At Aix-la-Chapelle, a city reported, and, I believe, with truth, to be full of devout persons, the Dom is incumbered with houses and shops for the sale of snuff-boxes, pipes, and tobacco, between every buttress of the apsis surrounding the high altar, and the owners of these habitations are driving their bargains and cooking their victuals within a few feet of the high altar of a church which is the depository of the most venerable reliques of Europe. I mention these things to show how sadly the ancient reverence of sacred buildings and things has declined in latter times, and most assuredly they are intimately connected with the screen question. Rites so sacred as those of the Catholic church require every watchfulness, both in conduct and in externals, to preserve them in due veneration; and an irreverent arrangement in the construction of a church may be the cause of infinite sin and scandal. Now, therefore, that we are beginning, as it were, de novo, to restore the churches of God, how important is it that we should so construct them, that they may by their symbolic and ancient fashion, set forth the stupendous mysteries for whose celebration they are raised, and, at the same time, prove them to belong to that very faith that generated, centuries ago, those great principles of Christian art which we may rival, but scarcely excel!
The Catholic body in England is now suddenly become the spectacle of the world. An immense responsibility has been incurred; how will it be supported? Our episcopal rulers bear titles which are associated with the most venerable men and places in the history of the English church,—names associated with the first planting of Christianity in this land,—names known far and wide as pertaining to some of the fairest fabrics that Catholic hands ever raised to the honour of their Creator,—and names the very possession of which in a manner demand a conduct and principles in accordance with their import. May we not then hope, nay, expect, that better times are approaching; that our spiritual rulers will, in very deed, set forth, if not the full glories of the ancient men, at least a continuation of their principles, so that, in all the works undertaken under their auspices, the old spirit and intention may be evident. Christian architecture must now become a principle, and not a mere matter of whim and caprice of individuals, or its advocacy or rejection treated as a mere jest. Architects may suggest and execute, but the moving power must come from episcopal authority—that is the legitimate source. The finest churches, unless the ecclesiastics enter into the spirit of the arrangement and construction, are only so many evidences of modern degeneracy; and the erection of a choral church for an orchestral service is a farce, and a prostitution of ancient symbolism to a profane and irreverent purpose, even more painful than when it is carried on in a meeting-house with an altar in it. And as for those men who would import the debased modern externals of Italy into this land for religious purposes, whatever their intentions may be, they can only be practically considered as the greatest and worst enemies with which we have to contend, for they lower the majesty of religion to the level of a common show, and degrade the sacrament before the people, giving occasion for scoffing and ridicule, and putting stumbling-blocks in the way of our separated countrymen, dressing up the altar of God like a mountebank's show, and imparting a strange and modern appearance to that which was indeed the ancient faith of this land. What a mockery would it be to lead those devout men, (who though separated in position, have been united in heart with the ancient religion, who have prayed in deserted aisles and chapels, kissed the prostrate consecrated stones of ancient sacrifice, and mourned over desecrated shrines and rifled tombs of holy dead,) up to the threshold of that very gate within which they fondly hoped for the realization of all those glories on which they have existed for years, on its being opened, to introduce them into a sort of drawing-room chapel with a deal altar hung with gauze, lace, and ribands, surmounted by a chiaro oscuro of an ecstatic friar dancing a naked Bambino in his arms, and a bason on a neat stool for a font. "Impostors," they would exclaim, "is this the realization of the ancient faith? why, the wreck we have left savours more of the old spirit than this miserable show." But let us reverse the scene, and introduce our pilgrims into a church, raised after the ancient fashion of those in which they had been used to worship, but restored to life and beauty. First, that veiled altar and ardent lamps tell of the divine presence abiding among men: ecce tabernaculum Dei cum hominibus. What sanctity this imparts to the whole fabric, and how dead do even the most stupendous churches appear when denuded of the sacramental presence; the ground itself in such a place is holy: not only the disposition of the fabrick itself, but every enrichment, every detail harmonises in setting forth one grand illustration of the faith. The windows sparkle in saintly imagery and sacred mysteries, the very light of heaven enters through a medium which diffuses it in soft and mellowed hues. What a perspective is presented to the sight, of successive pillars supporting intersecting arches, leaving distant openings into aisles and chapels! Then the chancel, with its stalled quire seen through the traceried panels of the sculptured screen, above which, in solemn majesty, rises the great event of our redemption, treated after a glorified and mystical manner, the ignominious cross of punishment changed into the budding tree of life, while, from the tesselated pavement to the sculptured roof, every detail sets forth some beautiful and symbolical design; how would such a fabric strike to the heart of a devout soul, seeking for the realization of ancient solemnities! And is it not a case of gross infatuation for men professing the old faith to reject what we may truly imagine to be a revelation made by the mercy of God for the consolation of his servants upon earth, and to turn back to the old vomit of Pagan design, associated only with the infernal orgies of false gods and heathen corruptions? Does it not show an utter loss of all appreciation of the beautiful and the true, and a state of mental degradation as deplorable, as it is alarming in its practical results?
