placed upright in the ground. Passing back through the Kingsgate we can
see the line of the wall continuing along the little garden of the
head-master, and here is a pretty bit for the artist.[50]
[Illustration: THE PORTER’S LODGE AND CHEYNEY COURT.]
Nearly opposite we saw a number of college boys streaming into a small
confectioner’s shop. Inside sat a young lady in a cage. I had always
felt that the fair possessed potent charms, but I never before knew
of one who was obliged to be protected in this way. We soon learned,
however, that the wire was put up for the preservation of other
sweets, and because some of the boys had been studying Dr. Smiles’ work
on “Self-help.”
[Sidenote: Sustern Spytal.]
On the same side we came to one of the College houses, with an iron
railing in front of it; this was the site of the ancient nunnery,[51]
the Sustern Spytal. Here were afterwards the “Commoners,” or boys not
on the foundation, and now are class-rooms. It has been said that there
was no fosse along this part of the city wall; but in the French map of
1650, one is marked as existing. The question is doubtful.
[Sidenote: Wykeham.]
And now we arrive at the famous College, and, as in duty bound, pay a
passing tribute to its founder. Wykeham was of yeoman birth, of comely
person, and had a strain of noble blood in him, from his mother’s
family. He was educated at a little old school on St. Giles’ slope,
which boasted that it had numbered among its pupils Athelwolf and
Alfred the Great. No doubt, he attended to his lessons, for we find
him while still a youth, appointed to be secretary to the Governor of
the Castle. This was the happy accident in Wykeham’s life; without
it, though he had a genius for architecture and geometry, and was a
rare draughtsman, he might have remained in obscurity. The governor,
De Scures, knew Bishop Edington--himself a builder--and both knew
the King. They introduced Wykeham to him, and from that moment, at
twenty-three years of age, his career was assured.
“He was one of those men,” observed Mr. Hertford, “whom fortune carries
to the top of the ladder without asking them to walk up the rounds.”
“So it appears,” I continued. “He took, as many of his day, the
priest’s office that he might eat a piece of bread, and soon had
it richly buttered. Not only did he become ‘a pretty considerable
pluralist’ and a bishop, he was also made Surveyor of the King’s
castles and palaces, Keeper of the Privy Seal, Secretary to the King,
and Chancellor. In short, he was the leading spirit in the country, and
‘everything was done by him, and without him nothing.’”
“But I have read somewhere that he had a fall,” said Mr. Hertford,
“and was obliged to appeal to Alice Perrers. Imagine the grave bishop
in his long robes, bowing down to Edward’s impudent little favourite!
Perhaps his words were golden on this occasion, for she said she would
go and see whether a spark of love for her remained in the old king.
And the spark did remain, and its light was sufficient to guide Wykeham
back to his temporalities.”
“Well,” I replied, “that story has been questioned, but, at any rate,
he only wanted his own, and that for a good purpose. His pet college
was in danger of suffering, and though the building was not commenced
he had appointed a warden and scholars. When the college was finished,
he began the transformation of the Cathedral and had done good work
upon it before he closed his eyes. He left 2,500 marks to carry it on.
Until the last few years of his life he planned everything himself,
and employed no architect. He is considered to be the father of the
Perpendicular style, and was national as opposed to Papal in his
architecture and his politics. Altogether he laid out upon building
what would now be equal to half a million. For such brilliant success,
learning and integrity were indispensably requisite, and he summed up
his estimate of them in his famous motto ‘Manners makyth man.’”
Beneath the great and good deeds of Wykeham, we may here mention a
little kindly act, not less indicative of a noble character. When he
had purchased Dummers Mead from St. Swithun’s Monastery for the site of
his College, a tailor claimed a part of it and took legal proceedings.
The man failed to establish his right, and was condemned to pay the
heavy costs, which would have ruined him. Wykeham generously defrayed
them.
[Sidenote: Relics of Wykeham.]
