Jean Troupin, a "simple workman at the wages of three sous a day," was added to the staff of workers in 1516, and in one of the stalls he has carved his own portrait, with the inscription, "Jan Troupin, God take care of thee." In 1522 the entire work was completed, and was satisfactorily terminated on St. John's day, representing the entire labour of six or eight men for about fourteen years.

In the fifteenth century Germany led all countries in the art of wood carving. Painting was nearly always allied to this art in ecclesiastical use. The sculptured forms were gilded and painted, and, in some cases, might almost be taken for figures in faience, so high was the polish. Small altars, with carved reredos and frontals, were very popular, both for church and closet. The style employed was pictorial, figures and scenes being treated with great naturalism. One of the famous makers of such altar pieces was Lucas Moeser, in the earlier part of the fifteenth century. A little later came Hans Schuelein, and then followed Freidrich Herlin, who carved the fine altar in Rothenburg. Jorg Syrlin of Ulm and his son of the same name cover the latter half of the century.

Bavaria was the chief province in which sculptors in wood flourished. The figures are rather stumpy sometimes, and the draperies rather heavy and lacking in delicate grace, but the works are far more numerous than those of other districts, and vary enormously in merit.

Then followed the great carvers of the early Renaissance—Adam Kraft, and Veit Stoss, contemporaries of Peter Vischer and Albrecht Duerer, whom we must consider for a little, although they hardly can be called mediaeval workmen.

Veit Stoss was born in the early fifteenth century, in Nueremberg. He went to Cracow when he was about thirty years of age, and spent some years working hard. He returned to his native city, however, in 1496, and worked there for the rest of his life. A delicate specimen of his craft is the Rosenkranztafel, a wood carving in the Germanic Museum, which exhibits medallions in relief, representing the Communion of Saints, with a wreath of roses encircling it. Around the border of this oblong composition there are small square reliefs, and a Last Judgment which is full of grim humour occupies the lower part of the space. Among the amusing incidents represented, is that of a redeemed soul, quite naked, climbing up a vine to reach heaven, in which God the Father is in the act of "receiving" Adam and Eve, shaking hands most sociably! The friends of this aspiring climber are "boosting" him from below; the most deliciously realistic proof that Stoss had no use for the theory of a winged hereafter!

Veit Stoss was a very versatile craftsman. Besides his wonderful wood carvings, for which he is chiefly noted, he was a bridge-builder, a stone-mason, a bronze caster, painter of altars, and engraver on copper! Like all such variously talented persons, he suffered somewhat from restlessness and preferred work to peace,—but his compensation lay in the varied joys of creative works. His naturalism was marked in all that he did: a naive old chronicler remarks that he made some life-sized coloured figures of Adam and Eve, "so fashioned that one was afraid that they were alive!" Veit Stoss was an interesting individual. He was not especially moral in all his ways, narrowly escaping being executed for forgery; but his brilliancy as a technician was unsurpassed. He lived until 1533, when he died in Nueremberg as a very old man. One of his most delightful achievements is the great medallion with an open background, which hangs in the centre of the Church of St. Lorenz. It shows two large and graceful figures,—Mary and the Angel Gabriel, the subject being the Annunciation. A wreath of angels and flowers surrounds the whole, with small medallions representing the seven joys of the Virgin. It is a masterly work, and was presented by Anton Tucher in 1518. Veit Stoss was the leading figure among wood carvers of the Renaissance, although Albrecht Duerer combined this with his many accomplishments, as well.

Some of the carvings in wood in the chapel of Henry VII. at Westminster, are adapted from drawings by Albrecht Duerer, and are probably the work of Germans. Two of these, Derrick van Grove and Giles van Castel, were working at St. George's, Windsor, about the same time.

The very finest example of Nueremberg carving, however, is the famous wooden Madonna, which has been ascribed to Peter Vischer the Younger, both by Herr von Bezold and by Cecil Headlam. It seems very reasonable after a study of the other works of this remarkable son of Peter Vischer, for there is no other carver of the period, in all Nueremberg, who could have executed such a flawlessly lovely figure.

One of the noted wood carvers in Spain in the Renaissance, was Alonso Cano. He was a native of Granada and was born in 1601. His father was a carver of "retablos," and brought the boy up to follow his profession. Cano was also a painter of considerable merit, but as a sculptor in wood he was particularly successful. His first conspicuous work was a new high altar for the church of Lebrija, which came to him on account of the death of his father, who was commencing the work in 1630, when his life was suddenly cut off. Alonso made this altar so beautifully, that he was paid two hundred and fifty ducats more than he asked! Columns and cornices are arranged so as to frame four excellent statues. These carvings have been esteemed so highly that artists came to study them all the way from Flanders. The altar is coloured, like most of the Spanish retablos. Cano was a pugnacious character, always getting into scrapes, using his stiletto, and being obliged to shift his residence on short notice. It is remarkable that his erratic life did not interfere with his work, which seems to have gone calmly on in spite of domestic and civic difficulties. Among his works at various places, where his destiny took him, was a tabernacle for the Cathedral of Malaga. He had worked for some time at the designs for this tabernacle, when it was whispered to him that the Bishop of Malaga intended to get a bargain, and meant to beat him down in his charges. So, packing up his plans and drawings, and getting on his mule. Cano observed, "These drawings are either to be given away for nothing, or else they are to bring two thousand ducats." The news of his departure caused alarm among those in authority, and he was urged to bring back the designs, and receive his own price.

Cano carved a life-size crucifix for Queen Mariana, which she presented to the Convent of Monserrati at Madrid. Alonso Cano entered the Church and became canon of the Cathedral of Granada. But all his talents had no effect upon his final prosperity: he died in extreme want in 1667, the Cathedral records showing that he was the recipient of charity, five hundred reals being voted to "the canon Cano, being sick and very poor, and without means to pay the doctor." Another record mentions the purchase of "poultry and sweet-meats" also for him.

Cano made one piece of sculpture in marble, a guardian angel for the Convent at Granada, but this no longer exists. Some of his architectural drawings are preserved in the Louvre. Ford says that his St. Francesco in Toledo is "a masterpiece of cadaverous ecstatic sentiment."

The grotesques which played so large a part in church art are bewailed by St. Bernard: "What is the use," he asks, "of those absurd monstrosities displayed in the cloisters before the reading monks?... Why are unclean monkeys and savage lions, and monstrous centaurs and semi-men, and spotted tigers, and fighting soldiers, and pipe-playing hunters, represented?" Then St. Bernard inadvertently admits the charm of all these grotesques, by adding: "The variety of form is everywhere so great, that marbles are more pleasant reading than manuscripts, and the whole day is spent in looking at them instead of in meditating on the law of God." St. Bernard concludes with the universal argument: "Oh, God, if one is not ashamed of these puerilities, why does not one at least spare the expense?" A hundred years later, the clergy were censured by the Prior de Coinsi for allowing "wild cats and lions" to stand equal with the saints.



The real test of a fine grotesque—a genuine Gothic monster—is, that he shall, in spite of his monstrosity, retain a certain anatomical consistency: it must be conceivable that the animal organism could have developed along these lines. In the thirteenth century, this is always possible; but in much later times, and in the Renaissance, the grotesques simply became comic and degraded, and lacking in humour: in a later chapter this idea will be developed further.

The art of the choir stalls and miserere seats was a natural ebullition of the humourous instinct, which had so little opportunity for exploiting itself in monastic seclusion. The joke was hidden away, under the seat, out of sight of visitors, or laymen: inconspicuous, but furtively entertaining. There was no self-consciousness in its elaboration, it was often executed for pure love of fun and whittling; and for that very reason embodies all the most attractive qualities of its art. There was no covert intention to produce a genre history of contemporary life and manners, as has sometimes been claimed. These things were accidentally introduced in the work, but the carvers had no idea of ministering to this or any other educational theory. Like all light-hearted expression of personality, the miserere stalls have proved of inestimable worth to the world of art, as a record of human skill and genial mirth.



A good many of the vices of the times were portrayed on the miserere seats. The "backbiter" is frequently seen, in most unlovely form, and two persons gossiping with an "unseen witness" in the shape of an avenging friend, looking on and waiting for his opportunity to strike! Gluttons and misers are always accompanied by familiar devils, who prod and goad them into such sin as shall make them their prey at the last. Among favourite subjects on miserere seats is the "alewife." No wonder ale drinking proved so large a factor in the jokes of the fraternity, for the rate at which it was consumed, in this age when it took the place of both tea and coffee, was enormous. The inmates of St. Cross Hospital, Winchester, who were alluded to as "impotents," received daily one gallon of beer each, with two extra quarts on holidays! If this were the allowance of pensioners, what must have been the proportion among the well-to-do? In 1558 there is a record of a dishonest beer seller who gave only a pint for a penny drink, instead of the customary quart! The subject of the alewife who had cheated her customers, being dragged to hell by demons, is often treated by the carvers with much relish, in the sacred precincts of the church choir!



