Sorbonne Time Warp

Feeling exhausted from the day’s classes, I decide to relax with a book. I wander to the top floor of the library and select a desk in the corner, where the ubiquitous stacks of books and the scent of aged pages give me a feeling of cozy comfort. Sitting there, my head upon my arm, the fatigue of my day and the soporific quietness quickly overtake me as I drift away…

I am floating across the seas effortlessly but at an immense speed, and, glancing into the sky, I see the sun rising and setting quickly, over and over. This seems strange, but even stranger is the fact that it is rising in the west and setting in the east. “What is the meaning of this?” I think to myself. In a matter of moments, I find myself on land again, standing on a forested grassy meadow. After looking around, I notice a large wooden door in front of me, the entrance to an enormous edifice “bâti en pierres de taille, percé de 36 fenêtres étroites” [“built of cut stone and pierced with 36 narrow windows”].¹ The rows of austere windows and cut stone give the building’s façade a quality of rigidity. This “tension to movement and stiffness to resistance” of the architecture lend to the building’s gothic style.² Without many other options, I decide to enter the wooden door, which opens on a long hallway with walls ornamented by small paintings. At the end of the hall is a second door much like the first. As I stand in the middle of this hallway, perplexed at my whereabouts, a man in a long gown approaches me and asks, “Comment vous appelez-vous?” I recognize this as French and respond, “I am Rania Hanna; I would like to enter the second door, sir, if you please.” The man’s use of French perplexes me further and confirms the fact that I am no longer in Austin, Texas. To my delight, he takes a key from his pocket and opens the second door for me.

This second door opens onto a small courtyard with a beautiful garden of lilies and lavender flowers on one side and an apple orchard on the other. The courtyard is enclosed on four sides by other stone buildings, and a pebbled path winds its way from the orchard to the lilies. Standing in the center of the courtyard, the vibrant colors and the scents of flowers and fruits overwhelm me and fill me with serenity, as though I am touching the soft hand of nature herself. As the sweet fragrances fill my nose, I see a gentleman seated on a bench near the lavender flowers. He is intently reading some script, and he wears a red robe and a flat, puffed-out black velvet hat. I hear the man mumbling to himself and reciting quietly: “I swear by Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hygieia and Panaceia…” His strange attire makes me doubt not only my whereabouts, but also the year. Desiring answers, I approach the man and question him, “Excuse me sir, would you tell me where I am and what year we are in?”

The man looks up at me with a justifiably quizzical look. Nonetheless, he responds in French, “This is the Sorbonne, of the University of Paris, and the year is one thousand, three hundred, and thirteen.” The man continues absentmindedly, “The Hippocratic Oath…If you ever study medicine, you will have to learn it. That Hippocrates, father of medicine...an intelligent man…”

“How could this be,” I ask myself silently, “I was in Austin and the year was 2004.” After considering his response, his attire, his use of French, and my memory of the sun rising and setting backward many times, everything in my mind comes together and verifies that, indeed, I am at the Sorbonne in the year 1313. This fact is, to me, incredible, and I decide that rather than dwelling on my present life in Austin, which is now in the future, I will learn what I can from the past, which is now my present. I recall that the Sorbonne is a magnificent educational institution with a long history. Propelled by my curiosity, I ask, “What is your name, sir?”

“Good day, mademoiselle, I am Marsilius of Padua, rector of the University and a student of medicine. What is your name?”

Hearing his name, I smile inwardly, remembering vaguely that this Marsilius of Padua is a prominent character of history. He would, eleven years from now, write the Defensor pacis, “one of the most extraordinary political and religious works…of the fourteenth century." ³ This monumental document would be written to restore peace and reform the hierarchical Roman Catholic Church. However, I tuck these thoughts aside and answer him, “My name is Rania Hanna, a student at the University of Texas.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Where is this University of Texas, may I ask?”

