The earliest English figure work was usually done also in split-stitch, but much finer. The faces, hands, and feet were worked with the stitch all in one direction, either vertical or horizontal, and the details marked out with very fine black silk or dark brown. Sometimes the lips were put in with red. There was no shading of the flesh-tints, but they were, so far as one can tell, quite white. The Worcester fragments and the Durham stole and maniple are examples of this work; the latter, being in such good preservation, is the easiest to study. The garments and sometimes the whole figure were worked in gold or silver thread all laid one way; or again, with the face-lines vertical and the rest horizontal. The fragments from the vestment of Walter de Cantelupe (1236-1265 or 6) show a particularly beautiful scroll-work in a flowing pattern all over it. There are many small figures seated and crowned and holding a sceptre. The whole of the work is done entirely in fine gold-thread laid in one direction, and outlined with dark brown or black on what seems to have been crimson or rose-coloured Oriental silk. There is a small piece of it in the V. and A. Museum South Kensington, and some more in Worcester Cathedral Church, from which my drawing is taken.

But the most celebrated work, which began about this time and flourished for about a century, making England famous for its embroidery, was the world-renowned ‘Opus Anglicanum,’ of which we have one of the most perfect specimens in the well-known ‘Syon Cope’ at South Kensington. One of the characteristics of this work is the way the faces are treated. Split-stitch in one shade of fine floss is still used, but, instead of lying in straight lines, it is begun in the centre of the cheek and worked round and round, in more or less circular lines, till they merge into the semicircular ones of the neck, or radiate towards the eye-socket and the straight line of the nose. The direction of the stitch gives an appearance of shading, although it is all done in one shade of very fine silk. The effect of relief is also attained by the same means, slightly accentuated by mechanical assistance—possibly the round head of a metal pin heated and pressed wherever such an effect is desired. The figure of St. Paul (Fig. II.) shows the general effect and the accompanying diagram (p. 34) the method of work. It will be observed by anyone who will make the experiment, that fine split-stitch, crewel, or chain-stitch worked solid in a circular direction in this way, if done out of a frame, will naturally cause such depressions as are to be seen in the early specimens of ‘Opus Anglicanum.’ It needed very little mechanical appliance to make these indentations regular and more effective; but by degrees this desire for effect grew beyond bounds, and the modelling became frightfully exaggerated at the same time that the natural and moderate relief of eyelids, nose, and lips, caused by a few extra stitches, developed into an actual stuffing, till figure embroidery was a thing of the past, and a debased condition of taste delighted itself with dolls dressed in silks and laces attached to needleworked ‘pictures,’ which had to be framed and glazed to keep them free from dust!

The arrangement of stitches, as in the ‘Opus Anglicanum,’ has been revived in modern times by some of the Sisterhoods, where they make a point of being ‘Early English’; but it is a style apt to become too quaint to suit modern ideas of reverence, and it is certainly much more difficult to manage successfully than the vertical or horizontal arrangement (see ‘a’ p. 34).

‘b’ shows a combination of both, and ‘c’ of the vertical method. Fig. III. is a drawing from a figure of the Blessed Virgin in a group representing the ‘Annunciation’ on an altar-frontal at St. Thomas’s, Salisbury. The whole of the frontal is closely ‘parsemé,’ with the typical Cherubim, Angels, flowers, &c., of the period (thirteenth to sixteenth centuries) and very much ornamented with free and graceful scroll-work. There is a return to the simpler method for working the face; or perhaps I should say a continuation of this method, which has never been entirely given up, in spite of prevailing fashion; probably the embroiderer instinctively feels it to be the most manageable. I mean the evenly worked surface (be it split-stitch or satin-stitch) on which the features are worked in outline. These stitches lie in the vertical direction, and there is little, if any, shading. The dress is worked in several shades of blue (also vertical split-stitch or fine satin-stitch), and there is very little attempt to give the appearance of relief in the folds. The cloak is worked entirely in gold thread, laid horizontally, with the folds marked on afterwards in rather scratchy lines of green silk. The lining of the cloak is in silver thread, flecked with black to indicate vair. The hair is pale golden-brown, in split-stitch, following the natural curves, and is very delicately drawn and worked. The whole of the group is characterised by great simplicity and sweetness. The vase containing the lilies, which stands in the centre between the Angel and the Blessed Virgin, is of richly raised gold-work; a scroll behind her shoulders with the words ‘Ecce Ancilla Dn̅i’ balances the wings of the Angel in the composition of the design.

