PART II

I. THE RUNIC CROSSES OF NORTHUMBRIA

There is at the Victoria and Albert Museum at South Kensington a

remarkable plaster cast, the facsimile of one of the two beautiful

obelisks of Anglo-Saxon workmanship, which like far-reaching voices

speak to us across the gulf of at least nine centuries.

The interest which surrounds these ancient crosses is of a twofold

nature. There is the marvellous art expressed in the sculptured stones

themselves, and there is the mysterious charm of the runes with which

the stones are inscribed. The art is of a very high order, and in the

opinion of archaeologists such as Haigh, Kemble, Professor Stephens,

and others, better than anything of the kind produced in mediaeval

times, before the beginning of the thirteenth century.

The kingdom of Northumbria extended at its most flourishing period as

far north as Edinburgh, so named after the great Northumbrian King,

Edwin, its southern limit being, as its name implied, the river Humber.

Thus, the Ruthwell Cross in Dumfriesshire, and the Bewcastle Cross in

Cumberland, belonged alike to Anglia; for although Dumfries formed part

of the kingdom of Strathclyde, the territory to the east of Nithsdale

was generally reckoned a part of Northumbria, and if we were less

hampered by our modern geographical limits and boundaries, we should

better realise that the land north and south of the Tweed was one and

the same country, without distinction of race or language. And as if in

solemn protest of the political barriers, which were set up in the

course of ages, these two obelisks, the one now in Scotland, the other

in England, continue to point heavenwards, each bearing upon their

faces the same grand old Northumbrian language, which is the

mother-tongue of all English speaking people.

Both crosses have been, down to the present day, the subject of much

diversity of opinion among antiquaries, first with regard to their

respective ages, and secondly as to the authorship of the inscriptions

on the Ruthwell Cross. The celebrated Danish antiquary, Dr. Muller,

considered that the Ruthwell Cross could not be older than the year

1000, and he arrived at this conclusion by a study of the

ornamentation, which he placed as late as the Carlovingian period, the

style having been imported from France into England. Muller, however,

though a good archaeologist, was not a runic scholar, and Professor

George Stephens maintained* that not ornamentation merely, but a

variety of other things must also be taken into consideration, and that

these are often absolute and final, so that sometimes the object itself

must date the ornamentation. Then Dr. Haigh, who had passed his life in

the study of the oldest sculptured and inscribed stones of Great

Britain and Ireland, stepped in and pronounced "this monument (the

Ruthwell Cross) and that of Bewcastle to be of the same age and the

work of the same hand; and the latter must have been erected A.D.

664-5."*

* Old Northern Runic Monuments, Afterwrit, p. 431,

He was led to this conclusion not by the ornamentation, but rather in

spite of it; and in consideration of the runic inscriptions, which he

declared had not only passed out of date on funeral monuments as late

as the year 1000, but as he read the name of Alcfrid on the Bewcastle

Cross, he inferred both that and the Ruthwell Cross to be productions

of the latter half of the seventh century. The inscription, of which we

will treat more particularly later on, is to the effect that the

obelisk was raised to the memory of Alcfrid, son of that King of

Northumbria, who decided to celebrate Easter according to the Roman

precept. Alcfrid died about the year 664, and thus when we consider the

similarity of the ornamentation, and the character of the runes on both

obelisks, there seemed good reason for the above inference.

Dr. Haigh further remarked that the scroll-work on the east side of the

Bewcastle monument, and on the two sides of that at Ruthwell was

identical in design, and differed very much from that which he found on

other Saxon crosses. In fact, he knew of nothing like it, except small

portions on a fragment of a cross in the York museum, on another

fragment preserved in Yarrow Church, and on a cross at Hexham. There

are, however, several other such stones which were unknown to Dr.

Haigh, and engravings of them may be seen in Dr. John Stuart's

magnificent work on The Sculptured Stones of Scotland.

At Carew, in Pembrokeshire, runic crosses of the Saxon period without

figures may be seen, and there is a runic cross at Lancaster with

incised lines and a pattern in relief, supposed to be of the fifth or

sixth century. The sculptured stones of Meigle in Scotland have no

runes. Runes were, as it is well known, the characters used by the

Teutonic tribes of northwest Europe before they received the Latin

alphabet. They are divided into three principal classes, the

Anglo-Saxon, the Germanic, and the Scandinavian, bearing the same

relation to each other as do the different Greek alphabets. Their

likeness to each other is so great that a common origin may be ascribed

to all. They date from the dim twilight of paganism, but were for a

time employed in the service of Christianity, when after being imported

into this country where they were first used in pagan inscriptions cut

into the surface of rocks, or on sticks for casting lots, or for

divination, they were at last made to express Christian ideas on grave

crosses or sacred vessels.

"In times," says Kemble,* "when there was neither pen, ink, nor

parchment the bark of trees and smooth surfaces of wood or soft stone

were the usual depositaries of these symbols or runes--hence the name

run-stafas, mysterious staves answering to the Buchstaben of the

Germans.

* Archaeologia, vol. xxviii. On Anglo-Saxon Runes.

We may observe in passing, that the word Buchstaben, beech-staves, is a

direct descendant of these wooden runes.

As early as 1695 antiquaries were busy with the Ruthwell Cross, but at

the beginning of the nineteenth century profound ignorance still

reigned in regard even to the language which the runes were intended to

convey. Bishop Gibson, in his additions to Camden's Britannia,

described the cross vaguely as "a pillar curiously engraven with some

inscription upon it." In a second edition this reads, "with a Danish

inscription." Later it was thought to be Icelandic, and it was Haigh

who first thought that Caedmon and no other was the author of the runic

verses which he deciphered, considering that there was no one living at

the period to which he assigned the monument, who could have composed

such a poem but the first of all the English nation to express in verse

the beginning of created things.

In 1840, Kemble published his Runes of the Anglo-Saxons, showing that

the Ruthwell Cross was a Christian monument, and that the inscription

was nothing less than twenty lines of a poem in Old Northumbrian or

North English.

Meanwhile, in 1822, a German scholar, Dr. Friedrich Blume, had

discovered in the cathedral library at Vercelli in the Milanese six

Anglo-Saxon poems of the early part of the eleventh century, which

discovery aroused great interest both in Germany and in England. Blume

copied the manuscript, and Mr. Benjamin Thorpe printed and published

it. The learned philologist Grimm again printed the longest of the

poems in 1840, but it was Kemble who identified the fourth poem of the

series The Dream of the Rood with the runic inscription on the Ruthwell

Cross, and it was he who first suggested that all the poems in the

Vercelli Codex, consisting of 135 leaves, were by Cynewulf, who like

Caedmon was a Northumbrian, and lived in the second half of the eighth

century. It was Kemble also who first gave The Dream of the Rood a

modern English rendering.*

* A translation of the fragment in Old Northumbrian had indeed been

attempted at the beginning of the nineteenth century by Mr. Repp and

also by a disciple of the great Fin Magnusen, Mr. J. M. M'Caul, but the

least said about these versions the better, both being wide of the

mark. Being imperfectly acquainted with Old English they made the most

absurd statements regarding the purpose the monument was supposed to

have served.

So far steady progress had been made, except one step which is now

stated by modern Anglo-Saxon scholars to have been a false one.

Professor Stephens following Haigh thought he could decipher on the top

stone of the cross the words Cadmon Mae Fawed, and inferred therefrom

that the Cross Lay of which fragments were inscribed on the Ruthwell

monument was the work of Caedmon, "the Milton of North England in the

seventh century." But according to the evidence of the latest expert

who has examined the cross, Caedmon's name has never been on it, and

both linguistic and archaeological considerations assign the

inscription to the tenth century, and probably to the latter half of

it. This critic declares that there is "no shadow of proof or

probability that the inscription represents a poem written by Caedmon."

Sweet, on the other hand* describes The Dream of the Rood, in the

Vercelli Book, as an introduction to the Elene or Finding of the Cross

which is unmistakably claimed as Cynewulf's own by an acrostic

introduced into the runic letters which form his name, and goes on to

assert that the Ruthwell Cross gives a fragment of the poem in the Old

Northern dialect of the seventh or eighth century, "of which the MS.

text is evidently a late West Saxon transcription differing in many

respects from the older one." He considers that The Dream belongs to

the age of Caedmon, and that the poetry of Cynewulf was an adaptation

of older compositions.

* Anglo-Saxon Reader, p. 154, 7th edition.

There can be now no possible doubt but that the poems in the Vercelli

Codex are by Cynewulf, the controversy henceforth being as to whether

The Dream of the Rood or the inscription on the cross is the older.

Cynewulf, being a Northumbrian, presumably wrote in the old

Northumbrian language such as is inscribed on the cross, but all his

poems as they have come down to us have passed into the West Saxon

tongue, and if the fragment on the Ruthwell Cross is, as modern

archxologists aver, later than the Dream in the Vercelli Codex it must

be a re-translation into the dialect in which it was first written. A

further difficulty lies in the fact stated by Haigh that runes had

passed out of date on funeral monuments as late as the year 1000, and

we can indeed scarcely conceive of their use at the very eve of the

Norman Conquest when the written language had long become general.

Nevertheless, as far back as 1890, Mr. A. S. Cook, professor of the

English language and literature in Yale University, suggested that the

inscription on the Ruthwell Cross must be as late as the tenth century

and subsequent to the Lindisfarne Gospels. "A comparison of the

inscription with the Dream of the Rood shows that the former is not an

extract from an earlier poem written in the long Caedmonian line which

is postulated by Vigfusson and Powell, and by Mr. Stopford Brooke,

since the earliest dated verse is in short lines only, and since four

of the lines in the cross inscription represent short lines in the

Dream of the Rood, it shows that the latter is more self-consistent,

more artistic, and therefore more likely to be or to represent the

original; and it shows that certain of the forms of the latter seem to

have been inadvertently retained by the adapter, who selected and

re-arranged the lines for engraving on the cross."*

* The Dream of the Rood, by A. S. Cook, p. xv., Oxford, 1905.

The theme both of the Dream and of the Elene, another of the poems in

the Vercelli Book, is the Cross, and Cynewulf, says Mr. Cook, is the

first old English author, of whom we have any knowledge, to lay

emphasis upon the Invention of the Cross, and Constantine's premonitory

dream. "If," he continues, "we consider Bede's account of Caedmon, we

are struck by one analogy at least: in each case a command is imparted

to the poet to celebrate a particular theme--in the first, the creation

of the world; in the second, the redemption of mankind by the death of

the cross. As the one stands at the beginning of the Old Testament, the

other epitomises the New. The later poet may have had the earlier in

mind, and may not have been unwilling to enter into generous rivalry

with him; but there is this notable difference, Caedmon does not relate

his own dream, while Cynewulf, if it be Cynewulf, does."*

* Ibid., p. lvii.

