The Catholic World
Chapter 161 : Let us not grow languid in our investigations concerning German art during the middle

Let us not grow languid in our investigations concerning German art during the middle ages, until the last monument has been discovered and the last inscription deciphered. Many years must elapse before we shall arrive at this point. When, in his wanderings throughout Europe, Bohmer, the author of the great work on imperial decrees, found an undiscovered doc.u.ment, his joy was indescribable. Equally great was the delight of the editors of the "_Monumenta Germaniae_" when they brought to light some annals that were supposed to have perished. The same pleasure awaits any one who has the good fortune of discovering a Roman basilica, a remarkable arch, or any other important monument; who deciphers and explains an old inscription, and adds to the stock of our knowledge.

As appears from what has been said above, the religions art unions also established journals and museums. The chief of the periodicals is the "Journal of Christian Art," edited, since 1851, by Baudri. Among the contributors to this publication, which does not meet with the patronage it deserves, are A. Reichensperger, Ernst Weyden, of Cologne, the learned Dr. van Endert, Canon von Bock, of Aix-la-Chapelle, and, occasionally, Munzenberger, of Dusseldorf.

Baudri's journal is to Germany what J.N. Alberdingk-Thijm's "_De dietsche Warande_" is to Holland, what James Weale's "_Le Beffroi_" is to Belgium, and what Didron's "_Annales_" are to France. The claims of church music are put forth by the "Caecilia," published in Luxemburg by Oberhoffer. Pastor Ortlieb, whose premature death we mourn, made a similar attempt, but failed. In fine, the organ of the altar societies is "Der Kirchenschmuck," a monthly publication, published in Stuttgart by Schwarz and Laib. These altar societies may now be found in every part of Germany, and their silent influence is great. Some societies, those of Vienna and Pesth, for instance, number thousands of members.

The Brussels and Paris societies, beside attending to their own wants, work for foreign missions. The most recent of these societies is the one founded in November, 1864, at Frankfort-on-the-Main, as the Diocesan society of Limburg. The ladies of Germany have furnished splendid {233} pieces of embroidery in the form of sacred vestments.

I cannot speak of altar societies without mentioning Kreuser, of Cologne. Kreuser, with his h.o.a.ry hair and his mighty snuff-box--a man full of sparkling wit and endless humor--is known to all of us, for up to 1861 we never missed him at the general conventions. Since the Munich convention, however, we have not seen him; he was absent at Aix-la-Chapelle, at Frankfort, and at Wurzburg, and we know not the reason of his absence. To speak concisely is very difficult, and few speakers from the Rhenish provinces can boast of this virtue; still, most Germans, and especially the German ladies, listened with pleasure to old Kreuser; and no wonder, for Kreuser never failed to do justice to the ladies of Germany. When Kreuser spoke in a city, his speech was followed immediately by the establishment of an altar society. He carried everything by storm, and the impression made by his speeches was not merely transient, but produced lasting fruits. Kreuser is a poet, also, a happy improvisatore, able to cope with the most daring rhymster. He is one of the best read men in Germany, and deserves our grat.i.tude for his exertions in the cause of Christian art. Twenty years have rolled by since he published his "Letters on the Cologne Cathedral," and during the last twelve years his work on architecture has been studied again and again. That Kreuser's style is deficient in grace and harmony we will not dispute, still much benefit may be derived from the perusal of his works.

Francis von Bock, also, deserves our notice. He is the author of a "History of the Liturgic Vestments," in two vols., ill.u.s.trated with two hundred colored engravings. Boldly he demands the use of appropriate workmans.h.i.+p; fearlessly measures swords with every opponent, and often his impetuosity is crowned with success. To him Casaretto, of Crefeld, is indebted for valuable suggestions. He was also one of the founders of the school of art under the direction of the Sisters of the Infant Jesus, at Aix-la-Chapelle. Dr. von Bock has visited every country in Europe, Turkey excepted, which he intends shortly to visit for the purpose of continuing his researches. Where can be found an ancient vestment whose texture he did not scrutinize, and a piece of which he has not begged for still closer examination?

At Gran, at Malines, in Bohemia, in Sicily, at Rome, at Paris, at Vienna--everywhere Dr. von Bock has left traces of his unwearying activity. The Rhenish goldsmiths owe him a debt of grat.i.tude. He has written papers on the church at Kaiserswerth, on the Benedictine church at Munchen-Gladbach, on Cologne, and on the relics at Gran and Aix-la-Chapelle. His princ.i.p.al work is on the "Insignia of the Holy Roman Empire." It is a magnificently ill.u.s.trated specimen of typography, equal in every respect to any similar work published in England or France. At Malines every one spoke loudly in its praise, and in 1864 the author received from the Emperor Francis Joseph the Cross of the Iron Crown. Von Bock's style reminds me of the chimes I have heard in Holland; it consists in a constant repet.i.tion of the same pleasing melody.

