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| Brideshead Redecorated |
| by John Zmirak |
| 3/25/09 |
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Reflective readers sometimes refer to the critical books that shaped their lives as if they were old friends whom they revisit from time to time, discovering in them always some new insight or nuance of meaning, some unheard strains of verbal music for which their reading ear was, at last, now ready. Another reading of this particular novel, or that devotional book, is for them a kind of reunion. They must spend time catching up and exchanging news.
This metaphor leaves me cold. A book is not a friend. Put it down for years unattended, and it remains unwounded, as tear-proof and sweatless as a marble Renaissance Christ that hangs above a frowsy modern altar -- a single tastefully rendered wound the only mark recalling the Man of Sorrows. Your sins, the plastic flowers, the chillingly upbeat banners that hang around it can do the thing no harm.
A book is much more like a house -- and someone else's house at that, to which you are periodically invited, but you may not rearrange the furniture. I'm reminded of my favorite place in Boston, the Isabel Stuart Gardner Museum, which consists of that wonderful eccentric's art collection hanging exactly as she left it. By terms of her will, not a Chinese screen or crusader's sarcophagus may be shifted from the precise place where she left it. An astronomically high Anglican and a Jacobite, she asked that once a year upon her birthday, that rite should be said for her soul in the glorious, gloomy chapel she constructed from bits and pieces brought over from Europe. (A woman of her means today would more likely fill up her elegant home with the works of Damien Hirst.) The world is a poorer place now that we have run clean out of heiresses like Mrs. Gardner. Requiem aeternam dona eae, Domine, et lux perpetuam luceat eae.
The house I'm visiting this Lent is one more stately than Mrs. Gardner's -- although it lacks her indoor Venetian courtyard -- and most of you have surely spent your weeks under its eaves. Its name is Brideshead, and it has endured the petty hurricanes of literary fashion, the vagaries of cinematic adaptation, an avalanche of "Queer theory" and the sniffy disdain of postconciliar primitivism. Here it stands and will endure as long as there are readers who understand English. An English friend and colleague, the icon painter David Clayton, told me that when he first converted and began to attend Mass at London's extraordinary Oratory, some cradle Catholic warned him away from the place: "All you'll meet there," the fellow said, "are 'Evelyn Waugh Catholics.'"
To which I answer, "Is there any other kind?"
No doubt there are, in Yamoussoukro, or the mountain chapels of Bolivia. May God bless and keep them. But in the English-speaking world, I cannot imagine any properly formed Catholic who wouldn't feel deep-running sympathy, right down to the clench of his gut, with Waugh's excruciated elegies to the remnants of a vanishing Christendom. Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar is finally fading -- and in England is daily more dully drowned by the cats-in-heat call of the muezzin.
The house is irregularly shaped, of a style that seems more organic than fabricated -- like one of those cathedrals that started off Romanesque, then over the course of centuries grew gradually Gothic. Brideshead begins, of course, in the grim futility of Britain's Second World War. For that was how Waugh really viewed the war -- as one learns in his masterful Sword of Honour trilogy, which shows how the Quixotic hope of saving Poland from modern savagery gave way to the necessary, squalid alliance with Stalin, and ended with the cooperation of secret British Communists in the betrayal of Eastern Europe. "The modern age in arms," his hero Guy Crouchback crows when he learns of the Hitler-Stalin alliance that launched the war with a joint invasion of England's sworn ally. Reading these novels is a necessary rebuke to our current, entirely imaginary account of the Second World War -- which pretends, essentially, that the fight against Hitler was launched by Rosa Parks and conducted to save Europe's Jews. Alas, few cared about them at the time -- as no one before had bothered about the millions of dead Ukrainians. Had the Nazi barbarians outfought the Soviet hordes, we'd no doubt be watching films like Schindler's List recounting Stalin's crimes, and the memory of Pope Pius XII would be forever tainted by his failure to save the Ukrainians.
