Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from Getty Research Institute https://archive.org/details/historicalmemori00stan_2 t « i\ HISTORICAL MEMORIALS OF CANTERBURY / HISTORICAL MEMORIALS OF CANTERBURY The Landing of Augustine The Murder of Becket Edward the Black Prince Beckeds Shrine BY ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, D.D. Hate Dean of OTestmmgtcr FORMERLY CANON OF CANTERBURY SECOND AMERICAN FROM THE ELEVENTH LONDON EDITION Wttfj illustrations NEW YORK ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) 182 Fifth Avenue gStiftersttg 33ress: John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. TO THE VENERABLE BENJAMIN HARRISON, ARCHDEACON OF MAIDSTONE AND CANON OF CANTERBURY, IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF MUCH KINDNESS, THESE SLIGHT MEMORIALS OF THE CITY AND CATHEDRAL WHICH HE HAS SO FAITHFULLY SERVED ARE INSCRIBED WITH SINCERE RESPECT BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. I. —LANDING OF AUGUSTINE AND CONVERSION OF ETHELBERT. The five landings, 21; Gregory the Great, 23-27; Dialogue with the Anglo-Saxon slaves, 28, 29; Mission of Augustine, 30, 31; Land¬ ing at Ebbe’s Fleet, 32-34. Ethelbert and Bertha, 34; St. Martin’s Church, 35; Interview of Ethelbert and Augustine, 36-39 ; Arrival of Augustine at Canter¬ bury, 39, 40; Stable-gate, 41; Baptism of Ethelbert and of the Kentish people, 41, 42 ; Worship in the Church of St. Pancras, 43 ; First endowment in the grant of the Cathedral of Canterbury, 45 ; Monastery, library, and burial-ground of St. Augustine’s Abbey, 47 ; Foundation of the Sees of Rochester and London, 49; Death of Augustine, 50; Reculver, 52 ; Death of Ethelbert, 52. Effects of Augustine’s mission : Primacy of Canterbury, 53, 54 ; Ex¬ tent of English dioceses, 55; Toleration of Christian diversities, 56 ; Toleration of heathen customs, 57-59; Great results from small beginnings, 59-62. II. —MURDER OF BECKET. Variety of judgments on the event, 67, 68; Sources of information, 69, 70. Return of Becket from France : Controversy with the Archbishop of York on the rights of coronation, 71-73; Parting with the Abbot of St. Albans at Harrow, 74 ; Insults from the Brocs of Saltwood, 75; Scene in the cathedral on Christmas Day, 76, 77. Fury of the king, 79; The four knights, 80; Their arrival at Salt- wood, 83 ; at St. Augustine’s Abbey, 83; The fatal Tuesday, 84, 85 ; The entrance of the knights into the palace, 86. Appearance of Becket, 87 ; Interview with the knights, 88-94; Their assault on the palace, 95. X CONTENTS. Retreat of Becket to the cathedral, 95; Miracle of the lock, 96; Scene in the cathedral, 97, 98 ; Entrance of the knights, 99 ; The transept of “The Martyrdom,” 101, 102. Meeting of the knights and the Archbishop, 103 ; Struggle, 104, 105 ; The murder, 106-109; Plunder of the palace, 110; The storm, 110 . The dead body, 111 ; The watching in the choir, 112; The discovery of the haircloth, 112, 113 ; The aurora borealis, 114. The morning, 115; Unwrapping of the corpse and discovery of the vermin, 115, 116; Burial in the crypt, 117; Desecration and re¬ consecration of the cathedral, 118 ; Canonization, 119. Escape of the murderers, 120 ; Turning-table at South Mailing, 121; Legend of their deaths, 121-123; Their real history, 124; More- ville, Fitzurse, Bret, Fitzranulph, 125, 126 ; Tracy, 126-131 ; Pic¬ torial representations of the murder, 131-133. The king’s remorse, 133-135; Penance at Argenton, Gorham, and Avranches, 136, 137 ; Ride from Southampton, 139 ; Entrance into Canterbury, 140 ; Penance in the crypt, 140, 141; Absolution, 142 ; Conclusion, 144-146. III. —EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. Historical lessons of Canterbury Cathedral, 150 ; The tombs, 151. Birth of the Black Prince, 152; Union of hereditary qualities, 153; Education at Queen’s College, Oxford, 153, 154; Wycliffe, 155. Battle of Cressy, 155-159; Name of “Black Prince,” 159; Battle of Poitiers, 160-163. Visit to Canterbury, 164; “ Black Prince’s Well ” at Harbledown, 164 ; “ King John’s Prison,” 164. Marriage — chantry in the crypt, 165 ; “Fawkes’ Hall,” 166 ; Spanish campaign, 166 ; Return — sickness, 167 ; Appearance in Parliament, 167 ; Death-bed, 168, 169; Exorcism by the Bishop of Bangor, 170; Death, 171. Mourning, 171, 172; Funeral, 173, 174; Tomb, 175-179; Effects of the Prince’s life: (1) English and French wars, 181 ; (2) Chivalry — sack of Limoges, 182, 183 ; (3) First great English captain, and first English gentleman, 184-186. Appendix. 1 . Ordinance for the two Chantries founded by the Black Prince in the Undercroft of Christ Church, Canterbury, 187. 2 . The Will of the Black Prince, 194. Notes by Mr. Albert Way, 203. CONTENTS. xi IV.— THE SHRINE OF BECKET. r Comparative insignificance of Canterbury Cathedral before the murder \ of Becket, 220. Relative position of Christ Church and St. Augustine’s, 221-223 ; | Change effected by Archbishop Cuthbert, 224. Effect of the “ Martyrdom,” 226 ; Spread of the worship of Saint I Thomas in Italy, France, Syria, 227 ; in Scotland and England, f 228, 229; in London, 230. Altar of the Sword’s Point, 231; Plunder by Roger and Benedict, 232. The tomb in the crypt, 233 ; Henry II., Louis VII., Richard I., John, 233, 234. Erection of the Shrine, 234; The fire of 1174, 234 ; William of Sens and William the Englishman, 235; Enlargement of the eastern end, 238; The Watching Chamber, 238. The translation of the relics in 1220, 239 ; Henry III., Langton, 239, 240. Pilgrimages, 243; Approach from Sandwich, 243; Approach from Southampton, 244; The “ Pilgrims’ Road,” 244; Approach from London, 245; Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, 245-250. Entrance into Canterbury, 251, 252; Jubilees, 253; The inns, 255 ; The Chequers, 256; The convents, 257. Entrance into the cathedral, 258. The nave, 259 ; The “ Martyrdom,” 260; The crypt, 261 ; The steps, 263; The crown, 265; The Shrine, 265-269; The Regale of France, 270. The well and the pilgrims’ signs, 272-274; The dinner, 275; The town, 275; The return, 276. Greater pilgrims, 276 ; Edward I., 276 ; Isabella, 276 ; John of France, 277. Reaction against pilgrimage, 278 ; The Lollards, 278 ; Simon of Sud- burv, 279 ; Erasmus and Colet, 280-283 ; Scene at Harbledown, 284. Visit of Henry VIII. and Charles V., 286. The Reformation, 287 ; Abolition of the festival, 287 ; Cranmer’s banquet, 288 ; Trial of Becket, 289-292 ; Visit of Madame de Mon¬ treal, 293; Destruction of the Shrine, 294; Proclamation, 295. Conclusion, 301. Note A. — Extracts from the “ Polistoire ” of Canterbury Cathedral, 305. Note B. — Extracts from the “ Travels of the Bohemian Embassy ” in 1465, 309. CONTENTS. xii Note C. — Extracts from the “ Pelerino Inglese,” 314. Note D. —The “Pilgrims’ Road,” by Mr. Albert Way, 316. Note E. — The Pilgrimage of John of Prance, by the same, 323. Note F. — Documents from the Treasury in Canterbury Cathedral, re¬ lating to the Shrine of Becket, with Notes by the same, 326. I. — Grants of William de Tracy and of Amicia de la More, 326. II. — The “Corona” of Saint Thomas, 331. III. — Miraculous cures at the Shrine of Saint Thomas, 337. Note G. —The crescent in the roof of the Trinity Chapel, 343. Note H. — The painted windows commemorating the miracles of Becket, 347. Note I. — Becket’s Shrine in painted window, Canterbury, 354. FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. Canterbury Cathedral. Frontispiece The Monument of Archbishop Tait ... To face page xv The Cloisters.21 The Cathedral, Southwest Corner.45 St. Augustine’s Gateway.67 The East Choir.99 The Transept of the Martyrdom.109 The Crypt. 121 The Lady Chapel.146 The Crypt, Gabriel Chapel.165 The Gateway.186 Tomb of the Black Prince.202 The Warrior’s Chapel, Tombs.219 Trinity Chapel. 238 Norman Porch.258 The Cathedral, Exterior.281 The Cathedral, South Side.303 The Baptistery.316 The Cathedral, Lady’s Chapel.327 ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT. PAGE Map of the Isle of Thanet at the Time of the Land¬ ing of Saint Augustine.64 Plan of the Cathedral at the Time of the Murder of Becket .96 The Crypt.141 The Tomb of the Black Prince.175 Relics of the Black Prince suspended over the Tomb . . . 178 Enamelled Escutcheons on the Tomb of the Black Prince 207-208 Representation of the Black Prince, illustrating the Canopy over the Tomb ..213 Canopy of the Black Prince’s Tomb.180 Becket’s Shrine.267 Representation of Becket’s Shrine in a Painted Window.355 * •- * . ► ■ ■ « . * / INTRODUCTION. HE following pages, written in intervals of leisure -L taken from subjects of greater importance, have nothing to recommend them, except such instruction as may arise from an endeavor to connect topics of local interest with the general course of history. It appeared to me, on the one hand, that some additional details might be contributed to some of the most re¬ markable events in English history, by an almost ne- cessary familiarity with the scenes on which those events took place; and, on the other hand, it seemed possible that a comparative stranger, fresh from other places and pursuits, might throw some new light on local antiquities, even when they have been as well explored as those of Canterbury. To these points I have endeavored, as nearly as possible, to limit myself. Each of the four subjects which are here treated opens into much wider fields than can be entered upon, unless as parts of the general history of England. Each, also, if followed out in all its details, would require a more minute research than I am able to afford. But in each, I trust, something will be found which may not be alto¬ gether useless either to the antiquary or to the his¬ torian, who may wish to examine these events fully under their several aspects. XVI INTRODUCTION. Other similar subjects, if time and opportunity should be granted, may perhaps be added at some future pe¬ riod. But the four here selected are the most im¬ portant in themselves, as well as the most closely connected with the history of Canterbury Cathedral. I have accordingly placed them together, apart from other topics of kindred but subordinate interest. The first Essay is the substance of a lecture delivered at Canterbury in 1854, and thus partakes of a more popular character than so grave a subject as the con¬ version of England would naturally require. Eor the reasons above stated, I have abstained from entering on the more general questions which the event sug¬ gests, — the character of Gregory the Great; the rela¬ tion of the Anglo-Saxon to the British Church; and the spread of Anglo-Saxon Christianity. My purpose was simply to exhibit in full detail the earliest tradi¬ tions of England and Canterbury respecting the mis¬ sion of Augustine, and the successive steps by which that mission was established in Kent. And I have endeavored by means of these details to illustrate the remote position which Britain then occupied in relation to the rest of the civilized world, and the traces which were left in the country by the Roman civilization, then for the first time planted among our rude Saxon forefathers. The second Essay, which originally appeared in the “Quarterly Review,” September, 1853, has been since considerably enlarged by additional information, con¬ tributed chiefly through the kindness of friends. Here, again, the general merits of the controversy between Henry II. and Becket have been avoided; and my object was then simply to give the facts of its closing scene. Eor this, my residence at Canterbury provided INTRODUCTION. XVII special advantages. The narrative accordingly pur¬ poses to embrace every detail which can throw any light on the chief event connected with the history of the cathedral. In order to simplify the number of references, I have sometimes contented myself with giving one or two out of the many authorities, when these were sufficient to guarantee the facts. Of the substantial correctness of the whole story, the remark¬ able coincidences between the several narratives, and again between the narratives and the actual localities, appear to me decisive proofs. The third Essay was delivered as a lecture at Can¬ terbury, in July, 1852. Although, in point of time, it preceded the others, and was in part intended as an introduction to any future addresses or essays of a similar kind, I have removed it to a later place for the sake of harmonizing it with the chronological order of the volume. The lecture stands nearly as it was delivered; nor have I altered some allusions to our own time, which later events have rendered, strictly speaking, inapplicable, though perhaps, in another point of view, more intelligible than when first writ¬ ten. Poitiers is not less interesting when seen in the light of Inkermann, and the French and English wars receive a fresh and happy illustration from the French and English alliance. There is, of course, little new that can be said of the Black Prince; and my chief concern was with the incidents which form his con¬ nection with Canterbury. But in the case of so remarkable a monument as his tomb and effigy in the cathedral, a general sketch of the man was almost unavoidable. The account of his death and funeral has not, to my knowledge, been put together before. The fourth Essay is the substance of two lectures XV111 INTRODUCTION. delivered at Canterbury in 1855. The story of the Shrine of Becket was an almost necessary comple¬ ment to the story of his murder; its connection with Chaucer’s poem gives it more than local interest; and it brings the history of the cathedral down to the period of the Reformation. Some few particulars are new; and I have endeavored to represent, in this most conspicuous instance, the rise, decline, and fall of a state of belief and practice now extinct in England, and only seen in modified forms on the Continent. In the Appendix to the last two lectures will be found various original documents, most of them now published for the first time, from the archives of the Chapter of Canterbury. For this labor, as well as for much assistance and information in other parts of the volume, I am indebted to the kindness of my friend and relative, Mr. Albert Way. He is responsible only for his own contributions ; but without his able and ready co-operation I should hardly have ventured on a publication requiring more antiquarian knowledge and research than I could bestow upon it; and the valuable Notes which he has appended to supply this defect will, I trust, serve to perpetuate many pleasant recollections of his pilgrimages to Canterbury Cathedral. In publishing a new edition of these Memorials, with a few slight corrections, I cannot forbear to lament the loss of the two distinguished archaeologists whose names so often occur in these pages, — Albert Way and Professor Willis. August, 1875. THE LANDING OF AUGUSTINE, AND CONVERSION OF ETHELBERT. The authentic materials for the story of the Mission of Augustine are almost entirely comprised in the first and second books of Bede’s “ Ecclesiastical History/’ written in the beginning of the eighth cen¬ tury. A few additional touches are given by Paul the Deacon and John the Deacon, in their Lives of Gregory the Great, respectively at the close of the eighth and the close of the ninth century; and in jElfric’s “ Homily on the Death of Gregory ” (a. d. 990-995), trans¬ lated by Mrs. Elstob. Some local details may be gained from “ The Chronicles of St. Augustine’s Abbey,” by Thorn, and “ The Life of Saint Augustine,” in the “ Acta Sanctorum ” of May 26, by Gocelin, — both monks of St. Augustine’s Abbey, one in the fourteenth and the other in the eleventh century, — but the latter written in so rhetorical a strain as to be of comparatively little use except for the posthumous legends. HISTORICAL MEMORIALS OF CANTERBURY. THE LANDING OF AUGUSTINE, AND CON¬ VERSION OF ETHELBERT. Lecture delivered at Canterbury, April 28, 1854. HERE are five great landings in English history, A each of vast importance, — the landing of Julius Caesar, which first revealed us to the civilized world, and the civilized world to us; the landing of Hengist and Horsa, which gave us our English forefathers and our English characters; the landing of Augustine, which gave us our Latin Christianity; the landing of William the Conqueror, which gave us our Norman aristocracy; the landing of William III., which gave us our free constitution. Of these five landings, the three first and most im¬ portant were formerly all supposed to have taken place in Kent. It is true that the scene of Caesar’s landing has been removed by the present Astronomer-Royal to Pevensey; but there are still strong arguments in favor of Deal or Hythe. Although the historical character of Hengist and Horsa has been questioned, yet if they landed at all it must have been in Thanet. And at 22 THE El YE LANDINGS. any rate, there is no doubt of the close connection of the landing of Saint Augustine not only with Kent, but with Canterbury. It is a great advantage to consider the circumstances of this memorable event in our local history, because it takes us immediately into the consideration of events which are far removed from us both by space and time; events, too, of universal interest, which lie at the be¬ ginning of the history not only of this country, but of all the countries of Europe, — the invasion of the North¬ ern tribes into the Roman Empire, and their conversion to Christianity. We cannot understand who Augustine was, or why he came, without understanding something of the whole state of Europe at that time. It was, we must remem¬ ber, hardly more than a hundred years since the Roman Empire had been destroyed, and every country was like a seething caldron, just settling itself after the invasion' of the wild barbarians who had burst in upon the civ¬ ilized world, and trampled down the proud fabric which had so long sheltered the arts of peace and the security of law. One of these countries was our own. The fierce Saxon tribes, by whomsoever led, were to the Romans in Britain what the Goths had been in Italy, what the Vandals had been in Africa, what the Franks had been in France; and under them England had again become a savage nation, cut off from the rest of the world, almost as much as it had been before the landing of Julius Caesar. In this great convulsion it was natural that the civilization and religion of the old world should keep the firmest hold on the country and the city which had so long been its chief seat. That country, as we all know, was Italy, and that city was Rome. And it is to Rome that we must GREGORY THE GREAT. 23 now transport ourselves, if we wish to know how and from whence it was that Augustine came, — by what means, under God, our fathers received the light of the Gospel. In the general crash of all the civil institutions of the Empire, when the last of the Caesars had been put down, when the Roman armies were no longer able to maintain their hold on the world, it was natu¬ ral that the Christian clergy of Rome, with the Bishop at their head, should have been invested with a new and unusual importance. They retained the only sparks of religious or of civilized life which the wild German tribes had not destroyed, and they accordingly remained still erect amidst the ruins of almost all besides. It is to one of these clergy, to one of these Bishops of Rome, that we have now to he introduced; and if, in the story we are about to hear, it shall appear that we derived the greatest of all the blessings we now enjoy from one who filled the office of Pope of Rome, it will not he without its advantage, for two good rea¬ sons : First, because, according to the old proverb, every one, even the Pope, must have his due, — and it is as ungenerous to deny him the gratitude which he really deserves, as it is unwise to give him the honor to which he has no claim ; and, secondly, because it is useful to see how different were all the circumstances which formed our relations to him then and now, — how, although bearing the same name, yet in reality the position of the man and the office, his duties towards Christendom, and the duties of Christendom towards him, were as different from what they are now, as almost any two things are one from the other. It is, then, on Gregory the Great that we are to fix our attention. At the time we are first to meet him. 24 GREGORY THE GREAT. he was not yet Pope. He was still a monk in the great monastery of St. Andrew, which he had himself founded, and which still exists, on the Cselian Mount at Pome, standing conspicuous amongst the Seven Hills, — marked by its crown of pines, — rising imme¬ diately behind the vast walls of the Colosseum, which we may still see, and which Gregory must have seen every day that he looked from his convent windows. This is not the place to discuss at length the good and evil of his extraordinary character, or the position which he occupied in European history, almost as the founder of Western Christendom. I will now only touch on those points which are necessary to make us understand what he did for us and our fathers. He was remarkable amongst his contemporaries for his benevolence and tenderness of heart. Many proofs of it are given in the stories which are told about him. The long marble table is still shown at Pome where he used to feed twelve beggars every day. There is a legend that on one occasion a thirteenth appeared among them, an unbidden guest, — an angel, whom he had thus entertained unawares. There is also a true story, which tells the same lesson, — that he was so much grieved on hearing of the death of a poor man, who in some great scarcity in Pome had been starved to death, that he inflicted on himself the severest punishment, as if he had been responsible for it. He also showed his active charity in one of those seasons which give opportunity to all faithful pastors and all good men for showing what they are really made of, during one of the great pestilences which rav¬ aged Pome immediately before his elevation to the pon¬ tificate. All travellers who have been at Pome will remember the famous legend, describing how, as he GREGORY THE GREAT. 25 approached at the head of a procession, chanting the Lit¬ any, to the great mausoleum of the Emperor Hadrian, he saw in a vision the Destroying Angel on the top of the tower sheathing his sword; and from this vision, the tower, when it afterwards was turned into the Papal fortress, derived the name of the Castle of St. Angelo. Nor was his charity confined to this world. His heart yearned towards those old pagan heroes or sages who had been gathered to their fathers without hearing of the name of Christ. He could not bear to think, with the belief that prevailed at that time, that they had been consigned to destruction. One especially there was, of whom he was constantly reminded in his walks through Kome,—the great Emperor Trajan, whose statue he always saw rising above him at the top of the tall column which stood in the market¬ place, called from him the Eorum of Trajan. It is said that he was so impressed with the thought of the justice and goodness of this heathen sovereign, that he earnestly prayed, in St. Peter’s Church, that God would even now give him grace to know the name of Christ and be converted. And it is believed that from the veneration which he entertained for Trajan’s mem¬ ory, this column remained when all around it was shat¬ tered to pieces; and so it still remains, a monument both of the goodness of Trajan and the true Christian charity of Gregory. Lastly, like many, perhaps like most remarkable men, he took a deep interest in chil¬ dren. He instructed the choristers of his convent himself in those famous chants which bear his name. The book from which he taught them, the couch on which he reclined during the lesson, even the rod with which he kept the boys in order, were long preserved at Rome; and in memory of this part of his life a 26 GREGORY THE GREAT. children’s festival was held on his day as late as the seventeenth century. 1 I may seem to have detained you a long time in describing these general features of Gregory’s charac¬ ter. But they are necessary to illustrate the well- known story 2 which follows, and which was preserved, not, as it would seem, at Rome, but amongst the grate¬ ful descendants of those who owed their conversion to the incident recorded. There was one evil of the time, from which we are now happily free, which especially touched his generous heart, — the vast slave-trade which then went on through all parts of Europe. It was not only, as it once was in the British Empire, from the remote wilds of Africa that children were carried off and sold as slaves, but from every country in Europe. The wicked traffic was chiefly carried on by Jews and Samaritans; 3 and it afterwards was one especial object of Gregory’s legislation to check so vast an evil. He' was, in fact, to that age what Wilberforce and Clark- 1 Lappenberg’s History of England (Eng. tr.), i. 130. 2 The story is told in Bede, ii. 1, § 89, and from him is copied, with very slight variations, by all other ancient mediawal writers. It has been told by most modern historians, but in no instance that I have seen, with perfect accuracy, or with the full force of all the expressions employed. As Bede speaks of knowing it by tradition (“traditione majorum ”), he may, as a Northumbrian, have heard it from the families of the Northumbrian slaves. But most probably it was preserved in St. Augustine’s monastery at Canterbury, and communicated to Bede, with other traditions of the Kentish Church, by Albinus, Abbot of St. Augustine’s (Bede, Pref. p. 2). As the earliest of “ Canterbury Tales,” it seemed worthy of being here repeated with all the illustra¬ tions it could receive. There is nothing in the story intrinsically im¬ probable ; and although Gregory may have been actuated by many motives of a more general character, such as are ably imagined by Mr. Kemble, in the interesting chapter on this subject in his “ Saxons in England,” yet perhaps we learn as much by considering in detail what in England at least was believed to be the origin of the mission. 3 See Milman’s History of the Jews, iii. 208. .-587.' GREGORY THE GREAT. 27 son, by their noble Christian zeal, have been to ours. And it may be mentioned, as a proof both of his en¬ lightened goodness, and of his interest in this particu¬ lar cause, that he even allowed and urged the sale of sacred vessels, and of the property of the Church, for the purpose of redeeming captives. With this feeling in his mind he one day went with the usual crowd that thronged to the market-place at Borne when they heard, as they did on this occasion, that new cargoes of mer¬ chandise had been imported from foreign parts. It was possibly in that very market-place of which I have before spoken, where the statue of his favorite Trajan was looking down upon him from the summit of his lofty pillar. To and fro, before him, amongst the bales of merchandise, passed the gangs of slaves, torn from their several homes to be sold amongst the great fami¬ lies of the nobles and gentry of Italy, — a sight such as may still be seen (happily nowhere else) in the re¬ mote East, or in the Southern States of North America. These gangs were doubtless from various parts: there were the swarthy hues of Africa; there were the dark¬ haired and dark-eyed inhabitants of Greece and Sicily; there were the tawny natives of Syria and Egypt. But amongst these, one group arrested the attention of Greg¬ ory beyond all others. It was a group of three 1 boys, distinguished from the rest by their fair complexion and white flesh, the beautiful expression of their coun¬ tenances, and their light flaxen hair, which, by the side of the dark captives of the South, seemed to him al¬ most of dazzling brightness, 2 and which, by its long curls, showed that they were of noble origin. 1 Thorn, 1737. “ Tres pueros.” He alone gives the number. 2 “ Candidi corporis,” Bede; “lactei corporis,” Paul the Dea¬ con, c. 17 ; “venusti vultus, capillorum nitore,” John the Deacon ; 28 DIALOGUE WITH ANGLO-SAXON SLAVES. [587. Nothing gives ns a stronger notion of the total sep¬ aration of the northern and southern races of Europe at that time than the emotion which these peculiarities, to us so familiar, excited. Gregory stood and looked at them; his fondness for children of itself would have led him to pity them; that they should be sold for slaves struck (as we have seen) on another tender chord in his heart; and he asked from what part of the world they had been brought. The slave merchant, probably a Jew, answered, “ Erom Britain; and there all the in* habitants have this bright complexion.” 1 It would almost seem as if this was the first time that Gregory had ever heard of Britain. It was indeed to Borne nearly what New Zealand is now to England; and one can imagine that fifty years ago, even here, there may have been many, even of the educated classes, who had a very dim conception of where New Zealand was, or what were its inhabitants. The first question which he asked about this strange country was what w*e might have expected. The same deep feeling of compassion that he had already shown for the fate of the good Trajan, now made him anxious to know whether these beautiful children — so innocent, so interesting -— were pagans or Christians. “ They are pagans,” was the reply. The good Gregory heaved a deep sigh 2 from the bottom of his heart, and broke out into a loud lamen¬ tation expressed with a mixture of playfulness, which “ crine rutila,” Gocelin ; “ capillos prsecipui candoris,” Paulus Diac. ; “capillum forma egregia,” Bede ; “noble [ cethelice ] heads of hair,” JElfric. It is from these last expressions that it may be inferred that the hair was nnshorn, and therefore indicated that the children were of noble birth. See Palgrave’s History of the Anglo-Saxons, p. 58; Lappenberg’s History of England, i. 136. 1 “ De Britannige insula, cujus incolarum omnis facies simili can* dore fulgescit.” — ActaSanctorum, p. 141 ; John the Deacon, i. 21. 2 “ Intimo ex corde longa trahens suspiria.” — Bede. 587.] DIALOGUE WITH ANGLO-SAXON SLAVES. 29 partly was in accordance with the custom of the time, 1 partly perhaps was suggested by the thought that it was children of whom he was speaking. “ Alas! more is the pity, that faces so full of light and brightness should be in the hands of the Prince of Darkness, that such grace of outward appearance should accompany minds without the grace of God within ! ” 2 He went on to ask what was the name of their nation, and was told that they were called “Angles ” or “ English.” It is not without a thrill of interest that we hear the proud name which now is heard with respect and awe from the rising to the setting sun, thus uttered for the first time in the metropolis of the world, — thus awak¬ ing for the first time a response in a Christian heart. “Well said,” replied Gregory, still following out his play on the words; “ rightly are they called Angles, for they have the face of angels, and they ought to be fel¬ low-heirs of angels in heaven.” Once more he asked, “ What is the name of the province from which they were brought?” He was told that they were “Deirans,” that is to say, that they were from Deira 3 (the land of “ wild beasts,” or “ wild deer ”), the name then given to the tract of country between the Tyne and the Humber, including Durham and Yorkshire. “Well said, again,” answered Gregory, with a play on the word that can only be seen in Latin; “ rightly are they called Deirans, plucked as they are from God’s ire [de ird Dei], and called to the mercy of Christ.” Once again he asked, “And who is the king of that province ? ” “ Ella,” was 1 The anonymous biographer of Gregory, in the “Acta Sanctorum,” March 12, p. 130, rejoices in the Pope’s own name of good omen,— " Gregorius,” quasi “ Vigilantius.” 2 “ Tam lucidi vultus . . . auctor tenebrarum . . . gratia frontis . . . gratia Dei,” Bede; “Black Devil,”HI lfric. 3 “Deore; Thier; deer.” See Soames’ Anglo-Saxon Church, p. 31. 30 MISSION OF AUGUSTINE. [587. the reply. Every one who has ever heard of Gregory has heard of his Gregorian chants, and of his interest in sacred music; the name of Ella reminded him of the Hebrew words of praise which he had introduced into the Roman service, 1 and he answered, “ Allelujah ! the praise of God their Creator shall be sung in those parts.” So ended this dialogue, — doubly interesting because its very strangeness shows us the character of the man and the character of his age. This mixture of the play¬ ful and the serious — this curious distortion of words from their original meaning 2 — was to him and his times the natural mode of expressing their own feelings and of instructing others. But it was no passing emo¬ tion which the sight of the three Yorkshire boys had awakened in the mind of Gregory. He went from the market-place to the Pope, and obtained from him at once permission to go and fulfil the design of his heart,' and convert the English nation to the Christian faith. He was so much beloved in Rome, that great opposi¬ tion it was felt would be made to his going ; and therefore he started from his convent with a small band of his companions in the strictest secrecy. But it was one of the many cases that we see in human life, where even the best men are prevented from accomplishing the objects they have most at heart. He had advanced three days along the great northern road, which leads through the Flaminian gate from Rome to the Alps. When 3 they halted as usual to rest at noon, they were lying down in a meadow, and Gregory was read- 1 See Fleury, Histoire Ecclesiastique, book xxxvi. 18. 2 See the account of Gregory’s own Commentary on Job, as shortly given in Milman’s History of Latin Christianity, i. 435. 3 “ Vit. S. Greg.” — Paul the Deacon. 587.] MISSION OF AUGUSTINE. 31 ing; suddenly a locust leaped upon his book, and sat motionless on the page. In the same spirit that had dictated his playful speeches to the three children, he began to draw morals from the name and act of the locust. “ Kightly is it called Locusta,” he said, “ be¬ cause it seems to say to us ‘ Loco sta,’ that is, ‘ Stay in your place.’ I see that we shall not be able to finish our journey. But rise, load the mules, and let us get on as far as we can.” It was whilst they were in the act of discussing this incident that there galloped to the spot messengers, on jaded horses, bathed in sweat, who had ridden after him at full speed from the Pope, to command his instant return. A furious mob had at¬ tacked the Pope in St. Peter’s Church, and demanded the instant recall of Gregory. To Pome he returned; and it is this interruption, humanly speaking, which prevented us from having Gregory the Great for the first Archbishop of Canterbury and founder of the English Church. Years rolled away 1 from the time of the conversation in the market-place before Gregory could do anything for the fulfilment of his wishes. But he never forgot it; and when he was at last elected Pope he employed an agent in France to buy English Christian youths of seventeen or eighteen years of age, sold as slaves, to be brought up in monasteries. But before this plan had led to any result, he received intelligence which deter¬ mined him to adopt a more direct course. What this intelligence was we shall see as we proceed. [597.] Whatever it might be, he turned once more to his old convent oh the Cselian Hill, and from its walls sent forth the Prior, Augustine, with forty monks as mis- 1 The mention of “ Ella ” in the dialogue fixes the date to be before A. d. 588. Augustine was sent a. d. 597. 32 LANDING AT EBBE’S FLEET. [597. sionaries to England. In one of the chapels of that convent there is still a picture of their departure. I will not detain you with his journey through France; it is chiefly curious as showing how very re¬ mote England seemed to be. 1 He and his companions were so terrified by the rumors they heard, that they sent him back to home to beg that they might be ex¬ cused. Gregory would hear of no retreat from dangers which he had himself been prepared to face. At last they came on, and landed at Ebbe’s Fleet, 2 in the Isle of Thanet. Let us look for a moment on the scene of this im¬ portant event, as it now is and as it was then. You all remember the high ground where the white chalk cliffs of Ramsgate suddenly end in Pegwell Bay. Look from that high ground over the level flat which lies be¬ tween these cliffs and the point where they begin again in St. Margaret’s cliffs beyond Walmer. Even as it is, you see why it must always have invited a landing from the continent of Europe. The wide opening be¬ tween the two steep cliffs must always have afforded the easiest approach to any invaders or any settlers. But it was still more so at the time of which we are now speaking. The level ground which stretches be¬ tween the two cliffs was then in great part covered with water; the sea spread much farther inland from Peg- well Bay, and the Stour, or Wensome 3 (as that part 1 Greg. Epp., v. 10. 2 It is called variously Hypwine, Epwine, Hiped, Hepe, Epped, Wipped Fleet; and the name has been variously derived from Whipped (a Saxon chief, killed in the first battle of Hengist), Hope (a haven), Abbet (from its being afterwards the port of the abbey of St. Augustine). Fleet is “Port.” 3 The “ Boarded Groin ” which Lewis (Isle of Thanet, p. 83) fixes as the spot, still remains, a little beyond the coast-guard station, at the point marked in the Ordnance Survey as the landing-place of the 597.] LANDING AT EBBE’S ELEET. 33 was then called), instead of being a scanty stream that hardly makes any division between the meadows on one side and the other, was then a broad river, making the Isle of Thanet really an island, nearly as much as the Isle of Sheppey is now, and stretching at its mouth into a wide estuary, which formed the port of Eich- borough. Moreover, at that remote age, Sandwich ha¬ ven was not yet choked up; so that all the ships which came from France and Germany, on their way to Lon¬ don, sailed up into this large port, and through the river, out at the other side by Eeculver, or, if they were going to land in Kent, at Eichborough on the mainland, or at Ebbe’s Fleet in the Isle of Thanet. Ebbe’s Fleet is still the name of a farm-house on a strip of high ground rising out of Minster marsh, which can be distinguished from a distance by its line of trees; and on a near approach you see at a glance that it must once have been a headland or promontory running out into the sea between the two inlets of the estuary of the Stour on one side, and Pegwell Bay on the other. What are now the broad green fields were then the waters of the sea. The tradition that “ some landing” took place there, is still preserved at the farm, and the field of clover which rises immediately on its north side is shown as the spot. Here it was that, according to the story preserved in the Saxon Chronicle, Hengist and Horsa had sailed in with their three ships and the band of warriors who conquered Yortigern. And here now Augustine came with his monks, his choristers, and the interpreters Saxons. “ Cotmansfield ” seems to be the high ground running at the back of level; the only vestige of the name now preserved is “ Cotting- ton.” But no tradition marks the spot, and it must then have been covered by the sea. 3 34 ETHELBERT AND BERTHA. [597. they had brought with them from France. The Saxon conquerors, like Augustine, are described as having landed, not at Eichborough, but at Ebbe’s Fleet, be¬ cause they were to have the Isle of Thanet, for their first possession, apart from the mainland; and Au¬ gustine landed there that he might remain safe On that side the broad river till he knew the mind of the king. The rock was long preserved on which he set foot, and which, according to a superstition found in almost every country, was supposed to have received the im¬ pression of his footmark. In later times it became an object of pilgrimage, and a little chapel was built over it; though it was afterwards called the footmark of Saint Mildred, and the rock, even till the beginning of the last century, was called “ Saint Mildred’s rock,” 1 from the later saint of that name, whose fame in the Isle of Thanet then eclipsed that of Augustine him¬ self. There they landed “ in the ends,” “ in the corner of the world,” 2 as it was then thought, and waited secure in their island retreat till they heard how the an¬ nouncement of their arrival was received by Ethelbert, King of Kent. To Ethelbert we must now turn. 3 He was, it was believed, great-grandson of Eric, son of Hengist, sur- 1 “Not many years ago,” says Hasted (iv. 325), writing in 1799. “ A few years ago,” says Lewis (Isle of Thanet, p. 58), writing in 1723. Compare, for a similar transference of names in more sacred localities, the footmark of Mahomet in the Mosque of Omar, called during the Crusades the footmark of Christ; and the footmark of Mahomet’s mule on Sinai, now called the footmark of the dromedary of Moses. The stone was thought to be gifted with the power of flying back to its original place if ever removed. (Lambard’s Kent, p. 104.) 2 “Fines mundi—gens Anglorum in mundi angulo posita.”— Greg. Epp ., v. 158, 159. Observe the play on the word, as in page 29. 3 Ethelbert is the same name as Adalbert and Albert I as Adalfuns = Alfons, Uodelrich = Ulrich), meaning “Noble-bright.” 597.] ST. MARTIN’S CHURCH. 35 named “ the Ash,” 1 and father of the dynasty of the “Ashings,” or “sons of the Ash-tree,” the name by which the kings of Kent were known. He had, be¬ sides, acquired a kind of imperial authority over the other Saxon kings as far as the Humber. To con¬ solidate his power, he had married Bertha, a French princess, daughter of the King of Paris. It was on this marriage that all the subsequent fate of England turned. Ethelbert was, like all the Saxons, a heathen; but Bertha, like all the rest of the French royal family from Clovis downwards, was a Christian. She had her Christian chaplain with her, Luidhard, a French bishop; and a little chapel 2 outside the town, which had once been used as a place of British Christian worship, was given up to her use. That little chapel, “ on the east of the city,” as Bede tells us, stood on the gentle slope now occupied by the venerable Church of St. Martin. The present church, old as it is, is of far later date; but it unquestionably retains in it's walls some of the Boman bricks and Roman cement of Bertha’s chapel; and its name may perhaps have been derived from Bertha’s use. 3 Of all the great Christian saints of 1 “Ashing” (Bede, ii. 5, § 101) was probably a general name for hero, in allusion to the primeval man of Teutonic, mythology, who was believed to have sprung from the sacred Ash-tree Ygdrasil. (Grimm’s Deutsche Myth., i. 324, 531, 617.) Compare the venerable Ash which gives its name to the village of Donau-Eschingen, “ the Ashes of the Danube,” by the source of that river. 2 The postern-gate of the Precincts opposite St. Augustine’s gate¬ way is on the site Quenengate, a name derived — but by a very doubtful etymology — from the tradition that through it Bertha passed from Ethelbert’s palace to St. Martin’s. (Battely s Canterbury, p. 16.) 3 It is, however, possible that the name of Saint Martin may have been given to the church of the British Christians before. Bede’s expression rather leans to the earlier origin of the name : “ Erat . . . ecclesia in honorem Sancti Martini antiquitus facta dum adhuc Romani Britanniam incolerent.” Saint Ninian, who labored amongst the South- 36 INTERVIEW OE ETHELBERT AND AUGUSTINE. [597. whom she had heard in France before she came to England, the most famous was Saint Martin of Tours; and thus the name which is now so familiar to us that we hardly think of asking why the church is so called, may possibly be a memorial of the recollections which the French princess still cherished of her own native country in a land of strangers. To her it would be no new thought that possibly she might be the means of converting her husband. Her own great ancestor, Clovis, had become a Christian through the influence of his wife Clotilda, and many other instances had occurred in like manner elsewhere. It is no new story ; it is the same that has often been enacted in humbler spheres, — of a careless or unbeliev¬ ing husband converted by a believing wife. But it is a striking sight to see planted in the very beginning of our history, with the most important consequences to the whole world, the same fact which every one must have especially witnessed in the domestic history of families, high and low, throughout the land. It is probable that Ethelbert had heard enough from Bertha to dispose him favorably towards the new re¬ ligion ; and Gregory’s letters show that it was the tidings of this predisposition which had iuduced him to send Augustine. But Ethelbert’s conduct on hear¬ ing that the strangers were actually arrived was still hesitating. He would not suffer them to come to Can¬ terbury ; they were to remain in the Isle of Thanet ern Piets, a.d. 412-432, dedicated his church at Whitehaven to Saint Martin. Hasted (History of Kent, iv. 496) states (but without giving any authority ), that it was originally dedicated to the Virgin, and was dedi¬ cated to Saint Martin by Luidliard. The legendary origin of the church, as of that in the Castle of Dover, of St. Peter’s (Cornhill), of West¬ minster Abbey, and of Winchester Cathedral, is traced to King Lucius. CUssher, Britannicarum Ecclesiarum Antiquitates, pp. 129, 130.) 597.] INTERVIEW OE ETHELBERT AND AUGUSTINE. 37 with the Stour flowing between himself and them; and he also stipulated that on no account should they hold their first interview under a roof, — it must be in the open air, for fear of the charms and spells which he feared they might exercise over him. It was exactly the savage’s notion of religion, that it exercises influ¬ ence, not by moral and spiritual, but by magical means. This was the first feeling; this it was that caused the meeting to be held not at Canterbury, but in the Isle of Thanet, in the wide open space, — possibly at Ebbe’s Fleet, — possibly, according to another account, under an ancient oak on the high upland ground in the centre of the island , 1 then dotted with woods which have long since vanished . 2 The meeting must have been remarkable. The Sax¬ on king, “ the Son of the Ash-tree,” with his wild sol¬ diers round, seated on the bare ground on one side — on the other side, with a huge silver cross borne before him (crucifixes were not yet introduced), and beside it a large picture of Christ painted and gilded 3 after the fashion of those times, on an upright board, came up from the shore Augustine and his companions, chanting, as they advanced, a solemn Litany for themselves and 1 See Lewis, Isle of Thanet, p. 83: “ Under an oak that grew in the middle of the island, which all the German pagans had in the highest veneration.” .He gives no authority. The oak was held sacred by the Germans as well as by the Britons. Probably the recol¬ lection of this meeting determined the forms of that which Augustine afterwards held with the British Christians on the confines of Wales. Then, as now, it was in the open air, under an oak; then, as now, Augustine was seated. (Bede, ii. 2, § 9.) In the same chapel of St. Gregory’s convent at Rome, which contains the picture of the depart¬ ure of Augustine, is one — it need hardly be said, with no attempt at historical accuracy — of his reception by Ethelbert. 