The wrongs, of which the older monks of Llanthony so justly complained,
are thus told by their own pious chronicler:--When the storm subsided,
and peace was restored, then did the sons of Llanthony tear up the
bounds of their Mother-Church, and refuse to serve God, as their duty
required, in the old Sanctuary. For great is the difference, said they,
between the rich city of Gloucester, and the wild rocks of the
Hatterill--between the fertile vale of Severn, and the craggy banks of
the Honddy; between the wealth and civilization of England, and the
barren hills and beggarly natives of Wales; between a land of smiling
meadows and fertile orchards, and a region of trackless mountains and
roaring cataracts; in fine--to justify their desertion--between a home
amongst smiling gardens, and a grave in the howling wilderness!
Some of the renegade brethren declared that they wished every stone of
the old foundation were a fleet hare and the hounds after it, that not a
vestige might be left. Alas, says the ‘Jeremiad,’ they of Gloucester
have usurped and lavished all the revenues of the Mother-Church: for
their new abode, they have built stately offices; and the old they have
left to moulder into ruins. But to avoid the open scandal of deserting
their Mother, they send hither, as to a dependent cell, their old and
decrepit members to be cherished in that very bosom--fostered in those
very arms--which they have insulted by ingratitude, and weakened by
wrong and robbery. So great was the poverty to which the few inmates
were reduced, that they were actually without surplices, and at times so
destitute of raiment that they could not with proper decency appear at
divine service. Sometimes the allowance of bread for one day had to
serve for two; whilst in the offshoot at Gloucester there was not only
enough, but abundance and superfluity. When entreated to return to their
Mother, these heartless brethren, who had tasted the sweets of a new
residence, and been corrupted by unwonted luxury, only derided their
appeal. “What!” they replied, “would you have us return to sing
_Miserere_ to the wolves? Do the whelps of wolves delight in choral
harmony?” And when any one was sent to Old Llanthony, whether for health
or discipline, they would exclaim--“Why, what has he done? what fault
has he committed? what law has he broken, that he should be sent into
banishment, shut up in such a prison?”--for it was thus that they spoke
of the Mother-abbey--calling it a dungeon, a prison-house, fit only for
the punishment of great criminals.
In like manner, says the monk, the library was despoiled of its books
and MSS.; the record-room of its deeds and charters; the silk vestments
and relics, embroidered with gold and silver, were carried away from
the vestiary; the treasury was stripped of everything valuable. Whatever
was precious or ornamental--even the bells, notwithstanding their great
weight, were carried off to the rival abbey without the slightest
resistance or redress. It was under these distressing circumstances that
King Edward set about effecting the union to which we have adverted.
* * * * *
But there were other causes at work. It is very apparent that the
religious peace and contemplation to which it was consecrated, were but
rare guests in the old Abbey of Llanthony. Situated on the very border
of countries that were mutually engaged in making or repelling
aggressions, the sanctity of the place was often invaded by those who
returned across the marches from some lawless foray, or by others who
entered the Welsh frontiers to make reprisals. The calm serenity which,
for a brief season, reigned within and around the sanctuary, was
disturbed by continual apprehensions of violence or extortion. The
ministering priest was often interrupted in his sacred office by the
shouts of armed men. The stranger who had come in pilgrim weeds,
confessed, and done penance, was too often found on departure to be a
traitor, ready to conduct the next troop of marauders to the gate, and
extort fresh contributions from the already impoverished brotherhood.
It is also alleged, with plausibility, that from the Cambrian
people--who hated the place because its founders, benefactors, priors,
and brotherhood, were aliens by birth, nation, and language--the abbey
had no very cordial protection or support. During the long border
struggles that preceded and followed its “foundation in the wilderness,”
it was the mark of every invading or retreating foe. Instead of Matins
and Vespers, and the meditations of holy men, the Vale of Ewias was
often the retreat or the rallying point of adventurers, whose
Parthian-like movements rendered them equally dangerous in the charge
and the retreat. The sanctity and seclusion of the place once disturbed,
the spell was broken; outrages were repeated and multiplied with
impunity by those who, having no law, were a law unto themselves; and to
such extremes were these carried, that the Prior and Canons--habituated
as they were, by the rule of their Order, to fasting, and at best to a
coarse and scanty fare--were often reduced to the verge of famine.
In one of the numerous expeditions by which the spirit of retaliation
was kept up, and by which the religious houses were harassed and
plundered, a soldier of the English army writes--“We lie here watching,
praying, fasting, and freezing! We _watch_ in dread of the Welsh, who
beat up our quarters every night; we _pray_ for a safe passage homeward;
we _fast_, for hardly have we any food, the halfpenny loaf being raised
to fivepence; and we _freeze_ for want of clothing, having only a linen
tent to keep out the cold!”
If such was the penance done by an officer of the “victorious army,”
great must have been the sufferings endured by those who had to supply
the “loaf,” as the monks of Llanthony had to do, either in substance or
in coin.
While the Abbey was yet faintly struggling to recover a healthy activity
in its affairs, its temporal revenues, and spiritual offices, so great a
dearth occurred all over Wales, that the Bishop of St. David’s is said
to have died of grief; the Bishop of Llandaff to have been stricken
blind; while the Bishops of Bangor and St. Asaph, on their sees being
rendered utterly destitute, were reduced to the necessity of
supplicating alms. The bondage and destitution of the Welsh at this
period--the evils of want and war--are thus expressed by an old
writer:--“The harp of the churchman is changed into sorrow and
lamentation; the glory of our proud and ancient nobility is faded away.”
It was about this time that the Bishop of Hereford, then Prior of
Llanthony, the better to rescue them from a gross insult and trespass by
a powerful neighbour, and accommodate their numbers to the scanty means
of subsistence within the Welsh border, drew off the major part of the
canons from Llanthony, and gave them an asylum in his own palace.
[After describing, in graphic language, the distractions of the country,
the robbery, violence, murder, and rapine, that were daily perpetrated
in their immediate vicinity, and which threatened the very existence of
the brotherhood, the flagrant desecration that immediately led to their
removal to Hereford is thus recorded:--Est præterea et aliud quod animos
innocentium plus omnibus hiis in fixorio angustiarum acerbiùs terrebat.
Unus namque ex vicinis Wallensibus inimicorum minis et jaculis undignè
impeditus, cùm nullus ei tutus ad latendum vel evadendum locus
superesset, [=c] omni domo sua, ad <g>Lanthoniam</g> convolavit; hanc sibi
constituens domum Refugii ut salvus fieret, quem inimici odio
inexorabili persequentes non longè ab atrio in insidiis sedentes
vigilantiùs opportunitatem observabant, quando in eum casu aliquo tandem
oblatum irarum virus evomere prævalerent. Ipse verò in interiores
officinas, quò securior redderetur, cum suis et ancillis, se ingessit;
ità ut ubi <g>Fratres</g> reficere consueverant, ibi _mulieres_ choros ducere,
et cætera muliebria, ignominiosè tractare non erubescerent!
