PRINCETON, N. J. Shelf.. BX 5195 .C3 S7 1883 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/historicalmemori00stan_1 Historical Memorials of Canterbury. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. HISTORICAL MEMORIALS OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY. From its Foundation to the Present Time. Illustrations. 8vo. 15*. SERMONS PREACHED in WESTMINSTER ABBEY on SPECIAL OCCASIONS. 8vo. CHRISTIAN INSTITUTIONS. Essays on Ecclesiastical Subjects. 8vo. 12*. HISTORY OF THE JEWISH CHURCH. From the Earliest Times to the Christian Era. 3 vols. 8vo. 38*. HISTORY OF THE EASTERN CHURCH. Plans. 8vo. HISTORY OF THE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND. 8vo. 7:. 6d. ST. PAUL'S EPISTLES TO THE CORINTHIANS, with Critical Notes and Dissertations. 8vo. i8i. SINAI AND PALESTINE, in Connexion with their History. Plans. 8vo. 14*. THE BIBLE IN- THE HOLY LAND. Extracted from the above Work for Village Schools, &c. Woodcuts. Fcap. 8vo. xs. 6d. SERMONS IN THE EAST. Preached during the Tour of the Prince of Wales. 8vo. oi. MEMOIR OF EDWARD, CATHERINE, AND MARY STANLEY. Post 8vo. 9*.- ADDRESSES AND CHARGES OF EDWARD STANLEY, D.D., Bishop of Norwich. 8vo. iqs. 6d. THE TRANSEPT OF THE MARTYRDOM, CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. historical Memorials of Canterbury. The Landing of Augustine. The Murder of Bccket. Edward the Black Prince. Beckefs Shrine. By ARTHUR P. ^STANLEY, D.D. DEAN Or WESTMINSTER, FORMERLY CANON OF CANTERBURY. TENTH EDITION. WITH ILL US 7 RATI OAS. LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 1883. LONDON : I'RINTKD BY WILLIAM CLoWKS AX1> SONS LIMITEP, 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. ILLUSTRATIONS. The Transept of the Martyrdom, Canterbury Cathe- dral . . . . . . . Frontispiece Plan of the Cathedral, at the time of the Murder of Btcket 86 The Crypt, Canterbury Cathedral 121 The Tomb of the Black Prince, in Canterbury Cathe- dral 152 Relics of the Black Prince suspended over his Tomb . . 154 Enamelled Escutcheons on the Tomb of the Black Prince 178, 179 Representation of the Black Prince, illustrating the Canopy over the Tomb 183 Canopy of the Black Prince's Tomb in Canterbury Cathedral 156 Becket's Shrine 231 Representation of Becket's Shrine in a Painted Window in Canterbury Cathedral . . . 300 CON T E NTS. I. — LANDING OF AUGUSTINE AND CONVERSION OF ETHELBERT. The five landings, 19; Gregory the Great, 21-24; Dialogue with the Anglo-Saxon slaves, 25-27 ; Mission of Augustine, 27, 28 ; Land- ing at Ebbe's Fleet, 28-30. Ethelbert and Bertha, 31 ; St. Martin's Church, 31 ; Interview of Ethelbert and Augustine, 32-34 ; Arrival of Augustine at Canter- bury, 35, 36 ; Stable-gate, 36 ; Baptism of Ethelbert and of the Kentish people, 36 ; Worship in the church of St. Pancras, 37 ; First endowment in the grant of the Cathedral of Canterbury, 39 ; Monastery, library, and burial-ground of St. Augustine's Abbey, 41 ; Foundation of the Sees of Rochester and London, 43 ; Death of Augustine, 44 ; Reculver, 44 ; Death of Ethelbert, 45. Effects of Augustine's mission : Primacy of Canterbury, 46, 47 ; Extent of English dioceses, 48 ; Toleration of Christian diversities, 49 ; Toleration of heathen customs, 50 ; Great results from small be- ginnings, 52. II.— MURDER OF BECKET. Variety of judgments on the event, 59 ; Sources of information, 60-62. Return of Becket from France ; Controversy with the Archbishop of York on the rights of coronation, 62, 63 ; Parting with the Abbot of St. Albans at Harrow, 65 ; Insults from the Brocs of Saltwood, 66 ; Scene in the Cathedral on Christmas-day, 66-68. Fury of the king, 69 ; The four knights, 70 ; Their arrival at Salt- wood, 72 ; at St. Augustine's Abbey, 73 ; The fatal Tuesday, 74 ; The entrance of the knights into the Palace, 75. Appearance of Becket, 76 ; Interview with the knights, 76-80 ; Their assault on the Palace, 81. Retreat of Becket to the Cathedral, 83 ; Miracle of the lock, 83 ; Scene in the Cathedral, 85 ; Entrance of the knights, 85 ; The transept of " The Martyrdom," 86-89. IO Contents. Meeting of the knights and the Archbishop, 89 ; Struggle, 90 ; The murder, 91-93 ; Plunder of the Palace, 94 ; The storm, 95. The dead body, 95 ; The watching in the choir, 96 ; The discovery of the hair-cloth, 97 ; The aurora borealis, 98. The morning, 99 ; Unwrapping of the corpse and discovery of the vermin, 99, 100 ; Burial in the crypt, 101 ; Desecration and re- consecration of the Cathedral, 101 ; Canonisation, 102. Escape of the murderers, 103 ; Turning-table at South Mailing, 103 ; Legend of their deaths, 104, 105 ; Their real history, 106 ; More- ville, Fitzurse, Bret, Fitzranulph, 107, 108; Tracy, 108-1 1 1 ; Pictorial representations of the murder, 112, 113. The king's remorse, 1 14 ; Penance at Argenton, Gorham, and Avran- ches, 116; Ride from Southampton, 119; Entrance into Canter- bury, 119; Penance in the crypt, 120; Absolution, 120; Con- clusion, 123. Ill, — EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. Historical lessons of Canterbury Cathedral, 130; The tombs, 131. Birth of the Black Prince, 132; Union of hereditary qualities, 132 ; Education at Queen's College, Oxford, 133 ; WycIifFe, 134. Battle of Cressy, 135-137 ; Name of "Black Prince," 138; Battle of Poitiers, 138-142. Visit to Canterbury, 142 ; " Black Prince's Well " at Harbledown, 142 ; " King John's Prison," 142. Marriage— chantry in the crypt, 143 ; " Fawkes' Hall," 143 ; Spanish campaign, 144 ; Return — sickness, 144 ; Appearance in Parlia- ment, 145 ; Death-bed, 145 ; Exorcism by the Bishop of Bangor, 147 ; Death, 148. Mourning, 148; Funeral, 150, 151 ; Tomb, 153; Effects of the Prince's life: (1) English and French wars, 1 57 ; (2) Chivalry — sack o< Limoges, 158 ; (3) First great English captain, and first English gentleman, 160. Appendix. 1. Ordinance for the two Chantries founded by the Black P»ince in the Undercroft of Christ Church, Canter- is j.;y, 163. 2. The Will of the Black Prince, 168. Notes by Mr. Albert Way, 175. Contents. 1 1 IV. — THE SHRINE OF BECKET. Comparative insignificance of Canterbury Cathedral before the murder of Becket, 189. Relative position of Christ Church and St. Augustine's, 190 ; Change effected by Archbishop Cuthbert, 193. Effect of the " Martyrdom," 194 ; Spread of the worship of St. Thomas in Italy, France, Syria, 196 ; in Scotland and England, 197 ; in London, 199. Altar of the Sword's Point, 200 ; Plunder by Roger and Benedict, 200. The tomb in the crypt, 201 ; Henry II., Louis VII., Richard I., John, 201. Erection of the Shrine, 202 ; The fire of 11 74, 202 ; William of Sens and William the Englishman, 203 ; Enlargement of the eastern end, 205 ; The watching chamber, 206. The translation of the relics in 1220, 206; Henry III., Langton, 206, 207. Pilgrimages, 209 ; Approach from Sandwich, 210 ; Approach from Southampton, 211 ; The " Pilgrims' Road," 211 ; Approach from London, 211 ; Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 211-216. Entrance into Canterbury, 217; Jubilees, 219; The inns, 220; The Chequers, 221 ; The convents, 222. Entrance into the Cathedral, 223. The nave, 224; The "Martyrdom," 225; The crypt, 226; The steps, 226 ; The crown, 229 ; The Shrine, 229 ; The Regale of France, 233. The well and the pilgrims' signs, 235 ; The dinner, 237 ; The town, 238 ; The return, 238. Greater pilgrims, 239; Edward I., 239; Isabella, 239; John of France, 239. Reaction against pilgrimage, 240 ; The Lollards, 240 ; Simon of Sud- bury, 241 ; Erasmus and Colet, 242 ; Scene at Harbledown, 245. Visit of Henry VIII. and Charles V., 247. The Reformation, 248 ; Abolition of the festival, 248 ; Cranmer's banquet, 249 ; Trial of Becket, 250 ; Visit of Madame de Mon- treal, 253; Destruction of the Shrine, 253; Proclama- tion, 255. I 2 Contents. Conclusion, 259. Note A. — Extracts from the " Polistoire" of Canterbury Cathedral, 202. Note B. — Extracts from the Travels of the Bohemian Embassy in 1465, 265. Note C— Extracts from the ** Pelerino Inglese," 268. Note D. — The Pilgrims' Road, by Mr. Albert Way, 270. Note E. — The Pilgrimage of John of France, by the same, 275. Note F. — Documents from the Treasury in Canterbury Cathedral, re- lating to the Shrine of Becket, with Notes by the same, 277. I. — Grants of William de Tracy, and of Amicia de la More, 277. II. — The " Corona " of St Thomas, 282. III. — Miraculous cures at the Shrine of St. Thomas, 286. Note G. — The crescent in the roof of the Trinity Chapel, 291. Note H. — The painted windows commemorating the miracles of Becket, 294. Note I. — Becket's Shrine in painted window, Canterbury, 299. INTRODUCTION. The following pages, written in intervals of leisure, taken from subjects of greater importance, have nothing to recommend them, except such instruction as may arise from an endeavour 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 remarkable events in English history, by an almost necessary 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 anti- quities, even when they have been as well explored as those of Canterbury. To these points I have endeavoured, as nearly as pos- sible, 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 their 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 altogether useless either to the antiquary or to the historian, who may wish to examine these events fully under their several aspects. Other similar subjects, if time and opportunity should be granted, may perhaps be added at some future period. B 14 Introduction. But the four here selected are the most important in them- selves, 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 conversion of England would naturally require. For the reasons above stated, I have abstained from entering on the more general questions which the event suggests, — the character of Gregory the Great ; the relation 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 traditions of England and Canterbury respecting the mission of Augustine, and the successive steps by which that mission was established in Kent. And I have endea- voured by means of these details to illustrate the remote position which Britain then occupied in relation to the rest of the civilised world, and the traces which were left in the country by the Roman civilisation, 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 con- siderably enlarged by additional information, contributed 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. For this, my residence at Canterbury provided special advantages. The narrative accordingly purposes 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 Introduction. correctness of the whole story, the remarkable 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 Canterbury, 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 harmonising it with the chronological order of the volume. The lecture stands nearly as it was delivered j 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 written. 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 connection with Canterbury. But, in the case of so remark- able 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 delivered at Canterbury in 1855. The story of the Shrine of Becket was an almost necessary complement 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 endeavoured 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 two last lectures will be found 16 Introduction. various original documents, most of them now published for the first time, from the archives of the Chapter of Canter- bury. For this labour, 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 with- out his able and ready co-operation, I should hardly have ventured on a publication requiring more antiquarian know- ledge 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 Ethclbert. 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 century. A few additional touches are given by Paul the Deacon and John the Deacon, in their Lives of Gregory the Great, respect- ively at the close of the eighth, and the close of the ninth century ; and in ALUnc's " Homily on the Death of Gregory "(A.D. 990-995), translated by Mrs. Elstob. Some local details may be gained from " The Chronicles of St. Augustine's Abbey," by Thorn, and " The Life of St. Augustine," in the Acta Sanctorum of May 26, by Gocelin, both monks of St. Augustine's Abbey, one in the four- teenth, and the other in the eleventh century, but the latter written in so rhetorical a strain as to be of comparative! y little use except for the posthumous legends. The Landing of Augustine, and Conversion of Ethclbcrt. Lecture delivered at Canterbury, April 28, 1854. ""THERE are five great landings in English history, each of vast importance, — the landing of Julius Caesar, which first revealed us to the civilised world, and the civilised 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 important were formerly all supposed to have taken place in Kent. It is true that the scene of Caesar's landing has been re- moved by the present Astronomer-Royal to Pevensey ; but there are still strong arguments in favour 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 any rate, there is no doubt of the close connection of the landing of St. Augustine, not only with Kent, but with Canterbury. 20 The Five Landings. 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 beginning of the history, not only of this country, but of all the countries of Europe, — the invasion of the Northern 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 remember, hardly more than a hundred years since the Roman Empire had been destroyed, and every country was like a seething cal- dron, just settling itself after the invasion of the wild barba- rians who had burst in upon the civilised 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 Cresar. In this great convulsion it was natural that the civilisation 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 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 natural that the Christian Gregory the Great. 21 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 civilised 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 be 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 be without its advantage, for two good reasons : 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 honour 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 dif- ferent 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, 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 Crclian Mount at Rome, standing con- spicuous amongst the Seven Hills — marked by its crown of pines — rising immediately behind the vast walls of tne 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 22 Gregory the Great. 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 Rome 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 Rome, had been starved to death, that he in- flicted 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 ravaged Rome immediately before his elevation to the pontificate. All travellers who have been at Rome will remember the famous legend, describing how, as he approached at the head of a procession, chanting the Litany, 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 Rome — 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 Forum of Gregory tlic Great. 23 Trajan. It is said, that he was so impressed with the thought of the justice and goodness of this heathen sove- reign, 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 memory, this column remained when all around it was shattered 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 children. 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 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 character. 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 grateful descendants of those who owed their conversion to the incident recorded. There was one evil of the time — from which we are now 1 Lappenbcrg's Hist, of England {Eng. » The story is told in Bede, II. i. § 89, and from him is copied, with vury slight variations, by all other ancient mediaeval writers. It has been told by most modem 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 tradi- tion, " traditione majoruin," he may, as a Northumbrian, have heard it from the families of the Northumbrian slaves. But most probably it was preserved in St. Au- gustine's monastery at Canterbury, and communicated to Bede, with other tradi- tions ot the Kentish Church, by Albums, 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 illustrations it could receive. There is nothing in the story intrinsically improbable ; 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 interest- ing chapter on this subject in his " Saxons in England," yet perhaps we leam as much by considering in detail what in England at least was believed to be the origin of the mission. 24 Gregory the Great. 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 ; 1 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 Wilber- force and Clarkson, by their noble Christian zeal, have been to ours. And it may be mentioned, as a proof both of his enlightened goodness, and of his interest in this particular 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 Rome, when they heard, as they did on this occasion, that new cargoes of merchan- dise 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 favourite 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 families of the nobles and gentry of Italy — a sight such as may still be seen (happily nowhere else) in the remote 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 Gregory beyond all others. It was a group of three 2 boys, distinguished from the rest by their fair complexion and white flesh, the 1 .SivMilman's " History of the Jews," 'Thorn, 1737. "Tres pueros." He ili. 208. alone gives the number. 587-] Dialogue with Anglo-Saxon Slaves. 25 beautiful expression of their countenances, and their light flaxen hair, which, by the side of the dark captives of the south, seemed to him almost of dazzling brightness, 1 and which, by its long curls, showed that they were of noble origin. Nothing gives us a stronger notion of the total separation of the northern and southern races of Europe at that time than the emotion which these peculiarities, to us so familiar, excited. He 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, " From Britain, and there all the inhabitants have this bright complexion." 2 It would almost seem as if this was the first time that Gregory had ever heard of Britain. It was indeed to Rome 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 we 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 3 from the bottom of his heart, and broke out into a loud lamenta- 1 "Candidi corporis," Bede; "lactei children were of noble birth. — See Pal- corporis," Paul the Deacon, c. 17; grave's " History of the Anglo-Saxons," "venustivultus, capillorum nitore," John p. 58 ; Lappcnbcrg's Hist, of England, i. THtf Deacon ; " crine rutila," Goceun ; 136. " capillos prxcipui candoris," Paulus ' " De Britannia? insula, cujus incola- Diao ; "capillum forma egrcgia," Bede ; rum omnis faci^ siniili candorefulgescit," •'noble [athelice'i heads of hair," jElfric. (Acta Sane/, p. 141 ; John the Deacon, It is from these last expressions that it i. 21.) may be inferred that the hair was un- ' " Intimo ex corde longa trahens 6horn, and therefore indicated that the suspiria," Bede. 26 Dialogue ivith Anglo-Saxon Slaves. [537. tion expressed with a mixture of playfulness, which partly was in accordance with the custom of the time, 1 partly per- haps 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 awaking 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 fellow-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 Dur- ham 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 ira. Dei), and called to the mercy of Christ." Once again he asked, " And who is the King of that pro- vince ? " " Ella," was 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 1 The anonymous biographer of Gre- tenebrarum . . gratia frontis . gory, in the Acta Sanctorum, March 12, gratia Dei," B£de : "Black Devil," p. 130, rejoices in the Pope's own name /Elfric. of good omen, " Grcgorius," quasi " Vigi- 3 Deore— Thier— deer.— See Soames lantius." "Anglo-Saxon Church," 31. a " Tarn lucidi vultus . . . auctor 587.] Mission of Augustine. -V 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 playful and the serious — this curious distortion of words from their original meaning 2 — was to him and his times the natural mode of ex- pressing their own feelings and of instructing others. But it was no passing emotion which the sight of the three York- shire 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 opposition (it was felt) would be made to his going ; and therefore he started from his convent with a small band of his com- panions 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 reading; suddenly a locust leapt 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. " Rightly is it called Locusta," he said, " because 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 jour- ney. 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 • See Fleury, H. E. xxxvi. 18. Milman's " Hist, of Latin Christianity," * See the account of Gregory's own vol. i. 435. Commentary on Job, as shortly given in 3 "Vit. S. Greg."— Paul the Deacon. 28 Mission of Augustine. [587. 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 attacked the Pope in St. Peter's Church, and demanded the instant recall of Gregory. To Rome 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 intel- ligence which determined 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 con- vent on the C?elian Hill, and from its walls sent forth the Prior, Augustine, with forty monks as missionaries 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 remote England seemed to be. 2 He and his companions were so terrified by the rumours they heard, that they sent him back to Rome to beg that they might be excused. 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,3 in the Isle of Thanet. Let us look for a moment on the scene of this important event as it now is, and as it was then. You all remember 1 The mention of " Ella " in the dia- Fleet j and the name has been variously logue fixes the date to be before a.d. derived from Whipped (a Saxon chief, 588. Augustine was sent a.d. 597. killed in the first battle of Hengist), Hope * Greg. Epp. v. 10. (a haven). Abbet (from its being after- 3 It is called variously Hyp-wine, Ep- wards the port of the Abbey of St. Augus- wine, Hiped, Hefe, Epped, Wipped tine). Fleet is " Port." 597.J Landing at Ebbe's Fleet. 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 between 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 between 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 between the two cliffs was then in great part covered with water; the sea spread much further inland from Pegwell Bay, and the Stour, orWensome 1 (as that part 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 Richborough. Moreover, at that remote age, Sandwich haven was not yet choked up, so that all the ships which came from France and Germany, on their way to London, sailed up into this large port, and through the river, out at the other side by Reculver ; or, if they were going to land in Kent, at Richborough 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 1 The " Boarded Groin " which Lewis the high ground ninning at the back of (Isle of Thanet, p. 83) fixes as the spot, level : the only vestige of the name now still remains, a little beyond the coast- preserved is " Cottington." But no tra- guard station, at the point marked in the dition marks the spot, and it must then Ordnance Survey as the landing-place of have been covered by the sea. the Saxons. " Cotmansfield " seems to be Li j ' C 3o Landing at Elbe's Fleet. [597. 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 pre- served 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 Vorti- gern. And here now Augustine came with his monks, his choristers, and the interpreters they had brought with them from France. The Saxon conquerors, like Augustine, are described as having landed, not at Richborough, but at Ebbe's Fleet, because they were to have the Isle of Thanet, for then- first possession, apart from the mainland, — and Augustine 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, accord- ing to a superstition, found in almost every country, was supposed to have received the impression 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 St. Mildred, and the rock, even till the beginning of the last century, was called " St. Mildred's rock," 1 from the later saint of that name, whose fame in the Isle of Thanet then eclipsed that of Augustine himself. 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 announcement of their arrival was received by Ethelbert, king of Kent. 1 " Not many years ago," says Hasted now called the footmark of the dromedary (iv. 325), writing In 1799. "A few years of Moses. The stone was thought to be ago," says Lewis (Isle of Thanet, 5S), gifted with the power of flying back to its writing in 1723. Compare, for a similar original place if ever removed. — (Lam- transference of names in more sacred bard's " Kent," p. 104). localities, the footmark of Mahomet in 2 " Fines mundi— gens An^loriim in the Mosque of Omar, called during the mundi OMgule posita," Greg. Epp., v. Crusades the footmark of Christ,— and 158, 159. Observe he play on the word, the footmark of Mahomet's mule on Sinai, as in p. 25. 597.] Ethelbert and Bertha. 3i To Ethelbert we must now turn. 1 He was, it was believed, great-grandson of Eric, son of Hengist, surnamed " the Ash," 2 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 besides acquired a kind of imperial authority over the other Saxon kings as far as the Humber. To consolidate 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 3 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 its walls some of the Roman bricks and Roman cement of Bertha's chapel ; and its name may perhaps have been derived from Bertha's use.* Of all rite great Christian saints 1 Ethelbert is the same name as Adal- bert and Albeit (as Adalfuns = Alfons, Uodelrich = Ulrich), meaning " Noble- bright." * "Ashing " (Bede, ii. 5, § 101) was probably a general name for hen, in allusion to the primeval man of Teu- tonic mythology, who was believed to have sprung from the sacred Ash-tree Ygdrasil. (Grimm's "Deutsche Myth," >• 3 2 4, 53 1 , 617). Compare the venerable A.-.h which gives its name to the village of Donau-Eschingen, " the Ashes of the Danube," by the source of that river. * The postern-gate of the Precincts opposite St. Augustine's gateway, is on the site Quencngale, a name derived —but by a very doubtful etymology— from the tradition that through it Bertha passed fromEthelbert's palace to St. Mar- tin's. (Battely's " Canterbury," 16). * It is, however, possible that the name of St. 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 Mar- tini antiquitus facta dum adhuc Romani Britanniam incolerent." St. Ninian, who laboured amongst the Southern Picts, A.D. 412-432, dedicated his church at Whitehaven to St. Martin. Hasted (Hist, of Kent, iv. 496) states (but without giving any authority), that it was ori- ginally dedicated Lo the Virgin, and was dedicated to St. Martin by Luidhard. The legendary origin of the church, as of that in the Castle of Dover ; of St. 32 St. Martin's Church. [597. of whom she had heard in France before she came to England, the most famous was St. 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 unbelieving 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 favourably towards the new religion ; and Gregory's letters show that it was the tidings of this pre- disposition which had induced him to send Augustine. But Ethelbert's conduct on hearing that the strangers were actually arrived was still hesitating. He would net suffer them to come to Canterbury ; they were to remain in the Isle of Thanet 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 influence, not by moral and spiritual, but by magical means. This was the first feeling; this it was that caused the meeting to be Peter's, Cornhill ; of Westminster Abbey; to King Lucius. (Ussher, Brit. Ecd. and of Winchester Cathedral, is traced Ant., pp. 129, 130.) 597.] Interview of Ethclbert and Augustine. 33 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 Saxon king, " the Son of the Ash-tree," with his wild soldiers 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 for those to whom they came. He, as we are told, was a man of almost gigantic stature, 4 head and shoulders taller than any one else ; with him were Lawrence, who afterwards succeeded him as Archbishop of Canterbury, and Peter, who became first Abbot of St. Augustine's. They and their companions, amounting alto- gether 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 be tolerably sure, could not speak a word of Latin. But the priests whom Augustine had brought from France, as knowing both German and Latin, now stepped forward as interpreters; and thus the ' See Lewis (Isle of Thanet, p. 83). was seated. (Bede, ii. 2, § 9). In the " Under an oak that grew in the middle same chapel of St. Gregory's convent at of the island, which all the German pagans Rome, which contains the picture of the had in the highest veneration." He gives departure of Augustine, is one— it need no authority. The oak was held sacred hardly be said, with no attempt at histo- by the Germans as well as by the Britons, rical accuracy— of his reception by Eth- Probably the recollection of this meet- elbert. ing determined the forms of that which 2 As indicated by the names of places. Augustine afterwards he-Id with the British (Hasted, iv. 292.) Christians on the confines of Wales. 3 " Formose atque aurate." (Acta Then, as now, it was in the open air, Satict., 326.) under an oak — then, as now, Augustine * Acta Sanct., 399. 34 Interview of Ethelbert and Augustine. [597. dialogue which followed was carried on, much as all com- munications 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. 1 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 can- not 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 we are anxious to receive you hospitably, and to give you all that is needed for your support, nor do we hinder you from joining all whom yon 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 English character — exactly what a king should have said on such an occasion — exactly what, under the influence of Christianity, has grown up into all our best institutions. There is the natural dis- like to change, which Englishmen still retain ; there is the willingness at the same time to listen favourably 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. From the Isle of Thanet, the missionaries crossed the broad ferry to Richborough, the "Burgh" or castle of "Rete" 1 Exchange English travellers for Ro- man missionaries, Arab sheikhs for Saxon chiefs, and the well-known interviews, on the way to Pctra, give us some notion of this celebrated dialogue. 597.] Arrival of Augustine at Canterbury. 35 or "Retep," as it was then called, from the old Roman fortress of Rutupiae, of which the vast ruins still remain. Underneath the overhanging cliff of the castle, so the tradition ran, the king received the missionaries. 1 They then ad- vanced to Canterbury by the Roman road over St. Martin's hill. The first object 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 procession ; they lifted up again the tall silver cross, and the rude painted board ; there were with them the choristers, whom Augustine had brought from Gregory's school on the Caslian Hill, trained in the chants which were called after his name, and they sang one of those Litanies 2 which Gregory had introduced for the plague at Rome. " We beseech thee, O Lord, in all thy mercy, that thy wrath and thine anger may be removed from this city, and from thy holy house. Allelujah." 3 Doubtless, as they uttered that last word, they must have remembered that they were thus fulfilling to the letter the very wish that 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 Leland what seems to have been a memorial of this in a chapel of St. Augustine, of which some slight remains are still to be 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 com- mon people, "St. Augustine's Cross," 'Camden, p. 342.) For this question sec the Note at the end of this Lecture. 3 Fleury, H. K., book xxxv. 1. ' Bede (II. i. § 87) supposes that it was to this that Gregory alludes in his Com- mentary on Job, when be 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 Commentary 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 Ger- manus in the Welsh mountains, by the shout of " Hallelujah." But the Com- mentary was only begun at Constanti- nople. Considering the doubt whether Gregory could have heard of the proceed- ings of Germanus, it may well be a ques- tion, whether the allusion in the Com- mentary on Job was not added after he had heard of this fulfilment of his wishes. At any rate, it illustrates the hold which the word " Hallelujah" had on bis mind in connection with the conversion of Britain. 36 Baptism of Ethclbert. [597. Gregory had expressed, when he first saw the Saxon children in the market-place at Rome. And thus they came down St. Martin's hill, and entered Canterbury. Every one of the events which follow is connected with some well-known locality. The place that Ethelbert 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 sup- posed 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 splendour and strangeness of the Roman ritual produced an instant effect on the rude barbarian mind. And now came the turning-point of their whole mission, the baptism of Ethelbert. It was, unless we except the conversion of Clovis, the most important baptism that the world had seen since that of Constantine. We know the day — it was the Eeast of Whit-Sunday — on the 2nd 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 baptised, without specifying any particular spot. Still, as St. Martin's Church is described as the scene of Augustine's ministrations, and, amongst other points, of his administration of baptism, it is in the highest degree pro- bable that the local tradition is correct. And although the venerable font, which is there shown as that in which he was baptised, 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 as a monument of the event ; — in the same manner as the large porphyry basin in the Lateran Church ' Thorn, 175S. 597.] and of the Kentish People. 37 tit 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 importance than it has ever been before or since. The baptism of any one of these barbarian chiefs almost inevitably 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 Alexandria (so much interest did the event excite to the remotest end of Christendom), that ten thousand Saxons had been baptised on Christmas Day 2 — baptised, 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, although this is less positively stated — once a British church, but now used by Ethelbert as a temple in which 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 Christian worship. Augustine dedicated the place to St. Pancras, and it became the Church of St. Pancras, of which ' Neither EeJe (79) nor Thorn (1759) fashion, that the Swale mentioned by says a word of the scene of the baptism. Gocelin [Acta Sanct., p. 390), Gcrvase But Gocelin [Acta Sane/., 383) speaks [Act. Pont. 1551), and Camden (p. 136), distinctly of a "baptistery" or " urn" as cannot be that of Yorkshire. Indeed, used. The first mention of the font at Gregory's letter is decisive. The legend St. Martin's that 1 find is in Stukely, p. represents the crowd as miraculously 117 (in the seventeenth century). delivered from drowning, and the baptism 2 Greg. Epp., vii. 30. as performed by two and two upon each s See Fuller's Church Hist., ii. § 7, 9, other at the command, though not by the where he justly argues, after his quaint act, of Augustine. 3S Church of St. Pancras. [597. the spot is still indicated by a ruined arch of ancient brick, and by the fragment of a wall, still showing the mark,' where, according to the legend, the old demon who, accord- ing 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, St. 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. 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 St. Pancras, and therefore the name of St. Pancras was often in Gregory's mouth (one of his sermons was preached on St. Pancras' day), and would thus naturally 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 Caelian Mount in England, and this, of itself, would suggest to him the wish, as we shall presently see, to found his first monasteiy 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 1 The place now pointed out can rently that mentioned by Stukely (p. 117), hardly be the same as that indicated by who gives a view of the church as thee Thorn (1760) as "the south wall of the standing. church." But every student of local tra- 2 The Roman Church of St. Pancrazio, dilion knows how easily they are trans- behind the Vatican, (so famous in the planted to suit the convenience of their siege of Rome by the French in 1S49), is perpetuation. The present mark i« appa- on the scene of Pancrasius' martyrdom. 507.] First Cathedral of Canterbury. 59 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 neighbourhood, to be the seat of the new archbishop and the foundation of the new cathedral. If the baptism of Ethelbert may in some mea- sure 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 palace was to him what the Lateran was to Constantine j Augustine was his Sylvester ; Reculver was his Byzantium. 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 occupied by the barbarian tribes, of an endowment by the State. As St. Martin's and St. Pancras' 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 1 That the parallel of Constantine was Augustine to Sylvester, but from the present to the minds of those concerned appellation of " Hellena" given by Gre- is evident, not merely from the express gory to Bertha, or (as he calls her) Edil- comparison by Gocelin (Acta Sanct., p. burga.— Epp., ix. 6o. 383), of Ethelbert to Constantine, and 40 First Cathedral of Canterbury. [597. primates of England have been enthroned, and which, though probably of a later date, may yet rightly be called "St. Augustine's Chair;" 1 for, though not the very one in which he sate, it no doubt represents the ancient episcopal throne, in which, after the fashion of the bishops of that time, he sate 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 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 Ebbe's Fleet, the rude painting on the large board, which we are emphatically told, repre- sented 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 — doubt- less 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, 2 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 cathedral. Lastly, then, as now, the chief entrance into the cathedral was through the south door,3 which is a practice 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 1 The arguments against the antiquity one piece of stone, the present is of three, of the chair are: 1. That it is of Purbeck ■ Willis's Canterbury Cathedral, pp. marble. 2. That the old throne was of 20--32. 3 Ibid., p. 11. 597.] Monastery and Library of St. Augustine. 41 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 Christianity, which had almost died away before Augustine came. Finally, in the neighbourhood of the Church of St. Pan- eras, 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 grew up into the great abbey called by his name. It was, in the first in- stance, called the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul, after the two apostles of the city of Rome, 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 appellation 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 banks 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 interest- ing to remember here, that of this original intention of the monastery, two relics possibly exist, although not at Canter- bury. In the library of Corpus Christi College at Cambridge, and in the Bodleian library at Oxford, two ancient MS. Gos- pels still exist, which have at least a fair claim to be con- sidered 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 Rome, 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 j as the Church of St. Martin is the mother-church, and the Cathedral of Canter- bury the mother-cathedral of England, so these books arc, if I may so call them, the mother-books of England— the first beginning of English literature, of English learning, of English education. And St. Augustine's Abbey was thus 42 Burial-ground of St. Augustine's Abbey. [597. 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 waters. 1 They remind us that English power and English 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 Rome, he could not have within the walls of Canterbury. In all ancient countries 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 Roman history, only persons of the very highest importance were allowed what we now call intra-mural interment. So it was here. Augustine the Roman fixed his burial-place by the side of the great Roman road which then ran from Richborough to Canterbury over 1 A MS. history of the foundation of three exceptions, — a Bible which, how- St. Augustine's Abbey (in the library of ever, has never been heard of since 1604, Trinity Hall, Cambridge, to which :t was and the two MSS. Gospels still shown at given by one into whose hands it fell Corpus, Cambridge, and in the Bodleian at the time of the Dissolution) contains at Oxlord. The arguments for their an account of eight MSS., said to be genuineness are stated by Wanley, in those sent over by Gregory. Of these Hickes' Thesaurus (ii. pp. 172, 173). all have long since disappeared, with 507.] Foundation of the Sees of Rochester & London. 