Elsewhere he says The Dream of the Rood, apart from its present

conclusion, represents Cynewulf (as we believe) in the fullest vigour

of his invention and taste, probably after all his other extant poems

had been composed. Admirable in itself and a precious document of our

early literary history, it gains still further lustre from being

indissolubly associated with that monument which Kemble has called the

most beautiful as well as the most interesting relic of Teutonic

antiquity."

And again, "So far from the Cross-inscription representing an earlier

form of the Dream of the Rood, it seems rather to have been derived

from the latter, and to have been corrupted in the process." *

* Ibid., p. xvi.

Thus the controversy remains in 1905. and until some further light is

shed upon the difficult question--for it is impossible to regard Mr.

Cook's solution as in all points satisfying--we must be content with

the results obtained.

Let us now consider the poem itself by the help of Professor Stephens'

admirable translation. Essentially a Christian composition, it

preserves all the Gothic strength and virile beauty of the old pagan

forms. The modern words, Saviour, Passion, Apostles, etc., do not once

appear. Christ is the "Youthful Hero," He is the "Peace-God," the

"Atheling," the "Frea of mankind." He is even identified with the white

god, Balder the Beautiful. His friends are "Hilde-rinks" or "barons."

In His crucifixion He is less crucified than shot to death with

"streals," i.e., all manner of missiles which the "foemen" hurl at Him.

The Rood speaks and laments; it tells the story of the last dread scene

of Christ's suffering, His entombment in the "mould-house," the triumph

of the Cross in His resurrection, and the entry of the "Lord of

Benison" into his "old home-halls."

The doctrine is as sober as an orthodox, theological treatise, though

the poem is essentially a work of the most fertile imagination, a drama

with all the rich accessories that tradition offered in the matter of

colouring and effect. And it is withal exquisitely simple, devout, and

noble, breathing a spirituality strangely at variance with the

semi-barbaric people with whom the poetry had originated.

Stephens' translation is full of poetry, the translator having retained

the lilt of the original, together with many of the old English words

which, if they need a glossary, is only because we have gradually lost

the meaning in the substitution of weaker terms.

It is interesting to compare the fragments still legible on the

Ruthwell Cross with the South Saxon rendering in the Vercelli Codex.

Where the lines are worn away or mutilated the MS. may supplement

them:--

Northumbrian version--------------------South Saxon version according

to the

on the Cross.----------------------------Vercelli Codex.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Girded Him then--------------- For the grapple then girded him youthful

hero--

God Almighty-----------------lo! the man was God Almighty.

When He would-------------------Strong of heart and steady-minded

Step on the gallows-------------stept he on the lofty gallows;

Fore all Mankind--------------fearless spite that crowd of faces;

Mindfast, fearless---------------free and save man's tribes he would

there.

Bow me durst I not-------------Bever'd I and shook when that baron

claspt me

. . . . . . . . . ----------- but dar'd I not to bow me earthward

. . . . . . . . . -----------Rood was I reared now.

Rich King heaving-------------------Rich king heaving

The Lord of Light-realms------------The Lord of Light-realms

Lean me I durst not---------------Lean me I durst not.

Us both they basely mockt and handled-----Us both they basely mockt and

handled

Was I there with blood bedabbled---------all with blood was I bedabbled

Gushing grievous from . . . --------gushing grievous from his dear side,

. . . . . . . . . -----------when his ghost he had uprendered.

. . . . . . . . . -----------How on that hill

. . . . . . . . . -----------have I throwed

. . . . . . . . . -----------dole the direst.

. . . . . . . . . -----------All day viewed I hanging

. . . . . . . . . -----------the God of hosts

. . . . . . . . . -----------Gloomy and swarthy

. . . . . . . . . -----------clouds had cover'd

. . . . . . . . . -----------the corse of the Waldend.*

. . . . . . . . . -----------O'er the sheer shine-path

. . . . . . . . . -----------shadows fell heavy

. . . . . . . . . -----------wan 'neath the nelkin

. . . . . . . . . -----------wept all creation

. . . . . . . . . -----------wail'd the fall of their king.

Christ was on Rood-tree----------Christ was on Rood-tree

But fast from afar----------------But fast from afar

His friends hurried-------------his friends hurried

Athel to the Sufferer.------------To aid their Atheling

Everything I saw.------------Everything I saw.

Sorely was I----------------Sorely was I

With sorrows harrow'd------------with sorrows harrow'd

. . . . . I inclin'd-------------yet humbly I inclin'd

. . . . . . . . . -----------to the hands of his servants,

. . . . . . . . . -----------striving with might to aid them.

. . . . . . . . . -----------Straight the all-ruling God they've taken

. . . . . . . . . -----------heaving from that haried torment

. . . . . . . . . -----------Those Hilde-rinks** now left me

. . . . . . . . . -----------to stand there streaming with blood drops;

With streals all wounded-------with streals*** was I all wounded.

Down laid they Him limb-weary---------Down laid they him limb-weary,

O'er His lifeless Head then stood they--O'er his lifeless head then

stood they,

Heavily gazing at Heaven's . . .--------heavily gazing at heaven's

Chieftain.

* Wielder, Lord, Ruler, Monarch,

** Hero, from Hilde the war god. Battle brave, captain

*** Anything strown or cast-a missile of any kind.

Kemble's rendering of the poem, wonderfully correct and conscientious

as a translation, is inferior in poetical merit to that of Stephens,

who, as we see, instead of choosing modern words, is careful to retain

many of the picturesque old rune equivalents. This we perceive at once

if we compare Stephens' four lines, beginning "Christ was on Rood tree"

with Kemble's:

"Christ was on the Cross

but thither hastening

men came from afar

to the noble one." *

* Poetry of the Vercelli Codex.

The runes are sharply and beautifully cut into the margin of two sides

of the Cross, the inside spaces being filled with sculptured ornaments,

representing a conventional, clambering vine, with leaves and fruit.

Entwined among the leaves are curious birds and animals devouring the

grapes. On the southeast and south-west sides are figures taken chiefly

from the Bible, with Latin inscriptions instead of runes. In the middle

compartment of each of these sides is the figure of our Lord with a

cruciform halo. On the south-west side of the Cross He is represented

as treading on the heads of two swine, His right arm upraised in

blessing, a scroll being in His left hand. Around the margin is a

legend in old Latin uncial letters, "Jesus Christ the judge of equity.

Beasts and dragons knew in the desert the Saviour of the world."

In the corresponding panel on the south side, St. Mary Magdalen washes

the feet of our Lord, who is standing nearly in the same position. The

remaining subjects are--a figure which has been sometimes described as

that of the Eternal Father, and again as St. John the Baptist, with the

Agnus Dei; St. Paul and St. Anthony breaking a loaf in the desert; the

Flight into Egypt; two figures unexplained; a man seated on the ground

with a bow, taking aim; the Visitation; our Lord healing the man born

blind; the Annunciation; and traces almost obliterated, of the

Crucifixion, on the bottom panel of the south-west side.

On the top stone is a bird, probably meant for a dove, resting on a

branch with the rune which Stephens took to be Cadmon Mae Fawed. On the

reverse side of this stone are St. John and his eagle, with a partly

destroyed Latin inscription, In principio erat verbum. All the subjects

are explained by a legend running round the margin, but which is in

parts scarcely legible.

Sir John Sinclair, in his account of the parish of Ruthwell, mentions a

tradition, according to which, this column having been set up in remote

times at a place called Priestwoodside (now Priestside), near the sea,

it was drawn from thence by a team of oxen belonging to a widow. During

the transit inland the chain broke, which accident was supposed to

denote that heaven willed it to be set up in that place. This was done,

and a church was built over the Cross.

But opposed to this story is the fact that the obelisk is composed of

the same red and grey sandstone which abounds in that part of

Dumfriesshire, and it seems far more likely that the Cross was here

hewn and sculptured than that it should have been brought from a

distance after having been adorned in so costly a manner and with a

definite purpose. It was held in great veneration till the middle of

the sixteenth century, and being specially protected by the powerful

family of Murray of Cockpool, the patrons and chief proprietors of the

parish, it escaped the blind fury of the iconoclasts till 1644. Then,

however, it was broken into three pieces as "an object of superstition

among the vulgar."

For more than a century the column apparently lay where it fell, on the

site of what had once been the altar of the church, and was made to

serve as a bench for members of the congregation to sit upon.

In 1722, Pennant saw it still lying inside the church, but soon after

this, better accommodation being required for the congregation, it was

turned out into the churchyard to make room for modern improvements!

Here it suffered greatly from repeated mutilations, the churchyard

being then nearly unenclosed.

In 1802, the weather-cock of opinion having again veered round, the

then incumbent, Dr. Duncan, desiring to preserve this "object of

superstition," now become a precious relic, had the main shaft removed

to his newly-enclosed manse garden where it remained till 1887, when an

apse being added to the church, the Cross was again enclosed within the

building. Meanwhile two other fragments had entirely disappeared. The

cross-beam has never been recovered,* but the top-stone suddenly

reappeared in the following curious manner:

* Transverse arms were supplied in 1823. A. S. Cook, The Dream of the

Rood.

A poor man and his wife having died within a few days of each other, it

was decided to bury them both in one grave. For this it was necessary

to dig deeper than usual, and in doing so, the grave-digger came upon

an obstacle which proved to be a block of red sandstone with sculptured

figures upon it. This block was found to be the missing top-stone of

the Cross.

One point still needs explanation. When Pennant saw the Cross in the

early part of the eighteenth century, before the buried fragment had

been excavated, it measured 2o feet in height. At the present day,

although the top has been replaced, the height of the column does not

exceed 17 feet 6 inches, a circumstance that can only be accounted for

by the supposition that the obelisk may have sunk several feet into the

ground in the interval.

The spirit that breathes in The Dream of the Rood is strongly imbued

with national elements. The doctrine and sentiments are strictly

Catholic, but the poem is at the same time an epitome of what St.

Cuthbert and the monks of Lindisfarne, the royal Abbess Hilda, Caedmon,

and now it appears Cynewulf also had been long doing for Northumbria,

in taking what was grand and heroic in the old heathen traditions, and

leading up through them to Christianity. But if this influence can be

distinctly traced in the runes on the Ruthwell Cross, yet another

element is seen in its ornamentation, which carries us back to the

Christian tombs in the Roman catacombs where its prototypes are to be

found.

