THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A CATHEDRAL PILGEIMAGE
 
 CATHEDEAL PILGRIMAGE 
 
 JULIA C. R. DORR 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE FLOWER OF ENGLAND'S 
 FACE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 BOSTON 
 JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896, 
 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Norfeootl }Drrss 
 
 J. 8. Gushing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood HIM. U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 cc 
 
 <C TO KING INA'S WELLE AND 
 
 AVALON ....... 1 
 
 PAOE 
 
 THE ISLE OF 
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER ... 50 
 
 III 
 
 WINCHESTER AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 74 
 
 iv 
 
 O 
 
 D A BOY BISHOP ...... 93 
 
 U 
 ;t 
 
 5 v 
 
 "^ A GLORIOUS TRIO ..... 101 
 
 452648
 
 VI 
 
 PAGE 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY . . 141 
 
 VII 
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS .... 160 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE VALLEY OF NIGHTSHADE WHEREIN 
 
 LIES FURNESS ABBEY . . . 187 
 
 IX 
 THE TRANSEPT OF THE MARTYRDOM . 200 
 
 X 
 
 AT LICHFIELD . . . . . . . 235 
 
 XI 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER . ... . 258
 
 To many minds both profound and cult- 
 ured, to many natures that are both sensi- 
 tive and appreciative, the English cathedrals 
 make no special appeal. It is largely a 
 matter of temperament. There are others 
 to whom they have so much to say that it is 
 overpowering. For them every stone has a 
 voice, every aisle a message. The great, 
 sombre towers bring them strength and 
 healing ; the soaring spires lift them above 
 earth and its weariness into an atmosphere 
 where all is peace. 
 
 Destiny has forbidden to many such as 
 these true cathedral lovers the delight 
 of personal knoioledge and intimacy. To 
 bring to them the very faintest echo of this 
 voice, this message, this breath of strength 
 and healing and peace, is the sole object of 
 this little book. 
 
 J. C. R. D. 
 
 The Maples, Rutland, Vt., 
 May 11, 1896. 
 
 vii
 
 A CATHEDRAL PILGEIMAGE 
 
 TO KING INA'S WELLE AND THE 
 ISLE OF AVALON 
 
 "ID ITT where are all the people?" said 
 Altera. " That's what puzzles me." 
 It puzzled me also, as I think it must 
 puzzle all Americans who see much of 
 rural England. Our ancestral home is so 
 very small when compared with the broad 
 domain of Columbia, that it is not strange if 
 the sons and daughters of the latter regard 
 England somewhat in the light of the old 
 woman who lived in her shoe and did not 
 know how to dispose of her numerous prog- 
 eny. It had seemed to us, at least, as if in 
 England we should always be conscious, if 
 not of a crowd, yet of the nearness of other 
 people. But it was just the contrary. The 
 
 B I
 
 2 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 villages swarm, the towns are crowded ; 
 yet the country proper seemed to us less 
 densely populated than our own New Eng- 
 land. In our somewhat leisurely course 
 through the Western counties, from Wales 
 to the Isle of Wight, this was one of the 
 things that most impressed us. Often we 
 would ride for miles through wide stretches 
 of fertile country, with farmhouses and cot- 
 tages dotting all the way, and see hardly a 
 living soul in the fields, or on the highways, 
 at work, or at play. This is not because 
 the railway avoids the thoroughfares. We 
 were constantly running along beside the 
 level, hedge-inclosed roads, so fair and in- 
 viting ; but so seldom did we see either 
 riders, or pedestrians, that the highways 
 seemed to be made, and kept in such fine 
 condition, for ornament rather than for use. 
 Perhaps the fact that " Little Lord Faunt- 
 leroy's" grandfather, the grouty Earl of 
 Dorincourt, is by no means the only gentle- 
 man in England who lives "a long way
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 3 
 
 from his gate," may help to solve this 
 problem. Enormous private estates are, 
 doubtless, not conducive to dense popula- 
 tion ; and the vast parks that cover so many 
 thousands of British acres, beautiful as they 
 are, it must still be confessed are like the 
 lilies of the field that neither toil nor spin. 
 They are not bread-and-butter earners. 
 Yet if beauty is its own best excuse, who 
 shall quarrel with them for that ? A lily has 
 as good a right to live as a wheat-blade. 
 
 If the highways are attractive, what shall 
 be said of the little, well-worn footpaths 
 running hither and thither across the fields ? 
 There is nothing lovelier in all England, 
 nothing more enticing, than these little by- 
 ways. Wandering here and there, appar- 
 ently at their own wild will branching off 
 here, skirting or climbing a hill there, now 
 bending to follow the course of the brook, 
 now flying off at a tangent and disappear- 
 ing behind a hedge no doubt each seem- 
 ingly purposeless curve has its own reason
 
 4 TO KIXG INA'S WELLE 
 
 for being, and has ministered to the needs 
 of generation after generation. For they 
 are no creatures of a day, these English 
 footpaths that are so stimulating to the 
 imagination. They are permanent features 
 of the landscape, as the hills are and the 
 streams; and they look as if they might 
 have been trodden for ages. They tell 
 stories; they sing songs ; they weep, and 
 laugh, and pray. They have grown human 
 through their long association with man- 
 kind. 
 
 "You have propounded one riddle this 
 morning," I said to Altera. "Now it is 
 my turn. What becomes of all the rub- 
 bish ? " 
 
 The question related to the country. 
 There is rubbish enough in the towns, 
 Heaven knows ! But as soon as you get 
 out of them, you begin to wonder what be- 
 comes of all the debris that elsewhere fol- 
 lows in the wake of human existence. 
 Wherever we go in our own land, the way
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 5 
 
 is strewn with wrecks and ruins. What 
 becomes, over here, of all the old tin cans, 
 the old hoops, the broken crockery, the 
 empty bottles, the thousand and one things 
 that cannot be burned, and that have no 
 inclination to dissolve themselves into their 
 original elements? All rural England is 
 swept and brushed and dusted, as it were, 
 suiting one's housewifely instincts to a 
 charm. There is literally no refuse, no 
 litter. What becomes of it all ? Is the 
 island so small that its good genii can reach 
 from sea to sea, and toss all that is un- 
 sightly and unmanageable into the healing, 
 hiding waves ? 
 
 I have said we seldom saw any one at 
 work, or at play. Yet England was doing 
 her haying. Somebody had cut, or was 
 cutting, the grass that filled the air with its 
 rare fragrance all the way from Conway to 
 Ventnor. Twice or thrice we saw Maud 
 Muller, picturesque, and pretty as a pink, 
 in gown of blue or rose-coloured cotton and
 
 6 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 wide straw hat. Much oftener we saw her 
 mother a good deal less comely, if the 
 truth must be told, and much busier. Eng- 
 lish Maud did not seem to be pining after 
 any " might have beens," or to be conscious 
 of importunate longings. Tossing the fra- 
 grant hay in the sweet, fresh air and golden 
 sunshine, with father, brother, and perhaps 
 lover, to share the work, was not so bad a 
 thing. Verily, the hayfield has some advan- 
 tages over the kitchen and the laundry. 
 
 One summer afternoon we left Bristol 
 for a land of faery, a world of dreams, a 
 region of enchantment. We should have 
 been transported thither by the touch of 
 some magic wand, or have been wafted 
 through the air on rosy clouds. At the 
 very least, we should have been borne on 
 by milk-white steeds, in a chariot radiant 
 with purple and gold. But, alas ! we had 
 to go by rail, poor, common mortals that 
 we were. Taking the Cheddar Valley line, 
 which leaves the Bristol & Exeter at Yat-
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON J 
 
 on, we swept down through the beautiful 
 vale that lies at the foot of the Mendip 
 Hills. All the way the scenery was most 
 charmingly varied. The Hills themselves, 
 lying at our left, were rocky as to their 
 summits, but well cultivated on the slopes. 
 Farmhouses gray with age, cottages rose- 
 wreathed and ivy-clad, dotted all the way ; 
 and every few miles brought us to a village, 
 with its "Hall," or mansion, its parish 
 church, generally standing a little apart, 
 embosomed in trees, with the dead of 
 many generations sleeping peacefully in its 
 shadow, and the pretty rectory hard by. 
 The air was full of peace and contentment. 
 Green pastures came up close to the rail- 
 way track, and the very sheep and cattle 
 looked drowsily comfortable, scarcely prick- 
 ing up their ears, or whisking their tails, as 
 the fiery monster whizzed past them. Even 
 the dogs seemed less alert and nervous than 
 our own. It was almost too much trouble 
 to bark.
 
 8 TO KING IXA'S WELLE 
 
 "Altera," I said, "the outside is all so 
 fair. What do you suppose the inside is ? 
 Can it be possible that misery, squalor, and 
 sin lurk underneath the ivies and 
 roses ? I must see the inside of some of 
 these picturesque thatched cottages before 
 I die." 
 
 " Better not take too near a view," she 
 answered, " for sin and dirt lurk every- 
 where on earth. Let us take the good 
 the gods provide, and not be too inquisi- 
 tive." 
 
 Which is undoubtedly a comfortable rule 
 for travellers to follow. But, without look- 
 ing closely, or asking deep questions, one 
 would say England rural England was 
 a pretty good place to be poor in. 
 
 At length we were in Wells ; and Wells 
 is faeryland. We entered in broad day- 
 light, in most prosaic fashion. But from 
 the first hour of our stay to the last, the 
 magical influences of the quaint old city 
 held us spellbound. Just wherein the
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 9 
 
 charm lies it is somewhat hard to say. We 
 laughed at ourselves at the time or tried 
 to. We made fun of our emotions; we 
 called ourselves sentimental ; we ridi- 
 culed our rhapsodies, and yielded under 
 a protest. We told each other it was only 
 because Wells was the second cathedral 
 town in which we had really stayed ; and 
 that, to be sure, the Cathedral itself was 
 finer than dear old Chester ; but that, when 
 we had seen Salisbury, with its soaring 
 spire, and Winchester, which is English 
 history embodied in stone, the majestic 
 splendour of Canterbury, the magnificence 
 of Ely and Lincoln and York, and the for- 
 tress-like grandeur of "time-honoured Dur- 
 ham," then we should undoubtedly laugh 
 more than ever at our innocent infatuation 
 in being so "carried away" with Wells. 
 But, having seen and studied them all, and 
 many another besides, we were never un- 
 true to our first love ; we never ceased to 
 feel the sweet thraldom of the inexplicable
 
 ro TO KIXG IXA'S WELLE 
 
 charm that makes Wells among the most 
 lovable of English cathedrals, and clothes 
 the unpretending little town in a veil of 
 mysticism and romance. 
 
 But to go back to the beginning. We 
 went to the Swan Hotel, which is as old as 
 the hills, or older.. One would think it 
 must be as old as the town, anyhow. Five 
 hundred years ago it was a famous hostelry, 
 and it still continues so. It is just opposite 
 the Cathedral, to which it has its own pri- 
 vate path and gateway a fact on which 
 the old inn plumes itself not a little. To 
 tell the honest truth, one learns after a 
 while that modern conveniences are more 
 to be desired in a hotel than a perceptible 
 flavour of antiquity. But the Swan has made 
 use of her white wings to sail along on the 
 tide of progress, and she is fairly well up 
 with the times. Alas ! she gave us stones 
 when we asked for bread, as did most of 
 the West of England inns the so-called 
 " cottage loaf," which they chiefly affect,
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON II 
 
 being an utter abomination. Barring this, 
 however, she made us very comfortable. 
 Having taken possession of our rooms, 
 which overlooked the Cathedral close, we 
 cast one glance at the magnificent facade 
 and ordered dinner ! Thus closely do 
 romance and reality tread upon each other's 
 heels. It may, however, be some excuse 
 for us to say that, by yielding thus early to 
 reality in the shape of chops and peas, we 
 secured the long, cool, late afternoon and 
 dewy twilight, for our first enchanted wan- 
 dering in the wonder- world of Wells. 
 
 After a while we went through the tiny 
 flower garden, with its baby fountain, and 
 entered the " strait gate " leading into the 
 close. Before us, across the wide green 
 stretch of turf bordered by stately trees, 
 rose the mighty towers, gray with the 
 touch of the centuries, looming darkly 
 against the blue of the sky, and the grand 
 west front, with its tier on tier of sculpt- 
 ured figures, reaching from the basement
 
 12 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 to the uppermost height of the great central 
 gable. Did I say that Winchester was 
 English history embodied ? We hear and 
 read less of Wells ; but on that mighty 
 page of stone, the west front of Wells Ca- 
 thedral, is written the history of the world, 
 from the creation downward. There are 
 its crowned kings, its heroes, its warriors, 
 its holy women of whom the world was not 
 worthy. There are saints without number. 
 There are "the goodly fellowship of the 
 prophets," "the noble army of martyrs," 
 "the glorious company of the Apostles." 
 There are seraphim and cherubim a very 
 glory of angels and, high over all, once sat 
 the Christ enthroned in majesty. Of this 
 glorious figure, then the centre and climax 
 of the whole, only the feet now remain. 
 But the story is easily read. It is this: 
 "To Thee all angels cry aloud, the heavens 
 and all the powers therein;" and "The 
 holy church throughout all the world doth 
 acknowledge Thee."
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 13 
 
 There are three hundred of these figures, 
 many of them of life size, some battered and 
 mutilated by vandal hordes, and all worn 
 by the slow, disintegrating touch of time ; 
 crude and grotesque at the best in many 
 instances, and yet impressive and imposing 
 beyond description. Of them, as a whole, 
 Freeman says, "The sculptures of the 
 west front of Wells are superior to any of 
 the same period in any part of Europe." 
 On the north tower is the " Last Supper," 
 a sculptural group said to be the earliest 
 known representation of the scene; two 
 and a half centuries older than the great 
 picture of Leonardo da Vinci. Many of 
 the canopied niches are empty. Perhaps 
 the very emptiness speaks more forcibly 
 than the best attempt at restoration. At 
 all events, no such attempt has been made. 
 Canopies and broken niches have been 
 made whole, but not a lost statue has been 
 replaced. 
 
 How long we stood silent and overawed be-
 
 14 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 fore that majestic company I will not under- 
 take to say. Then we went in at the low 
 west door the double door in the middle. 
 On each side is a single door opening into 
 the aisle. Low and narrow the three cer- 
 tainly are, in proportion to the size of the 
 front ; but their smallness is said to have a 
 symbolic meaning "Enter ye in at the 
 strait gate." 
 
 It was growing dark in the aisles, and 
 shadows lurked in the far spaces, while 
 the nave itself, and the lofty vaulted roof, 
 were radiant with the sunset light stream- 
 ing in through the triple lancets of the 
 great west window. Radiant is hardly 
 the word. They were filled with a splen- 
 did gloom that was more glorious than 
 day. 
 
 But we hardly looked about us. This 
 was the time for out-of-door delights. 
 As we wrote our names in the visitors' 
 book, and talked with the verger, mak- 
 ing our arrangements for the morrow, he
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 15 
 
 said : * ' You have heard of our famous 
 old clock? Come with me. It is about 
 to strike." Into the north transept he 
 led us, and pointed us to a bench. Down 
 we sat and waited, a trifle amused, if the 
 truth must be told, at the incongruousness 
 of it all ; that, after our high, rapturous 
 fancies, the first thing we should take 
 special heed of in the grand Cathedral 
 should be a queer old clock ! 
 
 But it was worth seeing. After saying 
 that it was made by a monk of Glaston- 
 bury in 1325, or thereabouts, let me quote 
 from a local authority. Never having made 
 a special study of timepieces, I dare not 
 trust my memory: "The face shows the 
 hour of the day, the age of the moon, and 
 the position of the planets. Above the 
 dial-plate, which is six feet six inches in 
 diameter, is a platform around a panelled 
 tower. On this are four mounted figures, 
 equipped as for a tournament, which, as 
 the clock proclaims the hour, start into
 
 1 6 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 action, and hurry rapidly round. The 
 quarters are struck by a sitting figure, 
 which uses its heels for the purpose." 
 
 Outside, near the north porch, is the 
 clock face where two figures in armour, 
 locally called the "quarter Jacks," strike 
 the quarters. At the dissolution of the 
 Abbey the clock was carried to Wells. 
 On it the ingenious maker in the early 
 part of the fourteenth century inscribed 
 his name "Petrus Lightfoot, monachus, 
 fecit hoc opus." Curious and interesting 
 as it is, it seems somewhat out of keeping 
 with the solemn splendour of its surround- 
 ings ; and, with all due reverence for the 
 good monk Peter, we wished it had been 
 put somewhere else. 
 
 As we came out we fell again under 
 the spell of the magnificent faade. So, 
 too, apparently, had fallen "a woman of 
 the people," who, with a child in her 
 arms, Madonna-wise, stood gazing up seri- 
 ously at the stony faces. Gradually she
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 17 
 
 grew nearer and nearer, looking at us 
 from under the light shawl that was 
 drawn about her head, as if seeking a 
 certain spiritual sympathy. " Surely," 
 thought I, "we are all akin, we women ; " 
 and I was about to make some sympathetic 
 observation, when, giving her arms a little 
 toss to settle the child more steadily on 
 its perch, she remarked: "It's awful old- 
 fashioned, now ain't it, mum ? " 
 
 The beauty of that place and hour is 
 something that cannot be put into words. 
 The Cathedral close, or green, as it is 
 sometimes called to distinguish it from 
 the Vicar's close on the north, is entered 
 by three noble gateways, all built by 
 Bishop Thomas de Beckynton in the fif- 
 teenth century, and all bearing his arms 
 and his rebus a naming beacon issuing 
 from a tun or barrel. One of these gate- 
 ways opens from the market-place, and is 
 called " The Penniless Porch," but I could 
 not learn why it was thus impecunious, 
 c
 
 1 8 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 Another, on the opposite corner of the close, 
 is known as Brown's Gate, and the third, 
 or Chain Gate, spans the Bath road and 
 connects the Vicar's close with the Cathe- 
 dral. To the south lie the great cloisters, 
 forming three sides of a quadrangle, the 
 fourth side of which is formed by the whole 
 length of the nave. The space inclosed is 
 the Palm churchyard, so named from the 
 yew-tree in its centre, branches of which 
 were used formerly in processions in lieu 
 of real palm boughs. The east cloister 
 serves as a passage from the Cathedral to 
 the Bishop's Palace, which, with its bas- 
 tioned walls, its moat, and its drawbridge, 
 lies still further to the south. 
 
 Thitherward we strayed in the soft sun- 
 set light, over the cool green velvet of the 
 turf, and under the long arcades formed by 
 the drooping branches of the lime-trees. 
 Were we living and moving in a dream ? 
 Not a human being was in sight as we 
 seated ourselves on the green bank of the
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON IQ 
 
 moat and looked about us. It was a real 
 moat, wide, and filled to the brim with 
 living, sparkling water the only one we 
 saw in England that had not long ago run 
 dry ; and on its surface, like that of a still, 
 deep river, stately swans and a flock of 
 white ducks were idly floating. Over it 
 hung the drawbridge, bound fast, but not 
 with chains. Nature has taken possession 
 of it, and wound about it her ivies, her 
 climbing vines, and clinging mosses, and 
 bidden them make of turreted tower, and 
 groined vault, and high portcullis, sweet, 
 sheltered nooks wherein birds might build 
 their nests. No warder blew his horn, no 
 mailed knight in panoply of steel rode forth 
 with clash of spear and shield to startle 
 them. There was no harsher sound than 
 the low sighing of the wind and now and 
 again the sweet chiming of cathedral bells. 
 The Bishop's Palace at Wells is said to 
 be the finest in the Kingdom. It was built 
 in the thirteenth century by Bishop Jace-
 
 20 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 line; but the external fortifications, con- 
 sisting of the walls, bastions, and moat, 
 were the work of Bishop Ralph, of Shrews- 
 bury, a full century later ; but they were 
 undoubtedly a part of Bishop Jaceline's 
 original design, forming, with the Cathe- 
 dral, chapter-house, and close, a "mag- 
 nificent conception, giving an idea of the 
 grandeur of the Middle Ages hardly to be 
 obtained elsewhere . ' ' 
 
 A fortified palace for an ambassador of 
 the Prince of Peace seems strangely at 
 variance with modern ideas. But so does 
 all other mediaeval life ; and the sword and 
 spear were as potent, and perhaps as need- 
 ful, accessories of civilization and Christi- 
 anity, in those days, as was the Bible itself. 
 We cannot judge of the past by the present. 
 
 At length we roused as from a dream, 
 crossed the drawbridge, knocked at the 
 heavy door, and waited. Do you think 
 it swung open after the fashion of common- 
 place, ordinary- world doors ? By no man-
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 21 
 
 ner of means ! One of the panels slid 
 back after dignified, decorous delay, and 
 the blooming face of a very young girl 
 appeared at the opening. 
 
 " May we come in ? " we asked, and she 
 smilingly bade us enter. 
 
 How beautiful it was the picture that 
 met our eyes as we strayed onward through 
 that wide expanse of park and garden com- 
 bined ! Our young guide could not give us 
 much information, but that mattered little. 
 The place told its own story. Here were 
 the ruins, magnificent in their decay, of 
 Bishop Burnell's great Banqueting Hall, 
 built in the thirteenth century, and des- 
 troyed in the fifteenth, after a life of less 
 than two hundred years. It was the larg- 
 est hall of its kind in all England a 
 superb structure one hundred and twenty 
 feet long and seventy feet broad, lighted 
 by nine lofty windows. At each angle 
 were octagonal turrets containing the stair- 
 cases. These are still standing; and four
 
 22 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 of the beautiful windows may yet be seen 
 through swaying curtains of ivy. 
 
 Across the wide stretch of lawn is the 
 exquisite little chapel, only fifty-two feet 
 by twenty-six, in which my Lord Bishop 
 has family prayers, and in which the stu- 
 dents of the theological school meet for 
 daily services. 
 
 We meant to see the palace itself, for our 
 little maid assured us that the housekeeper 
 was a friend of her own, and would gladly 
 show us its glories. But the grounds were 
 so charming, the walks along the moat 
 were so enticing, the whole world of out-of- 
 doors was so altogether lovely, that we dal- 
 lied too long. The result was that all we 
 saw of the inside of the episcopal residence 
 was the vaulted lower story, with its pillars 
 of Purbeck marble, which is now used as 
 a dining-room. Of this we only caught a 
 glimpse by peeping through a window ; not 
 surreptitiously, however, even to save time ; 
 but tempted and incited thereto by our
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 23 
 
 small guide, who assured us it was quite 
 the proper thing to do. 
 
 But no words can describe the enchant- 
 ment of it all the great sweep of velvet 
 turf, the blooming flowers, the stately 
 trees, the splendid ruins, the ivy-mantled 
 bastions, the perfect beauty of the palace, 
 the fair terrace, the little grotto and arbour 
 in which tradition says Bishop Ken, the 
 brave and saintly, wrote his morning hymn 
 and whither he used to repair at daybreak 
 with his lute; the encircling moat, the 
 sweet, bubbling, gurgling springs, or 
 "wells," by which it is fed, and from 
 which the city takes its name ; and, dom- 
 inating over all, the mighty walls and mas- 
 sive towers of the gray Cathedral. It was 
 worth crossing the sea for. 
 
 The next morning we sallied forth for a 
 further glimpse of the town, and in search 
 of a silversmith. Wells is but a little 
 place, the population being considerably 
 less than eight thousand, Like many
 
 24 TO KING IXA'S WELLE 
 
 other cathedral towns, or cities, in Eng- 
 land only the cathedral towns are cities, 
 it is hardly more than a cluster of streets 
 and houses that has grown up around, and 
 to answer the needs of, its great centre and 
 raison d'etre. Its beginnings are lost in a 
 cloud of myths and fables, running back to 
 the year 166. But it has been a place of 
 importance ever since the reign of Ina, 
 king of the West Saxons, who built a 
 church here in 704. 
 
 From the market-place radiate several 
 crooked streets, down one of which we 
 wandered. The first thing that especially 
 attracted our attention were the rills of 
 very clear water running along the streets 
 close to the sidewalk. "Where does all 
 this water come from ? " we asked ; * and 
 does it always run after this fashion ? " 
 
 We were speedily answered ; for every 
 man, woman, and child knew the story. 
 It seems that in 1443, or thereabouts, 
 Bishop Thomas de Beckynton built for
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 25 
 
 the citizens of Wells the great conduit in 
 the market-place, and supplied it with 
 water from St. Andrew's spring, some- 
 times called the Well of King Ina, in the 
 palace gardens. In fact, prior to the time 
 of Edward the Confessor the town itself 
 was known as Wells. In his will the good 
 Bishop, who probably had advanced ideas 
 as to the advantages of cleanliness, or- 
 dained that the surplus water, or overflow, 
 should run through the streets forever, " by 
 night and by day." The citizens are quite 
 proud of this clause, as they have good rea- 
 son to be. I don't know how many times 
 we were told the water was to run "by 
 night and by day." The gift had one 
 other condition ; namely, that on each an- 
 niversary of the donor's death, the mayor, 
 citizens, and burgesses of Wells should 
 visit his tomb in the Cathedral, " and there 
 pray for his soul and the souls of all the 
 faithful deceased." At first sight it might 
 seem to the uninitiated as if the souls of
 
 26 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 the Mnfaithful deceased were most in need 
 of being prayed for ; but no doubt the good 
 Bishop knew best. Whether he did or 
 no, the will has never been "broken," 
 and the holy rite it prescribed has been 
 performed, annually, for four centuries 
 and a half. 
 
 But to return to our chief errand. Is it 
 to be supposed that messieurs the silver- 
 smiths had their shops open at the un- 
 earthly hour of half-past nine in the morn- 
 ing? Not they ! "It is too early, mum," 
 said a frowzy-haired woman who, with her 
 bare arms wrapped in her apron and two 
 unkempt children clinging to her skirts, 
 stood just outside the door, literally filling 
 the narrow sidewalk. The floors of the 
 houses were on a level with the street, hav- 
 ing no doorsteps, and hardly so much as a 
 threshold. "It is too early, mum; the 
 shops won't be open till ten, or maybe 
 half-past." 
 
 There was a dilemma ! But though it
 
 AXD THE ISLE OF AVALON 27 
 
 might be early for shopkeepers, it was not 
 too early for a group of four wandering 
 minstrels, beplumed, betinselled, and be- 
 dizened generally, with two violins, a tam- 
 bourine, and a triangle, to gather a crowd 
 about them. The whole narrow street 
 swarmed with men, women, and children. 
 We watched the curious, motley crowd for 
 a few minutes, thinking how strangely 
 foreign the whole scene was, and then 
 brought ourselves back to business. 
 
 "We can't wait here all day," I said. 
 " I wonder where the shopkeeper lives. 
 Can you tell me ? " I asked of my frowzy 
 friend, who was serenely gazing at us and 
 at the musicians, alternately. 
 
 " Eight next you, at your left, and where 
 the little green door is, mum," she an- 
 swered. "Perhaps you might knock 'im 
 up, mum." 
 
 Which we proceeded to do ; and succeeded 
 at last in unearthing him from a little back 
 alley, which we reached through a long,
 
 28 TO KING IXA'S WELLE 
 
 narrow passageway where half a dozen 
 children, all of an age, apparently, were 
 playing. Some of them followed us into 
 the shop where I made my purchase, and 
 then we retraced our steps cathedralward, 
 with the serene consciousness of duty well 
 performed. 
 
 On our way we passed the Church of 
 St. Cuthbert. It is beautiful externally; 
 but, true to the rule we had established of 
 trying to get clear, strong impressions of a 
 few things, rather than mere glimpses of 
 many, we did not go in. 
 
 This paper, especially as to the next 
 few paragraphs, is not written for learned 
 folk, nor for those who have been all over 
 the world and seen all there is to see. 
 But there are those who have never been 
 so happy as to see the old-world cathedrals, 
 and who long to form some slight idea 
 of them, who yet say, " Pictures and 
 descriptions are all Greek to me. I do 
 not know what I am trying to see. If I
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 29 
 
 study the ground plans, even, I lose my 
 bearings." 
 
 Let me say for their consolation that 
 many who have seen them say the same 
 thing. " I was all astray in their vast 
 spaces," said a scholarly woman, and a 
 good church-woman, too. "It was like 
 being in a wilderness. I could not tell the 
 points of compass, and was so bewildered 
 I hardly knew right from left." 
 
 Without being aware of it, she held in 
 her hand the key to the whole difficulty. 
 She did not know the points of compass. 
 When you enter a cathedral, no matter by 
 what entrance, go straight down to the 
 west door, and stand there till you get your 
 bearings. 
 
 "But how shall I know the west door ? 
 The cathedrals are many-sided ; and there is 
 no end to the doors and porches, to say noth- 
 ing of the chapels and all that sort of thing. 
 How am I to know which way is west ? " 
 
 Come with me to the west front of Wells,
 
 30 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 and let us see if we cannot solve this prob- 
 lem once for all. We will not puzzle our- 
 selves with styles of architecture. For the 
 nonce, we will not know Norman from 
 Early English, nor Decorated from Perpen- 
 dicular. We will only try to learn where 
 we are, and how to find our way about 
 if we can. 
 
 Place yourself with your back to the 
 massive door. Above your head are the 
 triple lancets of the great west window. 
 The middle light represents the beheading 
 of John the Baptist, and was brought to 
 Wells by Dean Creyghton on his return 
 from fifteen years of exile with Charles II. 
 Do not waste time in a study of it, how- 
 ever, for it is not very good. Look before 
 you, rather. What do you see ? First, 
 the glorious beauty of the nave, with its 
 nine piers clusters of reed-like shafts in 
 groups of three, the capitals enriched with 
 exquisite carvings of bird and leaf and 
 flower, with now and then a grotesque
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 3! 
 
 figure, or a curious device, that seems ironi- 
 cal in its significance. Above the pier 
 arches runs the deep triforium, with its 
 slender columns of Purbeck marble, extend- 
 ing back over the side aisles. Up, up, up, 
 springing lightly from the arches of the 
 triforium, soars the lofty vaulted roof. 
 Between each of the bays of the triple vault- 
 ing shafts opens a clerestory window. Do 
 not stir from your place, but, having cast 
 this one quick glance around and above you, 
 look straight ahead. Directly in front of 
 you, down the length of the nave, rises the 
 choir screen, with the organ above it, seen 
 through the strange inverted arch that is 
 one of the chief peculiarities, and the chief 
 defect, of Wells. It, with the screen and 
 organ, obscures the vista, and in a measure 
 destroys the perspective ; but as it was 
 built to strengthen the towers in 1338, we 
 must not grumble. Yet look again, and 
 much as the view is obstructed through 
 the opening of the upper arch you will
 
 32 TO KING IXA 1 S WELLE 
 
 catch glimpses far beyond of the roofs of 
 the exquisite choir and Lady-Chapel, and 
 the richly coloured light of the furthermost 
 eastern window. 
 
 The point for a novice to remember, 
 therefore, is this. In every cathedral, the 
 altar, the sanctuary, beyond which the 
 Lady-Chapel usually lies, is at the east. 
 Starting from it, you would go down 
 through the choir, be it large or small, 
 through the junction of the transepts with 
 the nave, and then on down the length of 
 the nave itself to the west door. 
 
 " I never can tell which transept I am in, 
 the north, or the south," said one bewildered 
 sight-seer. 
 
 Bear in mind, then, that if you are facing 
 the altar, or the choir, the south transept 
 is always at your right, the north always 
 at your left. With this point firmly fixed 
 in the mind once for all, that the altar is 
 invariably at the east, bringing the south 
 transept to the right, and the north to the
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 33 
 
 left, of one who faces it (or who stands at 
 the west door), and there is no danger of 
 getting bewildered, or astray, even in the 
 vast spaces of Westminster or Canterbury. 
 For, with all their diversity of ornament, 
 with all their blossoming out into chapels 
 and chantries and lesser transepts and 
 shrines innumerable, the cathedrals are all 
 built on the same general plan a Latin 
 or Greek cross, of which the main transepts 
 are the arms. There are one or two small 
 exceptions, Manchester for instance, but 
 they only prove the rule. 
 
