THE CATHEDRAL.
THE CATHEDRAL.--_Forms_.--_Symbols_.--_Early history of the Christian
church_.--_Growth of superstition_.--_Influence of
Paganism_.--_Government_.--_Growth of the Papacy_.--_Monasticism_.--_St.
Macarius_.--_Benedict_.--_St. Augustine_.--_Hildebrand_.--_Celibacy of
the clergy_.--_Herbert of Losinga_, _founder of Norwich
Cathedral_.--_Crusades_, _their influence on Civilization_.--_Historical
memoranda_.--_Bishop Nix_.--_Bilney_.--_Bishop Hall_.--_Ancient religious
festivals_.--_Easter_.--_Whitsuntide_.--_Good Friday_.--"_Creeping to the
Cross_."--_Paschal taper_.--_Legend of St. William_.--_Holy-rood
Day_.--_Carvings_.--_Origin of grotesque sculptures_.--_Old Painting_:
_mode of executing
it_.--_Speculatory_.--_Cloisters_.--_Anecdote_.--_Epitaph_.--_List of
Bishops_.--_Funeral of Bishop Stanley_.
"What is a city?" "A city contains a cathedral, or Bishop's see."
Such being the definition given us in one of those valuable literary
productions that we were wont in olden time to call Pinnock's
ninepennies, and which have since been followed by dozens upon dozens of
series upon series, written by a host of good souls that have followed in
his wake, devoting themselves to the task of retailing homeopathic doses
of concentrated geography, biography, philosophy, astronomy, geology, and
all the other phies, nies, onomies, and ologies, that ever perplexed or
enlightened the brains of the rising generation; we adopt the term, in
memory of those so-called happy days of childhood, when its vague
mysticism suggested to our country born and school-bred pates a wide
field of speculation for fancy to wander in; a Cathedral and a Bishop's
see being to us, in their unexplained nomenclature, figures of speech as
hieroglyphical as any inscription that ever puzzled a Belzoni or a
Caviglia to decipher.
We have grown, however, to know something of the meaning of these terms;
and having lived to see a few specimens of real cathedrals and live
bishops, we are now quite ready to acknowledge the priority of their
claims upon our notice when rambling among the lions of an old city.
We say old, but where is the cathedral not old? save and except a few
just springing into existence, evidences we would hope of a reaction in
the devotional tendencies of our nature, rising up once more through the
confused assemblage of churches and chapels, and meeting houses, reared
in honour of man's intellect, sectarian _isms_; human deity in fact, with
its standard _freedom of thought_, under which the myriad diverse forms
of hero worshippers have rallied themselves, each with their own atom of
the broken statue of truth, that they may vainly strive _of their own
power_ to re-unite again into a perfect and harmonious whole. Setting
aside, however, these later efforts to regain something of the lofty
conceptions that can alone enter into the mind of a worshipper of God,
not man, we have to deal with the monuments of a past age yet left among
us, witnessing to the early life in the church, though not unmingled with
symptoms of disease, and marks of the progress of decay,--marks which are
indeed fearfully manifest in the relics existing in our country, that
bear almost equal traces of corruption and spiritual growth, each
struggling, as it were, for victory. Is there any one who can walk
through the lofty nave of a cathedral, and not feel _lifted up_ to
something? may be he knows not _what_; but the spirit of worship, of
adoration, is breathed on him as it were from the structure around him.
And should it not be so? does not the blue vault of heaven, with its
unfathomed ocean of suns and worlds, each moving in its own orbit,
obeying one common law of order and perfect harmony, call up our
reverence for the God of _Nature_? and has it ever been forbidden that
the heart and understanding should be appealed to through the medium of
the outward senses, for the worship of the God of _Revelation_? Is the
eye to be closed, the mouth dumb, the ear deaf, to all save the
intellectual teachings of a fellow man? Is _music_ the gift of heaven,
_colour_ born in heaven's light, _incense_ the fragrance of the garden,
planted by God's hand, _form_ the clothing of soul and spirit, to be
banished from the temple dedicated to the service of that living God, who
created the music of the bird, the waterfall, and the thunder, who
painted the rainbow in the window of heaven, who scented the earth with
sweet flowers, and herbs and "spicy groves," who gave to each tree, each
leaf, each bird and flower, each fibre, sinew, and muscle of the human
frame, each crystal, and each gem of earth, each shell of the ocean's
depths, each moss and weed that creeps around the base of hidden rocks,
even to the noisome fungus and worm that owes its birth alike to death
and to decay a material body, full of beauty and adaptation in all its
parts; revealing thus to man, that all thought, all life, all spirit,
must dwell within an outer covering of _form_. True, the spirit and life
may depart, the garment may cover rottenness and decay, the symbol may be
a dead letter, in the absence of the truth it should shadow forth, the
candle at the altar, be meaningless from the dimness of the light of the
spirit, that it should represent as ever living and present in the
church; the eagle of the reading-desk be a graven image, without place in
God's temple, when the soaring voice of prophecy, rising above earth, and
fed from the living fire burning on heaven's altar, that it should
symbolize, has ceased to be heard. Incense may be a mystic mockery, when
the prayers of the children of God have ceased to ascend in unison as a
sweet smelling savour to the throne of their Father; the swelling chant
be monotonous jargon, when the beauty and harmony of _one common voice_
of praise, thanksgiving, and prayer, is not felt; the vestment be a mere
display of weak and empty vanity, when purity, activity, authority and
love, have ceased to be the realities expressed in the alb, the stole,
the crimson and purple, the gold and silver; the screen, a senseless mass
of carving, the long unbenched and empty nave, so much waste stone and
mortar, to those who see not in it the vast Gentile court, where the
voice of preaching and invitation was sent forth to sinners to enter the
temple and join in the _worship_ of _praise_ and _prayer_ of the _church
within_.
Why are all these too often as cold and empty outlines of a nothing to
our senses? is it not that their life is gone? But should we therefore
cast away the fragments that remain? should we not rather desire that the
spirit may breathe upon the dry bones, that they may live again, and form
a new and living temple for the most High to dwell in; the outer edifice
of wood and stone, being the _model_ or _statue_ of that spiritual
church, of which every pillar, every window, every beam, and curtain,
should be formed of living members, with Christ for the foundation and
chief corner stone, to be built up and fashioned by the hand of God;
every sand or ash of truth that lies scattered over the surface of the
earthy being cemented together by bonds of love and charity, to form the
masonry of the one great Catholic Church.
Such thoughts may be misunderstood, and bring down upon us, in these days
of Papal Aggression, anathemas from many a zealous reformationist, or
member of the heterogeneous Protestant Alliance, nay, perhaps every shade
of Protestant dissenter, evangelical churchman, and Puseyite, may shake
his head at us in pity, and wonder what we mean; we would say to the
last, beware of the _shadow_ without the _substance_, the _symbol_
without the _truth_, the _emblem_ without the _reality_; and of the
others we would ask forbearance. Popery does not necessarily lurk
beneath the advocacy of _forms_.
