THE CASTLE.
_The Castle_.--_Present aspect_.--_Grave of the Murderer_.--_Historical
Associations_.--_View from the Battlements_.--_Thorpe_.--_Kett's
Castle_.--_Lollard's Pit_.--_Mousehold_.--_Plan of Military Structure of
Feudal Times_.--_Marriage of Ralph Guader_.--_Roger Bigod_.--_Feudal
Ranks_.--_Social Life_.--_Field Sports_.--_Hawking_.--_Legend of
Lothbroc_.--_Laws of Chivalry_.--_Tournaments_.--_Feminine
Occupations_.--_Tapestry_.
In the centre of the Old City rises one of those huge mounds, heaped up
by our ancient warrior forefathers, which here and there, over the
surface of our island, yet stand out in bold relief against the blue
back-ground of the sky, like giant models for some modern monster
twelfth-cake, only, however, occasionally crowned by the original
structures, of which they were the ground-works, and in no other case,
perhaps by one whose outward coating of modern date more thoroughly might
carry out the suggested idea of a frosted moulding, designed to grace the
summit of a supper-table fortification.
How involuntary is the longing to peel off the pasty composition and find
the substance hidden beneath, be it as crumbly and mottled as the most
luscious monument ever reared in honour of the feast of the Epiphany,
from the era of the Magi downwards. But so it may not be; the flinty
roughnesses of the past are hidden from our eyes by the soft covering of
refined stucco, and we must be content with the attempt of ingenious
modern masonry to give us an impress of what the castle called
Blanchflower was, in lieu of beholding it unspoiled save by the hand of
time. It is, however, something to know that there really does exist
beneath that outer casing, a bona fide mass of flint and stone, some
portions of which at least have stood, even from the days of the sea-king
Canute; by him raised on the site of the royal residence of East Anglian
princes, and yet earlier dwelling place of Gurguntus and other British
kings, and by him suffered to retain the name of "Blanchflower," first
given, so legends say, by one of its royal owners in honour of his
mother, Blanche, a kinswoman of the mighty Caesar. There it yet stands,
its very roots planted high above the topmost stories of all meaner
habitations, its battlements towering to the sky, as though climbing from
their earthen base through the turrets and towers, reared as a stronghold
for human pride and ambition, to heights that would rival the lofty spire
in the valley beneath, that blends itself with the heaven to which it
points in the solemn attitude of silent devotion, as if to ask, "Which
can do the greatest works, man serving man, or man serving God?"
With the monuments of two such spirits side by-side, fancy might wander
into perfect labyrinths of mystic and speculative thought, not void of
beauty, tracing the unseen workings of the spirit-powers there sought to
be embodied, each lingering about and shedding itself around the temple
consecrated as its shrine--devotion, yet meetly expressed in the tapering
spire--human Despotism and human frailty, finding in every age a fitting
representative within the lordly castles of the robber chiefs, from the
day when its walls formed the boundary of life to feudal wives and
slaves, and its dungeons, the tombs of vanquished foes, through every age
of its isolated grandeur, down to the picture of aggregated solitudes and
woes, that it presents in the character now assigned to it, of a
prison-home for criminals.
But for some such sense of the invisible links that make the present
purposes to which its limits are devoted, one with the past, there might
seem to be much difficulty in connecting the picture of the felon-town
now enclosed within its walls, with any associations of history; or the
accumulations of red brick, slate-roofed ranges of well-lighted,
well-ventilated and comfortable chambers, made dark or miserable _only_
by the spirits that tenant them, with the ideas or expectations a
castle-prison could suggest. That such should be the only _cells_ to be
found or seen, is to the eye and ear of mere curiosity an absolute
disappointment. One feels half angry at the sudden annihilation of the
vague and undefined fillings up that fancy had given to the outline of
the feudal relic. The learned may know it all before-hand, but the
uninitiated cannot fail to receive an unwelcome surprise, in finding the
substantial and important looking keep, withal its crust of stucco,
little more than a shell, whose kernel is made up of modern habitations,
as fresh-looking as though they had but yesterday sprung up as pimples on
the face of nature, a title not inappropriate to most red brick
emanations of architectural skill. But our visit to the Castle must not
be spent in such vague lamentations over what is _not_; neither would we
in our regrets desire to be classed among the morbid cravers after
horrors, that can find pleasure in condemned cells, gibbets, chains
associated with murderers, or any such like appurtenances of a county
gaol; thankfully we claim exemption from any such mental disease, nor
even as the chroniclers of facts would we dwell one moment on the points
of detail that would pander to such a taste in our fellow beings.
A prison must ever teem with painful associations, one scarcely more so
than another, nor does the fact of an apartment, in no way differing from
those around it, having been tenanted by a Rush, whom some would call the
mighty among murderers, make it an object to our ideas more worthy either
a visit or description. The simple initials in the wall of the
prison-yard, above the dishonoured grave where he lies, with the few
others who have met a like miserable fate, speak to the heart--and we
turn from them with an inward whispering, there--who was _his_
murderer?--was it justice, human or Divine? Did the child speak with
folly, or childhood's own wisdom, when it asked if Rush died for breaking
God's commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," _did_ not those who killed him
also break it? Such is not fiction--its simple baby logic answers for
it--but we say as to the child's query, We cannot answer you. Many a
great and noble heart recognises the minister of justice, as God's own
delegate, to claim the yielding up of his Creature's life, a satisfaction
to the broken laws of God and man. Many as great and noble, and we would
think as mindful of the great ends of justice and design of punishment,
would say, Leave the gift of God, the breath of life, at His disposal,
who has said, "Vengeance is mine;"--trust to _His justice_ as to _His
mercy_, to which alone you appeal, when sending the soul into his
presence, reeking with guilt and sin. As spoke the child, on that sad,
solemn day of darkness,--when the spirit of sin seemed to breathe over
the debased city, and spread its contaminations through every channel
where its subtle essence could find an inlet, till the moral vision of
the very purest seemed to be obscured, and the atmosphere tainted for a
while, by the sickening familiarity with the face of crime;--the last day
of the wretched victim of unrestrained passions in life and in
death,--whose struggles of vanity and egotism, with the quailings of the
flesh, evidenced by the whitening hair, the trembling hand, and vapid
mutterings, through a trial prolonged to an unheard-of length, had drawn
around him a host of witnesses, almost without a parallel in history; and
not alone of the mass of unlearned and ignorant, whom we are wont to
charge with insensibility and coarseness, nor of the stern philosopher,
nor even sickly religionists, who find some concealed duty in witnessing
elaborations of torture, but of the gentle hearts that move within the
mothers and daughters of England; and white-gloved and richly-dressed
ladies thronged to use the tickets that gained them privileged entrance
to a gallery that overlooked this spectacle of human agony--(oh! is there
one among that assembled galaxy of England's fair ones that can recal
that scene, without a shudder and a blush for the very refinements that
cast their cloak around the horrors of the reality?)--that day,--when the
festivities of concert and party over, when the merriment of the
bustling, noisy fair outside the court of trial had died away, and room
was left for the last act of the drama--as then, the child lifted up its
saddened voice, with its question so quaintly simple--so was it echoed
back to us from the grave of that poor criminal, and a torrent of
memories, linked with that fearful time, came flooding back upon us, as
the fruit of the tree of crime, whose seed was then sown before our eyes,
seemed to lie scattered at our feet, in the later-made grave, and
sin-filled cells around us. But enough of this--the darkest tragedy of
later days associated with our castle prison--how many more silent, but
not less sad, have been enacted within its limits, in chambers now
inaccessible to human tread, we may not know! how many death sighs have
been breathed out from its hidden dungeons, how many spirits violently
sundered from their earthly tabernacles, and sent wandering through
eternity before a home had been prepared for their rest, the record books
of earth yield no account, but they are registered above; shall it avail
to plead, "Am I my brother's keeper?" when the great final day of
reckoning shall come, and the judges and rulers of the earth shall be
summoned to give an account of their stewardship? But these are _not_
the thoughts awakened upon crossing the threshold of this portal, for,
strange to say, the first greeting offered us, is the smiling welcome of
gay, liberty-loving flowers, blooming as sweetly and merrily in that
atmosphere of sin and sorrow, as ever they could have done on mountain
heath or valley's dell. Who knows what messages of hope and love these
simple tenants of the miniature conservatory have breathed to weary,
sin-laden hearts, bowed down in penitence for guilt! There was kindness
in the heart that placed them there, and justice is blessed in owning
servitors that do her bidding with such gentle mien. Modern prisons,
their advantages and defects, have formed subjects for the pens of many
writers; no need, therefore, that we longer dwell on this aspect of our
city stronghold. Colonies of zebra-clad prisoners tenant the wards, and
thread the intricate passages leading through tiers and radiating wings
of cells, so cunningly arranged that, amid all the appearance of
congregations, separation and solitude is ensured, even upon the giant
wheel itself, and still further, even in the place for worship, where
boardings, shelvings, and all manner of strangely devised contrivances,
prevent communion between the several classes of the unfortunate, that
suspected and condemned may not mingle, the felony and the misdemeanour
may not be in juxtaposition; these are the features that meet the eye,
and it would not be right to leave such judicious arrangements
unnoticed,--albeit our visit to the castle walls may have more to do with
its past than present history.
