THE ARTS IN THE MIDDLE AGES,
AND AT THE PERIOD OF THE RENAISSANCE.

{i} 

{ii} 

{iii}

By PAUL LACROIX
(Bibliophile Jacob),
CURATOR OF THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY OF THE ARSENAL, PARIS.


Illustrated with
NINETEEN CHROMOLITHOGRAPHIC PRINTS BY F. KELLERHOVEN

AND UPWARDS OF

FOUR HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.


FOURTH THOUSAND.


LONDON:
BICKERS AND SON, 1, LEICESTER SQUARE.

{iv} 

{v} 

HE aim and scope of this work are so explicitly set forth in the appended Preface by its Author as to require for the book no further introduction. The position held by M. Lacroix in the Imperial Library of the Arsenal, Paris, is a sufficient guarantee of his qualifications for undertaking a publication of this nature. How far his labours were appreciated in France is evident from the fact that, when the first edition made its appearance, it was exhausted within a few days.

It may fairly be presumed that The Arts in the Middle Ages will find equal favour in England, where so much attention has of late years been given to the subject in all its various ramifications; and where,—in our National Museum, Kensington, especially,—we are accumulating so extensive and valuable a collection of objects associated with the epochs referred to by M. Lacroix.

In preparing these sheets for the press, my task has been little more than to put an excellent and conscientious literal translation of the {vi}French text into language somewhat in harmony with the construction of our own. In so doing, however, it has been my object to retain, as far as practicable, the peculiar—sometimes the quaint—phraseology of the original writing. A few notes are added when they appeared necessary by way of explaining terms, &c., or to render them more intelligible to the general reader. But some words are used by the Author for which no English equivalent can be found: these have been allowed to stand without note or comment.

JAMES DAFFORNE.

Brixton, February, 1870.

{vii}

ORE than twenty years ago we published, with the aid of our friend Ferdinand Séré, whose loss we regret, and with the co-operation of other learned men and of the most eminent writers and artists, an important work, entitled “The Middle Ages and the Renaissance.” That work, which consists of no less than five large quarto volumes, treated in detail the manners and customs, the sciences, literature, and the arts of those two great epochs, a subject as vast as it is interesting and instructive. Thanks to the learning it displays, to its literary merit and its admirable execution, it had the rare good fortune to attract immediately the attention of the public, and even now it maintains the interest which marked its first appearance. It has taken its place in the library of the amateur, not only in France but also among foreigners; it has become celebrated.

This exceptional result, especially as regards a publication of such extent, induces us to believe that our work, thus known and appreciated by the learned, may and ought henceforth to have still greater success by addressing itself to a yet larger number of readers.

With this conviction we now present to the public one of the principal portions of that important work, and perhaps the most interesting, in a{viii} form more simple, easier, and more pleasing; within the reach of youth who desire to learn without weariness or irksomeness, of females interested in grave authors, of the family that loves to assemble round a book altogether instructive and attractive. We would speak of the “Arts in the Middle Ages, and at the Period of the Renaissance.” After having reunited the scattered materials on this subject, we have ranged them each in its own rank, taking care to discard all crudity of learning and to preserve in our work the brilliant colouring in which it was first clothed.

All the Arts are interesting in themselves. Their productions awaken attention and excite curiosity. But here it is not one Art only that is treated of. We pass in review all the Arts, starting from the fourth century to the second half of the sixteenth—Architecture raising churches and abbeys, palaces and public memorials, strong fortresses and the ramparts of cities; Sculpture adorning and perfecting other Arts by its works in stone, marble, bronze, wood, and ivory; Painting, commencing with mosaic and enamels, contributing to the decoration of buildings jointly with stained glass and frescoes, embellishing and illuminating manuscripts before it arrived at its highest point of perfection, with the Art of Giotto and Raphael, of Hemling and Albert Dürer; Engraving on wood and metal, with which is associated the work of the medallist and the goldsmith; and after attempting to touch upon Playing-cards and Niello-work, we suddenly evoke that sublime invention destined to change the face of the world—Printing. Such are, in brief, some of the principal features of this splendid picture. One can imagine what an infinity, what variety and richness, of details it should contain.

Our subject presents, at the same time, another kind of interest more elevated and not less alluring. Here each Art appears in its different phases and in its diversified progress. It is a history, not alone of the Arts, but of the epoch itself in which they were developed; for the Arts, regarded in their generality, are the truest expression of society. They speak to us of tastes, of ideas, of character: they exhibit us in their works. Of all an age can leave to the future concerning itself, that which repre{ix}sents it most vividly is Art: the Arts of an epoch revivify it, and bring it back before our eyes.

It is this which forms our book. Yet, we must remark, here its interest is redoubled, for we retrace not only a single era, but two eras very distinct from each other. In the first, that of the Middle Ages, which followed the invasion of the Northmen, society was in a great measure formed of new and barbarous elements, which Christianity laboured to break up and fashion. In the second epoch, on the contrary, society was organised and firmly established; it enjoyed peace, and reaped its fruits. The Arts followed the same phases. At first rude and informal, they rose slowly and by degrees, like society, out of chaos. At length they nourished in perfect freedom, and progressed with all the energy of which the human mind is capable. Hence the successive advances whose history presents a marvellous interest.

During the Middle Ages, Art generally followed the inspirations of that Christian spirit which presided at the formation of this new world. It arose to reproduce in an admirable manner the religious ideal. Only towards the end of that period it searched out for beauty of form, and began to find it when the Renaissance made its appearance: the Renaissance, that is, the intellectual revolution, which, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, restored among modern nations the sceptre to Literature and the Arts of antiquity. Then, with the Renaissance, the Arts changed their direction, and especially the principal Arts, those by which the genius of man expresses most forcibly his ideas and his feelings. Thus, in the Middle Ages, a new style of architecture is created that rapidly attained the highest degree of perfection, the ogival (later Gothic or flamboyant), of which we see the chefs-d’œuvre in our cathedrals: at the Renaissance, this was replaced by architecture derived from that of the Greeks and Romans, which also produced admirable works, but almost always less in harmony with the dignity and splendour of worship. In the Middle Ages, Painting chiefly applied itself to represent the beau idéal of the religious mind reflecting itself in the countenance; at the Renaissance, it is the beauty of the physical form, so perfectly expressed{x} by the ancients. Sculpture, which comes nearer to Painting, followed at the same time all similar phases, drawing the art of Engraving with it. Do not the diversified changes through which the Arts passed, as retraced in this book during two epochs, present to the intelligent reader a succession of facts of the highest interest and a history most instructive?

Our work is the only existing one on this great and magnificent subject, of which the materials are scattered through a multitude of volumes. Thus for the success of this undertaking it became necessary to unite with us in our task men most distinguished by their learning and talents: we are permitted to cite the names of MM. Ernest Breton, Aimé Champollion, Champollion-Figeac, Pierre Dubois, Duchesne, Ferdinand Denis, Jacquemart, Arch. Juvinal, Jules Labarte, Lassus, Louandre, Prosper Mérimée, Alfred Michiels, Gabriel Peignot, Riocreux, De Saulcy, Jean Designeur, le Marquis de Varennes. After such a list we record our own name only to acknowledge that we have gone over and recast these various works, and presented them in a form which gives them more unity, but owes to them all the interest and all the charm it may offer.

The numerous illustrations that adorn the work will engage the eye, while the text will speak to the intelligence. The designs in chromolithography are executed by M. Kellerhoven, who for several years has made the art one of a high order, worthy to shine among the finest works of our greatest painters, as is proved by his “Chefs-d’œuvre of the Great Masters,” “Lives of the Saints,” and “Legend of St. Ursula.”

No one is ignorant of the attention given in these days to archæology. Information about objects of antiquity is necessary to every instructed person. It ought to be studied so far as to enable us to appreciate, or at least to recognise, the examples of olden time in Architecture, Painting, &c., that present themselves to our notice. Thus it has become for the young of each sex indispensable to good education. The perusal of this book will be for such an attractive introduction to that knowledge which for too long a time was the exclusive domain of the learned.

PAUL LACROIX
(Bibliophile Jacob).
{xi}

{xv} 

{xx} 

{1} 

E shall be readily believed when we assert that the furniture used by our remote ancestors, the Gauls, was of the most rude simplicity. A people essentially addicted to war and hunting,—at the best, agriculturists,—having for their temples the forests, for their dwellings huts formed out of turf and thatched with straw and branches, would naturally be indifferent to the form and description of their furniture.

Then succeeded the Roman Conquest. Originally, and long subsequent to the formation of their warlike republic, the Romans had also lived in contempt of display, and even in ignorance of the conveniences of life. But when they had subjugated Gaul, and had carried their victorious arms to the confines of the world, they by degrees appropriated whatever the manners and habits of the conquered nations disclosed to them of refined luxury, material progress, and ingenious devices for comfort. Thus, the Romans brought with them into Gaul what they elsewhere had acquired.{2} Again, when, in their turn, the semi-barbarous hordes of Germany and of the Northern steppes invaded the Roman empire, these new conquerors did not fail to accommodate themselves instinctively to the social condition of the vanquished.

This, briefly stated, is an explanation—we admit, rather concise—of the transition connecting the characteristics of the society of olden days with those of modern society.

Society in the Middle Ages—that social epoch which may be compared to the state of a decrepid and worn-out old man, who, after a long, dull torpor awakes to new life, like an active and vigorous child—society in the Middle Ages inherited much from preceding times, though, to a certain extent, they were disconnected. It transformed, perhaps; and it perfected, rather than invented; but it displayed in its works a genius so peculiar that we generally recognise in it a real creation.

Proposing rapidly to pursue our archæological and literary course through a twofold period of birth and revival, we cannot indulge the belief that we shall succeed in exhibiting our sketches in a light the best adapted to their effect. However, we will make the attempt, and, the frame being given, will do our best to fill in the picture.

If we visit any royal or princely abode of the Merovingian period, we observe that the display of wealth consists much less in the elegance or in the originality of the forms devised for articles of furniture, than in the profusion of precious materials employed in their fabrication and embellishment. The time had gone by when the earliest tribes of Gauls and of Northmen, who came to occupy the West, had for their seats and beds only trusses of straw, rush mats, and bundles of branches; and for their tables slabs of stone or piles of turf. From the fifth century of the Christian era, we already find the Franks and the Goths resting their muscular forms on the long soft seat which the Romans had adopted from the East, and which have become our sofas or our couches; changing only their names. In front of them were arranged low horse-shoe tables, at which the centre seat was reserved for the most dignified or illustrious of the guests. Couches at the table, suited only to the effeminacy induced by warm climates, were soon abandoned by the Gauls; benches and stools were adopted by these most active and vigorous men; meals were no longer eaten reclining, but sitting: while the thrones of kings, and the chairs of state for nobles, were of the{3} richest sumptuousness. Thus, for instance, we find St. Eloi, the celebrated worker in metals, manufacturing and embellishing two state-chairs of gold for Clotaire, and a throne of gold for Dagobert. The chair ascribed to St. Eloi, and known as the Fauteuil de Dagobert (Fig. 1), is an antique consular chair, which originally was only a folding one; the Abbé Suger, in the twelfth century, added to it the back and arms. Artistic display was equally lavished on the manufacture of tables. Historians tell us that St. Remy, a contemporary of Clovis, had a silver table decorated all over with sacred subjects. The poet Fortunat, Bishop of Poitiers, describes a table of the same metal, which had a border representing a vine with bunches of grapes.

Coming to the reign of Charlemagne, we find, in a passage in the writings of Eginhard, his minister and historian, that, in addition to a golden table which this great monarch possessed, he had three others of{4} chased silver; one decorated with designs representing the city of Rome, another Constantinople, and the third “all countries of the universe.”

The chairs or seats of the Romanesque period (Fig. 2) exhibit an attempt to revive in the interior of the buildings, where they were used, the architectural style of contemporary monuments. They were large and massive, and were raised on clusters of columns expanding at the back in three semicircular rows. The anonymous monk of Saint-Gall, in his chronicle written in the ninth century, alludes to a grand banquet, at which the host was seated on cushions of feathers. Legrand d’Aussy tells us, in his “Histoire de la Vie Privée des Français,” that at a later date—referring to the reign of Louis le Gros, in the beginning of the twelfth century—the guests were seated, at ordinary family repasts, on simple stools; but if the party was more of a ceremonious than intimate character, the table was surrounded with benches, or bancs, whence the term banquet is derived. The form of table was commonly long and straight, but on occasions of state it was semicircular, or like a horse-shoe in form, recalling the Romanesque round table of King Artus of Brittany (Fig. 3).{5}

The Crusades, bringing together men of all the countries of Europe with the people of the East, made those of the West acquainted with luxuries and customs which, on returning from their chivalrous expeditions, they did not fail to imitate. We find feasts at which they ate sitting cross-legged on the ground, or stretched out on carpets in the Oriental fashion, as represented and described in miniatures contained in the manuscripts of that period. The Sire de Joinville, the friend and historian of Louis IX., informs us that this saintly king was in the habit of sitting on a carpet, surrounded by his barons, and in that manner he dispensed justice; but at the same time the{6} practice of using large chaires, or arm-chairs, continued, for there still is to be seen a throne in massive wood belonging to that period, and called le banc de Monseigneur St. Louis, embellished with carvings representing fanciful and legendary birds and animals. It is unnecessary to add that the lower orders did not aspire to so much refinement. In their abodes the seats in use were settles, chests, or at best benches, the supports of which were, to a slight extent, carved.

This was the period when the practice commenced of covering seats with woollen stuffs, or with silk figured on frames, or embroidered by hand, displaying ciphers, emblems, or armorial bearings. From the East was introduced the custom of hangings for rooms, composed of glazed leather, stamped and gilt. These skins of the goat or sheep were called or basané, because plain gilt; or embossed leather, in gold colour, was made from them. Or basané was also used to conceal the bare look of arm-chairs. Towards the fourteenth century, tables of precious metals disappeared, in consequence of fashion ruling in favour of the stuffs which covered them; tapestry, tissues of gold, and velvets thenceforth formed the table-cloths. On great occasions, the place of the principal guests was distinguished by a canopy, more or less rich, erected above their seats, as represented in the account of the sumptuous feast given by King Charles V. to the Emperor Charles of Luxemburg, in the great hall of the palace. M. Fréguier thus describes the banquet from contemporary documents in the “Histoire de l’Administration de la Police de Paris:”—

“The dinner was served on a marble table. The Archbishop of Rheims, who had officiated that day, first took his place at table. The Emperor then sat down, then the King of France, and the King of Bohemia, the son of the Emperor. Above the seat of each of the three princes was a separate canopy of gold cloth, embroidered all over with fleurs-de-lis. These three canopies were surmounted by a larger one, also of cloth of gold, which covered the whole extent of the table, and was suspended behind the guests. After the King of Bohemia, three bishops took their place, but far removed from him, and near the end of the table. Under the nearest canopy the Dauphin was seated, at a separate table, with several princes or nobles of the Court of France, or of the Emperor. The hall was adorned with three buffets, or dressers, covered with gold and silver plate; these three dressers, as well as the two large canopies, were protected by a railing, to prevent the{7} intrusion of the crowds of people who had been permitted to witness the magnificence of the display. Finally, there were to be seen five other canopies, under which were assembled princes and barons round private tables; also numerous other tables.”

It is noteworthy that from the time of St. Louis these same chairs and seats, carved, covered with the richest stuffs, inlaid with precious stones, and engraved with the armorial bearings of great houses, issued for the most part from the workshops of Parisian artisans. Those artisans, carpenters, manufacturers of coffers and carved chests, and furniture-makers, were so celebrated for works of this description, that in inventories and appraisements of furniture great care was taken to specify that such and such articles among them were of Parisian manufacture; ex operagio Parisiensi (Fig. 4).

The following extract, from an invoice of Etienne La Fontaine, the royal silversmith, affords, in terms which require no comment, an idea of the costliness lavished on the manufacture of an arm-chair, then called faudesteuil, intended for the King of France, in 1352:—

“For making a fauteuil of silver and of crystal decorated with precious stones, delivered to the said seigneur, of which the said seigneur ordered the{8} said goldsmith to make the framework, who ornamented it with several crystals, illuminated pieces, many designs, pearls, and other stones.... VIIᶜ LXXIIIIᵐ (774 louis).

“For illuminated pieces placed under the crystals of the said fauteuil, of which there are 40 of the armorial bearings of France, 61 of the prophets holding scrolls, 112 half-length figures of animals on gold ground, and 4 large representations of the judgments of Solomon.... VIˣˣᵐ (620 louis).

“For twelve crystals for the said fauteuil, of which five are hollow to hold the bâtons, six flat, and one round,” &c.

It was only towards the commencement of the fifteenth century that chairs stuffed with straw or rushes first appeared; they folded in the form of the letter X (Fig. 5); the seats and arms being stuffed. In the sixteenth century chairs with backs (chaires or chayeres à dorseret), in carved oak or chestnut, painted and gilt, fell into disuse, even in the royal castles, as being too heavy and inconvenient, and on account of their enormous size (Figs. 6 and 7).

The dresser, which has just been described as used at the grand feast of Charles V., and which moreover has been retained, altered to a sideboard with shelves, almost to our time, was an article manufactured much less for use than for show. It was upon this dresser,—the introduction of which does not appear to go further back than the twelfth century, and the name whereof sufficiently describes its purpose,—that there was displayed, in the vast halls of manorial residences, not only all the valuable plate required for the table, but many other objects of goldsmith’s work which played no part in the banquet—vases of all sorts, statuettes, figures in high relief, jewels,{9}

and even reliquaries. In palaces and mansions, the dressers were of gold, silver, or copper gilt; as were previously the tables. Persons of inferior rank had only wooden tables, but they were scrupulous in covering them with tapestry, embroidered cloth, and fine table-cloths. At one time the display of wealth on the dressers in ecclesiastical establishments attained to such a point, that we are reminded, among other censures levelled against that fashionable exhibition of vanity, of the expostulations of Martial d’Auvergne, author of the historical poem, “Les Vigiles de Charles VII.,” addressed to the bishops on the subject. One item significant enough is mentioned in ancient documents; it is the tribute of half-a-dozen small bouquets, which{10} the inhabitants of Chaillot were bound to tender annually to the Abbey of Saint-German des Prés, to decorate the dressers of Messire the Abbot.

More plain, but also more useful, were the abace and the crédence, other kinds of sideboards which generally stood at a little distance from the table;{11} on one of these were placed the dishes and plates for removes, on the other the goblets, glasses, and cups. It may be added that the crédence, before it was introduced in the dining-halls, had from very remote times been used in churches, where it was placed near the altar to receive the sacred vessels during the sacrifice of mass.

Posidonius, the Stoic philosopher, who wrote about a hundred years before the Christian era, tells us that, at the feasts of the Gauls, a slave used to bring to table an earthenware, or a silver, jug filled with wine, from which every guest quaffed in turn, and allayed his thirst. We thus see the practice of using goblets of silver, as well as of earthenware, established among the Gauls at a period we consider primitive. In truth, those vessels of silver were probably not the productions of local industry, but the spoil which those martial tribes had acquired in their wars against more civilised nations. With regard to the vases of baked clay, the majority of those frequently exhumed from burial-grounds prove how coarse they were, though they seem to have been made with the help of the potter’s wheel, as among the Romans. However that may be, we think it best to omit the consideration of the question in this place, and to resume it in the chapter on the Ceramic Art. But we must not forget to notice the custom which prevailed among the earliest inhabitants of our country, of offering to those most renowned for their valour beverages in a horn of the urus, which was either gilt or ornamented with bands of gold or silver. The urus was a species of ox, now extinct, that existed in a wild state in the forests with which Gaul was then partly covered. This horn goblet long continued to be the emblem of the highest warlike dignity among the nations who succeeded the Gauls. William of Poitiers relates, in his “Histoire de Guillaume le Conquérant,” that towards the end of the eleventh century, this Duke of Normandy still drank out of the horn of a bull, when he held his full court at Fécamp.

Our ancient kings, whose tables were made of the most precious metals, failed not also to display rare magnificence in the plate that stood on those superb tables. Chroniclers relate, for example, that Chilperic, “on the pretext of doing honour to the people whom he governed, had a dish made of solid gold, ornamented all over with precious stones, and weighing fifty pounds;” and again, that Lothaire one day distributed among his soldiers the fragments of an enormous silver basin, on which was designed “the world, with the courses of the stars and the planets.” In the absence of any{12} authentic documents, it must be presumed that, in contrast to this regal style, or rather far removed therefrom, the rest of the nation scarcely used any other utensils but those of earthenware, or wood; or else of iron or copper.

Advancing in the course of centuries, and till the period when the progress of the ceramic art enabled its productions at length to rank among articles of luxury, we find gold and silver always preferred for dinner services; but marble, rock crystal, and glass appeared in turn, artistically worked in a thousand elegant or singular forms, as cups, ewers, large tumblers, goblets, &c. (Fig 8).

To the goblet, especially, seem to belong all honorary privileges in the etiquette of the table; for the goblet, a sort of large chalice on a thin stem, was more particularly regarded as an object of distinction by the guests, on account of the supposed antiquity of its origin. Thus we see represented among the presents given to the Abbey of St. Denis by the Emperor Charles the Bald, a goblet which is alleged to have belonged to Solomon, “which goblet was so marvellously wrought, that never (oncques) was there in all the kingdoms of the world a work so delicate (subtile).”

The goldsmiths, sculptors, and workers in copper had recourse to all the{13} devices of art and imagination to embellish goblets, ewers, and salt-cellars. We find allusions, in the recitals of chroniclers, the romances of chivalry, and especially in old invoices and inventories, to ewers representing men, roses, and dolphins; to goblets covered with flowers and animals; to salt-cellars in the form of dragons, &c.

Several large pieces of gold plate, discontinued at a later period, glittered then at grand banquets. Especially may be noted the portable fountains raised in the middle of the table, and from which, during the repast, flowed several sorts of beverages. Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, had one in the form of a fortress with towers, from the summit of which the figure of a woman poured out hippocras (spiced wine) from her bosom, and that of a child, which sprinkled perfumed water.

There were also plate-holders, well described by Du Cange as large dishes made to contain vessels, cups, knives; comfit-boxes, which have been replaced by our modern bonbonnières, and which formerly were valuable caskets chased and damaskeened; and lastly, almsboxes, a description of metal-urns, richly chased; these were placed before the guests in order that, according to an ancient custom, each might place therein some portions of meat, to be subsequently distributed to the poor.

If we glance at the other minor objects which completed the table-service—knives, spoons, forks, bottle-stands, plate-mats, &c.—we shall see that they no less indicate refinement and luxury. Forks, that now seem to us so indispensable, are mentioned for the first time in 1379, in an inventory of Charles V. They had only two prongs, or rather two long sharp points. As for knives, which, with spoons, had to supply the place of forks for the guests to eat with, their antiquity is undoubted. Posidonius, whom we have already quoted, says, when speaking of the Celts:—“They eat in a very slovenly manner, and seize with their hands, like lions with their claws, whole quarters of meat, which they tear in pieces with their teeth. If they find a tough morsel, they cut it with a small knife which they always carry in a sheath at their side.” Of what were these knives made? Our author does not tell us; but we may assume that they were of flint or of polished stone, like the hatchets and arrow-heads so frequently found where these ancient people dwelt, and which bear testimony to their industry.

In the thirteenth century mention is made of knives, under the name of{14} mensaculæ and artavi, which a little later were known by the word kenivet, from which evidently is derived canif. To complete this connection, we may remark that it is to be gathered, from a passage by the same author, that the blades of some knives of that period were made to slide into the handle by means of a spring, like our pocket-knives.

Spoons, which necessarily were used by all nations as soon as dishes more or less liquid were introduced, are described from the date of almost our earliest history. Accordingly, we see, in the “Life of St. Radegonde,” that that princess, who was constantly engaged in charitable acts, used a spoon for feeding the blind and the helpless whom she took under her care.

At a very remote period we find in use turquoises, or nut-crackers. Cruet-stands were, excepting in form, very similar to stands for two bottles; for they are thus described:—“A kind of double-necked bottle in divisions, in which to place two sorts of liquors without mixing them.” The plate-mats were our dessous de plat, made of wicker, wood, tin, or other metal.

The manufacture of the greater number of these articles, if intended for persons of rank, did not fail to engage the industry of artisans and the talent of artists. Spoons, forks, nut-crackers, cruet-stands, sauce-boats, &c., furnished inexhaustible subjects for embellishment and chasing; knife-handles, made of ivory, cedar-wood, gold, or silver, were also fashioned in the most varied forms. Until ceramic art introduced plates more or less costly, they naturally enough followed the shape of dishes, which in fact they are, on a small scale. But if the dishes were of enormous size, the plates were always very small.

If from the dining-room we pass to the kitchen, so as to form some idea of culinary utensils, we must admit that, anterior to the thirteenth century, the most circumstantial documents are all but silent on the subject. Nevertheless, some of the ancient poets and early romancers allude to those huge mechanical spits on which, at one and the same time, large joints of different kinds, entire sheep, or long rows of poultry and game, could be roasted. Moreover, we know that in palaces, and in the mansions of the nobility, copper cooking-utensils possessed real importance, because the care and maintenance of the copper-ware was entrusted to a person who bore the title of maignen, a name still given to the itinerant tinker. We also find that from the twelfth century there existed the corporation of braziers (dinans), who executed historical designs, in relievo, by the use of{15} the hammer in beating out and embossing copper,—designs that would bear comparison with the most elaborate works produced by the goldsmith’s art. Some of these artisans obtained such reputation that their names have descended to us. Jean d’Outremeuse, Jean Delamare, Gautier de Coux, Lambert Patras, were among those who conferred honour on the art of brazier’s work (dinanderie).

From the kitchen to the cellar the distance is usually but short. Our forefathers, who were large consumers, and in their way had a delicate appreciation, of the juice of the vine, understood how to store the barrels which contained their wines in deep and spacious vaults. The cooper’s art, when almost unknown in Italy and Spain, had existed for a long time in France, as is attested by a passage taken from the “Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions:”—“We see by the text of the Salic law that, when an estate changed hands, the new proprietor gave, in the first place, a feast, and the guests were bound to eat, in the presence of witnesses, a plate of boiled minced meat. It is remarked in the ‘Glossaire de Du Cange’ that, among the Saxons and Flemings, the word boden means a round table; because the peasantry used the bottom of a barrel as a table. Tacitus says that for the first meal of the day the Germans had each their own table; that is to say, apparently a full or empty barrel placed on end.”

A statute of Charlemagne alludes to bons barils (bonos barridos). These barrels were made by skilled coopers (Fig. 9), who gave all their care to form of staves, hooped either with wood or iron, the casks destined to hold the produce of the vintage. According to an old custom, still in vogue in the south of France, the inside of the wine-skin used to be painted with tar, in order to give a flavour to the wine; to us this would perhaps be nauseous, but at that time it was held in high favour. In alluding to wine-skins, or sewn skins coated with pitch, we may remark that they date from the earliest historic times. They are still employed in countries where wine is carried on pack-animals, and they were much used for journeys. If a traveller was going into a country where he expected to find nothing to drink, he would fasten a wine-skin on the crupper of his horse’s saddle, or, at least, would sling a small leather wine-skin across his shoulder. Etymologists even maintain that from the name of these light wine-skins, outres légères, was derived the old French word bouteille; that, first having been designated bouchiaux, and boutiaux, they finally were named bouties and{16} boutilles. When, in the thirteenth century, the Bishop of Amiens was setting out for the wars, the tanners of his episcopal town were bound to supply him with two leathern bouchiaux—one holding a hogshead, the other twenty-four setiers.

Some archæologists maintain that, when there had been a very abundant vintage, the wine was stored in brick-built cisterns, such as are still made in Normandy for cider; or that they were cut out of the solid rock, as we see them sometimes in the south of France; but it is more probable that these ancient cisterns, which are perhaps of an earlier date than the Middle Ages, were more especially intended for the process of fermentation—that is to say, for making wine, and not for storing it; which, indeed, under such unfavourable circumstances, would have been next to impossible.

What light did our ancestors use? History tells us that at first they used lamps with stands, and hanging lamps, in imitation of the Romans; which, however, must not lead us to the conclusion that, even in the remotest times of our annals, the use of fat and wax for such purposes was absolutely unknown. This fact is the less doubtful because, from the time when trade corporations were formed, we find the makers of candles and wax-chandlers{17}

of Paris governed by certain statutes. As for the lamps, which, as in ancient times, were on stands placed for this purpose in the houses, or were suspended by light chains (Figs. 10 and 11), they were made in accordance with the means of those for whom they were intended, and were of baked earth, iron, brass, and gold or silver, all more or less ornamented. Lamps and candlesticks are not unfrequently mentioned in the inventories of the Middle Ages. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, German artisans made torch-holders, flambeaux, and chandeliers in copper, wrought and embellished with representations of all kinds of natural or fantastic objects; and in those days these works of art were much in request. The use of lamps was all but general in the early days of the monarchy; but as the somewhat dim and smoky flame which they furnished did not give sufficient brilliancy to the entertainments and solemn assemblies held in the evening, it became an established custom to add to these lamps the light of resinous torches, which serfs held in their hands. The tragic episode of the Ballet des Ardents, as told by Froissart—which we shall hereafter relate in the chapter on Playing Cards—shows that this custom, which we already see{18} alluded to in Grégoire de Tours, our earliest historian, was in fashion until the reign of Charles VI.

