A Tragedy in Whitehall

Every week my supervisor, Dr. James Campbell, assigns me and my other two classmates to travel and study a work of British architecture. Our course, appropriately titled An Introduction to English Architectural History, studies the architectural history and design of the country, beginning from the early Gothic period. Previously, we've ventured to Ely Cathedral and Kings College Chapel, both towering examples of Gothic architecture.

This week, as we go past the Gothic period, Dr. Campbell assigned us to travel a bit farther to see the Banqueting House of Whitehall, one of, if not the first, major classical building in England, built in the Italian Palladian style by the renowned architect Inigo Jones. 

We left Cambridge in the morning, taking an hour train ride to Kings Cross. There it only took a few minutes by the tube to reach the Westminster area. An avid fan of machinery and transportation, I was a bit amazed by the workings of the tube, the oldest underground railway in the world. The intricacy of the system, paired with the fact that it is built upon over 150 years of infrastructure, is truly impressive.

The Banqueting House was surprisingly empty; only a handful of visitors were in the main hall. This allowed the opportunity to spend a solid hour in the hall, studying the hall's groundbreaking, yet sorrowful, history. 

In terms of the actual architecture, it is magnificent; surrounded by Ionic and Corinthian columns, the hall is of a two-cube structure. First pioneered by the Romans, this geometric detail creates an oddly comforting feeling for a space so large and expansive. 

The ceiling above has work by Sir Peter Paul Rubens. Commissioned by Charles I in honor of his father, the late James I, the paintings depict heavenly images of Charles and James, the unification of Scotland and England, and the prosperity of the people under the reign of these monarchs. Years later, after the end of the English Civil War, Charles is beheaded in this hall, under the gazes of his father and the heavenly, authoritative portrait of himself that he yearned to achieve. It's hard to put to words the weight of this symbolism. It's awfully poetic in its own way, and I think it serves as a reminder of how life has can take sharp, drastic turns, no matter who you are. It's important to not get too engrossed in your ambition, your dreams, your visions; the passion, even if seeded with good intention, could cloud your mind and take you down a path that only takes you farther and farther away. Instead of gluing your eyes to a map, it's possible that if you just look up, you may find an uncharted trail that will lead you there. 

Art has the capacity to tell so many stories, perspectives, and most importantly lessons, through paintings, sculpture, film, architecture, music, and much more. For what could be dismissed as an eye catching empty room, if paid enough attention, it could tell you an elaborate narrative of empires, a monumental change in culture, and tragedy through its columns and canvases. 

We later then quickly went past the Parliament, Buckingham Palace and spent some time in St. Paul's Cathedral before returning back to Cambridge. I'm hoping to visit Westminster again; there was so much more I wanted to study about the rich history that flows through these structures. Soon. 

The warm yet menacing eyes of Charles and James continue to gaze down at their kingdom from the heavens. What would they have done if they reigned in this era?