1.  It is the admitted privilege of a custode who loves his cathedral to depreciate, in its comparison, all the other cathedrals of his country that resemble, and all the edifices on the globe that differ from it.  But I love too many cathedrals ­though I have never had the happiness of becoming the custode of even one ­to permit myself the easy and faithful exercise of the privilege in question; and I must vindicate my candour, and my judgment, in the outset, by confessing that the cathedral of AMIENS has nothing to boast of in the way of towers, ­that its central flèche is merely the pretty caprice of a village carpenter, ­that the total structure is in dignity inferior to Chartres, in sublimity to Beauvais, in decorative splendour to Rheims, and in loveliness of figure-sculpture to Bourges.  It has nothing like the artful pointing and moulding of the arcades of Salisbury ­nothing of the might of Durham; ­no Daedalian inlaying like Florence, no glow of mythic fantasy like Verona.  And yet, in all, and more than these, ways, outshone or overpowered, the cathedral of Amiens deserves the name given it by M. Viollet lé Duc ­

         “The Parthenon of Gothic Architecture."

2.  Of Gothic, mind you; Gothic clear of Roman tradition, and of Arabian taint; Gothic pure, authoritative, unsurpassable, and unaccusable; ­its proper principles of structure being once understood and admitted.

No well-educated traveller is now without some consciousness of the meaning of what is commonly and rightly called “purity of style,” in the modes of art which have been practised by civilized nations; and few are unaware of the distinctive aims and character of Gothic.  The purpose of a good Gothic builder was to raise, with the native stone of the place he had to build in, an edifice as high and as spacious as he could, with calculable and visible security, in no protracted and wearisome time, and with no monstrous or oppressive compulsion of human labour.

He did not wish to exhaust in the pride of a single city the energies of a generation, or the resources of a kingdom; he built for Amiens with the strength and the exchequer of Amiens; with chalk from the cliffs of the Somme, and under the orders of two successive bishops, one of whom directed the foundations of the edifice, and the other gave thanks in it for its completion.  His object, as a designer, in common with all the sacred builders of his time in the North, was to admit as much light into the building as was consistent with the comfort of it; to make its structure intelligibly admirable, but not curious or confusing; and to enrich and enforce the understood structure with ornament sufficient for its beauty, yet yielding to no wanton enthusiasm in expenditure, nor insolent in giddy or selfish ostentation of skill; and finally, to make the external sculpture of its walls and gates at once an alphabet and epitome of the religion, by the knowledge and inspiration of which an acceptable worship might be rendered, within those gates, to the Lord whose Fear was in His Holy Temple, and whose seat was in Heaven.

3.  It is not easy for the citizen of the modern aggregate of bad building, and ill-living held in check by constables, which we call a town, ­of which the widest streets are devoted by consent to the encouragement of vice, and the narrow ones to the concealment of misery, ­not easy, I say, for the citizen of any such mean city to understand the feeling of a burgher of the Christian ages to his cathedral.  For him, the quite simply and frankly-believed text, “Where two or three are gathered in My name, there am I in the midst of them,” was expanded into the wider promise to many honest and industrious persons gathered in His name ­“They shall be my people and I will be their God"; ­deepened in his reading of it, by some lovely local and simply affectionate faith that Christ, as he was a Jew among Jews, and a Galilean among Galileans, was also, in His nearness to any ­even the poorest ­group of disciples, as one of their nation; and that their own “Beau Christ d’Amiens” was as true a compatriot to them as if He had been born of a Picard maiden.

4.  It is to be remembered, however ­and this is a theological point on which depended much of the structural development of the northern basílicas ­that the part of the building in which the Divine presence was believed to be constant, as in the Jewish Holy of Holies, was only the enclosed choir; in front of which the aisles and transepts might become the King’s Hall of Justice, as in the presence-chamber of Christ; and whose high altar was guarded always from the surrounding eastern aisles by a screen of the most finished workmanship; while from those surrounding aisles branched off a series of radiating chapels or cells, each dedicated to some separate saint.  This conception of the company of Christ with His saints, (the eastern chapel of all being the Virgin’s,) was at the root of the entire disposition of the apse with its supporting and dividing buttresses and piers; and the architectural form can never be well delighted in, unless in some sympathy with the spiritual imagination out of which it rose.  We talk foolishly and feebly of symbols and types:  in old Christian architecture, every part is literal:  the cathedral is for its builders the House of God; ­it is surrounded, like an earthly king’s, with minor lodgings for the servants; and the glorious carvings of the exterior walls and interior wood of the choir, which an English rector would almost instinctively think of as done for the glorification of the canons, was indeed the Amienois carpenter’s way of making his Master-carpenter comfortable, ­nor less of showing his own native and insuperable virtue of carpenter, before God and man.

5.  Whatever you wish to see, or are forced to leave unseen, at Amiens, if the overwhelming responsibilities of your existence, and the inevitable necessities of precipitate locomotion in their fulfilment, have left you so much as one quarter of an hour, not out of breath ­for the contemplation of the capital of Picardy, give it wholly to the cathedral choir.  Aisles and porches, lancet windows and roses, you can see elsewhere as well as here ­but such carpenter’s work, you cannot.  It is late, ­fully developed flamboyant just past the fifteenth century ­and has some Flemish stolidity mixed with the playing French fire of it; but wood-carving was the Picard’s joy from his youth up, and, so far as I know, there is nothing else so beautiful cut out of the goodly trees of the world.

Sweet and young-grained wood it is:  oak, trained and chosen for such work, sound now as four hundred years since.  Under the carver’s hand it seems to cut like clay, to fold like silk, to grow like living branches, to leap like living flame.  Canopy crowning canopy, pinnacle piercing pinnacle—­it shoots and wreathes itself into an enchanted glade, inextricable, imperishable, fuller of leafage than any forest, and fuller of story than any book.

Without pretending to apportion the credit of savoir-faire and theology in the business, we have only to observe that the whole company, master, apprentices, workmen, image-cutter, and four canons, got well into traces, and set to work on the 3rd of July, 1508, in the great hall of the évêché, which was to be the workshop and studio during the whole time of the business.  In the following year, another menuisier, Alexander Huet, was associated with the body, to carry on the stalls on the right hand of the choir, while Arnold Boulin went on with those on the left.  Arnold, leaving his new associate in command for a time, went to Beauvais and St. Riquier, to see the woodwork there; and in July of 1511 both the masters went to Rouen together, ‘pour étudier les chaires de la cathédrale.’  The year before, also, two Franciscans, monks of Abbeville, ’expert and renowned in working in wood,’ had been called by the Amiens chapter to give their opinion on things in progress, and had each twenty sous for his opinion, and travelling expenses.

In 1516, another and an important name appears on the accounts, ­that of Jean Trupin, ‘a simple workman at the wages of three sous a day,’ but doubtless a good and spirited carver, whose true portrait it is without doubt, and by his own hand, that forms the elbow-rest, of the 85th stall (right hand, nearest apse), beneath which is cut his name JHAN TRUPIN, and again under the 92nd stall, with the added wish, ’Jan Trupin, God take care of thee’ (Dieu te pourvoie).

The entire work was ended on St. John’s Day, 1522, without (so far as we hear) any manner of interruption by dissension, death, dishonesty, or incapacity, among its fellow-workmen, master or servant.  And the accounts being audited by four members of the Chapter, it was found that the total expense was 9488 livres, 11 sous, and 3 obols (decimes), or 474 napoléons, 11 sous, 3 decimes of modern French money, or roughly four hundred sterling English pounds.

For which sum, you perceive, a company of probably six or eight good workmen, old and young, had been kept merry and busy for fourteen years; and this that you see ­left for substantial result and gift to you.

I have not examined the carvings so as to assign, with any decision, the several masters’ work; but in general the flower and leaf design in the traceries will be by the two head menuisiers, and their apprentices; the elaborate Scripture histories by Avernier, with variously completing incidental grotesque by Trupin; and the joining and fitting by the common workmen.  No nails are used, ­all is morticed, and so beautifully that the joints have not moved to this day, and are still almost imperceptible.  The four terminal pyramids ’you might take for giant pines forgotten for six centuries on the soil where the church was built; they might be looked on at first as a wild luxury of sculpture and hollow traceries ­but examined in analysis they are marvels of order and system in construction, uniting all the lightness, strength, and grace of the most renowned spires in the last epoch of the Middle ages.’

The above particulars are all extracted ­or simply translated, out of the excellent description of the “Stalles et les Clotures du Choeur” of the Cathedral of Amiens, by MM. les Chanoines Jourdain et Duval (Amiens, Vv.  Alfred Caron, 1867).  The accompanying lithographic outlines are exceedingly good, and the reader will find the entire series of subjects indicated with precision and brevity, both for the woodwork and the external veil of the choir, of which I have no room to speak in this traveller’s summary.]

6.  I have never been able to make up my mind which was really the best way of approaching the cathedral for the first time.  If you have plenty of leisure, and the day is fine, and you are not afraid of an hour’s walk, the really right thing to do is to walk down the main street of the old town, and across the river, and quite out to the chalk hill out of which the citadel is half quarried ­half walled; ­and walk to the top of that, and look down into the citadel’s dry ’ditch,’ ­or, more truly, dry valley of death, which is about as deep as a glen in Derbyshire, (or, more precisely, the upper part of the ‘Happy Valley’ at Oxford, above Lower Hincksey,) and thence across to the cathedral and ascending slopes of the city; so, you will understand the real height and relation of tower and town: ­then, returning, find your way to the Mount Zion of it by any narrow cross streets and chance bridges you can ­the more winding and dirty the streets, the better; and whether you come first on west front or apse, you will think them worth all the trouble you have had to reach them.