But Brideshead hides something quite different behind the camouflage netting it wears for the war; its narrator Charles Ryder swiftly returns us at the speed of memory to another style altogether: the neoclassical, even neo-pagan idyll he titles "Et in Arcadia Ego." And for the reader who first encounters the book as I did, at age 16, it is this section he remembers. Viewers of the masterful BBC adaptation -- which proved once and for all that really good books need a miniseries -- are mostly taken by the callow, happy decadence of the book's early Oxford section. I know it inspired me to apply to a better class of college than I had looked at, and use the money from my summer jobs to pick up tweed coats, flannel pants, and ties from the 1920s. (None of which I ever went on to wear -- it turns out you really do need a valet to press all that wool.)
It's easy for the youthful reader to miss some critical facts about Charles Ryder's romps with Sebastian Flyte. I, for one, completely overlooked the homoerotic subtext -- which surely would have been obvious to any British man who'd been to a public school. Robert Graves, in Goodbye to All That, and C. S. Lewis in Surprised By Joy, both comment on that peculiarly English institution that Graves called "artificial homosexuality." (It's unclear whether we're meant to think that Charles and Sebastian actually committed this sin against nature; but their "romantic friendship" was not far removed from the intraschool "love affairs," often unconsummated, that Graves and others record.) Having settled on Waugh as an upright Catholic author, I steadfastly overlooked any hints he dropped in the text -- although when my father, a sturdy Slavic mailman, saw me watching the BBC series, he demanded to know, "Why are you watching a show with a bunch of pansies?" I answered with an ignorant, knowing sigh, "Dad, they aren't queer. They're simply English."
Just as well. It would have ruined the book for me.
More importantly, as I read the book for the ninth time, now deeply settled into middle age, I notice that the happy times Charles and Sebastian spend tippling champagne and munching strawberries last only about a year. By their third term together at Oxford, Sebastian has already slid from happy to sloppy drunk, and his fall is quick and cataclysmic. By the time he should have been graduating with a well-earned gentleman's "C," Sebastian is hopelessly addicted to drinking and caught in the clutches of a loathsome German sociopath named Kurt.
So it goes with all the joys recorded in Waugh's exquisite novel, whose lush and musical prose conveys to us the intensity of perfect, lyrical moments. But that is all they are. The love Charles finds for Julia sustains them in an idyllic affair for barely two years before her conscience (sparked by her father's deathbed acceptance of absolution) sunders them again. They each are left alone, with the memories of brief and fleeting experiences -- all flecked and crusted with sin, but nonetheless lovely -- to sustain them through decades of isolated dryness and penitence, and the slow attempt to warm themselves by the cool, unearthly fire of the sanctuary lamp Charles finds relit at Brideshead, at a chapel reopened for soldiers.
Such is Waugh's cold-hearted warning against the joys of earthly life. There are few accounts in his novels of happy marriages, friendships untouched by betrayal, or families whose Faith holds them together. Instead, the Church seems to bind her children to her with wires and hooks that pierce the flesh, perhaps as the only means to bind it to the spirit -- then pull it, inexorably, toward the tabernacle with a twitch upon a thread. Indeed, in her human and institutional side, the Church in this novel is symbolized by the femme fatale Lady Marchmain -- as dying, wistfully pagan Western man is portrayed by her errant husband. That, at any rate, is how I have come to read this book, and make sense of the toxic influence this willfully kind and generous lady exerts on her spouse and offspring. The claims she makes are superhuman, as are her demands, and they cannot be reconciled with lasting happiness in a world made by men like Mottram for the comfort of men like Hooper.