2 As indicated by the names of places. (Hasted, iv. 292.) 3 “ Formose atque aurate.” — Acta Sanctorum , p. 326. 38 INTERVIEW OF ETHELBERT AND AUGUSTINE. [59/ for those to whom they came. He, as we are told, was a man of almost gigantic stature , 1 head and shoulders taller than any one else; with him were Lawrence, who afterwards succeeded him as Archbishop of Can¬ terbury, and Peter, who became first Abbot of St. Augustine’s. They and their companions, amounting altogether to forty, sat down at the king’s command, and the interview began. Neither, we must remember, could understand the other’s language. Augustine could not understand a word of Anglo-Saxon; and Ethelbert, we may he tol¬ erably sure, could not speak a word of Latin. But the priests whom Augustine had brought from Prance, as knowing both German and Latin, now stepped for¬ ward as interpreters; and thus the dialogue which followed was carried on, much as all communications are carried on in the East, — Augustine first delivering his message, which the dragoman, as they would say in the East, explained to the king , 2 The king heard it all attentively, and then gave this most characteristic answer, bearing upon it a stamp of truth which it is impossible to doubt: “Your words are fair, and your promises; but because they are new and doubtful, I cannot give my assent to them, and leave the customs which I have so long observed, with the whole Anglo-Saxon race. But because you have come hither as strangers from a long distance, and as I seem to myself to have seen clearly that what you yourselves believed to be true and good, you wish to impart to us, we do not wish to molest you; nay, rather 1 Acta Sanctorum, p. 399. 2 Exchange English travellers for Roman missionaries, Arab sheikhs for Saxon chiefs, and the well-known interviews on the way to Petra give us some notion of this celebrated dialogue. 597.] INTERVIEW OF ETIIELBERT AND AUGUSTINE. 39 we are anxious to receive you hospitably, and to give you all that is needed for your support, nor do we hin¬ der you from joining all whom you can to the faith of your religion.” Such an answer, simple as it was, really seems to contain the seeds of all that is excellent in the Eng¬ lish character, — exactly what a king should have said on such an occasion, — exactly what, under the influ¬ ence of Christianity, has grown up into all our best institutions. There is the natural dislike to change, which Englishmen still retain; there is the willingness at the same time to listen favorably to anything which comes recommended by the energy and self-devotion of those who urge it; there is, lastly, the spirit of moderation and toleration, and the desire to see fair play, which is one of our best gifts, and which I hope we shall never lose. We may, indeed, well be thankful, not only that we had an Augustine to convert us, but that we had an Ethelbert for our king. Erom the Isle of Thanet, the missionaries crossed the broad ferry to Bichborough,—the “ Burgh,” or castle, of “ Bete,” or “ Betep,” as it was then called, from the old Boman fortress of Butupke, of which the vast ruins still remain. Underneath the overhanging cliff of the castle, so the tradition ran, the kin" received the mis- sionaries . 1 They then advanced to Canterbury by the Boman road over St. Martin’s Hill. The first object 1 Sandwich MS. in Boys’ Sandwich, p. 838. An old hermit lived amongst the ruins in the time of Henry VIII., and pointed out to Le- land what seems to have been a memorial of this in a chapel of St. Augustine, of which some slight remains are still to he traced in the northern bank of the fortress. There was also a head or bust, said to be of Queen Bertha, embedded in the walls, — remaining till the time of Elizabeth. The curious crossing in the centre was then called by the common people, “ St. Augustine’s Cross.” (Camden, p. 342.) For this question see the Note at the end of this Lecture. 40 ARRIVAL OF AUGUSTINE AT CANTERBURY. [597, that would catch their view would be the little British chapel of St. Martin, — a welcome sight, as showing that the Christian faith was not wholly strange to this new land. And then, in the valley below, on the banks of the river, appeared the city, — the rude wooden city as it then was, — embosomed in thickets. As soon as they saw it, they formed themselves into a long proces¬ sion ; they lifted up again the tall silver cross and the rude painted board ; there were with them the choris¬ ters, whom Augustine had brought from Gregory’s school on the Cselian Hill, trained in the chants which were called after his name; and they sang one of those Litanies 1 which Gregory had introduced for the plague at Borne. “We beseech thee, 0 Lord, in all thy mercy, that thy wrath and thine anger may be removed from this city and from thy holy house. Allelujah.” 2 Doubtless, as they uttered that last word; they must have remembered that they were thus ful¬ filling to the letter the very wish that Gregory had expressed when he first saw the Saxon children in the market-place at Borne. And thus they came down St. Martin’s Hill, and entered Canterbury. 1 Fleury, Histoire Ecclesiastique, book xxxv. 1. 2 Bede (ii. 1, § 87) supposes that it was to this that Gregory alludes in his Commentary on Job, when he says, “ Lo, the language of Britain, which once only knew a barbarous jargon, now has begun in divine praises to sound Allelujah.” It is objected to this that the Commen¬ tary on Job was written during Gregory’s mission to Constantinople, some years before this event, and that therefore the passage must relate to the victory gained by Germanus in the Welsh mountains by the shout of “ Hallelujah.” But the Commentary was only begun at Constantinople. Considering the doubt whether Gregory could have heard of the proceedings of Germanus, it may well be a question whether the allusion in the Commentary on Job was not added after he had heard of this fulfilment of his wishes. At any rate, it illus¬ trates the hold which the word “ Hallelujah ” had on his mind in con- nection with the conversion of Britain. BAPTISM OF ETHELBERT. 41 697.} Every one of the events which follow is connected with some well-known locality. The place that Ethel- bert gave them first was “ Stable-gate,” by an old heathen temple, where his servants worshipped, near the present Church of St. Alfege, as a “ resting-place,” where they “ stabled ” till he had made up his mind ; and by their good and holy lives it is said, as well as by the miracles they were supposed to work, he was at last decided to encourage them more openly, and allow them to worship with the queen at St. Martin’s. 1 In St. Martin’s they worshipped; and no doubt the mere splendor and strangeness of the Roman ritual produced an instant effect on the rude barbarian mind. And now came the turning-point of their whole mis¬ sion, the baptism of Ethelbert. It was, unless we ex¬ cept the conversion of Clovis, the most important baptism that the world had seen since that of Con¬ stantine. We know the day, — it was the Feast of Whit-Sunday, — on the 2d of June, in the year of our Lord 597. Unfortunately we do not with certainty know the place. The only authorities of that early age tell us merely that he was baptized, without specifying any particular spot. Still, as St. Martin’s Church is described as the scene of Augustine’s min¬ istrations, and, amongst other points, of his adminis¬ tration of baptism, it is in the highest degree probable that the local tradition is correct. And although the venerable font, which is there shown as that in which he was baptized, is proved by its appearance to be, at least in its upper part, of a later date, yet it is so like that which appears in the representation of the event in the seal of St. Augustine’s Abbey, and is in itself so remarkable, that we may perhaps fairly regard it 1 Thorn, 1758. 42 CHURCH OF ST. PANCRAS. [597. as a monument of the event, — in the same manner as the large porphyry basin in the Lateran Church at Rome commemorates the baptism of Constantine, though still less corresponding to the reality of that event than the stone font of St. Martin’s to the place of the immersion of Ethelbert. 1 The conversion of a king was then of more im¬ portance than it has ever been before or since. The baptism of any one of these barbarian chiefs almost in¬ evitably involved the baptism of the whole tribe, and therefore we are not to be surprised at finding that when this step was once achieved, all else was easy. Accordingly, by the end of that year, Gregory wrote to his brother patriarch of the distant Church of Alex¬ andria (so much interest did the event excite to the re¬ motest end of Christendom), that ten thousand Saxons had been baptized on Christmas Day, 2 — baptized, as we learn from another source, in the broad waters of the Swale, 3 at the mouth of the Medway. The next stage of the mission carries us to another spot. Midway between St. Martin’s and the town was another ancient building, — also, it would appear, al¬ though this is less positively stated, once a British church, but now used by Ethelbert as a temple in which 1 Neither Bede 79) nor Thorn (1759) says a word of the scene of the baptism. ButGoeelin (Acta Sanctorum, p.383) speaks distinctly of a “ baptistery ” or “ urn” as used. The first mention of the font at St Martin’s that I find is in Stukely, p. 117 (in the seventeenth century). 2 Greg. Epp., vii. 30. 3 See Fuller’s Church History, ii. §§ 7, 9, where he justly argues, after his quaint fashion, that the Swale mentioned by Gocelin (Acta Sanctorum, p. 390), Gervase (Acta Pont., p. 1551), and Camden (p. 136), cannot be that of Yorkshire. Indeed, Gregory’s letter is decisive. The legend represents the crowd as miraculously delivered from drowning, and the baptism as performed by two and two upon each other at the command, though not by the act, of Augustine. 597.] CHURCH OF ST. PANCRAS. 43 to worship the gods of Saxon paganism. Like all the Saxon temples, we must imagine it embosomed in a thick grove of oak or ash. This temple, according to a principle which, as we shall afterwards find, was laid down by Gregory himself, Ethelbert did not destroy, but made over to Augustine for a regular place of Chris¬ tian worship. Augustine dedicated the place to Saint Pancras, and it became the Church of St. Pancras, of which the spot is still indicated by a ruined arch of ancient brick, and by the fragment of a wall, still show¬ ing the mark 1 where, according to the legend, the old demon who, according to the belief at that time, had hitherto reigned supreme in the heathen temple, laid his claws to shake down the building in which he first heard the celebration of Christian services, and felt that his rule was over. But there is a more authentic and instructive interest attaching to that ancient ruin, if you ask why it was that it received from Augustine the name of St. Pancras ? Two reasons are given: First, Saint Pancras, or Pancrasius, was a Roman boy of noble family, who was martyred 2 under Diocletian at the age of fourteen, and, being thus regarded as the patron saint of children, would naturally be chosen as the patron saint of the first-fruits of the nation which was converted out of regard to the three English children in the market-place; and, secondly, the Monastery of St. 1 The place now pointed out can hardly be the same as that indi¬ cated by Thorn (1760) as “ the south wall of the church.” But every student of local tradition knows how easily they are transplanted to suit the convenience of their perpetuation. The present mark is ap¬ parently that mentioned by Stukely (p. 117), who gives a view of the church as then standing. 2 The Roman Church of St. Pancrazio, behind the Vatican (so fa¬ mous in the siege of Rome by the French in 1849), is on the scene of Pancrasius’s martyrdom. 44 FIRST CATHEDRAL OF CANTERBURY. [597. Andrew on the Cselian Hill, which Gregory had founded, and from which Augustine came, was built on the very property which had belonged to the family of Saint Pancras, and therefore the name of Saint Pancras was often in Gregory’s mouth (one of his sermons was preached on Saint Pancras’s day), and would thus nat¬ urally occur to Augustine also. That rising ground on which the Chapel of St. Pancras stands, with St. Martin’s Hill behind, was to him a Cselian Mount in England; and this, of itself, would suggest to him the wish, as we shall presently see, to found his first monastery as nearly as possible with the same asso¬ ciations as that which he had left behind. But Ethelbert was not satisfied with establishing those places of worship outside the city. Augustine was now formally consecrated as the first Archbishop of Canterbury, and Ethelbert determined to give him a dwelling-place and a house of prayer within the city also. Buildings of this kind were rare in Canterbury, and so the king retired to Reculver, — built there a new palace out of the ruins of the old Roman fortress, and gave up his own palace and an old British or Roman church in its neighborhood, to be the seat of the new archbishop and the foundation of the new cathedral. If the baptism of Ethelbert may in some measure be compared to the baptism of Constantine, so this may be compared to that hardly less celebrated act of the same emperor (made up of some truth and more fable), — his donation of the “ States of the Church,” or at least of the Lateran Palace, to Pope Sylvester; his own retirement to Constantinople in consequence of this resignation. It is possible that Ethelbert may have been in some measure influenced in his step by what he may have heard of this story. His wooden ■n ' / 597.] FIRST CATHEDRAL OF CANTERBURY. 45 palace was to him what the Lateran was to Constantine ; Augustine was his Sylvester; Eeculver was his Byzan¬ tium. At any rate, this grant of house and land to Augustine was a step of immense importance not only in English but European history, because it was the first instance in England, or in any of the countries oc¬ cupied by the barbarian tribes, of an endowment by the State. As St. Martin’s and St. Pancras’s witnessed the first beginning of English Christianity, so Canterbury Cathedral is the earliest monument of an English Church Establishment, — of the English constitution of the union of Church and State. 1 Of the actual building of this first cathedral, nothing now remains; yet there is much, even now, to remind us of it. First, there is the venerable chair, in which, for so many generations, the primates of England have been enthroned, and which, though probably of a later date, may yet rightly be called “ Saint Augustine’s Chair; ” 2 for, though not the very one in which he sat, it no doubt represents the ancient episcopal throne, in which, after the fashion of the bishops, of that time, he sat behind the altar (for that was its proper place, and there, as is well known, it once stood), with all his clergy round him, as may still be seen in several ancient churches abroad. Next, there is the name of the cathedral. It was then, as it is still, properly called “ Christ Church,” or the “ Church of our Saviour.” We can hardly doubt that this is a 1 That the parallel of Constantine was present to the minds of those concerned is evident, not merely from the express comparison by Go- celin (Acta Sanctorum, p. 383), of Ethelbert to Constantine, and Au¬ gustine to Sylvester, but from the appellation of “ Hellena” given by Gregory to Bertha, or (as he calls her) Edilburga. (Epp., ix. 60.) 2 The arguments against the antiquity of the chair are, (1) That it is of Purbeck marble; (2) That the old throne was of one piece of stone, the present is of three. 46 MONASTERY AND LIBRARY OF ST. AUGUSTINE. [597. direct memorial of the first landing of Augustine, when he first announced to the pagan Saxons the faith and name of Christ, and spread out before their eyes, on the shore of Ebhe’s Fleet, the rude painting on the large board, which, we are emphatically told, represented to them “ Christ our Saviour.” And, thirdly, there is the curious fact, that the old church, whether as found, or as restored by Augustine, was in many of its features an exact likeness of the old St. Peter’s at Rome,— doubtless from his recollection of that ancient edifice in what may be called his own cathedral city in Italy. In it, as in St. Peter’s, 1 the altar was originally at the west end. Like St. Peter’s it contained a crypt made in imitation of the ancient catacombs, in which the bones of the apostles were originally found; and this was the first beginning of the crypt which still exists, and which is so remarkable a part of the present cathe¬ dral. Lastly, then, as now, the chief entrance into the cathedral was through the south door, 2 which is a prac¬ tice derived, not from the Roman, but from the British times, and therefore from the ruined British church which Augustine first received from Ethelbert. It is so still in the remains of the old British churches which are preserved in Cornwall and Scotland; and I mention it here because it is perhaps the only point in the whole cathedral which reminds us of that earlier British Chris¬ tianity, which had almost died away before Augustine came. Finally, in the neighborhood of the Church of St. Pancras, where he had first begun to perform Christian service, Ethelbert granted to Augustine the ground on which was to be built the monastery that afterwards 1 Willis’s Canterbury Cathedral, pp. 20-32. a Ibid., p. 11. 597.] MONASTERY AND LIBRARY OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 47 grew up into the great abbey called by bis name. It was, in the first instance, called the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul, after the two apostles of the city of Pome, from which Augustine and his companions had come ; and though in after times it was chiefly known by the name of its founder Augustine, yet its earlier appella¬ tion was evidently intended to carry back the thoughts of those who first settled within its walls far over the sea, to the great churches which stood by the hanks of the Tiber, over the graves of the two apostles. This monastery was designed chiefly for two purposes. One object was, that the new clergy of the Christian mission might be devoted to study and learning. And it may be interesting to remember here, that of this original intention of the monastery, two relics possibly exist, although not at Canterbury. In the library of Corpus Christi College at Cambridge, and in the Bodleian Li¬ brary at Oxford, two ancient manuscript Gospels still ex¬ ist, which have at least a fair claim to be considered the very books which Gregory sent to Augustine as marks of his good wishes to the rising monastery, when Lawrence and Peter returned from Britain to Borne, to tell him the success of their mission, and from him brought back these presents. They are, if so, the most ancient books that ever were read in England; as the Church of St. Martin is the mother-church, and the Cathedral of Canterbury the mother-cathedral of Eng¬ land, so these books are, if I may so call them, the mother-books of England, — the first beginning of Eng¬ lish literature, of English learning, of English education. And St. Augustine’s Abbey was thus the mother-school, the mother-university, of England, the seat of letters and study at a time when Cambridge was a desolate fen, and Oxford a tangled forest in a wide waste of 48 BURIAL-GROUND OF ST. AUGUSTINE’S ABBEY. [597. waters. 1 They remind us that English power and Eng¬ lish religion have, as from the very first, so ever since, gone along with knowledge, with learning, and especially with that knowledge and that learning which those two old manuscripts give — the knowledge and learning of the Gospel. This was one intention of St. Augustine’s Monastery. The other is remarkable, as explaining the situation of the Abbey. It might be asked why so important an edifice, constructed for study and security, should have been built outside the city walls? One reason, as I have said, may have been to fix it as near as possible to the old Church of St. Pancras. But there was another and more instructive cause: Augustine desired to have in this land of strangers a spot of consecrated ground where his bones should repose after death. But in the same way as the Abbey Church of Glastonbury in like' manner almost adjoins to the Chapel of St. Joseph of Arimathea, such a place, according to the usages which he brought with him from Borne, he could not have within the walls of Canterbury. In all ancient coun¬ tries the great cemeteries were always outside the town, along the sides of the great highways by which it was approached. In Jewish as well as in Boman history, only persons of the very highest importance were al¬ lowed what we now call intra-mural interment. So it was here. Augustine the Boman fixed his burial-place 1 A manuscript history of the foundation of St. Augustine’s Abbey (in the library of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, to which it was given by one into whose hands it fell at the time of the Dissolution) contains an account of eight manuscripts, said to be those sent over by Gregory. Of these all have long since disappeared, with three exceptions, — a Bible which, however, has never been heard of since 1604, and the two manuscript Gospels still shown at Corpus, Cambridge, and in the Bodleian at Oxford. The arguments for their genuineness are stated by Wanley, in Hickes’s Thesaurus (ii. 172, 173). 597.] FOUNDATION OF THE SEE OF ROCHESTER. 49 by the side of the great Roman road which then ran from Richborough to Canterbury over St. Martin’s Hill, and entering the town by the gateway which still marks the course of the old road. 1 The cemetery of St. Augustine was an English Appian Way, as the Church of St. Pancras was an English Cselian Hill; and this is the reason why St. Augustine’s Abbey, instead of the Cathedral, has enjoyed the honor of burying the last remains of the first primate of the English Church and of the first king of Christian England. Eor now we have arrived at. the end of their career. Nothing of importance is known of Augustine in con¬ nection with Canterbury, beyond what has been said above. We know that he penetrated as far west as the banks of the Severn, on his important mission to the Welsh Christians, and it would also seem that he must 2 * 4 have gone into Dorsetshire; but these would lead us into regions and topics remote from our present subject. His last act at Canterbury, of which we can speak with certainty, was his consecration of two monks who had been sent out after him by Gregory to two new sees, — two new steps farther into the country, still under the shelter of Ethelbert. Justus became Bishop of Rochester, and Mellitus Bishop of London. And still the same association of names which we have seen at Canterbury w T as continued. The memory of “ St. Andrew’s Convent ” on the Caelian Hill was perpetuated 1 Bede, i. 33, § 79; Gostling’s Walk, p. 44. “A common footway- lay through it, even till memory.” 2 See the account of his conference with the Welsh, in Bede; the stories of his adventures in Dorsetshire, in the “Acta Sanctorum,” p. 391. The story of his journey into Yorkshire has probably arisen from the mistake, before noticed, respecting the Swale. The whole question of his miracles, and of the legendary portions of his life, is too long to be discussed in this place. 4 50 DEATH OF AUGUSTINE. [605. in the Cathedral Church of St. Andrew on the oanks of the Medway. The names of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, which had been combined in the abbey at Canterbury, were preserved apart in St. Peter’s at Westminster and St. Paul’s in London, which thus represent the great Roman Basilicas, on the hanks of the Thames. How like the instinct with which the colonists of the Hew World reproduced the nomenclature of Christian and civilized Europe, was this practice of recalling in re¬ mote and barbarous Britain the familiar scenes of Chris¬ tian and civilized Italy! It was believed that Augustine expired on the 26th of May, 605, 1 his patron and benefactor, Gregory the Great, having died on the 12th of March of the previous year, and he was interred, 2 according to the custom of which I have spoken, by the roadside in the ground now occupied by the Kent and Canterbury Hospital. The abbey which he had founded was not yet finished, but he had just lived to see its foundation. 3 Ethelbert came from Reculver to Canterbury, a few months before Au¬ gustine’s death, to witness the ceremony; and the monks were settled there under Peter, the first companion of Augustine, as their head. Peter did not long survive his master. He was lost, it is said, in a storm off the coast of France, two years afterwards, and his remains were interred in the Church of St. Mary at Boulogne. 4 Bertha and her chaplain also died about the same time, and were buried beside Augustine. There now remained of those who had first met in the Isle of Thanet ten years before, only Ethelbert himself, and Lawrence, who 1 Thorn (1765) gives the year; Bede (ii. 3, § 96), the day. 2 Thorn, 1767. 3 Thorn, 1761. Christmas, a. d. 605, was, according to our reckon¬ ing, on Christmas, 604. 4 Thorn, 1766. 613.] BURIAL-PLACE OF AUGUSTINE. 51 had been consecrated Archbishop by Augustine himself before his death, an unusual and almost unprecedented step, 1 but one which it was thought the unsettled state of the newly converted country demanded. Once more Ethelbert and Lawrence met, in the year 613, eight years after Augustine’s death, for the consecration of the Abbey Church, on the site of which there rose in after times the noble structure whose ruins still remain, preserving in the fragments of its huge western tower, even to our own time, the name of Ethelbert. Then the bones 2 of Augustine were removed from their resting- place by the Roman road, to be deposited in the north transept of the church, where they remained till in the twelfth century they were moved again, and placed under the high altar at the east end. Then also the remains of Bertha and of Luidhard were brought within the same church, and laid in the transept or apse dedi¬ cated to Saint Martin ; 3 thus still keeping up the rec¬ ollection of their original connection with the old French saint, and the little chapel where they had so often worshipped on the hill above, — Luidhard 4 1 Thorn, 1765; Bede, ii. 4, § 97. 2 Thorn, 1767. The statement in Butler’s "Lives of the Saints” (May 26) is a series of mistakes. 3 The mention of this apse, or “ porticus,” of Saint Martin has led to the mistake which from Fuller’s time (ii. 7, § 32) has fixed the grave of Bertha in the Church of St. Martin’s on the hill. But the elegant Latin inscription which the excellent rector of St. Martin’s has caused to be placed over the rude stone tomb which popularly bears her name in his beautiful church, is so cautiously worded that even if she were buried much farther off than she is, the claim which is there set up would hardly be contradicted. 4 Luidhard is so mere a shadow, that it is hardly worth while col¬ lecting what is known or said of him. His name is variously spelled Lethard, Ledvard, and Luidhard. His French bishopric is variously represented to be Soissons or Senlis. His tomb in the abbey was long known, and his relics were carried round Canterbury in a gold chest on the Rogation Days. (Acta Sanctorum, Feb. 24, pp. 468, 470.) 52 DEATH OF ETHELBERT. [616. on the north, and Bertha on the south side of the altar. Three years longer Ethelhert reigned. He lived, as has been already said, no longer at Canterbury, but in the new palace which he had built for himself within the strong Roman fortress of Reculver, at the north¬ western end of the estuary of the Isle of Thanet, though in a different manner. The whole aspect of the place is even more altered than that of its corresponding fortress of Richborough, at the other extremity. The sea, which was then a mile or more from Reculver, has now advanced up to the very edge of the cliff on which it stands, and swept the northern wall of the massive fortress into the waves; but the three other sides, over¬ grown with ivy and elder bushes, still remain, with the strong masonry which Ethelbert must have seen and handled; and within the enclosure stand the venerable ruins of the church, with its two towers, which after¬ wards rose on the site of Ethelbert’s palace. This wild spot is the scene which most closely con¬ nects itself with the remembrance of that good Saxon king, and it long disputed with St. Augustine’s Abbey the honor of his burial-place. Even down to the time of King James I., a monument was to be seen in the south transept of the church of Reculver, professing to cover his remains; 1 and down to our own time, I am told, a board was affixed to the wall with the inscription “ Here lies Ethelbert, Kentish king whilom/’ This, how¬ ever, may have been Ethelbert II.; and all authority leans to the story that, after a long reign of forty-eight years (dying on the 24th of February, 616), he was laid side by side with his first wife Bertha, 2 on the south side of 1 Weever, Funeral Monuments, p. 260. 2 That he had a second wife appears from the allusion to her in 616.] PRIMACY OF CANTERBURY. 53 St. Martin’s altar in the Church of St. Augustine, 1 and there, somewhere in the field around the ruins of the abbey, his bones, with those of Bertha and Augustine, 2 probably still repose and may possibly be discovered. These are all the direct traces which Augustine and Ethelbert have left amongst us. Viewed in this light they will become so many finger-posts, pointing your thoughts along various roads, to times and countries far away, — always useful and pleasant in this busy world in which we live. But in that busy world itself they have left traces also, which we shall do well briefly to consider before we bid farewell to that ancient Boman prelate and that ancient Saxon chief. I do not now speak of the one great change of our conversion to Christianity, which is too extensive and too serious a the story of his son Eadbald (Bede, ii. § 102), but her name is never mentioned. 1 Thorn, 1767 ; Bede, ii. §§ 100, 101. 2 In the “ Acta Sanctorum ” for Feb. 24 (p. 478), a strange ghost- story is told of Etlielbert’s tomb, not without interest from its connec¬ tion with the previous history. The priest who had the charge of the tomb had neglected it. One night, as he was in the chapel, there suddenly issued from the tomb, in a blaze of light which filled the whole apse, the figure of a boy, with a torch in his hand : long golden hair flowed round his shoulders; his face was as white as snow ; his eyes shone like stars. He rebuked the priest and retired into his tomb. Is it possible that the story of this apparition was connected with the tradi¬ tional description of the three children at Rome ? There was a statue of Ethelbert in the south chapel or apse of St. Pancras (Thorn, 1677), long since destroyed. But in the screen of the cathedral choir, of the fifteenth century, he may still be seen as the founder of the cathedral, with the model of the church in his hand. He was canonized; but probably as a saint he was less popularly known than Saint Ethelbert of Hereford, with whom he is sometimes confused. His epitaph was a curious instance of rhyming Latinity : — “ Rex Ethelbertus hie clauditur in polyandro, Fana pians, Christo meat absque meandro.” Speed, 215. 54 PRIMACY OF CANTERBURY. [616. subject to be treated of on the present occasion. But the particular manner in which Christianity was thus planted is in so many ways best understood by going back to that time, that I shall not scruple to call your attention to it. First, the arrival of Augustine explains to us at once why the primate of this great Church, the first subject of this great empire, should be Archbishop not of London, but of Canterbury. It had been Gregory’s intention to fix the primacy in London and York alternately; but the local feelings which grew out of Augustine’s landing in Kent were too strong for him, and they have prevailed to this day. 1 Humble as Can¬ terbury may now be, — “ Kent itself but a corner of England, and Canterbury seated in a corner of that corner,” 2 — yet so long as an Archbishop of Canterbury exists, so long as the Church of England exists, Can¬ terbury can never forget that it had the glory of being the cradle of English Christianity. And that glory it had in consequence of a few simple causes, far back in the mist of ages, — the shore between the cliffs of Bamsgate and of the South Foreland, which made the shores of Kent the most convenient landing-place for the Italian missionaries ; the marriage of the wild Saxon king of Kent with a Christian princess; and the good English common sense of Ethelbert when the happy occasion arrived. 1 Greg. Epp., xii. 15. Gervase (Acta Pont., pp. 1131,1132), thinking that by this letter the Pope established three primacies, — one at Lon¬ don, one at Canterbury, and one at York, — needlessly perplexes him¬ self to reconcile such a distribution with the geography of Britain, and arrives at the conclusion that the Pope “ licet Sancti Spiritus sa- crarium esset,” yet had fallen into the error of supposing each of the cities to be equidistant from the other. 2 Fuller, Church History, book ii. § viii. 4, in speaking of the term porary transference of the primacy to Lichfield. 616.] EXTENT OF ENGLISH DIOCESES. 55 Secondly, we may see, in the present constitution of Church and State in England, what are far more truly the footmarks of Gregory and Augustine than that fictitious footmark which he was said to have left at Ebbe’s Fleet. There are letters from Gregory to Augustine, which give him excellent advice for his missionary course, — advice which all missionaries would do well to con¬ sider, and of which the effects are to this day visible amongst us. Let me mention two or three of these points. The first, perhaps, is more curious than gen¬ erally interesting. Any of you who have ever read or seen the state of foreign churches and countries may have been struck by one great difference, which I believe distinguishes England from all other churches in the world; and that is, the great size of its dioceses. In foreign countries you will generally find a bishop’s see in every large town; so that he is, in fact, more like a clergyman of a large parish than what we call the bishop of a diocese. It is a very important char¬ acteristic of the English Church that the opposite should be the case with us. In some respects it has been a great disadvantage; in other respects, I believe, a great advantage. The formation of the English sees was very gradual, and the completion of the number of twenty-four did not take place till the reign of Henry VIII. But it is curious that this should have been precisely the same number fixed in Gregory’s instruc¬ tions to Augustine; and, at any rate, the great size of the dioceses was in conformity with his suggestions. Britain, as I have said several times, was to him almost an unknown island. Probably he thought it might be about the size of Sicily or Sardinia, the only large islands he had ever seen, and that twenty- 56 TOLERATION OF CHRISTIAN DIVERSITIES. [616. four bishoprics would be sufficient. At any rate, so he divided, and so, with the variation of giving only four, instead of twelve, to the province of York, it was, consciously or unconsciously, followed out in after times. The kings of the various kingdoms seem to have encouraged the practice, each making the bish¬ opric co-extensive with his kingdom; 1 so that the bishop of the diocese was also chief pastor of the tribe, succeeding in all probability to the post which the chaplain or high-priest of the king had held in the days of paganism. And it may be remarked that, whether from an imitation of England or from a similarity of circumstances, the sees of Germany 2 (in this respect an exception to the usual practice of continental Eu¬ rope) and of Scotland are of great extent. But, further, Gregory gave directions as to the two points which probably most perplex missionaries, and which at once beset Augustine. The first concerned his dealings with other Christian communities. Au¬ gustine had passed through Erance, and saw there customs very different from what he had seen in Borne; and he was now come to Britain, where there were still remnants of the old British churches, with cus¬ toms very different from what he had seen either in Erance or Borne. What was he to do ? The answer of Gregory was, that whatever custom he found really good and pleasing to God, whether in the Church of Italy or of France, or any other, he was to adopt it, and use it in his new Church of England. “ Things,” he says, “ are not to be loved for the sake of places, but places for the sake of things.” 3 1 See Kemble’s Saxons, book ii. chap. viii. 2 Germany was, it should be remembered, converted by Englishmen. 3 Bede, i. 27, § 60. 616.] TOLERATION OF HEATHEN CUSTOMS. 57 It was indeed a truly wise and liberal maxim, — one which would have healed many feuds, one which per¬ haps Augustine himself might have followed more than he did. It would be too much to say that the effect of this advice has reached to our own time; but it often happens that the first turn given to the spirit of an institution lasts long after its first founder has passed away, and in channels quite different from those which he contemplated; and when we think what the Church of England is now, I confess there is a satis¬ faction in thinking that at least in this respect it has in some measure fulfilled the wishes of Gregory the Great. There is no church in the world which has combined such opposite and various advantages from other churches more exclusive than itself, — none in which various characters and customs from the oppo¬ site parts of the Christian world could have been able to find such shelter and refuge. Another point was how to deal with the pagan cus¬ toms and ceremonies which already existed in the Anglo-Saxon kingdom. Were they to be entirely de¬ stroyed, or were they to be tolerated so far as was not absolutely incompatible with the Christian religion ? And here again Gregory gave to Augustine the advice which, certainly as far as we could judge, Saint Paul would have given, and which in spirit at least is an example always. “ He had thought much on the sub¬ ject,’’ he says, and he came to the conclusion that hea¬ then temples were not to be destroyed, but turned whenever possible into Christian churches ; 1 that the 1 To Ethelbert he had expressed himself, apparently in an earlier letter, more strongly against the temples. (Bede, i. 32, § 76.) “ Was it settled policy,” asks Dean Milman, “ or mature reflection, which led the Pope to devolve the more odious duty of the total abolition of idola¬ try on the temporal power, the barbarian king; while it permitted the 58 TOLERATION OE HEATHEN CUSTOMS. [ 616 . droves of oxen which used to be killed in sacrifice were still to be killed for feasts for the poor; and that the lints which they used to make of boughs of trees round the temples were still to be used for amuse¬ ments on Christian festivals. And he gives as the reason for this, that “ for hard and rough minds it is impossible to cut away abruptly all their old customs, because he who wishes to reach the highest place must ascend by steps and not by jumps.” 1 How this was followed out in England, is evident. In Canterbury we have already seen how the old hea¬ then temple of Ethelbert was turned into the Church of St. Pancras. In the same manner the sites granted by Ethelbert for St. Paul’s in London, and St. Peter’s in Westminster, were both originally places of heathen worship. This appropriation of heathen buildings is the more remarkable, inasmuch as it had hitherto been very unusual in Western Christendom. In Egypt, in¬ deed, the temples were usually converted into Christian churches, and the intermixture of Coptic saints with Egyptian gods is one of the strangest sights that the traveller sees in the monuments of tfiat strange land. In Greece, also, the Parthenon and the temple of The¬ seus are well-known instances. But in Pome it was very rare. The Pantheon, now dedicated to All Saints, is almost the only example; and this dedication itself took place four years after Gregory’s death, and prob¬ ably in consequence of his known views. The frag¬ ment of the Church of St. Pancras — the nucleus, as we have seen, of St. Augustine’s Abbey — thus be- milder or more winning course to the clergy, the protection of the hal¬ lowed places and images of the heathen from insult by consecrating them to holier uses ? ”— History of Latin Christianity , ii. 59. 1 Bede, i. 30, § 74. 616.] GREAT RESULTS FROM SMALL BEGINNINGS. 59 comes a witness to an important principle; and the legend of the Devil’s claw reads ns the true lesson, that the evil spirit can be cast out of institutions without destroying them. Gregory’s advice is, indeed, but the counterpart of John Wesley’s celebrated say¬ ing about church music, that “ it was a great pity the Devil should have all the best tunes to himself;and the principle which it involved, coming from one in his commanding position, probably struck root far and wide, not only in England, but throughout West¬ ern Christendom. One familiar instance is to be found in the toleration of the heathen names of the days of the weeks. Every one of these is called, as we all know, after the name of some Saxon god or goddess, whom Ethelbert worshipped in the days of his pagan¬ ism. Through all the changes of Saxon and Norman, Roman Catholic and Protestant, these names have survived, but, most striking of all, through the great change from heathenism to Christianity. 1 They have survived, and rightly, because there is no harm in their intention; and if there is no harm, it is a clear gain to keep up old names and customs, when their evil inten¬ tion is passed away. They, like the ruin of St. Pancras, are standing witnesses of Gregory’s wisdom and mod¬ eration, — standing examples to us that Christianity does not require us to trample on the customs even of a heathen world, if we can divest them of their mischief. Lastly, the mission of Augustine is one of the most striking instances in all history of the vast results which may flow from a very small beginning,— of the 1 See a full and most interesting discussion of the whole subject of the heathen names of the week days, in Grimm’s Deutsche Mythologie, i. 111-128. 60 GREAT RESULTS FROM SMALL BEGINNINGS. [ 616 . immense effects produced by a single thought in the heart of a single man, carried out consistently, delib¬ erately, and fearlessly. Nothing in itself could seem more trivial than the meeting of Gregory with the three Yorkshire slaves in the market-place at Eome; yet this roused a feeling in his mind which he never lost; and through all the obstacles which were thrown first in his own way, and then in the way of Augus¬ tine, his highest desire concerning it was more than realized. And this was even the more remarkable when we remember who and what his instruments were. You may have observed that I have said little of Augustine himself, and that for two reasons: first, because so little is known of him; secondly, because I must confess that what little is told of him leaves an unfavorable impression behind. We cannot doubt- that he was an active, self-denying man,— his coming here through so many dangers of sea and land proves it, — and it would be ungrateful and ungenerous not to acknowledge how much we owe to him. But still al¬ most every personal trait which is recorded of him shows us that he was not a man of any great elevation of character, — that he was often thinking of himself, or of his order, when we should have wished him to be thinking of the great cause he had in hand. We see this in his drawing back from his journey in France ; we see it in the additional power which he claimed from Gregory over his own companions; we see it in the warnings sent to him by Gregory, that he was not to be puffed up by the wonders he had wrought in Britain; we see it in the haughty severity with which he treated the remnant of British Christians in Wales, not rising when they approached, and uttering that malediction against them which sanctioned, if it did 616.] GREAT RESULTS EROM SMALL BEGINNINGS. 61 not instigate, their massacre by the Saxons; we see it in the legends which grew up after his death, telling us how, because the people of Stroud insulted him by fastening a fish-tail to his back, 1 he cursed them, and brought down on the whole population the curse of being born with tails. I mention all this, not to disparage our great bene¬ factor and first archbishop, but partly because we ought to have our eyes open to the truth even about our best friends, partly to show what I have said be¬ fore, from what small beginnings and through what weak instruments Gregory accomplished his mighty work. It would have been a mighty work, even if it had been no more than Gregory and Augustine them¬ selves imagined. They thought, no doubt, of the Anglo-Saxon conversion, as we might think of the conversion of barbarous tribes in India or Africa,— numerous and powerful themselves, but with no great future results. How far beyond their widest vision that conversion has reached, may best be seen at Canterbury. Let any one sit on the hill of the little Church of St. Martin, and look on the view which is there spread be¬ fore his eyes. Immediately below are the towers of the great Abbey of St. Augustine, where Christian learning and civilization first struck root in the Anglo- Saxon race; 2 and within which now, after a lapse of 1 Gocelin notices the offence, without expressly stating the punish¬ ment (c. 41), and places it in Dorsetshire. The story is given in Harris’s Kent, p. 303; in Fuller’s Church History, ii. 7, § 22; aud iu Ray’s Proverbs (p. 233), who mentions it especially as a Kentish story, and as one that was very generally believed in his time on the Continent. There is a long and amusing discussion on the subject in Lambard’s Kent, p. 400. 