A visit to Durham Cathedral was one of the "must dos" for this trip. I'd long read that it is one of the most beautiful of all English cathedrals, and that it has one of the most integrated styles. But my reasons for wanting to visit were more personal. I wanted to pay my respects to one of my patron saints, the Venerable Bede. So on Sunday I skipped out of London, and caught one of the high speed trains up north to Durham. From the train station, located high up on one of the city's hills, there is a breathtaking view of the cathedral, looming over the city, with the castle behind it. The cathedral must have one of the most spectacular sites in all of Britain. It is placed on the highest peak, at a bend in the river Wear. The medieval city stretches out all around the opposite bank. It is a working city, not a glorified tourist trap like so many other "charming" towns here. From the train station one passes through the town before climbing the rather steep hill to the cathedral.
Durham is unique for many reasons. The first of which is its unusual layout. Most cathedrals are arranged in a west to east direction. One enters through the west door and travels down the nave toward the high altar at the east end. The priest who said mass at the high altar faced the rising sun, which represented to the medieval mind Christ, the morning star. The west represented Satan and evil, the east, new life and goodness. For this reason the baptismal font was often placed in the entrance, as the catechumen threw off his old, sinful life in the west before travelling to the east for the sacrament of the eucharist.
Durham is arranged west to east, but one cannot enter via the west door. At Durham, the west door is blocked. The Galilee chapel, built in 1170 makes the west door unusuable as an entrance to the cathedral. This arrangement makes Durham unique. The reasons why a chapel was placed in such an odd location is subject to debate and a large dose of legend. The most interesting is that St. Cuthbert, whose relics lie in the east end of the cathedral was a rampant misogynist. When work began on a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, Cuthbert caused the foundations to crack. Several attempts were made before cathedral authorities determined that the saint was unhappy that a shrine to a woman (even THIS woman) was being built so close to his. Work was abandoned, and the Lady chapel moved to the west end.
As a result, one enters the cathedral via the north door. On this door is fixed a replica of the famous sanctuary knocker (the original is visible in the cathedral's treasury). In the middle ages, one accused of a crime could seek sanctuary within the church. If he reached the knocker, he was granted assylum for 40 days within the adjacent monastery. After 40 days, he would either turn himself in to the authorities, or leave for exile, escorted away by the monks. During the period that he was within the sanctuary, however, he was free from any civil prosecution and under the protection of the church.
Durham's nave features massive stone pillars each incised with a different decorative scheme. The overall design is Romanesque, giving the inside a dark and somewhat gloomy feel, quite distinct from the Gothic designs of the later middle ages. While I love Gothic cathedrals, I found Durham quite pleasant.
Returning to the aim of my pilgrimage, though, I immediately entered the cathedral and went into the Galilee chapel to pay my respects to the Venerable Bede. His tomb is located by the southwest door, raised up from the floor of the chapel. He had a rather richly adorned shrine, which existed until the reformation. Now it is much more modest. There are four tall candlesticks at each corner, and a modern plaque above his tomb that carries one of the most beautiful lines from his commentary on the Apocalypse: "Christ is the Morning Star who when the night of this world is past brings to his saints the promise of the light of life and opens everlasting day. " I began and ended my pilgrimage to Durham with a few quiet moments at Bede's tomb, remembering this great saint who is rightly called the Father of English History.
Friday, July 16, 2004
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Salisbury
On a lark, I decided to take the train out to Salisbury Cathedral last Wednesday. The great thing about having a BritRail pass is that you can literally jump on any train, to any destination that you fancy. The cathedral here is known for its spire, and it really is spectacular. The area around Salisbury is relatively flat, so the spire is even more dramatic, rising some 404 feet above the plain. The cathedral is set within a lovely close, with green grass surrounding it and several lovely paths set off with not so lovely modern sculpture. In this way it differs from St. Paul's, or most of the other "urban" cathedrals which are set chock a block against the city. One gets a nice relief from the shops and streets around Salisbury. The exterior of the church is undergoing some restoration, so I had to contend with scaffolding, but much of it was visible. It's quite pleasing from the outside.
The inside, however, seems rather barren. I tend to like my cathedrals gothic, cluttered, dark, and bathed in the mystical light shed from oodles of stained glass. For some reason, Salisbury didn't have all of that. It seemed somehow stripped. It did suffer much during the Reformation and the Civil Wars. Indeed, most of the cathedrals show great damage from the conflicts of ages past. They also show great damage from ages present. The altar in the Trinity Chapel was vested with some horrific modern frontal, and the steps were carpeted in a maroonish purple. Hideous!
