There is something so very attractive and poetical, as well as soothing to our helpless finite nature, in all the superstitions connected with the popular notion of Angels, that we cannot wonder at their prevalence in the early ages of the world. Those nations who acknowledged one Almighty Creator, and repudiated with horror the idea of a plurality of Gods, were the most willing to accept, the most enthusiastic in accepting, these objects of an intermediate homage; and gladly placed between their humanity and the awful supremacy of an unseen God, the ministering spirits who were the agents of his will, the witnesses of his glory, the partakers of his bliss, and who in their preternatural attributes of love and knowledge filled up that vast space in the created universe which intervened between mortal man and the infinite, omnipotent Lord of All.
The belief in these superior beings, dating from immemorial antiquity, interwoven as it should seem with our very nature, and authorised by a variety of passages in Scripture, has descended to our time. Although the bodily forms assigned to them are allowed to be impossible, and merely allegorical, although their supposed functions as rulers of the stars and elements have long been set aside by a knowledge of the natural laws, still the coexistence of many orders of beings superior in nature to ourselves, benignly interested in our welfare, and contending for us against the powers of evil, remains an article of faith. Perhaps the belief itself, and the feeling it excites in the tender and contemplative mind, were never more beautifully expressed than by our own Spenser:—
It is this feeling, expressed or unexpressed, lurking at the very core of all hearts, which renders the usual representations of angels, spite of all incongruities of form, so pleasing to the fancy: we overlook the anatomical solecisms, and become mindful only of that emblematical significance which through its humanity connects it with us, and through its supernatural appendages connects us with heaven.
But it is necessary to give a brief summary of the scriptural and theological authorities, relative to the nature and functions of angels, before we can judge of the manner in which these ideas have been attended to and carried out in the artistic similitudes. Thus angels are represented in the Old Testament—
1. As beings of a higher nature than men, and gifted with superior intelligence and righteousness.[14]
2. As a host of attendants surrounding the throne of God, and as a kind of celestial court or council.[15]
3. As messengers of his will conveyed from heaven to earth: or as sent to guide, to correct, to instruct, to reprove, to console.
4. As protecting the pious.
5. As punishing by command of the Most High the wicked and disobedient.[16]
6. As having the form of men; as eating and drinking.
7. As wielding a sword.
8. As having power to slay.[17]
I do not recollect any instance in which angels are represented in Scripture as instigated by human passions; they are merely the agents of the mercy or the wrath of the Almighty.
After the period of the Captivity, the Jewish ideas concerning angels were considerably extended and modified by an admixture of the Chaldaic belief, and of the doctrines taught by Zoroaster.[18] It is then that we first hear of good and bad angels, and of a fallen angel or impersonation of evil, busy in working mischief on earth and counteracting good; also of archangels, who are alluded to by name; and of guardian angels assigned to nations and individuals; and these foreign ideas concerning the spiritual world, accepted and promulgated by the Jewish doctors, pervade the whole of the New Testament, in which angels are far more familiar to us as agents, more frequently alluded to, and more distinctly brought before us, than in the Old Testament. For example: they are represented—
1. As countless.
2. As superior to all human wants and weaknesses.
3. As the deputed messengers of God.
4. They rejoice over the repentant sinner. They take deep interest in the mission of Christ.
5. They are present with those who pray; they bear the souls of the just to heaven.
6. They minister to Christ on earth, and will be present at his second coming.[19]
In the Gospel of St. John, which is usually regarded as the fullest and most correct exposition of the doctrines of Christ, angels are only three times mentioned, and in none of these instances does the word angel fall from the lips of Christ. On the other hand, the writings of St. Paul, who was deeply versed in all the learning and philosophy of the Jews, abound in allusions to angels, and, according to the usual interpretation of certain passages, he shows them divided into several classes.[20] St. Luke, who was the friend and disciple of St. Paul, some say his convert, is more direct and explicit on the subject of angels than any of the other Evangelists, and his allusions to them much more frequent.