 Another point. To rush through a ca- 
 thedral with a motley crowd of tourists, at 
 the heels of a verger, is not to see it. 
 It is a mere mockery, a feast of Barmecide. 
 You see nothing but the surface of things, 
 and you do not half see even that. Go 
 with the verger on the prescribed round in 
 the first place, looking neither at plan nor 
 guide-book. Listen attentively to what he 
 says, perfunctory as it may seem. You 
 D
 
 34 TO KING IXA'S WELLE 
 
 will be sure to learn something of the very 
 poorest ; while of the best, as intelligent 
 and courteous teachers, hardly too much 
 can be said. But, having done this, get 
 permission to go over the place again at 
 your leisure and alone. We were told this 
 could not oe done, that such permission 
 would not be granted. We asked it every- 
 where, and it was never refused, not even 
 in stately Canterbury, which has the repu- 
 tation of being the most unapproachable 
 of all. Much depends on the mental atti- 
 tude of the visitor. If the official in charge, 
 be he dean, or canon, or verger, sees that 
 he is really interested and reverent, he 
 will, metaphorically speaking, give him the 
 keys and bid him Godspeed. Then it is 
 that the true joy of the explorer begins. It 
 was in this way that we saw Wells. 
 
 Let us go back a moment to the west 
 door for another look at the nave. In the 
 central bay on the south, on a level with 
 the clerestory, and not projecting beyond
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 35 
 
 the triforium, is a small inclosed space, 
 which Murray calls the music gallery. I 
 wonder if I can be mistaken in thinking 
 that our guide gave it the far more sugges- 
 tive and poetic title of the watching gal- 
 lery, where the priests were wont to keep 
 holy vigil in commemoration of the night 
 wherein One said, "Could ye not watch 
 with me one hour?" 
 
 But we must not linger here, beguiled by 
 the beautiful chantries, nor in the tran- 
 septs, rich as they are in whatever appeals 
 to the heart or the imagination. Only 
 pausing for a moment to look at the curi- 
 ous Norman font, let us go up a flight of 
 two or three steps into the choir. The 
 decorated screen does not detain us long ; 
 but no words can fitly portray the beauty 
 that breaks upon our delighted eyes as we 
 pass beyond it. The choir itself is a mar- 
 vel of loveliness, with its light, slender 
 shafts of polished Purbeck marble support- 
 ing the canopied stalls of carven stone, its
 
 36 TO KING IXA'S WELLE 
 
 fine pulpit, the Bishop's throne, the three 
 graceful arches at the east, the seven long 
 niches above, that seem to uphold the lofty 
 window, and all the wealth of architectural 
 detail that beggars description. The rere- 
 dos, or screen behind the altar, is low, and 
 does not obstruct the view into the retro- 
 choir and Lady-Chapel beyond. Over it 
 we look into a maze of almost supernatu- 
 ral glory; group after group of lofty fan- 
 traceried columns, like stately palm-trees 
 springing of their own glad free will to 
 support the fine vaulting of the roof ; shafts 
 and arches and lancet-shaped vistas in infin- 
 ite variety opening in all directions between 
 the clustered pillars ; monumental shrines, 
 with canopies of stone so delicately carved 
 that they seem like frostwork, or like finest 
 lace ; and over all the rich spendours of the 
 stained glass, the blaze of many-coloured 
 light pouring in through the eastern win- 
 dows. 
 The Lady-Chapel, which is octagonal,
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 37 
 
 and gives an apsidal or semicircular form 
 to the end of the church, is yet quite dis- 
 tinct from it, and is a most perfect and 
 unique little building a veritable gem. 
 
 Turning reluctantly away, let us go 
 back to the north transept, from which a 
 grand staircase, lighted by fine traceried 
 windows, leads up to the chapter-house, 
 which we enter through a double door of 
 extraordinary beauty. This, too, is oc- 
 tagonal, with a central column of sixteen 
 shafts, which is like nothing in the world 
 but a great palm-tree supporting the 
 grandly vaulted roof. Below the eight 
 magnificent windows runs an arcade with 
 Purbeck shafts, encircling the room. 
 There, under fine canopies, are the stone 
 seats of the monks. Verily, our brethren 
 of the thirteenth century, who were wont 
 to convene here to discuss all vast affairs, 
 whether secular or religious, had a fair 
 place of meeting. 
 
 Beyond the chapter-house the great. 
 
 452648
 
 38 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 staircase ascends through another fine 
 doorway to the gallery over the chain-gate 
 which connects the Vicar's close with the 
 Cathedral. It is now used as a library ; 
 but through it the vicars can pass from 
 their own close to the church, thus avoid- 
 ing the fierce winds that gave to the north- 
 west angle of the green the name of u Kill 
 Canon Corner." 
 
 The undercroft, or crypt, which, con- 
 trary to usual custom, is on a level with 
 the transept, lies below the chapter-house. 
 It likewise carries on the octagonal idea, 
 and has its own grand central column. 
 Near the entrance door a beautiful speci- 
 men of mediaeval ironwork are stone cof- 
 fins emptied long ago of even the ashes of 
 their former occupants. Not a vestige of 
 them remains, not even a name or a mem- 
 ory ; yet here, with scarcely an inkling of 
 decay, lie the insensate stones to whose 
 keeping they were committed with prayers 
 and chantings and stately ceremonies long
 
 AIS 7 D THE ISLE OF AVALON 39 
 
 centuries ago. Leaning against the wall 
 are effigies of priests and bishops ; and scat- 
 tered about in the dim, sepulchral light are 
 curious relics of the past an ancient cope 
 chest, a chalice taken from a tomb, speci- 
 mens of carving and ornaments from dis- 
 mantled shrines. Suspended from one of 
 the arches is a great wooden lantern that 
 once lighted the ways of the monks of 
 Glastonbury. But let us leave the ghastly 
 place. Daylight is better. 
 
 Have we seen enough ? Let us linger a 
 moment longer to note the exquisite finish 
 of the details, and to see how, even in 
 remote and almost inaccessible passages, 
 every boss and corbel and capital is as 
 finely wrought as in the nave itself. 
 
 " In the elder days of art 
 
 Builders wrought with greatest care 
 Each minute aud unseen part ; 
 For the gods see everywhere." 
 
 So wrought the builders of Wells. 
 Having seen all this, we have seen noth
 
 40 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 ing. And if we had, the seeing is the very 
 least of it. It is not the beauty of Wells 
 only, nor its sublimity merely, that thrills 
 one. It is the story that it tells, the 
 mighty tale that is written on every stone 
 and carved on every lofty capital. The 
 effigies on the tombs are often grotesque. 
 But the man is to be pitied who can think 
 of that, when he stands over the dust and 
 sees the sculptured image, in his very habit 
 as he lived, of the man who in the year 1000 
 preached in the little church that was the 
 parent of this great Cathedral and stood 
 upon this very ground. 
 
 It has been said, " But what have Amer- 
 icans, especially American Protestants, to 
 do with these things ? They are at war 
 with our principles, at variance with our 
 ideas. We will none of them ! " 
 
 Nevertheless, they belong to us as well as 
 to England. They are a part of our inheri- 
 tance. They have, in a greater or less de- 
 gree, coloured and moulded our intellectual
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALOX 4! 
 
 and spiritual forces, as well as those of our 
 friends beyond the sea. Shall we forget 
 that in those strange, mysterious Middle 
 Ages during which these miracles in stone, 
 these stupendous creations of human genius, 
 grew and blossomed, there were no Protes- 
 tants ? We may call ourselves what we 
 will to-day. We may split ourselves into 
 as many sects as there are sands in the sea. 
 But when these grand cathedrals sprang 
 into life and being, with all their accessories 
 and ramifications of hospitals, almshouses, 
 schools, and colleges, the world was divided 
 into just two vast armies Heathendom 
 and Christendom ; and abbot and bishop, 
 priest and vicar, were mail-clad knights 
 fighting the battles of the latter. Let us 
 not be too quick to disclaim our .kinship 
 with them. 
 
 From Wells we went still further into 
 dreamland. We went to Glastonbury, 
 only six miles distant. It might have been 
 six thousand; for Glastonbury is the "In-
 
 42 TO KING ISA'S WELLE 
 
 sula Avallonia" of the Romans, the " Ava- 
 lon," or "Apple-tree Isle," of the early 
 Britons, the "mystic Isle of Avalon," the 
 " Island-valley of Avilion," that has so often 
 been the theme of story and of song. It 
 was like going into another world, a world 
 of dreams and legends, where truth and 
 fiction are so interwoven that the separate 
 threads cannot be distinguished. William 
 of Malmsbury wrote in 1126 the marvellous 
 history of the even then famous Abbey. 
 According to him, Joseph of Arimathea, in 
 the year of our Lord 66, came to Avalon, 
 and, being admonished thereto by the angel 
 Gabriel, built a church in honour of the 
 Blessed Virgin. Hither he bore the Holy 
 Grail, clothed, like Excalibur, "in white 
 samite, mystic, wonderful," and here, ac- 
 cording to tradition, it abode awhile. To 
 give even an abstract of the Malmsbury 
 legends is out of the question here. Suffice 
 it to say that one grain of genuine wheat 
 has been sifted out of the mass of chaff.
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 43 
 
 It is certain that under the Romans, or the 
 Britons, in the very infancy of Christianity, 
 somebody built here a chapel, or oratory, 
 the walls of which, it is quaintly said, were 
 of " osiers wattled together all round," and 
 that, under the name of " Vetusta Ec- 
 clesia," it was venerated as the first Chris- 
 tian Cliurch in Britain. This low wattled 
 structure grew in time to be one of the 
 richest and most magnificent abbeys in 
 England. 
 
 The afternoon sun was still high when we 
 alighted at a queer old hostlery, with a fine 
 faQade, called, nowadays, "The George." > 
 Once it was known as "Ye Pilgrim's Inn." 
 Here, in the fifteenth century, which 
 seems so very modern as compared with the 
 first, and its story of Joseph of Arimathea, 
 when the crowds of pilgrims who were 
 attracted by the relics and shrines of Glas- 
 tonbury became so great that neither Ab- 
 bey, nor Hospitium, cquld shelter them, the 
 overflow was lodged. It is steeped in the
 
 44 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 very odour of antiquity, if not of sanctity, 
 to this hour. We were sure we inhaled the 
 fine fragrance of ancient scrip, scallop, and 
 "sandal-shoon," over all the sweet scents 
 of that summer day. Dark, musty, with 
 walls many feet thick, and small windows 
 that, if picturesque, were not light-giving, 
 the little coffee-room was anything but in- 
 viting. In the small courtyard pigs and hens 
 grunted and cackled. Hard by a donkey 
 brayed loudly. We gingerly picked our way 
 through a narrow passage where a maid 
 was on her knees, busy with scrubbing- 
 brush and a pail of unmentionably dirty 
 water, and asked to be directed to the Abbey. 
 It was very near. Across the street, 
 under an archway, then on through an 
 alley which seemed to be used as a recep- 
 tacle for broken-down wagons, plows, and 
 dilapidated gear of all descriptions, till we 
 reached a little door with a bell. Beyond 
 this were the majestic solitudes of Glaston- 
 bury, and we entered in.
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALOX 45 
 
 All was silent as the grave. As has been 
 our good fortune so many times before, 
 again we had the wide, still spaces all to 
 ourselves. It seemed as if all the world 
 were dead. Slowly, we two sworn friends, 
 who had seen and felt so much together, 
 strolled onward over the thick green turf 
 until we reached what once had been the 
 glorious Abbey. The sky over our heads 
 was as blue as the great altar of sapphire 
 that the chronicler declares was presented 
 to Glastonbury by St. David, and borne 
 thither by angels. The sun shone as never 
 shone the diamonds and precious stones 
 that adorned its countless shrines. The 
 air was sweeter than any incense that ever 
 floated from its golden censers. 
 
 The immensity, the vastness, of it all was 
 overpowering. To have sat down and 
 cried, womanlike, would have been a relief. 
 One does not know where to begin. There 
 is nothing to describe, for there is almost 
 nothing left of what was once so magnifi-
 
 46 TO KING INA'S WELLE 
 
 cent. The roofless walls of St. Joseph's 
 Chapel, which is still exceedingly beautiful, 
 stand at the extreme west. One must pass 
 through that, and through still another long 
 space that was the site of an early English 
 addition built as a connecting link between 
 St. Joseph's and the main building, before 
 even reaching the spot where the great west 
 door of the vast church once swung. Stand- 
 ing there, the mighty sweep of the nave is 
 before you. With bated breath you go on, 
 and on, and on, tracing your way by slight 
 debris of column and shaft and capital, the 
 merest hints and fragments, that enable 
 you to say, " Here were the transepts, here 
 were the steps leading into the great choir, 
 here was the high altar, and here were the 
 shrines beyond it." Overhanging the nave 
 aisles are stately trees, whose branches wave 
 in the night winds where once, in slow pro- 
 cession, the stoled monks swept with chant 
 and hymn down the length of the triforium 
 arches. Here and there portions of the
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALON 47 
 
 high walls are standing a broken arch, a 
 crumbling column, a traceried window ; 
 but, in the main, there is only a great 
 sweep of velvet sward, a wide stretch of 
 lawn lying open to the heavens, where once 
 rose the towers and turrets and soaring 
 pinnacles of the Abbey of Glastonbury. 
 
 It is easy to believe that it covered sixty 
 acres it and its belongings. As you stand 
 at the extreme east, beyond the site of the 
 altar, and look down the immense distance, 
 the lofty arches of St. Joseph's Chapel 
 dwindle to the size of a child's toy. 
 
 Lying about, close to the crumbling 
 walls, are empty sarcophagi. My compan- 
 ion had strolled off to examine a richly 
 carved moulding, and I sat resting in the 
 shade. Suddenly something white stirred 
 softly in a huge gray coffin opposite me ; 
 and noiselessly, deliberately, out of that 
 uncanny depth a great white sheep un- 
 coiled itself, and slowly disappeared in the 
 green distance.
 
 48 TO KING IXA'S WELLE 
 
 But Glastonbury has other associations 
 than those connected with abbot, monk, 
 and friar. It figures largely in the " Idyls 
 of the King," not only as the honoured 
 abiding-place for a time of the mystic cup, 
 but in connection with Arthur himself, 
 whither, according to tradition, the blame- 
 less King was borne to die to this very 
 
 " island-valley of Avilion, 
 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly." 
 
 And here, according to Malmsbury, he was 
 buried, with the fair, if faithless, Guinevere 
 upon his breast. Between two sculptured 
 pyramids in the Monk's Churchyard they 
 are said to lie ; and the veracious chroni- 
 clers of the olden time, whose word there 
 is certainly none to dispute, say that in 
 1191 the grave was discovered and opened. 
 Of course a coffin was found, and equally 
 of course it bore this inscription, in Latin : 
 "Here lies buried, in the Island of Aval- 
 Ionia, the renowned King Arthur." Guine-
 
 AND THE ISLE OF AVALOX 49 
 
 vere's golden hair figures largely in the 
 legend, whose authenticity, as I have stated, 
 no living man can dispute, or disprove. 
 
 True or false, however, fact or fantasy, 
 it was pleasant to dream away the hours of 
 that golden afternoon ; to pace the given 
 distance between a certain well-marked 
 window in St. Joseph's Chapel and the 
 site of the two pyramids; and to please 
 ourselves by imagining that we stood 
 above the very spot where lie the ashes 
 of Arthur and Queen Guinevere.
 
 II 
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 " O HALL it be 4 The Black Swan,' or 
 
 ' The George ' ? One is as good as 
 
 the other, according to the guide-books." 
 
 We had grown a trifle superstitious as to 
 the names of the inns wherein we hoped 
 to take our ease. Altera laughed as she 
 turned the leaves of her vade-mecum. 
 
 We had tried Crabs and Lobsters, White 
 Swans and White Harts, Red Lions and 
 Golden Lions, Unicorns, Eagles, Black 
 Bulls, and Lambs ; and we had turned 
 coldly and resolutely away from the blan- 
 dishments of " The Lion and the Snake," 
 and other equally enticing copartnerships. 
 Of all these creatures only one had proved 
 to be utterly steeped in iniquity, and thar 
 50
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 5! 
 
 one was the type of innocence and purity 
 a lamb. 
 
 To the " Black Swan" we went, and it 
 did not betray our trust. Perhaps it may 
 not be amiss to say, while on this subject, 
 that the station hotels are good, almost 
 without exception, and they are by no 
 means as noisy as one would expect them 
 to be. 
 
 "And now whither?" I said, after 
 luncheon. ' ' The castle will keep, and so 
 will the cathedral. Shall we explore the 
 town?" 
 
 " The town will keep also," was Altera's 
 answer. " Let us go out to Hursley." 
 
 Very soon we were climbing the long 
 hills lying to the southwest of Winchester, 
 on a pilgrimage to the grave of John Keble. 
 A drive of six or seven miles brought us to 
 Hursley, the little village where he was 
 vicar for many years. It is a quiet, se- 
 cluded spot, of so little apparent impor- 
 tance that our maps of England quite ig-
 
 52 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 nored its existence, and we could only find 
 its whereabouts by consulting the local 
 maps of Hampshire. Yet it is beautiful, 
 with a certain rustic grace and simplicity 
 that made it seem not unmeet to have been 
 the home of the saintly singer. Almost at 
 its entrance, and very near the roadside, 
 stood the ivy -grown parish church, embos- 
 omed in trees and surrounded by grassy 
 graves and humble tombs that crowd to its 
 very feet. 
 
 It was mid-afternoon of a still, sweet 
 summer day. The sexton was not to be 
 found, but the church doors were opened 
 wide to the wandering airs and the soft sun- 
 shine. God's house was hospitably free to 
 all who chose to enter a home, a haven of 
 rest, a sanctuary of refuge, for every lonely, 
 needy soul. This particular house is lovely 
 within and without, having been restored 
 and made beautiful by the proceeds of the 
 " Christian Year." Needless to say that 
 it was truly a labour of love. There are
 
 IX AND AROUND WINCHESTER 53 
 
 fine brass tablets in the chancel erected in 
 memory of its author and his wife. We 
 were .glad they were not buried there, un- 
 der bricks and stones and mortar, but out 
 in the quiet sunshine where trees waved, 
 birds sang, and flowers blossomed asleep 
 side by side in the very shadow of the 
 church and vicarage. Buttercups, daisies, 
 and wild grasses grew close to the low 
 tombs, nodding and dancing as gayly as if 
 there was no such thing as death. 
 
 The Old World is a palimpsest. The 
 parchment has been used over and over 
 again. Even this secluded spot was no ex- 
 ception. As in Dumfries the mind wanders 
 back from the statue of Robert Burns, and 
 Gray-Friars' Church near which it stands, 
 to that other, earlier "Church of the Minori- 
 ties" which once occupied the same site, 
 and before whose high altar Robert Bruce 
 slew the Red Comyn, so here we, who 
 had come solely for the sake of John Keble, 
 found ourselves confronted by another in-
 
 54 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 terest. Richard Cromwell, son of Oliver, 
 and second Lord Protector, married Doro- 
 thy, a daughter of Richard, Mayor of Mer- 
 don Castle, Hursley, and lived here during 
 his father's protectorate, devoting himself 
 mainly to the sports of a country gentle- 
 man. It is quaintly said that the great 
 iconoclast "did not think highly of his 
 son's capacity," and that he was more than 
 willing to have him keep out of his impe- 
 rious, if not imperial, presence. Richard 
 and the fair Dorothea, and one, or more, of 
 their children, were buried in the chancel of 
 the old church ; but changes were made 
 when it was rebuilt. Now the tombs and 
 monuments of the Cromwell family are in 
 the southwest corner of the nave. 
 
 After gathering grasses and buttercups 
 as souvenirs of Hursley Churchyard, we 
 drove on a few miles further to pay some 
 visits. Some hours later, returning to 
 Winchester by another route, we followed 
 the fair banks of the Itchen past Bishop-
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 55 
 
 Stoke and Compton, till at length we saw 
 in the distance the green rounded height 
 of St. Catharine's Hill, and below it the 
 square towers of the Church and Hospital 
 of St. Cross. 
 
 We entered in under a fine vaulted gate- 
 way with a square turret above it, and 
 found ourselves in a small court, on one 
 side of which was the porter's lodge. A 
 tall, slender, gentle-eyed woman, with a 
 little boy clinging to her skirts, responded 
 to our knock by opening the upper half of 
 the door. We paid our sixpences, and 
 were about to pass on when she said, with 
 a smile, " Will you have your dole now, or 
 when you have been the rounds ? " 
 
 Now, what our dole might be was quite 
 beyond our knowledge ; but, acting on the 
 principle that a bird in the hand is worth 
 two in the bush, it seemed wise to take it 
 when it was offered. 
 
 So, " We will have it now, if you please," 
 we said gravely. Whereupon the portress
 
 56 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 opened the lower half of the door with a 
 hospitable air, and bade us enter. We 
 were in a small, dark room, one side of 
 which was devoted to a table laden with 
 souvenirs for sale, photographs innumer- 
 able, and dainty porcelain cups, bowls, and 
 jugs decorated with the arms of St. Cross. 
 But we looked round for our dole expec- 
 tantly. From an urn-shaped vessel placed 
 in a niche in the wall the portress filled 
 two drinking-cups horn, bound with sil- 
 ver with pale, amber-coloured beer, and 
 presented them to us with bits of bread 
 about two inches square. 
 
 "The poor get a whole slice," she said, 
 consolingly. The beer was not so bad as 
 to flavour that day, but it was certainly 
 amazingly weak. The " Wayfarer's Dole " 
 is said to be the last known survival of 
 the good old custom of offering food to all 
 chance comers. We felt as if we had gone 
 back seven centuries, notwithstanding the 
 assurance that the Prince of Wales had
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 57 
 
 drank from that very cup only the week 
 before. His Royal Highness must be a 
 frequent guest for several friends of ours 
 have been thus honoured. 
 
 Then we passed under another gateway 
 into the large quadrangle, and paused to 
 look about us. In front of us was a beau- 
 tiful gray church ; to the east an old clois- 
 ter ; to the right, forming two sides of the 
 square, a row of curious low, white houses, 
 with very tall chimneys, connected with a 
 longer building of the same height, but 
 with a broad arched doorway and an 
 imposing flight of steps. Each little house 
 had its own little garden, gay with flowers. 
 Around the great green quadrangle ran a 
 broad gravelled walk. In its centre was an 
 old sun-dial on a gray, time-eaten pedestal. 
 As we looked, still standing near the gate, 
 a gentle-faced old man in a black gown, 
 with a silver cross on his breast, came 
 slowly across the square looking at us in- 
 quiringly. There was an air of almost
 
 58 IN AND AROUNI> WINCHESTER 
 
 infantile sweetness and simplicity about 
 him, an atmosphere of unworldliness, so 
 to speak, that captivated us at once. In a 
 timorous, hesitating way he half extended 
 his hand in welcome, and then half withdrew 
 it again ; and when we cordially gave him 
 ours, begging him to show us the beautiful old 
 place, he beamed and brightened, stepping 
 off bravely as he led us from point to point, 
 babbling delightedly like a happy child. 
 
 The "Ancient Hospital of St. Cross" is 
 not in the least a hospital, in the modern 
 acceptation of the word. It is a home for 
 poor and desolate old men, and represents 
 two distinct "foundations" that of Bishop 
 Henri de Blois, grandson of William the 
 Conqueror, in 1136, and that of Cardinal 
 Beaufort, son of old John of Gaunt, in 
 1444. That of Bishop Blois was intended 
 to wholly support "thirteen poor men, fee- 
 ble, and so reduced in strength that they 
 cannot support themselves." A hundred 
 other poor men were to be given their din-
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 59 
 
 ners daily. After the establishment of 'this 
 charity, it was placed in the charge of the 
 Knights Hospitallers of Jerusalem. All 
 went well for a time, but then came quar- 
 rels and misunderstandings, cheating and 
 rapacity. The funds dwindled till the 
 Hundred Men's Dinner failed, and the 
 Thirteen Brethren had to shift for them- 
 selves. At length brave William of Wyke- 
 ham came to the rescue, and recovered 
 much of the alienated property ; and in 
 1444 Cardinal Beaufort added large endow- 
 ments, increased the buildings, and called 
 the establishment "The Almshouse of 
 Noble Poverty." This later foundation 
 also had its ups and downs, becoming at 
 last the prey of mercenary money-changers 
 to such a degree that, on the accession of 
 Henry VII., the income was only enough 
 for the support of a chaplain and two 
 brethren. By good management, however, 
 it was at length restored to more than its 
 original prosperity, and the present income
 
 60 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 from both foundations is between 3,000 
 and 4,000. 
 
 The scheme of management provides, 
 among other things, "that the sep'arate 
 existence of the two foundations of the 
 Hospital of St. Cross and the Almshouse 
 of Noble Poverty be clearly recognized; 
 that the maintenance of the Hospital shall 
 be the first charge on the combined income, 
 and that the number of these brethren shall 
 not be less than thirteen." It also provides 
 that the brethren of the Almshouse of Noble 
 Poverty shall be chosen from men who by 
 misfortune have been reduced from wealth 
 to penury. There are now seventeen resi- 
 dent brethren, besides the master and 
 other clergy, and new buildings are about 
 to be erected for the accommodation of a 
 larger number. 
 
 To go back to our dear old gentleman. 
 There was nothing he did not know, and 
 his pride in the place was beautiful to see. 
 Every stone in the church had a story,
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 6l 
 
 every window and arch a tongue. To him 
 there was nothing so important, nothing 
 so well worth seeing, in the whole wide 
 world as what he was showing us at 
 that very moment in the quadrangle of St. 
 Cross. His placid face seemed to be part 
 of the scene and to belong to it. What to 
 him was the fever and tumult of the life 
 outside ? what the surging thunder of the 
 waves that he only heard in the far dis- 
 tance ? what the mad whirl of the rushing, 
 swarming, scheming, bargaining, fighting 
 multitudes ? What had his own past been ? 
 Whatever it was, he had forgotten it, with 
 its pains and its conflicts. For him there 
 remained, until the day of his death, only 
 an infinite peace. 
 
 There was a lump in my throat, and a 
 very suspicious aching, as we followed him 
 from church to cloister, and from thence 
 across the court to the " Hundred Mennes 
 Hall," where the brethren still dine to- 
 gether on state occasions, or u gaudy days "
 
 62 IX AND AROUND 
 
 as our guide called them. Here the old, 
 blackened roof-timbers still remain ; here 
 is the gallery from which grace was said 
 and the benediction given, and where often 
 the minstrels sang and the harpers played 
 in the old days of knights and trouba- 
 dours ; here is the dais at the east for the 
 high officials, with the humbler tables of 
 the brothers ranged along the sides; and 
 here is the old fireplace, clouded by the 
 smoke of centuries. Here are the black 
 leathern " Jacks," or jugs, wherein the beer 
 once foamed, and, safely shrined behind 
 glass doors, the salt-cellars and candle- 
 sticks of the great Cardinal himself. You 
 may sit in his chair if you please, and 
 fancy yourself Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 In the kitchen our gentle old guide 
 showed us the great tables where the 
 "joints" are carved. 
 
 " We choose for the best cuts," he said, 
 "taking our turns in order. See!" and 
 he laughed gleefully as he pointed to a
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 63 
 
 list of names fastened to the wall. "It 
 will be my turn to-morrow, for I am 
 Brother Comas. That's my name the 
 third one." 
 
 As we came out into the quadrangle 
 again he hesitated a moment. " Would 
 you like to see how the brethren live?" 
 he asked. "Would it please you to see 
 my rooms ? " 
 
 Indeed it would ! And he moved with 
 great alacrity down the gravelled walk to 
 one of the tiny houses. These are quite 
 distinct, though not detached, each having 
 its own tall chimney in front, projecting 
 like a buttress. 
 
 "Here's where I live," he said, with a 
 charming air of proprietorship. " We're 
 very comfortable. There's no choice here. 
 The houses are all alike." 
 
 There was a sitting-room, or parlour, with 
 a bright little latticed window and a fire- 
 place, a bedroom with a neat white bed, 
 and a tiny kitchen, or buttery, with a sink
 
 64 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 and running water. A little round table 
 was drawn up before the fire, and the 
 cloth was laid, with a pretty teacup and 
 saucer and sundry other dishes. Brother 
 Comas had evidently been about to make 
 his own tea when our approach interrupted 
 the ceremony. He prattled away like a 
 pleased child, showing us all his small 
 treasures, and evidently enjoying our in- 
 terest in his affairs as much as we did. 
 Bright little pictures and Christmas cards 
 adorned the white walls, and he displayed 
 with great pride a photograph of the 
 Queen, in a walnut frame. 
 
 " We each had a picture of Her Maj- 
 esty, for a present, on Coronation Day," 
 he said. "A young lady sent them to us. 
 It was Lord Eversley's daughter," and 
 we thought it was very nice of the young 
 lady. May she live long, and be happy ! 
 "These things amuse us," he added 
 gently. "Now you must see my garden, 
 and have some flowers."
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 65 
 
 "To remember you by?" said Altera. 
 "But we shall not need them for that." 
 
 I wanted a daisy, or a violet, or at least 
 a pansy ; some simple flower that should 
 be like the old man himself. But that 
 was not to be thought of. ' ' They are 
 too common," he said, and persisted in 
 giving us great waxy, scentless, red and 
 white fuchsias that obstinately refused to 
 be pressed, and, in fact, dropped from their 
 stems before we got back to the Black 
 Swan. But we carried away with us some- 
 thing better than flowers the memory of 
 a beautiful charity, and a picture of lovely, 
 serene old age whose colours will never 
 fade. Good-by, dear old Brother Comas! 
 
 One should spend weeks, months, years, 
 not days, in Winchester. There is no spot 
 in all England better worth study, or more 
 compact with historic associations not 
 even London, or the great Abbey itself 
 where the historic heart of London beats. 
 Its well-authenticated annals date from
 
 66 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 B.C. 700, when its first settlers came from the 
 north of France. Then followed the Belgse, 
 who named the place the White City. Ju- 
 lius Caesar, with his army, visited it B.C. 
 54. Nearly a century later the Emperor 
 Vespasian, cruising round the southern 
 coast, reached the river Itchen, up which 
 he pressed till arrested by St. Catharine's 
 Hill, then the site of a British fort. This 
 he captured, and so commanded the whole 
 valley. Traces of the Roman occupation 
 of Winchester are found on every side ; and 
 from it still run the six great Roman roads 
 that connected it with every important 
 town in the Kingdom. In 514 the city was 
 taken by Cerdic, the Saxon, and a great 
 heathen power was built up that had its 
 headquarters at Hants, and stretched its 
 strong arms in every direction. A wild 
 and warlike people, tracing their descent 
 from Odin, its Saxon conquerors lived in 
 Teutonic fashion, and their worship was a 
 nature worship, their altars being the hill-
 
 IN ANO AROUND WINCHESTER 67 
 
 tops and their sacred trees the oak and the 
 ash. But at last there came to them a 
 great civilizing force in the person of " Bir- 
 inus, the Italian Monk, the Benedictine, 
 the Winchester saint. . . . Wessex grew 
 into England. And of this Wessex, this 
 early England, Winchester became the ac- 
 knowledged capital." 
 
