(England and Germany)

A progressive history of English sculpture in stone could be compiled by going from church to church, and studying the tympana, over the doors, in Romanesque and Norman styles, and in following the works in the spandrils between the arches in early Gothic work. First we find rude sculptures, not unlike those in France. The Saxon work like the two low reliefs now to be seen in Chichester Cathedral show dug-out lines and almost flat modelling; then the Norman, slightly rounded, are full of historic interest and significance, though often lacking in beauty. The two old panels alluded to, now in Chichester, were supposed to have been brought from Selsea Cathedral, having been executed about the twelfth century. There is a good deal of Byzantine feeling in them; one represents the Raising of Lazarus, and the other, Our Lord entering the house of Mary and Martha. The figures are long and stiff, and there is a certain quality in the treatment of draperies not unlike that in the figures at Chartres.

Then follows the very early Gothic, like the delightful little spandrils in the chapter house at Salisbury, and at Westminster, familiar to all travellers. They are full of life, partly through the unanatomic contortions by means of which they are made to express their emotions. Often one sees elbows bent the wrong way to emphasize the gesture of denunciation, or a foot stepping quite across the instep of its mate in order to suggest speed of motion. Early Gothic work in England is usually bas-relief; one does not find the statue as early as in France. In 1176 William of Sens went over to England, to work on Canterbury Cathedral, and after that French influence was felt in most of the best English work in that century. Before the year 1200 there was little more than ornamented spaces, enriched by carving; after that time, figure sculpture began in earnest, and, in statues and in effigies, became a large part of the craftsmanship of the thirteenth century.

The transition was gradual. First small separate heads began to obtain, as corbels, and were bracketed at the junctures of the arch-mouldings in the arcade and triforium of churches. Then on the capitals little figures began to emerge from the clusters of foliage. In many cases the figures are very inferior to the faces, as if more time and study had been given to expressing emotions than to displaying form. The grotesque became very general. Satire and caricature had no other vehicle in the Middle Ages than the carvings in and out of the buildings, for the cartoon had not yet become possible, and painting offered but a limited scope to the wit, especially in the North; in Italy this outlet for humour was added to that of the sculptor.

Of the special examples of great figure sculpture in England the faÇade at Wells is usually considered the most significant. The angel choir at Lincoln, too, has great interest; there is real power in some of the figures, especially the angel with the flaming sword driving Adam and Eve from Eden, and the one holding aloft a small figure,—probably typical of the Creation. At Salisbury, too, there is much splendid figure sculpture; it is cause for regret that the names of so few of the craftsmen have survived.

Wells Cathedral is one of the most interesting spots in which to study English Gothic sculpture. Its beautiful West Front is covered with tier after tier of heroes and saints; it was finished in 1242. This is the year that Cimabue was three years old; Niccola Pisano had lived during its building, Amiens was finished forty-six years later, and Orvieto was begun thirty-six years later. It is literally the earliest specimen of so advanced and complete a museum of sculpture in the West. Many critics have assumed that the statues on the West Front of Wells were executed by foreign workmen; but there are no special characteristics of any known foreign school in these figures. Messrs. Prior and Gardner have recently expressed their opinion that these statues, like most of the thirteenth century work in England, are of native origin. The theory is that two kinds of influence were brought to bear to create English "imagers." In the first place, goldsmiths and ivory carvers had been making figures on a small scale: their trade was gradually expanded until it reached the execution of statues for the outside ornament of buildings. The figures carved by such artists are inclined to be squat, these craftsmen having often been hampered by being obliged to accommodate their design to their material, and to treat the human figure to appear in spaces of such shapes as circles, squares, and trefoils. Another class of workers who finally turned their attention to statuary, were the carvers of sepulchral slabs: these slabs had for a long time shown the effigies of the deceased. This theory accounts for both types of figures that are found in English Gothic,—the extremely attenuated, and the blunt squat statues. At Wells it would seem that both classes of workmen were employed, some of the statues being short and some extremely tall. They were executed, evidently, at different periods, the faÇade being gradually decorated, sometimes in groups of several statues, and sometimes in simple pairs. This theory, too, lends a far greater interest to the west front than the theory that it was all carried out at once, from one intentional design.

St. Nicholas, the patron saint of Baptism, is here represented, holding a child on his arm, and standing in water up to his knees. The water, being treated in a very conventional way, coiling about the lower limbs, is so suggestive of tiers of flat discs, that it has won for this statue the popular name of "the pancake man," for he certainly looks as if he had taken up his position in the midst of a pile of pancakes, into which he had sunk.

