PART II.

CONTRASTS BETWEEN THE PAST AND PRESENT.

“Fair land, by time’s parental love made free, By social order’s watchful arms embraced:— With unexampled union meet in thee, For eye and mind the present and the past; With golden prospects for futurity, If that be reverenced which ought to last.”

WORDSWORTH.

THE allusions we have made to Chaucer and his dream, in connexion with the Crystal Palace, suggest some very obvious but interesting reflections on the difference between the order of civilization which existed in his day, and that which obtains in our own. There are works of art and facts of history associated with his times, and not entirely unassociated with himself, which, by being brought under our review and placed beside the Great Exhibition, with its treasures and purposes, will exhibit the difference between the two epochs of our country’s progress in a peculiarly striking light. It should be observed however, in the first place, that the fourteenth century, like the nineteenth, was an era of progress. The blooming of poetic genius after the long winter of the middle ages, was in itself an indication that some new impulse had been given to the mind. The perfection which Gothic architecture attained at the same period, in the bold proportions, the noble forms, the chaste and elegant adornments, and all the grand and beautiful effects of the decorated style—the revival too of mercantile pursuits which then took place, owing very much to the influence of our third Edward, who to the title of Hero of Cressy appended the better title of the Father of English Commerce—were also signs and tokens of advancing civilization. To these we should add the remembrance of the mental activity and dialectic skill of the schoolmen then rife in our universities, fostering a spirit of inquisitiveness, and promoting an independence of thought and individuality of character, which could hardly fail at length to break through the trammels in which for a long period they patiently toiled: nor should we forget the bearing upon society and the spirit of the age, of the early efforts at ecclesiastical and religious reformation commenced by Wickliff and his compeers.

But between that past age of excitement and the present there are contrasts bolder than any resemblance which can be traced.

Windsor Castle may be said to have been built in the middle of the fourteenth century, when Chaucer was a youth; and with the completion of some parts of the palatial edifice and the contiguous chapel he, as we have seen, was associated. That building was a sign not only of the artistic, but of the social state of civilization at that period. The stern-looking old fortress of former times, the very symbol of feudalism, the type of individual, firm, unconquerable resistance, was succeeded by less forbidding piles of architecture; and—to adopt the idea of a French writer at that period—the kingly and baronial edifices of the fourteenth century relaxed somewhat their rigid features, and seem to “_laugh_” through their oriel windows, as they looked down on the gay quadrangle glittering with the arms and banners of chivalry. But the royal building at Windsor, though it was of the new order of architecture, and showed that taste was re-establishing her empire,—though it evinced some advance upon a previous condition of social disorder, when the rough net-work of feudal government kept things together in a very loose and imperfect manner, it also betrayed in its broad moats, machicolated towers, and other grim-looking fortifications, that a period of social tranquillity and quietude had not arrived. It was still needful to have the drawbridge and the sally-port, the loophole in the wall and the turreted walk on the top for the bow-man. The whole aspect of the place, with its warden and garrison, indicated liability to baronial attack, or popular outbreak. It was to be inferred that peer, burgess, and peasant were held still in some distrust, that law had not yet the strength of hand it needed to check the pride of the rich and curb the passions of the poor. We may look on Windsor Castle, as it stood in Chaucer’s time, as an exponent of an unsettled state of society, when the great tumults and agitations which had swept, wave after wave, over the European world had not spent their force and died away. The erection of a glass palace, strong indeed and enduring, if untouched by violence, and preserved by care, but, under opposite circumstances, frail and perishable in the extreme; its open and unprotected situation on the skirts of the great metropolis, and beside one of its chief and most frequented highways; its full exposure to general observation, and its openness to the approach of all, are facts which tell loudly in testimony of the altered state of society in which our lot is cast. Such a structure thus undefended is out of all harmony with the bygone times to which we have just referred, when tumults and deadly conflicts in the streets were of common occurrence, when property was ever in danger of rapine and plunder, and the approach to a city or town was left unlined by hedges lest they should furnish convenience for ambush to the thief or assassin. It proclaims the supremacy of law, the exaltation of that invisible and hallowed guardian of our rights, not only to a seat of physical power whence it can make its mandates felt, but upon the throne of the public mind, which has been taught reverently to bow before its majesty. It indicates the general education of the people—their improved intelligence and taste—their better social habits—their acknowledgment of the rights of property—their regard for order, and their love of peace. It shows that the last five hundred years have been years of social improvement, and leads us to ponder the causes which have wrought the change. Then there pass in review, the decline of feudalism, the development of the free principles of our constitution, the invention of printing, the reformation of religion, the progress of arts and science, the improvement of courts of justice, the institution of a well organized police; but, above all, the efforts of the preacher and the schoolmaster, those two most efficient labourers in the cause of moral civilization. This large array of agencies, with many others here overlooked, have been doing their silent work through hundreds of past years. Here we have the tillers of the soil, and the sowers of the seed, from which has sprung the harvest of social order and security which crowns the middle of the nineteenth century.

