The Spirit of Chivalry in Westminster Hall

"The Spirit of Chivalry in Westminster Hall" is a brief piece by Charles Dickens that reflects on themes of honor, justice, and the noble ideals of chivalry. Set against the backdrop of London's historic Westminster Hall, Dickens explores the dignity of the legal system and the moral values associated with true knightly conduct. Through a blend of narrative and reflection, he critiques contemporary society while evoking the grandeur of the past, advocating for a revival of the honorable principles that once guided human interactions. This work encapsulates Dickens' characteristic wit and social commentary, offering insight into Victorian ideals and the pursuit of nobility in everyday life.

• Essay

								
“OF all the cants that are canted in this canting world,” wrote Sterne,
“kind Heaven defend me from the cant of Art!”  We have no intention of
tapping our little cask of cant, soured by the thunder of great men’s
fame, for the refreshment of our readers: its freest draught would be
unreasonably dear at a shilling, when the same small liquor may be had
for nothing, at innumerable ready pipes and conduits.

But it is a main part of the design of this Magazine to sympathise with
what is truly great and good; to scout the miserable discouragements that
beset, especially in England, the upward path of men of high desert; and
gladly to give honour where it is due, in right of Something achieved,
tending to elevate the tastes and thoughts of all who contemplate it, and
prove a lasting credit to the country of its birth.

Upon the walls of Westminster Hall, there hangs, at this time, such a
Something.  A composition of such marvellous beauty, of such infinite
variety, of such masterly design, of such vigorous and skilful drawing,
of such thought and fancy, of such surprising and delicate accuracy of
detail, subserving one grand harmony, and one plain purpose, that it may
be questioned whether the Fine Arts in any period of their history have
known a more remarkable performance.

It is the cartoon of Daniel Maclise, “executed by order of the
Commissioners”, and called The Spirit of Chivalry.  It may be left an
open question, whether or no this allegorical order on the part of the
Commissioners, displays any uncommon felicity of idea.  We rather think
not; and are free to confess that we should like to have seen the
Commissioners’ notion of the Spirit of Chivalry stated by themselves, in
the first instance, on a sheet of foolscap, as the ground-plan of a model
cartoon, with all the commissioned proportions of height and breadth.
That the treatment of such an abstraction, for the purposes of Art,
involves great and peculiar difficulties, no one who considers the
subject for a moment can doubt.  That nothing is easier to render it
absurd and monstrous, is a position as little capable of dispute by
anybody who has beheld another cartoon on the same subject in the same
Hall, representing a Ghoule in a state of raving madness, dancing on a
Body in a very high wind, to the great astonishment of John the Baptist’s
head, which is looking on from a corner.

Mr. Maclise’s handling of the subject has by this time sunk into the
hearts of thousands upon thousands of people.  It is familiar knowledge
among all classes and conditions of men.  It is the great feature within
the Hall, and the constant topic of discourse elsewhere.  It has awakened
in the great body of society a new interest in, and a new perception and
a new love of, Art.  Students of Art have sat before it, hour by hour,
perusing in its many forms of Beauty, lessons to delight the world, and
raise themselves, its future teachers, in its better estimation.  Eyes
well accustomed to the glories of the Vatican, the galleries of Florence,
all the mightiest works of art in Europe, have grown dim before it with
the strong emotions it inspires; ignorant, unlettered, drudging men, mere
hewers and drawers, have gathered in a knot about it (as at our back a
week ago), and read it, in their homely language, as it were a Book.  In
minds, the roughest and the most refined, it has alike found quick
response; and will, and must, so long as it shall hold together.

For how can it be otherwise?  Look up, upon the pressing throng who
strive to win distinction from the Guardian Genius of all noble deeds and
honourable renown,—a gentle Spirit, holding her fair state for their
reward and recognition (do not be alarmed, my Lord Chamberlain; this is
only in a picture); and say what young and ardent heart may not find one
to beat in unison with it—beat high with generous aspiration like its
own—in following their onward course, as it is traced by this great
pencil!  Is it the Love of Woman, in its truth and deep devotion, that
inspires you?  See it here!  Is it Glory, as the world has learned to
call the pomp and circumstance of arms?  Behold it at the summit of its
exaltation, with its mailed hand resting on the altar where the Spirit
ministers.  The Poet’s laurel-crown, which they who sit on thrones can
neither twine or wither—is that the aim of thy ambition?  It is there,
upon his brow; it wreathes his stately forehead, as he walks apart and
holds communion with himself.  The Palmer and the Bard are there; no
solitary wayfarers, now; but two of a great company of pilgrims, climbing
up to honour by the different paths that lead to the great end.  And
sure, amidst the gravity and beauty of them all—unseen in his own form,
but shining in his spirit, out of every gallant shape and earnest
thought—the Painter goes triumphant!

Or say that you who look upon this work, be old, and bring to it grey
hairs, a head bowed down, a mind on which the day of life has spent
itself, and the calm evening closes gently in.  Is its appeal to you
confined to its presentment of the Past?  Have you no share in this, but
while the grace of youth and the strong resolve of maturity are yours to
aid you?  Look up again.  Look up where the spirit is enthroned, and see
about her, reverend men, whose task is done; whose struggle is no more;
who cluster round her as her train and council; who have lost no share or
interest in that great rising up and progress, which bears upward with it
every means of human happiness, but, true in Autumn to the purposes of
Spring, are there to stimulate the race who follow in their steps; to
contemplate, with hearts grown serious, not cold or sad, the striving in
which they once had part; to die in that great Presence, which is Truth
and Bravery, and Mercy to the Weak, beyond all power of separation.

It would be idle to observe of this last group that, both in execution
and idea, they are of the very highest order of Art, and wonderfully
serve the purpose of the picture.  There is not one among its
three-and-twenty heads of which the same remark might not be made.
Neither will we treat of great effects produced by means quite powerless
in other hands for such an end, or of the prodigious force and colour
which so separate this work from all the rest exhibited, that it would
scarcely appear to be produced upon the same kind of surface by the same
description of instrument.  The bricks and stones and timbers of the Hall
itself are not facts more indisputable than these.

It has been objected to this extraordinary work that it is too
elaborately finished; too complete in its several parts.  And Heaven
knows, if it be judged in this respect by any standard in the Hall about
it, it will find no parallel, nor anything approaching to it.  But it is
a design, intended to be afterwards copied and painted in fresco; and
certain finish must be had at last, if not at first.  It is very well to
take it for granted in a Cartoon that a series of cross-lines, almost as

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