way it is built. There are five doors to this room. Pray walk in.”
We complied, and found a very neat little apartment with tables covered
with ornaments, and a brave show of glass. There was a beam across the
ceiling, which I could touch with my hand.
“You can see at the back how old the houses are. Some of the cottages
in the corner have lately been taken down,” she added.
[Sidenote: Bourne.]
We passed with her out of the back door, and saw some very dilapidated
tiled gables. What surprised me most was to find that a clear stream of
water, about a yard wide, flowed under these houses. This, then, was
the “fishful” rivulet of Æthelwold, the Lourtebourne, which he brought
from Headbourne Worthy (by a lower channel, I think, than that by the
Nuns’ Walk), to cleanse and refresh the monastery.[94] It was covered
here with tombstones. I crossed by one, taken of course from the
neighbouring graveyard, which commemorated some of the Henley family
who lived in the seventeenth century. Stones of this kind, as well as
monoliths, are utilized here, for stone is scarce about Winchester. The
flight of stairs up to Morestead Church, which stands above the road
two or three miles from this is formed of tombstones.
“I hope that they have been steps to heaven in every sense,” said Mr.
Hertford.
We left the little dwelling very favourably impressed with the old
lady, and were surprised and sorry when we heard that she was obliged
to be in receipt of parish relief.[95]
Passing by Bishop Morley’s almshouses for matrons we regained the High
Street, and we now proposed to make a circuit to look at the streets on
the other side.
[Sidenote: Decay.]
Winchester declined greatly in Henry III.’s time, and Edward I. removed
the royal residence to London, and although at Wykeham’s solicitation
Edward III. made it one of the chief wool marts in England, he added
another disappointment when he removed the “staple” to Calais. From a
dismal complaint presented to Henry VI. by the inhabitants, it would
appear that the greater part of the town was then almost a heap of
ruins. It states that the “Desolation of the saide powere Citee is
so grete and yerelye fallyng for there is such decaye that withowte
graciose comforte of the kynge oure Soweraigne Lord the Maire and
the Bailiffs must of necessitee cesse to delyver uppe the citee and
the keyes into the Kynges Handes.” Seventeen parish churches and 997
houses were void, and within eighty years Jewry Street had fallen from
eighty houses to two, Fleshmonger Street from 140 to two, Colebroke
Street from 160 to sixteen, Calpe Street from 100 to six, Gold Street
(Southgate Street) from 140 to eight, Gar Street from 100 to none.
In its palmy days, soon after the Conquest, the city extended to St.
Cross, Wyke, Worthy, and Magdalen Hill, and in Henry I.’s reign the
population was about 20,000, but so greatly did it decrease that all
the progress of this century has only just brought it back to that
number. It is said that there were once 173 churches and chapels here,
probably an over-statement.
In Edward III.’s time there were 44, among them All Saints in
Vineis,[96] St. Nicholas extra Pisces, St. Martin’s in Fosseto, and St.
Peter’s in Macellis. Now there are eight; Bishop Fox disestablished
many because there were no funds to sustain the clergy.
[Illustration: The Penthouse.]
Proceeding up the High Street, we crossed into St. Peter’s Street by
“God Begot” House. This was a fashionable quarter in the Stuart days.
The Royal Hotel stands on a site where was a nunnery twenty years
since. We come to the office of the Probate Court, a new looking
building, which has old walls. At the south side of it we see a leaden
pipe with E.G. 1684, on it--supposed to stand for Eleanor Gwynne. An
old staircase remains at the top of this house. The original building
was much larger, the centre has been taken down, but the other wing
remains. We may gain some idea of how handsome it once was by looking
at the next ivy-mantled mansion--a structure of about the same date,
with a fine staircase.
We now come to the Roman Catholic Chapel, and examine the arched
entrance--the only relic remaining of Magdalen Hospital, founded 1174.
In the porch I called attention to the “Druidical” stone.
“But some say that the monoliths in this Itchen valley have more
connection with drifts than with Druids,” observed Mr. Hertford.
“Yes, and take away the poor things’ character,” I replied. “Why should
we try to dive into the mud and gravel that lie beneath our fancies?”