2 I have forborne to dwell on any traces of Augustine’s mission be¬ sides those which were left at the time. Otherwise the list would be 62 GREAT RESULTS FROM SMALL BEGINNINGS. [ 616 . many centuries, a new institution has arisen, intended to carry far and wide to countries of which Gregory and Augustine never heard, the blessings which they gave to us. Carry your view on, — and there rises high above all the magnificent pile of our cathedral, equal in splendor and state to any, the noblest temple or church that Augustine could have seen in ancient Rome, rising on the very ground which derives its con¬ secration from him. And still more than the grandeur of the outward buildings that rose from the little church of Augustine and the little palace of Ethelbert, have been the institutions of all kinds, of which these were the earliest cradle. From Canterbury, the first English Christian city; from Kent, the first English Christian kingdom, — has, by degrees, arisen the whole constitution of Church and State in England which now binds together the whole British Empire. And from the Christianity here established in England has flowed by direct consequence, first, the Christianity of Germany; then, after a long interval, of North America; and lastly, we may trust in time, of all India and all Australasia. The view from St. Martin’s Church is indeed one of the most inspiriting that can be found in the world; there is none to which I would more willingly take any one who doubted whether a small beginning could lead to a great and lasting good, — none which carries us more vividly back into the past or more hopefully forward to the future. much enlarged by the revival of the ancient associations, visible in St. Augustine’s College, in St. Gregory’s Church and burial-ground, and in the restored Church of St. Martin ; where the windows, although of modern date, are interesting memorials of the past, — especially that which represents the well-known scene of Saint Martin dividing the cloak. NOTE. 63 NOTE. The statements respecting the spot of Augustine’s landing are so various that it may be worth while to give briefly the different claimants, in order to simplify the statement in pages 32-39. 1. Ebbe’s Fleet. For this the main reasons are : (1) The fact that it was the usual landing-place in ancient Thanet, as is shown by the tradition that Hengist, Saint Mildred, and the Danes came there. (Lewis, p. 83; Hasted, iv. 289.) (2) The fact that Bede’s whole narrative emphatically lands Augustine in Thanet, and not on the mainland. (3) The present situation with the local tradition, as described in page 33. 2. The spot called the Boarded Groin (Lewis, p. 83), also marked in the Ordnance Survey as the landing-place of the Saxons. But this must then have been covered by the sea. 3. Stonar, near Sandwich. (Sandwich MS., in Boys’ Sand¬ wich, p. 836.) But this, even if not covered by the sea, must have been a mere island. (Hasted, iv. 585.) 4. Richborough. (Ibid., p. 838.) But this was not in the isle of Thanet; and the story is probably founded partly on Thorn’s narrative (1758), which, by speaking of “Retesburgh, in insula Thaneti ,” shows that he means the whole port, and partly on its having been actually the scene of the final debarkation on the mainland, as described in page 39. 64 ISLE OE THANET. MAP OE THE ISLE OF THANET AT THE TIME OE THE LANDING OE SAINT AUGUSTINE. Present line of coast-— Ancient towns, as Reculver. Present towns, as Deal. 1, 2, 3, 4, the alleged landing-places. Ancient line of coast. Eor the best account of the Roman Canterbury, see Mr. Eaussett’s learned Essay read before the Archseological Institute, July 1, 1875. THE MURDER OF BECKET. REPRINTED, WITH ADDITIONS, FROM THE “QUARTERLY REVIEW,” SEPTEMBER, 1853. 5 THE MURDER OF BECKET. VERY one is familiar with the reversal of popular U judgments respecting individuals or events of our own time. It would be an easy though perhaps an invidi¬ ous task, to point out the changes from obloquy to ap¬ plause, and from applause to obloquy, which the present generation has witnessed; and it would be instructive to examine in each case how far these changes have been justified by the facts. What thoughtful observers may thus notice in the passing opinions of the day, it is the privilege of history to track through the course of centuriesi Of such vicissitudes in the judgment of successive ages, one of the most striking is to be found in the conflicting feelings with which different epochs have regarded the contest of Becket with Henry II. During its continuance the public opinion of England and of Europe was, if not unfavorable to the Arch¬ bishop, at least strongly divided. After its tragical close, the change from indifference or hostility to un¬ bounded veneration was instantaneous. In certain circles his saintship, and even his salvation, 1 was ques¬ tioned ; hut these were exceptions to the general enthu¬ siasm. This veneration, after a duration of more than three centuries, was superseded, at least in England, by 1 14 Robertson, p. 312. 68 VARIETY OE JUDGMENTS ON THE EVENT. a contempt as general and profound as had been the previous admiration. And now, after three centuries more, the revolution of the wheel of fortune has again brought up, both at home and abroad, worshippers of the memory of Saint Thomas of Canterbury, who rival the most undoubting devotee that ever knelt at his shrine in the reign of the Plantagenet kings. Indica¬ tions 1 are not wanting that the pendulum which has been so violently swung to and fro is at last about to settle into its proper place; and we may trust that on this, as on many other controverted historical points, a judgment will be pronounced in our own times, which, if not irreversible, is less likely to be reversed than those which have gone before. But it may contribute to the decision upon the merits of the general question, if a complete picture is presented of the passage of hig career which has left by far the most indelible impres¬ sion, — its terrible close. And even though the famous catastrophe had not turned the course of events for generations to come, and exercised an influence which is not yet fully exhausted, it would still deserve to be minutely described, from its intimate connection with 1 The Rev. J. C. Robertson, since Canon of Canterbury, was the first author who, in two articles in the “English Review” of 1846, took a detailed and impartial survey of the whole struggle. To these articles I have to acknowledge a special obligation, as having first introduced me to the copious materials from which this account is de¬ rived. This summary has since been expanded into a full biography. A shorter view of the struggle may be seen in the narrative given by the Dean of St. Paul’s, in the third volume of the “ History of Latin Christianity,” and in the “ History of England,” by Dr. Pauli, to whose kindness I have been also much indebted for some of the sources of the “ martyrdom.” An interesting account of Becket’s death is affixed to the collection of his letters published in the “ Remains of the Late Mr. Froude.” But that account, itself pervaded by a one-sided view, is almost exclusively drawn from a single source, the narrative of Fitzstephen. SOURCES OF INFORMATION. 69 the stateliest of English cathedrals and with the first great poem of the English language. The labor of Dr. Giles has collected no less than nineteen biographies, or fragments of biographies, all of which appear to have been written within fifty years of the murder, and some of which are confined to that sin¬ gle subject. 1 To these we must add the French biogra¬ phy in verse 2 by Guerns, or Gamier, of Pont S. Maxence, which was composed only five years after the event, — the more interesting from being the sole record which gives the words of the actors in the language in which they spoke ; and although somewhat later, that by Eobert of Gloucester in the thirteenth, 3 and by Grandi- son, Bishop of Exeter, in the fourteenth century. 4 We must also include the contemporary or nearly contem¬ porary chroniclers, — Gervase, Diceto, Hoveden, and Giraldus Cambrensis and the fragment from the Lans- downe MS. edited by Canon Eobertson; 5 and, in the next century, Matthew Paris and Brompton. Of these thirty narrators, four — Edward Grim, William Fitzstephen, John of Salisbury (who unfortu¬ nately supplies but little), and the anonymous author of the Lambeth MS. — claim to have been eyewitnesses. Three others — William of Canterbury, 6 Benedict, after- 1 Vitae et Epistolae S. Thomae Cantuariensis, ed. Giles, 8 vols. 2 Part of the poem was published by Emmanuel Bekker, in the Berlin Transactions, 1838, part ii. pp. 25-168, from a fragment in the Wolfenbuttel MSS.; and the whole has since appeared in the same Transactions, 1844, from a manuscript in the British Museum. It was also published in Paris, by Le Roux de Lancy, in 1843. 3 This metrical “‘Life and Martyrdom of Saint Thomas ” (composed in the reign of Henry III.) has been printed for the Percy Society, and edited by Mr. Black. 4 Grandison’s Life exists only in manuscript. The copy which I have used is in the Bodleian Library (MS. 493). 6 Archseologia Cantiana, vii. 210. 6 A complete manuscript of William of Canterbury has been found 70 SOURCES OF INFORMATION. wards Abbot of Peterborough, and Gervase of Canter¬ bury — were monks of the convent, and, though not present at the massacre, were probably somewhere in the precincts. Herbert of Bosham, Roger of Pontigny, and Gamier, though not in England at the time, had been on terms of intercourse more or less intimate with Becket, and the two latter especially seem to have taken the utmost pains to ascertain the truth of the facts they relate. From these several accounts we can re¬ cover the particulars of the death of Archbishop Becket to the minutest details. It is true that, being written by monastic or clerical historians after the national feeling had been roused to enthusiasm in his behalf, allowance must be made for exaggeration, suppression, and every kind of false coloring which could set off their hero to advantage. It is true, also, that on some- few points the various authorities are hopelessly irrec¬ oncilable. But, still, a careful comparison of the narra¬ tors with each other and with the localities leads to a conviction that on the whole the facts have been sub¬ stantially preserved, and that, as often happens, the truth can be ascertained in spite, and even in consequence, of attempts to distort and suppress it. Accordingly, few occurrences in the Middle Ages have been so graphi¬ cally and copiously described, and few give such an insight into the manners and customs, the thoughts and feelings, not only of the man himself, but of the entire age, as the eventful tragedy, known successively as the “ martyrdom,” the “ accidental death,” the “ righteous execution,” and the “ murder of Thomas Becket.” The year 1170 witnessed the termination of the struggle of eight years between the king and the by Mr. Robertson at Winchester, of which parts are published in the Arcliasologia Cantiana,” vi. 4. 1170.] CORONATION OF HENRY III. 71 Archbishop; in July the final reconciliation had been effected with Henry in France; in the beginning of December, Becket had landed at Sandwich , 1 — the port of the Archbishops of Canterbury, — and thence entered the metropolitical city, after an absence of six years, amidst the acclamations of the people. The cathedral was hung with silken drapery; magnificent banquets were prepared; the churches resounded with organs and bells, the palace-hall with trumpets; and the Arch¬ bishop preached in the chapter-house on the text “ Here we have no abiding city, but we seek one to come .” 2 Great difficulties, however, still remained. In addition to the general question of the immunities of the clergy from secular jurisdiction, which was the original point in dispute between the king and the Archbishop, another had arisen within this very year, of much less impor¬ tance in itself, but which now threw the earlier contro¬ versy into the shade , 3 and eventually brought about the final catastrophe. In the preceding June, Henry, with the view of consolidating his power in England, had caused his. eldest son to be crowned king, not merely as his successor, but as his colleague, insomuch that by contemporary chroniclers he is always called “ the young king,” sometimes even “Henry III .” 4 In the absence of the Archbishop of Canterbury the ceremony of coronation was performed by Boger of Bishop’s Bridge, Archbishop of York, assisted by Gilbert Foliot and Jocelyn the Lombard, Bishops of London and of Salisbury, under (what was at least believed to be) the sanction of a Papal brief . 5 The moment the intelli- 1 Gamier, 59, 9. 2 Fitzstephen, ed. Giles, i. 283. 3 Giles, Epp., i. 65. 4 Hence, perhaps, the precision with which the number “III.” is added (for the first time) on the coins of Henry III. 5 See Milman’s History of Latin Christianity, iii. 510, 511. 72 CONTROVERSY WITH ARCHBISHOP OP YORK. [1170. gence was communicated to Becket, who was then in France, a new blow seemed to he struck at his rights; hut this time it was not the privileges of his order, but of his office, that were attacked. The inalienable right 1 of crowning the sovereigns of England, from the time of Augustine downwards, inherent in the See of Canter- 1 This contest with Becket for the privileges of the See of York, though the most important, was not the only one which Archbishop Roger sustained. At the Court of Northampton their crosses had al¬ ready confronted each other, like hostile spears. (Fitzstephen, 226.) It was a standing question between the two Archbishops, and Roger continued to maintain pre-eminence of his see against Becket’s succes¬ sor. “ In 1176,” says Fuller, “ a synod was called at Westminster, the Pope’s legate being present thereat; on whose right hand sat Richard, Archbishop of Canterbury, as in his proper place ; when in springs Roger of York, and finding Canterbury so seated, fairly sits him down on Canterbury’s lap, “irreverently pressing his haunches down upon the Archbishop,” says Stephen of Birchington. “ It matters as little to the reader as to the writer,” the historian continues, “ whether Roger beat Richard, or Richard beat Roger; yet, once for all, we will reckon up the arguments which each see alleged for its proceedings,” — which accordingly follow with his usual racy humor. (Fuller’s Church History, iii. §3 ; see also Memorials of Westminster, chap, v.) Nor was York the only see which contested the Primacy of Canter¬ bury at this momentous crisis. Gilbert Foliot endeavored in his own person to revive the claims of London, which had been extinct from the fabulous age of Lucius, son of Cole. “ He aims,” says John of Salisbury, in an epistle burning with indignation, — “ he aims at trans¬ ferring the metropolitical see to London, where he boasts that the Archfiamen once sate, whilst Jupiter was worshipped there. And who knows but that this religious and discreet bishop is planning the restoration of the worship of Jupiter; so that, if he cannot get the Archbishopric in any other way, he may have at least the name and title of Archfiamen ? He relies,” continues the angry partisan, “ on an oracle of Merlin, who, inspired by I know not what spirit, is said be¬ fore Augustine's coming to have prophesied the transference of the dignity of Canterbury to London.” (Ussher, Brit. Eccl. Ant., p. 711.) The importance attached to this question of coronation may be further illustrated by the long series of effigies of the primates of Germany, in Mayence Cathedral, where the Archbishops of that see — the Canter¬ bury of the German Empire — are represented in the act of crowning the German Emperors as the most characteristic trait in their archi- episcopal careers. 1170.] CONTROVERSY WITH ARCHBISHOP OF YORK. 73 bury, had been infringed; and with his usual ardor he procured from the Pope letters against the three prel¬ ates who had taken part in the daring act, probably with the authority of the Pope himself. These letters consisted of a suspension of the Archbishop of York, and a revival of a former excommunication of the Bish¬ ops of London and Salisbury. His earliest thought on landing in England was to get them conveyed to the offending prelates, who were then at Dover. They sent some clerks to remonstrate with him at Canterbury; but finding that he was not to be moved, they em¬ barked for Prance, leaving, however, a powerful auxil¬ iary in the person of Eandulf de Broc, a knight to whom the king had granted possession of the archi- episcopal castle of Saltwood, and who was for this, if for no other reason, a sworn enemy to Becket and his re¬ turn. The first object of the Archbishop was to con¬ ciliate the young king, who was then at Woodstock; and his mode of courting him was characteristic. Three splendid 1 chargers, of which his previous experience of horses enabled him to know the merits, were the gift by which he hoped to win over the mind of his former pupil; and he himself, after a week’s stay at Canter¬ bury, followed the messenger who was to announce his present to the prince. He passed through Eochester in state, entered London in a vast procession that ad¬ vanced three miles out of the city to meet him, and took up his quarters at Southwark, in the palace of the aged Bishop of Winchester, Henry of Blois, brother of King Stephen. Here he received orders from the young king to proceed no further, but return instantly to Canterbury. In obedience to the command, but professedly (and this is a characteristic illustration of 1 Fitzstephen, i. 284, 285. 74 PARTING WITH THE ABBOT OF ST. ALBANS. [1170. much that follows) from a desire to he at his post on Christmas Day, he relinquished his design, and turned for the last time from the city of his birth to the city of his death. One more opening of reconciliation occurred. Be¬ fore he finally left the vicinity of London he halted for a few days at his manor-house at Harrow, probably to make inquiries about a contumacious priest who then occupied the vicarage of that town. He sent thence to the neighboring abbey of St. Albans to request an in¬ terview with the Abbot Simon . 1 The Abbot came over with magnificent presents from the good cheer of his abbey; and the Archbishop was deeply affected on seeing him, embraced and kissed him tenderly, and urged him, pressing the Abbot’s hand to his heart under his cloak and quivering with emotion, to make a last attempt on the mind of the prince. The Abbot went to Woodstock, but returned without success. Becket, heaving a deep sigh and shaking his head significantly, said, “ Let be, — let be. Is it not so, is it not so, that the days of the end hasten to their completion ? ” He then endeavored to console his friend: “ My Lord Abbot, many thanks for your fruit¬ less labor. The sick man is sometimes beyond the reach of physicians, but he will soon bear his own judgment.” He then turned to the clergy around him, and said, with the deep feeling of an injured primate, “Look you, my friends, the Abbot, who is bound by no obligations to me, has done more for me than all my brother-bishops and suffragans; ” al¬ luding especially to the charge which the Abbot had 1 This interview is given at length in Matthew Paris, who, as a monk of St. Albans, probably derived it from the traditions of the Abbey. (Hist. Angl., 124; Yit. Abbat., 91.) 1170.] INSULTS FROM THE BROCS OF SALTWOOD. 75 left with the cellarer of St. Albans to supply the Archbishop with everything during his own absence at Woodstock. At last the day of parting came. The Abbot, with clasped hands, entreated Becket to spend the approaching festival of Christmas and St. Stephen’s Day at his own abbey of the great British martyr. Becket, moved to tears, replied: “ Oh, how gladly would I come, hut it has been otherwise ordered. Go in peace, dear brother, go in peace to your church, which may God preserve! but I go to a sufficient excuse for my not going with you. But come with me, and be my guest and comforter in my many troubles.” They parted on the high ridge of the hill of Harrow, to meet no more. It was not without reason that the Archbishop’s mind was filled with gloomy forebodings. The first open manifestations of hostility proceeded from the family of the Brocs of Saltwood. Already tidings had reached him that Randulf de Broc had seized a vessel laden with wine from the king, and had killed the crew, or imprisoned them in Pevensey Castle. This injury was promptly repaired at the bidding of the young king, to whom the Archbishop had sent a com¬ plaint through the Prior of Dover 1 and the friendly Abbot of St. Albans. But the enmity of the Brocs was not so easily allayed. Ho sooner had the Primate reached Canterbury than he was met by a series of fresh insults. [Dec. 24.] Randulf, he was told, was hunting down his archiepiscopal deer with his own dogs in his own woods; and Robert, another of the same family, who had been a Cistercian monk, but had since taken to a secular life, sent out his nephew John to waylay and cut off the tails of a sumpter 1 Fitzsteplien, i. 286. 76 SCENE IN THE CATHEDRAL CHRISTMAS DAY. [1170. mule and a horse of the Archbishop. This jest, or outrage (according as we regard it), which occurred on Christmas Eve, took deep possession of Becket’s mind . 1 On Christmas Day, after the solemn celebra¬ tion of the usual midnight Mass, he entered the ca¬ thedral for the services of that great festival. Before the performance of High Mass he mounted the pulpit in the chapter-house, and preached on the text, “ On earth, peace to men of good will.” It was the reading (perhaps the true reading) of the Yulgate version, and had once before afforded him the opportunity of reject¬ ing the argument on his return that he ought to come in peace. “ There is no peace,” he said, “ but to men of good will.” 2 On this limitation of the universal message of Christian love he now proceeded to dis¬ course. He began by speaking of the sainted fathers of the church of Canterbury, the presence of whose bones made doubly hallowed the consecrated ground. “One martyr,” he said, “they had already,” — Alfege, murdered by the Danes, whose tomb stood on the north side of the high altar; “ it was possible,” he added, “ that they would soon have another .” 3 The people who thronged the nave were in a state of wild excitement; they wept and groaned; and an audible murmur ran through the church, “ Father, why do you desert us so soon ? To whom will you leave us ? ” But as he went on with his discourse, the plaintive strain gradually rose into a tone of fiery indignation. “ You would have thought,” says Herbert of Bosham, who was present, “that you were looking at the prophetic beast, which had at once the face of a man and the face of a lion.” He spoke, — the fact is recorded by all the biographers without any sense of its extreme incongruity, — he 1 Eitzstephen, i. 287. 2 Ibid., 283. 3 Ibid., 292. 1170.] SCENE IN THE CATHEDRAL CHRISTMAS DAY. 77 spoke of the insult of the docked tail 1 of the sumpter mule, and, in a voice of thunder , 2 excommunicated Eandulf and Robert de Broc; and in the same sen¬ tence included the Yicar of Thirl wood, and Nigel of Sackville, the Yicar of Harrow, for occupying those incumbrances without his authority, and refusing ac¬ cess to his officials . 3 He also publicly denounced and forbade communication with the three bishops who by crowning the young king had not feared to en¬ croach upon the prescriptive rights of the church of Canterbury. “ May they be cursed,” he said, in con¬ clusion, “ by Jesus Christ, and may their memory be blotted out of the assembly of the saints, whoever shall sow hatred and discord between me and my Lord the King .” 4 With these words he dashed the candle on the pavement , 5 in token of the extinction of his ene¬ mies ; and as he descended from the pulpit to pass to the altar to celebrate Mass, he repeated to his Welsh cross-bearer, Alexander Llewellyn, the prophetic words, “ One martyr, Saint Alfege, you have already; another, if God will, you will have soon.” 6 The service in the cathedral was followed by the banquet in his hall, at 1 According to the popular belief, the excommunication of the Broc family was not the only time that Becket avenged a similar offence. Lambard, in his “ Perambulations of Kent,” says that the people of Stroud, near Rochester, insulted Becket as he rode through the town, and, like the Brocs, cut off the tails of his horses. Their descendants, as a judgment for the crime, were ever after born with horses’ tails. (See, however, the previous Lecture, p. 61.) A curse lighted also on the blacksmiths of a town where one of that trade had “ dogged his horse.” (Fuller’s Worthies.) “Some in Spain (to my own knowledge), at this very day, believe that the English, especially the Kentish men, are horn with tails for curtailing Becket’s mule.” (Covel on the Greek Church, Preface, p. xv.) 2 Herbert, i. 323; Gamier, 63, 4. 3 Gamier, 71, 15. 4 Fitzstephen, i. 292. 5 Grim, ed. Giles, i. 68. 6 Fitzstephen, i. 292. 78 LAST ACTS OF BECKET. [i 170. which, although Christmas Day fell this year on a Fri¬ day, it was observed that he ate as usual, in honor of the joyous festival of the Nativity. On the next day, Saturday, the Feast of Saint Stephen, and on Sunday, the Feast of Saint John, he again celebrated Mass ; and towards the close of the day, under cover of the dark, he sent away, with messages to the King of France and the Archbishop of Sens, his faithful servant Herbert of Bosham, telling him that he would see him no more, but that he was anxious not to expose him to the fur¬ ther suspicions of Henry. Herbert departed with a heavy heart , 1 and with him went Alexander Llewellyn, the Welsh cross-bearer. The Archbishop sent off an¬ other servant to the Pope, and two others to the Bishop of Norwich, with a letter relating to Hugh, Earl of Norfolk. He also drew up a deed appointing his priest William to the chapelry of Penshurst, with an excom¬ munication against any one who should take it from him . 2 These are his last recorded public acts. On the night of the same Sunday he received a warning let¬ ter from France, announcing that he was in peril from some new attack . 3 What this was, is now to be told. The three prelates of York, London, and Salisbury, having left England as soon as they heard that the Archbishop was immovable, arrived in France a few days before Christmas , 4 and immediately proceeded to the king, who was then at the Castle of Bur, near Bayeux . 5 It was a place already famous in history as the scene of the interview between William and 1 Herbert, i. 324, 325. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 292, 293. 3 Anon. Passio Tertia, ed. Giles, ii. 156. 4 Herbert, i. 319. 5 Gamier, 65 (who gives the interview in great detail); Florence of Worcester, i. 153. 1170.] FURY OF THE KING. 79 Harold, when the oath which led to the conquest of England was perfidiously exacted and sworn. All manner of rumors about Becket’s proceedings had reached the ears of Henry, and he besought the ad¬ vice of the three prelates. The Archbishop of York answered cautiously, “ Ask council from your barons and knights; it is not for us to say what must be done.” A pause ensued; and then it was added, — whether by Roger or by some one else does not clearly appear, — “ As long as Thomas lives, you will have neither good days, nor peaceful kingdom, nor quiet life.” 1 The words goaded the king into one of those paroxysms of fury to which all the earlier Plantagenet princes were subject, and which was believed by them¬ selves to arise from a mixture of demoniacal blood in their race. It is described in Henry’s son John as “something beyond anger; he was so changed in his whole body, that a man would hardly have known him. His forehead was drawn up into deep furrows ; his flaming eyes glistened; a livid hue took the place of color.” 2 Henry himself is said at these moments to have become like a wild beast; his eyes, naturally dove-like and quiet, seemed to flash lightning; his hands struck and tore whatever came in their way. On one occasion he flew at a messenger who brought him bad tidings, to tear out his eyes; at another time he is represented as having flung down his cap, torn off his clothes, thrown the silk coverlet from his bed, and rolled upon it, gnawing the straw and rushes. Of such a kind was the frenzy which struck terror through all hearts at the Council of Clarendon, and again at North¬ ampton, when with tremendous menaces, sworn upon his usual oath, “the eyes of God,” he insisted on 1 Fitzstephen, i. 390. 2 Richard of Devizes, § 40. 80 THE EOUR KNIGHTS. [1170. Becket’s appearance . 1 Of such a kind was the frenzy which he showed on the present occasion. “ A fellow,” he exclaimed, “ that has eaten my bread has lifted up his heel against me ; a fellow that I loaded with benefits dares insult the king and the whole royal family, and tramples on the whole kingdom ; a fel¬ low that came to court on a lame horse, with a cloak for a saddle, sits without hindrance on the throne itself! What sluggard wretches,” he hurst forth again and again, “ what cowards have I brought up in my court, who care nothing for their allegiance to their master! Not one will deliver me from this low-born priest! ” 2 and with these fatal words he rushed out of the room. There were present among the courtiers four knights, whose names long lived in the memory of men, and every ingenuity was exercised to extract from them an evil augury of the deed which has made them famous, -— Reginald Fitzurse, “ son of the Bear,” and of truly “bear-like” character (so the Canterbury monks repre¬ sented it) ; Hugh de Moreville, “ of the city of death ” — of whom a dreadful story was told of his having ordered a young Saxon to be boiled alive on the false accusation of his wife; William de Tracy, — a brave soldier, it was said, but “ of parricidal wickedness; ” Richard le Brez, or le Bret, commonly known as Brito, from the Latinized version of his name in the (t Chron¬ icles,” — more fit, they say, to have been called the “ Brute.” 3 They are all described as on familiar terms 1 Roger, 124, 104. 2 Will. Cant., ed. Giles, ii. 30; Grim, 68; Gervase, 1414. 3 Will. Cant., 31. This play on the word will appear less strange, when we remember the legendary superstructure built on the identity of the Trojan Brutus with the primitive Briton. See Lambard’s Kent, p. 306. Fitzurse is called simply “Reginald Bure.” 2170] THEIR HISTORY. 81 with the king himself, and sometimes, in official lan¬ guage, as gentlemen of the bedchamber . 1 They also appear to have been brought together by old associa¬ tions. Fitzurse, Moreville, and Tracy had all sworn homage to Becket while Chancellor. Fitzurse, Tracy, and Bret had all connections with Somersetshire. Their rank and lineage can even now be accurately traced through the medium of our county historians and legal records. Moreville was of higher rank and office than the others. He was this very year Justice Itinerant of the counties of Northumberland and Cum¬ berland, where he inherited the barony of Burgh-on- the-Sands and other possessions from his father Roger and his grandfather Simon. He was likewise forester of Cumberland, owner of the Castle of Knaresborough, and added to his paternal property that of his wife, Helwise de Stute-ville . 2 Tracy was the younger of two brothers, sons of John de Sudely and Grace de Traci. He took the name of his mother, who was daughter of William de Traci, a natural son of Henry the First. On his father’s side he was descended from the Saxon Ethelred. He was born at Toddington, in Gloucestershire , 3 where, as well as in Devonshire , 4 he held large estates. Fitzurse was the descendant of Urso, or Ours, who had, under the Conqueror, held Grittleston in Wiltshire, of the Abbey of Glastonbury. His father, Richard Fitzurse, became possessed, in the reign of Stephen, of the manor of Willeton in Somer¬ setshire, which had descended to Reginald a few years 1 Cubicularii. 2 Foss’s Judges of England, i. 279. 3 Rudder’s Gloucestershire, 770 ; Pedigree of the Tracys, in Britton’s Toddington. 4 Liber Niger Scaccarii, 115-221. 6 82 THE KNIGHTS SET OUT. [1170. before the time of which we are speaking. 1 He was also a tenant in chief in Northamptonshire, in tail in Leicestershire. 2 Richard the Breton was, it would ap¬ pear from an incident in the murder, intimate with Prince William, the king’s brother. 3 He and his brother Edmund had succeeded to their father Simon le Bret, who had probably come over with the Con¬ queror from Brittany, and settled in Somersetshire, where the property of the family long continued in the same rich vale under the Quantock Hills, which contains Willeton, the seat of the Eitzurses. 4 There is some reason to suppose that he was related to Gil¬ bert Eoliot. 5 If so, his enmity to the Archbishop is easily explained. It is not clear on what day the fatal exclamation of the king was made. Fitzstephen 6 reports it as taking place Qn Sunday, the 27th of December. Others, 7 who ascribe a more elaborate character to the whole plot, date it a few days before, on Thursday the 24th, —- the whole Court taking part in it, and Roger, Archbishop of York, giving full instructions to the knights as to their future course. This perhaps arose from a confusion with the Council of Barons 8 actually held after the departure of the knights, of which, however, the chief result was to send three courtiers after them to arrest their prog¬ ress. This second mission arrived too late. The four knights left Bur on the night of the king’ fury. They then, it was thought, proceeded by different roads to the French coast, and crossed the Channel on the following 1 Collinson’s Somersetshire, iii. 487. 2 Liber Niger Scaccarii, 216-288. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 303. 4 Collinson’s Somersetshire, iii. 514. 6 See Robertson’s Becket, 266. 6 Fitzstephen, i. 290. 7 Gamier, 65, 17 ; so also Gervase’s Chronicle, 1414. 8 Robertson’s Becket, 268. 1170.] THEY ARRIVE AT ST. AUGUSTINE’S ABBEY. 83 day. Two of them landed, as was afterwards noticed with malicious satisfaction, at the port of “ Bogs ” near Dover, 1 two of them at Winchelsea; 2 and all four ar¬ rived at the same hour 3 at the fortress of Saltwood Castle, the property of the See of Canterbury, but now occupied, as we have seen, by Becket’s chief enemy,— Dan Randulf of Broc, who came out to welcome them. 4 Here they would doubtless be told of the excommu¬ nication launched against their host on Christmas Day. In the darkness of the night — the long win¬ ter night of the 28th of December 5 —it was believed that, with candles extinguished, and not even seeing each other’s faces, the scheme was concerted. Early in the morning of the next day they issued orders in the king’s name 6 for a troop of soldiers to be levied from the neighborhood to march with them to Can- terbury. They themselves mounted their chargers and galloped along the old Roman road from Lymne to Can¬ terbury, which, under the name of Stone Street, runs in a straight line of nearly fifteen miles from Saltwood to the hills immediately above the city. They pro¬ ceeded instantly to St. Augustine’s Abbey, outside the walls, and took up their quarters with Clarembald, the Abbot. 7 The abbey was in a state of considerable confusion at the time of their arrival. A destructive fire had ravaged the buildings two years before, 8 and the reparations could hardly have been yet completed. Its domestic state was still more disturbed. It was now nearly ten years since a feud had been raging between the in- 1 Grim, 69; Gervase’s Chronicle, 1414. 2 Gamier, 66,67. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 290. 4 Gamier, 66, 29. 5 Gamier, 66, 22. 6 Grim, 69; Roger, i. 160; Fitzstephen, i. 293; Gamier, 66, 6. 7 Gervase’s Chronicle, 1414. 8 Thorn’s Chronicle, 1817. 84 THE FATAL TUESDAY. [1170. mates and their Abbot, who had been intruded on them in 1162, as Becket bad been on the ecclesiastics of the cathedral, — but with the ultimate difference that whilst Becket had become the champion of the clergy, Clarembald had stood fast by the king, his patron, which perpetuated the quarrel between the monks and their superior. He had also had a dispute with Becket about his right of benediction in the abbey, and had been employed by the king against him on a mission in France. He would, therefore, naturally be eager to receive the new-comers; and with him they concerted measures for their future movements. 1 Having sent orders to the mayor, or provost, of Canterbury to issue a proclamation in the king’s name, forbidding any one to offer assistance to the Archbishop, 2 the knights once more mounted their chargers, and accompanied by Bob- ert of Broc, who had probably attended them from Saltwood, rode under the long line of wall which still separates the city and the precincts of the cathedral from St. Augustine’s Monastery, till they reached the great gateway which opened into the court of the Archbishop’s palace. 3 They were followed by a band of about a dozen armed men, whom they placed in the house of one Gilbert, 4 which stood hard by the gate. It was Tuesday, the 29th of December. Tuesday, his friends remarked, had always been a significant day in Becket’s life. On a Tuesday he was born and bap¬ tized; on a Tuesday he had fled from Northampton; on a Tuesday he had left England on his exile; on a 1 Gervase’s Chronicle, 1414. 2 Gamier, 66, 10. 3 The Archbishop’s palace is now almost entirely destroyed, and its place occupied by modern houses. But an ancient gateway on the site of the one here mentioned, though of later date, still leads from Palace Street into these houses. 4 Eitzstephen, i. 297. 1170.] THE FATAL TUESDAY. 85 Tuesday he had received warning of his martyrdom in a vision at Pontigny; on a Tuesday he had returned from that exile. It was now on a Tuesday that the fa¬ tal hour came; 1 and (as the next generation observed) it was on a Tuesday that his enemy King Henry was buried, on a Tuesday that the martyr’s relics were translated; 2 and Tuesday was long afterwards re¬ garded as the week-day especially consecrated to the saint with whose fortunes it had thus been so strangely interwoven. 3 Other omens were remarked. A sol¬ dier who was in the plot whispered to one of the cellarmen of the Priory that the Archbishop would not see the evening of Tuesday. Becket only smiled. A citizen of Canterbury, Reginald by name, had told him that there were several in England who were bent on his death; to which he answered, with tears, that he knew he should not be killed out of church. 4 He himself had told several persons in France, that he was convinced he should not outlive the year, 5 and in two days the year would be ended. Whether these evil auguries weighed upon his mind, or whether his attendants afterwards ascribed to his words a more serious meaning than they really bore, the day opened with gloomy forebodings. Before the break of dawn the Archbishop startled the clergy of his bedchamber by asking whether it would be possi¬ ble for any one to escape to Sandwich before daylight, and on being answered in the affirmative, added, “ Let 1 Robert of Gloucester, Life of Becket, 285. 2 Diceto (Giles), i. 377 ; Matthew Paris, 97. It was the fact of the 29th of December falling on a Tuesday that fixes the date of his death to 1170, not 1171. (Gervase, 1418.) 3 See the deed quoted in “ Journal of the British Archaeological As- sociation,” April, 1854. 4 Grandison, c. 5. See p. 81. 6 Benedict. 71. 86 THE KNIGHTS ENTER THE PALACE. [1170. any one escape who wishes.” That morning he attended Mass in the cathedral; then passed a long time in the chapter-house, confessing to two of the monks, and re¬ ceiving, as seems to have been his custom, three scourg- ings. 1 Then came the usual banquet in the great hall of the palace at three in the afternoon. He was ob¬ served to drink more than usual; aud his cup-bearer, in a whisper, reminded him of it. 2 He who has much blood to shed,” answered Becket, “ must drink much.” 3 The dinner 4 was now over; the concluding hymn or “ grace ” was finished, 5 and Becket had retired to his private room, 6 where he sat on his bed, 7 talking to his friends; whilst the servants, according to the practice which is still preserved in our old collegiate establish¬ ments, remained in the hall making their meal of the broken meat which was left. 8 The floor of the hall was strewn with fresh hay and straw, 9 to accommodate with clean places those who could not find room on the benches; 10 and the crowd of beggars and poor, 11 who daily received their food from the Archbishop, had gone 12 into the outer yard, and were lingering before their final dispersion. It was at this moment that the four knights dismounted in the court before the hall. 13 The doors were all open, and they passed through the 1 Gamier, 70, 25. 2 Anon. Lambeth, ed. Giles, ii. 121 ; Roger, 169; Gamier, 77, 2. 3 Grandison, c. 5. See p. 61. 4 Ibid. 5 For the account of bis dinners, see Herbert, 63, 64, 70, 71. 6 Grim, 70 ; Benedict, ii. 55. 7 Roger, 163. 8 Gamier, 20, 10. 9 Eitzstephen, i. 189. This was in winter. In summer it would have been fresh rushes and green leaves. 1(3 Grim, 70 ; Fitzstephen, i. 294. 11 Gamier, 66, 17. 12 Fitzstephen, i. 310. 13 Gervase, 1415. 1170.] APPEARANCE OF BECKET. 87 crowd without opposition. Either to avert suspicion or from deference to the feeling of the time, which forbade the entrance of armed men into the peaceful precincts of the cathedral, 1 they left their weapons behind, and their coats of mail were concealed by the usual cloak and gown, 2 the dress of ordinary life. One attendant, Badulf, an archer, followed them. They were generally known as courtiers; and the servants invited them to partake of the remains of the feast. They declined, and were pressing on, when, at the foot of the staircase leading from the hall to the Archbishop’s room, they were met by William Fitz-Nigel, the seneschal, who had just parted from the Primate with a permission to leave his service and join the king in France. When he saw the knights, whom he immediately recognized, he ran forward and gave them the usual kiss of saluta¬ tion, and at their request ushered them to the room where Becket sat. “ My Lord,” he said, “ here are four knights from King Henry, wishing to speak to you.” 3 “ Let them come in,” said Becket. It must have been a solemn moment, even for those rough men, when they first found themselves in the presence of the Arch¬ bishop. Three of them — Hugh de Moreville, Begi- nald Fitzurse, and William de Tracy — had known him long before in the days of his splendor as Chancellor and favorite of the king. He was still in the vigor of strength, though in his fifty-third year: his counte¬ nance, if we may judge of it from the accounts at the close of the day, still retained its majestic and striking aspect; his eyes were large and piercing, and always 1 Grim, 70 ; Roger, 161. 2 Gamier, 66, 25; 67, 10; Roger, 161 ; Grim, 70. See the Arch* bishop’s permission in page 54. 3 Gamier, 67, 15. 88 THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. [1170. glancing to and fro; 1 and his tall 2 figure, though really spare and thin, had a portly look from the number of wrappings which he bore beneath his oi dinary clothes. Round about him sat or lay on the floor the clergy of his household, — amongst them, his faithful counsellor, John of Salisbury; William Eitzstephen, his chaplain; and Edward Grim, a Saxon monk of Cambridge, 3 who had arrived hut a few days before on a visit. When the four knights appeared, Becket, without looking at them, pointedly continued his conversation with the monk who sat next him, and on whose shoul¬ der he was leaning. 4 They, on their part, entered with¬ out a word, beyond a greeting exchanged in a whisper to the attendant who stood near the door, 5 and then marched straight to where the Archbishop sat, and placed themselves on the floor at his feet, among the clergy who were reclining around. Radulf, the archer, sat behind them 6 on the boards. Becket now turned round for the first time, and gazed steadfastly on each in silence, 7 which he at last broke by saluting Tracy by name. The conspirators continued to look minutely at one another, till Eitzurse, 8 who throughout took the lead, replied, with a scornful expression, “God help you! ” Becket’s face grew crimson, 9 and he glanced round at their countenances, 10 which seemed to gather fire from Fitzurse’s speech. Eitzurse again broke forth: “We have a message from the king over the water; tell us whether you will hear it in private, or in the hearing of all.” 11 “ As you wish,” said the Archbishop. 1 Herbert, i. 63. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 185. 3 Herbert, i. 337. 4 Gamier, 67, 20, 26. 5 Benedict, 55. 6 Roger, 161; Gamier, 67. 7 Roger, 161. 8 Roger, 161. 9 Grim, 70; Gamier, 67, 18. 10 Roger, 161. 11 Grim, 70 ; Roger, 161 ; Gamier, 67, 10-15. 1170.] THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. 89 “ Nay, as you wish,” said Fitzurse. 1 “ Nay, as you wish,” said Becket. The monks, at the Archbishop’s intima¬ tion, withdrew into an adjoining room; but the door¬ keeper ran up and kept the door ajar, that they might see from the outside what was going on. 2 Fitzurse had hardly begun his message, when Becket, suddenly struck with a consciousness of his danger, exclaimed, “ This must not be told in secret,” and ordered the doorkeeper to recall the monks. 3 For a few seconds the knights were left alone with Becket; and the thought occurred to them, as they afterwards confessed, of kill¬ ing him with the cross-staff which lay at his feet,—the only weapon within their reach. 4 The monks hurried back; and Fitzurse, apparently calmed by their presence, resumed his statement of the complaints of the king. These complaints, 5 which are given by various chroni¬ clers in very different words, were three in number. “ The king over the water commands you to perform your duty to the king on this side the water, instead of taking away his crown.” “ Bather than take away his crown,” replied Becket, “ I would give him three or four crowns.” 6 “You have excited disturbances in the kingdom, and the king requires you to answer for them at his court.” “ Never,” said the Archbishop, “ shall 1 Roger, 161; Gamier, 67, 19. 2 Roger, 161; Benedict, 55. 3 Roger, 162 ; Benedict, 56; Gamier, 67, 20. 4 Grim, 71; Roger, 165 ; Gamier, 67, 25. It was probably Tracy’s thought, as his was the confession generally known. 5 In this dialogue I have not attempted to give more than the words of the leading questions and answers, in which most of the chroniclers are agreed. Where the speeches are recorded with great varieties of expression, it is impossible to distinguish accurately be¬ tween what was really spoken and w r hat was afterwards written as likely to have been spoken. 6 Benedict, 56; Gamier, 68. 