Quid facient milites <g>Christi</g> tot hostium cuneis tarn atrociter vallati!
Ecce foris pugnæ, et intus timores! Non enim possunt ab intus fratres
divinis officiis, præ ingratorum hostium insolentia, consueta
veneratione interesse: Luget <g>Martha</g> quia pascere non permittitur: dolet
<g>Maria</g> quia sanctæ refectionis epulis privatur; et præterea nimis timet
ne in infirmioribus membris suis alicujus culpæ dehonestetur.]
The result of this, after two years’ residence at Hereford, was the
foundation of the new monastery at Gloucester; but which it was at first
intended should be only a <g>cell</g>, dependent on the Mother-Church on the
Honddy. But inured to this species of daily warfare--familiar with the
dangers of their position, and strong in the belief that they were
objects of regard in the eyes of Him who would assuredly carry them, as
he did the faithful of old, through all their troubles--they are said to
have left the scene of their trials and privations with reluctance; and
to have declared that the gardens of Hereford, and the vineyards of
Gloucester, had no attractions for them like the barren rocks of “Ewias
and the Honddy:”--
And when at last these holy men,
With lingering step and slow,
Had wound their way along the glen
Where <g>Honddy’s</g>[337] waters flow,
They halted--gazed--and heaved a sigh,
And dropt a parting tear--
“Oh, never till this hour,” they cry,
“Was <g>Ewias’</g> vale so dear!
Through richer lands our feet may roam--
But long our hearts will pine,
And feel they have no earthly home
But Honddy’s hallowed shrine!
Oh, Blessed <g>Mary</g>, shield us well!
And, when the storm is past,
Grant we beside that hallowed <g>cell</g>
May lay our bones at last.”
The prayer was heard--their labours o’er,
Behold their nameless bier,
Beneath the <g>Chancel’s</g> grassy floor,
Where pilgrims drop the tear!
The simple daisy loves the spot,
And there, the leafy June
Strews many a sweet _Forget-me-not_
Beneath the dewy moon.
And hallowed--hallowed be the ground
Where sleep the good and brave,
Decked by the firstlings of the Spring,
And soothed by Honddy’s wave! &c.
It has been already observed, that monastic establishments were not
generally popular among the Cambrians. They reminded them too sensibly
of the haughty domination of those Norman lords, who had parcelled out
the country amongst them, and hoped to extenuate their crimes by the
building and endowment of religious houses. But the memory of what was
gained by force or fraud, was not to be effaced by multiplying shrines
and priories--great crimes were not to be buried under abbey walls. To
every free-born Cambrian, the sight of an abbey appeared like a monument
of his country’s degradation and bondage, for it was difficult to
separate in his mind the blessings of religion from the galling yoke of
oppression; he saw that what was at first gained by force of arms, was
to be retained by the yet stronger hand of spiritual despotism. The
ecclesiastical power was at times more efficient in subjugating a chief,
than all that a feudal baron could carry with him into the field; and
when both united for the purpose of conquest, their strength was
irresistible, the result certain; and the hatred of the oppressed was
naturally roused against the grinding sense of a twofold oppression.
Superstition was a mighty engine. An austere old writer gives us the
following instance of its working in this golden age of the
Church:--“The yeare after this, Gruffyth, son to Conan ap Owen Gwyneth,
a nobleman, died, and was buried in a monke’s cowle at the Abbey of
Conway; and so were all the nobles, for the most part, of that time
buried. For they were made to believe by the old monkes and friers, that
that strange weed was a sure defence betwixt their soulis and hell,
howsoever they died. And all this baggage and superstition received they
with monkes and friers, a few yeares before that, _out of England_. For
the _first_ abbey or frier-house that we read of in Wales, sith the
destruction of the noble house of <g>Bangor</g>, which savered not of Romish
dregges, was the Twy Gwyn, built the yeare 1146; and after that they
swarmed like bees through all the countrie; for then the Cleargie had
forgotten the lesson that they had receaved from the noble clerk,
Ambrosius Telesinus, who, writing in the yeare 540, when the right
Christian faith, which <g>Joseph of Arimathea</g> taught at the isle of Avalon,
reigned in this land, before the proud and bloodthirsty monke <g>Augustine</g>
infested it with the Romish doctrine, in a certaine ode hath these
verses in <g>Welsh</g>, which may be thus Englished, almost word for word:--
“Wo be to that priest yborne,
That will not cleanlie weed his corne,
And preach his charge among!
Wo be to that <g>Sheepherd</g>, I saie,
That will not watch his flocke alwaie,
As to his office doth belong!
Wo be to him, that doth not keepe
From Romish Wolves his simple sheepe,
With Staffe and weapon stronge!
“And because that no man should doubt of them, I have set them down here
as they were written by him that made them; whereby it may be produced
that the Britaynes, the first inhabitants of this realme, did abhorre
the Romish doctrine taught at that time.”[338]
<g>Architecture.</g>--The Abbey of Llanthony was built, like those already
described, in the cathedral form--with a nave, lateral aisles,
transepts, and chancel. It measures in length, from the western door to
the great eastern window, two hundred and twelve feet; and the breadth
of the nave, including the side aisles, is fifty feet. The style is a
compound of Norman and Early English, or Gothic, of which the
lancet-pointed windows in the nave are illustrations; while the Norman
character is preserved in the arch between the choir and south transept,
and again in the outer wall of the same transept by a double window. Of
the roof, which was was of stone, nothing remains except a fragment in
the north aisle; the transepts have also crumbled down; but the central
tower, which connected the whole fabric, still presents a massive,
though mutilated, feature of the ancient pile.
The <g>Nave</g>, with its six noble arches, which separates the body of the
church from the north aisle, is the grand and imposing feature of the
scene. To the spectator, who takes his stand at the west door, the
objects present a picture of wild and melancholy grandeur. Before him
rise the monuments of a religious Order, who exercised no small
influence over the destinies of mankind; and, when their own were
fulfilled, left behind them, in the ruins that still adorn the land, the
strongest evidence--with the highest homage that art and science can
offer to religion.
We do not pretend to say that the remains of Llanthony are equal in
architectural beauty to those of many other religious houses in the
kingdom; but as every object of this description depends--for the
_effect_ it may exert over the spectator’s mind--upon the character of
the scenery, and the circumstances under which it is viewed, we may
safely claim for these ruins an effect much beyond what others, though
more lofty, elaborate, and extensive, could ever inspire. The monastic
ruins that, in more favoured districts, attract and command attention,
do not, and cannot, take such hold of the imagination as the
contemplation of this temple of the Desert, where everything seems in
harmony with the thoughts suggested; and where the combined features of
Nature and Art invest the scene with peculiar solemnity.