43 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 Crelian Hill ; and this is the reason why St. Augustine's Abbey, instead of the Cathedral, has enjoyed the honour of burying the last remains of the first primate of the English Church, and of the first king of Christian England. For now we have arrived at the end of their career. Nothing of importance is known of Augustine in connection with Canterbury, beyond what has been said above. We know that he penetrated as far west as the banks of the Severn, 011 his important mission to the Welsh Christians, and it would also seem that he must 2 have gone into Dorset- shire ; 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 further 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 was continued. The memory of "St. Andre-id's Convent" on the Crelian Hill was perpetuated in the Cathedral Church of St. Andrew on the banks of the Medway. The names of St. Peter and St. 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 banks of the Thames. How like the in- stinct with which the colonists of the New World reproduced 1 Bede, i. 33, § 79. Gostling's Walk, Acta Sanctorum, p. 391. The story of p. 44. "A common footway lay through his journey into Yorkshire has probably it, even till memory." arisen from the mistake, before noticed, respecting the Swale. The whnle ques- ' J See the account of his conference tion of his miracles, and of the legendary with the Welsh, in Bcde ; the stories of portions of his life, is too long to be dis- his adventures in Dorsetshire, in the cussed in this place. 44 Death of Augustine. [597. the nomenclature of Christian and civilised Europe, was this practice of recalling in remote and barbarous Britain the familiar scenes of Christian and civilised 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 road-side 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 Canter- bury, a few months before Augustine'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 had been consecrated Archbishop by Augustine himself before his death, an unusual and almost unprecedented step, s but one which it was thought the unsettled state of the newly-con- verted country demanded. Once more Ethelbert and Law- rence met, in the year 612, 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 6 of Augustine were removed from their 1 Thorn (1765) gives the year, Bcde ' Thorn, 1766. (ii. 3, § 96) the day. * Thorn, 1765 ; Bede, ii. 4, § 97. 1 Thorn, 1767. * Thorn, 1767. The statement in 3 Thorn, 1761. Christmas, a.d. 60s, Butler's " Lives of the Saints " (May tC) was, according to our reckoning, on is a series of mistakes. Christmas, 604. 613.] Rcci dver. 45 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 dedicated to St. Martin; 1 thus still keeping up the recollection of their original connection with the old French saint, and the little chapel where they had so often worshipped on the hill above — Luidhard 2 on the north, and Bertha on the south side of the altar. Three years longer Ethelbert 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 ether 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, overgrown 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 afterwards rose on the site of Ethelbert's palace. 1 The mention of this npse, or " por- tion " of St. Martin, has led to the mis- take, 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 further off than she is, the claim which is there set up would hardly be * Luidhard is so mere a shadow, that it is hardly worth while collecting what is known or said of him. His name is variously spelt Lethard, Ledvard, and Luidhard. His French Bishopric is vari- ously represented to be Soissons or Scnlis. His tomb in the abbey was long known, and his relics were carried round Canter- bury in a gold chest on the Rogation Days. (Ada Sane/., Feb. 24, pp.4G8.470.) ,6 Death of Ethclbcvt. This wild spot is the scene which most closely connects itself with the remembrance of that good Saxon king, and it long disputed with St. Augustine's Abbey the honour of his burial-place. Even down to the time of King James L, 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, however, 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 St. Martin's altar in the Church of St. Augustine, 3 and there, somewhere in the field around the ruins of the Abbey, his bones, with those of Bertha and Augustine,* 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 1 Weever. Funeral monuments, 260. * That he had a second wife appears from the allusion to her in the story of his son Eadbald (Bede, ii. § 102), but her 3 Thorn, 1767 ; Eede, ii. §§ 100, lor. * In the Acta. Sanctorum for Feb. 24 (p. 478), a strange ghost-story is told of Ethelbert's tomb, not without interest from its connection with the previous his- tory. The priest who had the charge cf 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 con- nected with the traditional 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 canonised ; but probably as a saint he was less popularly known than St. Ethelbert of Hereford, with whom he is sometimes confused. His epitaph was a curious instance of rhyming Latinity : — Rex Ethelbertus hie clauditur in poly- Fana piaus, Christo meat absque mcan- dro.— (Speed, 215) GIG.] Primacy of Canterbury. 47 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 Roman Prelate and that ancient Saxon Chief. I do not now speak of the one great change of our conver- sion to Christianity, which is too extensive and too serious a 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 have fixed 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 Canterbury 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, Canterbury 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 Ramsgate 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. ' Creg. Epp., xii. 15. Gervase [Acta Pope, "Hcet Sancti Spiritus sacrarium Poni.) pp. 1131, 1132) thinking that by esset," yet had fallen into the error ot this letter the Pope established three supposing each of the cities to be equi- primacies, one at London, one at Canter- distant from the other, bury, and one nt York, needlessly per- plexes himself to reconcile such a distri- 3 Fuller (Church History, Book ii. § viii. bution with the geography of Britain, 4) in speaking of the temporary trans- and arrives at the conclusion that the ference of the primacy to Lichfield. 4 8 Extent of English Dioceses. [GIG. 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 consider, 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 generally 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 characteristic of the English Church that the opposite should be the case with us. In some re- spects 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 instructions to Augustine ; and, at any rate, the great size of the dioceses was in con- formity 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-four bishoprics would be sufficient. At any rate, so he divided, and so, with the variation of giving only four, instead ot twelve, to the province of York, it was, consciously or uncon- sciously, followed out in after times. The kings of the various kingdoms seem to have encouraged the practice, each making the bishopric co-extensive with his king- ClG.] Toleration of Christian Diversities 49 dom ; 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 circum- stances, the sees of Germany 2 (in this respect an exception to the usual practice of continental Europe) 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. Augustine had passed through France, and saw there customs very different from what he had seen in Rome ; and he was now come to Britain, where there were still remnants of the old British Churches, with customs very different from what he had seen either in France or Rome. 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 It was indeed a truly wise and liberal maxim : — one which would have healed many feuds, one which perhaps 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 satisfaction in thinking, that at least in this respect it has in some measure fulfilled the wishes of Gregory the Great. 1 See Kemble's " Saxons," book ii. ' Germany was, it should be remcra- c. 8, bered, converted by Englishmen. 1 Bede, i. 27, § 60. 50 Toleration of Heathen Customs. [ciG. There is no Church in the world which 1ms combined such opposite and various advantages from other Churches more exclusive than itself, — none in which various characters and customs from the opposite parts of the Christian world, could have been able to find such shelter and refuge. Another point was, how to deal with the pagan customs and ceremonies which already existed in the Anglo-Saxon kingdom. Were they to be entirely destroyed? — 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, St. 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 heathen temples were not to be destroyed, but turned whenever possible into Christian churches, 1 — that the droves of oxen which used to be killed in sacrifice were still to be killed for feasts for the poor ; and that the huts which they used to make of boughs of trees round the temples, were still to be used for amusements on Christian festivals. And he gives as the reason for this, that 11 for hard and rough minds it is impossible to cut away abruptly all their old customs, because lie who wishes to reach the highest place, must ascend by steps and not by jumps." 2 How this was followed out in England is evident. In Canterbuiy, we have already seen how the old heathen temple of Ethelbert was turned into the Church of St. Pan- eras. 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 1 To Ethelbert he had expressed hira- barbarian king ; while it permitted the self, apparently in an earlier letter, more milder or more winning course to the strongly against the temples.— (Bcde, i. clergy, the protection of the hallowed 32, § 76-) " Was it settled policy," asks places, and images of the heathen from Dean Milman, " or mature reflection, insult by consecrating them to holier which led the Pope to devolve the more uses? "— (Hist, of Latin Christianity, u. odious duty of the total abolition of 59.) idolatry on the temporal power— the ' Bede, i. 30, 74. cic] Toleration of Heathen Customs. appropriation of heathen buildings is the more remarkable, inasmuch as it had hitherto been very unusual in Western Christendom. In Egypt, indeed, 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 that strange land. In Greece also, the Parthenon and the temple of Theseus are well-known instances. But in Rome 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 probably in consequence of his known views. The fragment of the Church of St. Pancras — the nucleus, as we have seen, of St. Augustine's Abbey — thus becomes a witness to an important principle ; and the legend of the Devil's claw reads us 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 saying 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 Western 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 paganism. 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 Christi- anity. 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 in- tention is passed away. They, like the ruin of St. Pancras, 1 See a full and most interesting dis- then names of the week days, in Grimm's cussion of the whole subject of the hea- " Deutsche Mylhologie," vol. i. 111-128. 52 Great Results from Small Beginnings. [616. are standing witnesses of Gregory's wisdom and moderation — 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 immense effects produced by a single thought in the heart of a single man, carried out consistently, deliberately, and fearlessly. Nothing in itself could seem more trivial than the meeting of Gregory with the three Yorkshire slaves in the market- place at Rome, 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 realised. And this was even the more remarkable when we remember who and what his instruments were. You may have ob- served 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 unfavourable 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 acknow- ledge how much we owe to him. But still almost every personal trait which is recorded of him shows us that he was not a man of any great elevation of character — that lie 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 016.] Gnat Results from Small Beginnings. 53 rising when they approached, and uttering that malediction against them, which sanctioned, if it did 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 benefactor 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 before, 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 themselves 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 before his eyes. Immediately below are the towers of the great Abbey of St. Augustine, where Christian learning and civilisation first struck root in the Anglo-Saxon race ; 2 and within which now, after a lapse of many centuries, a new institution has arisen, intended to carry far and wide to 1 Gocelin notices the offence, without traces of Augustine's mission, besides expressly stating the punishment (c. 41), those which were left at the time. Other- and places it in Dorsetshire. The story wise the list would be much enlarged by is given in Harris's " Kent,'' 303 ; in the revival of the ancient associations, Ful^r's " Church Hist.," ii. 7, § 22 ; and visible in St. Augustine's College, in St. in Ray's " Proverbs " (p. 233;, who men- Gregory's Church and burial-ground, and tions it especially as a Kentish story, and in the restored Church of St. Martin ; as one that was very generally believed where the windows, although of modern in his time on the continent. ' There is a date, are interesting memorials of i long and amusing discussion on the sub- past — especially that which represents ject in Lambard's " Kent," p. 400. the well-known scene of St. Martin a I have forborne to dwell on any dividing the cloak. 54 Great Results from Small Beginnings. [616. 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 cathe- dral, equal in splendour 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 consecration from him. And still more than the grandeur of the outward build- ings 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. 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 pp. 29-34. 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 tradi- tion that Ilengist, S. 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 p. 29. 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' Sandwich, Isle of Thanct. 55 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 narra- tive (1758), which, by speaking of " Retesburgh, in insula T/ianeti," 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 p. 34. MAP OF THE ISLE OF THANET AT THE TIME OF THE LANDING OF ST. AUGUSTINE. Present line of coast Ancient Towns. Heather. Present towns, as Deal. I, 2, 3, 4, the alleged landing-places. Ancient line of coast For the best account of the Roman Canterbury, see Mr. Faussett's learned Essay read before the Archaeological Institute, 1st July, 1873. The Murder of BeckeL REPRINTED, WITH ADDITIONS, FROM THE "QUARTERLY REVIEW," SEPTEMBER, 1853. * TJie Murder of Bccket, VERY one is familiar with the reversal of popular judg- ments respecting individuals or events of our own time. It would be an easy, though perhaps an invidious task, to point out the changes from obloquy to applause, 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 centuries. 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 unfavourable to the Archbishop, at least strongly divided. After its tragical close, the change from indifference or hostility to unbounded veneration was instantaneous. In certain circles his saintship, and even his salvation, 1 was questioned : but these were exceptions to the general enthusiasm. This veneration, after a duration of more than three centuries, was superseded, at least in England, by a contempt as general and profound as had 14 Robertson, p. 312. Go Variety of Judgments on tJic Event. been the previous admiration. And now, after three cen- turies more, the revolution of the wheel of fortune has again brought up, both at home and abroad, worshippers of the memory of St. Thomas of Canterbury, who rival the most undoubting devotee that ever knelt at his shrine in the reign of the Plantagenet kings. Indications 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 his career which has left by far the most indelible impression, — its ter- rible 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 it", inti- mate connection with the stateliest of English cathedrals, and with the first great poem of the English language. The labour of Dr. Giles has collected no less than nine- teen 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 single subject. 2 To these we must add the French biography in verse 3 by 1 The Rev. J. C. Robertson, since Canon of Canterbury, was the first author who, in two articles in the " Eng- lish 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 firat intro- duced me to the copious materials from which this account is derived. This sum- mary 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 " H istory 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 Beckei's death is affixed to the collection of hisletters 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. ' Vitae et Epistola; S. Thorns Can- tuariensis, ed. Giles. 8 volumes. * Part of the poem was published by Emmanuel Bekker, in the Berlin Trans- Sources of Information. 61 Guerns, or Gamier, of Pont S. Maxence, which was com- posed 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 Robert of Gloucester in the 13th, 1 and by Grandison Bishop of Exeter in the 14th century. 2 We must also include the contemporary or nearly con- temporary chroniclers — Gervase, Diceto, Hoveden, and Giraldus Cambrensis, and the fragment from the Lansdowne MS. edited by Canon Robertson ; 3 and, in the next century, Matthew Paris and Brompton. Of these thirty narrators, four — Edward Grim, AVilliam Fitzstephen, John of Salisbury (who unfortunately supplies but little), and the anonymous author of the Lambeth MS. — claim to have been eye-witnesses. Three others — William of Canterbury, 4 Benedict, afterwards abbot of Peterborough, and Gervase of Canterbury— 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 recover 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 colouring which could set off their hero to advantage. It is actions, 1838, pt. 2, pp. 25-168, from a Percy Society, and edited by Mr. Black, fragment in the Wolfenbuttel MSS., and * Grandison's Life exists only in MS. the whole has since appeared in the same The copy which 1 have used is in the. Transactions, 1S44, from a MS. in the Bodkian Library. (MS. 493.) British Museum. It was also published a Archaologia Cantiana, vii. 210. in Paris, by Le Roux de Lancy.in 1843. * A complete MS. of William of Cantcr- 1 This metrical Life and Martyrdom bury has been found by Mr. Robertson at of S. Thomas (composed in the reign of Winchester, of which parts are published Henry III.) has been printed for the in the Archajulugu C.uuiana, vol. vi. 4. 62 Return of Bccket from France. [1170. true, also, that on some few points the various authorities are hopelessly irreconcilable. But still a careful comparison of the narrators with each other, and with the localities, leads to a conviction that on the whole the facts have been substantially 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 oc- currences in the middle ages have been so graphically 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 "acci- dental death," the " righteous execution," and the " murder of Thomas Bccket." The year 11 70 witnessed the termination of the struggle of eight years between the king and the Archbishop ; in July the final reconciliation had been effected with Henry in France ; in the beginning of December Bccket 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 Archbishop 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 Archbishop, another had arisen within this very year, of much less importance in itself, but which now threw the earlier controversy into the shade, 3 and eventually brought about the final catastrophe. In the pre- ceding June Henry, with the view of consolidating his power in England, had caused his eldest son to be crowned King, 1 Garnier, 59, 9. ' Fitzstephen, ed. Giles, i. 283. 3 Giles, F.pp., i. 65. 1170.] Coronation of Henry III. 63 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." 1 In the ab- sence of the Archbishop of Canterbury the ceremony of coronation was performed by Roger 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.* The moment the intelligence was communicated to Becket, who was then in France, a new blow seemed to be struck at his rights j but this time it was not the privileges of his order, but of his office, that were attacked. The inalienable right 3 of crowning the sovereigns of England, 1 Hence, perhaps, the precision with which the number "III." is added (for the liri.t time) on the coins of Henry III. ' Sec Milman's " Hist, of Latin Chris- tianity," iii. 510, 511. 3 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 already confronted each other, like hostile spears. — Fitzstephen, 226. It was a standing question between the two Arch- bishops, and Roger continued to maintain pre-eminence of his see against Becket*s successor. "In 1 176," 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, find- ing Canterbury so seated, fairly sits him down on Canterbury's lap, " irreverently pressing his haunches down upon the Archbishop," says Stephen of Birching- ton. " It matters as little to the reader as to the writer," the historian continues, "whether Roger beat Richard— or Rich- ard 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 humour.— Fuller's " Church Hist.," 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 endeavoured 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 transfer- ring the metropolitical see to London, where he boasts that the ArchMamen 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 Archflamen ? He relies," continues the angry partisan, " on an oracle of Merlin, who, inspired by I know not what spirit, is said before Augustine's coming to have prophesied the transference of the dignity of Canter- bury to London."— Ussher, "Brit. Eccl. Ant.," 7:1. 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 Canterbury of the German Em- pire — are represented in the act of crown- ing the German Emperors as the most characteristic trait in their archiepiscopal careers. 64 Controversy with tJie Archbishop of York. [1170. from the time of Augustine downwards inherent in the see of Canterbury, had been infringed, and with his usual ardour he procured from the Pope letters against the three prelates 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 Bishops 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 embarked for France, leaving, however, a powerful auxiliary in the person of Randulf de Broc, a knight to whom the King had granted possession of the archiepiscopal castle of Saltwood, and who was for this, if for no other reason, a sworn enemy to Becket and his return. The first object of the Archbishop was to conciliate 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 Canterbury, followed the messenger who was to announce his present to the Prince. He passed through Rochester in state, entered London in a vast procession that advanced 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 much that follows) from a desire to be 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. 1 Fitzstephen, 284, 385. 1170.] The Parting with the Abbot of St. Albans. 65 One more opening of reconciliation occurred. Before 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 neigh- bouring abbey of St. Albans to request an interview with the Abbot Simon. The 1 Abbot came over with magnificent presents from the good cheer of his abbey ; and the Arch- bishop 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 emo- tion, 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 signifi- cantly, 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 endeavoured to console his friend: — "My Lord Abbot, many thanks for your fruitless labour. 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 f. alluding especially to the charge which the Abbot had 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. Ste- phen's day at his own abbey of the great British martyr. Becket, moved to tears, replied :— " O, how gladly would I come, but it has been otherwise ordered. Go in peace, dear brother, go in peace to your church, which may God pre- 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. Vit. Abbat., 91. 66 Insults from the Brocs of Saltwood. [1170. serve ; 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 mani- festations of hostility proceeded from the family of the Brocs of Saltwood. Already tidings had reached him that Ran- dulf de Broc had seized a vessel laden with wine from the King, and had killed the crew, or imprisoned them in Peven- sey Castle. This injury was promptly repaired at the bidding of the young King, to whom the Archbishop had sent a complaint through the Prior of Dover, 1 and the friendly Abbot of St. Albans. But the enmity of the Brocs was not so easily allayed. No 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 archi- episcopal deer with his own dogs in his own woods ; and Robert, another of the same family, who had been a Cister- cian monk, but had since taken to a secular life, sent out his nephew John to waylay and cut off the tails of a sumpter mule and a horse of the Archbishop. This jest, or outrage (ac- cording as we regard it), which occurred on Christmas-eve, took deep possession of Becket's mind. 2 On Christmas-day, after the solemn celebration of the usual midnight mass, he entered the cathedral 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 Vulgate version; and had once before afforded him the opportunity of rejecting the argu- ment on his return that he ought to come in peace. " There is no peace," he said, " but to men of good will." 3 On this limitation of the universal message of Christian love, he now proceeded to discourse. He began by speaking of the * Fitzstephen, 286. a Fitzstephen, 287. ' Fitzstephen, 281. 1170.] Scene in the Cathedral on Christmas-Day. 67 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, mur- dered 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." 1 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 spoke of the insult of the docked tail 2 of the sumpter mule, and, in a voice of thunder^ excommunicated Randulf and Robert de Broc; and in the same sentence included the Vicar of Thirlwood, and Nigel of Sackville, the Vicar of Harrow, for occupying those incumbencies without his authority, and re- fusing access to his officials. 4 He also publicly denounced and forbade communication with the three bishops who, by crowning the young King, had not feared to encroach upon the prescriptive rights of the church of Canterbury. " May they be cursed," he said, in conclusion, " by Jesus Christ, and may their memory be blotted out of the assembly of the 1 Fitzstcphen, 292. 2 According to the popular belief, the excommunication of the Broc family was not the only time that Becket avenged a similar offence, liambard, in his " Per- ambulations of Kent," says that the people of Stroud, near Rochester, in- sulted 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. S3-) 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 born with tails, for curtailing Becket's mule." — (Covel on the Greek Church, Pref. p. xv.) 1 Herbert, i. 323 ; Gamier, 03, 4. * Gamier, 71, 75. 68 Last Acts of Deckct. [1170. saints, whoever shall sow hatred and discord between me nnd my Lord the King." 1 With these words he dashed the candle on the pavement, 2 in token of the extinction of his enemies : 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, St. Alfege, you have already — another, if God will, you will have soon." 3 The service in the cathedral was followed by the banquet in his hall, at which, although Christmas-day fell this year on a Friday, it was observed that he ate as usual, in honour of the joyous festival of the Nativity. On the next day, Saturday, the Feast of St. Stephen, and on Sunday, the Feast of St. 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 further suspicions of Henry. Herbert departed with a heavy heart,'* and with him went Alexander Llewellyn the Welsh crossbearer. The Archbishop sent off another 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 excommunication against any one who should take it from him. s These are his last recorded public acts. On the night of the same Sunday he received a warning letter from France, announcing that he was in peril from some new attack. 6 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 Arch- bishop was immovable, arrived in France a few days before 1 Fitzstcphen, 292. 1 Grim, ed. Giles, i. 68. 3 Fitzstephen, 292. * Herbert, 324, 323. * Fitzstephen, 292, 293. * Anon. Passio Tenia, ed. Giles, ii. 156. 1170.] Fury of the King. 69 Christmas, 1 and immediately proceeded to the King, who was then at the castle of Bur, near Bayeux. 2 It was a place already famous in history as the scene of the interview between William and Harold, when the oath was perfidiously exacted and sworn which led to the conquest of England. All manner of rumours about Becket's proceedings had reached the ears of Henry, and he besought the advice 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." 3 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 themselves 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 j his flaming eyes glistened ; a livid hue took the place of colour." 4 Henry himself is said at these moments to have become like a wild beast j 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 tenor through all hearts at the Council of Clarendon, and again at Northampton, when, with tremendous menaces, sworn upon his usual oath, "the eyes of God," he insisted on 1 Herbert, 319. Worcester, i. 153. ' Garnicr. 65 (who gives the inter- 3 Fitzstephc-n, 390. view in great detail). Florence of ' Richard of Devizes, § 40. 7o The Four Knights. [1170. Becket's appearance. 1 Of such a kind was the frenzy which he showed on the present occasion. "A fellow," he ex- claimed, " that has eaten my bread has lifted up his heel against me — a fellow that I loaded with benefits dares insult the Kin 0 and the whole royal family, and tramples on the whole kingdom — a fellow 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 burst 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" cha- racter (so the Canterbury monks represented 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 Latinised version of his name in the Chronicles — more fit, they say, to have been called the "Brute." 3 They are all described as on familiar terms with the King himself, and sometimes, in official language, as gentlemen of the bed-chamber. * They also appear to have been brought together by old associations. Fitzurse, More- ville, and Tracy, had all sworn homage to Becket while Chancellor. Fitzurse, Tracy, and Bret, had all connections 1 Roger, 124, 104. built on the identity of the Trojan Brutus * Will. Cant., ed. Giles, ii. p. 30 ; with the primitive Briton. See Lam- Grim, 63 ; Gervase, 1414. bard's " Kent," p. 306. Fiuurse is called 3 Will. Cant., 31. This play on the simply " Reginald Bure." word will appear less strange, when we * Cubicularii. remember the legendary superstructure 1170.] Their History. 7 ' 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 Cumber- land, where he inherited the barony of Burgh-on-the-Sands and other possessions from his father Roger and his grand- father 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. 1 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 I. On his father's side he was descended from the Saxon Ethelred. He was born at Toddington, in Gloucestershire, 2 where, as well as in Devonshire, 3 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 Somersetshire, which had descended to Reginald a few years before the time of which we are speaking.'' He was also a tenant in chief in Northampton- shire, in tail in Leicestershire.* Richard the Breton was, it would appear from an incident in the murder, intimate with Prince William, the King's brother. 6 He and his brother Edmund had succeeded to their father Simon le Bret, who had probably come over with the Conqueror 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 Fitzurses.? There is some reason to suppose that he was related to ' Foss's Judges of England, i. 279. * Rudder's Gloucestershire, 770 ; Pedi- gree of the Tracys in, Britton's .Tod- ■ Liber Niger Scaccarii, 115-221. * Collinson's Somersetshire, iii. 487. ' Liber Niger Scaccarii, 216-88. 11 Fitzstephen, 303. ' Collinson's Somersetshire, iii. 514. 72 Tlie Knights meet at Salfrvood Castle. [1170. Gilbert Foliot. 1 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 2 reports it as taking place on Sunday, the 27th of December. Others, 3 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 instruc- tions to the knights as to their future course. This perhaps arose from a confusion with the Council of Barons * actually held after the departure of the knights, of which, however, the chief result was to send three courtiers after them to arrest their progress. This second mission arrived too late. The four knights left Bur on the night of the King's fury. They then, it was thought, proceeded by different roads to the French coast, and crossed the channel on the following day. Two of them landed, as was afterwards noticed with malicious satisfaction, at the port of " Dogs " near Dover,* two of them at Winchelsea, 6 and all four arrived at the same hour 7 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 Randolph of Broc — who came out to welcome them. 8 Here they would doubtless be told of the excommunication launched against their host on Christmas-day. In the darkness of the night — the long winter night of tire 28th of December? — 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 10 for a troop of soldiers to be levied from the neighbourhood to march with them to Canterbury. They themselves mounted 1 See Robertsons Eecket, 2C6. 2 Fitzstephen, 290. ' Gamier, 65, 17; so also Gervase, Chron., 14.4. 4 Robertson's Becket, 268. • Grim, 69 ; Gervase, Chron., 1414. c Gamier, 66, 67. ' Fitzstephen, 290 ■ Gamier, 66, 29. 9 Gamier, 66, 22. 10 Grim, 69; Roger, i. 160; Fitzste- phen, 293 ; Gamier, £6, 6. 1170.] Arrive at St. Augustine s Abbey. 75 their chargers and galloped along the old Roman road from Lymne to Canterbury, 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. 1 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, 2 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 inmates and their Abbot, who had been intruded on them in 1162, as Becket had been on the ecclesiastics of the Cathedral,— but with the ultimate dif- ference, 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. 3 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 Arch- bishop, 4 the knights once more mounted their chargers, and, accompanied by Robert 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. 5 They were followed by a band of about a dozen 1 Gcrvase, Chron., 1414. almost entirely destroyed, and its place 8 Thorn's Chron., 1S17. occupied by modern houses. But an 3 Gervase, Chron., 1414. ancient gateway on the site of the one * Gamier. 66, b. 10. here mentioned, though of later date, still 5 The Archbishop's palace is now leads from Palace Street into thesehouscs. 74 The Fatal Tuesday. [1170. armed men, whom they placed in the house of one Gilbert, 1 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 baptized — on a Tuesday he had fled from Northampton — on a Tues- day he had left England on his exile — on a Tuesday he had received warning of his martyrdom in a vision at Pon- tigny — on a Tuesday he had returned from that exile — it was now on a Tuesday that the fatal hour came 2 — 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 3 — and Tuesday was long after- wards regarded as the week-day especially consecrated to the saint, with whose fortunes it had thus been so strangely interwoven.* Other omens were remarked. A soldier 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.s He himself had told several persons in France, that he was convinced he should not outlive the year, 6 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 bed-chamber by asking whether it would be possible for any one to escape to Sand- 1 Fitzstephen, 297. the date of his death to 11-0, not 1171 ; * Robert of Gloucester, Li.'c of Eecket, Gervase, 1418. 2S5. * See the deed quoted in Journal of * Diceto (Giles), i. 377 ; Matthew Paris, British Archseol. Assoc., April 1S54. 97. It was the fact of the 29th of De- ' Grandison, c. 5. See p. 71. ccnibcr falling on a Tuesday that fixes * Benedict, 71. 1170.] The Knights enter the Palace. 75 wich before daylight, and on being answered in the affirma- tive, added, " Let 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 receiving, as seems to have been his custom, three scourgings. 1 Then came the usual banquet in the great hall of the Palace at three in the afternoon. He was observed to drink more than usual, and 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 ; 3 and Becket had retired to his private room, 6 where he sat on his bed/ talking to his friends ; whilst the servants, according to the practice which is still preserved in our old collegiate establishments, re- mained 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/ 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; '3 the doors were all open, and they passed through the 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, r s the dress 1 Gamier, 70, b. 25. 3 Anon. Lambeth ed. Giles, ii. 121 ; Roger, 169 ; Gamier, 77, b. 2. ' Grandison, c. 5. See p. 53. 4 Grandison, c. 5. 5 For the account of his dinners, see Herbert, 63, 64, 70, 71. ° Grim. 70 ; Benedict, ii. 55. ' Roger, 163. 8 Gamier, 20, b. 10. ■ Fitzstephen, 189. This was in winter. In summer it would have been fresh rushes and green leaves. 10 Grim, 70 ; Fitzstephen, 294. " Gamier, 66, b. 17. 12 Fitzstephen, 310. » Gervase, 1415. " Grim. 70 ; Roger, 161. 15 Gamier, 66, b. 25, 67, b. 10 ; Roger, 161 ; Grim, 70. See the Archbishop's permission in p. 54. ;6 Appearance of Bcckct. [1170. of ordinary life. One attendant, Radulf, 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 recognised, he ran forward and gave them the usual kiss of salutation, and at their re- quest ushered them to the room where Becket sate. " My lord," he said, " here are four knights from King Henry, wishing to speak to you." 1 " 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 Archbishop. Three of them — Hugh de Moreville, Regi- nald Fitzurse, and William de Tracy — had known him long before in the days of his splendour as Chancellor and favourite of the King. He was still in the vigour of strength, though in his fifty-third year : his countenance, 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 glancing to and fro; 2 and his tails figure, though really spare and thin, had a portly look from the number of wrappings which he bore beneath his ordinary clothes. Round about him sate or lay on the floor the clergy of his household — amongst them, his faithful coun- sellor John of Salisbury, William Fitzstephen his chaplain, and Edward Grim a Saxon monk of Cambridge,* who had arrived but 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 sate next him, and on whose shoulder he was leaning, s They, on their part, entered without a word, beyond a 1 Gamier, 67, 15. * Herbert, 337. * Herbert, 63. 1 Fitzstephen, 185. s Gamier, 67, 20, 26. 1170.] The Knights Interview with Bccket. 77 greeting exchanged in a whisper to the attendant who stood near the door, 1 and then marched straight to where the Archbishop sate, and placed themselves on the floor at his feet, among the clergy who were reclining around. Radulf the archer sate behind them 2 on the boards. Becket now turned round for the first time, and gazed steadfastly on each in silence, 3 which he at last broke by saluting Tracy by name. The conspirators continued to look minutely at each other, till Fitzurse, who throughout took the lead, replied, with a scornful expression, " God help you !" Becket's face grew crimson, 5 and he glanced round at their countenances, 6 which seemed to gather fire from Fitzurse's speech. Fitz- urse 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."? "As you wish," said the Archbishop. " Nay, as you wish," said Fitzurse. 8 "Nay, as you wish," said Becket. The monks at the Arch- bishop's intimation withdrew into an adjoining room ; but the doorkeeper ran up and kept the door ajar, that they might see from the outside what was going on. 0 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. 10 For a few seconds the knights were left alone with Becket ; and the thought occurred to them, as they afterwards confessed, of killing him with the cross-staff which lay at his feet — the only weapon within their reach. 