Anne Brontë

Branwell Brontë died in September 1848 and Emily Brontë died less than three months later, both of tuberculosis, aggravated in Branwell's case by alcoholism and opiate addiction. By the following spring, their sister Anne was also dying of tuberculosis.

In one of the episodes that make it difficult to like Charlotte Brontë, she found numerous excuses why Anne's wish for a change of air and a trip to the sea should not happen. She kept saying she wanted to wait until Anne was stronger—In short I wish we could gain time and see how she gets on—while Anne was well aware that time was the one thing she didn't have. Charlotte even instructed her best friend, Ellen Nussey, how to respond when Anne wrote to her asking for her support.

When both Anne's doctor and their father, Patrick Brontë, said that they thought the trip was a good idea, Charlotte was forced to give in. Charlotte and Anne traveled to York with Ellen Nussey on Thursday, May 24, and spent the night there. Before leaving for Scarborough the following day, they stopped in York Minster, which Anne very much wanted to see again. Ellen Nussey wrote that as Anne looked up at the stonework, she said, “If finite power can do this what is the ...” before becoming too emotional to continue.

They arrived in Scarborough on Friday; Anne died on Monday. She's buried in a churchyard there instead of in the family vault in Haworth. I would have liked to visit her grave in Scarborough, but I couldn't face another train ride from York, or the steep climb up to the church on a cliff over the sea, but I did think about her when I was sitting in the Minster on that stifling hot day in York. I was glad that she got to experience that beauty again before she died. I was glad she got to go back to Scarborough, which she had visited many times when she was working as a governess, and had one more donkey cart ride on the beach.

This is the letter Anne wrote to Ellen Nussey on April 5. (Besides being a wonderful example of cross writing, a Victorian method of saving paper, I am amazed by her beautiful handwriting when she was so ill.)

But I have a more serious reason than this for my impatience of delay: the doctors say that change of air or removal to a better climate would hardly ever fail of success in consumptive cases if the remedy were taken in time, but the reason why there are so many disappointments is, that it is generally deferred till it is too late. . . . I have no horror of death: if I thought it inevitable I think I could quietly resign myself to the prospect, in the hope that you, dear Miss Nussy, would give as much of your company as you possibly could to Charlotte and be a sister to her in my stead. But I wish it would please God to spare me not only for Papa’s and Charlotte’s sakes, but because I long to do some good in the world before I leave it. I have many schemes in my head for future practise – humble and limited indeed – but still I should not like them all to come to nothing, and myself to have lived to so little purpose.

She was twenty-nine years old.

The Quire Screen

This is just a section of the screen separating the Nave from the Quire at York Minster. There are statues of fifteen kings of England, from William the Conqueror to Henry VI, on either side of the arch separating the two parts of the church. The statues were carved in the late 1400's by William Hyndeley, except for the statue of Henry VI, which was seen as Lancastrian propaganda during the Wars of the Roses, and was defaced, removed, and untimately replaced in the 19th century.

The statues in this picture depict Henry III, Edwards I, II, and III, Richard II, and Henry IV and V.

The spectrum of decorative art

A few more pictures from York Minster, then it's back where I began, in Haworth.

I like the style contrast between these two features I saw in the Minster. The stained glass window is called the Five Sisters; it was completed in the mid-1200's and is the largest example of medieval grisaille glass in the world. It's impossible to capture the detail in a window like this with a small camera, but rather than the brightly colored saints and religious figures you see in most medieval stained glass, grisaille glass is all grays and greens and features geometric and botanical patterns. It's quite beautiful.

The colorful patterns on the pipes on the right are nineteenth century. These case pipes were silent for more than a hundred years, and just kept for effect—and they are quite effective!—but since the last restoration in 2021, they're playing music again.

Looking towards heaven

Just outside the Quire, looking up at the vaulted ceiling underneath the central tower.

I won't be getting my Yorkshire pictures sorted and processed any time soon, but I looked for this one because I remember taking it and thinking, Oh I like this. That ceiling is almost 200 feet high, and looking up at it literally made me giddy. (I started to fix the distortion in the central part of the ceiling, which should be square, but decided to leave it because seemed like the image should be as dizzy as I was.)