In subjugating the East, the Romans assumed and brought back with them extreme notions of luxury and indolence. Previously their bedsteads were of planks, covered with straw, moss, or dried leaves. They borrowed from Asia those large carved bedsteads, gilt and plated with ivory, whereon were piled cushions of wool and feathers, with counterpanes of the most beautiful furs and of the richest materials.

These customs, like many others, were handed down from the Romans to the Gauls, and from the Gauls to the Franks. With the exception of bed-linen, which came into use much later, we find, from the time of our earliest kings, the various sleeping appliances nearly as they are now—the pillow (auriculare), the foot-coverlet (lorale), the counterpane (culcita), &c. No mention, however, is made of curtains (or courtines).

At a later period, while still retaining their primitive furniture, bedsteads vary in their shapes and dimensions: those of the poor and of the monks are narrow and homely; among kings and nobles they, in process of time, became veritable examples of the joiner’s work, and only to be reached by the aid of stools, or even steps (Fig. 12). The guest at a château could not receive any greater honour than to occupy the same bed as the lord of the manor; and the dogs by whom the seigneurs—all great sportsmen—were constantly surrounded had the privilege of reposing where their masters slept. Hence we recognise the object of these gigantic bedsteads, which were sometimes twelve feet in width. If we are to believe the chronicles, the pillows were perfumed with essences and odoriferous waters; this we can understand to have been by no means a useless precaution. We see, in the sixteenth century, Francis I. testifying his great regard for Admiral Bonnivet by occasionally admitting him to share his bed.

Having completed our review of furniture, properly so called, we have now to treat of that which may be termed highly artistic articles of furniture—that is, those on which the workers in wood exercised their highest talents—elevated seats of honour, chairs and arm-chairs, benches and trestles; all of which were frequently ornamented with figures in relief, very elaborately sculptured with a knife (canivet); the bahuts, a kind of chest with either a flat or convex top, resting on feet, and opening on the upper side, whereon were placed stuffed leather cushions (Fig. 13); tubs, buffets,{19}

presses, coffers both large and small, chess-boards, dice-tables, comb-boxes, which have been superseded by our dressing-cases, &c. Many specimens of these various kinds of furniture have descended to our time; and they prove to what a degree of perfection and of elaborate finish the art of cabinet-making and of inlaying had attained in the Middle Ages. Elegance and originality of design in inlaid metals, jasper, mother-of-pearl, ivory; carving, various kinds of veneering, and of stained woods, are all found combined in this description of furniture; some of which was ornamented{20} with extreme delicacy of taste (Plate I.), and still remains inimitable, if not in all the details of execution, at least in rich and harmonious effect.

At the time of the Renaissance, cabinets with numerous drawers and in several compartments were introduced: these were known in Germany by the name of artistic cabinets (armoires artistiques): the sole object of the maker was to combine in one piece of furniture, under the pretext of utility, all the fascination and gorgeous caprices of decorative art.

To the Germans must be awarded the merit of having been the first to distinguish themselves in the manufacture of these magnificent cabinets, or presses; but they soon found rivals in both the French (Fig. 14) and Italians (Fig. 15), who proved themselves equally skilful and ingenious in the execution of this kind of manufacture.

The art of working in iron, which can legitimately rank as one of the most notable industries of the Middle Ages, soon came to lend its aid to that of cabinet-making, both in embellishing and giving solidity to its chefs-d’œuvre. The ornamentation of cabinets and coffers was remarkable for the good taste and the high finish displayed in them.

{21}

In the hands of skilful artisans, of unknown artists dating from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, iron seemed to assume great ductility—indeed, we might say unprecedented submission. Observe, in the gratings of courtyards, in the iron-work of gates, how those lines are interlaced, how attractive are those designs, how those wrought stems are delicately lengthened out, at once strong but light, and finally how they expand with natural grace into leaves, fruits, and symbolic figures.

Moreover, the workers in metal did not confine themselves to the application of iron on articles already prepared and manufactured by other artisans; they had also to originate and execute, to ornament caskets and reliquaries: but their special art was to manufacture bolts (Fig. 16), locks, and keys;{22} examples of this kind of ancient work will always be admired. “Locks,” says M. Jules Labarte, “were at that time carried to such a degree of perfection, that they were considered as veritable objects of art; they were carried from place to place, as would have been done with any other valuable article of furniture. Nothing could be more artistic than the figures in high relief, the armorial bearings, the letterings, the ornaments and the engravings which embellished that portion of the key which the fingers grasp (Fig. 17), and for which we have substituted a common ring.”

Glass and glazing claim particular notice. It may be said that glass was known in the remotest ages, for Phœnicia and ancient Egypt were, in the time of Moses, renowned for their innumerable productions in vitrified sand. In Rome they cast, cut, and engraved glass—they even worked it with the hammer, if we are to believe Suetonius, who relates that a certain artist had discovered the secret of making glass malleable. This industrial art, which extended and improved under the emperors, found its way to Byzantium, where it flourished during several centuries; until Venice, claiming as she then did a prominent position in the history of the arts, imported the process of the Byzantine method of making glass, and in her turn excelled in this manufacture. Although articles in glass and crystal, painted, enamelled,{23} and engraved, are frequently alluded to in historical and poetical narratives, and also in the inventories of the Middle Ages, we know they were all the result of Greek or Venetian manufacture. In this art France especially seems to have been somewhat late in taking her first artistic step; such

objects as were manufactured for the use of the rich never passed beyond the limits of the rudest art. We should, however, observe that France must have long been acquainted with the art of glazing, for in the middle of the seventh century we find St. Benoît—called Biscop, who built so many churches and convents in England—coming to France in search of workmen for the purpose of glazing the church and the cloisters of his abbey at{24} Canterbury. And it is also mentioned in the chronicles of the Venerable Bede, that the French taught their art to the English glaziers.

Towards the fourteenth century the windows of even the commonest houses were generally glazed; at that date glass manufactories were found in operation everywhere; and although they may not have rivalled in a remarkable degree their predecessors of the Merovingian period, they nevertheless made in large quantities all kinds of articles ordinarily in use, as we can judge by the terms of a charter, dated 1338, by which one Guionnet, in order to have the privilege of establishing a glass factory in the forest of Chambarant, was bound to furnish as an annual due to his seigneur, Humbert, Dauphin of Viennois, one hundred dozen glasses in the shape of a bell, twelve dozen small shallow glasses, twenty dozen goblets, twelve dozen amphoræ, twenty dozen lamps, six dozen candlesticks, one dozen large cups, one large stand (or nef), six dozen dishes without borders, twelve dozen jars, &c.

We have alluded to Venice and the celebrity she attained in the art of working glass. It was especially for the manufacture of mirrors and looking-glasses that this large and industrious city made herself renowned over all the world. If we are to believe Pliny, the Romans purchased their glass mirrors at Sidon, in Phœnicia, where, in the remotest ages, they had been invented. At this time were these mirrors silvered? We must believe that they were, for a plate of glass, without quicksilvering, could never be anything than glass more or less transparent, and would permit of the light passing through, without reflecting objects. But Pliny asserts nothing of the kind; and, moreover, as the practice of using mirrors of polished metal, which was taken from the Romans, was for a long time maintained among modern nations, we may conclude either that the invention of glass mirrors was not a great success, or that the secret of making them was lost. In the thirteenth century an English monk wrote a treatise on optics, in which allusion is made to mirrors lined with lead. Nevertheless, mirrors of silver continued in use among the rich, and of iron and polished steel by the poorer classes, till the time when glass became less expensive, and Venetian looking-glasses were introduced, or cleverly imitated, in all European countries; metal mirrors, which easily became dim, and did not give the natural colour to reflected objects, were then discontinued. At the same time, the elegant shape of the ancient hand-mirrors was retained, the workers in gold and silver still continuing to encircle them with most{25} graceful designs; the only difference being that the surface of polished steel or silver was replaced by a thick and bright piece of Venetian glass, sometimes ornamented with reflected designs produced in the coating of quicksilver (Fig. 18).

From all these details, the reader will have the gratification of ascertaining at a glance the general effect of furniture in use for domestic purposes; and thus, after the analysis, he will have its opposite. Fig. 19, a reproduction, taken from the “Dictionnaire du Mobilier Français,” by M. Viollet-le-Duc,{26}

{27}

represents a dwelling-room of a rich nobleman in the fourteenth century. What we now designate as a bedroom, and which was then called simply cambre or chambre, contained, besides the bed—which was very large—a variety of other furniture in use for the ordinary requirements of daily life; for the time that was not given to business, to out-door amusements, to state receptions, and to meals, was passed, both by nobles and citizens, in this room. In the fourteenth century requirements for comfort had developed themselves in a remarkable degree in France. To be convinced of this, we have only to glance at the inventories, to read the romances and narratives of the day, and to study with some little care the mansions and houses erected in the reign of Charles V. A huge chimney admitted many persons to the fireside. Near the hearth was placed the chaire (seat of honour) of the master or of the mistress. The bed, which usually stood in a corner, surrounded by thick curtains, was effectually screened, and formed what was then called a clotet; that is, a sort of small room enclosed by tapestry. Near the windows were bancals, or benches with backs covered with drapery, on which persons could sit and talk, read, or work, while enjoying the view. A dresser was ranged along one side of the room, and on its shelves were placed pieces of valuable plate, dishes for comfits, and flower-vases. Small stools, arm-chairs, and, especially, numerous cushions were placed here and there in the room. Flemish carpets, and those which were called sarrasinois, covered the floor; this was composed of enamelled tiles; or, in the northern provinces, of thick squares of polished oak. These large, lofty, wainscoted rooms always communicated with private staircases, through dressing-rooms and wardrobes in which were located the domestics in immediate attendance.

Let us now pass from domestic furniture to that used for ecclesiastical purposes. We now leave the palaces of kings, the mansions of nobles, and the dwellings of the rich, and enter the buildings consecrated to worship.

We know that in the early ages of Christianity religious ceremonies were characterised by the greatest simplicity, and that the buildings in which the faithful were wont to assemble were for the most part devoid of any kind of decoration. By degrees, however, rich display entered into churches, and pomp accompanied the exercise of religious worship, especially at the period when Constantine the Great put an end to the era of persecutions{28} and proclaimed himself the protector of the new faith. It is related that among the rich presents which this emperor distributed throughout the Christian temples in Rome, were a golden cross weighing two hundred pounds, patens of the same metal, lamps representing animals, &c. At a later period, in the seventh century, St. Eloi, who was a celebrated goldsmith before he became Bishop of Noyon, gave his whole mind and talents to the manufacture of church ornaments. He enlisted from among the monks of the various monasteries that were subject to his episcopal authority, all those whom he fancied had an aptitude for these works of art; he instructed and directed them himself, and made them excellent artists; he transformed entire monasteries into gold and silver-smiths’ workshops; and numerous remarkable works increased the splendour of the Merovingian basilicas; such, for example, were the shrine of St. Martin of Tours, and the tomb of St. Denis, the marble roof of which was profusely ornamented with gold and precious stones. “The bounty of Charlemagne,” says M. Charles Louandre, “added new riches to the immense wealth already accumulated in the churches. Mosaics, sculpture, the rarest kinds of marble, were lavished on those basilicas for which the emperor evinced partiality; but all these treasures were dispersed by the Norman invasions. From the ninth to the eleventh centuries it would seem that, with the exception of a few shrines and crosses, objects employed for ecclesiastical purposes were not enriched by the addition of anything note-worthy; at any rate, the works of that period and those of anterior date have not been handed down to us, if we except some rare fragments. The reason is, that, independently of the constant causes of destruction, the furniture of churches was renewed towards the end of the eleventh century, when the edifices themselves were rebuilt; and it is only from the date of this mystical Renaissance that we begin to find in the texts precise indications, and in museums or temples perfectly preserved monuments.”

Ecclesiastical appendages include altars, altar-screens, the pulpit, monstrances, chalices, incense-burners, candlesticks or lamps, shrines, reliquaries, basins for containing holy water, and some other objects of lesser relative importance, as crosses, bells, and banner-poles. To these we may add votive offerings, which were generally either of gold or silver.

In the infancy of religious worship the altar took two distinct shapes; sometimes the form of a table, with a top of stone, wood, or metal sup{29}ported by legs or by columns; sometimes it resembled an ancient tomb, or a long coffer, narrowed at the base, and surmounted by a similar covering, which invariably formed the upper portion, or the table, of the altar.

In addition to altars, more or less monumental, which were fixtures in the churches, and which, from the earliest period, were placed under ciboria (a kind of dais or canopy supported by columns), small portable altars were employed, in order to meet the requirements of the service. They were intended to accompany the bishops, or the ordinary clergy, who had to preach the faith in countries where no churches existed. These altars, which were alluded to when the Christian religion had made but slight progress, were no longer seen after it became general; but we again find them at the time of the Crusades, when pious pilgrims, who journeyed from place to place preaching the Gospel, were obliged to say mass in fields and public places, where the faithful assembled to hear them, and to “take up the cross.” M. Jules Labarte gives the following summary description of a portable altar of the twelfth century:—“It consists of a slab of lumachella marble, set in a box of gilt copper, 36 centimètres in height by 27 in width, and 3 in thickness. The top of the box is cut in such a manner as to leave uncovered the stone on which the chalice was placed during the celebration of mass.”

Throughout all the periods of the Middle Ages, the ardent faith of which seemed to consider sufficient honour could never be rendered to the real presence of God in the holy sacrifice, the ornamentation of the altar was everywhere looked upon as an object of the most extraordinary pomp and of the most elevated artistic taste. Among the marvels of this kind we must name, as occupying a leading place, the gold altar of St. Ambrose, in Milan, which dates from 835, and those of the cathedrals of Basle and Pistoia, which belong to the eleventh and twelfth centuries. These gold altars, wrought with the hammer, were chased and sometimes enamelled, and in addition to remarkably well executed designs in carved work, taken from religious books, they usually also had on them portraits of the donors.

The altars and tabernacles were executed with an equal amount of art and costliness; and from the earliest period of the fabrication or the importation of carpets, embroideries, and gold and silver fabrics, we see them employed for the purpose of covering, adorning, and of rendering more{30} striking and imposing the altar and its accessories, to which the name of chancel was given (Fig. 20).

The chalice and the altar-vessels, which date from the very cradle of Christian worship, since without these sacred vases the fundamental services of the religion of Jesus Christ could not have been performed, perhaps owe it to this exceptional fact that they are not spoken of before the eleventh century (Fig. 21). In truth, nowhere do we find an indication of their ordinary shape, nor of the mode of their manufacture in early times; but it is reasonable to suppose that the chalice originally was identical, as it was in times approaching nearer to our own, with the goblet of the ancients; or perhaps, to define it more particularly, was the well-known hanap (drinking-cup), the earliest type of which tradition endeavours to trace to so early a date. At a later period, and until the time when the artists of the Renaissance period were called upon to remodel sacred ornaments, and they transformed them into marvels of art on which were lavished all the resources of casting, chasing, and glyptic, we observe that chalices continued to be manufactured with the greatest care, adorned with exquisite elegance, and enriched with all the brilliancy that art can give them.

All that can be said regarding the chalice applies equally to the monstrances and the pyxes employed to contain and to exhibit the consecrated{31} wafers, as also to the censers, which originated in the Jewish form of worship, and which, in accordance with the successive epochs of Christianity, affected different mystical and symbolic shapes (Fig. 22). Of these M. Didron gives the following description:—“They were first formed of two open-work spheroids, in cast and chased copper, ornamented with figures of animals and inscriptions.” Originally they were suspended by three chains, which, according to tradition, signified “the union of the body, the soul, and the divinity in Christ.” At another period the censers represented, in miniature, churches and chapels with pointed arches. Again, at the Renaissance, they took the form of that now in use.

From the first, the lighting of churches was, to a certain extent, carried out on much the same principle as that employed in princely abodes and important mansions. Fixed or movable lamps were used; also wax candles in chandeliers, for the ornamentation of which pious donors and pious artisans, the former paying the latter, vied with each other in skill and liberality. We may here observe that even in the early days of Christianity, numerous candlesticks were generally employed both by day and by night. The candlesticks on the altar represented the apostles surrounding Christ; thus their number ought to be twelve. Placed around the dead, they sig{32}nified that the Christian finds light beyond the grave. To the faithful they typified the day which shines brightly in celestial Jerusalem.

The worship of relics, established in the early days of the Church, subsequently led to the introduction of shrines and reliquaries, a kind of portable tomb which the disciples of the Gospel devoted to the memory, and in honour, of martyrs and confessors of the faith. Thus from the first, in collecting these holy relics, to which the faithful attached every kind of miraculous powers, they dedicated what, according to ecclesiastical writers, had been the temple of the living God, a gorgeous sanctuary, worthy of so many virtues and miracles. Hence the introduction of shrines into churches, and reliquaries into private houses.

Owing to the care bestowed on some of these by St. Eloi, from the seventh century, they had become real marvels of intrinsic richness and artistic finish. Nevertheless we are unacquainted with the shape which, in accordance with the Christian liturgy, was originally given to the shrines and reliquaries, although the Latin word capsa, from which the word châsse (shrine) is derived, conveys the idea of a kind of box or coffer. Indeed this shape was retained for a long time by the whole of Christendom; but the{33} majority of shrines in gold and silver work which do not date further back than the eleventh or twelfth century represent tombs, chapels, and even cathedrals. This symbolic shape continued in use to the time of the Renaissance, but with successive modifications suggested by the architectural style of each period. We thus see there was no precious material or delicate workmanship which was not employed to contribute in making the shrines and reliquaries more magnificent. Gold, silver, rare marbles, precious stones, were lavished on their construction; the chaser and enameller embellished with figures and emblems, with incidents taken from Holy Writ and from the lives of saints, the shrines in which are deposited their remains.

We know that in the early days of Christianity the rite of baptism was performed by immersion in rivers or in fountains, but at a period nearer to our own time, basins or vessels of various dimensions were placed in a small detached edifice, by the side of the church; into these the neophytes were{34} plunged when receiving the first sacrament. These baptistries disappeared as soon as the practice of sprinkling holy water on the forehead of the catechumen was definitely substituted for that of immersion. Baptismal fonts then became what they now are, that is, a kind of small erection above the level of the floor—piscinas, shells (vasques), or basins, recalling to our minds, though on a reduced scale, the primitive baptistries. They were placed inside the church, either near the entrance, or in one of the side-chapels. At various periods they were made of stone, marble, or bronze; and were ornamented with subjects relating to the rite of baptism. It was the same with the holy-water basins, which, according to ancient custom, were placed at the entrance to the church, and generally assumed the form of a shell, or of a large amphora, when not made simply of a hollowed stone to recall the ancient baptismal vessels.

We must not overlook the altar and procession-crosses, which, as being typical of the divine emblem of the Christian faith, could not fail to become real objects of art even from the time of the catacombs. It would be needless repetition to enumerate here the different materials used in the manufacture of crosses, the various shapes that were given to them, according to the purpose for which they were intended, and the subjects and figures they represented. The sculptor, the modeller, the chaser, the enameller, and even the painter, were associated with the goldsmith in producing most{35} exquisite works of this kind. The art of the wood-carver and that of the worker in iron, which we have seen executing such marvels for household furniture, could not fail to find scope in the manufacture of objects used for religious purposes. It was especially in making pulpits, ornamental screens, wainscoting, and stalls, that the art of the wood-carver became renowned; he was no longer simply an artisan, but became an artist of the highest order. In the ornamentation of railings of choirs and tombs, the iron-work on doors, of bolts, locks, and keys, the remarkable talent of the locksmiths of the Middle Ages was displayed. Let us here remark, that in the early days of worship the pulpit was simply a kind of stool on which the preacher stood in order that his congregation might see him. By degrees the pulpit was raised on supports or columns; and later again, but only towards the end of the fifteenth century, we find it fixed at a great height against one of the central pillars of the church, and usually magnificently carved, as was also the dais, and the sounding-board by which it was surmounted.

To form an idea of the degree of perfection attained in wood-carving from the thirteenth to the fourteenth century, we ought to inspect the stalls of St. Justine, at Padua, those of the cathedrals of Milan and Ulm, the church of Aosta (Figs. 23 and 24), &c., and the stalls of the churches of Rodez, Albi, Amiens, Toulouse, and Rouen (Fig. 25). And if we would examine a very ancient example of the art attained by workers in iron, we have but to notice the hinges, dating from the thirteenth century, which stretch, in arabesque designs, over the panels of the western door of Notre-Dame, Paris.

{36} 

{37} 

F there is an art which bears brilliant testimony to the industry and ingenuity of mankind in the remotest ages, undoubtedly it is that of weaving, or of embroidering tapestry; for, however far back we trace the annals of nations, we find this art flourishing and producing marvels of workmanship.

Let us first open the Bible, the oldest of all historical documents; we read therein of woven fabrics, not only worked on the loom, but also made by hand, that is, richly embroidered in needlework on linen or canvas. These magnificent fabrics, which were laboriously and minutely executed, represented all kinds of designs in relief and in colours; they were used as decorations for the holy temple, and as ornamental garments for the priests who performed the religious ceremonies. Indubitable proof of this is the description, in the book of Exodus, of the curtains surrounding the tabernacle. Some of these embroideries, in the manufacture of which gold and silver thread, combined with dyed wools and silk, was used, were named opus plumarii (work in imitation of bird’s plumage); others—such, for example, as the veil of the Holy of Holies, which represented cherubim in the act of adoration—were called opus artificis (work of the artisan), because they were made by the weaver on the loom; and, with the aid of numerous shuttles, the woof of wools and silks of various hues was introduced.

In the traditions of the magnificent city of Babylon we also find figured{38} tapestry delineating the mysteries of religion, and handing down to us the recollection of historical incidents. “The palace of the kings of Babylon,” says Philostratus, in the “Life of Apollonius of Tyana,” “was ornamented with tapestries in gold and silver tissues, which recorded the Grecian fables of Andromeda, of Orpheus, &c.” The Greek poet Apollonius of Rhodes, who wrote a century before our era, relates in his poem of “The Argonauts” that the women of Babylon excelled in the execution of these gorgeous textures. The famous tapestries which were sold in the time of Metellus Scipio for 800,000 sesterces (about 165,000 francs), and a hundred years later were purchased for the exorbitant sum of two million sesterces (about 412,000 francs) by Nero, to place on his festive couches, were of Babylonian workmanship.

Ancient Egypt, which would seem to have been the early cradle of an advanced civilisation, was also renowned for this marvellous art, the invention of which the Greeks attributed to Minerva, and to which allusion is frequently made in their mythology. Penelope’s web, whereon were delineated the exploits of Ulysses, has remained the most celebrated among them all. It was on a similar web that Philomela, in her prison, illustrated in embroidery the narrative of her misfortunes, after Tereus had cut out her tongue, to prevent her telling her sister Progne the outrage she had suffered at his hands.

Throughout the poems of Homer we find embroidery of this kind either mentioned, or described as made with the needle or loom, and intended for decorative drapery, or as garments for men and women. During the siege of Troy, Helen embroidered, upon a fine tissue, the sanguinary combats of the heroes who were destroying each other for her sake. The cloak of Ulysses represents a dog pulling down a fawn, &c.

The custom of embroidering such scenes as combats and hunting-incidents seems to have lasted during a long time. According to Herodotus, certain races bordering on the Caspian Sea were accustomed to have figures of animals, flowers, and landscapes delineated on their garments. This custom is mentioned among the pagans by Philostratus, and among Christians by Clement of Alexandria. Pliny, the naturalist, who lived in the first century of our era, also alludes to it on several occasions in his works. Three hundred years later, Amasius, Bishop of Amasia, deplores the folly which “set a great value on this art of weaving, a vain and useless art, which by{39} the combination of the warp and woof imitates painting.” “When persons thus dressed appear in the street,” adds the pious bishop, “the passers-by look at them as walking pictures, and the children point at them with their finger. We see lions, panthers, bears, rocks, woods, hunters; the religiously inclined have Christ, his disciples, and his miracles figured on their garments. Here we see the wedding of Cana, and the pitchers of water turned into wine; there we have the paralytic carrying his bed, or the sinner at the feet of Jesus, or Lazarus being raised from the dead.”

We have only to look into the works of the writers of the time of Augustus to learn that the halls in the houses of the wealthy were always hung with tapestry; and that the tables, or rather the beds, upon which the guests were seated, were covered with carpets.

The Attalian carpets, which were thus named because they came from the inheritance bequeathed to the Roman people by Attalus, King of Pergamos, were indescribably magnificent. Cicero, who was a connoisseur in such matters, speaks of them with enthusiasm in his works.

Under Theodosius I., that is to say, at the time of the decline of the great empire which was soon to break up and be separated, and at last to merge into new nationalities, a contemporaneous historian shows us “the youth of Rome engaged in making tapestry-work.”

In the early period of French history, this ingenious and delicate work would seem to have been mainly carried on by women, and especially by those of the highest rank. At any rate it is a fact that rich tapestries were in common use, both in private houses and for ecclesiastical purposes, as early as the sixth century; for Gregory of Tours does not fail to tell us of the embroidered hangings, and also of the tapestry, in most of the ceremonies which he describes. When King Clovis renounced paganism and asked to be baptised, “this intelligence was the greatest joy to the bishop; he orders the sacred fonts to be prepared; the streets overhung with painted cloths; the churches ornamented with hangings.” When the abbey-church of St. Denis had to be consecrated, “its walls are covered with tapestry embroidered in gold and ornamented with pearls.” These tapestries were for a long time preserved in the abbey-treasury. Subsequently, this same treasury received, as a present from Queen Adelaide, the wife of Hugh Capet, “a chasuble, a valance, as also some hangings, worked by her own hand;” and Doublet, the historian of this ancient abbey, states that Queen Bertha{40} (the same whom the old French proverb makes an indefatigable worker with her needle) embroidered on canvas a series of historical subjects, depicting the glorious deeds of the family.

Nevertheless, there is no written authority for asserting that in France the manufacture of tapestries and hangings worked on the loom can be traced beyond the ninth century; but at this period, and a little later, we find some documents which are as precise as they are curious—proving that this industry, the principal object of which, at that period, was the ornamentation of churches, had to a certain extent obtained a footing, and was flourishing in religious establishments. The ancient chronicles of Auxerre relate that St. Anthelm, the bishop of that city, who died in 828, caused to be made, under his own directions, numerous rich carpets for the choir of his church.

One hundred years later we find a regular manufactory established at the monastery of St. Florent, at Saumur. “In the time of the abbot Robert III.,” says the historian of this monastery, “the vestry (fabrique) of the cloister was further enriched by magnificent paintings and pieces of sculpture, accompanied by legends in verse. The above-mentioned abbot, who was passionately devoted to similar works, sought for and purchased a considerable quantity of magnificent ornaments, such as large dorserets[1] in wool, curtains, canopies, hangings, bench-covers, and other ornaments, embroidered with various devices. Among other objects, he caused to be made two pieces of tapestry of large size and of admirable quality, representing elephants; and these two pieces were joined together with a rare kind of silk, by hired workers in tapestry. He also ordered two dorserets in wool to be manufactured. It happened that, during the time one of these was being completed, the above-mentioned abbot went to France. The ecclesiastic left in charge took advantage of his absence to forbid the artisans to work the woof according to the customary method. ‘Well,’ said they, ‘in the absence of our good abbot we will not discontinue our employment; but as you thwart us we shall make quite a different kind of fabric.’ And this now admits of proof. They made several square carpets, representing silver lions upon a field of gules (red), with a white border covered with scarlet animals and birds. This unique piece of workmanship was looked upon as a perfect specimen of this kind of fabric, until the time of the abbot William, when{41} it was considered the most remarkable piece of tapestry belonging to the monastery. In fact, on the occasions of great solemnities the abbot had the elephant tapestry displayed, and one of the priors showed that on which were the lions.”