Realizing that Texas is yet unknown in 1313 and not desiring to create a temporal discrepancy, I respond, “It is very far from here. I would like to know, sir, out of curiosity, what you think of the Sorbonne.”

“Ah, mademoiselle, this is a grand question. Have a seat here.”

At his prompting I sit down on the courtyard bench beside him, facing the lavender and the setting sun.

He begins, “This is the most enjoyable time of the evening, when the sky reflects the brilliant colors of the sun and the flowers of the garden exude their most pungent scent. Something I love about the University of Paris is its connection and closeness with nature. I am sure you have noticed the beautiful flowers and trees that surround us. I come to this bench every morning to write in my journal and sketch drawings of the garden. Being in this garden gives me an immense feeling of tranquility; when I am here I feel relaxed. ”

“Monsieur,” I comment, “I have heard it said that this university has ‘a bounty of beautiful vines and prairies’ [“les vignes et les prairies”].⁴ Is this true?”

“Indeed, we have been blessed by God to have many areas untouched by the hand of man. Climbing the exterior walls of nearly every stone building are vines, most laden with bunches of grapes. Also, great expanses of grassy lands surround the Sorbonne; The Luxembourg Garden lies to the west. On Sunday afternoons, I take my stallion to this grassy prairie to ride. Riding freely over the grasses with the wind in my face gives me a feeling of freedom and liberation. At these moments, I forget my duties as rector; I forget that life is full of tumult. Furthermore, as you know, the Sorbonne lies on the left bank of the Seine River. Our proximity to this body of water gives our university an atmosphere of river calm.”

“I too, sir, experience such emotions when I am surrounded by nature on my campus. In fact, your description of the Seine River reminds me of a body of water near our campus, Barton Springs, part of the dammed up Barton Creek. Like the Seine, the Barton Springs pool provides a feeling of calm to the surrounding nature and a sensation of refreshment to our campus. During the searing summers, these springs are a refreshing place for students of the university; I recall that during the fall semester, girls from my dormitory took a trip to the pool to cool off. However, unlike the Seine River, which also functions as a transporting commercial venue, this pool is merely for recreational purposes, contributing to an increased air of repose about the springs. In addition, the University of Texas, being nestled in the hill country, captures the winds of the hills and exposes beautiful rolling terrain. The surrounding nature gives the campus an air of snug liberation. At our university, we have a certain garden with several ponds. Although the garden contains no exquisite flowers or fruits like the one at the Sorbonne, the beauty of nature is still expressed in many forms: towering oak trees, battling turtles, flowing water, and even wandering pigeons. Going to this garden is like entering a world of serenity, a world untouched by time. Many beautiful and clear afternoons have I been so soothed by the sun’s heat and the trickling sound of water that I fall into a deep sleep while lying on the grass. Nature greatly impacts my sense of place at the university, but I also find that architecture affects how I perceive my surroundings. Adjacent to the pond garden is the Main Building Tower, which serves as the campus’ central landmark. This tall structure has not only a pleasant visual appeal, with its nighttime lights and gold-rimed clock, but it guides students around campus. When I am lost, I look to the familiar Tower as the central reference point, and even miles away in the surrounding hill country, the Tower can be spotted. I am comforted by the commanding presence of this building and by its dependable bell toll. Additionally, you would be pleased to know that, at the base of the Tower, the seal of the Sorbonne is engraved upon the wall. It reminds me of the excellence of this institution and motivates me in my quest to learn. Does the architecture of the Sorbonne affect you in a similar way?”

“In fact, architecture plays an immense role in how I perceive my surroundings here at the Sorbonne. The architectural styles of the stone edifices here give me an aesthetic comfort while also providing a gothic savageness to the university. Many structures here are still in the stages of development, which often makes it hard for me to feel comfortable, but the structures that are completed seem to express what my words cannot. I think you will understand better of what I speak if you see some architecture for yourself. Follow me.” At this, Marsilius leaves the bench and walks to the periphery of the courtyard. I follow behind him. Stopping before the wooden door through which I entered the courtyard, my guide points to the door and says, “Mademoiselle, you entered through here. The façade of the Sorbonne, as you may have noticed, is characterized by the gothic style of architecture. However, the gothic style also exists at other locations in the university.” He points to the westward wall, and perched upon the top I see a gargoyle with the appearance of a griffin.