The worship of angels, which the Jews brought from Chaldea, was early introduced into the Christian Church. In the fourth century the council of Laodicea published a decree against places of worship dedicated to angels under names which the Church did not recognise. But neither warning nor council seems to have had power to modify the popular creed, countenanced as it was by high authority. All the Fathers are unanimous as to the existence of angels good and evil. They hold that it is evermore the allotted task of good angels to defend us against evil angels, and to carry on a daily and hourly combat against our spiritual foes: they teach that the good angels are worthy of all reverence as the ministers of God and as the protectors of the human race; that their intercession is to be invoked, and their perpetual, invisible presence to be regarded as an incitement to good and a preventive to evil.
This, however, was not enough. Taking for their foundation a few Scripture texts, and in particular the classification of St. Paul, the imaginative theologians of the middle ages ran into all kinds of extravagant subtleties regarding the being, the nature, and the functions of the different orders of angels. Except as far as they have been taken as authorities in Art, I shall set aside these fanciful disquisitions, of which a mere abstract would fill volumes. For our present purpose it is sufficient to bear in mind that the great theologians divide the angelic host into three hierarchies, and these again into nine choirs, three in each hierarchy: according to Dionysius the Areopagite, in the following order: 1. Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones. 2. Dominations, Virtues, Powers. 3. Princedoms, Archangels, Angels. The order of these denominations is not the same in all authorities: according to the Greek formula, St. Bernard, and the Legenda Aurea, the Cherubim precede the Seraphim, and in the hymn of St. Ambrose they have also the precedence—To Thee, Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, &c.; but the authority of St. Dionysius seems to be admitted as paramount, for according to the legend he was the convert and intimate friend of St. Paul, and St. Paul, who had been transported to the seventh heaven, had made him acquainted with all he had there beheld.
The first three choirs receive their glory immediately from God, and transmit it to the second; the second illuminate the third; the third are placed in relation to the created universe and man. The first Hierarchy are as councillors; the second as governors; the third as ministers. The Seraphim are absorbed in perpetual love and adoration immediately round the throne of God. The Cherubim know and worship. The Thrones sustain the seat of the Most High. The Dominations, Virtues, Powers, are the Regents of stars and elements. The three last orders, Princedoms, Archangels, and Angels, are the protectors of the great Monarchies on earth, and the executors of the will of God throughout the universe.
The term angels is properly applied to all these celestial beings; but it belongs especially to the two last orders, who are brought into immediate communication with the human race. The word angel, Greek in its origin, signifies a messenger, or more literally a bringer of tidings.
In this sense the Greeks entitle Christ ‘The great Angel of the will of God;’ and I have seen Greek representations of Christ with wings to his shoulders. John the Baptist is also an angel in this sense; likewise the Evangelists; all of whom, as I shall show hereafter, bear, as celestial messengers, the angel-wings.
In ancient pictures and illuminations which exhibit the glorification of the Trinity, Christ, or the Virgin, the hierarchies of angels are represented in circles around them, orb within orb. This is called a glory of angels. In pictures it is seldom complete: instead of nine circles, the painters content themselves with one or two circles only. The innermost circles, the Seraphim and the Cherubim, are in general represented as heads merely, with two or four or six wings, and of a bright-red or blue colour; sometimes with variegated wings, green, yellow, violet, &c. This emblem—intended to shadow forth to human comprehension a pure spirit glowing with love and intelligence, in which all that is bodily is put away, and only the head, the seat of soul, and wings, the attribute of spirit and swiftness, retained—is of Greek origin. When first adopted I do not know, but I have met with it in Greek MSS. of the ninth century. Down to the eleventh century the faces were human, but not childish; the infant head was afterwards adopted to express innocence in addition to love and intelligence.
Such was the expressive and poetical symbol which degenerated in the later periods of Art into those little fat baby heads, with curly hair and small wings under the chin, which the more they resemble nature in colour, feature, and detail, the more absurd they become, the original meaning being wholly lost or perverted.
In painting, where a glory of angels is placed round the Divine Being or the glorified Virgin, those forming the innermost circles are or ought to be of a glowing red, the colour of fire, that is, of love; the next circle is painted blue, the colour of the firmament, or light, that is, of knowledge. Now as the word seraph is derived from a Hebrew root signifying love, and the word cherub from a Hebrew root signifying to know, should not this distinction fix the proper place and name of the first two orders? It is admitted that the spirits which love are nearer to God than those which know, since we cannot know that which we do not first love: that Love and Knowledge, ‘the two halves of a divided world,’ constitute in their union the perfection of the angelic nature; but the Seraphim, according to the derivation of their name, should love most; their whole being is fused, as it were, in a glow of adoration; therefore they should take the precedence, and their proper colour is red. The Cherubim, ‘the lords of those that know,’ come next, and are to be painted blue.
