Stone on Stone
eBook - ePub

Stone on Stone

The Men Who Built The Cathedrals

Imogen Corrigan

Share book
  1. 224 pages
  2. English
  3. ePUB (mobile friendly)
  4. Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub

Stone on Stone

The Men Who Built The Cathedrals

Imogen Corrigan

Book details
Book preview
Table of contents
Citations

About This Book

Standing in the nave of a cathedral, it is hard not to wonder how ordinary human beings could have created sky-scraping, dizzyingly high buildings on which even the top-most parts were delicately decorated, in an age before even the simplest of power tools. Stone on Stone presents the full story of the men who built the cathedrals of the medieval era: who they were, how they lived and how with the simplest of hand tools they created the astonishing buildings that hundreds of years later still stand as monuments to their ingenuity and skill. Topics covered include the context for building such huge places of worship; the men who built: who they were, and the challenges they had to face; finding the materials; construction techniques; building control and finally, who paid for it all. A deeply researched book that provides a fascinating insight into the world of the medieval Master Mason and his work.Will be of great interest to all those interested in medieval architecture and the Church.Gives an insight into the Master Masons who designed the cathedrals and ran the site.Illustrated with a 20 colour and black & white 8-page section.Imogen Corrigan is a first-class honours graduate of Anglo-saxon and medieval history and a freelance lecturer covering Britain and Europe.

Frequently asked questions

How do I cancel my subscription?
Simply head over to the account section in settings and click on “Cancel Subscription” - it’s as simple as that. After you cancel, your membership will stay active for the remainder of the time you’ve paid for. Learn more here.
Can/how do I download books?
At the moment all of our mobile-responsive ePub books are available to download via the app. Most of our PDFs are also available to download and we're working on making the final remaining ones downloadable now. Learn more here.
What is the difference between the pricing plans?
Both plans give you full access to the library and all of Perlego’s features. The only differences are the price and subscription period: With the annual plan you’ll save around 30% compared to 12 months on the monthly plan.
What is Perlego?
We are an online textbook subscription service, where you can get access to an entire online library for less than the price of a single book per month. With over 1 million books across 1000+ topics, we’ve got you covered! Learn more here.
Do you support text-to-speech?
Look out for the read-aloud symbol on your next book to see if you can listen to it. The read-aloud tool reads text aloud for you, highlighting the text as it is being read. You can pause it, speed it up and slow it down. Learn more here.
Is Stone on Stone an online PDF/ePUB?
Yes, you can access Stone on Stone by Imogen Corrigan in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Historia & Historia europea medieval. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.