7.  But if the day be dismal, as it may sometimes be, even in France, of late years, ­or if you cannot or will not walk, which may also chance, for all our athletics and lawn-tennis, ­or if you must really go to Paris this afternoon, and only mean to see all you can in an hour or two, ­then, supposing that, notwithstanding these weaknesses, you are still a nice sort of person, for whom it is of some consequence which way you come at a pretty thing, or begin to look at it ­I think the best way is to walk from the Hotel de France or the Place de Périgord, up the Street of Three Pebbles, towards the railway station ­stopping a little as you go, so as to get into a cheerful temper, and buying some bonbons or tarts for the children in one of the charming patissiers’ shops on the left.  Just past them, ask for the theatre; and just past that, you will find, also on the left, three open arches, through which you can turn, passing the Palais de Justice, and go straight up to the south transept, which has really something about it to please everybody.  It is simple and severe at the bottom, and daintily traceried and pinnacled at the top, and yet seems all of a piece ­though it isn’t ­and everybody must like the taper and transparent fretwork of the flèche above, which seems to bend to the west wind, ­though it doesn’t ­at least, the bending is a long habit, gradually yielded into, with gaining grace and submissiveness, during the last three hundred years.  And, coming quite up to the porch, everybody must like the pretty French Madonna in the middle of it, with her head a little aside, and her nimbus switched a little aside too, like a becoming bonnet.  A Madonna in decadence she is, though, for all, or rather by reason of all, her prettiness, and her gay soubrette’s smile; and she has no business there, neither, for this is St. Honore’s porch, not hers; and grim and grey St. Honore used to stand there to receive you, ­he is banished now to the north porch, where nobody ever goes in.  This was done long ago, in the fourteenth-century days, when the people first began to find Christianity too serious, and devised a merrier faith for France, and would have bright-glancing, soubrette Madonnas everywhere ­letting their own dark-eyed Joan of Arc be burned for a witch.  And thenceforward, things went their merry way, straight on, ’ca allait, ca ira,’ to the merriest days of the guillotine.

But they could still carve, in the fourteenth century, and the Madonna and her hawthorn-blossom lintel are worth your looking at, ­much more the field above, of sculpture as delicate and more calm, which tells St. Honore’s own story, little talked of now in his Parisian faubourg.

8.  I will not keep you just now to tell St. Honore’s story ­(only too glad to leave you a little curious about it, if it were possible) ­for certainly you will be impatient to go into the church; and cannot enter it to better advantage than by this door.  For all cathedrals of any mark have nearly the same effect when you enter at the west door; but I know no other which shows so much of its nobleness from the south interior transept; the opposite rose being of exquisite fineness in tracery, and lovely in lustre; and the shafts of the transept aisles forming wonderful groups with those of the choir and nave; also, the apse shows its height better, as it opens to you when you advance from the transept into the mid-nave, than when it is seen at once from the west end of the nave; where it is just possible for an irreverent person rather to think the nave narrow, than the apse high.  Therefore, if you let me guide you, go in at this south transept door, (and put a sou into every beggar’s box who asks it there, ­it is none of your business whether they should be there or not, nor whether they deserve to have the sou, ­be sure only that you yourself deserve to have it to give; and give it prettily, and not as if it burnt your fingers).  Then, being once inside, take what first sensation and general glimpse of it pleases you ­promising the custode to come back to see it properly; (only then mind you keep the promise;) and in this first quarter of an hour, seeing only what fancy bid you ­but at least, as I said, the apse from mid-nave, and all the traverses of the building, from its centre.  Then you will know, when you go outside again, what the architect was working for, and what his buttresses and traceries mean.  For the outside of a French cathedral, except for its sculpture, is always to be thought of as the wrong side of the stuff, in which you find how the threads go that produce the inside or right-side pattern.  And if you have no wonder in you for that choir and its encompassing circlet of light, when you look up into it from the cross-centre, you need not travel farther in search of cathedrals, for the waiting-room of any station is a better place for you; ­but, if it amaze you and delight you at first, then, the more you know of it, the more it will amaze.  For it is not possible for imagination and mathematics together, to do anything nobler or stronger than that procession of window, with material of glass and stone ­nor anything which shall look loftier, with so temperate and prudent measure of actual loftiness.

9.  From the pavement to the keystone of its vault is but 132 French feet ­about 150 English.  Think only ­you who have been in Switzerland, ­the Staubbach falls nine hundred!  Nay, Dover cliff under the castle, just at the end of the Marine Parade, is twice as high; and the little cockneys parading to military polka on the asphalt below, think themselves about as tall as it, I suppose, ­nay, what with their little lodgings and stodgings and podgings about it, they have managed to make it look no bigger than a moderate-sized limekiln.  Yet it is twice the height of Amiens’ apse! ­and it takes good building, with only such bits of chalk as one can quarry beside Somme, to make your work stand half that height, for six hundred years.

10.  It takes good building, I say, and you may even aver the best ­that ever was, or is again likely for many a day to be, on the unquaking and fruitful earth, where one could calculate on a pillar’s standing fast, once well set up; and where aisles of aspen, and orchards of apple, and clusters of vine, gave type of what might be most beautifully made sacred in the constancy of sculptured stone.  From the unhewn block set on end in the Druid’s Bethel, to this Lord’s House and blue-vitrailed gate of Heaven, you have the entire course and consummation of the Northern Religious Builder’s passion and art.

11.  But, note further ­and earnestly, ­this apse of Amiens is not only the best, but the very first thing done perfectly in its manner, by Northern Christendom.  In pages 323 and 327 of the sixth volume of M. Viollet lé Duc, you will find the exact history of the development of these traceries through which the eastern light shines on you as you stand, from the less perfect and tentative forms of Rheims:  and so momentary was the culmination of the exact rightness, that here, from nave to transept ­built only ten years later, ­there is a little change, not towards decline, but to a not quite necessary precision.  Where decline begins, one cannot, among the lovely fantasies that succeeded, exactly say ­but exactly, and indisputably, we know that this apse of Amiens is the first virgin perfect work, ­Parthenon also in that sense, ­of Gothic Architecture.

12.  Who built it, shall we ask?  God, and Man, ­is the first and most true answer.  The stars in their courses built it, and the Nations.  Greek Athena labours here ­and Roman Father Jove, and Guardian Mars.  The Gaul labours here, and the Frank:  knightly Norman, ­mighty Ostrogoth, ­and wasted anchorite of Idumea.

The actual Man who built it scarcely cared to tell you he did so; nor do the historians brag of him.  Any quantity of heraldries of knaves and faineants you may find in what they call their ‘history’:  but this is probably the first time you ever read the name of Robert of Luzarches.  I say he ’scarcely cared’ ­we are not sure that he cared at all.  He signed his name nowhere, that I can hear of.  You may perhaps find some recent initials cut by English remarkable visitors desirous of immortality, here and there about the edifice, but Robert the builder ­or at least the Master of building, cut his on no stone of it.  Only when, after his death, the headstone had been brought forth with shouting, Grace unto it, this following legend was written, recording all who had part or lot in the labour, within the middle of the labyrinth then inlaid in the pavement of the nave.  You must read it trippingly on the tongue:  it was rhymed gaily for you by pure French gaiety, not the least like that of the Theatre de Folies.

     “En l’an de Grace mil deux cent
     Et vingt, fu l’oeuvre de cheens
     Premièrement encomenchie. 
     A donc y ert de cheste evesquie
     Evrart, évêque bénis;
     Et, Roy de France, Loys
       Qui fût fils Phelippe lé Sage. 
     Qui maistre y ert de l’oeuvre
     Maistre Robert estoit nomes
     Et de Luzarches surnomes. 
     Maistre Thomas fu âpres lui
     De Cormont.  Et âpres, son filz
     Maistre Regnault, qui mestre
     Fist a chest point chi cheste lectre
     Que l’incarnation valoit
     Treize cent, moins douze, en faloit.”

13.  I have written the numerals in letters, else the metre would not have come clear:  they were really in figures thus, “II C. et XX,” “XIII C. moins XII”.  I quote the inscription from M. l’Abbe Roze’s admirable little book, “Visite a la Cathédrale d’Amiens,” ­Sup.  Lib. de Mgr l’Eveque d’Amiens, 1877, ­which every grateful traveller should buy, for I am only going to steal a little bit of it here and there.  I only wish there had been a translation of the legend to steal, too; for there are one or two points, both of idea and chronology, in it, that I should have liked the Abbé’s opinion of.

The main purport of the rhyme, however, we perceive to be, line for line, as follows: ­

     “In the year of Grace, Twelve Hundred
     And twenty, the work, then falling to ruin,
     Was first begun again. 
     Then was, of this Bishopric
     Everard the blessed Bishop. 
     And, King of France, Louis,
     Who was son to Philip the Wise. 
     He who was Master of the Work
     Was called Master Robert,
     And called, beyond that, of Luzarches. 
     Master Thomas was after him,
     Of Cormont.  And after him, his son,
     Master Reginald, who to be put
     Made ­at this point ­this reading. 
     When the Incarnation was of account
     Thirteen hundred, less twelve, which it failed of.”

In which legend, while you stand where once it was written (it was removed ­to make the old pavement more polite ­in the year, I sorrowfully observe, of my own earliest tour on the Continent, 1825, when I had not yet turned my attention to Ecclesiastical Architecture), these points are noticeable ­if you have still a little patience.