Thus it should seem that, in considering the religious pictures of the early ages of Art, we have to get rid of certain associations as to colour and form, derived from the phraseology of later poets and the representations of later painters. ‘Blue-eyed Seraphim,’ and the ‘blue depth of Seraph’s eyes,’ are not to be thought of any more than smiling Cherubim.’ The Seraphim, where distinguished by colour, are red; the Cherubim blue: the proper character, where character is attended to, is, in the Seraph, adoration; in the Cherub, contemplation. So Milton—
I remember a little Triptyca, a genuine work of Fiesole, in which one of the lateral compartments represents his favourite subject, the souls of the blessed received into Paradise. They are moving from the lower part of the picture towards the top, along an ascent paved with flowers, all in white garments and crowned with roses. At one side, low down, stands a blue Cherub robed in drapery spangled with golden stars, who seems to encourage the blessed group. Above are the gates of heaven. Christ welcomes to his kingdom the beatified spirits, and on each side stands a Seraph, all of a glowing red, in spangled drapery. The figures are not here merely heads and wings, but full length, having all that soft peculiar grace which belongs to the painter.[21]
In a Coronation of the Virgin,[22] a glory of Seraphim over-arches the principal group. Here the angelic beings are wholly of a bright red colour: they are human to the waist, with hands clasped in devotion: the bodies and arms covered with plumage, but the forms terminating in wings; all uniformly red. In the same collection is a small Greek picture of Christ receiving the soul of the Virgin; over his head hovers a large, fiery-red, six-winged Seraph; and on each side a Seraph with hair and face and limbs of glowing red, and with white draperies. Vasari mentions an Adoration of the Magi by Liberale of Verona, in which a group of angels, all of a red colour, stand as a celestial guard round the Virgin and her divine Infant.[23]
The distinction of hue in the red and blue angels we find wholly omitted towards the end of the fifteenth century. Cherubim with blue, red, green, and variegated wings we find in the pictures of Perugino and other masters in the beginning of the sixteenth century, also in early pictures of Raphael. Liberale di Verona has given us, in a Madonna picture, Cherub heads without wings, and of a blue colour, emerging from golden clouds. And in Raphael’s Madonna di San Sisto the whole background is formed of Cherubim and Seraphim of a uniform delicate bluish tinge, as if composed of air, and melting away into an abyss of golden glory, the principal figures standing relieved against this flood of living love and light—beautiful! So are the Cherubim with many-coloured wings which float in the firmament in Perugino’s Coronation of the Virgin; but none of these can be regarded as so theologically correct as the fiery-red and bright-blue Seraphim and Cherubim, of which are formed the hierarchies and glories which figure in the early pictures, the stained glass, the painted sculpture, and the illuminated MSS. from the tenth to the sixteenth century.
The next five choirs of angels, the Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers, though classed and described with great exactitude by the theologians, have not been very accurately discriminated in Art. In some examples the Thrones have green wings, a fiery aureole, and bear a throne in their hands. The Dominations, Virtues, and Powers sometimes bear a globe and a long sceptre surmounted by a cross. The Principalities, according to the Greek formula, should bear a branch of lily. The Archangels are figured as warriors, and carry a sword with the point upwards. The angels are robed as deacons, and carry a wand. In one of the ancient frescoes in the Cathedral at Orvieto, there is a complete hierarchy of angels, so arranged as to symbolise the Trinity, each of the nine choirs being composed of three angels, but the Seraphim only are distinguished by their red colour and priority of place. In the south porch of the Cathedral of Chartres, each of the nine orders is represented by two angels: in other instances, one angel only represents the order to which he belongs, and nine angels represent the whole hierarchy.[24] Where, however, we meet with groups or rows of angels, as in the Greek mosaics and the earliest frescoes all alike, all with the tiara, the long sceptre-like wands, and the orb of sovereignty, I believe these to represent the Powers and Princedoms of Heaven. The Archangels alone, as we shall see presently, have distinct individual names and attributes assigned to them.
