and white; they support a recently restored gallery, a mixture of moorish, romanesque and plateresque work, into which the sheaves and yoke of the catholic kings is introduced as at granada and santiago, making a very effective whole. a fine old stone stairway leads from this court up to what in the old collegiate days was a library. of the cathedral i fear i can write but little. it is a huge gloomy edifice without a single redeeming feature, and of all those i saw the most incomplete and disappointing. the exterior north and south walls are still unfinished, the stone work is not even faced! the east are built of brick, and the west façade, altered by chirriguera himself from the original plan of herrara, is extremely bald and ugly. this enormous building is four hundred feet in length and over two hundred wide, yet these proportions give it no grandeur. the interior is absolutely devoid of ornament, and if it were not for the _silleria_ in the _coro_, which were originally intended for san pablo and are good, there would be nothing to warrant a visit to this cold and depressing church. by the way, the sacristy contains a silver _custodia_ in the shape of an open temple, a good example of the work of juan de arfe. there is a third-rate french air about valladolid, at least so it struck me, and it was only after a visit to the old colegio de santa cruz, wherein is the museum, that my first disappointment wore off and i felt that i was still in spain. [illustration: valladolid. san pablo] the contents of the museum are mostly objects which the french plundered from the churches and monasteries of castile, and were recovered after their disastrous defeat at vitoria. the styles of berruguete, hernandez and juan de juni can be examined here at leisure. some of the life-size carved wooden figures of the last named, formerly used on the processional cars which parade the streets at certain festivals, are remarkable more from the extravagant attitudes of the figures than from their artistic merit. the custodian who accompanied me was a pleasant fellow, and evinced surprise that a _pintor_ could not see the beauties he pointed out. i fear he thought little of my artistic discrimination; especially when in the sala de juntas he invited me to ascend a pulpit over which hung a large crucifix, and with fervour solicited my admiration of the face of christ, on which was a most agonised look, "cheap" and quite according to academic rules. "no, no, it is bad." "but, señor, he suffers." i could not make him understand that acute suffering need not be so painfully apparent. in this sala are placed the whole of the _silleria de coro_ from the church of san benito. arranged on either side of the room they give it a superb effect. at the far end are the red velvet-covered chairs of spanish chippendale used by the council of the academy of arts at their meetings. beyond them, on a raised platform, are the two bronze-gilt kneeling figures of the duke and duchess de lerma. a few pictures hang on the walls and other treasures and relics help to make this fine sala an ideal council chamber for the academicians. of the hundreds of carved figures in other rooms those by berruguete, very greek in type, flat brow and straight nose, are artistically by far the best, though the "death of our lord," a life-size composition by hernandez, follows not far behind. just as madrid contains the finest armoury in the world, i doubt if any other museum can compete with valladolid's for figures and compositions of carved wood. the university holds at present a high rank, most of its professors being progressive. the building itself is a chirrigueresque concern of the seventeenth century with a very extravagant façade. it possesses a good library which is get-at-able, and not like others belonging to the church which are very difficult of access. à propos of this one of the professors here told me the following hardly credible experience of a friend of his, whom i will call a. there is a movement at present in spain to catalogue some at least of the many thousands of priceless historical arabic documents and mss. which, hidden away in cathedral and other libraries, would throw invaluable light on the history of early times if they could be examined. a. is engaged in trying to compile this catalogue, and, hearing that in a certain cathedral city--not valladolid--the cathedral library contained some treasures of arabic lore, procured an introduction to the bishop, and requested permission to search the archives of the diocese. explaining that he was unable to help in the matter, the bishop sent a. to the chapter authorities. the basis of their refusal was that any ms. if taken down from its shelf might be injured, and if once taken down might not be replaced in the same position! "yes, they certainly possessed many supposed arabic documents, but as none had been disturbed in living memory, why take the trouble to make a catalogue? surely this would be superfluous, the books were there no doubt, a. could see them in their shelves, the librarian would be happy to show them, but no, they could not be taken down." in the library of the escorial the books are all placed with their titles against the wall and their edges turned towards the spectator, so that no vulgar touch could defame them by reading. small wonder that the progressists of spain shrug their shoulders sometimes at the many petty obstacles encountered in their attempts to better their country, and regard it as an almost hopeless task. two foreign colleges are situated in valladolid, the scotch and the english. the first named was founded by colonel semple in madrid and removed hither in 1771, the second by sir francis englefield, who came to spain after the execution of mary queen of scots. they are both seminaries for the education of young priests and with the irish college in salamanca complete the trio. the focus of the city's life is in the plaza mayor, a fine square where the first _auto da fé_, which philip ii. and his court witnessed, took place in october 1559. it was here also that alvaro de luna was executed, after faithfully serving his king, juan ii., for thirty years. spain thereby lost the strong will and the arm which enforced it, and which out of chaos had brought the country into a semblance of order by quelling the turbulent nobles. such has been in the past the fickleness of spain's rulers that not one of the great men who have served their country, with perhaps the exception of general prim, and he died a disappointed man, has ever ended his life in peace and quiet. they have nearly all died at the stake, on the scaffold, or been foully murdered. the much dilapidated house in a narrow street where columbus died is fast falling into ruin, but that in the calle de rastro, where cervantes lived and wrote the first part of don quixote, is in better condition. burgos unlike most folk who enter the country from the north, i left burgos for the end of my last visit to spain, and found it in a way not unlike cadiz, the first place i arrived at. they are both clean cities--for spain; the streets in both are narrow, and the houses tall with double-glazed balconies. there is but little traffic in either, the squares in both are numerous, but the resemblance stops at this. the streets of burgos run east and west in lines more or less parallel with the river arlanzón. they are draughty and cold. the city stands 2785 feet above sea level and the winds sweep down from the distant sierra in bitter blasts. the life of burgos is eminently ecclesiastical with a large sprinkling of the military element, for here all three branches of the service are quartered. it is a quiet place and i worked in peace unmolested. what a pity the builders of the great cathedral could not find another site whereon to erect their wonderful church. how much better it would have looked if placed on the flat ground near the river than on the spot where a summer palace of gonzalez once stood. however, one cannot move mountains and i was perforce obliged to plant my easel on the slope of the hill and paint the stock view from in front of the west façade. in 1075 alfonso vi. moved the archiepiscopal see from oca to burgos and gave the site of the royal palace for its erection. the present edifice was founded in 1221 by ferdinand el santo on the occasion of his marriage with beatrice of swabia, who in her train brought the englishman, bishop maurice. employing a french architect, maurice was more or less responsible for the present building, though another foreigner, john of cologne, added the beautiful open work spires with their parapets to the towers of the west end. it is curious that this, the most richly ornate cathedral in the country, should be the outcome of patronage of the foreigner, though at the same time it is the most spanish of the three "foreign" cathedrals. so rich is this magnificent church in every style of architectural decoration that it would take a lifetime to know it thoroughly. john of cologne's beautiful spires are better than those at leon and oviedo, and rise with the towers that support them to a height close on 300 ft. the gorgeous central lantern, with its twelve traceried pinnacles, the grace of those that surmount the constable's chapel, the many, many others that break the skyline and adorn this glorious fabric, all go to make it a building that, despite the different styles employed, will be a wonder and a joy as long as man's handiwork lasts. the lower portion of the west front was renewed in 1790. the puerta principal in the centre is flanked by two small doors, with reliefs of the conception and crowning of the virgin, while the chief door has four statues of ferdinand el santo, alfonso vi., and bishops oca and maurice. large gothic windows occupy the third stage of the front, their bases being filled with statues. the central stage, which has a single arch, contains a splendid rose window. the upper portion of the two towers is occupied by very beautiful perforated double windows in which crochet decoration is profusely used. it is altogether a wonderful façade which i greatly wished could be seen from the level. the chief entrance on the north is closed. it is on the street, and through it the descent into the north transept is by the well-known escalada dorada. the early gothic portal--puerta alta--is adorned by statues and with the whole of this façade is one of the earliest portions of the cathedral. the door, which on this side leads into the cathedral, is the puerta de la pellejeria and opens on to the north-east angle of the transept below the golden staircase. on the south the puerta del sarmental is approached from the street by three tiers of steps, it is also part of the original gothic and is decorated with statues and coats-of-arms. above it rises a similar façade to that of the north transept. the arcading in both these façades is most beautiful and from some points, where the roof-line can be seen cutting the sky, they look like two towers surmounted by an elegant balustrade. very probably the pitch of the roofs was intended to be higher, and the building of the central lantern has interfered with the original design. the nave of pure early gothic is lofty but sadly spoilt by the height of the _coro_. the aisles are low, but very beautiful. the _cimborio_ runs up in double stages with windows in each and balustrades, it is a perfect maze of intricate design and fine carving. the walls are covered with the royal arms of charles v. and the city of burgos; there are figures of patriarchs and prophets standing in the niches, seraphim and angels occupy the recesses of the spandrils, and the beautiful groining of this superb octagon is quite unmatched anywhere in spain. it all looks as if just finished, the stone is white and in perfect preservation. how my neck used to ache when looking aloft, unweaving the intricacies of that splendid interior! to strengthen the cathedral and support the weight of this addition, the original piers were altered at the crossing, and the huge cylindrical columns, which are richly chased with renaissance decoration, substituted. one can hardly say that juan de vallejo has spoilt the church by this octagon, for his work here would grace any building, but all the same i think the gothic of the interior has suffered by the introduction of his designs, and i would sooner have seen the crossing in its original state. [illustration: burgos. the capilla mayor] the triforium is composed of wide bays with an uneven number of closed lights in each. a single arch, the mouldings of which are surmounted by carved heads, spans each group. the clerestory contains a little modern glass, most of the old having been destroyed by a powder explosion in the fort on the hill above. in the _coro_ the _silleria_ are exquisitely carved; the main panels represent subjects from the new testament, the lower, which are divided by pilasters with arabesques, represent scenes of martyrdom. philip vigarni, who was responsible for this fine _coro_, surpassed himself in some of its decoration, which adds one more item to all that ought to be thoroughly studied in the great cathedral. on the north side of the high altar, in front or which hangs a magnificent silver lamp, are the tombs of three of the infantes of castile. behind this, the _trassagrario_ is covered with well-executed reliefs in white stone, some of this is very soft and has crumbled away a good deal. every morning a deposit of dust is swept up and it will soon be necessary to thoroughly restore these fine panels or the designs will be lost for ever. they represent the agony in the garden, our lord bearing the cross, the crucifixion, the descent, the resurrection and the ascension. the three centre are by vigarni, and the others by alfonso de los rios. nearly all the chapels are replete with interest, be it architecture, tombs, pictures or relics, but of them all the capilla del condestable is the grandest. built in 1487 by john of cologne for the hereditary constable of castile, don pedro fernandez de velasco, it is the private property of the duque de frias. the _reja_, the masterpiece of cristobal andino, bears date mdxxiii. and is certainly the finest in the cathedral. it is a worthy entrance to this magnificent octagon, which, viewed from outside, rises detached from the main building with eight elaborate pinnacles pointing heavenwards. the tracery of the pierced ceiling of the lantern with its gilded bosses, vies in intricacy with that of the cathedral itself. there is a double clerestory with sculptured knights at the bases of the columns holding coloured metal banners. the undercutting of the mouldings in the arches is very marvellous, the lowest course is formed of detached figures hanging downwards and from a little distance off looks like a piece of lacework. in front of the _retablo_ and high altar are the superbly sculptured tombs of the constable and his wife. he is in full armour, she lies by his side on a richly embroidered cushion with her little lap-dog nestling comfortably in the folds of her robe near her feet. the chapel teems with interest; the wealth of red marble from the quarries of atapuerca and the very effective chequer arrangement of black and white steps leading to the high altar give it just the note of colour its whiteness otherwise would lack. attached to the chapel is a small vestry entered through a diminutive plateresque doorway of exquisite design. amongst other priceless relics the vestry contains a fine gold chalice studded with precious stones and a good madonna by luini. another fine picture, a _virgin and child_ by sebastian del piombo, hangs over the altar in the capilla de la presentacion. in the capilla del santissimo cristo is a very ancient crucifix of life-sized proportions. tradition and the vergers say that it came from the east and was carved by nicodemus. the figure is flexible and very attenuated, it is covered with a buff-coloured leather to represent dried flesh and is very gruesome. in san juan de sahagun are six panels of the fifteenth century; good specimens of the early spanish school, they represent the nativity, adoration and four scenes from the passion. the great bishop alfonso de cartagena lies interred in the capilla de san enrique, and his tomb is remarkably fine. others in this chapel and in the cloisters are cut in slate and have been worked with great cleverness considering the way in which a blow splinters this material so easily. the chapel of santa ana, unfortunately restored recently, belongs to the duque de abrantes, and contains the best _retablo_ in the cathedral. on it are displayed incidents in the life of christ which spring from and are enclosed by the branches of a genealogical tree. it is a quaint idea very well carried out. it is a difficult task to try and give an idea of the contents and admirable style of all these chapels in the space of a short chapter, suffice it to say that they are, one and all, worthy pendants to the rest of the great church, and exemplify in their contents the glorious age of the ruling bishops and nobility of old castile. in the south transept is a wonderful low doorway in front of which i had often stood examining the well-carved wooden panels on the doors themselves. it leads into the cloisters, but it was not until i had become thoroughly acquainted with the groups representing the entry into jerusalem and the descent into hades which grace this portal, that i passed through. the door dates from the early fifteenth century and considering the many thousands of times it has swung open and shut is in most excellent preservation. the cloisters are fourteenth-century work and form an upper storey to a basement cloister of low arches surrounding a courtyard which at the time of my visit was undergoing extensive repair. in the centre is a huge cross; the flagstones of the court were all up, and the bones from many disturbed graves were being thrown into a pit. the beautiful cloisters proper are filled with modern opaque glass--"muy frio" answered the verger to my question, "por que?"