The Cross

Its History and Symbolism

George Willard Benson

• Publisher: Dover Publications
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9780486440545
• eBook ISBN: 9780486149707
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Christianity

Centuries before the Christian era, crosses were used as pagan emblems. Early Christians did not employ the symbolism of the cross, which came into general use three centuries after the death of Jesus and has since come to be recognized around the world as a symbol of sacrifice and redemption. This fascinating book begins with legends, and proceeds to an exploration of the many facts, myths, and curious customs and superstitions connected with the history of the cross.
In simple, direct language, this volume recounts the notable events and stories of people whose lives are interwoven with the symbol of the cross, such as the crusaders, who wore heraldic crosses as emblems of valor and bravery. Numerous illustrations depict the variety of forms and uses of the cross, as well as the symbols that appear upon many crosses, and the text traces their similarity and significance to the symbolism found in religious paintings, mosaics, and stained glass. The history, the legends, and the art and symbolism with which the cross is intimately connected form the keynote of this study, which is presented in a reverent spirit and a manner accessible to readers of every background.

XXIV

IN QUEST OF CROSSES

THERE is little opportunity either to see or acquire old crosses in our country. Even in museums, the storehouses of all kinds of relics of the past, crosses are rarely to be seen and a comparative study of them almost impossible. Our museums are filled with the swords of famous generals, the garments and other personal belongings of both distinguished and humble folk, and countless other relics of every conceivable sort, except crosses.

Doubtless the natural human desire to possess what is difficult to obtain was one reason that led me to collect crosses. The variety and beauty of them was a stimulating incentive and my search has never ceased. I have often been asked how and where I found the crosses I have collected. It is a tale far too long and uninteresting. But to recount a few experiences in my quest is to reveal somewhat the joy and satisfaction of the collector, for collecting is not merely acquiring. It is increasing and broadening one’s knowledge about many things and has no end of unexciting but pleasurable adventures in the pursuit.

Of all things to collect, old crosses are about the most elusive and difficult to find. The quest leads into strange, unknown paths, as they are rarely to be found in the accustomed marts.

Antiques of all kinds are everywhere to be found, either in antique or secondhand shops and auction rooms. There is an almost unlimited choice and supply of them. Fragile old glass and china, a marvelous survival of the vicissitudes of time; antique furniture, more or less the worse for wear, that has outlasted generations; family heirlooms in silver and pewter, their luster a little dimmed. All of these are comparatively easy to obtain for the seeking and the price, but not so with old crosses. They are more revered possessions and seldom are offered for sale.

My search has taken me far and wide. I have rarely found old crosses in this country and even in Europe they are scarce. I have sought for them in innumerable curio and antique shops in various cities and often many weeks would pass without finding a single one. It is a waste of time looking in most antique shops, as useless as hunting for jungle beasts on cultivated garden slopes.

There are other handicaps to the quest for old crosses. Most antique dealers know nothing about them, nor can give any reliable information as when and where they were made. Usually they get both centuries and countries sadly muddled. The collector must possess a knowledge of such matters and of values and characteristics of workmanship or he is likely to be deceived.

Personally, I had much difficulty owing to my linguistic limitations. My halting inquiry, in mispronounced Italian, for an “antico croce” was liable to produce anything antique but a cross, and the simple query, “quanto costo?” always resulted in a voluble torrent of unintelligible words that had to be translated into written figures. Then came the inevitable bartering with much vociferous gesticulation.

I have had many interesting experiences in my search for old crosses. To tell a few of them will illustrate the intricacies and diversions of my long continued quest that has taken years and led me to many foreign countries into quaint old cities and queer little towns, and added zest and keen enjoyment to my travels.

During a long stay in Venice, a chance acquaintance, a cultured English woman, was my valued guide in that fascinating city. She had lived there for a long while and was an enthusiastic lover of Venice, with a mind stored full of its history, lore and art. She knew and felt the beauty and charm of the old city with its crumbling, colorful buildings, and gems of architecture, paintings and sculpture. She knew her Ruskin as she did her prayer book, and led me to places he described and to other favorite haunts of her own, far away from the Grand Canal, through narrow, alley-like streets not much wider than a doorway, out upon some unfrequented piazza, dominated by some ancient church of huge proportions and Byzantine beauty or Baroque ugliness within which was some painting or statue or carving worthy our study and admiration.