From the ninth or tenth century there was also a manufactory at Poitiers; and its fabrics, on which figured kings, emperors, and saints, were of European celebrity, as appears to be attested, among other documents, by a remarkable correspondence which took place, in 1025, between an Italian bishop, named Léon, and William IV., Count of Poitou. To understand rightly this correspondence, it must be borne in mind that at the time Poitou was as famous for its mules as for tapestry. In one of his letters, the bishop begs the count to send him a mule and a piece of tapestry, both equally marvellous (mirabiles), and for which he has been asking six years. He promises to pay whatever they may cost. The count, who must have had a facetious disposition, replied, “I cannot, at present, send you what you ask, because for a mule to merit the epithet of marvellous, he would require to have horns, and three tails, or five legs—and this I should not be able to find in our country. I shall therefore content myself with sending you one of the best I can procure. As to the tapestry, I have forgotten the dimensions you desire. Let me have these particulars again, and it will then soon be sent to you.”

But this costly industry was not limited to the French provinces. In the “Chronique des Ducs de Normandie,” written by Dudon, in the eleventh century, it is stated that the English were clever workers in this art; and when designating some magnificent embroidery, or rich tapestry, it was described as of English work (opus Anglicanum). Moreover, the same chronicle relates that the wife of Richard I.,[2] the Duchess Gonnor, assisted by her embroiderers, made hangings of linen and of silk, embellished with images and figures representing the Virgin Mary and the Saints, to decorate the church of Notre Dame, Rouen.

The East, also, which from the earliest times had been renowned for the art of producing beautiful embroidered fabrics, became still more famous during the Middle Ages for those of wool and silk, embroidered with silver and gold. It was from the East were brought the rich stuffs covered all{42} over with emblazonments, and with figures of animals, and probably also embroidered in open-work: these fabrics were called étoffes sculptées, or pleines d’yeux.

The librarian Anastasius, in his book the “Lives of the Popes,” which undoubtedly was written before the eleventh century, gives, when describing church decorations, some curious and circumstantial details regarding the subject we are now discussing. According to him, as early as the time of Charlemagne (eighth century), Pope Leo III. “had a veil made of purple worked in gold, on which was the history of the Nativity and of Simon, having in the centre the Annunciation of the Virgin.” This was to ornament the principal altar of the Holy Mother of God, at Rome. He also ordered for the altar of the church of St. Laurence, “a veil of silk worked in gold, having on it the histories of the Passion of our Saviour and of the Resurrection.” He placed on the altar of St. Peter’s “a veil of purple of a remarkable size, worked in gold and ornamented with precious stones; on one side was seen our Saviour giving St. Peter the power to bind and to loose, on the other the Passion of St. Peter and St. Paul.” In the same book, several other pieces of tapestry are described in such terms that it seems difficult to realise the richness and the beauty of finish of these artistically-worked fabrics, which for the most part came from Asia or Egypt. It was only in the twelfth century, after the return from the first crusades had enabled Western nations to admire and to appropriate to themselves luxuries quite new to them, that the custom of using tapestry, while becoming far more general in churches, found its way also into private dwellings. If, in the cloisters, the monks, in order to find employment, lavished their utmost care on the weaving of wool and of silk, there was the more reason why this occupation should prove pleasing to the noble châtelaines who were confined to their feudal castles. It was then, when surrounded by their tire-women, as in earlier times were the Roman matrons by their slaves, that these fair dames, while listening to the reading of tales of chivalry which deeply interested them, or inspired by a profound faith, gave themselves to the task of reproducing with the needle either the pious legends of the saints or the glorious exploits of warriors. The bare walls, when thus draped with touching incidents or warlike memorials, assumed a peculiar eloquence which doubtless inspired the mind with grand visions, and aroused noble sentiments in the heart.{43}

Among the finest specimens of this kind is one which, owing to its really exquisite character, has escaped what would have seemed inevitable destruction. We allude to the famous Bayeux tapestry called “de la Reine Mathilde” (of the wife of William the Conqueror). This work represents the conquest of England by the Normans. If we are to accept the ancient traditions to which it owes its name, it must date from the last half of the eleventh century.

In these days we may be permitted to doubt, in consequence of the many discussions that have taken place among the learned, if this embroidery is as ancient as was at one time supposed. And although we first find it alluded to in an inventory (prepared in 1476) of the treasury of Bayeux Cathedral, we may venture, with a certain degree of confidence, to believe that it was made in the twelfth century by Englishwomen, who at that time were particularly famous for their needlework; an opinion confirmed by more than one author contemporaneous with William and Matilda.

This tapestry, which is 19 inches in height, by nearly 212 feet in length, is a piece of brown linen, on which are embroidered with the needle, in wool of different colours (and these seem to have lost none of their early freshness), a series of seventy-two groups or subjects, with legends in Latin interspersed with Saxon, embracing the whole history of the Conquest, as related by the chroniclers of the period (Figs. 27 and 28).

At the first glance, this embroidery may seem to be but a rudely executed grouping of figures and animals; nevertheless there is character throughout, and the original outline, discoverable beneath the intersections of the wool, is not wanting in a certain accuracy that brings to our mind the vigorous simplicity of the Byzantine style. The decoration of the double border, between which is delineated a drama wherein 530 figures are introduced, is the same as those of the paintings in manuscripts of the Middle Ages. And, in short, failing any exact proof, if we are determined not to deprive this immense work of its traditional antiquity, it might, with much probability, be attributed to a female embroiderer of Queen Matilda, named Leviet, whose skill has rescued her name from oblivion. It may also be well to observe that at the time it is first alluded to in history, this tapestry is found belonging to the very church in which Matilda desired to be buried.

We have already seen (in the chapter on Furniture) that towards the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, under the influence of Eastern habits and{44}

customs, the practice of sitting on carpets was established at the court of our kings. From this date rich tapestries were frequently used for making tents for campaigning or for hunting. They were displayed on festive occasions; as, for instance, when princes were entering a town, the object being to hide the bare walls. The dining-halls were hung with magnificent tapestries,{45} giving additional splendour to the interludes (entremets, or intermèdes) performed during the repast. The champions in the lists saw glittering around them, suspended from the galleries, fabrics on which heroic deeds were embroidered. Lastly, the caparison of the charger (the war-horse’s garb of honour) displayed its brilliant emblazonings to the eyes of admiring crowds.

It was moreover the custom that the tapestries made for noblemen should bear their respective armorial devices, the object being, no doubt, that it might be known to whom they belonged when used on the occasion of the entry of royal and other distinguished personages in solemn processions; and also at jousts and tournaments.

In the fourteenth century the manufactories of Flanders, which were of considerable reputation even about the twelfth century, made great advance, and the success of the Arras tapestries became so general that the most{46} handsome hangings were called Arras tapestry, although the greater part of them did not come from that city. It may here be noticed that the term Arrazi is, in Italy, still synonymous with valuable tapestry (Fig. 29).

These fabrics were generally worked in wool, and sometimes in flax and linen: but at the same period Florence and Venice, which had imported this industry from the East, wove tapestries wherein gold and silk were blended.

An inventory, dated 21st January, 1379, contained in a manuscript now in the “Bibliothèque Impériale,”—in which are enumerated “all the jewels in gold and silver, all the rooms with embroidery and tapestries belonging to Charles V.,”—gives us an idea not only of the multiplicity of hangings and tapestries that appertained to the personal property of royalty, especially at the Hôtel Saint-Pol, but it also shows us the variety

{47}

of subjects therein represented. A few of these pieces of tapestry are still preserved, but among some which have been destroyed or lost we may mention those representing the Passion of our Saviour, the Life of St. Denis, the Life of St. Theseus, and that entitled Goodness and Beauty—all these were of large dimensions. Then again, the tapestry of the Seven Mortal Sins, two pieces of the Nine Bold Knights, that of the ladies hunting and flying (qui volent), in other words, hawking; that of the Wild Men; two of Godfrey de Bouillon; a white tapestry for a chapel, in the centre of which was seen “a compass with a rose,” emblazoned with the arms of France and of Dauphiny, this was three yards square; one large handsome piece of tapestry, “the king has bought, which is worked with gold, representing the Seven Sciences and St. Augustin;” the tapestry of Judith (the queen who subsequently appears on playing-cards); a large piece of Arras cloth, representing the Battles of Judas Maccabæeus and Antiochus; another of “the Battle of the Duke of Aquitaine and of Florence;” a piece of tapestry “whereon are worked the twelve months of the year;” another of “the Fountain of Jouvent” (Jouvence), a large piece of tapestry “covered with azure fleurs-de-lys, which said fleurs-de-lys are mingled with other small yellow fleurs-de-lys, having in the centre a lion, and, at the four corners, beasts holding banners, &c.”—in fact, the list is endless. We must still, however, add to these figured tapestries those with armorial bearings, made for the most part with “Arras thread,” and bearing the arms of France and Behaigne (the latter being those of the queen, daughter of the King of Bohemia). There was also a piece of tapestry “worked with towers, fallow bucks and does, to put over the king’s boat.” The tapestry called velus, or velvet, which now we call moquettes, was as commonly seen as any other kind. There were also to be noticed the Salles d’Angleterre, or the tapestries from that country, which, as we have said, had previously acquired a great celebrity in that art. Among these one was “ynde (blue), with trees and wild men, with wild animals, and castles;” others were vermilion, embroidered with azure, having vignette borders, and in the centre lions, eagles, and leopards.

In addition to these, Charles V. possessed at his castle of Melun many “silken fabrics and tapestries.” At the Louvre one could but admire, among other magnificent pieces of tapestry, “a very lovely green room, ornamented with silk covered with leaves; and representing in the centre a lion, which{48} two queens were in the act of crowning, and a fountain wherein swans were disporting themselves.”

Yet we must not be led away with the idea that it was only the royal palaces which presented such sumptuousness; for it would be easy to enumerate many instances similar to those we have given, by looking over the inventories of the personal property of nobles, or those of the treasuries of certain churches and abbeys. In one place the tapestries represent religious subjects taken from the Bible, the Gospels, or the legends of the saints; in another the subjects are either historical or relating to chivalry, more especially battles or hunting scenes (Fig. 30).

We are thus justified in asserting that the luxury of tapestry was general among the higher classes. An expensive taste it was; because not only does an examination of these marvellous works show us that they could have been purchased only at a very high price, but in old documents we find more than one certain confirmation of this fact. For example, Amaury de Goire, a worker in tapestry, received in 1348, from the Duke of Normandy and Guienne, 492 livres, 3 sous, 9 deniers, for “a woollen cloth,” on which were represented scenes from the Old and New Testaments. In 1368, Huchon Barthélmy, money-changer, received 900 golden francs for a piece of “worked tapestry, representing La Quête de St. Graal (the search for the blood of Christ); and in 1391, the tapestry exhibiting the history of Theseus, to which we have already alluded, was purchased by Charles V. for 1,200 livres; all these sums, considering the period, were really exorbitant.

The sixteenth century, remarkable for the progress and the excellence to which the arts of every kind had attained, gave a renewed impulse to that of tapestry. A manufactory was established by Francis I., at Fontainebleau, where the tapestry was woven in one entire piece, instead of being made up, as had been the practice, of separate pieces matched and sewn together. In this new fabric gold and silver threads were mixed with silk and wool.

When Francis sent for the Primate from Italy, he commissioned him to procure designs for several pieces of tapestry, to be made in the workshops of Fontainebleau. But, while liberally rewarding the Italian or Flemish artists and artisans collected in the dependencies of his château, the king still continued to employ Parisian tapestry-workers; proof of which is to be found in a receipt of the sieurs Miolard and Pasquier, who give an{49}

{50}

acknowledgment of having been paid 410 livres tournois, “to begin the purchase of materials and other requisites for a piece of silk tapestry, which the said seigneur had ordered them to make for his coronation, according to the patterns which the said seigneur has had prepared for this purpose, and on which must be represented a Leda, with certain nymphs, satyrs, &c.”

Henry II. did even more than maintain the establishment at Fontainebleau; in addition he instituted, in compliance with the request of the guardians of the Hôpital de la Trinité, a manufactory of tapestry in Paris, in which the children belonging to the hospital were employed in dyeing wool and silk, and in weaving them in the loom with a high and low warp.

The new manufactory, whether on account of the excellence of its productions, or from influential patronage, obtained so many privileges that the public peace was on several occasions seriously disturbed by the jealousy of the guild of tapestry-workers; an ancient and numerous corporation still possessing great authority and influence.

The manufactory of the Hôpital de la Trinité continued to flourish during the reign of Henry III.; and Sauval, in his “Histoire des Antiquités de

{51}

Paris,” informs us that in the following reign it reached its highest point of prosperity. In 1594, Dubourg made in these workshops, from the designs of Lerembert, the beautiful tapestries which, to a date very near our own, decorated the Church of Saint-Merry. Henry IV., says Sauval, hearing this work much spoken of, desired to see it, and was so pleased therewith that he resolved to restore the manufactories in Paris, “which the disorder of preceding reigns had abolished.” He therefore established Laurent, a celebrated tapestry-worker, in the maison professe of the Jesuits, which had remained closed since the trial of Jean Chastel. He allowed one crown a day, and one hundred francs a year, as wages to this skilful artist; his apprentices receiving ten sous a day, and his fellow-workmen twenty-five, thirty, and even forty sous, according to their skill. At a later period Dubourg and Laurent, who had entered into partnership, were both installed in the galleries of the Louvre. Henry IV., following the example of Francis I., brought from Italy skilled workers in gold and in silk. These he lodged in the Hôtel de la Maque, Rue de la Tisseranderie: the special works they made were hangings in fine cloth of gold and silver (frisé).

Subsequently to the sixteenth century, the tapestries fabricated at the manufactories of the Savonnerie, the Gobelins, and at Beauvais, &c., although more perfect as regards the weaving, and therefore presenting greater regularity of design and a better comprehension of colour and perspective, unfortunately lost the original simplicity which characterized them in olden times. Approaching the reign of Louis XIV., under the influence of the{52} school of Le Brun,[3] they affected an imitation of Greek and Roman forms, which seem out of place in France. Handsome countenances are the result, out accompanied by meaningless figures; the frankness of truth gives place to staid coldness, the ideal usurps the place of nature, conventionality that of spontaneity. We find them ingenious, pretty, and even beautiful productions, but wanting character, the real soul of works of art.

{53}

E can assuredly say, with M. Jacquemart, that “the history of the ceramic art of the Middle Ages is shrouded by a veil which probably will always remain impenetrable. Notwithstanding the constant investigations of local societies, and the numerous documents that have been brought to light, nothing has transpired to remove the doubts of the archæologist regarding the places where the manufacture of pottery had its birth among us.”

Nevertheless, it is certain that at the Gallo-Romano period—that is to say, when the Romans, having made themselves masters of that country, had introduced their customs and their industry—Gaul possessed numerous and considerable pottery workshops, which produced vessels and vases of all kinds. Maintaining the ancient forms and processes of manufacture, these factories continued to furnish, till about the sixth century, amphoræ, basins, cups on stems, dishes, plates, and bottles. They were made, with the aid of the potter’s wheel, of grey, yellow, or brown clay. Some of the finest quality were covered with a brilliant varnish, resembling red sealing-wax both in colour and appearance; and these articles were often ornamented with much care and delicacy. We find vases surrounded with garlands of leaves, cups embellished with figures of men and animals; these are so many proofs that this was a manufacture to which the influence of art was by no means unknown.

Yet it is also evident that this industry—one of a sufficiently elevated kind—nearly disappeared about the period of the invasions and wars amidst the tumult of which French monarchy had its birth; and there{54} remained but the simple art that provided for ordinary requirements an assemblage of articles rude and devoid of character.

It must be remembered, however, that the ceramic art which had flourished in the West merely migrated, instead of becoming extinct; and it found, like so many other arts, a new country in that Byzantium destined to be the sanctuary of ancient magnificence. Whatever may be the reason, ceramic art disappeared from the soil of France during a long period; and it is still a question what was the real origin of its revival. Did it revive of itself, or was it under the influence of example? Did it owe its resuscitation to any immigration of artisans, or to the importation of some process of manufacture? These questions still remain unanswered.

The ceramic art, which perhaps we somewhat wrongly style modern, is characterized by the use of enamel, or overlaying articles with a glaze having a metallic basis; this the fire of the oven vitrifies; it is a process of which the ancients were entirely ignorant.

But, in searching the tombs that belonged to the ancient abbey of Jumièges (in Normandy), and which date from the year 1120, there have been found fragments of pottery of a fine but porous clay, covered with a glazing somewhat similar to that now used.{55}

Moreover, we read in a chronicle of the ancient province of Alsace, that in the year 1283 “died a potter of Schelestadt, who was the first to cover earthen vessels with glass.”

But we also know that at the time when these isolated attempts were being carried out in France, the Persians and Armenians had long before discovered the art of making magnificent enamelled ware for covering the exterior of their monuments; and that the Arabs settled in Spain produced wonderful examples of painted and enamelled earthenware, with which they decorated and furnished those palaces whose grand ruins are still to us like the fairy visions of a dream or of enchantment. The vases of the Alhambra, types of an art as original as it was singularly ingenious, claim, and doubtless will always claim, the admiration of minds that can appreciate the beautiful in whatever form it may present itself.

And now, are we to suppose that the intercourse between nations and the transactions of commerce must necessarily have made western Europe acquainted with the enamelled dishes of Asia, or the chefs-d’œuvre of the African race in Spain? Or, on the other hand, shall we say that it was by a spontaneous effort of invention that our forefathers opened up the road to a new domain of art? In the one case we have the opinion, deservedly respected, of Scaliger, who affirms the fact, apparently very significant, that during the Middle Ages there existed in the Balearic Islands manufactories of pottery of Arab origin; our learned author even adds, that in accordance with the most probable etymology, the name of Majolica, which was first given to Italian ware (the earliest in the European revival of the ceramic art), was derived from Majorca, the largest, as we know, of the Balearic{56} Islands, in which locality the principal manufactory of these pottery wares was situated. But, on the other hand, a comparative examination of Arab and Italian wares excludes all idea not only of affiliation, but even of imitation or reminiscence between them.

In the face of such contradictory coincidence, if we may say so, it would be as difficult as it would be rash to pronounce an opinion; we consider it better, while disregarding problematical indications, to boldly face a train of facts now determined by historical proof.

“At the commencement of the fifteenth century”—we cannot do better than borrow from M. Jacquemart a passage which he himself took from the Italian work by Passeri, on Majolica (Pesaro, 1838, in 8vo.)—“Luca della Robbia, the son of Simone di Marro, apprenticed himself to a Florentine goldsmith, Leonardo, the son of Giovanni; but disliking the confinement of a laboratory, he soon became a pupil of the sculptor Lorenzo Ghiberti, who made the gates of the Baptistry at Florence. His rapid progress under so able a master placed him in a position, when he could not have been more than fifteen years old, to undertake the task of ornamenting a chapel for Sigismond Malatesta, at Rimini. Two years later, Pietro di Medici, who was having an organ erected in Santa-Maria dei Fiori, at Florence, directed Luca to execute some marble sculptures in that church. The fame which he gained by these works drew everybody’s attention to the young sculptor. Orders reached him in such numbers that he clearly saw the impossibility of executing them in marble or in bronze; added to this, he bore with impatience the restraint imposed by working with such rigid materials, of which the laborious handling trammelled the flights of his imagination. Soft and plastic clay was a material far better suited to his readiness of conception. At the same time, Luca dreamt of the future, and of glory; and thus having in view the object of executing works which, though less perishable, might be rapidly executed, he devoted all his efforts to discover a coating which would give to clay the polish and the hardness of marble. After many trials, a varnish made of tin (étain), which was white, opaque, and of a resisting nature, furnished him with the result he hoped for. The art of producing fine earthenware was discovered, which first received the name of vitrified clay (terra invetriata).

“Luca’s enamel was a most perfect white; he first used it alone for figures, in semi-relief, which were raised on a blue background. At a later{57} period he ventured to colour his figures, and Pietro di Medici was one of the first who encouraged this kind of work for the decoration of palaces. The fame of this novel art spread with rapidity; all the churches were anxious to possess some specimen of the master, so that Luca was soon compelled to associate with himself his two brothers Ottaviano and Agostino, in order to keep pace with the requirements of the public. He endeavoured, nevertheless, to extend the application of his discovery by painting flowers and groups of figures on a smooth surface; but in the year 1430 death cut short his remarkable career, and stayed, in the hands of the inventor, the progress of enamelled pottery (Fig. 35).

“The family of Luca, however, made public the secret of his discovery.{58} His two nephews, Luca and Andrea, produced some figures and designs of singular merit in terra-cotta. Luca ornamented the floor of the Loggia of Raphael. Girolumo, a relative of Luca, come to France, where he decorated the château of Madrid, in the neighbourhood of Paris. Two females, Lisabetta and Speranza, added to the renown of the family Della Robbia.”

Such is the history of the revival, or rather of the creation, of ceramic art in Italy, as briefly recorded by a man thoroughly acquainted with the subject. An ancient author, and, moreover, a competent writer, instances some monuments of an earlier date; among others a tomb at Bologna, in which were tiles covered with a green and yellow varnish, and vessels (écuelles) of the same kind inserted in the façades or porticoes of the churches of Pesaro and the abbey of Pomposa. But to the honour of Luca della Robbia it may be remarked, that these specimens of an earlier industry differed essentially from his productions; because the glazing that covered them, the basis of which was lead, was so transparent, that through it could be seen either the clay or the colours underneath; whereas the enamel discovered by Luca, the basis of which was tin, had, on the contrary, for its essential character, an opacity which may be termed intense. Let us observe, moreover, that in order to embellish his productions with paintings, Luca was accustomed to apply colours to the first and general coating, which became fixed by a subsequent process of baking.

It is by recognising the distinction we have just laid down between these two processes, that the productions of Italian ceramic art are ordinarily classified: the demi-majolica, with transparent glaze, somewhat like the Spanish-Arabian pottery, and also, perhaps, like Asiatic tiles; then the majolica, by which we understand fine earthenware, where the clay is covered with a coating of opaque varnish, distinguishing the invention due to Luca della Robbia.

Having given priority of invention to Luca della Robbia, it is as well, nevertheless, here to state, that from the eleventh and twelfth centuries there existed in France a kind of ceramic art employed especially in the manufacture of varnished pottery-tiles. Many, of baked clay, have been found with drawings and designs in black or brown on a white or yellow ground (Plate IV.). At a later period these tiles, of which we see such brilliant specimens in the small pictures in manuscripts, especially in those

{59}

of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, were embellished with designs, emblems, armorial bearings, and scrolls. As already stated, in the passage from the author whom we have taken as our guide, the impulse which Luca della Robbia gave to ceramic art extended itself with rapidity in every direction; and if any other reason were wanting, beyond the intrinsic value of this art, to account for its development, we should say that the circumstances in the midst of which Luca made his discovery were eminently favourable to its advancement.

Luxurious display was, at that time, prominent among the classes who aspired to ostentation. When writing of furniture, we saw to what a pitch of splendid profusion kings, princes, and nobles carried the mania for displaying their wealth. We particularly pointed out sideboards in the dining-rooms, covered with plate and all kinds of objects, which were only placed there to dazzle the eyes. The custom of these displays having been introduced, it could nevertheless be only indulged in by those in possession of considerable fortunes, and therefore it will be readily understood how quickly fashion affected the productions of ceramic art; which, in addition to being recognised as works of art, were singularly well suited, both in character and by their comparative cheapness, to the spirit of ostentation which had taken possession of people of inferior rank. It was sufficient that some piece of majolica should have found a place on the sideboard of a prince amidst the gold and the silver which hitherto had alone enjoyed this privilege, for the lower ranks of the bourgeoisie and the tiers-état to adopt the fashion, in their dining-rooms, of decorating them either with majolica alone, or associated with plate.

And admitting this fact, that the productions of ceramic art were thus allowed to find admittance, and, as it were, in some measure an equally distinguished position, amidst plate and objects of precious metals, it resulted that this new industry, supported by the best artists, soon became remarkable for works which were at the same time most beautiful and original.

As something new in history, we find simple pieces of pottery—to give them their generic name—passing as valuable offerings among the great, and employed on very many occasions to denote ardent admiration in the world of courtly gallantry. It is thus we have handed down to us, principally on cups by renowned masters, portraits of the beauties who in those times adorned the ranks of the nobility: the Dianas, the Francescas, the{60} Lucias, the Proserpines, whom their admirers caused to be portrayed in order to offer them their own likenesses.

It was at Florence, about the year 1410, that Luca della Robbia first introduced his invention; but as soon as the process became known, the greater part of the towns of Italy, especially those of Tuscany, established manufactories, among which a remarkable rivalry soon arose: Pesaro, Gubbio, Urbino, Faenza, Rimini, Bologna, Ravenna, Ferrara, Citta Castellana, Bassano, Venice, emulated each other, and almost all succeeded in giving, as it were, an individual character to their productions.

Pesaro—the place were the earliest workshops of ornamental pottery in Italy were seated, and the processes of which (derived from Luca della Robbia) seem to have blended with the ancient Spanish, or Majorquaises—presents to us a design of a rather harsh and stiff character. “The outlines of figures,” adds M. Jacquemart, “are drawn in manganese black, the flesh is the colour of the enamel, and the drapery alone is of uniform tint.”

It was at Pesaro that the celebrated Lanfranco flourished. The ceramic museum of Sèvres has two of his pieces: it was he who invented the method of applying gold to earthenware, at a time when the early processes of ornamenting this manufacture had ceased to be employed, and had given place to delicate paintings, which, although no longer executed by the most renowned artists of Italy, were nevertheless the work of intelligent pupils who had received the benefit of their teaching and example.

The manufactory at Gubbio had for its founder Giorgio Andreoli, who, both as a sculptor and an artist in majolica, executed works as remarkable in form as in effect. “The palette of mineral colours adopted by Andreoli was the most perfect of the period; and coppery yellows, ruby reds, are frequently used in his works.” There are still extant some works signed by this master (a title officially conferred on him by a patent of nobility); one is a slab in the Sèvres collection, and another a tablet representing the Holy Family.

Urbino—of which the dukes, especially Guidobaldo II., signalized themselves as the most zealous patrons of ceramic art—became famous through the works of Francesco Xanto, who executed historical subjects on enamelled clay. Xanto had as a successor Orazio Fontana, who has been named “the Raphael of Majolica,” and who produced, among other magnificent objects, some vases which, when subsequently seen by Christina{61} of Sweden, so impressed her by their beauty that she offered to exchange for them silver vases of equal size.

It was at the manufactory of Deruta that imaginative subjects on majolica were first introduced; Bassano was famous for its landscapes with ruins; Venice became celebrated for delicate ware with repoussé reliefs; Faenza is still proud of her Guido Salvaggio; Florence of her Flaminio Fontana, &c.

Majolica attained to its highest point of brilliancy under the Duke of Urbino whom we have already named, Guidobaldo II., who was ever ready to make any sacrifice in order that this art might be introduced into the manufactories under his patronage. He even obtained from Raphael and Giulio Romano some original drawings to serve as examples; and this feeling having once been inculcated, we soon find artists of renown, such as Batista Franco and Raphael del Colle, tendering their services for the ornamentation of majolica. Thus the productions of this period are distinguishable among all others for harmony of composition and accurate drawing, qualities which render them specially noteworthy (Fig. 36). Then, almost immediately, followed the decline of this art. While flourishing more and more until the middle of the sixteenth century, the art of making majolica had fallen, at the termination of that epoch, into a kind of degenerate industry, swayed by the caprice of fashion, and thereby reduced to mannerism.

Nearly at the commencement of the renovation of ceramic art, Italian artisans had established themselves in various places, which then became so many artistic centres. Eastern Europe had for its earliest instructors three brothers, Giovanni, Tiseo, and Lazio, who settled at Corfu. Flanders was indebted for the knowledge of these processes to Guido of Savino, who took up his abode at Antwerp. And about the year 1520 we find a manufactory at Nuremberg, of which the ware, though materially differing in character from Italian majolica, may still very probably have been derived from Italy.

We may add that letters of the King of France mention that from 1456 there were certain revenues derivable from the “Beauvais Potteries;” and in the twenty-seventh chapter of the first book of “Pantagruel,” published in 1535, Rabelais places among the various articles composing the trophy of Panurge, “a saucer, a salt-cellar of clay, and a Beauvais goblet;” which proves, as M. de Sommerard remarks, “that as early as this date, there were manufactured in this city vessels of clay sufficiently good in quality{62} to be placed on the table with silver and pewter utensils;” but it does not naturally follow that France had not long to wait for the man of genius who would soon leave her nothing to covet from Italy.

