have been a son of Sir Arnald. But it has been said that he was of
low origin, and even an Italian. Courtenay’s coffin was found lately
in the well of the crypt, and is now in the choir.
[82] A bishop in the fourteenth century who founded, to the south of
Wolvesey Castle and east of the College, the College of St. Elizabeth
of Hungary. Slight traces remain.
[83] Also “God’s House” at Portsmouth, the priory of Selborne, and
Titchfield Abbey.
[84] He chose this which is carved in his Chantry and elsewhere on
account of his great veneration for the holy Sacrament. Hence also he
gave the name of Corpus Christi to his college at Oxford, which keeps
up this chantry.
[85] Cnut’s remains are said to have been found in the Cathedral in
1766.
[86] He lived in princely style. We read of his parks and cargoes
of wine. He fined the Southampton citizens 100s. for selling goods
during St. Giles’ fair.
[87] Add. MSS. 6768. In this crypt are some askew arches, the art of
forming which is said to be lost. Another peculiarity is that the
east end descends as in Glasgow Cathedral.
SIXTH DAY.
The Grenadier--Cathedral Library and Museum--The Deanery--Pilgrim’s
Hall--Precincts--Cheyney Court--Regulations of the Monastery--North
side of the Cathedral--Early decay of the City--St. Peter’s
Street--Middle Brooks--Old Houses.
This day was to be devoted to visiting the Cathedral library and
precincts, and to taking a stroll about the streets of the city.
We again entered the lime-tree avenue and looked across the burial
ground. A great improvement had been carried out within the last three
years. When I was last here it was crowded with tombstones bending over
to each other in various stages of decay, now it presents a pleasant
sward as smooth as a bowling-green. There is a headstone close to
the path recording the gallantry of twenty-three persons who died in
an attempt to save the property of their master from destruction by
fire. Near the south-west angle of the ground there is a better-known
memorial to a less heroic man, who owes his immortality to the
drollery of his epitaph. It runs as follows:--
“IN MEMORY OF
THOMAS THETCHER,
A GRENADIER IN THE NORTH REGT.
OF THE HANTS MILITIA, WHO DIED OF A
VIOLENT FEVER CONTRACTED BY DRINKING
SMALL BEER WHEN HOT, THE 12TH OF MAY,
1764. AGED 26 YEARS.
“In grateful remembrance of whose universal
goodwill towards his Comrades, this Stone
is placed here at their expense, as a Small
testimony of their regard and concern.
“‘Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire Grenadier
Who caught his death by drinking cold small Beer;
Soldiers be wise from his untimely fall
And when ye’re hot drink Strong, or none at all.’
“This Memorial being Decay’d was restored
by the Officers of the Garrison, A.D. 1781--
“‘An honest Soldier never is forgot
Whether he die by Musket or by Pot.’”
There seems to have been a great desire among soldiers to commemorate
this hero, or the moral of his death, for the stone was replaced again
in 1802.
As we left this spot I recalled the memory of the Saxon, St. Brinstan,
who was fond of walking here. He was an excellent man, but of a
somewhat melancholy turn of mind. Every day he washed the feet of the
poor, and every night he would pace up and down among the tombs saying
the _Placebo_ and _Dirige_; and we are told that on one occasion when
he finished by saying with emphasis “Requiescat in pace,” a chorus as
from a multitude of voices came from the sepulchres pronouncing a loud
“Amen.”
“A pious invention,” said Mr. Hertford, “unless, indeed, some of the
monks were playing him a trick.”
[Sidenote: Roman Pavements.]
“Close to this,” I observed, “was found the Roman pavement in the
Museum, about ten feet underground. Another pavement, part of which can
be seen in front of the Deanery, was discovered (1880) in one of the
western gardens of Dome Alley. The distance between them was small, but
the difference of depth (four feet) would seem to indicate two periods
of construction. We seldom realize that the Romans were here three or
four hundred years.”
In the wall bounding the graveyard on the south we noticed an archway.
This led down some steps still remaining into a vaulted crypt (dating
from 1400), where dozens of skeletons have been found. The Dean
discovered last autumn some Perpendicular groining, and massive
buttresses which have probably supported a chapel where masses were
“sayable.”
We now made for the “Slype” Gate, at the south-west corner of the
Cathedral, beside which there is a fanciful inscription:--
ILL PREC
AC ATOR
H VI
AMBULA.