Close by, standing back in a garden, is the “White House,” which is
also of Stuart date, and has a handsome staircase and panelled room.
All these houses were probably occupied by Charles II.’s courtiers.
Milner says that the Duchess of Portsmouth had a house at the south end
of this street.
[Sidenote: Middle Brooks.]
[Illustration: Middle Brook.]
From the end of Peter’s Street we turned down the City Road, and
passing by “Upper Brooks,” where there are more monoliths, soon
entered, on the right hand, Middle Brooks--so called from the stream
flowing along it, which in the memory of old people ran down its
centre. Here we came to a remarkable edifice, built of flints, and
of a somewhat “gingerbread” character--a miniature castle with two
towers. It forms a couple of houses, and the tenant of the nearer
one told us that the building was called the Hermitage. It is nearly
one hundred years old, and formed out of the materials of Swathling
House,[97] which belonged to Mr. Erle, and stood between Winchester
and Southampton. The front room, which we were invited to enter, is
lined with panelling--covered with paint, I regret to say, for it is
of walnut wood--and in some places adorned with gold and colours.
Round the ceiling there is a “tongue and udder” moulding, and there is
also carving round the door. The young tenant pointed out to us an old
engraving on canvas, “The Bloody Sentence of Christ,” which, he said,
had been two hundred years in his family. There was a note beneath it
to say it had been taken from a stone in Vienna.
Proceeding on towards the High Street we came to a row of houses with
overhanging stories and huge dark beams. It had a central archway and
heavy oaken door, and seems to have originally formed one large house.
Antiquaries owe a great debt of gratitude to the owner, Mr. Buckingham,
for preserving this relic of the past when pressure was put upon him
to demolish it. There is much “wattle and dab” work in the walls, and
in an upper front room of the northernmost house there is herringbone
work and a fine chalk mantelpiece with mouldings and entablature. Chalk
becomes hard from exposure, and will last almost for ever if protected
from the weather. Cut stone can be seen here in the back wall, and
also in a house beyond the yard fence, whence it has been conjectured
that this was a monastery or important structure--could it have been
connected with the Franciscan monastery, usually placed in Lower
Brooks? A cannon ball, found two feet below the floor of one of the
back rooms, is in Mr. Buckingham’s possession. It probably came from
the Castle or Cromwell’s battery.
[Sidenote: Coins.]
Before these houses were repaired, two years since, some of the
panelling inside them was beautifully carved, and there still remains
ornamental tracery on the outside of some of the windows, but much has
been removed. What was more remarkable was the discovery of numerous
coins about the panelling, as if some of them had accidently slipped
behind it. Among them were a Roman coin and a Spanish, some leaden
coins and medals, and a token of the Corporation of Southampton made of
brass, with three roses on the obverse.
On our way back we met an aged man with a light blue coat and an oblong
silver badge, with something like a shamrock upon it. The wearer of
this gay apparel belonged to “Christ’s Hospital” (1607), near the
Cathedral. The brethren’s house looked as bright as their coats, with
scarlet virginian and blue clematis.
* * * * *
As the next day was Sunday, which is no day for excursions, and we had
pretty well explored the principal part of Winchester, my friends now
took their departure. They said that they had enjoyed their visit.
With me the time had passed rapidly. I tried to make a favourable
impression, and am vain enough to think I succeeded, especially on one
occasion while Mr. Hertford was deeply studying the guide-book.
On Sunday morning I felt lonely. I sauntered down the High Street.
There were many young fellows standing about who had evidently come in
from the country. Some looked very gay, wearing sunflowers in their
buttonholes, and talking to their sweethearts. This sight made me feel
still more forlorn.
I went to the invisible Church--I mean St. Lawrence’s--which cannot
be seen from the outside. The sermon pleased me. I remember that the
preacher said: “Some men put on their religion on Sundays with their
best coat, and when the day is done take off their religion and their
coat, and hang them up until next Sunday.”
FOOTNOTES:
[88] The boundaries of Wansborough are given here with much
quaintness and particularity. “From the Stone to the Eden, from
the Eden to the Lent, from the Lent to the great Thorn.... From
the hollow thorn to the hoar stone, from the hoar stone to the
hollow pan.... From the crooked link to the cat-holes, from the old
treestead to the crooked apple-tree.”
