CATHEDRAL CITIES AND ABBEY TOWNS

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CHAPTER IX

CATHEDRAL CITIES AND ABBEY TOWNS

There is always an air of quietude and restfulness about an ordinary cathedral city.

Some of our cathedrals are set in busy places, in great centres of population,

wherein the high towering minster looks down with a kind of pitying compassion

upon the toiling folk and invites them to seek shelter and peace and the

consolations of religion in her quiet courts. For ages she has watched over the city

and seen generation after generation pass away. Kings and queens have come to lay

their offerings on her altars, and have been borne there amid all the pomp of stately

mourning to lie in the gorgeous tombs that grace her choir. She has seen it all--

times of pillage and alarm, of robbery and spoliation, of change and disturbance,

but she lives on, ever calling men with her quiet voice to look up in love and faith

and prayer.

But many of our cathedral cities are quite small places which owe their very life

and existence to the stately church which pious hands have raised centuries ago.

There age after age the prayer of faith, the anthems of praise, and the divine

services have been offered.

In the glow of a summer's evening its heavenly architecture stands out, a mass of

wondrous beauty, telling of the skill of the masons and craftsmen of olden days

who put their hearts into their work and wrought so surely and so well. The

greensward of the close, wherein the rooks caw and guard their nests, speaks of

peace and joy that is not of earth. We walk through the fretted cloisters that once

echoed with the tread of sandalled monks and saw them illuminating and copying

wonderful missals, antiphonaries, and other manuscripts which we prize so highly

now. The deanery is close at hand, a venerable house of peace and learning; and the

canons' houses tell of centuries of devoted service to God's Church, wherein many

a distinguished scholar, able preacher, and learned writer has lived and sent forth

his burning message to the world, and now lies at peace in the quiet minster.

The fabric of the cathedrals is often in danger of becoming part and parcel of

vanishing England. Every one has watched with anxiety the gallant efforts that

have been made to save Winchester. The insecure foundations, based on timbers

that had rotted, threatened to bring down that wondrous pile of masonry. And now

Canterbury is in danger.

The Dean and Chapter of Canterbury having recently completed the reparation of

the central tower of the cathedral, now find themselves confronted with

responsibilities which require still heavier expenditure. It has recently been found

that the upper parts of the two western towers are in a dangerous condition. All the

pinnacles of these towers have had to be partially removed in order to avoid the risk

of dangerous injury from falling stones, and a great part of the external work of the

two towers is in a state of grievous decay.

The Chapter were warned by the architect that they would incur an anxious

responsibility if they did not at once adopt measures to obviate this danger.

Further, the architect states that there are some fissures and shakes in the supporting

piers of the central tower within the cathedral, and that some of the stonework

shows signs of crushing. He further reports that there is urgent need of repair to the

nave windows, the south transept roof, the Warriors' Chapel, and several other parts

of the building. The nave pinnacles are reported by him to be in the last stage of

decay, large portions falling frequently, or having to be removed.

In these modern days we run "tubes" and under-ground railways in close proximity

to the foundations of historic buildings, and thereby endanger their safety. The

grand cathedral of St. Paul, London, was threatened by a "tube," and only saved by

vigorous protest from having its foundations jarred and shaken by rumbling trains

in the bowels of the earth. Moreover, by sewers and drains the earth is made devoid

of moisture, and therefore is liable to crack and crumble, and to disturb the

foundations of ponderous buildings. St. Paul's still causes anxiety on this account,

and requires all the care and vigilance of the skilful architect who guards it.

The old Norman builders loved a central tower, which they built low and squat.

