Pilgrim's Road

seat of the kings of León, and it replaced a church that was considered not grand enough for its new role. In the days of the relic cult, no new church could be founded without an authenticated bone or two, and for this august building the remains of San Isidoro were procured. A former archbishop of Seville who had died a few centuries earlier, San Isidoro might not immediately suggest the necessary charisma for such a position. He was not an apostle, nor had he been martyred; in fact he seems to have led an uneventful and blameless life. But he did have the advantage of having been a scholar in an age where illiteracy was the norm and had left behind him a reputation for sanctity, as well as a considerable number of learned tracts and treatises which were still being consulted centuries later. More importantly perhaps, he was readily available and needed only to be disinterred from his tomb in Seville’s cathedral. No doubt the Moors who had control of Seville at this time valued the princely sum of money which changed hands over the deal more than they needed Isidoro.
    I liked the vast solid structure far more from the outside than from within, but the church was also designed to contain the royal pantheon of the kings of León and without doubt it is this lovely vault that is the real joy of the place. There was nothing funereal about it at all, even the tombs were hardly noticeable. The glorious Romanesque frescoes which cover the low-groined vaulting take all one’s attention, transporting one immediately into the world of Chaucer and Piers Plowman. The central Christ in Majesty is strikingly Byzantine and arresting in its power. In contrast all around it are simple natural country scenes of shepherds and dogs, trees blowing in the wind, oxen ploughing, goats fighting. Every detail is carefully tied in to the total pattern and effect and yet there is a tremendous sense of freedom about the work too. It is skilfully painted with all the vigour of medieval humour and inventiveness. Apart from the beauty of the work, what made it seem so extraordinary was the way in which the angelic world had been worked into these scenes of everyday life — like the Annunciation to the shepherds — with no division, no different technique or colour, or the odd lily, as became the custom in later ages. The natural and the supernatural worlds existed side by side in an apparently easy unself-consciousness. Had the artist been less able, it might have been seen as naivety of execution, but with such consummate artistry this could not have been the case. It made me realise how much closer medieval man was in spirit, as well as in time, to the Gospel events. How easily he could accept it all. Looking at his world displayed in this pantheon, I envied him his innocence.
    For a city the size of León to be blessed with San Isidoro would seem to be sufficient, but in addition it boasts a cathedral which many people consider to be the finest in Spain. By great good fortune my visit to León had coincided with a performance of Mozart’s Requiem Mass in the cathedral. I miss music very much when I am travelling, and the opportunity to hear such a work on this journey, especially in such a setting, was not to be missed. One of the problems of the pilgrimage to Compostela is the sheer wealth of ecclesiastical masterpieces along the way; the eye can only take in so much, and it is all too easy to become satiated with the sheer richness of it all. By this time even a fine uncluttered Gothic cathedral needed something more than an airy lightness and a soaring harmony of line to make a real impression. León’s cathedral, consecrated in 1303 is French Gothic rather than Spanish, and is reminiscent of Chartres in that lovely as the architecture is, the true glory of the place is its vast expanses of stained glass. But where Chartres’ glass is predominately blue and red, that of León is also purple, green and yellow, and all shades in between. It is arguably the most wonderful glass anywhere, and in this respect was certainly like no other church I have ever seen. To sit there as day turned slowly into evening with these marvellous windows ablaze as though with celestial fire, and with Mozart’s Gloria ringing out from the choir gave another dimension to the idea of worship.
     
    ★ ★ ★
     
    It was raining lightly when I left León, and scores of storks were circling around the cathedral, coming down from their airy perches in a