Von Bock stands in odd contrast to Dean Schwarz, of Bohmenkirch, the able editor of the "_Kirchenschmuck._" He is the personification of repose and dignity, a deep thinker, and a first-cla.s.s archaeologist.

For many years he has wielded great influence with the clergy.

Whilst the altar societies are displaying greater activity every day, the Christian art unions, it is said, are daily becoming less zealous.

In some places, no doubt, this is true; but in many dioceses they have been changing into a.s.sociations for furthering the completion of the diocesan cathedral. To mention but a few instances, this was the case in Regensburg. Since his accession to the episcopal see {234} Bishop Ignatius von Senestrey applied himself with energy to the completion of his cathedral. King Louis I. having furnished the means, we have no doubt that in a few years architect Denzinger will finish the two towers. At Mayence, likewise, everything is being done for the completion and decoration of the cathedral. The work has been intrusted to the skill of Metternich, and Director Veit, a.s.sisted by Lasinsky Settegast and Hermann, is frescoing the walls and the vaults.

Since the fall of the part.i.tion between the sanctuary and the nave in the Cologne cathedral, and since the great festival of October 15th, 1868, the building has been steadily progressing, and the cathedral lottery promises to furnish the means for completing the towers within seven years. Schmidt has added a new pyramid to St. Stephen's cathedral in Vienna, which has now the highest spire in the world.

After rivalling the English architect Welby Pugin by planning almost two hundred churches and chapels, Statz is now building a cathedral at Linz. Archbishop Gregory von Scheer has given a new appearance to the metropolitan Church of Our Lady at Munich, whilst the bishop of Pa.s.sau, Henry von Hofstatter, has proved his devotion to the interests of art by renovating many churches in his diocese. Among all the German prelates none have built more churches than Cardinal Geissel, of Cologne, and Bishop Muller, of Munster.

Is it not an encouraging sign that we are completing the immense edifices of the middle ages? Is it not a proof of vital energy that the Catholics of all countries are building the grandest churches in the most correct style? As architectural science progresses, a like advance must take place in mechanics, and, notwithstanding many blunders, every branch of art is daily more and more perfected. Not many years hence all our temples will be completed and adorned with the splendor becoming the divine service. Let every one do his duty, fulfilling the task allotted him by divine Providence.

Let us conclude our rapid survey by calling to mind the men who have begun and directed this movement. Among the Germans, Joseph von Gorres, F. von Schlegel, and Sulpitius Boisseree will head our list.

France justly boasts of de Caumont, Didron, Montalembert, Viollet le Duc, Cahier, and the Abbe Martin. Oudin must not be forgotten, nor Bossi, the historian of the catacombs. The merits of Seroux d'Agincourt, Waagen, Guilhabaud, Schnaase, Kugler, Pa.s.savant, Stieglitz, Geyer, Kallenbach, Forster, Moller, Heideloff, Otte, Springer, Hefner-Alteneck, Krieg von Hochfelden, von Quast, Jacob Schmitt, and many others known to every votary of art. To us is a.s.signed the task of reaping the fruits of their labors.

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From The St. James Magazine.

PROPERZIA ROSSI.

Properzia Rossi, a female artist, celebrated for her misfortunes, though more for her proficiency in sculpture, painting, and music, died of a broken heart, just as Pope Clement VII. had invited her to Rome, to show his admiration for her masterpiece in the church of San Petronio at Bologna.

Too late--oh, far too late! Praise comes in vain To lull the fever'd agonies of pain.

I am no more the artist idly proud, But the gaunt mortal waiting for a shroud.

No more the songstress, whose impa.s.sioned lay O'er taste and feeling held unrivalled sway; But a weak woman, desolate and worn, Her pulses throbbing, and her heart-strings torn, Looking above--sad, humbled, and alone-- Where mercy dwells with Jesus on his throne-- Ay, fondly hoping for one smile of light From the meek Man of sorrows and of might, Who from sin's thrall is powerful to save, Died on the cross, and triumphed o'er the grave!

What though the light of genius fired mine eye, That radiant meteor leaves us when we die, And conscience whispers that the gifts of heaven Were of misused. I thirst to be forgiven.

