All language subtitles for Civilisation.02of13.The.Great.Thaw.720p.BluRay.YIFY

(Plainsong)

There have been times
in the history of mankind

when the Earth
seems suddenly to have grown warmer,

or more radioactive.

l don't put this forward as a scientific proposition

but the fact remains
that three or four times in history,

man has made a leap forward

that would have been unthinkable
under ordinary evolutionary conditions.

One such time was about the year 3000 BC,

when quite suddenly civilisation appeared.

Not only in Egypt and Mesopotamia
but in the Indus Valley.

Another was in the late 6th century BC,

when there was not only
the miracle of Ionia and Greece -

philosophy, science, art, poetry,

all reaching a point that wasn't reached again
for 2000 years,

but also in India, a spiritual enlightenment
that has perhaps never been equalled.

And another was round about the year 1 100.

It seems to have affected the whole world -
India, China, Byzantium.

But its strongest and most dramatic effect
was in Western Europe,

where it was most needed.

It was like a Russian spring.

In every branch of life - action, philosophy,
organisation, technology -

there was an extraordinary outpouring
of energy,

an intensification of existence.

Popes, emperors, kings, bishops,

saints, scholars, philosophers -
they were all larger than life.

The incidents of history
are great heroic dramas,

or symbolic acts that still stir our hearts.

The evidence of this heroic energy,

this confidence
this strength of will and intellect,

is still visible to us.

From where I'm standing,

the east end of Canterbury
still looks very large and very complex.

In spite of all our mechanical skills

and the inflated scale of modern materialism

Durham Cathedral
remains a formidable proposition.

These great orderly mountains of stone

rose out of a small cluster of wooden houses.

Everyone with the least historical imagination
has thought of that.

What people don't realise
is that this happened quite suddenly.

In a single lifetime.

Of course, these changes imply
a new social and intellectual background.

They imply wealth, stability, technical skill,

and, above all, the confidence necessary
to push through a long-term project.

How had all this suddenly appeared
in Western Europe?

There are many answers.

But one is overwhelmingly more important
than the others.

The triumph of the Church.

It could be convincingly argued

that Western civilisation was basically
the creation of the Church.

In saying that, I'm not thinking for the moment

of the Church as the repository of Christian truth
and spiritual experience.

I'm thinking of her as the 12th century
thought of her - as a power.

Ecclesia - sitting like an empress.

And she was powerful for positive reasons.

Men of intelligence naturally and normally
took holy orders.

And could rise from obscurity
to positions of immense influence.

The Church was, basicall,y,
a democratic institution

where ability - administrative, diplomatic,
sheer intellectual ability - made its way.

And then the Church was international.

The great churchmen of the 11th and 12th
centuries came from all over Europe.

Anselm came here from Aosta via Normandy
to be Archbishop of Canterbury.

Lanfranc had made the same journey,
starting from Pavia.

It couldn't happen in the Church
or in politics today.

One can't imagine two consecutive
Archbishops of Canterbury being Italian.

But it could happen and it does happen
in the field of science.

Which shows that where some way of thought
or human activity is really vital to us

then internationalism is accepted unhesitatingly.

This internationalism of the 12th century
extended to architecture and sculpture.

The master masons
who were both sculptors and architects,

travelled all over Europe.

Canterbury was built by a Frenchman,
William of Sens.

The extraordinary thing is
that wherever they went

these masters seemed able to recruit
a force of skilled workmen

who carried out technical feats
which seem infinitely beyond all that we know,

or think we know
of the mechanical skill of the time.

(MUSIC) Carmina Burana

They were inspired by the feeling that
beyond all their hoisting and hammering

there was some great controlling intelligence
based on mathematical laws.

A human reflection of God, the great architect.

This expansion of the human spirit

was first made visible in the abbey of Cluny,

about 250 miles to the southeast of Paris.

It was founded in the 10th century,

but under Hugh of Semur,
who was abbot from 1049 to 1109,

it became the greatest church in Europe.

A huge complex of buildings,
with a famous library

in which was made the first translation
of the Koran.

The first attempt to understand the infidel,

instead of merely fighting him.

Well, the buildings were destroyed
in the early 19th century,

used as a quarry, like Roman buildings.

Only a part of the south transept remains,
where I'm standing now.

But we've many descriptions
of its original splendour,

the abbey church alone
was the size of a large cathedral.

