Voices of Westminster Abbey, Chapters V-VII [pp. 237-245]

APPLETONS' JOURNAL.
I desired a background that would throw into
strongest relief the actual relation of Westminster
Abbey to the present time, and it was for this reason,
more than for any other, that I availed myself of
the grotesque deductions suggested by the foregoing
incident. The two remaining personal experiences
which I now record will be found to open, under
their respective occasions for further describing the
Abbey, the ulterior reference and symbolic bearing
which, from the beginning of this paper, I have constantly had in view.
Once, when attending a Sunday service, it was
my good fortune to be placed in what was considered
the best position from which both to hear the
preacher and to receive a full impression of the
Abbey in all other respects. Where I sat was its
centre of gravity, so to speak. Hereabout would
have been its fulcrum, on which it would have been
evenly balanced if bodily lifted up.
In front of me, about two hundred and fifty feet
distant, is the western door of the Nave. Behind
me, about two hundred and fifty feet distant, is the
eastern extremity of Henry VII.'s Chapel. These
measurements are near enough for the present description. On the right hand and on the left are the
Transepts, extending one hundred feet each way.
Immediately before me, say one hundred feet off, is
the screen which indicates the end of the Choir; in
it is a door leading into the Nave, and upon it stands
the organ. Immediately behind me is the farther
recess of the Chancel with the altar, and the alabaster and mosaic reredos, which separates it from the
Chapel of Edward the Confessor. Above me is
the vaulted roof of stone one hundred feet from the
pavement.
The reader will bear in mind that the Choir occupies the heart of the edifice, the intersection of the
cross, and that it is made, as I have already said, a
complete church in itself, by the great oaken screen
which incloses it on three sides. Abroad tesselated
alley runs down in front of me to the door leading
into the Nave, and on either side of it, laterally, the
massive oaken pews ascend bank-like to the topmost row, which is overhung by a canopy. The
choristers sit midway down the alley in the two
lower tiers, and are divided into two choirs facing
one another across the intermediate space. Here is
the musical heart of the service, and in the response
of one choir to the other, throughout, is the rapid
pulsation which fills it with movement, spirit, and
life.
The pulpit is close by on my right hand at this
end of the alley; the seat of the Dean on my left,
down at the other end. From two opposite desks in
front the officiating clergy conduct the service.
I am careful to give these details, that the reader
who has never seen the Abbey, or any foreign cathedral, may have the material exponents of the scene
vividly before him, as the base of that which I would
now have grow upon his imagination.
It will be seen that my point of view commands
not only the whole grand interior, and the ceremonial spectacle of the service, but also, what is an
immense element in the contemplation, the majestic
relation of one to the other.
Now, if there were no royal chapels in the rear,
the eastern sun would at this moment be pouring its
symbolic light over the Chancel and the Choir. I
mention this because, in sitting here, I am consciously inclosed by a fabric of symbolism which
rapidly melts into the reality and summons it near.
I see that great spiritual structure whose Altar is the
Life of Christ, whose Sacrarium is the Apostolic
Age, whose Choir is the Primitive Church, whose
Transepts are the arms of its first extension, whose
Nave its growth into the historic Church. I do
not now see the work of the eras which wrought exaggeration or distortion, when the Virgin was worshiped, when the saints were celebrated, and when
temporal powers intruded. I see only that which
was built on the ground-plan of the cross, the simplest, purest, most elementary form of Christianity:
its foundations laid in a mystic principle deep in the
heart of man and Nature; its superstructure true to
the design of God.
In the hush of the vast vacuities of the Abbey,
the rustling of the rapidly-assembling congregation
has been unheard, and now the whole area of the
Choir and Transepts is occupied by a dense crowd.
The organ, from its lofty midway place, rolls forth
its preliminary peal. The empty Nave behind receives the generous flood of sound upon its ringing
pavements and echoing vaults. It is like sunlight
pouring into the waste of space. But the same
tones rolling hitherward, and breaking like continuous waves upon this living shore, are the outward
signal of a waiting tide of worship now ready to
swell in the heart of the silent multitude.
I so describe it because it is worship. Few
realize, as they sit here, that there is still another
Abbey present, fellow with this interior, which can
animate it like a living soul. It is the Liturgy of
the Church of England, a structure, in many parts
more ancient and venerable than this, more full of
meaning because articulate, but at this moment
silent, waiting for these notes to rouse it like a
quickened spirit, and make it visible. When this
invisible Abbey of worship springs and spreads into
this visible Abbey of art, till it fills and equals it
everywhere in one sublime coincidence of form,
then, for the first time, the one utters the other, and
both unite in that higher than earthly speech which
the heart can feel but can never frame.-The symbol is about me still. I dream of the ideal Church.
The door from the Nave opens, and the whiterobed procession enters-the choristers and the clergy
preceding the Dean. The surplice of white linen
is common to all, and is only worn to conceal the
varying fashion of the secular dress, for the simple
purpose of uniformity, and of harmony with the
decorum of the service and the place. The clergy
wear, besides, the red-lined academic hood, drooping behind from the shoulders, which associates them
with one of the ancient universities, and announces
them as competent in learning and training for their
high vocation. There is no weak spectacular at
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