 A glorious capital it was, the seat of 
 learning and the arts, the home of kings, 
 the culminating point of priestly pomp and 
 power. High Street is English history 
 written in stone. One can hardly say it is 
 beautiful, though it has beautiful features, 
 save when the moonlight irradiates, softens, 
 and glorifies it, deepening the shadows, 
 and making the gabled roofs, the high, 
 narrow, rounding facades, the projecting 
 balconies, the ancient casements, appear as 
 if mounted in silver. At its head a noble 
 arched gateway leads to all that is left of 
 the ancient castle, one of the fortresses of 
 William of Normandy, and his favourite resi-
 
 68 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 dence. From it William Rufus went forth 
 to the hunt on that last fatal morning. 
 Here for twenty years Eleanora of Aqui- 
 taine lived under guard, a prisoner in her 
 own palace. Here her son, Cceur de Lion, 
 was welcomed by his nobles when he re- 
 turned from captivity. Here kings have 
 died and kings have been born ; here lust 
 has reigned, and rapine and intrigue ; and 
 here foul murder has been done till the 
 courtyard ran with blood, as befitted a me- 
 diaeval castle. But all that remains now is 
 the great hall, with its lofty marble columns 
 supporting the groined roof, and its fine 
 thirteenth century windows that give it a 
 most churchly air all save the base of a 
 tower, some traces of a moat, and a subter- 
 ranean passage or two. 
 
 But what is that great round thing hang- 
 ing on the wall? 
 
 "That round thing, madam," says the 
 guide, severely but impressively "that 
 round thing is the Table of King Arthur I "
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 69 
 
 We held our breath. It was the next 
 thing to making believe find his grave, and 
 Guinevere's, at Glastonbury. 
 
 The "round thing" is a great wooden 
 wheel, with something that looks like a 
 Tudor rose in the centre, from which radi- 
 ate twenty-four divisions, each bearing the 
 name of a knight. A grotesque figure of 
 the blameless King at once crowns and 
 binds together the circle. The framework 
 at the back of the curious structure cer- 
 tainly gives some plausibility to the idea 
 that it may once have been the top of a 
 table; as there seem to be mortises for 
 twelve legs, as well as for a support in the 
 middle. At any rate, it is very old, for a 
 chronicler who died four centuries ago re- 
 fers to it in connection with the castle ; and 
 it was regarded as a noteworthy antique 
 as far back as the reign of Henry VI. 
 
 It is a mortifying, if ludicrous, fact that 
 travellers sometimes shed their tears, meta- 
 phorically speaking, on the wrong spot
 
 70 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 an experience that befell us at Winchester. 
 The old, old story, even if it is a fable, of 
 Henry II. and Eleanor, Rosamond, the 
 bower, and the silken clue at Woodstock, 
 was enough to make us feel interested in 
 the place of the Queen's long imprisonment 
 here. One day we started out to find it. 
 It was before we had been to the castle ; 
 and, perhaps not unnaturally, as the guide- 
 books gave us no information on that point, 
 we supposed that edifice and the royal pal- 
 ace to be quite distinct. We went first to 
 the college the famous " Seinte Marie 
 College of Wynchestre," founded by Will- 
 iam of Wykehain, and the Alma Mater 
 of so many of England's best and bravest. 
 But it was vacation. The fine old build- 
 ings were undergoing a u transitional " 
 process by way of housecleaning and gen- 
 eral freshening up, that would have done 
 their learned founder's heart good had he 
 been there to see. We had to content our- 
 selves with glimpses of the gateways, the
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 7! 
 
 quadrangles, and the cloisters. Boys will 
 be boys, even if they afterward grow to be 
 bishops ; and if deprived of the glorious 
 privilege of using their jackknives on oaken 
 benches, they will find a way to hew their 
 names in stone. It was something to read, 
 cut by his own hand, "Thos. Ken. 1646." 
 Years afterward, his evening and morn- 
 ing hymns were written for a manual of 
 prayers arranged for the use of the Win- 
 chester boys. 
 
 But as we could not gain admission to 
 the chapel or refectory, we did not linger 
 long. Once more outside, and wandering 
 down an outlying street, we came to the 
 remains of a moat, a high wall, and a gate. 
 It was fastened ; but as we looked through 
 the bars we saw a boy in a cart driving 
 down a winding, shaded road toward us. 
 
 " What is this place ? " I asked, for we 
 saw ruins and an ivy-mantled tower in the 
 distance. " Can we go in ?" 
 
 "It is the old palace, lady," the lad an-
 
 72 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 
 
 swered. " I am at work in there, and have 
 orders to keep the gate fastened. But if 
 you want to go in while I am gone with 
 this load, I can let you out when I come 
 back." 
 
 The old palace of Winchester, of which 
 we were in search ! Accepting the offer of 
 temporary imprisonment gladly, we en- 
 tered the still, shady inclosure and wan- 
 dered about the pile of crumbling ruins, so 
 entrancingly beautiful in their picturesque, 
 ivy-wreathed decay, for a long half-hour, 
 wondering out of which of the fair case- 
 ments the imprisoned Queen had looked 
 with tear-wet eyes when, in that memorable 
 letter to the Pope, she declared herself to 
 be "Eleaiiora, by the wrath of God Queen 
 of England." She may have been a bad 
 woman as undoubtedly she was but 
 she was also so wretched in her last sorrow- 
 laden years that no woman can refuse to 
 pity her. 
 
 The boy came back at last and let us out.
 
 IN AND AROUND WINCHESTER 73 
 
 Months afterward, by close study of a map 
 of Winchester, we unfortunately discovered 
 that the ruins over which we had heaved 
 our sighs were those of the magnificent 
 Bishop's Palace which was demolished by 
 the soldiers of the Commonwealth, and is 
 not known to have had any connection 
 whatever with the once gay and beautiful 
 Eleanora of Aquitaine.
 
 HI 
 
 WINCHESTER AND ITS SHADOW 
 PICTURES 
 
 II JEAN WHILE, had we not seen the 
 Cathedral? Certainly we had, and 
 more than once. But who shall attempt 
 to describe that which is indescribable ? 
 Externally, Winchester is less beautiful 
 than its neighbours, Salisbury and Wells. 
 It is grand, sombre, fortress-like, this 
 largest of the English cathedrals, which 
 is 556 feet from east to west forty -two 
 feet longer than majestic Canterbury. The 
 vast mountain of stone seems heavy ; and 
 one longs for soaring spires and lofty 
 turrets to lift it heavenward. But all this 
 is forgotten when once one enters in at 
 the comparatively low west entrance, and 
 the eye takes in the splendid, unbroken 
 74
 
 WINCHESTER 75 
 
 sweep of nave and choir and presbytery, 
 to the great altar and the glorious window 
 above it. The choir-screen is so low that 
 one looks over it into the glory beyond ; 
 and if the cathedral visitor ever feels like 
 chanting a Te Deum, it is when he can 
 do this. Even here he would almost be 
 willing to sacrifice the white reredos, with 
 its exquisite, lace-like, airy pinnacles, for 
 the sake of being able to see in one swift 
 glance what lies behind it. Yet doubtless 
 the mighty builders knew what they were 
 about. It is well sometimes to go on 
 "from glory to glory." 
 
 If it did not come to him in some rare 
 dream of the night for which he was in 
 no wise responsible, William of Wykeham 
 was a bold man when he conceived the 
 idea of changing the heavy Norman col- 
 umns of the nave into the springing, soar- 
 ing, perpendicular Gothic. Yet the un- 
 touched transepts are so magnificent in 
 their massive, Titanic grandeur, that one
 
 76 WINCHESTER 
 
 could almost sympathize with one of the 
 enthusiastic vergers, who exclaimed, with 
 a wave of the hand that included the 
 whole lofty nave, " With all due reverence 
 for our noble William of Wykeham, I 
 sometimes wish he had let it alone ! " 
 
 Winchester is rich beyond all words in 
 shrines and tombs and chantries innumer- 
 able, where the insensate marble blossoms 
 into airy, flower-like forms that seem too 
 delicate to be the work of the human 
 chisel. In one of the proudest of all, on 
 the very spot where, as a boy, he prayed, 
 William of Wykeham, architect, bishop, 
 chancellor, keeper of the privy seal, and 
 founder of two colleges, sleeps his last 
 sleep in a bed of his own devising. 
 
 The mere roll-call of the men who are 
 buried in Winchester stirs the soul like 
 the sound of a trumpet kings, cardinals, 
 warriors, and statesmen, whose words and 
 deeds changed the destinies of nations. 
 Here, too, in the north aisle of the nave,
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 77 
 
 with the soaring, fan-traceried vaultings of 
 the roof bending over her like tree-tops, lies 
 gentle, white-souled Jane Austen, and near 
 her brilliant Lady Montague. Mindful of 
 certain young men I know, who love old 
 Isaac Walton better than any priest or 
 prelate of them all, I tried long and vainly 
 to find his tomb. Then I appealed to the 
 verger. "Come with me," he whispered 
 for it was during the evening service. 
 Leading the way to Prior Silkstede's Chapel, 
 he lifted a rug from the floor, and on a 
 dingy black marble slab I read this: 
 
 " Here Lyeth the body of 
 
 MR. IZAAK WALTON, 
 
 Who dyed the 16th of December, 
 
 1683. 
 
 Alas ! Hee's gone before, 
 Gone to returne no more. 
 Our panting Breasts aspire 
 After their aged sire, 
 Whose well spent life did last 
 Full ninety years, and past,
 
 78 WINCHESTER 
 
 But now he hath begun 
 That which shall nere be done, 
 Crowned with eternall Blisse 
 We wish our souls with his. 
 Votis modestis sic pier unt liberi." 
 
 It did not seem a fitting resting-place 
 for the gentle angler, in that dark corner, 
 with a weight of marble on his breast. 
 He should lie with Keble, instead, in the 
 sunny churchyard at Hursley. 
 
 Winchester suffered terribly during many 
 a civil war, even before the days of the 
 Roundheads. But Cromwell's troopers 
 seemed to have an especial spite against 
 it. They used the beautiful choir and 
 presbytery as stables, and made kindling 
 wood of the exquisite oak carving of the 
 stalls. There is scarcely a spot where in- 
 tolerance and iconoclasm have not wrought 
 their wild will. The great west window 
 is now filled with precious fragments of 
 thirteenth century glass which were col- 
 lected by some pious soul after the spears
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 79 
 
 of the Roundheads had done their work 
 of destruction. Every tomb, every effigy, 
 every base and column, shows the marks 
 of the disfiguring hammer. On one of the 
 mural monuments are sculptured figures of 
 three lovely little boys. One has lost both 
 feet, another his hands, and the other his 
 nose. One room is a storehouse of frag- 
 ments headless trunks, broken legs, 
 arms, and heads, some of them of great 
 beauty. The wholesale destruction is sick- 
 ening. But nothing touched us so deeply as 
 the empty coffin of a baby, with the stone 
 pillow hollowed out to receive the little 
 head. It was a hard couch, at the best, 
 for which to exchange a mother's soft, 
 warm bosom. Yet the baby could not 
 keep even that, and its ashes are scattered 
 to the four winds. 
 
 While we were in this "chamber of hor- 
 rors," a Scotchwoman, tall, grave, sedate, 
 and severe, with a group of young girls in her 
 charge, joined our party. The lassies were
 
 80 WINCHESTER 
 
 shocked at the wanton, wholesale slaughter 
 of the innocents. " It is such a pity ! such 
 a pity ! " cried one of them, touching a 
 mutilated arm with her soft fingers. 
 
 " No ! no ! " exclaimed the elder woman, 
 turning upon her sharply. "Do not say 
 that ! It was a war with superstition. 
 Remember that with every blow of the 
 hammer a soul was set free." 
 
 But young Scotia, as well as young 
 America, has ideas of its own. The girl 
 coloured to the temples under the rebuke 
 of her chaperon ; but she repeated, half 
 under her breath, "Nevertheless, I am 
 sorry; I cannot see how this was serving 
 God, or doing His will." 
 
 Winchester is a place wherein to see 
 visions and to dream dreams. In spite of 
 one's will, the spiritual eye grows blind to 
 the splendours of to-day, the spiritual ear 
 grows dead to the echoing thunder of the 
 great organ, the voices of the chanters 
 chanting ever so loudly, the swell of the
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 8 1 
 
 high anthems, and the intoning of the 
 prayers. What does it matter that much 
 has changed, and that there is little, or 
 nothing, visible now to recall the Anglo- 
 Saxon cathedral up whose humbler nave 
 Egbert the Saxon, first king of all Eng- 
 land, marched to his crowning? So does 
 yonder tree change, season by season. 
 There is not a fibre of it, root, trunk, bough, 
 branch, or leaf, that did its office a hundred 
 years ago. Yet it is the same tree. And so 
 we may truly say it was here that Alfred 
 came to pray ; it was to this altar the peo- 
 ple crowded in their extremity with the 
 heaven-piercing cry, "Deliver us, Lord, 
 from the fury of the Northmen." Twenty 
 years more, and up the broad aisles sweeps 
 a bridal train, and Ethelred the Unready 
 weds Emma, the Fair Maid of Normandy, 
 the fame of whose beauty has come down 
 to this far day. Fair indeed she must 
 have been on that bridal morn in the pride 
 of her youth and loveliness, the pomp and 
 o
 
 82 WINCHESTER 
 
 splendour of her marriage robes, and the 
 gleam of the jewels that her eyes outshone. 
 But the pageant fades, the picture 
 changes. Dim lights burn low upon the 
 altar, only intensifying the deep shadows 
 that lurk in the near spaces. All else is 
 dark and sombre. No ray of the faint, far 
 light penetrates the deep gloom without the 
 choir, or gilds its darkness with a passing 
 glory. Prone on the steps of the altar a 
 woman clad in sackcloth lies all night long, 
 with her fair hair dishevelled and her 
 cheeks pale with prayer and watching. 
 "Mother of sorrows, help me, save me!" 
 she cries, lifting her clasped hands to the 
 pitying face of the Virgin. For, on the 
 morrow, Emma of Normandy, wife of 
 Ethelred, and mother of Edward the Con- 
 fessor, now a faded woman whose youth 
 has fled like a dream, is by her own de- 
 mand to undergo as a test of innocence the 
 fearful ordeal by fire ; and to walk barefoot 
 over the nine red-hot ploughshares placed
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 83 
 
 yonder in the nave. Whether this de- 
 mand is born of conscious rectitude, or of 
 bravado, let us not inquire too closely. 
 Yet, ere another nightfall, her proud son 
 Edward shall kneel in abasement and sub- 
 mit to penance before this same altar, im- 
 ploring pardon of Heaven and of her. 
 
 Hark ! to the tramp and the neighing of 
 steeds, to the shouts and oaths of retainers 
 and grooms, to the clashing of armour and 
 the ringing of steel. The west door swings 
 open. With a dozen men-at-arms at his 
 heels, who comes hither in brazen helmet 
 and shirt of mail, with breastplate and 
 hauberk, spear and shield? He comes 
 from Southampton, and his name is Ca- 
 nute. The stony pavement rings beneath 
 his tread, as he strides on past the great 
 tower-piers into the choir, and hangs his 
 jewelled crown above the high altar. It is 
 an offering from him whom the sea would 
 not obey, to Him who made the sea the 
 King of kings.
 
 84 WINCHESTER 
 
 Many another comes and goes ; and now 
 it is " the smiling season of the year, when 
 days are long and bright" Whitsunday, 
 1068. The great church is ablaze with 
 light and colour, decked for a festival in 
 deed, with hangings of purple and cloth of 
 gold, rich embroideries, and laces worth a 
 duke's ransom. From door to chancel are 
 spread the wondrous tapestries of France 
 and the Orient, for one cometh whom the 
 King delights to honour. How shall Will- 
 iam of Normandy more fitly celebrate the 
 coronation of Matilda, his queen, than by 
 being himself recrowned, with a pomp and 
 splendour that shall quite overshadow the 
 earlier ceremony at Westminster ? Hearken 
 now to the joyful clamour of the bells, and 
 the peal of the great organ as the stately 
 procession advances ! How eagerly do the 
 nobles of England, her knights and barons, 
 lean forward to catch the first glimpse of 
 their Norman queen ! Her step is full of 
 grace and dignity, her mien is majesty
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 85 
 
 itself. Her face is beautiful and delicate ; 
 her hair falls in long, waving tresses be- 
 neath her transparent veil. And see ! she 
 wears the "mantle worked at Winchester 
 by Aldaret's wife " for the Saxon women 
 were famed even then for their fine needle- 
 work. Beneath it the modest stole is gath- 
 ered round the throat in regular folds ; and 
 a robe of silver tissue, with falling sleeves, 
 and a gemmed girdle confining the rich 
 plaits that sweep the ground, completes a 
 costume worthy of a Greek goddess. Pass 
 on, Matilda of Flanders, and bend your 
 stately head to receive the crown from 
 Aldred, Archbishop of York. But as you 
 receive it, pray for there are dark days 
 coming, wherein your woman's heart shall 
 quail. Shall curfew ring to-night, lovely 
 queen ? 
 
 Storm and tempest, and a mighty rushing 
 wind ; the fierce glare of the lightning, and 
 the crashing of thunderbolts. No festal 
 day is this. The church is sombre as the
 
 86 WINCHESTER 
 
 grave that yawns beneath the great tower. 
 Yet scarcely a man or woman in England, 
 or in the whole earth, mourns, though an 
 arrow has hit the mark in New Forest, and 
 a bloody corse is borne hither for burial. 
 Lay it down if you dare, in this consecrated 
 spot, O lords and nobles ! Say your prayers 
 over it, O priests ! But the very stones 
 of your tower will cry out at the sacrilege, 
 and refuse to lift their fine tracery above 
 the dust of William Rufus. 
 
 Again the vision changes. Who is this, 
 the embodiment of martial and manly 
 grace, "with yellow curls, a bright com- 
 plexion, and a figure like Mars himself" 
 who but Cceur de Lion, bold knight, 
 valiant crusader, challenger of Saladin, 
 troubadour, minstrel, and poet, just home 
 from the wars and ready for his second 
 crowning here at Winchester? Verily, 
 there must have been a strange charm in 
 the wearing of coronation robes, or else the 
 crown was most unstable, when the cere-
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 87 
 
 monial had need to be so oft repeated. 
 Slowly the young king moves from arch to 
 arch, under a canopy of white satin with 
 golden fringe, which is borne on the glitter- 
 ing lances of four noble knights, his com- 
 rades on the tented field. From every 
 coign of vantage myriads of eyes are bent 
 upon him, and the noise of the slight stir- 
 ring of the multitude is like the rustling of 
 leaves in a mighty forest. Richard wears 
 a rose-coloured tunic belted round the 
 waist, and over it is a long mantle of striped 
 silver tissue, embroidered with silver half- 
 moons. His sword of fine Damascus steel 
 has a hilt of gold, and on those yellow curls 
 a plumed and jewelled cap sits jauntily. 
 Many a maiden's heart beats quickly as his 
 bold, bright eyes do homage to the fairest of 
 the fair for is not her monarch the very 
 flower of chivalry, the rose and thorn of 
 war ? And is there not a wild rumour of es- 
 trangement between him and Berengaria of 
 Navarre ? Strange things may come to pass !
 
 QO WINCHESTER 
 
 of Saint George, and of his Fader and 
 Moder." 
 
 But the multiplied "Blessynges" failed 
 to bring him long life, and the next 
 pageant in which our young Prince Arthur 
 bore part was that of his burial. 
 
 Now another century has passed. Where 
 shall Henry VIII. entertain his friend and 
 royal brother, the Emperor Charles V., if 
 not in Winchester Castle, and where shall 
 the two saintly confreres say their prayers 
 if not in the Cathedral? They kneel at 
 the confessional ; they pay their oblations ; 
 they receive absolution for their royal sins ; 
 and then off they go, striding down the 
 nave with clash of sword and glint of 
 spur, ready for new deeds of darkness 
 murder, and rapine, and the betrayal of 
 the innocent. 
 
 There is a " cruel wind and a down- 
 pouring rain" on Monday, July 25, 1554, 
 when Philip of Spain, with a cavalcade of 
 four thousand gentlemen, rides into Win-
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 9! 
 
 Chester to meet his bride, Mary of England. 
 But first for, cruel and bigoted and im- 
 moral as he is, he is " strict in all religious 
 observances" the impatient bridegroom 
 piously conies hither to pray. Already 
 the vast arches are being made glorious 
 for the bridal that shall bring such woe to 
 England. The church is "richly hanged 
 with Arras and Cloth of Gold," and "from 
 the west dore unto the Roode " is a raised 
 platform "covered all with Redd Saye," 
 on which their imperial highnesses are to 
 walk to their "traverses," or thrones, 
 " underneth the Roode Lofte." It is 
 Wednesday now, and the imposing cere- 
 monial begins. The Prince, magnificently 
 apparelled and " accompany ed by a great 
 nomber of the Nobles of Spaine in such 
 sorte as the like hath not been seen," and 
 Her Majesty, in more than equal magnifi- 
 cence, attended by the flower of the Eng- 
 lish nobility, pass through the choir into 
 the Lady-Chapel, where their vows are
 
 90 WINCHESTER 
 
 of Saint George, and of his Fader and 
 Moder." 
 
 But the multiplied "Blessynges" failed 
 to bring him long life, and the next 
 pageant in which our young Prince Arthur 
 bore part was that of his burial. 
 
 Now another century has passed. Where 
 shall Henry VIII. entertain his friend and 
 royal brother, the Emperor Charles V., if 
 not in Winchester Castle, and where shall 
 the two saintly confreres say their prayers 
 if not in the Cathedral? They kneel at 
 the confessional ; they pay their oblations ; 
 they receive absolution for their royal sins ; 
 and then off they go, striding down the 
 nave with clash of sword and glint of 
 spur, ready for new deeds of darkness 
 murder, and rapine, and the betrayal of 
 the innocent. 
 
 There is a " cruel wind and a down- 
 pouring rain" on Monday, July 25, 1554, 
 when Philip of Spain, with a cavalcade of 
 four thousand gentlemen, rides into Win-
 
 AND ITS SHADOW PICTURES 9! 
 
 Chester to meet his bride, Mary of England. 
 But first for, cruel and bigoted and im- 
 moral as he is, he is "strict in all religious 
 observances" the impatient bridegroom 
 piously conies hither to pray. Already 
 the vast arches are being made glorious 
 for the bridal that shall bring such woe to 
 England. The church is "richly hanged 
 with Arras and Cloth of Gold," and " from 
 the west dore unto the Roode " is a raised 
 platform "covered all with Redd Saye," 
 on which their imperial highnesses are to 
 walk to their "traverses," or thrones, 
 "underneth the Roode Lofte." It is 
 Wednesday now, and the imposing cere- 
 monial begins. The Prince, magnificently 
 apparelled and " accompany ed by a great 
 nomber of the Nobles of Spaine in such 
 sorte as the like hath not been seen," and 
 Her Majesty, in more than equal magnifi- 
 cence, attended by the flower of the Eng- 
 lish nobility, pass through the choir into 
 the Lady-Chapel, where their vows are
 
 92 WINCHESTER 
 
 to be exchanged. Six bishops, with their 
 croziers borne before them, take part in 
 the stately service, when, in the name of 
 the realm, Mary is given away by the 
 Marquis of Winchester. The chapel is 
 ablaze with, jewels, but when the ring is 
 placed upon the royal finger, it is a plain 
 circlet. Her Majesty wills to be "wedded 
 with a plain hoop of gold, like any other 
 maiden." 
 
 Let us turn away for from this brilliant 
 marriage shall come pain and travail and 
 unutterable woe. English blood shall flow 
 like water, and fires shall be kindled that 
 will be the very flames of hell. 
 
 Thus it is that the shadow pictures come 
 and go all the while that the prayers are 
 being prayed, and the anthems chanted, 
 and the high pure voices of the choir boys 
 soar like skylarks into the far heaven of 
 the roof. 
 
 Is that the benediction? Let us go 
 hence.
 
 IV 
 
 A BOY BISHOP 
 
 Ylf HEN we reached Salisbury on a cer- 
 tain fair evening late in June we were 
 still under the strong enchantment of the 
 spells woven about us by Wells and Glaston- 
 bury. We were still living and moving in a 
 dream from which we were slow to awaken. 
 Perhaps it was for this reason solely that 
 Salisbury seemed to us an enchanter less 
 subtle, less powerful, than its neighbours. 
 
 Be this as it may, and making all due al- 
 lowance for moods and tenses, it is certain 
 that we found Salisbury Cathedral more 
 beautiful and charming than impressive. 
 The witchery, the glamour, of moonlight 
 seems a part of Wells, and to belong to it. 
 Winchester is bathed in a twilight glory, 
 indescribable, incommunicable. But Salis- 
 93
 
 94 A BOY BISHOP 
 
 bury, wonderfully beautiful in its exterior, 
 with its setting of green closes and over- 
 shadowing trees, with its soaring spire, so 
 light, so graceful, so airy, that the eye follows 
 its upward flight into the blue sky as it fol- 
 lows the flight of a bird, yet lacks something 
 of the atmosphere of romance and mystery. 
 It is broad, clear daylight. The whole mag- 
 nificent structure is gay, brilliant, almost 
 buoyant, rather than grand. The shining 
 floors, the glittering, glistering brass of 
 choir-screen and lectern, the green lustre 
 of the polished Purbeck shafts, all are ra- 
 diant in the clear white light that streams 
 into the gloriously vaulted nave from the 
 triple lancets of the great clerestory win- 
 dows. Here are no brooding shadows, no 
 deep, mysterious recesses wherein thought 
 and imagination lose themselves ; here is 
 no "dim, religious light," strained through 
 jewelled casements that hold the captive 
 sunshine of six hundred years. So bright 
 and fair is the vast airy space, that the tombs
 
 A BOY BISHOP 95 
 
 and effigies ranged in long rows beneath the 
 great arches seem strangely out of place. 
 One wonders how they can sleep here so 
 quietly, these mail-clad warriors, these 
 stately beauties in ruff and girdled robe, 
 these saintly men and women whose clasped 
 hands have been lifted in mute, imploring 
 prayer for so many centuries. The roll-call 
 is long, and the names are famous. Here 
 lies William Longspee, son of Henry II. and 
 Fair Rosamond Clifford, in chain mail, with 
 his good sword by his side, and on his left 
 arm his shield, bearing six lions rampant. 
 The sturdy legs are uncrossed, to show us 
 he was no crusader in spite of shield and 
 surcoat. But yonder lies his son, with 
 hand on hilt of sword, a lion at his feet, and 
 his legs crossed like those of the bronze 
 knights in Temple Church. This second 
 William Longspee was one of the most 
 celebrated of the crusaders under Saint 
 Louis, and was slain fighting for cross and 
 holy sepulchre at Cairo in 1250.
 
 96 A BOY BISHOP 
 
 There, too, in the Lady-Chapel, with no 
 "marble herse" to mark the spot, are the 
 ashes of 
 
 " The glory of all verse, 
 Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother," 
 
 whose name, thus embalmed, will outlast 
 that of any knight or crusader of them 
 all. 
 
 We lingered long beside the tomb of the 
 Boy Bishop, on which lies the effigy of a 
 child not more than three feet long, but 
 wearing the robe and mitre of a bishop. 
 In the small left hand is the pastoral staff, 
 and the right is raised in benediction. 
 There is a curious legend connected with 
 this tomb. The story goes that upon St. 
 Nicholas' Day the boys of the choir were 
 accustomed to elect, from their own num- 
 ber, one who for a month (or till Holy 
 Innocents' Day) was known as the Boy 
 or Choral Bishop, while the other boys 
 acted as canons. What part they took in 
 the ordinary worship of the month, this
 
 A BOY BISHOP 97 
 
 chronicler is unable to say. But on the 
 eve of Innocents' Day they all attended 
 the Cathedral service in great state, enter- 
 ing by the west door in due processional 
 pomp, and proceeded, chanting, up the nave 
 to the high altar. There was swinging 
 of incense and burning of tapers as the 
 magnificent service went on " according to 
 the use of Saruin." 
 
 Out of this curious religious pageant 
 was evolved, so to speak, the Collect, "O 
 Almighty God, who out of the mouths 
 of babes and sucklings hast ordained 
 strength," etc. In this particular in- 
 stance, the Boy Bishop died during the 
 month of his "little brief authority" and 
 was buried, like a real prelate, with great 
 pomp and in full pontifical robes. 
 
 It is a pity to spoil this pretty story, but 
 alas ! the world is given over to iconoclasts. 
 There are those who regard it as a fable, 
 a myth, and maintain that this small 
 marble is nothing more nor less than an
 
 98 A BOY BISHOP 
 
 effigy in miniature of some one of the old 
 bishops of Sarum, whose very name is 
 forgotten. Yet no one knows of a surety ; 
 and as we are told that "Blind unbelief 
 is sure to err," we may as well keep 
 unwavering faith in the Boy Bishop of 
 Salisbury. 
 
 Another monument that interested us 
 deeply, not for the beauty it lacks, but 
 for its historic associations, was that of 
 Edward, Earl of Hertford, and his Count- 
 ess, the sister of Lady Jane Grey. For 
 this marriage he was imprisoned, as was 
 she also. But the wife was more fortunate 
 than the husband. They were separated 
 by her release from the Tower, and she 
 died the following year, while he lingered 
 long in durance. Now here they lie peace- 
 fully together, reunited after a separa- 
 tion of almost sixty years. Peace to their 
 ashes! 
 
 Salisbury is unique in one respect at 
 least. Most of the English cathedrals
 
 A BOY BISHOP 99 
 
 were long in building. They grew slowly 
 from age to age, outgrowths of the 
 thought and handiwork and devotion of 
 many successive generations. This one 
 sprang up, comparatively, in a day ; and 
 the day, as to architecture, was that of 
 the then new, or pointed, style the Early 
 English. Of this it still remains one of 
 the most perfect examples. It was only 
 thirty-eight years from foundation stone 
 to consecration. 
 
 When one paces the long gray arcades 
 of the cloisters, he has no visions of ton- 
 sured monks. Salisbury being a cathedral 
 of the old foundation i.e., one whose 
 chapter has always been collegiate, rather 
 than monastic these were never the 
 cloisters of a monastery. In point of fact, 
 they are of later date than the rest of the 
 building, and are beautiful exceedingly. 
 
 So is the noble octagonal chapter-house, 
 with its soaring roof upheld by the graceful 
 central column, arching like the spray of a
 
 100 A BOY BISHOP 
 
 fountain, its beautiful doorway and entrance 
 arch, and its curious sculptures. After all, 
 when one recalls the manifold beauties of 
 fair Salisbury, it seems cruel to quarrel 
 with it for any lack of sombre, impressive 
 stateliness.
 
 V 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 A FIRST visit to London cannot be 
 
 "^ other than fatiguing, bewildering, over- 
 whelming. The vastness, the majesty of 
 it all, one's sense of the shortness of time 
 and the limitations of strength, the eager- 
 ness to do and to see, to listen to the voices 
 of the storied streets, to tread in the foot- 
 steps of the mighty dead, and to make the 
 most of the associations swarming at every 
 corner, all these keep one continually on 
 the rack. London is indeed the heart of 
 the world, and to listen to its mighty throb- 
 bings is overpowering. 
 
 We had seen too much, thought too 
 much, felt too much; and the reaction 
 had come when we took the Great West- 
 101
 
 102 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 ern Railway en route for Peterborough. 
 But our spirits rose as we left London, 
 and before we fairly lost sight of its 
 multitudinous chimney-pots, we were like 
 children out of school. Two hours brought 
 us to our destination, in the heart of the 
 low fen country. Flat, and often marshy, 
 intersected by canal-like ditches, with 
 windmills towering aloft and whirling 
 their giant arms, it was like a little 
 glimpse of Holland. Why is a windmill 
 always a picturesque feature in a land- 
 scape ? There seems to be no reason why 
 it should be any more attractive to the 
 aesthetic sense than a barn with a weather- 
 vane. But the fact remains. 
 
 Night was falling as we rolled into the 
 borough of St. Peter, and in two hours we 
 were asleep. 
 