On feast days the whole of the walls
were covered with hangings,

the floors were a mosaic with figures,
like a Roman pavement.

And of all its treasures the most astonishing was
a seven-branched candlestick of gilt bronze,

of which the shaft alone was 18 feet high.

A formidable piece of casting, even today.

Of all this, nothing remains.

Only a few candlesticks,
later and much smaller.

This is one of them.

It's only about 18 inches high,

but it's so full of detail
that one can imagine it 18 feet.

Although made for the Cathedral of Gloucester,

it's a perfect example of Cluniac elaboration.

This first great eruption
of ecclesiastical splendour

was unashamedly extravagant.

Apologists for the Cluniac style

tell us that all the decoration
was subordinated to philosophic ideas.

My general impression is

that the invention which boiled over into
sculpture and painting in the early 12th century

was self-delighting.

As with the similar outbursts of the baroque,

one can think up ingenious interpretations
of the subjects,

but the motive force behind them

was simply irrepressible, irresponsible energy.

The Romanesque carvers
were like a school of dolphins.

All this we know
not from the mother house of Cluny itself

but from the dependencies
that spread all over Europe.

There were over 1200 of them in France alone.

I'm sitting in the cloisters of a fairly remote one,

the Abbey of Moissac in southern France,

which was important because it was on
the pilgrimage route to Compostella.

The carvings have much
that is typical of the Cluny style.

The sharp cutting,

the swirling drapery,

the twisting line, as if the restless impulses
of the wandering craftsmen,

the goldsmiths of the Viking conquerors,
still had to be expressed in stone.

You can see this on the mullion of the door

with its fabulous beasts.

When one considers that they were
once brightly coloured,

because Cluniac ornament
seems all to have been painted,

and the manuscripts show,
what kind of colour it was

they must have looked even more
fiercely Tibetan than they do today.

l can't imagine that even the Medieval mind,

which was adept at interpreting everything
symbolically

could have found much in them
of religious meaning.

But what has this column
to do with Christian values?

With compassion, charity or even hope?

It's not at all surprising that the most influential
churchman of his day,

St Bernard of Claireveaux

should have become the bitter
and relentless critic of the Cluniac style.

Some of his attacks
are the usual puritan objections,

as when he speaks of "the lies of poetry".

Words that were to echo through the centuries

and become particular favourites
in the new religion of science.

But St Bernard had an eye
as well as an eloquent tongue.

And in the cloisters, he says, "Under the eyes
of the brethren engaged in reading,

what business have
those ridiculous monstrosities?

That misshapen shapeliness
and shapely misshapenness.

Those unclean monkeys, those fierce lions,

those monstrous centaurs
those semi-human beings'.

Here you see a quadruped
with the tail of a serpent,

there a fish with the head of a bird.

In short, there appears on all sides,
so rich and amazing a variety of forms

that it is more delightful to read the marbles
than the manuscripts,

and to spend the whole day
in admiring these things piece by piece,

rather than in meditating on the divine law.

That last sentence shows, doesn't it
that Bernard felt the power of art.

In fact, the buildings done under his influence,
in the Cistercian style,

are closer to our ideals of architecture
than anything else of the period.

Alas, most of them were abandoned
and half-ruined

simply because
it was part of St Bernard's ideal

that they should be built
far from the worldly distractions oftowns.

And so, when after the French Revolution

town monasteries were turned into
local churches

the Cistercian monasteries fell into ruins.

And yet it's there
that the spirit of monasticism has survived.

(Bells ring)

..quem ponebant quotidie ad portam templi,

quae dicitur Speciosa,

ut peteret elemosynam
ab introeuntibus in templum.

Is cum vidisset Petrum et lohannem
incipientes introire in templum

rogabat ut elemosynam acciperet.

Intuens autem in eum Petrus cum Iohanne
dixit respice in nos.

At ille intendebat in eos sperans
se aliquid accepturum ab eis.

Petrus autem dixit argentum et aurum
non est mihi

quod autem habeo hoc tibi do...

(Plainsong)

(Silence)

These white monks, in their unchanging habit,

this round of work and prayer, which has
continued unbroken since the 12th century,

bring the old building back to life.

It's a way of life
that is concerned with an ideal of eternity.

And that is an important part of civilisation.

But the great thaw of the 12th century
was not achieved by contemplation alone -

that can exist at all times -

but by action.

A vigorous, violent sense of movement,

both physical and intellectual.