During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries there was a spontaneous growth of feeling for truth and beauty in all the arts; more correct drawing and richer colouring combined with strong and graceful design to produce perfection in needlework. In the most beautiful examples of this period (with few exceptions) the faces are worked in natural shades of flesh-tints, with fine floss-silks in satin-stitch, either ‘short’ or ‘long and short,’ in the vertical direction, with a fair amount of shading, but no cast shadows. The garments fall in noble lines and give the opportunity for a fine variety of colour. Precious stones, metals, and pearls were used with moderation, not that lavish profusion which afterwards degenerated into vulgar display.

Illustration IV. is taken from part of an orphrey in the Victoria and Albert Museum, designed by Rafaelino del Garbo, and represents, I think, the highest point to which ‘effect’ should go in the matter of shading and appearance of relief, perspective, &c. It is a piece of Florentine work, and shows distinctly the influence of the place and the age. This reproduction of course does not do it justice; it is a perfect marvel of colour, while the drawing shows a master’s hand. The whole of the architectural background is worked in gold thread laid horizontally, the effect both of colour and shading being entirely produced by means of the silk it is couched with. In places the gold is completely veiled by the stitches, in others it gleams through, and again it is left quite bare and shining with its own lustre alone. Every line of the architecture is accentuated with gold twist of different degrees of thickness, and sometimes varied again by being twisted in the opposite direction.

The garments consist of the same gold thread which forms the background; it is simply carried through the whole of the work,[4] with the exception of the head and nimbus, which are worked separately and appliqué to it afterwards. The hands, even, are done over the gold in short satin-stitch. The flesh-tints are coloured strongly but finely, and the shading is put in boldly. The sympathy between design and work is so marked as almost to indicate the same hand; but we have other examples, which are known to have been designed by one person and worked by another, which show the same rapport, such as the designs by Pollaiuolo embroidered by Paolo da Verona (in the church of S. Giovanni at Florence).[5]

The garments of the figures in the older embroidery were usually worked in split-stitch in much the same manner as the faces; that is to say, the stitching is done in rows, following the lines of the drawing.

In the Syon cope, for instance, the tunic of the figure illustrated in Fig. II. is worked in three shades of blue floss; the palest has faded so much as to be out of range altogether (a habit unfortunately common to pale shades of blue); the two darker ones seem to have remained almost entirely unaffected by age, light, and wear. The upper garment is worked in gold thread, with a border of green and a lining of soft yellowish-brown floss silk. The gold-work is done in the same way as the background of the cope. The threads lie in the same direction throughout—not merely in the case of the figure I am describing, but wherever gold is introduced at all—in large masses, as in the vesture, or in quite small quantities, such as the narrow border of the tunic. It is stitched so as to form the same zigzag pattern.

The lining of the upper robe is worked in a very fine split-stitch, with either very little shading or none besides that which is caused by the different directions of the stitch.

The folds in the gold-worked part are indicated by means of voided lines, which are afterwards filled up with stitches of black silk. The voiding at the folds gives a low relief, as the gold goes down and comes up again instead of all lying flat on the surface.

The hair is in fine lines of alternate blue-grey and white floss, done in split-stitch. In some of the other figures it is gold and black, or gold and white, or black and white, but always in alternate lines in the same style. In early English work the bearded faces have the upper lip shaven.

Three shades of each colour are commonly employed, not often following each other very closely, especially in the case of the green, of which the lighter shades incline towards yellow and the darker towards blue.

