Ten countries I have visited in 2018

Gondolas tied up and waiting for the tides to fall at Rialto Bridge, just a five minute walk from the Palazzetto San Lio in Venice (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018; click on image for full-screen view)

Patrick Comerford

In previous years, in my end-of-year reviews at the end of December, I have often summarised the year’s events in my life, as well providing my own commentary on the year in news, sport, and church life.

However, newspapers and television stations provide substantial summaries of the past year at this time of the year, and the consequences of ‘Brexit’ and the Trump presidency have been devastating and depressing at one and the same time throughout 2018.

Instead, I have decided to end the year on note of celebration over the next few days, looking back at ten countries I have visited this year, ten cathedrals I have visited in Ireland, ten synagogues I have visited across Europe, and ten places I have visited in Ireland this year.

The wisteria was already fading in Hall Court in Sidney Sussex College when I visited Cambridge this summer (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

1, England:

As with every year, I have visited England throughout the year. I have stayed twice in London during two-day residential meetings of the trustees of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel): at the Royal Foundation of Saint Katharine in Limehouse in the East End in January, and in November in the Kairos Centre in south-west London, close to the campuses of Roehampton University and overlooking Richmond Park.

I was also in London for meetings of USPG’s trustees in May and September, and at the meetings of USPG trustees and council and the annual USPG conference at the High Leigh Conference Centre near Hoddesdon in July, and a regional meeting of USPG volunteers and supporters in Birmingham at the end of November.

I also visited Lichfield three times this year: for two days of retreat and reflection and to celebrate my birthday in January, to lecture on the Wyatt architectural dynasty in April at the invitation of Lichfield Civic Society, and again in November, for a short visit to Lichfield Cathedral and the Chapel of Saint John’s Hospital.

I missed the annual summer school organised in Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, organised by the Institute for Orthodox Christian Studies, but I had a short visit to Cambridge in early July, while some of the fading wisteria could still be seen in the courts of Sidney Sussex College.

The arcades around the bailey seen from the Chapel of Saint Sebastian in the Fort de Salses, near Perpignan (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

2, France:

In May, I spent a few days in the south of France, staying in Sainte-Marie-la-Mer, a coastal town near Perpignan. Although I had been to Paris half-a-dozen times or more in the past, this was my first time back in France since 2006, and my first time to visit the South of France.

In Perpignan, I visited the Palace of the Kings of Majorca (Palais des Rois de Majorque), the Cathédrale St-Jean, with its Gothic architecture, its wrought-iron bell tower and its cloistered cemetery, and the statue of the Spanish surrealist artist Salvador Dalí facing la Gare de Perpignan, which Dalí proclaimed it to be the ‘Centre of the Universe’ after he experienced a vision of cosmogonic ecstasy there in 1963.

Beyond Perpignan, I visited Collioure on the Côte Vermeille, close to the French border with Spain at the Pyrénées. Collioure, with its typical Mediterranean bay, attracted several Fauvist artists who made it their centre in the early 20th century. They were inspired by the colours of Collioure, its castle, mediaeval streets, and the lighthouse converted into the church of Notre-Dame-des-Anges. Almost 100 reproductions of works by Matisse and Derain are exhibited around the port and harbour in the very same place where they painted the originals in the early 20th century.

I also visited the hills and narrow streets of Elne, including the Cathedral of Sainte-Eulalie-et-Sainte-Julie, and the Fort de Salses, also known as the Forteresse de Salses, an impressive and massive Catalan fortress 20 minutes from Perpignan, off the road to Narbonne.

Tucholskystraße is close to the New Synagogue in Berlin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

3, Germany:

I passed through Frankfurt Airport twice (4 and 9 April), on my way to and from Thessaloniki to experience the celebrations of Orthodox Easter in the northern Greek city.

Both stopovers allowed time to eat, but I was back in Germany later in the year (11 to 14 September), when I spent three or four days in Berlin. I stayed on a corner of Tucholskystraße, around the corner from Oranienburger Straße and the Neue Synagoge or New Synagogue, built in 1859-1866 as the main synagogue of Berlin’s Jewish community.

The visit included a day at the former concentration camp in Sachsenhausen and a four-hour walking tour of Jewish Berlin’s destruction and rebirth.

I also visited the Pergamon Museum, the Brandenburg Gate, Checkpoint Charlie and the site of the Berlin Wall, Berlin Cathedral (Berliner Dom) and a number of historic churches, including the Marienkirche and Sophienkirche, and strolled along Unter den Linden.

Travelling over the Alps, somewhere above Austria, on my way between Dublin and Thessaloniki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

4, Austria:

After experiencing Easter in Thessaloniki, it took three flights to get back to Dublin in April: a flight to Vienna, a flight to Frankfurt, and from there to Dublin. For the travel weary, some say you cannot count being in a country if you have not stayed overnight. Most agree that it does not count if you only touch down for a refuelling or to change flights. But for me, the safe definition is if you have to pass through passport control and have at least a cup of coffee.

In the past, I have stayed in Vienna in 2002, when I was on a panel at a seminar organised by the Diplomatic Academy of Vienna, and stayed over twice in 2005 on way to and from China for Church visits.

This time there was time for no more than a cup of coffee in the airport … but I suppose that still counts.

On one of the many daily walks on the beaches of Georgioupoli in Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

5, Greece:

I was in Greece twice this year, and stayed in three places. I stayed in Thessaloniki from 4 to 9 April, experiencing Orthodox Easter, but also visiting the city’s only surviving synagogues, the old Jewish quarter, the Jewish Museum, some surviving Jewish mansions on Vassilisis Olgas Avenue, and the Jewish Holocaust Memorial at Liberty Square, a bronze sculpture by Nandor Glid that has been desecrated a few times this year.

In Thessaloniki, there was time for meals with friends, walks along the seafront, visits to churches, cathedrals and a few quiet hours in the Monastery of Vlatadon which is perched like a balcony above the city and the harbour, as well as a full-day visiting Mount Athos.