The angels, generally, have the human form; are winged; and are endowed with immutable happiness and perpetual youth, because they are ever in the presence of Him with whom there is no change and no time. They are direct emanations of the beauty of the Eternal mind, therefore beautiful; created, therefore not eternal, but created perfect, and immortal in their perfection: they are always supposed to be masculine; perhaps for the reason so beautifully assigned by Madame de Staël, ‘because the union of power with purity (la force avec la pureté) constitutes all that we mortals can imagine of perfection.’ There is no such thing as an old angel, and therefore there ought to be no such thing as an infant angel. The introduction of infant angels seems to have arisen from the custom of representing the regenerate souls of men as new-born infants, and perhaps also from the words of our Saviour, when speaking of children: ‘I say unto you, their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.’ Such representations, when religiously and poetically treated as spirits of love, intelligence, and innocence, are of exquisite beauty, and have a significance which charms and elevates the fancy; but from this, the true and religious conception, the Italian putti and puttini, and the rosy chubby babies of the Flemish school, are equally remote.
In early Art, the angels in the bloom of adolescence are always amply draped: at first, in the classical tunic and pallium; afterwards in long linen vestments with the alba and stole, as levites or deacons; or as princes, with embroidered robes and sandals, and jewelled crowns or fillets. Such figures are common in the Byzantine mosaics and pictures. The expression, in these early representations, is usually calm and impassive. Angels partially draped in loose, fluttering, meretricious attire, poised in attitudes upon clouds, or with features animated by human passion, or limbs strained by human effort, are the innovations of more modern Art. White is, or ought to be, the prevailing colour in angelic draperies, but red and blue of various shades are more frequent: green often occurs; and in the Venetian pictures, yellow, or rather saffron-coloured, robes are not unfrequent. In the best examples of Italian Art the tints, though varied, are tender and delicate: all dark heavy colours and violent contrasts of colour are avoided. On the contrary, in the early German school, the angels have rich heavy voluminous draperies of the most intense and vivid colours, often jewelled and embroidered with gold. Flight, in such garments, seems as difficult as it would be to swim in coronation robes.
But, whatever be the treatment as to character, lineaments, or dress, wings are almost invariably the attribute of the angelic form. As emblematical appendages, these are not merely significant of the character of celestial messengers, for, from time immemorial, wings have been the Oriental and Egyptian symbol of power, as well as of swiftness; of the spiritual and aerial, in contradistinction to the human and the earthly. Thus, with the Egyptians, the winged globe signified power and eternity, that is, the Godhead; a bird, with a human head, signified the soul; and nondescript creatures, with wings, abound not only in the Egyptian paintings and hieroglyphics, but also in the Chaldaic and Babylonian remains, in the Lycian and Nineveh marbles, and on the gems and other relics of the Gnostics. I have seen on the Gnostic gems figures with four wings, two springing from the shoulders and two from the loins. This portentous figure, from the ruins of Nineveh, is similarly constructed. (10.)
In Etruscan Art all their divinities are winged; and where Venus is represented with wings, as in many of the antique gems (and by Correggio in imitation of them),[25] these brilliant wings are not, as some have supposed, emblematical of the transitoriness, but of the might, the majesty, and the essential divinity of beauty. In Scripture, the first mention of Cherubim with wings is immediately after the departure of the Israelites from Egypt (Exod. xxxi. 2). Bezaleel, the first artist whose name is recorded in the world’s history, and who appears to have been, like the greatest artists of modern times, at once architect, sculptor, and painter, probably derived his figures of Cherubim with outstretched wings, guarding the mercy-seat, from those Egyptian works of Art with which the Israelites must have been familiarised. Clement of Alexandria is so aware of the relative similitude, that he supposes the Egyptians to have borrowed from the Israelites, which is obviously the reverse of the truth. How far the Cherubim, which figure in the Biblical pictures of the present day, resemble the carved Cherubim of Bezaleel we cannot tell, but probably the idea and the leading forms are the same: for the ark, we know, was carried into Palestine; these original Cherubim were the pattern of those which adorned the temple of Solomon, and these, again, were the prototype after which the imagery of the second temple was fashioned. Although in Scripture the shape under which the celestial ministers appeared to man is nowhere described, except in the visions of the prophets (Dan. x. 5), and there with a sort of dreamy incoherent splendour, rendering it most perilous to clothe the image placed before the fancy in definite forms, still the idea of wings, as the angelic appendages, is conveyed in many places distinctly, and occasionally with a picturesque vividness which inspires and assists the artist. For instance, in Daniel, ch. vii., ‘they had wings like a fowl.’ In Ezekiel, ch.i., ‘their wings were stretched upward when they flew; when they stood, they let down their wings:’ ‘I heard the noise of their wings as the noise of great waters:’ and in Zechariah, ch. v., ‘I looked, and behold there came out two women, and the wind was in their wings, for they had wings like the wings of a stork.’ And Isaiah, ch. vi., in the description of the Seraphim, ‘Each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.’ By the early artists this description was followed out in a manner more conscientious and reverential than poetical.