11 The monks hurried back, and Fitzurse, apparently calmed by their presence, resumed his statement of the complaints of the King. These complaints, 12 which are given by various 1 Benedict, 55. J Roger, 161 ; Gamier, 67. ■ Roger, l6x. B Grim, 70 ; Gamier, 67, 18; 6 Roger, 161. T Grim, 70; Roger, 161 ; Gamier, 67, b. 10-.5. " Roger, 161 ; Gamier, 67, b. 19. 8 Roger, 161 ; Benedict, 55. 10 Roger, 162 ; Benedict, 56 ; Gamier, 67, b. 20. " Grim, 71 ; Roger, 165 ; Gamier, 67, b. 25- It was probably Tracy's thought, as his was the confession generally known. '" In this dialogue I have net attempted 78 The Knights Interview with Bcclcct. [1170. chroniclers 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." "Rather than take away his crown,'' replied Becker, " I would give him three or four crowns." 1 " You have excited disturbances in the kingdom, and the King, requires you to answer for them at his court" " Never," said the Archbishop, " shall the sea again come between me and my church, unless I am dragged thence by the feet." "You have excommunicated 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 preced- ing July. Fitzurse 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 archbishops, 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." 2 The knights, irritated by contradiction, swore again and again, " by God's wounds," that they had borne with him long enough.3 John of Salisbury, the prudent counsellor of the Archbishop, who perceived that matters were advancing to extremities, 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."* He, in his turn, complained of the insults he had to give more than the words of the lend- 1 Benedict, 56 ; Gamier, 63. ins questions and answers, in which most 1 He was remarkable for the tena- of the chroniclers are agreed. Where the city of hi memory, never forgetting SDeeches arc recorded with great varieties what he had heard or learned (Gervase, of expression, it is impossible to distin- Chron.). guish accurately between what was really 3 Benedict, 59 ; Gamier, 68, 16. spoken, and what was afterwards written ' Fitzstephen, 295. as likely to have been spoken. 1170.J The Knights' Interview with Beekct. 79 received. First came the grand grievances of the preceding 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." 1 It was now that Hugh de Moreville, the gentlest of the four, 2 put in a milder answer : " Why did you not complain to the King of these outrages ? Why do you take upon yourself to punish them by your own authority ? " 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." 3 For the first time in the interview the Archbishop had assumed an attitude of defiance ; the fury of the knights broke at once through the bonds which had partially re- strained it, and displayed 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 ; 4 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 excom- municated 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. 5 Foot to foot shall you find me in the battle of the Lord. 6 Once ' Roger, 163 ; Benedict, £11 ; Gervase, a common expression as it would seem. 1415 ; Gamier, C8, b. 26. Compare Benedict, 71. * Benedict, 62. 6 Roger, 163 ; Benedict, 61 ; Gervase, ' Roger, ,63, :6 4 . 1415. 4 Fitzstephen, 296. "Mina;, minae," 0 Benedict, 61. 8o The Knights' Interview with Becket. [1170. I gave way. I returned to my obedience to the Pope, and will never more desert it. And besides, you know what there is between you 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 ex- claimed^ " It is you who threaten ; " and in a deep under- tone they added some menace, and enjoined 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 them to the door, entreating them to release Fitz-Nigel ; 4 then he implored Moreville, as more courteous than the others, to return s and repeat their mes- 1 Fitzstephen, 296 ; Grim, 72 ; Anon, aliquid in ejus presentia licet longiusculfe Fassio Quinta, 174. et submisse dici posset, quod non audiret " Fitzstephen, 296. si aurem apponere voluisset." ' Garnier, 68, b. 15. For the general * Fitzstephen, 296. fact of the acuteness of his senses, both 8 Benedict, 62 ; Garnier, 69. hearing and smell, see Roger, 95. " Vix Their Assault on the Palace. 81 sage ; and lastly, in despair and indignation, he struck his neck repeatedly with his hand, and said, " Here, here you will find me." 1 The knights, deaf to his solicitations, kept their course, seizing, as they went, another soldier, Radulf 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 ! " (Reaux ! 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. 2 The knights threw off their cloaks and gowns under a large sycamore in the garden,^ appeared in their armour, and girt on their swords. 4 Fitzurse armed himself in the porch,s with the assistance of Robert Tibia, trencherman of the Archbishop. Osbert and Algar, two of the servants, seeing their approach, shut and barred the door of the hall, and the knights in vain endeavoured to force it open. 6 But Robert de Broc, who had known the palace during the time of its occupation by his uncle Ran- dolf,? 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 ante-chamber between the hall and the Archbishop's bed-room. The 1 Grim. 73 ; Roger, 163 ; Gamier, 69, remains, incorporated in one of the mo- ll. 5 (though he places this speech earlier), dern houses now occupying the site of * Fitzstephen, 298. the Palace. There is a similar porch, in * Gervase, Act. Pont., 1672. a more complete state, the only fragment * Garnicr, 70, 11. of a similar hall, adjoining the palace at * Fitzstephen, 298. The porch of the Norwich. hall, built, doubtless, on the plan of the 0 Fitzstephen, 297, 298. one here mentioned by Archbishop Lang- ' Fitzstephen, 298 ; Roger, 163 ; Gar- ton about fifty years later, still in part nier, 70. 82 Retreat of Becket to the Cathedral. [1170. wooden steps were under repair, and the carpenters had gone to their dinner, leaving their tools on the stairs. 1 Fitz- urse seized an axe, and the others hatchets, and thus armed they mounted the staircase to the ante-chamber, 2 broke through an oriel-window which looked out on the garden,3 entered the hall from the inside, attacked and wounded the servants who were guarding it, and opened the door to the assailants. ■* 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, s in words which show that the estimate of the Archbishop in his life- time justifies the impression of his vehement and unreason- able 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, and always is your custom, to do and say what seems good to yourself alone." "What would you have me do, Dan John?'"' 6 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." ? The Archbishop answered, "Let God's will be done." 8 " Would to God it might end well," sighed John in despair.9 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 danger was 1 Roger, 165 ; Benedict, 63. 8 Fitzstephen, 298 ; Benedict, 62. 2 Grim, 73 ; Fitzstephen, 298 ; Gamier, e Roger, 164 ; Garnier, 69, b. 25. 70, b. 1. ' Garnier, 70, b. 10. 3 Garnier, 70, b. 2. 8 Roger, 164 ; Benedict, 62 ; Garnier, * Benedict, 63. 70, 10. • Benedict, 62. 1170.] Miracle of the Lock. 8j 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. 1 They united in entreating him to take refuge in the cathedral. "No," he said; "fear not; all monks are cowards." 2 On this some sprang upon him, and endea- voured 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, 3 partly feeling that his doom called him thither, he rose and moved, but seeing that his cross-staff was not, as usual, borne before him, he stopped and called for it.-* He remembered, perhaps, the memorable day at the Council of Northampton, when he had himself borne the cross s 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 6 two days before, and the cross-staff was, therefore, borne by one of his clerks, Henry of Auxerre.? 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 w'th armed men, 8 they turned through a room which conducted to a private door 9 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, 10 and in the confusion of the moment, when none had leisure or inclination to ask how so oppor- tune a deliverance occurred, it was natural for the story to ' Gamier, 70, b. 16. ' Roger, 165 ; Fitzstephen, 298. * Fitzstephen, 299. He bad dreamed, or anticipated, that he should be killed in church, and had communicated his appre- hensions to the abbots of rqntigny and Val-Luisant (Benedict, 65), and, as we have seen, to a citizen of Canterbury on the eve of this day. • Fitzstephen, 299 ; Benedict, 64* • Herbert. 143. 0 Herbert, 330. ' Fitzstephen, 299. " Roger, 165. • Gamier, JZ . 10 Grim, 73 ; Roger, 166 ; Gamier, 17 b. 9 . 8 4 Scene in tlie Cathedral. [1170. arise which is related, with one exception, 1 in all the narra- tives of the period— that the bolt came off as though it had merely 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 Peterborough, and his version, compared with that of all the other his- torians, is an instructive commentary on a thousand fables of a similar kind. Two cellarmen, he says, of the monas- tery, 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 between 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 coloured and paused, and re- peatedly 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 per- emptorily forbade. 2 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 pursuing. Then the same ecclesiastic who had hastened forward to break open the door, called out, " Seize him, and 1 Benedict, 64. It is curious that a the tangled maw, and opened the door similar miracle was thought to have oc- (Roger, 142). The cellarman, Richard, curred on his leaving the royal castle at was the one who had received intimation Northampton. He found the gate locked of the danger (as mentioned in p. 74I, and and barred. One of his servants caught who would therefoie be on the watch. See sight of a bundle of keys hanging aloft, Willi's Oonventual Buildings of Christ seized it, and with wonderful quickaess Church, p. 116. [quod quasi mivaculum quibusdam vi- * i'itzstephen, 292. turn est), picked out the right key from 1170.] Scene in the Cathedral. 85 carry him." 1 Vehemently he resisted, but in vain. Some pulled him from before, others pushed from behind ; 2 half carried, half drawn, he was borne along 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. 3 At last they reached the door of the lower north transept 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 boys rushed up the nave, announcing, more by their terrified gestures than by their words, that the soldiers were bursting into the palace and monastery.* Instantly the service was thrown into the utmost confusion ; part remained at prayer — part fled into the numerous hiding-places the vast fabric affords ; and part went down the steps of the choir into the transept to meet the little band at the door.s " Come in, come in! " exclaimed one of them, " come in, and let us die together " 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. 5 The knights had just forced their way into the cloister, and were now (as would appear from their being thus seen through the open door) advancing along its southern side. They were in mail, which covered their 1 Roger, 166. that we ascertain the sides of the duller * Gamier, 71, 27. by wh'ch Becket came. ' Roger, 166. It is from this mention * Will. Cant., 32. of the chapter-house, which occupied the 8 Fitzstephen, 249. same relative position as the present one, 0 Benedict, 64 ; Herbert, 33a. 86 Entrance of the Knights. [1170. faces up to their eyes, and carried their swords drawn. 1 With them was Hugh of Horsea, surnamed Mauclerc, a subdeacon, chaplain of Robert de Broc. 2 Three had hatchets. 3 Fitzurse, with the axe he had taken from the carpenters, was foremost, shouting as he came, "Here, here, king's men ! " Immediately behind him followed Robert Fritzranulph,* 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 armour, brought up the rear.s At this sight, so unwonted in the peaceful cloisters of Canterbury, not probably beheld 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 endeavoured to prevent the entrance of the knights into the cloister, now rushed before them to take refuge in the church.' Becket, who had stepped some paces into the cathedral, but was re- sisting the solicitations of those immediately about him to move up into the choir for safety, darted back, calling aloud as he went, " Away, you cowards ! By virtue of your obedi- ence I command you not to shut the door — the church must not be turned into a castle." 8 With 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 !"9 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 cathedral are filled. One of them has had the rashness to leave on record his own ex- 1 Gamier, 71, b. 10. ' Anon. Lambeth, 121. Herbert (331) 9 Gervase, Act. Pont., 1672. describes the knocking, but mistakingly 1 Gamier, 71 b. 12. supposes it to be the knights. * Foss's Judges, i. 243. 1 Gamier, 71, b. 24. This speech * Fitzstephen, 300. occurs in all. 1 Herbert, 331 ; Benedict, 65. ° Benedict, 65. 86 Entrance of t/ie Knights. [1170. faces up to their eyes, and carried their swords drawn. 1 With them was Hugh of Horsea, surnamed Mauclerc, a subdcacon, chaplain of Robert de Broc. 2 Three had hatchets. 3 Fitzurse, with the axe he had taken from the carpenters, was foremost, shouting as he came, " Here, here, king's men ! " Immediately behind him followed Robert Fritzranulph,* 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 armour, brought up the rear.s At this sight, so unwonted in the peaceful cloisters of Canterbury, not probably beheld 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 endeavoured to prevent the entrance of the knights into the cloister, now rushed before them to take refuge in the church.? Becket, who had stepped some paces into the cathedral, but was re- sisting the solicitations of those immediately about him to move up into the choir for safety, darted back, calling aloud as he went, " Away, you cowards ! By virtue of your obedi- ence I command you not to shut the door — the church must not be turned into a castle." 8 With 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 !"£> 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 cathedral are filled. One of them has had the rashness to leave on record his own ex- 1 Gamier, 71, b. 10. 1 Anon. Lambeth, 121. Herbert (331) * Gervase, Act. Pont., 1672. describes the knocking, but mistakingly * Gamier, 71 b. 12. supposes it to be the knights. * Foss's Judges, i. 243. " Gamier, 71, b. 24. This speech * Fiustephen, 300. occurs in all. * Herbert, 331 ; Benedict, 65. 1 Benedict, 65. A The Nav, Biddy Clu. C. Chipdol D. Chapel el ^Benedict Sf-MJutel UK StBlauc ahi E.Chnr, FPrariytciy. & Chapel tfS.'Ansebn,. H Chapel bfS?Andrcw> li Trinity I Impel wttb the Crypt , ' ' IJJiqh At far Allur i Paint Alter, Allur, isb. (w. tie Crypt, m Uu CruDt l CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL AT THE TIME Of BECKETS MURDER I. 'hiefty Irani the Work of Profesor Wilts I Door of the Cloisters. Z.Door of the Cathedral 3. Stttvcase to the roof ' 4 Staircase to the Crypt S. Staircase to the Choir. 6 Pillar where the Atrhhishop stood/. 7. Spot where he fell 8 . Spot where the body lay during the night 9. Spot where the. body was buntoi w the Crypt 7\e course of the Archbishop The course of the Knights j lAoisluTps Palace 1170.] Entrance of the Knights. 8; cessive terror. 1 Even John of Salisbury, his tried and faith- full counsellor, escaped with the rest. Three only remained — Robert, canon of Merton, his old instructor ; William Fitz- stephen (if we may believe his own account), his lively and worldly-minded chaplain ; and Edward Grim, the Saxon monk. 2 William, one of the monks of Canterbury, who has recorded his impressions of the scene, confesses 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. 3 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 stair- case cut in the thickness of the wall at the corner of the transept* But he positively refused. One last resource remained to the staunch companions who 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. 5 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. 6 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 ' William of Canterbury (in the Win- logia Cantiana, vi. 42. Chester MS.). * Fitzstcphen, 301. 1 Roger, 166. * Fitzstephen, 301. * Anon. Lambeth, 121 ;Gcrvabe, Cliron. * William Cant., published in Archxo- 1443. 88 Transept of " The Martyrdom" [1170. the church. It was, we must remember, about five o'clock in a winter evening • 1 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 burn- ing before the altars. The twilight, 2 lengthening from the shortest day a fortnight before, was but just sufficient to reveal the outline of objects. The transept 3 in which the knights found themselves is the same as that which — 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 south-west 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, contain- ing the relics of St. Blaise, the first martyr whose bones had been brought into the church, and which gave to the chapel a peculiar sanctity ; the loAver containing + 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 Saxons and two Norman archbishops. In the centre of the transept was a pillar, supporting a gallery leading to the chapel of St. Blaise, 5 and hung at 1 " Nox longissima instabat." Fiu- stephen, 301. * The 29th of December of that year corresponded (by tne change of style) to our 4th of January. s Gamier, 74, b. 11 : " Pur l'iglise del nort e en l'ele del nort, Envers le nort suffri li bons sainz For the anrient arrangements of " the martyrdom," see Willis's Account of Can- terbury Cathedral, 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 stair- case. In the two last points, a parallel to the old arrangement may still be found in the southern transept. * It may be mentioned, as an instance of Hume's well-known inaccuracy, that he represents Becket as taking refuge "in the church of St. Benedict," evi- dently thinking, if he thought at all, that it was a parish-church dedicated to that '' Gamier, 72-79, b. 6. Willis's Can- terbury Cathedral, p. 47. 1170.] Meeting of the Knights and the Archbishop. 89 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. At the moment of their entrance the central pillar exactly intercepted their view of the Archbishop ascending (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 figures 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 remembered the indignant silence with which Becket had swept by when the same word had been applied by Randulf of 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 Arch- bishop?" Instantly the answer came — "Reginald, here I am, no traitor, but the Archbishop and Priest of God ; what do you wish ? " s — 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? — 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 passings by him took up his station between the * Gamier, 72, 10. 3 Gamier, 72, 11. " Gervase, Act Pont., 1673. • Roger, 142. ' As in his interview with the Ahbot of 4 Gamier, 72, 14. St. Albans, at Harrow. See p. 65. ' Gervase, Act. Pont., 1672 ; Gamier, ' Grandison, c. 9. 72, 15. s Grim, 75 ; Roger, 166. 90 The Struggle. [1170. central pillar 1 and the massive wall which still forms the south-west corner of what was then the chapel of St. Bene- dict. 2 Here they gathered round him, with the cry, "Ab- solve the bishops whom you have excommunicated." " I cannot do other than I have done." he replied, and turning3 to Fitzurse, he added — " Reginald, you have received many favours 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." s "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 i 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,' 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 detest- able fellow," 11 was Becket's reply, roused to his usual vehe- mence, and wrenching the cloak out of Fitzurse's grasp. 12 The three knights, to whom was now added Hugh Mauclerc, chaplain of Robert de Broc,^ struggled violently to put him on Tracy's shoulders. 14 Becket set his back against the pillar,^ and resisted with all his might, whilst Grim, 16 vehe- mently remonstrating, threw his amis around him to aid his efforts. In the scuffle Becket fastened upon Tracy, shook ' Roger, 166. " Grim, 76 ; Roger, 166. ' Willis's Canterbury, 41. Itwasafter- * Fitzstephen, 302; Benedict, 88. wards preserved purposely. 10 Gamier, 72, 20, 30. 3 Gamier, 72, 20. 11 " Vir aboniinabilis.*' Gerva-se, Act. 'Grim, 79; Anon. Passio Quinta, Pont., 1673. ™ Gamier, 73, 21. 176. 6 Grim, 75, 76 ; Roger, 166. 13 Roger, 166 ; Gamier, 71. • Herbeit, 338 ; Gamier, 72, b. 25 : " Roger, 166. Fitzstephen, 302 ; Grim, 76 ; Roger, 166. ls Gamier, 72, 73, b. 5 : Grim, 75. ' Anon. Lamb., 122 ; Fitzstephen, 302. '• Fitzstephen, 302 ; Gamier, -3, b. 6. 1170.] The Murder. 9i him by his coat of mail, and exerting his great strength, flung him down on the pavement. 1 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 2 epithet, not calculated to turn away his adversary's wrath, exclaimed, " You profligate wretch, you are my man — you have done me fealty — you ought not to touch me." 3 Fitzurse, glowing all over with rage, retorted — " I owe you no fealty or homage, contrary to my fealty to the King," * 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,s " I commend my cause and the cause of the Church to God, to St. Denys the martyr of France, to St. Alfege, and to the saints of the Church." Meanwhile Tracy, who, since his fall, had thrown off his hauberk 6 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 defence." The sword lighted on the arm of the monk, which fell wounded or broken ; 7 and he fled disabled to the 1 Benedict, 66 ; Roger, 166 ; Gervase, Act. Pont., 1173 ; Herbert, 331 ; Gamier, 72, b. 30. All but Herbert and Gamier believe this to have been Fitzurse, but the reference of Herbert to Tracy's con- 3 *' Lenonem appellans," Roger, 167 ; Grim, 66. It is this part of the narrative that was so ingeniously, and, it must be confessed, nut altogether without justice, selected as the ground of the official account of Docket'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 Geoflry Riddell, Arch- deacon of Canterbury, was Arch-dc:-il. Anselm, the king's brother, he called a "catamite and bastard." 3 Grim, 66. 4 Grim, 66 ; Roger, 167 ; Gamier, 73, b. 11. 6 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 doubt- less the moment when they were spuken. 0 Gamier, 73, b. I. 7 Gamier, 73, b. 18. The words in which this act is described in almost all 92 The Murder. [1170. nearest altar, 1 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 narrators, be- lieved it to have been dealt by Fitzurse, while Tracy, who is known to have been 2 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,3 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, 4 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,* 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, 6 he fell flat on his face as he spoke, in front of the corner wall of the chapel, and with such dignity that his the chronicles have given rise to a curious mistake : — " Brachium Edwardi Grim fere abscidit." By running together these two words, later writers have pro- duced the name of " Grimfe^.'' Many similar confusions will occur to classical scholars. In most of the mediaeval pic- tures of the murder, Grim is represented as the cross-bearer, which is an error. Gramlison alone speaks of Grim, "aim entce." The acting cross-bearer, Henry of Auxerre, had doubtless fled. Another error respecting Grim has been propa- gated 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 ac- quiescence in the Constitutions of Cla- rendon. The real cross-bearer, who so remonstrated (Alan of Tewkesbury, i. 340) was not a Saxon, but a Welshman (see Robertson, 335). ' Will. Cant., 32. a Will. Cant., 33; Fitzstephen, 302; Camier, 73. b. 17. ' Gamier, 73, b. 8. « Will. Cant., 32 ; Grim, 56. • Grim, 66. " Gervase, Chron., 2466. 1170.] The Murder. 95 mantle, which extended from head to foot, was not dis- arranged. In this posture he received from Richard the Breton a tremendous blow, accompanied with the exclama- tion (in allusion to a quarrel of Becket with Prince William) "Take this for love of my lord William, brother of the King." 1 The stroke was aimed with such violence that the scalp or crown of the head 2 — which, it was remarked, was of unusual size — was severed from the skull, and the sword snapt in two on the marble pavement. 3 The fracture of the murderous weapon was reported by one of the eye-witnesses as a presage of the ultimate discomfiture of the Archbishop's enemies. 4 Hugh of Horsea, the subdeacon who had joined them as they entered the churchy taunted by the others ' Fitzstcphen, 303. 2 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 singu- larly 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, 5 S). 3 Benedict, 66. For the pavement being; marble, see Benedict, 66, and Gar- nier, 79, b. 19. Baronius (vol. xix. p. 379) calls it " Iapideum pavimentum." A spot is still shown in Canterbury Cathedral, with a square piece of stone said to hav- 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 flag- stones now remaining arc 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 Baro- nius (vol. xix. p. 371) in proof of the story, has no bearing upon it ; and also that the tradition respecting it at Canter- bury cannot be traced beyond the begin- ning of this century. Another story states that Benedict, when appointed Abbot of Peterborough in 1177, being vexed at finding that his predecessor had pawned or sold the relics of the abbey, returned to Canterbury, and car- ried off, amongst other memorials of St. 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 supposition with which the pre- sent appearance of the flagstone remark- ably corresponds. * Will. Cant. (Arch. Cant, vi 42). 6 Benedict (66J ascribes this to Brito : the anonymous Passio Quinta (i 77 ) to Fitzurse; Herbert {345) and Grandison (iv. 1) to Robert de Broc. The rest tc Mauclerc. G 94 Plunder of the Palace. [1170. with having taken no share in the deed, planted his foot on the neck of the corpsa, 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." 1 This was the final act. One only of the four knights had struck no blow. Hugh de Moreville throughout re- tained the gentler disposition for which he was distinguished, and contented himself with holding back at the entrance of the transept the crowds who were pouring in through the nave. 2 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 perpe- trated, and that they retired with trembling steps, expecting the earth to open and swallow them up.3 Such, however, was not their outward demeanour, 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 4 — " The king's men, the king's men ! " — wound- ing, as they went, a servant of the Archdeacon of Sens for lamenting the murdered prelate. 5 Robert de Broc, as 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, 6 and other documents, which Randolph de Broc sent to the King. They then traversed the whole of the palace, plun- dering gold and silver vases; ? the magnificent vestments and utensils employed in the services of the church; the furniture and books of the chaplains' rooms ; and, lastly, the horses from the stables, on which Becket had prided him- 1 Fitzstephen, 303 ; Roger, 268 ; Bene- 168 ; Fitzstephen, 303. diet, 67 ; Gamier, 74, 23. ' Fitzstephen, 305. See Ducange in - Roger, 10S • Grim, 77; Garnier, 74, voce; Robertson, p. 282. ti. * Herbert, 351 ; Grandison, c. 9. 0 Garnier, 74 5. * Carnier, 74, b. 1 ; Grim, 79 ; Roger, ' Fitzstephen, 303. 1170.] The Storm. 95 self to the last, and on which they rode off. 1 The amount of plunder was estimated by Fitzstephen at 2000 marks. To their great surprise they found two haircloths among the effects 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 2 upon the scene of the dreadful deed. The crowd was every instant increased by the multitudes flocking in from the town on the tidings of the event. There was still at that moment, as in his lifetime, 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, 3 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." * Whatever horror was expressed, was felt (as in the life-long remorse of Robert Bruce for the slaughter of the Red Comyn in the Church of Dumfries) not at the murder, but at the sacrilege. At last, however, the cathedral was cleared, and the gates shut ; 5 and for a time the body lay entirely deserted. It was not till the night had quite closed in, that Osbert, the chamberlain 6 of the Archbishop, entering with a light, found the corpse lying on its face, 7 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 coun- tenance : a smile still seemed to play on the features — the colour on the cheeks was fresh — and the eyes were closed as if in sleep. 8 The top of the head, wound round with 1 Herbert, 352. * Fitzstephen, 304. • Will. Cant., 33. The same appcar- ' Grim, 79, 80. * Eenedict, 67. ances are described on the subsequent • Roger, 169. ' FiUstcphcD, 30s. morning, in Herbert, 358 ; Grandison, ' Grandlson, iv. t. c. 9. 9 6 The Dead Body. [1170. 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. 1 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 pre- served. 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 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 sanguinary 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. 2 After tying up the head with clean linen, and fastening the cap over it, they placed the body on a bier, and carried it up the successive flight of steps which led from the tran- sept 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 occasion — by a chandelier with twenty-four wax tapers. Vessels were placed underneath the body to catch any drops of blood that mights fall, and the monks sat weeping around.* The aged Robert, canon of Merton, the earliest friend and instructor of Becket, and one of the three who had remained with him to the last, consoled them by a narration of the austere life of the martyred pre- 1 Benedict, 68 ; or (as Robert of GIou- of Becket were often recognised, cester states it), " from the left half of - Benedict, 68. his forehead to the left half of his chin." 3 Benedict, 69. By this marl:, the subsequent apparitions * Roger, 168. 1170.] Discovery of the Haircloth. 97 late, which hitherto had been only known to himself, as the confessor of the Primate, and to Bran the valet. 1 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 moment there had been a jealousy of the elevation of the gay chancellor to the Archbishopric of Canterbury. The primacy involved the abbacy of the cathedral monastery, 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 triumphed over his predecessor Odo by dancing on his grave, was overtaken by a violent snow- storm in passing the Alps, and, in spite of the attempts to re- suscitate 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 received, from a mysterious 2 apparition, an awful warning against ap- pearing 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," 3 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 ' Fitzstcphen, 308. secretly assumed the monastic dress on * Grim, 16. Another version, current the day of his consecration (Ant. Cant., after his death, represented him as having vii. 213). 3 Fitzstcphen, 308. 9 8 The Aurora Borealis. [1170. in sackcloth who had hitherto been known as the chancellor in purple and fine linen. 1 A new enthusiasm was kindled by the spectacle : Arnold, a monk, who was goldsmith to the monastery, was sent back, 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. 2 This perhaps was the moment that the great ardour 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 subsequent pilgrimages to the shrine. A citizen of Canterbury 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 sug- gested the notion of mixing the blood with water, which, endlessly diluted, was kept in innumerable vials, to be dis- tributed to the pilgrims ; 3 and thus, as the palm * was a sign of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and a scallop-shell of the pilgrimage to Compostella, so a leaden vial or bottle sus- pended from the neck became the mark of a pilgrimage to Canterbury. [Dec. 30.] Thus passed the night, and it is not surprising that in s the red glare of an aurora borealis, which, after the stormy evening, lighted up the midnight sky, the excited populace, like that at Rome after the murder of Rossi, 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 grey winter morning broke through the stained windows of Conrad's choir, the monks who sate round the corpse should imagine that the right arm of the dead man was slowly raised in the sign of the cross, as if to bless his faithful followers. 6 1 Fitzstephen, 308 ; Gervase, Chrcn., 1416. 2 Fitzstephen, 308. ' Fitzstephen, 309. 4 Gamier, 78, b. 16 ; Anon. Lambeth, p. 134. ' Fitzstephen, 304. * Anon. Passio Tertia, 156 ; Hovc- den, 299. 1170.] Unwrapping of the Corpse. 99 Early in the next day a rumour 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, 1 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 St. Peter so dealt with the King," he said, "by the body of St. Denys, if I had been there I would have driven my sword into his skull." 2 They accordingly closed 3 the doors, which apparently had re- mained 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 Boxley and the Prior * of Dover, who had come to advise with the Arch- bishop about the vacancy of the Priory at Canterbury, s A discussion seems to have taken place whether the body should be washed, according to the usual custom, which ended in their removing the clothes for the purpose. The mass of garments in which he was wrapt is almost incredible, and appears to have been worn chiefly for the sake of warmth, and in consequence of his naturally chilly tempera- ment. 6 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 Benedictine 7 order and the shirt 8 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 1 Fitzstephen, 309 ; Anon. I.ambeth, chaplain, and his successor in the pri- 134; Eenedict, 69; Roger, 168; Her- macy. Matt. Paris, Hist. 127 ; Vit. Abb. bel t, 327 ; Grim, 81 ; Garnier, 76, b. 1. St. A., 16, 91. * Gamier, 76, b. 7. e Fitzstephen, 309. < Gervase, Chron., 1417. • Gamier, 77, 1. * The Prior of Dover was no less a " Matt. Paris, 104. person than Richard, the Archbislup's " Carnicr, 77 ; Herbert, 33a 100 Discovery of the Vermin. [1170. warning" letter 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 j but as they pro- ceeded in their task their admiration increased. The hair- cloth encased the whole body, down to the knees ; the hair drawers, 2 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 por- tion was still apparent in the stripes on his body. 3 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 * — 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 s in a simmering cauldron. At the dreadful sight all the enthusiasm of the previous night revived with double ardour. They looked at each other 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. 6 The discovery of so much mortification, combined with the more prudential reasons for hastening the funeral, induced them to abandon the thought of washing a corpse already, 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,? they put first the dress in which he was consecrated, and which he had himself desired to be preserved 8 — namely, the alb, super-humeral, chrismatic, mitre, stole, and maniple; and over these, according to the usual custom in archiepis- 1 Fitzstephen, 203 ; Roger, 169 ; Eene- ' Passio Quinta, 161. diet, 20. ' Roger, 169 ; Gamier, 77, b. 30. " Gamier, 77, 40. ' Fitzstephen ; Benedict, 70 ; Malt. * Anon. Passio Tenia, 156. Paris, 124. * Roger, 169 ; Fitzstephen, 309. " Fitzstephen, 309. 1170.] Burial in the Crypt. 101 copal 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 1 — all of which, being probably kept in the treasury of the cathedral, were accessible at the moment. The ring which he actually wore at the time of his death, with a green gem 2 set in it, was taken off. Thus arrayed, he was laid by the monks in a new marble sarcophagus 3 which stood in the ancient crypt/ at the back of the shrine of the Virgin, between" the altars of St. Augustine and St. John the Baptist, 3 the first Archbishop as it was observed, and the bold opponent of a wicked king. The remains of the blood and brains were placed outside the tomb, and the doors of the crypt closed against all entrance. 6 No mass was said over the Arch- bishop's grave ; 1 for from the moment that armed men had entered, the church was supposed to have been desecrated ; the pavement of the cathedral 8 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 9 in the chapter-house. This desolation continued till the next year, when Odo the Prior, with the monks, took advan- tage 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 10 to the Bishops of Exeter and_ Chester ; and 1 Fitzstephen, 309. 3 This, with a knife, and various por-" tions of the dress, were preserved in the treasury of Glastonbury (John of Glaston- bury, ed. Hearn, p. 28). 3 Grim, 82 ; Benedict, 70 ; Gerrase, Chron., 1417- * Benedict, 70 ; Diceto (Addit. ad Alan.), 377 ; Matt. Paris, 124. 6 Fitzstephen, 309 ; Grandison, c. 9 ; Gervase, Act. Pont., 1673. (Gervase was present.) Alan. 339; M. 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. • Gervase, Chron., 14 17. ' Fitzstephen, 310; Matt. Paris, 125 ; Diceto, 338. 8 Diceto (558) speaks of the dirt of the pavement from the crowd who trod it with dusty and muddy feet. M. Paris, 126. 9 Gervase, Chron., : 4 i 7 . 10 Gervase, 1421. Chester then was the seat of the see of Lichfield. 102 Canonisation. [1171. on the 21st of December, the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle, 1 1 71 (the day of St. Thomas of Canterbury was not yet authorised), 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." 1 Within three years the popular enthusiasm was confirmed by the highest authority of the Church. The Archbishop of York had, some time after the murder, ventured to de- clare that Becket had perished, like Pharaoh, in his pride, and the government had endeavoured to suppress the miracles. But the Papal court, vacillating, and often unfriendly in his lifetime, now lent itself to confer the highest honours on his martyrdom. 2 On the very day of the murder some of the Canterbury monks had embarked to convey their own ver- sion of it to the Pope. 3 In 11 72 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. 4 In 11 73 a Council was called at West- minster to hear letters read from the Pope, authorising the invocation of the martyr as a saint. All the bishops who had opposed him were present, and after begging pardon for their offence, expressed their acquiescence in the decision of the Pope. In the course of the same year, on Ash Wednesday, the 21st of February, 5 he was regularly canon- ised, and the 29th of December was set apart as the Feast of St. Thomas of Canterbury. His sister Mary was ap- pointed Abbess of Barking. 6 1 M. Paris, 125. Bartholomew's tomb E Florence of Worcester, 153. may be seen in the Lady Chapel of 8 Matt. Paris, 126. At this Council Exeter Cathedral. took place, between Roger of York and 2 Milman's Lat. Christianity, iii. 532. Richard of Canterbury, the scene already 3 Ant. Cant., vii. 216. mentioned (p. 63). Roger nearly lost his * Baronius, xix. 396. A fragment of life under the sticks and fists of the oppo- the tunic, and small blue bags said to con- site party, who shouted out, as he rose tain portions of the brain, are still shown from the ground with crushed mitre and in the reliquary of this church. torn cope, "Away, away, traitor of St. 1173.] Escape of the Murderers, 103 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 sculptures, 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 subsequent history of those sacred spots must be reserved for a separate consideration. It remains for us now to follow the fate of the murderers. [11 70. 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 Salisbury. [Dec. 31.] The next day they rode forty miles by the sea-coast to South-Mailing, an archiepiscopal manor near Lewes. On entering the house, they 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 attendants, 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 further off. Soldiers and servants with torches searched Thomas— thy hands still reek with his within the chapel of St. Benedict. 3. This blood !" Anglia Sacra, i. 72 ; (Gervase, altar is again transformed into the High 1433). Altar ; and 4. In these successive changes 1 The gradual growth of the story is the furious altercation is converted into curious : — 1. The posthumous altar of the an assault on a meek unprepared wor- martyrdom is represented as standing shipper, kneeling before the altar, there at the time of his death. 2. This 2 See Cough's Sepulchral Monuments, altar is next confounded with tiic altar i. 20. 104 Legend of their DeatJis, [1171. in vain under the solid table to find the cause of its convul- sions, till one of the conscience-stricken 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," "leap- ing," 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 con- fined after their capture. From this moment they disappear for a time in the black cloud of legend with which the monastic historians have en- veloped their memory. Dogs, it was said, refused to eat the crumbs that fell from their table.s One of them in a fit of madness killed his own son.