CONCLUSION.

It now only remains to make some remarks on the recent revival of

Catholic art and architecture, the difficulties with which it has to

contend in England, and the opposition that has been raised against it.

As the enclosures of the sanctuary can be traced from the erection of

the earliest Christian churches, and as they are inseparably connected

with reverence and solemnity, we might have hoped, and indeed expected,

that the restoration would have been hailed by all who profess the

ancient religion as an evidence of returning faith. But, alas, we have a

class of men to oppose the revival of ancient symbolism, on whom the

examples of fifteen centuries of Catholic antiquity fail to produce the

slightest recognition of respect. The past is to them a nullity, and

they would fain have us believe that the present debased externals of

religion are to be equally received and propagated as those which were

generated during the finest ages of Christian art. Now, knowing the

whole history of this debasement in religious art, its origin and

progress, and the general decline of Catholic faith and Catholic

principles, corresponding to its increasing influence, it is impossible

for us to regard its very existence otherwise than as an intolerable

evil, and we must labour incessantly for its utter expulsion from our

churches. The decline of true Christian art and architecture may be

dated from a most corrupt era in the history of the church; and ever

since that most unnatural adoption of Pagan externals for Catholic

rites, we mourn the loss of those reverend and solemn structures which

so perfectly embodied the faith for which they were raised. Bad as was

the Paganism of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, it was dressed

out in much external majesty and richness; but now nothing is left but

the fag end of this system; bronze and marble are replaced by calico and

trimmings; the works of the sculptor and the goldsmith are succeeded by

the milliner and the toyshop; and the rottenness of the Pagan movement

is thinly concealed by gilt paper and ribands,—the nineteenth century

apeings of the dazzling innovations of the Medician era. Cheap

magnificence, meretricious show, is the order of the day; something

pretty, something novel, calico hangings, sparkling lustres, paper pots,

wax dolls, flounces and furbelows, glass cases, ribands, and lace, are

the ornaments and materials usually employed to decorate, or rather

disfigure, the altar of sacrifice and the holy place. It is impossible

for church furniture and decoration to attain a lower depth of

degradation, and it is one of the greatest impediments to the revival of

Catholic truth. It is scarcely possible for men to realize the awful

doctrines and the majestic ritual of the Church under such a form; and

yet these wretched novelties are found on the altars of some of the most

venerable temples, equally as in the abortions of modern erection. They

disfigure alike the cathedral of the city and the wayside chapel of the

mountain-pass; they flourish in religious communities, and are even

tolerated in the seminaries for the education of the priests of the

sanctuary. Bad, paltry, miserable taste has overrun the externals of

religion like a plague; and to this state of deplorable degradation

would these new men bind our desires and intellects, as if it were of

God, and on a par with the noble works achieved in times of zeal and

faith, and at a period when all the art and talent of Christendom was

devoted to the one object of increasing the glory and magnificence of

the great edifices devoted to the worship of Almighty God. Moreover, it

is very important to observe the extraordinary similarity of idea that

actuated the artists of all Christian countries during the middle ages.