They were content with a symbol. But mark how Milton, more daring, could paint from the same original:—
I have sometimes thought that Milton, in his descriptions of angels, was not indebted merely to the notions of the old theological writers, interpreted and embellished by his own fancy: may he not, in his wanderings through Italy, have beheld with kindling sympathy some of those glorious creations of Italian Art, which, when I saw them, made me break out into his own divine language as the only fit utterance to express those forms in words?—But, to return—Is it not a mistake to make the wings, the feathered appendages of the angelic form, as like as possible to real wings—the wings of storks, or the wings of swans, or herons, borrowed for the occasion? Some modern painters, anxious to make wings look ‘natural,’ have done this; Delaroche, for instance, in his St. Cecilia. Infinitely more beautiful and consistent are the nondescript wings which the early painters gave their angels:—large—so large, that when the glorious creature is represented as at rest, they droop from the shoulders to the ground; with long slender feathers, eyed sometimes like the peacock’s train, bedropped with gold like the pheasant’s breast, tinted with azure and violet and crimson, ‘colours dipp’d in heaven,’—they are really angel-wings, not bird-wings.
Orcagna’s angels in the Campo Santo are, in this respect, peculiarly poetical. Their extremities are wings instead of limbs; and in a few of the old Italian and German painters of the fifteenth century we find angels whose extremities are formed of light waving folds of pale rose-coloured or azure drapery, or of a sort of vapoury cloud, or, in some instances, of flames. The cherubim and seraphim which surround the similitude of Jehovah when He appears to Moses in the burning bush,[26] are an example of the sublime and poetical significance which may be given to this kind of treatment. They have heads and human features marvellous for intelligence and beauty; their hair, their wings, their limbs, end in lambent fires; they are ‘celestial Ardours bright,’ which seem to have being without shape.
Dante’s angels have less of dramatic reality, less of the aggrandised and idealised human presence, than Milton’s. They are wondrous creatures. Some of them have the quaint fantastic picturesqueness of old Italian Art and the Albert Dürer school; for instance, those in the Purgatorio, with their wings of a bright green, and their green draperies, ‘verde come fogliette,’ kept in a perpetual state of undulation by the breeze created by the fanning of their wings, with features too dazzling to be distinguished:
And the Shape, glowing red as in a furnace, with an air from the fanning of its wings, ‘fresh as the first breath of wind in a May morning, and fragrant as all its flowers.’ That these and other passages scattered through the Purgatorio and the Paradiso assisted the fancy of the earlier painters, in portraying their angelic Glories and winged Beatitudes, I have little doubt; but, on the other hand, the sublime angel in the Inferno—he who comes speeding over the waters with vast pinions like sails, sweeping the evil spirits in heaps before him, ‘like frogs before a serpent,’ and with a touch of his wand making the gates of the city of Dis fly open; then, with a countenance solemn and majestic, and quite unmindful of his worshipper, as one occupied by higher matters, turning and soaring away—this is quite in the sentiment of the grand old Greek and Italian mosaics, which preceded Dante by some centuries.[28]
But besides being the winged messengers of God to man, the deputed regents of the stars, the rulers of the elements, and the dispensers of the fate of nations, angels have another function in which we love to contemplate them. They are the choristers of heaven. Theirs is the privilege to sound that hymn of praise which goes up from this boundless and harmonious universe of suns and stars and worlds and rejoicing creatures, towards the God who created them: theirs is the music of the spheres—
They sing, and singing in their glory move;
they tune divine instruments, named after those of earth’s harmonies—
There is nothing more beautiful, more attractive, in Art than the representations of angels in this character. Sometimes they form a chorus round the glorified Saviour, when, after his sorrow and sacrifice on earth, he takes his throne in heaven; or, when the crown is placed on the head of the Maternal Virgin in glory, pour forth their triumphant song, and sound their silver clarions on high: sometimes they stand or kneel before the Madonna and Child, or sit upon the steps of her throne, singing,—with such sweet earnest faces! or playing on their golden lutes, or piping celestial symphonies; or they bend in a choir from the opening heavens above, and welcome, with triumphant songs, the liberated soul of the saint or martyr; or join in St. Cecilia’s hymn of praise: but whatever the scene, in these and similar representations, they appear in their natural place and vocation, and harmonise enchantingly with all our feelings and fancies relative to these angelic beings, made up of love and music.
