Part 6

Ah, reader! let us seek to grasp the true notion of Providence, for in it there is peace and deep repose of soul. Life has often been compared to a drama. Now, in a good drama there is one plot, variously evolved by incidents of different kinds, which until the last act present entanglement and confusion. Vice has its temporary triumphs, virtue its temporary depressions. What of that? You know it will come right in the end. You know there is an organizing mind which unfolds the story, and that the poet will certainly bring the whole to a climax by the ultimate indication of righteousness and the doing of poetical justice upon malefactors. To this end every shifting of the scene, every movement of the actors, every by-plot and underplot is made to contribute. Wheel within wheel is working together toward this result. Well, life is God’s great drama. It was thought out and composed in the Eternal Mind before the mountains were brought forth, or even the earth and the world were made. In time God made a theater for it, called the earth; and now the great drama is being acted thereon. It is on a gigantic scale—this drama. The scenes are shifting every hour. One set of characters drops off the stage, and new ones come on to play much the same part as the first, only in new dresses. There seem to be entanglements, perplexities, interruptions, confusions, contradictions without end; but you may be sure there is one ruling thought, one master design, to which all these are subordinate. Every incident, every character, however apparently adverse, contributes to work out that ruling thought. Think you that the Divine Dramatist will leave anything out of the scope of his plot? Nay, the circumference of that plot embraces within its vast sweep every incident which time ever brought to birth.

Thou knowest that the mind which organized this drama is Wisdom. Thou knowest more; thou knowest that it is Love. Then of its ending grandly, wisely, nobly, lovingly, infinitely well for them who love God, there can be no doubt. But remember you are an actor in it; not a puppet worked by wires, but an actor. It is yours to study the plot as it unfolds itself, to throw yourself into it intelligently, warmly, zealously. Be sure to learn your part well, and to recite it manfully. Be not clamorous for another or more dignified character than that which is allotted you—be it your sole aim to conspire with the Author, and to subserve his grand and wise conception.

Thus shall you cease from your own wisdom. Thus shall you find peace in submitting yourself to the wisdom which is of God, and thus, finally, shall he pronounce you a good and faithful servant, and summon you to enter into the joy of your Lord.

[_March 9._]

Now here comes out another point of holy policy in the combat with temptations. It is wise, especially when they are at their height, never to look them full in the face. To consider their suggestions, to debate with them, to fight it out with them inch by inch in a listed field, is, generally speaking, a sure way to fail. Turn the mind to Christ at the first assault, and keep it fixed there with pertinacity, until this tyranny be overpast. Consider him, if thou wilt, after the picture here presented to us. Think of him as one who walked amidst temptations without ever being submerged by them, as of one who by his grace can enable his followers to do the same. Think of him as calm, serene, firm, majestic, amidst the most furious agitations and turbulences of nature, and as one who can endue thy heart with a similar steadfastness. Think of him as interceding for his Church on the Mount of Glory, as watching them while they toil in rowing against the adverse influences which beset them round about upon the sea of life, as descending on the wings of love to their relief. Think of him as standing close by thee in thy immediate neighborhood, with a hand outstretched for thy support as soon as ever thou lookest toward him. Remember that _it is not you who are to conquer, but he who is to conquer in you_; and accordingly, “even as the eyes of servants wait upon the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of the maiden upon the hand of her mistress, even so let your eyes wait upon him, until he have mercy upon you.” No man ever fell in this attitude of expectant faith; he falls because he allows himself to look at the temptation, to be fascinated by its attractiveness, or terrified by its strength. One of the greatest sermons in our language is on the expulsive power of a new affection, and the principle laid down in that sermon admits of application to the circumstances of which we are speaking. There can be, of course, no temptation without a certain correspondence of the inner man with the immediate occasion of the trial. Now, do you desire to weaken this correspondence, to cut it off and make it cease? Fill the mind and heart with another affection, and let it be the affection for Christ crucified. Thus will the energies of the soul, which will not suffice for two strong actions at the same time, be drawn off into another quarter; and beside, the great enemy, seeing that his assaults only provoke you to a continuous exercise of faith, will soon lay down his arms, and you shall know experimentally the truth of those words, “Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.” There can be no doubt that this counsel of looking only upon Christ in the hour of temptation will be most needed (if our conscience and mind be spared us to the end), in the critical hour when flesh and heart are failing, and when Satan for the last time is permitted to assault our faith. We can well imagine that in that hour doubts will be busily instilled of Christ’s love and power, suggestions of our own unfaithfulness to him in times past and questions as to whether he will now receive us. The soul will then possibly be scared by terrors, as the disciples in the boat were scared with the thoughts of a phantom, and will tremble in apprehension of being thrust out from the frail bark of the body into the darkness, uncertainty, insecurity of the new and untried element. If such should be the experience of any one who reads these pages, let him take with him this one counsel of safety, to look only to Christ, and to perish, if he perishes, at his feet; let us refuse to look in any other quarter, let us steadily turn away our eyes from the doubts, the painful recollection, the alarming anticipations which the enemy is instilling. We are not proposing to be saved on the ground of any righteousness in ourselves, or in any other way than by free grace, as undone sinners; then let these words be the motto of the tempest-tossed soul: “My soul hangeth upon thee; thy right hand hath upholden me;” ay, and let it be the motto _now_, in hours when lesser trials assault us. Let us make proof even now of the invincibility of the shield of faith, that we may bring it forth in that hour with greater confidence in its power to shield us. And the hand of an infinite love shall uphold us in the last, as it has done in previous ordeals, and the prayer shall be answered, which we have offered so often over the grave of departed friends:

“Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Savior, thou most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death to fall from thee.” “My flesh and my heart faileth; but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?”

[_March 16._]

Never lower your principles to the world’s standard. Never let sin, however popular it may be, have any sanction or countenance from you, even by a smile. The manly confession of Christ, when his cause is unpopular, is made by himself the condition of his confessing us before men. If people find out that we are earnestly religious, as they soon will, if the light is shining, let us make them heartily welcome to the intelligence, and allow them to talk and criticise as much as they please. And then, again, in order that the lights may shine without obstruction, in order that it may easily transpire what we are, we must be simple, and study simplicity. This is by no means so easy as it at first sight appears; for in this highly artificial and pretentious age all society is overlaid with numerous affectations. Detest affectation, as the contrary of truth, and as hypocrisy on a small scale; and allow yourself freely to be seen by those around you in your true colors. There is an affectation of indifference to all things, and of a lack of general sensibility, which is becoming very prevalent in this age, and which is the sworn foe to all simplicity of character. The persons who labor under this moral disorder pretend to have lost their freshness of interest in every thing; for them, as they would have it believed, there is no surprise and no enthusiasm. Without assuming that they are really the unimpressionable creatures which they would make themselves out to be, we may warn them that the wilful dissembling of a generous emotion is the way to suppress it. As Christians, we must eschew untruth in every form; we must labor to seem just what we are, neither better nor worse. To be true to God and to the thought of his presence all day long, and to let self occupy as little as possible of our thoughts; to care much for his approval, and comparatively little for the impression we are making on others; to feed the inward light with oil, and then freely to allow it to shine; this is the great secret of edification. May he indoctrinate us into it, and dispose and enable us to illustrate it in our practice.

[_March 23._]

See now, tempted soul, whether this consideration, applied to your own case, may not somewhat lighten thy burden. You are beset by distractions in prayer and meditation. Well, distractions are no sin; nay, if struggled against patiently and cheerfully, they shall be a jewel in thy crown. Did you go through with the religious exercise as well as you could, not willingly harboring the distraction or consenting to it? In this case the prayer was quite as acceptable as if it had been accompanied with those high-flown feelings of fervor and sensible delight which God sometimes gives and sometimes, for our better discipline and humiliation, withholds. Nay, may we not say, that it was much more acceptable? Do not the Scriptures give us reason to think that prayer, persevering amidst difficulties and humiliations, prayer clinging close to Christ, despite his rebuffs, _is_ more acceptable than the prayer which has its way smooth before it, and whose wings are filled by the favoring gale? What else are we to learn from the acceptance of Bartimæus’s petition, who cried so much the more when the multitude rebuked him that he should hold his peace? What else from the commendation and recompense of the Syro-Phœnician’s faith? Wouldst thou know the avenue to the Savior’s heart, when thou art driven from his footstool by manifold discouragements, by deadness, numbness, insensibility—and he himself seems to cover himself with a cloud, so that thy prayer may not pass through? Confess thyself a dog, and plead for such crumbs as are the dog’s allowed and recognized portion. Call to mind the many times when thou hast turned a deaf ear to Christ’s expostulations with thee through thy conscience. Reflect that thou hast deserved nothing but repulses, and to have thy drafts upon him dishonored; and yet cling to his sacred feet, while thou sinkest low before him, resolving not to let him go except he bless thee; and this act of humility and perseverance shall make thy lame and halting prayer far more acceptable to the Divine Majesty than if it sailed to heaven with all the fluency of conscious inspiration, like Balaam’s prophecy of old, which was prefaced, unhappy soul, by the assertion of his gifts.