The nave was separated from the two aisles, north and south, by eight
noble arches, supported by massive pillars on each side. But of these
several have disappeared on the south, and left only their grass-covered
bases to indicate their size and position. Of the great tower, only two
sides remain; and on that facing the nave, may be seen the angular lines
where it was joined by the stone roof to the nave. On a line with the
tower on the right are seen part of the south transept, with its double
Norman window opening into the interior; and at the base, externally, a
lancet-shaped doorway, opening into a side chapel. On the centre of each
pillar, and on a line with the upper tier of windows, or _clerestory_,
are seen the remains of the springing columns, which supported the
groined roof--showing, by the triple-moulded shaft, the base or impost
from which the ribbed arch threw its delicate ramifications along the
stone vault, and connected the walls under a magnificent canopy, adorned
at every intersection of the ribs with carved bosses and rosettes; but
of which scarcely a fragment is left.
The ornamented arch in the eastern window, so long the admiration of
travellers, has mouldered away. But the Norman arch, already noticed,
between the choir and the south aisle, is a bold and characteristic
feature that points very distinctly to the twelfth century. The walls of
the north aisle are wholly dilapidated; but the outside wall of the
south aisle, as observed, is the most entire. Of this the windows are
Norman, lofty and finely proportioned. “The western side is considered
by all connoisseurs to be the most elegant; the northern, the most
entire; the southern, the most picturesque; and the eastern, the most
magnificent.” Taken altogether, the remains of this Abbey present a
_coup d’œil_ that will bear comparison with many of far higher name. It
unites the sublime and the picturesque in a more than ordinary measure,
while the general effect is greatly enhanced by the natural solitude of
the place.
On the south of the remaining transept is a neat Gothic chapel, with an
engroined roof, in tolerable preservation. It measures twenty-two feet
in length, by ten and a half in breadth; and on the south of this chapel
are the remains of an oblong room, supposed to have been the
Chapter-house, or more probably the Vestiary. The other offices--the
Refectory, Hospitium, Dormitory, and Cloisters--may be easily traced by
an experienced antiquary; but, to a common observer, their respective
boundaries are indistinct. In a barn, westward of the ruins, is a fine
arch, supposed to have formed the grand entrance to the Abbey. But now--
Stone after stone the hallowed temple falls,
Fierce lightnings scathe, and torrents sap the walls;
No mantling ivy round the ruin weaves
Its verdant panoply of glittering leaves;
No pious hand, with patriotic care,
Props in its fall the ancient house of <g>Prayer</g>;
But still yon Arch, that braves the winter blast,
Stands the proud chronicler of ages past.
<g>On the</g> architecture of this period, we may here introduce a few
desultory remarks, without entering into any disquisition on the
subject.
The most remarkable works of architecture,[339] as opposed to that of
the feudal strongholds, are the religious edifices erected about this
period, and improved during the three following centuries. These
structures uniting, as in the present instance, sublimity in general
composition with the beauties of variety and form--intricacy of
parts--skilful, or at least fortunate, effects of light and shade--and,
in some instances, with extraordinary mechanical science, are naturally
apt to lead those antiquaries, who are most conversant with them, into
too partial estimates of the times wherein they were founded. They
certainly are accustomed to behold the fairest side of the picture. It
was the favourite and most honourable employment of ecclesiastical
wealth, to erect, to enlarge, to repair cathedral and conventual
churches; and upon these buildings in England, between the Norman
Conquest and the Reformation, an immense capital must have been
expended. And it is pleasing to observe how the seeds of genius, hidden,
as it were, under the frost of that dreary winter, began to bud to the
first sunshine of encouragement.
In the darkest period of the middle ages, especially after the
Scandinavian incursions into France and England, ecclesiastical
architecture, though always far more advanced than any other art,
bespoke the rudeness and poverty of the times. It began towards the
latter end of the eleventh century, when tranquillity, at least as to
former enemies, was restored, and some degree of learning reappeared to
assume a more noble appearance.
The Anglo-Norman cathedrals were, perhaps, as much distinguished above
other works of man in their own age, as the more splendid edifices of a
later period. The science manifested in them, according to the authority
here quoted, is not very great; and their style, though by no means
destitute of lesser beauties, is, upon the whole, an awkward imitation
of Roman architecture, or, perhaps, more immediately of the Saracenic
buildings of Spain, and those of the lower Greek Empire.[340] But about
the middle of the twelfth century, when Llanthony, Tinterne, and so many
remarkable edifices sprang up, this manner began to give place to what
is improperly denominated the Gothic architecture. We are not concerned
at present to inquire whether this style originated in France or
Germany, Italy or England, since it was almost simultaneous in all these
countries; nor from what source it was derived--a question of no small
difficulty. I would only venture to remark, that whatever may be thought
of the pointed arch, for which there is more than one mode of
accounting, we must perceive a very oriental character in the vast
profusion of ornament, especially on the exterior surface, which is as
distinguishing a mark of Gothic buildings as their arches; and
contributes, in an eminent degree, both to their beauties and their
defects. This, indeed, is rather applicable to the later than the
earlier stage of architecture; and rather to Continental than English
churches. The Cathedral at Amiens is in a far more florid style than its
contemporary at Salisbury. The Gothic species of architecture is thought
by some to have reached its perfection--considered as an object of
taste--by the middle of the fourteenth century; or at least to have lost
something of its excellence by the corresponding part of the next
age--an effect of its early and rapid cultivation; since arts appear to
have, like individuals, their natural progress and decay. Yet this
seems, if true at all, only applicable to England; since the Cathedrals
of Cologne and Milan--perhaps the most distinguished monuments of this
architecture--are both of the fifteenth century. The mechanical
execution, at least, continued to improve; and is so far beyond the
apparent intellectual powers of those times, that some have ascribed the
principal ecclesiastical structures to the fraternity of
Freemasons--depositaries of a concealed and traditionary science. There
is probably some ground for this opinion; and the earlier archives of
that mysterious association, if they existed, might illustrate the
progress of Gothic architecture, and perhaps reveal its origin. The
remarkable change in this new style, that was almost contemporaneous in
every part of Europe, cannot be explained by any local circumstances, or
the capricious taste of a single nation.[341]
“The Normans,” says “William of Malmesbury, “live in large edifices with
economy. They _revived_ by their arrival the observances of religion,
which were everywhere grown lifeless in England. You might now see
churches rise up in every village, and monasteries in the towns and
cities--all built after a style previously _unknown_ in this country.”