I arrived in time to hear the last part of Evensong sung in the choir. Such a lovely Anglican tradition, although these days it's much more likely to be attended by tourists who have no clue what the service means than by parishoners. There was also a mass in the Trinity chapel behind the High Altar that I stayed for. Very kind and sweet people, but none of them were under 80.
As the service got underway I could hear a terrible storm raging. It had started to rain as I approached the cathedral, but that was hardly anything new. Yet this was different. I kept reminding myself that I was deep inside a cathedral built hundreds of years ago, and built to LAST. The mere fact that I could still hear the wind and the rain, though, spoke to just how bad the weather was. I found out later, after returning to London, that it was a particularly bad storm, knocking out power to many across southern England. As I was heading to the mass, I noticed that there was a weather gauge that clocked the wind speed at the top of the tower. During the height of the storm, speeds were around 50 MPH, with gusts up around 70. Staying put was definitely wise.
I'm behind on my posts, but now that I'm at the National Library of Scotland, I have internet access and shall do my best to catch up!
The inside, however, seems rather barren. I tend to like my cathedrals gothic, cluttered, dark, and bathed in the mystical light shed from oodles of stained glass. For some reason, Salisbury didn't have all of that. It seemed somehow stripped. It did suffer much during the Reformation and the Civil Wars. Indeed, most of the cathedrals show great damage from the conflicts of ages past. They also show great damage from ages present. The altar in the Trinity Chapel was vested with some horrific modern frontal, and the steps were carpeted in a maroonish purple. Hideous!
I arrived in time to hear the last part of Evensong sung in the choir. Such a lovely Anglican tradition, although these days it's much more likely to be attended by tourists who have no clue what the service means than by parishoners. There was also a mass in the Trinity chapel behind the High Altar that I stayed for. Very kind and sweet people, but none of them were under 80.
As the service got underway I could hear a terrible storm raging. It had started to rain as I approached the cathedral, but that was hardly anything new. Yet this was different. I kept reminding myself that I was deep inside a cathedral built hundreds of years ago, and built to LAST. The mere fact that I could still hear the wind and the rain, though, spoke to just how bad the weather was. I found out later, after returning to London, that it was a particularly bad storm, knocking out power to many across southern England. As I was heading to the mass, I noticed that there was a weather gauge that clocked the wind speed at the top of the tower. During the height of the storm, speeds were around 50 MPH, with gusts up around 70. Staying put was definitely wise.
I'm behind on my posts, but now that I'm at the National Library of Scotland, I have internet access and shall do my best to catch up!
Friday, July 09, 2004
Bath
The pictures that I've seen of Bath don't do it justice. I was completely charmed by this lovely city, known for its Georgian architecture and Roman ruins. It makes a nice foil to London, and indeed, travel writer Rick Steves recomends making it one's first stop in England, rather than London. In the daytime it tends to be crowded with daytrippers, but even so, the crowds are not even close to Victoria station or the Westminster tube at rush hour. Once the day starts to decline, though, the streets are nearly deserted. The locals relax, and it wasn't unusual to find myself the only American in a restaurant or pub.
Bath takes its name from the ancient Roman baths which were unearthed in the 19th century. Excavation has continued since then, and remarkable finds have been made here. The museum is well laid out, fascinating and worth spending at least half of a day in. The Georgian Pump Room, which Jane Austen would have known, gives one a sample of the supposed healing water. It is drawn from a beautiful tap by a costumed waiter with a wig and breeches who looks rather embarassed to spend his day drawing glasses of water for tourists. I can't blame him. To aproximate the taste of the water at home, try licking a cast iron frying pan, preferably while it's warm.
Unfortunately, one cannot soak in the waters the way the Romans did. Unlike the 18th century English who drank the waters, the Romans soaked in them. The excavations have uncovered a massive complex filed with calderium, tepidarium and frigidarium. There are plans underway to open a new spa in Bath, though, but it is massively over budget and well past its targeted completion date. The locals get testy when one asks about it, as it has been touted in the press as an important project for Bath. Most agree, but they hate to see the overruns.
I spent yesterday researching at Lambeth Palace Library. It has been somewhat productive, but I find that I'm easily distracted when in such a large and ancient library. Lambeth Palace is the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, but I don't think he's home. Or maybe he's hiding from me.