* Sent by the king to Scotland, they were driven back by the Scottish Court to England, and, but for the terror of Henry's name, would have been hanged on gibbets, s Struck with remorse, they went to Rome to receive the sentence of Pope Alexander III., and by him were sent to expiate their sins by a military serv ice of fourteen 6 years, in the Holy Land. Moreville, Fitzurse, 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 Mountain," ? with an inscription on their graves, — " Hie jacent miseri qui martyrisaverunt Beatum Thomam Archiepiscopura Cantuariensem." Grandison, iv. i. " Monstratur ibi- ' Baronius, xix. 399. The legend d.'m ipsa tabula in memoriam miraculi hardly aims at probabilities. The conservata." See also Giraldus, in Whar- "Church of the Black Mountain" may tun's Anglia Sacra, 425. possibly be a mountain so called in Lan- 3 Brompton, 1064 ; Diccto, 557. ' guedoc, near the Abbey of St. Papoul. 3 Erompton, 1064 ; Huveden, 299- 'I be front of the Church of the Holy * Passio Tertia. Giles, vol. ii. p. 157. Sepulchre is, and always must have been, s Ant. Cant., vii. 218. a square of public resort to all the pil- ° Ibid., 219. grims of the world, where no tombs either 1171.] Legend of their Deaths. 105 Tracy alone, it was said, was never able to accomplish his vow. The crime of having struck the first blow 1 was avenged by the winds of heaven, which always drove him back. According to one story, he never left England. Ac- cording to another, and, as we shall see, more correct version, he reached the coast of Calabria, and was then seized at Cosenza with a dreadful disorder, which caused him to tear his flesh from his bones with his own hands, calling, " Mercy, St. Thomas," and there he died miserably, after "Having made his confession to the bishop of the place. His fate was long remembered among his descendants in Glou- cestershire, and gave rise to the distich that — " The Tracy s Have always the wind in their faces." Another version of the story, preserved in the traditions 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 Cologne, 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 " O 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, " O 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. Rumold, the patron saint of Mechlin, and died there. Over their grave, written on the outer wall of the circular chapel of St. Rumold, now destroyed, was of murderer or saint could have ever been very improbable. Nothing of the kind placed. The Church of the Templars now exists on either spot, was " the Mosque of the Rock," and the ' " Primus percussor," Baronius, xtx. front was the sacred platform of the sane- p. 399. See Robert of Gloucester, 1301- tuary-a less impossible place, but still 1321 ; Fuller's Worthies, 357- io6 Their Real History. the following epitaph : — Rychardus Brito, necnon Morialius Jingo ; Guilhclmus Trad, Rcginaldus filius Ursi: Thomatn martyrium subire feeere primatcm.' 1 Such is the legend. The real facts, so far as we can ascertain them, are in some respects curiously at variance with it, — in other respects, no less curiously confirm it. On the one hand, the general fate of the murderers was far less terrible than the popular tradition delighted to believe. It would seem that, by a singular 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. 2 The consequence was, that the perpetrators of what was thought the most heinous crime since the Cruci- fixion could be visited with no other penalty than excommuni- cation. 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. 3 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 Geoffry Riddel, Becket's "arch- devil," 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 1 Acta S. Rumoldi Sollerius, Ant- ment of the Constitutions of Clarendon, wcrp, 1718 ; communicated by the kind- between Henry II. and the Papal Legate ness of Mr. King. (Matt. Paris, 132), and from that time " Such at least seems the most pro- slayers of clergy were punished before bable explanation. The fact of the law the Grand Justiciary in the presence of is slated, as in the text, by Speed (p. 511). the Bishop. The law was altered in 1176(23 H. II ), 3 John of Salisbury's Letters (Giles, »hat is, seven years from the date of the ii. 273). murder, at the time of the final settle- Moreville, Fitzurse, Bret. ro; king, and constantly joined him in the pleasures of the chase," or else hawking and hunting in England. 2 Moreville, who 3 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 fcr holding his court so long as Helwise his wife should continue in a secular habit. He procured about the same period a charter for a fair and market at Kirk Oswald, and died shortly afterwards, leaving two daughters.'* 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 5 Castle, between Carlisle and Whitehaven. A cross near the castle of Egremont, which passed into his family, was dedicated to S. Thomas, and the spot where it stood is still called St. Thomas's Cross. Fitz- urse. is said to have gone over to Ireland, and there to have become the ancestor of the M'Mahon family in the north of Ireland — M'Mahon being the Celtic translation of Bear's son. 6 On his flight, the estate which he held in the Isle of Thanet, Barham or Berham Court, lapsed to his kinsman Robert of Berham — Berham being, as it would seem, the English, as M'Mahon was the Irish version, of the name Fitzurse.' His estate of Willeton, in Somersetshire, he made over, half to the knights of St. John the year after the murder, probably in expiation — the other half to his brother Robert, who built the chapel of Willeton. The descendants of the family lingered for a long time in the neighbourhood under the same name, successively corrupted into Fitzour, Fishour, 1 Gcrvase, 1422. I.awson, Bart., where I saw it in 1856. " Lansdowne MS. (Ant. Cant., vii. 211). The sword bears as an inscription, "Gott s Foss's Judges, t. 279, 280. bewahr die aufrichtcn Schottcn." The 4 Lysons' Cumberland, p. 127. Nichols' word "bewahr" proves that the inscription Pilgrimage of Erasmus, p. 220. He must (whatever may be the date of the sword) not be confounded with his namesake, cannot be older than the sixteenth century, the founder of Dryburgh Abbey. 0 Fuller's Worthies. 8 Now the property of Sir Wilfred 7 Harris's Kent, 313. io3 Fitzranulph, Tracy. 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 Somersetshire, is still called from the family " Sanford Bret." 2 Robert 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/ Robert Brock appears to have had the custody of the castle of Hagenett or Agenet in East Anglia.5 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 11 76 was succeeded in his office by the bishop of Winchester. 6 This is the last authentic notice of him. But his name appears long subsequently in the somewhat con- flicting traditions of Gloucestershire and Devonshire, the two counties where his chief estates lay. The local histories of the former endeavour 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.? There can be little doubt, however, that his family still continues in Gloucester- shire. 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 1 Collinson's Somersetshire, iii. 487. p. 34. * Foss's Judges, i. 202. 2 Ibid., iii. 514. 8 Brompton, 10S9; Gervase, 1426. 3 The tradition is disputed, but with- ° Nichols' Pilgrimage of Erasmus, out reason, in Pesse's Beauchief Abbey, p. 221. • Rudder's Gloucestershire, 776. Tracy. 109 fact, contrary to all received opinions on the subject of judgments on sacrilege, " exhibits a very singular instance of an estate descending for upwards of seven hundred years in the male line of the same family." 1 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 im- mediately 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 boatmen, " hid himself for a fortnight immediately after the murder, and was fed by his daughter." The other and more remark- able spot is Morthoe, a village situated 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, dedi- cated to St. 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 supposed, 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 female figures sculptured on the tomb — namely St. Catherine and St. 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 2 William Tracy" was the rector 1 Rudder's Gloucestershire, 770. Brit- common designation of parish priests, ton's Toddington. I have here to express my obligations to • 2 Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Devon- the kindness of the Rev. Charles Crompe, shire, ii. 82. The title "Sir" was the who has devoted much labour to prove H I 10 Tracy. of the parish, who died and left this chantry in 1322 ; and the figure carved on the tomb represents him in his sacer- dotal 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 neighbourhood "he lived a private life, when wind and weather turned against him." 1 William of Worcester states that he retired to the western parts of England, and this statement is con- firmed by the well-attested fact of his confession to Bartho- lomew, Bishop of Exeter. The property belonged to the family, and there is an old farmhouse, close to the sea-shore, still called Woollacombe 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." 2 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 12 10 by William de Cour- tenay, probably his grandson, in honour of the Holy Trinity, the Blessed Virgin, and St. 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. 3 Its ruins still remain under the long promontory, that the lid of the tomb, though not the * This I heard from the people on the tomb itself, may have belon ged to the spot It is of course a mere appropria- grave of the murderer. For the reasons tion of a wide-spread story, here sug- above given, I am unable to concur with ge^ted by the locality, him. * Follwhele's Devonshire, i. 4S0. ' Collinson's Somersetshire, iii. 4S7, 543. Tracy. in called from it "St. Thomas's Head." In the old church of Kewstokc, 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 mur- derers 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 preserved 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 cele- brate masses for the souls of the living and dead. The deed is without date, and it might possibly, therefore, have been ascribed to a descendant of Tracy, and not to the mur- derer himself. But its date is fixed by the confirmation of Henry, attested as that confirmation is by " Richard, elect of Winchester," and " Robert, elect of Hereford," to the year 1 1 74 (the only year when Henry's presence in England coin- cided with such a conjunction in the two sees). 2 The manor of Daccombe or Dockham, in Devonshire, is still held under the Chapter of Canterbury, and is thus a present witness of 1 Journal of Archseol. Institute, vol. mentioned by Lord Lyttelton in his His- vi. p. 400. — The cup, or rather fragment tory of Henry II., iv. 284, but he appears of the cup, is in the museum at Taunton. not to have seen it, and is ignorant of the * This deed (which is given in the Ap- circumstances which incontcstably fix the pendix to "Becket's Shrine ") is slightly date. 112 Pictorial Representations of the Murder. the remorse with which Tracy humbly begged that, on the scene of his deed of blood, masses might be offered — not for himself individually (this, perhaps, could hardly have been granted) — but as included 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 hus- band 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 repre- sentations of the martyrdom, which on walls, or in painted windows, or in ancient frescoes, 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 representation 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 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 1 A correct copy has now been made by Mr. George Austin, of Canterbury. Pictorial Representations of the Murder. 1 1 3 of making the Archbishop kneel at the altar, and of repre- senting 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 sur- coat, 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 11 primus pcrcussor." Fitzurse, 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 belonging to Mauclerc. Moreville, distinguished by fleurs-de-lis, stands apart. All of them have beards of the style of Henry IV. On the ground lies the bloody scalp, or cap, it is difficult to determine which. 1 There 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," 2 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 representation of an altar surmounted by a crucifix, placed between the figures ■ A much more faithful representa- tion is given in an illuminated Psalter in the British Museum (Harl.,1502) un- doubtedly of the period, and, as Bccket is depicted without the nimbus, probably soon after, if not before, the canonisation. He is represented in white draper)-, fall- ing towards the altar. His grey cap is dropping to the ground, Fitzurse and Tracy are rightly given with coats of mail up to their eyes. Moreville is with- out helmet or armour. Fitzurse is wound- ing Grim. A light hangs from the roof. The palace (apparently), with the town wall, is seen in the distance. There is another illumination in the same Psalter, representing the burial. In the Journal of the Archxol. Assoc., April, 1854, there is a full account of a fresco in St. John's Church, Winchester; in the Archojol. igia (vol. ix.), of one at Brereton in Cheshire. The widest deviation from historical truth is to be found in the modem altar- piece of the Church of St. Thomas, which forms the. chapel of the English College at Pome. The saint is repre- sented 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 Csesar. The nearest likeness of the event is in the 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 Eraser's Magazine, June, 1861), is now hung in the north aisle of the Cathedral. 1 " Eerri " is probably a mistake for Bear's Son, Fitzurse s (Fusci's) English name. The same names occur in Hentz- ner's Travels in England, 1598. "In vestibulo templi quod est ad austrum in saxum incisi sunt tres armati . . . additis his cognominibus, Tusci, Fusci. Berri,' H4 The King's Remorse. of St. John and the Virgin, and marked as the altar of the martyrdom — " Altare ad punctum ensis," — by sculptured fragments 1 of a sword which lie at its foot. [1170.] Thus far have we traced the history of the mur- derers, 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 2 ) an aged inhabitant of Argen- ton was startled in his sleep by a scream rising as if from the ground, and forming 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 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, 3 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. 4 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 others, had meanwhile written to the Pope, denouncing Henry in the strongest language as the murderer, and calling for vengeance upon his head ; 6 and there was a fear that this vengeance would take the terrible fonn of a public excom- munication of the King, and an interdict of the kingdom. Henry, as soon as he was roused from his retirement, sent 1 That these are representations of ' Vita Quad.ip., p. 143. "Milk of the broken sword is confirmed by the Almonds " is used in Russia during fasts exactly similar representation in the seal instead of common milk, of the Abbey of Aberbrothock. * Matt. Paris, 135. • Benedict, de Mirac. S. Thomx, ' Vita Quadrip., 146. i. 3. * Brotnpton, 1064. Tke King's Remorse. 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 Christen- dom, 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 of 500 marks, 1 an interview was effected on the heights of ancient Tusculum — not yet super- seded 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 male- dictions. The worst of the threatened evils — excommunica- tion 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 Winchester^ 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 warnings to those which were resounding from every quarter with regard to the deed of blood. From England Henry crossed St. George's Channel to his new conquests in Ireland, and it was on his return from the expedition that the first public expression of his penitence was made in Normandy. 1 Gervase, 1418. * Diccto, 556. • Brompton, 1068. ' Gervase, 1418. • Gervase, 1419. 1 1 6 Penance at G or rani and AvrancJies. [1172. He repaired to his castle of Gorram, 1 now Goron, on the banks of the Colmont, where he first met the Pope's Legates, and exchanged the kiss of charity with them. This was on the 1 6th of May, the Tuesday before the Rogation days ; the next day he went on to Savigny, where they were joined by the Archbishop of Rouen and many bishops and noble- men ; and finally proceeded to the Council, which was to be held under the auspices 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 looking 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 fortress and chapel. Of this vast cathedral one granite pillar alone has survived the neglect that followed the French Revolution, and that pillar marks the spot where Henry performed his first penance for the murder of Becket. It bears an inscription with these words : — " Sur cette pierre, ici, a. la porte de la cathedrale d'Avranches, apres le meurtre de Thomas Becket, Archeveque de Cantorbe'ry, Henri II., Roi d'Angleterre et Due de Normandie, recut a genoux, des legats du Pape, Fabsolution apostolique, le Dimanche, xxi Mai. mclxxh." 2 1 Ep. St. Thomae inMSS. Cott. Claud., b. ii. f. 350, epist. 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 MS. The castle in question was procured by Henry I. from Geoffrey, third duke of Mayenne, and was well known for its deer preserves. To the ecclesiastical historian of the nineteenth century, the town near w hich it is situated will pos- 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 la'e George Cornelius Gorham, vicar of Bram- ford Speke. To his courtesy and pro- found antiquarian knowledge, I was in- debted for the above references. ' So the inscription stands as I saw it in 1874. Eut as it appeared when I first saw it, in 1851, and also in old guide books of Normandy, it was ",\xii Mai." Mr. Gorham pointed out to me at the time that the 22nd of May did not that ye^r fall on a Sunday : — 1172.] Penance at Avranches. 117 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 Ascension, 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 200 soldiers for the Templars. 2 After this, he said aloud, "Behold, my Lords Legates, my body is in your hands ; be assured that whatever you order, whether to go to J erusalem or to Rome, or to St. James (of Compostella), 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 reconciled. The young Henry, at his father's suggestion, was also present, and, placing his hand in that of Cardinal Albert, 4 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 penance at " In A.D. 1171, Sunday fell on May 23rd. fact that it was in May; not as Ger- In a.d. 1172, „ l( May 21st. vase (p. 422) states, on the 27th of Sep- In A.D. 1173, ,, „ May 20th. tember, misled perhaps, as Mr. Gorham The only years in the reign of Henry II. suggests, by some document, subse- in which May 22nd fell on a Sunday, quently signed by the King. were a.d. 1155, 1160, 1166, 1177, 1183, 1 Diceto, 557. 1188." There seems no reason to doubt ' Alan., in Vita Quadrip., 147. the year 1172, which is fixed by the * Gervase, 1422. Cotton MS. Life of St. Thomas, nor the « Alan., in Vita Quadrip., 147, 148. i 1 3 The King at Bonneville. [1174 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 England 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 St. Thomas roaring to God for vengeance. 1 The next year, as we have seen, the Saint had been canonised; 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. 2 So many messages had been daily des- patched, and so much importance was attached to the cha- racter 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." 3 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 threatening 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 accom- plished; if for evil, never." ' Matthew of Westminster, 250. * The chroniclers have made a confusion between June and July ; but July is right. —Hoveden, 308. ' Diceto, 573. 1174.] His Ride from Southampton. 119 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 Canter- bury 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 was then as now the London road by the ancient village and hospital 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 alms- house 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 40 marks to the little church. And now, as he climbed the steep road 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 2 church, 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 1 Trivet, 104. Robert of Mont S. * Grim, 86. Michel. (Appendix to Sigebert in 3 Gamier, 78, vol. 29. He was pre- Perthes, vol. vi.) sent. 120 Penance in the Crypt. [1174. the scene of the murder in the north transept. Here he knelt again, and kissed the sacred stone on which the Arch- bishop 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 solemnity, Gilbert Foliot, Bishop of London — the ancient opponent and rival of Becket — addressed the monks and bystanders, announcing to them the King's penitence for having by his rash words unwittingly occasioned the perpetration of a crime of which he himself was innocent, and his intention of restoring the rights and property of the church, and bestowing 40 marks yearly on the monaster}' to keep lamps burning constantly at the martyr's tomb. 1 The King ratified all that the bishop had said, requested absolution, and re- ceived 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 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 each of the eighty monks. Fully absolved, he resumed his clothes, but was still left in the crypt, resting against one of 1 Gamier, 80, b. 9. * Newtmrgh alone (1181) represents the penance as having taken place in the chapter-house, doubtless as the usual place for discipline. The part surround- ing 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. so.) The King is represented as kneel- ing, crowned but almost naked, before the shrine. Two great officers, one bear- ing 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 shoulders of the King. A good notion of this ceremony of the scourging is conveyed by the elaborate formalities with which it was nominally, and pro- bably for the last time, exercised by Pope Julius II. and the Cardinals on the Vone- tian Deputies in 1509. — Sketdies of Vene- tian History, c. 16. 1174.] A bsolution. 121 the rude Norman 1 pillars, on the bare ground, with bare 2 feet 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 THE CRYPT, CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. 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 unpar- alleled within the memory of that generation. The sub- mission of Theodosius to Ambrose, of Louis the Debonnaire at Soissons, of Otho III. at Ravenna, of Edgar to Dunstan, of the Emperor Henry IV. to Gregory VII., were only known 1 Gamier, 8o, b. 29. • Diceto, 575- * See Note A. to the E^say on " Bec- ket's Shrine." 122 Count Ralph of Glanville. as matters of history. It is not surprising that the usual figure of speech by which the chroniclers express it should be " the mountains trembled at the presence of the Lord " — " the mountain of Canterbury smoked before Him who touches the hills and they smoke." 1 The auspicious conse- quences were supposed to be immediate. The King had arrived in London on Sunday, and was so completely ex- hausted by the effects of the long day and night at Canter- bury, that he was seized with a dangerous fever. On the following Thursday, 2 at midnight, 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 con- firming it. 3 The King leaped from his bed, and returned thanks to God and " St. Thomas." The victory over William the Lion had taken place on the very Saturday on which he had left Canterbury, after having* made his peace with the martyr. On that same Saturday, the fleet, with which his son had intended to invade England from Flanders, s 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. 6 Once more, as far as we know, 1 Grim, 86. place in Canterbury Cathedral, after a Gervase, Chron., 1427. mass was finished. * Brompton, 1095. The effect of this 4 Brompton, 1096. story is heightened by Gaufridus Vo- ' M. Paris, p. 130. siensis (Script. Rer. Franc, 443I, who * See Appendix to " Becket's Shrine." speaks of the announcement as taking Conclusion. 123 the penitent king and the penitent knight met, in the De- cember of that same year, when, 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 recollection of these scenes, reared on his return to Scot- land the stately abbey of Aberbrothock, to the memory of St. Thomas of Canterbury. Thus ended this great tragedy. Its effects on the consti- tution 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 remarkable event than is to be derived from the works either of his professed apologists or professed opponents — if the scene can be more fully realised, 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 aggrandisement against the welfare of the monarchy, they will perhaps be induced, by the accounts of his last moments, to grant to him the honour, 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 almost 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 Roman Catholic or Protestant, in the hope of securing the interests of Christain liberty against priestly tyranny, they may take warning by the reflection that the greatest impulse ever given in this country to the cause of sacerdotal independence was the reaction produced by the 124 Conclusion. 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 St. 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 description, 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 well nigh 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 mortifications 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 believe that an indiscriminate maintenance of ecclesiastical claims is the best service they can render to God and the Church, and that opposition to the powers that be is enough to entitle a bishop to the honours of a saint and a hero, it may not be without instruc- tion to remember that the Constitutions of Clarendon, which Becket spent his life in opposing, and of which his death procured the suspension, are now incorporated in the English law, and are regarded, without a dissentient voice, as among the wisest and most necessary of English institu- tions ; that the especial point for which he surrendered his ' One of the ablest of Beckefs recent apologists (Ozanam, Les Deux Chan- ceiiers), who combines with his venera- tion for the Archbishop that singular admiration which almost all continental Catholics entertain for the late " Libe- rator" of Ireland, declares that on O'Con- nell, if on any character of this age, the mantle of the saint and martyr haa 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 Roman Catholics, that in a popular life of St. Thomas, published as one of a series at Prague, under the authority of the Archbishop of Cologne, the conclud- ing 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 suf- fered for the liberties of his country and his church. Conclusion. 125 life was not the independence of the clergy from the en- croachments of the Crown, but the personal and now forgotten question of the superiority of the see of Canter- bury to the see of York. 1 Finally, we must all remember that the wretched superstitions which gathered round the shrine of St. Thomas, ended by completely alienating the affections of thinking men from his memory, and rendering the name of Becket a by-word of reproach as little propor- tioned to his real deserts as had been the reckless veneration paid to it by his worshippers in the middle ages. 1 H>ec fuit vera et unica causa aut occasio necis S. Thomse. Goussainville in Peter of Blois, cp. 22 (See Robertson, p. 200.) Compare Memorials of Westminster, Edward the Black Prince. Tins 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 biographies of Barnes and James ; for any further details, to the excellent essays in the 20th, 22nd, 28th, and 32nd volumes of the Archrcologia, and to the contemporary metrical life by Chandos, to which reference is 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, June, 1852. Tj' VERY one who has endeavoured to study history, must ' be struck by the advantage which those enjoy who live within the neighbourhood 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 illus- trious 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 England are more highly favoured 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 England would be obtained, such as the mere reading of books or hearing of lectures, would utterly fail to supply. 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 amusement in the sight of what now seem to be 130 Historical Lesson of Canterbury Cathedral. mere stones or bare walls, but what would then be so many chapters 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 Rome, from whence he was sent forth. And then if you enter the Cathedral, you will find in the tombs which lie within its walls, remembrances of almost every reign in the history of England. Augustine and the seven first Archbishops are buried at St. Augustine's; but from that time to the Reformation 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 king- dom, with the exception of Westminster Abbey, that is so closely connected with the general history of our common country. The Kings before the Reformation are for the most part in the Abbey, but their Prime Ministers — so to speak — are for the most part in Canterbury Cathedral. 1 1 See Archbishop Parker's record, History of Canterbury Cathedral, pp. 13, compendiously given in Professor Willis's 134. I cannot forbear to express a hope Tltc Tombs. 131 Ask who it was who first laid out the monastery, and who it was that laid the foundations of the Cathedral as it now stands, and you will find that it was Lanfranc, the new Archbishop whom William the Conqueror 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 Willam Rufus and Henry I. — Anselm, the great theo logian, who, of all the primates of the see of Canterbury, is the most 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 arrival 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 Canterbury pilgrims. Then, in the south aisle, the effigy of Hubert Walter brings before us the camp of the Crusaders at Acre, where he was appointed Archbishop by Richard I. Next look at that simple tomb in St. Michael'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 man, won for us 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 Richard II. ; to Henry IV., who lies there himself; to Chichele, who takes us on to Henry V. that this series of illustrious tombs will bidding the interment even of our arch- not be needlessly cut short for all future bishops within their own cathedrals, generations by the recent enactment for- 132 Birth of t/ie Black Prince. and Henry VI. ; to Morton, who reminds us of Henry VII. and Sir Thomas More ; to Warham, the friend of Erasmus, predecessor 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 Primates 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 Edward III. and Queen Philippa, a point always to be remembered in his history, because, like Alexander the Great, and a few other eminent instances, he is one of those men in whom the peculiar qualities both of his father and 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 edu- cated. 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 1 Archaeol., xxii. 227. Education at Queen's College. 133 beautiful curve of High street, the buildings of " Queen's College," the College of the Queen. At the time of which I speak, that college was the greatest — two others only in any regular collegiate form existed in Oxford. It had but 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 univer- sities. Queen's College is much altered in every way since the little Prince went there ; but 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 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 represented in pictures. 2 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. 3 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, potage, and fish.'* He must have seen the seventy poor scholars, instituted after example of the seventy disciples, and learning from their two chaplains to chant the service.* He must have heard the 1 It now hangs in the gallery above 2 Statutes of Queen's College, p. n. the hall of Queen's College. " lb., pp. 9, 33. * lb., p. 30. 5 lb., p. 27. 134 John Wy cliff e. 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 the heads of the Fellows. 1 In these and many other curious particulars, we can tell exactly what the cus- toms and appearance of the College were when the Prince was there. It is more difficult to answer another question, which Ave 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, 2 whom we shall all recognise as an old acquaintance — John Wycliffe, the first English Reformer, and the first translator of the Bible into English. He would have been a poor boy, in a threadbare coat, 3 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, fai better then 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 remember 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 resumed to satisfy the scruples of his allies, the citizens of Ghent, who thought that their oath of allegiance to the 1 Statutes of Queen's College, pp. cliffe at Queen's College, see Appendix. 28, 29. 1 For the doubts respecting the tra- ■ See Chaucer's description of the dition of the Black Prince and of Wy. Oxford Clerk. Battle of Crcssy. 135 " King of France," would be redeemed if their leader did but bear the name. [1346.] And now, first for Cressy. I shall not undertake 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 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. Edward had ravaged Normandy and reached the very gates of Paris, and was retreating towards Flanders 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 inherit- ance 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 adversary, Philip of Valois." It was Saturday, the 28th of 1 See the interesting details of the battle, in Arch., 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 tradi- tional field, is contained in a Memoir on the subject by M. Ambc'rt, 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. Sey- mour de Constant's Essay on the same subject. It is possible that the local traditions 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 toincment politique ct social" " an choc," " una crise revolution/tain:" Battle of Cressy. [1340. August, 1346, and it was at four in the afternoon that 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-bowmen 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 ravens, which fluttered before the storm, and struck terror into the hearts of the Italian bowmen, who were unaccustomed 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 splendour 1 over the black clouds of the western sky — right in then- faces ; and at the same moment the English archers, who had kept their bows in cases during the storm, and so had 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 1 A sua issuing from a cloud was the badge al the Black Prince, probably from this occurrence.— Arch., xx. 106. 1346.] Battle of Cressy. 137 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 commanded 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 scarlet flag, embroidered with golden lilies, called the Oriflamme — 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 over- hanging the field, the King, for whatever 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 forebore to interfere. "Let the child win his spurs" he said, in words which have since become a proverb, " and Id the day be his." The Prince was in very great danger at one moment; he was wounded and thrown to the ground, and only saved by Richard 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. 3 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 where 1 The Oriflamme of France, like the green Standard of the Prophet in the Turkish Empire, had the effect of declar- ing the war to be what was called a " Holy War;" that is, a war of extcr ' Arch., xxxviii. 184. '30 Name of " Black Prince" [1346. 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 tin's 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 honour 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 ? " 1 The general result of the battle was the deliverance of the English army from a most imminent danger, and subse- quently the conquest of Calais, which the King immediately besieged and won, and which remained in the possession of the English from that day to the reign of Queen Mary. Erom that time the Prince became the darling of the English, and the terror of the French ; and, whether from this terror, or from the black armour which he wore on that day, 2 and which contrasted with the fairness of his complexion, he was called by them " Le Prince Noir," the Black Prince, 3 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 Cressy, was in England. But, in other respects, 1 Arch., xxxviii. 187. speaks of the black drapery of his "hall,"' 2 The King dressed his son before the the black banners, and the black devices battle "en armure noire en fer bruni." which he used in tournaments. We may —See Louandre, Histoire d'Abbeville, p. compare, too, the black pony upon which 230. he rode, on his famous entry into London 3 See his Will (App. p 154), where he (Froissart). 1356.] Battle of Poitiers. 139 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 neighbouring 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 neighbourhood— the first was that in which Clovis defeated the Goths, and established the faith in the Creed of Athana- sius throughout Europe — the second was that in which Charles Martel drove back the Saracens, and saved Europe from Mahometanism — the third was this, the most brilliant of English victories over the French. 1 The spot, which is about six miles south of Poitiers, is still known by the name of the Battle-field. Its features are veiy slightly marked — two ridges of rising ground, parted by a gentle 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 Avon. ' The battle of Clovis is believed to have been at Voulon, on the road to 1-Iurdeaux,— that of Charles Martel is un- certain. These three battles (with that of Moncontour, fought not far off, in 1569, after the siege of Poitiers, by Admiral Coligny) are well described by M. S. Hippolyte, in a number of the " Spec- tateur Militaire." For my acquaintance 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 Puitiers, 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 Maupertuis near a village Beauvoir, on the north of Poitiers, which has led some to transfer the battle thither ; but, besides the general arguments, both from tradition and from the probabilities of the case in favour 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 Car- dina, to whom it was granted by Louis XIV., like many estates in the neigh- bourhood, 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. 140 Battle of Potters. [1356. The French army was arranged on the other side of the hollow in three great divisions, of which the King's was the hindmost ; 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 9 a.m., that the battle began. All the Sunday had been taken up by fruitless en- deavours of Cardinal Talleyrand to save the bloodshed, by bringing the King and Prince to terms ; a fact to be noticed for two reasons, first because it shows the sincere and Christian desire which animated the 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 laboured 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 chivalrous ardour — charged up the lane ; the English archers, 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 head- strong confidence was fatal. Here, as at Cressy, was exem- plified the truth of the remark of the mediaeval historian, — " We now no longer contest our battles, as did the Greeks and Romans ; 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 1 Lauone, quoted in M. Ambcrt's Memoir on Cressy, p. 14. 1356.] Battle of Poitiers. 141 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. It was a wonderful day. It was 8000 to 60,000 ; 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 honour 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 honour of prowess, and have surpassed all others on your side in valour. 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 ' Seethe despatch addressed by the Iogia, i. 213). It winds up with a list of Black Prince 10 the Bishop of Worcester prisoners, and finishes thus: — a month after the engagement (Archaeo- "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 expedition on the eve of the Translation of St. Thomas. 142 The Prince visits Canterbury. and chaplet.' Therewith the Frenchmen whispered among themselves that the Prince had spoken nobly, and that most probably 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 between 1 the English and French historians as to the spot of the Prince's landing and the course of his subsequent journey. But the usual story, as told by Froissart, is as follows : — [ I 357-] 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-coloured charger, the Prince on a little black pony at his side. They came into the Cathe- dral, 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. Ansel m'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 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 1 See Appendix. p. 263. For his later visit to Canterbury, 3 Gostluii;. " Walks about Canterbury," see " Becket's Shrine." The Prince's Marriage. 