There were very few different colours in general use for embroidery till towards the end of the fourteenth century, after which they became much more varied, but still more harmonious, till crude and violent colours came in with the nineteenth century. The dyes formerly were mostly from Eastern sources, whence the silks also came, and where, until quite lately, very stringent rules were in force concerning the colours and dyes permitted to be used.

D’or nué seems to have been the favourite method of doing the garments about the sixteenth century. Laid-work, kept down with either self-coloured silk or gold thread, lightly couched, is also to be seen; and later, a pretty use of short-stitch in floss, worked vertically over gold threads laid horizontally—something like d’or nué, but very much coarser and more practical for the larger figures, which were then becoming more frequently worked (see diagram).

Another way of treating drapery is to work it solidly in long-and-short-stitch (vertical), boldly shaded, and afterwards enriching it with fine gold threads laid horizontally over the whole garment a little distance apart, and sewn down singly with fine sewing silks or split floss of the same shades as those it passes over; or sprays or diapers may be effective worked over the plain shaded silks.

The background of figure-work is not very often composed entirely of stitching in these days, when so many beautiful woven fabrics are so easily procured and time seems shorter than it used to be. But still, where there is not a very large expanse to fill, a worked background is not a luxury unattainable; a very satisfactory and glorious one is gold thread laid in diaper-patterns. Laid-work and darning are quicker—the latter makes a beautifully broken colour for showing up large outline figure-work done on unbleached linen or worsted material for hangings.

I do not fancy any of my readers would undertake such a piece of work as the background of the Syon cope; but the way it was probably done has been suggested by Mr. Lewis Day thus:—

‘The stitch runs from point to point of the zigzag pattern, then it penetrates the stuff, is carried round a thread of flax laid at the back of the material, and is brought to the surface again through the hole made by the needle in passing down. That is to say, the silken thread only dips through the linen at the points in the pattern, and is then caught down by a thread of flax on the under-surface of the linen … it is a kind of work on which two persons might be employed, one on either side of the stuff.’[6]

I venture to differ from his opinion on one point only, and that is that probably the silken or gold thread was not the one worked backwards and forwards through the stuff, since the flax thread from behind would do the work just as well. The gold or silk would thus be saved from friction, and would not need to be cut into needlefuls and threaded in a needle, but could be used from continuously, as I have before suggested for long lines of couching; it is, in fact, precisely the same thing, with the exception of taking the ‘working’ needle back through the hole it made, instead of at a little distance from it. This method is so often used in fine gold-work for turning at the end of a row when one does not want it to appear on the surface that I fancy it would be suggested by this.

CHAPTER VIII
ON LITURGICAL COLOURS, FRONTALS, ETC.

The question of liturgical colours need not be very fully discussed here, as this is pre-eminently a practical manual and not a treatise on ritual. Although the embroidress naturally studies the reason and uses of the things she makes, it does not properly rest with her whether the ‘Use of Sarum’ or that of any other special diocese be followed. There certainly seems to have been no very hard and fast rule observed in this matter in the early ages of the Church or even in medieval times. From the old inventories we gather that altar-frontals and vestments existed of almost every known colour and shade (and some indeed unknown ones, to us at least!). This of course may be to some extent accounted for by the votive offerings so frequently made by kings and nobles of their own magnificent vestments and of spoils taken in war.[7] These would be accepted and used in the Church quite irrespective of colour and design.

We might conclude from the old English illuminations that red, blue, purple, white, and gold were the colours most generally used, or considered most ideally correct; but on more careful investigation I think we should be driven to the conclusion that while the careful miniaturist drew the forms of what he was accustomed to see in the ordinary services of the Church, he coloured them according to his own ideas of beauty or according to the limitations of his palette. A row of clergy in one illumination, for instance, would have their albes alternately blue and red; and I remember another of an outdoor procession in which the same arrangement prevailed, with the priests’ stoles coloured blue over the red albes and red over the blue ones.

The four colours above-named being the Levitical ones, it is probable that a particular significance was attached to them; but green and black were common before the end of the fifteenth century; and the English use, which was supposed to be definitely settled by the ‘second year of Edward the Sixth,’ certainly includes them.