It was soon after the renovation and introduction here mentioned, that
the Abbey of <g>Llanthony</g>--though one of the smallest and least known of
its class--sprang up in the desert, as a signal to many others, on a
more extended and noble scale that quickly followed, and stamped their
architectural character upon the age. It was most probably finished
before the middle of the twelfth century--so prolific in ecclesiastical
edifices. The style is of that period--designated as the transition from
late Norman to early English, where the predominant features are
Gothic--characterized by the pointed arch; by pillars which are so
extended as to lose all trace of classical proportions; by shafts which
are placed side by side, often with different thicknesses, and are
variously clustered and combined.[342]
This style is divided into three distinct periods--besides that of
transition between the circular and pointed styles--which lasted
through the greater part of the twelfth century, when the circular and
pointed arches are frequently--as in the nave and south transept before
us--used indiscriminately in the same building. The ornaments, although
generally partaking of the earlier style, begin to be better executed,
and more elaborate; and the general appearance of the building assumes a
lighter character. The first style of Gothic in this country, <g>The Early
English</g>, prevailed through the greater part of the twelfth century; and
of this style the subject in question is one of the numerous examples
that followed its introduction in every part of the kingdom. Among these
the variations, in all save dimensions, are so slight and unimportant,
that the description of almost any one monastic structure of that
century applies to every other of the same style and period. We possess
in the ruins of Llanthony a pure example of this style, unchanged by any
subsequent additions or alterations; for as the Abbey became reduced
both in numbers and revenues, immediately after the establishment of the
Abbey at Gloucester, it shared in none of the changes introduced by the
decorated style; but has continued to the present day what it was in the
middle of the twelfth century. To account for the splendour of
conventual churches in general, we have only to remember that personal
expense or secular indulgence were highly culpable in a monk; and that
whatever was expended in ornamenting the Church was glorifying GOD.
* * * * *
<g>William</g> of Llanthony--the warrior monk already noticed--appears to have
had followers in his penance; for Peter Damian mentions a man who wore
an _iron_ corslet next his skin, had iron rings around his limbs, so
that he performed with pain and difficulty his _Metaneas_, or
penitential inclinations, and very often dashed his hands upon the
pavement. In “Strutt’s Dresses” is a female pilgrim lying on the ground,
apparently to perform this penance of slapping the ground. The lady of
Sir Thomas More, in reply to her husband, who counselled her to desist
from scolding her servants during Lent, replied that she wore a “Monk’s
girdle,” and therefore had nothing to fear.[343] The virtues of the
monk’s girdle, it appears, were equivalent to those of the _cowl_,
already alluded to in our notice of Tinterne.
<g>The revenues</g> possessed by Llanthony appear to have been very
considerable at the outset; but through negligence or mismanagement--or
rather by the prejudicial influence of a rival abbey--they fell off
gradually, and at the dissolution were valued at a sum[344]
considerably less than those of Tinterne Abbey.
When we read, in the Monastic Annals, of entire districts, towns, and
villages being conveyed to monasteries, we are surprised at the
boundless liberality of the founders. But when we reflect that, at the
time of these princely endowments, the land, in many instances, was
neither cultivated nor peopled, the question of prodigal generosity is
materially altered. At the period of transition, as it may be termed,
when it passed from the hands of the feudal Baron to the Abbot or Prior,
the products of the consecrated territory were often nothing more than
wood and pasture; nor, until it had been long subjected to the system of
agriculture, so generally practised and taught by the monks, was it
brought into a state fit for the sustenance of man. If we compare--so
far as written documents enable us--the state of agriculture and its
population, when these lands were transferred to the Abbot, with the
condition they were in when taken from him, we shall see very clearly to
what a vast amount they had improved under monastic management; and how
much cause there was to applaud the stewardship of the venerable monks,
in whose hands the physical aspect of the country underwent an entire
change. Theirs were truly the arts of peace. Obliged, by the rule of
their order, to plant their convents in sterile and uncultivated wilds,
where intercourse with more favoured districts was neither easy nor
expedient, circumstances required that they should, like the apostles
and fathers of old, depend for daily bread on the labour of their hands.
While some went to prayer, others went to work; and thus the blessing of
heaven and the bounty of earth were believed to descend upon them, and
abide with them, in those sacred habitations which had sprung up under
their hands, and exercised on everything around them a mild and
harmonizing influence.
This spirit of improvement, however, varied according to the different
<g>Orders</g> of which the great monastic brotherhood was composed. To those
who--in imitation of the <g>Baptist</g>--desired to limit their physical wants
to a diet of “locusts and wild honey,” or to whatever the unaided hand
of Nature might place within their reach, were content to consume their
days in fasting and prayer. And observing--as he probably did--that
whenever wealth and luxury had increased in religious houses, strict
discipline had as certainly relaxed, the Monk of <g>Llanthony</g> appears to
have preferred the desert to any of those “seductive landscapes” into
which it might have been, in some degree, converted by means of industry
and manual labour. He had also before his eyes the baneful effects
produced by the luxurious indulgences of New Llanthony upon the minds of
the absent brothers, whose piety, that had preserved its fervour amongst
rocks and glens, became vapid and lukewarm when transplanted to the rich
landscapes of the Severn. Where riches abounded, “pride and license did
much more abound.” It was better to continue a poor but pious friar on
the banks of the Honddy, than become a luxurious wine-bibbing canon in
the Vale of Gloucester.
The space, therefore, in which the most distant resemblance to ancient
cultivation can be traced is comparatively small. It was, perhaps, under
a strong conviction of great piety and great property being in their
very nature antagonistic, that the “Province of Berkeley,” which the
King had offered to the Canons of Llanthony, was so firmly declined. The
vineyards, which it is understood were then common on the banks of the
Severn, were not likely to fortify the mind against temptation, or
reconcile the brotherhood to the abstinence and austerities of
conventual life. But when he speaks of the tract as a “province,” we can
easily imagine that, fertile as the native soil undoubtedly was, only a
small portion of it was under cultivation; so that the annual revenue
bore an exceedingly small proportion to its extent in acres. And so it
was with the almost innumerable tracts of Church lands in every part of
the kingdom; for until they were brought into cultivation and crop,
their value was merely nominal. And how much is due to the skill and
perseverance of the monks in the encouragement of agriculture? There is
scarcely a hill or valley in the kingdom, from which their judicious
exercise of plough, and spade, and mattock, did not produce its annual
return in the necessaries of life. And hence the revenues, that in the
course of years and centuries flowed in upon them, were the legitimate
result of a liberal and vigilant economy. We are too apt to forget,
whilst reckoning up the vast territories bequeathed from age to age to
the church by penitent benefactors, that these same tracts were, in many
instances, of little or no current value to their original owners; and
that it was only by passing them into more skilful and industrious
hands, that they became actually appreciable, as corn lands, orchards,
and vineyards.