143 occasion would never be forgotten, and that his name would live long afterwards in the memory of the old alms-men. [1363.] Canterbury, however, had soon a more substantial connection with the Black Prmce. In 1363 he married his cousin Joan in the chapel at Windsor; which witnessed no other royal wedding till that beautiful and touching day 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 be 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 congregation — the descendants of the very nation whom he conquered at Poitiers ; but 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 joyful event, in thankfulness for which he founded the chapel, what seems to be the face of his beautiful wile, 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 Road," — the manor of " Fawkes' Hall." This ancient name- sake 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 Vauxka/l. 1 1 See Appendix. For the history of Fawkes, see Foss's Judges, yoL U. p. 256. Archseological Journal, vol. iv. p. 275. 144 Spanish Campaign. [1366.] And now we have to go again over ten years, and we find the Prince engaged in a war in Spain, helping 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 divides 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 illness, which he contracted in the southern climate of Spain, broke down his constitution; a rebellion occasioned by his own wastefulness, which was one of the faults of his character, burst forth in his French provinces ; his father was now sinking in years, and surrounded by unworthy favourites — 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 Berkhampstead, in preparation for his approaching end; often he fell into long fainting fits, which his attendants mistook for death. One of the tradi- tions which connects 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- 1 There is no doubt that the well has of Lanfranc's selection of that spot for his always Seen supposed to possess medicinal leper-house, qualities, and thiswas probably the cause Appearance in Parliament. 145 less story, dying — in the Archbishop's palace at Canterbury. 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 favourites of the court were taking advantage of him, to waste the public money. Parliament met — Parliament, as you must re- member, unlike the two great Houses which now sway the destiny of the empire, but still feeling its way towards its present powers — Parliament 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 retire- ment, 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 he would not rest there : he was brought to the Royal Palace of Westminster, that he might be close at hand to be 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 beginning 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 For, by the faith I owe you, 146 Deathbed. 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 batchelor ; 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 sdn, whom he greatly loved, And straightway entreated them ; 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 ' Chandos's "Poem of the Black Roxburghe Club, by the Rev. H. O Coxe. Prince," edited and translated for the Sub-librarian of the Bodleian library at Exorcism by the Bishop of Bangor. 147 In this last agony he was, as he had been through life, specially attentive to the wants of his servants and depen- dants; 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 father still lived on in his shattered frame. A knight, Sir Richard 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 evidently 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 belief 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 commanded Oxford May I take this opportunity of when I have had the pleasure of referring expressing my grateful sense of his assist- to him ? ance on this and on all other occasions 148 His Death. the evil spirit to depart. The Prince was 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 joined his hands, lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, " I give thee thanks, 0 God, for all thy benefits, and with all the pains of my soul 1 humbly beseech thy mercy to give me remission of those sins I have wickedly 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 3 p.m., on Trinity Sunday — a festival which he had always honoured 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 beautiful 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 1 Archxol. xxii. 229. Mourning, 149 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 ? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead." 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 funeral procession which conveyed the remains of Nelson to their resting-place in St. Paul's — we ourselves have seen the deep grief over the sud- den 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 appreciate 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 attacked 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 Parliament as he had been on the field of battle. And yet more, he died at a moment when 1 This was written in June, 1852, and actually took place in the autumn of that (with all that follows) has been left un- year, will occur to every one. altered. The coincidences with what His Funeral. all was adverse and threatening — when all was blank in the future, and 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 England ; 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. For nearly four months— from the 8th of June to the 29th of September — the coffined body lay in state at West- minster, 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, followed in deep mourning. The great pro- cession 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 under 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 grey walls of his own Palace, above London Bridge, and over that ancient bridge, then the only bridge in London, it moved onwards on its road to Canter- bury—that same road which at this very time had become so well known from Chaucer's " Canterbury Tales." His Funeral. IS I 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 gateway, with the little chapel of Holycross at the top, surmounted 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 complete armour— one bearing the Prince's arms of England 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 tourna- ments. 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 custom, 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 tapers, 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 rival 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 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 Arch- bishop of Canterbury in the previous 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 1 See Appendix. * See " Murder of Becket," pp. £6, 50. iot- 15- His Tomb. walls of the cathedral. And now, from the choir, the body was again raised up, and carried to the tomb. We have seen already that as long as twelve years before the Prince had turn- ed his thoughts to Canter- bury Cathedral as his last home, when in remem- brance 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 honoured with especial reverence, he found- ed the chapel in the crypt. In the centre of that crypt, on the spot where you now see the gravestone of Arch- bishop Morton, it had been his wish to be laid, as ex- pressed in the will which he signed only the day before his death. But those who were concerned 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 altar, 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 deter- mined that the body of the hero should be laid. That Effects of the Princes Life. 153 space is now surrounded with monuments ; then it was entirely, or almost entirely, vacant. 1 The gorgeous shrine stood in the centre on its coloured 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 of ten years old, and perhaps present as a mourner in this very funeral, 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 deposited, to be seen and ad- mired by all the countless pilgrims who crawled up the stone steps beneath it on their way to the shrine of the saint. 2 Let us turn to that tomb, and see how it sums up his whole life. Its bright colours 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 directed, in full armour, 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 his grandfather in Glou- cester Cathedral. On his armour, 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 1 The only exception could have been beginning of the thirteenth century, the tomb, which stands on the south-east 3 An exactly analogous position, by side of the Trinity Chapel, and which, St. Alban's shrine, is assigned in the though not as early as Theobald to whom Abbey of St. Albans to the tomb of it is commonly ascribed, must be of the Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. 154 Effects of the Prince's Life. gauntlets, the helmet, with what was once its gilded leopard- crest, and the wooden shield, the velvet coat also, embroi- dered with the arms of France and England, now tattered and colourless, but 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 canopy SURCOAT, HELMET, SHIELD, CREST, ETC., OF THE BLACK PRINCE, SUSPENDED OVER HIS TOMB. 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 peculiar 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 embroidery, which he directed in his will should be hung round his tomb and the shrine of 1 For the history of tllis sword, see Appendix. Effects of the Princes Life. 155 Becket. Round about the tomb, too, you will see the ostrich feathers, 1 which, according 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 them, the famous motto, 2 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 " Hoch muth," that is, high spirit, with " Ich dien," / 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 inscription, selected 3 by himself before his death, in Norman French, 1 The Essay by the late Sir Harris Nicolas, in the Archaeologia, vol. xxxii., gives all that can be said on this disputed question. The ostrich feathers are first mentioned in 1 369.cn 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, some- times, as on the tomb, three. The old explanation given by Camden, was that they indicated fleetttess in discharge of duty. The king of Bohemia's badge was a Vulture. 1 Houmout — Ich dien. It occurs twice as his autograph signature (see Appendix). But its first public appear- ance 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 an- tiquaries maintain that it is a Celtic and not a German motto, Behold the man," the words used by Edward I. on present- ing his first-bom son to the Welsh, and from him derived to the subsequent Princes of Wales, "Behold the man," i.e., the male child. 3 "The epitaph is borrowed, with a few variations, from the anonymous Trench translation of the Clericalis Disciplina of Petrus Alphonsus, composed between the years 1106 and mo. In the original Latin work it may be found at p. 196, pt. 1. of the edition printed in 1824 for the Socie'te des Bibliophiles Francais. The French version is of the thirteenth cen- tury, and entitled Castoiement d'un Pere a son Fils. It was first printed by Bar- bazan in 1760, and, more completely, by Meon in 1808, in whose edition the epi- taph may be read, p. 196, under the heading of " D'un Philosophe qui passoit parmi un Cimentere." The Black Prince, however, is not the only distinguished personage who has availed himself of this inscription, for more than half a century previous it was placed (in an abbreviated form) on the monument of the famous John de Warenne, seventh Earl of Surrey, who died in 1304, and was bu:ied before the high altar in the Priory of Lewes. It is printed by Dugdale (not very correctly) in his Baronage, v. i. p. 80, from the Lewes Cartulary, which is preserved among the Cottonian MSS. in the British Museum, Vespas. F. xxv." — F. Madden. Chivalry. 157 still the language of the Court, written, as he begged, clearly and plainly, that all might read it. Its purport is to contrast his former splendour, and vigour, 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 be 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 fortunes 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 sprung, — feelings of chivalry and courtesy and respect to our enemies, and (perhaps a doubtful boon) of unshaken confidence in our- selves. Such feelings are amongst our most precious in- heritances, and all honour be to him who first inspired them into 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 armour of the Black Prince, that those wars of English conquest are buried with him, never to be revived. Other wars may arise in the unknown future still before us — but such wars as he and his father waged, we shall, we may thankfully hope, see no more again for L i 5 8 Sack of Limoges. ever. We shall never again see a King of England, or a Prince of Wales, taking advantage of a legal quibble to conquer a great neighbouring country, and laying waste with fire and sword a civilised kingdom, from mere self-aggran- disement. 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 for- bearance could urge to stop that unhallowed warfare. It is a satisfaction to think that his wish is accomplished ; that what he laboured to effect almost as a hopeless project, has now well-nigh become the law of the civilised world. It is true, that the wars of Edward III. and the Black Prince were renewed again on a more frightful scale in the next century, renewed at the instigation of an Archbishop of Canterbury, who strove thus to avert the storm which seemed to him to be threatening 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 generosity 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 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, was Limoges. The Prince, though then labouring under his fatal illness, Sack of Limoges. 159 besieged and took it ; and as soon as it was taken, he gave orders 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 themselves on their knees, as he passed on through the devoted 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 illness, the affection for his father, whose dignity he thought outraged by so determined a resistance, and the indignation against the in- gratitude of a city on which he had bestowed many favours. 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." This strange contradiction arose from one single cause. The Black Prince, and those who looked up to him as their pattern, chivalrous, kind, and generous as they were to their equals, and to their immediate dependents, 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 French gentle- men ; but he had no ears to hear, no eyes to see, the cries and groans of the fathers, and mothers, and children, of the 160 First Great English Captain, and poorer citzens, who were not bound to him by the laws of honour 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 courtesy, 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 Frenchmen, and against all the world. He was the first English Prince who showed what it was to be a true gentle- man. He was the first, but he was not the last. We have seen how, when he died, Englishmen 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 valour 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 English gentleman, of which the Black Prince was the noble pattern, is still to be found even-where ; 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 First English Gentleman. 161 the tablets cn 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 descendants 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, " Hoch muth " and " Ich dien," " 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 captive 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 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 Christian charity. And lastly, to act in all the various difficulties of our everyday 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 ensure a hundred victories. We often think that we have no power in ourselves, no advantages of position, to help us against our many temptations, to overcome 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 1 62 Tlie First Great English Captain. battles. So, in like manner, our advantages maybe slight — ■ hardly perceptible to any but ourselves — let us turn them to account, and the results 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 announced to be inevitable, and which has since become a proverb, " God defe?id 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, Archbishop of Canterbury, of the Assent and Ratification by the Prior and Chapter. Dated August 4, 1363. (Orig. Charter in the Treasury, Canterbury, No. 145.)' Universis sancte matris ecclesie filiis ad quos presentes litere pro- venerint, Prior et Capitulum ec- clesie Christi Cantuariensis salutem in omnium Salvatore. Ordina- cionem duarum Cantariarum in ecclesia predicta fundatarum, unius videlicet inhonoreSancteTrinitatis, et alterius in honore Virginis glor- iose, inspeximus diligenter, Cujus quidem ordinacionis tenor sequitur in hec verba. Excellencia principis a regali descendens prosapia, quanto insuaposteritateampliusdiffunditur et honorificencius sublimatur, tanto ad serviendum Deo prompcior esse debet, et cum devota graciarum 1 This document is copied in the Registers B 2, fo. 46. and F. 8, fo. 83, v", under (his title, — Littera de Institucione du.-irum cantariarum domini Principis. In the text here given the contracted words are printed in extensa. I acknow- accione capud suum sibi humiliter inclinare, nealiter pro ingratitudine tanti muneris merito sibi subtraha- tur beneficium largitiors. Sane Edwardus, Princeps Wallie et serenissimi Principis ac domini nostri, domini Edwardi illustris Regis Anglie, primogenitus, pridem cupientes ad exaltacionem patemi solii nobis mulierem de genere suo clarissimo recipere in sociam et uxorem, demum post deliberaciones varias super diversis nobis oblatis matrimoniis, ad nobilem mulierem, dominam Johannam Comitissam Kancie, consanguineam dicti patris nostri et nostram, ipsam videlicet ledge 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. Ordinance by the Black Prince in secundo, et nos in tercio con- sanguinitatis gradibus contingen- tem, Dei pocius inspirante gracia quam hominis suasione, converti- mus totaliter mentem nostram, et ipsam, de consensu dicti domini patris nostri et aliorum parentum nostrorum, dispensacione sedis apo- stolice super impedimento hujus- modi et aliis quibus libet primitus obtenta, preelegimus et assumpsi- mus in uxorem ; Injuncto nobis etiam per prius eadem auctoritate apostolica quod duas Cantarias quadraginta Marcarum obtentu dis- pensacionis predicte ad honorem Dei perpetuas faceremus.' Nos vero, in Deo sperantes firmiter per acceptacionem humilem Injunc- cionis hujus, et efticax ipsius com- plementum nupcias nostras Deo reddere magis placabiles, et pater- num solium per adeo sibi propinque sobolis propagacionem condecenter diffundere et firmius stabilire, ad honorem Sancte Trinitatis, quam peculiari devocionesemper colimus, et beatissime Marie, et beati Thome Martyris, infra muros ecclesie Christi Cantuariensis, matrisnostre precipue et metropolitis, ad quam a cunabilis 2 nostris devocionem mentis ereximus, in quodam loco ex parte australi ejusdem ecclesie constituto, quem ad hoc, de con- sensu reverendissimi in Christo patris, domini Simonis Dei gracia Cantuariensis Archiepiscopi, tocius Anglie Primatis et apostolice sedis Legati, et religiosorum virorum * See the Bulls of Pope Innocent VI., concerning the marriage of the Prince with Countess of Kent, Rymer, Feed, Prioris et Capituli ipsius ecclesie, designavimus, duas capellas, qua- rum una Sancte Trinitatis intitula- bitur, et altera beate et gloriose Virginis Marie, sub duabus canta- riis duximus construendas, ut sic ad dictam ecclesiam confluentes, et capellas nostras intuentes, pro con- jugii nostri prosperitate animarum- que nostrarum salute deum exorare propencius excitentur. In nostris vero Cantariis ex nunc volumus et statuimus, quod sint duo sacerdotes idonei, sobrii et honesti, non con- tenciosi, non querelarum aut litium assumptores, non incontinentes, aut aliter notabiliter viciosi, quorum correccio, punicio, admissio et destitucio ad Archiepiscopum, qui tempore fuerit, loci diocesanum pertineat et debeat pertinere, eorem tamen statum volumus esse perpe- tuum, nisi per mensem et amplius a Cantariis suis hujusmodi absque causa racionabili et licencia a do- mino 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 trinamonicioneper temporum com- petencium intervalla, vel aliter trina correccione emendati, ab insolen- ciis suis desistere non curaverint ; quos tunc incorrigibiles seu intol- lerabiles censemus, et volumus per predictum ordinarium reputari, et propterea a dicta Cantaria penitus amoveri, nulla appellacione aut impetracione sedis Apostolice vel deit 1830, vol. iii. part ii., pp. 627, 632. for the two Chantries. regis, aut alii 1 juris communis seu spiritualis remedio amoto hujus- modi aliqualiter valitura. Primum vero et principaliorem dominum Johannem Curteys, de Weldone, et dominum Willelmum Bateman, de Giddingg', secundarium, in eisdem nominamus et constituimus sacer- dotes, quorum principalis in altari Sancte Trinitatis, et alter in altari beate Marie, cum per dominum Archiepiscopum admissi fuerint, pro statu salubri nostro, prosperi- tate matrimonii nostri, dum vixeri- mus, et animabus nostris, cum ab hac luce subtracti fuerimus, cotidie celebrabunt, nisi infirmitate aut alia causa racionabili fuerint perpediti. Cum vero alter eorum cesserit loco suo, vel decesserit, aut ipsum dimi- serit, Nos, Edwardus 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 poterimus, saltern infra unius mensis spacium, dicto domino Archiepiscopo presenta- bimus et nominabirnus ydoneum sacerdotem ; et sic, quocienscunque vacavcrit, imperpetuum volumus observari. Alioquin elapso hujus- modi tempore liceat Archiepiscopo ilia vice loco sic vacante de sacer- dote ydoneo providere, salvo jure nostro et successorum nostrorum in hac parte, ut prefertur, in proxima vacatione alterius sacerdotis. Vo- lumus 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 diffi- cultate qualibet presentatum seu nominatum hujusmodi admittat, et literas suas suo consacerdoti et non alteri super admissione sua dirigat sive mittat. Dicent vero dicti sacer- dotes insimul matutinas et ceteras horas canonicas in capella, videlicet sancte Trinitatis, necnon et septem psalmos penitenciales et quindecim graduales 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 vide- licet singulis diebus dominicis de die, si voluerit, vel aliter de Trini- tate, et alter eorum de officio mor- tuorum, vel aliter de beata Virgine Maria. Feria secunda unus de festo novem lectionum, si accident, vel aliter de Angelis, et alius de officio mortiiorum, 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 poterit pretermits. Feria quarta, si a festo novem leccionum vacaverit, unus de Trinitate et alter de beata Maria virgine vel officio mortuorum. Feria quinta unus de festo Corporis Christi, et alius de ' This word is contracted in original aT. The reading may be alii or aliter. Ordinance by the Black Prince beata Virgine vel officio mortu- orum, si a festo novem leccionum vacaverit. Feria sexta, si a festo novem leccionum vacaverit, unus de beata Cruce et alter de beata Virgine vel officio mortuorum. Singulis diebus sabbati, si a festo novem leccionem vacaverit, unus de beata Virgine et alter de officio mortuorum. Et hoc modo cele- brabunt singulis diebus imperpe- tuum, 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 vix- erimus, et pro animabus nostris, cum ab hac luce migraverimus, et dicet Pater et Ave,et in singulismis- sis suis dum vixerimusde quocunque celebraverint collectam illam, — " Deus cujus misericordie non est numerus," et, cum ab hac miseria decesserimus, — " Deus venie lar- gitor," cum devocione debita reci- tabunt. Et volumus quod post missas suas vel ante, secundum eorum discrecionem differendum vel anticipandum, cum doctor aut lector alius in claustro monacho- rum more solito legerit ibidem, nisi causa legitima prepediti fuerint, personaliter intersint, et doctrine sue corditer intendant, ut sic magis edocti Deo devocius et pcrfectius obsequantur. Principali vero sacer- dote de medio sublato, aut aliter loco suo qualitercumque vacante, socius suus, qui tunc superstes fue- rit, sicut prediximus locum Princi- paliorem occupabit, et secundum locum tenebit novus assumendus. Ordinamus etiam quod dicti sacer- dotes 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 habitacionis locum juxta Elemosinariam dicti Monasterii, in quo construetur ad usum et habita- cionem eorum una Aula communis in qua simul cotidianam sument refeccionem, una cum quadam Ca- mera per Cancellum dividenda, ita quod in utraque parte sic divisa sit locus sufficiens pro uno lecto com- petenti, necnon et pro uno camino nostris sumptibus erigendo. Ita tamen quod camera hujusmodi uni- cum habeat ostium pro Capellano- runi ingressu et egressu. Cujus locum divisum viciniorem princi- paliori sacerdoti intitulari volumus et mandamus ; sub qua Camera officia eis utilia constituent prout eis magis vides bitur expedire. Co- quinam etiam habebunt competen- tem ; quas quidem domus nostris primo sumptibus construendas pre- fati religiosi viri, Prior et Capitu- lum, quociens opus fuerit, repara- bunt ac eciam reformabunt. De habitacione vero ipsorum hujus- modi liberum habebunt ingressum ad dictas capellas, et regressum pro temporibus et horis compe- tentibus, ac retroactis temporibus pro ingressu secularium consuetis. Comedent eciam insimul in Aula sua cum perfecta fuerit, in ipsorum quoque cameris, et non alibi, re- quiescent. Ad hec dicti sacerdotes vestimenta et alia omamenta dicte for the two Chantries. iC 7 Capelle assignanda fideliter con- servabunt, et cum mundacione aut reparacione aliqua indigerint, pre- dicti religiosi viri, Prior et Capi- tulum suis sumptibus facient repa- rari, et alia nova quociens opus fuerit inveteratis et inulilibus subro- gabunt. Percipiet quidem uterque eorundem sacerdotum annis sin- gulis de 1 Priore et Capitulo supra- dictis viginti marcas ad duos anni terminos, videlicet, ad festa sancti Michaelis et Pasche, per equales porciones, necnon ab eisdem Priore et Capitulo ministrabitur ipsis Ca- pellanis de pane, vino, et cera, ad sufficienciam, pro divinis officiis celebrandis. Ita videlicet quod in matutinis, vesperis et horis sit con- tinue cereus unus accensus, et missa quacumque duo alii cerei ad utrum- que altare predictum. Quod si prefati Prior et Capitulum dictas pecunie summas in aliquo dictorum terminorum, cessante causa legi- tima, solvere distulerint ultra tri- ginta dies ad majus, extunc sint ipso facto ab execucione divinorum officiorum, suspensi, quousque ipsis Capellanis de arreragiis fuerit ple- narie satisfactum. Pro supporta- cione vero predictorum onerum dictis Priori et Capitulo, ut pre- mittitur, incumbenciuni, delicencia excellentissimi Principis domini patris nostri supradicti dedimus, concessimus et assignavimus eisdem Priori et Capitulo, eorumque suc- cessoribus, manerium nostrum de Faukeshalle juxta London', prout 1 In the original — et Priore. * The word jus seems to be omitted in this sentence, of which the sense as it in cartis ejusdem patris nostri et nostris plenius continetur. Jurabit insuper uterque eorundem sacer- dotum coram domino Archiepis- copo, qui pro tempore fuerit, in admissione sua, quod hanc ordi- nacionem nostram observabit et faciet, quantum eum concernit et sibi facultas prestabitur, in omnibus observari. Jurabunt insuper iidem sacerdotes Priori dicti Loci obedi- enciam, et quod nullum dampnum inferent dicto monasterio vel per- sonis ejusdem injuriam seu gra- vamen. Rursum, si in presenti nostra ordinacione processu tem- poris inveniatur aliquod dubium seu obscurum, illud intcrpretandi, innovandi, corrigendiet eidem ordi- nacioni nostre addendi, diminuendi et declarandi, nobis quamdiu vix- erimus, et post mortem nostram reverendo patri, domino Archi episcopo Cantuariensi, qui pro tem- pore fuerit, specialiter reservamus.* Cui quidem ordinacioni sic salu- briter composite et confecte tenore presencium nostrum prebemus as- sensum, onera nobis in eadem im- posita agnoscimus, et cetera in eadem ordinacione contenta, quan- tum ad nos attinet vel attinere in futurum poterit, approbamus, ra- lificamus, et eciam confirmamus. In quorum omnium testimonium sigillum nostrum commune presen- tibus est appensum. Datum in domo nostra Capitulari Cantuar' ij e . Non' Augusti, Anno domini Millesimo Trescentesimo sexa- stands is incomplete. Here the recital of the Ordinance ends. Will of the Black Prince. gesimo tercio. Et nos, Simon, permissione divina Archiepiscopus Cantuariensis, supradictus, per- missa omnia et singula quatenus ad nos attinet autorizamus, appro- bamus, ratificamus et tenore pre- sencium auctoritate nostra ordinaria confirmamus. In cujus rei testi- monium sigillum nostrum fecimus hiis apponi. Datum eciam Can- tuar' die, anno et loco supradictis, et noslre consecracionis anno quar- todecimo. (L.S. Seal lost.) Endorsed. — Confirmacio Archi- episcopi et Conventus super Cantarias Edwardi principis Wallie in ecclesia nostra in criptis. 1 In a later hand,— Duplex. II. — The Will of Edward Prince of Wales, a.d. 1376.' 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, Ed- uuard, eisne filz du Roy d'Engle- tere et de Fraunce, prince de Gales, due de Cormvaille, 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 West'm esteantz en bon et sain memoire, et eiantz consideracion a le brieve duree de humaine freletee, et come non certein est le temps de sa reso- lucion a la divine volunte, et de siranz toujourz d'estre prest ove ' 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, accord- ing to the Indices now in use. 3 The following document was printed by Mr. Nichols in his "Collection of l'eide de dieu a sa disposicioun, ordenons et fesons noire testament en la manere qe ensuyt Prime- rement nous devisons notre alme a Dieu notre Creatour, et a la seinte benoite Trinite et a la glo- rieuse virgine Marie, et a touz lez sainz et seintez ; et notre corps d'estre enseveliz en l'eglise Cathe- drale de la Trinite de Canterbirs, ou le corps du vray martir mon- seignour Seint Thomas repose, en mylieu de la chapelle de notre dame Under Crofte, droitement de- vant l'autier, siqe le bout de notre tombe devers les pees soit dLx peez Royal Wills," p. 66. It is here given with greater accuracy, through careful collation of the transcript in Archbishop Sudbury's Register at Lambeth. The remarkable interest of the will as con- nected with the Prince's interment and tomb at Canterbury, may fully justify it^ reproduction in this volume. Will of the Black Prince. loinz de l'autier, et qe mesme la tombe soit de marbre de bone ma- sonerie faite. Et volons qe entour la ditte tombe soient dusze escu- clions de latone, chacun de la lar- gesse d'un pie, dont les syx seront de noz armez entiers, et les autres six 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'ostruce, — Houmout. 1 Et paramont 2 la tombe soit fait un tablement de latone suzorrez de largesse et lon- gure de meisme la tombe, sur quel nouz volons qe un ymage d'ove- reigne levez de latoun suzorrez soit mys en memorial de nous, tout armez de fier de guerre de nous armez quartillez 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 escript ce qe ensuit, ' The escutcheons on the Prince's tomb are not in conformity with these directions. Over those charged with his arms appears the word /turnout, on a little scroll, w hilst 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 Lam- beth Register. The reading in the ori- ginal document may have been — "sur cellez de noz armez— ich dUne — 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." Re- presentations on a larger scale will be found in the notes subjoined. — See pp. 178, 179. a "Par-amont, en haut."— Roquefort. 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 ciel ' fu, Tu seras tiel come Je su, De la mort ne pensay je mie, Tant come j'avoy la vie. En terre avoy grand richesse, dont Je y fys granc noblesse, Terre, mesons, et grand tresor, draps, chivalx, argent et or. Mes ore su je povres et cheitifs, perfond Ma grand beaute est tout alee, Ma cliar Moult est estroite ma meson, En moy na Et si ore me veissez, Je ne quide pas qe Qe j'eusse onqes horn este, si su je ore de Pur Dieu pries au celestien * Roy, qe mercy eit de l'arme & de moy. Tout cil qe pur moi prieront, ou a Dieu Dieu les mette en son parays,* {sic) ou nul ne poet estre cheitifs. 1 * Thus in the MS. On the tomb the reading here is autiel, doubtless the word intended. "Auteil; pareil, de meme." — Roquefort. * The correct reading may be cetes- tieu. Roquefort gives both celestiau and celestien. 5 Thus written, as likewise on the tomb. Roquefort gives " Arme ; ame, esprit," etc. c Mr. Nichols printed this word— paradys, as Weever, Dart, Sandford, and others had given it. On the tomb the reading is— paray, which usually signifies in old French, paroi, mur, Lat. paries. Compare Roquefort, — Paradis, pare- huts, parvis, place qui est devant une eglise, etc., en bas Lat. parvisius." 7 The inscription as it actually ap- pears on the tomb is not literally in ac- cordance with the transcript here given. i70 Will of the Black Prince. Et volons qe a quele heure qe notre corps soit amencz par my la ville de Canterbirs tantqe a la priorie, qe deux destrex covertz de noz armez, et deux hommez armez en noz armez et en noz heaumes voi- sent devant dit notre corps, c'est assavoir, l'un pur la guerre de noz arniez 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 cell qe sera armez pur la guerre ait un homme armez porlant 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, tantqe les vigiliez, messes et les divines services soient faites ; lesquelx services ensi faitez, soit notre corps portes en l'avant dite cliappelle 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 veste- ment. Item, deux bacyns d'or, un chalix avec le patyn 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 su- but the various readings are not of impor- tance. The inscription is given accurately by Mr. Kempe in the account of the tomb, Stothard's Monumental Effigies. ' This word is printed by Mr Nichols —Title. The white tissue was probably diapered with a trailing or branched pat- zorrez et enamellez, c'est assavoir la meliour croix qe nous avons d'argent ; toutes lesqueles chosez nouz donnons et devisons au dit autier a y servir perpetuelement, sainz jammes le mettre en autre oeps pur nul mischiefs. Item, nous donnons et devisons al autier de notre dame en la chappelle sur- dite notre blank vestiment tout entier diapree d'une vine' d'azure, et auxi le frontel qe l'evesqe d'Ex- cestre nous donna, q'est de l'as- sumpcion de notre dame en mylieu severee d'or et d'autre ymagerie, et un tabernacle de l'assumpcioun de notre dame, qe le dit evesqe nous donna auxi, et deux grandez chandelabres d'argent qe sont tor- tillez, et deux bacyns de noz armez et un grand chalix suzorre et ena- meillez des armez de Garrenne, 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 devisons notre sale 2 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 cos- ters, 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 tern in azure, in form of a vine. * 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 Hall : the hangings aulaa, were also called Hall ynges. Will of the Black Prince. autier, et ce qe ne busoignera a servir illcc du remenant du dit dossier, et auxi les ditz banqueres, volons qe soit departiz a servir devant l'autier la ou monseignour saint Thomas gist, et a 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 cliappelle 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 du long paramont les estallez, et en ceste manere ordenons a servir et estre user en memorial de nous, a 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, lesquek nous 1 Mr. Nichols supposes this to be the Augustine College at Ashridge, Bucks, founded by Edmund, Earl of Cornwall, about 1283, but he was unable to trace any part taken by the Black Prince in the affairs of that house. In the last edition of Dugdale's " Monasticon," vol. vi. p. 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 A copy of the Ashridge Statutes is mesmes avons fait faire et enlim- yner de noz armures en diversez lieux, et auxi de nos bages dez plumes d'ostruce ; et ycelx missal et portehors ordenons a servir per- petuelement en la dite cliappelle 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 respon- dre devant Dieu. Item, nous donnons et divisons a la dite cliap- pelle deux vestementz sengles, cest assavoir, aube, amyt, chesyble. es- tole et fanon, avec towaille coven- ables a chacum des ditz vestementz, h servir auxi en la dite chapelle perpetuelement. Item, nous don- nons et devisons notre grand table d'or et d'argent tout pleyn dez precieuses reliques, et en my lieu un croix de ligno sancte cruris, et la dite table est garniz di perres et de perles, e'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 funda- cioun, 1 a servir perpetuelement au 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 Archdeacon Todd (in a privately printed history of Berkhamstead) observes that there is a similar instance of the Prince claiming 1 7 2 Will of the Black Prince. 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 rem- enant de touz noz vestimentz, draps d'or, le tabernacle de la Resurrec- cioun, deux cixtes 1 d'argent suzor- rez et enameillez d'une sute, croix, chalix, cruetz, chandelabres, ba- cyns, liveres, et touz noz autrez ornementz appetenantz a seinte eglise, a notre chapelle de saint Nicholas dedeynz notre chastel de Walyngforde, 2 a y servir et demu- rer perpetuelement, sanz jamez le mettre en autre oeps ; et de ceo chargeons les armes des doien et souz doyen de la dite chapelle a respondre 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 a notre dit filz notre lit palee de baudekyn et de camaca rouge q'est tout novel, avec tout ce qe appertient au dit lit. Item, nous donons et devisons a founded by the Karl of Cornwall at Wal- linuford, which the Prince calls " notre chapelle," though he only re-established For this information I am indebted to the Rev. J. \V. Cobb, formerly curate of Berkhamstead. 1 Cistes, ciste, shrines. notre dit filz notre grand lit des angeles enbroudez, avec les quis- syns, tapitz, coverture, linceaux et tout entierement l'autre apparalle appertienant au dit lit. Item, nous donnons et devisons a notre dit filz la Sale d'arras du pas de Saladyn, et auxi la Sale de Worstede em- broudez avec mermyns de mier, et la bordure de rouge de noir pales et embroudes de cignes ove testez de dames et de plumes d'ostrucet lesqueles Sales nous volons qe notre dit filz ait avec tout ce qe appartient a ycelle. Et quant a notre vesselle d'argent, porce c,e nous pensons qe nous receumcs avec notre compaigne la princesse au temps de notre mariage, jusqes a la value de sept centz marcs d'es- terlinges 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 ves- selle nous volons qe notre dit filz ait une partie covenable pur son estat, solonc l'avis de noz execu- tours. Item, nous donnons et devisons a notre dit compaigne la princesse la Sale de Worstede rouge d'egles et griffons embrou- dez, avec la bordure de cignes ove testes de dames. Item, nous de- visoms a Sire Roger de Claryn- done 3 un lit de soie solonc l'avis de noz executours, avec tout ce qe * Of this collegiate chapel, see the last edition of Du^dale's *' MonasL vol. vi. p. 1330. In 1356, the Prince had granted to it the advowson of the church of Harewell, Berkshire. s Sir Roger was a natural son of the Prince, bom probably at Clarendon, and thence named. See Sandford, Geneal. Will of the Black Prince. m appertient au dit lit. Item, nous donnons et dcvisons 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 dia- preez en li mesmes des armes de Hereford, avec le celure entiere, curtyns, quissyns, 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'cgles d'azure, c'est assavoir, quilte, dossier, celure en- tiere, curtyns, quissyns, 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, en- semble avec touz les issuez et pro- fitz 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 det- tetz, Nous ordenons et devisoms si bien pur les despenz funerales qe convenront necessairement estre faites pur nostre estat, come pur acquiler toutez noz dettez par les mains de noz executours, sique ils paient primerement les dis des- Hist. p. 189. He was made one of the knights of the chamber to his half-brother, Richard II., who granted to him an an- nuity of 100/. per ann., in 1389. He pencz 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 po- vres servantz egalement selonc leur degreez et desertes si avant come ils purront avoir informacione de ceux qe en ont melliour cognis- sance, si come ils en vorront re- spondre devant Dieu au jour de Juggement, ou nul ne sera jugge qe un seul. Et quant a les annu- ytes qe nous avons donnes a noz chivalers, esquiers, et autres noz servitours, en gueredon des ser- vices q'ils nous ont fait et des travalx q'ils ont eeu entour nous, notre entiere 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 confer- mer a checum 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 em- pesches en quantqe en il est notre dit doun. Et de cest notre testa- ment, liquel nous volons estre tenuz et perfourmez pur notre darreine bore Or, on a bend, Sa, three ostrich feathers Arg., the quills transfixed through as many scrolls of the first, M 174 Will of the Black Prince. volunte, fesons et ordenons noz executors notre trescher et tresame frere d'Espaigne, Due de Lan- castre, les reverenz peres en Dieu, William Evesqe de Wyncestre, 1 Johan Evesqe de Bathe, 2 William Evesqe de Saint Assaphe, 3 notre trescher en Dieu sire Robert de Walsham notre confessour, Hughe de Segrave Senescal de noz ter- res, Aleyn de Stokes, et Johan de Fordham ; lesquelx nous pri- oms, requerons et chargeoms de executer et acomplir loialment toutez les choses susdites. En tesmoignance de toutez et che- cunes les choses susdites nous avons fait mettre a cest notre testa- ment et darreine volunte nous prive et secree sealx, 4 et avons auxi com- mandez notre notair dessous escript de mettre notre dite darriere vo- lunte et testament en fourme pub- lique, et de soy souz escriere et le signer et mercher de son signe acustumez, en tesmoignance de toutez et checunes les choses des- susdictes. Et ego, Johannes de Ormeshe- vede, clericus Karliolensis diocesis 1 William of Wylcehara, Bishop of Winchester, 1367-1404. 