Tradition assigns the foundation of this castle to Gurguntus, the son of
Belinus, the twenty-fourth king of Britain from Brutus, who, having
observed in the east part of Britain a place well fitted by nature for
the building a fortress on, founded a certain castle of a square form,
and of white stone, on the top of a high hill near a river, which castle
was completed by his successor, Guthulinus, who "encompassed it with a
wall, bank, and double ditches, and made within it subterraneous vaults
of a long and blind or intricate extent." Another early writer ascribes
to Julius Caesar the honour of being its founder, and explains the origin
of certain rents and fissures, perceptible in its sides before its recent
restoration, to the earthquake that shook the earth "when the vail of the
temple was rent in twain;"--he adds, that afterwards Thenatius, Lud's son
by marriage with Blanche, kinswoman of Julius, gave it the name of
"Blancheflower." Others attribute this title to the whiteness of its
walk, and assign to the Normans its appropriation to the edifice they
found existing here.
Without doubt, as the metropolis of the Iceni, it was an important place
prior to the advent of the Saxons, who made it the royal seat of the
kings of East Anglia, and afterwards the residence of governors, called
aldermen, dukes, or earls. During the Danish wars, the castle was often
lost and won again, until Alfred the Great wholly subdued the Danes, and
he is said to have greatly improved its fortifications. The original
structure, however, is said to have fallen a sacrifice to the ravages of
the Danes under Sweyn, and the present edifice is attributed to Canute,
his son, upon his return after his flight upon the accession of Ethelred.
The supposition of its being the work of the Normans after the Conquest
is totally refuted by the events recorded as having transpired within its
precincts, while in the custody of Ralph Guader, who took possession of
it in the seventh year of William's reign. The elevation upon which the
castle and its fortifications were founded, some writers have conjectured
to be originally the work of heathen worshippers, who raised such like
giant temples to the sun; others have suggested the possibility of its
forming a portion of the famous Icknild Way.
This, in common with other military structures of the same period, which
were mostly built upon one plan, their chief strength consisting in their
height and inaccessibility, originally included within its boundaries a
considerable space of ground; the outer ballium (bailey or court) having
an elevation of about one hundred feet above the level of the river; and
the inner, upon which stands the keep, raised by art about twenty feet
higher, with the soil of the inner ditch--still remain entire; originally
three ditches surrounded the castle, from their circular form betokening
great antiquity; the second and third have been long filled up and built
over, but are distinctly traceable to the eye of persevering enquiry.
The original entrance to the outer court was from Burgh Street, at the
end of which was the barbican, or passage leading to the first
draw-bridge and gate; the second was opposite, and intermediate between
it and the present bridge; a draw-bridge formerly occupied the site of
the present road-way across, at the end of which stood the gateway for
raising it with a strong tower above it, only removed within the last
century.
Two round towers at the upper end of the draw-bridge, whose foundations
still remain, constituted additional defences of the upper ballium.
Connected with the tower on the west side, were dungeons or vaults, until
recently in use for prisoners before their committal.
The keep, which occupies but a small portion of the original plan, is
about seventy feet high, and ninety-two feet long, by ninety-six broad.
The walls are composed of flint rubble, faced with Caen stone, intermixed
with a stone found in the neighbourhood.
The keep bore the same relation to the castle as the citadel to a
fortified town; it was the last retreat of the garrison, and contained
the apartments of the baron or commandant. Little of these is, however,
left us to explore; the outer wall with its ornamental arches being, as
we before hinted, nothing more than a shell surrounding an open yard, now
filled by detached modern buildings, occupying the site of the spacious
and magnificent chambers that once filled the interior.
Upon the surface of these walls, within are distinctly traceable the
original openings to the various compartments, now filled up by masonry;
but within the memory of some yet living, the dungeons and storehouses of
the basement story were standing, and were accessible by stair-cases in
the north-east and south-west angles.
The entrance to the first floor is on the east side, by a flight of steps
leading to a platform projecting outside fourteen feet from the wall. It
is now covered in, and forms a spacious vestibule, having three open
arches towards the east, one on the north, and one on the south, in which
is the entrance. It is usually called Bigod's tower, its erection being
by some attributed to Roger Bigod, in the reign of William Rufus, and by
others to Hugh Bigod, during the twelfth century; the whole of it has
undergone restoration. The doorway from the vestibule is through an
archway of Saxon character, supported by five columns with ornamented
capitals; two columns only remain; upon the capital of the first, on the
left, is a bearded huntsman in the act of blowing a horn, with a sword by
his side, and holding with his left hand a dog in slips, which appears to
be attacking an ox; on the second capital is another huntsman, spearing a
wild boar of an unusual size.
The fable of the wolf and lamb, the wolf and crane, a monstrous head and
arms, attached to the bodies of two lions, are amongst the other
ornamental carvings, traceable on the other portions of the capitals and
arches, but greatly mutilated.
Prior to the restoration of the tower, this archway had been totally
concealed by masonry; it is only surprising, therefore, that so much of
it should still be in so good a state of preservation.
A corridor led from this entrance to the chapel, which was on this floor
in the south-east angle, with an oratory or sanctum in the corner,
separated from it by an archway supported by two columns, the capitals of
which are ornamented, and at the angles are figures of pelicans. The
columns are decidedly Norman, the costumes and helmets bearing close
resemblance to those on the Bayeux tapestry. On the east side of the
oratory is a curious altar-piece in five compartments, representing the
Trinity, St. Catherine, St. Christopher, St. Michael and the Dragon, and
another figure too much mutilated to be recognized.
We confess ourselves indebted for these details, to more erudite and
heroic adventurers in the voyage of discovery among these ruins than
ourselves, the inaccessible looking archway of the oratory high upon the
wall, to be attained only by crossing a plank from a tier of cells
opposite, offering little temptation to us to ascertain for ourselves the
accuracy of statements made by learned authorities, whose researches we
presume neither to question nor emulate. We do not venture to trespass
on paths so much more ably trodden; what pleases or strikes the eye of
the simple observer, we may note, perhaps often deriving sensations of
pleasure from objects that may offend the cultivated taste of the
connoisseur, but as we plead ignorance, we trust to meet with indulgence.
Associations, rather than details of outline, cluster round our minds in
visiting these scenes, and on them we dwell.
The kitchens and dormitories were also on this floor, the former
accessible by a long narrow passage in the north wall, from the spiral
stairs in the north-east angle.
