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| Narbonne Cathedral |
Dare I say it, but Belloc does make a disparaging remark about the High Mass in The Path to Rome. By 1927 he seems to have changed his tune. Anyway, he is going to get one on the 20th of July in West Grinstead.
A unique and unrepeatable event
In October of 1927 Hilaire Belloc first published his book, Towns of Destiny, (1) which contains his grateful depiction of
a unique and unrepeatable event that so unexpectedly manifested itself to him
in southern France on the High Feast of the Holy Ghost: a sacred action in
a very special setting. In my view, this book often reveals to the
attentive reader some of our beloved Belloc's deepest thoughts and
resonant, as well as animating, convictions. One small test of this judgement,
and an initial measure of its sufficiency, will be found if we consider
only his thirty-second Chapter, entitled “Narbonne.” (2)
Consider how Belloc starts his presentation of Narbonne, interweaving
geography and history and his recent personal travel and so much more.
For, he is preparing us to savour more fully a set of converging facts and
acts that combined to nourish him so gracefully and sacramentally in the
Spring of 1925, almost seven months before Pope Pius XI published his own
sacramental Encyclical, Quas Primas: his own declaration of the High Feast
of Christ the King, in light of its underlying doctrine:
Upon a Whitsunday [in May of 1925] I
found myself returning from the Balearics, through Spain, to that luxuriant
warm plain between the mountains and the sea, which the Romans knew as the
“Narbonnese.” It was the wealthiest district of their Gaul; grouped round
its great central port; the pole of so much energy, superb achievement and
tradition. (223)
Towns for centuries drowned
Drawing us then further into his first-person narrative, both his
just-completed personal journeys and his evocations of earlier, but still
timely, military history, he says:
I had spent these spring weeks from
April [of 1925] onward, in passing through the recovered countries of
Sicily, North Africa and Spain, drawing and writing upon the towns in which our
civilisation has re-established itself, so gradually, recovering them from the
flood of Mohammedanism in which they had been for centuries drowned. (223—my emphasis added)
Back again in unbroken tradition
Acknowledging the near completion of his wandering expeditions and his
consolation to return closer to home, he adds:
Here, in the Narbonnese [with
Carcassonne and Castelnaudary to the West], I was at the end of that excursion
and back again in the unbroken tradition of our people and of our Faith. For
though the Saracen flood had indeed beaten upon the walls of this place,
and though sundry small garrisons of Islam had lingered on between the
Pyrenees and the central mountains of France, yet had they not here
occupied,ruined or transformed, as they had occupied, ruined and transformed
elsewhere. And Narbonne catches on back through 2,000 years to its origin
without interruption and has, stored up within itself, the very essence of
Rome. It was in these fields that the great landed family, the highest name in
whose lineage was that of Charlemagne, had its origin and root. (223-224—my emphasis added).
Nourishing rootedness
Belloc in various ways stresses the theme of continuity and nourishing
rootedness, and he even said paradoxically that Narbonne is now “better suited for the conservation of the past and for the handing
on of most ancient memories to us, the modern passer-by, from the fact that it
is decayed.” (224—my emphasis added). Because of certain geographical changes,
especially the mysterious silting up of its once-famous harbour and
inlets, history, in a certain sense, largely then passed it by. thus, certain
towns, like Narbonne, “have been arrested at some moment and
fossilised, as it were, and we can live it again within their walls. It is
so with Narbonne.” (224) Indeed, “That mother city slowly turned to a shrunken, inland place, its
ancient function lost,” (224) for it was
effectively isolated and no longer copiously open to the Mediterranean sea
and its water-borne traffic. Then we come to face a sacred edifice which
was still to be seen in that old mother city, now situated on a “shallow
lagoon” that was no longer a great bay:
And the date of the turning point, when
at last the narrows [to the open sea] had become too difficult, and the
harbour too shoal for a continued life, is well fixed by the enormous cathedral
and palace of the Bishop, which stand like a fortress, and are yet
uncompleted, halted at mid-building in the very midst of the Middle Ages. (224—my emphasis added)
The fortress and the keep
The Narbonne cathedral, nearly contemporary with “the Palace of the
Popes in Avignon,” somehow combines the effects of both “church and stronghold,” for “both the ideas are commingled and form one thing.” (224, 225) Expressing his own recent perceptions of that unfinished
Narbonne cathedral, Belloc adds:
Coming upon it from the outer streets,
if you approach by the palace side, you see indeed the buttresses and the
ogives of a Gothic church, but there is a strength and bigness, a massiveness
of stone, a reduction of ornament, which still suggests the fortress and
the keep. (225)
A place of coloured light
Though that “huge thing is incomplete”—“an apse with transepts
only begun...and uncontinued” like the nave and its “unconnected
juttings of great stone”—something of mystery once again happens, as Belloc
moves from the outside to the inside:
But this effect of power and
resistance, this character of standing for a siege [perhaps a
Mohammedan siege?], which is the great mark of the cathedral of Narbonne,
disappears in a sort of magic and a transformation when one passes the
door and gets within. Then all is suddenly changed into a place of
coloured light. And that which externally was all shoulders and masonry,
seeming to allow but small open spaces between, from within is one great
round of those solemn and soaring windows which turn the greater glories
of the thirteenth century into a vision. (225—my emphasis added)
After this framing preparation—by way of geography, history, and
architecture—Belloc prepares us further for the approaching Sacred
Action:
When I thus came to Narbonne, it being
yet long before noon in the mid-morning, a strong May sun poured through
that glass and made that whole airy cavern celestially alive. It seemed to
have...the height of Beauvais, the majesty of Paris [Notre Dame], and
something of the magic of Chartres. For the thirteenth century learned to
work this miracle of contrasts: so to arrange the external stonework that its characteristic
to the onlooker from without was the strength of this world, but so to devise
the interior with the least proportion of fine, long-drawn supports, that
the lights were its universal mark, and that the building itself seemed
half air. (225-226—my emphasis added)
By some divine chance
In a later, and characteristically modest book, The Catholic Church and Conversion, G.K.Chesterton also memorably
wrote that, as with a Gothic Cathedral, the Faith is much larger from the
inside, than from without—and this more spacious and intimate sense of
being within the Church, not outside, is what he gratefully and joyfully
experienced as a convert, in 1922, to the Catholic Faith.