2 John Harewell, Chancellor of Gas- enny and Chaplain to the Prince, was Bishop of Bath, 1366-1386. 3 William de Springlington, appointed Bishop of St. Asaph, Feb. 4, 1376, in the same year as the Prince's will is dated. • This expression deserves notice, as showing the distinction between the Sigillum privatum and the secretum. The seals of the Black Prince are numer- ous : eight are described by Sir H. Nicolas in his Memoir. Archajjlo^ia, publicus autoritate apostolica TCota- rius, premissis omnibus et singulis dum sic ut premittitur sub anno Domini Millesimo, ccc. septua- gesimo 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 metuendissimum dominum meum principem agerentur et fierent, presentibus reverendo in Christo patre domino Johanne Herefor- densi Episcopo, dominis Lodewico de Clifford, Nicholao Bonde, et Nicholao de Schamesfelde, militi- bus, et domino Willelmo de Wal- sham 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 testi- monium omnium premissorum, constat michi notario predicto de interlinear' harum dictionum — tout est, per me fact, superius appro- bando. vol. xjnd. p. 361, but none of them are identified with the seals above mentioned. The secree seal was doubtless the same kind of seal described in other instances as the Privy Signet. The will of Edward III. was sealed 11 sigillo privato et signeto nostris," with the Great Seal in confirma- tion. 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 i'.^utt. Notes 071 the Will. Probatio dicti Testament! coram Simone Cantuar' Archiepiscopo, iv. Idus Junii, M.ccc.lxxvj. in camera infra scepta domus fratrum predicatorum conventus London'. Nostre Translationisanno secundo. A marginal note records that John, Bishop of Durham, and Alan Stolriitm) mentioned in connection with the Cheker or scaccarium (count- ing house) in the Precincts adjoining the present Library (Willis's Conventual Buildings of Christ Church, 102). 3 To the obliging attention of the present occupants I owe the information here given. 222 The Convents. Cathedral itself a communication is said to exist by means of a subterraneous gallery, of which the course can be in part traced under the houses on the western side of Mercery Lane. Besides the inns, were many other receptacles for the pilgrims, both high and low. Kings and great persons often lodged in St. Augustine's abbey. Over the gate of the abbey a sculptured figure represents a pilgrim resting with a wallet on his back. Many would find shelter in the various hospitals or convents, of St. John, St. Gregory, St. Lawrence, and St. Mar- garet j of the Gray, of the Black, and of the Austen Friars. The Hospital of Eastbridge both traced its foundation to St. Thomas, whose name it bore, and also was intended for the reception of pilgrims ; 1 twelve of whom were, espe- cially if sick, to be provided with beds and attendance. Above all, the Priory attached to the Cathedral would feel bound to provide for the reception of guests on whose con- tributions and support its fame and wealth so greatly de- pended. It is by bearing this in mind that we are enabled to understand how so large a part of conventual buildings was always set aside for strangers. Thus, for example, by far the greater portion of the gigantic monastery of the Grande Chartreuse was intended to be occupied by guests. The names of " Aula Burgundiae — Aula Francis? — Aula Aquitaniae," still mark the assignment of the vast halls to the numerous pilgrims from all parts of feudal, and, at that time, still divided France, who, swarming from the long galleries opening into their private chambers, were there to be enter- tained in common. So on a lesser scale at Canterbury : the long edifice of old grey stone, long apportioned as the resi- dence of " the eleventh canon," overlooking " the Oaks," then the garden of the convent, was the receptacle for the greater guests ; 2 that at the south-west corner of the " Green- court," for the ordinary guests, who were brought through the gate of the court, thence under the old wooden cloister, 1 DugJale, vol i., pt. 2, p. 91. * Somner, Appendix, p. 13, No. xvii. Entrance into the Cathedral. 223 which still in part remains ; and then lodged in the Stran- gers' Hall, with a steward appointed to look after all their wants. 1 In the city many preparations were made for the chief Festival of St Thomas. A notice was placed on a post in the " King Street," opposite the " Court Hall," ordering the provision of lodging for pilgrims. Expensive pageants were got up, in which " The Martyrdom " was enacted, on the eve of the festival. 2 Accounts are still preserved of pay- ments for "St. Thomas' garment," and the "knights' armour," and gunpowder for fireworks, and " staves and banners," to be carried out before the " morris pykes " and the gunners. 3 From these various receptacles the pilgrims would stream into the Precincts. The outside aspect of the Cathe- dral can be imagined without much difficulty. A wide cemetery, which, with its numerous gravestones, such as that on the south side of Peterborough Cathedral, occupied the vacant space still called the Churchyard, divided from the garden beyond by the old Norman arch since removed to a more convenient spot. In the cemetery were interred such pilgrims as died during their stay in Canterbury. The ex- ternal aspect of the Cathedral itself, with the exception of the numerous statues which then filled its now vacant niches, must have been much what it is now. Not so its interior. Bright colours on the roof, on the windows, on the monu- ments ; hangings suspended from the rods which may still be seen running from pillar to pillar ; chapels, and altars, and chantries intercepting the view, where now all is clear, must have rendered it so different, that at first we should hardly recognise it to be the same building. At the church door the miscellaneous company of pil- 1 Somner, p. 93. the Eve 01" St. Thomas, at the ancient * Archa:ol., xxxi. 207-209. Such plays Chapel of St. William, the Patron Saint fere probably general on this Festival. of Norwich, on Mousehold Heath. There is in the archives of Norwich Ca- ' Hasted, iv. 573. thedral a record of their performance on 22 4 The Nave. grims had to arrange themselves "every one after his degree " — " The courtesy gan to rise Till the knight of gentleness that knew right well the guise, Put forth the prelate, the parson, and his fere." 1 Here they encountered a monk, who, with the " sprengel," sprinkled all their heads with holy water. After this, " The knight went with his compeers round the holy shrine, To do that they were come for, and after for to dine." The rest are described as waiting for a short time be- hind, the friar trying to get the "sprengel" as a device to see the nun's face ; whilst the others, the " pardoner, and the miller, and other lewd sots," amused themselves with gaping at the fine painted windows, of which the remnants in the choir are still a chief ornament of the Cathedral, but which then filled the nave also. Their great difficulty was — not unnaturally — to make out the subjects of the pictures. " ' He beareth a ball-staff,' quoth the one, ' and also a rake's end;' ' Thou failest,' quoth the miller, ' thou hast not well thy mind ; It is a spear, if thou canst see, with a prick set before, To push adown his enemy, and through the shoulder bore.' " " Peace," quoth the host of Southwark (breaking in upon this idle talk)— "Let stand the window- glazed ; Go up and do your offerings, ye seemeth half amazed.' "* At last, therefore, they fall into the tide of pilgrims, and we have now to follow them through the Church. There were two courses adopted ; sometimes they paid their devo- tions at the Shrine first, and at the lesser objects afterwards ; sometimes at the Shrine last. The latter course will be most convenient to pursue for ourselves. 3 1 Supp. Tale, 134. * Supp. Tale, 150. a The following account taken chiefly from Erasmus' Pil^rima^e with The Martyrdom. 22 J The first object was the Transept of the Martyrdom. To this they were usually taken through the dark passage under the steps leading to the choir. It was greatly altered since the time of the murder : the column by which Becket had taken his stand had been removed to clear the view of the wooden altar erected to mark the spot where he fell ; the steps up which he was ascending were removed, and a wall, part of which still remains, 1 was drawn across the transept to facilitate the arrangements of the entrance of great crowds. The Lady Chapel, which had then stood in the nave, had now taken the place of the chapels of St. Benedict and St. Blaise, which were accommodated to their new destination. The site, however, of the older Lady Chapel in the nave was still marked by a stone column. On this column — such was the story told to foreign pilgrims — had formerly stood a statue of the Virgin, which had often conversed with St. Thomas as he prayed before it. The statue itself was now shown in the choir, covered with pearls and precious stones. 2 An inscription 3 over the door, still legible in the 17 th century, rudely indicated the history of the whole scene, " Est sacer intra locus venerabilis atque beatus Prscsul ubi Sanctus Thomas est martyiisatus." Those who visited the spot in the close of the 15th cen- tury, might have seen the elaborate representation of the " Martyr " in the stained glass of the transept window. All that now remains is the long central band, giving the figures of the donors, King Edward IV. and his Queen, the prin- cesses his daughters, and the two unhappy children that perished in the Tower. Before the wooden altar the pilgrims knelt, and its such occasional illustrations as are fur- 1 The rest was removed in 1734. Hasted, iv. 520. ' Leo von lioUmital, Note B., p. 154. On the whole it seems more likely that the Lady Chapel in the nave is meant than that 111 the crypt. But this is djubt fill. ' Somner, 91. 226 The Crypt. guardian priest exhibited to them the various relics confided to his especial charge. But the one which surpassed all others was the rusty fragment of Le Bret's sword, which was presented to each in turn to be kissed. The foreign pil- grims, by a natural mistake, inferred from the sight of the sword, that the martyr had suffered death by beheading. 1 They were next led down the steps on the right to the crypt, where a new set of guardians received them. On great occasions the gloom of the old Norman aisles was broken by the long array of lamps suspended from the rings still seen in the roof, each surrounded by its crown of thorns. Here were exhibited some of the actual relics of St. Thomas — part of his skull, cased in silver, and also presented to be kissed ; and hanging aloft the celebrated shirt 2 and drawers of hair-cloth, which had struck such awe into the hearts of the monks on the night of his death.3 This was all that ordi- nary pilgrims were allowed to see ; but, if they were persons of rank, or came with high recommendations, they were afterwards permitted to return, and the Prior himself with lights exhibited the wonders of the Chapel of Our Lady Undercroft, carefully barred with iron gates, but within glittering with treasures beyond any other like shrine in England. Some portion of the stars of bright enamel may still be seen on the roof. Emerging from the crypt the pilgrims mounted the steps to the choir, on the north side of which the great mass of general relics were exhibited. Most of them were in ivory, gilt, or silver coffers. The bare list of these occupies eight folio pages, and comprises upwards of four hundred items ; 4 > See Leo von Rotzmital. Note B. sometimes known, Thomas Acrensis. * So it was seen by Erasmus. (See See Nichols, pp. 47, 120. Nichols, p. 47.) In 1465 it seems to have ' See "Murder of Becket," pp. 99, been suspended (much as the Black 100. Prince's coat) over the lid of the Shrine. * As given in an inventory of 1315. Leo von Rotzmital, p. 154, Note B. A See Nichols' Erasmus, pp. 124, 155 ; fragment apparently of the original tomb Dart's Antiquities of Canterbury, Appen- was here shown, namely, a slip of lead dix, pp. iv.-xviii. inscribed with the title by which he was 67. Andrew's Tower. 227 some of these always, but especially the arm of St. George, 1 were offered to be kissed. " The holy relics each man with his mouth Kissed, as a goodly monk the names told and taught." Those who were curious in the gorgeous altar-cloths, vest- ments, and sacred vessels, were also here indulged with a sight of these treasures in the grated vault beneath the altar. Leaving the choir, they were brought to the sacristy in the northern aisle, in St. Andrew's Tower. Here again the ordinary class of pilgrims was excluded ; but to the privileged were shown, besides the vast array of silk vestments and golden candlesticks, what were far more valuable in their eyes, — the rude pastoral staff of pearwood, with its crook of black horn, the rough cloak and the bloody handkerchief of the " Martyr " himself. There was too a chest cased with black leather, and opened with the utmost reverence on bended knees, containing scraps and rags of linen, with which (the story must be told throughout) the Saint wiped his forehead and blew his nose. 2 And now they have reached the holiest place. Behind the altar, as has been already observed, was erected the Shrine itself. What seems to have impressed every pilgrim who has left the record of his visit, as absolutely peculiar to Canterbury, was the long succession of ascents, by which " church seemed," as they said, " to be piled on church," and "a new temple entered as soon as the first was ended." 3 This unrivalled elevation of the sanctuary of Canterbury was partly necessitated by the position of the original crypt, partly by the desire to construct the Shrine immediately 1 The name is not given by Erasmus tigium servanda. His, ut aiebant, vir (p. 48), but the prominence given in Leo's pius extergebat sudorem e facie, sive account to the right arm of "oi:r dear collo, pituitam a naribu3, aut si quid Lord, the Knight St. George" (Note esset, similium sordium quibus non va- B.), seems to fix it. ■ cent huniana corpuscula." ' Nichols' Erasmus, 49, 57, 156. I 3 Note B., and Nichols* Erasmus, p. quote the original words : — " Frngm^nta 50. liuteorum laccra plerumque mucci ves- 228 Trinity Chapel. above the place of the Saint's original grave, that place itself being beautified by the noble structure which now encloses it. Up these steps the Pilgrims mounted, many of them probably on their knees, and the long and deep indentations in the surface of the stones even now bear witness to the devotion and the number of those who once ascended to the sacred platform of the eastern chapel. The popular hymn to St. Thomas, if it was not suggested, must at least have been rendered doubly impressive, by this continual ascent : — Tu, per Thomae sanguinem Quem pro te impendit, Fac nos Christo scanJere Quo Thomas ascettdit. Gloria et honore coronasti eum Domine Et coastituisti eum supra opera manuum tuarum Ut ejus meritis et precibus a Gehennae incendiis liberemur.' Near these steps, not improbably, 2 they received exhorta- tions from one or more of the monks as they approached the sacred place. Trinity Chapel in the thirteenth century, immediately after the erection of the Shrine, must have presented a very different aspecc from that which it wore a few generations later. The Shrine then stood entirely alone ; no other, mortal re- mains had yet intruded into the sacred solitude. Gradually this rule was broken through, and the pilgiim of the fifteenth century must have beheld the Shrine, flanked on the right hand and the left, by the tombs of the Black Prince and of Henry IV., then blazing with gold and scarlet. Why Arch- bishop Courtenay was brought into so august a company, is not clear ; it was against his own wish, and is said to have been at the express command of King Richard II., who was 1 Wharton, Anglia Sacra, i. p. 121.* Near the same place in Canterbury * Such seems the most probable ex- Cathedral in later times was erected the planation of the stone desk in the corre- desk for the Bible and Fox's Martyrs, spondiug position m Gloucester Cathedral. The Crown— the Shrine. 229 at Canterbury at the time.' These, however, were the only exceptions. The Pilgrims were first led beyond the Shrine to the easternmost apse, where was preserved a golden likeness of the head of the Saint, 2 richly studded with jewels. This either contained, or had contained, the scalp or crown of the Saint, severed by Le Bret's sword, and this probably was the altar often mentioned in offerings as " the Altar of the Head," 3 which gave its name to the eastern apse, called from this, " Becket's Crown." We now arrive at the Shrine. Although not a trace of it remains, yet its position is ascertainable beyond a doubt, and it is easy from analogy and description to imagine its appearance. Two rude representations of it still exist ; one in a MS. drawing in the British Museum, the other in an ancient stained window in Canterbury Cathedral.'* We are also assisted by the. accurate descriptions which have been preserved of the Shrine of St. Cuthbert of Durham, s and by the only actual 6 Shrine now remaining in England — that of Edward the Confessor, in Westminster Abbey. The space which it covered may still be traced by the large purple • See "Edward the Black Prince," p. 151. * See Nichols, pp. 115, 116, 118. There is a confusion about the position of this relic, but, on the whole, there can be little doubt that it must at times have been exhibited in this place. When the Shrine was opened, so much of the skull was found with the rest of the bones, that a doubt naturally arose whether the large separate portion of the skull shown elsewhere was not an imposture. See Declaration of Faith, 1539 ; Nichols, p. 2 j6, and the Notes C and F. ' The origin of the name of " Beckefs Crown" is doubtful. Professor Willis (Hist, of Cant. Cath.. p. 56) regards it as an architectural term. ■ Mr. Way (see note F) regards it as derived from the scalp. The question is one which admits of much antiquarian argument * A fac-simile of the drawing in the Cottonian MS. is annexed, with an expla- natory note. An engraving and explana- tion of the representation in the Canter- bury window will be found in Note K. * See Willis's Cant. Cath., p. 100. * In Chester Cathedral part of the Shrine of St. Werburga remains, con- verted into the episcopal throne. In Hereford Cathedral, the Shrine of St. Ethclbert remains, but is a mere tomb. In fureign churches, the Shrines of the Three Kings at Cologne, of St. Ferdi- nand at Seville, and of St. Remigius at Rheints, are perhaps the nearest like- nesses. For the Shrine of Edward the Confessor 1 may refer to my " Historical Memorials of Westminster Abbey," c. iii. 1j this instance must now be added the Shrine of St. Alban, so ingeniously dis- covered and restored in 1872. 230 The Shrine. stones which surround the vacant square. Above its eastern extremity was fixed in the roof a gilded crescent, still remaining. It has been conjectured, with some reason, that it may have been brought by some crusading pilgrim from the dome of an Oriental mosque, and that round it a group of Turkish flags and horsetails hung from the roof over the Shrine beneath — like the banners of St. George's Chapel, Windsor. 1 At its western extremity, separating it from the Patriarchal Chair, which stood where the Communion Table is now placed, extended the broad pavement of Mosaic, with its border of circular stones, ornamented with fantastic devices, chiefly of the signs of the Zodiac, similar to that which surrounds the contemporary tombs of Edward the Confessor and Henry III. at Westminster. Immediately in front of this Mosaic was placed " the Altar of St. Thomas " at the head of the Shrine, and before this the pilgrims knelt, where the long furrow in the purple pavement still marks the exact limit to which they advanced. Before them rose the Shrine, secure with its strong iron rails, of which the stains and perhaps the fixings can still be traced in the broken pavement around. For those who were allowed to approach still closer, there were iron gates which opened. The lower part of the Shrine was of stone, supported on arches ; and between these arches the sick and lame pilgrims were allowed to ensconce themselves, rubbing their rheumatic backs or diseased legs and arms against the marble which brought them into the nearest contact with the wonder- working body within. The Shrine, properly so called, rested on these arches, and was at first invisible. It was concealed by a wooden canopy, probably painted outside with sacred pictures, suspended from the roof ; at a given signal 2 this 1 See the grounds for this explana- Providence -with two crescents. lion in Note G. In the Museum at • * This is expressly stated with regard Munich is a white silk mitre of the 12th to St. Cuthbert's Shrine. Willis's Can- century, embroidered on one side with the terbury Cathedral, p. 100; Raines martyrdom of St. Stephen, on the other Account of Durham Cathedral, pp. with that of St. Thomas ; over St. Stephen 52-55. ore stars, over St Thomas a hand of becket's shrine. NOTE TO THE ENGRAVING OF THE SHRINE OF BECKET. The accompanying engraving is a fac-siinile of a drawing of the Shrine in ink, on a folio page of the Cottonian MS., Tib. E, viii. fol. 269. It has been already en- graved in Dugdale's Monasticon, vol. i. p. 10, and partially in Nicholas, Erasmus, pp. 118, 165, but with several deviations from the original. It is here given exactly as it appears in the M.S., even to the bad drawing of the end of the Shrine, and the effects of the fire which partially destroyed the MSS. in 1 731, visible in the muti- lated engravings of the page. It will be observed on a comparison with the appearance in Dugdale and Nichols, that the skull and the bones on the lid of the iron chest are not (as there represented) raised, but lie flat on the surface ; and are therefore, in all probability, not meant to pourtray the actual relics (which were inside), but only a carving or painting of them on the lid. The piece of the skull is also here exhibited in a form much more conformable to the written account, than would be inferred from Dug- dale's inexact copy. The burnt inscriptions may be restored thus, from Dugdale's Latin translation of them, and from Stow's Annals (Anno 153S), whose description of the Shrine is evi- dently taken from this MS., before it had been mutilated by the fire of 1731 =— (1) The title:— The form and figure of the Shrine of Tho: Becket of Canterbury. (2) A statement respecting the three finials of the Canopy: — Silver gilt 60 ounces. [Silver gi]// 80 ounces. Silver gilt bo ounces. (3) A description of the Shrine : — Tern : H. 8. All aboz>e the stone work was first of wood, jewels of gold set with stone [covered with plates of gold], wrought upon with gold wier, then again with Jewells, gold, as bro[oches, images, angels, rings] 10 or 12 together, cramped with gold into the ground of gold, the Spoils of which filled two] chests such as 6 or 8 men could but convey on out of the church. At [one side was a stone with] an Angell of gold poynting thereunto, offered t her by a king of France, [which King Henry put] into a ring, and wear it on his 1 thumb. (4) A description of the chest (not a table, as Mr. Nichols, p. 118, erroneously infers, from Dugdale's Latin translation of the inscription, but the identical iron chest depo- sited by Langton within the golden Shrine) : — This chest of iron retained the] bones of Thomas Beck[et, skull and] all, with the wounde [of his death] and the pece cut [out of his skull laid in the same wound]. 1 Dugdale, in his Latin trins'.ation (p. 10), inserts hae the word rapacious, The Shrine. 233 canopy was drawn up by ropes, and the Shrine then appeared blazing with gold and jewels ; the wooden sides were plated with gold and damasked with gold wire ; cramped together on this gold ground were innumerable jewels, pearls, sapphires, balassas, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and also, " in the midst of the gold," rings, or cameos, of sculp- tured agates, cornelians, and onyx stones.' As soon as this magnificent sight was disclosed, every one dropped on his knees, and probably the tinkling of the silver bells attached to the canopy would indicate the moment to all the hundreds of pilgrims in whatever part of the Cathedral they might be. 2 The body of the Saint in the inner iron chest was not to be seen except by mounting a ladder, which would be but rarely allowed. But whilst the votaries knelt around, the Prior, or some other great officer of the monastery, came forward, and with a white wand touched the several jewels, naming the giver of each, and for the benefit of foreigners, adding the French name of each, with a description of its value and marvellous qualities. A complete list of them 3 has been preserved to us, curious, but devoid of general interest. There was one, however, which far outshone the rest, and indeed was supposed to be the finest in Europe.* It was the great carbuncle, ruby, or diamond, said to be as large as a hen's egg, or a thumb-nail, and commonly called " The Regale of France." The atten- tion of the spectators was rivetted by the figure of an angel pointing to it. It had been given to the original tomb in the 1 This account is taken from Stow's Chronicle, 1538, and the Cotton MS. description of the Shrine. Both are given in Nichols' Erasmus, pp. 166, 167. Also " A Relation of Engbnd under Henry VII." by a Venetian (Camden Society). * Compare Raine's "Durham," p. 54. At St Cuthbert's Shrine were " fine sounding silver bells attached to the ropes, which, at the drawing'up of the ropes, made such a goodly sound, that it stirred all the people'* hearts in the church." • The list of jewels (from the Inven- tory of 1315) is given in Nichols' Erasmus p. 169. Diceto says, " Ne sit qui non credat, desit qui scrihot." ' The account of the exhibition of the Shrine is taken from Erasmus (see Nichols, p. 55), Stow, and the Cotton MS. See Nichols, pp. 166, 167; and the Bohemian Travellers, who give the story of the Regale of France (see Note B.), and the Venetian's Relation ol England under Ileury VII. 231 The Regale of France. crypt by Louis VII. of France, when here on his pilgrimage. There were two legends current about it One was that the King had refused it to St. Thomas when alive. 1 The other was told to the pilgrims of the 15th century. "The King," so ran the story, " had come thither to discharge a vow made in battle, and knelt at the Shrine with the stone set in a ring on his finger. The Archbishop, who was present, entreated him to present it to the Saint. So costly a gift was too much for the royal pilgrim, especially as it ensured him good luck in all his enterprises. Still, as a compensation, he offered 100,000 florins for the better adornment of the Shrine. The primate was fully satisfied ; but scarcely had the refusal been uttered when the stone leapt from the ring, and fastened itself to the Shrine, as if a goldsmith had fixed it 2 there." The miracle of course convinced the king, who left the jewel, with the 100,000 florins as well; and it re- mained, the wonder of the church, so costly, that it would suffice for the ransom of a king of England, almost of Eng- land itself j so bright that it was impossible to look at it distinctly, and at night burning like fire, but even on a cloudy evening, "You saw it as if it were in your hand." The lid once more descended on the golden ark ; the pilgrims, Prayed to St. Thomas in such wise as they could," * and then withdrew, down the opposite flight of steps from that which they had ascended. Those who saw the long files of pilgrims at Treves, at the time of the exhibition of the "Holy Coat," in 1844, can best form a notion of this part of the scene at Canterbury. There, as at Canterbury, the long line of pilgrims ascended and descended the flights of steps which led to the space behind the high altar, mutter- ing their prayers, and dropping their offerings into the recep- tacles which stood ready to receive them at the foot of either staircase. " telling heartily their beads, 1 Andreas Marcianensis (Bouquet's Collt • See Note B. ■ ! The Well and the Pilgrims' Signs. 235 Where these offerings were made at Canterbury we are not told, but probably at each of the three great places of devotion — the " Point of the Sword," " the Head," or " Crown," and " the Shrine." Ordinary pilgrims presented " Silver brooches and rings," Kings and princes gave jewels or money, magnificent drapery, spices, tapers, cups, and statues of themselves in gold or silver. 1 And now the hour arrived for departure. The hour or "the dinner," which had been carefully prepared by the host of Southwark, now approaching — " They drew to dinner- ward as it drew to noon." * But, before they finally left the Precincts, one part of their task still remained, namely, to carry off memorials of the visit. Of these, the most important was furnished within the monastery itself. The story of the water mixed with the martyr's blood 3 has been already mentioned, and the small leaden bottles or "ampulles" in which this was distributed were the regular marks of Canterbury pilgrims. A step deeply worn away appears in the south aisle of the Trinity Chapel. It has been suggested that this was the spot where the pilgrims knelt to receive the blood. To later generations the wonder was increased by showing a well in the Precincts, into which, as the story ran, the dust and blood from the pavement had been thrown immediately after the murder, and called forth an abundant spring where before there had been but a scanty stream ; and this spring turned, it was said, both at the time and since, four times into blood and once into milk. With this water miracles were supposed to be wrought ; and, from the beginning of the fourteenth to the close of the fifteenth century, it was one of the greatest marvels of the place.* Absurd as the story was, it is worth • See Nichols' Erasmus, pp. 108, 160. of Edward IV. ; and by William Thomas, • Supp. Tale. 190. in the time of Henry VIII. (See Notes ■ See " Murder of Becket," p. 98. A, B, and C.) It is unknown to Getvase • The story of the well is given in the and the earlier chroniclers. The well Polistoire, of the time of Edward II.; was probably that which is in the old by the Bohemian Travellers, in the time plans of the monastery marked Puieus. 236 The Pilgrims Signs. recording as being cne cf which the comparatively late origin can be traced by us, though wholly unsuspected by the pilgrims, and perhaps by the monks who profited by its wonders ; and thus an instance, even to the most credulous, of the manner in which such stories gradually grow up round consecrated spots. But besides these leaden bottles, the pilgrims usually procured more common reminiscences on their way back to the inn. Mercery Lane, the narrow street which leads from the Cathedral to the " Chequers," in all probability takes its name from its having been the chief resort of the shops and stalls where objects of ornament or devotion were clamorously offered for sale to the hundreds who flo-jked by, eager to carry away some memorial of their visit to Canterbury. At that time the street was lined 1 on each side with arcades, like the " Rows " at Chester, under- neath which the pilgrims could walk, and turn into the stalls on either side. Such a collection of booths — such a clamour of vendors — is the first sight and sound that meets every traveller who visits Loretto or Einsiedlen. The objects, as in these modem, so in those ancient resorts of pilgrimage, were doubtless mostly of that flimsy and trivial character so expressively designated by a word derived from a place of this very kind, tawdry, that is, like the lace or chains of silk called " Etheldred's Chains," 2 sold at the fair of 3 St. Awdrey, or Ethcldreda, the patron saint of the Isle of Ely. But what they chiefly looked for were " signs," to indicate where they had been. immediately on the north side cf the dug by Abd-ul-Motallib. (Sprenger's choir, of which all traces have now dis- Mahomet, pp. 31, 54.) appeared. Two remarkable instances of 1 Hasted, iv. 428. miraculous springs may be mentioned, of "Porter, " Flowers of the Saints:" which, as in this case, the later story can Harpsfield, vii. 24, quoted by Fuller, be traced. One is that in the Mamertine book ii. § no. Prison, said to have been called forth for 3 So TooUy for St. Olave, Trowel the baptism of St. Peter';, gaoler; though for St. Rule, Tanton for St Antony, really existing there in the days of Theunen for St. Eunen. or AJamnan the Roman Republic. The other is (Reeves's Adamnan, 256), Tith for St the Zcmzem at Mecca, commonly be- Eth, Sloosey for St. Osyth, IckUy for lieved to have been the we'l of Ishmael, St. Echel, Torrey for St. Oragh, Toll although it is known to have been really for AlJate (see Caley's Life, i. 272). The Dinner. 237 "As manner and custom is, signs there they nought, For men of contre to know whom they had sought, Each man set his silver in such thing as they liked." 1 These signs they fastened on their caps or hats, or hung from their necks, and thus were henceforth distinguished. As the pilgrims from Compostella brought home the scallop- shells, which still lie on the sea shores of Gallicia — as the " palmers " from Palestine brought the palm-branches still given at the Easter pilgrimage, in the tin-cases which, slung behind the mules or horses, glitter in long succession through the cavalcade as it returns from Jerusalem to Jaffa — as the roamers from Rome brought models of St. Peter's keys, or a " vernicle," that is, a pattern of Veronica's handkerchief, sewed on their caps — so the Canterbury pilgrim had his hat thick set with a " hundred ampulles," or with leaden brooches representing the mitred head of the saint, with the inscrip- tion " Caput T/iomcs." 2 Many of these are said to have been found in the beds of the Stour and the Thames, dropped as the vast concourse departed from Canterbury or reached London. At last, after all these sights and purchases, came the dinner, " at noon." " Every man in his degree took his seat, As they were wont to do at supper and at meat." 3 The remains of the vast cellars under the Chequers Inn still bear witness to the amount of good cheer which could be provided. After the repast, they all dispersed to see the town. "All that had their changes with them They made them fresh and gay," 1 Supp. Tale, 194. Collect. Ant., vol. i. p. Si ; vol. ii. p. 2 See Piers Ploughman and Glraldus, 43. Journal of Archaeol. Ass., vol. i. p. as quoted by Nichols, p. 70, who over- 200. Some of the brooches may be scsa looks the fact that the " ampulla; " were in the Prilish Museum. Canterbury signs. See C. R Smith's 3 Supp. Tale, 230-240. Q 238 The Town — the Return, And— "They sorted them together, As they were more used travelling by the way." The knight— "With his menee went to see the wall And the wards of the town, as to a knight befall " — the walls of Simon of Sudbury, which still in great part exist round the city — "Devising attentively the strength all about, And pointed to his son both the perill and the dout, For shot of arblast and of bow, and eke for shot of gun, Unto the wards of the town, and how it might be won." 1 The monk of the party took his clerical friends to see an acquaintance — " that all these years three, Hath prayed him by his letters that I would him see." 2 The wife of Bath induced the Prioress to walk into the garden or " herbary," " to see the herbs grow, And all the alleys fair and pavid and raylid, and y-makid, The savige and the ysope y-fretted and y-stakid, And other beddis by and by fresh y-dight, For comers to the host, right a sportful sight." 3 Such were the ordinary amusements of the better class of Canterbury pilgrims. The rest are described as employing themselves in a less creditable manner. On the morrow they all start once again for London, and the stories on the road are resumed. At Dartford, both on going and returning, they laid in a stock of pilgrims' signs. 4 The foreign pilgrims sleep at Rochester, and it is curious to note that the recollections of Canterbury have so strong a hold on their minds, that the first object which they 1 Supp. Talc, 194. s Supp. Tale, 270. don of such a garden still exists in the ' Supp. Tale, 290. This last expres- tenements on the north-west side of Mer- sion seems to imply that the Herbary eery Lane. was in the garden of the inn. A trad i- * Dunkin's History of Dartford. Edward L — Isabella— John of France. 239 visit on their arrival in London is the chapel of St. Thomas, 1 the old chapel built over the place of his birth, and the graves of his parents, Gilbert and Matilda. Besides the mass of ordinary pilgrims, there were those who came from the very highest ranks of life. Probably there was no king, from the second to the eighth Henry, who did not at some time of his life think it a matter of duty or of policy to visit the Shrine of St. Thomas. Before the period of the Translation, we have already seen the visits of Louis VII. of France, and Richard and John ot England. Afterwards, we have express records of Isabella, 2 Queen of Edward II., of Edward I., and of John, the cap- tive king of France. Edward I., in the close of his reign (1299), offered to the Shrine no less a gift than the golden crown of Scotland j 3 and in the same year he celebrated, in the Transept of the Martyrdom, his marriage with his second wife, Margaret. 4 John of France was at Canterbury perhaps on his arrival, certainly on his return from his captivity. 5 The last acts of his exile were to drop an alms of ten crowns into the hands of the nuns of Harbledown, to offer ten nobles at the three sacred places of the Cathedral, and to carry off, as a reminiscence from the Mercery stalls, a knife for the Count of Auxerre. A Sunday's ride brought him to Dover ; and thence, after a dinner with the Black Prince in Dover Castle, he once more embarked for his native country. Henry V., on his return from Agincourt, visited both the Cathedral and St. Augustine's, and " offered at the Shrine of St. Thomas." Emmanuel, the Emperor of the East, paid his visit to Canterbury in 1400; Sigismund, the Emperor of the West, in 1417. Distinguished members of the great Scottish families also came, from far over the Border; and special 1 See note B. 3 See Hasted, iv. 514. It was the 2 Archaeologia, xxxvi. 461. She was crown given to Edward by John Balliol, four days on the road, and made offer- and carried off by l'alliol on his escape, ings at the tomb, the head, and the When he was recaptured at Dover, the rword. Mary, daughter of Edward I., crown was sent to Canterbury, accompanied her. (Green's Trincesses of 4 See Note A. England, vol. ii.) 5 See Note E. 240 Reaction against Pilgrimage. licenses and safe -conducts were granted to the Braces, and to the Abbot of Melrose, 1 to enable them to perform their journeys securely through those troubled times. The great barons of the Cinque Ports, too, came here after every coro- nation, to present the canopies of silk and gold which they held, and still hold, on such occasions over our kings and queens, and which they receive as their perquisites. 2 We have seen the rise of the Shrine of St. Thomas — we now come to its decline. From the very beginning of its glory, there had been contained within it the seeds of its own destruction. Whatever there may have been of courage or nobleness in Becket's life and death, no impartial person can now doubt that the ages which followed regarded his character and work with a reverence exaggerated beyond all reasonable bounds. And whatever feelings of true religion were interwoven with the devotion of those who came over land and sea to worship at his shrine, it is impossible to overlook the groundless superstition with which it was inse- parably mingled, or the evil results, social and moral, to which the Pilgrimage gave birth. Even in the first beginnings of this localisation of religion, there were purer and loftier spirits (such as Thomas a Kempis in Germany) 3 who doubted of its efficacy ; and in the fourteenth century, when it reached its height, a strong reaction against it had already begun in the popular feeling of Englishmen. Chaucer's narrative leads us to infer, and the complaints of contemporary writers, like Piers Plowman and William Thorpe, prove be- yond doubt, that the levity, the idleness, the dissoluteness, 4 produced by these promiscuous pilgrimages, provoked that sense of just indignation which was one of the most ani- mating motives of the Lollards, and was one of the first causes which directly prepared the way for the Reformation. 