the outline of perfect and conventional beauty, something that dots
with anger the blind eyes of the Apollo and lashes to a cavalry
charge the horses of the Elgin Marbles. Christianity is savage,
in the sense that it is primeval; there is in it a touch
of the nigger hymn. I remember a debate in which I had praised
militant music in ritual, and some one asked me if I could
imagine Christ walking down the street before a brass band.
I said I could imagine it with the greatest ease; for Christ
definitely approved a natural noisiness at a great moment.
When the street children shouted too loud, certain priggish
disciples did begin to rebuke them in the name of good taste.
He said: "If these were silent the very stones would cry out."
With these words He called up all the wealth of artistic
creation that has been founded on this creed. With those words
He founded Gothic architecture. For in a town like this,
which seems to have grown Gothic as a wood grows leaves,
anywhere and anyhow, any odd brick or moulding may be carved off
into a shouting face. The front of vast buildings is thronged
with open mouths, angels praising God, or devils defying Him.
Rock itself is racked and twisted, until it seems to scream.
The miracle is accomplished; the very stones cry out.

But though this furious fancy is certainly a specialty of men among
creatures, and of Christian art among arts, it is still most notable
in the art of Flanders. All Gothic buildings are full of extravagant
things in detail; but this is an extravagant thing in design. All
Christian temples worth talking about have gargoyles; but Bruges
Belfry is a gargoyle. It is an unnaturally long-necked animal, like
a giraffe. The same impression of exaggeration is forced on the mind
at every corner of a Flemish town. And if any one asks,