The Quire

York Minster

I started to write “I got to York yesterday” then stopped. That can't be right. But yes, I got here yesterday, but for some reason it feels much longer.

It's quite hot, for one thing, and though I was surprised and grateful to find a small portable AC unit and a Dyson fan in my hotel room, they are taking up most of the free floor space in a room that wasn't that big to begin with.

The other nice thing about this hotel is the location—I knew it was close to York Minster, the famous cathedral, but wasn't expecting the impact of having that enormous magnificence in my face every time I stepped outside, grabbing all of my attention the way the AC unit has grabbed all of my hotel room.

I spent some time wandering around there this afternoon, enjoying the relative cool along with the really wonderful architecture, and then went back for Evensong this evening. It wasn't surprising that the service matched the surroundings: exquisite harmonies in a chamber behind the Nave called the Quire (Choir) that's bigger than most churches.

I'd been feeling kind of indifferent about York; it's beautiful, and if the old streets around the Minster have far too many of the dreaded cobblestones, they're charming, and at least there are no hills. But it's very crowded, and very hot, and going anywhere and seeing anything seems to require So Much Effort.

Not the Minster, though. That's worth it.

Christ Church

I do the walk around Christ Church meadow almost every day, but I'd never actually been inside the college itself. You need a ticket, and they're only released once a week, so I've thought of it as something I'd maybe do sometime. But you can attend services at the cathedral, which is on the main quad of the college, and last Saturday I went to Evensong there.

This is the cathedral entrance from Tom Quad, and the altar inside. Tom Quad is named for Great Tom, the bell in the tower over the entrance to the college. It's the loudest bell in Oxford (I can attest to this) and rings every night at 9:05 pm. Everything at Christ Church is five minutes behind the rest of Oxford, because they still stick to the original Oxford time, which was five minutes behind Greenwich Time. So Evensong began at 6:05.

Saturday reflections

The São Sebastião Cathedral looks better as a reflection.

Then there's the exterior

Ever wondered what a Brutalist Mayan pyramid would look like? Well, here you are.

The cathedral was designed by Edgar de Oliveira da Fonseca, and built in the late 60's-early 70's. I have not been able to find any information about why he chose a Mayan design for a Brazilian cathedral, except that the conical shape is supposed to represent bringing the people closer to God and a break from Brazil's colonial past. Okay.

I just find Brutalist architecture so dreary. It was a very gray, rainy day when I was there, but I've looked at many pictures online and honestly it doesn't look any better when the sun's out.

Crucifix

There's no way to capture the scale here, unfortunately, without a lot more time and camera equipment than I had. This crucifix is suspended over the altar, and is six meters high and four meters wide (approximtely 20 by 13 feet.)

Everything in the interior is colossal.

More from São Sebastião Cathedral

This is a very odd building, and I'm not sure whether I like it or not. The four stained glass windows seen from the interior are certainly spectacular (from the exterior you can't even tell that they are windows); they extend more than 200 feet from the floor to the ceiling, where they meet in a skylight shaped like a cross.

Prayer of St. Francis

A statue of St. Francis of Assisi at the São Sebastião Cathedral in Rio de Janeiro. I've always loved St. Francis, not just because I grew up in a city named for him. During the the late 60's-early 70's days of the folk Mass, we used to sing several songs written by Sebastian Temple. This is the only one I remember, not least because they sang it at my stepfather's funeral, a few weeks before it was played at Princess Diana's.

Make me a channel of your peace,
Where there is hatred let me bring your love,
Where there is injury your pardon Lord,
And where there’s doubt true faith in you.

O Master grant that I may never seek,
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace,
Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope,
Where there is darkness, only light,
And where there’s sadness, ever joy.

Make me a channel of your peace,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
In giving of ourselves that we receive.
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.

-- Adapted by Sebastian Temple

I am often not being as kind as I would like to be these days, but when I listen to this song, I am always inspired to try harder.