At Ludlow there is a relief which shows the unlucky lady carried on the back of a demon, hanging with her head upside down, while a smiling "recording imp" is making notes in a scroll concerning her! In one of the Chester Mysteries, the Ale Wife is made to confess her own shortcomings:

"Some time I was a taverner, A gentle gossip and a tapster, Of wine and ale a trusty brewer, Which woe hath me wrought.

Of cans I kept no true measure, My cups I sold at my pleasure, Deceiving many a creature, Though my ale were nought!"

There is a curious miserere in Holderness representing a nun between two hares: she is looking out with a smile, and winking!

At Ripon the stalls show Jonah being thrown to the whale, and the same Jonah being subsequently relinquished by the sea monster. The whale is represented by a large bland smiling head, with gaping jaws, occurring in the midst of the water, and Jonah takes the usual "header" familiar in mediaeval art, wherever this episode is rendered.

A popular treatment of the stall was the foliate mask; stems issuing from the mouth of the mask and developing into leaves and vines. This is an entirely foolish and unlovely design: in most cases it is quite lacking in real humour, and makes one think more of the senseless Roman grotesques and those of the Renaissance. The mediaeval quaintness is missing.

At Beverly a woman is represented beating a man, while a dog is helping himself out of the soup cauldron. The misereres at Beverly date from about 1520.

Animals as musicians, too, were often introduced,—pigs playing on viols, or pipes, an ass performing on the harp, and similar eccentricities may be found in numerous places, while Reynard the Fox in all his forms abounds.

The choir stalls at Lincoln exhibit beautiful carving and design: they date from the fourteenth century, and were given by the treasurer, John de Welburne. There are many delightful miserere seats, many of the selections in this case being from the legend of Reynard the Fox.

Abbot Islip of Westminster was a great personality, influencing his times and the place where his genius expressed itself. He was very constant and thorough in repairing and restoring at the Abbey, and under his direction much fine painting and illuminating were accomplished. The special periods of artistic activity in most of the cathedrals may be traced to the personal influence of some cultured ecclesiastic.

A very beautiful specimen of English carving is the curious oak chest at York Cathedral, on which St. George fighting the dragon is well rendered. However, the termination of the story differs from that usually associated with this legend, for the lady leads off the subdued dragon in a leash, and the very abject crawl of the creature is depicted with much humour.

Mediaeval ivory carving practically commenced with the fourth century; in speaking of the tools employed, it is safe to say that they corresponded to those used by sculptors in wood. It is generally believed by authorities that there was some method by which ivory could be taken from the whole rounded surface of the tusk, and then, by soaking, or other treatment, rendered sufficiently malleable to be bent out into a large flat sheet: for some of the large mediaeval ivories are much wider than the diameter of any known possible tusk. There are recipes in the early treatises which tell how to soften the ivory that it may be more easily sculptured: in the Mappae Clavicula, in the twelfth century, directions are given for preparing a bath in which to steep ivory, in order to make it soft. In the Sloane MS. occurs another recipe for the same purpose.

Ahab's "ivory house which he made" must have been either covered with a very thin veneer, or else the ivory was used as inlay, which was often the case, in connection with ebony. Ezekiel alludes to this combination. Ivory and gold were used by the Greeks in their famous Chryselephantine statues, in which cases thin plates of ivory formed the face, hands, and exposed parts, the rest being overlaid with gold, This art originated with the brothers Dipoenus and Scillis, about 570 B. C., in Crete.

"In sculpturing ivory," says Theophilus, "first form a tablet of the magnitude you may wish, and superposing chalk, portray with a lead the figures according to your pleasure, and with a pointed instrument mark the lines that they may appear: then carve the grounds as deeply as you wish with different instruments, and sculp the figures or other things you please, according to your invention and skill." He tells how to make a knife handle with open work carvings, through which a gold ground is visible: and extremely handsome would such a knife be when completed, according to Theophilus' directions. He also tells how to redden ivory. "There is likewise an herb called 'rubrica,' the root of which is long, slender, and of a red colour; this being dug up is dried in the sun and is pounded in a mortar with the pestle, and so being scraped into a pot, and a lye poured over it, is then cooked. In this, when it has well boiled, the bone of the elephant or fish or stag, being placed, is made red." Mediaeval chessmen were made in ivory: very likely the need for a red stain was felt chiefly for such pieces.

The celebrated Consular Diptychs date from the fourth century onwards. It was the custom for Consuls to present to senators and other officials these little folding ivory tablets, and the adornment of Diptychs was one of the chief functions of the ivory worker. Some of them were quite ambitious in size; in the British Museum is a Diptych measuring over sixteen inches by five: the tusk from which this was made must have been almost unique in size. It is a Byzantine work, and has the figure of an angel carved upon it.

Gregory the Great sent a gift of ivory to Theodolinda, Queen of the Lombards, in 600. This is decorated with three figures, and is a most interesting diptych.

The earliest diptych, however, is of the year 406, known as the Diptych of Probus, on which may be seen a bas-relief portrait of Emperor Honorius. On the Diptych of Philoxenus is a Greek verse signifying, "I, Philoxenus, being Consul, offer this present to the wise Senate." An interesting diptych, sixteen inches by six, is inscribed, "Flavius Strategius Apius, illustrious man, count of the most fervent servants, and consul in ordinary." This consul was invested in 539; the work was made in Rome, but it is the property of the Cathedral of Orviedo in Spain, where it is regarded as a priceless treasure.

Claudian, in the fourth century, alludes to diptychs, speaking of "huge tusks cut with steel into tablets and gleaming with gold, engraved with the illustrious name of the Consul, circulated among great and small, and the great wonder of the Indies, the elephant, wanders about in tuskless shame!" In Magaster, a city which according to Marco Polo, was governed by "four old men," they sold "vast quantities of elephants' teeth."

Rabanus, a follower of Alcuin, born in 776, was the author of an interesting encyclopaedia, rejoicing in the comprehensive title, "On the Universe." This work is in twenty-two books, which are supposed to cover all possible subjects upon which a reader might be curious.... The seventeenth book is on "the dust and soil of the earth," under which uninviting head he includes all kinds of stones, common and precious; salt, flint, sand, lime, jet, asbestos, and the Persian moonstone, of whose brightness he claims that it "waxes and wanes with the moon." Later he devotes some space to pearls, crystals, and glass. Metals follow, and marbles and ivory, though why the latter should be classed among minerals we shall never understand.



The Roman diptychs were often used as after-dinner gifts to distinguished guests. They were presented on various occasions. In the Epistles of Symmachus, the writer says: "To my Lord and Prince I sent a diptych edged with gold. I presented other friends also with these ivory note books."

While elephant's tusks provided ivory for the southern races, the more northern peoples used the walrus and narwhale tusks. In Germany this was often the case. The fabulous unicorn's horn, which is so often alluded to in early literature, was undoubtedly from the narwhale, although its possessor always supposed that he had secured the more remarkable horn which was said to decorate the unicorn.

Triptychs followed diptychs in natural sequence. These, in the Middle Ages, were usually of a devotional character, although sometimes secular subjects occur. Letters were sometimes written on ivory tablets, which were supposed to be again used in forwarding a reply. St. Augustine apologizes for writing on parchment, explaining, "My ivory tablets I sent with letters to your uncle; if you have any of my tablets, please send them in case of similar emergencies." Tablets fitted with wax linings were used also in schools, as children now use slates.

Ivory diptychs were fashionable gifts and keepsakes in the later Roman imperial days. They took the place which had been occupied in earlier days by illuminated books, such as were produced by Lala of Cyzicus, of whom mention will be made in connection with book illuminators.



After the triptychs came sets of five leaves, hinged together; sometimes these were arranged in groups of four around a central plaque. Often they were intended to be used as book covers. Occasionally the five leaves were made up of classical ivories which had been altered in such a way that they now had Christian significance. The beautiful diptych in the Bargello, representing Adam in the Earthly Paradise, may easily have been originally intended for Orpheus, especially since Eve is absent! The treatment is rather classical, and was probably adapted to its later name. Some diptychs which were used afterwards for ecclesiastical purposes, show signs of having had the Consular inscription erased, and the wax removed, while Christian sentiments were written or incised within the book itself. Parts of the service were also occasionally transcribed on diptychs. In Milan the Rites contain these passages: "The lesson ended, a scholar, vested in a surplice, takes the ivory tablets from the altar or ambo, and ascends the pulpit;" and in another place a similar allusion occurs: "When the Deacon chants the Alleluia, the key bearer for the week hands the ivory tablets to him at the exit of the choir."

Anastatius, in his Life of Pope Agatho, tells of a form of posthumous excommunication which was sometimes practised: "They took away from the diptychs... wherever it could be done, the names and figures of these patriarchs, Cyrus, Sergius, Paul, Pyrrhus, and Peter, through whom error had been brought among the orthodox."

Among ivory carvings in Carlovingian times may be cited a casket with ornamental colonettes sent by Eginhard to his son. In 823, Louis le Debonaire owned a statuette, a diptych, and a coffer, while in 845 the Archbishop of Rheims placed an order for ivory book covers, for the works of St. Jerome, a Lectionary, and other works.