Later, I spent two summer weeks (6 to 20 June) back in Crete, with one week in Rethymnon, staying at Varvaras Diamond Hotel near the beach in Platanes, and a week at the Corissia Princess Hotel in Georgioupoli.

There were days strolling through the labyrinthine back streets of Rethymnon, long lingering dinners with friends, and days on the beaches in Platanes and Georgioupoli, visits to cathedrals, churches and icon workshops, visits to Chania in the west of Crete, to mountain villages, through gorges and across the White Mountains, to Hora Sfakíon and Frangokastello on the south coast, to the Monastery of Saint George in Karydi, and to villages and olive groves in the mountains.

Las Casas de la Judería, a Seville hotel that is worth visiting … just for itself (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

6, Spain:

With a new passport in my hands from August, I visited Spain at the end of October, and spent four nights in Seville (23 to 27 October. I stayed in the Hotel Las Casas de la Judería de Sevilla, an unusual hotel complex made up of 27 traditional houses, where the 134 different rooms are linked through 40 patios, courtyards, gardens and a labyrinth of small passageways, balconies and Roman-style tunnels.

The hotel takes its name from its location in the heart of the old Jewish quarter of Seville, just minutes away from the main landmarks in the city.

As well as visiting the Cathedral, the Real Alcazar and the other sites every tourist tries to visit in Seville, I also visited places in Seville and Tarifa associated with the extraordinary life of Josefina de Comerford, Doña Josefa Eugenia Maria Francisca Comerford MacCrohon de Sales (1794-1865), who was involved in Spanish political intrigues in the early 19th century.

These include the Convento de la Encarnación, where she was confined after her death sentence was commuted to life in a convent, and the Corral del Conde (the Count’s Yard), where she lived out most of her later years.

In a side street in Tangier, once known as a city of spies and smugglers (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

7, Morocco:

My visit to Seville also offered the opportunity to visit Tangier in Northern Morocco (25 October). Tangier once had a reputation as a safe haven for spies and their spying activities. It played host nests of spies throughout the Cold War and before that during World War II, and the association of Tangier with spies and their secretive lifestyles has made the city a location for many books and films.

Gondolas at the Palazzo Ducale, with San Giorgio Maggiore on the other side of the canal (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

8, Italy:

Some important dates in the family calendar were marked with a few days in Venice near the end of the year (5 to 9 November 2018). I stayed at the Palazzetto San Lio in the heart of Venice, between the Rialto Bridge and Saint Mark’s Square. It is at the end Calle del Frutariol in the sestiere or district of Castello, and just a stone’s throw from Rialto and the Grand Canal.

I had visited Venice in the past while staying in other p;aces in northern Italy. But this was my first time to stay in Venice itself. Palazzetto San Lio is a Venetian palace built in the 17th and 18th centuries, and has been owned by an old Venetian family for generations.

During those few days, there were visits to Saint Mark’s Basilica and Saint Mark’s Square, many of the great churches of Venice, the Ghetto and its memorials and synagogues, boat trips along the Grand Canal, and visits to islands in the lagoon, including Murano, Burano and Torcello.

The railway station at the Slovenian side of Europa Square, the crossing point between Italy and Slovenia (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

9, Slovenia:

While I was staying in Venice, I visited the divided town of Gorizia, both Gorizia and Nova Gorica, crossing the border between Italy and Slovenia a number of times, arriving and leaving from one railway station in Italy, and having lunch in another railway station in Slovenia.

The frontier dividing Gorizia remained in place until Slovenia became part of the Schengen Agreement on 21 December 2007.

Today, the border between Italy and Slovenia is almost invisible, an artificial line that runs between Gorizia in Italy and Nova Gorica in Slovenia. The most celebrated border crossing is at Europa Square, an open pedestrian square in front of the Transalpina railway station. But there are other border crossings between Gorizia and Nova Gorica, for the border is a straight line that ignores the natural contours and bends in the streets and buildings, still seen in the remains of a fence that once ran across streets and even divided gardens.

Today, the two towns form one conurbation that also includes the Slovenian municipality of Šempeter-Vrtojba. Since May 2011, these three towns are joined in a common trans-border metropolitan zone, administered by a joint administration board. As I stepped between three towns and two countries, no-one asked me for a passport, no one asked me to take my place in a queue, asking for identity, or my opinion on who should be in the European Union and who should be out.

Cherry blossoms at the City of Armagh Hotel during a break at the General Synod this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

10, Ireland:

Of course, most of the year was spent in Ireland, but I visited all four provinces, stayed in places in both the Republic of Ireland and in Northern Ireland – in Armagh during the General Synod – and visited each of the cathedrals in the Diocese of Limerick and Killaloe.

This year, 2018, was a year that I was blessed with opportunities to take part in baptisms, weddings and funerals, ecumenical services, and the ordinary, every-day life of a parish that brings me many blessings. There was community engagement too, and I was invited to lift two All-Ireland cups this year: the Sam Maguire Football Cup when it visited Ardagh, Co Limerick, as part of the celebrations of the 150th anniversary of the discovery of the Ardagh Chalice; and the Liam McCarthy Hurling Cup, when the Limerick Hurling Champions visited Askeaton.

But, most of all, I was blessed this year by the people I love and the people who love me.

Hands across the border at Europa Square, at the border between Slovenia and Italy (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

This Evening: Ten places I have visited in Ireland in 2018.

A French museum for people who know nothing about art but know what they like

‘Le Port de Collioure’ (ca 1890-1900), attributed to Étienne Terrus

Patrick Comerford

The French painter Étienne Terrus (1857-1922), who lived most of his life in Roussillon, is seen as one of the precursors of Fauvism. During his life, he worked closely with many of the artists who worked in Collioure in the south of France at the beginning of the last century, including George-Daniel de Monfreid, André Derain, and Henri Matisse.

Although Terrus lapsed into obscurity for a time, he was rediscovered in the late 20th century.

So, after a visit the week before last [17 May 2018] to Collioure, the coastal resort where Terrus and Matisse had worked, it seemed appropriate to our friend that on our way back to Ste-Marie-Le-Pen we should visit Elne, the town where Terrus was born, did much of his work, and died.

