There upon the altar-tomb, mentioned before, the casket was placed, and
was covered by a gilt cover of wainscot, which was drawn up by a pulley
when the shrine was visited by pilgrims.
Upon this altar-tomb there is an inscription in Latin, in current use of
the period, which runs thus:
"Hac sunt in fossa Bedae Venerabilis ossa."
("In this tomb are the bones of the Venerable Bede.")
In connection with this inscription there is a legend that the sixth
word, "Venerabilis," was miraculously supplied by divine intervention to
the tired and till then uninspired monk who was penning it. Hence Bede
is known generally as "The Venerable Bede."
Close by there was an altar to the Venerable Bede.
The Reformation swept away the original tomb, leaving only a few traces
behind, and the bones were buried under its site; and an altar-tomb,
which still exists, was erected over them.
Every Sunday and holiday at noon a monk was accustomed to ascend the
iron pulpit beneath the great west window, and from it to preach.
Though this pulpit is gone, there still exists in close proximity a
small chamber of the time of Bishop Langley, which was obviously the
robing-room of the preacher.
From 1775 to 1795 this magnificent pile was given over to the tender
mercies of one James Wyatt, architect, who, but for timely intervention
on the part of John Carter, would have left little of it to our present
view; but, alas! by his chiselling and interference with the superficial
details of the exterior, he has taught us a lesson in vandalism. The
Cathedral still survives with surpassing beauty, and the name of the
would-be destroyer is dead.
The Galilee Chapel was happily rescued in time from utter destruction at
the hands of James Wyatt. This gentleman had already commenced to pull
down a portion of it to make room for a coach-road, which he had planned
to facilitate the connection between the castle and the college.
Unhappily the spirit of utility of a most material age allowed the
Chapter House to be demolished, but, oddly enough, this demolition,
together with the peeling of the exterior, the removal, so to speak, of
details and minor embellishments of the grand edifice, have robbed us of
nothing of its impressiveness, but indeed remind us, as the mutilated
Parthenon marbles do, of the irony of man's vain predilection to
mutilate the beautiful, which must last for ever. Thus again there is
evidence in the interior of man's destructive power in the mutilation
of the Neville tombs.
[Illustration: DURHAM