On the Bewcastle Cross there is less of the national element and more

of the Roman, fewer runes and more of this kind of sculpture. A few

feet from the parish church, and within the precincts of a large Roman

station, guarded by a double vallum, stands the shaft of what was

formerly an Anglo-Saxon funeral cross of most graceful shape and

design. This column, 14 feet in height, is quadrangular, and formed of

one entire block of grey freestone, inserted in a broader base of blue

stone. The side facing westward has suffered most from storm and rain.

It bears on its surface two sculptured figures, and the principal runic

inscription. The lower figure, that representing our Lord, has been

much mutilated by accident or design. He stands as He is seen on the

Ruthwell Cross, with His feet on the heads of swine, as trampling down

all unclean things. His right hand is uplifted in blessing, in His left

hand is a scroll,

Above is St. John the Baptist holding the Agnus Dei, and near the top

are the remains of the Latin word Christus.

The runic inscription has been translated thus:

"This slender sign-beacon

set was by Hwoetred,

Wothgar, Olufwolth,

after Alcfrith

Once King

eke son of Oswin

Bid (pray) for the high sin of his soul."

Beneath these runes is the figure of a man in a long robe with a hood

over his head, and a bird, probably a falcon, on his left wrist. This

figure is supposed to represent Alcfrid himself. Immediately below the

falcon is an upright piece of wood with a transverse bar at the top,

possibly meant for the bird's perch. On the east side there are no

runes, but a vine is sculptured in low relief within a border. Dr.

Haigh observed that the design on this side was the same as on the two

sides of the Ruthwell Cross.* The north and the south sides are in a

state of good preservation, and are covered with a beautiful design in

knotwork, and alternate lines of foliage, flowers, and fruit. On the

north side there is a long panel fitted with chequers, which have given

rise to a good deal of controversy among antiquaries. Camden thought

them to be the arms of the De Vaux family, and when this theory was

exploded, Mr. Howard of Corby Castle reversed it, and suggested that

the chequers on the De Vaux arms were taken from this monument. But the

Rev. John Maughan, B.A., rector of Bewcastle, in a note to his tract on

this place, cites instances of chequers or diaper-work in Scythian,

Egyptian, Gallic, and Roman art, and proves from the Book of Kings that

there were "nets of chequered work" in the Temple of Solomon. After

remarking that this is a natural form of ornamentation he calls

attention to the frequent use made of it in mediaeval illuminations.**

* Archaologia Aeliana, p. 169.

** Archaeological Journal, vol. xi.

Above this panel are the words "Myrcna Kung," and over the next piece

of knot-work is seen the name "Wulfhere" (King of the Mercians). Then

follows another vine, and above all are three crosses and the holy name

"Jesus." On the south side runs a runic inscription thus:

In the first year

of the King

of ric (realm) this

Ecgfrith."

The last line of the inscription is so broken that it can only be

guessed at.*

* Cumberland and Westmoreland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society.

Bewcastle and its Cross, by W. Nanson, p. 215.

Fine as this obelisk is, we should be at a loss to make out that it was

ever a cross, but for a slip of paper which was found in Camden's own

copy of his Britannia (ed. 1607 now in the Bodleian Library. On the

slip of paper was written this memorandum: "I received this morning a

ston from my lord of Arundel, sent him from my lord William. It was the

head of a cross at Bucastle: and the letters legable are these on one

line, and I have sett to them such as I can gather out of my

alphabetts: that like an A I can find in non. But wither this may be

only letters or words I somewhat doubt."

Neither Camden nor any one else got much further than this for many

years; and the general ignorance of runes is the more to be deplored

since it led to a carelessness and want of interest in the preservation

of priceless relics, even among antiquaries. The stone which thus came

into Camden's possession has utterly disappeared, and the inscription

which he tried in vain to decipher, and which might have thrown light

on a mysterious subject, is thus lost to us.

In conclusion, we may, for the sake of clearness, recapitulate, first:

that although there can no longer be any reasonable doubt that the

runes on the Ruthwell obelisk are by the Northumbrian poet, Cynewulf,

it has by no means been satisfactorily proved that these runes are of a

subsequent date to the West-Saxon version of the poem in the Vercelli

Codex, but that probability seems rather to point to an earlier date

than the second half of the tenth century; and secondly, that so close

a resemblance between the two Crosses does not necessarily imply that

they date from absolutely the same period. The royal obelisk at

Bewcastle must have been a famous monument in its day, known and

celebrated far and wide, and it would not be unlikely that even a

hundred years later it might be called upon to serve, to some extent,

as a model for that Cross which was to immortalise the Dream of which

Northumbrians were naturally proud. If, however, the runes on the

Bewcastle Cross fix its date as the latter part of the seventh century,

those on the Ruthwell Cross cannot be earlier than the eighth century.

Had the zeal, directed nearly four hundred years ago against our

national treasures, been bestowed on their preservation, we should have

reason indeed to congratulate ourselves on the beauty of many of our

public monuments. Instead of mutilated remains, we should have works of

art which, but for the gentle hand of time, would be as perfect as when

they left the master's hand.

But there has never been a period when the intelligent study of the

past, whether in palaeography, philology, or history, has been so

highly cultivated as in the present day. If we have lost the

inspiration that creates, we have, at least, learned to venerate and

cherish the noble works of our progenitors.

II. A MISSING PAGE FROM THE IDYLLS OF THE KING

Although the Norte d'Arthur was one of the first books printed in the

English language, the great semihistorical figure of Arthur, together

with his Knights of the Round Table, and all their romantic exploits,

had wellnigh died out of the memory of the English people when Tennyson

published his Idylls of the King

The Morte d'Arthur was translated, according to Caxton, by Sir Thomas

Malory, who took it "out of certain books of French and reduced it into

English." But it is no mere translation of the older romances, which

Malory rather adopted as the basis of his work, moulding them to suit

his more refined taste and fancy, much as Chaucer used Boccaccio's

tales, and Shakespeare a century after Malory adopted the plots and

outlines of inferior playwrights.

Placed midway between the works of Chaucer and Shakespeare, the book,

which has been aptly described as a prose-poem, is one of the happiest

illustrations possible of the language, manners, modes of thought and

expression prevalent in England in the fifteenth century. Chivalry was

not yet dead, ideals were still cherished, the feudal system still

obtained, Gothic architecture had not yet said its last word,

Englishmen were papal to the backbone, and religion was a potent factor

in their live, in spite of much that was harsh, crude, and violent.

"Herein," said Caxton, "may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity,

friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate,

virtue, sin. Do after the good, and leave the evil, and it shall bring

you to good fame and renommee."

The Norte d'Arthur was finished in the ninth year of Edward IV., that

is in 1470, and Caxton printed the first edition of the book in black

letter, in 1485. Of this edition, now almost priceless, only two copies

are known to exist, both of which are in private collections. One of

these is in the United States, the other, slightly defective, is in the

possession of Lord Spencer, who has also in his library at Althorp the

only known copy of the second edition, printed in 1498 by Wynkyn de

Worde, who took over Caxton's presses at his death. Of the third

edition (1529), also printed by Wynkyn de Worde, a copy is in the

British Museum. It is incomplete inasmuch as the title, preface, and

part of the table of contents are wanting.

The British Museum possesses two other copies, one printed by William

Copland in 1557, the other a folio without date, published by East. All

these editions are in black letter.

Whether we agree with Caxton that "it might full well be aretted great

folly and blindness to say or think that there was never such a king

called Arthur," or whether we are of those "divers men who hold opinion

that all such books as be made of him be but fayne matters and fables,

because that some chronicles make of him no mention, nor remember him

nothing, nor of his knights," we must admit that at least incidentally,

the Morte d'Arthur is a picture of British faith and pious practices.

Its composition is mediaeval, and represents the tone of thought common

in the world as distinct from the cloister, in the Middle Ages; but it

is also a true exponent of an earlier period still, when Lucius, the

British chief, sent messengers to home to beg Pope Eleutherius to admit

him into the Fold of Christ, and to send missionaries to instruct his

people in the Faith. Comparing the Idylls of the King with Malory's

book, we are irresistibly reminded of certain Catholic books of

devotion "expurgated" or "adapted" for members of the Church of

England. All that savours too much of popery is left out. There is, no

doubt, a strong Protestant prejudice in Tennyson, struggling with his

sense of artistic beauty, and repeatedly Protestantism wins the day. We

cannot always quarrel with him for his selection, because, although the

modern mind is not a whit cleaner than the mediaeval mind, there is an

unwritten convention, that at all events a spade shall not now be

called a spade, at least in polite society, and Tennyson wrote

exclusively for the polite. In the Middle Ages evil was spoken of

plainly as in Scripture; there was no blinking of facts, no dressing-up

of vice to make it look like virtue, and consequently much

"bowdlerising" was necessary before Malory's outspoken language should

be sufficiently veiled to suit the susceptibilities, to which we have a

perfect and legitimate right in so far as they are genuine, and no

cloak for an hypocrisy that delights in the loathsome indecencies and

disgusting suggestiveness of the modern problem novel.

But what we do regret is that apart from the coarseness, and even from

a mere dramatic point of view, much that Tennyson rejected is finer

than anything he took. His Lancelot is a grand conception, as

mournfully, but with noble self-abasement, he says:

". . . . in me there dwells

No greatness, save it be some far-off touch

Of greatness to know well I am not great."

He is the very knight of courtesy, in chivalry above all other knights

save Arthur--so strong that "whom he smote he overthrew"; he is brave,

noble, scornful, and "falsely true," but he is not the Lancelot of the

Morte d'Arthur.

The story of Lancelot is incomplete in the Idylls, and by

incompleteness we do not mean only that it is deprived of its

denouement, of the climax up to which it has been working from the

beginning, but that there is also to be noted the conspicuous absence

of a refrain that should be there throughout. It is true that at the

end of "Lancelot and Elaine," one single line hints vaguely at the

penance that was to atone for his sad and sin-stained life, where he is

described as

"Not knowing he should die a holy man."

And in another place the long account of his confession, absolution,

contrition, and the exhortation of the priest is slurred over in these

words relating to the poisonous weeds that twined and clung round the

wholesome flowers of his life:

"Then I spake

To one most holy saint, who wept and said

That save they could be plucked asunder all

My quest were but in vain; to whom I vowed

That I would work according as he willed."

If we compare this with what Malory said, we shall see the total

inadequacy of Tennyson's treatment of the episode which left out the

whole root of the matter:--

How Sir Lancelot was shriven, and what sorrow he made, and of the good

examples that were showed him.

Then Sir Lancelot wept with heavy cheer and said, "Now I know well ye

say me sooth." "Sir," said the good man, "hide none old sin from me."