The Musée Terrus in Elne opened in 1994 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

The Musée Terrus, a museum dedicated to his work, opened in his home town of Elne, near the French border with Spain, in 1994. Then 20 years ago, a major exhibition of what were believed to be his major works, Le Roussillon à l’origine de l’Art Moderne, was held in Perpignan in 1998.

However, when we arrived in Elne that Thursday evening, the Terrus Museum was closed. Initially we thought this was because we had arrived too late in the day. But soon we were told how in recent weeks it was discovered that more than half the collection in the museum, 82 paintings, have been identified as counterfeit works.

The council in Elne bought the paintings, drawings and watercolours for about €160,000 for the museum over a 20-year period. Some paintings were bequeathed by collectors, others were bought through fundraising efforts. But staff at the museum were not aware of the forgeries until a visiting art historian alerted them earlier this year.

The Étienne Terrus Museum commissioned the art historian Eric Forcada to rehang its collection following the recent restoration of the building. During his assignment, Forcada discovered that 82 paintings – or about 60 percent of the museum’s holdings – were not painted by Terrus.

Forcada said he noticed the works were fake almost immediately. ‘On one painting, the signature was wiped away when I passed my white glove over it,’ he told the Guardian.

‘At a stylistic level, it’s crude,’ Forcada said, referring to the fakes. ‘The cotton supports do not match the canvas used by Terrus. And there are some anachronisms.’ For example, some of the paintings show buildings built after Terrus had died, France 3 said.

The art historian informed the region’s cultural minister and convened a panel of experts, who confirmed his suspicions and agreed that 82 of the 140 paintings and watercolours that have been on display in the museum for more than two decades were not painted by Terrus.

The news was announced a few weeks ago as the museum was opening following a renovation. Local people are shocked, including the Mayor of Elne, Yves Barniol, who has apologised to people who have visited the museum in good faith.

‘Étienne Terrus was Elne’s great painter. He was part of the community, he was our painter,’ the mayor told the Guardian. ‘Knowing that people have visited the museum and seen a collection, most of which is fake, that’s bad. It’s a catastrophe for the municipality.’

‘I put myself in the place of all the people who came to visit the museum, who saw fake works, who took a ticket of entry, whatever the price,’ he said.

The mayor has now opened an investigation into the forgeries and he insists those responsible will be caught. ‘We’re not giving up,’ he has told journalists.

The town hall has filed a complaint against those who ordered, painted, or sold the fake paintings. A legal complaint has been filed, the fakes have been seized by police and French police have launched an investigation into the alleged forgery and fraud.

Police also believe other museums may have been similarly duped; they suspect an organised ring. It is now thought that works by other regional artists in other locations near Perpignan and Collioure may also be fakes.

Étienne Terrus (1857-1922) … a sculpture on a terrace near the cathedral and the museum in Elne (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

A ‘snatch of heaven’ and a taste of summer among peacocks in the vineyard

A peacock shows his pride in the Domaine de Rombeau, near Rivesaltes (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Patrick Comerford

My visit to the Perpignan area in the south of France last week seemed to begin and end in vineyards in Roussillon.

After arriving at Perpignan on Tuesday afternoon, three of us stopped on our way to the coast at Domaine Lafage, where Jean-Marc and Eliane Lafage farm 160 hectares of vines on their estate between Perpignan and the Mediterranean, where a significant proportion of their vines are well over 50 years old.

Their estate is farmed organically, and their wines range from refreshing whites to concentrated reds.

On Friday afternoon, after visiting the Forteresse de Salses, which once guarded the border between Spain and France, we stopped off at the Domaine de Rombeau, near Rivesaltes, where the estate has been in the hands of the de La Fabrègue family for centuries.

From their 120 hectares of vines and 23 grape varieties, Pierre-Henri de La Fabrègue and Philippe Raspaud de La Fabrègue produce different types of wine, including Muscats de Rivesaltes, Rivesaltes, Côtes du Roussillon, Côtes du Roussillon Villages and Côtes Catalanes, wines that combine elegance and intensity.

These wines are acclaimed by the French and international media, are mentioned by the main guides, and have regularly received numerous regional and national awards over the decades. Much of the wine produced here is sold directly at the wine cellar, and in the restaurant there attracts more than 10,000 customers a month.

Enjoying a taste of summer and a snatch of heaven in the Domaine de Rombeau at the end of last week (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

It was one of those sun-kissed afternoons that seem like a snatch of heaven as three of us sat by the vines and the groves, sharing a bottle of Le Muscat de Rivesaltes that seemed to be a taste of summer sunshine.

A large number of peafowl – peacocks and peahens – walk around the domain freely. Peafowl are forest birds that nest on the ground, but roost in trees. They are terrestrial feeders, and domesticated peafowl enjoy protein rich food, including larvae that infest granaries, different kinds of meat and fruit, as well as vegetables, including dark leafy greens, broccoli, carrots, beans, beets, and peas. This makes them appropriate birds to keep in an organic vineyard, acting as a natural protection for the vines.

A peacock in the vineyard in the Domaine de Rombeau … soon they were eating from my hand (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

They are curious birds too, always ready to respond to the presence of people. Despite their innate independence, they can appear to be both disdainful and socially curious at one and the same time.

With this natural curiosity, sociability and their feeding habits, it was easy to entice the peacocks and peahens with the nuts and raisins that accompanied our wine. To the surprise of the other two in our group, I soon had peacocks and peahens eating from my hand as we sat at the table, and walking around us, like cats seeking to make sense of the afternoon visitors.

Similarly, I found it easy to attract the attention of peacocks when I visited the Monastery of Vlatadon in Thessaloniki at Easter last month.

A peacock in the Monastery of Vlatadon in Thessaloniki at Easter (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

I have long been fascinated by peacocks. When I was living in Wexford in the mid-1970s, I went on a long walk in the sunshine one Sunday afternoon and came across a farm near Piercestown, 7 km south of Wexford town, where there was a large number of peafowl in the farmyard.

I turned into work at the Wexford People the following morning, enthusiastic about offering a feature on what appeared to be an exotic peacock colony. But everyone else seemed to know about it and was dismissive, and no-one shared my enthusiasm.

