SALISBURY, SARUM, AND STONEHENGE.
SALISBURY, _June 30, 1902_.
For one who visits England as a student of history there is hardly
a better starting point than Southampton, as the most impressive of
the Druidical and Roman remains in Great Britain are less than forty
miles away, the capital city of Alfred the Great is only twelve miles
distant, the whole surrounding region is closely associated with the
Saxon, Danish, Norman and Plantagenet kings, and two of the most
interesting cathedrals in England are within easy reach by rail. One of
these cathedral towns, Salisbury, we selected as a suitable place in
which to spend quietly our first Sunday in the Old World, having landed
at Southampton Saturday afternoon. So, after we had given a few hours
to the principal sights of Southampton, we took a train for Salisbury,
twenty-nine miles distant, and, after a short and delightful journey
through the tranquil rural scenery, which is characteristic of Southern
England, reached our destination refreshed rather than wearied by our
experiences since leaving the ship.
[Sidenote: A Fascinating Cathedral Town.]
We recognized the place, even before our train stopped, by the
cathedral spire, which is 406 feet high, the loftiest in England, and
which dominates all views of the town. This richly adorned spire is one
of three things which entitles this cathedral to special attention,
the other two being, first, its lovely close, unsurpassed in size and
beauty, a glorious expanse of velvety sward, shaded by lofty trees;
and secondly, the uniformity and harmony of its architecture, making
it the most symmetrical and graceful of all English cathedrals. The
interior is less interesting, having no wealth of monuments like
Winchester, Westminster, and St. Paul's, and no profusion of stained
glass windows like York.
On Sunday we attended service in the cathedral, and found it formal,
cold and unsatisfying. I yield to no man in my admiration of the beauty
of these vast and venerable cathedrals, but they have been in some
respects a hindrance to vital religion, as I shall endeavor to show in
a later letter. This one at Salisbury was erected in the middle of the
thirteenth century, so that for six hundred and fifty years it has been
used continuously as a place of Christian worship, first Romish and now
Anglican.
But on Monday we made an excursion which took us back to a still more
remote antiquity. One mile to the north of Salisbury at Old Sarum (a
name well known to students of English politics as that of the "rotten
borough," which till 1832 had the privilege of sending two members
to Parliament, though without a single inhabitant), crowning a great
hill which commands the surrounding country for miles, stands the
vast, grass-clad earthworks of an ancient Roman fortress, the largest
entrenched camp in the kingdom. That is old, but we are bound for
something older still, and so we continue our drive northwards.
One great charm of the summer in Great Britain is the cool weather. The
English people never have to endure the withering heats to which we
are subjected in America. This year it has been much cooler even than
usual. So, as we drive on through the June day, although the sun is
shining brightly, the air is bracing and exhilarating.
[Sidenote: Rural Scenery in Southern England.]
Another marked difference between this country and most parts of
ours is the extraordinary finish of the landscape, due to scantiness
of forests, absence of undergrowth, thoroughness of tillage, and
especially the luxuriance and smoothness of the turf. The quiet beauty
of rural England has a perpetual charm. When I was here some years ago
it was May, the hawthorn hedges were in bloom, and the whole country
was robed in tender green. Before landing this time I felt some regret
that we should not see it in the same lovely attire, thinking of the
difference between early May and late June in America. But I find it
even more beautiful than when I first saw it. The farmers were cutting
the lush grass in some places, impregnating the air with the delicious
fragrance of new-mown hay. In other fields the wheat was standing
thick, with here and there a blaze of scarlet poppies, sometimes an
acre or two in extent, a solid mass of brilliant red, no green or other
color visible at all. Still prettier, if possible, are the scattered
poppy blooms in a field of half ripe grain, looking like ruby bubbles
on a gently moving, sunlit sea.
The youngsters in our party are interested to see horses hitched tandem
to the wide hay wains in the fields, and to observe that when we meet a
double team in the road, instead of being harnessed as two horses are
with us, on each side of a tongue, here each of the two horses is in
his own pair of shafts. Nor are they slow to observe that teams always
turn to the left in passing each other, instead of to the right as with
us, and the same rule is observed in the running of trains on a double
track railway.
No frame houses are to be seen in town or country. We have not seen a
wooden house since we landed. All are of brick or stone, though many
of them in the country are covered with thatch, sometimes with clay
tiles. But slate is more and more superseding these old-fashioned
materials. This does not promote the cottager's comfort. Slate roofs
are hotter in summer and colder in winter than those of straw, and, of
course, too, they are far less picturesque. I observe that many farmers
thatch even their stone and brick fences to prevent the water from
coming in and freezing, to the injury of the masonry. No wooden fences
are seen, and few of wire. They are either living hedges of thorn or
privet or the like, or they are walls of stone or brick. In short, the
improvements look more substantial than ours, the agricultural methods
more thorough, the country more finished, and, I should think, more
comfortable to live in, in the material sense. Very striking is the
universal love of flowers. Every little village yard, if but three or
four feet wide, and every cottage window, however humble, has its rows
of brilliant geraniums, and other ornamental plants.
