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In the 20th century we had the Edwardians, unaware that the lights were about to go out all over Europe, the Germans unaware that the glories of Bach and Beethoven were about to be prostituted, the Chinese unaware that the brilliant voices of their past were about to be muted...

Now, we have the Americans, unaware of the maelstrom of madness toward which their blindered patriotism, put to such good uses in the past, is leading them. Much can still be done--the future is not rigid. The political, religious, and scientific idolators may yet have their way and plunge us all into a vortex of violence whose depth we cannot conceive. Until they do, some, perhaps many, will work toward a happier, gentler end.

Even in such a struggle, heart's ease is essential. Hard-won words, properly read, remembered, and repeated, are no substitute for the necessary acts of love. But they are failure-proof reminders of a better, larger reality, and keys to doors giving onto internal vistas of enduring delight and sustenance.

1. Books of Hours
Once upon a time, six hundred years ago, if you were pious, thought you were pious, or wanted to become pious, and if you or your significant other had money—a lot of money, you might acquire a lovely small volume for your own personal use in your efforts re piety.

This being still in pre-printing press days, such volumes were hand-made, often with lavish illustrations-—called illuminations—surrounding helpful bits of text, generally from the bible, as contemplative aids.

These tiny tomes were called "Books of Hours," because they also included a calendar to guide the pious through the liturgical year. For the really attentive, the texts were also catalogued to get one through each day, following the pattern of Catholic—and later, Anglican—worship. The texts were to be read and the pictures contemplated at specific times:

      Matins, at daybreak.
      Lauds, often with the Matins, or somewhat later.
      Prime, 6 a.m.
      Terce, 9 a.m.
     Sext, noon.
      None, 3 p.m.
      Vespers, early evening.
     Compline, late evening.

Thus for the lady of the manor making her diurnal way from one embroidery project to the next, or for the gentleman of the court making his way from one Machiavellian plot to the next, a book of hours served as both a reminder of and, presumably, an ingress to, the higher order of things which might otherwise be forgotten in the hurly-burly of life ca. 1450.

Because of the talent and time invested in the making of these little works of private worship, they have since become much-sought-after works of public art. The most famous is the Tres Riches Heures du Duc du Berry. You can either go to France (in the Musée Condé, Chantilly) to see this remarkable creation (dating from around 1410) or you can look at it here. Clicking on the thumbnail image at the left will open one page at full-size.

Given the nightmarish turmoil of the times—the plague, numberless wars holy and unholy, no doubt the pious and the would-be pious needed all the help they could get. The books of hours—a surprising number of which have survived more or less intact—rose like lotus flowers from a bed of festering horror that we in this enlightened year of 2004 CE can hardly imagine and the likes of which we in our elevated technological/free-market condition certainly never expect to see.

Though we believe we have put such barbarism behind us, there may be some cause to think that the deeper urge behind the appearance of books of hours is still present in us.

Introduction Page 2 >>

Calendar of Les Heures du Mal

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