I don't think Waugh was so Gnostic as to suggest that there could be no room for earthly consolation in the creed of Christ, to make a fetish of the Cross and exult unduly in suffering -- which is for us a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless. (This tendency I do find in George Bernanos, and it renders his books to me unreadable, the record of some alien Faith whose features I simply don't recognize.) It is the modern world, constructed with subhuman comfort in mind, that forms men and women whose quest for happiness puts them deeply at odds with the natural order, with our own natures and any decent order. The chaos ensuing is like that of half an orchestra that has rebelled against the conductor -- to lift a metaphor from The Silmarillion, by the other great English Catholic novelist of the century. We musn't blame the instruments, or the Author.
John Zmirak is the author, most recently, of the graphic novel The Grand Inquisitor and is Writer-in-Residence at Thomas More College in New Hampshire. He writes weekly for InsideCatholic.com. Readers have left 29 comments. John, nice homage. Brideshead is good lenten reading for those devotionally challenged. Written by marchmaine The passive aggressive Ordinary Mass bashing is getting really old, guys, especially when it's snuck sleazily into an article that's supposed to be about something else. If you don't support Rome and the mainstream (i.e. icky and cooties saturated, to you) Mass, at least have the decency to label your articles with your true intent. Believe it or not, most Catholics are quite happy with the existing, Rome-approved, Ordinary Mass. It sustains most Catholics just fine, thanks. Written by Kell Brigan Hey go on line to; theBlackCordelias.wordpress.com for some exercise some interest in "Brideshead". Only five bob, tell some others. Written by Roland Newark Good grief, you might as well read passive aggression into his absurd contention that we're all taught that WWII was faught to save the Jews. In all seriousness, no history teacher I've ever had, nor any book or essay I've ever read, has EVER held that that was the case. Written by Joe Marier The passive aggressive Ordinary Mass bashing is getting really old, guys, especially when it's snuck sleazily into an article that's supposed to be about something else. If you don't support Rome and the mainstream (i.e. icky and cooties saturated, to you) Mass, at least have the decency to label your articles with your true intent. Believe it or not, most Catholics are quite happy with the existing, Rome-approved, Ordinary Mass. It sustains most Catholics just fine, thanks. — Kell BriganYes, Kell, you've certainly got the number of the conspiratorial Rad Trads that govern this site! ![]() Relax and try not to read into things too much, especially when the author is well-known to use sarcasm as part of his writing style. We all have enough real problems in the Church and in the modern world to focus on without having to manufacture outrage over sarcastic commentary. I think if you try to read with less "sensitivity", you'll find that most editors/writers/posters on this particular site do not conform to the stereotype that you hold of them. I, for my part, haven't seen too much focus here on the TLM or even the Novus Ordo Latin Mass, so I'm not sure where you're seeing the bashing you mention. Written by Kevin in Texas " ... most Catholics are quite happy with the existing, Rome-approved, Ordinary Mass ... " Yes, maybe, but then most Catholics are happy to live their lives as if Humanae Vitae hadn't been written, most Catholics voted for Barack Obama, most Catholic teens sleep around, most Catholics have given up on the Sacrament of Reconciliation because they are really good people and a loving God understands their human weaknesses .... need I go on? Written by Londiniensis "Requiem aeternam dona eae, Domine, et lux perpetuam luceat eae." Ah, the "wrinkle in the paradigm" of "is, ea, id": for all genders, the dative is "ei." The proper Latin, wis: "Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetuam luceat ei." Written by Latinist marchmaine, I think it's difficult reading for the "devotionally challenged." It is easy to blame the failure of faith on a lack of grandeur and beauty, but this is one of those books that shows that their presence is no guarantee of the persuasiveness of the presence of God. Is it witnessing devotion that brings Charles to his knees? What is his reward for his conversion--other than boredom and the displacement to memory of the beauty he once knew. This exposes a deeper issue in what Kell suggests is the passive-aggressive relation between the