The old statue of St. Hugh at Lincoln is an attractive early Gothic work. In 1743 he was removed from his precarious perch on the top of a stone pinnacle, and was placed more firmly afterwards. In a letter from the Clerk of the Works this process was described. "I must acquaint you that I took down the antient image of St. Hugh, which is about six foot high, and stood upon the summit of a stone pinnacle at the South corner of the West Front... and pulled down twenty-two feet of the pinnacle itself, which was ready to tumble into ruins, the shell being but six inches thick, and the ribs so much decayed that it declined visibly.... I hope to see the saint fixed upon a firmer basis before the Winter." On the top of a turret opposite St. Hugh is the statue of the Swineherd of Stowe. This personage became famous through contributing a peck of silver pennies toward the building of the cathedral. As is usually the case, the saint and the donor therefore occupy positions of equal exaltation! The swineherd is equipped with a winding horn. A foolish tradition without foundation maintains that this figure does not represent the Swineherd at all, but is a play upon the name of Bishop Bloet,—the horn being intended to suggest "Blow it!" It seems hardly possible to credit the mediÆval wit with no keener sense of humour than to perpetrate such a far-fetched pun.

The Lincoln Imp, who sits enthroned at the foot of a cul-de-lampe in the choir, is so familiar to every child, now, through his photographs and casts, that it is hardly necessary to describe him. But many visitors to the cathedral fail to come across the old legend of his origin. It is as follows: "The wind one day brought two imps to view the new Minster at Lincoln. Both imps were greatly impressed with the magnitude and beauty of the structure, and one of them, smitten by a fatal curiosity, slipped inside the building to see what was going on. His temerity, however, cost him dear, for he was so petrified with astonishment, that his heart became as stone within him, and he remained rooted to the spot. The other imp, full of grief at the loss of his brother, flew madly round the Minster, seeking in vain for the lost one. At length, being wearied out, he alighted, quite unwittingly, upon the shoulders of a certain witch, and was also, and in like manner, instantly turned to stone. But the wind still haunts the Minster precincts, waiting their return, now hopelessly desolate, now raging with fury." A verse, also, is interesting in this connection:

"The Bishop we know died long ago,
The wind still waits, nor will he go,
Till he has a chance of beating his foe.
But the devil hopped without a limp,
And at once took shape as the Lincoln Imp.
And there he sits atop of a column,
And grins at the people who gaze so solemn,
Moreover, he mocks at the wind below,
And says: 'You may wait till doomsday, O!'"

The effigies in the Round Church at the Temple in London have created much discussion. They represent Crusaders, two dating from the twelfth century, and seven from the thirteenth. Most of them have their feet crossed, and the British antiquarian mind has exploited and tormented itself for some centuries in order to prove, or to disprove, that this signifies that the warriors were crusaders who had actually fought. There seems now to be rather a concensus of opinion that they do not represent Knights Templars, but "associates of the Temple." As none of them can be certainly identified, this controversy would appear to be of little consequence to the world at large. The effigies are extremely interesting from an artistic point of view, and, in repairing them, in 1840, Mr. Richardson discovered traces of coloured enamels and gilding, which must have rendered them most attractive.

Henry III. of England was a genuine art patron, and even evinced some of the spirit of socialism so dear to the heart of William Morris, for the old records relate that the Master Mason, John of Gloucester, was in the habit of taking wine each day with the King! This shows that Henry recognized the levelling as Well as the raising power of the arts. In 1255 the king sent five casks of wine to the mason, in payment for five with which John of Gloucester had accommodated his Majesty at Oxford! This is an intimate and agreeable departure from the despotic and grim reputation of early Kings of England.

In 1321 the greatest mediÆval craftsman in England was Alan de Walsingham, who built the great octagon from which Ely derives its chief character among English cathedrals. In a fourteenth century manuscript in the British Museum is a tribute to him, which is thus translated by Dean Stubbs (now Bishop of Truro):

"A Sacrist good and Prior benign,
A builder he of genius fine:
The flower of craftsmen, Alan, Prior,
Now lying entombed before the choir...
And when, one night, the old tower fell,
This new one he built, and mark it well."