With such formidable prejudices as we may possibly have raised by these
suggestive hints, dare we hope to find companions in our visit to the
venerable pile of building, whose spire still rears itself from the
valley, where some eight hundred years ago, the foundations were laid of
one of those huge monastic institutions, combining secular with spiritual
power, once so common, and plentifully scattered over our country, and
even then grown into strange jumbling masses of error and truth, beauty
and deformity? the sole trace of whose grandeur is now to be found in the
church and cloister of a Protestant cathedral, and the palace of a
Protestant bishop.
We must not, however, lose sight of the fact, that this edifice, in
common with most others, among which we have to seek the past history of
the church either at home or abroad, did not spring into existence until
almost every truth possessed by the early Christians was so hidden by
cumbrous masses of superstition, the growth of centuries of darkness,
that it is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to trace any harmony of
purpose in their outline or filling up; hence the inconsistencies that
have sprung from the efforts to revive the ornaments and usages of a
period when, the life having departed from them in a great measure, their
meaning had been lost, and their practice perverted; hence, too, the
folly often displayed by zealous ecclesiastical symbolists, in regarding
every monkey, dog, mermaid, or imp that the carvers of wood and stone
fashioned from their own barbarous conceits, or copied from the
illuminations that some old monk's overheated brain had devised for
embellishment to some fanciful legend, as embodied ideas, to be
interpreted into moral lessons or spiritual sermons.
Before, however, we enter into the detail of the remnants left us for
examination, we may take a glance over the page of the early history of
the church, and trace a little of the origin of those errors which had
grown around simple truths, converting them from beautiful realities into
monstrous absurdities.
A moment's reflection may suffice to enable us to believe that the
church, as planted by its first head and master, was a _seed_ to be
watered and nurtured by the apostles, prophets, and ministers appointed
to the work, and intended to have an outward growth of form, as well as
inward growth of spirituality. During the early period of its existence,
while suffering from the persecution of the Roman emperors, it was
impossible that the church could develop itself freely; consequently, we
are not surprised to find that "upper chambers," and afterwards the tombs
and sepulchres of their "brethren in the faith," perhaps, too, of their
risen Lord, were the places of meeting of its members. Nor is it
difficult to trace from this origin the later superstitious worship at
the shrines of the saints.
As early, however, as the peaceful interval under Valerian and
Diocletian, when there was rest from persecution, houses were built and
exclusively devoted to worship; they were called _houses of prayer_, and
_houses of the congregation_. And the idea that the Christian church
should only be a nobler copy of the Jewish temple was then clearly
recognized, the outline being as nearly as possible preserved, and the
inner part of the church, where the table of the Lord's Supper stood,
ever having been inaccessible to the common people; an idea that has in a
certain sort of way survived all the reformations, dissolutions, and
dissensions of sixteen hundred years; for do we not even yet see the
minister and _deacons_ of the most ultra-dissenting meeting-houses
appropriating to themselves the _table pew_? There has always seemed
something incongruous in the idea, that the minute instructions which God
himself thought it worthy to deliver unto Moses in the mount, for the
construction of a "tabernacle for the congregation," and to contain the
ark of the covenant, which also formed a model for the gorgeous temple of
Solomon, should be doomed to entire annihilation at any period of the
world's history.
As Jewish sacrifices, laws, and covenants, were types, pictures, of the
embodiments to be found in the Christian dispensation, when the anti-type
had appeared, surely it is possible that the tabernacle too was a type of
a real building of living stones, then to be formed and fitly framed
together, and which might have its outward symbol in the edifices of
worship in all ages. We may not pause to dwell upon this idea, further
than it was recognized by the early Christians, of which clear proof
exists.
For the nearest approach to a perfect development of it, we must look to
a later date, when Christianity was first adopted by Constantine, and
just prior to its alliance with the state; and although, from the lack of
authority in church government, errors had already crept in, and mingled
with many of the practices, we believe the modern copyist might find a
far more pure and perfect model there, than in the meaningless
observances and ornaments of the middle ages.
Churches had then grown large and magnificent; they were divided into
three parts, the porch, the nave, and the sanctuary. In the nave stood
the pulpit--preaching at that time being considered the invitation, or
preparation for the _church_, whose duty was _worship_. It was divided
from the sanctuary by a _lattice work_, or screen, behind which was often
a veil before the holy table, which answered to the Holy of Holies of the
temple, and within it none but the priests entered. The baptistery was
usually situated without the church doors, and contained a fount, and a
reservoir for washing the hands was always to be found in the outer court
that enclosed all the buildings. Some writers have traced this to
heathen observances; if so, it without doubt _originated_ in the Jewish
practice. The service within the church was conducted with all the means
at command for rendering it complete. Music was cultivated--antiphonal
singing, or singing in responses, practised. The clergy wore vestments
symbolical of their offices, each form and colour having its significant
meaning. Candles were burning continually at the altar, as in the holy
place of the temple, symbolising God's presence in the church. Every
part of the building was designed to form a proportionate whole, and the
principle of dedicating to the house of God the best works of men's hands
was admitted, the embellishment of His temple being then deemed of
superior importance to the decoration of individual dwelling-houses.
Transubstantiation had not polluted the table of the Lord by its
presence; the _mystery_ of the _spiritual_ presence of the Lord in the
Eucharist, appealing to _faith_, had not been replaced by the _miracle_,
directed to the carnal senses. Images had no place in the house of God,
picture worship was unknown. Confession of sins was practised, and
penances were imposed, as tests of the sincerity of repentance; at the
celebration of the Eucharist offerings were presented, in memory of the
dead who in their lives had offered gifts to God; fasting was observed,
but only from choice, and Sunday and the feast of Pentecost were the only
_festivals_ and holy-days observed. Gradually, however, after the
alliance of the church with the state, and through the accession of
converts from the heathen world, grosser elements mingled themselves with
these observances; the superstition that the spirits of the saints
hovered around the mortal remains they had tenanted, led to the removal
of their bodies from their tombs, and placing them within the walls of
the church, and to the erection of shrines, where, first to offer up
worship _with_ them, afterwards _to_ them.
And who among us cannot feel the poetry and truth that gave birth to this
superstition? Who that has ever watched in the chamber of death the
bursting of the earthly chrysalis, has not felt the soft touch of the
spirit's wing, has not been conscious of the presence of the
spiritualized immortal, has not recognized the fragrance of the soul
passing from its earthly habitation, and filling the air with the essence
of its life, as the sweet scent of the flower when its perfect fruition
has been accomplished, lingers around the leaves of the falling petals?
Who that has ever witnessed the laying down of life in ripened age, by
some great and noble type of our humanity, in whose heart the lion and
the lamb, the eagle and the dove have dwelt together, but has seemed to
breathe an atmosphere laden with power and love, strength, beauty and
gentleness, as the spirit passed forth at the call of Him who gave it
birth? And who has ever seen the portals of the spirit world open before
them, for one in whom all earthly trust, and confidence, and love were
centred, but has felt that an angel guardian lived for them in Heaven?