<g>The Canons</g> of Llanthony, in their local position, had neither the
advantages of a fertile soil, nor the acquired habits, nor obligations
of Rule, which rendered its cultivation imperative. Their revenues were
drawn from a distance--some from remote parts in Ireland. But in their
immediate neighbourhood, the monks had a brook and enclosed ponds that
produced fish; forests that bred herds of deer, hares, and wild fowl;
while patches of garden, orchard, and rye-field, supplied their table
with that allowance of fruits and vegetables, herbs and roots, and
coarse bread, which formed the daily items of their scanty fare. But
when a stranger of note or a noble pilgrim arrived at the gate, the
Prior’s table assumed the appearance of more than frugal hospitality;
and all that forest or river could furnish for the entertainment of the
honoured guest was liberally supplied.[345] As an established
<g>Sanctuary</g>--from which even the greatest offenders were not excluded--we
have already noticed the shame and desecration inflicted upon Llanthony
by a powerful native, who in the hour of despair had fled to its gate
for shelter. To this disastrous visit no opposition could be offered.
The sanctuary of <g>St. John</g> was alike available to all--to the guilty as
well as to the innocent. And if it was too frequently a refuge for those
who had set all laws at defiance, it was happily still more so to the
sick and the friendless; to the helpless victim of oppression, who from
the horns of the altar appealed to heaven for redress; and to the
penitent, who could find no escape from the snares of evil associates,
but in the confessional and the cloister. It had been a difficult task,
in such circumstances, to discriminate between the claims of those who,
in their distress, flew to the sanctuary--between great criminals and
true penitents; and therefore it was better the gate should be open
alike to all, than that one sincere penitent should be driven back into
a world which, in the bitter hours of remorse, he had resolved to
abandon. In such institutions there was a gentle union of wisdom and
mercy, which the refinement of later times has done much to loosen, and
little to perpetuate.
[Illustration: The Abbey Church from the East.]
<g>Of Llanthony</g>, as it _now_ appears, the following sketch is from the pen
of a recent visitor; and the contrast is picturesque and striking:--
“At the western end of the Nave rise two towers--one of them, with
modernized doors and windows, is inhabited. An open arcade extends in
front of part of the adjoining cloister, and advancing through the open
door it shaded, we found ourselves in a long vaulted half-parlour
half-kitchen, with old arms suspended above the fire-place; sides of
bacon nobly flanking the whitewashed walls; old chairs and cabinets, and
various minor articles of furniture, all arranged with a neatness which
betokened that the presiding genius of the place was feminine. Just as
we had come to this conclusion, forth stepped from an inner recess the
gentle tenant of the abode of the ancient monks, with a quiet simplicity
of manner which went to the heart of a weary pilgrim, and made him feel
instantly as if at home, and welcome. A little repose, and a cup of tea
beside a blazing hearth--for even in summer the air is shrewd among
these hills at evening--entirely refreshed us; and just as the sun was
going down in the west, we sallied forth to see the ruins. Albeit the
hospitality in early times was here dispensed by shaven monks, and now
by maidens fair, there is a singular charm felt by all who visit
Llanthony, in this quiet living within the precincts of the Abbey, which
interests the imagination, and helps to blend agreeably the past and
present.
“With this half-dreamy feeling I went forth, and ascended a slight
eminence to the westward, whence the whole pile extended at length its
ruined towers and arches, half-buried in trees, and overhung with the
lofty hills which shut in the vale, and opened no view to the distant
world beyond. These hills were cultivated half-way up their sides; a few
farms, each sending up its column of smoke, appeared at intervals, with
paths leading up into the wild heath that clothed the summits. The
evening sun cast a broad red light upon the west front and towers of the
pile, and half gilded the remaining portion. I thought I had never
beheld, even among the secluded abbeys of the Yorkshire dales, anything
more romantically serene. It was getting dusk ere I could tear myself
from the spot. The moon was that evening at the full; and it gave me the
opportunity of rambling among the ruins, before I repaired to my
dormitory in the abbey tower, which I ascended by a narrow flight of
stone steps. One might, in idea, have gone back to the olden time, and
fancied oneself a pilgrim in very earnest, receiving hospitality from
the ancient tenants of the place, had it not been for the dainty
whiteness of the bed, which occupied a story of the old tower--far
different, I trow, from the rude pallets of these romantic but
uncomfortable ages.”[346]
[Illustration: _Llanthony Abbey._]
Sir R. Colt Hoare says, that when his friend Mr. Wyndham made the tour
of Wales, in the year 1777, the Eastern front of the abbey was standing,
but has since fallen; and its design is now only preserved by the view
engraven of it in his book. When he accompanied Mr. Coxe, in the year
1800, to make drawings for his historical tour through Monmouthshire,
the western front still retained its superior elegance: in the year
1801, one of the fine windows gave way; and two years later he was a
mournful eye-witness, not only to the total downfall of the three
windows which composed the principal ornament of the front, but of some
modern architectural innovations, highly injurious to the picturesque
appearance of this venerable structure. It is a melancholy reflection to
the traveller, who repeats, at certain intervals, his visits to the many
interesting spots selected by our ancestors, either for military or
religious establishments, that at each visit he will, most probably,
find them progressively verging to decay. But Llanthony, even amidst its
ruins, still supplies the artist with many fine subjects for his pencil,
and furnishes ample matter of inquiry and investigation to the architect
and antiquarian. From certain data we have of its first construction,
about the year 1108, and subsequent desertion in 1136, we are enabled to
ascertain the style of architecture then adopted in monastic buildings,
as there can be little doubt but that the ruins we now see are those of
the original abbey.[347]
* * * * *
<g>Summary</g>--[For the following details--slightly altered and abridged--we
are indebted to a recent and popular Description of Llanthony
Priory,[348] by the Rev. George Roberts, M.A., in which the ruins are
traced with archæological taste and accuracy:]--
The west end is flanked by two low square massive <g>Towers</g>. The one on the
south was fitted up by Colonel Wood, a former proprietor, with
apartments for the grousing season, and is covered in with a sloping
roof. The Abbot’s lodging, which joins on to the south side, is also
turned into a dwelling-house for the steward of the estate, where
visitors are obligingly accommodated. The stone staircase is perfect in
the south tower, but broken in the north. The staircases were lighted by
five chinks. Each tower on the outward face is divided into five stages
by bold string-courses; the base is beveled off, and the ground story is
broad and plain. The second and third stages are ornamented,
arcade-fashion, on the side next to the west window, and the arches are
pointed. The central compartment in each successive stage recedes. In
the lowest story, two pointed windows have been disfigured by modern
innovation. In the centre of the second story, a beautiful example of
the round-headed Norman window remains perfect to the depth of the wall;
the dripstone over it is plain in the north tower, but in the south is
terminated by two corbel-heads. The third story is ornamented with a
double long lancet-shaped blank window, of great elegance in design; the
pointed heads spring from triple shafts with plain Norman capitals.
