The West Facade of Chartres Cathedral

Available from Amazon and Dedalus Limited. You can also read this book for free on Archive.org, Huysmans.org, and here on Parmenidean.is! You can also listen to it on Librivox.org.

Book Length: 364 pages

In considering the arts, it is generally admitted that painting, literature, poetry, and sculpture have the power to transform the lives of those who, not satisfied with a mere superficial encounter, engage in a contemplation of the beauty found in works of these diverse fields. Architecture, however, remains strangely neglected in this regard. Though it is true that the arts have all suffered from the corrosive resentment of the post-modernist iconoclast, it appears that no domain has been laid waste as much as that of architecture. One only needs to take note of the vulgarly bland building blocks littered about the American highways and the great cities of Europe to realize this. There is, then, a need to rediscover the beauty which architecture has given us, and can still give—enter J.K. Huysmans’ The Cathedral.¹

In this novel the Durtal of En Route returns, who is no longer tormented by alienation, nor by lust. He is, however, afflicted by new troubles, namely that of spiritual aridity and a sense of aimlessness. A move to the town of Chartres brings change to the reluctant Parisian; by undertaking a quest to uncover the rich symbolism of Our Lady of Chartres, one of the great wonders of Christendom, this troubled protagonist is once again touched by God through the means of art.

Although he wrestles with himself throughout the novel, Durtal’s interior troubles are epitomized by this self-revelation:

My life, when I think about it, can be summed up like this: the past was horrible, the present seems dim and dreary, and as for the future, it’s appalling.

(161)

Despite the indication that the “dim and dreary” present certainly is an improvement over the “horrible” past wherein he was weighed down by his sins, this expression communicates to the reader that the seemingly idyllic change of scene has come with its own burdens. Likewise, the protagonist fears the prospect of the future, because although it is uncertain, it seems racked with trouble because he cannot seem to find his state in life. He is able to provide for himself in terms of the body; but as for the soul, he finds himself tempted again and again into a depression which will evidently end in despair unless the right remedies are taken. The Mass and the Sacraments do indeed avail him; numerous passages in the early part of this book inform the reader of how attentive and appreciative Durtal is of the reverent Masses said at the cathedral, which he has made a habit of frequently assisting at. But, they do not cure him right away—and this is meet and just, because the protagonist stands in need of purification. Durtal himself even recognizes what he needs purification from earlier in the text; in his internal monologue, he makes mention of his “aridity of heart” and “mute assaults of a ridiculous pride” and dwells on them at length:

Aside from that aridity of heart which, as soon as he entered a church, or knelt down in his room, made him feel like a cold was freezing his prayers and chilling his soul, he detected the covert attacks, the mute assaults of a ridiculous pride.

He kept watch in vain, but each time he was taken by surprise without even having time to realize what was going on.

It would begin under the guise of the most temperate, the most benign reflections.

Suppose, for instance, that he had done his neighbor a service at some inconvenience to himself, or that he hadn’t retaliated against someone he’d felt aggrieved by, a person he didn’t like, immediately a certain self-satisfaction, a certain vainglory would sneak into his mind and insinuate itself, ending up in the stupid conclusion that he really was superior to others; and then, onto this feeling of pretty vanity, would be grafted the pride of a virtue that he hadn’t even acquired through his own efforts, the arrogance of self-restraint, a pride so insidious that most of those who practice it don’t even suspect it themselves.

And he was never aware of the outcome of these assaults until it was too late, after they’d become obvious, after he’d forgotten himself and succumbed to them; and would despair at always stumbling into the same trap, telling himself that the little good that he’d manage to acquire had been struck from the balance sheet of his life by the outrageous expenses of his vices.

(40-41)

Assuredly, anyone who has experienced scrupulosity in some capacity could relate to these sentiments. One minor fault becomes a mountain, and one’s thoughts race to the most troubling interpretations of that fault. There were indeed some scenes in En Route which revealed that this is not exactly a new phenomenon for Durtal; it is an old form of attack which the Devil has used against him, but only the application has changed. For those who have known scruples, is this not like the experience we have undergone? On the other hand, for the Catholic reader who has never suffered from scrupulosity, they can relate to sensing when one becomes more tempted into committing this or that set of sins than another which has been overcome through assiduous effort.

In his journey to find inner peace, the choice of Chartres for his new home is not in vain; for there, he has easy access to one of the most awe-inspiring cathedrals not only in France, but in the entire world. He is understandably entranced by this wonder, and undoubtedly his search for inner harmony is related to his desire to understand the artistic harmony of that cathedral, dormant yet alive. In his new friend Abbé Plomb, a pious and knowledgeable priest who shares Durtal’s admiration of the Middle Ages, he finds an excellent guide who will help him to uncover the lessons and history of this renowned holy place. While the two examine the exterior of the cathedral by a window inside Durtal’s apartment on a rainy day, the abbé tells him that:

“Everything is in that building,” he went on, indicating the church with a movement of his hand, “scriptures, theology, the history of the human race, all is traced in its great lines; thanks to the science of symbolism, one can construct a macrocosm from a pile of stones.”

“Yes, I repeat, everything is contained within that shell, our physical lives, our moral lives, our virtues and our vices. The architect takes us from the birth of Adam and leads us to the end of time. Our Lady of Chartres is the most colossal repository of heaven and earth, of God and man. All its forms are words; all its elements are phrases; the difficulty is to read them.”