The feature was never written – but then, it was in the days when newspapers were in black and white, and any photographs could never have done justice to the sight that delighted me that summer afternoon.

Perhaps my curiosity about peacocks dates back to an early stage in life, when I was first interested in the family tree and realised that peacocks decorate the crests in the coat-of-arms of both the Comerford and Comberford families: a peacock’s head in the case of two branches of the family, and a peacock in his pride in a third branch.

They are part of the heraldic symbolism of the families not because of some inflated sense of pride, but because the peacock is a symbol of the Resurrection.

In ancient Persia and Babylon, the peacock was associated with Paradise and the Tree of Life and was seen as a guardian to royalty, and was often engraved upon royal thrones.

These birds were not known to Greeks before the conquests of Alexander the Great. Aristotle, who was Alexander’s tutor, refers to the peacock as ‘the Persian bird.’ In classical Greece, it was believed that the flesh of peafowl did not decay after death, and so the peacock became a symbol of immortality.

This symbolism was adopted in early Christianity, and many early Christian paintings and mosaics show the peacock. The peacock is still used in the Easter season, especially in the east. The ‘eyes’ in the peacock’s tail feathers symbolise the all-seeing God and – in some interpretations – the Church.

Peacocks and peacock feathers as symbols of the Resurrection in mosaics in Ravenna (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2017)

A peacock drinking from a vase is used as a symbol of a Christian believer drinking from the waters of eternal life. The peacock can also symbolise the cosmos if one interprets his tail with his many ‘eyes’ as the vault of heaven dotted by the sun, moon, and stars. The peacock is associated with immortality, and in iconography the peacock is often depicted next to the Tree of Life.

Peacocks often appear in early Christian art as a symbol of the Resurrection and Eternal Life.

Some commentators have written that the reference in the Book of Revelation to four living creatures ‘full of eyes in front and behind’ before the throne is inspired by images of the tail of the peacock (see Revelation 4: 6). Other writers also say, ironically, that the peacock is a symbol of humility, since he has great beauty, yet hides it all behind himself.

The peacock has been a symbol of immortality from as early as the third century on the walls of the catacombs of Rome. Later, peacocks appear in mediaeval paintings and manuscripts and in decorative motifs on churches and buildings, and even among the animals in the stable at Christ’s nativity.

One of the best known examples is found in the Adoration of the Magi, a tondo or circular painting dating from 1440-1460 and ascribed to both Fra Angelico and Filippo Lippi. It was recorded in the Palazzo Medici Riccardi in Florence in 1492, and is now in the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC. In this work, a large peacock perches on the top of the stable, looking over his shoulder.

The peacock may have been given a prominent place in this work because Giovanni di Cosimo de Medici (1421-1463) had adopted a peacock as his heraldic symbol, along with the French motto Regarde-Moi (‘Watch me’). This may help to explain how the peacock was popularised as a symbol in late mediaeval heraldry, as seen in the coats-of arms of the Comberford and Comerford families, as well as the Arbuthnot family and the family of the Dukes of Rutland.

As we sat sipping the Domaine de Rombeau, enjoying that snatch of heaven on Friday afternoon, I realised that the Easter season was coming to an end, and that Ordinary Time would begin in the Church Calendar today [21 May 2018], the day after Pentecost. But I found myself thinking of how the English poet William Blake (1757-1827) had written in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1793): ‘The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.’

The ‘Adoration of the Magi’ (ca 1440/1460) by Fra Angelico and Fra Filippo Lippi

The Forteresse de Salses: a French chateau saved after losing its military role

The Forteresse de Salses crouches like a wild beast beneath the Corbières Mountains (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018; click on image for full-screen view)

Patrick Comerford

The Cathars left many castles throughout Rousillon and Laguedoc, the hills are dotted with Cathar castles, built on rocky outcrops in the 12th century and places of refuge in the 13th century for a persecuted sect that was finally wiped out in the Albigensian Crusades launched by Pope Innocent III.

I saw many of these strongholds in the hills and mountains around Perpignan. However, instead of visiting the Cathar castles on my last day in the south of France, my friend Cathy took three of us to visit the Fort de Salses, also known as the Forteresse de Salses, an impressive and massive Catalan fortress 25 minutes from where she lives in Sainte Marie la Mer and 20 minutes from Perpignan, off the road to Narbonne.

The Fort de Salses does not stand out in the same way as the hilltop Cathar castles. Instead, this fortress is almost in a hole instead of being on a hill.

When we arrived, the only tour was in French, with some snatches of English. But even with my paucity of French, I could understand much of what the guide was saying and her introduction to the history of this place.

This architecturally magnificent building is not a typical French chateau. It was built by the Spanish strictly for military purposes, there are no elegant rooms or beautiful works of art. The chapel is virtually bare, and there are no galleries, furniture or tapestries on display.

Instead, what we saw is a testament to the ingenuity of the people who built it. Everything is carefully thought-out and designed from the ventilation to the water supply, plumbing and ventilation.

The Fort de Salses was built at the end of the 15th century to guard what was then the frontier between Spain and France. Its layout and architecture were innovative at the time and today they are a rare example of the transition between mediaeval castles and the fortresses of a later period.

The costly building project consumed one-fifth of the Spanish crown’s annual budget (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

The fortress was built between 1497 and 1504 by the Catholic monarchs of Spain, Queen Isabella I of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon, with the purpose of defending the border with France, especially after the last French incursion had destroyed a nearby village.

Ferdinand and Isabella commissioned Francisco Rodriguez de Madrid, captain-general of the King’s Artillery, and the great Spanish architect and engineer, Francisco Ramiro Lopez, to design the fortress near the Castle of Leucate, built by the French almost a century earlier.

The fortress stood at a strategic defensive position between Catalonia and France, and on a site with a source of spring water, which was important in the event of a siege. But the building project was costly, and consumed one-fifth of the Spanish crown’s annual budget.

Ramiro designed an innovative fortress that looks like a hybrid between a castle and a fortress, linking mediaeval military architecture and the modern style of fortification. They were inspired by the traditions of military building in Spain, Italy and Burgundy.