Yes, it is mainly to these causes that the reproaches of debasement, that are so frequently urged against us by Protestants, are to be traced, nor can we scarcely wonder that those who judge by externals and do not penetrate beneath the surface, should come to such conclusions, judging by what is presented before them even under the most glorious vaults of Christendom. But when we turn to true Catholic art, what do we behold? the works of men profoundly versed in symbolism and the holy scriptures: indeed, the great portals of the foreign cathedrals are Bibles in stone. There we trace the sacred history from the first moving of the spirit of God on the waters to the creation of all matter and man himself; there we are led down through the Mosaic history to the prophets foretelling the redemption of man, each with his phylactery and appropriate emblem; beside those, all the types of the old law, those mystical foreshadowings of our blessed Lord and his passion, till we come to the realities, and every scene and every mystery connected with the redemption of man, from the angelical salutation to the ascension into heaven, are so severely, yet so piously treated, that they at once address themselves to the inquiring mind of childhood, and draw tears of devout admiration from mature and reflective age. O, spirit of ancient Catholic art, how is it that you no longer abide among its people? What curse, what blight, has deprived us of your aid? Is it not that the sons of the church have forsaken the old traditions of faith, and have gone straying after strange forms and gods, and substituted debased novelties for ancient excellence, and to these profane and irreverent representations they have given the name of Christian saints, using the mysteries of religion as a mere peg whereon to hang their abominable productions.
This system prevailed to such an extent that, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the people, and even the historians themselves, lost all knowledge of what some of the sculptures of their very cathedrals represented, and explained the prophecies of scripture and the histories of the Old Testament by modern legends,[21] with which they were not in the least connected, as may be seen in the histories of Amiens, Rouen, &c.
There can be no doubt that in modern art the great and important mysteries of Catholic truth have been in a great manner supplanted by the representations of novel devotions and dubious representations.[22] Among these latter, heart painting has a most extraordinary vogue. Without being wanting in the respect due to the authorized devotion of the sacred heart, I should be deficient in duty as a Christian artist if I did not protest most strongly and candidly against the external form in which it is usually represented. It is quite possible to embody the pure idea of the divine heart under a mystical form that should illustrate the intention without offending the sense; but when this most spiritual idea is depicted by an anatomical painting of a heart copied from an original plucked from the reeking carcase of a bullock, and done with sickening accuracy of fat and veins, relieved on a chrome yellow ground, it becomes a fitting subject of fierce denunciation for every true Christian artist, as a disgusting and unworthy representation for any object of devotion. The rage that appears to exist among many modern communities for hearts, is quite astonishing. To a casual observer of some of their oratories it would really appear that their whole devotion consisted in this representation: it is depicted in every possible form and variety, sometimes revolvant and smoking, sometimes volant, with a pair of wings growing out of the sides, sometimes ardent, flaming, fizzing, bursting like an exploding shell, sometimes nayant, floating in a pool, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in clusters. In fine, we have them in every possible variety, and they are by no means dissimilar to the illustrations of those amatory epistles so largely circulated in this country about the feast of S. Valentine. Whether there lingers any association of ideas between these latter and their more spiritual counterparts in the minds of pious ladies, I do not pretend to determine, but most certainly these vile caricatures have a wonderful hold of the fair sex, whose very book-marks generally consist of such representations. Moreover, the bad and vicious taste that prevails in the greater part of our religious communities of women, is a very serious evil;[23] many of them are houses of education, and it is most lamentable that, with the first elements of religion and piety, the pupils imbibe the poison of bad and paltry taste which, from early associations, affects them perhaps through life, and vitiates all their ideas on those subjects connected with the externals of religion. It is true that, by the blessing of God, the principles of Catholic art are by degrees penetrating these strongholds of prejudice and bad taste, but as yet I am not aware of one house of education where there is even a decent chapel; the great reforms have been effected among the active orders of ladies, and I will most fearlessly appeal to their convents, where trash of every kind has been excluded, where both the needle and pen reproduce the beautiful ornaments of antiquity, and where the united voices of the community send forth the old Gregorian tones from their stalls, as examples of what may be done by those who, even with slender human means, apply themselves to the revival of true Catholic art and practices. But this is only in England, and I fear that, at the present time, nearly the whole conventual system on the continent is sunk in the production of the veriest trash that was ever contrived for the desecration of the altar and degradation of ecclesiastical costume. What an appalling field of labour lies before the missionaries of Christian art! Yet the very magnitude of the task should only serve to animate its disciples to heroic exertion in its propagation, and to rescue the Catholic faith from the external degradation into which it has fallen, and to reinstate it in all its former majesty, and to restore the reverend usages of the ancient fabrics, by which the sacred mysteries of the church may be set forth in a more lively and striking manner, strengthening the zeal and devotion of the faithful and drawing to the fountain of truth those souls whom the theatrical choirs and modern abuses have deterred from uniting.