It appears that the public were accustomed to make the Cathedral a
thoroughfare, and therefore it was thought desirable (about 1630) to
open this slype passage and to put up this notice. But as those who
tramped through the sacred edifice on business were unlettered porters
and labourers, this enigmatical Latin caution could have been of little
use. We, however, obeyed the direction, and as we passed, found some
more dislocated verses on the opposite wall giving a similar injunction
in a rhyme between the words _choro_ and _foro_.
“Look at the valerian and harebells on the Cathedral wall,” said Miss
Hertford. “How prettily they mark out the architectural lines in blue
and red.”
After reaching the south entrance we made for the adjacent transept,
and found at the end of it an old fourteenth-century door and a
flight of oaken stairs leading to the Library. As I was mounting
up I remembered how on my last visit I was conducted by a tall,
handsome man, the principal verger and, I think, also librarian. He
was remarkably courteous and well informed. On inquiring for him now
I heard that he was no more! He had light curly hair, and I should
have thought him a young man had he not told me that he had been
sworn in as a special constable with Louis Napoleon at the time of
the Chartist alarms. Lately I saw an extract from _The Echo_, in
which the writer remarked that the vergers he had met performed their
duties in a perfunctory way, “mere gabblers,” except one at Winchester
Cathedral. My thoughts immediately turned to this man, but I must say
that the other vergers here seem fully to appreciate the beauties and
antiquities of the place.
[Sidenote: Cathedral Library.]
This “library” was built after Bishop Morley’s death as a receptacle
for his bequeathed books. It might be called a treasury or museum. Here
are two Anglo-Saxon Charters (854, 957). They begin in Latin, but the
writer seems to have become tired, and to have lapsed into his native
Anglo-Saxon towards the end. One is attested by Alfred when a boy.
How interesting they would have been if they contained autographs,
but it was the custom then for the scribe to insert the names with
crosses against them, as we should now for illiterate persons. There
is a poetical complexion about these documents much in keeping with
Anglo-Saxon taste. The first one, after stating that “Christ reigns
for ever,” says that “It is plain to all mortals that all things that
are seen have an end, and those not seen are eternal. Therefore I
Adulf through the clemency of the High Throned King of....”[88] The
other commences: “Now by vicissitudes doth the fragility of human life
wither, and the circling roll of ages come to nought.” The Saxons had
imagination, they mingled poetry with piety; thus we read here, “In the
name of Him who in the book of everlasting life in heaven has written
down those with whom in life He is well pleased. I Athulf,” &c.
[Sidenote: Rare Manuscripts.]
As we look at these old parchments we think we can see again the hands
of the long-buried monks, can enter again their spacious monastery, of
which we have read such glowing descriptions. There was a scriptorium,
or writing establishment, founded in it by St. Swithun, and rare work
was executed here--witness that splendid specimen of illumination in
gold and colours, called the “Benedictional of St. Athelwold,” made for
that bishop.[89] Coming to a later time we have here preserved the Book
of Zacharias of the twelfth century. But the greatest treat for the
eyes of the bibliophilist is the large folio Vulgate of that date. It
took the monks of St. Swithun’s eighty years to complete it; the work
progressed as slowly as the building of a cathedral. The writing is
beautiful, the illuminating as brilliant as if freshly done--the gold
and deep blue we especially admired. Quaint were the designs and ideas
of that age. Here is Elijah as he goes up to heaven, drawn by two red
horses, throwing off not only his mantle, but the rest of his clothes,
perhaps the monk thought they would be superfluous, whilst Elisha below
is catching a blue tunic he has cast down.[90] This work has been
bound by Dean Garnier in three volumes. It fell at some period into
the hands of the Philistines, who cut out several of the beautiful
illustrations.
There is an amusing story in connection with this fine manuscript.
Henry II. showed with regard to it a spirit in advance of his age. He
solicited and terrified the monks of St. Swithun’s into giving it up to
him, and then made it a handsome present to his favourite monastery at
Witham.
“Like the man who was so much moved with a charity sermon that he put
his neighbour’s purse on the plate,” suggested Mr. Hertford.
“But one of the Winchester brethren,” I added, “hearing of the
splendours of Witham, went to pay the abbey a visit, and there saw
their own Vulgate. Explanations followed, and the monks of Witham
returned the book.”
