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 Contributors

Julia Brooks MSc DO Anthony J Lisi DC

A. G. Pusey & Associates, Registered Osteopaths, Staff Chiropractor,
Haywards Heath, VA CT Healthcare System,
West Sussex, UK West Haven, CT, USA

Edward Goering DO Dylan Morrissey PhD MSc MMACP MCSP

Department of Neuromusculoskeletal Medicine/Osteopathic Clinical Reader and Consultant Physiotherapist,
Manipulative Medicine, Bart’s Health NHS Trust,
College of Osteopathic Medicine of the Pacific, Queen Mary University of London,
Western University of Health Sciences, London, UK
Pomona, CA, USA
†
Anthony G Pusey DO FECert (Deceased)
Raymond J Hruby DO MS FAAO (Dist) A. G. Pusey & Associates, Registered Osteopaths,
Department of Neuromusculoskeletal Medicine/Osteopathic Haywards Heath,
Manipulative Medicine, West Sussex, UK
College of Osteopathic Medicine of the Pacific,
Western University of Health Sciences, Christopher Kevin Wong PT PhD MSc
Pomona, CA, USA Department of Rehabilitation and Regenerative Medicine,
Program in Physical Therapy,
Columbia University,
New York, NY, USA

vii
This page intentionally left blank
 Foreword

It is my profound privilege to write this foreword to the fourth edition of Positional Release Techniques,
the latest invaluable contribution to the literature in manual therapy by Leon Chaitow and his team
of experts in the field.
This latest edition offers an excellent selection of beautifully illustrated positional release tech-
niques (PRTs), which will provide the reader with well-balanced instruction in the clinical applica-
tion of this often underestimated manual approach. The authors bring to the profession a fresh,
new and improved presentation of both well-known and recent advancements in the field, through
easy-to-read palpatory procedures for diagnosis and treatment, supported by colour photographs,
videos and illustrations to assist the reader in visualizing these methods.
Since their first effects were described based on the clinical experience of Lawrence Jones, over 60
years ago (Jones 1964), PRTs have offered many practical ways to manage pain and body dysfunc-
tions, by creating the optimal tensional and physiological context to allow a spontaneous tissue
release. One of the strengths of this book is that it explores principles and modalities of application
of the main different forms of PRTs, from the original strain/counterstrain method to functional
technique, from balanced ligamentous tension to various applications in physical therapy, such as
McKenzie’s exercise protocols, kinesio-taping methods that ‘unload’ tissues, and more. The book
traces these methods from their historical roots up to their current practice, passing through the
integration with emerging research and evidence. Although the aforementioned forms of PRTs reflect
different ways of achieving a position of comfort, they all aim to gently support the tissues towards
a spontaneous beneficial change. In any case, despite the appearance of simplicity, a detailed ana-
tomical knowledge, together with clinical experience and palpatory skills, are strictly necessary to
safely and efficiently perform these techniques. For this reason, the reader will find particularly
useful a series of detailed, comprehensive, problem-solving clinical descriptions, more than ably
supported by illustrations, photos of assessment and treatment methods. In addition, a number of
exercises will offer a chance to experiment with PRT methodology, and to become familiar in a
‘hands-on’ way with the mechanics of their use. Therefore, mechanisms, guidelines and exercises
provide a comprehensive foundation for the safe clinical application of this versatile methodology,
supported by excellent references to the literature throughout the text.
Eighteen years have passed since publication of the first edition of this text. Despite the time, this
book still maintains a balance of information in a straightforward, well-illustrated, and understand-
able manner that will not only challenge the avid student but also provide a solid reference for
practicing therapists wishing to develop or expand their understanding of PRTs.
The emphasis remains the principles, methods of applications and mechanisms of PRTs addressed
to different tissues and clinical conditions, with a focus on their advantages in normalizing somatic
dysfunctions in many types of patients (as well as to animals), including those who are hospitalized,
post-operative and/or bedbound. To achieve this scope, techniques are clearly and concisely
written, and follow directly from their illustrative depictions.
Furthermore, while the broad content of previous editions has been updated and polished, this
fourth edition attempts to help the reader look beyond the general application of PRTs in order to
pursue the ‘how many ways’ PRTs can be safely applied, as well as ‘how’ they can be effective. This
is accomplished by providing the latest evidence and research that bring traditional concepts within
an innovative perspective of a modern practice, offering to the curious reader the opportunity to

ix
 Foreword

further explore individual aspects of PRTs and to inform clinical decision-making related to PRTs,
in the context of the individual patient.
Finally, new and interesting chapters have been added to this fourth edition:
• a chapter on balanced ligamentous tension techniques by Ray Hruby, DO
• a chapter on counterstrain for visceral conditions by Edward Goering, DO
• a chapter on research evidence supporting PRTs by Christopher Kevin Wong, PT
• the introduction of new concepts, such as the potential for use of PRTs in management of
specifically fascia-related conditions.
As for existing chapters, and also in these new chapters, considerable care has been taken to
integrate the written and visual components, as well as to offer a balance of interesting synopsis of
concepts and clinical-approach models. This material provides the neophyte, as well as the experi-
enced practitioner, with an up-to-date snapshot of the field.
In conclusion, this book is designed to make learning about PRTs easier for teachers, students,
and practitioners in manual therapy. It provides an invaluable resource by providing the building
blocks necessary to gain the conceptual understanding of PRTs for their safe and effective clinical
application to the human and animal body, as well as to increase practitioner awareness of the
various modalities of PRTs and their respective mechanisms.
Paolo Tozzi MSc Ost DO PT
Rome, Italy 2015

REFERENCES

Jones, L.H., 1964. Spontaneous release by positioning. Doctor of Osteopathy 4, 109–116.

x
 Preface to the third edition

Preface to the
third edition

The ideas that permeate positional release technique (PRT) methodology can be equated with non-
invasive, non-interventionist, passive and gentle approaches that ‘allow’ change to emerge, rather
than forcing it do so. Despite the apparently general nature of PRT methods, clinical experience
within the osteopathic profession shows that they can be intensely practical and specific.
Two main themes emerge from PRT in its original form. The strain/counterstrain approach derives
from the original work of osteopathic physician Lawrence Jones. It uses a pain monitor to find
optimal positioning (i.e. when pain is no longer felt at the monitoring point). Functional technique
also emerged out of osteopathic medicine; this PRT approach is based on positioning whilst sensing/
palpating the tissues involved, so that they achieve their greatest degree of comfort or ease, without
using pain as a guide.
In order to gain a sense of the underlying concepts involved in PRT application it is necessary to
accept that the self-regulating mechanisms of the body are always the final determinants as to what
happens following any form of intervention. For example, a high velocity, low amplitude thrust
adjustment (HVLA), or application of a muscle energy technique (MET) or myofascial release (MFR),
or almost any other procedure, acts as a catalyst for change. If the treatment is appropriate the body
produces an adaptive response that will allow enhanced function and therapeutic benefit. The adap-
tive response is the key to whether or not benefit follows treatment. Excessive adaptive demands
simply load the system more heavily, and symptoms are likely to worsen, while if there is inadequate
therapeutic stimulus little value emerges from the exercise. The methods mentioned above (HVLA,
MET and MFR) are all ‘direct’, that is to say, a barrier (or several barriers) will have been identified,
and the therapeutic objective will be to push the barrier(s) back, in order to mobilise a restricted
joint, or to lengthen shortened myofascial structure (for example).
Consider another way of addressing the restriction problem – an indirect one: reflect on whether,
if the barrier is ‘disengaged’, the inherent tendency towards normality, demonstrated in the natural
propensity for dysfunction to normalise (broken bones mend, tissues heal), is capable of restoring
functionality to the types of dysfunction to which HVLA MET and MFR (as examples) are being
applied.
Is it possible for self-regulating, homeostatic mechanisms to be encouraged to act when the load
on dysfunctional tissues is temporarily eased?
• Can a restricted joint release without force?
• Can an excessively tight, muscular condition release spontaneously?
• And can pain sometimes be relieved instantaneously, merely by holding the painful tissues in
an ‘eased’ position?
Clinical PRT evidence shows that all these questions can be answered affirmatively, at times. If
restriction – whether of joint or soft tissue – involves hypertonicity and relative circulatory deficit
(ischaemia, etc.), then is it possible that an opportunity for spontaneous change may occur by
holding these same restricted tissues in a way that reduces the tone and allows (albeit temporarily)
enhanced circulation through the tissues, and a chance for neural resetting (involving proprioceptors
and nociceptors), to take place?

xi
 Preface to the third edition

PRT methodology suggests that this is the case and a number of variations have evolved that
incorporate the concept of ‘offering an opportunity for change’, as distinct from ‘forcing a change’,
as is the case with HVT and MET for example.
There are particular settings and contexts in which PRT is probably the treatment method of first
choice – as in extreme pain, recent trauma (for example whiplash, or immediately following a
sporting or everyday strain), post surgery, extreme fragility (for example advanced osteoporosis). In
addition, PRT is sufficiently versatile, with numerous variations, to be useful as a part of a sequence
involving other interventions, for example before or following HVLA application, or as part of a
sequence involving MET and neuromuscular technique, in trigger point deactivation, or as a means
of easing hypertonicity during a massage therapy treatment.
The ideas that underpin PRT are also to be found in craniosacral methodology, in which disen-
gagement of restrictions, moving away from restriction barriers, is a common approach.
Positional release variations, based on traditional osteopathic methodology are detailed in Chap-
ters 1 through 7 inclusive, and are demonstrated on the accompanying DVD.
Of particular interest in this third edition is the inclusion of chapters that discuss a number of
physiotherapy-derived systems, (Mulligan’s Mobilisation with Movement, Unloading taping, and
McKenzietype exercises) as well as from chiropractic methodology (Sacro-occipital Technique –
SOT) that have strong links to the underlying concepts of PRT.
Robert Cooperstein has outlined and illustrated the useful ‘positional release’ concepts and
methods used in sacro-occipital technique (SOT), in Chapter 8. SOT derives from the work of Major
deJarnette, whose early work with cranial osteopathic pioneer Sutherland demonstrates how osteo-
pathic and chiropractic ideas and methods that evolved in the early to mid-20th century, had a great
deal in common.
Anthony Lisi has presented some of the core McKenzie methods in Chapter 9. The concepts of
exercises being employed guided by ‘preferred directions of movement’, is pure positional release,
although used in quite distinctive and original ways.
In Chapter 10 Ed Wilson presents a description of those aspects of the work of Brian Mulligan,
the innovative New Zealand physiotherapist, whose mobilisation with movement (MWM) concepts
have been so widely adopted in physiotherapy settings. There are specific variations within MWM
that have close similarities with PRT ideas and Wilson has performed the invaluable task of moving
beyond descriptions of methods to evaluation of underlying mechanisms.
The elegant approach that ‘proprioceptively unloads’ dysfunctional joints and tissues and then
tapes the structures into their ‘ease’ state, for hours or days, in contrast to the minutes of ‘ease’ used
in osteopathic PRT methodology is described by Dylan Morrissey in Chapter 11.
Finally in Chapter 12 Julia Brooks and Anthony Pusey illustrate the remarkably successful use of
osteopathic positional release in treatmernt of animals, including dogs and horses. No clearer
examples can be offered of the true breadth of usefulness of these most gentle of methods.
The cross-fertilisation and interdisciplinary possibilities that are exemplified by the coming
together of osteopathic, chiropractic and physiotherapeutic methods and ideas, highlight the poten-
tial for the future, as barriers and rivalries give way to cooperation, collaboration and ultimately
integration, for the benefit of all.

xii
 Preface

In preparing to revise and expand this 4th edition my aim was to ensure that, as well as revisiting
every line of the text to check for accuracy and clarity, new text, illustrations, videos and chapters
would be added, that expanded on the potential and the variety of manual positional release
approaches.
All original chapters from the previous edition have been updated and revised, and in some cases
combined – where this seemed appropriate.
The content now comprises:
Spontanous Release by Positioning (ch.1) – an introduction to the potentials for therapeutic benefit
of easing tissues (and the whole person) into ‘positions of ease’.
Somatic Dysfunction and Positional Release (ch.2) expands on these ideas as it explores the processes
of adaptation and decompensation that lead to dysfunction and pain – and where positional release
methods might fit into clinical care.
This is followed by an excellent chapter (3) by Dr Christopher Kevin Wong on Strain/counterstrain
Research, that reviews current evidence relating to this most widely used of all positional release
methods.
Chapter 4 focuses on the detailed application of Counterstrain models of Positional Release, while
Chapter 5 provides a review of Functional and Facilitated Positional Release Approaches, Including
Cranial Techniques.
Chapter 6 offers insights into use of Positional Release Techniques in Special Situations – for example
when treating a bed-ridden individual.
In response to increasing evidence of interest in this topic, I have compiled a focused chapter
(ch.7): Positional Release and Fascia.
Raymond Hruby DO (ch.8) has provided a highly illustrated chapter (supported by fine video
demonstrations) on Balanced Ligamentous Tension Techniques.
Edward Goering DO has contributed a very useful chapter (9): Visceral Positional Release: the
Counterstrain Model.
Anthony Lisi DC has expanded his chapter: Overview of the McKenzie Method (ch.10), as has Dr
Dylan Morrissey in his chapter (11) ‘Offloading’ taping to reduce pain and facilitate movement.
All chapters – including the fascinating: Application of positional release techniques in treatment of
animals (ch12) by Julia Brooks DO and the late Anthony Pusey DO, have been revised and improved,
and all illustrations have been redrawn, with many new video clips added.
I hope and believe that this new edition offers students and practitioners of manual therapy the
clearest and most current information on this most useful of manual approaches to pain and
dysfunction.
Leon Chaitow, Corfu, Greece, June 2015

xiii
This page intentionally left blank
 Acknowledgements

My profound thanks to the team of clinician/authors who have contributed chapters to this book:
Julia Brooks, Edward Goering, Ray Hruby, Anthony Lisi, Dylan Morrisey, the late Anthony Pusey,
Christopher Kevin Wong. The richness of their contributions adds so much to the content.
I also thank the team at Elsevier for their friendly support during the lengthy production process.
To my wonderful wife Alkmini. … my continued thanks for her ability to create a warm and
loving environment in which writing becomes a pleasure instead of a task.