The next floor was occupied by the state apartments; and on the exterior
of the west side are four large windows with central columns, opposite to
corresponding openings in the inner wall for the admission of light into
the interior. The gallery on this side contains three little recesses,
or chambers, as they would have us call them, benched on either side, and
probably intended as waiting-rooms for the attendants. It communicated
with the south-west flight of stairs, but although these yet remain, they
are not safe to be explored.
The gallery on the north side has similar windows, and is reached by the
north-east staircase, with which the kitchen gallery communicates; the
passage is vaulted, and the tracings of large archways, in the inner
wall, filled in by masonry, have led to the idea that a large banqueting
chamber traversed this side of the building, the entrance to which would
be immediately connected with the grand entrance from the tower. Another
gallery, somewhat similar, runs along the south wall, not now accessible.
These three galleries are all that remain entire of the original
apartments, the various archways and outlines in the walls, rather
suggesting than deciding questions concerning the arrangement of the
interior filling up.
Having finished our explorings among these hollow portions of the walls,
the winding stairs lead on to the giddy heights of the ramparts, where a
scene awaits the adventurer's eye, that may well repay a steady effort to
conquer the propensity to walk over the unprotected side towards the
court within. And here we pause to take a survey of the picture as it
lies out before us; houses, slated, tiled, thatched and leaded, with
their forests of chimneypots, the growth and accumulations of centuries;
high pinnacles of brick, sending forth their volumes of smoke from huge
factories, telling their tales of human skill and genius triumphing over
the powers of earth, air, and water, bringing into subjection the sinews
of rock and veins of ore, and training them, by the aid of invisible and
subtle fluids, to yield obedience to the will of man, and minister to the
wants and luxuries of his being; windmills spreading out their giant arms
to stay the very winds of heaven in their path till they have done their
work; waters checked in their onward course till their rebellious force
has been turned to profit; all speak of matter visible and invisible,
made subject to spirit power, and ministering to the will and wants of
man. Tales, too, of human toil and suffering, of wasting labour, spent
in the service of luxury and indolence, burthen the air breathed forth
from groaning engine-houses, and rising up from hidden nests of poverty
that lie sheltered beneath the eaves of rich men's habitations, whose
fair frontings to modern streets or road-ways, too often form but outer
coatings of decency to masses of corruption hidden away in close yards,
courts, and alleys, at their back--church towers, and spires, and turrets
in manifold variety and abundance; and prominent among the host, stands
out in all the glory of hale old age, fine old St Peter's, looking down
from his proud eminence in solemn dignity, and smiling at all the feeble
efforts of the mushrooms clinging to his very base to hide his fair
proportions; far and wide may we look to find his peer, even among such
gems of beauty as the patron saints so lavishly have scattered among the
lanes and thoroughfares of this very garden of churches. Such are the
city features of the panoramic see; turning to another point of view,
away, beyond the foreground of the sheep and cattle pens that bespeak the
conversion of the ancient inner ballium into a modern market-place for
live stock, and across the deep running channel laden with crafts not yet
wholly superseded in their labours by steam--that infant Hercules, whose
leading-strings are compassing the surface of the globe--we catch a
glance of the hanging woods of the fairest village our Norfolk scenery
may boast, whose Richmond-like gardens skirting the pathway of the
winding river, and meadow lands beyond, dotted here and there by the
alder cars that once gave a name to the Benedictine convent close by,
form a landscape of mingled animation and quiet rural beauty, not often
to be equalled in the suburbs of a manufacturing city. No marvel why
gala spots for pleasure-loving citizens should be found interspersed
among the more refined parterres of the wealthy upon the shores; no
marvel that a summer's evening should witness crowds of holiday-seeking
folks, thronging to taste the sweets of fresh air, and rest from labour,
in the midst of so fair a scene.
No marvel that a water frolic becomes dignified into a regatta there,
that for once, within the circuit of the year, the great and small, the
proud and humble, rich and poor, can mingle, to look together upon a
common object of amusement--that fashion and poverty can meet in the
field of pleasure--St. Giles and St. James acknowledge the existence, nor
frown at the presence of each other. And who does not rejoice in the
festivity, almost the sole remnant of national sport left us in this
iron-working age? Who that can spare an hour from the counter or the
loom, or desk--from scribbling six-and-eight-penny opinions, or
scratching hieroglyphical prescriptions for _aqua pura_ draughts, does
not contrive to find some mode of transit by earth, air, or water to the
scene of mirth. Even a soaking shower is unavailing to damp the ardour
of the multitude, and not unseldom lends fresh stimulus to fun and
laughter among the merry-hearted denizens of smoke-dried city streets and
lanes. But we must not linger in their midst--the gay pleasure-boats,
with their shining sails, tacking and bending to the breeze, the swift
skullers in the gay uniforms, the eager faces that line the course, the
signal guns and flags of victory, the music, and the mirth--all tell that
the spirit of enjoyment is not yet quite gone out from among us. We must
now pass to other, and far different objects, and from the present,
travel back to the past, whose page of history unfolds itself in the
nearer object that meets our eye, the whitened sides of the "Lollard's
pit," where martyrs of old poured forth their dying prayers; and yielded
up their bodies to be burned as witness of their faith--where Bilney
listened to the words of his murderers, beseeching him to release them
before the people from all blame, that they might not suffer loss of
popularity or alms--and where he turned and said: "I pray you, good
people, be never worse to these men for my sake, as though they should be
the authors of my death. It is not they;"--then was bound to the stake
and slowly burned, in the presence of the multitudes that clothed the
natural amphitheatre around. The heights above are crowned by the ruins
of the old priory of St. Leonards, on the one side, and on the other by a
few fragments of St. Michael's chapel, whose vestiges, under a name
assigned to them through their later notoriety, as the stronghold of the
rebel Kett, yet linger as landmarks on the early pathway of national
progress and reform.
There sat the "King of Norfolk," as he was styled, and held his councils
of state under the old oak, which bore thenceforth the title of the "oak
of the Reformation;"--there morning and evening service were daily read
to the rebel forces, and the Litany and Te Deum were listened to with
solemn earnestness. There Parker, the future archbishop of Canterbury,
ventured into the midst of the rebel camp, and, under the shade of the
oak, sent forth the voice of exhortation to the discontented, but to
little effect. Enclosed lands, commons stolen from the public, and other
grievances suffered by the poor from the hands of the rich, lay at the
hearts of the people, and the prelate's errand of peace had well nigh
terminated ill, but for the power of music--the solemn Te Deum burst
forth from the voice of the rebel's chaplain, and swelled by many
"singing voices" into a loud strain of sweet harmony, fell upon the ear
of the multitude, like oil upon the raging waters, and by its sweetness
shed peace for the time on all around. In this rebellion fell the
gallant Earl of Sheffield, in his zeal to aid the efforts of the Earl of
Warwick to quell the outburst of the people's will; while beside him
figured Dudley, the hero of Kenilworth, and cruel husband of the hapless
Amy Robsart. The popular prophecy--
The country gnoffes, Hob, Dick, and Hick,
With clubs and clouted shoon,
Shall fill the vale of Duffendale
With slaughtered bodies soon--
was fulfilled, and besiegers and besieged were among the victims. That
there is no war like civil war was verified; the wounded plucked the
arrows from their wounds, that they might be sent back dripping with
their blood to the hearts of their kinsmen and foes. The watchword,
"Gentlemen ruled aforetime, a number will rule now another while,"
testified to the turning of the worm when trodden on--evidencing the
ripening germ of the same spirit that had in earlier times wrung from the
tyrant monarch a "Magna Charta," and will yet, by agencies far other than
arrow, spear, or sword, obtain for an independent people, who can
reverence the laws of order and of right, every charter that shall be
needed to gain them their due place in the pillar of the state, where
neither capitol nor column can bear its own weight, without a base of
solid and fair proportions, to give harmony, strength, and beauty to the
whole.