Information

Publisher
Robert Hale
Year
2019
ISBN
9780719827990
CHAPTER ONE
NEW TECHNOLOGY OR NEW SPIRITUALITY?
Establishing the basic shape of a cathedral
BEFORE WE MEET the Master Masons themselves, we need to think about what was at the centre of their being: the cathedral. More especially, we need to consider how the shape of the building developed, which was, after all, critical to the overall plan. In cathedrals and churches, the shape is more important than it might first seem because this affected the spread of the religion. While it is obvious that there cannot be too many variations in the shape of any structure required for public gatherings, the Roman basilica’s internal floor plan was suited to Christian meetings because it was essentially an oblong hall with a rounded apse at the most significant part, for it was within the apse that an altar could be placed.
Figures 1 and 2 show basic layouts for both a basilica and a later Gothic cathedral, and it is plain to see how complex the central design became. Early missionaries as far back as the fourth and fifth centuries AD discovered that a large narthex, or porch attached to the basilica, was an important factor and a useful aid to recruiting: anyone could go inside to shelter from the elements, conduct business or simply meet friends. While they were there, they would be able to hear the strangely soothing and seductive mantras of the liturgy being carried out and, no doubt, smell the incense used more liberally then than now. There would normally be three doorways from the porch into the church through which the curious could stare, although the uninitiated would not be permitted to go into the main part of the building, which was reserved for those fortunate enough to have been saved spiritually. One might imagine the craning of necks and whispering in the outer porch; Christianity was new to many and therefore either exciting or perhaps horrifying. It would be natural for many to feel extremely uneasy about this new religion, as anyone would if asked to discard whatever spiritual practice and belief had been ingrained from childhood. By the fourth century AD, Christianity was now seen as a definite religion as opposed to a group of people following the teachings of a charismatic speaker. Enough people had died for it to make it both interesting and credible. The Emperor Constantine’s embracing it gave it authority and status, and promises of eternal life and/or relief from physical or mental pain had to make it worth a second look.
images
1 Ground plan for Roman basilica
images
2 Ground plan for cathedral
Rumours will have circulated in the porch about miracles happening in the name of Jesus Christ and the saints. Local Christian teachers would have sat there, talking to passers-by and the interested and thus this square, almost empty space became a valuable part of the conversion process. In parish churches later, the porch would become the place where civil business was conducted as well as marriage services. It became a space for business for the local community, which is why some later porches are very large, having benches and often niches for statues and holy water to be used in the swearing of oaths. Some porches still have an upper room, which was used for parish meetings and schooling. Given that illustrations have always been an important part of missionary work, stories from the life of Christ or key elements of Christianity would have been painted on the walls or carved over the doorways.
Baptism was the next step. In the ruins of the early Christian basilica at Soli in North Cyprus, which was built in the second half of the fourth century AD, one can see the remains of the baptizing pool just inside the church, immediately beyond the door on the southern side of the porch. In effect, no one could get past without having been admitted to Christianity. To this day, the font is often still placed so close to the main entrance of the church that it is almost an obstacle, a constant reminder of the beginning of the Christian journey, although many congregations have now moved the font to make the baptizing area more central. Once inside the inner building, the newly converted could stand with the others in the areas we know as side aisles. In missionary churches of this style, the aisles would not be open plan and marked with pillars, as they are now, but physically separated by a low wall or fence so that ordinary Christians could see and join in, but not enter. It seems that the congregation could approach as far as the choir area to watch, making the place similar to a theatre with a protruding stage on which the priests would perform. This, again, was an important tool for conversion. There was little enough entertainment for the majority anyway, so the ritual carried out against a backdrop of candlelight, with precious vessels and vestments glinting gold and gorgeous manuscripts glimpsed through a haze of incense, would have been extremely impressive.
In the Roman pagan administrative hall (the basilica), there was often a small room known as a porticus, which was accessed from the inside. Sometimes there were two projecting from each side of the building about two-thirds of the way along. When built for Christian purposes, these became small chapels, or even offices, as can be seen marked out on the ground, for example, beside the remains of the seventh-century church at Bradwell-juxta-Mare on the Essex coast. Much later on, these would be extended into the arms known as transepts, which transform the ground plan of the building into the shape of the cross. Gradually, usage and changes in architectural styles would alter the basic floor plan, but the basilica shape appears to have been an effective starting point. St Augustine of Canterbury, travelling from Rome at the end of the sixth century AD, would have been familiar with the basilica-style layout, although we do not know if he intended to impose it on England. Early Anglo-Saxon churches, especially those in the north of England such as Escomb and the older parts of Monkwearmouth and Jarrow reveal a preference for a narrow, single-celled building. These northern churches are a useful indication as to how things might have been because of the influence of Benedict Biscop, who accompanied Theodore, the incoming Archbishop of Canterbury, from Rome in 668–9, worked with him for a couple of years, and then returned to the north-east where he founded the monasteries of Monkwearmouth and Jarrow. The designs are often disproportionately tall, with steeply pointed roofs almost as though they are an arrow pointing upwards, which might have been part of the plan.