On the physical side
this took the form of pilgrimages and crusades.

l think they're one of the features of the Middle
Ages which is hardest for us to understand.

It's no good pretending that pilgrimages
were like cruises or holidays abroad.

For one thing, they took far longer.
Sometimes two or three years.

For another, they involved real hardship
and danger.

In spite of efforts to organise pilgrimages,

and Cluny ran a series of hostels
along the chief routes,

elderly abbots and middle-aged widows
often died on the way to Jerusalem.

Pilgrimages were undertaken
in hope of heavenly rewards.

They were often used by the Church
as a form of penitence,

a spiritualised form of extradition.

The point of a pilgrimage was to look at relics.

The Medieval pilgrim really believed
that by contemplating a reliquary

containing the head
or even the finger of a saint,

he could persuade that saint
to intercede on his behalf with God.

How can one hope to share this belief,

which played so great a part
in Medieval civilisation?

I'm on my way to the town of Conques.

A famous place of pilgrimage
dedicated to the cult of Sainte Foy.

She was a little girl, who in late Roman times
refused to worship idols.

She was obstinate
in the face of reasonable persuasion.

A Christian Antigone.

And so she was martyred.

Her relics began to work miracles,
and in the 10th century

one of them was so famous that
Bernard of Angers was sent to investigate it

and report to the Bishop of Chartres.

It seemed that a man had had his eyes
gouged out by a jealous priest.

After a year or so, the blind man
went to the shrine of Sainte Foy

and his eyes were restored.

The man was still alive. He said that a, t first
he had had terrible headaches

but now they had passed
and he could see perfectly.

There was a difficulty.

After his eyes had been put out, witnesses said
that they had been taken up to heaven.

Some said by a dove, others by a magpie.

That was the only point of doubt.

The report was favourable.

A fine Romanesque church
was built at Conques

and in it was placed this strange
Eastern-looking figure

to contain the relics of Sainte Foy.

A golden idol studded with gems.

How ironical that this little girl who was
put to death for refusing to worship idols

should have been turned into one herself.

That the very head should be a gold mask
of a late Roman emperor.

Well, that's the Medieval mind.

They cared passionately about the truth,

but their sense of evidence
was different from ours.

From our point of view,
nearly all the relics in the world

depend on
some completely unhistorical assertion.

And yet, they, as much as any factor,
led to that movement and a diffusion of ideas

from which Western civilisation
derives part of its momentum.

Of course, the most important place
of pilgrimage was Jerusalem.

After the 10th century,

when a strong Byzantine Empire
made the journey practicable,

pilgrims used to go in parties of 5000 at a time.

And this is the background
of that extraordinary episode in history -

the first Crusade.

Because, although other factors
may have determined its course,

Norman restlessness
the ambitions of younger sons,

economic depression,

all the factors that make for a gold rush;,

there can be no doubt

that the majority of people joined the Crusade
in a spirit of pilgrimage.

Among many things they brought back
from the East were Persian decorative motives

which were combined with
the rhythms of Northern ornament

to make the Romanesque style.

l see these as two fierce beasts
tugging at the carcass of Graeco-Roman art.

Very often one can trace a figure back
to a classical original,

but it has been entirely tugged out of shape.

Or, perhaps one should say, into shape
by these two new forces.

This feeling of tugging,
of pulling everything to bits and reshaping it,

was characteristic of 12th-century art.

And was somehow complementary to
the massive stability of its architecture.

l see rather the same situation
in the realm of ideas.

The main structure of the Christian faith
was unshakable

but round it was a play of minds,
a tugging and a tension,

that has hardly been seen since.

And was, l think, one of the things that
prevented Western Europe from growing rigid,

as so many other civilisations have done.

It was an age of intense intellectual activity.

To read what was going on in Paris
about the year 1 130 makes one's head spin.

And at the centre of it all was the brilliant
enigmatic figure of Peter Abelard.

The invincible arguer.

The magnetic teacher.

Abelard was a star.

Like a great prizefighter,

he expressed contempt for anyone
who met him in the ring of open discussion.

The older Medieval philosophers,
like Anselm, had said

"l must believe
in order that l may understand."

Abelard took the opposite course;.

"l must understand
in order that l may believe."

He said, "By doubting we come to questioning,

and by questioning we perceive the truth."

Strange words to have been written
in the year 1 122.

Of course they got him into trouble.