The largest and best known ivory carving of the middle ages is the throne of Maximian, Archbishop of Ravenna. This entire chair, with an arched back and arms, is composed of ivory in intricately carved plaques. It is considerably over three feet in height, and is a superb example of the best art of the sixth century. Photographs and reproductions of it may be seen in most works dealing with this subject. Scenes from Scripture are set all over it, divided by charming meanders of deeply cut vine motives. Some authorities consider the figures inferior to the other decorations: of course in any delineation of the human form, the archaic element is more keenly felt than when it appears in foliate forms or conventional patterns. Diptychs being often taken in considerable numbers and set into large works of ivory, has led some authorities to suppose that the Ravenna throne was made of such a collection; but this is contradicted by Passeri in 1759, who alludes to the panels in the following terms: "They might readily be taken by the ignorant for diptychs.... This they are not, for they cannot be taken from the consular diptychs which had their own ornamentation, referring to the consultate and the insignia, differing from the sculpture destined for other purposes. Hence they are obviously mistaken who count certain tablets as diptychs which have no ascription to any consul, but represent the Muses, Bacchantes, or Gods. These seem to me to have been book covers." Probably the selected form of an upright tablet for the majority of ivory carvings is based on economic principles: the best use of the most surface from any square block of material is to cut it in thin slices. In their architecture the southern mediaeval builders so treated stone, building a substructure of brick and laying a slab or veneer of the more costly material on its surface: with ivory this same principle was followed, and the shape of the tusk, being long and narrow, naturally determined the form of the resulting tablets.

The Throne of Ivan III. in Moscow and that of St. Peter in Rome are also magnificent monuments of this art. Ivory caskets were the chief manifestation of taste in that medium, during the period of transition from the eighth century until the revival of Byzantine skill in the tenth century. This form of sculpture was at its best at a time when stone sculpture was on the decline.

There is a fascinating book cover in Ravenna which is a good example of sixth century work of various kinds. In the centre, Christ is seen, enthroned under a kind of palmetto canopy; above him, on a long panel, are two flying angels displaying a cross set in a wreath; at either end stand little squat figures, with balls and crosses in their hands. Scenes from the miracles of Our Lord occupy the two side panels, which are subdivided so that there are four scenes in all; they are so quaint as to be really grotesque, but have a certain blunt charm which is enhanced by the creamy lumpiness of the material in which they are rendered. The healing of the blind, raising of the dead, and the command to the man by the pool to take up his bed and walk, are accurately represented; the bed in this instance is a form of couch with a wooden frame and mattress, the carrying of which would necessitate an unusual amount of strength on the part of even a strong, well man. One of the most naive of these panels of the miracles is the curing of "one possessed:" the boy is tied with cords by the wrists and ankles, while, at the touch of the Master, a little demon is seen issuing from the top of the head of the sufferer, waving its arms proudly to celebrate its freedom! Underneath is a small scene of the three Children in the Fiery Furnace; they look as if they were presenting a vaudeville turn, being spirited in action, and very dramatic. Below all, is a masterly panel of Jonah and the whale,—an old favourite, frequently appearing in mediaeval art. The whale, positively smiling and sportive, eagerly awaits his prey at the right. Jonah is making a graceful dive from the ship, apparently with an effort to land in the very jaws of the whale. At the opposite side, the whale, having coughed up his victim, looks disappointed, while Jonah, in an attitude of lassitude suggestive of sea-sickness, reclines on a bank; an angel, with one finger lifted as if in reproach, is hurrying towards him.

An ingenuous ivory carving of the ninth century in Carlovingian style is a book cover on which is depicted the finding of St. Gall, by tame bears in the wilderness. These bears, walking decorously on their hind legs, are figured as carrying bread to the hungry saint: one holds a long French loaf of a familiar pattern, and the other a breakfast roll!

Bernward of Hildesheim had a branch for ivory carving in his celebrated academy, to which allusion has been made.

Ivory drinking horns were among the most beautiful and ornate examples of secular ivories. They were called Oliphants, because the tusks of elephants were chiefly used in their manufacture. In 1515 the Earl of Ormonde leaves in his will "a little white horn of ivory garnished at both ends with gold," and in St. Paul's in the thirteenth century, there is mention of "a great horn of ivory engraved with beasts and birds." The Horn of Ulphas at York is an example of the great drinking horns from which the Saxons and Danes, in early days, drank in token of transfer of lands; as we are told by an old chronicler, "When he gave the horn that was to convey his estate, he filled it with wine, and went on his knees before the altar... so that he drank it off in testimony that thereby he gave them his lands." This horn was given by Ulphas to the Cathedral with certain lands, a little before the Conquest, and placed by him on the altar.

Interesting ivories are often the pastoral staves carried by bishops. That of Otho Bishop of Hildesheim in 1260 is inscribed in the various parts: "Persuade by the lower part; rule by the middle; and correct by the point." These were apparently the symbolic functions of the crozier. The French Gothic ivory croziers are perhaps more beautiful than others, the little figures standing in the carved volutes being especially delicate and graceful.



Before a mediaeval bishop could perform mass he was enveloped in a wrapper, and his hair was combed "respectfully and lightly" (no tugging!) by the deacon. This being a part of the regular ceremonial, special carved combs of ivory, known as Liturgical Combs, were used. Many of them remain in collections, and they are often ornamented in the most delightful way, with little processions and Scriptural scenes in bas-relief. In the Regalia of England, there was mentioned among things destroyed in 1649, "One old comb of horn, worth nothing." According to Davenport, this may have been the comb used in smoothing the king's hair on the occasion of a Coronation.

The rich pulpit at Aix la Chapelle is covered with plates of gold set with stones and ivory carvings; these are very fine. It was given to the cathedral by the Emperor Henry II. The inscription may be thus translated: "Artfully brightened in gold and precious stones, this pulpit is here dedicated by King Henry with reverence, desirous of celestial glory: richly it is decorated with his own treasures, for you, most Holy Virgin, in order that you may obtain the highest gain as a future reward for him." The sentiment is not entirely disinterested; but are not motives generally mixed? St. Bernard preached a Crusade from this pulpit in 1146. The ivory carvings are very ancient, and remarkably fine, representing figures from the Greek myths.

Ivory handles were usual for the fly-fan, or flabellum, used at the altar, to keep flies and other insects away from the Elements. One entry in an inventory in 1429 might be confusing if one did not know of this custom: the article is mentioned as "one muscifugium de pecock" meaning a fly-fan of peacock's feathers!

Small round ivory boxes elaborately sculptured were used both for Reserving the Host and for containing relics. In the inventory of the Church of St. Mary Hill, London, was mentioned, in the fifteenth century, "a lytill yvory cofyr with relyks." At Durham, in 1383, there is an account of an "ivory casket conteining a vestment of St. John the Baptist," and in the fourteenth century, in the same collection, was "a tooth of St. Gendulphus, good for the Falling Sickness, in a small ivory pyx."



Ivory mirror backs lent themselves well to decorations of a more secular nature: these are often carved with the Siege of the Castle of Love, and with scenes from the old Romances; tournaments were very popular, with ladies in balconies above pelting the heroes with roses as large as themselves, and the tutor Aristotle "playing horse" was a great favourite. Little elopements on horseback were very much liked, too, as subjects; sometimes rows of heroes on steeds appear, standing under windows, from which, in a most wholesale way, whole nunneries or boarding-schools seem to be descending to fly with them. One of these mirrors shows Huon of Bordeaux playing at chess with the king's daughter: another represents a castle, which occupies the upper centre of the circle, and under the window is a drawbridge, across which passes a procession of mounted knights. One of these has paused, and, standing balancing himself in a most precarious way on the pommels of his saddle, is assisting a lady to descend from a window. Below are seen others, or perhaps the same lovers, in a later stage of the game, escaping in a boat. At the windows are the heads of other ladies awaiting their turn to be carried off.



An ivory chest of simple square shape, once the property of the Rev. Mr. Bowle, is given in detail by Carter in the Ancient Specimens, and is as interesting an example of allegorical romance as can be imagined. Observe the attitude of the knight who has laid his sword across a chasm in order to use it as a bridge. He is proceeding on all fours, with unbent knees, right up the sharp edge of the blade!

Among small box shrines which soon developed in Christian times from the Consular diptychs is one, in the inventory of Roger de Mortimer, "a lyttle long box of yvory, with an ymage of Our ladye therein closed."

The differences in expression between French, English, and German ivory carvings is quite interesting. The French faces and figures have always a piquancy of action: the nose is a little retroussee and the eyelids long. The German shows more solidity of person, less transitoriness and lightness about the figure, and the nose is blunter. The English carvings are often spirited, so as to be almost grotesque in their strenuousness, and the tool-mark is visible, giving ruggedness and interest.

Nothing could be more exquisite than the Gothic shrines in ivory made in the thirteenth century, but descriptions, unless accompanied by illustrations, could give little idea of their individual charm, for the subject is usually the same: the Virgin and child, in the central portion of the triptych, while scenes from the Passion occupy the spaces on either side, in the wings.