Referring again to the regal edifice reared by Edward III. we are reminded of the method by which labourers were obtained for the execution of the works. Ashmole tells us, that to the end they might be _honestly_ and duly performed the sovereign issued letters patent to press hewers of stone, carpenters, and other artificers, also to provide stone, timber, and other materials. They were gathered in London, and out of divers counties in England, by virtue of writs directed to the sheriffs, who were to take security that the workmen should not depart without license, under the penalty of £100; and, because some left Windsor clandestinely, proclamation was made to punish the fugitives with imprisonment in Newgate, and any one who dared to employ them, with a forfeiture of all his goods. This circumstance, while it illustrates the small pecuniary resources of the sovereign, throws a strong light on the condition of the labouring classes. The personal liberty of the subject was but half conceded by the unconstitutional assumptions of the royal authority. The artisan was little better than a villain or serf, in whose labour the monarch was supposed to have a vested and indefeasible interest. The latter was still, to a considerable degree, the great feudal lord of the land, having a supreme proprietorship in the persons and possessions of a vassal-like people. Marvellous and happy is the change that has come over England since then, as is shown by the history of the building before us! Not the product of a monarch, seeking to gratify his pride, and to surround himself with luxury at the expense of his people; but the enterprise of the people themselves by their own voluntary contributions, commenced, indeed, and encouraged by the suggestion and patronage of a prince illustrious and beloved—the erection of the Industrial Palace is connected with no violation of the rights of property or labour. If the English working man has still some evils in his social condition of which to complain—if his neck be still chafed by a yoke real or fancied—he should remember that his condition is enviable compared with that of his fathers. His strength and skill are his estate. He has the liberty to sell them in what market he may think the best. No regal mandate can interfere with the perfect mastery which he claims over himself. Not an axe or hammer has been used in the building but by the free will of him who wielded it. The edifice looks more majestic than ever when contemplated as the work of a nation of freemen. The money freely given—the labourers freely assembled—the work freely done. The fact proclaims to the world the wealth and liberty of England, the last the best preserver of the first, and the sure pledge, we trust, under the blessing of the Almighty, of her enduring power and growing prosperity. “As the days of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands.”

Casting back once more a glance upon the fourteenth century, another point of contrast presents itself between the past and present significant of the condition of the arts, especially in connexion with the religion of the times. Loud has been the boast of the admirers of the mediæval system in relation to its artistic aspects, with which, however, it must also be remembered, that while a corrupt church cultivated the imagination in subservience to its own superstitions, it blinded the nobler faculty of reason. That age certainly could boast of beautiful trophies. To say nothing of the architect whose cathedrals and churches awaken the wonder of posterity, the sculptor chiselled his images for the niche, the shrine, and the tomb;—the limner exercised his infant skill upon the vellum pages of illuminated MSS., or in bolder decorations for altarage and stall;—the stainer of glass dyed the windows of the chapel, the convent, and the castle, so as to present pictures of saints and heroes, or “a tissue of variegated crystals, a transparent mosaic of gems, through which the light, like flame, might pass through the varied pomp of earthly hues;”—the graver of brass preserved the images of the dead in graceful outline, full of the expression of deathlike repose, and therewith paved the choir and aisles trodden by the feet of surviving worshippers;—the carpenter and the cabinet-maker enriched their respective works with quaint but oftentimes picturesque carvings;—the smith plied his art in the manufacture of metals into various imitative forms, rearing iron screens of mimic architecture, curiously adorning a lock, or elaborating the hinges of a door;—and the goldsmith and jeweller fashioned and chased and studded with gems the images and utensils employed in popish worship, and the salt-cellars, bowls, chargers, and other pieces of plate, which sparkled on the festive board of the prince and noble. Between these works of art, _as such_, and the productions of our own day, it is not our purpose here to institute any comparison; we notice them now only _as signs of civilization_, and the fact which they illustrate under this view is the limitation of the employment of art at that time to a very few uses, deemed sacred or noble. All above the lowest class of artificers were employed exclusively in the service of the church, and the highest classes of the state. They were dependent upon the Abbey or Castle, or upon the rising wealth and budding taste of some city merchant. The people, in general, had nothing to do with works of art except to produce them, or to gaze on them from afar in their religious worship, or when they were permitted humbly to participate in the magnificent festivities of their lordly superiors. The houses, furniture, and vessels of all, except the highest class, were of the meanest and most untasteful kind. Rough and rude were all the arrangements of their dwellings, and all the appliances of their domestic life; artistic beauty was absorbed and concentrated elsewhere—no traces of it were to be found in the peasant’s cottage, or even the tenement of the common burgess. This fact, as indicative of the condition of the people in reference to their domestic civilization, is what, in the language of lord Bacon, may be styled “a _glaring instance_”—one that stands naked and open,—and this in an eminent manner, and in the highest degree of significance.