This gives us an authorised sequence of at least five colours—viz. white, red, violet, green, and black. Cloth of gold may be considered as glorified white. Blue, violet, indigo, and purple may be all separate colours, or they may be included in the one term ‘violet,’ as popularly understood. ‘Purple’ indeed is such a wide-embracing word that it may, in ancient documents, signify a material (velvet), while as a colour it may range anywhere between crimson and blue, but it always means something rich and gorgeous.

The altar-frontal, giving the keynote for the colour, should be arranged for first; then the vestments worn by the ministers; and, lastly, all the other textile decorations, which must harmonise with the whole. It should not be necessary to change these latter whenever the altar-frontal is changed, except for Lent. It becomes all the more desirable therefore to choose such hangings as will look equally well with white, green, or red.

For Lent they will all be mostly violet—violet and red—(red decoration on violet should be edged with black)—violet and white—by which I do not mean a bleached, cold, dead white, but a warm, brownish cream, or silver. The violet also must not be crude; blue is preferable generally, and it need not be as dark as it too often is, tending to blackness, especially in velvet. Indigo seems to me the ideal colour for Lent. When one speaks of blue for Lent, of course one does not mean bright or cerulean blue, or azure. These are the blues of our Lord’s garments, of the Blessed Virgin, and of the Seraphim, and have nothing to do with penitence.

The green should not be too blue in tone, and the red is best kept to tawny shades, or real, true red. However beautiful any one colour may be alone, its behaviour in company with others must be tested if it is to be used with them. I must plead for forgiveness if I seem to press this point unduly, on the ground that I am constantly made to suffer from a disregard to this principle when I am asked to devise new decorations to ‘go with’ impossible crudities.

Wherever possible, it is best to arrange all the textile hangings, vestments, &c., to be used in a church at the same time, and to have a definite scheme of design and colour to work upon. Even when the funds necessary to carry it out are not available all at once, the general idea could be fixed upon and the accomplishment of it could follow by degrees. Too often there appears to be a sort of haphazard effect in the decoration of churches—a want of unity, as though each separate thing were an after-thought, bearing no relation to what had been done before. If there are valuable embroideries, &c., already in use, which only require to be supplemented by others, it is merely reasonable to insist upon, and not difficult to arrange, that the new ones do not clash with the old. I do not myself think it necessary to keep rigidly to one date or style so long as the work harmonises as a whole, neither is it necessary for all the shades of every colour used to be identical; but it is quite essential that they should be harmonious.

The principal hangings in use in our time are the Altar-frontal, Super-frontal, Dorsal and Wings. Curtains are also sometimes used to partition off part of the church for a vestry, a belfry, or an organ-chamber.

Besides these there are hangings simply for the purpose of covering bare walls, in the chancel or elsewhere.

As a general principle one may say that curtains which were originally intended to be drawn or looped back may hang in folds, while those used merely as a covering should hang plain.

Wings or riddells, portières, &c., should be full; altar-frontals, dorsals, and tapestries for bare walls should hang plain, and may be treated more pictorially.

The altar strikes the keynote, so to speak, for the whole church. To it, as the culminating point, all the decoration is directed; and by it we are led through the different seasons of fast and festival, marking these seasons by the change of vesture as definitely as by the changes in the ritual and service.

An altar-frontal is rather a large piece of work for one person to undertake, unless she has had considerable practice (which enables her to work quickly) and has plenty of time to devote to it, and is also possessed of sufficient patience to keep on with one thing till it is finished.

A frontal can very well be worked by several ladies, each taking a separate piece on her own frame. Almost every kind of design can be worked in this way, and that is why Church work is so often done on linen and applied to the silk or velvet afterwards. There is a popular idea that it must be done so, but this is by no means the case; it is merely a matter of convenience. It is more ideally perfect as a matter of principle to work directly on the material to be beautified.

