es cathedrals real shrines in the eye of the
reverent traveller makes them, with their religious processions and the
like, impressive in splendor-films.

For instance, I have long remembered the essentials of the film, The
Death of Thomas Becket. It may not compare in technique with some of our
present moving picture achievements, but the idea must have been
particularly adapted to the film medium. The story has stayed in my mind
with great persistence, not only as a narrative, but as the first hint to
me that orthodox religious feeling has here an undeveloped field.

Green tells the story in this way, in his History of the English
People:--

"Four knights of the King's court, stirred to outrage by a passionate
outburst of their master's wrath, crossed the sea and on the twenty-ninth
of December forced their way into the Archbishop's palace. After a stormy
parley with him in his chamber they withdrew to arm. Thomas was hurried
by his clerks into the cathedral, but as he reached the steps leading
from the transept into the choir his pursuers burst in from the
cloisters. 'Where,' cried Reginald Fitzurse, 'is the traitor, Thomas
Becket?' 'Here am I, no traitor, but a priest of God,' he replied. And
again descending the steps he placed himself with his back against a
pillar and fronted his foes.... The brutal murder was received with a
thrill of horror throughout Christendom. Miracles were wrought at the
martyr's tomb, etc...."

It is one of the few deaths in moving pictures that have given me the
sense that I was watching a tragedy. Most of them affect one, if they
have any effect, like exhibits in an art gallery, as does Josef Israels'
oil painting, Alone in the World. We admire the technique, and as for
emotion, we feel the picturesqueness only. But here the church
procession, the robes, the candles, the vaulting overhead, the whole
visualized cathedral mood has the power over the reverent eye it has in
life, and a touch more.

It is not a private citizen who is struck down. Such a taking off would
have been but nominally impressive, no matter how well acted. Private
deaths in the films, to put it another way, are but narrative statements.
It is not easy to convey their spiritual significance. Take, for
instance, the death of John Goderic, in the film version of Gilbert
Parker's The Seats of the Mighty. The major leaves this world in the
first third of the story. The photoplay use of his death is, that he may
whisp