Statuettes in the round were rare in early Christian times: one of the Good Shepherd in the Basilewski collection is almost unique, but pyxes in cylindrical form were made, the sculpture on them being in relief. In small ivory statuettes it was necessary to follow the natural curve of the tusk in carving the figure, hence the usual twisted, and sometimes almost contorted forms often seen in these specimens. Later, this peculiarity was copied in stone, unconsciously, simply because the style had become customary. One of the most charming little groups of figures in ivory is in the Louvre, the Coronation of the Virgin. The two central figures are flanked by delightful jocular little angels, who have that characteristic close-lipped, cat-like smile, which is a regular feature in all French sculpture of the Gothic type. In a little triptych of the fourteenth century, now in London, there is the rather unusual scene of Joseph, sitting opposite the Virgin, and holding the Infant in his arms.

Among the few names of mediaeval ivory carvers known, are Henry de Gres, in 1391, Heliot, 1390, and Henry de Senlis, in 1484. Heliot is recorded as having produced for Philip the Bold "two large ivory tablets with images, one of which is the... life of Monsieur St. John Baptist." This polite description occurs in the Accounts of Amiot Arnaut, in 1392.

A curious freak of the Gothic period was the making of ivory statuettes of the Virgin, which opened down the centre (like the Iron Maiden of Nueremberg), and disclosed within a series of Scriptural scenes sculptured on the back and on both sides. These images were called Vierges Ouvrantes, and were decidedly more curious than beautiful.

In the British Museum is a specimen of northern work, a basket cut out from the bone of a whale; it is Norse in workmanship, and there is a Runic inscription about the border, which has been thus translated:

"The whale's bones from the fishes' flood I lifted on Fergen Hill: He was dashed to death in his gambols And aground he swam in the shallows."

Fergen Hill refers to an eminence near Durham.



Some very ancient chessmen are preserved in the British Museum, in particular a set called the Lewis Chessmen. They were discovered in the last century, being laid bare by the pick axe of a labourer. These chessmen have strange staring eyes; when the workman saw them, he took them for gnomes who had come up out of the bowels of the earth, to annoy him, and he rushed off in terror to report what proved to be an important archaeological discovery.

One of the chessmen of Charlemagne is to be seen in Paris: he rides an elephant, and is attended by a cortege, all in one piece. Sometimes these men are very elaborate ivory carvings in themselves.

As Mr. Maskell points out that bishops did not wear mitres, according to high authority, until after the year 1000, it is unlikely that any of the ancient chessmen in which the Bishop appears in a mitre should be of earlier date than the eleventh century. There is one fine Anglo-Saxon set of draughts in which the white pieces are of walrus ivory, and the black pieces, of genuine jet.

Paxes, which were passed about in church for the Kiss of Peace, were sometimes made of ivory.

There are few remains of early Spanish ivory sculpture. Among them is a casket curiously and intricately ornamented and decorated, with the following inscription: "In the Name of God, The Blessing of God, the complete felicity, the happiness, the fulfilment of the hope of good works, and the adjourning of the fatal period of death, be with Hagib Seifo.... This box was made by his orders under the inspection of his slave Nomayr, in the year 395." Ivory caskets in Spain were often used to contain perfumes, or to serve as jewel boxes. It was customary, also, to use them to convey presents of relics to churches. Ivory was largely used in Spain for inlay in fine furniture.

King Don Sancho ordered a shrine, in 1033, to contain the relics of St. Millan. The ivory plaques which are set about this shrine are interesting specimens of Spanish art under Oriental domination. Under one little figure is inscribed Apparitio Scholastico, and Remirus Rex under another, while a figure of a sculptor carving a shield, with a workman standing by him, is labelled "Magistro and Ridolpho his son."

Few individual ivory carvers are known by name. A French artist, Jean Labraellier, worked in ivory for Charles V. of France; and in Germany it must have been quite a fashionable pursuit in high life; the Elector of Saxony, August the Pious, who died in 1586, was an ivory worker, and there are two snuff-boxes shown as the work of Peter the Great. The Elector of Brandenburgh and Maximilian of Bavaria both carved ivory for their own recreation. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries there were many well-known sculptors who turned their attention to ivory; but our researches hardly carry us so far.

For a moment, however, I must touch on the subject of billiard balls. It may interest our readers to know that the size of the little black dot on a ball indicates its quality. The nerve which runs through a tusk, is visible at this point, and a ball made from the ivory near the end of the tusk, where the nerve has tapered off to its smallest proportions, is the best ball. The finest balls of all are made from short stubby tusks, which are known as "ball teeth." The ivory in these is closer in grain, and they are much more expensive. Very large tusks are more liable to have coarse grained bony spaces near the centre.



CHAPTER X

INLAY AND MOSAIC

There are three kinds of inlay, one where the pattern is incised, and a plastic filling pressed in, and allowed to harden, on the principle of a niello; another, where both the piece to be set in and the background are cut out separately; and a third, where a number of small bits are fitted together as in a mosaic. The pavement in Siena is an example of the first process. The second process is often accomplished with a fine saw, like what is popularly known as a jig saw, cutting the same pattern in light and dark wood, one layer over another; the dark can then be set into the light, and the light in the dark without more than one cutting for both. The mosaic of small pieces can be seen in any of the Southern churches, and, indeed, now in nearly every country. It was the chief wall treatment of the middle ages.



About the year 764, Maestro Giudetto ornamented the delightful Church of St. Michele at Lucca. This work, or at least the best of it, is a procession of various little partly heraldic and partly grotesque animals, inlaid with white marble on a ground of green serpentine. They are full of the best expression of mediaeval art. The Lion of Florence, the Hare of Pisa, the Stork of Perugia, the Dragon of Pistoja, are all to be seen in these simple mosaics, if one chooses to consider them as such, hardly more than white silhouettes, and yet full of life and vigour. The effect is that of a vast piece of lace,—the real cut work of the period. Absurd little trees, as space fillers, are set in the green and white marble. Every reader will remember how Ruskin was enthusiastic over these little creatures, and no one can fail to feel their charm.

The pavements at the Florentine Baptistery and at San Miniato are interesting examples of inlay in black and white marble. They are early works, and are the natural forerunners of the marvellous pavement at Siena, which is the most remarkable of its kind in the world.

The pavement masters worked in varying methods. The first of these was the joining together of large flat pieces of marble, cut in the shapes of the general design, and then outlining on them an actual black drawing by means of deeply cut channels, filled with hard black cement. The channels were first cut superficially and then emphasized and deepened by the use of a drill, in a series of holes.



Later workers used black marbles for the backgrounds, red for the ground, and white for the figures, sometimes adding touches of yellow inlay for decorations, jewels, and so forth. Some of the workers even used gray marble to represent shadows, but this was very difficult, and those who attempted less chiaroscuro were more successful from a decorator's point of view.

This work covered centuries. The earliest date of the ornamental work in Siena is 1369. From 1413 to 1423 Domenico del Coro, a famous worker in glass and in intarsia, was superintendent of the works. The beauty and spirit of much of the earlier inlay have been impaired by restoration, but the whole effect is unique, and on so vast a scale that one hesitates to criticize it just as one hesitates to criticize the windows at Gouda.

One compartment of the floor is in genuine mosaic, dating from 1373. The designer is unknown, but the feeling is very Sienese; Romulus and Remus are seen in their customary relation to the domesticated wolf, while the symbolical animals of various Italian cities are arranged in a series of circles around this centrepiece. One of the most striking designs is that of Absalom, hanging by his hair. It is in sharp black and white, and the foliage of the trees is remarkably decorative, rendered with interesting minutiae. This is attributed to Pietro del Minella, and was begun in 1447.

A very interesting composition is that of the Parable of the Mote and the Beam. This is an early work, about 1375; it shows two gentlemen in the costume of the period, arguing in courtly style, one apparently declaiming to the other how much better it would be for him if it were not for the mote in his eye, while from the eye of the speaker himself extends, at an impossible angle, a huge wedge of wood, longer than his head, from which he appears to suffer no inconvenience, and which seems to have defied the laws of gravitation!

The renowned Matteo da Siena worked on the pavement; he designed the scene of the Massacre of the Innocents—it seems to have been always his favourite subject. He was apparently of a morbid turn.

In 1505 Pinturicchio was paid for a work on the floor: "To master Bernardino Pinturicchio, ptr., for his labour in making a cartoon for the design of Fortune, which is now being made in the Cathedral, on this 13th day of March, 12 Lires for our said Master Alberto." The mosaic is in red, black, and white, while other coloured marbles are introduced in the ornamental parts of the design, several of which have been renewed. Fortune herself has been restored, also, as have most of the lower figures in the composition. Her precariousness is well indicated by her action in resting one foot on a ball, and the other on an unstable little boat which floats, with broken mast, by the shore. She holds a sail above her head, so that she is liable to be swayed by varying winds. The three upper figures are in a better state of preservation than the others.



