The pilgrim returns

"There's no place like home... " - Dorothy in the "The Wizard of Oz"

All good things must come to an end. This trip has been a good thing -- good time to share with a dear sister, a good opportunity to meet prospective students for Southeastern University, and a good chance to learn more about what makes the French Gothic cathedral so monumental.

In spite of my minority status among the other students/pilgrims and my distance from home, I felt very much at home at the Journees d'Etude at Chartres. Part of that is due to my being an incurable francophile, but there's more to it than that. Walking the labyrinth, climbing down into the crypt, testing my knowledge of scripture on the statuary, hearing the notes of the boys' choir rise up to the vaults, and simply attempting to imagine the scenes these walls have witnessed are experiences that the most complete library can't give me. It was like visiting a familiar friend from your past, only this time you sit down together and get beyond the superficial, have a real conversation. And you sit quietly while your wise, old friend tells her story.

I've read so much about the harmony and uniformity of the French Gothic cathedral. I've marveled over Panofsky's integration of Scholastic order with the cathedral's perfect categorization and symmetry. I've been enthralled to note the rich iconography and symbolism that fills Male's catalog of Gothic imagery. Philip Ball and Anne Prache -- noted experts on virtually every aspect of these great structures -- fill in the blanks. Not even the most scientific and artistic analysis, though, can explain the feeling that the cathedral imparts: transcendence, peace, holiness, and a reverential awe for the God it honors and for the immeasurable faith of those who built it.

Then Paris -- the treasures of the Cluny, passing by old familiar sites like Notre-Dame and Sainte-Chapelle. I've returned to Paris several times since my student days, and each time the sounds and scents of this great city come rushing back to me in a wave of familiarity. This time I ventured north to discover St-Denis and learned why Abbot Suger was so emphatic on bringing light and color into the interior of the church (now cathedral). The play of light -- magnified by the incredible array of stained glass -- defies description and must be experienced! For the Christian pilgrim, the link between earthly and divine is palpable in the glow of its interior.

We flew early this morning from Vienna back to Paris. My sister wings her way back to Ohio today, I depart for Florida in the morning. Dinner's on my own tonight in the town of Roissy near CDG airport. At a little creperie, I enjoy one more galette au bleu and get to eavesdrop on a few last conversations en francais. It's rainy and late as I walk back to my hotel. I pass a small, very old-looking church in the village. If only it were still open so I could make one more friend, hear her story... a la prochaine!

St. Stephen's and the museum that isn't

"Experience, travel -- these are as education in themselves." - Euripedes, Greek playright (480-406 BC)

Our last day in Vienna, and it seems colder and darker than before. Then the realization hits you that you're in Vienna and there are more wonders awaiting! So you triple-layer your clothes, put on the well-worn scarf and gloves, and head out for more -- as oblivous to the weather as possible.

It's back down to the city center and right turn at the opera house that leads to a large pedestrian square and the imposing figure of St. Stephen's Cathedral. Unlike the austere parvis that fronts on Chartres Cathedral, St. Stephen's is situated amid the newstands, souvenir hawkers, and sausage vendors dwarfed in its shadow.

St. Stephen's is a beloved Viennese landmark, known for its multi-colored tile roof (a sort of mosaic in sections that depicts the Hapsburg crest and other historic symbols) and its survival through a tumultuous Austrian history (including the wooden rafters of its roof being destroyed during World War II). Built on the site of an ancient cemetery with graves dated back to the 4th century, the original 12th century cathedral was a Romanesque structure that eventually made a full evolution to late Gothic with major construction ceasing in the early 16th century. Two major fires during that period resulted in renovations that continually updated the Gothic elements of the building.

It was here, allegedly, that Beethoven realized the full extent of his deafness as he watched birds flee the towers when the bells were rung (and he couldn't hear them). Mozart was adjunct music director at St. Stephen's; he was married here, saw his children baptized here, and his funeral was held here.

Beyond the "luminous" lore associated with this cathedral, it's easy to see why the French still lay claim to the best of Gothic. The interior of St. Stephen's is dark and confusing, perhaps a result of the numerous re-workings of its plan through the centuries. St. Stephen's nave is crowded with mis-matched side-chapels; Chartres is blissfully devoid of this distraction. In St. Stephen's, elaborate baroque and rococo elements bombard the eye in a dizzying display of shapes and shadows. There's no clear ambulatory, and navigating through the nave is confusing at best. The mood is dark and foreboding.