traditional and ordinary masses. Dr. Zmirak, Do you really find Gnosticism and a fetishization of the Cross in Diary of a Country Priest? Another chapter in the Hitchcock essay that was posted here recently. Maybe the division between Chesterton people and Bernanos people (Waugh being claimed by both) really does boil down to the manner in which they claim to "enjoy" alcohol. Written by Tony Sifert Serious question: Where is the "Ordinary Mass bashing" in the article? Written by Emilio III I have to second Tony's point on George Bernanos. I don't think anyone who has read his "Last Essays," especially what he says about freedom, would think him a Gnostic who thinks there is no consolation to be enjoyed here on earth. I know in the case of the English, the irony is thick, but I think the best way to account for the supposed "dreariness" of Bernanos is to say "He's simply French!" Written by Okie I consider myself a Bernanos AND Chesteron person, and I enjoy beer. But only good beer. How does that level with everything? Written by Okie John, you write: "It's unclear whether we're meant to think that Charles and Sebastian actually committed this sin against nature..." I think I'll toss this one over to George Holdgrafer at Lavender Magazine: "Getting down to the prurient, did Charles and Sebastian really do the deed? Everything I’ve ever read tap-dances around this question. However, Waugh really settles the point in the novel by having Charles years later narrate that he and Sebastian had engaged in a 'naughtiness high in the catalogue of grave sins.' It’s an understated reference to the traditional Catholic theological tenet that sodomy is one of the Four Sins Crying to Heaven for Vengeance, the worst possible mortal sins." Yeah, I think they committed it. Written by Lickona As they say, "Beware of the Anglo-Catholics . . ." Written by Tony Sifert "Brideshead Revisited" certainly belongs on a shortlist of the great books of the twentieth century (to say nothing of the great "Catholic" books), and is a more overtly Christian treatment of a similar theme in Mann's "Death in Venice": the decline of Western civilization (i.e. Christendom). For me, the key character is Sebastian Flyte, who virtually disappears in the second half of the book. He represents Waugh's stated theme, which was "to trace the workings of the Divine Purpose in a pagan world." Waugh’s subtle portrayal of religious faith is informed by his acute sense of the fallen human condition: those who appear most pious may be the novel’s gravest sinners, while those who appear most fallen (from a worldly point-of-view), may be the novel’s greatest saints. And those who don’t seek or want God’s grace may prove the rather stunned recipients of it. I'd love to share my sister's thoughtful review of this book: http://tinyurl.com/cfrqhl For Catholics who love to read, Evelyn Waugh is an essential author, and often darkly humorous. It was interesting for me to read militant atheist, Christopher Hitchens' defense of Waugh against the recent film version, starring Emma Thompson: " “I do not consider myself a sympathiser with Roman Catholicism, but this film seems motivated by the cheaper sort of malice against it…” Written by John Murphy “I do not consider myself a sympathiser with Roman Catholicism, but this film seems motivated by the cheaper sort of malice against it…” — SomeoneYou know what makes Christopher Hitchens great? His self-effacing irony. I'm pretty sure he said that just so a bad movie would be called "Too Anti-Catholic for Christopher Hitchens." Written by Joe Marier But with friends (even self-effacingly ironic ones) like that, who needs enemies? It's certainly a good indicator of how bad the movie was. Written by John Murphy An excellent piece. I've read Brideshead at least 6 times by now, and I am only 24. God knows how many times I'll read it before I die. Thank you for this beautiful and measured meditation on the book. You have a love for the English language - witnessed to by your careful and precise choice of word - that is as delightful as it is rare. Written by John Jalsevac Why is insulting mainstream Catholics, and calling anyone who goes to their neighborhood Church and participates humbly in the Mass there along with everyone else, inferior or stupid or corrupt or automatically sinful or less devout, or all the verbal abuse the RadTrads routinely throw at mainstream Catholics, any less an instance of extraordinary pride, extraordinary disobedience than having an abortion or committing adultery. Just because you think YOUR conscience is superior to the Magisterium and Rome, you get to violate Church doctrine and teaching, and casually