Is there no plea for saint worship? But, alas! the poetry and the truth
of the superstition became clouded, and were lost in the dark mists of
ignorance and worldliness, and from their decay sprung up, like a fungus
plant, the noxious idea of the efficacy of reliques, with the monstrous
absurdities that accompanied their presence. Confession and penance
merged into the sale of indulgences, purchased absolutions, and
interdicts; the sleep of the dead, into a belief in purgatorial fires,
voluntary seclusion from the gaieties and follies of the world, into
forced separation from its active duties; saint worship, image worship,
and picture worship gradually usurped the place of the worship of the one
God; the cross, from a symbol grew into an idol, and emblems, vestments,
and incense, losing their character, from the reality departing, whose
presence they should only shadow forth, grew into mere accumulations of
ceremonial, covering a decayed skeleton. In this process it is easy to
trace the influence of Pagan superstition. As the heathen world
gradually became converted to Christianity, objects in the new faith were
sought out, around which to cluster the observances and rites of the old
system. Thus the worship offered to Cybele, the great mother of the
gods, who among the innumerable deities of ancient Rome was pre-eminent,
was readily transferred to the madonna, from a fancied resemblance, and
as Juno, Minerva, Vesta, Pan, and others, were the especial guardians of
women, olive trees, bakers, shepherds, &c. &c. So Erasmus, Teodoro,
Genaro, and other saints received homage as the peculiar patrons of
individuals or classes. The Genii, Lares, and Penates, occupying the
Larrarium of the ancient houses, were replaced, or oftener rebaptized
under the names of a madonna, saints or martyrs; the Emperor Alexander,
the son of Mammaea, actually placed the image of Christ in his Larrarium,
with his Lares and Penates. The _Sacrarium_ took its origin hence. The
Pagan had been accustomed to bring his _hostia_ as a _sacrifice_ to Jove;
the convert found opportunity to engraft the idea on the commemorative
service of the Eucharist.
Meantime church government had been going on in a floundering sort of
way, groping about in the dark for authority on which to act, but having
lost the apostleship and prophets, set in the church to rule and guide
it, and to aid in the work of perfecting the saints, the pastors or
bishops set about establishing a system to replace that given them from
above--thence began divisions, schisms, and heresies without number, and
as early as the commencement of the third century, we find the bishops
holding synods as a means towards obtaining Catholic form of doctrine;
gradually the bishops in whose provinces these synods were held, who were
called metropolitans, took precedence in rank to others, and thus those
of Rome, Antioch, and Alexandria, came to be recognised as the heads or
chiefs. After the removal of the seat of empire by Constantine, this
principle extended itself in the western church at Rome, until the final
assumption of temporal and spiritual power over all Christendom by
Hildebrand, or Gregory VII., who, although not the first that bore the
title of Pope, was the first who thoroughly established the power of the
Papacy.
Another important feature of Christianity during these ages, was the
progress of monasticism, which had steadily increased from the time of
Anthony the Hermit, who fleeing from the corruptions and vanities of the
world, had sought to prove and improve his sanctity, by retirement to a
solitary cell, there to practise all manner of self tortures; in this
laudable attempt he was followed by a host of others, each vying with his
brother, as to which could attain the highest perfection in extravagant
folly. Thus one lived on the top of a pillar, and was emulated by a
whole tribe of pillar saints; another punished himself for killing a
gnat, by taking up his abode in marshes where flies abounded, whose sting
was sufficient to pierce the hide of a boar, and whose operations upon
his person were such as to disfigure him so that his dearest friends
could not recognise him; another class, the ascetics, carried on their
rigid system of self-denial in the midst of society, others wandered
about as beggars, and were afterwards called mendicants, or wandering
friars; but the anchorets, or _pillar saints_, attained the ultimatum of
glory, in their elevation of sanctity on the top of their pillars. In
progress of time these hermits began to associate themselves into
fraternities; and as far back as the middle of the second century, we
hear of a body of seventy, establishing themselves in the deserts of
Nitria, by the Nitron lakes. It is told of St. Macarius, the head of
this body, that having received a bunch of grapes, he sent it to another,
who tasting one, passed it to another; he being like abstemious, sent it
again forward to another, until, having gone the circuit, it reached
Macarius again unfinished.
Basil the Great first founded a permanent monastic establishment to
convert people from the error of Arianism; and Benedict, a native of
Mursia in Umbria, A.D. 529, first established a regular order among the
scattered convents, by uniting them under a fixed circle of laws,
seclusion for life being the primary one. These societies also were made
useful by him, in having allotted to them various occupations, such as
the education of the young, copying and preserving manuscripts, recording
the history of their own times in their chronicles, and also in the
manual labour of cultivating waste lands. At first the monks had been
reckoned among the laity, the convents forming separate churches, of
which the abbot was usually presbyter, standing in the same relation to
the bishop as in other churches; but monastic life gradually came to be
considered the preparation for the clerical office, especially that of
bishop. This led to the adoption of monastic discipline among the
clergy; and the law of celibacy which had been rejected at the council of
Nice, was then prescribed by Siricius, bishop of Rome.
The convents were the representatives of the Christian aristocracy or
monarchy, the mendicant orders, were the clergy of the poor. And each in
their sphere exercised a great civilizing influence on the people; the
latter especially, because the former, by their studies and literary
labours, were more occupied in preparing the revival of letters, and the
diffusion of knowledge in their own circle. Under the auspices of the
church, systems of Christian charity were established, schools for
children, hospitals and homes of refuge, were multiplied; all this was
beneficial, it was the warmth of Christian light shining in dark places,
although deep and painful wounds existed, whose fatal consequences soon
became manifest.
Such was the state of the church when St. Augustine laid claim to the
supremacy of this country, towards the end of the sixth century.
This zealous missionary, according to Neander, would seem to have been
especially wanting in the Christian grace of humility, which no doubt was
the cause of the disputes between the early British church and the Romish
Anglo-Saxon that ensued, which, however, were settled by Oswys, king and
afterwards saint of Northumberland, who decided upon acknowledging the
Romish supremacy, and from that time the doctrines, ritual, Gregorian
chaunt and Latin service of the Romish church were adopted, and an
admirable old man, Theodore of Cilicia, who brought sciences with him
from Greece, occupied the see of Canterbury, A.D. 668-690. The thirst
for knowledge among the people at this time was ministered to by this
good old man, who, with his friend Abbot Hadrian, made a progress through
all England, seeking to gather scholars around him; and the instructions
thus communicated to the English church were soon after collected by
Bede, that simple and thoughtful, as well as inquiring and scientific
priest and monk, who says of himself, "I have used all diligence in the
study of the Holy Scriptures, and in the observance of conventual rules,
and the daily singing in the church; it was ever my joy either to learn,
or teach, or write something."