[Sidenote: Relics.]
The curiosities are not limited to books.[91] Here are four rings--one
with a large square sapphire, found in the disputed tomb of Rufus or
De Blois. Another with an oval sapphire belonged to Fox; and a third
was Gardiner’s, engraved with a helmeted head, not unsuitable to
such a belligerent bishop. Here is the rusty ring, about three inches
wide, which the Dean lately found when excavating on the site of St.
Swithun’s tomb--it may be that of the smith’s dream. In a case at the
other end of the room are other treasures. Here are coins and a silver
penny of Cnut, found on the north-west of the Cathedral. Would it could
speak and tell us the strange language it has heard, and the scenes
it has witnessed as it passed about among churls, thanes, and monks!
Here is a case of relics found in “Rufus’s” tomb, containing some of
the seven braids of Norman pattern which were found in it. One is well
preserved. How exquisitely delicate! It is not a quarter of an inch in
width. They embroidered finely then, and we hear that the young swells
of the period were almost effeminate in their attire. Silken robes with
gold borders descending to the feet must have looked quite “Celestial.”
We emerged from the Cathedral by the south door. The green sward
before us did not exist before Henry VIII.’s time, as the space was
filled by a “garth” surrounded with cloisters. The inferiority of
the ornamentation of the Cathedral on this side when compared with
the other is due to the junction with these buildings. Bishop Horne
destroyed them, because he wished to be in keeping with the times.
Cromwell demolished nine prebendal houses and the deanery.
We now passed through the tunnel at the extremity of the south
transept, and proceeding beyond the eastern end of the Cathedral saw
a wall in front of us bounding the precincts, and in it a small arch
now filled up. Through this we fancy we can see the piquant figure of
Nell Gwynne passing, for it is said to have been made to enable her to
have access to the Deanery, where Charles was wont to stay. When Ken
was a prebendary here he stoutly refused to give up his house to her,
and it is one of many instances of Charles’ good humour that when the
bishopric of Bath and Wells fell vacant, he appointed “the good little
man who refused his lodging to poor Nell.” There was a small building
(long removed) put up for her to the south of the Deanery, called Nell
Gwynne’s Tower, but she had a house through the arch above mentioned.
Until lately its broad staircases were the admiration of the people in
Colebrook Street, but it has disappeared within the last few years, and
its site is occupied by an establishment of chimney sweeps! Thus:--
“Golden lads and lasses must
Like chimney-sweepers come to dust.”
Returning to the cloisters’ site we observe on the east some ruinous
remains of the chapter-house. It was twenty-five or thirty feet wide
by twice that in length, an ancient form which existed before the more
beautiful circular chapter-houses were adopted.
[Illustration: The Deanery]
On the south of this stands the Deanery, entered by three remarkably
acute arches of Henry III.’s time. Under these the Dean has placed, for
the benefit of the public, some of the Roman tesselated pavement found
in 1880 in Dome Alley. The wayfarer can also see in the red-brick wing
on the east the handsome Perpendicular window which once stood at the
end of the prior’s hall. The Deanery has been almost entirely built
inside this hall. It may surprise some to hear that this magnificent
building, dating from 1460, still exists in a perfect state. Of the
rooms constructed in it the largest is the drawing-room, thirty
feet long and fourteen high, with old mullioned and trefoil-headed
windows. The height of the hall was about forty feet, and the length
nearly seventy. In the bedrooms the carved roof timbers and corbels,
with heads cut on them, are in wonderful preservation. The wing
of red brick, of which I have spoken, was built for Charles II.’s
accommodation; and in his time the Deanery staircase seems to have been
constructed, where there was formerly a courtyard in the house. The
prior’s hall could be easily restored, and if the work were effected in
the time of the present dean, it would form a suitable memorial of the
taste and learning of that eminent antiquary.
Evelyn records an edifying conversation which took place in this house
when he was here shortly after the death of Charles II. James was then
here:--
“His Majesty was talking with the bishop concerning miracles and the
Saludadors in Spain, who would creep into heated ovens without hurt.
His Majesty said he doubted about miracles. The bishop added a miracle
wrought in Winchester to his certain knowledge--a poor miserably sick
and decrepit child (long kept unbaptized) recovered immediately after
baptism--as also the salutary effect of King Charles’ blood in healing
one that was blind. They then spoke of second sight. The King spoke of
relics which had effected cures, especially a piece of our Saviour’s
Cross, which had healed a gentleman’s rotten nose by only touching.