"Truly," said Sir Lancelot, "that were me full loth to discover. For

this fourteen years I never discovered one thing that I have used and

to that may I now blame my shame and my misadventure." And then he told

there, that good man, all his life, and how he had loved a queen

unmeasurably, and out of measure long;--"and all my great deeds of arms

that I have done I did the most part for the queen's sake, and for her

sake would I do battle, were it right or wrong, and never did I battle

all only for God's sake, but for to win worship and to cause me to be

the better beloved, and little or nought I thanked God of it." Then Sir

Lancelot said, "I pray you counsel me." "I will counsel you," said the

hermit, "if ye will ensure me that ye will never come in that queen's

fellowship, as much as ye may forbare." And then Sir Lancelot promised

him he would not, by the faith of his body. "Look that your heart and

your mouth accord," said the good man, "and I shall ensure you ye shall

have more worship than ever ye had." . . . Then the good man enjoined

Sir Lancelot such penance as he might do, and to sue knighthood, and so

he assoiled him, and prayed Sir Lancelot to abide with him all that

day. "I will well," said Sir Lancelot, "for I have neither helm, nor

horse, nor sword." "As for that," said the good man, "I shall help you

to-morn at even of an horse and all that longeth unto you." And then

Sir Lancelot repented him greatly.

After this he meets with another hermit who gives him a hair shirt to

wear as a penance, and riding on in pursuit of his quest, the Holy

Grail, Lancelot next comes to a Cross, "and took that for his host as

for that night. And so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his

helm and his shield, and made his prayers unto the Cross that he never

fall in deadly sin again. And so he laid him down to sleep." Further

on, we are told, as a sign of his sincerity and perseverance that "the

hair pricked so Sir Lancelot's skin that it grieved him full sore, but

he took it meekly and suffered the pain."

Tennyson records no fights with conscience, no turning towards the

light, no sorrowful confessions at all. He has given us a great deal,

but it is not too much to say that what he rejected, a Catholic poet

would have seized with delight as the purplest patches of his epic, and

the climax to which the whole story led.

The same remarks do not altogether apply to Tennyson's conception of

Arthur's character. Although there is much that is fine and beautiful

in him, as he is portrayed in the older legends, although, when pierced

with many wounds, he fought on valiantly, because he was "so full of

knighthood that knightly he endured the pain," it is Tennyson who has

exalted him into "the blameless king," "the highest creature here," and

if it had only been for what he has given us in King Arthur, the Idylls

would have been worth writing. Still even here he leaves out all those

Catholic touches which went to make up the life and soul of British

Christianity, the custom of beginning each day with the hearing of

Mass, the frequent allusions to the Pope as the Head of Christendom,

the mention of prayers for the dead, of penance, and so on.

When Arthur had defied the Roman Emperor, who had sent to claim

tribute, and had carried his victorious arms to the gates of the

Eternal City, the legend says that senators and cardinals came out and

sued for peace. They invited him in, and there he was crowned emperor

"with all the solemnity that could be made, and by the Pope's own

hands." King Mark of Cornwall, for reasons of his own, wanted to rid

himself of Tristram, and set about it in this wily manner:

He let do counterfeit letters from the Pope, and made a strange clerk

for to bear them unto King Mark, the which letters specified that King

Mark should make him ready upon pain of cursing, with his host for to

come to the Pope, to help to go to Jerusalem for to make war upon the

Saracens.

Mark, pretending that he could not leave home, proposed that Sir

Tristram should go in his place, since the command of the Pope must be

obeyed. "But," said Sir Tristram, "sythen the apostle Pope hath sent

for him, bid him go thither himself." "Well," said King Mark, "yet

shall he be beguiled," and counterfeited other letters, and the letters

specified that the Pope desired Sir Tristram to come himself to make

war upon the Saracens. But Tristram began to suspect the King of

Cornwall of treachery, and at last Mark was obliged to walk into the

trap which he had set for his enemy, and to take an oath "that he would

go himself unto the Pope of Rome for to war upon the Saracens."

Malory's book abounds in such illustrations and side lights as these,

but enough has been said to show how entirely the modern poet has

suppressed the part played by the Pope in the lives of Englishmen, at

least, up to the time of Edward IV.

One other instance of this pre-reformation doctrine belongs to the

story of Lancelot, and will be given in its proper place. We may remark

here that whatever the shortcomings of some of Arthur's knights, they

one and all evinced a lively faith, profound veneration for holy

things, and a truly Catholic desire for reconciliation with God,

through the reception of the Sacraments, whenever they fell into sin.

Thus, the knights who were convened to assist at Arthur's coronation

"made them clean of their lives, that their prayers might be the more

acceptable unto God." And when Balan fought with his brother, Balyn, by

mistake, and both were mortally wounded, Balan entreated the lady of

the Tower to send for a priest: "Yea," said the lady, "it shall be

done," and so she sent for a priest to give them their rights. "Now,"

said Balyn, "when we are buried in one tomb, and the mention made over

us how two brethren slew each other, there will never good knight nor

good man see our tomb but they will pray for our souls."

Wherever the knights-errant slept, they never set out on their journey

on the morrow without first hearing Mass; and if they had been riding

all night and came to a chapel in the morning they "avoided their

horses and heard Mass." There are many allusions to devotion to the

Blessed Virgin, and on one occasion a tournament was proclaimed in

honour of her Assumption.

In the poem "Lancelot and Elaine," Tennyson has followed closely on the

lines of the original story, both as to general design and detail. The

idyll "Geraint and Enid" does not, of course, belong to this history at

all, but is taken from the "Mabinogian," a collection of Welsh legends

translated into English by Lady Charlotte Elizabeth Guest.

The "Coming of Arthur," as related in the idyll, is throughout an

invention of Tennyson's, or culled from other sources, and differs

entirely from the story of Arthur's origin as told by Malory.

But the legend that has suffered the most from poetical license is that

of the "Holy Grail."

When the young Galahad, Lancelot's son, had been brought to Arthur's

court, had been dubbed knight, and had sat in the mystical "siege

perilous," fashioned by the wizard Merlin, he drew the sword from the

magic stone that hovered over the water, and which no other knight

could take. Then the queen, hearing of these marvels, and of his great

exploits and chivalry, desired greatly to see Sir Galahad, and as he

was riding by, "the king, at the queen's request, made him to alight

and to unlace his helm, that Queen Guinevere might see him in the

visage. And when she beheld him she said: Sothely, I dare well say that

Sir Lancelot begat him, for never two men resembled more in likeness.

Therefore it is no marvel though he be of great prowess. So a lady that

stood by the queen said, Madam, for God's sake, ought he of right to be

so good a knight? Yea, forsooth, said the queen, for he is of all

parties come of the best knights of the world, and of the highest

lineage. For Sir Lancelot is comen of the eighth degree from our Lord

Jesu Christ, and Sir Galahad is of the ninth degree, therefore I dare

well say that they ben the greatest gentlemen of all the world."

After the meeting between Sir Galahad and the queen, the book goes on

to say that the king and all the estates went home to Camelot, and that

as they sat at Supper, the Holy Grail appeared.

Tennyson relates the vision almost in Malory's own words.

Sir Perceval, having retired from the world, tells the monk, Ambrosius,

the history of the quest:

"And all at once, as there we sat, we heard

A cracking and a riving of the roofs,

And rending, and a blast, and overhead

Thunder, and in the thunder was a cry.

And in the blast there smote along the hall

A beam of light seven times more clear than day

And down the long beam stole the Holy Grail,

All over covered with a luminous cloud,

And none might see who bare it, and it past.

But every knight beheld his fellow's face.

As in a glory, and all the knights arose,

And staring each at other like dumb men

Stood, till I found a voice and sware a vow.

I sware a vow before them all that I,

Because I had not seen the Grail would ride

A twelvemonth and a day in quest of it,

Until I found and saw it, as the nun

My sister saw it; and Galahad sware the vow,

And good Sir Bors, our Lancelot's cousin sware,

And Lancelot sware, and many among the knights,

And Gawayn sware, and louder than the rest."

It was, in fact, Sir Gawayn who spoke first:

"Certainly [said he] "we ought greatly to thank our Lord Jesu Christ,

for that he hath shewed us this day of what meats and drinks we thought

on, but one thing beguiled us, we might not see the Holy Grail, it was

so preciously covered. Wherefore I will make here a vow, that

to-morrow, without any longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest of

the Sancgreall, that I shall hold me out a twelvemonths and a day, and

more if need be, and never shall I return again unto the court, till I

have seen it more openly than it hath been seen here." When they of the

Round Table heard Sir Gawayn say so, they arose, the most part of them,

and avowed the same.

As the knights rode out of Camelot to begin their quest there was

weeping of the rich and of the poor at their departure. "The queen made

great moan and wailing, and the king might not speak for weeping."

After some adventures Sir Perceval comes to a chapel to hear Mass, and

there he sees a sick king lying on a couch behind the altar; and he was

covered with wounds:

"Then he left his looking and heard his service, and when it came to

the sacring, he that lay within the perclose dressed him up and

uncovered his head. And then him beseemed a passing old man, and he had

a crown of gold on his head, and ever he held up his hands and said on

high: Fair, sweet father, Jesu Christ, forget not me. And so he laid

him down. But always he was in his prayers and orisons. And when the

Mass was done, the priest took our Lord's body and bare it unto the

sick king. And when he had received it he did off his crown, and he

commanded the crown to be set on the altar."

This king's name was Evelake. He had been converted by Saint Joseph of

Arimathwa, who was sent by our Lord "to preach and teach the Christian

faith." "Evelake," says the legend, "followed Joseph of Arimathaea into

England, to which country he brought the Holy Grail, the cup in which

our Lord celebrated the institution of the Blessed Sacrament." This cup

or chalice is said to have contained some drops of the Precious Blood.

And ever Evelake was busy to be there as the Sancgreall was. And upon a

time he nighed it so nigh that our Lord was displeased with him. But

ever he followed it more and more, till that God struck him almost

blind. Then this king cried mercy, and said: "Fair Lord, let me never

die till that the good knight of my blood of the ninth degree be comen,

that I may see him openly, when he shall achieve the Sancgreall, that I

may once kiss him."

This "good knight" was, of course, Sir Galahad. Meanwhile, "Sir

Lancelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no path

but as wild adventure led him. And at the last he came to a stony Cross

which departed two ways in waste land, and by the Cross was a stone

that was of marble, but it was so dark that Sir Lancelot might not wit

what it was. Then Sir Lancelot looked by him, and saw an old chapel,

and there he wend to have found people. And Sir Lancelot tied his horse

till a tree, and there he did off his shield and hung it upon a tree.