Only the strength and wisdom of Cluny
saved him from excommunication.

He ended his days calmly in a Cluniac house

and after his death
the abbot of Cluny wrote to H�loise

saying that she and Abelard
would be reunited where

"beyond these voices there is peace."

I'm standing in a Cluniac house -
the Abbey of V�zelay.

I'm in the covered portico
where the pilgrims gathered.

Above my head is the relief on the main door,
showing Christ in glory.

He's no longer the judge, as at Moissac,
but the Redeemer.

V�zelay's full of sculpture - on the doors,
on the capitals, everywhere.

But fascinating as this is,

one forgets about it when one looks through
the door at the architecture of the interior.

(Gregorian chant)

It's so harmonious that, surely, St Bernard,
who preached the second Crusade here,

must have felt that this was
an expression of the divine law

and an aid to worship and contemplation.

It certainly has that effect on me.

Indeed, l can think of no other
Romanesque interior

that has this quality of lightness,
this feeling of divine reason.

It seems inevitable

that the Romanesque should here merge into
a beautiful early Gothic.

(Plainsong continues)

We don't know the name
of the architect of V�zelay,

nor of the highly individual sculptors
of Moissac or Toulouse

and this used to be taken as a proof
of Christian humility in the artist,

or, alternatively, a sign of their low status.

l think it was just an accident.

Because, in fact, we do know the names
of a good many Medieval builders,

including the architects of Cluny.

And the form of their inscriptions
doesn't at all suggest excessive modesty.

One of the most famous

is bang in the middle of the main portal
of the Cathedral of Autun.

You can see it under the feet of Christ.

"Gislebertus hoc fecit."

"Gislebertus made this."

One of the blessed looks up
at the name Gislebertus with admiration.

He must have been considered
a very important man

for his name to have been permitted
in such a prominent place.

At a later date, it would not have been
the artist's name, but the patron's.

And, in fact, Gislebertus was important to Autun

because he did something unique
in the Middle Ages, and very rare at any time.

He carried out the whole decoration
of the cathedral himself.

This extraordinary feat was in keeping
with his character as an artist.

He wasn't an inward-looking visionary,
like the Moissac master.

He was an extrovert.

He loves to tell a story
and his strength lies in his dramatic force.

Look at the row of the damned
under the feet of their judge.

They form a crescendo of despair.

They're reduced to essentials in a way that
brings them very close to the art of our own time.

A likeness terrifyingly confirmed
by these gigantic hands

that carry up the head of a sinner
as if it were a piece of rubble on a building site.

The capitals also have
this vivid narrative quality.

They contain rich pieces of ornament.

But, in the end, it's the story that counts.

Look at this charming donkey.

And at the protective way in which the Virgin
holds the Christ child on their journey to Egypt.

(Plainsong)

Even in this abstract-looking design

of the three kings asleep
under their magnificent counterpane,

what matters is the angel's gesture

and the delicate way he places one finger
on the hand of a sleeping king.

Like all storytellers,

he had a taste for horrors
and he went out of his way to depict them.

This really horrifying work
is the suicide of Judas.

However, l must, in fairness
admit that he also did a figure of Eve,

which is the first female nude since antiquity
to give a sense of the pleasures of the body.

(MUSIC) Carmina Burana

The work of Gislebertus w, as finished
in about 1 135

and by that time a new force had appeared
in European art...

the Abbey of St Denis.

(Gregorian chant)

The royal abbey of St Denis
had been famous enough in earlier times.

But the part it played in Western civilisation

was due to the abilities of one
extraordinary individual, the Abbot Suger.

He was one of the first men of the Middle Ages
whom one can think of in modern -

l might almost say transatlantic terms.

His origins were completely obscure
and he was extremely small,

but his vitality was overwhelming.

It extended to everything he undertook -
organisation, building, statesmanship.

He was Regent of France for seven years,
and a great patriot.

Indeed, he seems to have been the first to
pronounce those now familiar words;.

"The English are destined
by moral and natural law

to be subjected to the French
and not contrariwise."

He loved to talk about himself
without any false modesty.

And he tells the story
of how his builders assured him

that beams of the length he needed
for a certain roof

could never be found
because trees just weren't as tall as that.

Whereupon he took his carpenters
into the forests.

"They smiled," he says,
"and would have laughed, if they had dared."

And in the course of the day,

he discovered 12 trees of the necessary size
and he had them felled and brought back.