There was also in France some interest in mosaic during the eleventh century. At St. Remi in Rheims was a celebrated pavement in which enamels were used as well as marbles. Among the designs which appeared on this pavement, which must have positively rivalled Siena in its glory, was a group of the Seven Arts, as well as numerous Biblical scenes. It is said that certain bits of valuable stone, like jasper, were exhibited in marble settings, like "precious stones in a ring." There were other French pavements, of the eleventh century, which were similar in their construction, in which terra cotta was employed for the reds.

"Pietra Dura" was a mosaic laid upon either a thick wood or a marble foundation. Lapis lazuli, malachite, and jasper were used largely, as well as bloodstones, onyx, and Rosso Antico. In Florentine Pietra Dura work, the inlay of two hard and equally cut materials reached its climax.

Arnolfo del Cambio, who built the Cathedral of Sta. Maria Fiore in Florence, being its architect from 1294 till 1310, was the first in that city to use coloured slabs and panels of marble in a sort of flat mosaic on a vast scale on the outside of buildings. His example has been extensively followed throughout Italy. The art of Pietra Dura mosaic began under Cosimo I. who imported it, if one may use such an expression, from Lombardy. It was used chiefly, like Gobelins Tapestry, to make very costly presents, otherwise unprocurable, for grandees and crowned heads. For a long time the work was a Royal monopoly. There are several interesting examples in the Pitti Palace, in this case in the form of tables. Flowers, fruits, shells, and even figures and landscapes have been represented in this manner.

Six masters of the art of Pietra Dura came from Milan in 1580, to instruct the Florentines: and a portrait of Cosimo I. was the first important result of their labours. It was executed by Maestro Francesco Ferucci. The Medicean Mausoleum in Florence exhibits magnificent specimens of this craft.

In the time of Ferdinand I. the art was carried by Florentines to India, where it was used in decorating some of the palaces. Under Ferdinand II. Pietra Dura reached its climax, there being in Florence at this time a most noted Frenchman, Luigi Siries, who settled in Florence in 1722. He refined the art by ceasing to use the stone as a pigment in producing pictures, and employing it for the more legitimate purposes of decoration. Some of the large tables in the Pitti are his work. Flowers and shells on a porphyry ground were especially characteristic of Siries. There was a famous inlayer of tables, long before this time, named Antonio Leopardi, who lived from 1450 to 1525.

The inlay of wood has been called marquetry and intarsia, and was used principally on furniture and choir stalls. Labarte gives the origin of this art in Italy to the twelfth century. The Guild of Carpenters in Florence had a branch of Intarsiatura workers, which included all forms of inlay in wood. It is really more correct to speak of intarsia when we allude to early Italian work, the word being derived from "interserere," the Latin for "insert;" while marquetry originates in France, much later, from "marqueter," to mark. Italian wood inlay began in Siena, where one Manuello is reported to have worked in the Cathedral in 1259. Intarsia was also made in Orvieto at this time. Vasari did not hold the art in high estimation, saying that it was practised by "those persons who possessed more patience than skill in design," and I confess to a furtive concurrence in Vasari's opinion. He criticizes it a little illogically, however, when he goes on to say that the "work soon becomes dark, and is always in danger of perishing from the worms and by fire," for in these respects it is no more perishable than any great painting on canvas or panel. Vasari always is a little extreme, as we know.

The earliest Italian workers took a solid block of wood, chiselled out a sunken design, and then filled in the depression with other woods. The only enemy to such work was dampness, which might loosen the glue, or cause the small thin bits to swell or warp. The glue was applied always when the surfaces were perfectly clean, and the whole was pressed, being screwed down on heated metal plates, that all might dry evenly.

In 1478 there were thirty-four workshops of intarsia makers in Florence. The personal history of several of the Italian workers in inlay is still available, and, as it makes a craft seem much more vital when the names of the craftsmen are known to us, it will be interesting to glance at a few names of prominent artists in this branch of work. Bernardo Agnolo and his family are among them; and Domenico and Giovanni Tasso were wood-carvers who worked with Michelangelo. Among the "Novelli," there is a quaint tale called "The Fat Ebony Carver," which is interesting to read in this connection.

Benedetto da Maiano, one of the "most solemn" workers in intarsia in Florence, became disgusted with his art after one trying experience, and ever after turned his attention to other carving. Vasari's version of the affair is as follows. Benedetto had been making two beautiful chests, all inlaid most elaborately, and carried them to the Court of Hungary, to exhibit the workmanship. "When he had made obeisance to the king, and had been kindly received, he brought forward his cases and had them unpacked... but it was then he discovered that the humidity of the sea voyage had softened the glue to such an extent that when the waxed cloths in which the coffers had been wrapped were opened, almost all the pieces were found sticking to them, and so fell to the ground! Whether Benedetto stood amazed and confounded at such an event, in the presence of so many nobles, let every one judge for himself."

A famous family of wood inlayers were the del Tasso, who came from S. Gervasio. One of the brothers, Giambattista, was a wag, and is said to have wasted much time in amusement and standing about criticizing the methods of others. He was a friend of Cellini, and all his cronies pronounce him to have been a good fellow. On one occasion he had a good dose of the spirit of criticism, himself, from a visiting abbot, who stopped to see the Medicean tomb, where Tasso happened to be working. Tasso was requested to show the stranger about, which he did. The abbot began by depreciating the beauty of the building, remarking that Michelangelo's figures in the Sacristy did not interest him, and on his way up the stairs, he chanced to look out of a window and caught sight of Brunelleschi's dome. When the dull ecclesiastic began to say that this dome did not merit the admiration which it raised, the exasperated Tasso, who was loyal to his friends, could stand no more. Il Lasca recounts what happened: "Pulling the abbot backward with force, he made him tumble down the staircase, and he took good care to fall himself on top of him, and calling out that the frater had been taken mad, he bound his arms and legs with cords... and then taking him, hanging over his shoulders, he carried him to a room near, stretched him on the ground, and left him there in the dark, taking away the key." We will hope that if Tasso himself was too prone to criticism, he may have learned a lesson from this didactic monastic, and was more tolerant in the future.

Of the work of Canozio, a worker of about the same time, Matteo Colaccio in 1486, writes, "In visiting these intarsiad figures I was so much taken with the exquisiteness of the work that I could not withold myself from praising the author to heaven!" He refers thus ecstatically to the Stalls at St. Antonio at Padua, which were inlaid by Canozio, assisted by other masters. For his work in the Church of St. Domenico in Reggio, the contract called for some curious observances: he was bound by this to buy material for fifty lire, to work one third of the whole undertaking for fifty lire, to earn another fifty lire for each succeeding third, and then to give "forty-eight planks to the Lady," whatever that may mean! Among the instruments mentioned are: "Two screw profiles: one outliner: four one-handed little planes: rods for making cornices: two large squares and one grafonetto: three chisels, one glued and one all of iron: a pair of big pincers: two little axes: and a bench to put the tarsia on." Pyrography has its birth in intarsia, where singeing was sometimes employed as a shading in realistic designs.

In the Study of the Palace at Urbino, there is mention of "arm chairs encircling a table all mosaicked with tarsia, and carved by Maestro Giacomo of Florence," a worker of considerable repute. One of the first to adopt the use of ivory, pearl, and silver for inlay was Andrea Massari of Siena. In this same way inlay of tortoise-shell and brass was made,—the two layers were sawed out together, and then counterchanged so as to give the pattern in each material upon the other. Cabinets are often treated in this way. Ivory and sandal-wood or ebony, too, have been sometimes thus combined. In Spain cabinets were often made of a sort of mosaic of ebony and silver; in 1574 a Prohibtion was issued against using silver in this way, since it was becoming scarce.

In De Luna's "Diologos Familiarea," a Spanish work of 1669, the following conversation is given: "How much has your worship paid for this cabinet? It is worth more than forty ducats. What wood is it made of? The red is of mahogany, from Habana, and the black is made of ebony, and the white of ivory. You will find the workmanship excellent." This proves that inlaid cabinets were usual in Spain.

Ebony being expensive, it was sometimes simulated with stain. An old fifteenth century recipe says: "Take boxwood and lay in oil with sulphur for a night, then let it stew for an hour, and it will become as black as coal." An old Italian book enjoins the polishing of this imitation ebony as follows: "Is the wood to be polished with burnt pumice stone? Rub the work carefully with canvas and this powder, and then wash the piece with Dutch lime water so that it may be more beautifully polished... then the rind of a pomegranate must be steeped, and the wood smeared over with it, and set to dry, but in the shade."

Inlay was often imitated; the elaborate marquetry cabinets in Sta. Maria della Grazia in Milan which are proudly displayed are in reality, according to Mr. Russell Sturgis, cleverly painted to simulate the real inlaid wood. Mr. Hamilton Jackson says that these, being by Luini, are intended to be known as paintings, but to imitate intarsia.

