THE CATHEDRAL
From the swelling green hills that look over Canterbury the distant
glimpses of the Cathedral towers gleaming in that opalescent light
that is the joy of a summer's morning in Kent, are so hauntingly
beautiful that it is hard to believe that no disillusionment need be
anticipated when the ancient city is entered and the great church seen
at close quarters in the midst of a little city whose busy streets are
agog with twentieth-century interests; and yet apprehension is
entirely needless. From St. Dunstan's Church, where Henry II. stripped
himself to a shirt and cloak on entering as a penitent, the road is
lined with houses whose quietly picturesque frontages improve as the
city proper is neared, and at the end of a most pleasing perspective
stands the West Gate, a great stone gateway with round towers. Passing
through the archway, one is at once in the narrow, jostling
familiarity of the medieval St. Peter's Street. This crosses one at
the arms of the Stour, and continues as High Street, becoming
increasingly rich in overhanging storeys and curious sixteenth and
seventeenth century fronts. One's eye glances rapidly from side to
side, until, on the left, an exceedingly narrow turning gives a
peep--such a peep as no other city can give unless it be Rouen--of the
Cathedral's western towers rising above a sumptuously enriched stone
gateway framed by tall, timbered houses, which nod towards one another
in the neighbourly fashion of old cronies. It might be that the modern
pilgrim, whose course is thus arrested by the vision he sees in this
cleft called Mercery Lane, might have had some intention of going
straight through the city to St. Martin's Church outside the walls to
the east; but, if so, he is a strong man who resists the appeal of
that narrow way belonging altogether to the world of romance. He
stands for a moment transfixed, and then plunges into the opening,
forgetful of his original purpose in the vivid reality before him. He
walks down the lane trodden century after century by countless
pilgrims and enters the Cathedral precincts through the weather-worn
gateway, Prior Goldstone II. built between 1507 and 1517.
From the archway the first near vision of the vast pile is unfolded,
nearly the whole of the south side being visible. Immediately opposite
are the two western towers, the nearer one finished in 1451 and the
further rebuilt seventy years ago. The heavily buttressed nave, in the
same Perpendicular style, stretches away to the transept, where the
eye mounts up higher and higher until it rests on the clustered
pinnacles of the _campanilis Angeli_--the Angel Tower, as Prior
Molashe by some happy inspiration chose to call the imposing feature
he added to his priory church. Beyond the south-west transept appears
the plain Norman work of the larger and more massive transept to the
east, with its beautiful staircase tower built into the inner angle, a
part of Conrad's "glorious" choir. The remaining eastern parts of the
Cathedral are not visible from this point, but as one walks
eastwards--the other way is closed by the Archbishop's Palace--St.
Anselm's Tower and Trinity Chapel with its corona, or semicircular
extension, successively appear. Armed even with such brief information
as that given in the preceding chapter, one gazes on these weathered
cliffs of wrought stone with quickened breath, reading into the
Transitional Norman work the strange story of the historic murder
which brought so much wealth to this spot that the Cathedral in its
present form is due to little else. To wipe out Becket's name
completely Henry VIII. would have needed to demolish the whole church.
[Illustration: THE DOORWAY INTO THE TRANSEPT OF MARTYRDOM FROM THE
CLOISTERS.
It was through this doorway that Becket was followed by his murderers
on that fatal afternoon in 1170 when the winter twilight was
deepening.]