14.  ’The work’ ­i.e., the Work of Amiens in especial, her cathedral, was ‘decheant,’ falling to ruin, for the ­I cannot at once say ­fourth, fifth, or what time, ­in the year 1220.  For it was a wonderfully difficult matter for little Amiens to get this piece of business fairly done, so hard did the Devil pull against her.  She built her first Bishop’s church (scarcely more than St. Firmin’s tomb-chapel) about the year 350, just outside the railway station on the road to Paris; then, after being nearly herself destroyed, chapel and all, by the Frank invasion, having recovered, and converted her Franks, she built another and a properly called cathedral, where this one stands now, under Bishop St. Save (St. Sauve, or Salve).  But even this proper cathedral was only of wood, and the Normans burnt it in 881.  Rebuilt, it stood for 200 years; but was in great part destroyed by lightning in 1019.  Rebuilt again, it and the town were more or less burnt together by lightning, in 1107, ­my authority says calmly, “un incendie provoque par la meme cause detruisit la ville, et une partie de la cathédrale.”  The ‘partie’ being rebuilt once more, the whole was again reduced to ashes, “reduite en cendre par lé feu de ciel en 1218, ainsi que tous les titres, les martyrologies, les calendriers, et les Archives de l’Eveche et du Chapitre.”

15.  It was the fifth cathedral, I count, then, that lay in ‘ashes,’ according to Mons. Gilbert ­in ruin certainly ­decheant; ­and ruin of a very discouraging completeness it would have been, to less lively townspeople ­in 1218.  But it was rather of a stimulating completeness to Bishop Everard and his people ­the ground well cleared for them, as it were:  and lightning (feu de l’enfer, not du ciel, recognized for a diabolic plague, as in Egypt), was to be defied to the pit.  They only took two years, you see, to pull themselves together; and to work they went, in 1220, they, and their bishop, and their king, and their Robert of Luzarches.  And this, that roofs you, was what their hands found to do with their might.

16.  Their king was ‘a-donc,’ ‘at that time,’ Louis VIII., who is especially further called the son of Philip of August, or Philip the Wise, because his father was not dead in 1220; but must have resigned the practical kingdom to his son, as his own father had done to him; the old and wise king retiring to his chamber, and thence silently guiding his son’s hands, very gloriously, yet for three years.

But, farther ­and this is the point on which chiefly I would have desired the Abbé’s judgment ­Louis VIII. died of fever at Montpensier in 1226.  And the entire conduct of the main labour of the cathedral, and the chief glory of its service, as we shall hear presently, was Saint Louis’s; for a time of forty-four years.  And the inscription was put “a ce point ci” by the last architect, six years after St. Louis’s death.  How is it that the great and holy king is not named?

17.  I must not, in this traveller’s brief, lose time in conjectural answers to the questions which every step here will raise from the ravaged shrine.  But this is a very solemn one; and must be kept in our hearts, till we may perhaps get clue to it.  One thing only we are sure of, ­that at least the due honour ­alike by the sons of Kings and sons of Craftsmen ­is given always to their fathers; and that apparently the chief honour of all is given here to Philip the Wise.  From whose house, not of parliament but of peace, came, in the years when this temple was first in building, an edict indeed of peace-making:  “That it should be criminal for any man to take vengeance for an insult or injury till forty days after the commission of the offence ­and then only with the approbation of the Bishop of the Diocese.”  Which was perhaps a wiser effort to end the Feudal system in its Saxon sense, than any of our recent projects for ending it in the Norman one.

18.  “A ce point ci.”  The point, namely, of the labyrinth inlaid in the cathedral floor; a recognized emblem of many things to the people, who knew that the ground they stood on was holy, as the roof over their head.  Chiefly, to them, it was an emblem of noble human life ­strait-gated, narrow-walled, with infinite darknesses and the “inextricabilis error” on either hand ­and in the depth of it, the brutal nature to be conquered.

19.  This meaning, from the proudest heroic, and purest legislative, days of Greece, the symbol had borne for all men skilled in her traditions:  to the schools of craftsmen the sign meant further their craft’s noblesse, and pure descent from the divinely-terrestrial skill of Daedalus, the labyrinth-builder, and the first sculptor of imagery pathetic with human life and death.

20.  Quite the most beautiful sign of the power of true Christian-Catholic faith is this continual acknowledgment by it of the brotherhood ­nay, more, the fatherhood, of the elder nations who had not seen Christ; but had been filled with the Spirit of God; and obeyed, according to their knowledge, His unwritten law.  The pure charity and humility of this temper are seen in all Christian art, according to its strength and purity of race; but best, to the full, seen and interpreted by the three great Christian-Heathen poets, Dante, Douglas of Dunkeld, and George Chapman.  The prayer with which the last ends his life’s work is, so far as I know, the perfectest and deepest expression of Natural Religion given us in literature; and if you can, pray it here ­standing on the spot where the builder once wrote the history of the Parthenon of Christianity.

21.  “I pray thee, Lord, the Father, and the Guide of our reason, that we may remember the nobleness with which Thou hast adorned us; and that Thou wouldst be always on our right hand and on our left, in the motion of our own Wills:  that so we may be purged from the contagion of the Body and the Affections of the Brute, and overcome them and rule; and use, as it becomes men to use them, for instruments.  And then, that Thou wouldst be in Fellowship with us for the careful correction of our reason, and for its conjunction by the light of truth with the things that truly are.

22.  And having prayed this prayer, or at least, read it with honest wishing, (which if you cannot, there is no hope of your at present taking pleasure in any human work of large faculty, whether poetry, painting, or sculpture,) we may walk a little farther westwards down the nave, where, in the middle of it, but only a few yards from its end, two flat stones (the custode will show you them), one a little farther back than the other, are laid over the graves of the two great bishops, all whose strength of life was given, with the builder’s, to raise this temple.  Their actual graves have not been disturbed; but the tombs raised over them, once and again removed, are now set on your right and left hand as you look back to the apse, under the third arch between the nave and aisles.

23.  Both are of bronze, cast at one flow ­and with insuperable, in some respects inimitable, skill in the caster’s art.

“Chefs-d’oeuvre de fonte, ­lé tout fondu d’un seul jet, et admirablement." There are only two other such tombs left in France, those of the children of St. Louis.  All others of their kind ­and they were many in every great cathedral of France ­were first torn from the graves they covered, to destroy the memory of France’s dead; and then melted down into sous and centimes, to buy gunpowder and absinthe with for her living, ­by the Progressive Mind of Civilization in her first blaze of enthusiasm and new light, from 1789 to 1800.

The children’s tombs, one on each side of the altar of St. Denis, are much smaller than these, though wrought more beautifully.  These beside you are the only two Bronze tombs of her Men of the great ages, left in France!

24.  And they are the tombs of the pastors of her people, who built for her the first perfect temple to her God.  The Bishop Everard’s is on your right, and has engraved round the border of it this inscription: ­

“Who fed the people, who laid the foundations of this
  Structure, to whose care the City was given,
 Here, in ever-breathing balm of fame, rests Everard. 
 A man compassionate to the afflicted, the widow’s protector, the orphan’s
 Guardian.  Whom he could, he recreated with gifts. 
                To words of men,
 If gentle, a lamb; if violent, a lion; if proud, biting steel.”

“La tombe d’Evrard de Fouilloy, (died 1222,) coulee en bronze en plein-relief, était supportee des lé principe, par des monstres engages dans une maçonnerie remplissant lé dessous du monument, pour indiquer que cet évêque avait pose les fondements de la Cathédrale.  Un architecte malheureusement inspire a ose arracher la maçonnerie, pour qu’on ne vit plus la main du prélat fondateur, a la base de l’edifice.

“On lit, sur la bordure, l’inscription suivante en beaux caractères du XIII^e siecle: 

     “’Qui populum pavit, qui fundam[=e]ta locavit
       Hui[=u]s structure, cuius fuit urbs data cure
       Hic redolens nardus, fama requiescit Ewardus,
       Vir pius ahflictis, vidvis tutela, relictis
       Custos, quos poterat recreabat munere; vbis,
       Mitib agnus erat, tumidis leo, lima supbis.’

“Geoffrey d’Eu (died 1237) est représente comme son prédécesseur en habits episcopaux, maïs lé dessous du bronze supporte par des chimères est évide, ce prélat ayant élève l’edifice jusqu’aux voutes.  Voici la légende gravee sur la bordure: 

     “’Ecce premunt humile Gaufridi membra cubile. 
       Seu minus aut simile nobis parat omnibus ille;
       Quem laurus gemina decoraverat, in medicina
       Lege q[=u] divina, decuerunt cornua bina;
       Clare vir Augensis, quo sedes Ambianensis
       Crevit in imensis; in coelis auctus, Amen, sis.’

Tout est a étudier dans ces deux monuments; tout y est d’un haut intérêt, quant au dessin, a la sculpture, a l’agencement des ornements et des draperies.”

In saying above that Geoffroy of Eu returned thanks in the Cathedral for its completion, I meant only that he had brought at least the choir into condition for service:  “Jusqu’aux voutes” may or may not mean that the vaulting was closed.]

English, at its best, in Elizabethan days, is a nobler language than ever Latin was; but its virtue is in colour and tone, not in what may be called metallic or crystalline condensation.  And it is impossible to translate the last line of this inscription in as few English words.  Note in it first that the Bishop’s friends and enemies are spoken of as in word, not act; because the swelling, or mocking, or flattering, words of men are indeed what the meek of the earth must know how to bear and to welcome; ­their deeds, it is for kings and knights to deal with:  not but that the Bishops often took deeds in hand also; and in actual battle they were permitted to strike with the mace, but not with sword or lance ­i.e., not to “shed blood”!  For it was supposed that a man might always recover from a mace-blow; (which, however, would much depend on the bishop’s mind who gave it).  The battle of Bouvines, quite one of the most important in mediaeval history, was won against the English, and against odds besides of Germans, under their Emperor Otho, by two French bishops (Senlis and Bayeux) ­who both generalled the French King’s line, and led its charges.  Our Earl of Salisbury surrendered to the Bishop of Bayeux in person.