(91)

Symbolism, thus, is the key to unlocking this religious and cultural treasure trove, within which the truths of the world and even heaven within itself are contained and communicated in this forgotten language for all to see. Huysmans himself being a Symbolist writer has also, perhaps, placed a bit of symbolism to be found within this scene—the storm of rain outside may represent Durtal’s inner storm of confusion and dryness which plagues him, preventing him from contemplating God. Furthermore, his apartment may be likened to his interior self, with Abbé Plomb being analogous to his guardian angel or to the Holy Spirit, preparing to instruct him in reading the architecture of the cathedral in order to reinforce his faith, hope, and love.

Alternatively, the figure of this priest could be analogous to that of Beatrice in the Paradiso, the sage and beautiful holy woman who expounds intricate truths of the Faith while guiding Dante through the circles of Heaven. Though Abbé Plomb does not introduce Durtal to any living saints while they tour the Cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres, he does bring the protagonist to the marvelous statues of saints and prophets which guard the exterior of the church. These encounters lead, in the reviewer’s opinion, to some of the best dialogue of the whole text.

Whatever course of interpretation is taken in this regard, the direction which events proceed as a result of the artistic and historical analyses of these two men are not mere intellectual discussions; sublimating this quest to understand the cathedral is Durtal’s quest to understand himself and his relationship to God. The Eternal Father knows this troubled son of his to be a lover of art—therefore He has utilized it once more to draw Durtal to Himself. Thus the state of a soul stands in the balance, not the state of academic inquiry concerning the cathedral itself.

As happened before in En Route, this soul is drawn again to the Virgin by sacred art. Meditating on the complexities of the cathedral in a later chapter, Durtal thinks to himself:

Ultimately, what dominates all these differences and harmonies is the ruling idea of the poem, set out like a refrain after each of these strophes in stone, the idea that this cathedral belongs to Our Mother; the church remains faithful to its name, loyal to its dedicatee. The Virgin is sovereign over all. She fills the whole interior, and even on the exterior, on the West and South porches which aren’t set aside for her, she also appears, in a niche, on the overdoor, in the capitals, high up on a pediment, in the air. The Hail Mary of art has been repeated, without interruption by the painters and sculptors of every age; Never has the pious thread of its rosary been broken. The cathedral of Chartres is truly the fiefdom of Our Lady.

(170)

It is this perseverance of devotion to Our Lady, represented by this magnificent cathedral, which inspires Durtal to persevere in his spiritual life against the temptation to let his new life wither away. The harmony of the cathedral in its artistic loyalty to the Holy Virgin thus enjoins him to seek that harmony which can only be found in Christ through her intercession. This movement in the text culminates in a scene in which Durtal, while praying in the crypt of the cathedral, surrenders himself to Our Mother:

I’m afraid of the future and its leaden sky, and I’m afraid of myself, because I’m dissolving into depression and getting bogged down. You have always led me by the hand until now, don’t desert me, finish your work. I know it’s folly to preoccupy oneself with the future like this because your son said, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ But that depends on temperament; what is easy for some is difficult for others. Mine is a restless spirit, always troubled, always on the alert, and whatever I do feels its way through the world in the dark, and it strays! Bring it home, keep it close to you on a leash, kind Mother, and grant me, after so much weariness, some rest.

(247)

What humility to pray thus! Because Durtal has accepted the truth by this trustful submission. In surrendering himself, he has become free; for as Our Lord said, “the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Though he does not know it yet, he has taken the next step in the abundant life which began anew in En Route. Our age has no shortage of restless spirits like Durtal; should we ever feel downtrodden in our lives, we too should run into the loving embrace of Mary in a similar way. She, Our Mother, will faithfully protect and guide us whatever our state in life may be, in a manner so providential that it will become evident to ourselves that we could never have achieved such results through our own efforts. An overnight change is not guaranteed, and in most cases, is in fact unlikely. However, if we are loyal to her, in time she and her Son will unite in rewarding our faith super-abundantly.

As with the preceding novel, this work was meant for both Huysmans’ time and ours. In an age marred by the filthy proliferation of degenerate architecture and scandalous living, we stand ever more in need of examples of beautiful architecture and sound Catholic morality. This sequel is simply superb; it is an aesthetic and spiritual delight. Its reflective depth will be sure to fascinate and impress Catholic readers. May it draw many souls away from the transient worries and sterile styles of our world, and inflame them with the fire of the bygone Age of Faith.

1. For reference, I am reviewing the Dedalus Limited edition of this work, which has seen—among other additions—a revision of Bell’s translation by Brendan King.

   The notion, as claimed in the Introduction to this edition, that there is no plot (as is commonly understood) in this work is quite far from the truth of the matter. For as I demonstrate in this review, though Huysmans does indeed position the glorious cathedral referenced in the title at the forefront of its narrative, but the continuation (albeit submerged at times) of Durtal’s spiritual journey consists of the driving conflict of his story. In of itself, the aforementioned Introduction is decent overall, as it provides helpful context to the reader. However, there is a noticeable element of political correctness present in the tone of its author and, accompanying this, the aura of an educated secular mind struggling to comprehend themes which are believed and known in simplicity by the faithful Catholic.