This gargoyle reminds me of a figure I have seen 691 years in the future: the griffin on the mantle of the Littlefield house. I had always wondered about the meaning of this gothic symbol and so, trusting Marsilius as a reliable source, I ask, “Monsieur de Padua, why are these gargoyles here?”

“Ah, these gargoyles are an integral part of our drainage system; they capture rainwater and funnel it into the wells and underground system. Beyond this, however, you may be wondering why the horror, the ugly.” I nod to this suggestion. “Well, this griffin figure is indeed intended to strike fear into its observers. It reminds us of our fallen nature and of the sin that can sneak up on us and pull us into evil. Additionally, this figure protects us, frightening away the evil spirits that linger among us.”

“Oh, we too, Monsieur de Padua, have gothic architectural features both on our campus and surrounding it. For example, griffins similar to the one perched upon that wall are found engraved on many of our buildings, such as Sutton Hall, and the Littlefield Home houses two griffins upon its mantelpiece. I had not known about the true significance of this figure, and I appreciate your explanation. An abundance of gothic architecture also occurs near the University of Texas. Saint Mary’s Cathedral is a church in close proximity to the university that exemplifies many gothic traits. The church has irregular spires, one being rectangular and the other being round and pointed. Even the windows are irregular; one side has double windows ornamented by a clover while the other side has only one cloverless window. The irregularity demonstrates changefulness, yet rigidity also exists in this building. The points of the spires and arches in the doorways and windows lend to the quality of rigidity. However, even with an extremely gothic edifice surrounding the campus, such as Saint Mary’s Cathedral, the University of Texas differs from the Sorbonne in that it also exemplifies several other architectural styles. Much of the Victorian style of is evident, as columns are a part of my dormitory architecture and are found at the Littlefield House. In contrast to the pointed arches of Saint Mary’s Cathedral, my dormitory has several rounded arches, illustrating further the diversity of architecture of our campus area.” I become silent and glance up at the sky.

As I night approaches, the sky darkens from deep navy to black. The first star appears, and a voice begins to call out faintly behind me. “Who is that calling, Monsieur de Padua?” The voice grows louder.

“Mademoiselle, I hear nothing, only the stillness of the night.”

As the voice grows louder, Marsilius’ face becomes fainter, until I see only white before my eyes. Then the voice exclaims loudly, “The library will be closing in ten minutes. Please bring your final selections to the circulation desk.” I raise my head, finding myself at the desk in the library’s corner.

I stand up to go home, my legs stiff and my eyes heavy. “That must have been real,” I think to myself. “I was really there.” Walking home through the darkness, I pass the Main Building and see the seal of the Sorbonne engraved upon its wall. “There is a greater connection between the University of Texas and this great university than most would think,” I ponder to myself. In 691 years much has changed, but in 691 years much has remained the same: architecture creates a sense of space that distinguishes a location, and nature contributes to a sense of place that sustains mankind.

Word count = 2307

¹Glorieux, Mgr. P. Aux Origines de la Sorbonne. Paris : Librairie Philosophique, 1965 : 28-31.

2 Ruskin, John. “The Nature of Gothic.” Composition and Reading in World Literature. Ed. Jerome

Bump. Austin : Jenn’s Copying and Binding , 2003: 503.

3 “Sorbonne.” Encyclopedia 4U. 2004. 22 February 2004

<http://www.encyplopedia4u.com/s/sorbonne.html>.

4 Halphen, Louis. Aspects de L’Universite de Paris. Paris : Librairie Albin Michel, 1949 : 19.