90 THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. [1170. the sea again come between me and my church, unless I am dragged thence by the feet.” “ You have excom¬ municated the bishops, and you must absolve them.” “ It was not I,” replied Becket, “but the Pope, and you must go to him for absolution.” He then appealed, in language which is variously reported, to the promises of the king at their interview in the preceding July. Eitzurse burst forth : “ What is it you say ? You charge the king with treachery.” “ Reginald, Reginald,” said Becket, “ I do no such thing; but I appeal to the arch¬ bishops, bishops, and great people, five hundred and more, who heard it; and you were present yourself, Sir Reginald.” “ I was not,” said Reginald; “ I never saw nor heard anything of the kind/’ “ You were,” said Becket; “I saw you.” 1 The knights, irritated by con¬ tradiction, swore again and again, “ by God’s wounds,” that they had borne with him long enough. 2 John of Salisbury, the prudent counsellor of the Archbishop, who perceived that matters were advancing to extremi¬ ties, whispered, “ My Lord, speak privately to them about this.” “ No,” said Becket; “ they make proposals and demands which I cannot and ought not to admit.” 3 He, in his turn, complained of the insults he had received. First came the grand grievances _of the pre¬ ceding week. “ They have attacked my servants; they have cut off my sumpter-mule’s tail; they have carried off the casks of wine that were the king’s own gift.” 4 It was now that Hugh de Moreville, the gentlest of the four, 5 put in a milder answer: “ Why did you not 1 He was remarkable for the tenacity of his memory, never forget¬ ting what he had heard or learned. (Gervase’s Chronicle.) 2 Benedict, 59; Gamier, 68, 16. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 295. 4 Roger, 163; Benedict, 61; Gervase, 1415 ; Gamier, 68, 26. B Benedict, 62. 1170.] THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. 91 complain to the king of these outrages ? Why do you take upon yourself to punish them by your own au¬ thority ? ” The Archbishop turned round sharply upon him: “ Hugh, how proudly you lift up your head ! When the rights of the Church are violated, I shall wait for no man’s permission to avenge them. I will give to the king the things that are the king’s, but to God the things that are God’s. It is my business, and I alone will see to it.” 1 For the first time in the inter¬ view, the Archbishop had assumed an attitude of de¬ fiance ; the fury of the knights broke at once through the bonds which had partially restrained it, and dis¬ played itself openly in those impassioned gestures which are now confined to the half-civilized nations of the south and east, but which seem to have been natural to all classes of mediaeval Europe. Their eyes flashed fire; they sprang upon their feet, and rushing close up to him gnashed their teeth, twisted their long gloves, and wildly threw their arms above their heads. Fitzurse exclaimed: “ You threaten us, you threaten us; 2 are you going to excommunicate us all ? ” One of the others added: “ As I hope for God’s mercy, he shall not do that; he has excommunicated too many already.” The Archbishop also sprang from his couch, in a state of strong excitement. “You threaten me,” he said, “ in •vain ; were all the swords in England hanging over my head, you could not terrify me from my obedience to God, and my Lord the Pope. 3 Foot to foot shall you find me in the battle of the Lord. 4 Once I gave way. I returned to my obedience to the Pope, and will never- 1 Roger, 163, 164. 2 Eitzstephen, i. 296. “ Minae, minae,” — a common expression, as it would seem. Compare Benedict, 71. 3 Roger, 163; Benedict, 61 ; Gervase, 1415. 4 Benedict, 61. 92 THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. [1170. more desert it. And, besides, you know what there is between yon and me ; I wonder the more that you should thus threaten the Archbishop in his own house.” He alluded to the fealty sworn to him while Chancellor by Moreville, Fitzurse, and Tracy, which touched the tenderest nerve of the feudal character. “ There is nothing,” they rejoined, with an anger which they doubtless felt to be just and loyal, — “ there is nothing between you and us which can be against the king.” 1 Roused by the sudden burst of passion on both sides, many of the servants and clergy, with a few soldiers of the household, hastened into the room, and ranged themselves round the Archbishop. Fitzurse turned to them and said, “ You who are on the king’s side, and bound to him by your allegiance, stand off!” They remained motionless, and Fitzurse called to them a second time, “ Guard him ; prevent him from escaping! ” The Archbishop said, “I shall not escape.” On this the knights caught hold of their old acquaintance, William Fitz-Nigel, who had entered with the rest, and hurried him with them, saying, “ Come with us.” He called out to Becket, “ You see what they are doing with me.” “ I see,” replied Becket; “ this is their hour, and the power of darkness.” 2 As they stood at the door, they exclaimed, 3 “ It is you who threaten; ” and in a deep undertone they added some menace, and en-» joined on the servants obedience to their orders. With the quickness of hearing for which he was remarkable, he caught the words of their defiance, and darted after 1 Fitzstephen, i. 296; Grim, 72 ; Anon. Passio Quinta, 174. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 296. 3 Gamier, 68, 15. For the general fact of the acuteness of his senses, both hearing and smell, see Roger, 95. “ Vix aliquid in ejus presentia licet longiuscule et submisse dici posset, quod non audiret si aurem apponere voluisset.” 1170.] THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. 93 them to the door, entreating them to release Fitz- Nigel; 1 then he implored Moreville, as more courteous than the others, to return 2 and repeat their message; and lastly, in despair and indignation, he struck his neck repeatedly with his hand, and said, “ Here, here you will find me.” 3 The knights, deaf to his solicitations, kept their course, seizing as they went another soldier, Kadulf Morin, and passed through the hall and court, crying, “To arms ! to arms !” A few of their companions had already taken post within the great gateway, to prevent the gate being shut; the rest, at the shout, poured in from the house where they were stationed hard by, with the watchword, “ King’s men! King’s men! ” ( Beaux! Reaux /) The gate was instantly closed, to cut off communication with the town; the Arch¬ bishop’s porter was removed, and in front of the wicket, which was left open, William Fitz-Nigel, who seems suddenly to have turned against his master, and Simon of Croil, a soldier attached to the household of Clarembald, kept guard on horseback. 4 The knights threw off their cloaks and gowns under a large syca¬ more in the garden, 5 appeared in their armor, and girt on their swords. 6 Fitzurse armed himself in the porch, 7 with the assistance of Robert Tibia, trencherman of the 1 Fitzstephen, i. 296. 2 Benedict, 62 ; Gamier, 69. 3 Grim, 73 ; Roger, 163; Gamier, 69, 5 (though he places this speech earlier). 4 Fitzstephen, i. 298. 5 Gervase, Acta Pont., 1672. 6 Gamier, 70, 11. 7 Fitzstephen, i. 298. The porch of the hall, built, doubtless on the plan of the one here mentioned, by Archbishop Langton about fifty years later, still in part remains, incorporated in one of the modem houses now occupying the site of the Palace. There is a similar porch in a more complete state, the only fragment of a similar hall, adjoin¬ ing the palace at Norwich. 94 THE KNIGHTS’ INTERVIEW WITH BECKET. [1170. Archbishop. Osbert and Algar, two of the servants, seeing their approach, shut and barred the door of the hall, and the knights in vain endeavored to force it open. 1 But Robert of Broc, who had known the pah ace during the time of its occupation by his uncle Ran- dolf, 2 called out, “ Follow me, good sirs, I will show you another way! ” and got into the orchard behind the kitchen. There was a staircase leading thence to the antechamber between the hall and the Archbish¬ op’s bedroom. The wooden steps were under repair, and the carpenters had gone to their dinner, leaving their tools on the stairs. 3 Fitzurse seized an axe, and the others hatchets; and thus armed they mounted the staircase to the antechamber, 4 broke through an oriel-window which looked out on the garden, 5 entered the hall from the inside, attacked and wounded the servants who were guarding it, and opened the door to the assailants. 6 The Archbishop’s room was still barred and inaccessible. Meanwhile Becket, who resumed his calmness as soon as the knights had retired, reseated himself on his couch, and John of Salisbury again urged moderate counsels, 7 in words which show that the estimate of the Archbishop in his lifetime justifies the impression of his vehement and unreasonable temper which has prevailed in later times, though entirely lost during the centuries which elapsed between his death and the Reformation. “It is wonderful, my Lord, that you never take any one’s advice; it always has been, 1 Fitzstephen, i. 297, 298. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 298; Roger, 165; Gamier, 70. 3 Roger, 165; Benedict, 63. 4 Grim, 73; Fitzstephen, i. 298 ; Gamier, 70, 1. 5 Gamier, 70, 2. 6 Benedict, 63. 7 Fitzstephen, i. 298; Benedict, 62. 1170.] THEIR ASSAULT ON THE PALACE. 95 and always is your custom, to do and say what seems good to yourself alone.” “What would you have me do, Dan John ? ” 1 said Becket. “ You ought to have taken counsel with your friends, knowing as you do that these men only seek occasion to kill you.” “ I am prepared to die,” said Becket. “We are sinners,” said John, “ and not yet prepared for death ; and I see no one who wishes to die without cause except you.” 2 The Archbishop answered, “ Let God’s will he done.” 3 “Would to God it might end well!” sighed John, in despair. 4 The dialogue was interrupted by one of the monks rushing in to announce that the knights were arming. “ Let them arm,” said Becket. But in a few minutes the violent assault on the door of the hall, and the crash of a wooden partition in the passage from the orchard, announced that the danger was close at hand. The monks, with that extraordinary timidity which they always seem to have displayed, instantly fled, leaving only a small body of his intimate friends or faithful attendants. 5 They united in entreating him to take refuge in the cathedral. “ No,” he said : “ fear not; all monks are cowards.” 6 On this some sprang upon him, and endeavored to drag him there by main force; others urged that it was now five o’clock, that vespers were beginning, and that his duty called him to attend the service. Partly forced, partly persuaded by the argument, 7 partly feeling that his doom called 1 Roger, 164; Garnier, 69, 25. 2 Gamier, 70, 10. 3 Roger, 164 ; Benedict, 62; Garnier, 70, 10. 4 Benedict, 62. 6 Garnier, 70, 16. 6 Roger, 165; Eitzstephen, i. 298. 7 Eitzstephen, i. 299. He had dreamed or anticipated that he should be killed in church, and had communicated his apprehensions to the abbots of Pontigny and Yal-Luisant (Benedict, 65), and, as we have seen, to a citizen of Canterbury on the eve of this day. 96 MIRACLE OF THE LOCK. [1170. him thither, he rose and moved; hut seeing that his cross-staff was not as usual borne before him, he stopped and called for it. 1 He remembered, perhaps, the memorable day at the Council of Northampton, when he had himself borne the cross 2 through the royal hall to the dismay and fury of his opponents. His ordinary cross-bearer, Alexander Llewellyn, had, as we have seen, left him for France 3 two days before, and the cross-staff was therefore borne by one of his clerks, Henry of Auxerre. 4 They first attempted to pass along the usual passage to the cathedral, through the orchard, to the western front of the church. But both court and orchard being by this time thronged with armed men, 5 they turned through a room which conducted to a private door 6 that was rarely used, and which led from the palace to the cloisters of the monastery. One of the monks ran before to force it, for the key was lost. Suddenly the door flew open as if of itself; 7 and in the confusion of the moment, when none had leisure or inclination to ask how so opportune a deliverance oc¬ curred, it was natural for the story to arise which is related, with one exception, 8 in all the narratives of the period, — that the holt came off as though it had merely 1 Eitzstephen, i. 296; Benedict, 64. 2 Herbert, i. 143. 3 Herbert, i. 330. 4 Fitzstephen, i. 299. 5 Roger, 165. 6 Gamier, 71. 7 Grim, 73 ; Roger, 166 ; Gamier, 17, 9. 8 Benedict, 64. It is curious that a similar miracle was thought to have occurred on his leaving the royal castle at Northampton. He found the gate locked and barred. One of his servants caught sight of a bundle of keys hanging aloft, seized it, and with wonderful quick¬ ness ( quod quasi miraculum quibusdam visum est ), picked out the right key from the tangled mass, and opened the door. (Roger, 142.) The cellarman Richard was the one who had received intimation of the danger (as mentioned in page 85), and who would therefore be on the watch. See Willis’s Conventual Buildings of Christ Church, p. 116. ML AM of CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL 9 AT THE TIME OFBECKETS MURDER Chiefly front, the Work of Pt ‘ofessor. Jfitlis. (The pardon, of the Cathedral, in lighter tint is the conjectural -restoration, of Aan/rancs Church.) A The Mv*. BZaAy Chapel- C Chapel of St Benedict mth SfBlaise dhow B.Chapel of St Michaels. JC.Cktm F.Prcsb/tcn/. fi: Chapel, of .SiAnselm-. HChapd of#Andrew JiTiitiity Chapel mil the Crypt underneath ! /High Alton 2. Attar ofSlAlfagc.. 5. Altar of Sfjhuistaiu •iPatrutrcfial Chair* 5. Attar of SUolav Baptist, fin, the Crypt ) C.Aka/'AfJl^uyustuuL fim the Crypt) 1 Boar of the Cloisters. 2.Boor’,of the Cathedral* 3. Staircase to die roof. 4 , Staircase to the Crypt 5.Staircase to the Choir. C. Pillar -Where He Archbishop stood/. 7J5 'pot Where he fell 8. Spot where the tody lay during the ru 9 Spot where, the body was buried/ indie C ■ — The course of the Archbishop —- Thu course of the Knight*, Archbishops Palace.^ -xje: 1170] SCENE IN THE CATHEDRAL. 97 been fastened on by glue, and left their passage free. This one exception is the account by Benedict, then a monk of the monastery, and afterwards Abbot of Peter¬ borough; and his version, compared with that of all the other historians, is an instructive commentary on a thousand fables of a similar kind. Two cellarmen, he says, of the monastery, Richard and William, whose lodgings were in that part of the building, hearing the tumult and clash of arms, flew to the cloister, drew back the bolt from the other side, and opened the door to the party from the palace. Benedict knew nothing of the seeming miracle, as his brethren were ignorant of the timely interference of the cellarmen. But both miracle and explanation would at the moment be alike disregarded. Every monk in that terrified band had but a single thought, — to reach the church with their master in safety. The whole march was a struggle be¬ tween the obstinate attempt of the Primate to preserve his dignity, and the frantic eagerness of his attendants to gain the sanctuary. As they urged him forward, he colored and paused, and repeatedly asked them what they feared. The instant they had passed through the door which led to the cloister, the subordinates flew to bar it behind them, which he as peremptorily forbade. 1 For a few steps he walked firmly on, with the cross¬ bearer and the monks before him; halting once and looking over his right shoulder, either to see whether the gate was locked, or else if his enemies were pur¬ suing. Then the same ecclesiastic who had hastened forward to break open the door called out, “ Seize him, and carry him! ” 2 Vehemently he resisted, but in vain. Some pulled him from before, others pushed from be hind. 3 Half carried, half drawn, he was borne along 1 Fitzstephen, i. 292. 2 Roger, 166. 3 Gamier, 71, 27. 7 98 SCENE IN THE CATHEDRAL. [1170. the northern and eastern cloister, crying out, “ Let me go ; do not drag me ! ” Thrice they were delayed, even in that short passage; for thrice he broke loose from them,— twice in the cloister itself, and once in the chapter-house, which opened out of its eastern side. 1 At last* they reached the door of the lower north tran¬ sept of the cathedral, and here was presented a new scene. The vespers had already begun, and the monks were singing the service in the choir, when two hoys rushed up the nave, announcing, more by their terrified ges¬ tures than by their words, that the soldiers were burst¬ ing into the palace and the monastery. 2 Instantly the service was thrown into the utmost confusion; part remained at prayer, part fled into the numerous hid¬ ing-places which the vast fabric affords, and part went down the steps of the choir into the transept to meet the little band at the door. 3 “ Come in, come in! ” exclaimed one of them; “ come in, and let us die tor gether ! ” The Archbishop continued to stand outside, and said, “ Go and finish the service. So long as you keep in the entrance, I shall not come in.” They fell back a few paces, and he stepped within the door; but finding the whole place thronged with people, he paused on the threshold and asked, “ What is it that these people fear ? ” One general answer broke forth, “ The armed men in the cloister.” As he turned and said, “ I shall go out to them,” he heard the clash of arms behind. 4 The knights had just forced their way 1 Roger, 166. It is from this mention of the chapter-house, which occupied the same relative position as the present one, that we ascer¬ tain the sides of the cloister by which Becket came. 2 Will. Cant., 32. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 294. 4 Benedict, 64; Herbert, 330. 1170.] ENTRANCE OF THE KNIGHTS. 99 into the cloister, and were now (as would appear from their being thus seen through the open door) advanc¬ ing along its southern side. They were in mail, which covered their faces up to their eyes, and carried their swords drawn . 1 With them was Hugh of Horsea, sur- named Mauclerc, a subdeacon, chaplain of Eobert de Broc . 2 Three had hatchets . 3 Fitzurse, with the axe he had taken from the carpenters, was foremost, shout¬ ing as he came, “ Here, here, king’s men! ” Immedi¬ ately behind him followed Eobert Fitzranulph , 4 with three other knights, whose names are not preserved; and a motley group — some their own followers, some from the town — with weapons, though not in armor, brought up the rear . 5 At this sight, so unwonted in the peaceful cloisters of Canterbury, not probably be¬ held since the time when the monastery had been sacked by the Danes, the monks within, regardless of all remonstrances, shut the door of the cathedral, and proceeded to barricade it with iron bars . 6 A loud knocking was heard from the terrified band without, who, having vainly endeavored to prevent the entrance of the knights into the cloister, now rushed before them to take refuge in the church . 7 Becket, who had stepped some paces into the cathedral, but was resist¬ ing the solicitations of those immediately about him to move up into the choir for safety, darted back, call¬ ing aloud as he went, “ Away, you cowards ! By virtue of your obedience I command you not to shut the door; the church must not be turned into a castle.” 8 With 1 Gamier, 71, 10. 2 Gervase, Acta Pont., 1672. 3 Gamier, 71, 12. 4 Foss’s Judges, i. 243. 5 Fitzstephen, i. 300. 6 Herbert, 331 ; Benedict, 65. 7 Anon. Lambeth, 121. Herbert (331) describes the knocking, but mistakingly supposes it to be the knights. 8 Gamier, 71, 24. This speech occurs in all. 100 ENTRANCE OF THE KNIGHTS. [1170. his own hands he thrust them away from the door, opened it himself, and catching hold of the excluded monks, dragged them into the building, exclaiming, “Come in, come in, — faster, faster !” 1 At this moment the ecclesiastics who had hitherto clung round him fled in every direction, — some to the altars in the numerous side chapels, some to the secret chambers with which the walls and roof of the cathe¬ dral are filled. One of them has had the rashness to leave on record his own excessive terror . 2 Even John of Salisbury, his tried and faithful counsellor, escaped with the rest Three only remained, — Eobert, Canon of Merton, his old instructor; William Fitzstephen (if we may believe his own account), his lively and worldly-minded chaplain ; and Edward Grim, the Saxon monk . 3 William, one of the monks of Canterbury, who has recorded his impressions of the scene, con¬ fesses that he fled with the rest. He was not ready to confront martyrdom, and with clasped hands ran as fast as he could up the steps . 4 Two hiding-places had been specially pointed out to the Archbishop. One was the venerable crypt of the church, with its many dark recesses and chapels, to which a door then as now opened immediately from the spot where he stood; the other was the Chapel of St. Blaise in the roof, itself communicating by a gallery with the triforium of the cathedral, to which there was a ready access through a staircase cut in the thickness of the wall at the cor¬ ner of the transept . 5 But he positively refused. One last resource remained to the stanch companions who 1 Benedict, 65. 2 William of Canterbury (in the Winchester MS.). 3 Fitzstephen, i. 301. 4 Will. Cant., published in “ Archeeologia Cantiana,” vi. 42. 5 Fitzstephen, i. 301, 1170.] TRANSEPT OF “THE MARTYRDOM.” 101 stood by him. They urged him to ascend to the choir, and hurried him, still resisting, up one of the two flights of steps which led thither . 1 They no doubt considered that the greater sacredness of that portion of the church would form their best protection. Becket seems to have given way, as in leaving the palace, from the thought flashing across his mind that he would die at his post. He would go (such at least was the impression left on their minds) to the high altar, and perish in the Patri¬ archal Chair, in which he and all his predecessors from time immemorial had been enthroned . 2 But this was not to be. What has taken long to describe must have been com¬ pressed in action within a few minutes. The knights, who had been checked for a moment by the sight of the closed door, on seeing it unexpectedly thrown open, rushed into the church. It was, we must remember, about five o’clock in a winter evening ; 3 the shades of night were gathering, and were deepened into a still darker gloom within the high and massive walls of the vast cathedral, which was only illuminated here and there by the solitary lamps burning before the altars. The twilight , 4 lengthening from the shortest day a fortnight before, was but just sufficient to reveal the outline of objects. The transept 5 in which the knights found themselves is the same as that which, 1 Roger, 166. 2 Anon. Lambeth, 121 ; Gervase’s Chronicle, 1443. 3 “Nox longissima instabat.” — Fitzstephen, i. 301. 4 The 29th of December of that year corresponded (by the change of style) to our 4th of January. 5 Gamier, 74, 11: — “ Pur l’iglise del nort e en l’ele del nort, Envers le nort suffri li bons sainz Thomas mort.” For the ancient arrangements of “ the martyrdom,” see Willis’s Ac- 102 TRANSEPT OF “THE MARTYRDOM.” [1170. though with considerable changes in its arrangements, is still known by its ancient name of “ The Martyrdom.” Two staircases led from it, — one from the east to the northern aisle, one on the west to the entrance of the choir. At its southwest corner, where it joined the nave, was the little chapel and altar of the Virgin, the especial patroness of the Archbishop. Its eastern apse was formed by two chapels, raised one above the other; the upper in the roof, containing the relics of Saint Blaise, the first martyr whose bones had been brought into the church and which gave to the chapel a peculiar sanctity; the lower containing 1 the altar of St. Benedict, under whose rule from the time of Dunstan the monastery had been placed. Before and around this altar were the tombs of four Saxon and two Norman Archbishops. In the centre of the transept was a pillar, supporting a gallery leading to the Chapel of St. Blaise , 2 and hung at great festivals with curtains and draperies. Such was the outward aspect, and such the associations, of the scene which now, perhaps, opened for the first time on the four soldiers. But the darkness, coupled with the eagerness to find their victim, would have prevented them from noticing anything more than its prominent features. count of Canterbury Cathedral, pp. 18, 40, 71, 96. The chief changes since that time are : — (1) The removal of the Lady Chapel in the Nave. (2) The removal of the central pillar. (3) The enlargement of the Chapel of St. Benedict. (4) The removal of the Chapel of St. Blaise. (5) The removal of the eastern staircase. In the last two points a parallel to the old arrangement may still he found in the southern transept. 1 It may be mentioned, as an instance of Hume’s well-known in¬ accuracy. that he represents Becket as taking refuge “ in the church of St. Benedict,” evidently thinking, if he thought at all, that it was a parish church dedicated to that saint. 2 Gamier, 72-79, 6; Willis’s Canterbury Cathedral, p. 47. 1170 .] MEETING OF KNIGHTS AND ARCHBISHOP. 103 At the moment of their entrance the central pillar exactly intercepted their view of the Archbishop as¬ cending (as would appear from this circumstance) the eastern staircase . 1 Fitzurse, with his drawn sword in one hand, and the carpenter’s axe in the other, sprang in first, and turned at once to the right of the pillar. The other three went round it to the left. In the dim twilight they could just discern a group of fig¬ ures mounting the steps . 2 One of the knights called out to them, “ Stay! ” Another, “ Where is Thomas Becket, traitor to the king ? ” No answer was returned. None could have been expected by any who remem¬ bered the indignant silence with which Becket had swept by when the same word had been applied by Bandulf de Broc, at Northampton . 3 Fitzurse rushed forward, and stumbling against one of the monks on the lower step , 4 still not able to distinguish clearly in the darkness, exclaimed, “ Where is the Archbishop ? ” Instantly the answer came : “Reginald, here I am,— no traitor, but the Archbishop and Priest of God; what do you wish ?” 5 and from the fourth step , 6 which he had reached in his ascent, with a slight motion of his head, — noticed apparently as his peculiar manner in moments of excitement , 7 — Becket descended to the transept. Attired, we are told, in his white rochet , 8 with a cloak and hood thrown over his shoulders, he thus suddenly confronted his assailants. Fitzurse sprang back two or three paces, and Becket passing 9 by him 1 Gamier, 72, 10. 2 Gamier, 72, 11. 3 Roger, 142. 4 Gamier, 72, 14. 6 Gervase, Acta Pont., 1672; Gamier, 72, 15. e Gervase, Acta Pont., 1673. 7 As in his interview with the Abbot of St. Albans at Harrow. See p. 74. 3 Grandison, c. 9. 9 Grim, 75; Roger, 166. 104 THE STRUGGLE. [1170. took up his station between the central pillar 1 and the massive wall which still forms the southwest corner of what was then the Chapel of St. Benedict . 2 Here they gathered round him, with the cry, “ Absolve the bishops whom you have excommunicated.” “ I cannot do other than I have done,” he replied; and turning 3 to Fitzurse, he added, “ Beginald, you have received many favors at my hands; why do you come into my church armed ? ” Fitzurse planted the axe against his breast, and returned for answer, “ You shall die; I will tear out your heart.” 4 Another, perhaps in kindness, striking him between the shoulders with the flat of his sword, exclaimed, “ Fly; you are a dead man .” 5 “I am ready to die,” replied the Primate, “ for God and the Church; but I warn you, I curse you in the name of God Almighty, if you do not let my men escape .” 6 The well-known horror which in that age was felt at an act of sacrilege, together with the sight of the crowds who were 7 rushing in from the town through the nave, turned their efforts for the next few moments to carry him out of the church . 8 Fitzurse threw down the axe , 9 and tried to drag him out by the collar of his long cloak , 10 calling, “ Come with us; you are our prisoner.” “ I will not fly, you detestable fellow !” 11 was Becket’s reply, roused to his usual vehemence, and wrenching 1 Roger, 166. 2 Willis’s Canterbury Cathedral, p. 41. It was afterwards preserved purposely. 3 Gamier, 72, 20. 4 Grim, 79; Anon. Passio Quinta, 176. 5 Grim, 75, 76 ; Roger, 166. 6 Herbert, 338; Gamier, 72, 25; Fitzstephen, i. 302; Grim, 76; Roger, 166. 7 Anon. Lamb., 122; Fitzstephen, i. 302. 8 Grim, 76 ; Roger, 166. 9 Fitzstephen, i. 302 ; Benedict, 88. 10 Gamier, 72, 20, 30. 11 “ Vir abominabilis.”— Geryase, Acta Pont., 1673. THE STRUGGLE. 105 x 170.] the cloak out of Fitzurse’s grasp . 1 The three knights, to whom was now added Hugh Mauclerc, chaplain of Eobert de Broc , 2 struggled violently to put him on Tracy’s shoulders . 3 Becket set his back against the pillar , 4 and resisted with all his might; whilst Grim , 5 vehemently remonstrating, threw his arms around him to aid his efforts. In the scuffle Becket fastened upon Tracy, shook him by his coat of mail, and exerting his great strength, flung him down on the pavement . 6 It was hopeless to carry on the attempt to remove him; and in the final struggle which now began, Fitzurse, as before, took the lead. But as he approached with his drawn sword, the sight of him kindled afresh the Archbishop’s anger, now heated by the fray ; the spirit of the chancellor rose within him, and with a coarse 7 epithet, not calculated to turn away his adversary’s wrath, he exclaimed, “ You profligate wretch, you are my man, — you have done me fealty, — you ought not to touch me !” 8 Fitzurse, glowing all over with rage, 1 Gamier, 73, 21. 2 Roger, 166; Gamier, 71. 8 Roger, 166. 4 Gamier, 72, 73, 5; Grim, 75. 5 Fitzstepben, i. 302 ; Gamier, 73, 6. 6 Benedict, 66; Roger, 166; Gervase, Acta Pont., 1173; Herbert, 331 ; Gamier, 72, 30. All but Herbert and Gamier believe this to have been Fitzurse ; but the reference of Herbert to Tracy’s confession is decisive. 7 “Lenonein appellans.”— Roger, 167 ; Grim, 66. It is this part of the narrative that was so ingeniously, and, it must be confessed, not altogether without justice, selected as the ground of the official account of Becket’s death, published by King Henry VIII., and representing him as having fallen in a scuffle with the knights, in which he and they were equally aggressors. The violence of Becket’s language was well known. His usual name for Geoffrey Riddell, Archdeacon of Canter¬ bury, was Archdevil. Anselm, the king’s brother, he called a “cata¬ mite and bastard.” 8 Grim, 66. 106 THE MURDER. [1170. retorted, “ I owe you no fealty or homage, contrary to my fealty to the king; ” 1 and waving the sword over his head cried, “ Strike, strike !” ( Ferez , ferez !) but merely dashed off his cap. The Archbishop covered his eyes with his joined hands, bent his neck, and said , 2 “ I commend my cause and the cause of the Church to God, to Saint Denys the martyr of France, to Saint Alfege, and to the saints of the Church.” Meanwhile Tracy, who since his fall had thrown off his hauberk 3 to move more easily, sprang forward, and struck a more decided blow. Grim, who up to this moment had his arm round Becket, threw it up, wrapped in a cloak, to intercept the blade, Becket exclaiming, “ Spare this de¬ fence ! ” The sword lighted on the arm of the monk, which fell wounded or broken ; 4 and he fled disabled to the nearest altar , 5 probably that of St. Benedict within the chapel. It is a proof of the confusion of the scene, that Grim, the receiver of the blow, as well as most of the 1 Grim, 66; Roger, 167; Gamier, 73, 11. 2 Gamier, 73, 25. These are in several of the accounts made his last words (Roger, 167 ; Alan, 336, and Addit. to John of Salisbury, 376); but this is doubtless the moment when they were spoken. 3 Gamier, 73, 1. 4 Gamier, 73, 18. The words in which this act is described in almost all the chronicles have given rise to a curious mistake : “ Bra- chium Edwardi Grim fere abscidit.” By running together these two words, later writers have produced the name of “ Grimfere.” Many similar confusions will occur to classical scholars. In most of the mediaeval pictures of the murder, Grim is represented as the cross- bearer, which is an error. Grandison alone speaks of Grim “ cum cruce The acting cross-bearer, Henry of Auxerre, had doubtless fled. Another error respecting Grim has been propagated in much later times by Thierry, who, for the sake of supporting his theory that Becket’s cause was that of the Saxons against the Normans, represents him as remonstrating against the Primate’s acquiescence in the Constitutions of Clarendon. The real cross-bearer, who so remon¬ strated (Alan of Tewkesbury, i. 340), was not a Saxon, but a Welsh¬ man (see Robertson, 335). 5 Will. Cant., 32. 1170.] THE MURDER. 107 narrators, believed it to have been dealt by Fitzurse, while Tracy, who is known to have been 1 the man from his subsequent boast, believed that the monk whom he had wounded was John of Salisbury. The spent force of the stroke descended on Becket’s head, grazed the crown, and finally rested on his left shoulder , 2 cutting through the clothes and skin. The next blow, whether struck by Tracy or Fitzurse, was only with the flat of the sword, and again on the bleeding head , 3 which Becket drew back as if stunned, and then raised his clasped hands above it. The blood from the first blow was trickling down his face in a thin streak ; he wiped it with his arm, and when he saw the stain, he said, “ Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.” At the third blow, which was also from Tracy, he sank on his knees, — his arms falling, but his hands still joined as if in prayer. With his face turned towards the altar of St. Benedict, he murmured in a low voice, — which might just have been caught by the wounded Grim , 4 who was crouching close by, and who alone reports the words, — “For the name of Jesus, and the defence of the Church, I am willing to die.” Without moving hand or foot , 5 he fell flat on his face as he spoke, in front of the corner wall of the chapel, and with such dignity that his mantle, which extended from head to foot, was not disarranged. In this posture he received from Bichard the Breton a tremendous blow, accom¬ panied with the exclamation (in allusion to a quarrel of Becket with Prince William), “ Take this for love of my Lord William, brother of the king ! ” 6 The stroke 1 Will. Cant., 33; Fitzstephen, i. 302; Gamier, 73, 17. 2 Gamier 73, 8. 3 Will. Cant., 32 ; Grim, 66. 4 Grim, 66. 3 Gervase’s Chronicle, 2466. 6 Fitzstephen, i. 303. 108 THE MURDER. [1170. was aimed witli such violence that the scalp or crown of the head 1 — which, it was remarked, was of unusual size—was severed from the skull, and the sword snapped in two on the marble pavement . 2 The fracture of the murderous weapon was reported by one of the eyewitnesses as a presage of the ultimate discomfiture of the Archbishop’s enemies . 3 Hugh of Horsea, the 1 Grim, 77; Roger, 167 ; Passio Quinta, 177. Great stress was laid on this, as having been the part of his head which had received the sacred oil. (John of Salisbury, 376.) There was a dream, by which he was said to have been troubled at Pontigny, -— curious, as in some respects so singularly unlike, in others so singularly like, his actual fate. He was at Rome, pleading his cause before the Pope and cardinals ; the adverse cardinals rushed at him with a shout that drowned the remonstrances of the Pope, and tried to pluck out his eyes with their fingers, then vanished, and were succeeded by a band of savage men, who struck off his scalp, so that it fell over his forehead. (Grim, 58.) 2 Benedict, 66. Eor the pavement being marble, see Benedict, 66, and Gamier, 79, 19. Baronius (vol. xix. p. 379) calls it “lapideum pavimentum.” A spot is still shown in Canterbury Cathedral, with a square piece of stone said to have been inserted in the stone pavement in the place of a portion taken out and sent to Rome. That the spot so marked is precisely the place where Becket fell, is proved by its exact accordance with the localities so minutely described in the several narratives. But whether the flagstones now remaining are really the same, must remain in doubt. The piece said to have been sent to Rome, I ascertained, after diligent inquiry, to be no longer in existence; and Mr. Robertson has clearly pointed out that the passage quoted, in earlier editions of this work, from Baronius (vol. xix. p. 371) in proof of the story, has no bearing upon it; and also that the tradition re¬ specting it at Canterbury cannot be traced beyond the beginning of this century. Another story states that Benedict, when appointed Abbot of Peterborough in 1177, being vexed at finding that his pre¬ decessor had pawned or sold the relics of the abbey, returned to Can¬ terbury, and carried off, amongst other memorials of Saint Thomas, the stones of the pavement which had been sprinkled with his blood, and had two altars made from them for Peterborough Cathedral. Still, as the whole floor must have been flooded, he may have removed only those adjacent to the flagstone from which the piece was taken, — a sup¬ position with which the present appearance of the flagstone remark¬ ably corresponds. 3 Will. Cant. (Arch. Cant., vi. 42). ■ # _ 1170.] THE MURDER. 109 subdeacon who had joined them as they entered the church , 1 taunted by the others with having taken no share in the deed, planted his foot on the neck of the corpse, thrust his sword into the ghastly wound, and scattered the brains over the pavement. “ Let us go, let us go/’ he said, in conclusion. “ The traitor is dead; he will rise no more.” 2 This was the final act. One only of the four knights had struck no blow. Hugh de Moreville throughout retained the gentler disposition for which he was dis¬ tinguished, and contented himself with holding back at the entrance of the transept the crowds who were pouring in through the nave . 3 The murderers rushed out of the church, through the cloisters, into the palace. Tracy, in a confession made long afterwards to Bartholomew, Bishop of Exeter said that their spirits, which had before been raised to the highest pitch of excitement, gave way when the deed was perpetrated, and that they retired with trem¬ bling steps, expecting the earth to open and swallow them up . 4 Such, however, was not their outward de¬ meanor, as it was recollected by the monks of the place. With a savage burst of triumph they ran, shouting, as if in battle, the watchword of the kings of England , 5 “ The king’s men, the king’s men! ” wounding, as they went, a servant of the Archdeacon of Sens for lamenting the murdered prelate . 6 Robert de Broc, as 1 Benedict (66) ascribes this to Brito; the anonymous Passio Quinta (177) to Fitzurse; Herbert (345) and Grandison (iv. 1) to Robert de Broc; the rest to Mauclerc. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 303; Roger, 268; Benedict, 67; Gamier, 74, 25. 3 Roger, 108 ; Grim, 77; Gamier, 74, 11. 4 Herbert, 351; Grandison, c. 9. 5 Gamier, 74, 1; Grim, 79 ; Roger, 168 ; Fitzstephen, i. 305. 6 Fitzstephen, i. 305. See Ducange in voce; Robertson, p. 282. 110 PLUNDER OF THE PALACE. [1170. knowing the palace, had gone before to take possession of the private apartments. There they broke open the bags and coffers, and seized many papal bulls, charters , 1 and other documents, which Randulf de Broc sent to the king. They then traversed the whole of the palace, plundering gold and silver vases , 2 the magnifi¬ cent vestments and utensils employed in the services of the church, the furniture and books of the chap¬ lains’ rooms, and, lastly, the horses from the stables, on which Becket had prided himself to the last, and on which they rode off . 3 The amount of plunder was esti¬ mated by Fitzstephen at two thousand marks. To their great surprise they found two haircloths among the ef¬ fects of the Archbishop, and threw them away. As the murderers left the cathedral, a tremendous storm of thunder and rain burst over Canterbury, and the night fell in thick darkness 4 upon the scene of the dreadful deed. The crowd was every instant increased by the multi- . tudes flocking in from the town on the tidings of the event. There was still at that moment, as in his life¬ time, a strong division of feeling; and Grim overheard even one of the monks declare that the Primate had paid a just penalty for his obstinacy , 5 and was not to be lamented as a martyr. Others said, “He wished to be king, and more than king; let him be king, let him be king ! ” 6 Whatever horror was expressed, was felt (as in the life-long remorse of Robert Bruce for the slaughter of the Red Cornyn in the church of Dum¬ fries) not at the murder, but at the sacrilege. At last, however, the cathedral was cleared, and the 1 Gamier, 74, 5. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 305. 3 Herbert, 352. 4 Fitzstephen, i. 304. 5 Grim, 79, 80. 6 Benedict, 67. 1170.] THE DEAD BODY. Ill gates shut ; 1 and for a time the body lay entirely deserted. It was not till the night had quite closed in, that Oshert, the chamberlain 2 of the Archbishop, entering with a light, found the corpse lying on its face , 3 the scalp hanging by a piece of skin: he cut off a piece of his shirt to bind up the frightful gash. The doors of the cathedral were again opened, and the monks returned to the spot. Then, for the first time, they ventured to give way to their grief, and a loud lamentation resounded through the stillness of the night. When they turned the body with its face upwards, all were struck by the calmness and beauty of the countenance: a smile still seemed to play on the features, the color on the cheeks was fresh, and the eyes were closed as if in sleep . 4 The top of the head, wound round with Osbert’s shirt, was bathed in blood, but the face was marked only by one faint streak that crossed the nose from the right temple to the left cheek . 5 Underneath the body they found the axe which Fitzurse had thrown down, and a small iron hammer, brought apparently to force open the door; close by were lying the two fragments of Le Bret’s broken sword, and the Archbishop’s cap, which had been struck off in the beginning of the fray. All these they carefully preserved. The blood, which with the brains was scattered over the pavement, they collected and placed in vessels; and as the enthusiasm of the hour increased, the bystanders, who already began to 1 Roger, 169. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 305. 3 Grandison, iv. 1. 4 Will. Cant., 33. The same appearances are described on the subsequent morning, in Herbert, 358; Grandison, c. 9. 5 Benedict, 68; or (as Robert of Gloucester states it), “from the left half of his forehead to the left half of his chin.” By this mark the subsequent apparitions of Becket were often recognized. 112 DISCOVERY OF THE HAIRCLOTH [1170. esteem him a martyr, cut off pieces of their clothes to dip in the blood, and anointed their eyes with it. The cloak and outer pelisse, which were rich with san¬ guinary stains, were given to the poor, — a proof of the imperfect apprehension as yet entertained of the value of these relics, which a few years afterwards would have been literally worth their weight in gold, and which were now sold for some trifling sum . 1 After tying up the head with clean linen, and fasten¬ ing the cap over it, they placed the body on a bier, and carried it up the successive flights of steps which led from the transept through the choir — “ the glorious choir,” as it was called, “ of Conrad ” — to the high altar in front of which they laid it down. The night was now far advanced, but the choir was usually lighted — and probably, therefore, on this great occa¬ sion— by a chandelier with twenty-four wax tapers. Vessels were placed underneath the body to catch any drops of blood that might fall , 2 and the monks sat around weeping . 3 The aged Eobert, Canon of Merton, the earliest friend and instructor of Becket, and one of the three who had remained with him to the last, con¬ soled them by a narration of the austere life of the martyred prelate, which hitherto had been known only to himself, as the confessor of the Primate, and to Brun the valet . 4 In proof of it he thrust his hand under the garments, and showed the monk’s habit and haircloth shirt, which he wore next to his skin. This was the one thing wanted to raise the enthusiasm, of the bystanders to the highest pitch. Up to that mo¬ ment there had been a jealousy of the elevation of the gay chancellor to the archbishopric of Canterbury. 1 Benedict, 68. 8 Roger, 168. 2 Benedict, 69. 4 Fitzstephen, i. 308. 1170.] DISCOVERY OE THE HAIRCLOTH. 113 The primacy involved the abbacy of the cathedral mon¬ astery ; and the primates therefore had been, with two exceptions, always chosen from some monastic society. The fate of these two had, we are told, weighed heavily on Becket’s mind. One was Stigand, the last Saxon Archbishop, who ended his life in a dungeon, after, the Conquest; the other was Elsey, who had been appointed in opposition to Dunstan, and who after having tri¬ umphed over his predecessor Odo by dancing on his grave was overtaken by a violent snow storm in pass¬ ing the Alps, and in spite of the attempts to resuscitate him by plunging his feet in the bowels of his horse, was miserably frozen to death. Becket himself, it was believed, had immediately after his consecration re¬ ceived, from a mysterious 1 apparition, an awful warn¬ ing against appearing in the choir of the cathedral in his secular dress as chancellor. It now for the first time appeared that, though not formerly a monk, he had virtually become one by his secret austerities. The transport of the fraternity, on finding that he had been one of themselves, was beyond all bounds. They burst at once into thanksgivings, which resounded through the choir; fell on their knees ; kissed the hands and feet of the corpse, and called him by the name of “ Saint Thomas,” 2 by which, from that time forward, he was so long known to the European world. At the sound of the shout of joy there was a general rush to the choir, to see the saint in sackcloth who had hitherto been known as the chancellor in purple and fine linen . 3 A new enthusiasm was kindled by the 1 Grim, 16. Another version, current after his death, represented him as having secretly assumed the monastic dress on the day of his consecration. (Ant. Cant., vii. 213.) 2 Fitzstephen, i. 308. 3 Ibid.; Gervase’s Chronicle, 1416. 8 114 THE AURORA BOREALIS. [1170. spectacle. Arnold, a monk, who was goldsmith to the monastery, was sent hack, with others, to the transept to collect in a basin any vestiges of the blood and brains, now become so precious; and benches were placed across the spot, to prevent its being desecrated by the footsteps of the crowd. 