About the year 1510, in a small village in Périgord, a child was born who, after receiving the rudiments of education, was obliged while still quite young to try to gain a livelihood by his own industry. This child’s name was Bernard Palissy. He first learnt the trade of a glazier, or rather of a glass-fitter and painter. This trade, while it initiated him into the principles of drawing, and gave him a certain insight into chemical manipulations, at the same time aroused in him a taste for art and the study of natural sciences. While “painting figures in order to gain his daily bread,” as he himself tells us in one of the works he has left behind him, and which gives us the highest opinion of his simple yet energetic nature, he applied himself to the study of the true principles of art in the works of the great Italian painters—the only artists then in repute. Owing to various{63} circumstances the trade of glazier proving unprofitable, he at once began the study of geometry, and soon obtained credit, in the part of the country wherein he dwelt, as “a clever draughtsman of plans.” Such comparatively mechanical labour as this could not long suffice for the active vigour of a mind thirsting after progress and discovery. Moreover, Palissy, while employed on his calling as a land-surveyor, had never ceased to give close observation to the structure and composition of geological strata. With the purpose of dispelling the doubts in his mind, and also with the object of obtaining substantial confirmation regarding the system he had already originated, he began to travel. The result of his journeyings was the inauguration of a theory which, after having long been contemptuously rejected by the learned, was nevertheless destined to form the foundation of principles which are now considered as the basis of modern geological science.

But if the certain knowledge which Palissy thought he had acquired as to the early convulsions of the globe had succeeded in satisfying his own mind, the glazier-surveyor (who was now a married man with a family) still remained in straitened circumstances, and was obliged to find some means of avoiding actual want. We must refer to what he himself says more than a quarter of a century later, and when success had completely crowned his efforts, to learn what were his recollections of his early and hazardous experiments in a new channel. “Know,” says he,{64} in his expressive language, “that it is twenty-five years since an earthen vessel was shown to me; it was turned, enamelled, and of such exquisite beauty, that from that very moment I began to argue with myself, while remembering observations made derisively to me by some persons when I was painting figures. And seeing that they were beginning to give up the use of these objects in the country where I lived, and that glazing also was not in great demand, I set myself to think that had I but discovered the art of making enamel, I might make earthen vessels and other articles of beautiful appearance; for God had given me the capacity to understand a little about ceramic painting, and from that instant, without in the least regarding my utter ignorance of siliceous substances, I set myself to discover enamels like a man groping in the dark.”

It has been much disputed, but we may as well say at once to no purpose, how to assign with certainty a particular locality whence came this object which inspired Palissy; but whatever may have been its origin, it seems to us to be a question of little moment, because at the time when Palissy must have seen it, the Italian manufactories, and even those which were afterwards established in various localities, had succeeded in disseminating their wares far and wide; and, besides this, the works of Palissy, which we still see, bear testimony to a style that was peculiarly his own, and in some measure original.

However this may have been, here we have him seeking out and grinding all kinds of substances, mixing them, and coating with them pieces of ware which he first subjected to the action of an ordinary potter’s oven, afterwards to the more powerful heat employed by glass-makers. Then we see him building an oven in his own house—taking into his service a working potter, to whom, on one occasion, when he has no money for the payment of wages, he is obliged to give his own clothes; again we find him turning, single-handed, a mill for grinding his materials which ordinarily required “two powerful men” to work it; then again, wounding his hands in repairing the oven that the fire cracked, and the bricks and mortar of which had become “liquified and vitrified;” so that he is obliged for several days “to eat his soup with his fingers tied up in rags;” pushing the conscientiousness and zeal of an experimentalist so far as to fall down in a state of insensibility on finding that the whole contents of an oven, on which he had been relying, proved to have numerous defects. In despite

{65}

of his poverty we see him destroying pieces of work that he considered were not quite perfect, though a fair price was offered him for them, merely because “they might bring discredit on him and loss of reputation;” and finally, we see him breaking up and putting into the fire, for want of other fuel, the flooring of his house and the furniture of his humble abode.

The magnificent discovery, brought about by the single initiative of an individual who had said that he would succeed, and who heroically endured all kinds of misery, privations, and humiliations, in order to attain his object, was the labour of not less than fifteen years.

“To console me,” relates Palissy, “even those from whom I had a right to expect help laughed at me” (he here alludes to his family—his wife, and children—who had not the same unbounded faith as himself in the ultimate success of his labours); “they paraded the town exclaiming that I was burning the woodwork of my house; thus was my credit injured, and I was looked upon as a fool. Others said I was attempting to make base coin. I went about quite humiliated, ashamed of myself. I owed money in several quarters, and generally had two children out at nurse, and not able to pay the cost. All ridiculed me, saying: ‘He deserves to starve, because he has given up his trade.’

“Struggling on in this way, at the end of ten years I became so thin that my legs and arms had no roundness of shape left about them; my legs were all of a size (toutes d’une venue); so that as soon as I began to walk, the garters with which I fastened my stockings used at once to slip down, stockings and all, on to my heels.... For many years, having nothing wherewith to cover my ovens, I was exposed all night long to the winds and the rains, without receiving any help or consolation, except from the screech-owls hooting on one side and the dogs howling on the other.... Sometimes I found myself, with all my garments wet through from the rain, going to bed at midnight, or at dawn of day; and when proceeding in this condition to bed, I went reeling along without a light, and stumbling from side to side, like a man drunk with wine; I was overcome by previous sorrow, the more so because after long-continued work I saw my labour lost. And on entering my chamber I found a fresh persecution awaiting me—the complaints of my wife—worse than the first, and which now makes me wonder how it was I did not die of grief.... I have been in such anguish that many and many a time I fancied I was at death’s door.{66}”

At last, despite all these obstacles, disappointments, physical and mental suffering, the determined experimentalist succeeded in his anticipations, and gave to the world those works he called rustics, and which were so original and so beautiful that they had but to be seen in order to invite attention, and to gain for him all the praise, as well as the profit, he received.

We have just intimated it was at Saintes that Palissy, when in search of immortal fame, underwent his rude apprenticeship. A short time after he had attained these definite results, religious questions having caused some disturbances in Saintonge, the Constable de Montmorency, who had been sent to suppress the Huguenot rising, had an opportunity of seeing Palissy’s works: he requested that he should be presented to him, and at once declared himself his friendly protector. And we must take this word protector in its widest sense, for the potter, who had zealously embraced the doctrines of the Reformation, and who subsequently preferred to be imprisoned for life rather than abjure his faith (if he did not die in the Bastille, at least he was imprisoned there at the time of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew), indeed required protection, as much for the exercise of liberty of conscience as for carrying on his artistic labours. After Montmorency had commissioned him to execute some considerable works, which also gained him the patronage of several important personages, he obtained for him the favour of royalty. Palissy was summoned to Paris, and received the title of “inventeur des rustiques figulines du roi et de la reine-mère”—Henri II. and Catherine de Médicis. He was lodged in the Tuileries; and was not long there before he became renowned, not only for his ceramic productions, but also for his scientific knowledge.

In the recent building operations at the Tuileries, on digging a trench in the garden, the workshop of Bernard Palissy was discovered; being recognised by fragments and various pieces of enamelled pottery with figures in relievo. Among these was found a large fragment of the dish of Palissy, known under the name of the Baptismal Dish, on account of the subject represented thereon. In July, 1865, while excavating in the part of the palace where the “Salle des Etats” has been built, the workmen discovered, below the level of the surface soil, two ovens for baking pottery, in a tolerably good state of preservation. One contained pieces of those muffles (gazettes) Palissy is said to have invented, and which were employed in baking delicate pieces of work—imprints of various kinds of ornaments, and figures in alto{67}relievo: two of these are described by Palissy himself in the “Devis d’une grotte pour la royne, mère du roy” (“device of a grotto for the queen, the king’s mother”), and which he thus indicates in the following sentence:—“I should wish to make certain figures from nature, following her so closely, even to the small hair in the beard and eyebrows, as to make them the natural size.” These peculiarities are to be seen in the fragments of the moulds which have been discovered. In the same page Palissy says, “Also there would be another, composed completely of sea-shells of different kinds; that is to say, the two eyes of two shells, the nose, mouth, and chin, forehead and cheeks, all made out of sea-shells, as well as even the remainder of the body.” This was found in fragments, as also a hand moulded from nature, and holding a sword of ancient make (Fig. 39). Among the fragments moulded from the naked and the draped form, is the one which we give (Fig. 40); it is thus described by Palissy:—“Also for the sake of astonishing mankind, I wished to make three or four (figures) draped, and with their hair dressed in quaint ways, whose dresses and head-dresses shall be of divers linen, cloths, or striped materials so natural that no man would think but it was the object itself which the workman had wished to imitate.”[4]

We thus see how Palissy, called “Maître Bernard des Thuilleries,” deserved the esteem of the sovereigns who desired he should be near them.{68}

M. Jacquemart says of Palissy ware:—“It is remarkable in more ways than one—for its white paste with a shade of yellowish grey, for its hardness, and its infusibility, equalling that of fine earthenware or pipe-clay. These give it a special character, that distinguishes it from Italian productions, the clay of which is of a dirty and dusky red. The enamel has great brilliancy; it is hard, and is not unfrequently wavy (tresaille). The colours vary a little, but they are bright—pure yellow, yellow ochre, indigo blue, grey blue, emerald green produced from copper, yellow green, violet brown, and manganese violet. As for the white, it is somewhat dull, and cannot be compared with Luca della Robbia ware; wherefore the most persevering researches of Palissy, who invented all the processes which he employed in his work, aimed at the attainment of greater brilliancy. The under part of Palissy ware is never of a uniform tone of colour; it is spotted or tinted with blue, yellow, and violet brown.

“It would be exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible, to enumerate the various shapes he was able to give to his enamelled ware. Combining in{69}

himself all the artistic talent of his day, he was at the same time a skilful designer and an intelligent modeller; and thus he discovered a thousand resources for the display of elegance and richness; sometimes in the multiplicity of relievos and in the outline of his vases, sometimes in the mere application of colour.... In many of his productions, particularly dishes and bowls, are seen natural objects represented with astonishing truthfulness as to form and colour; nearly all these are modelled from nature, and grouped with perfect taste; from the lower surface, rippled by streams of water in which fish of the river Seine are swimming, coiled reptiles rise{70} gracefully from among fossil shells (we must remember that Palissy was a geologist), found in the tertiary strata of Paris; on the marli (the sloping edge of the dish), amidst delicate ferns arranged in masses, lizards, crayfish, and large-bodied frogs climb and jump (Fig. 42). The accuracy of their movements, the truth of tones produced by a limited variety of colours—all indicate a close observer. We must not, however, form our opinion of Palissy from these rustic works alone, but also from his vases, where he introduced all the ornamental richness of those times, and on which he took a pleasure in developing all his fertility of composition and his knowledge as a designer.... On this point Palissy followed the same law to which all artists of the sixteenth century were subject—he was a worker in precious metals. By their graceful originality, their fringed (frangées) borders, their figured accessories, these vases put us in mind of metal. How could it have been otherwise? Was not Benvenuto Cellini at that time, we will not say the object of all imitations, for this would be an insult to the skilful artists of that period, but at all events the ideal towards which the inspirations of others were directed? As regards the human figure, Palissy’s constant endeavour was to approach the Italian type; and as doubtless the school of Fontainebleau furnished him with most of his models, in the greater part of his figures we trace that graceful elongation of form, that elegant simplicity, which, in the works of Jean Goujon, fall into mannerism (Figs. 43 and 44).

“Palissy did not limit himself to the production of small and moderate-sized vases for ornamenting sideboards, buffets, tables, and brackets; he raised pottery to the most gigantic proportions in his rustiques figulines, intended as ornaments for gardens, grottoes, fountains, and the halls of stately mansions. The castles of Nesle and of Chaulnes, of Reux and of Ecouen, and the garden of the Tuileries, contained some remarkable specimens. All have perished with the devastation of the buildings in which they stood; a single fragment of a capital, preserved in the Museum of Sèvres, proves the truthfulness of the writers of the sixteenth century regarding the monumental creations of the potter of Saintes.

“After the death of Palissy, in 1589, the art which he had created insensibly declined, until soon it almost completely disappeared in France.”

This latter remark has reference to the style which was peculiarly of Palissy’s own invention, and not to the production of ceramic works generally; though the art failed not to give evidence of a certain vitality,{71}

it employed as guides or models the fanciful examples of Italian ware, in preference to the really masterly specimens of the French artist. Among the different centres of manufacture which, at that period, were deserving of notoriety, we must specially name Nevers, whence came numerous examples characterised by subjects taken from biblical narratives, as well as from{72} Roman and contemporaneous times; Rouen, where the manufacture probably was not of an earlier date than the beginning of the seventeenth century, and which evidently had to provide its full supply of dishes for the table when, owing to the heavy expenses of war, the courtiers, following the example of Louis XIV., sent their plate to the mint, and “se mirent en faïence,” “took to earthenware,” as Saint-Simon says. Lastly we have Montreuil-sur-Mer, which, if we are to credit the specimens collected in the district by M. Boucher de Perthes, one of our most learned antiquarians, possessed a manufactory that produced some remarkable “open-work” vases.

Let us also mention the Dutch pottery, called Delft ware, which, in the beginning of the seventeenth century, began to find a place on all sideboards and dressers. According to M. Brongniart, these came from a manufactory founded prior, perhaps, to the sixteenth century. We also instance the fine earthenware, in relievo, manufactured with undoubted ability in Germany, especially in the town of Nuremberg. In the Louvre and in the Cluny Museums may be seen magnificent specimens of enamelled slabs and vases of architectural forms, ornamented with figures. Majolica was{73} equally esteemed on the banks of the Rhine. Many specimens are found, dating from the latest years of the sixteenth century, in which identity of form or similarity of sigles (earths or clays) to primitive works had led to their being, at first, classified among Italian majolica. However, the majority of these examples, ornamented with escutcheons and arabesques, combined generally with Latin or German inscriptions, bear on the reverse a cipher in Gothic letters, leaving no doubt as to the artist’s country.

Now a word on a question we ought not to pass in silence, though it yet remains unanswered, and doubtless will never be explained.

Why is this name of faïence commonly given in France, almost from the revival of the ceramic art, to the productions of the new industry? Some say, “because Faenza was the first among Italian manufactories that introduced, generally, painted and ornamented potteries into France, where it acquired great reputation.” Others discover in France itself, a small town called Faïence, near Fréjus, in Provence, “where the manufacture of enamelled clays was in full activity before there was any evidence of it elsewhere;” and thus it gave its name to the pottery called majolica by the Italians: this would be nothing less than to deprive Luca della Robbia of the merit, if not of the invention, at least of priority. Unfortunately for this last opinion, those who state it cannot bring in support of their assertion any certain details of the nature of the productions ascribed to that locality, and which by their very celebrity ought to have been safe from destruction. Thus it is evident there is here a point of dispute regarding which it is difficult to form a decisive opinion.

Though, in a certain measure, lying out of the province to which our observations have hitherto been limited, we have still to notice a small group of productions which are known by connoisseurs under the title of faïences fines d’Henri II.; of these there are not more than forty authenticated specimens. The locality of this manufacture, which seems, so to speak, to have been isolated—for the ware is unlike any contemporaneous productions—is quite unknown. “We only know,” says M. Jacquemart, “that most of the examples came from the south-west of France, from Saumur, from Tours, and especially from Thouars. As to the date, it is indelibly inscribed on the vases, some having the salamander of Francis I., others the arms of France with three crescents interlaced, the emblem adopted by Henri II. They consist of cups, ewers, drinking-vases, oval{74} sugar-basins, salt-cellars, and candlesticks. The form is ornate and pure, and is relieved by elegant mouldings. On the clay—a yellowish white, and covered with a crystallized varnish, the basis of which is lead, and consequently is transparent—wind bands of yellow ochre bordered with dark brown, and interlaced with all the inventive richness which characterized the period; small designs in green, violet, black, and occasionally in red, enhance this decoration.”

Much search has been made, but, as yet, without any reliable result, for the name of the artist to whom might be attributed the creation of these works, and of the individual style they denote.

However this may be, if England claims the first application of pipe-clay to fine earthenware, the French can, by showing her the faïence d’Henry II., prove that, two hundred years before, an unknown artist in France was setting an example in that art in which England now prides herself.

{75}

HE most ancient and authentic document that presents to us a just and almost perfect idea of the arms in use towards the end of the eleventh century, is the celebrated tapestry of Bayeux, of which we have already spoken.

It is sufficient to examine with some attention that complex and illustrated narrative of the conquest of England in 1066, to learn what was the general aspect of war at that period. But any one who has at all studied the ancient historians and the annals of our earliest career as a people, will not fail to recognise, as so many constituent parts combining to form the equipment of war, most of those weapons that were adopted among various races, the contests and the union of which was to give birth to modern nations.

If we can rely on the testimony of some miniatures in manuscripts of the time of Charlemagne, Roman customs are constantly recalled in the costume and arms of the warriors of the eighth and ninth centuries (Fig. 46), “but with the modifications necessarily resulting from contemporaneous corrupt taste,” as observed by M. de Saulcy, whom, it may be remarked, we follow step by step, as it were, in the labours which he has conscientiously devoted to the history of warlike arms; “for at that time the helmets, the bucklers, and the swords had assumed forms very unlike the models whereof they were supposed to be an imitation. One can readily imagine{76} that costume had become subjected to the same sort of change as language, corrupted as this was by the admixture of German manners with those of the nations subjected to Rome.”

In the middle of the ninth century the Normans disembarking, possessed themselves of Neustria, and introduced among the French nation, with which they at first contended, and at length concluded a peace, an entire series of defensive arms entirely novel in form, if not in their nature. It is then, according to certain learned men, that warriors are seen, in illustrated manuscripts, attired in dresses furnished with small rings or iron scales, wearing pointed helmets, and using shields cut horizontally above, and terminating at the base in a point more or less sharp.

In the Bayeux tapestry we see the army of William that fought the battle of Hastings composed of three different bodies of troops: the archers, light infantry, armed with arrows and darts; foot-soldiers, or Heavy infantry, using weightier arms, and clad in iron mail; and cavalry, in the midst of which figures the Duke William (Fig. 47).

The costume exhibits little variety; only two sorts of accoutrements are observable; one very plain, worn by men who have no helmet, is evidently that of an inferior soldier; the other, covered with iron rings, not inter{77}laced, extends from the shoulders to the knees, and belongs only to warriors whose head-dress is a narrow, conical helmet, more or less sharply pointed, extending behind (en couvre nuque) to cover the nape of the neck (Fig. 48), and in front provided with a metal protector for the face, called the nasal.

Among the horsemen thus encased in iron, are some who have boots and stirrups, others are without them, and even wear no spurs. Their shields are convex, secured to the arm by a leather strap, generally circular at top, and terminating in a point below. Some, however, are polygonal and convex, and in the centre show a rather long point.

Offensive arms consist of swords, axes, lances, javelins, and arrows. The swords are long, of uniform width nearly to the extremity which comes abruptly to a point, and have heavy, strong hilts. The axes exhibit no remarkable peculiarity. The spears terminate in an iron point, probably sharpened, and equal in length to one-sixth of the handle. We see also clubs, maces, and, finally, pronged staves (bâtons fourchus), doubtless the{78} earliest form of the weapon; these last were subsequently called bisaguë, and, with maces and clubs, were ordinarily used by serfs and peasants; the sword and the spear being reserved for freemen.

The sling is not to be found in the hands of any warrior; but it is remarkable that, in the border of the Bayeux tapestry, it is used by a peasant aiming at a bird; from which it may be inferred that the sling had become a mere weapon for field-sport. Moreover, this was also the case with the bow among the French; which was again held in honour after the advent of the Normans, especially since the latter could ascribe to it their success at the battle of Hastings, where Harold, the opponent of William, was killed by an arrow. Nevertheless, the statutes of the Conqueror, who himself excelled with the bow, did not include that weapon among those of the nobility.

From the conquest of the Normans to the Crusades, we scarcely find anything worth notice, except the adoption of a very murderous implement of war, which acquired the name of the flail, or armed whip (fléau, or fouet d’armes); it was formed of iron balls studded with points, and was attached to the end of a strong staff by small chains. But we come to a period when the events which occurred in Asia had a considerable influence on the arms and the military costume of Europe. The first and principal of the importations due to those distant expeditions was that of the coat of mail, then in common use among the Arabs, and which has since been discovered in the sculptures of the period of the Sassanidæ, a royal race that ruled over Persia from the third to the seventh century.

It is not affirmed that prior to the first crusade we had no knowledge of iron chain-work, of which the Orientals made defensive helmets; but we imitated it only in a heavy and clumsy manner. This armour, which was of ponderous weight, and, besides, was far from rendering invulnerable those who were burdened with it, had not displaced the haubergeons, the jacques de fer, the brigandines, the armures à macles (Fig. 49), (such were the names given to the cuirasses of leather and of cloth covered with metal plates); but when such defensive armour came to be better known, with all its original good qualities; and when we had learned to make it according to the Oriental method, there was no further delay in adopting that network of iron (tricot) at once flexible, light, and, in some degree, impenetrable. However, since the manufacture of ancient armour was more simple, and{79} consequently less costly, it was not altogether abandoned. It is only so late as the time of Philip Augustus and Louis IX. (the thirteenth century) that the use of coats of mail became general; to this some knights attached mail hose, to protect the thighs, legs, and feet (Fig. 50).

In the reign of Louis le Gros (twelfth century) we see the first attempt at a movable vizor adapted to the conical helmet of the Normans; and to the same period must be referred the invention of the crossbow: or, it may rather be said that a stock, or arbrier, was added to the bow, which afforded greater facility for stretching the string, and also aided in directing the arrow. This new weapon, after being exclusively used in the chase, appeared in warfare; but, in 1139, Pope Innocent II., confirming the decisions of the Council of Lateran, which had condemned it as too destructive, prohibited its use. The crossbow was not restored to military equipments until the third crusade, under Richard Cœur de Lion, who, having permitted his men to resume the weapon, was subsequently assumed to have invented it.

During the first crusade, barons and knights wore a hauberk of links of iron or steel. Every warrior had a helmet—silver-plated for royalty, of steel for nobles, and of iron for the private soldiers. The crusaders used the lance, the sword, a kind of dagger called miséricorde, the club and the battle-axe, the sling and the bow.{80}

In the windows which Suger, minister of Louis VII., caused to be painted for the church of the abbey of Saint-Denis, and which represented the principal events of the second crusade, we see the chiefs of the crusaders still clothed in hauberks of links, or macles (plates of iron); the helmet is conical and without the nose-piece (nasal); and, lastly, the buckler, formed like a scutcheon, covers the breast, generally suspended from the neck by a leather thong.

Towards the middle of the twelfth century, the iron breastplate is said to have been introduced; it was placed over the chest to support the hauberk, the direct pressure of which being found detrimental to health. But no description of it is to be met with in the romances of chivalry, that furnish the best documentary evidence regarding the armour of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

Under Philip Augustus, who, as we know, was one of the leaders of the third crusade, the conical helmet assumed a cylindrical form; to this was occasionally added a vizor called ventail, intended to protect the face. Richard I., King of England, is represented on his seal with this kind of helmet; level with the eyes and also at the height of the mouth are two horizontal slits, which admit of seeing and breathing. Still the use of the conical helmet without vizor or nose-piece was retained even to the thirteenth century in Spain, as is proved by that worn by Jaime I., King of Aragon (Fig. 51), which is preserved in the Armeria Real, Madrid. It is of polished{81} steel, is surmounted by a dragon’s head, and portions of it are richly ornamented.

Thus in the third crusade the use of the “coat-of-arms” became general,—a sort of overcoat, if we may so term it, of cloth or of silk stuff, and the purpose of which, at first, was only to mitigate the insupportable effect of the rays of an Eastern sun on metal armour. This new garment soon served, moreover, when made of various colours, to distinguish different nations marching under the standard of the Cross (Fig. 52). It became really a dress of military splendour, was made of the richest stuffs, and embroidered in gold or silver with excessive refinement.

The slingers, who had never been otherwise recruited than from the{82} lower orders, disappeared from the French armies after the reign of St. Louis. As for the archers, those of England wore at that time, over the hauberk, a leather jacket, adopted subsequently by the French archers, and called jacque d’Anglois. An old author, in fact, thus mentions it:—

The jacque having become the fashion in France was soon recognised in every kind of material more or less costly; it continued in use until the end of the fourteenth century; Charles VI. wore one of black velvet during a journey he made in Brittany.

The casque, or helmet, from that time enclosing the head entirely, assumed, under St. Louis, the form of two truncated cones “réunis par leurs grandes bases.” In addition to the helmet there was also worn at that time the chapel de fer, which at first was only a simple cap underneath the hood of the hauberk; but when, curtailing the hood, a brim was added to the cap, it thus became a hat almost of the form of the felts now in use. To protect the neck there was also attached to the rim of the hat a tippet of mail, falling on the shoulders, and called camail.[5] The iron cap then took

{83}

the name of coiffre or cervelière, and later it became a kind of reversed pot concealing the entire head, and kept in position by its weight only (Fig. 53).

Again; there had for some time been manifested a movement which gradually caused the knights to be entirely cased in iron. A king of Scotland, contemporary with Philip Augustus, is represented on his seal with a plate of armour intended to protect the elbow. The knee-cap followed. Under Philip the Bold, successor of St. Louis, the iron grévières (greaves), or half leg-pieces, protecting the front of the legs, were adopted. In the reign of Philip the Fair we have the first example of an iron gauntlet with its fingers separate and jointed: previously it was merely an inflexible piece covering the back of the hand. About the same time the cervelière, either flat or spherical, became pointed at the top, and took the name of bassinet; but this bassinet was unlike the casque which, in the following century,{84} retained that name and was made completely closed. The exact period of the transition from mailed armour to that of plain iron or steel, called also plate-armour, dates from the first thirty years of the fifteenth century (Fig. 55).

The annals of Florence contain a statute of 1315, requiring every horseman serving in a campaign to have a helmet, a breastplate, gauntlets, cuishes, and leg-pieces, all of iron; but in France and England the whole of these pieces were not adopted until somewhat later. In the reigns of Philip V. and Charles IV. we see the ventail of the helmet with a grating,{85} and the vizor opening with a hinge. The bassinet, lighter than the helmet, was at first worn by the knight when no hostile encounter was anticipated; but subsequently, and at an early date, the vizor was added to the bassinet, as well as to the casque; and then it became as much used as the helmet, which, towards the end of the fourteenth century, was abandoned.

About the same period some portions of iron horse-armour began to make their appearance. We find entered in the inventory of the armour of Louis X., a chanfrein (a plate of iron fastened on the horse’s forehead).

The crossbow, for some time prohibited by ecclesiastical authority, was the weapon most in use at the period spoken of; as having the double advantage of being drawn with more power than the ordinary bow, and of throwing its arrows to a longer distance with greater precision. Historians say that at Crécy, in 1346, there were fifteen thousand crossbow men in the French army. The Genoese were considered the most skilful in Europe; and next,{86} those of Paris. A manuscript in the British Museum shows them wearing iron helmets, brassières,[6] and leg-pieces; and for body-covering, jackets with long, hanging sleeves. While the bowmen had both hands occupied in discharging their arrows, shield-bearers were employed to protect them by means of large bucklers (Fig. 57).

In the year 1338 the use of firearms is for the first time noted in France. But we think it right to reserve all we have to say of these modern offensive weapons until our history of the ancient system of armour is finished. Considering the early imperfections of firearms, the old system must have long continued, especially among combatants of noble degree—for they affected contempt for the new warlike equipments, by means of which personal valour became in a manner useless and could no longer ensure victory in battle.

Under John the Good, that is, in the middle of the fourteenth century, plain armour was generally adopted; the long coat of mail, heavier and less convenient, was entirely abandoned; but chain-armour still covered certain parts of the body not yet protected by iron plates. The bassinet, then very pointed, was furnished with mail, covering the neck and a portion of the shoulders. The upper part of the arm was protected by a half-armlet, called the épaulette, but the lower part was provided with mail.

Ornaments began to be introduced in armour in the reign of Charles V.; until that time it had a simple and plain appearance. For instance, the camail of the bassinet is embroidered on the shoulders with gold and silver, and the point surmounting it is decorated with an imitation of foliage—an ornament which, according to the “Chronicle of Du Gueslin,” had the disadvantage of presenting a kind of handle to an opponent. The cuirass, to which it was then deemed sufficient to impart a bright polish, or to paint in ordinary colours, sometimes bright, sometimes dark, began to be engraved and chased towards the end of the following reign.

In the time of Charles VI. there was introduced, for the first time, four or five flexible plates, called faldes, which protected the lower part of the stomach without impeding the movements of the body. A little later, tassettes were added; they were attached to the top of the thigh to guard the hips and the groin. It appears that at this period the artisans of Milan,{87} were especially renowned for the manufacture of armour; for Froissart relates that Henry IV., King of England, when Earl of Derby,[7] and preparing to enter the lists with the Duke of Norfolk, requested armour from Galeas, Duke of Milan, who sent it with four Milanese armourers. The swords and spears made at Toulouse and at Bordeaux were also held in great repute; so also were the double-handed swords in use from the middle of the thirteenth century, and manufactured at Lubeck, in Germany. The steel helmets of Montauban were also much in request.