This new design of fortress was capable of resisting modern artillery, and could house a garrison of 1,500. It was designed on a massive scale – 110 by 84 metres – to deter potential attackers.

The ditch is 12 to 15 metres deep (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

The fortress came under siege throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, with the first siege in 1503, a year before the building work was completed. A peace agreement between Charles V and Francis I in 1544 gave the fortress some good decades of relief and peace.

The Thirty Years’ War brought a change of ownership. During the last siege in 1639, the French captured the fortress after 40 days of resistance by the Spanish. The Spanish recaptured the castle in 1640, but it was finally claimed for the French crown, along with neighbouring Perpignan in 1642 and has remained a French possession ever since.

Within less than 20 years, the two kingdoms signed a new peace agreement, and with the Treaty of the Pyrenees in 1659. Under the treaty, Rousillon became French and the Spanish border was pushed south to the Pyrenees. The castle was left in the middle of French territory, but without any military function or strategic role.

The chapel was dedicated to Saint Sebastian, and although it is bare today apart from the former altar and pulpit, the altar bears the emblem of the Louis XIV as the ‘Sun King.’

The bailey or central courtyard is laid out around the well (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018; click on image for full-screen view)

The guided tour brought us through the parade ground, along the parapets and the towers, and into the governor’s chamber, the dining room, the inner courtyard, the stores and the stables.

After the end of the war, the local governments asked the French king for permission to demolish fortresses that were useless and costly to maintain. The French-built Castle of Leucate was demolished in 1664, but the higher cost of demolishing the Spanish-built Salses saved the structure from destruction and oblivion.

Louis XIV turned the castle into a prison in 1682-1683. His military engineer, Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban (1633-1707), had refortified the Palace of the Kings of Majorca in Perpginan. At first, Vauban proposed demolishing the fortress, but this proved to be too costly a project, and he began partially restoring it between 1691 and 1700.

After serving as a gunpowder magazine, a prison, and and infantry garrison in its post-war life, the Château de Salses was listed as a French historical monument in 1886 and decommissioned as a fort three years later, saving the fortress from destruction.

The Forteresse de Salses was handed over to the Department of Fine Arts in 1930, and then to the Ministry of Culture’s Heritage Department.

During the Spanish Civil War, the fort was used as a refuge. Since 2000, a number of well-known artists have created works for the fortress. Today, the Château de Salses house the Museum of History of Salses, and is visited by about 100,000 people each year.

The arcades around the bailey seen from the Chapel of Saint Sebastian (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

‘By the power of the Spirit … draw everyone to the fire of your love’

The pastel colours of a side-street in Collioure … languages can shape how we see the world and how we see others (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 20 June 2018,

The Day of Pentecost, or Whit Sunday.

Readings: Acts 2: 1-21; Psalm 104: 26-36, 37b; Romans 8: 22-27; John 15: 26-27, 16: 4b-15.

11.30 a.m., The Parish Eucharist, Saint Brendan’s Church, Kilnaughtin (Tarbert), Co Kerry.

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

I have just had a fresh experience, culturally and linguistically, over the past few days.

I have been to France before, visiting Paris at least half a dozen times. But last week, for the first time ever, I spent a few days in the south of France, thanks to the welcome and the hospitality of a friend who moved there from Dublin many years ago.

I have known what to expect in Paris. But I went without any expectations of what to see, taste or experience in the south of France.

We visited old castles and cathedrals, vineyards and galleries, walked by river banks and marinas, and spent some time strolling around the harbour, beaches and castle at Collioure, with its pastel-coloured houses and streets, which provided so much inspiration for artists a century ago, including André Derain, Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso.

First impressions can never be repeated, but my first impressions of the South of France include the clear translucent light that must have inspired artists like Matisse and Picasso, and the very clear fact that I was in a bilingual part of France. Everywhere signs are in both French and Catalan – road signs, place names, directions, menus, advertising, notices at historical sites such as castles and cathedrals.

French is not one of my languages, but in Perpignan, Collioure and throughout Roussillon I was bilingual in my linguistic short-fallings, able to understand many of the signs and the questions in shops and in restaurants, but unable to respond in either French or Catalan.

Of course, I enjoy languages, and can find myself sitting back and enjoying listening to other people in conversation. But so often, by the time I have translated what I want to say and try to utter those translated thoughts, the conversation has moved on quite naturally to another subject or topic.

I am a slow learner when it comes to languages, but it still does not take away from the pleasure and enjoyment I get from being immersed in another language.

Learning another language can open our eyes to fresh insights and new aspects of the world around us.

Sometimes, it can be like the experiences of those artists a century ago in Collioure, seeing everything in a new light, and finding that experience is like an awakening by the Holy Spirit.

French has at least two words for the colour blue, bleu and azure, while Greek has at least four: κυάνεος (kyáneos) or dark blue, which became cyan in English; γλαυκός (glafkós) for light blue; θαλασσί (thalassí) for ocean or sea blue; and μπλε (ble), which is a loan word from French.

Ever since I learned to distinguish those words in Greek, my eyes have come to see not just four hues of blue, but four different colours of blue.

We use the words please, thanks and pleasure differently in different languages.

A sea of blue by the beach in Platanes near Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2017)

The languages we speak can shape the way we think, and they can offer bright new aspects of and insights into life.

This is true too in theology and how we express our faith, our values, our beliefs.

In the New Testament, Saint Paul uses four different words for love.

Quite often, the divisions and theological quarrels in the Early Church were not about essential beliefs, but about problems in translation. They argued about words that seemed to distinguish between God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit being of the same or similar substance or nature, and so on.

Today, too often, we base theological assertions that are founded on Biblical sayings, not on the words and phrases themselves in their original Biblical Hebrew or Greek, but on a translation that has been produced by a committee. And accepting that translation puts a lot of trust – too much trust – in the translators.

There is a saying in many languages that the translator is a traitor. The Italian phrase is Traduttore, traditore. When we try to translate any text, whether it is the Bible or any other book, we already display our own presumptions and even prejudices by the words we give preference to.