 The next morning we sallied forth to ex- 
 plore the ancient city ; in other words, to 
 find the Cathedral, which is the town's rea- 
 son for being. Soon we reached the busy
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 103 
 
 market-place, with its stalls and booths, its 
 carts and carriages, its patient little don- 
 keys, and its meek horses gravely munch- 
 ing oats from bags swinging under their 
 noses. It was market-day. The place 
 was full of animation and colour, with blue 
 and white umbrellas spreading themselves 
 impartially over roses and cabbages. Trav- 
 ersing the wide, open space, we passed 
 through a well-preserved Norman gateway 
 and were in the Cathedral close, where we 
 caught our first view of the magnificent 
 fa$ade with its flanking towers, its pointed 
 gables, and the three majestic recessed 
 arches that are the despair of painter, poet, 
 and archaeologist. 
 
 This fagade is considered open to criti- 
 cism. It has been said that the build- 
 ing within does not keep the promise 
 of this glorious front ; that the architect, 
 whose very name is forgotten, made tech- 
 nical blunders ; in short, that he did not 
 make the west front of Peterborough Ca-
 
 IO4 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 thedral absolutely perfect. Let us hope he 
 sleeps well in his unknown grave, undis- 
 turbed by this knowledge. At the least, 
 it may be said that he created something 
 that is uniquely imposing and superlatively 
 beautiful. 
 
 Standing at the western gate of the Ab- 
 bey, then, the gate built by Abbot Bene- 
 dict, we paused to look about us. The 
 Abbey ? Yes, for Peterborough was origi- 
 nally one of the chief Benedictine monas- 
 teries in England. As a cathedral it dates 
 back to the time of the dissolution of the 
 monasteries by Henry VIII. John Cham- 
 bers being abbot then, he prostrated him- 
 self at the feet of Henry, and acknowledged 
 king instead of pope as supreme head of 
 the Church. Gurton, the historian, says 
 as to this submission, "The good Abbot 
 liked to sleep in a whole skin, and wished 
 to die in his nest where he had lived so 
 long." Yet a nobler motive may have 
 swayed him, the strong desire to save
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 105 
 
 from destruction the altars at which he 
 had ministered. Be this as it may, in 1541 
 Abbot John Chambers became first Bishop 
 of Peterborough, and as good a Protestant 
 as the best of them. 
 
 But to go back to the beautiful west gate- 
 way of "Peterborough the Proud," where, 
 in the days of the old Abbey, king and 
 courtier, prince and peasant, were re- 
 quired to put their shoes from off their 
 feet before entering the holy precincts. 
 As we stand here, before us is the west 
 front of the Cathedral, glorious in the 
 morning sunshine, with every turret, tower, 
 and pinnacle standing out in bold relief 
 against a clear blue sky. The deep, re- 
 cessed arches are in shadow, darkly majes- 
 tic as the entrance into Hades. To the 
 north of it is another old gateway, arched 
 and battlemented, which leads to the dean- 
 ery, and to the quiet sanctuary of the grave- 
 yard lying close in the shadow of the church. 
 To the south Peterborough being rich in
 
 Io6 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 gateways is still another ; a fine bit of 
 early English, with groined roof and clus- 
 tered shafts. This is the entrance to the 
 Bishop's Palace. On our left is an old 
 building that was once the chancel of the 
 costly chapel consecrated to St. Thomas a 
 Becket. Secularized and grown worldly 
 in its mouldy old age, it is now a museum 
 of natural history. 
 
 A young girl stood in the doorway. 
 Would the ladies like to walk in and see 
 the exhibition? It was under the direct 
 patronage of the Queen, and Her Majesty 
 was indeed one of the chief contributors. 
 
 Wondering whether we were to see her- 
 bariums or impaled butterflies, Kensington 
 embroidery or drawn-work, we paid our 
 shilling and went in, to find that the "ex- 
 hibition" was one of relics, relics of 
 Mary Queen of Scots, and we counted 
 ourselves especially fortunate in thus stum- 
 bling upon it unawares. Strange are the 
 reverses of time. There were few in Eng-
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 107 
 
 land who sorrowed at her death-sentence, 
 and fewer still who gainsaid it. Yet here, 
 after the lapse of just three centuries, sacred 
 relics of the "martyred queen" were gath- 
 ered from all quarters of the kingdom, and 
 the chapel of St. Thomas was again a shrine. 
 Fotheringay Castle, the scene of her last 
 imprisonment and of her execution, was 
 eleven miles from Peterborough. The 
 strong fortress is now not even a ruin. 
 Not one stone is left upon another. But 
 here was a model, or rather a map .in 
 clay ; and one could easily rebuild the 
 stately walls and count the bulwarks 
 thereof. Here was the veil of light gauze 
 tissue, with a legend wrought in gold 
 
 thread upon the border, which Jane Ken- 
 
 
 nedy took from Mary's head when her 
 
 eyes were bandaged. Here was the slen- 
 der gold chain and crucifix which the un- 
 fortunate queen removed from her own 
 neck and threw round that of one of her 
 ladies in waiting. Here was the rosary she
 
 IO8 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 wore that day at her girdle, and the cross 
 she held in her hand when dying. Here 
 was the agate tankard, or caudle cup, with 
 hinged cover and silver gilt mountings, 
 from which she drank the night before her 
 execution and then gave to Sir James Bal- 
 four. It is one of the heirlooms of the 
 family of Bruce of Kennet. Here was a 
 curious "jewel," said to have been given 
 to Mary by the Dauphin before their mar- 
 riage, a gold bar on which is a small fig- 
 ure of a boy catching a mouse. The trinket 
 is set with diamonds and rubies, and has a 
 large pearl as a pendant. Here were many 
 rings and a jewelled stomacher; a silver- 
 gilt hand-bell covered with curious devices, 
 and several watches with her monogram. 
 And here, O shade of Walter *Scott ! here 
 was the very key that unlocked the water- 
 gate at Loch Leven, the key that Ronald 
 Graeme stole from Lady Douglas. 
 
 The portraits were many, and no two 
 resembled each other very closely. They
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO lOQ 
 
 varied as much as opinions do with regard 
 to Mary Stuart. There were some exqui- 
 site ivory miniatures, showing a young, un- 
 shadowed face, perfect in its loveliness. In 
 a glass case were laces she had worn, and 
 embroideries wrought during her long cap- 
 tivity. In connection with each article 
 was its genealogy, so to speak, given so 
 clearly that its genuineness could not be 
 disputed. 
 
 One of the articles sent by Victoria was 
 an ebony cabinet inlaid with ivory, and 
 decorated with tortoise shell and silver. 
 Another was a box with a glass cover, on 
 the satin lining of which a long, heavy tress 
 of golden-brown hair lay coiled. There 
 were prayer-books and missals ; and, sad- 
 dest and most painfully suggestive of all, 
 here was the chair in which she sat that 
 February morning in 1587, and from which 
 she rose when, assisted by her faithful 
 Melvin, she groped her way blindly to 
 the block. It brought that far-away scene
 
 110 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 very near; and remembering the "little 
 shag dog" that "hid itself under her 
 royal robes" as she sat in this old chair, 
 and with almost human moans lavished 
 caresses upon her body when all was over, 
 I blessed the tiny creature for its faith- 
 ful love. Its fidelity touched even the 
 stern men around her, and was mentioned 
 in the official account transmitted to my 
 Lord of Burleigh. 
 
 When we came out of what seemed like 
 a charnel house, the open air and the joyous 
 summer day were welcome. We crossed 
 the green close, went through Abbot Kir- 
 ton's gateway into the churchyard, and 
 there found Old Mortality himself cleaning 
 a gravestone. 
 
 Beyond this point, at the northeast, 
 the best general view of the Cathedral is 
 gained ; for here the eye takes in the whole 
 majestic sweep from the pinnacles and 
 turrets flanking the arches of the faade, 
 the bell-tower of the northwestern tran-
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO III 
 
 sept, the Norman buttresses of the nave, 
 the great eastern transept with its Norman 
 windows, filled in now with Perpendicular 
 tracery, and so on to the exquisitely beau- 
 tiful "New Building" (so-called, though 
 it existed when America was a terra in- 
 cognita), with its rich parapet crowned with 
 statues, and the round-arched Norman apse 
 rising in double tiers above it. As we 
 pass round the east end to the south, we i 
 see the ruins of the old monastic build- [ 
 ings, the infirmary with its lines of perfect ' 
 arches, the refectory, the lavatories, the 
 cloisters, the columns and foliated capitals, 
 the windows and doorways all eloquent 
 in their picturesque decay. Old Mortality, 
 who followed us, was garrulous, but we 
 forgave him when he took us into the 
 house of one of the canons. It was for- 
 merly the chapel of St. Lawrence, the very 
 chancel itself. As we passed through the 
 silent rooms (for the family was absent), 
 we wondered if life went on in that once
 
 112 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 sacred atmosphere just as elsewhere, with 
 its petty needs and petty details, its joys 
 and its heartbreaks. 
 
 When we got round to the west again, 
 we went in beneath the frowning, shadowy 
 arches, to meet our first disappointment. 
 The long, narrow nave, with its flat wooden 
 roof, sloping slightly to the supporting 
 columns, and fantastically painted in a 
 strange lozenge-shaped pattern, was before 
 us ; but everything beyond it was cut off 
 by a rough board partition. Peterborough 
 was undergoing the process of restoration. 
 Came to us the verger, however ; and, after 
 a little persuasion, he led us in behind the 
 scenes, where we found that an old cathe- 
 dral in undress was quite as interesting as 
 under other conditions. One was willing to 
 miss much for the sake of seeing the very 
 beginnings of things. It was chaos come 
 again, but chaos with a purpose. 
 
 Picking our way over piles of debris and 
 heaps of rubbish, we looked down where
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 113 
 
 the heavy stone flagging of the great tran- 
 sept had been lifted with infinite toil, into 
 a just-discovered subterranean passage 
 leading to a treasure house of Peter- 
 borough monks in the seventh century. 
 We touched the very stones and mortar 
 of the old monastery of Medeshamstede, 
 where Paeda and Oswi, in the words of the 
 old Saxon chronicle, " began the ground 
 wall, and wrought thereon." 
 
 Imbedded in coarse, crumbling sand, 
 which seemed half sea-shells, we saw a 
 great stone coffin in process of resurrection. 
 It had lain there, unseen of human eye, 
 for eleven centuries; and now the tomb 
 was opened, not by the voice of God 
 or the trump of Gabriel, but by blows 
 of hammer and pickaxe in the hands of 
 stalwart workmen of alien race and creed. 
 Hours passed unheeded as we lingered 
 there, in dust and turmoil, watching the 
 process of "restoration" and repair, the 
 scraping of columns, the removal of vandal
 
 114 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 paint and whitewash, and the restoring 
 of that which was lost. 
 
 4 * It is more interesting even than spring 
 house-cleaning in New England, don't 
 you think so?" said Altera, brushing the 
 white dust from the sleeve of her jacket. 
 And as I drew my skirts more closely 
 about me, I truthfully answered, "Yes!" 
 
 Such was the disorder reigning in War- 
 saw, that we had only a glimpse of the 
 beautiful " New Building," with its Perpen- 
 dicular windows and the lovely fan tracery 
 of the roof. The effect is singularly like 
 that of King's College Chapel at Cambridge, 
 which was built about the same time, and 
 possibly by the same architect. 
 
 Peterborough is less rich in famous 
 tombs than some of its sister cathedrals. 
 But here were buried Katharine of Aragon 
 and Mary of Scotland. The dust of the 
 former still lies in the north choir aisle 
 under a slab of blue stone. Time is fast 
 obliterating the simple inscription, "Queen
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 115 
 
 Catharine, A.D. 1536." Yet, if the legend 
 be true, the whole Cathedral is her monu- 
 ment. The story goes that when Henry 
 was implored to raise a stone, or a statue, 
 to her memory, he answered: "I will give 
 her the finest monument in all England ; " 
 and that for her sake Peterborough sur- 
 vived the destruction of the monasteries. 
 That this is somewhat apocryphal goes 
 without saying. Yet Shakespeare may 
 have heard it when he puts that last 
 pathetic speech on record : 
 
 "Embalm me, 
 Then lay me forth ; although un queened, yet 
 
 still 
 A queen, and daughter to a King inter me." 
 
 In the south choir aisle a marble slab 
 marks the spot where 'Mary Stuart lay 
 for twenty-five years. She was beheaded 
 February 8, but remained unburied till 
 July 30. Few events in history are more 
 thrilling in their suggestiveness : the mid-
 
 Il6 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 night gathering of friends and retainers, 
 the torch-light procession winding its slow 
 way from Fotheringay to Peterborough, 
 the superb coffin lifted high, the lofty 
 chariot covered with black cloth, preceded 
 by the Garter King-at>Arms and other her- 
 alds, the guard of mounted horsemen, the 
 black-robed mutes, the nodding plumes, 
 the trailing banners, and all the solemn 
 pomp and stately ceremonial of that far 
 day. Out from windows and doorways 
 peered the startled faces of rustics, awak- 
 ened from their sleep by the tread of 
 many feet, albeit there was neither sound 
 of bugle or blare of trumpet. 
 
 At the Cathedral gate the procession 
 was received by Bishop Rowland, Dean 
 Fletcher, and their attendant priests. The 
 coffin was borne silently across the close, 
 through the wide arches, and up the nave, 
 to the vault made ready in the choir. On 
 the following day imposing funeral rites 
 were observed, the Countess of Bedford
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 117 
 
 appearing as Queen Elizabeth's represen- 
 tative in the r61e of chief mourner ! 
 
 A lofty "herse" hung with black velvet 
 was raised over the grave, and remained 
 there till, James I. being King, all that 
 was left of Mary Stuart was removed to 
 Westminster Abbey. 
 
 As we passed out of the great west 
 door, we paused to look again at the 
 portrait of "Old Scarlet," the sexton. 
 Perhaps it looks slightly out of place, 
 the quaint, homely figure in scarlet coat 
 and trunk hose, with a bunch of keys 
 in one hand and a spade in the other. 
 But the inscription under it tells the old 
 man's story and explains his presence 
 here. It does not fall to the lot of every 
 sexton to "inter two queens." 
 
 The "fen country" was once a chain 
 of lakes and water-courses, studded with 
 islands. As the "resonant steam eagles"
 
 Il8 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 bore us towards the ancient town of Ely, 
 we seemed to hear the dip of oars, the sound 
 of the wind among the reeds, the chiming 
 of sweet-toned bells, and the singing of the 
 monks. The pulsing and throbbing of the 
 cars seemed set to music, and to repeat over 
 and over the song of King Canute. 
 
 " Sweetly sang the monks at Ely. 
 
 Kniit, the king row'd nigh ; 
 ' Listen how the winds be bringing 
 From yon church a holy singing ! 
 Row, men, nearer by ! ' 
 
 " Loudly sang the monks at Ely 
 
 On that Thursday morn ; 
 'Twas the feast of God ascended 
 Of the wondrous drama ended ; 
 God for sinners born! 
 
 " Sweetly sang the monks at Ely. 
 
 Kniit, the king row'd nigh ; 
 ' Listen to the angels bringing 
 Holy thoughts that seem like singing ; 
 Row, men, nearer by ! ' " 
 
 Canute, however, would hardly recognize 
 his song in this later version, which is yet
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO IIQ 
 
 an old one. Here is one verse of another, 
 still older. 
 
 " Merie sungen the Muneches hinnen Ely, 
 Tha Guilt chiug rew ther by. 
 Rowe ye cnites noer the lant, 
 And here we thes Muneches saeng." 
 
 But as the men obeyed, and rowed "yet 
 nearer" on that fair Thursday morn, their 
 eyes did not rest on a single stone of the 
 majestic structure we see to-day. The 
 Saxon queen, Etheldreda, founded a mon- 
 astery at Ely in 673, and, withdrawing 
 from court, became its Abbess. It flour- 
 ished for two hundred years, was burned 
 by the Danes, was rebuilt under the Bene- 
 dictine rule in 970, became a "camp of 
 refuge" and the last stronghold of the 
 Saxons, and finally surrendered to William 
 the Conqueror, in 1071. About ten years 
 after, the foundations of the present Cathe- 
 dral were laid by Simeon, the first Norman 
 Abbot. But Etheldreda has always been 
 the patron saint of Ely. As soon as
 
 120 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 Simeon's church was far enough advanced, 
 her remains were translated from the 
 graveyard to a stately shrine behind the 
 high altar. 
 
 "Did you never tire of cathedrals, going 
 thus from one to another? Was it not 
 rather monotonous ? " are questions that 
 may reasonably be asked ; as, indeed, they 
 have been asked more than once. 
 
 As well might one tire of sunset, or 
 moonshine ; of the splendour of winter star- 
 light, of the leaping of waters, or of the 
 faces of friends. Cathedrals are alike and 
 yet unlike ; and the likeness is as great a 
 charm as the unlikeness. To know that 
 the general features are the same, that 
 under all the diversity some things are 
 certain and uniform, is the rock that one 
 learns to rest upon, as on the procession 
 of the seasons, or the fact that day follows 
 day. "Monotonous?" As we had gazed 
 spell-bound upon the mighty arches of 
 Peterborough, so now we stood in awe-
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 121 
 
 struck silence beneath the enormous towers 
 of Ely, and in the shadow of its huge 
 buttresses. 
 
 Tower on tower, pinnacle on pinnacle, 
 turret on turret, all soaring together in 
 majestic harmony, piercing the far blue 
 heavens, yet studded with bas-reliefs and 
 crowned with statues. It was like the 
 exuberance of nature, as if the vast pile 
 had grown from pure delight of growing, 
 with no help from human hands. It 
 seemed to me that summer day that in 
 this sense of exuberant life, of conscious, 
 vital power, of spontaneity, of freedom, 
 lay the secret of Ely's chief glory when 
 considered from an artistic or aesthetic 
 standpoint. The great west tower is abso- 
 lutely unique. Castellated, battlemented, 
 it is, perhaps, all the more imposing be- 
 cause it stands alone, flanked by its 
 turreted southern wing the southwest 
 transept. The comparatively low, broad 
 octagon contrasts powerfully, yet harmo-
 
 122 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 niously, with the superb height of the 
 solitary tower. 
 
 In such a presence it seems obtrusive, 
 almost sacrilegious, to use the nomencla- 
 ture of the schools, and prate about styles 
 and periods of architecture. Why must 
 we always tear the petals from the rose 
 to see how it is made ? Yet it cannot 
 be denied that the pleasure of a cathedral 
 pilgrimage is greatly enhanced by (at least) 
 enough knowledge of those "periods" to 
 enable one to look understandingly ; and 
 no cathedral in England affords better 
 opportunities for acquiring that knowledge 
 than does Ely. Within its walls every 
 step in the history of church architecture, 
 from the Conquest to the Reformation, 
 can be studied. From Early Xorman to 
 Late Perpendicular, through all the grada- 
 tions of Transitional, Early English, and 
 Decorated, all are here. 
 
 The church is entered through the Gali- 
 lee Porch. This was the first time we had
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 123 
 
 seen a "Galilee," so called, though we found 
 one afterwards at Lincoln, and another at 
 Durham. Of course the question at once 
 arose, why " Galilee " ? 
 
 Millers answers it thus: "As Galilee, 
 bordering on the Gentiles, was the part of 
 the Holy Land most remote from Jerusa- 
 lem, so was this part of the building most 
 remote from the sanctuary." 
 
 Rather far-fetched, but, on the whole, 
 less so than any other explanation given 
 us there, or elsewhere. 
 
 But whatever one chooses to call it, this 
 great, two-storied porch, with its fine arch 
 of entrance divided by a central group of 
 clustered shafts, its triple lancet windows, 
 its arcades, its niches for statues, its pillars 
 of Devonshire marble with Purbeck plinths 
 and capitals, is, according to Professor 
 Parker, "one of the finest porches in the 
 world." Passing through this imposing 
 vestibule, we are beneath the great west- 
 ern tower, where one pauses involuntarily.
 
 124 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 Above is the decorated ceiling of the tower 
 itself ; to the right, the beautiful southwest 
 transept, with the apsidal chapel of St. 
 Catharine, where eight different periods of 
 Norman work can be distinctly traced ; in 
 front of us stretches the long vista of tho 
 nave, with its twelve splendid bays, its 
 springing vaulting shafts, and its richly 
 coloured roof, terminating in the noble 
 octagon that is Ely's chief glory. Beyond 
 is the oaken choir screen, with its gates of 
 brass, through and over which the delighted 
 eye takes in the seven bays of the choir with 
 all its wealth of decoration, the reredos mag- 
 nificent beyond description with alabaster, 
 mosaics, jewels, and sculptured panels; 
 and still farther on, the retro-choir, with 
 its double tiers of long, lancet windows 
 flooding the whole with marvellous light 
 and splendour. 
 
 But all the time, whether one seems to 
 be looking north, south, east, or west, the 
 eye turns again and again to the great west
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 125 
 
 transept and the octagon, impatient of de- 
 lay. It may well be questioned if, in the 
 whole range of Gothic architecture, any- 
 thing more strikingly beautiful can be 
 found than the octagon and choir of Ely 
 as seen from the angle of the nave aisles, 
 whether one looks up into the vast height 
 of the lantern with its sculptured angels, or 
 across the bewildering maze of piers, shafts, 
 windows, and roofs, all glowing with col- 
 our, and wrought with tracery as delicate as 
 frostwork. 
 
 Any attempt at describing all this is 
 utterly futile ; yet bare mention must 
 be made of the two famous doorways, 
 the Prior's Door and the Monk's Door ; the 
 chapels of Bishops Alcock and West; the 
 remains of the monastic buildings; Prior 
 Crawden's chapel (the most curious little 
 place imaginable, yet beautiful exceed- 
 ingly); and, most touching and suggestive 
 in the midst of all this splendour, a rude 
 Saxon cross which is four hundred years
 
 126 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 older than anything else in or about the 
 building. It stands near the Prior's Door- 
 way, in the south aisle of the nave, in 
 memory of Ovinus, the steward of Ethel- 
 dreda. The inscription has been thus 
 translated, 
 
 " Grant, O God, to Ovin, thy light and rest. 
 Amen." 
 
 The roads between Lincoln, Peterbor- 
 ough, and Ely form a very irregular tri- 
 angle ; Lincoln being about forty miles 
 from Peterborough, and Peterborough 
 about one-third that distance from Ely. 
 Lincoln is in Lincolnshire, Peterborough 
 on the southern border of Northampton- 
 shire, and Ely in Cambridgeshire. Yet all 
 three might be within the limits of one 
 small county in Massachusetts. A mind 
 accustomed to the vast spaces of our own 
 country loses all sense of distance on the
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 1 27 
 
 other side of the Atlantic. To the child 
 studying history or geography, England 
 and France seem far apart. But in point 
 of fact when one crosses the Channel, the 
 white cliffs of Albion have not faded out 
 of sight before the low shores of France 
 hang like a faint cloud in the distance. So, 
 too, one has hardly lost sight of the mighty 
 towers of one of these three great cathe- 
 drals, before those of another loom up 
 before his wondering eyes. 
 
 The existing Cathedral of Peterborough 
 that which we see to-day was begun 
 in 1140 ; Ely in 1083 ; and Lincoln in 1075. 
 Always the mind goes back to the same 
 question, How were they built ? What 
 manner of men were these old monks who 
 dared so magnificently? Did they count 
 the cost before they began? Did they 
 build wiser than they knew? Or did they 
 see, with far-reaching vision, the end from 
 the beginning? 
 
 It is pleasant to dream of them, sitting in
 
 128 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 dim chantries or vaulted chapter-house, 
 groups of tonsured, black-robed men, with 
 maps, charts, and plans before them, gravely 
 discussing ways and means, comparing 
 notes, considering the height of this tower, 
 the depth of that triforium, the spring of 
 this arch, the vast stretch of yonder nave, 
 and all with a regard for minuteness of fin- 
 ish and detail in each " remote and unseen 
 part" of which this day and generation 
 knows nothing. One is sometimes tempted 
 to ask if the one work of the world from 
 the eighth to the fifteenth centuries was 
 not the building of cathedrals ? Certainly 
 its work ran in narrower channels in those 
 days. Earth was smaller, and its interests 
 were less varied. The learning, the charity, 
 the hospitality, of that narrower world cen- 
 tred in cloister and chapter-house. 
 
 Yet it does not do to assume that they 
 held it all. During that same period how 
 the stately castles lifted their strong turrets 
 on every hill! Think of the pictures that
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 129 
 
 were painted, the statues that were carved, 
 the tapestry that grew under busy fingers, 
 the desolating wars that were yet so full of 
 splendid pomp and pageantry. It will not 
 do to say that the world in mediaeval ages 
 did nothing but build cathedrals ; and we 
 must go back to the old question, How 
 were they built ? Whence came the 
 money? When we think of the pother 
 made over the building of one small church 
 in our day, of the expedients for raising 
 the needful funds, of the subscription pa- 
 pers, the fairs, and the sewing societies, 
 and then behold these three magnificent 
 cathedrals within a radius of a few square 
 miles, we may well repeat, Whence came 
 the money? Human needs were less, 
 and were more easily satisfied in those' 
 remote epochs ; human labour was cheaper ; 
 human life was held hi less repute. But 
 yet! 
 
 We reached Lincoln on a certain Satur- 
 day afternoon, and were glad to take our
 
 I3O A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 ease in our inn, write our letters, and talk 
 over our adventures. It was a far cry to 
 the Cathedral, more's the pity ; for we had 
 not chosen our hotel wisely. In order to 
 study any one of these great minsters one 
 should be able to run in and out informally 
 as it were ; to see it at all hours, by moon- 
 light and starlight, and in the early morn- 
 ing; and it goes without saying that the 
 nearer one's lodgings are the better it is. 
 Sunday found us in the same lazy mood. 
 There was a little church across the way, 
 and thither we went for the late afternoon 
 service. 
 
 The next morning was August 1, " Bank- 
 ers' Holiday." "Not a hap'orth o' busi- 
 ness done in all England to-day, mum," 
 the smiling waiter announced as he hov- 
 ered beneficently about the breakfast-table. 
 " A great 'oliday, mum." 
 
 Notwithstanding which fact, or perhaps 
 by reason of it, it proved to be a good day 
 for seeing Lincoln Cathedral.
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 13! 
 
 Peterborough stands on low ground, 
 and makes but an unimportant feature in 
 the landscape. Ely stands on what the 
 guide-books are pleased to call a "slight 
 eminence," so slight, indeed, as to be 
 imperceptible to the ordinary observer. 
 But Lincoln on its "sovereign hill" is 
 like the city that cannot be hid. For 
 grandeur of situation it yields the palm to 
 Durham alone. It can be seen from all 
 points, dominating the whole landscape ; 
 and as one climbs the steep "New Road," 
 so called, its stately towers are in full view 
 long before they are reached. 
 
 We will approach it, however, by the 
 more direct "High Street"; and leaving 
 our carriage at the Exchequer Gate, a 
 lofty, three-storied gate-house, which was 
 once a part of the fortifications of the city, 
 enter the Minster Yard. 
 
 The Cathedral of Lincoln does not, like 
 most of its compeers, sit in its own green 
 close, serene and still in a lovely, isolated
 
 132 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 repose. Busy streets encompass it, lowlier 
 roofs cluster about it. A narrow border 
 of turf runs along the south side, and to 
 the north and east there is a fair stretch 
 of greensward. But it has nothing to 
 compare with the exquisite setting of 
 Wells, Winchester, and Salisbury, with 
 their long reaches of emerald turf and the 
 stately grandeur of their ancient trees. 
 
 The sunshine is very bright this August 
 morning. Clear and penetrating it dis- 
 penses with all veiling mists, all softening 
 shadows ; and falling broadly, strongly, 
 upon the lofty towers and soaring tur- 
 rets, it cries to the beholder, "Here are 
 no shams, no disguises. Come and look ! " 
 
 Three young women who have placed 
 their easels before the Exchequer Gate, 
 obey the summons and look with all their 
 might. An irreverent youth with a red 
 Baedeker under his arm, strolls carelessly 
 about, eating peanuts. Two or three men 
 in clerical, or semi-clerical garb, gaze up
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 133 
 
 at the five great arches of the west front. 
 As we follow their example, a bell tolls 
 softly and out from the open portal pours 
 the rolling thunder of the organ. The ap- 
 peal is irresistible, and we "enter in," glad 
 to be just in time for the morning service. 
 
 Having said our prayers, we returned to 
 the west front and passed out from the 
 cool dampness of the nave into the clear, 
 searching sunlight again. If there be any 
 cathedral in England that repays closest 
 study, it is this of Lincoln. The facade 
 with its five great recessed arches dif- 
 fering in height, its vast spaces, its flank- 
 ing turrets, and its tier upon tier of arcades 
 completely covering the huge front, is per- 
 haps imposing and impressive, rather than 
 beautiful. But when Eemegius, the first 
 Norman bishop, began to build on this spot 
 "a strong, fair church" in honour of the 
 Virgin, did he dream to what proportions 
 it would grow, and how strong and fair it 
 would at length become? Very little of
 
 134 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 his actual work remains to-day ; only the 
 severely stern arches of his comparatively 
 small fagade, and the beginnings, so to 
 speak, of the western towers. What would 
 one not give if, reimbodied, he could 
 wander with us about the vast pile to-day, 
 and see to what incomparable and majestic 
 loveliness his thought has grown ! For 
 whether or no Lincoln bears off the palm 
 for interior beauty, it is certain that its 
 exterior is unsurpassed in grandeur, infinite 
 variety and picturesqueness, and wonderful 
 perfection of detail. 
 
 It is undoubtedly true, that as the trav- 
 eller yields to the magic influence of one 
 after another of these marvellous creations, 
 he is apt to feel as if the latest love was 
 the best and fairest. As his spirit bows 
 to its sway, each in its turn seems to him 
 unspeakably grand and beautiful. Yet I 
 cannot be mistaken in thinking that as 
 one turns to the right, wanders loiteringly 
 round the southwest tower, and then goes
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 135 
 
 slowly on down the whole stretch of the 
 Cathedral, marking the graceful flying but- 
 tresses of the long, receding nave, passing 
 the great south transept with its many- 
 pinnacled Galilee porch projecting on the 
 west, and its circular window, "The Bish- 
 op's Eye," peering out from beneath its 
 eyebrow of a gable, pauses for a moment 
 in the deep, recessed space that separates 
 this from the smaller transept, and then 
 passes on and on, beyond the vestry and 
 the little chapels with their apsidal curves, 
 till he reaches the great southeastern porch 
 flanked by two beautiful chantries, he be- 
 holds such unity in variety as can scarcely 
 be found elsewhere. The broken yet mar- 
 vellously graceful outline, the succession of 
 flying buttresses, the pointed arcades, the 
 exquisite lancet-windows, the turrets and 
 pinnacles soaring from every imaginable 
 point, the enormous central tower, the airy 
 canopies, sometimes empty, sometimes shel- 
 tering statues broken and gray with age,
 
 136 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 the gargoyles startling in their grotesque- 
 ness, all these, and infinitely more, com- 
 bine to form a picture that the beholder 
 can never forget. 
 
 Shall we go on in search of more beau- 
 ties? We have only to turn the corner, 
 and before us is the glorious east end, with 
 its deep buttresses, its long arcades, and its 
 noble windows, and the circular or rather 
 polygonal chapter-house, externally, per- 
 haps, the most beautiful in all England. 
 As one looks around and above him dur- 
 ing this progress, every insensate stone suf- 
 fers a sea-change into something rich and 
 strange. It blossoms into unearthly beauty, 
 or it grows grotesque beyond description. 
 Every inch of space is rich in carven work. 
 Even the topmost turrets of the central 
 tower are enriched with fine traceries, del- 
 icate and graceful as frost work. 
 
 Is the inside of Lincoln Cathedral worthy 
 of this magnificent exterior? I cannot tell; 
 partly, perhaps, because the exterior took my
 
 A GLORIOUS TRIO 137 
 
 breath away and left me exhausted. Cer- 
 tainly it was the outside of this magnificent 
 building that made the strongest impression 
 upon two, at least, of its reverent lovers. 
 