This octagon was erected to the glory of God and to St. Etheldreda, the Queen Abbess of Ely, known frequently as St. Awdry. Around the base of the octagon, at the crests of the great piers which carry it, Prior Alan had carved the Deeds of the Saint in a series of decorative bosses which deserve close study. The scene of her marriage, her subsequently taking the veil at Coldingham, and the various miracles over which she presided, terminate in the death and "chesting" of the saint. This ancient term is very literal, as the body was placed in a stone coffin above the ground, and therefore the word "burial" would be incorrect.

The tomb of Queen Eleanor in Westminster is of Purbeck marble, treated in the style of Southern sculpture, being cut in thin slabs and enriched with low relief ornamentation. The recumbent effigy is in bronze, and was cast, as has been stated, by Master William Torel. Master Walter of Durham painted the lower portion. Master Richard Crundale was in charge of the general work.

Master John of St. Albans worked in about 1257, and was designated "sculptor of the king's images." There was at this time a school of sculpture at the Abbey. This Westminster School of Artificers supplied statuettes and other sculptured ornaments to order for various places. One of the craftsmen was Alexander "le imaginator." In the Rolls of the Works at Westminster, there is an entry, "Master John, with a carpenter and assistant at St. Albans, worked on the lectern." This referred to a copy which was ordered of a rarely beautiful lectern at St. Albans' cathedral, which had been made by the "incomparable Walter of Colchester." Labour was cheap! There is record of three shillings being paid to John Benet for three capitals!

Among Westminster labourers was one known as Brother Ralph, the Convert; this individual was a reformed Jew. Among the craftsmen selected to receive wine from the convent with "special grace" is the goldsmith, Master R. de Fremlingham, who was then the Abbey plumber.

There was a master mason in 1326, who worked at Westminster and in various other places on His Majesty's Service. This was William Ramsay, who also superintended the building then in progress at St. Paul's, and was a man of such importance in his art, that the mayor and aldermen ordered that he should "not be placed on juries or inquests" during the time of his activity. He was also chief mason at the Tower. But in spite of the city fathers it was not possible to keep this worthy person out of court! For he and some of his friends, in 1332, practically kidnapped a youth of fourteen named Robert Huberd, took him forcibly from his appointed guardian, and married him out of hand to William Ramsay's daughter Agnes, the reason for this step being evidently that the boy had money. Upon the complaint of his guardian, Robert was given his choice whether he would remain with his bride or return to his former home. He deliberately chose his new relations, and so, as the marriage was quite legal according to existing laws, everything went pleasantly for Master William! It made no difference, either, in the respect of the community or the king for the master mason; in 1344, he was appointed to superintend the building at Windsor, and was made a member of the Common Council in 1347. Verily, the Old Testament days were not the last in which every man "did that which was right in his own eyes."

Carter gives some curious historical explanations of some very quaint and little-known sculptures in a frieze high up in the Chapel of Edward the Confessor in Westminster. One of them represents the Trial of Queen Emma, and is quite a spirited scene. The little accusing hands raised against the central figure of the queen, are unique in effect in a carving of this character. Queen Emma was accused of so many misdemeanours, poor lady! She had agreed to marry the enemy of her kingdom, King Canute: she gave no aid to her sons, Edward the Confessor and Alfred, when in exile; and she was also behaving in a very unsuitable manner with Alwin, Bishop of Winchester: she seems to have been versatile in crime, and it is no wonder that she was invited to withdraw from her high estate.

The burial of Henry V. is interestingly described in an old manuscript of nearly contemporary origin: "His body was embalmed and cired and laid on a royal carriage, and an image like to him was laid upon the corpse, open: and with divers banners, and horses, covered with the arms of England and France, St. Edward and St. Edmund... and brought with great solemnity to Westminster, and worshipfully buried; and after was laid on his tomb a royal image like to himself, of silver and gilt, which was made at the cost of Queen Katherine... he ordained in his life the place of his sepulchre, where he is now buried, and every daye III. masses perpetually to be sungen in a fair chapel over his sepulchre." This exquisite arrangement of a little raised chantry, and the noble tomb itself, was the work of Master Mapilton, who came from Durham in 1416.

Mr. W. R. Lethaby calls attention to the practical and expedient way in which mediÆval carvers of effigies utilized their long blocks of stone: "Notice," he says, "how... the angels at the head and the beast at the foot were put in just to square out the block, and how all the points of high relief come to one plane so that a drawing board might be firmly placed on the statue." Only such cutting away as was actually necessary was encouraged; the figure was usually represented as putting the earthly powers beneath his feet, while angels ministered at his head. St. Louis ordered a crown of thorns to be placed on his head when he was dying, and the crown of France placed at his feet. The little niches around the tombs, in which usually stood figures of saints, were called "hovels." It is amusing to learn this to-day, with our long established association of the word with poverty and squalor.

