Of course the all-absorbing object of interest is the cathedral itself. As much soil is not covered by any other building in all England of more historic renown. It is indeed a feast of intellectual "wine on the lees, and well refined." It was founded in 1093, and so was four hundred years old when the realm was being disturbed by reports that Columbus was seeking aid for the exploration of a new continent of doubtful existence. It is 507 feet long, and 200 feet wide at the transepts. It has a central tower 214 feet high, and two others that are alike, at the west end, facing down to the river, almost on the verge of the cliff-like embankments. On account of its great height it is commanding in appearance. These west towers are 143 feet high, with a lofty gable between them. The whole west front is elaborately finished, though not bold in detail. There is great boldness of outline, though no deep and very distinct ornamentation. The material is yellowish sandstone, somewhat dingy, but plainly betraying its original tint. The edifice is mainly of Norman architecture, but repairs and restorations have been made; and, according to usage, each new part was in the style of architecture presented at the period of restoration,—which was not restoration but alteration; for there was really no restoration of design, and sometimes not even a reproduction of form. All styles of ecclesiastical architecture are to be found in one building,—from the Norman, down through the Early English, to the latest or Perpendicular Gothic. This is illustrated in Durham Cathedral, for here are examples of each style, though the Norman prevails; especially in the never overpraised interior, where the ponderous round columns, with their diagonal and lozenge decorations, and the huge round arches, with splendid chevron mouldings, intersecting arches,—and every contour and combination peculiar to the best of the old Norman works,—exist in their perfection.
While the beautiful work at Winchester and York Minster, and at Salisbury and Lincoln—in their soaring columns and lofty arches, their rich traceries and decorations, their long lines of groined ceilings, and (as at Salisbury and Lichfield) their grand heavenward-pointing spires—suggest the Resurrection, and the aspiration of humanity, and so do honor to Christianity as distinguished from the low and grovelling tendency of Egyptian or Grecian temple, or even Roman,—while Gothic architecture is suggestive of these higher qualities, the solid columns and arches of Norman Durham speak of eternity, and suggest that nothing good dies. These two were the great steps taken by humanity as it became Christianized. First came a consciousness of existing good, and an accompanying desire to perpetuate it. Next came aspiration,—a reaching out and up, after still better life.
The Egyptian or Grecian mind was satisfied with things as they were, and found consequent satisfaction in the low temple of Edfu or the unpinnacled Parthenon. It was for the Christian aspiration to demand and only be partially satisfied with—tall columns and lofty arches, high towers and spires, reaching sometimes, like that at Salisbury, more than four hundred feet toward
"The third heaven where God resides,
That holy happy place."
The ponderous pyramids of Egypt, the fantastic temples of India, had height and breadth, but not a suggestion of anything above and beyond themselves. They were, after all, only heaps of material, plain like the pyramids,—or gorgeous and uncouth Indian piles, having in view the honor of some earthly king or some imaginary god, one among many. There was no attempt to do honor to the "King of kings, and Lord of lords." Nowhere were the contributions of the people concentrated for their own good, and for the blessing of generations to come. A cathedral embodies this idea. It is a connecting link between the old dispensation and the new; and, unlike our Bible, it has no blank leaves between the Old and New Testaments.
Two things in Durham Cathedral demand our particular attention. One is the Sanctuary Ground, and the other is Galilee Chapel at the west end.
Outside the cathedral, at the great northern side door, there is a large and grotesque brass knocker,—a head with staring, hollow eyes, and a ring in its mouth. In olden time a criminal, fleeing from justice, who was able to reach and lift this knocker, was safe from arrest. A monk was all the time stationed inside to open the door to every applicant. The ground-floor of the northwestern tower was the sanctuary ground. A work on the "Antiquities of Durham Cathedral" gives the following statement:—
The culprit upon knocking at the ring affixed to the north door was admitted without delay, and after confessing his crime, with every minute circumstance connected with it, the whole of which was committed to writing in the presence of witnesses, a bell in the Galilee tower ringing all the while, to give notice to the town that some one had taken refuge in the church, there was put upon him a black gown with a yellow cross upon its left shoulder, as a badge of Cuthbert, whose girth, or peace, he had claimed. When thirty-seven days had elapsed, if no pardon could be obtained, the malefactor, after certain ceremonies before the shrine, solemnly abjured his native land forever, and was straightway, by the agency of the intervening parish constables, conveyed to the coast, bearing in his hand a white wooden cross, and was sent out of the kingdom by the first ship which sailed after his arrival.
The old knocker remains at its post, though centuries have passed since it last rendered its sacred service, and was tremblingly grasped by a panting fugitive. We assumed this role, but, fortunately or unfortunately, could not knock as a genuine culprit could.