Towards the commencement of the fifteenth century, engines of war, distinct from those in which powder was used, had attained a remarkable degree of perfection. When John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, marched upon Paris, in 1411, there was with his army a considerable number of machines called ribaudequins, a species of gigantic crossbow drawn by a horse, and which with enormous strength threw javelins to a great distance.

Under Charles VII., the breastplate of the cuirass was composed of two parts: one covered the breast; the other, reaching to the hips, protected the stomach, and was attached to the former by clasps and leather straps. Generally the breastplate was convex.

Taught by the disastrous defeat of Agincourt,—where ten thousand men, of whom eight thousand were of the nobility, had fallen, owing to the precision and the celerity of the fire of the English archers,—Charles VII. instituted in France the franc archer (Fig. 58), who wore the salade and the jacket or brigandine, and carried the dagger, the sword, the bow, the quiver or crossbow garnie. These archers were exempt from all taxes or imposts; their equipments were declared not distrainable for debts, and during war they received pay at the rate of four livres a month.

The salade, a part of armour which has remained particularly celebrated, and the name of which has been applied subsequently to helmets of divers forms, is pre-eminently the helmet of the epoch of Charles VII. At first it was a head-dress for war, composed of a simple cap (timbre), that covered the top of the head, with a pendent piece of metal of greater or less length at the back, which sometimes was made for protecting the neck, and{88}

sometimes to guard a portion of the shoulders. Towards the end of the fifteenth century there was added to the salade a small vizor, that was gradually lengthened downwards to near the upper lip, and in which a narrow opening was then made for the sight. In the reign of Louis XII. the salade received a chin-piece, the lower part of which was a gorget, that surrounded and protected the neck. The top of the cuirass had a cord,{89} to which was attached the salade; and this helmet, so different to the primitive salade, continued to bear the same name (Fig. 59).

The brigandine, recalling the early armour abandoned for the coat of mail, was composed of small plates of steel or iron arranged on a strong piece of leather, and stitched or fixed with wire, in the form of the scales of a fish. A decree of Peter II., Duke of Brittany, issued in 1450, ordered the nobles to equip themselves as archers, or in brigandine, if they knew how to use arrows; but otherwise, to be provided with guisarmes, with good salades, and leg-armour; each noble was to be attended by one coustillier, and to have two good horses. The guisarme was a sort of two-edged and pointed javelin. The coustillier was a foot-soldier, or a horseman, whose duty it was to act as a servant to the nobleman, and to carry the coustille, a long, slender sword, triangular or square, apparently resembling the foil in our fencing-rooms.{90}

About this period French noblemen displayed much magnificence in the adornment of the chanfrein of their horses. For instance, we know that at the siege of Harfleur, in 1449, the charger of the Count de Saint-Pol had on its head a massive gold chanfrein, of the most delicate work, valued at not less than twenty thousand crowns. In the same year, at the siege of Bayonne, the Count de Foix entered the conquered city mounted on a horse whose chanfrein of polished steel was enriched with gold and precious stones to the value of fifteen thousand gold crowns.{91}

Half a century later—that is, in the reign of Charles VIII. and that of Louis XII.—chargers wore, besides the chanfrein, the manefaire, protecting the neck, the poitrail, the croupière, the flancois, which respectively covered the chest, the back, and the flanks of the horse; and to these was added another piece of armour placed under the tail.

Of the date of Louis XII., we still see embossed suits of armour ornamented with fluting, sometimes blended with beautiful engraved work executed in the metal by the use of aquafortis, or subjects in relievo produced by embossing: ornamentation of this nature elevated the equipments of the warrior to real works of art (Fig. 60).

Louis XII. was the first to admit Greek mercenaries into his army. These were named stradiots; they tendered their military services equally to both Turks and Christians. The armour of these troops consisted of a cuirass with sleeves and gauntlets in mail, and over this a jacket; on their head a vizorless helmet was worn. The stradiots were armed with a large sword, called a braquemart, much resembling the Turkish sword, but with a cross-handle; the sword and its scabbard were ornamented with Grecian devices. They carried in addition several small arms at the saddle-bow, and also a zagaye, a very long lance, tipped at both extremities with iron.

At this period also was introduced the pertuisane,[8] the blade of which, wider than that of the lance, formed a crescent immediately above the handle.

There were at that time two kinds of cross-bows—one for discharging bolts, the other for bullets. The bow was slung by means of a moulinet, a kind of hand-winch.

Embossed and fluted armour was not the only kind used in France and in Italy at the end of the fifteenth and the commencement of the following century. The monuments in the former country of the time of Louis XII., and on the other side of the Alps, show how prevalent was a peculiar description of plain armour, whereof the cuirass, which was longer than that of the embossed armour, had a rib or raised line in the middle. This rib, which completely altered the character of the cuirass, in that it served to turn aside the thrust of the lance, became increasingly distinctive as the seventeenth century drew near.

{92}

In the reign of Francis I. embossed and ribbed armour were equally

used (Fig. 61). In the Museum of Artillery, in Paris, is preserved the armour which that king wore at the battle of Pavia. The body is longer than in the cuirass of the preceding century, the rib in the centre is more{93} raised, the gusset of the shoulder-piece is made of several movable plates, and of large size. The casque, a generic name given since those times to all descriptions of head-armour, assumed a comfortable and elegant shape, which was maintained as long as the use of armour continued.

Another cuirass of the same date, still longer in the body, was made to turn up towards the lower extremity, and then took an inward bend to fit the hip. It was made with movable plates overlapping from below; this allowed the wearer to stoop, which it was almost impossible to do when the breast-piece and the back-piece were in one. Sometimes these plates were only three or four in number over the stomach, and the others over the breast were only represented, not genuine plates.

The armour called à éclisse, or à écrevisse, worn at a certain period by the halberdiers, must not be passed over; it received this name because the cuirass was made of horizontal plates (éclisses), three or four inches in width, which, though they covered the entire body, did not in any way impede its movements.

We must, however, refer to a peculiarity in this armour which prevented its general adoption; it was that as the movement or “play” of the éclisses made it convenient to wear, so from this flexibility it was found that the plates frequently became disconnected, and thus left a part of the body defenceless. In making the éclisses to overlap from below, regard was had to the usual direction of a sword-cut or dagger-thrust, which usually came from below; but there was all the more danger from blows of the martel[9] and battle-axe, the stroke of which weapon was directed downwards.

Bronzed armour came in about the middle of the sixteenth century, and was somewhat commonly worn in 1558; it was introduced on account of its being far more easily kept clean than polished steel. For the same reason black armour was tried, but the engravings and chasings, the gildings and damaskeenings were more effective on the greenish ground; consequently black varnish was given up in favour of bronze. At the end of the sixteenth century, and during the long civil wars which desolated France, armour took a variety of shapes, and as regards ornamentation at least, there was generally to be seen a strange medley of the style of the previous century{94} with that of the period (Fig. 61). However, the decline of the use of armour, which became in a measure inevitable, was at hand.

De la Noue, an eminent Huguenot officer of the time of Charles IX., says, in his “Discours Militaires”—“The penetrating power of pikes and arquebuses has very naturally led to the adoption of armour stronger and more capable of great resistance than formerly. It is now so heavy that one is laden with anvils rather than protected by armour. Our men-at-arms and light cavalry in Henry II.’s time presented a much finer appearance, with their helmets, their brassarts, tassets,[10] and the morion,[11] carrying the lance with a flag; their armour was not so heavy but that a strong man was able to support its weight for twenty-four hours; but those of the present day are so ponderous that a young knight of thirty has his shoulders quite crippled.”

Thus, in endeavouring to make the resistance of armour keep pace with the improvement in new warlike engines, they rendered it useless; because the weight was intolerable, especially in warm weather, during long marches, or in lengthened combats. Having vainly tried to make suits of armour invulnerable, men began to leave off wearing such portions as were of minor importance, which by degrees were entirely discontinued. Under Louis XIII. we see armour undergoing further modifications, but of fashion rather than of utility: finally, there is every reason to think that the magnificent armour presented by the Republic of Venice to Louis XIV., in 1668, and which is now to be seen in the Museum of Artillery in Paris, was one of the latest sets made in Europe.

Let us now retrace our steps to examine a series of arms, the gradual adoption of which was destined to completely change the art of warfare.

It is now the almost universal opinion that the invention of gunpowder,—assumed to have been discovered in 1256, or at all events its application to artillery, which first dates from 1280,—is due to Berthold Schwartz, an Augustin friar, born at Fribourg. Some writers, however, make these dates a century later, and affirm that powder and cannons were first known from 1330 to 1380. Nevertheless, the employment of artillery only became general during the wars of Charles-Quint and of Francis I., that is, towards 1530, or two centuries after its invention.{95}

But perhaps in place of giving, as we have done, the unconditional acceptation to the word artillery which it now has, we ought perhaps to have said artillery used with gunpowder; for long before the invention of gunpowder the word artillery was employed when speaking of all machines or engines of war (Fig. 62). Thus in the middle of the thirteenth century we find among the personnel of the artillery a grand master of the crossbow men, masters of the engines, of the cannoniers (the word cannon was even then applied to the tube forming one of the principal portions of an engine for hurling projectiles), and in 1291 we see Philip the Fair appointing a grand master of the artillery of the Louvre.

In order to follow methodically the progress of the manufacture of arms such as we shall call novel, we will, in the first place, treat separately of the engines of large calibre which were first employed, and then of portable arms.

The earliest allusion to cannons in France is found in 1338, in an account of the treasurer of war, wherein we read:—“To Henri de Vaumechon, for{96} buying powder and other necessaries for cannons,” which had been used at the siege of Puy-Guilhem, in Périgord.

In Froissart, we next find that, in 1340, the inhabitants of Quesnoy, when repelling the attack of the French, made use of bombards and cannon which hurled huge bolts at the besiegers. But the statement of Villani, that the English were indebted to the employment of artillery for the victory of Crécy, in 1346, must be treated as a pure invention, because it is certain that the firearms which may have been in use at that time were in no way suited to field warfare; and that they were only employed with the older engines in the attack and defence of fortresses. Not only did their cumbrous weight and the rude construction of their carriages render them extremely difficult of transport, but, intended as they were to be employed as catapults, they were generally constructed for hurling heavy projectiles, by causing these to describe a curved line, like modern shells; and their shape is, in fact, much more like that of our mortars than of cannon (Fig. 63).

“It would seem,” says M. de Saulcy, “that, in loading them, hollow cylinders (manchons), or movable chambers, were used, in which the charge was previously laid; and these fitted, by means of a wedge, into the body of the piece. Sometimes these cylinders were at the side, and formed a right angle with the axis of the piece, but usually they fitted into the breech, of which they formed a prolongation.{97}”

The name bombards, which we have just used, and which is derived, as we may conclude, from the Greek bombos (noise), was the first employed for designating cannon; but these engines were so imperfect in principle, and so feeble in power, that catapults, which had played so signal a part in sieges during the Middle Ages, were used in preference when very heavy projectiles had to be hurled (Fig. 64).

Originally the piece rested, as it were, fixedly on a massive support; but soon the means of sighting had to be considered; thus we see depicted in early manuscripts pieces that could be moved up and down by means of trunnions; or which were elevated or depressed for firing by a sort of tail or long projection behind the tube; at other times the muzzle of the cannon is sustained by a fork more or less buried in the ground. This bombard, attached to a platform on wheels, received the denomination of cerbotana ambulatoria; this last word conveying the idea of the movability of the engine.

We have seen that projectiles were of stone, but there is no doubt that{98} from the fourteenth century they were also made of metal; that was nothing new, for ancient engines of war, including the sling, threw leaden balls and masses of red-hot iron. No doubt it was with the object of giving the largest size possible to projectiles of artillery by means of powder that stone was used; which, in the state of the art at that time, was much better adapted than metal for large balls.

Christine of Pisa, who wrote in the time of Charles VI. the “Livre des Faits d’Armes et de Chevalrie,” has left us a collection of very interesting details of the condition of artillery used with powder, which, as early as the fifteenth century, had become much more extended than would be easily believed; moreover, in the descriptions this author gives of armaments, or of narratives of battles, we almost always still see catapults, the large cross-bows, &c., appearing by the side of cannon; a certain proof that the use of powder found its equivalent in more than one instance in the ancient means of the propulsion of projectiles.

Valturio, an Italian writer, whose treatise on military art was first printed in 1472, has described and drawn all the engines of war then in use. Cannons are not forgotten. We observe that the greater number of these pieces have no longer any box forming a movable chamber; this implies an important advance in the art of making them; but, on the other hand, these cannons, bound with cords to a block of wood, or resting on platforms, must have been very difficult to move.

At this period pieces of the largest calibre, which projected enormous balls of stone, were more commonly called bombards; mortars, the very short cannons throwing heated projectiles; cannons, pieces of medium calibre carrying iron projectiles (Fig. 65); culverins, the long pieces loaded with leaden balls, which, as well as the powder, were rammed in with an iron rod;{99} hand-cannons, or bâtons à feu (Fig. 66), were in a manner portable, for if they were handled by one man, it was never without his having recourse to another for firing them.

This last-named term, bâtons à feu, like that of cannon, existed before the invention of gunpowder. As swords and lances had often been designated under the generic name of bâtons, it followed that the name which implied arms in general should also be applied to the earliest portable firearms. In ancient royal ordinances we even see the term gros bâtons used to designate large pieces of artillery.

According to M. de Saulcy, the most important improvement ever made in artillery is certainly that which consisted in placing a gun with trunnions on a carriage à flasques—upright beams of wood, between which the gun can oscillate, and united by cross-pieces; this carriage was mounted on wheels, and admitted of the gun being inclined by the simple use of a wedge of wood{100} placed under the breech. But, strangely enough, it is most difficult to state precisely the date of this improvement. Nevertheless, circumstances tend to the belief that it was between 1476 and 1494—that is, during the reigns of Louis XI. and of Charles VIII.—that they succeeded in making pieces of all calibres carrying iron shot, and also in solidly fixing the trunnions, which not only supported the weight, but also resisted the recoil of the cannon. The carriages for these guns were mounted on wheels. From this period the art of fortifying towns underwent a complete revolution, which suddenly changed the whole system.

When, in 1494, Charles VIII. entered Italy to conquer the kingdom of Naples, the French artillery produced universal admiration. The Italians had only iron guns, drawn by bullocks in rear of the army, and more for appearance than for use. After the first discharge it was some hours before the gun was ready for a second. The French had lighter cannon of bronze, drawn by horses, and moved with so much order that their transport hardly delayed the march of the army; they planted their batteries with incredible promptitude, considering the period, and the rounds were as quickly delivered as they were well aimed. Cotemporaneous Italian writers say that the French used almost exclusively iron shot, and that the guns, both of large and small calibre, were admirably balanced on their carriages.

Yet no single specimen, or even a drawing, of this remarkable artillery has been handed down to us. The Museum of Artillery does, indeed, possess one small piece, on which, between the trunnions and the breech, is this inscription:—“Presented by Charles VIII. to Bartemi, Lord of Pins, captain of the bands of artillery, in 1490.” This cannon presents nothing remarkable in its construction, for we already recognise the form, one that has scarcely varied since then, and which, it seems, was definitely adopted under Louis XII. and Francis I. Of this period we still have two magnificent bronze cannons. They were found at Algiers in 1830; the porcupine, the salamander, and the fleur-de-lys that ornament them, made their origin known.

Artillery, which in the reign of Charles VIII. had become an important arm, and had, besides, the prestige of success in Italy, became a subject to which particular attention was given in succeeding reigns. But, we again say, the true principles of manufacture and mounting were already well{101} ascertained, and only improvements in matters of detail remained to be discovered.

The Armoury Real of Madrid contains a curious dragonneau,[12] cast at Liège in 1503, which figured in the siege of Santander in 1511 (Fig. 67). The carriage, consisting of a single piece of carved oak, is by its delicacy and finish worthy of sustaining this masterpiece of bronze-work, which presents a double interest, first as regards art, and then on account of the rapid advance already made in firearms; for this dragonneau has a double barrel, and is loaded at the breech.

Having arrived at this point, let us again retrace our steps, in order to note, and rapidly follow from its origin, the progress of firearms.

The earliest of these used in the middle of the fourteenth century were called hand-cannon, and were merely formed of an iron tube pierced with a vent, without stock or lock.

A manuscript of that period represents a warrior who, standing on one of those little movable towers then forming part of the siege matériel, is shooting a stone with a gun of this description. The piece is resting on the parapet. By the side a sling is placed with its stone—a circumstance which{102} indicates the relative power of the hand-cannon, as no doubt each engine was to be used alternately. In another place is a horseman holding a small gun with a prolongation; the muzzle is supported by a prong fixed on the pommel of the saddle. Thus it was impossible for him to take aim, and he applied the fire with his hand.

A little later, to prevent the effect of the recoil, there was added below the barrel, a little short of the centre, a sort of hook, intended to serve the purpose of checking the piece. When fired, it was supported on a fork or on a wall; hence the name of arquebuse à croc, which took the place of that of canon à main.

The arquebuse à croc sometimes weighed from fifty to sixty pounds, measured from five to six feet in length, and in principle was chiefly adapted for firing from a wall; it was lightened a little that it might be used by foot-soldiers, who, however, never fired it without a fixed or a movable rest.

The inconvenience of applying fire with the hand, which, moreover, prevented the right direction of the missile, was soon partially superseded by adapting to the barrel a stock to fire from the shoulder, and a lock for a match, called a serpentin, which had only to be let down to ignite the powder{103} at the touch-hole. This was the matchlock arquebus still used by certain Eastern nations in our time, and which secured victory to the Spaniards at the battle of Pavia.

Although the matchlock arquebus, which was made lighter, and was then called mousquet, continued to be the usual arm of infantry until the time of Louis XIII., many serious objections to the use of the serpentin continued. It compelled the soldier always to have a lighted match, or some means of striking a light. Besides, for nearly each shot it was necessary so to regulate the match that the end of it, which was placed in the head of the serpentin (lock), should come exactly into the priming-pan; then the priming-pan had to be opened; these operations were, so to speak, impossible for mounted men, who at the same time had to manage their horses.

About 1517 the Germans invented the screw-plate called à rouet,—wheel-lock (Fig. 69).

To the Spaniards is due the merit of the improvement that followed, the type of which is still in a measure perpetuated in our percussion guns; which, in their turn, have just been replaced by the needle-gun. The Spanish screw-plate, often called the miquelet screw-plate, had on the outside a spring, which pressed, at the extremity of its movable limb, on one of the catches of the hammer; when the gun was cocked the other catch pressed against a pin which projected from the inside and traversed the screw-plate; this pin could be removed, and then the spring acted on the hammer,{104} which was no longer held back; the flint (for at that time a flint was fitted to the gun) struck upon a ribbed plate of steel forming part of the cover of the priming-pan, the action of the flint on the plate produced the fire.

Among the arms in use during the sixteenth century was one called petrinal or poitrinal (petronel), on account of the bent stock, which rested on the chest. This short and heavy arquebus, which could only throw balls, but of a very large size, to a short distance, was usually suspended from the shoulder by a strap or a broad cross-belt.

Light troops were armed with these guns, and took the name of carabins; from this the weapon was next called carabine—a designation which since then has received quite another meaning.

Then followed the pistoles and the pistolets, thus named, it is said, because they were invented at Pistoia; but, with other etymologists, we can also believe that they owed the name to the fact of their bore being of equal diameter with that of the pistole, a coin of the time. The earliest pistols were made with wheels (à rouet), and the barrel did not measure more than a foot in length. Subsequently they varied in shape and in use; some were made which fired several shots in succession, and in other cases they attempted to combine a pistol with the dagger or the battle-axe. (Fig. 70, &c.) This is a notably fine specimen.

We must not forget to note, in what may be called les armes de luxe, the joint application of the match-holder and the wheel to highly-finished arms, this combination being available.{105}

The screw-plate à miquelet, improved by French experiments, led to the mechanism called flint-lock (fusil). There were also then pistols and arquebuses with flint-locks, as formerly there had been pistols and arquebuses with wheels. Subsequently the explanatory became the absolute term, and the entire weapon was known as fusil.

{106} 

{107} 

HE horse has been described by Buffon as “the noblest conquest made by man.” Historians, both, sacred and profane, inform us that the conquest dates from the most remote ages. In the Book of Job we have this magnificent description:—“Then the Lord said, Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage; neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off.” The sacred writer is here referring expressly to the fiery animal trained for war, and obedient to the master who has trained him.

Xenophon, in his “Treatise on Horsemanship” and his “Instructor of Cavalry,” and Diodorus in his “Histories,” are among the Greeks who adduce the most numerous testimonies to the honour in which equestrian exercises were held. Among the Latins, Virgil, in reference to the funereal games celebrated by Acestes in honour of Anchises, tells us that the Roman youth were taught equestrian art as practised by the Trojans. The horse and{108} chariot races, which took place at the solemn games in Greece, have always been justly celebrated; as were those which continued in Rome and in all the great cities of the Roman world until the fifth or sixth century.

We are disposed to believe that the use of the saddle-horse and the carriage-horse was introduced about the same time. But it seems that chariots were rarely mounted by any but chiefs, who fought from that ambulatory elevation while squires managed the horses.

{109}

To Cyrus the Great is ascribed the first idea of arming chariots with scythes, which cut to pieces in every direction those who opposed the progress of the vehicle, or who were thrown down by the violence of the shock. The same war-carriages were found among the Gauls; for a king named Bituitus, having been taken prisoner by the Romans, appeared in his chariot armed with scythes in the triumphal procession of the general who had conquered him.

Riding on horseback was not only practised, but was carried to the highest degree of perfection, among the nations of antiquity; and the use of chariots was, in former times, almost general in war and on certain state occasions. The Romans, and in imitation of them the Gauls who prided themselves on being skilful carriage-builders, had several sorts of wheeled vehicles. Those adopted by the Romans and the Gauls, but discountenanced by the Franks, who preferred to ride on horseback, were the carruca, or carruque, with two wheels and a pair of horses (Fig. 72), richly ornamented with gold, silver, and ivory; the pilentum, a four-wheel carriage with a cloth canopy; the petoritum, an open carriage suitable for rapid travelling; the cisium, a basket-carriage drawn by mules, and used for long journeys; and finally, various carts—the plaustrum, the serracum, the benne, the camuli{110} (trucks), &c. These last, which were chiefly employed as field-carts, continued in use even after pleasure-carriages had entirely disappeared. There remained, however, independent of mule-litters, the basterna and carpentum, state-carriages of the Merovingian period, but only queens and ladies of high rank, who were unequal to long journeys on horseback, indulged in such means of locomotion, while men—even kings and high personages—would have blushed to be conveyed like “holy relics,” as picturesquely expressed by one of Charlemagne’s courtiers; but certainly not at the period of the “lazy kings,” when, as Boileau has well said,—

“Chivalry,” wrote M. le Marquis de Varenne, “the exercises of which were the image of war, rendered horsemanship a new art always indispensable in the education of the nobility; and chevalier soon became synonymous with a man of good birth.” “The Book of Facts,” by the “Bon Chevalier Messire Jean le Maingre, called Baucicaut, Marshal of France,” written in the beginning of the fifteenth century, enumerates the exercises which a youth aspiring to the title of a gentleman had to undergo:—“They endeavoured to leap (sailler) upon a charger, fully armed; item, leaped, without placing the foot in the stirrup, on a charger in all its armour; item, leaped from the ground a-straddle on to the shoulders of a tall man on a large horse, seizing the man by the sleeve with one hand, without other assistance; item, placing one hand on the saddle-bow of a large charger, and the other near the ears, taking him by the mane, and from the level ground jumping to the other side (côté) of the charger.”

The Chevalier Bayard, while yet page to the Duke of Savoy, and only seventeen years of age, performed, as his historian relates, wonders in the meadows of Ainay, at Lyons, before King Charles VIII., “in leaping on his charger,” and by his management of it creating a favourable impression of his merits. This will suffice to show the estimation in which horsemanship was held. No one was regarded as a valiant knight until he had proved his prowess in jousts and tournaments (Fig. 74) in the rank of squire. Although his functions were essentially those of serving, a squire, who ranked higher than a page, was to the knight rather an auxiliary and a companion than a servant. It was his duty to carry the arms of the knight, to take charge of{111} his table, his house, and his horses. On the field of battle he remained in his rear, ready to defend him, to lift him up if he were overthrown, and to provide him, when necessary, with another horse or other arms. He guarded the prisoners captured by the knight, and occasionally fought for him at his side.

The principal sign distinguishing knights from squires consisted in the material of which their spurs were made—of gold for the former, of silver for the latter. It is well known that, at the disastrous battle of Courtray, the Flemings collected after the action, from the slain, four thousand pairs of gold spurs; consequently, four thousand knights of the army of Philip the Fair had fallen.

In order to win his spurs (of gold)—an expression become proverbial—it was indispensable that one who aspired to the honour should perform some valiant deed, proving him worthy of being “dubbed,” or armed as a knight. The ceremony of admission commenced by presenting the spurs; and who{112}soever conferred the order of chivalry, were he king or prince, condescended to put on and fasten the spurs for the recipient. In pursuance of the same principle, when a knight, having committed a fault or any cowardly act, had incurred blame or correction, it was by deprivation of, or by changing his spurs, that his degradation commenced. For a slight offence a herald substituted silver spurs for those of gold, which lowered a knight to the grade of squire. But in a case of “forfeiture,” as it was termed, an executioner or a cook cut off the straps of his spurs, or they were struck off on a dunghill with an axe: infamy was the future portion of him who had been subjected to that public disgrace.

The privilege of wearing spurs was regarded as a mark of independence and authority; so that when a noble tendered faith and homage to his sovereign, he was obliged to take off his spurs in token of vassalage. In 816, ere chivalry had been instituted, an assembly of lords and bishops prohibited ecclesiastics from adopting the profane fashion of wearing spurs then prevailing among the higher classes of the clergy.

The use of the spur appears to date from the most ancient times. The origin of the word has been much disputed. From the time of Louis le Débonnaire it was called spuors, which has become sporen in Germany, sperane in Italian, spur in English, éperon in French. The Latins called it calcar (which originally signified cock’s spur), doubtless from the form first given to the spur. That form has strangely varied during centuries. The oldest known shape is that of the spur found in the tomb of Queen Brunehaut, who died in 613, and which is simply like a skewer. This seems to have long continued to be the form; but, from the commencement of the thirteenth to the end of the sixteenth century, the spur is seen in the form of a rose, or of a star with a turning rowel, and was mostly fashioned in a very rich and delicate manner. At the period when horses were clad in steel or leather, the spurs were necessarily very long, in order to reach the animal’s flanks (Figs. 75 and 76). The spurs of Godfrey of Bouillon, which have been preserved (their authenticity is more or less questionable), are in that style. In the reign of Charles VII. the young nobles wore, rather for show than for use, spurs the rowel of which was as large as the hand, and fixed at the end of a metal stem half a foot long.

If, therefore, from time immemorial every mounted horse “felt the spur,” there was at least a period when every sort of spur could not be{113} indiscriminately applied to the flanks of each individual of the equine race. “There are,” says Brunetto Latini, a writer of the thirteenth century, in his “Treasury of all Things”—a sort of encyclopædia of the age—“there are horses of several kinds: chargers, or tall horses, for the combat, whence the expression, ‘mounting the high horse;’ others, for gentle exercise, use palfreys, which were also called amblers and hackneys; others employ pack-horses, courtants (cropped horses), to carry a load (somme).” Somme here signifies a burden, and this, which we now call baggage, consisted of spare arms and hauberk, which a knight was careful to take with him when he went to the wars. Mares and bât-horses (horses carrying the bât, or load) were reserved for agriculture and other field-purposes; and it was clearly on that account that a knight was not allowed to ride them. To make a knight ride upon a mare was, like the loss of his spurs, one of the most degrading punishments that could be inflicted on him, and thenceforth “any one who regarded his own honour would no more have touched that disgraced knight than a shaven idiot (leper).”

{114}

The horses of French knights were without ears or mane; those of the Germans without tails. According to Carrion-Nisas, the armour of the horse, and the style in which it was caparisoned, were the cause of these mutilations. We have elsewhere remarked that if the men were cased in steel their horses were not less heavily cuirassed (Fig. 77). The entire armour and appointments of a horse were called the harness;{115} the plates of steel or leather (for leather also was often used) were called bardes. We find enumerated, not only the articles of which the harness consisted—chanfrein, nasal, flancois, &c.—but examples are cited to denote the sumptuousness of this equipment of the horse. We need not, however, dwell longer here on this subject, that refers more properly to the manufacture of arms; but a few words must be said regarding the saddle, which is, if we may use the expression, an implement of horsemanship, and not a part of the armour.