Winning hearts, minds and souls
There is, therefore, no doubt that buildings were used as tools for conversion. They had to be impressive to send out the straightforward message that the Christian God was greater than any other gods. We should remember that what look to us to be relatively small-scale stone buildings would have been more striking at a time when most buildings were constructed out of wood or other organic materials. The great builders in stone – the Romans – had left Britain at the beginning of the fifth century AD so their buildings had by now either fallen into decay or been recycled into town walls. The Anglo-Saxon inclination was to build in wood so, while we look at the tenth-century stone church of St Lawrence at Bradford-upon-Avon in Wiltshire, and marvel at its survival, medieval people would have just looked and marvelled. These comparatively small stone churches would also have towered above the wooden, thatched dwellings of the Anglo-Saxons and most would have been visible from some way off. They would have been something so utterly different on the landscape that the simple fact of their presence would have been remarkable to the passer-by. In modern parlance, the ‘wow’ factor presented by Anglo-Saxon churches is something difficult to imagine in today’s steel-and-concrete built environment. The desire of early Anglo-Saxon Master Masons (and records of a few have come down to us) was not simply to build to the glory of God, but also to provide a roof below which conversion and Christianity could take place – but first the missionary priests had to encourage people to gather below that roof.
It seems likely that the earliest church buildings would have been wooden lean-to arrangements, probably constructed by the priests themselves with local help. But, as Christianity took hold across Britain and Europe, church building progressed from a form of frontier outposts to more impressive monuments to God. The larger ones could attempt to instruct the masses and encourage the priests in a more distinctive way: they could try to recreate Heaven on earth, and this is important. Not only is the Bible peppered with building metaphors, but also with numerous allusions to the Heavenly City. In addition, the Old Testament offers specific details about temple building.1 The Master Masons did not use these references as any form of template – they were too vague – but they will have noted that there are allusions to structured, planned places in the after-life. This was most notable in the New Testament book of Revelations 3 and, especially, Revelations 21, which was often taken as the authority to lavish fortunes on the decoration of cathedrals and churches. Again, a cathedral was not necessarily built to the specifications laid down, but by the time of the eleventh century there was a great desire to get physically closer to God and to try to understand some of the immense mystery surrounding Him. God was seen as being all-powerful, yet also extremely personal: all sins were known and noted. The risk of damnation was great, but the chance of salvation was also high if one took the right steps. There was much to play for.
The early missionary bishops did not need a huge building so much as an impressive one because such a building was visual propaganda. In England, we tend to think that a cathedral should be vast in size, but this has not always been the case. The building that holds the cathedra (the bishop’s seat) is the cathedral, but the building does not have to be much bigger than a large parish church; size is not always important. In the south of France, for example, there are several delightful cathedrals, such as the one at Lescar, which are not cathedral-sized according to usual expectation. One is not overwhelmed and awed by the sight of Lescar’s cathedral, either inside or out, but one is conscious of being in a church of status and one is delighted by the capital carvings and the unusual mosaics.
Why did building styles evolve?
The basic shape for the Christian building was now established, but there were regional variations – indeed, there still are. How did the building of a cathedral evolve to take the form we associate with the Middle Ages? How and why did it change from solid Romanesque to soaring Gothic? As can be seen at Caen, in Normandy, and at Salisbury, in Wiltshire, there is a marked difference between the plainer-seeming, strong-looking Romanesque of the Abbaye aux Dames in Caen (see plate 1) and the more ethereal, highly decorated Gothic of Salisbury cathedral (see plate 2). The round-arched, strongly built church form had endured as a pattern for centuries and was to continue to do so in southern Europe and Byzantium. Why then was there such a marked changed in style in western and northern Europe, and how did it become so popular so quickly? Was it the result of an advance in technology, a change in artistic taste or some difference in the expression of spirituality? All three is the most likely answer, although the last two factors are the hardest to quantify and were probably linked, since the form of the buildings expressed not just the desire of the heart but were a critical part of the never-ending quest of the soul. As to why the new style was so attractive to the north and west of Europe and less so to the south, there is no obvious answer other than that different styles appeal to different people. The thicker walls and smaller windows of Romanesque architecture keep the interior cooler than does Gothic.
Middle Eastern influences
To consider the technical side of cathedral building first, we know that the Middle Ages saw just as much innovation as any other period in history, but that at this time great advances were being made in the building trades. This was partly because there was so much building work taking place. Consequently, Master Masons had more opportunities to experiment with different decorative ideas and local materials, and to compare work happening on one site with work on others, as well as being able to exchange ideas with journeymen from all over Europe. Expertises (of which more in Chapter 5) and other regulatory bodies, such as guilds, certainly helped to spread ideas and improve working practices throughout the industry. Some of the new machinery and ideas appear to have come from the Middle East and are presumed to have arrived in Britain with returning pilgrims and Crusaders.