The history of the western church becomes merged henceforth in the papal
power, and we pass on to the era of Hildebrand, or Gregory VII., its
great representative. The struggles of this prelate to suppress simony,
and enforce the celibacy of the clergy, are among the most notorious
features of his reign; legates were despatched to all the provinces of
the west, over which he had already set up claim to supreme power,
stirring up the people against the married clergy; and in order at once
to strike at the root of simony, he forbade entirely the investiture of
ecclesiastics by civil authorities. He excommunicated five councillors
of Henry IV. of Germany, threatened Philip of France with the same
punishment, and would doubtless have carried out his plans with equal
rigour in England, but for the potency of the monarch with whom he had to
deal. William the Conqueror refused permission for the bishops to leave
the country when summoned to Rome, exercised his right of investiture,
and treated the demands of the Pope with cold indifference. Yet Gregory
took no further steps against so vigorous an opponent. After the death
of both, the contest on the right of investiture was revived, and in the
reign of Rufus was maintained against him by Anselm, Archbishop of
Canterbury.
We have dwelt perhaps tediously on this period of history, but its
connection with our subject will be apparent, when we come to the
foundation of the cathedral we are visiting; but we must not altogether
omit mention of the most conspicuous feature of political activity and
religious zeal combined, that characterized that age. The Crusades will
eternally remain in history an example of the devotion and mighty efforts
of which men are capable, when united by a common faith and religious
ideas. Gregory was the first who conceived the project, realized
afterwards by Urban II., through the instrumentality of that wonderful
man, Peter the Hermit, who went through all Europe fanning into a flame
the indignation that had been kindled by the reports of the ill treatment
of pilgrims to Palestine; and it was not long before a countless host,
urged on as much perhaps by love of adventure, a desire to escape from
feudal tyranny and hope of gain, as religious enthusiasm, gathered round
the banner raised in Christendom. The object in view was not gained, but
the consequences were numerous and beneficial. Nations learnt to know
each other, hostilities were softened by uniting in a common cause of
Christian faith; literature in the west received a stimulus from the
contact into which it was brought with the more enlightened eastern
nations, and the poetry and imagery of the sunnier climes threw their
mantle of refinement over the barbarisms of the colder countries. Among
the writings that bear this date, is the celebrated controversy between
Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1089, with Berengen, Archdeacon of
Angers, on the doctrine of Transubstantiation, a doctrine first
promulgated by Paschasius Radbertus, and at that time supported by
Lanfranc, and opposed by Berengen.
A proof of the partial failure, at least in this country, of the
legislations of Gregory, is found in the history of the founder of the
Norwich Cathedral. Gregory died A.D. 1085, and Herbert of Losinga, Abbot
of Ramshay, Bishop of Thetford, and afterwards Bishop of Norwich, to
which city he removed the see from Thetford, laid the first stone of the
present cathedral, A.D. 1096. Much has been said and written as to the
birth-place of this prelate: it has usually been considered that he was a
Norman, brought over by William Rufus in 1087, but it is much more
probable that he was a native of Suffolk, and his return with Rufus is
readily accounted for by the custom existing at that time of sending
youths to France, especially Normandy, to complete their education. That
he purchased the see of Thetford is undisputed, and also the abbey of
Winchester for his father, who, although a married man, filled a clerical
office. Remorse for these simoniacal transactions is said to have
quickly followed, and we are told that the bishop hastened to Rome to
obtain absolution, and then and there had imposed on him the penance of
building a monastery, cathedral, and some half-dozen other large
churches. This incredible legend is much more reasonably explained by
reference to the disturbed state of the affairs of the church before
referred to, which most probably rendered it difficult for Herbert to
obtain the spiritual rights of the see, although possessed of its
temporalities, therefore his visit to Rome; and as for the rest of the
churches attributed to him as works of penance, some other explanation of
their origin must be found. The coffers of the wealthiest monarch in
Europe could not have furnished means to fulfil such a penance; and when
the purchase-money of the see, 1900 pounds, and 1000 pounds for the
Abbacy of Winchester, the expenses of the journey to Rome, and the cost
of his work in the cathedral be considered, we may fairly doubt even the
wealthy Herbert's resources proving sufficient to meet the further
demands of such splendid edifices.
There is little doubt that while at Rome arrangements were completed for
the transfer of the see, but most probably only in accordance with a
previous determination of the Council of London, A.D. 1075, when it had
been decreed that all bishoprics should be removed from villages to the
chief town of the county. Historians have bestowed upon this bishop the
title of the "Kyndling Match of Simony," but the sin was far too common
in that age for him to deserve so distinctive an appellation; and
chroniclers, quite as veritable and much more charitable, have given
sketches of his character, that prove him to have been an amiable,
accomplished, and pious man, of great refinement, and possessing a
remarkable love of the young, and a cheerfulness and playfulness of
manner in intercourse with them, that rarely is an attribute of any but a
benevolent mind. We must not, however, linger upon the personal history
of the founder. Associated with him in the ceremony of laying the
foundation, we find the name of the great feudal lord of the castle,
Roger Bigod, and most of the nobility and barons of the district, one of
whom, Herbert de Rye, was a devote from the Holy Land. The first stone
was laid by Herbert, the second by De Rye, the other barons placing their
several stones, and contributing in money to the work. The church, as
left by Herbert, consisted of the whole choir, the lower part of which,
now remaining, is the original building, though much concealed by modern
screenwork; the roofs and upper part are of later date. Eborard, the
successor of Herbert, built the nave, not then raised to the present
height, but terminating at the line distinctly traceable below the
clerestory windows. The Catholic cathedral, or Catholic architecture, so
miscalled _Gothic_, is the pride and glory of the middle ages. The
spirit of the times, of fervent aspiration towards heaven, speaks in it
more, perhaps, than in the purer models of more ancient works.
Architecture was then the language through which thoughts found
expression, speaking to the eye, the mind, the heart, and imagination.
Kings, clergy, nobility, people, all contributed towards these
structures. Painting, sculpture, music, found a place in them, and
flourished under the auspices of religion. "The Anglo-Norman cathedrals
were perhaps as much distinguished," says Hallam, "above other works of
man, as the more splendid edifices of later date;" and they have their
peculiar effect, although perhaps not rivalling those of Westminster,
Wells, Lincoln, or York.
We shall not attempt to expound the details of the building; but even the
uninitiated may discern at a glance that it is a work to which many a
different age has lent its aid. The simplicity of the Anglo-Norman style
is blended with various specimens of later date, not inharmoniously. The
nave, with its beautifully grained and vaulted roof, and elaborately
sculptured bosses, like forest boughs, and pendant roots, with tales of
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and hosts of other old Scripture heroes carved
upon them, might almost seem one work with the sterner aisles, but modern
windows bespeak the hand of perpendicularism to have been busy in
after-years. To Lyhart, bishop of the see in the reign of Henry VI.,
this roof is attributed, and to his successor Goldwell the continuation
of the design over the choir. Lyhart lies under a stone beneath his own
roof; Goldwell moulders under a tomb reared in the choir, where he lies
in stone, robed in full canonicals, his feet resting upon a lion.