In describing how to make up a frontal we will take one for an 8-foot altar, 3 feet 4 inches high. We will suppose the various details of an Early English one (such as Fig. I.) to be already worked and pasted at the back with embroidery paste as described in the chapter on Appliqué-work, cut out of the frames and neatly ‘trimmed’ round the edges, leaving such a line of linen as will be perfectly covered with the outline with which it is couched down to the material the frontal is to be made of. Supposing it to be damask, with a pattern that repeats every 3 feet, and that it is from 25 to 27 inches wide; 4 yards only would be required, as there would be no extra length wanted to make the patterns join exactly at the seams. There would be three seams, which must be neatly sewn, either with very fine over-sewing, or with back-stitching, in silk of the same colour, taking the greatest care to match the halves of the pattern all along the seam. When this is done there will be a continuous surface of damask 36 inches wide and 100 or more inches long.

A large strong frame must be prepared with stout linen mounted in it, rather larger than the frontal is to be—say 8 feet 6 inches × 3 feet 6 inches.

Now it makes no difference to the convenience of working how long the frame is; but no woman could work to the centre of one mounted 42 inches wide. One cannot comfortably work further in than about 13 inches; therefore, although the linen should be of the full width, not more than twice 13, viz. 26 inches, should be presented to be worked upon at one time. The easiest way to arrange this is to run a tuck along the top and bottom of the linen before it is put into the frame, or two tucks along the bottom, according to the particular requirements of the design. A chain-stitch sewing machine would do this firmly and quickly, as it is only to reduce the width temporarily, and it could be as quickly undone after it had served its purpose.

If the long bars of the frame be round instead of flat, both linen and silk may be wound upon it to reduce the width to start with. This involves the removal of the sidebars each time the work is ‘let out’; they should not be taken out altogether, neither should the lacing be quite undone, but merely loosened sufficiently for the bars to slip gently out of their sockets; there should be one person stationed at each side-bar while this is being done, to see that it is moved evenly and laced up as before, only with additional lacing where it has been let out.

A straight line should be marked down the middle of the linen; it is best run in with coloured silk or cotton to show on both the under and the upper sides, as this will be the starting-point for all measurements.

The central line of the damask is next found, and tacked down to the one on the linen. The seams will have been pressed open and flat, and the selvedges nicked pretty deeply with sharp scissors all along; if there is a hard edge, it should be cut off. The damask should then be well stretched over the linen, which should not, as yet, be made as tight as it will go; after the silk is on (fastened first by pins and then sewn all round), the whole must be stretched up as well and evenly as possible. See that the angles of the frame are right angles, whether the sides are set in with pegs or screws; all measurements should be taken quite accurately by means of a tape that will not ‘give.’ Chesterman’s metallic ones are perfect, but require care in using, as they easily break and get out of order. A large ‘straight-edge’ and ‘set-square’ are also necessary. The frontal is now ready for the embroidery. The central ornament is placed on first; then those on each side; then the others beyond.

The measure can be pinned at each end of the frame to see that the upper points are even, and again to verify the lower ones. Sometimes the design of the damask may be taken as a guide if evenly woven; and quite accurately put on the frame; but that should be tested first.

When each flower has been carefully placed and kept in position by means of numerous fine steel pins stuck vertically through the work, they must all be tacked firmly with stitches of fine strong silk or cotton straight down the centre and then into any outstanding points. These stitches should be very small on the ‘right’ side of the work so that they need not be taken out after it is finished. Then the whole of the outline is couched over the edges of the work covering the little border of linen left for this purpose on cutting it out of the frame. Two, three, or even four full thicknesses of filoselle, four or more of ‘Stout Floss,’ or of gold thread, make an excellent outline for gold and silk embroidery, according to the coarseness or fineness of the work; for appliqué different coloured cords are useful, and for most work gold thread or brown filoselle would be safe. The couching stitches should be placed fairly close together, and should be done with strong silken thread.

When the more solid ornaments are securely attached to the frontal, the scroll-work belonging to them may be added as far as can be reached without interfering with the tucks in the linen, which may then be let out.