--and no doubt it is in the winter months. but the charm about a cloister is the vista through the arches; this burgos has lost for the sake of the well-being of her priests; the pity is that funds would not allow of better glass when the utilitarian aspect demanded the shutting out of the cold winds. the sacristy on the east side of the cloisters is a very beautiful early fifteenth-century room with a fine groined roof, the peculiarity of which is that it has no supporting columns. the half-piers end in corbels of hunting scenes and i daresay have often recalled to many a priest days of his early boyhood. the chapter house, with an artesonade ceiling, contains some good pictures and is reached through the capilla del corpus christi. high up on the wall of this chapel, and fixed to it with iron clamps, is the cofre del cid, a wooden coffer which the campeador filled with sand, and telling the jews it was full of gold, raised six hundred marks. he redeemed the pledge later on and paid up the sum he had borrowed. the tomb of enrique iii.'s head cook, who is lying in armour with a sword, occupies a space on the floor. he was not a bad-looking man and i daresay took his turn at the enemy and used his sword when occasion offered. street writes of these cloisters--"i know none more interesting and more varied"--but i left them and the many fine tombs and statues they contain wishing that priests were not mortal nor liable to chills. [illustration: burgos. arch of santa maria] the capital of old castile is a quiet little place and i felt i was in a northern clime far away from the charm of andalusia and the south. the name burgos is of iberian origin, "briga" signifying "a fortified hill." founded as long ago as 884 by diego de porcelos, it was for many generations the capital of castile. at the marriage of ferdinand i. in 1067 castile and leon became one and ten years later the seat of government was removed by alfonso vi. to toledo. serious troubles ensued between the inhabitants of the two cities. old castile could not brook the interference of the great archbishops of new castile and the loss of prestige attached to royalty and its court. in charles v.'s reign burgos joined the comunéros, the opponents of centralised government, but was wisely pardoned with other towns by the king, who held a court in state for this purpose in the plaza mayor at valladolid. as a result of this forgiveness the inhabitants erected the fine entrance gateway of santa maria of which i made a sketch. since that day, except for wellington's futile sieges, burgos has slept the sleep of the just and being an eminently ecclesiastical city will continue in this happy state. much of interest lies tucked away in the narrow streets. there is the casa del cordon, at one time the palace of the velasco family, and a royal residence. within its walls the catholic kings received columbus on his return from the new world, and here was signed the incorporation of navarre with castile. this fine example of a town house is flanked by two square towers, with a rope from which it takes its name carved over the portal. the casa de miranda, with a noble courtyard and well-proportioned fluted columns, near which is the casa de angulo a strong fortress-like building. the façade of the old collegio de san nicolas is replete with fine workmanship and the church of this name with tombs. the richly-carved stone _retablo_, illustrating events of the saint's life, is also a work of real art. under the wall of the cemetery stood the house wherein the cid was born, and in the castle on the hill, now a ruin, he was married. the nuptials of edward i. of england with eleanor of castile were celebrated in this fortress, which can also claim the birth of pedro the cruel. for a provincial town burgos possesses a most interesting museum. among the many relics i saw was a bronze altar font with coloured enamels of saints and a moorish ivory casket, both from the monastery of san domingo de silos. the fine kneeling figure in alabaster of juan de padilla, who lost his life at an early age during one of the sieges of granada, is almost as beautiful as that of the infante alfonso in the cartuja. roman and mediæval remains, found at different times and taken from disestablished convents, added to the interest of a short visit. there is so much to see in burgos and its surroundings, and the seeing of it all is so pleasant, so undisturbed, and so different to the south, where for ever i was annoyed by touting loafers and irrepressible boys, that when i left it was with feelings of great regret. [illustration] across the river, about an hour's walk one morning brought me to the convent of las huelgas, which is still inhabited by shy nuns. founded in 1187 by alfonso viii. it has always loomed large in the history of castile. many of her kings have kept vigil before the high altar, when receiving knighthood, our own edward i. among them. many royal pairs have been wedded within the church, and many sleep their long sleep within its quiet precincts. the abbess was mitred, she possessed powers of life and death, she ranked as a princess-palatine next to the queen, and she was styled "por la gracia de dios." her nuns were, and still are, daughters of noble houses, and some even of royal birth. in the chapel of santiago hangs a copy of the embroidered banner captured at the great fight of las navas de tolosa, a victory which crippled and drove out the infidel from the north. the original hangs in the nun's choir, a fitting pendant to the splendid tapestries which cover the walls. i was told of other treasures invisible to the eye of man and once again wished i could have changed my sex for a short time. being mere man, i heard the gate shut as i left the convent with a rather crestfallen feeling, so walked another half-mile on to the hospital del rey. alfonso viii. built this hospice for pilgrims _en route_ to santiago. but little remains of the original building, though the renaissance façade and thirteenth-century doorway, with curious figures of adam and eve, repaid me for my extra trudge and i returned to my hotel with the imagined slight dissipated and my _amour propre_ restored. my last pilgrimage in spain happened one cold afternoon when i went out to the cartuja de miraflores. the clouds hung low over the hills and the damp smell of autumn was in the air. the road thither passes through avenues of great poplars. the leaves had begun to fall and it was wet under foot. a slight drizzle was imperceptibly saturating everything and i thought the time of my departure from sunny spain not ill-chosen. despite all this, and the depressing day, i can always recall with pleasure the road that my companion and i traversed before we passed under the arch that marks the monastic boundary. beggars accosted us at the door of the monastery, for once i gave them alms and received a blessing. we passed in, and found ourselves in a pretty little courtyard filled with dahlias and other autumnal flowers. the bright colours cheered us a bit, the church lay on our left, we entered it under a gothic arch. a monk in the stalls was at prayer, he also kept an observant eye on the two visitors. our footsteps seemed to sound intensely loud on the stone pavement, and we spoke in very low whispers. the cold white-washed walls and this solitary figure droning out his prayers were depressing. we furtively admired the finely-carved stalls, the grand _retablo_ over the high altar with its terribly life-like crucifix, all the time with a feeling on my part of that vigilant eye boring a hole in my back like a gimlet. we next examined the alabaster tomb the masterpiece of gil de siloe, executed to the order of isabella the catholic, which stands in front of the altar. juan ii. and his wife isabella of portugal lie side by side clothed in their robes of state. at his feet are two lions, at hers a lion and a dog. i forgot the solitary monk and the gimlet stopped its work as i became lost in admiration while following the intricacies of gil de siloe's greatest production. at the eight corners of this magnificent tomb, most undoubtedly the finest i have ever seen, and by some considered unsurpassed in europe, sixteen lions support the royal arms, above them along the cornice beautiful little statuettes stand under canopies which are a marvel of delicate tracery. the embroidery on the robes of the royal pair is exquisite and the imitation of the lace work unsurpassed. for a long time we stood discussing and admiring the marvellous cleverness of the designer of a monument which is worthy of the great and pious woman who erected it to the memory of her parents. hard by in the west wall of the church is the tomb of the infante alfonso, whose death at the early age of sixteen left the accession vacant for isabella and so changed the history of castile. it is likewise a wonderful piece of work by the same skilful hand. the young prince kneels alone in an attitude of prayer which gains dignity from the half-shadow thrown by the recess in which the monument is placed. the arch above is decorated with a twining vine, while men-at-arms support the tomb. we turned from the contemplation of these two memorials and the monotone of the old monk's prayer filled the church. i think we both shared a feeling of relief when we found ourselves once more outside under the grey sky, though i shall ever remember the impression of that aisleless church with its magnificent tombs, that white robed monk with his droning voice, the chill of the autumn air and those long lines of stately poplars under which i passed in my last pilgrimage in spain. index abderrhaman, mosque of, 80 adrian iv., pope, 81 albornoz, cardinal, tomb of, 111 alfonso vi., 234, 235 alfonso viii., 245 alfonso de cartagena, bishop, 240 alfonso el catolico, 197; coffin of, 220 alfonso the chaste, 218, 220 alfonso the learned, sarcophagus of, 10 alfonso de los rios, 238 alhambra, 31, 46, _sqq._ court of lions, 50 almakkari, historian, 23 almanzor, 200 alva garcia, 138 alvaro de luna, 232 antequerra, 48 arabic documents, 230 aragon, union of, with castile, 67 arfe, silver monstrance by, 142 arfe, juan de, 228 arlanzón, river, 233 astorga, 193-198 cathedral, 193, _sqq._ historical sketch, 197 augustus, emperor, 84 averroes, 30 avila, 137-144 cathedral, 81, 138 avila, historical sketch, 137 avila, tomb of, 143 badajos, juan de, 215 baeza, 195 barcelona, 83, 91-99 cathedral, 92, _sqq._ church of san pablo del campo, 94 church of santa marica del mar, 95 church of santa marica del pi, 95 historical sketch, 91, _sqq._ rambla, 97 barceloneta, suburb of barcelona, 96 bartolomé, and the capilla real, granada, 39 beatrice of swabia, sarcophagus of, 10 becerra, gaspar, 195 beggars, at cordova, 29, 30; at seville, 30, 35; at madrid, 30 bernardo de aragon, tomb of, 164 berruguete, carvings by, 113, 141, 228 boabdil, figure of, at granada, 41 brutus, junius, founds colony on the turia, 66 bull-fights, at seville, 20 burgos, 233-248 capilla del condestable, 238 capilla del corpus christi, 242 capilla de la presentacion, 239 capilla de san enrique, 240 capilla del santissimo cristo, 239 cathedral, 233, _sqq._ chapel of santa anna, 240 church of san domingo de silos, 244 church of san juan de sahagun, 240 convent of las huelgas, 245 collegio de san nicolas, 244 historical sketch, 234, _sqq._ museum, 244 cadiz, 1-5 académia de bellas artes, 4 cathedral, 3, 4 historical sketch, 3 mercado, 4 cæsar, julius, captures seville, 7 calix at valencia, 71 campaña, pedro, pictures at seville, 12 cano, alonso, pictures by, at cadiz, 4; at seville, 11, 12; builds façade of cathedral at granada, 38; pictures by, 38; pictures by, at malaga, 60; figure by at segovia, 151 cartuja de miraflores, 246 casa consistorial, barcelona, 95 casa del cordon, burgos, 243 cataluña, union with aragon, 92 cervantes, house of, 232 charles v., palace of, 54; arms of, 236 chartres cathedral, 211 chirriguera, high altar by, 129, 141, 228 cid, the, 65, 201 cofre del cid, 242 columbus, monument at seville, 11; house of, 232 comunéros, 243 cordova, 23-30 capilla de nuestra señorade villavicosia, 25 cathedral, 24, _sqq._ convent de san jeronimo, 30 historical sketch, 23, 24 mosques, 24, 25 cornielis, work of, 141 corre de sol, granada, 55 cristóbal, carving by, at tortosa, 81 dalman de mur, high altar by, 164 damian forment, retablo, 166, 167 darro, river at granada, 31, 33, 34, 37 de gainza, martin, 10 diego de porcelos, 242 diego de siloe, plans cathedral at granada, 38; at malaga, 59 duque de lerma, 226 edward i., marriage of, 244, 245 el calvario, 150 el campanario, tower at cordova, 27 el cristo de la luz, toledo, 115 el grao, port of valencia, 67 el parral, segovia, 154 el transito, toledo, 114 englefield, sir francis, 232 escovedo, juan, 150 essex, siege of cadiz by lord, 4 ferdinand i., 200, marriage of, 243 ferdinand and isabella, monument at granada, 40; portraits, 41, 44, 225; arms of, 227 ferdinand el santos, 234, 235 francisco de lara, ceiling by, 112 francisco de palenzuela, tomb of, 126 fruela i., coffin of, 220 gallegos, panels by, 203 gayá, 84 genil, river at granada, 34 geromino, tomb of, 126 geronimo, 200 gerona, 101-10 cathedral, 103, _sqq._ church of san pedro de los gallegans, 105 historical sketch, 101, _sqq._ gibraltar, 58 gil de siloe, 247 giralda tower, seville, 13, 14 gomar, francisco, work at tarragona, 86 gonzalo de cordoba, 45 grado, canon juan de, tomb of, 204 granada, 31-35 albaicin, 31 alhambra, 31, _sqq._ antequeruela, 31 capilla de la antigue, 39 capilla de pulgar, 44 capilla real, 42 capilla de trinidad, 38 cathedral, 38, 44 church of san juan de los reyes, 44 church of san nicólas, 44 church of santa anna, 44 convent of cartuja, 45 convent of san geronimo, 45 greek remains, tuy, 183 guadalete, river at cadiz, 5; battle on banks of, 58 guadalquiver, position of cordova on, 23 guadelmedina, the, 61 guillermo boffy, 104 gutierrez, bishop, 219 hernandez, 229, 230 hontañon, rebuilt dome of seville cathedral, 12; salamanca cathedral, 125; segovia, 150 hospital de santa cruz, toledo, 116 infante alfonso, tomb of, 248 inigo de mendoz, tomb of, 112 james i., of aragon, armour of at valencia, 70; tomb of, 86 jews at seville, 15 john of cologne, 234, 238 john of gaunt, 178 josé granados, builds western facade of cathedral, granada, 38 juan ii., 24 juan bantista celma, 178 juan, prince, tomb of, 142 juan de borgoña, frescoes by, 112, 141 juan de castro, 178 juan de juni, 228 juan de mena, 30 juan de padilla, figure of, 244 juan de vallejo, 237 juanes, _last supper_ by, 71 la magdena, zamora, 201 lanfredo, bishop, 80 la peña gajera, 154 la peñarala, 158 las navas de tolosa, 245 leon, 205-216 cathedral, 209 chapel of la nuestra señora del dado, 213 convent of san isidoro el real, 214 convent of san marcos, 215 historical sketch, 205, _sqq._ leovigild, 205 loja, 48 loyola, relic of, 95 lucan, 30 madrazo, designs by, 210 maestro matio, portrait of, 176 malaga, 57-63 alcazába, 61 cathedral, 59 historical sketch, 57, _sqq._ mercado, 61 malagueta, river, 61 manrique de lara, bishop, 210 maragatos, the, 