1 Hasted, iv. 514. 2 Hasted, iv. 514. "There are few whom sickness really amends, as there are few whom pilgrimage really sanctifies. (Imitatio Christi, i. 23, 4.) * See the very instructive quotations in Nichols' Erasmus, pp. 1S2-1S9. Simon of Sudbury. 2\l Even the treasures of the Cathedral and of St. Augustine were not deemed quite secure ; and the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, in the reign of Richard II., advised that they should be moved " for more safety " to Dover Castle 1 — just as, in the wars of the Palatinate, the Holy Coat of Treves was for many years shut up in the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. Nor was it only persons of humble life and narrow minds that perceived these evils, and protested against them. In the year of the fourth Jubilee, 1370, the pilgrims were crowd- ing as usual along the great London road to Canterbury, when they were overtaken by Simon of Sudbury, at that time Bishop of London, but afterwards Primate, and well known for his munificent donations to the walls and towers of the town of Canterbury. He was a bold and vigorous prelate ; his spirit was stirred within him at the sight of what he deemed a mischievous superstition, and he openly told them that the plenary indulgence which they hoped to gain by their visit to the holy city would be of no avail to them. Such a doctrine from such an authority fell like a thunderbolt in the midst of the vast multitude. Many were struck dumb ; others lifted up their voices and cursed him to his face, with the charac- teristic prayer that he might meet with a shameful death. One especially, a Kentish gentleman — by name, Thomas of Aldon — rode straight up to him, in towering indignation, and said : " My Lord Bishop, for this act of yours, stirring the people to sedition against St. Thomas, I stake the salvation of my soul that you will close your life by a most terrible death," to which the vast concourse answered, "Amen, Amen." The curse, it was believed, prevailed. The " vox popiiU? so the chronicler expressly asserts, turned out to be the " vox Da'." " From the beginning of the world it never has been heard that any one ever injured the Cathedral of Canterbury, and was not punished by the Lord." 2 Eleven years from that time, the populace of London not unnaturally imagined 1 Lombard's Kent, p. 293. 2 Birchington's Annals. Wharton's Anglia Sacra, ii. 51. 242 Simon of Sudbury. [1370. that the rights of St. Thomas were avenged, when they saw the unfortunate Primate dragged out of the Tower, and be- headed by the Kentish rebels under Wat Tyler. His head was taken to his native place, Sudbury, where it is still pre- served. His body was buried in the tomb, still to be seen on the south side of the choir of the Cathedral, where not many years ago, when it was accidentally opened, the body was seen within, wrapped in cerecloth, the vacant space of the head occupied by a leaden ball. But Sudbury was right, after all, and the end was not far off. Wycliffe had already lifted up his voice, and the memory of St. Thomas of Canterbury was one of the ancient forms which began to totter before him. It was said, whether truly or not, that in the last week of his life — on the 29th of October, 1384 — he was going to preach at Lutterworth against the great Saint, whose martyrdom was on that day commemorated. A stroke of paralysis interrupted, as it was believed, the daring words ; but both to those who con- demned, and those who applauded his supposed intention, it must have appeared ominous of the future. Another cen- tury elapsed ; and now, between the years 15 n and 15 13, 1 we find within the precincts of the Cathedral two illustrious strangers, for whose coming, in their different ways, both Chaucer and Wycliffe had prepared the way. The one was John Colet, 2 first scholar of his time in England, Dean of St, Paul's Cathedral, and founder of St. Paul's Grammar School. The other was the foreigner Erasmus, the patriarch of the learning and scholarship of Europe, then just reviving from the slumber of a thousand years. They had made the journey from London together; they had descended the well-known hill, and gazed with admiration on the well- known view. Long afterwards, in the mind of Erasmus, lived the recollection of " the majesty with which the Church • The date is fixed by the events of Erasmus's Colloquy was Colet, see Erasmus's life (see Nichols, p. viii). Nichols, pp. 126, 127. » For the proof that "Pallus" in 1512.] Erasmus and Colct. 243 rises into the sky, so as to strike awe even at a distant ap- proach ; the vast towers, 1 saluting from far the advancing traveller; the sound of the bells, sounding far and wide through the surrounding country." They were led the usual round of the sights of pilgrims. They speculated on the figures of the murderers over the south porch j they entered the nave, then, as now, open to all comers, and were struck by its "spacious majesty," then comparatively new from the works of Prior Chillenden. The curious eye of Erasmus passed heedlessly over the shrine 2 of Archbishop Wittlesey, but fixed on the books fastened to the columns, and noted, with his caustic humour, that amongst them was a copy of the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus. They were taken to the Chapel of the Martyrdom, and reverently kissed the rusty sword, and then, in long succession, as already de- scribed, were exhibited to them the wonders of the crypt, the choir, the sacristy, and the Shrine. Their acquaintance with Warham, the gentle and learned Primate, secured their admission even to the less accessible regions of the crypt and sacristy. The Prior, who received them at the Shrine, was Goldstone, the last great benefactor to the Cathedral, who had just built the Christ Church gate, and the central tower. 3 Erasmus saw enough to find out not only that he was a pious and sensible man, but that he was well acquainted with the philosophy — now trembling to its ruin — of Duns Scotus and the schoolmen. Even if no record were left, it would have been impossible not to inquire and to imagine with deep interest what impression was produced by these various objects, at this critical moment of their history, on two such men as Colet and Erasmus. We are not left to conjecture. Every line of the narrative, dry and cautious as it is, marks the feelings awakened in their hearts. The beauty of the edifice, as we have seen, touched them deeply. 1 He says " two," probably not seeing 2 "Sepulcrum nescio cujus." the low N.W. Norman tower now de- 3 Hasted, iv. 556. stroyed. 244 Erasmus and Cold. [1512. But, when they come to the details of the sight, two trains of thought are let loose which carry away every other consider- ation. First, the vast display of wealth, which in former ages would have seemed the natural accompaniment of so sacred a spot, awakens in the mind of Erasmus only a sense of incongruity and disproportion. He dwells with pleasure on the " wooden altar" of the " martyrdom," as " a monu- ment of antiquity, rebuking the luxury of this age ; " he gladly kisses the " rough cloak " and " napkin " of Becket, as " memorials of the simplicity of ancient times." But the splendid stores of the treasury, " before which Midas or Croesus would have seemed beggars," rouse only the regret — the sacrilegious regret, as he confesses, for which he begged pardon of the saint before he left the Church — that none of these gifts adorned his own homely mansion. His friend took, as was his wont, a more serious view of the matter ; and, as they were standing before the gilded head in Becket's Crown, broke in with the unseasonable sugges- tion, that, if St. Thomas had been devoted to the poor in his lifetime, and was now unchanged, unless for the better, he would far rather prefer that some portion of this vast treasure should be expended on the same objects now. The verger knit his brows, scowled, pouted, and, but for Warham's letter of introduction, would have turned them out of the church. Erasmus, as usual, took the milder side : hinted that it was but his friend's playful way, and dropped a few coins into the verger's hand for the support of the edi fice. But he was not the less convinced of the substantial truth of the good Dean's complaint. On the next point, there was more difference between them. The natural timidity of Erasmus led him to shrink from an open attack on so wide-spread a feeling as the worship of relics. Colet had no such scruple, and the objects of reverence which had held enthralled the powerful minds of Henry Plantagenet and of Stephen Langton, excited in the devout and earnest mind of the theologian of the sixteenth century sentiments only of 1512. J Scene at Harbledoivn. 245 disgust and contempt. When the long array of bones and skulls were produced, he took no pains to disguise his impa- tience ; he refused the accustomed kiss due to the arm of St. George ; and when the kind Prior offered one of the filthy rags torn from one of the saint's robes, as a choice present, he held it up between his fingers, and laid it down with a whistle of contempt, which distracted Erasmus be- tween shame for his companion's bad manners and a fear for the consequences. But the Prior pretended not to see ; perhaps such expressions were now not so rare as in the days of Sudbury : at any rate, the courtesy of his high office prevailed ; and, with a parting cup of wine, he bade them farewell. There was to be yet one more trial of Erasmus's patience. They were to return to London. Two miles from Canter- bury, they found themselves in a steep descent through a steep and narrow lane, with high banks on either side : on the left rose an ancient almshouse. We recognise at once without a word the old familiar lazar-house of Harbledown, so often mentioned in these pages, so picturesque even now in its decay, and in spite of the modern alterations, which have swept away almost all but the ivy-clad chapel of Lan- franc ; the road, still steep, though probably wider than at that time ; the rude steps leading from the doorway, under the shade of two venerable yews, one a lifeless trunk, the other still stretching its dark branches over the porch. Down those steps came, according to his wont, an aged almsman ; and, as the two horsemen approached, he threw his accustomed shower of holy water, and then pressed for- ward, holding the upper leather of a shoe, bound in a brass rim, with a crystal set in the centre. Colet was the left- hand horseman thus confronted. He bore the shower of holy water with tolerable equanimity, but when the shoe was offered for him to kiss, he sharply asked the old man what he wanted. " The shoe of St. Thomas," was the answer. Colet's anger broke all bounds. Turning to his 246 Scene at Harbledown. [1512. companion, " What ! " he said ; " do these asses expect us to kiss the shoes of all good men that have ever lived? Why, they might as well bring us their spittle or their dung to be kissed ! " The kind heart of Erasmus was moved for the old almsman ; he dropped into his hand a small coin, and the two travellers pursued their journey to the metro- polis. Three hundred years have passed, but the natural features of the scene remain almost unchanged : even its minuter memorials are not wanting. In the old chest of the almshouse still remain two relics, which no reader of this story can see without interest. The one is an ancient maple bowl, bound with a brazen rim, which contains a piece of rock crystal, so exactly reminding us of that which Erasmus describes in the leather of St. Thomas's shoe, as to suggest the conjecture that when the shoe was lost, the crystal was thus preserved. The other is a rude box, with a chain to be held by the hand, and a slit for money in the lid, at least as old as the sixteenth century. In that box we can hardly doubt, the coin of Erasmus was deposited. Trivial as these reminiscences may be, they are not without importance, when they bring before us an incident so deeply illustrative ot the characters and fortunes of the two pilgrims who thus passed onwards, soon to part and meet no more, but not soon to lose their influence on the world in which they lived ; Colet, burning with his honest English indignation against a system of which the overthrow, though not before his eyes were closed in death, was near at hand ; Erasmus, sharing his views, yet naturally chafing against the vehemence of Colet, as he afterwards chafed against the mightier vehemence of Luther ; shrinking from the shock to the feelings of the old almsman of Harbledown, as he afterwards shrank from any violent collision with the ancient churches of Christendom. In the meeting of that old man with the two strangers in the lane at Harbledown, how completely do we read, in miniature, the whole history of the coming revolution of Europe. 1512.] Visit of Henry VIII. and Charles V. ■ 247 Still, however, with that strange unconsciousness of coming events, which often precedes the overthrow of the greatest of institutions, the tide of pilgrimage and the pomp of the Cathedral continued apparently unabated almost to the very moment of the final crash. Almost at the very time of Erasmus's visit, the offerings at the Shrine still averaged between ^800 or ^1000, that is, in our money, at least ^4000, a year. 1 Henry VII. had in his will left a kneeling likeness of himself, in silver gilt, to be " set before St. Thomas of Canterbury, and as nigh to the Shrine of St. Thomas as may well be.'' Prior Goldstone who had shown Erasmus and Colet the wonders of the Shrine, had erected its noble central tower, and the stately entrance to the Pre- cincts. The completion ot Becket's Crown was in contem- plation. A faint murmur from a solitary heretic against the character of Becket, was, even as late as 1532, enumerated amongst the crimes which brought James Bainham to the stake. 2 Great anxiety was still expressed for the usual pri- vileges and indulgences, on the last Jubilee in 1520 ; it was still pleaded at Rome that, since the death of St. Peter, there was never a man that did more for the liberties of the church than St. Thomas of Canterbury. 3 Henry VIII., in that same year, had received the Emperor Charles V. at Canterbury, immediately before the meeting of the Cloth of Gold. They rode together from Dover, on the morning of Whitsunday, and entered the city through St. George's Gate. Under the same canopy were seen both the youthful sovereigns ; Cardinal Wolsey was directly in front ; on the right and left were the proud nobles of Spain and England ; the streets were lined with clergy, all in full ecclesiastical costume. They lighted off their horses at the west door of the Cathedral ; Warham was there to receive them ; together 1 Nichols' Erasmus, p. no, quotes his murder, he was rather a devil in hell Cardinal Morton's Appeal, There is a than a saint in heaven." (Collier, Part II. similar passage often quoted from Som- book i.) ner's Canterbury, p. 125. 3 Appendix to Battely's Canterbury, 2 " He affirmed Archbishop Becket No. 6, xxi. was a murderer, and if he did not repent 248 The Reformation. [1520. they said their devotions — doubtless before the Shrine. 1 So magnificent a meeting had probably never been assem- bled there, nor such an entertainment given, as Warham afterwards furnished at his palace, since the days of Langton. We would fain ask what the Emperor, fresh from Luther, thought of this, — the limit of his tour in England ; or how Henry did the honours of the Cathedral, of which, but for his elder brother's death, he was destined to have been the Primate. But the chronicles tell us only of the outward show ; regardless of the inevitable doom which, year by year, was drawing nearer and nearer. Events moved on. The queen, who had greeted 2 her imperial nephew with such warmth at Canterbury, was now divorced. In 1534 the royal supremacy, and separa- tion from the see of Rome, was formally declared. The visitation of the monasteries began in 1535. The lesser monasteries were suppressed in 1536. For a short space the greater monasteries with their gorgeous shrines and rituals still remained erect. In the close of 1536 was struck the first remote blow at the worship of St. Thomas. Royal injunctions were issued, abrogating all superfluous holidays which fell in term-time, or in the time of harvest : the Festival of the Martyrdom on the 29th of December escaped ; but the far greater Festival of the Translation ot the Relics, falling as it did in the season ot harvest, which extended from the 1st of July to the 29th of December, was thus swept away. The vast concourse of pilgrims or idlers from the humble classes, who had hitherto crowded the Canterbury roads, were now for the first time detained in their usual occupations ; those from the higher classes were still free to go; but one significant circumstance showed what was to be expected from them. Ever since the Festival of the Translation had been » Battely ; Somner, Part II, App. No. the festivals of St. Thomas (July 6), St. x. : Holinshed, 1520. Lawrence (Aug. 10), and the Holy Crow 2 Holinshed, 1520. (Sept. 14I. "Annals of an Augustine 8 The prohibition included especially Monk," Harlean MSS., 419, fol. 122. 1537.J Cr anmcr's Banquet. 249 established, its "eve, or vigil — that is the 6th of July — had been observed as a day of great solemnity. A touching proof of the feeling with which it was regarded is preserved in the very year preceding that in which its observance was prohibited. " I should be sorry," wrote Sir Thomas More, on the day before his death— the 5th of July, 1535 — "that it should be any longer than to-morrow; for it is St. Thomas's Eve and the Octave of St. Peter, and therefore to-morrow beg I to go to God. It were a meet day and very convenient for me." 1 By the primates of the English Church, this day had been always rigidly kept as a fast : the usual festivities in the palace at Canterbury or Lambeth, as the case may be, had always been suspended ; the poor who usually came to the gates to be fed came not j the fragments of meat which the vast retinue of domestics gathered from the tables of the spacious hall, were withheld. But Archbishop Cranmer determined to carry out the royal injunctions thoroughly. In a letter written to Thomas Crom- well, from Ford, in the August of this year (1537) — for the most part by his secretary — he had with his own hand in- serted a strong remonstrance against the inconsistency of the royal practice and profession : — " But, my lord, if in the court you do keep such holidays and fasting-days as be abrogated, when shall we persuade the people to cease from keeping of them ? for the king's own house shall be an example to all the realm to break his own ordinances." 2 He was determined at any rate that " the Archbishop's own house " should on this, the most important of all the abro- gated days, set a fitting precedent of obedience to the new law. On that eve, for the first time for more than three hundred years, the table was spread as usual in the palace- hall 3 for the officers of his household, with the large hospi- tality then required by custom as almost the first duty of the primate. And then the archbishop " ate flesh " on the Eve of St. Thomas, and "did sup in his hall with his 1 Wordsworth's Eccl. Biog., ii. 117. * Strypc's Cranmer, Appendix No. xix. 3 Hid., p. 16. Trial of Bechet. [1538. family," as the monk of St. Augustine's Abbey, who relates the incident, drily observes, " which was never seen before in all time." 1 In the course of the next year (1538), whilst the Arch- bishop was making the " exposition of the Epistle of S. Paul to the Hebrews half the Lent in the Chapter-house of the monastery," 2 the fatal blow gradually descended. The names of many of the saints, whose festivals had been dis- continued, remained and still remain in the English calendar. But Becket's memory was open to a more grievous charge than that of having given birth to idleness and superstition. We must remember that the mind of the king, and, with a few exceptions, of the government, of the hierarchy, of the nation itself, was possessed with one master idea — that of esta- blishing the Supremacy of the Crown over all causes eccle- siastical as well as civil, within the dominions of England. It has now in practice been interwoven with all our institu- tions ; it has in theory been defended and adopted by some of our ablest statesmen, divines, and philosophers : however liable to be perverted to worldly or tyrannical purposes, there is a point of view from which it has been justly regarded as the largest and noblest opportunity which outward institutions can furnish for the realisation of the kingdom of God upon earth. But, be it right or wrong, it was then held in Eng- land to be the one great question of the time ; and to tins doctrine it is not surprising that the story of Becket's career should have seemed to contain a direct contradiction. Doubtless philosophical historians might have drawn dis- tinctions between the times of the second and the eighth Henry — might have shown that the truths and feelings repre- sented by the civil and ecclesiastical powers at these two epochs were widely different. But in that age of indiscrimi- nating partisanship, of half-formed knowledge, of passionate impulses, such a view of past events could not be found. Even King John, whom we now justly account one of the 1 "Annals of an Augustine Monk," Harlcian MSS., 419, fol. 112. It is some- what inaccurately quoted by Strype. 2 Il>U. 1538.] Trial of Becket. 251 worst of men, was exalted into a hero, as striving, though in vain, to resist the encroachments of the Papacy. The recent memory of the two great opponents of the new doctrine, More and Fisher, whose virtues every party now acknow- ledges, was then, set aside with the summary question, "Should the King's highness have suffered those traitors to live, Thomas More, ' the jester,' and Fisher the ' glorious hypocrite ' ? " 1 It is necessary to enter into these feelings to understand in any degree the events which followed. On the 24th of April, 1538 (such, at any rate was the story reported all over the continent of Europe), a summons was addressed in name of King Henry VIII., " to thee, Thomas Becket, sometime Archbishop of Canterbury," charging him with treason, contumacy, and rebellion. It was read within the walls of the Cathedral, by the side of the Shrine : thirty days were allowed for his appearance ; and when, at the expiration of that period, the canopy, and ark, and iron chest remained unmoved, and the dead man had not risen to answer for himself, the case was formally argued at Westminster by the Attorney-General on the part of Henry II., on the part of the accused by an advocate granted at the public expense by the King. The arguments of the Attorney-General prevailed, and on the 10th of June sentence was pronounced against the Archbishop, that his bones should be publicly burned, to admonish the living of their duty by the punishment of the dead ; and that the offerings made at the Shrine should be forfeited to the Crown. 2 1 Declaration of Faith, 1539. (Collier, suggests a doubt whether any of the Ecc. Hist., vol. ii. Appendix No. xlvii.) bones, except the head, were bumf 2 The grounds for doubting this story, (see Jcnkyns's Cranmcr, I. 262); (3.) It as related by Sanders, Pollini, and by is not mentioned in any contemporary Pope Paul III. (Wilkins's Concilia, ii. English authority, and especially not in 835), are given in Nichols' Erasmus, p. the long and close correspondence at the 233. Froudc's History of England, vol. very time, between Cromwell and Prior iii. p. 301.— (1.) The Shrine was not de- Goldwell; (4.) The summons is dated stroyed in August, as Pollini states ; (2.) " London," whereas official papers are The Narrative of Thomas (see note C), never dated from London, but from as well as the Declaration of Faith, 1539, Westminster, Whitehall ; (5.) Henry is 2 S 2 Trial of Becket. f 1538. Such, at least, was the belief at Rome, and though the story has of late years been doubted, there is nothing in it which is of itself incredible. It would, if true, be but one instance of the strange union of violent self-will with rigid adherence to law, which characterises all the Tudor family, but especially Henry VIII. It would be but an instance of the same scrupulous casuistry, which suggested the fancied violation of a Levitical ordinance as an occasion for annull- ing his marriage with Catherine; and which induced him to adopt, in the case of his three subsequent wives, none but strictly legal remedies. It will be but an instance of the way in which every act of that reign was performed in due course of law ; and thus, as if by a Providence working good out of evil, all the stages of the Reformation received all the sanction which the combined will of the sovereign and the nation could give them. And it must be remem- bered that in this process there was nothing contrary to the forms of the Roman Catholic faith, which Henry still pro- fessed. However absurd to us may seem the citation of a dead man from his grave, and the burning his bones to ashes because he does not appear, it was the exact copy of what had been before enacted in the case of Wycliffe at Lutter- worth ; and of what was shortly afterwards enacted by Queen Mary in the case of Bucer and Fagius at Cambridge. But, whatever might be the precise mode in which the in- tentions of Henry and Cranmer were expressed, a Royal Commission was duly issued for their execution. One more visit is recorded in this strange interval of called " Rex Hibernise." This was In after so many hundred years, a traitor to 1538; he did not take the title till 1541. the king." On the other hand, may be noticed, as 1 This is specially put forward in his slight confirmation of the general truth of defence in the Declaration of Faith the story— (1.) The language of the Pro- (1559)- "The King's Highness hath clamation of 1538, " Forasmuch as it now never put any man to death, but by appeareth clearly." (2.) The Declara- ordinary process . . . who can find tion of 1539, "By approbation it appear- in his heart, knowing this, to think the elh clearly." {3.) The life of Sir Thomas same prince that so hath judgment More published in Wordsworth's Eccl* ministered by the law, to be a tyrant?" Biography, ii. 226, /' We have made him, (Collier, Eccl. Hist., ii., App. No. xlii.) 1538.] Visit of Madame de Montr -mil. 253 suspense. In August the Shrine was still standing. On the last day of that month, 1538, a great French lady passed through Canterbury, Madame de Montreuil, who had just been attending Mary of Guise to Scotland. She was taken to see the wonders of the place, and "marvelled at the great riches thereof," and said, "that if she had not seen it, all the men in the world could never 'a made her to believe it." But it was mere wonder : the ancient spirit of devotion, which had compelled respect from Colet and Erasmus, had now no place : cushions were set for her to kneel both at the " Shrine" and " Head : " and thrice the Prior, opening "St. Thomas' Head, offered her to kiss it, but she neither kneeled nor would kiss it, but still viewing the riches thereof. . . . . So she departed and went to her lodging to dinner, and after the same to entertain her with honest pastimes. And about 4 of the clock, the said Prior did send her a present of coneys, capons, chickens, with diverse fruits — plenty — insomuch that she said ' What shall we do with so many capons ? Let the Lord Prior come, and eat, and help us to eat them to-morrow at dinner,' and so thanked him heartily for the said present." 1 This was the last recorded present that the " Lord Prior " of Canterbury gave, and the last recorded pilgrim who saw the Shrine of St. Thomas. In the course of the next month 2 the Royal Commission for the destruction of shrines, under Dr. Leyton, arrived at Canterbury. Unfortunately, every authentic record of the final catastrophe has perished : and the precise manner of the devastation is involved in obscurity and contradiction. Like all the acts of destruction at the Reformation, as dis- tinct from those in the civil wars at a later period, it was probably carried out in the presence of the Royal Commis- sioners with all formality and order. The jewels — so we may infer from the analogy of the like event at Durham — ' State Papers, vol. i. 583, 584. " September, 1338," which agrees with » Stow gives the proceedings under, the date of Madame dc Montreal's \isit. R 254 Destruction of tlie Shrine. [l538. were first carefully picked out by a goldsmith in attendance, and then the iron chest of the shrine broken open with a sledge-hammer. 1 The bones within 2 were either scattered to the winds, or, if interred, were mingled indiscriminately with others; in this respect, sharing a different fate from that of most of the disinterred saints, who, after the destruc- tion of their shrines, were buried with decency and care near the places where the shrines had stood. 3 . . . The re- puted skull in the golden " Head " was treated as an impos- ture, from its being so much larger than the portion that was found in the Shrine with the rest of the bones 4 and was burnt to ashes as jsuch. . . . The jewels and gold of the Shrine were carried off in two strong coffers, on the shoulders of seven or eight men ; 5 for the removal of the rest of the spoils six and twenty carts are said to have waited at the church door. 6 . . . The jewels, no doubt, went into the royal stores ; the " Regale of France," the glory of the Shrine, was long worn by Henry himself in the ring ' which after the manner of those times encircled his enormous thumb ; the last time 8 that it appears in history is among the "diamonds" of the golden "collar" of his daughter Queen Mary. 9 . . . The healing virtues oi the well, it was observed, instantly disappeared. Cranmer, on the 1 8th of August, had already 10 applied for a Royal Com- • Sec Raine's Durham, p. 5s. 2 It was a dispute afterwards, whether the bones had been burnt or not, the Roman Catholics maintaining that they had been, the Protestants vehemently denying it, This shows a certain con- sciousness on the part of the latter that there had been excessive violence used. Sec Declaration of Faith, 1539 (in Nichols' Erasmus, 236; Collier, Appen- dix No. xlvii.), and William Thomas, 1566, note C). That they were buried, not burned, was likely from the unexcep- tionable testimony of the Life of Sir Thomas More, by Harpsfield, " We have of late unshrincd him, and buried his holy relics.'' (Wordsworth, Eccl. Biog., ii. 326.) 3 See Raine's Durham, p. 56. 4 Declaration of Faith, 1539. 3 Stow's Annals, 1538. 6 Sanders in Wilkins' Cone, iii. 836. » Such a ring may be seen on the thumb of the contemporary effigy of Archbishop Warham. 8 Many of the Crown jewels of Eng- land were given away in Spain (so I am informed by Mr. Ford) during the mission of Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham. 9 Nichols' Erasmus, p. 224. 1° Jenkyns's Craumcr, i. 262. See aUo note C. 1538.] Proclamation. 255 mission to be issued to his two chaplains, Dr. Lee and Dr. Barbour, for the examination of the blood of St. Thomas, which he suspected to be red ochre. . . . Finally, a proclamation was issued on the 16th of November, setting forth the cause and mode of Becket's death, in a statement which displays considerable ability, by fixing on those points in the ancient narratives which unquestionably reveal the violent temper and language of the so-called Martyr. 1 " For these, and for other great and urgent reasons, long to recite, the King's Majesty, by the advice of his council, hath thought expedient to declare to his loving subjects, that not- withstanding the said canonisation, there appeareth nothing in his life and exterior conversation whereby he should be called a Saint ; but rather esteemed a rebel and traitor to his prince. Therefore his Grace straitly chargeth and com- mandeth, that henceforth the said Thomas Becket shall not be esteemed, named, reputed nor called a Saint, but ' Bishop Becket,' and that his images and pictures throughout the whole realm shall be put down and avoided out of all churches and chapels, and other places; and that from henceforth the days used to be festivals in his name, shall not be observed — nor the service, office, antiphonies, collects and prayers in his name read, but rased and put out of all books." 2 Most rigidly was this proclamation carried out. Not more carefully is the name of Geta erased by his rival bro- ther on every monument of the Roman Empire, from Britain to Egypt, than that of the contumacious Primate by the triumphant king. Every statue and picture of the " Traitor," 1 " His death which they untruly bosom, and violently shook and plucked called martyrdom, happened upon a rescue him, in such a manner as he had almost by him made ; and that, as it is written, overthrown him to the pavement of the he gave opprobrious names to the gentle- church ; so that upon this fray, one of men which .then counselled him to leave their company, perceiving the same, his stubbornness, and to avoid the com- struck him, and so in the throng licckct motion of the people risen up for that was slain." See Wilk. Cone-, iii. 848. rescue. And he not only called one of 2 Ibid. them ' Bawde,' but also took Tracy by the 256 Proscription of the Name. has been swept away ; from almost every illuminated psalter, missal, and every copy of historical or legal document, the pen or the knife of the eraser has effaced the once honoured name and figure of St. Thomas wherever it occurs. 1 At Canterbury the arms of the city and cathedral were altered. Within the church some fragments of painted glass, and the defaced picture at the head of Henry IV.'s tomb, are his only memorials. Even in the second year of Edward VI. the obnoxious name was still hunted down ; and Cranmer, in his Articles of Visitation for that year, inquires — "Whether they have put out of their church books the name and service of Thomas Becket?" The site of his original tomb in the crypt was, a few months after the fall of the Shrine, annexed by an Order in Council to the house of the first canon of the newly erected Chapter, and was retained almost to our own time as his cellar for wine and faggots. So completely were the records of the Shrine destroyed, that the Cathedral archives throw hardly the slightest light, either on its existence or removal. 2 And its site has remained, from that day to this, a vacant space, with the marks of the violence of the destruction even yet visible on the broken pavement. Round it still lie the tombs of King, and Prince, and Archbishop ; the worn marks on the stones show the rever- ence of former ages. But the place itself is vacant, and the lessons which that vacancy has to teach us must now take the place of the lessons of the ancient Shrine. There are very few probably at the present time, in whom, as they look round on the desolate pavement, the first feeling that arises is not one of disappointment and regret, that a monument of past times so costly and curious should have been thus entirely obliterated. There is pro- bably no one, who, if the Shrine were now standing, would dream of removing it. One such tomb, as has been said, 1 See amongst other instances, Capgrave's Chronicle, p. 141, " S. Thomas " is erased and " Kran " substituted. 2 See note F. p. 277. Destruction of Relics of Antiquity. 257 still remains in Westminster Abbey : the very notion of destroying it would call out a general outcry from all edu- cated men thoughout the kingdom. Why is it that this feeling, so familiar and so natural to us, should then have been so completely overruled ? The answer to this question is doubly instructive. First, it reveals to us one great differ- ence between our age and the time, not only of the Refor- mation, but of many preceding ages. In our time, there has sprung up, to a degree hitherto unprecedented, a love of what is old, of what is beautiful, of what is venerable — a desire to cherish the memorials of the past, and to keep before our eyes the vestiges of times, which are brought so vividly before us in no other way. It is, as it were, God's compen- sation to the world for its advancing years. Earlier ages care but little for these relics of antiquity ; one is swept away after another to make room for what is yet to come ; precious works of art, precious recollections, are trampled under foot ; the very abundance in which they exist seems to beget an indifference towards them. But in proportion as they become fewer and fewer, the affection for them grows stronger and stronger ; and the further we recede from the past, the more eager now seems our craving to attach our- selves to it by every link that remains. Such a feeling it is, which most of us would entertain towards this ancient Shrine — such a feeling as, in the mass of men, hardly existed at the time of its destruction. In this respect at least we are richer than were our fathers ; other gifts they had, which we have not : this gift of insight into the past, of loving it for its own sake, of retaining around us as much as we can of its grace and beauty — we have, as they had not. It is true that reverence for the dead ought never to stand in the way of the living — that when any great evil is avoided, or any great good attained, by destroying old recollections, no historical or antiquarian tenderness can be pleaded for their preservation : but where no such reason exists, let us keep them as best we can, and as we stand on the vacant space 258 Necessity for the Destruction of the Shrine. of Becket's Shrine, let us be thankful that we have retained what we have, and cherish it accordingly. It is impossible, however, to read the signs of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries without perceiving that the Shrine of St. Thomas fell not simply from a love of destruction, or a desire of plunder, but before a sense of overwhelming neces- sity. Had the Reformers been ever so anxious to retain it, they would probably have found it impossible to do so. However much the rapacity of Henry VIII. may have prompted him to appropriate the treasures to himself, and however much we may lament the wholesale plunder of a fund which might have endowed great public institutions ; yet the destruction of the Shrine was justified on general reasons, and those reasons commended themselves to the common sense and feeling of the nation and the age. The mode in which it was destroyed may appear violent ; but it was the violence, partly characteristic of a barbarous and revolutionary epoch, partly such as always is produced by the long growth of some great abuse. A striking proof of this fact, which is also itself one of the most surprising parts of the whole transaction, is the apathy with which the clergy and the people acquiesced in the act of the government. When a similar destruction was effected in France, at the time of the great Revolution, although the horrors perpe- trated were even greater, yet there were loyal hands to save some relic at least from the general ruin; and when the Abbey of St. Denis was again opened after the Restoration, the ashes of the sovereigns, the fragments of the royal tombs, were still preserved sufficiently to fill again the vacant spaces. Yet of Becket's shrine hardly a shred or particle has ever been traced ; the storm had long been gathering, yet it burst at last with hardly an effort to avert it, and the desecration was executed by officers, and sanctioned by ecclesiastics, who, in name at least, still belonged to the ancient faith. At Rome, indeed, it was made one of the special grounds of the bull of excommunication issued by the Pope in the December of Relic- Worship. 259 that year. But in England hardly a murmur transpires. Only one complaint has reached our time : Cranmer wrote to Cromwell in the following year, to tell him that a drunken man had been heard to say 1 that " it was a pity and naughtily done to put down the Pope and St. Thomas." Something of this silence may doubtless be ascribed to the reign of terror which more or less characterises the administration of justice in the time of Henry VIII. But it cannot be so explained altogether. No Thomas More was found to die for Becket as there had been for the Pope's supremacy. And dining the five years of the restored Roman Catholic Religion in the reign of Mary, although an order was issued by Cardinal Pole to restore the name of St. Thomas to the missals from which it had been erased ; 2 yet no attempt was made to revive the pilgrimage to Canterbury ; and the Queen herself, though usually eager for the restitution of the treasures which her father had taken from the churches and convents, did not scruple, as we have seen, to wear in her necklace the choicest jewel of the shrine. The account of Erasmus' visit, as already given, is in fact sufficient to show how completely the system of relic- worship and of pilgrimage had worked its own ruin — how deep was the disgust which it awakened in the minds of intelligent men, unwilling though they might be to disturb the established forms of religion. By the time that the catastrophe was accomplished, Colet had already been laid to rest in the choir of St. Paul's ; the tomb had already closed over Erasmus in his beloved retirement at Basle. But we cannot doubt that could they have lived to see the completion of the overthrow which their sagacious minds clearly foresaw, as they knelt before the shrine a few years before, the one would have received the tidings with undisguised exultation, the other with a sigh indeed, yet with a full sense of the justice of the act. It is therefore a satisfaction, as we look on the broken pavement, to feel that, here as elsewhere, no great institu- ' Jenkyns's Cranmer, i. 278. 