Anyone who has tried knows how difficult it is to translate poetry, and how it is impossible to translate a joke.

Languages are a gift from God that offer us new insights into creation, into the world, into other people.

The story of Babel (Genesis 11: 1-11) tells us that languages divided us in the world, set us apart from each other, were an expression of disunity and conflict in humanity.

But that was then, and Pentecost is now. Pentecost is the undoing of Babel. Now we can appreciation that each culture, each society, each people, each individual, can have a fresh insight into God, through the Holy Spirit, who leads us through the love God the Son, to the majesty of God the Father.

Instead of languages being a barrier, the disciples find in our first New Testament reading this morning (Acts 2: 1-21) that the good news is not reserved to one linguistic group or culture, but can have fresh meaning for Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and parts of Libya, visitors from Rome, Cretans and Arabs – each in their own languages.

And that is equally true of every other culture, people, nation, generation and society.

The very people who were once counted out as ethnic or linguistic minorities, the religious curiosities and the perceived oddities, those who dress, and appear, and sound and look different, whose foods and perfume and bodily odours are marked by variety, are told today, on the Day of Pentecost, that you are counted in as God’s own people.

Pentecost is the undoing of Babel. The barriers we built in the past, the walls we use to separate ourselves from each other, particularly in our use of language to exclude rather than include, are torn apart by the Holy Spirit who rushes in and breaks down all the walls that separate us from those we think are different because of how they sound, look and smell.

Pentecost celebrates the over-abundant generosity of God. This generosity is beyond measure, to the point that it challenges us, surprises us, startles us.

So often we want to box-in, contain or marginalise the Holy Spirit by our use of language.

And, indeed, there are more languages than our verbal, spoken and written languages.

We have different body languages: how we look at each other, how we shrug our shoulders, how we point and gesture, are all as unique as spoken languages, but much more difficult to translate, and help to keep those we see as the outsider on the margins.

We have different liturgical languages. We are very good as Anglicans – and I saw it at General Synod in Armagh less than two weeks ago – of counting people ‘in’ or ‘out’ because we are too evangelical or too Anglo-Catholic, too low or too high, too liberal or too conservative, and so on.

We still use language like that to paint people into corners that are often not of their own making.

This morning’s account of the first Day of Pentecost is a sharp reminder that Pentecost is for all. The Holy Spirit is not an exclusive gift for the 12, for the inner circle, for the believers, or even for the Church. The promises that God will pour out his Spirit on all (verse 17) is a promise for all without regard to gender, age or social background (verses 17-21), is a promise of God’s salvation is for everyone (verse 21).

The gift of the Holy Spirit does not stop being effective the day after this Day of Pentecost.

God never leaves us alone. This is what Christ promises the disciples, the whole Church, in the Gospel reading, as he breaks through the locked doors and breaks through all their fears (John 20: 19-23).

We need have no fears, for the Resurrection breaks through all the barriers of time and space, of gender and race, of language and colour.

Pentecost includes all – even those we do not hear or understand. It is just simply that I have not yet learned to hear or understand them. But the gift of the Holy Spirit encourages me to hear them with a new sound and to see them in a new light.

And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

This sermon was prepared for the Day of Pentecost, 20 May 2018

Seeing the world in a new light … the colours of Collioure inspired Matisse, Picasso and other artists a century ago (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Acts 2: 1-21:

1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5 Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs – in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

17 ‘In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.
18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
and they shall prophesy.
19 And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
20 The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’

‘Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them’ (Acts 2: 3) … Pentecost by El Greco (Doménikos Theotokópoulos)

Liturgical colour: Red

Greeting (from Easter until Pentecost):

Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Penitential Kyries:

Great and wonderful are your deeds,
Lord God the Almighty

Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

You are the King of glory, O Christ.

Christ, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.

Come Holy Ghost, our souls inspire.

Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

The Collect of the Day:

Almighty God,
who on the day of Pentecost
sent your Holy Spirit to the apostles
with the wind from heaven and in tongues of flame,
filling them with joy and boldness to preach the gospel:
By the power of the same Spirit
strengthen us to witness to your truth
and to draw everyone to the fire of your love;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Introduction to the Peace:

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace.
If we live in the Spirit, let us walk in the Spirit.
Galatians 5: 22

Preface:

Through Jesus Christ our Lord,
according to whose promise
the Holy Spirit came to dwell in us,
making us your children,
and giving us power to proclaim the gospel throughout the world:

Post Communion Prayer:

Faithful God,
who fulfilled the promises of Easter
by sending us your Holy Spirit
and opening to every race and nation the way of life eternal:
Open our lips by your Spirit,
that every tongue may tell of your glory;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Blessing:

The Spirit of truth lead you into all truth,
give you grace to confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
and to proclaim the words and works of God …

Dismissal:

Go in the peace of the Risen Christ. Alleluia! Alleluia!
Thanks be to God. Alleluia! Alleluia!

Hymns:

386, Spirit of God, unseen as the wind

294, Come down, O Love divine

293, Breathe on me, breath of God

Evie Hone’s window in Saint Patrick’s Church on the Hill of Tara, Co Meath, has images of Pentecost interspersed with images of Saint Patrick (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.

‘All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages’

Seeing the world in a new light … the colours of Collioure inspired Matisse, Picasso and other artists a century ago (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

Sunday 20 June 2018,

The Day of Pentecost, or Whit Sunday.

Readings: Acts 2: 1-21; Psalm 104: 26-36, 37b; Romans 8: 22-27; John 15: 26-27, 16: 4b-15.

9.30 a.m., The Parish Eucharist, Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton, Co Limerick.

May I speak to you in the name of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

I have just had a fresh experience, culturally and linguistically, over the past few days.

I have been to France before, visiting Paris at least half a dozen times. But last week, for the first time ever, I spent a few days in the south of France, thanks to the welcome and the hospitality of a friend who moved there from Dublin many years ago.

I have known what to expect in Paris. But I went without any expectations of what to see, taste or experience in the south of France.