And then he went to the chapel door, and found it waste and broken. And

within he found a fair altar full richly arrayed with cloth of clean

silk, and there stood a fair clean candlestick which bare six great

candles, and the candlestick was of silver. And when Sir Lancelot saw

this light he had great will for to enter into the chapel, but he could

find no place where he might enter; then was he passing heavy and

dismayed. Then he returned and came to his horse, and did off his

saddle and bridle, and let him pasture; and unlaced his helm, and

ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield tofore

the Cross. And so he fell on sleep, and half waking and half sleeping

he saw, come by him, two palfreys all fair and white, the which bare a

litter, therein lying a sick knight. And when he was nigh the Cross he

there abode still. All this Sir Lancelot saw and beheld, for he slept

not verily, and he heard him say: Oh sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow

leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I

shall be blessed, for I have endured thus long for little trespass. And

thus a great while complained the knight, and always Sir Lancelot heard

it. With that Sir Lancelot saw the candlestick with the six tapers come

before the Cross, but he could see nobody that brought it. And then

came a table of silver, and the holy vessel of the Sancgreall, the

which Sir Lancelot had seen tofore. And there withal the sick knight

set him upright and held up both his hands and said: Fair, sweet Lord,

which is here within this holy vessel, take heed to me that I may be

whole of this great malady. And therewith, upon his hands and upon his

knees, he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it.

And anon he was whole, and then he said:--Lord God, I thank thee for I

am healed of this malady. So when the holy vessel had been there a

great while, it went unto the chapel again with the candlestick and the

light, so that Sir Lancelot wist not where it became, for he was

overtaken with sin that he had no power to arise against the holy

vessel. Wherefore afterwards many men said of him shame. But he took

repentance afterwards.

"Then the sick knight dressed him upright and kissed the Cross. Then

anon his squire brought his arms, and asked his lord how he did.

Certes, said he, I thank God right well through the holy vessel I am

healed. But I have great marvel of this sleeping knight which hath

neither had grace nor power to awake during the time that this holy

vessel hath been here present. I dare it right well say, said the

squire, that this knight is defouled with some manner of deadly sin,

whereof he was never confessed. By my faith, said the knight,

whatsoever he be, he is unhappy, for, as I deem, he is of the noble

fellowship of the Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of

the Sancgreall. Sir, said the squire, here I have brought you all your

arms save your helm and your sword, and therefore, by mine assent now

may ye take this knight's helm and his sword, and so he did. And when

he was clean armed he took Sir Lancelot's horse, for he was better than

his own, and so they departed from the Cross.

"Then anon Sir Lancelot awaked and sat himself upright, and bethought

him what he had there seen, and whether it were dreams or not. Right so

heard he a voice that said, Sir Lancelot, more harder than is the

stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more naked and barer than

is the leaf of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw

thee from this holy place. And when Sir Lancelot heard this he was

passing heavy and wist not what to do, and so departed sore weeping,

and cursed the time that he was born. For then he deemed never to have

had worship more. For those words went to his heart till that he knew

wherefore he was called so.

"Then Sir Lancelot went to the Cross, and found his helm, his sword,

and his horse taken away. And then he called himself a very wretch, and

most unhappy of all knights. And there he said, My sin and my

wickedness have brought me unto great dishonour. For when I sought

worldly adventures for worldly desires I ever achieved them, and had

the better in every place, and never was I discomfited in no quarrel,

were it right or wrong. And now I take upon me the adventure of holy

things, and now I see and understand that mine old sin hindreth me and

shameth me, so that I had no power to stir nor to speak when the holy

blood appeared afore me. So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard

the fowls of the air sing. Then was he somewhat comforted, and departed

from the Cross on foot in a wild forest, and there he found a

hermitage, and a hermit therein that was going to Mass. And then Sir

Lancelot kneeled down on both his knees, and cried our Lord mercy for

his wicked works that he had done. When Mass was done, Sir Lancelot

called the hermit to him and prayed him for charity to hear his life.

With a good will, said the good man. Sir, said he, be ye of King

Arthur's court, and of the fellowship of the Round Table? Yea,

forsooth, and my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake that hath been right well

said of, and now my good fortune is changed, for I am the most wretched

and caitiff of the world.

"Then the hermit beheld him, and had great marvel how he was so sore

abashed. Sir, said the good man, ye ought to thank God more than any

knight living, for He hath caused you to have more worldly worship than

any, and for your presumption to take upon you in deadly sin for to be

in His presence where His flesh and His blood was, that caused you ye

might not see it with your worldly eyes. For He will not appear where

such sinners be, but it be unto their great hurt and shame. And there

is no knight living now that ought to give unto God so great thank as

ye. For He hath given to you beauty, seemliness, and great strength

above all other knights, and, therefore, ye are the more beholden to

God than any man, to love Him and to dread Him; for your strength and

manhood will little avail you, and God be against you."

Then Lancelot makes his confession to the hermit as we have already

related, is assoiled, and repents him greatly. He remained three days

with the hermit, and being then newly provided with a horse, helmet,

and sword, he took his leave and rode away. After this occurs the

episode at the Cross, and his receiving the hair shirt. On the morrow

he jousted with many knights, and for the first time was thrown and

overcome, all which he endured patiently as penance for his sins. That

night he laid himself down to sleep under an apple-tree and dreamed a

strange dream. At dawn he arose, armed himself and went on his way. He

next came to a chapel "where was a recluse which had a window that she

might look up to the altar, and all aloud she called Sir Lancelot, and

asked him whence he came, what he was, and what he went to seek." He

told her all his dreams and visions, which she expounded, and gave him

pious counsel, but told him that he was " of evil faith and poor

belief."

About this time he met Sir Galahad, and knew that he was his son. Then,

after various adventures, he came as near the Holy Grail as it was

given to him to come. As he was kneeling before a closed door in a

castle "he heard a voice which sang sweetly, that it seemed none

earthly thing. And him thought that the voice said, joy and Honour be

to the Father of Heaven. Then Sir Lancelot wist well that there was the

Sancgreall in that chamber." Then he prayed.

"And with that the chamber door opened, and there came out a great

clearness, that the house was so bright as though all the torches of

the world had been there. And anon he would have entered, but a voice

said, Flee, Sir Lancelot, and enter not, for and if thou enter thou

shalt forethink it. Then he withdrew him aback, and was right heavy in

his mind. Then looked he up in the midst of the room and saw a table of

silver, and the holy vessel covered with red samite, and so many angels

about it, whereof one of them held a candle of wax burning, and the

other held a Cross and the ornaments of the altar. And before the holy

vessel he saw a good man, clothed like a priest, and it seemed that he

was at the sacring of the Mass.

"And it seemed unto Sir Lancelot that, above the priest's hands, there

were three men, whereof the two put the youngest by likeliness between

the priest's hands, and so he lift it upright high, and it seemed to

show unto the people. And then Sir Lancelot marvelled not a little, for

him thought the priest was so greatly charged of the figure that him

seemed he should have fallen to the ground; and when he saw none about

him, he came to the door a great pace, and said:--

"Fair sweet Father, Jesu Christ, me take it for no sin, though I help

the good man, which hath great need of help. Right so he entered into

the chamber, and came toward the table of silver. And when he came nigh

he felt a breath that him thought it was intermeddled with fire, which

smote him so sore in the visage that him thought it all to brent his

visage."

This is the culminating point of Lancelot's quest; he swooned away, and

lay as one dead for twenty-four days. Nearer he might not come to the

Holy Grail, and the sequel shows why, for after a time he returned to

the court and fell into sin again, and forgot his good resolutions:--

"For, as the French book saith, had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy

thoughts and in his mind set inwardly to the queen, as he was in

seeming outward unto God, there had no knight passed him in the quest

of the Sancgreall; but ever his thoughts were privily upon the queen."

But soon there arose a bitter quarrel between Lancelot and Guinevere,

and she banished him from her sight. During his absence from the court

she made a dinner, at which one of the guests, Sir Modor, was poisoned,

and the queen accused of the crime. Guinevere was therefore impeached,

and so truly did all the Round Table believe in her guilt, that at

first no knight would come forward to defend her.

Ultimately, however, the "good Sir Bors," Lancelot's kinsman, was

prevailed on to be her champion, provided that at the moment of the

contest a better knight did not appear, to answer for her. Of course,

when Sir Bors is about to enter the lists in the meadow before

Winchester, where there is a great fire and an iron stake, at which

Guinevere is to be burned if her champion is overcome, a strange knight

appears in unknown armour, and turns out to be Lancelot, fights for the

queen, and overthrows her accuser.

Here comes in the exquisite story of Elaine, to which Tennyson has done

ample justice.

Soon after the death of the "lily maid of Astolat," Sir Agravaine,

moved by jealousy of Arthur's greatest knight, discloses the story of

Lancelot's treacherous love for the queen, and extracts from the king a

reluctant permission to take the miscreant. But Sir Modred is the real

instigator of the plot, working upon Agravaine's weakness, and Tennyson

has altered little in the dramatic situation which immediately follows.

His description of the parting scene between Lancelot and Guinevere is

fine:--

"And then they were agreed upon a night

(When the good King should not be there) to meet

And part for ever. Passion pale they met

And greeted: hands in hands, and eye to eye,

Low on the border of her couch they sat

Stammering and staring; it was their last hour,

A madness of farewells. And Modred brought

His creatures to the basement of the tower

For testimony; and crying with full voice,

'Traitor, come out, ye are trapt at last,' aroused

Lancelot, who rushing outward lion-like

Leapt on him, and hurled him headlong, and he fell

Stunned, and his creatures took and bare him off,

And all was still; then she, 'The end is come,

And I am shamed forever;' and he said,

`Mine be the shame; mine was the sin; but rise,

And fly to my strong castle over seas

There will I hide thee till my life shall end,

There hold thee with my life against the world.'

She answered, 'Lancelot, wilt thou hold me so?

Nay, friend, for we have taken our farewells.

Would God that thou coulds't hide me from myself!"

Lancelot will not yield himself up lightly to his enemies; Sir

Agravaine and another knight fall in the struggle with him; but it is

not now that Guinevere betakes herself to Almesbury, and the whole

beautiful scene between her and Arthur, and his most touching farewell

to her are weavings of the modern poet's imagination. Beautiful the

scene surely is, although wanting in one supreme touch, which a more

Catholic-minded poet would have given to it. Guinevere's sin, according

to Tennyson, is merely her sin against her husband; according to Malory

it is her sin against God, and this is the very essence of the true

Guinevere's repentance.

What really happens is this: Lancelot takes counsel with Sir Bors and

his other friends, as to how he may save the queen, and it is decided

that if on the morrow she is brought to the fire to be burned, Lancelot

and all his kinsmen shall rescue her.

