Impressions of England; or, Sketches of English Scenery and Society

by A. Cleveland Coxe

But towering cities did Loyola love.”

It was founded, in fact, in the time of St. Bernard, under the first impulses communicated to Europe by his vast enthusiasm. But it is in vain that we look for any traces of his asceticism, in the luxurious splendour of every portion of this noble pile. Here you enter the lordly refectory; you pass to the ample kitchen, and ascend to the long range of dormitories. What prince on earth is better lodged? The chapter-house is on the same scale of dignity; and the cloisters are a long perspective of pillared arches, through which the eye can scarcely penetrate to the end. But the church, with its elaborate chapels, of which nearly half the pillars are standing in their gracefulness, beggars description. Its floor is green turf, and its walls are hung with living tapestry; but it seems still a vast cathedral, and the more beautiful, for its heavenly vault, and its windows, opening in all their rich variety of form, bright glimpses of wood and sky. Everything is in keeping, and the whole is such an epitome of the monastic system as suggests alike its glory and its shame. The excavations are still going on, and like those of Pompeii, they are revealing the most minute and tell-tale particulars of monastic life. One cannot altogether regret that such establishments are of the past, and yet the experiment of their reform should have been fairly tried, before destruction made it forever impossible to restore them to noble and pious uses.

Near the Abbey is a yew-tree of great antiquity, beneath which, tradition says, the first colony of monks assembled, and planned their future home. In a secluded spot, a little further on, I came to Fountains Hall, a pleasant manorial residence. It was built in the time of the first Stuart, and, I am sorry to add, of materials, quarried in the old Abbey. Such being the case, I am glad it is not mine. Sacrilege is so fatal a sin, that I hardly dared to take away a bit of moss from the Abbey walls; and to remove a cubic inch of its masonry, was a liberty from which I shrank, as a sort of irreverence to God.

Adieu to Fountains—but the scene will never leave my mental vision, which will retain as tenaciously, also, the recollection of those whose company enabled me to enter into the spirit of the scene, as I never can when alone. Reluctantly bidding them farewell, I went by rail to South Shields, on a visit to an estimable M.P., whose acquaintance I had made in London. He is a man of great natural refinement, and of very superior accomplishments, having greatly distinguished himself in early life, at Oxford, though his retiring disposition has kept him from the ambitious dignities which he might easily have commanded. Though there are few, in England, to whom I became more attached, I must add that it was neither from political nor religious affinities. He is as much of a dissenter as a churchman can well be, and as little of a John Bull as an Englishman can well be; but it is my creed, that none but the most narrow-minded mortals limit their society to those who share their own likes and dislikes, and never has my contempt for Sallust’s rule of friendship been more richly rewarded than in the relations which I formed with Mr. I——. With his liberal feelings towards America, I was particularly gratified; and it was pleasant indeed to listen to this estimable man, as he generously eulogized several of my countrymen, whom he had made his friends. Most attractive too was his unassuming piety. His Greek Testament was his familiar companion, and he was sometimes betrayed into scholarly criticisms of its text, which I could not always adopt, but which I was forced to admire, as drawn from stores of classical knowledge and accuracy. I felt it a great privilege to be his guest, and fell asleep in my chamber, full of happy reflections on the pleasures of the day, and lulled by the sounds of the sea, which breaks on the boundaries of his demesne. The morning light came to my window over the German Ocean, for the King of Denmark is next neighbour to my friend in that direction.

I was now among the collieries, but had no desire to know anything about them. I saw the mouths of the doleful pits which descend to these human burrows, and to think of the miserable population below, was enough! There they live, and die, and are buried while they live, and are far more wretched, I should imagine, than the servile class, in most cases, among us. The amelioration of life in the collieries, is by no means neglected however. England is alive to the spiritual and temporal destitution of her poor, of every condition; and happy will it be for us, when our national evils are as deeply felt as those of England are by Englishmen; when they are as temperately and freely discussed, and as boldly submitted to an enlightened spirit of progress and reform.