[89] In the possession of the Duke of Devonshire.
[90] The Carmelites would not have been pleased with this
representation, as they think the first of their white gowns was
thrown down by Elijah, and the black stripes they wear are to show
where it was singed by the wheels of fire.
[91] Tradition said, as late as 1650, that the Domesday Book was kept
in a vault or in a chapel called Domus Dei, in the Cathedral. If so
it was only there just after its compilation. The earlier Domesday
book, or Dombroc, of Alfred, was kept here or at Wolvesey.
[92] The refectory, which was forty feet long, stood on the
south-west of the cloisters. The “vocal” crucifix was at the east end
of it. In 1798 there were, according to Milner, four round-headed
windows in the north wall.
[93] There could have been no lack of money on this occasion, for the
King found £900,000 in gold and silver besides jewels in the treasury
at Winchester.
[94] It passed through the dormitory, cloisters, buttery, malthouse,
kitchen, and quadrangle.
[95] In the street just by the back of this house two shells were
found, probably some of Waller’s “granadoes.”
[96] Winchester was celebrated for its imported and native wine.
[97] In which the celebrated Admiral Lord Hawke died.
SEVENTH DAY.
Southgate Street--St. Cross--Dr. Lewis--Regulations--St. Catherine’s
Hill.
This day I proceeded in the direction of the Hospital of St. Cross,
which is one mile from Winchester. On my way down Southgate Street I
passed, on my right, the profusely decorated and almost flamboyant
modern Church of St. Thomas. It contains some of the sepulchral slabs
of the older church to that saint, which stood beside the graveyard
on the east side of the road. That building had some architectural
beauties, but had long lapsed into a state of dilapidation. In Henry
III.’s time the Sheriff of Southampton was ordered to have an image
of the “Majesty of the Lord” made and placed beyond the altar in that
church.
A few yards beyond this I passed the site of the old Southgate, and
then came to the “Friary”--the site upon which the Augustine hermits
established themselves in the thirteenth century. This order is best
known to London men, from Austin Friars in the City.
Next I came to “St. Michael’s,” the rectory of the parish. Just behind
it stands the church, but it has been rebuilt, and presents nothing of
interest except a round thirteenth-century sun-dial not eight inches
wide. In former times a spring rose just above the church, and in the
winter flooded it on its way down. The rector keeps the doors of the
church always open, and, like many others, has suffered for his good
nature. A short time since the poor-box was broken open and robbed, and
the only melancholy consolation was, that there was not much in it.
[Sidenote: St. Cross.]
A line of bright villas extends here on the right side, and I soon
reached the graveyard of St. Faith’s, another deceased church. Even
in the time of Henry III. it was in a weakly state, for we find beech
trees given to prop its foundations. The only relic of it remaining, is
the Norman font and bell, which are preserved at St. Cross.
[Illustration: The Church of Saint Cross from the Water Meadows.]
Here I am now at my destination. I pass through the village of
Sparkford,[98] and stand before the ancient structure founded by Bishop
de Blois for the (much needed) health of his soul and for the repose
of the kings of England. He endowed it from his private revenues, as
well as from gifts of rectories and from the spoils of Hyde Abbey,
which consisted of 500 pounds weight of silver, 30 marks of gold,
and three crowns of gold, with thorns of gold set with diamonds. The
revenue was originally £250 a year, but had risen to £300 in Wykeham’s
time.
The management of the hospital was originally delegated to the
brethren of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, saving to the
Bishop of Winchester canonical jurisdiction, but Henry II. gave the
administration entirely into the hands of the bishops.
On the tower over the archway are four heads--those of Henry IV.,
“time-honoured” Lancaster, Beaufort, and Catherine Swinford. Catherine
here finds herself in good company. She was, as most know, a pretty
governess, whom John of Gaunt’s wife had the temerity to engage, with
the result that her husband had several natural children, among them
Cardinal Beaufort. Over these heads are three canopied niches for
statues--the idea being evidently taken from those on the tower of the
College. In the centre was the Virgin, and by her side the Cardinal;
but we observe that though he is on his knees he is too grand to take
off his hat to her. When the figure of the Virgin fell, some years
since, it was not replaced.