Intarsia was made also among the monasteries. The Olivetans practised this art extensively, and, much as some monasteries had scriptoria for the production of books, so others had carpenter's shops and studios where, according to Michele Caffi, they showed "great talent for working in wood, succeeding to the heirship of the art of tarsia in coloured woods, which they got from Tuscany." One of the more important of the Olivetan Monasteries was St. Michele in Bosco, where the noted worker in tarsia, Fra Raffaello da Brescia, made some magnificent choir stalls. In 1521 these were finished, but they were largely destroyed by the mob in the suppression of the convents in the eighteenth century. In 1812 eighteen of the stalls were saved, bought by the Marquis Malvezzi, and placed in St. Petronio. He tried also to save the canopies, but these had been sold for firewood at about twopence each!

The stalls of St. Domenico at Bologna are by Fra Damiano of Bergamo; it is said of him that his woods were coloured so marvellously that the art of tarsia was by him raised to the rank of that of painting! He was a Dominican monk in Bologna most of his life. When Charles V. visited the choir of St. Domenico, and saw these stalls, he would not believe that the work was accomplished by inlay, and actually cut a piece out with his sword by way of investigation.

Castiglione the Courtier expresses himself with much admiration of the work of Fra Damiano, "rather divine than human." Of the technical perfection of the workmanship he adds: "Though these works are executed with inlaid pieces, the eye cannot even by the greatest exertion detect the joints.... I think, indeed, I am certain, that it will be called the eighth wonder of the world." (Count Castiglione did not perhaps realize what a wonderful world he lived in!) But at any rate there is no objection to subscribing to his eulogy: "All that I could say would be little enough of his rare and singular virtue, and on the goodness of his religious and holy life." Another frate who wrote about that time alluded to Fra Damiano as "putting together woods with so much art that they appear as pictures painted with the brush."

In Germany there was some interesting intarsia made by the Elfen Brothers, of St. Michael's in Hildesheim, who produced beautiful chancel furniture. Hans Stengel of Nueremberg, too, was renowned in this art.

After the Renaissance marquetry ran riot in France, but that is out of the province of our present study.

The art of mosaic making has changed very little during the centuries. Nearly all the technical methods now used were known to the ancients. In fact, this art is rather an elemental one, and any departure from old established rules is liable to lead the worker into a new craft; his art becomes that of the inlayer or the enameller when he attempts to use larger pieces in cloissons, or to fuse bits together by any process.

Mosaic is a natural outgrowth from other inlaying; when an elaborate design had to be set up, quite too complicated to be treated in tortuously-cut large pieces, the craftsman naturally decided to render the whole work with small pieces, which demanded less accurate shaping of each piece. Originally, undoubtedly, each bit of glass or stone was laid in the soft plaster of wall or floor; but now a more labour saving method has obtained; it is amusing to watch the modern rest-cure. Instead of an artist working in square bits of glass to carry out his design, throwing his interest and personality into the work, a labourer sits leisurely before a large cartoon, on which he glues pieces of mosaic the prescribed colour and size, mechanically fitting them over the design until it is completely covered. Then this sheet of paper, with the mosaic glued to it, is slapped on to the plaster wall, having the stones next to the plaster, so that, until it is dry, all that can be seen is the sheet of paper apparently fixed on the wall. But lo! the grand transformation! The paper is washed off, leaving in place the finished product—a very accurate imitation of the picture on which the artist laboured, all in place in the wall, every stone evenly set as if it had been polished—entirely missing the charm of the irregular faceted effect of an old mosaic—again mechanical facility kills the spirit of an art.

Much early mosaic, known as Cosmati Work, is inlaid into marble, in geometric designs; twisted columns of this class of work may be seen in profusion in Rome, and the facade of Orvieto is similarly decorated. Our illustration will demonstrate the technical process as well as a description.

The mosaic base of Edward the Confessor's shrine is inscribed to the effect that it was wrought by Peter of Rome. It was a dignified specimen of the best Cosmati. All the gold glass which once played its part in the scheme of decoration has been picked out, and in fact most of the pieces in the pattern are missing.



The mosaic pavement in Westminster Abbey Presbytery is as fine an example of Roman Cosmati mosaic as one can see north of the Alps. An inscription, almost obliterated, is interpreted by Mr. Lethaby as signifying, that in the year 1268 "Henry III. being King, and Odericus the cementarius, Richard de Ware, Abbot, brought the porphyry and divers jaspers and marbles of Thaso from Rome." In another place a sort of enigma, drawn from an arbitrary combination of animal forms and numbers, marks a chart for determining the end of the world! There is also a beautiful mosaic tomb at Westminster, inlaid with an interlacing pattern in a ground of marble, like the work so usual in Rome, and in Palermo, and other Southern centres of the art.

While the material used in mosaic wall decoration is sometimes a natural product, like marble, porphyry, coral, or alabaster, the picture is composed for the most part of artificially prepared smalts—opaque glass of various colours, made in sheets and then cut up into cubes. An infinite variety in gradations of colour and texture is thus made possible.

The gold grounds which one sees in nearly all mosaics are constructed in an interesting way. Each cube is composed of plain rather coarse glass, of a greenish tinge, upon which is laid gold leaf. Over this leaf is another film of glass, extremely thin, so that the actual metal is isolated between two glasses, and is thus impervious to such qualities in the air as would tarnish it or cause it to deteriorate. To prevent an uninteresting evenness of surface on which the sun's rays would glint in a trying manner, it was usual to lay the gold cubes in a slightly irregular manner, so that each facet, as it were, should reflect at a different angle, and the texture, especially in the gold grounds, never became monotonous. One does not realize the importance of this custom until one sees a cheap modern mosaic laid absolutely flat, and then it is evident how necessary this broken surface is to good effect. Any one who has tried to analyze the reason for the superiority of old French stained glass over any other, will be surprised, if he goes close to the wall, under one of the marvellous windows of Chartres, for instance, and looks up, to see that the whole fabric is warped and bent at a thousand angles,—it is not only the quality of the ancient glass, nor its colour, that gives this unattainable expression to these windows, but the accidental warping and wear of centuries have laid each bit of glass at a different angle, so that the refraction of the light is quite different from any possible reflection on the smooth surface of a modern window.

The dangers of a clear gold ground were, felt more fully by the workers at Ravenna and Rome, than in Venice. Architectural schemes were introduced to break up the surface: clouds and backgrounds, fields of flowers, and trees, and such devices, were used to prevent the monotony of the unbroken glint. But in Venice the decorators were brave; their faith in their material was unbounded, and they not only frankly laid gold in enormous masses on flat wall and cupola, but they even moulded the edges and archivolts without separate ribs or strips to relieve them; the gold is carried all over the edges, which are rounded into curves to receive the mosaic, so that the effect is that of the entire upper part of the church having been pressed into shape out of solid gold. The lights on these rounded edges are incomparably rich.

It is equally important to vary the plain values of the colour, and this was accomplished by means of dilution and contrast in tints instead of by unevenness of surface, although in many of the most satisfactory mosaics, both means have been employed. Plain tints in mosaic can be relieved in a most delightful way by the introduction of little separate cubes of unrelated colour, and the artist who best understands this use of mass and dot is the best maker of mosaic. The actual craft of construction is similar everywhere, but the use of what we may regard as the pigment has possibilities similar to the colours of a painter. The manipulation being of necessity slow, it is more difficult to convey the idea of spontaneity in design than it is in a fresco painting.

To follow briefly the history of mosaic as used in the Dark Ages, the Middle Ages, and the period of the Renaissance, it is interesting to note that by the fourth century mosaic was the principal decoration in ecclesiastical buildings. Contantine employed this art very extensively. Of his period, however, few examples remain. The most notable is the little church of Sta. Constanza, the vaults of which are ornamented in this way, with a fine running pattern of vines, interspersed with figures on a small scale. The Libel Pontificalis tells how Constantine built the Basilica of St. Agnese at the request of his daughter, and also a baptistery in the same place, where Constance was baptized, by Bishop Sylvester.

Among the most interesting early mosaics is the apse of the Church of St. Pudentiana in Rome. Barbet de Jouy, who has written extensively on this mosaic, considers it to be an eighth century achievement. But a later archaeologist, M. Rossi, believes it to have been made in the fourth century, in which theory he is upheld by M. Vitet. The design is that of a company of saints gathered about the Throne on which God the Father sits to pass judgment. In certain restorations and alterations made in 1588 two of these figures were cut away, and the lower halves of those remaining were also removed, so that the figures are now only half length. The faces and figures are drawn in a very striking manner, being realistic and full of graceful action, very different from the mosaics of a later period, which were dominated by Byzantine tradition.

In France were many specimens of the mosaics of the fifth century. But literary descriptions are all that have survived of these works, which might once have been seen at Nantes, Tours, and Clermont.



Ravenna is the shrine of the craft in the fifth and sixth centuries. It is useless in so small a space to attempt to describe or do justice to these incomparable walls, where gleam the marvellous procession of white robed virgins, and where glitters the royal cortege of Justinian and Theodora. The acme of the art was reached when these mural decorations were planned and executed, and the churches of Ravenna may be considered the central museum of the world for a study of mosaic.