We visited old castles and cathedrals, vineyards and galleries, walked by river banks and marinas, and spent some time strolling around the harbour, beaches and castle at Collioure, with its pastel-coloured houses and streets, which provided so much inspiration for artists a century ago, including André Derain, Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso.

First impressions can never be repeated, but my first impressions of the South of France include the clear translucent light that must have inspired artists like Matisse and Picasso, and the very clear fact that I was in a bilingual part of France. Everywhere signs are in both French and Catalan – road signs, place names, directions, menus, advertising, notices at historical sites such as castles and cathedrals.

French is not one of my languages, but in Perpignan, Collioure and throughout Roussillon I was bilingual in my linguistic short-fallings, able to understand many of the signs and the questions in shops and in restaurants, but unable to respond in either French or Catalan.

Of course, I enjoy languages, and can find myself sitting back and enjoying listening to other people in conversation. But so often, by the time I have translated what I want to say and try to utter those translated thoughts, the conversation has moved on quite naturally to another subject or topic.

I am a slow learner when it comes to languages, but it still does not take away from the pleasure and enjoyment I get from being immersed in another language.

Learning another language can open our eyes to fresh insights and new aspects of the world around us.

Sometimes, it can be like the experiences of those artists a century ago in Collioure, seeing everything in a new light, and finding that experience is like an awakening by the Holy Spirit.

French has at least two words for the colour blue, bleu and azure, while Greek has at least four: κυάνεος (kyáneos) or dark blue, which became cyan in English; γλαυκός (glafkós) for light blue; θαλασσί (thalassí) for ocean or sea blue; and μπλε (ble), which is a loan word from French.

Ever since I learned to distinguish those words in Greek, my eyes have come to see not just four hues of blue, but four different colours of blue.

We use the words please, thanks and pleasure differently in different languages.

A sea of blue by the beach in Platanes near Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2017)

The languages we speak can shape the way we think, and they can offer bright new aspects of and insights into life.

This is true too in theology and how we express our faith, our values, our beliefs.

In the New Testament, Saint Paul uses four different words for love.

Quite often, the divisions and theological quarrels in the Early Church were not about essential beliefs, but about problems in translation. They argued about words that seemed to distinguish between God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit being of the same or similar substance or nature, and so on.

Today, too often, we base theological assertions that are founded on Biblical sayings, not on the words and phrases themselves in their original Biblical Hebrew or Greek, but on a translation that has been produced by a committee. And accepting that translation puts a lot of trust – too much trust – in the translators.

There is a saying in many languages that the translator is a traitor. The Italian phrase is Traduttore, traditore. When we try to translate any text, whether it is the Bible or any other book, we already display our own presumptions and even prejudices by the words we give preference to.

Anyone who has tried knows how difficult it is to translate poetry, and how it is impossible to translate a joke.

Languages are a gift from God that offer us new insights into creation, into the world, into other people.

The story of Babel (Genesis 11: 1-11) tells us that languages divided us in the world, set us apart from each other, were an expression of disunity and conflict in humanity.

But that was then, and Pentecost is now. Pentecost is the undoing of Babel. Now we can appreciation that each culture, each society, each people, each individual, can have a fresh insight into God, through the Holy Spirit, who leads us through the love God the Son, to the majesty of God the Father.

Instead of languages being a barrier, the disciples find in our first New Testament reading this morning (Acts 2: 1-21) that the good news is not reserved to one linguistic group or culture, but can have fresh meaning for Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and parts of Libya, visitors from Rome, Cretans and Arabs – each in their own languages.

And that is equally true of every other culture, people, nation, generation and society.

The very people who were once counted out as ethnic or linguistic minorities, the religious curiosities and the perceived oddities, those who dress, and appear, and sound and look different, whose foods and perfume and bodily odours are marked by variety, are told today, on the Day of Pentecost, that you are counted in as God’s own people.

Pentecost is the undoing of Babel. The barriers we built in the past, the walls we use to separate ourselves from each other, particularly in our use of language to exclude rather than include, are torn apart by the Holy Spirit who rushes in and breaks down all the walls that separate us from those we think are different because of how they sound, look and smell.

Pentecost celebrates the over-abundant generosity of God. This generosity is beyond measure, to the point that it challenges us, surprises us, startles us.

So often we want to box-in, contain or marginalise the Holy Spirit by our use of language.

And, indeed, there are more languages than our verbal, spoken and written languages.

We have different body languages: how we look at each other, how we shrug our shoulders, how we point and gesture, are all as unique as spoken languages, but much more difficult to translate, and help to keep those we see as the outsider on the margins.

We have different liturgical languages. We are very good as Anglicans – and I saw it at General Synod in Armagh less than two weeks ago – of counting people ‘in’ or ‘out’ because we are too evangelical or too Anglo-Catholic, too low or too high, too liberal or too conservative, and so on.

We still use language like that to paint people into corners that are often not of their own making.

This morning’s account of the first Day of Pentecost is a sharp reminder that Pentecost is for all. The Holy Spirit is not an exclusive gift for the 12, for the inner circle, for the believers, or even for the Church. The promises that God will pour out his Spirit on all (verse 17) is a promise for all without regard to gender, age or social background (verses 17-21), is a promise of God’s salvation is for everyone (verse 21).

The gift of the Holy Spirit does not stop being effective the day after this Day of Pentecost.

God never leaves us alone. This is what Christ promises the disciples, the whole Church, in the Gospel reading, as he breaks through the locked doors and breaks through all their fears (John 20: 19-23).

We need have no fears, for the Resurrection breaks through all the barriers of time and space, of gender and race, of language and colour.

Pentecost includes all – even those we do not hear or understand. It is just simply that I have not yet learned to hear or understand them. But the gift of the Holy Spirit encourages me to hear them with a new sound and to see them in a new light.