How well I remember the day when I first stood before this gateway as
a tired wayfarer, and demanded the pilgrim’s right. I was promptly
provided with half a pint of fair small beer and half a slice of bread.
I observed that the drinking-horn was set in silver, and, in answer to
a question, was informed--
“Two of the cups have been set in silver to commemorate the fact that
the Prince of Wales and Crown Prince of Germany drank out of them. The
other cups are not set; we keep these for the upper classes.”
I had not then heard of the fate of the “Hampshire Grenadier,” and
much cheered by the refreshment and the fragrance of royalty, marched
into the courtyard, and admired the long row of chimneys--twenty feet
high--made thus when they first succeeded holes in the roof. I wished I
could see the thatch that the chapel had for two hundred years. Seeing
an old gownsman standing about I accosted him, and asked if he would be
so good as to show me over the hospital.
“Hospital!” he replied, sharply. “There ain’t no hospital here. That’s
where everybody makes a mistake. When any of the brethren are ill we
have to send to Winchester for a doctor.”
[Illustration: Beaufort Tower, Saint Cross.]
“Well--the institution” I substituted.
He seemed satisfied with the correction. I found that there were
several persons waiting to be conducted, and that our guide was a
“character.” He was deaf, his speech was indistinct from the loss of
teeth, and he in every respect came up to the requisite qualification
of being decayed.
The original foundation was for the board and lodging of thirteen
men, poor and infirm, and for receiving daily at dinner a hundred
men[99]--the most indigent that could be found--who were to be allowed
to carry away the remains of their food and beer.
“Walk this way,” said our guide, hobbling on in front of us. “Oh! I
won’t go too fast for you.”
He led us into the church, where we gazed up at rows of Norman zig-zag
until we felt quite giddy. Some think the painting here a little
overdone, but it gives some idea of how the severity of the Norman
style was softened by colours. A few traces of the old designs are
still visible in some places on the walls, and in À Becket’s Chapel
there are remains of a series depicting the scenes in his life. There
is also a large fresco, even more faded, representing the Descent from
the Cross.
“We have heard,” said an inquiring lady, who seemed to take a great
interest in everything, “that there is a beautiful triple arch here.
Can we see it?”
“No, ma’am, you cannot,” replied our scrupulous guide; “but you will
be able to do so when we come to it. This is Major Lowth’s seat,” he
added, pointing to one comfortably cushioned.
“Who is he?” inquired the lady. “Where do you say he sits?”
“Nowhere, ma’am. He does not sit anywhere now. He is gone to heaven,
ma’am--at least, I hope so. He was one of the trustees.”
We found the triple arch outside at the back of the church. It was very
pretty--one arch bisecting another.
The fourteenth-century stained glass in the windows particularly
attracted my attention. In one, St. Swithun appears in a purple
robe; in another, De Blois figures in red and green. In the South
Chapel there is some wood carving of the Italian school, and very
fine; and some other that is certainly of the British school, and not
admirable--names cut on the desks, one of which dated 1575, shows that
chanting and mischievous habits survived the Reformation.
Our attention was also drawn to the stone with the half-obliterated
“Have Mynde” on it, and to the window whence the sick witnessed the
elevation of the Host.
[Sidenote: Handsome Donation.]
We observed on some of the tiles on the floor of the church the
enigmatical letters, “Z. O.” On inquiry, we found this apparently
cabalistic sign, was in memory of the munificence of an anonymous
benefactor, who thus signed his letters. About twenty-five years ago a
gentleman came to visit the hospital, and seeing some men at work in
the church, observed to them that it was a most interesting building.
“Yes, sir,” replied one of them; “but it is sadly out of repair.”
Shortly afterwards a letter arrived from the Isle of Wight, telling
the Master to go to a certain bank in Winchester, and he would receive
£500 from Z. O. And soon £250 came in the same way. Many were the
surmises as to who was the mysterious donor; some thought from certain
indications that he was one of the royal family.
