To return to Peterborough. It is a town
of ancient aspect; and we passed, on our way towards the market-place, a
very ancient-looking church, with a very far projecting porch, opening in
front and on each side through arches of broad sweep. The street by
which we approached from our hotel led us into the market-place, which
had what looked like an old Guildhall on one side. On the opposite side,
above the houses, appeared the towers of the cathedral, and a street
leads from the market-place to its front, through an arched gateway,
which used to be the external entrance to the abbey, I suppose, of which
the cathedral was formerly the church. The front of the cathedral is
very striking, and unlike any other that I have seen; being formed by
three lofty and majestic arches in a row, with three gable peaks above
them, forming a sort of colonnade, within which is the western entrance
of the nave. The towers are massive, but low in proportion to their
bulk. There are no spires, but pinnacles and statues, and all the rich
detail of Gothic architecture, the whole of a venerable gray line. It is
in perfect repair, and has not suffered externally, except by the loss of
multitudes of statues, gargoyles, and miscellaneous eccentricities of
sculpture, which used to smile, frown, laugh, and weep over the faces of
these old fabrics.
We entered through a side portal, and sat down on a bench in the nave,
and kept ourselves quiet; for the organ was sounding, and the choristers
were chanting in the choir.
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