Happily they built surely and well, firmly and solidly, as their successors loved to

pile course upon course upon their Norman towers, to raise a massive

superstructure, and often crown them with a lofty, graceful, but heavy spire. No

wonder the early masonry has, at times, protested against this additional weight,

and many mighty central towers and spires have fallen and brought ruin on the

surrounding stonework. So it happened at Chichester and in several other noble

churches. St. Alban's tower very nearly fell. There the ingenuity of destroyers and

vandals at the Dissolution had dug a hole and removed the earth from under one of

the piers, hoping that it would collapse. The old tower held on for three hundred

years, and then the mighty mass began to give way, and Sir Gilbert Scott tells the

story of its reparation in 1870, of the triumphs of the skill of modern builders, and

their bravery and resolution in saving the fall of that great tower. The greatest credit

is due to all concerned in that hazardous and most difficult task. It had very nearly

gone. The story of Peterborough, and of several others, shows that many of these

vast fanes which have borne the storms and frosts of centuries are by no means too

secure, and that the skill of wise architects and the wealth of the Englishmen of to-

day are sorely needed to prevent them from vanishing. If they fell, new and modern

work would scarcely compensate us for their loss.

We will take Wells as a model of a cathedral city which entirely owes its origin to

the noble church and palace built there in early times. The city is one of the most

picturesque in England, situated in the most delightful country, and possessing the

most perfect ecclesiastical buildings which can be conceived. Jocelyn de Wells,

who lived at the beginning of the thirteenth century (1206-39), has for many years

had the credit of building the main part of this beautiful house of God. It is hard to

have one's beliefs and early traditions upset, but modern authorities, with much

reason, tell us that we are all wrong, and that another Jocelyn--one Reginald Fitz-

Jocelyn (1171-91)--was the main builder of Wells Cathedral. Old documents

recently discovered decide the question, and, moreover, the style of architecture is

certainly earlier than the fully developed Early English of Jocelyn de Wells. The

latter, and also Bishop Savaricus (1192-1205), carried out the work, but the whole

design and a considerable part of the building are due to Bishop Reginald Fitz-

Jocelyn. His successors, until the middle of the fifteenth century, went on

perfecting the wondrous shrine, and in the time of Bishop Beckington Wells was in

its full glory. The church, the outbuildings, the episcopal palace, the deanery, all

combined to form a wonderful architectural triumph, a group of buildings which

represented the highest achievement of English Gothic art.

Since then many things have happened. The cathedral, like all other ecclesiastical

buildings, has passed through three great periods of iconoclastic violence. It was

shorn of some of its glory at the Reformation, when it was plundered of the

treasures which the piety of many generations had heaped together. Then the

beautiful Lady Chapel in the cloisters was pulled down, and the infamous Duke of

Somerset robbed it of its wealth and meditated further sacrilege. Amongst these

desecrators and despoilers there was a mighty hunger for lead. "I would that they

had found it scalding," exclaimed an old chaplain of Wells; and to get hold of the

lead that covered the roofs--a valuable commodity--Somerset and his kind did

much mischief to many of our cathedrals and churches. An infamous bishop of

York, at this period, stripped his fine palace that stood on the north of York

Minster, "for the sake of the lead that covered it," and shipped it off to London,

where it was sold for £1000; but of this sum he was cheated by a noble duke, and

therefore gained nothing by his infamy. During the Civil War it escaped fairly well,

but some damage was done, the palace was despoiled; and at the Restoration of the

Monarchy much repair was needed. Monmouth's rebels wrought havoc. They came

to Wells in no amiable mood, defaced the statues on the west front, did much

wanton mischief, and would have caroused about the altar had not Lord Grey stood

before it with his sword drawn, and thus preserved it from the insults of the

ruffians. Then came the evils of "restoration." A terrible renewing was begun in

1848, when the old stalls were destroyed and much damage done. Twenty years

later better things were accomplished, save that the grandeur of the west front was

belittled by a pipey restoration, when Irish limestone, with its harsh hue, was used

to embellish it.