When the lowest row is finished and the scroll-work, the fringe is sewn on while the work is still in the frame, a line being first drawn (with tailor’s chalk on a dark ground, or coloured chalk, yellow by preference, on a white ground) straight along the bottom, where it will be just covered by the upper edge of the fringe.

Now the FRINGE is a feature of the work to which I would draw particular attention, because it has a distinct artistic value of its own, which is too often neglected or not understood and appreciated as it should be.

The use of a fringe as a decorative finish to every kind of textile is common to all countries and all ages. In early Assyrian sculpture we see it on the garments of warriors. In the Holy Scriptures we read of the fringe of golden bells on Aaron’s ephod, also of the fringes on the garments of the people of God as symbols of their consecration; while the fringes at the edges of rugs and tapestries, both ancient and modern, are so universal as to simply suggest their origin—viz. the loose threads of the warp left when cutting them off the loom.

A handsome fringe is at the same time the most beautiful and the most natural finishing touch to the lower edge of any hanging, whether plain woven or embroidered. It may also with propriety go down the sides—though this should be narrow and preferably uncut.

Generally speaking, 2½ inches is deep enough for the bottom of the frontal, 1½ inch for the super-frontal, and ¾ inch for the sides. In arranging the colours of the fringe a large proportion should be given to that of the ground-work, damask, &c., and then a fair quantity to each of the principal colours used in the embroidery. Measurements of the spacing required, and good-sized patterns of the colours, with a diagram of their order in the fringe, should always be sent to the manufacturer when ordering it. The heading of the fringe should be also specially designed, or it is nearly certain to be ugly. If gold thread is used in the embroidery, it should also appear in the fringe, if not in the ‘fall,’ at least in the ‘head.’

It should first be tacked, then stitched on, the upper edge just covering the line, starting from the centre and working towards each side. It must be stitched firmly with strong thread or silk of the same colour as one of those used in the head; the fringe must not be pulled at all tight from end to end, but rather ‘eased’ on, or it will ‘draw’ when taken out of the frame. A few extra inches should be allowed for this shrinkage when giving the measurements to the manufacturer.

When this is all done it is ready for the making up.

Some may consider this mere upholsterer’s work, and think they may very well, at this stage, hand it over to the commercial workshop; but as it is a point of religious as well as artistic sentiment, that at least the same guiding spirit, if not actually the same pair of hands, should see the work through to the end, we will proceed.

An inner lining of firm, evenly woven hemp or sail-cloth should be cut exactly true to the size which the frontal is to be, allowing 2 inches at the bottom to be turned up. In our supposed case it will be 8 feet long and 3 feet 6 inches wide. If there are any creases in it, it should be laid on a wet cloth and ironed all over with a heavy, hot flat-iron and not folded again. It is made wide enough to use without seams. It ought not to be stiffened with glue, or contain ‘dressing’ of any kind, and should be of sufficient substance without it. A large table, or a board that can rest on the trestles of the mounting frame, should be covered with a white sheet and the frontal laid on it, face downward, on taking it out of the frame. A line ruled down the centre of the hempen cloth must be placed to the central line of the frontal, and the two tacked together, taking care that the needle does not damage any delicate part of the embroidery. All knots should be on the ‘right’ side of the frontal if the tacking threads are to come out afterwards, which may or may not be necessary; the edges are then turned evenly, first along the bottom and then the two sides, beginning from the bottom when doing each side. It is then to be turned face uppermost, and the top edge sewn to the hemp.

The method of hanging the frontal must now be decided upon. It can be made with a piece of the linen to go right over the altar and hang down behind, weighted with a rod in the hem; or it can be hung by rings or buttonholes from hooks under the altar-slab. The former method is the simpler where there is no gradine with heavy ornaments to be lifted down every time the frontal is changed. The super-frontal (frontlet is perhaps the more correct term) can then be made in one with the frontal, as seen in many old examples; but the latter method seems to be the most common, possibly from the economical practice of making one frontlet serve for many frontals. If then we are making it in this way and the frontlet is already provided, we must take two careful measurements—one from the floor to the hooks on the altar, the other from the floor to the lower edge of the frontlet. If the latter is 7 inches deep it will allow 33 inches of the frontal to show beneath: the actual height of it will depend on the position of the hooks.