Among the aggravating causes that led to this insurrection, so famous in
our country's annals, the desecration of church furniture and vestments,
that had followed the footsteps of the Reformation, stood prominently
forth; the people's hearts rebelled against the havoc made amongst the
objects they had been taught to look upon as holy--and as these deeds of
licence had been simultaneous with encroachments upon their temporal
rights of pasture and common land, a double feeling was engendered--a
longing for social and political freedom, and a desire to reform a
Reformation that was marked by such atrocious want of reverence for all
that had been sacred. Conservatism and ultra-radicalism were blended,
even as in many minds to this hour they grow together. Connected with
this event of history, are two memorials that mark it as of national
interest--the Homily on Rebellion which was written against the
insurgents, and the institution of lord lieutenants of counties, as
safeguards against such another sudden and formidable outbreak in any
part of the kingdom.
Stretching away far as the eye may reach, is the broad moor, laid bare of
forest trees by these same rebel forces, now clothed with yellow furze
and purple heather, intertwined with clovewort and ranunculus, and hiding
beneath, the crimson-tipped lichen, whose sanguine clubs and cups would
seem to have drank from the soil the blood of the slain, and rendered it
immortal. Bowl-shaped excavations dotted over its surface, testify of
Celtic habitations hollowed out in remote ages, beneath the forest
shades, roofed by its boughs, and lying hidden among the leaves like
lower birds' nests,--now in barren desolation, serving well the vagrant
purposes of gypsy life, and lending a feature to the scene that Lavengro
has painted with a master-hand.
And now the eye reposes from its survey--and thought flies back to the
day when the distant sea swept around the base of the castle of
Blanchflower, and filled the valley below--to the era of the brave Iceni,
and the sorrows of the warrior queen, Boadicea--to the advent of the
mighty Caesar,--the appropriating Saxons,--and the savage Danes and
Norsemen, with their pirate hordes, storming the outposts of the military
camp from their uncouth naval fleets,--and thence to the era of the
Norman hero planting his foot upon our soil, when barons multiplied in
the land; and one scene of history enacted within the castle walls,
bearing this date, tells much of feudal laws and feudal power.
The earldom of the city, castle, and meadow lands, being then possessed
by a Breton, named Ralph de Gael, or Guader, partly by gift from the
Conqueror, partly perhaps by force of arms, this local sovereign designed
to wed the daughter of one Fitz-Osborn, a relation of William.
This matrimonial scheme not pleasing his lord the king, without ceremony
it was prohibited; but in that day of might _versus_ might, earls and
barons would sometimes have a will of their own, and the fair affianced
was made a bride within the chapel walls, whose doorway in an angle,
marks the site of the act of disobedience; the banquetting room then
received the bridal guests, and the sumptuous feast, with its attendant
libations, witnessed a yet more decided scene of rebellion; the
bridegroom and the bride's own brother, the Earl of Hereford, already
committed by carrying the forbidden marriage into effect, became eloquent
and bold in their language and designs, until a chorus of excited voices
joined them in oaths that sealed them as conspirators against their
absent sovereign. Treachery revealed the plot, and the church lent its
aid to the crown to crush the rebels. Lanfranc, the primate and
archbishop, sent out troops, headed by bishops and justiciaries, the
highest dignitaries of church and law, to oppose and besiege them; the
bridegroom fled for succour to his native Brittany, leaving his bride for
three months to defend the garrison with her followers, at the end of
which time the brave Emma was compelled to capitulate, but upon mild
terms, obtaining leave for herself and followers to flee to Brittany; her
husband thenceforth became an outlaw--her brother was slain, and scarcely
one guest present at that ill-fated marriage feast escaped an untimely
end. Each prisoner lost a right foot, many their eyes, and all their
worldly goods. A sorrowful romance of real life, to mark the early
history of our castle halls.
Nor did the city go unscathed, the devastation carried into its midst by
the siege was heavy; many houses were burnt, many deserted by those who
had joined the earl, and it is curious to read in the valuation of land
and property that was taken soon after this event, how many houses are
recorded as "_void_" both in the burgh or that part of the city under the
jurisdiction of the king and earl, as well as in other portions subject
to other lords, for it would seem that the landlords of the soil on which
stood the city were three, the king or earl of the castle, the bishop,
and the Harold family, relatives of him who fell at Hastings. Clusters
of huts then congregated round the base of the hill and constituted the
feudal village; its inhabitants consisting of villains, of which there
were two classes, the husbandmen or peasants annexed to the manor or
land, and a lower rank described in English law as villains-in-gross, in
simple terms, absolute slaves, transferable by deed from one owner to
another, whose lives, save for the ameliorations of individual
indulgences, were a continued helpless state of toil, degradation and
suffering; the socmen or tenants holding land by some _service_, (not
knightly) and bordars or boors, who occupied a position somewhat above
the serfs or villains, and held small portions of land with cottages or
_bords_ on them, on condition they should supply the lord with poultry,
eggs, and other small provisions for his board and entertainment.
Freemen seem to have included all ranks of society holding in military
tenure; they lived under the protection of great men, but in their
persons were free; the rural labourers were divided into ploughmen,
shepherds, neat-herds, cow-herds, swine-herds, and bee-keepers. The
"haiae" belonging to the manor houses were enclosed places, hedged or
paled round, into which beasts were driven to be caught. At the time of
the survey in William's reign the estimate of the tenants and fiefs of
the earl and king is taken as one thousand five hundred and sixty-five
burgesses, Englishmen paying custom to the king, one hundred and ninety
mansions void, and four hundred and eighty _bordars_; the bishop's
territory contained thirty-seven burgesses, and seven mansions void; and
on the property of the deceased Harold, there were fifteen burgesses and
seven mansions void.
After the banishment of Earl Ralph, the castle was given to Ralph Bigod,
who was styled the Constable, as was usual when any castle was committed
to a baron or earl, and he exercised royal power within the jurisdiction
of the castle. To him succeeded Roger Bigod, a great favourite and
friend of Henry I., and one of the witnesses to the laws made by him
during his reign. William, the son of Roger, succeeded his father, and
by King Henry was made steward of his household. This William was
drowned at sea, and his brother Hugh became possessed of his estate and
honours. To him is referred the finishing and beautifying of the tower
of the castle; but he was supplanted in the office of constable by
William de Blois, Earl of Moreton, son of King Stephen. He in his turn
was dispossessed of it by Henry II. Hugh Bigod joined with the son of
Henry, afterwards Henry III., in his revolt against his father, for which
adherence he was reinstated in the Castle of Blancheflower, but was
obliged again to surrender when the son repented of his rebellion, and
submitted to his father.
To Hugh succeeded another Roger Bigod, his son, who received from the
hands of Richard I. the earldom of Norfolk and stewardship of the king's
household, and most probably was constable of the castle also. During
the troubled reign of John, it passed into the hands of Lewis, son of the
French king, who made William de Bellomont, his marshal, constable, and
placed him with a garrison within its walls. To him succeeded Roger
Bigod, who figured amongst the revolting barons in the reign of Henry
III. At the memorable interview between the confederated nobles and the
king, at the parliament in Westminster, he took a leading part in the
proceedings. All the barons having assembled in complete armour, as the
king entered, there is described to have been a rattling of swords; his
eye gleaming along the mailed ranks he asked, "What means this? Am I a
prisoner?" "Not so," replied Roger Bigod, "but your foreign favourites
and your own extravagance have involved this realm in great wretchedness,
whereof we demand that the powers of government be made over to a
committee of bishops and barons, that the same may root up abuses and
enact good laws." The committee when formed numbered in its list both
Roger of Norfolk earl marshal, and Hugh Bigod. In this reign it is
mentioned that the castle became a gaol for the county, and state
prisoners were confined here. Many a dark tragedy was doubtless
witnessed by its dungeon walls during those troubled times, when civil
wars were hourly peopling them with political offenders. In Edward II.'s
reign the castle was partly re-fortified, but in the following reign,
falling completely out of repair, it came to be regarded simply as a
county jail, and its jurisdiction vested in the hands of the sheriff of
the county.