On the south side of the nave, between the pillars, is the tomb of
Chancellor Spencer. Upon it the chapter formerly received their rents,
and the stone was completely worn by the frequent ringing of the money.
On the same side, further up, are two elaborately decorated arches in the
perpendicular style, looking strangely at variance with the simplicity
prevailing around. These purport to be the chapel of Bishop Nix, who
lies buried beneath them, and an altar formerly stood at the foot of the
eastern pillar. The iron-work on which hung the bell, is still visible
on the side of the western pillar. The pulpit stood near here; a faint
trace of its site is discernible against the pillar, but that is all that
remains to speak of the original purpose of this spacious court. Bishop
Nix it was who tried and condemned the martyr Bilney, whose trial, as all
others of the same nature, was conducted in the consistory court, or
Bishop Beauchamp's chapel, in the south aisle of the choir. In the north
aisle of the nave, between the sixth and seventh pillars, is a door-way,
now closed, and converted into a bench, through which the people formerly
adjourned after prayers in the choir to hear the sermon, which was
preached in the green yard, now the palace gardens, prior to the Great
Rebellion. Galleries were raised against the walls of the palace, and
along the north wall of the cathedral, for the mayor, aldermen, their
wives and officers, dean, prebends, &c.; the rest of the audience either
stood or sat on forms, paying for their seats a penny, or half-penny
each. The pulpit had a capacious covering of lead, with a cross upon it.
On the church being sequestered, and the service discontinued during the
Commonwealth, the pulpit was removed to the New Hall Yard, now the garden
of St. Andrew's Hall, and the sermons were preached there. The
devastations committed in and about the building at that period, formed
the subject of grievous lamentations from the pen of good bishop Hall,
then the Bishop of the see, whose sufferings from persecution have become
a part of our country's history. Hall spent the last melancholy years of
his life in the little village of Heigham, where the Dolphin Inn, with
its quaint flint-work frontage, mullioned windows, and curiously carved
chamber roof and door, yet remain to associate the spot with his memory:
his tomb is in the little village church close by.
In the centre of the roof of the nave is a circular hole, the purpose of
which for many years puzzled enquirers; but one of the industrious and
intellectual archaeologians of the present day, to whom we are indebted
for many interesting discoveries connected with the cathedral, has
reasonably suggested that it was the spot from whence was suspended the
large censer swung lengthwise in the nave at the festivals of Easter and
Whitsuntide. On the north side of the choir there still exists the small
oriel window, through which the sepulchre was watched from Good Friday to
Easter Morning. This ceremony consisted of placing the host in a
sepulchre, erected to represent the holy sepulchre, covering it with
crape, and setting a person or persons to watch it until Easter Sunday,
as the soldiers watched the tomb of Christ. During the time, no bells
sounded, no music was heard, and lights were extinguished. In silence
and gloom these three days were passed. In reference to the length of
time usually so denominated, that is from Friday to Sunday, a curious
solution, attributed to Christopher Wren, the son of the architect, has
recently been published; he seems to have puzzled himself over such like
problems, and says, "that the night in one hemisphere was day in the
other, and the two days in the other were nights in the opposite," so
that in reality there were three nights and three days on _the earth_;
and as Christ died for the whole world, not only for the hemisphere in
which Judea was, he therefore truly remained in the grave that time.
It is difficult for us, accustomed to the sober undemonstrative, not to
say cold demeanour of modern Protestantism, to form a conception of the
effect of the seasons of festivity or humiliation, as observed even in
our own land in earlier times. The setting apart the greater portion of
the day for weeks together, for religious ceremonies, and especially the
almost dramatic scenes of the Passion week, sound to our ears as tales of
mummery. Whether we have gained much by the acquisition of the wisdom
that sees nothing in them but occasion for ridicule, or pity, may be a
question. Certain it is that many of the practices were gross and
debasing; many, had beauty and truth in them.
Amongst those peculiar to the season of Easter, are the ceremony of
creeping to the cross on Good Friday, and the kindling of the fires and
lighting of the paschal on Easter Eve. As these are distinctly mentioned
in ancient Norfolk wills, as practised in this cathedral, we may just
describe them in connection with our visit to it. It was often customary
to leave lands chargeable with the payment of offerings at this season,
both at the creeping of the cross, and to furnish new paschals or tapers
for lighting at Easter.
The creeping to the cross is mentioned in a proclamation, black letter,
dated 26th February, 30th Henry VIII., in the first volume of a
collection of proclamations in the archives of the Society of
Antiquaries, where it is stated, "On Good Friday it shall be declared how
creeping to the cross sygnyfyeth an humblynge of oneself to Christ before
the cross, and the kyssynge of it a memory of our redemption made upon
the cross." In a letter from Henry to Cranmer, of later date, a command
is issued that the practice should be discontinued as idolatrous. The
ceremony is described by Davies in his rites of the cathedral church of
Durham, where he relates, "that within that church, upon Good Friday,
there was a marvellously solemn service, in which service time, after the
passion was sung, two of the ancient monks took a goodly large crucifix,
all of gold, of the picture of our Saviour Christ nailed upon the cross,
laying it upon a cushion, bringing it betwixt them thereupon to the
lowest greese or step in the choir, and there did hold the said cross
betwixt them. And then one of the monks did rise, and went a pretty
space from it, and setting himself upon his knees, with his shoes put off
very reverently, _he crept upon his knees_ unto the said cross, and after
him the other did likewise, and then they set down again on either side
of it. Afterward, the prior came forth from his stall, and in like
manner did creep unto the said cross, and all the monks after him in the
said manner, in the meantime the whole quire singing a hymn. The service
being ended, the two monks carried the cross and the sepulchre with great
reverence; kings, queens, and common people, all followed the same
custom; it was, however, usual to place a carpet for royal knees to creep
upon."
The paschal, or taper as it was called, was lighted from fire struck from
a flint on Easter Eve, all previous fires being extinguished. The
paschal was often of great size: that of Westminster Abbey, in 1557,
weighed three hundred pounds. Many curious records of church
disbursements for these and such like things are recorded; in those of
St. Mary-at-Hill, in London, stands, "For a quarter of coles for the
hallowed fire of Easter Eve, 6_d._; also for two men to watch the
sepulchre, from Good Friday to Easter Eve, 14_d._; for a piece of timber
to the new paschal, 2_s._; paid for a dish of pewter for the paschal,
8_d_."
The church on Easter morning presented another scene. The sepulchre
removed, tapers were lighted, fires kindled, incense burned, music pealed
from the bells, Te Deums from organs, flowers fresh gathered lent their
fragrance to the hour, birds set loose from the crowd, all joined to
celebrate the joyful festival of the resurrection, and altars glittered
with the whole wealth of silver and gold, that munificence or penitence
had enriched them with. We have left off all these things--but we sing
the Easter hymn.