xv
This page intentionally left blank
 Abbreviations

A I
AA: atlantoaxial IL: interleukin
AIIS: anterior inferior iliac spine INIT: integrated neuromuscular inhibition
AK: applied kinesiology technique
ASIS: anterior superior iliac spine ITBFS: iliotibial band friction syndrome

B L
BLT: balanced ligamentous tension LAS: ligamentous articular strain
BMT: balanced membranous tension LS: lumbosacral

C M
CABG: coronary artery bypass graft MET: muscle energy technique
CCP: common compensatory pattern MFR: myofascial release
CMP: chronic myofascial pain MIS: medial intramuscular septum
CMRT: chiropractic manipulative reflex technique MPS: myofascial pain syndrome
CNS: central nervous system MPT: myofascial trigger points
CRI: cranial rhythmic impulse MRI: magnetic resonance imaging
CS: central sensitization MWM: mobilization with movement
CS: counterstrain
CSRM: cranial-sacral respiratory mechanism N
CT: cervicothoracic NAGs: natural apophyseal glides
NMT: neuromuscular technique
D O
DTP: dominant tender points
OA: occipitoatlantal
OMT: osteopathic manipulative therapy
E
EMG: electromyographic
P
ENOS: endothelial nitrous oxide synthetase
PFP: patellofemoral pain
PI: posterior, inferior
F PNF: proprioceptive neuromuscular facilitation
FMS: fibromyalgia syndrome PPI: proton pump inhibitor
FPR: facilitated positional release PRT: positional release technique
FT: functional technique PSIS: posterior superior iliac spine
FuPR: functional positional release
Q
G QL: quadratus lumborum
GERD: gastroesophageal reflux disease
R
H REST: restricted environmental stimulation
HVLA: high-velocity low amplitude technique

xvii
 Abbreviations

S TARTT: texture, asymmetry, range of motion,

SBIS: silicone breast implant syndrome tenderness, temperature
SCS: strain and counterstrain TeP: tender point
SD: somatic dysfunction TFL: tensor fascia lata
SE: scanning evaluation TL: thoracolumbar
SIJ: sacroiliac joint TMJ: temporomandibular joint
SMWLM: spinal mobilization with limb movement TP: tender point
SNAGs: sustained natural apophyseal glides TPPS: tender point palpation scale
SOT: sacro-occipital technique TrP: trigger point
SRC: static resisted contraction
V
T VMO: vastus medialis oblique
TART: texture, asymmetry, range of motion,
tenderness

xviii
 Chapter 1

Spontaneous release by positioning

CHAPTER CONTENTS
POSITIONAL RELEASE
Positional release techniques (PRT) 1 TECHNIQUES (PRT)
Terminology – ‘ease’ and ‘bind’ 3
Jones’s contribution 3 Positional release techniques (PRT) offer practical ways of
What are ‘tender points’? 4 managing pain and biomechanical dysfunction. They are
also intellectually satisfying because they do not impose
Common basis 4
solutions on dysfunctional tissues; instead they are
Clinical considerations 5 designed to offer the opportunity for a spontaneous reso-
Positional release variations 6 lution of pain, spasm, hypertonicity and restriction.
1. Functional positional release (FuPR) 6 One of the major forms of PRT: strain/counterstrain
2. Facilitated positional release (FPR) 7 (SCS, or simply counterstrain, CS), was initially known as
‘spontaneous release by positioning’ (Jones 1964).
3. Strain/counterstrain (SCS): using Jones’s
The essence of all forms of PRT is to gently support
tender points as monitors 9
tissues in a position of comfort or ‘ease’, until a spontane-
4. Goodheart’s approach to SCS: ous beneficial change (‘release’) occurs. The differences
avoiding formulaic and prescriptive between the various forms of PRT reflect the variety of
approaches 9 ways in which ‘ease’ may be achieved.
5. Any painful point as a starting place SCS, as well as other models of positional release meth-
for SCS 10 odology, are fully described later in this book, while in
6. Ortho-Bionomy 10 this chapter, a broad descriptive overview is offered, of a
7. Integrated neuromuscular inhibition variety of ways in which the practical application of posi-
technique (INIT) 10 tional release methods can be used therapeutically.
The concept behind the techniques is simple, as are
8. Proprioceptive taping 11
some of its protocols, to the extent that some can be taught
9. McKenzie’s method 11 to patients for self-application (see Chapter 4). However,
10. Sacro-occipital ‘blocking’ more often, PRT in clinical practice requires patience, skill
techniques (SOT) 11 and delicacy of touch.
11. Balanced ligamentous tension (BLT) 13
12. Visceral techniques 13 A painful example
Other approaches 13 If a symptomatic patient presents with tissues that are
Reducing the time the position of ease excessively tense, indurated, hypertonic, shortened or
is held 13 contracted – and most probably painful, therapeutic
Commonalities, differences – and timing 15 objectives are likely to include reduction in pain, as

1
 Positional Release Techniques

well as removal or reduction of barriers to free move- Some PRT variations

ment. Of course there are times when hypertonicity or
As will become clear, there are a variety of ways of incor-
spasm may be appropriately protective – and in such
porating indirect, extremely gentle, methods into a treat-
cases (e.g. where there is underlying pathology such as
ment protocol. Osteopathic medicine has contributed the
osteoporosis), there should be no attempt to remove such
main positional release approaches – including:
protective support, by means of positional release or any-
thing else. • Strain/counterstrain (SCS) (Jones 1964; Wong et al.
Many therapeutic approaches, confronted with restricted 2013) – see Chapters 3 and 4 for details of this
soft-tissue or joint dysfunction, employ methods of a powerful therapeutic tool.
direct nature – in which barriers are engaged, in one way • Functional technique (FT) – and its variants
or another, obliging these to retreat. The soft tissue in – facilitated positional release (FPR) (Johnstone
question may be stretched, massaged, mobilized or 1997; McPartland & Zigler 1993; Schiowitz 1990)
manipulated, using any of dozens of perfectly appropriate and indirect myofascial release – are all described in
techniques, such as ‘muscle energy technique’ or ‘passive Chapter 5.
stretching’ (as examples). However, if the tissues are • Balanced ligamentous tension (BLT) is a variant of
painful, in spasm, inflamed or have recently been trauma- PRT that uses skilled palpation to ease dysfunctional
tized, or if the direct manual method causes discomfort, joint structures – to a position in which ligamentous
then an alternative approach is required. tensions are equally balanced, in order to encourage
Take for example a restricted joint where an osteopath, improvement or resolution of underlying
physiotherapist or chiropractor might introduce a high- dysfunction – see Chapter 8.
velocity, low-amplitude (HVLA) thrust, in order to nor- • Visceral technique, involves the same principles of
malize motion. In particular situations, HVLA methods disengagement – directed at assisting in improved
might be considered inappropriate – for any number of function of organs – see Chapter 9 for explanations
reasons, ranging from patient preference, to safety – as in and descriptions.
an osteoporotic condition. However, a frequently efficient Physiotherapy has also contributed to this indirect
alternative choice might be the use of a positional release approach to dysfunction.
method that involves placing and maintaining (possibly
• The important work of McKenzie, involving as it
for several minutes), the joint in a pain-free, balanced, does rehabilitation methods that encourage
unstressed position. movement into comfortable, and not painful
Descriptions as to how and why enhanced pain-free positions – for example in management of low back
movement of the previously restricted joint might be pain – clearly relates to positional release, and is
achieved by positional release methods, will be explained described in Chapter 10.
further in later chapters.
• Physical therapy has also produced a number of
Positional release approaches to treatment of hyper- innovative concepts and methods that unload soft
tonic, contracted soft tissues would not involve length­ tissues and joints, and which then supports them in
ening or stretching methods, but would attempt to this unloaded state, by means of taping, as described
find a way (depending on which PRT variation was in Chapter 11.
selected) of offering an ‘opportunity for change’ to those
• A combination of these methods have been
tissues. This would commonly involve disengagement successfully applied to animals, most effectively in
from the barrier, and holding or supporting the hyper- treatment of horses, and equine positional release
tonic, contracted tissues in a painless but even more methods are discussed in Chapter 12.
shortened state, ‘inviting’ a spontaneous change to take
place. As this (growing) list of variations suggests, there are a
The cluster of methods that can be grouped together as number of different methods involving the positioning
positional release techniques (PRTs), which this text describes, of an area of the body, or the whole body, in such a
offer just such possibilities of encouraging positive changes way as to evoke a therapeutically significant physiological
in dysfunctional tissues – soft tissue – or joints (see in response that – evidence suggests – can assist in resolving
particular, Chapters 4–6 and 8). musculoskeletal dysfunction. Mounting evidence for the
The mechanisms whereby these changes occur seem to clinical efficacy of SCS is provided in Chapter 3, where
involve a combination of the neurological and circulatory proposed mechanisms are also examined. For a summary
changes that take place when a distressed area is placed of these methods and definitions, see Chapter 8, Table 8.1.
into its most comfortable, its most ‘easy’, most pain-free
position. Therapeutic benefit of reduced stimulus?
Descriptions of the major variations of PRT methods are In a different context entirely, reduced environmental
given below. Many of these have chapters devoted entirely stimulus has been shown to have the potential to offer
to exploring their individual methodology. therapeutic benefit.

2
 Spontaneous release by positioning Chapter |1|

Use of the effects of being placed into a flotation tank Position of ‘ease’ Pathological
– described as ‘restricted environmental stimulation tech- if pathological barrier (hard
nique’ (REST) – has been used in the treatment of anxiety barrier is as illustrated ‘end-feel’ or
and depression in individuals suffering chronic pain. ‘bind’)
Such treatment involves individuals spending time
immersed in a tank filled with neutral temperature water
(i.e. body heat), of an extremely high salt concentration
to increase buoyancy. In one study, 37 patients (14 men
and 23 women) suffering from chronic pain, were ran-

DA

GE
domly assigned to either a control group (17 participants)

MA

MA
or an experimental group (20 participants). The experi-

GE

DA
mental group received nine flotation – (REST) – treat-
ments, over a 3-week period. The results indicated that the
most severely perceived pain intensity was significantly
reduced, whereas low perceived pain intensity was not Neutral Anatomical barrier
influenced. Flotation-REST treatment elevated the partici- Physiological barrier midline (hard ‘end-feel’)
pants’ optimism and reduced the degree of anxiety or (firm ‘end-feel’) position
depression and improved the sleep pattern.
This example of reduced stimulus, leading to spontane- Figure 1.1 Illustrating mid-range between ends of range of
ous change, should be kept in mind as we explore the motion in dysfunctional tissues.
equivalent, when applied (without the flotation tank) to
distressed somatic tissues that are carefully placed into
Finding the ‘easy’ barrier
comfort/ease positions.
Additional theoretical models that attempt to explain In normal tissues there exists, in the mid-range of motion,
the effects of the various forms of positional release are an area of ‘ease’ or ‘balance’, where the tissues are at their
outlined in Chapters 4–9. least tense. However, when there is a restriction in the
normal range of motion of tissues, whether of osseous or
of soft-tissue origin, the now limited range will almost
always still have a position, a moment, a point of maximum
Terminology – ‘ease’ and ‘bind’ comfort or ease, lying somewhere between the new restric-
As explanations and descriptions are offered for the spon- tion barrier in one direction, and the physiological barrier
taneous physiological responses that take place when in the other.
tissues are placed into a balanced state, in this and later Finding this ‘balance point’ is a key element in PRT
chapters (Chapter 3 in particular), the terms ‘ease’ and application. And, it is suggested, maintaining such an
‘bind’ will frequently be used to describe the extremes of ‘ease’ state, for an appropriate length of time (see below),
restriction (bind) and freedom of movement (ease). may well offer restrictions a chance to release or normalize
The term ‘dynamic neutral’ may be considered as being (Fig. 1.1).
interchangeable with ‘maximal ease’. Hoover (1969), the The process of positioning – by the practitioner – of
developer of functional technique (Chapter 5), one of the distressed tissues into a three-dimensional comfort, or
major methods of spontaneous positional release, used ‘ease’, position creates the environment of reduced prop-
the term, ‘dynamic neutral’, to describe what is being rioceptive stimulus during which time self-regulating
aimed for, as the tissues associated with a structurally changes are invited to occur. The ‘treatment’ itself can
disturbed joint or area are positioned into a state of therefore be seen to be self-generated by tissues, as
comfort or ‘ease’. they respond to being supported in their ease position.
Bowles (1969) has also discussed this phenomenon, Inevitably, some degree of neurological – proprioceptive
stating: – feedback, as well as circulatory, and possibly mechan-
otransduction (see Chapter 7) related changes, are likely
Dynamic neutral is a state in which tissues find to be involved in the responses to the positioning process.
themselves when the motion of the structures Jones’s original name for what became known as strain/
they serve are free, unrestricted and within the counterstrain, was ‘spontaneous release by positioning’
range of normal physiological limits …. Dynamic (Greenman 1996).
neutral is not a static condition … it is a
continuing state of normal, during living
Jones’s contribution
motion, during living activity … it is the
state and condition to be restored to a The impetus towards the use of this most basic and non-
dysfunctional area. invasive of treatment approaches, in a coherent, rather