25.  Note farther, that quite one of the deadliest and most diabolic powers of evil words, or, rightly so called, blasphemy, has been developed in modern days in the effect of sometimes quite innocently meant and enjoyed ‘slang.’  There are two kinds of slang, in the essence of it:  one ‘Thieves’ Latin’ ­the special language of rascals, used for concealment; the other, one might perhaps best call Louts’ Latin! ­the lowering or insulting words invented by vile persons to bring good things, in their own estimates, to their own level, or beneath it.  The really worst power of this kind of blasphemy is in its often making it impossible to use plain words without a degrading or ludicrous attached sense: ­thus I could not end my translation of this epitaph, as the old Latinist could, with the exactly accurate image “to the proud, a file” ­because of the abuse of the word in lower English, retaining, however, quite shrewdly, the thirteenth-century idea.  But the exact force of the symbol here is in its allusion to jewellers’ work, filing down facets.  A proud man is often also a precious one:  and may be made brighter in surface, and the purity of his inner self shown, by good filing.

26.  Take it all in all, the perfect duty of a Bishop is expressed in these six Latin lines, ­au mieux mieux ­beginning with his pastoral office ­Feed my sheep ­qui pavit populum.  And be assured, good reader, these ages never could have told you what a Bishop’s, or any other man’s, duty was, unless they had each man in his place both done it well ­and seen it well done.  The Bishop Geoffroy’s tomb is on your left, and its inscription is: 

“Behold, the limbs of Godfrey press their lowly bed,
Whether He is preparing for us all one less than, or like it. 
Whom the twin laurels adorned, in medicine
And in divine law, the dual crests became him. 
Bright-shining man of Eu, by whom the throne of Amiens
Rose into immensity, be thou increased in Heaven.”

Amen.

And now at last ­this reverence done and thanks paid ­we will turn from these tombs, and go out at one of the western doors ­and so see gradually rising above us the immensity of the three porches, and of the thoughts engraved in them.

27.  What disgrace or change has come upon them, I will not tell you to-day ­except only the ‘immeasurable’ loss of the great old foundation-steps, open, sweeping broad from side to side for all who came; unwalled, undivided, sunned all along by the westering day, lighted only by the moon and the stars at night; falling steep and many down the hillside ­ceasing one by one, at last wide and few towards the level ­and worn by pilgrim feet, for six hundred years.  So I once saw them, and twice, ­such things can now be never seen more.

Nor even of the west front itself, above, is much of the old masonry left:  but in the porches nearly all, ­except the actual outside facing, with its rose moulding, of which only a few flowers have been spared here and there. But the sculpture has been carefully and honourably kept and restored to its place ­pedestals or niches restored here and there with clay; or some which you see white and crude, re-carved entirely; nevertheless the impression you may receive from the whole is still what the builder meant; and I will tell you the order of its theology without further notices of its decay.

28.  You will find it always well, in looking at any cathedral, to make your quarters of the compass sure, in the beginning; and to remember that, as you enter it, you are looking and advancing eastward; and that if it has three entrance porches, that on your left in entering is the northern, that on your right the southern.  I shall endeavour in all my future writing of architecture, to observe the simple law of always calling the door of the north transept the north door; and that on the same side of the west front, the northern door, and so of their opposites.  This will save, in the end, much printing and much confusion, for a Gothic cathedral has, almost always, these five great entrances; which may be easily, if at first attentively, recognized under the titles of the Central door (or porch), the Northern door, the Southern door, the North door, and the South door.

But when we use the terms right and left, we ought always to use them as in going out of the cathedral, or walking down the nave, ­the entire north side and aisles of the building being its right side, and the south, its left, ­these terms being only used well and authoritatively, when they have reference either to the image of Christ in the apse or on the rood, or else to the central statue, whether of Christ, the Virgin, or a saint, in the west front.  At Amiens, this central statue, on the ‘trumeau’ or supporting and dividing pillar of the central porch, is of Christ Immanuel, ­God with us.  On His right hand and His left, occupying the entire walls of the central porch, are the apostles and the four greater prophets.  The twelve minor prophets stand side by side on the front, three on each of its great piers.

The northern porch is dedicated to St. Firmin, the first Christian missionary to Amiens.

The southern porch, to the Virgin.

But these are both treated as withdrawn behind the great foundation of Christ and the Prophets; and their narrow recesses partly conceal their sculpture, until you enter them.  What you have first to think of, and read, is the scripture of the great central porch, and the façade itself.

29.  You have then in the centre of the front, the image of Christ Himself, receiving you:  “I am the Way, the truth and the life.”  And the order of the attendant powers may be best understood by thinking of them as placed on Christ’s right and left hand:  this being also the order which the builder adopts in his Scripture history on the façade ­so that it is to be read from left to right ­i.e. from Christ’s left to Christ’s right, as He sees it.  Thus, therefore, following the order of the great statues:  first in the central porch, there are six apostles on Christ’s right hand, and six on His left.  On His left hand, next to Him, Peter; then in receding order, Andrew, James, John, Matthew, Simon; on His right hand, next Him, Paul; and in receding order, James the Bishop, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas and Jude.  These opposite ranks of the Apostles occupy what may be called the apse or curved bay of the porch, and form a nearly semicircular group, clearly visible as we approach.  But on the sides of the porch, outside the lines of apostles, and not seen clearly till we enter the porch, are the four greater prophets.  On Christ’s left, Isaiah and Jeremiah, on His right, Ezekiel and Daniel.

30.  Then in front, along the whole façade ­read in order from Christ’s left to His right ­come the series of the twelve minor prophets, three to each of the four piers of the temple, beginning at the south angle with Hosea, and ending with Malachi.

As you look full at the façade in front, the statues which fill the minor porches are either obscured in their narrower recesses or withdrawn behind each other so as to be unseen.  And the entire mass of the front is seen, literally, as built on the foundation of the Apostles and Prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief corner-stone.  Literally that; for the receding Porch is a deep ‘angulus,’ and its mid-pillar is the ‘Head of the Corner.’

Built on the foundation of the Apostles and Prophets, that is to say of the Prophets who foretold Christ, and the Apostles who declared Him.  Though Moses was an Apostle, of God, he is not here ­though Elijah was a Prophet, of God, he is not here.  The voice of the entire building is that of the Heaven at the Transfiguration, “This is my beloved Son, hear ye Him.”

31.  There is yet another and a greater prophet still, who, as it seems at first, is not here.  Shall the people enter the gates of the temple, singing “Hosanna to the Son of David”; and see no image of His father, then? ­Christ Himself declare, “I am the root and the offspring of David”; and yet the Root have no sign near it of its Earth?

Not so.  David and his Son are together.  David is the pedestal of the Christ.

32.  We will begin our examination of the Temple front, therefore, with this its goodly pedestal stone.  The statue of David is only two-thirds life-size, occupying the niche in front of the pedestal.  He holds his sceptre in his right hand, the scroll in his left.  King and Prophet, type of all Divinely right doing, and right claiming, and right proclaiming, kinghood, for ever.

The pedestal of which this statue forms the fronting or Western sculpture, is square, and on the two sides of it are two flowers in vases, on its north side the lily, and on its south the rose.  And the entire monolith is one of the noblest pieces of Christian sculpture in the world.

Above this pedestal comes a minor one, bearing in front of it a tendril of vine which completes the floral symbolism of the whole.  The plant which I have called a lily is not the Fleur de Lys, nor the Madonna’s, but an ideal one with bells like the crown Imperial (Shakespeare’s type of ’lilies of all kinds’), representing the mode of growth of the lily of the valley, which could not be sculptured so large in its literal form without appearing monstrous, and is exactly expressed in this tablet ­as it fulfils, together with the rose and vine, its companions, the triple saying of Christ, “I am the Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the Valley.”  “I am the true Vine.”

33.  On the side of the upper stone are supporters of a different character.  Supporters, ­not captives nor victims; the Cockatrice and Adder.  Representing the most active evil principles of the earth, as in their utmost malignity; still, Pedestals of Christ, and even in their deadly life, accomplishing His final will.

Both creatures are represented accurately in the mediaeval traditional form, the cockatrice half dragon, half cock; the deaf adder laying one ear against the ground and stopping the other with her tail.

The first represents the infidelity of Pride.  The cockatrice ­king serpent or highest serpent ­saying that he is God, and will be God.

The second, the infidelity of Death.  The adder (nieder or nether snake) saying that he is mud, and will be mud.

34.  Lastly, and above all, set under the feet of the statue of Christ Himself, are the lion and dragon; the images of Carnal sin, or Human sin, as distinguished from the Spiritual and Intellectual sin of Pride, by which the angels also fell.

To desire kingship rather than servantship ­the Cockatrice’s sin, or deaf Death rather than hearkening Life ­the Adder’s sin, ­these are both possible to all the intelligences of the universe.  But the distinctively Human sins, anger and lust, seeds in our race of their perpetual sorrow ­Christ in His own humanity, conquered; and conquers in His disciples.  Therefore His foot is on the heads of these; and the prophecy, “Inculcabis super Leonem et Aspidem,” is recognized always as fulfilled in Him, and in all His true servants, according to the height of their authority, and the truth of their power.

35.  In this mystic sense, Alexander III. used the words, in restoring peace to Italy, and giving forgiveness to her deadliest enemy, under the porch of St. Mark’s. But the meaning of every act, as of every art, of the Christian ages, lost now for three hundred years, cannot but be in our own times read reversed, if at all, through the counter-spirit which we now have reached; glorifying Pride and Avarice as the virtues by which all things move and have their being ­walking after our own lusts as our sole guides to salvation, and foaming out our own shame for the sole earthly product of our hands and lips.