1 This perhaps was the moment when the great ardor of the citizens first began for washing their hands and eyes with the blood. One instance of its application gave rise to a practice which became the distinguishing characteristic of all the sub¬ sequent pilgrimages to the shrine. A citizen of Canter¬ bury dipped a corner of his shirt in the blood, went home, and gave it, mixed in water, to his wife, who was paralytic, and who was said to have been cured. This suggested the notion of mixing the blood with water, which, endlessly diluted, was kept in innumerable vials, to be distributed to the pilgrims; 2 and thus, as the palm 3 was a sign of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and a scallop-shell of the pilgrimage to Compostela, so ‘a leaden vial or bottle suspended from the neck became the mark of a pilgrimage to Canterbury. [Dec. 30.] Thus passed the night; and it is not surprising that in the red glare of an aurora borealis, 4 which after the stormy evening lighted up the mid¬ night sky, the excited populace, like that at Eome after the murder of Eossi, should fancy that they saw the blood of the martyr go up to heaven ; or that, as the wax lights sank down in the cathedral, and the first streaks of the gray winter morning broke through the stained windows of Conrad’s choir, the monks who sat round the corpse should imagine that the right arm 1 Fitzstephen, i. 308. 2 Ibid., 309. 3 Gamier, 78, 16; Anon. Lambeth, p. 134. 4 Fitzstephen, i. 304. 1170.] UNWRAPPING OF THE CORPSE. 115 of the dead man was slowly raised in the sign of the cross, as if to bless his faithful followers. 1 Early in the next day a rumor or message came to the monks that Robert de Broc forbade them to bury the body among the tombs of the Archbishops, and that he threatened to drag it out, hang it on a gibbet, tear it with horses, cut it to pieces, 2 or throw it in some pond or sink to be devoured by swine or birds of prey, as a fit portion for the corpse of his master’s enemy. “ Had Saint Peter so dealt with the king,” he said, “ by the body of Saint Denys, if I had been there, I would have driven my sword into his skull.” 3 They accord¬ ingly closed 4 the doors, which apparently had remained open through the night to admit the populace, and determined to bury the corpse in the crypt. Thither they carried it, and in that venerable vault proceeded to their mournful task, assisted by the Abbot of Box- ley and the Prior of Dover, 5 who had come to advise with the Archbishop about the vacancy of the Priory at Canterbury. 6 A discussion seems to have taken place whether the body should he washed, according to the usual custom, w^ich ended in their removing the clothes for the purpose. The mass of garments in which he was wrapped is almost incredible, and appears to have been worn chiefly for the sake of warmth and in consequence of his naturally chilly temperament. 7 1 Anon. Passio Tertia, 156; Hoveden, 299. 2 Fitzstephen, i. 309 ; Anon. Lambeth, p. 134; Benedict, 69 ; Roger, 168; Herbert, 327 ; Grim, 81; Gamier, 76, 1. 3 Gamier, 76, 7. 4 Gervase’s Chronicle, 1417. 6 The Prior of Dover was no less a person than Richard, the Arch¬ bishop’s chaplain, and his successor in the primacy. (Matt. Paris, 127 ; Vit. Abb. St. A., 16, 91.) 6 Fitzstephen, i. 309. 7 Gamier, 77, 1. 116 DISCOVERY OF THE VERMIN. [1170. First, there was the large brown mantle, with white fringes of wool; below this there was a white surplice, and again below this a white fur garment of lamb’s wool. Next these, were two short woollen pelisses, which were cut off with knives and given away; and under these the black cowled garment of the Benedic¬ tine order 1 and the shirt 2 without sleeves or fringe, that it might not be visible on the outside. The lowermost covering was the haircloth, which had been made of unusual roughness, and within the haircloth was a warning letter 3 he had received on the night of the 27th. The existence of the austere garb had been pointed out on the previous night by Robert of Merton; but as they proceeded in their task their admiration in¬ creased. The haircloth encased the whole body, down to the knees; the hair drawers, 4 as well as the rest of the dress, being covered on the outside with white linen so as to escape observation ; and the whole so fastened together as to admit of being readily taken off for his daily scourgings, of which yesterday’s portion was still apparent in the stripes on his body. 5 The austerity of hair drawers, close fitted as they were to the bare flesh, had hitherto been unknown to English saints; and the marvel was increased by the sight 6 — to our notions so revolting — of the innumerable vermin with which the haircloth abounded; boiling over with them, as one account describes it, like water 7 in a simmering caldron. At the dreadful sight all the enthusiasm of 1 Matt. Paris, 104. 2 Gamier, 77; Herbert, 330. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 203; Roger, 169; Benedict, 20. 4 Gamier, 77, 40. 5 Anon. Passio Tertia, 156. 6 Roger, 169 ; Fitzstephen, i. 309. 7 Passio Quinta, 161. 1170.] BURIAL IN THE CRYPT. 117 the previous night revived with double ardor. They looked at one another in silent wonder; then exclaimed, “ See, see what a true monk he was, and we knew it not;” and burst into alternate fits of weeping and laughter, between the sorrow of having lost such a head and the joy of having found such a saint. 1 The dis¬ covery of so much mortification, combined with the more prudential reasons for hastening the funeral, induced them to abandon the thought of washing a corpse al¬ ready, as it was thought, sufficiently sanctified, and they at once proceeded to lay it out for burial. Over the haircloth, linen shirt, monk’s cowl, and linen hose, 2 they put first the dress in which he was consecrated, and which he had himself desired to be preserved, 3 — namely, the alb, super-humeral, chris- matic, mitre, stole, and maniple ; and over these, accord¬ ing to the usual custom in archiepiscopal funerals, the Archbishop’s insignia, — namely, the tunic, dalmatic, chasuble, the pall with its pins, the chalice, the gloves, the rings, the sandals, and the pastoral staff, 4 — all of which, being probably kept in the treasury of the cathe¬ dral, were accessible at the moment. The ring which he actually wore at the time of his death, with a green gem 5 set in it, was taken off. Thus arrayed, he was laid by the monks in a new marble sarcophagus 6 which stood in the ancient crypt, 7 at the back of the shrine of the Virgin, between the altars of St. Augustine and 1 Roger, 169 ; Gamier, 77, 30. 2 Fitzstephen; Benedict, 70; Matt. Paris, 124. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 309. 4 Ibid. 5 This, with a knife and various portions of the dress, were pre¬ served in the treasury of Glastonbury. (John of Glastonbury, ed. Hearn, p. 28.) 6 Grim, 82; Benedict, 70; Gervase’s Chronicle, 1417. 7 Benedict, 70; Diceto (Addit. ad Alan.), 377 ; Matt. Paris, 124. 118 RE-CONSECRATION OF THE CATHEDRAL. [1171. St. John the Baptist, 1 — the first Archbishop, as it was observed, and the hold opponent of a wicked king. The remains of the blood and brains were placed out¬ side the tomb, and the doors of the crypt closed against all entrance. 2 No Mass was said over the Archbish¬ op’s grave; 3 for from the moment that armed men had entered, the church was supposed to have been dese¬ crated ; the pavement of the cathedral 4 was taken up; the bells ceased to ring; the walls were divested of their hangings; the crucifixes were veiled; the altars stripped, as in Passion Week; and the services were conducted without chanting 5 in the chapter-house. This desolation continued till the next year, when Odo the Prior, with the monks, took advantage of the arrival of the Papal legates, who came to make full inquiry into the murder, and requested their influence with the bishops to procure a re-consecration. The task was intrusted 6 to the Bishops of Exeter and Chester; and on the 21st of December, the Eeast of Saint Thomas the Apostle, 1171 (the day of Saint Thomas of Canter¬ bury was not yet authorized), Bartholomew, Bishop of Exeter, again celebrated Mass, and preached a sermon on the text, “For the multitude of the sorrows that I had in my heart, thy comforts have refreshed my soul.” 7 1 Fitzstephen, i. 309; Grandison, c. 9; Gervase, Acta Pont., 1673 (Gervase was present ); Alan. 339 ; Matt. Paris, 125; Gamier, 75. The arrangements of this part of the crypt were altered within the next fifty years; but the spot is still ascertainable, behind the “ Chapel of Our Lady Undercroft/’ and underneath what is now the Trinity Chapel. 2 Gervase’s Chronicle, 1417. 3 Fitzstephen, i. 310 ; Matt. Paris, 125 ; Diceto, 338. 4 Diceto (558) speaks of the dirt of the pavement from the crowd who trod it with dusty and muddy feet. Matt. Paris, 126. 5 Gervase’s Chronicle, 1417. 6 Gervase, 1421. Chester then was the seat of the See of Lichfield. 7 Matt. Paris, 125. Bartholomew’s tomb may be seen in the Lady Chapel of Exeter Cathedral. 1173.] CANONIZATION. 119 Within three years the popular enthusiasm was con¬ firmed by the highest authority of the Church. The Archbishop of York had, some time after the murder, ventured to declare that Becket had perished, like Pha¬ raoh, in his pride, and the Government had endeavored to suppress the miracles. But the Papal Court, vacil¬ lating, and often unfriendly in his lifetime, now lent itself to confer the highest honors on his martyrdom 1 On the very day of the murder, some of the Canter¬ bury monks had embarked to convey their own version of it to the Pope. 2 In 1172 legates were sent by Alex¬ ander III. to investigate the alleged miracles, and they carried back to Rome the tunic stained with blood, and a piece of the pavement on which the brains were scattered, — relics which were religiously deposited in the Basilica of Sta. Maria Maggiore. 3 In 1173 a Council was called at Westminster to hear letters read from the Pope, authorizing the invocation of the martyr as a saint. All the bishops who had opposed him were present, and after begging pardon for their offence, ex¬ pressed their acquiescence in the decision of the Pope. In the course of the same year, on Ash Wednesday, the 21st of February, 4 he was regularly canonized, and the 29th of December was set apart as the Feast of Saint Thomas of Canterbury. His sister Mary was ap¬ pointed Abbess of Barking. 5 1 Milman’s Latin Christianity, iii. 532. 2 Ant. Cant., vii. 216. 3 Baronius, xix. 396. A fragment of the tunic, and small blue bags said to contain portions of the brain, are still shown in the reli¬ quary of this church. 4 Florence of Worcester, 153. 5 Matt. Paris, 126. At this council took place, between Roger of York and Richard of Canterbury, the scene already mentioned (p. 72). Roger nearly lost his life under the sticks and fists of the oppo¬ site party, who shouted out, as he rose from the ground with crushed 120 ESCAPE OF THE MURDERERS. [ 1170 . A wooden altar, which remained unchanged through the subsequent alterations and increased magnificence of the cathedral, was erected on the site of the murder, in front of the ancient stone wall of St. Benedict’s Chapel. It was this which gave rise to the mistaken tradition, repeated in books, in pictures, and in sculp¬ tures, that the Primate was slain whilst praying at the altar. 1 The crypt in which the body had been lain so hastily and secretly became the most sacred spot in the church, and, even after the “ translation ” of the relics in 1220, continued to be known down to the time of the Reformation as “ Becket’s Tomb.” 2 The subse¬ quent history of those sacred spots must be reserved for a separate consideration. It remains for us now to follow the fate of the mur¬ derers. [1170. Dec. 30.] On the night of the deed the four knights rode to Saltwood, leaving Robert de Broc in possession of the palace, whence, as we have seen, he brought or sent the threatening message to the monks on the morning of the 30th. They vaunted their deeds to each other, and it was then that Tracy claimed the glory of having wounded John of Salis¬ bury. [Dec. 31.] The next day they rode forty miles by the sea-coast to South-Mailing, an archiepis- copal manor near Lewes. On entering the house, they mitre and torn cope, “ Away, away, traitor of Saint Thomas! thy hands still reek with his blood ! ” (Anglia Sacra, i. 72; Gervase, 1433). 1 The gradual growth of the story is curious. (1) The post¬ humous altar of the martyrdom is represented as standing there at the time of his death. (2) This altar is next confounded with the altar within the Chapel of St. Benedict. (3) This altar is again trans¬ formed into the High Altar; and (4) In these successive changes the furious altercation is converted into an assault on a meek, unprepared worshipper, kneeling before the altar. 2 See Gough’s Sepulchral Monuments, i. 26. •^■iH*** 1171.] LEGEND OF THEIR DEATHS. 121 threw off their arms and trappings on the large dining- table which stood in the hall, and after supper gathered round the blazing hearth; suddenly the table started back, and threw its burden on the ground. The attend¬ ants, roused by the crash, rushed in with lights and replaced the arms. But soon a second still louder crash was heard, and the various articles were thrown still farther off. Soldiers and servants with torches searched in vain under the solid table to find the cause of its convulsions, till one of the conscience-strickei! knights suggested that it was indignantly refusing to bear the sacrilegious burden of their arms. So ran the popular story; and as late as the fourteenth century it was still shown in the same place, — the earliest and most memorable instance of a “ rapping,” “ leaping,” and “turning table.” 1 From South-Mailing they pro¬ ceeded to Knaresborough Castle, a royal fortress then in the possession of Hugh de Moreville, where they remained for a year. 2 The local tradition still points out the hall where they fled for refuge, and the vaulted prison where they were confined after their capture. From this moment they disappear for a time in the black cloud of legend with which the monastic histori¬ ans have enveloped their memory. Dogs, it was said, refused to eat the crumbs that fell from their table. 3 One of them in a fit of madness killed his own son. 4 Sent by the king to Scotland, they were driven back by the Scottish Court to England, and but for the ter¬ ror of Henry’s name, would have been hanged on 1 Grandison, iv. 1. “Monstratur ibidem ipsa tabula in memoriam miraculi conservata.” See also Giraldus, in Wharton’s Anglia Sa- era, 425. 2 Brompton, 1064; Diceto, 557. 3 Brompton, 1064 ; Hoveden, 299. 4 Passio Tertia; Giles, ii. 157. 122 LEGEND OF THEIR DEATHS. [ 1171 . gibbets. 1 Struck with remorse, they went to Eome to receive the sentence of Pope Alexander III., and by him were sent to expiate their sins by a military ser¬ vice of fourteen years 2 in the Holy Land. Moreville, Pitzurse, and Brito,— so the story continues,— after three years’ fighting, died, and were buried, according to some accounts, in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, or of the Templars, at Jerusalem; according to others, in front of the “ Church of the Black Moun¬ tain,” 3 with an inscription on their graves, —- “ Hie jacent miseri qui martyrisaverunt Beatum Thomam Archiepiscopum Cantuariensem.” Tracy alone, it was said, was never able to accom¬ plish his vow. The crime of having struck the first blow 4 was avenged by the winds of heaven, which al¬ ways drove him back. According to one story, he never left England. According to another, and, as we shall see, more correct version, he reached the coast of Calabria, and was then seized at Cosenza with a dread¬ ful disorder, which caused him to tear his flesh from his bones with his own hands, calling, “ Mercy, Saint Thomas!” and there he died miserably, after having made his confession to the bishop of the place. His 1 Ant. Cant., vii. 218. 2 Ibid., 219. 3 Baronius, xix. 399. The legend hardly aims at probabilities. The “ Church of the Black Mountain ” may possibly be a mountain so called in Languedoc, near the Abbey of St. Papoul. The front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is, and always must have been, a square of public resort to all the pilgrims of the world, where no tombs either of murderer or saint could have ever been placed. The Church of the Templars was “the Mosque of the Rock,” and the front was the sacred platform of the sanctuary, — a less impossible place, but still very improbable. Nothing of the kind now exists on either spot. 4 “Primus percussor.” — Baronius, xix. 399. See Robert of Gloucester, 1301-1321 ; Fuller’s Worthies, 357. 1171.] LEGEND OF THEIR DEATHS. 123 fate was long remembered among his descendants in Gloucestershire, and gave rise to the distich that — “ The Tracys Have always the wind in their faces.” Another version of the story, preserved in the tradi¬ tions of Flanders, was as follows. Immediately after the murder, they lost all sense of taste and smell. The Pope ordered them to wander through the world, never sleeping two nights in the same place, till both senses were recovered. In their travels they arrived at Co¬ logne ; and when wine was poured out for them in the inn, they perceived its taste ( smacke ) ; it seemed to them sweeter than honey, and they cried out, “ 0 blessed Cologne! ” They went on to Mechlin; and as they passed through the town, they met a woman, carrying a basket of newly baked bread,— they “found the smell” ( rueck ) of it, and cried, “ 0 holy Mechlin ! ” Great were the benefits heaped by the Pope on these two towns, when he heard of it. The brothers (so they are styled in the Mechlin tradition) built huts for themselves under the walls of the Church of St. Eumold, the pa¬ tron saint of Mechlin, and died there. Over their grave, written on the outer wall of the circular Chapel of St. Eumold, now destroyed, was the following epitaph: Rychardus Brito, necnon Morialius Hugo; Guilhelmus Traci, Reginaldus films Ursi: Tliomam martyrium sub- ire fecere jprimatem, l Such is the legend. The real facts, so far as we can ascertain them, are in some respects curiously at vari¬ ance with it; in other respects, no less curiously con¬ firm it. On the one hand the general fate of the mur¬ derers was far less terrible than the popular tradition 1 Acta S. Rumoldi Sollerius, Antwerp, 1718, communicated by the kindness of Mr. King. 124 THEIR REAL HISTORY. delighted to believe. It would seem that, by a sin¬ gular reciprocity, the principle for which Becket had contended — that priests should not be subjected to secular courts — prevented the trial of a layman for the murder of a priest by any other than by a clerical tribunal. 1 The consequence was, that the perpetrators of what was thought the most heinous crime since the Crucifixion could be visited with no other penalty than excommunication. That they should have performed a pilgrimage to Palestine is in itself not improbable; and one of them, as we shall see, certainly attempted it. The Bishops of Exeter and Worcester wrote to the Pope, urging the necessity of their punishment, but adding that any one who undertook such an office would be regarded as an enemy of God and of the Church. 2 But they seem before long to have re¬ covered their position. The other enemies of Becket even rose to high offices, — John of Oxford was made within five years Bishop of Norwich; and Geoffrey Riddell, Becket’s “ archdevil,” within four years Bishop of Ely [1173] ; and Richard of Ilchester, Archdeacon of Poitiers within three years. The murderers themselves, within the first two years of the murder, were living at court on familiar terms with the king, and constantly joined him in the pleasures of the chase, 3 or else hawking and hunting in England. 4 1 Such, at least, seems the most probable explanation. The fact of the law is stated, as in the text, by Speed (p. 511). The law was al¬ tered in 1176 (23 H. II.), — that is, seven years from the date of the murder, at the time of the final settlement of the Constitutions of Clar¬ endon, between Henry II. and the Papal Legate (Matt. Paris, 132),— and from that time slayers of clergy were punished before the Grand Justiciary in the presence of the Bishop. 2 John of Salisbury’s Letters (Giles, ii. 273). 3 Gervase, 1422. 4 Lansdowne MS. (Ant. Cant., vii. 211). MOREVILLE; FITZURSE. 125 Moreville, 1 who had been Justice-Itinerant in the counties of Northumberland and Cumberland at the time of the murder, was discontinued from his office the ensuing year; but in the first year of King John he is recorded as paying twenty-five marks and three good palfreys for holding his court so long as Helwise his wife should continue in a secular habit. He pro¬ cured, about the same period, a charter for a fair and market at Kirk Oswald, and died shortly afterwards, leaving two daughters. 2 The sword which he wore during the murder is stated by Camden to have been preserved in his time; and is believed to be the one still shown in the hall of Brayton Castle, 3 between Carlisle and Whitehaven. A cross near the Castle of Egremont, which passed into his family, was dedicated to Saint Thomas, and the spot where it stood is still called St. Thomas’s Cross. Fitzurse is said to have gone over to Ireland, and there to have become the ancestor of the M‘Mahon family in the north of Ire¬ land,— M'Mahon being the Celtic translation of Bear’s son. 4 On his flight the estate which he held in the Isle of Thanet, Barham or Berham Court, lapsed to his kinsman Bobert of Berham, — Berham being, as it would seem, the English, as M‘Mahon was the Irish, version of the name Fitzurse. 5 His estate of Willeton, in Somersetshire, he made over, — half to the knights 1 Foss’s Judges, i. 279, 280. 2 Lysons’s Cumberland, p. 127. Nichols’s Pilgrimage of Erasmus, p. 220. He must not be confounded with his namesake, the founder of Dryburgh Abbey. 3 Now tbe property of Sir Wilfred Lawson, Bart., where I saw it in 1856. The sword bears as an inscription, “Gott bewahr die auf- richten Scbotten.” The word “ bewahr ” proves that the inscription (whatever may be the date of the sword) cannot be older than the sixteenth century. 4 Fuller’s Worthies. 5 Harris’s Kent, 313. 126 BRET; FITZRANULPH; TRACY. of St. John the year after the murder, probably in ex¬ piation ; the other half to his brother Eobert, who built the Chapel of Willeton. The descendants of the fam¬ ily lingered for a long time in the neighborhood under the same name, — corrupted into Fitzour, Fisliour, and Fisher. 1 The family of Bret, or Brito, was carried on, as we shall shortly see, through at least two generations of female descendants. The village of Sanford, in Somer¬ setshire, is still called, from the family, “ Sanford Bret .” 2 Eobert Fitzranulph, who had followed the four knights into the church, retired at that time from the shrievalty of Nottingham and Derby, which he had held during the six previous years, and is said to have founded a priory of Beauchief in expiation of his crime. 3 But his son William succeeded to the office, and was in places of trust about the court till the reign of John. 4 Eobert de Broc appears to have had the custody of the Castle of Hagenett, or Agenet, in East Anglia. 6 The history of Tracy is the most remarkable of the whole. Within four years from the murder he appears as Justiciary of Normandy; he was present at Falaise in 1174, when William, King of Scotland, did homage to Henry II., and in 1176 was succeeded in his office by the Bishop of Winchester. 6 This is the last au¬ thentic notice of him. But his name appears long subsequently in the somewhat conflicting traditions of Gloucestershire and Devonshire, the two counties where his chief estates lay. The local histories of the 1 Oollinson’s Somersetshire, iii. 487. 2 Ibid., 514. 3 The tradition is disputed, but without reason, in Pegge’s Beau- chief Abbey, p. 34. 4 Boss’s Judges, i. 202. 5 Brompton, 1089 ; Gervase, 1426. 6 Nichols’s Pilgrimage of Erasmus, p. 221. TRACY. 127 former endeavor to identify him in the wars of John and of Henry III., as late as 1216 and 1222. But even without cutting short his career by any untimely end, such longevity as this would ascribe to him — bringing him to a good old age of ninety — makes it probable that he has been confounded with his son or grandson. 1 There can be little doubt, however, that his family still continues in Gloucestershire. His daughter married Sir Gervase de Courtenay; and it is apparently from their son, Oliver de Tracy, who took the name of his mother, that the present Lord Wemyss and Lord Sudley are both descended. The pedigree, in fact, contrary to all received opinions on the subject of judgments on sacrilege, “exhibits a very singular in¬ stance of an estate descending for upwards of seven hundred years in the male line of the same family.” 2 The Devonshire story is more romantic, and probably contains more both of truth and of fable. There are two points on the coast of North Devon to which local tradition has attached his name. One is a huge rent or cavern called “ Crookhorn ” (from a crooked crag now washed away) in the dark rocks immediately west of Ilfracombe, which is left dry at low water, but filled by the tide except for three months in the year. At one period within those three months, “ Sir William Tracy,” according to the story of the Ilfracombe boat¬ men, “hid himself for a fortnight immediately after the murder, and was fed by his daughter.” The other and more remarkable spot is Morthoe, a village situ¬ ated a few miles farther west on the same coast, — “ the height or hold of Morte.” In the south transept of the parish church of this village, dedicated to Saint 1 Rudder’s Gloucestershire, 776. 2 Ibid., 770; Britton’s Toddington. 128 TRACY. Mary Magdalene, is a tomb, for which the transept has evidently been built. On the black marble covering, which lies on a freestone base, is an inscription closing with the name of “ Sir William Tracy, — The Lord have mercy on his soul.” This tomb was long sup¬ posed, and is still believed by the inhabitants of the village, to contain the remains of the murderer, who is further stated to have founded the church. The fe¬ male figures sculptured on the tomb — namely, Saint Catherine and Saint Mary Magdalene — are represented as his wife and daughter. That this story is fabulous has now been clearly proved by documentary evidence, as well as by the appearance of the architecture and the style of the inscription. The present edifice is of the reign of Henry VII. The tomb and transept are of the reign of Edward II. “ Sir 1 William Tracy ” was the rector of the parish, who died and left this chantry in 1322; and the figure carved on the tomb represents him in his sacerdotal vestments, with the' chalice in his hand. But although there is thus no proof that the murderer was buried in the church, and although it is possible that the whole story may have arisen from the mistake concerning this monument, there is still no reason to doubt that in this neighbor¬ hood “ he lived a private life, when wind and weather turned against him ” 2 William of Worcester states that he retired to the western parts of England; and this statement is confirmed by the well-attested fact of 1 Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Devonshire, ii. 82. The title “ Sir ” was the common designation of parish priests. I have here to express my obligations to the kindness of the Rev. Charles Crumpe, who has devoted much labor to prove that the lid of the tomb, though not the tomb itself, may have belonged to the grave of the murderer. Eor the reasons above given, I am unable to concur with him. 2 Pollwhele’s Devonshire, i. 480. TRACY. 129 his confession to Bartholomew, Bishop of Exeter. The property belonged to the family, and there is an old farmhouse, close to the sea-shore, still called Woolla- combe Tracy, which is said to mark the spot where he lived in banishment. Beneath it, enclosed within black jagged headlands, extends Morte Bay. Across the bay stretch the Woollacombe Sands, remarkable as being the only sands along the north coast, and as presenting a pure and driven expanse for some miles. Here, so runs the legend, he was banished “ to make bundles of the sand, and binds [wisps] of the same.” 1 Besides these floating traditions there are what may be called two standing monuments of his connection with the murder. One is the Priory of Woodspring, near the Bristol Channel, which was founded in 1210 by William de Courtenay, probably his grandson, in honor of the Holy Trinity, the Blessed Virgin, and Saint Thomas of Canterbury. To this priory lands were bequeathed by Maud the daughter, and Alice the granddaughter, of the third murderer, Bret or Brito, in the hope, expressed by Alice, that the intercession of the glorious martyr might never be wanting to her and her children. 2 Its ruins still remain under the long promontory called, from it, “ St. Thomas’s Head.” In the old church of Kewstoke, about three miles from Woodspring, during some repairs in 1852, a wooden cup, much decayed, was discovered in a hollow in the back of a statue of the Virgin fixed against the north wall of the choir. The cup contained a substance which was decided to be the dried residuum of blood. From the connection of the priory with the murderers 1 This I heard from the people on the spot. It is of course a mere appropriation of a wide-spread story, here suggested by the locality. 2 Collinson’s Somersetshire, iii. 487, 543. 9 130 TRACY. of Becket, and from the fact that the seal of the Prior contained a cup or chalice as part of its device, there can be little doubt that this ancient cup was thus pre¬ served at the time of the Dissolution, as a valuable relic, and that the blood which it contained was that of the murdered Primate. 1 The other memorial of Tracy is still more curious, as partially confirming and certainly illustrating the legendary account which has been given above of his adventure in Calabria. In the archives of Canterbury Cathedral a deed exists by which “ William de Tracy, for the love of God, and the salvation of his own soul and his ancestors, and for the love of the blessed Thomas Archbishop and Martyr,” makes over to the Chapter of Canterbury the Manor of Daccombe, for the clothing and support of a monk to celebrate Masses for the souls of the living and the dead. The deed is without date, and it might possibly, therefore, have been ascribed to a descendant of Tracy, and not to the murderer himself. But its date is fixed by the confir¬ mation of Henry, attested as that confirmation is by “ Bichard, elect of Winchester,” and “ Bobert, elect of Hereford,” to the year 1174 (the only year when Henry’s presence in England coincided with such a conjunction in the two sees). 2 The manor of Dac¬ combe, or Dockham, in Devonshire, is still held un¬ der the Chapter of Canterbury, and is thus a present witness of the remorse with which Tracy humbly begged that, on the scene of his deed of blood, Masses 1 Journal of the Arch geological Institute, vi. 400. The cup, or rather fragment of the cup, is in the museum at Taunton. 2 This deed (which is given in the Appendix to “ Becket’s Shrine ”) is slightly mentioned by Lord Lyttelton in his “ History of Henry II.,” iv. 284 ; but he appears not to have seen it, and is ignorant of the cir* cumstances which incontestably fix the date. PICTORIAL REPRESENTATIONS OF THE MURDER. 131 might be offered, not for himself individually (this, per¬ haps, could hardly have been granted), but as in¬ cluded in the general category of “ the living and the dead.” But, further, this deed is found in company with another document, by which it appears that one William Thaun, before his departure to the Holy Land with his master , made his wife swear to render up to the Blessed Thomas and the monks of Canterbury all his lands, given to him by his lord, William de Tracy. He died on his journey, his widow married again, and her second husband prevented her fulfilment of her oath; she, however, survived him, and the lands were duly rendered up. From this statement we learn that Tracy really did attempt, if not fulfil, a journey to the Holy Land. But the attestation of the bequest of Tracy himself enables us to identify the story still further. One of the witnesses is the Abbot of St. Euphemia; and there can be little doubt that this Abbey of St. Euphemia was the celebrated convent of that name in Calabria, not twenty miles from Cosenza, the very spot where the detention, though not the death, of Tracy is thus, as it would appear, justly placed by the old story. The figures of the murderers may be seen in the rep¬ resentations of the martyrdom, which on walls or in painted windows or in ancient frescos have survived the attempted extermination of all the monuments of the traitor Becket by King Henry VIII. Sometimes three, sometimes four, are given, but always so far faithful to history that Moreville is stationed aloof from the massacre. Two vestiges of such representa¬ tion still remain in Canterbury Cathedral. One is a painting on a board, now greatly defaced, at the head of the tomb of King Henry IV. It is engraved, though 132 PICTORIAL REPRESENTATIONS OF THE MURDER. not quite correctly, in Carter’s “ Ancient Sculpture and Painting; ” and through the help of the engraving, the principal figures can still be dimly discerned. 1 There is the common mistake of making the Archbishop kneel at the altar, and of representing Grim, with his blood¬ stained arm, as the bearer of the cross. The knights are carefully distinguished from one another. Bret, with boars’ heads embroidered on his surcoat, is in the act of striking. Tracy appears to have already dealt a blow; and the bloody stains are visible on his sword, to mark the “ 'primus percussor” Pitzurse, with bears on his coat, is “ stirring the brains ” of his victim, holding his sword with both hands perpendicularly, thus taking the part sometimes ascribed to him, though really be¬ longing to Mauclerc. Moreville, distinguished by fleurs- de-lis, stands apart. All of them have beards of the style of Henry IY. On the ground lies the bloody scalp, or cap, it is difficult to determine which. 2 There 1 A correct copy has now been made by Mr. George Austin, of Canterbury. 2 A much more faithful representation is given in an illuminated Psalter in the British Museum (Harl. 1502), undoubtedly of the pe¬ riod, and, as Becket is depicted without the nimbus, probably soon after, if not before, the canonization. He is represented in white drapery, falling towards the altar. His gray cap is dropping to the ground. Eitzurse and Tracy are rightly given Avith coats of mail up to their eyes. Moreville is without helmet or armor; Eitzurse is wounding Grim. A light hangs from the roof. The palace (appar¬ ently), with the town Avail, is seen in the distance. There is another illumination in the same Psalter, representing the burial. In the “Journal of the Archaeological Association,” April, 1854, there is a full account of a fresco in St. John’s Church, Winchester ; in the “ Arche- ologia ” (vol. ix.), of one at Brereton in Cheshire. The widest deviation from historical truth is to be found in the modern altar-piece of the Church of St. Thomas, which forms the chapel of the English College at Rome. The saint is represented in a monastic garb, on his knees before the altar of a Roman Basilica; and behind him are the three knights, in complete classical costume, brandishing daggers like those of the assassins of Caesar. The nearest likeness of the event is in the THE KING’S REMORSE. 133 is, besides, a sculpture over the south porch, where Erasmus states that he saw the figures of “ the three murderers,” with their names of “ Tusci, Fusci, and Berri,” 1 underneath. These figures have disappeared; and it is as difficult to imagine where they could have stood, as it is to explain the origin of the names they bore; but in the portion which remains, there is a rep¬ resentation of an altar surmounted by a crucifix, placed between the figures of Saint John and the Virgin, and marked as the altar of the martyrdom, — “ Altare ad punctum ensis,”— by sculptured fragments 2 of a sword which lie at its foot. [1170.] Thus far have we traced the history of the murderers, but the great expiation still remained. The king had gone from Bur to Argenton, a town situated on the high table-land of southern Normandy. The night before the news arrived (so ran the story 3 ) an aged inhabitant of Argenton was startled in his sleep by a scream rising as if from the ground, and form¬ ing itself into these portentous words: “ Behold, my blood cries from the earth more loudly than the blood of righteous Abel, who was killed at the beginning of the world.” The old man on the following day was discussing with his friend what this could mean, when choir of Sens Cathedral. A striking modern picture of the scene, just before the onslaught of the murderers, by the English artist Mr. Cross (see Fraser’s Magazine, June, 1861), is now hung in the north aisle of the cathedral. 1 “ Berri ” is probably a mistake for Bear's Son, Fitzurse’s (Fusci’s) English name. The same names occur in Hentzner’s Travels in Eng¬ land, 1598 : “In vestibulo templi quod est ad austrum in saxum incisi sunt tres armati . . . additis his cognominibus, Tusci, Fusci, Berri.” 2 That these are representations of the broken sword is confirmed by the exactly similar representation in the seal of the Abbey of Aberbrothock. 3 Benedict, de Mirac. S. Thomse, i. 3. 134 THE KING’S REMORSE. suddenly the tidings arrived that Becket had been slain at Canterbury. When the king heard it, he instantly shut himself up for three days, refused all food 1 except milk of almonds, rolled himself in sackcloth and ashes, vented his grief in frantic lamentations, and called God to witness that he was in no way responsible for the Archbishop’s death, unless that he loved him too little. 2 He continued in this solitude for five weeks, neither riding nor transacting public business, but exclaiming again and again, “ Alas ! alas that it ever happened!” 3 The French King, the Archbishop of Sens, and oth¬ ers had meanwhile written to the Pope, denouncing Henry in the strongest language as the murderer, and calling for vengeance upon his head; 4 and there was a fear that this vengeance would take the terrible form of a public excommunication of the king and an inter¬ dict of the kingdom. Henry, as soon as he was roused from his retirement, sent off as envoys to Rome the Archbishop of Rouen, the Bishop of Worcester, and others of his courtiers, to avert the dreaded penalties by announcing his submission. The Archbishop of Rouen returned on account of illness; and Alexander III., who occupied the Papal See, and who after long struggles with his rival had at last got back to Rome, refused to receive the rest. He was, in fact, in the eyes of Christendom, not wholly guiltless himself, in consequence of the lukewarmness with which he had fought Becket’s fights; and it was believed that he, like the king, had shut himself up on hearing the news as much from remorse as from grief. At last, by a bribe 1 Vita Quadripartita, p. 143. “ Milk of almonds ” is used in Russia during fasts instead of common milk. 2 Matt. Paris, 125. 3 Vita Quadripartita, p. 146 4 Brompton, 1064. THE KING’S REMORSE. 135 of five hundred marks, 1 an interview was effected on the heights of ancient Tusculum, — not yet superseded by the modern Frascati. Two cardinals — Theodore (or Theodwin), Bishop of Portus, and Albert, Chancellor of the Holy See — were sent to Normandy to receive the royal penitent’s submission, 2 and an excommunication was pronounced against the murderers on Maunday Thursday, 3 which is still the usual day for the delivery of papal maledictions. The worst of the threatened evils — excommunication and interdict — were thus avoided; but Henry still felt so insecure that he crossed over to England, ordered all the ports to be strictly guarded to prevent the admission of the fatal document, and refused to see any one who was the bearer of letters. 4 It was during this short stay that he visited for the last time the old Bishop of Winches¬ ter, 5 Henry of Blois, brother of King Stephen, well known as the founder of the beautiful hospital of St. Cross, when the dying old man added his solemn warn¬ ings to those which were resounding from every quar¬ ter with regard to the deed of blood. From England Henry crossed St. George’s Channel to his new con¬ quests in Ireland; and it was on his return from the expedition that the first public expression of his peni¬ tence was made in Normandy. He repaired to his castle of Gorram, 6 now Goron, on the banks of the Colmont, where he first met the Pope’s 1 Gervase, 1418. 2 Brompton, 1068. 3 Gervase, 1418. 4 Diceto, 556. 5 Gervase, 1419. 6 Ep. St. Thomse in MSS. Cott. Claud., b. ii. f. 350, ep. 94; also preserved in the “ Vita Quadripartita,” edited by Lupus at Brussels pp. 146, 147, 871, where, however, the epistle is numbered 88 from a Vatican manuscript. The castle in question was procured by Henry I. from Geoffrey, third duke of Mayenne, and was well known for its deer-preserves. To 136 PENANCE AT GORRAM AND AVRANCHES. [1172. Legates, and exchanged the kiss of charity with them. This was on the 16th of May, the Tuesday before the Eogation days; the next day he went on to Savigny, where they were joined by the Archbishop of Eouen and many bishops and noblemen; and finally proceeded to the Council, which was to be held under the aus¬ pices of the Legate at Avranches. The great Norman cathedral of that beautiful city stood on what was perhaps the finest situation of any cathedral in Christendom, — on the brow of the high ridge which sustains the town of Avranches, and look¬ ing over the wide bay, in the centre of which stands the sanctuary of Norman chivalry and superstition, the majestic rock of St. Michael, crowned with its for¬ tress and chapel. Of this vast cathedral, one granite pillar alone has survived the neglect that followed the French Eevolution, and that pillar marks the spot where Henry performed his first penance for the mur¬ der of Becket. It bears an inscription with these' words : “ Sur cette pierre, ici, a la porte de la cathA drale dAvranches, apres le meurtre de Thomas Becket, Archeveque de Cantorb^ry, Henri II., Eoi dAngleterre et Due de Normandie, regut a genoux, des ldgats du Pape, l’absolution apostolique, le Dimanche, xxi Mai. MCLXXII.” 1 the ecclesiastical historian of the nineteenth century the town near which it is situated will possess a curious interest, as the original seat of the family of Gorram, or Gorham, which after giving birth to Geoffrey the Abbot of St. Albans and Nicholas the theologian, each famous in his day, has become known in our generation through the celebrated Gorham controversy, which in 1850 invested for a time with an almost European interest the name of the late George Corne¬ lius Gorham, vicar of Bramford Speke. To his courtesy and profound antiquarian knowledge I am indebted for the above references. 1 So the inscription stands as I saw it in 1874. But as it appeared when I first saw it, in 1851, and also in old guide-books of Normandy, 1172 .] PENANCE AT AVRANCHES. 137 The council was held in the Church, on the Friday of the same week. On the following Sunday, being Rogation Sunday, or that which precedes the Ascen¬ sion, the king swore on the Gospels that he had not ordered or wished the Archbishop’s murder; but that as he could not put the assassins to death, and feared that his fury had instigated them to the act, he was ready on his part to make all satisfaction, — adding, of himself, that he had not grieved so much for the death of his father or his mother. 1 He next swore adhesion to the Pope, restitution of the property of the See of Canterbury, and renunciation of the Constitutions of Clarendon ; and further promised, if the Pope required, to go a three years’ crusade to Jerusalem or Spain, and to support two hundred soldiers for the Templars. 2 Af¬ ter this he said aloud, “ Behold, my Lords Legates, my body is in your hands ; be assured that whatever you order, whether to go to Jerusalem or to Rome or to St. James [of Compostela], I am ready to obey.” The spectators, whose sympathy is usually with the sufferer of the hour, were almost moved to tears. 3 He was thence led by the legates to the porch, where he knelt, but was raised up, brought into the church, and recon¬ it was “xxii Mai.” Mr. Gorham pointed out to me at the time that the 22d of May did not that year fall on a Sunday : — “In a. d. 1171, Sunday fell on May 23d. In a. D. 1172, “ “ “ May 21st. In a. D. 1173, “ “ “ May 20th. The only years in the reign of Henry II. in which May 22d fell on a Sunday were a. d. 1155, 1160, 1166, 1177, 1183, 1188.” There seems no reason to doubt the year 1172, which is fixed by the Cotton MS. Life of Saint Thomas, nor the fact that it was in May; not, as Ger- vase (p. 422) states, on the 27th of September, misled perhaps, as Mr. Gorham suggests, by some document subsequently signed by the king. 1 Diceto, 557. 2 Alan., in Vita Quadripartita, p. 147. 3 Gervase, 1422. 138 THE KING AT BONNEVILLE. [ 1174 . ciled. The young Henry, at his father’s suggestion, was also present, and, placing his hand in that of Cardinal Albert, 1 promised to make good his father’s oath. The Archbishop of Tours was in attendance, that he might certify the penance to the French king. Two years passed again, and the fortunes of the king grew darker and darker with the rebellion of his sons. It was this which led to the final and greater pen¬ ance at Canterbury. [1174.] He was conducting a campaign against Prince Richard in Poitou, when the Bishop of Winchester arrived with the tidings that England was in a state of general revolt. The Scots had crossed the border, under their king; Yorkshire was in rebellion, under the standard of Mowbray; Norfolk, under Bigod; the midland counties, under Ferrers and Huntingdon ; and the Earl of Flanders with Prince Henry was meditating an invasion of Eng¬ land from Flanders. All these hostile movements were further fomented and sustained by the revival of the belief, not sufficiently dissipated by the penance at Avranches, that the king had himself been privy to the murder of the saint. In the winter after that event, a terrible storm had raged through England, Ireland, and France, and the popular imagination heard in the long roll of thunder the blood of Saint Thomas roaring to God for vengeance. 2 The next year, as we have seen, the saint had been canonized; and his fame as the great miracle-worker of the time was increasing every month. It was under these circumstances that on the midsummer-day of the year 1174 the Bishop found the king at Bonneville. 3 So many messages had been daily 1 Alan., in Vita Quadripartita, pp. 147, 148. 