Between these towers, thus ornamented so as to correspond, stood the
great
<g>West Window</g> over the principal entrance, already noticed. Joining on to
the south tower, there is a round-headed deep window, with a broad
trefoiled head, belonging to a plain vaulted chamber called the <g>Prior’s
Lodging</g>. This chamber abuts upon the church, and commences the
conventual buildings. Entering by the west you see the interior of the
whole church. The <g>Nave</g> was separated from the two <g>Aisles</g> on each side by
eight obtusely-pointed arches, supported on massive pillars square
without capitals; the bases ornamented with _ogee_ mouldings. A round
moulding, deeply let in, runs from the base entirely round the arch, to
the base on the opposite side.
<g>The Arches</g> on the north side still stand perfect. On the south four only
remain, and these imperfect--two at each end of the Nave. The central
arches fell in thirteen years ago (1837), on Ash-Wednesday, without any
external notice, and whilst the family were at dinner. Had they fallen a
few minutes sooner, some person must have been killed. The pressure of
the clerestory windows, which on this side were destroyed, as upon the
other, _overweighted_ the arches beneath, and forced them in. The four
others remaining are in a very tottering condition--and would have
fallen, if Mr. Webb, the steward, to whom the building is much indebted
for its preservation, had not built up some rude but well-intentioned
buttresses; which, however much they may disfigure, are essential to the
strengthening of the remains. He also ingeniously hooped with iron two
of the pillars, and by the application of the screw, has managed to
bring them back into their former position.
<g>The Side Aisles</g> are completely down; but the termination of the North
Aisle, with the only specimen of the roof remaining, is to be seen in
the North Tower of the west front. Here there is also a long, deep,
round-headed Norman window, looking to the north. The arch at the end of
the Nave, next to the Tower, springs from a corbel, consisting of three
truncated pillars with capitals. The bit of the <g>roof</g> of the Aisle which
remains is heavily groined, and formed by the intersection of round
arches. The flat wall buttress, on either side of the Tower, has at the
top a square moulding, fluted, from which springs an arch spanning the
Aisle--the only one of the series in existence. This is the most
acutely pointed in the whole building, and gives an idea of the
character of the rest belonging to the <g>Aisles</g>.
<g>The Arches</g> are divided from what seems to have been a triforium [Coxe,
who saw it when perfect, calls it an upper tier of Norman arches], by a
straight plain band. Between each arch is a corbel, formed of _three_
clustered pillars, as before, with plain Norman capitals, and worked off
to a point, where the base should have been, six in number, and from
these, evidently, sprung the vaulted and groined roof.
In the interior, above, nothing remains but a double window, pointed and
elegant, which seems to have formed the lower portion of the deep Norman
recessed arch, through which the passage ran along to the Bell-tower.
This may be clearly traced from the exterior of the building. A low
round-headed plain door connected each aisle with its contiguous
transept. The square
<g>Bell-tower</g> was supported upon four large and noble pointed arches, of
which the west and the south, together with the sides above them, are
standing; although there is reason to fear for the latter, from the
pressure of the superincumbent building, which has shattered and bowed
it out. Only sixty years ago the Bell-tower was thirty-seven feet higher
than at present, viz., sixty-three feet, as taken by an
instrument--whence the entire height was at first exactly a hundred
feet. The ruin now reaches but a short way above the dripstone of the
roof. The west arch springs from a corbel of three stunted pillars,
clustered, and terminating in a flower--the corbel on the opposite
terminating in a square moulding of the ogee description. The gable in
the western arch is pierced by two small plain Norman windows, and has a
third narrow-pointed window in the apex.
<g>The Staircase</g> communicating with the belfry is lighted by a round-headed
window. We may conjecture there were several _bells_ in the
tower--carried off to Gloucester by Prior Roger.[349]
<g>Transepts.</g>--Nothing remains of the North Transept but one side of the
window.--[See the woodcut.]--The South Transept is lighted upon the
south by a double Norman window, the moulding and shaft plain, the
window eighteen feet by three; and above them, in the gable, is a plain
<g>Rose</g> window, of which nothing but the circular rim remains. The effect
of this composition, from its simplicity, is exceedingly imposing. A
bold Norman arch, supported by a plain Norman corbel pillar, with a
cushion capital, communicates on the east, from the transept, with the
Lady Chapel; and one step from the Tower leads into the Choir.
<g>The Roof</g> was supported upon pillars--lofty with Norman capitals. One on
the south is perfect, and the base of the corresponding pillar is to be
seen. The string-course runs over this pillar, and along the wall to the
extremity of the Choir. At the distance of eighteen feet are traces of
steps to the High <g>Altar</g>, flanked on either side by triple pillars,
clustered; the distance from these steps to the east window is also
eighteen feet. A long and exquisitely-proportioned round-headed window
lighted the choir on the north side, and is quite perfect, except that
the masonry above it is gone, leaving the naked rim of the head standing
alone, with an effect at once graceful and melancholy. The space on the
south side points out where the corresponding window stood. A gap shows
the space occupied by the great east window, which was standing in
Wyndham’s time. From his drawing, it appears to have been a fine pointed
window, with tracery in the head, and having two small Norman lights in
the gable above. A few mouldings are still extant, with slender shafts
and Norman capitals in the wall where it was inserted.
As you return from the east, continues the historian of the Abbey, you
are struck with two windows in the Bell-tower on the south side, in the
second story. They consist of a round-headed arch, divided into two
lights by a sturdy _balustre_, standing in the middle of the wall, and
extending from its plinth to its capital, right through the centre to
the top of the arch. Beyond this, in the thickness of the wall, vestiges
of a passage are discovered, which seems to have formed a gallery round
the tower. A round-headed plain Norman door, the jambs being low pillars
with cushion capitals, at the west end of the choir, on the south side,
leads into
<g>The Lady Chapel.</g> The slight remains of the corbels, from which the roof
sprung, are here more elaborate in their work than in any other part of
the building. We had some difficulty in tracing out the foundation.