You see why l used the word "transatlantic".

And, like several of the pioneers
of the New World

he had a passionate love of art.

One of the most fascinating documents
of the Middle Ages

is the account he wrote of the works carried out
at St Denis under his administration.

The gold altar, the crosses,
the precious crystals.

There they are, seen through the eyes
of a 15th-century painter,

who has, no doubt
made his figures much too large in proportion.

Actually, Suger's great gold cross
was 24 feet high

and it was studded with jewels

and inlaid with enamels made by one of the
finest craftsmen of the age, Godefroy de Claire.

All destroyed in the Revolution.

All that is left of Suger's treasures
is a few of the sacred vessels.

Like this Egyptian porphyry jar,

which he tells us he found
forgotten, in a cupboard.

Suger's feeling for all these objects
was partly that of a great collector -

love of brightness and splendour and antiquity -

and a love of acquisition.

But he was not merely a collector.
He was a creator.

His work had a philosophic basis
that is very important to Western civilisation.

Suger accepted the belief that we could only
come to understand the absolute beauty,

which is God

through the effect of precious and beautiful
things on our senses.

He said, "The dull mind rises to truth
through that which is material."

Well, this was really a revolutionary concept
in the Middle Ages.

It was the intellectual background of
all the sublime works of art of the next century,

and in fact has remained the basis of our belief
in the value of art until today.

In addition to this revolution in theory,

Suger's St Denis was also the beginning
of many new developments in practice -

in architecture, in sculpture, in painted glass.

But one can still see that Suger introduced -
perhaps really invented -

the Gothic style of architecture.

Not only the pointed arch,
but the lightness of high windows -

what we call the clerestory.

"Bright," he says, "is the noble edifice

that is pervaded by new light."

And in these words he anticipates

all the architectural aspirations
of the next 200 years.

Alas, the exterior of St Denis
doesn't look too bright today.

It's been knocked about and restored

and is now engulfed
in a squalid industrial suburb.

To form any notion of its first effect on the mind,

one must go to Chartres.

In some miraculous way,
Chartres has survived.

Fire and war, revolution and restoration

have attacked it in vain.

One can still climb the hill to the cathedral
in the spirit of a pilgrim.

Even the tourists have not destroyed
its atmosphere,

as they have in so many temples
of the human spirit

from the Sistine Chapel to the Todaiji in Japan.

(Plainsong)

The south tower is still more or less as it was
when it was completed in the year 1 164.

It's a masterpiece of harmonious proportion.

Was this harmony calculated mathematically?

Well, ingenious scholars have produced a
system of proportions based on measurements,

but it's so complex
that l find it very hard to credit.

However, Chartres was the centre
of a school of philosophy, devoted to Plato,

and in particular to his mysterious book
called the Timaeus, from which it was thought

that the whole universe could be interpreted
as a form of measurable harmony.

So, perhaps, the proportions of Chartres
reflect a more complex mathematics

than one is inclined to believe.

Chartres contained the most famous
of all relics of the Virgin,

the actual tunic she had worn
at the time of the Annunciation.

From the first, this relic had worked miracles

but it was only in the 12th century

that the cult of the Virgin
began to appeal to the popular imagination.

l suppose that in the earlier centuries
life was simply too rough.

At any rate, if art is any guide -
and in this series l am taking it as my guide -

the Virgin played a very small part
in the minds of men

during the 9th and 10th,
and even the 11th, centuries.

The Romanesque churches
we've been looking at

were dedicated to saints
whose relics they contained -

St Etienne, St Lazarus
St Denis, St Mary Magdalene -

none of them to the Virgin.

Then, after Chartres, almost every great church
in France was dedicated to her -

Paris, Amiens, Rheims, Rouen, Beauvais.

What was the reason for this sudden change?

Well, l think the cult of the Virgin
must have come from the East.

Because all the early representations
of the Virgin as an object of devotion

are in a markedly Byzantine style.

This is a page from a manuscript from Citeaux,
the community of St Bernard.

And St Bernard was one of the first men
to speak of the Virgin as an ideal of beauty

and a mediator between man and God.

But certainly a strong influence
in spreading the cult of the Virgin

was the beauty and splendour of Chartres.

The main portal of Chartres

is one of the most beautiful congregations
of carved figures in the world.