In Chartres, the symmetry of the nave and the clarity of direction (upward and toward the crossing) draw you in, colored light cuts through the empty nave at the upper levels, and ornamentation is largely kept at eye level so as not to disrupt flow. In contrast to the over-stimulation, murky shapes, and mix of styles of St. Stephen's, it's a soothing, calming sense that bids you in and "lifts' the spirit.

(An interesting direction in research would be to compare/contrast French Gothic with that of Italy, Germany, Austria, England, or Spain and show how cultural or historical differences are illustrated in each country's adaptation of the style... )

Strolling behind St. Stephen's, we come upon a museum we'd both been looking forward to visiting: Mozart's House. For the approx. US$ 15 price of admission, you'd expect to perhaps see his harpsichord, a few sheets of original manuscript, a piece or two of his furniture, his personal effects or perhaps a powdered wig? But no! The apartment rooms were bare except for the framed copies of notables who were Mozart's contemporaries (most of whom are never mentioned in the recorded visit guide). There's an empty room that might have been his bedroom, another that might have been his study, some copies of Haydn's will (doesn't he have his own museum?), a reproduction of a waistcoat like one Mozart might have worn, a copy of a portrait that might be that of Mozart's wife, and a few other head-scratching displays of dubious taste thrown in. A big disappointment, one that cried out for sacher torte afterwards at a nearby cafe. :-)

Art in Vienna: living in it, looking at it

"My first entrance into the marketplace brought a shock of cheerful sensation. It was like the bursting into life of a Flemish picture." - Dorothy Wordsworth, English author and poet (1771-1855)

Day #2 in Vienna turns out to be colder and windier than Day #1. Mary Ann and I begin the day with hiking a few blocks to find the noted Nachtmarkt, an open air market that stretches for several blocks near the historic center of the city. You enter the market on the "food" area of the markt which beckons with stall after stall of cheeses, olives, spices, fruits, nuts, sausages, wild game, pastas and grains. As you continue walking, you soon find yourself in the "everything else" area. What greets your eyes,ears and nostrils is a feast of color, sound, and motion as the Viennese and random, curious tourist make their way through the tableau of tables and vendors that call out to you. Flea markets of the European variety are nothing like their tackier American cousins; they proffer a veritable kaleideskope of wares that tempt and fascinate, mixing the mundane necessities of life with the uniquely collectible. I don't think I've ever been in one market where you can buy accordions and underwear, vintage mink coats and mandolins, cookware and Christmas ornaments, World War II memorabilia and music, books and beer, wurst and weapons, pearls and paintings, liederhosen and linens. Mary Ann finds her ubersouvenir, an antique ring, while I pick up some much needed gloves to guard against the cold and a traditional copper cake mold that now adorns my kitchen potrack. Like a painting come to life, the Nachtmarkt captures an important facet of Viennese life.

Warmed anew with a coffee we bought in the Nachtmarkt, we set out to see a few sights with Leo, a university student and member of the church at whose invitation we're in Vienna. We take a brisk and shivering walking tour of the city center, seeing city hall, the national library, and various government buildings, all in that ubiquitous mix of Baroque and Gothic Revival style -- gold gilt, cherubs, mythological creatures, filigreed spires, something for the eye to see at every corner in a dazzling display of granite and marble.



We spend a couple hours inside the Kunsthistorisches Museum or Austria's Museum of Art History. Ancient Egyptian, Roman, and Greek art as well as well known works by Raphael, Bruegel, Rembrandt, Velazquez make their home here. What began as a showplace for the collections of the Hapsburg dynasty has grown to be a national treasure trove. Like the Louvre in Paris or the Uffizi in Florence, the Kunsthistorisches building itself (a former Hapsburg palace) is worth seeing in its own right.

We end the day with a typical meal of wiener schnitzel, hot potato salad, red cabbage, and apfelstrudel at a little restaurant recommended by Leo.Wunderbar! Why do so many of my travel memories revolve around food? :-)