xxi
VEDA stared at Raphael's depiction of Justice, a seated woman wielding a sword and carrying scales. A note told her that Raphael had decorated the private apartments of Julius II with such figures and that as Julius had lain on his death bed, he had instructed the guards, resplendent in the orange and blue uniforms designed for them by Michelangelo, to turn him round so he could "look fierce Justice in the face. As in life, so in death". On February 20 1513, the Pope quoted his beloved Dante "Vedea visi a carita suadi" ("I saw faces persuasive to charity"), a reference perhaps to the figure before him, and died.
The story of Julius' League and the emergence of J.A.S.On was fascinating. Her fellow travellers were members of an organisation with a long history of promoting free thinking and tolerance albeit within a comparatively repressive framework. The reconciliation of the two was not entirely convincing to an outsider such as herself. The link with England, the Restoration and the Glorious Revolution was shadowy. The English Jacobites had, she assumed, appropriated J.A.S.On for their own ends and yoked two campaigns, one religious, one political, together, pivoting on the axis and symbolic ramifications of the deposition of a Catholic King. One might, with a sigh, reflect with Dante on "poca nostra nobilita di sangue".
The old Jowett Javelin lurched suddenly as Mr Jambres turned off the A1 at Leeming for the B684. It had been a fairly straightforward journey down the Al or A1(M). The only problems had been the strong, bright sun reflecting off the driver's shiny face, the fumes from the funnel clenched between his teeth and the enthusiastic treble trilling and baritone rumbling of her travelling companions.
"u3 + v3 = x3 + y3," sang Jerboa, strapped securely beside her in the back. He was dressed again in his royal blue anorak and rust brown sweater, and his satchel contained a selection of Mrs Jambres' sandwiches, ham (with a marked green sheen like weak washing-up liquid streaking the grain) and cheese (waxy, yellow shavings, curly and crisp). "r3 + s3 = u3 + v3 = x3 + y3"
"But," replied Jarrah Jambres from the driver's seat, "u3 + v3 + w3 = x3 + y3 + z3"
"And," added Jazey Joskin from the front passenger seat, "r4 + s4 + t4 = u4 + v4 + w4 = x4 + y4 + z"
How they'd laughed!
Veda figured you had to be mad to belong to JASOn. She watched the countryside flowing past her, rolling hills, occasional copses, straggly hedgerows, soot-stained outbuildings.
Jerboa informed her solemnly that the fattest man in English history had been the Reverend Joseph Coltman of Beverley who had weighed 42 stone and required two men to propel him into his specially widened and reinforced pulpit via a ramp.
"Here we are," announced Mr Jambres as they passed a sign reading
JERVAULX
Welcomes careful drivers
The festival was taking place in the grounds of the old abbey. As the car manoeuvred through the streets of the village, Jerboa's excitement mounted and he began shifting in his seat, waving and squealing "There's Jamal Jincx," and "Hey, it's Jackie Jezail."
Veda watched the crowds swarming towards the ruins, parents clutching children by sweet-sticky hands, pushchairs, balloons on strings, a collection of shorts and sun-reddened legs, floppy white hats and dark tinted shades, ice creams and excited anticipation. Many people were wearing white T-shirts bearing the letter
J
on the front, and the legend
THE JAY
WILL COME
over a picture of a jay on the back.
"Yowzer," cried Jerboa. "Cool T-shirts. Can I have one?"
"Sure," said Jambres, honking his way through the throng to the car park.
"I didn't realise there would be so many people," murmured Veda.
"Oh," said Jazey Joskin, "The Jamboree is our annual highlight."
"And especially this year," added Jarrah Jambres, easing the metal nose of the old black car between two gateposts with delicate care.
Jazey had apologized for not being able to give Veda a personal tour of the Festival. He was acting in a Japanese Noh Play. In fact, a lecture on Noh Plays had been the only thing he'd delivered last night. Forty-two seconds or thereabouts and he had squirted feebly over the sheepskin. Perhaps she should have let him roger her with the leek after all.