Accordingly, Arthur's nephews, Gawayn, Gahers, and Gareth, lead

Guinevere forth "without Caerleyell, and there she was despoiled unto

her smock, and so then her ghostly father was brought to her to be

shriven of her misdeeds." But Lancelot's messenger gives the alarm

duly, and Lancelot appears with all his friends. There is much fighting

and bloodshed, and Sir Gahers and Sir Gareth are slain.

"Then Sir Lancelot rode straight unto the queen, and made a kirtle and

a gown to be cast upon her, and then he made her to be set behind him,

and rode with her unto his castle of joyous Garde, and there he kept

her as a noble knight should, and many lords and kings send Sir

Lancelot many good knights. When it was known openly that King Arthur

and Sir Lancelot were at debate, many knights were glad of their

debate, and many knights were sorry. But King Arthur sorrowed for pure

sorrow, and said, Alas, that ever I bare any crown upon my head."

Gawayn, mourning the death of his brothers, incites the king to besiege

Lancelot in Joyous Garde, and at length, reluctantly, Arthur consents

to make war.

"Of this war was noise throughout all Christendom. And at last it was

noised before the Pope, and he, considering the great goodness of King

Arthur and Sir Lancelot, which was called the most noble knight of the

world, wherefore the Pope called unto him a noble clerk that at that

time there was present the French book saith it was the Bishop of

Rochester. And the Pope gave him Bulls under lead, unto King Arthur of

England, charging him upon pain of interdiction of all England, that he

take his queen, Dame Guinevere, to him again, and accord with Sir

Lancelot."

Arthur would have made peace at once, but at first Gawayn prevented

him. Then the bishop went to Lancelot and charged him to bring back the

queen:--

"And the bishop had of the king his great seal and assurance, as he was

a true anointed king, that Sir Lancelot should go safe and come safe,

and that the queen should not be reproved of the king nor of none

other, for nothing done before time past."

To Lancelot the bishop ended his exhortation in these words:--

"Wit ye well, the Pope must be obeyed."

And Lancelot answered that it was never in his thoughts to withhold the

queen from his lord, King Arthur, "but in so much as she should have

been dead for my sake, me seemeth it was my part to save her life, and

put her from that danger till better recover might come. And now I

thank God that the Pope hath made her peace, for God knoweth I would be

a thousandfold more gladder to bring her again than I was of her taking

away."

So he brought Guinevere to the king, and when they had both knelt

before him, he said:--

"My most redoubted lord ye shall understand that, by the Pope's

commandment and by yours, I have brought unto you my lady the queen, as

right requireth." Then King Arthur and all the other kings kneeled down

and gave thankings and louings (praises) to God and to his Blessed

Mother.

But Gawayn would not be reconciled to Lancelot, who in vain offered to

do penance for the death of Gahers and Gareth. In vain he said:--

"This much shall I offer you if it may please the king's good grace,

and you my lord Sir Gawayn. And first I shall begin at Sandwich, and

there I shall go in my shirt and barefoot, and at every ten miles' end

I will found and cause to make a house of religion, of what order ye

will assign me, with a whole convent, to sing and to read day and

night, in especial for Sir Gareth's sake and Sir Gahers; and this shall

I perform from Sandwich unto Caerleyell. And this, Sir Gawayn, me

thinketh, were more fairer and better unto their souls than that my

most noble lord Arthur and you should war on me, for thereby ye shall

get none avail."

But Gawayn answered him with hard words ending thus:--

"And if it were not for the Pope's commandment I should do battle with

my body against thy body, and prove it unto thee that thou hast been

false unto mine uncle, King Arthur, and to me both, and that shall I

prove upon thy body, when thou art departed from hence, wheresoever I

find thee. Then all the knights and ladies that were there wept as they

had been mad, and the tears fell upon King Arthur's cheeks. Then Sir

Lancelot kissed the queen before them all, took his leave, and departed

with all the knights of his kin."

He went to his estates over the sea; but Gawayn gave Arthur no rest

till he had made ready an army and crossed the sea to make war on him.

Modred, in Arthur's absence, seized the kingdom, and would have wedded

the queen by force, had not the Archbishop of Canterbury threatened to

curse him with bell, book, and candle. When Modred defied him, the

archbishop departed, and "did the curse in the most orgulous wise that

might be done."

But Arthur, receiving tidings of Modred's conduct, returned to Dover,

where the usurper met him, and "there was much slaughter of gentle

knights." Here Sir Gawayn was mortally wounded, and Arthur " made great

sorrow and moan." Two hours before his death, Gawayn wrote a letter to

Lancelot, telling him of Modred's crime and beseeching him, "the most

noblest knight," to come back to the realm:--

"And so at the hour of None, Sir Gawayn betook himself into the hands

of our Lord God, after that he had received his Saviour. And then the

king let bury him within a chapel within the castle of Dover, and

there, yet to this day, all men may see the skull of Sir Gawayn, and

the same wound is seen that Sir Lancelot gave him in battle."

In the "Passing of Arthur" Tennyson has kept mainly to the original,

though he omits Arthur's command to Sir Bedevere to pray for his soul.

The king, overcome by his enemies, receives his deadly wound, and sails

away in the barge, with the three queens, to the island valley of

Avilion. But, according to Malory, Sir Bedevere finds him on the

morrow, lying dead in a little chapel on a rock:--

"And when Queen Guinevere understood that her lord King Arthur was

slain, and all the noble knights, Sir Modred and all the remnant, she

stole away, and five ladies with her, and so she went to Almesbury, and

there she let make herself a nun, and wore white clothes and black, and

great penance she took as ever did sinful lady in this land, and never

creature could make her merry, but lived in fastings, prayers, and

alms-deeds, that all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was

changed. Now leave we Queen Guinevere in Almesbury, a nun in white

clothes and black, and there she was abbess and ruler as reason would,

and turn me from her and speak me of Sir Lancelot du Lake."

Meanwhile, Sir Lancelot had returned to England to avenge King Arthur's

death:--

"Then the people told him how that he was slain, and Sir Modred and a

hundred thousand died on a day, and how Sir Modred gave King Arthur

there the first battle at his landing, and there was good Sir Gawayn

slain, and on the morn Sir Modred fought with the king upon Barham

Down, and there the king put Sir Modred to the worse. Alas, said Sir

Lancelot, this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to me. Now fair

Sirs, said Sir Lancelot, shew me the tomb of Sir Gawayn. And then

certain people of the town brought him into the castle of Dover and

showed him the tomb. Then Sir Lancelot kneeled down and wept and prayed

heartily for his soul. And that night he made a dole, and all they that

would come had as much flesh, fish, wine, and ale as they would, and

every man and woman had twelve pence come who would. Thus with his own

hand dealt he his money in a mourning gown; and ever he wept, and

prayed them to pray for the soul of Sir Gawayn. And on the morn all the

priests and clerks that might be gotten in the country were there and

sung Mass of Requiem. And there offered first Sir Lancelot, and he

offered an hundred pound, and then the seven kings offered forty pound

apiece, and also there was a thousand knights, and each of them offered

a pound, and the offering dured from morn till night. And Sir Lancelot

lay two nights on his tomb in prayers and in weeping. Then on the third

day Sir Lancelot called the kings, dukes, earls, barons, and knights,

and said thus:--

My fair lords, I thank you all of your coming into this country with

me: but we come too late, and that shall repent me while I live, but

against death may no man rebel. But sithen it is so, said Sir Lancelot,

I will myself ride and seek my lady Queen Guinevere, for as I hear say

she hath great pain and much disease, and I heard say that she is fled

into the west country, therefore ye all abide me here, and but if I

come not again within fifteen days, then take your ships and your

fellowship, and depart into your country.

"Then came Sir Bors de Ganis, and said, My lord Sir Lancelot, what

think ye for to do, now to ride in this realm? wit thou well ye shall

find few friends. Be as it may, said Sir Lancelot, keep you still here,

for I will forth on my journey, and no man nor child shall go with me.

So it was no boot to strive, but he departed and rode westerly and

sought seven or eight days, and at the last he came to a nunnery. And

then was Queen Guinevere ware of Sir Lancelot as he walked in the

cloister. And when she saw him there she swooned thrice, that all the

ladies and gentlewomen had work enough to hold the Queen up. So when

she might speak she called the ladies and gentlewomen to her and said,

Ye marvel, fair ladies, why I make this cheer. Truly, she said, it is

for the sight of yonder knight which yonder standeth, wherefore I pray

you all call him to me. And when Sir Lancelot was brought unto her she

said, through this knight and me all these wars been wrought, and the

death of the most noblest knights of the world. For through our love

that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, wit

ye well, Sir Lancelot, I am set in such a plight to get my soul health;

and yet I trust through God's grace after my death to have a sight of

the blessed face of Christ, and at the dreadful day of doom to sit on

His right side, for as sinful creatures as ever was I are saints in

heaven. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require and beseech thee heartily,

for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more

in the visage. And furthermore I command thee on God's behalf right

straightly that thou forsake my company, and to thy kingdom thou turn

again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I

have loved thee, mine heart will not serve me to see thee; for both

through me and thee is the flower of kings and knights destroyed.

Therefore, Sir Lancelot, go to thy realm, and there take thee a wife,

and live with her in joy and bliss, and I pray thee heartily pray for

me to our Lord, that I may amend my mis-living.

"Now, sweet madam, said Sir Lancelot, would ye that I should return

again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you

well, that shall I never do: for I shall never be so false to you of

that I have promised, but the same destiny that ye have taken you unto,

I will take me unto, for to please God and specially to pray for you.

"If thou wilt do so, said the Queen, hold thy promise. But I may not

believe but that thou wilt turn to the world again.

"Ye say well, said he, yet wish ye me never false of my promise, and

God defend but that I should forsake the world like as ye have done.

For in the quest of the Sancgreall I had forsaken the vanities of the

world had not your lord been. And if I had done so at that time, with

my heart, will, and thought, I had passed all the knights that were in

the Sancgreall, except Sir Galahad, my son. And therefore, lady, sithen

ye have taken you to perfection, I must needs take me unto perfection

of right. For I take record of God, in you have I had mine earthly joy,

and if I had found you so disposed, I had cast me for to have had you

into mine own realm. But sithen I find you thus disposed, I ensure you

faithfully that I will take me to penance, and pray while my life

lasteth, if that I may find any hermit, either grey or white, that will

receive me. Wherefore, madam, I pray you kiss me once and never more.