Now is the time for Hilaire Belloc to introduce us to his special experience
and receptivity, and his timing was perfect (like the timing of
God!):
I came to the town just in time for the
Great High Mass of Pentecost, and going straight to the palace and past it
into the cathedral, I took my place in what were once the stalls of the canons
(for, as I have said, there is no [full] nave, and only the choir is
roofed), till the procession entered, and the Sacrifice began. It was an
experience such as I shall not have again, I suppose, in this life; such as I
had not had before in all the many years and towns of my travels. For
there met in combination there, by some divine chance [or special
Providence?], certain streams of emotion, their combination all enhanced
by the quality of the place.” (226—my emphasis
added)
More significant than anything else in the world
He will now intensify the resonance of his deeper meaning by recalling
us first to some sharp contrasts from his own recent travels:
What I had just seen in Barbary [the
Maghreb of North Africa], the several crossings of the Mediterranean Sea,
the town [of Narbonne] under the strong light [of May], the mountains to the
south and to the north, far away, the richness of the plain, the great
story of [Narbonne's] activity and of [its] decay, all this combined to
give an immense significance to this which I was about to follow, this Act,
repeated daily upon ten thousand altars, which is also more significant
than anything else in the world. (226—my emphasis added)
Such is the truth, inherently, about the Sacred Action of the Mass—the
Actio Sacra Missae.
Then, our beloved and humble Belloc will draw us on to other, less
intrinsic, yet intimate, enhancements, which will also show us a deep
glimpse of his heart:
It was as though this High Mass which
was about to open had something about it especial; catching up the spirit
of the myriad others [the other Masses] which in succession were rising to meet
the sun in the progress of the morning light around the world; and I was
filled with the recollection that I had
chanced, by the best of fortunes [or by
the Grace of Providence], to find myself here upon the Feast of the Holy
Ghost. It was a little after nine o'clock of the morning of that Whitsunday. (226—my emphasis added)
Emotion, mood and Faith
Now we turn to his consideration of “sacramentals,” as it were, and
other enhancing supports of the Intrinsic Sacred Action of the Mass, while
always still aware of the “unseen glory” of a low Mass offered with
modesty and love amidst grave poverty, or even under conditions of
wretchedness:
Men are often blamed (and more often
justly blamed) for permitting the sensual to invade the intellectual; that
is, for allowing their judgement (which is our highest faculty, after
love) to be warped by the appetitive in man. On this account it is that
the detestable Manicheans (for whom their modern name is
“Puritans”) reject the proper glories of worship and the unison of the
whole of man into the act of God's praise and of God's service. Without considering
their unhappy malformation [i.e., that of the Puritans and their
Forebears], it remains true that a man must never misinterpret his mere emotion
for faith, nor his mere mood for intellectual assent and conviction, still
less must he ever substitute intention for act, and a feeling, however
strong, for achievement. Faith is of the will. He would be a poor heir of the
Catholic Church who should consider the splendours of her most noble
pageantry in the greatest Mass, as in some way adding to the inward values and
to the unseen glory of a low Mass said hurriedly in some chapel of a
hamlet. (226-227—my emphasis added)
The soul supported by sacramental things
After this gracious and noble reminder of the truth, Belloc will yet
disclose his own yearnings and special vulnerabilities:
Nevertheless, I would advance it to be
[additionally] true that the soul is supported by all sacramental things;
that is, by all unison of the mind and the body upon a proper object; and [more
specifically] that when great architecture and glorious colour and solemn
music, and the profound rhythms of the Latin tongue, and ritual of many
centuries, and the uncommunicable atmosphere of age, all combine to exalt
a man in his worship, he is made greater and not less. He is supported. He
is fed. (227—my emphasis
added)
This last passage, I believe, should be read and read again. It is not
only true, but a glimpse into the deeper heart of Belloc—a key to his own
vividly expressed Sacramental Memories and Sacramental Visions and Understanding
Heart, as will be found in his other writings, as well.