There are preserved in a curious vaulted strongroom over the College
sacristy, among other manuscripts, a modest pedigree, tracing Henry
VII.’s descent from Adam, a Life of St. Thomas à Becket deposited here
by Wykeham,[52] and a roll of the household expenses of the founder in
1394.[53] But if we wish to see his most interesting relics we must
go to New College, Oxford. Judging from what remains there, we might
almost conclude that Wykeham was a giant in stature as well as in
mind.[54] There we find a pair of large crimson silk gloves, with I.
H. S. amid golden rays, worked on their backs. His ring is about an
inch wide, of great solidity, with the crucifixion embossed on the
gold at each side. The stone, about the size of a sovereign, is in
the shape of a heart and colourless, probably rock crystal. This was
doubtless a thumb ring, but it is large even for that. His mitre case
is an extraordinary structure, made of thick stamped leather, girded
with iron bands and locked at the top. It is a foot wide and nearly two
feet high, in shape resembling a beehive. From the strength of the case
we should expect valuable contents. But no; the fragments of the mitre
show it to have been little superior to a stage “property.” Its rods
adorned with trefoil leaves are of silver gilt, but the “jewels” are
plentiful and spurious. The tissue bearing the I. H. S. was worked with
seed pearls. The purfling which went round the brow of the mitre was of
brass, with sham gems, alternated with small squares of silver brightly
enamelled with figures of men, animals, and flowers.
The most costly of these “jocalia” is the central piece of a morse or
clasp for the cope. It is about two inches wide, and is called a Mary
crowned, being in the form of an old-fashioned M, like a horseshoe.[55]
It is surrounded with pearls, emeralds, and garnets. In the centre
stand two little figures in gold, Mary and an angel, and between them
is a vase of garnet, from which springs a lily with emerald leaves and
flowers of pearls.
Behind a glass in New College Chapel is Wykeham’s crozier; a
magnificent work of silver adorned with pinnacles and other ornaments,
and especially rich in scriptural figures in enamel.
At Oxford is, also, the only letter extant, written by
Wykeham--purchased at Sir Edward Dering’s sale. It is in the clerkly
hand, adopted by penmen of the time, and the lines, now much faded,
are a foot long, but so few that the whole writing is scarcely an inch
wide. The letter, thus short and long, was written from Shene,[56] to
Lord Cobham, in 1367, when he was on an embassy to the Pope, of whose
whereabouts Wykeham seems doubtful. It is in French, and signed
[Illustration: William de Wykeham]
Among these curiosities is the ivory horn of a fish called a narwhal,
which seems out of place in the collection, unless it be considered
emblematic of the vocation of the first preachers of Christianity.
It probably belonged to Wykeham, and is sixty-five inches long, the
pointed end--supposed to be an antidote for poison--having been cut
off. When Lord Leicester was Chancellor of Oxford in 1569, he asked the
College to give him this horn. They made a compromise, and by sending
him this prized extremity were allowed to keep the rest.
[Sidenote: The College.]
We enter the first court, and look with veneration at the kneeling
figure of Wykeham. Here was impressed by a master-mind the prototype
of our public schools. The prelate chose the site outside the walls
of Winchester, in the Soke, which extended round the south-east of
the city, so that the College might be entirely in the Bishop of
Winchester’s jurisdiction. As early as 1373, he engaged a schoolmaster
at Winchester, and three years later had a warden and seventy scholars.
[Illustration: _Chamber Court._]
The buildings we see, with the exception of the Chantry Chapel and
schoolroom and tower, are those erected by Wykeham. In March, 1393, the
warden, fellows, and scholars, took possession of their new magnificent
abode, marching in a triumphal procession, headed by a cross-bearer,
and chanting songs of praise. Nevertheless, the accommodation would
not have seemed liberal in our days. Three fellows had only one room;
the seventy scholars had six chambers, and those below fourteen years
slept two in a bed. These were in the inner quadrangle. The outer
quadrangle must then have formed a somewhat unpoetical entrance to the
abode of the muses, although the warden and head-master lived in it. In
the front of it, built partly for defence, were the brewery, bakehouse,
and malt-rooms; on the west side, the stables; and on the east, the
slaughter-houses.
[Sidenote: Cloisters.]