[_March 30._]

The remedy, and under God’s grace the only remedy, whether in solitude or in company, is to “watch”—to “guard,” as far as in us lies, “the first springs of thought and will.” Let us pray and strive for the habit of challenging our sentiments, and making them give up their passport; eyeing them wistfully when they apply for admittance, and seeking to unmask those which have a questionable appearance.…

It will be found that all the more grievous falls of the tempted soul come from this—that the keeping of the heart has been neglected, that the evil has not been nipped in the bud. We have allowed matters to advance to a question of conduct—“shall I say this, or not say it?” “Do this, or not do it?” Whereas the stand should be made higher up and the ground disputed in the inner man. As if the mere restraint upon outward conduct, without the homage of the heart to God’s law, could avail us aught, or be anything else than an offensive hypocrisy in the eyes of the Heart-searcher! As if Balaam’s refraining from the malediction of the lips, while his heart was going after his covetousness, could be acceptable to the Almighty! Balaam, being an inspired and divinely-commissioned man, _dared_ not disobey; for he knew too well what would be the result of such an abuse of his supernatural gifts. But we, if, like Balaam, we have allowed to evil a free range over our hearts, _are sure to disobey when it comes to a question of conduct_, not being restrained by the fear of miraculous punishment, which alone held him back. There is therefore no safety for us except in taking our stand at the avenues of the will, and rejecting at once every questionable impulse. And this, it is obvious, can not be done without watchfulness and self-recollection—without a continual bearing in mind where, and what we are, and that we have a treasure in our keeping, of which our foes seek to rob us. Endeavor to make your heart a little sanctuary, in which you may continually realize the presence of God, and from which unhallowed thoughts, and even vain thoughts must carefully be excluded.

READINGS IN ART.

GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.[B]

We do not know just when this term Gothic was first applied to the kind of architecture it is used to designate. It was probably intended to indicate something rude or barbaric in its features, but not that the Goths themselves invented or practiced it. That uncultured, warlike race knew little or nothing of architecture; but when, in the twelfth century, there arose in the north countries of Europe a new style of the art, those in the east and south, meaning to charge it with want of refinement, called it Gothic. There is not now the slightest reproach in the term, but rather the contrary. It won high, and for a time almost universal appreciation among all lovers of art. If, as compared with what went before, it is in a sense rude and wild, these very qualities command respect and admiration. It became the favorite architecture of the fourteenth century, reaching its highest state of development about the first of the fifteenth.

We can but imperfectly note the changes that took place in this style during its prevalence in England and other countries, for it had nearly the same phases in many lands, though not quite simultaneously. Changes were constantly made, both in language and architecture, that were not radical or destructive. As the change from the rude Anglo-Saxon forms of speech to the polished periods of Addison did not destroy the language, neither did the progress and improvement of this style of architecture change its identity.

Its characteristic features were maintained throughout. Some or all of these, “boldness, naturalness, grotesqueness and redundancy,” are evident in every stage, quite enough to vindicate its claim to be Gothic. Many years before the Roman emperors had introduced into Europe something like a universal architecture. The buildings of every Roman colony bore a strong resemblance to those of every other colony and of the metropolis. They were, in general, heavy in appearance, simple in structure, and had all their arches semi-circular.

Just what led to a change so marked and general it is perhaps impossible to tell. It was an age of much religious zeal; not always according to knowledge. In England, France, Germany, Lombardy, and South Italy many costly churches were demanded. A keen rivalry existed among the builders of these churches; each must be larger and finer than previous examples; and the details grew more elaborate. Architects of ability applied themselves diligently. Difficulties of construction that had seemed insuperable were overcome. The pointed arch was adopted, not only as more beautiful, but because it could be successfully used in important situations where the other was found impracticable. Whatever was lacking in religious society of the age, grand and liberal ideas were entertained as to the size and cost of churches; and architects had ample encouragement to do their best. And they did, both in designing new, and remodeling old buildings.