Among the historical facts of later date, connected with the castle, and
bearing date of the same year as that in which Queen Elizabeth visited
the city, is an order issued from Whitehall, to the sheriff of Norfolk,
to imprison within the castle walls certain persons who refused to attend
the service of the church; the letter is preserved among Cole's
manuscripts in the British Museum; the copy of it which is published by
the Archaeological Society, runs thus:
To our loving Friend Mr. Gawdry, Sherif of the Countie of Norfolk.
After our hearty Commendations: whereas We have given order to the
Sheref of the Countie of Suffolke to deliver certain Prisoners into
your hands, who were by our order commytted for their obstinacy in
refusing to come to the Church in time of Sermons sad Common Prayers:
Thes shal be to require you to receive them into your chardge and
forthwith to commytt them to such of her Majesty's gaoles within that
Countie as shall seeme good unto the Lord Bishop of Norwiche, by
whose direction they shall be delivered unto you, ther to remayne in
Cloase Prison untill such tyme as you shalbe otherwise directed from
us. And so we bid you heartely farewell.
From Whitehall, the xxiijrd of February, 1878.
Your loving Freands
W. Burghley. E. Lyncoln. T. Sussex.
F. Knollys. E. Leycester.
Chr. Hatton. Fra. Walsingham. Tho. Wilson.
In 1643 an order was sent to fortify the castle, at the request of the
deputy lieutenant of the county; the order is signed by seven staunch and
influential opponents of the royal party, viz. Tho. Wodehouse, John
Palgrave, Tho. Hoggan, Miles Hobart, J. Spelman, Tho. Sotherton, Gre.
Gawsett.
Information concerning it from this period is scanty, probably little of
interest is connected with its later history, beyond the calendar of
prisoners who have been lodged within its precincts, of which we have no
record, and were it otherwise, we should be reluctant to consult its
pages for materials to enhance the attractions of our "Rambles."
It is to the history of the period prior to its appropriation as a
prison, that we must look for a picture of the life once animating its
halls and banquet chambers, and from the general outlines of feudal
society and government, a tolerably faithful portrait of it may be drawn.
The age of feudalism has been extolled with enthusiasm only equal to that
which has deprecated it beyond measure; it has even been proposed as a
model for future ages by the cotemporary voice to that which has
pronounced it as exclusively a time of immorality, despotism, and
superstition; between the two extremes, a wide field of truth lies open
to be explored.
"It was a time," as Guizot says, "when religion was the principle and end
of all institutions, while military functions were the forms and means of
action."
All social movements partook of this twofold character, as questions of
commerce and industry were decidedly subordinate.
The land was divided between the military barons possessed of regal
authority and governing as kings in their petty kingdoms--the church,
also proprietors of large estates, and the cities, then only beginning to
rise from their abject nullity into an importance that has gone on
increasing until commerce has become the sovereign of the world--Mammon
its god. The individualism of barbarism was sunk in the centralisation
to which this system gave birth; and from the social arrangements
connected with it, sprung up that spirit of chivalry that was so marked a
characteristic of the times, than which nothing more fully exemplified
the singular combination of military and religious fervour. Isolated
from all communion with general society, a castle was at once a city and
a family in itself, youths were apprenticed, as it were, to learn the
usages of knighthood, and in the capacity of pages, from earliest
boyhood, were initiated into the forms and courtesies of chivalrous and
military exercises. In this task women bore their part, the youths being
ever treated as sons of the lord or knight under whose tutelage they had
been placed; from this they became promoted to the rank of esquires, and
perfected in the arts of tilting, riding, hunting, and hawking,
frequently of music, and in case of war were qualified to follow the
banner of their instructors. The rank or military renown of a baron
helped to swell the list of esquires and pages in his retinue; hence many
castles were complete colleges of chivalry. The close association of
years in such familiar relationship cut off from all other social
communion, engendered strong attachments, and fraternities, superseding
often the ties of common relationship, sprung up.
The imposing ceremony that accompanied the distinction of knighthood was
the finishing touch to this education. The candidate, after several
lonely nights of prayer and watching in some church or chapel, during
which period he received the sacraments of religion, was finally arrayed
in full splendour, conducted in grand procession to a church with the
sword of knighthood suspended by a scarf; the weapon was blessed by an
officiating priest, and the oaths administered which bound him to defend
the church and clergy, be the champion of virtuous women, especially the
widow or orphan, and to be gentle ever to the weak. Warriors then of
high degree, or ladies, then buckled on the spurs, clothed him in suits
of armour, and the prince or noble from whom he received the knighthood,
finally advanced, and giving the accolade, which consisted of three
gentle strokes with the flat of the sword, exclaimed, "In the name of
God, St. Michael, and St. George, I make thee a knight; be hardy, brave,
and royal." From this date he might aspire to the highest offices and
distinctions.
The domestic comforts that graced the private life within these castle
halls, formed striking contrasts to the magnificence of the knightly and
military displays, although the walls often were hung with gorgeous
tapestries, and the banqueting table groaned beneath the weight of gold
and silver, the refinements essential to modern ideas of comfort were
unknown. The fingers of the eater supplied the place of forks, and when
withdrawn from rich dishes, were often employed in tearing the morsels of
food asunder. Straw and rushes were the substitutes for carpets, and
clumsy wooden benches and tables supported the guests and viands at these
entertainments; those who were unfortunate enough not to obtain a seat at
the board were compelled to make use of the floor. Several English
estates were held upon condition of furnishing straw for royal beds, and
litter for the apartment floors of a palace; and the office of rush
strewer remained in the list of the royal household to a very late
period. Doubtless these deficiences were of slight importance to an
active out-door people, whose happiness consisted in large retinues, rich
armours, and splendid tournaments; even the ladies, with hunting,
hawking, and the occasional amusement of displaying their skill in
archery from the loop-holes or ramparts of their castles, when acting as
viceroys for their sovereign lords, no doubt could well dispense with the
minor occupations of refined civilization.
The bill of fare of a feudal banquet would possibly astonish and puzzle
the gastronomic powers and digestive organs of the nineteenth century,
although cookery was esteemed as a noble science even then, in the days
when Soyer was not. The boar's head, the peacock, occasionally served up
in his feathers, the crane or young herons, might not have been
altogether bad substitutes for turkeys and geese, but whether larded,
roasted, and eaten with ginger, and often served in their feathers, they
might have been suited to our modern tastes is problematical; porpoises
and seals that often appeared in the list of "goodly provisions" for
special occasions, may scarcely be deemed more of dainties; and the
compounds that figure in some of the recipes extant, of the more mystical
entrees, present to the eye such medleys, that we feel certain of a
preference for the plain "roast" or "boil," in feudal times, at least, if
not at all others. Force-meats, compounded of pork, figs, cheese, and
ale, seasoned with pepper, saffron, and salt, baked in a crust, and
garnished with powderings of sugar and comforts, may be quoted as a
sample of their made dishes, while beef-tea, enriched with pork fat,
beaten up with cream and sweetened with honey, as directed by their form,
possibly was classed among the delicate soups, or ranged under the head
of "_sick cookery_."
The bread that formed the substitute for our best and "second
households," was of various kinds, the finest being a sort of spice-cake
of superior quality; simnel and wastel cakes were the ordinary food for
the aristocracy, while commoners were content with a coarse brown
material manufactured from rye, oats, or barley, that would at this day
cause a revolution in prisons, or pauper workhouses, were it to be found
in the dietary table of either, much less on the dinner-table. The
special wines, hippocras, pigment, morat, and mead, were the temptations
to inebriety among the rich; cider, perry, and ale, the form of alcoholic
drinks common to the less affluent.