3
 Positional Release Techniques

than a hit-and-miss manner, lies in the work of Lawrence writing; however, new variants are regularly appearing,
Jones DO, who developed an approach to somatic and the author acknowledges that it has been impossible
dysfunction (Jones 1981) that he termed ‘strain and coun- to exhaustively detail all versions.
terstrain’ (SCS) (described in detail in Chapters 3 and 4). The need for the existence of variations of PRT should
Walther (1988) describes the moment of discovery in be obvious, as different clinical settings require the avail-
these words: ability of a variety of therapeutic approaches – ranging (as
examples) from those suitable during a clinical office
Jones’s initial observation of the efficacy of appointment, to someone who is bedridden – possibly
counterstrain was with a patient who was hospitalized, to an athlete lying at the trackside after
unresponsive to treatment. The patient had been injury.
unable to sleep because of pain. Jones attempted to Although PRT approaches have a broad commonality,
find a comfortable position for the patient to aid him in that they involve passive movement of the patient, or
in sleeping. After 20 minutes of trial and error, a the affected tissues, away from any restricted, uncomfort-
position was finally achieved in which the patient’s able, resistance barriers (‘bind’), and towards positions of
pain was relieved. Leaving the patient in this position increased comfort and ‘ease’ – subtle differences allow
for a short time, Jones was astonished when the their use in distinctly contrasting settings.
patient came out of the position and was able to Examples of positional release methods that are
stand comfortably erect. The relief of pain was lasting described in more detail in later chapters, include outlines
and the patient made an uneventful recovery. of methods used in the care of severely ill, pre- and post-
operative, bedridden (see Chapter 6) patients, treated for
The position of ‘ease’ that Jones identified for this their current pain and discomfort, without leaving their
patient was an exaggeration of the position in which beds. In such settings, no rigid application of procedures
spasm was holding him, and this provided Jones with an can be adhered to, and flexibility can best be achieved by
insight into the possible mechanisms involved. the practitioner/therapist having available a set of skills for
Over the years since Jones first made the observation, achieving the same ends – enhanced function and dimin-
that a position which exaggerated a patient’s distortion ished pain (Schwartz 1986; O-Yurvati et al. 2005).
could provide the opportunity for a release of spasm and The use of a selection of indirect and direct modalities
hypertonicity, many variations on this basic theme have during one treatment session is common to all forms of
emerged, some building logically on that first insight, with manual therapy – including massage, physiotherapy, chi-
others moving in new directions. ropractic and osteopathy. It is obvious that in real-life
Upledger & Vredevoogd (1983) offered a practical clinical settings, when a selection of different treatment
explanation of indirect methods of treatment, especially approaches are used during one treatment session, it
as related to cranial therapy (see Chapter 5). The idea of becomes impossible to say which of the methods had any
moving a restricted area into its directions of ease is, they particular effect. Indeed, it may be that maximum benefit
say, ‘a sort of “unlatching” principle. Often in order to open a would only be experienced when a combination of
latch we must first exaggerate its closure’. methods are being employed.
Most of the variations on the theme of PRT, described
briefly in this chapter, are discussed in greater detail later
What if patients cannot
in the book.
communicate verbally?
The form of PRT that has been most widely researched is
What are ‘tender points’? SCS – and much of the evidence for its value is described
in Chapter 3. SCS requires verbal feedback from the patient
Jones (1981) described localized areas, associated with
as to the degree of sensitivity of a ‘tender’ point, which
distressed and dysfunctional tissues, as ‘tender points’. A
is being used as a monitor, and which the practitioner/
possibility exists for confusion when identifying areas of
therapist is palpating while attempting to find a position
unusual tenderness during examination or palpation. The
of ease, where tissue-tension reduces and reported discom-
characteristics of tender points, as used in positional
fort is minimized. Where pain provocation is deliberately
release, as well as those used in the diagnosis of fibromy-
being avoided – or where the individual is unable to report
algia, and the similarities and differences between these
to the practitioner changes in pain levels – the palpated
and myofascial trigger points are discussed in Box 1.1.
sense of tension in the tissues can be used to identify the
position of maximum comfort/ease.
It is possible to imagine such situations, for example, in
Common basis
the case of someone who had lost the ability to commu-
The positional release methods summarized later in this nicate verbally; or who does not speak the same language
chapter are as comprehensive as possible at the time of as the therapist; or who is too young or too ill to offer

4
 Spontaneous release by positioning Chapter |1|

Box 1.1 ‘Tender points’ in the context of positional release – and other conditions

As tissues adapt and modify due to the effects of age, assessment of individuals suspected of having
overuse, misuse, disuse, etc. (see Chapter 2 for discussion fibromyalgia.
of the evolution of soft-tissue dysfunction), localized In 1990, the American College of Rheumatology
areas of ischaemic, sensitized tissues emerge. issued criteria for the diagnosis of fibromyalgia that
A variety of biomechanical, biochemical, neurological, included identification of tenderness in at least 11 out of
circulatory and psychological influences are associated 18 prescribed palpated sites (Wolfe et al. 1990). These
with such changes, which gradually evolve from tender areas may simply be tender, and may not display
sensitivity to discomfort, and eventually pain (Mense & the ‘spreading’ characteristics of myofascial trigger points.
Simons 2001). However, this distinction may not be easily made, since,
A general term that can be applied to such tissues, because fibromyalgia involves widespread diffuse pain,
whatever level of the spectrum of dysfunction happens to pressure on tender points in someone with fibromyalgia
be operating, is ‘hyperalgesia’. Lewit (1999) described the may easily reproduce pain familiar to that individual.
phenomenon as a ‘hyperalgesic skin zone’. A simpler, In other words tender points may also be active
more user-friendly word, is ‘tender point’ (Jones 1964). trigger points, and trigger points will always be tender.
Whether such localized areas (‘points’) are in their However, in the context of PRT in general, and strain/
early embryonic formative stages, or have reached a state counterstrain in particular, tender points are more usually
where they display the characteristics of active myofascial described as simply tender, without the ability to refer or
trigger points (see Chapter 2), they will undoubtedly be radiate symptoms.
sensitive or ‘tender’, and this is the term given to them in Another major distinction is that while trigger points
SCS methodology, in which they are used as a major become a target for treatment, manually or via needling
feature of the protocol of assessment and treatment (see or laser treatment – the ‘tender points’ in fibromyalgia
Chapter 4). assessment are used purely for diagnostic purposes, as
Myofascial trigger points are, by definition, localized, compared with those in PRT that are used as key
tender areas that are painful when compressed and, elements in guiding the practitioner towards identification
when active, display the significant characteristic of being of ‘positions of ease’.
able to radiate or refer pain, as well as other sensations, Nevertheless, as will become clear in later chapters, all
to adjacent or even distant tissues – reproducing tender or painful areas may be used when following SCS
symptoms that are familiar to the patient. treatment protocols – whether or not they are active
A potential for confusion lies in the use of the term trigger points, and whether or not they are ‘tender
‘tender points’ in the diagnostic procedures involved in points’ identified during a fibromyalgia assessment.

verbal feedback; or in the case of animals (see Chapter 12). Pain relief or improved mobility may therefore be only
In such cases, a need would be apparent for a method that temporary or partial in such cases. This does not nullify
allows the practitioner/therapist to achieve the same the usefulness of PRT in chronic settings, but emphasizes
objective – of achieving an ‘ease’ position – without verbal the need to use such methods as part of an integrated
communication. approach.
This is possible, as will be demonstrated, using either Integrated methods will be seen to be of particular value
‘functional’ methods or facilitated positional release in deactivation of myofascial trigger points, using a com-
approaches, that involve the practitioner/therapist identi- bination of manual methods in a sequence known as
fying a position of maximum ease by means of palpation integrated neuromuscular inhibition technique – INIT
alone, assessing for a state of ‘ease’ in the tissues. See (see below, and in more detail in Chapter 5).
Chapter 5 for more detail of this approach, which epito-
mizes some of the methodology of an SCS derivative,
Ortho-Bionomy, which is briefly described later in this Clinical considerations
chapter.
Exaggeration of distortion
The concept of exaggerating an existing degree of distor-
Outcomes in different clinical settings tion is a common aspect of clinical reasoning in PRT/SCS
It is important to note that if PRT methods are being methodology. Take the example of an individual bent
applied to chronically indurated or fibrosed tissues, the forward in psoas spasm/lumbago. This would involve
results may well be expected to produce a reduction in someone in considerable discomfort or pain, who is pos-
hypertonicity, but would not result in any reduction in turally distorted – bent forward into flexion, together with
structural changes in the tissues, such as fibrosis. rotation and side-bending. Any attempt by the person (or

5
 Positional Release Techniques

the practitioner) to straighten the individual towards a to chronic holding patterns can be a valuable approach in
more physiologically normal posture would be met by patient management. The evolution of such patterns is a
increased pain and a great deal of resistance. Movement feature discussed in Chapter 2.
toward, or engagement of, the resistance barrier would The methods of McKenzie (Chapter 10), in which move-
therefore not be an ideal first option. ment in directions that are free and easy (relatively) rather
However, moving the area away from the restriction than in directions that are restricted or painful, carries
barrier in such a situation is not usually a problem. Clini- echoes of the positions that emerge when incorporating
cal experience has shown that the position required to find ‘exaggeration’ or ‘strain replication’ into management of
the position of ‘ease’ for someone in this state normally dysfunction. An addition of supportive taping to hold
involves painlessly, and usually passively, increasing the tissues in ‘easy’ exaggerated distortion (Chapter 11) can be
degree of distortion displayed, placing the person (in the seen to be an amplification of the approach offered manu-
example given) into some variation based on forward ally in SCS or functional technique, as described below.
bending (possibly supine or while side-lying, rather than
weight-bearing – see examples in Chapter 4) until pain is
found to reduce or resolve.
After 60–90 seconds in this ‘position of ease’, a slow
POSITIONAL RELEASE VARIATIONS
return to neutral would be carried out and – theoretically,
and commonly in practice – the patient would be some- (see also Chapter 8, Table 8.1)
what or completely relieved of pain and spasm.

1. Functional positional
Replication of position of strain release (FuPR)
This is another feature of PRT/SCS clinical reasoning. Take
for example that someone describes the onset of their (Bowles 1981; Hoover 1969)
problem as starting when bending to lift a load, during Osteopathic functional technique ignores pain as its guide
which process an emergency stabilization was required – to the position of ease, and relies instead on a reduction
as the load shifted (see notes on the mechanisms involved in palpated tone in stressed (hypertonic, spasmed,
in SCS, in Chapter 4). The patient was then locked in a restricted) tissues, as the body (or part) is being posi-
position of ‘lumbago-like’ antalgic spasm and distortion, tioned, or fine-tuned, towards three-dimensional ‘ease’
as described in the previous few paragraphs. involving use of different vectors of force.
If, as PRT in general, and SCS in particular, suggests, the A position of palpated ease is achieved using what is
position of ease commonly equals the position of strain known as a ‘stacking’ sequence, explained and described
– then the patient needs to be taken back into flexion – in in more detail in Chapter 5.
supported, passive, slow-motion – until tenderness van- One hand palpates the affected tissues without invasive
ishes from the monitored tender point, and/or a sense of pressure. This is described as the ‘listening’ hand, since it
ease is perceived in the previously hypertonic shortened assesses changes in tone as the practitioner/therapist
tissues. Adding small ‘fine-tuning’ positioning to the guides the patient (or part) through a sequence of posi-
initial position of ease – achieved by flexion – usually tions that are aimed at enhancing ease and reducing bind.
achieves a situation in which just such a maximum reduc- A sequence of evaluations are carried out, involving dif-
tion in pain is possible. ferent directions/vectors of movement (flexion/extension,
This position would be held for 60–90 seconds before rotation right and left, side-bending right and left, distrac-
slowly returning the patient to neutral, at which time, as tion, compression, etc.), with each new movement starting
in the example above, a partial or total resolution of hyper- at the point of maximum ease established during the pre-
tonicity, spasm and pain may result. vious evaluation; or combined position of ease involving
It should be obvious that the position of strain, as just a number of previous evaluations. In this way, one posi-
described, is probably going to be a duplication of the tion of ease is ‘stacked’ onto another, until all directions
position of exaggeration of distortion. of movement have been assessed for ease, and their
These two elements of SCS – ‘exaggeration of existing combined positions incorporated into the final ‘position
distortion’ and ‘replication of the position of strain’ – are of ease’.
described as examples only, since patients can rarely
describe precisely the way in which their symptoms devel-
oped. Nor is obvious spasm, such as torticollis or acute
Functional low back approach
antalgic spasm (‘lumbago’), the norm, however it is If an individual with a low back problem, as previously
strongly recommended that attention be paid to chronic described, was being treated using the functional tech-
distortion patterns, where adaptive shortening and crowd- nique, the tense tissues in the low back, would be the ones
ing may have occurred over a period of years. PRT applied palpated.