On other days we would thread our way through little winding streets, off from the Rialto, through devious ways and over many bridges, guided by a troop of persistent children or an undesirable beggar, none of whom were ever satisfied with the tips we gave for their unsolicited services. Suddenly, we would come upon some historic shrine or an old palace, to which we had entrance through the lower rooms where the gondolas were always stored, on up marble steps to the spacious apartments where gathered the Venetian nobility in the days of the doges.

Everywhere on these rambles, I led my companion into many antiquity shops; always seeking, seldom finding an old cross. Finally, weary of tramping many miles, we would seek the solace of a cup of tea and my English friend was happy and I somewhat consoled even if my search for a cross had been unavailing.

We always walked on these quests. We would not have found the few old crosses I secured, or have seen the many artistic treasures of the past had we lolled luxuriously in a gondola doing the famous stock sights of Venice.

By a fortunate chance one day, in an almost deserted piazza beside a crumbling old church, its niches filled with broken statues of forgotten saints, was a small antiquity shop. In front of it hung a silver sanctuary lamp and upon the stone pavement were several carved wooden and gilded church ornaments and an altar crucifix of unusual and artistic craftsmanship. Its base was of ebony; the Christ figure of bronze and the ornamental portions of brass and silver. It was of Italian workmanship made about the middle of the 17th century. It took two or three interviews and much persuasion before a satisfactory price was agreed upon and I became its possessor. (Page 46).

I chanced to wander one day through a narrow, unknown street, crowded by men and women who spend their days out of doors gossiping, making lace, sewing the bright colored sails that stretch across the roadway and cooking spaghetti over charcoal braziers. To escape the chattering jostling crowd, I entered a little shop where were made and sold gilded and painted boxes, trays and other decorative things. On a bracket I discovered an old Italian cross, different from any I had ever seen. It was of mother-of-pearl with fourteen holes representing the stations of the cross. It stood upon a roughly carved dark wood base suggesting rocks and intended to represent Calvary. It probably was made early in the 18th century. After some persuasion I convinced the shopkeeper it was out of place among his modern wares and carried it away with me. (Page 166).

Florence, the treasure-trove of medieval art, has always a great fascination for every lover of the beautiful, with its many timeworn churches filled with colorful frescoes and mosaics and interesting museums and ancient palaces that contain so many fascinating art treasures.

In the churches and museums of Florence are more crosses than are to be seen in any other Italian city. There are also more of them for sale in the shops. There I found some interesting old rosaries that are kin to crosses.

One antiquarian, whose shop I often frequented, seemed to specialize in them. I could not resist a few, attracted by the beauty of the beads and the curious little crosses and religious medals of silver and bronze hanging from them.

Perhaps I should have resisted for I became so much interested that I have since collected many old rosaries, medals and coins, particularly those having crosses upon them.

I have quite a variety of old rosaries. Some of the beads are made of semi-precious stones, others of colorful Venetian glass, and crystals, metals, seeds, pottery and wood. They are most of them more than a hundred years old. An unusual and interesting one is of crudely cut amber beads—the rare, brownish amber that is said to derive its peculiar color from being immersed in the ocean for many years, perhaps centuries. Another very curious rosary, probably about one hundred and fifty years old, came from Mexico. It must have hung at one time on the wall of some old chapel. It is so large and long it never could have been carried about. The beads of carved wood are as large as walnuts and the unusual bronze crucifix of corresponding size. Attached to it is a dim old Spanish picture of a woman saint painted on a copper plaque.

Many of the crosses I discovered in Florence I do not possess. They were precious metal and jeweled crosses of rare workmanship and the prices asked for them were beyond the limits of my purse. It was not the only time or place my desires have been balked for a similar reason. They were for me as unattainable as that beautiful cross made by Cellini that is clasped in the hand of the Archbishop Borromeo, who died more than three centuries ago and lies exposed, a most unpleasant spectacle, in his silver and crystal casket, in the great cathedral at Milan. In the realm of collecting, as in most of life’s experiences, it is not possible to get all one wants and perhaps that is not altogether undesirable. There is a pertinent saying, “The first half of life one accumulates, the last half one eliminates.” There are some memories and experiences, as well as material things, we do not cherish.