36.  Of the statue of Christ, itself, I will not speak here at any length, as no sculpture would satisfy, or ought to satisfy, the hope of any loving soul that has learned to trust in Him; but at the time, it was beyond what till then had been reached in sculptured tenderness; and was known far and near as the “Beau Dieu d’Amiens." Yet understood, observe, just as clearly to be no more than a symbol of the Heavenly Presence, as the poor coiling worms below were no more than symbols of the demoniac ones.  No idol, in our sense of the word ­only a letter, or sign of the Living Spirit, ­which, however, was indeed conceived by every worshipper as here meeting him at the temple gate:  the Word of Life, the King of Glory, and the Lord of Hosts.

“Dominus Virtutum,” “Lord of Virtues," is the best single rendering of the idea conveyed to a well-taught disciple in the thirteenth century by the words of the twenty-fourth Psalm.

37.  Under the feet of His apostles, therefore, in the quatrefoil medallions of the foundation, are represented the virtues which each Apostle taught, or in his life manifested; ­it may have been, sore tried, and failing in the very strength of the character which he afterwards perfected.  Thus St. Peter, denying in fear, is afterwards the Apostle of courage; and St. John, who, with his brother, would have burnt the inhospitable village, is afterwards the Apostle of love.  Understanding this, you see that in the sides of the porch, the apostles with their special virtues stand thus in opposite ranks.

Now you see how these virtues answer to each other in their opposite ranks.  Remember the left-hand side is always the first, and see how the left-hand virtues lead to the right hand: ­

38.  Note farther that the Apostles are all tranquil, nearly all with books, some with crosses, but all with the same message, ­“Peace be to this house.  And if the Son of Peace be there,” etc.

ST. PAUL, Faith.  Courage, ST. PETER.

ST. JAMES THE BISHOP, Hope.  Patience, ST. ANDREW.

ST. PHILIP, Charity.  Gentillesse, ST. JAMES.

ST. BARTHOLOMEW, Chastity.  Love, ST. JOHN.

ST. THOMAS, Wisdom.  Obedience, ST. MATTHEW.

ST. JUDE, Humility.  Perseverance, ST. SIMON.

But the Prophets ­all seeking, or wistful, or tormented, or wondering, or praying, except only Daniel.  The most tormented is Isaiah; spiritually sawn asunder.  No scene of his martyrdom below, but his seeing the Lord in His temple, and yet feeling he had unclean lips.  Jeremiah also carries his cross ­but more serenely.

39.  And now, I give in clear succession, the order of the statues of the whole front, with the subjects of the quatrefoils beneath each of them, marking the upper quatrefoil A, the lower B. The six prophets who stand at the angles of the porches, Amos, Obadiah, Micah, Nahum, Zephaniah, and Haggai, have each of them four quatrefoils, marked, A and C the upper ones, B and D the lower.

Beginning, then, on the left-hand side of the central porch, and reading outwards, you have ­

1.  ST. PETER.

A. Courage. 
B. Cowardice.

2.  ST. ANDREW.

A. Patience. 
B. Anger.

3.  ST. JAMES.

A. Gentillesse. 
B. Churlishness.

4.  ST. JOHN.

A. Love. 
B. Discord.

5.  ST. MATTHEW.

A. Obedience. 
B. Rebellion.

6.  ST. SIMON.

A. Perseverance. 
B. Atheism.

Now, right-hand side of porch, reading outwards: 

7.  ST. PAUL.

A. Faith. 
B. Idolatry.

8.  ST. JAMES, BISHOP.

A. Hope. 
B. Despair.

9.  ST. PHILIP.

A. Charity. 
B. Avarice.

10.  ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

A. Chastity. 
B. Lust.

11.  ST. THOMAS.

A. Wisdom. 
B. Folly.

12.  ST. JUDE.

A. Humility. 
B. Pride.

Now, left-hand side again ­the two outermost statues: 

13.  ISAIAH.

14.  JEREMIAH.

Right-hand side: 

        15.  EZEKIEL.

          A. Wheel within wheel. . 
          B.  “Son of man, set thy face toward Jerusalem.” xxi. 2.

        16.  DANIEL.

          A.  “He hath shut the lions’ mouths.” v. 
          B.  “In the same hour came forth fingers
               of a man’s hand.” .

40.  Now, beginning on the left-hand side (southern side) of the entire façade, and reading it straight across, not turning into the porches at all except for the paired quatrefoils: 

        17.  HOSEA.

        18.  JOEL.

        19.  AMOS.

  To The {A.  “The Lord will cry from Zion.” .
  front {B.  “The habitations of the shepherds
                shall mourn.” .

        20.  OBADIAH.

  To the {C.  The captain of fifty.
  front {D.  The messenger.

21.  JONAH.

A. Escaped from the sea. 
B. Under the gourd.

22.  MICAH.

To the {A.  The Tower of the Flock. i.
front {B.  Each shall rest, and “none shall make
them afraid.” i.

23.  NAHUM.

        24.  HABAKKUK.

          A.  “I will watch to see what he will say,” i. 
          B. The ministry to Daniel.

        25.  ZEPHANIAH.

26.  HAGGAI.

27.  ZECHARIAH.

28.  MALACHI.

41.  Having thus put the sequence of the statues and their quatrefoils briefly before the spectator ­(in case the railway time presses, it may be a kindness to him to note that if he walks from the east end of the cathedral down the street to the south, Rue St. Denis, it takes him by the shortest line to the station) ­I will begin again with St. Peter, and interpret the sculptures in the quatrefoils a little more fully.  Keeping the fixed numerals for indication of the statues, St. Peter’s quatrefoils will be 1 A and 1 B, and Malachi’s 28 A and 28 B.

1, A. COURAGE, with a leopard on his shield; the French and
       English agreeing in the reading of that symbol, down
       to the time of the Black Prince’s leopard coinage in
       Aquitaine.

2, B. COWARDICE, a man frightened at an animal darting out
       of a thicket, while a bird sings on.  The coward has
       not the heart of a thrush.

2, A. PATIENCE, holding a shield with a bull on it (never giving
       back).

2, B. ANGER, a woman stabbing a man with a sword.  Anger
       is essentially a feminine vice ­a man, worth calling so,
       may be driven to fury or insanity by indignation,
       (compare the Black Prince at Limoges,) but not by
       anger.  Fiendish enough, often so ­“Incensed with
       indignation, Satan stood, unterrified ­” but in that last
       word is the difference, there is as much fear in Anger,
       as there is in Hatred.

3, A. GENTILLESSE, bearing shield with a lamb.

3, B. CHURLISHNESS, again a woman, kicking over her cup-bearer. 
       The final forms of ultimate French churlishness
       being in the feminine gestures of the Cancan. 
       See the favourite prints in shops of Paris.

4, A. LOVE; the Divine, not human love:  “I in them, and
       Thou in me.”  Her shield bears a tree with many
       branches grafted into its cut-off stem:  “In those days
       shall Messiah be cut off, but not for Himself.”

4, B. DISCORD, a wife and husband quarrelling.  She has
       dropped her distaff (Amiens wool manufacture, see farther
       on ­9, A.)

5, A. OBEDIENCE, bears shield with camel.  Actually the most
       disobedient and ill-tempered of all serviceable beasts, ­yet
       passing his life in the most painful service.  I do
       not know how far his character was understood by the
       northern sculptor; but I believe he is taken as a type
       of burden-bearing, without joy or sympathy, such as
       the horse has, and without power of offence, such as the
       ox has.  His bite is bad enough, (see Mr. Palgrave’s
       account of him,) but presumably little known of at
       Amiens, even by Crusaders, who would always ride
       their own war-horses, or nothing.

5, B. REBELLION, a man snapping his fingers at his Bishop. 
       (As Henry the Eighth at the Pope, ­and the modern
       French and English cockney at all priests whatever.)

6, A. PERSEVERENCE, the grandest spiritual form of the virtue
       commonly called ‘Fortitude.’  Usually, overcoming
       or tearing a lion; here, caressing one, and holding her
       crown.  “Hold fast that which thou hast, that no man
       take thy crown.”

6, B. ATHEISM, leaving his shoes at the church door.  The infidel
       fool is always represented in twelfth and thirteenth
       century MS. as barefoot ­the Christian having “his
       feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace.” 
       Compare “How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O
       Prince’s Daughter!”

7, A. FAITH, holding cup with cross above it, her accepted
       symbol throughout ancient Europe.  It is also an enduring
       one, for, all differences of Church put aside, the
       words, “Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man and
       Drink His blood, ye have no life in you,” remain in
       their mystery, to be understood only by those who have
       learned the sacredness of food, in all times and places,
       and the laws of life and spirit, dependent on its acceptance,
       refusal, and distribution.

7, B. IDOLATRY, kneeling to a monster.  The contrary of
       Faith ­not want of Faith.  Idolatry is faith in the
       wrong thing, and quite distinct from Faith in No thing
       (6, B), the “Dixit Insipiens.”  Very wise men may be
       idolaters, but they cannot be atheists.

8, A. HOPE, with Gonfalon Standard and distant crown; as
       opposed to the constant crown of Fortitude (6, A).

        The Gonfalon (Gund, war, fahr, standard, according
      to Poitevin’s dictionary), is the pointed ensign of forward
      battle; essentially sacred; hence the constant
      name “Gonfaloniere” of the battle standard-bearers of
      the Italian republics.