"Nay, said the Queen, that shall I never do, but abstain you from such

works. And they departed. But there was never so hard a hearted man but

he would have wept to see the dolour that they made. For there was

lamentation as though they had been stung with spears, and many times

they swooned. And the ladies bare the Queen to her chamber. And Sir

Lancelot awoke, and went, and took his horse, and rode all that day and

all that night in a forest, weeping. And at the last he was ware of an

hermitage, and a chapel stood betwixt two cliffs; and then he heard a

little bell ring to Mass, and thither he rode and alighted, and tied

his horse to the gate, and heard Mass. So he that sang the Mass was the

Bishop of Canterbury. There was also Sir Bedevere, and both the bishop

and Sir Bedevere knew Sir Lancelot, and they spoke together after Mass.

But when Sir Bedevere had told his tale all whole, Sir Lancelot's heart

almost braste for sorrow, and Sir Lancelot threw his arms abroad and

said, Alas, who may trust this world! And then he kneeled down on his

knees, and prayed the bishop to shrive him and assoil him. And then he

besought the bishop that he might be his brother. Then the bishop said,

I will gladly, and there he put an habit upon Sir Lancelot, and there

he served God day and night with prayers and fastings."

Bedevere followed Lancelot's example, and within half a year seven

other knights joined themselves to these two and endured in great

penance six year, and then Sir Lancelot took the habit of priesthood,

and in twelve months he sang Mass. And there was none of these other

knights but they read in books and holp to sing Mass, and rang bells,

and did lowly all manner of service. And so their horses went where

they would for they took no regard of no worldly riches. For when they

saw Sir Lancelot endure such penance, in prayers and fasting, they took

no force what pain they endured, for to see the noblest knight of the

world take such abstinence that he waxed full lean. And thus upon a

night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot, and charged him in remission

of his sins, to haste him unto Almesbury--and by then thou come there,

thou shalt find Queen Guinevere dead, and therefore take thy fellows

with thee, and purvey thee of an horse-bier, and fetch thou the corpse

of her, and bury her by her husband, the noble King Arthur. So this

vision came to Lancelot thrice in one night.

"Then Sir Lancelot rose upon day and told the hermit. It were well

done, said the hermit, that ye make you ready, and that ye disobey not

the vision. Then Sir Lancelot took his seven fellows with him, and on

foot they went from Glastonbury to Almesbury, the which is little more

than thirty miles. And thither they came within two days, for they were

weak and feeble to go.

"And when Sir Lancelot was come to Almesbury, within the nunnery, Queen

Guinevere died but half an hour before. And the ladies told Sir

Lancelot that Queen Guinevere told them all ere she passed, that Sir

Lancelot had been priest near a twelvemonth. And hither he cometh as

fast as he may to fetch my corpse, and beside my lord King Arthur he

shall bury me. Wherefore the Queen said, in hearing of them all, I

beseech Almighty God that I may never have power to see Sir Lancelot

with my worldly eyes. And this, said all the ladies was ever her prayer

these two days till she was dead. Then Sir Lancelot saw her visage, but

he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of

the service himself, both the Dirige, and on the morn he sang Mass. And

there was ordained an horse-bier, and so with an hundred torches ever

burning about the corpse of the Queen, and ever Sir Lancelot with his

eight fellows went about the horse-bier singing and reading many an

holy orison, and frankincense upon the corpse incensed. Thus Sir

Lancelot and his eight fellows went on foot from Almesbury unto

Glastonbury, and when they were come to the chapel and the hermitage,

there she had a Dirige with great devotion. And on the morn the hermit

that was sometime Bishop of Canterbury, sang the Mass of Requiem with

great devotion; and Sir Lancelot was the first that offered, and then

all his eight fellows. And then she was wrapped in cered cloth of

Raines, from the top to the toe in thirty-fold, and after she was put

in a web of lead, and then in a coffin of marble. And when she was put

in the earth, Sir Lancelot swooned, and lay long still, while the

hermit came out, and awaked him and said, Ye be to blame, for ye

displease God with such manner of sorrow-making. Truly, said Sir

Lancelot, I trust I do not displease God, for He knoweth mine intent,

for my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any rejoicing of sin, but my

sorrow may never end. For when I remember of her beauty and of her

noblesse that was both with her king and with her, so when I saw his

corpse and her corpse so lie together, truly mine heart would not serve

to sustain my careful body. Also when I remember me, how by my default,

mine orgule, my pride, that they were both laid full low that were

peerless that ever was living of Christian people, wit you well, said

Sir Lancelot, this remembered of their kindness and mine unkindness,

sank so to my heart that I might not sustain myself."

Not long after the death of Guinevere, Lancelot "began to wax sick, and

for evermore, day and night he prayed; but needfully, as nature

required, sometimes he slumbered a broken sleep. And within six weeks

he lay in his bed and called the bishop and said, Sir Bishop, I pray

you that ye will give me all my rights that belongeth unto a Christian

man." Then Malory goes on to say that "when he was houseled and eneled,

and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the bishop

that his fellows might bear his body unto joyous Garde."

That night the bishop dreamed he saw Sir Lancelot with two angels, "and

he saw the angels heave up Sir Lancelot towards heaven, and the gates

of heaven opened against him. And then they went to Sir Lancelot's bed,

and there they found him dead, and he lay as he had smiled; and the

sweetest savour about him that ever they felt."

III. FOXE'S BOOK OF ERRORS

To take the Acts and Monuments, and as far as it might be possible

after upwards of three hundred years, test the accuracy of each

circumstance which Foxe proposes for the edification of his readers,

would necessitate a work as voluminous as his own immense undertaking.

To sift the chaff from the wheat, and to bind up the latter into one

acceptable whole would perhaps result in a book not larger than one of

his own eight thick octavo and closely printed volumes. All that can be

done here is to indicate some of the most flagrant instances of the

unfair and uncritical spirit in which he has written, of the

carelessness, wilful misrepresentation, and neglect to rectify errors

pointed out to him, by which the martyrologist has exposed his book to

everlasting reproach. On the death of Foxe's last descendant the

greater part of his MSS. were either given to the annalist, Strype, or

were allowed to remain in his hands till his death in 1737, when many

of them were purchased by Lord Oxford for the Harleian collection now

in the British Museum. A few of them found a refuge in the Lansdowne

Library, and these also are now in the possession of the nation. They

include a mass of heterogeneous documents of the most unequal value and

interest--such as the stories, often palpably coloured, of persons who

profess to have been eye-witnesses of the scenes depicted, minutes of

the examinations of prisoners, apparently taken down on the spot, wild

statements written with the obvious purpose of pandering to Puritan

intolerance and prejudice, and fantastic tales of the martyrologist's

supposed judgments of God upon those who persecuted the followers of

the reformed doctrines. They include also several counter-statements

sent to Foxe for the express purpose of giving him an opportunity to

correct portions of his work, but of which, although he preserved them,

he never made any use. Some of these latter have been utilised by Gough

in his Narratives of the Days of the Reformation.

In his preface to this book, Gough admits,* as indeed he was obliged to

admit that, "as a general history of the Church in its earlier ages,

Foxes work has been shown to be partial and prejudiced in spirit,

imperfect and inaccurate in execution," and Leach** asserts that, while

its compiler had recourse to some early documents, even here he

depended largely on printed works, such as Crespin's Actiones et

Monuments Martyrum, which was published at Geneva in 1560. He notes,

moreover, that Foxes chapter on the Waldenses is nothing but a

translation of the untrustworthy Catalogus Testium Veritatis, published

at Basle by Illyricus in 1556, although Foxe himself does not

acknowledge Illyricus as his authority, but claims to have consulted

"parchment documents," which he only knew from the transcriptions in

that book. "It has been conclusively shown," says Mr. Sidney Lee in the

Dictionary of National Biography, "that his chapter on the Waldenses is

directly translated from the Catalogus of Illyricus, although Illyricus

is not mentioned by Foxe among the authorities whom he acknowledges to

have consulted . . . . This indicates a loose notion of literary

morality which justifies some of the harshest judgments passed on Foxe."

* P. 23, edited by the Camden Society.

** Sir George Croke's Reports, edited by Thomas Leach, ii. 91. London,

1790-92.

Matthias Flach-Franconitz, better known as Flacius Illyricus, from the

place of his birth (in Istria, a part of Illyria) was a voluminous

writer on most of the controverted doctrines in the sixteenth century.

Having become a disciple of Luther he was for ever raising fresh

disputes on religious subjects, and was noted for the violence and

exaggeration he brought into their discussion, so that, according to a

German historian, "he seemed to have been created for an ecclesiastical

Procurator General." On his death in 1575, Jacques Andreas, one of his

friends, admitted that, taken altogether, his Illyricus was the devil's

Illyricus, and that, in the opinion of Andreas, he was then "supping

with devils."*

* Hoefer, Nouvelle Biogaphie Generale, Art, Flach-Franconitz Matthias.

Such then being Foxe's authority, although unacknowledged, for his

Waldensian chapter, we can scarcely expect him to be more conscientious

in his evidence concerning matters closely connected with the passions,

prejudices, and burning questions of his own day.

Nearly, if not quite all the material for that part of the Acts and

Monuments which deals with the reign of Mary was collected by others

for Foxe and Grindal during their absence from England. Grindal handed

over to Foxe the accounts of the various prosecutions for heresy sent

to him by his correspondents at home, taking care, however, at the same

time to warn the martyrologist against placing too much confidence in

them, he himself suspending his judgment "till more satisfactory

evidence came from good hands." He advised him for the present, only to

print separately the acts of particular persons of whom they had

authentic accounts and to wait for a larger and more complete history

until they had trustworthy information concerning the "martyrs."* The

letters, which Grindal wrote to Foxe on this subject in 1557, were

published by the Parker Society, in Grindal's Remains, and show that

the future archbishop believed not too implicitly in the truth of all

the stories which he passed on to his friend. He constantly urged him

to delay writing in order to gain "more certain intelligence." But the

careful investigation which he recommended did not fall in with the

particular genius and uncritical methods of Foxe, who, perhaps on

account of his necessitous condition, worked away with a will on the

unsifted tales and reports as they came to hand, so that the book in

its Latin form was completed, almost to the end of the reign of Mary,

and was published at Basle, before his return to England in 1559. He

afterwards made an English translation of the work, but without seeing

fit to revise his material. It bore the title Acts and Monuments, but

it was at once popularly styled the Book of Martyrs. When he was

attacked by Alan Cope (Nicholas Harpsfield) for his inaccuracy, Foxe

replied: "I hear what you will say: I should have taken more leisure

and done it better. I grant and confess my fault, such is my vice, I

cannot sit all the day (Moister Cope) fining and mincing my letters,

and combing my head, and smoothing myself all the day at the glass of

Cicero. Yet, notwithstanding, doing what I can, and doing my good will,

methinks I should not be reprehended, at least not so much be railed of

at M. Copes hand."**

* Strype, Life of Archbishop Grindal, p. 25.