This notion that Crusaders came back with a new approach to building is reinforced by some of the distinctly Arabic shapes that became so much a feature of Gothic architectural decoration: octagons, hexagons, quatrefoils, ogee domes and geometric patterns are all reminiscent of building in Arabia or Moorish Spain. Also in favour of the Crusaders as a conduit for technology is the timing of the change from Romanesque to Gothic. The Moors, or Berber tribes, had been in Spain since AD 711, so one might have expected to see their artistic influence earlier than the twelfth century if the Gothic style had been inspired by them. The First Crusade had been proclaimed in November 1095 by Pope Urban II to protect pilgrimage routes to the Holy Land and Christian holy places, then under threat from Seljuk conquests, and the campaign culminated in the Fall of Jerusalem in July 1099. At the very beginning of the twelfth century, the first vaulted roof seen in Western Europe was constructed at Durham cathedral, which has some of the finest Romanesque architecture anywhere. The roof could have been due to the influence of newly gained Middle Eastern knowledge, or even the arrival locally of a Saracen mason taken as prisoner. We know that this was the fate of at least one man who came to be known as ‘Lalys’. He was captured and taken to South Wales where he made his name as a Master Mason and was said eventually to have been employed by Henry I.2
All that being so, one problem with aligning artistic changes with the Crusades is that then one might expect more copies of the ultimate Christian site – the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. That church’s rotunda must have made a strong impression and, indeed, most round churches are associated with the Knights Templar. Some, though, are most definitely not: for example, the tiny round chapel at Lanleff in Brittany, where a notice states emphatically that no man from that village ever went on crusade (no reason is given why). The counter-argument is that the round choir is, indeed, seen in the Gothic cathedral, but taking the form of a rounded end that grows from the body of the church. However, this does not stand up to scrutiny because, as mentioned, churches have long had a rounded apse as a hangover from the shape of a Roman basilica. The rotunda itself is seen in England in the ruins of St Augustine’s Abbey at Canterbury. This was begun by Abbot Wulfric II in 1050 (though never completed) – a good half-century before any crusade, although people from Britain had travelled to the Holy Land before that (the earliest recorded English pilgrim to the Holy Land was St Willibald in AD 722). The rebuilding of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre also dates to the middle of the eleventh century.
But the evidence of Middle Eastern influences cannot be denied. Today, were we to design a building, we would expect to draw it out using measurements in number format. This would be so elementary that I doubt many of us would think twice about it, but such thinking was less obvious – indeed, not obvious at all – to the early medieval Master Masons. They used Roman numerals and went on doing so until surprisingly late in history. The Roman system, which substitutes letters for numbers, does work and is still used to this day (not least, to distinguish between kings and other rulers). We would not, however, dream of trying to use the Roman system to add or subtract, and with Roman numerals multiplication and division seem difficult beyond belief. To work out problems such as how long it was between the Battles of Hastings and Bosworth, one would have to subtract MLXVI from MCDLXXXV. The answer, of course, is CDXIX. It is all the more remarkable that the Romans were such great builders themselves, proving that such a system of numbering, though unwieldy, was not impossible to use.
A number sequence using Arabic numerals appears to have been started in India and been used in the Middle East as early as the sixth century. Given that trade routes between Europe, India and Africa had been established by the Romans and given that they were not afraid to embrace new technology, it is odd that the Romans themselves did not adopt the numerals they found there (not least because they did use an abacus for quick reckoning). The first surviving record of Arabic numerals in the West (but only the numbers one to nine, not zero) has been found in the Codex Vigilanus, which was compiled in AD 976, suggesting that the Indian-Arabic method was introduced into Spain c.900 but, again, does not seem to have spread widely beyond this. These numerals cannot have been extensively used throughout the Arab lands because when a Persian engineer and mathematician of the early eleventh century, al-Karkhi, wrote several treatises on calculation he frequently wrote out the numbers as words, presumably to make it clear to his audience.
One of the many changes that occurred in the twelfth century was that serious medical knowledge arrived in Europe from the Middle East. Much of that knowledge had, in turn, originated from ancient Greece. Although medical usage of herbs and so on was highly developed in Europe, attempts to gain more technical knowledge had been regarded with suspicion. This was a time when Christianity taught that the soul was more important than the body and anyone going to help someone who was sick or injured would be advised to send for the priest and to ensure that he had priority in the sick-room. Indeed, that was the ruling laid down by the fourth Lateran Council in 1215. If someone really needed medical help, they were advised to choose the appropriate saint and ask him or her for relief, or even for a miracle; it was part of how both the Church and society operated. Arabic and Jewish peoples thought differently, with the result that their scientific expertise was streets ahead of that in Western Europe. When it came to mathematics, science and medicine, the thinkers of the Middle East were by far and away the leaders in what was then the known world; indeed, words such as algebra, alchemy, alkaline and alcohol have all come to us from Arabic. So, it is not hard to understand that, in the more constructive climate of learning of the Middle East, thinking about the technical aspects of everything also flourish...

Table of contents