        Hope has it, because she fights forward always to her
      aim, or at least has the joy of seeing it draw nearer. 
      Faith and Fortitude wait, as St. John in prison, but unoffended. 
      Hope is, however, put under St. James, because
      of the 7th and 8th verses of his last chapter, ending
      “Stablish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord
      draweth nigh.”  It is he who examines Dante on the
      nature of Hope.  ‘Par.,’ c. xxv., and compare Cary’s
      notes.

8, B. DESPAIR, stabbing himself.  Suicide not thought heroic
       or sentimental in the 13th century; and no Gothic
       Morgue built beside Somme.

9, A. CHARITY, bearing shield with woolly ram, and giving a
       mantle to a naked beggar.  The old wool manufacture
       of Amiens having this notion of its purpose ­namely,
       to clothe the poor first, the rich afterwards.  No nonsense
       talked in those days about the evil consequences
       of indiscriminate charity.

9, B. AVARICE, with coffer and money.  The modern, alike
       English and Amienois, notion of the Divine consummation
       of the wool manufacture.

10, A. CHASTITY, shield with the Phoenix.

10, B. LUST, a too violent kiss.

11, A. WISDOM, shield with, I think, an eatable root; meaning
        temperance, as the beginning of wisdom.

11, B. FOLLY, the ordinary type used in all early Psalters, of
        a glutton, armed with a club.  Both this vice and
        virtue are the earthly wisdom and folly, completing
        the spiritual wisdom and folly opposite under St.
        Matthew.  Temperance, the complement of Obedience,
        and Covetousness, with violence, that of Atheism.

12, A. HUMILITY, shield with dove.

12, B. PRIDE, falling from his horse.

42.  All these quatrefoils are rather symbolic than representative; and, since their purpose was answered enough if their sign was understood, they have been entrusted to a more inferior workman than the one who carved the now sequent series under the Prophets.  Most of these subjects represent an historical fact, or a scene spoken of by the prophet as a real vision; and they have in general been executed by the ablest hands at the architect’s command.

With the interpretation of these, I have given again the name of the prophet whose life or prophecy they illustrate.

13.  ISAIAH.

13, A.  “I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne” (vi.  I).

The vision of the throne “high and lifted up”
between seraphim.

13, B.  “Lo, this hath touched thy lips” (v.

  The Angel stands before the prophet, and holds,

or rather held, the coal with tongs, which have been
finely undercut, but are now broken away, only a
fragment remaining in his hand.

14.  JEREMIAH.

14, A. The burial of the girdle (xii, 5).

  The prophet is digging by the shore of Euphrates,

represented by vertically winding furrows down the
middle of the tablet.  Note, the translation should be
“hole in the ground,” not “rock.”

14, B. The breaking of the yoke (xxvii.

From the prophet Jeremiah’s neck; it is here
represented as a doubled and redoubled chain.

15.  EZEKIEL.

15, A. Wheel within wheel .

The prophet sitting; before him two wheels of
equal size, one involved in the ring of the other.

15, B.  “Son of man, set thy face toward Jerusalem” (xx.

The prophet before the gate of Jerusalem.

16.  DANIEL.

16, A.  “He hath shut the lions’ mouths” (v.

Daniel holding a book, the lions treated as heraldic
supporters.  The subject is given with more
animation farther on in the series (24, B).

16, B.  “In the same hour came forth fingers of a Man’s hand” .

  Belshazzar’s feast represented by the king alone,

seated at a small oblong table.  Beside him the youth
Daniel, looking only fifteen or sixteen, graceful and
gentle, interprets.  At the side of the quatrefoil,
out of a small wreath of cloud, comes a small bent
hand, writing, as if with a pen upside down on a piece
of Gothic wall.

For modern bombast as opposed to old simplicity,
compare the Belshazzar’s feast of John Martin!

43.  The next subject begins the series of the minor prophets.

17.  HOSEA.

17, A.  “So I bought her to me for fifteen pieces of silver and
         an homer of barley” (ii.

  The prophet pouring the grain and the silver into

the lap of the woman, “beloved of her friend.”  The
carved coins are each wrought with the cross, and, I
believe, legend of the French contemporary coin.

17, B.  “So will I also be for thee” (ii.

He puts a ring on her finger.

18.  JOEL.

18, A. The sun and moon lightless (i.

The sun and moon as two small flat pellets, up in
the external moulding.

18, B. The barked fig-tree and waste vine .

Note the continual insistance on the blight of vegetation
as a Divine punishment, 19 D.

19.  AMOS.

To the front.

19, A.  “The Lord will cry from Zion” .

Christ appears with crossletted nimbus.

19, B.  “The habitations of the shepherds shall mourn” .

Amos with the shepherd’s hooked or knotted staff,
and wicker-worked bottle, before his tent. (Architecture
in right-hand foil restored.)

Inside Porch.

19, C. The Lord with the mason’s line (vi.

  Christ, again here, and henceforward always, with

crosslet nimbus, has a large trowel in His hand, which
He lays on the top of a half-built wall.  There seems
a line twisted round the handle.

19, D. The place where it rained not (i.

Amos is gathering the leaves of the fruitless vine,
to feed the sheep, who find no grass.  One of the
finest of the reliefs.

20.  OBADIAH.

Inside Porch.

20, A.  “I hid them in a cave” (1 Kings xvii.

Three prophets at the mouth of a well, to whom
Obadiah brings loaves.

20, B.  “He fell on his face” (xvii.

He kneels before Elijah, who wears his rough
mantle.

To the front.

20, C. The captain of fifty.

Elijah (?) speaking to an armed man under a tree.

20, D. The Messenger.

  A messenger on his knees before a king.  I cannot

interpret these two scenes (20, C and 20, D). 
The uppermost may mean the dialogue of Elijah
with the captains (2 Kings , and the lower one,
the return of the messengers (2 Kings .

21.  JONAH.

21, A. Escaped from the sea.

21, B. Under the gourd.  A small grasshopper-like beast
         gnawing the gourd stem.  I should like to know
         what insects do attack the Amiens gourds.  This may
         be an entomological study, for aught we know.

22.  MICAH.

To the front.

22, A. The Tower of the Flock (i.

The tower is wrapped in clouds, God appearing
above it.

22, B. Each shall rest and “none shall make them afraid” (i.

A man and his wife “under his vine and fig-tree.”

Inside Porch.

22, C.  “Swords into ploughshares” (i.

Nevertheless, two hundred years after these medallions
were cut, the sword manufacture had become a
staple in Amiens!  Not to her advantage.

22, D.  “Spears into pruning-hooks” (i.

23.  NAHUM.

Inside Porch.

23, A.  “None shall look back” (i.

23, B. The Burden of Nineveh (i.  I).

To the front.

23, C.  “Thy Princes and thy great ones” (ii.

23, A, B, and C, are all incapable of sure interpretation.  The
prophet in A is pointing down to a little hill, said by
the Pere Roze to be covered with grasshoppers.  I
can only copy what he says of them.

23, D.  “Untimely figs” (ii.

Three people beneath a fig-tree catch its falling
fruit in their mouths.

24.  HABAKKUK.

24, A.  “I will watch to see what he will say unto me” (i.

The prophet is writing on his tablet to Christ’s
dictation.

24, B. The ministry to Daniel.

  The traditional visit to Daniel.  An angel carries

Habakkuk by the hair of his head; the prophet
has a loaf of bread in each hand.  They break
through the roof of the cave.  Daniel is stroking one
young lion on the back; the head of another is thrust
carelessly under his arm.  Another is gnawing
bones in the bottom of the cave.

25.  ZEPHANIAH.

To the front.

25, A. The Lord strikes Ethiopia (i.

Christ striking a city with a sword.  Note that all
violent actions are in these bas-reliefs feebly or ludicrously
expressed; quiet ones always right.

25, B. The beasts in Nineveh (i.

  Very fine.  All kinds of crawling things among

the tottering walls, and peeping out of their rents
and crannies.  A monkey sitting squat, developing
into a demon, reverses the Darwinian theory.

Inside porch.

25, C. The Lord visits Jerusalem .

Christ passing through the streets of Jerusalem,
with a lantern in each hand.

25, D. The Hedgehog and Bittern (i.

With a singing bird in a cage in the window.

26.  HAGGAI.

Inside Porch.

26, A. The houses of the princes, ornees de lambris .

A perfectly built house of square stones gloomily
strong, the grating (of a prison?) in front of foundation.

26, B. The Heaven is stayed from dew .

The heavens as a projecting mass, with stars, sun,
and moon on surface.  Underneath, two withered
trees.

To the front.

26, C. The Lord’s temple desolate .

The falling of the temple, “not one stone left on
another,” grandly loose.  Square stones again.  Examine
the text .

26, D.  “Thus saith the Lord of Hosts” .

Christ pointing up to His ruined temple.

27.  ZECHARIAH.

27, A. The lifting up of Iniquity to 9).

Wickedness in the Ephah.

27, B.  “The angel that spake to me” (i.

          The prophet almost reclining, a glorious winged
        angel hovering out of cloud.

28.  MALACHI.

28, A.  “Ye have wounded the Lord” (i.

          The priests are thrusting Christ through with a
        barbed lance, whose point comes out at His back.

28, B.  “This commandment is to you” (i.

          In these panels, the undermost is often introductory
        to the one above, an illustration of it.  It is perhaps
        chapter i. verse 6, that is meant to be spoken here by
        the sitting figure of Christ, to the indignant priests.

44.  With this bas-relief terminates the series of sculpture in illustration of Apostolic and Prophetic teaching, which constitutes what I mean by the “Bible” of Amiens.  But the two lateral porches contain supplementary subjects necessary for completion of the pastoral and traditional teaching addressed to her people in that day.