The use of saddles seems to have been unknown in early times, and never to have been introduced among certain nations which, by the way, were most famous in the art of training the horse and making him serviceable. The Thessalonians and the Numidians rode on the bare back, without saddle or stirrups; seated firmly on the horse simply by the pressure of the knees and the calf of the legs; a position which is still that of the boldest riders in the East and in Africa. Hippocrates has ascribed the common and severe diseases of the hips and legs which afflicted the Scythians to the rider’s want of support on horseback. Galen makes the same remark regarding the Roman legions, who only introduced the use of a saddle about the year 340 of the Christian era. The Gauls and Franks used neither saddles nor stirrups; but when steel armour was adopted, it would have been impossible for knights to preserve an equilibrium without the aid of a saddle, or to sustain the slightest shock to which they were exposed, as armour rendered them in a manner rigid, or with little flexibility on their large horses.

They therefore had recourse to a high, or rather a deep, saddle, closely adhering to the thighs and loins, with large stirrups serving as supports to the feet. The several parts of the armour being splendidly ornamented, it followed that the saddles, which also were exposed to view, were no more neglected than other ornaments of the animal. Engraved and chased, they were also gilt and painted, and thus, with the shield, helped to distinguish, by the “devices” they bore, the armed warrior completely cased in his steel covering (Figs. 78 to 81).

As to stirrups, of which there certainly is no trace among the Greeks or the Romans, it may be said they were coeval with the invention of saddles. They made their appearance in the earliest days of the Merovingian dynasty; and if we accept the German etymology which the learned have offered{116} (streben, to support one’s self), the name and the object was introduced by the Franks into Gaul. However that may be, they were no longer dispensed with, especially in war, and when the weight of armour rendered their use necessary. They were of course very large, very massive, and very clumsy in the days of chivalry. When they diminished in size and weight they were wrought with more care, and became objects of art, charged with ingenious ornaments, and embellished with engraving, chasing, and gilding.

In accordance with the opinion held by M. de la Varenne, we have already ascribed the disuse of private carriages to the contempt with which the Franks regarded a mode of conveyance deemed by them to be effeminate. But, following the same author, we must observe that a reason might also{117} be discovered in the wretched condition into which, after the decline of the Romans, those magnificent roads formed by them in all their conquered provinces had fallen. In towns, moreover, the streets, narrow, crooked, and with no regular direction, were very frequently so many holes and quagmires. Philip Augustus I. had some of the streets of Paris paved in that lutèce[13] which already, at the time of the Roman conquest, had deserved the significant epithet of miry. The princes and the nobles who, as Molière humorously makes Mascarilla say, feared “to leave the impression of their shoes in mud,” and could not without difficulty drive about the towns in carriages, consequently had recourse to the horse or the mule. The ladies made use of them also; but very frequently, if not carried in litters, they rode on a pillion behind the horseman.

In the thirteenth century chariots reappeared; but the fashion did not long prevail, for Philip the Fair discouraged them, in one of the clauses of his sumptuary ordinance of 1294, by declaring that “no citizen may have a chariot.”

The litter continued to be held in repute for processions; but queens frequently rode on horseback. Isabel of Bavaria rode on a beautiful{118} palfrey, with her ladies and her maids also on horseback, on the occasion of her entering Paris to espouse Charles VI. And when Mary of England, who went to be married to Louis XII., made her entry into Abbeville, she also, as Robert de la Marck relates, was mounted on a palfrey, as were most of her ladies, “and the remainder in chariots; and the king, riding a large, prancing bay horse, came to receive his bride, with all the gentlemen of his household and of his guard on horseback.” The meeting of Henry VIII. and Francis I. in the camp of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, presented the most beautiful display that had ever been seen of caparisoned horses, decorated and furnished with unprecedented richness (Fig. 82).

Charles V., in consequence of frequent attacks of gout, was soon compelled to renounce riding. When he went into the country, or on a journey, he was generally followed by a litter and a chair. Mules bore the litter, in which he could recline, while bearers carried the chair, which was

{119}

provided with a movable back; its four uprights could be fitted with a sort of canopy of canvas or leather.

In 1457 the ambassadors of Ladislaus V., King of Hungary, presented to Marie of Anjou, Queen of France, a chariot which excited the admiration of the whole court and the inhabitants of Paris, “because,” as the historian of the times says, “it was branlant (suspended), and very rich.”

It is difficult to reconcile the inference to be drawn from the ordinance of Philip the Fair with the assertion of many historians, that coaches first appeared in France only in the time of Francis I. The point is still doubtful. Nevertheless, one may suppose historians to mean that coaches, instead of being the only vehicles employed in Paris in the time of Francis I., were but chariots of a grander and more gorgeous description than any seen before that time. But we know for certain that, during the Middle Ages, the horse and the mule were generally ridden by everybody, by citizens and by nobles, by women and by men. The horse-blocks fixed in the streets—too narrow evidently, if not for one carriage, at least for two to pass each other—and the rings fastened on{120} doors sufficiently denote that it was so. The mule was especially ridden by sedate men, such as magistrates and doctors, who had to “amble” through the towns. “To take care of the mule,” a proverbial expression signifying to wait impatiently, is derived from the custom of lawyers’ servants remaining in the court of the Palace to take charge of the riding-horses or mules belonging to their masters.

According to Sauval, the two first coaches seen in Paris, and which called forth the wonder of the people, belonged, one to Queen Claude, the first wife of Francis I.; and the other to Diana of Poitiers, his mistress.

The fashion was soon followed; so much so, that even where the sumptuary laws were still regarded as efficient, we find parliament entreating Charles IX. to prohibit the circulation of coaches (coches) through the town. The magistrates continued, until the commencement of the seventeenth century, to attend at the courts of justice on their mules. Christopher of Thou, father of the celebrated historian, and first President of Parliament, was the first who came thither in his carriage; but only because he suffered from gout, for his wife continued to ride on horseback, seated pillion-fashion behind a servant.{121}

Henry IV. had only one carriage. “I shall be unable to go and see you,” he one day wrote to Sully, “for my wife uses my coach (coche).” These coaches were neither elegant nor convenient. For doors they were provided with leathern aprons, which were drawn or opened for entrance or exit, with similar curtains to protect against the rain or the sun.

Marshal Bassompierre, in the time of Louis XIII., had a glass coach made for him, which was regarded as a real marvel: it originated the impulse which has led to the productive era of modern coach-building.

Formerly there were in Paris, as appears from numerous documents, several corporations representing the saddler’s trade. First came the selliers-bourreliers, and the selliers-lormiers-carrossiers. The privileges of the first secured to them specially the manufacture of saddles and harness (collars and other articles for draught). The second made also carriages, bridles, reins, &c. Another very ancient corporation was that of the lormiers-éperonniers—“artisans,” says the Glossary of Jean de Garlande, “whom the military nobles greatly patronised, because they manufactured silvered and gilt spurs, metal breastplates for their horses, and well-executed bits.” There were also chapuissiers, who made saddle-bows and pack-frames for the beasts of burden, which were mostly manufactured of alder-wood.

The blazenniers and cuireurs then covered with leather the packs and the saddles prepared by the chapuissiers; and, finally, saddle-painters were employed to ornament them, either in compliance with fashion, which has always been omnipotent in France, or according to the laws of heraldry, when intended for men of rank for purposes of state or war.

{122} 

{123} 

N the remarks upon furniture, we were compelled to trespass on the domain which we now again approach; for, having to trace the history of secular and religious luxury, we cannot but frequently encounter the goldsmiths and their splendid works. It will thus happen more than once that we shall have to indicate briefly certain important facts already described, in some details, in preceding chapters.

It is known that in old times, even the most remote, the goldsmith’s art flourished. There is scarcely any ancient narrative which does not allude to jewels; and every day the discovery of precious objects, found in ruins and in tombs, still attests the high state of perfection the art of gold and silver work had attained among races long since extinct.

The Gauls, when under Roman dominion, applied themselves successfully to the business of the gold-worker. We may again say that the triumph of the Christian religion, under Constantine the Great, while encouraging the interior decoration of places of worship, added a fresh impulse to the development of this beautiful art.

The popes succeeding St. Sylvester (who had stimulated the liberality of Constantine) continued to accumulate, in the churches at Rome, the most costly and massive articles of gold-work. Symmachus (498 to 514) alone, according to a calculation made by Seroux d’Agincourt, enriched the treasures of the basilicas to the amount of 130 pounds weight of gold, and 1,700 of silver, forming the material of objects most finely wrought.{124} It was from the very court of the Greek emperors that the examples of this magnificence were derived; for we hear St. John Chrysostom exclaiming, “All our admiration is at present reserved for the goldsmiths and the weavers;” and it is well known that in consequence of his bold indiscretion in rebuking the extravagance of the Empress Eudoxia, this eloquent Father of the Church expiated in exile and persecutions his ardent zeal and his sincerity.

The brilliant specimens of the gold-work of the Visigoths, which, in 1858, were exhumed in the field of Guarrazar, near Toledo, and which have been obtained for the Cluny Museum, throw a new light on the monuments of that period. Far from indicating any original style, they afford further proof that the barbarians who came from the North became subjected, in the arts, to Byzantine influence. The most remarkable, not only in its dimensions and extreme richness, but in the peculiarity of its ornaments, is a votive crown, intended to be hung, according to the custom of those times, in a sacred place—that of Recesvinthe, who reigned over the Goths of Spain from 653 to 672. It is composed of a large fillet, jointed, and formed of a double plate of the finest gold. Thirty uncut sapphires and as many pearls, regularly alternating, arranged in three rows and in quincunxes,[14] are seen on its exterior circle. Chased ornaments occupy the spaces between the stones. The votive crown of King Suintila, which we here reproduce (Fig. 86), is fully as rich, and about thirty years older.

{125}

It is of massive gold, ornamented with sapphires and pearls arranged in rose-pattern, and set off by two borders similarly set with delicate stones. But the originality of this precious gem consists in the letters hanging as pendants from its lower border. These letters, open-worked, are filled with small pieces of red glass set in gold; their combination presents the following inscription:—“Suintilanus Rex offeret” (offering of the King Suintila). Each of them is suspended from the fillet by a chain with double links, sustaining a pendant of violet sapphire, pear-shaped. Finally, the crown is suspended by four chains attached to a circular top of rock-crystal.

“Five of the crowns so fortunately discovered at Guarrazar,” says M. de Lasteyrie, “have crosses. These, attached by a chain to the same circular top, were evidently intended to remain suspended across the circle of the crown.” The cross belonging to the crown of Recesvinthe is by far the richest; eight large pearls and six sapphires, all mounted in open-work, adorn the front. The four other crosses are of the form which in heraldry is called croix patée; but they differ in size and in the ornaments with which they are enriched.

We have already stated that the kings and grandees of the Merovingian period displayed in their plate and in some of their state-furniture a richness of gold-work the profuseness of which was ordinarily opposed to good taste. We have seen at his work the celebrated Saint Eloi, bishop-goldsmith; and we have mentioned not only his remarkable productions, but also the{126} enduring influence he exercised over a whole historical period of art. Finally, we have observed that Charlemagne—whose object seems to have been not only to imitate Constantine, but to surpass him—endowed the churches magnificently with works of art, without prejudice to the numberless splendours which his palaces contained.

According to a tradition, the loss of most of the beautiful objects of gold-work belonging to that monarch may have been owing to the circumstance that they were disposed around him in the sepulchral chamber where{127} the body was deposited after death; and the emperors of Germany, his successors, may not have scrupled to appropriate those riches, of which some rare specimens, particularly his diadem and sword, are still preserved in the Museum of Vienna (Figs. 87 and 88).

Ecclesiastical display, notably extinct during the period of trouble and suffering through which the Church passed in the seventh and eighth centuries, and to which the power of Charlemagne was to put an end, manifested itself in an extraordinary degree from that time. For example, it was calculated that under Leo III., who occupied the pontifical chair from 795 to 816, the weight of the plate which the Pope gave to enrich the churches, amounted to not less than 1,075 pounds of gold and 24,744 pounds of silver!

To that period belongs the famous gold altar of the basilica of St. Ambrose of Milan, executed in 835, by order of Archbishop Angilbert, by Volvinius; and which, notwithstanding its immense intrinsic value, has come down to our time. “The four sides of this monument,” says M.{128} Labarte, “are of extreme richness. The front, entirely of gold, is divided into three panels by a border of enamel. The centre panel represents a cross of four equal projections, formed by fillets of ornaments in enamel, alternating with precious stones uncut but polished. Christ is seated in the centre of the cross. The symbols of the Evangelists occupy its branches. Three of the Apostles are placed in each angle. All these figures are in relief. The right and left panels contain each six bas-reliefs, the subjects of which are taken from the life of Christ; they are encircled by borders of enamels and precious stones alternately disposed. The two sides, in silver relieved with gold, exhibit very rich crosses, treated in the same style as the borders. The back, which is also of silver relieved with gold, is likewise divided in three large panels; that in the centre contains four medallions, and each of the others six bas-reliefs, of which the life of St. Ambrose supplied the subjects. In one of the medallions of the centre panel is seen St. Ambrose receiving the gold altar from the hands of Archbishop Angilbert; in the other, St. Ambrose is giving his benediction to Volvinius, the master goldsmith (magister faber), as he is designated in the inscription transmitting to us the name of the author of this work, of which no description can give an exact idea.”

It was not Italy alone which possessed skilful goldsmiths, and encouraged them. We have in particular, among other enlightened and active supporters of ecclesiastical gold-work, a succession of the bishops of Auxerre, to whom must be added Hincmar, bishop of Rheims, who caused a splendid shrine to be made for the relics of the illustrious patron of his church. It was cased in plates of silver, and statues of twelve bishops adorned its borders.

But, notwithstanding all its artistic magnificence, the jewellery of the West could only appear to be the reflex of the wonders produced at the same epoch by the goldsmiths of the East, or the Byzantines, to adopt a term generally sanctioned.

One of the most curious specimens of Byzantine art, preserved in Russia, is a gold reliquary lined with a plate of silver, in the centre of which is an embossed representation of the Crucifixion. Above the head, on a gilt nimbus, is an inscription in Greek, “Jesus Christ, King of Glory.” This treasure, remarkable for its extreme finish, is covered with a mosaic of precious stones of different colours, in partitions of gold; the cross being quartered{129} in enamel, with silver filigree. At the back the names of the archimandrite Nicolos are engraved. It is a work of the tenth century, and was found in the Iberian monastery on Mount Athos.

If rare specimens only of jewellery have come down to us of a date prior to the eleventh century, this may be accounted for not merely by their intrinsic value having indicated them to the uncivilised as fit objects of plunder during the invasions which took place after the reign of Charlemagne, but also, as we have elsewhere remarked, by the re-introduction of church furniture, which was in some measure a necessary result of renovated architecture. It was right to adapt the style of plate to that of the edifice{130} it was to adorn. The forms which were then employed for various objects of church-service showed the influence of the severe style derived from the original Byzantine type; the latter, moreover, explained itself by the repute, especially in metallurgy, enjoyed by the city of Constantine, to which the East generally had recourse when taking in hand any work of importance.

The German school particularly would acquire a Byzantine character, owing to the marriage of the Emperor Otho II. with the Greek princess Theophania (972)—an alliance which naturally bound the two empires in closer ties, and attracted a considerable number of artists and artisans to Germany from the East. Of the works of that period still in existence, one of the most remarkable is the rich gold cover of the book of the Gospels, now in the Royal Library, Munich; on which are executed, in the embossed style, various bas-reliefs of great delicacy, and designed with the purity at that time distinguishing the Greek school.

The Emperor Henry II. was therefore welcomed (bien-venu), and, if one may say so, well served by the condition of art in Germany, when, elevated to the throne in 1002, and inspired by ardent piety, he sought, by princely liberality to the churches, to surpass even Constantine and{131}

Charlemagne. It is to Henry that the Cathedral of Basle owes the decorations of the altar, to which none can be compared for richness, except that of Milan; yet without recalling it by its style, which has lost every trace of the antique, and is a clearly-pronounced type of the art which the Middle Ages were to create as their own. It is right to mention also the crown of the sainted emperor, and that of his wife, now preserved in the Treasury of the King of Bavaria; both are in six jointed parts, making a circle; the former bears figures of winged angels; the other, stalks with four leaves designed with correctness and grace, and executed in a manner which evinces the greatest dexterity. “Moreover,” says M. Labarte, “the taste for jewellery was then generally diffused throughout Germany; and many prelates followed the example set by the emperor. Willigis, the first Archbishop of Mayence, may be cited; he endowed his church with{132} a crucifix weighing 600 pounds, the several parts of which were adjusted with such art that each could be detached at the joints; and Bernward, Bishop of Hildesheim, who, like St. Eloi, was himself a celebrated goldsmith, and to whom is ascribed a crucifix enriched with precious stones and filigrees, and two magnificent candelabra, which still constitute a portion of the treasures of the church whereof he was the pastor.”

About the same period—that is, in the early days of the eleventh century—a monk of Dreux, named Odorain, who had made himself famous in France by his works in precious metals, executed a large number of objects for King Robert, intended for the churches the monarch had founded.

It has been remarked in the preceding chapter, that the Crusades gave a great impulse to the goldsmith’s art in Europe, in consequence of the great demand for shrines and reliquaries intended for the reception of the venerated remains of saints which the soldiers of the faith brought back from their distant expeditions (Figs. 91 and 92). The offerings of consecrated vessels and of altar-fronts were also multiplied. The Holy Scriptures received cases and coverings which were so many splendid works entrusted to the goldsmiths. To speak truly, had it not been for the essentially religious direction which, at that period, certain departments of luxury acquired by the Crusaders in the East had taken, we might perhaps have seen the arts, that only in the West recommenced a{133} real existence, become extinguished, and in a manner perish in the first burst of their revival.

It is chiefly to the minister of Louis le Gros, Suger, Abbot of Saint-Denis, who died in 1152, that the honour of this consecration of arts is due, for he distinctively proclaimed himself their protector; he endeavoured to render legitimate their position in the State, by opposing their pious aims to the too exclusive censures of St. Bernard and his disciples.

Conjointly with the powerful abbot, there is deserving of special mention a simple monk, Theophilus, an eminent artist who wrote in Latin a description of the Industrial Arts of his time (Diversarum Artium Schedula), and devoted seventy-nine chapters of his book to that of the goldsmith. This valuable treatise shows us, in the most unmistakable manner, that the goldsmiths of the twelfth century must have possessed a comprehensiveness of knowledge and manipulation, the mere enumeration of which surprises us the more now that we see industry everywhere tending to an almost infinite division of labour. At that time the goldsmith was required to be at once modeller, sculptor, smelter, enameller, jewel-mounter, and inlay-worker. He had to cast his own models in wax, as well as to labour with his hammer or embellish with his graver: he had to make the chalice, the vases, and the pyx, for the metropolitan churches, on which were lavished all the resources of art; and to produce, by the ordinary process of punching, the open-work or the designs of copper intended to ornament the books of the poor (libri pauperum), &c.

The treasury of the Abbey of Saint-Denis still possessed, at the time of the Revolution, several chefs-d’œuvre produced by the artists whose processes are described by Theophilus; especially the rich mounting of a cup of Oriental agate, bearing the name of Suger, which it is believed he used for the service of mass; and the mounting of an ancient sardonyx vase, known as the cup of the Ptolemies, which Charles the Simple had given to the abbey. Having been deposited, in 1793, in the Cabinet of Medals, Paris, the mounting of the cup of the Ptolemies and the chalice of Suger remained there until they were stolen in 1804.

Among the examples of that period still existing, and which, conditionally, every one is permitted to inspect, we may distinguish, with M. Labarte,—in addition to “the great crown of lights” suspended under the cupola in the cathedral of Aix-la-Chapelle, and the magnificent shrine in{134} which Frederick I. collected the bones of Charlemagne,—in the Museum of the Louvre, a vase of rock-crystal mounted in gold and embellished with gems, presented to Louis VII. by his wife Eleanora; in the Cluny Museum, several candelabra; in the Imperial Library in Paris, the covering of a Latin manuscript, numbered 622; a cup of agate onyx (Fig. 93), bordered with a belt of precious stones raised on a groundwork of filigree; and the beautiful gold chalice of St. Remy (Fig. 94), which, after having appeared in the Cabinet of Antiquities, was restored in 1861 to the treasury of the church of Notre-Dame, Rheims.

Severe forms and an elevated style were the characteristics of the jewelled works of the eleventh and twelfth centuries; and, for the principal elements of accessory embellishment, we most frequently see pearls, precious stones, with enamelled divisions which, according to the minute description of Theophilus, are only delicate mosaics whose various coloured segments are separated by plates of gold.

In the days of St. Louis, a period of active and generous piety, there was (an assertion which may appear hazardous after what we have said of the zeal of preceding centuries) a remarkable accession to the number and the splendour of the gifts and offerings of jewellery to the churches. For instance, it was then that Bonnard, Parisian goldsmith, assisted by the ablest artisans, devoted two years to the manufacture of the shrine of{135}

St. Geneviève, on which he expended one hundred and ninety-three marks of silver and seven and a half marks of gold; the mark weighing eight ounces. The shrine, consecrated in 1212, was in the form of a little church, with statuettes and bas-reliefs enriched with precious stones. It was deposited in the French mint in 1793; but the spoil realised only twenty-three thousand eight hundred and thirty livres. Half a century earlier, the most celebrated German goldsmiths were engaged during seventeen years upon the famous reliquary in silver gilt, called the “Great Relics,” which the cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle still possesses; it was fabricated from the gifts{136} deposited in that space of time by the faithful in the poors’-box of the porch; an edict of the Emperor Barbarossa having appropriated all the offerings to that object, “so long as it remained unfinished.”

Moreover, that period, which may be regarded as denoting the zenith of the goldsmith’s art for sacred purposes, is also that wherein occurred the important transition which was to introduce into domestic life the same lavishness so long devoted only to objects applicable to ecclesiastical use. But, before entering upon that new phase, we ought to mention, not without much commendation, the enamelled gold-work of Limoges, which was greatly celebrated for several centuries. From the Gallo-Romano period Limoges had acquired a reputation for the works of its goldsmiths. St. Eloi, the great goldsmith in the time of the Merovingian kings (Fig. 95), was originally from that country, and he was working under Alban, a goldsmith, and master of the mint at Limoges, when his reputation led to his being called to the court of Clotaire II. The ancient Roman colony had retained its industrial speciality, and during the Middle Ages was remarkable for the production of works of a peculiar character, which are supposed to have been fabricated there prior to the third century, if we may judge from a passage in Philostratus, a Greek writer of that period.

This work consisted of a mixed style, inasmuch as the material forming the ground of the work is copper; and, moreover, the principal effects are due not less to the skill of the enameller than to the talent of the worker in metal. The process of fabrication is very simple—that is, in the way of description—yet the execution must have been extremely protracted and minute.

“After having prepared and polished a plate of copper,” says M. Labarte, whose account we transfer to our own pages, “the artist marked on it all the parts which were to rise to the surface of the metal, in order to produce the outlines of the drawing or of the figure he wanted to represent; then, with gravers and scrapers, he dug deeply in the copper all the space which the various metals were to cover. In the hollows thus champlevés (a word sometimes used to signify the mode of producing this kind of work), he placed the material to be vitrified, which was afterwards melted in a furnace. When the enamelled piece was cold, he polished it by various means, so as to bring to the surface of the enamel all the lines of the drawing produced by the copper. Gilding was afterwards applied to the parts{137}

of the metal thus preserved. Until the twelfth century, only the outlines of the drawing ordinarily rose to the surface of the enamel, and the tints of the flesh, as well as the dresses, were produced by coloured enamel; in the thirteenth century enamel was no longer used but to colour the ground-{138}work. The figures were entirely preserved on the plate of copper, and the outlines of the drawing were then shown by a delicate engraving on the metal.”

Between the enamels partitioned (cloisonnés) and the enamels champlevés the difference, as we can see, is only the first arrangement of the divisions to receive the several vitrifiable compositions. Making allowances for the influence of fashion, these two styles of analogous works were held in almost equal estimation. Nevertheless, it seems that the preference ought to be assigned to the goldsmith’s art in Limoges, which, at a time when there was manifested a demand for private reliquaries and collective offerings to the churches, had this advantage over the other, that it was{139} much less costly, and consequently more accessible to all classes (Fig. 96). In the present day there is scarcely a museum, or even a private collection, that does not contain some specimen of the ancient Limousine[15] industry.

With the fourteenth century the splendour of the goldsmith’s art ceases to display, as its exclusive object, ecclesiastical decoration and embellishment; but it suddenly became so developed among the laity that King John (of France) desiring, or pretending to desire, to restore it to the exclusive line it had till then retained, prohibited by an ordinance, in 1356, the goldsmiths from “working (fabricating) gold or silver plate, vases, or silver jewellery, of more than one mark of gold or silver, excepting for the churches.”

But it is possible to issue ordinances in order to show the advantage of evading them, and to benefit exclusively by the exception. This is what appears to have then occurred; for, in the inventory of the treasury of Charles V., son and successor of the king who signed the sumptuary edict of 1356, the value of the various objects of the goldsmith’s art is estimated at not less than nineteen millions. This document, in which the greater number of the articles are described to the minutest detail, would suffice in itself to exhibit a truthful historical view of the art at that period; and, at all events, it affords a striking idea of the artistic progress made in that direction, and of the extravagance to which the trade was subservient.

When considering the subject of furniture in domestic life, we indicated the names and the uses of several articles which were displayed on the tables or sideboards—plateholders, ewers, urns, goblets, &c.; we also adverted to the numerous and capricious forms they assumed—flowers, animals, grotesque images; we need not, therefore, recur to the matter; but we ought not to overlook the jewellery, of all sorts—insignia, or ornaments of the head-dress, gems, clasps, chains and necklaces, antique cameos (Fig. 98), which appear in the treasury of the King of France.

In treating of ecclesiastical furniture we, moreover, observed that the goldsmith’s art, although devoting itself to secular ornaments, nevertheless{140} continued to work marvels in the production of objects for ecclesiastical use; it would be mere repetition to support this assertion by other examples.

But, dismissing those two questions, let a contemporary poet raise a third, which deserves a place here. Eustache Deschamps, who died in 1422, equerry and usher-at-arms to Charles V. and Charles VI., enumerates the jewels and gems which the female nobility of the time aspired to possess. “It was indispensable,” he says—

They desired, moreover, and said that they ought to have given to them—

We thus see that, according to the above programme, the jewel-box of a princess, or of a lady of rank, must have been really splendid. Unfortunately for us, the specimens of these female ornaments of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries are still more rare in collections than objects of massive plate; and one is almost left to imagine their appearance and their richness from the entries in inventories, that chief source of information regarding the times of which the memorials have disappeared.

It is there we see the costliness of the fermails, or clasps of cloaks and copes, called also pectoraux, because they fastened the garments across the breast; girdles, chaplets (head-dresses), portable reliquaries, and other “little jewels (Fig. 99) pendants et à pendre,” the fashion of which we have restored under the name of breloques, and which represent every variety of object more or less whimsical. We see, for instance, gold clasps representing a peacock, a fleur-de-lis, two hands “clasped.” This one is embellished with six sapphires, sixty pearls, and other large gems; that one with eighteen rubies, and four emeralds. From a girdle of Charles V.,{142} which is made “of scarlet silk adorned with eight gold mountings,” are suspended “a knife, scissors, and a pen-knife,” ornamented in gold; the trinkets (pendants) represent “a man on horseback, a cock holding a mirror in the form of a trefoil,” or “a stag of pearls with enamelled horns;” or, again, a man mounted on a double-headed serpent, “playing on a Saracenic horn” (of Saracen origin). Finally, we remark that in reliquaries a fashion long established was maintained, which consisted of forming them of a statuette representing a saint (Fig. 100), or of a subject that comprised his image, and to which were attached, by a small chain, relics inlaid in a little tabernacle of gold or silver, preciously wrought.

But now the fifteenth century opens out, and with it a period of tumult. France suddenly beheld that impulse to industry paralyzed, which, to prosper, requires a condition of affairs very different from sanguinary civil dissensions and foreign invasion. Not only were the workshops closed, but princes and nobles were more than once constrained to appropriate the gorgeous decorations of their tables and their collections of gems, to pay and arm warriors under their command, or even to redeem themselves from captivity.