** Acts and Monuments, i. 69 1. Edited 1570.

But it is not for his want of scholarly writing that Foxe has been

blamed. Father Robert Persons, in his Three Conversions of England,*

begins one of his chapters with "a note of more than a hundred and

twenty lies uttered by John Foxe, in less than three leaves of his Acts

and Monuments," and he proceeds to point them out, beginning with the

misstatement concerning John Merbeck and some others, whom Foxe counts

among the martyrs, although they were never burned at all. As, in

consequence of Father Persons' remarks concerning John Merbeck, Foxe

acknowledged the error in his second edition, we may hold him excused

thus far, but his delinquencies in this respect were by no means

unfrequent, and gave rise to the saying that "many who were burnt in

the reign of Queen Mary, drank sack in the reign of Queen Elizabeth."**

* Quoted in Fuller's Worthies, under "Berkshire," p. 92.

*Part iii., p. 412."

Two similar misstatements, which he was in a position to correct and

did not, relate to the supposed death by the vengeance of God, of Henry

Morgan, Bishop of St. David's, and of one Grimwood, another "notorious

Papist."

Anthony a Wood, the famous antiquary and historian, who wrote his

History of the Antiquities of Oxford about a hundred years after Foxe

had become celebrated as a martyrologist, and who in his youth spoke

with people who remembered the days of persecution under Mary, tells us

that:--

"Henry Morgan was esteemed a most admirable civilian and canonist; he

was for several years the constant Moderator of all those that

performed exercise for their degrees in the civil law in the scholar

schools, hall and church pertaining to that faculty, situated also in

the same parish . . . . He was elected Bishop of St. David's, upon the

deprivation of Robert Ferrar . . . . In that see he sate till after

Queen Elizabeth came to the Crown, and then being deprived . . .

retired among his friends, and died a devoted son to the Church of

Rome, on the 23rd of December following (1559) of whose death, hear I

pray what John Foxe saith in this manner: Morgan, bishop of St.

David's, who sate upon the condemnation of the blessed Martyr and

Bishop Ferrar, and unjustly usurped his room, was not long after

stricken by God's hand, but after such a strange sort, that his meat

would not go down, but rise and pick up again, sometimes at his mouth,

sometimes blown out of his nose, most horrible to behold, and so he

continued till his death. Thus Foxe, followed by Thomas Beard in his

Theatre of God's Judgments. But where or when his death happened, they

tell us not, nor any author hitherto, only when, which Bishop Godwin

mentions. Now, therefore, be pleased to know that the said Bishop

Morgan, retiring after his deprivation to and near Oxen, where he had

several relations and acquaintance living, particularly the Owens of

Godstow, in the parish of Wolvercote, near to the said city, did spend

the little remainder of his life in great devotion at Godstow, but that

he died in the condition which Foxe mentions there is no tradition

among the inhabitants of Wolvercote. True it is that I have heard some

discourse, many years ago, from some of the ancients of that place,

that a certain bishop did live for some time, and exercised his charity

and religious counsel among them, and there died; but I could never

learn anything of them of the manner of his death, which being very

miserable, as John Foxe saith, methinks that they should have a

tradition of it, as well as of the man himself; but I say there is now

none, nor was there any thirty years ago, among the most aged persons

then living at that place, and therefore, whether there be anything of

truth in it may justly be doubted."

The evidence of this negative tradition is certainly more convincing,

than Foxes unsupported allegation of a circumstance, as unlikely to

have occurred, as it was likely to be concocted by a man of his

propensity and unscrupulousness. If, however, there should be any doubt

of Foxes ability to concoct such a story, it will perhaps be removed by

the history of the drastic refutation, which befell the similar story

of the end of Grimwood. This, Anthony a Wood proceeds to record in a

passage immediately after the one above quoted.

"In the very same chapter and leaf concerning the severe punishment

upon persecutors of God's People, he hath committed a most egregious

falsity in reporting that one Grimwood, of Higham, in Suffolk, died in

a miserable manner, for swearing and bearing false witness against one

John Cooper, a carpenter of Watsam in the same county, for which he

lost his life. The miserable death of the said Grimwood was, as John

Foxe saith thus: That WHEN HE WAS IN HIS LABOUR, STAKING UP A GOSSE OF

CORN, HAVING HIS HEALTH, AND FEARING NO PERIL, SUDDENLY HIS BOWELS FELL

OUT OF HIS BODY, AND IMMEDIATELY MOST MISERABLY HE DIED. Now it so fell

out that in the reign of Elizabeth, one Prit* became parson of the

parish where the said Grimwood dwelt, and preaching against perjury,

being not acquainted with his parishioners, cited the said story of

Foxe, and it happened that Grimwood being alive, and in the said

church, he brought an action upon the case, against the parson, but

Judge Anderson, who sate at the Assizes in the county of Suffolk, did

adjudge it not maintainable, because it was not spoken maliciously."**

* Or Prick.

** Anthony d Wood, Athenae Oxoniensis, vol. i., p. 691.

That the action was not maintainable on the ground of malice, as

against the parson, may have been true, but Foxe cannot reasonably be

acquitted, for although he went into Suffolk professedly to investigate

the matter, he never made any alteration in his story in subsequent

editions, and the very latest impression of the Acts and Monuments

perpetuates the lie and slander.

Thirty years after the death of Sir Thomas More, Foxe undertook to

collect all the traditional gossip afloat concerning the Chancellor's

alleged treatment of John Tewkesbury and James Bainham, for heresy.

Tewkesbury was a leather-seller of London, and Foxe says that he was

sent to Sir Thomas Mores house at Chelsea to be examined, and that

"there he lay in the porter's lodge, hand, foot, and head in the

stocks, six days without release. Then was he carried to Jesus' Tree in

his privy garden, where he was whipped, and also twisted in his brows

with a small rope, that the blood started out of his eyes, and yet

would not accuse no man. Then was he let loose for a day, and his

friends thought to have him at liberty the next day. After this he was

sent to be racked in the Tower, till he was almost lame, and there

promised to recant.*

* Acts and Monuments, vol. iv., p. 689; Pratt's ed.

The truth of the matter was, however, that as Tewkesbury was examined

for the first time on the 8th May 1529, and immediately afterwards

recanted, the event occurred several months before Sir Thomas More

became Lord Chancellor; and therewith falls to the ground the story of

Tewkesbury's being tortured in Mores garden, the punishment of heretics

being part of the Lord Chancellor's office.

James Bainham was a lawyer, and Foxe declares that he was whipped at

the Tree of Truth in Mores garden, and was then sent to the Tower to be

racked, "and so he was, Sir Thomas More being present himself, till in

a manner he had lamed him." Bainham, like Tewkesbury, recanted, and

both of them bewailed and retracted their recantations, first before

their friends in a Protestant gathering in Bow Lane, and afterwards in

a Catholic Church, in consequence of which, according to Foxe, both

were burned. But a part of what Foxe wrote about Tewkesbury in one

edition of the Acts and Monuments he omitted in another, patching it on

to Bainham's story, thus stultifying himself as regards both stories,*

and affording us another signal illustration of the irresponsible and

unscrupulous way in which he could deal with evidence.

* Vol. iv., p. 702; and Appendix, p. 769; Pratt's ed.

He further attributed to More the death of John Frith, who suffered

death in 1533, a year after Sir Thomas had laid down his office,

although in his Apology, the exchancellor referred to Frith as being

then in the Tower, not committed by him but by "the King's Grace and

his Council."*

* Apology, p. 887.

Foxe might easily, had he been so inclined, have verified these things

by reference to the thirty-sixth chapter of the above-mentioned

Apology, in which More answered the lies "neither few nor small that

many of the blessed brethren have made and daily yet make by me." He

goes on to say:--

"Divers of them have said that of such as were in my house while I was

chancellor, I used to examine them with torments, causing them to be

bound to a tree in my garden, and there piteously beaten. And this tale

had some of those brethren so caused to be blown about, that a right

worshipful friend of mine did of late, within less than this fortnight,

tell unto another near friend of mine that he had of late heard much

speaking thereof. What cannot these brethren say that can be so

shameless to say thus? For of very truth, albeit that for a great

robbery, or a heinous murder, or sacrilege in a church, with carrying

away the pix with the Blessed Sacrament, or villainously casting it

out, I caused sometimes such things to be done by some officers of the

Marshalsea, or of some other prisons, with which ordering of them, and

without any great hurt that afterwards should stick by them, I found

out and repressed many such desperate wretches, as else had not failed

to have gone farther; yet saving the sure keeping of heretics, I never

did cause any such thing to be done to any of them in all my life

except only twain."

Of these two instances he first records one relating to a child who was

a servant in his house. The boy's father had taught him "his ungracious

heresy against the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar," which heresy the

boy began to teach another child in Mores house. Thereupon, More caused

a servant of his "to stripe him like a child" before the whole

household, "for amendment of himself and example of such others." The

other case was that of a man who, "after that he had fallen into that

frantic heresy, fell soon after into plain open frenzy besides." The

man was confined in Bedlam, and when discharged went about disturbing

public service in churches, and committing acts of great indecency.

Devout, religious folk besought the Chancellor to restrain him, and

accordingly, one day when he came wandering by Mores door, he caused

him to be taken by the constables, bound to a tree in the street before

the whole town, "and there they striped him with rods till he waxed

weary, and somewhat longer." More ends by saying, "And verily, God be

thanked, I hear none harm of him now. And of all that ever came in my

hands for heresy, as help me God, saving [as I said] the sure keeping

of them, had never any of them stripe or stroke given them, so much as

a fillip on the forehead."

He then goes on to disprove the truth of a story spread about by

Tindal, concerning the beating in his garden of a man named Segar. This

story Foxe evidently confused with the fable of Tewkesbury, which thus

completely crumbles to pieces; for as Sir James Mackintosh in his Life

of More says:

"This statement [More's Apology] so minute, so easily contradicted if

in any part false, was made public after his fall from power, when he

was surrounded by enemies, and could have no friends but the generous.

He relates circumstances of public notoriety, or at least so known to

all his household, which it would have been rather a proof of insanity

than of imprudence to have alleged in his defence if they had not been

indisputably and confessedly true . . . Defenceless and obnoxious as

More then was, no man was hardy enough to dispute his truth. Foxe was

the first, who, thirty years afterwards, ventured to oppose it in a

vague statement, which we know to be in some respects inaccurate." *