The Northern Porch, dedicated to her first missionary St. Firmin, has on its central pier his statue; above, on the flat field of the back of the arch, the story of the finding of his body; on the sides of the porch, companion saints and angels in the following order: ­

CENTRAL STATUE.

ST. FIRMIN.

  Southern (left) side.

41.  St. Firmin the Confesso.  St. Domic.  St. Honor.  St. Salv.  St. Quenti.  St. Gentian.

  Northern (right) side.

47.  St. Geoffro.  An ange.  St. Fuscien, marty.  St. Victoric, marty.  An ange.  St. Ulpha.

45.  Of these saints, excepting St. Firmin and St. Honore, of whom I have already spoken, St. Geoffroy is more real for us than the rest; he was born in the year of the battle of Hastings, at Molincourt in the Soissonais, and was Bishop of Amiens from 1104 to 1150.  A man of entirely simple, pure, and right life:  one of the severest of ascetics, but without gloom ­always gentle and merciful.  Many miracles are recorded of him, but all indicating a tenour of life which was chiefly miraculous by its justice and peace.  Consecrated at Rheims, and attended by a train of other bishops and nobles to his diocese, he dismounts from his horse at St. Acheul, the place of St. Firmin’s first tomb, and walks barefoot to his cathedral, along the causeway now so defaced:  at another time he walks barefoot from Amiens to Picquigny to ask from the Vidame of Amiens the freedom of the Chatelain Adam.  He maintained the privileges of the citizens, with the help of Louis lé Gros, against the Count of Amiens, defeated him, and razed his castle; nevertheless, the people not enough obeying him in the order of their life, he blames his own weakness, rather than theirs, and retires to the Grande Chartreuse, holding himself unfit to be their bishop.  The Carthusian superior questioning him on his reasons for retirement, and asking if he had ever sold the offices of the Church, the Bishop answered, “My father, my hands are pure of simony, but I have a thousand times allowed myself to be seduced by praise.”

46.  St. Firmin the Confessor was the son of the Roman senator who received St. Firmin himself.  He preserved the tomb of the martyr in his father’s garden, and at last built a church over it, dedicated to our Lady of martyrs, which was the first episcopal seat of Amiens, at St. Acheul, spoken of above.  St. Ulpha was an Amienoise girl, who lived in a chalk cave above the marshes of the Somme; ­if ever Mr. Murray provides you with a comic guide to Amiens, no doubt the enlightened composer of it will count much on your enjoyment of the story of her being greatly disturbed at her devotions by the frogs, and praying them silent.  You are now, of course, wholly superior to such follies, and are sure that God cannot, or will not, so much as shut a frog’s mouth for you.  Remember, therefore, that as He also now leaves open the mouth of the liar, blasphemer, and betrayer, you must shut your own ears against their voices as you can.

Of her name, St. Wolf ­or Guelph ­see again Miss Yonge’s Christian names.  Our tower of Wolf’s stone, Ulverstone, and Kirk of Ulpha, are, I believe, unconscious of Picard relatives.

47.  The other saints in this porch are all in like manner provincial, and, as it were, personal friends of the Amienois; and under them, the quatrefoils represent the pleasant order of the guarded and hallowed year ­the zodiacal signs above, and labours of the months below; little differing from the constant representations of them ­except in the May:  see below.  The Libra also is a little unusual in the female figure holding the scales; the lion especially good-tempered ­and the ‘reaping’ one of the most beautiful figures in the whole series of sculptures; several of the others peculiarly refined and far-wrought.  In Mr. Kaltenbacher’s photographs, as I have arranged them, the bas-reliefs may be studied nearly as well as in the porch itself.  Their order is as follows, beginning with December, in the left-hand inner corner of the porch: ­

41.  DECEMBER. ­Killing and scalding swine.  Above, Capricorn
      with quickly diminishing tail; I cannot make out
      the accessories.

42.  JANUARY. ­Twin-headed, obsequiously served.  Aquarius
      feebler than most of the series.

43.  FEBRUARY. ­Very fine; warming his feet and putting coals
      on fire.  Fish above, elaborate but uninteresting.

44.  MARCH. ­At work in vine-furrows.  Aries careful, but
      rather stupid.

45.  APRIL. ­Feeding his hawk ­very pretty.  Taurus above
      with charming leaves to eat.

46.  MAY. ­Very singularly, a middle-aged man sitting under
      the trees to hear the birds sing; and Gemini above, a
      bridegroom and bride.  This quatrefoil joins the interior
      angle ones of Zephaniah.

52.  JUNE. ­Opposite, joining the interior angle ones of Haggai. 
      Mowing.  Note the lovely flowers sculptured all
      through the grass.  Cancer above, with his shell superbly
      modelled.

51.  JULY. ­Reaping.  Extremely beautiful.  The smiling lion
      completes the evidence that all the seasons and signs
      are regarded as alike blessing and providentially kind.

50.  AUGUST. ­Threshing.  Virgo above, holding a flower, her
      drapery very modern and confused for thirteenth-century
      work.

49.  SEPTEMBER. ­I am not sure of his action, whether pruning,
      or in some way gathering fruit from the full-leaved
      tree.  Libra above; charming.

48.  OCTOBER. ­Treading grapes.  Scorpio, a very traditional
      and gentle form ­forked in the tail indeed, but stingless.

47.  NOVEMBER. ­Sowing, with Sagittarius, half concealed
      when this photograph was taken by the beautiful
      arrangements always now going on for some job or
      other in French cathedrals: ­they never can let them
      alone for ten minutes.

48.  And now, last of all, if you care to see it, we will go into the Madonna’s porch ­only, if you come at all, good Protestant feminine reader ­come civilly:  and be pleased to recollect, if you have, in known history, material for recollection, this (or if you cannot recollect ­be you very solemnly assured of this):  that neither Madonna-worship, nor Lady-worship of any sort, whether of dead ladies or living ones, ever did any human creature any harm, ­but that Money worship, Wig worship, Cocked-Hat-and-Feather worship, Plate worship, Pot worship and Pipe worship, have done, and are doing, a great deal, ­and that any of these, and all, are quite million-fold more offensive to the God of Heaven and Earth and the Stars, than all the absurdest and lovingest mistakes made by any generations of His simple children, about what the Virgin-mother could, or would, or might do, or feel for them.

49.  And next, please observe this broad historical fact about the three sorts of Madonnas.

There is first the Madonna Dolorosa; the Byzantine type, and Cimabue’s.  It is the noblest of all; and the earliest, in distinct popular influence.

Secondly.  The Madone Reine, who is essentially the Frank and Norman one; crowned, calm, and full of power and gentleness.  She is the one represented in this porch.

Thirdly.  The Madone Nourrice, who is the Raphaelesque and generally late and decadence one.  She is seen here in a good French type in the south transept porch, as before noticed.

An admirable comparison will be found instituted by M. Viollet lé Duc (the article ‘Vierge,’ in his dictionary, is altogether deserving of the most attentive study) between this statue of the Queen-Madonna of the southern porch and the Nurse-Madonna of the transept.  I may perhaps be able to get a photograph made of his two drawings, side by side:  but, if I can, the reader will please observe that he has a little flattered the Queen, and a little vulgarized the Nurse, which is not fair.  The statue in this porch is in thirteenth-century style, extremely good:  but there is no reason for making any fuss about it ­the earlier Byzantine types being far grander.

50.  The Madonna’s story, in its main incidents, is told in the series of statues round the porch, and in the quatrefoils below ­several of which refer, however, to a legend about the Magi to which I have not had access, and I am not sure of their interpretation.

The large statues are on the left hand, reading outwards as usual.

29.  The Angel Gabrie.  Virgin Annunciat.  Virgin Visitan.  St. Elizabet.  Virgin in Presentatio.  St. Simeon.

On the right hand, reading outward,

35, 36, 37, The three King.  Hero.  Solomo.  The Queen of Sheba.

51.  I am not sure of rightly interpreting the introduction of these two last statues:  but I believe the idea of the designer was that virtually the Queen Mary visited Herod when she sent, or had sent for her, the Magi to tell him of her presence at Bethlehem:  and the contrast between Solomon’s reception of the Queen of Sheba, and Herod’s driving out the Madonna into Egypt, is dwelt on throughout this side of the porch, with their several consequences to the two Kings and to the world.

The quatrefoils underneath the great statues run as follows: 

29.  Under Gabriel ­
      A. Daniel seeing the stone cut out without hands. 
      B. Moses and the burning bush.

30.  Under Virgin Annunciate ­
      A. Gideon and the dew on the fleece. 
      B. Moses with written law, retiring; Aaron, dominant, points to
         his budding rod.

31.  Under Virgin Visitant ­
      A. The message to Zacharias:  “Fear not, for thy prayer is heard.” 
      B. The dream of Joseph:  “Fear not to take unto thee Mary thy
         wife.” (?)

32.  Under St. Elizabeth ­
      A. The silence of Zacharias:  “They perceived that he had seen a
         vision in the temple.” 
      B.  “There is none of thy kindred that is called by this name.” 
         “He wrote saying, His name is John.”

33.  Under Virgin in Presentation ­
      A. Flight into Egypt. 
      B. Christ with the Doctors.

34.  Under St. Simeon ­
      A. Fall of the idols in Egypt. 
      B. The return to Nazareth.

These two last quatrefoils join the beautiful C and D of Amos.

Then on the opposite side, under the Queen of Sheba, and
joining the A and B of Obadiah ­

40.  A. Solomon entertains the Queen of Sheba.  The Grace cup. 
      B. Solomon teaches the Queen of Sheba, “God is above.”