<g>The Chapter-house</g>[350] was built in contiguity to the south side of the
south transept. On the north side of it a stable is inserted, which
prevents accurate observation. In a calf-pen or shed, however, we
discovered the corresponding base of the columns to the other
unencumbered side. It seems to have been a spacious and elegant room, of
an oblong form, lighted at the east and at the south, where there is a
deep recess, and traces sufficient to warrant the surmise that there
were three Norman windows on that side. The south wall is ornamented and
divided into four compartments by clusters of triple pillars, upon which
the roof rested. The east end narrows in, and the entrance is from the
west. On the south of the church, between the transept and the
Chapter-house, is an
<g>Oratory</g>--the chapel already named--with an engroined roof in complete
preservation. The central arch springs from a Norman corbel on each
side, and two other arches form the angles of the building in the same
manner. By their intersection the roof is formed. A deep Norman window
is fixed in the east wall. The sides of the door consist of two pillars,
capitals with flowers, and bases, ogee-shaped. South again of the
chapter, a large space for a doorway--the side pillars of which are
partly standing--opens into
<g>The Refectory</g>, of which the slight traces still in existence, defy
anything like accuracy of detail. A rude window, chimney, and vaults,
broken in and filled with rubbish, show where the offices and kitchen
lay. Beyond these is a splendid <g>Sewer</g>, which has been mistaken by the
common people to be the commencement of a subterraneous passage leading
to “Oldham Castle,” under the mountains.
<g>The Vivarium</g>, or Fish-pond, is east of the church, and a mountain rill
still runs through it. The whole of the conventual buildings, together
with a close, amounting to seven acres, were surrounded by a wall. At
some little distance south-west from the church, and divided from it by
what is now a long meadow, stand
<g>The Hospitium</g> and Porter’s Lodge--the first of which is a barn, and has
been enlarged for that purpose. A fine pointed arch, already alluded to,
under which was the entrance gateway, still remains. The pillars upon
which it rests are immensely strong--the capitals Norman and rudely
carved. Above this were apartments lighted by two round-headed windows
in the north gable; and in the south gable, by two windows with trefoil
cusps, and one round-headed. An old fireplace above is also visible. The
arches on the other side are blocked up with solid masonry. The Porter’s
window is pointed, and looks to the west. In the “bay” of the barn, and
on a level with the ground, on the west side, is a window deeply set in
the wall, pointed; and in a line with it, a square open space, like the
top of a buttery-hatch, with a large flat stone below, whence probably
the <g>dole</g>[351] was distributed.
* * * * *
<g>RULES of St. Augustin.</g>--Of these, the rules of Llanthony--which the
reader will find printed at full in the history of the <g>Order</g>[352]--a few
extracts may here suffice.
<g>A.</g> By the first rule, or condition, every candidate for admission into
the Order was called upon to relinquish all property. He was to enter on
a term of probation by the <g>Prior</g>. No Canon, on taking leave of the Order
from necessity, was permitted to take any property away with him. If
anything were offered him as a present, he was not at liberty to accept
it, until he had obtained leave from the Prior. This rule was to apply
equally to all, from the Superior downwards. Punishment was to be
denounced for contumacy, and offences to be declared to the <g>Præpositus</g>,
before whom all disagreements were to be laid for consideration and
adjustment. All property detained as above-mentioned, through necessity,
was to be handed over to the <g>Superior</g>.
<g>B.</g> They were carefully to remember what psalms were appointed to be sung
at the stated hours, and nightly readings after <g>Vespers</g>. Manual labour
was to continue from morning until <g>Sext</g>; and from Sext till <g>Nones</g> was to
be employed in reading. After refection, work was to be resumed till
Vespers. In all matters of business connected with the convent, two
monks were to act in concert; but none were permitted to eat or drink
out of the house. Brothers sent to dispose of goods in public, for the
benefit of the convent, were to be cautious of doing anything against
the Rule. Idle talk, or gossiping, was strictly forbidden; and they were
enjoined to proceed with their work in silence.
<g>C.</g> The union, or brotherhood, was to subsist in one house. Food and
raiment were to be distributed by the Superior, and everything was to be
held and enjoyed in common. Due consideration was to be observed towards
infirmity; but no allowance to be made for pride on account of
difference of birth. Concord was indispensable; and in attending divine
service at the appointed hours, they were to observe the strictest
punctuality. They were not to make use of the church for any other
service than that to which it was consecrated, unless when, out of the
proper hours, they found leisure and inclination for private prayer.
While chanting the psalmody, they were to revolve and write the
sentiment in their hearts. Nothing was to be sung but what was duly
appointed. They were bound to mortify the flesh by frequent abstinence
and fasting; and those who did not fast, were to take nothing after the
usual time of dining, unless when sick. The scriptures were to be read
during meals in the <g>Refectory</g>. To the sick a better kind of food was
allowed; but not to make the others discontented. Brothers of delicate
habit, or infirm health, were to have diet and clothes suitable to their
condition; and such indulgence was not to excite envy or disgust in
others. The sick were to be treated with all the care which their cases
required; and as soon as they recovered their wonted health, they were
to return to the fixed rule and habit of the house.
<g>D.</g> The <g>Habit</g> of the Order was to be sober, not conspicuous. When they
went abroad, they were to walk two together, and so remain at the
journey’s end. In gait, look, habit, or gesture, everything that could
be termed indecent or offensive, was to be regarded as criminal. They
were not to fix their eyes upon women; and when two were in church in
the presence of women, they were mutually to support each other, in
observing a serious and modest decorum--“invicem vestram pudicitiam
custodite. Deus enim qui habitat in vobis, etiam isto modo custodiet vos
a vobis....” All such offences or misdemeanours were to be punished by
the Superior. The clandestine receipt of letters or presents was a
punishable offence. Their clothes were to be taken from one common
<g>Vestiary</g>, and their food from one Larder. All vestments presented by
relatives were to be stored in the common Vestiary. All labour was to be
considered as done for the common good. He who stole, and he who
concealed his knowledge of a theft, were to be punished with equal
severity.
<g>E.</g> Their clothes, and the linen of the house, according to the order of
the Superior, were to be washed either by themselves or by fullers. In
cases of illness, ablutions were to be used according to the physician’s
advice; or, on refusal, by order of the Superior. They were to go to the
baths only by two or three, and were then to be accompanied by a person
duly appointed by the Superior. The sick were to have an <g>Infirmarer</g>; and
cellarers, chamberlains, or librarians, were to serve the brethren with
cheerfulness and good-will. <g>Books</g> could not be obtained for perusal but
at the stated hours. Clothes and shoes were to be given out when needed.
No litigations or quarrels were permitted. If a difference arose, it was
to be instantly adjusted or put to silence by the authorities. For all
offences, satisfaction--for all wrongs, retribution--was to be given;
and the offended were commanded to practise, in all cases, the sacred
duty of forgiveness towards the offender.
<g>F.</g> Harsh or uncharitable expressions were to be carefully avoided; and
if hastily uttered, they were to be followed by an immediate apology.