Veda clambered from the Javelin, leaving Jerboa struggling to free himself from the nylon restraints, Jazey Joskin besieged by people with clipboards and Mr Jambres trying to squeeze his vehicle into a narrow space between a motorcycle and a brick wall. She looked around at what remained of the Cistercian's foundation of
Jervaulx Abbey
In 1156, Abbot John de Kingston took a group of monks from an abbey in Wensleydale to land granted by Canan, Earl of Richmond. Here was built the Abbey of Yorevale (or Jorval), so called because of its proximity to the River Yore (or Ure).
Although the foundation remained dependent upon Byland Abbey and was almost always in poor financial circumstances, it did, at the height of its prosperity, own half of the Ure Valley including the benefices of Anderby and Aysgarth. The church contains the rood screen and Abbot's stall removed from Jervaulx at the time of the Dissolution and an inscription in the Vestry
A.S. Abbas D'ne 1536
which refers to the last Abbot of Jervaulx, Adam Sedbar. Sedbar was arrested in1537 for converting part of the abbey plate for use by rebels. He was executed for High Treason in the Tower of London. His name can still be seen carved on the wall of his cell.
The Church (270 feet long and 63 feet wide) was dedicated to St Mary, marking the collective vision of Abbot John and twelve of his monks close to the river site when, lost in the forest on their way from Byland to Fors, they were guided to safety by the Virgin and Child. In the centre of the Church, between the two transepts, is the cross-legged effigy of a knight in armour carved in Durham and representing Henry Fitzhugh, a descendant of the Earls of Richmond and a major benefactor buried in 1307, whilst in the Nave stands a stone inscribed
T. Dunwell Cuno' Sci Leonardi Ebor
The Cistercians themselves were founded in 1098 by Robert, an Abbot from Moline in Burgundy, with the first statutes being drawn up in 1100. The Cistercian monks originally wore black habits but, following a visionary visit of Mary (Mother of Jesus) to St Alberic, the habit was changed to white in accordance with the visitor's virginal status. The Cistercian order was abstemious to the point of ascetic, wearing neither shirts nor skins and refraining from the eating of meat, eggs and cheese, although a quantity of meat bones unearthed near the kitchen at Jervaulx indicate that the members of this particular abbey were perhaps less severe in the application of such dietary restrictions. They observed a strict silence and spent their days reading, working and praying. They were extremely charitable towards the poor.
Veda wandered through the ruins, through kitchens and fraters, the buttery and the lavatory, past the bases of octagonal columns, under moss-covered arches, and into the Chapter House (marked with an F on her ground plan) for a series of Hic Jacets. Here she learned that
Joh'is P'M Abbis Jorvallis
was buried in the "lst Tumba" (or tomb), whilst the second contained
Wil'i (te)rcii Abbis Jorval
and in the third reposed the remains of the splendidly named
.... cl .... Qnti,
Abbatis de Jorevall
She remembered an interview for a job at the Swaledale Gazette in which she had been asked to name, in forty-two seconds, as many Yorkshire abbeys as she could.
(Fountains (nr Ripon), Egglestone (nr Barnard Castle), Rievaulx (nr Helmsley),
Byland (nr Ampleforth and close to Coxwold and Shandy Hall, home of Laurence
Sterne), Kirkstall (in Leeds), Bolton (on the banks of the Wharfe at Addingham),
and Whitby (founded by St Hilda in Whitby, (as in the Whitby Synod, AD 664)))
She had bizarrely omitted Jervaulx (nr nowhere, but the banks of the Ure, or Yore, or Eure) and she had not got the job. Now she knew why. She had seen another (inevitable) inscription of J A So n on
the door lintel.
A large stage with enormous speakers and an overhead canopy dominated the centre of the field, the few remaining walls of the monastery providing an interesting backdrop. Flanking a wide grassy path to this stage were a number of trestle tables laden with raffia mats, second-hand books, clay pots, homemade pickles and jams, and, of course, cakes. Behind the stage, several ice cream vans vied for trade from the children whilst a hotdog and burger stall, placed strategically by the exit from the beer tent, enticed the parents with the smells of frying onions.