Most beautiful examples of this treatment occur both in early painting and sculpture; and no one who has wandered through churches and galleries, with feeling and observation awake, can fail to remember such. It struck me as characteristic of the Venetian school, that the love of music seemed to combine with the sense of harmony in colour; nowhere have I seen musical angels so frequently and so beautifully introduced: and whereas the angelic choirs of Fiesole, Ghirlandajo, and Raphael, seem to be playing as an act of homage for the delight of the Divine Personages, those of Vivarini and Bellini and Palma appear as if enchanted by their own music; and both together are united in the grand and beautiful angels of Melozzo da Forli, particularly in one who is bending over a lute, and another who with a triumphant and ecstatic expression strikes the cymbals.[29] Compare the cherubic host who are pouring forth their hymns of triumph, blowing their uplifted trumpets, and touching immortal harps and viols in Angelico’s ‘Coronation,’[30] or in Signorelli’s ‘Paradiso,’[31] with those lovely Venetian choristers, the piping boys, myrtle-crowned, who are hymning Bellini’s Madonna,[32] or those who are touching the lute to the praise and glory of St. Ambrose in Vivarini’s most beautiful picture; you will feel immediately the distinction in point of sentiment.
The procession of chanting angels which once surmounted the organ in the Duomo of Florence is a perfect example of musical angels applied to the purpose of decoration. Perhaps it was well to remove this exquisite work of art to a place of safety, where it can be admired and studied as a work of art; but the removal has taken from it the appropriate expression. How they sing!—when the tones of the organ burst forth, we might have fancied we heard their divine voices through the stream of sound! The exquisite little bronze choristers round the high altar of St. Antonio in Padua are another example; Florentine in elegance of form, Venetian in sentiment, intent upon their own sweet song!
There is a third function ascribed to these angelic natures, which brings them even nearer to our sympathies; they are the deputed guardians of the just and innocent. St. Raphael, whose story I shall presently relate, is the prince of the guardian angels. The Jews held that the angels deputed to Lot were his guardian angels.[33] The fathers of the Christian Church taught that every human being, from the hour of his birth to that of his death, is accompanied by an angel appointed to watch over him. The Mahometans give to each of us a good and an evil angel; but the early Christians supposed us to be attended each by a good angel only, who undertakes that office, not merely from duty to God, and out of obedience and great humility, but as inspired by exceeding charity and love towards his human charge. It would require the tongues of angels themselves to recite all that we owe to these benign and vigilant guardians. They watch by the cradle of the new-born babe, and spread their celestial wings round the tottering steps of infancy. If the path of life be difficult and thorny, and evil spirits work its shame and woe, they sustain us; they bear the voice of our complaining, of our supplication, of our repentance, up to the foot of God’s throne, and bring us back in return a pitying benediction, to strengthen and to cheer. When passion and temptation strive for the mastery, they encourage us to resist; when we conquer, they crown us; when we falter and fail, they compassionate and grieve over us; when we are obstinate in polluting our own souls, and perverted not only in act but in will, they leave us—and woe to them that are so left! But the good angel does not quit his charge until his protection is despised, rejected, and utterly repudiated. Wonderful the fervour of their love—wonderful their meekness and patience— who endure from day to day the spectacle of the unveiled human heart with all its miserable weaknesses and vanities, its inordinate desires and selfish purposes! Constant to us in death, they contend against the powers of darkness for the emancipated spirit: they even visit the suffering sinner in purgatory; they keep alive in the tormented spirit faith and hope, and remind him that the term of expiation will end at last. So Dante[34] represents the souls in purgatory as comforted in their misery; and (which has always seemed to me a touch of sublime truth and tenderness) as rejoicing over those who were on earth conspicuous for the very virtues wherein themselves were deficient. When at length the repentant soul is sufficiently purified, the guardian angel bears it to the bosom of the Saviour.