2 Matthew of Westminster, 250. 3 “ The chroniclers have made a confusion between June and July; but July is right. ” — Hoveden, 308. HIS RIDE FROM SOUTHAMPTON. 139 despatched, and so much importance was attached to the character of the Bishop of Winchester, that the Normans, on seeing his arrival, exclaimed, “ The next thing that the English will send over to fetch the king will be the Tower of London itself.” 1 Henry saw at once the emergency. That very day, with the queens Eleanor and Margaret, his son and daughter John and Joan, and the princesses, wives of his other sons, he set out for England. He embarked in spite of the threat¬ ening weather and the ominous looks of the captain. A tremendous gale sprang up; and the king uttered a public prayer on board the ship, that, “ if his arrival in England would be for good, it might be accomplished; if for evil, never.” The wind abated, and he arrived at Southampton on Monday, the 8th of July. From that moment he began to live on the penitential diet of bread and water, and deferred all business till he had fulfilled his vow. He rode to Canterbury with speed, avoiding towns as much as possible, and on Friday, the 12th of July, approached the sacred city, probably by a road of which traces still remain, over the Surrey hills, and which falls into what w~as then, as now, the London road by the ancient village and ho’spital of Harbledown. This hospital, or leper-house, now venerable with the age of seven centuries, was then fresh from the hands of its founder, Lanfranc. Whether it had yet obtained the relic of the saint — the upper leather of his shoe, which Erasmus saw, and which it is said remained in the almshouse almost down to our own day — does not appear; but he halted there, as was the wont of all pilgrims, and made a gift of forty marks to the lit¬ tle church. And now, as he climbed the steep road 1 Diceto, 573. 140 PENANCE IN THE CRYPT. [1174. beyond the hospital and descended on the other side of the hill, the first view of the cathedral burst upon him, rising, not indeed in its present proportions, but still with its three towers and vast front; and he leaped off his horse, and went on foot through a road turned into puddles by the recent storms, 1 to the outskirts of the town. Here, at St. Dunstan’s Church, 2 he paused again, entered the edifice with the prelates who were present, stripped off his ordinary dress, and walked through the streets in the guise of a penitent pilgrim, — barefoot, and with no other covering than a woollen shirt, and a cloak thrown over it to keep off rain. 3 So, amidst a wondering crowd, — the rough stones of the streets marked with the blood that started from his feet, — he reached the cathedral. There he knelt, as at Avranches, in the porch, then entered the church, and went straight to the scene of the murder in the north transept. Here he knelt again, and kissed the sacred stone on which the Archbishop had fallen,' the prelates standing round to receive his confession. Thence he was conducted to the crypt, where he again knelt, and with groans and tears kissed the tomb and remained long in prayer. At this stage of the solem¬ nity Gilbert Foliot, Bishop of London, — the ancient opponent and rival of Becket, — addressed the monks and bystanders, announcing to them the king’s peni¬ tence for having by his rash words unwittingly occa¬ sioned the perpetration of a crime of which he him¬ self was innocent, and his intention of restoring the rights and property of the church, and bestowing forty marks yearly on the monastery to keep lamps burning 1 Trivet, 104 ; Robert of Mont S. Michel. (Appendix to Sigebert in Perthes, vol. vi.) 2 Grim, 86. 3 Gamier, 78, 29. He was present. PENANCE IN THE CRYPT. 141 il74.] constantly at the martyrs tomb. 1 The king ratified all that the bishop had said, requested absolution, and received a kiss of reconciliation from the prior. He knelt again at the tomb, removed the rough cloak which had been thrown over his shoulders, but still THE CRYPT, CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. retained the woollen shirt to hide the haircloth, 2 which was visible to near observation, next his skin, placed his head and shoulders in the tomb, and there received five strokes from each bishop and abbot who was present, beginning with Foliot, who stood by with the “ balai,” or monastic rod, in his hand, 3 and three from 1 Gamier, 80, 9. 2 Newburgh alone (1181) represents the penance as having taken place in the chapter-house, doubtless as the usual place for discipline. The part surrounding the tomb was superseded in the next generation by the circular vault which now supports the Trinity Chapel. But the architecture must have been like what is now seen in the western portion of the crypt. 3 Grim, 86. “ A lively representation of Henry’s penance is to be seen in Carter’s Ancient Sculpture and Painting (p. 50). The king is 142 ABSOLUTION. [1174. each of the eighty monks. Fully absolved, he resumed his clothes, but was still left in the crypt, resting against one of the rude Norman pillars, 1 on the bare ground, with bare feet 2 still unwashed from the muddy streets, and passed the whole night fasting. At early matins he rose and went round the altars and shrines of the upper church, then returned to the tomb, and finally, after hearing Mass, drank of the Martyr’s well, and carried off one of the usual phials of Canterbury pilgrims, containing water mixed with the blood, and so rode to London. 3 So deep a humiliation of so great a prince was un¬ paralleled within the memory of that generation. The submission of Theodosius to Ambrose, of Louis le De- bonnaire at Soissons, of Otho III. at Eavenna, of Edgar to Dunstan, of the Emperor Henry IV. to Gregory VII., were only known as matters of history. It is not surprising that the usual figure of speech by which the chroniclers express it should be, — “ the moun¬ tains trembled at the presence of the Lord,” — “ the mountain of Canterbury smoked before Him who touches the hills and they smoke.” 4 The auspicious consequences were supposed to be immediate. The king had arrived in London on Sunday, and was so represented as kneeling, crowned but almost naked, before the sbrine. Two great officers, one bearing the sword of State, stand behind him. The monks in their black Benedictine robes are defiling round the shrine, each with a large rod in his hand approaching the bare shoul¬ ders of the king. A good notion of this ceremony of the scourging is conveyed by the elaborate formalities with which it was nominally, and probably for the last time, exercised by Pope Julius II. and the Cardinals on the Venetian Deputies in 1509.” — Sketches of Venetian History, c. 16. 1 Gamier, 80, 29. 2 Diceto, 575. 3 See Note A. to the Essay on “ Becket’s Shrine.” 4 Grim, 86. ['74.] COUNT RALPH OF GLANV1LLE. 143 completely exhausted by the effects of the long day and night at Canterbury, that he was seized with a dangerous fever. On the following Thursday, 1 at mid¬ night, the guards were roused by a violent knocking at the gates. The messenger, who announced that he brought good tidings, was reluctantly admitted into the king’s bedroom. The king, starting from his sleep, said, “ Who art thou ? ” “ I am the servant of your faithful Count Ralph of Glanville,” was the answer, “ and I come to bring you good tidings.” “ Is our good Ralph well ? ” asked the king. “ He is well,” answered the servant, “ and he has taken your enemy, the King of the Scots, prisoner at Richmond.” The king was thunderstruck; the servant repeated his message, and produced the letters confirming it. 2 The king leaped from his bed, and returned thanks to God and Saint Thomas. The victory over William the Lion had taken place on the very Saturday on which he had left Can¬ terbury, after having made 3 his peace with the martyr. On that same Saturday the fleet with which his son had intended to invade England from Flanders 4 was driven back. It was in the enthusiasm of this crisis that Tracy, as it would seem, presented to the king the bequest of his manor of Daccombe to the monks of Canterbury, which accordingly received then and there, at Westminster, the royal confirmation. 5 Once more, so far as we know, the penitent king and the penitent knight met, in the December of that same year, when, 1 Gervase’s Chronicle, 1427. 2 Brompton, 1095. The effect of this story is heightened by Gau- fridus Yosiensis (Script. Rer. Franc., 443), who speaks of the an¬ nouncement as taking place in Canterbury Cathedral, after Mass was finished. 3 Brompton, 1096. 4 Matt. Paris, 130. 5 See Appendix to “ Becket’s Shrine.” 144 CONCLUSION. in the fortress of Falaise, the captured king of Scotland did homage to his conqueror; Tracy standing, as of old, by his master’s side, but now in the high position of Justiciary of Normandy. Nor did the association of his capture with the Martyr’s power pass away from the mind of William the Lion. He, doubtless in recol¬ lection of these scenes, reared on his return to Scotland the stately abbey of Aberbrothock, to the memory of Saint Thomas of Canterbury. Thus ended this great tragedy. Its effects on the constitution of the country and on the religious feeling not only of England but of Europe, would open too large a field. It is enough if, from the narrative we have given, a clearer notion can be formed of that remark¬ able event than is to be derived from the works either of his professed apologists or professed opponents, — if the scene can be more fully realized, the localities more accurately identified, the man and his age more clearly understood. If there be any who still regard Becket as an ambitious and unprincipled traitor, plotting for his own aggrandizement against the welfare of the mon¬ archy, they will perhaps be induced, by the accounts of his last moments, to grant to him the honor, if not of a martyr, at least of an honest and courageous man, and to believe that such restraints as the religious awe of high character or of sacred place and office, laid on men like Henry and his courtiers, are not to be despised in any age, and in that lawless and cruel time were al¬ most the only safeguards of life and property. If there be any who are glad to welcome or stimulate attacks, however unmeasured in language or unjust in fact, against bishops and clergy, whether Boman Catholic or Protestant, in the hope of securing the interests of Chris¬ tian liberty against priestly tyranny, they may take warm CONCLUSION. 145 ing by the reflection that the greatest impulse ever given in this country to the cause of sacerdotal independence was the reaction produced by the horror consequent on the deed of Fitzurse and Tracy. Those, on the other hand, who in the curious change of feeling that has come over our age are inclined to the ancient reverence for Saint Thomas of Canterbury as the meek and gentle saint of holier and happier times than our own, may perhaps be led to modify their judgment by the descrip¬ tion, taken not from his enemies but from his admiring followers, of the violence, the obstinacy, the furious words and acts, which deformed even the dignity of his last hour, and wellnigh turned the solemnity of his “ martyrdom ” into an unseemly brawl. They may learn to see in the brutal conduct of the assassins, in the abject cowardice of the monks, in the savage mor¬ tifications and the fierce passions of Becket himself, how little ground there is for that paradise of faith and love which some modern writers find for us in the age of the Plantagenet kings. 1 And for those who be¬ lieve that an indiscriminate maintenance of ecclesiasti¬ cal claims is the best service they can render to God and the Church, and that opposition to the powers that 1 One of the ablest of Becket’s recent apologists (Ozanam, Les deux Chanceliers), who combines with his veneration for the Archbishop that singular admiration which almost all continental Catholics entertain for the late “Liberator” of Ireland, declares that on O’Connell, if on any character of this age, the mantle of the saint and martyr has de¬ scended. Perhaps the readers of our narrative will think that, in some respects, the comparison of the Frenchman is true in another sense than that in which he intended it. So fixed an idea has the similarity become in the minds of foreign Eoman Catholics, that in a popular life of Saint Thomas, published as one of a series at Prague, under the authority of the Archbishop of Cologne, the concluding moral is an appeal to the example of “ the most glorious of laymen,” as Pope Gregory XVI. called Daniel O’Connell, who as a second Thomas strove and suffered for the liberties of his country and his church. 10 146 CONCLUSION. be is enough to entitle a bishop to the honors of a saint and a hero, it may not be without instruction to remem¬ ber that the Constitutions of Clarendon, which Becket spent his life in opposing, and of which his death pro¬ cured the suspension, are now incorporated in the Eng¬ lish law^, and are regarded, without a dissentient voice, as among the wisest and most necessary of English in¬ stitutions ; that the especial point for which he surren¬ dered his life was not the independence of the clergy from the encroachments of the crown, but the personal and now forgotten question of the superiority of the See of Canterbury to the See of York. 1 Finally, we must all remember that the wretched superstitions which gathered round the shrine of Saint Thomas ended by completely alienating the affections of thinking men from his memory, and rendering the name of Becket a byword of reproach as little proportioned to his real deserts as had been the reckless veneration paid to it by his worshippers in the Middle Ages. 1 “ Hsec fuit vera et Ulrica causa aut occasio necis S. Thomse.” — Goussainyille, in Peter of Blois, ep. 22 (see Robertson, p. 200). Compare Memorials of Westminster, chap. ii. and chap. v. EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. I This lecture, it will be seen, dwells almost entirely upon those points which give an interest to the tomb at Canterbury. For any general view of the subject, the reader must go to Froissart, or to the biog¬ raphies of Barnes and James ; for any further details, to the excellent essays in the 20th, 22d, 28th, and 32d volumes of the “Archaeologia,” and to the contemporary metrical life by Chandos, to which reference i? made in the course of the lecture. The Ordinance founding his Chantry, and the Will which regulated his funeral and the erection of his tomb, are printed at the end, with notes by Mr. Albert Way. EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. Lecture delivered at Canterbury, J une, 1852. E VERY one who has endeavored to study history must be struck by the advantage which those enjoy who live within the neighborhood of great historical monuments. To have seen the place where a great event happened; to have seen the picture, the statue, the tomb, of an illustrious man, — is the next thing to being present at the event in person, to seeing the scene with our own eyes. In this respect few spots in Eng¬ land are more highly favored than Canterbury. It is not too much to say that if any one were to go through the various spots of interest in or around our great cathedral, and ask what happened here, — who was the man whose tomb we see, — why was he buried here, — what effect did his life or his death have on the world, — a real knowledge of the history of Eng¬ land would be obtained, such as the mere reading of books or hearing of lectures would utterly fail to sup¬ ply. And it is my hope that by lectures of this kind you will be led to acquire this knowledge for yourselves far more effectually than by hearing anything which the lectures themselves convey, — and you will have thus gained not only knowledge, but interest and amuse¬ ment in the sight of what now seem to be mere stones 150 HISTORICAL LESSON OF THE CATHEDRAL. or bare walls, but wbat would then be so many chap¬ ters of English history, so many portraits and pictures of famous men and famous events in the successive ages of the world. Let me, before I begin my immediate subject, show you very briefly how this may be done. First, if any one asks why Canterbury is what it is, —why from this small town the first subject in this great kingdom takes his title, — why we have any cathedral at all, — the answer is to be found in that great -event, the most important that has ever occurred in English history,— the conversion of Ethelbert, King of Kent, by the first missionary, Augustine. And if you would understand this, it will lead you to make out for yourselves the history of the Saxon kings, — who they were, whence they came, — and who Augustine was, why he came, — and what was the city of Koine, whence he was sent forth. And then if you enter the cathedral, you will find in the tombs which lie within its walls remem¬ brances of almost every reign in the history of England. Augustine and the first seven Archbishops are buried at St. Augustine’s; but from that time to the Reforma¬ tion they have, with a very few exceptions, been buried in the cathedral, and even where no tombs are left, the places where they were buried are for the most part known. And the Archbishops being at that time not only the chief ecclesiastics, but also the chief officers of State in the kingdom, their graves tell you not merely the history of the English clergy, but also of the whole Commonwealth and State of England besides. It is for this reason that there is no church, no place in the kingdom, with the exception of Westminster Abbey, that is so closely connected with the general history of our common country. The kings before the Keforma- THE TOMBS. 151 tion are for the most part in the Abbey; but their prime ministers, so to speak, are for the most part in Canterbury Cathedral. 1 Ask who it was that first laid out the monastery, and who it was that laid the foundations of the cathe¬ dral as it now stands, and you will find that it was Lanfranc, the new Archbishop whom William the Con¬ queror brought over with him from Normandy, and who thus re-established the old church with his Norman workmen. Then look at the venerable tower on the south side of the cathedral, and ask who lies buried within, and from whom it takes its name, and you will find yourself with Anselm, the wise counsellor of Wil¬ liam Rufus and Henry I., — Anselm, the great theolo¬ gian, who of all the primates of the See of Canterbury is the best known by his life and writings throughout the world. And then we come to the most remarkable event that has happened at Canterbury since the arri¬ val of Augustine, and of which the effect may be traced not in one part only, but almost through every stone in the cathedral, — the murder of Becket; followed by the penance of Henry II. and the long succession of Canter¬ bury pilgrims. Then, in the south aisle, the effigy of Hubert Walter brings before us the camp of the Cru¬ saders at Acre, where he was appointed Archbishop by Richard I. Next look at that simple tomb in St. Mi¬ chael’s Chapel, half in and half out of the church, and you will be brought to the time of King John; for it is the grave of Stephen Langton, who more than any one 1 See Archbishop Parker’s record, compendiously given in Profes¬ sor Willis’s History of Canterbury Cathedral, pp. 13, 134. I cannot forbear to express a hope that this series of illustrious tombs will not be needlessly cut short for all future generations by the recent enact¬ ment forbidding the interment even of our Archbishops within their own cathedrals. 152 BIRTH OF THE BLACK PRINCE. [1330. man won for ns the Magna Charta. Then look back at the north transept, at the wooden statue that lies in the corner. That is the grave of Archbishop Peckham, in the reign of King Edward I.; and close beside that spot King Edward I. was married. And now we come to the time at which the subject of my lecture begins, the reign of King Edward III. And so we might pass on to Archbishop Sudbury, who lost his head in the reign of Eichard II.; to Henry IV., who lies there himself; to Chichele, who takes us on to Henry V. and Henry VI.; to Morton, who reminds us of Henry VII. and Sir Thomas More ; to Warham, the friend of Erasmus, pre¬ decessor of Archbishop Cranmer; and then to the sub¬ sequent troubles — of which the cathedral still bears the marks — in the Reformation and the Civil Wars. On some future occasion, perhaps, I may be permitted to speak of the more important of these, as opportunity may occur. But for the present let us leave the Pri¬ mates of Canterbury, and turn to our especial subject. Let us place ourselves in imagination by the tomb of the most illustrious layman who rests among us, Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales, commonly called the Black Prince. Let us ask whose likeness is it that we there see stretched before us, — why was he buried in this place, amongst the Archbishops and sacred shrines of former times,—what can we learn from his life or his death ? [1330.] A few words must first be given to his birth and childhood. He was born on the 15th of June, 1330, at the old palace of Woodstock, near Oxford, from which he was sometimes called Prince Edward of Woodstock. 1 He was, you will remember, the eldest son of King Ed¬ ward III. and Queen Philippa, — a point always to be remembered in his history, because, like Alexander the 1 ArchEeologia, xxii. 227. 1342.] EDUCATION AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE. 153 Great, and a few other eminent instances, he is one of those men in whom the peculiar qualities both of his father and of his mother were equally exemplified. Every one knows the story of the siege of Calais, of the sternness of King Edward and the gentleness of Queen Philippa; and it is the union of these qualities in their son which gave him the exact place which he occupies in the succession of our English princes and in the history of Europe. We always like to know where a famous man was educated. And here we know the place, and also see the reason why it was chosen. Any of you who have been at Oxford will remember the long line of buildings which overlook the beautiful curve of High Street,— the build¬ ings of “ Queen’s College,” the College of the Queen. At the time of which I speak, that college was the great¬ est, — two others only in any regular collegiate form ex¬ isted in Oxford. It had hut just been founded by the chaplain of Queen Philippa, and took its name from her. There it was that, according to tradition, the Prince of Wales, her son, — as in the next generation, Henry V., — was brought up. [1342.] If we look at the events which followed, he could hardly have been twelve years old when he went. But there were then no schools in England, and their place was almost entirely supplied by the universities. Queen’s College is much altered in every way since the little Prince went there; hut they still keep an engraving of the vaulted room, which he is said to have occupied; 1 and though most of the old customs which prevailed in the college, and which made it a very peculiar place even then, have long since disappeared, some which are mentioned by the founder, and which therefore must have been in use when the 1 It now hangs in the gallery above the hall of Queen’s College. 154 EDUCATION AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE. [1342. Prince was there, still continue. You may still hear the students summoned to dinner, as he was, by the sound of a trumpet; and in the hall you may still see, as he saw, the Fellows sitting all on one side of the table, with the Head of the college in the centre, in imitation of the “ Last Supper,” as it is commonly rep¬ resented in pictures. 1 The very names of the Head and the twelve Fellows (the number first appointed by the founder, in likeness of our Lord and the Apostles), who were presiding over the college when the Prince was there, are known to us. 2 He must have seen — what has long since vanished away — the thirteen beggars, deaf, dumb, maimed, or blind, daily brought into the hall to receive their dole of bread, beer, pottage, and fish. 3 He must have seen the seventy poor scholars, instituted after the example of the seventy disciples, and learning from their two chaplains to chant the ser¬ vice. 4 He must have heard the mill within or hard by the college walls grinding the Fellows’ bread. He must have seen the porter of the college going round the rooms betimes in the morning to shave the beards and wash thq heads of the Fellows. 5 In these and many other curious particulars, we can tell exactly what the customs and appearance of the college were when the Prince was there. It is more difficult to answer another question, which we always wish to know about famous men, — Who were his companions ? An old tradition (unfortunately beset with doubts) points to one youth at that time in Oxford, and at Queen’s College, 6 whom 1 Statutes of Queen’s College, p. 11. 2 Ibid,, pp. 9, 33. 3 Ibid., p. 30. 4 Ibid., p. 27. 5 Ibid., pp. 28, 29. 6 For the doubts respecting the tradition of the Black Prince and of Wycliffe at Queen’s College, see Appendix. 1346.] BATTLE OF CRESSY. 155 we shall all recognize as an old acquaintance, — John Wycliffe, the first English Reformer, and the first trans¬ lator of the Bible into English. He would have been a poor boy, in a threadbare coat, 1 and devoted to study, and the Prince probably never exchanged looks or words with him. But we shall be glad to be allowed to believe that once at least in their lives the great soldier of the age had crossed the path of the great Reformer. Each thought and cared little for the other; their characters and pursuits and sympathies were as different as were their stations in life. Let us be thankful if we have learned to understand them both, and see what was good in each, far better than they did themselves. We now pass to the next events of his life; those which have really made him almost as famous in war as Wycliffe has been in peace, — the two great battles of Cressy and of Poitiers. I will not now go into the origin of the war of which these two battles formed the turning-points It is enough for us to remem¬ ber that it was undertaken by Edward III. to gain the crown of France, — a claim, through his mother, which he had solemnly relinquished, but which he now re¬ sumed to satisfy the scruples of his allies, the citizens of Ghent, who thought that their oath of allegiance to the “King of France” would be redeemed if their leader did but bear the name. [1346.] And now first for Cressy. I shall not un¬ dertake to describe the whole fight, but will call your attention briefly to the questions which every one ought to ask himself, if he wishes to understand anything about any battle whatever. First, Where was it fought ? secondly, Why was it fought ? thirdly, How was it won ? and fourthly, What was the result of it ? And to this 1 See Chaucer’s description of the Oxford Clerk. 156 BATTLE OF CRESSY. [1346. I must add, in the present instance. What part was taken in it by the Prince, whom we left as a little boy at Oxford, but who was now following his father as a young knight in his first great campaign ? The first of these questions involves the second also. If we make out where a battle was fought, this usually tells us why it was fought; and this is one of the many proofs of the use of learning geography together with history. Each helps us to understand the other. Ed¬ ward had ravaged Normandy and reached the very gates of Paris, and was retreating towards Elanders when he was overtaken by the French king, Philip, who with an immense army had determined to cut him off entirely, and so put an end to the war. 1 With difficulty and by the happy accident of a low tide, he crossed the mouth of the Somme, and found himself in his own maternal inheritance of Ponthieu, and for that special reason encamped near the forest of Cressy, fifteen miles east of Abbeville: “I am,” he said, “ on the right heritage of Madam my mother, which was given her in dowry; I will defend it against my adver¬ sary, Philip of Valois.” It was Saturday, the 28th of August, 1346, and it was at four in the afternoon that 1 See the interesting details of the battle, in “ Archaeologia,” vol. xxviii., taken from records in the Town Hall at Abbeville. The scene of the battle has been the subject of much controversy. An able though prejudiced attack on the traditional field is contained in a Memoir on the subject by M. Ambert, a French officer (Spectateur Militaire, 1845, Paris, Rue Jacob, 30), which has been in turn impugned, as it seems to me with good reason, in the third edition of M. Seymour de Con¬ stant’s Essay on the same subject. It is possible that the local tradi¬ tions may be groundless, but I never saw any place (out of Scotland) where the recollection of a past event had struck such root in the minds of the peasantry. M. Ambert represents the event, not as a battle, but as “un accident social,” “un evenement politique et social,” “ un choc,” “ une crise revolutionnaire.” 1346.J BATTLE OF CRESS A. 157 the battle commenced. It always helps us better to imagine any remarkable event, when we know at what time of the day or night it took place ; and on this occasion it is of great importance, because it helps us at once to answer the third question we asked, — How was the battle won ? The French army had advanced from Abbeville after a hard day’s march to overtake the retiring enemy. All along the road, and flooding the hedgeless plains which bordered the road, the army, swelled by the surrounding peasantry, rolled along, crying, “Kill! kill!” drawing their swords and thinking that they were sure of their prey. What the French King chiefly relied upon (besides his great numbers) was the troop of fifteen thousand cross-bow¬ men from Genoa. These were made to stand in front ; when, just as the engagement was about to take place, one of those extraordinary incidents occurred, which often turn the fate of battles, as they do of human life in general. A tremendous storm gathered from the west, and broke in thunder and rain and hail on the field of battle. The sky was darkened, and the horror was increased by the hoarse cries of crows and ra¬ vens, which fluttered before the storm, and struck terror into the hearts of the Italian bowmen, who were un¬ accustomed to these northern tempests. And when at last the sky had cleared, and they prepared their cross- bows to shoot, the strings had been so wet by the rain that they could not draw them. By this time the evening sun streamed out in full splendor 1 over the black clouds of the western sky, — right in their faces ; and at the same moment the English archers, who had kept their bows in cases during the storm, and so had 1 “A sun issuing from a cloud was the badge of the Black Prince, probably from this occurrence.”— Archceologia, xx. 106. 158 BATTLE OF CRESSY. [1346. their strings dry, let fly their arrows so fast and thick, that those who were present could only compare it to snow or sleet. Through and through the heads and necks and hands of the Genoese bowmen the arrows pierced. Unable to stand it, they turned and fled; and from that moment the panic and confusion was so great that the day was lost. But though the storm and the sun and the archers had their part, we must not forget the Prince. He was, we must remember, only sixteen, and yet he com¬ manded the whole English army. It is said that the reason of this was that the King of France had been so bent on destroying the English forces that he had hoisted the sacred banner of France 1 — the great scar¬ let flag, embroidered with golden lilies, called the Ori- flamme — as a sign that no quarter would be given; and that when King Edward saw this, and saw the hazard to which he should expose not only the army, but the whole kingdom, if he were to fall in battle, he determined to leave it to his son. On the top of a windmill, of which the solid tower still is to be seen on the ridge overhanging the field, the king, for what¬ ever reason, remained bareheaded, whilst the young Prince, who had been knighted 2 a month before, went forward with his companions in arms into the very thick of the fray; and when his father saw that the victory was virtually gained, he forbore to interfere. “ Let the child win his spurs,” he said, in words which have since become a proverb, “ and let the day be his The Prince was in very great danger at one moment; 1 The Oriflamme of France, like the green Standard of the Prophet in the Turkish Empire, had the effect of declaring the war to be what was called a “Holy War,” —that is, a war of extermination. 2 Archasologia, xxxi. 3. :S46.J NAME OF “BLACK PRINCE.’ 159 he was wounded and thrown to the ground, and only saved by Eichard de Beaumont, who carried the great banner of Wales, throwing the banner over the boy as he lay on the ground, and standing upon it till he had driven back the assailants. 1 The assailants were driven back, and far through the long summer evening and deep into the summer night the battle raged. It was not till all was dark, that the Prince and his companions halted from their pursuit; and then huge fires and torches were lit up, that the king might see w T here they were. And then took place the touching interview between the father and the son ; the king embracing the boy in front of the whole army, by the red light of the blazing fires, and saying, “ Sweet son, God give you good 'perseverance; you are my true son , — right loyally have you acquitted yourself this day, and worthy are you of a crown” And the young Prince, after the reverential manner of those times, “bowed to the ground, and gave all the honor to the king his father.” The next day the king walked over the field of carnage with the Prince, and said, “ What think you of a battle ? Is it an agreeable game ?” 2 The general result of the battle was the deliverance of the English army from a most imminent danger, and subsequently the conquest of Calais, which the king immediately besieged and won, and which re¬ mained in the possession of the English from that day to the reign of Queen Mary. From that time the Prince became the darling of the English and the ter¬ ror of the French; and whether from this terror or from the black armor which he wore on that day, 3 1 Arehaeologia, xxxviii. 184. Ibid., 187. 3 The king dressed his son before the battle “ en armure noire en fer bruni.” See Louandre’s Histoire d'Abbeville, p. 230. 160 BATTLE OF POITIERS. [1356. and which contrasted with the fairness of his com¬ plexion, he was called by them “Le Prince Noir” (the Black Prince), 1 and from them the name has passed to us ; so that all his other sounding titles, by which the old poems call him, — “Prince of Wales, Duke of Aquitaine,” — are lost in the one memorable name which he won for himself in his first fight at Cressy. [1356.] And now we pass over ten years, and find him on the field of Poitiers. Again we must ask, what brought him there, and why the battle was fought. He was this time alone; his father, though the war had rolled on since the battle of Gressy, was in England. But in other respects the beginning of the fight was very like that of Cressy. Gascony belonged to him by right, and from this he made a descent into the neighboring provinces, and was on his return home, when the King of France — John, the son of Philip — pursued him as his father had pursued Edward III., and overtook him suddenly on the high upland fields which extended for many miles south of the city of Poitiers. It is the third great battle which has been fought in that neighborhood: the first was that in which Clovis defeated the Goths, and established the faith in the creed of Athanasius throughout Europe; the second was that in which Charles Martel drove hack the Saracens, and saved Europe from Mahom¬ etanism ; the third was this, — the most brilliant of English victories over the French. 2 The spot, which is 1 See p. 177 ; also his Will (Appendix, p. 197), where he speaks of the black drapery of his “ hall,” the black banners, and the black devices which he used in tournaments. We may compare, too, the black pony upon which he rode on his famous entry into London. (Froissart.) 2 The battle of Clovis is believed to have been at Voulon, on the road to Bordeaux ; that of Charles Martel is uncertain. These three battles (with that of Moncontour, fought not far off, in 1569, after 1356.J BATTLE OF POITIERS. 161 about six miles south of Poitiers, is still known by the name of the Battle-field. Its features are very slightly marked, — two ridges of rising ground, parted by a gen¬ tle hollow; behind the highest of these two ridges is a large tract of copse and underwood, and leading up to it from the hollow is a somewhat steep lane, there shut in by woods and vines on each side. It was on this ridge that the Prince had taken up his position, and it was solely by the good use which he made of this position that the victory was won. The Trench army was arranged on the other side of the hollow in three great divisions, of which the king’s was the hind¬ most ; the farm-house which marks the spot where this division was posted is visible from the walls of Poitiers. It was on Monday, Sept. 19, 1356, at nine A. M., that the battle began. All the Sunday had been taken up by fruitless endeavors of Cardinal Talleyrand to save the bloodshed by bringing the king and Prince to terms, — a fact to be noticed for two reasons : first, be¬ cause it shows the sincere and Christian desire which the siege of Poitiers, by Admiral Coligny) are well described by M. S. Hippolyte, in a number of the “ Spectateur Militaire.” For my ac¬ quaintance with this work, as well as for any details which follow relating to the battle, I am indebted to the kindness and courtesy of M. Foucart, of Poitiers, in whose company I visited the field of battle in the summer of 1851. The site of the field has been much contested by antiquaries, but now appears to be fixed beyond dispute. The battle is said to have been fought “ at Maupertuis, between Beauvoir and the Abbey of Nouille.” There is a place called Mau¬ pertuis near a village Beauvoir, on the north of Poitiers, which has led some to transfer the battle thither; but besides the general argu¬ ments, both from tradition and from the probabilities of the case in favor of the southern site, there is a deed in the municipal archives of Poitiers, in which the farm-house now called La Cardiniere (from its owner Cardina, to whom it was granted by Louis XIV., like many estates in the neighborhood called from their owners) is said to be “ alias Maupertuis.” The fine Gothic ruin of the Abbey of Nouille also remains, a quarter of an hour’s walk from the field. 11 162 BATTLE OF POITIERS. [1356^ animated tlie clergy of those times, in the midst of all their faults, to promote peace and good-will amongst the savage men with whom they lived; and secondly, because the refusal of the French King and Prince to be persuaded shows, on this occasion, the confidence of victory which had possessed them. The Prince offered to give up all the castles and prisoners he had taken, and to swear not to fight in France again for seven years. But the king would hear of nothing but his absolute surrender of himself and his army on the spot. The Cardinal labored till the very last moment, and then rode back to Poitiers, having equally offended both parties. The story of the battle, if we remember the position of the armies, is told in a moment. The Prince remained firm in his position; the French charged with their usual chival¬ rous ardor, — charged up the lane; the English arch¬ ers, whom the Prince had stationed behind the hedges on each side, let fly their showers of arrows, as at Cressy; in an instant the lane was choked with the dead; and the first check of such headstrong confi¬ dence was fatal. Here, as at Cressy, was exemplified the truth of the remark of the mediaeval historian, — “We now no longer contest our battles, as did the Greeks and Eomans; the first stroke decides all.” 1 The Prince in his turn charged: a general panic seized the whole French army ; the first and second division fled in the wildest confusion; the third alone, where King John stood, made a gallant resistance; the king was taken prisoner, and by noon the whole was over. Up to the gates of the town of Poitiers the French army fled and fell; and their dead bodies were buried by heaps within a convent which still remains in the city. 1 Lanone, quoted in M. Ambert’s Memoir on Cress}-, p. 14. 1356 .] BATTLE OF POITIERS. 163 It was a wonderful day. It was eight thousand to sixty thousand; the Prince, who had gained the battle, was still only twenty-six, — that is, a year younger than Napoleon at the beginning of his campaigns, — and the battle was distinguished from among all others by the number not of the slain but of the prisoners, — one Englishman often taking four or five Frenchmen. 1 “ The day of the battle at night, the Prince gave a supper in his lodgings to the French King, and to most of the great lords that were prisoners. The Prince caused the king and his son to sit at one table, and other lords, knights, and squires at the others; and the Prince always served the king very humbly, and would not sit at the king’s table, although he requested him, — he said he was not qualified to sit at the table with so great a prince as the king was. Then he said to the king: ‘ Sir, for God’s sake make no bad cheer, though your will was not accomplished this day. For, Sir, the king, my father, will certainly bestow on you as much honor and friendship as he can, and will agree with you so reasonably that you shall ever after be friends ; and, Sir, I think you ought to rejoice, though the battle be not as you will, for you have this day gained the high honor of prowess, and have surpassed all others on your side in valor. Sir, I say not this in raillery ; for all our party, who saw every man’s deeds, agree in this, and give you the palm and chaplet.’ 1 See the despatch addressed by the Black Prince to the Bishop of Worcester a month after the engagement. (Archasologia, i. 213.) It winds up with a list of prisoners, and finishes thus : — “Et sont pris, etc., des gentz d’armes m.ixc.xxxiii. — Gaudete in Domino Et outre sont mortz mmccccxxvi. Iterum dico Gaudete ! ” It is remarkable that he notices that he had set out on his expedi* tion on the eve of the Translation of Saint Thomas. 164 THE PRINCE VISITS CANTERBURY. [1357. Therewith the Frenchmen whispered among themselves that the Prince had spoken nobly, and that most prob¬ ably he would prove a great hero, if God preserved his life, to persevere in such good fortune.” It was after this great battle that we first hear of the Prince’s connection with Canterbury. There is, it is true, a strange contradiction 1 between the English and French historians as to the spot of the Prince’s land¬ ing and the course of his subsequent journey. But the usual story, as told by Froissart, is as follows : — [1357.] On the 16th of April, 1357, the Prince with the French King landed at Sandwich; there they stayed two days, and on the 19th entered Canterbury. Simon of Islip was now Archbishop, and he probably would be there to greet them. The French King, if we may suppose that the same course was adopted here as when they reached London, rode on a magnificent cream-colored charger, the Prince on a little black pony at his side. They came into the cathedral, and made their offerings at the shrine of St. Thomas. Tradition 2 says, but without any probability of truth, that the old room above St. Anselm’s Chapel was used as King John’s prison. He may possibly have seen it, but he is hardly likely to have lived there. At any rate, they were only here for a day, and then again advanced on their road to London. One other tradition we may perhaps connect with this visit. Behind the hospital at Harbledown is an old well, still called “ The Black Prince’s Well.” If this is the only time that he passed through Canterbury, — and it is the only time that we hear of, — then we may suppose that in the steep road 1 See Appendix. 2 Gostling’s Walks about Canterbury, p. 263. For his later visit to Canterbury, see “ Becket’s Shrine.” «r 1363.] THE PRINCE’S MARRIAGE. 165 underneath the hospital he halted, as we know that all pilgrims did, to see Becket’s shoe, which was kept in the hospital, and that he may have gone down on the other side of the hill to wash, as others did, in the water of the spring; and we may well suppose that such an occasion would never be forgotten, and that his name would live long afterwards in the memory of the old almsmen. [1363.] Canterbury, however, had soon a more sub¬ stantial connection with the Black Prince. In 1363 he married his cousin Joan in the chapel at Windsor; which witnessed no other royal wedding till that beau¬ tiful and touching dav which witnessed the union of our own Prince of Wales with the Princess Alexandra of Denmark. Of these nuptials Edward the Black Prince left a memorial in the beautiful chapel still to he seen in the crypt of the cathedral, where two priests were to pray for his soul, first in his lifetime, and also, according to the practice of those times, after his death. It is now, by a strange turn of fortune which adds another link to the historical interest of the place, the entrance to the chapel of the French con¬ gregation, — the descendants of the very nation whom he conquered at Poitiers; hut you can still trace the situation of the two altars where his priests stood, and on the groined vaultings you can see his arms and the arms of his father, and, in connection with the joy¬ ful event, in thankfulness for which he founded the chapel, what seems to he the face of his beautiful wife, commonly known as the Fair Maid of Kent. For the permission to found this chantry, he left to the Chapter of Canterbury an estate which still belongs to them, not far from his own Palace of Kennington and from the road still called the “ Prince’s Eoad,” — the manor 166 SPANISH CAMPAIGN. [1366. of “ Fawkes’ Hall.” This ancient namesake of the more celebrated Guy was, as we learn from legal records, a powerful baron in the reign of John, and received from that king a grant of land in South Lambeth, where he built a hall or mansion-house, called from him “ Fawkes’ Hall,” or “ La Salle de Fawkes.” He would have little thought of the strange and universal fame his house would acquire in the form in which we are now so familiar with it in the gardens, the factories, the bridge, and the railway station of Vauxhall. 