RELIGION AND SCULPTURE. FROM CHRONICLES OF THE TOMBS. BY T. J. PETTIGREW. If, Ir cannot fail to have been observed, that a correct taste is generally found to be the accompaniment of true feelings of religious reverence. This is strongly exemplified in the earlier monumental records, in which the expressions of pious feelings are seen to unite most closely with the examples on the tombs of the most refined execution. The secret sympathy by which such an union is cemented it is easier to conceive than to express. however, we need illustration of this truth, survey our ancient cathedrals, the ecclesiastical edifices erected when the deepest religious feelings were entertained, and they will satisfy us on this. There is an architecture which we all feel to be peculiarly appropriate to purposes of a devotional character, and whenever this is departed from, a violence is done to the feelings, which all must be ready to admit, they have at one time or other experienced. A deviation from that which most men establish in their own minds as a standard in such matters, is felt at once to be either of a theatrical nature, or an entire departure from the solemn purpose to which the building has been erected. There is a philosophy in this matter, and it is the philosophy of the heart. Similar feelings apply to the monuments themselves as to the buildings in which they are placed, and classical and heathen personifications and devices are felt at once to be occupying a position to which they are in no manner whatever entitled. The god of war or the deity of the waters are appropriately enough introduced into the monuments erected in honor of our military or naval heroes; but they are fitted for a National Gallery, a Guildhall, or a Senate House, rather than the House of God. Nothing has ever struck me as exhibiting greater impropriety, or as being more incongruous, than the admission of the representation of heathen gods and goddesses into our funereal monumental shrines; it is utterly indefensible, it is destructive of all devotional feeling, and a defilement of the sanctuary. There is much truth in the observations Dr. Wiseman makes on this subject in connection with the monuments contained in St. Paul's Cathedral. Alluding to the visitor of this sacred edifice, he says: "There he sees emblems indeed in sufficient numbers, not the cross, or the dove, or the olive branch, as on the ancient tombs; but the drum and the trumpet, the boarding-pike and the cannon. Who are they whose attitudes and whose actions are deemed the fit ornaments for this religious temple? Men rushing forward with sword in hand, to animate their followers to the breach, or falling down, while boarding the enemy's deck: heroes if you please, benefactors to their country; but surely not the illustrators of religion." Again: "sea and river gods, with their oozy crowns and outpouring vases; the Ganges, with his fish and calabash; the Thames, with the genii of his confluent streams; and the Nile, with his idol, the Sphinx; Victory, winged and girt up as of old, placing earthly laurel on the brows of the falling; Fame, with his ancient trumpet, blasting forth their worldly merits; Clio, the offspring of Apollo, recording their history, and besides these, new creations of gods and goddesses, rebellion and fraud, valor and sensibility; Britannia, the very copy of his own unworshipped Rome, and some of those, too, with an unseemly lack of drapery, more becoming an ancient than a modern temple.". Repose must assuredly form the essential quality of all strictly monumental sculpture. The solemnity of feeling and reverential awe, excited by viewing the depository of the dead, are disturbed by the association of figures implying action or the exercise of strong powers. The able writer before referred to, pertinently remarks, that "though so much money has of late years been lavished, especially on public monuments, no commensurate effect has been produced; a devotional one was not intended, but none of any kind has been made; we are not really interested by the gigantic memorials at St. Paul's; they are large and grand, and many of them finely executed, but they do not affect us; we behold them without feeling them; as monuments they fail, even allowing that as works of art they succeed; groups likewise cannot satisfy; they will be looked at, just as the lions of Van Amburgh would be, were they grouped in marble; but the inward eye will not follow, and to it the best shaped deities are but as shapeless sculpture." * There is great justice in these remarks, and they ought to operate in the guidance of the erection of funereal or monumental memorials. Foremost among those who form exceptions to this incorrect and vitiated taste, should be mentioned that most excellent and accomplished artist, the late John Flaxman, R. A. His genius as a monumental sculptor, was first displayed in the monument erected in 1794, in Westminster Abbey, to the memory of the Earl of Mansfield; it principally consists of two figures, those of wisdom and justice, whilst a youth is placed behind a pedestal, holding an inverted torch as personification of death. No other sculptor presents us equally correct ideas with regard to the true character of funereal monuments. No heathen gods and goddesses are exhibited upon any of his * British Critic and Quaterly Theological Review, Vol. XXV. p. 140. a sepulchral works. Figures representing love, or pity, or affectionate sorrow, weeping over a sarcophagus figure rising from the grave, angels beckoning, &c., all in excellent keeping, harmonizing completely with the nature and design of the monument, and with the solemnity and purposes of the places in which it appears. Flaxman's works of this description are numerous, and an inspection of them never fails to excite feelings of awe and devotion. All who have gazed upon the plain coped stone coffin, or those ornamented by a cross, sometimes of the most simple form, at others forming a species of ornamentation, but yet of a truly simple character, have felt much more touched than by the sight of a glaring monument, crowded with figures of various descriptions, and executed with accompanying details altogether in the most elaborate manner. By the laws of Solon, no one was permitted to raise a sepulchral monument which should occupy ten men more than three days in its construction. The Council of Rouen, in 1581, issued a canon against too costly sepulchral monuments; and Philip II. of Spain, in 1565, directed that monuments should not be erected in churches; the memorials were to be confined to tombs, with a mourning cloth over them. THE TWILIGHT BURIAL. BY FLORENCE. THERE are but few circumstances under which, to me, at least, the Catholic burial ceremonies and services can be deeply imposing. They are too numerous and com plicated, and involuntarily attract the attention from the simple and stern realities of the scene, to themselves. Society alone makes us creatures of art and of habit, and it is only that which is natural and simple, which renders us again what heaven intended us to be, and awakens the feelings that are implanted in every heart, but which the world has so chilled that we almost learn to doubt their existence. Yet some great and important event that strikes upon the common mind, and calls into exercise general feeling, makes us deeply feel how far we have wandered from the path which nature intended we should tread, and awakens a momentary disgust for the world whose magic has so deceived us, which we deem at the time can never be dispelled. - The burial to which I allude, was one of those which to me offered an exception to the general rule; for there was something in the circumstances more than usually affecting. It was that of a lady whom I had seen but a week or two before, resplendent in youth and beauty; possessed of all the charms which wealth and a very enviable station in life could confer. She was hardly seventeen, yet the idol of many hearts, a wife and a mother, who was devoted to the fulfilment of the duties. of her station. It was now the loveliest, yet the most dangerous season of the year, the very last of September; and I could hardly believe that on the soft and balmy gale that swept by me, was borne the wing of death. But day after day, I had witnessed the slow and solemn processions, which bore the dead to the grave, and in the affecting language of Scripture, had "seen the mourners go about the streets." There was no prevailing epidemic, and the startling news that such and such a one was gone, came upon me with an effect which I could not overcome. Men do not always deceive others; they be |