If men were but acquainted with the Catholic church as she really is, in her canons, and her authoritative service books, how differently would they think and speak of her! The majesty of the language used in her ritual and pontifical is inferior only to that of the sacred scriptures themselves, and would almost seem to bear the evidence of inspiration in the text. How we must admire the appropriate fitness of each consecration to the peculiar object to be devoted to the service of Almighty God, from the walls of the temple and altar of sacrifice to those heralds of solemnity, the bells, whose brazen notes can animate a whole population with one intention and one prayer! Then if we consider the divine song of the church, its serenity, its melody, and indeed its almost sacramental power in infusing faith into the heart as its tones flow into the ears of the assistants, while the rhythm most perfectly expresses the sense of the sacred words thus solemnly sung, without vain repetitions and distracting fugues, but as is ordered by the Roman ceremoniale, sit devota, distincta, et intelligibilis, so that men listen, not to curious sounds, but sing in prayer and with one voice, glorify God in unison of heart and sound. What majestic, what consoling services has the church provided for her children! What happiness, even on earth, might they not realize by fulfilling the loving intentions of such a mother, and by devoting their means and energies, carry out the authorized and ancient ritual! But alas, such is the degenerate spirit of this age, that even among those who profess the ancient faith in this land, the existence of solemn services is the exception and not the rule; and while this is the case how can we wonder at the feelings with which they are regarded by the majority of our separated countrymen, who from curiosity or better motives of inquiry attend them? A great portion of the old country missions have usually a sort of room with a look of chilling neglect, at one end of which a wooden sarcophagus or quatrefoil box serves for an altar, duly supplied with some faded artificials and mean candlesticks of a culinary pattern. A mouldy picture of the bad Italian school, given by some neighbouring patron on account of its worthlessness to the chapel, hangs above. A cupboard, painted in marble streaks, serves for a tabernacle; a half-parlour, half-kitchen, for a sacristy and confessional, damp and neglected; and a range of benches, with kneeling boards, provided with every description of carpet patch and moth-eaten cushions, complete the fittings of these establishments; and here, Sunday after Sunday, is a short said mass, badly responded by some poor lad, a large amount of English prayers, with a discourse, &c. &c. This is the only service which the congregation hear on the greatest festivals; to them the solemn offices of Holy Week and the alleluias of the Paschal time are equally unknown. A poor priest, ill supported and alone, without means and persons to aid in his functions, abandons the glories of religion in despair, and thinks himself truly fortunate if he can secure the essential sacraments to those committed to his charge. But what is the consequence? Though the old people, from long habit, are content with this state of things, their children do not imbibe any of that zeal and Catholic spirit that the glorious offices of the church infuse into the tender mind,—that love of the house of God and of his service,—that interest which the succeeding and varied festivals awake in the youthful heart; and, sad to relate, many of the old congregations are decaying, and some have already died out. Now, if this state of things was the result of absolute unavoidable poverty, it would seem cruel to allude to it; but I grieve to say, many of these sort of places are sustained, or pretended to be sustained, by old and wealthy families, who, out of abundant fortunes, dole a much worse pittance to the chaplain than the butler: and who, to avoid the inconvenience of people coming too near their habitations, have fitted up an unoccupied stable, or an old outhouse, for the tabernacle of the living God!! This is no overdrawn picture, and I draw it to try if public shame can work on these men, who seem dead to every other. Why, there are estates possessed by nominal Catholics so broad, that six parochial churches might be raised, and filled with the faithful; and yet, perhaps in this vast space is only one wretched room like that described for all the Catholic community, thus depriving more than two-thirds of the Catholic population of even the practical means of fulfilling the duties of their religion! It is a common cry that the Catholic body are poor,—but it is false: the bishops are poor, the clergy are poor, the masses of town population are poor; but there is wealth yet in possession of men who have not altogether renounced the name, although they have the practice of Catholics (if the world and Satan did not grasp their hands), to restore religion throughout England, and to place it in such a position as to be a beacon and a light to all. What, then, must be the black despair of one of these men, when the world to whom he has sacrificed all is passing away from him for ever! His gay companions of the turf who have cheated him, and fattened on his rents and lands, have left him to die alone,—not one of these jovial friends are there. A few mercenary attendants hover round, to watch the last, and divide what they may. No chapel or chaplain: the priest has long been driven out to live on a distant portion of the property; the old chapel is a disused garret, where a few moth-eaten office-books and unstrung beads tell of the departed