A curiosity at Wells are the quarter jacks over the clock on the exterior north wall

of the cathedral. Local tradition has it that the clock with its accompanying figures

was part of the spoil removed from Glastonbury Abbey. The ecclesiastical

authorities at Wells assert in contradiction to this that the clock was the work of one

Peter Lightfoot, and was placed in the cathedral in the latter part of the fourteenth

century. A minute is said to exist in the archives of repairs to the clock and figures

in 1418. It is Mr. Roe's opinion that the defensive armour on the quarter jacks dates

from the first half of the fifteenth century, the plain oviform breastplates and

basinets, as well as the continuation of the tassets round the hips, being very

characteristic features of this period. The halberds in the hands of the figures are

evidently restorations of a later time. It may be mentioned that in 1907, when the

quarter jacks were painted, it was discovered that though the figures themselves

were carved out of solid blocks of oak hard as iron, the arms were of elm bolted

and braced thereon. Though such instances of combined materials are common

enough among antiquities of medieval times, it may yet be surmised that the jar

caused by incessant striking may in time have necessitated repairs to the upper

limbs. The arms are immovable, as the figures turn on pivots to strike.

Quarter Jacks over the Clock on exterior of North Wall of Wells Cathedral.

An illustration is given of the palace at Wells, which is one of the finest examples

of thirteenth-century houses existing in England. It was begun by Jocelyn. The

great hall, now in ruins, was built by Bishop Burnell at the end of the thirteenth

century, and was destroyed by Bishop Barlow in 1552. The chapel is Decorated.

The gatehouse, with its drawbridge, moat, and fortifications, was constructed by

Bishop Ralph, of Shrewsbury, who ruled from 1329 to 1363. The deanery was built

by Dean Gunthorpe in 1475, who was chaplain to Edward IV. On the north is the

beautiful vicar's close, which has forty-two houses, constructed mainly by Bishop

Beckington (1443-64), with a common hall erected by Bishop Ralph in 1340 and a

chapel by Budwith (1407-64), but altered a century later. You can see the old

fireplace, the pulpit from which one of the brethren read aloud during meals, and an

ancient painting representing Bishop Ralph making his grant to the kneeling

figures, and some additional figures painted in the time of Queen Elizabeth.

The Gate House, Bishop's Palace, Wells

When we study the cathedrals of England and try to trace the causes which led to

the destruction of so much that was beautiful, so much of English art that has

vanished, we find that there were three great eras of iconoclasm. First there were

the changes wrought at the time of the Reformation, when a rapacious king and his

greedy ministers set themselves to wring from the treasures of the Church as much

gain and spoil as they were able. These men were guilty of the most daring acts of

shameless sacrilege, the grossest robbery. With them nothing was sacred. Buildings

consecrated to God, holy vessels used in His service, all the works of sacred art, the

offerings of countless pious benefactors were deemed as mere profane things to be

seized and polluted by their sacrilegious hands. The land was full of the most

beautiful gems of architectural art, the monastic churches. We can tell something of

their glories from those which were happily spared and converted into cathderals or

parish churches. Ely, Peterborough the pride of the Fenlands, Chester, Gloucester,

Bristol, Westminster, St. Albans, Beverley, and some others proclaim the grandeur

of hundreds of other magnificent structures which have been shorn of their leaden

roofs, used as quarries for building-stone, entirely removed and obliterated, or left

as pitiable ruins which still look beautiful in their decay. Reading, Tintern,

Glastonbury, Fountains, and a host of others all tell the same story of pitiless

iconoclasm. And what became of the contents of these churches? The contents

usually went with the fabric to the spoliators. The halls of country-houses were

hung with altar-cloths; tables and beds were quilted with copes; knights and squires

drank their claret out of chalices and watered their horses in marble coffins. From

the accounts of the royal jewels it is evident that a great deal of Church plate was

delivered to the king for his own use, besides which the sum of £30,360 derived

from plate obtained by the spoilers was given to the proper hand of the king.

The iconoclasts vented their rage in the destruction of stained glass and beautiful

illuminated manuscripts, priceless tomes and costly treasures of exceeding rarity.