And so, may all we think, say and do, be to the praise, honour and glory of God, + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

This sermon was prepared for the Day of Pentecost, 20 May 2018

The pastel colours of a side-street in Collioure … languages can shape how we see the world and how we see others (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Acts 2: 1-21:

1 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5 Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs – in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13 But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. 16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

17 ‘In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.
18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit;
and they shall prophesy.
19 And I will show portents in the heaven above
and signs on the earth below,
blood, and fire, and smoky mist.
20 The sun shall be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood,
before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day.
21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’

‘Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them’ (Acts 2: 3) … Pentecost by El Greco (Doménikos Theotokópoulos)

Liturgical colour: Red

Greeting (from Easter until Pentecost):

Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Penitential Kyries:

Great and wonderful are your deeds,
Lord God the Almighty

Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

You are the King of glory, O Christ.

Christ, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.

Come Holy Ghost, our souls inspire.

Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.

The Collect of the Day:

Almighty God,
who on the day of Pentecost
sent your Holy Spirit to the apostles
with the wind from heaven and in tongues of flame,
filling them with joy and boldness to preach the gospel:
By the power of the same Spirit
strengthen us to witness to your truth
and to draw everyone to the fire of your love;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Introduction to the Peace:

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace.
If we live in the Spirit, let us walk in the Spirit.
Galatians 5: 22

Preface:

Through Jesus Christ our Lord,
according to whose promise
the Holy Spirit came to dwell in us,
making us your children,
and giving us power to proclaim the gospel throughout the world:

Post Communion Prayer:

Faithful God,
who fulfilled the promises of Easter
by sending us your Holy Spirit
and opening to every race and nation the way of life eternal:
Open our lips by your Spirit,
that every tongue may tell of your glory;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Blessing:

The Spirit of truth lead you into all truth,
give you grace to confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
and to proclaim the words and works of God …

Dismissal:

Go in the peace of the Risen Christ. Alleluia! Alleluia!
Thanks be to God. Alleluia! Alleluia!

Hymns:

386, Spirit of God, unseen as the wind

294, Come down, O Love divine

293, Breathe on me, breath of God

Evie Hone’s window in Saint Patrick’s Church on the Hill of Tara, Co Meath, has images of Pentecost interspersed with images of Saint Patrick (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the USA, and are used by permission. All rights reserved.

How Salvador Dali came to see Perpignan as the ‘centre of the universe’

‘Dalí en Levitation’ on the place de Catalogne and facing towards the train station in Perpignan (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

Patrick Comerford

During my visits to Perpignan this week, I enjoyed the statue of the Spanish surrealist artist Salvador Dalí, Dalí en Levitation, outside FNAC on the place de Catalogne and facing towards the city’s train station, la Gare de Perpignan.

The statue, which was put in place last year [2017], was originally created in 2000 by the two artists, Sabine et Eric, known as ‘Les Pritchards.’ It was inspired by Dali’s 1965 painting, Le mystique de la gare de Perpignan, and was originally placed on the roof of the station.

Dalí en Levitation shows the artist sitting on a high red chair at the entrance to Perpignan, 3.6 metres wide and 2.3 metres high. He is facing towards train station, which he proclaimed the centre of the universe, his arms open wide, welcoming visitors to the Catalan capital.

Sooner or later, everyone changes trains at Perpignan. But the railway station in Perpignan held special significance for Salvador Dalí (1904-1989), who had proclaimed it to be the ‘Centre of the Universe’ after he experienced a vision of cosmogonic ecstasy there in 1963: ‘On 19 September 1963, standing in the railway station at Perpignan ... I had a precise vision of the constitution of the universe.’

For Dalí, the station in Perpignan became a place of genuine sanctity, a pivot of the cosmos that offered a unique perspective on the entire universe.

Two years later, Dalí completed his celebrated Le mystique de la gare de Perpignan in 1965. It is a huge oil painting on canvas, measuring 296 cm x 406 cm, and now hangs in the Museum Ludwig in Cologne.

Dalí's 1965 homage to Perpignan is a surrealist adventure, and before and after working on the painting he paced the platforms of the station, taking photographs and measurements, concluding in 1966 that the measurements of the earth – and indeed the weight of God – are mirrored in the structure of Perpignan station.

Perpignan is just 22 minutes by fast train from Figueres, the Catalan town where Salvador Dalí was born and died. And just as Shakespeare has promoted Verona, so Dalí has become a great commercial asset in promoting Perpignan. In appreciation, the city council renamed the square in front of the station, Place Salvador Dalí.

Salvador Dalí faces the Gare de Perpignan (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2018)

The building, which opened in 1858, is a handsome but typical example of the style of stations built at that time throughout southern France. The sign inside the station welcomes travellers to the ‘Gare de Perpignan: Centre du Monde’ – which is a modest claim compared to Dalí’s proclamation that this is the centre cosmique de l’univers.

The painting shows the railway station of Perpignan, but with various additions that are examples of surrealism. La Gare de Perpignan encompasses several artistic techniques. There are several axes of symmetry, and a lot of emphasis is placed on the use of colours to depict light in various effective ways. Earthly colours such as dark brown and yellow are used, and different gradients of these two colours are used throughout the painting.

The sacrifice of the son is imaged in the form of Christ on the Cross, with his crown of thorns, floating in the centre of the composition. The bleeding wound of Christ is associated with the farmer’s fork on the right, thrust into the ground.

Dalí is represented twice in the vertical axis: he appears in the light at the centre of the image, seen from below, floating with arms spread, and again at the top of the painting.

At the bottom of the painting lies a calm sea with a boat, an ancient symbol of the passage from life to death and of the Church, reinforcing the theme of Christ’s sacrifice. Above the sea, a woman seen from the back watches these scenes, immobile, and recalling the helplessness of man facing death, symbolised not only by the bloody wounds of Christ, but also by Dalí, who is spread-eagled and seems to fall into nothingness.

At the top centre of the painting, a train emerges from nowhere and is a reminder of the railway station in Perpignan.

The left side of the painting shows the embodiment of positive values: the couple on the bags of wheat represent labour, and the man in a meditative pose embodies respect. The right of the image shows the embodiment sins and suffering: the man and woman represent lust and the woman represents mourning.

The two figures flanking the far left and right sides are inspired by The Angelus, a well-known religious painting by the French artist Jean-François Millet.

‘Le mystique de la gare de Perpignan’ (1965) by Salvador Dalí