The record of Peter de Blois, in one of his letters from the Court of
Henry II., may be estimated perhaps as a faithful, if not attractive,
description of the ordinary fare on which many unfortunate knights and
retainers were sometimes compelled to subsist. He tells us that a priest
or soldier had bread put before him, "not kneaded, not leavened, made of
the dregs of beer, like lead, full of bran, and unbaked, wine spoiled by
being sour or mouldy, thick, greasy, rancied, tasting of pitch, and
vapid, sometimes so full of dregs, that they were compelled rather to
filter than drink it, with eyes shut and teeth closed; meat stale as
often as fresh; fish often four days old." The picture is heightened by
sundry details of a pungent character, all tending to prove the truth of
his assertion, that powerful exercise was an essential assistant to
overcome the evils of such diet. Early hours possibly contributed to
lessen its injurious effects; and these of course, at any rate as far as
regarded the "early to bed," were enforced by the curfew, which has so
mistakenly been attributed to the Norman Conqueror's despotism, whereas
it had long prevailed as a custom here, as on the continent, prior to his
era, and was, in fact, a necessary precaution against the dangers of
fire, when the dwelling-houses that formed a town or city were little
more than bundles of faggots, well dried and bound up ready for burning.
Among the social amusements of that time, gambling seems to have
prevailed to a great extent. The curious prohibitions that were enacted
in the reign of Richard, would indicate that it had then grown into a
formidable vice; kings were permitted to play with each other, and
command their followers, but the nobles were restricted to losing twenty
shillings in one night; priests and knights might, with permission, play
to the same amount, but were to forfeit four times twenty shillings if
they exceeded it; servants might also play to a limited extent, at the
_command_ of their master, but if they ventured without such permission,
they subjected themselves to the penalty of being whipped three
successive days; and mariners at sea, for a like transgression, were
sentenced to be ducked three times for the offence. Chess, that infinite
and insoluble intellectual problem, whose origin is lost in oriental
obscurity, was introduced by the Crusaders on their return from their
expeditions to the Holy Land, if, indeed, as some believe, it was not
known in this country prior to that date; but if we may judge by
inference, we may presume it to have been no favourite recreation in
those spirit-stirring times, when crusades, tournaments, and military
prowess were the end and aim of men's lives. The amusements and sports
naturally partook of the character of the age, and hunting, hawking,
tilting, and tournaments were at once the schools for gaining strength
and dexterity, as well as safety-valves for the overflowing mobility
engendered by the spirit of the times. These pursuits were elevated to
the rank of perfect sciences, and the education of a youth was incomplete
that did not embrace regular tuition in all of them. Nor were they, as
we know, confined to the "lords of the creation." In hunting, ladies not
only often joined in the sport, but frequently formed parties by
themselves, winding the horn, rousing the game, and pursuing it without
assistance, the female Nimrods manifesting especial partiality to
greyhounds--or hare-hounds, as they were then called. The objects of
these hunts were somewhat more numerous and varied then than now, and
were divided into three classes; first, the beasts for hunting, viz. the
hare, the hart, the wolf, and the wild boar; secondly, the beasts of the
chase, the buck and doe, the fox, the martin, and the roe; and a minor
class, which were said to afford great disport in the pursuit, the
_grey_, or badger, the wild cat, and the otter.
The poor little hare and a fox or two, alone are left us of all these
original tenants of the soil; and game laws were, even in those days of
plentiful supply, found needful to preserve the aborigines of the woods
as their especial property, by the great ones of the land, and when
manslaughter was to be atoned for by a fine of money, the death of a head
of deer was punishable by the forfeiture of the offender's eyes, and a
second instance by death. Who will dispute the aristocratic lineage of
the game laws, with such facts of history before them? Hunting had its
proper seasons; the wolf and fox might be hunted from Christmas-day to
the Annunciation, the roebuck from Easter to Michaelmas, the roe from
Michaelmas to Candlemas, the hare from Michaelmas to Midsummer, the boar
from the Nativity to the day of the "Presentation in the Temple."
The clergy were not behind-hand in partaking of the privileges of the
chase within their own demesnes, and they took care generally to have
good receptacles for game in their parks and enclosures. At the time of
the Reformation, the see of Norwich had no less than thirteen parks well
stocked with deer; and the name of one of the city churches, St. Peter's,
Hungate, is derived from the _Hound's_-gate, where the bishop's hounds
were stabled.
Hawking was a sport, until the magna charta, exclusively confined to the
nobility; lords and ladies alike indulged themselves in the exercise,
which from its gentleness, in comparison with others then in vogue, was
deemed somewhat an effeminate pastime, probably because, in the delicate
dexterity it required, the ladies bore off the palm of victory.
A hawk's eyrie was returned in doomsday-book as one of the most valuable
articles of property; and the estimation in which the bird was held, may
be judged of by the enormous prices given for them, and the heavy
penalties attached to stealing either them or their eggs; for destroying
one of which the offender was liable to imprisonment for a twelvemonth
and a day. Perhaps, however, this is no very safe criterion of their
intrinsic value, or those sentences that sometimes figure in our modern
assize reports--where seven years' transportation for stealing two ducks
from an open pond, stands side by side with twelve months' imprisonment
for murdering a wife, a friend, or a child, in a fit of temporary
insanity, alias intoxication--might lead to rather curious inferences.
But to return to our hawks; a thousand pounds for a cast of these birds,
and a hundred marks for a single one, are recorded prices. In hawking,
the bird was carried on the wrist, which was protected by a thick glove,
the head of the bird covered with a hood, and its feet secured to the
wrist by straps of leather, called jesses, and to its legs were fastened
small bells, toned according to the musical scale.
Among the chronicles of old monkish writers prior to the Conquest, is a
story accounting for the first advent of the Danes upon our shores, as
connected with the amusement of hawking: "A Danish chieftain of high
rank, named Lothbroc, amusing himself with hawking near the sea, upon the
western shores of Denmark, the bird in pursuit of her game fell into the
water; Lothbroc, anxious for her safety, got into a little boat that was
near at hand, and rowed from the shore to take her up; but before he
could return to land, a sudden storm arose, and he was driven out to sea.
After suffering great hardships, during a voyage of infinite peril, he
reached the coast of Norfolk, and landed at a port called Reedham, (now a
small village on the railway line from London to Yarmouth,) where he was
immediately seized by the inhabitants, and sent to the court of Edmund,
King of the East Angles, who received him favourably, and soon became
strongly attached to him for his skill in training and flying hawks. The
partiality shown to the foreigner excited the jealousy of Beoric, the
king's falconer, who took an opportunity of murdering the Dane whilst he
was exercising his birds in a small wood, where he secreted the body.
The vigilance of a favourite spaniel discovered the deed. Beoric was
apprehended and convicted of the murder, and condemned to be put in an
open boat, without sails, oars, or rudder, and abandoned to the mercy of
the winds and wares. It so chanced that the boat was wafted to the very
point of land that Lothbroc came from; and Beoric was apprehended by the
Danes, and taken before their two chieftains, Hinguer and Hubba, the sons
of Lothbroc, to whom the crafty falconer made a statement as ingenious as
false, wherein he affirmed that their father had been murdered by Edmund,
and himself sent adrift for opposing the deed. Irritated by the
falsehood, the Danes invaded the kingdom of the East Angles, pillaged
their country, took their king prisoner, tied him to a stake, and shot
him to death with arrows." Lidgate, a monk of St. Edmund's at Bury, has
given this legend a place in his poetical life of the tutelary saint of
his monastery, but it bears upon it every mark of a legendary tale, and
the fact is well known that Danish pirates had infested the shores long
prior to the date assigned to the events narrated in it.