Parish churches were plundered everywhere. Robbery was in the air, and clergy and

churchwardens sold sacred vessels and appropriated the money for parochial

purposes rather than they should be seized by the king. Commissioners were sent to

visit all the cathedral and parish churches and seize the superfluous ornaments for

the king's use. Tithes, lands, farms, buildings belonging to the church all went the

same way, until the hand of the iconoclast was stayed, as there was little left to steal

or to be destroyed. The next era of iconoclastic zeal was that of the Civil War and

the Cromwellian period. At Rochester the soldiers profaned the cathedral by using

it as a stable and a tippling place, while saw-pits were made in the sacred building

and carpenters plied their trade. At Chichester the pikes of the Puritans and their

wild savagery reduced the interior to a ruinous desolation. The usual scenes of mad

iconoclasm were enacted--stained glass windows broken, altars thrown down, lead

stripped from the roof, brasses and effigies defaced and broken. A creature named

"Blue Dick" was the wild leader of this savage crew of spoliators who left little but

the bare walls and a mass of broken fragments strewing the pavement. We need not

record similar scenes which took place almost everywhere.

House in which Bishop Hooper was imprisoned, Westgate Street, Gloucester

The last and grievous rule of iconoclasm set in with the restorers, who worked their

will upon the fabric of our cathedrals and churches and did so much to obliterate all

the fragments of good architectural work which the Cromwellian soldiers and the

spoliators at the time of the Reformation had left. The memory of Wyatt and his

imitators is not revered when we see the results of their work on our ecclesiastical

fabrics, and we need not wonder that so much of English art has vanished.

The cathedral of Bristol suffered from other causes. The darkest spot in the history

of the city is the story of the Reform riots of 1831, sometimes called "the Bristol

Revolution," when the dregs of the population pillaged and plundered, burnt the

bishop's palace, and were guilty of the most atrocious vandalism.

The "Stone House," Rye, Sussex

The city of Bath, once the rival of Wells--the contention between the monks of St.

Peter and the canons of St. Andrews at Wells being hot and fierce--has many

attractions. Its minster, rebuilt by Bishop Oliver King of Wells (1495-1503), and

restored in the seventeenth century, and also in modern times, is not a very

interesting building, though it lacks not some striking features, and certainly

contains some fine tombs and monuments of the fashionable folk who flocked to

Bath in the days of its splendour. The city itself abounds in interest. It is a gem of

Georgian art, with a complete homogeneous architectural character of its own

which makes it singular and unique. It is full of memories of the great folks who

thronged its streets, attended the Bath and Pump Room, and listened to sermons in

the Octagon. It tells of the autocracy of Beau Nash, of Goldsmith, Sheridan, David

Garrick, of the "First Gentleman of Europe," and many others who made Bath

famous. And now it is likely that this unique little city with its memories and its

charming architectural features is to be mutilated for purely commercial reasons.

Every one knows Bath Street with its colonnaded loggias on each side terminated

with a crescent at each end, and leading to the Cross Bath in the centre of the

eastern crescent. That the original founders of Bath Street regarded it as an

important architectural feature of the city is evident from the inscription in

abbreviated Latin which was engraved on the first stone of the street when laid:--

PRO

VRBIS DIG: ET AMP:

HÆC PON: CVRAV:

SC:

DELEGATI

A: D: MDCCXCI.

I: HORTON, PRAET:

T: BALDWIN, ARCHITECTO.

which may be read to the effect that "for the dignity and enlargement (of the city)

the delegates I. Horton, Mayor, and T. Baldwin, architect, laid this (stone) A.D.

1791."

It is actually proposed by the new proprietors of the Grand Pump Hotel to entirely

destroy the beauty of this street by removing the colonnaded loggia on one side of

this street and constructing a new side to the hotel two or three storeys higher, and

thus to change the whole character of the street and practically destroy it. It is a sad

pity, and we should have hoped that the city Council would have resisted very

strongly the proposal that the proprietors of the hotel have made to their body. But

we hear that the Council is lukewarm in its opposition to the scheme, and has

indeed officially approved it. It is astonishing what city and borough councils will

do, and this Bath Council has "the discredit of having, for purely commercial

reasons, made the first move towards the destruction architecturally of the peculiar

charm of their unique and beautiful city."42

Evesham is entirely a monastic town. It sprang up under the sheltering walls of the

famous abbey--

A pretty burgh and such as Fancy loves

For bygone grandeurs.