I cannot boast to be of such a kind
In his next transition, he gives honour to those who are of another
stamp and attitude and habit of reverence, before admitting the needs of
his own poor soul:
Well do I know that the greatest of
visions have come to men in small rough huts of stone, round in shape,
piled by their own hands above the western seas of Ireland or in the Hebrides.
And I know that these men have scaled heaven. I also know that men
similarly isolated in the deserts between the Nile and the Red Sea
perceived our final inheritance and were admitted into the divine
company.
There is no necessity of any aid from
the senses; and the greatest of those who were adepts in the search for
heaven did, upon the contrary, withdraw themselves from all influence of the
senses when they most desired the satisfaction of the praegustatum—the
foretaste of that for which wewere designed: our home. But I cannot boast
myself to be of such a kind, and on my own poor level it is landscape, the
sea, human love, music, and the rest, that help to make me understand: and
in their absence I am very empty indeed. (227-228—my emphasis added)
Does this passage not make others also understand why we so deeply
cherish and truly love Hilaire Belloc? As he says in one of his own
verses: “Blessed is he that has come to the heart of the world and is
humble.” (3)
A great good
With this fuller preparation and revelation of his heart, Belloc brings
us to his rich accumulation and the climax of his narrative and its
implications:
Now here in the cathedral of Narbonne,
upon the Whitsunday of 1925, having come in with one companion [probably
his friend, Edward “Bear” Warre] in the morning of a hot summer's day, after so
much exploring of the heights of Africa, so much watching the conflict
between Islam and ourselves, so much content in the glories of Spain and
in the peace and wealth and good manners of Palma, of Majorica, so much
breathing of the Mediterranean air in long nights upon the decks at sea,
certainly all the support requisite, all the augmentations valuable to a
man of my kind, came very fortunately together; and I received, at this
Whitsunday High Mass in the cathedral of Narbonne, what I had desired
to receive: a great good. (228—my emphasis
added)
O that unbelievers could have witnessed this!
Belloc admits that those who “misunderstand the
end of dignity do not confess these things to their fellow beings,” but he [Belloc] is “willing to confess them,” in part because “whatever has done oneself good
should be communicated to others” and, besides that, “we are bound for a very different journey from that of this world.” (228) And, so, he will now conclude with vivid specificity and a
consequent call for our further-faithful Catholic Witness, as was the case with
Saint Dominic:
Well then the Mass began. They bore
above the head of the celebrant that round shade of silk which had also
come centuries ago from Rome. They had their particular rites of the bishopric,
and of their tradition. They read the Gospel, not from the altar steps,
but from high up near the roof, above the heads of the whole people; from
the organ loft, in splendid fashion. And when they sang the Veni Creator, I
could swear that the light which fell on the place took on another
quality. And I remembered the singing of that same song on that great day,
when St. Dominic sang it upon the scaling ladder, and our people stormed
the wall and destroyed the mortal Albigensian peril, and restored Europe. I
must tell you that all this time the Blessed Sacrament was exposed above
the altar on a very high place in a blaze of light. The Mass proceeded;
the final prayers were said; the thing was over. If I could have got
into that nave of Narbonne all the starved unbelieving men cut off from
the past in the dissolution of the modern world, there would have come out
some reasonable proportion restored to the traditions of Europe [and hence to the Faith and the sacred traditions of the Faith].
(228-229—my emphasis added)
And, once again, Hilaire Belloc has borne his inimitable and vividly trustful
Catholic Witness, here in the year of 1925, now almost a century
ago, between the two civil wars in Europe—sometimes called another Thirty Years Wars—but more commonly known as World War I and
World War II, about which Our Lady of Fatima also
mercifully forewarned us, and especially the authoritative leaders of the Catholic Church. May Belloc's own combined sacramental words and
gratefully communicated, special experience draw us
also on to a greater fidelity to the Faith and hence to the Blessed Mother herself, Our Lady of Fatima.
Blessed be he who has come to the heart of the Faith and is humble.
© 2013 Robert D. Hickson
(1) Hilaire Belloc, Towns of Destiny (New York: Robert M. McBride &
Company, 1927)—“Illustrated by Edmond L.Ware,”
Belloc's beloved friend and travel companion. The book is divided into
seven parts: Spain; Portugal; The Recovered
Country; France;The Rhine March; Tournai; and Three Towns of Life and
Death (i.e., Narbonne, Chaise Dieu, and
Corneto of the Tarquins). It is a richly variegated and highly
differentiated book of 238 pages.
(2) This seven-page chapter, simply entitled “Narbonne,” may be found on
pages 223-229 of Towns of Destiny. Further
page-references to this chapter will be in parentheses in the text of this
essay.
(3) Hilaire Belloc, Complete Verse (London Gerald Duckworth, 1970), p.
79— “From the Latin (But Not So Pagan),” line 1.