The smooth turf along the south side of the Cathedral was used by the
monks as a lay cemetery, and the fairly extensive space to the
south-east shaded by old elms was their own burial-ground. All the
monastic buildings were, contrary to the usual custom, on the north,
for having only a narrow space between the south side of their church
and the wall which Lanfranc built to secure the whole monastery, they
naturally built on their extensive piece of ground running right up to
the city wall to the north. Rounding the east end of the Cathedral,
therefore, one finds under its ample shadow the remains of many of the
domestic offices of the great priory. The great hall, with its kitchen
and offices, is now part of the house of one of the prebendaries, and
is not accessible to the public, but to the west are the interesting
ruins of the infirmary. This was a long building with aisles, having
a chapel opening out of it to the east, so that the sick brethren
while lying in their beds could listen to the services. The south
arcade of this chapel, consisting of four Norman arches with an
ivy-grown clerestory, is still standing, and there are also some
arches of the south side of the hall still showing the orange-pink
colour produced on the stone by the disastrous fire in 1174, when
Conrad's choir was reduced to a ruin. Adjoining the western end of the
infirmary hall, and now a part of the Cathedral, is the beautiful
Transitional-Norman treasury built on to St. Andrew's Chapel. Going to
the right through a passage called the Dark Entry, one has the site of
the prior's lodging on the right and on the left the infirmary
cloister, and north of it the smaller dormitories of the monks. This
passage-way leads through the vaulted Prior's Gate to the Green Court,
a wide grassy space shaded by great limes and other trees. Framed
between the spreading branches appears one of the most perfect
groupings of the Angel Steeple with the piled-up roofs of the library,
chapter house, and north-west transept as steps leading up to the vast
tower, whose presence has an uplifting effect on the mind, scarcely
equalled by the solemn immensity of the nave when one first
enters--but the interior must wait for a little, while the remaining
portions of the precincts are seen.
Adjoining the Prior's Gate to the east is the building now used as the
Deanery. It was built by Prior Goldstone in late Perpendicular times
as a guest-house for the reception of strangers, but has been much
altered since that time. At the north-west corner of the court is a
very fine Norman gateway, now surrounded by the modern buildings of
the King's School, and a little to the right is a Norman staircase,
which by the goodness of Providence was allowed to remain when other
destruction was in progress. This beautiful and unique example of a
staircase of this early period is the most remarkable feature of the
monastic remains. Beyond the Green Court Gate stood the almonry and a
granary, and south of these buildings was the Archbishop's Palace, so
ruined in Puritan times that the remains of a gateway in Palace Street
is practically all that can now be seen. The present palace is quite
modern. Coming back to the Cathedral, the remarkably picturesque
little circular Lavatory Tower standing on late Norman open arches is
noticeable in its shadowy seclusion among the lofty walls of the choir
chapels. This is generally known as the Baptistery, but the name only
began to be used when the font Bishop Warner presented to the
Cathedral was placed there. In the little garden in front of the
Lavatory Tower are two Roman columns brought from Reculver more than a
century ago when the church there became a ruin. West of this tower is
the library, standing on part of the site of the great dormitory, and
opening on to the cloisters is the chapter house, commenced in 1304 by
Prior Estria and finished in 1378 by Prior Chillenden. The windows at
the east and west ends are the largest in the Cathedral.
The great cloister, like the chapter house, largely owes its present
appearance to Prior Chillenden, and is of exceedingly beautiful
Perpendicular work with a splendid roof of lierne vaulting. Part of
the south walk, with the doorway into the north transept--the
successor to the Norman one through which Becket passed to his
death--is shown in Mr. Biscombe Gardner's drawing facing page 43. If
one enters the Cathedral from this point, especially if it should be
in the twilight of a gloomy day, the atmosphere of the murder seems to
be all about one, notwithstanding the rebuilding at a later period of
the actual scene, but the historic entrance is by the south porch
facing the great gate of the priory, and as it is still the usual
place of entry this short account of the interior will begin at that
point.
[Illustration: THE GREYFRIARS' HOUSE IN CANTERBURY.
This picturesque house of the Franciscans, who came to the town in
1220, stands on a branch of the Stour near Stour Street.]
The porch belongs to the great period of rebuilding under Prior
Chillenden, and, with its double row of canopied niches containing
statues, is a beautiful feature, even with the central space which
contained a representation of the martyrdom of Becket still vacant
since the days of Henry VIII. There is in the first view of a vast
Cathedral nave something almost overpowering in its sense of ordered
beauty. It may be that average lives are so planless, so haphazard and
without order that an achievement of such magnitude representing years
of labour and concentrated thought in steadily following out a
preconceived plan cannot fail to be a tremendous contrast to the
smallness and pettiness of the majority--a contrast so great that it
is mentally and spiritually a glimpse of the world of new
possibilities attainable when once the feverish clinging to the ideals
of the totem post is abandoned. This vast nave, reminiscent in many
ways of Winchester, but far more satisfying, is generally bathed in a
cool, greenish light, and is, in reality, a magnificent vestibule to
the crowded interest beyond the transept. The effect of emptiness
existing to-day is vastly different to what the pilgrims used to gaze
upon while waiting their turn to be sprinkled with holy water, for
before the Reformation and the complete sweeping away of the
enrichments of Roman Catholic times the roof and walls were brilliant
with paintings, the windows glowed with the warm colour of medieval
glass, sumptuous hangings were suspended in many places and the altars
twinkling with lighted candles added much gilding and colour to the
aisles. All this barbarous crowding of colour and ornament, all this
splendour of a ritual that appealed to an age capable of stilling the
voice of conscience with an absolution obtainable for a few pence has
passed away, but the vast building remains to tell of the reality of
endeavour of one side of monastic life.