At that time the goldsmith’s art flourished in the neighbouring country of Flanders, then quietly submissive to the powerful house of Burgundy, which, with equal taste and liberality, encouraged the art, which had installed itself in the principal cities. This was also an epoch of magnificent productions{143}

in that country, but not more than one or two examples remain; these are attributed to Corneille de Bonte, who worked at Ghent, and was{144}

generally considered the most skilful goldsmith of his time (Figs. 101 and 102). However that may be, the style of the goldsmith’s art of the fifteenth century continued, as in the two or three preceding centuries, conformable to the contemporaneous style of architecture. For instance, the shrine of Saint-Germain-des-Près, which was of that period, had the form of a small ogivale[16] church; and some specimens still existing in Berlin are of the Gothic character, the prevailing style of the edifices of those times. But an influence was making itself felt that was not long in entirely modifying the general aspect of the productions of the trade we are considering. That transformation must have been promoted by Italy; in the midst of which, in spite of intestine troubles and serious contentions with other nations, a luxury and opulence prevailed. Genoa, Venice, Florence, Rome, had long been so many centres where the Fine Arts struggled for pre-eminence and inspiration. Among the majority of the wealthy merchants who had{145}

become patricians of those gorgeous republics were found so many Mæcenases, under whose patronage flourished great artists whom popes and princes emulously countenanced. “From the moment,” says M. Labarte, “when the Nicolases, the Jeans of Pisa, and the Giottos, throwing off the Byzantine yoke, caused Art to emerge from languor and supineness, that of the gold{146}smith could no longer find favour in Italy but by maintaining itself on a level with the progress of sculpture, whose daughter it was.[17] When we know that the great Donatello,—Philip Brunelleschi, the bold architect of the dome of Florence,—Ghiberti, the author of the marvellous doors of the Baptistery, had goldsmiths for their earliest masters, we may judge what artists the Italian goldsmiths of that period must have been.” The first in date is the celebrated Jean of Pisa, son of Nicolas, who, brought from Arezzo in 1286, to sculpture the marble table of the high-altar, and a group of the Virgin between St. Gregory and St. Donato, desired to pay tribute to the taste of the time by ornamenting the altar with those fine chasings on silver coloured with enamels to which we give the name of translucid enamels in relief; and also by designing a clasp or jewel with which he decorated the breast of the Virgin. Both chasings and clasp are now lost.

To Jean (Giovanni) of Pisa succeeded his pupils Agostino and Agnolo of Siena.

In 1316 Andrea of Ognibene executed, for the Cathedral of Pistoia, an altar-front, which has come down to us, and must have been followed by more important works. Then come Pietro and Paulo of Arezzo, Ugolino of Siena, and finally Master Cione,[18] the author of the two silver bas-reliefs still to be seen on the altar of the Baptistery of Florence. Master Cione, whose school was numerous, had for his principal pupils Forzane of Arezzo and Leonardo of Florence, who worked on the two most noted monuments of the goldsmith’s art which time and depredations have respected—the altar of Saint-Jacques at Pistoia, and that same altar of the Baptistery to which the bas-reliefs of Cione were afterwards adapted. During more than a hundred and fifty years the ornamentation of these two altars, of which no description can give an idea, was, if we may so say, the arena wherein all the most famous goldsmiths met.

At the end of the fourteenth century Luca della Robbia, who, as we have seen, distinguished himself in ceramic art, and afterwards Brunelleschi, no less great as an architect than as a sculptor, came forth from the studio{147} of a goldsmith. At the same period shone Baccioforte and Mazzano of Placentia, Arditi the Florentine, and Bartoluccio, master of the famous sculptor Ghiberti, to whom we owe those doors of the Baptistery, which Michael Angelo pronounced worthy of being placed at the entrance to Paradise.

It is well known that the execution of these doors was, in 1400, submitted to competition; and it may be said, in honour of the goldsmith’s art, that Ghiberti, vying with the most celebrated competitors—for among them were Donatello and Brunelleschi—owed his triumph, perhaps, to the simple fact that he had treated, as it were by habit, his model with all the delicacy of the goldsmith’s art. And it must be added, and to the praise of the great artist, that although{148} in great reputation for sculptured works of the highest importance, he adhered faithfully all his life to his first profession, and considered it not derogatory even to manufacture jewellery. Thus, for example, in 1428 he mounted as a signet for Jean de Medicis, a cornelian said to have belonged to the treasury of Nero, and he set it as a winged-dragon emerging from a cluster of ivy leaves; in 1429, for Pope Martin V., a button of the cope, and a mitre; and in 1439, for Pope Eugene IV., a golden mitre, embellished with five and a half pounds weight of precious stones,—its front representing Christ surrounded by numerous cherubs, and at the back the Virgin in the midst of the four Evangelists.

During the forty years employed in the execution of the doors of the Baptistery, Ghiberti continued to derive assistance from several goldsmiths, who, so guided, could not fail in their turn to become skilful masters.

The list would be long of goldsmiths who, by the single force of their talents, or under the direction of renowned sculptors, competed during two centuries in the production of the marvellous works with which the churches of Italy are still crowded; and in fact it would be only a monotonous detail, the interest of which can scarcely be enhanced by any description we could give of their works. Nevertheless, we may cite the most illustrious of them: for instance, Andrea Verrochio, in whose studio Perugino and Leonardo da Vinci passed their time; Domenichino Ghirlandajo, so called because when a goldsmith he had invented an ornament in the form of garlands, of which the ladies of Florence were passionately fond; he afterwards relinquished the hammer and the graver for the painter’s pencil; Maso Finiguerra, who, reputed to be the cleverest niello-worker of his time, engraved a pax, or paten, still preserved in the cabinet of bronzes in Florence; it is acknowledged to be the plate of the first engraving printed,—the Imperial Library of Paris possesses the only early proof of it.

In 1500 was born Benvenuto Cellini, who was to be the embodiment of the genius of the goldsmith’s art, and who raised it to the zenith of its power. “Cellini, a Florentine citizen, now a sculptor,” as his contemporary Vasari relates, “had no equal in the goldsmith’s art when devoting himself to it in his youth, and was perhaps for many years without a rival, as well as in the execution of small figures in full relief and in bas-relief, and all works of that nature. He mounted precious stones so skilfully, and decked them in such marvellous settings, with small figures so perfect, and some{149}times so original and with such fanciful taste, that one could not imagine anything better; nor can we adequately praise the medals which, when he was young, he engraved with incredible care in gold and silver. At Rome he executed, for Pope Clement VII., a fastening for the cope, in which he represented with admirable workmanship the Eternal Father. He also mounted with rare talent a diamond, cut to a point, and surrounded by several young children carved in gold. Clement VII. having ordered a gold chalice with its cup supported by the theological attributes, Benvenuto executed the work in a surprising manner. Of all the artists who, in his own time, tried their hands at engraving medals of the Pope, no one succeeded better, as those well know who possess them or have seen them. Also to him was entrusted the execution of the coins of Rome; and finer pieces were never struck. After the death of Clement VII., Benvenuto returned to Florence, where he engraved the head of Duke Alexander on the coins, which are so beautiful that to this day several specimens are preserved as precious antique medals; and rightly so, for in them Benvenuto surpassed himself. At length he devoted himself to sculpture and to the art of casting statues. He executed in France, where he was in the service of Francis I., many works in bronze, silver, and in gold. Returning to his native country, he was employed by the Duke Cosmo de Medicis, who at once required of him several works in jewellery, and afterwards some sculptures.”

Thus, Benvenuto is at the same time goldsmith (Fig. 104), engraver in medals, and sculptor, and he excels in these three branches of the art, as the productions which have survived him attest. Nevertheless, unfortunately, the greater part of his works in the goldsmith’s art have been destroyed, or are now confounded with those of his contemporaries, upon whom Italian taste, combined with his original genius, had exercised a powerful influence. In France there remains of his works only a magnificent salt-cellar, which he executed for Francis I.; in Florence is preserved the mounting of a cup in lapis-lazuli, representing three anchors in gold enamelled, heightened by diamonds; also the cover, in gold enamelled, of another cup of rock-crystal. But, besides the bronze bust of Cosmo I., we may still admire, with the group of Perseus and Medusa, which ranks among grand sculptures, the reduced form, or rather the model of that group, which in size approaches goldsmith’s work; and the bronze pedestal, decorated with statuettes, on which Perseus is placed; works that enable us to see of{150} what Cellini was capable as a goldsmith. And, let us repeat, the influence which he exercised over his contemporaries was immense, as well in Florence as in Rome, as well in France as in Germany; and, had his work been thought utterly worthless, he would remain not less justly celebrated for giving an impulse to his time by imprinting on the art which he professed a movement as fertile as it was bold.

Moreover, in imitation of the monk Theophilus, his predecessor of the twelfth century, Benvenuto Cellini, after having given practical example, desired that the theories he had found prevailing, and those which were due to his faculty for originating, should be preserved for posterity. A{151} treatise (“Trattato intorno alle otto principali Arti dell ‘Orificeria”), in which he describes and teaches all the best processes of working in gold, remains one of the most valuable works on the subject; and even in our days goldsmiths who wish to refer back to the true sources of their art do not neglect to consult it.

The artistic style of the celebrated Florentine goldsmith is that of a period when, by an earnest return to antiquity, the mythological element was introduced everywhere, even in the Christian sanctuaries. The character, which we may call autochthone,[19] of the pious and severe Middle Ages, ceased to influence the production of plastic works, when the models were taken from the glorious remains of idolatrous Greece and Rome. The art which the religion of Christ had awakened and upheld suddenly became again Pagan, and Cellini proved himself one of the enthusiasts of the ancient temples raised in honour of the gods and goddesses of Paganism; that is to say, under the impulse given by him, and in imitation of him, the phalanx of artists, of which he is in a manner the chief, could not fail to go far on the new road by which he had travelled among the first.

When Cellini came to France he found, as he himself says in his book, that the work consisted “more than elsewhere in grosserie” (the grosserie comprised the church plate, vessels, and silver images), “and that the works there executed with the hammer had attained a degree of perfection nowhere else to be met with.”

The inventory of the plate and jewels of Henry II., among which were many by Benvenuto Cellini—the inventory prepared at Fontainebleau in 1560—shows us that, after the departure of the Florentine artist, the French goldsmiths continued to deserve that eulogium; and to comprehend of what they were capable in the time of Charles IX., it is sufficient to recall the description, preserved in the archives of Paris, of a piece of plate which the city had caused to be made to offer as a present to the king on the occasion of his entry into his capital in 1571.

“It was,” says that document, “a large pedestal, supported on four dolphins, and having seated on it Cybele, mother of the gods, representing the mother of the king, accompanied by the gods Neptune and Pluto, and the goddess Juno, as Messeigneurs the brothers, and Madame the sister, of the{152} king. This Cybele was contemplating Jupiter, who represented our king, and was raised on two columns, the one of gold, the other of silver, having his device inscribed—‘Pietate et Justitia.’ Upon this was a large imperial crown, on one side held in the beak of an eagle perched on the croup of a horse on which Jupiter was mounted; and on the other side supported by the sceptre he held—thus being, as it were, deified. At the four corners of the pedestal were the figures of four kings, his predecessors, all of the same name—that is, Charles the Great, Charles V., Charles VII., and Charles VIII., who in their time fulfilled their missions, and their reigns were happy, as we hope will be that of our king. In the frieze of that pedestal were the battles and the victories, of all kinds, in which he was engaged; the whole made of fine silver, gilt with ducat gold, chased, engraved, and in workmanship so executed that the style surpassed the material.”

That rare piece was the work of Jean Regnard, a Parisian goldsmith; and the period when such works were produced was precisely that during which religious wars were about to cause the annihilation of a great number of the chefs-d’œuvre, ancient and modern, of the goldsmith’s art. The new iconoclasts, the Huguenots, shattered and melted down, wherever they triumphed, the sacred vessels, the shrines, the reliquaries. Then were lost the most precious gold-wrought memorials of the times of St. Eloi, of Charlemagne, of Suger, and of St. Louis.{153}

At the same period Germany, where the influence of the Italian school had made itself felt less directly, but which could not escape from its impulse, possessed also, especially at Nuremburg and Augsburg, goldsmiths’ workshops of high character; these furnished the empire, and even foreign countries, with remarkable works. A new career opened to the German goldsmiths when the cabinet-makers of their country had invented those cabinets, whereof we have already said something (vide Furniture), and in the intricate decoration of which appear statuettes, silver bas-reliefs, and inlay-work of gold and precious stones.

The treasuries and the museums of Germany have succeeded in preserving many rich objects of that period; but one of the most rare collections of the kind is that in Berlin, where, in substitution for the originals in silver which have been melted down, are gathered a great number of beautiful bas-reliefs in lead, and several vases in tin,—copies of pieces of plate supposed to be of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. And on this point it may be remarked that the high price of the material, together with the sumptuary laws, not always admitting of the possession of gold or silver vases by the citizens, it sometimes happened that the goldsmiths manufactured a table-service of tin, on which they bestowed so much pains that these articles were transferred from the sideboards of citizens to those of princes. The inventory of the Count d’Angoulême, father of Francis I., alludes to a considerable table-service of tin. Indeed, several goldsmiths devoted themselves exclusively to this description of work; and, to this day, the tins of François Briot, who flourished in the time of Henry II., are regarded as the most perfect specimens of plate of the sixteenth century.

However that may be, after Cellini, and until the reign of Louis XIV., the goldsmith’s art did but follow faithfully in the footsteps of the Italian master. Elevated by the impulse of the Renaissance, the art succeeded in maintaining itself in that high position without, however, any striking individuality discovering itself, until, in a century not less illustrious than the sixteenth, new masters appeared and imparted to it additional lustre and magnificence. These are named Ballin, Delaunay, Julien Defontaine, Labarre, Vincent Petit, Roussel, goldsmiths and jewellers of Louis XIV., who retained them in his pay, and lodged them in the Louvre. It was for that prince they produced an imposing collection of admirable works, for which Le Brun often furnished the designs, and{154} under an inspiration altogether French, abandoned the graceful, though rather fluette forms of the Renaissance, and gave to them a character more diffuse and grand. Then, for a short time, every article of royal furniture proceeded from the hands of the goldsmith. But, alas! once more the majority of these marvels must disappear, as happened to so many others. Even the monarch who had ordered them despatched his acquisitions to the crucibles of the mint, when, the war having exhausted the public treasury, he found himself compelled, at least for example’s sake, to sacrifice his silver plate and to deck his table with earthenware.

Having finished this sketch of the goldsmith’s art in general, it may not be inappropriate to add a brief notice of the more special history of the French goldsmiths, of which the wealthy corporation may be considered not only as the most ancient, but as the model of all those that were formed among us in the Middle Ages. But first, since we have already referred to the exceptional part taken by the goldsmiths of Limoges in the industrial movement of that period, we cannot proceed further without noting another description of works, which, although derived from the oldest examples, nevertheless gave, and with justice, a kind of new lustre to the ancient city where the first goldsmiths of France had distinguished themselves.

“Towards the end of the fourteenth century,” says M. Labarte, “the taste for gold and silver articles having led to the disuse of plate of enamelled copper, the Limousine enamellers endeavoured to discover a new mode of applying enamel to the reproduction of graphic subjects. Their researches led them to dispense with the chaser for delineating the outlines of designs; the metal was entirely concealed under the enamel, which, spread by the brush, formed altogether both the drawing and the colouring. The first attempts at this novel painting on copper were necessarily very imperfect; but the processes gradually improved, until at length, in 1540, they attained perfection. Prior to that period, the enamels of Limoges were almost exclusively devoted to the reproduction of sacred subjects, of which the German school furnished the designs. But the arrival of Italian artists at the court of Francis I., and the publication of engravings of the works of Raphael and other great masters of Italy, gave a new direction to the school of Limoges, which adopted the style of that of Italy. Il Rosso and Primaticcio painted cartoons for the Limousine enamellers; and then

{155}

they who had previously worked only on plates intended to be set in diptychs, on caskets, created a new species of goldsmith’s art. Basins, ewers, cups, salt-cellars, vases, and utensils of all sorts, manufactured with thin sheet-copper in the most elegant forms were decorated with their rich and brilliant paintings.”

In the highest rank of artists who have rendered this attractive work illustrious we must place Léonard (Limousin), painter to Francis I., who was the first director of the royal manufacture of enamels founded by that king at Limoges. Then followed Pierre Raymond (Figs. 107 to 110), whose works date from 1534 to 1578, the Penicauds, Courteys, Martial Raymond, Mercier, and Jean Limousin, enameller to Anne of Austria.

With the remark that, at the end of the sixteenth century, Venice, doubtless imitating Limoges, also manufactured pieces of plate in enamelled copper, we return to our national goldsmiths.

This celebrated corporation could, without much trouble, be traced back in Gaul to the epoch of the Roman occupation; but it is unnecessary to search for its origin beyond St. Eloi, who is still its patron, after having been its founder and protector. Eloi, become prime-minister to Dagobert I.—thanks in some measure to his merits as a goldsmith, which distinguished him above all, and gained him the honour of royal friendship—continued to work no less at his forge as a simple artisan. “He made for the king,{156}” says the chronicle, “a great number of gold vases enriched with precious stones, and he worked incessantly, seated with his servant Thillon, a Saxon by birth, at his side, who followed the lessons of his master.”

This extract seems to indicate that already the goldsmith’s art was organised as a corporation, and that it comprised three ranks of artisans—the masters, the journeymen, and the apprentices. Besides, it is clear that St. Eloi founded two distinct corporations of goldsmiths—one for secular, the other for religious works, in order that the objects sacred to worship should not be manufactured by the same hands that executed those designed for profane uses or worldly state. The seat of the former in Paris was first the Cité, near the very abode of St. Eloi long known as the maison au fèvre, and surrounding the monastery of St. Martial. Within the jurisdiction of that monastery was the space comprised between the streets of La Barillerie, of La Calandre, Aux Fèves, and of La Vieille Draperie, under the denomination of “St. Eloi’s Enclosure.” A raging fire destroyed the entire quarter inhabited by the goldsmiths, excepting the monastery; and the lay gold{157}smiths went forth and established themselves as a colony, still under the auspices of their patron saint, in the shadow of the Church of St. Paul des Champs, which he had caused to be constructed on the right bank of the Seine. The assemblage of forges and shops of these artisans soon formed a sort of suburb, which was called Clôture, or Culture St. Eloi. Subsequently some of the goldsmiths returned to the Cité; but they remained on the Grand-Pont, and returned no more to the streets, where the cobblers had established themselves. Moreover, the monastery of St. Martial had become, under the administration of its first abbess, St. Anne, a branch of the goldsmith’s school which the “Seigneur Eloi” had established in 631 in the Abbey of Solignac, in the environs of Limoges. That abbey, whose first abbot, Thillon or Théau—a pupil, or, as the chronicle expresses it, a servant of St. Eloi—was also a skilful goldsmith, preserved during several centuries the traditions of its founder, and furnished not only models, but also skilful workmen, to all the monastic ateliers of Christendom which exclusively manufactured for the churches jewelled and enamelled plate.

However, the goldsmiths of Paris engaged in secular works continued to maintain themselves as a corporation; and their privileges, which they ascribed to the special regard of Dagobert for St. Eloi, were recognised, it is said, in 768 by a royal charter, and confirmed in 846 in a capitulary of Charles the Bald. These goldsmiths worked in gold and silver only for kings and nobles, whom the strictness of the sumptuary laws did not reach.{158} The Dictionary of Jean de Garlande informs us that, in the eleventh century, there were in Paris four classes of workmen in the goldsmith’s trade—those who coined money (nummularii), the clasp-makers (firmacularii), the manufacturers of drinking-goblets (cipharii), and the goldsmiths, properly so called (aurifabri). The ateliers and the shop-windows of these last were on the Pont-au-Change (Fig. 111), in competition with the money-changers, who for the most part were Lombards or Italians. From that epoch a rivalry commenced between these two trade guilds, which only ceased on the complete downfall of the money-changers.

When Etienne Boileau, Provost of Paris in the reign of Louis IX., wrote in obedience to the legislative designs of the king, his famous “Livre des Métiers,” to establish the existence of guilds on permanent foundations, he had scarcely more to do than to transcribe the statutes of the goldsmiths almost the same as those instituted by St. Eloi, with the modifications consequent on the new order of things. By the terms of the ordinances drawn up by Louis, the goldsmiths of Paris were exempt from the watch, and from all other feudal services; they elected, every three years, two or three anciens{159} (seniors) “for the protection of the trade,” and these anciens exercised permanent vigilance over the works of their colleagues, and over the quality of the gold and silver material used by them. An apprentice was not admitted as a master until after ten years’ apprenticeship; and no master could have more than one apprentice, in addition to those belonging to his own family. The corporation, so far as concerned the fraternity with respect to works for charitable and devotional purposes, had a seal (Fig. 116) which placed it under the patronage of St. Eloi; but, with regard to its industrial association, it imprinted on manufactured articles a seing, or stamp, which guaranteed the value of the metal. The corporation soon obtained, from Philip of Valois, a coat-of-arms, which conferred on it a sort of professional nobility; and acquired, owing to the distinguished protection extended to it by that king, a position which nevertheless it did not succeed in preserving in the united constitution of the six mercantile bodies; for, although it laid claim to the first rank on account of its antiquity, it was forced, notwithstanding the undeniable superiority of its works, to be contented with the second, and even to descend to the third rank.

The goldsmiths, at the time of the compilation of the code of professions by Etienne Boileau, were already separated, voluntarily or otherwise, from several trades which had long appeared in their train; the cristalliers, or lapidaries; the gold and silver beaters; the embroiderers in orfroi (gold-fringe); the patenôtriers (bead-stringers) in precious stones lived under their own regulations; the monétaires (bullion-dealers) remained under the control of the king and his mint; the hanapiers (drinking-cup makers), the fermailleurs{160} (makers of clasps), the pewterers, boxmakers, inferior artisans and others who worked in common metals, had no longer any connection with the goldsmiths of Paris. But in the provinces, in towns where the masters of a trade were insufficient to constitute a community or fraternity having its chiefs and its own administration, it was indispensable to reunite under the same banner the trades between which there was the most agreement, or rather the least contrariety. Thus, in certain localities in France and the Low Countries, the goldsmiths, proud as they might be of the nobility of their origin, sometimes found themselves united as equals with the

pewterers, the mercers, the braziers, and even the grocers; and thus it came to pass that they combined on their banners of fleurs-de-lis the proper arms of each of these several trades. Thus, for instance, we see the banner of the goldsmiths of Castellane (Fig. 118) united with the retail mercers and tailors—it shows a pair of scissors, scales, and an ell measure; at Chauny (Fig. 119), a ladder, a hammer, and a vase, indicate that the goldsmiths had for compeers the pewterers and the slaters; at Guise (Fig. 120), the association of farriers, coppersmiths, and locksmiths, is allied with the goldsmiths by a horse-shoe, a mallet, and a key; the brewers of Harfleur{161} (Fig. 121) quartered in their arms four barrels between the bars of the cross gules charged with a goblet of gold, which was the emblem of their associates the goldsmiths; at Maringues (Fig. 122), the gold cup on a field gules surmounts the grocer’s candles.

These banners were displayed only on great public ceremonies, in solemn processions, receptions, marriages, the obsequies of kings, queens, princes, and princesses. Exempted from military service, the goldsmiths, unlike other trade corporations, had not the opportunity of distinguishing themselves in the militia of the communes. They, nevertheless, occupied the first place in the state processions of trades, and frequently filled posts of honour. Thus in Paris they had the custody of the gold and silver plate when the good city entertained some illustrious guest at a banquet; they carried the canopy above the head of the king on his joyful accession; or, crowned with roses, walked bearing on their shoulders the venerated shrine of St. Geneviève (Fig. 123).

In the wealthy cities of Belgium, where the corporations were queens (reines), the goldsmiths, by virtue of their privileges, dictated the law and swayed the people. No doubt in France they were far from enjoying the same political influence; nevertheless, one of them was that provost of merchants, Etienne Marcel, who, from 1356 to 1358, played so bold a part{162} during the regency of the Dauphin Charles. But it was especially in periods of peace and prosperity that the goldsmith’s art in Paris shone in all its splendour; then its banners incessantly waved in the breeze for the festivals and processions of its numerous and wealthy brotherhoods to the churches of Notre-Dame, St. Martial, St. Paul, and St. Denis of Montmartre.

In 1337 the number of the wardens of the goldsmith’s guild in Paris had increased from three to six. They had their names engraved and their marks stamped on tablets of copper, which were preserved as archives in the town-hall. Every French goldsmith, admitted a master after the production of his principal work, left the impression of his sign manual, or private mark, on similar tablets of copper deposited in the office of the guild; while the stamp of the community itself was required to be engraved at the mint to authorise its being used. Every corporation thus had its mark,{163} which the wardens set on the articles after having assayed and weighed the metal. These marks, at least in the later centuries, represented in general the special arms or emblems of the cities; for Lyons, it is a lion; for Melun, an eel; for Chartres, a partridge; for Orleans, the head of Joan of Arc, &c. (Figs. 112 to 115).

The goldsmiths of France manifested, and with reason, a jealousy of their privileges, it being more indispensable for them than for any other artisans to inspire that confidence without which the trade would have been lost; for their works were required to bear as authentic and legal a value as that of money. Therefore, it may be understood that they exercised keen vigilance over all gold or silver objects which were in any way under their warranty: hence the frequent visits of the sworn masters to the ateliers and shops of the goldsmiths; hence the perpetual lawsuits against all instances of negligence or fraud; hence those quarrels with other trades which arrogated to themselves the right of working in precious metals without having qualified for it. Confiscation of goods, the whip, the pillory, were penalties inflicted on goldsmiths in contraband trade who altered the standard, concealed copper beneath the gold, or substituted false for precious stones.

It, indeed, seems remarkable that while for the most part other trades were subject to the control of the goldsmiths, the latter were responsible only to themselves for the aggressions which they constantly committed within{164} the domain of rival industries. Whenever the object to be manufactured was of gold, it belonged to the goldsmith’s trade. The goldsmith made, by turns, spurs as the spur-maker; armour and arms, as the armourer; girdles and clasps, as the belt-maker and the clasp-maker. However, there is reason to believe that in the fabrication of these various objects, the goldsmith had recourse to the assistance of special artisans, who could scarcely fail to derive all possible advantage from such fortuitous association. Thus, when the gold-wrought sword which Dunois carried when Charles VII. entered Lyons in 1449, mounted in diamonds and rubies, and valued at more than fifteen thousand crowns, was to be made, the work of the goldsmiths probably consisted only of the fashioning and chasing the hilt, while the sword-cutler had to forge and temper the blade. In the same manner, when it was required to work a jewelled robe, such as Marie de Medicis wore at the baptism of her son in 1606, the robe being covered with thirty-two thousand precious stones and three thousand diamonds, the goldsmith had only to mount the stones and furnish the design for fixing them on the gold or silk tissue.

Long before Benvenuto and other skilful Italian goldsmiths were summoned by Francis I. to his court, the French goldsmiths had proved that they needed only a little encouragement to range themselves on a level with foreign artists. But that patronage having failed them, they left the country and established themselves elsewhere; thus at the court of Flanders,{165} Antoine of Bordeaux, Margerie of Avignon, and Jean of Rouen, distinguished themselves. It is true that in the reign of Louis XII., whose exchequer had been exhausted in the Italian expeditions, gold and silver had become so scarce in France, that the king was obliged to prohibit the manufacture of all sorts of large plate (grosserie). But the discovery of America having brought with it an abundance of the precious metals, Louis XII. recalled his ordinance in 1510; and thenceforth the corporations of goldsmiths were seen to increase and prosper, as luxuriousness, diffused by the example of the great, descended to the lower ranks of society. Silver plate soon displaced that of tin; and before long personal display had attained such a height, “that the wife of a merchant wore on her person more jewels than were seen on the image of the Virgin.” The number of the goldsmiths then became so great that in the city of Rouen alone there were in 1563 two hundred and sixty-five masters having the right of stamp!

To sum up this chapter. Until the middle of the fourteenth century it is the religious art which prevails; the goldsmiths are engaged only in executing shrines, reliquaries, and church ornaments. At the end of that century, and during the one following, they manufactured gold and silver{166}

plate, enriching with their works the treasuries of kings and nobles, and imparting brilliant display to the adornment of dress. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the goldsmiths applied themselves more to chasing, enamelling, and inlay-work. Everywhere are to be seen marvellous trinkets—necklaces, rings, buckles, chains, seals (Figs. 124 to 142). The weight of metal is no longer the principal merit; the skill of the workman is especially appreciated, and the goldsmith executes in gold, in silver, and in precious stones, the beautiful productions of painters and engravers. Nevertheless, the demand for delicate objects had the disadvantage of requiring much solder and alloy, which deteriorated the standard of metal. Then a desperate struggle commenced between the goldsmiths and the mint—a struggle which was prosecuted through a maze of legal proceedings, petitions, and ordinances, until the middle of the reign of Louis XV. At the same time the Italian and German goldsmiths making an irruption into France and introducing materials of a low standard, the old professional integrity became suspected and was soon disregarded. At the end of the sixteenth century very little plate was ornamented: there is a return to massive plate, the weight and standard of which could be easily verified. Gold is scarcely any longer employed, except for jewels; and silver in a thousand forms creeps into the manufacture of furniture. After cabinets, covered and ornamented with carving in silver, came the articles of silver furniture invented by Claude Ballin. But the mass of precious metal withdrawn from circulation was soon returned to it, and the fashion passed away. The goldsmiths found themselves reduced to manufacture only objects of small size; and for the most part they limited themselves to works of jewellery, which subjected them to less annoyance from the mint. Besides, the art of the lapidary had almost changed its character, as well as the trade in precious stones. Pierre de Montarsy, jeweller to the king, effected a kind{167} of revolution in his art, which the travels of Chardin, of Bernier, and of Tavernier, in the East had, so to say, enlarged. The cutting and mounting of precious stones has not since been excelled. It may be said that Montarsy was the first jeweller, as Ballin was the last goldsmith.

