One last look at Merton

One last picture from Merton, from Oxford, and probably from England, at least for now.

I just love the architecture there.

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.

Bolton Castle

Here's a look at the castle itself. I keep getting the name wrong—it's Bolton Castle, but the nearby village is called Castle Bolton, which just sounds more impressive to me.

It's still owned by the descendants of the 1st Baron Scrope, who built the castle in the late 1300's. (Bolton comes from the name of the surrounding area; the village that is now called Castle Bolton was originally just Bolton.)

The non-Potter Shambles

There are actually only a few Harry Potter-oriented businesses on the street, and it is authentically medieval, with some of the buildings dating from the 14th century. It was once known as the Great Flesh Shambles (shambles meaning stall or bench) because it was where all the butchers had their businesses. The jettied floors overhanging the street kept it cool and shady, better for keeping the meat fresh.

Saturday reflections

A shop window in the Shambles, a medieval street in York that was reportedly the inspiration for Diagon Alley in Harry Potter, although J.K. Rowling said she'd never been there.

Anyway, it looks like it could have been.

Pink sky at night

One of the few pictures I took at Merton this summer. I had skipped dinner because I was sick to my stomach, but this sky, after the only rain we'd had, distracted me enough to grab the camera.

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.

15th century paint job

Just kidding—I'm sure it's been touched up in the last 200 years. This is part of the covered walkway around all four sides of the Cloister. There are some of the typical Oxford death-defying stairs without railings that presumably lead to student rooms, and a door intriguingly labeled the Cardinal Wolsey Room (he was also a Magdalen alum) which Google informs me is just a private dining room.

There is something endearing about how much bad paint and shabby furniture lie underneath the dreaming spires of the Oxford colleges.

The Great Quad

This is more typical Oxford. Magdalen College was founded in 1458; this quad, also called the Cloister, was built at the end of that century.

Bath Abbey details

I especially love the angels climbing Jacob's Ladder.

Bath Abbey

 

The Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, which is right next to the Roman baths, is a parish church, not a cathedral. Judging by the exterior (we couldn't go inside because of a service in progress) it would make any bishop proud. The main building is 12th and 16th century, with a major renovation in the 1860's.

Rhodes

Another change to the itinerary after losing Egypt was spending two days in Rhodes rather than one. Rhodes is a perfectly pleasant place, but I'd been there before and I had a hard time choosing a second excursion I was interested in doing.

Which turned out to be moot, since the one I ended up picking was cancelled. I spent the unexpected free day walking around in the town of Rhodes, which was far more interesting than anticipated. I think the last time I was here we were docked in Lindos, and I never saw Rhodes at all. It has what's described as the largest living medieval town in Europe, all surrounded by extensive and impressive fortifications, courtesy of the enterprising Knights of St. John who basically built Malta.

The season is definitely over, so almost all of the shops and restaurants are closed, but I walked through the moat, which has been turned into a very pretty park, and when I got hungry, I just went back to the ship.

The Römer

This is one of Frankfurt's most famous landmarks -- it has been the City Hall for more than 600 years -- and somehow I never got around to posting a picture of it.

Better late than never.

More cloisters

Cloisters

One of the four actual cloisters at the museum. 

The collection was started by George Barnard, one of those eccentric artsy Americans who moved to Paris to study art. He was a talented sculptor who supplemented his income by  dealing 13th and 14th century art, and he built a private collection of architectural artifacts he got at bargain prices. He eventually sold his collection to John D. Rockefeller on behalf of the Metropolitan Museum.

Rockefeller purchased the land to create the park, and the museum was built from abbeys in France and Spain that were disassembled stone by stone and rebuilt into one cohesive building in New York, incorporating the cloisters and other art Barnard had collected.

From inside the Town Hall

This view of the tower was taken from the interior courtyard.

La Maison du Roi

In Dutch, this building is called the Broodhuis, or Bread House, referring to the first building on the site in the 12th century. The French name King's House seems more appropriate to the extremely Gothic ruffles and flourishes of this 1873 renovation.

More of the Grand Place

Some of the guild halls (or maybe gilt halls would be more appropriate) along the west side of the square. (I posted a similar picture to the one on the left last November, but this one is much better.)