On the north side of the entrance from the nave into the anti-choir was
placed the chapel, dedicated to the Lady of Pity; and above the spot
where Herbert laid the foundation stone, was placed the altar, dedicated
to St. William. As this sounds rather an unsaintly name, we must explain
that St. William was a little boy, aged nine years, who, in the time of
Rufus, when the Jews were powerful in our land, fell a martyr to their
hatred of the Christians. The tale runs that, in 1137, the Jews, then
the leading merchants, doctors, and scholars of the day, stole a little
boy, crucified him, and buried him in Thorpe wood. They were discovered
on their road to the burial, but escaped punishment by some clever
monetary arrangement with the authorities. Little William was buried in
the wood, and a chapel raised above his grave, the outline of which is
yet discernible by the fineness of the grass, that distinguishes it from
the heath around, the wood having long since narrowed its limits; the
shepherds say weeds will not grow on the spot, for it is "hallowed
ground." The bones of the unfortunate boy were afterwards brought to the
cathedral, where another shrine was erected, and dedicated to the little
saint; and Thomas, a monk of Monmouth, is said to have written _seven_
books of the miracles wrought by these bones. It was essential, before a
saint could be canonized, that three miracles should be proved to have
been wrought by him in life, or after death; hence, no doubt, the efforts
of the monk to prove their potency, as the youth of the martyr would
render it doubly essential to establish his claims to the honour
indubitably. The body of a saint, by act of canonization, was placed in
a sarcophagus, an altar raised over it, where mass was said continually,
to secure his or her mediation.
Above the anti-choir was the rood loft, in which were kept the reliques,
and on which was erected the principal rood or cross, with the figure of
the Saviour carved on it. The rood loft was always placed between the
nave and choir, signifying that those who would go from the church
militant, which the nave then represented, into the church triumphant,
must go under the cross, and suffer affliction. The festival of the
cross was and is called Holy Rood Day, and was instituted first on
account of the recovery of a large piece of the cross by the Emperor
Heraclius, after it had been taken away, on the plundering of Jerusalem
by Chosroes, king of Persia, A.D. 615. Rood and cross are synonymous.
The rood, when perfectly made, had not only the figure of Christ on it,
but those of the Virgin and St. John, one on each side, in allusion to
their presence at the Crucifixion.
Besides the rood, this loft also once contained a representation of the
Trinity, superbly gilt; the Father blasphemously figured as an old man,
with the Saviour Christ on the cross, between his knees, and the Holy
Spirit, in the form of a dove, on his breast. This image was ornamented
with a gold chain, weighing nearly eight ounces, a large jewel, with a
red rose enamelled in gold, hanging on it, and four smaller jewels. A
silver collar was also presented to it in 1443, that had been bestowed
upon some knight as a mark of honour. Among the relics was a portion of
the blood of the Virgin, to which numbers came in pilgrimage, and made
offerings. Whether or no it liquefied at stated seasons, like that of
St. Genaro, is not recorded.
It is not pleasant to watch the growth of such gross materialisms over
the sacred truths and symbols of Christian worship; nor can we wonder at
the re-actionary enthusiasm that came and swept them all away, however
much good taste may deplore the loss of many beauties and solid
treasures, that disappeared amid the tumult of the "dissolution."
Passing beneath the rood loft, now the gallery for one of the finest
organs and choirs our country can boast, we enter the choir, which, as it
extends westward considerably beyond the tower, is of unusual length, and
imposing in its effect; the lantern, or lower part of the tower, rising
in the centre, supported by four noble arches, that bear the weight of
the whole tower and spire, is impressively beautiful, albeit modern
decorators have been at work to spoil the harmony that should prevail, by
medallions and wreaths that should have no place there, however pretty in
themselves.
The connoisseur may here find an abundant field to exercise his
architectural knowledge, in deciding the various dates of the several
portions of this beautiful part of the building. The long row of stalls,
with their high-backed and projecting canopies, crowned with multitudes
of crocketted pinnacles, the richly decorated screen-work, that shuts out
the plainer Norman aisles, the mysterious-looking triforium running round
the curious apsidal termination, the light clerestory, with its tier of
windows, divided by feathered and canopied niches, whence spring the main
ribs of the vaulted roof,--form a whole, that it needs no skill in art or
science to be enabled to appreciate and enjoy. Of painted glass, perhaps
the less said the better--we may be wanting in taste or judgment; certain
it is, it forms no very prominent feature of beauty, and a kaliedoscope
of mediocre arrangement, and a rather indifferent illumination
transparency, may, we fancy, each find a counterpart among the specimens
of colour that do exist. Something is in progress--perhaps on an
improved scale.
But we must not omit to glance at a few of the quaint old carvings, that
remain almost as sole relics of the ancient furniture of the church.
Entering any stall, we observe the seat turns up on hinges, and beneath
is a narrow ledge, which it has been presumed was a contrivance to
relieve the old monks from the fatigue of standing, during the parts of
the service where that position is prescribed by the rubric; they were
supposed to lean upon these ledges in a half-sitting posture; but a much
more reasonable conjecture is, that they were intended as rests for the
elbows and missal when kneeling in prayer; a glance at them when turned
up instantly suggests the idea of a _prie dieu_, which they closely
resemble. The lower parts of these _misereres_, as they were called, are
decorated in a most elaborate manner with carving, and supported by
bosses, sometimes of one or more figures, often foliage, fruit, and
flowers, or shields. Among them may be found the figures of a lion and
dragon biting each other; owls and little birds fighting; Sampson in
armour (?) slaying the lion; monkeys fighting, one holding a rod, another
in a wheelbarrow; the prodigal son feeding swine; a monk tearing a dog's
hind legs; another flogging a little boy, amid a group of other urchins;
and numerous other equally inexplicable designs. If, indeed, such
objects did occupy the place under the eyes of the monks at their
devotions, they must have served admirably to train the risible muscles
to self-command.
It is among these carvings that the presumed satires are to be found,
that are attributed to the dissensions existing between the secular and
regular clergy, about the period of the building of the Cathedral; they
would have us interpret them as something akin to liberty of the press,
with all its caprices, sarcasms, and ironical sneers; but as the
self-same subjects have been found to range over the works of the carvers
from the thirteenth century down to the Reformation, and on the Continent
as well as in this country, it is much more probable that they were
copies from the illustrations of books, at that time popular, or from the
illuminations of fanciful legends, upon which the monks were continually
engaged, and which were always at hand to serve as patterns for the
workmen. The Bestiaria, a work very celebrated, has been suggested as
the source of many of the figures; among its pages figured mermaids,
unicorns, dragons, &c.; and the calendars also, in which the agricultural
pursuits of each month were depicted on the top of the page, might form
another copy to be modelled from. Such is the most probable way of
accounting for the presence of such objects, although it is possible that
in an age when the church offered scope for every talent to display
itself, so, obscure recesses were found for the offspring of these
original, though not very refined, creations of fancy, often, however,
executed by the hands of skilful craftsmen.
