Speyer: Tour of the Cathedral

Since the Abbey of Cluny was sacked during the French Revolution, Dom zu Speyer has been the largest Romanesque church standing--a fact that somehow does not seem to inspire much verbal energy from Bruno and Lambert. I had been hoping that they might be lively tour guides, seeing as how they personally know many of the people involved in the construction and early history of this magnificent building. But their mood turns positively monastic once we enter the cathedral. "Now is that a groin vault or a barrel vault?" I ask, pointing to the ceiling. Lambert bows his head and closes his eyes. He looks as if he's praying--begging God to forgive his dilettantish companion--as if architectural tourism were the worst of all possible sins. I turn to Bruno and repeat my question. "How the fuck should I know," he says, shrugging. Some degree of astonishment must register on my face, because he steps closer and explains himself. "Look," he says, "this place pisses me off. Do you know much silver from Saxony was sent down here to cover the budget shortfalls? And then we're supposed to come down here on pilgrimages! Where do those emperors get off with the fucking arrogance?" "Okay," I say. "I guess... I guess I should expect there would be issues..." "And I can tell you," says Bruno, "the pope isn't too happy about the emperor having a bigger fucking cathedral than he does!" "Alright," I say. We wander through the vast nave for a while--or to be accurate, I do the wandering, while Bruno and Lambert trail behind me. It's like they're each attached to me by an invisible rope, and repelled from each other by an invisible force. I get the eerie sensation that our movements could be modeled by a simple computer program--Point A (that would be me, or your mouse pointer) leads the way, while Points B and Point C (that would be Bruno and Lampert, or two dots on your screen) maintain a fixed distance from Point A and maximal distance from each other. It would be moderately amusing, on a computer screen, especially when Point A whipsaws around a cathedral column, which is what I've just done. Bruno and Lambert bump shoulders as they pursue me around the column. "Okay," I say. "Let's go down to the crypt." Lambert and Bruno look at each other for a moment. Then Lambert takes me aside. "You're going to be meeting Henry in less than an hour, right?" he says. "Sure," I say. "That's the plan." "The thing is... I don't think Henry doesn't like that place. The crypt, you know... the tombs. He's kind of superstitious." "So?" I say. "Just don't mention it, alright? To Henry. Or his wife. Or his kid." After I promise to be discreet, Bruno and Lambert negotiate briefly among themselves. It turns out Bruno is the one who takes me down into the semi-subterranean chamber. It's surprisingly well-lit, and all in all it turns out to be just about the least spooky medieval burial vault you can imagine. Interesting? Absolutely. Solemn? Without a doubt. But scary? No way. "Here they are," says Bruno. He's standing next to one of the wrought-iron grates in the ante-crypt that prevent tourists from trodding upon the bones of kings. I join him, and look down at the row of serene sandstone blocks. "There's your man," he says, "Henry IV. The one who goes to Canossa. Next to him is father, Henry III, pious bugger that one, thought the king was kind of priest, rex sacerdota, what a line of shit. Then we've got grandpa Conrad, the one who built this cathedral, Conrad's queen Gisela, and...." Bruno seems pauses, staring down at one of the tombs. "Who's that?" I say. "Bertha," says Bruno. "Bertha of Savoy. She's way to good for him."

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Next in Main Story:
Bertha Receives Two Travelers from Rome
Next in the Blogger's Tale:
Speyer, Maximillianstraße: The Imperial Family