This abbey shared the fate of many others which we have mentioned. The Dean of

Gloucester thus muses over the "Vanished Abbey":--

"The stranger who knows nothing of its story would surely smile if he

were told that beneath the grass and daisies round him were hidden the

vast foundation storeys of one of the mightiest of our proud mediæval

abbeys; that on the spot where he was standing were once grouped a

forest of tall columns bearing up lofty fretted roofs; that all around

once were altars all agleam with colour and with gold; that besides the

many altars were once grouped in that sacred spot chauntries and

tombs, many of them marvels of grace and beauty, placed there in the

memory of men great in the service of Church and State--of men

whose names were household words in the England of our fathers; that

close to him were once stately cloisters, great monastic buildings,

including refectories, dormitories, chapter-house, chapels, infirmary,

granaries, kitchens--all the varied piles of buildings which used to

make up the hive of a great monastery."

It was commenced by Bishop Egwin, of Worcester, in 702 A.D., but the era of its

great prosperity set in after the battle of Evesham when Simon de Montford was

slain, and his body buried in the monastic church. There was his shrine to which

was great pilgrimage, crowds flocking to lay their offerings there; and riches

poured into the treasury of the monks, who made great additions to their house, and

reared noble buildings. Little is left of its former grandeur. You can discover part of

the piers of the great central tower, the cloister arch of Decorated work of great

beauty erected in 1317, and the abbey fishponds. The bell tower is one of the

glories of Evesham. It was built by the last abbot, Abbot Lichfield, and was not

quite completed before the destruction of the great abbey church adjacent to it. It is

a grand specimen of Perpendicular architecture.

Fifteenth-century House, Market Place, Evesham

At the corner of the Market Place there is a picturesque old house with gable and

carved barge-boards and timber-framed arch, and we see the old Norman gateway

named Abbot Reginald's Gateway, after the name of its builder, who also erected

part of the wall enclosing the monastic buildings. A timber-framed structure now

stretches across the arcade, but a recent restoration has exposed the Norman

columns which support the arch. The Church House, always an interesting building

in old towns and villages, wherein church ales and semi-ecclesiastical functions

took place, has been restored. Passing under the arch we see the two churches in

one churchyard--All Saints and St. Laurence. The former has some Norman work

at the inner door of the porch, but its main construction is Decorated and

Perpendicular. Its most interesting feature is the Lichfield Chapel, erected by the

last abbot, whose initials and the arms of the abbey appear on escutcheons on the

roof. The fan-tracery roof is especially noticeable, and the good modern glass. The

church of St. Laurence is entirely Perpendicular, and the chantry of Abbot

Lichneld, with its fan-tracery vaulting, is a gem of English architecture.

Fifteenth-century House, Market Place, Evesham

Fifteenth-century House in Cowl Street, Evesham

Amongst the remains of the abbey buildings may be seen the Almonry, the

residence of the almoner, formerly used as a gaol. An interesting stone lantern of

fifteenth-century work is preserved here. Another abbey gateway is near at hand,

but little evidence remains of its former Gothic work. Part of the old wall built by

Abbot William de Chyryton early in the fourteenth century remains. In the town

there is a much-modernized town hall, and near it the old-fashioned Booth Hall, a

half-timbered building, now used as shops and cottages, where formerly courts

were held, including the court of pie-powder, the usual accompaniment of every

fair. Bridge Street is one of the most attractive streets in the borough, with its

quaint old house, and the famous inn, "The Crown." The old house in Cowl Street

was formerly the White Hart Inn, which tells a curious Elizabethan story about "the

Fool and the Ice," an incident supposed to be referred to by Shakespeare in Troilus

and Cressida (Act iii. sc. 3): "The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break."

The Queen Anne house in the High Street, with its wrought-iron railings and

brackets, called Dresden House and Almswood, one of the oldest dwelling-houses

in the town, are worthy of notice by the students of domestic architecture.

Half-timber House, Alcester, Warwick

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