[Sidenote: Impressiveness of Stonehenge.]
And now, after a drive of nine miles, we reach Salisbury Plain, a name
familiar to me from early boyhood from the title of a little book that
used to be read in many homes, _The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain_. As
we came up, sure enough, there was a shepherd on one of the green
slopes, with his flock and his shepherd dog. We give them but a glance,
however, for our attention is instantly claimed by the object which we
have come so far to see, Stonehenge, "the most imposing megalolithic
monument in Britain," a group of great stones which seem originally to
have been arranged in two concentric circles enclosing two ellipses,
but some are now fallen. Of the outer circle, which was one hundred
feet in diameter, seventeen stones are still standing, with six of the
great cap-stones over them. The largest uprights of the whole group,
those near the centre of the circle, were twenty-two and a half feet
high, and the transverse blocks were three and a half feet thick. These
are, therefore, quite large stones, but it is not their size that gives
them their interest. The ancient Egyptians handled much larger stones
than these. It is their antiquity, and the mystery, still unsolved,
as to the purpose for which they were erected. Were they placed here
by the Druids? If so, for what purpose? The name does not help us,
_Stonehenge_ being but a corruption of the Saxon name, meaning "hanging
stones." Were they intended for a temple of the sun, or a calendar in
stone for the measurement of the solar year, or a huge gallows on which
defeated enemies were hung in honor of Woden, or a sepulchral circle
connected with the burial of the dead? No positive answer can be given,
but the last mentioned view is now regarded as the most probable,
and is confirmed by the existence in the immediate vicinity of great
turf-covered barrows, or burial places. These barrows are of the Bronze
Age, and to this same remote period Stonehenge itself is referred by
the best authorities.
The present owner of Salisbury Plain has recently enclosed Stonehenge
with a wire fence and charges an admission fee of a shilling. The
public resents this in the case of a unique and world-renowned
monument, which for ages has stood in the open, freely accessible to
all, and there was not a little satisfaction at finding that, as a sort
of road ran along within a few feet of it, and as the closing or moving
of this thoroughfare could not be permitted by the county authorities,
the fence in question had to run so close to the famous cromlech, after
all, that the proposed exclusion of the public without payment of a fee
has amounted to very little. Visitors can come so near, and can get so
good a view of all that is to be seen that but few pay the fee and go
inside the enclosure.
[Sidenote: Other Things of Interest about Salisbury.]
We return to Salisbury by a different road, which takes us for miles
through the meadows of one of those "sweet and fishful rivers," which
add so much to the quiet charm of the scenery, placid and clear,
flowing softly not only between grassy banks but over grassy beds,
the grass growing luxuriantly from the bottom, and being cut from the
stream by the hay harvesters, as though it were on the open meadow.
On reaching the town, I went to the Market Square to see the bronze
statue of a man for whom I had always felt respect and admiration since
studying his work on Political Economy when I was a student in college,
Mr. Fawcett, a talented native of this place, who, though he had the
misfortune to lose his sight early in life, by the accidental discharge
of a gun in the hands of his own father, nevertheless became a student,
a professor, an author, a man of affairs, a member of Parliament, and
Postmaster-General of Great Britain--a fine example of the triumph of
character and will over grievous limitations.
It added to the interest of our visit to Salisbury, and especially of
our walk through the lovely grounds of the Bishop's Palace, to see
this dignitary of the Church of England in his clerical garb, with
apron, knee breeches, and all, except that he was bareheaded, romping
delightedly on the lawn with a little girl, probably his granddaughter,
and to recollect that the Bishop of Salisbury, after bringing the
wealth of his undoubted scholarship to his recent book, _The Ministry
of Grace_, had declared, like Dean Stanley, Bishop Lightfoot and
Dean Milman, that "throughout the early church, even at Rome, and
Alexandria, down to the third century, the government of the church
was Presbyterian," thus going even farther than Stanley, who says that
"nothing like modern Episcopacy existed before the beginning of the
second century."
It interested us also to recall that Addison, Fielding, and Bishop
Burnet had resided here. So, considering these things, and those above
mentioned, we all left Salisbury reluctantly, declaring with one accord
that it was an exceedingly interesting place, and wondering whether
even Winchester could equal it.