The earlier painters and sculptors did not, apparently, make the same use of guardian angels that we so often meet with in works of Modern Art. Poetical allegories of angels guiding the steps of childhood, extending a shield over innocence, watching by a sick bed, do not, I think, occur before the seventeenth century; at least I have not met with such. The ancient masters, who really believed in the personal agency of our angelic guardians, beheld them with awe and reverence, and reserved their presence for great and solemn occasions. The angel who presents the pious votary to Christ or the Virgin, who crowns St. Cecilia and St. Valerian after their conquest over human weakness; the angel who cleaves the air with flight precipitant’ to break the implements of torture, or to extend the palm to the dying martyr, victorious over pain; the angels who assist and carry in their arms the souls of the just; are, in these and all similar examples, representations of guardian angels.
Such, then, are the three great functions of the angelic host: they are Messengers, Choristers, and Guardians. But angels, without reference to their individuality or their ministry—with regard only to their species and their form, as the most beautiful and the most elevated of created essences, as intermediate between heaven and earth—are introduced into all works of art which have a sacred purpose or character, and must be considered not merely as decorative accessories, but as a kind of presence, as attendant witnesses; and, like the chorus in the Greek tragedies, looking on where they are not actors. In architectural decoration, the cherubim with which Solomon adorned his temple have been the authority and example.[35] ‘Within the oracle he made two cherubims, each ten cubits high, and with wings five cubits in length’ (the angels in the old Christian churches on each side of the altar correspond with these cherubim), ‘and he overlaid the cherubims with gold, and carved all the walls of the house with carved figures of cherubims, and he made doors of olive tree, and he carved on them figures of cherubims.’ So, in Christian art and architecture, angels, with their beautiful cinctured heads and outstretched wings and flowing draperies, fill up every space. The instances are so numerous that they will occur to every one who has given a thought to the subject. I may mention the frieze of angels in Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, merely as an example at hand, and which can be referred to at any moment; also the angels round the choir of Lincoln Cathedral, of which there are fine casts in the Crystal Palace at Sydenham; and in some of the old churches in Saxony which clearly exhibit the influence of Byzantine Art—for instance, at Freyberg, Merseburg, Naumburg—angels with outspread wings fill up the spandrils of the arches along the nave.
But, in the best ages of Art, angels were not merely employed as decorative accessories; they had their appropriate place and a solemn significance as a part of that theological system which the edifice, as a whole, represented.
As a celestial host, surrounding the throne of the Trinity; or of Christ, as redeemer or as a judge; or of the Virgin in glory; or the throned Madonna and Child; their place is immediately next to the Divine Personages, and before the Evangelists.
In what is called a Liturgy of Angels, they figure in procession On each side of the choir, so as to have the appearance of approaching the altar: they wear the stole and alba as deacons, and bear the implements of the mass. In the Cathedral of Rheims there is a range of colossal angels as a grand procession along the vaults of the nave, who appear as approaching the altar: these bear not only the gospel, the missal, the sacramental cup, the ewer, the taper, the cross, &c., but also the attributes of sovereignty, celestial and terrestrial: one carries the sun, another the moon, a third the kingly sceptre, a fourth the globe, a fifth the sword; and all these, as they approach the sanctuary, they seem about to place at the feet of Christ, who stands there as priest and king in glory. Statues of angels in an attitude of worship on each side of the altar, as if adoring the sacrifice—or bearing in triumph the instruments of Christ’s passion, the cross, the nails, the spear, the crown of thorns—or carrying tapers—are more common, and must be regarded not merely as decoration, but as a presence in the high solemnity.
In the Cathedral of Auxerre may be seen angels attending on the triumphant coming of Christ; and, which is most singular, they, as well as Christ, are on horseback (17).