 Yet within, also, it has its own peculiar 
 glories, the chief being the angel-choir with 
 its strangely beautiful triforium, with its 
 double arches, its clustered columns, its 
 graceful mouldings, its trefoils and quatre- 
 foils, and the hovering angels from which 
 it takes its name. 
 
 Lincoln, like Peterborough, has few fine 
 monuments, doubtless owing to the icono- 
 clasts of the Reformation and of Crom- 
 well's time. One hears the same story of 
 deliberate, wanton mutilation from every 
 verger in England ; and it is hard to be 
 reconciled to such wholesale, barbarous 
 destruction. But in the chancel is shown 
 a gray slab, the monument of Catharine 
 Swineford, the wife of John of Gaunt ; and 
 every mother will pause at the shrine of 
 " Little St. Hugh " in the south choir aisle
 
 138 A GLORIOUS TRIO 
 
 a child who, so the legend says, was 
 crucified by the Jews in 1255. 
 
 The "Dean's Eye," in the north tran- 
 sept, looks into that of the "Bishop" in 
 the south. Both are circular windows of 
 great beauty, exquisite in form and colour. 
 The builders of Lincoln seem to have had 
 great faith in watchful eyes ; for in addition 
 to these two, there is a grotesque gargoyle 
 perched, I forget just where, which is sup- 
 posed to represent the " Devil watching 
 over Lincoln." 
 
 Tired at last, yet happy beyond words, 
 we left the glorious minster and went along 
 an old street, quaint to the last degree, with 
 high-peaked, red-tiled roofs not unlike those 
 of Nuremberg, till we reached the Newport 
 Arch an old Roman gateway spanning the 
 street. It stirs the imagination strangely, 
 as, indeed, does the road itself. It is rude 
 and massive, and its two thousand years of 
 living have made little impression on it, 
 save by way of reducing its height. Full
 
 - A GLORIOUS TRIO 139 
 
 one-third of it is buried under the slow ac- 
 cretions of the years. In its rough crevices 
 grasses and weeds were growing, and here 
 and there tufts of red and yellow flowers 
 glittered in the sunshine. 
 
 Not far from the gateway are the ruins 
 of one of the numerous castles of William 
 the Conqueror. Of one thing the traveller 
 may be reasonably sure. If there is a 
 stately, commanding site anywhere about, 
 the chances are that on it he will find a 
 moat, if nothing more, sacred to the mem- 
 ory of the all-powerful Norman. His monu- 
 ments are omnipresent. 
 
 The long day came to an end at last, and 
 it was time for home and rest. How soon 
 the wayfarer learns to call the four walls of 
 his chamber "home"! Thither we went, 
 by way of the very steepest street to which 
 clustered houses ever dared to cling a 
 street so nearly perpendicular that it 
 seemed madness to look down. Clinging 
 closely to each other, but borne along by
 
 140 A GLORIOUS TRIO . 
 
 the very force of gravitation, we gave but a 
 single glance at the house of Aaron the Jew, 
 with its richly carved stone portal, as we 
 flew past it. And all the downward way 
 we saw, not the dirty, crowded, poverty- 
 stricken houses, and the swarms of curious 
 children, but the long procession of the 
 early Bishops of Lincoln, climbing this 
 steep and stony way, barefooted, on the 
 day of installation. It must have been 
 easy to be humble for half an hour, when 
 by lifting one's eyes one could behold, 
 against the blue of the sky, the turrets and 
 towers of this fair inheritance.
 
 VI 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 else you do or leave un- 
 done," said one whose advice was 
 well worth considering, "be sure to see 
 Conway Castle, the Foundling Hospital in 
 London, and Fountains Abbey." 
 
 We had seen fair Conway, and the white- 
 capped, scarlet- waistcoated children of the 
 hospital; and now we were on the way 
 from York to the Abbey, Ripon being our 
 objective point. It was near sunset when 
 we reached the station of the quaint little 
 country -town, which is a city by virtue of 
 having a cathedral of its own. For, 
 strictly speaking, as has been said before, a 
 "city" in England means a cathedral 
 town, and that only. Size and importance 
 have nothing to do with it. A hamlet is 
 141
 
 142 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 a city, if cathedral towers cast their long 
 shadows over it. Neither is a church, how^ 
 ever grand, a cathedral by virtue of its 
 dimensions or its architecture. A cathe- 
 dral may be large or small, imposing or not 
 imposing ; but it must be the heart of the 
 diocese, containing the official seat, or 
 throne, of the Bishop. 
 
 We were bound for the Unicorn Inn, but 
 the omnibus was already departing, crowded 
 with passengers from an earlier train. It 
 was too pleasant to stay indoors, and while 
 awaiting the return of the 'bus, we strolled 
 up and down the platform, enjoying the 
 fresh, sweet air, and looking about us with 
 interested eyes. Meanwhile a fatherly old 
 porter had possessed himself of our bags 
 and portmanteaux, and we were not quite 
 sure what he meant to do with them. In 
 answer to a meek appeal from Altera, he 
 bundled them all into a barrow and trotted 
 off with them complacently, saying with a 
 brisk nod of his gray head,
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 143 
 
 "Never you fret, me leddy. Just folly 
 me and you'll be all right." 
 
 This was consoling, and we followed him, 
 as directed, to the other side of the platform, 
 resuming our march up and down while he 
 sat on his barrow and kept guard over us 
 and our belongings. Evidently he had 
 taken us under his own especial wing. 
 
 Presently he rushed up to us, his face all 
 aglow with delight. " D'ye see that leddy 
 sittin' in the drag in front ? " he said, in a 
 loud whisper which he tried to soften by 
 half covering his mouth with his hand. 
 "That's the marchioness o' Eipon, an' 
 she's a-waitin' for the Markis her husband. 
 Look at her, look ! " 
 
 We gravely thanked him, seeing only a 
 quiet lady in black, serenely unconscious 
 that she was being forced thus unceremo- 
 niously upon the attention of stranger eyes. 
 
 Pretty soon our all-observant porter ap- 
 peared again, touching his cap. " Now," 
 he whispered, "if ye will but watch the
 
 144 RirON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 dure, presently ye'll see the Markis hisself 
 a-comin' out. The Markis, ye see, he's 
 been in Injy, an' came home only Friday 
 was a week." 
 
 Evidently "the Markis" was a hero. 
 But he appeared presently a fine-looking, 
 soldierly man with a gray beard seated 
 himself beside his wife, and they drove off. 
 
 The omnibus "returned at last, and we 
 reached The Unicorn just as the twilight 
 shades were falling. 
 
 Very quaint and old-fashioned is this 
 ancient inn, where, as at Haworth, we 
 found hams and bacon hanging from the 
 dark rafters of the entrance hall. Perhaps 
 the West Riding especially affects this style 
 of mural, or aulic, decoration, which we did 
 not happen to fall upon anywhere else. 
 But be this as it may, The Unicorn is a 
 typical English inn of the old regime, and 
 one of the best of its class, with comfort- 
 able rooms, a homelike air, good service, 
 and a fair table.
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 145 
 
 Doubtless we would not have gone to 
 Ripon, if Ripon had not been the gate to 
 Fountains Abbey. But having done so, 
 we found it had independent interests of 
 its own, and was quite worth visiting on its 
 own behalf. Remarkable earthworks, sur- 
 rounded by mound and trench, carry the 
 history of the town back to prehistoric 
 ages. Evidences of very early occupation 
 have been found in the shape of arrow- 
 heads, beads, and coarse pottery. Near 
 Studley Hall was once found a fine gold 
 torque, or necklace, buried between two 
 stones ; and at no great distance a huge 
 bronze sword which is said to have been 
 destroyed by its superstitious discoverer 
 lest he should be "bewitched" by its 
 possession. 
 
 Fragments of tessellated pavements, a 
 Roman vase or two, and some coins dating 
 from Vespasian to Constantine, go to prove 
 the Roman occupation of Ripon. In the 
 seventh century, Alchfrith, Prince of Deira,
 
 146 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 was lord of the soil ; and he gave to Eata, 
 then Abbot of Melrose, land on which to 
 found a monastery. But the Scottish monks 
 failed to make good their claim, and were 
 succeeded by Wilfrith, now known as St. 
 Wilfrid, a good and learned man who re- 
 built the monastery on a grander scale, and 
 made it ever after the object of a peculiar 
 affection. 
 
 Danes and Saxons in turn ravaged Ri- 
 pon. The Northumbrian kings came and 
 went. William the Conqueror bestowed 
 "ye manor of Rippon" on Thomas of 
 Bayeux. In 1319 Robert Bruce, turn- 
 ing his army southward, tarried three 
 days at Ripon, imposing heavy tribute 
 upon its inhabitants, and, so say the 
 chronicles, "perpetrating many atroci- 
 ties." 
 
 The prosperity of the town depended 
 mainly on its woollen manufactures. The 
 country people resorted to its fairs and 
 markets, which, with the presence and
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 147 
 
 patronage of two great ecclesiastical estab- 
 lishments, must have given it a certain 
 commercial importance and dignity. During 
 the fifteenth century it seems to have es- 
 caped entanglement in the desolating wars 
 of York and Lancaster ; but what answered 
 in those days for our modern police reports 
 give us curious glimpses into the life of the 
 place. For instance, one Henry Scrotton, 
 "Chaplain at the Minster," is accused of 
 neglecting his duties, of occupying himself 
 in "secular trading, as if he were a lay- 
 man," and, in addition to this enormity, 
 of mixing sand with the wool he sold to 
 increase its weight ! Verily, the adultera- 
 tors of sugar in this nineteenth century can- 
 not lay claim to much originality. 
 
 A certain tailor is charged with disturb- 
 ing the order of divine service by drawing 
 his dagger upon a rival knight of the shears 
 "in a tumid and pompous manner." A 
 medical man gets into trouble for using 
 abusive language; and one John Clynt is
 
 148 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 commanded by the authorities to leave the 
 enticing company of a certain fair widow, 
 " on pain of marrying her." 
 
 But police reports, then as now, show 
 only one side of the shield ; and it is not 
 to be doubted that the Ripon folk of the 
 fifteenth century were quite as good and 
 respectable as their neighbours. 
 
 At length its religious houses, or commu- 
 nities, were dissolved, its woollen manu- 
 factures failed, and a "great plague" fell 
 upon poor Ripon, filling up the cup of its 
 misfortunes. Its local leaders joined the 
 earls of Northumberland and Westmore- 
 land in the great rising of the North in 
 1569, which ended most disastrously so 
 disastrously that, with all the offending 
 serving men of the West Riding, the rebel 
 townsmen of Ripon were put to death be- 
 fore the eyes of their kindred, and in sight 
 of their own homes. 
 
 No good and loyal town of England 
 neglects to keep a record of the visits of
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 149 
 
 its sovereigns. So here we are told that 
 King James I. arrived in Ripon on the 
 evening of Tuesday, April 15, 1617, and 
 " lodged with Mr. George Dawson, in Bond- 
 gate." "We may be sure that Mistress Daw- 
 son and her handmaidens rose early that 
 spring morning ; and that buttery and still- 
 room overflowed with preparations for the 
 royal supper. Mr. Recorder Proctor made 
 a speech, and Mr. Mayor presented the King 
 with a gilt bowl and a pair of Ripon spurs, 
 costing five pounds. Right gladly must 
 His Majesty have received the latter, for 
 Ripon spurs were famous. From their 
 fine quality came the proverb "As true 
 steel as Ripon rowels." Ben Jonson 
 says, " Why, there's an angel, if my 
 spurs be not right Rippon." And Dave- 
 nant, in his "Wits," has this allusion: 
 "Whip me with wire, beaded with rowels 
 of Sharp Rippon Spurs." 
 
 A very curious ancient custom still pre- 
 vails in Ripon; and it is well worth the
 
 150 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 visitor's while to listen at nine o'clock in 
 the evening for the three blasts of the 
 wakeman's horn. The "Wakeman," be 
 it known, is none other than the mayor, 
 whose official horn-blower sounds the horn 
 three times before His Honour's door, and 
 once afterwards at the market-cross while 
 the seventh bell of the cathedral is ringing. 
 This horn formerly announced the setting 
 of the watch ; whence came the title of the 
 chief official, " the Wakeman." In fact, 
 the office of wakeman is far older than that 
 of mayor. But in the reign of Elizabeth 
 the borough got into trouble discord and 
 dissension arising as to the manner of hold- 
 ing the elections. At length, under James 
 I., a new charter of incorporation was 
 granted the town, obtained chiefly by the 
 efforts of a Mr. Hugh Eipley, who was at 
 that time wakeman, and who was nomi- 
 nated by the . Crown as first mayor of 
 Ripon. The old title, however, long pre- 
 vailed. The wakeman and his men were
 
 RIPOX AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 15! 
 
 expected literally to "wake and watch," 
 and if any one was robbed within the town 
 limits, His Honour was held accountable. 
 
 For keeping this watch the wakeman 
 received from every householder whose 
 domicile possessed one outside door the 
 heavy annual tax of twopence. Whoever 
 owned a house grand enough to boast of 
 "a gate door and a back door" was re- 
 quired to pay "fourpence by the year of 
 duty." 
 
 We did not learn all this that night ; for 
 it takes time to make archaeological and his- 
 torical investigations, even if one has little 
 else to do. On the contrary, we went to 
 bed forthwith, and slept the sleep of the 
 justly tired traveller, not even dreaming of 
 the "Marchioness o' Ripon." 
 
 We two women, who did not have occa- 
 sion to put on our overshoes, or to unfold 
 our mackintoshes, from the middle of June 
 to the last of August, can think of England 
 only as a land of blue skies and charming
 
 152 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 weather. The next day, as usual, dawned 
 fair as a dream. It was just warm enough 
 for comfort; just cool enough for brisk 
 walking. In short, it was an ideal day for 
 seeing Fountains Abbey ; and soon after 
 breakfast we were in a light, open carriage 
 on our way thither. 
 
 Passing through the little village of Stud- 
 ley, we soon entered Studley Royal Park 
 and drove up the noble avenue of limes, 
 over a mile in length. I say up, without 
 any regard to the points of compass, there 
 being a slight ascent all the way. At some 
 distance to the right stands the mansion 
 house of the Marquis of Ripon, the owner 
 of the park and of the stately Abbey where 
 one of his name John of Rippon, was 
 buried in 1435. The park stretches on and 
 on in long and seemingly interminable vis- 
 tas ; and beneath the great trees herds of 
 deer, so tame that they did not so much as 
 lift their antlered heads to look at us, were 
 quietly feeding.
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY ItjJ 
 
 At the end of the avenue stands the 
 beautiful chapel built by Lady Mary Vyner 
 in memory of a son who was killed in Italy 
 by brigands. Here our driver halted un-< 
 bidden, and forth from a small lodge near 
 by came an old woman with the key. Did 
 the ladies wish to see the church ? We had 
 never heard of it before, but we concluded 
 that we did, much to her apparent sat- 
 isfaction. So she smilingly unlocked the 
 door and let us in. 
 
 The little building is beautiful, merely a 
 nave with aisles and a chancel. The chan- 
 cel steps, symbolical of Purity, Sin, and 
 Redemption (so said our garrulous guide), 
 are of white, gray, and crimson marble, 
 the gray being intentionally marred and 
 broken. The idea must have been bor- 
 rowed from Dante, in "II Purgatorio." 
 
 "The lowest stair was marble white so 
 
 smooth 
 
 And polished that therein my mirrored form 
 Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark
 
 154 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block 
 Crack'd lengthwise and across. The third, 
 
 that lay 
 
 Massy above, seem'd porphyry that flamed 
 
 Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein." 
 
 Canto IX. 85-92. 
 
 We did not linger long, for not even this 
 token of a mother's love and sorrow could 
 keep us within, when all out of doors was 
 so enchanting. Looking back over the 
 way we had come, as we delayed a mo- 
 ment on the steps of the chapel, we saw 
 the gray towers of Ripon Cathedral closing 
 the vista in the far distance. 
 
 Retracing our steps for a little way, we 
 turned to the left and drove through a long 
 avenue to the Lodge, beyond which no 
 carriages are allowed to pass. And here 
 words fail, and memory and imagination 
 halt. No tongue or pen can fitly describe 
 the beauty that entranced us that morning. 
 Leaving the gates shrouded in luxurious 
 foliage, we chose the shorter way to the
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 155 
 
 Abbey, down a wide path that followed the 
 windings of the little river Skell. At our 
 left was a closely shaven hedge of laurel, 
 rising far above our heads, through which 
 at short intervals windows had been cut 
 "peeps" or openings, giving exquisite 
 glimpses of the winding river which ever 
 and anon widens into a wide and shining 
 lake, with its rustic bridges, green, ivy-man- 
 tled islands adorned with statues and foun- 
 tains, temples and columns; and on the 
 opposite shore a graceful octagon tower 
 crowning a wooded hill. Peacocks strutted 
 bravely in the sun, waterfowl dipped and 
 fluttered, stately swans, "with arched necks 
 between their white wings mantling," glided 
 slowly hither and thither. 
 
 The walk was not even fatiguing, so 
 bright, so cool, so quiet, was it, with seats 
 in all manner of unexpected places, where 
 we lingered and loitered at will. At 
 length, in the midst of its green and sweet 
 seclusion, we found the glorious Abbey,
 
 156 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 remote, silent, deserted. Passing down 
 the entire length of the majestic ruin, with 
 scarce a glance at the great north tower, 
 we reached the ancient gate-house near 
 the west front. And there we paused to 
 look about us. 
 
 Details are utterly useless. How grand, 
 how imposing, yet how lovely and exquisite 
 Fountains Abbey is, with its towering, vine- 
 clad columns, its majestic arches, its lofty 
 bays, its traceried windows, its great stretch 
 of double cloisters, its splendid nave, its 
 long, receding aisles, stretching on and on 
 like infinity itself, no mortal tongue can 
 tell. Yet this is the seen and tangible. 
 Beyond this, and more than this, is the 
 unseen which is yet so clearly visible to the 
 eye of the imagination. For here, all 
 open to the sky, with no hint of roof or 
 sheltering wall, lie the mighty foundations 
 of hall and hospitium, chapter-house and 
 refectory, infirmary and prison. Over the 
 magnificent cloisters once stretched the

 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 157 
 
 great dormitories. Here were work-shops 
 and kitchens, and here is a great " building 
 of unknown use," whose very name is 
 forgotten. 
 
 Fountains Abbey was founded in 1132 
 by devout Benedictine monks, who, weary 
 of lax discipline, resolved to adopt the 
 sterner Cistercian rule then becoming 
 famous through the sanctity and enthusi- 
 asm of St. Bernard. Richard the Prior 
 (so called), with the Sub-prior and ten 
 monks of St. Mary's in York, came hither 
 to what was then a wild and uncultivated 
 valley, in the depth of winter, living at first 
 in caves and under the shelter of trees. 
 On a little knoll not far from the Hall, still 
 stand a group of yew-trees called the 
 Seven Sisters, said by tradition to have 
 sheltered the monks before the building of 
 the Abbey. One feels inclined to ask 
 whether there is any natural limit to the 
 life of a yew-tree. Methuselahs of the 
 race seem to lift their hoary heads wher-
 
 158 K1PON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 
 
 ever there is an abbey, or even an ancient 
 church, like that at Iffley. 
 
 Out of these small beginnings grew by 
 degrees the magnificence that bewilders 
 the senses even now when it is a vast pile 
 of ruins. Cowl and cassock must have 
 grown a-weary of deprivation and poverty, 
 for there is surely no trace of asceticism 
 here. Nothing on earth can be more beau- 
 tiful in its way than Fountains Abbey and 
 its surroundings. It has had no Scott to 
 immortalize it, as the great magician of the 
 North has immortalized Melrose. If it 
 had, the whole world would be at its feet. 
 
 We could have lingered there forever, 
 but the longest, fairest day must wane at 
 last. Returning to the park gates by the 
 longer way on the other bank of the Skell, 
 we stopped again and again to look and 
 marvel. At length, after having lost sight 
 of the Abbey for some time, we ascended a 
 little hill and there caught our last view of 
 it aptly called the "Surprise" a won-
 
 RIPON AND FOUNTAINS ABBEY 159 
 
 derful picture with a foreground of winding 
 river and wooded banks ending in a lovely 
 silhouette of the eastern transept and the 
 north tower. In this transept are the nine 
 altars of John de Carcia, the effect of 
 which must have been singularly like those 
 in the east transept at Durham. 
 
 Ripon is very proud of its own pretty 
 little Cathedral. I say "little" without 
 knowing its actual dimensions. Anything 
 would seem small beside the magnificent 
 reaches of Fountains Abbey. But great or 
 small, we gave it hardly more than a pass- 
 ing glance. Our heads and hearts were too 
 full of its overwhelming neighbour.
 
 VII 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 VTO doubt Altera and I were not the first 
 to discover that the personal equation 
 is one that must always be taken into the 
 account. We carry ourselves with us 
 wherever we go, with all our limitations 
 and all our weaknesses. It is not always 
 safe to conclude that a poem is not good 
 because you fail to appreciate it ; or that a 
 cathedral is not glorious because it moves 
 you less than others have done. 
 
 If, for instance, you have been hobnob- 
 bing for two exciting days with the three 
 sisters of Haworth ; if you have lain 
 awake in a haunted chamber of the Black 
 Bull Inn, hearing, with Charlotte Bronte's 
 ears, the church clock strike the quarter 
 160
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS l6l 
 
 hours the whole night through ; if the 
 quaint Yorkshire village and the lonely 
 moors have taken possession of you, soul 
 and body, and then, spent and ex- 
 hausted, you go to York only to find the 
 city in the clutches of a great agricultural 
 fair, and overrun by a motley horde swarm- 
 ing at every corner, crowding every hotel, 
 and taking possession of every inch of the 
 Cathedral, the chances are that you will 
 find the great minster unsatisfactory. 
 
 This was our fate. We did not enjoy 
 York, because our time happened to be 
 limited, and circumstances were against us. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you, madam?" 
 asked one of the vergers, pausing a moment 
 by the column whereon I leaned discon- 
 solately. 
 
 "Yes," I said; "tell me how I can see 
 the minster in a reasonable way. This is 
 only an aggravation." 
 
 " I understand, my lady," he answered. 
 " But look ! There are three large parties 
 
 M
 
 l62 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 being severally conducted at this very 
 minute. We seldom have such a crowd." 
 
 It was indeed a crowd. All Yorkshire, 
 and half a dozen other shires, apparently, 
 were killing two birds with one stone, 
 taking in the fair, and " doing" the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 "And this will last three days ? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " Three days 
 and more. And not one in ten know what 
 they are looking at, or care a straw for 
 what they see. But you understand that 
 under the circumstances we must keep the 
 gates locked." 
 
 "Yes, I see. Nevertheless, we must 
 have another look at that chapter-house, 
 Altera." 
 
 The verger laughed, swinging his keys. 
 
 ** I will lock you into the chapter-house, 
 if you say so," he said. " You may stay 
 half an hour. I am just leaving ; but I 
 will tell one of my associates to let you 
 out."
 
 riVEl 5 FSTERS" Yo RK Mi
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 163 
 
 Needless to say, we jumped at his offer. 
 We were standing in the north transept, 
 gazing up at the "Five Sisters," the five 
 exquisite lancet- windows with their double 
 mullions, all silver grays, and tender 
 olives, and sage greens, as soft as moon- 
 light. Passing into the east aisle, we 
 stopped a moment at the tomb of Arch- 
 bishop Greenfield, and then the wroiight 
 iron gate, or door, of the vestibule was 
 opened for us. Near it is this singularly 
 appropriate inscription, 
 
 "Ut rosa flos florum, sic est domus ista 
 domorum." 
 
 The vestibule itself is more than beauti- 
 ful ; but as to the chapter-house to whict 
 it leads, it is perhaps not too much to say 
 that it is indeed "domus domorum." It 
 has no central column, which is the main, 
 distinguishing feature of most chapter- 
 houses, is octagonal in form, and each 
 of the eight bays is one great, glorious 
 window, with geometrical tracing.
 
 164 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 Altera sank into one of the canopied seats 
 of carven stone that run the circuit of the 
 room, underneath richly coloured windows, 
 and removed her veil with a deep sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 " What a chamber of peace ! " she cried, 
 " after that gabbling, discordant crowd ! " 
 
 No sounds reached us. We might have 
 been in the heart of a forest. It was good 
 to be there, on that Mount of Transfigura- 
 tion. 
 
 But all good things must have an end. 
 Our half hour was up ; and with many 
 lingering looks we retraced our way 
 through the long, rectangular vestibule to 
 the iron gate. 
 
 Not a verger was to be seen, and the 
 north transept was empty. Apparently 
 all the world had gone in pursuit of 
 luncheon. "It seems we are prisoners," I 
 said, beating the bars in vain. " What 
 next?" 
 
 We studied the efflorescence, the whorls
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 165 
 
 and tendrils, of that gate for full another 
 half hour, before we were able to attract 
 the attention of a stray visitor in the dis- 
 tance, and beg him to send some one to 
 our rescue. 
 
 A verger (not ours) came, laughing, but 
 with many apologies. 
 
 "It is all my fault, ladies," he said, 
 flinging wide the door; "I was told to 
 let you out, but was with a party and 
 forgot all about it. I hope there is no 
 harm done?" 
 
 "Not the least," I replied, " provided we 
 have not lost our train. Good morning ! " 
 
 We went our way ; and all I remember 
 of York is the wonderful beauty of its 
 chapter-house, its wealth of stained win- 
 dows, and the curious stone rood-screen 
 of rich tabernacle-work, with statues of 
 English kings from William the Conqueror 
 to Henry VI., "inclusive," as the cata- 
 logues say. Their stony eyes look pre- 
 cisely as if they wore spectacles.
 
 l66 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 In due time, we took the train for Dur- 
 ham. The country through which we sped 
 was not especially interesting; and a lo- 
 quacious fellow-traveller, self -conceited and 
 opinionated, did his part towards making 
 the trip disagreeable. We were glad when 
 from the great railroad bridge over the 
 Wear, we saw the walls of " time-honoured 
 Durham," Castle and Cathedral both, rising 
 sheer from the face of the cliff, embowered 
 in dense masses of foliage. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. If one is 
 possessed of a spark of imagination to be 
 kindled, or of poetic instinct, to say noth- 
 ing of religious feeling, there is an inex- 
 pressible charm about cathedral services. 
 What does it matter if (as often happens, 
 though seldom on Sunday) there seems to 
 be a "beggarly array of empty benches"? 
 To a sensitive nature a cathedral is an 
 embodied prayer. It is prayer incarnate. 
 Every supplication, every litany, every 
 chanted psalm, that has ever gone up
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS l6/ 
 
 from its altar, seems to hover yet about 
 its time-worn, hallowed walls and vaulted 
 roofs, and to have been absorbed into its 
 very being. 
 
 Nevertheless, Altera did the praying for 
 both of us that morning, while I dreamed 
 and mused listlessly in my room, saving my 
 strength for the morrow. In the afternoon 
 we took the "Long Walk" on the banks 
 of the Wear, which is a lovely, fascinat- 
 ing little river. It must be confessed that 
 English lakes and rivers, famed in story 
 and in song, are sometimes disappointing. 
 Or rather, they would be, were it not for 
 the song and the story. The "banks and 
 braes o' Bonny Doon" are beautiful in 
 themselves; but who would care if they 
 were not ? Or who would measure Cader 
 Idris, Ben Venue, or Ben Nevis ? 
 
 The Wear winds and turns and doubles 
 on its track in curves and loops, like a 
 child playing hide-and-seek. In fact, as 
 you follow its densely wooded banks, you
 
 l68 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 feel as if you were yourself in a game 
 of hide-and-seek with both Cathedral and 
 Castle, which seemed to dodge and elude 
 you, appearing sometimes on your right 
 hand, and the next minute on your left, 
 in most bewildering fashion. 
 
 We came out near the Cathedral, having 
 escaped the steep ascent by this circuitous 
 route ; and from the bank below the west 
 front were able to see the Galilee Porch to 
 great advantage. Here, on a sheer cliff, 
 lifted high above the river a cliff up 
 which great forest trees have been slowly 
 clambering for ages the Cathedral towers 
 aloft, stern, majestic, imposing. To the 
 left, or northward, lies the gray, battle- 
 mented castle ; to the right are old mo- 
 nastic buildings, now turned to happy, 
 domestic uses, sitting in fair gardens and 
 shadowy groves. Surely no cathedral in 
 England, perhaps none in the world, can 
 rival this proud Durham in the splendour 
 and grandeur of its site. Lincoln, indeed,
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 169 
 
 sits on its "sovereign hill"; but not in 
 stately isolation. Meaner buildings crowd 
 around it, and press upon its knees. Dur- 
 ham is a king on his throne, lifted high 
 above the multitude, yet stretching out 
 beneficent hands in benediction. 
 
 But while we are on the bank beneath 
 it, perhaps this is the best time and place 
 for a word about the western facade. No 
 doubt the west doors at Durham, as else- 
 where, were originally the chief entrances 
 standing far enough back from the cliff 
 to admit of use. But now there are no 
 doors here. For, it must be said, the good 
 St. Cuthbert, who was the founder of Dur- 
 ham, and of whom more anon, had a 
 pronounced dislike to women. His shrine 
 was in the place of honour, east of the choir, 
 and behind the high altar. Now if the 
 Lady-Chapel, which is what this great 
 Galilee Porch really is, had been set in the 
 usual position at the east, there is no telling 
 what dire results might not have followed.
 
 I7O CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 In fact, it is a matter of history that 
 about the year 1150 Bishop Pudsey began 
 to build a Lady-Chapel at the east end of 
 the Cathedral. But the attempt was un- 
 successful, owing either to the displeasure 
 of God and the saint, or to the spongy, 
 peaty quality of the soil. Anyhow, there 
 was a shrinkage, and a crumbling of walls, 
 which was of course ominous ; and the 
 good Bishop hastened to remove his fine 
 columns of Purbeck marble, and the heavy 
 bases "from beyond the sea," to the west 
 front, as far as possible from the dust of 
 fastidious St. Cuthbert. After which all 
 seems to have been sweetly serene as well 
 as stable. 
 
 But the walls of the Galilee rise sheer 
 from the edge of the cliff, and seem almost 
 a part of it. There are no outside doors, 
 the only entrance to the chapel being di- 
 rectly from the nave. 
 
 The next morning we drove up the steep, 
 narrow street leading from the town to the
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 171 
 
 ancient castle of William the Conqueror, 
 which is now used as a university. One 
 fancies that the sturdy old Norman, who 
 had more reverence for broadswords and 
 chain mail than for books, or parchment 
 scrolls, would cry out, "To what base 
 uses we may return, Horatio ! " if he could 
 see the hoary keep as it is now, a comfort- 
 able dormitory for young men. It was the 
 long vacation, and there was no sign of cap 
 or gown. To tell the truth, we were rather 
 glad of it, as we wandered about the grand 
 old fortress, the scene of so many conflicts 
 between Scot and Southron, gazed up at its 
 battlemented towers, and trod its storied 
 courtyard. 
 
 The castle is wonderfully well preserved 
 in its still hale old age. It looks and so 
 does its spiritual sister across the green 
 as if it might outlive the everlasting hills ; 
 and the changes necessary to adapt it to its 
 present uses have been made, for the most 
 part, with skill and care, and a thoughtful
 
 172 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 reverence for its past. Of course in this 
 utilitarian age one ought to be glad and 
 one is glad that this vast mass of ivy- 
 mantled stone should be put to some be- 
 neficent use. It is well that serene and 
 elegant learning should abide where once 
 " stern -visaged war did rear its awful 
 front." Yet if one has an eye for the pict- 
 uresque, it must be confessed it is some- 
 thing of a shock to find the "donjon keep " 
 turned into a bedroom, with mattress and 
 spring bed ! 
 