Henry VII. left directions for the design of his tomb. Among other stipulations, it was to be adorned with "ymages" of his patron saints "of copper and gilte." Henry then "calls and cries" to his guardian saints and directs that the tomb shall have "a grate, in manner of a closure, of coper and gilte," which was added by English craftsmen. Inside this grille in the early days was an altar, containing a unique relic,—a leg of St. George.

Sculpture and all other decorative arts reached their ultimatum in England about the time of the construction of Henry VII.'s chapel at Westminster. The foundation stone was laid in 1502, by Henry himself. Of the interesting monuments and carvings contained in it, the most beautiful is the celebrated bronze figure by Torregiano on the tomb of the king and queen, which was designed during their lives. Torregiano was born in 1470, and died in 1522, so he is not quite a mediÆval figure, but in connection with his wonderful work we must consider his career a moment. Vasari says that he had "more pride than true artistic excellence." He was constantly interfering with Michelangelo, with whom he was a student in Florence, and on one memorable occasion they came to blows: and that was the day when "Torregiano struck Michelangelo on the nose with his fist, using such terrible violence and crushing that feature in such a manner that the proper form could never be restored to it, and Michelangelo had his nose flattened by that blow all his life." So Torregiano fled from the Medicean wrath which would have descended upon him. After a short career as a soldier, impatient at not being rapidly promoted, he returned to his old profession of a sculptor. He went to England, where, says Vasari, "he executed many works in marble, bronze, and wood, for the king." The chief of these was the striking tomb of Henry VII. and the queen. Torregiano's agreement was to make it for a thousand pounds: also there is a contract which he signed with Henry VIII., agreeing to construct a similar tomb also for that monarch, to be one quarter part larger than that of Henry VII., but this was not carried out.

St. Anthony appears on a little sculptured medallion on the tomb of Henry VII., with a small pig trotting beside him. This is St. Anthony of Vienna, not of Padua. His legend is as follows. In an old document, Newcourt's Repertorium, it is related that "the monks of St. Anthony with their importunate begging, contrary to the example of St. Anthony, are so troublesome, as, if men give them nothing, they will presently threaten them with St. Anthony's fire; so that many simple people, out of fear or blind zeal, every year use to bestow on them a fat pig, or porker, which they have ordinarily painted in their pictures of St. Anthony, whereby they may procure their good will and their prayers, and be secure from their menaces."

Torregiano's contract read that he should "make well, surely, cleanly, and workmanlike, curiously, and substantially" the marble tomb with "images, beasts, and other things, of copper, gilte." Another craftsman who exercised his skill in this chapel was Lawrence Imber, image maker, and in 1500 the names of John Hudd, sculptor, and Nicolas Delphyn, occur. Some of the figures and statuettes on the tomb were also made by Drawswerd of York.

On the outer ribs of Henry VII.'s chapel may be detected certain little symmetrically disposed bosses, which at first glance one would suppose to be inconspicuous crockets. But in an admirable spirit of humour, the sculptor has here carved a series of griffins, in procession, holding on for dear life, in the attitudes of children sliding down the banisters. They are delightfully animated and amusing.

The well-known figures of the Vices which stand around the quadrangle at Magdalen College, Oxford, are interpreted by an old Latin manuscript in the college. The statues should properly be known as the Virtues and Vices, for some of them represent such moral qualities as Vigilance, Sobriety, and Affection. It is indeed a shock to learn from this presumably authoritative source, that the entertaining figure of a patient nondescript animal, upon whose back a small reptile clings, is not intended to typify "back biting," but is intended for a "hippopotamus, or river-horse, carrying his young one upon his shoulders; this is the emblem of a good tutor, or fellow of the college, who is set to watch over the youth." But a large number of the statues are devoted to the Vices, which generally explain themselves.

No more spirited semi-secular carvings are to be seen in England than the delightful row of the "Beverly Minstrels." They stand on brackets round a column in St. Mary's Church, Beverly, and are exhibited as singing and playing on musical instruments. They were probably carved and presented by the Minstrels or Waits, themselves, or at any rate at their expense, for an angel near by holds a tablet inscribed: "This pyllor made the meynstyrls." These "waits" were quite an institution, being a kind of police to go about day and night and inspect the precincts, announcing break of day by blowing a horn, and calling the workmen together by a similar signal. The figures are of about the period of Henry VII.