195 marcellus peoples cordova, 23 maria padilla, mistress of pedro the cruel, coffin of, 10 maurice, bishop, 234, 235 mena, pedro de, pupil of cano, 60 mendoza, cardinal, 219 meshwâr, 53 miguelete tower, 66 minho, river, 183 monte mauro, 34 morales, 30 mulhacen, 48 murillo, pictures at cadiz, 4; _san antonio de padua_ at seville, 11; in seville museum, 20 museum, seville, 20 napoleonic wars, 67 naranco, 223 church of santa maria, 223, 224 nicodemus, 239 nicolas florentino, retablo by, 128 nicolas de vergara, carving by, 113 notre dame de paris, 211 oca, bishop, 235 oñar, river, 102 ordoño i., coffin of, 220 ordoño ii., 213 orense, 187-191 cathedral, 187, _sqq._ convent of san francisco, 190 historical sketch, 187 oviedo, 217-224 capilla del rey casto, 220 cathedral, 218 historical sketch, 218, _sqq._ panteon, leon, 215 parapanda, mount, 48 pedro the cruel, coffin of, 10; trees planted by, 14 pedro mato, statue of, 195 pelayo, 222 petrucci orto, chalice by, 142 philip ii. destroys mosques at cordova, 24 philip vigarni, 237, 238 philip and juana la loca, tomb of, at granada, 40; coffins of, 42 pisuerga, river, 225 pliny quoted, 197 pradas, work of, at granada, 43 quintata, cardinal, tomb of, 190 ramiro ii., 200 ramiro, coffin of, 220 ramon berenguer i., count, 91 ramon berenguer ii., and emensendis, tombs of, 104 reus, 83 ribalta, painting by, at valencia, 71 ribera, _adoration_ by, 71 roman remains, at tarragona, 84; at segovia, 149 roman sculpture at tarragona, 89 salamanca, 121-135 capilla del carmen, 126 capilla mayor, 128 capilla de san bartolomé, 128 capilla de talavera, 128 cathedrals, 121, 124, _sqq._, 127 church of san pedro, 143 collegio mayor de santiago apostol, 132 convent of las agustinas recoletas, 130 grammar school, 131 historical sketch, 123, _sqq._ university, 131 san pedro, river at cadiz, 5 santa eulalia, body of, 93, 220 santiago, 171-181 cathedral, 173, _sqq._ collegio de san gerónimo, 180 historical sketch, 172 santos cruz, pictures by, 141 saragossa, 101, 159-170 church of san pablo, 167 cathedrals, 162, _sqq._ el pilar, 165 historical sketch, 159, _sqq._ la seo, 162, _sqq._ sebastian del piombo, 239 segovia, 145-158 capilla del cristo del consuelo, 152 cathedral, 150, _sqq._ chapel of santa cantalina, 152 church of san martin, 153 church of san millan, 153 church of la vera cruz, 153 convent of santa cruz, 153 historical sketch, 149, _sqq._ semple, colonel, 232 seneca, 30 seville, 7-21 capilla de san pedro, 11 capilla de santiago, 11 cathedral, 8, _sqq._ historical sketch, 7 jewish quarter, 15 sierra de elvira, 48 sierra nevada, 48, 55 souchet, sacks valencia, 67 tarragona, 83-90 cathedral, 84, _sqq._ historical sketch, 83, _sqq._ toledo, 107-119 bridges, 116, 117 cathedral, 109 capilla de la descension de nuestra señora, 112 capilla de reyes nuevo, 111 capilla de san ildefonso, 111 capilla de santiago, 112 church of san juan de los reyes, 114 church of santa maria la blanca, 114 convent of san domingo el real, 115 historical sketch, 107, _sqq._ jews' quarter, 114 torquemada, cardinal, 226 tortosa, 77-82 carving at, by cristobal, 81 cathedral 80, _sqq._ historical sketch, 78, _sqq._ triana, 19 tribunal de aguas, 69 tuy, 183-185 cathedral, 183, _sqq._ convent of santa domingo, 185 historical sketch, 183, _sqq._ urraca, 200; coffin of, 220 valencia, 65-76 cathedral, 69 church of san martin, 72 church of santa catalina, 71 convent del carmen, 75 convent espinose, 75 convent juanes, 75 convent ribalta, 75 historical sketch, 65, _sqq._ mercado, 73, 74 valladolid, 225-232 church of santa maria la antigua, 226 colegiata de san gregorio, 227 collegio de santa cruz, 228 historical sketch, 225 scotch and english colleges, 232 university, 230 vargas, louis de, _la gamba_ at seville, 11, 12 vega, the, 62 velasquez, tomb of, 142 vigarney, carvings by, 113 viladomát, pictures by, at barcelona, 95 "wamba," great bell, oviedo, 222 wellington, duke of, 48 ximenes, 112, 227 yahya, moorish king, 65 zamora , 199-204 capilla del cardinal, 203 capilla de san miguel, 204 cathedral, 201, _sqq._ church of la magdalena, 201 church of san pedro of ildefonso, 201 historical sketch, 200 hospital, 201 zurbaran, pictures at cadiz, 4; at seville, 11, 12 printed by ballantyne & co. limited tavistock street, covent garden, london * * * * * typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber. matyrdoms of the order=>martyrdoms of the order witiza in the meantime died and was suceeded=>witiza in the meantime died and was succeeded the whole rises in isolated grandeur and and may perhaps gain=>the whole rises in isolated grandeur and may perhaps gain and if it happen to be a=>and if it happens to be a the arches of the the old bridge=>the arches of the old bridge so named on acount of the scallop shells=>so named on account of the scallop shells she is embracing me, we disentagle ourselves=>she is embracing me, we disentangle ourselves but a short exsistence as their house of prayer=>but a short existence as their house of prayer who fought three antagonists one ofter another and came off successful=>who fought three antagonists one after another and came off successful i was immediatley nonplussed=>i was immediately nonplussed bernardo de arragon, tomb of, 164=>bernardo de aragon, tomb of, 164 provided by the internet archive vanished halls and cathedrals of france by george warton edwards illustrated with 32 plates in full color and monotone. 1917 [illustration: 0001] [illustration: 0010] [illustration: 0013] vanished halls and cathedrals of france foreword quis funera faudo explicet, aut possit lacrymis aequare labores? urbs antiqua ruit, fnultos dominât a per annos; plurima perque vias sternuntur inertia passim. corpora, perque domos, et religiosa deorum limina! (virgil, æneid, ii. v. 361.) surviving the ancient wars and revolutions in this, "the cockpit of europe," the great examples of architecture of the early days of france remained for our delight. the corroding fingers of time, it is true, were much more merciful to them, but certainly the destroyers of old never ventured to commit the crimes upon them now charged against the legions of the present invader. these fair towns of picardy and champagne are sacked, pillaged and burned even as were the beautiful flemish towns of ypres, malines, termonde, dixmude, and dinant on the meuse.... never again shall we enjoy them: the chalices are broken and the perfume forever vanished.... the catastrophe is so unbelievable that one cannot realize it. the seven churches of soissons, senlis, noyon, laon, meaux, rheims, st. remi; these such as man probably never again can match, are either razed to the foundations, or so shattered that it will be impossible to restore them. it is said that the imperial government has promised to rebuild these gothic masterpieces.... one cannot trust one's self to comment upon this announcement. imagine these sacred ruins.... rheims!... rheims can never be restored to what it was before the bombardment. let it rest thus.... a sacred ruin--the scarred, pierced heart of france! likewise "these fair sweet towns" of the middle ages; these wonderful little streets and byways, filled with the gray old timbered houses, "old in shakespeare's day." up to the outbreak of the war there were many of these throughout france, in spite of the wave of modernity which resulted in so much so called town improvement. in arras the two old squares, the grand place and the petit place, survived until destroyed by bombs in 1914. those double rows of ancient flemish gables, and the beautiful lace like tower of the town hall cannot be forgotten, although they are now but calcined beams and ashes. between the seine and the flemish frontier lay a veritable storehouse of incomparable architectural monuments. of these rouen, with its famous cathedral, is happily out of reach of the guns of the invader, and one hopes out of danger. beauvais likewise has not yet suffered, nor chalons, with its great church of st. loup and st. jean, but the cathedral and the town of noyon have been leveled, and the gray walls of incomparable coucy-le-château, "that greatest of the castles of the middle ages," whose lords arrogantly proclaimed "roi ne suys, ne prince, ne duc, ne conte aussi; je suys le sire de coucy," have vanished forever from the heights under the wanton fire of the invaders' shells, and twenty thousand pounds of powder placed in the walls and exploded in revenge on the day of the retreat (april 1917). amiens, for some reason, has been spared, but it too may yet receive its baptism of fire, even as rheims. amiens and rheims! never were there such miracles of art as shown in these temples! rheims is now a ragged ruin of roofless leaning walls. so amiens, miraculously preserved, is now the greatest existing example of christian architecture in the world. in the following chapters i have quoted extracts from accounts written by eyewitnesses of acts committed by the invader in the devastated towns of france. i am not responsible for these statements, nor can i vouch absolutely for their truth, or correctness. i give them for what they are worth as part of the setting--the frame work of the pictures i have made of the noble, now vanished monuments which can never be replaced.... if i have betrayed bitter feeling it is because of their destruction by whomsoever accomplished. "woe be unto him from whom offense cometh." the author. greenwich, conn. may 1917. [illustration: 0027] arras |it was half-past six o'clock on a summer's morning, and a deep-toned bell in the cathedral sounded over the quaint gables of this really flemish city of arras. although we were in france, little difference either in the people, costumes or architecture could be noted, so mingled here were the characteristics of the french and the belgians. the sun was well up and gleamed hotly upon the old roof tops of the town, old many of them in shakespeare's day, and flooded with golden light the quaint market place, now filled with swarming peasants. there were great heaps of flowers here and there, among the booths containing varied merchandise, and some of the market people were taking their morning bowls of hot _café au lait_, made fresh in green and yellow earthenware "biggins," over small iron braziers containing burning charcoal. the odor was inviting, and as the people are always kindly disposed towards the traveler who has _savoir faire_, one may enjoy a fragrant and nourishing bowl with them in profitable and friendly commune, for almost whatever he chooses to offer, and not rarely free of any fee whatever save a "thank you," which is always received with a gracious smile and a murmured "_n'pas d'quoi, m'sieu_," or an "_au plaisir_." it was perchance a market morning in arras, and the long open square lined on either hand with strangely gabled flemish houses, and closed at the upper end by the admirable lofty towered town hall, was filling fast with arrivals from the country round about. town hall arras [illustration: 0031] everything was fresh and clean from the late rains, and the air was laden with the mingled perfume of flowers; with butter and cheese. country carts of extravagant design and painted green were unloading, and the farmer's boys were fitting together the booths for the sale of their varied commodities. here and there were active dark complexioned hebraic looking men and women, hard faced and sinister, who presided over stalls for the sale of cloth, shoes and the trinkets of small value calculated to tempt the peasantry. a cinematograph booth, resplendent with gilding, mirrors, and red and white paint, towered over the canvas covered booths, and a "merry go round," somewhat shabby by contrast, stood near it, its motive power, a small fat horse, contentedly eating his breakfast out of a brass hooped pail. the shops were opening one by one, displaying agricultural tools, and useful articles desired by the peasants. one heard bargaining going on, sometimes in the flemish tongue, proving how near we were to flanders, and sometimes in walloon. both tongues are used here, and the costumes partake of their characteristics, the women in neat if coarse stuffs, and the men in stiff blue blouses, usually in wooden shoes, too. this was remarkable, for the wooden shoe was fast vanishing from the towns. we noted too, that women were abandoning the snowy white lace trimmed caps once forming such a quaint feature of market day gatherings. now various hideous forms of black and purple bonnets, decked out with beads and upstanding feathers disfigured them, but with what pride they were worn! this market place at arras was a sight worth a long journey to witness, if but to see the display of animals, chickens, and flowers on a bright sunny morning in the square beneath the tower of the town hall. the fowls squawked and flapped their wings; dogs barked; horses neighed; and hoarse voiced vendors called out their bargains. here and there the fowl were killed on the spot for the buyer, and carried off by rosy cheeked unsentimental housewives, carried off, too, often hidden in bunches of bright flowers. did i write unsentimental?--an error. nowhere were the common people more given to sentiment. does not one remember the large room that la belle madame at the 'couronne d'or provided for the traveling painter, who occupied it for two weeks, and during the season too, and when he discovered on the morning of departure that it was not included in the bill, on pointing out the omission to madame, did she not, and with the most charming smile imaginable say, with a wave of her shapely brown hands--"one could not charge for a room used as m'sieur's studio. the honor is sufficient to the 'couronne d'or." and how to repay such kindness? in an hour the noise and chattering of a market morning was in full sway. and over all sounded the great bell of the cathedral: other church bells joined in the clamor, and at once began an accompaniment of clattering wooden shoes over the rough cobbles towards the church doors. following these people up the street, we entered the dim pillared nave of the old church. on sundays and market days the interior formed a picture not to be forgotten, and one especially full of human interest. the nave was freer of modern "improvements" than most of the churches, and there was much quiet dignity in the service. a large number of confessional cabinets, some of very quaint and others of most exquisitely carved details, were set against the walls. some of these had heavy green baize curtains to screen them instead of doors, and some of the cabinets were in use, for the skirt of a dress was visible below one of the curtains. the women before the altar knelt on the rush seats of small chairs, resting their clasped hands, holding rosaries, on the back, furnished with a narrow shelf between the uprights. they wore dark blue or brown stuff dresses, and small plaid shawls. we noted that not one of these wore wooden shoes or sabots. all on the contrary wore neat leather shoes. the women, especially the older ones, all turned their heads and curiously examined us as we tip-toed about, without, however, interrupting their incessant prayers for an instant. and they did not seem to resent our presence in the church, or regard it as an intrusion. in the subdued colored light from the painted windows, with the clouds of incense rising, the proportions of the columns and the lancet arches and windows were most impressive, and together with the kneeling peasants made a very fine effect. while there was little to be found in arras that was really remarkable, for the town was given over to the traffic in grain and the townspeople were all very commercial, there were bits of the town corners and side streets worthy of recording. near the dominating town hall were many types of ancient flemish gabled houses, of which we shall not find better examples even in flanders itself. arras was as noisy as any belgian market town where soldiers are stationed. there was the passing of heavy military carts through the ill-paved streets; the clatter of feet; the sounds of bugle and rolling of drum at sundown. the closing of the cafés at midnight ended the day, while at dawn in the morning the din of arriving and passing market wagons commenced again, followed by the workmen and women going to their daily tasks at the factories. "do these people never rest?" asked lady anne, whose morning nap was thus rudely interrupted. ma-dame's answer came: "ah, indeed, yes. but not in the summer. mark you, in the dark short days of winter, there is little going on in arras. then we are very quiet." urselines