and happily insult devout Catholics who are loyal to the Church. Still looks like a pretty big sin of pride and hubris to me. Don't you ever wonder where all your rage against mainstream Catholics comes from. Is it really that you love Latin so much, or could it just be that Satan's using your ego to con you into opposition to Catholicism? Don't you ever worry that your constant rage and ready insults and egotism are solid indicators that your motives have little to do with honoring or emulating Christ? I've been told by the Church that my worship is proper and acceptable and that it's appropriate for me to love and participate in it. And, yet, I'm supposed to ignore His Holiness and several generations of Popes (who've kept the Church alive through horrible challenges), and in stead listen to a bunch of "scholars" who think, because they can spell a handful of words in Latin, they get to insult other people's cherished beliefs, practicies and -- now -- traditions? Where on earth or in heaven do you think you get the authority? If the Holy Father approves of "our" Mass, if the Holy Roman Catholic Church created my Mass, how dare you denigrate it? Written by Kell Brigan I'm not sure where Mr. (Miss? Mrs.? The only "Kell Briggan" I could find by Googling self-identifies as a practising witch, so I'll charitably assume that the author here is someone else.) finds all this venom directed at attendees of the Novus Ordo, but it isn't in my piece. I attend the Novus Ordo without objection when the Extraordinary Mass isn't offered. My own criticisms of the new rite (which I've offered elsewhere, but not here) don't go any further than those seconded by Pope Benedict himself, for instance in Fr. Klaus Gamber's book--to which then-Cardinal Ratzinger wrote the introduction. Really folks, a bit of historical perspective is in order here: Popes have, historically, made a great number of prudential decisions that deserve criticism. It should be measured and sane, and keep intact one's reverence for the papal office, of course.... Dante placed the reigning pope (still alive when he completed the Commedia) in Hell. St. Hildegard of Bingen upbraided the pope of her day for tolerating heresy. St. Catherine of Siena practically dragged her reigning pope back to Rome by his beard.... If Mr./Mrs./Miss Briggan really wants to understand the prudential case against the prudential decision of Pope Paul VI to approve the Novus Ordo Missae, she should read a book on the subject. I suggest those of Michael Davies (whom Josef Ratzinger praised upon his death), Klaus Gamber (see above), or the essays penned on the subject by Dietrich von Hildebrand, Louis Bouyer, or any number of perfectly faithful Catholic authors. S/he might disagree with their conclusions. But his/her bilious caricature of pharasaical traditionalist monsters will not likely survive the exercise. Written by John Zmirak Kell, I would like to delicately point out the Holy Father's own charitable criticism of the Mass of 1969: "The altar - as can be seen in the normative model of St. Peter's - had to be positioned in such a way that priest and people looked at each other and formed together the circle of the celebrating community. This alone - it was said - was compatible with the meaning of the Christian liturgy, with the requirement of active participation. This alone conformed to the primordial model of the Last Supper. These arguments seemed in the end so persuasive that after the [Second Vatican] Council (which says nothing about "turning toward the people") new altars were set up everywhere, and today celebration *versus populum* really does look like the characteristic fruit of Vatican II's liturgical renewal. In fact it is the most conspicuous consequence of a reordering that not only signifies a new external arrangement of the places dedicated to the liturgy, but also brings with it a new idea of the essence of the liturgy - the liturgy as a communal meal." And then further along in the same passage: "In reality what happened was that an unprecedented clericalization came on the scene. Now priests - the "presider," as they now prefer to call him - becomes the real point of reference for the whole liturgy. Everything depends on him. We have to see him, respond to him, to be invovled in what he is doing. His creativity sustains the whole thing. Not surprisingly, people try to reduce this newly created role by assigning all kinds of liturgical functions to different individuals and entrusting the "creative" planning of the liturgy to groups of people who like to, and are supposed to, "make their own contribution." Less and less is God in the picture. More and more