Veda picked through discarded ketchup-smeared napkins and taut nylon guy ropes supporting bright orange tents. The Cistercian monastery, a place founded to promote silence and tranquillity, contemplation and meditation, had been converted into a camp site, a fairground, dedicated now to hustle and bustle and the jingling of coins. She glanced with little interest over the pots of honey, Beekeeper's Delight from Ramsey Island, and bottles of Jubilee ale and came instead to a low trestle table covered in cardboard boxes and jigsaw puzzles. Displayed on the overhead banner:
THE JIGSAW MAKER
_est. 1976, Jedburgh, Scotland.
All the jigsaws seemed to be Renaissance or Mannerist artworks.
"This is a nice one," the Jigsaw Maker held up the da Vinci cartoon of SS Mary and Ann and the infants Jesus and John (the Baptist), "Or maybe Bronzino's Allegory." (of Monty Python foot fame)
"What about this one?" Correggio's Rape of Ganymede (by Jupiter disguised as an eagle).
"Hmm," mused the Jigsaw Maker. "If you're interested in that style and period, I've got this." He produced from under the table a neatly packaged Parmigianino. "It's a detail from The Vision of Saint Jerome," he said. "There are some notes on the back."
She turned over the box. The jigsaw pieces cascaded inside the cardboard container. A huge essay was printed on the reverse. "Some notes?" she said.
Parmigianino - The Vision of St Jerome
On the morning of 6 May 1527, the Germano-Spanish army launched its attack, advancing steadily through the fog from the hill of Janiculum to the Vatican, and began to scale the walls. Pope Clement, warned by the French envoy, broke off from his prayers, covered his white robes in a purple cloak lent him by Bishop Paolo Giovio, and hurried across the bridge to hide out in the Castel S. Angelo whilst the invaders swept into Rome. Only the Swiss Guard resisted and almost all of them died. In the first day, 8,000 people were killed. For six more days, the massacre continued until 13,000 Romans lay dead. 2,000 bodies lay floating in the Tiber, a judgment on the wickedness of the city and, by extension, its church.
The Germans, who were principally Lutheran, looted, pillaged and ransacked the churches, showing a depth of religious hatred unknown in any previous occupation, even the Norman invasion of 1084. Stories abounded of the mercenaries playing dice and cards for captured nuns, dressing up in cardinals' robes and parodying hymns and psalms, sacking the Sapienza, destroying Vatican manuscripts and even attempting to remove the golden threads from Raphael's tapestries. There was, however, one notable departure from this ruffianly behaviour. The painter Francesco Mazzola (born in Parma in 1503 and consequently known as Parmigianino, or "Little Parmesan") was at work in Rome on a large altarpiece depicting John the Baptist kneeling at the feet of Mary and the baby Jesus. German soldiers broke into his studio and were so impressed by the quality of the art that they left him alone. Parmigianino was so thankful that he added to the background the sleeping figure of Saint Jerome, patron saint of humanists and translator of the Vulgate Bible (the Vulgate of Jerome), who had, he believed, spared him. The painting, now in the collection of the National Gallery in London (built close to the site once occupied by the Jubilee Theatre off the Charing Cross Road), has consequently become known as the Vision of St Jerome, although there is no evidence that Jerome ever had any such vision at all. Parmigianino himself, however, abandoned painting in later life for alchemy and experiments with mercury, changing from a delicate, amiable person into a bearded, long-haired and almost wild man beset by melancholia.
Parmigianino's style was influenced heavily by Antonio Allegri, nicknamed "Correggio" after the town in Emilia in which he was born around 1494. Correggio's output was dominated by the technical originality of Madonna and Child with SS Jerome and Mary Magdalen (the bright colours range from rose to russet) and the homoeroticism of the Rape of Ganymede. Correggio and Parmigianino were both to die young in the same year of 1540.
From Visionaries and Journeymen: Art and Artists in the Renaissance (Jackdaw Press)
by Jeroen Vanderbildt (Reproduced with the author's kind permission)
"Here's a free catalogue." The Jigsaw Maker pressed a glossy brochure into her hand. It was full of pictures, Avercamp, Breughel, Titian, Hals and Vermeer, Janzoon's map of Jason's Valiant Journey, Giorgone's Judith, her foot on Holofernes' head, Dürer's woodcut of St Jerome. Vanderbildt's notes accompanied each design.