1 [1366.] And now we have to go again over ten years, and we find the Prince engaged in a war in Spain, help¬ ing Don Pedro, King of Spain, against his brother. But this would take us too far away, — I will only say that here also he won a most brilliant victory, the battle of Nejara, in 1367; and it is interesting to remember that the first great commander of the English armies had a peninsular war to fight as well as the last, and that the flower of English chivalry led his troops through the pass of Roncesvalles, “ Where Charlemagne and all his peerage fell,” in the days of the old romances. [1376.] Once again, then, we pass over ten years (for by a singular coincidence, which has been observed by others, the life of the Prince thus naturally di¬ vides itself), and we find ourselves at the end, — at that last scene, which is in fact the main connection of the Black Prince with Canterbury. The expedition to Spain, though accompanied by one splendid victory had ended disastrously. From that moment the fortunes of the Prince were overcast. A long and wasting ill- 1 See Appendix. For the history of Fawkes, see Foss’s Judges, ii. 256 ; Archaeological Journal, iv. 275. 1376.] HIS APPEARANCE IN PARLIAMENT. 167 ness, which he contracted in the southern climate of Spain, broke down his constitution; a rebellion occa¬ sioned by his own wastefulness, which was one of the faults of his character, burst forth in his French prov¬ inces; his father was now sinking in years, and sur¬ rounded by unworthy favorites, — such was the state in which the Prince returned for the last time to England. For four years he lived in almost entire seclusion at Berkhamstead, in preparation for his approaching end ; often he fell into long fainting-fits, which his attendants mistook for death. One of the traditions which con¬ nects his name with the well at Harbledown speaks of his having had the water 1 brought thence to him as he lay sick — or, according to a more common but ground¬ less story, dying — in the Archbishop’s palace at Can¬ terbury. Once more, however, his youthful energy, though in a different form, shot up in an expiring flame. His father, I have said, was sinking into dotage; and the favorites of the court were taking advantage of him, to waste the public money. Parliament met, — Par¬ liament, as you must remember, unlike the two great Houses which now sway the destiny of the empire, but still feeling its way towards its present powers, — Parlia¬ ment met to check this growing evil; and then it was that when they looked round in vain for a leader to guide their counsels and support their wavering resolutions, the dying Prince came forth from his long retirement, and was carried up to London, to assist his country in this time of its utmost need. His own residence was a palace which stood on what is now called Fish Street Hill, the street opposite the London Monument. But 1 There is no doubt that the well has always been supposed to pos¬ sess medicinal qualities, and this was probably the cause of Lanfranc’s selection of that spot for his leper-house. 168 HIS DEATHBED. [1376. he would not rest there; he was brought to the Koyal Palace of Westminster, that he might be close at hand to he carried from his sick-bed to the Parliament, which met in the chambers of the palace. This was on the 28th of April, 1376. The spirit of the Parliament and the nation revived as they saw him, and the purpose for which he came was accomplished. But it was his last effort. Day by day his strength ebbed away, and he never again moved from the palace at Westminster. On the 7th of June he signed his will, by which, as we shall presently see, directions were given for his funeral and tomb. On the 8th he rapidly sank. The ,begin¬ ning of his end cannot be better told than in the words of the herald Chandos, who had attended him in all his wars, and who was probably present: — “ Then the Prince caused his chambers to be opened And all his followers to come in. Who in his time had served him, And served him with a free will; ‘ Sirs/ said he, ‘ pardon me ; Eor, by the faith I owe you, You have served me loyally, Though I cannot of my means Render to each his guerdon; But God by his most holy name And saints, will render it you/ Then each wept heartily And mourned right tenderly, All who were there present, Earl, baron, and bachelor ; Then he said in a clear voice, ‘ I recommend to you my son, Who is yet but young and small, And pray that as you served me, So from your heart you would serve him.’ Then he called the King his father, And the Duke of Lancaster his brother, And commended to them his wife, And his son, whom he greatly loved, And straightway entreated them; 1376.] HIS DEATHBED. 169 And each was willing to give his aid, Each swore upon the book, And they promised him freely That they would comfort his son And maintain him in his right; All the princes and barons Swore all round to this, And the noble Prince of fame Gave them an hundred thousand thanks. But till then, so God aid me, Never was seen such bitter grief As was at his departure. The right noble excellent Prince Felt such pain at heart, That it almost burst With moaning and sighing, And crying out in his pain So great suffering did he endure, That there was no man living Who had seen his agony, But would heartily have pitied him.” 1 In this last agony he was, as he had been through life, specially attentive to the wants of his servants and dependants ; and after having made them large gifts, he called his little son to his bedside, and charged him on pain of his curse never to take them away from them as long as he lived. The doors still remained open, and his attendants were constantly passing and re-passing, down to the least page, to see their dying master. Such a deathbed had hardly been seen since the army of Alexander the Great defiled through his room during his last illness. As the day wore away, a scene occurred which showed how even at that moment the stern spirit of his fa¬ ther still lived on in his shattered frame. A knight, Sir 1 Chandos’s Poem of the Black Prince, edited and translated for the Roxburghe Club by the Rev. H. O. Coxe, Sub-librarian of the Bod¬ leian Library at Oxford. May I take this opportunity of expressing my grateful sense of his assistance on this and on all other occasions when I have had the pleasure of referring to him'? 170 EXORCISM BY THE BISHOP OF BANGOR. [ 1376 . Bichard Strong by name, who had offended him by the evil counsel he had given to the king, came in with the rest. Instantly the Prince broke out into a harsh rebuke, and told him to leave the room and see his face no more. This burst of passion was too much for him, — he sank into a fainting-fit. The end was evi¬ dently near at hand; and the Bishop of Bangor, who was standing by the bedside of the dying man, struck perhaps by the scene which had just occurred, strongly exhorted him from the bottom of his heart to forgive all his enemies, and ask forgiveness of God and of men. The Prince replied, “ I will.” But the good Bishop was not so to be satisfied. Again he urged: “ It suffices not to say only ‘ I will; ’ but where you have power, you ought to declare it in words, and to ask pardon.” Again and again the Prince doggedly answered, “ I will.” The Bishop was deeply grieved, and in the be¬ lief of those times, of which we may still admire the spirit, though the form both of his act and expression has long since passed away, he said, “An evil spirit holds his tongue, — we must drive it away, or he will die in his sins; ” and so saying, he sprinkled holy water over the four corners of the room, and com¬ manded the evil spirit to depart. The Prince ivas vexed by an evil spirit, though not in the sense in which the good Bishop meant it; he was vexed by the evil spirit of bitter revenge, which was the curse of those feudal times, and which now, thank God, though it still lingers amongst us, has ceased to haunt those noble souls which then were its especial prey. That evil spirit did depart, though not perhaps by the means then used to expel it; the Christian words of the good man had produced their effect, and in a moment the Prince’s whole look and manner was altered. He 2376.] HIS DEATH. 171 joined his hands, lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said: “ I give thee thanks, O God, for all thy benefits, and with all the pains of my soul I humbly beseech thy mercy to give me remission of those sins I have wick¬ edly committed against thee; and of all mortal men whom willingly or ignorantly I have offended, with all my heart I desire forgiveness.” With these words, which seem to have been the last effort of exhausted nature, he immediately expired. 1 It was at three P. M., on Trinity Sunday, — a festival which he had always honored with especial reverence ; it was on the 8th of June, just one month before his birthday, in his forty-sixth year, — the same age which has closed the career of so many illustrious men both in peace and war, — that the Black Prince breathed his last. Far and wide the mourning spread when the news was known. Even amongst his enemies, in the beauti¬ ful chapel of the palace of the French kings, — called the Sainte Chapelle, or Holy Chapel, — funeral services were celebrated by King Louis, son of that King John whom he had taken prisoner at Poitiers. Most deeply, of course, was the loss felt in his own family and circle, of which he had been so long the pride and ornament. His companion in arms, the Captal de Buch, was so heart-broken that he refused to take any food, and in a few days died of starvation and grief. His father, already shaken in strength and years, never recovered the blow, and lingered on only for one more year. “ Mighty victor, mighty lord, — Low on his funeral couch he lies. Is the sable warrior fled 1 Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.” 1 Archasologia, xxii. 229. 172 MOURNING. [1376. But most striking was the mourning of the whole English nation. Seldom, if ever, has the death of one man so deeply struck the sympathy of the English people. Our fathers saw the mourning of the whole country over the Princess Charlotte, and the great fu¬ neral procession which conveyed the remains of Nel¬ son to their resting-place in St. Paul’s, — we ourselves have seen the deep grief over the sudden death of our most illustrious statesman, — we know what is the feeling with which we should at this moment 1 regard the loss of the great commander who perhaps more than any other single person has filled in our minds the place of the Black Prince. But in order to ap¬ preciate the mourning of the people, when Edward Plantagenet passed away, we must combine all these feelings. He was the cherished heir to the throne of England, and his untimely death would leave the crown in the hands of a child, — the prey, as was afterwards proved, to popular seditions and to ambitious rivals. He was the great soldier, “in whose health the hopes of Englishmen had flourished, in whose distress they had languished, in whose death they had died. In his life they had feared no invasion, no encounter in battle; he went against no army that he did not conquer, he at¬ tacked no city that he did not take,” and now to whom were they to look ? The last time they had seen him in public was as the champion of popular rights against a profligate court, as fearless in the House of Parlia¬ ment as he had been on the field of battle. And yet more, he died at a moment when all was adverse and threatening, — when all was blank in the future, and 1 This was written in June, 1852, and (with all that follows) has been left unaltered. The coincidences with what actually took place in the autumn of that year will occur to every one. 1376.] HIS FUNERAL. 173 that future was dark with cloud and storm. John Wycliffe, with whom we parted at Oxford thirty years ago, had already begun to proclaim those great changes which shook to their centre the institutions of the country. There were mutterings, too, of risings in classes hitherto not thought of, —Wat Tyler and Jack Cade were already on the horizon of Kent and of Eng¬ land ; and in the rivalry of the king’s sons, now left without an acknowledged chief, were already laid the seeds of the long and dreadful wars of the houses of York and Lancaster. It is by remembering these feelings that we shall best enter into the closing scene, with which we are here so nearly connected. Eor nearly four months — from the 8th of June to the 29th of September — the coffined body lay in state at Westminster, and then, as soon as Parliament met again, as usual in those times, on the festival of Michaelmas, was brought to Canterbury. It was laid in a stately hearse, drawn by twelve black horses; and the whole Court, and both houses of Parliament fol¬ lowed in deep mourning. The great procession started from Westminster Palace; it passed through what was then the little village of Charing, clustered in the midst of the open fields of St. Martin, round Queen Eleanor’s Cross. It passed along the Strand, by the houses of the great nobles, who had so often fought side by side with him in his wars; and the Savoy Palace, where twenty years before he had lodged the French King as his prisoner in triumph. It passed un¬ der the shade of the lofty tower of the old cathedral of St. Paul’s, which had so often resounded with Te Deums for his victories. It descended the steep hill, overhung by the gray walls of his own palace, above 174 HIS FUNERAL. [1376. London Bridge; and over tliat ancient bridge, then the only bridge in London, it moved onwards on its road to Canterbury, — that same road which at this very time had become so well known from Chaucer’s “ Can¬ terbury Tales.” On entering Canterbury they paused at the west gate of Canterbury, — not the one which now stands there, which was built a few years later, — but an older gate¬ way, with the little chapel of Holycross at the top, sur¬ mounted by a lofty cross, seen far off, as the procession descended from Harbledown. Here they were met — so the Prince had desired in his will 1 — by two chargers, fully caparisoned, and mounted by two riders in com¬ plete armor, — one bearing the Prince’s arms of Eng¬ land and France, the other the ostrich feathers; one to represent the Prince in his splendid suite as he rode in war, the other to represent him in black as he rode to tournaments. Four black banners followed. So they passed through the streets of the city, till they reached the gate of the Precincts. Here, according to the cus¬ tom, the armed men 2 halted, and the body was carried into the cathedral. In the space between the high altar and the choir a bier was placed to receive it, whilst the funeral services were read, surrounded with burning ta¬ pers and with all the heraldic pomp which marked his title and rank. It must have been an august assemblage which took part in those funeral prayers. The aged king, in all probability, was not there, but we cannot doubt that the executors were present. One was his ri¬ val brother John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. Another was his long-tried friend, William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, whose name is still dear to hundreds of 1 See Appendix. 2 See Murder of Becket, pp. 99, 104, 118. HIS TOMB. 175 Englishmen, old and young, from the two magnificent colleges which he founded at Winchester and at Oxford. A third was Courtenay, Bishop of London, who now lies at the Prince’s feet, and Simon of Sudbury, who had been Archbishop of Canterbury in the previ¬ ous years, — he whose magnificent bequests still appear in the gates and walls of the city, — he whose fate it was to be the first to suffer in the troubles which the Prince’s death would cause, who was beheaded by the rebels under Wat Tyler on the Tower Hill, and whose burial was the next great funeral within the walls of the cathe¬ dral. And now, from the choir, the body was again raised up, and carried to the tomb. We have seen already that twelve years before the Prince had turned his thoughts to Canter¬ bury Cathedral as his last home, when in remembrance of his visit to the shrine of St. Thomas, and of the fact that the church was dedicated to the Holy Trinity, which, as we have seen, he had honored with especial reverence, he THE TOMB OF THE BLACK PRINCE IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. 176 HIS TOMB. founded the chapel in the crypt. In the centre of that crypt, on the spot where you now see the grave¬ stone of Archbishop Morton, it had been his wish to be laid, as expressed in the will which he signed only the day before his death. But those who were con¬ cerned with the funeral had prepared for him a more magnificent resting-place; not in the darkness of the crypt, but high aloft in the sacred space behind the al¬ tar, and on the south side of the shrine of St. Thomas, in the chapel itself of the Holy Trinity, on the festival of which he had expired, they determined that the body of the hero should be laid. That space is now sur¬ rounded with monuments; then it was entirely, or almost entirely, vacant. 1 The gorgeous shrine stood in the centre on its colored pavement, but no other corpse had been admitted within that venerated ground, — no other, perhaps, would have been admitted but that of the Black Prince. It was twenty-seven years before the iron gates of the chapel would again be opened to receive the dead, and this too would be a royal corpse, — the body of King Henry IV., now a child ten years old, and perhaps present as a mourner in this very fu¬ neral, but destined to overthrow the Black Prince’s son, and then to rest by his side. In this sacred spot — believed at that time to be the most sacred spot in England — the tomb stood in which, “ alone in his glory,” the Prince was to be de¬ posited, to be seen and admired by all the countless pilgrims who crawled up the stone steps beneath it on their way to the shrine of the saint. 2 1 The only exception could have been the tomb which stands on the southeast side of the Trinity Chapel, and which, though not as early as Theobald, to whom it is commonly ascribed, must be of the beginning of the thirteenth century. 2 An exactly analogous position, by Saint Alban’s shrine, is as- EFFECTS OF THE PRINCE’S LIFE. 177 Let us turn to that tomb, and see how it sums up his whole life. Its bright colors have long since faded, but enough still remains to show us what it was as it stood after the sacred remains had been placed within it. There he lies : no other memorial of him exists in the world so authentic. There he lies, as he had di¬ rected, in full armor, his head resting on his helmet, his feet with the likeness of “ the spurs he won ” at Cressy, his hands joined as in that last prayer which he had offered up on his deathbed. There you can see his fine face with the Plantagenet features, the flat cheeks, and the well-chiselled nose, to be traced perhaps in the effigy of his father in Westminster Abbey and of his grandfather in Gloucester Cathedral. On his armor you can still see the marks of the bright gilding with which the figure was covered from head to foot, so as to make it look like an image of pure gold. High above are suspended the brazen gauntlets, the helmet, with what was once its gilded leopard-crest, and the wooden shield; the velvet coat also, embroidered with the arms of France and England, now tattered and col¬ orless, hut then blazing with blue and scarlet. There, too, still hangs the empty scabbard of the sword wielded perchance at his three great battles, and which Oliver Cromwell, it is said, carried away. 1 On the can¬ opy over the tomb there is the faded representation — painted after the strange fashion of those times — of the Persons of the Holy Trinity, according to the pecu¬ liar devotion which he had entertained. In the pillars you can see the hooks to which was fastened the black tapestry, with its crimson border and curious embroi- signed in the Abbey of St. Albans to the tomb of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. 1 For the history of this sword, see Appendix. 12 178 EFFECTS OF THE PRINCE’S LIFE. dery, which, he directed in his will should be hung round his tomb and the shrine of Becket. Bound about the tomb, too, you will see the ostrich feathers, 1 which, ac- SURCOAT, HELMET, SHIELD, CREST, ETC., OF THE BLACK PRINCE SUSPENDED OVER HIS TOMB. cording to the old but doubtful tradition, we are told he won at Cressy from the blind King of Bohemia, who perished in the thick of the fight; and interwoven with 1 The Essay “by the late Sir Harris Nicolas, in the “ Archasologia,” vol. xxxii., gives all that can be said on this disputed question. The ostrich feathers are first mentioned in 1369, on the plate of Philippa, and were used by all the sons of Edward II., and of all subsequent kings, till the time of Arthur, son of Henry VII., after which they were appropriated as now to the Prince of Wales. The Black Prince had sometimes one ostrich feather, sometimes, as on the tomb, three. The old explanation given by Camden was that they indicated jieet- ness in discharge of duty. The King of Bohemia’s badge was a vulture. EFFECTS OF THE PRINCE’S LIFE. 179 them, the famous motto, 1 with which he used to sign his name, Houmout, Ich diene. If, as seems most likely, they are German words, they exactly express what we have seen so often in his life, the union of Hock Muth , that is, “high spirit,” with Ich dien, “I serve.” They bring before us the very scene itself after the battle of Poitiers, where after having vanquished the whole French nation he stood behind the captive king, and served him like an attendant. And, lastly, carved about the tomb, is the long in¬ scription, selected 2 by himself before his death, in Nor¬ man French, still the language of the court, written, as he begged, clearly and plainly, that all might read 1 Houmout — Ich dien. It occurs twice as his autograph signature (see Appendix). But its first public appearance is on the tomb, where the words are written alternately above the coats of arms, and also on the quills of the feathers. It is said, though without sufficient proof, that the King of Bohemia had the motto Ich dien from his following King Philip as a stipendiary. The Welsh antiquaries maintain that it is a Celtic and not a German motto, “ Behold the man,” — the words used by Edward I. on presenting his first-born son to the Welsh, and from him derived to the subsequent Princes of Wales, “ Behold the man,” that is, the male child. 2 “ The epitaph is borrowed, with a few variations, from the anony¬ mous French translation of the ‘ Clericalis Disciplina ’ of Petrus Al- phonsus, composed between the years 1106 and 1110. In the original Latin work it may be found at p. 196, part i., of the edition printed in 1824 for the Societe des Bibliophiles Franpais. The French version is of the thirteenth century, and entitled ‘Castoiement d’un Pere a son Fils.’ It was first printed by Barbazan in 1760, and, more completely, by Meon in 1808, in whose edition the epitaph may be read (p. 196) under the heading of ‘ D’un Philosophe qui passoit parmi un Cimen- tere.’ The Black Prince, however, is not the only distinguished per¬ sonage who has availed himself of this inscription ; for more than half a century previous it was placed (in an abbreviated form) on the monu¬ ment of the famous John de Warenne, seventh Earl of Surrey, who died in 1304, and was buried before the high altar in the priory of Lewes. It is printed by Dugdale (not very correctly) in his Baronage, i. 80, from the ‘Lewes Cartulary,’ which is preserved among the Cot¬ tonian MSS. in the British Museum, Vespas. F. xxv.” —F. Madden. CANOPY OF THE BLACK PBINCE S TOMB IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. CHIVALRY. 181 it. Its purport is to contrast his former splendor and vigor and beauty with the wasted body which is now all that is left. What was a natural thought at all times was specially characteristic of this period, as we see from the further exemplification of it in Chichele’s tomb, a hundred years later, where the living man and the dead skeleton are contrasted with each other in actual representation. But in this case it would he singularly affecting, if we can suppose it to have been written during the four years’ seclusion, when he lay wasting away from his lingering illness, his high for¬ tunes overclouded, and death full in prospect. When we stand by the grave of a remarkable man, it is always an interesting and instructive question to ask, — especially by the grave of such a man and in such a place, — What evil is there, which we trust is buried with him in his tomb ; what good is there, which may still live after him; what is it that, taking him from first to last, his life and his death teach us ? First, then, the thought which we most naturally connect with the name of the Black Prince is the wars of the English and French, — the victories of England over France. Out of those wars much noble feeling sprang, — feelings of chivalry and courtesy and re¬ spect to our enemies, and (perhaps a doubtful boon) of unshaken confidence in ourselves. Such feelings are amongst our most precious inheritances, and all honor be to him who first inspired them in the hearts of his countrymen, never to be again extinct! But it is a matter of still greater thankfulness to remember, as we look at the worn-out armor of the Black Prince, that those wars of English conquest are buried with him, never to be revived. Other wars may arise in the un- 182 CHIVALRY. known future still before us; but such wars as he and his father waged, we shall, we may thankfully hope, see no more again forever. We shall never again see a King of England or a Prince of Wales taking ad¬ vantage of a legal quibble to conquer a great neighbor¬ ing country, and laying waste with fire and sword a civilized kingdom from mere self-aggrandizement. We have seen how, on the eve of the battle of Poitiers, one good man, with a patience and charity truly heroic, did strive, by all that Christian wisdom and forbearance could urge, to stop that unhallowed warfare. It is a satisfaction to think that his wish is accomplished,— that what he labored to effect almost as a hopeless pro¬ ject has now wellnigh become the law of the civilized world. It is true that the wars of Edward III. and the Black Prince were renewed again on a more fright¬ ful scale in the next century, — renewed at the instiga¬ tion of an Archbishop of Canterbury, who strove thus to avert the storm which seemed to him to be threat¬ ening the Church; but these were the last, and the tomb and college of Chichele are themselves lasting monuments of the deep remorse for his sin which smote his declining years. With him finished the last trace of those bloody wars: may nothing ever arise, in our time or our children’s, to break the bond of peace between England and France, which is the bond of the peace of the world! Secondly, he brings before us all that is most charac¬ teristic of the ages of chivalry. You have heard of his courtesy, his reverence to age and authority, his gener¬ osity to his fallen enemy. But before I speak of this more at length, here also I must in justice remind you that the evil as well as the good of chivalry was seen in him, and that this evil, like that which I spoke of SACK OF LIMOGES. 183 just now, is also, I trust, buried with him. One single instance will show what I mean. In those disastrous years which ushered in the close of his life, a rebellion arose in his French province of Gascony, provoked by his wasteful expenditure. One of the chief towns where the insurgents held out, w~as Limoges. The Prince, though then laboring under his fatal illness, besieged and took it; and as soon as it was taken, he gave or¬ ders that his soldiers should massacre every one that they found; whilst he himself, too ill to walk or ride, was carried through the streets in a litter, looking on at the carnage. Men, women, and children threw them¬ selves ou their knees, as he passed on through the de¬ voted city, crying, “ Mercy, mercy; ” but he went on relentlessly, and the massacre went on, till, struck by the gallantry of three French knights, whom he saw fighting in one of the squares against fearful odds, he ordered it to cease. Now, for this dreadful scene there were doubtless many excuses, — the irritation of ill¬ ness, the affection for his father, whose dignity he thought outraged by so determined a resistance, and the indignation against the ingratitude of a city on which he had bestowed many favors. But what is especially to be observed is not so much the cruelty of the individual man as the great imperfection of that kind of virtue which could allow of such cruelty. Dreadful as this scene seems to us, to men of that time it seemed quite natural. The poet who recorded it had nothing more to say concerning it than that — “ All the townsmen were taken or slain By the noble Prince of price, Whereat great joy had all around, Those who were his friends ; And his enemies were Sorely grieved, and repented That they had begun the war against him.” 184 FIRST GREAT ENGLISH CAPTAIN, AND This strange contradiction arose from one single cause. The Black Prince, and those who looked up to him as their pattern, chivalrous, kind, and gen¬ erous as they were to their equals and to their imme¬ diate dependants, had no sense of what was due to the poor, to the middle and the humbler classes generally. He could be touched by the sight of a captive king or at the gallantry of the three Prench gentlemen ; but he had no ears to hear, no eyes to see, the cries and groans of the fathers and mothers and children, — of the poorer citizens, who were not bound to him by the laws of honor and of knighthood. It is for us to remember, as we stand by his grave, that whilst he has left us the legacy of those noble and beautiful feelings which are the charm and best ornaments of life, though not its most necessary virtues, it is our further privilege and duty to extend those feelings towards the classes on whom he never cast a thought; to have towards all classes of society, and to make them have towards each other and towards ourselves, the high respect and cour¬ tesy and kindness which were then peculiar to one class only. It is a well-known saying in Shakspeare, that — “ The evil which men do lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones.” But it is. often happily just the reverse, and so it was with the Black Prince. His evil is interred with his bones ; the good which he has done lives after him, and to that good let us turn. He was the first great English captain who showed what English soldiers were, and what they could do against Erenclimen and against all the world. He was the first English prince who showed what it was to be a true gentleman. He was the first, but he was FIRST ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 185 not the last. We have seen how, when he died, Eng¬ lishmen thought that all their hopes had died with him. But we know that it was not so; we know that the life of a great nation is not bound up with the life of a single man ; we know that the valor and the courtesy and the chivalry of England are not buried in the grave of the Plantagenet Prince. It needs only a glance round the country to see that the high character of an Eng¬ lish gentleman, of which the Black Prince was the noble pattern, is still to be found everywhere ; and has since his time been spreading itself more and more through classes which in his time seemed incapable of reaching it. It needs only a glance down the nave of our own cathedral; and the tablets on the walls, with their tattered flags, will tell you, in a moment, that he, as he lies up there aloft, with his head resting on his helmet and his spurs on his feet, is but the first of a long line of English heroes,'—that the brave men who fought at Sobraon and Feroozeshah are the true descend¬ ants of those who fought at Cressy and Poitiers. And not to soldiers only, but to all who are engaged in the long warfare of life, is his conduct an example. To unite in our lives the two qualities expressed in his motto, Hocli Mutli and Ich dim ,— “high spirit” and “ reverent service,” — is to be, indeed, not only a true gentleman and a true soldier, but a true Christian also. To show to all who differ from us, not only in war but in peace, that delicate forbearance, that fear of hurting another’s feelings, that happy art of saying the right thing to the right person, which he showed to the cap¬ tive king, would indeed add a grace and a charm to the whole course of this troublesome world, such as none can afford to lose, whether high or low. Happy are they who having this gift by birth or station use it for 186 THE FIRST GREAT ENGLISH CAPTAIN. its highest purposes ; still more happy are they who having it not by birth and station have acquired it, as it may be acquired, by Christian gentleness and Chris¬ tian charity. And lastly, to act in all the various difficulties of our every-day life with that coolness and calmness, and faith in a higher power than his own, which he showed when the appalling danger of his situation burst upon him at Poitiers, would smooth a hundred difficulties and insure a hundred victories. We often think that we have no power in ourselves, no advantages of posi¬ tion, to help us against our many temptations, to over¬ come the many obstacles we encounter. Let us take our stand by the Black Prince’s tomb, and go back once more in thought to the distant fields of France. A slight rise in the wild upland plain, a steep lane through vineyards and underwood, — this was all that he had, humanly speaking, on his side; but he turned it to the utmost use of which it could be made, and won the most glorious of battles. So, in like manner, our ad¬ vantages may be slight, — hardly perceptible to any but ourselves, — let us turn them to account, and the re¬ sults will be a hundred-fold ; we have only to adopt the Black Prince’s bold and cheering words when first he saw his enemies, “ God is my help, I must fight them as best I can;” adding that lofty yet resigned and humble prayer which he uttered when the battle was an¬ nounced to be inevitable, and which has since become a proverb, —“ God defend the right.” APPENDIX AND NOTES. By MR. ALBERT WAY. I. — Ordinance by Edward the Black Prince, for the Two Chantries, founded by him in the Undercroft of the South Transept, Christ Church, Canterbury. Recited in the Confirmation by Simon Islip, Arch¬ bishop of Canterbury, of the Assent and Ratification by the Prior and Chapter. Dated August 4, 1363. Orig. Charter in the Treasury, Canterbury , No. 145. 1 Universis sancte matris ecclesie filiis ad quos presentes litere provenerint, Prior et Capitulum ecclesie Christi Can- tuariensis salutem in omnium Salvatore. Ordinacionem duarum Cantariarum in ecclesia predicta fundatarum, unius videlicet in honore Sancte Trinitatis, et alterius in honore Yirginis gloriose, inspeximus diligenter, Cujus quidem or- dinacionis tenor sequitur in hec verba. Excellencia principis a regali descendens prosapia, quanto in sua posteritate am- plius diffunditur et honorificencius sublimatur, tanto ad serviendum Deo prompcior esse debet, et cum devota gra- ciarum accione capud suum sibi humiliter inclinare, ne aliter pro ingratitudine tanti muneris merito sibi subtraliatur beneficium largitiors. Sane nos, Edwardus, Princeps Wallie 1 This document is copied in the Registers B. 2, fo. 46, and F. 8, fo. 83, v°, under this title, “ Littera de Institucione duarum cantariarum domini Principis.” In the text here given the contracted words are printed in ex- tenso. I acknowledge with much gratification the privilege liberally granted to me of examining the ancient charters in the Treasury, amongst which this unpublished document has been found. 188 ORDINANCE BY THE BLACK PRINCE et serenissimi Principis ac domini nostri, domini Edwardi illustris Regis Anglie, primogenitus, pridem cupientes ad exaltacionem paterni solii nobis mulierem de genere suo clarissimo recipere in sociam et uxorem, denmm post de- liberaciones varias super diversis nobis oblatis matrimo- niis, ad nobilem mulierem, dominam Johannam Comitissam Kancie, consanguineam dicti patris nostri et nostram, ipsam videlicet in secundo, et nos in tercio consanguinitatis gra- dibus contingentem, Dei pocius inspirante gracia quam hominis suasione, convertimus totaliter mentem nostram, et ipsam, de consensu dicti domini patris nostri et aliorum parentum nostrorum, dispensacione sedis apostolice super impedimento hujusmodi et aliis quibus libet primitus ob- tenta, preelegimus et assumpsimus in uxorem; Injuncto nobis etiam per prius eadem auctoritate apostolica quod duas Cantarias quadraginta Marcarum obtentu dispensa- cionis predicte ad honorem Dei perpetuas faceremus. 1 Nos vero, in Deo sperantes firmiter per acceptacionem humilem Injunccionis hujus, et efficax ipsius complementum nupcias nostras Deo reddere magis placabiles, et paternum solium per adeo sibi propinque sobolis propagacionem condecenter diffundere et firmius stabilire, ad honorem Sancte Trinitatis, quam peculiari devocione semper colimus, et beatissime Marie, et beati Thome Martyris, infra muros ecclesie Christi Cantuariensis, matris nostre precipue et metropolitis, ad quam a cunabilis 2 nostris devocionem mentis ereximus, in quodam loco ex parte australi ejusdem ecclesie constituto, quern ad hoc, de consensu reverendissimi in Christo patris, domini Simouis Dei gracia Cantuariensis Arcliiepiscopi, tocius Anglie Primatis et apostolice sedis Legati, et religi- osorum virorum Prioris et Capituli ipsius ecclesie, designavi- mus, duas capellas, quarum una Sancte Trinitatis intitula- bitur, et altera beate et gloriose Yirginis Marie, sub duabus cantariis duximus construendas, ut sic ad dictam ecclesiam 1 See the Bulls of Pope Innocent VI., concerning the marriage of the Prince with the Countess of Kent, Rymer, Feed, deit 1830, vol. iii. part ii. pp. 627, 632. 2 Sic in the original. FOR THE TWO CHANTRIES. 189 confluentes, et capellas nostras intuentes, pro conjugii nostri prosperitate animarumque nostrarum salute deum exorare propencius excitentur. In nostris vero Cantariis ex nunc volumus et statuimus, quod sint duo sacerdotes idonei, sobrii et honesti, non contenciosi, non querelarum aut litium assumptores, non incontinentes, aut aliter notabiliter viciosi, quorum correccio, punicio, admissio et destitucio ad Archi- episcopum, qui tempore fuerit, loci diocesanum pertineat et debeat pertinere, eorem tamen statum volumus esse per- petuum, nisi per mensem et amplius a Cantariis suis hujusmodi absque causa racionabili et licencia a domino Cantuariensi Archiepiscopo, si in diocesi sua presens fuerit, vel aliter a Priore dicti monasterii, petita pariter et optenta, absentes fuerint; vel nisi viciosi et insolentes trina moni- cione per temporum competencium intervalla, vel aliter trina correccione emendati, ab insolenciis suis desistere non curaverint; quos tunc incorrigibiles seu intolerabiles cense- mus, et volumus per predictum ordinarium reputari, et propterea a dicta Cantaria penitus amoveri, nulla appella- cione aut impetracione sedis Apostolice vel regis, aut alii 1 juris communis seu spiritualis remedio amoto hujusmodi aliqualiter valitura. Primum vero et principaliorem domi- num Johannem Curteys, de Weldone, et dominum Willel- mum Bateman, de Giddingg’, secundarium, in eisdem nomi- namus et colistituimus sacerdotes, quorum principalis in altari Sancte Trinitatis, et alter in altari beate Marie, cum per dominum Archiepiscopum admissi fuerint, pro statu salubri nostro, prosperitate matrimonii nostri, dum vixeri- mus, et animabus nostris, cum ab hac luce subtracti fueri- mus, cotidie celebrabunt, nisi infirmitate aut alia causa racionabili fuerint perpediti. Cum vero alter eorum ces- serit loco suo, vel decesserit, aut ipsum dimiserit, Nos, Ed- wardus predictus, in vita nostra, et post mortem nostram Rex Anglie, qui pro tempore fuerit, ad locum sit vacantem quem pro tunc secundum censemus quam cicius comode 1 This word is contracted in the original al'. The reading may be alii or aliter . 190 ORDINANCE BY THE BLACK PRINCE poterimus, saltern infra unius mensis spacium, dicto domino Archiepiscopo presentabimus et nominabimus ydoneum sa- cerdotem ; et sic, quocienscunque vacaverit, imperpetuum volumus observari. Alioquin elapso hujusmodi tempore liceat Archiepiscopo ilia vice loco sic vacante de sacerdote ydoneo providere, salvo jure nostro et successorum nostro- rum in hac parte, ut prefertur, in proxima vacatione alterius sacerdotis. Volumus insuper et ordinamus quod dictus Archiepiscopus, qui fuerit, significata sibi morte per literas nostras aut successorum nostrorum hujusmodi vel aliter per literas Capellani qui supervixerit, aliquo sigillo autentico roboratas, statim absque inquisicione alia sive difficultate qualibet presentatum seu nominatum hujusmodi admittat, et literas suas suo consacerdoti et non alteri super admissione sua dirigat sive mittat. Dicent vero dicti sacerdotes insimul matutinas et ceteras horas canonicas in capella, videlicet sancte Trinitatis, necnon et septem psalmos penitenciales et quindecim graduates et commendacionem ante prandium, captata ad hoc una hora vel pluribus, prout viderint expe- dire. Et post prandium vesperas et completorium necnon placebo et dirige pro defunctis. Celebrabit insuper uterque ipsorum singulis diebus prout sequitur, nisi aliqua causa legitima sicut premittitur fuerint prepediti, unus eorum videlicet singulis diebus dominicis de die, si voluerit, vel aliter de Trinitate, et alter eorum de officio mortuorum, vel aliter de beata Virgine Maria. Feria secunda unus de festo novem lectionum, si acciderit, vel aliter de Angelis, et alius de officio mortuorum, vel de Virgine gloriosa. Feria tercia alter eorum de beato Thoma, et alius de beata Virgine vel officio mortuorum, nisi aliquod festum novem leccionum advenerit, tunc enim missa de beato Thoma po- terit pretermitti. Feria quarta, si a festo novem leccio¬ num vacaverit, unus de Trinitate et alter de beata Maria virgine vel officio mortuorum. Feria quinta unus de festo Corporis Christi, et alius de beata Virgine vel officio mor¬ tuorum, si a festo novem leccionum vacaverit. Feria sexta, si a festo novem leccionum vacaverit, unus de beata Cruce FOR THE TWO CHANTRIES. 191 et alter de beata Yirgine vel officio mortuorum. Singulis diebus sabbati, si a festo novem leccionem vacaverit, unus de beata Yirgine et alter de officio mortuorum. Et hoc modo celebrabunt singulis diebus imperpetuum, et non celebrabunt simul et eadem hora, sed unus post alium, successive. Ante vero introitum missi quilibet rogabit et rogari publice faciat celebrans pro statu salubri utriusque nostrum dum vixerimus, et pro animabus nostris, cum ab hac luce migraverimus, et dicet Pater et Ave, et in singulis missis suis dum vixerimus de quocunque celebraverint col- lectam illam, —“Deuscujus misericordie non est numerus,” et, cum ab hac miseria decesserimus, — “ Deus venie lar- gitor,” cum devocione debita recitabunt. Et volumus quod post missas suas vel ante, secundum eorum discrecionem differendum vel anticipandum, cum doctor aut lector alius in claustro monachorum more solito legerit ibidem, nisi causa legitima prepediti fuerint, personaliter intersint, et doctrine sue corditer intendant, ut sic magis edocti Deo devocius et perfectius obsequantur. Principali vero sacer- dote de medio sublato, aut aliter loco suo qualitercumque vacante, socius suus, qui tunc superstes fuerit, sicut pre- diximus locum Principaliorem occupabit, et secundum lo¬ cum tenebit novus assumendus. Ordinamus etiam quod dicti sacerdotes singulis annis semel ad minus de eadem secta vestiantur, et quod non utantur brevibus vestimentis sed talaribus secundum decenciam sui status. Pro mora siquidem dictorum sacerdotum assignavimus quemdam habi- tacionis locum juxta Elemosinariam dicti Monasterii, in quo construetur ad usum et habitacionem eorum una Aula com¬ munis in qua simul cotidianam sument refeccionem, una cum quadam Camera per Cancellum dividenda, ita quod in utraque parte sic divisa sit locus suffieiens pro uno lecto competenti, necnon et pro uno camino nostris sumptibus erigendo. Ita tamen quod camera hujusmodi unicum ha- beat ostium pro Capellanorum ingressu et egressu. Cujus locum divisum viciniorem principaliori sacerdoti intitulari volumus et mandamus; sub qua Camera officia eis utilia 192 ORDINANCE BY THE BLACK PRINCE constituent prout eis magis viaebitur expedire. Coquinam etiam habebunt competentem ; quas quidem domus nostris primo sumptibus construendas prefati religiosi viri. Prior et Capitulum, quociens opus fuerit, reparabunt ac eciam re- formabunt. De habitacione vero ipsorum hujusmodi libe¬ rum habebunt ingressum ad dictas capellas, et regressum pro temporibus et Boris competentibus, ac retroactis tempo- ribus pro ingressu secularium consuetis. Comedent eciam insimul in Aula sua cum perfecta fuerit, in ipsorum quo- que cameris, et non alibi, requiescent. Ad hec dicti sacerdotes vestimenta et alia ornamenta dicte Capelle as- signanda fideliter conservabunt, et cum mundacione aut reparacione aliqua indigerint, predicti religiosi viri, Prior et Capitulum suis sumptibus facient reparari, et alia nova quociens opus fuerit inveteratis et inutilibus subrogabunt. Percipiet quidem uterque eorundem sacerdotum annis sin¬ gulis de 1 Priore et Capitulo supradictis viginti marcas ad duos anni terminos, videlicet, ad festa sancti Michaelis et Pasche, per equales porciones, necnon ab eisdem Priore et Capitulo ministrabitur ipsis Capellanis de pane, vino, et cera, ad sufficienciam, pro divinis officiis celebrandis. Ita videlicet quod in matutinis, vesperis et horis sit continue cereus unus accensus, et missa quacumque duo alii cerei ad utrumque altare predictum. Quod si prefati Prior et Capi¬ tulum dictas pecunie summas in aliquo dictorum termi- norum, cessante causa legitima, solvere distulerint ultra triginta dies ad majus, extunc sint ipso facto ab execucione divinorum officiorum, suspensi, quousque ipsis Capellanis de arreragiis fuerit plenarie satisfactum. Pro supportacione vero predictorum onerum dictis Priori et Capitulo, ut pre- mittitur, incumbencium, de licencia excellentissimi Principis domini patris nostri supradicti dedimus, concessimus et assignavimus eisdem Priori et Capitulo, eorumque succes- soribus, manerium nostrum de Faukeshalle juxta London ’, prout in cartis ejusdem patris nostri et nostris plenius continetur. Jurabit insuper uterque eorundem sacerdotum 1 In the original, et Priore. FOR THE TWO CHANTRIES. 193 coram domino Archiepiscopo, qui pro tempore fuerit, in ad- missione sua, quod hanc ordinacionem nostram observabit et faciet, quantum eum concernit et sibi facultas prestabitur, in omnibus observari. Jurabunt insuper iidem sacerdotes Priori dicti Loci obedienciam, et quod nullum dampnum inferent dicto monasterio vel personis ejusdem injuriam seu gravamen. Rursum, si in presenti nostra ordinacione pro- cessu temporis inveniatur aliquod dubium seu obscurum, illud interpretandi, innovandi, corrigendi et eidem ordina- cioni nostre addendi, diminuendi et declarandi, nobis quam- diu vixerimus, et post mortem nostram reverendo patri, domino Archiepiscopo Cantuariensi, qui pro tempore fuerit, specialiter reservamus. 