[Illustration: THE PICTURESQUE GABLED HOUSES OF THE CANTERBURY
WEAVERS.
The houses are reflected in the Stour just by King's Bridge, which
joins the High Street to St. Peter's Street.]
Across the great arch opening into the base of the tower is the
supporting arch inserted by Prior Goldstone II., who, as already
stated, built the Angel Steeple above the roof-line where it had been
left by Chillenden. The arch has been called a disfigurement, and as
it was not originally intended such an opinion may be justifiable, and
yet the beauty of the reticulated stonework and the consummate skill
which conceived the bold simplicity of design is so satisfying that it
is scarcely possible to wish that it were absent. Beneath this flying
arch appears the splendid western screen, approached by the flight of
steps necessitated by the crypt or undercroft, for, being on perfectly
level ground, there would have been no need for this unique feature.
Among the monuments in the nave aisles those on the south include the
memorial to Dean Farrar, who is buried in the great cloister, and
William Broughton, Bishop of Sydney and Adelaide, who was a scholar at
the King's School. In the north aisle the Tudor monument to Sir T.
Hales showing his burial at sea is curious and picturesque, and other
memorials are to Charles I.'s organist, Orlando Gibbons, and to the
Archbishops Boyes and Sumner.
The north-west transept, on the left as the steps to the choir are
ascended, is the scene of Becket's martyrdom, and the vergers show the
traditional spot where he fell. From the opposite transept, steps lead
down to the undercroft, and also up to the south choir aisle--the way
the pilgrims approached the shrine of St. Thomas. Also opening from
the south-west transept is St. Michael's or the Warrior's Chapel, as
it is now popularly called. In the illustration facing p. 30, the tomb
of Lady Margaret Holland and her two husbands, John Beaufort, Earl of
Somerset, and Thomas, Duke of Clarence, is shown occupying the centre
of the chapel, but it just misses a more interesting, if much less
beautiful, tomb, that of Stephen Langton, the courageous Archbishop
who took such a leading part in forcing John to sign Magna Charta. The
plain sarcophagus is partly within and partly outside the chapel, for
when it was rebuilt in the fourteenth century it was extended so much
to the east that it became necessary either to move Langton's tomb or
else to make an arch in the wall, and the latter course was taken,
with the curious result still to be seen. An astonishing contrast to
the clear-sighted action of this Norman Archbishop was the attitude of
Archbishop Howley (1828-1848) whose bitter hostility to the Reform
Bill in 1831 so raised the anger of the people of Canterbury that they
greeted his next arrival in the city with showers of stones and rotten
eggs. In the midst of a howling mob the archiepiscopal carriage
slowly struggled to the Deanery, bearing in it the amiable Churchman
who was convinced that the Reform Bill was "mischievous in its
tendency, and extremely dangerous to the fabric of the constitution."
Such words are deeply interesting at the present day, when many people
think they see, in progress on the same lines, dangers of an equally
unfounded order.
Passing along the south aisle of the choir, one gradually sees the
whole of the elaborately devised eastern parts of the Cathedral as
they were reconstructed by William of Sens and his English successor.
The arcades of alternately circular and octagonal pillars have richly
carved foliated capitals, and there is a lightness in form and a
profusion of carving that tells of the coming of the Gothic
style--indeed, so far in advance of the plain Norman work of Conrad is
the present choir that the change to pure Early English is slight in
comparison. In its great length this choir is unique, and in the
lowness of its vaulted roof is also unusual, but this is accounted for
by the undercroft beneath. From the centre of the choir the remarkable
inward bend of the walls, necessitated through the determination not
to alter the plan of the Trinity Chapel so hallowed by the memory of
the Blessed St. Thomas, is very noticeable: to some extent it helps to
give one an impression of the great length of the whole choir, with
the chapel beyond. The eastern transepts and chapels still have their
apsidal chapels almost as they were built by Conrad.