6
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 My grandfather writes to my father, 12 April 1842, “The farmers are
grumbling about Sir Robert Peel’s measures. The shoemakers and the
tanners are all by the ears as well, fearing the French will undersell them. I
told them it was high time, for they had amongst them pocketed all the duty
that was once on leather, and the public had received no benefit: which their
friend Sir Robert saw.” The obnoxious measures were the Act reducing
import duties and the Act imposing income tax, and the small traders were
doubly aggrieved: they were called upon to pay a new tax to make up for
loss of revenue from Customs, and the reduction in the Customs subjected
them to foreign competition.
The tax was 7d. in the £, which does not seem much now, though it
seemed heavy when the tax was new; but it was the assessment, rather than
the payment, that caused the irritation. A friend of my father’s writes to him
from Moreton, 5 January 1843, “They have been most unjust and tyrannical
here: those that appealed were scarcely permitted to say a word.... The poor
people having a small house each have been assessed, and have been
obliged either to dance attendance at appeals at Crockernwell or pay Harvey
half-a-crown for letting them off.” I presume it was well known that these
poor people’s incomes were under £150 and thus exempt from tax.
Income tax, then known as property tax, was brought in as a temporary
measure for the next three years, but was renewed time after time and
finally made permanent. My grandfather writes in the third year, 23
February 1845, “The property tax is an inquisitorial and annoying thing: a
real-property tax would not be so much amiss, even if it were to be made a
permanency: in my opinion they could not levy a better tax.” His opinion
was disinterested, as he had real-property enough for such a tax to hit him
rather hard.
The tax would not yield much, if levied on net receipts: at any rate, not
nearly as much as might have been expected then. He writes on 27
November 1853, “I never heard of land being valued at more than thirty
years in Moreton,” that is, yielding less than 3⅓ per cent.; but on 13 March
1868 he writes, “I can say safely that no property that has been sold in this
neighbourhood for above twenty years past is paying over 2½ p. ct. and
some not over 2 p. ct. nor will it.” Ten years later (after he was dead) there
was a greater fall.
 Our present income tax supposes that the net receipts from land will be
just double the rent. The owner pays the tax upon the rent, and the occupier
pays the tax upon the other half, that is, his supposed profits after paying
the rent. He pays no more if his real profits are more than the supposed
amount, and pays less if they are less. As the occupier usually rents the land
to make a living out of it, he tries to make as large a profit as he can; and
large profits may mean reckless farming that impoverishes the land. But
when the owner occupies the land himself, he may try to make as small a
profit as he can, if he will thereby benefit the land. Suppose his net receipts
are 20s. above the rental value, he pays 4s. 6d. in income tax and possibly
as much or more in super tax; but he escapes these payments if he farms
more prudently and thus reduces these net receipts to 0. He benefits the land
to the extent of 20s. at a net cost of only 15s. 6d., or possibly no more than
10s. Taxes seem to be imposed without foreknowledge of their full effect.
In principle a tax on incomes is quite wrong: it ought to be a tax upon
expenditure—not a penalty on amassing wealth, but a penalty on frittering
wealth away—and import duties are a tax upon expenditure, as they are
finally paid out of prices. Yet smuggling seems to be regarded as a game of
skill, a sort of hide-and-seek in passengers’ luggage: the hider need not
betray the lair, if the seeker cannot find it. I have seen this smuggling done
by people of great probity, not because the payment would have hurt them,
but just (I think) because the searching was a challenge to their skill. And
once I met some foreigners on the Mont Cenis line smuggling things out of
Italy into France, and not only priding themselves upon their skill but also
on their merit in the sight of Heaven, as the things were destined for a
convent or a church. They seemed to think that Heaven had helped them in
dodging the douaniers; and I rather wondered if their confessors would take
that view or would enjoin them to send conscience-money to the State.
While travelling in Switzerland in 1840, my father found a firm of
watch-makers who would deliver gold Geneva watches in London at prices
that did not allow for duty. When he wanted to make a handsome present,
he would send over for a watch, and friends sometimes asked him to send
for watches for them. He never enquired how the watches came, nor did his
friends enquire; but one man (a diplomatist) took some pains to find out,
and the explanation was, “We usually smuggle them in some diplomatist’s
baggage, as that is not examined; and in this instance we smuggled them in
your Excellency’s own.”
 My father got my grandfather an English watch in London in 1850, and
my grandfather did not consider it as good as one that he had chosen for
himself in 1807. That always was the trouble about getting things for people
here. A century ago Newton was a smaller place than Ashburton, and
Torquay was smaller still; and though there were good shops at Exeter, they
were not like the London shops. If people did not want to go up there
themselves, they had to get some friend up there to choose things for them;
and this was an invidious task, as they did not always like his choice, and
then said unkind things about his judgement or his taste.
When my father was in London, his country friends were never shy of
telling him of things they wanted done; and sometimes these were rather
troublesome things to do. One friend (a lady) writes to him from
Leicestershire, 15 February 1848, “We have a Ball here on next Thursday
evening. Shall I be asking too great a liberty from you to procure some
flowers for that occasion from Covent Garden?” Another writes from
Exeter in the autumn of 1842, “I am obliged to give the Mayor a dinner
next week.... Will you enquire the price of a haunch of venison at Burch’s
and also turtle soup, a quart, and whilst you are about it, will you ask at
Myer’s, I think—the great fish man in Vulture Court—the price of a turbot
for about twelve, as I believe good fish is cheaper in London than here, and
a certainty of getting it, which is not so here.”
The most naïve of all requests is from an Admiral who had just gone on
the Retired List and found time heavy on his hands. He writes to my father,
15 April 1872, “You will perhaps be able to tell me if I am eligible to sit on
the special jury they will most likely have in the coming Tichborne trial:
several Naval men were on the last.... What steps, if any, should I take to
get on the list?” I expect the reply was an extinguisher.
There is a very complete extinguisher here, addressed to a relative of
mine, the husband of my mother’s eldest sister. “Stratfield saye Nov. 27
1838 The Duke of Wellington presents his Compliments to Mr. Drummond
and has received his Letter. The Duke begs leave to inform Mr. Drummond
that he is not the Commander in Chief of the Army or in political office; he
has no Patronage Power or Influence, & he has no means whatever at his
disposal of forwarding Mr. Drummond’s views in any manner.” It is the old
Duke’s writing, not dictated.
 I have always envied the Drummonds their pedigree, a thoroughgoing
Scottish pedigree, showing their descent from Attila, King of the Huns. But
I am still more envious of my Urquhart cousins. They have a pedigree
showing their descent from Alcibiades, whose son (being incensed at the
Athenians’ unjust treatment of his father) migrated out of Athens into
Ireland.
Among my family papers I found a document of 19 June 13 Elizabeth
(1571) quoting one of 24 March in the preceding year—“Symon Knyghte
of the Cittie of Exceter, marchaunte, hathe graunted unto Richard Wannell
of Moreton Hampsteede, gent, one annuytye or yearly rente of twenty
poundes during the naturall lyef of the said Richard and after his deathe
unto Katheryne, his wief, duringe the terme of fouerscore yeares yf she so
longe lyve.” Knight now lends Wannell £110 on bargain and sale of this
annuity as security for repayment, such bargain and sale to be utterly
frustrated and void, “yf yt shall happen the said Richard Wannell to
contente and paye unto the said Symon Knyghte in the now mansion house
of the said Symon in the citty aforesaid in the xxiiijth daye of Auguste nexte
ensuing the date of these presents betweene the houers of one and fower of
the clock in the afternoone of the said daye thirtie eight poundes eleven
shillings and fouer pence of lawfull Englishe money at one enteere
paymente withoute fraude or delaye and in the firste daye of Nouember
nexte ensuinge in the said house and betweene the said howers the full
some of other thirty eighte poundes eleven shillings and fower pence and
also yf the said Richard Wannell in the seconde daye of Auguste next
ensuinge the date hereof doo delyver or cause to bee delivred unto the said
Symon Knyghte fyfteene hundreds of coyned white tynne good and
marchantable without the letter H every hundred wayinge sixscore poundes
at and accordinge to the Queenes Maiesties beame at Chagford.”
This letter H is mentioned in a document of 3 April 10 Henry VII (1495)
by which the Duke of Cornwall—Prince Arthur, elder brother of Henry VIII
—confirmed a set of by-laws: printed in Rowe’s Perambulation of
Dartmoor, appendix XV. “Also that no man from hensforth make no synder
tynne after that it is wartered, be it allayed with oder tynne or not allaide, or
eny oder manner of harde tynne without it be marked with this letter H as
well as with the markes of the owners and blowing howses.” (Blowing
houses were blast furnaces for smelting tin.) “Also that th’owners of everye
blowing howse shal bryng a certen marke of his blowing howse to the court
of the Stayniery within the precinct wher the said blowing howse is sett, to
the entent that al suche markes may be drawen in a boke.... Also that every
owner of tynne that shal bring tynne into ony blowing howse to be blowen
and fyned shal bryng a certen marke in to the said court, ther to be put in a
boke.” (Tin was ‘coined’ by stamping these marks on it, so that the owners
and blowers could be identified.) “And if it shal happen from hensforth ony
marchaunt to bye eny false tynne and so to be disseyved,” the warden shall
compel the owners and the blowers of it “to satisfye the marchaunt of al
suche hurte and damage as he hath take by such false tynne.”
These by-laws had been “enacted and establysshed by the hole body of
the Stayniery in the high court of Crockerntorr” on 11 September. This
court was composed of the Duchy officials for Devon with twenty-four
jurors from each of the four Stannary towns in Devon; and it held its
sittings in the open air on Crockerntor, a Dartmoor hill about midway
between the towns, say, nine miles from Tavistock, ten from Chagford, ten
from Ashburton, and thirteen from Plympton. And besides this high court
(magna curia) there was a court in each of these four towns for its own
quarter of the Stannaries. In his Survey of Devon Risdon says of Chagford,
“This place is priviledged with many immunities which tinners enjoy, and
here is holden one of the courts for Stannery causes”; and he mentions a
catastrophe that happened in his time. The court-house stood on pillars; and
on 6 March 1618 these pillars gave way at a crowded sitting of the court,
the building ‘rent in sunder’ and the walls fell in, killing ten people and
injuring many more.
The old courts and their jurisdiction sank slowly into insignificance as
the amount of tin grew less. Mine after mine was given up, and very little
tin is raised in Devon now—it can be got more easily by mining in Nevada.
But all round Dartmoor there are remains of the old works, showing what a
scene of industry it must have been. There was a blowing house near here:
it was in Lustleigh parish and was known as Caseleigh blowing house.
Caseleigh mine was for micaceous iron, which has only little bunches of tin
ore in it; but tin may have been brought from the Peck Pits a couple of
miles away.
A small Venetian coin was dug up at Lustleigh in the spring of 1922 in a
garden about fifty yards west of the church tower; and this may be
connected with the trade in tin. It is a silver ‘soldino’ of Leonardo
Loredano, whose features are well known in England from Bellini’s portrait
of him in the National Gallery. He was Doge from 1501 to 1521, and the
moneyer’s initials (P.C. for Piero Cocco) show that the coin was struck
between the summer of 1501 and the summer of 1502. At that period a
squadron of armed gallies made a voyage from Venice to England almost
every year; and they brought merchandise for sale here, and took back other
merchandise, including tin. Their usual port was Southampton; but in
Sanuto’s Diary, 9 March 1504, there is a note of their going to Falmouth,
and they probably went to other ports as well. The coin may have come
over in the gallies, and then found its way to Lustleigh in the course of
trade.
On the Close Rolls there is an entry of a writ, 26 June 1414, stating that
the merchants of Venice who came over in their galleys, used to bring their
own money of Venice, called galley halfpence; and directing the Mayor of
London to enjoin them not to circulate this money here—they must take it
to the Mint to be converted into English coin. There were many prohibitions
of these ‘galey halpenys’, from Proclamations in 1399 and 1400 to an Act
of Parliament in 1519; and these repeated prohibitions show that there were
many such coins about.
Gold moidores from Portugal were afterwards in circulation here at 27s.
apiece or thereabouts. For a century or so the Courtenay family received a
moidore, in addition to the market price, on granting a new lease of any
copyhold in Moreton Manor; thus, on 27 October 1739 a new tenant paid
£70 “and one moyder of gold.” This manor did not include the whole of
Moreton: there were parts of other manors in the parish; and in one of these,
“the mannour or lordship of Moretonhampstead and North Bovie,” the
custom was pretty much the same. Richard Knight, the lord of the manor,
granted a new lease there on 30 September 1689 for £28 “and a broad peece
of gould,” and another on 1 June 1693 for £12 “and a gennye of gould.”
My father told me that one day in Exeter he was walking along a street
in which a trench was being dug for laying pipes, and a coin of Constantine
rolled out from a shovelful of earth that was thrown up as he passed: he
gave the workmen sixpence and took the Roman coin. One of his notebooks
gives the date, 6 December 1836; and for several years before then Roman
coins were dug up almost every day, as gas and water mains were being laid
and there was much rebuilding.
 In digging for foundations on Bell Hill—the part of South Street
between the turnings into Guinea Street and Bear Street—the workmen
came upon some tesselated pavement, broken bits of Samian ware, and part
of a sistrum of Egyptian green-glazed porcelain. That was in 1833, and the
sistrum is now in Exeter Museum. It has the usual head of Hathor (or Isis)
on each side, and below that a column of hieroglyphic, reading “neter nefer,
neb taui, ...” on one side, and “nesu-bat (Ra ...)” on the other. The lower part
was not found. Many Egyptian kings had cartouches beginning with ‘Ra’;
but the glazing of the sistrum shows that it was made for one of the kings of
Dynasty XXVI somewhere about 600 B.C.
This head of Isis being found upon Bell Hill, some rash antiquaries said
that Bell was really Bel or Baal. But it is a fact that there are traces of
outlandish gods in other parts of England. An inscription has been found at
York (Corp. Inscr. Lat. VII. 240) recording the dedication of a temple to