The bishop blessed the King for insisting on having the negroes in the
plantations christened.”
The Deanery faces the Close, which formerly had the pleasant name of
“Mirabel,” and we crossed it to the Pilgrims’ Hall.
[Sidenote: Ornaments.]
The northern part of this building is now the dean’s stable--the form
of it can therefore be well seen. The commencement of the massive beams
supporting the roof is visible in the lower part of the stable, while
in the loft the arches themselves remain adorned with heads. These
carvings are much injured by time--one of the faces seems to represent
a nun or priest, and another with a curly beard, perhaps a king. This
woodwork dates from 1280, and we hope its fine effect was appreciated
by the travellers who occupied and had fires lit in it. The other half
of the building is in the adjoining house (Canon Durst’s) where the
beams are still visible, but without carving. The latter residence was
built by Warden Nicholas about two hundred years ago, and has over the
staircase some fine festoons of large flowers in stucco.
Crossing over to the western side of the precincts we find No. 10 to
be an old thirteenth-century building, said to have been part of the
convent refectory.[92] Beneath it there is still a kitchen, a grand
hall with three round pillars and a groined roof. The massive oak
dresser-board remains resting on two carved stone supports. Though
worked almost into holes, its hardness has preserved it to be a
curious relic. When Richard Cœur de Lion returned from his foreign
imprisonment, the grand coronation dinner was here prepared for him.[93]
“There must have been then great commotion in this hall, and
considerable execution,” said Mr. Hertford, “if the culinary work in
those days approached that of the ‘kokery’ in the days of Richard II.,
with all its ornamental devices.”
“Let us dream on,” I replied; “but good authorities consider that
this ground-floor was only made a kitchen in the seventeenth century;
and that these buildings of the monastery did not form part of the
Refectory, though close to its site.”
By the kindness of Miss Heberden we were allowed to inspect this
interesting house, and having viewed the kitchen, ascended by a fine
old oak staircase to a spacious room, now used as a bedroom, lined
with that small square panelling which dates from the seventeenth
century. Here are long, low, many-mullioned windows, with stained
glass, representing the arms of Fox, Wykeham, and others. Over the
mantel-piece is an elaborate piece of oak carving. In the south gable
end there is a beautiful rose window, traces of a larger one, and of
the original entrance--the present door being in an old window. On the
east are Early English windows.
[Sidenote: Dome Alley.]
Close to this house there is a road running westward. This is Dome
Alley. On either side of it stand red brick houses, some two hundred
years old, half concealed in luxuriant ivy. We observed grapes and
other ornamental designs on the leaden pipes; on the right hand side
the “Rose and Crown,” and on the left the “Cross Keys.” It appears that
emblematic ornaments representing the Church and King went alternately
along the fronts of the houses.
“I suppose the ‘Rose and Crown’ represented the English monarchy?” said
Miss Hertford.
“The rose,” I replied, “was an ancient emblem of England; some have
supposed the name Albion came not from the chalk cliffs, but from the
white rose which flowers freely over the country.”
Adjoining the Close gateway we observed a large building with gables
of “timber-crossed antiquity,” and found that beneath them was an
apartment where the bishop’s “Cheyney” Court was held. Here are a
curious old beam in the ceiling, and the royal arms, which were over
the judge. This was the Court for the Soke, the prison of which we had
already seen. Old men remember the last case tried here--a corn dispute
from West Meon. The judge sat on the side near the porter’s lodge. The
overhanging gables may be earlier than Elizabeth; the rooms beneath
them have been used for Cathedral purposes.
From this point we made a little excursion, passing under Kingsgate,
with its chapel and ancient doors, into Kingsgate Street to look at
the red-brick gables of Mr. Toye’s house--dating from about 1600.
About seven years ago some excavations were made through St. Swithun’s
Street, the Kingsgate, and Kingsgate Street, which brought to light the
stratum of a road at a depth of five feet. This must have belonged to
some epoch of considerable civilization, perhaps even to that of Alfred
and the saint who gave the name. The floor of the porter’s lodge at the
Close Gate is three steps below the present surface.
[Sidenote: Monks’ Fare.]