Bath takes its name from the ancient Roman baths which were unearthed in the 19th century. Excavation has continued since then, and remarkable finds have been made here. The museum is well laid out, fascinating and worth spending at least half of a day in. The Georgian Pump Room, which Jane Austen would have known, gives one a sample of the supposed healing water. It is drawn from a beautiful tap by a costumed waiter with a wig and breeches who looks rather embarassed to spend his day drawing glasses of water for tourists. I can't blame him. To aproximate the taste of the water at home, try licking a cast iron frying pan, preferably while it's warm.
Unfortunately, one cannot soak in the waters the way the Romans did. Unlike the 18th century English who drank the waters, the Romans soaked in them. The excavations have uncovered a massive complex filed with calderium, tepidarium and frigidarium. There are plans underway to open a new spa in Bath, though, but it is massively over budget and well past its targeted completion date. The locals get testy when one asks about it, as it has been touted in the press as an important project for Bath. Most agree, but they hate to see the overruns.
I spent yesterday researching at Lambeth Palace Library. It has been somewhat productive, but I find that I'm easily distracted when in such a large and ancient library. Lambeth Palace is the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, but I don't think he's home. Or maybe he's hiding from me.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Oxford
I'm back in London for a few days, after a Northwestern loop. I was in Oxord last Tuesday and Wednesday for the conference at which I gave my paper on the influence of Wagner on E.M. Forster's novel Howard's End. It was fairly well received, but then, it was the last panel on the program, and by that time everyone is exhausted, and just wants to go home. I did get a few positive comments for revision, though.
Oxford is absolutely beautiful. I liked it even more than I'd expected. Matthew Arnold called it the "city of dreaming spires," and indeed it is somewhat magical. It has the look of a medieval university, and it was all I could do to keep from dropping everything and enrolling. My paper was at St. Peter's College, a relatively new foundation. But then, "new" is relative at a place like Oxford. Indeed, one of the things that's the hardest to wrap my head around is how OLD things are. Look! there are Roman ruins! Look! William the Conquerer built that! Don't trip on the tomb of St. Osmund, he's been dead for 900 years! It makes me aware of how young our own country is. At any rate, Oxford is a place that I'll plan on returning to. I did get to make a bit of a Cardinal Newman pilgrimage, visiting his church, St. Mary's. I saw his pulpit, and saw the altar that he served. I also saw a church that he was peripherally attached to once he converted to Roman Catholicism. Walking down the main street one night I noticed the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, and noted that a high mass for the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul was due to start in one minute. So I poked my head in, and found a pew. It was a magnificent church, and the mass was splendidly done in Latin. On the way out I noted that Newman had preached there and that Gerard Manley Hopkins had been the curate. Two favourites in one place!
I may spend the weekend in London before heading north to Scotland. Michael Moore's new film Fahrenheit 9/11 opens here tomorrow, and I think it might be fun to see it here. More about Bath and the rest of my travels soon!
Oxford is absolutely beautiful. I liked it even more than I'd expected. Matthew Arnold called it the "city of dreaming spires," and indeed it is somewhat magical. It has the look of a medieval university, and it was all I could do to keep from dropping everything and enrolling. My paper was at St. Peter's College, a relatively new foundation. But then, "new" is relative at a place like Oxford. Indeed, one of the things that's the hardest to wrap my head around is how OLD things are. Look! there are Roman ruins! Look! William the Conquerer built that! Don't trip on the tomb of St. Osmund, he's been dead for 900 years! It makes me aware of how young our own country is. At any rate, Oxford is a place that I'll plan on returning to. I did get to make a bit of a Cardinal Newman pilgrimage, visiting his church, St. Mary's. I saw his pulpit, and saw the altar that he served. I also saw a church that he was peripherally attached to once he converted to Roman Catholicism. Walking down the main street one night I noticed the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, and noted that a high mass for the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul was due to start in one minute. So I poked my head in, and found a pew. It was a magnificent church, and the mass was splendidly done in Latin. On the way out I noted that Newman had preached there and that Gerard Manley Hopkins had been the curate. Two favourites in one place!
I may spend the weekend in London before heading north to Scotland. Michael Moore's new film Fahrenheit 9/11 opens here tomorrow, and I think it might be fun to see it here. More about Bath and the rest of my travels soon!
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