Mr. Smith says: “At the beginning of the twelfth century many local peculiarities—some due to accident, some to the quality of the building materials, and some to other causes, began to make their appearance in the buildings in various parts of Europe; and through the whole Gothic period they were met with; still the points of similarity were greater and more numerous than the differences. So, when we have gone through the course which the style ran in one country where it prevailed, we have a general outline of the whole, and may omit to speak particularly of them all without serious loss. On some grounds France would be the most suitable to select for the purpose, as the new order appeared earlier and had a more brilliant course in that country than in any other. But the balance of advantage lies in selection of Great Britain. The various phases the art has passed through in that country are well marked; and even the American student, who can not visit the country, may acquire some helpful information through engravings and photographs, that are happily quite common.”

By far the most important specimens of Gothic architecture are the cathedrals and large churches. They are more complete as works of art than any other structures, and in all respects fit examples of pointed architecture.

The ground plan of the Peterborough Cathedral is especially simple; give a competent builder the order he is to follow, and he will need no picture, the plan tells him the whole.

Cathedrals are all similarly located as to the points of compass, and the principal entrance is in the west end. The one mentioned is about five times as long as it is wide. The wall is relieved by a large transept, the east wall of which begins about one third the distance from the east end. This gives the building the form of a cross. The part from the west end to the crossing of the transept is called the nave. The ends of the transept extend about one-third of the width of the building. The nave is flanked by avenues on each side, narrower and lower than itself, called aisles. They are separated from it by a row of columns or piers, connected by arches. Thus the nave has an arcade on each side, and each aisle has an arcade on one side, and the outer wall pierced by windows on the other. The strong arches of the arcade carry the walls that rise above the roofs of the aisles. These walls are usually divided internally into two stories. The lower story consists of a series of smaller arches, forming a second arcade, called the triforium, that opens into the dark space above the ceiling of the aisles, and is hence called the blind story.

The upper story has a range of windows, giving light to the nave, and is called the clere-story. Thus a spectator standing in the nave and looking toward either side, will see before him the main arcade and side windows, above the arcade the triforium, and above this the clere-story, beautifully illuminated and crowned with the nave, vault or roof. The great size and height give sublimity to the sight. The east arm of a cathedral is that to which most importance is attached, and has greater richness and more elaborate finish.

When the termination is semi-circular or polygonal it is called an apse or apsidal east end. Attached to some of the side walls it is usual to have a series of chapels, partially shut off from the main building, yet of easy access.

Tombs and enclosures connected with them, called chantry chapels, are met in various positions, especially in the eastern arm. Below the raised floor of the choir there is a subterranean vaulted structure called the crypt.

Passing to the exterior, the principal doorway is in the west front, deeply recessed, and elaborate in design. There are also doors in both ends of the transept, and one or more side entrances. In a complete cathedral the grand architectural effect is principally due to the towers with which it is adorned, the most massive standing at the crossing of the transept.

To cathedrals and abbey-churches a group of monastic buildings was attached; sometimes very expensive and in the best style of the art. The most important of these is the Chapter House, which is frequently lofty and highly ornamented. The extent and arrangement of the monastic buildings adjoining the cloister vary with the needs of the different order of monks. The monk’s dormitory was on the east side of the great cloister, the refectory and kitchen on the south, and on the west the great cellar, and a hospitum for the entertainment of guests.

The house for the abbot, the infirmary, the school building for novices, with its chapel, and more remotely the granaries, mills, bake-houses, offices, garden, cemetery—taken all together, a monastery shows an extensive group of buildings well arranged for the purposes intended.

Some military and domestic buildings are also of great interest. In those centuries dwellings of much consequence were all more or less fortified. Some were built with a lofty square tower, called a “keep,” and capable of standing an assault or a siege. The number and character of the buildings in the enclosure around the keep of course depended on the ability of the proprietor. The outer buildings of the Tower of London, though much modernized, give a good idea of what a first-class castle grew, by successive additions, to be. In those erected near the close of the thirteenth century, the square tower was abandoned, and better provision made for the comfort and convenience of the occupants.

Warwick Castle might be cited as a good example of an English castelated mansion, of the time of Richard II. But still more interesting is Haddon Hall, the residence of the Duke of Rutland, in Derbyshire. It consists of two internal quadrangles separated by the great hall, with its dais, its minstrel’s gallery, its vast open fire-place, and its traceried windows. Probably nowhere in England can the growth of domestic architecture be better studied, whether we look to the alterations which took place in arrangement, or to changes in the treatment of windows, battlements, doorways, and other features, than at Haddon Hall.