The office of "queen's falconer" yet exists, and it is written in a
certain little black book, that the duties attached to it, however
imaginary, receive substantial acknowledgement from the public purse in
the form of an annual stipend of no mean amount. Another recreation
peculiarly associated with the memory of knights and dames once tenanting
the feudal castle is the tournament, the site of whose gorgeous
pageantries yet bears the title of the "Gilden croft," though the lustre
of the name is the only ray of splendour bequeathed to it as an
inheritance of glory. Centuries have witnessed the mutations of the
properties of the great ones of the land, as they have gradually passed
down through the various gradations of society like cast-off garments,
until the once brilliant lists of the gay tournament have changed to long
tiers of poverty tenanted "_right ups_;" the music of the herald's
trumpet has been replaced by the rattle of the shuttle and the loom; and
the steel-clad knights and esquires, with their tiltings and joustings,
amid the smiles and favours of youth and beauty, have given place to the
struggles of the weaver and the winder in their weary battle of life, for
the guerdon of daily bread. Where, Edward and Phillippa held their
Easter tournament, and their gallant son, the brave Black Prince,
displayed his knightly prowess amid splendours that might rival the
"field of the cloth of gold," poverty, hard labour, and penury now rear
their gaunt limbs; and the tale of the "Paramatta weaver" is breathed
forth to the listening ear of humanity from its precincts.
But the tournament demands attention, inwrought as it is with every
conception we may form of the days of chivalry; and, thanks to the
patient researches of many chroniclers, we have not much difficulty in
learning all we may desire to know concerning these glories of an age
gone by. Fiction has given life and vigour to these features of past
history. Ivanhoe lives and breathes before us at the mention of a
tournament, and plain prose facts may not vie with the glowing pictures,
painted with imagination's rainbow hues. The tournament was not
altogether the play-ground of full-grown knights and esquires, as romance
would sometimes tend to show it;--it was the theatre on which many an
important drama of life was played; it was a grand field for introduction
into military life, then the only life deemed worthy the ambition of a
gentleman; and the laws and regulations to which all who presented
themselves as candidates for honours became subject, bespeak the
importance attached to the favours it conferred.
The mode of conducting a tournament was established by law. It was
preceded always by a proclamation; one worded thus, is given by Strutt:
"Be it known unto you, lords, knights, and esquires, ladies and
gentlewomen," (they did not in those days of chivalry commence ladies, my
lords and gentlemen) "you are hereby acquainted, that a superb
achievement in arms, and a grand and noble tournament, will be held in
the parade of Clarencieux king at arms, on the part of the most noble
baron, lord of I. C. B., and on the part of the most noble baron the lord
of C. B. D., in the parade of Norreys king at arms." The regulations
that follow are these: "The two barons on whose part the tournament is
undertaken shall be at their pavilions two days before the commencement
of the sports, when each of them shall cause his arms to be attached to
his pavilion, and set up his banner in front of his parade; and all those
who wish to be combatants on either side, must in like manner set up
their banner on either side before the parade allotted to them. Upon the
evening of the same day, they shall shew themselves in their stations,
and expose their helmets to view at the windows of their pavilions. On
the morrow the champions shall be at their parades by the hour of ten in
the morning, to await the commands of the lord of the parade, and the
governor, who are the speakers of the tournament; at this meeting the
prizes of honour are determined." In the document from which this is
taken, a rich sword was to be the reward of the most successful on the
part of Clarencieux, and a helmet for the best on the side of Norreys.
It goes on to say, "On the morning of the day appointed for the
tournament, the arms, banners and helmets of all the combatants shall be
exposed at their stations, and the speakers present at the place of
combat by ten of the clock, where they shall examine the arms and approve
or reject them at pleasure; the examination being finished and the arms
returned to the owners, the baron who is the challenger shall then cause
his banner to be placed at the beginning of the parade, and the blazon of
his arms to be nailed to the roof of his pavilion; his example is to be
followed by the baron on the opposite side, and all the knights of either
party who are not in their stations before the nailing up of the arms,
shall forfeit their privileges and not be permitted to tournay.
"The king at arms and the heralds are then commanded by the speakers to
go from pavilion to pavilion crying aloud, '_To Achievement_, _knights
and esquires_, _to Achievement_,' being the notice for them to arm
themselves; and soon after the company of heralds shall repeat the former
ceremony, having the same authority, saying, '_Come forth_, _knights and
esquires_, _come forth_;' and when the two barons have taken their places
in the lists, each of them facing his own parade, the champions on both
parts shall arrange themselves, every one by the side of his banner; and
then two cords shall be stretched between them, and remain in that
position, until it shall please the speakers to command the commencement
of the sports. The combatants shall each of them be armed with a
pointless sword, having the edges rebated, and with a truncheon hanging
from their saddles, and they may use either the one or the other, so long
as the speakers shall give them permission, by repeating the sentence,
'_Let them go on_.' After they have sufficiently performed their
exercise, the speakers are to call to the heralds, and order them to
'_Fold up the banners_,' which is the signal for the conclusion of the
tournament. The banners being rolled up, the knights and esquires are
permitted to return to their dwellings."
Every knight or esquire performing in the tournament, was permitted to
have one page within the lists, (but without a truncheon or any other
defensive weapon,) to wait upon him, give him his sword, or truncheon, as
occasion might require; and also in case of any accident happening to the
armour, to repair it.
The laws of the tournament permitted any knight to unhelm himself at
pleasure, if he was incommoded by the heat; none being suffered to
assault him in any way, until he had replaced his helmet at the command
of the speakers.
The king-at-arms and the heralds who proclaimed the tournament, had the
privilege of wearing the blazon of arms of those by whom the sport was
instituted; besides which, they were entitled to six ells of scarlet
cloth as their fee, and had all their expenses defrayed during the
continuance of the tournament; by the law of arms they had a right to the
helmet of every knight when he made his first essay at a tournament; they
also claimed six crowns as nail money, for affixing the blazon of arms to
the pavilion. The king at arms held the banners of the two chief barons
on the day of the tournament, and the other heralds the banners of their
confederates according to their rank.
The lists for the tournaments and those appointed for ordeal combats,
were appointed in the same manner; the king found the field to fight in,
and the lists were made and devised by a constable; they were to be sixty
paces long and forty broad, set up in good order, the ground within hard
and level, without any great stones or other impediments, the entrances
to them to be by two doors east and west, strongly barred with bars seven
feet high, that a horse may not leap them.
After the conclusion of the tournament, the combatants retired to their
homes, but usually met again in the evening at some entertainment; where
they were joined by all the nobility, including the ladies, and dancing,
feasting and singing concluded the day. After supper the speakers of the
tournament called together the heralds appointed on both sides, and
demanded from them alternately the names of those who had best performed
on the opposite sides; the double list was then presented to the ladies
who had been present at the pastime, and the decision was referred to
them as to the award of the prizes; they selected one name from each
party, and the successful heroes received their prizes from the hands of
two young maidens of rank. If a knight transgressed the rules he was
excluded from the lists with a sound beating, from which alone the
intercession of ladies could save him; so the influence of the fair sex
had opportunities of being practically felt, as well as theoretically
talked of, even then.
The juste or lance game differed from the tournament and was often
included in it, when it took place at its conclusion, but it was quite
consistent with the rules of chivalry for justs to be held separately;
the sword was the weapon used at the tournament, the lance at the juste.
The juste received the title of the "Round table game," in the reign of
Henry III., from a fraternity of knights who frequently justed together,
and accustomed themselves to associate and eat together in one apartment
at a round table, where every place was equally honourable (even in
feudal times a taint of democracy would creep in). Historians attribute
this round table game to Arthur, the son of Uter Pendragon, that famous
British hero, whose achievements are so disguised with legendary wonders
that his very existence has been questioned.
At both tilts and tournaments the lists were superbly decorated,
surrounded by the pavilions of the champions, and ornamented with their
coats and banners. The scaffolds for the accommodation of the spectators
were hung with tapestry, and embroidered with gold and silver; all
attended in their most sumptuous apparel, and the display of costly
grandeur glittering over the whole surface of the field, might well earn
for the memorable scene so designated, its title of the Gilden Croft.