Serapis by the officer commanding the sixth Legion, which then was
stationed there; and two altars have been found at Corbridge with Greek
inscriptions (Inscr. Græc. XIV. 2553, 4) dedicating one of them to Astartê
and the other one to Hercules of Tyre. There is a dedication to this Hercules
in the Greek part of a bi-lingual inscription at Malta (Inscr. Græc. XIV. 600)
and in the Phœenician part he is called Baal Melkarth of Tyre. This is the
god at whom Elijah jibed, “he is on a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth
and must be awaked.” He was the guardian of navigation: in the depth of
winter all navigation ceased; and then he went to sleep and made no more
journeys till the festival of his Awakening in the early spring.
Coins of Roman Emperors are sometimes dug up in this neighbourhood.
In 1837 a little hoard of them was brought to light on Furzeleigh farm, three
miles from here, while gravel and stone were being dug out to mend a road;
and these were coins of Valerianus, Gallienus, Postumus, Victorinus, and
Claudius Gothicus, whose short and stormy reigns began and ended
between 253 and 270 A.D. Hoards are buried even now. Countryfolk lose
money by bad investments or through the failure of a bank; and then there
is a scare, and many of them convert their savings into coin, and hide or
bury it. Burying is more secure: if money is merely hidden in the house, the
missus may get hold of it and squander it away—at least, an old man told
me so. He buried his (somewhere on Dartmoor, I believe) and in 1917 he
had a stroke and died without ever telling anybody where it was. And some
day somebody will come upon this hoard of three or four hundred gold
coins of Queen Victoria and King Edward. The coins at Furzeleigh may
have been buried there by such a man some sixteen centuries before; and
possibly they represent his savings, or possibly his robberies and thefts.
Apart from coins, there are few relics of the Romans in any part of
Devon excepting Exeter; and the coins may only prove that there was
plundering or trade. A century before the Romans came, Diodoros was
writing (V. 22) of the natives of these parts as kindly, mannerly folk,
accustomed to dealing with foreigners over their trade in tin. Such people
would make good neighbours, and could be left alone. At the date of the
Antonine Itinerary the Roman roads did not come further west than Exeter,
and probably were not carried on to Land’s End until the reign of
Constantine—his name is on a Roman mile-stone at Saint Hilary, and his
colleague’s name, Licinius, is on another at Tintagel. That was more than
250 years after Britain was annexed by Claudius; and the wonder is that the
Romans did not make the road before, or that having left it for so long, they
should have made it then. Something must have happened just before to
give occasion for it; and I would hazard a guess that ‘something’ was the
subjugation of Britain by Constantius in 296 A.D. after Carausius and
Allectus had held the country for nine years.
The natives here were probably Iberians or Celtiberians, that is, wholly
or partly of the old stock that the Celtic immigrants pushed back into the
west. Tacitus observes in his Agricola, II, that the people in the west of
Britain were so like Iberians that anyone would think their ancestors had
come from Spain. He wrote this in 98 A.D., and would have heard it from
Agricola himself, who was many years in Britain. No doubt, there was a
likeness; but there is another explanation of it—the Iberians had once
migrated westward like the Celts, and some of them migrated into Britain
and others into Spain. That seems more likely than migration here from
Spain.
In the Colonies and India there are races quite impervious to our
civilization and living in their own ancestral way; and I imagine that these
natives lived their own lives here regardless of the way the Romans lived.
They were Prehistoric in the sense that they were living like primeval
ancestors of theirs whose history is unknown; but they were not Prehistoric
in the sense of having lived in that far past themselves, nor are their
implements and buildings Prehistoric in that sense. Yet enormous dates B.C.
are given to Prehistoric remains here which may not be much earlier than
300 A.D., or even as old as that.
Prehistoric remains may often be an obstacle to agriculture when they
are in a field; and thousands of them must have been destroyed to make
way for the plough. They are common enough on Dartmoor and other open
land round here, and probably were just as common on the land that is
enclosed. There are the remains of a little hamlet of hut-circles, with a
rampart round it, on the open land in Lustleigh Cleave a mile from here;
and in a field at Plumleigh, also a mile from here, there were six hut-circles
in a group. When the granite boulders in the field were being cleared away,
four bronze palstaves were found under one boulder and four under another,
all standing up on end. (Two are now in Exeter Museum; and I remember
others on a mantelpiece at Plumleigh, but cannot find out what became of
them.) They were found in 1836; and the six hut-circles were destroyed
soon after, to complete the clearance of the field. This is not an isolated
case, but typical of what is always going on.
There is only one cromlech left in Devon—the Spinsters’ Stone. It is on
a farm called Shilston, two miles from Drewsteignton, three from Chagford
and nine from here. It consists of a flattish piece of granite about two feet
thick and ten or twelve across, resting on three upright pieces about six feet
high; and altogether it looks rather like a toadstool with three stems instead
of one. In 1862 one of the uprights slipped away and let the top slide off,
but the owner of Shilston had it set up again; and several people have set up
menhirs that had fallen down. In such cases there can be no mistake; but I
should not like to see a group of fallen stones set up by anyone who had a
theory about Prehistoric things.
There were two rocks in the sea near Dawlish called the Parson and the
Clerk; but the Parson perished in a gale. The sea had undermined him, and a
big wave threw him down. There was no setting him up again, and the
Dawlish people felt the want of him: so they ordained another rock as
Parson with another for his Clerk. And if you go to Dawlish and inquire for
the Parson and the Clerk, you will be directed to a couple of big rocks that
lean up against a cliff; and there are pictures of these two imposters, not
only on the post-cards but even in such books as the Devonshire volume of
the Cambridge County Geographies.
 The real Parson and Clerk were in the sea off Holecombe headland, half
way from Dawlish to Teignmouth. They were big rocks, more or less of
human shape; and the rock nearer to the headland was a good deal taller
than the other rock further out. There was some point in calling them the
Parson and the Clerk, as the Clerk’s place in churches was in front of the
Parson and somewhat lower down; but there is no point in giving the name
to these imposters, as they are of equal size and side by side like Siamese
Twins. I remember the old Parson very well indeed, and sometimes feel the
loss of him as if he were a personal friend. I fear that the old Clerk is
doomed. He has lost his head, and now looks more like a mummied cat, as
one sees him from the train.
These rocks are ‘new’ red sandstone, and there are others on the coast
with grotesque forms of human figures and heads; and such forms may be
seen in granite rocks at no great distance from the coast. The best is
Bowerman’s Nose, four miles from here and fourteen from the Parson and
the Clerk. (I take ‘nose’ to be the same as ‘naze’ or ‘ness,’ as in Hope’s
Nose at the entrance to Torbay.) In Dartmoor, a poem, Carrington calls
Bowerman’s Nose “a granite God, | to whom, in days long flown, the
suppliant knee | in trembling homage bow’d.” He there assumes that it was
in its present shape when there were tribes here who would worship it; but
the shape is due to weathering. In the Dartmoor granite there are fissures
which are widened out by frost and wet until large blocks become detached
and fall away. And this god was created by the fall of the surrounding
granite from four upright fissures. These enclosed a mass a dozen feet thick
and forty high; and there are other fissures running across this and giving it
somewhat the appearance of a man.
I once took the trouble to go up to Mount Sipylos in Asia Minor to see
the figure of Niobê, 20 April 1882. Homer speaks of it (Iliad, XXIV. 617) as
Niobê herself, turned into stone, and still brooding on the wrongs the gods
had done her. But the figure has been worn down by weather to an almost
shapeless mass, and it is not big enough to be impressive. Pausanias went
there 1700 years before me, and I can say no more for it than he says, I. 21.
3: at a distance you might take it for a human figure, but you must not come
too close.
After going to see Niobê, I felt there might be something in what Philo
of Byzantium says at the beginning of his book about the Seven Wonders of
the World—instead of taking troublesome journeys, people had much better
stay at home and read his book. However, I have been to see the remains of
two of the Seven, the Pyramids at Memphis and the Temple of Diana at
Ephesos, and the sites on which two others stood, the Zeus at Olympia and
the Colossos at Rhodes, and the site also of another, the Pharos at
Alexandria, if that is to be reckoned in the Seven.
One wet day when I had visitors here, we happened to be speaking of
how things ran in sevens—the seven planets, the seven liberal arts, the
seven deadly sins, and so on. There were seven of us in the house and we
drew lots, to fill up time until the rain would let us out. When I drew
Gluttony, they said it was appropriate; and we had all said it was
appropriate when a lady with blue stockings drew Astronomy, and again
when she drew Chastity; but it was a little embarrassing when she drew
Lust as well.
The seven planets were Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the Sun, Venus, Mercury
and the Moon; and Pythagoras said these seven and the Firmament of Stars
and our Earth and the other Earth (Antichthon) were all revolving round a
Central Fire. I thought that I had met a follower of his a little while ago. I
said something about the sunlight, and was told that I was wrong—light did
not come from the Sun. I hoped to hear him say that light came from the
Central Fire and was reflected from the Sun, for he seemed to think that
something came from there, as he was sitting in the shade. But he referred
me to the Bible, where it is distinctly said that Light was created on the first
day but the Sun was not created till the fourth.
Pythagoras fancied that there must be simple ratios for the distances
between the heavenly bodies and the Central Fire, and that the motion of
these bodies would therefore cause harmonious sounds, just as octaves and
fifths and fourths arise from lengths of string with ratios of 1 to 2 and 2 to 3
and 3 to 4. There were two answers to the question why no one ever heard
this Music of the Spheres. Aristotle (De Cælo, II. 9) makes the Pythagoreans
say that we all hear it from the moment we are born, only we never notice
it, as it is always going on. (If so, they must have thought it was a chord and
not a tune.) The other answer, Aristotle’s own, was that there was not
anything to hear.
There are many versions of the Music of the Spheres; but judging by
what Ptolemy says (Harmonica, III. 16, and Excerpta Neapolitana, 2, 24) I
think Pythagoras put the Firmament at 36, Saturn at 32, Jupiter at 24, Mars
at 21⅓, the Sun at 18, Venus at 16, Mercury at 12, the Moon at 9, the Earth
at 8, and (probably) the Antichthon at 6, with the Central Fire at 0. Thus, if
the Firmament gave forth the sound of f, the Sun gave f an octave higher up
and the Moon gave f an octave higher still. Saturn, Venus and the Earth
gave g in these three octaves, and Jupiter, Mercury and the Antichthon gave
c in these three octaves also, while Mars gave d in the lowest octave by
itself. And if that is what these orbs are ‘quiring to the young-eyed
cherubins,’ I do not much regret ‘this muddy vesture of decay’ that hinders
me from hearing it.
If the heavenly bodies went round in circles, their notes would never
vary, as the distances would always be the same; but if they go round in
ellipses, their notes will rise and fall with every variation in the distances.
And as soon as Kepler had discovered that the Earth and other planets make
ellipses round the Sun, he set to work to ascertain how far their notes run up
and down the scale; and he published his results in 1619 in his Harmonice
Mundi, V. 4-9. According to this, Saturn’s note went up and down a major
third, and Jupiter’s went up and down a minor third; and Jupiter’s note at its
lowest was an octave above Saturn’s at its highest. Similarly, the rise and
fall was a fifth for Mars, a semitone for the Earth, and practically nothing
for Venus, as its ellipse is nearly circular, whereas the long ellipse of
Mercury produced a rise and fall of an octave plus a minor third; and
between these rising and falling notes there were clear intervals of a major
sixth from Mercury to Venus, a minor sixth from Venus to the Earth, a fifth
from the Earth to Mars, and two octaves plus a minor third from Mars to
Jupiter. And of course the trebles played their scales much faster than the
basses, as they go round the Sun in much less time.
Kepler took all this quite seriously, and was convinced that some such
ratios must exist, as the Creator was a neat hand at geometry, “Deus nihil
sine geometrica pulchritudine constituerit,” V. 4. It was the irony of Fate
that in pursuing this absurdity he discovered a great truth—the Third Law
of Motion.
These great Laws are not always put before young minds with due
simplicity: we obscure them by our jargon. All children know that if they
spread a pat of butter on a slice of bread, the bigger the slice is, the thinner
the butter will be. We express this by saying that the thickness of the butter
varies inversely as the surface of the slice. They can see that the same thing
would happen if they had to butter the outside of a roll or dumpling that was
as round as a Dutch cheese. We say, as before, that the thickness of the
butter varies inversely as the surface of this globe of bread; and as the
surface of a globe varies directly as the square of the distance between the
surface and the centre, we end by saying that the thickness of the butter
varies inversely as the square of the distance. Young minds understand the
butter. Put ‘the force of attraction’ for ‘the thickness of the butter,’ and they
will understand the Law of Universal Gravitation, as discovered by Sir
Isaac Newton with the assistance of an apple.
Unluckily this easy way of learning things is like all aids to memory:
more easily picked up than dropped again, when it has served its purpose. A
friend of mine tells me that, out of all his Latin and Greek, the things that he
remembers best are silly little rhymes that he was taught at school,
“Common are to either sex, Artifex and Opifex,” and other stuff like that.
When I first went up to Cambridge, I confounded the Circle at Infinity with
the Circular Points at Infinity till some one drew a circle for me and put two
circular points in it like two eyes in a very fat face, and then added the Line
at Infinity just where the mouth would come. And now I cannot go to
Infinity without seeing this round face grinning at me as the Cheshire Cat
grinned at Alice when she was in Wonderland.
In those days there were old Dons at Cambridge who rampaged like mad
bulls, if you just waved red rags at them. If the Don was Mathematical, you
waved the Method of Projections: if he was Classical, you waved
Archæology. With the Method of Projections a short proof was substituted
for a long proof, and the short proof was exact; but the old men had always
used the long proof, and were indignant that the same results should
 THE HALL HOUSE