tower: arras [illustration: 0039] the old town was old, very old. there were of course some modern looking white houses of stucco in which we were told some rich people live, and there were large blank walled factories with tall chimneys, from which heavy black smoke poured the livelong day. there were plate glass windows here and there, too, in some of the shops, with _articles de paris_ exposed for sale, and there were occasionally smooth pavements to be found, but mainly there were quaint old corners, high old yellow fronted, narrow windowed houses, and old, old men and older women passing to and fro in the narrow by streets. in one corner of the market place sat an ancient dame in a wonderful lace cap, who presided over a huge pile of pale green earthenware pots of various sizes and fine shapes, who all unconsciously made for me a picture in sunlight and shadow; brown wrinkled hands busy with knitting; brown wrinkled face and bright shrewd greeny blue eyes, twinkling below the flaps of her lace cap; all against a worn, old, rusty-hinged green door! i could not resist the opportunity. so in a convenient doorway i paused to make a note of it without attracting much attention from the passers-by. entering the wide "place" (there were two of these) one was confronted by an astonishing vista of quaintly gabled flemish houses on either hand, all built mainly after one model but presenting some variations of minor detail. these led to the hotel de ville. the houses were furnished with arcades below supported by monolithic sandstone columns. the hotel de ville, built in the sixteenth century (not a vestige of which remains at this writing, april, 1917), was one of the most ornate in france. its fine gothic façade rose upon seven quaintly different arcades, in the elaborate renaissance style, pierced by ornate windows with gothic tracery in the best of taste and workmanship. overhead rose the graceful belfry, terminating in a gilded ducal crown at the height of some two hundred and fifty feet. the weekly market fair was in full progress, and the old grand' place was swarming with carts, animals, booths, and chattering peasants. before the revolution, the chapelle des ardents and the spire of la sainte-chapelle on the petit' place commemorated the deliverance of arras in the twelfth century from the plague called the "_mal des ardents_," when the virgin is believed to have given a candle to two fiddlers, declaring that "water into which a drop of its holy wax had fallen would save all who drank it." * behind the dominating tower of the hotel de ville was the modern cathedral, formerly the abbey church of st. vaast, with an unfinished tower of 1735. we found in the chapel of the virgin the tomb of cardinal de la tour d' auvergne-lauraguais, and the twelfth century tombs of an abbot, of philippe de torcy, a governor of arras, and his wife. the treasury is said to have contained the blood-stained "_rochet_" worn by thomas à becket when he was murdered, but the sacristan refused to show it unless he was first paid a fee of two francs, which we thought exorbitant. * hare's "northeastern france." arras was the capital of the gallic tribe "atrebates," and even in the dim fourth century was famous for the manufacture of woolen cloth, dyed with the madder which grows luxuriously in the neighborhood. the wearing of tapestry hangings gave arras a high reputation, and examples are preserved in the museums of france and england, where the name of the town is used to identify them. the art has long since ceased to exist, needless to say. briefly, the town followed the fortunes of the pays d' artois, of which it was the capital, passing by marriage from the house of france to burgundy, flanders, burgundy again, germany and spain. after the battle of agincourt, the english and french signed the treaty of peace at arras. the town was finally incorporated with france in 1640. according to legend one of the ancient gates, of which no trace now remains, bore the proud distich= ```"quand les souris prendront les chats, ```le roi sera seigneur d'arras."= which is said to have so enraged louis of france that he expelled the whole population, abolishing even the name of arras, which he changed to that of franchise. here was born the great robespierre, but we were unable to find the house, or even the street in which it was situated, nor could any of the ecclesiastics to whom we applied for information enlighten us in regard to the matter. the cathedral, a romanesque structure, at an angle of the abbey buildings, and approached by high stone steps broken by a platform, was built in 1755. perhaps if we had not seen it after having feasted our eyes upon the exquisite details of the hotel de ville, it might have seemed more impressive and interesting. it contained some good pictures, including a "descent from the cross," and "the entombment," attributed to rubens and van dyck respectively. the high altar enshrined a notable bas-relief in gilt bronze. the abbatial buildings were occupied by the 'evéche, seminary, library, and the musée, the latter containing a lot of modern paintings, badly hung, and seemingly indifferent in quality. in the cloisters, however, were rooms containing an archaeological collection of sculptures and architectural fragments, and a small collection of flemish pictures by "velvet" breughel, heemskerk, n. maes and others, and upstairs, a fine model of an antique ship, "offered" by the states of artois to the american colonies in the war of independence. one wonders why it was never sent. at the end of a quiet street which crossed the busy and crowded rue st. aubert, we came upon the remains of a remarkable old town gate, and the remains, too, of the ancient fortified walls, and farther on, the dismantled citadel constructed by the great vauban in 1670, and called "la belle inutile." here in this region, called the "cockpit of europe," for ages incessant wars have been waged, covering the land with such a network of evidences of bitterly fought rivalries as no other portion of the earth can show, and when no foreign foe had to be baffled or beaten off, then the internecine wars of clan against clan have flooded the fair land with gore and ruin. but all was peaceful here about this old town this bright morning in july, 1910. there was no evidence of the red waves of the wars which had rolled over and eddied about this very spot, save the old dismantled vauban tower and the remains of the ancient wall, in which we were only mildly interested. it was the present day's wanderings which interested us more; the lives of the peasants, their customs and their daily occupations. time seemed to stand still here without any consciousness of backwardness. nothing hurried at arras, and change for the sake of change had no attraction for it. the ways of the fathers were good enough for the children. there was a newspaper here, of course, but yet the town crier held his own,--a strange looking old man in a long crinkly blue blouse, balloon like trousers of velveteen corduroy, wooden shoes and a broad brimmed felt hat. a drum hung suspended from his shoulder by a leather strap. he was followed by a small procession of boys and girls. he stopped and beat a vigorous tattoo on the drum; windows above and doors below were filled with heads as if by magic. he produced a folded paper from his pocket, glanced about him proudly conscious of the importance of the occasion, and read in a loud voice some local news of interest, and then announced the loss of something or other, with notice to hand whatever it was to the commissaire de police, and then marched off down the street to repeat the performance at the next corner. the heads vanished from the windows like the cuckoos of german clocks, and the street was quiet again. who could have believed that such a custom could have survived in the days of telegraph and telephone, and in a city of, say, thirty thousand inhabitants? the old streets and highways about the town were indescribably attractive, and beyond in the country, the shaded ways beneath large trees offered charming vistas, and shelter from the sun. the people seemed to have an intuitive feeling for harmony, and little or nothing in or about the cottages, save an occasional odoriferous pig sty, offended one. colors melted into half tones in the most seductive fashion, and there was, too, an insistent harmony in the costumes of the peasants, the stain of time on the buildings or the grayish greens of the landscape. but of all this the peasant was most certainly unconscious. the glories of nature and her marvelous harmonies were no more to him than to the beast of the field. he was hard of heart, brutal of tongue and mean of habit. balzac has well described him in his "sons of the soil." money was his god, and greed his pursuit. yet all about him nature bloomed and fructified, while he toiled and schemed, his eyes ever bent earthwards. the peasant had no sentiment. it was best therefore to view him superficially, and as part of the picturesqueness of the country, like the roofs and gables of the old town, say, without seeking out secrets of the "menage" behind the walls. we were interested in the various occupations of these semi-flemish peasants, and the cries of the vendors in the streets in the early morning. most of these cries were unintelligible to us because of the mixed patois, but it amused us to identify the cry of the vendor of eels, which was most lugubrious--a veritable wail of distress, seemingly. and when we saw her in the street below our windows, laden with two heavy baskets containing her commodity, her fat rosy face lifted to the sky, her appearance so belied the agonizing wail that we laughed aloud--and then--she heard us! what vituperation did she not address to us? such a vocabulary, too! although we did not understand more than a few words she made it very plain that she regarded us as most contemptible beings. "_miserable espece de mathieux_" she called up to us again and again. whatever that meant, whatever depths of infamy it denoted, we did not know, nor did we ever find out. we were much more careful thereafter, and kept away from the window, for setting down her baskets she planted herself on the curb opposite and there presiding over the curious group of market people whom she had collected about her, she raged and stormed with uplifted fat red arms gesticulating at our windows, until the crowd, wearying of her eloquence, gradually melted away. we never saw her again. there was also the seller of snails, whose cry was a series of ludicrous barks and cackles. i don't know how else to describe the extraordinary sounds he made. they quite fascinated us, for he varied them from time to time, taking seemingly much enjoyment in the ingenuity of his performance. his baskets, which hung by brass chains from a green painted yoke on his shoulders, contained a collection of very large snails, all, as he said, freshly boiled, and each shell being closed by a seal of fresh yellow butter, sprinkled, i think, with parsley (i never tasted them), and prettily reposing upon a bed of crisp pale green lettuce leaves. these seem to be highly esteemed by the people. our chief search in arras, after valuing the ancient halls and the limited treasures of the museum, was for some examples of the wonderful tapestries known far and near by the name of "arras." in vain we sought a specimen; there was none in the museum, nor in the town hall either. those whom we thought might be able to assist us in our search professed ignorance of any such article, and the priest whom we met in the cathedral, directed us to the local furniture shop for what he called "_belle tapis_" so we gave it up, most reluctantly, however. it is strange that not one example could be found in the town of this most renowned tapestry, for this ancient town enjoyed a reputation second to none in the low countries for art work of the loom. cloth and all manner of woolen stuffs were the principal articles of flemish production, but it was chiefly from england that flanders drew her supply of wool, the raw material of her industry, and england was her great market as early as the middle of the twelfth century. there was a great guild established in london called the flemish "hanse," to which the merchants sent their manufacture. it was governed by a burgher of bruges who was styled "count of the hanse." "the merchants of arras became so prosperous and powerful, that (says a chronicler), marguerite ii, called the black, countess of flanders and hainault, 1244 to 1280, was extremely rich, not only in lands but furniture, jewels, and money; and, as is not customary with women, she was right liberal and right sumptuous, not alone in her largesses, but in her entertainments and whole manner of living; insomuch that she kept up the state of a queen rather than a countess." (kervyn de lettenhove, histoire d' flandre, t, ii. p. 300.) to arras, in common with the neighboring towns, came for exchange the produce of the north and the south, the riches collected in the pilgrimages to novogorod, and those brought over by caravans from samarcand and bagdad,--the pitch of norway and oils of andalusia, the furs of russia and dates from the atlas, the metals from hungary and bohemia, the figs of granada, the honey of portugal, the wax of morocco and the spices from egypt: "whereby" says the ancient manuscript, "no land is to be compared in merchandise to this land." and so, even if the guide books do dismiss arras at the end of a few curt details with the words "the town is now given over to various manufactures, and its few attractions may be exhausted between trains," arras certainly did offer to the curious tourist many quaint vistas, a town hall of great architectural individuality, and in her two picturesque squares, the "grand' place" and the "petit' place," a picture of antiquity not surpassed by any other town in northern france. saint jean baptiste: arras [illustration: 0053] quoting that eminent architect, mr. ralph adams cram, "we may pause in spirit in arras (it would not be well to be there now in body, unless one were a soldier in the army of the allies, when it would be perilous, but touched with glory), for sight of an old, old city that gave a vision, better than almost any other in france, of what cities were in this region at the high-tide of the renaissance. it is gone now, utterly, irremediably, and the ill work begun in the revolution and continued under the empire, when the great and splendid gothic cathedral was sold and destroyed, has been finished by prussian shells. "capital of artois, it had a vivid and eventful history, continuing under baldwin of the iron arm, who became the first count of arras; then being halved between the count of flanders and the king of france; given by st. louis to his brother robert, passing to the counts of burgundy, reverting to louis de male, of flemish fame, abandoned to the emperor, won back by france;... coming now to its end at the hands of the german hosts. "what arras must have been before the revolution we can only guess, but its glorious cathedral, its chappelle des ardents, and its 'pyramid of the holy candle' added to its surviving town hall, with its fantastically beautiful spire, and its miraculously preserved streets and squares lined with fancifully gabled and arcaded houses, it must have been a sanctuary of old delights. the cathedral was of all styles from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, while the chapel and the pyramid were models of medieval art in its richest state. both were destroyed by one lebon, a human demon and an apostate priest, who organised a 'terror' of his own in his city, and has gone down to infamy for his pestilential crime. both the destroyed monuments were votive offerings in gratitude to our lady for her miraculous intervention in the case of the fearful plague in the twelfth century, the instrument of preservation being a certain holy candle, the melted wax from which was effective in preserving the life of all it touched. the pyramid was a slender gothic tabernacle and spire, ninety feet high, standing in the 'petit' place,' a masterpiece of carved and gilded sculpture, unique of its kind. every vestige has vanished,--berlin has just announced that it has been completely and intentionally destroyed by gun-fire. "the fine vigor of the renaissance and its life were gone with the color and gold of the carved and painted shrines and houses, the fanciful costumes, the alert civic life.