With my estimable friend, I visited Durham, its cathedral and University, and enjoyed great privileges in so doing, as the result of his kindness. On our way, he pointed out the secluded and saintly Jarrow, and the tower of Bernard Gilpin’s Church. In this neighbourhood occur two names that startle an American: he comes to Franklin, and to Washington, little villages which have imparted their names to hundreds of places in America, by first giving them to two really great men. With us, places are named from individuals; but in England, the reverse is more frequently the case.

“Stupendous”—is the epithet for the cathedral of Durham. It is the poetry of the frigid zone of architecture, as Milan cathedral is of its tropics. The first impressions, on entering, were instinctively those of the patriarch—“how dreadful is this place—this is none other than the House of God.” At York, I had said—‘this is the gate of heaven.’ Here an overpowering solemnity brooded over every thought, and I less admired than wondered. One thing was most pleasing: there is no screen, and the eye ranges through nave and choir, unrestrained, to the altar itself to which a bas-relief of the last supper, gives a fine effect. Under the guidance of Canon Townsend, who had lately returned from his most primitive visit to the Pope, we surveyed the entire cathedral and its adjoining courts, all alike builded for everlasting, if the solidity and grandeur of its masonry be any index of its design. We visited “the Galilee,” and the tomb of the venerable Bede, the “nine altars,” at the eastern end, and the tomb of St. Cuthbert. Also, the chapter-house, hallowed by the names of Aidan and Finan, those apostles of the North, who came forth from Iona to illuminate our Saxon ancestors. I pity the man who claims no kin with their ancient faith and piety! They infused into the Church of England many elements of its present character, and Bernard Gilpin was their legitimate son, even more than Bede himself.

In the library, we were shown, by the polite dignitary who was our guide, many antiquarian and literary curiosities. The stole of St. Cuthbert, taken from his coffin, and some needlework of the sister of Alfred, were of the number, and divers manuscripts, on vellum, of great beauty, and one the autograph of Bede! Some modern copes, of the time of Charles First, were shown us, as having been worn in Divine Service, in the cathedral, according to the rubric, till Warburton laid them aside. We also visited the University, which now fills the old castle of Durham. This castle was built by William the Conqueror, and was long the residence of the Bishops, as Lords of the Palatinate. Its old Norman chapel is very interesting, and the modern fittings are in good taste throughout, and turn it to good account. In one of the prebendal houses, we found the Bishop of Exeter, a prelate of great distinction, and celebrated for making warm friends and bitter foes. Canon Townsend gave us our lunch, at his own table, and warmly eulogized the American Church, which he designs to visit. He also praised our country and its achievements. His burning desire seems to be to unite all Christians, once more, in one holy fellowship of faith and worship, and it was in this spirit that he visited the Vatican, and exhorted the Pope to repent. It was the last testimony to Pius Ninth, before he dared to commit that damning sin against Christian charity, on the 8th of December, 1854. In my opinion, Canon Townsend need not be ashamed of having preached the Gospel at Rome also.

I crossed the river Wear, and gained from its well-wooded bank, the best view of the cathedral. It rises on the opposite bank, high over the stream, like part of the rock on which it is built. It presents the appearance of entire “unity with itself.” Massive and ponderous dignity invests the whole pile, and with the advantage of its deep descent to the river, I know not where to look for anything that seems at once so fixed to the earth, and yet so aspiring in its gigantic stretch towards heaven. The cathedral at Fribourg, in Switzerland, not only lacks its grandeur, but is too far from the edge of the steep, on which it stands, to derive much character from it. Durham, on the contrary, grows out of the cliff itself, and it is hard to say where the natural architecture terminates, and art begins.

I heard the service, in the cathedral, and it was effectively performed. From preference, I occupied the extremity of the nave, and enjoyed its distant effect. The Episcopal throne, in this cathedral, is a great curiosity. Had I not been told it was a throne, I should have said it was a gallery, or orchestra. Its style is altogether curious, and unique; but I should think his Lordship would prefer any place in the cathedral, to such a strange eminence. I left Durham, with great regret that I could not linger for a long time, amid its venerable and sacred attractions.