be obtained so easily; and they had influence enough to get the easy proof
prohibited in the Mathematical Tripos. The old Classical men were just as
cross with Archæology. They had learned to understand the Ancient World
by years of patient study of its literature; and here were upstarts who could
understand the Ancient World (perhaps better than they did) by merely
looking at its statues, vases, coins and gems.
I remember two old Mathematicians dining with us; and after dinner
they talked shop, and my father went to sleep in the middle of their talk.
Recovering himself, he said, “I beg pardon, Mr X, I fear I dropped asleep
while you were speaking.” Mr X replied, “Not at all, Mr Torr, not at all: it
was Mr Y who was speaking when you went to sleep.”
At a railway-station Mr X was discoursing to some people on the
mechanism of the locomotive-engine, continuing his discourse till the train
was out of sight; and then he found it was the train he meant to take. He
turned upon a porter for not telling him so; and when the porter said, “How
was I to know where you were going to?”, he overwhelmed the porter by
calling him “You Oaf.”
A girl was singing in a hay-field about the new-mown hay, and Mr Y
rebuked her. If it was only new-mown, it was grass: it would not become
hay till it had undergone a process of fermentation. She looked so sad that I
struck in, saying ‘hay’ meant hedge. (I am not so sure about it now as I was
then; but ‘hay’ sounds very like ‘haie,’ which is the French for ‘hedge,’ and
Anglo-Saxon ‘hæg’ comes down to ‘hay’ as well as ‘dæg’ to ‘day.’) I
declared that the grass had been hay from the time when it was hedged, that
is, layed up for mowing; and, getting bolder, I declared it had been hay ever
since the seeds were sown. The distinction is, you put in grasses that ripen
in succession if you are sowing for pasture, and grasses that ripen
simultaneously if you are sowing for hay. Mr Y said that he did not care for
these distinctions, and walked away repeating ‘fermentation.’ And the girl
was singing again.
On roads near Cambridge one often saw Dons walking steadily on till
they came to a mile-stone, touching the stone with their hands, and then
walking just as steadily back. They had found out by experience how many
miles they needed for their afternoon walk, and they always walked that
number of miles, neither more nor less. An undergraduate told me that he
went out for a walk one Saturday afternoon with a foreign Jew, who was at
Cambridge lecturing; and he wondered how the Sabbath Day’s Journey
would work in. Instead of turning back at a mile-stone, the pious man took
out a biscuit, put it down, and then walked on; and he did the same at every
mile-stone that they passed. On getting back, my friend inquired about the
biscuits; and the answer was quite clear—a Sabbath Day’s Journey is a
certain distance from your home; and the Mishnah says that where your
food is, there also is your home. The biscuits were his food, and every mile-
stone was his home.
In 1882 the Regius Professor of Hebrew at Cambridge brought out a
book on The Hebrew Text of the Old Covenant, two volumes and upwards
of 1200 pages; and I used to see it at the house of a friend of mine, who
died some years ago. Wishing to look at it again, I asked a bookseller to get
it for me, but he could not hear of a copy of it anywhere, either new or
second-hand: so I had the University Library copy sent down to me from
Cambridge. Though it had been in the Library for close on forty years, there
were only two pages in the whole of it that had their edges cut. Of course, a
prophet is without honour in his own country, and Jarrett was only a minor
prophet; but it seems strange that nobody had curiosity enough to see more
of the book.
There was a Professor at Oxford at whose blunders people laughed,
forgetting that his blunders were only a by-product of a large output of
learning. But once, when I was joining others in the laugh, we were all
reduced to silence by a question from a friend of his, “Do any of you know
of any other man in England who would sit for two hours up to his neck in a
Syrian sewer in order to copy an inscription?”
There was also a Don I went to see whenever I was in Oxford—he was
always ready for a talk on Dante or Strabo—and I usually found him seated
in an easy-chair exactly in front of the fire with Minos and Rhadamanthus
seated on foot-stools on each side of it. They were cats; and he had given
them these names (when kittens) on returning from a tour in Crete. He had
travelled a good deal, and was able to tell me that Albanians really had got
tails—a fact that I had never been able to ascertain. The tails are very short,
only the last few bones of the spine; and they are only on people whose
Pelasgian ancestry has not been swamped by intermarrying with other
races.
In my brother’s time at Cambridge there was a story of a Senior
Wrangler lecturing an undergraduate for forty minutes on the theory of the
common pump, and the undergraduate then asking him, “But why does the
water go up?” There were men like that who could not get their knowledge
out, and there were other men who could—it came down like a
thunderstorm that goes streaming off the surface and does not sink into the
ground. They did not teach you much of what they meant to teach, but
every now and then they would come out with something that implied a
mode of reasoning or a point of view which was entirely new to you. And
these illuminating things made up for all the rest.
There is talk enough now of the training of teachers and the art of
teaching. These men had no such training, and would have scoffed at it as a
mere trick by which a silly man could make the most of what he knew. And
possibly there are schoolteachers now whose knowledge would look small
unless they made the most of it. Education now means class-rooms,
attendances, inspections, salaries, and such like things, and very little of
what it used to mean; and I fear that it may someday meet the fate of
monasteries under Henry VIII. The monasteries saved learning from
extinction in the depths of the Dark Ages, and afterwards they were the
guardians of the poor: yet they were all swept away, for no shortcomings of
their own, but just because there were so many of them that they ate the
country up.
 I remember an old lady saying it would be horrible if her maids could
read—she would not be able to leave her letters lying about. That was
before the Education Act of 1870, but was only a faint echo of things said in
1807. “From the first dawning of that gracious benevolence, which issued
spontaneously from the bosoms of their present Majesties, in promoting the
instruction of the poor by the establishment of Sunday Schools, the
Surveyor has looked forward with a sort of dread to the probable
consequences of such a measure.” That is on page 465 of A General View of
the Agriculture of the County of Devon by Charles Vancouver, Surveyor to
the Board of Agriculture. It also says, page 469, “How will it be possible to
suppress communications and a concert among the multitude, when they are
all gifted with the means of corresponding and contriving schemes of
sedition and insurrection with each other?... The Surveyor thus respectfully
submits to the consideration of the Honourable Board the propriety of
opposing any measures that may rationally be supposed to lead to such a
fatal issue.” But in some ways he was right. If there is agriculture, there
must be labourers. He preferred “exciting a general emulation to excel in all
their avocations,” page 468, rather than making them despise these
avocations without fitting them for any others.
When the Education Act was passed in 1870, nobody expected more
than the three R’s and nobody expected less—I remember what a talk there
was about it at the time—but more has been attempted and much less has
been done, at any rate, in village schools. There is the child that can’t learn,
and the child that won’t. Not many years ago a small girl in the village
made up her mind that she wouldn’t learn no Readin’ nor ‘Ritin’ and
couldn’t learn no ‘Rithmetic; and she didn’t learn ’n, though she made
attendances and thereby earned the school some money in the shape of
Government grants. But she did not look far enough ahead. She was quite
happy without her R’s till she came to the age of Flirtation; but then she
found she could not read the little notes that she received, nor write notes in
reply; and she did not much like asking other folk to read her the contents
of notes that were intended for herself alone. And so she found that
education has its uses after all. But even if it has its uses, it also has its
risks: at least, some people think so. An old man here was asked to witness
the execution of a Deed, and signed the Attestation with very great
misgivings. “There now, if ’t ’ad bin for anyone but you, I’d ’ve bin mazin’
coy o’ that. I’ve heerd of men a-losin’ thousan’s by just settin’ hand to
paper.” A man here, not much older than myself, escaped all schooling and
has prospered greatly; and he tells me he has never set hand to paper, and
this is why he is so prosperous. When people sign agreements, they do not
always see the full effect of them; and he avoids that risk. He signs nothing
but his cheques, and they are often for substantial sums.
Children now know many things of which their grandfathers had never
heard, but I doubt their being so observant or so shrewd: they get too much
from print. There was a very cultivated man who was often in this
neighbourhood some years ago, and he delighted in reading novels about
Devon and the West, but was quite unconscious that he was in the midst of
the real thing. He was so accustomed to getting his impressions out of
books that he had lost the power of getting them in any other way. The
children have not come to that, and never may; but they are being
overdosed with books. There is a history in use at Lustleigh school that
gives three chapters to the times before the Romans came: the Stone and
Bronze and Iron Ages. But here at Lustleigh we have the real thing close at
hand—there are hut-circles within a mile of the school, and at Torquay, only
fifteen miles away, there is Kent’s Cavern itself and a Museum containing
what was found there, the best evidence in England for the Stone Age
periods. Children would learn a great deal more by seeing the real thing
than they will ever learn by reading of it in a book. And books are
sometimes wrong. This history says that the Britons came over here about
400 B.C., and it calls them Britons all through the chapter; but another
history (in the same series) always calls these people Celts, and says that
the Britons were a cross-breed between the Celtic invaders and the old
inhabitants. Which of these statements are the children to believe?
I have lately been looking through the books that are in use in Lustleigh
school. One of them, a geography of the World, makes the Bosporos wider
than the Dardanelles. It might be better not to teach geography at all than
teach it wrong. Another one, a geography of Europe, goes out of its way to
say that Marseilles is one of the oldest cities in the Mediterranean. This is
quite untrue—Marseilles was not founded until 600 B.C.—and even if it
were true, it would not be a thing worth teaching to children in an
elementary school here. In another one, a geography of England and Wales,
the first chapter starts with this—“Our country really forms a part of the
Continent of Eurasia, though not now joined to it. Eurasia is the name given
to the Continents of Europe and Asia. Eurasia is only separated from the
Continent of Africa by a canal.” Well, at the geological period when our
country was joined to the Continent, Africa also was joined to it near
Gibraltar and near Sicily: so, if our country really forms a part of the
Continent, Africa must really form a part of it as well. And the word Eurasia
could not possibly mean Europe and Asia: it is only the jargon of half-
educated men.
Logically one may begin geography with Space, the Solar System, our
rotating globe, the oceans and the continents, and so on; but children may
do better by beginning at the other end with maps of places where they live.
I have sent Lustleigh school a map of Lustleigh, 6 ft. wide and 4 ft. high,
Ordnance Survey, 25 inches to the mile, or one square inch for each square
acre, with the acreage of all the fields and gardens printed on them. On that
map the children see their homes and other things they know; and having
seen how these are mapped, they get a better notion of what maps really
mean. A map is easily misunderstood. At one point the Bosporos is less than
half a mile in width—no wider than the estuary of the Teign—and thus
would be invisible on ordinary maps unless its width was much
exaggerated. With this exaggeration and different colouring on each side,
the maps make people think there is a great gulf fixed between the
Europeans and the Asiatics there; whereas, as all Levantines say, Europe
really ends at the Balkans.
Another of those school-books says that the beginning of a letter (my
dear So-and-so) is to be called the Salutation, and the address is to be called
the Superscription. That is a pretty bit of pedantry for a village school. It
also says that words of opposite meaning, such as ‘far’ and ‘near,’ are
known as Antonyms. That is jargon, and quite wrong. (Antonyms could
only be produced by antonomasia, and therefore would be substituted
words, like ‘Carthaginis Eversor’ for Scipio and ‘Iron Duke’ for
Wellington.) The authors of those books all claim experience in the art of
teaching; but that does not make up for their imperfect knowledge of the
subjects they have taught. What is the good of teaching children that the
reign of George the Third “was marked by disaster and disgrace”? They
have heard of Trafalgar and of Waterloo. Yet one of their school-books says
this. Another one says that Edward the First gave England “a Parliament in
which all classes were represented.” The serfs were far the largest class:
they were not represented at all; and very few of the free men had any voice
in choosing representatives.
 When children are learning about England and its place in Europe and
the World, they might as well be taught that English is an Aryan language,
and that all Aryan languages have grown from the same roots, whereas
Semitic languages are of another growth. ‘What do they know of England
who only England know?’ Change ‘England’ into ‘English,’ and the answer
is the same. Children could be taught Grimm’s Law which shows how
words assume a different shape in different languages. They need not learn
the languages: merely a few words on a list to give them mastery of their
mother tongue. Time would be better spent on this than on their physical
drill, a thing for children in a slummy town but quite superfluous here.
Amongst other useful things, the children have been taught to run along
in single file and leap an obstacle; and I scoffed at this, not seeing how very
useful it might be. One sunny day a worthy man was lying on the grass, flat
on his back, dead drunk; and they ran along and leaped over him in single
file in the way they had been taught at school, just clearing his capacious
waistcoat which stood up like a dome.
The old school at Lustleigh was founded by Parson Davy in 1825; and
he gave land to endow it, and set forth its objects in his deed of gift, 4
August 1825. It was “for the educating and instructing of the poor children,
being parishioners of the said parish, on the principles of the established
Church of England, in reading and needlework, in learning their catechism,
and in such other proper and useful learning for poor children as is
hereinafter directed and appointed,” namely, “teaching the boys reading and
spelling, and the girls reading and spelling and knitting and needlework,
and also instructing such poor children in such other proper and useful
learning as the majority of the feoffees shall think proper and direct,” the
feoffees being the eight persons whom he thereby enfeoffed of the land as
trustees.
Within my recollection there used to be a dozen children at the school, or
sometimes a few more. The endowment was not large enough to make it a
free school, and there were fees to pay. If parents could not manage it, there
were always people who would pay the fees for any promising child; and
thus admission to the school was rather like admission to the Navy now that
competitive examination has been replaced by interview. It was, of course, a
mixed school, boys and girls together. They were taught Scripture by the
Rector and other subjects by a Dame; and the Dame enforced her teaching
with a stick. And she (or her predecessor) lived in the old school-house
itself, a building with four rooms.
Then came the Education Act of 1870, and the old school-room was not
thought nearly good enough for elementary teaching then, though it was
just about as good as some of those old rooms at Harrow in which much
better work was done. A new building was erected a little higher up the hill,
and the old Dame and her pupils moved up there at the end of 1876. The old
school was shut up, and its endowment is now frittered away in prizes at the
new school and a Sunday school. I always wish the old school had been
kept alive as a nucleus for a secondary school here. The endowment seemed
too small: yet Harrow began with very little more—“our House was built in
lowly ways, God brought us to great honour.”