Saturday reflections

The tower of Bath Abbey reflected in the main pool at the Roman Baths.

Westminster Cathedral

Since I don't have any bird pictures except maybe another crow, and I started with the London and the V&A yesterday, and it is Sunday after all, here are two pictures of Westminster Cathedral (not to be confused with Westminster Abbey, which is of course CofE; this cathedral is Roman Catholic) from last week.

I've always loved the brick and stone stripes on this building; one of the things I enjoyed during my brief stay in London was seeing all the wonderful brick buildings again. It was a nice change from the stone spires of Oxford.

Oxford

Christ Church Meadow, on a ridiculously beautiful summer afternoon. I think that's the cathedral in the background, but I will have to verify at a later time when I am in less of a stupor.

I got to Oxford yesterday afternoon, after a mercifully drama-free flight, and I had booked a private transfer from the airport instead of taking the bus-plus-taxi or two-trains-plus-taxi that getting to Oxford from Heathrow would otherwise have required. (It was surprisingly reasonable, but the convenience and comfort of having someone simply pick me up outside customs and drive me to my hotel after an overnight flight would have been worth a lot more than I paid.)

I walked much farther than I should have yesterday afternoon but I kept being lured on by yet another interesting building or park or bridge ahead, until I was an exhausted, aching mess. I'm planning to take it easy today. I'm here for three weeks. I will have time to look around.

Although I can tell already that you could live here for years and never see it all.

Notre Dame

One of my favorite places in the world is gone.

I'm crying while I watch the news. Notre Dame survived the Revolution, the Commune, the Occupation, and now it's been destroyed by a fire. I've been there so many times; it's always been the first place I go whenever I'm in Paris. The interior never failed to soothe and inspire -- that hushed darkness, lit by those magnificent windows.

I took this picture in 2017 -- it does not capture their beauty, but today I'm grateful to have it.

Amen and Hallelujah! part two

Here's another look at the cathedral, through the very modern roof of the train station. (The foreground is blurry because the train was still moving.)

Amen and Hallelujah!

Bear with me on this one.

I took this picture as the train to Brussels pulled into Cologne. I noticed the tower in the background, thought at first it might be a church, and remembered that Cologne has a famous cathedral. I wondered if we'd be able to see it from the train, and thought it unlikely, but watched carefully anyway, hoping for a glimpse.

Then this!

The cathedral is literally next to the train station and it looms over the tracks as you pull in.

I have never seen anything quite so Gothic in my life, and of course this hastily snapped picture through a train window doesn't do it justice, or capture its immensity or grandeur.

I gaped. I took a picture. And I smiled all the way to Brussels.

Paris

 Because who doesn't enjoy a good gargoyle?

Paris, and everything is easy. Somewhere on my way into or out of Beirut (where it turned out I had to go through yet another security checkpoint, including frisking, to get from the lounge to the plane) I found myself wishing I was flying to New York, that I had just planned to stay a few more days in Jordan and gone home from there, instead of stopping off in Paris.

I've changed my mind. Paris is never a bad idea, even in February. I love that it's still full of charming little hotels like the one I'm staying in near the Jardin du Luxembourg, with flowered drapes and quilted bedspreads and flowerpots outside the windows. And of course, baguettes with butter and jam served with cafe au lait in a breakfast room with small round tables with floor-length tablecloths and fresh flowers. Even a fellow guest who hums loudly while reading Le Figaro at the next table can't distract from the perfection that is a fresh French baguette -- when I was thinking about how I wanted to spend the day, I considered finding a bakery and just sitting on a bench eating bread until I either exploded or had to leave for the airport.

Instead, I went to Notre Dame, because I always go to Notre Dame. I am not such a traditionalist that I was dismayed to find a Starbucks on the way, a new development since the last time I was here eight years ago. Because while there may be many experiences that aren't enhanced by having a large cup of hot coffee in your possession, it turns out that walking through the Left Bank on a pleasant winter's morning isn't one of them.

Shadows

The beautiful patterns of light and shadow on the Dunkeld cathedral.