Panting I turn from streams once deeply quaff'd.

And crave the Rock's sole vivifying draught!

Ay, as I kneel and supplicate for grace, I veil in lowliness my tear-bathed face; Implore for pardon with intense distress, And spurn the gauds of earthly happiness!

Oh, what avails it that aerial forms.

And colors vivid as the bow of storms.

Hang o'er my fancy with bewitching spell?

Say, have I used these varied talents well?

Oh, what avails it that my hands would mould Beautiful models from the marble cold?

Have the rich sculptures in the hallow'd fane Brought one soil'd spirit to her G.o.d again?-- Recall'd a virtuous feeling to the heart, And by religion consecrated art?

Have the fair features and bright hues I wove'

In one dark breast illumed the spark of love?

Or lured the soul from sin's deceptious toys To pure devotion's memorable joys?

Oh, have the gifts of music and of song Soothed one sad being of the human throng?-- Angelic thoughts--submissive, hopeful, kind-- Breathed o'er a mournful or a shattered mind?

And has my genius, with a potent sway, Gilded the road to heaven--that straight and narrow way?

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G.o.d has been very bounteous; he has given Much to enhance the blessedness of heaven.

The _threefold cords_ [Footnote 37] of talismanic power Were meant to yield employment for the hour-- Life's potent hour of labor, want, and pain-- Brief as the April drops of sunny rain; And yet by mercy recompensed above, If well improved in hope, and faith, and love.

But conscience whispers, and in these dark days That voice grows louder as my strength decays,-- Of wasted talents, of forgotten crime, And of a judgment awfully sublime!

Of duties unfulfill'd, of gifts misspent.

Of future pangs, of fitting punishment!

[Footnote 37: Music, painting, and sculpture.]

I muse no longer on the _present_--no-- My life is with the _future_ or the _past_, And both are mingling in a magic flow, Like turbid waters in a fountain cast.

The _past_---oh, whether fair, or dark, or both, Is but a picture mirror'd on the wave.

The moral sicknesses--guile, anger, sloth-- Arise as spectres from a yawning grave; What boots it that misfortune paled my cheek.

That penury and pain obscured my way?

_Sorrow is voiceless_; 'tis remorse that speaks In awful tones of merited decay, And of the worm that dieth not--the vale Of never-ending, still-beginning death.

Methinks I hear the harsh, continuous wail, The sobs and catchings of convulsive breath.

Guilt unatoned for--thoughts and words of sin-- How do they rise up, burning as on gla.s.s!

The evil pent the wishful heart within Asking for vengeance! O the hideous ma.s.s Of wickedness heap'd up, long, long conceal'd!

But now as by a lightning flash reveal'd.

Woe! woe! the Eternal Judge's fiery dart Hath pierced the labyrinthine cells within, Where underneath the pulses of my heart Dwells the mysterious form of crouching sin.

Thoughts, baneful wishes,--ay, as well as deeds, Against me in strong phalanx are array'd.

In vain these tears--in vain this bosom bleeds: I look upon myself, and am dismay'd, Powerless, and weak, and agonized I cry,-- And hear the words, "Lost sinner, thou must die!"

Clouds roll around me, and from an abyss, Drear, dark, profound, behold a hideous form!

Closer and closer serpents coiling hiss, And thunders boom along a sky of storm.

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There is no deed to offer thee of good, Thou mocking fiend! laugh on without restraint!

I seem as borne along a sulphurous flood, Too meteorically wild to paint.

The couch heaves under me, my sight is gone,-- I am with the accuser, and alone!

Alone! alone! O tell me not 'tis so.

That I must grapple powerless with the foe.

Jesus, thou Lamb of G.o.d, arise! arise!

Arrest these doubts, these daring blasphemies.

It was for sinners thou didst shed thy blood, For guilty mortals, not for angels' good.

Listen! attend! a sinner asks for aid,-- For _me_ that blood was spilt, for _me_ thou wast betrayed.

As when a night of storms has sped away.

And robed in florid hues appears the day, Stealingly, gently lighting up the skies With gleams, as from a seraph's smiling eyes, Thus o'er my spirit breeds a gracious calm, O'er my deep wounds is poured a healing balm.

Methinks the mild Redeemer stands above, And pleads _his_ righteousness, _his_ cross, _his_ love; While angels' voices wafted straight from heaven Proclaim, "Thy Savior calls! thou art forgiven!"

From The Hibernian Magazine.