The old school-house has a tablet in the wall, with the date of 1825 and
then these words, “Built by subscription | and endowed with Lowton
Meadow in Moreton | for supporting a school for ever | by the Rev. William
Davy | curate of this parish.” His motives were set forth in his Apology for
giving Lowton Meadow to the Parish of Lustleigh, a leaflet that he printed
with his own printing-press. “Whereas from my long service in that church
I have a strong regard and hearty desire for its present and future welfare,
and being from repeated proofs too unhappily convinced of the
unœconomical and profligate disposition of my immediate successors, and
being willing in my lifetime to do the greatest and most lasting good with
the little property I have in fee, I do hereby with the consent of my son
(who by good conduct and kind providence is sufficiently provided for)
offer to give to the officiating minister and churchwardens of the parish of
Lustleigh all that one close or meadow called Morice or Lowton Meadow in
Moreton Hampstead to have and to hold the same with the rents and profits
thereof from and after the 25th of March 1824 in trust for ever for the
support and maintenance of a school for poor children in the parish of
Lustleigh aforesaid in the house to be erected in the parish town for that
purpose.”
The inscription and the leaflet both have the words ‘for ever,’ and these
words are also on two patens that he had given to the church. They are “for
the use of the Sacrament for ever”; and there is the same inscription on a
chalice given by Edward Basill, who was Rector from 1660 to 1698. No
doubt Davy copied Basill here, and hence applied ‘for ever’ to his later gift;
and there is no question what ‘for ever’ meant—his gifts were to be kept.
 The patens have not yet been sold, but the meadow has. The adjoining
owner wanted it, and wanted it very badly, as he had erected a pair of semi-
detached residences close up to the hedge. And it was sold him for £300, or
£25 less than Davy gave for it a century ago. As a matter of business, the
thing seemed indefensible; and as a matter of sentiment, it certainly was
vile.
Sir Joshua Reynolds was born at Plympton, and in the zenith of his fame
the Corporation made him Mayor. He acknowledged this by sending down
his portrait, painted by himself, to be hung in the Town Hall. Finding it was
worth a good round sum, the Corporation sold it.—Of course, Parson Davy
was not as eminent a man as Sir Joshua, but he was the only man of any
eminence who ever lived in Lustleigh, at any rate, the only one in the
Dictionary of National Biography. It was at Lustleigh that he did the work
on which his reputation rests—I have described it in my first Small Talk,
pages 32 to 34—and for forty years, as curate for an absent pluralist, he was
devoted to the interests of the place. It was as scandalous for Lustleigh to
sell a gift of his as for Plympton to have sold Sir Joshua’s.
The strange thing is that Davy should have made a gift to Lustleigh,
knowing what had happened to the gift of Robert Phipps. By his Will (2
October 1676) Phipps gave £40 to be bestowed in lands of inheritance, the
rents and profits whereof were to be employed to buy linen cloth at Easter
for such old men and women of the parish of Lustleigh as had none or little
relief from the parish, the linen cloth to be dowlas of 10d. per yard or
thereabouts, and each poor man or woman to have three yards. The linen
was distributed until 1802, and then the trust-fund disappeared, and has not
been heard of since. It had not been invested in land; and this may have
been the reason why Davy chose to give a piece of land in his own lifetime
rather than bequeath a sum of money by Will.
He could have given the school a larger income by putting his £325 into
the Three per Cents. at the price they stood at then. As he did not do that, he
would hardly have approved of selling the land and putting the proceeds
into Funding Loan, though this will give a larger income than the rent in
recent years. The present rent is not the only thing to be considered in trusts
that are in perpetuity. Harrow accepted a fixed annual sum in lieu of the rent
of land that then was farms and now is part of London.
 At the Parish Meeting there was an overwhelming majority against the
sale—only five people voting for it—and nearly the same majority for a
resolution calling on the trustees to resign. But the sale was carried through
by a majority of the trustees in spite of every protest. Three of the trustees
in the majority were people who had only lately come to live in Lustleigh,
and the most active of them was a new arrival who soon went away. Things
have changed since Parson Davy’s time. He was here for forty years
himself: the living of Lustleigh was held by two Rectors for ninety-six
years, 1791 to 1887; and the living of Bovey was held by two Vicars for a
hundred years, 1735 to 1835. In the present century there have already been
four Rectors of Lustleigh, and the vacancies have not been caused by death.
These people who come and go, will never take the same amount of
interest in a place as those who spend the best part of their lives there; and
they may even take delight in doing some lasting damage to a place that has
not quite appreciated them. That is a kindly view to take. Unkind people
called the sale a job; and nobody believed the talk of getting more money
for school prizes—Lustleigh is some miles from Buncombe. If more money
was wanted for the prizes, there were plenty of people who would have
subscribed the few pounds’ difference between the rent of the meadow and
the interest on the Funding Loan.
The new-comers at Lustleigh always call the old school-house ‘the old
vestry’ for some reason that I cannot comprehend—vestry-meetings were
held in one of the rooms there, but the building was always called the
school. What they call ‘the new vestry’ is an excrescence from the church: it
is in the angle between the chancel and south transept, spoiling the exterior
of the church, and making the interior dark by blocking windows up. It
contains the organ; and organs are not always worth the space they take and
the disfigurement they cause. The south transept of Exeter Cathedral is
disfigured by a row of 32-foot pipes, standing by themselves; and this bit of
hideousness only gives a dozen extra notes. I do not think the extra notes
are worth the sacrifice.
Churches suffer badly from additions and improvements and injudicious
gifts, and Lustleigh church has suffered very badly in that way—there is
always something being done. A pavement of coloured marbles has just
been laid down in the chancel there, to replace a pavement of encaustic tiles
that was laid down sixty years ago in place of the old pavement of rough
granite slabs. The tiles were an Albert Memorial, and had the monogram of
V. and A.; but they were very slippery, and it looked undignified for any
cleric to sit down unexpectedly upon the chancel floor. The marble
pavement is a gift, and people consider it unmannerly to look a gift-horse in
the mouth, even if the beast is not worth stabling. Nevertheless, there is a
way of saying courteously that your stable is unworthy of such a noble
steed, and the steed might find some better stabling in another place.
When a building has a character of its own, you ought not merely to
abstain from putting in things that are out of character with it: you ought to
put in things that will bring its character out. Siena cathedral is a gorgeous
building, and it has the finest pavement in the world; and the pavement
makes the building look more gorgeous still. You can tell exactly how much
the building is indebted to the pavement, as the pavement is covered over
with boarding (to protect it) during a great part of the year, and then the
building looks comparatively poor. If the Siena pavement could be laid in
Lustleigh church, it would not give splendour to the church: it would only
make you discontented with the roughness of the pillars and arches and the
effigies of the old knights who held the place six centuries ago. The old
pavement of rough granite slabs was far more suited to the rugged grandeur
of the church.
There may, of course, be additions to a church which are so splendid in
themselves that the church itself sinks into insignificance beside them: such,
for example, as Maximilian’s tomb with its attendant statues in the church
at Innsbruck. Had there been anything of that kind here, few people would
have cared what happened to the church itself. But the additions here have
only been the ordinary things in marble, brass, mosaic, painting, coloured
glass; and they have made this rugged moorland church look quite
suburban.
There are two great monuments in Bovey church, one to Nicholas
Eveleigh, who died in 1620, and the other to Elizæus Hele, who died in
1635. Elizæus was better known as Pious-Uses Hele, having given his
estates away for pious uses—amongst other things, Blue Maids’ Hospital at
Exeter had £50 a-year from Bovey mill. He married Eveleigh’s widow; and
she erected these monuments to her two husbands, though both of them
were buried elsewhere. There is a recumbent figure of each husband, and in
Hele’s case there are also kneeling figures of the wife and a former wife and
a young son who had died. Over the recumbent figure there is a rounded
arch with columns, architrave, etc., as if it were a gateway; and in the
earlier monument the style is pure Italian of a hundred years before,
whereas the later monument is what is called Jacobean, with the Italian
style debased by Flemish and German methods. The change is curious: after
the Italian of 1620, one would expect the Palladian of Inigo Jones in 1635
rather than this belated Jacobean.
They stand on the north and south sides of the chancel, almost touching
the east end; and on the east wall between them there was mahogany
panelling with columns and festoons carved in the style of Grinling
Gibbons. The panelling just suited the monuments and enhanced their
merits; but there came a time when it was the ambition of the clergy to
make their chancels look like show-rooms in church-furnishers’ shops; and
then the panelling was taken down and thrown into a barn. The present
Vicar has brought it back, and put it at the west end of the church; and I
hope that it will some day go back to the east end, and oust the rubbish that
is there.
He has also brought back the royal-arms that were thrown out at the
same time, and has put them in the arch below the tower. These royal-arms
are a grand piece of wood-carving, set up at the Restoration together with
the arms of archbishop Laud and bishop Hall of Exeter, with suitable
inscriptions about “that wicked and bloody Parliment.” They stood on the
screen, with the royal shield just where the rood had been, and the Lion and
the Unicorn in the places of the Blessed Virgin and Saint John.
The rood-loft has been reconstructed (but without a rood) and I do not
think it has improved the church. However small a church may be, the rood-
loft must be large enough for people to pass along it to the rood, and may
thus be very much too large to suit the church. And this new rood-loft looks
too large, though Bovey church is not so very small. Most churches, I
suspect, looked all the better for the compromise of 10 October 1561, which
took away their rood-lofts and left them their screens.
By this compromise the rood-loft is to be “so altered that the upper part
of the same, with the soller, be quite taken down unto the upper parts of the
vaults and beam running in length over the said vaults ... putting some
convenient crest upon the said beam.” If the rood-loft has already been
removed and “there remain a comely partition betwixt the chancel and the
church,” no alteration is to be attempted; but “where no partition is
standing,” a partition must be built.
 In this district the screens usually are woodwork, elaborately carved:
very few are stone. The beam is eight or ten feet from the ground, and is
supported by uprights three or four feet apart; and between the uprights
there is solid panelling to a height of about three feet, and then open tracery
for the rest of the height, making a sort of Gothic window with its arched
head touching the beam and springing from the uprights two or three feet
below. At the springing of these arched window-heads there were segments
of arches, springing out on each side of the screen, and combining with the
window-heads to form a kind of vaulting underneath the soller, or rood-loft
floor. The rood-loft was approached by a staircase in the thickness of the
wall or in a little turret outside, with entrance and exit both inside the
church; and where the rood-loft has been taken down, the exit leads out on
to the little pinnacles of the ‘crest’ of the beam; and then the effect is comic,
as no one but a rope-dancer could ever walk along them. It is so in
Lustleigh church and in many others. On the Lustleigh screen there are
carvings of pomegranates—the badge of Aragon—and possibly the screen
dates from the time of Catherine of Aragon or her daughter. But the
pomegranates have their sides cut open to show the grains inside, and thus
look very like bunches of grapes with leaves enclosing them. In early
Christian art palm-trees grew into candlesticks with candles in them, the
leaves becoming the flame; and I rather suspect a similar transformation
here.
Many rood-lofts were taken down by Henry VIII and Edward VI, but
several were put up again by Mary, and some were never taken down at all.
Opinion was divided; and this compromise of Elizabeth’s (which covered
many other points) was “for the avoiding of much strife and contention that
have heretofore arisen among the Queen’s subjects in divers parts of the
realm.” In this part of England the strife and contention had taken the form
of open rebellion in 1549; and the rebels came to Bovey. In answer to some
interrogatories, 4 January 1602, Richard Clannaborough of Lustleigh,
yeoman, “of the age of fowerscore and ten yeares or there aboutes,” said he
had known Bovey mill “ever synce the Commotion in the tyme of the
raigne of the late Kinge Edward the Sixth.”
This rebellion, usually called the Commotion, began on Whitmonday, 10
June, the new prayer-book having come into use on Whit-sunday; and it
went on until 6 August, when the King’s men defeated the rebels on Clyst
Heath and raised the siege of Exeter. The siege had lasted for five weeks,
and seemed likely to end in a capitulation, as supplies were running short
and many of the citizens were in favour of the rebels. These rebels carried
the Host with them on a wagon—as at the Battle of the Standard in 1138—
and these were some of their demands. ‘Wee wil have al the general
councels and holy decrees of our forefathers observed kept and performed;
and whosoever shal again-say them, we hold them as hereticks.’ ‘We wil
have the Bible and al books of Scripture in English to be called in again.’
‘We wil not receive the new service, because it is but like a Christmas
game; but we wil have our old service of Mattins, Mass, Evensong and
Procession in Latine, as it was before. And so we the Cornish men, whereof
certain of us understand no English, utterly refuse this new English.’
Those rebels (or their leaders) showed great sense in their demands for
Latin prayers and books. They wanted something sonorous to which they
could give a general assent, and saw that if it were in English they would
soon be squabbling over details. And people have been squabbling over
details ever since.
Mesopotamia is notoriously a blessed word, but in some cases a
mistranslation. Parapotamia is less sonorous, but sometimes more exact—
the country on the west side of the Euphrates, not the east side. But people
do not care much where such places were, provided that the names sound
well. One day some foreigners were here; and somebody heard me talking
to them, and then went telling everybody else, “Strangers come here from
all parts to visit’n, and to each one of’n he speaketh in their own tongues,
Parthians and Medes and Elamites and all the rest of’n.”
In some places in the south of Italy they still read the Gospels in Greek
on certain festivals; and I once heard this reading, but cannot now
remember where. I do not think the congregation understood a word of it,
but they mostly put on the expression of connoisseurs when sampling a rare
wine. In ancient times there was a ritual of that sort at Pæstum—Athenæos
quotes an account of it (XIV. 31) from one of the lost works of Aristoxenos
of Tarentum about 300 B.C. The descendants of the old Greek settlers had
become ‘barbarians,’ that is to say, they had adopted the manners and
customs and the language of their neighbours there; but once a year they
had a day of lamentation on which they spoke Greek words in memory of
the past. I have seen something like that in Jerusalem, at the Place of
Wailing at the foot of the great wall. Jews go there to wail and pray; and I
was told that many of them did not know the meaning of the Hebrew words
they used.
Whether it is understandable or not, the English of the Bible is very fine
indeed; but not, I think, so perfect as people generally say. It is difficult to
judge, as it has now become a standard, like the English of Shakespeare’s
plays. Ben Jonson thought that some of Shakespeare’s lines might be
improved; and he was a good judge. People now think the weakest lines
superb; and they admire the Bible also without discrimination.
There is no virtue in using a language that is ‘understanded of the