[Illustration: _The Cloisters._]
The Cloisters were built by Wykeham’s steward; and I should like to
have walked their “studious pale” at my leisure, and to have spent some
time in musing over the past. These arches, this pavement, and this
clean roof of chestnut or Irish oak, have been present to the mind and
eye of many a learned man as he here mused upon the great master works
of the Greeks and Romans. And after his ambition had been kindled, and
his breast inspired for a brief period, he had laid him down to rest,
and left nothing to inform us that he ever lived, except a tablet on
these silent walls. I can conjure up the pensive figure of Henry VI.,
who was often here, and attended the chapel services. He presented the
College with a chalice, cruets, and tabernacle, all of gold, and gave
the little boys some pocket-money, which, no doubt, was more valued
by them.[57]
Here are brasses to some of the fellows who died in the sixteenth
century. We see that John Watts (Watto), reached the patriarchal age of
a hundred years. Some are commemorated in Latin verses--the solemnity
of death could not prevent a poetaster from punning on the name of
Lark, and one John Clerk, who on earth “distilled rosy liquors,” is
now “rejoicing in living waters.” But we are also reminded of younger
and gayer scenes, of spirits full of hope looking forward joyously to
years of expected happiness. The walls are scored with the names of
these aspirants, most of them afterwards unknown--for studious boys
rarely mark themselves upon wood and stone--but we see here “Thos. Ken,
1646,” the celebrated bishop, whose glorious hymns, “Awake, my soul,”
and “Glory to Thee, my God, this night,” first appeared in a Manual of
Prayers he composed for Winchester College.
Alas! as I look through these arches to the grassy enclosure, I see
some small tombstones to the memory of boys not destined even to feel
the disappointments of life. The rosebud has fallen upon the sod! The
thought is too melancholy, let us change to something cheerful--and
look at those young girls on the sward, sketching the little old chapel
which stands in the centre with all its pristine beauty. It dates from
1430. There is a fine stained east window in it which has old figures
in the lower part. Over the chapel--intended for private masses--is an
apartment, now used for a library. The whole is a little _bijou_.
The large schoolroom, built by Warden Nicholas in 1687, is now used
merely for concerts and other entertainments. But the great grim
signboard still remains, warning the festive company that they must
learn, leave, or be whipped! This unpleasant notification is impressed
by a representation of a sword, and something which looks alarmingly
like a pitchfork, but is really meant for a rod. In these days of
competitive examinations, it seems strange to be told that the army
is to be the last refuge for dunces. This work of art is older than
the building; its scholastic designer remains among the great unknown.
Prominent here among other names, is that of Herbert Stewart, painted
with ink in letters of heroic size.[58]
The height of the Hall gives it a magnificent appearance, while the old
oak in the panelling, benches, tables, and roof, make it sombre and
venerable. Some old pieces of wood, about six inches square, were shown
us, which are still used by the foundation boys for plates at breakfast
and supper. In early times the hall was warmed by a fire in the centre.
[Sidenote: The Portraits.]
Over the high table there is a full-length portrait of William of
Wykeham. It is on oak, but scarcely looks as old as the days of
Holbein. All we can hope is that there was some likeness of Wykeham
of which it is a copy. There is also here a picture of Bishop Morley
with rosy cheeks, pointed beard, and a somewhat cynical expression. He
was in exile with Charles II., and returned with him, and, to judge by
the carmine here freely used, had shared in his master’s good living.
Beneath this, by way of contrast, I suppose, hangs the lantern face
of Bishop Fox--dark, close-shaven, ascetic--not altogether unlike his
patron Henry VII. He was the man who collected the bones out of the
crypt, and placed them in the chests.
On the wall of the passage to the kitchen there is the picture of the
“Trusty Servant,” almost as well known as the College itself. The Latin
verse dates from 1560; the figure, from Queen Anne.
“I remember that at first sight I thought it was intended for the
devil,” said Mr. Hertford, “and I am not sure that the designer was not
a plagiarist in this respect. I have seen valentines like it.”
“But when we read the lines,” I replied, “we find the intention is to
represent virtues, not vices. The cloven feet are to signify celerity,
not bestiality; the ‘porker’s snout’ contentment, not greediness; and
the donkey’s head patience, not stupidity; the formidable weapons
and bundle of implements he carries are for defensive and industrial
purposes. This combination of man and beast has a moral as well as a
comic side, and has much taken the public fancy.”
