of its way, as of
a lower species.

Sec. XL. It is to be noted also, that it ministered as much to luxury as to
pride. Not to luxury of the eye, that is a holy luxury; Nature ministers
to that in her painted meadows, and sculptured forests, and gilded
heavens; the Gothic builder ministered to that in his twisted traceries,
and deep-wrought foliage, and burning casements. The dead Renaissance
drew back into its earthliness, out of all that was warm and heavenly;
back into its pride, out of all that was simple and kind; back into its
stateliness, out of all that was impulsive, reverent, and gay. But it
understood the luxury of the body; the terraced and scented and grottoed
garden, with its trickling fountains and slumbrous shades; the spacious
hall and lengthened corridor for the summer heat; the well-closed
windows, and perfect fittings and furniture, for defence against the
cold; and the soft picture, and frescoed wall and roof, covered with the
last lasciviousness of Paganism;--this is understood and possessed to
the full, and still possesses. This is the kind of domestic architecture
on which we pride ourselves, even to this day, as an infinite and
honorable advance from the rough habits of our ancestors; from the time
when the king's floor was strewn with rushes, and the tapestries swayed
before the searching wind in the baron's hall.

Sec. XLI. Let us hear two stories of those rougher times.

At the debate of King Edwin with his courtiers and priests, whether he
ought to receive the Gospel preached to him by Paulinus, one of his
nobles spoke as follows:

"The present life, O king! weighed with the time that is unknown, seems
to me like this. When you are sitting at a feast with your earls and
thanes in winter time, and the fire is lighted, and the hall is warmed,
and it rains and snows, and the storm is loud without, there comes a
sparrow, and flies through the house. It comes in at one door and goes
out at the other. While it is within, it is not touched by the winter's
storm; but it is but for the twinkling of an eye, for from winter it
comes and to winter it returns. So also this life of man endureth for a
little space; what goes before or what follows after, we know not.
Wherefore, if this new lore bring anything more certain, it is fit that
we should follow it."[13]

That could not have happened in a Renaissance building. The bird could
not have dashed in from the cold into the heat, and from the heat ba