No one can survey the immense assemblage of articles in the Great Exhibition without being struck with the signs they afford of a state of civilization, the opposite of that just noticed. Here Art is seen extending its territory over all the regions of life. If in the service of religion among Protestants, she is not tasked as was once the case, we do not deplore the circumstance. Without a calm judgment and a pure heart, she is apt to become in the so-called house of God, the maid-servant of superstition. Only up to a certain point was she allowed to go under the Old Testament dispensation, when her services were largely in demand for constructing and beautifying the tabernacle and temple. “Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image,” was a check put upon the ingenious devices of a Bezaleel and an Aholiab, and upon all “who had wisdom to devise curious works, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in the cutting of stones, to set them; and in carving of wood, to make any manner of cunning work.” Under the present dispensation, when the worship of the Father is to be in spirit and in truth, in _contrast_ with the worship instituted by Moses, and therefore not merely unformal and unhypocritical, (which pure worship always was and must be,) but _un_symbolic, a still stronger restraint must be put on the activity of artistic skill within the houses of prayer called after the name of him who talked with the woman of Samaria. The busiest and most elaborate efforts of art are, therefore, as we conceive, properly removed from the house of God, by his own solemn interdict upon their employment there, lest man should make God’s most precious gift subject to vanity,—while the faculty of ingenious invention seeks and finds full scope for its exercise in increasing, multiplying, and adorning the conveniences and comforts of life among all classes. Art is mainly intended to refine and ennoble what specially belongs to this mortal life. In this respect she has the power of elevating man’s social condition by evoking and gratifying a taste for the beautiful; art is seen thus fulfilling her mission in the myriad-achievements of human skill which this Great Exhibition spreads with such lavish wealth before spectators from all climes. Passing beyond purposes of mere utility and convenience, in the accomplishment of which, however, they abound, the fabricators of all this various furniture for the homes of men, have sought to breathe into it the spirit of the beautiful. Not only does elegance of design, and accuracy of execution, mark those costlier productions which are intended for the drawing-rooms of the rich and great, but they appear in the cheap and simple provisions for the parlours and kitchens of the poor and humble. Modern European society is thus coming back to that pitch of artistic civilization which distinguished old Greece in her palmy days, when “the plastic and presiding spirit of symmetry shed its influence over the minutest details of ordinary occupation, and the shapes of the commonest utensils.” The influence of fine art is thus rendered universal. Civilization in that form is seen generally diffused. The sharp barriers of rank are broken down, the grades of society under the touch of wide-spread taste assimilate to each other; their boundary lines soften, become more and more indistinct, and gradually melt away.

To return again to the age of Edward. In the beginning of the year 1358, says old Knighton in his “Chronica,” the king issued his royal proclamation throughout all England, that all knights strangers from any part of the world, who had a mind to come to the feast of St. Georges, to be held on the 23rd of April, at Windsor, should have his letters of safe conduct to pass and repass the realm at their pleasure, for the space of three weeks without the least impediment or danger, there to partake every one according to his degree and merit of those honours and prizes which attended the princely exercises of jousts and tournaments. And accordingly this great feast was held, and thither went in their suits of armour, and with devices emblazoned on their shields, with all the pomp and circumstance of chivalry, John of France and the duke of Brabant, and many noble lords and knights from “Almain, Gascogne, Scotland, and other countries.” Philippa, the heroic wife of Edward, and the queen of the king of Scots, were present with a whole bevy of high-born dames to gaze on the tilt and tournay.