Ascending some more steps, the modern pilgrim reaches Trinity Chapel,
where his eyes, instead of falling upon a shrine encrusted with jewels
and precious metals, merely look between the pillars upon an empty
space. A vacant spot, however, can be eloquent enough, and to those
who have read Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" or the late Mr. Snowden
Ward's "Canterbury Pilgrimages," if they have gone no farther in the
study of this fascinating cult, the site of the shrine whose fame was
European is able to give almost as deep a thrill as any experienced by
the wayworn folk of the Middle Ages.
By going closer and examining the pavement, a shallow groove appears
marking the exact position of the base of the shrine. This was worn by
the endless stream of pilgrims as they knelt in ecstasy before the
object their eyes had longed to feast upon. To the west is a fine
thirteenth-century mosaic pavement similar to that in the Confessor's
Chapel at Westminster Abbey, to which it is very fitting to compare
this chapel, for if it is not quite a "Chapel of the Kings" it has a
King--Henry IV.--and a king's eldest son--the Black Prince--on either
side, and after Westminster Abbey there was scarcely a more sacred
spot in the kingdom than this.
It was fitting that Henry IV. should be buried here, for he had taken
a considerable amount of interest in the rebuilding of the nave, and
had been liberal in his financial aid. The effigies of Henry and his
second wife, Joan of Navarre, are believed to be faithful
representations. Of the tomb of Edward the Black Prince, if space
permitted, much could be said, for it is a magnificent piece of work
apart from the historical interest that attaches to the soldier
Prince, whose two great victories at Crécy and Poitiers have thrilled
every English schoolboy during all the subsequent centuries. The
strong iron railing has prevented any damage to the bronze or latten
effigy, and except for the tarnishing and general deterioration of
gilding and paint, one looks on the monument as it was erected in the
days of chivalry. All the details of this tomb had been arranged by
the Black Prince himself, and it was he who chose the Norman-French
inscription all can plainly read to-day. Above the tomb is suspended a
flat canopy of wood with an embattled moulding, and on the underside a
much decayed painting of the Trinity, if one may call it such when the
Dove is not represented. On the beam from which the canopy is
suspended are hung the shield, helmet, velvet coat, brass gauntlets,
and empty sword sheath which are the survivals of two complete suits,
one for peace, and one for war, which were carried at the funeral as
the Prince had ordered in his will.
The eastern extension of the chapel is called Becket's Crown, a name
tradition associates with the preservation in this chapel of a portion
of St. Thomas's skull. One window contains old glass, and in the
centre of the floor is placed the chair of Purbeck marble in which the
Archbishops are enthroned. As it is no longer considered as old as the
days of Augustine the title St. Augustine's Chair must be regarded as
a figure of speech.
By the most marvellous good fortune the wonderful series of windows in
Trinity Chapel, illustrating the many cures wrought at the Shrine of
St. Thomas, have come down to the present time almost unharmed, and
this magnificent range of thirteenth-century glass is finer than
anything else of its period in England. This glass is all prior to
1220, and without it there would have been no representation of the
first shrine at all. The colour in these windows is all subservient to
the careful drawing of the pictures in the medallions, but in the
north choir aisle there are some windows almost of the same period
where the colour is as splendid as in any of the early windows at
Chartres. For any description of the tombs of the archbishops there
is, unfortunately, no space here. In the splendid crypt, besides the
interest of the various periods of Norman and Transitional work, there
is the rich Perpendicular screenwork of the Chapel of Our Lady of the
Undercroft, and the Huguenot Chapel in what was the Black Prince's
Chantry. In Tudor times the whole of the undercroft was given up to
the French Protestant refugees, who, besides worshipping there, set up
their looms in this hallowed portion of the Cathedral where the martyr
was laid until his translation in 1220 and where Henry II. had passed
the night after his severe penance. This very short description of
such a building must be regarded as a mere introduction to the study
of a vast subject, for in the space available nothing more is remotely
possible.