 In the great dining-hall where the young 
 students now eat, yet hang the heavy bal- 
 conies where the minstrels tuned their 
 harps, and where, so tradition saith, Wil- 
 liam Wallace in the disguise of a wandering 
 pilgrim sang and played before some faire 
 ladye of high degree. In this room kings 
 and queens, from the Empress Matilda down 
 to Charles I., have received the homage of 
 loyal hosts. Many of the walls are hung 
 with tapestries wrought by pious nuns in
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 173 
 
 the old monastic days; and on the great 
 black staircase one seems to see stately, 
 shadowy figures ascending and descending 
 knight and crusader, prelate, priest, and 
 king. 
 
 Near the kitchen we were shown a mas- 
 sive, iron-bound chest, in which it is said 
 St. Cuthbert's body once lay. At the time 
 of the Reformation it was removed here to 
 await the pleasure of Henry VIII. ; but was 
 eventually restored to its resting-place. 
 The great saint seems to have been well 
 provided with coffins. He died at Lindes- 
 farne, or Holy Island, A.D. 685. Eleven 
 years afterward the monks, having occa- 
 sion to remove the body, found it quite un- 
 changed, and made for it a new coffin of 
 carved wood, large fragments of which are 
 still preserved in the Cathedral library. As 
 we stood looking at it, a voice said, 
 
 ' ' It will be twelve hundred years next 
 Thursday since St. Cuthbert died ; and on 
 that day there will be a great pilgrimage
 
 174 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 to Holy Island." Thus are past and present 
 linked together. 
 
 In the crypt of the castle is a small pri- 
 vate chapel, built for his own use by the 
 great Norman Conqueror. It was a fit ora- 
 tory, so rude, so rough, so strong, looking 
 as if some Titan had hewed it from the 
 glolid rock 
 
 Presently we heard a great bell, tolling, 
 tolling, tolling, and the peal of an organ. 
 Hurrying across Castle Green, the broad, 
 level space that divides the castle from the 
 Cathedral, we entered the vast, vaulted 
 nave, and found ourselves uninvited guests 
 at a funeral service. Silently and rever- 
 ently we made our way up the north aisle, 
 and found seats near the choir. " It is one 
 of the Minor Canons," some one whis- 
 pered. " He died on Friday." 
 
 The white-surpliced choir boys were 
 chanting, while the organ breathed softly. 
 Then suddenly a great flood of melody 
 filled all the vaulted spaces, and a grand
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 175 
 
 voice sang the well-known hymn of Sir 
 John Goss, " Brother, thou hast left us." 
 Four men lifted the coffin, heaped with 
 flowers, to their shoulders, and the long 
 procession, deans, canons, priests, choir 
 boys and people, passed out by the door in 
 the south transept, into the adjoining grave- 
 yard. It was most impressive, that funeral 
 pageant, so unexpectedly encountered ; and 
 strangers though we were, we breathed 
 more freely when dust was committed to 
 dust. 
 
 It is worth something to know that he 
 who has seen Durham has seen the finest 
 specimen of Norman architecture now ex- 
 isting in England, or perhaps in the world ; 
 for it is conceded that there is nothing finer, 
 if as fine, on the Continent. But here are 
 no lace-like traceries ; here is no exquisite 
 colouring. However much we may have 
 admired and enjoyed these elsewhere, they 
 are not needed here. All is sombre, mas- 
 sive, stately, imposing, blent with such a
 
 176 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 solemn, awful beauty that the heart throbs, 
 the throat swells, and the eyes grow dim. 
 The mighty nave with the stone vaulting of 
 its roof, a marvellous roofing that is a 
 characteristic feature of the whole building ; 
 the great circular piers strangely decorated, 
 if one may use the word in this connection, 
 by deep, incised lines in the stone, cut in 
 various patterns, zigzag, lozenge, and deep 
 flutings, in which black shadows brood ; 
 the heavy zigzag and dog-tooth mouldings, 
 not unlike those at Iffley ; the stately splen- 
 dour of the choir ; the graceful beauty of 
 the "Nine Altars," an eastern transept 
 taking the place of the apse in which the 
 Norman choir once ended, all these, with 
 countless details of chantry, tomb, and 
 shrine, that cannot be so much as men- 
 tioned here, combine to make an impres- 
 sion too vivid to be ever forgotten. 
 
 I have said that St. Cuthbert hated 
 women or feared their wiles, possibly, 
 which may be a gentler way of put-
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 177 
 
 ting it. This feeling seems to have been 
 inherited by his successors, unless to do 
 their master honour they did violence to 
 their own feelings. When the nave of Dur- 
 ham was built, a line of dark Frosterly 
 marble, crossed by two central lines, was 
 let into the stone flagging, just west of the 
 north and south doors. Over this line, in 
 the earlier days, no woman's foot might step. 
 She might not approach sanctuary, or high 
 altar, or kneel at St. Cuthbert's splendid 
 shrine. I doubt if the records tell just 
 when this embargo on womanhood was 
 removed. But one cannot stand beside 
 the spot where his dust unquestionably 
 lies, without a tender thought for the 
 doughty old man whose name has lived 
 so long, the first of the long line of prince- 
 bishops that make the annals of Durham 
 glorious. Of humble parentage, we hear 
 of him first as a shepherd boy tending his 
 flocks not far from Melrose ; next as a stu- 
 dent, or acolyte, at St. David's ; then as a
 
 178 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 great evangelist, or missionary, preaching 
 in the wilds of Northumbria. He became 
 bishop, "much against his will," but the 
 people would have him for their spiritual 
 ruler, and he yielded. It is said of him 
 that he possessed " eminent self-control and 
 patience, and great persuasive power," 
 with a deep and tender sympathy that 
 drew all hearts to him, as the moon at- 
 tracts the sea. His ministration was wise, 
 vigorous, and beneficent. Let womanhood 
 forgive him for the cross in the nave. 
 
 St. Cuthbert was first buried at Lindis- 
 farne, where was a monastery, the fore- 
 runner of Durham. But the Danes came 
 over the sea, and the monks fled far, 
 carrying with them their treasures. Of 
 these the most sacred was the body of their 
 saint. For years they wandered homeless, 
 settling for short periods, now here, now 
 there. And here comes in one of the 
 strange legends that go to show how widely 
 the life and thought of the tenth century
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 179 
 
 differed from that of the nineteenth. The 
 story goes that the monks, bearing their 
 ghastly burden ever with them, went 
 searching for a site on which to build a 
 church, which should be likewise a tomb 
 for their bishop. When they reached a 
 place then called Ward Lake, not far from 
 what is now Durham, the coffin was placed 
 upon the ground while they rested. When 
 they would have resumed their journey, lo 
 and behold ! their united efforts could not 
 stir it. The saint would not budge an 
 inch. This "wrought great admiration in 
 the hearts of the monks," and ergo, they 
 fasted and prayed three days, asking what 
 they should do with the body of holy 
 St. Cuthbert. They were told, how or by 
 whom the chronicle saith not, to carry him 
 to Dunholme. Here was a dilemma. None 
 of them knew where Dunholme was. But 
 let us quote from said old chronicle. 
 
 "But see their good fortune! As they 
 were going, a woman that lacked her cow
 
 l8o CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 did call aloud to her companion to know 
 if she did not see her, who answered with 
 a loud voice, that her cow was in Dun- 
 holme, a happy and heavenly echo to the 
 distressed monks, who by that means were 
 at the end of their journey, where they 
 should find a resting-place for the body of 
 their honoured saint." 
 
 On the north side of the east transept 
 high up on the outer wall are the 
 sculptured figures of two milkmaids and 
 a "Dun Cow." Thus we see that, after 
 all, the voice of a woman decided St. 
 Cuthbert's burial place. 
 
 The Galilee Porch is an exquisitely beau- 
 tiful oblong chapel, with five aisles, a be- 
 wildering maze of vaults and arches and 
 clustered shafts, all richly decorated with 
 zigzag work. Here rest the ashes of the 
 Venerable Bede, in front of his own altar. 
 Once they were encased in a magnificent 
 shrine of gold and silver, but now only 
 the severely plain, sarcophagus-like tomb
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS l8l 
 
 remains. It bears the well-known inscrip- 
 tion, 
 
 "Hac sunt in fossa Bedae venerabilis ossa." 
 
 Tradition says, that when the sculptor, 
 or engraver, hesitated for a fitting adjec- 
 tive, an angel appeared, took the graving 
 tool, and wrote the word "venerabilis." 
 History and romance are alike full of such 
 "well-authenticated" marvels. 
 
 But after all that has been or ever 
 may be said, of the overwhelming glory 
 of Durham as a church, it is, perhaps, the 
 surpassing splendour of its site, taken in 
 connection with the castle, that makes the 
 strongest and most unique impression. 
 "Half church, half fortress," its early 
 bishops were princes in very deed. They 
 were military rulers, so powerful that kings 
 trembled before them. Indeed, the Eng- 
 lish kings were well content to let them 
 reign undisturbed in their fair domain if 
 only they could be depended upon to de-
 
 1 82 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 fend the border. There are fabulous tales 
 of their splendour and power, of the stately 
 etiquette of their regal courts, of the magnifi- 
 cence of their retinues. Thomas a Becket 
 was not more powerful or more splendid in 
 the reign of Henry II., than was Anthony 
 Bek in that of Edward I. It was fitting 
 that church and castle should stand side 
 by side, lifting up their awful fronts as 
 defenders alike of the faith and the nation. 
 Yet Durham had its softer side. If it 
 was a terror to evil-doers, so also was it a 
 refuge, a sanctuary. As one crosses the 
 green from the castle, the eye is caught by 
 a great bronze knocker, a grotesque head 
 and face with empty eye-sockets. Whether 
 the crystal semblance of an eye once shone 
 therefrom, or whether it was lighted by 
 a lamp within, no mortal can now say. 
 Hunted, pursued, with war-hounds on his 
 track, even if he were robber, murderer, 
 traitor, or defiler, whoever came flying across 
 the green was safe for thirty -seven days if he
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 183 
 
 but grasped this knocker. Over the north 
 porch can yet be seen the chamber where, 
 year after year, unceasing watch was kept, 
 lest by chance any hunted soul should fly 
 to sanctuary and fail to find speedy en- 
 trance. Yet though he fell fainting against 
 the door, if he but touched the bronze 
 knocker he was safe. It is pleasant to 
 think that through these cavernous eyes 
 the light of a friendly lamp may have 
 shone as a beacon in the darkness. At 
 the west end of the south aisle of the nave 
 "was a grate whither the sanctuary men 
 did fly to, when they came for refuge to 
 St. Cuthbert," and where, in addition to 
 this great boon of safety, " they had meat, 
 drink, and bedding, and other necessaries 
 at the house cost and charge, for thirty- 
 seven days." 
 
 These same old chroniclers from whom 
 I have quoted, paint for us many a pretty 
 picture, softening the aspect of those war- 
 like days. Around the beautiful cloister
 
 184 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 were the dormitories and the refectory, 
 where the monks "slept and lived and 
 ate." In the library, and in small cham- 
 bers called carrells, they studied. There 
 was a school for novices in the west alley, 
 where they were taught by " one of the 
 oldest monks that was learned." He was 
 called "Master of the Novices," and had 
 "a pretty seat of wainscot, adjoining to 
 the south side of the treasury door." 
 
 We were in one of the shadowy passages 
 leading to this same cloister, when we 
 noticed two low arches, precisely alike. 
 
 "What are they?" said one of us. 
 " Ovens ? They remind me of my grand- 
 mother's." 
 
 As we were holding solemn conference 
 over the " ovens," two men, one of them 
 in clerical dress, approached us from the 
 cloister, and, pausing, asked if they could 
 be of service to us. It is of no consequence 
 what they said as to the arches. But a 
 long and interesting talk followed, one
 
 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 185 
 
 never to be forgotten, full of helpful sug- 
 gestion, and of rich store of information 
 concerning the past and present of the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 At length the younger man turned to 
 me suddenly. " Have you happened to 
 see Canon Green well's book on Durham 
 Cathedral ? " he asked. 
 
 I shook my head. "Then allow me to 
 show it to you," he said, and disappeared 
 round the corner. 
 
 "There goes the best verger in all Eng- 
 land," exclaimed the older man, looking 
 after him. " I verily believe I might say 
 the best in all the world. He knows more 
 of cathedral architecture I don't speak of 
 Durham only," he added, with a wave of 
 the hand, " but of the whole subject in all 
 its bearings, than any man of my ac- 
 quaintance. You may have heard of him ? 
 It is Mr. Weatherall." 
 
 A bell rang just then, and with a few 
 more cordial words, he bowed his adieux
 
 l86 CHURCH AND FORTRESS 
 
 and departed. Before he was out of sight, 
 the other man returned, bringing the book. 
 
 "That is Canon Greenwell," he said, 
 nodding in the direction of the receding 
 figure, "the author of this book. He is a 
 remarkable man. What he does not know 
 about this Cathedral, and about archaeology 
 in general, is not worth knowing. You 
 will be glad to have met him, ladies." 
 
 And we were. But after a longer chat 
 with Mr. Weatherall, we bade" him good- 
 by with an intensified regret that he had 
 not been in service during our stay in 
 Durham.
 
 VIII 
 
 THE VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHT- 
 SHADE WHEREIN LIES FURNESS 
 ABBEY 
 
 T?VEN pilgrims to Mecca and Jerusalem 
 may occasionally turn aside from the 
 beaten highroad to find rest in green past- 
 ures and beside still waters. But a lei- 
 surely sojourn in the lovely Lake country, 
 rich as it is in natural beauty and literary 
 associations, only served to intensify our 
 longing for ruined abbeys and lofty cathe- 
 dral arches. 
 
 Therefore, taking the coach from Amble- 
 side to Coniston one summer morning, we 
 passed Windermere and Ullswater, and 
 climbed higher and higher among the hills, 
 till the world seemed lying beneath our feet. 
 187
 
 1 88 VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 
 
 The exquisite, lonely beauty of that drive 
 is something never to be forgotten. Swift 
 passing showers, sudden bursts of sunshine, 
 silver mists, and floating clouds lent their 
 enchantments ; and once a broad rainbow, 
 wonderful in brilliant colouring, spanned 
 the valley so near us that we seemed en- 
 compassed by its glory. 
 
 From Conistou, a few miles by rail 
 brought us to Furness Abbey in the Valley 
 of Nightshade, one of the noblest and 
 most picturesque ruins in England. Not a 
 cathedral, certainly; yet surely in a Cathe- 
 dral Pilgrimage may be included, now and 
 then, the sacred shrines from which the 
 glory has departed. 
 
 At Furness, the exigent, dominant pres- 
 ent crowds closely on the past, disputing 
 its right of way. The railroad station is 
 at the very gates. The Abbey Hotel, 
 built from the sacred stones of the old 
 Abbey, stands, as is fitting if it must be 
 there at all, very near the spot where the
 
 WHEREIN LIES FURNESS ABBEY 189 
 
 Guest Hall once spread wide its hospitable 
 doors ; or where it was long supposed to 
 have stood. Later investigation seems to 
 lead to the supposition that it may have 
 been the dwelling of the abbot, with his 
 private chapel in the southeast corner. 
 
 But however this may be, the hotel is in 
 the Abbey grounds ; and in its various 
 apartments are sculptured stones, tablets, 
 and corbels, and fantastic gargoyles that 
 tell their own story of ruin and mouldering 
 decay. Over the fireplace of the coffee- 
 room is a crude bas-relief of The Creation, 
 carved on a block of red sandstone by one 
 whose very name is forgotten. The artist 
 chose a thrilling moment. The Creator, 
 in flowing robes, bends over Adam and 
 looks benignantly upon Eve, who is slowly 
 emerging from her husband's side. Trees, 
 some deer, and a few other animals form 
 the background. 
 
 But we have only to step from the inn, 
 and we are in the precincts of the church.
 
 IQO VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 
 
 Before us is a low, round-arched, Norman 
 doorway, through which we enter the north 
 transept. Shall we stop to talk or even 
 to think of Transitional and Rectilinear 
 "periods ," of Perpendicular, and Lancet, 
 and Geometric ? Let us rather give our- 
 selves up to the enchantment of the place, 
 and forget all else. Possibly though 
 we may doubt this if we choose the en- 
 chantment is all the greater, all the more 
 powerful, because the world is so near us 
 with the clanging of bells, the rush and 
 rumble of passing trains, the strange con- 
 trast between these ivy-grown, cloistered 
 ruins, and the stir and bustle of travel and 
 traffic. 
 
 The great church is roofless, though the 
 walls form a partial enclosure ; and wher- 
 ever one looks there is a bewildering wealth 
 of broken capitals and fallen columns, 
 fragments of noble pillars, arched door- 
 ways, and vaulted windows that are now 
 only wide, lofty, open spaces, shorn of
 
 WHEREIN LIES FURNESS ABBEY IQI 
 
 mullion and tracery, through which the 
 sunshine streams, the soft air flows, and 
 song-birds come and go, building their 
 nests above the reach of harm in these 
 still coverts. The floor of the nave if 
 there be any floor remaining is as com- 
 pletely grass-grown as any lawn ; a carpet 
 of soft green turf. Everywhere there is a 
 riotous tangle of ivy with its long wreaths 
 and pennants swaying in the wind ; and 
 everywhere the slow, pale lichens creep, 
 contrasting vividly with the red sandstone 
 of wall and arch and entablature. The 
 aisles through which the voice of music 
 swept are now marked only by the bases 
 'of the fallen columns, alternately round 
 and clustered. Some of them are broken 
 off even with the ground; some are just 
 high enough for comfortable seats ; and, 
 now and then, one stands at the height of 
 a man's head. But over them all the 
 tender mosses and lichens have crept, 
 healing wounds and hiding scars, and in
 
 192 VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 
 
 every nook and crevice grasses wave 
 and flowers bloom. 
 
 The east window of the chancel is very 
 noble, a great open space forty-seven feet 
 high and twenty-three wide, robbed now 
 of its "glass of thousand colourings," but 
 most beautiful and impressive in its sug- 
 gestiveness. Under this window one can 
 yet trace the foundations of the high 
 altar, and the circumambulatory behind 
 it. At the south is the wonderfully beau- 
 tiful sedilia of five larger and two smaller 
 canopied niches most elaborately carved, 
 each with its enclosed seat and panelled 
 sides. 
 
 Here in the chancel lie in rows the tomb- 
 stones, effigies and broken slabs that have 
 been found from time to time among the 
 ruins, and placed here for safe keeping. 
 Floriated crosses abound, the symbol in 
 many cases outlasting the personal inscrip- 
 tion. Most of these are illegible, but 
 among the names that can be deciphered
 
 WHEREIN LIES FURXESS ABBEY 193 
 
 are those of two women. One inscription 
 reads thus : 
 
 "Domina: Xtina: Secunda." 
 It may have marked the grave of Chris- 
 tiana, wife of Ingelgram de Gynes or of 
 another Christiana, daughter of Alexander 
 de Bouth, who gave to the Abbey twenty- 
 four acres of land in 1296. Only the 
 recording angel knows which of the twain 
 may claim remembrance here. 
 
 On another slab just eleven letters have 
 resisted time and fate : 
 
 "... Jacet Godith . . ." 
 This is all that is left of some fair Goditha 
 who was laid to rest doubtless with 
 prayers*and tears under these solemn 
 arches six centuries ago. 
 
 In the choir lies a recumbent knight with 
 the crossed legs of the crusader. If he 
 gave and received fierce blows in the Holy 
 Land, his monument has had harder, if one 
 may judge from its state of dilapidation.
 
 IQ4 VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 
 
 May a suggestion be allowed here ? 
 Ground plans of the ruined abbeys can be 
 procured in nearly every instance. By the 
 aid of one, and with some slight exercise 
 of even a not over-vivid imagination, the 
 whole place can be reconstructed. With- 
 out such reconstruction one can see, indeed, 
 the pathetic beauty of ruined arches, for- 
 saken courts all open to the sky, and col- 
 umns ivy-grown and lichen-clad. But he 
 sees little else. With it, he can bring back 
 the whole stately past. 
 
 He leaves the church by the round-arched 
 Norman doorway in the south aisle, and 
 finds himself in the ancient cloisters sur- 
 rounding the quadrilateral cemetery of the 
 monks. There they once lay in stately, 
 silent rows, with their faces to the east, while 
 through the long arcades hard by echoed the 
 measured tread of their white-cowled breth- 
 ren pacing their daily and nightly rounds. 
 They were still part and parcel of the great 
 Abbey under whose shadow they slept.
 
 WHEREIN LIES FURNESS ABBEY 195 
 
 Through one of three splendid arches, 
 with their broad, concentric rings, and 
 dog-tooth mouldings, he passes into the 
 vestibule of the great chapter-house, which 
 is always the most important of the monas- 
 tic buildings, excepting only the church 
 itself. This of Furness must have been 
 exceedingly noble and imposing, its vaulted 
 roof having been supported by double rows 
 of slender, clustered pillars. The windows 
 are many and lofty, and their panelling is 
 superb, the armorial rose repeating itself 
 continually. Over the chapter-house was 
 the scriptorium, or library ; and here, year 
 after year, the learned monks of Furness 
 Abbey wrote and thought and studied, 
 and then went their way into the undiscov- 
 ered country, leaving their illuminated 
 missals and cumbrous tomes behind them. 
 Alas ! of all their fine transcriptions, but 
 one book remains on earth to-day. Well 
 might their ashes cry, ' ' Vanitas vanita- 
 tis!"
 
 196 VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 
 
 Turning to the south, we find the re- 
 mains of the fratry, or day room, of the 
 brethren, a most suggestive place. For 
 here, when they were not working, or pray- 
 ing, or doing penance, they lived. Here 
 their meals were served, and here they met 
 for talk and social intercourse. Above it, 
 as above the west cloister, were the dormi- 
 tories. 
 
 Beyond the small stream that flows 
 through the Valley of Deadly Nightshade, 
 was the infirmary, safely set apart from in- 
 trusion, and also from the danger of spread- 
 ing infection. Surely these old monks 
 were wise in their day and generation. In 
 this quiet place the " seke brethren" of 
 Furness must have found themselves ad- 
 mirably lodged, their chief apartment 
 having had a large fireplace and four great 
 windows on the south, and two windows 
 and a door on the north. 
 
 If one looks long enough, he may find 
 what is supposed to have been a school-
 
 WHEREIN LIES FURNESS ABBEY 1 97 
 
 house for the children of the tenantry, or 
 villeins. The Abbey had broad lands 
 and many serfs within its jurisdiction. 
 A stone bench runs round three sides of 
 the schoolroom, and the pedestal of the 
 master's seat still serves to keep order in 
 the ghostly place. 
 
 Not far off are the ruins of the old mill ; 
 but where is the wheat, and where is the 
 miller ? Only the mill-stream remains, as 
 young, as noisy, as vigorous as ever. 
 
 There is no need to go into the history of 
 Furness Abbey here. It was founded in 
 1127, by Stephen, Earl of Moreton, after- 
 wards King of England. Its monks were 
 originally Benedictines, and wore the gray 
 habit ; but under the rule, or reign, of its 
 fifth Abbot, they transferred their allegiance 
 to the Cistercian Order, to which they be- 
 longed until the dissolution of the Abbey by 
 Henry VIII. Whoever cares to know more 
 of the whys and wherefores, let him con- 
 sult Mr. Beck's " Annales Furnesienses. "
 
 198 VALLEY OF DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 
 
 Dissolution meant desolation, and spolia- 
 tion as well. Yet one wonders unceas- 
 ingly how, even when these mighty towers 
 and stupendous arches were left to the bats 
 and owls and the winds of heaven, their 
 ruin could have been so complete and over- 
 whelming. 
 
 Somewhere I have seen it stated that 
 Furness was second in size to Fountains 
 only. Comparisons are invidious, and may 
 easily be unjust. But when one thinks of 
 size, it is impossible to forget the immense 
 spaces and majestic solitudes of Glaston- 
 bury. Perhaps the solitude has something 
 to do with it, and the wide, weird silence 
 as well as the vast length of the church 
 itself. In the grass-grown nave great trees 
 stand now for columns and triforium 
 arches. Yet one can trace the foundations 
 of transepts, choir, and chancel, and go on 
 and on, beyond the steps leading to the 
 high altar, into the empty spaces of the 
 five chapels, the holy shrines, behind it.
 
 WHEREIN LIES FUKNESS ABBEY 199 
 
 Standing here and gazing down the un- 
 broken stretch of six hundred feet to St. 
 Joseph's Chapel at the extreme west, one 
 can only say under one's breath, "How 
 vast, how solemn, how awe-inspiring, is the 
 majestic desolation of Glastonbury ! " 
 
 Who cares if the Pyramids are older? 
 The time comes at last in the life of created 
 things when to the heart and imagination 
 of man, as to the high gods themselves, a 
 thousand years are as a day.
 
 IX 
 
 THE TRANSEPT OF THE 
 MARTYRDOM 
 
 "TVEAX STANLEY speaks of .five great 
 landings in English History: the 
 landing of Julius Caesar, which first re- 
 vealed us to the civilized world, and the 
 civilized world to us ; that of Hengist and 
 Horsa, whence came our Saxon forefathers ; 
 that of St. Augustine, which gave us our 
 Latin Christianity ; that of William the 
 Conqueror, which gave us our Norman 
 lineage ; and the landing of William III., 
 which gave us our free constitution. 
 
 We may say " us," as he does ; because 
 when these great landmarks were sot up, 
 England was our England as truly as she 
 is that of the staunchest Briton who treads 
 her soil to-day. 
 
 200
 
 TRANSEPT OF THE MARTYRDOM 2OI 
 
 The third of these landings that of 
 St. Augustine was made in the year 597, 
 on the Isle of Thanet, not far from what 
 is now the city of Canterbury. Augustine 
 found the ground somewhat prepared for 
 him. Ethelbert, King of the Saxons, had 
 married Bertha, daughter of Clovis, King 
 of Paris. She was a Christian, like the rest 
 of the French royal family, and brought 
 her chaplain, a French Bishop, with her 
 to England. A little chapel "east of the 
 city," as Bede tells us, was set apart for 
 her use, though her husband and his people 
 were pagans. This chapel stood on the 
 gentle slope now occupied by the Church 
 of St. Martin's, into whose venerable walls 
 were incorporated the Roman bricks and 
 cement of its predecessor. 
 
 The great Cathedral of Canterbury is, 
 indeed, the child of little St. Martin's, the 
 oldest Christian church in England. For 
 full twelve hundred years, St. Martin's has 
 been used, as it is to-day, as a parish
 
 202 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 church. The font in which King Ethelbert, 
 the first Christian convert, was baptized on 
 the feast of "Whitsunday, June 2, 597, is 
 still in use ; and I laid my hand upon 
 its sacred rim with a feeling of awe-struck 
 reverence. The view from the west porch 
 of St. Martin's is lovely and inspiring be- 
 yond belief. At our feet lie the towers 
 of the great Abbey of St. Augustine, 
 where Christian learning first took root 
 in English soil, and where after so many 
 centuries it still grows and flourishes. 
 Farther on we see the roofs and spires 
 of the town, and still beyond soars the 
 magnificent pile of the Cathedral, as glori- 
 ous as the noblest temple of ancient Koine. 
 For out of the small beginnings of Augus- 
 tine and Ethelbert grew by slow gradations, 
 the grandest cathedral in England. 
 
 This explains to us why the head of 
 the English Church is Archbishop, not of 
 London, or York, or Durham, but of Can- 
 terbury. Fuller, in his Church History,
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 203 
 
 says, "Kent itself is but a corner of Eng- 
 land, and Canterbury is but a corner of 
 that corner. 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 
 first cradle of English Christianity." 
 
 It was near the close of a golden Satur- 
 day late in July, 1891, that we made our 
 third pilgrimage to Canterbury ; and the 
 queer old streets smiled a welcome as we 
 drove to the Fountain Inn, scarcely a 
 stone's throw from Mercery Lane, through 
 which every one of Chaucer's Pilgrims 
 must have passed. 
 
 Sunday was a perfect day, a day after 
 George Herbert's own heart, "so cool, so 
 calm, so bright." What with the devout 
 and simple morning service, and the rest 
 afterwards, it seemed like a foretaste of 
 heaven. But when we awoke the next 
 morning the rain was falling in torrents, t 
 and rivers of water were rushing through
 
 2O4 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 the closely paved streets of the quaint old 
 town. "We were in dismay ; for near as we 
 were to the Cathedral it seemed impossible 
 to get there. After waiting till eleven 
 o'clock in the vain hope of clearing weather, 
 we called for a close carriage and were 
 driven in state down short Mercery Lane 
 and through Christ-Church gate into the 
 Cathedral close. Stopping at the great 
 south porch, we managed to rush under 
 cover before we were really drenched. 
 
 Once there, the overpowering grandeur 
 of the stately pile took full possession of us. 
 How long we stood alone near the west 
 door, looking up at the forest of arches 
 over our heads, down the long length of 
 majestic aisles, and at the mighty columns 
 on either hand, there is no need to say. 
 We were armed with the Dean's card, and 
 had his full permission to go wherever we 
 wished, with or without a verger, as we 
 fhose. As we knew the way, we chose to 
 go alone. So the gates of choir, aisles, and
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 205 
 
 chapels were unlocked, and with a bow and 
 smile the friendly verger left us to our own 
 devices. 
 
 The rain stood us in good stead. The 
 vast building was empty as a tomb. Slowly 
 we walked up the silent, solitary nave, 
 between the lofty columns standing like 
 rows of sentinels on either side, until we 
 reached the first, or west, transepts, that 
 of the martyrdom of St. Thomas a Becket 
 on the north, that of St. Michael's, or the 
 Warrior's, on the south, and ascended the 
 broad, massive flight of steps leading to 
 the choir. 
 
 The chief peculiarity of Canterbury, that 
 which sets it apart from all other cathe- 
 drals, is the long succession of ascents by 
 which church seems to be piled on church, 
 and temple on temple. Without pausing 
 at that time to look to right or left, at 
 storied pavement or vaulted chapel, we 
 went on through the choir, which is a 
 great church in itself, indescribably rich
 
 206 THE TRAXSEPT OF 
 
 in carvings and decoration, with columns 
 and arches, and traceried windows glorious 
 with the stained glass of the thirteenth 
 century, into the choir aisles, from which 
 rise other flights of broad stone stairs worn 
 into cavernous hollows by the knees of 
 the myriads of pilgrims who for century 
 after century brought hither their gifts and 
 oblations. 
 
 "We stood now in Trinity Chapel, with 
 the tessellated pavement at our feet, and 
 beyond it the vacant square, with its bor- 
 der of purple stones, whereon the shrine 
 of St. Thomas once stood. On one side of 
 us is the magnificent tomb of Edward the 
 Black Prince, with his armour and mailed 
 gloves hanging above it ; and on the other 
 the marble couch where Henry IV. 
 Shakespeare's Bolingbroke and his wife 
 Joan sleep their last sleep. But this was 
 not the end; for beyond the ambulatory 
 with stately chantries all around it, we 
 entered the small . circular chapel called
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 2OJ 
 
 the Corona, or Crown. And standing 
 here at the extreme eastern point of the 
 Cathedral, we had so gone on from height 
 to height, from glory to glory, that we 
 could look through Trinity Chapel, over 
 the reredos and the high altar, and through 
 the great choir with its carven screen, on 
 and on, down the whole length of the ma- 
 jestic nave until our gaze was stopped by 
 the glorious window that was a blaze of 
 colour even on that dark day. 
 
 It was a vision of peerless beauty and 
 magnificence, so overpowering indeed that 
 it was a positive relief to turn away from 
 it all, and wander into the chapter-house, 
 guided by the sound of merry voices and 
 subdued laughter. There we found the 
 boys of King's School rehearsing on an 
 impromptu stage, and preparing for a com- 
 ing exhibition. Boy nature is much the 
 same the world over. These lads were 
 not one whit abashed by their surround- 
 ings, but were having just as "good times"
 
 2O8 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 as boys in any country schoolhouse ; just 
 as good and no better. 
 