Making due allowance for climate and materials, the same ruling spirit

presided over the arts of Italy and England. The same devout effigies,

recumbent and praying, each robed in the flowing ecclesiastical habits

of the order, may be seen in every old Italian church, as in our own

cathedrals. There was no difference then between a Roman chasuble and an

English chasuble, between a Roman mitre and an English mitre. The same

beautiful forms and proportions reigned universal. Even where the

Christians extended their conquests in the East, in the city of

Jerusalem itself, the edifices they raised were in architecture Pointed

and Christian; some of which even still remain. Everywhere the Catholic

might be traced by the works he raised; but now, alas, excepting by the

extreme ugliness, and deformity, and paltry ornament, that are the usual

characteristics of modern Catholic erections, it would be difficult to

distinguish them from the recent productions of modern sects. Is it not

a consideration that should fill every true Catholic heart with grief,

that the propagation of the faith is no longer attended by the

propagation of ecclesiastical traditions? Every year what zealous

missionaries depart for distant climes, bearing with them, indeed, the

true principles of faith, but with it the most degraded externals

possible. The sources from whence they supply themselves are the

magazines of Lyons and Paris, places filled with objects made entirely

on the principle of cheap magnificence, uncanonical in form and often in

material, hideous in design, utter departures from the beautiful models

of mediæval antiquity, calculated only to please the vulgar and the

ignorant, dazzling in the eyes of savages, but revolting to every man of

true ecclesiastical knowledge and feeling. These things are not only

expedited to the colonies and even to the antipodes to form in any

mission a fresh nucleus of deplorable taste and ideas, but they inundate

the sister island itself; yes, in Ireland, where, even in times

considered barbarous, the ancient goldsmiths wrought exquisitely cunning

work for the altar and the shrine, they now deck out her sanctuaries in

Parisian trumpery, and borrow the model of her churches from the

preaching-house of the Presbyterian settler; and to such a low ebb is

all feeling for ecclesiastical art and architecture fallen—that when a

cathedral is raised after the old form of the cross of Christ, its very

bishop walls off the holy place, and converts it into _a room_!

Room-worship, where all see, is the modern shell in which innovators and

nineteenth-century men could _exhibit_ those sacred mysteries for which

Catholic antiquity raised those glorious choirs and chancels, witnesses

of their reverence and our degeneracy. But sad to relate, this principle

of room-worship is gradually extending itself into those majestic

edifices of antiquity by the manner in which they are perverted to the

modern system. The month of May is more especially devoted to the honour

of our Blessed Lady, an excellent devotion, but how is it carried out?

All who have had the misfortune of travelling on the continent during

this month must have noticed an unusual disfigurement of the fabric in

the shape of enormous festoons of red calico or some other material, as

the case may be, pendent from the groining over a catafalque of painted

canvass, flower-pots, and glass cases, surmounted by an image intended

for our Blessed Lady herself, in the most meretricious attire covered

with gauze and spangles. This miserable representation is usually set up

in the very centre of the transept or the last bay of the nave,

completely altering the whole disposition of a church. Great devotion to

the blessed mother of our Lord, was a striking feature in mediæval

antiquity. Almost every cathedral was dedicated in honour of Notre Dame,

and where was the parish church of any size that did not possess its

Lady chapel set apart for her peculiar honour? What beautiful examples

have we of these in England, though, grievous to relate, some of them

are converted to unworthy purposes, and all disused; but in many of the

continental churches it is little better; for, except an occasional

mass, Lady chapels, _as such_, are no longer kept up. In one of the

finest churches of Liege I saw an altar set up for the month of May, a

heap of paltry showy materials; but on getting to the other side I

discovered this gilded front to be sustained by old packing-cases,

trestles, casks, and planks, hastily piled up, and not even concealed

from those who might penetrate eastward of the nave. Further on was the

real Lady chapel in a very neglected state, without furniture or

decoration: this was undoubtedly the portion of the church where the

devotions of May should be celebrated; but the nave is more like a

_room_, and is therefore used in preference to that portion of the

fabric which the devout builders had set apart for the purpose. And what

majestic Lady chapels did the old churches contain! usually the most

eastward portion of the church,—the _refugium peccatorum_; they

displayed in their windows and their sculptures all those edifying—those

touching mysteries of our Lady's history which are so fruitful for

contemplation, and the tryptych altar unfolded its gilded doors when

adorned for sacrifice, with many a saint and angel depicted on its

painted panels, and the office was sung by our Lady's chaplains, all in

their stalls of quire, and the morrow mass-priest celebrated most

solemnly, and many a taper burnt brightly before her image, and our

Lady's chapel was one of the fairest portions of these fair churches.

But now, alas, while these chapels are in a great measure abandoned to

neglect, a wretched piece of scenery is substituted, and this is set up

in the centre of the nave, to the disguise of the architecture and the

impediment of its proper use. Even making all allowances for the reduced

revenues of the continental churches, it must be admitted that they are

for the most part most miserably neglected, and in a great measure

disused. There are splendid crypts where no rites are ever celebrated.

