The shrill voice of machinery, the grinding of the saw
or the monotonous clank of the piston, is heard now, where once were
heard chants and prayers and confessions. Once the monk freely undid
the door to let the stranger in, and now we see a sign, 'no admittance,'
lest a greedy rival purloin the tricks of trade." Montalembert,
referring to the ruin of the cloisters in France, grieves thus:
"Sometimes the spinning-wheel is installed under the ancient sanctuary.
Instead of echoing night and day the praises of God, these dishonored
arches too often repeat only the blasphemies of obscene cries." The
element of truth in these laments gives them their sting, but one should
beware of the fervid rhetoric of the worshipers of medievalism. This
century is nobler, purer, truer, manlier, and more humane than any of
the centuries that saw the greatest triumphs of the monks. They, too,
had their blasphemies, often under the cloak of piety; they, too, had
their obscene cries. Their superstitions and frauds concealed beneath
those "dishonored arches" were infinitely worse than the noise of
machinery weaving garments for the poor, or producing household comforts
to increase the happiness of the humblest man.
There is much that is out of joint, much to justify doleful prophecies,
in the social and religious conditions of the present age, but the
signs of the times are not all ominous. At all events, nothing would be
gained by a return to the monkish ideals of the past.
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