--wantonly destroyed!" madeline wartelle, a voluntary nurse, who was in arras during the great bombardment in july, 1915, wrote in the volume "les cites meurtries" the following account of her experiences during the destruction of the cathedral and the other noble buildings. "on july 2d, about six o'clock in the evening several shells fell upon the cathedral. then followed a calm for two hours. at half past eight, a bomb dropped from above, set fire to the house of m. daquin in the rue de' l'arsenal, and in a few moments the flames were mounting to a great height. when the firemen (_pompiers_) arrived, the fire had already spread to the house of mme. cornnan, and could not be confined even to the neighboring ones. during and following this catastrophe, at one o'clock in the morning, an avalanche of great bombs, those called 'marmites,' fell all over this quarter of the town. this time, alas, we had no trouble in getting all the details of the happening, for our house collapsed, being struck by the second bomb dropped by the 'taube,' which went through the roof to the cellar. luckily, we had gone to r--s when the fire broke out, and thus we all escaped. "forced to leave (arras) we did not see the demolishment of the cathedral and the palace of st. vaast on monday, july 5th, but i set down here what i have learned from the lips of a witness of the deplorable 'aneantisment.' "from six o'clock on that date, the gun-fire of the 'huns' was especially directed at the cathedral, and the fire which ensued spread to the end of the palace of st. vaast, which contained the archives of the town, and which was entirely consumed, and spreading further likewise destroyed the library and the museum of the seminary. the fire department did what it could to save the books and sacred objects, but their efforts were in vain, such was the rain of projectiles from the 'taubes' above, and the shells from the great guns miles away. so the order to evacuate was given by the authorities. "at one o'clock the following morning the smouldering fire in the cathedral was fanned by a high wind which sprang up, and soon enveloped the whole interior; the two great organs, the large pulpit, and the bishop's stalls were entirely consumed. the fire in the cathedral burned two whole days, watched by a mourning throng of the townspeople, who thus braved death by the falling bombs. all was consumed but the great door on the rue des charriottes, which did not fall until the week following. on the twelfth day, at five in the morning, the fire demolished the bishopric, and the chapel of the great seminary. nothing is now left but a heap of smoking cinders and ashes, from which some charred beams protrude. the treasured chateau d'eau is gone!" château, d'eau: arras [illustration: 0061] "happily, the 'descent from the cross' by rubens, which decorated the cathedral was removed from its place some hours before the fire, when the first of the great shells fell upon the town, and secreted by the priests. also two 'triptychs' by jean bellegambe were saved by m. levoy, who buried them in the cellar of the chateau of the counte de hauteclocque. curiously enough, some little time after they were thus secreted, a shell penetrated this cellar, but it is said that the damage to the pictures is small and may easily be repaired. "the abbe miseron, vicar of the cathedral, himself, at the peril of his life saved some of the most precious objects in the treasury. he says (happily) that the great tombs of the bishops, though buried beneath the ashes of the cathedral, have suffered small damage. "of the four colossal statues of the evangelists, not a trace remains; they are entirely pulverized by the great shells exploding before them. "of the library, too, not a trace remains! some of the archives have, i hear, been saved, together with a number of paintings, and m. dalimeir, under secretary of beaux arts has decided to send them to paris. all the rest has vanished. a fragment of the plan in relief of the old town of arras, formerly in the invalides was saved, but nothing remains of the roman antiquities which were discovered in the caves beneath the town, nor of the old tapestries, nor the faience, nor of the objects which filled the galleries of natural history in the museum.--all is gone! "in eleven months since the bombardment began, one hundred and seventy-five of our citizens have been killed in the streets and in their houses, and the number of wounded is more than double that number. after the demolition of our charming home, we found shelter for three nights in the cellar of a kind neighbor, but on the fifth of july, in the early morning, we had to take in our turn 'le chemin d' 'exil.' for nine months now we have had to retreat from place to place, each filled with possible dangers, and certain discomfort, but with hearts filled too with profound emotion, and the hope that we may soon return to our beloved town and to our charming old home, our house so beloved--so peaceful once in those happy days, when the pigeons cooed on the eaves in the warm sunlight, the swallows darting to their nests on the chimney--all the cherished souvenirs of those past days--my tears--"... our poor town"--(_ville meurtrie_). "around about arras, the villages, once so smiling and prosperous, are now all in ruins.--later on when glorious peace breaks upon the land of france, each hamlet shall be starred upon the pages of the golden book of history. and this black page of war once closed, that arras-la-morte shall rise from her ruins and ashes, more beautiful than ever, is my prayer." (signed) madeline wartelle. july, 1915. in the _journal officiel_, of paris, is the following:= ````ministère de la guerre. ```citation à l' ordre de l' armée.= wartelle (madeleine), infirmière volontaire à l' ambulance 1/10 du saint sacrement: n'a cessé de prodiguer des soins aux blessés et de fournir aux médicins la plus précieuse collaboration; a contribué par une action personnelle, lors du bombardment du 25 juin, à sauver les blessés en les mettant hors d'atteinte des projectiles ennemis (27 septembre 1915).= ````ministère de l'intérieur.= le gouvernement porte la connaissance du pays la belle conduite de mlle. wartelle (madeleine): a fait preuve, dans des circonstances tragiques, du plus grand courage. alors que l'ambulance du saint-sacrement à arras, où elle était infirmière voluntaire, venait d' etre violemment bombardée, que des soldats et des religieuses etaient tués, elle est demeurée résolument à son poste, ardent à descendre à la cave les blessés, prodignant à tous ses soins empressés. (28 novembre 1915.) lille |our fruitless search in arras for some examples of the ancient tapestries somewhat dampened the ardor of our tour at the very beginning. but in the train on our way to lille we had a charming view of suburban arras lying basking in the sun, all girt by its verdant belt of dense dark green trees. from the window of the railway carriage we saw the horizon expand, and hill after hill unroll, covered with waving corn, and realized that france s great northern granary lay spread before our eyes, the fields like cabochon emeralds set royally in virgin gold. approaching lille one got the impression of a region in which the commonweal formed the keynote, so to speak, and after the beauties surrounding quaint arras, it seemed somewhat sordid. the embossed fair green hills were replaced by level plains; the smiling cornfields vanished before barren brown moors. the wealth of the earth here lay far below the plains, and man was busied in bringing it to the surface. ceres gave way to vulcan: prosperous picturesque farmsteads were displaced by high black and ugly furnaces from which tremendous volumes of pitch black smoke issued the live-long day, and maybe the night as well. the stacks of grimy chimneys were seemingly as high as the spires of churches, and ashes and dust covered all. lille is in the coal region. somehow as we approached it we thought of our own pittsburgh. the latter is no whit dirtier, but it is not so picturesque as was lille. roubaix, on the horizon, is even dirtier, so a traveling companion informed us, and gave us other information which kept us away from that flemish town. lille was said to be the administrative factor of northern france, in point of industry. the town had upwards of one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, among whom there were some possessed of great fortunes. these built for themselves houses of magnificent proportions on both sides of boulevards leading nowhere. in this region we found a café restaurant of princely aspect "as good as any in paris," the townspeople proudly said, with a huge mansard roof, and a tower which did not fit it. on the river bank, lined with barges, were two fine promenades, brand new, and at the end of one was an artificial waterfall with plenty of water falling over artificial rocks in doubtful taste, of which the lilleois were so pathetically proud that we could only smilingly agree to their extravagant joy in it as a work of art. here we found american made tram cars running through the rather commonplace streets, which however were teeming with life and "business." in response to a question, a "cabby" urged as the greatest attraction a ride out to the hydraulic works situated on a plain, where a great engine pumped drinking water from a deep well inclosed in brick work. the whole atmosphere of the place was like unto that of one of our own yankee towns. but there were, of course, some notable and picturesque buildings in lille. there was the exchange, the chief architectural ornament of the city, and really it was impossible to see it without pausing in admiration of its characteristics. occupying, as it did, the great market place, i know of no other building like it save perhaps the exchange in antwerp, that lovely semi-moorish hall with its shield-emblazoned frieze, and its lofty glass ceiling. this one at lille was, of course, smaller, but it had the great advantage of being free from encroaching buildings, and standing quite alone, being visible from all four sides. then, too, it was a genuine example of its order of architecture, a beautifully preserved specimen of the ancient spanish style, with an added touch here and there of italian renaissance which blended charmingly. the walls were of flemish red brick, while the atrium, open to the sky, and serving as an inner court, was pure italian. here was a fine bronze statue of napoléon i, all clad in imperial robes, about which the busy, bustling merchants of lille transacted some of their business in the afternoons. in the mornings we found most delightful solitude here in this court, which then by contrast seemed liker unto the cloisters of some abbey than the busy commercial center it was later in the day. emblazoned here upon marble slabs one could read of the records of famous citizens of the town whose deeds were esteemed as precious and noteworthy. it is said that it was at either lille or tournai that napoleon found the golden bees which he adopted for the imperial insignia, these being taken from the tomb of a frankish king. we were further reminded of the palais royal in paris, in the small shops, most brilliantly lighted at night, which formed the outer ring of the building. here were displayed _bijoux-or-et-argent_, and also more or less exquisitely made robes for madame de lille. the upper part of the building, which was two-storied, had dormer windows, and a quadrant of beautifully designed and executed interlaced stonework with a profusion of caryatides, pilasters, and bands of carved stone fruit and garlands of flowers, all of the greatest richness, within an astonishingly small space. nowhere could we find the name of the architect, but it is said that the foundation was laid in 1652 by the spanish. workmen were busy cleaning a small turret of most graceful design which rose from above the walls of this quaint old hispano-flemish monument, and i noted the care with which the work was being done, a pleasing testimonial to the love of the people of lille for their ancient work of art. the rihour palace was far greater in size than the exchange, but it did not match it in importance. the greater part of it was modern, for it was almost destroyed in the eighteenth century. used as a town hall in the time of louis philippe, it became a sort of academy of art, wherein was displayed, and very well, too, a princely collection of paintings of flemish and dutch schools, and also the great collection of drawings known as the "wicar legacy," representing the italian school, and containing a piece of sculpture of which all the museums of europe envied that of lille. this in the catalogue was described as, "a waxen head of raphael's time, titled thus by the hand of wicar himself when in 1834 he drew up in rome the inventory of the old italian art collection." * huet regards this as a marvel that one should not miss seeing. he says, "in truth, one fancies himself to be looking at the transparent, softly tinted face of one of raphael's madonnas. innocence and gentleness dispute each other the palm in the expression of the features, they have settled on the pure brow, they play tranquilly and somewhat sadly around the mouth, they are crowned by the plaits of the fair tresses." we admired the head and treasured wicar's description of it. * "the land of rubens," c. b. huet. enumeration of the treasures contained in the palais des beaux arts would take a volume in itself. suffice it to say here that the collection contained in this edifice was among the most important in all france. rumors have appeared in print during the last two years, that this whole collection has been carefully packed and sent to berlin. at this date of writing (may, 1917) lille has not yet been evacuated by the germans, and we are told that none of the buildings has been destroyed save some unimportant ones near the railway station. just what will be the fate of the town may be conjectured when one reflects upon what happened to noyon, to rheims, to soissons, and to st. quentin, when the invaders were no longer able to hold them. let us pray that the musée wicar may be spared, by some happy chance. wicar was an artist who died in 1834, who made a great deal of money by his work, and whose real hobby was the collection of the drawings by great masters, including nearly two hundred and fifty drawings by michelangelo, sixty-eight by raphael, and a large number by francia, titian and others, besides endless examples of the renaissance. statue of jeanne d'arc: rheims [illustration: 0077] wandering about in lille one came upon some handsome buildings behind the hôtel de ville in the rue du palais, which proved to be those of the military hospital, formerly a jewish college. here was an ancient chapel of the seventeenth century, containing a remarkable altar, and some huge dark paintings which may have been good, but the light was so dim, and they were hung so high that it was impossible to examine them. continuing the wandering one reached the fine old town gate, the ancient porte de la barre, in a good state of preservation. there were a number of these gates. the old porte de paris was part of the fortifications, and built in the form of a sort of triumphal arch to the honor of louis xvi. some quaint streets as yet untouched by the march of commercialism, led from here into busy thoroughfares teeming with life and activity. one, running eastwards from the porte de paris, passed between a square and the old hôtel du génie, and this led one to the gothic church of st. sauveur, noteworthy for its double aisles, and most elaborate white marble high altar, carved in the gothic style and with a bewildering detail and accompaniment of statues and alto-reliefs. there was also the great church of st. maurice in the flamboyant style, with a most notable west portal, most carefully restored in very good taste. an open-work spire of stone rose above it, all of admirable character. the interior proved to be distinguished by the width of the nave and the double aisles all of the same height, and by the richness of the effect lent by the remarkable lightness of the columns. the handsomest streets of the old town were the rue esquermoise and the rue royale. near the entrance to the latter was the ancient church of st. catherine, founded in the twelfth century, and rebuilt in its present style in the sixteenth, and restored again in the eighteenth century. here above the altar was a fine "martyrdom of st. catherine," by rubens. in common with the other flemish cities of douai, cambrai, and valenciennes, lille suffered regularly from sieges and sackings, invasions and conquests from its very beginnings. "in june, 1297, philip the handsome, in person, laid siege to lille, and on the 13th of august, robert, count of artois, at the head of the french chivalry, gained at furnes, over the flemish army a victory which decided the campaign. lille capitulated." "the english reinforcements arrived too late and served no other purpose but that of inducing philip to grant the flemings a truce for two years. a fruitless attempt was made with the help of pope boniface viii, to change the truce into a lasting peace. the very day on which it expired, charles, count of valois, and brother of philip the handsome, entered flanders with a powerful army, surprised douai,... gave a reception to its magistrates who came and offered him the keys. 