The linen lining is cut to allow turnings of about an inch down the sides and along the bottom, and to turn over the top hem covering the raw edge of the silk on the right side, where it has been sewn down to the interlining. The linen lining is now to be firmly stitched all along with strong back-stitching; the other edges may be hemmed round on the ‘wrong’ side after tacking them in place. A wooden lath may be slipped through the hem at the bottom, and a brass one along the top; in this case buttonholes may be worked in the upper one wherever the hooks would come, instead of rings sewn on.

The lining should be of a stout pure linen and may be of the same colour as the frontal.

I have given somewhat minute directions as to the making up of the altar-frontal, as the method is very similar for all this kind of work. Curtains do not require an interlining, neither do vestments unless the stuff is poor, which of course it ought not to be. An interlining of soft coarse muslin, or very thin unbleached calico, perhaps helps to keep it in shape and does not interfere with the grace of the folds; but anything which makes a vestment stiff or cumbersome should be avoided.

Altar-frontals are frequently stretched and nailed to a light wooden frame—a plan which is extremely convenient, and perhaps helps their preservation where they are frequently changed—but their textile grace is greatly diminished; when such a frame is used I would suggest covering it first with a light-textured linen and sewing the frontal to this, instead of nailing it on.

If the super-frontal, or frontlet, has not been already provided, we shall have to consider the question of the depth it ought to be made. Again I can only give general principles. The beauty of the whole depends on the due proportion of its parts. As altars are usually nearly of the same height, whatever their length may be, it follows that a deep frontlet reduces the proportion of the frontal to a mere ribbon if it is very long. Therefore we may say, the longer the altar the narrower the super-frontal should be.

That part of the super-frontal which lies flat on the top of the altar should always be made of pure linen. It may be of the same colour as the border which hangs down (if the fair linen cloth with a cover on it is not kept on always), but it is really more practical when made of undyed linen.

CHAPTER IX
ON THE COPE AND MITRE

There is no vestment which has engaged the interest of artists and needlewomen more than the Cope. It is part of the state apparel of kings, nobles and bishops, and seems to be both the ecclesiastical and secular descendant of the glorious Trabea or ‘Toga picta’ of ancient Rome, where it was the custom of victorious generals to offer their magnificent robes in the temples.

It seems to have maintained its pre-eminence as the most suitable vestment for priest or bishop at such high and solemn ceremonies as the Coronation of sovereigns, choral Baptisms, Marriages and Burials, also for processions at great festivals, &c.

The old examples which remain are often extremely beautiful and interesting, showing that the utmost care and thought and almost unlimited time must have been bestowed upon them. They are frequently embroidered all over, or are made of the richest velvet or brocade with hood and orphreys of woven gold.

The shape is theoretically semicircular, but in practice it is best, when drawing the semicircle, to place the centre a few inches above the straight line which forms the front edge of the garment (diagram). This causes the front to be a little longer from the top to the hem than the back is, and thus allows for the part which is taken up at the neck; when it is worn it rises up there from the shoulders. This becomes quite ungainly when the orphreys (which are laid on the edge of the front) are very wide and stiff, but it again may be partially compensated by fastening the morse rather low on the orphreys and having it of a good size so as to leave a fairly wide opening in front: the whole cope will then settle lower on the shoulders. There is another way of getting over the difficulty, and that is to ‘shape’ it to fit on the shoulders. I have seen one ancient and one modern specimen treated thus, and they look very well when in use, but they are quite exceptional, and this method of course destroys the typical half-circle, and would require the orphreys to be cut to fit also. It is better to keep the orphreys narrow; the only excuse for such very wide ones seems to be the magnificent embroidery of figures and tabernacle-work with which they were so often decorated in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, when wide orphreys became so generally used.