Among those who worked at Ravenna a few names have descended. These craftsmen were, Cuserius, Paulus, Janus, Statius and Stephanus, but their histories are vague. Theodoric also brought some mosaic artists from Rome to work in Ravenna, which fact accounts for a Latin influence discernible in these mosaics, which are in many instances free from Byzantine stiffness. The details of the textiles in the great mosaics of Justinian and Theodora are rarely beautiful. The chlamys with which Justinian is garbed is covered with circular interlaces with birds in them; on the border of the Empress's robe are embroideries of the three Magi presenting their gifts; on one of the robes of the attendants there is a pattern of ducks swimming, while another is ornamented with leaves of a five-pointed form.

There is a mosaic in the Tomb of Galla Placida in Ravenna, representing St. Lawrence, cheerfully approaching his gridiron, with the Cross and an open book encumbering his hands, while in a convenient corner stands a little piece of furniture resembling a meat-safe, containing the Four Gospels. The saint is walking briskly, and is fully draped; the gridiron is of the proportions of a cot bedstead, and has a raging fire beneath it,—a gruesome suggestion of the martyrdom.

No finer examples of the art of the colourist in mosaic can be seen than in the procession of Virgins at San Apollinaire Nuovo in Ravenna. Cool, restrained, and satisfying, the composition has all the elements of chromatic perfection. In the golden background occasional dots of light and dark brown serve to deepen the tone into a slightly bronze colour. The effect is especially scintillating and rich, more like hammered gold than a flat sheet. The colours in the trees are dark and light green, while the Virgins, in brown robes, with white draperies over them, are relieved with little touches of gold. The whole tone being thus green and russet, with purplish lines about the halos, is an unusual colour-scheme, and can hardly carry such conviction in a description as when it is seen.

In the East, the Church of Sta. Sophia at Constantinople exhibited the most magnificent specimens of this work; the building was constructed under Constantine, by the architects Anthemius and Isidore, and the entire interior, walls and dome included, was covered by mosaic pictures.

Among important works of the seventh century is the apse of St. Agnese, in Rome. Honorius decorated the church, about 630, and it is one of the most effective mosaics in Rome. At St. John Lateran, also, Pope John IV. caused a splendid work to be carried out, which has been reported as being as "brilliant as the sacred waters."

In the eighth century a magnificent achievement was accomplished in the monastery of Centula, in Picardie, but all traces of this have been lost, for the convent was burnt in 1131. The eighth was not an active century for the arts, for in 726 Leo's edict was sent forth, prohibiting all forms of image worship, and at a Council at Constantinople in 754 it was decided that all iconographic representation and all use of symbols (except in the Sacrament) were blasphemous. Idolatrous monuments were destroyed, and the iconoclasts continued their devastations until the death of Theophilus in 842. Fortunately this wave of zeal was checked before the destruction of the mosaics in Ravenna and Rome, but very few specimens survived in France.

In the ninth century a great many important monuments were added, and a majority of the mosaics which may still be seen, date from that time: they are not first in quality, however, although they are more numerous. After this, there was a period of inanition, in this art as in all others, while the pseudo-prophets awaited the ending of the world. After the year 1000 had passed, and the astonished people found that they were still alive, and that the world appeared as stable as formerly, interest began to revive, and the new birth of art produced some significant examples in the field of mosaic. There was some activity in Germany, for a time, the versatile Bishop Bernward of Hildesheim adding this craft to his numerous accomplishments, although it is probable that his works resembled the graffiti and inlaid work rather than the mosaics composed of cubes of smalt.

At the Monastery of Monte Cassino in the eleventh century was an interesting personality,—the Abbe Didier, its Superior. About 1066 he brought workers from Constantinople, who decorated the apse and walls of the basilica under his direction. At the same time, he established a school at the monastery, and the young members were instructed in the arts and crafts of mosaic and inlay, and the illumination of books. Greek influence was thus carried into Italy through Monte Cassino.

In the twelfth century the celebrated Suger of St. Denis decorated one of the porches of his church with mosaic, in smalt, marbles, and gold; animal and human forms were introduced in the ornament. But this may not have been work actually executed on the spot, for another narrator tells us that Suger brought home from Italy, on one of his journeys, a mosaic, which was placed over the door at St. Denis; as it is no longer in its position, it is not easy to determine which account is correct.

The mosaics at St. Mark's in Venice were chiefly the work of two centuries and a half. Greek artists were employed in the main, bringing their own tesserae and marbles. In 1204 there was special activity in this line, at the time when the Venetians took Constantinople. After this, an establishment for making the smalts and gold glass was set up at Murano, and Venice no longer imported its material.

The old Cathedral at Torcello has one of the most perfect examples of the twelfth century mosaic in the world. The entire west end of the church is covered with a rich display of figures and Scriptural scenes. A very lurid Hell is exhibited at the lower corner, in the depths of which are seen stewing, several Saracens, with large hoop earrings. Their faces are highly expressive of discomfort. This mosaic is full of genuine feeling; one of the subjects is Amphitrite riding a seahorse, among those who rise to the surface when "the sea gives up its dead." The Redeemed are seen crowding round Abraham, who holds one in his bosom; they are like an infant class, and are dressed in uniform pinafores, intended to look like little ecclesiastical vestments! The Dead who are being given up by the Earth are being vomited forth by wild animals—this is original, and I believe, almost the only occasion on which this form of literal resurrection is represented.

In the thirteenth century a large number of mosaic artists appeared in Florence, many of whose names and histories are available. In the Baptistery, Andrea Tafi, who lived between 1213 and 1294, decorated the cupola. With him were two assistants who are known by name—Apollonius a Greek, which in part accounts for the stiff Byzantine figures in this work, and another who has left his signature, "Jacobus Sancti Francisci Frater"—evidently a monastic craftsman. Gaddo Gaddi also assisted in this work, executing the Prophets which occur under the windows, and professing to combine in his style "the Greek manner and that of Cimabue." Apollonius taught Andrea Tafi how to compose the smalt and to mix the cement, but this latter was evidently unsuccessful, for in the next century the mosaic detached itself and fell badly, when Agnolo Gaddi, the grandson of Gaddo, was engaged to restore it. Tafi, Gaddi, and Jacobus were considered as a promising firm, and they undertook other large works in mosaic. They commenced the apse at Pisa, which was finished in 1321 by Vicini, Cimabue designing the colossal figure of Christ which thus dominates the cathedral.

Vasari says that Andrea Tafi was considered "an excellent, nay, a divine artist" in his specialty. Andrea, himself more modest, visited Venice, and deigned to take instruction from Greek mosaic workers, who were employed at St. Mark's. One of them, Apollonius, became attached to Tafi, and this is how he came to accompany him to Florence. The work on the Baptistery was done actually in situ, every cube being set directly in the plaster. The work is still extant, and the technical and constructive features are perfect, since their restoration. It is amusing to read Vasari's patronizing account of Tafi; from the late Renaissance point of view, the mosaic worker seemed to be a barbarous Goth at best: "The good fortune of Andrea was really great," says Vasari, "to be born in an age which, doing all things in the rudest manner, could value so highly the works of an artist who really merited so little, not to say nothing!"

Gaddo Gaddi was a painstaking worker in mosaic, executing some works on a small scale entirely in eggshells of varying tints. In the Baroncelli chapel in Florence is a painting by Taddeo Gaddi, in which occur the portraits of his father, Gaddo Gaddi, and Andrea Tafi.

About this time the delightful mosaic at St. Clemente, in Rome, was executed. With its central cross and graceful vine decorations, it stands out unique among the groups of saints and seraphs, of angels and hierarchies, of most of the Roman apsidal ornaments. The mosaic in the basilica of St. John Lateran is by Jacopo Torriti. In the design there are two inconspicuous figures, intentionally smaller than the others, of two monks on their knees, working, with measure and compass. These represent Jacopo Torriti and his co-worker, Camerino. One of them is inscribed (translated) "Jacopo Torriti, painter, did this work," and the other, "Brother Jacopo Camerino, companion of the master worker, commends himself to the blessed John." The tools and implements used by mosaic artists are represented in the hands of these two monks. Torriti was apparently a greater man in some respects than his contemporaries. He based his art rather on Roman than Greek tradition, and his works exhibit less Byzantine formality than many mosaics of the period. On the apse of Sta. Maria Maggiore there appears a signature, "Jacopo Torriti made this work in mosaic." Gaddo Gaddi also added a composition below the vault, about 1308.

The well-known mosaic called the Navicella in the atrium of St. Peter's, Rome, was originally made by Giotto. It has been much restored and altered, but some of the original design undoubtedly remains. Giotto went to Rome to undertake this work in 1298; but the present mosaic is largely the restoration of Bernini, who can hardly be considered as a sympathetic interpreter of the early Florentine style. Vasari speaks of the Navicella as "a truly wonderful work, and deservedly eulogized by all enlightened judges." He marvels at the way in which Giotto has produced harmony and interchange of light and shade so cleverly: "with mere pieces of glass" (Vasari is so naively overwhelmed with ignorance when he comes to deal with handicraft) especially on the large sail of the boat.