 We went into the library for a moment, 
 and into the Baptistry, a small circular 
 building with a cupola supported by stone 
 pillars, and some beautiful Norman arches. 
 But we could not linger long ; for the his- 
 toric associations of the place, as well as 
 its surpassing grandeur, held us in thrall, 
 and led us back to the transept of the Mar- 
 tyrdom. To stand on the spot where any 
 great event has happened, to see with one's 
 own eyes its locality, its environment, vivi- 
 fies history as nothing else can. Standing 
 on the very pavement that had been stained 
 with his blood, we tried to comprehend the 
 causes that led to the murder of Thomas & 
 Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, and to 
 his subsequent canonization. 
 
 The man's whole life was a romance, of 
 which his birth was the first chapter. A 
 Saxon Crusader named Gilbert was taken 
 prisoner by the Saracens. A fair Syrian
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 209 
 
 maiden fell in love with him, and managed 
 to secure his liberation. Whereupon the 
 Crusader, ingrate that he was, having 
 had enough of wars and captivity, inconti- 
 nently sped back to England, leaving his 
 lady-love behind him. But so runs the 
 legend she followed him, with a love and 
 trust worthy of a better cause. The fair 
 stranger knew but two English words, 
 the name of her lover, and that of the city 
 of his birth ; but by the repetition of * Gil- 
 bert, Gilbert," "London, London," aided by 
 her beauty and her tears, to say nothing of 
 the sale of her jewels, she at length made 
 her way to him over countless leagues of 
 land and sea. It looks very much as if 
 Monsieur Gilbert was a light o' love, and 
 meant that his escape from Syria sho-uld put 
 an end to this entanglement. But be that as 
 it may, he was at least man enough to be won 
 by the innocent faith that had followed him 
 so far. She became his wife ; and Thomas 
 a Becket was a child of this marriage.
 
 210 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 Educated in the schools of Oxford, Lon- 
 don, and Paris, the boy grew and throve ; 
 and at length in his early manhood made 
 his appearance at the court of Henry II. 
 Becoming at once a favourite with the 
 king, he rose rapidly until in 1158 he was 
 made Lord High Chancellor of England, 
 and preceptor to the young Prince Henry. 
 Fabulous stories are told of his wealth, his 
 splendour, the magnificence of his palace, 
 his costly apparel, his stately equipages. 
 Sent once on an embassy to France, the 
 populace cried out, "How splendid must 
 the King of England be, when this man is 
 only the Chancellor!" He became the 
 most intimate associate, the most familiar 
 friend of the king, the companion of his 
 private hours. 
 
 But a storm was brewing between church 
 and state. Each was straggling for the su- 
 premacy. Henry and the Barons were on 
 one side, the Primates, backed by the ul- 
 tramontane power of the Pope, were on
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 211 
 
 the other. It is easy, even at this far day, 
 to see how Henry must have reasoned. " I 
 will make my friend Thomas a Becket 
 Archbishop of Canterbury and head of the 
 English Church. Devoted to me as he is, 
 he will uphold my power against the power 
 of the clergy. He will sustain the King at 
 all hazards." But "the best laid schemes 
 of mice and men gang aft agley." Whether 
 it was through some secret grudge against 
 the king, the determination of a proud, 
 ambitious man to shine in a new field, and 
 to be greater and more powerful as Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury than he had been as 
 High Chancellor of England, or whether 
 the man's better nature was aroused, and 
 the spiritual side of him came to the front 
 in the new atmosphere that environed him, 
 no mortal can ever know beyond a perad- 
 venture. Certain it is that he completely 
 altered his manner of life. He exchanged 
 the silken robes of the courtier for the hair 
 shirt of the austere prelate ; he ate coarse
 
 212 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 food, and submitted to severe penances. 
 His brilliant followers were cast off, and 
 instead of doing the king's bidding he be- 
 came the mighty leader of the hostile party. 
 This went on for many years, during six 
 of which Becket was in a sort of honour- 
 able exile at the court of France. Then 
 there was a pretence at reconciliation, and 
 he returned to England amidst the accla- 
 mations of the people. The Cathedral was 
 superb in silken hangings, glorious as an 
 army with banners. Magnificent banquets 
 were made ready; organs pealed, bells 
 rung, trumpets sounded, and the Arch- 
 bishop preached in the chapter-house from 
 the text, "For here have we no continu- 
 ing city, but we seek one to come." The 
 truce was an armed truce, however, and 
 proved of short duration. New causes of 
 difficulty sprung up, and the bitter feud 
 grew sharper and sharper. Henry, to 
 strengthen his own position, had caused 
 his young son, Prince Henry, to be
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 213 
 
 crowned king not as his successor, but 
 as his colleague, crowned by the Arch- 
 bishop of York. This Becket regarded as 
 a direct infringement of his vested rights ; 
 for from the time of Augustine until the 
 present, the right of crowning the English 
 sovereigns has been held by the See of 
 Canterbury. Outraged and indignant, he 
 procured from the Pope letters of suspen- 
 sion and excommunication against the 
 three prelates who had taken part in the 
 coronation. 
 
 And now it was war to the knife. The 
 King was furious; and in his rage was 
 heard to cry out, "Who will deliver me 
 from the power of this man ? " 
 
 Four knights held their breath at this, 
 and looked at each other askance. They 
 were Eeginald Fitzurse, Hugh de More- 
 ville, William de Tracy, and Eichard le 
 Bret. They held quick counsel together 
 and galloped away in the darkness. The 
 next day they arrived at Saltwood Castle,
 
 214 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 near Canterbury, then held by Becket's 
 chief enemy, Dan Randolph of Broc. 
 
 It was the 29th of December, 1170. 
 Omens and auguries were in the very air. 
 The Archbishop himself was pale and dis- 
 traught, seeming to be oppressed with a dread 
 of coming evil. Before dawn he aston- 
 ished the clergy of his bed-chamber by ask- 
 ing whether it would be possible for one 
 to reach Sandwich, the nearest seaport, be- 
 fore daylight. He was answered, " Yes ! " 
 
 "Then let any one escape who wishes," 
 he said. 
 
 He attended mass as usual that day. He 
 went about all his customary duties at the 
 altar, in the chapter-house, at the con- 
 fessional, in the infirmary, and hospitium. 
 Dinner was over ; the concluding hymn, or 
 " grace," was chanted, and Becket had gone 
 to his private room with a few friends. 
 
 The outer court was filled with the crowd 
 of beggars who came daily to the palace for 
 the broken meats that were always lavishly
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 215 
 
 distributed by the servitors. At this mo- 
 ment the four knights, with twelve men- 
 at-arms, dismounted before the house, and 
 finding all doors open strode in without op- 
 position. The Seneschal, or High Steward," 
 William Fitz-Nigel recognized them, for 
 they were all gentlemen of the court ; yet 
 it seems to have been with secret pertur- 
 bation that he led them into his master's 
 chamber, saying, "My Lord, here are four 
 knights from King Henry wishing to speak 
 with you." 
 
 " Let them come in," said Becket quietly. 
 
 It must have been a thrilling moment, 
 even for those would-be murderers. They 
 had known Becket in his pride of place in 
 the days of his stately splendour as Chancel- 
 lor and chief favourite. He was still in the 
 prime of life, tall, majestic, in the full vigour 
 of his strength, with large, piercing eyes that 
 did not waver as he turned slowly from con- 
 versation with the monk nearest him, and 
 looked upon his unbidden guests.
 
 2l6 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 A stormy interview followed, in which 
 charges and counter-charges were hurled 
 back and forth by both sides. It is not 
 possible to read the story of that night as it 
 is narrated by a dozen old chronicles without 
 feeling that Thomas a Becket was loyal to 
 the King, while conscientious in his oppo- 
 sition to the King's attitude towards the 
 church. " I will give to the King," he cried, 
 " the things that are the King's ; but to God 
 the things that are God's ! " 
 
 They charged him with the desire to de- 
 stroy the crown, to take it from the conse- 
 crated brow of him who wore it, referring 
 doubtless to young Henry, rather than his 
 father. "Rather than take away his 
 crown, I would give him three or four 
 crowns," answered Becket ; and as one of 
 his causes for complaint was that he had 
 not been allowed to crown the young king, 
 there seems to be both reason and justice 
 in the rejoinder. They accused him of 
 treason, and he denied it.
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 217 
 
 Some feeling of deference, or reverence for 
 the holy precincts, led the knights to leave 
 their swords without, and to cover their 
 coats-of-mail with the long outer cloak of 
 common life. Now raising the battle-cry, 
 they rushed to a great sycamore-tree in the 
 garden, where they threw off their cloaks, 
 girt on their swords, and appeared in full ar- 
 mour. Meanwhile they had closed the gates 
 to cut off communication with the town. 
 
 In the palace a hasty council was being 
 held. John of Salisbury besought the Arch- 
 bishop to be moderate, and submit for the 
 present. "Be ruled by your friends," he 
 entreated, "for these men are only seeking 
 occasion to kill you." 
 
 " Be it so," answered Becket ; u I am pre- 
 pared to die." 
 
 " But we are not, even if you are," cried 
 Salisbury. " We are not ready to die with- 
 out cause. We are sinners ! " 
 
 But the Archbishop's sole reply was, 
 "Let the will of God be done."
 
 2l8 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 Was it obstinacy? the pride that would 
 not yield? Or was it the meek submission 
 of the martyr ? God only knows ! 
 
 Here one of the monks rushed in, panic- 
 stricken, to say that the knights were arm- 
 ing ; and almost on the instant the crash of 
 timbers, the fall of a partition, and the loud 
 tumult of assault, announced that deadly 
 peril was close at hand. Most of the monks 
 fled, taking refuge in the crypt and the dim 
 recesses of roof and triforiurn. Only a 
 small body of faithful friends remained. 
 They entreated him to take refuge in the 
 Cathedral. When he refused, they partly 
 led, partly dragged, him thither through the 
 long cloisters that are so quiet and beautiful 
 to-day. But he resisted with all his might. 
 
 Finally, by the argument that it was near- 
 ly time for the vesper service, they prevailed 
 upon him not to hasten his steps but to 
 proceed in slow and stately procession, with 
 his cross-bearer before him, toward the 
 sacred edifice.
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 219 
 
 But his friends had but one thought 
 to reach the church door with their master. 
 Surely he would be safe there ! Who would 
 be sacrilegious enough to strike the priest 
 before the altar ? 
 
 The tumult without increased. The clam- 
 our and the clash of arms grew nearer and 
 nearer. They seized him again with frantic 
 eagerness. Some pulled from before, some 
 pushed from behind ; and at length they 
 reached the door leading from the cloisters 
 into the lower north transept, where we are 
 now standing the spot that was to be 
 known henceforth and forever as the Tran- 
 sept of the Martyrdom. Those in advance 
 entered, and the door was barred upon the 
 frightened and excited crowd behind. 
 
 There was shouting and clamouring, and 
 fierce beating upon the oaken portal. Then 
 the Archbishop sprang forward in his wrath 
 and flung it wide open, crying out that the 
 church of God was neither fortress nor 
 castle, and should be open to all comers.
 
 22O THE TRAXSEPT OF 
 
 Now folding his arras, he waited, leaning 
 against a pillar, while his eyes shot fire in 
 the darkness. Once more his loyal adhe- 
 rents urged him to flee, if only to the high 
 altar ; and he did take a few steps towards it. 
 But the knights and their men-at-arms, who 
 had been checked by the closed door, rushed 
 in when it was unexpectedly thrown open 
 by the hand of their victim himself. 
 
 One of them cried out, " Where is the 
 traitor ? " and no voice answered. 
 
 "Where is the Archbishop?" cried an- 
 other. 
 
 "Here is the Archbishop, and the priest 
 of God, but no traitor, Reginald Fitzurse," 
 responded a ringing voice from out the 
 deepening shadows ; and down from the 
 fourth step of the choir stairs Thomas a 
 Becket, in his white rochet, and with a 
 cloak and hood thrown over his shoulders, 
 descended into the fast-darkening transept, 
 and suddenly confronted the men who were 
 thirsting for his blood.
 
 Tp?AN5EIPT DF THE 1^1 ARTYRD D M .
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 221 
 
 Let us draw the veil here. There was 
 a fierce, tumultuous struggle ; there were 
 curses and blows. Then a faint voice cried 
 "Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my 
 spirit" and all was over. 
 
 The murderers rushed from the church 
 and through the cloisters to the palace, 
 which they plundered. Meanwhile friends 
 and adherents had fled away ; and the great 
 Cathedral was left to the weird, stealthy 
 shadows creeping from pillar to pillar, and 
 the white face of him who had so lately 
 ministered at its altars. 
 
 At midnight the weeping monks stole 
 back one by one, lifted the dead body from 
 the pavement where it lay, and bore it up 
 the stairs he had descended to his death, 
 and through the "glorious Choir of Conrad" 
 to the Chancel. There they laid it down ; 
 and all night long the ever-burning lamp 
 shone upon the breathless sleeper. 
 
 The next day they carried the body silent- 
 ly to the Crypt, and laid it in a tomb
 
 222 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 behind the shrine of the Virgin in the Chapel 
 of Our Lady Undercroft. No mass was 
 said, no audible prayer was breathed. The 
 church had been profaned desecrated; 
 and from that moment for a full year nor 
 bell was rung nor service chanted. The 
 altars were stripped, the crucifixes veiled, 
 the walls divested of their hangings. All 
 was desolation. 
 
 Then legates from Rome came to investi- 
 gate the causes of the assassination. Pop- 
 ular excitement and indignation reached 
 the highest pitch ; and within three years 
 the murdered archbishop was canonized, 
 the twenty-ninth of December being set 
 apart as the Feast of St. Thomas of 
 Canterbury. 
 
 Let us go back to the King. When he 
 heard of the murder, he rolled himself in 
 sackcloth and ashes, and gave way to 
 frantic lamentations, calling God to witness 
 that he was not responsible for the deed 
 that had been done in his name. Passion-
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 223 
 
 ate in the extreme, and easily wrought up 
 to the display of great fury, it is quite pos- 
 sible that he had never intended, or ex- 
 pected, to be taken literally at his word. 
 But the whole Christian world denounced 
 him ; and cries for vengeance reached the 
 ears of the Pope. The terrible fear of 
 excommunication a fear that the nine- 
 teenth century finds it hard to understand 
 took possession of both king and people. 
 Misfortune after misfortune followed ; dis- 
 asters on sea and land ; and with the re- 
 bellion of his sons, the path of Henry II. 
 grew darker and steeper. 
 
 He had done penance often, but not at 
 Canterbury. Now he resolved to go thither 
 and abase himself at the tomb of him whom 
 he had first loved as a friend, and then 
 hated as an enemy. On penitential diet 
 of bread and water, he started on his 
 pilgrimage, approaching the sacred city by 
 a road over the Surrey hills of which some 
 traces still remain. There, leaping from
 
 224 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 his horse, he went on foot along the miry 
 road till he reached the outskirts of the 
 town. There he stripped off his kingly 
 dress, and amidst a wondering crowd who 
 followed his footsteps, barefooted, and with 
 no other covering than a woollen shirt and 
 a coarse cloak, he walked through the streets 
 of the city to the Cathedral. The fierce rain 
 pelted his uncovered head ; the rough stones 
 of the pavement were stained with blood- 
 drops from his feet. He knelt in the porch ; 
 then passed on to the scene of the murder. 
 There he kissed the stones on which the 
 archbishop had fallen, the pillar against 
 which he had leaned, and made his confes- 
 sion. Thence he was led to the crypt, 
 where he knelt long in prayer. Bishop 
 Foliat addressed the bystanders in the 
 King's name, expressing his penitence for 
 the rash words that had unwittingly caused 
 the murder, and his desire to make all pos- 
 sible amends. But before absolution and 
 the kiss of peace were granted, His Majesty
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 225 
 
 removed his cloak, knelt again at the tomb, 
 and there was scourged by bishop and 
 abbot and eighty monks, receiving three 
 strokes from each. Perhaps one may be 
 pardoned for doubting whether the blows 
 were very severe ; but the humiliation may 
 be taken for granted in any case. All 
 night the king remained alone in the crypt, 
 leaning against one of the massive columns, 
 or kneeling at the tomb. 
 
 Thus ended the great tragedy. We may 
 not all be able to regard Thomas a Becket 
 as a saint and a martyr, or believe in the 
 miracles attributed to his relics. But he 
 was at least an able, honest, and courageous 
 man ; and, there is all reason to believe, con- 
 scientious according to the light of his day 
 and generation. For fifty years his body 
 lay in the dim recesses of the crypt. 
 Then it was removed with great pomp 
 and stately ceremonials to the magnificent 
 shrine prepared for it in Trinity Chapel. 
 Magnificent indeed it was, all ablaze with 
 Q
 
 226 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 gold and encrusted with precious stones, 
 pearls, sapphires, diamonds, rubies, and 
 emeralds. This was in the reign of Henry 
 III. From this time on till that of Henry 
 VIII., an innumerable host of pilgrims knelt 
 before it in wondering awe, offering there 
 their alms and their supplications to the 
 Most High God. The very names of the 
 mighty men of old whose feet and knees 
 helped to wear the hollows in these haunted 
 stones would make a bead-roll that would 
 encompass the earth. 
 
 The shrine is there no longer. Its gold 
 has gone to swell the coffers of kings and 
 princes ; its jewels adorn the diadems of 
 royal ladies and stately dames. The rapac- 
 ity of Henry VIII. had quite as much to 
 do with this as had the approaching tread 
 of the Reformation. Absurd as it may 
 seem, on the 24th of April, 1538, Henry 
 issued a summons to a dead man, ordering 
 Thomas a Becket, " Sometime Bishop of 
 Canterbury," to appear in court and an-
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 227 
 
 swer to the charge of high treason against 
 Henry II. , treason committed, if at 
 all, almost five centuries before ! This 
 summons was read by the side of the 
 shrine. Thirty days were allowed for his 
 appearance. When at the expiration of 
 that time the dead man did not stir in his 
 winding-sheet, and neither canopy nor iron 
 clasps gave token of upheaval, the case was 
 formally argued at Westminster, by the 
 Attorney-General on the part of Henry II., 
 and on the part of the accused by an advo- 
 cate appointed by the court. For, be it 
 understood, all these queer proceedings 
 were conducted according to due course of 
 law ! On the 10th of June, 1538, sentence 
 was pronounced against the dead arch- 
 bishop ; his bones were ordained to be pub- 
 licly burned, and the costly shrine and 
 other offerings forfeited to the crown. 
 " Hinc illae lachrymae ! " 
 
 Perhaps it is but fair to say that modern 
 iconoclasts attempt to overthrow this fine
 
 228 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 story. But it was believed at the time all 
 over the continent of Europe, and is nar- 
 rated by the old chroniclers, dates and all, 
 notably by Sanders, Pollini, and Pope 
 Paul III. 
 
 We have lingered long in this northwest 
 transept, enthralled by its countless asso- 
 ciations, of which this is but one. Let us 
 go through this narrow doorway, and down 
 this flight of stairs into the crypt but not 
 alone, for bere we need guidance, and 
 behold its massive columns, carved and 
 foliated, its vast arches, its long, receding, 
 far-reaching vistas. It is dark and sombre 
 now. The accumulating dust and spoil of 
 many centuries have encroached upon the 
 height of the pillars, often completely 
 hiding their enormous bases. But here at 
 the eastern end was once the glorious 
 chapel of Our Lady Undercroft, studded 
 with gold and jewels to a degree that, so the 
 old historians declare, ' ' quite dazzled the 
 eyes with their overpowering splendour."
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 22Q 
 
 Even now you can see the empty niche 
 where the silver statue of the Virgin once 
 smiled down upon kneeling worshippers. 
 
 It was here, in the chancel of this chapel 
 in the crypt, that Edward the Black Prince 
 wished and expected to be buried. Stand- 
 ing on the very spot, we listened to a long 
 story from the lips of a local antiquarian, 
 the story of Edward's love for his cousin, 
 the "Fair Maid of Kent," and of the ob- 
 stacles that came between them. The Pope 
 at length granted them permission to marry, 
 on condition that the Prince should build 
 and endow " a fair Chantry " in the crypt, 
 where two priests should pray for his 
 soul. It has gone to decay, though the 
 foundation of the two altars can still be 
 traced, and the groined vaultings on which 
 were emblazoned his arms and those of his 
 father. But the endowment still holds 
 good, and Canterbury receives the revenue 
 to this day. 
 
 "But why was the Prince not buried
 
 230 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 here ? " I asked. " Why was he laid up- 
 stairs in Trinity Chapel ? " 
 
 The old antiquarian looked at me out of 
 the corners of his eyes. " Why was not 
 Charles Dickens buried where he expected 
 to be, in Rochester?" he retorted. "Be- 
 cause the people of England demanded for 
 him a grave in Westminster. Just so in 
 this case. The people demanded a nobler 
 burial-place for their idol." 
 
 The crypt is full of wonders. Sometimes, 
 if you are a woman, you are tempted to cry, 
 and you wander about with a strange lump 
 in your throat. Sometimes, whether you 
 are man or woman, you are tempted to 
 laugh. Here lies the sculptured effigy, her 
 hands clasped in prayer, of an heiress 
 who, five hundred years ago, laughed and 
 danced, smiled and sighed, like any other 
 maiden. She loved this old crypt, and 
 lavished her fortune upon it. " Look here," 
 said our antiquarian, striking a match and 
 lighting a taper, for there is not much day-
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 23! 
 
 light in those cavernous recesses. " I want 
 to show you something. Look at that young 
 lady's costume ! " 
 
 I bent over the marble figure, while our 
 guide held the taper near, and saw what 
 seemed the very model of a modern "jer- 
 sey," buttons and all, and a kilted skirt, 
 lying in long, close pleats from the girdle 
 to the upturned feet. 
 
 Vainly we strove to imagine, in that half 
 darkness, what the effect must have been 
 when all the vast spaces were aglow with 
 light from the great chandeliers suspended 
 from the roof, when there was glow and 
 colour everywhere, and the jewelled shrines 
 shone, as Erasmus says, ' ' with a radiance 
 surpassing that of day." 
 
 In these storied places one cannot re- 
 member, or even take in, everything. So 
 it was with Thomas a Becket and Edward 
 the Black Prince we chose to linger longest. 
 We went up to Trinity Chapel again, and 
 in swift review pageant after pageant passed
 
 232 THE TRANSEPT OF 
 
 before our mental vision. There is much 
 that is mythical in this world, much that 
 must be taken with allowance. But here 
 there was, there could be, no mistake. It 
 is as certain that the hero of Cressy and 
 Poitiers lies in the splendidly sombre tomb 
 before us, as that George Washington is 
 buried at Mount Vernon. There he lies 
 a grand figure in perfect bronze, wearing 
 armour of chain mail, his head resting on 
 his helmet, the spurs he won at Cressy on 
 his feet, and his hands folded in their last 
 long prayer. High above hang the surcoat, 
 gauntlets, shield, and crest of the Prince. 
 An empty scabbard swings idly. The sword 
 was carried away by Oliver Cromwell, who, 
 however, mercifully forbade his soldiers to 
 mutilate, or disfigure, the bronze effigy. 
 Around the tomb, which was formerly hung 
 with costly tapestry suspended from hooks 
 that still remain, are the ostrich feathers 
 in groups of three, with the famous motto, 
 " I serve," and a word signifying " high
 
 TDMB OF THE BLACK
 
 THE MARTYRDOM 233 
 
 spirit," which Edward sometimes used as 
 a signature. High spirit, and loyal ser- 
 vice ! His whole life illustrated the words. 
 A mere boy of sixteen, who kept the 
 lonely vigil of arms but a month ago, he 
 rushes into the thick of the fight at Cressy. 
 With a complexion as fair as the day, 
 and golden hair streaming in the wind, 
 he is a g: ^ant young figure truly, a " shin- 
 ing mark," in the black armour his father 
 has ordered for him. The King sees his 
 great danger but forbears to interfere. 
 " Let the child win his spurs," he cries, 
 "and let the day be his." 
 
 Far into the summer night the battle 
 rages ; and when it is over, by glare of 
 firelight and torchlight the father embraces 
 the boy in the presence of the whole proud 
 army, saying, "Right royally hast thou 
 borne thyself, my true son, my sweet son. 
 Thou art worthy to wear the crown which 
 shall be thine one day." 
 
 Ten years later we behold him at Poitiers,
 
 234 TRANSEPT OF THE MARTYRDOM 
 
 now a young man of twenty-six, and again 
 splendidly victorious. But with the modesty 
 and chivalric tenderness of a great nature, 
 he extends the utmost courtesy to his fallen 
 foe, King John of France, serving him at 
 table, comforting him with noble praise, 
 and refusing to be seated in his presence. 
 
 Two sayings of the Black Prince have 
 come down to us through the centuries, and 
 have become part of our English heritage : 
 "God being my help, I must fight on as 
 best I can;" and again, the battle being 
 inevitable, " God defend the right ! "
 
 X 
 
 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 4 S centuries ago the stately towers of 
 "^ Furness Abbey guarded the Valley of 
 Nightshade, so do the three spires of Lich- 
 field Cathedral keep watch and ward to-day 
 over the Field of the Dead Bodies, " Cada- 
 verum Campus." Tradition, countenanced 
 by the great Dr. Johnson himself, says that 
 the town derives its name from the massa- 
 cre of one thousand Christian converts by 
 pagan Romans under Diocletian. Other 
 authorities allow the one thousand to 
 dwindle to two, and maintain that it was 
 named in memory of two young brothers, 
 sons of a certain king of Mercia, who, hav- 
 ing been converted by St. Chad, afterwards 
 suffered martyrdom. If one must believe 
 either legend, it perhaps requires less credu- 
 lity to credit the latter. 
 335
 
 236 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 But vague tradition yields to historic cer- 
 tainty when, in 669, St. Chad or Ceadda 
 as fourth bishop of the diocese, fixed his 
 seat here, and the town became a cathedral 
 city. He early learned obedience, this 
 patron saint of Lichfield. In 666 he had 
 been consecrated Bishop of Northuinbria, 
 by Wiui of Winchester. On his entrance 
 upon the work of the bishopric he set him- 
 self diligently to the doing of every episco- 
 pal duty, walking through his vast diocese 
 after what he fancied was the custom of the 
 apostles, and utterly refusing to ride from 
 place to place. Three years afterward, 
 Theodoras of Canterbury pronounced the 
 consecration of Ceadda faulty in some mat- 
 ter of technic ; and, without demur, the lat- 
 ter returned meekly, shorn of his mitre, 
 to the monastery whence he came. The- 
 odorus, however, finding him "a holy man, 
 indefatigable in preaching," thought him 
 material too good to be wasted, and conse- 
 crated him again, this time effectually,
 
 AT LICHFIELD 237 
 
 and to the bishopric of Mercia. Moreover, 
 he attempted to put an end to the walking 
 by ordering the missionary Bishop to pro- 
 vide himself with a good steed, and to use 
 it. How strictly this injunction was fol- 
 lowed, it is not for us to say. One can 
 hardly think St. Chad had much need of a 
 horse, or that he had a place within to 
 stable him. Innumerable legends are told 
 of the Hermit-Bishop and his wonderful 
 deeds ; of the well-spring, in which he was 
 accustomed to pray naked, and in which he 
 sometimes baptized his converts ; of the 
 milk-white doe that fed him in his extrem- 
 ity ; of the nightingales that ceased singing 
 lest they should disturb his prayerful medi- 
 tations ; and of the angelic ministrations 
 that soothed his death-pangs. But for none 
 of these is he himself accountable. They 
 sprang up after his death, like weeds in the 
 rich soil of his sanctity. Sainthood has its 
 drawbacks, one must believe, even though it 
 is gravely asserted that a lunatic, sleeping
 
 238 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 by chance on St. Chad's tomb, was imme- 
 diately restored to perfect sanity. The 
 Venerable Bede takes pains to assure the 
 suffering world that if a handful of dust 
 from this sacred grave be mixed with water 
 and given to the sick to drink, they will 
 "presently be eased from their infirmities 
 and restored to health." 
 
 But the little early church of St. Chad 
 was only the forerunner of the Cathedral of 
 to-day. It was not even on the same site, 
 but stood at some distance from it, on what 
 is called the Cathedral Pool, a lovely little 
 lake said to be wholly of man's making. 
 It is not easy to believe this, credulous trav- 
 ellers though we may be. But unquestion- 
 able authority declares it to be or to have 
 been originally only an immense cavity 
 in a ledge of rock, whence stone was quar- 
 ried centuries ago for the building of the 
 Cathedral. If so, Nature has indeed adopted 
 it. Her streams have fed it, her reeds and 
 rushes and lovely mosses, and all manner
 
 AT LICHFIELD 239 
 
 of green growing things have clasped their 
 arms about it. Great trees overhang the 
 brimming banks that are as much Nature's 
 own as if this was some forest lake hidden 
 away in mountain fastnesses. 
 
 As for the city itself, no doubt it is infi- 
 nitely dear and precious to the dwellers 
 therein. But to the passing stranger it is 
 not especially attractive. Or, rather, it is 
 so dominated over by the Cathedral that one 
 cares for little else. One dares even to for- 
 get that Dr. Johnson was born here ; that 
 from this town he and Garrick went up to 
 London to seek their fortunes ; and that the 
 boy Addison must often have trodden the 
 green pleasance of the close. As in so 
 many other instances, the church seems to 
 be the one only reason for the existence of 
 the town. Indeed, it is the town, as far as 
 outsiders are concerned. 
 
 But what a fair raison d'etre it is ! In- 
 finitely lovely, exquisitely beautiful, these 
 are the words that give colour to one's
 
 240 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 thought as memory calls up the semblance 
 of Lichfield. It is one of the smaller cathe- 
 drals of England; perhaps it is the very 
 smallest. When one thinks of Winchester, 
 of Canterbury, of Durham, of York, of the 
 glorious trio of Peterborough, Ely, and Lin- 
 coln, one finds the whole list of sonorous 
 and imposing adjectives on one's lips. 
 They are majestic, stupendous, magnificent, 
 grand, sombre, and over-powering. They 
 are to one's thought as heroes, bloodstained, 
 perhaps, and armour-clad. They are vir- 
 ile to the last degree. They are strong as 
 Thor, mighty as Odin. They are mascu- 
 line from base to crown. 
 
 Contrasted with these, Lichfield is as a 
 woman beautiful, noble, dignified, with 
 a heart-appealing loveliness that is essen- 
 tially a feminine quality. One feels inclined 
 to use the feminine pronoun, and say "she," 
 as we do of the lady moon, or as the sailor 
 does of his ship. Possibly this quality is 
 accentuated by the lithe, slender grace of
 
 AT LICHFIELD 24! 
 
 the three tall spires that lift themselves in 
 upper air as lightly, as naturally, as do the 
 poplar-trees that grow on the margin of the 
 Pool. Perhaps colour has something to do 
 with it. Most of the cathedral churches 
 are gray, light or dark, as the case may 
 be, but still gray. Lichfield is built of red 
 sandstone, very soft and mellow in tone, 
 and peculiarly exquisite in its setting of 
 green, or when reflected in the still surface 
 of its stretch of shining water. 
 
 It is hard to say from which point of ap- 
 proach the Cathedral is loveliest ; for while 
 the picture changes with every step, it never 
 changes for the worse. It is in a way iso- 
 lated, though so near the town ; and from 
 whatever direction it is viewed, some new 
 and lovely combination of towers and spires 
 and foliage is continually presented. From 
 the southwest the spires are, perhaps, pecu- 
 liarly beautiful as seen from the other side 
 of the lake. From the southeast we get our 
 first impression of the great length of the 
 
 R
 
 242 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 church great in proportion to its width 
 and height and see how much of it lies in 
 the choir and the apse. The church is 
 much longer from the so-called central 
 tower to the extreme east, than from that 
 point to the extreme west; an order of 
 things that is hi many, if not in most, 
 cases reversed. But a tape-measure is a 
 very unimportant part of a cathedral pil- 
 grim's outfit. Let him carry a mental 
 camera instead. 
 