'the burghers of the towns of flanders,' says a chronicler of the age, 'were all bribed by gifts or promises from the king of france, who would never have dared to invade their frontier had they been faithful to their count.' the flemish communes desired the peace necessary for the prosperity of their commerce; but patriotic anxieties wrested with material interests.... "in the spring of 1304 the cry of war resounded everywhere. philip had laid an import extraordinary upon all real property in his kingdom; regulars and reserves had been summoned to arras to attack the flemings by land and sea. he had taken into his pay a genoese fleet commanded by regnier de grimaldi, a celebrated italian admiral; and it arrived in the north sea, blockaded zierickzee, a maritime town of zealand.... the flemish fleet was beaten. a great battle took place on the 17th of august between the two great land armies at mons-en-puelle, or mont-en-pévèle, according to the true local spelling, near lille. the action was for some time indecisive, and even after it was over both sides hesitated about claiming a victory; but when the flemings saw their camp swept off and rifled, and when they no longer found in it 'their fine stuffs of bruges and ypres, their wines of rochelle, their beers of cambrai, and their cheeses of bethune,' they declared that they would return to their hearths; and their leaders, unable to restrain them, were obliged to shut themselves up in lille, whither philip, who had himself retired to arras, came to besiege them. when the first days of downheartedness were over, and the danger which threatened lille, and the remains of the flemish army became evident, all flanders rushed to arms. "the labors of the workshop and the field were everywhere suspended; the women kept guard in the towns; you might traverse the country without meeting a single man, for they were all in the camp at courtrai, to the number of twelve hundred thousand (!) according to popular exaggeration, swearing to one another that they would rather die fighting than live in slavery. philip was astounded. "'i thought the flemings were destroyed,' said he, 'but they seem to rain from heaven.' "the burghers of bruges had made themselves a new seal whereon the old symbol of the bridge of their city on the river reye was replaced by the lion of flanders, wearing the crown and armed with the cross, with this inscription: 'the lion hath roared and burst his fetters' (rugiit leo, vincula fregit). "during ten years, from 1305 to 1314, there was between france and flanders a continual alternation of reciprocal concessions and retractions, of treaties concluded and of renewed insurrections without decisive and ascertained results. it was neither peace nor war; and after the death of philip the handsome, his successors were destined for a long time to come to find again and again amongst the flemish communes deadly enmities and grievous perils." * * guizot's "history of france." what wonder then that lille retains so few remarkable public monuments. perhaps of all the flemish towns she suffered most from pillage and fire. farther on in the rue royale, beyond the statue of general négrier, was the eighteenth century church of st. andré, once belonging to the "carmes déchaussés," where there were some good paintings by a native artist, arnould de vuez, who enjoyed considerable celebrity. following the attractive quays along the river front, which was teeming with life and movement, one reached the small square of st. martin, where was the church of "notre dame de la trielle," which is said to have occupied the site of the ancient moated chateau du buc, which formed the origin of the city of lille, and which the flemish to this day call ryssel. a fortress of the first class, lille's citadel is said to have been vauban's masterpiece, and perhaps this is one of the reasons why the invaders of 1914 surrounded it with the network of concrete trenches and galleries which formed the angle of the famous hinden-burg line after the disastrous retreat from arras in april, 1917. so far lille has not suffered very much from the bombardment of this present year, but it is safe to say now that the invader will not spare it in retreat. amiens |there was no better way of realizing the great bulk and height of the cathedral than by proceeding to the banks of the river somme northward, and from this point appraising its architectural wonder rising above the large and small old gray houses, tier above tier, misted in the soft clouds of gray smoke from their myriad chimneys, capped with red dots of chimney pots, "a giant in repose." in approaching amiens the traveler was offered no "coup d'oeil" like that of other cathedral towns; here "this largest church in the world except st. peter's, at rome," was hidden from view as one entered the town, and followed the rue des trois cailloux, along what was formerly the boundaries of the ancient walls. it was difficult to obtain a good view of the façade, that of the west point was seen from a parvis, which qualified the difference in level between the east and west ends, and here was the central porch which took its name, "porche de le beau dieu d'amiens," from the figure of the savior on its central pillar, and of which ruskin wrote, "at the time of its erection, it was beyond all that had then been reached of sculptured tenderness." it is not known at this time of writing (may, 1917) whether amiens has suffered greatly at the hands of the germans. perhaps without its destruction there have been sufficient crimes committed against the church in the name of military necessity, and it thus has been spared. for some reason or other ruskin was not overenthusiastic over amiens. he described the beautiful "flèche," which rose so gracefully from the great bulk against the sky, as "merely the caprice of a village carpenter," and he further declared that the cathedral of amiens is "in dignity inferior to chartres, in sublimity to beauvais, in decorative splendor to rheims, and in loveliness of figure sculpture to bourges." on the other hand, the great viollet-le-duc called it the "parthenon of gothic architecture." of the two authorities, one may safely pin one's faith to the opinion of the eminent frenchman, who spent his life in restoring great works rather than in abusing them. whewell says: "the mind is filled and elevated by the enormous height of the building (140 feet), its lofty and many colored clerestory, its grand proportions, its noble simplicity. the proportion of height to breadth is almost double that to which we are accustomed in english cathedrals; the lofty solid piers, which bear up this height, are far more massive in their plan than the light and graceful clusters of our english churches, each of them being a cylinder with four engaged columns. the polygonal e apse is a feature which we seldom see, and nowhere so exhibited, and on such a scale; and the peculiar french arrangement which puts the walls at the outside edge of the buttresses, and thus forms interior chapels all around, in addition to the aisles, gives a vast multiplicity of perspective below, which fills out the idea produced by the gigantic height of the center. such terms will not be extravagant when it is recollected that the roof is half as high again as westminster abbey." indeed this great height is only surpassed by that of one cathedral in all of france--beauvais. the vast arches here rose to nearly half the height of the structure, and then above these the architect placed a lovely band or frieze of carved foliage; then the triforium, and above this the glorious windows, separated from each other only by tall slender pillars springing gracefully from heavier ones. nearly all the original painted glass was destroyed in the thirteenth century, but that which replaced it was of a certainty entirely satisfying. between two immense pillars at the entrance to the nave were the heavily ornamented gilded brass tombs of the bishops who founded the cathedral. that on the left was geoffroi d'eu, who died in 1236, and on the right was that of evrard de fouilloy, who died in 1223. each shows a recumbent figure in full robes inclosed in gothic canopies with pointed arches, and sustained by lions. the great organ loft was beneath the magnificent "rose de mer" window which was filled with the arms of the house of firmin de coquerel. in the choir were one hundred and ten carved stalls, said to have been designed and made by local artists of amiens, and these alone would have made any cathedral noteworthy. according to that eminent authority, mr. francis bond, the height of the nave and the aisles is three times their span, and this feature gave the effect for which the architect worked, that is, a splendid blaze of luminosity shining down into gloomy and most mysterious shadow. this blaze of light and color came not only from the clerestory, but also from the triforium, in which the superb blue glass shone with celestial splendor. the meaning of the word "triforium" is perhaps somewhat obscure to all save architects. herbert marshall * defines the word as "applied to the ambulatory or passage, screened by an arcade, which runs between the pier arches and clerestory windows and is considered to refer to the three openings, or spaces, 'trinae fores,' into which the arcading was sometimes divided. it probably has nothing to do with openings in multiples of three, nor with a latinised form of 'thoroughfare' as suggested by parker's glossary, although the main idea is a passage running round the inside of a church, either as at westminster, in the form of an ambulatory chamber, or of a gallery pierced through the main walls, from whence the structure may be inspected without the trouble of using ladders. m. enlart in his 'manuel d'archéologie française' derives the word from a french adjective, 'trifore,' or 'trifoire,' through the latin 'transforatus,' a passage pierced through the thickness of the wall; and this idea of a passageway is certainly suggested by an old writer, gervase, who, in his description of the new cathedral of canterbury, rebuilt after the fire, alludes to the increased number of passages round the church under the word 'triforia.' 'ibi triforium unum, hie duo in choro, et in alâ ecclesiae tercium.'" * "gothic architecture in england." ruskin wrote in his diary under date of may 11th, 1857: "i had a happy walk here (amiens) this afternoon, down among the branching currents of the somme: it divides into five or six, shallow, green and not over-wholesome; some quite narrow and foul, running beneath clusters of fearful houses, reeling masses of rotten timber; and a few mere stumps of pollard willow sticking out of the banks of soft mud, only retained in shape of bank by being shored up with timbers; and boats like paper boats, nearly as thin at least, for costermongers to paddle about in among the weeds, the water soaking through the lath bottoms, and floating the dead leaves from the vegetable baskets with which they were loaded. miserable little back yards, opening to the water, with steep stone steps down to it, and little platforms for the ducks; and separate duck staircases, composed of a sloping board with cross bits of wood leading to the ducks' doors; and sometimes a flower pot or two on them, or even a flower--one group of wall flowers and geraniums curiously vivid, being seen against the darkness of a dyer's backyard, who had been dyeing black, and all was black in his yard but the flowers, and they fiery and pure; the water by no means so, but still working its way steadily over the weeds, until it narrowed into a current strong enough to turn two or three 'wind mills,' (!) one working against the side of an old flamboyant gothic church, whose richly traceried buttresses sloped down into the filthy stream; all exquisitely picturesque, and no less miserable. (! ) we delight in seeing the figures in these boats, pushing them about the bits of blue water, in prout's drawings; but as i looked to-day at the unhealthy face and melancholy mien of the man in the boat pushing his load of peat along the ditch, and of the people, men as well as women, who sat spinning gloomily at cottage doors, i could not help feeling how many persons must pay for my picturesque subject and happy walk." the reader will probably exclaim: "well, if this is ruskin's idea of a 'happy walk,' what then would be his description of a gloomy one?" we did not find the view of the town so squalid as this. rising against the golden glow of the evening sky, the great bulk of the cathedral massed itself in purple mist, its slender needle-like center tower and spire piercing the sky. below lay the dull reds and slaty grays of the houses, concealed here and there by the massive foliage of the trees that lined the river bank. barges of picturesque shape were tied up to the banks here and there, with lines of pink, white and blue freshly washed clothes strung along the decks, where children played, and there were brightly painted cabin deck houses, all white and green, from the chimney pipes of which ascended long pale lines of smoke from the galley stoves, showing that the evening meal was being cooked. on the decks of these barges nervous shaggy dogs ran up and down barking furiously at one thing or another; over all seemed to rest the air of well being and sweet content. if there were stagnant pools of filthy water, as ruskin claimed, we saw them not, nor did the peasants seem unhealthy or miserable to our eyes. amiens was delightful to look upon, and we drove back to the hotel quite satisfied with our first view of it. day by day afterwards we haunted the great cathedral, studying it from every viewpoint. again and again we returned to the choir to gloat over the one hundred and ten magnificent stalls, carved as fluently as if modeled in clay, the forms so flowing and graceful as to suggest living branches, pinnacle crowning pinnacle, and detail of grace of design so exquisite as to be almost painful to follow--"imperishable, fuller of leafage than any forest, and fuller of story than any book." (ruskin.) the outside wall of the choir was quite concealed by the most richly flamboyant gothic archwork. in these arches were quantities of figures of saints, all emblazoned with gold and crimson and blue. these groups have been described by lubke so well that i can do no better than quote him: "st. john is shown when he sees christ and points him out to the multitude; then st. john preaching in the wilderness, and the baptism of christ, which is arranged with peculiar beauty and simplicity; lastly st. john as a preacher of repentance when the listening multitude is depicted with life. then there are four scenes: the apprehension of st. john; the banquet, at which herodias asks for the head of the preacher of repentance--a scene executed with genre-like style, the figures appearing in the costume of the period; the 'beheading of st. john'; and, lastly, another banquet scene, in which the severed head appears on the table, and herodias puts out the eyes, at which her daughter sinks in a swoon, and is caught up by a young man, while a page in horror runs away with the dish. below these larger representations, in the one case in ten, in the other in five medallions, scenes from the youth of st. john are depicted. the relief is more shallow, and with simple arrangement is very attractive in expression." the great blazing rose windows of the transept were named "fire" and "water," but which was which we never quite discovered, because of a difference of opinion held by those whom we questioned, but this did not in the least affect our opinion of their great artistic value, or interfere with our admiration. in the south transept we readily found the gravestone in memory of the spanish captain hernando