When we were opposite this picture, the porter recited with some
dramatic power the description of this model domestic:--
“A trusty servant’s portrait would you see,
The emblematic figure well survey:
The porker’s snout--not nice in diet shows;
The padlock shut--no secrets he’ll disclose;
Patient the ass, his master’s wrath to bear,
Swiftness in errand--the stag’s feet declare;
Loaded his left hand, apt to labour with,
The vest his neatness; open hand his faith;
Girt with his sword--his shield upon his arm,
Himself and master he’ll protect from harm.”
We pitied the man who rehearsed these hackneyed lines to every
visitor, but hoped that to his ear they had a musical, or perhaps, as
Shakespeare says, a silver sound.
[Sidenote: Brasses.]
In the College Chapel we have the original roof, and the brasses are
exact reproductions of those formerly existing here; which, though
carefully stored, were stolen when the pavement was undergoing repair
some twenty years ago. Fortunately a boy with the suitable name of
Freshfield had kept rubbings of them, and by these they have been
restored. Warden Nicholas, though not a man of puritanical views,
removed the screen.
[Illustration: The College Chapel]
The College was visited by Charles I., and when reverses came it was
still safe, for Nicholas Love, the regicide, son of a warden of that
name, exerted himself for its preservation, and Colonel Nathaniel
Fiennes, who was an old Wykehamist, when Cromwell took possession of
Winchester, placed a guard at the gates of the College to prevent any
depredations.
Poetic memories cluster richly around these old walls. Ken has been
mentioned, and Otway should not be forgotten, but time ripened more
abundant fruit. There was Young, to whom so many wise reflections came
when--
“Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne
In rayless majesty now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumbering world.”
and whose lines, “Procrastination is the thief of time,” “At thirty
man suspects himself a fool,” and “All men think all men mortal but
themselves,” have become household words. Then there was “Tom Warton,”
of whom Johnson said that he was the only man of genius he knew that
had no heart. In one sense the remark was perhaps true. Although he
was eminently sociable and genial, he seems, from his writings, to
have been free from those amorous perplexities in which most poets are
involved. But he had a fine imagination, great power of expression, and
a considerable vein of humour. Next came poor Collins, who died insane.
His father, a hatter, determined, like Sugden the barber, to give his
son the very best education. Collins was a strange, fantastical fellow,
though not unworthy of the feather he wore in his cap. He became a demi
of Magdalen College, Oxford, and wrote three odes--to Evening, to the
Passions, and on the Death of Thompson--never surpassed in the English
language. Truly the tree of knowledge was here hung with golden fruit.
Many other eminent men have issued hence to adorn the Church and
State, whose solid acquirements must not cause us to undervalue the
gifts of Sydney Smith, another Wykehamist, who “could make not only the
guests and servants, but even the portraits laugh.”
[Sidenote: School Fare.]
Warton in his panegyric on ale, and in the affection he practically
showed for it, may have been influenced by the remembrance of the
joyous drinks of his school life. He says:--
“Let the tender swain
Each morn regale with nerve-relaxing tea
Companion meet for languor-loving nymphs;”
and adds that he prefers a “material breakfast,” consisting of a crust
and tankard of ale. As late as seventy years ago the boys continued
to have beer for breakfast, indeed that, and that only, was allowed
them liberally. Winchester seems to have been long in forgetting the
good old Saxon times when each alderman consumed two gallons of beer
at a sitting. As for the boys’ dinner, what between fagging, and the
seniors having the first cut at the joint, the juniors often had
none--vegetables, never. When the square bits of board were their only
plates, they were certainly not indulged with gravy. No wonder that
they heartily sang the “Dulce Domum” in the college meads when the
time came for them to disperse for their summer holidays.