In Florence I was always getting mixed in my mind between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. I managed to sort out the Primitives from the Renaissance painters, although I was a little uncertain about some of them with unfamiliar names without consulting the guide book. The craftsmen of Italy and Spain were particularly confusing. Many of the things made by them, such as wood carvings and metal work of various kinds, were so similar it was almost impossible to distinguish in which country they were made.

I had no doubt, however, about two old crosses I have that came from Florence. One was of Spanish origin easily determined by its double arms. It is a large, bronze, pendant, Reliquary Cross made about the middle of the 18th century. It probably once hung upon the wall of a private chapel in some old palace. It is of open work design of an elaborately chased pattern, and through its large openings once shown conspicuously the bones of a saint. (Page 94).

The other cross was just as obviously of Italian workmanship. It is a very beautiful, large, Processional Cross of hand carved wood, gilded in gold leaf. It is very ornate of quite a unique design. It was probably made in Tuscany about the middle of the 17th century and may have often been carried in religious processions out from the portal of some little church among the olive slopes of Tuscany. (Page 30).

In Rome I found few crosses to add to my collection but in searching for them had a rather unusual experience. I had been wandering for hours on a fruitless quest for crosses, and indulging also my antiquarian tastes, seeing many historic monuments and ancient ruins, and came at last to the Coliseum. It was at dusk of an early evening in spring. The great amphitheater, usually deserted, was thronged with thousands of people seated on the crumbling stone seats. They were there to hear the massed choirs of the various churches of the eternal city sing ancient anthems and chants.

As I looked down upon the empty arena, I thought of those far-off days in ancient Rome when vast throngs sat upon those same tiers of stone and gazed upon the dying struggles of Christian martyrs slain by gladiators or wild beasts. A cruel, bloody spectacle—pitiless spectators.

As twilight faded into darkness, the Coliseum was illuminated by thousands of little lamps. They were open receptacles filled with olive oil and having hempen wicks —primitive and similar to the more beautiful little lamps of bronze and terra cotta used by the ancient Romans.

As the flickering wind blown, yellow flames of countless lamps illuminated the vast arena, the black-robed choristers sang the anthems and chants of the middle ages, harmonious praises to the glory of God. It was a strangely impressive moment, the past and the present mysteriously linked but vastly different.

In the midst of this ancient ruin on the very spot where Christian martyrs had died for their faith now stands a great stone cross, a fitting memorial of their martyrdom. An aged pilgrim, it is claimed, comes twice a year to pray at the foot of this cross for the martyrs who died there.

One of the crosses I secured in Rome was a pendant cross of pearl inlaid in wood made during the latter half of the 18th century. It is of ornate design with an inlaid cross in place of the figure of the Savior. (Page 142).

Another small pendant cross was a fine example of mosaic work made about the middle of the 19th century. Upon it is the Labarum, the cross of Constantine, a most appropriate emblem for a Roman cross. (Page 142).

Neither of these crosses was found in the Rag Market where I went as I always did to similar marts in various cities. These outdoor markets of Europe, always have a lure for those in search of the quaint and the old, but crosses are rarely to be found in them.

I found several interesting crosses in France, especially in Paris. Not on the gay, thronged boulevards, but in some little shops near the Seine and in the Latin quarter.

I picked up a bronze altar crucifix made in the reign of Louis XIV, worn smooth with age and handling. I spied it in the window of a little shop, mixed up with several old pistols and daggers, strange companions. It was the only cross in the shop. Its unusual base and beautiful floriated arms I could not resist, and added it to my collection. (Page 181).

After lunching one day at a sidewalk café, I strolled down an unknown street and discovered in an antiquary shop a very curious pendant crucifix. The bronze figure of Christ was very diminutive and hung upon a crystal background. The cross itself was dark wood. It was at least a hundred years old. (Page 78).