The general excellence of sculpture in Germany is said to be lower than that of France; in fact, such mediÆval German sculpture as is specially fine is based upon French work. Still, while this statement holds good in a general way, there are marked departures, and examples of extremely interesting and often original sculpture in Germany, although until the work of such great masters as Albrecht DÜrer, Adam Kraft, and Viet Stoss, the wood carver, who are much later, there is not as prolific a display of the sculptor's genius as in France.

The figures on the Choir screen at Hildesheim are rather heavy, and decidedly Romanesque; but the whole effect is most delightful. Some of the heads have almost Gothic beauty. The screen is of about 1186, and the figures are made of stucco; but it is exceptionally good stucco, very different in character from the later work, which Browning has designated as "stucco twiddlings everywhere."

Much good German sculpture may be seen in NÜremberg. The SchÖner Brunnen, the beautiful fountain, is a delight, in spite of the fact that one is not looking at the original, which was relegated to the museum for safe keeping long ago. The carving, too, on the Frauenkirche, and St. Sebald's, and on St. Lorenz, is as fine as anything one will find in Germany. Another exception stands out in the memory. Nothing is more exquisite than the Bride's Door, at St. Sebald's, in NÜremberg; the figures of the Wise and Foolish Virgins who guard the entrance could hardly be surpassed in the realm of realistic sculpture, retaining at the same time a just proportion of monumental feeling. They are bewitching and dainty, full of grace not often seen in German work of that period.

The figures on the outside of Bamberg Cathedral are also as fine as anything in France, and there are some striking examples at Naumburg, but often the figures in German work lack lightness and length, which are such charming elements in the French Gothic sculptures.

At Strasburg the Cathedral is generally conceded to be the most interesting and ornate of the thirteenth century work in Germany, although, as has been indicated, French influence is largely responsible. A very small deposit of this influence escaped into the Netherlands, and St. Gudule in Brussels shows some good carving in Gothic style.

A gruesome statue on St. Sebald's in NÜremberg represents the puritanical idea of "the world," by exhibiting a good-looking young woman, whose back is that of a corpse; the shroud is open, and the half decomposed body is displayed, with snakes and toads depredating upon it.

Among the early Renaissance artists in NÜremberg, was Hans Decker, who was named in the Burgher Lists of 1449. He may have had influence upon the youth of Adam Kraft, whose great pyx in St. Lorenz's is known to everyone who has visited Germany.

Adam Kraft was born in NÜremberg in the early fifteenth century and his work is a curious link between Gothic and Renaissance styles. His chief characteristic is expressed by P. J. RÉe, who says: "The essence of his art is best described as a naÏve realism sustained by tender and warm religious zeal." Adam Kraft carved the Stations of the Cross, to occupy, on the road to St. John's Cemetery in NÜremberg, the same relative distances apart as those of the actual scenes between Pilate's house and Golgotha. Easter Sepulchres were often enriched with very beautiful sculptures by the first masters. Adam Kraft carved the noble scene of the Burial of Christ in St. John's churchyard in NÜremberg.

It is curious that the same mind and hand which conceived and carved these short stumpy figures, should have made the marvel of slim grace, the Tabernacle, or Pyx, at St. Lorenz. A figure of the artist kneeling, together with two workmen, one old and one young, supports the beautiful shrine, which rears itself in graduated stages to the tall Gothic roof, where it follows the curve of a rib, and turns over at the top exactly like some beautiful clinging plant departing from its support, and flowering into an exquisitely proportioned spiral. It suggests a gigantic crozier. Before it was known what a slender metal core followed this wonderful growth, on the inside, there was a tradition that Kraft had discovered "a wonderful method for softening and moulding hard stones." The charming relief by Kraft on the Weighing Office exhibits quite another side of his genius; here three men are engaged in weighing a bale of goods in a pair of scales: a charming arrangement of proportion naturally grows out of this theme, which may have been a survival in the mind of the artist of his memory of the numerous tympana with the Judgment of Michael weighing souls. The design is most attractive, and the decorative feeling is enhanced by two coats of arms and a little Gothic tracery running across the top. When Adam Kraft died in 1508, the art of sculpture practically ceased in NÜremberg.