important is what is done by the human beings who meet here and do not like to subject themselves to a "pre-determined pattern." The turning of the priest toward the people has turned the community into a self-enclosed circle. In its outward form, it no longer opens out on what lies ahead or above, but closes in on itself." I believe it was this same "new idea of the essence of the liturgy" which at the end of his life, brought Waugh to tears when he witnessed the early trial baloons which became the Novus Ordo. He died, by the way, after attending the Mass of 1962 - (Easter Sunday, 1966). This mass is now called, through B16's generous and blessedly merciful Motu Proprio, the extraordinary form. My hope is that just as in the Mass of 1969 (as it is currently practiced) the extraordinary ministers have become (oh, how ubiquitously!) ordinary ministers so the extraordinary form of the Mass will eventually win out and become - (or at least greatly influence) - the ordinary form.... JOB Written by job Kell, These passages I quoted can both be found in "Spirit of the Liturgy" by Joseph Ratzinger - pp. 77-78 (Ignatius). Also, I noticed that Mr. Zmirak chimed in before me - and I would only add to his list of references, an excellent essay on the whole question, which was written in 2000 by Father John W. Mole, OMI, "Liturgical Peace." I belive it is one of most conciliatory (not to mention conciliar) pieces on the subject of old vs. new Mass. It is also somewhat prophetic, given Benedict's motu proprio. YOu can find it here: http://www.unavoce.org/LiturgicalPeace.html One further thought: I believe that Benedict's Motu Proprio has shifted the grounds of the liturgical war in the same way that Reagan's no-nonsense diplomacy with the Ruskies shifted the grounds of the Cold War. But that there is a liturgical war, there can be no doubt. I believe, though, that it too will fade into history... As Father Mole notes, "Qui vivra, verra." JOB Written by job "Had the Nazi barbarians outfought the Soviet hordes, we'd no doubt be watching films like Schindler's List recounting Stalin's crimes, and the memory of Pope Pius XII would be forever tainted by his failure to save the Ukrainians." A very interesting hypothesis, though it assumes that Hitler sympathizers would write the history books, make the movies, and dominate the universities. Or maybe that assumption is not necessary: the Nazis were socialists, after all; discerning and thoughtful Westerners might easily have been won over by their political ideals and superior fashion sense. Would Hitler's preserved corpse have been displayed in a mausoleum in Berlin's central square? Written by trp "Dad, they aren't queer. They're simply English." That's been my response too. I pointedly avoid trying to learn what the homoerotic hints are because I'm quite happy to be oblivious. And the less I know about Anthony Blanche, the better. "And the less I know about Anthony Blanche, the better." That's actually my personal motto. I have it on a t-shirt :-) John - I see in your link to this article at takimag that you are 44 and were born in Astoria. Me too - we must have run into eachother somewhere, maybe St. Joseph's school? Written by kcj I actually assumed that Kell's comment was in response to the comment from Londiniensis, rather than in response to Mr. Zmirak's article. An over the top response, perhaps, but certainly not the only person who took umbrage at the implicit lumping of Catholics who happily attend the Ordinary Form with those whose lifestyle is in violation of several commandments and precepts of the Church... Written by Sarah Ignore Anthony Blanche at your peril. He is the novel's aesthetic conscience, just as Cordelia is the novel's religious conscience. Written by Lickona Just a small correction: The series aired in the U.S. in 1982 was produced by Granada, not the BBC. Written by Fr. Vincent Fitzpatrick I love reading commentary on Brideshead as it was a formative book for me and I am just holding out maybe one more year before I go back and re-re-read it. But this is the first time I have found another person who thinks what I think about Lady Marchmain: She's the symbol of the Church! I've always thought that -- especially poignant for me is the fact that although she will not attend the wedding of Julia and Rex, she lends Julia her own gorgeous bridal veil. It's as if Waugh was trying to show how even the sordid and mediocre can be tinged with a genuine beauty from afar, through the touch of Mother Church. Could write all night about how deep this novel is. Thanks for your many insights, Mr. Zmirak. |




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