My search led me one day to a very interesting antiquity shop. It was presided over by a charming little antiquarian. He could speak no English and I but little French, but we struck up a pleasant acquaintance and I often visited his musty little shop filled with a dusty collection of old pictures, books and a bewildering assortment of small curios. It was the man himself who interested me, a left over relic of the time of Napoleon III with a pleasant smile and charming manners, a waxed moustache and a grey goatee. We conversed largely in signs but we were kindred souls. He recognized at once the collector’s weakness in me and tempted me often with interesting and inexpensive antiques of various kinds, hidden away from unappreciative purchasers. He had a most interesting old cross I wanted but he declined all offers with a shake of the head and a friendly smile. He wished to keep it for himself. I understood his feelings; he was a collector not a mere shopkeeper. I did get from him a Pectoral Cross I prize. It was fully two hundred years old, made of tortoise shell and gold. On the bottom an incised design was used as a seal. Probably the cross was worn by some French bishop and with it he stamped his epistles, decrees and ecclesiastical documents. (Page 62).

XXIV. PEASANT ALTAR CROSSES

XXV. ECCLESIASTICAL CROSSES

One must go to southern France to really visualize the past. In Provence and the mountain towns along the Mediterranean coast it is possible to see and comprehend the life and customs of centuries ago. There the inhabitants still live in the same houses built by their ancestors and pursue the same tasks and have many of their simple pleasures and customs.

Hunting for crosses is an admirable excuse for going to these interesting old towns. It is a region rich in historic memories. From some of the ancient ports on the coast the Crusaders had set sail for the Orient. At many a place had the Barbary pirates landed to plunder and slay the inhabitants. This was the reason the little walled towns were built high up on the mountain sides for defense and protection. In these ancient towns their descendants still live in the cheerless stone houses built hundreds of years ago. If I did not find many crosses in these mountain towns I was more than repaid by the glimpses I had of the primitive life and customs of the people who live in them.

At the age-worn, stone fountain in the village square women are always to be seen drawing water in copper pitchers or washing their clothes. Here and there they gathered in groups eternally knitting and gossiping. The men sat in their doorways busy at their old-time trades or loafing and chatting. The children were at play but never boisterous or laughing.

I never tired of wandering through the narrow, winding streets, and little public squares of these hillside towns or of leaning over their fortifying walls to look down into the valley below with its shallow stream and curving roadway. From there were wonderful views of distant mountains with other little towns clinging to their olive and grape terraced sides.

Always in every mountain town there was a little stone chapel within which were one or more kneeling worshippers and on the altar a crudely made crucifix. I found just such an altar cross, probably made by a Provence peasant more than a hundred years ago. It is of blackened wood and pewter. The cross stands upon a base of five steps and upon it, the figure of the Christ is quite unu...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• FOREWORD
• I - THE INFLUENCE OF THE CROSS
• II - ANCIENT CROSSES
• III - THE PAGAN CROSS
• IV - THE CHRISTIAN CROSS
• V - A LEGEND OF THE CROSS
• VI - CONSTANTINE AND THE CROSS
• VII - FINDING THE CROSS
• VIII - RELICS OF THE CROSS
• IX - THE EVOLUTION OF THE CROSS
• X - WARS OF THE CROSS
• XI - MEDALS, COINS AND THE CROSS
• XII - FORMS OF THE CROSS
• XIII - ECCLESIASTICAL CROSSES
• XIV - OUTDOOR CROSSES
• XV - PENDANT CROSSES
• XVI - AMULETS AND THE CROSS
• XVII - SYMBOLS ON THE CROSS
• XVIII - THE SIGN OF THE CROSS
• XIX - RELIGIOUS ART AND THE CROSS
• XX - SAINTS OF THE CROSS
• XXI - MARTYRS OF THE CROSS
• XXII - CURIOUS USES OF THE CROSS
• XXIII - UNUSUAL CROSSES
• XXIV - IN QUEST OF CROSSES
• XXV - CHRIST AND THE CROSS
• XXVI - THE MYSTICISM OF THE CROSS
• XXVII - THE MEANING OF THE CROSS
• Symbols