1 Cui quidem ordinacioni sic salu- briter composite et confecte tenore presencium nostrum prebemus assensum, onera nobis in eadem imposita agnos- cimus, et cetera in eadem ordinacione contenta, quantum ad nos attinet vel attinere in futurum poterit, approbamus, ratificamus, et eciam confirmamus. In quorum omnium testimonium sigillum nostrum commune presentibus est appensum. Datum in domo nostra Capitulari Cantuar’ ij*. Non’ Augusti, Anno domini Millesimo Trescentesimo sexa- gesimo tercio. Et nos, Simon, permissione divina Archi- episcopus Cantuariensis, supradictus, permissa omnia et singula quatenus ad nos attinet autorizamus, approbamus, ratificamus et tenore presencium auctoritate nostra ordinaria confirmamus. In cujus rei testimonium sigillum nostrum fe- cimus hiis apponi. Datum eciam Cantuar’ die, anno et loco supradictis, et nostre consecracionis anno quartodecimo. (L. S. Seal lost.) Endorsed .—Confirmacio Archiepiscopi et Convent us super Cantarias Edwardi principis "Wallie in ecclesia nostra in criptis. 2 In a later hand, — Duplex. 1 The word jus seems to be omitted in this sentence, of which the sense as it stands is incomplete. Here the recital of the Ordinance ends. 2 This document bears the following numbers, by which it has been classed at various times: 45 (erased.) — Duplex vi. (erased) A—C. 166. — C. 145; the latter being the right reference, according to the Indices now in use. 13 194 WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. II.—THE WILL OF EDWARD PRINCE OF WALES, a. d. 1376.1 Copia Testamenti Principis Wall’. {Register of Archbishop Sudbury, in the Registry at Lambeth, fol. 90 b, and 91 a and b .) En noun du Pere, du Filz, et de Saint Espirit, Amen. Nous, Eduuard, eisne filz du Roy d’Engletere et de Fraunce, prince de Gales, due de Cornwaille, et counte de Cestre, le vij. jour de Juyn, l’an de grace mil troiscentz septantz et sisme, en notre chambre dedeyns le palois de notre tresredote seig- nour et pere le Roy a WestTn esteantz en bon et sain me- moire, et eiantz consideracion a le brieve duree de humaine freletee, et come non certein est le temps de sa resolucion & la divine volunte, et desiranz toujourz d’estre prest ove l’eide de dieu & sa disposicioun, ordenons et fesons notre testament en la manere qe ensuyt. Primerement nous devisons notre alme a Dieu notre Creatour, et a la seinte benoite Trinite et a la glorieuse virgine Marie, et a tous lez sainz et seintez; et notre corps d’estre enseveliz en l’eglise Cathedrale de la Trinite de Canterbirs, ou le corps du vray martir monseignour Seint Thomas repose, en mylieu de la chapelle de notre dame Under Crofte, droitement devant Tautier, siqe le bout de notre tombe devers les pees soit dix peez loinz de Tautier, et qe mesme la tombe soit de marbre de bone masonerie faite. Et volons qe entour la ditte tombe soient dusze escuchons de latone, chacun de la largesse d’un pie, dont les syx seront de noz armez entiers, et les autres six 1 The following document was printed by Mr. Nichols in his “ Collec¬ tion of Royal Wills,” p. 66. It is here given with greater accuracy, through careful collation of the transcript in Archbishop Sudbury’s Reg¬ ister at Lambeth. The remarkable interest of the will as connected with the Prince’s interment and tomb at Canterbury may fully justify its reproduction in this volume. WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. 195 des plumz d’ostruce, et qe sur chacun escuchon soit escript, c’est assaveir sur cellez de noz armez et sur les autres des plumes d’ostruee, — Houmout. 1 Et paramont 2 la tombe soit fait un tablement de latone suzorrez de largesse et longure de meisme la tombe, sur quel nouz volons qe un ymage d’overeigne levez de latoun suzorrez soit mys en memorial de nous, tout armez de tier de guerre de nous armez quar- tillez et le visage mie, ove notre heaume du leopard mys dessouz la teste del ymage, Et volons qe sur notre tombe en lieu ou len le purra plus clerement lire en veoir soit es¬ cript ce qe ensuit, en la manere qe sera mielz avis a noz executours : —■ Tu qe passez ove bouche close, par la ou cest corps repose Entent ce qe te dirray, sicome te dire la say, Tiel come tu es, Je au del 3 fu, Tu seras tiel come Je su, De la mort ne pensay je mie, Taut come j’avoy la vie. En terre avoy grand richesse, dont Je y fys grand noblesse, Terre, mesons, et grand tresor, draps, chivalx, argent et or. Mes ore su je povres et cheitifs, perfond en la terre gys, Ma grand beaute est tout alee, Ma char est tout gastee, Moult est estroite ma meson, En moy na si verite non, Et si ore me veissez, Je ne quide pas qe vous deeisez, Qe j’eusse onqes hom este, si su je ore de tout changee. Pur Dieu pries au celestien 4 Roy, qe mercy eit de l’arme 5 de moy 1 The escutcheons on the Prince’s tomb are not in conformity with these directions. Over those charged with his arms appears the word lxoumout on a little scroll, whilst over those bearing the three ostrich feathers is the motto, ich diene. There is probably an omission in the transcript of this passage in the Lambeth Register. The reading in the original document may have been, “ Sur cellez de noz armez— ich diene — est sur les autres des plumes d’ostruce — houmout.” Representations of these escutcheons as also of the altar tomb, showing their position, were given, with the beautiful etchings of the figure of the Prince, in Stothard’s Monumental Effigies. Representations on a larger scale will be found in the notes subjoined. See pages 207, 208. 2 “ Par-amont, en haut.” — Roquefort. 3 Thus in the manuscript. On the tomb the reading here is autiel; doubtless the word intended. “ Auteil; pareil, de meme.” — Roquefort. 4 The correct reading may be celestieu. Roquefort gives both celestiau and celestien. 3 Thus written, as likewise on the tomb. Roquefort gives “ Arme ; ame, esprit,” etc. 196 WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. Tout cil qe pur moi prieront, ou a Dieu m’acorderont, Dieu les mette en son parays, 1 (sic) ou uul ne poet estre cheitifs. 2 Et volons qe a quele heure qe notre corps soit amenez par my la ville de Canterbirs tantqe & la priorie, qe deux destrex covertz de noz armez, et deux hommez armez en noz armez et en noz heaumes voisent devant dit notre corps, c’est assa- voir, Tun pur la guerre de noz armez entiers quartellez, et l'autre pur la paix de noz bages des plumes d’ostruce ove quatre baneres de mesme la sute, et qe chacum de ceux qe porteront lez ditz baneres ait sur sa teste un chapeu de noz armes. Et qe celi qe sera armez pur la guerre ait un homme armez portant a pres li un penon de noir ove plumes d’ostruce. Et volons qe le herce soit fait entre le haut autier et le cuer, dedeyns le quel nous voloms qe notre corps soit posee, tant¬ qe les vigiliez, messes et les divines services soient faites ; lesquelx services ensi faitez, soit notre corps portes en l’avant dite chappelle de notre dame ou il sera ensevillez. Item, nous donnons et devisoms al haut autier de la dite eglise notre vestement de velvet vert embroudez d’or, avec tout ce qe apperptient (sic) au dit vestement. Item, deux bacyns d’or un chalix avec le pat.yn d’or, noz armez graves sur le pie, et deux cruetz d’or, et un ymage de la Trinite a mettre sur le dit autier, et notre grande croix d’argent suzorrez et enamel- lez, c’est assavoir la meliour croix qe nous avons d’argent; toutes lesqueles chosez nouz donnons et devisons au dit au¬ tier a y servir perpetuelement, sainz jammes le mettre en autre oeps pur nul mischiefs. Item, nous donnons et devi¬ sons al autier de notre dame en la chappelle surdite notre blank vestiment tout entier diapree d’une vine 8 d’azure, et 1 Mr. Nichols printed this word paradys as Weever, Dart, Sandford, and others had given it. On the tomb the reading is paray , which usu¬ ally signifies in old French, paroi, mur, Lat. paries. Compare Roque¬ fort, “ Paradis, parehuis, parvis, place qui est devant une eglise, etc., en has Lat. parvisius.” 2 The inscription as it actually appears on the tomb is not literally in accordance with the transcript here given, but the various readings are not of importance. The inscription is given accurately by Mr. Kempe in the account of the tomb, in Stothard’s Monumental Effigies. 3 This word is printed by Mr. Nichols vine. The white tissue was WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. 197 anxi le frontel qe l’evesqe d’Excestre nous donna, q’est de l’as- surnpcion de notre dame en mylieu severee d’or et d'autre ymagerie, et un tabernacle de Passumpcioun de notre dame, qe le dit evesqe nous donna auxi, et deux grandez chande- labres d’argent qe sont tortillez, et deux bacyns de noz armez et un grand chalix suzorre et enameillez des armez de Gar- renne, ove deux cruetz taillez come deux angeles, pur servir a mesme l’autier perpetuelement, sainz jamez le mettre en autre oeps pur nul meschief. Item, nous donnons et devi- sons notre sale 1 des plumes d’ostruce de tapicerie noir et la bordure rouge, ove cignes ove testez de dames, cest assavoir un dossier, et huyt pieces pur lez costers, et deux banqueres, a la dit esglise de Canterbirs. Et volons qe le dossier soit taillez ensi come mielz sera avis a noz executours pur servir devant et entour le haut autier, et ce qe ne busoignera a servir illec du remenant du dit dossier, et auxi les ditz ban¬ queres, volons qe soit departiz a servir devant Fautier la ou monseignour saint Thomas gist, et it l’autier la ou la teste est, et a l’autier la ou la poynte de l’espie est, et entour notre corps en la dite chappelle de notre dame Undercrofte, si avant come il purra suffiere. Et voloms qe les costres de la dit Sale soient pur pendre en le quer tout d u long para- mont les estallez, et en ceste manere ordenons ^ servir et estre user en memorial de nous, k la feste de la Trinite, et a toutz lez principalez festes de l’an, et a lez festes et jour de Monseignour saint Thomas, et a toutez lez festes de notre dame, et les jours auxi de notre anniversaire perpetuelement, tant come ils purront durer sainz jamez estre mys en autre oeps. Item, nous donnons et devisons a notre chapelle de ceste notre dite dame Undercrofte, en la quele nous avoms fondes une chanterie de deux chapellayns a chanter pur nous perpetuelement, nostre missal et nostre portehors, lesquelx probably diapered with a trailing or branched pattern in azure, in form of a vine. 1 A complete set of hangings for a chamber was termed a ‘‘Hall ” ( salle), and by analogy a large tent or pavilion formed of several pieces was called a “ Hallthe hangings ( aulceci ) were also called “ Hallynges.” 198 WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. nous mesmes avons fait faire et enlimyner de noz armures en diversez lieux, et auxi de nos bages dez plumes d’ostruce; et ycelx missal et portehors ordenons a servir perpetuelement en la dite chappelle sainz James le mettre en autre oeps pur nul meschief; et de toutez cestes choses chargeons les armes des Priour et Couvent de la dite eglise, sicome ils vorront re- spondre devant Dieu. Item, nous donnons et divisons a la dite chappelle deux vestementz sengles, cest assavoir, aube, amyt, chesyble, estole et fanon, avec towaille covenables a chacum des ditz vestementz, a servir auxi en la dite chapelle perpet¬ uelement. Item, nous donnons et devisons notre grand table d’or et d’argent tout pleyn dez precieuses reliques, et en my lieu un croix de ligno sancte crucis, et la dite table est garniz di perres et de perles, c’est assavoir, vingt cynq baleis, trent quatre safirs, cinquant oyt perles grosses, et plusours autres safirs, emeraudes et perles petitz, a la haut autier de notre meson d’Assherugge q’est de notre fundacioun, 1 a servir per¬ petuelement au dit autier, sanz jamez le mettre en autre oeps pur nul meschief; et de ce chargeons les armes du Rectour et du Couvent de la dite meson a respondre devant- Dieu. Item, nous donnons et devisons le remen ant de touz 1 Mr. Nichols supposes this to he the Augustine College at Ash ridge, Bucks, founded by Edmund, Earl of Cornwall, about 1283, but he was un¬ able to trace any part taken by the Black Prince in the affairs of that house. In the last edition of Dugdale’s Monasticon, vi. 515, it is stated that a copy of the statutes given to this house about a century after the foundation is preserved at Ashridge House. These, therefore, may have been given in the times of the Black Prince. A copy of the Ashridge Statutes is now at Ashridge ; the originals being in the Episcopal Registry of Lincoln, They bear date April 20,1376, just before the Prince’s death. He is expressly called the founder; and the reason given is, that he granted money for the maintenance of twenty brethren, — which was the number of the original foundation, though, owing to want of funds, seven priests only had been hitherto on the list. Arch¬ deacon Todd (in a privately printed history of Berkhamstead) observes that there is a similar instance of the Prince claiming as his own founda¬ tion what was really founded by the Earl of Cornwall at Wallingford, which the Prince calls “ notre chapelle,” though he only re-established it. For this information I am indebted to the Rev. J. W. Cobb, formerly curate of Berkhamstead. WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. 199 noz vestimentz, draps d’or, le tabernacle de la Resurrec- cioun, deux cixtes 1 d’argent suzorrez et enameillez d’une sute, croix, chalix cruetz, chandelabres, bacyns, liveres, et touz noz autrez ornementz appetenantz a seinte eglise, a notre chapelle de saint Nicholas dedeynz notre cbastel de Walyngforde, 2 a y servir et demurer perpetuelement, sanz jamez le mettre en autre oeps; et de ceo chargeons les arrnes des doien et souz doyen de la dite chapelle a respon- dre devant Dieu, horspris toutesfoiz le vestement blu avec rosez d’or et plumes d’ostruce, liquel vestement tout entier avec tout ce qe appertient a ycelle nous donnons et devisons a notre filz Richard, ensemble avec le lit qe nous avons de mesme la sute et tout l’apparaille du dit lit, lequele notre tresredote seignour et pere le Roy nous donna. Item, nous donnons et devisons & notre dit filz notre lit palee de baude- kyn et de camaca rouge q’est tout novel, avec tout ce qe appertient au dit lit. Item, nous donons et devisons a notre dit filz notre grand lit des angeles enbroudez, avec les quissyns, tapitz, coverture, linceaux et tout entierement l’autre apparalle appertienant au dit lit. Item, nous don- nons et devisons a notre dit filz la Sale d’arras du pas de Saladyn, et auxi la Sale de Worstede embroudez avec mer- myns de mier, et la bordure de rouge de noir pales et em- broudes de cignes ove testez de dames et de plumes d’ostruce, lesqueles Sales nous volons qe notre dit filz ait avec tout ce qe appartient a ycelle. Et quant a notre vesselle d’argent, porce qe nous pen sons qe nous receumes avec notre com- paigne la princesse au temps de notre mariage, jusqes a la value de sept centz marcs d’esterlinges de la vesselle de notre dit compaigne, Nous volons qe elle ait du notre tantqe a la dite value; et du remenant de notre dit vesselle nous volons qe notre dit filz ait une partie covenable pur son estat, solonc l’avis de noz executeurs. Item, nous donnons et devi- 1 Cistes, cistcs, shrines. 2 Of this collegiate chapel, see the last edition of Dugdale’s Monasticon, vi. 1330. In 1356 the Prince had granted to it the advowson of the church of Harewell, Berkshire. 209 WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. sons a notre dit compaigne la princesse la Sale de Worstede rouge d’egles et griffons embroudez, avec la bordure de cignes ove testes de dames. Item, nous devisoms a Sire Roger de Claryndone 1 un lit de soie solonc l’avis de noz executours, avec tout ce qe appertient au dit lit. Item, nous donnons et devisons a Sire Robert de Walsham notre confessour un grand lit de rouge camoca avec noz armes embroudes a checum cornere, et le dit Camaka est diapreez en li mesmes des armes de Hereford, avec le celure entiere, curtyns, quis- syns, traversin, tapitz de tapiterie, et tout entierment l’autre apparaille. Item, nous donnons et devisons a mons’r Alayn Cheyne notre lit de camoca blank poudres d’egles d’azure, c’est assavoir, quilte, dossier, celure entiere, curtyns, quis- syns, traversyn, tapiz, et tout entierement l’autre apparaille. Et tout le remenant de noz biens et chateaux auxi bien vessel d’or et joialx come touz autere biens ou q’ils soient, outre ceux qe nous avons dessuz donnes et devisez come dit est, auxi toutez maneres des dettes a nous duex, en queconqe manere qe ce soit, ensemble avec touz les issuez et profitz qe purront sourdre et avenir de touz nos terrez et seignouries, par trois ans a pres ce qe dieux aura faite sa volonte de nous, lesquelx profitz notre dit seignour et pere nous a ottroiez pur paier noz dettetz, Nous ordenons et devisoms si bien pur les despenz funerales qe convenront necessairement estre faites pur nostre estat, come pur acquiter toutez noz dettez par les mains de noz executours, sique ils paient primerement les dis despencz funerales, et apres acquiptent principalement toutez les debtes par nous loialement dehues. Et cestes choses et perfourmez come dit est si rien remeint de noz ditz biens et chateaux, nous volons qe adonqes noz ditz executours solonc la quantite enguerdonnent noz povres servantz egalement 1 Sir Roger was a natural son of the Prince, horn probably at Clarendon, and thence named. See Sandford, Geneal. Hist., p. 189. He was made one of the knights of the chamber to his half-brother, Richard II., who granted to him an annuity of £100 per annum, in 1389. He bore Or, on a bend, Sa, three ostrich feathers Arg ., the quills transfixed through as many scrolls of the first. WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. 201 selonc leur degreez et desertes si avant come ils purront avoir informacione de ceux qe en ont melliour cognissance, si come ils en vorront respondre devant Dieu au jour de Juggement, ou nul ne sera jugge qe un seul. Et quant a les annuytes qe nous avons donnes a noz chivalers, esquiers, et autres noz servitours, en gueredon des services q’ils nous ont fait et des travalx q’ils ont eeu entour nous, notre en- tiere et darriene volunte est qe les dictes annuytees estoisent, et qe touz ceux asquelx nous les avons donnes en soient bien et loialement serviz et paiez, solonc le purport de notre doun et de noz letres quels en ont de nous. Et chargeoms notre filz Richard sur notre beneson de tenir et confermer a che- cum quantqe nous lour avons ensi donnez, et si avant come Dieu nous a donnez poair sur notre dit filz nouz li donnons notre malison s’il empesche ou soeffre estre empesches en quantqe en il est notre dit doun. Et de cest notre testa¬ ment, liquel nous volons estre tenuz et perfourmez pur notre darreine volunte, fesons et ordenons noz executors notre tres- cher et tresame frere d’Espaigne, Due de Lancastre, les rev- erenz peres en Dieu, William Evesqe de Wyncestre, 1 Johan Evesqe de Bathe, 2 3 William Evesqe de Saint Assaphe, 8 notre trescher en Dieu sire Robert de Walsham notre confessour, Hughe de Segrave Senescal de noz terres, Aleyn de Stokes, et Johan de Fordham; lesquelx nous prioms, requerons et chargeoms de executer et acomplir loialment toutez les choses susdites. En tesmoignance de toutez et checunes les choses susdites nous avons fait mettre a cest notre testament et darreine volunte nous prive et secree sealx, 4 * * * et avons 1 William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, 1367-1404. 2 John Harewell, Chancellor of Gascony and Chaplain to the Prince, was Bishop of Bath, 1366-1386. 3 William de Springlington was appointed Bishop of St. Asaph, Feb. 4, 1376, in the same year that the Prince’s will is dated. 4 This expression deserves notice, as showing the distinction between the Sigillum 'privatum and the secretum. The seals of the Black Prince are numerous ; eight are described by Sir H. Nicolas in his Memoir (Archseo- logia, xxxi. 361), but none of them are identified with the seals above mentioned. The secree seal was doubtless the same kind of seal described 202 WILL OF THE BLACK PRINCE. auxi commandez notre notair dessous escript de mettre notre dite darriere volunte et testament en fourme publique, et de soy souz escriere et le signer et mercher de' son signe acus- tumez, en tesmoignance de toutez et checunes les choses dessusdictes. Et ego, Johannes de Ormeshevede, clericus Karliolensis diocesis publicus autoritate apostolica Notarius, premissis omnibus et singulis dum sic ut premittitur sub anno Dom¬ ini Millesimo, ccc. septuagesimo sexto, Indictione quarta- decima, pontificatus sanctissimi in Christo patris et domini nostri domini Gregorii, divina providentia pape, undecimi, anno sexto, mense, die et loco predictis, predictum rnetuen- dissimum dominum meum principem agerentur et fierent, presentibus reverendo in Christo patre domino Johanne Herefordensi Episcopo, dominis Lodewico de Clifford, Nicho- lao Bonde, et Nicholao de Scharnesfelde, militibus, et domino Willelmo de Walsham clerico, ac aliis pluribus militibus, clericis et scutiferis, unacum ipsis presens fui eaque sic fieri vidi et audivi, et de mandato dicti domini mei principis scripsi, et in hanc publicam formam redegi, signoque meis et nomine consuetis signavi rogatus in fidem et testimonium omnium premissorum, constat michi notario predicto de interlinear’ ha- rum dictionum — tout est , per me fact, superius approbando. Probatio dicti Testamenti coram Simone Cantuar’ Ar- chiepiscopo, iv. Idus Junii, M.ccc.lxxvj. in camera infra scepta domus fratrum predicatorum Conventus London’. Nostre Translationis anno secundo. A marginal note records that John, Bishop of Durham, and Alan Stokes, executors of the will, had rendered their account of the goods, and have a full acquittance as also in other instances as the Privy Signet. The will of Edward III. was sealed “sigillo privato et signeto nostris,” with the Great Seal in confirmation. Richard II. on his deposition took from his finger a ring of gold of his own Privy Signet, and put it on the Duke of Lancaster’s finger. The will of Henry V. was sealed with the Great and Privy Seals and the Privy Signet. 203 NOTES ON THE WILL. another acquittance from the Prior and Chapter of Christ Church, Canterbury, for the legacies bequeathed to that church, as appears in the Register of William (Courtenay) Archbishop of Canterbury, under the year 1386. NOTES ON THE WILL OF EDWARD PRINCE OF WALES. In perusing the foregoing document, so characteristic of the habitual feelings and usages of the times, and of deep interest in connection with the history of the Prince, we cannot fail to remark with surprise the deviation from his last wishes in regard to the position of his tomb. The instructions here minutely detailed were probably written, from his own dictation, the day previous to his decease; 1 and it were only reasonable to conclude that injunctions so solemnly delivered would have been fulfilled with scru¬ pulous precision by the executors even in the most minute particulars. We are unable to suggest any probable ex¬ planation of the deviations which appear to have taken place; neither the chronicles of the period nor the rec¬ ords of the Church of Canterbury throw light upon the subject. According to the instructions given by the Prince, the corpse on reaching the church was for a time to be depos¬ ited on a hearse, or temporary stage of framework, to be constructed between the high altar and the choir, — namely, in that part of the fabric designated by Professor Willis as the presbytery, parallel with the eastern transepts. There it w T as to remain, surrounded doubtless by the torches and 1 The day given in the printed text of Walsingham, Hist. Angl., p. 190, as that of the Prince’s death, namely, July 8, is obviously incorrect. It is singular that Mr. Nichols should have followed this inadvertent error. (Royal Wills, p. 77.) Trinity Sunday in the year 1376 fell on June 8; and that is the day stated in the inscription on the tomb to have been that on which the Prince died. 204 NOTES ON THE WILL. all the customary funeral pageantry of the hearse, until the vigils, masses, and divine services were completed. The remains of the Prince were then to be conveyed to the Chapel of our Lady Under Croft, and there interred ; it is further enjoined that the foot of the tomb should be ten feet from the altar. If therefore it may be assumed, as appears highly probable, that the position of that chapel and altar at the period in question was identical with that of the Lady Chapel, of which we now see the remains in the centre of the crypt, it would appear that the site selected by Edward as his last resting-place was situated almost pre¬ cisely below the high-altar in the choir above. It is obvi¬ ous that the screen-work and decorations of the chapel, now existing in a very dilapidated condition, are of a period subsequent to that of the Prince’s death; and some have attributed the work to Archbishop Morton, towards the close of the fifteenth century. This, it will be remembered, is the Chapel of Our Lady, the surprising wealth of which is described by Erasmus, who by favor of an introduction from Archbishop Warham was admitted within the iron screens by which the treasure w r as strongly guarded. 1 Here, then, in the obscurity of the crypt, and not far distant from the chantries which the Prince at the time of his marriage had founded in the Under Croft of the south transept, was the spot where Edward enjoined his executors to construct his tomb. It were vain to conjecture, in de¬ fault of any evidence on the subject, to what cause the de¬ viation from his dying wishes was owing; what difficulties may have been found in the endeavor to carry out the in¬ terment in the crypt, or what arguments may have been used by the prior and convent to induce the executors to place the tomb in the more conspicuous and sightly position 1 Pilgrimage to St. Thomas of Canterbury, translated by John G. Nichols, p. 56. An interior view of this chapel is given by Dart, pi. ix., showing also the large slab in the pavement once encrusted with an effigy of brass, sometimes supposed to cover the burial-place of Archbishop Morton. NOTES ON THE WILL. 205 above, near the shrine of St. Thomas, in the Chapel of the Trinity, where it is actually to be seen. 1 The instructions given by the Prince for the solemn pageant present a striking and characteristic picture of his obsequies, as the procession passed through the West Gate and along the High Street towards the cathedral. He en¬ joined that two chargers ( dextrarii ), with trappings of his arms and badges, and two men accoutred in his panoply and wearing his helms should precede the corpse. One clieval de dale is often mentioned in the splendid funer¬ als of former times. In this instance there were two ; one of them bearing the equipment of war, with the quarterly bearings of France and England, as seen upon the effigy of Edward, and upon the embroidered surcoat still suspended over it. The array of the second was directed to be pur la ; paix , de noz bages des plumes d'ostruce ; namely, that which the Prince had used in the lists and in the chivalrous exercises of arms distinguished from actual warfare, and termed hastiludia pacijica , or“justes of peas.” 2 Four sa¬ ble banners of the same suit, with the ostrich plumes, accompanied this noble pageant, and behind the war-horse followed a man armed, bearing a pennon, likewise charged with ostrich plumes. This was the smaller flag, or streamer, attached to the warrior’s lance; and it may here, probably, be regarded as representing that actually carried in the field by the Prince. 3 1 The supposition that the tomb of the Prince might have been origi¬ nally placed in the crypt, and removed subsequently into the Chapel of the Trinity, may appear very improbable. Yet it may be observed that the iron railings around the monuments of Edward and of Henry IV. are ap¬ parently of the same age, and wrought by the same workman, as shown by certain ornamental details. This might seem to sanction a conjecture that the two tombs had been placed there simultaneously, that of the Prince having possibly been moved thither from the Under Croft when the memorial of Henry was erected. 2 See the curious documents and memoir relating to the peaceable Justs or Tiltings of the Middle Ages, by Mr. Douce, Archseologia, xvii. 290. 3 A remarkable illustration of these instructions in Edward’s will is supplied by an illumination in the “ Metrical History of the Deposition of 206 NOTES ON THE WILL. There can be little doubt that on the beam above the Prince’s tomb at Canterbury there were originally placed two distinct atchevements, composed of the actual accou¬ trements, par la guerre and pur la padx, which had figured in these remarkable funeral impersonations. It was the cus¬ tom, it may be observed, when the courser and armor of the deceased formed part of a funeral procession, that the former was regarded as a mortuary due to the church in which the obsequies were performed, but the armor was usually hung up near the tomb. There may still be noticed two iron standards on the beam above mentioned, now bear¬ ing the few remaining reliques of these atchevements. One of these standards probably supported the embroidered armorial surcoat, or “coat of worship,” by which Edw r ard had been distinguished in the battle-field, charged with the bearings of France and England, his helm, his shield of war, likewise displaying the same heraldic ensigns, and the other appliances of actual warfare. The second trophy was doubt¬ less composed of his accoutrements for the joust, characterized not by the proper charges of heraldry, but by his favorite badge of the ostrich feather, the origin of which still perplexes the antiquary. Conformably, moreover, to such arrangement of the twofold atchevements over the tomb, the escutcheons affixed to its sides are alternately of war and peace ; namely, charged with the quarterly bearing, and with the feathers on a sable field. In regard to these richly enamelled escutcheons the Prince’s instructions were given with much precision. They were to be tw r elve in number, each a foot wide, formed of latten or hard brass; six being de nos armez entiers , and the remainder of ostrich feathers; et qe sur chacun escuchon soil escript, c’est assavier sur cellez de nos armez et sur les autres des plumes d'ostruce , — Houmout. Here, again, the tomb pre- Richard II.,” where that king appears with a black snrcoat powdered with ostrich plumes, his horse in trappings of the same, and a pennon of the like badge carried behind him. Richard is represented in the act of confer¬ ring knighthood on Henry of Monmouth. (Archseologia, xx. 32, pi. ii.) NOTES ON THE WILL. 207 sents a perplexing discrepancy from tlie letter of the will, which Sir Harris Nicolas, Mr. Planche, and other writers have noticed. The escutcheons of arms are actually surmounted by labels inscribed lioumout; whilst those with ostrich feathers have the motto ich diene , not mentioned in the Prince’s ENAMELLED ESCUTCHEON AFFIXED TO THE ALTAR TOMB IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL UPON WHICH THE EFFIGY OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE IS PLACED. injunctions. It must, however, be considered that the text of his will has not been obtained from the original in¬ strument (no longer, probably, in existence), but from a transcript in Archbishop Sudbury’s Register; and the suppo¬ sition seems probable that the copier may have inadver¬ tently omitted the words ich diene after noz armez , and the 208 NOTES ON THE WILL. sentence as it now stands appears incomplete. Still, even if this conjecture be admitted, the mottoes over the al¬ ternate escutcheons are transposed, as compared with the Prince’s directions. The origin and import of these mottoes have been largely discussed; it may suffice to refer to the arguments ad- ENAMELLED ESCUTCHEON AFFIXED TO THE ALTAR TOMB IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL UPON WHICH THE EFFIGY OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE IS PLACED. vanced by the late Sir Harris Nicolas and by Mr. Planche (Archaeologia, xxxi. 357, 372, and xxxii. 69). 1 The most remarkable fact connected with this subject is that the Prince actually used these mottoes as a sign-manual; 1 See also Mr. Planche’s History of British Costume, p. 178. NOTES ON THE WILL. 209 thus : Be par homout Ich dene , the mottoes being written one over the other, and enclosed within a line traced around them. This interesting signature was first noticed in a com¬ munication to the Spalding Society, some years since, and a fac-simile engraved in Mr. Nichols’s “ Bibliotheca Topogra¬ phical Another document thus signed, and preserved in the Tower, was communicated by Mr. Hardy to the late Sir Harris Nicolas. It has been published in his “ Memoir on the Badges and Mottoes of the Prince of Wales,” before cited. 1 I am indebted to the obliging courtesy of the Vis¬ count Mahon, President of the Society of Antiquaries, whose kindness enables me to place before the reader of these notes a faithful representation of the Prince’s signature, as also the accompanying illustrations of the subject under considera¬ tion, being woodcuts prepared for the “ Memoirs,” by Sir Harris Nicolas, in the “ Archseologia.” A brief notice of the interesting reliques which still remain over the tomb may here be acceptable. 2 The chief of these is the gamboised jupon of one pile crimson velvet, with short sleeves somewhat like the tabard of the herald, but 1 Archaeologia, xxxi. 358, 381. The document in the Tower which bears this signature is dated April 25, 1370, being a warrant granted to John de Esquet for fifty marks per annum out of the exchequer of Ches¬ ter. The document given in “ Bibliotheca Topographical’ iii. 90, seems not to have been noticed by Sir Harris Nicolas. It is described as a grant of twenty marks per annum, to John de Esquet, dated 34 Edw. III. (1360-1361). 2 I regret much that I was unable to examine these highly interesting reliques. The following particulars are from the notes by Mr. Kempe in the letterpress of Stothard’s Effigies, where admirable representations of these objects are given ; a short account by Mr. J. Gough Nichols, in the “ Gen¬ tleman’s Magazine,” xxii. 384, and Mr. Hartshorne’s Memoir on Mediaeval Embroidery, Archaeological Journal, iii. 326, 327. 14 210 NOTES ON THE WILL. laced up the back; the foundation of the garment being of buckram, stuffed with cotton, and quilted in longitudinal ribs. The sleeves, as well as both front and back, of this coat display the quarterly bearing, the fleurs-de-lys ( semees ) and lions being embroidered in gold. Recently it has been lined with leather for its better preservation. The shield is of wood, covered with moulded leather, or cuir bouilli, wrought with singular skill, so that th e fleur-de-lys and lions of the quarterly bearing which it displays preserve the sharp¬ ness of finish and bold relief in remarkable perfection. The iron conical-topped helm is similar in form to that placed under the head of the effigy; its original lining of leather may be seen, a proof of its having been actually intended for use ; it has, besides the narrow ocidaria, or transverse apertures for sight, a number of small holes pierced on the right side in front, probably to give air; they are arranged in form of a crown. Upon the red chapeau, or cap of estate, lined with velvet, with the ermined fore-part turned up, was placed the gilded lion which formed the crest. This is hol¬ low, and constructed of some light substance, stated to be pasteboard, coated with a plastic composition, on which the shaggy locks of the lion’s skin were formed by means of a mould. The chapeau and crest were, it is said, detached from the helm some years since, on the occasion of a visit by the Duchess of Kent to Canterbury. The gauntlets are of brass, differing only from those of the effigy in hav¬ ing been ornamented with small lions riveted upon the knuckles ; the leather which appears on the inside is worked up the sides of the fingers with silk. 1 The fact that these gauntlets are of brass may deserve notice, as suggesting the probability that the entire suit which served as a model for 1 It is to be regretted that the curious lioucels on the Prince’s gaunt¬ lets should have been detached by “collectors.” One was shown me at Canterbury, now in private hands, which I much desire were deposited in the Library, in Dr. Bargrave’s cabinet of coins and antiquities, or in some other place of safe custody. Another was in the possession of a Kentish collector, whose stores were dispersed by public auction a few years since. NOTES ON THE WILL. 211 the effigy of the Prince was of that metal. The scabbard of red leather with gilt studs, and a fragment of the belt of thick cloth, with a single buckle, alone remain; it has been stated, on what authority I have not been able to ascertain, that the sword was carried away by Cromwell. 1 A representation has happily been preserved of another re- lique, originally part of the funeral atchevements of the Black Prince, and which may have formed a portion of the accou¬ trements pur la paix. Edmund Bolton, in his u Elements of Armories,” printed in 1610, remarks that the ancient fashion of shields was triangular, — namely, that of the shield still to be seen over the Prince’s tomb, — but that it was not the only form; and he gives two examples, one being the “ honorary ” shield belonging to the most renowned Edward Prince of Wales, whose tomb is in the Cathedral Church in Canterbury. “ There (beside his quilted coat-armour with halfe-sleeves, taberd-fashion, and his triangular shield, both of them painted with the royall armories of our kings, and differenced with silver labels) hangs this kinde of Pavis or 1 On this subject it may be worth while to insert a letter received from the Rev. A. D. Wray, Canon of Manchester, in the hope of eliciting further information on the fate of the sword. — A. P. S. “The sword, or supposed sword of the Black Prince, which Oliver Crom¬ well is said to have carried away, I have seen and many times have had in my hands. There lived in Manchester, when I first came here (1809) a Mr. Thomas Barritt, a saddler by trade; he was a great antiquarian, and had collected together helmets, coats of mail, horns, etc., and many coins. But what he valued most of all was a sword : the blade about two feet long, and on the blade was let in, in letters of gold, ‘ Edwardus Wallie Princeps.’ I see, from a drawing which I possess of himself and his curiosities, he was in possession of this sword a.d. 1794. He told me he purchased many of the ancient relics of a pedler, who travelled through the country selling earth¬ enware, and I think he said he got this sword from this pedler. When Barritt died, in October, 1820, aged seventy-six, his curiosities were sold by his widow at a raffle; but I believe this sword was not among the articles so disposed of. It had probably been disposed of beforehand, but to whom I never knew; yet I think it not unlikely that it is still in the neighbor¬ hood. Mrs. Barritt is long since dead, and her only child a daughter, leaving no representative. The sword was a little curved, scimitar-like, rather thick, broad blade, and had every appearance of being the Black Prince’s sword. Mr. Barritt had made a splendid scabbard to hold it.” 212 NOTES ON THE WILL. Targat, 1 curiously (for those times) embost and painted, the scucheon in the bosse beeing worne out, and the Armes (which it seems were the same with his coate-armour, and not any peculiar devise) defaced, and is altogether of the same kinde with that, upon which (Froissard reports) the dead body of the Lord Robert of Duras, and nephew to the Cardinall of Pierregourt was laid, and sent unto that Cardi- nall from the battell of Poictiers, where the Black Prince obtained a victorie, the renowne whereof is immortall.” The form of this Pavis is ovoid, that is, an oval narrowing towards the bottom : in the middle is a circle, apparently designated by Bolton as “ the bosse,” the diameter of which is considerably more than half the width of the shield at that part; this circle encloses an escutcheon of the arms of France and England quarterly, with a label of three points. All the rest of the shield around this circle is diapered with a trailing or foliated ornament. 2 Unfortunately, Bolton has not recorded the dimensions of this shield; but it may prob¬ ably be concluded from his comparing it with the targe, mentioned by Froissart, upon which the corpse of Duras was conveyed, that it was of larger proportions than the ordinary triangular war-shield. The Holy Trinity, it has been remarked, was regarded with especial veneration by the Black Prince. In the Or¬ dinance of the chantries founded at Canterbury, printed in this volume, page 188, the Prince states his purpose to be ad honorem Sancte Trinitatis quam peculiari devoci- one semper colimus . On the wooden tester beneath which his effigy is placed, a very curious painting in distemper may still be discerned, representing the Holy Trinity ; 1 A woodcut is introduced here in the description. (Elements of Armories, p. 67.) It has been copied in Brayley’s Graphic Illustrator, p. 128. It is remarkable that Bolton should assert that the arms both on the quilted coat and on the triangular shield were differenced by a label of silver: none is now to be seen ; the silver may possibly have become effaced. The label appears on the shield figured by Bolton, as also on the effigy. 2 A jousting-shield in the Goodrich Court Armory is decorated with gilt foliage in very similar style. See Skelton’s Illustrations, vol. i. pi. xii. ftOTES ON THE WILL. 213 according to the usual conventional symbolism, the Su¬ preme Being is here portrayed seated on the rainbow and holding a crucifix, the foot of which is fixed on a terra¬ queous globe. The four angles contain the Evangelistic REPRESENTATION OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE KNEELING IN VENERA¬ TION OF THE HOLT TRINITY. From a metal badge preserved in the British Museum. (Of the same dimensions as the original.) symbols. An interesting illustration of the Prince’s peculiar veneration for the Holy Trinity is supplied by the curious metal badge, preserved in the British Museum, and of which Sir Harris Nicolas has given a representation in his “ Ob- 214 NOTES ON THE WILL. servations on the Institution of the Order of the Gar¬ ter.” 1 On this relique the Prince appears kneeling before a figure of the Almighty holding a crucifix, almost iden¬ tical in design with the painting above mentioned. His gauntlets lie on the ground before him; he is bareheaded, the crested helm being held by an angel standing behind; and above is seen another angel issuing from the clouds, and holding his shield, charged with the arms of France and England, differenced by a label. The whole is surrounded by a Garter, inscribed hony soyt he mol y pense. It is remarkable that on this plate, as also in the painting on the tester of the tomb, the dove, usually introduced to symbol¬ ize the third person of the Holy Trinity, does not appear. There are other matters comprised in this remarkable will to which time does not allow me to advert. It ap¬ peared very desirable to give, with greater accuracy than had hitherto been done, the text of a document so essential to the illustration of the History of Edward, as connected with the Cathedral Church of Canterbury. 2 1 Archaeologia, xxxi. 141. This object is a casting in pewter or mixed white metal, from a mould probably intended for making badges, which- may have been worn by the Prince’s attendants affixed to the dress. 2 It is with pleasure that I here acknowledge the courtesy of the Rev. J. Thomas, Librarian to the Archbishop, in giving facilities for the collation of the transcript of the Prince’s will preserved amongst the Records at Lambeth Palace. HIS CONNECTION WITH QUEEN’S COLLEGE, ETC. 215 I. WAS THE BLACK PRINCE AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD 1 The tradition of the Black Prince’s connection with Queen’s College and with Wycliffe, as stated in the text, must, I find, be taken with considerable reservation. With regard to the Black Prince, the Bursars’ rolls, which are extant as far back as 1347, exhibit, I am informed, no traces of his stay • and the early poverty of the college is thought to be a strong presumption against it. With regard to Wycliffe, the Bursars’ rolls exhibit various expenses incurred for a chamber let to Wycliffe (“Magis- ter Joh. Wyclif”) in 1363-1375. 1 This probably is the foundation of the story that he was there as a student ; and if so, the supposition that he may have been there in 1346, at the same time with the Black Prince, falls to the ground. II. DID THE BLACK PRINCE COME TO CANTERBURY AFTER THE BATTLE OF POITIERS ? It appears from a letter in Bymer’s “ Foedera,” that the Prince was expected to land at Plymouth ; it is stated by Knyghton that he actually did so. The question, there¬ fore, arises whether Froissart’s detailed account of his arrival at Sandwich and of his subsequent journey to Canterbury, as given in the Note, can be reconciled with those intima¬ tions ; or if not, which authority must give way 1 1 See notes to the last edition of Fox’s Acts and Martyrs, p. 940. THE SHRINE OF ST. THOMAS OF CANTERBURY. The authorities for the subject of the following Essay are, besides the chroniclers and historians of the time, and the ordinary text-books of Canterbury antiquities, — Somner, Batteley, Hasted, and Willis: (1) Erasmus’s Pilgrimage to Canterbury and Walsingham, as edited with great care and copious illustrations by Mr. Nichols; (2) Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, as edited by Tyrwhitt, and the “ Sup¬ plementary Tale,” as edited by Mr. Wright, in the twenty-sixth volume of the Percy Society. To these I have added, in an Appendix, ex¬ tracts from sources less generally accessible : (1) A manuscript history of Canterbury Cathedral, in Norman French, entitled “ Polistoire,” now in the British Museum, of the time of Edward II.; (2) The Narrative of the Bohemian Embassy, in the reign of Edward IV.; (3) The manuscript Defence of Henry VIII., by William Thomas, of the time of Edward VI., in the British Museum ; (4) Some few notices of the Shrine in the Archives of Canterbury Cathedral, — which last are subjoined to this Essay, as collected and annotated by Mj\ Albert Way, who has also added notes on the “ Pilgrim’s Koad” and on the “ Pilgrimage of John of France.” I have also appended in this edition a note, by Mr. George Austin, of Canterbury, on the crescent above the shrine, and on the representation of the story of Becket’s miracles in the stained glass of the cathedral. THE SHRINE OF BECKET. MONGST the many treasures of art and of devo-