tiello, who captured amiens in 1597, and just opposite, the great stone sarcophagus of the canon claude pierre, who must have been a canon of great importance, to have been so favored and placed. in the chapel of notre dame de puy were a great number of marble tablets emblazoned with the names of the fraternity of puy, and bore reliefs in marble, showing scenes in the life of the virgin mary. here there was much intricate flamboyant tracery framing some scenes in the life of st. james the great, of the sixteenth century style, presented by canon guillaume aucouteaux. the north transept contained the fine monument of the canon jehan wyts, who died in 1523. this showed the temple at jerusalem, in four scenes depicting the "sanctum," the "atrium," the "tabernaculum," and "sanctum-sanctorum." in this transept was buried the remains of the comic poet "gresset," who flourished in the eighteenth century, and a great shrine for the head of john the baptist, said to be incased here, and to have been brought from the holy land and presented with imposing ceremonies, by the crusader wallon de sarton, who was likewise canon of picquigny. singularly enough there were several other heads incased in magnificent jeweled reliquaries which were to be seen in other churches, notably in the south of france, and in genoa, each one claiming, with much documentary proof, to be the sole and only authentic head of the great preacher of repentance. in one of the chapels in the left aisle of the nave, that of st. saulve, was a remarkable crucifix, which enjoyed great repute, for it was gravely alleged to have bowed its head upon the occasion of the installment of the sacred relics of st. honoré. inside the great open porches the whole space was filled with the most delicate fourteenth century lacework in stone. the principal one showed on its frontal a statue of st. michael conquering the dragon. the fine ironwork of the doors was made in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries by natives of amiens, whose names are forgotten. walter pater ("miscellaneous studies") says: "the builders of the church seem to have projected no very noticeable towers; though it is conventional to regret their absence, especially with visitors from england, where indeed cathedral and other towers are apt to be good and really make their mark.... the great western towers are lost in the west front, the grandest, perhaps the earliest, of its species--three profound sculptured portals; a double gallery above, the upper gallery carrying colossal images of twenty-two kings of the house of judah, ancestors of our lady; then the great rose; above it the singers' gallery, half marking the gable of the nave, and uniting at their topmost stories the twin, but not exactly equal or similar towers, oddly oblong in plan as if meant to carry pyramids or spires. in most cases these early pointed churches are entangled, here and there, by the construction of the old round-arched style, the heavy norman or other, romanesque chapel or aisle, side by side, though in strange contrast, with the soaring new gothic nave or transept. but of the older manner of the round arch, the 'plein-cintre,' amiens has nowhere, or almost nowhere, a trace. the pointed style, fully pronounced, but in all the purity of its first period, found here its completest expression." amiens, the ancient capital of picardy, was one of the greatest of the manufacturing towns of france. there were many large factories engaged in the production of cashmere, velvet, linen, and woolens, and in the early morning, and again at night, thousands of the employees filled the streets of the town on their way to and from work. it was called by the ambiani, before it was captured by cæsar, samarobriva, and was their chief town. christianity was introduced by st. firmin in the year 301, which perhaps is as far back as any one cares to go in the matter. and history farther cautions the reader not to confound this st. firmin with that other st. firmin, who was only a "confessor" or something of the sort. the normans seem to have had a strong desire to put an end to the town, for they regularly pillaged and burned it. the place was ceded to the duke of burgundy in 1435, but was recovered in 1463 by louis xi. the spaniards conquered it in 1597, but henry iv retook it from them. the peace of amiens between france, great britain, spain and holland was signed here in 1802. the battle of amiens, in the franco-prussian war, resulted in the entry of the germans in november, 1870. its present fate is problematical, but it would seem, in view of the retirement of the invader northward of arras and lens, that the great and noble monuments of the ancient town are now safe. heinrich heine long ago wrote the following prophetic words: "christianity--and this is its highest merit--has in some degree softened, but it could not destroy, the brutal german joy of battle. when once the taming talisman, the cross, breaks in two, the savagery of the old fighters, the senseless berserker fury, of which the northern poets sing and say so much, will gush up anew. that talisman is decayed, and the day will come when it will piteously collapse. then the old stone gods will rise from the silent ruins, and rub the dust of a thousand years from their eyes. thor, with his giant's hammer, will at last spring up, and shatter to bits the gothic cathedrals." péronne |the delightful banks of the river somme are imprinted on one's memory among those "sweet places" where it would seem as though man could not but choose to be happy, so liberally had nature decked them with her gifts. yet all of this region formerly known as flanders, has from time immemorial been war's favorite playground, "the cockpit of europe." even in the intervals of wars, strife equally bitter, if less bloody, has raged here,--the struggle of industry against adequate reward. one could never forget the sight of women laboring early and late in the fields, or harnessed together at the end of long tow lines, painfully dragging barges against the current of the river, or in the factory yards, trampling with bare feet a mixture of coal dust and clay which, molded into briquettes, was used as fuel. strangely enough, these women and girls, some of them of tender age, seemed happy and content with their work. the sound of their singing as they labored could be heard for a long distance. as the barges passed on the river bank, with these women bending forward, straining at the yoked ends of the tow rope, moving slowly step by step, we noted that not seldom they were quite handsome of face, and of good figure. invariably they saluted us good humoredly with smiles, but when i removed my hat in response, i could see that this courtesy struck them as unusual, and did not leave the impression i desired. thereafter i modified the salutation. at the inn in péronne a young "commis-voyageur" with whom i made conversation, and related this incident, told me that i had better beware of offering such civilities in future, since these amazons had been known to seize strangers for fancied offenses, and after giving them rough treatment, cast them into the river. he called upon the proprietor of the inn to substantiate his warning, and the latter satisfied me as to its truth, giving details which need not be set down here, and which quite decided the matter. péronne as an historic and notable town was second to none in all picardy. here the early kings had a great palace given to them by clovis ii. hotel de ville: péroinne [illustration: 0107] erchinold, the mayor, erected a monastery near by for scotch monks, presided over by st. fursy. not a trace of this now remains. it is said to have contained the tomb of charles the simple, who died of famine at the hands of hubert in a dungeon. when philip d'alsace, count of vermandois, was killed in the crusades (1199) the towns of péronne and st. quentin were united to the crown of france, and so remained. charles v, in 1536 unsuccessfully besieged péronne, and during this siege a young woman named marie fourré performed prodigious deeds of heroism which history records. the great ligue of 1577 was proclaimed here, following its announcement at paris. until the duke of wellington captured it on his way to paris' after the battle of waterloo, péronne-la-pucelle had never been taken by an enemy. in the franco-prussian war, 1870-71, péronne was sacked and burned after a most memorable siege, in which many of the remarkable old buildings were destroyed, but in 1910 the town, when i last saw it, was one of the quaintest in all picardy. there was a remarkable old church here, that of st. jean, which dated from the sixteenth century, which had a portal of three gothic arches and arcades surmounted by a great flamboyant rose-window, the glass of which, though modern, was of fine quality and workmanship. it had a tower flanked by a "tourelle" of beautiful proportions, and in the interior the vaulting, pulpit, and the stained glass windows were pronounced by experts to be well-nigh faultless. this church, and the most singular and picturesque hôtel de ville (sixteenth century), a sketch of which i made in 1910, the invaders took great pains entirely to destroy in april, 1917, when they made their celebrated "victorious retreat." the latest accounts say that not a trace of these two remarkable monuments now exists, that for a week or more before the retreat, the german engineers used tons of explosives to destroy them. the gray old square before the hôtel de ville is now a yawning pit, bordered by shapeless piles of stone and ashes. at this time we know not what other mischief the invader has committed in this neighborhood. there are endless opportunities for destruction and pillage, and we may be fully prepared for irreparable damage and losses in all of this region before the iconoclasts are driven back to their last line of defenses. all of champagne, of picardy,--all of flanders were filled with exquisite villages, towns, and cities, each of which was unique in works of art and antiquity. these have shriveled like a garden of flowers before a heavy frost. this great catastrophe has so stunned humanity, that we are only beginning to realize what it means. the invader says contemptuously that no cathedral is worth the life of one german soldier. so rheims has been destroyed; so st. peter's of louvain; so--but why enumerate here?--the list is recorded in letters of fire. cambrai, and the small towns |the "cameracum" of ancient days of roman occupation, holding this name up to the twelfth century, cambrai, at the outbreak of the war in 1914, was entirely satisfying to the seeker of the charms of picturesqueness, as well as the historian. after what is known as the period of the antonine itinerary, it became the capital of a petty episcopal arrondisement, under the protection of the dukes of burgundy who, unable to hold it, gave it over "for privileges" to the german emperors, who thereafter retained it under the title of "châtelains," as it was a fortified stronghold. situated on a hillside on the right bank of the river scheldt, it was a busy and prosperous commercial town, with a semi-flemish population of about twenty-five thousand. its history in thumbnail form is as follows: in 1508 the emperor maximilian, pope julius ii, ferdinand of aragon, and louis xii of france formed here the celebrated league of cambrai, which was directed against venice. in 1529 the so-called paix de dames was signed by louise of savoy and margaret of austria, who negotiated its provisions in the castle on the hill, for francis i and charles v. however, by the treaty of nimwegen, louis xv recovered it, and it was thus held by france until captured by the duke of wellington in 1815. many celebrated men were born at cambrai, or became identified with the town, such as the chronicler, enguer-rand de monstrelet, who died in 1453. the great fénelon was archbishop of cambrai, as was also cardinal dubois, who served as minister for louis xv, and then follows an array of names that lent glory to the annals of flanders. perhaps few know that the town gave name to that fine linen which was produced here in the fifteenth century, the invention of a native named baptiste. the english named the cloth "cambric," but to the flemish and french it was known, and is still for that matter, as "ba'tiste" after the inventor. at the outbreak of the war this linen cloth was the chief product of the town. entrance to the town was through the gate called "porte robert," near which was the citadel. there was a large and impressive square called the "esplanade," where statues had been raised to "batiste" and the historian "enguerrand de monstrelet." then followed the "place aux bois," lined with handsome trees, and large "place d'arms," on which was the "hôtel de ville," which, while of comparatively modern construction and rebuilt in the last century, was sufficiently interesting even to a student of ancient flemish architecture. its most elaborate façade was sculptured by one hiolle of valenciennes. the tower bore two gigantic statues, much venerated by the townspeople, named respectively "martin" and "martine," but curiously enough there was a wide difference of opinion as to which was which, some saying that the left hand giant was martin, and others protesting the contrary. the figures dated from the time of charles v, and were presented by him to the town in 1510. on the square at the opening of the rue st. martin was a fine gothic belfry dated 1447, and attached to the church of that name. this contained a notable chime of bells, a carillon, the work of the hemonys. * in the rue de noyon was the cathedral of "notre dame," part of which had been rebuilt since a fire which consumed it about sixty years ago. the interior contained notably the fine marble and bronze monument of fénelon, and a statue to this celebrity, the work of david d'angers, all worth a considerable journey to see. the body of the church was of the eighteenth century and while of purity in detail, offered no very striking features. there were eight very large mural paintings "en grisaille" after the works of rubens, by geeraerts, a modern artist of antwerp, but these, despite the obvious merit of the work, seemed somehow out of key with the interior. * see "vanished towers and chimes of flanders," for chapter on bell founding. wandering about, we came upon a small street in which we found a remarkable collection of paintings of the netherlands school owned by a private collector, who was pleased to show them, and delighted by our enthusiasm over their qualities. this gentleman insisted upon becoming our guide about the town, and showed us so many attentions that my lady anne became bored with him, and this led to our leaving cambrai before the time we had set--but we left a letter of appreciation and thanks addressed to him. he it was who brought us to the church of st. géry in the place fénelon, on the site of one founded by st. vaast in 520. this had a remarkable dome which was upheld by four very slender columns, of very unusual character, and there was also a magnificent renaissance "jube," or altar screen, of colored marble, and a transept containing a large painting of the "entombment," attributed to rubens. the "episcopal palace of fénelon" was just across the street, or at least a fragment of the original building, with a very richly decorated triple portal in the renaissance style. it was this palace that fénelon opened to the fugitives of the battle of malplaquet, who thronged the town of cambrai for protection and food. history states that every corner of the building was filled with the hapless people, and their small belongings hastily gathered together in the flight. the gardens and courts were crowded with cows, calves, and pigs, and the scene is said to have been indescribable. emanuel de broglie, who wrote the account ("fénelon a cambrai," de broglie), says, "officers to the number of one hundred and fifty, both french and prisoners of war, were received by fénelon at his house, and seated at his table at one time." "god will help us," said the archbishop; "providence hath infinite resources on which i can confidently rely. only let us give all we have: it is my duty and my pleasure." over the side doors were inscriptions on "banderoles"--"a clare justitia" on one, and on the other "a gladio pax." the fine "chateau de selles," on the banks of the scheldt river, was built in the fifteenth century. the beautiful reliefs of its gables, its statues, and the wrought iron grills of its balconies were