"I don't suppose you have a jigsaw of The Bean King by Jacob Jordaens," said Veda.
The Jigsaw Maker regarded her coldly. "The Bean King is not a suitable subject for something as frivolous as a jigsaw puzzle," he answered.
"And the Christ Child is?"
The Jigsaw Maker from Jedburgh merely looked at her. She shrugged, pocketed the catalogue, bought a jigsaw of Dürer's St Jerome, which she later found had a piece missing, and moved on to a stall laden with a variety of objects and objets d'art,
icons;
candles;
joss sticks in scents from amber to ylang ylang;
painted wooden cats;
small wooden statuettes and other tribal carvings,
tiny wooden dragon claws vaguely familiar
a bowl of coloured gemstones.
"Yes, my darling?" The attendant was beaming warmly across the table. She was in her middle thirties with a mass of vaguely spiky black hair and purply-black eyeliner, a mellow voice and manner and a bright necklace of highly polished stones in reddish-orange, bluey-green and yellow around her throat.
"Could I have a look at that dragon's claw, please? It reminds me of a wardrobe..."
"...at the Junction Hotel in Jarrow," finished the owner. "Of course it does, lovey." She plucked one of the tiny carvings from its position behind a yellow, orange and scarlet striped cat. "And it's not a dragon. It's a jabberwocky."
Aha! The shibboleth. " 'Bewahre doch vor Jammerwoch'," said Veda smartly.
The first test was over. The woman handed her the claw, smiled warmly and introduced herself as Jonquil Jabot.
"I'm Veda," said Veda, turning the carving around in her hand.
"I know, my love," said Jonquil Jabot. "Have a gemstone." She pressed a polished yellow stone into Veda's other, open palm. "A welcoming gift on this wonderful day." The FIRST DAY, in fact, of
JULY
the seventh month, named by Mark Anthony in honour of Julius Cæsar. It was formerly called
Quintilis, the fifth month. The Dutch name was HOOYMAAND (hay-month), the old Saxon
OEDDMONATH (because the cattle were turned into the meadows to feed). In the French
Revolutionary calendar it was MESSIDOR (harvest (?) month, 19 June to 18 July)
"We always hold the Jamboree on July 1st," said Jonquil. "It's the most significant Day in our Calendar."
"Is it always held here?" asked Veda, examining the jabberwock carefully.
"Generally," said Jonquil Jabot.
Jonquil Jabot, dealer in objets d'art, hippy and wooden cat lover,
is a former teacher of natural history and biogeology who exchanged a lectureship and a large detached house in a pleasant leafy suburban avenue for a dingy caravan surrounded by mud on a commune in the country.
Her academic career began with research into the defence mechanisms of now extinct exocranial tribes entitled "Pithecanthropous: Raising Hackles among the Giant Heads", a success followed swiftly by a paper on methods of crop irrigation in primitive agriculturally based cultures entitled "Potatoes:
Raising Yields among the Spud Heads", and a breakthrough book on the role of precious stones in defining the biological characteristics of the people occupying areas wherein such gems are unearthed, entitled "Pearls before Swine: Raising Expectations among the Rock Heads".
It was during an expedition to the Jura Mountains, an area rich in colitic limestone, that Jonquil Jabot underwent her life-changing experience, a terrifying encounter with a Jacob's sheep whose fleece had become entangled on the prickles of a juniper bush, driving it to such a frenzy of angry frustration that, on its release from the bush by means of Jonquil Jabot's careful application of a pair of nail scissors, it flung itself from the mountain with a "baaaa" of despair and burst with a "pop" on the black rocks beneath.
Jonquil Jabot, deeply upset by this incident, returned from the Jura with little knowledge of the effects of life in a limestone landscape upon Jurassic pet-raising instincts, bought a spinning jenny and a supply of wool and resigned her post. She spends much of her time at the commune spinning yarns, advising people on the distillation process for producing essential oils from plants and herbs and manufacturing necklets, small wooden cats, icons, carvings and candles for sale at art and craft fairs.