In Venice, the Mascoli chapel was ornamented by scenes from the life of the Virgin, in 1430. The artist was Michele Zambono, who designed and superintended the work himself. At Or San Michele in Florence, the painter Peselli, or Guliano Arrigo, decorated the tabernacle, in 1416. Among other artists who entered the field of mosaic, were Baldovinetti and Domenico Ghirlandajo, the painter who originated the motto: "The only painting for eternity is mosaic."

In the sixteenth century the art of mosaic ceased to observe due limitations. The ideal was to reproduce exactly in mosaic such pictures as were prepared by Titian, Pordenone, Raphael, and other realistic painters. Georges Sand, in her charming novel, "Les Maitres Mosaistes," gives one the atmosphere of the workshops in Venice in this later period. Tintoretto and Zuccato, the aged painter, are discussing the durability of mosaic:—"Since it resists so well," says Zuccato, "how comes it that the Seignory is repairing all the domes of St. Mark's, which to-day are as bare as my skull?" To which Tintoretto makes answer: "Because at the time when they were decorated with mosaics, Greek artists were scarce in Venice. They came from a distance, and remained but a short time: their apprentices were hastily trained, and executed the works entrusted to them without knowing their business, and without being able to give them the necessary solidity. Now that this art has been cultivated in Venice, century after century, we have become as skilful as even the Greeks were." The two sons of Zuccato, who are engaged in this work, confide to each other their trials and difficulties in the undertaking: like artists of all ages, they cannot easily convince their patrons that they comprehend their art better than their employers! Francesco complains of the Procurator, who is commissioned to examine the work: "He is not an artist. He sees in mosaic only an application of particles more or less brilliant. Perfection of tone, beauty of design, ingenuity of composition, are nothing to him.... Did I not try in vain the other day to make him understand that the old pieces of gilded crystal used by our ancestors and a little tarnished by time, were more favourable to colour than those manufactured to-day?" "Indeed, you make a mistake, Messer Francesco," said he, "in handing over to the Bianchini all the gold of modern manufacture. The Commissioners have decided that the old will do mixed with the new."... "But did I not in vain try to make him understand that this brilliant gold would hurt the faces, and completely ruin the effect of colour?"... The answer of the Procurator was, "The Bianchini do not scruple to use it, and their mosaics please the eye much better than yours," so his brother Valerio, laughing, asks, "What need of worrying yourself after such a decision as that? Suppress the shadows, cut a breadth of material from a great plate of enamel and lay it over the breast of St. Nicaise, render St. Cecilia's beautiful hair with a badly cut tile, a pretty lamb for St. John the Baptist, and the Commission will double your salary and the public clap its hands. Really, my brother, you who dream of glory, I do not understand how you can pledge yourself to the worship of art." "I dream of glory, it is true," replied Francesco, "but of a glory that is lasting, not the vain popularity of a day. I should like to leave an honoured name, if not an illustrious one, and make those who examine the cupolas of St. Mark's five hundred years hence say, 'This was the work of a conscientious artist.'" A description follows of the scene of the mosaic workers pursuing their calling. "Here was heard abusive language, there the joyous song; further on, the jest; above, the hammer: below, the trowel: now the dull and continuous thud of the tampon on the mosaics, and anon the clear and crystal like clicking of the glassware rolling from the baskets on to the pavement, in waves of rubies and emeralds. Then the fearful grating of the scraper on the cornice, and finally the sharp rasping cry of the saw in the marble, to say nothing of the low masses said at the end of the chapel in spite of the racket."



The Zuccati were very independent skilled workmen, as well as being able to design their own subjects. They were, in the judgment of Georges Sand, superior to another of the masters in charge of the works, Bozza, who was less of a man, although an artist of some merit. Later than these men, there were few mosaic workers of high standing; in Florence the art degenerated into a mere decorative inlay of semi-precious material, heraldic in feeling, costly and decorative, but an entirely different art from that of the Greeks and Romans. Lapis-lazuli with gold veinings, malachite, coral, alabaster, and rare marbles superseded the smalts and gold of an elder day.



CHAPTER XI

ILLUMINATION OF BOOKS

One cannot enter a book shop or a library to-day without realizing how many thousands of books are in constant circulation. There was an age when books were laboriously but most beautifully written, instead of being thus quickly manufactured by the aid of the type-setting machine; the material on which the glossy text was executed was vellum instead of the cheap paper of to-day, the illustrations, instead of being easily reproduced by photographic processes, were veritable miniature paintings, most decorative, ablaze with colour and fine gold,—in these times it is easy to forget that there was ever a period when the making of a single book occupied years, and sometimes the life-time of one or two men.

In those days, when the transcription of books was one of the chief occupations in religious houses, the recluse monk, in the quiet of the scriptorium, was, in spite of his seclusion, and indeed, by reason of it, the chief link between the world of letters and the world of men.

The earliest known example of work by a European monk dates from the year 517; but shortly after this there was a great increase in book making, and monasteries were founded especially for the purpose of perpetuating literature. The first establishment of this sort was the monastery of Vivaria, in Southern Italy, founded by Cassiodorus, a Greek who lived between the years 479 and 575, and who had been the scribe (or "private secretary") of Theodoric the Goth. About the same time, St. Columba in Ireland founded a house with the intention of multiplying books, so that in the sixth century, in both the extreme North and in the South, the religious orders had commenced the great work of preserving for future ages the literature of the past and of their own times.

Before examining the books themselves, it will be interesting to observe the conditions under which the work was accomplished. Sometimes the scriptorium was a large hall or studio, with various desks about; sometimes the North walk of the cloister was divided into little cells, called "carrels," in each of which was room for the writer, his desk, and a little shelf for his inks and colours. These carrels may be seen in unusual perfection in Gloucester. In very cold weather a small brazier of charcoal was also introduced.

Cassiodorus writes thus of the privilege of being a copyist of holy books. "He may fill his mind with the Scriptures while copying the sayings of the Lord; with his fingers he gives life to men and arms against the wiles of the Devil; as the antiquarius copies the word of Christ, so many wounds does he inflict upon Satan. What he writes in his cell will be carried far and wide over distant provinces. Man multiplies the word of Heaven: if I may dare so to speak, the three fingers of his right hand are made to represent the utterances of the Holy Trinity. The fast travelling reed writes down the holy words, thus avenging the malice of the wicked one, who caused a reed to be used to smite the head of the Saviour."

When the scriptorium was consecrated, these words were used (and they would be most fitting words to-day, in the consecration of libraries or class rooms which are to be devoted to religious study): "Vouchsafe, O, Lord, to bless this workroom of thy servants, that all which they write therein may be comprehended by their intelligence, and realized by their work." Scriptorium work was considered equal to labour in the fields. In the Rule of St. Fereol, in the sixth century, there is this clause: "He who doth not turn up the earth with his plough, ought to write the parchment with his fingers." The Capitulary of Charlemagne contains this phrase: "Do not permit your scribes or pupils, either in reading or writing, to garble the text; when you are preparing copies of the Gospels, the Psalter, or the Missal, see that the work is confided to men of mature age, who will write with due care." Some of the scribes were prolific book transcribers. Jacob of Breslau, who died in 1480, copied so many books that it is said that "six horses could with difficulty bear the burden of them!"

The work of each scriptorium was devoted first to the completion of the library of the individual monastery, and after that, to other houses, or to such patrons as were rich enough to order books to be transcribed for their own use. The library of a monastery was as much a feature as the scriptorium. The monks were not like the rising literary man, who, when asked if he had read "Pendennis" replied, "No—I never read books—I write them." Every scribe was also a reader. There was a regular system of lending books from the central store. A librarian was in charge, and every monk was supposed to have some book which he was engaged in reading "straight through" as the Rule of St. Benedict enjoins, just as much as the one which he was writing. As silence was obligatory in the scriptorium and library, as well as in the cloisters, they were forced to apply for the volumes which they desired by signs. For a general work, the sign was to extend the hand and make a movement as if turning over the leaves of a book. If a Missal was wanted, the sign of the cross was added to the same form; for a Gospel, the sign of the cross was made upon the forehead, while those who wished tracts to read, should lay one hand on the mouth and the other on the stomach; a Capitulary was indicated by the gesture of raising the clasped hands to heaven, while a Psalter could be obtained by raising the hands above the head in the form of a crown. As the good brothers were not possessed of much religious charity, they indicated a secular book by scratching their ears, as dogs are supposed to do, to imply the suggestion that the infidel who wrote such a book was no better than a dog!

This extract is made from a book in one of the early monastic libraries. "Oh, Lord, send the blessing of thy Holy Spirit upon these books, that, cleansing them from all earthly things, they may mercifully enlighten our hearts, and give us true understanding, and grant that by their teaching they may brightly preserve and make a full abundance of good works according to Thy will." The books were kept in cupboards, with doors; in the Customs of the Augustine Priory of Barnwell, these directions are given: "The press in which the books are kept ought to be lined with wood, that the damp of the walls may not moisten or stain the books. The press should be divided vertically as well as horizontally, by sundry partitions, on which the books may be ranged so as to be separated from one another, for fear they be packed so close as to injure one another, or to delay those who want them."