One look at the antique specimen of the reading desk--a pelican
supporting it with the clot of blood on its breast, symbolizing, we are
told, the shedding of the blood of Christ, as that bird sheds its blood
for its young. It may, or may not be so--but if it be, it is indeed a
gross substitute for the eagle, a symbol that has at least poetry and
spirituality to recommend it.
Beyond this, and behind the high altar, in the recess of the apse, once
stood the bishop's throne, a plain stone chair, in the days when the
priests did occupy their places in the church. The seat may still be
seen in the aisle, at the back of this spot, by any one adventurous
enough to climb a ladder, and peep into a niche they will find high up in
the wall.
We let pulpits and thrones of the present day speak for themselves, and
leaving the choir, take a brief look at the fine old chapels of St. Luke
and Jesus, on the north and south side of the apse. The former still
remains in good preservation, and is used as the parish church of St.
Mary in the Marsh, destroyed by Herbert, the founder of both these
chapels, as well as the Cathedral. The only font within the precincts is
here; it is an ancient affair, brought hither from the demolished church,
and is decorated with carvings, representing the seven sacraments, the
four evangelists, and divers figures of popes, saints, confessors, &c.
Over this chapel is the treasury of the dean and chapter, from amongst
whose stores, hid up where moth and rust do corrupt, a beautiful and
curious painting of scenes in the life of Christ, has been of late years
rescued, and promoted to the honour of a place in the vestry room (the
ancient prison of the monastery), where it has been placed under a glass
case. It appears to have served originally as some part of the
decoration of an altar, and was set in a frame, the mouldings of which
are richly diapered and ornamented with gilding, with impressed work and
fragments of coloured glass inserted at intervals, a mode of enrichment
of which specimens are very rare in this country. The corners of the
frame had been removed to adapt it to the purpose of a table, at the
period of the great "dissolution," where it had remained with its back
serving for the top of the required table, until accident revealed it to
the eyes of archaeological research.
The painting is divided into five compartments, each on a separate panel,
the subjects being the Flagellation of Christ, Christ bearing the Cross,
the Crucifixion, and the Ascension. The entire back-grounds of the
paintings are gilded and diapered in curious patterns, and the ornaments,
such as the bosses of the harness on the horses of the soldiers, the
goldsmith's work on the cingulum or belt, are in slight relief. This
mode of painting is described as being executed upon a thin coating of
composition, made of whiting and white of egg, laid on the oaken panel;
upon this the outline of the design was traced with a red line, and the
spaces designed to receive gilding were then marked out with fresh
whitening and egg; the stems marked with a modelling tool, and leaves
added by filling moulds with the paste, and fixing them by pressure on
the surface of the picture; the puncture work and little toolings were
then produced, and the modelling finished. The gilded portions were next
covered with gold leaf, and the artist proceeded with his pictures, using
transparent colours liquefied by white of egg.
At the extreme end of the Cathedral once stood another chapel, dedicated
to St. Mary the Great, of considerable note in early times--the offerings
at the high altar amounting to immense sums--daily mass was said here for
the founder's soul in particular, his friends, relations, benefactors,
&c. The chapel was about seventy feet long and thirty broad, and had a
handsome entrance from the church; it has long since disappeared. The
Jesus chapel on the opposite side is rather a melancholy looking place at
present, one high tomb of some pretensions in the centre alone
distinguishing it from a lumber room; near this chapel, in the north
aisle, is the speculatory before alluded to, as the opening through which
the sepulchre was watched at Easter; it has, until recently, been called
the ancient "confessional," a somewhat extraordinary position for such a
priestly office to be exercised in, as were it so, the penitent must of
necessity have stood in the aisle on tiptoe to reach the ear of his
confessor in the choir, who must equally of necessity have lain upon the
ground to receive the confession.
And now we must pass on to the cloisters, where one almost involuntarily
cries out for "the monks of old," to come and give life to the walks
among the tombs, no other earthly figure or garb, save a cowled monk,
seeming to have place in such a scene. The long lines of beautiful
windows, on the one side of pure early English tracery, on another of the
decorated period, and another line still more elaborate in its turnings
and twistings, while the last bespeaks the perpendicularism that prevails
among so many of the windows of the church--each and all are beautiful.
The splendidly carved doorway entering into the church, that has puzzled
learned and simple alike to interpret truly, is a gem, and the perfectly
preserved lavatories at the opposite corner have their own features of
interest. The roof, groined and vaulted with sculptured bosses, is
covered with fanciful and legendary carvings--the martyrdoms of saints,
St. Anthony roasting on his gridiron, &c., St. John the Baptist and
Herodias with his head in a charger; the mutilated body of another
headless saint has received from some kind charitable hand the blessing
of a new head, while the old one is under his arm; the date of this
addition or growth is uncertain--it looks very white, rather new; above
the door leading into the ancient refectory is a carving of the
Temptation, Adam and Eve and the serpent as usual; about this said
carving hangs a tale, another than the story of the Fall of man, and too
good to be omitted. The great historian of this comity, and all the
little historians that have condensed, contracted, extracted, and
dove-tailed little bits of his history together, have all with wonderful
precision agreed that above this arch was carved the _espousals_ or
Sacrament of Marriage; and upon that foundation, or perhaps rather
_under_ that head we should say, entered into elaborate details of how
this spot was the chosen site for the celebration of the sacrament of
marriage, which every one knows was performed in the _porch_ of the
church, and not in the church itself as now, but as this spot is a very
considerable number of yards distant from either church or porch, some of
those troublesome people who will be continually saying Why? and seeking
for a Because, began to look for these _espousals_, and found only a
_Temptation_. One of these individuals, of a peculiarly persevering
nature, earnestly desirous of reconciling these strange discrepancies
between the assertion of a respectable old historian, and his own
eye-sight, set to work, and the following was the result. He found that
much of this good historian's description of the cloister was a tolerably
free translation of an old Latin work by William of Worcester, the
original manuscript of which exists in the library of Corpus Christi, at
Cambridge. It was printed and edited, many years ago, by one Nasmith,
and an extract is to be found in the last edition of the Monasticon,
where the work of a bishop who built one side of the cloister is
described as extending to the arches, "in quibus maritagia dependent,"
which must be translated "in which the espousals or marriages hang." Now
it seemed to this inquisitive individual that a very trivial error of the
transcriber might have entirely altered the sense of the passage; that if
the word "maritagia" should turn out to be "manut'gia" for "manutergia,"
all the mystery would be explained. Upon inquiry, and inspection of the
original manuscript, this proved a correct surmise on the part of the
ingenious as well as inquisitive individual, and the arches in which the
(manutergia) _towels_ hang, _close by the lavatories_, turn out to be the
substitute for the arches in which the _espousals hang_. Overlooking the
single stroke of a pen, produced these queer misconceptions _for above a
century_.