Punctiliously, according to chivalrous custom, did the gorgeously coated heralds and pursuivants proclaim and enforce the laws of the encounter. Proudly did the combatants take lance in hand and rush to the combat,—with eager eyes and beating hearts did matron and maiden look on husband and lover,—and with boisterous shouts of joy did the crowding populace hail the prowess of the conqueror. The scene was typical of the age. It was an exposition of the spirit predominant in our own land, and throughout Europe. It indicated the martial genius of the nation. It was a spectacle to which the Englishman would point with patriotic vanity,—just as the Roman would point, in the days of his great heroes, to the Campus Martius, and the streets that led to the capitol, crowded with the symbols and attendants of a triumph decreed by the republic as a reward for the valour of her warlike sons. Another prince not indeed occupying the throne, but the loving and honoured consort of the illustrious lady who fills it, has proposed a great English festival for the year 1851, and in union, not merely with popular members of the aristocracy but with distinguished representatives of commercial enterprise, and industrial activity, has sent forth the challenge to all lands, and invited people of all ranks to an earnest rivalry for crowns of pre-eminence. Thither have already arrived the weapons with which the contest is to be decided, while multitudes are wending from the far east and west to witness the array, to decide on who are the winners in this strange conflict, and to award to each the prize he merits. This exhibition of art is beautifully significant of the times in which we live. It shows that the taste for arms is no longer predominant; that it has yielded to predilections more worthy of human nature. Bales of merchandise and piles of manufacture are now beginning to be deemed more worthy of regard and admiration, than blood-stained banners, bruised shields, and splintered spears, with other trophies torn from the vanquished. The gauntlet of war is not flung down before the world, but the gage of peace. To the assemblage in Hyde Park—a fraternal intermingling of the children of all lands, with their interchange of ideas and sentiments, conveyed both to the eye and the ear, and the healthful stimulus thus afforded to the further improvements of the arts of human life—many of us are now pointing, not with pride but with thankfulness to Providence, as interpretations of the new spirit that has come over civilized society. Nor can we omit to add that much as the superiority of the military profession was vaunted in the olden time, and strongly as may linger still in many breasts the remnants of that prejudice, we believe that mankind are coming more and more to see that the palm of preference belongs of right rather to him who deepens the channels of industry, and circulates the streams of commerce. To build up and adorn must be better than to desolate—to nourish, comfort, and gladden, than to fight and destroy; and if armies be still needful to protect and defend, if we want them as a police to sustain and execute the law of nations, let it be remembered that such a view can give martial occupations no precedence in the estimation of the wise and good—as he whose business it is to take captive or to punish the violators of public order can never rank above those who minister directly to the happiness and improvement of their fellow citizens.

Nor should we here forget the enduring character of those peaceful victories won in modern times by discovery and invention, of which multiplied mementoes are afforded in the treasures of the Hyde Park Palace. Most favourably do they stand out in contrast with the evanescent nature of military power and valour. “To whatever part of the vision of modern times,” says sir Humphry Davy, “you cast your eyes, you will find marks of superiority and improvement, and I wish to impress upon you the conviction that the results of intellectual labour or scientific genius are permanent, and incapable of being lost. Monarchs change their plans, governments their objects, a fleet or an army effect their object, and then pass away: but a piece of steel touched by the magnet preserves its character for ever, and secures to man the dominions of the trackless ocean.” All the discoveries of knowledge and their application to practical uses are of this description, and we joyfully compare them with the mouldering trophies of the warrior. The spoils of Cressy and Poictiers have long since perished—even the power which Edward and his soldiers established in France soon declined and disappeared, and long since left behind it only a name in history—but the results of scientific study and artistic toil, which have produced the Great Exhibition of 1851, are destined, we doubt not, to last to a remote period, and to improve the condition and adorn the dwellings of unborn millions of the human family.

In closing this chapter, we may remark that unlike the martial gathering at the tournament of Windsor, the concourse of British subjects at the present festival no longer exhibits the distinctions of feudal society. Lordship and vassalage have happily become numbered among the things that are past. Whatever purposes they might subserve at a certain period, they were badges of imperfect civilization, and have given place to a condition of social order in which, though a graduated scale of rank very properly obtains, the equal rights of men as intellectual and moral beings are beginning to be acknowledged. In this “passage” of arts, “not arms,” the humblest are permitted to display their skill;—not as aforetime, when the contest was confined to the men of high descent, the poorest workman may place his productions beside those of the richest sons of fortune. The man who can make no boast of gentle blood, who can appeal to no roll of ancestry, whose name is but of yesterday, who simply, by dint of using his brains and his muscles, his thoughts and ten fingers, has raised himself into notice is permitted and encouraged to contend with the highest born for the prize of honour in these pacific and generous rivalries. This is not among the least pleasing of the contrasts between past and present.