piety of the older members of the family. But many years have elapsed since holy rites or holy men were there seen or heard. Stupified with disease, the wretched owner of a vast estate, childless and deserted, draws near his end. He has wasted a life which might have been one of usefulness and honour. He has impaired a property which was ample enough to have enabled him to have placed the religion of his fathers on a noble footing; he might have founded missions, established schools, encouraged his tenants, and been the means of bringing numerous souls to God. But he has done nothing—he has got nothing, but the whitening bones of some racers that cost him thousands, lost him thousands, and were shot in an adjoining paddock, and stocks of empty bottles, consumed in entertaining worthless associates, and a broken constitution now bearing him to a premature end. It is over. He is no more. Unrepentant, unshriven, unanealed, his spirit has gone to judgment. No ministers of God, no rites of holy church, were there to exhort and strengthen the departing soul. There was not one of all those mighty consolations which the church has provided for dying Christians and their survivors. No stoled priests kneel around in prayer and supplication; no ardent lights show forth the glorious hope of resurrection; no poor bedesmen receive the funeral dole, and cry, "May God have mercy on him!" no solemn knell invites the departing prayer; the chamber of death is close and still: the Protestant undertaker encloses the festering corpse in costly coffins, hideous in form and covered with plated devices, but not one Christian emblem among them all; a huge pile of sable feathers, as if in mockery, surmounts the whole; and thus it stands, till, in a few days, it is committed to moulder in the old vault. Placed on the north side of an old parish church that had been built for Catholic rites, but now blocked up with unsightly pews and galleries of uncouth and rude construction, and denuded of every ancient decoration, the family vault had once stood within a chantry, but the roof had long disappeared, while the walls were crumbled into shapeless mounds. In the midst of a small space, rank with weeds and nettles, was a huge brick tomb railed in with bar and spike. A slippery way dug out at the lower end showed a rapid descent to a dark aperture, formed by the removal of a large stone, piled against the side. Over this stood the clergyman of the parish, in a loosely fitting surplice ill concealing his semi-lay attire beneath, attended by a decrepit clerk, who alternately recited the appointed office. The executor, the lawyer, and the undertaker's men, with some curious lookers-on, are alone present at this sad and desolate spectacle. The coffin is lowered down the incline, the heavy mass is forced into its narrow space, jammed in amongst the mouldering shells of older interments. The men issue from the vault—the stone is replaced—the heavy fall of earth clods resound on its hollow surface, and as the access is filled in, all depart—the executors to the will—the undertakers to the nearest tavern. Two old men linger on the spot. "Well," one exclaimed, "I would not have thought the squire would have died thus." "Alack, alack!" replied his companion, "it was all along of bad company. I have heard Father Randall say, many a time, he were a good young man." It was so indeed, he was a good young man. He was taught and fulfilled his duties, but he never knew the grandeur or the majesty of the faith in which he was reared. It was not his pride, his glory. He knew it only as the persecuted—the contemned religion of his ancestors, to which he was bound to adhere, but he never felt its power, nor understood it as the fountain, the source of all that is majestic, true, and ennobling upon earth, and so, when he heard it laughed at as an old-fashioned jest, and got entangled with worldly men, he abandoned its observances by degrees, and sunk into worldly pleasures and feelings till he became dead to every call of conscience, even for the most essential duties of religion, and came to that miserable end. If this illustration be considered unsuitable for an architectural work, I reply that the revival of true architecture is intimately mixed up with education and the formation of the minds of the rising Catholic generation. It is during the first few years of mental training that the character and feelings are generally formed, and I maintain the moral part of Catholic architecture, that is to say, the fitting of the mind to understand and appreciate the external beauties of religion, and to produce that love of God's service in the youthful heart, is quite as important, and can only be raised in places where the offices of religion are solemnly performed, and in suitable edifices. Now this should be most strictly considered for the education of both clergy and laity, for while the clergy have to officiate in these edifices, and carry out their various uses, it is to the laity that they must look both for the funds for the erection and the necessary means of support after they are erected. Therefore, it is of paramount importance that both receive the initiations in this matter, for early impressions are everything. How truly deplorable are the ordinary class of chapels attached to bishops' seminaries in France, for the most part whitewashed saloons, without anything ecclesiastical about them, except bad pictures, worse even than the walls they cover. Fortunately, they are usually in the vicinity of some fine old church, where the ecclesiastical students assist occasionally; but still, all should be in harmony, the seminary with the cathedral, and the clergy with both.