The following is an epitaph composed for Jacob Freeman, who was buried in
the cloister yard, where he used often to lie upon a hill and sleep, with
his head upon a stone. The old man was very hardly used by the
_committee_ for so doing, and for frequenting church porches, and
repeating the _common_ prayer to the people, in spite of ill treatment,
he being often sent to Bridewell, whipped and reproved for it.
EPITAPH.
"Here, in this homely cabinet,
Resteth a poor old anchoret;
Upon the ground he laid all weathers,
Not as most men, goose-like, on feathers,
For so indeed it came to pass,
The Lord of lords his landlord was;
He lived, instead of wainscot rooms,
Like the possessed, among the tombs.
As by some spirit thither led,
To be acquainted with the dead:
Each morning, from his bed so hallowed,
He rose, took up his cross, and followed;
To every porch he did repair,
To vent himself in common prayer,
Wherein he was alone devout,
When _preaching_, _jostled_, _praying out_,
In sad procession through the city,
Maugre the devil or committee,
He daily went, for which he fell
Not into _Jacob's_, but _Bridewell_,
Where you might see his loyal back
Red-lettered, like an almanack;
Or I may rather else aver,
Dominickt, like a calendar;
And him triumphing at that harm,
Having nought else to keep him warm.
With Paul he always prayed, no wonder
The lash did keep his flesh still under;
Yet whip-cord seemed to lose its sting,
When for the church, or for the king,
High loyalty in such a death
Could battle torments with mean earth;
And though such sufferings he did pass,
In spite of bonds, still _Freeman_ was.
'Tis well his pate was weather-proof;
The palace like it had no roof;
The hair was off, and 'twas the fashion,
The _crown_ being _under sequestration_.
Tho' bald as time and mendicant,
No fryer yet, but Protestant--
His head each morning and each even
Was watered with the dews of heaven.
He lodged alike, dead and alive,
As one that did his grave survive,
For he is now, though he be dead,
But in a manner put to bed,
His cabin being above ground yet,
Under a thin turf coverlet.
Pity he in no porch did lay,
Who did in porches so much pray;
Yet let him have this Epitaph:
Here sleeps poor Jacob, stone and staff."
We must not close our chapter on cathedrals and bishops without some
little further notice of the more important branch of the subject,
although we venture not upon biographies of the many whose names shine
forth from among the list of "spiritual fathers," well meriting more
detailed sketching than would be here in place. Hall, Nix, Lyhart, and
Goldwell, have had their share of passing comment, but there are other
names that must not be looked over in silence. Among the earliest stands
Pandulph, the notorious legate from the Pope, during the troubled reign
of John, when disputes about the appointment of Stephen Langton to the
archbishopric of Canterbury had had our country under the interdict of
his papal majesty; and for six years all Christian rites were suppressed,
save baptism and confirmation, in consequence of jealousies between these
rival powers upon the vexed question of the right of investiture. It was
mainly through the agency of Pandulph that the king was at last inclined
to submit, in return for which the bishopric of this diocese was
conferred on the successful diplomatist. Walter de Suffield, another
name of at least great local repute, was the founder of the Old Man's
Hospital, an institution at this day in the receipt of 10,000 pounds a
year, out of which some _two hundred_ old men and women are maintained in
clothes, food, and a shilling a day, and _lodged_ in a beautiful _old
church_, founded by Lyhart at a later period, the trustees of such a fund
thinking this arrangement preferable to restoring the church to its
original use, and providing more suitable buildings for the accommodation
of the recipients of the charity. The tomb of Suffield, in his own
chapel, at the east end of the cathedral, became a shrine for worship, to
which pilgrimages were frequent, and miracles in abundance were said to
be wrought.
Percy, brother of the famous Earl of Northumberland, was another who wore
the mitre of the see; he lies buried before the roodloft door. Henry de
Spencer, the warrior bishop, is another, who raised and headed an army of
three thousand men, and conducted it in person to Flanders, where he
figured prominently in the wars between Richard and the French king, as
well as in the struggles of Urban and Clement for the papacy. His
military fame was rivalled by his notorious zeal in the cause of his
church, evidenced by unmitigated persecution of the Lollards, whose
adherence to the doctrines of Wickliffe was rewarded by every variety of
penance or punishment that could be devised to exterminate the heresy. A
splendid monument of this spirit of the man and age is left us in the
magnificent gateway opposite the West entrance to the cathedral, erected
by Sir Thomas Erpingham, at the bidding of De Spencer, as a penance for
his sympathy with these heretical doctrines. Above the doorway is an
effigy of himself in armour, kneeling and asking pardon for his offence.
Rugg--an instrument of Henry's, in obtaining the divorce of Catherine of
Arragon; Hopkin--a notorious persecutor of the Protestants in Mary's
reign; Parkhurst--a literary celebrity; Wren--the victim of Puritanism,
which placed him a prisoner in the tower for eighteen years without a
trial; Butts--a friend of Cranmer; Horne, whose letters on infidelity
have given him a fame; and Bathurst, respected in the memory of many yet
living; are names conspicuous in the catalogue; not yet complete without
two others, Stanley and Hinde. Of Hinde we can but say his work is yet
in hand, he is earning his place in history, for some future pen to
chronicle; but may be, no fitter subject could be offered for a closing
scene to this chapter on the bishops and cathedral of this see, than
memory can recal of that day, when beneath the lofty nave of the one, a
grave was opened to receive the mortal remains of the loved and honoured
Stanley. Who, among the thousands that then gathered themselves
together, wearing not alone the outer symbols of mourning and grief, but
carrying in their hearts deep sorrow, and in their eyes _unbidden_
tears--who will forget the solemn stillness of the thronged multitude as
the simple pall was borne, unmocked by plumes or other idle trappings of
fictitious woe, through the avenues of unhired mutes, whose heads were
bowed in heartfelt reverence, and lines of infant mourners, clad in the
livery of their benefactor's bounty, and watering the pathway to his tomb
with honest tears of childhood's love--the attitudes of grief and
saddened faces that filled the crowded aisles, and no less crowded walks
above--the hushed breathing that left the air free to echo the tones of
the wailing dirge, as it rose upon the voices of the surpliced choir, who
mourned a child of harmony, and wafted their strains of lamentation
through all the heights of the vaulted roof, while beneath its centre the
grave was receiving the earthly tabernacle of the good, the
noble-hearted, and the great in deeds of love and charity? Who does not
remember the measured tread of the dispersing thousands, as each took his
last look of the simple coffin in its last resting-place, and as the dead
march sent forth its full low notes from the organ's peal, and the rich
closing bursts of harmony proclaimed like a rush of mighty wind the
soul's release and triumph? and who has not often since lingered around
the simple marble slab that marks the spot, and felt that it had been
consecrated as a shrine, by a baptism of tears from the fountain of
loving hearts on that memorable day?