39.  Under Solomon ­
      A. Solomon on his throne of judgment. 
      B. Solomon praying before his temple-gate.

38.  Under Herod ­
      A. Massacre of Innocents. 
      B. Herod orders the ship of the Kings to be burned.

37.  Under the third King ­
      A. Herod inquires of the Kings. 
      B. Burning of the ship.

36.  Under the second King ­
      A. Adoration in Bethlehem? ­not certain. 
      B. The voyage of the Kings.

35.  Under the first King ­
      A. The Star in the East. 
      B.  “Being warned in a dream that they should not return to Herod.”

I have no doubt of finding out in time the real sequence of these subjects:  but it is of little import, ­this group of quatrefoils being of less interest than the rest, and that of the Massacre of the Innocents curiously illustrative of the incapability of the sculptor to give strong action or passion.

But into questions respecting the art of these bas-reliefs I do not here attempt to enter.  They were never intended to serve as more than signs, or guides to thought.  And if the reader follows this guidance quietly, he may create for himself better pictures in his heart; and at all events may recognize these following general truths, as their united message.

52.  First, that throughout the Sermon on this Amiens Mount, Christ never appears, or is for a moment thought of, as the Crucified, nor as the Dead:  but as the Incarnate Word ­as the present Friend ­as the Prince of Peace on Earth, ­and as the Everlasting King in Heaven.  What His life is, what His commands are, and what His judgment will be, are the things here taught:  not what He once did, nor what He once suffered, but what He is now doing ­and what He requires us to do.  That is the pure, joyful, beautiful lesson of Christianity; and the fall from that faith, and all the corruptions of its abortive practice, may be summed briefly as the habitual contemplation of Christ’s death instead of His Life, and the substitution of His past suffering for our present duty.

53.  Then, secondly, though Christ bears not His cross, the mourning prophets, ­the persecuted apostles ­and the martyred disciples do bear theirs.  For just as it is well for you to remember what your undying Creator is doing for you ­it is well for you to remember what your dying fellow-creatures have done:  the Creator you may at your pleasure deny or defy ­the Martyr you can only forget; deny, you cannot.  Every stone of this building is cemented with his blood, and there is no furrow of its pillars that was not ploughed by his pain.

54.  Keeping, then, these things in your heart, look back now to the central statue of Christ, and hear His message with understanding.  He holds the Book of the Eternal Law in His left hand; with His right He blesses, ­but blesses on condition.  “This do, and thou shalt live”; nay, in stricter and more piercing sense, This be and thou shalt live:  to show Mercy is nothing ­thy soul must be full of mercy; to be pure in act is nothing ­thou shalt be pure in heart also.

And with this further word of the unabolished law ­“This if thou do not, this if thou art not, thou shalt die.”

55.  Die (whatever Death means) ­totally and irrevocably.  There is no word in thirteenth-century Theology of the pardon (in our modern sense) of sins; and there is none of the Purgatory of them.  Above that image of Christ with us, our Friend, is set the image of Christ over us, our Judge.  For this present life ­here is His helpful Presence.  After this life ­there is His coming to take account of our deeds, and of our desires in them; and the parting asunder of the Obedient from the Disobedient, of the Loving from the Unkind, with no hope given to the last of recall or reconciliation.  I do not know what commenting or softening doctrines were written in frightened minuscule by the Fathers, or hinted in hesitating whispers by the prelates of the early Church.  But I know that the language of every graven stone and every glowing window, ­of things daily seen and universally understood by the people, was absolutely and alone, this teaching of Moses from Sinai in the beginning, and of St. John from Patmos in the end, of the Revelation of God to Israel.

This it was, simply ­sternly ­and continually, for the great three hundred years of Christianity in her strength (eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries), and over the whole breadth and depth of her dominion, from Iona to Cyrene, ­and from Calpe to Jerusalem.  At what time the doctrine of Purgatory was openly accepted by Catholic Doctors, I neither know nor care to know.  It was first formalized by Dante, but never accepted for an instant by the sacred artist teachers of his time ­or by those of any great school or time whatsoever.

In literature and tradition, the idea is originally, I believe, Platonic; certainly not Homeric.  Egyptian possibly ­but I have read nothing yet of the recent discoveries in Egypt.  Not, however, quite liking to leave the matter in the complete emptiness of my own resources, I have appealed to my general investigator, Mr. Anderson (James R.), who writes as follows: ­

“There is no possible question about the doctrine and universal inculcation of it, ages before Dante.  Curiously enough, though, the statement of it in the Summa Theologiae as we have it is a later insertion; but I find by references that St. Thomas teaches it elsewhere.  Albertus Magnus developes it at length.  If you refer to the ‘Golden Legend’ under All Souls’ Day, you will see how the idea is assumed as a commonplace in a work meant for popular use in the thirteenth century.  St. Gregory (the Pope) argues for it (Dial. i on two scriptural quotations:  (1), the sin that is forgiven neither in hoc saeculo nor in that which is to come, and (2), the fire which shall try every man’s work.  I think Platonic philosophy and the Greek mysteries must have had a good deal to do with introducing the idea originally; but with them ­as to Virgil ­it was part of the Eastern vision of a circling stream of life from which only a few drops were at intervals tossed to a definitely permanent Elysium or a definitely permanent Hell.  It suits that scheme better than it does the Christian one, which attaches ultimately in all cases infinite importance to the results of life in hoc saeculo.

“Do you know any representation of Heaven or Hell unconnected with the Last Judgment?  I don’t remember any, and as Purgatory is by that time past, this would account for the absence of pictures of it.

“Besides, Purgatory precedes the Resurrection ­there is continual question among divines what manner of purgatorial fire it may be that affects spirits separate from the body ­perhaps Heaven and Hell, as opposed to Purgatory, were felt to be picturable because not only spirits, but the risen bodies too are conceived in them.

“Bede’s account of the Ayrshire seer’s vision gives Purgatory in words very like Dante’s description of the second stormy circle in Hell; and the angel which ultimately saves the Scotchman from the fiends comes through hell, ’quasi fulgor stellae micantis inter tenebras’ ­’qual sul presso del mattino Per gli grossi vapor Marte rosseggia.’  Bede’s name was great in the middle ages.  Dante meets him in Heaven, and, I like to hope, may have been helped by the vision of my fellow-countryman more than six hundred years before.”]

56.  Neither do I know nor care to know ­at what time the notion of Justification by Faith, in the modern sense, first got itself distinctively fixed in the minds of the heretical sects and schools of the North.  Practically its strength was founded by its first authors on an asceticism which differed from monastic rule in being only able to destroy, never to build; and in endeavouring to force what severity it thought proper for itself on everybody else also; and so striving to make one artless, letterless, and merciless monastery of all the world.  Its virulent effort broke down amidst furies of reactionary dissoluteness and disbelief, and remains now the basest of popular solders and plasters for every condition of broken law and bruised conscience which interest can provoke, or hypocrisy disguise.

57.  With the subsequent quarrels between the two great sects of the corrupted church, about prayers for the Dead, Indulgences to the Living, Papal supremacies, or Popular liberties, no man, woman, or child need trouble themselves in studying the history of Christianity:  they are nothing but the squabbles of men, and laughter of fiends among its ruins.  The Life, and Gospel, and Power of it, are all written in the mighty works of its true believers:  in Normandy and Sicily, on river islets of France and in the river glens of England, on the rocks of Orvieto, and by the sands of Arno.  But of all, the simplest, completest, and most authoritative in its lessons to the active mind of North Europe, is this on the foundation stones of Amiens.

58.  Believe it or not, reader, as you will:  understand only how thoroughly it was once believed; and that all beautiful things were made, and all brave deeds done in the strength of it ­until what we may call ‘this present time,’ in which it is gravely asked whether Religion has any effect on morals, by persons who have essentially no idea whatever of the meaning of either Religion or Morality.

Concerning which dispute, this much perhaps you may have the patience finally to read, as the Flèche of Amiens fades in the distance, and your carriage rushes towards the Isle of France, which now exhibits the most admired patterns of European Art, intelligence, and behaviour.

59.  All human creatures, in all ages and places of the world, who have had warm affections, common sense, and self-command, have been, and are, Naturally Moral.  Human nature in its fulness is necessarily Moral, ­without Love, it is inhuman, without sense, inhuman, ­without discipline, inhuman.

In the exact proportion in which men are bred capable of these things, and are educated to love, to think, and to endure, they become noble, ­live happily ­die calmly:  are remembered with perpetual honour by their race, and for the perpetual good of it.  All wise men know and have known these things, since the form of man was separated from the dust.  The knowledge and enforcement of them have nothing to do with religion:  a good and wise man differs from a bad and idiotic one, simply as a good dog from a cur, and as any manner of dog from a wolf or a weasel.  And if you are to believe in, or preach without half believing in, a spiritual world or law ­only in the hope that whatever you do, or anybody else does, that is foolish or beastly, may be in them and by them mended and patched and pardoned and worked up again as good as new ­the less you believe in ­and most solemnly, the less you talk about ­a spiritual world, the better.

60.  But if, loving well the creatures that are like yourself, you feel that you would love still more dearly, creatures better than yourself ­were they revealed to you; ­if striving with all your might to mend what is evil, near you and around, you would fain look for a day when some Judge of all the Earth shall wholly do right, and the little hills rejoice on every side; if, parting with the companions that have given you all the best joy you had on Earth, you desire ever to meet their eyes again and clasp their hands, ­where eyes shall no more be dim, nor hands fail; ­if, preparing yourselves to lie down beneath the grass in silence and loneliness, seeing no more beauty, and feeling no more gladness ­you would care for the promise to you of a time when you should see God’s light again, and know the things you have longed to know, and walk in the peace of everlasting Love ­then, the Hope of these things to you is religion, the Substance of them in your life is Faith.  And in the power of them, it is promised us, that the kingdoms of this world shall yet become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.