Lateral chapels turned into confessionals, or what is much worse, into

deposits for lumber; everything is carried on on the smallest scale, and

with the least trouble, and not only are the generality of modern

Catholic churches on the continent most miserable abortions, but every

year sad mutilations are permitted in many of those sacred buildings

that are still preserved for religious purposes.

Even in the Pontifical States, within a very short period, a fine

church, of mediæval construction, was shorn of both its aisles, by the

act of the very canons themselves; one they demolished for the

materials, and the other they converted into a custom house and stores.

Indeed, many modern canons have been miserable stewards of the churches

committed to their care, which makes their partial suppression in the

eighteenth century the less to be regretted. As shown in the course of

this work, they were great destroyers of choral arrangements and painted

glass in the latter times; and from a much earlier period they were

accustomed to raise a revenue by permitting domestic erections against

the sacred edifices themselves,—shops and houses between buttresses and

lodgments in porches.

At the north portal of Rouen cathedral but a few years since, I was

obliged to climb into the roof of a wretched barrack or book-stall,

erected in the seventeenth century, to inspect the unrivalled sculpture

representing the creation of the world and the early Scripture history,

and the very purloins of the roof were held by mortices cut into images

of splendid design, and the rough walls built rudely against the most

elaborate tabernacle-work and bas-reliefs. The tenants of these

miserable shops, which gave the name of the Cour des Libraires to the

northern approach of the cathedral, paid regular rent to the chapter

down to the great revolution. I am happy to state that these unsightly

excrescences have been demolished by the government, and the whole

beauty of the original design is now visible.

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.

The next important point is the arrangement of the chancels, that they

may be perfectly adapted for the easy access and egress of large bodies

of communicants which have greatly increased since the middle ages. The

chancels of all large town churches should be continued either like

apsidal choirs, or taken out of the body of the church with the aisles

continuing eastward on either side, and terminating in chapels, thus

permitting the free egress of those who have communicated without

returning through the holy doors. This arrangement is not of any

importance in country parishes where the number of communicants is

necessarily limited, and where the elongated chancels may be retained,

but in great towns it is almost indispensable. And this leads us to

another matter of considerable importance. Almost all the pointed

churches that have been erected in towns, have been taken from examples

in the country villages, and although low churches built of rubble walls

with broach spires look most beautiful and appropriate amid cottages,

elm trees, and rural scenery, they appear quite out of place when

transplanted among the lofty mansions and scenery of a great city. A

church has recently been erected in London the design of which _per se_

is exceedingly pleasing, but instead of the sky line of the gable roofs

we have the attic story and Roman cement balustrades and hideous

chimney-pots of an adjoining terrace rising above them.

In all ancient cities where the houses were lofty, _the churches were

the same_, as at Antwerp, Bruges, Ghent, Lubeck, Ratisbonne, Nuremberg.

There are houses in the old towns whose gables are much higher than are

our first-rate houses, but the churches rise very far above them, so

that when seen from a considerable distance, the temples of God appear

over all surrounding objects. Moreover, internal grandeur can only be

produced by great height; it is a most important feature, and one which

cannot be exaggerated, therefore I hope and trust that in future

erections, no false economy, will interfere with this important and

symbolic principle. Another point to be considered in the erection of

town churches is the approach or entrance, which, if it be possible,

should be contrived through a cloister or porch, answering to the

ancient atrium. This would not only prevent noise and break currents of

air, but it would serve to prepare the mind of the worshipper before

entering the church itself, as a most devotional effect might be

imparted to the cloister by sculptures and paintings, of which there are

examples in several churches of Cologne and other cities in Germany. I

believe these would be found most advantageous, not only for these

religious reasons, but as completely shutting off the ingress of

external cold air,[24] and the church itself might be free from drafts

and yet properly ventilated from above. And it is a great point for the

revival of true church architecture, that it should be practically

convenient both for clergy and people, and that it is quite possible to

preserve an even temperature in the largest buildings is proved at S.