Hence we retraced our steps through the precincts; and here, as we
stand on the ground for centuries trodden by religious men whose “good
deeds have been interred with their bones,” let me call attention to
the little that remains concerning them, if it be merely their domestic
arrangements. Dean Kitchin has with great perseverance and success
deciphered a roll of regulations for the monastery in the fourteenth
century, which had been rendered indistinct by the thumbing of many
monks, and by a libation of their beer. Here we find directions as to
dietary. The prior was to provide beer, bread, salt, wine, butter, and
cheese. Nearly every day there was to be a large maynard of cheese (32
lbs.), and the anniversary of the deposition of the body of St. Swithun
was to be honoured with an additional cheese, so that the monks of Hyde
as well of St. Swithun might celebrate the day; and on the Translation
of the saint’s body sufficient cheese was to be provided for those
monks and other religious and lay people. The cheese was to be really
good, if not it was to be returned. Psalm singing was regarded as
thirsty work. The precentor and his men were to have a puncard (cask)
of ale every Saturday, and another to cheer them whenever they sang
the melancholy “Placebo,” or funeral service. They were to have a
pitcher of wine as well as a puncard of good ale whenever they did
the great O. At first we might suppose that this was synonymous with
“doing the heavy,” but the dean tells us that, on the contrary, it
generally meant doing nothing at all. But here it signified singing
before the great festivals certain short prayers, beginning with “O,”
the first of which was “O Sapientia.” On the Deposition of the body
of St. Æthelwold, the keeper of the refectory was to carry round at
dinner time the “Cup of St. Æthelwold,” first to the brethren in the
refectory, then into the infirmary to the sick, and then to the table
of the bled (a considerable number), and finally to the prior and such
honoured guests as were with him. It is said that they were all to kiss
the goblet; but we should have thought that the old conventuals would
scarcely have expressed such sentiments as--
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine,
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I’ll not ask for wine.”
Moreover a pitcher of wine was to accompany the cup which apparently
was exhausted before the end of the ceremony. The refectorarius was to
have a second pitcher for himself, and we might suppose he wrote this
order, for he spells the word in a very hickupy manner, “pichicherum.”
Wykeham found the monastery in a disorderly state. Some of the monks
were guilty of grave irregularities. He gave them strict statutes.
Wearing ornaments was forbidden, and also hunting.
“Hunting!” exclaimed Mr. Hertford. “How I should like to have seen them
flying along in their gowns. Think of the jumps!”
“Wykeham did not like the sight,” I replied; “it was, I suppose, not
an uncommon one, for we find in Henry III.’s reign complaints that the
dogs of the Abbot of Hyde and Abbess of St. Mary’s were committing
depredations in the King’s forests.”
[Sidenote: Swithun’s Tomb.]
Hence we made for the north side of the Cathedral, where we passed
through the iron gate to walk on the grass. Close to the Cathedral on
the north-west near a water drain, I observed that the ground had been
recently moved, and the sod was broken, revealing a piece of wall. This
was, in fact, the site where St. Swithun had by his own desire been
humbly buried, “so that the sun might not shine upon him.” Since the
translation of his body the earth here had not been moved until two
years ago, when in digging, several coffins of chalk and stone were
found with bones, and also the mysterious ring already mentioned.
Proceeding towards the east we noticed the doorway into the north
transept by which the pilgrims entered to have their squint through the
grille gate. Beyond the north transept another cut in the grass showed
a wall of great solidity--probably part of the foundations of the “New
Minster,” whose monks moved to Hyde. This wall, lately discovered,
was traced northwards to a point where a stone has been placed in the
grass, and two other stones show the building was square. The old Saxon
church might have been here--some fragments stood above ground in the
beginning of the last century.
We here saw close to us a pointed arch standing alone. It formerly led
to some of the prior’s premises. To the north of it I saw a line of
small, dilapidated houses, bearing the pretentious name of “Paternoster
Row,” which, I fear, does not always awaken religious feelings in the
hearts of authors. Some of these dwellings were very old, and boasted
a little external ornamentation. In the doorway of one of them sat an
aged woman sunning herself. Her features were finely chiselled, and she
had a profusion of white glossy hair. She must have been handsome when
young, and was still
“Bearing through winter
The joys of the spring.”
I asked her if she could tell us the age of her house.