The longer you look at it,

the more moving incidents,
the more vivid details, you discover.

l suppose the first thing that strikes anyone
is this row of pillar people.

In naturalistic terms, as bodies
they're impossible,

and the fact that one believes in them
is a triumph of art.

The sculptor was not only a man of genius
but one of great originality.

He must have begun carving

when style was dominated by the violent,
twisting rhythms of Cluny.

And he's created a style
as still and restrained and classical

as the Greek sculptors of the 6th century BC.

But was it really Greek?

l mean Greek in derivation.

Were these reed-like draperies, the thin,
straight lines, the fluted folds, the zigzag hems,

and the whole play of texture which so obviously
recalls the Greek archaic figure,

arrived at independently

or had the Chartres master
seen some fragments of early Greek sculpture

in the South of France?

Well, for various reasons
I'm quite certain that he had.

But the most important thing
about the central doorway,

more important even than its Greek derivation,

is the character of the heads
of the so-called kings and queens -

no-one knows exactly who they are.

These heads seem to me to show a new stage
in the ascent of Western man.

Indeed, l believe that this refinement
this look of selfless detachment and spirituality,

is something entirely new in art.

Beside them, the gods and heroes
of ancient Greece look arrogant, soulless -

even slightly brutal.

l fancy that the faces
which look out at us from the past

are perhaps the surest indication we have
of the meaning of an epoch.

And the faces on the west portal of Chartres

are amongst the most sincere
and the most aristocratic

that Western Europe has ever produced.

From the old chronicles

we know something about the men
whose states of mind these faces reveal.

In the year 1 144, we are told,

when the towers seem to be rising
as if by magic,

the faithful harnessed themselves to carts
which were bringing stone

and dragged them from the quarry
to the cathedral.

The enthusiasm spread throughout France.

Men and women came from far away,

carrying heavy burdens of provisions
for the workmen - wine, oil, corn.

Amongst them were lords and ladies,

pulling carts with the rest.

There was perfect discipline
and a most profound silence.

All hearts were united
and each man forgave his enemies.

(Plainsong)

Its very construction was a kind of miracle.

The old Romanesque church had been
destroyed by a terrible fire in 1194.

Only the towers and the west front remained.

And the people of Chartres feared
that they had lost their precious relic.

Then, when the debris was cleared away,

it was found intact in the crypt.

And the Virgin's intention became clear -

that a new church should be built
even more splendid than the last.

The building is in the new architectural style

to which Suger had given the impress of his
authority at St Denis - what we call Gothic.

Only at Chartres,

the architect was told to follow the foundations
of the old Romanesque cathedral,

and this has meant that the Gothic vaulting
had to cover a space far wider than ever before.

It was a formidable problem of construction,

and in order to solve it, the architect has used
the device known as flying buttresses -

one of those happy strokes where necessity
has lead to an architectural invention

of marvellous and fantastic beauty.

Since the beginning of settled life,
say, the Pyramid of Sakara,

man had thought of buildings
as a weight on the ground.

He'd always found himself limited
by problems of stability and weight.

In the end, it kept him down to the earth.

Now, by the devices of the Gothic style -

the shaft with its cluster of columns
passing without interruption into the vault

and the pointed arch -
he could make stone seem weightless.

The weightless expression of the spirit.

By the same means,
he could surround his space with glass.

Suger said that he did this
in order to get more light,

but he found that these areas of glass

could be made into an ideal means
of impressing and instructing the faithful.

"Man may rise to the contemplation of the divine
through the senses."

Well, nowhere else, l think, is Suger's
favourite saying so convincingly illustrated

as it is in Chartres Cathedral.

As one looks at the painted windows
which completely surround one,

they seem almost to set up a vibration in the air.

Chartres is the epitome of the first great
awakening in European civilisation.

It's also the bridge
between Romanesque and Gothic,

between the world of Abelard
and the world of St Thomas Aquinas,

the world of restless curiosity
and the world of system and order.

Great things were to be done
in the next centuries of high Gothic -

great feats of construction,
both in architecture and in thought -

but they all rested on the foundations
of the 12th century.

That was the age which gave European
civilisation its impetus...

..our intellectual energy,
our contact with the great minds of Greece,

our ability to move and change,

our belief that God may be approached
through beauty,

our feeling of compassion,

our sense of the unity of Christendom -

all this and much more appeared
in those hundred marvellous years

between the consecration of Cluny
and the rebuilding of Chartres.