 Elsewhere, in many a cathedral close, 
 in many a nave, and aisle, and sanctuary, 
 we had seen the ravages of the iconoclasts 
 of the civil war. Everywhere we had 
 heard 'the same story of puritan spoliation 
 and misrule. Everywhere we had seen 
 the blows of the hammer, the traces of van- 
 dal hands in holy places, the profanation 
 of sacred shrines, the wanton destruction of 
 things precious beyond belief. We had 
 shrunk from the tread of horses' hoofs, 
 stabled in the holy of holies; from the
 
 AT LICHFIELD 243 
 
 oaths and ribaldry of brutal soldiers as 
 they drained the sacred chalice snatched 
 from the very altar ; from the echo of 
 pistol and carbine riddling the majestic and 
 venerated figures, 'not only of saints and 
 martyrs of whom the world was not worthy, 
 but of the Christ himself. We had won- 
 dered over the limitations of human nature 
 limitations born of prejudice and narrow 
 misconception that had made it possible 
 for good men and true, men who were con- 
 scientious according to their light, to per- 
 mit in their followers such hideous dese- 
 cration. But while other cathedrals were 
 shamelessly spoiled, Lichfield became ac- 
 tually a besieged fortress. The city proper 
 was unprotected and open ; but Bishop Lang- 
 ton had built a strong wall about the close, 
 and thrown causeways across the pool, or 
 lake, lying between it and the city. To the 
 fortified close and church, then, the royal- 
 ists fled for refuge, when in 1643 the puri- 
 tans under Lord Brooke attacked the town.
 
 244 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 My lord was a fierce partisan, as well as a 
 zealous puritan. Avowing his determina- 
 tion to destroy the Cathedral, he solemnly 
 addressed his men and prayed God to send 
 them some special token of his approval. 
 But on the second day of the siege, a shot 
 fired from a spire of the Cathedral laid him 
 low. The next day the central spire crashed 
 through the roof, and on the third day of 
 the siege the close surrendered. 
 
 Then began a scene of ravage and dese- 
 cration. From the pulpit in the nave fanat- 
 ics addressed the soldiery, and urged on 
 the work of destruction. The carved stalls 
 were pulled down, the organ was broken, 
 the beautiful and costly stained windows 
 were shattered into fragments and their 
 tracery wrenched from its fastenings, and 
 the floor of alternate, losenge-shaped blocks 
 of cannel coal and alabaster was torn up. 
 In the tomb of Bishop Scrope, a marauder 
 found a silver chalice and crosier. It was 
 the signal for the spoliation of every other
 
 AT LICHFIELD 245 
 
 tomb. The monuments were wantonly 
 mutilated and destroyed, and the ashes of 
 the dead were scattered to the four winds. 
 Sad indeed must the plight of poor Lich- 
 field have been during the long years that 
 followed. 
 
 When, twelve months after the Restora- 
 tion, Bishop John Hacket was consecrated, 
 he found an almost roofless cathedral, filled 
 with the debris of the fallen spire and the 
 ruined monuments. He immediately set 
 many teams, " with his own coach horses," 
 at work, put his own strong hand to the 
 plough, and began to bring order out of 
 chaos. The king, Charles II., sent thither 
 "one hundred fair timber trees" from 
 Needwood Forest ; Bishop Hacket himself 
 gave thousands of pounds to the good cause, 
 and the prebendaries and canons half 
 their income. But it was eight years be- 
 fore the ravages were repaired and the 
 Cathedral was reconsecrated. Surely now 
 that the storm and stress of civil war were
 
 246 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 over, and at least a nominal peace reigned 
 in England, the stoutest Roundhead of 
 them all must have rejoiced at this con- 
 summation. 
 
 It may be that we felt the exceeding love- 
 liness of Lichfield all the more deeply be- 
 cause it was one of the last cathedrals we 
 studied, and we were able to contrast it 
 with the sterner beauty of its mightier 
 brethren. As one stands in the close, be- 
 fore the west front, he is so enthralled by 
 its grace of outline and general harmony 
 of proportion, that he misses neither the 
 Titanic grandeur of Durham, nor the stately 
 splendour of Canterbury. It is a delight to 
 see a west front in which there are no empty 
 niches, suggestive of ruin and decay. Doubt- 
 less the restorations may be as indeed the 
 learned ones say they are open to criti- 
 cism. There are unpleasant stories of 
 Roman cement and other atrocities ; and 
 it is easy to say that many of the modern 
 statues are unworthy. But it is the general
 
 AT LICHFIELD 247 
 
 effect one must consider. If details may 
 be criticised, yet the fa$ade as a whole is 
 wonderfully beautiful and impressive, with 
 its tier on tier of arcades, and its countless 
 array of patriarchs and prophets, kings 
 and queens, apostles and martyrs. Over 
 the central of the three western doorways 
 sits St. Chad, as is fitting, with a long sup- 
 port of Norman, Mercian, and Saxon kings 
 oil either hand. This rather low, broad 
 portal is a recessed porch, very beautiful, 
 with its clustered columns and springing 
 arches, its rich masses of foliage and 
 flowers, and its central shaft supporting 
 the Virgin and child. At the sides are 
 the two Marys, St. Peter, and St. John. 
 
 Through this portal we enter ; and at 
 once rejoice that the eye, taking in at one 
 swift glance the graceful beauty of the Early 
 Decorated nave with its eight bays, its octag- 
 onal piers, many shafted and with rich 
 capitals, its beautiful double- arched trifo- 
 riurn, somewhat like that of Westminster,
 
 248 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 and the triangular, trefoiled windows of 
 the clerestory, can yet pass on beyond the 
 light, open choir-screen and the exquisite 
 choir itself to the reredos and the high altar, 
 and rest finally on the great windows of the 
 Lady-Chapel, glowing like jewels in the 
 half darkness of the long perspective. The 
 church seems longer than it is, because it is 
 comparatively narrow. Yet three hundred 
 and thirty-six feet is no mean length even 
 when one remembers Winchester and Can- 
 terbury. 
 
 Beautiful as the nave is, and delightedly 
 as the eye seeks the triforium arches and 
 the rich arcades, it was not there that we 
 two pilgrims lingered longest. The tran- 
 septs lured us onward with their great 
 Perpendicular windows that have taken the 
 place of the original Early English. The 
 roof is a curious feature, less for what it is 
 than for what it has been. Who would be- 
 lieve, save on good evidence, that an effort 
 was made to palm off wood for stone in the
 
 AT LICHFIELD 249 
 
 far-away days of the thirteenth century, 
 when builders are supposed to have believed 
 that "the gods see everywhere"? But in 
 1243 Henry III. orders that there shall be 
 made " in the King's Chapel at Windsor, a 
 high wooden roof, in the fashion of the new 
 work at Lichfield ; so that it may appear to 
 be stonework, with good wainscoting and 
 painting." It is needless to say that good 
 honest stone now covers both transepts. 
 
 In the north transept is the famous door- 
 way, a deeply recessed arch, with five 
 principal mouldings. Two of these are en- 
 riched with foliage and conventional de- 
 signs, while the other three have close oval 
 compartments with bas-reliefs of angels, 
 saints, and' patriarchs. On each side are 
 detached pillars with rich foliated capitals 
 and dog-tooth mouldings. In the centre of 
 the arch is a fine clustered column, and 
 several full-length figures add grace and 
 dignity to the whole. 
 
 In the great piers of the central tower,
 
 250 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 four distinct periods can be traced with 
 ease. That of the eastern and western 
 piers is the Early English of 1200. The 
 transepts are later Early English, and join 
 them on the north and south ; while the 
 Early Decorated nave reaches them on the 
 west. In the south aisle of the choir, also, 
 the vaulting indicates three periods of the 
 twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centu- 
 ries, the east end showing one arching rib, 
 the west end three ribs, and the chancel a 
 close approach to fan tracery. 
 
 But this last is a glimpse into the future, 
 for we have not yet passed the choir-screen. 
 This being made wholly of wrought iron, 
 copper, and brass, is exceedingly light, open, 
 and delicate, being a blending of natural 
 and conventional foliage with the most airy 
 of vines and tendrils. Blackberry and 
 grape vines bear fruit of onyx. There are 
 currants and seed-pods of roses in red and 
 white carnelian, and strawberries in ivory. 
 Above this airy display are angels in bronze
 
 AT LICHFIELD 25! 
 
 playing on musical instruments. Lichfield 
 is especially notable for its fine metal work. 
 The wrought-iron gates of the north and 
 south choir aisles are very beautiful ; and 
 no one can fail to notice the perfect grace 
 of the rich tracery that at once protects 
 and embellishes the heavy wood of the 
 outer doors. The pulpit, too, which is in 
 the nave against the northwest tower pier, 
 is a structure of metal, burnished brass 
 and wrought iron, adorned with Derbyshire 
 spars and brilliant enamels. In the fore- 
 ground is a group of figures in bronze. 
 
 Once within the choir, one is struck by 
 the absence of canopies over the stalls. 
 Open bays into the choir aisles give an air 
 of unusual lightness to the interior, which 
 is very beautiful. But this is nothing to 
 the change in the triforium, which has been 
 suddenly shorn of its double arches with 
 the quatrefoil above, and has become a low 
 arcade, or narrow gallery, a mere pas- 
 sage-way. Instead of the three stories, so
 
 252 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 to speak, of the nave, the clerestory with 
 its vast Perpendicular windows fills the 
 whole vaulted space above the six bays. 
 The effect is superb. 
 
 The piers of these bays are so interesting 
 that, without going into any detail of past 
 changes, a few words as to their present 
 condition may not be amiss. The first two 
 from the tower are Early English. The 
 third is half Early English and half Deco- 
 rated, while all those east of this are entirely 
 Decorated. They are octagonal, with clus- 
 tered shafts and ornate capitals wrought 
 with foliage. 
 
 In the spandrels of the three western 
 arches are niches with richly carved cano- 
 pies rising to the parapet above, beneath 
 which on brackets of foliage are statues of - 
 St. Christopher, St. James, and St. Philip 
 on the south, and on the north, St. Peter, 
 Mary Magdalene, and the Virgin. 
 
 On the reredos all the skill and art of the 
 modern ecclesiastical decorator seems to
 
 AT LICHFIELD 253 
 
 have spent itself. Behind the altar is a rich 
 arcade of five gabled compartments ; that in 
 the centre, which is lifted high above the 
 others and much more ornate, being sur- 
 mounted by a cross. The lower part is 
 threefold. In the middle panel is the As- 
 cension, with a group of angels above it, 
 and in the side compartments are the Evan- 
 gelists and their emblems. Beyond the 
 reredos proper, on either side, are exqui- 
 sitely light and graceful arcades of alabas- 
 ter, with angels between each gable blow- 
 ing trumpets most delicately wrought. 
 Light metal work abounds, with much in- 
 laying of red Derbyshire marble, fluor-spar 
 in blue, white, and yellow, with malachite, 
 carnelian, and lapis lazuli, making a be- 
 wildering blaze of colour. Fortunately, or 
 rather, of set purpose, the reredos has been 
 kept rather low, and so skilfully set that it 
 does not greatly obstruct the view into the 
 Lady-Chapel beyond it. 
 
 South of the altar is the sedilia, with
 
 254 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 richly carved canopies of freestone that 
 were once part of the old rood-screeu. 
 
 Under the east window of the south aisle 
 of the choir lie Chantrey's " Sleeping Chil- 
 dren," by far the most famous and de- 
 servedly so of his earlier works. In the 
 north aisle is his latest, the kneeling figure 
 of Bishop Eyder. It is almost startlingly 
 life-like ; no statue, but the living man in 
 his habit as he walked. 
 
 From this rich south aisle one enters 
 if he has won the good graces of the verger 
 the treasury, which seems to have served 
 many purposes. Here at one time many 
 a heretic has had reason to bewail his fate, 
 as it was used for a courtroom, or trial 
 chamber. Next to it is the sacristy, over 
 the door of which in the south aisle is the 
 picturesque Watching Gallery. It is a 
 small vaulted space with an open parapet 
 in front. This once, no doubt, served as a 
 watching chamber for the great shrine of 
 St. Chad, and for keeping guard during the
 
 AT LICHFIELD 255 
 
 night over the lights burning before the 
 several altars. For Lichfield had chapels, 
 shrines, and altars innumerable, that of 
 St. Chad having had the place of honour 
 behind the high altar. 
 
 Leaving the choir at last we find ourselves 
 in the Lady-Chapel. This is a polygonal 
 apse, beautiful beyond description. It is 
 impossible to attempt details, so rich is it 
 in arcades and niches, canopies, spring- 
 ing arches and soaring shafts, parapets of 
 open work, and delicate traceries. Here 
 there are no long-drawn aisles, no in- 
 tercepting columns, but just one lofty, 
 silent, vaulted space, filled in with nine 
 stained windows of marvellous depth and 
 richness of colour, that soar into the far 
 splendour of the roof and lose themselves 
 there. These windows are the pride of 
 Lichfield. After the siege but little of the 
 original glass remained, and its loss was 
 deeply mourned. But Sir Brooke Boothby 
 blessed be his name had seen these ex-
 
 256 AT LICHFIELD 
 
 quisite windows in an old abbey of Cister- 
 cian nuns in Belgium. After its dissolution 
 in 1802, he bought them, and brought them 
 hither to glorify the cathedral of his love. 
 
 The chapter-house is an irregular octagon 
 with a fine central pillar, and an arcade of 
 forty-nine arches. There is a peculiar but 
 beautiful effect of vaulting here that it is not 
 easy to describe. Suffice it to say that the 
 ribbed vaulting seems to descend almost 
 upon the arcade itself. It must be seen to 
 be appreciated. A winding staircase leads 
 to the library above the chapter-house. 
 One of the most interesting relics here is 
 the ancient manuscript known as the Gos- 
 pels of St. Chad. 
 
 One leaves Lichfield Cathedral when 
 he has strength of will to tear himself away 
 by the door in the north transept ; and if 
 he is wise, he turns back to look again and 
 again, not only at the beautiful doorway 
 itself, but at the whole glorious edifice soar- 
 ing above him in its supreme loveliness.
 
 AT LICHFIELD 257 
 
 Lichfield is the lily among cathedrals, and 
 he who has once seen it may well thank 
 God for the gift of vision, and carry the 
 remembrance with him to his dying day. 
 
 Hawthorne said, in reference to Lich- 
 field, "A Gothic cathedral is the only thing 
 in the world that is vast enough and rich 
 enough."
 
 XI 
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 /^VUR second summer in England was 
 over. September was waning, and early 
 October would find us sailing homeward over 
 the sea. And yet and yet we had not 
 had one little glimpse of Devonshire, nor had 
 we seen Exeter. This was " most tolerable, 
 and not to be endured." What was to be 
 done ? Could we manage, possibly, to spend 
 the next Saturday and Sunday in Exeter, 
 give two or three days to Ilfracombe and 
 the Doone Valley, and, if the fates were 
 unusually propitious, see Clovelly hang- 
 ing like a bird's nest high up among the 
 cliffs? 
 
 It was worth trying for. We packed our 
 portmanteaux and left London by the next 
 258
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 259 
 
 train. Right here, as this last chapter 
 of a small book can be given to Exeter, 
 only, let rae take back what I said about a 
 certain street in Lincoln. I had not seen 
 Clovelly then. 
 
 And now, as I sit three thousand miles 
 away, under the shadow of my own beau- 
 tiful, verdure-clad mountains, to record 
 this last memory of golden loiterings in 
 cathedral aisles, I find that my heart is 
 very full. It is hard to say the right and 
 final word. 
 
 What is it ? Why is it ? Whence is it 
 this enthralling spell ? Certainly it is not 
 that one is false to one's traditions, untrue 
 to one's own country. It is not born of 
 any fleeting wish to transplant to our own 
 young, strong, buoyant land the things 
 that so charm us, and grow so inconceiv- 
 ably, so passionately, dear to us in the old 
 world. They would be out of place here 
 in this alien atmosphere ; homesick, like 
 Cleopatra's Needle, wasting away for love
 
 260 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 of old Xilus and the desert. They do not 
 belong to us, in this infancy of our nation. 
 For they, themselves, were not born in a 
 day. They have grown from age to age by 
 slow accretion ; grown calmly, reverently, 
 as the heart of man demanded them. For 
 hundreds of years they have been taking 
 on new grace and dignity. The anthems 
 of the ages have sanctified them ; the wor- 
 ship of the ages has floated up from their 
 altars like incense, till the very air is " filled 
 to faintness with perfume," the frankin- 
 cense and myrrh of chant and prayer and 
 hymn. We, too, as a nation have our 
 work to do, our burden to lift, our beauty 
 to create, our prayers to pray. We have to 
 work out our own salvation with fear and 
 trembling, even as the older nations are 
 working out theirs ; and, because of our 
 own salvation, to leave the world richer 
 and the future more glorious still. Had 
 the cathedral-builders of mediaeval ages 
 wrought only for their own short-lived
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 26l 
 
 present, all Christendom would be the 
 poorer to-day. 
 
 Hoary antiquity and modern civilization, 
 the slumbering past and the wide-awake 
 present, meet and clasp hands in the fair 
 city of Exeter. It is progressive, up to 
 date, full of the beauty and glory and 
 comfort of to-day. Yet it is equally full 
 of the magic and glamour of the past. The 
 Rougemont Hotel, fin de siecle to the last 
 degree with its showy brick facade and its 
 modern conveniences, is on the same hill 
 with the crumbling ruins of Rougemont 
 Castle, where Shakespeare has embalmed 
 the memory of Richard III. Fine streets, 
 public squares and promenades abound. 
 The famous High Street, which follows the 
 line of the old Roman highway, is at once 
 mediaeval and of the nineteenth century. 
 The culminating point of picturesqueness 
 is, perhaps, the old Guildhall, with its pro- 
 jecting upper stories supported by semi- 
 circular arches resting on four massive
 
 262 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 granite columns. The colonnade thus 
 formed is superb in effect. 
 
 But we had little time to devote to the 
 city, charming as it is; and thought our- 
 selves fortunate in finding pleasant and 
 convenient quarters at the Royal Clarence, 
 on the very borders of the Cathedral close. 
 And in due time, having shaken off the 
 dust of travel, we turned our faces and our 
 thoughts cathedral-ward. 
 
 An early Saxon church, called the Church 
 of St. Peter, of which not a stone re- 
 mains, occupied part of the site of the 
 present building. No doubt it was plain 
 and unpretentious, for William "Warelwast, 
 the third bishop after the Conquest, began 
 the erection of a Norman edifice that was 
 called in comparison, "marvellous and 
 sumptuous." It was completed by his 
 successor, and seems to have covered about 
 the same ground as the present cathedral. 
 But this Norman church followed in the 
 wake of its Saxon predecessor. Of it.
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 263 
 
 also, nothing now remains but the tran- 
 sept towers and some fragmentary portions 
 of the lower walls. This was by no means 
 the result of natural decay. It was, rather, 
 evolution. Somewhere about 1230 Bishop 
 Bruere built the chapter-house. Under the 
 succeeding bishops, from 1244 to 1316, a 
 gradual transformation took place which 
 left the church in nearly its present general 
 condition. This church, transformed save as 
 to the Norman nave, was dedicated by Bishop 
 Grandisson in 1328. During this episco- 
 pate the nave was rebuilt, and shortly after- 
 ward the west front was added. The chap- 
 ter-house was remodelled in the fifteenth 
 century, and in the first quarter of the six- 
 teenth, Bishop Oldham built the chapels of 
 St. Saviour and St. George. 
 
 So much by way of a very brief outline 
 of the early history of Exeter Cathedral. 
 St. Peter, the patron saint of the Saxon 
 conventual church, retained his honourable 
 position in spite of all the changes, but
 
 264 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 there seems to be a great dearth of the 
 usual legends, myths, and fables. We hear 
 of no miracles, or wonder-workings, such 
 as cling to the memories of St. Cuthbert 
 and St. Chad. 
 
 During the Commonwealth the Cathedral, 
 which had previously been greatly defaced, 
 and had lost most of its stained glass, was 
 cleft in twain by a brick wall separating 
 the nave from the choir. The nave, called 
 *' West Peter's," was delivered over to one 
 of Cromwell's chaplains, while another 
 Roundhead presided in the choir, and called 
 it " East Peter's." Meanwhile the chapter- 
 house was a stable, and the palace, the 
 deanery, and the canons' houses were sol- 
 diers' barracks. After the Restoration, 
 happily, the disfiguring partition was torn 
 down, and the old order was renewed. 
 
 It is not easy to obtain at short range a 
 view of the entire Cathedral that is entirely 
 satisfactory. One must go to the Alphing- 
 ton causeway, or the river-banks, for that.
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 265 
 
 From these points as indeed from many 
 that are more distant it seems to stand 
 on high ground, rising well above the 
 masses of buildings sloping to the river. 
 When near at hand, the south side is com- 
 pletely hidden by the houses that have 
 crept close under its shadow, as well as by 
 the episcopal palace and its gardens. The 
 north close is very beautiful, green, quiet, 
 set with stately elms, its velvet turf pressing 
 closely up to the confines of the gray stone 
 walls. This close is not set apart solely to 
 the use of the church dignitaries. As I 
 have said, our hotel was on its borders, 
 perhaps it would be correct to say within 
 them ; and there are other dwellings. On 
 one side is a fine old Elizabethan mansion 
 in perfect preservation, with two-storied, 
 overhanging casements, and small window- 
 panes. But how are the mighty fallen ! 
 we went there to buy photographs and a 
 guide-book. There is an upper chamber, 
 however, that is gladly shown, an upper
 
 266 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 chamber panelled in rich oak, and rejoicing 
 in a frieze in which may be seen the arms 
 of many a noble house. This was once the 
 famous Exeter club-room, whose walls en- 
 shrine memories of Drake, Sidney, and 
 Raleigh, to say nothing of many a lesser 
 light. 
 
 Unless one has become familiar with the 
 west front of Exeter through photographs, 
 or minute descriptions, the strongest first 
 impression may be one of surprise, mingled, 
 perhaps, with a slight sense of disappoint- 
 ment. The eye of the cathedral observer 
 has grown accustomed to the flanking west- 
 ern towers that lend their stem dignity to 
 most of the fagades ; and at a first glance, 
 two pilgrims, at least, were conscious of a 
 distinctly disturbing influence, though it 
 was not easy to say just whence it came. 
 For the west front was very beautiful. 
 There was no denying that. Was it the 
 effect of the two receding stories ? A fore- 
 head sloping backward does not add to the
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 267 
 
 dignity of the human face divine. What 
 effect might it not have on the face of a 
 cathedral ? 
 
 Thus we queried and questioned for 
 a while, and then gave ourselves up to un- 
 questioning enjoyment. It is not well to 
 be too wise. Wisdom is sometimes a great 
 drawback to delight. He who tears the 
 petals that he may count the stamens, sacri- 
 fices the beauty and fragrance of the flower 
 to his investigations. Besides, one does not 
 criticise the stars, nor the high mountains ; 
 and of such are the cathedrals. 
 
 And now, having owned to that first 
 sense of half-disappointment, I feel like 
 taking it all back, as memory recalls that 
 late afternoon of early autumn, with the 
 long, slanting shadows on the greensward, 
 and the golden sunset light gilding tower 
 and pinnacle, and throwing into such strong 
 relief the sculptured screen with its triple 
 row of kings, warriors, saints, and apostles. 
 Time-worn, grim, and battered, they sur-
 
 268 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 round the three low doorways as a body- 
 guard. They stand as they have stood for 
 ages, keeping watch and ward over the holy 
 places within. 
 
 This is the first story. In the second is 
 the great west window, most beautiful as to 
 its tracery. On either side of the window 
 is a graduated arcade. In the third story, 
 or gable, receding like the second, is a tri- 
 angular window, above which, in a canopied 
 niche, is the figure of St. Peter. 
 
 Such, in brief, is the west front. Murray 
 says that in all the statues the arrangement 
 of the hair, the fashion of the crowns, and 
 the armour of the knights, indicate the time 
 of Richard II., when the work was prob- 
 ably completed. Above the screen, the 
 recession of the second story leaves a 
 battlemented platform, or balcony, that 
 may have been for the use of the minstrels 
 and musicians. 
 
 The three west doorways are enriched by 
 carvings and mouldings of great beauty.
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 269 
 
 At the right of the central door is the Chan- 
 try of St. Radegunde, built by Bishop Gran- 
 disson for his own burial-place. He was, in 
 fact, buried here, but his tomb was dese- 
 crated, and his ashes were scattered, no 
 man knows whither. 
 
 Before we enter the nave, shall we walk 
 round the great Cathedral, and mark the 
 bulwarks thereof ? 
 
 From the north close we get our first un- 
 obstructed view of its entire length from 
 front to Lady-Chapel, with its great tran- 
 septal Norman towers, its long, unbroken 
 stretch of roof, its flying buttresses, and the 
 fine north porch. There is no central tower 
 and no spire ; but the vast array of slender 
 turrets and pinnacles, reminding one, in 
 remote fashion, of the Frauen-Kirche of 
 Nuremberg, completely do away with any 
 suggestion of undue heaviness. The rear 
 view from the southeast has the Bishop's 
 Palace and its picturesque surroundings 
 for a foreground, and makes a lovely pict-
 
 27O BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 ure, even if one loses much of the church 
 itself. But it is to the northeast that we 
 return again and again, with ever increas- 
 ing delight. 
 
 At length we cross the threshold for our 
 first knowledge of the vast, dim splendour 
 of the interior. Immensity is the first word 
 that occurs to one, and yet the view is cut 
 off by the heavy stone choir-screen and 
 the organ above it. But over and beyond 
 all obstructions, the stately roof, springing 
 from richly bossed vaulting-shafts of ex- 
 ceeding grace and lightness, stretches on 
 and on without break to the east end of 
 the great choir, in a long perspective that 
 holds the eye entranced. 
 
 Looking near at hand, we find a won- 
 drous wealth of detail. Clustered columns 
 of Purbeck marble divide the nave into 
 seven bays. The corbels of the pier arches 
 supporting the vaulting-shafts are wrought 
 in the most intricate and graceful de- 
 signs of leaf and bud and flower, long
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 2/1 
 
 sprays of foliage, and gnarled and twisted 
 branches, alternating with angels, saints, 
 and prophets. 
 
 The minstrel's gallery, above the northern 
 central bay, is large and imposing, having 
 twelve niches, each sheltering a winged 
 angel, and each angel playing on a different 
 instrument of music. The two heads on 
 the corbels beneath are supposed to repre- 
 sent Edward III. and his queen, Philippa. 
 The two so-called nuns' galleries in the 
 transepts are peculiar, and will not easily 
 be overlooked or forgotten. 
 
 The windows, not only of the nave, but, 
 if I am not mistaken, of the whole build- 
 ing, are of the best order of Geometric, 
 Decorated, with wonderfully beautiful and 
 effective tracery. One notices here espe- 
 cially the bilateral symmetry that pre- 
 vails. It is not only that aisle answers 
 to aisle and column to column, nor that 
 the two great transepts are exactly alike. 
 But all over the Cathedral, window re-
 
 272 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 spends to window, screen to screen, tomb 
 to tomb, chantry to chantry. This uniform- 
 ity might be supposed to lead to satiety. 
 But it does not. Here it seems to serve the 
 interests of harmony only. 
 
 There is a jewelled reredos, there is a 
 graceful sedilia, there are tombs and chap- 
 els and chantries innumerable. The Bish- 
 op's throne lifts its splendid carvings high 
 in air, with almost the grace and lightness 
 of the "foamy sheaf of fountains" in the 
 church of St. Lawrence. A staircase from 
 the chapel of St. Mary Magdalene leads to 
 the roof of the choir aisles and the ambula- 
 tory. From the first of these, between the 
 flying buttresses, the eye can follow the 
 long perspective of the roof ; and from 
 the other, one gets a glimpse of the great 
 window in the choir. From the clerestory 
 windows one looks down into the nave, with 
 all its lovely arches and light shafting. 
 
 But why go on with the inventory ? 
 More keenly, perhaps, at Exeter than in
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 273 
 
 many another famous cathedral equally 
 grand and beautiful, does the observer feel 
 the utter inadequacy of words. There is 
 here such a wealth of detail, such beauty 
 and intricacy of wrought work on boss and 
 corbel, base and capital. No two are alike. 
 There is no trif orium ; and it is not 
 missed, even though one remembers how 
 glorious a feature it has been found else- 
 where. Instead is a blind arcade, very 
 deeply recessed, in groups of four arches 
 under each bay of the clerestory. 
 
 Having said all this, one has said nothing, 
 and can only repeat, how great is the 
 impotency of words ! 
 
 We returned again and again to the fair 
 and stately interior, while we did not cease 
 to rejoice that from our chamber windows 
 we could take in the whole magnificent 
 sweep of the north side, and almost peer 
 into the recesses of the north porch itself. 
 
 Late Saturday afternoon the verger 
 asked, " Will you attend morning service ?
 
 274 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 Come early that I may have room for you 
 in the choir. Canon Blank is to preach, 
 and there will be a crowd." 
 
 When in the sweet stillness of that Sun- 
 day morning we crossed the green stretch 
 of turf and entered the deeply shadowed 
 portal, we found the nave well filled, and 
 a great throng pressing about the gates of 
 the choir-screen. Our friendly verger, 
 with two assistants, was letting in one 
 group after another, and giving them seats 
 within. We leaned against one of the 
 nearest columns, and waited meekly until 
 our turn came and he beckoned us forward. 
 
 The cathedrals of England are not 
 curiosity shops, so to speak. They are not 
 museums of old relics, odd misereres, 
 quaint gargoyles, curious intricacies of 
 carving, battered tombs, and broken effi- 
 gies, preserved for the amusement of idle 
 tourists. They are places of worship built 
 at infinite cost in honour of the Most High. 
 The visitor who fails to see them, to think
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 275 
 
 of them, in this light, fails of all. To 
 "stop over" for an hour, from train to 
 train it may be, to rush through aisle and 
 chapel, cloister and chapter-house, this is 
 not to see a cathedral. We two pilgrims, 
 compelled by the exigencies of travel, did, 
 I confess, see Carlisle, and one or two 
 others, after precisely this unwise fashion. 
 But I have not ventured to speak of them 
 here. How should I dare, when I had not 
 entered the holy of holies ? Only he who 
 worships in a cathedral gets even a faint 
 inkling of what it is, of what it is meant 
 to be. 
 
 The service of that morning was exqui- 
 sitely sweet and simple. Some of the doors 
 and windows were open, and the soft rus- 
 tling of leaves and, now and then, the twitter 
 of some belated bird mingled with chant 
 and prayer and the clear, pure voices of 
 the choir-boys. Then came the sermon. 
 We had never heard of him before; but 
 having heard him, we did not in the least
 
 276 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 
 
 wonder that there was a crowd when it 
 was known that Canon Blank was to 
 preach. 
 
 " For the love of Christ constraineth me," 
 was the text of the powerful discourse 
 that held a great audience spell-bound that 
 morning. Doubtless the surroundings had 
 their effect, the magnificent old temple, 
 redolent of prayer and praise, the solemn 
 splendour of the ritual, the deep thunder 
 of the organ. These, without question, 
 added to the effect if by mere force of 
 contrast when the speaker, a slender, 
 dark-haired man of middle age, paused a 
 moment, with an all-embracing glance from 
 right to left, and said, "My brethren, 
 rites and forms and ceremonies, even creeds 
 themselves, have nothing to do with the 
 religious life except as helps thereto." 
 Then, rising to his full height, while his 
 colour deepened and his voice rang out like 
 a trumpet, he cried, " Earth has grown sick 
 of creeds, considered as such ! It will have
 
 BEAUTIFUL EXETER 277 
 
 the creed interpreted by the Christ-like life, 
 or it will have none of it." 
 
 I am not sorry that this Sunday morning 
 service in Exeter is the closing memory of 
 a Cathedral Pilgrimage.
 
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