Peter's, Rome, and which really constitutes its greatest—if not its only

merit.

It is also most essential to erect spacious sanctuaries, and cloisters

for the vesting of the singing clerks, who should not enter the priests'

sacristy, and they should be so contrived as not to be converted to

rooms of passage, or where women could find any excuse for penetrating.

The sacristies of the old Italian churches are magnificent, both in

dimensions and decorations. They are like second churches; and, indeed,

they should be considered and treated with nearly equal respect on

account of the sacred vessels and ornaments that are reserved within

their ambries. But to erect these noble adjuncts to churches some

considerable funds must be granted, and architects must not be expected,

as has fallen to my lot, to build a sacristy and fittings for £40, and

find some candlesticks into the bargain.

Our churches should now combine all the beauty and symbolism of

antiquity with every convenience that modern discovery has suggested, or

altered ecclesiastical discipline requires. The revival would then

become a living monument and a true expression of the restoration of

religion in the land. But I grieve to say, from what I see of the

majority of pointed churches now erecting, that they are calculated to

inflict greater injury on the cause than even the Italian abortions,

which can only excite disgust, and drive men to the opposite opinion,

and therefore practically of some service. It is now time that the

movement assumed a regular principle; in the commencement everything was

strange and ill understood; step by step we had to fathom, and works

which now appear easy of execution were then deemed almost

impracticable. A great many errors and failures were the natural

consequence, and no man has been guilty of greater mistakes than myself;

some of them were caused by want of experience in this new and difficult

career, others through total inadequacy of funds. However, I feel

certain that, but a few years ago, even unlimited funds could not have

produced a truly fine work; and now I believe that a very majestic

building could be accomplished at a comparatively moderate outlay. But I

am sorry to say that, as yet, I see no man who has profited by my

original errors. The new churches are more elaborate and full of

decoration, but as convenient buildings are rather a decline from those

originally produced, and much more costly and very unsuitable for their

intentions. There is no distinction between churches intended for

religious orders and those for parochial purposes, though their use is

widely different. Formerly every order built in accordance with its own

rules, and it is easy, on the mere inspection of these buildings, to

ascertain their origin. The Dominicans were great preachers, and

consequently their churches are like immense naves, with lateral chapels

between the buttresses; the high altar placed against a reredos, behind

which was the choir for the religious. Christian architecture lends

itself perfectly to all these varieties: a Carthusian, a Dominican, or a

Franciscan church may be and _were_ quite in accordance with true

ecclesiastical architecture, and yet most differently disposed, to suit

the various religious rules. Unless Pointed architecture is carried out

on these adaptive rules, which are the old ones, it is not a living

monument. It is quite certain that our present race of architects, as a

body, do not yet understand the language: they transcribe words, and

even sentences, accurately, but it is a dead imitation of something

already done, and not a living creation; and, consequently, great sums

are thrown away in fine and praiseworthy and well-intentioned attempts,

but which will be shortly deplored by all concerned. I grieve to see

this, as, unless it is remedied, it may be the means of giving the

Pagans a _temporary_ triumph. I say temporary, because their eventual

destruction is as certain as that of the power of the devil himself,

but, like him, they have done and may do a deal of mischief till they

are finally bound.

I therefore most earnestly conjure all those men who profess to revive

true architecture to look to the wants and circumstances of the time,

_not to sacrifice principles, but to prove that the real principles can

combine with any legitimate requirement of religion_; let the bishops

and clergy practically perceive that Christian architecture fulfils

perfectly all their wants: let there be light, space, ventilation, good

access, with the absence of drafts, which destroy devotion and excite

prejudice against Pointed doorways. Avoid useless and over-busy detail,

and rely on good proportions and solemnity of effect. Above all, we must

remember that everything old is not an object of imitation—everything

new is not to be rejected. If we work on these golden principles, the

revival would be a living monument, as it was in days of old; and that

God may grant us means to carry it out, that he will enlighten the

hearts of the obdurate, and unite the faithful in one great bond of

exertion for the revival of the long-lost glory of his church,

sanctuary, and altar, is the earnest prayer of the writer of this book.