people,’ if it is used for saying things that will be misinterpreted. In modern
English ‘virgin’ means ‘virgo intacta,’ but that is not the meaning of ‘almah’
in the Hebrew of Isaiah, VII. 14. Every schoolboy knows (to his cost) that
‘deum’ is accusative, not vocative; and Te Deum is mistranslated—the older
part may be heretical or even pagan. There are hundreds and thousands of
these mistranslations and misinterpretations and statements that are
unintelligible without long explanation. Readers very often fail to see the
meaning of it all, and sometimes will not face the meaning when it is quite
clear.
No doubt, Scripture is taught in every school; but there are many ways
of teaching it. Lustleigh has a County Council school, and the Scripture
teaching is regulated by a County Council syllabus. The syllabus says what
things the children are to read, and what they are to learn by heart; and
when people grumble at the Education Rate, I remind them that every well-
taught child in Devon can say the names of the Ten Plagues of Egypt as
glibly as a parrot. And then, of course, they feel that they are getting value
for their money.
Old folk used to search the Scriptures very diligently here, and picked up
words and phrases that they used in most embarrassing ways. One old lady
told me in sorrow and in wrath, “The Parson, he come here, and I spoke
Scripture to’n. And ‘good mornin’,’ he saith, ‘good mornin’,’ and up he
were and away over they steps ’fore I could say another word.” I found that
she had used some words the Parson had to read in church but did not wish
to hear elsewhere.
I have two volumes here of Miracles and Lives of Saints, with coloured
plates; and two small children who came to stay with me, used to call them
the Funny Books, as the pictures in them were so funny. By the time these
children came again, they had just learned to read; but I forgot this when I
let them have the Funny Books again, and presently a little voice read out,
“Now a certain nun became with child, and....” I stopped the reading, but
could not stop the questions that they asked.
A small boy of my acquaintance had duly learned to say his prayers and
was having a course of Scripture stories, but went on strike when he was
told of the creation of Eve. He said that it was mean of God to put Adam to
sleep and then take a rib away; and to show God what he thought of it, he
would stop off saying his prayers. The strike lasted for six weeks.
The creation of Eve is sculptured in relief on the Campanile at Florence
and on the Façade of Orvieto Cathedral; and in these reliefs (and also in
some others) the sculptors have kept closely to their text, ‘God created Man
in his own image.’ Adam and the Creator are exactly alike, even in the
growth of the beard and the arrangement of the hair—the same model
served for both. Anthropomorphism is an artifice that must be used, and I
think those sculptors used it more effectively than Michaelangelo. In his
frescoes in the Sistine Chapel he makes Adam a young man of twenty and
the Creator an old man of seventy, not the least like Adam, and neither
human nor divine. There is a picture by Pesellino in the National Gallery
(No. 727) portraying the three Persons of the Trinity. An old lady told me,
forty years ago, that she took one of her maids there soon after this picture
had arrived: the maid stared at the First Person for some considerable time,
and then said, “Lor’, mum, d’you think it’s like?”
In King’s College Chapel at Cambridge the central figure in the great
east window, usually mistaken for God Almighty, is really Pontius Pilate;
and I am always pleased to see him on his judgement-seat up there—it is
some compensation for the ignorant abuse that is poured out on him from
pulpits. In the case before the Court the Prisoner had pleaded guilty—‘thou
sayest’—to the charge of claiming to be a King: the Prosecution would not
allow the charge to be withdrawn; and the Judge was bound to pass the
sentence which the Law prescribed.
I fancy Pilate may have misinterpreted a phrase. Julius Cæsar had been
canonized as ‘divus,’ and Augustus therefore styled himself ‘divi filius,’ and
afterwards was also canonized as ‘divus.’ But while ‘divi filius’ and ‘dei
filius’ were quite distinct in Latin, they were both translated into Greek as
‘theou uios.’ (There is no question of misreadings here: the phrase is in
inscriptions and on coins.) Saint Paul says that the Gentiles thought his
doctrines ‘foolishness,’ and Pilate might think it ‘foolishness’ for anyone to
claim to be a son of God; but it would be a serious matter for anyone to
claim to be a son of the late Emperor, especially if he also claimed to be a
King.
The ancient portraits of Christ are of two different types, the oldest
portraits making him a beardless youth, and more recent portraits making
him a bearded man. The very old portraits agree with the tradition (Luke, II.
2) that the Nativity was at the time of the census by Quirinius. That was at
the end of 6 or beginning of 7 A.D., and the Crucifixion may have been as
early as the spring of 27 A.D., as Pilate was in office then: in which case
there obviously could not be any genuine portraits of Christ above the age
of twenty. The more recent portraits agree with the traditions that make
Christ over thirty at the Crucifixion. But in these portraits it is another kind
of face, not the same face in maturer years; and the youthful face is usually
much pleasanter, betokening a Deity who would delight in turning water
into wine.
I should account for the two heads by saying that the bearded head was
originally meant for John the Baptist, and mistaken afterwards for Christ. At
any rate, John has a bearded head like this in those early representations of
the Baptism where Christ is portrayed as a beardless youth. But the bearded
head is universally accepted now, and it has been idealized. The greatest of
these imaginary portraits is Leonardo da Vinci’s in his fresco of the Last
Supper—at any rate it was so when I first saw it (1869) and for some years
after that, but when I saw it last (1913) the whole fresco had been washed
over with some preservative, and it did not seem the same. Perhaps
Leonardo had read more into the Gospels than is really there: one might
think that Christ was saying sorrowfully, those were the best disciples he
could get, and what a gang they were—if one of them did not betray him,
another one would. There is the gesture of the hands, and the face is full of
disappointment and disdain.
There is a stained-glass window in the Guildhall at Plymouth depicting
the inauguration of the building by the Prince of Wales in 1874; and this is
the only window I have seen in which a chimney-pot hat is represented in
stained glass. The hat has come out well—the stained glass gives it all the
lustre of hot-ironing. Designers of commemorative windows might brighten
up their works by putting in a few such hats; and artistically this chimney-
pot is every bit as good as the rectangular haloes of a thousand years before.
Charlemagne had a rectangular halo in a mosaic in the Lateran: Theodora
and Pope Paschal still have rectangular haloes in the mosaics in saint
Praxed’s church at Rome; and the Prince of Wales would have had a
rectangular halo, had he been living then.
Saints and angels had round haloes, but other people had to be content
with square or oblong haloes while they were alive. I do not know why this
was so, or what a halo really was—whether it was a thing like a rainbow
which always faces you, or whether it was a flat and rigid thing which you
saw obliquely when the wearer turned aside: the Old Masters have depicted
it both ways. For want of higher authority I draw my own conclusions from
such things as Toto Maidalchini says: namely, that saint Cassian, being
puzzled, scratched his head, and thereby put his halo all awry; or that saints
Pancras and Sebastian went bathing in one of the rivers of Paradise, and
then sat upon the river bank while their haloes were drying in the sun.
The rectangular halo is very useful for determining dates: it shows that
the fresco or mosaic was executed in the lifetime of the personage who has
the halo. But mosaics often need repairing—the little glass cubes get loose
and come away—and after centuries of small repairs there may not be much
of the original left, even if it has not all been taken down at various times in
order to repair the wall behind it. When I was in Rome in 1876 the mosaics
in the apse of the Lateran were lying on the floor. One of the Canons
explained to me that they were just taking down the apse and rebuilding it a
little further back, as the choir did not give them space enough for
ceremonial. (I thought the Canons might have been content with what had
satisfied the greatest Popes; and I tried to tell him so.) When the apse had
been rebuilt, the mosaics were put back in it: a creditable bit of Nineteenth
Century work, but still described as Thirteenth in the guides.
One day in 1874 I was on the tower of the Pleissenburg at Leipzig
looking at the battlefield—it is a wide view, extending to Luetzen and the
battlefield of 1632. There was an old man up there who had been in the
great battle (1813) and I asked him whereabouts the windmill was, from
which Napoleon watched it. He pointed out the windmill, and added with a
grin, “Windmill burned down: man build another: man say it same.”—
When the Campanile at Venice was being built up again, the brickwork
‘sweated’ and gave the red a curious tinge of white; and in the evenings in
the glare of the Piazza I could have sworn it was the ghost of the old
Campanile that I had seen there forty years before. That was in 1909; but
when I saw it in 1913, I felt that the old Campanile had come to life again.
If buildings are burnt out or tumble down, there is no remedy but
reconstruction. But people are too fond of reconstructing buildings that are
still intact, and making them ‘as good as new.’ If they want to know what a
building looked like when it was new, they can surely build a copy of it
somewhere else, and go and look at that: instead of putting a new front on
the north transept of Westminster Abbey, they might have stuck it on a
building like Truro Cathedral which is completely new. And the new front is
not even a true copy of the original front—amongst other things, it has
eleven little arches where there could never have been more than eight.
When I go to see a historic building, I want to see it as it really was, not as a
modern architect may think it should have been; and when I find a
Thirteenth Century design just finished in fresh stone, I feel the work is out
of date or I am out of date myself—instead of a black coat and chimney-
pot, I ought to be in gold brocade with crimson tights and a feather in my
cap.
Judged by its architecture Truro Cathedral would be about two centuries
earlier than the old church which is built into it, and it really is about four
centuries later. The church may pass for an addition to an older building,
when the new stonework has lost its glare. No doubt, in Burgos Cathedral
the triforium is of an earlier style than the arches underneath it, though they
were built at the same time; but Gothic was not indigenous in Spain, and
Burgos was designed by German architects in an eclectic way. I do not
think that this absurdity exists elsewhere, except as a result of alterations: at
Furness Abbey, I feel sure, the arches in the transepts originally were round
(like those in the triforium up above them) and were converted into pointed
arches afterwards. The walls were weakened by these alterations, and that
was why the central tower fell; at least, I think so.
The round archways in the cloisters show how splendid Furness Abbey
would have been with its original design. But the old church-builders never
knew when to stop: they ran after all the latest fashions in design, and in
fact were out (as we should say) to beat the record. Their flying-buttresses
were towers of force: at least, a verger told me that a bishop said so. But
their biggest efforts often failed—Amiens Cathedral looks all right when
you see it from the triforium, but you generally see it from the floor, and
then it looks too high. And there were many problems that they never
solved at all: for instance, they built naves like tunnels and just walled them
up at the west end, whereas a nave requires a narthex or an apse or some
such thing to terminate it.
Gothic is never at its best except in ruins—Chartres does not equal
Tintern—and I have felt this even here. Lower Wreyland is an ordinary bit
of cottage architecture; but there was no roof on the north end of it for
several weeks in 1901, and then it looked quite grand with a granite gable
standing out against the sky, and moonlight streaming through the empty
windows. One’s appreciation of a building will always be affected by the
atmosphere in which one may have seen it. In going up the Nile in 1882 my
boat stuck in the mud close by Kom Ombo on a brilliant moonlight night;
and I thought the temple there as beautiful a thing as I had ever seen, but
changed my mind on seeing it by daylight as I came down stream. So also
at Granada, I was once in the Alhambra on a rainy day, 22 September 1877,
and could hardly believe it was the building that looked so like a fairy
palace when I had seen it in the scorching sun. And with some pictures also,
such as Tintoretto’s Bacchus and Ariadne in the Doge’s Palace or
Michaelangelo’s Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel, there is no life or
beauty in them unless the sun is strong enough to bring the colouring out.
We have not sun enough in England to justify the use of Classic
architecture or Palladian. These styles demand the glare of Greece and Italy;
and sometimes that is not enough—in bleak places, such as Phigaleia or
Segesta, I have found the old Greek temples too austere without their
ancient colouring. However, these styles are now established here; and the
only consolation is that they are all reduced to rule, so that ambitious
architects do not come to grief with them as badly as with Gothic.
One of the worst faults of English architects is that when they have a
building of great width, they put a portico or some such ‘feature’ in the
centre and another at each end, and thus destroy the broad effect of width
without creating an effect of height. The old Museum at Berlin was more
imposing with its eighteen columns in a single line than the British Museum
with its forty-four in different lines projecting at the centre and the ends;
and with a colonnade the whole width of Trafalgar Square, the National
Gallery might not have been unworthy of its site. At the Imperial Institute
there is a tower in the middle and a tower near each end. The towers would
be commendable, if they stood out alone; but the main building detracts
from their effect of height, and they detract from its effect of breadth: and
this is waste. Yet a tower does not impair the effect, if it divides a long front
into two unequal parts, like the Rath-haus tower at Leipzig, built in 1556. I
cannot understand why this is so, but observation has convinced me that it
is a fact.
Architecture is not to be picked up from books: you have to go to see the
buildings for yourself. There are books condemning the corners of the
Valmarana Palace at Vicenza, and these certainly look feeble in Palladio’s
design. The design just shows the building by itself; but really it is in a
street, with lower buildings on each side of it. The corners carry your eyes
down to these, and are exactly right.
In contrast with the Valmarana, the Casa del Diavolo has a most
uncompromising corner, as if Palladio meant the building to look higher
than it really is, and dwarf all its surroundings. Apparently, it was to have
six columns along the front with five narrow windows squeezed in between
them, but it has only three columns and two windows: the rest was never
built. They are gigantic columns on high pedestals; and these vertical lines
do as much for the effect of height here as the horizontal lines of the
Basilica for its effect of breadth. There is also a house at Exeter (84, Queen
Street) which I always call the Casa del Diavolo, with no aspersions on the
occupier or the owner, but just because it is a little like that building at
Vicenza. It has only four columns, though wide enough for five or six: its
windows are too wide, and the columns have no pedestals; and thus it
misses most of the effect of the real thing.
In ‘this sweete towne,’ as Evelyn describes Vicenza, ‘full of gentlemen
and splendid palaces,’ the Teatro Olimpico was completed from Palladio’s
designs in 1584 and was inaugurated with a play of Sophocles. (I have often
wondered what Shakespeare would have made of it, had he been present
there.) The scenery is solid architecture, built according to perspective so
that you may think that you are looking down long streets. But when a man
goes down the street, you see him growing bigger and bigger in proportion
to the houses on each side of him; and all illusion is dispelled. I feel the
actors should be life-size marionettes that could be dwarfed down by
deflation when they make their exits at the back. This scenery that does not
shift, has never been a real success; nor has the auditorium. Palladio was
copying Vitruvius, and made it pseudo-Roman; and a modern audience
looks as foolish there as in the Bradfield theatre, which is pseudo-Greek.
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