[Illustration: _Corner of a College Study._]
Passing on down College Street, and admiring some Virginian creepers,
more bright than Henry VII.’s stained glass, we soon came to the large
gates of Wolvesey Castle. There was a fortress here in Saxon times,
built, it is said, by Cynegils, and made over by his son to the bishops
of Winchester. There is a mystery about the name. Some think it means
Wolf’s Island. Milner says the name came from Edgar having required
a Welsh prince to find 300 wolves’ heads and deposit them here every
year. These animals were then great pests, and when Alfred wrote
requesting the Archbishop of Rheims to permit St. Grimbald to come
over, he sent him a present of wolf hounds. The prelate acceding, says
that the saint is “not a dumb dog, but able to bark and drive away evil
spirits.”
The earlier castle which stood on this site had a literary celebrity.
Here Alfred’s scribes compiled the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, assisted
by the King himself. He ordered the precious volume to be kept at
Wolvesey--it is now in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. This was the
first English prose book.
The structure of which we now see the ruins was built by Bishop
de Blois, brother of King Stephen, out of the materials of the
former castle, and of the Saxon palace in the square. It was not long
constructed before it was used in a manner which showed that the
bishop’s weapons were not entirely spiritual.
[Sidenote: Burning of Winchester.]
In 1141, during the civil wars, the southern part of the city,
including the Bishop’s palace and the Cathedral, supported King
Stephen, while the northern, containing the best houses and Royal
Castle, held out for the Empress Matilda. A storm of fire-balls poured
forth from Wolvesey Castle, destroying the Abbey of St. Mary, twenty
churches, large private buildings, the suburb of Hyde, and the splendid
monastery there situated. Fighting and firing raged in the heart of the
city for seven weeks! The Northern party were at last driven into the
Royal Castle, and the water cut off. The Empress now adopted a clever
expedient; she kept out of sight, caused a report to be circulated
that she was dead, and had preparations made for her funeral. Her body
was enclosed in lead like a corpse, and was thus allowed to be carried
out in a horse-litter through the besiegers’ camp. Once safely in the
open country she soon was out of her coffin and into her saddle, and,
bestriding her good steed, galloped off towards Devizes. Stephen, upon
his obtaining the castle, prepared it for vigorous defence, but before
he was ready heard an army was collecting against him and took to
flight. The monks of Hyde Abbey maintained that during this conflict
Bishop de Blois intentionally fired from Wolvesey upon their monastery.
The war which devastated the country at this time greatly interfered
with agriculture, and a synod was convened at Winchester, at which
it was resolved, “that plough and husbandman should have the same
privileges of sanctuary with churches,” and the whole assembly, with
torches in their hands, pronounced a blazing excommunication against
any one who injured an agriculturist.
Wolvesey saw Henry II.--who had been crowned at Winchester--in one of
his worst moments. After the murder of À Becket he found a great storm
of public feeling raised against him, and felt no longer safe. On the
6th of August he passed through Winchester, and visited this grim
old Norman castle, where Henry de Blois was dying, and here he heard
the bishop’s last words of bitter reproach, as he foretold the great
calamities which Divine vengeance would pour upon the murderer of the
Archbishop. From this Henry hurried to Wales and to the subjugation of
Ireland. As late as Leland’s time this was “a castelle, or palace well
tow’red,” and it was a residence till the Civil War.
[Sidenote: Raleigh.]
Here, in Henry VIII.’s time, Bishop Fox, as a blind and aged man, was
interrogated about Prince Arthur, who was born here, and gave very
interesting and lucid replies. Here Mary first saw Philip. Here took
place the famous trial of Raleigh before Popham and others, during
which the apartments of the warden and fellows of the College were
requisitioned for the judges, sheriffs, and principal lawyers. The
fine old sailor kept a very cheerful countenance, we are told, though
so unwell and feeble that he was accommodated with a seat. He was
charged with attempting to induce foreign enemies to invade the King’s
dominions; with attempting to restore the Romish religion; and to
place on the throne Arabella Stuart, whom he was to meet in Jersey.
The celebrated Coke was the Crown counsel against him, and indulged in
virulent and coarse invectives, calling him a terrible and detestable
traitor.
“He hath a Spanish heart. You are an odious man. See with what a ----
forehead he defends his faults. His treason tends not only to the
destruction of our souls, but to the loss of our goods, lands, and
lives. This is the man who would take away the King and his cubs.”