still perfect, and the view from its green terrace was most enjoyable. there was a curious sort of penthouse shown to us, near a building called "vieux château" of which pillars with rudely sculptured capitals remained. near this was a well with some ancient rusty ironwork, and a stone which our quondam guide said had served in ages long ago as a block in executions. somehow we thought that he lied, and with considerable skill withal, but we dismissed him with payment of a franc for his pains. he did not go, however, but followed us about at a distance muttering to himself and occasionally waving his hands in a most absurd manner, until at length we happily lost him. there was a curious small building called the grange aux dimes, divided into two parts, one subterranean, the other on the level of the soil. two staircases, one inside, the other outside, led to a hall on the first floor. this was divided by two ranges of pillars, with ornate capitals of foliage. the door to the subterranean passage was unfastened and we ventured down into the darkness and must for a short distance. i am convinced that we might have had some adventures below had we explored the tunnel. near this was "le puits," supposed to be the entrance to other vast vaults, a subterranean town extending beneath the hill for miles, and formerly used for many purposes in the middle ages. these vaults were to be found in many of the towns hereabouts, and during the occupancy of the country by the germans since the invasion of 1914, the soldiers have used them to store away ammunition and supplies. over these small towns for three years now have raged battles the like of which for fierceness and bloody loss the world has never seen. the small town of marcoing, about five miles from cambrai, had one of these wonderful caverns of refuge dating from the middle ages, and there were others at villers-guizlain and at honnecourt, where there were the ruins of a roman town, and an immense church with a porch of the eleventh century. this was said to have been a famous place of pilgrimage in the twelfth century. tradition has it that in that century three brothers of the family of courcy le marchais were taken prisoners during the crusades. in the power of the sultan they languished, until at length he bethought him to send his young daughter to their dungeon, where they lay in chains, thinking that she might by the power of her beauty and eloquence bring them to the faith of the mussulmans. but strange to relate, she it was who succumbed to the arguments of the three fair-haired brothers, and finally promised to become a christian provided that they show her an image of the holy virgin of whom they had so eloquently told her. now the three brothers had no image of the virgin, everything having been taken from them when they were cast into the dungeon. but all at once, says the chronicle, the image of the virgin bathed in golden celestial light appeared miraculously before them in a niche on the wall, so the sultan's daughter, thus convinced, not only set the three fair-haired brothers free, but accompanied them, bearing in her bosom the sacred image, which henceforth was enshrined here on the altar and venerated. the three brothers then built a church in the twelfth century, on the site of which this present one of the fourteenth century was erected. its portal was fifteenth century, and at the cross was a spire with quaintly formed pinnacles. inside, a remarkably rich "jube," or altar screen, divided the nave from the choir, almost hiding the sanctuary containing a singular coal black doll-like sort of image, and a large collection of "ex-votos," with some other offerings most tawdry in character. north of valenciennes and very near the flemish border was the old town of st. amand-les-eaux, famous for its mud baths for the cure of rheumatism and gout since the time of the romans. the town was situated at the confluence of the rivers elnon and scarpe, and is said to have grown up around an abbey built by st. amand in the seventh century. save for the portal and the façade of the church nothing remained of the original structure. a tower containing a fine carillon of bells by flemmish founders, perhaps the van den gheyns of malines, is said to have been designed by peter paul rubens. from the summit of the tower a wonderful view of the surrounding country was had, and for this reason the germans blew it up in april, 1917, before their retreat. maison du provost: valenciennes [illustration: 0123] there was here a quaint hôtel de ville in the flemish-renaissance style, much floriated in parts. let us hope that this has been spared. the site of the ancient abbey had been most charmingly covered with a blooming garden of brilliant flowers, and here children and nurses played, while "invalides" dozed on the benches in the sunlight. from the baths a very wild and beautiful park stretched across the country to the forest of raismes through the forest of st. amand. epehy is another small town now held by the germans because of its strategical value. it is on the ancient roman road, or "chaussée brunehaut," which runs from arras to rheims. under the great church are subterranean galleries, which, it is said, stretch for unknown distances in every direction; indeed, it seems as if the whole country hereabouts were undermined by these ancient galleries, many of which were unexplored, and in some instances shunned by the peasants as haunted by evil spirits, and many and fantastic were the tales told of some of these caverns, during the summer days when wanderings about the countryside held us here in happy durance. it was delightful to watch the grave old men of the village playing bowls or skittles, and their pride over the skill which enabled one of them, a patriarch, to account for six pins at one shot. his cannoning was the very poetry of statics. as a foil the unskillful efforts of the present writer were not altogether unsuccessful, for they brought to the stolid faces of the players smiles not unkindly, but of considerable latitude. in the little "estaminet" (spanish estamento) at the foot of the hill, cutlets, broiled young chicken, and a rough and cheap but good sparkling wine, all graced by the good humor of the proprietor, raised our content to enthusiasm, so we saw and studied the locality, socially and mythologically, to the end of its possibilities. we found that these peasants, seemingly so phlegmatic and commonplace, were really chimerical, and their tales and conversation skirted the borderland of fact and fancy. the two were so melted down and run into one mold as to be impossible of separation. i have listened to some of these tales with interest, until the splashes of golden light were gone from the valleys and a vast canopy of rose-shot lilac emblazoned the setting of the sun. in the woods hereabouts, as in other parts of this region of caverns, thin mysterious sounds were often audible at night to those who had ears to hear: the noise of a distant hunt, the sound of winding horns, the confused shouts of a troop of hunters, and the chime of hounds in full cry. pious and superstitious peasants, listening indoors, crossed themselves, those who were abroad in the lanes hastened their steps, not glancing in the direction from which the sounds came. it was the wild chasseur. this is the story: st. amand, count of the palatinate, lived hereabouts in the tenth century, in a great castle of which even the foundations have long since disappeared. he was known as a mighty hunter, but was a profane prince, caring naught for the worship of the lord, nor the chant of the priest, but following ever the wild creatures, rather than the ways of truth and righteousness. there came one day in the autumn, and it was sunday, long before the coming dawn disclosed the distant dome of the cathedral. when this reckless count mounted his great horse, and at the head of an equally reckless band of merry hunters, started out on the chase, the great dim forests rang with the loud blasts of the horn, and the loud shouts of the young men broke the calm stillness of the holy day and scandalized the good priests, and the pious people of the neighborhood. out came the noisy cavalcade into the open where four roads met. to them, one from the north and one from the south, and galloping furiously, came two horsemen; the one from the north was young, blonde and handsome, with an air of distinction, all clad in bright new cloak and bonnet of golden yellow. the cavalier from the south seemed a man of temper, and was of sinister visage, bestriding a great horse of a temper to match that of its rider. his costume was of black velveteen save for his headpiece of scarlet cloth, which flowed scalloped down his back. the count at the head of his troop saluted these two strangers courteously and invited them bear him company in the chase. "my lord," answered the rider from the north, removing his bonnet, and showing his fair hair in a golden mass about his shoulders, "the sabbath bells are ringing in your church for the service in praise of our lord and saviour, jesus christ, for'tis the hour in which the voices of men in holy canticle are sent on high asking forgiveness of our sins and iniquities. this day is sanctified to him above. i do bid you now accompany me unto the throne of grace, on bended knee, in all humility.--for upon the offender shall descend the vengeance of the most high, forever and ever." "in satan's name, sir golden locks!" answered st. amand scornfully, "thou hast a tongue like a ranting priest. what right hast thou to wear a sword, pray?--i have no mind for canticles to-day!" loud laughed the troop of cavaliers at this, and then was heard the voice of the rider in black from the south, whose great horse champed the bit and tossed its head restlessly. "come, let us away, st. amand! what care have we for monastery bells and sniveling priests!--let us to the noble chase for mass, with sound of the winding horn for organ note!" "well said, sir red crest," replied st. amand, with a loud laugh and a wave of his gauntleted hand. "_ventre son gris!_ let us away then!" the whole troop sprang forward at the word. over the hills, through the ravines and deep ditches, and into the dark woods, ever rode the strangers, one at the right and one at the left of st. amand. on the right, the fair young golden haired knight, and on the left, the black clad sinister man with the crimson hood. all at once appeared among the great trunks of the beech trees an antlered deer white as the driven snow, which after one startled look at the furiously riding troop of men, sped away like the wind. with winding horn the hunters pursued it over the green meadows and up and down the hills, trampling corn fields and peasant gardens under foot all unmindful of what ill they did. naught counted for these men but the chase, and ever st. amand headed the band, and on his right rode the fair young blonde rider from the north and on his left the swarthy knight from the south. finally, with trembling limbs the antlered deer slackened its speed before the open door of a chapel in the midst of the wildwood. here stood the frightened animal, its fur flicked with bloody foam, unable to stir a step further. from the open door of the chapel stepped a holy friar, who placed a sheltering arm about the panting animal's neck, and stood with uplifted arm warning back the band of hunters. in vain did the fairhaired stranger plead with amand to spare the deer, for the jeering voice of the knight of the scarlet hood urged him on, and dismounting from his horse count st. amand pushed aside the monk and was about to run the animal through with his hunting knife, when there came a burst of thunder sound that shook the earth as though the heavens had fallen. the count was stunned: when he came to himself he was alone in a clear space in the forest; the chapel, the deer, the monk, all his band, including the two strangers, had vanished as though they had never been. over all was a terrible silence. when st. amand attempted to call, no sound came from his parched lips. then came a blinding flash of lightning, which split the darkness, and on the wings of the rushing wind he heard a terrible voice in judgment.--"even as thou hast flouted and mocked at the lord thy god, and have had no compassion upon man nor beast, so shalt thou fly before the wrath of the most high! pass on then, thou accursed knight, forever be thou the hunted by evil spirits until the end of the world!" "and so," continues the legend, "since that day the wraith of that sinful count st. amand has haunted these hills and dales by night, and these great caverns underneath by day, the fiends of hell at his heels. after him fly these hideous fiends, driving him ever on towards the judgment that waits him on the last day." as may be surmised, with such tales as this to hold over the youth of the valleys, the people hereabouts were most devout and god fearing. here in this region have raged battles innumerable from the earliest days of history, with fire, famine and pestilence. it was all prosperous, when i last saw it, and charming to look upon. but now the beautiful orchards have been cut down by the invader, the homesteads have been burned, and the once happy peasants transported to hard labor in another country. st. quentin |ugly and down at the heel," were the uncomplimentary terms used by an æsthetic fellow traveler to describe this prosperous manufacturing town situated rather picturesquely on a hill rising above the banks of the river somme. and while it may be admitted that st. quentin is not very clean looking when viewed from the railway station, certainly a later and more intimate inspection revealed charms which repaid leisurely investigation on our part, and even our first view of the gray walls and gables of the houses, and the quaint pinnacles of the town hall, and the tower of the church rising against the golden glow of the sunset sky was quite satisfying. the road to the town on the hill was by way of the rue de l'lsle, which brought us to the small square on which was the flamboyant gothic hôtel de ville. it had a most charming and unusual pent roof, over which rose a slender tower with large clock face shining in the sunlight. on the ground floor of the façade was an open arcaded gallery above which were richly ornamented flamboyant gothic windows divided by niches. the upper story had a quaint and ornate balustrade and three gables. from the central gable the campanile rose gracefully. this much we were able to see on our way to the hôtel du cygne, the landlady of which gave us more comfort than our quondam traveling companion had led us to expect. this individual quite abandoned us to our fate thereafter, as impossible yankees who gloated over picturesqueness and gables, and meekly ate whatever was set before them--even of an omelette which he scorned, and fussed about at the table d'hôte. he listened with a sarcastic grin to our admiring comment on the furnishings of the dining-room, with its paneled walls in the flemish fashion, on which hung brass placques and some good old china plates, and after lighting a cigarette, noisily kicked back his chair, shrugged his shoulders, and vanished from our ken forever. madame told us that he was a "commis-voyageur" in the woolen trade, from brussels, and "bien difficile." st. quentin was the ancient capital of the gaulish veromanduens, and took its present name from caius quintinus, a priest who came here to preach christianity in the third century, and for his pains was martyred by the prefect rictius varus. honor to his remains was encouraged by st. eloi in the time of dagobert. whilst here we may recall that the building of the escurial was due to a vow which philip ii of spain made in case of success, when he was besieging st. quentin in 1557. the town was given back to france in 1589, and in the following year was bestowed as a dowry upon mary stuart, who possessed its revenues till her death. on january 19, 1871, a great victory was gained near st. quentin by the prussian general goeben over the french army of the north, * under faidherbe. * hare's "northeastern france." in the "place du huit octobre" was a very good monument by barrias, symbolizing the successful defense of the town against the first attack by the germans on october 8, 1870. we found that the hôtel de ville contained a most unusual "salle du conseil," a large well proportioned room, the roof of which rested upon two circular wooden vaults. this was furnished with a most elaborate mantel or chimney piece in the m