Wealth, beauty, and grandeur were concentrated into one focus, whence
they blazed forth to the eye as from a burning lens.
The dress of the combatants varied according to the rank of the
individual. Above the under-dress of cloth, fitting close, and common to
all, was worn the _chausses_, or mail coverings for the feet and legs,
somewhat resembling metal stockings; upon the body the gambeson, a sort
of close jacket made of cloth or leather doubled and stuffed, and in
itself oftentimes a most efficient case of defensive armour; this
garment, without sleeves, and universally worn by all classes of men, was
also occasionally introduced into the catalogue of ladies' attire, and no
doubt was the primitive model for the stays of later generations. Above
the gambeson was worn the _gorget_ or throat piece, beneath the _hauberk_
or coat of mail, by which it was concealed; this was the garment that
peculiarly designated the rank of the wearer. Esquires might not wear
sleeves of mail, and none might claim to wear the complete suit that were
not possessed of certain estates. Above the armour was usually worn some
outer dress, a surcoat or mantle of rich material. The sword belt was a
necessary part of the warrior's dress, and was often very elaborately
embellished with precious stones, but more commonly made simply of plain
leather. Another belt was also worn over the left shoulder, to support
the shield.
The helmet comprised the whole armour for the head and face, and usually
consisted of two parts, one moving over the other, by which means the
face could be uncovered or perfectly inclosed at pleasure. These
portions of the dress, however, varied to an almost infinite degree at
various times, and at a later period were exchanged for the Bacinet,
Cervaliere, Coif de fer, &c. &c.
Gloves of mail were attached to the sleeves of the hauberk, and were
sometimes divided at the extremities for the accommodation of the fingers
and thumb, but not often. Such was the military costume of the knight in
armour, and the dress of the spectators, both gentlemen and ladies, must
not altogether be left unnoticed. The tunic and rich surcoat above,
sometimes varied with a hooded mantle, and the robe a long garment of the
tunic kind, were the leading characteristics of male attire; shoes with
long points, cloth sandals, ornamented with embroidery, girdles enriched
with precious stones, gloves and spurs completed the suit.
The ladies wore gowns, or upper tunics, or robes, with surcoats varying
much in length, sometimes being shorter than the tunic, at others
trailing on the ground, with long loose sleeves, open beneath to the
elbow, and falling thence almost to the feet. Their mantles were made of
the richest materials, and copiously embellished with gold, silver, and
rich embroideries, sometimes decorated with fringes of gold, varying in
size almost as much as material. The wimple was a head-dress, worn with
or without an additional veil, usually linen, but occasionally of silk,
embroidered with gold. It was a species of veil, covering the head but
not the face, and fastened underneath the chin, or at the top of the
head, by a circlet of gold. The hair was worn loose and flowing, often
without any covering, but frequently bound by a chaplet of goldsmith's
work and flowers, or of the latter only. Boots and gloves were in the
inventory of necessaries, but, alas for comfort, stockings were rare,
white, black, or blue. With this faint sketch of an Anglo-Norman
wardrobe, as it furnished materials to add splendour to the glittering
field of sport, we bid farewell to the lists, not, however, without one
more word as to the honourable position awarded to the gentler sex in the
jousts, which were usually made in their especial honour, and over which
they presided as judges paramount; so that it behoved every true knight
to have a favourite fair one, who was not only esteemed by him as the
paragon of beauty and virtue, but supplied to him often the place of a
tutelary saint, to whom he paid his vows in the day of peril; for it was
then an established doctrine that "love made valour perfect, and incited
heroes to great enterprizes." Alas! for the good old times of chivalry,
when women were content to make _great warriors_; but as she did her
mission in that day, so may she, in this sober life of mental tiltings,
lend her meed of influence to people the world with _great men_. And so
farewell to tournaments; verily they are of the past, and their glitter
dazzles our senses, in this generation of moral _versus_ physical force,
when among the number of the people's favourite heroes is the champion of
Universal Peace Societies.
But we must not leave our sketch of the life in a feudal castle, without
one glance at the feminine employments that served to relieve the
monotonous existence of the isolated dames condemned to comparative
solitude within its walls; nor are we able to discover much, if any,
variety in their occupations. The embroidery frame, and an occasional
spindle and distaff, before the improvements in arts and science had
substituted factories and looms, were almost the only resources allowed
them; but these were inexhaustible, and the many elaborate specimens of
their skill that have survived the casualties of a hundred generations,
bear witness to the indefatigable perseverance with which they were
employed. The garments of the clergy at this period were richly
embroidered, so much so, as to excite the admiration of the pope, and
induce him to issue a bull to the English priests, enjoining them to
procure him vestments equally gorgeous. Many of these were the free-will
offerings of the rich, and the fruits of highborn ladies' industry.
Fringe-making of gold and silver, worked upon lace without the aid of the
needle, was another species of occupation afforded them, and constituted
the Phrygian work often spoken of by old historians. Cyprian work was a
variety of embroidery, inasmuch as it was a thin, transparent texture
like gauze, named _cyprus_, worked with gold. Cyprus was a term applied
also to black crape, then appropriated exclusively to widows' mourning;
possibly this might have been the origin of "wearing the cypress."
Embroidery was not alone confined to ornaments of dress, or even clerical
vestments; hangings for the chambers, and pictures on almost every
possible subject, were produced from the needle.
The tapestry at Bayeux, in Normandy, attributed to Matilda, the queen of
the Conqueror, represents the history of Harold, king of England, and
William of Normandy, from the embassy of the former to Duke William, at
the command of Edward the Confessor, to his final overthrow at Hastings.
The ground of this work is a white linen cloth or canvas, one foot eleven
inches in depth, and two hundred and twelve in length. The figures are
all in their proper colours, of a style not unlike those of japan ware,
having no pretence to symmetry or proportion. It is preserved with great
care in the cathedral dedicated to Thomas a Becket, in Normandy, and is
annually exhibited for eight days, commencing on St. John's day, and is
called _Duke William's toilette_.
It is, however, extremely questionable whether it was the work of the
royal lady,--many figures in it would indicate that its manufacture was
of more recent date--be it as it may, it is a wondrous specimen of
patient industry, and valuable for the representation of manners and
customs of the times traced upon it.
Here we bid farewell to castle halls, to the ghosts of belted knights and
hooded dames, to spinning wheels and tapestries, falcons, jennets,
tournaments, and banquets, to the border's bord upon the skirting of his
lord's domain, the serf's log hut, the cowherd's shed, and the prisoner's
dungeon,--the moat, once deep and flowing, now dried up, and teeming with
cultivated trees and shrubs, and ornamental flowers, and sculptured
figures,--we say adieu to the past history, written on the flints and
mortar of the ramparts, that have braved the "battle and the breeze," for
near a thousand years,--and leave the soaring heights, whence we may look
down upon the little city world below as on a stage, whose scenes and
slips are all laid bare beneath us in their skeleton machinery--dark
lanes and lumbering alleys crowded round, and shut in out of sight, by
facial frontings of glass, and brick, and plaster. Churches and
heaped-up churchyards, bursting their walls with the accumulated
corruption of centuries of generations,--distant villages and village
spires,--and spots made sacred by the blood of hero-martyrs,--the winding
river, once the stormy sea-passage for Norsemen and Saxon fleets--and
take one final leave of the giant mound,--whose origin, whether first
reared in Celtic ages far remote, a temple to the Sun, or a portion of
the far-famed Icknild Way, that crosses our island like a belt from
south-west to north-east, whether the architecture of Danes, Saxons, or
Normans, is alike full of history and of poetry, and the well garnered
store-house of many a rich and precious truth,--a monument of the past,
ever present to our eye, as a landmark by which to measure the progress
of our nation in religion, freedom, and social happiness.