“We want a few more of that sort,” observed our guide, significantly.
The church, which is partly paved with fifteenth-century tiles,
contains many sepulchral memorials. There is a fine brass to the
left of the altar to Campeden, one of the masters and a friend of
Wykeham’s. The tomb of Petrus de Sancta Maria, who died in 1295, was
opened some time since, and the features were found perfect; but as has
happened in other cases, crumbled into dust in sight of those present.
Wood says there was an old cross here, dated 1450, to John Newles,
“squyer and servant more than xxx yere unto Harry Beauford, bishop and
cardinal, whose soulys God convey to his Mother dere unto the bliss of
Heaven.”
In front of the altar there is a large slab to William Lewis. He was
elected from Hart Hall at Oxford to the Society of Oriel, in 1608,
and made provost by the favour of Welshmen. There are conflicting
statements about his character. Cromwell’s party say that his amours
were so extraordinary that he was obliged to fly from the country to
escape the officers of justice; but the Royalists maintain that he was
an excellent man, learned in theology, who went abroad to serve the
King. Anthony Wood, in his “Fasti Oxonienses,” says that “he was made
a D.D. by command of the King.” He went as Buckingham’s chaplain--with
a sinecure office, I should think--to the siege of Rochelle, of which
he wrote an account. He was Master of St. Cross; but on the defeat
of Charles was succeeded by Lisle the regicide, who sat in the Long
Parliament for Winchester.
Lisle’s widow was beheaded in the Market Place in Winchester, for
harbouring fugitives from Sedgemoor.[100] After his promotion to the
Upper House, another regicide, Cooke, became Master, and after his
execution, Lewis returned and ended his life here in peace.
[Sidenote: Hall of St. Cross.]
Our guide now directed us to the hall--built in 1440--and here called
attention to the Minstrels’ Gallery, the fine original roof, the
mysterious triptych painting, and the central hearth whence in olden
times the smoke ascended through a hole in the roof. This aperture was
long preserved, and on “gaudy days”--of which there are five in the
year--a charcoal fire is still lit there for “Auld Lang Syne.” On those
days there is a grand roast of half an ox, minus the leg, and each man
has five pounds of meat, a mince-pie, and plum pudding.
“And who sits in that chair?” asked the inquiring lady, indicating the
principal one at the table.
“Nobody, ma’am,” he replied, “at present. But on gaudy days the Master
sits in it.”
“Is he one of the brethren?”
“God bless your soul, no, ma’am,” he returned; “he’s a minister of the
gospel.”
We were shown Cardinal Beaufort’s rude wooden salt-cellars and
candlesticks, and in the kitchen his battered round pewter dish, which
gave us no great idea of his splendour; but probably he was doing the
humble when he stayed here.
Thence we went over to the eastern side of the quadrangle, where there
is a cloister supporting some decayed apartments--perhaps erected by De
Blois. Here is a table of Purbeck marble, said to have been used in the
Castle, and which as it is not round enough for King Arthur, is usually
attributed to King Stephen.
“Would you like to see the nunnery?” inquired our guide.
We were not aware that there was one, but found that it consisted of
some upper rooms for three nurses. On asking what there was to see in
it, and being told, “Well! there is a floor,” none of us felt very
enthusiastic about it. And so I left this interesting spot--not to
return for fifteen years. Farewell, most conscientious of guides! I am
afraid, alas! that thou art “not sitting anywhere now.” I hope thou too
art in heaven.
On this, my next visit, our conductor was a man of the modern school,
intelligent and energetic, but not so humorous. I went the same round,
and heard little more--except that an American gentleman, who had
been two months in England studying stained glass, had heard of the
ancient windows here just as he was going on board the steamer to
return, had retraced his steps, and said when he saw them that he was
well repaid for his journey. Our guide also spoke of the silver cross
the brethren wear. It seems when any one of them dies it is put on a
red velvet cushion, which is laid on his breast in the coffin, and then
before burial it is taken off and the Master fastens it to the gown
of the next brother. Instances have been known where, by mistake, the
cross has been left on the corpse, and there was a brother who was now
wearing one which had been exhumed.
[Sidenote: The Brew.]