[21] In the old histories of Amiens, the bas-relief representing the

prophecy of Micheas, cap. iv., v. 3, "Et concidant gladios suos in

vomeres, et hastas in ligones," was commonly described as representing

the ancient manufacture of arms, for which that city was celebrated, but

to which it has not the slightest reference. At Rouen, the history of

Joseph and his brethren, with their sacks, and the cup, with the hanging

of the chief butler, was considered as that of a cheating corn-factor,

by the seizure of whose property the portal was erected; but without the

smallest grounds of probability, as shown by the learned Dom Pomeraye.

[22] It is worthy of remark that the idea of representing S. Joseph

holding our Lord in his arms is comparatively modern, and in utter

opposition to the ancient school of Christian art, who always ascribed a

secondary position to this saint, and never made any representation of

him that would convey the least idea of his entertaining any _paternal_

affection for our Blessed Lord. I have attentively studied this subject,

and never yet found any ancient representation that does not fully bear

out my assertion. This is one of the many instances where modern art,

disregarding ancient traditions, seeking the pretty and the pleasing, in

lieu of the mysterious and sublime, has imparted the externals of

importance to S. Joseph that the church has never recognized. _Our

Divine Lord as an infant was always represented in the arms of the

Blessed Virgin, and no other_, in all ancient mosaic painting and

sculpture, and I believe that these modern images of S. Joseph, which

have such astonishing vogue among devout people, if brought before an

episcopal council, would be condemned as tending towards erroneous

opinions.

[23] The usual description of articles made by nuns in their recreation

were produced by scissors and paste, little gilt paper nick-nacks, fit

only to please children of a very tender age, and, indeed, bad for them,

as tending to corrupt their early notions. Every convent had a

glass-case, in which their miserable productions were reserved, and

shown and sold to visitors. I have heard of a very devout man, a member

of the English church, who went to see a convent in the centre of

England, imbued with the most reverent idea of conventual architecture;

cloisters, chapter-houses, oratories, dim oriels, and all the

associations of old religious buildings. What, therefore, was his

astonishment, at being driven up to what he conceived, from its external

appearance, was a new parochial union; nor was it lessened on his being

shown into a modern-looking, ill-furnished parlour, containing one of

these glass-cases full of trumpery, and invited to become a purchaser;

when, in his confusion, he found himself the fortunate possessor, minus

seven shillings, of a paper donkey and two paniers of sugar-plums, and

was glad to make a speedy retreat, with this singular reminiscence of

the modern daughters of S. Benedict. It is, however, a great

satisfaction to know that a better spirit is arising in several

cloistered communities, who now reproduce the sacred vestments in the

integrity of form; and we may hope and trust that the time is not far

distant when all the external objects of these convents will harmonize

with the venerable habit they wear, and with that internal spirit of

piety which they have so wonderfully maintained amid degenerate taste.

[24] The clumsy manner in which the old church-doors were fitted, and

their opening direct into the body of the building, combined with the

length of Protestant sermons, have been the primary cause of pews. In

many churches they were almost necessary to protect the legs and head

from cutting drafts; and if these pews are now removed, and replaced by

open seats, without remedying the doors and currents of cold air, the

old partitions will return. The first thing is to remove the cause—the

effect will follow. Long sermons, also, have contributed much to

pew-making. A person assisting at an office where there is frequent

change of posture does not attach much importance to his seat, but when

he is fixed for a whole hour's sitting, the case is different; and hence

the comfortable contrivances in the modern English churches where the

sermon is everything, and the divine offices and liturgy but little

considered. Pews are essentially Protestant, but I have seen incipient

erections of the sort even in Catholic churches.

+Finis.+

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