[Footnote 36: "Modern Painter," vol v., part vii., chap. iv., § 14.]
Luckily the sea-coast still remains unpolluted. And if any one really wishes to study the clouds, let him go to the North Yorkshire and Northumberland coasts in winter. Then will he understand something of their majesty and power; then will he see the true purple wind-tints, see the sky a wilderness full of strange weird creatures—"wild hogs," those purple hump-backed clouds running one after another in a line, and the "Flying Devil and his imps" marshalling the storm, which is banking up out of the German ocean; see, too, the "Norway bishop" rise—a man's figure clothed [{221}] in white, with outstretched arms, under whose ban many a fisherman from Staithes and Runswick has sunk; see the figure melt and disappear in a mist of sleet and snow and hail; and then, last of all, see "the weather-gleam," when all objects loom against the one pale rift of sky, as ships loom in an east wind.
These sights have never been painted, and never can. Even Turner cannot give them. For who can give that which is the greatest pleasure in watching the clouds, the feeling of change? Yon cannot paint the movement of the rack, as the vapor shifts from form to form, now a mountain, now a dragon, now a fish, each change answering to the changes of the spirit. Only the poets can paint the clouds and their lessons—only Shelley and Shakespeare. But put away even Shakespeare himself. Love them, study them from nature. And, as St. Chrysostom says, the poor man, more than any one else, enjoys "the luxury of the elements." The lawyer may hold cujus solum ejus ad coelum; but he who most enjoys the clouds, as with all things else, is their real possessor. And the artist and the poor man, though they may not have a rood of ground to call their own, here reign over an empire.
Translated from the German.
MALINES AND WÜRZBURG.
A SKETCH OF THE CATHOLIC CONGRESSES HELD AT MALINES AND WÜRZBURG.
BY ANDREW NIEDERMASSER.
CHAPTER II.
ART.
The Catholic reunions, both in Belgium and in Germany, have taken a special interest in Christian art; for religion is at once the source and the end of true art. "Religion," says Lasaulx, "is the soul of every useful measure, the vivifying principle in the life of nations, the permanent basis of true philanthropy. In its infancy, as well as during its most flourishing periods, at all times and among all nations, art has ever been the handmaid of religion. What is the last and highest aim of architecture? The erection of churches. How has sculpture won its noblest triumphs? In pagan antiquity, by representations of the heathen deities; since the dawn of Christianity, by presenting to the admiration of the world statues of our Saviour and his saints. In like manner the noblest subjects of painting have been furnished by religion, and by history, both sacred and profane. And do we not meet with the same phenomenon in music and religions poetry? Hence we may safely conclude that art is the barometer of a nation's civilization, and above all of its religious status. A people animated with a lively faith will not hesitate to manifest it outwardly, sparing neither trouble nor expense, and art affords the most suitable means of giving expression to its feelings. If, on the other hand, art is neglected by a nation, it is a certain sign that its mental and spiritual condition is abnormal; that it must be under the influence of some disturbing agency.
Art, in its relations to religion and the Church, is one of the subjects that have claimed the attention of the Catholic congresses; they discussed the principles of religious architecture, painting, sculpture, and of church music; they considered the subject of decorating the sanctuaries of religion in all its branches, and examined the highest and most important problems of art.
Art, as cultivated during the first [{222}] ages of Christianity and during the middle ages, is a subject complete in itself, for we can trace its use, its progress, and decay, as well as the development of the ideas which gave it life. Between Christian and pagan art there is no doubt a connecting link; in fact, we may safely assert that in this respect, no less than in all others, there is a great unbroken chain that unites the present age with antiquity. Still, no one can deny that there is a great and immense difference between Christian nations and those of antiquity. For, since the birth of Christianity, we may trace in history a new, active, and all-pervading principle. What the greatest minds of the pagan world scarcely suspected, has become the common property of all nations and of all men. Christianity is built on foundations very different from those on which rested the cumbrous fabric of paganism. It has impressed an original character on art, in every branch of which it has produced results of undoubted excellence, worthy of our admiration. Christian art suffers not by comparison with the masterpieces of antiquity. Narrow-minded and prejudiced persons only will maintain that the Greeks alone excelled in the arts. The independence and excellence of Christian art, compared with that of classic Greece and Rome, is by no means generally admitted; for many are unwilling to allow to the Church the credit, which it may justly claim, of promoting and patronizing the arts. During the last century art has lacked its proper basis—truth, for art is founded on truth. But since nations have been led astray by the erroneous idea that art was revived at Florence, and thence spread over all Europe, it has lost its independence, confined itself to mere imitations of the Greeks and Romans, and gradually decayed more and more. In the history of art no period appears darker than the so-called age of renaissance, and since then Christian art has been either misunderstood or entirely despised. Not long ago the masterpieces of Gothic architecture were looked upon as barbarous; paintings on wood which had for ages graced the European temples were removed, broken to pieces, and burnt, and alters of the most elaborate workmanship were treated as mere rubbish. To level to the ground the noble cathedrals of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was considered a service to art. And this was done, not by the ignorant, but by the protectors of learning; nay, by artists themselves, who were foremost in the work of destruction. A French architect published an essay to prove that it would advance the interests of art to turn the cathedral of Spires into a warehouse. On the cathedrals of Cologne and Strasbourg, also, French architects, living at the beginning of the nineteenth century, had pronounced sentence of condemnation. No later than 1825, when Charles X. was crowned in the cathedral of Rheims, the heads of two hundred statues were struck off, through fear that the statues might be thrown down on occasion of the royal salute. No one seems to have thought of fastening the images; in fact, why should they trouble themselves about the workmanship of barbarians? During the revolution of 1789, the French had unfortunately acquired too much skill in smashing the statues that crowned their grandest cathedrals.
During the period of which we speak, how false was the appreciation of what is beautiful in art! To man's proud spirit it is humiliating, indeed, to know his own weakness; to know that for years he may remain in the darkness of error, without having the strength to burst the chains that fetter him.