In respect of collegiate chapels we are certainly far in advance in England, but one great chapel, very nearly completed, yet lingers on in an unfinished state, when a little effort might render it available for divine service, and, in the meantime, many students must quit the college without that true love of ecclesiastical art that is only imparted to the soul by a devout assistance at the functions of religion in these solemn edifices. The mere inspection of them is nothing, it is when they become associated with the life of divine worship that they produce the full power and lift the soul in ecstasy. Let us hope and pray that not only in colleges, but in all places set apart for the education of youth, suitable chapels may be provided, so as to make the students love the beauty of God's house. I must confess, with every wish to preserve my charity, I am moved to indignation when I hear proposals for erecting great sheds to serve as Catholic churches, places resembling a depot for railway goods or the housings of a wharf. What treatment is this for the divine mysteries! what treatment for the poor, who are brought to worship God in a place little, if any, better than the union, or market shambles themselves! One of the many great benefits conferred by church architecture, is its affording the poor man a glorious edifice where he may enter at will; his position of course shuts him off from participating in all worldly grandeur or magnificence, but the portal of the Catholic church is open to him early and late; there he is no intruder, he may rest on the marble pavement or kiss the costliest shrine—he is spurned from every other ground and noble edifice but this—and yet this new system would bring the churches down to a level with the offices of a parish workhouse, and deprive him for ever of so great a consolation as the sight and enjoyment of a solemn pile. No blessing can be expected for those who erect the temples of God in a sparing and commercial calculating spirit. It is a positive insult to divine providence to build a church on such low and niggard principles, calculated to draw down a curse instead of a blessing. It is contrary to first principles: if we saw a man pretending to make an offering to us, in which he had economized in every possible manner, should we be disposed to receive his gift with the same feelings as for another who poured out his offering in a heartfelt and abundant manner? From those who have little it shall be taken away, and it is impossible to conceive any blessing attending one of these cast iron shells. It now remains briefly to consider the actual revival of Christian architecture among the English Catholic body, and to point out some important practical principles which are as yet but imperfectly understood.
In restoring the ecclesiastical architecture of the middle ages, there are certain modifications and changes which the altered position of religion renders absolutely necessary; for instance, in erecting a cathedral or bishop's church it should be so arranged as to be perfectly available for the public worship of the faithful, and the choir, on that account, should not be enclosed in a solid manner, but with open screens like the great parochial churches at Lubeck, and many other continental cities, and also not unfrequently in England, as at Newark, a grand parochial church; S. Nicholas, Lynn; Great Yarmouth, Southwold, and many other such edifices intended for parochial worship.
These churches may be as spacious and magnificent as cathedrals, as indeed many of them are, but perfectly adapted for a great body of people assisting at the sacred rites. It was currently reported that the learned Père Martin declared that the old screens contributed to the loss of faith among the people. Now if the reverend father did make this statement, I have no hesitation in contradicting it, and for this reason, that in those times when the cathedrals had enclosed choirs, they were erected and used for the purpose of keeping up a great choral service, and a worship of Almighty God irrespective of popular assistance; but coeval with these were multitudes of grand parochial churches like S. Maclou, at Rouen, relatively as magnificent as cathedrals, and where there never existed any enclosed choirs at all, but open ones, as I have shown in this work; it appears therefore that the assertion of the reverend father has been made hastily, and without sufficient grounds.
At the present time, when we are almost on the apostolic system of the primitive times, a cathedral should be perfectly adapted for parochial as well as episcopal use, which was indeed the ancient arrangement in corresponding times of antiquity when neither churches nor clergy were very numerous.