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Authors: Michael Arditti
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clergy and their degree of support for the project reflected the professional divide. The first stumbling block was the fee, which the Dean assured them would not come out of cathedral funds. Nevertheless Sir Brian, a local poultry tycoon, was appalled by the figure of £75,000. ‘For one window?’ he asked, glowering at Clement as if he had caught him stealing lead from the roof. Struggling to stay calm, Clement cited the expense of his fabricator and materials. ‘We’re in the wrong business, eh?’ Sir Brian said to a neighbouring canon, who looked outraged at the thought of being in business at all. The Dean took it as a grudging acceptance and moved on to discuss the design.
It was now Major Deedes’ turn to take the offensive with his claim to be deeply disturbed by the juxtaposition of the clothed Adam and the naked Christ. It reminded him of a painting, whose title he failed to recall but which, from the self-revealing description, Clement identified as Manet’s Déjeuner sur l’herbe . He had anticipated such objections and outlined the thinking behind the image, explaining that he did not accept the existence of Hell, either physical or metaphysical. Just as his father believed that the concept of God was God (a statement that sent the Major into a fit of coughing), so he believed that the concept of Hell was Hell. Human beings were condemned to eternal suffering in a doctrine of their own making. They could be freed from it by their faith in Christ, not the traditional Christ who came laden with two thousand years of baggage, but the essential Christ, unvarnished and free.
‘And this Christ will be – how shall I put it? – in a state of nature?’ the Major asked.
‘Absolutely. Although I’d prefer “a state of grace”.’ Clement thought he heard the Dean suppress a snicker. ‘What’s more, it avoids setting him in any particular period. Or would you prefer him in biblical robes?’
‘And why not?’ the Major asked.
‘Because it immediately restricts his meaning. It makes him remote to ordinary visitors who may not possess your grasp of history.’ Clement bit his tongue. ‘Adam wears a suit because he’s our contemporary, but Christ will be clothed in nothing but light.’
‘Yes, let’s not forget, Major,’ the Dean added in voice at once unctuous and steely, ‘that we’re talking about a window. I might take a very different view if it were an altarpiece or a statue, but this will be as insubstantial as air.’ Clement smiled, grateful for the backing if not the analogy.
‘That’s all very well. But how do we know that it won’t attract the wrong sort of people?’
‘Like who?’ Clement asked disingenuously. ‘You might as well ban Van Gogh’s Boots on the grounds that it would attract shoe fetishists.’
‘Well I think that about wraps it up,’ the Dean interjected quickly. ‘Thank you all for a most interesting exchange of views. I really don’t think that we need take up any more of Mr Granville’s time. I’m sure he’s eager to return to London.’ He cited the capital with the wistful air of one who had felt his talents wither in the provinces. After shaking the committee’s hands, by turn limp, fleshy, clammy, cold and calloused, Clement took his leave of the Dean, who promised to ring him as soon as he had a result.
Clement returned to London in an overheated train opposite a sulky ten-year-old who sucked her plaits. He had barely begun making dinner when the Dean called with the news that the majority view had prevailed and the design been accepted. Shrewd as ever, he insisted that unanimity would have been a sure sign that the image was bland. After restating his belief that the window would be a splendid addition to the cathedral, which Clement, anticipating future guidebooks, read as a splendid monument to the Dean himself, he sounded a note of caution. ‘We still have to gain approval from the Fabric Advisory Committee over which I have no – I
It was now Major Deedes’ turn to take the offensive with his claim to be deeply disturbed by the juxtaposition of the clothed Adam and the naked Christ. It reminded him of a painting, whose title he failed to recall but which, from the self-revealing description, Clement identified as Manet’s Déjeuner sur l’herbe . He had anticipated such objections and outlined the thinking behind the image, explaining that he did not accept the existence of Hell, either physical or metaphysical. Just as his father believed that the concept of God was God (a statement that sent the Major into a fit of coughing), so he believed that the concept of Hell was Hell. Human beings were condemned to eternal suffering in a doctrine of their own making. They could be freed from it by their faith in Christ, not the traditional Christ who came laden with two thousand years of baggage, but the essential Christ, unvarnished and free.
‘And this Christ will be – how shall I put it? – in a state of nature?’ the Major asked.
‘Absolutely. Although I’d prefer “a state of grace”.’ Clement thought he heard the Dean suppress a snicker. ‘What’s more, it avoids setting him in any particular period. Or would you prefer him in biblical robes?’
‘And why not?’ the Major asked.
‘Because it immediately restricts his meaning. It makes him remote to ordinary visitors who may not possess your grasp of history.’ Clement bit his tongue. ‘Adam wears a suit because he’s our contemporary, but Christ will be clothed in nothing but light.’
‘Yes, let’s not forget, Major,’ the Dean added in voice at once unctuous and steely, ‘that we’re talking about a window. I might take a very different view if it were an altarpiece or a statue, but this will be as insubstantial as air.’ Clement smiled, grateful for the backing if not the analogy.
‘That’s all very well. But how do we know that it won’t attract the wrong sort of people?’
‘Like who?’ Clement asked disingenuously. ‘You might as well ban Van Gogh’s Boots on the grounds that it would attract shoe fetishists.’
‘Well I think that about wraps it up,’ the Dean interjected quickly. ‘Thank you all for a most interesting exchange of views. I really don’t think that we need take up any more of Mr Granville’s time. I’m sure he’s eager to return to London.’ He cited the capital with the wistful air of one who had felt his talents wither in the provinces. After shaking the committee’s hands, by turn limp, fleshy, clammy, cold and calloused, Clement took his leave of the Dean, who promised to ring him as soon as he had a result.
Clement returned to London in an overheated train opposite a sulky ten-year-old who sucked her plaits. He had barely begun making dinner when the Dean called with the news that the majority view had prevailed and the design been accepted. Shrewd as ever, he insisted that unanimity would have been a sure sign that the image was bland. After restating his belief that the window would be a splendid addition to the cathedral, which Clement, anticipating future guidebooks, read as a splendid monument to the Dean himself, he sounded a note of caution. ‘We still have to gain approval from the Fabric Advisory Committee over which I have no – I
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