I have been standing where everybody has stood, opposite the great
Belfry Tower of Bruges, and thinking, as every one has thought (though
not, perhaps, said), that it is built in defiance of all decencies of
architecture. It is made in deliberate disproportion to achieve the one
startling effect of height. It is a church on stilts. But this sort of
sublime deformity is characteristic of the whole fancy and energy
of these Flemish cities. Flanders has the flattest and most prosaic
landscapes, but the most violent and extravagant of buildings. Here
Nature is tame; it is civilisation that is untamable. Here the fields
are as flat as a paved square; but, on the other hand, the streets and
roofs are as uproarious as a forest in a great wind. The waters of wood
and meadow slide as smoothly and meekly as if they were in the London
water-pipes. But the parish pump is carved with all the creatures out of
the wilderness. Part of this is true, of course, of all art. We talk of
wild animals, but the wildest animal is man. There are sounds in music
that are more ancient and awful than the cry of the strangest beast
at night. And so also there are buildings that are shapeless in their
strength, seeming to lift themselves slowly like monsters from the
primal mire, and there are spires that seem to fly up suddenly like a
startled bird.
.....
This savagery even in stone is the expression of the special spirit in
humanity. All the beasts of the field are respectable; it is only man
who has broken loose. All animals are domestic animals; only man is ever
undomestic. All animals are tame animals; it is only we who are wild.
And doubtless, also, while this queer energy is common to all human art,
it is also generally characteristic of Christian art among the arts
of the world. This is what people really mean when they say that
Christianity is barbaric, and arose in ignorance. As a matter of
historic fact, it didn’t; it arose in the most equably civilised period
the world has ever seen.
But it is true that there is something in it that breaks the outline
of perfect and conventional beauty, something that dots with anger the
blind eyes of the Apollo and lashes to a cavalry charge the horses
of the Elgin Marbles. Christianity is savage, in the sense that it is
primeval; there is in it a touch of the nigger hymn. I remember a debate
in which I had praised militant music in ritual, and some one asked me
if I could imagine Christ walking down the street before a brass band.
I said I could imagine it with the greatest ease; for Christ definitely
approved a natural noisiness at a great moment. When the street children
shouted too loud, certain priggish disciples did begin to rebuke them in
the name of good taste. He said: “If these were silent the very stones
would cry out.” With these words He called up all the wealth of artistic
creation that has been founded on this creed. With those words He
founded Gothic architecture. For in a town like this, which seems to
have grown Gothic as a wood grows leaves, anywhere and anyhow, any odd
brick or moulding may be carved off into a shouting face. The front of
vast buildings is thronged with open mouths, angels praising God, or
devils defying Him. Rock itself is racked and twisted, until it seems to
scream. The miracle is accomplished; the very stones cry out.
But though this furious fancy is certainly a specialty of men among
creatures, and of Christian art among arts, it is still most notable in
the art of Flanders. All Gothic buildings are full of extravagant things
in detail; but this is an extravagant thing in design. All Christian
temples worth talking about have gargoyles; but Bruges Belfry is a
gargoyle. It is an unnaturally long-necked animal, like a giraffe. The
same impression of exaggeration is forced on the mind at every corner of
a Flemish town. And if any one asks, “Why did the people of these flat
countries instinctively raise these riotous and towering monuments?” the
only answer one can give is, “Because they were the people of these
flat countries.” If any one asks, “Why the men of Bruges sacrificed
architecture and everything to the sense of dizzy and divine heights?”
we can only answer, “Because Nature gave them no encouragement to do
so.”
.....
As I stare at the Belfry, I think with a sort of smile of some of my
friends in London who are quite sure of how children will turn out
if you give them what they call “the right environment.” It is a
troublesome thing, environment, for it sometimes works positively
and sometimes negatively, and more often between the two. A beautiful
environment may make a child love beauty; it may make him bored with
beauty; most likely the two effects will mix and neutralise each other.
Most likely, that is, the environment will make hardly any difference at
all. In the scientific style of history (which was recently fashionable,
and is still conventional) we always had a list of countries that had
owed their characteristics to their physical conditions.
The Spaniards (it was said) are passionate because their country is
hot; Scandinavians adventurous because their country is cold; Englishmen
naval because they are islanders; Switzers free because they are
mountaineers. It is all very nice in its way. Only unfortunately I am
quite certain that I could make up quite as long a list exactly contrary
in its argument point-blank against the influence of their geographical
environment. Thus Spaniards have discovered more continents than
Scandinavians because their hot climate discouraged them from exertion.
Thus Dutchmen have fought for their freedom quite as bravely as Switzers
because the Dutch have no mountains. Thus Pagan Greece and Rome and many
Mediterranean peoples have specially hated the sea because they had the
nicest sea to deal with, the easiest sea to manage. I could extend the
list for ever. But however long it was, two examples would certainly
stand up in it as pre-eminent and unquestionable. The first is that the
Swiss, who live under staggering precipices and spires of eternal snow,
have produced no art or literature at all, and are by far the most
mundane, sensible, and business-like people in Europe. The other is that
the people of Belgium, who live in a country like a carpet, have, by an
inner energy, desired to exalt their towers till they struck the stars.
As it is therefore quite doubtful whether a person will go specially
with his environment or specially against his environment, I cannot
comfort myself with the thought that the modern discussions about
environment are of much practical value. But I think I will not write
any more about these modern theories, but go on looking at the Belfry
of Bruges. I would give them the greater attention if I were not pretty
well convinced that the theories will have disappeared a long time
before the Belfry.