Before she purchased the battered beige caravan that is now her home, Jonquil undertook several psychiatric tests in an attempt to ascertain the underlying cause of her neuroses and answer her psychiatrist's question: what do a Jacob's Sheep, a juniper bush and colitic limestone have in common? (the answer is, of course, Jonquil Jabot, but the psychiatrist found this less than helpful). One such test required Jonquil to paint a small wooden cat whilst naming as many of the so-called "great" livery companies (or mediæval City Craft Guilds) as she could in forty-two seconds.
(Mercers (1393), Weavers (1184), Grocers (1345), Drapers (1364), Goldsmiths (1327), Skinners (1327), Merchant Tailors (or Taylors) (1326), Haberdashers (1448), Salters (1558), Ironmongers (1454), Clothworkers (1528)).
Had she been given more time, she might not have omitted the Fishmongers (1364) or the Vintners (1436). She might also have added that the Grocers' Guild was formed in 1345 by a merger of the two separate and distinctive Guilds of the Pepperers and the Spicers. But she did not.
Jonquil Jabot has a sentimental attachment to one particular small wooden cat, painted in yellow, orange and scarlet stripes, whom she calls Jeoffrey and to whom she recites on a daily basis the famous lines of poet Christopher Smart: "For now I will consider my cat Jeoffrey", the preface to a forty-two minute yogic meditation (incense stick optional) on the nature of "soul" in the Small Wooden Cat.
Jonquil Jabot is a vegetarian and exists on a diet of pulses and beans. Her hobbies and interests include weaving with raffia, solving crossword puzzles (especially those set by the infamous partnership of Torquemada and Jimenez) and alliteration.
"The stones are pretty," Veda remarked.
Jonquil let some trickle through her fingers. "They all mean different things, my love. They have remarkable curative powers. Jade, that's the greeny blue one, well, the Chinese thought jade was the most pure and divine of all natural materials and could stimulate the flow of milk in nursing mothers, and, in the Zodiac, the jacinth, that's the orange one, well, that's the stone for Libra, and the jasper, that's the yellow one, and there's some brown and red ones here, well, that's the stone for Pisceans."
"I'm a Piscean," Veda blurted, looking at the little yellow stone in her palm.
Jonquil smiled. "I know."
"How?"
"Oh, you can tell," said Jonquil, picking up her striped wooden cat. "This is Jeoffrey by the way." She stroked his head.
At that moment, as if by magic, Jarrah Jambres appeared. "I've been searching for you everywhere," he said crossly.
"I've been talking to the Jigsaw Maker," Veda said. "And Jonquil."
"Hello, Jonquil," scowled Mr Jambres. "How's the caravan?"
"Well," said Jonquil Jabot, leaning towards them confidentially, "I suspect they might be on to me so I'm planning to move." She looked around and leaned in again. "I found a caravan site near Llanstinan. There are five thousand caravans and would you believe they all look the same? I can blend into the background. Then they can never find me." She looked at Veda. "They're everywhere, you know. Spying, prying, nosing. We are all under surveillance, you know. Even the boy."
Mr Jambres cleared his throat loudly.
"Still, today is the First of July. It's the Votary Jamboree," Jonquil rattled on. "It's time for ….." She held Jeoffrey close to her ear. "A party!!!" And she kissed the cat. "That's what Jeoffrey says."
"Quite." Mr Jambres steered Veda away by the elbow. "Jazey's play is about to begin. I'm sure you'll want to see it. Especially after your evening together."
"He told you?" Veda was shocked.
"He didn't have to," grinned Mr Jambres. "We heard it all downstairs in the lounge. You weren't exactly sheepish, were you? Ho ho."
She stopped dead in her tracks, her cheeks tingling.
Leeks. Sheepskins. Tingling cheeks. Oh God.
"He's a little barmy," said Mr Jambres. Baaa-my. Ho ho. Very Jocular. He looked round. "Come along, Veda. Unlike last night, you don't want to miss Jazey's entry, do you?"
Veda blushed furiously and followed Jambres into
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