Obedience to the Superior was strictly enjoined; but if, in the exercise
of his duty, he spoke harshly to any one, he was not to be called upon
for any apology. They were to yield cheerful obedience to the head over
them; but chiefly to the <g>Priest</g>, or Presbyter, on whom devolved the care
of the whole house. If, in any emergency, the Superior found his
authority unequal to the occasion, he was to have recourse to that of
the Priest, or <g>Elder</g>. The Superior was bound to exercise his authority
in the spirit of Christian charity and meekness, yet with firmness and
impartiality. To be practically strict in discipline; but so to demean
himself towards the brethren, as rather to win their love by kindness
than excite their fear by severity; to set before their eyes an example
of godly life; to excite imitation, and conciliate affection.[353]
The Rule of <g>St. Augustin</g>, it has been observed, is more courteous than
that of <g>St. Benedict</g>; for among the Canons-Regular, every brother is
well shod, well clothed, and well fed; they go out when they like, mix
with the world, and converse at table. The Rule of St. Augustin was
followed by the Dominicans; but with severe additions in food, fasts,
bedding, garments, and utter dereliction of property.--See and compare
the Cistercian <g>Rule</g>, as given in the foregoing article on Tinterne
Abbey.
* * * * *
[Illustration: F]<g>OUNDER.</g>--Hugh de Laci was an adventurer in the suite of
William the Conqueror; and, like most of his Norman followers and
compatriots, received in compensation of services, or in testimony of
the royal favour, certain grants of land from which the ancient Saxon
nobility had been expelled. All that we learn of his subsequent career
is, that he founded the Priory of <g>Llanthony</g> in the manner already
described, spent his days in strict religious seclusion, and departed
this life in the odour of sanctity--but without issue. His possessions,
therefore, were divided between his two surviving sisters, Ermeline and
Emma--the former of whom died without heirs; and the latter, married to
a gentleman, whose name has not descended to posterity, had by her
husband a son named <g>Gilbert</g> de Laci. The latter, by his marriage with a
lady unknown to the chronicler, had two sons, <g>Hugh</g> and <g>Walter</g> de Laci.
Hugh died without issue, and Walter espoused Margery, daughter of
Matilda de <g>S. Walerick</g>, wife of William <g>de Brewes</g>. To this family were
born several sons and daughters; all of whom died without heirs, except
<g>Gilbert</g> de Laci, who took to wife the Lady Isabella, one of the five
daughters of the great warrior William, Earl <g>Marshall</g>, of whose family
history and exploits some account has been given in our notice of
Tinterne Abbey.
<g>Margery</g>, daughter of the above-named Gilbert and Isabella de Laci, was
married to John <g>de Verdon</g>; and at the death of her father, who left no
male issue, she became joint heiress with her sister Matilda, the wife
of Galfrid <g>de Genevile</g>.
From <g>Walter</g> de Laci, the right of all his inheritance descended to a
certain <g>Gilbert</g> de Laci, as his son and heir; and from the said Gilbert,
in default of male issue, it descended to his two sisters Margery and
Matilda aforesaid, co-heiresses; between whom the family property left
by their father was equally divided. The above-named Margery, as we have
said, married John _de Verdon_; and to <g>Nicholas</g>, her son by this
marriage, descended all the property she inherited from her father. From
Nicholas, who died without legitimate issue, the family estates passed
to his adopted brother <g>Theobald</g>, as his brother and heir. From
Theobald, in like manner, they descended to <g>John</g>; from whom, having no
heirs, they descended to <g>William</g>, who also dying childless, they
descended to Johanna, Elizabeth, Margery, Isabella, and Catherine,
daughters and coheiresses of the above-named Theobald de Verdon. Of
these, Catherine dying unmarried, her share of the property fell in
equal proportions to her sisters; the eldest of whom wedded Thomas <g>de
Furnivall</g>: Elizabeth, the second daughter, married Bartholomew <g>de
Burghersh</g>; Margery, the third daughter, William <g>Blount</g>; and Isabella
took to husband Henry <g>de Ferrers</g>--names well known in history.
* * * * *
<g>Baldwin</g>, the Bishop above named, was a native of Exeter, where he
received, what was considered in those days, a liberal education; and in
the early part of his life discharged the functions of a grammar-school
in that city. After taking holy orders he was made Archdeacon of Exeter;
but soon quitting the duties of that office, he took the habit of the
Cistercian Order in the Monastery of Ford, in Devonshire, of which, in a
few years afterwards, he was elected Abbot. He was next promoted to the
episcopal dignity, and on the 10th of August, 1180, consecrated Bishop
of Worcester. On the death of Richard, Archbishop of Canterbury, four
years later, he was translated to that see--though not without
difficulty, from his being the first of the Cistercian Order in England
who had ever been promoted to the archiepiscopal dignity. He was
enthroned at Canterbury, May the 19th, 1185, and the same day received
the bull from Pope Lucius III., whose successor, Urban III., appointed
him to the office of Legate for the diocese of Canterbury. Soon after
his installation, he began to build a church and monastery at
Hackington, near Canterbury, in honour of “St. Thomas à Becket,” for the
reception of secular priests; but, being violently opposed by the monks
of Canterbury supported by the Pope’s authority, he was compelled to
abandon his undertaking.
On the third of September, 1190, he solemnly performed the ceremony of
crowning <g>King Richard</g> the First--Cœur-de-Lion--in the palace of
Westminster. The same year, the King having given the see of York to his
natural brother, Geoffrey, Bishop of Lincoln, <g>Baldwin</g> took occasion to
assert the pre-eminence of the see of Canterbury, forbidding the Bishops
to receive consecration from any other than the Archbishop himself.
The next year, designing to follow King Richard into the Holy Land, he
made the “Itinerarium” into Wales already alluded to; visited the Abbey
of <g>Llanthony</g>, which he described in the words already quoted; said mass
pontifically in all the cathedral churches, and persuaded many of the
Welsh to quit their homes and take part in the crusade. After completing
this progress, he returned to Canterbury; and then, embarking at Dover
with the Bishop of Salisbury, sailed for the Holy Land, where he joined
the King’s army in Syria. Shortly after his arrival, however, he was
seized with a mortal distemper, and died at the siege of Acre, or
Ptolemais, where he was buried with all the solemnity due to a great
luminary of the church.[354]
<g>Descent.</g>--At the period of the dissolution of monasteries, Llanthony
Abbey was given to Richard, or Nicholas Arnold; then sold to Auditor
Harley, and remained in the Oxford family, until sold again to Colonel
(afterwards Sir Mark) Wood, of Persefield, near Chepstow; from whom it
passed to the present owner, WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, Esq.
<g>Arms</g> of Llanthony Abbey: “Party per pale azure and purpure on chevron
argent, between three oak-branches argent, three marigolds
proper.”--_Dugdale._
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