A very favourite arrangement of design in the old English work was to divide the whole surface of the cope into a series of quatrefoils, like the ‘Syon cope,’ or of canopy-work, as shown by the cope of ‘St. Sylvester,’ enclosing groups of figures illustrating the life of Christ, the intermediate spaces being filled with cherubim and angels. The lowest central space was often occupied by the Annunciation or the Nativity; the middle one usually by the Crucifixion, and the upper one by the Lord in Glory. This arrangement left very little room for a hood; indeed, at this period they are generally so small as not to require much consideration, being often merely a triangular enlargement of the orphrey at the centre. When the fashions changed (which they seemed to do definitely, if slowly), our forefathers did not exercise so much judgment as we might expect in adapting their priceless inheritance of needlework, but hacked away at one part and joined on at another, quite regardless of the mutilation it involved. Even in the Syon cope the orphreys, which are supposed to have been added only about fifty years later than the body of the cope, cut off half of the figures of the angels nearest to the edge. The ‘Daroca’ cope at Madrid, which is worked in the same style and of very similar design, has its original narrow orphrey, and the angels are designed to fit into their spaces, but the large hood seems to have been an after-thought, and a border and fringe have been ruthlessly struck through the figures of four angels enclosing the upper central group which completed the design.

In many of the later ones the hood and orphreys became the principal features of the cope, and all the decoration was concentrated upon them. Both hood and orphrey are worked separately (unless the former be a quasi-hood joined in with the orphrey, or marked out merely on the back of the cope). The orphrey is applied to the cope in a long embroidery frame, before making it up. The hood is not usually so applied, but made up by itself, lined and fringed; and fastened, by means of loops sewn on its upper edge, to buttons placed to correspond on the orphrey (either below or over it).

The cope and its lining, of silk or linen, should be cut out exactly alike, allowing at least half an inch for ‘turnings’ all round (see A on diagram). Tiny snippets should be cut out of these ‘turnings’ along the curved edge (B on diagram), then outside and lining should have their edges turned up and tacked separately, then again tacked together, first down the middle, then along the straight edge, and lastly round the curve, in each case starting from the centre. It is then ready to be slip-stitched together—again beginning at the centre, both for straight and curved edges.

The cope is fastened in front with a large clasp or brooch, called the morse. This may be made of metal enriched with precious stones, in which case it is work for the artist-goldsmith. Or it may be of material richly embroidered, with or without jewels; a good size for a morse is from 6 to 8 inches long by 3 inches wide. Some of those worn by bishops at King Edward VII.’s coronation were 12 inches long.

It should be fastened firmly on the right side of the garment about 12 inches from the centre, and may have three or four large strong ‘eyes’ sewn on the other edge in which the hooks will fit, which are to be fixed securely on the corresponding spot on the left side of the cope.

Both the hood and the lower edge of the cope itself may be finished off with a border or a fringe, or both.

The Mitre—also part of the official dress of bishops and archbishops—is a linen cap of a nearly triangular form as seen from the front or back. The appearance of it is familiar to all (in a somewhat exaggerated form) in the armorial bearings of many Sees, and in pictures, &c., where towards the fifteenth century it grows taller and bigger, and more unbecoming as time goes on.

The older ones are often merely decorated with an orphrey down the middle and a band round the head; an embroidered rose or a jewel is sometimes placed on either side of the vertical band. In the more ornamental ones they are completely covered with embroidery of the finest description, often jewelled wherever possible—but the same arrangement is generally followed. The lappets (infulæ) are worked to match, and are placed in the middle of the head-band at the back, either close together or an inch or two apart. They are from 10 to 14 inches long and from 1 to 3 inches wide, finished at the ends with fringe or tassels.

The accompanying illustration of one of the mitres of St. Thomas of Canterbury shows an excellent shape, and although well covered with embroidery is not over-ornamented. The height is 10 inches and the size round the head 24 inches.

A mitre is much easier to make than would at first sight appear.

A simple one of the dimensions of St. Thomas’s requires a piece of material 12 inches wide and about 26 inches long (of course, if made for any individual bishop it must be proportionate to the size of his head).

It may be made of cloth of gold or any precious material, or of pure plain white linen.