{168} 

{169} 

MONG the ancients there were three instruments for measuring time—the gnomon, or sun-dial, which is only, as we know, a table whereon lines are so arranged as successively to meet the shadow cast by a gnomon,[20] thus indicating the hour of the day according to the height or inclination of the sun; the water-clock (clepsydra), which had for its principle the measured percolation of a certain quantity of water; and the hour-glass, wherein the liquid is exchanged for sand. It would be difficult to determine which of these three chronometric modes can lay claim to priority. There is this to be said that, according to the Bible, in the eighth century before Christ, Ahaz, King of Judah, caused a sun-dial to be constructed at Jerusalem; again, Herodotus says Anaximander introduced the sun-dial into Greece, whence it passed on to the other parts of the then civilised world; and that, in the year 293 before our era, the celebrated Papirius Cursor, to the astonishment of his fellow-citizens, had a sun-dial traced near the temple of Jupiter Quirinus.

According to the description given by Athena (Athenæus?), the water-clock was formed of an earthenware or metal vessel filled with water, and then suspended over a reservoir whereon lines were marked indicating{170} the hours, as the water which escaped drop by drop from the upper vessel came to the level. We find this instrument employed by most ancient nations, and in many countries it remained in use until the tenth century of the Christian era.

In one of his dialogues Plato declares that the philosophers are far more fortunate than the orators—“these being the slaves of a miserable water-clock; whereas the others are at liberty to make their discourse as long as they please.” To explain this passage, we must remember that it was the practice in the Athenian courts of justice, as subsequently in those of Rome, to measure the time allowed to the advocates for pleading by means of a water-clock. Three equal portions of water were put into it—one for the prosecutor, one for the defendant, and the third for the judge. A man was charged with the special duty of giving timely notice to each of the three speakers that his portion was nearly run out. If, on some unusual occasion, the time for one or other of the parties was doubled, it was called “adding water-clock to water-clock;” and when witnesses were giving evidence, or the text of some law was being read out, the percolation of the water was stopped: this was called aquam sustinere (to retain the water).{171}

The hour-glass, which is still in use to a considerable extent for measuring short intervals of time, had great analogy with the water-clock, but was never susceptible of such regularity. In fact, at different periods important improvements were applied to the water-clock. Vitruvius tells us that, about one hundred years before our era, Ctesibius, a mechanician of Alexandria, added several cogged-wheels to the water-clock, one of which moved a hand, showing the hour on a dial. This must have been, so far as historical documents admit of proof, the first step towards purely mechanical horology.

In order, then, to find an authentic date in the history of horology, we must go to the eighth century, when water-clocks, still further improved, were either made or imported into France; among others, one which Pope Paul I. sent to Pepin le Bref. We must, however, believe that these instruments can have attracted but little attention, or that they were speedily forgotten; for, one hundred years later, there appeared a water-clock at the court of Charlemagne, a present from the famous caliph Aroun-al-Raschid, regarded, indeed almost celebrated, as a notable event. Of this Eginhard has left us an elaborate description. It was, he says, in brass, damaskeened with gold, and marked the hours on a dial. At the end of each hour an equal number of small iron balls fell on a bell, and made it sound as many times as the hour indicated by the needle. Twelve windows immediately opened, out of which were seen to proceed the same number of horsemen armed cap-à-pie, who, after performing divers evolutions, withdrew into the interior of the mechanism, and then the windows closed.

Shortly afterwards Pacificus, Archbishop of Verona, constructed one far superior to all that had preceded it; for, besides giving the hours, it indicated the date of the month, the days of the week, the phases of the moon, &c. But still it was only an improved water-clock. Before horology could really assume an historical date, it was necessary that for motive power weights should be substituted for water, and that the escapement should be invented; yet it was only in the beginning of the tenth century that these important discoveries were made.

“In the reign of Hugh Capet,” says M. Dubois, “there lived in France a man of great talent and reputation named Gerbert. He was born in the mountains of Auvergne, and had passed his childhood in tending flocks near Aurillac. One day some monks of the order of St. Benedict met him in the{172} fields: they conversed with him, and finding him precociously intelligent, took him into their convent of St. Gérauld. There Gerbert soon acquired a taste for monastic life. Eager for knowledge, and devoting all his spare moments to study, he became the most learned of the community. After he had taken vows, a desire to add to his scientific attainments led him to set out for Spain. During several years he assiduously frequented the universities of the Iberian peninsula. He soon found himself too learned for Spain; for, in spite of his truly sincere piety, ignorant fanatics accused him of sorcery. As that accusation might have involved him in deplorable consequences, he preferred not to await the result; and hastily quitting the town of Salamanca, which was his ordinary residence, he came to Paris, where he very soon made himself powerful friends and protectors. At length, after having successively been monk, superior of the convent of Bobbio, in Italy, Archbishop of Rheims, tutor to Robert I., King of France, and to Otho III., Emperor of Germany, who appointed him to the see of Ravenna, Gerbert rose to the pontifical throne under the name of Sylvester II.: he died in 1003. This great man did honour to his country and to his age. He was acquainted with nearly all the dead and living languages; he was a mechanician, astronomer, physician, geometrician, algebraist, &c. He introduced the Arab numerals into France. In the seclusion of his monastic cell, as in his archiepiscopal palace, his favourite relaxation was the study of mechanics. He was skilled in making sun-dials, water-clocks, hour-glasses, and hydraulic organs. It was he who first applied weight as a motive power to horology; and, in all probability, he is the inventor of that admirable mechanism called escapement—the most beautiful, as well as the most essential, of all the inventions which have been made in horology.”

This is not the place to give a description of these two mechanisms, which can hardly be explained except with the assistance of purely technical drawings, but it may be remarked that weights are still the sole motive power of large clocks, and the escapement alluded to has been alone employed throughout the world until the end of the seventeenth century. Notwithstanding the importance of these two inventions, little use was made of them during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries. The water-clock and hour-glass (Fig. 144) continued exclusively in use. Some were ornamented and engraved with much taste; and they contributed to the{173} decoration of apartments, as at present do our bronzes and clocks more or less costly.

History does not inform us who was the inventor of the striking machinery; but it is at least averred that it existed at the commencement of the twelfth century. The first mention of it is found in the “Usages de l’Ordre de Cîteaux,” compiled about 1120. It is there prescribed to the sacristan so to regulate the clock, that it “sounds and awakens him before matins;” in another chapter the monk is ordered to prolong the lecture until “the clock strikes.” At first, in the monasteries, the monks took it in turn to watch, and warn the community of the hours for prayer; and, in the{174} towns, there were night watchmen, who, moreover, were maintained in many places to announce in the streets the hour denoted by the clocks, the water-clocks, or the hour-glasses.

The machinery for striking once invented, we do not find that horology had attained to any perfection before the end of the thirteenth century; but, in the commencement of the following it received its impulse, and the art from that time continued to progress.

To give an idea of what was effected at that time, we will borrow a passage from the earliest writings in which horology is mentioned; that is, from an unpublished book by Philip de Maizières, entitled “Le Songe du Vieil Pélerin:”—“It is known that in Italy there is at present (about 1350) a man generally celebrated in philosophy, in medicine, and in astronomy; in his station, by common report, singular and grave, excelling in the above three sciences, and of the city of Padua. His surname is lost, and he is called ‘Maistre Jehan des Orloges,’ residing at present with the Comte de Vertus; and, for the treble sciences, he has for yearly wages and perquisites two thousand florins, or thereabouts. This Maistre Jean des Orloges has made an instrument, by some called a sphere or clock, of the movement of the heavens, in which instrument are all the motions of the signs (zodiacal), and of the planets, with their circles and epicycles, and multiplied differences, wheels (roes) without number, with all their parts, and each planet in the said sphere, distinctly. On any given night, we see clearly in what sign and degree are the planets and the stars of the heavens; and this sphere is so cunningly made, that notwithstanding the multitude of wheels, which cannot well be numbered without taking the machinery to pieces, their entire mechanism is governed by one single counterpoise, so marvellous that the grave astronomers from distant regions come with great reverence to visit the said Maistre Jean and the work of his hands; and all the great clerks of astronomy, of philosophy, and of medicine, declare that there is no recollection of a man, either in written document or otherwise, who in this world has made so ingenious or so important an instrument of the heavenly movements as the said clock.... Maistre Jean made the said clock with his own hands, all of brass and of copper, without the assistance of any other person, and did nothing else during sixteen entire years, if the writer of the book, who had a great friendship for the said Maistre Jean, has been rightly informed.{175}”

It is known, on the other hand, that the famous clockmaker, whose real name Maizières assumes to be lost, was called Jaques de Dondis; and that, in spite of the assertion of the writer, he had only to arrange the clock, the parts of which had been executed by an excellent workman named Antoine. However this may be, placed at the top of one of the towers of the palace of Padua, the clock of Jaques de Dondis, or of “Maistre Jean des Orloges,” excited general admiration, and several princes of Europe being desirous to have similar clocks, many workmen tried to imitate it. In fact, churches or monasteries were soon able to pride themselves on possessing similar chefs-d’œuvre.

Among the most remarkable clocks of that period, we must refer to that of which Froissart speaks, and which was carried away from the town of Courtray by Philip the Bold after the battle of Rosbecque in 1382. “The Duke of Burgundy,” says our author, “caused to be carried away from the market-place a clock that struck the hours, one of the finest which could be found on either side the sea; and he conveyed it piece by piece in carts, and the bell also. Which clock was brought and carted into the town of Dijon, in Burgundy, was there deposited and put up, and there strikes the twenty-four hours between day and night.”

It is the celebrated clock of Dijon which then as now was surmounted by two automata of iron, a man and a woman, striking the hours on the bell. The origin of the name of Jacquemart given to these figures has been much disputed. Ménage believes that the word is derived from the Latin jaccomarchiardus (coat of mail—attire of war); and he reminds us that, in the Middle Ages, it was the custom to station, on the summit of the towers, men (soldiers wearing the jacque) to give warning of the approach of the enemy, of fires, &c. Ménage adds that, when more efficient watchers occasioned the discontinuance of these nocturnal sentinels, it was probably considered desirable to preserve the remembrance of them by putting in the place they had occupied iron figures which struck the hours. Other writers trace the name even to the inventor of this description of clocks, who, according to them, lived in the fourteenth century, and was called Jacques Marck. Finally, Gabriel Peignot, who has written a dissertation on the jacquemart of Dijon, asserts that in 1422 a person named Jacquemart, clockmaker and locksmith, residing in the town of Lille, received twenty-two livres from the Duke of Burgundy, for repairing{176} the clock of Dijon; and from that he concludes, seeing how short the distance is from Lille to Courtray, whence the clock of Dijon had been taken, that this Jacquemart might well be the son or the grandson of the clockmaker who had constructed it about 1360; consequently the name of the jacquemart of Dijon is derived from that of its maker, old Jacquemart, the clockmaker of Lille (Fig. 145).

Giving to each of these opinions its due weight, we confine ourselves to stating that, from the end of the fourteenth century to the beginning of{177} the fifteenth, numerous churches in Germany, Italy, and France already had jacquemarts.

The first clock possessed by Paris was that in the turret of the Palais de Justice. Charles V. had it constructed in 1370 by a German artisan, Henri de Vic. It contained a weight for moving power, an oscillating piece for regulator, and an escapement. It was adorned with carvings by Germain Pilon, and was destroyed in the eighteenth century.

In 1389, the clockmaker Jean Jouvence made one for the Castle of Montargis. Those of Sens and of Auxerre, as well as that of Lund in Sweden, date from the same period. In the last, every hour two cavaliers met and gave each other as many blows as the hours to be struck: then a door opened, and the Virgin Mary appeared sitting on a throne, with the Infant Jesus in her arms, receiving the visit of the Magi followed by their retinue; the Magi prostrating themselves and tendering their presents. During the ceremony two trumpets sounded: then all vanished, to re-appear the following hour.

Until the end of the thirteenth century, clocks were destined exclusively{178}

to public buildings; or they at least affected, if we may say so, a monumental character which precluded their admission into private houses. The first clocks with weights and the flywheel made for private use appeared in France, in Italy, and in Germany, about the commencement of the fourteenth {179}century; but naturally they were at first so costly that only nobles and wealthy persons could obtain them. But an impulse was given which led to the manufacture of these objects more economically. In fact, it was not long before portable clocks were seen in the most unpretentious abodes. This of course did not prevent the production of expensive examples, either as regards ornamentation or carving, or in placing the clock on costly pedestals or cases, within which were suspended the weights (Fig. 146).

The fifteenth century has distinctly left its mark on the progress of horology. In 1401 the Cathedral of Seville was enriched with a magnificent clock which struck the hours. In 1404, Lazare, a Servian by birth, constructed a similar one for Moscow. That of Lubeck, which was embellished with the figures of the twelve Apostles, dates from 1405. It is proper to notice also the famous clock which Jean-Galeas Visconti had made for Pavia; and more especially that of St. Marc of Venice, which was not executed until 1495.

The spiral spring was invented in the time of Charles VII.: a band of very fine steel, rolled up into a small drum or barrel, produced, in unrolling, the effect of the weights on the primitive movements. To the possibility of enclosing that moving power in a confined space is due the facility of manufacturing very small clocks. In fact, one finds in certain collections, clocks of the time of Louis XI., remarkable not only for the artistic richness of their decoration, but still more so for the small space they occupy, although they are generally of very complicated mechanism; some marking the date of the month, striking the hour, and serving also as alarm-clocks.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to determine the exact date of the invention of watches. But, in truth, we ought perhaps to regard the watch, especially after the invention of the spiral spring, as only the last step taken towards a portable form of clock. It is however true, according to the statements found in Pancirole and Du Verdier by the authors of the “Encyclopædia of Sciences,” that at the end of the fifteenth century watches were made no larger than an almond. Even the names Myrmécides and Carovagius are cited as those of two celebrated artisans in such work. It was said that the latter made an alarm-watch which not only sounded the hour required, but even struck a light to ignite a candle. Besides, we know for certain that, in the time of Louis XI., there were watches very small yet perfectly manufactured; and it is proved that, in 1500, at Nurem{180}berg, Peter Hele made them of the form of an egg, and consequently the watches of that country were long known as Nuremberg eggs.

We learn, moreover, from history that in 1542, a watch which struck the hours, set in a ring, was offered to Guidobaldo of Rovere; and that in 1575, Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, bequeathed to his brother Richard a cane of Indian wood having a watch placed in its head; and, finally, that Henry VIII. of England wore a very small watch requiring to be wound up only every eighth day.

It is not inappropriate here to remark that the time kept by these little machines was not regular until an ingenious workman, whose name has not come down to us, invented the fusee, a kind of truncated cone; to the base of this was attached a small piece of catgut which, spirally rolling itself up to the top, became fastened to the barrel that enclosed the spring. The advantage of this arrangement is, that owing to the conical form of the fusee, the traction of the spring acting as it relaxes on a greater radius of the cone, it results in establishing equilibrium of power between the first and the last movements of the spring. Subsequently a clockmaker named Gruet substituted jointed (articulées) chains for catgut; the latter having the great disadvantage of being hygrometric and varying in tension with the state of the atmosphere.

The use of watches spread rapidly in France. In the reigns of the Valois, a large number were made of very diminutive size, to which the clockmakers gave all sorts of forms, especially those of an acorn, an almond, a Latin cross, a shell (Figs. 148 to 150). They were engraved, chased, enamelled; the hand which marked the hour was very frequently of delicate workmanship, and sometimes ornamented with precious stones. Some of these watches set in motion symbolic figures, as well as Time, Apollo, Diana, the Virgin, the Apostles, and the saints.

It may be conceived that all these complicated works required numerous craftsmen. It was therefore considered proper to unite these artisans in a community. The statutes which they had received from Louis XI. in 1483 were confirmed by Francis I. They contained a succession of laws, intended to protect at the same time the interests of members of the corporation and the dignity of their profession.

No one was admitted as master but on proof of having served eight years of apprenticeship, and after having produced a chef-d’œuvre in the

{181}

house, or under the supervision, of one of the inspectors of the corporation. The visiting inspectors, elected by all the members, as well as by the trustees and the syndics, were authorised when introducing themselves into the workshops, to look after the proper construction of watches and clocks; and if it happened that they found such as did not appear to be made according to the rules of art, they could not only seize and destroy them, but also impose a fine on the maker for the benefit of the corporation. The statutes also gave exclusive right to the accredited masters to trade, directly or otherwise, with all the stock, new or second-hand, finished or unfinished.

“Under the influence of these wise institutions,” M. Dubois remarks, “the master-clockmakers had no fear of the competition of persons not{182} belonging to the corporation. If they were affected by the artistic superiority of some of their colleagues, it was with the laudable desire to contend with them for the first places. The work of one day, superior to that of the preceding, was surpassed by that of the day following. It was by this incessant competition of intelligence and knowledge, by this legitimate and invigorating rivalry of all the members of the same industrious community, that science itself attained by degrees the zenith of the excellent and the sublime of the beautiful. The ambition of workmen was to rise to the mastership, and they attained that only by force of labour and assiduous efforts. The ambition of the masters was to acquire the honours of the syndicate—that consular magistracy the most honourable of all, for it was the result of election, and the recompense of services rendered to art and to the community.”

Having thus reached the middle of the sixteenth century, and not wishing to exceed the compass assigned to this sketch, we may limit ourselves to the mention of some of the remarkable works produced during a century by an art that had already manifested itself with a power never to be diminished.

The clock which Henry II. had constructed for the château of Anet has long been regarded as very curious. Every time the hand denotes the hour, a stag appears from the inside of the clock, and darts away followed by a pack of hounds; but soon the pack and the stag stop, and the latter, by means of very ingenious mechanism, strikes the hours with one of his feet.

The clock of Jena (Fig. 151), which is still in existence, is not less famous. Above the dial is a bronze head presumed to represent a buffoon of Ernest, Elector of Saxony, who died in 1486. When the hour is about to strike, the head—so remarkably ugly as to have given the clock the name of the monstrous head—opens its very large mouth. A figure representing an old pilgrim offers it a golden apple on the end of a stick; but just when poor Hans (so was the fool called) is about to close his mouth to masticate and swallow the apple, the pilgrim suddenly withdraws it. On the left of the head is an angel singing (the arms of the city of Jena), holding in one hand a book, which he raises towards his eyes whenever the hours strike, and with the other he rings a hand-bell.

The town of Niort, in Poitou, possessed also an extraordinary clock, ornamented with a great number of allegorical figures—the work of Bouhain,{183}

in 1570. A much more famous clock was that of Strasburg (Fig. 152), constructed in 1573, and which was long considered to be the greatest of all wonders. It was entirely restored in 1842 by M. Schwilgué. Angelo Rocca, in his “Commentarium de Campanis,” gives a description of it. Its most important feature was a moving sphere, whereon were represented the planets and the constellations, and which completed its rotation in three hundred and sixty-five days. On two sides of the dial and below it the principal festivals of the year and the solemnities of the Church were represented by allegorical figures. Other dials, distributed symmetrically on the façade of the tower in which the clock is situated, marked the days of the week, the date of the month, the signs of the zodiac, the phases of the moon, the rising and setting of the sun, &c. Every hour two angels{184}

{185}

sounded the trumpet. When the concert was finished, the bell tolled; then immediately a cock, perched on the summit, spread his wings noisily, and made his crowing to be heard. The striking machinery, by means of movable trap-doors, cylinders, and springs concealed in the interior of the clock, set in motion a considerable number of automata, executed with much skill. Angelo Rocca adds that the completion of this chef-d’œuvre was attributed to Nicolas Copernicus; and that when this able mechanician had finished his work, the sheriffs and consuls of the city had his eyes put out in order to render it impossible for him to execute a similar clock for any other city. This last statement is the more deserving to rank among mere legends from the fact that, independent of existing proof of the clock being made by Conrad Dasypodius, it would be very difficult to prove that Copernicus ever visited Alsace, or had his eyes put out.

A similar tradition is attached to the history of another clock still in existence, and which was not less celebrated than that of Strasburg. We refer to that of the Church of St. John at Lyons, made in 1598 by Nicholas Lippius, a clockmaker of Basle; repaired and enlarged subsequently by Nourisson, an artisan of Lyons. Only the horary mechanism now acts; but the clock is not on that account neglected by visitors, to whom the worthy attendants still repeat, in perfect faith, that Lippius was put to death as soon as he had finished his chef-d’œuvre. To show the improbability of this pretended penalty it is sufficient to remark, with M. Dubois, that even in the sixteenth century persons were not killed for the crime of making chefs-d’œuvre; and there is, besides, proof that Lippius died in peace, and honoured, in his native country.

To these famous clocks must be added those of St. Lambert at Liège, of Nuremberg, of Augsburg, and of Basle; that of Medina del Campo, in Spain, and those which, in the reign of Charles I., or during the Protectorship of Cromwell, were manufactured and placed in England, at St. Dunstan’s in London,[21] and in the Cathedral of Canterbury, in Edinburgh, and in Glasgow, &c.

Before concluding, and to do justice to a century to which we have assigned a period of decline, we are bound to acknowledge that some years before the death of Cardinal Richelieu—that is to say, from 1630 to 1640{186}—artists of ability made praiseworthy efforts to create a new era in horology. But the improvements they had in view were directed much more to the processes of the construction of the several parts composing the clockwork of watches and clocks than to the beauty and ingenuity of the workmanship. This was progress of a purely professional character, in order to create a more ready and inexpensive supply; a progress which we may regard as services rendered by art to trade. The period of great constructions and delicate marvels was past. Ornamental Jacquemarts were no longer placed in belfries. Mechanical chefs-d’œuvre were no longer set in frail gems. The time was still far off when, laying down the sceptre of that empire on which “the sun never sets,” the conqueror of Francis I., retiring to a cloister, employed himself in the construction of the most complicated clockwork. Charles V. had as assistant, if not as teacher, in his work the learned mathematician, Jannellus Turianus, whom he had induced to join him in his retreat. It is said that he enjoyed nothing so much as seeing the monks of Saint-Just standing amazed before his alarum watches and automaton clocks; but it is also stated that he manifested the greatest despair when obliged to admit it was as impossible to establish perfect concord among clocks as among men.

In truth, Galileo had not yet arrived to observe and formulate the laws of the pendulum, which Huygens was happily to apply to the movements of horology.

{187}

HE history of Music in the Middle Ages would commence about the fourth century of our era. In the sixth century, Isidore of Seville, in his “Sentiments sur la Musique,” writes as follows:—“Music is a modulation of the voice, and also an accordance of several sounds and their simultaneous union.”

About 384, St. Ambrose, who built the Cathedral of Milan, regulated the mode in which psalms, hymns, and anthems should be performed, by selecting from Greek chants those melodies he considered best adapted to the Latin Church.

In 590, Gregory the Great, in order to remedy the disorder which had crept into ecclesiastical singing, collected all that remained of the ancient Greek melodies, with those of St. Ambrose and others, and formed the antiphonary which is called the Centonien, because it is composed of chants of his selection. Henceforward, ecclesiastical chanting obtained the name of Gregorian; it was adopted into the whole of the Western Church, and maintained its position almost unaltered down to the middle of the eleventh century.

It is thought that originally the music of the antiphonary was noted in accordance with Greek and Roman usage—a notation known as the Boethian, from the name of Boethius the philosopher, by whom we are informed that in his time (that is, about the end of the fifth century) the notation was composed of the first fifteen letters of the alphabet.{188}

The sounds of the octave were represented—the major by capital letters, the minor by small letters, as follows:—

Some fragments of music of the eleventh century are still preserved, in which the notation is represented by letters having above them the signs of another kind of notation called neumes (Fig. 154).

Musical Notation expressed in Modern Signs, the Text and Translation of the Lament on Charlemagne.

{189}

About the fourth century the neumes were in use in the Greek Church; they are spoken of by St. Gregory of Nazianzus. Certain modifications in them were introduced by the Lombards and Saxons.

“They were specially in use from the eighth to the twelfth century,” says M. Coussemaker, in his learned work, “Histoire de l’Harmonie au Moyen Age,” “and consisted of two sorts of signs: some formed like commas, dots, or small inclined or horizontal strokes, which represented isolated sounds; others in the shape of hooks, and strokes variously twisted and joined, expressing groups of sound composed of various intervals.{190}

“These commas, dots, and inclined or horizontal strokes were the origin of the long notes, the breve and the semibreve, and afterwards of the square notation still in use in the plain-chant of the Church. The hook-shaped signs and the variously twisted and joined strokes gave rise to the ligatures and connections of notes.

“From the eighth to the end of the twelfth century—that is, during one of the brightest periods of musical liturgy—the neumes were the notation exclusively adopted over the whole of Europe, both in ecclesiastical singing and also in secular music. From the end of the eleventh century, this system of notation was established in France, Italy, Germany, England, and Spain.”

The chief modification to which the notation of music was subject at the end of the eleventh century is due to the monk Guido, of Arezzo. In order to facilitate the reading of the neumes, he invented placing them on lines, and these lines he distinguished by colours. The second, that of the fa, was red; the fourth, that of the ut, was green; the first and the third are only traced on the vellum with a pen. In order that the seven notes should be better impressed upon the memory, he gave as an example the three first lines of the Hymn of St. John the Baptist, in which the syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la, corresponded to the signs of the gamut:—

The choristers, in singing this hymn, slightly raised the intonation of each of the italicised syllables, which were soon adopted for indicating six of the notes of the gamut. To supply the seventh, which was not named in this system, the barbarous theory of muances (divisions) was introduced, and it was not until the seventeenth century the term si was applied in France.

But after the commencement of the tenth century many individuals, and especially poets, had invented rhythmical songs, which were entirely different from those of the Church. “Harmony formed by successions of various intervals,” as we are told by the author whom we have before quoted, “obtained in the eleventh century the name of discantus, in old French déchant. Francon de Cologne is the most ancient author who{191} makes use of this word. During the whole course of the eleventh century the composition of melody was independent of harmony, and henceforth the composition of music was divided into two very distinct parts. The people, and poets and persons in high life, constructed the melody and the words; but being ignorant of the science of music, they resorted to a professional musician to have their inspirations written down. The first were very justly called trouvères (trobadori), the others the déchanteurs, or harmonisers. Harmony was then only adapted for two voices—a combination of fifths, and of movements in unison.

“In the twelfth century, the construction of melody continued to be in the hands of poets. The déchanteurs or harmonisers were the professional musicians. Popular songs became very numerous. Troubadours multiplied all over Europe, and the greatest lords deemed it an honour to cultivate both poetry and music. Germany had her ‘master-singers,’ who were in request at every court. In France, the Châtelain de Coucy, the King of Navarre, the Comte de Béthune, the Comte d’Anjou, and a hundred others acquired a brilliant reputation by songs, of which they composed both the words and the melody. The most celebrated of these trouvères was Adam de la Halle, who flourished in 1260.”

In the fourteenth century, the name of counterpoint was substituted for that of déchant; and in 1364, at the coronation of Charles V. at Rheims, a mass was sung which was written in four parts, composed by Guillaume de Machault, poet and musician.

Among the ancients the number of musical instruments was considerable, but their names were even still more numerous, because derived from the shape, the material, the nature and character of the instruments, all of which varied infinitely, according to the whim of the maker or the musician. Added to this, every country had its national instruments; and as each in its own language designated them by descriptive names, the same instrument appeared under ten different denominations, and a similar name was applied to ten instruments. However, having nothing but monumental representation to guide us, and in the absence of the instruments themselves, an almost inextricable confusion arises.

The Romans carried back to their own country, as the results of conquest, specimens of most of the musical instruments they found in use in the countries subdued by them. Thus Greece supplied Rome with{192} nearly all the soft instruments of the class of lyres and flutes. Germany and the northern provinces, being inhabited by warlike races, gave to their conquerors the taste for loud-sounding instruments, such as trumpets and drums. Asia, and Judæa especially, which had multiplied various kinds of metal-instruments for use in their religious ceremonies, were the means of naturalising in Roman music deep-toned instruments of the class of bells and tom-toms (a kind of drum). Egypt introduced into Italy the timbrel along with the worship of Isis. Byzantium had no sooner invented the first pneumatic organs than the new religion of Christ took possession of them for exclusive consecration to its service, both in the East and in the West.