2 Strype's Cranmer, App. No. 81. 260 Conclusion. tion perishes without good cause. Had Stephen Langton been asked which was most likely to endure — the Magna Charta which he won from John, or the Shrine, which, five years aftenvards, he consecrated in the presence of Henry III. — he would, beyond all question, have said, the Shrine of St. Thomas. But we see what he could not see— we see that the Charter has lasted, because it was founded on the eternal laws of truth, and justice, and freedom ; the Shrine has vanished away, because it was founded on the passing opinion of the day ; because it rested on ignorance, which was gradually dissolving; because it was entangled with exaggerated superstitions, which were condemned by the wise and good even of those very times. But the vacant space is more than this ; it is not only a sign of the violent convulsion through which the Reformation was effected, but it is a sign also, if we could so take it, of what the Reforma- tion has effected for us, and what duties it has laid upon us. If one of the ancient pilgrims were to rise again, and look in vain for the object of his long devotion, he would think that we were men without religion. 1 So, in like manner, when the Gentile conqueror entered the Holy of Holies and looked round, and saw that there was no graven image or likeness of anything on earth or in heaven, he marvelled at the " vacant sanctuary," 2 as of a worship without a God. Yet Pompey in the Temple of Jerusalem, and the ancient pilgrim in Canterbury Cathedral, would be alike mistaken. It is true that a void has been created— that the Reforma- 1 A curious instance occurs in Bishop Doyle's Account of his visit to Canter- bury, in 1828. " I beheld a lofty cloister and a mouldering pile . . . which might bear on its porch the inscription ... to the Unknown God. It is a wide and spacious waste, cold and untenanted. It now had no altar, no sacrifice, no priest- hood." And so easily does his imagina- tion get the better of facts, that he pro- ceeds: "The only symbol of Christianity not yet extinct which I discovered was a cliapel in the cloister, where the verger who accompanied me (for" hire) observed, that 'service was at certain times per- formed.* I cried out . . . ' Where are the canons and the dignitaries? . . . Where is the loud song or the sweet canticle of praise?' &c, &c. (Fitzpatrick's "Doyle," ii. 90.) Probably Eishop Doyle's visit was paid to Canter- bury whilst the cathedral was under- going repairs, and the service was neces- sarily carried on in the chapter-house. (Tacit. HfctTv.9-) eln ' man ' a arC '" ,a ' Conclusion. 261 tion often left, as here in the old sanctuary of the Cathedral, so on a wider scale in the hearts of men, a vacancy and a coldness which it is useless to deny, though easy to explain, and, to a certain point, defend. But this vacancy — this natural result of every great convulsion of the human mind — is one which is our own fault if we do not fill up, in the only way in which it can be filled up ; not by rebuilding what the Reformers justly destroyed, nor yet by disparaging the better qualities of the old saints and pilgrims, but by a higher worship of God, by a more faithful service of man, than was then thought possible. In proportion to our thank- fulness that ancient superstitions are destroyed, should be our anxiety that new light, and increased zeal, and more active goodness, should take their place. Our pilgrimage cannot be Geoffrey Chaucer's, but it may be John Bunyan's. In that true " Pilgrim's Way " to a better country, we have all of us to toil over many a rugged hill, over many a dreary plain, by many opposite and devious paths, cheering each other by all means, grave and gay, till we see the distant towers. In that pilgrimage and progress towards all things good and wise, and holy, Canterbury Cathedral, let us humbly trust, may still have a part to play : although it is no longer the end in the long journey, it may still be a stage in our advance ; it may still enlighten, elevate, sanctify, those who come within its reach 3 it may still, if it be true to its high purpose, win for itself, in the generations which are to come after us, a glory more humble, but not less excellent, that when a hundred thousand worshippers lay prostrate before the shrine of its ancient hero. APPENDIX TO "THE SHRINE OF BECKET." NOTE A. [The following extracts are from a MS. History of Canterbury Cathedral, in Norman French, entitled " Polistoire," in the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum. My attention was called to this curious document by Mr. Bond, to whom I would here beg to express my thanks for his constant courtesy whenever I have had occasion to consult him.] THE WELL OF ST. THOMAS. (See p. 235.) Harl. MS. 636, / 143 b,, eol. I, line 6, ab imd. (I.) Si fust la place apres tost balee, et la poudre coylee de coste le eglise gettue en vn lyu dunt auaunt nout parlaunce ; mes en fest le poer Deu tauntost habun- daunt par uirtue tregraciouse de queu merite le martyr estoyt a lute gent nout tost estre conu. Dunt en le lyu auaunt dist ou ne gweres en sa ariere moysture ny apparust mes euwe hi auoyt tut fust ele petite, sa colur naturele quant la poudre ressu auoit tost chaunga, cest a sauoir vne foiz en let et quatre foyz la colour de saunc reprist. E puys en sa na- ture demeyne returna. Si comensa aboylir de source habundaunte et demurt funtayne plentyuuse. Dunt puys plusurs greues de diuers maladies graqiousement en sunt garys. Ibid.fol. 150, col. I. (2.) [King Henry II. after his penance'] . . . Puis le niatyn kaunt le iur cler apparust messe requist et la oyst deuoutement et puis del ewe Seint Thomas bust a la funtaine auaunt nomee, ke de saunc et let la colur prist, et puys en sa nature returna, et vne am- pulle de cele ewe pleyne oue ly prist, cum en signe de pelryn, et ioyous de Caunterbur departist eel samady. Extracts from a MS. History. 263 THE TRANSLATION OF THE RELICS OF ST. THOMAS IN 1220. (See p. 206.) Ibid. fill. 202 b., col. 2, /. 15, ab imA Ausi memes eel an la none de Jun a Caunterbire fust Seint Thomas le martir translate. Le an de sun martyrement 1. per lerseueske Estephene auaunt nome de Canterbire. Coment ceste sol- lempnete estoyt feste a tote gent uoil estre conu, et me a forceray de cele la manere brevement par- cunter. Lerseueske Estephene de Langetone del hure ke cele dignete out ressu, apres ceo ke en Eng- letere fust ariue et le couent del exil reuenu estoyt, se purpensa totes hures coment les reliques sun predecessur Seint Thomas le glori- our martyr poeyt honurer par la translatiun fere, et la purueaunce des choses necessaries largement fist, cum ia mustre en fest serra. Dunt cum del iur certein ke cele translatiun sollempne fere uoloyt, an puple parmye la tere out la notificatiun fest, tauns des grauns hi sunt venuz, et puple cum sauns numbre, ke la cite de Caunterbire ne la suburbe, ne les menues uiles enuiroun, a cele yoingnauntes pro- cheynes, le puple taunt uenu ne poeyent en lurs mesuns resceyure. Le Roy ausi Henry le iij. a la re- queste lerseueske de Caunterbire uenu hi estoit. Si demora oue lerseueske et ansemble oue ly tuz les grauns ke venus estoyent la ueile et le iur de la translatiun en tuz custages. Estre ceo en les en- trees ce la cite a chescune porte en my la ruel es toneaus de vin en foylis fist cocher lerseueske et ces mynistres mettre pur largement au puple doner en la chalyne sauns paer accune moneye. E ausi en quatre lyus dediens la cite en les quarfoucs en memes la manere fist les toneaus mettre pur seruir a la mene gent. E defendre fist en les iiij. celers de vin ke riens ny fust au puple estraunge uendu, si nun pleynement a ces custages, et ceo par sereuwe de ces gens a ceo assignes. Quar nestoyt lors de- diens la cite en plus de lyus uin troue a uendre. En teu manere les choses dehors ordines, lerse- ueske Estephene et Gauter le priur ansemble oue tut le couent del eglise Jhu Crist en la nuyt pro- cheyne deuaunt le iur de la transla- tiun en due furme de deuociun au sepulcre del martyr approcherent. E ilukes au comencement en luro orisuns se donerent tuz taunt cum la brefte de la nuyte le poeyt suf- frir. Puys sunt les peres de la tumbe sauns blemyseinent remues per les meyns des moygnes a ceo ordines, et se leuerent les autres tuz si aprocherent, et eel martyr de ioye regardauns ne se poeyent des lermes tenir. E puys autrefoyz as orisuns se unt dones tuz en comune hors pris accuns des moygnes ke de seinte vie especiaument elu fu- rent a eel tresor precious hors de 264 Extracts from a MS. History. sepulcre reamer. Les queus le unt leue et en une chace de fust honeste a ceo appareyle le unt mys. La quele de fer bien yert asseurie si la fermerent queynte- ment par clous de fer, et puyns en lyu honeste et priue le porterent tannt ke lendemeyn le iur de la translatiun sollempnement a cele brer. Puys le matyn en cele mere eglise se assemblerent les prelats tuz, cest a sauoyr, Pandulf auaunt nome de la seintc eglise de rome legat, et Esteuene erseueske de Caunteibire oue les autres eueskes ces suffragans tuz uenux hors pris troys, des queus lun mort estoyt et les deus par maladie fu- rent escuses. Ceus en la presence le Roy Dengletere auaunt nome Henry le iij. au lyu ou le martyr glorious fust demore tost alerent, et la chace pristrent deuoutement en quer deuaunt lauter de la Trinite ke est en le orient del see petri- archal. Uukes desuz un autre chace de fust trerichement de oer et dcs peres preciouses appareylee en tote reuerence honurablement cele mistrent. Si demurt par plate de oer tote part couerte et riche- ment garnye. MARRIAGE OF EDWA (See Ibul.fol. 225, col. 1. line 4. Tus sur cele ordinaunce vint en Engletere laauauntdiste Margarete, ct la v. Ide de Septembre lerce- ueske de Caunterbyre Robert les esposailes celebra entre le Eduuard auauntdist et cele Margarcte en le hus del eglise de Caunterbyre deuers len cloistre de coste le hus del martirement Seynt Thomas. Kar le roy hors de la chaumbre le priur vint, et Margavete hors du paleys lerceueske ou lurs hosteaurs pris estoient. E sur ceo lerceueske auaunt nome Robert la messe des esposay les celebra al auter del fertre Seynt Thomas 1c martir. E le drap ke outre le roy et la royne fust estendu en tens de la benisun plusurs chalengerent. Cest a sauoyr lerceueske par la resun de RD I. AT CANTERBURY. P- 239-) sun office, le priur par la resun de la mere eglise, en la quele vnkes accun riens ne ressust rie ne ouoyt de fee, par la resun de office ke en cele feist, pur ceo ke leglise de Caunterbyre ne est une chapele lerceueske, mes mere eglise de totes les eglises et chapeles de tute la prouince de Caunterbyre. Le clerc ausi ke la croyz lerceueske porta le auauntdist drap chalanga. E les clers ausi de la chapele le roy eel memes drap chalengerent Dunt per ceo ke eu teu manere taunt de diuers chalenges sur eel drap hy estoyent et certein vnkore nestoit a ki de droit demorer deuoyt, comaunda le roy eel drap au Cunte de Nichole liurer, ausi cum en owele meyn, taunt ke la discussiun se preist, ky dc droyt le deueroyt auoyr. Si fust eel drap Travels of the Bohemian Embassy. 265 negcres apres de par le roy au fertre Seynt Thomas maunde. Le samaday procheyn suyaunt la au- auntdiste roync Margarcte sa messe en la chapclc lerceueske dediens le paleys oyst, la quelc celcbra le eueske de Coucntre. Si offrist ilukes la roync a la manere de autres femmes sun cirge a les miens del eveske chauntaunt. E fust eel cirge tauntost au ferte Seint Thomas porte. NOTE B. [Tn 1446 a Bohemian noble, Leo von Rotzmital, was sent on an embassy to England. His travels are related in two curious narratives : one by a Bohemian, Schassek, now only known through a Latin trans- lation ; the other, a German, Tetzcl of Nuremberg. They were published in 1847 by Trofessor Hye, in the University of Ghent, and were first introduced to the notice of the English public in an able and instructive article in the "Quarterly Review," of March 1852, ascribed to Mr. Ford. To his courtesy I am indebted for the volume from which the following extracts are made.] JOURNEY OF THE BOHEMIAN AMBASSADOR TO CANTERBURY. (See pp. 211, 225. 226.) (1.) Post eum casum die tertia, et solis agitur. Galeon est, qui rursus navim Amjliam conscendentes, in tenuimus. Cum- quc appropinquaremus, conspex- inius montes excelsos cake plenos, quam igne urere opus non est. Ii montes e longinquo nivibus operti videntur. lis ant adjacct, a Cacodaemonibus extructa, adeo valida et munita, ut in nulla Chris- tianorum provincia par ci repcriri qucat. Montes illos arcemque practervecti Sandvico urbi appuli- mus ; ca mari adjacet, unde multae regiones navibus adiri possunt. Haec prima urbium Angliae in eo littore occurrit. Ibi primum conspcxi navigia maritima, Naves, Galcones, et Cochas. Navis dicitur, quae ventis remigio ducitur : eorum aliqiii ultra duccntos remiges habent. Id navigii genus est magnitudinc et longitudine praecellenti, quo et secundis et adversis ventis navigari potest. Eo, ut plurimum, bella maritima gcri consuevcre, utpote quod aliquot centenos homines simul capere possit. Tertium genus est Cocha, quam dicunt, ct ea satis magna. Sed nullam rem magis demirabar, quam nautas malum ascendentes, et ventorum adventum distantiamque praedicen- tes, et quae vela intendi, quacve demidebeant, praecipienles. Inter eos unum nautam ita agilem vidi, ut vix cum eo quisquam comparari possit. 266 Extracts from the Sandvici consuetucio est, ut totam noctcm cum fidicinibus et tubicinibus obambulent, clam antes, et quis co tempore ventus flet, annunciantcs. Eo audita negoci- atores, si ventus sibi commodus flare nunciatur, egrcssi naves con- scendunt et ad patrias suas cursum dirigunt. Sandvico Cantuariam octo mil- liarium iter est. Ea urbs est Archiepiscopo Angliae subjecta, qui ibi domicilium suum habet. Coenobium ibi visitur tanta ele- gantia, ut ei vix in ulla Christian- orum provincia par inveniatur, sicut hac in re omnes peregrinatores consentiunt. Id templum triplici contignatione fornicta constat, ita ut tria templa, unum supra alteram, censeri possint : desuper stanno totum contegitur. In eo templo occisus est Divus Thomas Cantuariensis Archiepis- copus, ideo quod iniquis legibus, quas Rex Henricus contra Eccle- siae Catholicae libertatem rogabat, sese constanter opposuit. Qui pri- mum in exilium pulsus est, deinde cum revocatus esset, in templo sub vespertinis precibus a nefariis hominibus, qui regi impio gratifi- cari cupiebant, Deum et sanctos invocans, capite truncatus est. Ibi vidimus sepulchrum et caput ipsius. Sepulchrum ex puro auro conflatum est, et gemmis adorna- tum, tamque magnificis donariis ditatum, ut par ei nesciam. Inter alias res preciosas spectatur in eo et carbunculus gemma, qui noctu splendere solet, dimidi ovi gallina- cei magnitudine. Mud enim sepulchrum a multis Rcgibus, Principibu^, mercatoribus opulcn- tes, aliisque piis hominibus muni- fice locupletatum est. Ibi omnes reliquiae nobis monstratae sunt : primum caput Divi Thoraae Ar- chiepiscopi, rasuraque vel calvities ejusdem ; deinde columna ante sacellum Genitricis Dei, juxta quam orare, et colloquio Beatae virginis (quod a multis visum et auditum esse nobis certo affirma- batur) perfrui solitus est. Sed ex eo tempore, quo haec facta fuerant, jam anni trecenti elapsi sunt. Divus autem ipse non statim pro sancto habitus est, verum post annos demum ducentos, cum in- gentibus miraculis inclarescerct, in numerum divorum rclatus est. Fons est in eo coenobio, cujus aquae quinquies in sanguinem, et semel in lac commutatae fuerant, idque non multo ante, quam nos eo venissemus, factum esse dicitur. Caeteras sacras reliquias, quas ibi conspeximus, omnes annotavi, quae hae sunt : primum vidimus redimiculum Beatae virginis, frus- tum de veste Christi, tresque spinas de corona ejusdem, Deinde contemplati sumus sancti Thomae subuculum, et cere- brum ejus, et divorum Thomae Iohannisque Apostolorum san- guinem. Spectavimus etium gla- dium, quo decollatns est sanctus Thomas Cantuariensis, et crine? matris Dei, et portionem de sepul- chro ejusdem. Monstrabatur quo- que nobis pars humeri Divi Sime- onis, ejus, qui Christum in ulnis gestavcrat, Beatae Lustrabenae T ravels of the Bohemian Embassy. 267 caput, crus unum S. Georgii, frustum corporis et ossa S. Laur- cntii, crus S. Romani Episcopi crus Ricoidiae virginis, calix Beati Thomae, quao in administratione Missae Cantuariae uti fuerat solitus, crus Mildae virginis, crus Euduar- dae virginis. Aspeximus quoque dentera Johannis Baptistae, por- tionem crucis Petri ct Andreae Apostolorum, ossa Philippi et Jacobi Apostolorum, dentem et digitum Stephani Martyris, ossa Catharina evirginis, oleumque de sepulchro ejus, quod ad hanc us- que diem inde manare fertur ; crines Beatae Mariae Magdalenae, dentem divi Benedicti, digitum sancti Urbani, labia unius infau- tium ab Herode occisorum, ossa bcati dementis, ossa divi Vincen- tii. Et alia plurima nobis mons- trabantur, quae hoc loco a me annotata non sunt. Cantuaria digressi per noctem substitimus Rochestriae, urbe vi- ginti milliaribus inde distante. Rochesteria Londinum, vigintiqua- tur milliarium itinere confecto, progressi sumus. Ea est, urbs ampla et magnifica, arces habet duas. Earum alteram, quae in extremo urbis sito, sinu maris alluitur, Rex Angliae incoolit quern ibi ofiendimus. Ille sinus (Tha- mesis fl.) ponte lapideo longo, super quern per totam ejus longi- tudinem aedes sunt extructae, sternitur. Nullibi' tantum milvo- rum numerum vide, quam ibi, quos laedere capitale est. Londini cum essemus, deducti sumus in id tcmplum, in quo vivus Thomas natus esse fertur ; ibi matris et sororis ipsius sepulchra disuntur ; deinde et in alteram ubi S. Keuhardus sepultus est. (2.) Do fuoren wir mit grossem ungewittur in ein stat, heisst Kan- teiburg. Meinem herrn und andern gesellen thet das mer so we, das sie auf dem schiff lagen, als wseren sie tot. Kanterburg ist in Engallant und gehort dem kunig von Engellant zu. Do leit der lieb herr sant Thomas. In der selben stat ist gar ein kostlichcr sarch im miinster, wann es ist ein bistum da und gar ein hubsche kirchen. Der sarch, darinne sant Thomas leit, ist das geringst daran gold, und ist lang und weit, das ein mitlein person darin ligen mag; aber mit perlein und edelgestein so ist er gar seer kostlish geziert, das man meint, das kein kostlicher sarch sey in der christenheit, und da auch so gross wunderzeichen geschehen als da. Item zu einen zeiten, da hct sich ein kunig von Frankreich in einem veldstreit dahin gelobt ; also gesigt der kunig seinen veinden ob und kam zu dem miinster und zu dem heiligen herrn sant Thomas, und kniet fur den sarch und sprach sein gebet und het einen ring an seiner hand, darin was ser ein kostlicher stein. Alsh het der bischof des selben miinster Kanter- burg den kunig gebeten, er sol den ring mitsamt dem stein an den sarch geben. Der kunig saget, der 268 Extracts from the stein war ira zu vast licb unci hett grossen glauben : was er anfieng, so er den ring an der hand hett, das jm nit mocht mislingen. Aber er wolt jm an den sarch geben, domit er aber desder basser gcziert wurd, hunderltausend gulden. Der biscof was ser fro und dankt dem kunig. Sobald der kunig die wort het geredet und dem bischof den ring het versagt, von stund an springt der stein auss dem ring und mitten in den sarch als hett en ein goldschmid hinein gemacht. Do das miracul der kunig sach, do bat er den lieben herrn sant Thomas und den bischof, das er jm sein siind vergeb, und gab darnach den ring und etwan vil ob hunderdt tausend gulden an den sarch. Nie- mand kan gewissen wass stein das ist. Er hat ser einen hellen liechten schein und brinnt als ein liecht, das kein gesicht crleidcn mag, jn so stark anzushens, domit man jm sein varb erkennen mocht. Man meint, das er an seiner, giiet so kostlich scy : so ein kunig von Engellant gefangen wurd, so mocht man jn damit losen ; wann er sey kostlicher, dann das ganz Engel- land. Und unter dem sarch ist die stat, do der lieb hcrr sant Thomas enthaubtet worden ist, und ob dem sarch hecht ein grob h'aiein hemd, das er angetragen hatt, und auf der linken seiten, so man hinein geet, do ist einn brunn, darauss hat sant Thomas altag trunken. Der hat sich zu sant Thomas zeiten funfmal verwandelt in milch und blut. Darauss trank meinn herr Herr Lew und all sein diener. Und darnach geet man in ein kleine grufft als in ein cappellen, da man sant Thomas gemartert hat. Da zeiget man uns das schwert, damit man jm.den kopf abgeschlagen hat. Da weiset man auch ein merklich stuck des heiligen creuzes, auch der nagel einen und den rechten arm des lieben herm Ritter sant Gbrgen und etlich dorn in einer mostranzen von der diirneu kron. Auss der cappellen get man herfur zu einem steinen stul, da ist unser Frawen bild, dasgar oft mit sant Thomas geredet hat. Das selbig bild stet iezunt im kor und hat ser von kostlichem gestein und perlein ein kron auf, die man umb gross gut schatzt. Da sahen wir gar kostlich cantores meinem herrn zu eren ein schons salve singen. In unser sprach heisst man den sant Thomas von Kandelberg ; aber er heisst sant Thomas von Kanterburg. NOTE C. The following extract is from a work of William Thomas, Clerk of tire Privy Council in the reign of Edward VI., who was executed in the reign of Mary, for an alleged share in Wyat's conspiracy. Amongst other works he left a "Defence of King Henry VIII., " entitled, "II Felcrino Inglese," which is couched in the form of a dialogue with some Pclcrino Inglese. 269 Italian gentlemen, who ask him numerous questions as to the common charges against the king, to which he replies. The work is in the Cotton MSS. in the British Museum, and has since been published by Mr. Froude, under the title of " The Pilgrim." THE WELL AND THE SHRINE OF BECKET. (See pp. 235, 253.) multitude came runnying together Cotton MS., Vespasian D. xviii., of ^ handeSi specya n y a f te r the /• 61. f a l se miracles were confermed by "' These wordes were marked the popes canonisacion, which of them that wayted on the table, folowed within a few yeres after in such wise that without more as sone as the Romayne See had adoe, iij of those gentylmen waiters ratified this saintes glory in heaven : considerated together, and streyght yea, and more, these fayned mira- wayes toke their iourney to Can- cles had such credit at length, that terbury where tarrying their tyme, the poore kinge himselfe was per- on an euening fyndyng this Byshop swaded to beleve them, and in in the common cloyster, after they effect came in person to visett the had asked hym certnyne questions, holy place with greate repentaunce whereuntohemost arrogantly made of his passed euil doyng, and for answere, they slew hym. And here satisfaction of his synnes gave many began the holynes, for incontinently greate and fayre possessions to the as these gentylmen were departed, monasterye of the foresayde reli- the monkes of that monastery gious : and thus finally was this locked up the church doores, and holy martir sanctified on all handes. perswaded the people that the bells Butt the kynges maiestie that now fell on ryngyng by them selves, and is dead fyndyng the rnaner of the here was crying of ' miracles, mira- saints lyfe to agree evil with the cles,' so earnestly that the deuilish proportione of a very sainte, and monks, to nourish the supersticion merveylyng at the vertue of this of this new martired saynt, having water, that healed all infirmities, the place longe tyme seperate unto as the blynde world determined, them selves, quia propter sail- to see the substanciall profe of this guinem suspenduntur sacra, cor- thinge, in effect found these mira- rupted the fresh water of a well cles to be utterly false, for when thereby, with a certayne mixture ; supersticion was taken away from that many tymes it appeared bloudy, the ignoraunt multitudes, then which they perswaded should pro- ceassed all the vertue of this water, cede by myracle of the holy mar- whichnowremaynethplaynewater, terdome : and the water mervey- as all other waters do : so that the lously cured all manner of infirmi- kyng moved of necessitie, could no ties, insomuch that the ignoraunt lesse do then deface the shryne that 270 The Pilgrims' Way was author of so much ydolatry. Whether the doyng thereof hath bene the undoyng of the canonised saint, or not, I cannot tell. But this is true, that his bones are spred amongest the bones of so many dead men, that without some greate miracle they wyll not be found agayne,' ' By my trouth ' (sayde one of the gentylmen) ' in this your kynge dyd as I wold have done.' ' What ' (quoth myne adversary), 'do ye credit him?' 'Within a litle,' sayd that other, ' for his tale is sensible : and 1 have knowen of the lyke false miracles here in Italye, proved before my face.'" NOTE D. (Seep. 211) THE PILGRIMS' WAY OR PATH TOWARDS THE SHRINE OF ST. THOMAS OF CANTERBURY. The evidence of local tradition in several places in Surrey and Kent appears to favour the suppo- sition that a line of road, tracked out possibly in very early times, even before the coming of the Romans, and running along the south flank of the north Downs, which traverse Surrey from Farn- ham westward into Kent, and thence towards Canterbury, had been subsequently frequented by pilgrims in their progress from Southampton, as also from the west through Winchester, to the Shrine of St. Thomas. It has been sup- posed, with much probability, that Henry II., when he landed at Southampton, July 8, 1 1 74, and made his pilgrimage to Becket's tomb, may have approached Can- terbury by this route. It may be assumed that foreign devotees from Brittany, Anjou, the western parts of Normandy, and the adjacent provinces of France, would choose the more convenient transit from the mouth of the Seine, or other French ports, to the an- cient haven of Hanton, or South- ampton. That place, from the earliest times, was greatly fre- quented on account of the facilities which it presented to commercial intercourse with the continent, and its vicinity to the ancient capital of the Heptarchy, the city of Win- chester, where our earlier sove- reigns constantly resided. This course would obviously be more commodious to many, who were attracted to our shores by the im- portant ecclesiastical establishments which surrounded the shrine of St. Swithin at Winchester, and still more by the extended celebrity of the reliques of St. Thomas ; whilst pilgrims from the more northern parts of France, or from Flanders, would prefer the more frequented passage by Seaford, Dover, or Sandwich. On leaving Southampton, the pilgrims— unless their course lay by Towards the Shrine. 271 Winchester-would probably take Thence there are two communica- the most secure and direct line of tions towards Guildford, diverging communication towards Farnham, crossing the Itchen at Stoneham, and thence in the direction of Bishop's Waltham, Alton, and Froyle. It is, however, by no means evident that the line would pass through those places, and it must be left to the local observation of those who may care to investi place called " Whiteway's End, " one being the main turnpike- road along the ridge, the other— and probably the more ancient- running under that height towards the tumulus and adjoining eminence south of Guildford, known as St. Catharine's hill, where it seems to have crossed the river Wey, at a j — . w ^ niveau- uusscu luc rive gate the ancient trackways of ferry towards Shalford Hampshire, whether the course of the pilgrims may not have passed from Southampton, in the direction of Durley, to Upham, and rather north of Bishop's Waltham, falling into the "Salt Lane," a name often serving to indicate the trace of an early line of communication. The of " Conduit Farm," near this line, situate on the south flank of the Hog's Back, may possibly be worth observation. Eastward of Guild- ford, the way doubtless proceeded along the flank of the downs, by or near St. Martha's Chapel, situate on a remarkable eminence, insu- y vu . lllllullaauullj vli a iciuauvuuie eminence and so either by Cheriton and lated from the adjacent dow Alrpsfnrrl nr htr P^l~.. ■ .1. . r\„ „ _r .1 . . Alresford, or by Ropley into the old road from Winchester to Farn- ham, or else over Milbarrow and Kilmison downs, towards Famham. Or the track may have passed by Beacon hill, west of Warnford, joining the present road from Fare- ham to Alton, or about nine miles ....... j auuiu nine nines iormer times.'" .From Albury the south of the latter. Near this line line of the way, running east, is in One of the county historians gives the following observation under Albury : "The ancient path called the Pilgrims' Way, which led from the city of Winchester to Canterbury, crosses this parish, and is said to have been much used in former times." 1 From Albury the of road, moreover, a little west of it, and about three miles from Alton, a trace of the course of the "Pilgrims' Path" seems to be found in the name of a farm or dwelling near Rotherfield Park and East Tisted, still known as " Pil- grims' Place." At Farnham, the abrupt termi- nation of the Surrey downs presents itself, in the remarkable ridge known as the "Hog's Back." 1 Brayley's Hist, of Surrey, vol many places discernible on the side of the Surrey downs, sometimes still used as an occupation road, or bridle way, its course indicated fre- quently by yew-trees at intervals, which are to be seen also occa- sionally left standing in the arable fields, where ancient enclosures have been thrown down and the plough has effaced every other ves- tige of this ancient track. The line, for the most part, it would 272 The Pilgrims' Way seem, took its course about mid- way down the hill-side, and on the northern verge of the older cultiva- tion of these chalk-downs. The course of the way would doubtless have been marked more distinctly, had not the progress of modern improvements often extended the line of cultivation upwards, and converted from time to time further portions of the hill-side into arable land. Under the picturesque Jieight of Boxhill several yews of large size remain in ploughed land, reliques no doubt of this ancient way, and a row more or less con- tinuous marks its progress as it leads towards Reigate, passing to the north of Brockham and Betch- worth. It maybe worth inquiry whether Reigate (Saxon, Rige-gate, the Ridge-road), originally called Cher- chefelle, may not have received its later name from its proximity to such a line of communication east and west along the Downs, rather than from the supposed ancient ascent northward 1 over the ridge to Gatton, and so towards London. It must be noticed, in connec- tion with the transit of pilgrims along the way, at no great distance north of Reigate, towards the Shrine of St. Thomas, that when they descended to that little town to seek lodging or provisions, they there found a little chapel dedicated 1 This supposition has been sometimes advanced. See Manning and Bray. i. 271. It is there conjectured that a branch of the Stone Street turned off from Ockley by Newdigate to Reigate, and so to the Saint, midway in their jour- neying from Southampton or Win- chester towards Canterbury. The site is now occupied by the town- hall or court-house, built about 1708, when the chapel had been demolished. In 1801, when an enlargement of the prison, here used at Quarter Sessions, was made, some portions of the foundations of this chapel of St. Thomas were brought to view. 2 Proceeding eastward from Rei- gate, the way traversed the parish of Merstham. The county history states, "that a lane in the parish retains the name of Pilgrims' Lane. It runs in the direction of the chalk- hills, and was the course taken by pilgrims from the west, who re- sorted (as indeed from all parts) to Canterbury, to pay their devotions at the shrine of St. Thomas a Becket. It remains perfect in Tit- sey, a parish to the east of this." 3 The way may have proceeded by Barrow Green, and the remark- able tumulus there situated, in the parish of Oxtead, and although the traces are obscure, owing to the progress of cultivation along the flank of the downs, positive vestiges of the line occur at intervals. Thus, in the parish of Tatsfield the county historian relates that Sir John Gresham built his new house "at the bottom of the hill near the Pil- grim Road (so called from the Pas- over the Ridge. 2 Manning and Bray, History of Sur- rey, vol. i. pp. 288, 289. 3 Ibid., vol. ii. p. 253. Gent. Mag. xcvii. ii. p. 414. Towards the Shrine. 273 sage of pilgrims to the Shrine of Thomas a Bccket, at Canterbury), which is now perfect, not nine feet wide, still used as a road. It com- mences at the village of Titsey, and passes on close to the foot of the hill, through this parish into Kent." A more recent writer, Brayley, describing this Pilgrims' road in the parish of Tatsfield, says, that the measurement stated to be "not nine feet " is incorrect. " It is in fact about fifteen feet in width, and without any appearance of having been widened." 1 Mr. Leveson Gower, of Titsey Place, has a farm adjacent to it, and known as the " Pilgrimsway Farm." At no great distance from the course of the way, near Titsey, there is a small unenclosed green on the ridge of the downs, bearing the designa- tion of "Cold Harbour," a name constantly found near lines of an- cient road. Not far from Tatsfield the Pil- grims' Way entered the county of Kent, and its course appears plainly indicated towards Chevening Park. From thence it seems to have tra- versed the pastures and the open- ing in the hills, serving as a passage for the river Daient, and it is found again skirting the chain of downs beyond for several miles, rarely, if ever, passing through the villages or hamlets, but pursuing a solitary course about a quarter of a mile more or less to the northward of them. This observation applies generally to this ancient track. It is to be traced passing thus above 1 Manning and Bray, vol. ii. p. 4 Kemsing, Wrotham, Trottcscliffe, and a few small hamlets, till it ap- proaches the Medway. From Ot- ford towards the East to Hailing, the track appears to be well known, as I am informed by the Rev. W. Pearson, of Canterbury, as " the Pilgrims' Road." He describes this portion as a narrow way, much like an ordinary parish road, and much used as a line of direct com- munication along the side of the downs. The name is generally recognised in that part of the county, and the tradition is that pilgrims used, in old times, to ride along that road towards Canter- bury. In the maps given in Hasted's History of Kent, this line is marked as the Pilgrims' Road, near Otford, as also near Hailing. Here, doubtless, a branch of the original ancient track proceeded along the high ground on the west of the river Medway, towards Strood and the Watling Street. This might have been indeed, it were reasonable to suppose, the more convenient mode of pursuing the remainder of the journey to Canterbury. It is, however, more probable that the Pilgrims' Way crossed the pastures and the Med- way, either at Snodland or Lower Hailing, and regained the hills on the opposite side, along the flank of which it ran as before, near Kits Coty House, leaving Boxlcy Abbey to the south at no great distance, and slightly diverging towards the south-east, by Deptling, Thurnham, and the hamlet of Broad Street, ■3 ; Brayley's Hist., vol. iv. p. 198. 274 The Pilgrims' Way. progressed past Hollingbourn, Harrietsham, and Lenham, to- wards Charing, 1 where the lane passing about half a mile to the north of that place is still known, as Mr. Pearson informs me, by the name of the Pilgrims' Road. The remarkable feature of its course is invariable, since it does not pass through any of these places, but near them, namely from a quarter to half a mile to the north of them. From Charing the ancient British track may have continued towards the sea by Wye, near an- other "Cold Harbour," situate at the part of the continuation of the hilly chain, east of Wye, and so by Stouting, across the Roman Stone Street, to the coast. The pilgrims, it may be conjectured, directed their course from Charing through the woodland district, either by Chilham and along the north bank of the river Stour, thus approach- ing Canterbury by an ancient deep road, still strikingly marked on the flank of the hill, not far from Harbledown. Another course from Charing may, however, have been taken rather more north of the present road from that place to Canterbury ; and such a line may be traced by Snode Street, Beacon Hill, Stone Stile, and Fisher's Street, names indicative of an an- cient track, and so by Hatch Green and Bigberry Wood, straight into the deep way already mentioned, at Harbledown, which falls nearly t At Charing a remarkable relique was shown, the block on which Juhn the Baptist was beheaded. It was brought in a straight line with the last half- mile of the great road from London entering into Canterbury at St Dunstan's Church. It must, how- ever, be remarked, that the hill- side lane proceeds in a direct line towards the S.E. beyond Charing, and although it presented a more circuitous course towards Canter- bury, it may, especially in earlier times, have been frequented in preference to any shorter path across the woodland district. The line indeed is distinct, passing north of Westwell and Eastwell ; and I am here again indebted to the local knowledge of my obliging informant, the Rev. W. Pearson, who states that an ancient track, still known as the Pilgrims' Road, exists, running above the Ashford and Canterbury turnpike road and parallel with it. It is a bridle-way, taking its course near the villages of Boughton Alph and Godmers- ham, towards Canterbury. There can be no doubt that frequent vestiges of the " Pilgrims' Path " might be traced by actual examination of the localities along the course here tracked out, chiefly by aid of the Ordnance Survey. The careful investigation of this remarkable ancient track might throw light upon the earlier occu- pation of the south-eastern parts of England ; although there are no indications of its having been formed by the Romans, there can be little doubt that it was used by to England by Richard I. Philipot, p. ICO. Pilgrimage of Jo/in of France. 27$ them, as evinced by numerous ves- tiges of villas and other remains of the Roman age near its course. It is difficult to explain the preference shown, as it would appear, by the pilgrims of later times for a route which avoided the towns, villages, and more populous districts, whilst a road for the most part is found at no great distance, pursuing its course through them parallel to that of the secluded Pilgrims' Path. Our thoughts naturally recur to times of less favoured social condi- tions than our own, times of mis- rule or distrust, when, to repeat an apposite passage of Holy Writ cited in a former part of this volume, as " in the days of Shamgar, the son of Anath, in the days of Jael, the highways were unoccupied, and the travellers walked through by- ways." 1 It may be here observed that the principal route to Walsingham, by Newmarket, Brandon, ami Fa- kenham, was known as the " Pal- mers' Way," or " Walsingham Green Way." A. W. NOTE E. VISIT OF JOHN, KING OF FRANCE, TO THE SHRINE OF ST. THOMAS, IN 1360. (See pp. 142, 239.) On two memorable occasions other royal visit to Canterbury, was the Shrine of St. Thomas namely that made by John, King visited by a King of France ; the of France, on his return from cap- first being the solemn pilgrimage tivity in England, after the Treaty made in 1179, by Louis VII., to of Bretigny. John, with Philip, whom, according to the relation his youngest son, had been taken of Brompton, the saint had thrice prisoners at the field of Poitiers, appeared in a vision. No French September 20th, 1356, and they King previously to that time, as it were brought to England by the is observed by a contemporary Black Prince, in May following, chronicler, had set foot on English Their route to London lay, accord- ground. The King came in the ing to the relation of Froissart, by habit of a pilgrim ; amongst his Canterbury and Rochester, and he rich oblations were the celebrated states that the captives rested for gem, the "lapis regalis" and the a day to make their offerings to St. grant to the convent of a hundred Thomas. modii of wine, for ever. We are The document which has sup- indebted to the Historical Society plied the following particulars of of France for the publication of the visit on their quitting England, certain particulars regarding an- is the account by the King's chap* ' Judges, v. 6. 276 Pilgrimage of John of France. lain and notary of tlie expenditure anglois qui est hermite lez Sti- during the last year of his cap- borne" (Sittingbourne). The tivity, from July 1st, 1359, to July knightly anchorite received no less 8th, 1360, when John landed at than twenty nobles, valued at £6 Calais. 1 13^. 4//. As John passed Harble- On the last day of June, 1360, down, ten esaiz, or 23*. 4